Who's Got Your Goat?

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...

Thanksgiving Weekend Highlights

2010-11-29T21:34:00.000-05:00

Gratuitous Snow on Thanksgiving Morning

On Thanksgiving morning, it snowed just enough to make it pretty outside; what a nice touch for a relaxed holiday weekend! As you know from my previous blog, we decided on a non-traditional meal this year. We went with paella, which was lovely, and shared our evening with our good friend El. We've shared many holidays over the last 20 years.

A Toast to Good Friends

The weekend was spent doing various chores and cleaning up, and today (Monday) was spent with the grand kids, who arrived last night a few hours before bedtime. There's just something wonderful about little boys.

They do things like this...

And this...

And this. And it's all great, and really funny.

Then you take them somewhere else (like the farm), and they do more stuff.

They're Crazy!

And cute...

And frisky.

And they grow up way too fast, just like their mother did.

A Trade

2010-11-27T18:26:00.001-05:00

Thanksgiving is over, and the bounty has been shared; just this evening, Kathy graciously gave us a bag of home raised, humanely nurtured pork for our freezer. I'm so grateful. I never expected such a treat.

Now, these were some happy pigs. Apart from the West-Side cow incident a week or so ago (I still have to laugh at that; I'm a little twisted), those pigs had it good. Here's the recap (Nov. 14th blog):

"Last weekend, my friend El and I visited the farm together so she could see our newborn calf. One of the volunteers had forgotten to shut the gate between the cow field and the pig run, and chaos ensued. I have never seen cows band together like a street gang and attack before; usually they just mill around, benignly grazing and mooing. These cows were pissed! They attacked those poor pigs enmasse. You've never seen fat pink buttocks running away more frantically. I'm ashamed to say that I can't stop laughing about the visual memories it brings up: think "West Side Story" (the Jets and the Sharks). Those poor piggies! Thankfully, the vet and his assistant were on site, checking out the goats, and between the 4 of us, we were able to break up the rumble. The piggies had to take a long nap that afternoon."

And although I've been hearing endless conversations about being vegetarian vs. being a carnivore (omnivore), and I understand both the philosophical and environmental implications, I am, without doubt, an omnivore. I do hold myself to ethical standards when buying my food, however. These pigs had a good life, as do the chickens whose eggs we eat, and the goats and cows whose milk we drink.

So, in order to make room for the ham, sausage and pork shoulder, we had to go spelunking in the freezer. I know how much we'll want the greens this winter, so they were off limits. I decided to pull out two quarts of cantaloupe sorbet, a bag of tomato something-or-other which I'll make into a stew, and a quart bag of black elderberries. Elderberries!!!! We picked them and froze them this summer!

Flu season is coming, so I sent Peter off to the liquor store for some 100 proof vodka to make a tincture. It can't be easier...50% berries, 50% alcohol, let rest for 2-3 weeks, then sip as needed; as preventative medicine, the suggested dose is a tablespoonful in the morning and evening. Strain out the berries unless your bowels are bound up (then eat a few...it'll do the job). And elderberries are good! If you're more interested in sweet things, elderberry syrup has the same healing properties. You can find many recipes for it on the web.

So, Miss Kathy can expect some elderberry tincture and some cantaloupe sorbet for her generosity. And we'll be eating a local ham for Christmas. Farm life is good, even here in the city. We're blessed.

Thrifty Thanksgiving...and Not So Much

2010-11-25T13:28:00.002-05:00

About a month ago, I found this smoker at the local thrift store. Brand new. Never used. $14. We had been talking about smoking cheese, and I thought we might be able to figure something out; cheese smoking is a cold, indirect process, obviously, and this little beauty is essentially a charcoal grill with a basin inside and a cover to hold the smoke. In other words, it's HOT. Not cold. So it sat unused on the back porch. Until today.

Now, we hadn't planned to have a traditional Thanksgiving. My daughter moved farther away, and my mother doesn't care much about the holiday (she's German; it isn't HER holiday. Besides, she never cooked the meal. It just isn't her thing). The only person who was nearby and who wanted a communal meal was our friend El. And she doesn't like turkey, so we decided upon paella. More about that later.

Here's the clincher: our new neighbors gave us their extra turkey. It's a small one, about 12 pounds. It was already thawed, so we couldn't just toss it in the freezer. What to do with an extra turkey? And a useless smoker? Experiment!!!!!

I found a website that made the process look easy, and proceeded. The first step was to soak the wood chips; we had a few hickory chunks, and a bag of mesquite chips. I also had some basil stems and a bundle of herbs I burn occasionally like incense. Everything went into a pot and got a good soaking while we sprayed the inside of the smoker with cooking oil, then lit the charcoal.

The pieces got put back together (the wood chips go on the hot coals, and the soaking liquid goes in the bowl over the coals, then the bird goes on the grill on top).

And then it smokes. For a long time. Smells heavenly.

So...my free turkey is smoking in my almost-free smoker, and will eventually wind up in my free-zer. Life's good. And by the way, did I mention that it gratuitously snowed this morning? Just to look pretty? I'll update with the finished turkey pictures and the paella report later.

Finished bird: three bags of smoked turkey for the freezer, minus legs and wings for tomorrow's dinner. Oh My.

And here's our Thanksgiving dinner...I'll elucidate tomorrow. Right now, I need a nap.

Turn, Turn, Turn

2010-11-21T12:54:00.000-05:00

Happy Sunday; we enjoyed one of our final convertible mornings today, as we left the Emmaus Farmers' Market. The sun was bright, and the fall colors were stunning:

Fractal Vegetables

I couldn't help shooting a few pictures of the wonderful fresh foods I'll be missing soon.

Roots

From technicolor roots to deep green leaves, my body felt stronger just looking at them! Some will surely go into our Thanksgiving meal, though we're not having a traditional one this year.

Those Greens...

Oh, Those Greens!

There is light at the end of the (high) tunnel, though. Kathy's greenhouse is up, and I have a book: The Winter Harvest Handbook, by Eliot Coleman. If I can get someone to do some rototilling, we might just have some greens in January and February. We'll see.

Lunch

In the mean time, Peter and I had some greens for lunch at the local Vietnamese place; the real reason I took this picture was because I was fascinated by the little altar inside the counter behind him. There was an incense pot in front of three little Buddha-like figures. I thought it might be rude to openly walk up to it and photograph it, but I'm intrigued, nonetheless. We had spring rolls, chicken pad Thai, and hot and sour soup. Yum.

Then a short ride in the country: A hidden park on the hills behind Emmaus.

Delicate Pink Leaves

Winter is Approaching

The sun was obscured by November clouds as we made our way home. We'll spend the day quietly feathering our little nest; baking, reading, writing. The dark months give is time to ponder, and prepare ourselves for a new year ahead. We slow down, tuck in, and dream.

Building a Participatory Culture

2010-11-20T08:41:00.002-05:00

Though I don't discuss it often, I do have a professional life; yesterday was one of those "peak" days, so I thought I'd share it with you. I attended the annual Art Education Conference at Kutztown University. I used to attend them regularly until I became active in PAEA, and had to choose between the one-day Kutztown conference and the three day Pennsylvania Art Education Conference, which was held at various sites throughout the state. I opted for the latter because of the variety and travel. There was a time when I loved getting away from home; that change speaks to my improved relationship and life circumstances.

Kutztown held an experiment on Friday. Building Participatory Culture is just that: an experiment.

Brainstorming

We began with a fascinating talk by David Darts of NYU; the focus of his presentation was the effects of participatory media on our society as a whole. By participatory media, I mean web based programs that allow interaction, like Wikipedia, blogs, social networking, etc. Using the aptly named "copyleft" approach allows a dynamic process of growth and regeneration of ideas, very different from the "entertain me" ethos of previous generations. I particularly appreciated that Dr. Darts showed me that culture still does exist and is growing rapidly; it's just changing forms, as art and culture will do. Being ensconced in my own history and pedagogy, I couldn't see it. Though my classes have lead me to a hint of those changes via postmodern pedagogical theories, the electronic media connection makes incredible sense in a hands-on way.

And we did do some hands-on learning,though not with electronic media; well, one group did. I'll return to that later. Each group of 20 or so was facilitated by a team of educators provided by Kutztown University. They led the group in brainstorming, discussing, and shaping the experience, though they did not dictate the process. It was a good model for higher education, and, to some extent, an interesting approach for some K-12 processes, though there was debate about the practicality of this method on younger children whose social skills and studio experiences had yet to be developed.

A sculpture / installation / experience was to be created, using simple materials provided by the university. We had about 2 hours to work together, which was also interesting, given that there was little group instruction or formal communication. Ours appropriately resembled a tornado when it was finished; from the flurry of activity in the many directions we took, I felt that was just about right. But it was good activity, and people took on the roles that were needed. There were thinkers, and shapers, movers, organizers, and observers. We fell into our natural places somehow. I can't say it was entirely comfortable; I experienced moments of angst and annoyance when things I had been working on were changed. I experienced great waves of excitement and energy. I can only imagine an adolescent experiencing these things, and wonder if they would have the skills to examine those emotions, and stay stable. Good lessons, all. The end result was satisfying.

A Creative Maelstrom

Some of the other groups' pieces follow:

This Piece Used Traditional Materials And Electronic Media.

This Piece Used Pants as a Metaphor. They Used a Looping Recording to Illustrate their Point.

An Entire Habitat. Cool.

Heather's Group Made a Facebook Page...a Truly Participatory Experience!
http://www.facebook.com/search.php?q=Paper+or+Plastic+KU&init=quick&tas=0.7711095026061798#!/pages/Paper-or-Plastic-KU/167192539978364

I found the experience entirely stimulating and satisfying, and left with a glimpse of the future. I'm happy to say that art and culture are thriving; art isn't dead, it's just gone viral, and it looks a lot different than it did a decade ago, which is as it should be. Blog on!

Of course, I still enjoyed the rustle of leaves and the blue sky in between them as I left the campus. It's all good; fuel for the creative fire.

Pasta

2010-11-18T21:05:00.001-05:00

In a sudden surge of domesticity this afternoon, I decided to make some homemade pasta. I've been craving parsley lately, and had (coincidentally) stumbled across a recipe for parsley noodles in this month's Herb Companion (vol. 23, no.2, Ogden publications). All I can say is YUM.

I started with the recipe for Chicken and Parsley Noodle Soup on page 39. I always try to keep a few chicken thighs in the freezer, and was able to find 4 thighs right away. I boiled them still frozen to make my broth while I harvested and cleaned my last remaining kale.

Everything had to go on hold while I went to my GYN for an ultrasound. The good news is: I apparently don't have cancer. Just another cyst...in case I had let you in on the drama. I'll still be around for awhile. And my shy right ovary made an appearance in the pictures today. Don't ask. I'm fine.

Anyway...when I returned, I finished the soup. I substituted parsnips for carrots (I'm carrotless), and kale for spinach, but otherwise, I was right on. The directions for the parsley noodles was easy to follow as well. And may I say this: FIND AND SAVE THIS RECIPE!!!!! This is the best chicken noodle soup I've ever eaten. My husband and close friend Kathy concur.

Of course, I had to stockpile more of those noodles while the parsley was available, so I whipped up a batch and tweaked it a bit. I added a generous pinch of my dried shiitake powder, and doubled the parsley. I cut the first two slabs into wide noodles and set them to dry, then made wild mushroom ravioli out of the last two slabs. Here's the evidence:

Ravioli and Noodles

For the ravioli: make the parsley noodles according to the recipe, with a generous pinch of shiitake powder in the mix. On the side, saute (in butter) a small handful of chicken of the woods mushrooms and a fair handful of oyster mushrooms with 1/2 minced onion and a handful of parsley. Add a large pinch of dried thyme. Salt and pepper to taste. Spin in a food processor and chill before making the ravioli.

I'm going to freeze mine. I'll report back when I cook them.

Life's good. I'm glad I'll be able to participate for awhile longer.

Local is Natural

2010-11-16T21:19:00.001-05:00

I made dinner tonight. No big deal. It eventually occurred to me that I have absorbed the locavore aesthetic so completely that it's second nature.

Local Dinner

.Well, there it is, unplanned and unadulterated. Local chipped beef, foraged mushrooms, onions and brussel sprouts from the Amish markets, pasta from the same. Butter too; the only thing that might possibly be "outworldly" is the salt.

It sits well on my gut. Are we better acclimated to foods grown where we are grown? Doesn't that make sense? Hmmm?

Stuffed Cabbage...In My Upgraded Kitchen!

2010-11-15T19:15:00.002-05:00

Let me just say this: I love to cook. I thank my old friend Bonnie for my early adventures cooking, and my delight in exploration. Mom wasn't a very happy cook. She'll admit that herself. But I was, and am, and I can only remember Bonnie as an early influence. She served me cloud ear soup when I came home from the hospital with my baby daughter, back in 1978. How cool is that?

We also filled her Chevy convertible to the top with apples in the fall of 1977, and canned and preserved them in a bazillion ways before my daughter was born in March; applesauce was one of her very first foods. Chinatown (in Philadelphia) was a common shopping excursion. Good times.

Yesterday, I took a vacation from my many obligations, and cooked. It felt great. Savoy cabbage was my star; I made stuffed cabbage rolls, using local beef and home canned tomato sauce. Yum.

That's local, humanely raised beef. Happy cows.

I used a pound of the beef, with a half of an onion, chopped, two ice-cubes of frozen garlic scapes (thawed), an egg, and 2 pieces of sourdough bread, crumbled into the mix. I added a handful of Parmesan cheese, salt and pepper.

Local, humanely raised Savoy cabbage...and my NEW TILE COUNTER. Oh yes...you are mine.

I blanched the outer leaves of the cabbage, and cut out the thick middle vein. 1/2 leaf was enough for a roll, as the leaves were BIG! All I did was wrap a handful of the meat mix in the blanched leaf, secure it with a toothpick, and set it aside. To bake them up, I opened a quart of homemade tomato sauce, and poured a bit into a baking pan, then laid the rolls on top. I covered them with more sauce, and seasoned it with salt and pepper, then sprinkled them with more Parmesan. I don't have a finished picture. They were too good. We ate them.

But this is where the magic happens. Oh yes...this kitchen is mine. Quaint, isn't it? That metal cabinet under the sink is my nemesis. But I'll get it right someday. I'm fauxing my faux techniques. It's a nightmare. But quirky. I like quirky.

It's not big, but it's home!

Peter finished the tile counter and the back splash for my birthday. I think it looks sort of masculine. I'm OK with that. I like the pretty colors.

Bock Beer signs and Parisian clock...that's us!

We're transitioning from a 1950's country motif to an "I don't know when but I like it" motif. Better Homes and Gardens can kiss my...grits.

Pretty tiles

I love my new back splash. Good bye, stained walls! Hello, rainbow! Welcome into my kitchen!

2010-11-14T09:23:00.002-05:00

My life is so varied; always has been. Lately, I've been splitting my time between school (Kutztown University), work (where I teach), home, farm, and occasional short road trips. I don't get many chances for those, unfortunately.

Kutztown provides lots of inspiration for teaching. They have a student exhibit of recycled works on display right now...coincidentally, exactly when I'm teaching that unit in school. I'm enjoying their over-the-top solutions:

Plastic Goblet Light Fixture

Old Sock Milk Jugs (polymerized)

Plastic Cutlery Pterodactyl

Of course, nearly every day includes both teaching and the farm. While I choose not to blog about my classroom because of professional considerations, the farm is fair game, and infinitely interesting.

We've been battling pinkeye this last week. My poor little doe Faith went out to be bred, and may have carried it home with her. While she's unaffected, 4 of our older does came down with the affliction, and had to be separated from the herd. I've been giving injections, applying ointment, and hand milking those girls all week. Poor things! Our two senior citizens, Dolly and Jazzy have been hit the hardest. There is improvement, though. And we've finished the course of antibiotics, so only time will tell.

These girls weren't affected. Neither were their appetites!

Suppertime!

I take a walk in the woods on days that are challenging at work; I need these solitary times to decompress. They feed my soul. On one such occasion, I found this gooey, frostbitten mass that must have been some sort of mushroom. The fallen tree had several of them; I'll research them and get back to you. This has been my mycology moon.

An Interesting Fungus
*UPDATE: An Old "Orange Jelly"

Turkey tails, the ubiquitous little fungi that devour our fallen wood, are everywhere. Apparently, they're prized by certain cultures for their curative properties. Who knew? I'll be trying some turkey tail tea this winter.

Turkey Tails

Piggy tails are a different story entirely.

It's Rough Being a Pig

Last weekend, my friend El and I visited the farm together so she could see our newborn calf. One of the volunteers had forgotten to shut the gate between the cow field and the pig run, and chaos ensued. I have never seen cows band together like a street gang and attack before; usually they just mill around, benignly grazing and mooing. These cows were pissed! They attacked those poor pigs enmasse. You've never seen fat pink buttocks running away more frantically. I'm ashamed to say that I can't stop laughing about the visual memories it brings up: think "West Side Story" (the Jets and the Sharks). Those poor piggies! Thankfully, the vet and his assistant were on site, checking out the goats, and between the 4 of us, we were able to break up the rumble. The piggies had to take a long nap that afternoon.

Meanwhile, back in the goat pen, our calf Pumpkin is having an identity crisis.

Pumpkin, Behind the Goats

Hide and Seek

Am I a Goat?

I'm so Confused!!!!!

He does kick his heels up and rip around the corral. The goats don't quite know what to make of him, but they treat him kindly. Baby Huey.

Then there's home. When I'm not reading, grading, or writing, I still love my kitchen, especially now that Peter has finished the new counter and back splash. I'm bringing in the last herbs. Hobie helped with the peppermint.

Is that Cat Nip?

Today will be spent at home, or taking a much needed walk in the park, depending on my mood and timing. We all need a little unstructured time, and I'm so happy to have some today! Photos to follow!

Almost Wordless...Thursday?

2010-11-11T19:01:00.000-05:00

I can't wait to get into the new kitchen! Well, the kitchen is old, but the counter and backsplash are new, compliments of Peter, who's been a busy bee.

Pics in action to follow, maybe tomorrow! In the meantime, here are a few wild mushroom sautes!

Mushroom-palooza

2010-11-06T20:24:00.001-04:00

The Fall Mushroom Season: Retrospective

Giant Puffball

Chicken of the Woods (too woody)

Giant Puffball and Other Puffballs

Chicken of the Woods, Young

Young Chicken of the Woods, Cleaned

Oyster Mushrooms

Puffballs

Skullcap Puffball

Most of these yummy specimens, once sauteed, found their way into my freezer for future bliss, though I can honestly say I've had my share of them this month. All are delicious, natural, and free. All of them are good beginner mushrooms, as they have no scary look-alikes. NEVER EAT A MUSHROOM YOU CAN'T IDENTIFY PROPERLY! I cross reference my field guides with extensive web searches before I attempt a nibble, and don't try anything that could look anything like a poisonous or questionable mushroom. I'll admit to a few discards this season; live and learn!

Listening

2010-11-06T07:14:00.001-04:00

Saucon Valley Autumn

This has been a year of changes for me; for the last 10 years, I enjoyed a certain rhythm of activity and contemplation, business and quiet. My school-year days were spent teaching, interacting, communicating; as a normally introspective person, that level of activity was stressful for me, and the quiet time I enjoyed with the goats after school was a welcome transition to a few hours of quiet time each night, before my husband returned from work.

Things have changed. Peter's position with a local university was cut due to grant cut-backs, and he's much more present in my life. I can't think of anyone I'd rather share my life with. However, I'm finding it difficult to adjust to the absolute lack of contemplative time...quiet time with no human distractions. Even the farm is fraught with activity; people come and go, ask questions, want to learn. Peter helps me milk now, and the delicate dance of woman and goats has become a tango, complete with dramatic shifts and turns. I still work every day, tutor twice a week, milk the goats, and attend a grad class on Wednesday nights. My personal time is limited. I try to find time for the people I love. I hope they'll understand.

Claire

It's a changing lifestyle for me, this new, uninterrupted pace of interaction. My body is reacting to the change with little anxiety attacks, interrupted sleep, irritable bowel and fibromialgia flare-ups. And therein lies the title of this blog: Listening.

It's season's end, here in frosty Pennsylvania. The last garden vegetables have been brought in, and all that remains are the hearty cole-crops and the indigenous herbs. The latter have been calling to me lately; the lemon balm and mint, the few remaining leaves of the transplanted passion-flower, and the rambunctious parsley. This morning, anticipating a difficult day (our goats showed signs of pink-eye last night, and today will be spent treating them), I woke in a back-wrenching, twitchy sweat at 4 AM. The usual remedies (a glass of milk, a chapter of a novel, relocation to the couch) did nothing. But I kept thinking of those herbs.

Lemon Balm

Two days ago, during my morning prep period, I read a bit about "A Course on Miracles", and since then have tried the first two exercises which allow you to reframe your assumptions. I don't know if I'll continue the course or not, but I do know that I was more aware of my inner thoughts this morning, as those plant images kept coming to me. At a certain point, it occurred to me that those very plants had exactly what I needed; they were calming, strengthening, antibacterial. The infusion I made from the lemon balm, mint and passion flower immediately untied the knot in my back; and the parsley I picked several days ago will be going to the goats this morning. It's just what they need.

Parsley

So, in my transitioning rhythms, I'm learning something new: in those wee hours of the night, in those fleeting still moments, take the time to listen. The answers are there.

Mint

Jersey Boy

2010-11-04T20:34:00.001-04:00

First, I apologize for my HUGE lapse in blogging. I wrote my first graduate paper. I'm 53. That was huge for me. I'm loving the whole research process. My world just got...BIGGER.
Here's what I've been up to in the meantime...our little Jersey boy was born two days ago, on my birthday. Check out the state map on his forehead! He's adorable.

Pumpkin, born on 11/02/2010

Pumpkin's momma, Daisy, is doing fine. He was an easy delivery.

More updates to follow ASAP!

Fall at the Farm

2010-10-17T21:23:00.003-04:00

This was my second Fall Open House at the Farm since I've been there. It's been a good two years for me. I've milked dozens of goats, birthed dozens of goat kids and two calves, and experienced so many peak moments of both joy and grief in life's inevitable dramas that reading about it (via John Dewey, on "Esthetic Experience") seems dry to me.

There's nothing like farm life to put you in the moment.

Remember Be Here Now? I do.

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I have lived intensely, these two years.

I'm grateful for that.

For the calf that took her first breath from me, through my lips, fresh born into my lap.

For the goat kid that was born alive after her twin's still birth, and the mother that survived it all; her pain was my pain, as I held her unborn kid's legs in my hands and later held her head during a hard delivery, and then, joyfully, her live, perfect baby shortly after.

For the two kids born two days after their older sister, and their mother that miraculously held her colostrum for them after giving a day's portion to her first baby

Miracles. Every day.

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For the prayers that are answered on faith,

and for the many caring, giving people I've met at the farm.

.........

On our Open House days, we celebrate! We celebrate life.

We celebrate:

Teenagers who volunteer for camp, and (this weekend) pony rides!

Volunteers who brought pumpkins, and tended the horses and other livestock.

The new friends who visited today, and who helped support our vision of agricultural education.

Miss Kathy, whose insights and determination are the heart of Flint Hill.

The fruits of our labors; Eric and Kathy's cheese, our hens'eggs, our bees' honey, and the artisans who keep us in their plans.

The Godfrey Daniels musicians, who generously contribute their talents and time to our fundraising events.

And to everyone who contributes in one way or another to make this dream a reality.

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I've been contemplating my future lately. Studying the philosophy of art education (and art, my life apart from the farm), and facing my own aging process and the challenges it brings makes me realize how immediate and vital this sort of experience is for all of us.

I'm so grateful.

I'm so blessed.

Big Mushrooms, Big Goats, Big Week

2010-10-09T21:04:00.000-04:00

It's been a week of epic proportions.

It's "Date Week" at the farm; George and Herve are enjoying the company of their many gorgeous goaty girlfriends, and doing their best to provide us with an exciting and prolific April. In typical buck manner, there's been a lot of posturing, prancing and blubbering going on. Herve seems to think that sticking his tongue out makes him particularly attractive to the ladies; that, and peeing on his beard, of course. What a guy.

The Girls Love Me.

Unfortunately, the boys are also a little extra frisky this week. Poor George somehow knocked off one of his horns, and had to be seen by the vet yesterday evening, as he was bleeding profusely. He didn't let it keep him from his ladies, though! He's much better today.

Hey, Come Back!

I have a few more "intimate" pictures, but Herve told me that some things just needed to remain private. He's a happy boy this week. I suspect he'll need a long nap tonight; he's been busy.

Our girl Faith has been visiting her beau back at the farm where she was born. We're aiming for a registered nubian kid from her this year; I can't wait to see it (or them)! But I really miss her each night at Flint Hill! She hopped right into the back crew seat of the pickup truck for the ride over. I wasn't able to get pictures, but I will when she comes home.

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On the home front, it's apparently "mushroom week". I've been encountering all sorts of BIG specimens this week.

This Whopper was the Largest: a Giant Puffball, Nearly 12"Across.

The secret to this one was to tear it into thicker chunks, then saute it before freezing. It's so soft it condenses considerably...but oh so good! All of the puffballs can be used like tofu; they take on the flavor of the seasonings you use. So far, my favorite has been a combination of sesame oil and soy sauce. though the pieces I added to our shrimp bisque yesterday were pretty darn good, too.

Chicken of the Woods: Big and Nasty

This Chicken of The Woods was a nice surprise, though we didn't eat it. It was hard and quite buggy. But it was good to identify it! It's been an interesting autumn so far; school is in full swing, my grad course is exciting, and I'm learning about new and easily identifiable mushrooms. Life's good!

Giant Puffball-icious

2010-10-06T23:14:00.000-04:00

Oh my...a new mushroom to hunt! ******NOTE: never eat a mushroom you're not familiar with! More info. to follow.

This was the smaller one!

They look like angel food cake inside. NO gills or stems.

Light and delicious! I'll be mushroom hunting this weekend!