Creeping Charlie: Garden nemesis, or abundant herb?

Creeepiiiing Chaaarrrlliiieee....

Say these words with a growly tone of frustration, while pulling your hair out, and add a few choice expletives, and you'll espouse the tone needed when dealing with this evilly invasive weed. It not only takes over your lawn (which is actually alright with me), but your garden too (not okay).

All the while posing as a cutesy little ground cover with precious purple flowers.

Creeping Charlie flowers and purplish new scalloped leaves emerging in spring.

Sure, this plant would look lovely in a hanging basket, but without being contained, it will TAKE OVER your garden areas.

According to THIS site, it's also commonly known as Ground ivy, with a scientific name of Glechoma hederacea. I call it the bane of my gardening existence.

Since it's early May in Maine, my garden is still pretty barren, aside from some Chives, and some perennial weeds like Dandelion, and- you guessed it- Creeping Charlie. It takes full advantage of any opportunity to invade an area, and on MY lawn, it can be found just about anywhere. Sun, shade, grass, gardens... It knows no bounds.

It's a member of the mint family. Now you get it, right? INVASIVE. It's success is due in part to prostrate, creeping stems which sneak into forbidden areas, and take root at every node. Then, there are the underground rhizomes, which ensure that your futile attempts at hand weeding will fail. And it's final defense- those cute, purple flowers, which will give way to seeds to further promote the plant's survival. Next thing you know, it's EVERYWHERE!

And popping up into your garden at the first sign of spring. Also, mockingly surrounding the edges, just waiting for any opportunity to creep in. Ten foot high raised beds, anyone?

The kids and I did everything we could last summer, to tame this insidious beast. Yes, you may just have to resort to child labor. As we ripped it out of the ground, tossing it into it's own special pile (wouldn't want it to take root in the compost), we exclaimed, "Take THAT Creeping Charlie!" "Never show your leaves around here again!"

It didn't work.

This year, I plan on taking on a new, Zen-like, less controlling, more hippy-ish school of thought about this prolific plant. Will I allow it to take over the garden? Not if I can help it. But I may just think of my weed pulling efforts as more of a harvest, and give the plant the respect that it deserves.

Will my chickens, goats, or rabbits eat it? Will I eat it? Creeping Charlie tea, perhaps?

I think it's worth a try. I vow to research the heck out of this plant. Many sources tout the health benefits of this herb, due to it's high vitamin C content. I'll get back to you with my review.

Diary of a Microfarmer: Confessions

Confession

I don't want a microfarm. Or a micro-farm, or a micro farm for that matter. However you choose to spell it, (or misspell it, as I normally do), It's not a source of pride for me, and often not a source of joy. It's simply all I can have.

Don't get me wrong- I passionately believe, that in this overpopulated world, the more people learning to homestead and farm on a small scale, the better. It's so important. We can do so much more with what we have than we realize. I've personally done more than I thought I could with what I have, and I'm continuously blown away when I realize these little things that I, at one point, thought were impossible. Did I really think that I could keep goats in my side yard beneath the Weeping Willow? Heck no! But I can, and I am, as could any ol' homesteader, backyard farmer, or farmer wannabe like myself.

There is a very important trend spreading in this country- America, home of the fat, sick, and genetically modified- towards urban farms, and backyard farms... microfarms, if you will. By trends, I don't mean like bell-bottoms and skinny jeans... things that come and go in waves of cool and uncoolness.. but a growing population of regular people holding regular jobs, and farming on the side to supplement their families table, or satisfy a hobby, and help save the Earth of course. Then there are the health conscious stay at home moms like me, who dreamed of becoming  horticulturalists before diverging off the path of education and onto the path of all consuming motherhood. Perhaps the latter is just me... but I see that I am one among many farming on a small speck of land.

But it's not what I want. I'm not happy with it. I'm stuck with it. I'm trying to make the best of it. We bought this house at a bad time, and it was the best option there was, and now we're stuck here. I live in this gorgeous spot out in the country, and I'm surrounded by a vast expanse of land that is not mine. It's not even being farmed. Just empty. It would be a gorgeous view all around, if it didn't piss me off so much.

View across the road, taken last Fall

It's a view that reminds me every day that my dreams are just out of reach. That if I'd chosen a different path in my past, maybe I wouldn't be poor, or stuck. Maybe I would have obtained my degree in horticulture, and be operating my dream greenhouse. Maybe I would have bought a house at the right time, with a few acres of land, and be starting a fiber farm right now, instead of cramming a couple of goats, a couple of chickens, a few ducks, and a bunny into my side yard beneath the Willow.

Aw, who am I kidding. I do love my jolly barnyard beneath the Weeping Willow tree, and my tiny vegetation-packed gardens. And I can't think of a path I could have chosen in life, that would have resulted in the three incredible children that I have now, that I would never choose to live without. I embrace what my microfarm represents.

This tiny speck of land is rebelling against all those rage-inducing, perfectly mowed green lawns in my area (what? doesn't everyone experience rage when seeing a big, boring, mowed lawn?). This little flake of the Earth is screaming, "See!?! Look what you could do with that perfectly uniform and weed-free lawn, if you tried! Haven't you ever heard of permaculture??? We could drive out the factory farms, and the mono-cultures! And if you don't use it, why don't you just, give it to me!?!"

And I am making it scream out in rebellion, and sing with butterflies and bees.

In all seriousness, I'm not quite that judgey about the lawns, although I do covet them. I want my own expansive green lawn to cultivate.

There are plenty of sad looking old farms around here, and I'd love to bring one back to life. There are also lots of inspiring, small farms, that provide local food via veggie stands, and "Fresh Eggs" signs... there is much hope and promise for a small farmer in this town, if I could just wrap my arms around my own slice of heaven.

No, I don't want to be a microfarmer. I want to be a shepardess, a fiber spinner, a grower in my own greenhouse, a beekeeper, a tree-tapper, a goat farmer, a road-side egg and veggie provider, a master gardener, an herbalist. If only my years of education and accumulated debt that resulted in nothing, could help me achieve that. But alas, it can't. And I have not traveled a straight path in my life, or any sort of normal one at that.

I have to indulge in this darkness, from time to time. It really does help me come back up and see the light.

You light up our lives, Miss Red Hen...

I'll never forget that day, last summer, when an elderly neighbor from up the road, whom I'd never met, knocked at my door, and asked, "who's responsible for the garden?"  I said, "That's me!" And he handed me a copy of "Grit" magazine, and told me that he'd been watching it grow all season, and chuckled with his wife because, "I think they're putting a vegetable patch on the front lawn." 

Sometimes there is validation that my ways are not that odd, after all.

Diary of a Microfarmer: Reflections

Reflections

As I sit here this morning, first cup of coffee consumed, toddler on my lap, and headache already forming, I can't help but feel a multitude of emotions. All at once, I feel inspired, and overwhelmed. Full of hope, yet discouraged and fearful. Brimming with potential possibilities, yet never enough. Inundated with the compassion and light of humankind, and at the same time, insidiously poisoned by it's darkness.

It is the force that drives me, and the force that confines me. 

I've always been oversensitive. Anxiety-ridden. Weird. Unable to truly function normally in this strange society we live in, yet painstakingly able to pass for normal. It takes a lot of effort, folks.

I've always been calmed by nature. It's simplicity, and it's complexity. It mirrors the organized chaos within me, somehow becoming a continuation of my being. At the risk of sounding cliche, I become one with nature. Now I make sense. I can breathe. I can function. 

This is why I farm. And no, I do not "own" a "real" farm. I practice it, like one would practice daily yoga, each day becoming more mindful and aware in subtle ways that will eventually make me more wise, and intuitive. One can become knowledgeable with facts, and research, but by putting things into practice, you glean the subtleties that become what make you good at what you do. 

I've come a long way in the past year. I have a long way to go yet. What is important, is that I keep going. No more bridge-burning, fueled by depression, fear, and doubt. 

A year ago, is when the pull started. The nagging pull of inspiration. The calling, if you will, that would not be ignored by my squelching practical thoughts and ideas of what I should be doing at this point in my life. 

It said, "Start an Alpaca farm! You'll be happy!"

To that, I replied, "Ummm... I have no land. I cannot do that. Obviously."

It said, "Turn your front lawn into a garden, then, and get some chickens! And Keep dreaming of an Alpaca farm!"

To that, I thought, "Hmmmm... I have enough land. I can do that. Clearly!"

I don't really hear voices, just for the record...

I said to Nick, "I can start a Microfarm, with Chickens and a garden, and Alpacas and it will be revolutionary!"

He replied, "Let's get everything ready to get chickens a year from now."

And I cried, "I NEED chicks NOW!"

And so it began. And evolved. And I do have a micro farm, with chickens for fresh eggs, a veggie patch in my front yard (which should be evolving further this year into several gardens), a fiber bunny, and a new ability to spin fiber into yarn, and a couple of dwarf dairy goats, along with my new ability to milk said goats. Oh, and a few ducklings.

I  gain an invaluable amount of health, but I do not make any money from this hobby. Yet. In fact, it is costly at times... which is why I must remain realistic about what I can do, and what I should do, and what needs to be done. Does that make sense? Does it really have to? I can tell you one thing. 

It makes me feel like me.

Dear Violet

Dear Violet,

I'm sorry for accusing you of of not really being pregnant. You see, when I brought you home last December, I was informed that you were due in March. My impatient mind interpreted that to mean the beginning of March.

I also looked for evidence of your pregnancy as the months passed. Feeling your sides, like a giddy mother-to-be, I just knew that I felt babies. This brand new goat owner did not realize, that you were probably just ruminating. Yes, that was digestion happening. Confirmed when I felt the same motions happening in Snowdrop, who was definitely not bred.

Your udder seemed to grow in late February. But it wasn't huge. So was I just hopefully imagining symptoms of kids to come? Meanwhile, your belly was not huge. Not getting any bigger... actually, it seemed smaller. Did you drop? Maybe there were no babies at all! Maybe there was just one little one in there?

You didn't look pregnant

Maybe just one baby in there???

 As the days passed, March continued to be very lion-like, and I grew somewhat despondent. What was I doing, anyway? Trying to raise three (human) kids, and acquiring bred goats who aren't even pregnant. I thought that, maybe I just didn't have the time to balance the responsibilities of farming with young children. Other homesteading moms can do it, but maybe not me.... it's so easy to get sucked into the downward spiral of fear and negative emotions...

But I WANTED to learn to milk a goat, and experience the birth of of kids. And I wanted it NOW!

I had to let go of that yearning for instant gratification. And when I did, BAM!!!

This is how your udder appeared on March 31. Let me reiterate that it was the very last day of the month that you were due to kid. Just so you can appreciate the irony. I wanted to laugh, and cry at the same time. Surely this was a good sign!

Thanks for not only waiting until the last day of March to have your baby, but going into labor on one of the coldest, windiest, sleetiest days ever. Funny. My muscles are still sore from being tensed up from the cold, and anticipation, as I helped you dry off your shivering kid. I also thought that I would have plenty of time to get my own kids settled before coming out to see yours being born. That was another joke. Because your little "Lightning Bolt" was fast!

In all seriousness Violet, you are the perfect first goat. You're been patient with me all along, and continue to be, as I learn with good intentions.

You are an experienced, and attentive mother. 

You let me learn to milk you, even though I still do not have a proper milking stand. That's a whole other post, though.

Thank you, for being such a good goat mentor. Yes, I know that goat mentors are usually people, but I seem to learn the best from you.




Okay, so I know you can't read all of this, so I'll probably just go out and give you some banana peels. You like those. You deserve them, because you make cute babies, and delicious milk!

Twinkle, Twinkle, little bunny

Meet Twinkle, the newest *star* of the microfarm. She is an Angora rabbit- a fiber bunny! Here she is on the day of her arrival. I was smitten at first sight, and even more smitten at first touch, when her previous owner handed her off to me. Her wool is incredibly soft. I would love to walk around holding her all day, but I don't think she would appreciate that...

An Angora rabbit was an ideal addition to the microfarm because:

1. Rabbits are small, so they do not take up much space, and are inexpensive to feed.
2. They are capable of producing many ounces of soft, airy, luxurious fiber for spinning into yarn.
3. They are incredibly cute.

Twinkle is an older Doe, being about 4-5 yrs old, which concerned me at first. After all, I didn't want to get attached to a bunny who was nearing the end of her life, and my googling efforts produced conflicting info. on how long a bunny's lifespan is, ranging from anywhere between 5-15 yrs. I figured that if I helped her to stay healthy, she would have at least a few good years with us. Plus she was right up the road, and I didn't exactly want to travel far with my 3 kids to pick up an Angora. I couldn't be happier with her. She seems to know what she is doing, more than I know what I'm doing with her, if that makes any sense. She seems to have some experience under all that fluff.

Twinkle was accustomed to living outside in a wire cage before I got her. Right now she is living in her temporary home- a large plastic dog crate in my unheated mudroom, with access to the room during the day for a little exercise. Nick is finishing up her custom built (from mostly pallets) rabbit hutch, where she will live outside. That angora wool that she so fashionably wears, which is 7 times warmer than sheeps' wool, will keep her warm during the cold winter months. I've read that rabbits can tolerate cold much better than heat. I will also spoil her with blankets over the hutch for extra protection, and plenty of hay and straw. Some Angora owners prefer wire cages without a lot of "stuff" like straw that can get stuck in their fur. After all, that wool is the harvest! It's how she earns her keep around here. I say, let her get some straw in her fur, if that's what she would like. I'll happily pick it out. 

It didn't take long for me to harvest a little sample.

And spin a little sample...

As far as plucking/shearing 3 to 4 times a year, I don't think that will be a problem. I've groomed her twice already, gently coaxing her to trust me. Of course, my efforts were thwarted by all my helpers, some more subtle than others.

If the extra "help" bothered her, she sure didn't let on.

I did, however, notice that her nictitating membrane, or, "third eyelid" became visible, which may or may not have been an indicator of nervousness... not sure on this one because my googling results were inconclusive.

It is quite apparent that Angora rabbits have been bred for hundreds of years for their calm, docile temperaments, which make them very easy to groom. I've seen youtube videos of people holding their fluffballs on their laps, spinning the wool directly from the source as the rabbit just seems to chill out contentedly.  Twinkle did just this on my small counter-height kitchen table which served as a perfect grooming table. MUCH easier and more enjoyable than grooming my Collies, who insist on challenging my attempts by walking around the room as I brush. Using a metal comb, I gently detangled her fluff, and removed any loose fibres, which I later enthusiastically spun. 

Thus far, she is the easiest to care for farm animal, and her size makes her a much better choice of fiber producer than say, an alpaca or a sheep. I still want some alpacas some day, but I honestly don't think I'll ever NOT want an Angora rabbit. Or two. 

Sloooow down... Rachel's Rabbitry is not up for business just yet. My hands are FULL with my 3 children, 2 goats, and 7 chickens and new bunny. The microfarm is closed to any new farmyard friends for a while. 

Thank you, Twinkle, for being so easy to please, and teaching me. And for eating those freakish looking carrots we grew in our rocky soil last summer. I'm glad somebunny appreciates them!

Healthy(ish) Sprouted Wheat Snickerdoodles

I have a picky eater in my house. She's a six year old refuser of many foods. She likes her raw fruits and veggies, I'll give her that, but when it comes to many "normal" foods like cheese, pizza, potatoes (in any form other than chip or fry), and chicken that is not in nugget form, she's a tough one to please.

Well, she actually loves pizza. Cheeseless pizza. With parmesan (because that is the one cheese exception) and sauce only, but only the powdered kind of parmesan... and don't be offering her any  sauce that is not smooth, because she has superhuman texture detection powers. I should tell her that she has those powers. She would think it's cool... but I don't want to encourage it.

 Anyway, you get the point. Over the years, her "selective eating" has morphed in slight ways, sometimes allowing new things into her palate, and rejecting old favorites. The pickiness remains constant.

So, on those school days that she rejects what is being served for hot lunch, I must pack her a healthy cold lunch, lest she starve herself... almost... and come home in starving monster mode (not a good time). This is a challenge, because the girl will not eat a sandwich unless it is crustless and it's contents consist of only Nutella. Sometimes even then, it is rejected, especially if it is cut into the wrong shape, or the bread is not the right texture.

 What is a mom to do? I toss in tons of fresh fruit and veggies, some favorite carbs, and... what else? Last night I was brainstorming, and lamenting that the school was serving tomato soup for lunch, and we had were out of both bread, and Nutella. I needed a replacement. With the high sugar content of Nutella, and the overly processed and preserved ingredients of store bought bread, I figured I may as well just be packing her a cookie. A homemade cookie, with no shady ingredients, and kicked up a health notch by using coconut sugar, which is lower on the glycemic index (no quick sugar high and subsequent crash), and sprouted wheat flour, which is also low GI and higher in absorbable nutrients and digestibility than white or wheat flour that is not sprouted.  Furthermore this cookie should be made with butter (which, if grass-fed, I consider to be a healthy fat) or coconut oil. So I basically needed to make healthy sprouted wheat bread, disguised in cookie form.

This is what I came up with, and because they disappeared so quickly last night and this morning (yes, we all had some for breakfast), I altered the recipe to make a double batch. This recipe was inspired by snickerdoodle recipes on allrecipes, and tweaked to fit our needs. It yields about 4 dozen smallish cookies.

Sprouted Snickerdoodles

• 1 cup butter or coconut oil (I used butter)
• 2 cups coconut sugar or granulated sugar of choice (can be reduced to 1.5 cups)
• 2 eggs (from your backyard chickens, of course)
• 2 tsp vanilla extract 
• 3 cups sprouted wheat flour
• 1 tsp baking soda
• 1 tsp cream of tartar

For rolling the dough in:

• 3 tbsp sugar
• 1 tbsp cinnamon

Begin by creaming your soft (room temp) butter with your sugar. Try not to do what I did in this picture and add in your egg and vanilla because your room temperature butter was not soft enough to blend. For best results, cream butter and sugar, and then mix in eggs and vanilla until blended.

 Gradually add in your dry ingredients, or, if you're impatient, dump them all in at once and see them form a cloud of flour around you as you're mixing...

The resulting dough will be quite thick, and could potentially cause a strange burning smell to come from your mixer... you may even see bits of dough flying around you.

Don't be like me. Make sure your butter is soft, for easy mixing, and use a nice, big bowl to mix up that dough and catch the fly-aways.

Your dough should be thick enough to roll into little balls, and coat with your sugar/cinnamon mixture. If it's too sticky, you can refrigerate for a while. Set your little cinnamon-sugary dough balls on a baking sheet, and press them down lightly with the bottom of a glass, if you wish.

Bake for 8 minutes in a preheated 375 degree oven. They should come out perfect, or, like this.

 Snickerdoodles are a favorite around here, with their slight crispness on the outside, and soft goodness on the inside.  The best thing about these cookies, other than the fact that they're easy on the tastebuds, is that they are also pretty filling, due to the fact that they are made with sprouted wheat flour.

Some might call it a cookie. I call it breakfast. Or lunch. Or a snack, that is healthier than a nutella sandwich.

Farm Happenings, or... Lackthereof...

I think it's about time I wrote another blog post, and that is about the only reason why I'm writing this now... maybe I'm just trying to figure out what I'm even thinking.

Nothing is really happening on my little "farm" right now. Just feeding chickens and goats each morning, enjoying just enough time to mutter a few words to them and give the goats a scratch on the cheek, maybe snapping a picture or two every few days so that the kids and I can enjoy them from the warmth of inside the house... repeat at night, only shutting the chicken coop door instead of opening it. Have I mentioned that it's cold out there?  This may give you an idea.

 



I enjoy spending time out there with the animals, even if it's just a few minutes, while waiting for the school bus in the morning with my oldest daughter, or sneaking a few minutes outside in the afternoon while Barney or Baby einstein entertain my 1 yr old. That time is calming, and restorative... and restorative is good, since I'm not getting any sleep at night (thank you, teething and genetics for poor sleepers).  Such is the life of this mom of three beautiful, busy children. Children who entertain me and the animals, by doing things like this.

Miss Red Hen really is the most kid- friendly chicken, even if she is a little... errr... strange... poor thing is at the bottom of the pecking order, possibly because she is always straying from the rest of the flock. She sometimes seems to prefer human attention.

These chickens, they never cease to amuse me. Those moments of comic relief are a welcome part of this harsh winter... a winter that, if it were up to me (and the majority of the animal and human population), would SO be over.

I feel like I'm in a tough place right now. I know what I want to do, and where I want to be.... and I'm not even close to being there. You see, I strongly believe in the future of micro-farming in this overpopulated world. Sometimes it's a necessity... and there really is a lot one can do on just a little bit of land, to be more healthy and sustainable. However, I live in a rural area, and I'm surrounded by land. I'm stuck where I am, for now, and none of that land is mine. By some cruel twist of fate, my life path is leading to a lifestyle that can not be supported fully by my current living conditions.  It's frustrating. And not the small kind of frustration, like this:

I'm talking about the "WHY, GOD, WHYYYYYY????" Kind of frustration.

Okay, maybe that's a bit dramatic.

I do appreciate the things that I DO have, and truthfully, when I am fortunate enough to acquire some land, I will probably still be gardening directly outside my front door, and keeping my chickens and goats close to the house, because it's just convenient that way.

It would be nice to have some land for pasture... that option would be nice. I do have Alpaca dreams, after all, which is why I've begun to learn to spin fiber on a drop spindle. It's ugly yarn, but we all have to start somewhere, right?

I think that, being stuck where I am for now, I should push away those Alpaca dreams and make room for.... Angora bunnies! They don't take up much space at all!

"The Microfarm Chick" has big dreams of fiber farming, spinning beautiful yarn, more eggs, goat's milk, soap-making, Gardening and someday beekeeping.

I'm not an idealistic supermom/superfarmer, however, and I get depressed and discouraged. I'm in a darker place at the moment, and could use a ray of light. Or some sleep... that would work... but I don't forsee that happening anytime soon.

This is not my land, by the way. This is the view across the road... the beautiful view that taunts me every single day, and reminds me of what I do not have. It also reminds me of what I WILL someday have.  I can't decide if I'm an optimist, or a pessimist, really. I think I'm just human.

Someday... until then... stay warm.