An Ever-Shrinking World
July 20, 2010|Comments (17)
Those lazy days of summer simply don’t exist for us. Our world becomes increasingly smaller as summer progresses. The days begin with a rush of chores — refilling hay nets, rotating fencing, refilling waterers, collecting eggs, and milking goats. In these months, it’s not hard to imagine our life once Josh retires from the military and farming becomes a full-time venture. Care to take a glimpse of the various goings-on?
We recently acquired a horse (Trust that there will be a post dedicated to the horse soon.) which only intensified our need for a barn/shed. In the past, we used the guinea house for a goat shed but quarters were cramped and kidding (goat birthing) became quite an ordeal since the goats don’t hold off labor until there’s a vacancy in the guinea house. So, we knocked down the guinea house and began barn construction.
The plans were fairly basic. We needed a two-stall structure with roomy stalls for our growing goat herd to be able to lounge comfortably and to provide a separate space for our does to give birth. Once they give birth, they need at least a week of stall-keeping to bond with their babies without juggling herd dynamics. We decided that the barn needed to easily translate to horse-keeping since we 1.) now own a horse and 2.) must eventually sell this place.
We planned for 12′ x 12′ stalls, a nice 6′ x 24′ covered area, and a roomy loft for hay storage. Josh sunk the posts and the barn began to take shape. Slowly. Okay… painfully slowly because we live in Georgia. May I tell you the main reason that you don’t see barn building this time of year in Georgia? Get ready:
- It’s hot. Really hot. As in so intensely hot and humid that your body panics because no matter how much sweat it produces… it just can’t seem to cool down.
- The soil here is like concrete. Not wet concrete but more like sun-baked concrete.
- The bugs here flew directly out of the Jurassic period, grew massive stingers, and became blood-thirsty mentally unstable murderous winged creatures of unusual size.
- There is no wind. None. The air sits as a thick heavy blanket of suffocating stagnant heat in which the only air currents are those stirred by angry swarming yellow jackets. (By the way, if you don’t have yellow jackets in your country, please email me so I can move there because I just used my last Epi-Pen yesterday.)