A Hymn Sing for the Season of Peace

Last Sunday evening we launched the holiday season at the annual Eidskog Lutheran church Hymn Sing in rural Big Stone County. Eidskog is everything good and lovely about a country church... white, wooden, steeples, and stained glass surrounded by a mature grove and a cared for cemetery. And the warm, wood walls inside are steeped with the smell of brewing coffee.

The name 'Eidskog' comes from a municipality in Norway and no doubt was named such by a homesick immigrant(s) who invested time and gave of their meager resources to build this beautiful, humble monument to community.

The word 'Eidskog' means a portage through the woods. And I'm guessing that it's unintentionally appropriate as it sits kitty corner from a slough and the 2.5 mile from our farm to the church means traveling on a road that takes 3 serious curves around sloughs and wetlands. That's unusual for a State platted with arrow straight township roads.

When we pulled out of our driveway and headed due south to Eidskog last Sunday night, the four of us were all startled to see and chattering about all the red tail lights on the road to the church. I've driven home in the dark 100's of times and have almost never seen headlights or taillights from that direction. On the rare occasion we do see a car and it's cause for conversation about who might be out this way and why. Nothing nefarious, but the curiosity of a rare event. But I digress.

The church was packed with more than 200 people. Bear in mind that our township and the adjoining township--a total of 72 square miles-- have a combined population of around 160 people.
The Hymn Sing began with Carl, the congregation's reigning patriarch who has been instrumental in hosting the event for the past 50 years, and his wife Jan singing a traditional hymn in a lovely duet. Carl is having trouble moving about these days and so it was touching to see him lead us off in 2011. You know, lots of people care for him and, like me, were moved to hear him and Jan sing. Let us pause to remember and be grateful for all the good things that our elders have put in place--like the Hymn Sing-- that we enjoy today.

From there on out, we enjoyed a medley of great music from all 200+ of us in the pews and musicians of all kinds from the area giving performances. The performers ranged in age from 15 to 90 years old. All the denominations were represented--and nondenominational folks too.

I smiled to myself as I stereotyped the different groups. The Baptists, of course, sang a couple of modern tunes with a guitar and tamberine. They were dressed better than anyone else in the place and they even, gasp, swayed to the music. (my husband's Baptist upbringing frowned on swaying or toe tapping as being too close to dancing) The songs were ones I'd never heard before, I'm sure they're from a big name current Christian band, but they stick in mind even 6 days later.

The Catholics--now there was a crisp, disciplined group of singers. They all showed up and sang a song that included some Latin, if I remember correctly. The 7th Day Adventists played a great brass ensemble and another with saxophone, guitar and piano. The Lutheran groups were just fine, thank you.

I'd been to church that same morning and the Advent scripture, sermon, and hymns struck me as repeating the word "peace" a lot. It made me wonder where else in the world people had been talked to and sung so much about peace that morning.

That Peace is central to the season was driven home to me again that night. As out on the pitch dark prairie--lit up only by the church and the stars--the 200+ singers at Eidskog Lutheran church in rural Otrey Township, Big Stone County, Minnesota lifted their hearts and voices to sing in spontaneous three part harmony "Go now in Peace. Never be Afraid... Go Now in Peace, in faith, and in love." And then we sang it one more time--as a blessing and Christmas gift that we gave to each other.

Go Now in Peace.

Turkey Love

Our turkey protecting the drying laundry from flies (i.e. eating the flies that were attracted to warm clothes on a cool autumn day)

We raised our first turkey this year and it was heart breaking. The baby turkey came to us under suspicious circumstances, tucked under a drunk man's jacket. Let's just leave it at that.

We put the turkey in with our spring chickens- the ones destined to be butchered in 9 weeks as fryers. He grew at about the same rate and then began to tower over his flock-mates. As he did, he became extremely protective of the flock. And then the 9 weeks were up and Flock 1 went to where all good chickens go... Ashby Minnesota. Ashby has the nearest USDA inspected poultry processing for small farmers like us. (Note: we make the 120 mile round trip twice- to drop off and then pick up our birds).

When the Flock 1 was sent to Ashby, the turkey was at a complete loss. We put him in with our laying hens, but he would run back the quarter mile to where the flock had been pastured. He wandered around gobbling and searching our back yard for his lost flock. He was inconsolable for about a week. The windows were open to let in the summer breezes and he would walk back and forth beneath the dining room window mourning for his lost flock.

So we put him in with Flock 2- which he mightily towered over. And he became their guard and protector. Standing between the flock and any dog or human who came near. Not threatening or mean-- just using his body as a barrier. When the hawk perched nearby to eye the chickens, the turkey jumped on top of a waterer and spread his big wings over the birds.

We really came to enjoy that turkey. He'd make his way around the farmyard checking things out. Including us. I've never raised a turkey before, but this was an interesting creature who was protective and cared for his fellow birds.

And then this week the temperature dropped to zero and the winds howled and snow blew horizontally across the prairie. The Ashby guys had delayed processing our birds by a week (they're doing big business there these days) and so we found ourselves in a chicken crisis -- having to move our birds from their fall pasture into the barn. Mike and I carried- 6 at a time- nearly 100 bird to the barn. The turkey watched over the last few birds huddled under him. We carried him into the barn last.

He was a beautiful bird. That picture doesn't do him justice. In his final days his lovely white feathers fanned out and he was majestic and calm.

May we all be grateful this Thanksgiving for the many gifts that come to us in such an array of splendor and humble beginnings and endings.
For all thy gifts of every kind
We offer praise with quiet mind
Be with us Lord and guide our ways
Around the circle of our days
`Reeves Lindbergh` full text under extended entry - click belowHappy Thanksgiving.

The Circle of Days
Lord, we offer thanks and praise
For the circle of our days.
Praise for radiant brother sun
Who makes the hours around us run.
For sister moon, and for the stars,
Brilliant, precious, always ours.

Praise for brothers wind and air,
Serene or cloudy, foul or fair.
For sister water, clear and chaste,
Useful, humble, good to taste.
For fire, our brother, strong and bright,
Whose joy illuminates the night.
Praise for our sister, mother earth,
Who cares for each of us from birth.
For all her children, fierce or mild,
For sister, brother, parent, child.
For creatures wild and creatures tame,
For hunter, hunted, both the same.
For brother sleep, and sister death,
Who tend the borders of our breath.
For desert, orchard, rock, and tree,
For forest, meadow, mountain, sea,
For fruit and flower, plant and bush,
For morning robin, evening thrush.
For all your gifts, of every kind,
We offer praise with quiet mind.

Be with us, Lord, and guide our ways
Around the circle of our days.

Reeve Lindbergh, based on
Canticle of the Sun, St. Francis of Assisi

Farming with Nature-- or-- the Seemingly Senseless Slaughter of Chickens

View of our farm-top from the Tallgrass Prairie - Oct 2011

More Farming with Nature photos here
I have a rare few minutes at home alone. The Pandora soundtrack playing in the background is the Verve's Rather Be Here. "I'd rather be here than be anywhere. Is there anywhere better than here?..."

On a day like today it is easy to know Gratitude. Invite her into your car, house, life, and conversations. If one is convinced that we are living in the very best of times today but tomorrow we face challenges of limited resources (financial, energy, soil, you name it) then these perfect days and minutes are all the more savored and precious because one cannot take for granted that there will be more days like today or more moments like this very moment. Regardless of the where the world goes, we can all learn from Steve Jobs that every moment is to be well lived.

I drove home alone (the rest of the family going to the Friday Night Lights in the neighboring town) with the sun setting over the prairie. Another dramatic sunset due to the dust and soil kicked up from the 2 months without rain and the harvest in full gear. Geese are flying south again now that the insanely violent winds calmed down. There were deer along the roadside. I was returning from a family celebratory dinner at The Cabin Café in Clinton, MN. The Cabin, by the way, had locally grown fruit and vegetables and the food all made by scratch by Doreen. Doreen is a superb cook and invests in healthy food.

Tonight Mike charged me with getting the chickens safely into their hut for the night. It's already near dark and the chickens are still out. Just what Mike was afraid would happen and did. Yes- I forgot to put in the chickens (about 125 broilers). So I'll have to run outside with a flashlight and get the chickens into their hut before it's pitch dark. Hopefully get the turkey in too.

But I just can't pull myself away from The Verve singing Rather Be. Too perfect a soundtrack for this day.

I'm back--the chickens and turkey are safe in their hut. And I'm reminded of a few things:

1) That it is always good to go outside on a moonlit dusk/dark night
2) That having to do chores is a blessing in making you go outside and be
3) That it's damn sensible (and humane) to put the chickens in at night
In just the past 20 minutes I was reminded that we farm amidst the wild, like few commodity sized farmers do. This place where we live and farm has deep molic soils next to complexes of pothole ponds and prairies; all intertwined. I stood outside between the barn and house (which are ridiculously far apart due to building the house on one hill in a swamp and the barn on the other hill in the swamp I imagine) when an animal stirs in the grass to my left. Then the coyotes start to yipe yipe yipe awooooooooooooooo--sounding too close for comfort. The chickens, now safe in their hut, start to stir around. They recognize the sound of a predator. I make for my house. There is lightening flashing all around the horizon to the south and east. And a three-quarter moon above me with wisps of clouds passing over.

We've had more of our broilers chicks and chickens lost this year than any time in the past. Massacres of dozens of baby chicks and finding the remains of the mature chickens nearly ready for butcher out in the fields. We keep our chickens in pens at night and even tied the dog to the pens for a couple weeks as the predation was so bad. But we farm amidst nature--sloughs and prairies and wetlands. We are 'blessed' with fox, skunk, weasels, mink, raccoons, owls, coyotes, and hawks. And they all love to eat our happy, free-range pasture raised chickens. What's sad is that sometimes it seems like a senseless slaughter dozens of chicks as they just leave them laying there - dead and uneaten.

Farming wise, this means the cost of raising our chickens has skyrocketed this year. It's one thing to lose a $1.25 baby chick and another to lose a full grown, ready for market 8 pound broiler that has consumed $8 of high quality feed. That's a full $9.25 loss to distribute among the remaining chickens--and we've lost dozens.Live and learn. Or lose and learn. I'm grateful to Jane who with her sensible good humor wrote up the Golden Guide to Chicken Death. Click on extended reading for all the gory details. 

Jane's Little Golden Guide to Chicken Predators

Description of damage or loss Probable predator
Dead chicken in pen, scattered feathers, may have entrails torn out = Hawk
Headless chicken carcass found in morning, either inside or outside shelter; may be slight smell of skunk = Owl
One to several dead chicks or pullets found in the morning with gashes on neck but no other damage, especially in pen or shelter that you thought was secure = Weasel
Six to several dozen dead chicks or pullets found in morning, damage to heads and necks, minor feeding on carcasses = Skunk
One or two dead, partially eaten young chicks per day in or near pen = Crow
Missing chickens, may find feathers on the "back 40" = Fox
Dead chickens scattered across 40 acres = Raccoons
Scattered broken eggshells in laying flock shelter = Skunk
Two dead hens, one missing, and a very guilty looking German Shepherd (submitted by Jaden Forbord of Starbuck, MN) Inside job


Predator Predator control measure

Hawk Put up tall posts in your pen and weave twine in a criss-cross pattern between posts, as high up as you can (so that you can walk through the pen). Hawks will see this as a trap and won't enter the pen.

Owl Close up all gaps in the shelter with solid material (wood, sheet metal) or with chicken wire. Be vigilant about closing up all chickens inside the shelter every night.

Weasel Trap it.

Skunk Shoot it.

Alternatively, put an electric wire around the entire perimeter of the pen about four inches off the ground. Fill in all gaps or holes where a skunk could possibly slip under the wire. It is difficult to keep a wire this low "hot," because weeds & grass will continually grow up and touch the wire. Skunks are dedicated diggers - if the bottom of the fence isn't protected with an electric wire, they will get under it.

Crow Keep chicks indoors until they are large enough to make a crow think twice, and fast enough to get away. Or, put up netting over the top of the pen.

Fox Have a fence that is at least 3 feet high chicken wire, topped with hot wire that is no more than 3 inches above the chicken wire. Make sure the chicken wire is taut between posts. Fill in all gaps where a fox could slip in under the wire. Build up soil or place logs at the bottom of the chicken wire fence to discourage digging under it.

Raccoons See "Fox." Raccoons really, really don't like getting shocked by an electric fence. They are not as prone to digging under fences as a skunk, but they can climb over any fence that doesn't have an electric wire to stop them.

Inside job See "Fox." Also, make sure that your canine doesn't sneak in past you when you go into the pen - and always remember to close the gate behind you.

Bearing Fruit (or What I Did on My Summer Vacation)

Our first apple- a Honey Crisp- from our fledgling orchard. And multiple tooth fairy visits as my 'iddle boys get bigger

Amidst the fleeting days of all you can eat corn on the cob (corn cut off the cob for those missing front teeth) and hot, happy hours of putting up all the corn a family of 5 can eat in a year. My helpmate and partner in life didn't realize how appropriate his attire was for the job.

One Freezer Full. 2011 harvest filled up one of our two deep freezers. There are also jars of apricot jam, apricot chutney, pickled beets, tomato sauces, and more in the pantry. This year I did it a bit different... I made a bunch of meals from the harvests and froze the meals instead of the individual ingredients. I.e. tomato sauce and eggplant went into trays of Eggplant Parmesan, green peppers made into stuffed peppers, lasagna, Leek and Potato Soup, and Kale/Lentil Stew. I have about 70 pounds of cabbage in the entryway and a husband who has to leave the house if I even open a can of sauerkraut -- (mores the pity for a German raised person of Scandanavian descent like myself- from the days of cross cultural adoptions)

And having a pause in life to enjoy the fruits of a breakfast that can be counted in "food footsteps" rather than "food miles." I.e. all the ingredients were within walking distance of my kitchen.

On our way to the grand Cottonwood tree on the north side of our farm fields. My eager boys running ahead down what I hope will become a grassed waterway in the seasons to come. My next entry is how my children take me places I would have never ever gone without them. Blessings each one.

We did get one productive project up and running. About 120 feet up and running whenever the wind is greater than 6 mph-- which is always. Our neighbor to the north is pure Greater Minnesotan Farm Man with a Work Ethic to make you quake. He has 2 little kids, farms (I've seen him taking his toddler in a pink ballerina outfit into his combine), has a full time job, and a runs a business on the side. He came down to the farm, looked at the turbine and said "Well... I'd be afraid to get one of those. I'd be too tempted to just lay around drinking beer and watching it make $$ for me."

More than anything on this vacation (where I almost never left the farm) I needed to retreat from the world.

The boys left me sleeping in the cool grass, with a good book when I awoke. I was reading Hamlets Blackberry: Building a Good Life in the Digital Age. My retreat was nearly complete from the digital as well as real world crowds. Hence the long absence from my blog.

Next entry... lessons from an Early Killing Frost and other Earthy Tales

An Ode to My Grandmother and Her Farm

Eddie Anderson Farm, Big Stone County- circa 1982 (when I googled "beautiful small farmstead photo" this picture came onto my screen from Big Stone County)

It was brought to my attention that I may not have painted a full picture of my Grandmother's farm with my last entry. I'd like to correct that.
My grandma's and grandpa's farm was set on 80 acres in SE Minnesota. It was a picture perfect view of farming in the early to mid 20th century on the prairie. The small, neat farmstead always seemed freshly whitewashed and in excellent repair. It was a diversified farm with milk cows, pigs, chickens, duck, a huge strawberry patch, asparagus patch, garden, pasture, row crops, smokehouse (that was put up and taken down as needed). I learned how to drive a tractor on that farm- an Allis-Chalmers-- keeping what seemed like a big, green yard mowed. There were white wooden grain bins and even an orderly pile of miscellaneous parts and pulleys where I could spend endless hours "inventing."

My grandmother inherited this farm from her father, John Kording, who was, from all accounts, an outstanding prairie populist who helped out his neighbors and had a hand in organizing farmers into what is today Minnesota's Democratic Farmer-Labor (DFL) party. He left his land equally to his sons and his daughters 100 years ago, which says something.

Grandma learned Latin in a country school house and had read all the classics in Latin by the time she was 20. She taught in a country school until she married and became a full time mother and farmer. Grandma was well versed in politics and her cork board always had a recent article up that highlighted some aspect of the news.

Grandma's house was filled with heavy home made quilts, brewing coffee, frying bacon, a daily newspaper, and WCCO radio. It was a good, solid place to be. I was privileged to sew my silk wedding dress with my grandma, mom and aunt in grandma's dining room just 17 years ago.
My grandmother worked hard on her farm. I wrote an earlier post called Suffer No Illusions about how on a prairie farm, there were no illusions about women being "weak." It referred to my grandma and her basketball career. So, if during the peak of summer, after an evening of milking cows there were flies in the kitchen over a meal that came 100% from your own farm and effort, then I see that as a badge of honor.


My desire to farm came from what I saw and experienced on my grandmother's farm. Simply a good life of hard and handi-work, family, church, and active mind.

The Flies

My collection of fly swatters. The blue one is definitely the best.

When we first moved to the farm, nearly 4 years ago now(!), it was early fall. One of the first things I did was to throw away all the nasty fly swatters that were hanging in the entry way near the kitchen. Who would want those filthy things in their home? Ewwwww.

I found out why the following summer. Farms have flies. Lots of flies.

Last week I was sitting in my comfortable St. Paul campus office enjoying my lunch and a latte at my desk. I was working on the computer, taking an occasional sip of coffee and slowly eating my lunch. But something was out of place-- something nagging the back of my mind. I felt uncomfortable. I finally put my finger on what was wrong. I wasn't constantly waving my hand over my food and drink. It was the absence of flies on my coffee cup and threatening my food.

I am hopeful each year that we do a home repair that THIS will finally take care of the fly problem "New windows and screens will stop those flies from getting in!" Nope. "That new roof will put a dent in the number of flies!" Nope.

Exasperated, I asked Mike if the flies had always been this bad. "No" he said, "they used to be worse." He remembers spending an hour after dinner swatting flies, killing 3-5 per swat. The farm was an active dairy farm then, so his memory is probably correct.

I have this short childhood memory etched in my mind. Sitting in my grandma Alvina's kitchen in the late evening (after milking cows), a bare, dim yellow lightbulb hanging from ceiling, and the room just filled with flies everywhere. But 15 years of living in the City and one can completely forget that flies even exist at all. Likewise with mosquitoes compliments of Metro Mosquito control.

I've been quite good at killing flies. Killed two with one blow this morning. Got some ooh's and aah's from the kids and I believe I even took a bow. I've often thought that there should be Olympic events for the things in life that really matter-- like Olympic baby diaper changing (having had 4 babies- I often fantasized about the crowd going wild over my fast, but gentle diaper changing abilities). Likewise, my fly swatting skills are a matter of pride. Getting the correct angle and aim, the flick of the wrist, the trajectory of their falls so they don't land in our food, etc....

We recently painted every room inside in the house-- lovely yellows, chartreuse, sage green, brick red, Mediterranean blue, and in the main level- shades of nut browns. I picked the colors with an eye towards what would show the least amount of fly specks (a.k.a. poop).

I think I paint an idyllic picture of farm life most of the time. So good to introduce those small, uncomfortable bits of reality. And while we have flies in the house nearly every week of the year, but it's only this bad for a few weeks at summer's peak and that is right now.

Big Stone Bounty

Blueberries grown by Koopman farms, Milbank SD. Frankly, the best tasting blueberries I've had since I lived in Silver Bay during the year of bumper crop wild blueberries


It is the peak of local foods luxury in Minnesota. Everything is bursting forth... at last. The harvest is rolling in. Thanks to Izzi who offered up the bounties of her apricot trees in Clinton, I've been able put up apricot jam and apricot chutney using my own ad lib recipe which turned out great (apricots, dates, raisins, garam masala, sugar, and onions). Last night's dinner (below) was Wild Rice (MN lake harvested) hotdish with carrots and our own chicken. Accompanied by the fresh Koopman blueberries, sliced green peppers, and local red wine. A perfect meal for a cooler August evening.
 
Easy summertime meal... local wine, wild rice hotdish with our own chicken, carrots, and ground flour, and fresh sliced green peppers

And then I had the adventure of buying my first piece of farm equipment at the auction on a neighboring farm. It was the first ever auction at this farm that had been in the same family since this land was settled. Jiggs was a good man who cared for his farm until his dying days in his 90's. He made sure, even from the nursing home, that the buildings were painted and the lawn mowed. He'd fed the deer for many years and they still congregated at his farm waiting for him, even a couple years after he'd moved to the nursing home.
Chances are his parents were immigrants... making him a second generation American. There's what I think is the original house on the farmstead-- a small, tall, thin wooden house. It sits behind the more modern 1950's rambler where Jiggs and Marge lived out their lives.

So, at that auction, I had the thrill of holding up my white numbered card, surrounded by a crowd of a hundred and bid on my hearts desire. There was only one thing on the auction bill that I really wanted. If your a farmer, look at the picture below and see if you remember this piece of farm machinery.

Fanning Mill, circa 1900, used to separate the wheat from the chaff (and the weed seeds)
I bought myself a Fanning Mill. Originally hand cranked, Jiggs or his dad rigged this one up with an electric motor and it still works. This is a beauty, with all the screens for the different crops. I wanted this for my wheat and edible beans. Right now, I wait until a windy day to separate the wheat from the chaff to grind it for flour. Likewise with my beans, I hand picked through them to get out the little clods of dirt and the dried bits of bean pods.
This mill was proudly made in Minneapolis and attention was paid to make it look beautiful.

Here's how it went... The auctioneer came over with his microphone and started calling for opening bids. When he got down to $25 I put up my card. He scanned the crowed yelling "25-30-25-30-25-30." Then he went 'whose gonna give me 30-35-30-35-35-35." Well, since he'd skipped 30, and the way he was gesturing, I thought someone had bid 30 and so I held up my card for $35. Then we kept going and the same thing with 40-45-40-45-45-45-45" So I raised my card again. At this point the auctioneer stopped the auction. As it turns out. I was the only bidder and had bid myself up from $25 to $45. So we started all over again, and much to the amusement of the hot, overall wearing crowd. "Oh come on!!" said the auctioneer "I just sold one of these last week for $140."

I got my Fanning Mill for $25.


Pretty darn proud of myself for scoring this lovely equipment for my local foods dreams and ventures. Thanks Jiggs for taking such good care of it for all these years. I'm lifting a glass to you tonight sir!

On Elephants and Agrarian Populism

A mighty fine day at the end of the Age of Abundance


The Circus came to town on Tuesday-an honest to goodness professional circus. It was the first time, to the best of the town people's considerable knowledge, that a circus had set up the Big Top in Clinton, Minnesota. As far as I know, it is the first time that elephants and a zebu spent the night in Big Stone County. Maybe an elephant or two had passed through the county in the past, but it was remarkable to be standing in the rural prairie with elephants. Don't get me started on their cousins the mammoths (which I miss).

It started as a day like any other. I woke up early on my farm-- a place on the edge of wild. A rough place of fields, flies, weeds, and animals. I took the kids to town to see the Big Top go up- rumor had it that the elephants would be part of the work crew. There was a crowd of people, not all of them with kids in tow.

The two performances that day, as I heard it, were the best of local entertainment. They were brought to this corner of the earth by expensive gas and a poor economy that makes a hamlet like ours (and the next down the road) both viable and appealing to this family owned Circus and their business model.

From the circus I went to the local branch of our State's land-grant University where I was able to stand shoulder to shoulder with boiler engineers, farmers, students, professors and other people who hold their heads up high without a single doubt that they belong exactly where they are. The inscription on Northrup Hall reads:

The University of Minnesota
Founded in the Faith that Men are Enobled by Understanding
Dedicated to the Advancement of Learning and the Search for Truth
Devoted to the Instruction of Youth and the Welfare of the State
And for that one night it was true. We were enobled... to the person. We were there for a common purpose (clean energy, sustainable food systems, clean water) though approached from many perspectives. We were treated to some of the finest foods I've ever tasted (all locally raised meat and produce), good homespun local music, and the best of people. In the glow of it all, I earnestly loved each and every one of them.

In some ways, Tuesday August 2nd, 2011 was the remaining shadow of the pinnacle of the Age of Abundance-- a time when public universities educated everyone, when we could afford to take risks with resources to see what innovations would emerge, a time, frankly, when the seeds of a Minnesota miracle could take root and grow.

One should savor every moment of the waning Age of Abundance. As I drove home from UM Morris the orange sliver of a new moon pierced the red and purple horizon and around me were pelicans, geese, fox, a turtle, and frogs to dodge on the road.
But do not despair at the end of this Age-- because it brings things to us that we might not otherwise have, like elephants in Big Stone County. Proof in point: On one single day in very rural America, a woman can go from her rustic farm to seeing elephants to being enobled and inspired at a public university.
And I'll leave you with these words from a Wall Street Journal article titled "The End of the Age of Abundance"

"Dynamism has been leached from our system for now, but not from the human brain or heart. Just as our political regeneration will happen locally, in counties and states that learn how to control themselves and demonstrate how to govern effectively in a time of limits, so will our economic regeneration. That will begin in someone's garage, somebody's kitchen, [somebody's farm- kjd notes]... The comeback will be from the ground up and will start with innovation. No one trusts big anymore. In the future everything will be local. That's where the magic will be. And no amount of pessimism will stop it once it starts."

Kicking the Can -- 2030 A Book Review

Well well well. Minnesota's political leadership is boldly kicking the can down the road. "A historic day" as the news is saying, to basically not deal with any of the complex issue that need to be faced.

What really steams me, is that this is Minnesota. We've enjoyed a high quality of life, great education system, and a pretty decent bunch of people at about the same social class. I was raised to believe that you are not the sum of your net worth. Minnesotan didn't flaunt their wealth or put the rich on a pedestal. It seems that we've become so materialistic. It was ingrained in me that the rich aren't better than anyone else. Being rich doesn't mean you worked harder (re: Paris Hilton), or are better education (again PH- a highschool dropout), or have any particular blessing from God.

So what? Does everyone want so badly to be in the top 2% of wealthy that they have begun to see themselves in the top 2% of the wealthy? So much so that they (we) can't bear the thought of taxing them. What do people think-- that if they tax today's top 2% that they'll one day be the taxing themselves, their kids, their grandkids? Enough already. Our nation's political leaders are bound up with the wealthiest people and corporation who support their campaigns.

In terms of state spending and revenue. Be tough-- tough with spending and tough with taxing. Make it work people. I'm sick of the can being kicked down the road. Which leads me to the book review I wrote yesterday and submitted to the Star Trib. Don't know if they'll publish it. So here it is.
Also-- especially in light of today's news, READ 2030. It is one hell of a book.

Book Review
Twenty Thirty: The Real Story of What Happens to America
By: Albert Brooks
Albert Brooks' book takes on current issues that leaves many of us glassy eyed, but manages to create a riveting story of where America could be heading. In 2030: The Real Story of What Happens to America, Brooks fleshes out some of today's most critical social issues and through believable characters and story lines that show us where we could be in a mere 19 years unless we begin to act like grown ups in the face of our so-called "new normal."

Brooks' first novel takes current trend of increasingly health care costs, the gap between the rich and poor, a crushing national debt, and demographic shifts towards an aging American population out to the year 2030. Characteristic of his larger body of work, he does so with humor, intelligence, and heart.

2030 imagines the lives of some average and not so average Americans in a period when America has ceased to be the empire that it is today. Characters such as angry disenfranchise youth, the AARP (the most powerful group in America) leadership, and a young woman whose pain comes from seeing the fall of her father from a middle class blue collar worker to being chronically underemployed and impoverished. The President of the United States appears in this novel with a sense of humor and real sense of what is right for the country. This character, more than others, seems to voice Brooks' own wry sense of humor and provides ballast for what could still be put right in the world

Reading this novel, I waited with President Bernstein to see how the American people would poll over giving China the rights to a major American city. "People wanted it done quickly, and at a low price, and that was the way it was going to be. It started with cars, went to food and clothing, and now it was the very places they were going to live and work. Resistance was not just futile, it was gone."

Brooks paints a picture of a world in which health care is miraculous, expensive, and out of reach for many. One main premise is the unintended consequences of finding a cure for cancer, which extended life for older Americans but places an even greater burden on younger generations to fulfill the social obligation of health care and retirement for older generations.


Brooks has succeeded in creating an artful and engaging scenario of the not so distance future that takes the reader from today's contentious civic discourse to the resulting dystopic future, should we persist upon our current path. 2030 is one of the more creative and, frankly, seemingly plausible of the increasingly popular genre of futuristic dystopic novels. Brookes immerses himself in building a plausible future and doesn't shy away from difficult and even controversial issues. He takes on such topics as the burden of entitlements on younger generation, and the impact of today's 'kicking the can down the road' approach to those issues, such as national debt and access to health care. We would do well to take heed of Brooks' message and work backwards from 2030 to today in order to create a more equitable and prosperous future.

You who are weary...

Sample congregation from England (photo from BBC's Faith Place)
Matthew 11:28

The Message (MSG)

28-30"Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you'll recover your life. I'll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me--watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won't lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you'll learn to live freely and lightly."

I was asked to fill in for Minister Bev when she took a vacation the first part of July. I didn't know that would mean writing a sermon. It would have been easier if I had been given an agricultural passage, but the "Ye who are weary and heavy burdened" text turned out to be just the thing I needed to think about.

SERMON-- July 3, 2011

When Rick asked me to help with this service, I thought it would be like when the Minister goes to the Synod assembly and they provide me with a sermon. So a couple Sundays ago when I asked Rick who I should get the sermon from and he said "well- you prepare it" I thought that he was joking. But he wasn't kidding and he handed me the readings and the gospel lesson for today's service.

(Click on Continue reading, below, to see the rest of the sermon)

Today's readings include some of the most comforting and uplifting passages from the Bible. The Psalm verse that many of us know as part of our liturgy "The Lord is gracious and full of compassion, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love." 
And the gentle gospel invitation from Jesus of "Come to me, all you that are weary and heavy burdened and I will give you rest."

It's quite a gift to spend time reflecting on these passages and to form my own untutored thoughts to share with you. A couple things: 1) my husband reminds me that I'm much better at being earnest than being funny and 2) I'm a soil scientist by training and so my theological credentials are suspect, to say the least.

And so that first Sunday evening that I had today's lessons in my hands I began to reflect on those beautiful and comforting words that Jesus gave to us "Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest." I thought about those words in between getting the kids bathed and ready for bed, gathering up the dirty laundry, setting my alarm clock for 4am so that I could drive to Brainerd the next morning for an 8 am meeting. It even crossed my mind that I might be the wrong person to reflect and share on these verses.

Then I saw God's hand at work in the coin toss with Rick that landed me with this scripture on this Sunday morning. And so I'm grateful that I was blessed to spend time meditating on these verses.

This gospel lesson seems to have three parts to it, at first reading they seem almost unrelated. It opens with Jesus chiding his critics, then in the middle saying how God has revealed himself to the infants and not to the wise and intelligent, and then just when you think that Jesus could lay in some really biting words to his detractors, he takes an entirely different track and we get that comforting and sweet passage where our gentle and humble in heart Lord offers us rest.

The gospel lesson starts off with Jesus sounding rather fed up, frankly, with criticism. He says "John (the Baptist) came neither eating nor drinking, and they say 'He has a demon'; the Son of Man came eating and drinking and they say 'Look, a glutton and drunkard, a friend of tax collectors and sinners." When I read that I hear exasperation along the lines of "can't win for losin'." No matter which way the messenger came- eating or not eating- condemning sinners or consorting with them they were found at fault. Jesus refers to them as bickering children in the marketplace.

Amazing how people are the same 2,000 years later. It's so easy to bicker and criticize and to find fault without the burden to put things right. Part of the human condition is to have minds that can be prone to rumination. We spend so much time dwelling on the past--thinking of past wrongs, grief and heart aches, the things we have done and things we have left undone. Or else our mind is occupied with the future--wondering how we will handle a certain situation or deal with problem person.

I'll give you an example, my boss at the University put me in a national leadership training that I just recently finished. At our first meeting in Indianapolis, Indiana, we received this fancy bound notebook along with a fancy pen. I was so excited. We were finally going to learn - once and for all--how to deal with those problem people in our workplaces. The facilitators had us open our leather bound books and write on the first line, of the first page.

"I, Kathy, am somebody's difficult person."

We were told that we needed to remember this 'pledge' throughout our training and beyond.

And taking a lesson from Paul's self chastising letter to the Romans shows--not only are we other people's "difficult person." We can be that difficult and critical person to ourselves.

Just take a look at the 2nd reading from Paul's letter to the Romans. 90% of that text is full of anguish and self criticism to the point of self hatred. Paul says "I do the very thing that I hate" "that sin dwells within me" and "I see in my members another law at war with the law of my mind, making me captive to the law of sin... Wretched man that I am."

Now, I'm not saying that self-chastising doesn't have its role. How else do we learn not to make mistake that harm ourselves and others.

But it is the burden of being thought filled people whose minds can go to harsh and critical places. Those hard words and thoughts directed towards others and to ourselves.

The rest that Jesus is offering is rest for the soul and by extension rest from our troubling and criticizing mind. I think Jesus is even offering rest from over intellectualizing. In the middle part of this gospel lesson Jesus says that God has "hidden these things from the wise and intelligent and revealed them to infants." What does a baby have that adults don't? What has God revealed to them? What is it that our precious babes have that God shows to them and not to the wise? For one thing, babies aren't ruminating on their own wrongs, filled with self-hatred, or picking fault with others. Babies aren't turning the facts over and over in their minds. Replaying past conversations, action, attributing motives and wondering where they went wrong. Babies are content just to be. A comfortable, clean, fed baby is pure of mind and able to just live in the present moment, without the burden of an active and critical mind.

Having had 4 sweet little lovies of my own- it is striking how a comfortable baby can relax. We've all heard the phrase "sleeping like a baby." Many of us have had the pleasure of watching the peace of sleeping baby. Their every breathe shows their complete relaxation. How they breathe with their whole abdomen, with their whole bodies. As adults we learn to sit up straight and sometime forgot to take those deep, soul filling breathes.

When we brought our middle daughter, Milly Rose, home from the hospital where she had been in the Neonatal intensive care unit for 5 days after she was born, she was curled up in a tight little ball. We could barely unwind her to get her into her carseat. All the lights, noise, bells, and alarms of the NICU had been too much for her newborn senses. Within minutes of being in our quiet comfortable home, with a doting big sister, and two caring and loving parents she unfolded like a flower. Mike and I could see her whole body relaxing minute by minute until she was spread out on her blankie, peaceful and relaxed.

Just like Milly had the relief of being in a comforting and loving home, so can we move from the outside world of tumult and conflict and from our inner life of ruminations and cares into the presence of our God who is, in the words of the Psalm "gracious and full of compassion, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love." Isn't that exactly the gift that God is offering us in this lesson? Offering us rest--rest for our souls and rest our minds from the cares of the world, relief from the ruminations of our minds, the criticisms, self loathing, regret from the past and fears for the future. We can take up the yoke offered by our Lord and Savior who says "learn from me. I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls."
Oh sweet rest. Not a rest from being busy or working hard, but a rest for our souls amidst being busy. As a mom, employee, boss, farm wife I know busyness. There are seasons of life and seasons of the year that are busy- as farmers and gardeners know. And these verses were written when farming and growing food was all manual and animal labor. And this text includes a familiar animal powered farming metaphor in the words "my yoke is easy and my burden is light." The path, especially for those early Christians was difficult and dangerous. John the Baptist met a brutal end and some of the early apostles were martyred. That is certainly not the easy path.
But the rest that Jesus invites us to in these verses, is not the rest from being busy or from hard work. It's not even rest from being persecuted.

So what is this promised rest? What is God calling us to do in the gospel lesson? There are so many layers to this message. I think that God is calling us to accept the gift of a restful mind. The gift of forgiveness that we may let go of our regrets and mistakes and our grudges. Each week when we have the order of confession and forgive, I lean over to Alma and tell her 'this is my favorite part." We ask for forgiveness for 'what we have done and for what we have left undone.' That pretty much covers it. And for those seconds after Minister Bev says 'all your sins are forgiven' I know complete peace. Asked for and given complete forgiveness.

The heavy burdens that we can give to Jesus are the burdens of a thinking mind. Our thinking minds can be so bickering and critical--to ourselves and others. Jesus invites us to have rest from those thoughts. To know the peace --like a baby-- who can rest completely in the present moment and know the peace of a quiet mind. 

Whence and to Where -- the Water?

Source: Minnesota Historical Society. Hanlon Farm, Aikin Flood, 1938

And the rain doesn't stop. The soil and fields are saturated; the sloughs and wetlands overtop; the roads are squishy and getting blown out; the farmers are resigned and depressed; and, still it rains. Historically, rainfall in western is 22 inches per year-- a full 1/3 less than the Twin Cities' 34 inches per year. This year we are well above historic rainfall averages. Doesn't mean a drought might be in the makings for the next couple of months.

Mind you, we live at the very very top of the watershed. That means that all water flows downhill from here. Minnesota is unique in being the headwaters to this continent's major waterways; the Mississippi River, the Red River of the North that outlets at the Hudson's Bay. Our farm is at the head of the Minnesota River watershed. This area's glacial topography is unique and here at the top of the watershed world, we are in the Prairie Pothole Region and have a dozen or so closed basin-- meaning crater-like areas without natural outlets for the water to flow out of. Our farm is not in one of the closed outlets, so we are better off than some. Even "better off" doesn't look that good today.

The name of the USGS Map section that covers our farm is called "The Dismal Swamp." That's right. About 130 years ago the place on earth where I live was officially named by the United State Geological Service as The Dismal Swamp.

I don't have much of a historical perspective, as our first field season on the farm was 2008. But this land looks different than I've ever seen it. It is soaking wet lushness of grasses and tress. Different flowers growing in the roadsides than I've seen.

Overheard at a watershed meeting in Big Stone County this week. The ditches are running full (engineered estimated flows supposed to be 10 inches, currently running for the past month at 44 inches), backing up onto farmland. Crops unplanted-- those planted underwater. When the guest farmer sitting at the table was asked what he's doing about it, he put his hand over his heart, head downcast, and says 'it makes a man go numb.' It's just too much to take in. Too overwhelming to rally a response.


He spoke for many farmers and others. For those who's very being is linked to the land and the water. For those who know what mercy- being at mercy really means.

A Mostly Planted View From Here

Our farm afternoon of June 17, 2011 before the the evening's tempest. All the cropland shown is planted.

Goodish news from our farm. Nearly all the crops are in and the garden is kinda planted. My fruit trees are looking good and about 80% are alive. I went ahead and bought a couple more Honey Crisp apple trees (hope springs eternal). We (meaning Mike and the Soil and Water Conservation District) planted 400 trees last week -- choke cherry, choke berry, prairie plum, hazelnut, black walnut, spruce... There is dandelion wine bubbling on the counter, preserved nettles, asparagus to eat most days, and strawberries coming.

Mike and the boys butchered two "spent" hens this morning and they are slow cooking in a crock pot. I made fresh dough for buns and a cold watermelon waits in the fridge. Maybe it's part of the learning curve, but Mike said that the tired old hen he butchered had 20 eggs inside, in various stages of development. It was literally a "hands on" biology lesson for the boys.

We have only 20 acres of cropland left to plant to a warm season grass/grain like millet for a hay crop to feed the cattle over winter. By the way, we decided to roll the dice and went with 95 day corn that was planted around June 9th. We could take some friendly wagers as to whether we'll see a harvestable corn grain crop from that.

We're grateful to our friend and farmer Todd on whom the 'burden' of getting in the crops falls. He just got seed into the bottom land yesterday.

Sorry to say that today it is under water. Again.

Last night thunderstorms, tornado warnings, and a torrential downpour put another 50-60 acres under water. All those acres had been planted to soybeans. The storms knocked out the power for 2+hours and caused water to leak through my ceiling. Though that was entirely my fault. I left the attic windows open and the horizontal driving rain pooled on the attic floor and then leaked through my bedroom ceiling. I looked at the gallon of dead black flies floating in water in the middle of a pink bean bag chair (stored in the attic) and think "who's gonna clean up that yucky mess?"

Does anyone else find it exceeding hard to believe that we are the adults in charge? Feels like I should just be the footloose, responsibility-free kid who can curl up during a storm with a Nancy Drew novel and a bag of black jelly beans. Sometimes is just strikes me as humorous that I'm the mom/homeowner/responsible party.

I digress (regress).

By the way... I generally rise to the occasion of being a grown up. But the other day I picked the kids up from the rural intersection where the swimming lesson bus drops them off. That corner is the staging area for Big Stone County road repair and has an irresistible mountain/fortress of sandy gravel. I told the kids we should play on it. So we ran to the top and I had the great idea that you could jump off the side (30 feet high) and have the sandy gravel break my fall as I slid to the bottom. So I jumped out over the edge and crashed into, essentially, cementized rock. Bloodied and scratched, I take the kids home saying "Look at my owie!!" When Mike sprayed the bacitracin on my wounds I screamed like the kids do "OUCH-- it stings! It HURTs! Stop it." I was surprised to see him smile.

Well... up to the attic to mop up mounds of soggy dead flies.

Hubris, Food, and Farming

One of our sad looking apple trees clinging to life
hu·bris
noun /ˈ(h)yo͞obris/ 
1. Excessive pride or self-confidence2. (in Greek tragedy) Excessive pride toward or defiance of the gods, leading to nemesis

Hope. Hubris. Naiveté. What's the difference? I'm especially hoping that a farmer or two will chime in here.

The very first spring we lived here, just a few short months after buying this farm, I wrote a blog entry called "20 Year of Food in Two Days." Now, that is probably the attitude that set me up, like a Greek tragedy, for destined hardship.

We didn't move out to Big Stone County thinking that farming and food production would be easy. Quite the contrary, I remember a St. Paul conversation with Mike asking him if he was prepared for a drastic reduction in leisure time. Even in St. Paul I correctly envisioned that there would be no end of farm work.

Neither did we think farming would be a breeze. Mike had been a farmer (who had known tragedy) and I have some serious book learning on agriculture under my belt, so we more or less knew what we were getting into.

What I didn't take into account (and if Mike did, he didn't let on) was being faced with what feels like failure upon failure. About 6 weeks ago I toured my fruit tree orchard. It appeared that about 90% of my 30 trees had died over the winter. Many had been girdled by voles/moles under the 100 inches of snow. Others were simply eaten by deer right down to the tree protectors. Three years of fruit tree planting... all for naught. Mike said we should get more trees, I just said "forget it!" If we can't keep what we have alive, why buy more? Same with my poor bees that froze to death in -100 wind chills.

This western Minnesota climate can be harsh and it feels unforgiving. Wind, snow, wind, floods, droughts, arctic cold, suffocating muggy heat, wind. So here we are on June 3rd. 320 unplanted acres. Garden is still ankle deep mud. Old farm buildings blowing and rattling in the wind. 500 trees waiting to get planted (hazelnuts, prairie plum, choke cherry, etc...) and up against the limits of their viability.

To cut us some slack, maybe just putting ourselves "out there" opens us up to failure.
Experiment, test, try, fail. We've got some experimental plots to test growing organic edible beans, a 30 acre wetland being restored, a wind turbine in the making, local foods efforts, grass fed beef (they at least look and act happy!), and more.

And to stay on the hopeful beam, it is only early June. Maybe there will be some good planting days ahead. Maybe there will be a late fall and gentle rains throughout the summer. Maybe the harvest will be something sweet and unexpected. And maybe there are some lessons to be learned here as well. Like those 30 fruit trees. As it turns out, only 20% of them are dead. The rest of them are soldiering on against the wind and cold. Like us I guess.

Wind Beneath his Wings

Earnest sails again!!

Wind speeds sustained over 30mph, gust over 40mph. Must be good for something.
Admit it. When the wind blows like that you just want to lean into the wind and fly away. I can in my dreams. I tried as a kid. Strapped styrofoam onto my arms and jumped off the top of the slide. Fell to earth.

Jens would have been the best of my 3 kids to fly, but refused to be strapped up to the kites. Said he would cry. So we turned to Earnest. He's game for anything. In fact, when I found the screen off his second story bedroom window this morning and resting on the porch roof, I didn't even question his brother/roommate. It was "dude! were you trying to get on the roof??!!" It seems a toy had been thrown up onto the porch roof below his window.


So Earnest got fitted with some wings and got some loft, but it didn't last long as they were shredded in seconds.

When Mike was in college at Bemidji State (before going to the U) he had a teacher who would constantly question whether he had been driven mad! mad I tell you!! by the relentless prairie wind. Just this morning Mike was telling me how the wind always blows like this when filling the silos. No matter which silo had to be filled from which direction, it was always sand blasting him in the face with corn plant materials.

The wind blasts the garden plants, drives fine dust into your pores, knocks the geese and ducks from the sky, and makes a strong, determined woman have to call home for a ride because she can't walk into the wind another mile. Poor Happy turned around 1/2 down the driveway and went back home (a first). She knew that the wind was just too much for her poor old body.

And so we may as well have some fun in that wind and turns those dreams into reality. Fly up into the sky tethered by joy and love (and madness).That, and we're getting a wind turbine. I only wish it were up today.

The Good, the Bad, the Ugly-- early spring local foods in Minnesota

The very last of the "fresh" beets... they lasted until April

The nettles are bursting out of the ground and provide a wonderful spring tonic for the blood and soul. I've cooked two great nettle meals and plan to spend the afternoon/evening 'putting up' stinging nettles by freezing and drying. I'll probably sip some nettle tea as I work wearing thick rubber gloves. Touching fresh stinging nettles hurts (hence the name) and last year I ended up with swollen fingers because I thought I had developed a 'relationship' with the nettles that would protect me from their painful pricks. Yeah... right....

Before the nettles sprouted, the local foods were getting to pretty slim pickings. We're fine for local meat- chicken, lamb, beef, pork. We still have sweet corn and squash in the freezer. But the frozen strawberries, broccoli, pea pods, green beans, spinach, basil, summer squash, etc... are long gone. We still have some potatoes sprouting in the pantry - they're delicious, but will probably become this year's seed potatoes since they stored so well.

Back to the nettle meals, I made Lamb Vindeloo which is basically a curry in which the meat is braised in vinegar, the curry added and simmered, then after 30 minutes add coconut milk to make a nice sauce. I added the raw nettle and sauteed them with the meat just before adding the coconut milk. It made a delicious saucey lamb dish that all 5 family member loved!

I have to tell you that the day after we had that nettle sauce, I felt like a new person. I swear that nettle is just the thing a person needs to get winter out of their system.

Last night I made a nettle quiche. Simple recipe: saute nettles with garlic. Wisk 12 eggs with about 2/3 C milk. Put nettles, couple handfuls of grated cheese, and egg mixture into a pie crust (I used Pillsbury- not from scratch). Bake at 350 for about 45 minutes.

A suitable meal (where's the meat?) and delicious with a side of pickled beets and fresh fruit from Bonnies Hometown Grocery Store in Clinton.

We are desperate to use eggs as our chickens are at full laying power, producing 4 dozen a day. We don't yet have the market to sell that many eggs in Big Stone County... So this evening I may be making pickled eggs as well as putting up nettles.

The soup pictured below was made from the last of the winter veggies-- carrots, beans, and potatoes and ham from Pastures a Plenty (nearby Kerkhoven, MN). This ham has a great unique smokey flavor that is heavy on cloves. Adds a special taste to the beautiful soup.


One more thing I learned from Audrey Arner, Moonstone Farms, is that it is much easier to pick what natures offers rather than (in addition to) gardening, which requires tilling, planting, weeding, harvesting throughout the season. Nettles are free and abundant and I can pick them right out my back door- even closer than my garden. And yes- I have the kind of yard where nettles grow.

Spring at last, spring at last...

It is completely and utterly spring. it was 37 degrees this morning and made it to 70 degrees this afternoon. The grass is green, the farmers are mobilizing, and there is not a moment of silence to be found on an early morning walk. Not from any mechanization, but from the natural world completely bursting forth in song and noise.

Here's an interesting exercise-- focus on just one sense at a time. This morning I walked and listened. My feet on the gravel, geese, ducks, rana pipiens (the frogs), red wing and yellow headed blackbirds. I've come to love the song of the yellow headed black bird... It has a lyrical beautiful song with a rasping croak at the end. I long to hear their call. I know just where to find them.

A couple days ago I stood facing east my toes to the edge of the water, my eyes closed, drinking in the spring. When SPLASH!! a muskrat slapped the water just 2 feet away from me. I jumped and gave a startled scream. He swam about 4 feet away and made a big splash again. Playful, territorial... whatever. I like to watch them swimming. I see them everyday.

Then Sunny comes trotting up from behind with an offering of good will and bumps the back of my leg with a freshly dead 2+ foot long member of the rodent family. A huge mink -- it's body about as thick as a huge summer sausage. Again with the screaming. But Sunny is not detoured. She runs around me in tight circles proud to offer some really fresh meat to her family. Poor thing wasn't expecting me to yell "ewwwww ewwwww ewwwwww-- get AWAY from me!"

Last sound of the morning was the lure of loud frogs in the prairie preserve. As I crossed the prairie I could hear them from just over a small ridge. I made my way there... I'd been there before. This year the grass is really slow in growing and so I can see the contours of the land so much better. There was what looked like a hollow- about 30 feet around. I made me think of a buffalo wallow- and maybe it was. This low spot had water in the bottom and it was filled with the sound of frog.

When a person focuses all their attention on just one sense it can be overwhelming. Just overwhelming to be present and mindful of what is.

In beauty may I walk...

All day long may I walk.
Through the returning seasons may I walk.

Beautifully will I possess again.
Beautifully birds . . .
Beautifully joyful birds

On the trail marked with pollen may I walk.
With grasshoppers about my feet may I walk.
With dew about my feet may I walk.

With beauty may I walk.
With beauty before me, may I walk.
With beauty behind me, may I walk.
With beauty above me, may I walk.
With beauty below me, may I walk.
With beauty all around me, may I walk.

In old age wandering on a trail of beauty, lively, may I walk.
In old age wandering on a trail of beauty, living again, may I walk.
It is finished in beauty.
It is finished in beauty.


A Navajo Indian Prayer of the Second Day of the Night Chant (anonymous)

When Good Things Happen to Good People

Last Saturday night found Main Street Clinton, MN packed with cars and an overflow crowd at the Memorial Building. It was a community gathering in support of a steadfast neighbor who found himself with a severe health crisis.

In all honesty, it is the first of such events I've ever been to in my life. Sure, I've seen posters and even sent in an occasional check or stuck a couple bucks into the coffee cans sitting on convenience store counter tops. But I hadn't ever attended or brought food to contribute. So, it was another of life's firsts for me.

The particular gentle man for whom this event was held is, as one of the people in line for dinner said, "an old-school good guy." He didn't just offer to help everyone, even those he didn't know well, he just stepped in an lent a hand. For example, just last fall I went to Ortonville to pick up some furniture. This kind hearted "Norwegian" bachelor farmer was in the store and quietly lugged a few loads to my car with a smile on his face. I first met him in church where, week after week and year after year, he ushered the congregants in and out. He was the youngish guy with a great head of dark hair and gentle smile. Being usher, you don't exchange a lot of words, but tend to each person as they come and go from the sanctuary.

And then just like that, he's struck with cancer and goes from being a strong vital farmer to being, well, disabled. A lesson for all of us about this ephemeral life.

And so on Saturday night 500 people showed up (in a town of 400 people) to help out a quiet, solid neighbor, friend, and relative. And I think 'what a treat to know that you are beloved-- beloved by your community.' In life, you seldom see such a dramatic display of what you mean to the people around you. Generally speaking, a person has to die to have such a gathering in their memory/honor.


So I don't mean to be flippant, because a sudden and traumatic health crisis is a tragedy. But sometimes, just sometimes really good things happen to really good people.

Last Picture Snow

The last of good sledding for winter 2010-2011

Even though we woke up this morning to snow covered fields, these are the last snowy pictures I'm posting for winter 2010-2011. By all accounts, it's been a long winter. I think we're approaching 100 inches of snow, record snow days, and community fatigue with all things dark, cold and wintery.


Spring is so much later this year. All our Girl Scout cookies were eaten before there was any sign of snow melt or migrating birds. At least the birds knew enough to delay coming north this year (or so it seems). I'm afraid I missed the waterfowl migration this year. Too much traveling to other places. But I did get to see a few swans, geese and ducks as they passed through the farm. Not in as many as years past. The Pelicans are returning flock by flock. They are so dramatic and rhythmic in the sky.

Landlocked (or My Big Wet Squishy County

Road going north from our farm (note: the land on either side of the road is our normal crop land)

A few days ago the Otrey township supervisor stopped by our farm to let us know the road had been washed out to the south of our farm. Not a huge problem since we can get off our farm by going north. Then on Monday, the flood waters washed out the road to the north of us. We were landlocked.

From my point of view it is a grand adventure-- Headline: "Prairie Family Landlocked on Farm." Mike didn't find it anywhere near as invigorating as I did. In fact, it gave him nightmares. Within a day or so the water was down, the county brought in a few loads of gravel, and we were mobile once more. Hardly even an inconvenience. Since it is still April, there's still every hope that we'll be able to get crops in the field in good time.

As it turns out, one of the reasons I had to drive away from my lovely farm was to get to a meeting at the U of M's Center for Transportation Studies. The juxtaposition of having washed out township and county roads at the exact same time that I have to drive to this prestigious Center to discuss sustainable transportation over the next 25 years is priceless.

I am grateful for good roads. I am grateful for a responsive and caring township and county. I am grateful for the speed and comfort of individual car transportation. I don't take it for granted-- at least not all of the time.

But how can we as a society continue to support the extensive transportation infrastructure that we have? Oil is at $112.12 a barrel at this moment. Our asphalt roads are, simply put, concentrated hard packed oil. Besides which, I do not believe that the earth is a gooey nougat of unlimited oil. We're going to have to rethink this sooner or later. Maybe our gravel roads are easier to maintain and I am THANKFUL that they are, but really-- we are the only family living on this road. Those two flood washed out road repairs-- they will be done for us and for all practical purposes, only us.

I got into a fight on a RUPRI (Rural Policy Research Institute) call last month. It was a nationwide call to talk about the opportunities and impacts of renewable energy on rural communities. I said "hey! this is our chance to discuss how we can build communities around the sources of renewable energy. Instead of building the infrastructure to bring energy from it's source (like our windy prairie) to concentrated populations areas (big cities), we can bring people to live where the energy is." Oh boy! That started the sparks flying. And when the argument got too hot, I was accused of not understanding the Laws of Physics. How do you spell "p-shaw"? Seems to me that it is the Law of the Center Sucking from the Periphery. The flow of resources is unidirectional- to centers of power.

Enough already.

If I had my druthers, I'd build up this rural renewable energy system with a switch that says "Us First." When energy gets to be in short supply, we flick the switch and keep our own lights on. Then watch as the people start flowing out the cities and to places like Buffalo Ridge, where they can still keep up on Facebook because the juice is stilling running there.

Well, here's hoping the roads are good enough that they can still reach us. Or maybe, I'll be happy to be land locked with a nice steady turbine blowing in the breeze.


[KJD Notes: This post may be a big more vitriolic than I actually feel. I suspect I'm affected by the closing this week of Minnesota Rural Partners. We lost another great advocated for thriving rural places....]

The Best Laid Schemes of Mice and Men

Our corn waiting to be planted... May 27, 2011

Any farmer seeing this picture will know that it's not looking good for us to get that corn seed planted in 2011. Time's up folks. The window is closed on planting corn in Big Stone County. Or I should say the window is closed on getting a corn crop planted and harvested. Same difference.

Time for plan B.

But first I'll reflect on plan A. A plan that was based on, well..., a form of greed. The decision process was not unlike the familiar "Make hay while the sun shines." Instead it was "Grow corn while the commodity prices are in the stratosphere." Corn at $7.50 a bushel was just simply too promising to say "no" to. Yeah, sure, we were going with the morally superior Organic Corn, but corn all the same. And we weren't going to market it as organic, just deliver it to the elevator with all the other RoundUp Ready GMO Corn. The decision was simply a "count your chickens (or corn as the case may be) before they hatch" calculation that we could make a chunk of farm payment off those 40 acres of corn-- even a fair to middlin' crop.

The sky got progressively darker this morning until is started to rain at 10:30am. When I stepped to the door as the rain started I yelled "NOooooo!!!" It is the second time this year that we were close, really close, to getting into the field when the rain started back up.


To add insult to injury, 80% of the State's corn crop is already in the field. You may not know me personally, but I don't take kindly to being in the trailing 20% of anything (except maybe in youth and those days of being the youngest person in the room are fading fast as well). I don't mind being on the fringe, but let's make it the leading fringe please. So it's depressing as hell, frankly, to be looking at this from my farm house window.

View of our silos from my 2nd floor window

Which leads me, finally, to Plan B. Oh yeah. There is no Plan B. Plan A is bought, paid for, and sitting on pallets on our machine shed floor.

One of my rare talents is to recite Robert Burns poems in my made up 1785 Scottish accent, with strong overtones of Minnesotan and a hint of Iron Range. But since the old Scottish is indecipherable, I'll leave you with the standard English version of the great Mr. Burns' last two stanzas of his immortal "To a Mouse, on Turning Her up in Her Nest with a Plough." Oh and ask me sometime to recite this for you... although you may have to buy me a couple beer first. And frankly, that's sounding pretty good about now. As they say "it's 5pm somewhere."

But little Mouse, you are not alone,
In proving foresight may be vain:
The best laid schemes of mice and men
Go often askew,
And leave us nothing but grief and pain,
For promised joy!


Still you are blest, compared with me!
The present only touches you:
But oh! I backward cast my eye,
On prospects dreary!
And forward, though I cannot see,
I guess and fear!

Five Feet High and Risin'

About a quarter of our farm is underwater. You can hear the water rushing through the large drainage pipe into the slough from about 1/4 mile away. It's not safe to walk from our house to the pond right now. The water is fast, ice cold, and treacherous.

An increasing portion of our farm is subjected to flooding due to the upstream drainage tiles that have been put in over the years. There's more and more incentive to install field drainage tile as the price of ag land and commodities rises. Big Stone County had not had such an aggressive tiling mindset, but it is increasing here. This is a complex issue with folks on all side and high emotions. We've waded into those hot waters. We're trying to find some peace on the extremes of the continuum-- from throwing in the towel and turning a recurring flooded area into a permanent wetland to installing more drainage for another part of our farm to seeing what regulatory interventions exist to stop the increase of tiling the points to our farm. I.e. we are both solving and exacerbating the problem.

That said, we're lucky. Our house and barn were built 100 years ago up on high spots on the farm. The thaw has been happening very slowly with the days only flirting with above freezing temperatures. It's only March 26th, so there's time for the water to go down before it is time to plant. Hope springs eternal- right?

One of my fictional heroes is Neighbor Rosicky from Willa Cather's short stories and novel. Anton Rosicky asked his wife to prepare a nice picnic on a particularly hot day during a drought. The young family enjoyed the unexpected break from farm work. As they relaxed, his wife asked if he wasn't worried about the effect of the heat on the crops. Nope, he said, no sense in worrying since the crops had all died in that day's heat.

We are no way as dependent on the land as the Rosicky's were in Cather's novel. But in keeping with being mindful of the moment to moment joys in Full Catastrophe Living (re: Jon Kabit-Zin) we enjoyed a wonderful dinner on Friday night. It was Mike's birthday and all three kids were at play practice with the Prairie Fire theater troupe. It was, by our calculations, the first time in 11+ years that Mike and I had dinner alone in our house. We took the best steak left from beef in the freezer, baked up our potatoes and the last of the squash, and sipped a fine Minnesota wine with some fresh sliced pear and smoked salmon. The sun sparkled on the water around the farm.


Our best hopes go to those facing flooding in the days and weeks to come.

The Stonehenge of Snowmen

Feb 2011 on the pond

For the very first time ever, I went to the pond by myself on a weekend. The kids were too tired to join me and, frankly, I didn't twist their arms. I try so hard to spend my weekends with my kids, but I needed a bit of time to myself. So I strapped on the snow shoes and headed down to the wildlife area alone.

As I snow shoed over the tops of the 5 foot high cattails I saw the remains of our snowmen from the trip there a few weeks ago. They were melted and the drifts had formed around them, scouring the ice bare.

There is something thrilling about finding the signs of people who passed this way before us. I remember the first time I came upon a rock stile in the wilderness, you know those stacks of rocks that mark a trail. I thought I had come upon an altar of some kind- a holy place. And maybe it was.
Those historic remains are all around us here in Big Stone County-- so many farmsteads that were once small, diversified farms. There are still standing windmills, barns, chicken coops, well hand pumps, wooden granaries and outhouses. To me, it is a comfort to see these sites on the land. Like those rock stiles that mark a way that someone went before me.


And there were our snowmen like yet another a historic relic on the prairie. A happy reminder of good times past.