EEC Forest Stewardship

On an early weekday morning, I woke before sunrise to check for any sign of lambing. It’s been a quiet, cold winter. Snow has continued her white cloaking in the night. By dawn, a fresh dusting alights on every surface. Still, spring bird song echos softly from a red berried holly. Chickadees begin flitting in and out of the twin-berry shrubs. Then a puffed out robin lands in the Pacific crabapple tree, gleaning some of the dry berries at first light. Steel grey skies echoed the mute hard cold at the tip of each finger as I broke ice. The ritual of slow awakening on a molecular level; stepping into the cold, catching the weight of a full bucket without slipping. Balance practice first thing in the morning. I stretch on the way to the barn. Each glove holds enough warmth to keep feeling in the hands. Cracking each trough, filling thirst; heavily pregnant ewes sipping greedily. I wanted some hot chocolate.

Finishing feeding time, topping off all the waters, then closing up the hay and latching the grain room, I put eyes on the geese- I’ve got to get their nesting area improvements done, they are getting ready to brood up. Not today, today I am getting away to a temperate island adventure. This is why I live here; temperate ecology for long term survival. The farmstead is located in The Central Cascade foothills, which do get a little to a lot of snow in winter, for a few weeks. and in rare cases a month or two at most. We’ve been in a winter wonderland, and I was feeling a call to shores just below our Cascades in The Puget Sound and Salish Sea. In less than an hour, a local friend and I were on the ferry and on our way to Whidbey Island.

Standing in the sun on glacial sediment from The Cordilleran Ice Sheet. We look out at The Strait of Juan de Fuca, flanked by The Olympic Mountains and Peninsula on the left (southwest) and Vancouver Island on the right (northwest). Fort Ebey State Park offers beach front access from nearby parking. It’s a great place to land when arriving, allowing us to dust off the transition and sink into shore and salt time. The color and shape of cobbles littering the ground mesmerize the eye with geologic time. Tectonic uplift and volcanic activity also contribute to the unique geological diversity of The Pacific Northwest. We watched a number of sea birds straining through the tide feasting in abundant ocean larders. There were seals playing in the surf, and gulls calling above. After a while of observing, listening, and being still, we saw what we thought might be sea otters floating on their backs a few hundred feet from shore. What a complete transition from the snowy foothills where I had started my journey earlier that morning. Now, the sun was up and we were off to explore the island on an unusual sunny winter day.

We continued to sit near the ocean shore, enjoying some breakfast and sipping the hot coco I’d made for the trip. As the warm sun hit our backs, we shared memories of the island and out last visit there together, then we watched other people begin to arrive at this easy access beach front in the state park. A pair of adolescent bald eagles were soaring in and out of the trees near us, chirping and landing together in a series of vocal whistles and acrobatic flights through the forest and over the beach. Ducks dove away as the large birds circled above. Their imposing brown bodies blended into the gnarled tops of a windblown Douglas fir tree where they perched and watched the sea birds. We packed up and headed north to a unique geological site near Deception Pass. Rosario point is a special place, where you can observe ribbon chert. One of the only places you can find this formation in the state of Washington. I was eager to witness this rock myself, and, as we stepped out onto bare ocean rock, I quickly located the chert formations and eagerly took these photos to share.

Nick Zentner, our own amazing local Washington State University geology professor, gives this informative talk on site at the ribbon chert formations. It’s a pilgrimage for some people, and I’m lucky to live within a few hours of its charming face. The point has a wonderful loop trail, which can be a scramble up in a few places if you want to get to all the view points, but there is an easy walk in and out access trail for those looking for an easier time. A winter mid week trip is ideal, try for a sunny clear day so you can see everything. The views of surrounding mountain ranges and island crags feels vast, yet remote. There were people around, but you could still find little private spots to take in the ocean and put your hands into smooth pebble beaches. There are plenty of coves and other longer trail systems within the park to explore.

We’d chosen to go to the far end of the island and slowly work our way back to the ferry by the end of the day. Deception Pass can be a mob scene, but today, other than a little road work (thank you infrastructure upkeep and the people who do that hard and dangerous work), we had parking wherever we went and had private trails and beaches most of the time. It was beautiful, and warm enough to be comfortable outside. The islands are always micro climates with sun catch, making the beaches warm and inviting, though the water is still frigidly cold. We were not there to swim, but the dog had some fun in the surf fetching beach wood sticks. There is an easy trail from the parking lot down to the dramatic pass, where it’s so narrow, the tide rips back and forth through the narrow opening, creating splendid drama across the water.

We climbed around on the rocky outcroppings and enjoyed witnessing the tide’s change. After a good time on North Beach and some rock hopping in Mac’s Cove, we climbed back up to the trail head and began a hike around Goose Rock Point. The trails were well marked at the starting point, but we began to question our direction a few forks in, sticking to the shore and edging around the outside edge of the small peak. There were several shore access points, but we were moving with intention, and eventually found signs that did point the way home- over the top of the point, so we had an unexpected climb up and out at the end of our hike. There was no real fear of getting lost, but we did not want to end up on a trail taking us further and further away from where we had parked.

Granted, I had taken a picture of the map before we headed out, but forgot about it when we were in the thick of things. All was well in the end, and we got an unexpected view form the top of Goose Rock. This park has a lot of space to explore, and the trails are not miles and miles, so even if you take a wrong turn, you’ll eventually hit a major road and know where you are. There are also great camping sites for when the weather is a little warmer. Again, in high summer, this place is a mob scene, so plan a trip to visit in early spring or late fall if you want to camp. The area is full of opportunities to explore, enjoy island time, see unique rock formations, and still get home that same day. We planned to have dinner in old town Oak Harbor, which was splendid. The old town is further east from the main road and strip mall hub near the Naval Air Station- which does fly a lot of jets earlier in the day. By late afternoon, things had quieted back down, and we enjoyed our hike around Goose Rock without disruption.

After a fine meal at a local Irish Pub, we climbed back into the truck and headed towards the ferry. On our way back, we took a moment to drive back to the coast to watch the sun set. It was a magnificent site from the west shore of Whidbey Island looking out to the Olympic Mountains. We’d had a full and fun day on the island, far from snow and ice at home. In just a few hours, we had escaped to warmer wilds and beach front fun. Now it was time to pack up and head back to the farm. I love living in such a dynamic place here in Western Washington. From mountains to sound, there is access to snowy peaks or temperate beaches even in the darkest winter months. My spirits are recharged in just a day trip to coastal relaxation. What a wonderful place to call home.

The year of “Q” is off to a strong, healthy start- thankfully, that’s the norm with our wonderful flock of Cascade Katahdins, now in their 6th year at Leafhopper Farm, restoring topsoil and fertility to EEC Forest Stewardship for the long term forest canopy yet to come. Each new year, a different naming letter is chosen to keep track of sheep through the generations. This year’s names include Quasar, Quinn, Quartz, and “Q”, the gadget lab guy from James Bond, pictured above in dark brown. Leaping away with the rest of the flock is speckled Quasar. She’s a lively young ewe lamb with a very curly neck fleece. Something unique to the lambing this year is singles. All the babes born so far are single lambs- from mothers who usually drop twins. This leads me to believe the ewes were not properly flushed when breeding started in the fall of 2024. Flushing means to give the ewes more food so they put on a better condition weight, thus upping ovulation fertility by 10-20%. I’ve never really thought about purposely fattening up my ewes for breeding, the breeding season starts in late summer, when pasture this year was green and lush. In past years, if we had a bad summer drought, I’d be haying the ewes in August, and they would still have good weight on and drop twins, but this year, for some reason, the ewes are dropping singles.

Our most recent lamb as of Feb 20th, 9:30am is Quartz out of Opal, pictured above right after birth. I was there from the start of this ewe’s labor, and am deeply honored to witness the whole experience, from start to finish. Opal has had both her lambings with me present, and it’s truly amazing to support her in this vulnerable time. She was cuing me in about nearing labor with swollen vulva and that morning, while I was feeding, she began actively ground pawing and pacing in the barn. I’m always excited when this behavior starts, and ran back to the house for fresh towels. When a new lamb drops, it’s helpful to wipe off their face and main body to help warm them up faster and awaken them. I do still put them right back with mom so she can lick them down and bond.

I’ll note here that the other ewe in this video is Hattie, our eldest lady in the flock, and the last from the original herd that came from the east side when I first invested in Katahdins. She is not Opal’s mom (who is also in the flock), but she knew what was going on, and tuned in. I might be anthropomorphizing- it does happen, but it looks like Hattie is really attending Opal’s labor. The old matriarch is also pregnant, so she might also just be hormonally attracted to the situation- or both.

I separated the ewe in labor so she could have access to food and water, space and fresh bedding. Giving a ewe space is helpful, but not crucial to a smooth birth. Katahdins have excellent birthing and mothering skills. This is a big part of why I love this breed. Surprisingly, not all sheep are good at birthing or mothering. We’ve pushed sheep to make more lambs at a time, stressing their bodies and shortening their lives- I would also argue, this tactic for profit max from finite nature gives the ewe a lower quality of life. Sheep are certainly more stressed in large, industrial flocks. Mothering skills are not needed because bottle “mommies” (large tanks of heated powder milk replacement) can feed all the lambs that don’t take to a mom, are not able to get enough from a ewe with two teats trying to feed six, or some other causality in the race to make more lambs. This kind of profit driven nature is nothing more to me than bad breeding. Karahdins are known for being fertile, but I only ask two lambs from a ewe as the ideal. That’s the number of teats a ewe has, and that’s the best design for her womb.

The ewe pictured above is not a Katahdin, and not from this farm, but they are wool sheep in an industrial operation pushing for the most lambs possible. I’ve watched some of the drama this farm faces during a very stressful lambing season, but they make money to support the costly industrial expenses linked to this method of agricultural production. Yes, this system feeds more people, but at what true cost to the people and animals involved? A hundred small acreage farms like mine would have to exist to replace this production, but if they were all working like mine, and we could cost share hay, localize pasture rotation and land restoration plans, as well as connecting more people directly to their food, and not sending truckloads of animals to big slaughter houses and feed lots, the world could be a better place, with regenerative nature a passive return. We have a long way to go for this vision to reach the shelves at your local supermarket, but again, that’s not the vision. Super box stores do not connect you to your food or local restoration farming. They never will.

Leafhopper Farm will sell lambs again in the fall of 2025. Two are already spoken for, and we hope the ewes produce at least another four. We do keep a wait list, which is the best way to secure a lamb. Annual subscriptions take priority, so please let me know if you want to be a yearly buyer- that’s the most helpful way to invest in this small scale operation. We don’t ask for deposits, because until the lambing season is done, we can’t promise numbers. Don’t count the chicks before hatching and all that smart farm talk. The single lambs will be much bigger this year, so prices are going up a little bit. I’ll have full details in another update this summer. For now, the exciting lambing season continues in leaps and bounds.

The ewes held out till a greatly appreciated change in weather brought temperatures up out of the teens and back into the just above freezing optimal environment for lambing to begin. It’s been a later season than expected, though I put the ram out a little early this year. Timing is liminal in nature, unbound by hours, days, or breeding calendar expectations. Industrial commercial farming has invented controls through chemical and physical forces, which do constrain timing and success- at the cost of much effort and expense, still it’s profit driven, and will work long enough to get a pay out in the short run. We do the same thing with people, treating them as numbers with risk and return priority. The US conservative government knows more people means more debt slaves to capitalize on, and if they are born out of unwanted pregnancies due to the oppression of women, they are more likely to be debtors, held in the private prison system, or any number of other predatory money making abuse schemes inflicted on the many by a select few. But This is about lambing, so let’s get back to counting sheep.

The first lamb born at EEC this year is “Q”. He’s a healthy, dark brown single. It was a bit of a surprise, his dame usually throws twins, but she has skipped the past two years, so it was a celebration of her rekindled fertility. The following day, more vulvas were swelling up, signaling imminent labor in the flock. Once lambing starts, the hormonal signal moves through the whole barn, and ewes who are around the same time of pregnancy, drop together. I

t was by chance I canceled some weekend travel plans, and was there to fully drop in with the ewes. Katahdins are great mothers, and usually have smooth deliveries when they go down. Early signs of labor include continually pawing the ground, rubbing against things with their sides, and laying down. Being with the ewes to observe these behaviors reassures me of the ewe’s health and well-being throughout delivery. I’m on hand to assist and aid in connecting the ewe with her new lamb. I’m also watching to make sure the afterbirth is fully passed out of the birth canal, and that no second lamb is stuck. Other observations at the birth include seeing the new lamb suckle successfully, take in the colostrum, and that the ewe bonds well to her baby.

For the first round of lambing, the veteran ewes lead the charge. All three moms bonded right up to their single lambs and passed their afterbirths in a timely manner. I was a little concerned about one ewe who was so large, I actually did a check on her uterus to make sure there was no second lamb stuck. She was empty, so I sat back in relief and watched new born babies awakening into the world for the first time.

The ewes murmur to their lambs even in utero, so the babies know their mom’s unique voice when they are born. Here, Lupita cleans her lamb while making the murmur noise to link sight, sound, touch, and smell between the two beings. There are a ton of hormones going on too, along with many other chemical reactions we can’t see, and barely begin to understand. I’m sure a lot of mothers are smiling as they read this, knowing only too well how complex birthing really is, and the lifelong bond between mother and child. Though sheep are more herd driven than family bound, they do often stick together in family groups within the larger flock. The Leafhopper Farm Cascade Katahdin flock is so small, all the ewes are related in one way or another, so the flock is also fully family. Industrial flocks of thousands, often with many important individuals brought together to form vast herds, fracturing the familiar structure within them. EEC Forest Stewardship incorporates sheep in the restoration forest as place holders for the vast elk and deer herds that colonial expansion eradicated over a hundred years ago. Now our modest flock of sheep browses it’s way through select forest groves and across rotating pastures within a tight grazing landscape, turning vegetation into manure compost and quality clean meat for the community.

The sheep will slowly be phased out in another decade or so, as the goats were before them. We’re slowly rewilding the landscape, transitioning intensive farming into reforested mix of native and climate adaptive species with a focus on food, medicine, and materials people need to live lightly on the landscape. I remember this long term vision every moment I’m working with the sheep on this land. Our relationship, shepherd and flock, stretches back thousands of years in evolutionary history. Domestication of plants and animals allowed humans to build great civilizations, though I sometimes doubt the disruption in nature’s balance which has led to where we are today- an abusive race of people to our planet, even as some try to live lightly where they can. It’s a loosing battle against time, but these little lambs aren’t concerned with such vast concepts. A shepherd should be ignorant too, but an educated woman in 2025 can’t help but see the discrepancies and sigh. Instincts cannot be denied.

Speaking of instinct, Gill, our LGD Kangal is on duty too. He loved lambing time, and eagerly yelps when he hears a ewe in labor. To quiet him down, and sooth everyone involved, he comes into the barn to help. This lets him bond with the new lambs, and clean up the smell of blood so predators are not attracted to the birthing pens.

If a ewe does not eat her placenta after giving birth, I give it to Gill. He appreciates the rare delicacy of nutrient dense feasting. Still, his sensitive being knows the difference between snack bits and new lamb. He’s never harmed the newborns, and is allowed to stick around by the vulnerable ewes, who often butt away other curious ewes. He’s sleeping with the flock for the next few months, keeping watch and supporting the flock as he always does. What an amazing partner in this sheep venture.

Two more lambs come at the same time within 36 hrs. of the first drop. Also singles out of ewes who usually drop twins, I’m starting to realize I’m in an off year of production, most likely caused by overfeeding the ewes just before breeding. This happened because we had a mild summer with lots of rain, which gave the pastures a lushness, which lasted well into fall. Usually, in late summer the land dries up, and new growth slows down till the fall rains return. The ewes are naturally slimmed down, which encourages more regular ovulation with higher egg release, resulting in better chances of twins.

Overeating may have hindered fertility this year, but every lamb has been large and healthy, which will mean good weight on the bone come slaughter time in the fall. The two ram lambs are looking good, both brown. The single ewe lamb is a splatter of brown freckles on white. She also has a high count of wool in her coat, but she’s got a large frame, and might be a keeper for carcass size in future lambs. It’s really too early to tell much out of this bunch, but they are all healthy and content in the barn, with healthy happy mums feeding them ample milk from productive udders. That’s plenty of wins in the agricultural world here at EEC.

We take food for granted, have for the last couple of generations. My Grandmother remembered livestock at home. My mother did not have livestock. I have livestock because of a lifestyle moving towards slow food. There are eggs in the coop to enjoy, though I am not a big egg fan, I do like to bake with them, and sometimes scrambled with cheese melted in. Chickens at EEC Forest Stewardship play many roles on the landscape, eggs are sort of a bonus item, but I feed a grain with high protein for laying hens, so the input cost is high, egg prices help offset this expense. The grain is made in state, fully organic, and without corn and soy. There are freeze-dried meal worms in the mix. It’s the top quality grain available, and I should be charging $12 a dozen to make all the dollar expense back. However, the birds spread the high nutrient dense excrement across the fields, which would take machinery, additional cost in fertilizer, and time to equate that additional “work” done passively in my free range flock. They provide feathers- a rich calcium source for the land too. So much additional abundance, I only charge $10 a dozen now, finally raised up from $7.

In winter, the laying rate drops to 1-2 eggs a day. It’s typical in commercial operations, to keep lights and heat on the birds to keep them laying full time. This is a ton of added stress on the birds, and they live much shorter lives. Keep in mind all commercial eggs, no matter how organic and good, are forcing production out of their flocks for our modern consumer demands. It’s industrial farming, like any other livestock operation. At EEC, there is not added light and heat, so the ladies get the dark time of year off to rest and recoup. The cold months demand a lot of extra energy keeping warm, so the hens get that energy instead of having it taken by egg laying. It’s a better quality of life for the birds, and the live longer and lay longer. If commercial flocks were allowed this time off, we would all pay a lot more for eggs in winter, or even go without. Perhaps more folks would have backyard birds, but no, the avian flue is haunting agriculture. It’s why egg prices are so high.

In past blogs, I’ve talked about the potential for a sudden cull, and it’s ever present in the back of my mind. I’m planning to purchase some new layers next spring, but now hesitate, because of the risk of flue. I’d not thought this would be a major issue in my lifetime, but it was out of ignorance. As agriculture continues to industrialize, more and more concentrations of animal bodies and excrement, means higher chance of virus mutation and infectious spread. The same goes for people in densely populated cities, Though we like to think our own sewage treatment plants are enough, these concentrated infrastructures, usually along rivers and ocean shores, regularly discharge overflow into our wild waters, in much the same way lagoons outside commercial hog pens breech during floods. Chicken poop ended up in cow feed, which was news to me, but part of how bird flue jumped into dairy cows. It’s industrial choices like this which get us into trouble with the greater biology nature compels to stay in balance.

There is hope that new flocks of young pullets will soon be replacing the millions of birds culled, but the flue is still rampant, meaning more flocks will be culled, and I don’t see the industry rebounding any time soon. EEC cannot meet the demand of current clients, and cannot grow the flock here beyond about 30 for the health of the flock, land, and me- I work with them, clean up the coop, have the risk for contracting the avian strain if it does get into my flock, but I’ll still only charge $10. It’s still steep, but more in line with what we should pay for eggs from well kept flocks. That’s still just breaking even, not making profit to reinvest. Luckily, EEC is not branching out into industrial egg operations, so we don’t need to take out a lone to keep up. The meat chicken industry, which is really on another level from the egg producers, is a dark world of bad businesses and farmer abuse, not to mention the animal cruelty. Battery hen operations are just as abusive, but there are different business practices with the farmers. The industry has not made any promises about production returning to a rate in which the prices can be lowered. In the current profit nihilism of investor greed, we’ll probably never see egg prices lowering- why would they?

This collapse in the industrial food system should be a warning for society that there is great change coming. Food will become more and more expensive. It has been a scarce resource for many in this country already, especially lower income households, but the implosion is falling outward now, into suburban markets where shelves are sometimes empty now. With certain government shifts also coming on fast, we will see more agricultural fails, especially with the health system crippled, and our research on the dangerous viruses like avian flue put on hold. Four years may not seem like a long time, but in just a few weeks, the unraveling of governance will trickle down into our food systems. California farmers are concerned after a couple of reservoirs released water under Slander and Chief ordered action to extinguish the L.A. fires. Incompetent, in that non of that water flowed to L.A. and the farmers are now worried they won’t have enough irrigation water for the summer drought season, thus lowering food production.

What can we do to lower egg prices? How about asking what an egg is worth and why? It might come down to having chickens or not having chickens, or it might turn into no eggs, because the flue will take out all the birds, then cattle, which we have not been culling- because cows are holy- no, it’s because the cows are a heck of a lot more expensive, and it would destroy a dairy farm if you culled all the cows. Many chicken farmers are being put out of business or closing shop anyway because they can’t take the financial risk any more. Dairy farmers are taking a hit if their cows don’t recover from the flue, or get reinfected, but mass culling is not happening-yet. Don’t panic! The CDC guidelines regarding avian flue are still accessible. I encourage everyone to keep an eye on this site, and follow the agricultural information to know what’s in store for our groceries to come. Or just wait to see which shelves empty next.

If you can get a few backyard birds and not cuddle them, maybe invest in the spring. Applesauce is a great egg replacement in baking, I learned that when I lived with vegans in Vermont many years ago. There are lots of alternatives, but for many, the classic egg plays a deep roll in American dining. I understand why it’s such a blow to be paying a real price for them now. It is no laughing matter for people who truly rely on eggs as a cheap form of protein- that’s what Mom raised us on. I’m not sure what alternative she might have used, I’ll have to ask her. We certainly would not have raised our own birds, most people can’t do that, for a number of reasons. Practically, investing in local farmer’s markets, connecting with your nearest farming community by attending tilth meetings or investing in coops can strengthen local production and economy. Avoiding the bulk box stores when you can is the first major step towards reconnecting with local produce, another action would be to eat in season with what’s actually available. There are many ways to strengthen food webs and your place in them. What regular eats in your home can you shift to a more local source? You don’t have to change everything overnight, but having a stronger knowledge and connection to the basic needs makes for a more resilient self and community.

Winter chantrelles are a thing folks- this is a great picture of the species in a group also reflecting age stages. The floppy torn caps are older, and larger, while the bright yellow smaller fruits are young and ideal for harvesting. This species is often overlooked as a harvestable culinary mushroom, but it’s got the chantrelle subtle flavor typical of the family, and is most often fruiting December through February at lowland elevations free of frost. I’ve often found them on rotting stumps in large numbers. They were clumping up on large branches in a second growth buffer for The Snoqualmie River. I often note larger specimens in more mature forests along rivers. Perhaps it is the combination of forest age and nutrient dense floodplain soils that offer mushrooms a chance to maximize habitat conditions. Imagine what our bounty of wild food could be if we allowed nature her time and space to regenerate.

Winter oysters are also available in the woods during the cold dark times of year. They can be cream colored or blue-grey. These specimens are lighter in color, but also older, and blanching. They are growing on alder. I’ve also seen them fruiting on birch. They are a shelf mushroom. Even if a heavy freeze comes, this species will hold it’s meaty flesh together and remain edible through it’s fruiting. These mushrooms usually bloom in larger standing dead groves, and are usually plentiful where present. Note fruiting locations, as they will continue during optimal conditions in the wood for many years. Even after alder snags fall to the ground, oysters will still fruit off them for a few more years, until the wood is too broken down and leeched for their needs. When the environment signals change, a mushroom rely on future spores to regenerate in new parts of the forest to maintain the species. The past generations decline and disappear, allowing the space to change and regenerate. Imagine if a mushroom tried to keep in place and remain decomposing the landscape. Inputs would have to be brought in to maintain the mushroom habitat, completely disrupting the natural cycle and degrading overall production capacity.

This noodle mushroom, also known as the cauliflower mushroom Sparassis, grows up from the root of surrounding fir trees. It’s parasitic, but not aggressive in a grove. This one was past it’s prime, but still a good find in winter- it would have been fresh a few hours ago. The fruit of some mushroom species can spoil fast, but with no way of timing wild flushes, getting eyes in the woods and dirt time seeking the fungi friends makes for the best opportunity in harvest success. Sparassis is edible, and does taste like egg noodles, but you have to spend some time carefully cleaning them. Their basidiocarp grows around anything it comes in contact with while forming on the ground- needles, twigs, moss- and you’ll need to cut those bits out before cooking. This mushroom is meaty and nutritious, but very subtle in flavor, so add plenty of veggies, savory broth, and flavor to bring out the best culinary experience when eating.

All three of these mushroom varieties are great edible delights to hunt in the woods. They also have no poisonous look alike, but like I always say, if you are going to go hunt mushrooms to eat, go with someone who knows and do not take chances. A brave mushroomer is a dead mushroomer, so stick to what you know. My mentee- who also took and shared these pictures while we were out, took the photos to help her ID the mushrooms and learn, but we chose not to harvest any, and that was fine. I’m picky about what I’ll pick in the wild, both to conserve what is there, and because I want fresh food. With mushrooms, fresh is always best.

Gratitude to the fungal kingdom, the ecology that supports it, the cooperation of the life that surrounds us, and our place within it. So much good food if we keep tending wildness.

The scientists in this film sum up what this blog is trying to address. In being a small farm with local inputs, EEC Forest Stewardship is trying to shift a small 10 acre plot into an abundant forest farm. In restoring a little patch of ecology, we hope to form some small place of adaptability and resilience in this fast changing ecological response to human abuse.

Hard step into what only a week ago sunk my feet into slick mud. The benefit is access, yet frozen water does not accommodate swallowing when we’re taking a drink. Most people would opt for plug in heaters, but not at this barn, we’re off grid, and until the investment of solar panels, the place is a little more work, but worth the observations and good animal husbandry. I like be attentive to the watering needs of my animals, it says a lot about their health and well being. The well water is well above freezing, and when I deliver it to them, it stays unfrozen through the day. In the evening, a second well water helping keeps much of the ice out. Edges still form around the edges of the buckets over time, so I rotate them out every few days for a passive solar deicing. The system folds in well with my trough cleaning duties anyway, and I don’t find I’m spending that much more time- the well is on the way to the barn, and the extra carrying is part of my complementary gym system, so I’m getting a well earned work out with custom weight lifting. What a life!

I’ve learned not to fight the ice, but to use patience and timing to aid in preventing build up. There are some systems that have to be abandoned in the short term. Temperatures have remained below 30 at night for almost two weeks. During the day, valuable sunlight raises the ambient air to well above freezing, and direct rays soften everything enough to knock out and refresh. The large open trough, which I usually scoop water from for the flocks and dog, remains full through winter rains. I leave the big trough to melt when temps warm up in a few more days- or after the snow storm this weekend? The start of February 2025 might see us get a dusting, or blanket of that white stuff associated with the season at hand. It’s a wild new frontier in weather folks, I’m excited.

The geese are protesting this hard knock. The Cotton Patch originate in southern regions, where the material crop grows. I explained that even Louisiana is experiencing sustained freezing after a polar vortex bullied down from Canada. That’s what we get for calling it the 51st state- poor Porto Rico? So ice- yeah, that’s how my mind works. Shattered fragments scattered around the farmyard. (this metaphor is not lost on me) But here in Western Washington, the temperate returns, and all the clutter will slow melt back into the soil, hydrating and setting up for the spring sprouting soon to come. The Osoberry is my favorite timer for Spring’s return- it’s already got plump buds, you’ll see white cascading raceme flowers by March. Stinging nettle is popping up in the sunny spots. Microclimates are key here in Cascadia. If you know where to look, there’s always something in the pantry. With the ground as hard as rock, most of the food my livestock enjoys comes from a bag or bale; inputs still coming in on the almighty dollar. Thanks to all who buy food from this farm- it keeps overwintering possible.

I’ve talked about taking the animal systems down to a sustainable number for the farm to be completely self sufficient, but it would then be a homestead, not a farmstead. It might come down to that in future- that’s sort of the retirement plan. Today, ice is the trending encounter here at EEC, and it’s nice to see a solid freeze come, because it’s killing off some of the bugs and fungus and other living things that need a cull. These are such crucial cycles in nature, signaling my own body to get more sleep, slow down when it gets dark, rest. So I do. It’s a pleasant time to enjoy the hearth and home. Gratitude for this fire that warms my house and tends my spirit through the dark times. It makes going out into the cold to break ice and carry water good to endure.

Light and time flow through ice- it’s in the shadows. Marking the melting point of each crystal, vanishing in the greatest magic- movement. Each blade of grass suspended in white frost, erect presence crunching under foot. Tracks of crushed green vegetation, erased by dawn stretching out across field and forest, deconstructing water, so many chemical changes in an instant, over and over again. This hold of winter’s grip- squeezing molecular structure so tight, the ground swells into crystal fingers pushing up out of the soil. This hardening of the ground becomes muddy in the warmth of the sun, but returns to concrete at dusk. Stark changes throughout the day, keeping me on my toes as I water and feed the flocks. The animals know change is in the air.

When I get up each morning, I put on gloves, layer to keep out the cold, and head to the well house where empty buckets await. 10 gallons go to the sheep, then another 10 between dogs, chickens, and geese. It’s a little more hauling, but again, I’m there in person, checking things, noticing two of my sheep are looking ready to lamb soon, and noting it’s time to add fresh bedding in the barn. Being present in these more extreme weather changes is crucial to good animal care. The flocks drink more when it’s cold, so again in the afternoon, I make the rounds of each trough, carrying another 10 gallons to top off water and lift out any remaining ice. As it shatters around me on the ground, I think about the next warming time, and know all this clutter will melt away on it’s own. Waiting out winter is an art we spend half our lives learning. The other half we sit in the warmth of a wood stove with hot tea in hand, thankful for a warm home and working well house.

Our monkey minds like repetition and the familiar. Those aspects are almost opposites in many ways- repetition being a form of learning, while the familiar stagnates the mind, allowing little nuance for evolutionary thought. It does not seem to be nature’s way in holding things the same for too long. Diversity and constant adaptation run a muck in what we as mere humans see as one easy to take a glance at landscape. This field pictured above, the bramble and overgrowth might make it hard for some to identify as field, there are trees around, but a white electrical tape on the fence line creates transition between field and grove beyond. A withered brown pile of bracken fern collapses in the background. Because I know the species, I can see the delineations, even without man-made cues. But what I can’t pick out so easily are the changes happening. The soil and what’s growing on within it cannot be perceived from this perspective. Time of day is hard to put down, other than recognizing it is not first light or dusk. There were some birds calling and flitting around, which are not easy to find in this image. While you are looking for birds, did you find the deer? She just moved into some cover, but she’s close, and her black tail is highlighted.

I only saw her on my drive because she had been standing in the field just moments before I took this picture. I’d stopped to take photos of her when I first saw her as I drove by. The deer feel sight on them, and will find relief from a predator stare by ghosting into thick brush and shadow to avoid a direct sight-line. Deer are great at standing still, it’s really the best way to avoid being seen. She was positioned as narrowly to the road as she could be while grazing, and stopped to hold a pose when I slowed to take photos.

Her body slowly shifted left towards the brush to get away. Why did she not just run away? Because I had not chased towards her. If she had bolted, I might have given chase. Most predators want to catch something, run it down. We’re taught not to run from predators, but to face them and project size and might. Deer don’t want any confrontation, and try to quietly disappear. Those long stilted legs will still carry them swiftly if they do need to run, but thick brush won’t allow much dexterity for fast movement.

The dynamic connections passing across place through time are crucial to understanding the connectiveness of all things. What we see in a gimps of that living structure, is only the tip of so much complexity thriving and reliant together in community. The blackberry needs sunlight, so it takes over ungrazed or mowed pasture. Grasses and forbs feed several species, one of which is present in the doe that browses through. She is keeping a cleared hoof-path through the open-ground, with side trips to cover and a knowledge of maneuvering through the underbrush. Deer can duck down- even crawl on their knees to get through tight forest spaces. Other hedge edge neighbors include raccoons, opossum, and rabbit. Most of those smaller furies are out at night, a perspective even less of us spend much time observing.

Nocturnal observing is not our strength. As daylight treetop dwellers, our ancestors stayed off the ground and away from predators, who usually hunted in the cloak of night. Today, tools like headlamps and guns make us feel less vulnerable in the dark, but our senses are altered, and perceive places much differently than during the day. Even with the headlamps of my truck pointed at him, this mature buck blurs in my camera’s attempt at capturing movement at dusk. Our eyes can still make out an animal form, and might even clue in to the antlers and general shape of a buck, but without crisp outlines, out minds throw into question what we perceive.

These images are at close range, looking at a focused part of a much bigger whole. Most of the time, our procesing works best with a single frame, or a set of consecutive images of familiar style. Movies are best with plots lines and characters we feel something towards. Nature has been treated like the other for so long now, she’s usually just background noise to what we want to focus on. We look for the deer at dusk on the road, but it’s really the road we’re following. The convenience of travel, pavement and cars, give us such advantage, but it’s been a real tragic saga for most deer populations across this country and the world. Rather than holding that thought and questioning automotive centric living, we push the deer into a ditch and keep driving.

We look at the road and see the deer in our peripheral, then it’s gone, fading into the tall grass and overgrown bramble, into the backdrop of our important lives. As a hunter, I see the deer as a crucial part of my survival, as a winter food source I can count on each year. When I see deer, I look at them when I can. Checking their health, looking for mange, ribs, or a thick healthy neck in fall. These deer I’ve shared in photos today are my home animals, the deer that live around my own home, and share the land with me. They are still numerous and healthy, but if that balance starts shifting, I know to pay closer attention to greater goings on in my neighborhood.

The plants already tell me the water table is dropping. Our creek flooding in winter remains lower each year. Their will be record breaking storms to come, but the rhythm of familiar is unraveling. This is what we can all take more time to see and adapt with. Humanities’ best work happens in times of great adversity. I am watching the fires in Los Angeles in January, 2025. It could be here next, we’re only one drought summer away from total devastation, but the waters are still around, for now. Because the deer have survived our devastation, and still roam through the fields and along our roads without fear. We too must adapt and make changes to stay alive, sometimes crossing a road and not getting hit, risking to gain. This is nature’s lesson of finality.

This truck is death on a pale horse. There’s something going on in the woods here in Western Washington, and across the country in our agricultural fields. It’s a practice that’s not getting enough attention, and I’ve spoken of it before. Forever chemicals are being spread across the land as the answer to “What do we do with all our poo?”. I shit you not- we’re spreading it on food growing soil and in the woodlands which filter our drinking water. Yes folks, you’re eating and drinking toxic sludge, and it’s killing you. Forever Chemicals are linked to cancer, birth defects, and much more. Yet the industry spreading the poop says it’s our own fault these chemicals are in the sludge. They also want you to know it’s not in the sewage treatment, just the sewage- which is spread on the ground, after treatment.

Today’s writing is about forever chemicals, but I will also mention heavy metals and prescription drugs are also in our sewage. Washington’s LOOP system reported a short list of metals well below EPA minimum concentrations here. Please know the research is slim in this arena, but the idea to spread sludge on our croplands and forests is still in action in almost every state, with no guardrails on some very dangerous chemicals. I’ve shared information in the past regarding the consequences of spreading biosolids in agricultural soils, and you can review that info here. In a nutshell, biosolids contain forever chemicals, and if they are concentrated, which is inevitable in treated sewage, the soil and water in areas where this toxic mush is spread becomes contaminated and unsafe for people- not to mention every other living thing affected. Why is this happening? Surly there is oversight. Sure, in theory.

Here’s a brief story of NYC’s shit and how it’s regulated.

The EPA Biosolid Regulations

EPA Biosolid Heavy Metal Breakdown

EPA Chemicals Found in Biosolids

There are no measurements of Forever Chemicals in offical studies. The EPA has not created measurement standards yet, but The European Union has. Their exact mesurment maximums are set here. Many other harmful chemical toxins are present in biosolids. In the EPA list above, I looked up two components to find out more. 4-Nitrophenol is used as a pH measurement (the color changing strips), but no studies on genotoxicity or carcinogenicity have been done. Hexachlorobiphenyl, a PCBs, which Washington State is trying to phase out of industrial production, because of its toxicity. We know this compound is present in biosolids, along with countless other with little known about their long term affects. It’s starting to cause noticeable changes in the environment, and in 2024, the EPA began trying to establish measurements for data analysis to set standards. They have a “roadmap” for drinking water standards. There is no actual regulation and testing going on publicly yet.

I’m not a chemist, but the idea of even considering treated sewage as organic seems negligent on the part of regulatory authority. Because of how widespread forever chemicals already are in the environment at dangerously high levels- where most of the studies being conducted are tied to drinking water at this time. 4 parts per trillionth is the going safe number for drinking water, which echos the EU standard. Web MD put out a helpful info sheet on PFSAs here. The current national database measuring PFSAs in our water can be found here. All this information may seem like a lot, and some of the data is still young, but we’re starting to realize just how much toxicity is now swirling in our very bodies, and consumed literally in what we eat and drink on a daily basis. It’s contaminated, and farms all over the country are waking up to government seizure of property, animals, and crops, while polluters continue to sidestep clean water protection, ignore contamination of industrial byproduct, or flat out blame the public for it’s household items purchased.

It is our fault, as a society, for not taking the time to learn about our chemistry before we unleashed it on ourselves. Out of sight out of mind- like nuclear waste, air pollution, water contamination, and food toxicity. If the water is clear with only a little chlorine smell, it’s clean right? Our healthcare system won’t put the finger on environmental cause, just keep donating to cancer research and we’ll see. Better living through chemistry, and technology- both of which are the mass polluting causes of our very extinction. Soon everything will be “all natural” because after all, even plutonium is organic.

First thing in the morning, a friend and I took off into the wilds of The Central Cascades. It was cold, and there was a fresh dusting starting at about 1000′ of elevation. Our intentions involved snow shoeing to a lake at 2600′. The dusting was easy to drive through, allowing the trucks to get up rather steep mountain climbs without much concern. I’d already spotted a few tracks along the side of the road as we drove, but knew they would still be there on the way back. We topped the major climb onto an upper plateau with excellent views of the greater Puget Lowlands, Bellevue, and Seattle; with The Olympic Mountains as a spectacular backdrop. It’s a great place to take a few pictures on a clear day, which we were enjoying as the sun rose over the eastern crest of Mount Si.

As we stopped to take in the crisp morning light, I took a closer look at the tracks along the road and smiled, it was a cougar trail, fresh, and probably heading away from the sound of our approach. The conditions were ideal for tracking, every detail of each step was captured clearly in the fresh snow. Slight dragging of his paws as he shifted down hill, turning his head to glance at tracks where some deer had come through earlier. In the moment, my buddy commented they were sad not to have brought a gun for personal protection. I pointed out we had three dogs, and that the cat was moving away from our presence. It was good to be aware of a big cat in the area, and acknowledge apex predators are always around in the wilds of The Pacific Northwest. Awareness of all hazard potentials should be in the back of the mind of any outdoor enthusiast choosing to adventure in western woods. My friend agreed, and pointed out that the cougars are invisible when there is not fresh snow to track in.

After some good appreciation of our big cat friend and his reveal in the sign we’d had the privilege to find and learn from, along with acknowledging all the other creatures and lessons being offered that day, we continued our drive towards the trail to our lake destination with renewed vision for tracking. No other tracks showed up on the road, but after a bit of hiking up into thicker forest on DNR land, we began to see two animals common in the area- snow shoe hare, and Douglas squirrel. Getting a good read on the differences between these two sets of tracks is a great journey of never ending lessons. The dogs friends we had with us were not helpful track observers, more like track and sign destroyers. It was still good to have them along, and they often pointed us towards sign we might have missed, being deficient in smell and hearing, compared to our canine friends. Still, if tracking is your focus in an outing, leave the pups behind for the best results in learning and observation. That goes for seeing wildlife as well. We were plowing through the woods with our enthusiastic pack, working on a destination and good movement, as well as observation. It was a magical day.

The adventure into back country winter wonderland took a little over 4 hours round trip. We walked until the snow was too deep, then put on our snow shoes and headed on up through three alpine lakes on a slow, but steady climb with panoramic views. Our trip up was breathtaking, as we were breaking trail and often crossing over shallow crevasses of creek flow. The dogs sometimes let us choose the best crossing routs, Other times, they picked a path and we sometimes followed. Snow shoes do not have the same advantage as clawed 4×4 paws along steep banks. Luckily, we managed to ford crossings without major incident, and the water was inches deep, so there was no real worry if we stepped in. At one point, the bank was so steep, I got on my knees to climb out, pulling myself up the slope on all fours. It was a great time, I really do love full immersion in the landscape.

The texture of frozen water can vary so much, our dusting lay on firmer base, which held us up on our hike. As we ventured deeper into elevation gain, the snow volume mounted until our path widened and obstacles shrank beneath the thickening quilt of white. The snow changed the landscape considerably. My familiarity with landmarks remained strong, as the surrounding peaks, forest groves, and well maintained trail carried us confidently past the first lake, onto and around the second, and up over a saddle, dropping down a gentle path to the third. By then, we were ready for a snack and some rest in the sun upon the frozen “field” stretching out before us. I was comfortable stepping onto the shallow (inches) area of the lake I am familiar with from swimming in summer. We did not try to go out into deeper areas to stay safe. The sun was warm enough to relax in, and even the dogs lay down to catch a rest and maybe a taste of our snacks, no! They would earn their kibble though. We all worked hard through the snow, enjoying the cold winter sport of mountain adventure.

On out return. the trail was made, and we could take our time enjoying the snowshoe hare flitting in and out of the spruce and mountain hemlock underskirts, where tree wells that endanger skiers, offer shelter to small mammals living under the snow. A few fresh squirrel crossings appeared on our way home. We were becoming familiar with the trail sign and could spot what pattern heralded which species. Snow tracking on fresh powder makes the game of spotting wildlife sign easy and enjoyable for all skill levels. Stories fill the forest for all to explore and discover.

As we packed up to head down the mountain, I took another look down the draw, back into the valley and cities, then beyond to the towering range on The Olympic Peninsula and appreciated the vast place we live. My company and I were in awe, slowly driving back along the road home, stopping to observe the change in those cougar tracks after a day in the sun. There had been a few very light breezes, but nothing besides time and some UV had done much to change the sign of our carnivore friend. As we trailed along, a new set of tracks appeared that had not been present in the morning on the way in. The cougar tracks remained steady and direct in a streight line heading east to west up a side road, avoiding our vehicles as we had come driving up the mountainside earlier that morning. Now, another cat had appeared, coming down out of the clear cut to the side road and cutting across the easy terrain, then catching the scent or sign of the cougar and hanging a left to come right into the larger cat’s trail. It marked the intersection of the two paths, then paralleled, before stepping right into the tracks of the cougar, pacing slowly up the hill.

Our narrative built on the possibility that the bobcat was trailing the cougar in hopes of some scraps form a meal. There is a possibility that the smaller set of tracks could be a younger cougar, but it would be quite small for the time of year, and hours behind mom. The cougar tracks are large, and I leaned towards thinking it was male, but I’m not positive, and it would be hard to make any assumptions, only educated guesses.

The light was warming as the sun began to touch a ridge line to the southwest. A warming uplift rose against the mountainside and we watched a family group of bald eagles kettling up into the sky in the evening light. It was magical, and a beautiful symphony of gliding wings and soaring spirit, stretching down into our hearts as we witnessed an ancient sunset ritual preformed with each sun cast approach, the golden hour signaling the exchange of day to dusk.

Much further down the road, after we had descended from the plateau and the kettling great birds, I checked the set of tracks passed earlier that morning. It was another cat, though these were very clearly bobcat and solo. It had skirted close to the brush along the roadside, and ducked down into the forest before the bridge, not using it to cross the sizable creek. The tracks pick up again on the other side of the road where the smaller predator feline popped back out of the brush and trotted on down the wide, easy lane. Three wild cats in one day, what a gift! The snow tracks melted away as we drove further down back towards the great valley rivers and home.