Story Time at Clatter Ridge Farm

Bobbie Emery
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I'm a farmer, thinker, and writer. I can't seem to help myself. It's what I do, who I am, and what I love. clatterridgefarm.substack.com

  1. 3d ago

    Stacking Hay

    I was thinking, that if I was ever told I only had one hour to live, but I could spend it doing anything I wanted, I’d choose stacking 400 bales of hay in our hay loft, on a 97-degree day – because that hour would last an eternity. Normally we wait until the weather turns cooler to get the hay in, but we were worried that the price is going to skyrocket again this year, so we went ahead and ordered it. It was delivered, of course, on what turned out to be one of the hottest days of the year. When the truck arrives, we put our hay “elevator” on the bed of the truck where the driver can load the bales onto the conveyor that transports them up to the loft, where I stand waiting to unload them. The fifty-pound bales come quickly, one after another, and it’s always a struggle just to keep up. I grab each bale as soon as it comes within reach, but before it falls off the end of the conveyor, either dropping back down to the ground - or worse yet, derailing the rest of the load. Once I’ve successfully grabbed the bale, I throw it to the person doing the stacking. Each bale lands with a decisive “thunk”. The interminable mechanical clacking of the hay elevator reminds me incessantly that I forgot to tighten the chain - and the screeching of the gear cogs lets everyone know I also forgot to oil the gears. Unsuccessfully, I try to distract myself by making up lyrics that go with the screech, the clack and the thunk. Here’s the best I could do: The screech of the cog the clack of the chain the thunk of the bale... The screech of the cog the clack of the chain the thunk of the bale... The screech of the cog... I know- it needs a little work. Even in cooler weather it’s a monumental chore to get the hay in. Last year, I was the one stacking the bales, and even though it was a crisp November morning I quickly overheated so I removed my sweatshirt and hung it up inside the loft - promptly forgetting about it until the last bale was unloaded and I started cooling off again. Calculating that the sweatshirt was, at that point, buried about 400 bales in, and we only use 5 bales a day, I probably wouldn’t see it again until sometime in late February. I was extremely pleased, however, to discover that my car keys were not in the sweatshirt pocket, which in itself would have necessitated making the hard choice between re-stacking the 400 bales to retrieve them, or trying to convince Anne it was time to buy a new truck.. Thanks for reading Clatter Ridge Farm! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit clatterridgefarm.substack.com

    2 min

  2. Jun 26

    The Gift of Clover

    When our sheep first started grazing at Hill-Stead, the pasture consisted of multiflora rose, a few saplings and poison ivy. The brambles were so dense the sheep’s wool would frequently get hopelessly tangled up in the thorns and they’d be completely unable to extricate themselves. I’d rescue them by cutting one thorny branch at a time until they were finally able to yank themselves free – inevitably trailing a branch of thorns which would shred my fingers as they bolted away. Despite its heavenly fragrance, I grew to hate multiflora rose with a passion. We mowed the roses with our “brush hog” and when they tried to regrow, the sheep grazed them down again, and again. After a couple years, the multiflora rose disappeared, but unfortunately, under those massive bushes was bare ground which quickly filled in with poison ivy. After a few more seasons of grazing, that too has pretty much disappeared and has been replaced by a wonderfully tasty assortment of grasses (according to the sheep). This spring, much to our great pleasure, we are beginning to see various clovers starting to grow. I have come to truly love clover if for no other reason than it is a very reliable and abundant source of nectar for honeybees. White Clover blooms early and persists when most other nectar sources wither from the heat. The fact that bees depend on clover is reason enough for me to welcome it to our fields, but there is more – much more! As a proud member of the legume family, clover is high in protein, which our sheep, on their strict vegan diet, have been otherwise lacking. From now on, our flock will benefit greatly from having a healthy dose of clover in every mouthful of grass. And they clearly love it. If the fact that the bees can depend on it, and our sheep love it, isn’t enough, there’s even more! Clover has the ability to draw nitrogen out of thin air and add it to the soil. If that’s not pure magic, I’m not sure what is. It’s a process called nitrogen fixation and scientifically it’s been well studied and understood - but to me it’s simply “a gift”. A well-grazed pasture doesn’t ever need chemical fertilizers. The clover adds enough nitrogen to the soil to encourage all the grasses around it to thrive. I don’t particularly care if our clover has three-leaves or four – I always feel incredibly lucky whenever I see it. Four leaf clovers in our pasture! Thanks for reading Clatter Ridge Farm! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit clatterridgefarm.substack.com

    3 min

  3. Jun 19

    How a Dragon Flies

    Early one morning, I found a Green Darner Dragonfly in our pasture. She had beads of dew still visible on her enormous gray eyes. I was completely mesmerized. We stared at each other, and I imagined that each of her 28,000 individual lenses were focused on me. I wondered what she was thinking. Was she as smitten with me as I was with her? Was she contemplating if I was a threat, or just considering if I would be better paired with red wine or would a dry white work just as well? Though completely harmless to a human being today, 300 million years ago running into this lady’s ancestor really would have been a frightening encounter. Pre-dinosaur dragonflies sported two-and-a-half-foot wingspans and with the same voracious appetite they have today, I’m sure she wouldn’t have limited herself to just devouring other insects. Today, the dragonfly’s insatiable appetite for gnats and mosquitoes has earned it the nick name “the mosquito hawk”. They can fly up to 18mph and can operate each of their four wings separately. Such nuanced control enables them to levitate like a helicopter, fly forwards, backwards or sideways on demand, and explains, in large part, their 95 percent success rate while hunting. Like the Monarch Butterfly, Green Darners have a multigenerational migration pattern. My new friend will head south once the temperatures here start to dip into the 50s. She’ll travel up to 87 miles a day to get somewhere warm and complete her journey (and her life) after mating and laying eggs in a pond or lake. Her offspring will hatch quickly but unlike their mother, they won’t migrate. The non-migratory generation will spend its’ entire life in the south, laying eggs and completing its life cycle over the course of a southern winter. The following generation (my friend’s grandchildren) will hatch and travel north again next spring to spend the summer in New England. Because they require clean water with a stable oxygen level to reproduce and survive, the presence of dragonflies is a sign of a healthy ecosystem. For this reason alone, I am proud to host them in our pasture, but even if they weren’t such a positive biomarker, I’d welcome them anyway. We have plenty of mosquitoes and it would just seem rude not to share! Thanks for reading Clatter Ridge Farm! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit clatterridgefarm.substack.com

    3 min

  4. Jun 11

    Busy as a Bird

    It’s probably best, this time of year, to refrain from complaining about how busy you are to any livestock farmer you might meet – unless of course, you yourself are a livestock farmer – or a bird trying to raise a brood here in New England. I too, try not to whine, at least not out loud, as I rush about my day, trying to get everything done that needs to get done to keep our brand new chicks, lambs, and piglets alive and out of trouble. At first it’s easy - so long as they are warm, fed and safe from predators, keeping everyone alive is a piece of cake. Then they grow, bigger, stronger, louder and braver, testing the fence, the gates, the water trough, the tractor, the laws of gravity, and ultimately my patience. It’s as if the better job I do at keeping them healthy, the more energy they have with which to drive me insane. As I feel my life careening out of control, like a car crash in slow motion, I take great solace knowing that I’m not the only one – that, in fact, every bird I see is feeling pretty much the same. We are all struggling to stay one step ahead of the weather, our growing broods, and the number of hours allotted to us each day. This afternoon, I was installing temporary fencing so I could move the lambs to a new area to graze - just to keep them from breaking out of the old one. I knew full well that moving them wouldn’t solve the problem for long - that as soon as the grass was greener on the other side, these lambs would figure out a way to get back there. Exasperated, I looked up just as a bluejay flew past me with a piece of hay in his beak. He was clearly in a rush and totally focused on getting his mate the building materials she needed for their nest. His work this summer is just beginning, mine at least is partway through. First he would have the mad rush to find all the materials to build a nest so she could lay her eggs. Then as soon as the eggs hatched, he’d be working overtime to keep the hatchlings fed. Not far from the cedar tree that hides the bluejay’s new home, a pair of bluebirds were scouting out the bluebird house that Anne and I made for them a few years back. The male perched outside the house and waved his wing repeatedly. The “wing wave” is the male bluebird’s signal to the female to come and see. It means he’s found a nice spot and wants her approval. Perhaps I’m projecting a bit, but I swear I could see the fatigue in his waving wing. “C’mon this one’s perfect! It has everything you said you wanted! Can we please stop looking now?” Later in the day, while refilling the water trough that the piglets had flipped over (again), I saw a robin swipe a juicy worm from the muddy edges of the pig pasture. Since she didn’t immediately swallow it, I figured she was probably bringing it back to a nest filled with hatchlings. Shutting off the water, I called out “I’m sure they’ll appreciate all you’ve done for them when they have hatchlings of their own!” The chimney swifts chattered as they went frenetically past. If speed is any indication of their productivity, I can’t begin to imagine all that they accomplish in a day. A finch has moved into, and completely remodeled, the old robin’s nest on the transom above our front door. She collected dog hair from the dog bed on the porch, wool from below the skirting table where we sorted last fall’s sheep shearing, and some brilliant blue baling twine I’d discarded by the fence line. There really wasn’t anything wrong with the robin’s old nest but clearly, she wanted to make it her own. When the sun started to set, I checked to make sure all the chickens had returned to the coop and then locked them safely inside. A great horned owl flew off, disappointed, I’m sure, to have seen me coming. As the sky got darker, the swifts started to drop down into our chimney for the night - and some bats emerged from somewhere to take over as their night shift began. The finch on the transom was nestled in with her 3 hatchlings and watched as I called our dogs inside for the night and shut the door. “Sweet dreams” I said switching off the porch light and leaving her in total darkness. “Rest up - tomorrow is another day.” Thanks for reading Clatter Ridge Farm! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit clatterridgefarm.substack.com

    4 min

  5. Jun 4

    The Woodcock's Dance

    Yesterday, I found a woodcock roosting in the brushy edge of our sheep pasture. It’s been years since I’ve seen one there. We used to hear them every spring as kids, but they lost their favorite field several years ago, and they’ve been slow to return. They are quite particular about where they choose to spend the summer, so I am very pleased we made the grade. They need brushy pastures for roosting, young forests for nesting, moist woodlands for feeding and fields for courtship. In late spring, after the peepers wind down and well before the cicadas start serenading, I instinctively listen for the male’s call. Birding experts quaintly refer to it as the “woodcock’s peent,” but I think it sounds more like a monosyllabic nasally Russian ‘nyet!’. My parents instilled in us a great love for woodcocks and especially the male’s funky, albeit very successful, courtship display. What greatness he clearly lacks in melodic beauty, he more than compensates for with the bravado and enthusiasm of his “sky dance.” Just before sunset, we’d all sit quietly (or as quietly as 5 kids can sit) and wait for the dance to begin, while my parents drank a glass of whatever it was that parents drank. The woodcock starts the show on the ground, just as daylight begins to fade, with ten to twenty peents and then, as if shot out of a cannon, he rockets skyward in ever ascending spirals. A couple hundred feet in the air and almost out of sight, he pauses and then plummets groundward, as if mortally wounded, leveling out dramatically at the last minute, and landing safely, only to start it all over again. Even when he’s alone foraging for worms, it seems he dances to his own beat. Stepping one foot forward, and another step back, his rhythmic movements presumably make vibrations which cause the earthworms to instinctively move away, thus revealing their location. His long bill easily spears into the mud, extracting his prey. His foraging stutter step might be perfectly logical to adults, but to us kids it sure looked like he was line dancing to a Country Western tune. We imitated him endlessly and could always get my mom to laugh when we, wherever we happened to be, broke into an impromptu woodcock dance. The male, having chosen our pasture as his territory, will attract several females to spend the summer with us. They will hopefully return each year to dance, breed, lay their eggs and raise their young. Our regenerative farming style of pasturing in the woods, and having trees in our pastures, provides them with the habitat they need. I don’t know what the sheep or chickens think but I for one am very happy to share the pasture with them, and I hope that they know they will always be welcomed. Thanks for reading Clatter Ridge Farm! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit clatterridgefarm.substack.com

    3 min

  6. May 28

    Weaning Time

    We have been weaning our bottle-fed lambs, which is a long, loud, and annoying process. We have them in the pasture closest to our house so we can keep an eye on them and make sure they are making the transition okay. The lambs happily go about their independent lives until they hear our voices, or see us walking by, then the bellowing and the hoof stamping begins. They clearly have no intention of being weaned. Watching their histrionics, we could easily be convinced that they were on the verge of starvation - if only we hadn’t just witnessed them happily racing around the pasture playing and spending hours contentedly grazing by themselves. When I can, I walk the long way around our house to avoid being seen and stirring up their thunderous complaints. The front of the house, though, has been taken over by a robin who built a nest on the transom over our front door. The porch roof provides her with excellent protection from rain and predators, but she now takes issue with us using that door. She has two hatchlings, of which she is understandably protective, so we are constantly being divebombed and scolded by her unless we remember to use a different door. Our bluebird hatchlings in the back yard are doing well, and we do our best to not disturb those parents as well. Happily, we have a third door, which is out of sight from the lambs, and far enough from the robin, and bluebirds that we can use it unmolested and guilt free. We do however have to be sure to keep that screen door firmly latched since one of our more demanding chickens has discovered that if it’s open, she can often find me somewhere within. It has been an absolutely wonderful spring, and we are so incredibly lucky to live somewhere we can watch it unfold all around us. However, we are running out of doors, and it is quite possible that if this summer is a continuation of this spring, we will soon be climbing in and out of windows just to gain access to our house without disrupting the clan. Thanks for reading Clatter Ridge Farm! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit clatterridgefarm.substack.com

    2 min

  7. May 21

    Hope Springs Eternal

    The poem begins “Hope springs eternal in the human breast”- but really, it’s springtime where hope truly dwells. · A pregnant ewe heading to the barn, looking for a quiet place to lamb. · A handful of seeds scattered in the wind - searching for fertile ground. · A honeybee coming out of our empty hive, perhaps scouting it out before a swarm. · A broody hen sitting on her nest, threatening me whenever I dare walk by. · The serenading of lovesick frogs, desperately looking for a mate. · A clutch of eggs in the robin’s nest by our door. · Our boisterous bottle-fed lamb - on the verge of being weaned. · A pair of bluebirds, and their hatchlings getting ready to fledge. · The return of the swifts nesting in our chimney yet again. · Our sow looking more and more pregnant every day. Everything is in a holding pattern, waiting perhaps for a gentle rain, the warmth of the sun or just the right time, to bring it all to fruition. Springtime, indeed, holds eternal hope within a farmer’s soul! And where there is hope, there’s comfort and joy. Thanks for reading Clatter Ridge Farm! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit clatterridgefarm.substack.com

    1 min

  8. May 14

    A Nice Place to Live

    Despite my very best efforts to get out of it, last week I found myself talking to a large group of third graders about “Sustainable Farming.” I was pleasantly surprised by how well it went, but then again, my expectations had been rock bottom. When I asked the kids what sustainable meant to them, one boy said, “It’s having a nice place to live.” I agreed and said “Yes, in a way it is. I think that planet Earth is a very nice place to live. In fact, I feel lucky to live on such a nice planet and I’d like to take good care of it so when it’s my time to pass it on to you, it’s just as nice as when I found it - if not better. And I hope that when it’s your time to be in charge of this planet, that you take good care of it too.” I told them that my definition of “sustainable” is the ability to keep doing something. I explained “After I get a good night’s sleep and a healthy breakfast, I’m full of energy and can work really hard and get a lot of stuff done. But by noon I start to slow down and if I don’t get lunch, I stop being able to work very well. I just get more and more tired until I completely run out of energy. What I’m doing is not sustainable and that’s how I think the planet is feeling right now. It’s getting very worn down and adults need to start taking better care of it. Someday it will be your job, so I am glad you are learning about it now because when you are older, you’ll have lots of choices to make, everyday kinds of choices.” I said “My friend Timothy cares so much about planet Earth and about you kids, that he sold his car and now he either rides his bike or walks wherever he wants to go. He knows that driving a car creates a lot of pollution, so he stopped driving. Can you imagine how much energy he saves and how much pollution he isn’t making? I think he’s amazing - but I can’t do that, I have too many places to go and I’m always in a hurry. I think that it’s a wonderful choice for him, though, and I’m very proud that he is my friend.” I asked the kids what town they were from. They said “Vernon”. I asked “Did you all ride your bikes here?” “No” they said. Did you walk? I asked. “No” they said. I asked, “How long do you think it would take to walk here from Vernon?” “11 years” one girl said definitively. I allowed as how I didn’t think it would take that long, but it would definitely take a long time, so riding the school bus was probably a really good choice. I said I try to farm in such a way that I create as little pollution as possible. That’s why I have grass fed sheep – all they ever eat is grass. I have to take very good care of the fencing, and pastures to keep them safe and to make sure there is always enough grass for them to eat. It would be a lot easier if I just kept them in a barn and bought food for them from somewhere else, but it would have to be brought to the farm in a big truck – and that causes pollution. I said “my friend Carol has sheep and doesn’t have enough grass, so she feeds them grain that’s grown in Iowa. It takes a lot of driving to get that grain to her – and all that driving causes pollution. My friend Timothy would probably ride his bike to Iowa to pick up the grain if he had sheep - but I think I found an even better solution. I found a home for my sheep at Hill-Stead, where there is a lot of grass. They have so much grass in fact, that if my sheep don’t eat it, someone has to mow it! So, I think I made a very good choice, and Hill-Stead is very happy.” I said as adults we all get to make choices about the way we live, and farm and my hope is that when they are adults and in charge of making the decisions – that they think about what they are doing and make the best choices they can. I have no idea what the kids took away from my talk - if anything at all. They were unusually quiet, which I took to mean they were either thinking about what I said or plotting something nefarious. Either way I left feeling proud of the way Anne and I farm, and the choices that we’ve made. Somehow, by taking the time to explain myself in overly simplistic terms to a group of children, it became that much clearer to me as well. Indeed, it really is about having a nice place for everyone to live and about leaving it better than we found it for the next generation. Thanks for reading Clatter Ridge Farm! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit clatterridgefarm.substack.com

    4 min
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I'm a farmer, thinker, and writer. I can't seem to help myself. It's what I do, who I am, and what I love. clatterridgefarm.substack.com

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