Gooseridge Farm

Monthly Archives: February 2017

Memoir Monday: “No Trespassing!”

Posted on by Posted in Memoir Monday .

Considering that finally this year I am LEARNING how NOT to be lost in the woods, and considering that somehow my “No Trespassing” signs have all vanished from one end of the property (put up in the fall), I think this memoir snippet is perfect!

On a side note, we try to rotate cameras on this end of the property thanks to people and animals trespassing. And I’m going to take my stack of signs out with me today while checking sap buckets. Might need to do 2 per tree . . .

 

 An exert from the book Six Kids, Four Months and One Camper

October 11, 2013

 

Since hay season was done, and I’d processed the deer, the lawn was done growing for the year and Erik hadn’t assigned me anything to do that day, I had some free time. “Free time” . . . as if that were ever really such a thing when you have a baby AND live on a farm! I decided to go staple some “No Trespassing” signs up. Signs can be expensive, but a company near us makes some great, bright orange, heavy stock paper signs that are super cheap. They only last a year or two, but then so do the nice plastic ones! I stocked my camo fanny pack full of signs, a staple gun, and extra staples then strapped Earen into his front carrier and walked-off.

It was a long walk.

I finally managed to make it to the side corner of the hay field. Our property here began to run behind another neighbor’s farm field. This was also where the barbed-wire fencing began that bordered every other part of our property. The farmer’s field didn’t seem to have anything growing, but it was freshly tilled. The whole border of our property line on this side was scattered with standing deer blinds. The gentleman who owned this property didn’t hunt, but his son did. His son happened to live diagonal from us on the street, and his kids rode the bus with our kids. From the sound of things, he was NOT happy we had bought “his favorite hunting ground”. The kids had argued with our kids that the land was really their Dad’s because he had hunted it so many years. The guy would get a nice reminder that we had BOUGHT the property and if he wants to use it, then we’d be happy to SELL it to him. Otherwise he needed to stay off!

Mature oaks lined the fence between our properties, so I stapled a sign every 20 feet or so. Nothing made me more furious than someone getting something for free. Just like the jerks hunting the guy’s property at our old house. People seem to think that it’s up to other people to buy stuff for them to use as their own. We had spent a nice chunk of change on this land, and if someone else wanted to use it, then they could make us a nice offer to buy it!

I continued on down the fence, eyeballing the blinds standing on the very edge, wondering if he was hiding up in one. I finally came to the next corner of our property and the fence began running back into the woods. I figured as long as I stayed on the fence I wouldn’t get lost.

I was completely wrong.

My first problem, was the fence disappeared. Because it was so old, and this portion of the woods so wet, the posts had rotted away – especially the ones in the swampiest areas of the woods. My second problem was the angle. For some reason what I THOUGHT was a continued course south was more of a diagonal line into my neighbor’s property. I finally remembered that I could use my previous “No Trespassing” sign as a fence marker, and would look down the woods for the signs to line up, then I would look around on the ground for the fence remains of barbed-wire. This seemed to work much better. I was chugging right along, trying my best not to smash baby Earen’s face into the trees as I stapled the signs up high. Soon, the fencing changed from 3 strands of barbed wire, to the square cattle fencing. I didn’t stop to think about this as I continued on the line . . . until I found a different set of “No Trespassing” signs!

These were yellow plastic, and decently new within a year. It suddenly occurred to me that maybe I didn’t have a fence on the back property line where it made the end corner and began to run westward. I suddenly felt like a total jerk, stapling my signs all over someone else’s property. I had been getting nervous, baby Earen was due for a nap and I was still putting up signs. But now as I looked at my embarrassing mistake, he was fast asleep, head lopped over and dangling down. I groaned, but knew it was for the best. I could finish this and by the time I got home and really wanted my own nap, he’d be back awake and ready to roll! It didn’t help that I’d also been getting nerved-up seeing MORE hunting stands on the edge of our property. Every single one had a window facing our land – who’s to say they don’t shoot whatever they see, wherever they see it? I had made certain to put my name and phone number on several of the signs. I hoped that they’d call me if they shot a deer and it ran onto our land. Legally you are required to ask permission before seeking a shot deer anyway, but most people are not concerned with the law. Otherwise they wouldn’t be shooting on someone else’s land in the first place.

I decided to walk back down the property line and see where my own line changed directions. I had walked way off. I had to go back quite a ways before the fencing crumbled into the swampy ponds. This time however, I noticed something new. Pink survey ribbon. It was tied both into a tree branch and around a small sapling. Usually an indicator of a property stake. So I began looking around on the ground. Boom! I found it! The yellow cap stuck up only 1 inch from the ground, tucked up between a big tree and a dead stump end.

I stood on the marker, facing down the neighbor’s fence line, then turned my body one quarter turn to the right. Somewhere should be my property line. I stapled a sign onto the tree with the marker at its base, and tried my best to walk straight west. It was nearly impossible to do however. This direction also had plenty of swampy water holes, and the depth of some were very questionable. Not to mention one boot seemed to have acquired a hole and would randomly leak water in. My signs were now zigzagging back and forth, and I really hoped whoever saw them wasn’t upset if I accidentally got one on their side of the line, nor that they assumed our property line MUST be another 20 feet in since that’s where the sign was.

I continued on, seeing a clearing and light up ahead. I could see a farm field of corn! And a deer camp. The deer camp was kinda cool. There was what appeared to be an outhouse, a fire pit, several deer blinds and a massive wood pile.

And a few large roads running back into my property from their camp.

By this point I HAD picked-up a new fence line, this one possibly newer as it was marked with metal t-posts. No doubt someone had attempted to rip the fencing down since the posts were still standing tall but the wire was buried into the dirt and there were no trees nearby to have fallen onto it. As I studied the road running onto our property, I noticed the fence picked-back up along the farm field. But my stomach was churning seeing the roads onto our property, for it looked very much like deer camp used our property as their private hunting reserve. I held Earen’s head steady with one hand as I clumsily dragged a fallen log over the “access road”, and then a few more. There were a few other “access points” that appeared to be used by quads so I drug tree tops over those. If I came back another day and found the small branches smashed up, I’ll know they were driving back here. Hopefully they’d see my signs and realize someone had bought the property and stay off.

 

It was almost 4pm and I was getting exhausted walking with a 20 lb baby, tripping and stumbling over branches. I made the poor decision to try walk back home by turning to the north and walking straight. I walked for 20 minutes and somehow circled back to the field. I tried again and walked for 10 minutes and circled back to the field. I felt like I was in an episode of “The Twilight Zone”. I tried again. This time I walked for 30 minutes . . .  and came right back to those plastic signs!

By now I was swearing-up a storm. Earen was still somehow asleep, but I had visions of Erik finding my body half-eaten by coyotes the next morning. I couldn’t call anyone for help, no one knew the woods so no one could figure out where I was, and in any event, my phone battery was nearly gone! I began praying in my head for God to lead me back home.

I was crying, not just crying, sobbing! Not because I was “lost” and would never get home, but because I was “lost” and exhausted and had a big baby on the front of me, and because I HAD to get home before Erik did. He didn’t want me in the woods “scaring the deer away”. If he came home and I came sulking-in from the back property he’d know I’d been in the woods and I’d certainly hear about it!

I sniffled as I walked, tears streaming down my cheeks. I picked-up a big maple leaf and blew my nose into it. This proved not very useful so I just used my sleeve. Why does everything crappy always have to happen to me?! I was too busy crying as I walked to see the tree branch in front of me. I stabbed myself in the face with it. I cried more. I had always prided myself on my good sense of direction and never getting lost. Yet here I was, lost as could be!

I sat down on an old tree stump and cried. All I wanted to do now was curl-up into a ball on the ground and be left for dead. I most likely would have too if baby Earen hadn’t been stuck on my chest. Why should he have to suffer for my poor judgement? I let out a frustrated wail and stood up.

Then my brain cleared a moment and I suddenly realized that all I needed to do was follow my own signs home. Apparently exhaustion had severely clouded my judgement! So I followed the cattle fence back to my orange paper signs and followed the line of them.

Nope. Wrong way. I was back at deer camp! I doubled back on my path and followed them the other direction until I could see my next set. I followed these all the way out of the woods, and then back along my neighbor’s fields until I could see our hay field. My rubbery legs struggled to drag us back home, and by the time I crawled into the camper Earen was wide-awake and crying for food! I pulled my carrier off and fed him, and passed out on the sofa for 20 minutes while he ate. Or at least tried to. The kids were busy fighting and running in and out and Erik came home just 10 minutes later. But at least I’d made it home before him. Thank-you Jesus!

Held For Ransom

Posted on by Posted in Calamities, Triumphs .

Yesterday I went out like I normally do, to feed the animals. And, like most things, I have a certain routine I follow. Feed the dogs (unless I did it early while writing at 5am), feed the chickens, feed the barn animals, feed the horses, then the cows.

I had just gone down and fed the chickens and pigeons, and since it was a nice day in February, I left the coop open for the chickens to free-range. They slowly began to wander out and peck at the ground as I walked back up to the dog kennel and was met by a strange face!

It looked like a brown and white Brittany spaniel. My dogs seemed to care less about their visitor (odd), and my first thought was “holy crap, this dog might go for the chickens!”. It didn’t have a collar, so I tried to herd it toward the deck where our house dog’s leash line sat. I could loop it around this dog’s neck and keep it contained.

Unfortunately, it spotted the chickens wandering up from their coop and in a second it was chasing them down.

Their first instinct was to run to their coop, but the dog chased them right in and began bouncing from chicken to chicken, grabbing them and ripping out feathers. As soon as the dog ran-off, I ran into the dog shed and grabbed a leash, then sprinted down to the chicken coop.

I locked the door behind me and squeezed through the small door into the outside pen. I then corralled the dog into the corner (after it grabbed 3 more chickens and tore them up), and I clipped the leash around his neck and hauled him back out the door to the barn.

Once in the barn, I locked him in a horse stall and grabbed a wire line and an old collar. I clipped the line to the collar and took off his leash. Because, the stall is NOT dog proof, and I don’t want him running-off again.

I posted an ad on Facebook, plus Craigslist, plus put a sign by our driveway. Erik is certain this is the same dog that ran through last year and killed HALF my chickens and two of my guinea hens. We never saw the killer last year, so I was lucky to catch it this time around.

There is a $100 ransom on his head for property damage. Erik wanted to just shoot it (legally you can if it’s chasing/killing livestock) because he’s certain it will be back for more, but I’m a bigger fan of claiming the lost property. If the dog is not claimed in a few days, he will be posted for sale. Honestly, I think $100 is a great deal for a trained birding dog!

I don’t blame the dog. He’s a dog, and obviously trained to catch birds. But we live in the country, and if someone wants to keep their dog safe, they must keep it contained securely.

Accidents happen. Our dogs had the habit of escaping too. After having our electric fence fail repeatedly, we paid the money to install a physical fence. Now they can run like the wind with no worries!

The few times our dogs got out of the electric fence, one ran to the neighbor’s house across the road. The guy was NOT happy as the dog was chasing down his cat (her favorite thing). I was home (the toddler had let the dog out) and I ran over to try to grab her.

Now, had he shot her in an attempt to save his poor cat (she WOULD have killed it), I would hold no grudge. My dog was trespassing, AND causing damage/harm. It would be my own fault for not keeping the dog door child proof.

Luckily the cat got away, and my dog ran past me and I grabbed her. But after that I made double sure everything was toddler proof, and then 2 years later we finally installed the solid fence!

 

So, the dog is still sitting in my barn. Strange no one has come looking for it! I’ll also put an ad up at Tractor Supply. If no one has claimed it by Saturday, I’ll post it for sale on Craigslist.

Memoir Monday: Horse From Hell

Posted on by Posted in Calamities, Memoir Monday .

“Sailor” was my first horse. Erik picked him out despite my protests that I wanted to wait on getting a horse.

I loved Sailor to death, and cried for weeks when I finally sold him. He was an awesome friend, but we got-off on the wrong foot, and would never be able to handle him correctly from there on out. We’d been told he was 6 years old, greenbroke, only to spend an entire year trying to TEACH him how to ride effectively and find out he was a 23 yr old ex-rodeo horse.

And so, here is an excerpt from my book on why I have a hard time convincing myself to get on ANY horse. Despite these events, I still would get on Sailor bare back with halter.

 

November 29th, 2013

 

We had spent Thanksgiving the day before at Erik’s sister’s house. She had a huge feast with family and friends scattered all about the house. All of us pigged out – it was nice to have a good solid dinner for once! Earen of course was still too little to eat the meal, so I had brought along my homemade pureed carrots and banana. His family insisted he could eat mashed potatoes — although the small lump that he was given caused explosive diarrhea the next day due to the added butter and milk!

Erik had Friday off (a rare event for him since his work never let him take any of his vacation days they allowed him each year). The only days he was ever allowed to have off were the ones when the shop itself was closed for, so Erik was taking the opportunity to research tractors on his phone. Without looking up he said, “We should take the horses out today.”

I had been washing the breakfast dishes with my tiny bits of water and my bowl. I stopped and spun around to look at him. He had NEVER suggested we do something like that. “Really?”

Erik glanced up from his phone. “Yeah, why not? Are you scared of Sailor or something?”

“No, you just never asked me before. I’ve rode him around here a bit on my own. I’m not scared of him.”

“I never asked because we’ve got so much crap to get done around here. But now, we’ve gotten everything done outside and winter will be here soon. Today is nice and sunny so I’d like to get out and ride Ace. Not like the kids ever ride him.”

I was ecstatic! I’d finally be able to REALLY ride Sailor!

It was about noontime, and Earen was getting ready to wake-up from his morning nap, so I made Nuriel a bottle to give him when he woke up. She groaned, but took the bottle from me. I left her my cell phone so that she could call Erik if she had any questions.

IT TOOK US HALF AN HOUR TO GET THE HORSES READY.

Most likely one reason why I never bothered much with a saddle or bridle was that it cut into my work time with Sailor. We were both new to this, especially Erik who had very little experience with horses as a kid, so I ended up getting BOTH horses ready. I decided to do Ace first since Erik could ride him around a bit while I got Sailor ready. We used the back gate of his aluminum trailer to tie the horses to. Not the best or safest spot, but it was all we had.

Ace did great getting brushed and saddled, but would NOT take the bit. After struggling for 10 minutes with Erik getting frustrated waiting for me, I picked a handful of grass and held it behind the bit. Ace eagerly stuffed both bit and grass into his mouth, chewing happily while I seated the rest of his bridle and buckled it.

Next it was Sailor’s turn. He saddled fine, and even took the bit fine when I put his bridle on. But he seemed to be not liking the bit. He kept grinding and chewing on it, despite my several attempts to adjust it. Ace had always been ridden in a simple snaffle, so that’s what Sailor had now. The guy who had showed Sailor when I went to look at him, recommended a hackamore and a curb bit . . . a pretty harsh combo. I had no clue what a hackamore was, but we had bought a bucket of bits at a horse stable the summer prior so I could try various ones out. I decided on a loose ring snaffle, but it took me forever to get it onto the bridle and then we couldn’t figure out how to attach the reins since it was one big circle on each side (unlike a leverage bit which has separate holes for the reins and bridle).

It was quite likely I had done something incorrectly. Either saddle misplaced or wrong bit/installation. From the start, Sailor was not happy. He didn’t want to go on a ride, much less into the back hayfield. But being the dominant horse, he absolutely did not want Ace leading, so he out-walked Ace and went down the road path toward the back hayfield. And then he just stopped.  Ace walked past him, Erik swung his body around as Ace walked by and stuck his tongue out at me.

I patiently nudged Sailor with my feet. Lightly, harder, harder, then kicking. He just pinned his ears back at me. I knew a stick would work to lightly tap him on the shoulder, but there were none nearby and it was a bit swampy where Sailor was standing, so dismounting meant soaking my cowboy boots (leftover from my mom). Erik finished the walk to the hayfield, then turned Ace around to look at us.

“Give him a good kick and let’s go!” Erik shouted. Ace stood patiently.

“Don’t you think I have?” I proceeded to kick him a few more times. Sailor turned his head to glare at me.

Erik walked Ace back to us then clipped his lead rope onto Sailors halter and held the other end of the rope to lead him while Ace walked ahead of Sailor. Sailor realized he had been outsmarted, AND that Ace was now the leader, so he decided to pick it up and out-walked Ace yet again. Now he was leading Erik.

“Suzanne! Slow him down!”

“I can’t! He’s not listening, and he just wants to be the leader. Just toss me your rope – I think he’s going to walk now.”

So Erik did, and I looped it around my saddle horn, and we continued walking around to the right of the hayfield. We had planned to try-out some of the trails in the woods. It was a beautiful day for the end of November. Sunny and fairly mild. I hoped for sake of living in the camper that it stayed this way – at least until our double-wide arrived!

It was my first real ride on Sailor. Little walks around the yard didn’t count. This was lovely! Sailor paused to dive for grass, letting Ace and Erik walk on ahead. I struggled to pull his head up, but now Erik was a hundred or so feet ahead of me. Sailor didn’t like that. Erik decided to start trotting Ace . . .

“Hon! Don’t trot, you’re too far ahead! You’re making Sailor nervous!”

Erik paid me no attention, and away he trotted. Horses tend to copy whatever the horse in front of them does, especially if their rider is less than skilled! I knew Sailor would begin trotting, so when he did I instantly pulled-back on the reins to slow him. Not that I didn’t want to trot, I just was exercising my choice in the matter. If we were going to trot it would be my idea, not his. I was going to cue him into a trot after he stopped . . . . but that was a bad idea . . . Sailor didn’t stop.

He ran.

He broke-out into a full out gallop and blasted past Erik who yelled at us to quit showing off. The ball cap hat I had been wearing flipped right-off my head. The more I pulled-back on the reins, the faster he went. He looped around the whole back of the hay field and was circling back toward the road to go home. This would mean going down a hill with a 45 degree angle . . . at top speed. I could hear the air whooshing past my ears like a train rushing down the tracks.

“I’m going to die.”

My feet had slipped out of the stirrups, and I locked my butt and legs down deep in my saddle, reins in one hand and the other hand clinging to the saddle horn. I tried to calm myself and think logically about what I was supposed to do in a situation like this. I’d read stories of people who practiced emergency dismounts. However, that seemed like a good way to break my legs jumping off or getting trampled. But I had also read about something else. A “one-rein turn”.

The hill was approaching quickly and I’d be down it (and probably maimed) in only a few seconds! I slid my right hand down and slowly pulled the right rein toward my thigh. Sailor’s route began to arc, but he was still running. I pulled the reign in more until his arc became tighter, and tighter and finally slowed to him touching his nose to my leg. I released the rein and he stood panting. He had this look of shock on his face and suddenly looked like a lost and scared child. My legs had turned to pudding and Erik came trotting up as I poured myself out of the saddle, spilling into a puddle on the ground. Erik walked up and dropped my hat in my face.

“You lost your hat. What the hell were you doing?! Did you mean to do that?!”

“NO! ARE YOU KIDDING!?” I said loudly, too shaken to even yell.

“Shit, Sailor was hauling-ass across this field! That horse is FAST! I can’t believe you didn’t fall-off! You didn’t have your feet in the stirrups, how’d you stay on?”

I lay there, staring up at the blue sky, watching wisps of clouds float past and birds dart by. “I don’t know. I just sat down into the saddle and locked my legs into it. It’s a great saddle though, I probably would not have managed with any other saddle!”

Erik hopped down and pulled me to my feet. “You gonna walk him home or ride him?”

I stroked Sailor’s light golden neck and he nuzzled me. “I think I’ll walk him down the hill, then get back on and ride the rest of the way home.”

Sailor did fine the rest of the way home. He walked quietly and calmly like nothing had ever happened.

 

But the incident shook me to my core. It would affect me mentally with riding horses for years to come.

 

Sailor with bling from new owner

Follow The Links!

Posted on by Posted in Writing .

It sounds a bit like Lucky Charms cereal, but I’m in no way referring to food. Follow the links . . . it can be taken many different ways, but for the purposes of this blog I am referring to our sermon from yesterday.

So, after several weeks of rotating horrible sickness amongst ourselves, we finally managed to return to church (much to the kids’ disappointment).

Upon walking into the doors we were met with tables set-out, and they were strewn with books boasting the title “Dream Big, Think Small”.

“Oh boy, here we go,” I thought to myself, tinged with a bit of jealousy over how often our Pastor manages to publish a book (about once a year). It seemed like the mantra for my whole weekend was “follow your dream”. Not that my weekend was awesome, oh no, it was many shades of depressing.

So, for the next few weeks, our Pastor will be preaching, ahem, from his OWN book. If you are interested in watching yesterday’s sermon, you can visit www.adabible.org .

Yesterday’s sermon was on following the links in your life to reach a set goal. Referring back to a passage in Proverbs about how the ants toil all summer to save up for the winter, Pastor Jeff explained that goals that seem impossible are best accomplished by small steps, one day at a time. You add day after day, after day — link after link, after link until you have a chain. “Don’t break the chain”.

The sermon helped me feel justified — Erik had been complaining the other morning that I was STILL waking up at 5am to go out into the dog kennel to write. “Why? What are you DOING out there, I thought you were finished!”

I’m not breaking the chain, that’s what I’m doing. Because if I’m ever going to HOPE to get something published, I have to keep putting in the time. I have to keep writing blog posts to improve my chain of thoughts, I have to keep editing my books, I have to keep searching out agents.

IF I SLEEP IN, it breaks the chain. I’m less motivated to get up the next morning. Granted, maple syrup season is hard to get up at 5am since I’m usually up until midnight . . . but I think last year I DID . . . I just took afternoon naps!

The other reason I’m up so early, as evidenced Saturday morning when my son ALSO woke-up early, is “quiet time”. This is the ONLY time I get in the day to just SIT and relax with my thoughts. I’m NOT thinking about the 50 things I need to do, or feeling too sleepy, OR BEING HARASSED BY FAMILY.

Since I still worked a bit on writing/website stuff yesterday, I had to sit inside at the table while my (almost) 4 yr old whined on the sofa. Getting the day off to a bad start sets the mood for the day. If I can’t clear my brain out the first 2 hours of waking-up, I’m going to be grumpy.

Going-on to the bad news . . . .

Pastor Jeff said (according to some sort of study), it usually takes 3-5 years to see that goal completed. 3-5 years of chain-making.

Not that I want to hear that, but it did make sense. Many first-time authors I talked to said it took 5+ years of working on a book to see it published. But I’m pushing all time-related factors out of my head, and just focusing on getting things to where they need to be, and finding the right agent for them. If I thought this would take me 2 more years, I’d probably have a nervous breakdown.

Your Writing Sucks.

Posted on by Posted in Uncategorized .

Ok, so I couldn’t think of any better title, so forgive me for the bluntness!

Having began this business of trying to get published several months ago (after spending an entire year writing a book and editing another), I’m realizing a few things.

1.) Everyone is a writer. There are way too many people out there putting their pen to paper and drafting out a story, then trying to get it published.

2.) Due to large volumes of bad writers trying to get published, those that DO write well often are buried in the slush and stand a good chance of never seeing publication.

 

Now, by no means am I claiming my writing is “top-of-the-line”, or that it “sucks”, but I’m merely making an observation.

Writing is, unfortunately, just like painting — everyone wants to give it a “go” for fun. The only difference? Most people who paint a picture don’t run around trying to find a buyer for their work!

No, with writing, as soon as someone completes a book, they automatically assume that they have accomplished the impossible, and therefore the book MUST get published. It’s good . . . no, it’s EXCELLENT! Everyone will LOVE IT!

The problem is, they AREN’T a “writer” — they just write. If you are serious about being a writer, you crank out the long hours . . . wake up before the crack of dawn or stay up all night in a feverish attempt to RE-DRAFT that book you spent a year on. You constantly push to make it better and better and better.

Having been on enough writing website forums where people post their work for review, I’ve seen a lot of slush! You can instantly pick-out those that are not serious. First, their writing sucks (sorry). Second, when you offer helpful tips or ideas, they bite your head-off (it IS a forum for reviewing stuff . . . that’s why you post your writing . . .)! Others though, thank you kindly for your suggestions and re-visit their work to see how they can IMPROVE it.

Funny thing though . . . most writers DO SUCK. Even the good ones! Most published authors once sucked at some point in their writing career. However, through hard work, a million re-drafts, and sheer determination they were able to improve their writing to the point of being fantastic.

Here’s the problem . . .

How do you know if you will always suck, or just at the beginning? This is a tricky question. I’d like to say that endless hours of hard work eventually pay off. I’d like to say that by throwing everything you’ve got at your writing that you WILL become an accomplished writer.

Unfortunately, like many things in life, this one is a gamble. Much like any great idea or endeavor, it’s a risk you take to fail violently.

It’s the stories of success that propel you forward. Dr. Suess (famous children’s book author) failed repeatedly to get published. He wanted to do comic strips, but the newspapers thought he was too “off-the-wall”. When he tried repeatedly to publish his children’s book, it wasn’t until he basically lied to the publisher that he was finally published. His college buddy had just graduated with a doctorate’s and wrote the letter for him (hence the name Dr. Suess).

Stephanie Meyer also nearly failed. Her first YA book was nearly a flop, and publishers were leery about another go-around. The Twilight Series was born.

J.K. Rowling (Harry Potter Series) was living on welfare and an unemployed mother. With hardly enough to live on, she managed to garner interest in her first Harry Potty book. It was enjoyed so much that an entire series was created. Today, Rowling is the most accomplished children’s book author currently living.

As fantastic as this all seems, writing a good book and going-on to become accomplished is a bit like winning the lottery. Sure, others have done it, but how many millions buy tickets and don’t ever win a dime? Some buy tickets and win pocket change, but most don’t even get that.

However, with writing you hold the odds to be in your own favor. YOU control how good (or bad) your writing is, and YOU control who to submit it to. It’s not a total shot in the dark (although it feels that way).

And, while it seems to be taking MUCH LONGER than expected to get either book published, my picture book has only been submitted to 10 agents . . . out of nearly 100 that will consider Picture Books.

My Memoir, on the other hand, has been submitted to roughly 6, but this one I’m CHOOSING to re-edit (complete hacking job) to try to make it better, so I’m holding-off submitting it for a while. There are a few hundred agents that will consider memoirs!

I’m all set to dive into my newest book (fiction), but am trying to hold myself back. I don’t want/need THREE projects cluttering up my already crazy life. So I’m pushing the other two pretty hard.

A great writing can make ANYTHING BORING sound amazing. That’s where I AM at. Trying to make my Memoir amazing. Something so everyday but extraordinary.

Besides, I don’t want to look back on my Memoir in 3 years and say “man that writing is TERRIBLE! Why didn’t I pause to improve it?”

Maple Math – Swimming in Sap

Posted on by Posted in maple .

Yesterday we went out to the Maple Supply Warehouse out in Lake Odessa. It’s always interesting going to these places since the owners know so much about making syrup. As this was a new start-up operation (the old one retired) we had a lot to discuss.

Today’s post is an interesting one: maple math.

While people assume farmers are dumb, the opposite is actually true. Farmers have to CREATIVELY use their math skills to ACTIVELY sold problems. We are one of the few that actually still use that math you learned in High School (when am I ever going to use this?!).

If you plan to tap more than a few trees, you’ll need to brush your math skills off. Here’s why:

We plan to tap just over 150 trees (and just bought an extra 25 taps and buckets). We can certainly tap well over 300 trees, but we are sticking to 150 for now.

Here’s the math:

If, on average, a tree tap yields enough sap to make 1/2 gallon of syrup during a good season, that tree has produced 22.5 gallons of sap (assuming your sugar content is such that it takes 45 gallons of sap to produce a gallon of syrup. Sometimes it’s40, sometimes it’s 50).

WHY DO YOU NEED TO KNOW THIS?

If you have 150 taps, that’s about 75 gallons of maple syrup . . . WHERE ARE YOU GOING TO PUT ALL THAT?!

You certainly don’t sell your syrup as gallon jugs, usually it’s in quarts. But that’s 300 quart jugs (4 quarts = 1 gallon).

Crazy lots.

ROUND 2

Ok, so let’s look at the sap amounts now. If each tree produces good numbers of sap at 22.5 gallons for the season, multiply that by 150 (number of trees tapped). That’s 3,375 gallons of sap for the whole season.

Seems like a lot, right?

Well, if your season is (on average) 6 weeks long, that’s 562.5 gallons a week! You’d better have enough storage for all that sap!

Fortunately we have 3, 275-gallon tanks, and that means we will fill just over two tanks a week (562.5gallons per week/275gallons per tank=2.04 tanks).

That means cooking twice a week!

Ok. so you have 562.5 gallons a week. Each tree tap has one bucket, and each bucket can hold 5 gallons. 562.5gallons/7days = 80 gallons of sap collected PER DAY.

 

Now that’s curious . . .  we have 150 taps out, but are only collecting ON AVERAGE 80 gallons. A good day will yield 1 gallon a day. An excellent day will yield over 2! However, some days yield 0, so that’s why we average.

But this is why we do the math. Numbers that seem EXTRA-ORDINARY at first, show to be average to below average once you break it down.

 

SO now you might be wondering, “What happened last year?”

Well, we DID do 150 taps last year, however, it was a bad season for ALL sap farmers with the weather warming up so fast. Half our trees had been silver and red maples. It wasn’t until the last 2 weeks I tapped 75 black maples (saved our butts too!). We only had taps out for 4 weeks total.

Last year our sap sugar content averaged 1.5%. Many producers dump it if it’s that low because it takes too long to cook. We didn’t have that option.

We ended up producing around 15 gallons of syrup from 150 taps. Pretty far cry from 75, huh?

But this is why farming is a “gamble” you know what you could/should get, but there’s only so much you can control on YOUR end.

Honestly? If we ended up with 75 gallons of syrup this year, we would have NO PLACE TO STORE IT. We would fill every jug we have and need to run to the syrup warehouse again and buy MORE!

I fully expect to get at least 30 gallons, but it’s still a gamble! It could be 15, it could be 75 . . . throw the dice and hold your breath!

Hopeful News

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An aside here,

 

I just checked my book submission tracking website, and it APPEARS that my picture book is being considered! Ok, I KNOW it’s being considered, because it’s not in yesterday’s “reject” pile.

Without confusing you too much about how the web program works, let me explain that agents who LIKE a submission, typically set it aside to talk over with other agents at their company. Like a second opinion. Right now, my picture book is in the stack of “possibilities”!

While this could still mean a big fat “No Thanks” in a few days/weeks, it’s at least a bit of hope in this dreary process of trying to make it in the world of writing.

Pray that it finds a home with the right people!

12 Degree Nap

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The one thing about being sick, is that you move . . . so . . . much . . . slower . . .

And that doesn’t work around here.

So yesterday, after waiting an hour for the internet guys to show, only to find out they had the wrong info and couldn’t hook us up yet, I finally managed to get back into the woods around 2:30. I had already moved all 3 of our 275 gallon containers back there, now I just had to finish placing buckets at trees.

It was windy, and cold and 12*, but I was wrapped-up pretty good so it didn’t bother me. But my cold virus finally caught up with me! After I had whipped out 20 buckets and found each a tree home, it hit me hard.

I was whooped. I tried to will myself to keep going, maybe even finish that road. But I couldn’t move another inch, and collapsed onto the road behind the side by side, half asleep.

I had been working enough that my excess body heat was keeping me nice and warm, but not so much that I was sweating. I lay there, half asleep, trying to convince myself to get up and go back to work, but my mind kept getting distracted by various dreams popping-up.

I don’t know how long I slept as my phone doesn’t work in cold weather, even inside my jacket, but judging by the sun it was nearing 4pm. I probably would have rolled over and slept longer had I not heard a suspicious creaking noise.

I cracked an eye open and glanced at the side by side. I hadn’t put the emergency brake on . . . it was sitting on a slight hill . . . and I was laying directly behind it!

I decided it might be in my best interest to get up! Besides, if it was 4pm, I still had to get home, take some Vitamin C, have some coffee and get back out to feed the animals and make dinner!

 

But alas, sap will begin to flow this weekend, and I don’t have any trees tapped, nor my buckets all placed! I’m kinda stuck on this one . . . today HAD to be tapping day as Saturday we are running to the Maple Warehouse (yea!), and I KINDA wanted to go see the PBR rodeo too (sigh. probably will be working instead).

Maybe I should tap the buckets that are currently out, so that way SOMETHING can be collecting!

  • Why couldn’t I have gotten sick NEXT week, AFTER I tapped everything??

Banging In the Woods

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Yikes! It’s a mere 12 degrees out and I’m wishing I can avoid working outside, but alas I’m on a tight schedule, no rest for the weary . . . or the sick!

Yesterday I began setting buckets out. Well, almost. I had to pry the stacks apart, which often proved fruitless in my attempts. Somehow they manage to suction tightly to each other and you can’t pull them apart.

However, I’ve found that slamming them against trees often breaks suction enough to allow you to pull them apart.

The animals and neighbors all hate me now since I’ve cleared every living thing out of the woods with my racket (only 120 more to go).

But as I stood there whacking buckets, I noticed an array of large footprints. I’m pretty good at tracking animals, and deciphering foot prints, but these had me concerned.  Too large to be coyote. Cougar? Wolf? Luckily I still had a game camera out nearby, maybe it had caught whatever was going after the deer!

I brought it home and popped the card into my laptop, and after scrolling through a zillion videos of deer, I happened upon a very curious one. Dogs. Two, large dogs, running about, chasing the deer . . . during hunting season!

I, however, was not surprised. I’d been getting these dogs on cam during hunting season every year since we’ve lived here. These dogs have run all the way to the FRONT of our property, and I suspect they were the ones that killed and ran away with half my chickens last summer. Not cool. The day it happened was the day I got them on cam running by.

These are the same neighbors that we also got on cam last spring, wandering the woods looking for morels. Also not cool.

I understand dogs like to wander, and I understand they can escape. I can vouch for that since ours have done it too. However, you’d better believe I’m out chasing them down. And you also better believe that I’m going to ensure they are better contained! We’ve even gotten to the point of installing major fencing for them.

Its curtesy to ensure your animals stay contained and don’t cause trouble. I don’t think these neighbors would be too happy if my horses continually got out, and ran over to their property and ate all their flowers and pooped on their lawn.

Might be time to put some live traps out. Judging by the amount of footprints they have been out ALOT. Also time to write the neighbor a note! They know we’re here, I’ve got “No Trespassing” signs plastered over that whole fence line along with my phone number.

I honestly don’t know why they’d want to push their luck with us . . . we have a legal driveway that runs right through their property . . . Erik keeps wanting to have it developed, but I keep telling him it wouldn’t be nice for the neighbors. I don’t even know if they realize their property is sitting on our driveway . . . even though it’s been there for well over 30 years.

I’m sure a simple note will resolve things peacefully. And if not, well, I’ve got a whole array of game cameras waiting to be re-loaded with batteries!

How Maple Sap is Turned into Maple GOLD

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Let’s be perfectly honest. All maple syrup is not created equally. Heck, it’s not all done exactly the same way! There are many variables that affect both flavor, clarity and color, but here is how WE do it.

 

Step 1: pick your trees.

The best time is in the fall before the leaves fall, but are still changing color. If you have a high canopy, the easiest way to tell what type of tree you are looking at is by the color of the leaves. In our area, we have four types of maples: Silver, Red, Black and Sugar. I’ve listed them from lowest sugar content to highest sugar content. Trying to identify WHICH type of maple it is will leave you in a frenzy, so for now just be happy you are not looking at an oak tree! It’s not widely talked about, but maple trees DO interbreed. So while your leaf may APPEAR to be a Red Maple, it might be a cross between a red maple and a silver. And blacks and sugars are often confused as the same tree (there are very slight differences). So just find some maples and be happy. For us, I’ve finally narrowed our trees down to strictly blacks and sugars (years 1 and 2 were solid reds and silvers, year 3 was a mix).

Step 2: Find the right size.

Ideally your tree must be at least 12 inches wide (some say 8). For every additional 6 inches of width, you can put on an additional tap. So a 24” tree could have 2-3 taps.

Step 3: Drill your holes and tap!

We use 5/16 drill bits and taps, and put a ¾” hole into the tree, roughly waist-height. We gently tap our 5/16 spouts into the holes. We have 24” clear tubing dropping from each tap into a bucket on the ground.

Step 4: Collect

MAKE SURE EVERYTING IS CLEAN! I cannot stress this enough. Sap contains sugars, and will grow bacteria VERY quickly. While cooking sap kills the bacteria, it WILL discolor your syrup. This gets harder in warmer weather, and mold will start growing within minutes of sap dropping into the pail. Usually by this point, the holes you have drilled will cover over thanks to that same bacteria and will no longer produce for you. Sure you COULD drill new holes, but again, if your sap is rotting, why keep collecting it?

We transfer all of our 5 gallon buckets of sap into a giant container on our side by side, then drive THAT over to a LARGER container that holds nearly 300 gallons.

Step 5: COOK!

Once this container is full, we drive it by tractor up to our sugar shack and connect it to our cooking unit. A long hose connects the container to the cooker, allowing sap to flow out as needed. A RAGING fire is created in the fireplace under the pan (known as an arch), and the heat reaches temps well over 600 degrees! Hot enough to melt your snow pants if you get too close! The fire is re-stocked every 5 to 8 minutes with more tiny wood chunks until the sap at the very end of the pan reaches syrup consistency at anywhere from 121 degrees to 123 degrees. Some people say that you only need to cook it to 117 degrees, but this is not accurate. The temp you cook to is variable depending on the atmospheric pressure. Syrup Cooks use a tool called a hydrometer that measures the barometric pressure and cross it to the current temperature to tell you where your syrup needs to cook to. We use a “Murphy’s Cup”, which is the easiest way to do this in one step.

Our cooker has a temperature sensor set-up that spits the syrup out as soon as the end batch reaches the ideal temp. Under the spigot, we have a high-end filter/bottling unit. Our syrup goes through 10 pre filters and one main filter before collecting in the bin. The bin keeps it hot and allows us to bottle whenever we get a free moment. It holds up to 3 gallons as a time. A 300 gallon tank will spit out 6 to 6.5 gallons of pure syrup!

You MUST bottle at 185 to 195 degrees. This ensures no mold will grow, and no sugar crystals will form!

 

Maple syruping is one of the most time consuming and energy consuming farming activities. But it’s a lot of fun. If you enjoy sitting around a campfire, you’ll really love cooking syrup. You get the fun of a fire with the added excitement of watching something cook, and the surprise when the system releases loads of syrup into your filters. You never know when the temperature will hit a sweet spot and suddenly release! Plus you don’t have to worry about smoke in your face . . . it all goes up the chimney!

Let’s not forget the tasting part. We always keep a ladle on the end for tasting the syrup! There really are few things better than freshly-cooked syrup, still piping hot!

We never turn away company during a cook, and you’ll know by the sheer amount of steam forming a cloud in the sky, or the sweet smell of syrup on the evening breeze. Stop-in and you can walk-away with a bottle still hot!

We try to cook every Saturday, but depending on the load I usually end up doing a batch during the week as well! It can take as long as 12 hours to complete a full batch!