transition

These golden, glowing days...
they are so short.

Sunrise on Mount Tansy

And the mornings are often quite chilly.

Three weeks ago, I remembered that I own slippers and placed them by the bed. Two weeks ago, I pulled my flannel-lined dungarees from the back of the drawer and hung them next to my barn coat, by the door.

The chore list now includes many items under "before winter!"

Last week, I taught my Occasional Helper how to sweep a chimney. Delegation is not one of my strong suits, but I certainly get a lot of practice these days.

We've been extraordinarily lucky this Autumn.

Many, many sunny days.

Not a lot of rain or wind.

So even while this is going on:

there has often been a little gem of a miracle

popping up where least expected, to delight the eye:

Haven't seen a pansy flower in months...
surprise!!

Many days have been warm enough to spend a half-hour or more out in the paddocks, knitting in my lawn chaise. It's an ideal way to bond with the herd. They come to see me if they feel like visiting, but there are no treats and no interference with their activity. It's Quality Time, goat-style.

Betula, browsing his way toward me.

Tilting back in the chaise, the view:

While I was taking that picture, Fern trotted over and suddenly stuck her little nose into the ziplock bag containing my ball of yarn, grabbed it, and bolted gaily away. Of course, the yarn was still attached to the knitting in my pocket, so to Fernie's great surprise it "fought back" and she dropped it.

It didn't take me too long to get all the dried leaf and bits of twigs and dirt off the yarn ball, once I managed to get it back. And two minutes later, didn't Fern come back for another try!

Looks determined, doesn't she?

Last night, it was 32.5F at bedtime.
My hands got too cold for knitting.
I reluctantly closed the window by my bed.
That window has been open for months.

Blue Not Blue: undyed Bluefaced Leicester yarn

I think - oh, I hope! - we will have more warm days.

I want that window open again.

But today just felt bone-chillingly cold to me.

This was Tsuga's extra water bucket at noon.

And in case there was any doubt where we are headed,
there was a brief snow flurry.

Guess I'd better keep working away at that list, right?

Hope your weekend was lovely
and your new week is getting off to a perfect start!

~~

apples

Miss Ruth Kellogg demonstrating correct postures for various forms of housework. 1921-26.
Source: Div. Rare & MS Collections, Cornell U. Library

Since my first trip to the orchard, I've been doing a little bit of this nearly every day. Peeling and slicing a few apples.

Some of the slices have been going directly into the freezer, lined up neatly on a tray. The following day, those individually-frozen slices are popped into a labelled bag, and the tray is used to freeze the next batch.

Can you see traces of pink?
These are Macintosh.

Come Winter, I hope to do some very nice baking with these beautiful frozen apples. Won't that make Winter a warmer, friendlier place to be?

Well, that's my plan. Here's hoping.

I'll let you know.

~~~

Meanwhile, there's been some Autumn baking with fresh apples. Mostly, I've been tinkering with one simple recipe, changing up and experimenting. Remember the accidental apple-cranberry bisconey?

Last week I tried making it again: with apples, no cranberries, less sugar, and lots of cinnamon:

It came out with a dense, moist texture.

Not bad.

And yesterday, I tried another riff: making the batter a bit richer and more cake-like, mixing a whole cup of cranberries into the batter, and then adding sliced apples to the top.

Again, quite different in texture and flavor. Again, not bad.

Very surprising the way some of the cranberries migrated to the surface, right over the apple slices.

How did they do that?

~~~

For a person who doesn't really cook much, I am having a lot of fun in the kitchen lately. And it's all because of this:

A small, nearby orchard with a wonderful array of apple varieties. Such fun choosing! Hmmmm...certainly the old familiar Macs I grew up with, but also, well, I'll try a few of these Spitzenburgs (could Thomas Jefferson be wrong? about apples???) and I'll add a few Winesaps, and some Rhode Island Greenings, and oh, I almost missed the Golden Russets, and...excuse me for a second, I'll just carry these out to the car and then I'll be back in for the cider.

Oh. The. Cider.

The gloriously fragrant, snappy-sweet cider.

In the past two weeks, I have never been far from a glass of cider. I think this pressing may be the very best fresh cider I have ever tasted in my entire cider-loving life.

I wish I could pour you a glass right now.

Come on over.

Seriously.

~~~

I'll be going back to the orchard in a day or two, because I am out of apples (!) and about to open my last gallon of cider (!!). I'm waiting for a day that's warm enough to take Piper with me, for a walk along the stone walls.

It's a pretty place, this old orchard, where hard work - so often the backstory to "pretty" in a human-altered landscape - is evident everywhere you look.

The view also offers a nifty example of relativity!

I mean, look here:

Trees, right? An orchard full of big, fruitful trees.

But then you put those very trees next to a forest: 

Whoa! Quite a shift in perspective, no?

And then, you put that forest into a forested landscape as far as the eye can see:

Relativity: just something to think about while you're peeling Autumn apples and keeping an eye on Winter.

~~~~~ 

wordless wednesday

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the magic hay tree

Cloud Harvest Cashmere: where hay grows on trees!

I think most goat-owners will agree: while a goat will seek out with single-minded determination three oats that have fallen into your cuff, they are extremely wasteful when it comes to hay.

A goat will pull half a bale out of a manger, piece by piece, to get to that one special stem or one perfect seed head or one horribly wonderfully prickliest of thistles.

And that would be fine!

Except all the hay they pull out in order to reach that delicacy is now on the ground, or the floor of the barn.

And that would be fine!

Except now they won't eat it.
Because it is on the ground.
Or the floor.

Ewwwwwwwwww.

My two cobbled-together hay feeders have been working fairly well.  But when there's nice clean snow on the ground (again!), it's tempting to just throw down a flake of hay for each goat, far enough apart to discourage squabbling.  There is waste, but not as much as when the hay is on the ground.  Apparently snow acts as a sort of tablecloth, keeping the hay ewww-proof.  A goat will munch at one flake for a while, then move to the next, and the goat that was eating that flake will move down, etc.  It's Musical Goats, but no one is ever "out" as there is always a spot for each goat to eat.

Unfortunately, some goats will eat what they want of a flake then immediately lay down on the rest.  Does the expression "dog in the manger" come to mind?  It applies, believe me.  Because not only can no other goat eat this lovely (and expensive) hay, but when that resting goat gets up, she (I am naming no names) pees and/or poops in her haynest before walking away.

Ewwwwwwwwww.

One of my semi-solutions is the "hay tree" pictured at the top of this post.  I stuff a flake of hay between a few sapling poles left standing when I cut the tops off a couple of years ago.  The goats were going to kill these saplings anyway, by stripping the bark as high as they could reach.  So cutting the tops and dropping them to the ground meant more healthy browse for the goats to enjoy.

I started with Black Birches, because they would have lost their leaves early in the autumn.  The Red Oaks were saved for last, when most other deciduous trees would be leafless and the oak leaves would be a special treat.  That's what you are seeing in the picture above.  Two happy goats, and a rapidly dwindling supply of oak leaves.

When cutting tops, I would cut the poles at about six feet, higher if there was a rock to stand on, and then leave the poles standing.  The goats would gradually eat every bit of bark, and the next time I needed a pole for the garden or a hen roost, I knew just where to find one.  Lazy? Maybe.  I've never seen anyone else do it this way.  But it works for me.  And the goats enjoy using the thinner poles to scratch that hard-to-reach spot right between their horns...

like there...

and right there...

  Ahhhhhhhh!  :)

~~~
So, back to hay.  One trick for reducing waste is to keep the hay from hitting the ground for as long as possible.  With their hay tree, the goats first have to reach way up to grab a mouthful. They enjoy this!

Goats are "top down" eaters, to borrow a sock-knitting term; they tend to go for the higher vegetation first.  A pasture full of lush grass is not a sight to gladden a goat's heart.  But turn them loose on a stony hillside covered with scrubby, shrubby, and even wincingly thorny vegetation, and you can almost hear them humming the theme from The Sound of Music.

The hay tree approach takes advantage of a goat's natural inclination to start high.  Here, Lily of the Valley stands on her hind legs and demonstrates The Reach...

...then the simultaneous Pull and Munch.

As more hay gets pulled out, some of it falls.  It lands first on a big rock, which is still better than having it go straight to the ground when there is no snow.

Now Lily is joined by her sister and best friend, Violet.  Between the two girls, most of the hay will be eaten while it is still on the rock, so scattered wastage is much reduced.

Aren't they lovely?  Maybe I'm just biased.  I may be a bit biased.

And doesn't this remind you of the spaghetti scene from
Lady and The Tramp?

:)

~~~~~