Around Town with Carol on White Briar Farm: Book 1

By Carole Lokan-Moore

Over 300 stories of children and critters here on Whitebriar Farms could not be contained in one book, but is a "book set". There is no rhyme or reason to the "numbering", so don't think I missed anything, but even with mismatched numbers on chapters, realize they are in chronical order, as the experience came along. God has blessed me many times with a wonderful family and the ability to show people thru words, the wonderful life that can be had on a farm with animals and children.

- Carole Lokan Moore, aka, The Farmer's Daughter

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Oct 12, 2021
• ISBN: 9781664109940

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Copyright © 2021 by Carole Lokan-Moore. 827501

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Xlibris

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Library of Congress Control Number: 2021920513

Rev. date: 10/12/2021

Contents

Old Dog learns another new truck

An Ode to the Winter Woods and Frugal living on the farm

Canning The Harvest

Time to Cull The herd

Red, Piggy, and Miss Piggy...pets remembered and loved

Stress of life relieved by a black nose bobbing toward shore

Pros and cons of horemones

..Stroke ...a stitch in time saves nine

Or Would you Rather Be a Rooster

Self reliant Christmas Memory

Grapes. The Queen of Fruits and high in nutrition

Frugal

Frugal living with a generous heart

No Man is an island

Do you know what a dish a haulic is?

Will the Next Generation Be Thirsty?

Frugal Cooking Saves Money

Peep, the Canada Goose Who came to stay

Jack of all Trades

Once a Girl Scout always a Girl Scout

Being Self Sufficient -- Making soap.

Life and Death on the farm

Evicting Smeagle

Think Seeds

Introducing a new pet to the farm family

Goats may bleat, but they love their bark

Ticks, Flease, and lice

It’s in the junk drawer

Who will sit on the nest?

Mystic Irish Crow of Whitebriar....the Irish holy bird

Old farm dogs go to heaven

When Mommy goat leaves

Equipping the Modern Kitchen with Basics

Fifty third Wedding Anniversary memories

Stamp collecting, still fun in 2018

Excrement, Fecal material, and manure

Antique Pear Trees, Equate with Growing older.

Eating the Bounty of Summer

Marie Antoinette’s bread

How do you know if you have a farm dog.

When to clean the pens

Antique Pear Trees, Equate with Growing older.

Eating the Bounty of Summer

When a farm critter becomes a service animal

Let them eat Country Bread

Corn Relish

Spray bottle for economical home and farm use.

Feathers, flags, family and farm fairs

dogs grucks and county roads

Farm Kids back to school. Once a teacher always a teacher.

Farm Kids back to school

Pulling Weeds and loving it

Practical Science We Use Every Day

???

Shoes, socks, feet and wool

Oatmeal

Pick a Tree

The Christmas tin cans

French Toast for the Puppy

Hogmanay The Scottish New Year.

Canopy Bed

The Christmas Spaghetti Cat

Champagne Toast & brunch for General Mead at Laurel Hill

A Pony in the pool yard

RunaAway" Meets the Farm Family at Whitebriar

A dogs Life is never long enough...

Remembering my their wedding Anniversary

Erin Autumns Garden

Gallery

Old Dog learns another new truck

Having four siblings and living on a farm in Willingboro, N.J. just seven ares that Dad had purchased from his cousins who were going to use itas phase two of the post world war II house building project that failed. Ours was a weekend farm for Dad provideds use with shoes, school clothese, etc. working at RCA in Moorestown NJ as a teahnician. Sharing things was common for the two younger girls, and Mom and I were same size so it was an easy life for clothing and fashion. Mom and I are sewers and crafters so Christmas was always a delight of home made items.

Married at 19 with m y long time boy friend, Bill, gave us our first apartment in Delanco, N.J. which last six months before we moved to Delaware Avenue, Riverside, N.J. Until Bill’s mom called and said: There’s an apartment open at Whitebriar. which belonged to a family friend. Bill’s dad dropped Baby Bill and his Mom, at Whitebriar when he left for WWII. So Whitebriar, was a common conversation in the Moore family. Smaller than our Riverside Victorian, 2nd floor apartment and $80 per month, ten more than we were paying in Riverside. I finally agreeded. This one had a fireplace. We eventually bought the 22 room home and rented the two top apartments to pay for tuition for Bill to finish college.

Children came along after 7 years as we were the first generation of birth control pills who could plan the ltiming when little invaders joined us at the supper table. Twins born in 1972, finished college and now have their own college aged kids. And Grand Mom and pop continued teaching. My self a long term substitute for 19 years, every day, jumping into the car with Bill at the request of his Principal. A great deal in winter as the car was warmed up and the windshield clared by the time I got to the door. Bill an avid reader was a total science teacher, earth, meterology, etc. at Jr. High and eventually high school before he retired. Two teachers both loving h istory and science.a match made in heaven.

Summers were busy with my camp Whitebriar in our historic home, and around the swimming pool, in the duck yard, feeding the goats, pot bellied pig who weighed 150 lbs...small is a relative size...an old pony and a garden for organic vegetables. Nineteen years of great summer fun. Kids keep me young. and Abruptly, it’s over. YMCA opened a camp in each school in Burlington County and my summer camp withered on the vine. But as it has been said, when God closes a door, he opens a window. You just have to find the window and kick out the screen.

At the local flea market, Columbus, I was busy trying to compensate for the sudden loss of Camp iincome when Charlene stepped up and herd my organic herb sales pitch. She said, Looks like you know what you are talking about? and invited me as a guest on her television show. After the half hour interview, the producer, Keith said, You’re a natural. How about a two year contract. I laughed and spouted, Im sixty eight years old, I could drop dead at any time, why do you want a two year contract? Just let me substitute or fill in, etc. and I’ve been doing it ever since.

Wednesdays, they had me as a guest called Friday’s with Carole, on the Morning Coffee Show, it was fun cause I could bring all my different collections to talk for half hour, live television about the antique bank collection, the toys from 40’s and 50’s, the collection of buttons (like Eat More Beans) which was my favathers favorite (We need the gas). Paper dolls and coloring books, many of which I had used at my summer camp and in the class room on inclement days when the kids needed to keep busy. Stamp collecting was another topic, which eventually turned into a second show.

After a while I was given my own show, called Around Town With Carole which gave me the opportunity to find interesting folks to talk with, especially small business like myself. I own an organic Cafe in an old Fleet Bank, next door to my home which is also a Bed and Breakfast inn. Eventually a second show was born, called Camp with Mrs. Whitebriar. Having loved the movie Mrs. Doubtfire, with the late, Robin Williams, I felt Whitebriar was more interesting than Camp with Mrs. Moore, so now I answer to that name as well.

Last year, on my 70th birthday which fell on the same day as the show, Wednesdays, May 7, Keither, Lori and Charlene presented me with a dozen super decorated cup cakes, on air. What a surprise for this woman who thought she’d be long gone dead by this time.

No it’s never too late for old dogs to learn new tricks, from a farm girl, wife, teacher, moter, life guard and came director, on to a television personality host...what a great life I live, but now it’s only gotten better...Bill came home from agway after getting feed for our hens, ducks, geese, pony and pig, with a newspaper, The Valley Paper, and before I could read past the title, I could see the purpose of the paper. Oh my goodness, could I please borrow these sentiments to put them on my tombstone.... Yes, I asked for a tombstone for Christmas one year and got it. The Valley Newspaper, just describing me from the time I was fourteen, and became organic on our farm with the weekend farmer. My Dad, whose magazines from Rodale Press, Organic Gardner and Farmer were my Bible. Sitting at the back bedroom window, with a 22 alibra, stinging the buttocks of roague ground hogs who tried to steal the corn seed before it grew.

My conversation with the Valley Newspaper Owner, Wayne Stottler, invited me to write for his paper. Just like talking over the back fence, and thus, as a type of introduction to the readers, here I am, An old Dog changing Careers again, and Adding a Byline to my resume. I asked my TV producer if I coiuld use the same Byline as my TV show. He said: It’s yours, you designed and prepared the topics it’s yours and all yours.. Thusly, by way of this communication I introduce myself to you, the readers and guarantee that my life is nothing except extra ordinary. I ‘d love to share it with you every day. I don’t do negatives. It’s a waste of time. I love my life, and God has been very good to me. I follow the Big Ten and thank him for everything.

My articles might contain stories about our 300 year old home, our 51 year old marriage, twin daughters, and grand children, four college age, as well as the critters which God has given me to care for. It might be about Yuppy Puppy and his adventure swimming inthe Delaware River, or perhaps about Linten and Ester born in the Easter Season. Maybe, I’ll tell you the ghost stories of our 300 year old home which are told annually by the campfire pit.

If you read me regularly, you’ll learn more about organic cooking, the grapes that grow at the end of my cafe, and the black berry leaf tea which is so coveted. Don’t be surprised if I throw a little Survival skills I learned as a Hunter Eduction and Range Safety instructor. Maybe, I’ll include of Winning at the Olympics, when I was trained as a trap and skeep instructor at Yale University. If you’d like, I’ll tell you my secrets to making good beds here at my Inn, as Martha Stuart is my hero. I love to make something out of nothing. But what ever you read, it’s always on a positive note, and adventure with kids to keep you young, critters who offer kindness without an expectation, and suprises and twists to keep you coming back to the Valley Newspaper.

I am thrilled to be a contributor to the valley newspaper and welcome any and all to respond via e mail at [e-mail] or call me any time, 609-433-7979. I always have time to talk.

An Ode to the Winter Woods and

Frugal living on the farm

PJoets have written about the coming of spring, but are there many about the winter woods? Were they written b y city slickers who were isolated from the rest of the world, where winter ebbs and spring comes gently in the morning of a February day. There is a smell in the woods, the aroma probably of the rotten leaves from the winter before, just as the microbes soon to awake and begin to work their magic to help with the decaying process. Especially, those oak leaves which are the last to come falling to the ground. The oak, due to it’s nature, as being a hard tight grained wood, actually do not leave the branch until the new buds of spring push off the leaves of last.

When you walk in the winter woods, you notice everything is bone bare, except for those decorative five bracketted oak leaves, so tough you can hear them bang into each other in a breeze. I know them well, from many winter days, spent with my brother Dick, in the great Mill Creek Woods, just off Rancocas Road, Willingboro New Jersey. We were weekend farmers, and to help with the bedding in the two stall cow barn, we collected dried leaves in old feed bags. Dad was an organic farmer even then, but with five kids with he and mom, we used the six acre farm purchased fro his aunt and uncle, we eeked out the life of a part time farmer in just two days of the week.

Dad was a technician at RcA. been to the company for so long, i started by feeding the Dog. For those of you who don’t know the logo for Radio Corporation of America, was a white dog, known as little Nipper. Dad, didn’t really ever know the dog, as he told us five kids, but he did begin just out of WWII service putting aerials on top of peoples homes so they could get good reception from the newly available televisions they bought. Later Dad worked with his father, a German tool and die maker, and followed in Pop Lokan’s foot steps, but instead of working as a business owner, he went to work for RcA.

Dad’s expertise was in the experience he had with his own father, merged with his knowledge he learned taking evening courses until he had the handle of a technician. He always said that piece of paper with a degree would have gone a long way, when engineers couldn’t figure out the problems, and had to resort to asking the German Technician, who not only could design the part needed, could manufacture and install it. A college degree would have made Dad’s life financially easier, but we made due by taking as many short cuts to farming as we could. The leaves in the great woods was one way to save money by not buying bedding/straw.

Hay and straw to the average person, look alot alike. They are both grown in big fields. Harvested when dry and packaged in bales for use and distribution later, but there is a terrific difference between the two. Straw is more hallow, greater surface area, and wicks away the moisture form under the feet of the animals, and absorbs it more readily than hay. Yet some animals, especially my goats, love the woodier stems of the straw, but will eat both, thusly, Straw is for bedding nesting material and absortion of urine and is cheaper than hay per bale.

Hay is filled with much more nutrition be it from the coffee grass, the wild flowers, or the weeds that grow along side of the hay, and get gathered up ini the harvesting or be it from the grain pods that waive in the summer sun, waiting to be consumed by some hungry critter later in the winter. Either way, the leaves we are waking up and shoving in the old woven feed bags, to be brought home and distributed on the floor of the barn...a bale of hay in NJ, 2018 is about $4 or 5 dollars but I don’t know what it was back then. I just remember, we were saving Dad money by collecting used leaves.

I’ve loved the winterwoods since those times, when the smell from Mill Creeks mud flats were being awakened by the sunshine of the day only to be asleep again that night when the frost appeared again. Sometimes, the Estuaries that have woven themselves into the forrest floors away from the main creek, were white with ice, but other times they were trickling to their destiny...the sound was deafening.

Deafening in the silence of the winter woods. The spring birds had not started cherping and singiing or tweeting. Oak leaves had not begun pushing off the old. The silence was welcome. Just far enough off the busy county road that we hear nothing except the excaping leaves from our rake, as they glided over layers and layers of past years of droppings making a soft cushion along the soft cushions of the woods. Brother was older and stronger, but he too stopped now and again to listen to the silence, smell the peate of the flrrest floor and hear the trickle of water from the brooks leading home. Dad dropped us in the woods, and would be back in a few hours to pick up the bags of oak leaves, along with the collectors and take us home through a few farm fields to our fiew acres at the end of Rose Street.

I don’t remember the woods being ominous, but peaceful with an occcasional scurry of squirrel, rushing with a nut, acorn in his mouth to clammor up another tree. I’m sure there were deer in the woods, but we never saw them. I’m known for being heavy footed and big mouthed, and the noise of raking leaves didn’t help either as we disturbed the noramally peaceful domaine of the white tail. The many oak trees in the woods of NJ were often accompanied by evergreens, but in this segment it was predominately oak. A sprinkling of spruce and pine could be found and their bright green color in the otherwise dark brownings gray winter woods, stood out like a sore thumb.

It was a peaceful time, like the woods was taking a break from the snow fall, cold winds and chills of winter and was again, like most waiting patience for the longer days of spring...waiting for the sound of blue birds and sparrows, who migrate to warmer pastures., It was time for the travelers to come back and join the Cardinals as the crocus began peaking their twisted flowers thru the earth.

If we were late in the afternoon, we’d rake while the sun sank low in the sky, and Dad would always show up way before dusk had arrived but the temerature in the Great Mill Creek Woods, would be dropping with the solar heat of the sun. We zipped our jackets to the top, pulled down the ear flaps on our hats, as even now, the work was no longer keeping us warm. We were tired. We had done a good days work. We were proud we could help our father save some money on bedding for the cows.

We didn’t realize it then but these probably were the most peaceful moments in our lives. A simple task at hand, no steess, no worry we’d be stuck in the Great woods. No concern about anything except doing our job in the cold of winter. The leaves were dry and not yet rotten to a point of discentingration. The forrest floor was dry and it wouldn’t be for another couple months until the strong rains fell, that the little ripples of the tributaries would ebb and flow with the tide again and fill the creek that ran under Rancocas road, to continue even wider, as the water meanders to the delta along the other side of the town and into the Rancocas Creek as it has for eones of years.

Mountain of past centuries, probably knew this peace, but as I recall the event, it’s only my brother, who could understand the memory that brought solitude to me then and again, some 50 years later, as I bring to the frontal lobes of my mind, this experience. The winter woods was alive with goodness, and will become even more inviting as the spring season brings new growth. and welcomes a whole new generation of citizens who might wander thru the deep woods along the Mill Creek, deep in the southern portion of this state., Welcome to my memory, enjoy the view the smell the crunch inder foot, but know, another year will come and increase the bedding below your feet, cause brother and I have long grown old, and cannot rake with vigor as we had once done.

Canning The Harvest

My mom always kept the shoes she purchased, even if the pointy toe was out and the wedge was in, so when they cleaned out the farm house, 3 big old plastic tubs were kept. We donated them to the local theatre group who were thrilled. Mother’s attitude was that old things old, go round again and she wasn’t far from wrong. Over her 50 years in the house, I’m sure she climbed into that tub when ever she needed a new pair of shoes, and believe it or not they were still selling the old style in new shoe stores.

All things old become new again in the world of food. When Grandmother found out that a vitamin pill had all the nutrition you needed she stopped telling her children and grand children the old natural remedies. She concluded penacillin and the vaccines available, will make the art of herbs obsolute.]

When Mother slaved over a pot of boiling tomaties from the garden, added a tiny bit of onions, green pepper and a piinch of salt, pepper and sugar, to make her world famous "stewed tomatoes’, she was relieved to discover that new big grocery store down the block, which replaced her local dry goods store, suddenly had just as good stewed tomatoes for less than 50 cents a can.

Preparing for the canning job was a big part of the taske. First you had to buy the jars. Fortunately for me, everytime some ones mother died, and they were too lazy to do canning themselves, they gave me the jars. I suggest putting a notice on the local church bulletin board: Old Canning jars wanted and i"m sure you’ll get a dozen or more.

Once you have your jars, they must be hecked for chips. Carefully run your finger, gently, or you’ll get cut, across the top rim of the canning jar to make sure there are no chips. Just a small one can make all your effort worthless by not having the jar seal. You might not notice it, but the product will have bacterial enter and spoil, wasting the good tomatoes and the time you spent slaving over a hot boiling kettle.

Once your equipment is all assembled, the jars washed and kept in a warm dish washer, you must pick the fruit/vegetable. Don’t pick it the day before, because science has now told us that food looses 75% of it’s nutrition in the first day it is picked., On our Willingboro farm, we ran down to the field and picked the dead ripe tomatoes, brought back to the sink, washed gently and began the process.

If they are truly red ripe, the skins will slip right off. but if not, then have a small pot of boiling water at the ready. Stick the tomato with a fork and dip it quickly to scald the skin, then into a cold water ice cube bath. Yep, the skin is on it’s way sliding down your form, but the tomato is still fresh as can be.

Cutting the core out of the tomatoe with a sharp small knife gets rid of any white hard parts, whih depends on the variety and the season. Too wet or too dry, etc. Some times I don’t even have to do that step, cause it’s red to the stem.

I line up six jars on a cookie sheet next to my pot. Once the core is out, the skin is slipped. I just drop them in a jar. Wide mouth jars are easiest if you have fruit or tomatoes which are large in size. But if you only have regular sized jar openings, just cut the tomato till it fits. Finishe one jar at a time and put the flat dome lid and screw ring on as soon as the hot product goes into the jar. Fill only till the one" from the top as the next step will cause everything to swell, and you want enough room.

The hot water bath which is used for everything I do. The jams and jellies I sell in my Organic Green Cafe, are all processed in that manner. As a girl, I remember my Nanny Pray and Mom, neither did a hot water bath process on jams and jellies, because they knew that the sugars was itself, a preservative. Bacteria cannot live in a too sweet or too sour base and if, when we open the jar, some six months later, in the dead of winter, if therre was a little gray mold, we just scooped it off with a spoon, and enjoyed the fresh flavors of last summer on our buttered toast bread.

The stupidest thing I ever did, during all the decades of canning I had done, was to re adjust the ring after the bath. It unsealed each jar, and I didn’t notice till the whole batch was spoiled a month later. You see after the processing, after the heat kills all the bacteria in, and the jar pressure sucks in the flat round lid, it is sealed, but the ring seems loose, and in an effort to be efficient, I picked up each wet jar, and dried it, and when I felt the loose ring, I automatically tightened it, thus disturbing the seal.

The ring is actually not needed once the jar is sealed so if I am short rings, I don’t go buy more I just remove what I need for an already canned product and re use the ring. When I sell the jams, jellies, apple and pear sauce, stews and soups, I don’t put back a ring because if you only use half of the product, the flat lid won’t stay on when you put it in the refrigerator for the next days use.

In the Bicentennial year of 1976, special reproduction jars, with the liberty bell raised in the glass was produced. I saved two cases in the basement in the original box for my daughters or posterity which ever may be the case. A month before Christmas you can find in Wallmart and other stores, colored rings and flats. Over the years, I’ve tried to keep a set of each, but invariably, I seperate the set when I needed or another in an emergency. So now, I have just a few of the limited edition, unique colored flats some with a Christmas design, others with fruit designs, but all unique, and to a canner, like myself, they were different, making my burden just a little brighter along with the colors.

But if you have no access to canning jars, it’s okay as well. Start saving your old pickle jars or any lid which has a rubber ring inside. These can also be used as the same process as above. Except in stead of heating in hot, not boiling water, the flat dome, you would have to put the entire lid to be heated. Heating only makes the rubber gasket more pliable and easier to conform to the shape of the rim of the glass jar. Any jars, with that rubbery ring can be used, so ask your neighbors to start saving them and before long your shelves will be filled with uniquely shaped sized jars. They might not stack as well as the commercially purchased Ball Canning jars, when you put a colorful circle of fabric on the top and secure it with a rubber band and ribbon, it will be quite cute as a Christmas gift. Remember to take some time and make a nifty label telling the date, product inside and include created by my loving hands or something else as sweet.

My Nanny had a basement in her house and Poppie Bob, her master carpenter husband, built her a special cabinet for her canned goods. It was on the inside wall in a dark corner so that the quality of the food would be preserved. It’s triangle shelves fit into the wall nicely. The 3 piece wooden door to close it off from light and warm air. My Mom, had a glass fronted room dividing white wood shelf piece that she brought from our old house in Erlton, N.J. It was located in our basement in the farm house in Willingboro, just below the cellar stairs. It was away from the heater, and she kept a blanket over the top wich hung over the glass which made it a dark place for the canned goods.

I still have that white wood cabinet from the post World War II housing where Daddy brought Mom and my older brother Dick, and me, as the baby. But when little sister, Darlene, came along in 1950, we began building the new farm house. The wooden shelves are located in my laundry room where I keep my canning supplies, empty jars, pectin, rings and flats. On the other wall is a similar piece brought from Bill’s Mother’s kitchen, so an L shaped configeration puts everything I need for canning, right at hand. The white cabinets bring back memories for Bill and Me, of the homes we grew up in. Memories and Canned goods, what could be better.

An important factor to be considered when you are canning, is to make sure, you don’t put the hot jars down on a cold surface. In modern kitchens, with marble counter tops, which are pretty much indistructable, you must heed this warning. I use a sided cookie tray, lay a towel in it, before I line up the processed jars of food to cool. This tray does double duty. It allows you the buffered surface for the hot preserves, etc. but also gives you a nice way of transporting them to the cupboard for storage.

Taking them to storage must not happen for about a half a week, as you leave them sit in your kitchen and every now and then use the back of a teaspoon to tap them ligtly on the flat surface of the lid. The tone will be melodious as you play your favorite song, until you come to a thud which is a jar that is not sealed. It’s a very obvious sound, so you can’t miss it. If it’s within a day of the cooking, you can re heat it, and try again. Or just put the thud jar into the refrigerator and use it within a week. With all the time and effort you went through to get this far, the last thing you want to do is to throw out your product. Push come to shove if it’s been too long and you fear it was spoiled, give it to the dog. Dogs stomach can handle a good meal a week late.

The length of the food being kept in the cool dark spot can vary. Some cultures such as the Dutch, never eat this years product but because of their Biblical belief and the h istory of the seven year famine, they always eat the oldest food they have. Now don’t go getting squimish on me. Do you realize the date on the can, bag of chips, cookies or crackers, indicates the shelf life of food in 9 to 12 years. Yep, when you buy prepared food from the grocery store, the date you see on the label, is not the date it was packaged, but the date it expires, after it’s shelf life peramieters for each individual product. So when you think of the Dutch eating seven year old food, you must consider that todays scientists are saying, that food looses most of it’s vitamins and minerals, if not consumed within the day picked. I don’t know how that relates to canned food.

So you’ve cleaned the jars, checked for chips, let them sit hot in the dishwasher, while you collected the fruit, yes, tomatoes are fruits not vegetables....stoood off hot pots of water to steam off the skins, stuffed the orbs into the glass container, screwed the ring around the flat dome, processed them, and yes, after that much work you found out what your mother and grand mother knew. It’s cheaper to buy the can at the grocery store for seventy five cents.

No, if you did that, you wouldn’t have the satisfaction and accomplishment of serving your family, nutritious food that you knew that no one sneeded in the food, no one forgot to wash hands after using the mens room, or what toxins were used to line the inside of the can. Glass containers like Ball, and other canning jars, have been around over a century or longer. When Egyptians first started the glass industry. When you put your product in glass, you can see it’s bright colored freshness and know first hand, it is the best you can possibly serve to your family. Any questions can be addressed to my e mail at [e-mail]. Any time.

Time to Cull The herd

During my time as a member of the American Business Women’s Association, founded by Mr. Buffton, who saw that the women, Rosie the riviteers, who took over the jobs while their men were in war, liked working outside of home. ABWA found ways to provide educate for credit courses and trade school all over the country, a couple of times a year, so I attended.

Husband, Bill, dropped me off at a Valley Forge, Pa, hotel, and then scouted the area for a nice place to eat lunch during our break. During his tour, I remarked how wonderfully the laws were manicured, and the fabulous way the trees were all raised to the level so the visitors wouldn’t have their heads touched. Bill, chewed a few more times, and said: You really are that dumb blonde I married. Now in my town of Edgewater Park, NJ. I know the ordinance says that you have to have a 7’ leway on my sidewalks, so I figured the Federal Park service did too. Between bites of his hoagie, he explained that the area is over populated with deer who do the trimming. Many die of starvation, so there is a hunt each year or two to cull the herd. My blonde head, now whte with age, began to think.

Now my goats, do stand on their back legs, and reach for the leaves as goats are related to deer who are browsers who eat leaves, brush, twins, etc. and not grazers who eat grass. Bill says, I’ve allowed my girls out of their pen too often, because the quince bushes, and the two apple trees, are left with only a top hat of leaves. It is plain to see that the average 150 lb deer in Pennsylvania has a tall grasp when on his hind legs, at a level my township would approve, over side walks. I guess, I’m going to have to keep my Ester and Adrian goats inthe pen, except for special days like Sunday, when all God’s creatures get to roam freely, here at our home Whitebriar.

My husband of 51, years or is it 52 now, has a vast amount of knowledge, remembering everything since he started reading the Readers Digest at the age of 8. More importantly, he is able to bring it up at the drop of a hat. So I knew, I was going to get more of an education than just the deer did it. Apparently, Seamen, pirates and later privateers, often carried a goat or two on board for fresh milk, but when rations got low, te rudiment was invited to dinner, literally as the meal. Many times goats and pigs were deposited on tropical islands to provide food for possible stranded sailors in the future. Goats, who have a ravishing appetite, chew quickly and deposit the debris into their first stomach to be burped up later in the day and chewed thoroughly...called chewing their cudd. Then deposited permanently into their second stomach. Since the goats thrived on the sweet vegitation and warm breezes and plenty of rain, they became so prolific, they actually denuded the islands of foliage, making them not only deserted but also desert islands. I guess the same thing is happening right here in Pennsylvania.

Deer are more plentiful, now, on the Eastern Coast of America, than in Ben Franklin’s time. 2017 finds the deer at a disadvantage as their natural forraging grounds are used up for parking lots, tract housing and shopping malls. The biggest problem for deer population are the interstate h ighway which lines the east coast. Fencing, ...deer can j ump 6’ foot easy, portions to protect their drivers from a rogue deer crossing the road and into their wind shield. Their migration patterns force them into the suburbs in the side streets of town and rummaging thru trash cans, eating bushes that home owners have paid large sums of money to be installed.

So whose fault is it??? Humans for having so many people on the eastern shore of America, New York, New Jersey and points north and south. It certainly isn’t the deer’s fault, as they were here first. What this solution? A hunt one or twice a ear to cull the herd. Some scientists h ave suggested chemicals to interfer with the hormones to stop reproduction, ie. birth control for deer.

Some one else suggested transporting tem to other areas, like the middle of the country, where there is plenty of space. But I’m sure a farmer back lash would occur once the corn fields of our bread basket, were invaded by the white tail deer.

I am an animal lover, and retired volunteer for the NJ Hunter Education program and there is nothing sadder than to see an emaciated deer corpse in the woods. Skin and hide are draped over jagged bones which could hold no meat and the creature perished. I don’t know what needs to be done, but this dumb blonde still thinks the crisply cut fields and trees look real pretty on that late summer day, so I thank the deer. I can only pray the hunt this year, is as always a humane one that kills instantly. The meat tastes better than way as well. No Adrenalin to taint the flavor of good fresh venison.

Red, Piggy, and Miss Piggy...

pets remembered and loved

Well, I have not gonein my animal yard for about 3 weeks. I make Bill do it cause he has high rubber boots which are tied on to his feed and are not sucked off, by the turgor Pressure in the mud. It’s just another warm, humid sunny day in August after another torrential thunder and lightening storm, here in New Jersey.

The pot bellied pig, who is massive at 175 pounds still only one tenth the size of a domesticated pregnant sow, was coaxed by gentle kicks in the buttock to relinquish his mud hole to a straw filled space, where the flies were not settling on his ears. The two foot solid wood fence I propted up along the entrance of the barn, with the flies, was pushed aside, the first day I moved him. In case you have never owned a pig, his nose is the most powerful part of h is body. It’s flat, round, rubbery nature can turn the hardest soil by plowing it from end to end in just a half hour. When I had to play the Kick in the pants again, I used the screw gun to securely fasten the barriers to the walls of the run in barn. I hated kicking him with a soft boot, but to move him, that is the trick and I didn’t want to do it a third time.

Piggy has lots of choices in the back pasture, at the highest part of the yard, along the fenc to the neighboring cemetery. A collection of kids plastic houses have been relegated to extra animal housing in the yard, and when he was smaller, the Igloo was his favorite space. Curled up in a black ball, in the shade of the round, retired dog house, Piggy found his first home.

Fortunately, for those of you who don’t know the legend of the pot bellied pig, the secret of keeping them small, is not to feed them. Yes, the suggested method is to give them a cup of food a day, no matter h ow big they are and supposedly, the pig stays small. I’ve never had that experience because as an animal lover, and each of my farm animals is fed daily and can eat as much as