I learned something from the newspaper today:
The average daily temperature in New Jersey in June and July was higher than it has ever been in the 114 years weather records have been kept.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
BEN THE ESCAPE ARTIST
Ben the horse continues to inspire. I like his tenacity.
At evening letout last night, Intern Peter and I deposited Ben in the round pasture before continuing our chores. Not five minutes later, Ben teleported back to the barnyard. We found him over near the fence of the back pasture where the farm’s four biggest horses spend the night.
I don’t speak horse, but if I didn’t know better, I’d say little Ben was talking trash to Bill, Jess, Chester, and Jack. He was doing this from the safety of his side of the fence. The other horses looked furious – they were pacing and rearing up and letting out horse snarls. Given the chance, there’s no doubt they would give Ben a severe equine beatdown.
I have yet to catch him in the act, but it’s become apparent that Ben is stepping over a low part of the pasture fence and then going wherever he feels like.
Peter and I decided we’d leave Ben in the tubyard for the night, which has a higher fence. But Ben absolutely refused to go, like a 1,500-pound boulder. Even the appearance of a horsewhip didn’t help.
Peter was, however, eventually able to goad Ben back into the barn.
The last I saw of Ben, he was clipped into his stall with a rope and both doors to his section of the barn were securely fastened. The previous night I had left these doors open. This time there would be no escape.
I arrived back at the farm at 7 a.m. this morning, the first man on the scene. Whom did I spy from across the pasture, grazing contently? Ben!
I proceeded directly to the barn to see what had happened. Inside, Ben’s rope was broken (the third he’s broken this week) but both doors were closed just as securely as I had left them. For the next ten seconds I contemplated the possibly that Ben was one of those vampire horses you hear about who can step through walls. And then it struck me what Ben had accomplished, and I was even more impressed.
This is my reconstruction of the events, which may be dramatized:
After breaking his rope with a powerful thrash off his head, Ben found the doors of the barn impenetrable, kick like the devil though he may. Sizing up his options, he saw his only chance for escape was to perform a dangerous routine of horse gymnastics. He vaulted directly forward from his stall up into the manger where his food gets delivered. Then he vaulted out of his manager, at great peril, down into the narrow alleyway on the other side. Having survived the danger of a broken leg, he turned right and discovered a false wall in the barn (the door from the alleyway into the central area of the barn, which is under construction, is currently a hanging piece of heavy canvas). He pushed through. In the pitch black, he then navigated over the uneven, debris-strew floor and discovered another door that had been left open, leading into the area where the rest of the horse stalls are located. From here, Ben quickly found an open doorway to the outside … and soon breathed in the fresh night air of freedom.
Today, I’m told, the project on the farm is to raise all low areas of fencing.
At evening letout last night, Intern Peter and I deposited Ben in the round pasture before continuing our chores. Not five minutes later, Ben teleported back to the barnyard. We found him over near the fence of the back pasture where the farm’s four biggest horses spend the night.
I don’t speak horse, but if I didn’t know better, I’d say little Ben was talking trash to Bill, Jess, Chester, and Jack. He was doing this from the safety of his side of the fence. The other horses looked furious – they were pacing and rearing up and letting out horse snarls. Given the chance, there’s no doubt they would give Ben a severe equine beatdown.
I have yet to catch him in the act, but it’s become apparent that Ben is stepping over a low part of the pasture fence and then going wherever he feels like.
Peter and I decided we’d leave Ben in the tubyard for the night, which has a higher fence. But Ben absolutely refused to go, like a 1,500-pound boulder. Even the appearance of a horsewhip didn’t help.
Peter was, however, eventually able to goad Ben back into the barn.
The last I saw of Ben, he was clipped into his stall with a rope and both doors to his section of the barn were securely fastened. The previous night I had left these doors open. This time there would be no escape.
I arrived back at the farm at 7 a.m. this morning, the first man on the scene. Whom did I spy from across the pasture, grazing contently? Ben!
I proceeded directly to the barn to see what had happened. Inside, Ben’s rope was broken (the third he’s broken this week) but both doors were closed just as securely as I had left them. For the next ten seconds I contemplated the possibly that Ben was one of those vampire horses you hear about who can step through walls. And then it struck me what Ben had accomplished, and I was even more impressed.
This is my reconstruction of the events, which may be dramatized:
After breaking his rope with a powerful thrash off his head, Ben found the doors of the barn impenetrable, kick like the devil though he may. Sizing up his options, he saw his only chance for escape was to perform a dangerous routine of horse gymnastics. He vaulted directly forward from his stall up into the manger where his food gets delivered. Then he vaulted out of his manager, at great peril, down into the narrow alleyway on the other side. Having survived the danger of a broken leg, he turned right and discovered a false wall in the barn (the door from the alleyway into the central area of the barn, which is under construction, is currently a hanging piece of heavy canvas). He pushed through. In the pitch black, he then navigated over the uneven, debris-strew floor and discovered another door that had been left open, leading into the area where the rest of the horse stalls are located. From here, Ben quickly found an open doorway to the outside … and soon breathed in the fresh night air of freedom.
Today, I’m told, the project on the farm is to raise all low areas of fencing.
Monday, August 25, 2008
A HORSE IN THE SHADOWS
I've taken to enjoying a nocturnal stroll around Howell Farm most nights before I retire to bed — which is actually a queen-sized air mattress on the floor of my living room.
The farm is a superior course in this regard in that it is very dark. On a foggy or cloudy night, one might be the last man on earth as he trods the dirt path around the fields. And on a clear night, such as last night, I can see straight up about a hundred million miles.
Several visitors to the farm who have needed to cross it at night have remarked to me it's kind of spooky. But I've come to think just the opposite. I've become much better at startling the night animals I stumble across than they are at startling me. For the most part.
Last night, I wasn't so much strolling as traveling, as I walked across the barnyard up to the farm's visitor center. I like to hole up in the visitor center when it's late and I have some serious writing to accomplish. It's like being in an empty newspaper office, which is also an excellent place to write.
I nearly jumped out of my skin when a giant horse-shaped animal ran right past me and back into the shadows. The horses spend their summer nights out in the fenced pasture, not roaming the barnyard, so that meant this fellow had gotten lose.
A little reconnaissance helped me determine that the offender was Ben, a horse who is new to the farm just last week. I haven't worked with Ben at all yet, and the only thing I've heard about him is that he gets antsy if he's left alone. Intern Peter said Ben broke out of his stall last week when Blaze went out for the night and Ben thought he was getting left behind.
The late hour being nearly pitch black, and Ben being a stranger, I approached the horse with caution (and with a handful of hay to offer as a getting-to-know-you present.) Ben didn't seem comfortable either, and he walked in the other direction as I got near. Fortunately, I waited a minute and Ben made his way over to one of the water barrels to get a drink. When he was distracted with the water, I snuck up behind and grabbed his halter. I then led him back into his stall and clipped him in to his rope. Since I didn't know how he had gotten out of the pasture, I thought I'd leave him in for the night.
Ben was pissed about this decision. He kicked the walls of his stall as I walked away.
A few hours later I returned back through the barnyard, having made some progress with my writing. What happened next? I nearly jumped out of my skin when a giant horse-shaped animal ran right past me and back into the shadows!
It was Ben again, and this time he made it clear he wasn't letting me anywhere near him. So I walked to the gate of the pasture where he needed to be and opened it wide. Then I circled back and tried to scare Ben in that direction. This worked, to my amazement, but Ben didn't just stroll. He took off at a wild gallop, disappeared into the dark of the pasture, and, by the sounds of it, he didn't stop running for a few hundred yards.
The farm is a superior course in this regard in that it is very dark. On a foggy or cloudy night, one might be the last man on earth as he trods the dirt path around the fields. And on a clear night, such as last night, I can see straight up about a hundred million miles.
Several visitors to the farm who have needed to cross it at night have remarked to me it's kind of spooky. But I've come to think just the opposite. I've become much better at startling the night animals I stumble across than they are at startling me. For the most part.
Last night, I wasn't so much strolling as traveling, as I walked across the barnyard up to the farm's visitor center. I like to hole up in the visitor center when it's late and I have some serious writing to accomplish. It's like being in an empty newspaper office, which is also an excellent place to write.
I nearly jumped out of my skin when a giant horse-shaped animal ran right past me and back into the shadows. The horses spend their summer nights out in the fenced pasture, not roaming the barnyard, so that meant this fellow had gotten lose.
A little reconnaissance helped me determine that the offender was Ben, a horse who is new to the farm just last week. I haven't worked with Ben at all yet, and the only thing I've heard about him is that he gets antsy if he's left alone. Intern Peter said Ben broke out of his stall last week when Blaze went out for the night and Ben thought he was getting left behind.
The late hour being nearly pitch black, and Ben being a stranger, I approached the horse with caution (and with a handful of hay to offer as a getting-to-know-you present.) Ben didn't seem comfortable either, and he walked in the other direction as I got near. Fortunately, I waited a minute and Ben made his way over to one of the water barrels to get a drink. When he was distracted with the water, I snuck up behind and grabbed his halter. I then led him back into his stall and clipped him in to his rope. Since I didn't know how he had gotten out of the pasture, I thought I'd leave him in for the night.
Ben was pissed about this decision. He kicked the walls of his stall as I walked away.
A few hours later I returned back through the barnyard, having made some progress with my writing. What happened next? I nearly jumped out of my skin when a giant horse-shaped animal ran right past me and back into the shadows!
It was Ben again, and this time he made it clear he wasn't letting me anywhere near him. So I walked to the gate of the pasture where he needed to be and opened it wide. Then I circled back and tried to scare Ben in that direction. This worked, to my amazement, but Ben didn't just stroll. He took off at a wild gallop, disappeared into the dark of the pasture, and, by the sounds of it, he didn't stop running for a few hundred yards.
Thursday, August 21, 2008
CORN MAZE FLYOVER
I saw the farm’s corn maze yesterday from the best possible vantage point – 1,000 feet directly overhead from the seat of an R44 Raven helicopter, doors off.
This was my first time in a helicopter. I found it to be several degrees more exciting than being in a small airplane, and small airplanes are pretty sweet. But if I had to describe the helo experience in a single word, it would be this: “windy.”
Joining me on the trip were John the Pilot (we let him do the flying), John Conn (a professional photographer), and Gary the Farm Manager (present to help navigate).
My good idea was to attach my video camera to a pole and stick it out the door in hopes of capturing awesome video. John the Pilot warned me that it would be fairly difficult to hold onto the camera if I did this, because of the wind that would be whipping against it. He also said that if let go of the camera and it took out the tail rotor, they probably wouldn’t invite me back.
I tried my technique, and sure enough, it is a little challenging to hold a camera on a pole out the door of a helicopter. But I held on, and here’s the result:
This was my first time in a helicopter. I found it to be several degrees more exciting than being in a small airplane, and small airplanes are pretty sweet. But if I had to describe the helo experience in a single word, it would be this: “windy.”
Joining me on the trip were John the Pilot (we let him do the flying), John Conn (a professional photographer), and Gary the Farm Manager (present to help navigate).
My good idea was to attach my video camera to a pole and stick it out the door in hopes of capturing awesome video. John the Pilot warned me that it would be fairly difficult to hold onto the camera if I did this, because of the wind that would be whipping against it. He also said that if let go of the camera and it took out the tail rotor, they probably wouldn’t invite me back.
I tried my technique, and sure enough, it is a little challenging to hold a camera on a pole out the door of a helicopter. But I held on, and here’s the result:
Monday, August 18, 2008
CONSERVING COLLEGE KIDS
The University of Richmond, my alma mater, recently announced a new campus-wide energy monitoring system:
http://oncampus.richmond.edu/news/aug08/Dominion.html?tr=y&auid=3902146
The system, which will be installed in all 14 residence halls, will allow students to track their energy use online. The idea is that if they can actually see that turning off their computer saves energy, maybe they will.
When the system is installed in Fall 2009, dorm residents will compete for the highest decrease in energy consumption. When Oberlin College did this, "students were able to reduce their electricity use by up to 55 percent over two weeks."
Worth noting, the system is being paid for by the Dominion Foundation. Dominion, based in Richmond, is one of the nation's largest producers of energy. They burn a lot of coal and are currently pursing plans to build a new coal-fired power plant in Wise County, Va. Here's a Washington Post article about it worth reading:
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2008/06/24/AR2008062401552_2.html?sid=ST2008062500042&pos=&s_pos=
http://oncampus.richmond.edu/news/aug08/Dominion.html?tr=y&auid=3902146
The system, which will be installed in all 14 residence halls, will allow students to track their energy use online. The idea is that if they can actually see that turning off their computer saves energy, maybe they will.
When the system is installed in Fall 2009, dorm residents will compete for the highest decrease in energy consumption. When Oberlin College did this, "students were able to reduce their electricity use by up to 55 percent over two weeks."
Worth noting, the system is being paid for by the Dominion Foundation. Dominion, based in Richmond, is one of the nation's largest producers of energy. They burn a lot of coal and are currently pursing plans to build a new coal-fired power plant in Wise County, Va. Here's a Washington Post article about it worth reading:
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2008/06/24/AR2008062401552_2.html?sid=ST2008062500042&pos=&s_pos=
ELECTRIC CARS AND VICTORY GARDENS
Wired magazine, one of my favorites, has two interesting sustainability related articles this month.
The first, the cover story, is about a businessman named Shai Agassi and his plan to bring electric cars to the world, starting with Israel and Denmark. His company, Better Place, has the cooperation of these governments and has raised more than $200 million in committed capital. According to Wired, Agassi has managed to launch "the fifth-largest startup of all time in less than a year." He's not building cars, but rather a grid of battery charging stations that will sell electricity like cell phone companies sell minutes.
Rather than try to summarize Agassi's crazy complicated business plan here (which began to sound less and less crazy as I made my way through the article) I'll leave it to the dedicated Farmbedded reader to find his own copy of the magazine. I recommend it.
The other article, an essay by Clive Thompson, argues for urban farming:
"The next president should throw down the gauntlet and demand Americans sow victory gardens once again."
It's worked before. Between 1942 and 1943, victory gardens produced 40 percent of the vegetables consumed in this country, according to Thompson. And innovations since then have made urban food growing "radically more efficient and compact than the victory gardens of yore," he says.
It seems like such a simple, sensible thing to do. The result would be better, cheaper food for urban Americans, less obesity, less CO2 resulting from shipping food across the world, more food independence, and you could even cool the cities by planting crops on rooftops.
What's more, Thompson writes:
"But what I love most here is the potential for cultural transformation. Growing our own food again would reconnect us to the country's languishing frontier spirit."
Well said.
The first, the cover story, is about a businessman named Shai Agassi and his plan to bring electric cars to the world, starting with Israel and Denmark. His company, Better Place, has the cooperation of these governments and has raised more than $200 million in committed capital. According to Wired, Agassi has managed to launch "the fifth-largest startup of all time in less than a year." He's not building cars, but rather a grid of battery charging stations that will sell electricity like cell phone companies sell minutes.
Rather than try to summarize Agassi's crazy complicated business plan here (which began to sound less and less crazy as I made my way through the article) I'll leave it to the dedicated Farmbedded reader to find his own copy of the magazine. I recommend it.
The other article, an essay by Clive Thompson, argues for urban farming:
"The next president should throw down the gauntlet and demand Americans sow victory gardens once again."
It's worked before. Between 1942 and 1943, victory gardens produced 40 percent of the vegetables consumed in this country, according to Thompson. And innovations since then have made urban food growing "radically more efficient and compact than the victory gardens of yore," he says.
It seems like such a simple, sensible thing to do. The result would be better, cheaper food for urban Americans, less obesity, less CO2 resulting from shipping food across the world, more food independence, and you could even cool the cities by planting crops on rooftops.
What's more, Thompson writes:
"But what I love most here is the potential for cultural transformation. Growing our own food again would reconnect us to the country's languishing frontier spirit."
Well said.
Saturday, August 16, 2008
HORSESHOES AND HORSES
The first event of the Howell Farm Olympics finally kicked off yesterday — horseshoes.
Horseshoes history, according to Wikipedia:
“Iron plates or rings for shoes may have been nailed on horses' feet in Western Asia and Eastern Europe as early as the second century BC…. There is a theory that the camp followers of the Grecian armies, who could not afford the discus, took discarded horseshoes, set up a stake, and began throwing horseshoes at it.”
Also from Wikipedia:
“Following the Revolutionary War, it was said by England's Duke of Wellington that ‘The War was won by pitchers of horse hardware.’”
The first round results:
Unfortunately, the Howell Farm Olympics are highly dysfunctional, as it's difficult to get enough people together at any one time. Other events that have been envisioned, such as the hay bale toss and the 14-times around the farm run, are in danger of cancellation.
Worst of all was a stunt pulled yesterday by Farm Director Pete. All week long he’s been talking horseshoe smack about how, “Yeah, I’ve thrown a horseshoe or two in my day,” and “I wouldn’t count the old man out.” So the day of the competition comes, and Pete disappears suddenly, under the auspices of needing to go to Lancaster to “look at a horse.”
Nice try Pete. I challenge you, publicly, to a winner-take-all horseshoe throwdown, any time any place. The loser will buy the winner a steak, and I like sautéed mushrooms on top.
In unrelated news, the farm bought a new horse from a Lancaster horse trader yesterday. He hasn’t arrived yet, but I’m told he’s about 15 hands and 1,500 pounds. More on that when I learn more.
Horseshoes history, according to Wikipedia:
“Iron plates or rings for shoes may have been nailed on horses' feet in Western Asia and Eastern Europe as early as the second century BC…. There is a theory that the camp followers of the Grecian armies, who could not afford the discus, took discarded horseshoes, set up a stake, and began throwing horseshoes at it.”
Also from Wikipedia:
“Following the Revolutionary War, it was said by England's Duke of Wellington that ‘The War was won by pitchers of horse hardware.’”
The first round results:
Unfortunately, the Howell Farm Olympics are highly dysfunctional, as it's difficult to get enough people together at any one time. Other events that have been envisioned, such as the hay bale toss and the 14-times around the farm run, are in danger of cancellation.
Worst of all was a stunt pulled yesterday by Farm Director Pete. All week long he’s been talking horseshoe smack about how, “Yeah, I’ve thrown a horseshoe or two in my day,” and “I wouldn’t count the old man out.” So the day of the competition comes, and Pete disappears suddenly, under the auspices of needing to go to Lancaster to “look at a horse.”
Nice try Pete. I challenge you, publicly, to a winner-take-all horseshoe throwdown, any time any place. The loser will buy the winner a steak, and I like sautéed mushrooms on top.
In unrelated news, the farm bought a new horse from a Lancaster horse trader yesterday. He hasn’t arrived yet, but I’m told he’s about 15 hands and 1,500 pounds. More on that when I learn more.
Saturday, August 9, 2008
THE HONEY HARVEST
At the Howell Farm honey harvest today, I learned how beekeepers make it happen.
First, the beekeepers open their hives and remove the honeycomb-filled frames. They use smoke to keep the bees docile. This works because when bees sense smoke, they think their house is burning down. They react to this by gorging themselves with as much honey as possible, fearing they might not be seeing another good meal for a while. And the result of this is that they feel so fat they won’t even bother to sting you.
Once the beekeepers have the frames, their task is to get the honey out of the honeycombs. This process involves a centrifuge.
First, take your frame and gently scrape the surface of the honeycomb with a scraper, which grants access to the honey on the inside. Then, take your frame and insert it into a holder inside your centrifuge. Start cranking the centrifuge handle. This sends the frame spinning and your honey splatting toward the outside of the centrifuge container. The honey will slowly drip down the sides until it reaches the bottom, where it is collected in a honey bucket.
Basically, the process is exactly the same as harvesting weapons-grade uranium from uranium gas, except easier.
First, the beekeepers open their hives and remove the honeycomb-filled frames. They use smoke to keep the bees docile. This works because when bees sense smoke, they think their house is burning down. They react to this by gorging themselves with as much honey as possible, fearing they might not be seeing another good meal for a while. And the result of this is that they feel so fat they won’t even bother to sting you.
Once the beekeepers have the frames, their task is to get the honey out of the honeycombs. This process involves a centrifuge.
First, take your frame and gently scrape the surface of the honeycomb with a scraper, which grants access to the honey on the inside. Then, take your frame and insert it into a holder inside your centrifuge. Start cranking the centrifuge handle. This sends the frame spinning and your honey splatting toward the outside of the centrifuge container. The honey will slowly drip down the sides until it reaches the bottom, where it is collected in a honey bucket.
Basically, the process is exactly the same as harvesting weapons-grade uranium from uranium gas, except easier.
THE BEAN BEAR
Farmer Rob believes he has discovered a bear’s claw marks in the Market Garden. The alleged track was found among the beans.
I’ve never heard of a bear liking beans, but other evidence also points to a bear:
-Rob also found what he believes to be bear droppings under a nearby cherry tree.
-In the past, black bears have been spotted in the farm vicinity.
I, ever one to question the official story, suggested an alternative: Perhaps a smaller animal with one claw scratched five parallel marks into the dirt.
Now, however, after analyzing the photographic evidence and running it through my crime-solving computer, I believe that Rob is correct. It’s hard to argue with this:
I’ve never heard of a bear liking beans, but other evidence also points to a bear:
-Rob also found what he believes to be bear droppings under a nearby cherry tree.
-In the past, black bears have been spotted in the farm vicinity.
I, ever one to question the official story, suggested an alternative: Perhaps a smaller animal with one claw scratched five parallel marks into the dirt.
Now, however, after analyzing the photographic evidence and running it through my crime-solving computer, I believe that Rob is correct. It’s hard to argue with this:
Thursday, August 7, 2008
BIO-GAS AND FARM ENGINES
The fodder-chopper churned outside the barn yesterday. Cornstalk grinding has a special place in my heart because it was one of the first jobs I did at Howell Farm when I visited back in January. You can read about that experience here:
http://farmbedded.blogspot.com/2008/01/sheep-and-cornhusks.html
In the pictures below, you can see that a belt connects the chopper to a stationary hit-and-miss engine, which provides the power. The engine runs off gasoline.
Farmer Rob (who is also a trained physicist) says that on the sustainable farm of the future, he thinks stationary engines will still have a place – for jobs like threshing and corn shelling. The difference, from a sustainability standpoint, is that these engines will run off bio-gas processed on the farm from the release of methane from manure.
My first thought on this was, if you’re going to run a stationary engine off bio-gas, why not just run a tractor with a PTO off bio-gas? Rob says that the problem with gas is that it’s diffuse – hard to store in a reasonably sized tank on a vehicle that needs to be mobile such as a tractor.
All true, but I’m still pulling for do-it-all, bio-gas powered tractors. By the time bio-gas engines are ready for primetime, maybe the technology of methane gas compression and storage will also have hit its golden age.
According to Wikipedia:
“If concentrated and compressed, [biogas] can also be used in vehicle transportation. Compressed biogas is becoming widely used in Sweden, Switzerland and Germany. A biogas-powered train has been in service in Sweden since 2005.”
http://farmbedded.blogspot.com/2008/01/sheep-and-cornhusks.html
In the pictures below, you can see that a belt connects the chopper to a stationary hit-and-miss engine, which provides the power. The engine runs off gasoline.
Farmer Rob (who is also a trained physicist) says that on the sustainable farm of the future, he thinks stationary engines will still have a place – for jobs like threshing and corn shelling. The difference, from a sustainability standpoint, is that these engines will run off bio-gas processed on the farm from the release of methane from manure.
My first thought on this was, if you’re going to run a stationary engine off bio-gas, why not just run a tractor with a PTO off bio-gas? Rob says that the problem with gas is that it’s diffuse – hard to store in a reasonably sized tank on a vehicle that needs to be mobile such as a tractor.
All true, but I’m still pulling for do-it-all, bio-gas powered tractors. By the time bio-gas engines are ready for primetime, maybe the technology of methane gas compression and storage will also have hit its golden age.
According to Wikipedia:
“If concentrated and compressed, [biogas] can also be used in vehicle transportation. Compressed biogas is becoming widely used in Sweden, Switzerland and Germany. A biogas-powered train has been in service in Sweden since 2005.”
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