Farm Share Info

Our Farm Share is members only. There is a yearly fee of $35 to be a member (similar to Costco or Sam’s club). We require a first time Farm visit and get to know one another to make sure you know what your getting, where its coming from, how it was grown, why something was done as well as who grew it for you to put on your dinner plate. The member is able to come to the farm and purchase goods raised or grown on the farm by appointment. It helps us know what to produce, how much to produce and gives us feed back on how we are helping our members consume more nutrient dense foods grown and raised without pesticides and antibiotics.
Please contact us directly by email at Stablefood@Gmail.com for more information.

I am being re-habbed by my own horse

How often do we refer to re-training an ‘animal’ as “re-habbing”?

Well I have a young mare that sees what I don’t see in myself anymore. Reading ‘things that change life’s directions’ first may help understand what she sees as wrong with me. Her name is Faith. She was born in 2008, she was a ‘bun in her momma’s oven’ when I got hit. So I didn’t have a great deal of contact with her when she was growing up on pasture with the mares. She has ‘delicate sensibilities’ much like I do. I get frustrated with her, I am in a hurry all the time to make up for ‘lost time’ that I cannot get back. She knows when I am holding my breath, so she runs, she shakes when I reach for her. I am slow, deliberate and gentle with her. We were friends once. Now she is not so sure. She makes me slow down and breathe. When I stop, let out the breath I am holding and take a deep breath and let it out again she relaxes and does exactly the same. She willing does any scary thing I ask, as long as I breathe.

She is phenomenal, jet black, short coupled, long dark legs, and a trot that any Olympian would give their eye teeth for. She is the epitome of collection. Loose on her own, collected work naturally. Her parents corrected everything they did wrong when they created her brother Donovan and I thought ‘he’ was the “IT” I had looked all my life to create.  His photo graces the FB page Iberian Dressage.

But she corrects me. Makes me breathe again. Shows me that I am not always ready to work the colts again. We have several on the way this year. We cannot support the ranch/farm if everyone isn’t pulling their weight. That means that the mares need to have babies to sell (and those foals must be worked with) to cover their expenses and their share of the taxes on the land they live on and that supports them. Are you starting to see the full circle of the farm yet? I will remind you often, of the bills that need to be paid with cash. Trades and bartering don’t pay taxes. It takes cold hard cash. Gone are the days of paying the government in livestock or produce for the kings table for the right to eek out an existence on land that you call yours. I guess she is the barometer I must work by and up to her standards to get back to where I was. The stallions don’t show me what she does. They are much more like men. Even if there are really responsive they are not ‘delicate’. And we say that we train them… what a laugh.

I am often asked if I am a horse trainer. I always say ‘no’. People look at me funny. I cannot explain what I do, but I certainly don’t train them. I ask them to do things. If they don’t understand, we go through it, over and over until they understand what I am asking and are not afraid to offer a guess at it. We both know when the little light of recognition goes on. And they say. “is ‘that’ what you wanted, oh, ok”, “I still think its scary to walk on that welded wire panel laying on the ground, but if you say it wont entrap my legs, then ok”. Then we practice it a few times. Ah, the word practice, we will cover that another time. We just communicate well together. I always got great results, before my life was changed forever. DH always says I am more horse than human. That’s a label I can accept and live with. Horse trainer, on the other hand I will not.

Please, it is unnecessary for anyone to comment about her being abused. She has not been. She, like her now 19 year old dam, was born with us. She is just emotionally sensitive. I post this because I feel strongly that animals are our emotional mirrors. Her father, Merlin, had a similar reaction when 3 ILAHA Judges could not agree with each other about him wearing the same snaffle bit that he qualified for a Regional Finals class in because he had turned 5 years old. The rules had changed mid season (a whole other story for another time). I was upset under my professional persona and he knew it. He didn’t want to work in that arena anymore because it upset me. He just didn’t know why, he just knew it was a bad place to be. But once talked into doing his professional job, he had the best scores of the class anyway. These are ‘War Horses’. I am honored and often humbled to be their servant. And, apparently, being re-habbed.

To raise a Jersey Bull

Wow, doesn’t seem as though It’s been a week since I last wrote to you all. I have really been thinking hard on Steak. I must caution everyone that read ‘What’s butter got to do with Steak’.  Steak was a 2 year old Jersey Bull. I did talk about hugs and kisses with a Jersey bull. The most notorious breed of Dairy bull to KILL their owners. Yes I said ‘KILL’. They are not to be taken lightly. Bulls are not your friends. They do a necessary farm job, keeping the cows pregnant. There is a country song that says ‘don’t mess with the bull, he can get real mean’, this is very true. So why on earth did I give MY bull hugs and kisses? Because it kept his 1400 pounds of fence destroying, truck totaling, possible human killing machine centered, peaceful and content. Usually a bull is raised at a distance. Always expected to back up and go away when you enter his area. That’s how we raised him, but he also liked contact, so when he was contained or there were 2 of us humans, we allowed him contact. Through his stall fencing.  I would NEVER recommend anyone that didn’t absolutely need to, to keep a bull. My bull keeping is a transient thing. Once Pearl or any other dairy cow I have is confirmed pregnant at the time I want her bred, he is destined for freezer camp. He has only two purposes on this ranch, cover the cows and attend freezer camp as soon as possible thereafter. Steak was raised on pasture by Pearl as a foster. She taught him manners, we reinforced them. We taught him to lead and follow with a halter and lead rope. Be respectful of our space and our pitiful human wants and desires of a bull. He was well mannered even if a bit boisterous. He could have easily let himself out of his stall, the round pen (which he would pick up and move around as he saw fit when he was in it, just for entertainment), the pastures… any time he wanted. I guess we kept him happy enough that he didn’t feel it necessary to exercise his muscle to get what his whims were. He patiently waited his turn as I fed down the barn isle, he gratefully accepted his breakfast, lunch and dinner and late night snack allotments with more grace than his neighboring stallions on occasion. He didn’t complain if I was a bit late with his meals or if the ducks washed their beaks in his water tub and it need to be dumped and cleaned again. Not every bull is terrible, they just have the ability to be incredibly dangerous. What made me think I could raise and keep a bull? Stallions. I have raised, trained and sold more stallions than I can account for.  This gave me the confidence to raise a bull to cover Pearl and the necessary tools and experience to be firm and loving. BUT, bulls are not stallions, not even close.  None the less we did accomplish raising one nice boy to his eventual purposes. We also never for one minute would have hesitated to do what needed to be done at any given moment if it ever became necessary, even if it were a bad time for us to have harvested him, we were ever on our guard around him. Even watering him, I was on the outside of his stall. I had a difficult time getting his half barrel out of his stall one day and he wanted fresh water. I didn’t want to go in with him, I knew it wasn’t safe, being here on the ranch alone more hours a day/week than I care to think about, I couldn’t get it out. It had too much water in it and was too heavy. If I squirted him just a bit with the hose I knew he would back off and go to another corner, but I hated doing that (it really insulted him to be ‘showered’) and it was no guarantee that if I went in his stall to dump his water that he would stay in the other corner, no, he would come over and see if he could help and then maybe want to rub his huge head on me and get some lovin. Which translates to ME getting SQUASHED into the rails and PRESSED on by a huge bull head and all his weight, while he thought he was getting loving, he would effectively be seriously destroying my body like a rag doll. Nope, not this farm girl. But he wanted clean water, what to do? He knew what I was trying to do and he had his own idea of how to get it. He got his top knot under the bottom edge of the barrel and lifted it in the corner against the stall rails and all the way to the top of the 5 foot rails for me to receive, dump, scrub and return with clean water. Well… ok. But I don’t want to go through this again. So I got him a shorter tub that he could push out from under his stall anytime he wanted clean water. I could see from across the barn that it was out of his stall and that was his gracious way of telling me he needed his clean water. Steak, you will always hold a special place in my heart. I’m not sure any other bull I raise will ever be as grand as you were.         Will we raise another, we are at it now.             Your Milk Maid