Archive for February 26th, 2012



Yesterday’s beekeeping class was great–we got to look at and touch and play with real hives! This is a top bar hive, which is the kind of hive I want to use. I’m still not planning to start keeping bees until next spring. I’m just in learning mode. (Pictured: SarahGrace, who is also going to beekeeping class, and Leslie, who is one of the beekeeping gurus and also makes top bar hives.)

But back to BP and Glory Bee. Some of you know SarahGrace from the comments and/or the forum. She has a farm about 10 miles away (or something like that–in the county). Her neighbor has a bull, and his bull is with her cow right now. She has invited BP and Glory Bee to come stay on her farm with her cow and the bull! This is perfect because one of my biggest concerns about sending my cows somewhere was that they wouldn’t be personally supervised much. No one supervises their cow like someone with a milk cow, so being able to send them to stay with someone’s milk cow is a great comfort.

With all the upheaval in the past three months, and a lot of busy work in the coming months with the studio project, this is really not a good time to make any big decisions on other tangents. (I’ve looked into AI training. It’s not cheap nor is the equipment. The class alone is $500.) Long-term, it may be something I eventually decide I have to do, but I have other things on my plate right now. I’m relieved to have found a farm situation where I’m actually comfortable leaving them.

As of now, the move is planned for next Saturday, and I’ll be leaving them for a few months. I don’t know whether or not BP will get pregnant again, ever, or not. She might surprise us! Or not. But she will go, too, as she is Glory Bee’s sun, moon, and stars, and will act as Glory Bee’s magnet on an unfamiliar farm. Glory Bee is 17 months old and she is cycling. I believe she was in heat last week.

If Glory Bee comes home bred, the best stories are yet to be told–when I start milking her!!!!!

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The Slanted Little House

"It was a cold wintry day when I brought my children to live in rural West Virginia. The farmhouse was one hundred years old, there was already snow on the ground, and the heat was sparse-—as was the insulation. The floors weren’t even, either. My then-twelve-year-old son walked in the door and said, “You’ve brought us to this slanted little house to die." Keep reading our story....

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