69 to 0

One of the best things about attending church is just being able to sing nice and loud for a couple hours (including choir practice) a week-- especially with other folks. Seems to me it is good for the soul to belt out a few tunes now and then. For example, I'm teaching the kids the old Fig Newton commercial jingle from the 70's "oooey gooey rich and chewy inside. golden cakey tender flakey outside..." Make 'em sing and dance for their supper.

I'm not a sophisticate when it comes to music and so I hadn't noticed that our church organ had troubles. A committee formed to look into getting a new organ. They worked for the better part of a year; getting bids, traveling to various area churches to play the different types of organs, and figuring out the finances. They brought the bids and their recommendations before the whole church congregation-- basically held us after the service-- the ushers stubbornly not leading us out of the sanctuary. Earnest was incensed-- "What!? Church is over and we don't get to leave?" It was more than a fidgety 6 year old could take.

The committee was nervous as they presented the request. They had no idea what the sentiment of the crowd was. Neither did I- I wasn't even sure what the man sitting next to me would vote in a secret ballot. Even though I am married to him.

They passed out secret ballots; we all voted and passed our votes down the aisle. A couple folks went into the lobby to count them. After a bit Joanne walked down and handed the results to the church president. Votes in favor 69. Opposed 0.

For what ever reason I wanted to burst into tears of joy. Believe me, I'm not that attached to getting an organ. It was just giddyingly refreshing to sit in a room with 100 people -- newborns to 100 years old-- republicans and democrats-- white collar and blue collar workers-- and we all agreed on something. Not a curmudgeon in the crowd. Imagine that- 69 to 0.

What's more- during these hard economic times that vote is a most hopeful statement about the future. We will invest in the future. Not just the things that HAVE to be done like repairs, but things that bring nothing more than beauty, comfort, joy for generations to come. Something as ephemeral as a few blessed bars of "For the Beauty of the Earth" on a better instrument.

If you want to hear the new organ- it was installed Tuesday-- consider yourself invited to Trinity Lutheran Church for the 10:30 service this Sunday. Hopefully, there's a great line up of songs. And just in time for the Christmas carols!

Dairying... what keeps me up at night

Postcard 1937

We live on what was a dairy farm for the better part of a century. It was one of hundreds of dairy farms in Big Stone County. Now there are three. And at least one of those three would like to throw in the towel.

I watch our own dairy infrastructure degrade before my eyes. The milk parlor now fills with water in the spring. The roof of the milk house needs repair. It's been 15 years since cows were milked here. One night over dinner as I talked about how this could be a dairy farm again, my usually calm husband raised his voice and pounded his fist on the table and said "I will not start milking again!" Days later one of the kids said to me "Dad really doesn't want to milk, does he?!" He was a dairyman into his late 20's and then worked in the U's dairy barns. Guess he thinks that's enough.

Mike was one of many thousands of Big Stone County kids raised milking cows. He learned how to look for good genetics (and built his own fine quality herd), how to raise calves, care for large animals, haul manure, feed and water cattle, to say nothing of milking. Right now I know of only one teenage boy in the county who is receiving this hands on education.

A couple weeks ago I was asked to talk to an environmental communications class at the U on how agriculture is included in environmental discussions and decision making. I asked the room of about 40 people:
How many of you were raised on farms? (answer 2)
How many of your parents were raised on farms? (answer 10)
How many of your grandparents were raised on farms? (answer 30)

Think about this societal change we've experienced in just 3 generations. What keeps me awake is that we are becoming so far removed from so many skills so fast. I just can't help thinking that we lose these widespread skills at our own peril. So we get down to having a few dozen people in the State who could run a dairy farm. Then what?

I asked that same class:
How many of you aspire to be farmers? (answer 1) One proud young woman shot her arm enthusiastically into the air. Here's hoping- eh?

Mistaken for a Sunrise

Sunrise on our farm

I walked the kids down the driveway and had to skip my morning walk to do some farm work in preparation for the coming blizzard-whiteout-over ice.

As I walked down the driveway- the sky completely gray- I saw a dot of sunrise on the horizon through my farmstead and grove. I marveled that there was one tiny break in the clouds in what looked like a completely low cloud covered sky. As I closed the 1/2 mile between the end of the driveway and the farm, I realized that wasn't a sunrise. It was my husband in his blaze orange on top of the quonset (again).

Can't say I've ever mistaken anyone but him for a sunrise.

**Note: my blog was messed up for a while. THANK YOU SHANE for fixing it.**

Fiber Revolution

The Sky Has No Borders- by Benedicte Caneill (from Fiber Revolution)

I'm subject to obsessions. I'm in the midst of a 2 year search for US grown and milled cotton sheets. 30 years ago I could have walked into JC Penney's and bought them off the shelf. Now, it takes two years to find them.

As it turns out, I just happened to begin my obsessive search during one of our nations biggest industry declines. 80% of cotton fabric was milled in the US in 1985 and now it is about 5%. According to NPR:

Between 2006 and '09, U.S. cotton acreage dropped by 40 percent...
"The old world of cotton is probably dead," says Darren Hudson, director of the Cotton Economics Research Institute at Texas Tech University.

Now, I'm not hung up on cotton. I can't grow it here in Big Stone County anyway. So give me any old US grown and made fiber sheets- there's hemp, bamboo, flax makes linen.

I'm willing to save my pennies and buy some USA grown, milled and manufactured sheets. I've found some organic cotton sheets that are US made- start to finish. And they are expensive. But I consider that every single purchase I make a donation to the kind of world I want to live in. I vote with my pocket book. I could buy cheap sheets from Target and then pay higher taxes to support unemployed Americans who once worked in textile mills. We pay for this loss of capacity in many ways, besides workers dignity. We dismantle our ability to feed and clothes ourselves (as a nation) at our peril.

We need to keep making things-- real things that people need and use. Like sheets. I do not consider creating innovative investment instruments noble work. Bundling subprime mortgages into collateralized debt obligations (CDOs) creates nothing in this world but a mess- frankly.
There is a movement towards re-localization- local foods, local energy and now I think we need to start paying attention to local fiber. Mark my word- it's the next big thing.

Here in Big Stone County we can grow flax, alpaca, sheep, fancy goats with great soft fur. I'm hooked man. This could be a great place to start the Fiber Revolution.

The Piece of Cod that passes all understanding

Harvest Fest meal- 2010- Artichoke Baptist Church

We've had a very cultural fall- with a large family lefse making (the old world style graham flour lefse- no potatoes) and a lovely Harvest Festival lutefisk dinner in the Artichoke church basement. That gelatenous lye soaked fish is the highlight of the feast. Jens wanted to make his own blog entry... so take it away Jens...

This is me. I'm standing by a box of lutefisk. Lutefisk is brought here all the way from the ocean by Norway. Lutefisk is a one and only time food- you can't have it like one day and then the next. Lutefisk is very famous. It is a very good food.








This is me with my great-uncle Mick. I helped serve lutefisk for the very first time because my dad put on this apron. I decided I was going to work because he said I could.















This is my brother. I love him. He is very kind. We can play all the time. He is very playful. We make good battle games and even pretend we are transformers. And he doesn't like lutefisk. In fact, he hates lutefisk.

Going...going...gone

Good Shepherd Church- Artichoke, MN
I have only lived here three years and the loss of farmsteads, churches, historic mainstreet anchor buildings in our little area is a heartache. I can only imagine what is like if you've lived here your whole life and even have generational memories.

Change. Loss. No rational hope for rebuilding.
Take a look at that picture of the Good Shepherd Church-- about 10 miles out my backdoor. A lovely country church--with a congregation that endured for over 125 years. This month the church was picked up and moved away to a more populated area. Many people are happy that the building will be saved and used-- and not collapse over the years from the lack of people/use that keeps buildings alive. But it leaves another gap in the landscape. A gap where a beautiful and inspiring landmark stood as a testament to what, in my opinion, is a hallmark of our culture. That we can work together to build and sustain a place to nurture the human spirit.

Likewise, we once built monuments to business and industry. Businessmen invested in the permanence of a brick building on mainstreet. You have to believe in the future to build a brick building. I'm sorry to say that we may not even have the skilled labor, the noble stonemasons, who could even build those same buildings today. And so the two buildings that burnt to the ground on mainstreet Ortonville this month represent a loss that will never be replaced. Maybe a pole barn would go up in their place-- but the resources, skill, and belief in the future that it takes to build a landmark are not there.

Once these buildings are gone, they are gone forever.
There is a building in Clinton- a tall, two-story yellow brick building- that lives in my dreams. It lives as a completely restored dry goods, gardening, book store, coffee shop. Upstairs is a sunlit, elegant, comfortable living area -- our winter home so that the kids can go to school through the blizzards that isolate us on the prairie. I buy lottery tickets because they are my only hopes to achieving that dream. This venture is not a money maker, but a labor of love. Love and hope.
But the hope that I'll win the lottery before the building is razed is running low. The front page of Thursday's Northern Star newspaper included the city council's recommendation to raze the building because the bricks are beginning to fall and are a hazard. A race against time- will Kathy get enough money for a roof and a brick repair before the building collapses or is razed?
Last Monday, my program at the U co-hosted a talk with Nicole Foss, of Automatic Earth fame. I spent time with her following the seminar's gloomy description of what faces us in the future (economic, energy, and resource collapse). She whispered to me "You're in the right place. It will come back. It will be the soul and center of what is good, right and whole in the future." Ok- she didn't say that, but she did.
If we can just keep it together until the collapse. Until the pendulum swings back. Hope clings eternal.



Historic buildings lost Oct. 2010 in Ortonville, MN

Loyalty--Thy Name is Sunny

It's been a year now since we found Sunny and her little pup Lucky starving and nearly dead at an abandoned farmstead near our place. Lucky didn't make it through the winter- even with all the love and attention of three doting children and the vet care we could give him. Poor little pup just couldn't recover from whatever journey had brought them to our home.

Sunny responded to Mike with the most fawning, obsessive love I've ever seen in any living creature. Mike was the one who found and rescued them and one cannot underestimate the gratitude of a mother towards those who offer care to their young in need. She shadows every footstep that Mike makes and when he drives the tractor she maddeningly stays as close as possible to the tractor door- looking up at Mike even as he drives up and down long fields. Makes for a worn out dog some days. Yesterday, Sunny braved flying logs as we built up the wood pile for winter. "Move ya dumb dog!" But that might mean not being as close as possible to Mike. Loyalty- thy name is Sunny.

Pheasant season opened at 9 am yesterday- the first hunting season we've had with Sunny. She's everything a good yellow lab could be- ahead flushing out birds, obedient, and eager- so I hear.

She is also a great daily lesson in remembering that really good things sometimes come to us unexpectedly. I would say that Sunny came to us unbidden- but I realize that in our hearts we wanted and were waiting for her. A happy one-year anniversary to celebrate.

The Botany of Desire

What did corn do to merit so much care, attention, and expansion to so many acres of farmland around the world? One could say that corn has us by the short hairs. You, we, I (are) am servants to corn.

What if we are really like the bees- what if plants manipulate us to work for them the way flowers get bees to due their work for them (pollinating)? This is not my idea, but rather Michael Pollen's from his book The Botany of Desire. I remember the first time I heard this idea- then bought and read the book. I was pregnant with one of my four babes and jumped into this theory like a deep pool of crystal clear water. I completely take on new ideas- no barriers, no filters- to see how they fit and feel. If it's not want I want after a bit, I step up out of the water and dry myself off and wait for the next exhilarating feeling of being immersed in another paradigm breaking concept.

So play with me here. What if corn seduced us to put all this care, concern, effort, and time into propagating it around the world? Corn caught us the way a flower "catches" a bee. We are just a tool of corn to keep it going generation after generation.

Think about it. Men gather to advance corn's agenda - local chapters of the Minnesota Corn Growers Association are meeting somewhere tonight. Imagine organizing around a plant, meeting and figuring out how to keep your plant at the top of the heap. Who's the real winner? Well if you are in the corn family, I guess that would be the corn plant.

I've figured out how to grind corn in my flour mill. Corn bread for dinner tonight folks. We'll take that corn right in- no middle man like a corn fed feedlot steer or the ethanol in my tank to go to town for groceries. Grown, ground, consumed- in the quiet privacy of my home--mmmmm.
All hail King Corn.

My Hero

Earnest catches a mouse

I've been composing an entry about "Life Among Animals" which is all heart warming about brown and black cows lying in clover and multicolored chickens chasing bugs across the green grass, but there's the others side- especially this time of year. The mice are looking for a warm winter home and our 100 year old farm house seems to be an easy target.

What luck that Earnest is nonplussed at picking up mice. He earned a solid 5 Battle Bug points for that one. Last night he was emptying out a cupboard (like a dog digging a hole) in search of the stinky dead mouse that we can't find in the kitchen. I know, I know... this is supposed to be a recruitment blog to get people to leave the city and move to rural places- like Big Stone County- so I shouldn't be talking about mouse invasions and the search for their rotting corpses. Truth in advertising.

Next entry: The Flies.

One Can't. Two Won't.

We had a bonfire and backyard campout over the weekend. I found myself missing my Dad- not that we ever camped, but he could build a good fire. He always repeated this line about building a fire:

One can't. Two won't. Three might. Four will.
Dad's point- You need four logs to start a fire. So I was telling the boys the same line- and one of the little fellers yells to Alma, "get over here- we need one more person to start this fire. We need four of us." Guess I could have been a little clearer.

Then the four of us (Mike knew better) and the big yellow lab- crowded into the two-man tent to sleep. Originally, I thought we could pack out into the prairie a ways. But frankly, I was glad we were close to home as the coyotes started yipping and howling to the south and to the east of our yard. I'm not afraid of coyotes- but it is chilling to be outside with my little kids and be the grown-up/protector.

It reminded me of a camping trip I took with Val just a few weeks after we graduated from William Kelly HS in Silver Bay. First we got lost in the North Woods, then she had brought Pudding Pops for food (uhhhh... they melt!), then we FROZE overnight, and the Timber Wolves- serious wolves- were howling all around us. Through the night it sounded like they were circling us. We packed out the next day if I remember right.

The kids and I had a great campout. It was surprisingly comfortable, plenty warm, and dog barely smells of skunk anymore.

More than this?

The Milky Way. Photo Credit: NASA

Local nonprofit, Clean up our River Environment (CURE), auctioned the talents of their board chair, Joe Hauger, to provide a first class astronomy "show" on our farm. Hey Joe- you put yourself up on the auction block next year and we'll bid you back to Big Stone County.

We are blessed with good neighbors and friends and the yard was filled with dozens of kids -- ages 3-13. Sloppy joes, bars, chips, kids, mosquitos, lawn chairs, blankets, and a night sky to enflame any heart.

Stargazing was off to a DRAMATIC start as the space station passed over us at 8:17- still twilight. It looked like a hugely bright star and passed over us in 3 minutes. I simply can't believe I've never seen this before. It was such a startling and huge night sky object.

The next space station siting for Big Stone County is September 30th at 6:41 pm to 6:46pm. Believe me, if you look up, you won't miss it. Click here to find out when the space station can be seen above you.

Then we looked through Joe's high powered telescope for a close up view of craters on the orange moon as it set in the west. Venus set in the West with the moon- how's that for love. And Jupiter rose bright in the east- boom! it was there. We could see the rings through the scope.

Then the stars began coming out by the thousands... Perfectly clear, crisp September night on the northern high plains. Believe you me... there is no light pollution on our little square of the prairie. No other yards lights and nighttime dark as dark as it gets.

The Milky Way emerge in the night sky and the kids asked what that was... it's our galaxy - the one we live in. A wide strip of cloudy looking stars that span across the night sky. The Milky Way seemed to be coming straight out of our silos and across the sky. No wonder it's so easy to feel like the center of the universe (or not).

Lay on a blanket- your child's head in your lap...Good people around you...The brightest stars ever seen in the sky. People for thousands of year have been laying on this prairie looking up at the night sky in awe. We joined their ranks. Even Joe was impressed with the stars in the sky on Saturday night and said as far as a dark night sky, our farm is "as good as it gets." Ain't it though?

Back to Big Stone County

Glacier mountain meadow flower. Photo credit: Alma

We're back from our first family vacation since the boys were born- 6 years ago. It was the best vacation of my life.

Train to Glacier; drive/ferry to Holden Village high in the Cascade Mts in Washington; Seattle for Twin Game, zoo, and Ivers Fish bar; then, Washington's Pacific coast and back home. Two kids lost baby teeth. 4000 miles driven. Kids playing in the Best Western pool until they pile into the hotel room and faint in a pile like tired puppies- smelling of chlorine. Rinse and repeat.

I'm on a haiku kick- so here are a few vacation haikus starting in Holden:

Moutain breezes sing
Full moon setting over peaks
My soul longs for rest

Through the grass I see
My offspring play in the surf
Stomach on warm sand

Little boys like wild
Creatures. Stand close and still to
Hear their beach call/song

Food Preservation Haiku

Jalepeno relish and tired boy

Bumper hot peppers
Fingers burn with canning heat
Winter warmth in jars

And Just Like That (snap fingers now)

August 5, 2010 Harvesting Wheat in Big Stone County

It hardly seems like summer has begun and now the crops are being harvested. The neighbors are bringing in the wheat and I stopped to watch and wave on the way home. The countryside is lovely green, with golden wheat, and blue skies.

When I got home the phone rang. "Hey neighbor- that was you pulled over- right? Well drop your buckets off and we'll get you that wheat you've been wanting. 15% protein this year. Almost as good a yield as last year. And last year was really good."

I said- "Excellent. Then I'll grind some flour and make you really fresh homemade bread.:
"Deal."
The gift of good family farmers and neighbors.
(Note to self: remember to bring buckets to Trevor).

Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?

Painting by RJ Silletti- Meadow Larks

Uncle Mick came for dinner over the weekend and the conversation turned to the birds that once were on this land and now are gone. Mick even knew which page to tell me to look at in the Birds of North America guide.
Here's what once was and now is no more on this prairie:

Kingbirds- Western
Kingbirds- Eastern
Bobolinks
Bobwhite Quail
Whippoorwills
Purple Martins
Prairie Chickens
Meadowlarks

Once the ducks were so thick, that as a boy he fired one shot and bagged 10 ducks that were in a row. At times the skies had been black with ducks- thousands that would land in the field while they picked corn. Someone commented that the waterfowl flyway had shifted away from here. But the truth is they are diminished.

There is a new normal. My kids have never seen any of those birds in the landscape. Unless someone tells them, they will never know they are missing. I never really knew they were missing. I look at all the relative abundance of wildlife we have here and can't see what I didn't know was once here.
Meadowlarks would be unusual- not a part of the ecosystem I've experienced. And Big Stone County is a birders paradise.

Soon after moving here Mike and I agreed on one goal for our farm -- to have some meadowlarks return.

Deconstruction- building sweat equity

Taking down the Quonset

I probably make life on the farm seem rather, well, pastoral. But it is a lot of hard work- mostly for Mike. He and Travis, a neighbor who just graduate from high school, took down our old crushed quonset in preparation for putting up a "new" one.

We really need a standing building to house our tractor, combine, and to have a workshop, potential grain storage and maybe even house some cattle if needed.

Through some of the hottest days of the year- with heat indexes over 100- these guys deconstructed an entire building- and left the ends standing. Now that is truly sweat equity.

Appetite Fatigue

A View inside the Graceville, MN Grocery Store
It's important to me that my kids can comfortably eat a really wide variety of foods. You never know in life when you will be called upon to eat something that you are unfamiliar with for a long period of time. Without a wide repertoire of food familiar to your palate, you simply may not be able to force yourself to eat. That is called appetite fatigue.

Part of preparing my kids for an uncertain future is to make sure they are exposed to many and varied foods! For example, I'm prepping the fam (and myself) to start eating rabbit, because it would be pushing the "meat" envelope for our family. Plus, it is considered one of the "sustainable" meats of the futures.

But I realized I may be taking the appetite fatigue thing too far, as evidenced by this morning's children sermon. Today's Gospel lesson was the familiar:

"So I say to you, Ask, and it will be given you; search, and you will find; knock, and the door will be opened for you. For everyone who asks receives, and everyone who searches finds, and for everyone who knocks, the door will be opened. Is there anyone among you who, if your child asks for a fish, will give a snake instead of a fish? Or if the child asks for an egg, will give a scorpion?

The Minister called the kids up to the front for the children's sermon and held out a plate with a toy snake coiled up on it. She asked the kids "if you came down for breakfast and asked for eggs and your mommy gave you a plate with a snake on it- what would you do?" Jens replied for all to hear "My mom would say you have to eat it or you'll get appetite fatigue!"

One of the things about eating local foods is that our menu is based on what is available, when it is available. After living this way for a couple of years, it surprises me that some people don't change their meals based on what is fresh and local. For example- eggs. First, there are some people who only want to eat "industrial" eggs. I had a woman at the farmers market tell me she cannot eat farm fresh eggs because they go "straight from the pooper to the pie." Imagine if that woman was stuck in a farm for some period of time and the most abundant food was farm fresh eggs. With that level of aversion, she could starve before she could eat them. Seriously. But some folks simply don't think about meal planning with what is before them- here's a dozen eggs. Hey I could make egg salad sandwiches, a quiche, devilled eggs, etc... No, they work it the other way. I'm hungry for custard, better find some eggs.

It's going to take some "reverse engineering" to get many of us to change what we eat from what we want to what can we make with what we have.

Some may ask why we should even consider appetite fatigue with all the variety and abundance of our current global food system. I mean- I just bought some Labneh (Middle Eastern sheep's milk cheese) from an Asian market in Fargo, North Dakota no less. I can think of many reasons for concern- and that is why I have a category for these blog entries called "Inner Apocolypt."

The Stillness of Motherhood

A winter's walk to the slough

The picture above shows a cold, snowy day in complete contrast to the 110 degree humid heat index we're experiencing in SE Minnesota. Next to me, asleep, is my little son with a 102 degree temp- that's after the tylenol and motrin. He and his brother were visiting their aunt and grandma near Rochester when his Fever Syndrome struck. I left work in St. Paul and we're now in a hotel off Hwy 14 so he can rest comfortably.

There is a stillness that comes from being a mother. Being tethered to a place. Right now my place is with my son- not more than a few feet away at any moment. The throw-up bucket at my knee- just in case. As women, we are tethered to a place with our children. There is only so far that one can travel with babes on your hips. In the picture above, I had to pull my kids in the sled back and forth to the pond. It seems so far away when you are trudging through deep snow pulling 2-3 children behind you.

As my babes get older- the steps that we take together are expanding. The wetland is closer- amazingly closer if you don't have to pull or carry anyone there and back. The old farmstead down the road is now within the scope of our world- "let's go play in the that old grain bin!" The world is expanding as my kids get older. I can see now that is the natural order of things.

It is why men were hunters and women were gathers. Gathers that got to know the place where they and their children held the ground. It's why women invented farming-- women with young children no doubt.

And yet- I read a quote the other day that "Stillness does not impress or frighten others in the rat fight for a good spot at the feeder." Being a mother requires that we find ourselves completely still at times.
I left the house for an early morning walk over the weekend. I was about a mile from home when I heard a calf "bawling" in the pasture. It didn't sound right. I stopped. Then I heard across the bean field "Mommmmm! Mommmmm!" It wasn't a calf- it was my early riser. "I'm coming" I yelled, turning back towards home. There- about a 1/4 mile down the driveway in the pre-dawn light was my little boy in a giant red robe. Tears on his face. "You kept going when I yelled mom." "I thought it was a calf dear." And we walk back home hand in hand.

Yes- my world is getting bigger as they grow. And yet- that tether calls me right back to their sides and to the quiet stillness of being a mother.

My Own Private Pelica

Photo credit: National Geographic

Big Stone County is the eastern most breeding grounds of the American White Pelican in North America. And we have these majestic birds in abundance. My husband grew up in this county and so is used to seeing the huge, prehistoric looking birds as part of the everyday landscape. But they are unique to this area. From here their breeding grounds range north and west into Canada.

Their wintering area is either 1) the Southern California coast or 2) the Gulf of Mexico. Frankly, noone knows where our Pelicans overwinter. If it is the Gulf, there is a chance that these birds may not be coming back next year in the same numbers due to the impact of the BP Oil Gusher. And some of those that come could be ill.

If you are reading this in Big Stone County- remember to take a good look at the Pelicans this year. Appreciate their gliding, synchronized flight. The way that they land on the water- they slow to a near stop just above the water and then lightly touch down with zero (0) forward momentum. A completely still stop on the water- hardly making a ripple despite their huge size. Look at these ancient creatures- as close to a teradactyl as still roams the earth. Lovely, silent creatures.

We have a flock of Pelicans that circle, low over our farm at least twice a day- morning and night. They live in our south wetland and must feed elsewhere during the day- or visit friends in neighboring sloughs. Sometimes when we are in the garden more will circle over us. Seeming as curious and watchful of us as we are of them. They feel like our own private Pelicans. Godspeed.

Kings Play Chess On (our) Fine Green Sphere

Self portrait after a thoroughly soaking 2 mile return walk in pouring, warm rain (my friend Tiff dear is encouraging us to turn the cameras on ourselves. Of course she does so in opera gowns. I'm completely rain washed and bare)

I walked this morning at dawn under low grey billows of clouds. It's nearly 80 degrees with 100% humidity before 7 am. The air so heavy I can feel it resisting my arms as I walk. The song playing in the background of my mind today it was 59th Street Bridge "No deeds to do. No promises to keep. I'm dappled and drowsy and ready to sleep. Let the morning time drop all its petals on me. Life, I love you,.." Written before I was even born- but apropos for a lifetime.

It occurred to me that I am species rich. As species rich as nearly anyone on this planet. This morning I encountered- closely:
Mammal: Deer and fawn, muskrat (still watching the sunrise to the east), dogs, mule, cows, humans.
Birds: Numerous, including; Yellow-headed blackbirds (5 feet away on cattails), Pelicans, ducks, seagulls, sparrows, swallow, many more
Amphibians: frogs
Reptiles: Got skunked - didn't see a turtle, snake, or salamander this morning. (Actually got literally "skunked" on yesterday's walk when Sunny had a completely silent battle to the death with a skunk. She won- but bloodied and reeking of fresh skunk spray. I couldn't have been more than 100 ft away when this battle took place and all I saw was my bloodied dog)
We are living through one of the planets greatest global extinction event-- known as the 6th Extinction. Human activity, not natural events, is the distinction between this and the previous five extinctions. Some estimates have the extinction rate at 30,000 species per year or 3 per hour. The following is from the Proceedings of the National Academy of Science of the United States of America...

There is consensus in the scientific community that the current massive degradation of habitat and extinction of many of the Earth's biota is unprecedented and is taking place on a catastrophically short timescale. Based on extinction rates estimated to be thousands of times the background rate, figures approaching 30% extermination of all species by the mid 21st century are not unrealistic (1-4), an event comparable to some of the catastrophic mass extinction events of the past (5, 6). --Kathy notes- they are talking about dinosaurs- the 5th Extinction--

And so the Kings Play Chess on (our) Fine Green Sphere. I don't trust those kings and this is no game.

4th of July, 2010

...Let us be Truly Thankful

The season of abundance is upon us. We have 10 gallons of organic berries from Kristi and Brad's Coyote Grange (Appleton)- plus another gallon from our establishing berry bed. We are now "setting stores in" rather than drawing them down.

And we enjoy all-we-can-eat fresh strawberries for this one very week a year. Last night I made a strawberry shortcake. I ground wheat into fresh flour, cut in the Cass-Clay butter from our dairy farmer down the road, and sweetened with just a small amount of our honey. We ate the shortbread hot from the oven and the berries warm from the early summer sun. As my stoic people bit into that simple delight, they closed their eyes, sighed, and tears rolled down their faces. They were awash in a deep appreciation for all that this good earth has to offer and for each other. No one even had to give the ambiguous blessing of "for what we are about to receive, let us be truly thankful." They gazed out onto the prairie adoringly and turned to each other with kind words of love and gratitude.

It was my Babette's Feast and Like Water for Chocolate moment.

Ok. I made that up. But they did leave off watching the Twins Game for a few minutes in appreciation of a good dessert.

The Thing About Mountain Top Experiences

I returned last night from 6 days in Indianapolis for the first class of 2010-2011 LEAD21 training (leadership for Land-grant Universities). What a tremendous gift to focus on my own leadership skills. On Maslow's hierarchy of needs- this is the pinnacle.

I flew from Fargo, North Dakota to Indianapolis. I was once afraid of flying after an emergency landing on Equatoriana Airlines. But now, I say "well what can I do... may as well enjoy it." And I did. The g-force of speeding down the runway, the sight of my beloved prairie and pothole ponds and wetlands below me, and finally rising into dramatic valleys of thunderhead clouds- the stuff of dreams really.

I spent a week living at the top- in every sense that the 21st century has to offer. There were hours devoted to dissecting the feedback on our leadership skills (from bosses, direct report, peers...), practice conflict management, team dynamics, dealing with competing values, and building a group of peer coaches that we will work with over the next year.

In addition to the intellectual heights, we were cared for so that no earthly/physiological needs were even thought of. The healthiest, freshest food available in world were supplied in abundance. We were surrounded by platters of local strawberries, fresh blueberries, pineapple, melons, greens and vegetables. We were served gourmet healthy foods- paella, roasted lamb, seafood, soups, whole grains like quinoa, egg white omelets, and Ethiopian coffee where ever we turned. Brown people served our every needs- straightening our rooms, pouring our wine.

I entered the University of Indiana's hotel/conference complex on Sunday afternoon and did not step foot outside until the stretch limo picked us up on Friday afternoon. I touched ground in Fargo- a brilliantly easy international airport- and headed south through North Dakota, then South Dakota on my way to Big Stone County, Minnesota.

My first and only stop was on the land of the Sisseton-Wahpeton Oyate. It was Friday night and it seemed that I'd hit the hot spot for action. As I stood around the gas pump, I was conscious that my 5-year-old used car was the fanciest/nicest in the lot and I was the lightest skinned person in the crowd. The mom next to me had a crying babe in the back seat- she sing-sang to her sweet babe as we filled our cars across from each other.

One of my favorite songs played through my mind as I lingered among the Oyate- the people. Please take a listen below to Keith Secola.

I walked slowly into the hot spot- a nice sized store on one end of the complex. I was hungry and I walked the six aisle of food. There was not one single fresh item of any sort in the entire store- it was convenience style. It was entirely and completely opposite the last meal I had had in Indianapolis. It was the anti-food pyramid. Indianapolis enjoyed the solid foundation of the food pyramid and Indian Country had nothin' at all but the crap at the top. I checked again- yup- looks to me that Maslow's hierarchy of needs starts with food.

I finally strolled back across the parking lot to my, now damn nice looking, car. I had some jalepeno almonds in hand- the healthiest food I found. I drove a couple miles down the road and saw a car on the side of the road- I looked and saw they had stopped to see a moose in the wetland grasses. I rolled down my window and yelled to the group of three Native men- "is that really a moose??!!" "Yeah" he said "Been hanging around here since last fall." We all watched the moose in our cars for a while, then did illegal u-turns to get back home in opposite directions. I passed a passel of fox kits, geese, ducks, pelicans, deer, and the bounty of this good land- once only theirs. I did avoid hitting a skunk.

The irony of the journey from Indianapolis to Indian country burst some bubble in me. Like bursting a blister- it stings so much worse after it is burst. That's the thing about mountaintop experiences- it's actually harder to walk back down the mountain. Causes blisters. Next year LEAD21 is working to recruit a cohort of our colleagues from the 1994 Tribal Land-grant colleges. Here's hoping, eh?

It's been a good year for the roses

Artist: Ivy Popow, Oil and Acrylic

I stole a moment for myself this morning at dawn. I had jumped out of bed like a scared cat at 2:45 am this morning due to a large and pressing work project. I found myself humming the song "I don't like Mondays" and I was out of caffinated espresso. That's about as dark as it gets.

I sat working intently until just before dawn when suddenly the world was awash in pink. Everything! Everywhere! I jumped up from the table, threw on my shoes and headed out into the prairie. There was a vertical stripe of rainbow rising up from the south horizon- it made me gasp outloud.
 I walked down the gravel road and found so many prairie roses in full bloom- lovely flowers all along the sides of the roads and into the prairie preserves. The buds were bright pink and the flowers every hue of pink. Many of the petals had just fallen into the untravelled road- so I was walking like a bride following the flower girl among the pink petals.

I walked to the wetlands- the duck, pelicans, geese, two muskrats sat on the front porch of their lodge watching the sunrise as well. There was only a sliver of clear sky on the very edge of the horizon where the rising sun came through to turn all the rest of the low grey clouds brilliant pink- in every direction.

I walked back- smiling.

The Small Easy

The boys and I arrived a bit late for the Clinton Days parade. As we ran down the sidewalk trying to catch up, a fireman rolled down the firetruck window and asked if the boys would like to ride with him in the parade. I didn't know him and he didn't know my kids- but I didn't give a second thought to lifting my boys up into the fire engine. I could hear them introducing themselves as the truck continued on the parade route. I figured I'd find the boys somewhere near the end of the 1 mile parade route.

After the parade and a fine lunch at The Cabin, the fire station was set up for kids games. Again, I didn't think twice about leaving the kids there while I crossed the street for groceries. While there I mentioned to Bonnie, owner of the grocery store, that I could sure use a hot drink. She made me a cup of Fair Trade Colombian Coffee in the back of the store and we sat at the table outside on the grocery store deck- surrounded by huge pots of flowers- fire station in sight and the sounds of happy children.

Then - joy of joys- the firemen set up the fire hoses on either side of the block and groups of kids took turns trying to blast a ball back and forth at each other. My little guys each got a shot with the fire hose and got soaked. Jens- all 38 pounds of him- was shirtless and freezing from the cold well water. So it was time to go home

The day was topped off with a live band and street dance at night. The whole day is put on by the Clinton Commercial Club- the women's service club.

My memory imprint of yesterday is a relaxing sense of fun and being cared for... myself and my kids. The difference between this small town and life in St. Paul is, for me, the absence of a parental anxiety, mostly subconscious. There really is a village taking care of its children. A few weeks ago we were putting in a community garden at the Care Center in town-- one of the big Dad's yelled at my boys to behave. The group of about 30 of us chuckle when I said "Yup- it Takes a Village to yell at my children."

A Day to Remember- Memorialize

Memorial Day flag raising in the Village Square- onlookers with hands on hearts

I had a Memorial Day much like many people around our region had Memorial Day. For me it was strikingly stirring.

Our veterans from town and the surrounding countryside all turned out in their crisp uniforms- including our WWII vets. The entire high school band was there in force- even the seniors who had graduation ceremonies (and parties) the day before and who probably had 0 to 3 hours of sleep before lining up at 8:30 am on Monday morning.

As the solemn, crisp procession went down mainstreet-my two little boys (still in kindergarten) asked if they could join the parade. Without a single concern I patted them on the backs and sent them out into the street. They were surrounded on all sides by caring community members who know them by name. At the end of mainstreet the flag was raised to half mast and the commander yelled "Fallout for Legion members taking the bus." Support for the elderly among their ranks.

The rest of us followed the procession the 5-6 blocks to the school gym- the band playing somber songs. People thronged through the streets and side streets to the gym- through a town with sidewalks.

One elderly woman stood in front of her house- the paint was peeling- her flag was flying- and tears were in her eyes. I don't know her personally or her story- but maybe she was recalling a husband, son, brother, uncle who had known war.

Inside the gym we all sing together and then the names of every fallen soldier from this area over the past 130 years is read off. Dozens of Mobergs, seven Hagens from WWII alone. We had a speaker- himself just a second generation immigrant from Sweden.

Following the ceremonies the crowd went to the cemetery and then to the Clinton Memorial Building for a potluck dinner. We went to the potluck last year- but not this year. Jens said "Veterans eat only plants." "No dear, that would be vegetarians, not Veterans."

From the time my kids were babies we played with blocks. We always start with a "firm foundation." The phrase "firm foundation" was among all of their first baby phrases. Because the first thing you need in building a block tower (or a life) is a firm foundation--otherwise it's all for naught.

Robert Putman, a researcher out of Harvard, looked at "social capital" in the United States. Social capital is defined, by some, as the "goodwill, fellowship, mutual sympathy and camaraderie among group of individuals and families who make up a social unity." Putman used many measures to determine which states had the highest social capital- the result is this blurry map below. Maybe by coincidence or fate- we landed in the geographic center of social capital on the North American continent.

When I was traveling in Guatamala- hitchhiking and camping- I stayed at a remote farm in the hills. It was run by 2 young Americans and I enjoyed a clean bed and great food. I remember talking with the other gringos about my longing for Minnesota- what an oasis of fairness, goodness, kindness, etc. etc. etc... My new "friends" looked at me like I was nuts- bragging- cracking up from too many long months on the hard, dusty mochilaro trail. I quit talking and retreated to my dreams of home. And you know what? I'm not disappointed with this place- almost 20 years later it still lives up to my visions.

And my friends in Guatamala? Sadly, the husband (a farm boy from Iowa) had his head cut off by the army and put on a post in his yard just a few weeks after I left their farm in the back of a local's pickup truck. I was already heading north. Heading home.

And here I am. This is a good place to build upon a firm foundation. I don't even have to lay the stone myself. Just stand among the capstones that have been set before me. And hold together that firm foundation for a generation- hopefully so my children can then take up the yoke - where the women are strong, the men are good lookin' and the children are above average. 

Big Stone Riches and Resources

Author and veterinarian Melissa Nelson with her book "Small Scale Farming"

There is a breadth and depth of talent and goodness out here on the prairie. And coming upon those folks is one of the riches of life. Meet Dr. Melissa Nelson, veterinarian, author and farmer. She lives just 10 miles from our farm and is an interesting and resourceful neighbor to have around. Melissa is the author of the The Complete Guide to Small Scale Farming: Everything You Need to Know About Raising Beef and Dairy Cattle, Rabbits, Ducks, and Other Small Animals

She also has a couple other books in the works- one on Financially Successful Small Farms and a work of "fiction" about the experiences of a vet in an industrial USDA slaughterhouse. I got a sneak peek at the novel- looks like something for which Michael Pollen should write "in advance praise." It's so great to have met Melissa, found a cool vet for our new little herd, and gained one more member in that thing we call "community."

The Underside of Local Foods

The last of last years harvest...

The farm is alive with all things fully leafed out -- the blooms have come and gone from the fruit trees. So what is a local meal in May in Minnesota? Well, I'm making a stew of dried edible beans and the very last of the carrots and onions from the pantry.

Those carrots are not the botique image of local foods that people think about. But to eat seasonally, some stuff comes up from the pantry in May- before the new crop is ready to harvest and last year's produce is barely recognizable.

One of my elders said to me that when I talked of "local foods" all she could envision was the flacid, black carrots that the family dug out of the sand box storage under the floor boards (Minnesota circa 1950). Those carrots, like mine, bear little resemblance to the lovely fresh carrots we pulled from the ground. Eating seasonally and storing food needs to be part of the local food scene.

But I make it look worse than it is. My herbs are up and I have fresh thyme (which will go into the stew), cilantro, parsely, and oregano. We've had our first rhubarb and asparagus. The stored food in the pantry also includes canned candy apples, hot pepper relish, and italian sauces. We still have lots of frozen beets, sweet corn, chicken and one small package of lamb. For dried foods we have wheat, beans (in the stew), dried raspberries and strawberries (an experiment with the dehyrdrator), and dried sweet corn that I grind for corn bread- delicious.

Out with the old and in with the new... next month.

How You Know You are Loved if You're Married to a Norwegian

The first milk from our cow

A friend of a friend says that her Scandinavian heritage husband has a daily limit of 30 spoken words per day. I would say my husband is somewhat similar. Once we got into what I thought was an awful argument and we didn't speak at all for a couple days- sat across from each other at meals, went to sleep together, etc... all in perfect silence. When I finally couldn't take it any longer I said "Enough! we have to talk this out." He said "Talk what out?" He didn't know we were giving each other the silent treatment.

So when I came home to this jar of fresh milk in the fridge, I knew that it was the expression of pure love and esteem from my husband. It's the little things- like the internal injuries he sustained milking a wild and never milked before cow- that lets me know just how very much he really loves me.

Now... How to explain the Mother's Day present he gave me. A mule.

Starting our Herd-- an exciting 24 hours

Our first cows- May 7, 2010

I came home from St. Paul to a great sight last night-- our very first cows. Five of them. As you can imagine, the farm was in an a state -- the cows running around the lush green pasture for the first time in a long time and the kids running around "with" them. They are a breed of cattle called Dexters. Compact, triple duty cattle- milk, meat, and draft animals.

This morning while the family slept I made coffee and walked out the door to go for a walk. I wanted to get up close to the cattle. I noticed something wasn't right. One of the cows was down. I thought it was the smallest one who had suffered from bloat before we bought her. Then I looked again and counted 1-2-3-4-5-6. Huh? 1-2-3-4-5-6! We have our very first calf.

So now I am working very hard on my dairyman husband to start milking that momma for me. Oh- think of the fresh milk, butter, yogurt, cheeses!!! I talked to one of my colleagues yesterday about getting my breast pump back. Think that will work?

Our first calf May 8, 2010

Stewards! Start Your Engines

In the weeks to come you will be seeing many images of dying birds and ocean life. In the mean time, take a look at this boy with his feet in the white sands of the Gulf of Mexico and read what his mother writes about these last days of white beaches...

photo credit: Jeri Shaffer

Even with the threat of bad weather, the beach was packed. Unlike the previous week, the crowd was eerily quiet. There was no music and no small talk. We all stood staring out across the sugar white sand and watching the waves crash into the shore. A group of kids played volleyball and a father tossed a football to his son, but even these activities were low key and quiet. We walked down the beach, watching our children play in the breaking waves and wondering when another day at the beach would be possible for them. Everyone on the beach seemed to be in a stunned silence. The sadness was palpable.

I have lived within 30 miles of this spot my entire life and I have never seen so many people taking pictures. I snapped pictures, too. I want our children to remember the beach that we have always known. Our youngest child will be 3 years old at the end of May. I took a picture of his tiny feet in the sand knowing that he won't remember today. I don't know what the beach of his childhood will look like, but I wanted to give him a small piece of the beach I came to love.

I'm a fan of church hymns. They give us a glimpse into the thoughts and prayers of many generations before us. On Sunday, I am sure by coincidence, the last line of the last hymn we sang was...
"...bring good news to this and every age, till earth and sky and ocean ring with joy, with justice, love and praise"

How's that "ocean ring with joy" thingy goin' for ya?

There's an old joke about the congregation of a church all leaving the Sunday service so fast that it looked like a car race. One of the congregants jumped on the hood of his car and yelled "Christians-- START YOUR ENGINES."

My fear is that as we consume every last resource on this planet we will take down all of G-d's creation along with us. I picture a large whirling funnel flushing down the Meadowlarks, frogs, whales, and pelicans along with us. What is the answer? Probably a new austerity- a completely new way of living. "I bring you a new commandment 'loves others as I have loved you.'" Sunday's gospel.

Hear the call-- Stewards! Start Your Engines. Wait- reverse that.

Little Tofu on the Prairie

Photo credit: Anon

This afternoon the Schwan's Man drove down our 1/2 mile long driveway against 40 mph wind gusts. This is an important source of food- mostly healthy- for our family. They carry a lot of very good frozen vegetables and fish. We buy our share of salmon filets.

Local food this ain't.

The "Wild Caught Alaskan Salmon" is a product of China. When I asked how that could be I was told that the fish are caught and shipped to China for cleaning and freezing then distributed by Schwan's. Can you imagine that trip? Alaska-China- to smack dab in the middle of the North America continent. Now that is a global food system and I'm a grateful beneficiary at the end of that line.

I don't know if you can appreciate the pleasure of having the Schwan's man show up at your door. We buy lots of their vanilla ice cream-- it is the only kind my husband will eat. Period. So we buy three gallons every other week.

This afternoon I bought Tamales wrapped in corn husks. They are really quite good and made from very few raw ingredients- corn meal, meat and spices. I also bought the shrimp and tofu Pad Thai. Seriously folks- I'm in the middle of the Tallgrass prairie in an extremely sparsely populated area. And today I had tofu delivered to the door of my farm. With chop sticks.

The Pad Thai was spicy enough that the boys jumped up from the table and ran around with tongues lolling out of their mouths begging for liquids. Add a few crushed peanuts and squeeze a lemon on top and I can imagine that I'm at Ruam Mit on St. Peter Street in St. Paul.

Oh yeah- And that Pad Thai- It's a product of Thailand. Like I said- local food it ain't. But what the hell. Moderation in all things.

Together on our Knees

Communion bread for Trinity Lutheran Church in Clinton, Minnesota
Grown in Big Stone County
Ground in Big Stone County
Baked in Big Stone County
Broke in Big Stone County
A short step from local to holy.

Elegant, Local, Commodity Agriculture- Lessons to be Learned

Farmers' Cooperative Grain Elevator- Clinton, Minnesota

I was at a meeting with 70 of the best and the brightest the other day- working through how we build robust, economically successful local food systems. For example, how do we get apples from the local apple orchard into our grocery stores and schools- in place of apples imported from New Zealand?
One of the brilliant, well intention people at the Symposium led us through a thought exercise about how we could put a mental string around the grain elevators and pull them down. This was to be, I think, emblematic of replacing commodity agriculture with a local and regional food system.

So I went to visit the people who run the local grain elevator. Meet Sandy, Greg and Ron. Located in our small town (of 450 souls) the grain elevator is an independent, farmer owned cooperative. It is free to market and sell the locally grown grain to whomever they please. Every week of the year farmers bring in grain that to sell through the elevator. Grain is sold in 5,000 bushel increments - for corn that would be about 30 acres of yield.

Business office of the Cooperative Elevator
When I walked into Sandy's office she had two computers going at the same time- one was the real time commodity prices flashing on a screen the other was a live webinar on the USDA "Acreage and Planting Intentions Estimate." Farmers confer with Sandy about what they should plant.
In the 21 years that Sandy has been marketing the grain grown by our local farmers she has seen a few shifts:

1) a 50% decrease in farmers. In particular, she talks about the loss of young farmers with sadness- "it would be wonderful to see land [up for sale] going to young farmers" and,2) that in 21 years her grain marketing has gone from global to local. In the early days, Sandy was selling grain that was shipped to the "coasts" and Canada. Now Big Stone County grain (corn, wheat, and soybeans) are bought, used, and processed locally- for ethanol in Big Stone City, SD and for bean meal in Dawson, MN. This shift to local outlets has made Big Stone County more profitable for producers- less transportation costs.

I talked to Sandy about whether the elevator could handle local food grains- like barley, edible dry beans, flax, quinoa. That's not so likely or easy with the commodity system they have set up. But I bet that Sandy could do anything she put her mind to.

When kids raise goats for 4-H - where do they go to find out how and where to sell them and how the goat "market" works? They go to Sandy at the grain elevator. What's more, if you need goat feed- you just ask Ron and he'll help load it into your truck, or in my case a minivan.
So maybe instead of trying to mentally pull down that grain elevator, we should be finding the lessons learned in this elegant, locally owned and operated system. Maybe, even we should be working with them.

Local Grocery Stores Make March Meals Festive, Healthy, Affordable

Grooter Family at their Beardsley Country Market

The kids and I decided to check out all the grocery stores in the Big Stone County a couple weeks ago. We were able to make a truly delicious, nutritious and affordable meal with the groceries we bought from the Beardsley Country Market and the Graceville Country Market.

The Graceville grocery stores has a great selection of produce, including some hard to find fruit and veggies like blackberries, turnips, and portabella mushrooms. For our special Saturday night dinner we purchased fresh blackberries, strawberries and one orange pepper. The blackberries ($2.50 per half pint) were the best such berries I've ever tasted. I was pleased that Larry carried strawberries that were grown in the United States. I try to buy US grown food when I can't buy locally grown.

At the Beardsley County Market the kids greatly enjoyed playing with Alma's classmate Jada and the Grooter family was very welcoming and friendly. We purchased sirloin steak cubes ($6.51), fresh, authentic corn and lime tortillas ($.99 and made in Minnesota), and a large container of sour cream ($3.60) for our meal. The highlight of the Beardsley Market is their fresh meat, cut to order.

At home we made Steak Fajita's--here's the recipe I used

Marinate for at least 1 hour
1.5 pounds of steak cubes or strips in:
¼ Cup lime (or lemon juice in a pinch)
3 gloves minced garlic (grown on our farm)
1 T vegetable oil
½ t salt
½ t Cumin (I used about 1-2 Tablespoons because I love this mild spice)

In a large skillet cook over medium high heat:

Cool spiced/marinated meat until done to your liking

Then add:
2 medium onions sliced in strips
2-3 green, red, orange or yellow peppers sliced into ½ inch strips (from Graceville and some frozen peppers that we grew in our garden and roasted on the grill last fall)
Salt
Pepper

Stir and cook the peppers with the meat, onions, and spices until the peppers are hot, but still a little crisp.

Warm the tortillas in the microwave for a few seconds, place the meat, onion, and pepper mixture on the tortillas. Top with salsa and sour cream.

We fed this festive and very healthy meal to three hungry adults and three kids. In addition to the steak fajitas I served the fresh blackberries and strawberries on the side and made a batch of brown rice ($.50) that I had purchase bulk at The Granary in Ortonville.

The cost of all the healthy, fresh food purchased from our local grocery stores was around $21 (including the $4.50 splurge on organic cilantro salsa from The Granary in Ortonville). Without the pricey salsa, this meal cost us less than $2.50 per person. At a restaurant in the Twin Cities this meal would have cost at least $60. Even at the less expensive, but excellent, Mexican restaurant in Benson this meal would have cost us over $40 (if we didn't order Margaritas!).

I'm pleased at the effort that our local grocers put into providing us with fresh ingredients to cook healthy and fun meals for our families. Thank you to the owners of the Graceville and Beardsley Country Markets.

Turning a problem into... habitat

Wetland Reserve Conservation signage- installed on our farm- March 29, 2010

For many years this spot on the farm has been wet. Some dry years it probably produced the most hay and grain as any place on the farm. But most years, hear tell, it was too wet to get a decent crop. With all the recent drainage tile going in around our township, this spot has been increasingly under water and hasn't had a good harvest in a few years. You see, we're at the bottom of the basin.

In the spring, when I looked at that land under water (now owning it and depending on it for part of our livelihood) I saw productive farmland underwater. It causes a sense of anxiety. Will a crop get in? If it gets in, will it grow? If it grows, will it be harvestable?

After much discussion, we've committed to putting 30 acres of our farm into the Wetland Reserve Conservation program. In perpetuity. That means this will be a wetland as long as the United States and State of Minnesota stand. Could be a very long time- but one never says "forever."

I remember being a young married women visiting my in-laws on this same farm. Early one spring morning- just before dawn- I left the house alone for a walk. This wetland had been full a couple years and reeds were growing along it. It was full of so many waterfowl I was awestruck. Ducks, geese, swans, pelicans, seagulls. I crept across the field on my stomach to get as close up to it as I could. It was magical. Beautiful. Soul filling, productive wild lands.

When a few weeks later the construction crews came in to drain it, my heart burned. But it wasn't my land. It wasn't my livlihood. It wasn't my future.

But now... Now It is my present. And now it will be a wetland and pond. In the spring the water will look lovely. It will be our own wildlife refuge- soon to be surrounded completely with pastureland and next to the larger USFWS Waterfowl Production area. In the winter we will sled down the soon to be build embankment, ice skate on the pond. There will be rafts to build and float around on. Frogs to catch, turtles to watch. Green pastures to lie down in. There will be wildlife to crawl out on our stomachs to watch with wonder.

The gift of good land turned to good use.

Getting More Good out of Doing Good

Foodshelf Donations (every Sunday in March) on Palm Sunday

(letter to the Editor of the Northern Star newspaper)

March is the season when we consider those in need and contribute to our local area emergency food shelf. Our church asks congregants to bring bags of food to set in the church aisle every Sunday in the month of March. The children bring the bags up to the altar as part of our offerings. It is a joy to watch the little children struggling to carry all the generous contributions up to the front of the church. What a good lesson for them!

I've found a way to get three benefits from this March food drive:

1) Helping others. Our friends and neighbors, sometime unbeknown to us, use the Big Stone Area foodshelf. Some for the first time ever- after many years of hard work and frugal living.

2) Support local business: I purchase my foodshelf donations from Bonnie's Hometown Grocery on mainstreet Clinton. This helps keep a mainstreet business running and benefits all of by keeping our local grocery store healthy so we can buy our food close to home. I purchase food from the weekly specials circular to donate- healthy fruits and vegetables and staple items.

3) Buy Locally Grown Foods: Food grown by local farmers contributes directly to our farm economy. For example, Bonnie's is running a special on Dakota Growers pastas this week (March 16-21). Dakota Growers was formed by North Dakota farmers and makes their noodles in New Hope, Minnesota and Carrington, ND. So I will buy a couple couple cases of this brand of noodles and know that I'm helping keep dollars "local" (compared to foods grown and processed in China- for example). I would also like to add that when I found out that Dakota Grown has whole wheat and organic pastas, Bonnie said she would look into carrying them in the store. Bonnie has always added items to her shelves when we've asked her too.

So I encourage you to give to our local causes, support our local businesses, and support our local farmers all in one generous act.

For the Record

Flax in North Dakota- photo by Ann Hoffert

It is spring and a girl's mind turns to... crops. The land we live and farm on has, in recent memory, grown the following crops:
Corn
Soybeans
Wheat
Millet
Flax
Oats
Barley
Canola
Alfalfa
Sorghum
Milo (grain sorghum)
Mustard (on purpose - to sell)

In the 15 years that I've known this land (lived here for two growing seasons) it has only known corn and soybean. But a girl's got a right to dream...

Ten Days of Fog

We had 10 days of low, dense fog and 32.8 degree weather.

And the BOOM! It warms up to 37 degrees and the water flows.

Choices and Patterns

Lake Yergensen- March 17, 2010- our south forty

This morning I had to choose between laser pink/orange sun rising over the edge of the world or watching the first flock of geese flying low directly over my head. The first light is just a pinpoint and then a huge rising globe larger than any Serengeti sunrise you've ever seen on a documentary about Africa. I chose the geese because they are more ephemeral than the sun.

There is something special about the pre-sunrise and early dawn. The worlds isn't exposed to any harsh glares. Everything is muted and then pink. The low sun lights the geese from beneath and they shine in the sky. For me this is the best time of the day- full of wonder, hope and promise.

They are back. After 105 days down south the first two geese dropped low in our yard and honked as they flew directly in front of my kitchen window last Sunday. As we walked down the driveway this morning, a huge flock (in the hundreds, not 10's of thousands yet) flew up from our south forty "lake." We could see other large flocks rising up to the north- Alma said "the bus must be coming." The bus scares up the other flocks that are in the potholes to the north and west of us.

The patterns of this pothole prairie are emerging for me. The season changing... the darkness and the angles of the sun...sounds and silence...the smells...the taste of Girl Scout cookies (Thin Mints) which are now indelibly linked with the first thaw and those first geese of the season.

I have three school years of walking my kids down the driveway to the school bus.
Year 1- 2 preschoolers (3 year olds) and a 2nd grader
Year 2- 2 preschoolers (4 year olds) and a 3rd grader
Year 3- 2 kindergarteners and a 4th grader

There's even a gentle pattern in our kids getting older. But if I could hold them at this very moment in time- I would. I am already preparing myself to miss them when I am an old women walking out on the prairie to take in the seasons. These are the good old days. I know it and savor every moment of it that I can.

In the mean time, just like last year, they played in the ice water until they couldn't stand it one more minute and came clunking to the house sobbing with frozen feet in their farm boots filled with slushy snow water.

I walk a few miles, reverently, because running would be too loud. I hear the symphony of geese everywhere around me. As the sun rises there are more and more geese- louder and louder. Today, this very day, winter is bursting. I am giddy. My heart and soul are full of gratitude for the beauty above me, beauty below me, beauty all around me.