The Accidental FarmerLearning how to farm on the fly

Oh, so handsome. Grumble.... Photo: wildelkfederation.ca

I love elk. They are so handsome, majestic and powerful.

They reek of Canada.

Today, I’d love to have one or two in my freezer.

Two mornings ago, I noticed elk tracks and poop in the hay shed. One large round bale was creamed of all the good stuff and much of what was not eaten was trampled and covered in poop and urine, now only useful as bedding. They had come in through a snow bank and over a 4’ fence under a 7’ beam. Somehow, they had squeezed through a 3’ gap. They must have been crawling on their knees.

Hair on Hay Photo: Jim Ross

They were hungry, no longer satisfied to dig up our lawn or eat the lower branches off our fruit trees. Any of our small, newer trees are long since toast. The deer took care of that. We won’t have any low hanging fruit this year.

Last night, I placed 3 – 4×8 sheets of 1/2” plywood and covered all openings. I secured the door with an extra wrap of binder twine. Johnny Cash would have been proud of me. I filled the bathtub, a once a week ritual with the sheep, as they don’t drink much until they lamb.

3/4 inch plywood. Not elk proof. Photo: Jim Ross

When I go out this morning, all the plywood is still in place. The door has several large tears in it, which is amazing given it is 3/4” plywood. Inside, it is obvious that the large, furry varmints have been partying again.

Typically, once animals feast on hay, they drink water. I notice the bathtub has 4” of water left in it. Something drank 45-50 gallons of water overnight and it wasn’t our sheep.

When Rachel leaves for work at 5 am, she spooks two that break fence rails trying to get away. One runs around the yard for a bit and scares the hell out of her. They are 500-1000 pounds and all she hears is the pounding of a crazed and nearby elk in the total darkness.

It is time to establish some boundaries. Sugar plums are no longer dancing in my head.

They know there is hay. They will be back. The game is on.

As I see it, these are our options;

1. Leave our best guard dog, Pip, outside at night. We’ll have to listen to her as will our neighbours. Elk are not typically concerned about 40 pound dogs but she is still a deterrent. Like most Blue Heelers, she is fearless, a good and bad trait, and she considers the sheep her personal friends. She will defend if they are close to the elk.
2. More re-enforcement of the hay area.  Plywood, lumber and long wood screws.
3. Temporarily move the electric fencer to the hay area and drive an extra ground rod near the hay. Place it high so the sheep don’t get zapped. Water the area down so the elk ground out really well as electric fences don’t work well in snow. Cover the wire with molasses so they get the idea. Light it up.
4. Borrow large caliber rifle, sneak out at night, and let off a volley in their general direction, trying not to hit them, of course. Blowing up a fence post or tree beside them is always effective. Unfortunately, it scares the hell out of the neighbours and my family, fun as it may be.
5. Buy some cheap hay and place it outside our fence line. We can afford that like a hole in the head.
6. Motion activated pyrotechnics? A battery of infrared activated pumpkin catapults? A directional laser water cannon?
7. Four more large freezers. Still my favourite.

Elk walk through fences, not over. Photo: Jim Ross

I might also try peeing to mark my territory and leaving some of my dirty clothes on the hay to let them know I mean business. My socks scare off most things so that may be my most potent weapon.

If you have any other ideas, I’m up to my ears in elk, so you may have to shout.

Winters are a bit slow on the farm, salted with brief flurries of activity.

As I lean in the doorway watching the sheep watch me, I feel like I should have a piece of straw hanging out of my mouth with my hat pulled low as I gently slumber.

Bob the snowplough Photo: Jim Ross

Fresh snow is just an excuse to fire up Bob and plough with my swank new snowblade. Sometimes when I see a friendly neighbour is out, I sneak over and plough their driveway for a giggle. One neighbour still hasn’t figured out who it is, which only makes it more entertaining. There are a couple I would like to plough in, but I resist the urge.

When the days are short, small happenings on the farm take on more significance than they should.

Over Christmas while tending the farm alone, I discover a turquoise egg which I carry, bursting with pride, back to the house. We already have green eggs but these babies look like big Robin eggs without the speckles and I found the first one, which must mean I’m special. I start scheming about producing special breeds of chickens to lay coloured eggs. Easter Egg Chickens, if you will. And they’re organic too! No pesky dies.

Various farm eggs Photo: Jim Ross

I could become a tycoon. They’d call me “The Easter Egg Guy.”

On Christmas morning, I wake early and think Santa has overshot our roof but when I grab a flashlight, it is a herd of elk demolishing any low hanging branches on our apple trees and digging through the snow to eat the lush green grass I didn’t mow in the fall. I dislike mowing lawn. That’s what sheep are for.

When I step onto the bedroom deck, they startle briefly and then ignore me. The dogs don’t bark as they know it is a waste of time and may get them stomped. The herd leaves behind large craters and piles snow against my fence 18 inches deep. They haven’t found the hay, so I let it slide. The fact that I can see a herd of elk within 20 feet of my bedroom deck is pretty cool. I take it as a good omen and crawl back in bed, sugar plums dancing in my head.

The two lambs born in November are growing like weeds and have been healthy which is amazing considering they were born in the dark, in the middle of a chunky rainstorm, in the middle of the pasture. I can barely pick the boy up any more. The girl will make a great addition to our flock. What I anticipated being difficult has been a breeze.

Red Barn and Round Bales - Image Credit: STEPHEN FILARSKY

The 800 pound, round bales we bought in the fall are taking a bit of getting used to but for the price, I will gladly purchase hay that way next year. The first bale was a bit of a clustercuss but the second went smooth as silk. Bob isn’t mighty enough to lift an 800 lb bale into the hay loft so we will have to figure out a better way to store them but for now, they are dry in part of the sheep shed.

The barn roof is leaking but every time it snows, I go skiing, and when it rains, there is no way I am climbing on a steel roof to see what the hell is going on. When it is sunny, it slips my mind.

It is a dilemma.

I fear I may need to apply myself.

Last Wednesday night was a nasty one. It was dark, windy and raining chunks. When the rain hit your skin, it was ice cold.

While working around the shop, I hear the unmistakable sound of a newborn lamb. The end of As It Happens is streaming in the shop and I think maybe it is some sound effect or prank. Our sheep were separated in time, after all.

I turn off the volume but still hear that sound.

Don't mess with Blacky's lambs. Photo: Jim Ross

With flashlight in hand, and family in tow, we discover a ewe, Blacky, and a newborn lamb standing in the pelting rain. When I pick it up, I realize it is minutes old. The placenta is still trailing behind Blacky. It takes a concerted effort to get her to follow us to the barn as she wants to return to the spot where she has birthed her lamb. Blacky knows Rachel and me well but she is not that familiar with our daughters and with 4 of us, two curious dogs, 5 other ewes, a ram and an adventurous cat, it is a bit of a clustercuss.

I had noticed she looked large and wide the other day but she has always been a big ewe.

Some farmer I am.

Born in a raging torrent. Photo: Jim Ross

Fortunately, I always try to have a few stalls ready for such events and we quickly fill a clean stall with wood shavings and straw. We place water, hay and a container of barley which Blacky quickly inhales. I use a towel to dry off the lamb as the temperature outside is 1 degree. After it has fed, I stuff it in my down jacket for 15 minutes.

When I check 30 minutes later, there is a second lamb, minutes old, trying to find a teet. More drying and warming ensues. When I look more closely I notice that the second lamb has its eyes closed. We have seen this once before on our farm but it is unusual. Its eyes are open today which is great because a blind lamb is more worry.

For me, this situation poses a dilemma. While some farmers try and get more, I feel that asking a ewe to have more than one set of lambs a year is unreasonable and perhaps cruel.

Eyes wide open. Photo: Jim Ross

It is also a big pain in the ass. Now, instead of feeding all the ewes and ram en masse, I will have a special family to care for through the winter. When temperatures drop in the near future as they surely will, I get to spend my spare time checking on new lambs and their mother.  We are happy everyone is healthy and while there are few things cuter than a newborn lamb, we were hoping for a break.

One of our ram lambs must have got Blacky the day the males were separated. Next year we plan to use a new technique to avoid this without actually neutering the boys. We will slide the testicles up into the lamb and use a cheerio to keep them there. With the testicles inside, they don’t work but still provide the hormones that make them grow bigger. We also will not have to split the flock.

Best of all, we won’t get any surprise winter lambs.

As a small farmer, finding good hay is one of my biggest challenges.

All hay is not created equal. A “popcorn bale” for $4 is no bargain. If you can carry two bales at once, you probably bought popcorn bales. You have to knuckle under to toss a real bale of hay. If your fingers get caught, it should be heavy enough to drag you off your feet when you toss it, even if you are 200 pounds.

Some years, poor growing conditions south of the border send  folks up to buy hay for premium prices. They buy it all happily and local farmers end up buying hay from Alberta. This year, a neighbour sold 150 bales to someone who drove 100 km to buy it. I could have picked it up without insuring my truck and it would have been perfect for us. Hay, as it turns out, can be a cut-throat business.

You call this hay?

Mouldy bales, light bales, no bales or weed filled bales, it is a constant challenge.

Honest sellers seem to be a dying breed. My buddy Brian bought 12 tons and ended up using half of it for mulch and bedding because it was mouldy and his animals wouldn’t touch it. I’ve bought hay that was so riddled with weeds, it left me with nothing but work. I’ve bought popcorn bales thinking I was getting a bargain.

This year, we are buying hay from Grand Forks. When I called James, he told me that some of his bales had Hoary Alyssum, a noxious weed. The 800 pound bales were better, he assured me, but he wanted me to be aware of that. That is an honest hay seller. When he told me he could deliver 12 – 800 pound bales for $130, bare minimum, I offered him $150. Eight hundred pound bales are $50 each and I have a bobcat with forks to unload them. I’ll probably give him some lamb chops too. It is how we tip our favourite helpers on the farm. They can’t buy what we give away for free and James grew up in northern Idaho on a sheep farm. James and his wife Teresa run a bed and breakfast/retreat on their property near Grand Forks. Hay is a sideline.

Good luck tossing that bail without some hydraulics.

For $750, we will get nearly 10 tons of hay. The only other source we had found was $210 a ton, plus delivery and I would have unloaded it all by hand, not an option with 800 pound bales. That is a hell of a difference and owning a bobcat made it possible. Had I not owned the bobcat, there are no less than 10 within a 2 km radius and hiring one to unload would have paid well.

With the extra hay we will have, we can look for calves for next year and take them through the winter and summer on hay so most of our pasture is available for sheep. Last winter we were saved by a friend when we ran short and it is nice to be in the position to help other small farmers. Two tons would have been plenty for this winter and any extra can be used next year if necessary as long as we store it properly.

Producing hay has always been tight but is fast becoming a very challenging business locally. Long time hay farmers in the Creston area are getting out of the business because increases in property values and lease payments mean that growing hay does not pay the bills on land that is within the ALR. Most hay producers own some land and lease more to make their equipment and operation profitable. The land they grow on is some of the best, if not the best, local farm land yet it is too valuable to grow hay on.

The modern Elmer Fudd. "I thought I saw a developer."

Hay is a large component of food production but when you can take land out of the ALR for condominiums and subdivisions if you pay enough money, food production suffers a loss that will never be recovered.

In the end, this is just one more arrow in the heart of local food production. When purchasing hay becomes a battle, it is tough to encourage others to get into local food production and drives up the cost of the end product and reduces availability for all.

We took advantage of the sun and warm breeze from the south today. I was informed yesterday that today was the perfect day to kill turkeys. I am on a need to know basis.

At 8:30 am, a friend who owns 70 acres adjacent to ours and is staying with us to hunt comes back to ask for help. He gets a clean shot at a bear but it heads into a thicket and is nowhere to be seen. I send him off with my Heelers and instructions to take them to the spot where he shot it. I quickly toss the chicken manure into the garden, wash out the truck and drive near the kill. The dogs have found it in 30 seconds.

It is a nice big male and we drag it 300’, up some planks into the truck and Gene disappears with my vehicle. How this bear ran 400’ with a shot clean through its heart is beyond me.

The ones the coyotes didn't eat. Photo: Jim Ross

I always start bird slaughter by heating water. We use part of an old steel water tank and a tiger torch. It is very effective and before we know it, our water is 170 degrees F. Everyone has their preference but I like it at least 160 and find that 45 seconds at 170 is perfect for me as long as it does not become any hotter. Birds tear on the plucker if you over scald them. We are deboning all our turkeys so that is not a huge concern, but it makes whole birds look ugly.

Last year, we had Nick the Wonder WWoofer catch and hold the birds while I swung the axe. This year it was Rachel and me. After a phone call to another turkey farmer, we decide that one of us will sit on them and the other will extend the neck over the round of firewood and swing the axe. I am the axe man, Rachel is the sitter. How Nick held these birds by himself is beyond me.

The big boy and the chopping block. Photo: Jim Ross

The first bird goes well but the second bird immediately bucks Rachel off once beheaded and sprays her liberally with blood. Her white pullover looks like something out of A Clockwork Orange.  I pounce and sit on it until it stops moving and place it in a garbage can to finish bleeding out. We refine our technique and by the time the last and largest male hits the block, we are slick. Full grown turkeys are amazingly strong and can slash your arm in a second with their long, sharp claws. They easily rip through clothes if you don’t grab them just right.

Putting these large birds through our plucker intended for chickens is also a challenge. At 50+ pounds soaking wet and un-gutted, it takes all my strength to get these babies on the plucker let alone keep them there and move them around. There is a lot of grunting and groaning.

The birds are presently resting until tomorrow when we will debone them and send it all off to be ground and some turned into sausage. All large animals should be left to rest for a period of time before butchering as muscle that has not gone through the full rigor mortis process before it is cut tends to contract and make for tougher and less tasty meat. For turkeys, it is recommended you wait 6-24 hours before deboning.

As we are finishing up, Gene arrives home. His bear is 186 pounds, hanging weight and he wants to know how we want our sausage. He places the head and skin in our freezer. He has decided to keep it as the bear has a beautiful white blaze on its chest.

Five large birds ready for deboning. Photo: Jim Ross

I collect the turkey guts, heads and feathers and take them to our “gut pit” at the back of the property. I haven’t lifted my head all day so I stop to enjoy the sunset and the view for a few moments that seem like hours. The Valley is gorgeous and I drink it in.

I head home, peel off my blood soaked clothing and have a hot shower before tying into a few well deserved apple cider and debating between maple breakfast, mild Italian and rosemary-garlic sausage.

No bar codes here. Just honest meat.

I often struggle as a new farmer. Sometimes, it seems like everything is going pear shaped, in a hurry.

Occasionally, we get it right and really feel like we are learning. This was one of those years.

We kept things pretty small this year and only raised turkeys, meat chickens, layers, sheep and a litter of puppies. We have two large freezers, one medium sized and one stand up. Last year we did two calves, two pigs, 10 turkeys, 50 meat chickens and 5 lambs. The freezers were full.

Because keeping breeding stock for calves and piglets is a bigger commitment than we are willing to make, we buy calves and piglets so it is easy to take a year off.

Sheep are easy keepers and keeping a flock of ewes and a ram is not much work, as long as your ram is friendly. As an added bonus, if you have property, it ends up looking like groomed parkland. They eat all manner of weeds and brush.

The boys

We suspected we had a bumper crop of lambs this year but there is more to raising meat than the size of the animal. With lambs, too much fat is bad. All lamb has a certain amount of fat which makes it yummy, but lamb that is too fatty tends to taste gamier. Six lambs weighing 429 pounds, cut and wrapped, is not necessarily a good thing.

My butcher hauls me into the cutting room and holds up a lamb roast and we watch as the last cuts are wrapped. He declares our lambs the nicest he has seen in quite some time. “Just the right amount of fat, big and healthy. You did something right.” Coming from Jake, a senior member of a pioneer Valley farming family, that is an endorsement you can take to the bank.

An Italian friend who can’t eat much meat but loves lamb tells me it is some of the nicest lamb he has ever had. He moans and kisses his fingertips as he describes his barbecue chops. His body language alone makes me drool. I smile, all the way home.

When my mechanic comes to work on my bobcat, I have reserved some choice cuts as a special tip to thank him for making the long journey from Fort McMurray even though I know he loves the Kootenays which is why I met him. I never pay travel time and always get stellar service.

We had our failures this year too. All 50 of our heritage tomato plants were killed by blight. Half our turkeys were killed by coyotes one night when they were 20 pounds. We live on canning and everyone in the family loves ground turkey and turkey sausage. We were able to buy tomatoes to can and we still have 5 turkeys that we are running long so they get nice and big. It blows our feed budget but makes sense.

I’d love to take all the credit, but ultimately, it could be dumb luck. Sure we are learning and I like to think I know what I am doing but the stars may have just aligned. Next year will be different and we will face new challenges.

Birth control by fence

We did learn a few things. If we want to run steers next year, we need to fence more area or provide supplemental feed. We don’t have the fenced area we need and that showed last year in the size and quality of our animals. On the advice of a real Valley sheep farmer, Brian Cross, we cut back on grain for lambs, but upped it for ewes and that made for less fat, better meat and lower costs.

We also learned a new technique from Brian’s partner, Penny, for castrating lambs that we have yet to try. Castrating lambs cuts down on growth so we have kept them separated which is work. Next year, we are going to use our green castration “cheerios” to slide the testicles up into the animal where the temperature is too high to produce viable sperm but okay for producing the natural growth hormones we want.

Cheeri-ooohhhhhh!

And that, my squirming male friends, is your farm lesson for today.

Next time you wonder why us boys have those dangly bits, you have your answer.

As a small farmer who keeps livestock, I am often asked if I sell meat.

I wish I could proudly say yes but unfortunately, I must smile….and say no.

Basically, if you want to buy meat from me at this time, you’d better be willing to go to the grave with me. That limits potential buyers and my ability to provide local, healthy food to a willing market who could give a damn what the regulations are. My family cannot afford the cost of lawyers and courts because government regulations are completely disconnected from the present movement back to locally sourced, healthy food that does not have to be transported half way around the world and shot full of hormones and antibiotics.

Beyond those who used to make all or part of their living as farm gate sales and their customers, this issue is largely unknown by the majority of British Columbians, particularly those who live in larger urban centers and elect our governments. Mention it to someone from Vancouver and you get a look like you are a food puritan from Mars.

One day it was legal to do farm gate sales, the next day it wasn’t. Last year, it was easier to buy dope than it was healthy, locally produced meat in the Kootenays.

Bar coded beef, Yum.

When a reputable, local butcher and supplier brought in a portable government approved abattoir, it arrived with government inspectors. Qualified professionals who had helped me slaughter my first 2 seasons suddenly would not return calls and those who did sounded pretty nervous, refused to help and hung up quickly. Local small farmers were hesitant to take animals anywhere near a government inspector, not because of concerns over meat quality, but because their license number may be recorded and their operation scrutinized, however insignificant it may be.

It was tense. Qualified meat cutters who had been working for years got grumpy about taking your meat at all. Why would they when it came with potential problems and they could do just as well cutting wildlife with a lot less complications. The government inspectors could show up without notice, cause a lot of problems and everyone knew they were about, like flies on a dead carcass.

In some remote areas of the province, regulations have been relaxed for farm gate sales because of large distances to certified abattoirs. Apparently, it is perfectly healthy to eat farm gate meat under these circumstances while it still poses a health risk elsewhere.

A "modern" farmer speaking to his shareholders. No shit on those shoes.

Most small farmers would argue that transporting live animals beyond very short distances for slaughter is a bad idea. Most of these animals have never seen the inside of a truck or trailer. When you run a feedlot and sell massive numbers of cows to distant customers who don’t care, transporting long distances is of little concern, beyond weight loss from dehydration before animals hit the scales.

Most folks who raise small amounts of meat feel a lot differently. Our animals are as cool as cucumbers when they go down. It is just another day on the farm as far as they are concerned with their head down in a bucket of grain. Life is good, right up to the last breath.

An even crazier aspect of these regulations is the fact that I can give and whole animal to the local food bank and they can give it away and all is good if you are broke or destitute. I am not even going to get into the deeper issues that raises. It makes my head want to explode.

As small farmers, we would all love to help you eat well. Most could easily add production.

Inspected and approved but is it edible or safe?

Today, if you want some healthy meat, “you can get your own bad reputation” (David Wilcox) and if you want to supplement your costs by selling one or two animals, you risk jail time, fines and membership in the Meat Mafia.

Once again, poorly conceived laws have little positive effect, make some rich and force law abiding citizens to engage in criminal activity so they can make, what should be, a personal choice and nothing more.

All that. Just so we can eat healthy food and say “Man, Herman* grew some great beef this year”.

If it is true that government has no place in the bedrooms of the nation, they should stay out of our freezers too.

*Herman is not an actual farmer. All names have been changed to protect the innocent, except David Wilcox who sings a great tune called Bad Reputation.

Thank You

The best advice I can give with regards to Vets and small farms is to develop that relationship before you have an emergency. You want them to be familiar with you and your animals. You don’t want to call every Vet in the book.

This afternoon I discovered once again why this is good practice and is often the difference between a serious mishap and a positive outcome.

I am fortunate to have a twenty plus year relationship with my Vets that started long before I thought about raising livestock. I feel comfortable with them and trust them explicitly to help me make good decisions.

At 1:30 pm, I heard a call from the house in a tone I don’t like to hear. “Jim, come now!”

Our Blue Heeler, Pip, has just birthed a dead pup and is in obvious distress. Things smell bad, literally.

I dial the Vet immediately and track him down on his day off. The general consensus is that I need to make a quick trip to Nelson; this isn’t something we can fix alone. Five minutes later, Pip and I are on the road.

When we arrive, Dr. Chris Chart and Stephanie appear from behind the closed sign and go to work. First a shot to contract her uterus; second a shot of calcium. She’s been worked, hard. We wait. Another still born pup arrives and we decide to ultra-sound to see if any pups are even alive. It is tough to tell but there appears to be a heart beating on the screen.

As staff prep for an emergency c-section, a head appears and it looks to be alive, barely. With help from Chris, the pup is birthed but in rough shape. He works the small animal vigorously to try and stimulate it and clear its lungs of fluid. Amazingly, there is life and squealing. Back onto the ultra-sound table, but this time, we see two hearts beating.

I help prep Pip for surgery until she is out, check the live puppy and leave to buy turkey feed and get some air. Chris’s wife Birgit (also a Vet) arrives to help and with 2 great Vet Assistants, Pip could not be in better hands.

When I return, I see 4 squirming puppies in a box. Birgit says that all remaining pups are alive and huge. It is highly unlikely that Pip could have birthed without help. “They are the size of Labrador puppies!” exclaims Birgit as Chris spays Pip and finishes up.

Four hours later, I am home with a box of pups, a very groggy Pip and a lot of work ahead for our family.

A long day for Pip

While Pip is a pet, she is also a farm animal with a job. At 37 pounds she chases off critters much larger than herself and mingles with our livestock, licking lamb’s bums and ears clean and watching over her flock. We have other dogs but none like her. She is truly on a mission.

We appreciate our Vets, not just because they fix our animals, but because of the advice we receive from them. Chris also has extensive experience with livestock and while his back no longer allows farm visits, he knows these beasts well and we rely on him to see that all our animals are healthy, and don’t suffer unnecessarily.

Thank you Selkirk Veterinary Hospital.

A lot of things scare me.

For those that don’t know me, I am 6’ tall and 200 lbs and I am not afraid of a little tussle, here and there. I’m not supposed to be scared. I’m big enough and handy. Twenty plus years as a ski bum has left me with cat like reflexes for an old guy and a love for life, whatever form it may take.

Sonja and her climbing antics scare me. I feel for buddy who barfed and shite himself when his knee got stuck. It could be that I have lost several good friends in climbing accidents but I have also lost good friends while skiing and I have no trouble doing that. Hell, I’ve even had my ass handed to me on a platter while skiing, several times. It still doesn’t scare me. It makes little sense.

A ram once put me in physiotherapy for 2 months (sausage!). I am scared of climbing into a pen to deal with an ill steer that seems ornery. One errant kick and I could be a hurting unit, but I still do it. It is not a paralyzing fear.

Death scares me. Death I have no control over scares me most. It can easily paralyze me, both emotionally and physically, if I allow it to.

I’m not used to killing things and have been known to choke up when a ewe, lamb or calf dies unexpectedly, but it is a reality on the farm. I have to go to a cold, steely place when slaughtering day comes. I become a robot. I ask someone else to put a bullet in my favourite animals, but I still help clean up. I hunt predators that kill my animals, but I am not a cold blooded killer. I take no pleasure in it.

Being scared and nervous doesn’t help when slaughtering animals, particularly large ones. They pick up on it and things can go pear shaped in a hurry. I seem to start the process of planning, grounding and centering about 2 days beforehand. This isn’t like shooting some deer that you have never seen before. I know these animals well and it is important to me that they remain calm, happy and unsuspecting, right up to their last breath. I have a job to do, but I can still be respectful.

Seeing the life go out of an animal and knowing you did it is a solemn experience and with it comes a huge responsibility to make sure it is done humanely.

Raising them humanely is only the start of the process.

Grandma speaks for all the ewes and sometimes the cows and pigs too. When a gate needs opening so they can access greener pastures, she lets us know. When the grain portions are skimpy, we hear about it.

The Lead Hand

When moving sheep, you only need to get the ‘Sheep Steward’ moving in the right direction. Grandma is that sheep. When they escape the fences or gates, neighbours are amazed that I can call her by name and she charges up like a big woolly dog with everyone in tow. Sheep have great facial recognition and I use my got-something-good voice which is likely why she comes. I don’t know that she actually knows her name but I keep up the charade. The Accidental Farmer/Sheep Whisperer.

As her name implies, Grandma is the oldest ewe on the farm. She came with two other ewes, Cousin and Auntie, that were stock from an old time sheep farmer, John Braun. John had decided to get out of the sheep business in his 80’s after over 50 years of raising sheep. John’s ewes and their ewe lambs form the basis of our small flock and one other in the Winlaw area.

We were told Grandma was “about 9”, 3 years ago so for a ewe, she is old. She is still the first one to the grain or spent plants and weeds that get tossed out of the garden. She is the largest sheep I have ever seen and is very close to our ram is size. Grandma’s lambs are the largest on our farm weighing between 60-80 pounds, hanging weight. We have not had a ewe lamb from Grandma yet which would be nice.

We know she is old so we watch her closely. As my sheep farmer friend Brian says, “If she is eating, keeping weight on and not moving stiffly, she’s a keeper.” Brian says that ewes can lamb into their mid teens if they are healthy but Grandma is the exception.