Who's Got Your Goat?

Some Good Recipes: Kale and Whitefish, Stuffed Tomatoes and Wild Mushroom Casseroles

2012-03-07T09:36:00.000-05:00

Easy and Nutritious Low Carb Mid Week Meal

1 bunch of organic kale

4 small white fish (I used tilapia) fillets

1/5 pound local smoked bacon (approx.), cut into 1” pieces

1 organic garlic clove, sliced thin

salt and pepper to taste

paprika

preserved organic lemon slivers

Wash the kale and remove leaf from the central spine. Compost the spine or feed it to your goats. Brown the bacon pieces in a Dutch oven, then remove and reserve. Add the torn kale leaves and sliced garlic clove to the bacon fat to saute. Toss until wilted. Cover the pot, checking often for moisture, until the kale is tender (add water if needed). When the kale is tender, add some water to the pot, then lay the tilapia fillets on top of the kale. Cover the pot, and poach the tilapia until it’s tender. Serve two fillets on a bed of kale, garnished with slivered preserved lemon and crumbled bacon. Serves 2

Here's a healthy recipe that worked well for our dinner this week. The tomatoes were from a greenhouse, of course, but given the season, I think it's a pretty healthy alternative to many other options.

Healthy Stuffed Tomatoes (with optional shrimp)

4 tomatoes, hollowed out, with flesh and juices reserved

¼ pound of cleaned and cooked shrimp

½ cup chopped onions

butter

about ½ cup red quinoa

1 large clove of garlic, minced

red pepper flakes or chopped jalapeno to taste

garlic salt

black pepper

water

1-2 slices of multi-grain bread, crumbled and toasted

cheddar cheese

Saute the chopped onions in a generous amount of butter, then add the chopped tomato flesh and juice to the pan. To the bubbling mixture, add minced garlic, garlic salt, thyme, and pepper. For added kick, add chopped jalapenos or dried red chili pepper. When the tomatoes have released their juices, add a handful of red quinoa to the bubbling pan and cook until the quinoa is tender. Add a small amount of water if necessary. When the quinoa is tender, add the chopped shrimp (optional) and cook for five minutes, then add multi-grain breadcrumbs (from a slice or two of toasted bread) to thicken the mixture. Stuff the raw tomato cups with the cooked mixture, then top with cheddar cheese. Broil until brown, and serve.

Makes 4 servings

Best Wild Mushroom Casseroles

Wild mushrooms (I used frozen bearded tooth and entoloma abortivum)

Onion

Garlic clove

Peas

Cream

Flour

Butter

Multi-grain breadcrumbs from sliced bread

Tarragon

Garlic Salt and Pepper

Melt some butter in a Dutch oven or a cast iron frying pan, then add a chopped onion. Saute until the onion is clear, then add the mushrooms (I used about 1.5 cups total, rough-chopped). Continue to cook until the mushrooms release their juices, then add the clove of garlic, sliced thin. Cook until the juices are cooked away and the mushrooms and onion just begin to brown; them sprinkle with a tablespoon of flour and about ½ tsp. tarragon. Add about a cup of cream to the pot and stir over a low heat until the sauce thickens. Add peas and toss gently into the mixture. Season with garlic salt and pepper to taste.

Melt some butter and mix it in with the breadcrumbs. Make enough to cover each of the ramekins.

Spoon the thickened mixture into individual ramekins, then top with the breadcrumb mixture. Bake at 425 degrees until the breadcrumbs are brown and the filling is bubbling. Cool slightly before eating.

*Optional: Add some tender chicken, shrimp, scallops or beef strips to the pan with the mushrooms, and saute until finished before proceeding with the recipe.

Where's Waldo, Ummm...Sandy?

2012-03-05T18:18:00.003-05:00

My big plans this week focused on one thing: I got to co-present a session at the National Art Education Association in NYC on Friday! So of course I spent last weekend (the one prior to 3/3 and 3/4) planning, buying my outfit, arranging an outing with a friend, etc. Exciting! YAY! Something positive!

On the home front, Peter, ever the procrastinator, hadn't packed for his trip to Michigan, and had several small projects on the burner, so I essentially fed him and stayed out of his way. Unfortunately, on Wednesday morning after I left for school, he had a sudden health issue that he left unexamined until I came home and INSISTED that he go to the ER. I'd rather not discuss it (if you know him or me personally, just pick up a phone or email), but the result was a 3 day stay in the hospital while they ran tests. After the first few hours, they knew he wasn't in danger, so it was a matter of figuring out the "whys"; still, I was uncomfortable leaving him. I took off a half day of work on Thursday morning to hear what his doctor had to say, then worked the afternoon. The next day was my NYC trip, and since he wasn't in any further danger (and the rest of my research group was counting on me) I decided to go.

It was awesome. Everything went smoothly and my friend and I ate a brief Thai meal (my favorite!) before we headed home...to find Peter in the living room, packing! He still wanted to go! We "debated" the idea, finally settling on a compromise: he felt well enough to follow through on his plans, but I was too worried to say goodbye just yet...so I went along. That's right. I drove to Michigan this weekend. And I flew home alone last evening. And I taught today. And tonight, I'm clearing everything out of my living room so the contractor can fix the ceiling. Whew!

A Restful Weekend.

Am I happy about leaving him there? No. There's a point at which you have to admit another person's right to their autonomy and put aside your fears, and that's what I was faced with this weekend. And you move on the best you can. These long distance jobs do take their toll. Peter enjoys the variety though, and I can understand why: the people he meets on his journeys are amazing! He's been having the most awesome multi-cultural experience of his already interesting life. I actually envy him that.

So, back to my trip; from home to NYC, then home again for a night; then across the state to Youngstown Ohio, where we had dinner at a truck stop and met some of the nicest truckers you've ever known. The stories they have to tell! It was a very interesting supper. One trucker named Steve told me he'd been driving since he was 20 years old, and was just about to turn 60. Imagine the places he's seen! He was a well-worn character who couldn't have weighed much more than 120 pounds, and had a face lined with stories. He was a truck-driving pirate, the Captain Edward Teague of the Hubbard Truck Stop.

Just Squint. It'll Come Into Focus.

After a night's rest, we squeezed our generous selves into our little car and drove the last four hours of our trip into Ann Arbor, MI. We encountered a few flurries on the way, but nothing more, luckily, as we were working with a tight time budget. We met Peter's new roommates (he'll be eating food from India and Africa during this job, I think. The house smelled wonderful!), and were left alone to unpack the little he had with him. I'll ship the rest to him tomorrow. Then we cried for a few minutes and in no time at all the shuttle driver was there to take me to the Detroit airport.

Detroit to Philly, Philly to Allentown...with all of the required waiting between flights and a taxi ride at the end, and I slept in my bed last night. Alone.

So, we put the tears behind us, and each of us embraces our separate reality, with hope and joy. We savor our lives. We both do. It's just so much nicer when we're together. And of course, I want to mother him...but I can't, so I consciously disengage my mind from those thoughts, and live in the present. With faith in the divine wisdom of the universe, and all that she holds.

What happened here at home while we were away? Well, we have two angry kitty-cats, though they had ample grub for the two days we were gone. Grandpa just slept through it, but he was happy to have his head scratched. And on the farm, this is what happened:

Corrine's Picture of Dawn: Born Yesterday.

My "Words With Friends" buddy said it well: "Things change quickly". For both the better and worse. It's up to us to enjoy the ride.

Where Are You, Maaaa?

2012-03-05T12:09:00.001-05:00

Maaaaa! Where are you Maaaaa?
Photo by Kathy
at Flint Hill Farm

That was the question this weekend. And I'll answer it this evening!

Welcome Grandpa!

2012-02-27T17:24:00.001-05:00

Cochise

We have a new member of the family. New for us, anyway! This poor old man was being ridden by a 4 year old, who pulled his tail when he ate or drank and generally made life hell for him. Luckily, her mother finally had the sense to attempt to rehome him, but not until he was a dehydrated bag of ancient (18 years old) cat bones. He has a quiet place to sleep away his geriatric hours now, with plenty of wet food and gentle touches that make him purr.

How forgiving our animals are of our cruelty, and how loving they are; they forget the pain and beg for affection. This poor boy was born in a basement in Manhattan, where he was found, half starved, eating cardboard after being locked in there alone. He was rescued and sent to an animal control facility, where some kind soul took him in; they named him "Roach" because of the way he skittered along the walls, hiding from them (we chose a name that rhymes, sort-of. I hate the name they gave him.) The poor guy spent several years as an apartment cat in the city, then moved here to Allentown, where he spent his adulthood with his lady and her grown children; not such a bad gig. A second marriage brought a second family and the aforementioned 4 year old; unfortunately, in his frail state, I'm sure he found it difficult to escape her. He's our second Freecycle cat; Hobie, who came to us several years ago, still lives with us, as does his adopted brother, Gris-Gris (SPCA). They look like a couple of Sumo wrestlers next to Grandpa, who only weighs 6 pounds.

Gris

After a checkup with our family vet and a can of wet food, Grandpa is sleeping soundly upstairs in our sunroom, where we'll keep him safe from harm. He can dream his days away, for as long as he has them; this poor old man has found his safe haven at the Eckert-Bourdelle house of geriatric cats. He deserves a break, and we're seeing to it that he gets one. He reminds me so much of my old girl Buppy, who lived to the ripe old age of 21. In peace. I sure do miss her.

Installation #4: Independence (Fri) Day

2012-02-24T10:38:00.001-05:00

I've been busy. In a good way. And Peter will be home for another week! Bonus!

Plant something:

This week, I took the time to start a few small pots of pea seeds. I’ve been lusting after pea sprouts lately, as I often do this time of year, and decided to get a head start on the season. The pots I planted them in were made from recycled newspaper tubes; there are lots of online tutorials, so I combined a few of them to achieve the results I wanted. Basically, my tubes went like this:

1. Tear a single side of newspaper in half.

2. Fold it in half.

3. Wrap the folded sheet around a piece of 2”pvc pipe with the raw edges extending below the opening of the pipe.

4. Tuck the raw ends up into the pipe, then wiggle the opt off of the PVC pipe.

5. Staple the top edge of the pot together

6. Tamp down the bottom of the pot with something flat.

Peas, etc.

Harvest something:

You know, it’s pretty tough to actually harvest from an urban yard in the winter (though I hope to harvest those pea sprouts soon!). I have a garden plot at Flint Hill Farm, but that’s not available to me in cold weather, and my home garden is about the size of a Volkswagen. I did harvest a gallon of yummy kombucha tea, and I made a new quart of elderberry tonic (which I’ll harvest in 6 weeks). Otherwise, apart from the good vegetables I’ve been using from my freezer all week, and the good herbs I have dried and stored in my kitchen, it’s been more of a time of consuming than harvesting. To everything, there is a season, right?

Preserve something:

I’m still working on preserving my sanity. Seriously.

Waste not:

Since Peter’s home, I‘ve had the help I needed to move some heavy pieces of furniture to the second floor in preparation for my mom’s arrival. This has had the usual cascade effect; we’ve ended up with a rather large pile of homeless items. Among those items were several things made of metal (a grill, a lamp, a few wire shelf sections). I’m a member of our local Freecycle group, a Yahoo list serve that recycles usable objects among its members. It’s a great idea; if you have something extra, you can give it away. If you need something, you can request it. Some of the members recycle metal for money, so I posted the metal objects, and they were taken. YAY!

There was a box of decorative items and pillows too. I took that to the local VIA thrift store, where it will be sold inexpensively and the proceeds will benefit children with disabilities. Win/win! I buy lots of my clothes there as well.

Want Not:

I think this is the best place to comment on the now-slightly dwindling supply of frozen natural goodies that I put aside last fall. I have had a successful winter of wholesome food, thanks to my garden and my foraging in warmer times, which truly floats my boat. I can literally “shop the freezer”, and create a gourmet meal with just a few added pantry items. It’s an awesome feeling. As the frozen vegetables are getting used, I’m replacing them with local, humanely raised meats and individually portioned meals for my school lunches. I sense the beginning of a seasonal rhythm, which is a great feeling to me.

I did manage a quick look at a few of my old-faithful oyster mushroom trees during the past few days, but the nights have been too cold to promote growth. In a week or two, if we're lucky, they'll be bursting with sumptuous spring oysters. Yum!

Eat the Food:

A day or two before Peter returned home from his cross-country trek (he was returning to Pennsylvania from Los Angeles, CA), I thawed out a chicken that had been deep in the freezer. I had a nice, comforting roast chicken dinner in mind. Circumstances being what they were, that dinner never happened, though I did roast the bird in order to preserve the now-thawed meat. From it, we had chicken breast with ginger and scallion dipping sauce, chicken noodle soup with local veggies, hot open-faced chicken and mushroom sandwiches with cranberry sauce, and chicken salad (still to be made). That’s a lot of mileage for one little chicken!

Soup...

Build community food systems:

I’ll be attending a board meeting at Flint Hill Farm tomorrow evening, where we will discuss fund-raisers to support the farm. As a non-profit organization, fundraising is a never-ending process. I thoroughly believe in the mission of the place as both an agricultural education center and a working artisanal dairy. The goats are nearly ready to kid (I’ll be on call to help with the deliveries, which should be starting in March), and we’ll be in milk again soon. In the past, I was a regular milker, though I’m not sure that I’m up to that anymore, since my hand surgery last November, but I’m sure there will be plenty of work for me once the kids arrive. Last year, we had four bottle babies in my living room at one point; it was WONDERFUL!

Diapers

Skill up:

I’ve been on the lookout for the lightly colored, skeletal remains of wild asparagus plants, which I explored online during the week. I’ve been adding lots of wild things to my foraging arsenal in the last year or two. Some wild foods have been a part of my repertoire since I was a child, but others are new finds that I’ve made thanks to the resources on the web. How did we ever survive without it!

Independence Day Update #3

2012-02-18T09:20:00.001-05:00

I wrote this a few days ago, and forgot about it. That's how my life is going these days. An update will follow...

Plant something:

I did it, and I'm loving the tiny green nodules of life: mesclun,carrots (two varieties), and green onions, all perking their tiny nodding heads above the soil that was still a week ago. And once again, as always in February, I'm inspired to put seed to earth and get 'er growing, far before it's feasable.

How incongruous it is, that life goes on...

Harvest something:

White pine for tea and balsamic vinegar. You absolutely must explore the benefits of pine needles. I never knew how rich they are in vitamin C...everyhting we need is in our environment, if only we'd listen.

Preserve something:

I'm working on preserving my sanity this week. That's all I've got. Peter's traveling cross country, mom's moving in, my room's being changed at school. and an old friend has resurfaced and needs me. That's plenty. Besides, my freezer is full, and spring is on the way, I'm fatter than I've ever been, and food isn't as important as other aspects of life right now. Really. I'm lucky, I know. But I still need my sanity.

Waste not:

I'm having trouble with this one this week. I have been taking my school-day meals from the freezer: leftovers in lunch-sized portions, breakfast stratas from stale bread and frozen treasures. Those things do utilize the great organic foods I have preserved in my freezer...essentially for free, since many are foraged. But here's the main issue: my personal green-shabby-chic, wabi-sabi aesthetic has been dissed by my one and only, all psychically powerful mother. I'm 54, and still filled with adolescent angst. I want to make her happy, so the things I've chosen will have to go...and that's ok. What to do with my sweet, colorful, gyspy furniture?

Want Not:

I gave away the last of my awesome home remedy, elderberry tonic. My friend was in need. I hope she actually used it, as it's gold to me (those elderberries were scarce last year). At any rate, I pulled my last bag of them from the freezer and added some elderberry flower, honey, and gin to the mix, for a new batch of tonic. That'll have to hold me until I can harvest again, in the summer. I hope we have a better year.

Eat the Food:

My stockpile of frozen and dried wild mushrooms is neverending this year. If you're local, let me know. I have enough for everyone.

Build community food systems:

I was a slacker here this week. I did share a home made ham, cabbage and noodle dinner with friends last weekend, but I've been so busy and insulated lately that I haven't really interacted with people much this week. I bought seeds for my community garden plot, though. Does that count?

Skill up:

Hmmm...does intergenerational communication remediation work here? If so, I'm golden...

He's in Oklahoma...

2012-02-14T18:32:00.000-05:00

And homeward bound. Happy Valentines Day / Happy Anniversary, Pierre!

Safe journey home!

(Valentines borrowed from AngelBaby Shelby, on Facebook. Thanks, AB!)

Just a Quick Update

2012-02-12T10:23:00.000-05:00

Over the past few months, things have changed a bit on the home front.

Starting in late August, Peter began traveling for work. In this economy, it's almost impossible for an older person to find full time professional work; even with a practical career like his (he's a mechanical engineer with a biomedical focus), Peter was striking out until he decided to begin looking at the short-term, remote jobs his head-hunters were sending him. This style of work agrees with him; he enjoys the variety and the travel. To date, his jobs have taken him to Dallas, LA, and now Ann Arbor, Michigan. I've seen him a few times since then, but his brief stays at home aren't the same as our previous team approach used to be. It's an adjustment for us both. I'm expecting him home in a day or two (hurray!) before he begins the Michigan job. I look forward to curling up around him, and falling asleep feeling his warmth again. There's nothing more comforting to me. Except foot rubs. Love those foot rubs.

It's been an awakening, in many ways. While I'm perfectly capable of living a solitary life, I'm reminded of why I searched for him in the first place. It's awfully nice to have someone to share things with on a daily basis (both the good and bad). Someone like him.

The week before Thanksgiving, I had a much needed joint replacement in the base of my right thumb. This rendered me left-handed (not my usual dominant hand) for a few months. It was impossible to lift heavy objects, do buttons, put on certain clothes items, open cans; you get the drift. And teaching art was interesting; I believe it made me more sensitive to the challenges faced by beginning artists. Using my left hand instead of my right to draw, paint, and sculpt put us all on a level playing field in terms of skills. It was good for me to feel that again. I managed to get through those months, and have emerged one small bone lighter, and immensely more comfortable than I was just a few months ago. My thumb joint was so deteriorated that it had been giving me constant pain. That's gone now, and I'm ready for spring kidding season at the farm. Just in the nick of time, as the does are scheduled to drop their kids in about 2 weeks. I LOVE this time of year!

My mother, who is 85, has accepted my invitation to come and live with us. To make our little home more functional for her, I had a full bathroom built on the first floor. The construction took about two weeks, which happened right at the end of the first semester, and into the first day or two of the second semester. Life was chaos for awhile, but it paid off: the bathroom is beautiful. I want to live in it. Just around that time, my administrator let me know that I'll be moving to a different classroom next year, which means boxing and moving17 years worth of art materials and examples. It also means losing a grant I won to develop the outdoor area by my current classroom. We have lost one art position because of retirement; I won't go on about all of this, as it contradicts my self-imposed ban of blogging about school, but you can imagine the consternation this is causing me when compounded by the disturbances on the home front. (Just these few sentences have made my heart pound). I've actually considered seeking a counselor to get me over this bump.

Goats make good counselors. They're good listeners.

I try to turn my thoughts to the spring when I'm feeling helpless. I've purchased several packets of seeds, and hope to start some carrots and lettuces today. There's nothing like a tender, newly growing vegetable to give you hope for the future; that is, nothing except a tender, newly born goat kid! And they'll be coming soon. I'm holding on to that thought.

Lettuce give thanks for Spring.

And so, we move on. Some things change, and some stay the same. It's a dance, this life I'm living. The tempo has changed slightly, but I'll pick up the beat. It's just a matter of time.

Independence Days #2 (February 9th, 2012)

2012-02-09T22:15:00.002-05:00

Please head on over to The Chatelaine's Keys to see a full description of this project!

Here's my weekly update!

Plant something:

Well, I didn't ACTUALLY plant anything, but I did buy some carrot seeds and seed starter. I've been fighting a cold this week, and although I didn't miss any work days, I slept a great deal more than usual because that's what my body needed. I'm learning to listen to those subtle internal signals more clearly these days, and I believe my health is benefitting from it.

She Carrot

Harvest something:

I have a non-gardening harvest story for this week. Here goes:

Do you remember your first steps? The strong hands helping you, and the clumsy placement of your soft little feet in those big, clumsy shoes; first lift, then lurch forward, plant the foot and find your balance. Arms up, your hand firmly planted in a bigger, stronger one. Always safe in your mother’s care, the first few steps were a celebration! An occasion! Smile inducing, worthy of kisses!

Cute Pictures

I thought about those steps yesterday as I helped my mother down the porch stairs; place a foot, hold on tight, move the other foot and release the knee, take a breath and drop…all while holding on tight, safe in her daughter’s care.

We plant hope, and harvest compassion. As young children, we have no understanding of the eventual peak and inevitable decline of our physical abilities; just hope and joy, one of the many gifts our mothers give us. I’m grateful for that gift, and grateful I can begin to balance those scales right now, late in my mother’s life; perhaps one day, my daughter will do the same for me.

“We are a circle within a circle, with no beginning, and never ending.”

-Rick Hamouris

Preserve something:
Four weeks ago, I harvested a vinegar mother from a bottle of apple cider vinegar that I bought from a health food store. I was able to buy a gallon of flash pasteurized apple cider from Frecon's Orchard in Boyertown; this method still allows the cider to ferment; I used similarly pasteurized cider for my hard cider last fall. This time, I added the mother, and let it turn to a lovely, mild vinegar over the course of the month. The vinegar mother, a mixture of cellulose and beneficial bacteria, digests the natural sugars first, then the resulting alcohol, creating that nice, astringent vinegar flavor; this mother is very similar to the SCOBY used to make my kombucha. I removed the vinegar mother then pasteurized this new, live vinegar myself (140-160 degrees). It's waiting for me to cook with it now! I put the mother into a jar of old red wine; not sure if it will work to make red wine vinegar, but I'm willing to experiment!

Waste not:

My fridge is a nightmare. I occasionally have an attack of conscience and try to catch up with the many culinary experiments festering in there. It's not pretty. With this weekly blog entry as incentive, I took a brave look, and found some still-viable organic yogurt, some home made beef broth, a shriveled but edible stalk of celery and the remnants of last week's mushroom bounty. What to do?

Yogurt Cheese and Vegetable Beef Soup

I hung the yogurt in a cheesecloth for yogurt-cheese (very tasty, with a consistency like cream cheese), made a strata from the mushrooms and celery (along with a quarter loaf of stale multi-grain bread, a sauteed onion, 4 fresh eggs, raw milk and some shredded cheese) which will be my breakfast this week, and made soup from the beef broth. I added a handfull of sliced brussel sprouts, some frozen local corn, some dehydrated maitake mushrooms and some herbs. Yum. Good bye, convenience food! Momma's got a healthier (and more frugal) plan!

Mushroom Strata

Want Not:

Last summer I inoculated two areas of my tiny yard with winecap mushroom spawn. I was able to harvest a few mushrooms from the sites last year, but I'm looking forward to a better harvest this spring. In anticipation, I covered one of the areas with straw. And I had too much...so there's straw all over my teensy urban garden. This week, I started cycling bunches of straw into my well-packed composter to diversify the organic load. Perfect.

Eat the Food:
Monday's meals: Mushroom strata for breakfast and fish chowder for lunch. Both from the freezer. Home fermented and home canned sauerkraut and clean, local sausage for dinner.
Tuesday: Strata again for breakfast; leftover kraut for lunch (the kraut is good for boosting immunity).
Wednesday: I felt good for the first time in a week on Wednesday (was fighting a cold) so I made a nice one-woman date-night dinner. From the freezer: all local...corn, sauteed oyster mushrooms and onions, tomato confit, nasturtium pesto and half of a farm raised delmonico steak. Seasoned the steak with Cajun spices and grilled it in my Foreman grill; cubed one small potato and sauteed it with the mushrooms, tomatoes and a small red onion. Boiled some wonton noodles and tossed them with the confit, pesto, pepper and salt. And...corn. Ahhhh, yes; the pleasures of a garden, foraging, and a freezer. Thursday night is parents' night at school, so I won't be cooking.

Build community food systems:
This is a vast diversion from my usual organic and local eating beliefs, but I gave it a try; I'm not sure if I will continue. Our Elementary and Middle Schools use a fundraising technique known as "Market Day". There is an online company from which you order various foods, and a portion of the proceeds go to the school needing the funds. The food is delivered to the school, which is convenient for me, as I teach right on the campus. While the various meats and breadings were suspect (at least to me), I did order some mini-omelets and some individual frozen lasagna rolls. They tasted fine, and are convenient, but I'll have to research where this company sources its food before I order again. I can't stand the idea of inhumanely treated chickens and cows. I'll let you know what I find out. I'm a little nervous about it.
On the healthy side, I ordered a bin of local and organic vegetables and foods from my very favorite Buy Fresh, Buy Local food source, Pure Sprouts. I love, love, love this service, and order from them whenever I need quality local foods that I haven't grown or foraged myself...although I do love to visit farmers' markets in fair weather!

Skill up:

Balsamic Vinegar, Nasturtium Vinegar, Juniper "Berries"
Rosemary Vinegar and Gin-Soaked Raisins

Susun Weed sent a nice tutorial on using white pine needles and cider vinegar to create balsamic vinegar. Since I have an abundance of both, I'll be giving that a try. I love balsamic vinegar! Here's the link. This seems to be a year of tonics and fermentations for me; new territory to explore!

Independence (Fri) Day (a Few Hours Early)

2012-02-02T21:04:00.008-05:00

Please head on over to The Chatelaine's Keys to see a full description of this project!

Here are our categories:

Plant something:

Harvest something:

Preserve something:

Waste not:

Want Not:

Eat the Food:

Build community food systems:

Skill up:

Plant something:

I can honestly say that the only seeds I planted this week were the seeds of curiosity in my students’ minds. Hopefully, they’ll flourish! Our ground is frozen one day, then muddy the next right now, though I have been considering starting a cold frame of lettuce since it has been a mild winter here in Pennsylvania. It’s been a busy week; the end of semester one coincided with the end of my new bathroom construction; the new semester started on the last day the workmen were in my home. I look forward to this weekend to reorganize my first floor; my classes are nicely reorganized already! First things first!

Color Theory

Bathroom Theory

Harvest something:

I DID harvest something! The miracle tree in front of my farmer-friend’s house put out a nice bloom of oyster mushrooms! I even had enough to share with a friend or two! Yummy fresh mushrooms in late January…awesome! I was too excited to take a picture, so I pasted in one I took during the summer.

Oysters

Preserve something:

Last weekend, I made a batch of clean and humanely raised beef jerky. I used a pepper flavor that I knew my husband would like (he tells a funny story about how his best experience with steak au poivre made his eardrums burn). I also separated a new kombucha mother from my main one, and put it up in the fridge “in case”, and have set aside a smaller jar of the kombucha to grow a mini-mother. Those gallon jars make too much for me!

Waste Not:

My picky indoor cats often leave a good portion of their expensive cat food uneaten. I’ve been cycling this out to the poor alley cat who is very happy to clean it up for them! He’s afraid to be petted or come too close, but I’ve made a warm straw bed for him under my glider, and he’s getting regular meals. I’ve made some very good cat friends this way in the past. If he gets friendly enough to handle, I'll do the cat world a favor and neuter him. Maybe he knows that. Maybe that's why he stays out of reach!

Hobie

Want Not:

Two days ago, I felt myself coming down with the beginnings of a nasty winter cold. My previous summer stockpiling paid off nicely. I’ve always been interested in both herbs and foraging. Last summer I teamed up with a colleague of mine who is also an herbalist, and we collected a nice supply of both elder flowers and elder berries. SCORE! I made a tonic using the berries and some of the flowers plus equal parts of honey and gin. The recipe called for brandy, but juniper, a key ingredient in gin, is an anti-inflammatory which helps my achy old joints. Well, I took a tablespoonful yesterday morning, then a tablespoonful last evening, and slept with clear sinuses and woke up refreshed after a good, comfortable night…with no sore throat! YAY nature! YAY elderberries and juniper!

Elderberries

Eat the Food:

Those aforementioned mushrooms have graced my dinner plate three times this week, in various incarnations. The last one was a GREAT stir-fry, paired with some local frozen chicken mushrooms and maitakes from the fall, some frozen organic veggies from my garden, and some finely sliced organic pork strips from the farmer’s market, all seasoned with ginger, garlic, sesame oil and soy sauce. Of course I made too much; the leftovers went into lunch-sized freezer containers so I could carry them to school for my mid-day meal. Win-win!

Build community food systems:

Since Peter has been traveling for work, and has had two long-term remote placements, my fall canning stockpile isn’t being used as quickly as I thought it might. I recently connected with an old friend who is having some challenging times, so I sent her home with a box full of goodies, and will continue to stock her up until she’s tired of them or I run out. She promised to save my jars for me for next year! And she loved my pepper jerky and mushrooms, too!

I have a new friend who supplied me with my kombucha mother a month or so ago. I was lucky enough to find a dehydrator at a thrift store, and got it to her (she’s been looking for one), so I was able to return a foodie favor. I also shared a bag of those nice fresh oyster mushrooms with another relatively new friend, my mushrooming buddy. He was happy to have them, and kindly offered me a few shiitake logs in the coming spring. SCORE!

Have you ever noticed the cosmic law that goes something like this: The more you give, the more you’ll receive? It’s true. There is such abundance in our world, if only we all remembered how to pass it around.

Skill up:

I’m a little embarrassed to admit this one, but here goes: during the past two weeks, I had a new bathroom built on my first floor for my elderly mother, who will be coming to live with us. Prior to the construction of the bathroom, I had absolutely no idea how the plumbing worked…I didn’t know which pipe took out the waste, or if the sink water, shower water and toilet water were sent to the same place or not. One week before the contractor arrived, I had an emergency visit from the plumber, but not before I learned exactly where the upstairs toilet went. Since then, I’ve seen the plumbing adapted to the new bathroom, and have figured it all out. I can’t believe I never cared before. It’s such a simple thing…

Plumbing...etc.

Independence Day Challenge

2012-02-02T06:43:00.000-05:00

Over at The Chatelaine's Keys, Sharon has issued a weekly "Independence Day Challenge". Check out her link, right here: http://sharonastyk.com/category/independence-days-challenge/

I thought this would be a great way to get back on track after my multi-month hiatus. With spring coming and a break in my academic writing, I'm itching to share some of my escapades with you again. Every Friday, I'll sum up my week, using Sharon's format; if I'm inspired to write during the week, those entries will be here as well. It'll be nice to be back.

The Zeitgeist

2011-09-15T08:53:00.002-04:00

I know it’s been quite awhile since I posted an update. At some point during the spring, I had the profound feeling that my posts were getting redundant; how many updates on canning, goats, and dinners are truly interesting? Since a great deal of my life is unbloggable (teaching), those are the things I feel comfortable writing about most days. Let me assure you that my “country life” is only part of the picture!

If I had to choose a theme or two for the summer, I think they would fall under the category of faith; though my interpretation of faith may not be quite the same as many of my friends’. For the last several months, we’ve experienced a rollercoaster of jobs for Peter, and an awakening of purpose for me. Peter lost a job, was on unemployment for awhile, got a job that lasted 3 months, and was once again on unemployment (this time for just a few weeks), then found his current temporary job…in Texas. This one may or may not last until March of 2012.

He left for the Dallas area last Friday, as I was in my classroom, during the first week of school for this term. He made the trip, all packed into the 1999 ragtop Miata (and I DO mean RAGS…the top is held together with duct tape!) and miraculously arrived in one piece on Sunday, to begin work on Monday. What a guy! I have never known such a positive spirit. To travel alone, across the country on a wing and a prayer, at 63 years old is a testament to his youthful soul.

That’s only one of our many synchronous adventures this year; it seems that every time we have an actual need, the universe complies somehow. I have been aware of the concept of manifestation for quite some time now; the process seems to have become a part of the zeitgeist, as it’s coming to me from all over. We have been manifesting slowly and steadily, which has been working just fine for us. As I said to my friend Arlene Curley, the day before he lost his last job: “Change is in the air!”

For me, that means a concerted effort to habit-bust. I’m making our house more user friendly while Peter is away, by reassigning some dedicated space for his office, and by sorting through much of the weighty STUFF that’s holding us down. Arlene’s journey was inspirational to me; at the age of 60, she decided to remake herself. She unloaded her possessions, and followed her muse to Alaska, where she encountered her future. The rest of that story is hers to tell, but her courage truly moved me.

So, at 53 (me), my husband is in Texas, and I’m still teaching, but with my eye on my future. I’ve begun the first baby steps at writing my book, and spent a good part of the summer researching. I’m deciding upon my “voice” right now, balancing the academic with the “historical pulp” if you get my drift. It’s such an exciting story to tell.

Pierre Bourdelle was the child of history, and the bridge to the present for us; I want to share that feeling with others. To be able to touch living history through your own bloodline: the passion of Rodin and Claudel, the apprentice system in action, the migration of the center of the art world from Paris to New York, the advent of Modernism and the waves of change it brought to education and world culture…it’s all there. I can feel it in my pulse. I can see it in Peter’s profile. And I have the ability to write it for others; it’s just a matter of time.

I'm back!

2011-09-13T22:25:00.001-04:00

Fiona and Fauni Dell

Fall is nearly here, and with it, some time for reflection. I'll be posting again soon. In the mean time, check out how much the girls have grown! They're still BFFs, as you can see. Inseparable.

I'll post an actual update tomorrow.

In June

2011-06-17T18:37:00.000-04:00

In June ’tis good to lie beneath a tree

While the blithe season comforts every sense,

Steeps all the brain in rest, and heals the heart,

Brimming it o’er with sweetness unawares.

–James Russell Lowell (1819–91)

Elderberry Blossoms

I'm JUST THAT CLOSE to summer vacation...

One more day...

Squash Blossoms; a Guilty Pleasure

2011-06-14T19:32:00.002-04:00

Squash Season is Coming!!!

This is admittedly NOT the plant I took my male blossoms from; that plant had a huge headstart, being grown in the high tunnel, however I didn't plan ahead and neglected to photograph it. Them. They're taking over. (I'll insert a picture here at a later date!)

Squash blossoms are an early summer delicacy. I only pick the male blossoms, the ones without the ovary attached (swollen base), because that's what will eventually become your squash. And I only take a few; they're a guilty secret. For this recipe you'll need a simple egg batter (like the one you use for pancakes), a stuffing, some vegetable oil, and some salt.

Open the blossom, then remove the pistol. Or is it the stamen? I don't remember. Remove the phallic polleny thing in the middle. It will be bitter if you don't. Stuff the flower with something you love: crab, shrimp, mushrooms, cheese; I chose fresh mozzarella, because that's what I had. Wrap the blossom around the filling. Really tuck it in.

Heat up your oil and get a plate ready with paper towels to catch the drips. Dip the entire blossom in the batter, and make sure the petals stay around the filling as you rotate it for coverage. I found it easiest to do by hand, but if you grip the open end of the blossom with a pair of tongs, you may be able to finesse it into compliance without messing up your manicure. Having no such manicure, I wasn't terribly concerned about using my hands. Place them in the hot (but not smoking) oil. The stuffed blossoms. Not your hands.

Make sure to turn them as they get brown. Don't fuss with them too much or you'll lose your stuffing. Well, they will...not you.

These are NOT chicken wings. Meat-free goodness.

Drain on paper towels or whatever you use for lapping up oil, then salt to taste and enjoy. If you have a favorite dipping sauce, now's the time to break it out. I used harvard beet glaze, because that's what I had. And that was just fine.

Enjoy!

Berry Berry Good.

2011-06-13T20:44:00.005-04:00

Putting Food By...
It's become an obsession of mine. With the imminent collapse of the fossil fuel system, combined with my "Buy Fresh, Buy Local" mindset, the natural course of things is to preserve foods that will be accessible sans power. Also, since I'm particularly sensitive to sugar for some reason, and have found through personal experience that freezing diminishes taste and texture, I've decided that dehydration is the way to go.

I bought this dehydrator about 20 years ago. It's still kicking. Of course there are natural ways to dehydrate food; I'm currently dehydrating some elderflowers in my shed as we speak; but I digress.

Nearly Antique Plastic Dehydrator (I'm Getting Old. YAY!)

First, you clean and half the strawberries. Mine were grown in Amish country (just a hop over the county line in Kutztown), and are natural and local. Beautiful, aren't they?

You KNOW I Ate Some...

After you cut them, place them on the trays, seed side down. NOT cut side down. They'll stick.

Stack those trays up. If you have multiple trays, you'll save energy, because it will take the same amount of time to do 6 as to do 2. The trays weren't cheap, as I recall (it's been awhile), but they have more than paid for themselves.

Use the Proper Heat Setting

They shrink way down. Down to 20% of their original volume, as I calculate...

I almost always dehydrate overnight, and that worked fine for these goodies. I found that 5 quarts of fresh fruit equalled 1 quart of dried. So I made 2 dried quarts for the winter. That should hold us.

They taste wonderful: concentrated strawberry goodness. I can just imagine them in oatmeal, on cereal, in cream-of wheat, or bread pudding...spring goodness in the deep winter. Yum.

Beauty is Only Skin Deep

By the way, the Farmer's Almanac has this tidbit to share about the aforementioned topic:

"The month of June's full Moon's name is the Full Strawberry Moon. June's Full Strawberry Moon got its name because the Algonquin tribes knew it as a signal to gather ripening fruit.

It was often known as the Full Rose Moon in Europe (where strawberries aren't native)."

Cool.

Gazelle

2011-06-12T09:35:00.001-04:00

Most of you already know that each animal on the farm (any farm) has their own distinct personality. Yesterday, I decided it was time to showcase Gazelle, who has recently become the Belle of the Barn.

Nosy

Last year was Gazelle's first freshening. I recall carrying her, trembling, to the milk stand, where she'd barely tolerate the process. She had to be lifted onto the stand for weeks after that, afraid to jump up, afraid of any different sounds; just afraid. She was a small, trembling bunch of nerves, for no reason other than it was in her nature; being born and raised on the farm, she has never encountered abuse or neglect. She was just wired that way.

So, I began a season of psychotherapy for Gazelle. I told her how good she was, how smart and beautiful. I rewarded her efforts with handfuls of sweet feed, and laid my hands on her whenever she was in the stand. I stroked both her body and her ego (if you have to ask if goats have egos, you don't know goats), and as the season grew warmer, so did her spirit. Though she was never queen material, being a diminutive goat, Gazelle was beautiful, and soon lost her fear.

Then winter came, and with it, the long gestational wait. Gazelle ripened with the rest of the girls, and gave birth to twins in March. Big, hungry twins. She was relieved at weaning time, like most of the mommas. And milking time began again.

Miss Gazelle is now the Lolita of the Lower Barn. She bats her eyes at you, nuzzles your ears, kisses your lips. She gazes into your eyes, hypnotically implanting that one thought, paramount on her mind: "GRAIN...GIVE ME GRAIN". She has been called "the best goat", "my favorite goat", "a sweet goat", etc., by everyone who encounters her. I believe it's her own psychic ability, recently developed, which she has learned how to focus on her minions (us). See for yourself:

GIVE...ME...GRAIN...(You're getting SLEEPY; SLEEPY...)

Just look at that face. Don't you just want to plant one on those fuzzy lips? I often do, and Gazelle often kisses back. And then, of course...I give her grain.

Who could resist?

Fauni Dell

2011-06-06T20:04:00.001-04:00

This afternoon, after I finished milking the 24 Flint Hill Goaty-Babes, I decided to visit with the kids awhile. They were sleepy and adorable, and all too ready to socialize. Frank has grown a bit aloof, though he still comes for a nose scratch if he sees his sisters talking with me. Fiona is vocal and opinionated; she has a pouty sort of call that reminds me so much of her mother, my first goat (this time around!) Faith. Fairly (our adopted daughter, the only Toggenberg in my familial herd) always comes to me for a cuddle and a suck on my fingers, though last time, she chomped down and drew blood, so she's officially finger weaned. She was always such a frantic nurser; perhaps because I had to tube her to bring her back to life after her mother abandoned her. One doesn't forget that feeling of starvation. Ever.

And then there's Miss Fauni Dell. Fauni was the middle birth of Faith's triplets, and I had given her up for dead. She presented sideways, and Kathy pulled her that way after trying everything else she could (after I did the same). Little Fauni's head turned to the side as she was born, and we feared the worst; I had given Kathy the go ahead to just pull her to save Faith's life. I thought she'd have a broken neck; but she was small, and had no permanent injuries. She slept with her head to that same side for the first few weeks of her life ( I bottle fed the triplets and little Fairly), but she was up and running with her sibs in record time. And now she thinks I'm her Mama.

Fauni came out to play awhile tonight. I brought her out of the kids' stall (they stayed in because of the heat today), and put her on the ground for a few minutes. I stepped away, and she followed me. I took 5 steps, and she followed me more. Then we sat in the hammock, watered the garden, walked down to her goat-Mama's stall, and she followed me. Talking the entire time. Maaaa. Conversational.

We both heard Fiona complaining back in the kids' stall. Fauni even answered her a few times. I'm wondering if my little herd will follow me en masse; that's a game I'll attempt to play later this week, when I'm ready to videotape them. :::::LIVE UPDATE::::: CLICK HERE

Until then, I'm happy to be much loved by my little Fauni Dell, the wonder goat; our little miracle, who has Much To Do. And I'm hoping that by the time she's ready to be a Mama herself, I'll have a place of my own to keep her in, and I can know her family even better that I know her. My sweet little girl, who Was Meant To Be.

Pennsylvania Oysters

2011-06-02T23:06:00.001-04:00

This same tree, and this same farmer shared their bounty with me last fall. I recall that my hands were very cold when I pulled the mushrooms from the tree last fall; today, I was feeling springtime fresh. We just had a week or so of hot, rainy weather, followed by two days of sunny heat. TREASURE!!!

I saw them driving by...

Though I admit that I stopped by his farm, Mr. Unnamed Farmer wasn't home yesterday, and I didn't trespass. I went back this evening.

There they are. Same tree, different season.

They were a day or so past prime. A small price to pay to maintain my integrity. The farmer was still willing to give them up, despite my praise of last year's crop, though he did welcome my "payment" of milk and eggs, due on Sunday. A fair price, at my insistence. He was willing to just give them up. Nice farmer.

After cleaning, a short soak; they were a bit dry on the edges.

Note the gills that travel right up the stem, which is minimal. And they smell so good!

They typically grow on hardwood. The tree these are on is WAY DEAD, but I'll ask Mr. Farmer
what it was when I see him on Sunday.

Recipes and storage tips to follow...

Life's good. Bb.

Abundance

2011-06-01T08:47:00.004-04:00

Spring has suddenly morphed into summer, as it seems to do every Memorial Day. With the torrential rains, tornadoes, subsequent sunlight and heat has come the inevitable greening of Pennsylvania.

Trimming the Garden: Feverfew, Lemon Balm, Spearmint, Sage, Kale, Spinach, Lettuce, Strawberries...
and a Few Weeds.

I'll discuss my vegetable garden in a later post, as I'm way behind on taking the appropriate pictures. What I want to discuss today is the natural bounty I've experienced so far this spring. Wild harvests have been possible for months already, with the first garlic mustard, ramps, morels, dryads' saddles, watercress, nettle, etc. On Sunday afternoon, as I was waiting for the shuttle to arrive for our post-paddle trip home (we had a wonderful 17 mile paddle trip on the Pine Creek, near Williamsport, with a most-excellent group of new friends), I spent a few endorphin fueled moments gazing at the "weed" bank by the water. It occurred to me that I could actually create a fairly decent meal from the abundant plants growing there. There was stinging nettle (par-boiled and sauteed, a better-than-spinach green), burdock (the root is a prized vegetable in Asian cultures, though I've personally never tried it because it's a huge taproot, a long, deep dig...and I'm lazy), garlic mustard (spicy greens and root), upland cress (peppery), and some wild carrot. We need never go hungry in the summer, if we know what we're looking at.

Feverfew

Back at home, the herb garden in my tiny back yard is in full swing. I harvested the comfrey because it was threatening to move into the kitchen, and I've begun harvesting the feverfew flowers. The valerian is about to burst into bloom, and the tansy and pennyroyal are looking promising. I have enough mint and lemon balm for the entire block. My more traditional culinary herbs are holding their own; I've been topping the basil, parsley, rosemary and oregano for a few weeks as I need them for my cooking; the thyme is a little slower to get started, and my new chives are lagging behind. The perennial strawberries are enjoying a renaissance this year, after last year's hiatus, and the snow peas I put in after a glass of wine sometime a few weeks ago are doing surprisingly well considering their inappropriate position.

Strawberries

It's amazing to me how much you can harvest from a tiny spit of land, if you simply adjust your expectations about what a backyard should look like, and use your culinary and medicinal herbs and vegetables for greenery and flowers instead. I have more than enough for my husband and myself, on a piece of land smaller than most people's living room; of course, my more expansive vegetable garden is off-site, and I'd dearly love to have that right at hand, but I'm happy to have it, regardless.

Gratuitous Snow Peas

More pictures to follow!

P.S.: On the way home from the farm this afternoon, I saw two tiny spotted fawns. What a blessing! AND: a beautiful bloom of oyster mushrooms on the famous farmer's tree from last fall. I stopped by to ask if he was still disinterested in them (!), but he wasn't home. I sure hope no one spots them before tomorrow!

Watermelon Juice with Plum Vodka, a Watermelon Ball and a Backyard Mint Sprig.
YUM! When the Watermelon is Local, it'll REALLY Rock!

It Was the Best of Times...and so on.

2011-05-17T19:59:00.002-04:00

Soooo...after a reasonably uncomfortable union meeting (I won't go into details as per my personal rules), I was enroute to the local fresh market for some fresh protein and a much needed adult beverage (next door to the fresh market), when I spied a police car in my rear view mirror. Lights ablaze. For me. ME???? I pulled over, no idea of what was going on; it was about 4:20 PM, on my way home from a day of gainful employment, finally in the clear of the gazillion things I've been juggling in my head, and BAMMMMM...it's the MAN.

Long story short, I spaced out on my registration and inspection. Now, a few years ago, I used to receive registration renewal notices in the mail. I counted on them to remind me to prepare for the whole process. They don't come anymore for some reason. That was the first strike. On April 27th, just THREE DAYS BEFORE MY INSPECTION RAN OUT, my brakes started grinding, and I had them replaced. At my dealer. Who charged me big bucks. $650 of them. Do you THINK they'd mention the soon to be due inspection? JUST MAYBE? That's strike 2. Strike 3 is my own complacency. I've been contemplating the meaning of life and stuff. Planting a garden. Milking goats. Teaching kids (both human and goat). Making and matting house tour drawings. Writing papers. Taking care of maternal visits. Working full time. Something had to give. Sheesh. I even forgot to RSVP to an impromptu dinner invitation until the night-of. Sorry El, once again, and I hope you call me back one day when the dust settles. I'm overloaded. Expensively overloaded.

In his defense, the officer could have been MUCH more vindictive. He was kind, and professional, and I could have owed much more. But still...it was a pricey lesson. So what will I do next year? Well, the cell phone is now programmed to go off weekly starting April 1, reminding me to deal with it. My husband's is too. And any other bells and whistles I can locate will soon be employed likewise.

Of course none of the service stations are open at this hour to make an inspection appointment. So what's a girl to do?

Make aebleskiver.

What's that, you ask? Only the best alternative to gut-wrenching stomach anchoring pancakes in the history of Scandinavian cookery. Why now, you might ask? Because I picked up a cast iron aebleskiver pan at the thrift store two days ago, and am currently housebound due to my illegal truck. I'm making lemons into lemonade...or traffic fines into pastry. So to speak.

Is is an Egg Poacher? A Biscuit Pan? No, it's an Aebleskiver Maker!

I had everything I needed. The recipe is easy; I found a simple one that didn't require "stiff eggwhites" online here at my.recipes. I don't do stiff eggwhites. But I DO do aebleskivers from now on! All you need is regular pantry items, some sort of filling (I used some awesome raspberry jam, given to me by Kate, over at Living the Frugal Life.). You make the batter per the directions, spoon a little bit into the buttered concavity, let it rise a bit, spoon in a little filling, top it off with more batter, turn it with a chop stick (or other pointy object), and let it brown. Holy cow. It made those tickets seem so much less important.

There they are, filled and turned once.

Browning off the sides.

What you don't see is me, popping one in my mouth as soon as it's finished, and burning the heck out of my tongue on the jam. It was just that kind of a day. I'm not a big fan of baked goods. But I was vulnerable tonight...and oh, so willing to be self-pampered. And that was darn good jam, Kate! Thank you!

So, the moral of the story is this: If you foul up in an expensive and embarrassing way, and get confined to quarters, raid your pantry and try a new culinary experiment, preferably involving starch, butter, and fruit preserves. This is a good example. Then, you can take it camping, impress your friends, and potentially regain your self-esteem! Hey! Hopefully your truck will be registered and inspected if you do, though. You know mine will be.

Sheesh, what a day!

Sandy the Goatherd

2011-05-16T20:15:00.003-04:00

Cover Art: Heidi

You know, I've been thinking about Gene Logsdon's post, over at The Contrary Farmer, all afternoon. In it, he discusses the ~~connection communication~~ relationships between our livestock / friends and ourselves. I actually had this conversation over a glass or three of wine with friends a week or so ago. I, being ~~a little~~ quite left of center, contend that all is not as we imagine it: that it's quite possible for animals other than ourselves to experience the world through a sixth sense, and communicate psychically. I find it awfully shortsighted and speciest to imagine that everyone is equipped with the same tools we are, and that our sensory organs are the end-all measure to reality. My engineer friend, however (you know who you are!) contends that animals simply pick up our non-verbal clues, and are much better than we are at understanding body language. I'm not quite so stuck on empirical data; I believe there's more. That's just me.

The Day Fairly Was Born

Today, after teaching, I arrived at the farm to find that all of the yearling goats had escaped their pen and were busy grazing with the milkers. The kids did it last week; this week, the yearlings decided to jump ship. Just like that. This could have been an issue, had we panicked, but Kathy and the others calmly waited for me to arrive, and I separated milkers from doelings by opening a gate and inviting the "mommas" in. I said, "Come on, Mommas". The yearlings, appropriately waited outside. Then I opened the outer gate, and asked them to follow me. My favorite phrase for the 18 young does has always been "hurry, hurry!" when I brought them in from the fields, so I said, "Come on, kids! Hurry, Hurry!" They'd follow me anywhere. And they very sweetly followed me back up to the stall area, where I directed them into a waiting area. Was it my body language? Why didn't they follow anyone else? Do they know I expect it of them? Did they expect food? Maybe...all I know is that I know the ways of these goats; and they know the ways of this human.

Sleepy Kids After Last Week's Mutiny

When I was a little girl, one of my favorite books was "Heidi". Maybe it was because my mother is German, and she delighted in the story. Maybe it was the way I could see the story as it unfolded before me. But MAYBE (and by this I mean probably) it was because I loved Peter the Goatherd. I wasn't IN love with Peter the Goatherd. I was too young for that. I wanted to BE Peter the Goatherd. It's true. So now, I have a husband named Peter. But I'm the goatherd. Go figure.

Peter the Goatherd and Frankie the Goat

Gene Logsdon wrote about the interpersonal interactions between himself and his animals: the treats, the scratching, the conversations. He wrote that on a small scale, a small farm, your animals "almost" become friends and interacting with them isn't work, but visiting. I feel more like that in the summer, when I'm not so rushed; but I do understand the emotion, and I do feel the affection these animals bestow upon me. I know their moods, and their temperaments, and those blessed moments when they welcome you into their world are indescribably magical. There's nothing empirical about it. There are times when we connect on a purely emotional level. Just ask any goatherd. Or any lover of animals. They'll tell you the same.

Fauni Dell Attends Her First Opening

2011-05-07T21:06:00.001-04:00

I know I don't usually blog about my school functions, but I'm going to bend my rules just a bit today. Today was the opening of our annual school art show, which is a community and school event held at a local historical site, the Heller Homestead. I've drawn the homestead; my notecards serve as a fundraiser for framing our students' work. If I can locate a scan of the art, I'll insert it later.

There were several other events going on today; there was a craft show, a flower/plant sale, food, and a Civil War encampment. I thought that a little goatie girl would be a perfectly fine addition to the hoo-ha, so I bundled her into the S-10, and away we went.

Fauni and a Friend

Miss Fauni Dell was a debutante. Everyone loved her, from the moment we arrived. Students were happy to hold her, and she climbed on several of them. One little boy said he just LOVED goats (I know how he feels!). Several adults shared stories, and spent time stroking her. Between grass sampling sessions and snuzzles, Miss Fauni Dell sat calmly in my lap and chewed her little baby cud happily, ever the lady. We even found a woman who had a little herd who came from Fauni's parents' herd! Small world! Cousins!

The local digital press was there. If we become overnight sensations, I'll update; but if not, all I can say is that today, I "let my freak flag fly" so to speak. And it made me so happy.

:::::::::::::NEWS FLASH:::::::::::

Fauni Dell Made the News! Hellertown Patch: Read All
About It!

I'm not a fancy dresser; I don't use makeup, or wear heels, or color my hair. I don't care if you do...I just don't understand why people do it, so I don't. My colleagues do. I'm an island. I'm OK with that.

I let the guilt go today, and dressed my way, and brought my goat. I feel whole. Good day. I'll sleep soundly tonight.

Spring Dinner!

2011-05-01T21:51:00.000-04:00

Although I spent the majority of the day writing (with a brief goaty interlude and a quick morel run), our dinner tonight was appropriate for today's earthy holiday! May Day, aka Beltane, a traditional celebration of spring is my favorite time of year!

Breaded morels and dryad's saddles, roasted asparagus with Parmesan/Romano cheese, and home fried sweet potato chips with mineral salt. Local onion-horseradish sauce for dipping. And fresh goat milk. Yum!

Unfortunately, I'm all out of words today, and almost out of eyes as well, so I'll just leave you with this thought: we are blessed by our tenure on this planet; we have a sacred responsibility to know that, and to respond respectfully. We are stewards. We need to remember that.

Dryad's Saddles

2011-04-30T22:16:00.003-04:00

Are pretty good utility mushrooms. And plentiful...just when we're searching for morels (the Holy Grail of culinary mushrooms). According to the many bits of research I've uncovered, these polypores which grow on wood, were imagined to be saddles for the wood-sprites. If you find young ones, you'll see why. Or, in my case, great big COMFY ones, like those shown below.

I first noticed these ubiquitous mushrooms last spring when searching for morels with my good friends Stephanie and Mike. The one I brought home last year was past prime, but gave me a taste (literally) of what they had to offer.

During my walk yesterday, I found scads of them, from tiny buds to HUGE specimens, like this (a generous "saddle" indeed!):

That's Mike. Outdoorsman-extraordinaire.

DISCLAIMER: Always be absolutely sure before you eat ANY mushroom. Check. Check again. And again. If in doubt, throw it out. Don't rely on me to clear them for you.

And that's the bottom Dryad's Saddle of the two Mike was posing with. Looks more like a tractor seat to me! Note: don't bother harvesting if they're this large. My mistake.

Though I did harvest this large mushroom, I was only able to use the outside 3" of it. Those below, also large, were equally disappointing. They're simply too tough when they're large.

Here are some little sweethearts! Small and fresh.

Bottom View

When they're small and tender, Dryad's saddles are good utility mushrooms. I follow Steve Brill's (literal) rule of thumb: If you can dig into the flesh with your thumbnail, it's good to harvest. I also follow his method of preparation. I marinated mine for 24 hours, and had a lovely dinner tonight. Thanks, Steve!

Mikey with morels.

Semi-foraged Dinner: Nettle, Shrimp (!) and Ramp Frittata with Goat-Milk and Farm Egg Custard

2011-04-29T21:01:00.001-04:00

A Keeper

So, you already have most of the ingredients, but here's the official list:

Bacon (browned)

       Start with the bacon. I used about 1/6 of a pound, cut in 1"chunks. Fry it up, pull out the bacon, reserve the fat. Saute the following in the bacon fat:
Nettles (blanched then sauteed in bacon fat)
Shrimp (~1/2 cup sauteed in bacon fat)
Ramps (small amount, sauteed, et al)
Sweet Peppers (small amount, sauteed, et al)

        When all is tender, transfer to a colander and press out the liquid. Transfer the mixture to a well-buttered glass pie pan, then add the mixture that follows:

Eggs (2-3)
Goat Milk, 1 cup (or cow milk, if that's the way you roll!)
      Beat these together, and set aside.

Cheese (I used a rather salty farmer's cheese sparingly, and a Lancaster cheddar), approx. 1 cup, to taste.
seasoning (I used pepper only, because the cheese was salty and I wanted to taste the veggies.): Sprinkle evenly over the shrimp/veggie mix, then soak with the egg and milk mixture.

Bake at 350 for ~ 45 minutes, or until the custard is firm and rises. Remove from oven and let set for 15 minutes before cutting.

As my students would type: OMG!

As I would type: YUM!

Try It!

Two-WordsThursday: Morels!

2011-04-28T21:36:00.000-04:00

YUM!

The Lower 40....(feet)

2011-04-25T12:36:00.003-04:00

I am an Urban Homesteader. Here's the urban part: my yard.

In your mind, splice these together. That's my yard.

And then the shared side yard:

No, that's not snow: it's Bradley Pear blossoms, imitating snow!
And Pierre off on an adventure.

Yes, it's small...but mighty. Here's what I have planted.

Clockwise from where I'm now sitting at the picnic table, starting with the porch container: sage, thyme, rosemary. oregano, tomato starts, broccoli start, lavendar, cherry tomatoes, spinach, passion flower, comfrey, tansy, basil, mesclun lettuce, red tipped lettuce, radishes, lemon grass, kale, heirloom yellow pear tomatoes, chrysanthemums, chamomile, hosta, ferns, lemon balm, cleavers, red cap mushrooms, shiitake mushrooms, maiitake mushrooms, oyster mushrooms, reishi mushrooms, horseradish, collard greens, sweet peas, loofah vine, garlic, parsley, tarragon, more herbs already mentioned, turban squash, butternut squash, pattypan squash, strawberries, rhubarb, sweet woodruff, feverfew, spearmint, more kale, moon flower, Jerusalem artichokes, possibly elderberry (don't know if they made it), clematis, peppermint, more strawberries, 3 cans of potatoes, wisteria, pennyroyal, chocolate mint, Clio dandelion, purslane, pineapple mint, ginger mint, chives, lemon thyme, buttercrunch lettuce, small pie pumpkins, (we're heading down the narrows now) more redcap mushrooms, asparagus, upland cress, beebalm, butterfly bush...and I'm sure I forgot some. The three trees are ornamental, but they attract birds, who eat the bugs, and provide shade in the summer, so I'll keep them. I've removed a few that were crowding these. I do miss the two paper birch trees we had in the back; the Japanese beetles got them in their entirety a few years ago, and they died, so they had to be removed.

Herbs and Compost Bucket on my Grill-prep Island

Feverfew Run Amok..Mint, Kale, Moon Flower, Jerusalem Artichokes
Trumpet Vine, Clematis

Potatoes and Clio Bed

Aromatic Mints and Medicinal Herbs

The Container Garden

Mushroom Logs, Redcap Bed, Horseradish and Butternut Squash, Culinary Herbs at Base

The View from the Alley

Frankie and Pierre

I just wish we could bring the kids home. But we can't. And that's what puts the ban in urban. Unless you're really sneaky, and they're really small. And it's too cold in the barn for the babies ;)

The Herd, a Month or So Ago. Time Flies.

And that's all she wrote.

Watercress

2011-04-23T08:41:00.002-04:00

No, it's not just a topping for crustless toast, served at highbrow teas. Watercress is a fresh, wild vegetable that makes a hearty addition to a foraged spring meal.

Swamps = Fountains of Life

Spring-Fed Goodness

The Cress

When I was a little girl, my father used to come to the stream opposite this little swamp to catch minnows. I remember how he'd set up his big kick net, then send me upstream to chase them down to him. I've been visiting this spring-fed swamp for almost 50 years.

At one point, in my early childhood, someone kept a fenced area on the hill above it, where they held some white deer. Those deer are long gone, but the spring remains.

In the green run-off, the watercress faithfully grows wild every spring. Someone kindly brings palettes for the pickers, and lays them out strategically.

I gather a few bags each time I visit. It rapidly replenishes itself if you just twist off the top few inches.

Rinsing the cress

My friend David tells the story of enjoying his first watercress salad of the season, only to find a snail attached, so I make sure to give the watercress a good rinse before storing. Those of us who forage our wild foods know that we share them with all sorts of living creatures. I try not to eat those critters in the process.

My first watercress meal of the season will be a potato, ramp and watercress soup, made with organic chicken broth and raw milk, and garnished with local bacon. I'd call that a hearty spring meal!

-----------------------

UPDATE*****

Cream of Potato, Ramp and Watercress Soup.

Oh, Yeah!

4 cups of chopped ramps

4 cups of cubed red potatoes

4 slices of bacon

4 cups of chopped watercress

4 cups chicken stock

1 cup of heavy cream

salt

yogurt

In a Dutch Oven, cook the bacon intil crisp. Remove it and hold until later. Add potatoes, ramps and cress to the pot, then saute until the greens are cooked. Add the chicken broth, and simmer until the potatoes are soft. (I used a stick blender at this point to make the pieces smaller). Reduce temperature and add cream, them heat through. Season with salt, as needed. Pour into bowls, and garnish with bacon and yogurt. Yummmmmmmmmm. Welcome spring.

Ramps

2011-04-23T08:10:00.001-04:00

The Stream

This is the day I wait for all year: my first ramp-hunt. Now, I happen to have a tried-and-true, secret spot that I return to each year, but if you're looking for one of your own, try forested stream banks. They seem to like a mixture of sandy soil and dark soil, but they definately like moisture.

A Ramp Riot

What's a ramp, you ask? It's a wild growing allium, which you must recognize as a member of the onion or garlic family. Also known as wild leeks, ramps offer a powerful blend of both the onion and garlic flavors. A little goes a long way, so only pick what you'll use. They can be chopped and frozen, or pickled (though I haven't tried this). Best of all, ramps are one of the first wild vegetables available in the spring, and the entire plant is usable.

They look like Lily of the Valley. DO NOT EAT LILY OF THE VALLEY!

When you begin to dig your ramps, you should notice that distinctive garlic-onion smell immediately. I use a narrow gardening trowel to insert under the root, and lift it, as I use both the root and the leaf. Smell those ramps; there's no mistaking them!

Skunk Cabbage is Often Present at Ramp Sites

Turkey-Tail

Nature provides us with such beauty. I'd wear this fungus like jewelry. But I digress.

Ramps in a Basket

Take your ramps home, and give them a good bath to soak the remaining soil from their roots.

Each ramp root is covered with a thin membrane. Simply push it forward...

To reveal your clean white ramp root. Then snip it off. A ramp bris.

That's all the preparation your ramps will need, initially.

Final Bath

When the ramps are all trimmed, give them a final rinse, then put them in a plastic bag or covered dish in the fridge. When you've had enough fresh-ramp dining, chop the rest, and freeze in small portions for use over the winter. There's nothing like the taste of ramps in the winter to remind you of spring! They really liven up your winter root dishes!

Wash Water

Save all that rinse water for your garden. The remaining soil can't hurt! And since there's no soap or oil, it's perfectly fine for watering your cultivated veggies.

Enjoy!

Pass-over the Bucklings

2011-04-20T14:50:00.002-04:00

Dear God, Goddess, Powers-That-Be,

Please

Bless the bucklings.

Accept our thanks for your little bucks, and

For the contributions they’ll make to the lives of others.

Please,

Let them find comfort and compassion

Gentleness and release from fear

As they fulfill the destinies you have set for them.

We commend them into your hands and heart.

Amen.

Sidenote

2011-04-19T09:47:00.001-04:00

As some of you know, I refrain from blogging about my teaching experiences. I've been having lots of them lately; mostly good, some not so good (due to the tension caused by budget cuts). Right now, the good outweigh the stressful, so I'm living on that, day-to-day. Just understand: if I'm not writing, I'm wrapped up in either my teaching, or my grad class ( "Intro. to Research", which has been awesome, by the way!). I expect my schedule to ease up shortly. I'll be back!

Nettles: My First Forage of the Spring

2011-04-12T16:51:00.000-04:00

The Nettles

The nettles I know live near a stream, on a low-lying flood plain. I've known other nettles in the past, which also lived near water. This may be because they like the moist land; or, it may be because that's where I walk and get nosy about the indigenous plants. At any rate, if you're not careful, you'll never forget where they meet you the first time. They can sting! They have tiny little hypodermic hairs that deliver a nice dose of an irritant that will make you remember! There are a few ways to deal with the burn: you can enjoy it (if you're a masochist), you can enjoy the relief from arthritis (if you have it and the pain distracts you), you can apply some dock, plantain or jewelweed (if you know what they look like), or you can cry and never go near it again. I do NOT recommend the last option, because once tamed, nettles are a healthy and delicious addition to a forager's diet.
Once you've identified them, wear gloves to gather them in the field. I wore a glove on one hand and held my scissor in the other, and that worked well for me. If your nettles are plentiful, just snip off the top section of the plant (4 leaves and stem) for the most tender dinner.

Nettles Soaking

Wear rubber gloves to wash your nettles. Transfer them to a pot of rapidly boiling, salted water to blanch them (for about 2 - 3 minutes), then plunge them into ice water to stop the cooking. That'll take care of those stingers! At this point, you can spin or towel them dry, and freeze them for later, or go on to prepare them like any other cooked green.

Chopped Nettles

My original plan was to make some nettle noodles, but I ran out of time, so I decided to saute them with a few other greens I had on hand. First, dandelion (I weeded the garden that day).

My Favorite Spring Plant: Dandelion

Dandelion Root: I Chop It, and Dry It for Tea

The Emerging Meal

I added a handful of chopped kale to the nettle and dandelion mix, and sauteed it all in butter. It needed a bit of moisture, so I used a splash of organic chicken broth. There were a few leftover shrimp in the fridge, so they were tossed in, too.

The Final Dish

And then, just for the color, I added a few chopped sweet red peppers, Very festive! And very delicious! Peter and I both loved this dish. I'll make it again. I can't wait to gather some more nettles! Next stop: nettle pasta!

Making My Mark

2011-04-10T19:57:00.001-04:00

The concept of mark-making may have different meanings to some of my colleagues than others. As an artist, mark-making refers to the visual representation of our particular chosen medium; now that I think of it, that may be a very good definition for anyone considering what it means to "make their mark".

For instance, I spent a good part of my day doing research for my (ultimate) graduate thesis. That'll be a significant mark made in my life, as it will culminate one more educational life-experience and open the doors to others. My particular research is focused upon the place a member of my extended family holds in history, so it has particular meaning to me; I feel the importance of doing this research and writing correctly. Research and writing are my medium of choice in this instance.

Of course, teaching is a long-term process of mark-making; we teachers have the opportunity to affect so many lives! Though I don't comment upon my teaching profession in this blog, it's very important to me, and the impact I have on the kids who need me gives me a feeling of great worth (right next to a feeling of great humility). Though our government apparently doesn't share my sentiments, my intrinsic understanding of the impact one teacher can have on the life of a student at the right time, and under the right circumstances is obvious to me. I lived it myself, both as a student, and as a teacher. In that case, my media are pedagogy, artistic knowledge, and compassion.

What I do share with you is my garden: another place where I can coax my little seeds to grow. It's springtime, and yesterday was the first solidly sunny and warm Saturday we've had this year. My media are soil, labor, tools and seeds, and the mark I make will feed us throughout the coming seasons, and will provide a source of inspiration and thoughtfulness to me throughout the year.

A Blank Canvas

Like any work of art, we begin with a blank canvas. We can control the quality of our canvas, and the craftsmanship we use, but there is always a beginning, a middle, and an end. This wheel-barrel received a generous helping of well-composted horse manure this year. A good canvas for the kale that will grow there soon.

Planning Ahead: Asparagus

This tiny asparagus shoot is the result of the planting I did last year. As a second-year sprout, it's thin and small. Each year will add girth and fecundity. Some projects take longer than others, but they're usually worth the wait. There's nothing quite as good as asparagus.

Redcap Bed

Another bed that will take some patience is the ~~hosta~~ redcap bed I started this spring. If I planned it correctly, I should have a harvest by fall. As a lover of all things mushroomy, I have high hopes for this culinary masterpiece. My work here is mostly done; the shade provided by the ornamental pear trees and hostas should allow the little fungi to do their thing. I have such a tiny garden at home; the shade and ornamental shade-loving plants weren't pulling their weight.

The End of an Era

The whiskey barrel you see behind the plastic planter, has literally disintegrated. It is currently the home of several garlic bulbs that I planted last fall, and as such will limp along until they're harvested. In the meantime, both it and the new planter have been sewn with spinach, an early season crop. When both the garlic and spinach are harvested, the whiskey barrel will also be harvested, and its soil used elsewhere. This year's cherry tomatoes, a back-door favorite, will live in the new planter, complete with new, composted soil. I expect a great harvest, based upon the harvest enjoyed by my friend Stephanie (who gave me the compost!). The lavender plants, in the small pots beside it, are already showing signs of life.

Horseradish

One of my three remaining barrels is home to this year's horseradish shoots, which I'll be excited to watch grow. I expect to companion plant some collards or chard with them as well, as this is a shady space. The base of the barrel (and those next to it) have become my outdoor culinary herb area. I started some thyme, parsley and sage today. The rosemary is still indoors. My medicinal herbs are primarily perennial; the various mints grow enthusiastically wherever I start them; the others (too many to name) are tucked in among the vegetables and trees.

Mint: A Fragrant Opportunist

Herbs are naturally enthusiastic. I love that about them. They're the street-kids of the plant world, and manage to thrive where they land. I've placed several varieties right next to my picnic table, so I can enjoy them when I have my infrequent moments of repose in the yard. Speaking of repose:

The Captain's Chair

And I'm the captain. The third barrel is to the left, rear of my vintage lawn chair (salvaged from a curbside on trash day a few years ago). Strawberries grow around the barrel's base. The white lattice behind it still supports an ornamental vine that hides my "lower 40"...a narrow alley between the hedge and the shed, where my scraps go. There are two hostas that are sprouting behind the chair, and to the right of it, a clump of feverfew is getting a good start. You can't see it, but it's flanked by lemon balm and spearmint. And there's a rhubarb plant somewhere in there.

My husband constructed the planter from an old door two years ago, and after several false starts, I finally got a trumpet vine started in the right corner of it. I have a few Jerusalem artichokes planted there (if the squirrels didn't get them), and some elderberries from last year. Yes, I know they'll be big. It's an experiment. Though you can barely see it, there's an antique bell above the bed: a nod to my in-laws, who had it at their home in Oyster Bay, and used it to call Peter and his sister in from the woods. What a life!

Stinging Nettle

There are those plants which shouldn't be cultivated in close spaces; one shouldn't attempt to raise a mustang or a tiger in the city. So, in honor of those wild things that defy my intensive attempts at an urban masterpiece, I've included my new culinary addition for the spring: stinging nettle. She grows nearby, and waits for me there. I've decided to let her roam free; I'll come to her. The story of our first cooking experience (I've dried her for tea) will follow shortly.

Spring commences; our most creative time. We plant the seeds for a prosperous tomorrow, and if we're wise, we enjoy the work as much as the harvest. We observe the growth, and it makes us smile...and hope. Like a painting; like a student; like a garden. Welcome, spring!

Faith's Kids

Welcome Spring

2011-04-06T20:56:00.000-04:00

The soil calls me each year in mid winter. I can almost smell the earthy loam of fresh turned soil during those dark, cold months; the desire to hold handfuls of rich, promising soil becomes a hunger in me, a winter longing for sun, and rain, and heat. I ache for the springtime. I ache for the miracle of life.

Every February, I try my hardest to ignore the desire to plant. I put it off. I read about new varieties when the inevitable catalogs arrive, and I try to postpone buying the promised jewel-tone-illustrated seeds. I count my leftover seeds from the year before. I remind myself of the riot of gangly plants that clambered up my windows, long before it was warm enough to harden them off the year before. I set aside the early-birds: the peas and cabbages, broccoli and onions. I use what I have saved in the freezer, making room for this year’s crops. I make winter comfort foods; lacto-fermented, rooty, cheesy. My mouth waters for spinach and asparagus. I eat the stored fruits of our last season.

And one day, I cave in. I plant a few seeds…then a few more. And I celebrate their germination like I would celebrate a pregnancy…new life, new hope! I watch the seedlings grow, planning my garden, anticipating those coming months of light and growth. I begin to find tiny plantlings pushing aside the leaf-mat in my garden. I clean up the yard, and make a few changes.

The spring kids arrive over a period of about 3 weeks, and my little plants grow into big plants. I set out the pea seeds, and find the feverfew and sweet woodruff. The horseradish sets up little tails fit their name. Overwintered garlic greens poke up, bright spring green among the wet black leaves. I set out the scallion seedlings, safe with bird netting to war off the hungry squirrels. I hope they’ll be warm enough; if the garlic is a sign of oniony spring, they will be.

The tomato plants overrun my sunroom, so I choose those I’ll keep for the summer, and bring the rest to school for the teachers. They’re hungry for spring too, and the plants are claimed in moments. The donations they give will benefit a needy student. These tomatoes will give twice this year.

Dandelion is waiting to be harvested; my comfrey has returned, and the soothing mullein is showing its downy-green lamb ears. Tonight, and all future nights from now until October or November will have temperatures above freezing. Once again, we’ll travel together from seed to table; the earth will yield up her magic; the scents of spring are calling me to the woods and pastures, where her miracles are growing. We are blessed. We have been waiting.

Our Last Week at Home

2011-03-27T19:50:00.001-04:00

Fauni, Exploring Crafts-Making Materials

Cleaning Up

Fairly Snoozing in Maaam's Hand

Snuzzling

Checking the Mail

Bliss

Once Inside...

2011-03-15T21:39:00.003-04:00

This Tool Saves Lives!

        Continued from "Old Dog...":

        When I arrived, Peter had a warm bottle of milk waiting, and a heating pad all ready to go. Our frigid little kid was still unresponsive, so I laid her in with our Nubians while I loaded up the syringe and got myself settled. With a heating pad and towel on my lap, I tremulously tubed our kid and hoped for the best. Peter slowly pushed in 60 mL of warm milk, and we removed the tube...and waited. Nothing. Her head lolled to the side, eyes open, but her heart was beating strongly, and she was breathing evenly.  We had done what we could.

       The next thing to do was to warm her up. Her little feet were still as cold as ice, so I tucked them up under her, and held her limp little body to my chest, with the heating pad as a blanket. When I got too warm, I removed it, and used a sheep skin instead. After about a half hour, she felt warmer, so I tucked her up with our "herd" (the remaining two Nubian doelings and a premature Togg), who all snuggled in close, to keep her warm. Instinct is a wonderful thing. I let them rest together; after an hour or so, I checked her rear hooves, and found them warm to the touch. I tubed another 30 mL into her little tummy, fed the three tiny girls, then replaced  them all in the pen for goaty comfort. A few quiet hours went by.

Little Goaties Warming Up a New Friend

      She gazed off into a world no one else could see, while she waited for that milk to enliven her. Her limp body lay on its side, and her open eyes were unresponsive, unfocused. When I lifted her head, it fell listlessly to the play-pen's floor. I have never seen a goat so weak; even the little baby we lost a week ago had better responses than this one, right up until the end. I prayed my goaty prayers, then fed her a bit more milk before bed, just before midnight. I tucked her in with the herd...and though I hoped for the best, I feared the worst.

At 2:30 AM, I woke to the alarm, and stumbled downstairs, scared of what I might find. Much to my surprise, she was sitting up when I looked in on her, not laying listlessly on her side like the night before. I warmed her milk-replacer, and tried to get her to suck my finger; she fell over, so I tubed her and gave her 40 mL, a nice in-between number, I tucked her up with the little ones, and went back to bed. It was so hard to sleep.

    6:00 AM: The alarm goes off, and I listen: no sounds. I showered and dressed before going downstairs; I was afraid of what I'd find. Peter woke more slowly, so I crept downstairs alone.

    Little ears...a fuzzy nose, and there she was, sitting up, alert; I peeked in and smiled; baby-style, she oogled up at me, head bobbing. I crept away, happy. She made it through the night...alert, whole, blossoming. I tip-toed upstairs to Peter, and we hugged and smiled.

Fluffy and Fairly

An hour later, during my first class, Peter emailed me a picture of her, frolicking on the floor with the rest of the "herd"; all four in infant-sized pampers, all four frisky and jolly. He called her "Fluffy". He told me she had taken a bottle right away; all she needed was the strength, and that's what we had given her during the night: some heat, some nourishment, some goaty warmth. She fell asleep on the first step to the second floor, after playing tag with her new friends.

We are blessed by being allowed to share in the lives of our animals; we benefit by knowing them, by helping them, and by coming closer to our source through them. This little kid will make it; balance to the one we lost. And once again, life perseveres.

The Old Dog, the New Kid, and the Long Drive Home

2011-03-15T10:59:00.001-04:00

Well, apparently you CAN teach an old dog a few new tricks.

The Nubian doelings (Faun and Fiona), though small, are doing well. Their appetite is beginning to become more vigorous, an important part of barn life. As it's been since moments after their birth, their brother, Frankie is leading the little Nubian herd in terms of vitality. His loud, insistent cries cannot be ignored at feeding time, just like his mama Faith's. Nubians do have distinctive voices!

Last night, when I arrived at the barn after school, little Frank bounced over to greet me, yelling all the way to the stall gate. He screamed for dinner while I milked Faith, screamed while I got hay, and then drank an entire 16 oz. bottle of his mama's milk. And I still heard screaming, which sounded just like him; therein lies the REAL story for today.

Nubian voices are piercing; the little voice I heard was equally piercing, so I followed it to its source: a fairly large Toggenberg kid was under the manger, apparently unable to extract itself. I pulled her out, and set her under her dam to nurse...and she fell over. He rear legs were immobile and cold, stiff to the touch. After trying to work them a bit, I concluded that she must have been injured in the stall somehow; those clammy, wet legs were lifeless. I bundled her in my coat, and she occasionally let out a bleat, getting weaker now; her head flopped to the side.

After showing Kathy the kid, and discussing the situation, we came to the conclusion that she must have had her back broken sometime during the day; she had been a vigorous eater just yesterday! We opted to do the humane thing, so I wrapped her in a towel, placed her on the seat of my truck, and headed for the vet; I nearly turned back once, as she had become unresponsive. I thought nature had taken its course, but a flutter of her eyes told me differently.

When I arrived at the veterinary clinic, the vet happened to be in the lobby. I told him who I was, and that we had called ahead. He asked me to put her on the floor so he could take a look. He lifted her up, and though she didn't move her legs and fell right over, her tail waggled; this was NOT a broken back! This baby had been neglected by her dam for just one day, and had come very close to death. Apparently, when malnourished, a newborn kid will have trouble maintaining its body temperature in cold weather. Our baby was slowly dying right before my eyes...but there was hope.

The doctor taught me how to use a gastric tube to feed her. I have never done this before, but when circumstances demand it, we can do nearly anything to preserve these little lives, can't we? He told me it was crucial to get her temperature back to normal, and to get warm milk into her belly. I bundled her up, got into my truck, and headed out.

I knew that everyone at the farm thought she was a goner, and I was desperate to tell them otherwise, so I did what I know is wrong to do: I used my cell phone while I was driving. I had a starving, hypothermic kid beside me, the means of saving her, and no time to spare. I thought it was warranted. Apparently the police officer who saw me try to make that call thought otherwise; luckily, he was in an exit lane at the time, but he did cut through a parking lot to tail me...and tail me he did, for the next 8 miles; he was wily; he exited and reentered on a second short ramp, then paced himself just behind me...but I saw him back there and behaved myself. With one hand on the kid, and my eye on my rear view mirror, I quit trying to call the farm and headed for home (just under the speed limit!), where I knew I had the time and supplies I needed. I ditched the officer about a mile before I arrived, and blew into the house, kid-in-coat, to begin working on her.

.....to be continued... (photos to follow)

Kiddles

2011-03-12T07:53:00.000-05:00

Fiona and Frankie

Happy News!

2011-03-10T09:39:00.005-05:00

I'm a Grammy again! Well, sort of. My goatie girl, Faith, delivered triplets last night. I'll spare you the labor shots. Here are a few shots of the little darlings.

Little Fiona, brand new and slippery.

I got the call from the farm at about 6:30 PM. I'm fighting a stomach virus, so I had to get dressed before we could hurry to the farm. When we arrived, this little girl had already arrived. Faith's #1 baby this year: Fiona. Shortly after we arrived, Faith began to deliver #2, who was presenting exactly like the little white doeling we lost last year: head turned back, to the side. You see, kids are normally born like little divers: you see two little feet first, then a nose follows, and next thing you know, you have a wet kid in your hands. This baby wasn't cooperating; Faith couldn't pass her unassisted, so Kathy stepped in and helped. At one point I had given up on the baby and was mainly concerned with Faith, but Kathy never gave up on either of them. She pulled that little girl out with three of us holding Faith, and breathed life back into her. She was significantly smaller than the first kid, which (combined with Kathy's heroic efforts), probably saved her life. Last year's doeling wasn't so lucky, though her male twin, born after her, did survive. That's him (the surviving white twin from last year), on my blog banner. He lives with Cory (holding him) now.

#2, Faun, needed some time to revive. You'll see her later.

Fiona and her younger brother, Franklin (it's an "F" year)

As Faith was recovering from her ordeal with #2, and we were drying off and stimulating little Faun, she began to push again. We thought it must be the placenta, but after the second push, we were rewarded with a great big newborn buck. Faith looked as surprised as we were! Peter was SURE she was done, but when I caught the baby, cleared out his mouth and gave him a little breath, he let out a yell that woke the chickens. That's no placenta, baby. That's Franklin! He's a rough and tumble buckling, and will be kept on the farm as a new addition to the bloodline.

Find the triplets. Student volunteers helping warm up the new arrivals.

It was in the low 20's last night, so we took special care to bundle up the babies as they arrived.

Faun and Fiona, "sistas"

Faun gets a colostrum boost.

Little Fiona, all dry and fluffy.

All dry and beautiful.

The triplets: Faun, Fiona, and Frankie

In birth order: Fiona, Faun, and Frankie

Faun's tiny size may have saved her life.

Faith's Nubian triplet (Fiona) next to Rosie's half-Toggenberg twin (Baby Huey, in MY book...though that doesn't start with an "F")

In the same stall, just moments before Faith delivered Fiona, Rosie delivered twins. I'm not sure of Rosie's breed (Heinz 57?), but the babies look a lot like George, and he's a Togg. Look how big they are compared to our mini-princess, Fiona! And there are still so many more to come!

Farming and animal midwifery, unlike other walks of life, don't stop if you're under the weather. Life is insistent, and urgent, and you rally your forces and pitch in. You forget your own bodily concerns and save little lives; you have to. And you're rewarded in kind; it's an excellent way to live in the moment, to "Be Here Now", as Ram Dass taught us in the 70's. There is a dynamic interplay of hope, faith, and hard work...it's powerful and oh, so satisfying. He said it this way:

"The game is not about becoming somebody, it's about becoming nobody".

Being nobody is pretty awesome when the world unfolds right before your eyes. You're in it, and of it, and one with it. And it's beautiful.

Happy Birthday, babies!

Dreaming

2011-03-05T13:24:00.004-05:00

I needed to see my girls this morning. Recent events have underscored the precious tenacity of our fragile little ones; our little doeling died in her sleep last night, swaddled in sheepskin, warm and safe. She had a full tummy, and sweet dreams, and drifted off into one of them, never to return.

The girls were doing yoga when I met them, mid-morning. There's a strange calm over the barn these days. Pupils are dilated. I feel a sense of...willful rest...in the air. Does are blessing each other with velvet lips on huge, moving bellies. We're waiting for the stars to rise over the mangers , and bring us our newborn spring.

I cannot mourn a life unlived; I can only send my hopes to the still-struggling babies and mothers. There's a plan to it all; we're all caught in the balance. We can mourn our hopes for that lost life; nothing more.

I decided to spend an hour with my new seedlings upstairs, and as I separated the weak from the strong, and cast aside the broken stems and weak roots, I understood more deeply that we're all part of the energy that surrounds us, and a fragile life lost (any life) will express itself in another way. Energy is eternal. I've understood this for some time, but nursing a six pound kid in your arms at 1 AM in the morning, and watching her nostrils dilate and eyes flutter in milk-bliss brings vivid memories of my own child; those instincts are too strong for my rational spirituality. My love for my child, now grown, is deeper than my love for myself; some of you understand.

Each baby is a promise of a future; some futures are returned to the source, to try again. Life (large "L") is blessed...and goes on...regardless.

Sweet dreams, baby Frieda.

March Third: Happy Birthday!

2011-03-03T20:20:00.002-05:00

A Toggenberg kid; mom wasn't ready...but baby is doing fine.

This baby is weak. But so beautiful.

Big sister "Frisky", sound asleep

Frieda and Frisky, Toggenbergs

Dolly's kids. We lost one of the triplets; no wonder she was huge!

Dolly's kids, up and bouncing!

Dolly cafe'

Mom

"Lambie Jammies": look them up on Mondays with Martok (on my links). They're saving our kids in this cold spell.

Bliss

Jazzie Has Milk

2011-02-25T08:58:00.006-05:00

I know, I know...to those of you who aren't as emotionally invested in the goat herd at Flint Hill Farm as I am, Jazzie's expanding udder may not be earth shattering news; however, for those of us on kid watch 2011, it means that our new kids are imminent. To illustrate that fact, I took several pictures in the barn last evening while I was feeding the girls. Here are a few:

Dolly is HUGE, as usual. For a goat with one teat, she sure makes lots of good babies.

The Three Graces

The "Other" Three Graces, on the left, by Botticelli

Wide loads: Dolly and Doe

The Arnolfini Wedding, by Jan van Eyck

I took a few shots of Jazzie and her gang of Queens, but they weren't properly focused. I'll catch up with them later.

Andy Warhol's Queen painting

Queen Dolly

On the other hand, our bovine sisters are enjoying a little mid-lactation cycle peace and plenty. Here's a clip of Buttercup, performing her afternoon lip-massage. I hope you find it as humorous as I do! Happy Friday!

Memories of Last Summer. Now THAT'S a rack!

Urban Homesteading and Springtime Stress

2011-02-21T19:45:00.001-05:00

I live in a small city in Southeastern Pennsylvania. If you've read my blog before, you know a few things about me: I'm an art teacher (which I won't write about...YET...); I'm a goatherd, which I write about frequently; I'm a gardener and a locavore, and I love to cook. I'm also a budding researcher, with growing plans for my post-public education career. I illustrate the house tour booklet for the Easton Historical House tour most years (except last year, when I had hand surgery).

What does this all mean, in late February, 2011? It means the pace is picking up, despite the snow on the ground.

I'm committed to my locavore habits. This means I need to begin to plan my garden (located on the farm where I volunteer, and serve on the board) with a mind toward our food needs for the following year.

I have a huge stockpile of canned goods from last season, which we've made a good dent in, but still remains.

I need to analyze our consumption and plan my garden accordingly. Having just attended the annual Pennsylvania PASA conference, I have lots of ideas for the garden. That means a trip to tractor supply. And some time spent with seed catalogs. And a meeting with the owner of the farm and the garden coordinator to figure out what labor will be needed to get the garden going this year.

Meanwhile, I'm taking a research course. I'm learning the language of research, the methodology, terminology, and processes involved in scholarly writing. I'm reading and writing. A LOT. And I'm trying to apply what I learn to my next plan, which is to research my husband's father's artistic heritage (there is a connection to a significant European sculptor; the emigration and movement into the 20th century is interesting, and the work is undocumented. I'm convinced it's significant.)

The goats are nearly bursting at the seams. Kidding season is scheduled to commence on or around March 1. We need a new milking parlor, as the 18 goats we milked last season nearly killed us with the old fence system, and there will be 10 more this year.

It's late February. The games will soon begin. In the mean time, I'm on kid watch, as an experienced kid midwife.

I'm illustrating the Easton House tour again this year. In one month, I will produce 8 drawings, which will take 7-8 hours each. I will also teach full time, deliver goat kids, read and write for a challenging grad class, plan a garden, feed a family, and call my 83 year old mother at 9 AM every morning to make sure she's ok. I will plan and eat low carb meals to improve my health. I will occasionally drink wine so I can sleep, because I get wound too tight under stress. And because I like wine. I also take passionflower extract (I grow the passionflower). I drink elderberry tincture. I drink home-gathered herbal teas. I collect wild mushrooms. I eat weeds.

Oh, and did I mention that my husband is unemployed? And my school district, like every other district in the United States, is trying to save money? And I teach art? For 23 years now?

So there you have it; I want to live right, and wholesomely. I want to do the things we need to do in order to plan for the future, and be prepared for the oil crash when it occurs. All I know, is that I'm doing the best I can right now, and have a positive attitude. I don't have the money or time to make significant changes this month, or maybe even this year, but I'm willing...and able...to adjust, should they come. I'm making behavioral changes. I'm learning. I'm growing. I'm looking at the future through a realistic lens.

I'm an urban homesteader.

I know there's a little cabin in the woods waiting for me somewhere; and I have the skills to make it work. It's just a matter of time. My little goat herd is already gestating. And I know the land, and the skills to work it. It's just a matter of time.

Ladies in Waiting

2011-02-10T09:08:00.002-05:00

It's a race to the finish! Who will deliver first? Last year, it was Pebbles; she delivered both first AND 4th (with two days between deliveries!). By my estimations, and with a little luck, Miss Faith may have been in contact with her handsome buck a day or two before the rest of the herd had their trysts with Herve and George, but that doesn't mean she was an easy date. It'll be a race to the finish, but my money's on our older, more experienced girls. They always warm up to the boys first. You know what they say about older women.

Big Bellies Need Big Dinners

These 4 ladies are contenders. Jazzy (in the foreground) just LOVES Herve! And Blossom and Daisy are both as big as houses. I'm not sure if Rosie (rear, right) was one of the first "dates" or not...

Gestating; Dolly Carries Low

Dolly is always a contender. And she has some pretty kids. That's Pebbles next to her. Wide load.

Cover Girl

Gazelle (in the feed bin) is shy. She won't be first. You never know with Bambi or Claire, though. Clair is a flirt. I've seen her wag her tail at the boys. Like mother, like daughter! Bambi taught her well.

Faith is ALWAYS Svelte, Even Expecting! She's a Princess.

But I'm still hoping for Faith to be the winner. AND I'm hoping for twins this year! Keep your fingers crossed! There's no sign of spring more wonderful than new-born kids!

PASA

2011-02-04T23:12:00.000-05:00

This conference has become my new mid-winter ray of sunshine. Despite the blizzard that stranded me here last year, and despite the impending Saturday snowstorm this year, I look forward to PASA to give me hope (and ideas, energy, and a righteous indignation) for the following year.

Out keynote speaker this morning, Wes Jackson, might as well have been in a pulpit, as far as my spiritual beliefs are concerned. A beautiful blend of science, history, philosophy, poetry, biology and spirituality went into his talk on the evolution of our current state as carbon consumers, with realistically non-optimistic (but hopeful) overtones. Read the book, or buy the CD of his lecture from PASA; Jackson spoke to my understanding of life as we know it on our planet, without denial or romanticization. We were in tears when he finished. His book, Consulting the Genius of the Place like many current writings in post-modern ideology, speaks to the individual voice, the small voice, as it is expressed in the bigger picture; more on this as I continue reading.

That, my friends, seems to be the pervasive theme; we are individuals who are empowered to create change in a time of global change. And though i have much more to say on the matter, I had 5 hours of sleep last night, and did so much today...so...

stay tuned for more

PASA-bilities.

AROS#15: Earl

2011-01-25T21:10:00.002-05:00

Good blues,
And my fingers are strumming

On the steering wheel;

NPR has Chris Smithers at Godfrey’s,
playing.

I remember

Drinking wine there

Rocking along; catching his eye,
In that small, warm space,

Drunk and horny;
A lifetime ago.

As I drive through the parkway tonight,

Posh houses alight

With HD TVs and game rooms,

Leftover Christmas lights,

Driveway LEDs,

I know you are listening to the

Trout breathe; damp, green breath.

Those last, hardy spiders in your hair;

Your beard keeps your chin warm.

Toes bundled in socks

That you put on in November.

Burrowed deep,
The mice keep you company

In your free, 25th winter,

streamside.

AROS#14: Arctic Air

2011-01-24T08:41:00.000-05:00

Arctic Air

Snow so cold

it squeaks

in protest under my feet.

Dinner from the Freezer, Organic Style

2011-01-20T19:41:00.000-05:00

It's January, and after a long, hot summer, a frantic fall, and an equally frantic holiday season, we're all settling into the winter doldrums. NOT SO! Unfortunately, I don't have pictures, but we had summer for dinner tonight:

Fresh (frozen) local organic sausage roulettes, garden grown kale in a wild oyster mushroom cream sauce, oven baked sweet potatoes (Amish grown), and frozen strawberries (from the market last summer) over homemade, raw-milk ice cream. And it all took about 40 minutes, and came from my freezer and pantry. Yahoo!

I think I'm beginning to like winter!

AROS#13: Why?

2011-01-20T19:12:00.000-05:00

Research

I think in questions. Don't you? Research is natural.

Help! I'm a Hostage of Sourdough!

2011-01-16T18:17:00.001-05:00

I am being held captive by a colony of yeast. It's true: I captured them myself about a year or so ago, but I've fed them, nurtured them, kept their home clean. They've contributed to the occasional flatbread, it's true, but when I asked them to perform a slightly more difficult task (a loaf of sourdough bread), they went on strike.

The sponge

They're alive and well in there..I can tell. Here's what they looked like at noon yesterday. They bubbled away, looking mildly happy...so I waited awhile, then added some flour. And what did they do?

Not much. So I went out for the evening, and returned to see this: a little action.

OK...I took the hint. I have a slow yeast. I went to bed. By the way, my house is rather, um, cool at night. That might be an issue.

By noon today, this was the state of my sponge. OK, that's more like it!

I added some sugar, oil, and salt, and kneaded in the flour a half cup at a time, then left the dough to double in size. Here's the site I'm using for instructions and the recipe.

Do you know I used to bake bread regularly when I was a young woman? Of course, I used commercial yeast and soft white flour. There's not a bit of yeast in this sourdough except for the yeast that is natural to my home environment; this should impart a unique flavor to the bread I bake, a "terior", exactly like the "taste of place" found in fine wines from various regions. It's also a random blend of the various organic flours I had on hand, all mixed together into a batch.

I suppose good things are worth waiting for.

It wouldn't rise on the table near the heater; it wouldn't rise on top of the stove, so I put it IN the stove and occasionally turned on the heat for a minute or so. My dough was unenthusiastic, but eventually it did rise a bit, so I punched it down, then formed a loaf. That's supposed to double in size before I bake it.

I'm not holding my breath. It's 6 PM of the NEXT DAY! How did people survive on this stuff????

And more importantly,

will it be good?????

----------------

***UPDATE***

Epic Fail.

It looks harmless enough.

It even got nice and brown. Smelled good, too.

But where are the bubbles, I ask you? Where? It's like unleavened bread! Lazy darn yeast!

Well, it's not over, I tell you.

You're trying again. Starting NOW. I'm breaking out the heating pad! Big guns!

I DARE you not to rise!

You're going to do some work around here, darnit!

Just see if you don't!

AROS#12: Yeast

2011-01-16T17:35:00.002-05:00

Bread

Note to self: bread won't rise in a cold kitchen.

AROS#11: Dusk

2011-01-13T18:26:00.000-05:00

Dusk

An hour before sunset

looking west

the black-white cattle

grow golden halos,

a spiderweb.

of trees behind them

AROS# 10: Gone

2011-01-13T11:58:00.003-05:00

Gone

You both occupied your space confidently.

I still see you

In the middle of the high school stage, on my back steps,

And sitting on your rooming house bed, each time with

A guitar in your arms, brown eyes half closed;

Your full lipped smile kissed my best friend

Not me,

Though you hugs were generous.

The West swallowed you whole.

Gone at 45.

A congenital heartbreak.

And you, my friend;

Dancing in the waves,

Carving, surfing;

You were too beautiful for me.

Your long bones, elegant; held a deadly secret.

My touchstone.

My wings.

You stayed ten years longer,

And fought the good fight, a graceful loser.

You left the world a paler place.

The mermaids miss you.

Where are you now?

An ache in my chest;

A memory.

A smile.

Ashes.

I dream you both alive

And wonder.

Butternut Squash Bisque: From the Field to the Table

2011-01-12T22:36:00.002-05:00

Soup on a snow day!

Since I had an unexpected day off today, I was in the mood to cook, and since there were 6 inches of snow on the ground, to cook from food I had on hand. Winter squash proved to be just the thing! I chose a butternut squash and an acorn squash from my stash, and got to work.

These different varieties of squash have lived in my pantry since late October. Luckily, we keep the house rather cool, and they're out of the sun, along with the potatoes and onions (though that didn't keep the potatoes from sprouting eyes, as you can see from my previous post!). I either grew them or bought them from the Amish stand near my mother's home in the Kutztown area. They're all still perfectly fine; not a soft spot on any of them.

I began by peeling the butternut squash with a carrot peeler, which was simple and efficient.

Just look at that bright, moist flesh!

I didn't think there would be so much good flesh in one little squash! The recipe called for 4 cups of cubed squash; I had at least 5, so I put back the acorn squash for another day.

I've been using Amish roll butter lately, since it's fresh and local. And oh, so good! I diced a cup or so of sweet onion and a cup or so of local, organic carrots. The onions went into my Dutch oven with a tablespoon of butter to saute until soft; then I added the carrots and squash, some chicken stock (the recipe calls for vegetable stock, but I only had chicken), and seasoned it with salt, pepper, and nutmeg.

I shave my own nutmeg. It just tastes better. And the "nut" has pretty patterns inside.

It simmered for about a half hour while I took a shower and made some bread pudding. I just love stale bread! But that's a story for another day. When the vegetables were all soft, I let it cool, then pureed the whole beautiful mess in my food processor. I added a half-cup of buttermilk to the processor (fresh from the farm) instead of cream, 'cause that's the way we roll around here. I returned the rich, creamy, orange puree to the Dutch oven, then I heated it gently...not to a boil, and ladled it into two bowls. The final touch was a tablespoon of buttermilk dropped into the center of each bowl and fanned out with the tip of a knife just before serving. Voila!

Now that's a healthy, warming meal for a snowy day! Fresh from the field to my table. Thank you, Mother Nature! And thanks for the snow day today!

You can find the recipe that inspired this soup right here.

AROS#9: Spring Sleeps

2011-01-12T14:50:00.000-05:00

Sprouting Potatoes

6 inches of snow over sleeping mounds

of garlic and rhubarb; wild things

dream winter dreams.

Tiny hairs rise on new potatoes' arms.

Rescue Cats

2011-01-12T13:31:00.004-05:00

This boy, who is admittedly no longer MY cat, but my HUSBAND'S cat, was sprung from the ~~slammer~~ shelter about 4 years ago. I visited him no less that 4 times before bringing him home. What were his endearing qualities? His purr was one of them. The other was his fur. I have never seen fur like it; it's as thick as velvet where it's short, like his paws, and is two distinct lengths on his body. His gray-on-gray coat and my husband's babyhood in Haiti gave him his name: Gris-Gris (pronounced gree-gree). His belly, a loose pouch of soft flesh, is a buff color, with long, soft hair. He's beautiful.

Winter Nap

Gris is not gray in his personality, however; he's black and white, fire and ice. I have never known a moodier cat. The SPCA handlers tried to talk me out of adopting him, but his purr, which sounds like a dove call punctuated by hiccups, seduced me. Peter wasn't convinced either, but the little manipulater has won him over; every morning, after I feed the cats (first, of course!) and get myself ready for work, I return to the bedroom to find Gris in my place, purring his brains out next to my husband. Gris has a happy, forever home with us, bipolar cat or not. His adopted brother, Hobie (who is a freecycled cat) is mellow enough and large enough to take his moods in stride. Hobie, who suffers from a permanently blocked tear duct due to kittenhood infections, has no voice, so Gris speaks for him. Whenever I'm in the kitchen, I'll hear Gris' plaintive cries, and look down to see him sitting on his haunches like a dog with his front paws raised and curled downward, begging. Hobie just pantomimes his meows, and looks at me; teamwork. Who could resist? I'll tell Hobie's story another day. He's a happy teddy-bear of a cat. They're both getting fat from yummies.

Full Extension

I am committed to adopting adult cats rather than kittens; there are just so many good cats that need homes. And moody cats, like Gris-Gris, too. ;) And there's nothing like a warm cat on a cold day to make you feel all cozy inside.

Velvet Paws

AROS#8; Sandman

2011-01-11T09:24:00.001-05:00

Sandman

Who came in the night and rubbed salt in my eyes? Whoever he was, he purred...

AROS#7: Onions

2011-01-10T21:40:00.004-05:00

Onions

Onions were a luxury on my $20 a week budget. Those were days of chicken necks, flour and tea. A younger, thinner me would saute an errant onion gleaned from the late-night flea market in whatever I could, and melt in the fragrance. A carrot, a potato. More water, rice, a soup. I was hungry then. Onions make me hungry, even today.

Later gardens yielded onions. Yellow, round, sweet; I cried for my youth while frying onions, carelessly cut in the pan. 2 AM onions, fried in cheap butter and cheap wine. Me, exhausted, my baby girl asleep in her bed. I mourned my lost marriage in onion and wine tears.

Today, I fried onions. Deep in fresh butter, pulled whole from my garden in the fall, waiting through the winter for tonight's dinner. Still carelessly cut, but partnered with foraged mushrooms and field-raised chicken. I feed my new husband. My daughter is strong and full grown. I no longer cry. I share my sweet onions with my friends.

AROS #6: Snow

2011-01-10T11:56:00.001-05:00

Snow

Snow is coming. I feel it in my teeth.

Students clatter together like icicles,

and the stores sell out of milk and bread.

Silly.

I'll watch it from under a blanket

and cook soup.

AROS#5: Winter Goats

2011-01-08T22:39:00.001-05:00

Winter Goats

These goats reach forward like refugees
a lip further than the rest will gain a treat
of greens or licorice, or something wonderful.
They know it will.
They pray on dirty knees
in the warm straw, between meals and loving touches;
endless days of winter
boxcarred mothers
hungry for green spring.

AROS #4: Taking Down the Tree

2011-01-07T17:32:00.000-05:00

Taking Down the Tree

Every ornament, a memory: Iceland nestles in the plastic box, next to New Orleans, and last year's Moravian star perches on top of the vintage cardinal we found at the antique store together. To bed now, that long sleep between Decembers, that sleep when memories are made.

A River of Stones, Day 3: Fever

2011-01-06T11:35:00.001-05:00

Fever

Silence is cracked by the high hiss of steam, and the periodic click, click, click on the other side of this room, two small drums in my moist, salt-rubbed skull. Light pries in through crusty slits. There are black stars up high, swirling off before I can see them clearly. They wait for sleep, when they’ll shatter into glass fever dreams; me, swinging from a chain like a pendulum, a broken story to tell, an incongruity. My heavy head is a hot river, my thoughts a molten well.

-------------------------------------------------------------

A River of Stones, Day 2: Her Eyes

2011-01-05T11:30:00.001-05:00

Her Eyes

Her eyes didn’t meet mine in the beginning. Then, as we all took turns speaking, she faced us in turn, eyes open. Open wide with bewilderment, corners crinkled with laughter, downcast in thought…then probing, piercing, mining an answer from the depths of my own. Later, red and moist, threatening to spill, spiky-lashed and shining. Wiped clear with a deliberate smile; that cleanser of souls, that harbinger of hope. A world in her eyes, her eyes so like her son’s.

A River of Stones, Day 1, On Students

2011-01-04T11:56:00.004-05:00

On Students:

Making, and smiling, and laughing together, fair hair straying from clips and sweaters askew; they are perfect, and perfectly self conscious, every nerve on fire, every glance a jagged edge. I was them, a lifetime ago. They don’t know what it is to be me yet, a stranger in paradise, a sojourner in places they wouldn’t think to go, but I know what it was to be like them; they will find their own countries to inhabit, in the ripeness of time. But today, they are looking in mirrors, putting on lip gloss, singing love songs to themselves and chewing gum. They are hungry, and new, my students, my reminders, my hope.

For information about the "River of Stones" project, read here. My thanks to The Goat Borrower for the link.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

New Year's Day

2011-01-01T17:34:00.001-05:00

Happy New Year! We brought a treat of cabbage to the girls on the farm today, for good luck. They nearly rioted for it. Those pregnant ladies are ravenous! They're building their babies rapidly now; you can see that they're carrying a wonderful load.

Miss Faith had some manners.

Dolly looks like she's carrying triplets!

Since the goats were bred through the month of October, they could begin to deliver anytime from the first week of March until the last week or so of March. It looks like they should go sooner, doesn't it? Dolly is one of the older goats, and an excellent breeder. She always carries heavy like this, and retains a bit of a belly throughout the year. I can relate, at least to the "rest of the year" part!

Faith and a friend enjoying lunch.

On the way to the farm, I spotted a tree full of oyster mushrooms. Can you believe that? On January 1st, after all that freezing weather? They were pretty dry, but still firm and insect free, so I picked them and will finish dehydrating them at home. Score!

Naturally dehydrated oyster mushrooms!

A close-up of the gills

The picture above is of the bottom side of the largest mushroom. Beautiful, isn't it? They smell almost as good as earlier specimens. Oyster mushrooms always smell rich and buttery to me. They are one of Nature's many gifts. And today felt like a real bonus! Happy New Year!

Remote Posting

2010-12-31T18:41:00.001-05:00

Hello, my friends! I'm taking the evening off to cook our traditional New Year's Eve dinner, but I hear Faith did a little writing over at Faith's Funny Farm. Why don't you go on over and check it out? There are lots of pictures there from Lights in the Woods, including lots of Faith's good friends. Have a safe New Year's Eve, and I'll catch you on the flip side!

Urgently Nesting

2010-12-30T13:24:00.005-05:00

I'm in denial. Denial that in just a few days I'll be back at it, racing out of the house in the pre-dawn dark, hoping my socks match, drying my frozen hair in the truck's blower (set on high), hoping I have time to stop for a bagel on my way to room 601, where I'll meet up with 20 young people who feel pretty much the same way I do. We'll wake up together over morning announcements, wipe the sleep from our eyes, and shake off our dreams while we adjust to the harsh reality of early morning academia. And we'll make the best of it; it'll grow on us again, and we'll share some laughs while we start on our new year together. But right now, all I'm thinking of is home.

Home. Where the heart is, where the comfortable mess waits for a creative touch, where the projects wait for some love and attention, and where the plants have languished during my recent manic fall semester. Where my freezer is brimming with foods I've lovingly saved there, just waiting for a culinary muse to overtake me...which she did, last night after my second glass of holiday reisling. What to do? Mushrooms, of course.

Heaven in a Pot

Morels, chantarelles, oyster mushrooms, chicken mushrooms, giant puffballs and shiitakes all found their way into my pot; most were frozen over the late summer months. The morels and chantarelles were dehydrated, purchased at the Amish grocery store in Fleetwood, and are decidedly local. The whole mess was rehydrated if necessary, sauteed, seasoned lightly, and married with a single cube of last spring's chopped garlic scapes, from my stash in the freezer. A pasta dough was made and patiently rolled out with my hand cranked pasta maker, and the final results (wild mushroom ravioli) found their into my freezer before I stumbled off to bed. The elves came and did the dishes for me.

We Will Love Them Sometime Soon

The same elf that cleaned up after my chaotic kitchen event slept late this morning, while I continued on my nesting mission. I've just finished a good book, The Dirty Life by Kristin Kimball, and it has made me hyper-aware of the beauty of worn, homey objects that are useful and well loved (namely, everything we own). She waxes poetic about setting seeds in soil, about calves and kittens, and still manages to keep it real. In that "school of harsh reality" mood, I decided to tackle the project that has been looming large in my mind: the "Elephant in the Room", aka the "Plants I Neglected All Fall in the Sun Room."

I'm not a negligent plant keeper, most times. I've raised my own food, orchids, herbs; I've been said to have a green thumb. That thumb has apparently been somewhere less productive (in terms of plant life) for the last few months. Of course, I did get an "A" on the course I was taking, and wrote two pretty decent research papers using APA style (for the first time). Tell that to my dead herbs...they're compost now. The wages of academic war: herbal collateral damage.

I performed triage on the table of withered herbs and flowers, setting the goners out on the deck for the birds to pick at, and trimming the wounded down to manageable sizes. The orchids fared better than the Christmas cacti, believe it or not; one optimistic little trooper had even sprouted a blossom spike. Anything with a glimmer of hope got a nice soaking shower and a haircut before being returned to the sun room table they call home. I think we'll call it "the infirmary" for the time being.

The Infirmary

Four out of five African Violets survived as well, spunky little troopers that they are. I carefully snuck a good watering under their drooping velvet leaves and set them up high, where they like it, above our multicultural cat chachka collection.

Gris-Gris, Supervising

The rest of the room got a good cleaning, too. We (Peter was awake by then) topped off the event by filling the bird feeders and settling in with Hobie and Gris-Gris for a little passive bird-watching.

I am determined to soak up every moment of home time I can, between social events and fundraisers. Tonight's Lights in the Woods will bring a welcome end to the long, cold evenings of people, hot-dogs, and blown fuses, and a return to the tranquility I yearn for on the farm when I volunteer there. And tomorrow, after I visit David and Bonnie in Niantic, and get the goats fed and watered, I'll come home to my comfortable, freshly cleaned and nurtured sun room, and enjoy my last two days of winter vacation. Cleaning this:

The Studio

Wish me luck!

Peasant Food

2010-12-29T17:44:00.000-05:00

There's nothing better than a simple meal. I've been lusting after this one lately, so here it is: Cabbage and Noodles, Pennsylvania Style. Why Pennsylvania style, you may ask? Because not one ingredient was grown or produced any more than 20 miles from my doorstep, that's why. And, boy, is it yummy.

Cabbage and Noodles

You start with a good handful of fresh, local bacon, harvested from a pig you had the pleasure to feed at one time or another. Brown that in a thick Dutch oven, then remove the bacon to a plate. Add a half of a local sweet onion (from an Amish stand, or your own, if you have them), and saute the onion until it's just translucent. In the mean time, you should be boiling some wide egg noodles (Amish or home made with local eggs) on the back burner. When they're done, drain and add a pat of good creamery butter to the pot to keep them from sticking. Set aside.

By now, your kitchen will be smelling so good that the late sleepers will wander downstairs to see what's cooking. That's when you pull a fast one on them and add a half of a chopped savoy cabbage (your own or the farm stand's) that's been hiding in your vegetable crisper for the last few weeks. Saute that with the onions until the cabbage is tender, then add the noodles and crumbled bacon. Salt and pepper to taste, and you're home.

There's nothing better than a simple, local meal in the winter. Except, maybe, the smell of that bacon cooking when you're hungry. Heaven.

Catching my Breath

2010-12-29T11:33:00.002-05:00

With the majority of the holiday hoo-ha behind me, I feel I can finally settle myself by the computer long enough to catch up. Christmas is full of lessons for me; I learn every year.

One thing I re-learned this year is the importance of making time for family and friends, despite a deep need for solitude. It's expected, necessary; those planned moments seal our affection for each other, join our widely-spread tribe for a shared meal or cocktail, and maintain the emotional ties that are so vital to our feelings of wholeness as a community of like minded friends. Though we were fighting off a nagging cold that had us both exhausted, and were committed to help with several nights of Lights in the Woods at the farm (our winter fundraiser), Peter and I managed to spend time with many of our dearest friends during the last week. Those we haven't seen are either traveling, or too remote to visit on our tight budget.

The Drafts at Lights in the Woods, Flint Hill Farm

Speaking of tight budgets, I'm amazed at the sense of abundance I've been feeling, despite the lower flow of cash. My freezer and pantry have yielded up a bounty of wholesome meals, thanks to this year's gardening, foraging, and gifts of farm fresh meat and home made concoctions from like minded friends. Our Solstice locavore dinner, held with Stephanie and Mike and hosted at their larger, tidier home, was a testament to the fecundity of our Pennsylvania farmlands, with a wealth of locavore pot-luck goodies provided by the 20-something guests. It was a refreshing blend of old friends and new ones, all mingling warmly and hailing the holidays on the longest night of the year; a celebration of readiness. Solstice brings an instinctual hunkering down, a nesting urge, one we painfully ignore in our contemporary artificially lighted lifestyle. Instead of yielding to the increased desire to eat comfort food, sleep deeply, and semi-hibernate, our industrial culture has sold us a bill of goods that requires us to plod on...with a sour winter temper resulting from our neglected subconscious desires. Of course, bills must be paid, cows must be milked, children must be taught; but I propose we embrace our desire to simply sleep and be comforted by a warm fire and a hot meal occasionally, and remember that life is actually a rather simple and beautiful thing, with waxing and waning rhythms, like the moon and the seasons. Why fight it? Our Solstice dinner was, for me, a symbolic reminder of that idea.

Christmas came, and with it the family gatherings and meals, made a bit more difficult this year by our distance from my daughter. The core of the celebration has shifted, as it should have, to the home she's made with her fiance and the five children they share, and we older folks are adjusting to the new dynamic. I'm finding the transition rather beautiful; seeing my daughter blossom into her full adult power is an awesome experience. She fills me with a quiet pride. She's strong and beautiful, with a steadiness grown of experience. She loves calmly and deeply. She couldn't give me a better gift.

Megan, During Warmer Days

Our drive was long that day, with a trip south to pick up her grandmother, then the longer trip north to see her. I spent the second leg of the trip, from Granny's apartment in Phoenixville to Megan's house in Forty-Fort, PA (near Wilkes-Barre), stuffed into the coffin-sized extended cab of my little truck like cord wood. It was good for a laugh, and not nearly as bad as it sounds. We had the space decked out with a large couch pillow and a sleeping bag, so it was comfortable enough, even if I did have to make the trip with one arm wedged over my head. I'm beginning to appreciate the potential story-making qualities in difficult situations these days, even as they're occurring. The inherently amusing silver lining.

The house was a riot of people, most of them small; there were cats and dogs and new in-laws and food and drinks; too much activity to worry about social amenities. It was a crazily busy few hours of chaotic merry-making, with kids coming and going, adults sneaking outside for brief moments of quiet and cool air, and much gifting and picture-taking. It was exhausting fun, and we left with Megan's car, complete with my two grandsons, instead of the truck; they needed a ride to their father's house in Hellertown, which became our next stop in the Christmas-day marathon.

Trevor and Hobie

Love transcends physical discomfort. It makes you agree to do things that are hard, and like it. Christmas was one of those days, for all of us, and it was beautiful.

Let's Talk

2010-12-11T20:09:00.000-05:00

I'm deep in the throes of a research paper, and haven't surfaced for days. Here's what I'm thinking about:

“Let's offer what we have, Let's (sic) not tolerate any barrier against our influence. Let's not erect any fence around any other influence. We know what we have to offer. We don't know what others have to give us. Some of it is certain to be good. Let's trade thoughts, methods and people.

The challenge is worthy of American energy. We might even succeed a little sooner, a little betters (sic), than we should expect. We might suffer set-backs, but we should never give up trying. Thus, and thus only, we shall win the last war, on the last battle ground, for the brotherhood of man.” Pierre Bourdelle (my father-in-law).

What a brilliant man he was.

Faith's Funny Farm

2010-12-06T21:07:00.000-05:00

Our outspoken princess Faith has decided that she needs a blog of her own. You can read all about her latest adventures here: http://faithsfunnyfarm.blogspot.com/2010/12/winter-is-here.html

In the meantime, here's a picture of the goats (mostly!) to keep you warm at night.

Someone's Different...