I often wonder if industrial farmers have as many adventures and as much excitement as I do here on our tiny little farm. What a crazy time!
Maybe it’s because I have a two year old to provide me with a daily dose of perspective on life, or maybe my life is just a bit sillier than others . . . but either way it seems there is always something bizarre or beautiful happening around here.
I wish I already knew how to shoot the .22.
We showed my son the coyotes out the kitchen window a while back, explained the difference between nice dogs like Grandpa’s and these bold boys. He now tromps around the farm gesturing and hollering NO COYOTE, NO! and can often be observed teaching our cat to do the same.
It must be working; he’s the only barn cat who’s avoided becoming lunch.
I spent some time this morning with CBC Radio, chatting about two different approaches to security – those who horde gold in their bunkers and those who keep backyard chickens. It was a fun, light-hearted look at a serious subject.
Which is worth more? A pound of gold or a pound of feathers?
It’s got me thinking.
Of course, the obvious answer (to me) is simple:
You can’t eat gold.
And really, if everything is about to go to pot like these folks believe it might (and I’m not saying it might not – you never know!), what use would gold be, really?
Gold has some uses, but is helpful primarily as a means of trade in a developed economic system. If the world ends tomorrow, safe to say most hungry folks wouldn’t be too keen to trade egg-laying chickens for a useless block of metal.
Maybe that’s just me.
So if gold’s not the answer to security in troubled times, what is?
I said good-bye to my favourite hen a week ago. My lovely Lyall Lovette.
Although we’ve been allowed backyard chickens in Vancouver city limits for some time, it’s still tricky for the average would-be backyard farmer to track birds down.
Some people in the city find chickens on Craigslist, others pay five times the fair price at boutique garden shops and the wise ones make the trek out to the rural suburb of Langley to the sale barn.
Newbies are easy to spot: They’re the only ones who don’t look like they just rolled out of bed and hopped in their truck.
They’re also a lot less likely to smell like barn.
These days my hubby and I roll right out of bed and hop in the truck, but it wasn’t that long ago that we were fresh-faced sale barn beginners. I’m sure my eyes were as big as saucers the first time round.
Here are a few tips to help you out on your first trip to the livestock auction, based on lessons learned the hard way.