Extension News: November 2006 Archives

In late May, I glanced out my dining room window and noticed a pair of geese snuggled in the grass in my front lawn. The grass was tall due to the spring rains that didn’t stop long enough for me to mow. The geese found it perfect for a relaxing afternoon. They looked peaceful sitting there close together, enjoying the break in the rain.

In the nine years I’ve lived here, this was the first time I’ve had geese on my property. The large wetland in back of my house is home to a blended family of three adult geese and more than a dozen goslings, but the pair in my yard wasn’t part of that family.

A day or two later, I was sitting on my couch reading. Something caught my eye outside, so I glanced up and was startled to see a goose head peering into my living room. Then a second head appeared! These birds are large! I’d heard that geese will chase and attack people, so I found it a bit unsettling to see two of them peering into my house.

The geese made my front yard their home for two-and-a-half weeks. I never saw or heard them arrive. One moment the yard was empty and the next, the pair of geese would be there, walking, pecking at the ground, sitting, or simply standing and staring at the house.

As each day passed I became more unsettled. How long were they going to stay? Why were they here? Were they aunt and uncle to the blended family in the wetland area out back? Was my yard the cheap motel they could stay at while visiting? I saw only one pair of geese in my yard this entire time; it was nice they didn’t invite their friends and family over.

I wasn’t about to try to scare them off my property, since I still felt a bit fearful of them. They weren’t harming anything, just silently appearing each morning and hanging around for most of the day. My uneasiness turned into acceptance the first time I saw the geese leave my lawn.

The male, the bigger of the two, tossed his head up and down and gave a loud “whohnk,” telling the female he was ready to head off for the day. He positioned himself at a point in the yard. She looked at him, paused as if to make him wait longer, then walked to his side. They judged the distance for their runway by backing up. He “whohnked” again and she replied with her own “whohnk.” Then he would talk, then she, the repetitions coming faster between them for half a dozen repetitions.

Finally, she would start to run and he started a step after. They ran a short distance, no more than 30 feet, then lifted themselves into the air, she first and he a moment after to guard the rear, all the while still “whohnking” to each other. It was a sight to behold.

Usually they headed off in a southwesterly direction. Once or twice they went southeast. Seeing them take off was mesmerizing. I became like Pavlov’s dog. When I heard the first “whohnk,” I’d race to a front window. Watching them launch never got boring. I had an especially awe- inspiring moment the day I was on the second floor of my home when they took off and barely cleared my three-story house as they flew over. Their feet always hung down until they were over the house and well on their way. I could watch them from the back windows and see them fly for a distance, tuck their feet into their bellies, and “whohnk” until they reached their flying altitude.

Geese mate for life. I envied this pair their camaraderie. One would always be standing guard while the other grazed on clover from the lawn, slept, or walked around. The male seemed to be doing most of the guarding, while the female did whatever she wanted. I wondered when he ate and slept. The birds were always aware of the other. It had to be through body language. I could tell when I was noticed – the stance of the guard goose changed into one of stiffness and staring at me.

They were fun to watch, this couple. I admired the possessiveness of their union, their long-term commitment to each other. Since geese tend to return to places they know, I hope to see them again next spring.

11/29/06

Seldom can I sleep past sunrise but on a Saturday morning earlier this fall, I returned to a pleasant slumber. Around eight o’clock, the “beep, beep, beep” of a big vehicle backing up shook me awake. A school bus was trying to make the tight turn into a pasture across the road from my house. It signaled an event that has become annual in recent years.

I share a half-mile stretch of rural New Hampshire with three other houses and a horse farm. Our section of the road is dirt and dead-ends at a government-owned tract of woods. My husband and I were thrilled to find land more than a dozen years ago in a sparsely developed section of town. Our dream home was under construction when the “For Sale” sign appeared in the field opposite our property.

We heard rumors of a fifty-home development proposed for the vacant farmland. Sadly, albeit selfishly, I thought, “There goes the neighborhood.” But the farmer sold his property to a woman who planned to board horses. Our six-year-old daughter was thrilled, and so were we. By Easter the following spring, the first horse moved in.

The new owner built a picturesque barn and indoor riding arena a little ways down the road from my house. Acres of nearby fields were divided into pastures with great lengths of wire fencing, preventing the enormous snapping turtle that lived in the farm pond from crossing the road to dig in my vegetable garden. I was not disappointed with missing that spring ritual.

After a couple of years, the farm woman invited nearby property owners to a meeting. Simply boarding horses wasn’t paying the bills, but she had some ideas for supplementing her revenue stream and wanted to run them by her neighbors before approaching the town for permission. Her dream was to host equestrian events: horse shows, dressage competitions, riding lessons and clinics. This proposal would maintain the rural character of her property. The back-up plan, if she couldn’t get approvals, was to develop a portion of her two hundred acres.

Much to my surprise, the neighbors told her to go ahead and build houses. What were they thinking? I’ll admit I was concerned about traffic, more so for the dust from the road that wafts down the hill to my house than anything else. Only one other homeowner and I are affected by traffic to and from the farm. Summer and winter we get plenty of dirt inside our homes, but we’ve accepted that as part of country living. The events-planner had factored in dust-control measures on the days of events. We weren’t going to get that with new-home construction.

In the months following, the planning board held public hearings to consider the request. I found the entertainment value of these hearings well worth the late nights. I was stunned by the arguments from my road-mates. In a nutshell, residents expressed concern about noise, traffic (specifically speeding traffic), and neighborhood protection.

Perhaps I should be more specific about the horses in question. For the most part, they are large, skittish and very expensive. It seemed unlikely their owners would behave recklessly while transporting the animals, and even less likely that these folks would be prowling nearby neighborhoods. Due to the nature of the beasts, it’s hard to imagine that anyone working with them would intentionally make loud noises. Any announcements made during an event would barely be heard beyond the field, let alone a half-mile down the road.

Ultimately the Planning Board approved the equestrian events, requiring only that the farm owner give the town sufficient notice before hosting large competitions and shows. Lessons and clinics were considered well within the guidelines for the farm’s current use.

It’s been nearly six years since those hearings and there have yet to be any large equestrian events. There have, however, been many competitions—among two-legged runners. The trails the owner cut across the farm for horses and riders are ideal for cross country races. Each fall the local high school hosts a meet that this year attracted a dozen schools. Once the snow flies, the Nordic ski team will practice on the trails. Hundreds of athletes have enjoyed the rural character of this property, and their activities fall entirely within acceptable farm use.

The woman who owns the property receives no financial compensation for allowing these teams to use her farm. However, before each event, a small army of volunteers moves in to pick rocks and clear brush. They rake and sweep, prepare and repair to make the trails safe for the athletes. It’s a fine example of “neighbors helping neighbors” in a figurative sense of the phrase. And I know the neighbor who owns this farm takes great pleasure in sharing her property with this audience

By Jackie Bower, UNH Cooperative Extension Master Gardener

Splitting and stacking firewood in the 80-degree heat of a steamy August afternoon, I got to thinking about the old saying, “Wood warms you twice.” As someone who’s burned wood, and only wood, to heat my home for 37 years, I came up with a list of ways wood warms me and my family—and we don’t even fell the trees or clean our own chimney:

• Sawing loads of 16-foot logs into 16-inch lengths
• Splitting these rounds into two, four, or sometimes six or eight pieces so they fit into the stove
• Stacking the split wood in the woodshed
• Hauling armloads of wood from the shed into the house during heating season
• Loading the stoves and basking in their radiance
• Cleaning out the ash pans and hauling buckets of ashes into the cellar for storage in steel garbage cans
• Spreading the accumulated ashes on our lawns and gardens in the spring

Wood also preheats the water we use for bathing and dishwashing and warms our bellies with winter soups, stews and sauces simmered on the stovetop.

By any standard, our household firewood operation qualifies as primitive and labor-intensive. We have a Husqvarna 350 chainsaw and tools to maintain it, two 8-lb. splitting mauls (in case the urge to split strikes two parties simultaneously), a couple of wedges, a lightweight axe for splitting kindling, and a cheap plastic wheelbarrow for moving split wood across the driveway to the woodshed. The rest of the work we accomplish with what my dad called the “Armstrong Method.”

Wood does more than keep us warm. It supports our values and our way of life. Wood heat dries the laundry we hang on racks around the stove on winter evenings, simultaneously humidifying the dry indoor air. It gives us a concrete form of homeland security, keeping us warm and able to cook and heat water from the gravity-feed well when the power goes off.

Wood ashes neutralize the acid soil in our big vegetable garden and add minerals our crops need for optimum health. We use the strips of bark that accumulate on the ground in our wood-splitting area as mulch to mark the aisles between planting beds in the garden.

In a nation where obesity has reached epidemic levels and threatens to overtake smoking as the Number One public health concern, working up our winter wood supply helps keep our weight in check. Exercise physiologists say a person my weight burns between 300 and 400 calories an hour doing various wood-working activities. I once did the math and figured that a single intense weekend of wood-splitting and stacking provided the calorie-burning equivalent of running 50 miles. Not bad! As a side benefit, splitting wood relieves stress better than anything else I’ve tried.

Living in a state that’s 84 percent forested, I’ve always assumed it makes economic sense to heat with wood. The various years I’ve looked at charts comparing the relative prices of firewood, propane and home heating oil, the facts have borne out my assumption. No matter how low the prices of fossil fuels have dipped, wood has always come out ahead, even in years when we bought our wood cut, split, dried and delivered. Because the work of it adds so much to our quality of life, I don’t factor the value of our unpaid household labor into the price we pay for our fuelwood.

I like knowing that my decision to heat with wood supports the New Hampshire economy. Joe Broyles, energy program manager at the State Office of Energy and Planning, estimates that two-thirds of the $2 billion New Hampshire consumers spend on energy products leaves the state. But the money I spend on firewood stays right here in New Hampshire.

The firewood business represents a significant and essential component of New Hampshire’s forest industries, which collectively provide jobs for 10,000 to 15,000 New Hampshire residents and pump $1.7 billion directly into our local economy.

Even if you don’t cut down your own trees or learn to use a chainsaw and splitting maul, home woodburning does require savvy. You need to learn to evaluate the quality and energy value of the wood you plan to burn. You need to know how to season and store firewood, how to size, install and maintain your woodburning appliances for safe operation, how to burn wood safely, maintain your chimney and handle your ashes.

 “It’s worth building a long term relationship with your wood supplier,” advises Sarah Smith, UNH Cooperative Extension’s forest industry specialist. “That’s the best way to ensure you’re buying a good cord and getting a good mixture.”

11/08/06

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