Tacking . . . toward Sunnywood Farm. With incremental progress.

Given the acceleration of political, economic, and environmental deterioration around this fragile world, we have put completion of our cordwood house on hold in order to develop food-production and farm infrastructure. The Sunnywood blog will be evolving into the Sunnywood Farm blog. (Yet there is more cordwood building to come in July and August).

Anyone who knows anything about farming knows that there is a steep learning curve. So despite our years of reading and workshops, nothing compares to the real thing. Every morning and evening we do battle with our small but stubborn Nigerian dwarf dairy goats, who delight in kicking over the milking pail, and refusing to let down their milk.

The 16 heritage-breed Buckeye chicks were tiny little balls of fluff when I brought them home a few weeks ago, and when I fed them I would say, "Come here, little peepers!"

Now they have outgrown their second box. When we open it to feed them, some descend, beaks-first, upon our hands, while others mount a mass escape. Our feeding-time crooning has changed to "Keep your beaks to yourselves, ya little savages!" Joe is in a coop-building frenzy so that we can get the killer chickens out of our greatroom.

We have six or so sheep arriving soon. As soon as we can get enough fencing installed. There is no fast, easy way to install fencing. Although we have discovered better tools than the sledge hammer/step ladder system we used for the goat paddock.

The weather has rendered all normal planting schedules irrelevant. Even though I planted my peas early, even by Maine standards (where it is a point of pride to have your peas in earlier than your neighbors), they are already balking at the warm weather. Same with the cold-weather greens. But it's not warm enough at night for warm-season crops.

Our garden plan comprises 14 beds, and I have prepared and planted three so far. Our driveway contractor had offered to haul away the sod and topsoil he scraped up, and bring back some loam. But I liked the looks of our sod/topsoil, and I had no idea what his "loam" would be like. So instead, I'm busting up and screening mountains of sod, one 30-inch screenful at a time. This is a time and place where fossil-fuel-powered equipment would be useful.

Diggiging holes for apple trees today under an unseasonably hot sun, plagued by clouds of early black flies, I longed for someone with a backhoe to rumble by. We have found, in situations like these, that it is essential NOT to regard the whole task at hand, which leads to immediate psychological defeat. Just like the winter when Joe moved all of the cordwood for our house, on snowshoes, with a plastic sled: it is imperative to concentrate on one small piece of the work at a time. And before you know it, you're done. Incremental progress.

I have decided that this will be the Sunnywood Farm motto. Incremental progress.