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.