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!

Experimentation journal: deer tallow candles

A by-product of butchering our own deer is that we have access to deer fat, which I render into tallow. Michael makes soap, but our tallow store has outstripped our soap needs. Ever inventive, Michael bought a candle mold, wick, and a candlestick holder. Venison tallow has a high melting point and feels waxy at room temperature, which is why we thought it might make an okay candle.

Success! But not without a learning curve.

This is the candle mold. Michael said to tape the bottom holes, where the wicks come through, shut. Not trusting an unproven method, I used a deep dish for possible leeks. I threaded toothpicks through the wick to hold them at the top.

I melted tallow in a tall pot with a spout. We used to bring it camping to make coffee.

Once the tallow melted, I filled the mold. It leaked immediately. The tape fell off. Michael made a paste of flour and water to act as a stopper. This only worked so well, as I had to apply steady downward pressure to keep this from leaking. Michael got a large lead weight, which applied sufficient pressure, but was hard to balance. The whole thing fell over, splashing deer tallow everywhere. We started again, and this time while I held a steady downward pressure, Michael rubbed the outside of the mold with an ice cube. This worked! The tallow solidified with minimal leakage.

To remove the candles, we put the mold in the freezer, which shrinks the tallow more than the metal. The candles practically fell out.

The bottom of the candle broke, but not by much. Michael did some research on how to use a candle mold where the wick comes out the bottom. There is a putty you can buy, or you can seal it with hot glue. We have a hot glue gun, so will try that next.

It burns well once the wick got below the tip of the candle. It doesn’t drip more than normal. It has no scent. We will call this experiment successful, if a bit more exciting than necessary.

Michael: butcher, baker, candlestick maker!

Tradition journal: la tamalada

Some people have ham. Others serve turkey. We tuck into tamales on Christmas! Which means, some time prior, we have a tamalada, or a tamale making party. Today was that day!

I started the meat filling on Thursday and got it done Friday evening. Think an 8 pound pork shoulder roast, defrosted and boiled with bay leaves, garlic, salt, and a sprinkling of chile flakes, until it falls apart. Fish it out of its broth into another pot. Strain the broth into a stock pot and cool (I put mine outside, where it sat at -10°F this morning). Make chile by soaking dried pods (NM is the best!) in hot water. While the chiles soften, sauté some onions and garlic in your favorite oil (I used the last of my chicken fat), until translucent but not browned. Transfer the chiles from the water bath into a blender with the onions and garlic and whir with enough of the pork broth to make a soft paste. Put the meat back into its boiling pan (I use a huge Dutch oven, which I washed while making the chile paste) and shred with two forks. Add the chile, oregano, comino, and salt to taste. Simmer lightly until the flavors have melded.

The next stage is where a work crew comes in handy. You soak corn husks in hot water until softened and drain. Mix about 8 cups of masa harina (corn flour) with six cups of yellow corn meal, a generous tablespoon of baking powder and another of salt, cut in 2 pounds of lard, and then pour in the heated pork broth until it makes a thick paste. Spread the masa on 2/3 of the corn husk.

Add a generous dollop of the meat filling, roll, then tuck the 1/3 at the top over, making a nice package.

The wee Grand kept us entertained.

We made about 5 dozen tamales today!

The tamales steam for an hour. Michael made beans, rice, and red chile to round out the meal.

The mid-Grand carefully kept track of the tamales she made.

A well-earned meal.

But a bit spicy for wee Grand, who ate 3 bowls of beans instead.

Some people still had energy.

Some did not.

Cheers!

Ritual journal: light in the darkness

Advent began, for those who celebrate, on November 30th.

Michael is not a fan of formal religion, but accepts certain rituals, such as having an Advent Wreath, as these are ways of marking time, keeping Christian holidays from being solely a commercial enterprise. I mean, I did buy the candles. We are gathering tools to make deer tallow candles, but have had delays in sourcing candle wick. Hanukkah, Kwanza, Diwali, all involve light in dark times.

These are the people who bring light into my life.

Celebrating the union of friends brings light into my life.

Having the Grand Guy trust me to cut his hair brings light into my life.

Watching the wee Grand develop coordination and strength brings light into my life.

Seeing the same face appear in different generations brings light into my life.

Watching the love shared by the Grands brings light into my life.

Savoring the food stashed away in sunnier days brings light into my life.

Having a partner who devises lovely ways to survive without a dryer while we work on revising our house brings light into my life.

We have few days when the sun shines; a gift of La Niña. When it does shine, we appreciate the light even more.

Tradition journal: eating together

Growing up, my family always ate dinner together, despite the pull of myriad conflicting schedules. Michael also had family meals. We eat at the same table as often as possible given that our children now have their own households. Thanksgiving is a continuation of that tradition, with the added enticement of Michael’s stuffing.

It begins as a base of bread cubes hydrated with chicken broth. Onions and garlic boiled in butter. Then he starts adding vegetables to the onion butter. This year he added a red, yellow and green bell pepper, mushrooms, black olives, apples, celery, and the last of the collards from our garden. Sprinkled with black pepper and more poultry seasoning than the law allows, it goes into the bird with the overflow occupying its own casserole.

That is one of our 10 lb. broilers I am carving. It fed 10 of us, with leftovers. Michael is making gravy in the background…which also requires copious amounts of black pepper.

The chicken, potatoes and applesauce came from our gardens, as well as the rhubarb wine. The china was Michael’s grandmother’s, which makes it five generations who have used this set, if you include the grands.

Having very young children means we aren’t allowed to put food on the table and then wait while the final dishes of green bean casserole and twice-baked squash finish cooking. Not picture perfect but very tasty.

We took a break before dessert: apple, pumpkin and chocolate-pecan pies. Thankfully, my daughter took the missing pie home with her.

All the kids burned off some energy waiting for noon dinner by trying out our new elliptical machine. We began using it before hunting season started. We look forward to having our regular schedule back again soon. We got the elliptical to keep training during the winter and be bike-riding ready next spring.

The Grands engaged in their usual shenanigans.

After dinner we all crashed.

Then it was time to put on boots and say so long…which we hope will only be a couple of days.

Our first real snow fell yesterday.

We are thankful to have enough space for children to run yet small enough to remain cozy. We are thankful to be rich enough to run a subsistence farm. We are thankful to have enough strength and energy to work this experiment of ours. Mostly, we are thankful to be together.