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Oh Hallows Eve!
This weekend has been dedicated largely to everyone’s comfort here on the farm. The rabbit has a freshly strawed box in which to spend the winter; all the nesting boxes have been cleaned and repacked with a generous amount of shavings; my tender container garden of salad greens and spinach have been covered with float clothe to keep out the night chill and the wood racks are stacked high with seasoned, split eucalyptus.
The fire stack near the front door and a festively carved Jack-O-Lantern greets friends and neighbors on the front porch.
It’s been a weekend of settling in…to fall…to cooler weather…to fewer outdoor chores and long awaited indoor projects. The farm seems barren as I make my nightly rounds, checking on animals, gathering eggs, topping off water troughs and breathing in the cool crisp air. Most of the fruit trees are losing their leaves and much of the garden has been dismantled, save for a few containers filled with greens. New raised beds await a truckload of composted cow manure; compliments of a fellow 4-H family. And, the rest of the old garden beds have been removed and the whole area weeded and staked out for the new greenhouse and garden.
The weatherman is calling for low 40’s tonight. It was the incentive we needed to stock the wood rack to get ready for roaring fire. The stove has been was bubbling all yesterday, loaded down with chicken carcasses that were transformed into a luscious seasonal Chicken Pot Pie. Paired with a simple salad and a rustic apple pie, it was the perfect end to this all hallows weekend.
Halloween means a lot to me. It is my favorite holiday. It’s not about the scary costumes or the candy or even the wild revelry. Don’t get me wrong… I don’t begrudge people that kind of fun; it’s just not for me. Halloween to me is a time to reflect on seasons past, to find a place of calm after months of busy gardening and animal raising. It’s a time to be grateful for what we have, the food that we’ve grown, the animals that will feed us all winter and the people in our lives. The ancients marked this day as the beginning of a new year. It was a somber day full of remembrances and gratitude. So for me this has been a quiet day of slow and steady work without much fuss.
My morning started off quiet with a breakfast of pumpkin pecan pancakes, bacon and a few fresh eggs thrown in for good measure. I try to make as many pumpkin inspired dishes as possible this month. It just doesn’t seem the same (or right) any other time of year. I sat at my kitchen table, looking out the window, the chickens running from one end of the yard to the other, Sophia flapping her wings the whole way. Two big black crows sat watching from atop the pepper tree. It has been said that crows seen in pairs is a sign of good luck. It’s nothing special to see them alone, but boy if you see them together you’ve got a good sign. My fall décor consists of folk art I found while on a trip to Vermont and Oregon. Hallow themed prints with pumpkins and owls and, you guessed it, crows. My fall quilt project is a primitive crow appliqué pattern I found at a quilt show a few years ago. When I saw it hanging on the display wall it reminded me of the crows on the farm and I just had to have it, so I forked over the cash to buy it.
Someday it too will be part of my hallow festivities; wrapping Brianne and I in its warmth. Farm girls making our way together. Now that’s a pair teaming with luck.
Picture By: JMS
The ABC’s of a Homesteading Life
Apples hang low on branches that bend to the ground. Picking time is just around the corner. There’ll be cold crunchy crispness for fresh eating, sliced sweetness in pies and tarts, savory baked apples and “just past prime” apples cooked down and made into an applesauce that is perfect with a succulent roast pork.
Bread rises in the warmth of a kitchen then is pulled hot and fresh from the oven on a holiday morning, smothered in butter or honey or a homemade summer jam. It’s heady aroma filling a quite farmhouse.
Chicks pip and crack, making their way, wet and weak, from the warmth of their eggshell cocoon. They grow plump and fat, peck and scratch the ground, finding bugs and worms while growing into stately layers or succulent roasted dinners.
Daydreams. A cool, late summer evening to celebrate the past and dream of the future; to praise protectors that make it possible for a single mom and a child to live a farm life, at the edge of suburbia with the help of a few good friends, a pen full of lambs and a coop full of chickens.
Eggs hidden in corners and behind bales of hay like small nuggets of buried treasure, waiting to be collected or hatched to replenish an aging flock, or cooked into a hearty breakfast fit for a farm girl.
Fruit trees spread their branches, pushing their blossoms out to become a new year’s crop blushed by the sun and ripened in the heat of summer.
Gardens grow rich and green; tangle and twine through their beds before producing brightly shaped crops perfect for eating fresh, freezing or canning.
Hands dive deep into rich black soil, making way for a fall sowing of seeds. Pulling spent crops, moving manure from coop to compost and from compost to bed.
Imaginations wander, thoughts emerge, ideas form and a town lot slowly transforms into a productive oasis of food and fiber; simplicity and self-reliance.
Jam bubbles and sputters on a red hot stove; releasing its summer juices for a concoction that will remind us of warmer weather on a cloudy winter’s day.
Killing goes hand-in-hand with the raising and growing, providing the family with safe, wholesome food for the year. Prayers go up from grateful hearts for an animal’s good life, which sustains ours.
Lambs jump and frolic, getting strong and fat on good feed. Their fate…to some a cold death, to others a year’s worth of dinners wrapped in paper and stacked in a freezer.
Mason jars line the shelves, gleaming with our brightly colored harvest; enough to feed a family all winter long.
Night time falls silently over our little farm, quietly relinquishing its hard working inhabitants to sleep.
Owls hoot from high in the trees, swooping down to earth anytime a mouse scurries across its path.
Pumpkins gleam in the dusky autumn sun, waiting to transform our farmhouse into a fantasy of fall splendor before being turned into pies and butters and breads and cakes.
Quilts lay out like rainbows over the horizon; pieced together from scraps of fabric or worn out favorites to keep a family warm from the harsh winds of winter.
Rain storms roll through the valley, coming down in sprinkles and showers; downpours and droves, nourishing the parched spoil, renewing life on our little farm.
Season’s change; from the long sunny days of summer filled with fresh eating from the garden to the cool crisp days of fall and harvests put up for winter store to the promise of spring with the turning of soil and the planting of seeds.
Time chases us as we plan and work and move toward a more self-sufficient life, building and planting to live self contained. But, time is also our friend, for life is about the journey and not the destination.
Understanding comes from days working the soil or tending the animals. Old worries, past ambitions, long held desires fade into the distance as new truths take hold and become part of who we are becoming.
Victories abound on our little farm; barns are raised, skills are learned, chicks are hatched, kits are born, lambs grow, gardens produce and animals give their lives to feed a grateful family.
Wash hangs on the line, blowing in the soft breeze, taking in the sweet scent of a contented farm.
X-altation from a life lived simply brings contentment and comfort.
Yarn spun from a harvest of wool; washed and carded and put on a wheel, wraps around clicking needles or flies through the strings of a loom; emerging as hat or scarf or sweater, bringing warmth and comfort to the wearer.
Zucchini’s flourish in compost rich beds; dark green and golden yellow even striped become the base for breads or cookies or muffins; sliced or sautéed or stuffed and baked. They become the center of our meals.
We have come a long way since the first spade plunged deep into the soil; the first animal walked our land. We have much still to learn, but we produce our own crops and raise our own meat. That’s enough.
Shocked, Dismayed, Dumbfounded!
A friend sent this to me. It was from an article in a San Francisco newspaper.
Are people really this naive? Do they honestly believe that meat in the grocery store did not come from a living creature? And, that the only processing of animal meat is done by hunters?
If this is the case, I fear for the intelligence (or lack thereof) of the American people.
Want to Make More than a Banker? Become a Farmer!
Why I’m Telling My Son to Become a Farmer
This was the lead in title to a series of financial articles I received recently about our current economic woes, big business crashes and the coming crisis for small town America. NOW – I don’t claim to be a whiz in the financial world. I, like most of you, has struggled and lived through the last few years and am skeptical about almost everything coming out of D.C., the financial community and the main stream media. But, one thing struck me. It was the number of articles regarding agricultural commodities and the increases in the Ag industry.
At the beginning of the newsletter, before Andy Hecht, Editor of Trade Hunter launched into his findings and solutions for riding out the next wave of troubled financial waters he wrote this…
Dear Reader,
My son recently graduated from college. He and his friends are now looking for jobs. Anyone who saw Friday’s employment report knows that the job market is tight in the U.S. The outlook is even bleaker for recent college grads. Today, there are more biology and business majors tending bars and restocking shelves at Target than ever before. In the ‘60s and ‘70s, college graduates went onto medical or law school to become doctors and lawyers.
In the ‘80s and ‘90s, they got MBAs and went to Wall Street. But in this new century, I believe that the best opportunities are in the agriculture sector. That’s why I always tell my son and his friends to become farmers! Now, I’m not suggesting new college grads strap on a pair of coveralls and pick up a hoe. But going back to school to study agricultural economics could open the door to a comparatively high-paying position. Read the rest of the story »
Great Summer Read!
Suburban homesteads come in many shapes and sizes, taking their own path to self-sufficiency, but, in my mind, a true homestead needs livestock to be complete. Whether two footed or four; feathered or furred or wooled, animals are what turn a backyard garden into a full fledged farm. Without them all you have is a garden, which is nice, but a homestead is a little more scrappy. It’s loud and it’s dusty and sometimes messy when it’s full of feathers and cloven hooves, paws and fur.
I found a new book for my homestead library recently – The Backyard Homestead’s Guide to Raising Farm Animals.
It’s the livestock companion to the original Backyard Homestead, and it’s a fine introduction to jumping on the livestock bandwagon. At first it may seem a little elementary for the more seasoned livestock person, but it’s perfect for those who have dreams of turning their landscaped suburban lot into a thriving mini-farm, or those who have never held a chick or readied a hutch for kits.
It’s a friendly read, full of easy to understand information about the basics of starting a flock of chickens, ducks, turkey’s or geese; a hutch or two of rabbits; or a herd of goats, sheep or pigs. It even has information about raising cattle on a small suburban homestead. It will give you a good idea of what you’re getting yourself into, along with wonderful plot maps on how to lay out your farm if you’re just getting started.
The illustrations and sidebar instructions are great and each species is broken into its own chapter, so you can read only those parts that interest you. Want goats, but not pigs. Fine. Can’t have bees, but can have chickens. No problem, just read the chapters you want.
Even with my years of livestock experience I’m still able to glean useful information from new sources. It’s becoming a new favorite around here. Grab one for yourself.
Best Ever Berry Jam
Within 5 miles of our house we have three U-pick operations and several Farmer’s Markets where we can find a good selection of seasonal berries. And, although there is nothing better than jumping in the car, combing fields for the freshest produce and ripping it from the soil, the place I like the best is my neighbor’s backyard.
We watch Fran and Joe’s place, feed the chickens and water the gardens when they are on vacation. Our payment…anything that’s ripe.
It was cloudy and a slight westerly breeze blew when Brianne and I walked down the street to check on things. As Brianne went about her chores, I headed for the berry patch. The huge, dark blackberries clung to their canes like gems. I filled my colander. I had a plan. That afternoon I would take these little gems and cook them slowly on the stove, filling the house with their sweet aroma. Mmmm.
Making any kind of Berry Jam is easy. All you really need is berries and sugar. You can use pectin (liquid or powder) if you like, but I prefer not to. I just fill a large pot with 9 cups of berries and 6 cups of sugar, turn the heat on and slowly bring to a boil, stirring occasionally, until all the sugar is dissolved. At this point I either mash the berries with a potato masher or lightly whirl them with an emersion blender, making sure to leave a bit of chunkiness. I continue cooking and stirring the jam rapidly until it reaches the gelling point. When the jam is gelled enough I remove it from the stove and ladle it into hot jars. The jars are dropped into the water bath canner for 15 minutes then set on a clean dry cloth to cool. When you hear the tell-tale POP of the lid, signaling the proper seal, you know you’ve done it right.
The whole process, from first wash of berries to the last lid POPPING takes less than an hour. And, for that you get enough berry goodness to remind you of summer all winter long. I made 9 pints of jam. That’s a lot of jam, folks! And, what a bargain, too. For the price of a few jars and lids, and free berries from friendly neighbors my pantry is stocked with something way better than Smuckers. Not a bad deal!
For detailed instructions, pick up a copy of the famous Ball Blue Book Guide to Preserving, at any hardware, farm store, book or discount store. It covers everything you need to know about canning and costs less than a case of jars. Enjoy!
photo credit: Price Finder
Come on in and Grab a Seat
Well folks, I can hardly believe it. Our little blog is approaching its second anniversary.
It’s this time of year that I like to ask all you folks to Come on in and Grab a Seat, meaning we’d like to hear from you. You can share a little about yourself, your homestead or your dreams of starting a homestead, give as much or as little information as you’d like. Or, perhaps you’d like to make a suggestion for the blog – topics, projects, recipes, etc. This is a way for us to see who we are writing to, get to know you a little better and meet the needs of people who stop by to read what’s going on.
It’s also a way for all of you to connect with like-minded folks in your area. How cool would that be? The internet is great, but it keeps us indoors and disconnected a little too much. It’s a tool for networking and learning to be sure, but should not replace person-to-person communication and relationships. By saying hello here you might just find a new friend right in your town that has the same wants and desires and dreams as you. It may spark a new gardening club or potluck or meet up or someone to attend that sustainable farming lecture with.
So come on in, grab a seat and say hello.
A Life Lived in Grace
This beginning of a New Year is like a bend in a winding mountain road. It fades in my rearview as we move farther and farther from its starting point. I’ve been reflecting lately on all that can be accomplished on a small suburban homestead such as ours and feeling rather – well – contented and secure.
On just a third of an acre we are able to raise lambs and chickens to put meat in our freezer and eggs for breakfast and baking. An extra lamb we butchered is being parceled out to friends and neighbors who don’t want a whole or half lamb. And, at $9 to $15 per pound for organic lamb, I think this may turn out to be a very good thing.
The broilers we raised from day old chicks were butchered last week. Our original plan was to butcher before Christmas, but the bad weather and family obligations forced us to push back a few weeks. With the extra time on feed most of the birds were in the 7 to 8 pound range, with a few pushing over 9 pounds. At those weights the birds are too big for a family of two, so most were cut in half and a few quartered, giving us enough chicken for about 30 weeks, assuming we eat chicken once a week. Not bad, folks! Not bad at all!
The hens are laying 5 to 7 eggs a day now, not quite at full stride yet, but, that’s 3-1/2 dozen a week, enough to keep us in omelets with a few dozen left over to sell to cover feed costs.
Our berries and fruit trees are coming into their own and give us plenty of fresh seasonal fruit for eating and a little extra for freezing or canning or cooking; the garden gives us plenty of greens and root vegetables; tomatoes and cucumbers; squash and pumpkins, even with the occasional crop failure.
Thanks to some great sales in November and December our pantry is brimming with staple goods. And, the added savings from coupons meant most were “free” or nearly “free”. It’s so nice to be able to just walk over, open a cupboard and pull out what you need for an evening meal. No treks to the store after dark. No drives during inclement weather.
We picked up another load of firewood from the grandparents’ place, our second of the winter. With the colder temperatures we are burning more wood than in years past and it’s a blessing to have such a ready source. Loading split wood on a cool afternoon makes for a robust workout. I love it.
I think these reflections were brought on by a morning news story on the inflationary period coming our way. Read the rest of the story »
Black Footed Raven
Life is cold here on the farm. The grass is tipped white from a recent cold snap and the chickens do not like the frigid water in their trough. When we make the rounds doing our morning chores the roosters crow and their breathe rises skyward like fog coming off a mountain lake. The girls have started laying again; their short sabbatical had us coveting every egg we collected. We only get 1 or 2 eggs a day. Compared to the 10 to 12 a day we get in high summer it’s hardly a drop, but it’s enough to keep us in breakfasts and baking, so we are happy.
A raven has taken up residence in the backyard. Each morning he perches on top of the arbor watching what goes on below. Sometimes when I’m writing near the front window I see him standing on the finial of the birdbath, using his long black beak to play with the pebbles that line the basin or take a drink of water that has accumulated from a recent storm or the morning dew. He hops around picking up tidbits he finds on the ground, then lights out for the nearest tree branch to get a better perspective. The hens stay inside when he’s around, and if they happen to be roaming the garden when he arrives they scurry back to the safety of the barn.
We’ve laid a new layer of bedding in the nesting boxes and on the coop floor. With the recent rain storms the flock has spent more time in the coop, tramping down and scratching up the straw. Their abode is now deep and warm in straw, much to their liking, I think.
My sewing machine and I are getting reacquainted, but we’re not friends yet. It’s been months since I finished my last quilt project and the colder weather has given me an itch to start anew. This latest project has been whirling around in my head for quite some time, but I was indecisive on how to start. It’s a patchwork, crazy quilt with appliquéd hearts – all made from corduroy shirts I’ve been collecting from thrift store sales. So – the other day I just jumped in, not really sure how I was going to proceed. So far, it’s been a slow process, like learning the proper way to bow a fiddle or pluck a banjo. Some day maybe I’ll make a quilt from an actual pattern, tried and true. Nay – what’s the fun in that?