When you have 70 pounds or so of ripe tomatoes in the house, you don't plant garden. You don't make cheese. You get out the pressure canner and the water bath canner and big pots of hot water and big bowls of cold water and get to work.
I did get the milk skimmed after breakfast, before canning. Over 5 quarts of cream later, I began to pressure can 14 quarts of milk. This kills the bacteria and makes the jars of milk shelf stable. At some point we will have to go a couple of months or more without milk as we wait for babies to arrive. These nice jars of milk will be great for cooking, putting in coffee and drinking if we just absolutely have to have a glass of milk. While the canner bubbled and hissed and jiggled I began the process of processing tomatoes. The tomatoes have to be dipped in a bath of boiling water then into the cold water to make the skins peel off effortlessly. I skin them and core them by hand then decide what to cook.
We absolutely adore La Madeleine's recipe for Tomato Basil Soup. La Mad's is a cute little French bistro chain in Texas we used to frequent. In our early married years we would go and order a cup of french roast and eat the free bread and jam they put out. Great cheap date. The real splurge was a bowl of soup. Here is the recipe:
4 cups pureed tomatoes
1/2 c. butter
1 c. heavy cream or half n half, depending on how generous your cow is
2 c tomato juice (or if you are using fresh juicy tomatoes, just make that 6 c. pureed tomatoes
2 c. chicken broth
1 TBSP fresh chopped basil, or more if you really love basil
Bring the tomatoes, juice and broth to a boil. Simmer for 30 minutes. Add the basil and cream and butter. Salt and pepper to taste. Enjoy with some of our freshly ground whole wheat baguette or milk and honey bread with a nice piece of cheese. Or quadruple the recipe and freeze for winter time and grilled cheese sandwiches.
Another recipe we use to make many many jars of salsa is the fake Pace Picante recipe:
56 oz pureed fresh tomatoes
medium onion
2 jalapenos minced
1/4 c. vinegar
1 tsp salt or more if you are a salt fiend like our family
a few minced garlic cloves
Bring to a boil. Simmer for 30 minutes. Put into jars and refrigerate when cool or water bath to make shelf stable.
I also made many jars of pepper jelly, marinara sauce, spaghetti sauce and stewed tomatoes. The final jars of boiling as I type. A few weeks ago I looked at the basement shelves with horror. We were empty! Last year our garden was much earlier. Never fear. Harvest time is here. The shelves are filling up with preserves, canned fruits, all sorts of goodies.
While I chopped, peeled, stirred and ladled, the children worked on schoolwork, practiced latin, wrote a paper on sea wasps and colored pictures, moved turkeys and ducks out to a new home and Philip and Thomas went to get a huge load of firewood. We didn't eat very much. Will do that later. Didn't get much laundry done. Tomorrow? But there are many more tomatoes ripe in the garden... I'm thinking bbq sauce, ketchup, more marinara....
"Many are the plans in a man's heart, but it is the Lord's purpose that prevails." Prov. 19:21
Monday, September 15, 2008
Sunday, September 14, 2008
A Day of Rest
I woke up at 6:45 this morning, put on the kettle, ground my locally roasted, free-trade organic coffee beans from Star City Coffee, and went out on the deck to watch the fog roll in. At first, the sunrise was pink and beautiful. Then came the mist. It crept through hay meadow, smokily filling up the lane by the stream. The kettle whistled, the coffee pressed, the cream poured, I moved to the front porch to spend a few minutes in contemplative prayer. Sometimes I forget to sit and be still.
After getting the rest of the family up and at em, Maggie and I head to the barn to milk cow and goats and minister to little lambs. Coco gave me almost 3 gallons last night, and almost 2 1/2 this morning. Have you ever had 5 gallons of milk in your fridge? We have around 12 right now... Philip and the kids headed to Sunday School and I stayed behind to strain milk and wash up a few dishes.
The drive to church, alone, was wonderful. I have had the best "Sunday School" times in the car recently! This morning the scripture in John15 came to mind and I spent some time meditating on John 15:5, "I am the vine; you are the branches. If a man remains in me and I in him, he will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing." I thought of the importance of having a good root system. Of pruning. Wondered if there were things in my life that needed to be pruned because they were diverting energy from good fruit. I thought about fertilizer, and how "manure" is necessary to provide food for growth. I want to remember to be grateful for "manure" when I get dumped on! It will help me grow! I thought about the concept of my being a branch, not the vine. As a branch, I have a very important role, but am not alone. I must be dependent on the Vine. The Vine is my source of nourishment, my foundation, my framework. What great love I felt for Jesus, giving us so many beautiful lessons.
In church there was a need for someone to help with the babies. I never never never help in the nursery. I have a lot of kid interaction ALL WEEK LONG. But for some reason I wanted to go love on babies. It was so much fun playing with twin fellows who really liked me. I know they liked me because they squeaked and cooed and smiled the most incredible smiles at me. And they liked my singing. It blessed me richly. I had prayed for those little fellows for months before they were born, but had never spent time with them post-utero.
We had a great lunch at our favorite place to eat in Salem: Shanghai. It is a family-run Chinese restaurant. Of course we like the fact that we can all eat a fabulous buffet with veggies, meat, dessert and hot tea for less than McDonald's. And we like to support fellow farmers! They grow organic veggies in the alley way behind the restaurant. How do you like that?
I met up with a friend from church for a cup of coffee and a nice long chat, then Nora and I headed home. She and I took a nice walk down by the stream. The array of wildflowers was cacophonous! What an incredible bouquet graces our kitchen as a result. Of course the goldenrod stands out as the glamorous, long-legged movie star. Everyone can see her from yards and yards away. Yellow Coneflower is a pretty fair competitor. But it takes a walk to see the true beauties. Wild mint shoots up her fluffy purple pompons. "I may be little, but look at me! Pretty and useful, too!" Banks of jewel-weed look like orange polka-dots from a few yards away, not even visible from the kitchen window. But walking alongside the stream with Nora they beckon us quietly. I teeter on the bank, reaching for a closer look. Orange, tiger spots, like an orchid. Hanging like jewels in the cool shade. A weed? I don't think so. Lobelia calls out for my attention. How had I missed out on her? Her glow-in the dark purple blossoms are incredible.
Nora and I made our way back to the house, flower arrangement in arms. We place our beauties in a big vase and water, grab the baskets and head out to the garden. 25 lbs of tomatoes later, a nice mess of okra, peppers galore, some cucumbers we head to the house to boil some eggs to eat with homemade pickles for supper. The swiss chard, black-eyed peas, the rest of the tomatoes, the green beans will have to wait til tomorrow. By that time there will be more okra. More jalapenos. More tomatoes. More cucumbers. Hopefully by that time we will be planting broccoli seedlings, cabbage seedlings, turnips, lettuce and spinach. In the middle of the okra, the sun set. One moment the sky was blue, the next it was a canvas of hot pink, orange and gold. A few minutes later it was gone. I am so glad we were outside.
After our little rustic Sunday supper, Nora and I headed to the barn to milk Coco. Of course the three barn kitties were waiting for their share of the bounty. The giant moon rose over the ridge. It is almost completely full. Maybe it is full? It was surrounded with a brilliant glowing aura. A spotlight. Before having to go out in the evenings to milk the cow, I never in my life noticed that the moon came up in a different spot every night. I guess I thought it came up the same just like the sun. Maybe I learned differently in school but it didn't stick. How did I miss that? When it is full it comes up on the eastern part of our east to west running ridge, close to the border of our property. Just the other day it was over our neighbor's house to the west. How much has our culture missed by being inside watching television every night? One learns that the earth spins round and round, but if you are not outdoors observing at some point, you might never grasp the concept.
We brought in the huge stainless steel bowl of milk, strained it, labeled it (C. pm 9/14) and tried to find room in the fridge. Tomorrow we will make cheese? Butter? Philip and the bigger kids got home from youth activities at church. Toast was made. Butter was spread. More boiled eggs eaten. Milk chugged. A few more evening chores taken care of by Dad and Maggie. Everyone heads upstairs. I stay at the computer for a few moments to be still. To look up names of wildflowers in the Golden Guide Wildflowers book and write for a much longer time than planned.
Tomorrow will be filled with its own adventures. I am glad for a day to be still. To meditate. To take a walk and see amazing things. I hope my friends will take a few minutes to enjoy the little miracles all around their own unique worlds!
After getting the rest of the family up and at em, Maggie and I head to the barn to milk cow and goats and minister to little lambs. Coco gave me almost 3 gallons last night, and almost 2 1/2 this morning. Have you ever had 5 gallons of milk in your fridge? We have around 12 right now... Philip and the kids headed to Sunday School and I stayed behind to strain milk and wash up a few dishes.
The drive to church, alone, was wonderful. I have had the best "Sunday School" times in the car recently! This morning the scripture in John15 came to mind and I spent some time meditating on John 15:5, "I am the vine; you are the branches. If a man remains in me and I in him, he will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing." I thought of the importance of having a good root system. Of pruning. Wondered if there were things in my life that needed to be pruned because they were diverting energy from good fruit. I thought about fertilizer, and how "manure" is necessary to provide food for growth. I want to remember to be grateful for "manure" when I get dumped on! It will help me grow! I thought about the concept of my being a branch, not the vine. As a branch, I have a very important role, but am not alone. I must be dependent on the Vine. The Vine is my source of nourishment, my foundation, my framework. What great love I felt for Jesus, giving us so many beautiful lessons.
In church there was a need for someone to help with the babies. I never never never help in the nursery. I have a lot of kid interaction ALL WEEK LONG. But for some reason I wanted to go love on babies. It was so much fun playing with twin fellows who really liked me. I know they liked me because they squeaked and cooed and smiled the most incredible smiles at me. And they liked my singing. It blessed me richly. I had prayed for those little fellows for months before they were born, but had never spent time with them post-utero.
We had a great lunch at our favorite place to eat in Salem: Shanghai. It is a family-run Chinese restaurant. Of course we like the fact that we can all eat a fabulous buffet with veggies, meat, dessert and hot tea for less than McDonald's. And we like to support fellow farmers! They grow organic veggies in the alley way behind the restaurant. How do you like that?
I met up with a friend from church for a cup of coffee and a nice long chat, then Nora and I headed home. She and I took a nice walk down by the stream. The array of wildflowers was cacophonous! What an incredible bouquet graces our kitchen as a result. Of course the goldenrod stands out as the glamorous, long-legged movie star. Everyone can see her from yards and yards away. Yellow Coneflower is a pretty fair competitor. But it takes a walk to see the true beauties. Wild mint shoots up her fluffy purple pompons. "I may be little, but look at me! Pretty and useful, too!" Banks of jewel-weed look like orange polka-dots from a few yards away, not even visible from the kitchen window. But walking alongside the stream with Nora they beckon us quietly. I teeter on the bank, reaching for a closer look. Orange, tiger spots, like an orchid. Hanging like jewels in the cool shade. A weed? I don't think so. Lobelia calls out for my attention. How had I missed out on her? Her glow-in the dark purple blossoms are incredible.
Nora and I made our way back to the house, flower arrangement in arms. We place our beauties in a big vase and water, grab the baskets and head out to the garden. 25 lbs of tomatoes later, a nice mess of okra, peppers galore, some cucumbers we head to the house to boil some eggs to eat with homemade pickles for supper. The swiss chard, black-eyed peas, the rest of the tomatoes, the green beans will have to wait til tomorrow. By that time there will be more okra. More jalapenos. More tomatoes. More cucumbers. Hopefully by that time we will be planting broccoli seedlings, cabbage seedlings, turnips, lettuce and spinach. In the middle of the okra, the sun set. One moment the sky was blue, the next it was a canvas of hot pink, orange and gold. A few minutes later it was gone. I am so glad we were outside.
After our little rustic Sunday supper, Nora and I headed to the barn to milk Coco. Of course the three barn kitties were waiting for their share of the bounty. The giant moon rose over the ridge. It is almost completely full. Maybe it is full? It was surrounded with a brilliant glowing aura. A spotlight. Before having to go out in the evenings to milk the cow, I never in my life noticed that the moon came up in a different spot every night. I guess I thought it came up the same just like the sun. Maybe I learned differently in school but it didn't stick. How did I miss that? When it is full it comes up on the eastern part of our east to west running ridge, close to the border of our property. Just the other day it was over our neighbor's house to the west. How much has our culture missed by being inside watching television every night? One learns that the earth spins round and round, but if you are not outdoors observing at some point, you might never grasp the concept.
We brought in the huge stainless steel bowl of milk, strained it, labeled it (C. pm 9/14) and tried to find room in the fridge. Tomorrow we will make cheese? Butter? Philip and the bigger kids got home from youth activities at church. Toast was made. Butter was spread. More boiled eggs eaten. Milk chugged. A few more evening chores taken care of by Dad and Maggie. Everyone heads upstairs. I stay at the computer for a few moments to be still. To look up names of wildflowers in the Golden Guide Wildflowers book and write for a much longer time than planned.
Tomorrow will be filled with its own adventures. I am glad for a day to be still. To meditate. To take a walk and see amazing things. I hope my friends will take a few minutes to enjoy the little miracles all around their own unique worlds!
Friday, September 12, 2008
Grass-Fed Beef, medium rare
Patrick and I went to pick up our beef from the butcher yesterday. We go to a slaughter-house in Lewisburg, WV. It has been difficult finding a butcher nearby who will process meats with USDA certification. We are happy to have found a great family-run place.
When we moved to the farm I began research on beef, pork and poultry raising. We have been interested in organic farming and healthy-living for a long time, but I still purchased meat from Sam's or Costco or wherever I could find the biggest bargain for our hungry omnivorous family. A book came across my path that changed all that. Pasture-Fed Perfect, by Jo Robinson lays out the argument for forage-raised meat. I had no real idea the path that the average grocery store meat took from"farm" to store shelf. Such a little, easy to read book, showed hard data and research that indicates that meat raised on pasture, eating grass the way its body was designed to eat, ends up being more nutrient-dense, with more of the good cholestrol, less bad cholestrol than meat raised in pens, being stuffed with grain. Cattle were never meant to eat so much corn.
We purchased our first steers two springs ago. My dad raised beef cattle during my childhood, but I never paid much attention. Just stayed far away from the pasture with the big old bull, and had nightmares of "Old Sam" chasing me through fields. I did eat a lot of meat growing up. Took it for granted. Red meat has always been one of my favorite things. I hoped to raise for ourselves and others good quality beef. Our steers have been on grass, or with hay, their whole life, but the last 5 weeks we opted to give white-face steer a small bucket of non-gmo, non-medicated locally grown grain. Just enough to gentle him down. Not so much to give him a tummy ache. It is helpful to have a 1000lb steer willing to follow you around wherever you want him to go, because pushing is out of the question. We gave him and our other livestock access to minerals, salt and rather poor pasture. Could be worse pasture, but it takes a few years to develop great grass using the organic method, so we have to work with what we have. We chose to castrate at a later age than is standard practice so we would not have to give hormone injections. (Hormones are standard practice, by the way, even on the average small farm.)
Eighteen months is a very long time to wait for a home-grown steak. It called for a celebration. Our friends, the Thomas family, came over and we grilled the fatted, but not too fatted calf. First thing I noticed was the yellow tinge in the fat. What a difference. Just like our butter is golden yellow, the yolks of our eggs are orangey yellow, this fat was yellow as well.
Here are some things I have learned about grass-fed beef:
*Grass-fed beef has 2-6 times the Omega-3 fatty acids as grainfed beef.
*GF beef has twice the beta-carotene as grainfed beef.
*GF beef has 4 times the Vit. E of grainfed beef.
*GF beef is over 50%lower in saturated fat.
You can read more info yourself on Jo Robinson's Eatwild website. Her book will change the way you think about meat, eggs and milk.
So, eating healthy foods is pretty important to me. I want our children to grow up having access to real food. But what about taste?
It was delicious! We consumed several pounds of grilled steak, okra sauteed in butter, big mounds of golden mashed potatoes, everything harvested right here on the farm. What a gift. Certainly not a bargain-bin special. No way we can compete with Sam's club prices. But what a treat. I am thankful to have the opportunity to raise food for our family and for others who have other callings off the farm. I am pretty tired right now, and significantly overwhelmed by gallons of milk, cheesemaking, harvesting, canning, chicken killing, bread making, feed buying, fall garden planting, laundry, homeschool, etc., etc. Nevertheless, each month it seems apparent that farming and raising our food is indeed a noble calling. I am working to find my balance. Not getting it all done. But eating really well in the meantime. Trying to pause occasionally and listen, be still and be grateful.
Better get back to the pears. And plums. And apples. And tomatoes. And peppers. As I do I will savor the memory of that steak last night and look forward to supper. Grass-fed burgers with homemade cheese, anyone?
When we moved to the farm I began research on beef, pork and poultry raising. We have been interested in organic farming and healthy-living for a long time, but I still purchased meat from Sam's or Costco or wherever I could find the biggest bargain for our hungry omnivorous family. A book came across my path that changed all that. Pasture-Fed Perfect, by Jo Robinson lays out the argument for forage-raised meat. I had no real idea the path that the average grocery store meat took from"farm" to store shelf. Such a little, easy to read book, showed hard data and research that indicates that meat raised on pasture, eating grass the way its body was designed to eat, ends up being more nutrient-dense, with more of the good cholestrol, less bad cholestrol than meat raised in pens, being stuffed with grain. Cattle were never meant to eat so much corn.
We purchased our first steers two springs ago. My dad raised beef cattle during my childhood, but I never paid much attention. Just stayed far away from the pasture with the big old bull, and had nightmares of "Old Sam" chasing me through fields. I did eat a lot of meat growing up. Took it for granted. Red meat has always been one of my favorite things. I hoped to raise for ourselves and others good quality beef. Our steers have been on grass, or with hay, their whole life, but the last 5 weeks we opted to give white-face steer a small bucket of non-gmo, non-medicated locally grown grain. Just enough to gentle him down. Not so much to give him a tummy ache. It is helpful to have a 1000lb steer willing to follow you around wherever you want him to go, because pushing is out of the question. We gave him and our other livestock access to minerals, salt and rather poor pasture. Could be worse pasture, but it takes a few years to develop great grass using the organic method, so we have to work with what we have. We chose to castrate at a later age than is standard practice so we would not have to give hormone injections. (Hormones are standard practice, by the way, even on the average small farm.)
Eighteen months is a very long time to wait for a home-grown steak. It called for a celebration. Our friends, the Thomas family, came over and we grilled the fatted, but not too fatted calf. First thing I noticed was the yellow tinge in the fat. What a difference. Just like our butter is golden yellow, the yolks of our eggs are orangey yellow, this fat was yellow as well.
Here are some things I have learned about grass-fed beef:
*Grass-fed beef has 2-6 times the Omega-3 fatty acids as grainfed beef.
*GF beef has twice the beta-carotene as grainfed beef.
*GF beef has 4 times the Vit. E of grainfed beef.
*GF beef is over 50%lower in saturated fat.
You can read more info yourself on Jo Robinson's Eatwild website. Her book will change the way you think about meat, eggs and milk.
So, eating healthy foods is pretty important to me. I want our children to grow up having access to real food. But what about taste?
It was delicious! We consumed several pounds of grilled steak, okra sauteed in butter, big mounds of golden mashed potatoes, everything harvested right here on the farm. What a gift. Certainly not a bargain-bin special. No way we can compete with Sam's club prices. But what a treat. I am thankful to have the opportunity to raise food for our family and for others who have other callings off the farm. I am pretty tired right now, and significantly overwhelmed by gallons of milk, cheesemaking, harvesting, canning, chicken killing, bread making, feed buying, fall garden planting, laundry, homeschool, etc., etc. Nevertheless, each month it seems apparent that farming and raising our food is indeed a noble calling. I am working to find my balance. Not getting it all done. But eating really well in the meantime. Trying to pause occasionally and listen, be still and be grateful.
Better get back to the pears. And plums. And apples. And tomatoes. And peppers. As I do I will savor the memory of that steak last night and look forward to supper. Grass-fed burgers with homemade cheese, anyone?
Sunday, September 7, 2008
Honora Kathleen Hillery, turning 5
Nora was born on September 2, 2003, in my parents' spare bedroom in the beautiful lake community, Sunrise Beach, TX. It might well be the biggest event that ever took place in that little town! A midwife came to assist, my sister Christine caught the sweet little thing, as Philip and the big kids were enroute to the first day of school in NJ. My parents' church friends came out and prayed for days for a safe delivery. The newspaper came out after the fact and took pictures and wrote story.
It was a happy day when we got to meet Nora, but we all wished she would have come a couple of days earlier! I remember trying all the old wives tales that would supposedly bring on labor. Walked miles. Ate more jalapenos than you can count. Didn't bring on labor, but brought on the most horrid case of acid reflux I have ever experienced in my life. Sure enough, when the time was right, she made her entry. It was hard work, but not impossibly difficult. What a cutie-pie.
Five years ago seems like another world. We lived in a cute, northern NJ suburban town, in a cute little house, walked the kids a mile or so to public school and back, gardened in the little yard. When Nora was born, I had never canned a vegetable or made jam or killed a chicken (or any other animal for that matter), milked a cow or made cheese. I had used cloth diapers for 4 other kids, but didn't with her.
I remember walking past the bike store with Nora in a baby sling, toddler Rose in the flimsy stroller. We test drove the fancy over $500 double stroller. I wanted that stroller. We walked miles every week and that stroller was a dream. It had big wheels, perfect for walking, jogging, handling the ups and downs for racing with the kids. No way was I going to fork over $500 for a stroller so I decided to "let my requests be known to God." I try to take the big things and the small to my creator, and decided that we could afford around a hundred dollars. I called all the consignment stores and they assured me that they never had such a stroller for that price. I kept on walking with the little stroller and the sling and the backache, and every once in a while offered up a little prayer. One day I was in town with my mom who was visiting. Some little nudge made me decide to run over to the little shop by the train station. Right in front was the stroller of my dreams! For a hundred dollars!
Nora and I spent many hours of her baby life walking with that stroller. We would walk with Rose cuddled next to her, accompanying kids to the elementary school. We would go to the bagel shop, to the church, to the park, round the block. Later on we would drop Rose off at the little community preschool for a couple of hours. We would walk, sing and pray. Nora would sit in the stroller and gurgle and coo as I worked in the little garden in our yard, planting herbs and berries and peppers and tomatoes.
Nora spent the rest of her little baby years attached to my hip. She would nurse and cuddle on my lap during the Tuesday night ladies prayer time at our house. She would be passed around the room and cuddled by all the other ladies at our women's retreats. Thomas and Patrick, Maggie and Rose would get great joy out of making her laugh! And trying to translate her little baby noises into modern standard English.
Nora turned 2 when we moved to the farm. She really doesn't remember walks in the stroller. She hasn't cared to nurse for several years now, but she does like to cuddle on my lap. She can speak English really well, when she chooses. Nora is a little reserved, but warms up and becomes a very loyal friend. Even when she was a very little thing she liked playing with the doll house and the little toys. She makes up beautiful songs when she is all by herself. I think she will be a gifted singer. She has also been quite melodic as she plays on the piano. No lessons yet, but she will in time. She is creative and imaginative. Loves to color and draw. Her sisters taught her how to write her name and how to count this past year. She is still a bit young for kindergarten, but I think she is so clever, there is no telling what she will be learning this year.
Nora has a grateful heart. Last night we cuddled and read a story book given to her by her friends, Sophie, Boone and Meck. We talked about what fun we had at her party yesterday afternoon. Three other homeschooling friends and their families came. We ate homemade cake and icecream. We tasted several kinds of homemade pickles and salsas. The kids ran round and round, playing non-organized games while the parents chatted. Her only request was a pinata (Nora does have a sweet tooth!) The children took turns hitting it till Maggie burst it open. They ran to collect the candy and all made sure that the shy little ones got their share, too. Then off to run and play some more.
Nora told me how happy she is with our family. She loves her friends, her Dad, her Mom, her biggest brother Thomas, her big brother Patrick, her biggest sister Maggie, her big sister and roomie Rose. She told me she thinks our family is great. That was a real gift to me. I cannot imagine our life without Nora. She was a bit of a surprise. I remember being uncertain about telling Philip's mom the big news when we found out a new baby was in the picture. I guess I feared she would disapprove. On the contrary, she gave me a big smile and a blessing, saying that we were just the people she would choose to have another baby. How excited she was, and so was Philip's dad. Two months after we found out I was pregnant, they died. Nora was a wonderful gift to us. Unexpected, but ever so welcomed. We are so happy she is in our family.
Honora, named after Philip's Irish great-grandmother who came to America. Kathleen after my second mother, my mom's best friend, and now my dear friend as well. Nice long hair, happy smile, getting tall, loves to drink cow's milk and eat lots of homemade toast and jam. Happy Birthday, Nora. You are now 5. Your Jersey Mama always used to say that year 5 was the very sweetest of years. I hope that this is a very sweet year for you. We are so very glad you were born.
It was a happy day when we got to meet Nora, but we all wished she would have come a couple of days earlier! I remember trying all the old wives tales that would supposedly bring on labor. Walked miles. Ate more jalapenos than you can count. Didn't bring on labor, but brought on the most horrid case of acid reflux I have ever experienced in my life. Sure enough, when the time was right, she made her entry. It was hard work, but not impossibly difficult. What a cutie-pie.
Five years ago seems like another world. We lived in a cute, northern NJ suburban town, in a cute little house, walked the kids a mile or so to public school and back, gardened in the little yard. When Nora was born, I had never canned a vegetable or made jam or killed a chicken (or any other animal for that matter), milked a cow or made cheese. I had used cloth diapers for 4 other kids, but didn't with her.
I remember walking past the bike store with Nora in a baby sling, toddler Rose in the flimsy stroller. We test drove the fancy over $500 double stroller. I wanted that stroller. We walked miles every week and that stroller was a dream. It had big wheels, perfect for walking, jogging, handling the ups and downs for racing with the kids. No way was I going to fork over $500 for a stroller so I decided to "let my requests be known to God." I try to take the big things and the small to my creator, and decided that we could afford around a hundred dollars. I called all the consignment stores and they assured me that they never had such a stroller for that price. I kept on walking with the little stroller and the sling and the backache, and every once in a while offered up a little prayer. One day I was in town with my mom who was visiting. Some little nudge made me decide to run over to the little shop by the train station. Right in front was the stroller of my dreams! For a hundred dollars!
Nora and I spent many hours of her baby life walking with that stroller. We would walk with Rose cuddled next to her, accompanying kids to the elementary school. We would go to the bagel shop, to the church, to the park, round the block. Later on we would drop Rose off at the little community preschool for a couple of hours. We would walk, sing and pray. Nora would sit in the stroller and gurgle and coo as I worked in the little garden in our yard, planting herbs and berries and peppers and tomatoes.
Nora spent the rest of her little baby years attached to my hip. She would nurse and cuddle on my lap during the Tuesday night ladies prayer time at our house. She would be passed around the room and cuddled by all the other ladies at our women's retreats. Thomas and Patrick, Maggie and Rose would get great joy out of making her laugh! And trying to translate her little baby noises into modern standard English.
Nora turned 2 when we moved to the farm. She really doesn't remember walks in the stroller. She hasn't cared to nurse for several years now, but she does like to cuddle on my lap. She can speak English really well, when she chooses. Nora is a little reserved, but warms up and becomes a very loyal friend. Even when she was a very little thing she liked playing with the doll house and the little toys. She makes up beautiful songs when she is all by herself. I think she will be a gifted singer. She has also been quite melodic as she plays on the piano. No lessons yet, but she will in time. She is creative and imaginative. Loves to color and draw. Her sisters taught her how to write her name and how to count this past year. She is still a bit young for kindergarten, but I think she is so clever, there is no telling what she will be learning this year.
Nora has a grateful heart. Last night we cuddled and read a story book given to her by her friends, Sophie, Boone and Meck. We talked about what fun we had at her party yesterday afternoon. Three other homeschooling friends and their families came. We ate homemade cake and icecream. We tasted several kinds of homemade pickles and salsas. The kids ran round and round, playing non-organized games while the parents chatted. Her only request was a pinata (Nora does have a sweet tooth!) The children took turns hitting it till Maggie burst it open. They ran to collect the candy and all made sure that the shy little ones got their share, too. Then off to run and play some more.
Nora told me how happy she is with our family. She loves her friends, her Dad, her Mom, her biggest brother Thomas, her big brother Patrick, her biggest sister Maggie, her big sister and roomie Rose. She told me she thinks our family is great. That was a real gift to me. I cannot imagine our life without Nora. She was a bit of a surprise. I remember being uncertain about telling Philip's mom the big news when we found out a new baby was in the picture. I guess I feared she would disapprove. On the contrary, she gave me a big smile and a blessing, saying that we were just the people she would choose to have another baby. How excited she was, and so was Philip's dad. Two months after we found out I was pregnant, they died. Nora was a wonderful gift to us. Unexpected, but ever so welcomed. We are so happy she is in our family.
Honora, named after Philip's Irish great-grandmother who came to America. Kathleen after my second mother, my mom's best friend, and now my dear friend as well. Nice long hair, happy smile, getting tall, loves to drink cow's milk and eat lots of homemade toast and jam. Happy Birthday, Nora. You are now 5. Your Jersey Mama always used to say that year 5 was the very sweetest of years. I hope that this is a very sweet year for you. We are so very glad you were born.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Rain
Yesterday morning the pond was half empty.
This morning it is full. I didn't even leave the clothes on the line!
Praise God from whom all blessings flow.
Praise Him all creatures here below.
Praise Him above ye heavenly hosts.
Praise Father, Son and Holy Ghost. Amen.
This morning it is full. I didn't even leave the clothes on the line!
Praise God from whom all blessings flow.
Praise Him all creatures here below.
Praise Him above ye heavenly hosts.
Praise Father, Son and Holy Ghost. Amen.
Monday, August 25, 2008
Surprise Birthday Party
Monday on the farm has been all about cleaning house this summer. We used to clean house on Friday afternoon and Saturday morning, but now we sell at the Daleville farmer's market instead.
As Patrick scrubbed the stove and Rose cleaned cabinet doors, Maggie swept floors and cleaned the deck. Nora organized shoes in the shoe cubby and Thomas took out the trash and fed milk to the pigs. I hung out loads and loads of laundry on the clothesline daring the skies to rain. At some point Maggie ran in with a wonderful surprise! Our free-range mama Rouen duck had rejoined the two rouen drakes out on the pond. Along with eight adorable little babies swimming along behind!!! All chores came to a screeching halt as we found some old bread and Patrick and the rest of the gang ran out to the pond to inspect.
What a treat. Thankfully Mama Duck is a much better mother than Jemima Puddleduck. Nevertheless, we compelled her and her sweet babies to join the chickens in the chicken yard for awhile. You never know when a wily old fox will come along and try to "sweet talk" her and her babies to dinner.
PS. The laundry on the line trick has failed to work so far. Maybe I should leave some blankets out or something? Roll down the car windows? We are praying for rain. The ducks would love some more puddles for splashing.
As Patrick scrubbed the stove and Rose cleaned cabinet doors, Maggie swept floors and cleaned the deck. Nora organized shoes in the shoe cubby and Thomas took out the trash and fed milk to the pigs. I hung out loads and loads of laundry on the clothesline daring the skies to rain. At some point Maggie ran in with a wonderful surprise! Our free-range mama Rouen duck had rejoined the two rouen drakes out on the pond. Along with eight adorable little babies swimming along behind!!! All chores came to a screeching halt as we found some old bread and Patrick and the rest of the gang ran out to the pond to inspect.
What a treat. Thankfully Mama Duck is a much better mother than Jemima Puddleduck. Nevertheless, we compelled her and her sweet babies to join the chickens in the chicken yard for awhile. You never know when a wily old fox will come along and try to "sweet talk" her and her babies to dinner.
PS. The laundry on the line trick has failed to work so far. Maybe I should leave some blankets out or something? Roll down the car windows? We are praying for rain. The ducks would love some more puddles for splashing.
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Stop and smell the 4 o'clocks
There are so many topics I would like to cover and so little time.
I have an article rolling around in my head about August and gardens and personality tests.
Another one about the friends who lent us their horse trailer to make a 4:30am trip to the butcher with our nice big steer. Had to be there before 6 so the inspector could insure that he walked himself off the trailer and that he had adequate food and water for the journey.
Or the decision to drive our friend Holly to the Homeplace for a non-home cooked meal of fried chicken and mashed potatoes and biscuits because, by golly, I was just too tired to cook.
Or those entertaining turkey poults in the breakfast room who play a mean game of basketball with cherry tomatoes.
Or my prayer Friday morning for some divine intervention to help me have a little time with my husband, alone. And how a friend called that afternoon and said she had been wanting to help out and could she come over and work at our house on Saturday afternoon and evening and so Philip and I had a great date Saturday night, ate yummy greek food and saw a movie and stayed out way too late, and talked over supper for a very long time. Alone.
Or the new source of employment for our piggies, tilling up weeds in part of the garden.
Or the continuing cheesemaking saga, this week, 4 lbs of mozzarella.
Or the one little bantam hen who keeps slipping out of her yard and into our garden to poke holes in every single one of my nearly ripe tomatoes.
Or selling 2 of our little baby goats to a young couple who are furthering their dream of a self-sustaining life.
Or our wonderful barter relationships, or farmer's market customers, or bread making, or homeschooling.
But I think I will mention that as I sit at my piled up desk and be still, the fragrance of the 4 o'clocks and nicotania outside my back door floats in and reminds me that beauty is everywhere. God loves me and gives me good gifts. This evening in August is cool and fresh, and the end of summer frogs and insects sound like home. I made a point of sitting outside on the front porch with the girls for a few minutes to feel the fresh air and to watch the sky change as end of summer sun faded out under cover of promising clouds.
Sweet.
I have an article rolling around in my head about August and gardens and personality tests.
Another one about the friends who lent us their horse trailer to make a 4:30am trip to the butcher with our nice big steer. Had to be there before 6 so the inspector could insure that he walked himself off the trailer and that he had adequate food and water for the journey.
Or the decision to drive our friend Holly to the Homeplace for a non-home cooked meal of fried chicken and mashed potatoes and biscuits because, by golly, I was just too tired to cook.
Or those entertaining turkey poults in the breakfast room who play a mean game of basketball with cherry tomatoes.
Or my prayer Friday morning for some divine intervention to help me have a little time with my husband, alone. And how a friend called that afternoon and said she had been wanting to help out and could she come over and work at our house on Saturday afternoon and evening and so Philip and I had a great date Saturday night, ate yummy greek food and saw a movie and stayed out way too late, and talked over supper for a very long time. Alone.
Or the new source of employment for our piggies, tilling up weeds in part of the garden.
Or the continuing cheesemaking saga, this week, 4 lbs of mozzarella.
Or the one little bantam hen who keeps slipping out of her yard and into our garden to poke holes in every single one of my nearly ripe tomatoes.
Or selling 2 of our little baby goats to a young couple who are furthering their dream of a self-sustaining life.
Or our wonderful barter relationships, or farmer's market customers, or bread making, or homeschooling.
But I think I will mention that as I sit at my piled up desk and be still, the fragrance of the 4 o'clocks and nicotania outside my back door floats in and reminds me that beauty is everywhere. God loves me and gives me good gifts. This evening in August is cool and fresh, and the end of summer frogs and insects sound like home. I made a point of sitting outside on the front porch with the girls for a few minutes to feel the fresh air and to watch the sky change as end of summer sun faded out under cover of promising clouds.
Sweet.
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Flexibility on the farm, or letting go of total control, or FRIED CHICKEN
Today was slated for chicken harvesting.
In the past, I would get up extra early, clean out the barn, push sleepy family members toward the barn, get grumpy, watch family members get grumpy, then butcher chickens. Today I felt divinely inspired to let Philip and the kids do the preparation work on their own time while I took care of my own chores. I milked the cow, ate a nice breakfast prepared by Philip, read the newspaper, trying to figure out what in the world is going on in Georgia and Russia, made pickles, started some chevre, put up the fromage blanc we made yesterday, skimmed milk, made 3 quarts of cream into butter, and didn't get at all worked up over the late start in the poultry processing department.
By the time everyone was ready, it was time for lunch, so we had some delicious sandwiches with ripe tomatoes and crunchy pickles from a couple of weeks ago. Made another pot of coffee, then off we went.
Our family is not really well designed for farm life. We like late suppers. Late conversations. Late book reading. All of us. Not even any of the kids like to get up at the crack of dawn. But I still feel like if we don't start things really early we are going to get in trouble. I am afraid that some people will think we are slackers if we don't get out and hopping by 6 or so. I remember Grandpa Rowe, up at 5:30, making the coffee, turning on the EARLY news on the teeny tv, clanging around, grumbling about the fact that noone else was getting up yet. We just turned over on our pallets on the floor in the living room and tried to cover the head with pillows!
Everyone was a lot more cheerful today as we headed out to the barn around 1:30. I got loads of chores done and didn't have to feel like grouch.
The last time Philip checked on the chicken plucker it worked just fine. So, the water was hot, the counters disinfected, knives somewhat sharpened and we got to work.
The whizbang chicken plucker didn't whiz or bang. It just slowed to a complete stop when we put the first bird in. Poor Philip. I think he may have wanted to cry at that moment.
It was fun seeing how quickly the kids recovered. They began to pluck by hand and one of them, Maggie, I believe, mentioned that after plucking ducks, hand plucking chickens seemed almost fun! We processed ten chickens, leaving the rest of the 45 or 50 birds to grow a little. So we will have harvest day, take 2, in a week or two. Hand-plucking isn't really all that much fun, when you are dealing with 50 chickens.
Rose skinned out the gizzards. She was getting really good at it by the time we stopped for the day. Patrick was head executioner. Everyone plucked. Thomas carried lots of stuff. Philip worked on plucker machine. Maggie helped eviscerate, and even Patrick learned to eviscerate today. Nora hung out and the kids entertained her by doing funny things with chicken feet. They even painted the toenails of a couple of laying hens. (You do whatever it takes to keep a sleepy 4 year old entertained).
Now I sit and type and take a break. Philip took the rest of the gang for a swim, and we will all fry up some nice fresh chicken for supper. I guess if we get all that oil hot we may as well cook up some gizzards and french fries too. Noone else really likes the gizzards besides me. Good for me! Maybe someone better go check the garden for some okra. I think we have just enough to fry up at least a little taste treat.
I guess we may stay up a little too late. Oh well. I guess you can probably figure out the moral of this story.
PS, we have baby turkeys! They are teeny and look like regular chicks, but with a funny thing on the top of their heads!
PPS, you should see our forest of sunflowers. They are so pretty in the late afternoon. The bees are going crazy over them. The sun has changed and the sky is different. Summer feels like it is winding down. Maybe in a few days it will be 90 degrees and I will eat my words. But now the evenings are cool are mornings are brisk. I love it.
PPPS, we picked our apples yesterday. They are red and delicious, and crunchy and sweet. We will try to store them in the basement so we can continue to eat fresh apples for awhile. I hope they don't rot. The figs are ALMOST ripe. So are the plums. Thank God for so many wonderful things to eat.
In the past, I would get up extra early, clean out the barn, push sleepy family members toward the barn, get grumpy, watch family members get grumpy, then butcher chickens. Today I felt divinely inspired to let Philip and the kids do the preparation work on their own time while I took care of my own chores. I milked the cow, ate a nice breakfast prepared by Philip, read the newspaper, trying to figure out what in the world is going on in Georgia and Russia, made pickles, started some chevre, put up the fromage blanc we made yesterday, skimmed milk, made 3 quarts of cream into butter, and didn't get at all worked up over the late start in the poultry processing department.
By the time everyone was ready, it was time for lunch, so we had some delicious sandwiches with ripe tomatoes and crunchy pickles from a couple of weeks ago. Made another pot of coffee, then off we went.
Our family is not really well designed for farm life. We like late suppers. Late conversations. Late book reading. All of us. Not even any of the kids like to get up at the crack of dawn. But I still feel like if we don't start things really early we are going to get in trouble. I am afraid that some people will think we are slackers if we don't get out and hopping by 6 or so. I remember Grandpa Rowe, up at 5:30, making the coffee, turning on the EARLY news on the teeny tv, clanging around, grumbling about the fact that noone else was getting up yet. We just turned over on our pallets on the floor in the living room and tried to cover the head with pillows!
Everyone was a lot more cheerful today as we headed out to the barn around 1:30. I got loads of chores done and didn't have to feel like grouch.
The last time Philip checked on the chicken plucker it worked just fine. So, the water was hot, the counters disinfected, knives somewhat sharpened and we got to work.
The whizbang chicken plucker didn't whiz or bang. It just slowed to a complete stop when we put the first bird in. Poor Philip. I think he may have wanted to cry at that moment.
It was fun seeing how quickly the kids recovered. They began to pluck by hand and one of them, Maggie, I believe, mentioned that after plucking ducks, hand plucking chickens seemed almost fun! We processed ten chickens, leaving the rest of the 45 or 50 birds to grow a little. So we will have harvest day, take 2, in a week or two. Hand-plucking isn't really all that much fun, when you are dealing with 50 chickens.
Rose skinned out the gizzards. She was getting really good at it by the time we stopped for the day. Patrick was head executioner. Everyone plucked. Thomas carried lots of stuff. Philip worked on plucker machine. Maggie helped eviscerate, and even Patrick learned to eviscerate today. Nora hung out and the kids entertained her by doing funny things with chicken feet. They even painted the toenails of a couple of laying hens. (You do whatever it takes to keep a sleepy 4 year old entertained).
Now I sit and type and take a break. Philip took the rest of the gang for a swim, and we will all fry up some nice fresh chicken for supper. I guess if we get all that oil hot we may as well cook up some gizzards and french fries too. Noone else really likes the gizzards besides me. Good for me! Maybe someone better go check the garden for some okra. I think we have just enough to fry up at least a little taste treat.
I guess we may stay up a little too late. Oh well. I guess you can probably figure out the moral of this story.
PS, we have baby turkeys! They are teeny and look like regular chicks, but with a funny thing on the top of their heads!
PPS, you should see our forest of sunflowers. They are so pretty in the late afternoon. The bees are going crazy over them. The sun has changed and the sky is different. Summer feels like it is winding down. Maybe in a few days it will be 90 degrees and I will eat my words. But now the evenings are cool are mornings are brisk. I love it.
PPPS, we picked our apples yesterday. They are red and delicious, and crunchy and sweet. We will try to store them in the basement so we can continue to eat fresh apples for awhile. I hope they don't rot. The figs are ALMOST ripe. So are the plums. Thank God for so many wonderful things to eat.
Thursday, August 7, 2008
The Cream
it is weaning time for Moose. Moose is an 8 month old steer. Certainly old enough to live off the grass of the land. We have put his mother, Coco, in another field for now, separate from her son.
Poor Moose. What a crybaby! He is not terribly thrilled with the new arrangement. Coco, on the other hand, seems oblivious to the different status. She is getting to munch down on all that nice green grass in our front lawn. And I am getting to milk her in the evening now. What a lot of milk! The evening milk has even more cream than the morning.
Moose is a more efficient milker than I. He can empty Coco out in minutes. Sometimes I get halfway through and want to quit. My hands get sore. The carpal tunnel kicks in and several fingers go numb. I look in the big 3 gallon stainless steel bowl at the half a gallon of milk and am tempted to quit. How much milk do we really need, anyway? Then I think of the cream.
Cows, like humans, have different types of milk at the beginning and ending of a milking session. The first milk is called foremilk. It is watery, high in carbs, great for energy. Think skim milk. The hind milk is where the cream comes in, at the end of the milking session. All that fat leaves a very satisfied calf. Well, at least before yesterday, it left a very satisfied calf. If one stops milking before the udder has been emptied out, the milk will be lowfat. There are many conditions that contribute to fat content in milk, what type of food the cow is eating, breed, mood of the cow(does she let all her milk down or not), and the milker.
I like cream. I like butter. My family adores creamy milk and butter. Soooo, when I look into that bowl of a half a gallon of milk, I keep on pushing on. It really isn't that difficult. If I don't give up I will have a couple of gallons of milk to show for my efforts in the morning and the same thing come evening and enough cream for many cups of coffee and plenty of butter for bread and mashed potatoes. Milking reminds me of one of my favorite scriptures: "And let us not grow weary of doing good, for in due season we will reap, if we do not give up." Galatians 6:9
Guess I better sign off and skim the milk so we can make some butter. Then I plan on applying that scripture to the housekeeping department.
Poor Moose. What a crybaby! He is not terribly thrilled with the new arrangement. Coco, on the other hand, seems oblivious to the different status. She is getting to munch down on all that nice green grass in our front lawn. And I am getting to milk her in the evening now. What a lot of milk! The evening milk has even more cream than the morning.
Moose is a more efficient milker than I. He can empty Coco out in minutes. Sometimes I get halfway through and want to quit. My hands get sore. The carpal tunnel kicks in and several fingers go numb. I look in the big 3 gallon stainless steel bowl at the half a gallon of milk and am tempted to quit. How much milk do we really need, anyway? Then I think of the cream.
Cows, like humans, have different types of milk at the beginning and ending of a milking session. The first milk is called foremilk. It is watery, high in carbs, great for energy. Think skim milk. The hind milk is where the cream comes in, at the end of the milking session. All that fat leaves a very satisfied calf. Well, at least before yesterday, it left a very satisfied calf. If one stops milking before the udder has been emptied out, the milk will be lowfat. There are many conditions that contribute to fat content in milk, what type of food the cow is eating, breed, mood of the cow(does she let all her milk down or not), and the milker.
I like cream. I like butter. My family adores creamy milk and butter. Soooo, when I look into that bowl of a half a gallon of milk, I keep on pushing on. It really isn't that difficult. If I don't give up I will have a couple of gallons of milk to show for my efforts in the morning and the same thing come evening and enough cream for many cups of coffee and plenty of butter for bread and mashed potatoes. Milking reminds me of one of my favorite scriptures: "And let us not grow weary of doing good, for in due season we will reap, if we do not give up." Galatians 6:9
Guess I better sign off and skim the milk so we can make some butter. Then I plan on applying that scripture to the housekeeping department.
Friday, August 1, 2008
Canette aux navets (duckling with turnips)
We have been eating pork like crazy. So good. Chicken too. We are set to butcher the next set of broilers in a week or so. Soooo, I have been very liberal in our chicken consumption, thinking of the freezer space. I throw a couple of chickens in the clay roaster, and in a couple of hours we have several meals lined up, roast chicken, cold chicken sandwiches and soup.
Raising your own meat is kind of special. It makes you feel a bit smarter, tougher, and oh, so IN, with all this talk of green living, eat local etc. What they don't mention in the magazines is that feeling you get the night before "harvesting day." That feeling of exhaustion, of dread, of "have I forgotten anything and should I go back online to google more harvesting info and tips?" That is exactly how I was feeling last Wednesday night, preparing for the duck harvest.
I truly enjoy eating duck. Pan-seared duck breast, sliced, placed on a bed of salad greens, maybe tossed with some dried cherries, almonds and balsamic vinegar. Roasted and served with sesame orange sauce. Whatever. When I purchased a frozen duck in the grocery store once and looked at the label and wondered about that saline solution and whatever those other weird sounding ingredients were listed on the bag of raw duck, I decided we had to raise our own.
It has been fun raising ducks. They are so cute and fluffy as babies. They are so humorous lining up in the pasture, hunting for bugs and grass. Nevertheless, the processing part is not anything as easy as processing chickens. Ducks were made to be able to swim and stay relatively dry all at the same time. They have lots and lots and lots of feathers. Our feather plucker machine doesn't seem to work on ducks. I read that people use melted wax to peel off the feathers, so online I went to purchase some little beads of wax.
We got up, scrubbed down the concrete area in the barn, set up our counter and sink, started heating up huge pans of water on the propane burners, and proceeded to melt wax.
The children went out to pasture to gather up the ducks we were planning on turning into meat. Philip and Patrick humanely dispatched the fowl. The other kids and Patrick helped pull feathers. We were so excited that maybe the new wax procedure would make processing duck and easy task. We enjoy raising them so much, maybe we would want to produce enough to sell to some of our customers! Maybe duck would be the answer to all our farm financial woes. Maybe, if this stuff worked to defeather those birds as cleanly as they said it would, we would be THE gourmet duck producers in the valley. Oh, the french meals we would make for our friends and family...
I think I understand why I haven't been seeing purveyors of duckling springing forth at every farmer's market. One certainly won't be springing forth from this farm. Death sentences were lifted from 3 or 4 of the ducklings as everyone decided enough is enough. They will lay eggs, and we will enjoy listening to them quack in the field. It won't hurt to have 7 or 8 duck egg layers out there. Everyone loves duck eggs. They make the best cakes! Maybe next spring we will try our hand at processing duck again. Enough to make a few gourmet meals for us and our friends. Not the entire valley. Maybe there will be a YouTube video that shows us all the secrets we have been missing that will speed up the process. Maybe we will refine our technique.
After we finished the task and I got the barn scrubbed down again, and equipment was put up, I thought I would skip cooking supper. Too tired. Let the kids eat bread. Then I got hungry. All that duck. Can cooking be a compulsion? How could I let that duck sit in the basement fridge and not eat at least a little.
So I pulled out the duck, pan-seared it, threw in some garlic and sea salt, and put it in a hot oven. Dug out some baby turnips from the bottom of the fridge where they had been waiting for such a moment as this. Scrubbed some new potatoes and put those turnips and potatoes in the pan with the ducky. Sauteed some soleil filet green beans( a very very thin, small french variety of bean), and had a feast, sitting with Maggie out on the deck with the mosquitoes, because noone else really wanted to eat turnips and Philip and Thomas were still out fixing fence. Delicious. Fantastic. I felt so smart, so tough, so IN, so green. So tired. So happy we don't have to process meat every week. So glad for a nice comfy bed to drop into with my satisfied stomach. So relieved that when it is time to harvest beef, we will be paying someone else to do it!
Raising your own meat is kind of special. It makes you feel a bit smarter, tougher, and oh, so IN, with all this talk of green living, eat local etc. What they don't mention in the magazines is that feeling you get the night before "harvesting day." That feeling of exhaustion, of dread, of "have I forgotten anything and should I go back online to google more harvesting info and tips?" That is exactly how I was feeling last Wednesday night, preparing for the duck harvest.
I truly enjoy eating duck. Pan-seared duck breast, sliced, placed on a bed of salad greens, maybe tossed with some dried cherries, almonds and balsamic vinegar. Roasted and served with sesame orange sauce. Whatever. When I purchased a frozen duck in the grocery store once and looked at the label and wondered about that saline solution and whatever those other weird sounding ingredients were listed on the bag of raw duck, I decided we had to raise our own.
It has been fun raising ducks. They are so cute and fluffy as babies. They are so humorous lining up in the pasture, hunting for bugs and grass. Nevertheless, the processing part is not anything as easy as processing chickens. Ducks were made to be able to swim and stay relatively dry all at the same time. They have lots and lots and lots of feathers. Our feather plucker machine doesn't seem to work on ducks. I read that people use melted wax to peel off the feathers, so online I went to purchase some little beads of wax.
We got up, scrubbed down the concrete area in the barn, set up our counter and sink, started heating up huge pans of water on the propane burners, and proceeded to melt wax.
The children went out to pasture to gather up the ducks we were planning on turning into meat. Philip and Patrick humanely dispatched the fowl. The other kids and Patrick helped pull feathers. We were so excited that maybe the new wax procedure would make processing duck and easy task. We enjoy raising them so much, maybe we would want to produce enough to sell to some of our customers! Maybe duck would be the answer to all our farm financial woes. Maybe, if this stuff worked to defeather those birds as cleanly as they said it would, we would be THE gourmet duck producers in the valley. Oh, the french meals we would make for our friends and family...
I think I understand why I haven't been seeing purveyors of duckling springing forth at every farmer's market. One certainly won't be springing forth from this farm. Death sentences were lifted from 3 or 4 of the ducklings as everyone decided enough is enough. They will lay eggs, and we will enjoy listening to them quack in the field. It won't hurt to have 7 or 8 duck egg layers out there. Everyone loves duck eggs. They make the best cakes! Maybe next spring we will try our hand at processing duck again. Enough to make a few gourmet meals for us and our friends. Not the entire valley. Maybe there will be a YouTube video that shows us all the secrets we have been missing that will speed up the process. Maybe we will refine our technique.
After we finished the task and I got the barn scrubbed down again, and equipment was put up, I thought I would skip cooking supper. Too tired. Let the kids eat bread. Then I got hungry. All that duck. Can cooking be a compulsion? How could I let that duck sit in the basement fridge and not eat at least a little.
So I pulled out the duck, pan-seared it, threw in some garlic and sea salt, and put it in a hot oven. Dug out some baby turnips from the bottom of the fridge where they had been waiting for such a moment as this. Scrubbed some new potatoes and put those turnips and potatoes in the pan with the ducky. Sauteed some soleil filet green beans( a very very thin, small french variety of bean), and had a feast, sitting with Maggie out on the deck with the mosquitoes, because noone else really wanted to eat turnips and Philip and Thomas were still out fixing fence. Delicious. Fantastic. I felt so smart, so tough, so IN, so green. So tired. So happy we don't have to process meat every week. So glad for a nice comfy bed to drop into with my satisfied stomach. So relieved that when it is time to harvest beef, we will be paying someone else to do it!
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