Posts Tagged ‘horse manure’
New Bin
What does it say about a person when the most exciting thing in a day is a new composting bin? The plastic compost bin for kitchen food scraps, which we bought when we moved here almost 13 years ago, has succumbed to the ravages of UV radiation and the destructive forces of relentless raccoons.
We picked a different version to replace it, and the company that manufactures it is Canadian and has the word ‘green’ in its name, so no wonder I’m feeling so giddy about it.
Though the confirmation email for our order didn’t show up as expected, Cyndie reached a human support person who apologized and assured her it was out for delivery.
After reviewing the helpful information in the manual and assembling the bin yesterday, Algreen is now on my preferred vendor list. I’m embarrassed over how excited I am to generate more coffee grounds, eggshells, and vegetable scraps to feed the new bin.
While I was in compost mode, I ventured over to the manure compost piles and set about transferring one of the finished piles to our storage location near the labyrinth. That is another two-for-one exercise, as it frees up space in the compost area and replenishes the amount available for immediate use.
One thing I have learned about allowing my piles of compost to rest on the bare ground, surrounding trees are not bashful about reaching up into the piles with their fibrous root structures. When scooping up the compost from the bottom of the mounds, it becomes a battle of tines hooking on thickets of growth that don’t give in easily.
A tree’s gotta eat. I don’t blame them since I’m the one who put all that rich nutrition where they could reach it.
It’s actually a reflection of how slowly we operate around here. The pile by the labyrinth gets dug into very infrequently, giving the trees plenty of time to establish a hearty web of fine root fibers. At the compost area, I’m guilty of leaving old piles that have gone cold undisturbed for longer than is optimum.
If I were to get around to establishing composted horse manure as a cash crop, my processes would get much more attention. Early on in our adventure of transitioning from suburbanites to country folk, we envisioned marketing our special concoction of “soul soil” from the rich compost we were getting.
In reality, I am moving in the other direction now and can often be found throwing scoops of fresh manure over the paddock fences into the pastures instead of collecting the precious material for the compost piles.
Our food compost and manure compost primarily feed Cyndie’s gardens with enough left over to fulfill the requests of a few friends and family who ask for an occasional bag full.
Yet, still, I find myself excited like a kid at Christmas over the process and having a brand new compost bin. It doesn’t define me, but this probably reveals something about my nature, I expect.
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Talkin’ Sh✴︎t
Not really talkin’ shit, but that was an irresistible two-word title. More accurately, I’m talking compost, but since it is made from horseshit, that’s not far off. In the many years that I have been experimenting with ways to compost and reuse the horse manure produced by the herds living with us, I’ve developed a pretty reliable system.
The main variable that I have neglected to control effectively is the moisture level of my piles. The area I have chosen for composting piles is not covered by a roof. If it rains too much, my piles can get so wet it disrupts the thermophilic decomposition.
My composting methods are far short of academic control of the carbon/nitrogen ratio or covering the piles with a tarp to control moisture. Honestly, the primary goal is to reduce the volume of manure by getting it to break down. The fact that it produces wonderfully fertile soil in the end is a welcome bonus.
By simply piling the manure and turning it as needed, I’ve been achieving desired results.
Throughout the summer months, I create individual piles in the spot just behind the barn, visible in the photo above. Yesterday, I moved out the last of the season’s composted piles, leaving two active piles in the back and plenty of space to dump more if needed over winter.
Once the winter freeze sets in, I look for alternate places to dump the wheelbarrow since the manure piles won’t break down and shrink, and there have been years I’ve run out of space. One place I have resorted to has begun to produce more impressive black dirt over time than any of my individual piles ever have.
There is a spot in the large paddock where the end of the buried drainage tile from the spigot in the barn comes to daylight. After trying several unsuccessful tricks to keep the horses from stomping around in the area where the drain tile is close to the surface, I got the brilliant idea of covering it with a mound.
The most readily available fill material we have is horse manure, so I piled up frozen wheelbarrows full during winter months and left it throughout the year to settle. The horses can’t leave anything alone so their curious kicking around on the pile through the summer helps break it up and conveniently aerates it.
Every time they mess with it, I rake it back into shape and make sure the deepest part of the mound stays over the drain outlet. This week, I’ve started adding to the mound again because the piles in the composting area are bound to stop being active soon, and mornings have been freezing the manure.
Adding fresh manure to the pile made for a sharp contrast to how very wonderfully soil-like the previous seasons’ dumpings have become. If I keep this up, that little mound will become a fine horse-compatible rise offering safe cover to the drain outlet.
Ain’t that the shit!
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Horses Easier
My first day of solo Asher duty was not a pretty one. He got the better of me more than I’d like to admit. It seemed to start well with his perfect off-leash companionship on the morning walk through the woods to the barn. I emptied over 2.5 inches of water from our rain gauges on the way.
Asher waited patiently in the barn for me to finish feeding horses and cleaning up manure. I got him to stay with me on the way back to the house for both of our breakfasts. I confined him to his crate in the house while I mowed down by the road and then let him out with me while I mowed around the barn.
He took advantage of my being fully occupied to find manure out in the hay field and completely smeared his orange vest as well as his body, face to feet. I tried to wash him off despite his vehement objection to the process and ended up feeling like the smeared horse shit just went from him to my soaking wet pants and shirt.
That stink just sticks to everything it touches. I couldn’t wait to get out of my clothes and thoroughly scrub with soap in the hope of clearing that stench out of my nose. Well, Asher’s collar still stinks so the smell just lingers.
In my clean clothes after the shower, I was hoping to avoid contact with the dog for the rest of the night. He took that as a sign he needed to up his antics to get me to give him a hug. First, he got into the bathroom trash and shredded used tissues.
I took him outside where he could chase thrown balls. When he tired of that exercise, I offered to head back inside where he would have the choice of many dog toys. He didn’t want to come in with me so I sat outside with him. He found a stick to play with. Next, he grabbed the Jolly Ball that was in the yard.
He would pause to chew acorns or think about digging into the mole tunnels in the grass. Then he disappeared for a while.
What else could he find to coax me into a wrestling match? Well, there’s always the landscape pond that Cyndie resorted to fencing off to keep him out of it.
He came running into the front yard with the pump intake filter in his mouth and proceeded to shred it before my eyes. When I tried to negotiate an alternative chew option, he knew the game was on.
“Keep away! My favorite game,” Asher says to himself.
All I wanted was to be clean and dry and all Asher wanted was for me to get wet and stinky again.
I went around back and saw he had flattened the netting that was supposed to keep him out of the pond. He figured out how mad I was getting and decided it was time to bolt out of sight. I don’t know where he went but assumed it likely would have something to do with getting dirty or stinky or both.
Honestly, I was prepared to leave him outside all night at that point.
Taking care of the horses is so much easier than watching Asher. He finally returned just before dark and I avoided checking too close before ushering him to his overnight crate so I could be done with him for the day.
Only two more days until Cyndie gets home. I wonder how dirty he can get in that amount of time.
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Different Showroom
On Wednesday, the asphalt crew showed up promptly to work on sealing the surface of our year-old driveway pavement. Since we wouldn’t want to drive on it for at least 24 hours, we moved both cars out of the garage. I parked mine down beside the barn and Cyndie put hers by the road, knowing she would be leaving right in the middle of the time they were working.
I hadn’t considered the fact she would be returning home with a car full of groceries. That wasn’t a big problem because we always have the ability to drive through our fields if need be. While the horses were up by the barn, I opened the hay field gate by the road, pulled inside the fence, and closed the gate behind me.
As I crested the hill in the middle of the field, I watched for a reaction from the horses to a car approaching in the middle of their grazing territory. For whatever possible reason, they were surprisingly unfazed. I had Cyndie open a paddock gate so I could drive right through and the horses didn’t even look at us.
That should have been it for the night. By early yesterday afternoon, we could drive the cars up to the house. However, stormy weather showed up. Threats of big wind and large hail loomed large. We pondered the situation while constantly updating weather radar images.
If we did nothing, we feared the one day both of our cars were parked outside would be the day it would hail something awful.
The best way to make sure it wouldn’t hail was to move both cars into the barn. I wish I knew what the horses thought of us turning the place into an automobile showroom for a day.
Of course, the move worked wonders. Not a single hailstone fell from the clouds while the cars were protected. It did, however, provide us with ease of mind as multiple waves of cloudbursts passed overhead throughout the evening.
On a completely unrelated note, we have recently given Asher several opportunities to be outside with us without tethering him to a leash, mostly without incident. He dashes away into the surrounding woods on occasion but returns soon enough.
“Mostly without incident” indicates there was one situation that I will call an ‘incident.’ While he was off on his own, Asher took unwelcome liberties with the freshest composting manure pile, rubbing his chest, the vest we make him wear outdoors, and his collar thoroughly in the stinkiest green horse shit dumped on the pile earlier that morning.
Seems to me he is making a statement that he wants to be a full-time outdoor dog.
I didn’t expect this would become one of the problems with wanting him to be able to roam untethered on our property.
Just yuck. Really, really yuck.
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Garden Fuel
Record heat yesterday put early pressure on the horses to cope with high temperatures before they have yet to fully shed their winter coats. We are experiencing temperatures that are more than 30 degrees (F) above average for this time of year. Production at Wintervale was focused on packaging for most of the day, bagging the precious commodity produced by the horses.
The remaining lot of seasoned compost from 2022 was bagged for distribution as Wintervale’s Equine Magic Premium Garden Fuel.
After moving three bags back to a stock location in the barn using a wheelbarrow, my tired arms thought up a better idea. the new electric mower has a small cargo bin behind the seat with a 200-pound carrying capacity. Using that to move the bags gave me a great opportunity to get some practice navigating our terrain.
I quickly discovered it doesn’t do well in saturated muddy areas. I never got completely stuck, but tires started spinning and forward momentum was interrupted. I’m not quick with my corrections yet because the steering maneuvers don’t come automatically to me. I need to think through a solution that tends to be a little late, coming after my unconscious reaction has already proved to be unhelpful.
While the sun was high, I stopped out in the Production area to see how staff were feeling about the 80-degree working conditions. Without trying to put any extra pressure on them, I pointed out that inventory is low after so much of last year’s garden fuel was repurposed as fill for landscaping along the edges of the driveway.
Mix assured me they understand my fixation with trying to pick up every last morsel that lands in the paddocks and she pointed out there was plenty more out in the pastures if I really needed it. She’s so helpful.
The main compost station would need to go through an expansion if I started picking up everything they lay down out there. We don’t have a roof over the main compost area so moisture control is not managed well. I can add water if the compost piles get too dry but when conditions get extremely wet I’m sunk.
With four horses working production, and me on my own managing the finishing, our operation isn’t going to become an industrial juggernaut for garden compost. As long as we have enough to share with interested friends, there will always be potential for bartered home-grown produce as a reward for all of our effort.
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Chaos Ensued
It wasn’t a stellar start of the day for my unnecessarily grumbly countenance yesterday morning. We are ensconced in a pattern of dry, cold winter days that can tend to chip away at a person’s stoicism against the elements. The temperature reading began with a minus sign once again and we steeled ourselves as usual for the “spacewalk” to exercise Delilah and feed the horses.
It was a wonderfully calm morning and the only sound from the trees was occasional cracking in response to the cycles of freezing and thawing we have had of late. My mood was perfectly balanced between not wanting to be out in the cold at the crack of dawn for another consecutive day and being thrilled to witness the beauty and wonder of a new and beautiful winter morning.
Under the barn overhang, I was met by evidence the horses had been under there all night. If they spend time out in the fields, I don’t scoop up the piles. Under the overhang, we try to remove their manure as fast as they produce it. Maybe it was because there was poop everywhere that one of them decided to do their business over one of the hay boxes.
Half-frozen to a wrought iron corner bracket, it defied convenient clean-up. While dealing with the mess I discovered the box has been kicked enough that it is barely holding together. It kind of took the wind out of my sail of cheerfulness.
Once back in the house, I recovered nicely with a spectacular breakfast of perfectly poached eggs on toast that Cyndie served and I was reclining under a lap blanket absorbing the stories in the daily newspaper. It was deliciously serene when Delilah leaned into my chair to request some scratches.
While I focused on what I was reading, Delilah would rotate her body to move my hand where she wanted me next.
Suddenly, she yelped and snapped at me when I inadvertently pinched her in my overzealous massaging/scratching. I jumped and professed my apologies.
Before we had barely begun to settle ourselves, Pequenita showed up out of nowhere, attacking Delilah with punches and swipes while hissing in anger. Delilah instantly responded in kind with growls and glaring canines. We bumped the side table next to me and knocked my full tumbler of ice water to the floor where the top blew off and cubes and water went everywhere.
Cyndie was on top of Delilah instantly to scold her to get off the cat. She pulled Delilah away and was making the dog lay down in submission and the cat showed up again in full fight mode of hissing and swinging paws at the poor pooch. I was yelling that it wasn’t Delilah’s fault and Cyndie was hollering at both pets.
We have never, ever seen this type of aggression from Pequenita. It seems most likely to us that she was reacting to defend me from Delilah’s reaction to my having pinched her.
It was unprecedented madness of a surprising degree.
Helped me totally get over the angst of the busted, pooped-on hay box.
I got the water and ice cubes cleaned up and both pets calmed down and found themselves separate corners.
Ultimately, our calm serenity was restored, but geesh! Took me a while to get my pulse back to restively reclining mode.
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Steaming Pile
The new manure pile is already cooking! Given the near-freezing temperatures we have been enduring of late, the heat from the pile of composting manure was clearly visible in the form of steam wafting up out of it.
It’s not completely obvious in the image above, but there’s a little fogginess around the upper edges. The composting process is underway. We’ll have more fertile soil for Cyndie’s vegetable garden in about six weeks if I studiously work this pile. Not that we have a critical need.
Based on previous experience, I tend to miss a few key time intervals when it comes to composting, so I don’t think we ever achieved getting useable compost in the shortest possible time. Since we don’t have our compost area covered, I can’t protect the piles from getting too wet when weather is rainy. I am also prone to missing a day or two of checking the piles, so they can become too compacted or over-dry before I finally notice.
As a result, my composting has usually been more of a stuttering on-and-off process that ultimately falls short of locking in maximum nutrients and thoroughly killing weed seeds and fly larva. That is the promise when paying precise attention to detail, or so I’ve read.
The horses are doing a fabulous job of grazing the back pasture to make sure we will have no shortage of manure. They continue to look increasingly comfortable with their new surroundings. Cyndie and I reinstalled one gate yesterday afternoon that allows us to break the paddocks into two during the short period when we set out pans of feed. This served to prevent the horses from chasing each other off their pans.
With two horses on each side, they settled down and ate with no fuss.
On my way down to the barn from the house, I stopped off to check the unauthorized nest Cyndie found. No eggs for one day. We’ll keep an eye on it and see how long that lasts.
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Final Season
The horses are gone, but their manure is not. We have entered the final season of composting horse manure, with an extra large inventory of winter piles to be processed, both in the paddock and the compost area.
The advantage I have this time is that there won’t be a new daily supply forcing me to constantly arrange for open space. That takes away a lot of pressure.
I will turn these piles when convenient, but won’t fret about getting it done in the shortest time possible.
Sadly, that burden has left the barn.
It’s bittersweet. I’m thrilled over the release from daily manure duties, but I miss the energy of living with horses.
This afternoon, a neighbor is planning to stop by to purchase some of our leftover bales of hay. It is one small step in the slow transition of the very large project of getting rid of all the trappings related to keeping horses.
We need to have an “Everything Must Go!” sale. Ropes, buckets, blankets, saddles, fly masks, halters, and brushes.
Cyndie has itemized and priced everything that isn’t nailed down. The panels that form our round pen are one of the highest priced items. I wouldn’t be surprised if she tried to sell the sand we brought in for that circle where her teaching took place.
We talked about moving the gazebo over near the labyrinth. Seemed like a logical idea to me at the time, but thinking about it yesterday, I realized it would probably require disassembly to achieve. That’s a lot of hardware to futz with.
I wonder how long I can put off that effort.
I’m pretty sure I will be too busy turning compost piles.
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Preventive Medicine
We have now received three diagnoses for what has possibly been killing our pine trees over the three years that we have lived here.
The first guy thought it might be related to spider mites. He offered to treat all our trees with over $1000 worth of insecticide.
The second guy became very alarmed over the visible damage from sap suckers. I am grateful that the second guy was at least thorough enough to have also taken needle samples back for further analysis and consultation with other experts.
We are feeling most confident with the follow-up diagnosis he came up with of a fungus. Given that we are not interested in applying toxins in hopes of treating our remaining trees, I have responded to advice from the arborist to give our remaining healthy trees plenty of food and water for the best chance going forward.
When he suggested giving them a good bedding, I pointed out that I have plenty of composting horse manure.
“That would be great for bedding.” he said.
Done.
Well, one done. Many to go.
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Relative Something 