Maybe this is a good time to teach you the secret art of reusing baling twine. Our bales are in small, 50ish pound rectangles bound tightly with two orange lengths of twine. I don't really understand how the mechanical baler ties those knots. I think there are little elves inside. The twine itself is some sort of polyvinyl petroleum product that will outlast us all. So, it's important to find secondary uses for them once you've snipped those ties with the nearest handy sharp object and tossed the desiccated grass to your eager ruminants. The first step is to collect the twine in a designated place so it is ready for whatever future project you need it for. Do not leave the twine in any grass, lettuce patch, blackberry bramble or other plant matter where it will become entangled and lost until the lawnmower finds it. I would never do that. Likewise, don't leave it on the barn floor to trip your spouse or drape it across their bike wheel or the cab of their truck or under their pillow. And, in seriousness, don't leave it where your animals will eat it because it can block their intestines. I've heard some sad stories. The second step is to make some stuff with your twine. Here are some ideas: 1. Tomato trellis. This design can be used for a single or double row of tomatoes. It is a build-as-it-grows design and will end up looking like a crazy twine-spinning spider has made its web through your maters. Pruning the leaves off the center of your plant will help air flow and prevent mold.
2. Plan a Straight Fence Line: The shortest distance from Point A to Point B sometimes needs a map. Instructions: Push stakes in the ground where your corner posts will be (Points A and B). Tie lengths of baling twine together into one long rope. Tie the rope to the stakes. Voila. You can also use this to plant straight garden rows if you are a control freak as well as an obsessive compulsive baling twine hoarder. I wouldn't know about either of those things, obviously. 3. Crochet a Rug. Need a primitive, chabby chic, utilitarianique (my term, copyrighted) place to wipe off your Wellies? Instructions: Baling twine is sturdy stuff. Tie the lengths together and wind the whole rope into a ball. Learn to crochet (just ask Granny). Crochet a rug. Don't worry about the long ties. They add character. (Pretend I took a picture of a baling twine rug. At this point, it's still in the design phase...) 4. Use Baling Twine for Everything Else. Tie a sack closed. Keep a gate open. Keep a gate closed. Cinch a bed roll. Wrap a present. Tie your hair back. Replace the leash your dog lost. Play chase with your cat. Make a peanut butter rap trat, I mean rat trap. Tie a tarp down. Cinch up your fat pants that are only good for gardening now. Expand the buttonhole of your skinny pants. Hang a cabbage for your chickens to peck. Zigzag twine through the holes of a cattle panel to keep your bull-headed alpaca from sticking his head through and getting it stuck. Curse the twine and the alpaca when it doesn't work. Crochet a hammock. Weave a basket. Patch the cane of your old chair. Embroider a detailed replica of the unicorn tapestries. Give it to your kids and tell them to go outside and use their imagination. I hope this How-To Hoe Down has inspired you to hoard twine like a pro and justify that hoard to your spouse and perhaps remind them of their own torn up T-shirt hoard if they still give you grief. See you next time.
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A blog is an inherently egotistical enterprise, as is any memoir or self portrait or even just rolling out of bed, polishing up the various unruly bits and stinking up the world with opinions and status updates and the like. It all makes me a bit uncomfortable, this "having a voice" business. But, at the same time, I can't seem to shut up so a blog seems like another good medium for making a fool of myself. (Side note: As I write this, a slender spider is starting its morning web beside me. As it spins and weaves for its survival, I could swear it was doing so with a little self-satisfied flare. Its long legs are curling around its thread in a delicate dance that can only be described as joyfully self-aware. OK, maybe it could be described differently but this is my blog and I am trying to justify this exercise in narcissism so I say that even the spiders enjoy some healthy self admiration.) So, what direction should I point this shiny, new blog? What great wisdom should I impart? With what amusing anecdotes shall I entertain? Do the people of the world need my recipe for Savory Pie a.k.a. Harvest Quiche a.k.a. "That Again, Mom?" (Comment your vote) Should I detail the clumsy (and costly) path of dumb luck that led me to this charming farm with its beautiful, crumbling old barn and its fickle trickle of a creek? Or should I thank the people who didn't openly laugh when I told them our plan for living off the land? (I'm lookin' at you, Mom and Dad). Well, this is a homesteading blog on our farm's public website, so I'll at least try to temper my opinions on foreign affairs (of which I have a lot) and on Hollywood gossip (of which I have none). Any future fashion category will be limited to Carhartts (who need to improve their women's line, BTW) and Bogs Boots (which go with absolutely anything, I say). Likewise, any horoscopes will be plagiarized directly from the Farmer's Almanac. I might also have some Feng Shui design ideas for stuffing old feed sacks into every possible corner and for reusing baling twine to engineer chic tomato trellises, gate latches, and hair ties. And, as my favorite shovel knows, I've also got plenty of material for some head-in-the-clouds philosophizing and some down-to-earth moralizing, You wouldn't believe the ideas one can dream up (and mutter) while turning a compost pile. So stay tuned, people. This blog feels like it might get real Ladies' HomeSTEAD Companion on you, complete with an inadvisable advice column. Why not? I'm always writing down the profoundly absurd quotes from my life that should perfectly illustrate some questionable parenting tips, marital advice, and survival techniques (the latter two being mostly interchangeable). My family says (nervously) that they're willing and this is a family farm, so it's perfectly on topic. I'll leave you today with a little teaser of what's possible to come: A Quote from Barn on the Creek Farm to Illustrate the Art of Crisis Management: Tune in next time, patient readers. I'll be sure to anthropomorphize more invertebrates and detail the cost/benefit analysis of DIY fence-building. SPOILER ALERT: Staples for fence post-inflicted head wounds cost $750; no lasting brain trauma: priceless.
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AuthorSome people buy a gym membership. I haul 25 pound bags of alpaca manure a quarter mile up a hill to my garden. (And I like it). Archives
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