Barnyard Stories

Summer and Camp

Webmaster — Fri, 07 Aug 2009 16:36:58 +0000

Camp Counselor Hannah Mills reflects on the enjoyment of a summer spent working with children at Howell Farm:

On Monday morning at 9 a.m., children and adults begin to gather in the “Hatchery” room of the Howell Farm visitor center. It is the first day of another session of summer camp. I watch parents smile, help their sons and daughters hang lunch boxes and book bags on hooks, and then lean in for kisses on the cheek before reluctantly leaving.

That’s when the fun starts.

One activity the campers always seem to love is playing in the creek. How often does a child who lives in the suburbs or city have the opportunity to splash around in a stream? Howell Farm summer camp provides many great outdoor opportunities, but I think the creek may be one of the biggest reasons kids come back year after year.

Crafts are another favorite. The children paint river rocks, create snow globes out of old Mason jars, and sew potholders. Campers love creating their masterpieces, and then proudly present them to parents at the end of the day.

Collecting eggs and leading sheep into the pasture are also popular. Everyone loves homemade ice cream and horse-drawn hayrides. And the animals. Molly, Blaze, and Patches, in particular, are practically celebrities.

The job of camp counselor is very rewarding to me. I love it down to the fragments of laughter, soaked clothing, a small lesson learned from a child, dirt stains, and the sigh of a good but hard-worked day.

The Wildness Within

Webmaster — Sat, 13 Jun 2009 17:59:52 +0000

by Karrin Pearson / Howell Farm Intern

Howell Farm is a place to stroll with children and observe animals grazing in the pasture, working in the field, or playing in their pens. It’s a place to connect with our food sources, our environment, and something I see as deeply human: Wildness.

This wildness refers not to crazy or uncontrollable behavior but rather to the natural state of things. Wildness lives in our uninhibited or childish ways, in the times when we maintain no boundaries between ourselves and the basic elements of life. When viewed in this light, the farm becomes an even more important place in modern society. For as Thoreau said, “In wildness is the preservation of the world.” The farm lives history but it also safeguards our future.

Wildness flourishes in every corner here. From the fields of spelt and the babbling brook, to the sugar bush and the early morning rain, its voice whirls through the air. This wildness is easy for us to see; the wheat blows in the breeze, waves ripple in the current, and twisting vines curl themselves tightly around the trees.

These entities act as they naturally do, without thought to any other way of being. Still, it is rather difficult for us to recognize our own inherent wildness in a blade of grass or a splashing wave. It becomes more apparent when we watch the farm animals.

Our farm animals are not considered wild, in the general understanding of the word. They live in man-made structures, and they are trained, fed, and groomed by our farmers. However, that's not to say that they don't have personalities or desires and wishes of their own, just like us. In fact, each animal's way of being reflects upon their own innate wildness. They can only be themselves, nothing else. Blaze, our 31-year old horse, is wild when he shuffles slowly through the grass with bowed head. So too are the goslings when they run forward with flapping wings, or the oxen as they stand still and chew their cud.

When the school children come to learn about farm animals, they are often alarmed that Blaze goes to the bathroom. Giggles erupt and fingers point as the steady stream hits the ground with a rush. But when I ask the young students if they too go to the bathroom, their laughter subsides as they realize Blaze does many of the same things they do. In the horse barn I draw further parallels between horse stalls and bedrooms, sweet feed and honey nut cheerios, and horseshoes and our shoes. When asked if they'd like to live in Barney's stall, the students’ voices resound with "NO!" Yet their grins and eyes widen when I tell them to come in Barney's stall and see what it's like. Their feet stomp and their voices say "nay."

The children enjoy learning how horses are like us. We all should too. For by recognizing our similarities, we can more clearly see them and ourselves as we truly are – innately wild.

An Ode to Manure

Webmaster — Fri, 24 Apr 2009 19:42:08 +0000

by Karrin Pearson / Howell Farm Intern

My mornings at Howell Farm begin with chores. Although that word may conjure up images of difficult and unpleasant tasks, I see my chores as delightful and meaningful work. One job in particular shines above the rest: shoveling manure.

I open the door to the ox barn, and am welcomed by Jake’s white horns lurching around the frame of his stall and his shiny dark eyes. Chris, the younger and larger of the two oxen, vocalizes his hunger with a droning moo. I quickly scoop their “cereal” into their bowls; Jake gets a full scoop but Chris only gets a handful. Next I hoist a quarter bale of hay over the railing on either side of the divider, ensuring that Chris won’t steal some of Jake’s needed nutrients. The quiet grinding of their large teeth begins and won’t stop for at least an hour or two. I leave them to their breakfast and turn to other tasks.

When I return to the ox barn, this time from the backside, I open the lower section of the door. The crisp morning light floods inside, brightening Chris and Jake’s dark hides, the yellow straw, and the dark manure that sits on top. As I step onto the cement floor, I inhale the unique combination of sweet dried grass and the earthy, moist, digested grass. Two faces of the same coin.

I’m fascinated by the fact that the ox pies that lie on the barn floor will someday help make food. And I play a key part in that process. By shoveling their manure and adding it to the ever-growing manure pile, I make the first step in recycling their waste into food. Actually, I shouldn’t refer to the oxen manure as waste, because it really isn’t — it’s farmer’s gold, a key ingredient for healthy soil and crops.

As I bend forward, pitchfork in hand, my muscles work to carry the heavy manure to the wheelbarrow. I deftly navigate the teeth beneath the pies, trying to leave as much dry straw behind as possible. (Bedding is a precious commodity at Howell Farm, so I must conserve.) The urine-drenched straw is equally valuable, so I slop it into the wheelbarrow. When full, I grip the handles and push the wheelbarrow to the manure pile and contribute the oxen’s daily offering.

Later today, or tomorrow, or perhaps next week, this same offering will fly in the sky as it’s flung out the backend of the manure spreader. It will make one victorious arch and then fall to its final resting place on the soil. With a farmer leading the way, Jake and Chris will pull the spreader back and forth across the field. Both farmer and oxen are physically active in their own food production, contracting muscles, sweating, and breathing quickly.

Farmer and oxen will team up again to sow their crops and then later to harvest them. They are linked in a symbiotic relationship. Together, with the help of the soil, man and animal work to grow food. As soon as the process is complete, the cycle begins anew, recycling the nutrients between the oxen, manure and crops.

I am grateful to be part of such an ancient and sustaining relationship.

A Winter Swim

Webmaster — Thu, 23 Apr 2009 22:19:42 +0000

By Maren Morsch / Howell Farm Intern

The very first public program I had the opportunity to participate in was January's ice harvest. An impressive igloo, a loaded icehouse, a tired bobsled team, and a lot of ice candles were among the day's results. On the whole, the event was a new experience for me from beginning to end.

I was especially impressed by the enthusiasm of a number of the visitors. There were those who showed up at 9:45 a.m. to be the first ones out on the ice, who harvested for hours as if it was their own family farm they were working for, and who left reluctantly only after it was announced several times that the farm was closing. I can only anticipate that this same energy will be found in other programs I experience as my internship progresses.

Also noteworthy is the “polar bear plunge” I took that day. The combination of a sunny day and large number of people working out on the ice caused a great deal of the ice to soften and “go bad” or “get rotten.”

I thought that the odds were against me falling in, as only a handful of staff members have ever done so, and the running favorite for such an act was an employee whose reputation as a bit of a daredevil led me to feel a false sense of security in the distribution of the odds in this regard. Yet, while helping a child learn how to use an ice saw, I suddenly found myself floating away from the saw, and sinking rather rapidly. The child and his father were on firm ice, but I had been close to the edge, and I soon found myself wallowing waist deep in the chilly water.

After climbing out of the pond, I made my way to the farmhouse, where a combination of quick thinking, ingenuity, and clothing donations from the ladies tending to the hungry stomachs of visitors and staff alike had me dried off, re-dressed, and back out into the action in record time. (Thanks again to everyone who helped!)

Even though the untimely swim put my cell phone out of commission for a few days, and I just today returned the last of the borrowed clothing to its rightful owners, I can’t say it dampened my ice harvesting spirit in any way other than physically. I suffered no injuries — although for the remainder of the day people charged me with duties like tending the fire and going for bobsled rides.

In the end, I had a great story to tell my friends when I got back to school that afternoon. While I don’t necessarily recommend swimming in January, I certainly don’t feel it in any way tainted my first programming experience here.