Tuesday, October 25, 2016

The Average Breed PRODUCTION Numbers in Dairy goat Herds on Milk test / DHIR for 2015


Keep in mind, herds that test will generally be some of the top production herds, so your averages are very likely to be less, perhaps substantially so.
DOES 275-305 DAYS in MILK
Breed - Average LBS over lactation daily - Butterfat - Protein
ALPINE 9.2lbs 3.2 % Butterfat 2.9 Protein
LAMANCHA 8.4lbs 3.7% Butterfat 3.1 Protein
NIGERIAN DWARF 2.5lbs 6.3% Butterfat 4.4% Protein
NUBIAN 6.9lbs 4.8 % Butterfat 3.8 % Protein
OBERHASLI 7.8lbs 3.7 % Butterfat 3.0 % Protein
SAANEN 9.9lbs 3.2 % Butterfat 2.9 % Protein
TOGGENBURG 8.3% 3.1 % Butterfat 2.7 % Protein

I think of her so often, daily. . .so much, I'm not thankful for what I have still

I think of the sister I lost often. Daily, really.

I've never believed in someone's love for me as much. It isn't to say I loved her more than all else, but I've loved no one more, and there was something there for her I'll never know again.
There are things a sister who has known you since you were a child offers no one else can. . .
There are things I'll never have without her, but I hope I can find a way to not let all of that hurt prevent the other little sister who came along so long after the first "Little" one that she could never feel the way Angel did about me once upon a time.
And in the same token, perhaps one day all the desperate missing of the one will let me remember more often to not take this one for granted.
She is Alana. Quite unique and decidedly her own strange person. . .and one I know my darling Angel would have loved as blindly as she ever loved me, and I'd say this little one will have deserved the love more than I ever did.
And darn them both for all those weird hugs they love(d) to give me. Maybe one day, I will learn how to like them.

Saturday, October 15, 2016

This photo show the result of the AVERAGE consumer. That is what is shows you. The consumer in America is what creates these nightmares. Your demand.

Despite what this article on the blog by OGP says, A TRUE farmer would never casually just think of this type of disaster as merely a financial loss. He would be there by boat trying to save what was left likely even if not allowed to do so legally. He would be doing something. 

Factory farms are not ran by farmers. They are ran by CEOs, really. The disconnect between food and living beings occurs when people run these "operations" (not farms) like machines. 

A real farmer would be out there with a boat or 12 if he had to trying to save his livestock, even at his own detriment, folks, more often than not. I'm sure many caring farmers did just that. The corporate machines? No. Those aren't farmers.

I know a vegan agenda would have people believe this picture shows "the average farmer'" and his view of his animals, but that is simply not true.

This photo is more about the results of the AVERAGE consumer. That is what is shows us. The consumer in America is what creates these nightmares where thousands of animals are in mass buildings where evacuation and rescue is impossible. Your demand. Your money and how you spend it, how I spend it, creates the world we want.

Let this image inspire you to become more aware of where you food comes from (I hope it reminds me, too), and let it encourage you to buy AT LEAST one more thing locally, from small farmers, as often as you can that you are certain care very much.

(Not my image, not my article from One Green Planet. My comments are directed around and toward article by One Green Planet.)

They are the light that I suppose I'll always see at the end of a tunnel I will never walk entirely through.

I've had some lows.

I've been so bleak sometimes. . . well, let me tell you, touch and go couldn't explain where I've been. May often still be, and yet. . .

Some nights ago, my husband said to me, "You know, you've never been the person I met since. . .that night." I heard some good and bad in those words.

That night my sister. . .so beloved by me she was. . .7 years younger and so beautiful, and my little brothers. . .were gone in a fire and rain and smoke and screams and tears and horror. A few years later, Daddy was gone, too.

More than half of my family. . .gone. The people who crafted me, gone. The people I built hopes and a future around. A vapor.

I've missed them. I've cried for them. I've begged God for them back. I've stopped and still stop when alone on the roadside because the memories are more than anyone can bear and be "normal."

I've wished to not be here without them, anymore. I've been unable to love others enough because of how much I wanted them. And then, I took apart that old person bit by bit. I've built her back brick by brick.

He didn't tell me I am not the same to be cruel. He didn't say the girl he knew before was better. He did say she was happier. She was. In a superficial way, she was blissful. And selfish. And she knew everything. And sometimes, she cared very little. And she wasn't thankful enough. And she didn't want to give everything she had to make other beings have more, be better, to have a chance.

And maybe I still haven't learned my lesson well enough because I'd be that mediocre creature again in the blink of an eye to see them again. Even for a few hours, but that isn't the way it works.

And since I do have to trudge on, I'm glad I'm better now, if less happy. I am certainly more thankful, and I believe that has more value.

And there are these 3 boys, one not so little anymore and two that still come to snuggle in the morning with me, and if things had to be this way, they are the light that I suppose I've always see at the end of a tunnel I will never walk entirely through.

Friday, October 7, 2016

I've loved Jesus My whole life. This may seem a strange post, if you're not from rural West Virginia, but. . .

I've loved Jesus My whole life. This may seem a strange
post, if you're not from rural West Virginia where there is 95% religion and only 5% Jesus moving about, but. . .
My mother laid a foundation that could never be moved. It is
solid. The best. Concrete. She accomplished a lot if you know me, as I question
everything. 12 times. In the end, I'm convinced.
I have believed in love and kindness and Jesus from the time
I could speak. I knew his words. I know them forward, backward and through unto
my soul. I knew he had power. I've seen the miraculous.
I grew older, and I became discouraged. The people claiming
"Christ" ruined everything he said. I thought, "If these are his
people, then he isn't real at all."
They took him and all he was and tore him apart.
They destroyed Christ. I let people who had no idea what he
said or meant influence far more than I should have, really.
I knew who he was when I was young. He was magnificent. He
was Love. He inspired Awe. I had to get to a place I ignored the
"followers" to even believe in HIM once again.
Religion did her best to ruin him, and I am thankful he is
greater than the mess the people I've know have made of him. My word, Yes,
greater than that mess.
The church I know and see all over makes the life I lead
where religion doesn’t matter and kindness to mankind and animals matters.
Well, fact is, I love being being "fringe."
This suits me quite well. I could explain why, but I don't
think it is needed. I've known the Lord my whole life. I think I need to rely
on what I know at this point.
When I could move the "followers" out of the way,
I remembered he knows me. He crafted me to be the person I am. Not for me to do
whatever I want, but in a way that if I listen to him, he will direct me in a
unique way that doesn’t need to fit into a religious mold.
He thought there was value here. I am quite sure of that,
and the Modern Church has no place in my life or in Christianity.
I hope believers can find a way to figure it out sooner than
later, but until then, you can find me over there. . .Saying, "Jesus is
real. he loves you. Me. Horses. Goats. He loves them all." Thank God 

I hate to drive to Lincoln county.

I hate to drive to Lincoln county.
So much I loved desperately was lost there or remembered there.
I loved so much so long ago. I've forgotten how to do that.
My daddy, my Angel, my Ben, My Quentin, My papaw.
This old store is just a place off the side of route 10, but when I traveled down a few days ago, I stopped.
His store. My store. My life. Everything.
Shambles. Wrecked. A thing of the past. Somehow standing still, but not really. . .not if you knew it before it all. . .
Much like me, but if you didn't know it before, how would you know when you look? Maybe this place was always a wreck?
Except it wasn't.
And perhaps, a long time ago, neither was I. Perhaps. I forget, and it has been so long.
And so I stopped. I think of times before it was destroyed. Before it was shambles. I think after almost a decade, even I cannot remember back then.

Tuesday, October 4, 2016

These wild, feral kids who run around in their bloomers

These wild, feral kids who run around in their bloomers. . .
I miss them being little sometimes. . .not often. It was hell on earth more often than not, actually, when they were tiny guys.
I joke sometimes about how some women would have turned them into the local fire station. Except, I am not joking.
I wasn't really mommy material, but I sigh a bit sadly when I think about the last day they will call me, "Mommy," moving on to the more grown up version, Mom, Like my oldest did at least 8 years ago or more.
They cried all night and day for years when little babies and toddlers. They didn't start sleeping through until they were 3 or 4 (years old). It was touch and go just keeping them alive on this active farm full of goats, horses, dogs and cattle.
These guys have grown up on raw milk, being barefoot in manure and maybe riding forward facing way before 2 in their carseats.
They made it through infancy sleeping in bed with us smooshed all together, being packed around in slings during horse rescue and slipping out to mingle with the herds when they shouldn't have or riding ponies in those said bloomers in the rain.
They are subject to me as their teacher. . .the teacher of sounds, numbers (a scary thought) and where we came from as people in this world. They have to put clothes on sometimes and go out in the public, and they opt to say things like, "Jesus Saved the whole World" and "My mommy saves horses. Maybe she needs a job that pays money, but she tells, "No'" or "When I grow up, I am going to have Pug rescue, for sure. You have to rescue something, right?"
I cannot imagine doing all that led up to where they are again. When I see pregnancy posts and new birth posts, I usually grimace, but. . .in the end, in the over 15 years of motherhood I've logged, no matter what I do, I know they will always be the greatest accomplishment of my life. I'll always be thankful they were mine.
And I'll always be thrilled I gave in for those next 2 for the farming fellow's sake. Yet, I'll be especially glad I called it a day at three.



Be thou diligent to know the state of thy flocks, and look well to thy herds. For riches are not for ever: and doth the crown endure to every generation? The hay appeareth, and the tender grass sheweth itself, and herbs of the mountains are gathered. The lambs are for thy clothing, and the goats are the price of the field. And thou shalt have goats' milk enough for thy food, for the food of thy household, and for the maintenance for thy maidens

- Proverbs 27:23-27

"I know of no pursuit in which more real and important services can be rendered to any country than by improving its agriculture, its breed of useful animals, and other branches of a husbandman's cares."

- George Washington