Unabashedly Christmas

Casey Jones, early 1970's, Minnesotans of a "certain age" will remember him from local tv

One thing I didn't anticipate when we moved to Big Stone County was what an all out community celebration Christmas is. The grownups in the community join together to give the kids a truly delightful Christmas. This year our family has enjoyed:

• Another original holiday score composed by the school's music teacher Mrs. Ragan and performed by the elementary students. My review-- Excellent, witty, and moving.
• A modern and funny church Christmas program (thank you Janine, Maria, Lori, Kristi, Sandy, Melisa!!!) followed by a Luther League dinner, coffee, and a live Nativity that included goats and donkeys. We stood outside the church, just off Hwy 75, the King of Trails that runs from the Mexico border into Canada, in -7 degree weather. Teenage "angel" Kendra begging her petit grandmother to intervene and get her out of the cold.
• Santa Claus came to Clinton and the business community put on a bingo party for the kids with nice toys and prizes.
• Eidskog Lutheran had their annual hymn sing just down the road (the closest rural church to our farm).
• Last night with all the lights out except the Christmas tree the kids put on a Christmas program they had been practicing for days... Complete with drummer boys, babe in a manager, dancing princess at a ball (?)
• Top it off with a blizzard, wood smoke, snowshoes, and every abundances of the early 21st century

I make the kids sing this song (you simply must click here--) Just a Little Lefse in order to get a piece of lefse. I learned this song on my mother's knee--perhaps an homage to my biological culture. Please keep in mind that I'm a Scandinavian raised by Germans in the days when Lutheran Social Services still did cross cultural adoptions.

On Christmas Eve I was steaming king crab legs (bought at Bonnie's Grocery on Mainstreet Clinton) when Alma walked into the kitchen and said "are you cooking lutefisk?" I'm raising children who are more familiar with the smell of lutefisk than King Crab.

I have become an apologist for Christmas- an apologist in the meaning of a defender. Back around 1998 I mothballed all the Christmas cards that said "Merry Christmas." Christmas was out of style- replaced by the generic Happy Holidays. It was decidedly uncool to hale Christmas. Those cards are coming out this year- I may even get them addressed today!

This year I've had the Christmas that nostalgia is made of.

Errand Ways

Minnesota Historical Society, 1949

I dashed off to town yesterday for errands and it turned into a delightful Main Street Clinton afternoon. Amanda, on short notice, got me in for a haircut. After that I hung out with my friends at the grocery store - shopping and talking. Then off to the Clinton State Bank where author Brent Olson was doing his first public signing of his new book "Papa: Figuring out What Matters." It was the bank's Christmas cookie open house - so the place was packed. I've lived her two years now and was amazed at how many people I knew gathered around the cookies and hot apple cider. We had all kinds of things to talk about- choir, alter guild (I'm on it now but have no idea what it is??), work, local foods, etc...

Then a few of us left the bank's cookies trays and headed over to The Cabin Cafe for a Big Stone Area Local Foods meeting- including my husband Mike. We have a community group working to establish a robust local foods system for our area. Lots of great people- local Farmers Union rep, artists, Apple Ranch owner, Economic Development staff, producers/farmers, etc... Our leader is a very cool Park Ranger (thank you Joanne!). At 3:45 Dale, the school bus driver, kindly dropped our kids off at the Cafe. I take advantage of opportunities to have the kids around me since I travel a great deal for work. Predictably, all hell broke loose as the little boys tore around the place -- jumping down stairs, rolling around the floor. They have no fear of us or self discipline. When the pop and french fries were served the restaurant became quiet again.

We are lucky to have the Cabin Cafe in Clinton. Doreen is a great and very health conscious cook. She cooks from scratch with fresh food, uses oat flour in her baked goods and healthy oils in her pastries and the fryer. For example, she cuts her own potatoes for french fries and cooks them in canola oil. We stayed for the dinner buffet (served from 5-7 pm) and enjoyed a really good salad bar with great greens, veggies, and fruits, salad bar, soup, homemade bread.

**If you are in the area- please stop by and enjoy a meal at The Cabin- right on Highway 75 (the King of Trails) in Clinton.** We need to support this local gem.

We came home to a completely messy house- 3 hopping, happy dogs. I call that a perfectly fine Friday.

My Lucky Star

The Geminid Meteor Shower- December 13th, 2009 from National Geographic

I woke up this morning and as usual stared up at the stars from my dining room picture window. From this window I can see half of the entire night sky and what seems like a pretty good portion of the world. I thought I had imagined the first couple of falling stars that streaked through the sky. Then they kept coming- dropping into the horizon, some big flashy stars falling right towards me. I quit counting at a dozen. I stood there awed and said to myself "well... thank you Milly."

When our middle daughter Milly was born it was by C-section. She was stubbornly sideways and wouldn't be turned around. I was really frightened being in the surgical ward, my arms strapped down, and then the spinal made me feel like I was going to quit breathing. The woman anesthesiologist looked down in my face and said comforting words. I looked up at her face and the powdered sugar around her mouth-- she said "had to grab a donut- low blood sugar."

Then I started to sing. Just the day before I'd heard "You are my Lucky Star" on MPR's Morning Show. So I started singing:

You are my lucky star
I'm lucky in your arms
You opened heaven's portal
Here on earth
For this poor mortal
You are my lucky star

I sang it over and over and over again. And then at last I had my beautiful baby girl. Amelia Rose-- our Milly Rose-- our Millsy. And she is my lucky star- though lost to my arms. As you may know we lost Our Mils unexpectedly before her first birthday. But her legacy in our family is a blessing. Mike set the tone the legacy that our much loved, much adored and adorable child will not be a tragedy, but a blessing. It's taken time for that to really sink into a grieving mother's heart.

And then this morning-- the anniversary of Milly's death-- the portals of heaven opened for me and the stars poured out. I smiled at those star with a quietly contented heart.

The anti-Dubai (or things I'm thankful for)

Boys on wood pile - day after Thanksgiving

I unloaded two trailer loads of cut wood yesterday. In the morning, a huge flocks of geese passed right overhead. One flock was so large it looked like a small black cloud. I leaned back on the trailer to take in their flight. The multiple V-formations had a pattern inside it. Large goose, little goose, large goose, little goose. Parent/child/parent/child. At the end of the flock the very last goose had a section of his wing missing-- I could see the sunlight through where there should have been wing feathers. And yet- they stayed together- maybe a Grandparent pulling up the rear.

Last night the boys (all of 5-years-old) and I unloaded another load of wood while the sunset and the combines, unseen, rumbled to the north and west and all around. The stars came out ("star light star bright first star I see tonight...") and the moon had a large halo around it nearly touching our silos.

We're in the midst of clearing out our old grove (about 3 acres!) in anticipation of a major tree planting next spring. The bulldozer was in last week to pull up the stumps and our farmstead looks like a tornado passed through. What's exciting is that we're hopeful we have enough wood for the next 3 winters already cut. It's like money in the bank to see the stacked wood piles- strategically placed to cure or to burn.

Two years ago I was talking with my neighbor Brent wondering what we would do with all the standing dead wood on our farm. He said "get a Central Boiler" and we did. It's turned out to be a great move. Instead of letting the dead wood rot in place (emitting CO2) or burning it in a massive pile, we are metering it out to heat our house and water year around. We haven't purchased any propane since we installed the boiler two years ago.

It's the anti-Dubai.

Two years ago when I heard National Public Radio do an uncritical and fawning hour of "financial reporting" on Dubai I was sickened. Couldn't everyone see that this was the most unsustainable, ill-fated project of our times? I mean really- we need artificial luxury islands, indoors ski-slope in the desert, and unlimited high end shopping? All built and sustained on fossil fuel supplies and profits. And now bankrupt. Surprise.

Instead, I'm grateful for stacked wood, my family (mom helped out all Thanksgiving week and sister Kelley left her dairy farm in SE Minn to visit us), for a nice community and singing in the church choir, and the opportunity to be completely content. 'Tis a gift to be simple and, frankly, a lot safer.

Labor and Family

The neighbors called last Saturday with a grain wagon full of corn screenings- the cracked and fine pieces of corn. They said if we wanted them we could have them for our chickens. So Mike and the boys crowded into the John Deere 4440 and made the 2.5 mile trek to Sandy and Terry's grain bins.

When we got the corn back here, we found that we couldn't back the wagon into our barn, so we opted for manual labor. And frankly, it was a just what a family needs now and then.

Lake was the first to learn how to open the grain shoot and when we had buckets and bins ready below, I'd yell "Let 'er rip!" and he'd pull around the wheel that opened the sluice and the grain would pour out. All the kids pitched in- the puppy playing around our heels.

Mike took off his sweatshirt and looked like a strong and handsome farmer as he hauled containers over to our makeshift granary in the barn. Lake followed suit and took off his jean jacket- wanting to be like his dad.

The corn was perfect, dry and smelled like fresh corn muffins from the oven. It was a perfect autumn evening- not too chilly, the sun setting as we raced to get the grained hauled before we were working in the dark.

It was nice to work as a whole family on a project like hauling corn and stocking up for winter. It's a good feeling to know we have some feed put away for the chickens. And the labor, especially with kids and a puppy, is one of the soul's antidote for a hard week.

The Care and Feeding of Giants

My kids are still just little guys.
Our farm, 320 acres, is considered somewhat small in the scheme of things.
My job at the University is among the most meaninful work I've engaged in in my life.
I do a bit of volunteering in our community, like the Granary Coop in Ortonville.
All good and yet all together- they are Giants.

And so I find myself in the business of caring for and feeding Giants. I don't know what else to say about it- just that as much as I love those Giants they sure take a lot of attention. More attention, say, than there are hours in the day. And yet- there I was one Saturday afternoon- oil pastels, scissors, puppy peeing on the carpeting, screaming children, carpentry project going on around me-- and just enough creative energy to capture those Giants on paper. Just that one stolen moment of time. And you know- it's just what the soul needs when one is tasked with The Care and Feeding of Giants.

Slow Down

The View from my rear window

We may name the puppy "Lucky" but my speeding luck ran out -- I was caught and ticketed yesterday at 4:30 a.m. driving between Rochester to St. Paul campus. Usually I assume I can drive with impunity between about 3:30 and 5:30. In those early hours I can drive 40 miles (out west) without meeting another car. It's quite pleasant.

Even as I merged back onto the highway I wondered to myself whether I would really slow down. It's not that I'm a compulsive speeder (ok maybe I've become one), it's just that I feel I can't afford to slow down. Hell, with some much going on in my life, I don't feel I can afford to slow down on any front.

Mike often asks of my blog entries "what's that have to do with resettling Big Stone County?" I guess the point is that living in rural areas often requires a lot of driving. I was at a meeting yesterday in St. Paul of about 15 people- one from SW Minnesota. She made a point of saying "why don't we meet in Slayton next time?" Then she laughed. The roads seem to only go in one direction for such things.

Living in Big Stone County is a choice I made and the cost is a lot of windshield time. Lately, I've taken to driving in complete silence- not flipping through my 300 satellite radio stations. Maybe it's a kind of meditation... with my eyes on the road, and my foot on the pedal- perhaps just a little too heavy.

Lost and Found

That which you manifest is before you.

My wonderful sister-in-law gave me a book to read "The Art of Racing in the Rain." If you're having a rough week, this book is enough to make you want to slit your wrists- (ok- a bit melodramatic). Thwarted dreams told through the eyes of a dying dog, wife dies, losing custody of young daughter, arrested for sexual assault, and, of course, the dog dies.

The one take home message that doesn't make you want to gouge your eyes out is "that which you manifest is before you. Simply put- your race car goes where your eyes go."

So it seems that Mike and the kids manifested a pair of dogs. Mike has been talking about getting a hunting dog and Alma said we could butcher her ducks if we got her a puppy (kinda gruesome bargaining wouldn't you say?). By now you know that we live alone on the prairie. So last Sunday Mike and the kids were driving home from Artichoke Baptist Church and saw a dog on a nearby unoccupied farmstead. When Mike got out of the car, a momma and her pup came out of the grass--weak, tired, hungry-- alone.

I was in the garden when the minivan exploded with screaming kids and dogs. Mike and I reminded them that the dogs were probably from a "neighbor's" house and started calling around. We put an ad on the radio as well. But it looks like we now have two golden labs.

That which you manifest is before you.

So now the naming begins. I think the momma should be Joy-- in hope that Joy will get along with Happy. The boy puppy is another story. I say he should have a character name- like Courage, Honor, Reliable, Honesty... At breakfast this morning Mike, exasperated, asks "How do you think it will sound if I'm yelling "INTEGRITY!" while out hunting?" Which led to a chorus of us all practicing yelling "INTEGRITY" at the tops of our lungs while eating our blueberry buckwheat pancakes. I don't know- I think it sounds like a great thing to yell out. Try it. "INTEGRITY!"
That which you manifest is before you.

I read books like "The Not so Big Life" "The Artist's Way" etc... about how to achieve a calm, contented life of directed and leisurely purpose. And I can't help but think that it is all a crock-- I mean, give that book to the mom in Haiti who is feeding dirt to her child to stave off the ache of hunger. It's all a narcissistic dream of a pampered western world. Keep in mind that most Americans live better, more comfortable lives than the wealthiest nobility a few hundred years ago.

One of my elders tells me of her neighbor, a farm wife, who died too young- in her 40's. She always suspected that the poor woman worked herself to death on that hard scrabble farm with a half dozen kids. Poor thing probably welcomed the big rest.

That which you manifest is before you... When I was in grad school I peacefully mulled over my future. My mind's eye had me on a farm, growing spices and herbs, the theme songs was "I always cook with honey, 'cuz it sweetens up the nights..." There was calm and candlelight and a handsome man adoring me. And maybe I'm partway there- a farm and adored. But like Denny, the main character in The Art of Racing in the Rain, I have to go through some trials before I can take that deep breathe and relax into that future I manifest for myself.

Or maybe I should just get back to work.

Farmers Market 2009

Our stand at the Ortonville Farmers' Market
We shared some of our bounty at the farmers market again this year-- eggs, hand ground flour from Big Stone County, garlic, lots of veggies.

I was not a reliable vendor, but a happy and enthusiastic one when I was there. It's just that after working in St. Paul and then having to harvest, prep, and spend Saturday at the stand got to be a bit much. I'm glad my fellow farmers market folks were more consistent than me.

In reality- the economic don't really work out for us. It's not just that we don't earn much selling at the market, it's the opportunity cost. What else could we be doing on the farm to make it a productive enterprise? Is selling vegetables really our best way to have a successful local foods and farm venture?

Like Pooh Bear- I'm tapping my finger on my cheek going "think... think... think..."
What I treasure about those Saturday morning markets is the time with Alma, the faces of the community, the friends I made with folks in the stands around me. So we will see what 2010 brings.

Too Few BLT's

This killing frost came last night. The temperature dropped to 19 degrees just a few miles down the road in Benson, MN. This was not a good year for the tomatoes, or potatoes (massive size with thin skins), or the peapods. The orange and red peppers never made it past the green stage. The cold summer left the tomatoes green on the vine and our massive September rains left them un-ripened and splitting open on the vines. I still managed to put up over 30 quarts of tomato sauces and pastes, but we had 135 plants and hoped for more.

And as summer makes its rapid escape, I'm left with some regrets. Too few bonfires, picnics, cold drinks on the lawn while the kids swam. Too few hours of splendor in the grass, way too few Bacon, Lettuce and Tomato sandwiches. One should eat all the BLT's one can stand- day after day with sun warmed tomatoes straight from the garden and freshly washed greens.

It reminds me of a poem I memorized and love by Emily Dickinson
Nature: XLV As Imperceptibly as Grief

AS imperceptibly as grief
The summer lapsed away,--
Too imperceptible, at last,
To seem like perfidy.

A quietness distilled,
As twilight long begun,
Or Nature, spending with herself
Sequestered afternoon.

The dusk drew earlier in,
The morning foreign shone,--
A courteous, yet harrowing grace,
As guest who would be gone.

And thus, without a wing,
Or service of a keel,
Our summer made her light escape
Into the beautiful.

This year's summer made no light escape. Tonight's forecast -- snow. Two fronts coming through this weekend.
Snow.... already.... October 10th.

Life Among Stoics

Congregants at Holden Lutheran, Beardsley MN 1936

I'm reading The Land of the Living: The Danish Folk High Schools and Denmark's Non-Violent Path to Modernization. I stole this book from a very good man and frankly at this point have no intentions to return it (sorry John!). Mostly because I envision a rural landscape full of these remarkable folk schools and figure we'll need an instruction manual.

I read with interest the chapter on why Scandanavians are melancholy, or as I would describe it -- stoic. The author muses "an obvious direction in which to look... is the dark and cold northern climate." But then he decides these Danes actually take pride in living with extreme cold and short summers and delight in the changing of the seasons. Instead he decides that:

"A possible consequence of the overwhelming rural heritage...is [an acknowledgement that] death awaits everyone and gives no exemption."


Whatever the reason, I find myself living among (one could even venture to say "with") stoics.

I know a man who served in World War II, married, raised a number of fine and productive children, farmed and worked very hard past the point he was able. He lived a solid life, stern and upright, he frowned on tapping ones toe to the hymns in church because it was too close to dancing.

And then he was stricken with Alzheimers and lost control. He now gushes over his wife of nearly 65 years, enchanted by her, unable to to stop telling her how much he loves her, holding her close. All those years of holding himself so close only to burst with love and delight as the twilight hastens.

V is for Vendetta

Sunday morning at 5 am the wind hit the farm like a thunderous wall. All the upstairs doors were knocking in their frames -- trying to open and close at the same time from the violent gusts of wind coming in the windows. The windows had been left open just a crack to let in the comfortable and fresh nightime air.

And I was hit with the flu- classic high temp, chills, body aches, headaches, etc... So I was in and out of consciousness while watching V is for Vendetta three times. I've always been one of those "things worth dying for" rather than "things worth killing for" kind of people. So while I don't relate to the Vendetta as much, I appreciate (to tears) the courage of people to take to the streets in search of truth and freedom.

I hope you can see this movie. And I hope you don't have to get the flu in order to do so.

The Birds

Photo credit: anonymous

A flock/swarm of Rough Swallows has descended upon the farm and prairie to the south. In the mornings on the way to the prairie preserve they are thick, flying low over the soybeans, playing "chicken" with me and happy. They seem playful as they dip close to my head and to each other. Like a game for them- who can get closest to the human.

Our "new" chickens are so cool- a grab bag of about 20 different heritage breed chickens. All colors, shapes, feather types. They're getting big enough to start cock-a-doodle-do at sun up-- 6:08 am. These chickens haven't graduated to the coop in the barn-- so they are still milling around the house. It's nice to hear them clucking and quacking outside the windows.

Yesh Mime: There is water

New hand pump on the farm
We had to deal with an abandoned well on the farm-- our choices were to fill it with cement or put it back into use. So we decided to put it into use by installing a hand pump. It's by the barn on the cement slab where a windmill stood 100 years ago. Jury is out on whether this was a good decision - financially. It just seemed worth a little more to make the well functional than to pay to have it filled with cement...

I drove home from my job in St. Paul last night. It was a nice drive- the closer to home, the more lovely the landscape. I listened to loud eclectitc music- sunroof open. As I was about to turn off the last paved road onto the gravel road to our farm, I noticed a black lump in the road. I pulled over and helped get a large old turtle over to the wetland on the south side of the road (which cuts the wetland in half). As I turned down our dirt road there were deer- regular white tail and a mile later I swear I saw a mule deer. A skunk ambled across the road. Early in the week we saw a fox.

There were also geese flying to the south in V formations. But I try not to look and I plug my ears "lalalalalala" to block out the honking. I am NOT ready for another winter. It is simply too early for the geese to fly south. I hope that is not an omen for early winter.

It's funny how I just have to turn off the black top to take in all this wildlife. How the turtle marks my turn in the road and the landscape comes alive for me after nearly 200 miles of driving. Nice to be home.

Big Blue...

Today my boys entered kindergarten. When I woke them up they clapped their hands and yelled hurrah! We walk down the driveway under dark skies and light rain with thunder booming to the south and east. They held hands and sang songs together.

I waved as the bus rolled away and then jogged to the south- right into the storm. I expected to feel sad at this passing milestone- but instead I felt a sense of wonder. Maybe even a little bit of freedom (bad mom!).

There was a controlled burn of the prairie preserve last spring. This fall it is full of Big Bluestem and looks entirely different- darker- some of the grass taller than me. An egret flew overhead, the wind was gusting (up to 60 mph it said on the radio), the grass swayed in waves across the preserve-- a novelty. Oh how we humans love novelty.

So I experimented with the a short video clip.

As I walked through the prairie, down to the wetland edge and across to our farmland I found this deep muddy track through the grass. At the end of the muddy track was a large downed tree. A beaver. This is the same spot where an otter popped up and just stared at me over the grass.

All my kids in school- growing up. Burning the prairie- new grass comes up. Expecting grief- finding wonder. That's a good day.

Happy Labor Day!

The gift of good family

Hopefully when we get back to the farm the tomatoes will be ripe. In the mean time- I'll just tip back a cold one and enjoy the last weekend of summer.

Chicken Confidential- Part 3- A Qualitative Difference

One of the 2009 class of broilers

Mike and the kids caught the 75 free-range broiler chickens we've been raising this summer, put them in the chicken crates he made, and took them to Ashby Minnesota to be butchered. The one in the picture skipped the trip to Ashby.

We've learned a lot about raising chickens and it shows! I hope you can see how yellow this bird is- a striking difference from last year's chicken.

This year we didn't use the portable chicken coop- moving it daily around the farmyard. We just let the chickens run wild. They were smarter, more interesting, less concentrated manure, and ate more diverse food. They showed instincts- like diving under a car or propane tank when a hawk flew over. We even lost fewer birds this year. And I think they are tastier... They were "finished off" on crab apples. The chickens just hung out eating apples all day long the last couple weeks.

We made old-fashioned fried chicken (dipped in eggs- then into our hand ground Big Stone County wheat) and it tasted divine as part of a traditional August farmhouse dinner- slice tomatoes and cucumbers, sweet corn, fried chicken, and cilantro tossed rice (okay- not traditional). Everything but the salt, pepper and rice was grown on our farm. Topped the meal off with some Black Current Wine (for me and Leona) and a Summit Pale Ale for Mike.

Enjoying the fruits of summer's labor...

Swimming Day...

When you click on and play this video, think instead of miles of prairie, wetlands, green corn and beans, and acres yellow wheat being harvested by farmers as we drive miles without any interuptions at all.

I drove the kids 70 miles round trip to the Benson Public Swimming Pool. We were there when it opened and the last to leave. Infrastructure? let me tell you about infrastructure. This is a great small town pool- four different swimming areas, slides, wading areas, and full of kids. Staffed by teachers on summer break and high school kids. It's like a flashback to my own childhood in Dodge Center.

If we had stayed in St. Paul my kids would be going to the Jewish Community Center day camp and playing in one of these elaborate pools five days a week. But instead this day is the event of the summer- one whole day at the pool, complete with a trip to the DQ where Lake was so tired his head almost dropped into his twist cone.

Before we moved from the city to the farm I went to talk to my pediatrician and the director of the day care at the JCC and asked their opinions. Should I take my kids out of this "enriching" environment and move them to a farm? They both said that if they could take every kid out of daycare and put them on a farm with their parents- that's what they would do.

So instead of a daily dose of fancy pool (we do have a pool in the backyard) they get an occastional treat of big pool fun. That's probably ok in instilling a sense of savoring and appreciating the good things in life.

It is certainly true for me. I left there remembering that the world would be short one giant joy if we couldn't enjoy our fleeting summer on the high prairie with a day at the municiple pool.

Your Comments...

Last day of preschool for boys- May 2009

I always appreciate your comments on my blog. Thanks to all of you who leave notes here. I just wanted to let you know that there have been some glitches in the blog's comment system that hopefully are resolved.

So please keep posting those comments!

Thoughts are turning to getting kids back to school. Hence, the running for the bus under a rainbow picture from last spring.

 

No Time for Ornamentals

Kids in front of our garden

This is season two of our farming adventure. We're learning a lot, making some of the same mistakes, and vowing not to repeat them next year. Well-- next year will be another adventure on its own with setting up 92 acres of managed grazing.

But this organic food production is enough to kill you. Spring is all fresh and lovely with well tilled fields -- no weeds. But by the end of July the weeds are threatening everything we've planted. We know... we know... cover crops, mulches, landscape fabric, all kinds of options. But we've got a couple acres of sweet corn, popcorn, and flint corn alone. And I've been "walking the bean" to try to keep our organic black turtle beans (1+acre) weed free enough to combine come fall.

I bought some marigolds, flower seeds, and purely ornamental plants this spring. Needless to say... they were not prioritized above weeding my strawberry bed, gourmet lettuce patch, and my potato field. Between work, family and farm.... there is just no time for ornamentals.

Almost a Farm...

Almost a Farm
Gone Broke

A few miles down the Clontarf road from our place is this farmstead. Imagine the heartache that comes from losing your way of life, your dreams, the calling to farm. Farming is a calling. I had a great conversation with a Dean of a College of Agriculture from a major Land-grant University. He said that he had visited every farm in the then ground breaking book "Sustainable Agriculture" (National Research Council, 1989). He said that the people who farmed 'alternatively' defied all conventional and modern practices, without any rationale explanations. But, he added, more power to them.

The 1980's were brutal on farms. We're still losing a lot of those 'farms in the middle' (few hundred acres). But farming is more than just another industrial cog in a global system-- it sustains our bodies and for some their souls.

In the words of Thomas Jefferson:

"Those who labour in the earth are the chosen people of God, if ever he had a chosen people, whose breasts he has made his peculiar deposit for substantial and genuine virtue. It is the focus in which he keeps alive that sacred fire, which otherwise might escape from the face of the earth." Thomas Jefferson, c. 1781

"I think our governments will remain virtuous for many centuries; as long as they are chiefly agricultural." (TJ to James Madison, B.1787)

I think Jefferson may be a bit over the top. But there is an independence of body and spirit that comes from tending the crops and animals that feed ourselves and our neighbors. There is also the humbleness that comes from being at the mercy of the nature and the elements- hail, drought, and locusts.

Then there is the indignity and anger that comes from being at the mercy of a society that said to farmers "get big or get out." What good has that done us? Not as an industry, but as a society.
Almost a Farm...

By Way of Thanks....

Photo credit: Dan Bush

Last Saturday our whole family was privileged to take in the most amazing fireworks display- right here in our own township (population 96 souls in 36 sq. miles). Sometimes the greatest pleasures in life are the unexpected ones. We watched the prairie sky fill with jaw dropping bursts of light and color- with multiple grand finales in a row these were among the most spectacular fireworks I've ever enjoy. The setting helped too... out on our quiet dark prairie with stars all around- the contrast was breath taking and we all screamed with delight.

This was part of a family and graduation celebration for one of our neighbors. So in addition to the fireworks (put on by one of the family members who is a professional pyrotechnic) we enjoyed the blessing of community-- good company, festive atmosphere, good food and drink. I.e. the works.

Mike said as we drove away "I bet there are very few people in this country that saw fireworks that like tonight." We all nodded.

What a way to launch a young one into the world- best wishes Mishayla.

Goodbye Duck a l'Orange...

 Our three Peking Ducks... Sadly, foodwise, the same number as my three kids

Last Night's Dinner

Photo and Recipe Credit: Jennifer Hess of Last Night's Dinner

The garden is on the verge of a tsunami of vegetables. Last night we enjoyed the finest of dining -- entirely from our farm with the exception of the salt and olive oil.

I made the following recipe for Calabaza and it was as fine a meals as I've had anywhere on this planet. In fact, it had a taste of Ecuador -- a flavor I was afraid I'd never be able to recreate. I harvested the first fresh garlic of the year, picked fresh oregano and corriander, put the hot peppers in my pocket, and gathered some yellow summer squash. All just moments before I added them to the dish. It was as fresh and delicious as a meal can be. On the side were roasted fresh beets and new potatoes so tender the skins peeled off in my hands. I also enjoy a glass of black current wine from Strawbale Winery in South Dakota. I've taken to buying wine by the case from these folks.

I have such a feeling of accomplishment that I can not only grow our food, but prepare a dish entirely from Big Stone County that makes me close my eyes to savor the pleasure of eating it.

1 chicken, skin-on, cut into pieces (or use your favorite parts)
kosher or sea salt
olive or canola oil
2-3 fat cloves of garlic, peeled and chopped
1 red onion, peeled and diced
1 fresh chile pepper, seeds and stem removed, minced
3 medium zucchini or other summer squash, cut into evenly sized chunks
2-3 large ripe tomatoes, cored and cut into evenly sized chunks
dried oregano, Mexican if possible
fresh coriander (optional)
3 ears of corn, kernels removed from cobs

Season the chicken pieces with salt and brown them in hot oil in a large, wide skillet, in batches if necessary. Remove the browned pieces and set aside. Add onion, garlic and chile, season with salt, and cook briefly until the onion begins to soften and the mixture is fragrant, scraping up the browned bits from the bottom of the pan. Add the zucchini and tomatoes and stir to combine with the onion mixture. Add the oregano and coriander (if using), return the chicken pieces to the pan, cover and simmer until the chicken is cooked through. Add the corn and cook uncovered for just a few minutes, until the sauce is slightly reduced. Taste and adjust seasoning if necessary. Serve with rice or warmed tortillas.

Peak Civilization

Father's protective hand on son- Mayo Clinic

I experienced one of those moments when I believed that we do, in fact, live in the best of times. We were at Mayo Clinic recently and are pleased to report that all is well.

While there I savored the beauty, humanity, creativity that we have built in certain corners of this world. I took this picture while listening to a spiky, bleached hair kid play the most incredible music on the grand piano in the Mayo Clinic lobby. Everyone stopped what they were doing to listen to this soul filling music-- pausing in their concerns and duties to be lost in the poingnency of life.

We received world class care at Mayo- calm, thoughtful, face-time care with doctors and staff. We also saw amazing sculptures, listened to brilliantly inspired live music, ornate and impossibly lovely architecture (Jens is still talking about the gargoyles we saw from the 16th floor walls of windows).

What's more- we waited in line (briefly) with real people. Dads in Harley t-shirts, moms in capris, kids pushing elderly parents in wheel chairs. It looked to me like a cross section of our country. This fine care of body and soul wasn't just reserved for princes, senators, or the wealthy (though you could argue the insured), but for the many.

Look at that dad with those protective fingers spread across his sons shoulder. I know that grasp- I practice it on my kids. Look at that boy hugging his teddy. All of us paused, breathless at the music. And me just so very grateful to be living in these times..

What's the big idea...

Natural Resource Conservation Service Grazing Plan for our Farm

(EQIP = Environmental Quality Improvement Program)

Mike and I signed on the dotted line for the conservation plans for our farm- 172 acres total into grazing and organic agriculture beginning between now and 2011. We'll start by creating 92 acres of rotational grazing for beef cattle in 2010. This part scares me the most-- lots of fences, new well, many water lines and watering stations, big beefy animals that could step on little kids....

Across the driveway (not shown) we've enrolled 80 acres into the brand spanking new USDA Organic transition program. **Proud moment- we ranked 2nd in the entire State of Minnesota for this program** Mike is more intimidated by this organic 80 acres. In my mind, we could make this work just by force of will -- weeding by hand every day of the growing season if need be. Harvest with scythes, whatever... We actually calculated out the kids ages to figure out if they would be of good weeding ages in 2011 (7, 7 and 11).

So between the two of us we are confident we can make it work on the north and south side of the driveway (or conversely scared it won't work on the north or south side of the driveway).

In all honesty, part of my motivation for doing this (which my husband of nearly 15 years won't know until he reads this blog entry) is that we as a civilization have to-- HAVE TO-- learn (or remember) how to farm using sunlight as the major food source (grazing cattle) and making due with resources lower on the petroleum food chain (organic). Because in an uncertain future there will still be sunlight and some poop to keep this farm going.

So I am comfortable taking the risk of moving from conventional row crops (corn and soybeans) which we know can make the farm payments to experimenting with sunlight and crafty labor and inputs. When I say "Lord help us" that is not just a figure of speech.

Ecosystem Envy

Photo credit: James Neeley

I just returned home to western Minnesota after a couple days in the SE Minnesota blufflands. Minnesota is unique in being the home to the intersection of three different
biomes/ecosystems (prairie grasslands, coniferous forest, and deciduous forest) and when you travel between them you can see, feel, smell the difference.

So I'm suffering from ecosystem envy-- or probably garden envy! My sisters garden is a sight to behold. For example, last spring I planted 75 feet of strawberries which are soldiering on ankle high against the winds, cold, and dry spells producing hard little berries. At the same time my sister Kelley (and husband Jason- a dairy farmer) planted five plants and have knee high strawberries bursting with big berries and threatening to take over the rest of her garden, which by the way is spectacular.

Like I said in my last entry- the part of the prairie we live in is glorious savanna grasslands- but it is definitely a harsher climate. Violent winds, lower rainfall, longer winters (we are 250 miles North and West of my sister and mom). And not the easiest place to grow a garden. Our tomato plants were sand blasted by crazy winds blowing soil, my herbs just bake in the hot sun. My apple trees froze and thawed on their southern sides causing the bark to turn black and they too soldier on...

It also seems, from driving around, that the people and barns are holding up a bit better in SE Minnesota. Our barns, all around, are greying and collapsing. Empty farmhouses hanging on with thin hopes of being homes again. The barns in SE appear to holding up, painted if still empty of animals.

I tell my kids over and over that the key to happiness is to want exactly what you already have. To relish and delight in what is, not what could be. But dang, Kelley's strawberry pie tasted good!
**p.s. when I was little, a Dr. Neeley in Hayfield, MN sewed up my leg on a Sunday morning after an accident on Grandma's farm. This photo credit is a Neeley with lots of SE farm pictures. Anyone know if it's the same family?

Coming Home to Clinton

Photo credit: Lori Hynnek Kids after the Clinton Day Parade- June 2009

Tonight Jens and I drove home from visiting the homeopathic doctor in Montevideo with a car full of great smelling authentic Mexican food.

It was an incredibly lush, luxurious, and verdant drive home. As I drove I could hardly keep my eyes on the road because I wanted to take in all of the beauty around me. It looked like the scene from a Grant Woods' painting of rolling green hills and white farmhouses. Cows and horses grazed in the pastures along Hwy 7. The hay is lying in windrows. It is an absolute feast of bursting life.

Since Hwy 7 is under Federal Stimulus road construction, we had to take a zig-zaggy path along gravel roads to get to Odessa Minnesota. The owner of Ellingson's Honey graciously and generously put out four hive boxes and forty frames for me to pick up on mainstreet. See--the bees have already filled up 6 large boxes and need a couple more boxes. I'm telling you - this place is just bursting out of its skin with nectar.

My heart just swells with love for this place--the big sky, the open savanna, the tree lined Minnesota River Valley, the farms, pelicans, ducks, hawks, yellow headed blackbirds, the people. On the road between Clinton and the farm I met one car and one teenage boy jogging--they both waved. That is a 100% greeting rate.

Coming Home to Clinton was the name of our town's 125th Anniversary celebration last summer. I couldn't explain why I had a catch in my throat, my eyes filled with tear for much of that weekend. Same thing happened just two weeks ago for Clinton Days. I wasn't Coming Home to Clinton- I wasn't born or raised here like all the other exiles who filled the closed off mainstreet for three days of fun, baseball, and friendship. But I realized, some months later, that Coming Home to Clinton meant finding a home, a place I intend to stay as long as I'm permitted in this life.

I wonder if I could have been this happy anywhere? We looked at farms throughout Minnesota, places like Vera and a place near Cloquet. I wonder if my heart would have felt the same anywhere. But I'm not anywhere--I'm in Big Stone County. A lovely place to live, build a life, be in a community, and to just take in all the beauty that surrounds us-- if one is fortunate enough to have learned to be mindful.

Green Shoots

I was up before sunrise and stepped outside to a perfect late spring morning. The air was crisp and cool, a symphony of birds all around me- geese to the west, pheasants to the east, and any number of song birds and mourning doves all around me. Thanks to Mike’s hard work the garden is in. We have nearly five acres of market garden if you count the sweet corn, popcorn, and black turtle beans. Since we’re using organic production practices Mike strode in the house after planting the last of the beans and got on line to order Alma and me a couple of “stirrup” hoes. Says it’s going to be a challenging summer keeping the weeds down.

It’s wonderful to see the green shoots all around—it is full on biomass production time. With green shoots you can see, touch, and smell- shoots that will produce food to feed my family, friends, and folks in the community.

I had a dream last night. I was walking down a city street, like Wall Street, holding my newborn baby in my arms- only a couple days old. As I walked, a tall, young man in a suit pushed me over to get into his office door. I was very mad and walked into his office saying “how rude! You push over a woman carrying a newborn to get into your office?!” He looked over his shoulder, sneered at me, pointed Security over to me, and walked into his office. Three security guards, one like Secret Service, patted me down and one even groped me as my baby lay on the counter. I was furious and started citing my professional credentials. But I was ignored and helpless.

That dream shows my own frustration with giving the moneyed elite on Wall Street our national coffers so that they can get the green shoots going. They are sneering, taking your money, and groping you in the process. This will not end well.

I think we’re best off looking out here for green shoots.

**Note: I have to add that my Dad and Uncle were both community bankers who served families, communities, and small businesses with integrity and feeling (sometimes feeling quite bad during the hard times these).

My Antonia...

Alma reluctantly exploring an abandoned farmhouse with mom and Megan

The other night I made a couple loaves of fresh, homemade bread for a meeting in town. Alma was begging for me to leave her just ½ of a loaf. “No way! This is for the meeting. Maybe there will be some left over.” As I drove away, the scent of hot, fresh bread filling my car, my heart was heavy that I hadn’t left her a chunk of the loaf.

It brought to mind a story by Willa Cather, Neighbor Rosicky.

They had been at one accord not to hurry through life, not to be always skimping and saving. They saw their neighbours buy more land and feed more stock than they did, without discontent. Once when the creamery agent came to the Rosickys to persuade them to sell him their cream, he told them how much money the Fasslers, their nearest neighbours, had made on their cream last year.
"Yes," said Mary, "and look at them Fassler children! Pale, pinched little things, they look like skimmed milk. I`d rather put some colour into my children`s faces than put money into the bank."
The agent shrugged and turned to Anton.
"I guess we`ll do like she says," said Rosicky.

This story is not about feeding your kids first. It’s about giving the best of yourself to your kids and even your neighbors. It’s a lesson in quality of life-- simplicity with richness-- the richness of cream enjoyed rather than sold. I keep reminding myself and striving to live like neighbor Rosicky.

Dr. Peter Graham- or Carrying on without our Champions

Dr. Peter Graham- admiring prairie legumes

Early last Monday morning I walked across my own bean field creating and composing an idea to work on with my esteemed friend and colleague Dr. Peter Graham. I was thinking about nitrogen fixation in edible beans under organic production practices. I was excited to pitch the idea to Peter and knew he’d share my interest.

When I sat down at my computer I learned that Peter had left us- unexpectedly over the weekend.

Peter changed the course of my life for the better in so many ways. Through the years he was my boss, adviser, mentor, colleague, and at last a friend. I am the person that I am today because of Peter’s generous and large investment of his time, teaching, and resources. I worked with Peter since I was an undergraduate in his lab- and stayed for nearly 8 years- working both in Minnesota and Ecuador. I found a home in his lab was a touchstone of my life.

Peter showed me first hand what it meant to really love the work that you do.

My interest and work in sustainability comes from him and his applied research in nitrogen fixation in legumes. Peter, a respected academic, was also an unsung hero of sustainability. To my mind and experience his work in South America, where he lived for many years, was the opposite of the green revolution. He worked with small farmer on low input (hence N fixation) bean production to improve peoples diets, not exports.

At a time when I was young, lost, and poor Peter brought out the best of my potential. I really am who I am and do what I do today because of the many years that Peter nurtured me with a free rein. There are so few people in life that look out for us (me) in the way that Peter did. Without him, my world is more uncertain and I've lost an umbrella of protection that he held over me for more than 1/2 my life... Even if he held it lightly.

Grasp the Nettle

Grasp the Nettle= means to face up to or take on a problem that has been ignored or deferred

At first light on Sunday morning I'm sitting in a patch of frosty nettles watching Jens running across the backyard to find me. He's in his footy pajamas with bright blue puddle-jumper boots and wearing a huge red sweatshirt that hangs a foot beyond his hands and down to his knees. He has just turned five and is up early to ride the bike he got for his birthday the night before. In the chill of the morning he rides and I run up and down the driveway.

That is the image of my life I want imprinted in my mind forever...

The reason I was sitting in the nettles on Sunday morning is that Audrey (Moonstone Farms) introduced me (and Alma) to a new world of local foods on Saturday. I joined a group of folks to take her class "Grasp the Nettle" on eating native foods that grow all around us. This was another of those eye and world-opening experiences. We walked her farm and grove picking and eating all kinds of spring greens.

Then we prepared those greens into one of the finest meals I've ever had...
Nettle pasta with basil pesto (out of this world delicious!)
Steamed, buttered nettles with wine vinegar
Spezzati- spring onions, dandelion greens, Virginia Waterleaf and eggs
Ham and dandelion greens
Dandelion flower fritters
Burdock root sauted and mixed with wild rice and hazelnuts
Apple leather and dried elderberries

All that food grows around our farmstead without having to plant, weed, or water it. And it's free for the taking.

So we had nettles and eggs for breakfast and I even harvested enough to freeze some for next winter. Here's Jens eating the nettles- the thumb is pointed up, but his face says something different.

Fruition...

Megan demonstrating to the Community Service Club how to plant the fruit trees

Last weekend we planted 177 fruit trees across the entire school district (which is about 50 miles wide) at the home of every elementary age kid in the school. For me it was a fun and interesting adventure.

My back of the envelope calculations are that those trees, at maturity, would provide enough food to feed the entire school district population for 4-5 days. Now that's a step towards community food security. What's more, it gives those kids access to healthy, local foods right out their back doors.

There are so many lessons we learned doing this project that I'm going to have to write them all down in a paper. But we couldn't have done this without the support of the Foodshelf, school board, Mr. Dreke (3rd grade teacher extraordinaire), the Community Service Club (farmers who left the field to plant other children's trees), Lou's Greenhouse in Big Stone City, SD, my husband, and Megan the student supported by the U's Community Assistance Program.

I want to say a few words about Megan the U of MN horticulture student who has an intuitive way with these trees- you have to see this woman pruning a few dozen trees to appreciate her skill and confidence with fruit trees. She whips out her pruners, hanging from her belt, and moves around the tree like Edwards Scissorhands (a dated reference from my youth). Megan's work with these trees brought to mind the book about scientist Barbara McClintock "A Feeling for the Organism." McClintock's discoveries in molecular biology were 30 years ahead of the times and she credits them to the intuitive sense she gained over years of working/being with corn.

Our traveling the county showed me the need for a home-scale horticulturalist to teach people to care for trees. People would grab Megan by the arm and take her to see their fruit trees and ask her to guide them in pruning. Next year (to which Mike quickly adds "there is no Next Year!") we will combine the fruit tree planting with some kind of tree care/pruning/maybe fruit preservation session.
Small enough to care about. Small enough to make a difference. What a great weekend.

This Week's Firsts - Spring 2009

photo credit: Carolyn McDonald

~First frog calls in the pre-dawn morning
~First sighting of snake trails across the dusty gravel roads
~At the Prairie Preserve during my morning’s gaze to the N, S, E, W, sky, and ground, I put my bare hands into the yellow thatch of prairie grass and it felt warm for the first time this year
~With my hands in the grass and I heard wild turkeys gobbling for the first time out here
~First mosquito – honest
~First new lights out on the prairie- a new hog confinement unit with three bright yardlights startled me a few days ago shining a few miles off across the prairie to the NE of our house (I’ll have to drive and check that out)
~First green grass sprouting out of the flood flattened grass on the SE corner of the farm
~8 of the 10 Aronia berries (chokeberry) I planted put out new growth

What I gave up for Lent

http://dilbert.com/strip/2009-04-16

I gave up economics for Lent. It wasn't easy, but I quit checking the stock market, business news services, Bloomberg radio, blogs, futures markets and the Baltic Dry Index. Alma overheard me telling someone that I had given up the economy for Lent and she said "But mom, you ask Dad everyday "how did the market do?" Alma gave up her MP3 player, Jens wanted to give up naps (didn't let him), Lake just scowled at the idea. Mike said, from his Baptist tradition, that everything that everyone gave up for Lent they gave up all year.

Even a Blind Man Can Tell When He's Walking in the Sun

Child in from sledding on a mid-winters night

Yesterday the kids came running, yelling "Grass! We found green grass!" We have a calf hutch on the north-east corner of the house as a play fort for the kids. Inside the hutch was green grass- all three kids jumped inside to enjoy the greenhouse effect that grew the grass. MIke and I stacked wood while they played nearby. Mike guesstimates that we stacked about 6-8 weeks of mid-winter heating.

Last January the days were so short that in order to get in any decent amount of sledding, a kid had to put on a head lamp to play into the night (which would start around 4:30 in the afternoon). One particularly cold, snowy, long evening of darkness, Earnest came back in from sledding in the dark with his brother and sister. His headlamp shining like his eyes-- he cut through the darkness of winter both inside and outside of the house.

The sun is setting decidedly north of our west pointing driveway, there is green grass to be found if you want to crawl inside a calf hutch, and right now the full moon is shimmering on the lake west of our grain bins (wait- that's suppose to be our field). Point is... "Even a blind man can tell when he's walking in the sun." I think it is safe to say spring is here.

...Like no day has been

photo credit: Alma (this is one among dozens of staged horse photos I found on the camera)

The sun is rising slightly north of due west. That means we are really starting the time of year where the sun’s intensity warms the earth. A pink blaze comes through my kid pawed dining room windows and with the sunlight at this angle I can see all the fingerprints, lip and kiss marks.

What a wonderful Saturday. It was cold enough to slow the flooding of Fargo—but that sun angle made the south facing porch sunny and warm. I watched the soil on our farm giving off steam and make ground fog clouds. And then about 6 pm waves and waves of 10 of thousands of snow geese made their way from south to north across our farm. The sun was low enough in the west that it shown on their white undersides—they look like clouds of white sparkles filling the sky. I was at a loss for words. Stunning/magical/breathtaking.

The kids and I moved the table and chairs out of the kitchen to make room for a dance party. Alma is at the age where we are listening to both Disney tunes and Jonas Brothers. We danced until our sides ached. The weekend also included grinding wheat, making our first batch of hard cheese- some Monteray Jack, and a plush toy parade around the farm.

Late Saturday night I realized that I had forgotten to put in the chickens (Mike was out of town for a Blues Fest). So I walked into the dark night (yard light off) and through the dark barn to our chicken coop. Happy was too afraid to go in the dark barn- and I don’t blame her. My flashlight was about out of batteries. Having locked the chickens in the coop, I all but run back past the empty cow stalls towards the door. I stand on the concrete slab outside the barn door- the house lights a couple hundred yards away, the sound of geese honking in the dark all around me, a half moon in the sky. I hear a large metallic clunk from inside the steel barn ceiling and am propelled towards the house.

As it turns out, in putting the chickens to bed in the dark, I locked a skunk in the coop with them. None of the chickens were killed, luckily. But what a shock to find a skunk in the corner of the coop the next morning.

Ringing Our Own Bell

Minnesota's Local Foods Commission Legislation- introduced Monday March 23rd, 2009 All dressed up and in its jacket

A bill for an act relating to agriculture; creating a commission on local foods; requiring a report

It seems to me that a civilization and by extension, its government, should be devoted to first providing the basic needs of its citizenry. Frankly that is why I am incessently crabby about spending $10 trillion dollars on AIG, Citi, Bank of America, and others too big to fail. Another way of looking at the $10 trillion you and I are giving to banksters on the backs of our children's children's children is that it is the equivalent of paying for 170 years of the US Farm Bill-that includes food stamps, agriculture research, conservation practices, commodity payments, and all things agriculture.

That is why I am heartened and encouraged by Minnesota H.F. 2075. A bill to create a statewide commission on local foods. It is about bringing together our best, brightest, well intentioned, agrarian populists to make sure our state is doing all it can to ensure that healthy, local foods are available to us and our families. Contented sigh...

With all due respect to Representative Larry Hosch and Senator Gary Kubly (hopefully the senate author), the sound track in my mind for this legislation is "Sisters are doing for themselves! Standing on their own two feet. Ringing their own bells." That song is probably as close as I can come in my mental jukebox to a song about taking control of the basics of a wholesome, healthy, fruitful life.

You see that's the magic in local self reliance. That is the Jeffersonian ideal of a solid democracy. Can you see it? When we, collectively and supported by our institutions, are able to provide basic food, energy, water then we are free to be citizens. Standing tall and proud. And isn't that part of the beauty in small, diversified farms? It's why the eye and heart are drawn to a farmstead with a barn, garden, chicken coops, house, windmill and well handle.

Big Stone Bounty

Our son "Earnest" holding the Boxelder Syrup we made

Yesterday the boys and I went to Big Stone State Park for our first adventures in collecting Box Elder sap for syrup. It was chilly and rainy, but Joanne (ranger extraordinaire) took us out to see the trees she had tapped, showed us how to tap a tree, and let us collect 3.5 gallons of syrup. At home we boiled the 3.5 gallons down to one golden, delicously sweet and buttery cup of Boxelder Syrup. Compared to Maple Syrup, the Boxelder is milder- almost marshmellowy. I hope I can do this every year from now on.

Do you have any suggestions for very special dessert on which to use this syrup?

The Big Stone Bounty isn't only this amazingly delicious syrup, it's the generousity of time, talent, and spirt that led Joanne to make this possible for us.

What a Difference 120 Degrees and 10,000 Geese Can Make

Geese rising from our south field just before sunrise 3/19/09

I'll try to find a photo later, but in the mean time you'll just have to picture this. Last week we had one day where the high was -11 degrees with a -50 windchill. Yesterday it approached 70 degrees. That feels like 120 degrees warmer. So we decided to eat some seasonal foods on the front porch (Girl Scout Cookies) and watch the kids play in the gushing streams and rippling waterfalls all around our farmstead. There were 10,000's of geese all around-- honking loudly in every direction. We saw the first ducks migrating through today and some seagulls as well. The sun is now setting nearly due west down the driveway.

The kids played until their feet were nearly frostbit from the 32 degree water and came thumping up to the house crying (at least the little ones) with numb feet.

What a difference a 100 degrees warmer and 10,000 geese can make to a winter weary soul. Mike said that as much as he hates the cold, he wouldn't give up the feeling you get when the seasons change. I think he means that pure joy of the first day of spring.

First Sightings of Spring

Photo Credit: Kelley Reber 3/14/09 see that little patch of grass?

Has this winter seemed as long to you? There've been a lot of snow days, blizzards, sick kids, sick parents, and below zero days. The howling winter winds kept me awake some nights.

But last Sunday we saw the first flock of geese flying over the farm. That could only be greeted with jumping up and down with whoops of joy. The boys, in their snowpants, were in the mudpit beneath the tree swing surrounded by snow. What a welcomed sight-- almost hard to believe that spring will really come.

Today Kelley and I went for a walk and saw flocks of geese in all directions. We soaked up some vitamin D in the glaring sun. As it happened, we were at the point of the driveway when the pond on the north side burst through the culvert on the south side with gallons of water burbling up through the 4 foot deep snow drift and the water started cutting its path through the snow into the field. It was pretty cool to be right there when that happened.

It's heartening to see signs of spring, but I hold back my enthusiasm remembering the 23 inches of snow last April. Also, there are all kinds of pressing farming decision to be made and so I view spring a little differently-- will all that water work it's way out of the south field? Can we get in early enough to plant wheat? Should we fence in the 35 acres around the farmsted first or the south 90? Think I'll get a cup of coffee.

Local Foods -- Late in a Minnesota Winter

photo credit Jenniferr Hess from her blog Last Night's Dinner

I've toyed with the idea just eating local foods-- foods grown within a couple hundred miles of where I live-- for Lent. Our ELCA Lenten e-mail messages started out with a treatise on eating local foods. Lent comes at a hard time of year to eat local in Minnesota-- it would be much more convenient if it were in September.

It might not be much of a sacrifice as we've been enjoying some incredible winter meals with local foods.

Our meal the other night was entirely local- from our farm and our neighbor's- except for the salt, pepper, and maybe the butter (but it was Cass/Clay and so could have been from Wade Athey's dairy east of us). We had:
-Pork Roast (Jim VanderPol) and pork gravy
-Pickled beets
-Mashed potatoes (Yukon Golds still looking fantastic in our root cellar and about 100 pound remaining)
-Squash (we had to cook and freeze all the remaining squash as it was going bad)
-Candied Crab Apples- from our own crab apple tree
-Well water to drink

Last weekend we enjoyed an all you can eat rib fest of beef and pork ribs (both pasture raised by neighbors) and cole slaw. We finished the last of the cabbages -- they looked moldy and dry on the outside, but peeling away the outer leaves left nice cabbage on the inside. We mixed the last heads of purple and white cabbage.

We are on the last frozen roasted red, yellow and green peppers. But we still have lots of sweet corn, chickens, lamb, venison, squash, frozen beans and pea pods, various edible dry beans, garlic, jams, apple sauce, beets, pickles, roasted red pepper spread, tomato sauces, potatoes, and a few frozen strawberries.

The carrots I buried in sand boxes in the root cellar are doing amazingly well -- I pulled out a large carrot that was sprouting last week and you could smell the sweet carrot fragrence and it was still firm and tasty to eat raw. We also have about a bushel of apples left in cold storage in the basement and they are still fine for fresh eating.

I'm not sure it will last us until this years harvest, but it will be fun trying...

Hour of Splendor

We've been under the weather lately and so the lack of chronicles. A feverish chorus of coughing adults and children. So I enjoy some thoughts of hours of spendor in the grass....

Excerpts from: William Wordsworth
Recollections of Early Childhood

Intimations of Immortality

There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream,
The earth, and every common sight,
To me did seem
Appareled in celestial light,
The glory and the freshness of a dream.

…Though nothing can bring back the hour
Of splendour in the grass,
of glory in the flower,
We will grieve not, rather find
Strength in what remains behind…

How About Them Apples?

Megan- U of M Horticulture Student and Community Assistance Program project

coordinator for the CGB Fruit tree project
So last spring every kid at CGB Elementary School got a $30 voucher for healthy summer snack to be used at the local small town stores. A wonderful idea. A couple days later I bought a few fruit trees from Lou's Greenhouse in Big Stone City, SD. $30 food voucher in one hand- $27 fruit tree in the other. Hmmmm. If we planted a fruit tree, those kids could have healthy summer snack right out their doorsteps.

So three of us, a parent, teacher, and food shelf staff person put our heads together and now are starting a project to plant a fruit tree in the yard of every CGB Elementary student. Our dream is to:

• Improve household and community food security
• Increase families access to healthy food
• Teach children practical sciences about fruit tree care, horticulture, plant, and soil sciences
• Let our school children get to know a college student who is excited about her work in Horticulture and see this as a potential career for themselves
• Create local self reliance in fruit tree care, fruit production, and preserving fruit to eat throughout the year (think apple sauce, dehydrated apple rings, or cold storage of apples).
• Test a new way for Food Shelves to provide a more sustainable food source for clients (like planting fruit trees)

We could use a bit more support for this project. Click on Continue Reading to find out how:

If you are interesting in contributing to this project, we could use some help purchasing the trees.

Please make a tax deductible contribution to the Clinton-Graceville-Beardsley School Foundation!

Send your checks to:

Southwest Initiative Foundation (put CGB Foundation on the memo line)
15 3rd Avenue NW
Hutchinson, MN 55350

Thank you!

Small Enough to Care About (as opposed to Too Big to Fail)

Odessa, Minnesota- photo courtesy of the Minnesota Historical Society

Small Enough to Care About.

There is a scale at which it is possible to make an impact. A scale at which ideas, thoughts, and actions can turn into something changed, good, and tangible. Like our farm- we're going to put a chunk of it into pasture to raise grassfed livestock. The change and good I seek is 1) Meadowlarks return to our corner of the prairie 2) the winter snows won't be covered with black dirt from the blowing soil. (oh and more romatic ideas of flying kites, chasing kids, and watching cows chew their cud in verdant fields)

In small communities it is possible to work together, build a new idea, and see it come to fruition. We have a local food group forming in the county and there are steps forward. I hear a community garden may be planted on a vacant mainstreet lot. Now that is Change You Can Believe In.

What I like about where I lives is that it is small enough to care about.

An Unheard of Silence

This morning I stopped and listened to a silence in the world that I have never heard before. It was about 10-15 degrees, windless, a light fog hung all around the edges of the world.

The silence was startling in its completeness. No birds, cars, planes, people, machines, or wind. It was complete, total, and utter silence. There was not a single sound except my own heartbeat.

The only sign of life this morning was death.

I found a dead mole in the middle of the road. His whiskers still full of the ice crystals he made with his last breathes. He was curled in a comfortable ball- his fur lovely and rich in the early morning sun. What was he doing out there?

Mike came in the other night astounded that it was so quiet he had heard the 6 pm whistle blow in Clinton- 10+ miles away. Imagine standing in Highland Park, St. Paul and being able to hear a noise made in Edina.

Imagine being so surprised by a quiet world, having lived in it for 40 years. After a bit I hollered “I am here! My voice echoed back- but I’m not sure off of what on this prairie

Walking on Wate

Ice on (yet) un-named pond on our road

I dreamt the other night that I was in the barn with Jens and Alma. It was warm and I had lost one boot. Jens was barefooted. It was getting very dark and I decide to run back to the house with the one boot and with Jens in my arms - feet wrapped. I ran throught the snow and then fell through the crust and up to my chest. I could see the yellow glow of the house lights close- but out of reach. Alma and Jens crawled across the crust and I tried to "swim" my way out of the snow.

Monday I walked into the ditch to get on the pond. I walked on the crust until I fell in up to my waist- the dream returning to me in the pre-dawn morning. I walked around the ice taking in the frozen animal tracks, the drifts of snow like isthmuses across the blue grey ice, the patterns of cracks. Again yesterday I waded through snow onto the pond, thinking I was taking a completely different path and surprised to find I was walking the same steps. By day 3 it has become a looked for path of comfort. I smiled at myself the critter- a path making critter. There was an element of instinct- I'd found a safe path and sought that path.

What lies ahead of us is uncharted and we need a new path. It's going to require some trail blazing. There will anxiety, even fear. But somehow, sometime that new path will bring comfort.

Sunrise on the pond