Farm Blog

Green rain pants? Check. Rubbing alcohol? Check. Rubber gloves, kid restraint box, and screaming goat kid? Check, check, and check. I'm ready to tattoo this little doeling to make her an honest pedigree-bearing member of the American Dairy Goat Association (ADGA). Tattooing baby goats is my second-worst kid care job. The worst? I cauterized her horn buds a few days ago, a physically traumatic process with lots of burned hair smell. That job means they won't grow horns,

My dad visited the farm this winter. Since my earliest lemonade-stand days, he's encouraged me towards fame and fortune. Now that I am living in, shall we say, rustic simplicity, he's full of questions about my economic situation. "The farm pays for itself, Dad," I tell him as we sit by the woodstove. And it's true that the farm business has been in the black for the past 4 years. Neither Daniel nor I draw anything resembling a modern salary from the farm. But neither of

Our Farm Grandma Jenn Wolfe is still in Hawaii. This makes complete sense; we support her staying with her kids and grandkids in her usual winter home. Why travel from a tropical paradise to the cold and rainy nucleus of the coronavirus outbreak? But "shelter-in-place" has made it clear how much we miss her. This homestead needs all ages present. This homestead needs elders and youngers, just like the rich ecology of the forest. Have you seen a tree plantation where all