Story Time at Clatter Ridge Farm

Seeing the holidays in the rear-view mirror is not unlike getting over a virulent stomach bug. The relief of simply getting back to normal is so satisfying as to be positively transformative in nature. The gratitude, the deep contentment, the blissful solitude – it’s possible that I have just gained a whole new lease on life. Our dogs have come out of hiding and are sound asleep - sprawled across...

There are few things on this planet as peaceful as walking in a New England forest after a snowstorm. The sound deadening blanket covering the earth creates a blissful silence and is the perfect tonic for an overly noisy world. The welcomed hush is broken only by the gentle rustle of leaves stubbornly clinging to a few outlying trees. Most deciduous trees drop their leaves as soon as the color fad...

Our friends with culinary ties to the South made their annual pilgrimage to buy smoked pork jowl from our farm last week. The jowl is traditionally cooked with collard greens, black-eyed-peas and served with cornbread. All of which are believed to bring good luck and prosperity in the New Year. The meal served either at midnight, or on New Year’s Day, has many iterations across the South and very...

I always thought my mom’s tradition of putting an orange in the bottom of everyone’s stocking was a waste of perfectly usable stocking space, and I told her so every Christmas. She explained that growing up oranges were a special treat, and as a child, one of the magical joys of Christmas. As a kid I found that hard to believe, but it makes sense to me now. In an era before refrigeration and mass...

When we were kids, we were fortunate enough to be able to cut our own Christmas trees, and of all our holiday traditions, getting the tree was definitely my favorite. We’d head out the back door and climb up the quarter mile path through the ravine to a grove of spruce trees that my grandmother had tasked my uncles with planting years before. Our Christmas tree lot was deeply magical. The trees, b...

Just as the sun came up, the snow stopped, and the wind moved on. It was so bitterly cold, though, the only hope of staying warm was to just keep moving. I wanted to check the fence line for any trees that might have come down in the storm, and I was indeed making great time. When I crossed the stream, though, a series of tracks caught my eye. Pleased to see that I wasn’t the only one out doing ch...

On this cold December morning, the witch hazel in our wooded pig pasture seems quite pleased with itself. Long after all our autumn leaves have fallen and every other plant has completely faded, Connecticut’s native witch hazel comes into bloom. The timing seems self-defeating as there are very few cold tolerant insects this time of year that are available to pollinate it. It is, however, the only...

15,000 years ago, our farm (and the rest of New England) was covered with a sheet of ice a mile thick. As the glacier receded, it left behind barren rock, glacial till and valleys filled with lakes. The surface of New England had been scrubbed clean of whatever topsoil, earthworms, and megafauna that had lived here before. We had to completely start over from scratch. Lichen recolonized the rock –...

Halfway up the path through our ravine is a shagbark hickory tree that never seems to grow. It appears happy enough, but it’s been the same size since I was a kid. I’m sure that the limited nutrients from the rocky talus slope and the struggle of living in the shade of larger oaks has stunted its growth. But it’s not just the tree itself which never seems to age but the hole in its trunk never see...

When planet Earth was young, it collided with something large enough to knock it off its polar axis. That collision, and the ensuing tilt, are why we have seasons. It’s also widely believed that the debris from that collision eventually became our moon. Earth spins on its axis, one revolution every 24 hours, and that gives us night and day. At the same time, it’s also orbiting the sun. And that ye...

Just before my dad passed away, I asked him what kind of tree he wanted his ashes scattered beneath. He didn’t hesitate – he wanted us to plant an oak tree. Specifically, he wanted a “northern red oak” planted in our ravine. It seemed an odd request - to plant an oak tree in a forest filled with oaks, but he was very definitive, so I was happy to oblige. Technically, I could have swiped an acorn f...

As autumn approaches, our chickens start slowing down for the winter. The pineal gland behind their eyes registers the change in daylight length, and they lay fewer and fewer eggs as their circadian rhythm tries to keep them from raising baby chicks in the winter. By March, when the hens’ glands register that there is enough daylight, they begin to lay again. Putting a light on in their coop which...

This time of year, we catch the sunrise while doing morning chores and the sunset during afternoon chores. It’s a bit like having a pair of bucolic bookends at either end of our day. The adage “red sky at night sailor’s delight, red sky in the morning sailors take warning,” often comes to mind. The original version of that saying refers to shepherds not sailors. “Red sky at night shepherd’s deligh...

In an attempt to protect their monopoly on the wool industry, England tried hard to discourage one from ever taking hold in its American colonies. To that end, the exporting of sheep to America was expressly forbidden, but by 1655, a few smuggled sheep had multiplied to 10,000. Oops! I’m not sure what I find more amusing; that colonial sheep smuggling was actually a thing or that breeding sheep be...

When I head out to the barn each morning, I always take in the view from our ridgetop home. Farmington is blessed with so many trees that most of its houses are hidden under a canopy of leaves, so when I scan the valley, there is very little evidence of human “civilization.” That suits me just fine! The view is timeless, the feeling is tranquil, and I cherish the early morning solitude. Once the w...

On the very last day of the year, I found a quartz geode laying on top of a stone wall in our pig pasture. It’s small – the exposed quartz is only about two square inches, but still, I’m not sure how I never noticed it before. I thought the pigs must have uncovered it, but there is lichen on it so it’s been exposed for a while. It was likely formed 200 million years ago, when our farm (along with...

As the days become shorter, trees (like the rest of us) prepare for winter. They begin to seal off the veins that transport nutrients to and from the leaves. Like battening down the hatch on a submarine, they cut the leaves off from the rest of the tree. If they didn’t, the moisture in the leaves would freeze and leave the tree vulnerable to injury. The leaves have pigmented enzymes which help the...

15,000 years ago, our ridge top home would have been beach front property on the shores of the very picturesque “Ancient Lake Hitchcock”. The 150 foot deep lake, which spanned from Rocky Hill to Saint Johnsbury, Vermont, was, I am sure, breathtakingly gorgeous, with stark white icebergs serenely juxtaposed against the turquoise water. Whenever the receding glacier “calved,” giving birth to new ice...

When my mom was growing up on Mountain Spring, it was a small dirt road named Cedar Street. At that time, there were only five families living on the road. She knew everyone that lived there, and nothing much ever changed. Over the years, younger generations built on their family’s land, but nobody “new” moved in. When I was growing up on the road, there were a whole lot more families, and a lot m...

As the days get noticeably shorter, the world around us starts to change. Inevitably, our chickens begin to lay less. A lot less. Even with a light on in the coop, they instinctively know we are heading towards winter, and that winter is a bad time to start raising chicks. Raising chicks is, after all, why chickens lay eggs. For them it’s not about providing us with sustenance – it’s all about pro...

I think if I were a pig, this just might be my favorite time of year. My biggest worry, come September, would be the tough decision of where best to take an afternoon nap. Would it be better to lay beneath the oak tree and wait for the sound of an acorn hitting the ground? Acorns are so delish! Or maybe, I’d be better off by the shagbark hickory on the other side of the pasture. No, the hickory tr...

I put on warm socks and lace up a pair of work boots as she shifts her weight from one paw to another. I can feel her judging me as she watches me get dressed. The temperatures dropped this week, and it takes me that much longer to get out the door. I button up a long sleeve shirt and then pull on a sweatshirt - which of course needs zipping. Her ears go back as she shifts her weight again, her ta...

When a forager honeybee returns to the hive, she is unpacked by worker bees. The enthusiasm displayed when she is greeted and the speed with which she is unpacked gives the forager feedback as to the desirability of whatever it is she found. If she is enthusiastically received, she will likely go back to the exact same spot and return with more. If the reception is lukewarm, she might look for som...

Male tree crickets are responsible for the nighttime trilling we hear in late August. By rubbing their wings together, like a finger dragged across the top of a plastic comb, they create the relentless buzzing which makes you think your tinnitus has suddenly gotten much worse. In reality, it’s the sound of hundreds of insects looking for a mate, and it’s the sound of summer nearing its end. Becaus...

After my first encounter with a chimney swift, I googled “what in God’s name is living in my chimney and how do I get rid of it?” It was the beginning of Covid, and we had too many dogs, too many humans, and too many bottle-fed lambs living in our house. It felt like we were stuck together in an overcrowded lifeboat stranded on the open sea. We were all doing our best to ride out the storm, and no...