Grand journal: time with that guy

We anticipate having both the grands gifted us by my youngest daughter for sleepovers when the baby no longer needs diapers. In the meantime, we celebrated being able to have the GrandGuy with us for a few days.

He walked Zeke.

And when he tired of that, he practiced walking like a dog and trumpeting like an elk.

He helped Boopa with the birds every morning.

And brought Booma flowers every day.

We went exploring along the St. Croix.

We ordered him his first sodas.

Painted his nails in super-hero colors and plied him with super-hero ice cream.

And then we returned him to his regular programming.

And we returned to ours. (We are still trying to catch up on weeding.). A brilliant way to begin June!

Solstice journal: racing (with) the sun

Today my eldest granddaughter turned 9, my brother celebrated 45 years of being married to the love of his life, and we all celebrated the fathers, grandfathers and those who act as fathers in our lives. It is a lot to ask of a single day, but the sun rose at 5:22 AM and will set at 9:02 PM…giving us more than 16 hours of daylight in which to be joyful.

I remember going to meet this bright flower on the day she was born. When she cried, as all children will, her entire forehead wrinkled and she looked like a Romulan. She was, and is, smart and kind and beautiful.

The child favors yellow, which makes sense for being born on the day with the most sunlight of the year. The mullein and butter-and-eggs have just come into bloom.

The bees have been loving our rampaging weeds.

This fine pheasant has staked out the end of our driveway as his territory. He is much less intimidating than the Sandhills I had to sneak by a couple of years ago.

I am grateful to have these wonders to share with this child of the light.

Foraging journal: what to eat before the garden produces

The last frost visited on May 20th. The first thunderstorm roared past yesterday. All our garden seeds sprouted with that storm. It will be at least another week before we start to harvest radishes. But that doesn’t mean we haven’t been eating spring greens.

April 22: winter cress becomes plentiful along the fence lines and in the ditches.

The rounded leaves in a rosette pattern are diagnostic. I rinse off any dirt and pick the leaves from the stems.

Chicken winter cress Alfredo. (I use goat cheese to substitute for some of the cream to give the Alfredo sauce a bit more zing.). Winter cress colcannon. Good for what ails you.

When the winter cress begins to bloom, it becomes very mustardy and coarse. This is when nettles sprout along the edges of fields. May 7th arose bright and mild, a perfect day to scout out nettle thickets.

I snipped the tops off the nettles into a bowl and then used gloves to separate the leaves from the stems. A water bath washed off any stray debris.

Sautéed in olive oil with a splash of rice vinegar, they provided a deep flavor to balance the rosemary chicken and brown rice or sausage and potatoes. The dark green, almost black, liqueur they produce (full of iron and vitamin A!) does not pair well with cream based sauces. My tech approves of nettles!

May 23rd: Michael found wild mustard growing wherever we fed chickens and ducks last winter. Wild mustard is related to winter cress but sprouts later. It has softer, fuzzier leaves and a milder flavor.

Due to this mildness, it pairs well with fish, seafood, and cream based sauces.

June 3rd: the cattails were big enough to harvest. We have several ponds on our property, so cattails are very available.

After rinsing, I sliced off the root end and trimmed down the leaf end. You can see the growth rings. The outer layers with the holes get trimmed off as they are pithy and inedible. I was looking for the tender heart and found it.

They substituted for celery in my fried rice. They can be sautéed in butter, but I find them to be a bit bland. Interestingly, they stood up to the garlic-ginger-soy of the fried rice, giving it that lightness celery can imbue. Only better. Thank you to this land and place that provides us with greens when we need them most!

Construction journal: last window in, last outside wall sided

June 6th. A month ago our last (ok, maybe second-to-last) major outside project commenced.

May 5: this is the last of the old windows to be removed and replaced. The window going in isn’t the same size, so the header (the support system above a window or door) had to be redone. Working on a wall that support the roof trusses means making a temporary truss support while the permanent wall is reconfigured.

Old window gone! Hole for new window cut.

May 6: New window opening framed in! That’s Craig, our trusted builder, admiring his work.

New window in! You can see how much more light there is in that room now.

May 12: the last of the siding starts to go up. The soffit on that side also was replaced. The electricity and water taken out. We will put a faucet back in on that side, but in a different (more convenient) location.

May 21: siding finished! I still have a bit of construction debris to process, but the house is secured from the elements. Whew.

Not pictured: me, running around finding all the bits and pieces we have stored for the past forever waiting for this project to be done. Me, washing the dirt off of said materials, accumulated during years of storage in sheds and under tarps. Me, making executive decisions about window placement and height while Michael was off making gardens flourish. Both of us, lending a hand when needed to lift that huge window into place and other instances where extra hands made the work go smoothly. Thank you Craig for your diligence and expertise. Thank you Jenny for doing great work!!!

Harvest journal: Pentecost, Shavuot, and moveable feasts

I missed services today as I was out playing in the dirt. Pentecost or Shavuot, today is the 50th day after Easter (or about the same time frame as after Passover) and celebrates the breath of fire and first harvests. This year, it also is one of the first warm, sunny days of springtime. My daughter’s garden (and mine) called me to serve.

We brought them a scion of a lilac to replace the one which winter killed.

And a couple of elderberries to occupy the space formerly devoted to a compost heap.

We adopted their compost the Saturday before Mother’s Day and I spent most of that Sunday sifting the branches and trash out of the lovely dirt. Took us several days to process, but we put it to good use in our gardens.

They removed some very scraggly bushes from the front of their house and Michael and Nate rearranged the large rocks that had been hiding. Now there are currants that will give berries in July and we have a volunteer cherry bush that should go well in this space. Flame colored fruit seemed appropriate for the day.

I repotted their geranium…which was red! It needed liberating from the trailing vine with which it had been planted.

Upon arriving back to the farm, Michael commenced mowing almost immediately. I weeded the asparagus and harvested wild mustard.

We have harvested winter cress (a type of mustard) in prior years, but this is our first harvest of mustard. We assume the seeds came in with the bird feed, due to its distribution. I needed to get it picked so Michael could mow. With the warm weather, the plants will flower and will put all its energy into seeds again, rather than leaves.

It was amazing in the sunfish chowder I made last night. Here’s to honoring traditions tied to the land!

Mother’s Day journal: celebrating the divine feminine

Raised in the Catholic Church, the images of powerful women filled my childhood. Having a mother who could do anything was just as natural as having the sun rise.

This is the first light in Big Woods country this Mother’s Day. As my father would say, it is beautiful, but not as stunning as my momma.

I don’t often get to be with her, but she is with me always.

I am most fortunate to be able to share time more often with my daughters and their families. They, also, are powerful women.

I cannot share as much time with my amazing cousins, so I appreciate the time I have with them all that much more.

And thank you to all these men who celebrate us. We wouldn’t be mothers without you.

Learning journal: being a santo elf

My mom, when she’s not channeling Thelma, spends a fair amount of time making santos to bless people’s homes. For those of you who aren’t familiar with santos, they are paintings of saints to whom one may petition for divine intervention. For instance, I have a San Isidro on my wall, who is the patron saint of farmers.

When I visit, one of my regular jobs is to lubricate her tin brake.

It went umpteen years without being lubed and then fell apart. I put it back together and have made sure it gets regular care. That machine cuts a lotta tin!

Above the machine my mom pasted up a San José, since my dad used to maintain her tools.

She buys galvanized flashing in rolls of different widths at her local hardware store. She put me to work cutting the roll down to size.

After the tin is cut into a rectangle, she traces a semicircle along the top with a jig (a completed santo) and cut along the inscribed line with tin shears. Having cut tin for construction projects, I could handle this part, so cut about 20 tins to spec.

After trimming, a design is hammered around the edge with a punch designed for this task. Doing this tap tap tap part really made me feel like a santo elf!

No photos of me tapping away, but this is what the setup looks like.

I also didn’t get photos of her soldering hangers on the backs or gluing images (her artwork) on the tins, but this is the finished product.

I also planted a couple of tomatoes and did a few other maintenance projects around the house.

I work for lattes!!! Best elf gig around.

Grand journal: spring break

We hosted the elder girl’s children for spring break while she and her hubby went camping. It’s becoming a welcome tradition.

They arrived late, awoke early, and began playing.

The snow recedes.

We find signs of them everywhere.

As we find signs of spring. Leeks repotted. Tomatoes and other nightshades planted. Daffodils showing. Hyacinth blooming. Garlic growing. Rhubarb breaking soil. Frogs coming to life after a winter hibernation.

We make and help them make good food.

They burn up that good food.

We took them out.

We kept them in.

We put them to work.

We cleaned them up. (Water on the walls and ceiling were a byproduct.)

We completed projects.

We played games. Then they left. We will miss them.

Even if we are exhausted.

Grand journal: after the equinox

I play catch-up in a lull after a string of all encompassing activity.

I began springtime with shearing. My own. I sent the length to Children With Hair Loss. I feel quite liberated.

The snow recedes. The moss blooms. Lilac buds swell.

The river rises and the ground squirrels play.

We put the younger Grands to work, tiring them out. There is nothing like holding a sleeping child.

We revived them with “Boopa pie”. The winter squash survives.

Boopa entertained the younger grands.

And then napped. Napping. The new normal.

Harvest journal: using 14 pounds of deer tallow and 11 pounds of bird fat

Spring cleaning takes on a new twist in our household: using up what we have squirreled away in our freezers so we have more room when harvest rolls around. We hope to be gardening soon, but this is March, and we have 8” of new fallen snow, with more on its way. Towards our goal, we inventoried our cache and found 25 pounds of various types of rendered fat: deer, duck, and some very old goose. With our riches, Michael made soap and I made candles.

This is end-product soap. That darker soap is the goose-deer mix. It smells lemony, whereas the duck-deer smells more like milk chocolate. Pure deer tallow makes a bar so hard and sharp Michael says you can shave with it.

The process starts with measuring. The weight of the fats are entered into a soap calculator to give the amounts of water and lye needed. We zero the scale for every vessel, which is called “taring.”

Michael carefully adds the lye to the water, which creates an exothermic reaction. If he added the water to the lye, it would work on less water, creating a steam flash, which could create an explosion or would at least shatter the bottle. Bad idea. “Do as you oughta, add acid to watah,” admonishes every chem teacher ever. Same goes for strong bases, such as lye.

The water, which started at room temperature, clocks in at 185° almost instantly. (We do stir it with a wooden spoon handle to dissolve all the lye).

While the fat and lye solution cool to 100°F, Michael lines a cardboard box with plastic. We use construction grade garbage bags.

The lye solution works on the fats in a process called saponification, a fancy word meaning “turning into soap.” The trick is getting a combination that solidifies into a bar pleasant to use. The color change says the process works. The blending continues until the mixture thickens and “traces”, or leaves a visible mark on the surface.

Into the box. Covered with newspapers. Covered with covers. Holding the heat in allows the saponification to occur more quickly and keeps the lye and fat from separating. Wait until tomorrow. Cut with long thin knife. Don’t wait too long or the soap becomes too hard to cut. An 8 pound bar of soap isn’t handy. Use in two weeks to allow all the lye, which is caustic, to finish combining with those fats and have nothing left but soap!

While Michael makes soap, I make candles.

I use recycled candle glass and canning jars for my holders. I remove any old wick holders. I crimp on a new wick holder (came with the wick) and stick it to the bottom of the glass with candle holder paste. I secure the top of the wick with a toothpick (or other implement), which holds the wick in the middle of the tallow as it solidifies.

I melt my tallow. Lately I’ve added herbs as it melts. I remove the herbs. I pour. I wait. I trim the wick. It burns.

Cleanly.

Phenology journal: the birds are back in town

I heard Sandhills calling today. A week ago a cardinal sang a love song, and sat high again this morning. The pileated woodpeckers make cartoon machine guns out of deadwood. Canvasbacks mingle with the swans. The redwing blackbirds arrived with the Sandhills.

Two beavers played in the river. No photo. Two eagles hunted our field. Photo below.

We had fresh snow last night. The sun burns it into rivulets. Robins appeared last week, then fled again before the snow.

My leeks grow. They are the first of my garden-to-be.

Warm air plus cold earth equals fog. We have started pruning fruit trees between snow storms.

Pheasants and deer play in our backyard.

While the chickadees play indoors.

The long red light returns with the birds, heralding the equinox, and spring.

Season journal: HCB and other delights

One a penny, two a penny

Grand Girl #1 asked why hot crossed buns could only be made during Lent. I asked her if we make Christmas cookies in July? “No!” Carve pumpkins in January? “No!” Easter eggs in June? “No!” HCB can only be made during Lent because that is the tradition, and traditions are what govern time. Michael makes the HCB for family and neighbors using my grandmother’s recipe (slightly modified). In essence, this is a sweet dough featuring cinnamon, currants and citron. A cross is cut in the top before the second rise, then traced with frosting while still warm. My grandmother would make them by the dozens and bring them to the local rectory and convent. I’ve always loved them, citron and all. It may be because they remind me intensely of my grandmama. Traditions not only mark seasons; they tie one generation to the next.

We made an apple crisp with Harralson apples we stored. They are still good, if a wee bit shriveled. The recipe is from Auntie Harriette, who stored her Harralsons in her stairwell, which was unheated. Apple crisp in winter will always remind me of Harriette.

Who knows what our grands will absorb and pass along to another generation. We can only hope they will see citron and currants and have an unquenchable desire to bake…and then will look to see when Lent begins.

Grand journal: extended visits

Michael and I have been keeping regular company for about 40 years now. These are the fruits of our labor: grands who like us, and each other.

We hosted the girls so their parents could go off, jaunt about, and arrive back exhausted, but happy.

We stayed with the girls, and are exhausted, but happy.

We started the first day by putting GG#2 to work making blueberry banana bread. Both girls gave it two thumbs up.

Later in the day, GG#1 learned how to make her favorite bread: no knead baguettes.

We finished out the first day with dinner at a supper club on a lake. The girls behaved beautifully. We make better food, but can’t compete on atmosphere and funny people watching.

Day #2 began with baking the no knead baguettes. GG#1 made individual sized loaves. Small loaves are easier to shape and place on baguette pans with small hands.

GG#2 then helped make spelt/black barley rolls. They went well with bean soup, which was better received than restaurant fare.

GG#2 also helped make a Valentines Day cake. They applied the sprinkles. The girls opted to save the cake for Day#3, so they could share with their cousins. Then again, they did get to gobble up the cake scraps and leftover frosting, so they may have already been adequately steeped in chocolate.

The rest of the day was taken up with making presents for their parents, which required a lengthy bath afterwards. We forgot to pack the presents, so photos of their creations will have to wait.

Day #3 brought the cousins. It was a whirlwind visit (hence few photos), as GG#3 wasn’t feeling chipper. Turns out she has an ear infection and RSV, which explains her need to be home and cuddled. The Grand Guy finished his artwork at home.

The girls found the harvesting of the corn crop that afternoon fascinating.

We got our own snuggle time later in the day. No photos of reading books, playing board games, walking in the woods, visiting fuzzy cows, picking up rocks, playing on swings, making snow castles, watching movies, eating popcorn, and other delights. They were happy to go home on Day#4, but also gave us big hugs and promises to visit again. Caring for children is hard work, but the best use of time ever.

January Journal: Brrrrrr

I sit in the ER, waiting to reclaim Michael. He fell victim to ice in the duck corral and dislocated his shoulder. Because he is a long-term weight lifter, he didn’t break anything. On the other hand, those great muscles made putting the joint back in place difficult. At one point, four docs were pulling on him!

I will have to arm-wrestle him to allow me to take over his outdoor duties of bird care and wood hauling.

All better…not. So now it is tomorrow and we are coming to grips with my bronchitis and his right arm being out of commission. No photos due to having to use all my hands to keep up with him. First, I got sand to spread all over the slippery spots. Michael yelled at me from the back door to get inside because he couldn’t see where I was and if I fell, well, we’d really be in a pickle. So I came inside and warmed up. By the way, we’ve been having highs in the single digits lately. Then back outside to fill water buckets and feeders. Michael filled buckets halfway and I dumped them. Think about the physics. We got through bird care without mishap and took a nap. Then brought wood inside. Michael stacked logs in 5 gallon buckets and I stacked wood inside. Now I’m having a hot gin (recipe courtesy of Charles Dickens) to soothe my throat and he’s having green tea. He got enough good meds yesterday!

In his defense, even the deer have had trouble navigating the ice.

Otherwise, we’ve had a lovely (if cold) January. So much to celebrate! None of my children have been shot or gassed by ICE!

My rosemary blooms.

My grandchildren grow.

I completed a receiving blanket for the woman who works at the feed mill, as well as a head gaiter for a fellow church lady. She gave me one that didn’t fit her well and I repurposed the yarn to make her one that does. AND I’m learning how to knit double-sided. I’m not working from a pattern so my ducklings are individuals. As with everything, I get better with practice.

Some days success looks like this.

Epiphany journal: I wonder as I wander

O. Henry wrote a story called “The Gift of the Magi.” If you’re not familiar with it, it’s about a young couple who are penniless but want to buy each other a present for Christmas. He has a pocket watch of which he is proud and she has long, lovely hair. He hocks his watch to buy her hair combs and she cuts her hair to buy him a chain for his watch. I’m a sucker for love stories. This one sticks with me because it is part of a journey these two are making together; hence, the title. Today is the Feast of the Magi, or Three Kings. It may be my favorite holiday, if only due to its focus on journeying.

Michael makes sure I have a hibiscus in the house. I fell in love with them in Brazil, where they would spill over from peoples’ yards into the sidewalks. I now live with snow and cold, but my life is full of flowers.

Zeke accompanies me on the walk I have been taking almost daily for the past 11 years. I have not yet grown tired of the scenery. I often notice something new; if only ephemeral footprints of prior forays.

I packaged up the last of the sausages today. Our final count was 75 pounds: 25 of Swedish potato, 20 pounds of brats and 30 of kielbasa. We feed them to family and friends, but still there are many to store. I managed to find space in our freezers.

But only by taking out a chicken to roast. Michael makes the best stuffing. This version had the traditional onions and celery, to which he added collards, mushrooms, black olives, jalapeños, and baby corn. He loves bread. He knows I love vegetables. His dressing reaches new heights of culinary delight through his efforts to meld our preferences together.

Time together is one of the greatest gifts of all.

Happy wandering.

Celebration journal: all these days of Christmas

I love multi-day celebrations. Christmas does NOT come but once a year, but rather has 7 days in one year and another 5 the following year. We are sitting here, before the fire, drinking a wee bit of vodka and reveling in the 7th day of Christmas.

Not to get ahead of myself, we did start on the 25th with Day 1 festivities. Zeke enjoyed the calm before the storm.

We ate food. (The deviled eggs were special for Lilith, who eats but little).

Since Christmas Day 1 is a birthday party, we ate cake.

We drank wine. The elderberry has a festive color!

We opened presents.

We sat on laps.

We calmed down.

And then we said, “so long.”

On the Third Day of Christmas we went to a museum. The boys gifted us babysitting. Now I have pan envy.

We came home to hail, thunder and lightning.

On the Fourth Day we received the gift of 8” of snow and gale force winds.

On the Sixth Day we ventured out in search of sausage casings, having spent the Fifth Day moving snow.

Which brings us to today! We celebrated all that snow (it hasn’t stopped snowing for the past 3 days) by making sausages. Today we made 24 pounds of venison-pork Swedish potato sausage. We sampled some for dinner and it was worth the effort. We have bratwurst and kielbasa to go. Michael took the photos today as I wrestled the casings. Being thin and delicate (you rinse the salt off and run water through them to open them up, all of which takes nimble fingers), I get to coax the casings onto the stuffer and then tie them off. Snow in bowls keeps the meat cold during the grinding process. That is an open window, which turns the back bedroom into a refrigerator. Last year we didn’t have a sausage snow until February.

Happy New Year and here’s to five more days of Christmas!