After the Holidays...

Well, the holidays have passed by and we have once again welcomed a new year. On the farm, this means that calving season is just around the corner for our first year heifers. This is always a fun time as we watch new life come into the world. Our mama cows are growing larger as they await the arrival of their new little ones as well. We have had a pretty incredible winter with only a little bit of snow near the end of December. (Actually, earlier this week it was almost 70 degrees. I know, right, unbelievable!!)

The cows have been enjoying the little nibbles of grass they have been getting as all of the snow melts. Here are some of our latest pictures.. (Thank you Emily!!)

Three Bullets; The Crow's Christmas

We would like to share another contribution to our farm blog from writer Bill Crisp...Enjoy!

It was Christmas Day but Eb was alone; he had chosen that. He was lonely but he had chosen that, too. The sound of bells and carols, “Noel”, trickled up from the valley following the flicker from occasional glimpses of colored lights below under the crown of a constant hue. As he shuffled quietly through the snow, he rarely looked back or even up. When he did it was only occasionally, looking up to squint through the big falling snowflakes to pick out a route under the cathedral of trees and casting a quick look behind, subconsciously, checking his tracks…and his back trail, more out of habit than need.

     Somewhere, back there in the din of town was his brother, Sam, his last remaining family, hosting a party. Eb had been invited but didn’t even bother to respond, it wasn’t just that he didn’t like parties but also he hadn’t talked to his brother since his last deployment with the Army. Being over there had changed Eb but what occurred at home had changed him more. His father had passed on this night, last year, while he was away. In the aftermath, Eb, was not happy about how Sam handled things in his absence. So, he strode on and did not look back after he crossed the ridge and dropped into the next valley and then another.

     Eb hadn’t needed “Christmas” or much of anything else for a long time now. Instead, he was going to do a little camping to small game hunt and trap. His plan was to camp on this evening of the 25th then start hunting on the 26th of December.  After he found a place and set up he sat down by his small fire, twisted open a bottle of his newest best friend, said, “Merry Christmas” to it and swigged a good slug back. Then he reached up to a place on his chest, just under his neck line to rub an item that wasn’t there anyway. He shook his head and took another swig and as he tipped his head back he noticed a glimpse of a light up the far hill and he thought he could almost hear a jingle. “Funny” he thought, “There’s no road up there and surely no one else would be out tonight. Maybe it is a star.” It flickered again. He chuckled out a, “Bah, humbug! What are next; three ghosts and an angel?” He paused, reached for the necklace that wasn’t there again and listened. For a second, he thought the air pressed as if an answer was about to come. He shook his head, laughed and mumbled, “There ain’t no such thing as miracles.”

     It might seem minor to others, a simple necklace, especially one that has no jewels, gold or silver but to him it had meant everything. It was his “mojo”, his “medicine”. His Dad had given it to him when he was twelve as a good luck charm that had seemed to work. It wasn’t an idol but, as his Dad told him, it was a prayer vessel that connected them. The simple rawhide strung through a bullet case and a bear claw had seen him through times thick and thin. He had worn it faithfully growing up hunting, before sports events and even with his dog tags in war. He only took it off to send home to his father when he had heard that he’d struck ill. When he came home, his brother told him he didn’t know what had happened to it, it had just disappeared. Sam also had a bullet necklace so he should have understood what it meant, he should have sent it back, at the least, he should have kept it safe. “What does it matter?” Eb thought, “The silly thing didn’t work anyway.” Then another glimmer from the hill, like a star and the chime like jingle from the hill but far too low, definitely in the woods…

     “What the hell? Maybe Santa got shot down,” Eb sarcastically thought as he got up and threw his overcoat on, “I’ll just go up and see if he needs any help.” As he started up the hill, he figured what he was going to find was an attractor at a bobcat trap. It seemed to him that he’d never find a place to hunt alone and he’d never find peace. The glint of light must be off the moon but the “star” was so bright…he climbed on.

     As he got close, the “star” had become concealed but he was drawn in the last few yards by the jingling sound. He carefully moved into a large tall tree. Eb was right, there were no wise men, no sleigh, no angels, and no ghosts just…three bullets bound together and hanging from rawhide. Eb gasped, “No.” He looked around and then tentatively reached up and pulled down the collection of three engraved bullets that had been dangling from a branch...There was aged, red ribbon hanging off them. Sure enough, on each case were engraved initials, his, his father’s and his brother’s. Hesitantly, he popped off the bullet seated in the top of his case and as had been a custom; inside was a note! He carefully pulled out the slip of paper kept safely inside, he unrolled it and read, “Dear Eb, Dad is too weak to write but wanted me to pass along his thanks but that this bullet is yours, only. It was your gift. We have been his gifts and that’s all he wants. Please take this back and take his from Grandpa and come home safely. Merry Christmas.  P.S.-I’m sending you mine too, Love, Bro.”

     Eb looked up to the sky and smirked, “A miracle, an angel or a ghost?”  he asked rhetorically. The cynic looked around, and then squinted through the snow and then up into the tree. There, he saw other metallic objects scattered and dangling under a large nest, a crow’s nest. Of course, crows love to steal shiny objects and bring them to their nests. These bullets were somehow grabbed up by a bird endeared to the shine of the cases. The note was real. What are the odds that these would end up here, now, that the light hit them just right, that…? Then, thinking some more, Eb just put his head down for a long time. He took a knee. Passing elliptical eyes may have noted an occasional heave and shrug of his shoulders. Finally, Eb rose, turned on his heel and started back, it would be a long walk and he’d be late but he would make it to his brother’s party and that wouldn’t take a miracle…

Merry Christmas!

First published 12/13/2009 shared with permission from William Crisp!

Harvest Time

When we planted corn in late May, we didn't anticipate that we would get barely a drop of rain all summer. The months of June and July proved to be nail biters for those of us in farming communities across the nation as the amount of rainfall was insufficient for our crops. We spent several weeks listening as the farm reports discussed the disasters farmers were experiencing all over the country. Some crops were a total loss.

Right around the time that our corn was starting to tassel, we finally got some rain. It must have been enough. Last week, we harvested our corn crop and were pleased with the results.

Bird Hunting Season

Another fun thing we like to do here on the farm is bird hunt and 'tis the season. Please enjoy a story titled, "Going Out" about grouse hunting with dogs, courtesy of Rich's nephew, William Crisp!

      He stepped out onto the porch and sucked in the cool fall air. It was a good day to go out. The ground was “quiet” moist but not wet. The low pressure system and morning conditions pushed the air down. There was a cold front moving in but the day would be perfect for grouse hunting. The man looked down at his side and there sat his old, faithful, shorthair Milo who was looking up at him full of anticipation. Through the old dogs greying muzzle he could still see the bright eyes of the puppy that he once was. The dog knew the conditions were perfect, knew that those pants were his owner’s hunting pants and knew that his master would take one more deep breath; turn back inside to finish his coffee, then pick up his gun. Then Milo would begin running in circles and baying…but not until then. 

     Soon it came, the gun was hoisted, Milo bayed and turned, and then they both slipped out the door without looking back. When they reached the edge of the wood they’d hunted so many times, the man paused one more time and so dutifully did Milo, waiting for his signal. The man raised his head as if he was smelling the air and peering far into the forest, then he slapped his leg and said, “Release!” Those were the old dog’s favorite words. Trembling and coiled in anticipation of the command, he sprung into the thicket and began bounding through brush and bouncing for bird scent. His old owner nodded in approval and began walking his brisk pace to keep up with the dog.

     Milo’s hips ached and his breath came more labored than last season or any season before but he didn’t care, he loved to and he lived to find birds; his master, seemed slower, too. He used to be harder to stay in front of and he used to seem more anxious for birds to be found but now, he just seemed to be strolling, sometimes not even shooting at the birds that they busted up. Milo didn’t care, they were in the woods together and there was plenty of game and there were smells to enjoy.

     The day carried on and the two continued through the Big Woods, exploring and enjoying each other’s company. As had happened so many times before, near sunset, they came through the crest of the mountain where they always paused before turning to go back home. Each time, it was a melancholy moment; it was always good to go back home but it was always a reminder that even a woodsman is never truly free. As a young man, the hunter would have to stop at boundary lines. Then he moved to the Big Woods and even there, true freedom was not just over the next ridge. There was work to go back to, then chores and family-there was always something waiting at home. Even these last few years since they’d been alone, there was the fire in the woodstove that would need to be tended. They would push the day until the fire was down to its last few coals, ready to fall through the grate. They would, dutifully, get home just in time to catch enough heat to keep the pipes from freezing and restart a new log.

     Milo looked up at his master once again waiting for the signal to turn and head back home. They had paused under the familiar oak tree many times before but this time the man waited here longer than usual. Milo knew the man had lots of memories here; his son would hunt with him and turn here, too. It’s where he learned that he was going to join the service, where he learned he was shipping to the Middle East and where they came to when he came back, they spent a lot of time here then. The son had puppies of his own now and seemed busy the last few years. He comes back with a crowd now but less often and staying shorter stays. It’s where his daughter told him she was marrying and was leaving, too. It is also where he used to bring his wife and they would picnic…yuck. Milo shuddered, no bird hunting, just napping but at least he’d catch a good nap in a sunny spot and get to roll in something. Also, the kind woman would give him a tasty treat on those trips. He missed her, too…

     Outlined over the crest of the ridge a man stood still while his dog closely stood watch. Milo used this time to think, always in tune with his master’s habits, he remembered that this time, for this hunt, the routine was slightly different. This time the man did not fill the woodstove of the empty house before he left. Instead, he wrote a note and said, “They’ll understand.” This time there were no chores or work to go back to. Milo realized that they were free; there were no boundaries to end the hunt. He stopped looking back and turned towards the crest of the hill, cocked his head and looked at his master. The man smiled at him and said, “That’s right, Milo” and he took the two shells out his old double barrel, put them in the crotch of their tree, turned and looked over the crest. He raised his head again as if he was looking for something in the habit that was so familiar to the greying shorthair. Milo began to tremble. Then the man nodded in satisfaction, slapped his leg and pointed away from the house, over the crest of the ridge saying, “Release!” Milo, ecstatically obeyed and bounded and bounced over the crest of the mountain into the new territory and into the rays of the setting sun reflecting off the brilliant oranges, reds and yellows of the turning trees. The man seemed lighter afoot now, too, as he briskly followed….finally free…

     Back at a long cared for but now empty house, a draft blew a note off the table and the last glowing coals of a good oak fire turned dark, broke free, fell through the grate and went out.

See you along the stream 

Published in the Cameron County Echo on October 12, 2012

Grazing Conference

 

Last week, Harry, Susan, and I had the opportunity to attend the Southwest Pennsylvania Project Grass Grazing Conference in Indiana, PA. This event was sponsored by the Pennsylvania Association for Sustainable Agriculture. Several speakers presented on a variety of topics to include: diversifying your farm, pasture management, cattle handling, meat palatability, organic farming, and wildlife and grazing. Temple Grandin was the keynote speaker and spoke about animal handling and livestock equipment design. Many interesting concepts were discussed, but more than that, it was fun to be around other families who have the same passion for farming.

Grass Raised vs. Pasture Raised

Vistamont Farms aims to create a quality beef product that is both healthy and flavorful. We receive many questions regarding the difference between grass raised and finished beef vs. grass raised and grain finished beef. There seems to be a fine line (with no official definition from the USDA) regarding the difference between grass fed, grass raised, and grass finished beef. However, there are some noted differences between grass finished and grain finished beef. So we thought we might provide some insight into our production practices to provide clarity for our consumers.

We consider our beef pasture raised because our animals spend 100% of their lives on grass. However, we do supplement with grain for 90-120 days to finish our beef. During this time, our cattle are not in a feedlot, they are still free to roam on open pastures. They simply come in for grain twice a day. The grain we feed contains a strong corn base, no animal byproducts, no hormones, and no antibiotics. This provides just the right amount of marbling to create the taste our consumers enjoy! Then prior to harvesting our beef hangs for 14 days to enhance tenderness. Finally, these tender cuts are vacuum sealed individually in Cryovac packaging.

 As we move forward, we are looking to expand the farm's operations to produce our own corn feed which would make us self-sustaining in raising and finishing every aspect of our beef.
 
Most importantly, we understand the importance of knowing where your beef comes from, so we encourage our customers to come out and tour our facilities. We would love to show you around the farm. If you have any questions about our products, please feel free to contact us.

The Farm's Colors!!!

The colors are so beautiful this time of year. There is nothing like traveling around the farm on a fall day checking on cows or fixing fence. The green landscape has fiery red, orange, and yellow leaves popping out and creating a breathtaking view. We sometimes find ourselves just sitting in awe of the beauty that surrounds us. Enjoy a few pictures of the farm as we prepare to enter fall harvest!