It was a bit of an emotional day today. My good friend, Allan, was buried in St. Paul, close to his parent's plots, which house his late father, however; his mother is still alive and well. She just has her place already waiting. 
I was with Allan when he planned his own funeral. When I go into the next world, my wishes are for no money to be spent on my passing. After all, I will be dead and gone and that which is left will only be the body, already starting to decay. Allan had different beliefs and wanted a lovely funeral at the Ukrainian Orthodox church, with a wooden casket and a pretty fresh flower spray, and a luncheon afterwards. He was able to orchestrate his passing quite nicely. In the Orthodox church, the mummified body is open for viewing during the service and friends and family are permitted to kiss or touch or hug the resting soul one last time. I know that sounds absolutely morbid, but I grew up in the Ukrainian Orthodox way and attended so many funerals as a child. Children do not have to kiss the body or the cross, not until they are around 10 or so, anyhow. But by then, death holds no shame, no stigma and no fear. I feel it is a healthy way to say so long to those we knew and loved. 

But, this morning, my dear cousin, my father's nephew from his oldest sister, passed away. Anton was only 9 or so years younger than my father, because in those days families were large and the first born daughter and the mother were often giving birth at the same time. There were 8 in my father's family. Women married young, so Auntie Annie was married and with child when Grandma Wosnack had recently had Peter. 

Anton and my father, who was my real world hero, were much closer than brothers. They shared their hearts with one another and faced sorrows and joys and tribulations and successes together. When the Cat road construction company was disbanded in 1969, and we moved to Vancouver, my father missed Anton more than he thought he ever could, and they called one another and talked every few days and drove back and forth from Alberta to BC to be together. My mother and Anton's wife, Ann, respected one another, but did not match that undying loyalty and friendship Anton and my father had. 

I also lost an Icelandic ram that I loved very much in the past week in the thunderstorm, where I believe he was standing too close to the fence and was struck by lightning when it traveled through the wire fence. Gunnar's skull was all that was left, without a shred of meat of sinew. There were three bare rib bones and some very charred wool in the burned out patch where Gunnar met his demise. I hoped to find him alive and had been hunting for him, but never did I expect to find just his charred remains. Sweet Gunnar, now gone. 
What happens to our hearts when we lose those we love? Of course, they break. Tears flow freely and the weight of the sorrow and loss sits heavy on our shoulders. Those who are dear to us, be they human or animal, are those we do not want to see gone. Instead, we want to do all we can to ensure we have these souls around us, because we love them so. It is not selfish, I do not think, to cling to their lives with every last fibre of our being, until the last breath is taken and even then, we do not want to let go. When my father passed away, I was by his side and I was holding his hand. He gave my hand one last squeeze and inhaled deeply and then he was gone, but I did not let go. I could not. 

With each life that touches our own, be it for a short while or a very, very long time, a piece of our souls remain together with the deceased. I will miss Allan. I will think of him and find him gone too soon. I will miss Anton, too. For he was special to me and the last tie to the Wosnack Brothers (plus Anton, the nephew). None are left now. 

Time does not wait. Time does not slow down, nor does it move too quickly. When the end comes, it is final. All that remains are the memories, and how thankful I am for those. In the cold of the winter evening, I am sure I will be sitting by the wood fire, contemplating life and remembering those I have loved whom are no more on this plane. Yet, in my heart, there will be warmth and in my spirit, there will be fondness, for the singular times I have shared in my life with those too soon departed. 
Good bye Allan. 
Good bye Anton. 
Good bye Gunnar. 
May you all be in a place of love, light and joy. 
Namaste. 

There are quite a few people who raise goats that love the bottle fed babies. Bottle babies, of course, have no aversion to humans and can be easily handled as adults, but at what cost? 
The babies that are removed from their dams and are bottle fed, have no idea how to be goats. They are so dependent on their humans for food, that they do not learn to properly forage. Meals are delivered via bucket or bottle, and grain or other feed comes also from the human caretaker. 
The babies do not have a good concept of where and what to eat. In my setup for summer, the goats and sheep are cohoused and share the pasture. While the sheep mainly prefer to stay on the open grass and find tasty morsels of clovers, blades of grass and various weeds, the goats head to the bush where they demolish with gusto the caraganas, raspberries, roses and any other delicious  shrubs. They do also nibble on the tender grass in the bush. 
The bottle babies will not follow the goat herd out to the pasture. They follow the human. Me. So I walk out to the pasture with them every morning and hope they will find something good and continue with the goat herd, but on some days, they simply stay by my side and even if I wait, the moment I turn to leave, they follow. How frustrating. 
But the worst part is, without their dams teaching them what to eat, they eat the wrong things. Because the bottle babies return to the night pen, where there is grass and clover in abundance, and other weeds, they eat it. The other sheep and goats will not eat there. Their mothers have taught them that eating close to home is bad and it is. That is where the animals defecate and urinate and in the poop are worm eggs, which crawl to the tips of the grass and weeds and are waiting to be eaten so they can infest the goat or sheep. This then leads to worm overloads. 
In my herd of goats and flock of sheep, I seldom have to deworm anything. That is because of several reasons. One, I have only kept naturally pest resistant animals. Those that constantly succumb to worms are sold. Few have died. No matter what I did for them, they simply could not recover well enough to thrive. But they were also the animals that ate close to home. 
There is hay in the night pen because goats and sheep always eat. We tend to think they sleep from night to morning, but that is not the case. They often get up and eat a bit and then sleep again, so it is paramount to keep food for them or they too will eventually eat the grass and weeds in the night pen out of hunger. They know not to and won't if they have another food source. So, they always have hay year round. Ideally, the night pen should be a dry lot, that is a pen where no grass or weeds are found at all and the ground is covered with shavings, or straw or something instead. My night pen is in a small bush area, which provides security and shelter. The goats have a barn and the Guernsey cow has a lean to. The sheep stay outside by choice. But they do not eat the forage there. 
Now, back to bottle babies. I recently added 3 goats to my farm, Swiss Blacknecks, a rare breed in Canada. They are beautiful dairy goats and I want to breed them and further their development in Canada. While I do like that the goats are tame and friendly, I greatly dislike that they are under foot constantly, that they are clueless when it comes to foraging, that they do not herd with the rest of the goats, that they are human dependent and that they are more work for me than they should be. The day before the Swiss Blacknecks arrived, a Nubian doeling joined the farm. She is not bottle raised, but was hand raised and what a difference. She is not dependent on my, though I can approach her and pet her or examine her without her panicking and running away. Hand raising animals with their mothers in place is by far the better way. 
Emma, the Nubian, is friendly, easy going and gentle, but she follows the herd as she would have been taught by her dam. She knows not to eat the forage in the night pen, instinctively, because of her exposure to adult goats as a baby. I wish she would bond with the Swiss Blackneck girls as they are all new and arrived a day apart, but the Blacknecks are too human bound due to their removal from the herd and exposure just to humans. 
I am planning to have milk goats in the next year. I have learned that there is a better way to raise the babies than to remove them. They need to stay with their mothers to learn how to be goats. My plan is to keep them apart at night after a couple of weeks, milk the moms in the morning and separate them again at night. This is for sure more work and at first more stressful for the babies and moms, but it is a win win situation. No bottle babies. Dam raised kids that know how to be goats. Milk for goat cheese for me and milk for the babies too. In conclusion, I just want to emphasize how keeping bottle babies away from the goat herd does a great disservice to a naturalized forage flock. If the goats are in a dairy situation, it likely does not matter much, but on a farm, complete with predators, dogs and dangers, being with the mother and the herd is necessary. At least I think so. Do you?

Every day there is much to be done on the Fat Ewe Farm. From tending the animals to cooking a meal, from loving a lamb to doctoring a chicken, from harvesting the garden to sharing a glass of wine with friends, my hands serve me and those whom I can share with. How often have I sat pondering how life would have been different should I had chosen box B instead of A. How much I would not have known or shared from my life on the farm? 
I am very grateful this day. My lifelong friend is coming to dinner tonight. I am preparing a gourmet feast for our friend and for her and myself. We will have stuffed grape leaves with lime sauce for an appetizer followed by a herb garden salad with homemade balsamic dressing. A savoury tomato soup is simmering away on the burner and long soured bread is proofing in the oven. The main course will be lamb loaf with Portabella mushroom sauce, organic edamame with garlic butter, steamed broccoli, and curried lentils and rice. Dessert is a baked apple with Saigon cinnamon and brown sugar, drizzled in coconut cream. Of course where there is good food, there is wine to sip, and a glass of coconut water to stay hydrated and satiated. I love to create gourmet meals, but not as much as I love to serve them and to share them. The chores are nearly finished and though I planned to paint a second coat on the dungeon (basement) floor, that can wait until tomorrow. 
I got thinking about what I did for the past two days only and wrote this little missive rather than just spell it all out. Mostly, I am just so at peace and very grateful for my life at this time. And, thank YOU for being part of it. Namaste. 

                                                                                       These Hands
                                                                          I am grateful for these hands.
These hands that held a young orphan lamb and stroked her soft fleece, loved and cuddled her until her heart was quiet.
These hands that trimmed the dung from the back end of a ewe so she would remain healthy and problem free.
These hands that gave the gift of pickled eggs to two young men. 
These hands that made some gentle soap so those using it would have soft chemical free skin.
These hands that wrote words to my beloved daughter so far away in a foreign country, though so close to my yearning soul.
These hands the bled while erecting a temporary shelter for small ones to get out of the incessant and unforgiving rain.
These hands that created bread, long soured dough, the old fashioned way, to share with my friends and loved ones.
These hands that planted seeds in the garden so they would grow and be bountiful for my winter sustenance.
These hands, wrinkled, old, misshapen and arthritic, that so tenderly held the hand of an old friend whose last days are nigh.
These hands that are lovingly preparing a gourmet supper for great friends from near and far and will willingly share the nourishment.
These hands that tenderly stroked the fur of a dog imparting much love with every touch.
These hands that Painted the floor and walls of the basement so that it can become a welcoming workspace.
These hands that gratefully gathered the eggs given freely by the farm chickens.
These hands that picked fresh greens for the Angora rabbits stuck in cages.
These hands that combed the gifted wool from my gentle sheep.
These hands that gathered the herbs to infuse in healing preparations and drinks.
These hands that were washed so many times this day, worked and felt so very blessed. 

While in the city, I resented the weeds. Purslane in the garden was a demonic plant and dandelions, unforgiving. I hacked, chopped and dug those offenders and still they came in hoards. No herbicides were ever used in my garden, so it was a physical war on the weeds. 
One of the goals I set for my sojourn on the Fat Ewe Farm, was to be self sufficient. That included eating locally available food. I also concerned myself with the 'what if' there was no locally available food. What if there was a fire and the roads were impassable for a long time and trucks were unable to deliver produce? What if people would kill in order not to starve and feed their families? Those are likely far fetched stories that I hope never ever to experience, but stil....
So I began to learn to find food on the land. After all, the indigenous people who lived here were able to survive without grocery stores and gardens. There is a multitude of goodness available at my fingertips for the picking and harvesting. Much can be dried for winter use. I continue to learn about the bounty, but this missive is about eating the weeds. 
Sure, I planted lettuce. Who doesn't if they have an available space. The truth is, domestic lettuce does not have half the food value of the weeds we wage war on growing beside it. 
For example, here there are two extremely vigorous weeds that stand out. One is common malva, also called cheese plant by the locals, because the seeds form in a little whorl reminiscent of a round of cheese. I guess. The other is pigweed, also lamb's quarters, chenopodium album. This weed is miraculous in its growth without any inputs, including water. One of the what ifs was, what if there was a drought? What would I eat then? Lambsquarters will grow in low moisture conditions, not as lush or as fast as when the habitat is optimal, but it will still grow. 
Today I weeded the lettuce bed, which was filled with young lambs quarter, amaranthus (a wild weed that produces a ton of edible seeds that can be used as is or ground to a flour) and malva. The whole reason I was weeding was to have lunch! So from a row of young mesclun I was able to garner about a half pound of young, tender greens. I brought them in, of course, washed them in cold water to remove any bugs, but they add to the protein. I just do not like to eat them, YET. 
I put a huge dollop of butter in a cast iron pan, added some Hawaiian black salt and Saigon cinnamon (you can certainly leave it out or add other seasonings or spices) and mixed it into the butter, then tossed in the greens and sauteed them for about 4 or 5 minutes. I was aiming to evaporate the juice really, or most of it. Just before it was ready, I added a freshly grated clove of organic garlic and stir fried that for a minute or two so it would blend with the delicate flavour of the lamb's quarters.  
The greens were ready and so was I. The delicious aroma of garlic and cinnamon reminded me of Lula's Greek cooking when I worked at Cosmos Greek restaurant in my late teens. Fabulous! I love these greens, oh my. So tender and tasty, I snarfed them up in no time. 
These are not the only greens I have eaten, but they are the most plentiful and the best tasting. Very young amaranthus is awesome as well, but gets tough quickly as it grows, so must be harvested under 4 inches. I want to try eating the cat tail roots since I missed the shoots and the young seed fronds, which turn into the cat tails. They are thought to be like young corn on the cob and I happen to have a beaver pond full of them. Stay tuned but in the meantime, love your weeds! Yum!

We are physical and spiritual and mental. The food and drinks we partake thereof nourish or slay our physical bodies. But there is much more to optimal health that just eating well. And by eating well, that means nothing out of a can, bottle, package or container that has been processed at all. If we could access real food in cities, which is very very difficult, and avoid all pseudo foods , already we have a good start. But, humans have become lazy and do not want to prepare or cook food and indeed, many of all ages, have no idea how to even begin. 

I taught cooking to grade tens last year. What an eye opener that was. Some families never ate together. When I asked what the kids did eat, they replied with whatever I want. Everything came from a package and was already prepared and ready to eat. No one in the house cooked. Given a spaghetti squash, these young people had no idea how to open it or use it, or cook it, and once cooked , how to serve, season, and enjoy it. I would say most were entirely skeptical and negative from the get go. Sad. That is the mental part. 

If we tell ourselves we are not going to like something, chances are we won't. We won't even get as far as to give it a try. Had I not included spaghetti squash in the lesson, 90 or so kids would never have tried it. I find this with lamb meat here in the area. The locals have never tried it, have decided they won't like it and therefor have closed minds and are not willing to even give it a go. We have to change that mindset if we are going to be healthy. 

And there is the spiritual side. Gratitude. My goodness, I am humbled by my daily farm life. This morning I held a ewe who is reluctant to stand and nurse her newborn ram lamb. She did not want to be caught, she never does, but once I have her, she relaxes and stands for her baby. He eagerly drinks his fill and we repeat this process in a few hours. There is so much love filling my heart and soul holding that mamma sheep. Tears spill over my eyelids with gratitude. Without me, this little lamb likely would perish and my small part will help ensure his survival. There are no words to begin to express how I am humbled. How I am thankful. How much in awe that I am even part of this episode of life. 

When we live in cities, we go to stores for sustenance. We never consider the chickens who laboured to provide the eggs, the cows who suffered to give us that yogurt, the piggles who never had a chance to run around and snuffle the ground as piggies love to do, or those steers who were stuck in feedlots engorging on grain so heavily sprayed with glyphosate that they would not be able to live long and productive lives, but that was never their fate. We buy, and eat. No gratitude. Sometimes, instead, there is irritation because the line up was too long, the meat was not fresh enough, the yogurt we prefer was out of stock. Shopping is not a moment of bliss for most. 

But here on the farm, every moment is filled with gratitude and thankfulness. Yesterday, sitting with the bed and breakfast guests and chatting, the conversation revolved around the piece of paradise I have created as my personal haven and to share with others. They were not those to sleep in, but they did not arise until 9 am, perfectly tranquil and at ease with no agenda. For them, they marvelled at the sleep quality and were happy to see the leaves rustle on the tepid breeze and watch the newly hatching ducklings scramble over the lush, green grass to keep up with their very patient mother. They expressed feelings that were joyous and peaceful. 

No matter where you live, please find time to get out in nature. Smell the trees. Oh my goodness, there is nothing finer than walking in a black poplar forest in the evening and breathing in that incredible, fresh, sweet, green, living scnet of the trees. Walking on the EArth, feeling the steps on the soft, yielding meadow and seeing nature, tiny insects busily scurrying for food, little frogs hip hopping away from my footsteps and into the safety of the tall meadow grass, and the birds, singing for joy, singing for love and the pleasure of just being alive - this is spiritual ! One does not need a church, for the whole forest is the temple and the life therein is the congregation. Sometimes I raise my arms and sway with the trees and sing with them. I don't know what I sing, but pins and needles run from my head down my spine to my toes anchored on the EArth and I know the trees hear me. 

So, for your health, what you eat is paramount, how you think is also paramount. Live with grace. Practice gratitude if it does not come forth naturally. Be alone. Take time to restore your reserves and love. The other parts of that diet for health, are indeed spiritual, and mental, as well as physical. We can nourish our bodies, exercise at the gym and still not find tranquility and joy in life. But it is there. And the more we deliberately go out of our way to BE in it, the more it simply becomes our lives. Mind, body and spirit, or soul, if you prefer, must all be nourished. 
​Namaste. 

I have been studying nutrition and diets for year. I do not mean necessarily weight loss diets, but diets that are meant to help keep the body well nourished.  

What I have learned is rather amazing and although it should be common knowledge, people do not want to hear about it, nor do they want to change what they are eating. That amazes me. 

Part of my journey to The Fat Ewe Farm was to be able to provide my own healthy food. I am not a meat farmer, but meat is a byproduct of the wool industry and milk industry, whether I like that fact or not. Not having set out to raise animals to slaughter them, I find that it is part of farming and even if it is not me doing the eating of the flesh, someone else will be. Since I strictly grass feed the ruminants, which include the cows, sheep and goats, they are already healthier than most others one can buy. There is no routine deworming or vaccinations. Animals are vaccinated if they are being ported off the farm to be in a public place, otherwise not. And they are dewormed when they show signs of stress by not being able to manage their own parasite loads. Not routines. That is what causes medicine resistance. Another whole topic. 

So, I take my ram lambs and buck goats to the butcher at about six or seven months of age. They are not large meat animals, but they are 100% healthy. A little fat is present, though not overly much. In a very good year, when the grass is lush, they may gain a bit more fat, but the pasture here is marginal and the breeds that thrive are able to do so by converting poor quality grass to fatty acids in their stomachs. Which means they are actually living on fat, not protein, and for some reason everyone seems to get that wrong. They believe what they are told only. 

So, I want to live on fat too. I have tried the Specific Carbohydrate diet, which limits the types of carbohydrates to slow acting, high fibre ones and restricts intakes of sugar and dairy. It is a very good diet. Not enough though, for me. I went on the Ketogenic diet and got leg cramps, because there is little regard for healthy food and many pseudo foods and processed foods are permitted provided they are low carb. Not adequate for me. Whole 30 was better, concentrating on just real food, nothing packaged, bottled, or processed. 30 days of eating real food with no dairy, grain or sugar. That was almost perfect, but there were still foods that my body did not like, so I switched to Auto Immune Paleo. Ah ha! That one is like the Whole 30, only also restricts seeds and anything made from seeds, which includes black pepper and coffee, and dairy. Nightshade vegetables are a "watch" as well as some other food groups. 

Why am I so concerned. Well, my mother has dementia, arthritis and had IBS, irritable bowel syndrome, which we thought was bowel incontinence due to her age. Who knew about IBS even 10 years ago? But it all makes sense now. Irritable bowel syndrome is leaky gut. The gut and brain are connected by a huge lymphatic system, hence her dementia. And arthritis is an autoimmune disease caused by leaky gut as well, and is triggered by different foods for different individuals. As a matter of fact, EVERY illness, from schizophrenia to Multiple Sclerosis is related to diet. 

I have/had IBS. I have arthritis and I will be darned if I will get dementia. I also have hypothyroidism. I will bet my mother did too, but she was likely never checked. I do remember her complaints of the symptoms of the disease though. We knew so little ten years ago. 

People, when eating their indigenous diets worldwide, do not have those diseases. They do not have dental cavities. Then when they adopt the western diet, which is grain and sugar based, poof! Diabetes, heart problems, mental illness, and every other western disease possible becomes rampant. I was researching diabetes in South America and is is critical there. People are embracing soda pop, chocolate bars, boxed sugar cereals, processed milk products and junk food. And they are very sick because of it, just like North Americans. 

The Fat Ewe Farm has good food. I planted a big garden. Hopefully it will provide vegetables to freeze and can and ferment. And in the late fall, there will be more lambs and goats and ducks and chickens to butcher. I bought a dairy cow, but she has milk that has a digestible protein. Raw milk can be fermented into kefir and yogurt and real buttermilk, clotted cream and sour cream. Those real food products once were part of the North American diets too. No longer. 

So, the diet journey has been long. It has not been easy. Basically I have had to adapt to eating differently with lots of meat, butter, coconut oil, avocados (I always ate those) and non starchy vegetables. That is the entire diet. It is tasty, healthy and I sincerely believe will keep me healthy in mind and body until I pass away. 

There is one more component. That is light and Earth. I turn off my computer and Wifi at bedtime. Currently I am still on the computer more hours a day than I want to be. I am working on that. I am outside every single day. i have to be to take care of the animals and that was part of my plan to stay/become healthy.I do not get Facebook, email or internet on my cell phone and the location is turned off to avoid excessive Wifi.  I walk on the Earth, but not barefoot. If I find my moosehide moccasins, it is almost like being barefoot. I do not have a TV, so no media is in my life. And I try to sleep enough. There is exercise daily in the chores, fresh air, being with and part of nature, and a peaceful, Wifi, computer, phone free night.  This also is important for health. 

There are so many ways I am entirely grateful for my life and my farm, for my animals and for my ability to learn new facts. I am thankful for my curiosity and my need to know. Just in really a few years, mankind has learned an incredible amount about diet and that old adage, we are what we eat, is truer than ever. Everything from depression and paranoia to sincere tranquility and joy are all diet related. Please learn this for yourself. 
Namaste. 
​

It never fails! About this time every year, the hens go broody and they become insane. They fight over eggs and push the other hens off nests. They lay in nests that other hens are sitting on. Sometimes there are three hens in a nest box. This year, and in some previous years, the ducks also get involved in the hatching frenzy and will sit on any eggs, chicken or duck or steal a hen's nest or nest with a hen. Unbelievable . 
But there is a huge problem. When a hen starts to incubate eggs, there is an expiry day, usually 21 days thereafter. For duck eggs , that date is 28 to 32 days. Other eggs laid later and added to the nest may force the first ones out of the area that the hen effectively can keep warm. Eventually they rot and can explode and man does it stink. Then the flies lay eggs and maggots get into the nests and still, those hens persist. 
I have been hesitant to destroy the nests entirely. After all, the moms are hopeful to raise their broods and some of the eggs are truly viable. I did destroy an abandoned nest the other day after the hen hatched only one chick. She left the others. That is not usual because the babies are making noise and the hens are aware of life in the eggs , as are the babies aware of their mothers. That is why it is so hard to rehome a newly hatched chick. The mother hen knows it is not hers and the baby knows the sound of its mother's cluck before it is hatched. 
When I destroyed the rest of the eggs, 4 of them had chicks that only needed a few more days to hatch. They were still alive, but barely, because they had been abandoned and got cold. Of course, when the eggs are opened, the babies do die and I felt like ...yeah, I did. 
Now, in the two chicken coops, there are many nests with one to two hens fighting over them and others still laying and wanting to claim them as theirs. They really do get crazy. 
A bunch of chicks hatched today. I will give the rest of the hens until the end of this coming week and then will take the nests apart and clean the coop. Right now it reeks  of rotten eggs and dead things. The flies are having a hay day too. The chicks that hatched today need to be taken out to feed and drink within the next three days or they will perish. If the hens are still sitting on their nests with the chicks, I will have no choice but to remove the eggs and take the coop apart for cleaning and disinfecting. 
I am glad I have hens that hatch their own babies, but the way they do it is ridiculous. If all the eggs hatch and the babies survive the ravens, there will shortly be 100 more chickens at the Fat Ewe Farm. Some of them remain as replacement layers and the rest go into the freezer for chicken soup and winter meals. The birds are fairly tough by the fall, and I do try to get them in by the time they are 12 weeks old, but I can only take the time I am given at the butcher's. 
Just one more week of crazy hens. No, wait! Have you ever been attacked by a mother hen? Viscious! Some of them would take your head off if they could. And that is a good thing when they are free ranging as they are, but for me, not so great. 
At least just one more week of broodies. Yup. That is it. Anyone want to come and help clean the coop? 
​Thought so.