Horn searing

My friend A emailed me regarding my goats the other day:
"How do you deal with the fact of their unbelievable cuteness? I can barely stand to look at the photos. So soft! So sweet! AAARRGHH!
It's tough, but somehow I've been coping.
Yesterday was a horrible, sad day. But it was a necessary thing. I put a cage in the backseat of our truck, lined it with straw, then stole Bebe's babies away for a few hours. I drove to Cotati--about an hour north of Oakland--while the babies slept in back. At the animal hospital, Dr. Dotti, a large animal vet was scrubbing up after delivering a calf. It was all very James Herriott. The calf lived, there was blood everywhere and a happy mama cow chewed her cud as if this was all just another day. A woman chatted with me about her horse's dental work, and when I told her why I was there--to get the goats horns disbudded--she said, oh that's no big deal! Then why was I sweating, and feeling awful?
I tucked a goat under each arm and Dr. Dotti's assistant showed me where to take them and shaved their heads. The horn buds were very small, just starting to mound up. He said two weeks is the perfect timing for disbudding. Dr. Dotti warmed up the disbudding iron (looked like an evil curling iron), and we chatted about how amazing it is that the Nigerian Dwarf goats are considered a dairy breed now, about Bebe, the birth, and the necessity of disbudding. It's really best for the goats--and my neighbors--because the horns will get caught up in fences, gouge my other animals, and worst of all--might gouge out the eye of one of the many neighborhood kids who come by to play with the goats. So, it was with grim determination that I took Orla and Georgina in.

Poor little boobers, they screamed like kittens when he touched their little horn buds with the iron. Dr. Dotti did a great job, moving back and forth, letting them get a break. In all it took about 5 minutes for each of them. My heart was beating as fast as theirs once it was all over. When he was done he sprayed the seared part with antibacterial ointment. Within minutes, they were frisking around in the back of the truck like nothing happened. Luckily, they don't have mirrors. And when I returned them to a grateful Bebe, she acted like she didn't notice. Typical mom.

Bounty of bees

This Sunday I took a class with the Alameda Beekeeping Society featuring Randy Oliver. Randy is this amazing beekeeper and breeder who lives in Grass Valley and reads tons of scientific studies about bees, digests it, and then feeds it back to the general beekeeping public. He is thoughtful and funny and his presentations are wonderful. I didn't want him to stop talking. It was fun too, because I got to see my friends Alan and Mary and meet new beekeepers. Here's just a sample of some things I learned:
-Bees have a little appendage on their front legs which snaps open and allows them to groom their antennae
-Beekeepers were paid over $150 per colony to pollinate the almond crop this year
-When you see a bee sitting still somewhere on a cold day, it is probably shivering invisibly until its body temp goes up enough to fly again
-Bees generate 400 watts of electromagnetic energy by flying, so when they land on a flower, the pollen zaps onto their bodies
-In a German experiment, two queens each had one of their mandibles removed, and they lived together in peace in a colony together (this is good because you'll have more workers laid and thus more honey).
As the day ended, Alan got a phone call from a guy with a swarm in his yard. Alan said, "wanna go get a swarm?" Oh yeah. The house was just down the street, in an oak tree. Sorry I didn't have my camera. But basically it was a small swarm of about 2 pounds of bees. We chopped off the limb, stuck it in the box, and relocated the beauties to my lot in Oakland.

My equipment is pretty weather-beaten, but I found a few frames that weren't totally f-ed, and viola, a new home for the bees. They seem to be adjusting well, I gave them some sugar water because a cold front has moved in. I'll probably give these ladies to my friend Marg who doesn't have bees yet but wants them.

If anyone wants to come to the farm tour here, I'm having one tomorrow, Wednesday, at 10am. Just stop by and meet the baby goats!

Bill and Novella's Farm

Even though Billy sometimes doesn't know what's growing in our vegetable beds at all times, he's very likely to correct you if you call this place Novella's Farm or Novella's Garden. "That's *Bill* and Novella's Farm," he'll say. And he's right. I couldn't do half the things I do without him.
It was with a big heart and much joy that we celebrated our 11th anniversary by riding our bikes across the Golden Gate Bridge. Yup, two Oakland hicks tackling the Big City. Of course, like everything we do, there were some disasters. Like when we tried to ride our bikes on the highway. Enough cars honked and yelled that we figured out we were total dumb-asses. Bicyclists should really ride through the Presidio, or snake along Chrissy Field and get to the entrance of the bridge that way.

The bridge is a dream of red and blue. How can it be so perfect?

We took a ferry back to SF from Sausalito then another ferry to Oakland. It was nice to get a break from the farm, my farm hand partner at my side.

Goat update

For those of you who can't snuggle up to the little goaty ones, here's a photo that attempts to get close enough that you can. almost smell their heads (grassy with a touch of milk).


The whole family loves our back stairs. I realized we have a pretty good set-up because the goats get their exercise running up and down the stairs all day. And lately the little ones set up camp in a secret spot between the roof and the back porch. It's the perfect nook that probably appeals to their cave-dwelling instincts.

A goatlings day involves drinking from Bebe, playing, eating a little bit of grass, taking a nap, peeing, eating, then making tiny yellowish orange turds, then more napping. At night they sleep in a straw-lined caged run with Bebe and Bilbo.


This chicken wants to know why she isn't getting as much attention. So many reasons.

Turkey pot pie

Let's get this out of the way first:

The cutest goats ever. I started milking Bebe, too, just to get her used to my human hands. Those babies are getting some yummy, creamy, sweet-tasting milk! Lucky little devils.


Now then, onto pot pies. Bill has a joke from some dumb movie where he says, "woman, make me a pot pie." For Easter, instead of clobbering him like I usually do, I actually made one. First I followed the dough recipe from Hugh Fearnley-Whitingstall's opus: Meat. His was for a kidney pie, but the crust--made with my piggies' lard and a touch of butter--was thick enough to pour in liquid without fear.

Then I chopped onions, picked celery (!) and herbs from the garden, and threw them together with the turkey stock and meaty bits. Hugh told me to add a decoration on the crust, so I crafted a very jankity nest with two eggs--see them in the corner there? Then I sealed her up, baked for an hour, and there you have it: turkey pot pie.

Farm slideshow

Hi, just a quick note that I'm giving a talk at the Ecology Center in Berkeley tomorrow (Saturday) at 7pm. It's a fundraiser for City Slicker Farms. Despite fear of vegetarian backlash, I'm bringing slides of my meat projects at the farm. Any locals out there, I'd love to meet you in person!! Here's the blurb (I'm not mentioned, but I'll be speaking after Nathan):

Ferment Change! A Benefit for West Oakland's City Slicker Farms
Come join us for a fermented food feast and celebration of Urban Agriculture to Benefit West Oakland's City Slicker Farms "growing fresh and affordable produce for West Oakland". There will be a presentation on the work of City Slicker Farms by founder Willow Roesenthal, a slide show of international urban agricultural by UCB lecturer Nathan McClintock, live music by Zoyres Eastern European Wild Ferment, and a live ferment workshop. Bring a fermented food and get entered in a drawing to win Homebrew, Sauerkraut, Plant Starts, and Gift Certificates to the Berkeley Farmer's Market.
Time: 7pm - 10pm.
Location: Ecology Center, 2530 San Pablo Ave, near Dwight Way, Berkeley.
Cost: A donation of $10-30 sliding scale is requested, no one turned away due to lack of funds..
Info: 510-548-2220 x233, max@ecologycenter.org.

Goodbye to an old friend

To Archie we had to bid a farewell. Last night I ate his organs, today I'll probably make turkey pot pies, and Friday I'm bringing marinated turkey breasts to my friend's house for dinner. But I'm getting ahead of myself.
As you may recall, Archie the male turkey, a beautiful Royal Palm, gobbled enthusiastically. Maybe too enthusiastically. In the past week he made some kind of noise every five minutes. He would stand on our back porch and gobble at the top of his throat to the entire neighborhood. He would preen next to the fence and yell at every passer-by on our street. On Sundays this was very loud, as there's usually a soccer match down the street. And the mornings, he would gobble in the morning until I came out to feed him. Finally, two days ago, as I was in goaty bliss, our next door neighbors told me the turkey was driving them crazy. On an urban farm, neighbor relations are critical. If they complain, I could be cited, and who knows, they might take my animals away.

So I boiled a big pot of water. Then I got out the tobacco, burned a chunk of it, and grabbed Archie for a death hug. Novella in the garden with a pair of pruners. He made a hissing noise, pecked me, and then his head was off. I dipped him in the hot water, and pulled off his gorgeously and soft feathers. Underneath he had softer white feathers. Then alabaster skin, puffy with fat. In his crop were chunks of corn and greens. He was the most healthy turkey I've ever plucked. Underneath his skin, I could see the promise of his dark meat--the color of chocolate.

This British chef I love Hugh Fearnley Whitingstall calls these delicacies plucker's prizes--the organ meat, not enough to serve, but enough for a special meal for one. I fried the kidneys in butter with thyme and a squeeze of lemon. The liver and the heart I cooked with onions and thyme and pepper. Served on a bed of wild argula and lettuces, and some radish.
Edith is still on the nest, and we hope for baby turkeys in a few more weeks. It's much quieter now. Goodbye Archie--and thanks.