Trying to overcome Imposter Syndrome at the Plowing Match

 As I write this, the plowing match has not yet happened.

Ready, set, plow!  If you have passed by the former Kemptville College grounds lately, you will have noticed a tent city being built. It’s rather impressive how the people behind the International Plowing Match have transferred their model for a successful event to our site, setting up auxiliary power and lighting and facilities to host thousands of people in less than a month of preparation.

I heard the call for volunteers and offered my services close to nine months ago. I was asked to use my experience as MC to assist in the hosting of the Celebration of Excellence – the awards gala. I’ve hosted dozens of events for charities and different organizations so I know the drill – you have to have stories to tell if there are delays, to keep people interested – sometimes a joke or two, and I’ve been known to occasionally break into song (consider yourself warned). However, I don’t believe I have ever hosted an event this LARGE. I’m trying not to get intimidated as I drive slowly past the massive circus tents.

I’ve had imposter syndrome more than once in my time as an Accidental Farmwife (thus the name). Whenever I’m asked to speak at an AGM for a local agricultural society or a group of farmers, I feel a bit dumb. I don’t know how to drive a tractor, for example (tried once on our ancient International but my leg wasn’t strong enough to push the pedals). I’ve never successfully baked a pie or mended torn overalls. I’m allergic to hay. My vegetable gardens, although prolific, have been overtaken with weeds, and I don’t like feeding chickens because they peck my ankles.

Over the past fifteen years, however, I have learned how to raise sheep and cattle. I have rejoiced over their births and cried over their deaths. I have worked hard to keep them comfortable and happy, and felt the determination to find solutions when they were laboring or unwell. I made sure their short lives here were happy and safe. I contributed to the agricultural economy and the foodchain. I guess that makes me a farmer too.

I’ve documented my farming experiences over the past decade and a half in this column, and although we don’t raise animals anymore, I still feel strongly connected to the farm as we watch the corn and soybeans grow through all kinds of weather. Thank you to everyone who takes part in the International Plowing Match in North Grenville – the competitors, the volunteers and the spectators – and thank you for coming!

Now I just have to figure out what hat and boots to wear.

 

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Farm to table: not as easy as it looks

Ok let’s try this again. Last spring we brought some chicks home to raise for our own freezer. Well, they didn’t make it to the freezer. In fact they didn’t even make it to one pound of body weight. Some critter snuck into the shed in the middle of the night and murdered them all. I’m just glad the massacre happened the day AFTER I sent my daughter in there to feed them. I wouldn’t want her to witness that carnage.

This is not the first time we have lost all of our birds to a predator. It seems to be the norm lately, no matter where we house our chicks – in the log cabin, the barn or the shed. We can stuff the cracks, line the pen with chicken wire, and the beasts still get in. It’s probably raccoons. They are extremely dexterous.

In addition to the predators, we have to consider the cold. We are at the end of summer now, and the nights are chilly. We can put heat lamps over the chicks but we have to make sure the drafts are all covered in the shed, or disaster will happen. The chicks will start piling on top of each other to keep warm, smothering one another in the process.

The Farmer has been busy for a few days now, building a new chicken coop in the shed. He has covered the floor of the horse pen with wood shavings. Chicken wire has been pulled across the walls and it forms a ceiling overhead. As I watch, I’m thinking of the video our daughter shared of a raccoon she caught in a live trap. It had been killing her laying hens so it had to go. There, caught on her live cam, was a full sized raccoon, prying the metal cage apart with its tiny hands. After he escaped, he threw the mangled cage to the side, out of his way, and waddled out of the shed into the moonlight. I’m not sure our chicken wire will be able to withstand raccoon hands.

My solution was to bring the chicks into the house, at least until they are a good size. We can fit the chick brooder in the old dog kennel cage. That will keep the chicks safe from curious house cats. They will be sheltered from the elements, and hungry wildlife.

Will this be the year that we manage to raise our chickens successfully? It seems like it has been ages since we were able to fill our freezers with meat we raised ourselves.

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