Season journal: jamming in July, Part 2

In our last episode, our heroine was up to her elbows in cherry juice. Join us as we follow her into the deepest, darkest, BLACK CURRANT BUSH!

July 5th the currants came ripe. I picked 12 cups of fruit off of our sole black currant bush. I had to pick fast before the rain came!

Almost an inch in about an hour. It kept raining on and off all day.

Cleaning the berries has become much easier since I discovered this nifty flat strainer at a yard sale. Five nickles: a bargain at twice the price.

Black currants contain their own pectin. This means I could use less sugar and no additional pectin and my jam still jelled. To 4 cups of cherries I used 4.75 cups of sugar and a box of pectin. To 6 cups of black currants I used 4 cups of sugar. Fresh lime juice in both. I ended up with 15 jars of both types of jam.

On Michael’s barley and oat rolls, the cherry was divine and the black currant to die for.

I earned my jammy rolls today as we sent the last of our broilers to freezer camp. The largest weighed in at 9.75 pounds. He was 9 weeks old today. His liver weighed a quarter pound all by itself!

These fellows will wait until the end of July before taking that fateful trip to camp, and will be about 14 weeks old. They might get to be 3 pounds each…if they work real hard between now and then.

Michael and I bottled the first batches of rhubarb wine today. We are 36 bottles of wine richer. I like to think of it as a daily dose of Vitamin C. Not that it is. I just like to think of it that way.

Best of all, we spent time with family and friends celebrating birthdays on the 4th and 6th. Baking pies and boiling beans in the heat of July was an act of love. Imogen devoured those beans. “It takes life to live life.” Lucinda Matlock, by Edgar Lee Masters (Spoon River Anthology). I’m hoping she’ll make me a pot of beans some day.

Season journal: jamming in July

July is the season of red.

The Nankin cherries ripened right on the 1st, so I picked them.

I spent 7 hours on the 2nd pitting the wee things, rendering a smidge more than 8 cups of fruit. I lost count of how many movies I watched while doing this. I had some backlog waiting…

Today we have 15 jars of some pretty amazing cherry jam. If you ever receive one of these jars, you know I love you!

The tomatoes begin to set fruit.

The potatoes are surprisingly beetle free!

The blue potatoes are not far behind, despite being planted late.

We picked this last batch of bok choi today before it bolted. We finally have the hot humidity that makes corn grow six inches a day.

And so it is more than knee high by the Fourth of July! The cabbages are a bit scraggly, as the rabbits keep trimming them down to nothing. Michael dug up the lettuce and will plant rutabagas in this area. Planting them in July allows them to grow to a decent (but not ginormous) size by fall storage time.

I finally fenced the peas and they begin to bloom. It may be too late for a good pea crop.

I had two beans survive before I fenced and replanted. Now I have a climbing variety and bush beans. They should produce by August.

We only had one winter squash sprout. The rest are pumpkins. Michael replanted. We’ll see how it goes. Every year is different!

The currants will be ripe by next week. I may have to make some red currant jelly this year, although the currant wine is one of my favorites.

I hope to be jamming black currants on the 5th.

Daylilies, phlox, black-eyed susans, sorrel, the flowers know it is July!

This year’s rhubarb wine is one of the palest pinks ever. Tastes like a lovely dry white with that wonderful hint of rhubarb.

And what would summer be without mower rides with duck feathers? We get the wine. They get to play. It all works out. Here’s to heat and humidity!

Harvest journal: fruits (and vegetables) of our labor

These are salad days, where we may have lettuce and whatever else presents itself for breakfast, lunch, or dinner.

Gardens burgeon. We feast. Chicken-bok choi stir fry on the menu tonight.

Rabbit cacciatore: better with home grown tomatoes, even if they are last year’s put up to get us through the long tomato-less months. We refuse to buy tomatoes anymore, having been spoiled by the high-acidity variety we grow.

We don’t buy chicken either. First, our chicken tastes better than anything you can find in a store. Letting our chickens, even broilers, out on pasture, allows them an stress-free environment and tasty bugs and grass for nibbles. Broilers grow at an amazing rate. We got them as day-old chicks on May 6th. On June 14th they averaged 4.5-5 pounds. On June 24th, that increased to 6.5-7 pounds. Better yet are the heritage chickens. They grow slowly and are tougher meat, but make up for lack of tenderness with flavor.

We have not harvested any wild mushrooms yet this year. Taking time to go out and look for them is a type of harvest in itself, reaping the knowledge that comes from traversing the same paths in different seasons, seeing what the weather has brought this time.

My brother John called his children his “tesoros,” his treasures. It is the time we are gifted to see children grow, become adults, form loving relationships that produce another generation of beautiful, smart, funny, amazing people, that is a true gift. “Work hard. Rock hard. Eat hard. Sleep hard. Grow big. Wear glasses if you need them.” Webb Wilder

Flower journal: abundance

The peonies finally bloom. I need to bring some in before the rain starts again.

Pink yarrow escaped from someone’s garden. Thank you to the birds who spread flower seeds!

Canadian anemone. So much larger than the local varieties.

Wild alyssum. They line all the roadsides.

Bird’s foot trefoil. One of my favorites!

Hoary cinquefoil. A humble blossom that creates carpets of color.

Wild roses: the scent of cloves clued me in to look for them tucked into the tall grass.

Bladderwort: a terrible, if beautiful, weed.

Butter and Eggs. I love Butter and Eggs!

Goats beard: a cousin of dandelions.

Queen Anne’s Lace or Cow Parsley. So many variations of wild carrots, parsley, parsnips, and hemlock. Some poisonous, others not. I leave all alone.

Columbine. There is a huge patch on one of the routes Michael and I often bike. I never have time to stop and take a photo.

Wild daisies everywhere!

Red clover. Clover. The scent of summer.

Pine and blackcaps. They stop me in my tracks to take a moment and breathe in their sweetness.

My iris have been loving the cool, damp weather we’ve been having.

I planted marigolds in the tire planters. I think of Irene every time I pass by. She loved colorful things and always wanted something pretty at the entrance to the driveway. It is good to have the time to make small memorials to those who came before.

Garden journal: slowly we plant, quickly they grow

The big garden: only a small space remains in need of seeds.

The central area hosts onions, garlic, popcorn, cabbages, carrots, collards, and green chile. That is rhubarb keeping the quack grass and creeping Charlie at bay.

The east side raised garden sports lettuce, radishes, peas and green beans.

The north side raised garden sprouts radishes, beets, bok choi, watermelon, leeks, eggplant, and cucumbers.

Michael weeded the potatoes, which do not yet show signs of pest depredation.

My iris begin to bloom. We adopted these as they escaped the fence in a St. Paul cemetery, lo these 25 years ago. Irene would be so pleased with how the Bridal Veil spirea has recovered from the transplant trauma it suffered 10 years ago. Better to move it than to have construction trucks run it over.

The tomatoes wait for Michael to finish digging a space for them in our latest duck straw garden. Maybe by Tuesday they will be in the ground. Then he will tackle the squash garden. My knees prevent me from assisting in space creation.

The broilers eat and drink and poop and grow. We shoo them outside everyday so they have a chance to graze on grass and worms and lay about like Miss Piggy at the beach.

My energy ebbs in the smoke of Canadian wildfires. Or perhaps I’m tired because I’ve spent the day in the gardens. My activity tracker says I’ve done a week’s worth of moderate to intense exercise today. Michael has done more!

Tomorrow we travel to see these sweet peas. Our gardens, and all these small beings, flourish with care, attention, and space of their own. Yes. This is work. And so much fun!

Celebration journal: Memorial Day

Although I am not a Methodist, I am active in my local church, which happens to be Methodist. I have no photos of the Memorial Day ceremony held at the cemetery, nor the luncheon served by the church ladies (which group includes me!). I was in charge of keeping the drink table (coffee, lemonade, water) supplied. Michael pitched in with set up and made the coleslaw for this picnic-style meal. We are both exhausted (Michael is gently snoring as I write), but it was a lovely way to spend the day. Met nice people. Gave away Michael’s rhubarb scone recipe. (Yes, he made those too.). This, interestingly, is part of our farm project. We support our community and spread the gospel of duck eggs (church is a great outlet for gifting eggs), and in turn receive the gift of community support.

We traveled to see our children and grands on Saturday, as our house is currently under construction. We spoke of the horrors of war and then of gardens. It is the time to remember death and destruction, past and present, and to rejoice in peace as well.

It is a wonder to live close enough to visit, yet get home in time to care for the livestock. Important to keep the young birds in enough water so they don’t get constipated, but don’t have water cans in which they can drown. We lost 2 chicks to drowning before we modified the trays holding the water cans. Keeping straw dry is also important.

Flowers are everywhere. Lilacs and wild grapes in our yard. Choke cherries set on the fence line trees. Alfalfa, swamp lilies, winter cress, wild geraniums (and Zeke), yellow violets, pink trillium, Japanese honeysuckle, wild blue phlox, and hoary puccoon: all conspire to create an intoxicating scent that makes the simple act of breathing a wonder and a joy.

Our gardens slowly get planted. The corn will get in the ground tomorrow while the potatoes need weeding yesterday. Now it is time for me to join Michael and snore a bit.

Growing journal: the season of everything

Time warp time: spring. We needed fires in the woodstove when I returned home from New Mexico. The bloodroot and pussytoes began to bloom in my absence, but then stood still. When we started to hit highs in the 70s and 80s this week, everything went into overdrive.

Three days: barely green/no leaves, very green/no leaves, GREEN! (Bonus: fuzzy cows.)

April 28: the weeds (Creeping Charlie and dandelions) flowered but little else.

May Day: Michael and I took time from various chores to wander and look at flowers. Daffodils and tulips in my yard. white hepatica, Canadian wild ginger, whole hillsides of trout lilies, Marsh Marigolds (and Michael braving the marsh), trillium set to bloom, all along the River Road. In our woods: purple hepatica, ramps (delicious!), and butternuts in bloom. Our neighbor’s yard: covered with pussytoes!

Seasonal delicacies include the first rhubarb pie, winter-cress with every meal, asparagus that never makes it inside the house, but is eaten warm from morning sun…until there is enough to share.

Cinco de mayo and the potted plants can survive outdoors; the tomatoes, peppers, eggplants and leeks are up; garlic has sprouted, potatoes peeking out; apples, plums, pears and cherries add to the riot; and the trillium now covers hillsides too. Michael has double spaded the garden and planted 700 onion sets. We need more!

The young stock grow in the blink of an eye.

Construction projects advance. We have a new back door!

And I get to tell about all this as this smiley child, who I get to chase around today, is napping. Otherwise, I would be in the garden, getting more dirt turned over and lettuce and radishes, peas and beans planted. Tomorrow. I am loving being with this wee sprout, who began walking on Easter Sunday (4/20), today.

Travel journal: Thelma and Louise!

So what if we didn’t go to a honky tonk, get drunk and shoot someone? My momma and I had a great time road tripping to see my brother’s family, including his granddaughter!!! Neither of us had met her yet. She just turned 3.

She was a pleasure to meet. Well worth the 6 days of travel to and from my mom’s house in New Mexico to my brother’s home in Washington.

Before hitting the road, I saw brothers, nieces, spouses, and a cousin!!! Bonus.

We saw scenery galore traveling back roads through New Mexico, Colorado, Utah, Wyoming, Idaho and Washington. We made one wrong turn in Colorado; 30 miles of gorgeous! We found snow in Wyoming and avoided more snow by heading east into the Bitterroot Mountains of Idaho. Back roads. We love back roads.

We ate, and ate, and ate. Yum.

We stopped at cute hotels, historic sites, coffeehouses, and wherever else caught our eye. (The Blue Lantern in Lewiston Idaho serves one of the best scones I’ve ever tasted. Downtown Lewiston is charmant!)

We made it home. Whew.

The lirios were there to greet us. Ahhhh.

Grand journal: Spring Break!

Our eldest and her hubby wanted to take advantage of warm weather for camping and hiking, which meant a looooong car ride. So we got their girls for the week.

The Play Doh lasted an hour and a half; then got spread around periodically. We devoted our usual breakfast table to Play Doh.

Day1: Petra was the early bird, coming to tuck in with us while we read the news and drank coffee.

L helped grind grain for rolls and then we got free entertainment for a day with cousins.

Day 2 gave us a walk to the river. We saw fuzzy cows and L was startled by the sound of Great Blues nesting. She ventured out on a downed tree over the water. That girl can climb. Petra contented herself with throwing rocks in the river. Hot chocolate on our return.

Day 3 brought new ducklings and snow.

A walk around the land and hot tea in fancy cups served for entertainment. The girls were very careful with Bubba’s teacups. Bubba was Michael’s grandmother.

Day 4 gave us a walk along the river. We saw where beavers gnawed trees, bears walked just before us, scarlet cups and skunk cabbage bloomed. Then we found ice cream.

Day 5 had us running errands to the feed mill to pick up duckling food, look for potato sets at the local grocery (not in yet, so mini donuts had to do); visit the graveyard where Michael’s grandparents rest, and then to The Upper (one of the two local bars) for burgers and root beer. Wearing a new dress made Petra’s day.

Day 6 we had a chocolate chip cookie fueled dance-in-the-snow rave.

Day 7 we went to Lion’s Park. The slides were sub-par for big-city kids, but the rocks and parking lot bumpers were pretty cool to climb on. The girls wanted pizza for dinner, so we went to the Wolf Creek bar.

Day 8 we had cousins again! Then mom and dad arrived in the afternoon. The girls waited for them at the end of the driveway…until they got cold.

Every day included cuddling ducklings, looking for new hatchlings, helping Boopa with chickens and ducks, seeing odd things like tree stump fountains in the woods, taking a bath (so you know when bedtime is), and getting a bedtime story. We are delighted to have had this Grand time. Now excuse us while we collapse in a heap!

Livestock journal: overachievers

An average large chicken egg weighs about two and a half ounces.

This duck egg weighs more than twice that. Duck eggs usually come in around 3.5 ounces. We have one hen who gives us ginormous eggs. Wish we knew who it is!

This is Boyo. She joined our family in 2015, with our first flock of chickens. She died yesterday, just shy of her 10th hatch-day; the last of her cohort. Light Brahmas have those feathered feet. She was a big hen who gave us eggs for about 4 years. Most layers reach peak at around 2 years. She and Mrs. Beasley were fast friends. Mrs. Beasley died last year. We had Boyo in with the ducks for the past two years, as the young hens would have pecked her to death. I will miss feeding her worms while digging in the garden. Now she is feeding the worms in the garden.

Equinox journal: more sun!

Here in Big Woods country , you have to look closely to find signs of Spring.

Moss sends up its “blossoms,” releasing spores into the wind.

The grass and weeds show tiny bits of green.

Trees begin to thicken with swelling leaf buds.

Our pumpkins and squash have kept well, encased in their fine veneer of natural wax. You can see the wax as a white blush where the pumpkin is cut.

Our future ducklings grow, nestled in the incubator.

The ditches are free of snow and poison ivy. Michael loves me so much, he will come and pick trash with me!

The St. Croix flows freely. I’m waiting for the first turtles to emerge from the mud. Not yet. Not yet. More sun.

Season journal: sounds of the midlands

March is the month of mud and music. We began with an eight inch snowfall on March 5, Ash Wednesday. Huge winds beat a tarantella all night, creating hard stops before our doors.

A good time to bubble up the last of our fish in chowder and whip up lattes.

Michael has been painting the future stairwell. It’s the middle orange area. I am thrilled that the tonal change I planned years ago visually plays.

The melt started on March 12th. Zeke was walking me past this swamp when I heard a series of sharp cracks. I found water gurgling through the culvert, where the ice dam had broken. The level had sunk enough so the film of ice on top was dropping, creating the creaking and rimshots that caught my ear. I had never witnessed this before!

I also heard these icicles crash all at once in a grand crescendo of breaking glass. Yikes!

Frogs leave these holes in our yard and begin to sing. The Sandhills, cardinals, and robins join the chorus. *3/18: I heard the first blackbirds trill and grouse thrum.

March, a time for singing the joy of life, celebrating young and old: a first for Imogen, a hundredth for Roger, our dear friend. L’Chaim!

Livestock journal: lag time

Our girls were giving us three eggs a day from the middle of November to the middle of January. Then some amazing duck (a Pekin, from the egg color and shape), continued to lay an egg daily while our other 19 hens took a break. We rationed them, eating oatmeal for breakfast, no omelets, no pumpkin pie, so we could have sufficient for cakes to celebrate birthdays and anniversaries. This week the girls finally soaked up enough sun to give us four!

Not to be out-done, the chickens joined in. They took turns giving us one egg a day (mostly) for the past month. We have 11 hens.

Yesterday we went from 4 to 8!!! Today we had 7. We hit the darkest days in December. It took a month for the birds to reach the bottom of their production curve. Now the sun has power and the birds notice.

Michael and I have known each other for 40 years this month. We’ve been married for 38 years this month. It makes February, which can be a dismal month, quite nice.

We have so much to celebrate.

Harvest journal meets season journal: sausage snow!

Snow failed to fall in January. February 8th brought us 7 inches. After plowing out the driveway, the white fluffy stuff means it is time to make sausages!

Why await snow to make sausages?

Fresh snow fits into our bowls and keeps the meat we harvested from getting warm in the process of grinding and mixing. Keeping the mixture cold ensures the fat stays solid, an important factor in sausage consistency. After putting meat, fat, garlic, salts, herbs and spices through the grinder twice, the mixture gets kneaded (with some ice water) until it “sticks.” The proteins need to lengthen and bind so the sausage doesn’t “break.” Fall apart. Be funky when cooked. It just needs to be worked until it feels right. Not melting the fat. Working it enough. It’s a delicate balance.

Day 1: We ground 10 pounds of venison kielbasa, 10 pounds of chicken kielbasa, 10 pounds of wild turkey kielbasa, and 15 pounds of duck kielbasa. 45 pounds of meat and fat filled a laundry basket! We work in 5 pound batches, consisting of 4 pounds of meat and one pound of fat. We are making kielbasa this year as it’s the type of sausage we use the most. Kielbasa on the grill, kielbasa in pasta sauce, kielbasa in stir fry, kielbasa in feijoada, kielbasa in red beans and rice, kielbasa in Senate Bean soup, kielbasa with sauerkraut and mash, kielbasa roasted with root vegetables. Mmmmmm.

Day 2: we stuffed the sausage meat into casings. I’ve shown our industrial sausage stuffer in prior posts. Messy hands and exhaustion kept me from repeating photos. We buy casings at our local market. We do live in Wisconsin! They come packed in salt, which we wash off. After being soaked and opened by running water through them, I thread one on the stuffer nozzle. Michael cranks while I twist the links, rolling the filled casing first toward me and then away, so the links don’t unravel. Figuring out when to add a twist is an art I still am learning.

This is what 45 pounds (more or less) of sausage looks like. We opened the window in the guest room to make an impromptu walk-in refrigerator. The sausages need to dry before going into the smoker.

Days 3 and 4 consisted of smoking the links and packaging them. We have a very primitive smoker that lacks a thermostat and thus we need to check the temperature often. We went to buy feed while smoking batch #1 and the links got a bit toasty and dry. Still taste great! Michael managed to keep a more even temperature on batch #2 and they are perfect!

Wild Turkey sausages at the top and venison-pork sausages on bottom. My house smells like an amazing deli.

A snow/cold water bath quenches the sausages once they come out of the smoker. Their internal temperature needs to come down quickly to avoid incubating botulism.

After quenching, back on the rack to dry before packaging. So far I’ve been pretty consistent in getting 4 links to weigh out at 3/4 lbs. I must finally be getting the hang of this! We noted that our links are thinner than in prior years. I’m not sure whether that is due to using a new brand of casings or because the meat sat chilling overnight and so did not squish out as easily.

Turkey kielbasa stir fry. Yum! A fine reward for days of pretty intense work.

We all needed a bit of a break before the fire.

Here’s to another successful sausage-making adventure. The currant wine finally has matured into a delightful quaff. Michael and I are both tired and achy. Michael figures that we just made $225 worth of sausage. As a financial endeavor, it doesn’t pay. We do this because we feel an obligation to use our old ducks and chickens, hearts and gizzards of all our birds, and the hearts of the deer we harvest. These meats are too tough to eat if not ground up. This year we were gifted a wild turkey. Same problem. Michael would like to try to make venison casings. We would need to read up on that process. Using as much of what we raise and harvest as we possibly can is important to us. The sausage is never bad, if sometimes it is less than perfect. And then, sometimes, it is the best thing you ever put in your mouth. Making. Not a bad way to live.

Season journal: six more weeks of winter

Dark and cold alternates with bright and cold. The groundhog predicts six more weeks of winter. Snowing and blowing again today.

We are down to one egg. Feeding 25 ducks and 10 chickens for 1 dozen eggs every 2 weeks makes for very expensive eggs. I gave up calculating the price of farm raised eggs a couple of winters ago. The birds had been producing more when we had a brief warm(ish) spell, but when it turns cold, the egg count drops.

Michael has been stretching our few eggs by making pumpkin scones for breakfast. No wonder I gained weight in January.

The river has been frozen over for a while. When we had a few days with temperatures a bit above freezing, I found open water and birds galore. Eagles make a fascinating high warbling sound when they gather to drink.

Michael and I got to babysit Imogen as she was running a fever due to teething. Daycare abhors a fever. Whip me. Beat me. Make me hold that baby!

Bonus Grand photos. We all await the time when we can run around outdoors!

Fiber journal: stained glass or starry night?

The couple whose wedding we attended this past October were due to welcome a baby in February. She qualified as a geriatric pregnancy, which means a high chance of a premature birth. I began making a blanket for this child-to-be soon after we came home. It has been a constant effort over the past 3 months. (This tells you why hand made fiber products are either expensive or free).

I completed it yesterday. Her water broke yesterday! (Starry Night? Stained Glass? Either way, it is warm and soft.) We await news of a safe journey through the birthing process for both mother and child.

With 21 below this morning, this is as close to a burnt offering we are likely to get. All of our energy is focused on the labor of love that is life.

Children are the best work there is.

Season journal: resolutions

New year. A good time to contemplate the breadth of meaning in the word “resolution.”

Resolution as focus. To sharpen an image or to allow it to maintain soft outlines.

Resolution as decision: be it resolved that young boys shall no longer be required to push hair out of their eyes, no matter how charming their curls may be.

Resolution in the sense of separating a solution into its component parts. It is necessary to resolve the particulates from cider before bottling.

The chemists out there may complain that lees form a suspension rather than a solution, and a true resolution would require freezing the cider to extract the alcohol, thus making applejack. We are taking the soft focus on this one.

Resolution as a plan of action. I really need to wash the windows that look out onto the duck pasture. The birds will be able to peek in at me as I exercise and I will be able to enjoy their curious presence. The exercises happen by necessity: I would cease to be able to move were I to stop moving. The window cleaning is a luxury.

Resolution as the solving of a problem. I need to make a baby blanket, but I didn’t care for the earth-toned yarn I had. I found that pairing it with other similarly patterned yarn and knitting in the round solved my problem. This is still a work in progress, but it is beginning to look like a stained glass window.

Resolution as bravery: hosting Christmas involving 3 year olds requires a certain fortitude. Having children in the first place is an act of bravery and optimism. They bring change, uncertainty, and the most joy ever.

Solstice journal: La tamalada

On this darkest day of the year, we found light in gathering, working together, and making tamales.

I started preparing weeks ago, making sure we had sufficient hojas (corn husks), that the 10 pound pork roast went from freezer to refrigerator in time to defrost, locating the chile pods my momma sent from New Mexico. Then yesterday morning I put that roast into one of my huge pots with salt, pepper corns, chile flakes, garlic, coriander corns, and oregano. It boiled all day and started to fall off the bone in late afternoon. That’s when I toasted my chile pods in the oven and then steeped them in hot water for 5 minutes. Into the blender with some (a lot?) of the steeping water and more garlic and whirred until smooth. Meat into two fry pans, shredded with forks. Into one: more garlic, more salt, the red chile sauce, and cumin. Maybe more oregano. At this point, it is “to taste.” In the other pan went chopped green chile and MORE GARLIC. Then everything went outside (where it would freeze) overnight.

Today I made the corn gruel (masa) with corn flour (masa harina), yellow corn flour, salt, baking powder, lard, and the boiling pork broth. We smeared the masa on the softened corn husks, added a large dollop of meat, rolled them up and steamed them for about an hour and a half.

Michael made red chile sauce and black beans, I made guacamole, and we have cottage cheese because one of my daughters inherited a Danish palate (where black pepper is spicy). Everyone declared the tamales to be “edible,” which was Aunt Harriette’s word of culinary praise. Or as my Tío John would say: “pasa.”

Being surrounded by these celestial bodies is more than enough to light up our lives. Now it is time to sit down, watch the fire, and resolve to do dishes in the morning.

Toolbox journal: carbon steel knives

We cook almost every day in this household. Hard to justify all the time we spend producing food if we don’t eat it! That, and we cook better food than you can find in most restaurants. This means I get to be very demanding when it comes to food tools.

My newest acquisition is this paring knife. We have purchased and been gifted a number of knives over the years, including Wüsthof stainless steel, which has a great reputation. I have never been thrilled with any of the stainless versions. They do not keep edges well and are difficult to sharpen. Then I watched the movie Julie and Julia, in which Julia Child explained that her friendship with Avis Desoto began with a letter to Avis’ husband regarding an article he wrote about the joys of carbon steel knives. If Julia waxes poetic over knives, a cook needs to pay attention.

The only carbon steel knife we had in our arsenal is this unmarked 14” blade. It could serve as a short sword! But it does keep an edge well and can be honed on a steel quickly. We don’t use it often due to its unwieldy length, but it works beautifully on our huge cabbages and other large garden produce. Sometimes you need a giant knife. A giant sharp knife minimizes injuries.

What convinced me to squander my saved up pennies (dimes, nickles, and large bills) was this birthday gift from Michael. It is a Henkel carbon steel chef’s knife. I use it daily. It remains sharp. When it dulls, I can sharpen it myself on a steel. The handle fills my hand and allows a firm grip. Carbon steel knives require care to prevent rusting and pitting. I wash and dry my carbon steel immediately after every use.

I’m showing the knife with onions as having a clean cut on an onion reduces the amount of irritating chemicals an onion releases when cut or bruised. The thin edge of my new paring knife allows me to skin onions efficiently. I love it! Today we are making venison stew with corn and wild mushrooms, rosemary, wine…and a lot of onions. A good use of our garden produce on a snowy December day.

As Julia would say: Bon Appetit!

Thanksgiving journal: every day is a gift

Michael and I cut our Christmas tree this week. A friend offered us access to her land on which she and her husband planted a wide variety of evergreens. He died a few years ago, but the love they shared for this land remains. I give thanks for good and generous friends.

I welcome the beauty they created into my home and my life. Most of the ornaments on our tree have been given to us, or were made by children. I love taking them out every year, with all the memories they bring.

We did feast on Thanksgiving. The Grand Girl had three helpings of carrots! I made them with butter and fresh thyme this year. Michael added fresh rosemary to the squash. Most of our feast came from our gardens. I give thanks every day for the energy, time and space for creating good food to share.

Michael’s father bought this china when he was stationed in the Philippines right after WWII. He gave it to his mother, and then received it back when she died. Now we have it. We use it! The flatware was a gift from a dear friend in Alabama. We have been showered in generosity.

I am thankful for family! I grew up far from an extended family. Not that we didn’t visit, but it was not on a weekly or monthly basis. Having the ability to watch the Grands grow is a true blessing.

Jackie, a friend who now lives in Illinois, stopped by on her way home from visiting in the Cities. Having time to talk and catch up with long time friends is a blessing.

I have been walking this road for ten years now, and it brings me something new every day. How light hits the seed heads against the darkness of the woods. Finding where deer have bedded overnight. Frost on tall grass. The patterns of wind and sun and clouds. So much to do! So much to see! It’s a wonderful life, lived one day at a time.