new cows

New cows. Of which there are three. Guernseys, liver and white, a bred heifer and two calves. They are skittish and hand-shy. I feed them kale in the evening on my way to dinner, which may or may not be nutritionally correct. I should probably google that one. It’s just hard to say no to the broad wet nose stretching, sniffing over the gate.

The sheep moved across the road this week, ecstatic to be on new grass. I promptly went and planted yet more peas along their old fenceline – sugar snap, shelling, and snow. The bottle babies, still penned up at the barn, are now more pushy and personable than ever, needing more food, wanting more entertainment than their small pen provides. They’ll be weaned soon and selfishly I’ll miss them, their little voices like a chorus every time I walk by the barn.

We’re on the cusp of May, prime-time for spring transplants. It’s hard to be patient with them. I’ve got itchy fingers. There’s so many things I want to sell, want to eat, RIGHT NOW – crunchy white salad turnips, bitter brocolli raab, spicy red mustard, spoon-shaped spinach. I’ve never been on a farm this early in the spring, and here and now it shows. I feel unproductive, bereft without a harvest. Never mind that it’s not time for a harvest. To put my mind and stomach at ease, I’ve got some pea shoots going on perlite in the greenhouse. They germinated well, little champions, and should be ready in a few day. I’ll be there, knife in hand.