Stop. Look. Listen. Not just at the Railroad Tracks.

It's been forever since I've posted anything, and any of you that have read my previous few posts probably know I'm a huge picture taker.  I love to tell stories with my photos, but my camera lens has recently gone bad, and I'm waiting anxiously to see if Santa is bringing me a new one for Christmas this year. :) With the marketing of our Real Farm Foods Premium Meats, I compose and send out an email newsletter each week.  Along with my camera lens, our main computer's operating system went out last week, so I've lost access to all my previous emails and my photos stored on that computer while it's being worked on. Anyhow, without whining anymore, I was not in the mood to even do anything with the newsletter today.  Blame it on the weather; it's been raining and cloudy most of the day.  Blame it on me being female; that one should be obvious.  Blame it on Monday, I just didn't want to sit down and write.  But I did.  And below is a tweaked version of what I put in our newsletter this week.  Once I was finished, I realized it was a great blog.  Even without the photos. It's a dreary day here as I write this, not really in the mood to do anything but curl up with Taylor's cat and take a nap or get lost in the twinkling of the lights on the Christmas tree.  And then I think of a friend's post on Facebook yesterday.  She asked, "How do you find joy in life?"  My comment was:  "Stop.  Look.  Listen."  One of those right from the gut remarks.  You know, when you just talk (or type) before thinking. Funny how we preach right to ourselves before we even realize we need preaching to.   I've been bummed since I learned this morning of a wonderful man's passing last night.  He was always cheerful and always had a good story to tell, a wonderful Christian man well known in the community.  Though he has been fighting health issues for a time, I am heartbroken for his loving wife, even more so that it is now just 6 days prior to Christmas.  After all, this is supposed to be joyous season.   Some of you may not celebrate the holidays as we do, and it makes no difference what time of year it is when we lose a loved one, the hurt and loneliness abound.  But it makes me wonder about my friend's post yesterday.  Where's the joy now? I still think my answer, railroad-y as it may be, is the right answer. Whether in the midst of utter happiness or complete depression, I believe it is so important for us to stop and wait on God.  I'm not sure this can be done in the middle of a shopping mall or any other place or time which demands your preoccupation.  I'm blessed that I am able to go for miles in any direction on our property and just sit in the middle of a field of sheep, a paddock of cows or the woods full of pigs and just stop and get away from my busyness.  And wait.  On God. One of my favorite things to do is to go out to the sheep flock and find my girl, Holly.  Holly is our one-eyed Great Pyrenees sheep dog.  I love to lay out in the field with Holly, and soak everything in.  The soft sounds of the sheep grazing, the baas of the little ones who've lost sight of their mother, a passing bird overhead or a chattering squirrel nearby.  These are the things it's hard to see unless we stop. Once we stop, we have the ability to look.  And see.  There is a difference.  I think we look at things everyday.  But do we really see what we are looking at?  I find a great realization comes over me when I am truly seeing things.  I am often filled with the reality of how small I truly am in this great big universe.  Yet God sees me.  Once we can see, we can look at all of God's creation in awe and wonder.  Maybe similar to what the shepherds saw in that beautiful star over Bethlehem.  Awe and wonder.  Are we seeing God? And with looking, comes listening.  Notice I've not said anything about talking, singing, yelling, whispering.  I believe it's in these quiet times of waiting on God that we actually are able to hear Him.  He speaks to us through all of His creation.  The cry of an eagle, the bubbling spring, the soft rain falling out my window.  Reminds me of the old saying about God gave me two ears and one mouth for a reason.  I think He also gave us two eyes for a reason.  We need to take the time, especially in the hustle and bustle of the holiday season, to stop.  And look.  And listen. May you all have peace, His peace, this Christmas.

Ms. Cowboy's Chicken Cutting 101

We've gotten so used to being able to eat what we want when we want that we've lost the ability to truly prepare meals from scratch.  Sure, modern foods have a convenience, but is it worth it?  Anyhow, I won't harp on that soap box today.  This is a blog about cutting up a chicken.  But, before I forget, thanks to Cowboy Cody for helping out with the photographs so I didn't get chicken slime all over my camera.

We sell pastured poultry through our Real Farm Foods and it's a very common thing for women of all ages (once in a while a guy, too) to ask how to cut up a chicken.  I think it's become a lost art that nearly all homemakers used to know back when things were geared a little differently.

So, let's start from the beginning.

This is a chicken.  A pastured, free range, grass and bug eating, sunshine enjoying, wing flapping, happy, cackling chicken.  Well, at least she used to be.  Now she's going to make me cackling happy.  To keep it simple, you're looking at the top of the bird, the breast side. 

If you're wanting to cut up all the parts of the chicken, start here.  Just want the thick, white breast meat, skip a few steps.  For a whole fryer, the first parts I cut off are the legs.  Start by slicing the skin and the meat around where the leg meets the thigh on the top part of the bird. 

Now, we call it cutting up a chicken, but let's get real.  There's a whole lot of grabbing and breaking going on.  Doesn't hurt a thing, but it's a whole lot easier than trying to slice through a joint with your best kitchen knife. 

So, grab the bird in one hand and the leg in the other after you've sliced all the way through to the joint, and bend the leg down away from the top of the bird.   

The joint will pop apart and your leg will be seperated. 

Continue cutting the meat apart from the thigh where you just broke the joint. 

You have a leg.  Now repeat on the other side.  Other side of the bird, that is.

 Now for the wings.  Cut around where the wing is attached to the side, similarly as you cut around the leg.

 Here's some more grabbing and breaking.  Grab the wing in one hand, the bird in the other and snap backwards.  The wing joint will pop apart, just as the leg joint did.

 Finish cutting any connecting skin away from the joint area.

And you have a wing.  Repeat.  For another wing.

 And now for everyone's favorite.  But, before you chicken cutting-up professionals look so closely at my pictures that you notice this bird still has her legs, let me explain. 
I'm as American as the girl next door.  I like the white meat.  So, when I cut up a chicken, I so many times will only cut off the white breast meat, using the remaining carcass for soup and stock.  The Cornish Cross variety of chicken that we grow has a lot of meat, and the breast meat alone is enough for a couple of meals for our family.  So, out of habit, I started cutting the breast of this girl before I remembered that most folks wanted to see pictures of cutting up the rest of the bird.
(Keep watching for a blog on our happy Cornish Cross chickens.)

 We start by cutting along one side of the breast bone from the neck to the bottom of the breast.  You should be able to slice along and pull the breast meat away from the breastbone all the way down. 

 Continue pulling, gently! while slicing with the knife, much as you would if you were skinning or trimming a piece of meat. 

 Don't you love the pinky finger?  So ladylike.

 Once all the meat is cut away from the breastbone, you will be able to cut along the underneath side, completely removing the breast meat away from the bird.

You should have something that resembles something like this.  Half a breast.  Or something like that.  Once again, repeat. 

Some of you may notice that I did nothing with the thighs.  Well, for me the thighs are as good as the wings.  Ain't much to 'em.  I think they're better off in the stock pot, anyway.

But, since this has about a gazillion photos, I'll do a seperate blog on frying up these marvelous pieces.

Happy cutting!

No Name Puppy

Many of you who have been fans of our Real Farm Foods Facebook page know that we lost our Blue Heeler, Brutus, this last summer.  In fact, one of the few blogs I've blogged had photos of Brutus and Lurch, our Great Pyrenees, whom we also lost this last year, to other reasons.  Two terrible days on the ranch.



Lurch & Brutus

Brutus was a good dog, full of vigor and age.  He was, in fact, the same age as Taylor, 15 when he died.  That's a ripe old age for a dog.  When we lost Brutus, due to old age and the natural scheme of life, we were left dogless at the house.  We knew we'd need and want another good dog around at some time, but not too soon.

Brutus

Around the end of September, Taylor and I started looking for leads on good young farm dogs.  With all the critters running around the ranch, we have to be pretty particular on the type of dog we have around here.  Preferably not one that's a bird dog by nature.  The chickens, after all, are part of our business!  But, we had a conference scheduled to be at the first whole week of December.  Taylor would even be attending with us, which meant none of us would be home to tend and care for a new dog.  So, Cowboy Cody informed us that we would need to wait until after the first week of December to bring a new dog home.
This is what Cowboy Cody brought home the last week of November.

Puppy

Adorable, right?  A 6-week old Red Heeler puppy.  Perfect.  Really.  She would be the perfect dog for us.  But, just a few days before we would be out of town for a full week?  Thankfully, Taylor's best friend, Abby, talked her folks into letting the adorable little varmit stay with them for the week.  They spoiled her rotten.

Well, although this cute, little adorable, yippy ball of fur is still unnamed (heaven forbid we call her Puppy forever), she's growing well and learning the ropes of being a ranch dog.  But we could really use a name for this dog.

That said, this is still the view we see most from her... 

She's found out which of the cats will be her friend and which won't.  This is Dork, aptly named, with Puppy.  Dork's a special needs cat.  Ridiculous, really. 

Dork & Puppy

When he walks, he reminds me of the cats walking down the path on the Disney movie, Aristocats.

Puppy has a well, puppy, that she loves to romp and play and sleep with.  Here, I caught her sleeping with puppy with the plastic tag in her mouth.  Didn't take long for her to chew the tag off of puppy.  We really need a name for this dog.  :)

She loves visiting my Jersey milk cows in the early morning.  Her favorite is Anna, because she always lowers her head to let Puppy lick her nose and pull on her ears.  No pictures of that, but I do have video if I ever get the hang of posting video on the web...  Being a puppy, she loves to play and thinks everyone and everything is here for her sheer enjoyment.  Even the milk cows' calves...

Wilbur, one of our big non-special needs cats that likes to spend as much time in the house as out, tolerates Puppy quite well.  Maybe torments is a better word.  They chase each other around, pulling each others' tails and more.  One of Puppy's favorite things to do is to pull the food bowl away from Wilbur.  That always gets a game of cat and mouse dog going.  Then Wilbur does things like taking over Puppy's bed...

Wilbur in Puppy's bed

She's really been a good addition to the family so far, but she seems to be becoming a lap dog.  Cowboy Cody tells me she'll be a 50-pound lap dog one of these days.  But hey, we all like to cuddle, right?  And, she's good entertainment, too.  Chasing the cats, bringing her empty water bowl to us after she spills it all over the kitchen floor, bringing treasures like frozen cow patties inside, what could be more fun?

We're hard pressed for fun sometimes.  We don't have television, so tonight we watched Puppy chasing the glow from a flashlight around the living room.  We really need a name for this dog!



What Do You Mean, No Hay?!

Ok, it's been, well, um, forever since I've blogged.  Now, I'm not one to get into New Year's Resolutions.  The only NYR I ever make is to never make one.  But, I am determined to start blogging again.  I suppose I've just become a Facebook junkie and thought I could reach everyone that way.  But, just today, as the weather was warming enough to melt a lot of the few inches of snow we've had on the ground and make mud, a friend posted on my wall and asked if our ranch made it through the snow ok.



A typical MO snow

Snow?  What snow?  In our case, a little snow really doesn't make any difference in the way we manage our livestock.  Any of them.  In fact, we've found that your animals are generally like your kids.  The more you give in, the more they push.  Spoiled little brats.

While most folks have been doing this for months, now...


Unrolling hay for cattle

 ...we have yet to even begin feeding any hay this winter.  With our system of Holistic Planned Grazing, mob grazing, tall grass grazing, whatever you want to call it, we plan on forages being available throughout the year with our management.

Tall Grass Winter Grazing

The cattle are fat and happy and look great, even for the dead of winter.  Slick hair coats, plenty of back fat and they're not bawling every morning for the hay truck to come into the field. 

They're satisfied.  And they know how to forage.  

Cow grazing in winter snow

Now, keep in mind that this is a long time coming.  We've been working on this system of management for 10 years now, and this is the first winter I remember getting this far into the winter without supplementing with hay.  Our goal?  No hay ever.  Don't yell at me, yet.  Those of you in our region of Missouri know that we sometimes get some of those wonderful ice storms that stay around for weeks at a time.  Naturally, we would feed all of our animals some hay or balelage during those times.  The ice is a totally different story.

But, if you train the animals to forage, really forage, they will learn how to eat in nearly every situation. 

"HAY!  There's grass under here!"

Even the pigs enjoy foraging through the snow!  He's not upset OR hungry!