Farm stand journal: knitting socks for soap!

Irene had a near disaster when she dropped the soap while showering. (She's ok, and so is the shower.) Jane Brody, in the New York Times, suggested putting your soap in a sock.  The sock was either too big or too small, so I am making them "just right."

Hand spun yarn and custom designed!

I have to say, these are wonderful to use. They exfoliate while cleansing and make your skin feel happy. They also keep soap ends manageable. Wool has natural antibacterial properties. I hope to be able to sell them on this site sometime soon, but if you can't wait, come to my farm stand and enjoy the fall colors and other sights along the St. Croix River Road Ramble!   

Ceramics journal: a successful fire!

We are preparing items for our farm stand as part of the River Road Ramble. It is this Saturday, September 24th from 9 am to 5 pm.  

Lovely black figurines. We've been playing with semi-burnished surfaces.  

Ceramics at a farm stand?!?  Yeah, we never were very good at drawing in the lines.  

Mushroom journal: the first entalomas of the season

Yesterday was an Aunt Harriette visiting day. She's a wee bit more fragile, but still getting around on her own two legs, which is not bad for 97!  After taking her to lunch, we stopped by the Mushroom Woods. We were not disappointed.  

Aborted entalomas in place

Entalomas are fragrant mushrooms that vary from choice to poisonous. Only the choice ones become invaded by another fungus, which gives them an unmistakeable and unique appearance, which means we get to eat them.  

Aborted Entalomas in hand

They fry up to have a meaty texture and flavor. They go well in hot dishes calling for hamburger. They also dry well. When in season, they are abundant. 

From bottom clockwise: aborted entaloma, grifola fondrosa or Hen of the Woods, chanterelle. 

I spotted the Hen of the Woods as we were walking out. It looked like a large, gray pine cone without any pines nearby...  It seems our favorite mushrooms all grow on oaks, except those that do not. The chanterelle appeared in an area we rarely traverse, but I spied a different cluster of mushrooms and had to investigate. Chanterelles smell of ripe apricots. The one I found was a single, and already old. But beautiful. The Hen of the Woods was tender and delicious. We had it for dinner. The entalomas we cleaned and put in the dehydrator, which took up the rest of our day. Today we are back to building winter shelter for our increased flocks.  

Wildlife journal: swimming squirrels and other delights

Michael and I gave ourselves a holiday last Sunday and wet the canoe in the St. Croix River. Once on the water we took a detour to identify the creature sharing our paddle.  

Rocky the Swimming Squirrel, the only other paddler we saw all day!

We fished around to see who else was in the river with us. 

Small mouth bass and Northern Pike ripped up my Rappala

We next stalked through the Mushroom Woods:

It's turning blue!  Some type of bolete.  

We found about 20 pounds of Sulpher Shelf. Made about 5 quarts of dried mushrooms.  

Perfect mushroom weather

On our way home, whom should we see?

A narrow fellow, not in the grass

As the Bonus Photo of the Day: 

Soap, not cheese

Today Michael made soap with fowl fat. Yes, we really do try to use all of our birds, including fat (for soap), feet (for soup) and feathers (for fun).  That lovely yellow comes from grazed grass. Golden soap of the sun!

Foraging journal: this is not a volley ball

Tis the season for giant puffballs.  

Can I keep it? It followed me home.... 

Last week we saw (and adopted) purple spored puffballs and sulphur shelf mushrooms on our trek to see Aunt Harriette. This week the giant puffballs made their first appearance of the season. Puffballs, as previously mentioned, are not prime for eating fresh. 

Yes, it looks like they should make great mushroom steaks, but I haven't discovered how to make them palatable in this form

So into the dehydrator they go.  

If only I could bottle the aroma of drying puffballs! 

They dry well and store well.  

1 mushroom=3 quarts

A cup to a pint of dried puffballs, rehydrated in the broth of your choice (we tend to have a lot of chicken and duck broth on hand....) and then whirred in a blender makes a fine substitute for any recipe callng for cream of mushroom soup. I love baked wild rice with puffball slurry, onions, and carrots. It is the taste of autumn. 

Blessings journal: this is our second anniversary

Two years ago today, we parked the U-Haul, kissed Irene, and started cleaning and clearing and deconstructing. A year ago we woke up, kissed Irene, and parked the tractor in its new home.  Yesterday, Michael cut a hole in our perfectly good new roof.  

We are working against the clock: rain scheduled to begin in eight hours

Getting the stovepipe perfectly vertical required some basic engineering (the framing on the insulation shield is movable and will be reinforced) and upper body strength (lifting a six foot section of ainsulated stove pipe to Michael who was sitting in the rafters was no mean feat).  

Adjusting rafter ties before installing stove pipe.  

But that was yesterday. Today we woke up, kissed Irene and headed off to the Minnesota State Fair. We arrived early to avoid traffic and parking woes.  

Not many people at 7:30 am! 

We started with the animals, visiting fish chickens ducks turkeys geese sheep goats cows and pigs.  

1200 pounds of pig.  

We ate cheese curds malts cream puffs and:  

Our favorite vendor.  

We perused the art gallery Eco building frontier village international bazaar and agriculture building.  

Flowers. I love flowers.  

By 2 pm our dogs were barking.  

Feet in place.  

The crowds were gathering.  

Relatively empty for the Fair, but crowded for us country folk

So we headed home. Would our house be dry?   

No leaks!  Yay!   

Despite aches and pain and exhaustion and overcoming fear, it was a perfect end to a really good day, week, month, and year.  

Foraging journal: there be gold in them thar woods

As in the makings for golden mushroom soup: 

A prime sulphur shelf was waiting for us on the East River Road. This area usually is too dry to support sulphur shelf. Not this year. 

We were on our way to gather up Aunt Harriette and bring her home for a roast chicken dinner (she liked the plum pie too) when I told Michael that the air smelt of mushrooms. Not 30 seconds later, Michael spotted the above lovely winking at us. Our first of the year. We will have part for dinner tonight. The rest I cut up and put in the dehydrator this morning. 

The aroma of drying mushrooms has the sweet earthy smell of walking in the woods as the leaves begin to fall.  

We also found a number of purple spore puff balls, which are about the size of a soft ball. They are tasty, but lack something in texture, being kin to marshmallows. They dry well, and then can be pulverized to make velvety savory sauces.  They grow in sandy areas where the grass is kept short. 

The few sulphur shelf left from last summer. They rehydrate well.  

Wild foods appear sporadically, which make them all that much more appreciated when our paths meet. 

Harvest journal: another 34 pounds of chicken in the freezer

As soon as the weather allows, we will have to have people over for chicken dinners. We hope to start on Wednesday with Aunt Harriette. The thermometer topped out at 62° yesterday. Too early for a fire, but fine weather for making quiche (we are also swimming in eggs). Despite the (continued) rain this morning, we made good on our promise to reduce the stress in the new bird coop.  

The silence of the roosters.  

It took us 6 hours to process 9 birds.  

Only the final cleaning happens inside.  

Tyson Foods we ain't. Which, I suppose, is entirely the point. When I was 21 I sat for hours with my grandfather, boning chicken to feed the 200 guests who would celebrate my syster's wedding. I could not eat or be around any chicken for years afterward. The (normal) chickens we raise smell so sweet, whether alive or awaiting to be plucked. The broilers were not as pleasant either to butcher, or to raise, even if the are the most efficient animals at converting feed to protein on the face of the earth. Someday we may figure out how to market our overage so we can continue to support this 40 acre garden. It is not practical. It is not efficient. It is heaven. 

The volunteer Blue Hubbard is taking over the winter chicken yard.  

Weather journal: watching the clouds roll in

It's been a wet year here in Western Wisconsin, the second in a row. Unlike last year, it is also warm. The corn loves it, as do the mosquitos. 

No seeing deer in this back yard...but they are there, nonetheless, like Certified Public Accountants. 

Some storms are slow and gentle, and some magnificently not.  

Racing the rain (gotta batten down the birds) 

Inches of rain in minutes sometimes.  

Or maybe 1/3" in 5 minutes

A welcome break in the heat.  

Harvest journal: garlic, onions, potatoes, elderberry jelly and fish

August 1st of last year saw us digging potatoes and swimming in tomatoes. The potatoes, garlic and onions came ripe at about the same time this year, but we are just now beginning to have tomatoes for three meals a day.  

Golden (and red and white) onions of the sun.  

The garlic started coming out of the ground first, but since we cultivate five varieties, they came out in stages.  

July 12 and the River Giant and German Red came ripe, which is when the bergamot started to bloom.  

Our potato crop suffered from the wet, with too many of the Kennebec having soft spots. They eat fine now, but will not save.   Darn. Having to eat new potatoes...roasted on the grill...poor us. 

Red Pontiacs...we started snitching new potatoes from under the plants about a month ago. The new reds are the best.  

I am grateful to have a basement this year!  The ground under the addition remained undisturbed until July 18th last year, and we had to scramble to find a place out of the rain for our harvest. This year we trooped the goods directly to their hiding places. 

About 500 bulbs of garlic and 130 pounds of onions. No vampires around our house.  

We did not go fishing until late July, when my sole birthday wish was to get out on the water. We caught fish, and so have been out twice since then.  

Turtles share their lake with us.  

We will feed Aunt Harriette and Irene fresh fish tomorrow, with a few more stashed in the freezer for future reference.  

Jelly in the making. I need to see if I can capture this color in wool.  

And just to show that our lives haven't been entirely devoted to filling the larder: 

Spindles on and railing sanded. Now for some steps... 

Construction journal: no falling unless you really try

Today was an outdoors day, even if they keep threatening us with severe thunderstorms.  

Still lacking spindles, but we need to buy more deck screws and lumber, having cannibalized some of our 2x4s for other projects. 

Bottom and top rails are in. I feel so much better about setting up a ladder to stain the soffit now.  

Playing hooky journal: thank you Aunt Harriette

Last week we visited Aunt Harriette for the first time in about six weeks. We knew it had been that long because we visited shortly before Irene's surgery. Bad us. So we put Harriette outings on our weekly calendar, to make sure we didn't skip another six weeks working away into oblivion. Because our calendar told us to, we picked her up from the continuing care center, took a short tour of Grantsburg, and headed off to Crex Meadows.  

The greeting committee: two adult swans in summer brown and their three cygnets

Harriette, who is Michael's aunt (and celebrated 97 years on Groundhog Day), and her husband, Klink, were longtime Audubon Society members. They helped create Crex Meadows as a bird refuge. Harriette, who is mostly blind, can still navigate us through the back roads and get us all home in one piece. We haven't had the opportunity to get out much this summer, so having the luxury of taking a morning to espy sand hill cranes, swans, coots, and geese was...a luxury!   

Fish Lake Preserve, another favorite on our way home

The air has that late summer/early autumn smell of ripeness...like waffle cones or raspberry jelly, or watermelon when you first slice into it. Not too hot not too humid, but enough of each to make you feel cradled in wellness. Thank you Aunt Harriette!

Construction journal: the great migration would have taken a lot longer without our Secret Weapon

Also known as our private angel: Brother Douglas. Since we doubled the footprint of our house, we needed to double the electrical capacity. This meant replacing the 100 amp service that had been in the wall of the cabin with 200 amp service installed in the basement. The project began last year when Michael ran the wires in the sky so that the basement diggers would not run into hot wires as they excavated under the cabin. This year, new and better wires went back in the ground with the expertise (and I mean expert: Douglas not only is an electrical engineer, he's wired houses before too!) of a person with knowledge. 

Starting at the pole.  

The first day the guys worked for 11 hours getting electricity in the ground and to the house so that when the power company guys came the next day, all that would need to happen would be to connect the box on the pole to the wires at the top.  

Removing the box from the wall, where it was causing problems due to inadequate insulation.  

Just like last year, it rained.  

Racing against wind and weather.  

Half the battle was not slipping in the mud. 

Running wires through conduit; not easily done at some junctions.  

The boys won.  

A box where it belongs! 

They did work well into the night, connecting the old wires to the new.  Not pictured: various runs into town for parts. It always happens. 

Thank goodness for great flashlights.  

And then the next day Douglas performed a high wire act.  

The 100 amp wire came down and the 200 amp went up. The tricky part was raising the wires in the conduit and holding them in place while Douglas secured them to the pole.  

I helped hold the ladder. It was the least I could do. Or perhaps the most...  Thank you Sister Teresa for letting us have Douglas for the duration. Most of the addition is wired now, just waiting for insulation and wallboard. Plumbing and heating. Siding. There is more than enough to keep us busy, but this was a huge advance toward making the addition a space to live in. 

Harvest journal: we are in a pickle now!

Last year the cucumbers never grew. This year they are coming on strong! 

The eggs were a bonus.  

Michael makes great table-top crunchy pickles. He gathered all the necessaries: salt for the brine, fresh dill and garlic, grape leaves, and of course, the cukes. (I'll post a recipe with proportions soon).  

The dill thinnings-the roots didn't make it into the pickle jar

We often buy pickles by the gallon, conveniently leaving us with large jars. After packing the jar and pouring on the brine, Michael loosely fits the lid on.  

The bowl is to catch any overflow from the pickling action.  

After a day or so (depending on ambient temperature) the pickles start to work.  

Bubbles mean no troubles.  

We've been having weather in the 90s...good for pickles and cooking outdoors. After three days, you "test" one (eating it is the favored method), and if they are pickled in the middle, they go in the fridge. If not, let sit another day and test again. Refrigeration slows the pickling process, and so a gallon of pickles can theoretically last up to five months if refrigerated. I've never seen a gallon of pickles last even one month in my family...hence the excitement over having cukes AND dill AND garlic AND grape leaves coming ripe all at the same time.  

Bonus photo of the day: our wee helpers avoided being added to the pickle jar. They like to preserve themselves.  

Construction journal: let there be light!

All the windows are in.  

The East Corner

Matt and Artemis came and all went so much better with extra hands.  

The West Corner

We even had wee help.  

Frogs. I love frogs.  

Up next: braiding garlic and putting up interior walls.  

German Red and River Giant

Livestock journal: let it flood, let it flood, let it flood

Sometime in the night a day or two ago it rained two and a half inches in a short time. It washed out the driveway and flooded the basement...but through the basement door, not through our new roof. Do we care?  No permanent damage. The driveway Michael shoveled back in place. The basement we mopped. And then we got to watch the ducks paddle in their pond.  

There is nothing quite as cheerful as a duck in water.  

Ahhhh.  

Livestock journal: getting our ducks in a row

I never understood that saying. Now I do.  

Say goodnight Gracie.  

Construction journal: where is Atlas when you need him?

In the past 3 days we have installed 3 windows. The first was the smallest and will eventually illuminate our future laundry room: 

Yes, a saws-all would be faster. We aren't fast.  

We keep learning as we go. And keep forgetting as well. Good thing we have 3' eaves...which means our minor mistakes really are minor. 

End of Day 2 of East Side Windows.  

Today's window took some engineering to install, since I am both short and only moderately strong. Michael built a bench to rest the window on, and I built myself a platform of 2"x4" ends and pieces to raise me up about 7 1/2 inches.  I put a 2"x4" across the inside so we didn't tip the window through the opening. Frankly, I never thought we would be able to lift it into place. But on the count of 3 it was up and in. Miraculously, it was also square and level!   Paying attention to the sill plate paid off. 

Rails and steps will have to wait until after windows are done.  

Tomorrow Michael will do some re-framing on the west wall (we changed our minds as to where the front door will be) while I take time off to do some paying work. Our bodies need to recuperate a bit before we tackle the biggest window of all. Thankfully, we will have an extra pair of (strong!) hands to help come Sunday. 

Let there be light! 

Construction journal: deck door done

Three days ago we completed the deck part of the deck. Yesterday Michael cut away the sheathing that covered the doorway to the deck. Then we read the installation instructions, looked all over for shims, gave it up as a hopeless hunt, and went into town for shims, ice and water flexible flashing, and some lumber to adjust window rough openings.  Yes, we should have framed the ROs correctly last October, but who knew the standard dimensions of a window back then?  Not us!  It saved us nearly $5,000 to go with standard sizes. We will get to windows soon. Today we installed the East Door. 

Not exactly a Rembrandt, but looks good to me.  

Taking two full days to install one door seems ridiculous, but we had to learn about the ice and water flashing. Wish we had known about it when Irene's door went in last October.  Right now, it is a joy to walk onto the deck without having to walk around the outside of the house.  

Michael is contemplating how we will put up railing. 

I think we need a name for the deck. Something like the Liana Deck...only more appropriate for our project. If we move chickens into the back yard, it will rapidly become the Poop Deck. But chickens aren't allowed while Irene rules this roost, so interim suggestions are welcomed.  

Harvest journal: 80 pounds of chicken in one day

Broilers. They are what you get when you buy chicken in the store. They are the swine of the chicken world. They eat. They poop. They grow. They turn feed into meat more efficiently than any other animal in the world. But even they are individuals, and it is still hard to slaughter them...but not as hard as the chickens we sit and visit with and hop into our laps.   

Stoking the rocket stove to heat water to scald chickens to pluck feathers

We started today at about 9 am and finished around 3 pm, working without breaks. We could be more efficient, but if we are not being commercial, we can spend a day working to fill the freezer.  

Implements of construction: the cleaver I bought Michael as a wedding gift and a modified pillow case to keep the chicken feeling secure until it isn't  

I omit the details in deference to a friend who says her life is sufficient in gory stories (anything but an endorsement for being a micro-social worker) and bring you the end result only:

Our chickens weighed in at anywhere from almost 11 pounds to shy of 5 pounds. The average was 9 pounds.  

Yesterday's harvest was less bloody but perhaps a better red:

Currant jelly in the morning light

We have preserved July to warm our January.