Construction journal: sheet rock progress

Despite my lack of any meniscus to repair, I have been helping Michael hang rock.

We moved the bed from the corner niche and Michael took out the door and frame on January 22. Then we took a Grand break.

These are the beds my grandparents bought for my mom and her older brother when she was about 6 years old. That makes them about 85 years old. My mom turned them into bunk beds at some point. The Grands loved the new duck-watching perch.

I picked up the sheet rock after dropping Michael off at the dentist on January 30th. Two yard guys loaded for me…but the gate guy didn’t know that. Ha! I didn’t enlighten him.

We covered the fiberglass up in time to host the Grand Guy and his family yesterday.

My dad would call this face “pucheros.”

He cheered up with a bit of Booma cake in him. Or maybe it was the great chicken soup and fresh rolls Boopa made.

Today we hung rock in the corner and on the other side of the now missing door. We ran out of drywall screws and time. Walls are more than 8 feet tall, so there is a strip at the bottom we need to add. Then I’ll start mudding.

I can tell I haven’t sheet rocked in a while. I totally blew measuring for this first outlet.

All my other outlets turned out well.

I’ll glue pieces of rock around this outlet. First I had to create a backing for that one side. A popsicle stick was just the right width. I drilled holes to give me a way to position and secure it while my glue dried. I cut the string and pulled it through when the stick stuck. Glue. I love glue.

The super El Niño has gifted us a warm and dry winter. I can negotiate steps and outdoor lumpy ground while wearing my knee brace. I can walk short distances without a brace, if I don’t bend my left leg much. Turns out I munched the last bit of meniscus left to me on that side. I’ll start PT later this month to see how much mobility I can regain. If that doesn’t work, I’ll be signing up for a knee replacement. In the meantime, I’m learning how to hobble really well. The upside is: my right side sciatica has disappeared!

Convalescence journal: a time to sew and other delights

Michael does most of the chores these days as I’m still on the walking wounded list. In some ways it’s given me time to begin long-delayed projects. In other ways it just means things take me longer.

These are sashiko samplers made into those things you put under glasses to keep your table tidy. Michael gave me a kit for Christmas as I had been researching ways to repair clothes. “Sashiko” means “tiny stabs”, the basic method of this style of embroidery.

I have a few heavy canvas trousers with various rips and tears. I work around metal siding, fencing, and other hazards. Michael had some trousers made from a grid patterned cotton: perfect for sashiko patches!

In essence you make a series of running stitches, which look like nothing until you start the stitches that complete the pattern.

One of the best parts was having the Grand Girl take an interest and complete one geometric shape before her 6 year old brain wandered off.

In all fairness, there were more interesting things to do, like watching her mama open birthday presents.

Or snitching the crystallized clementines from the top of the cheesecake. I experimented with an angel food cake pan. I think it worked well! (Yes, the cake was delicious: orange zest/smoked cheddar gave it a symphonic flavor.)

On a more prosaic level, Michael wired the light switches. I held the ladder for him as he climbed in and out of the attic.

I also measured and cut the hole for the switch box. I find I can work hard in the mornings, but pooh out by mid-afternoon. I can’t carry anything heavy, so wallboard installation will probably have to wait awhile. I am able to walk a bit without my leg brace. I’m still waiting to hear the results of my MRI. In the meantime, I’m trying to carefully increase my mobility.

I get most of my increased heart rate minutes cooking. This is a photo of the base I use for braising duck legs, which we shared with the Grand Guy and his family today. I used the last of our home grown carrots in this dish. I neglected to record the final product. No Grand Guy photos either. I’ve been just a little more scattered than usual. Alas. Just as well I’m working on something as simple as making running stitches!

Season journal: 12 days of Christmas

Yesterday was 12th night and today is Epiphany. These are religious holy days, but also markers of season and place.

My mother completed her crèche today. Michael and I lit our wreath for the last time and sang of mages seeking a perfect light. Reflecting on the search for light and understanding seems timely in these dark days.

Christmas Day is a big birthday bash in our house. Having two two year olds added a certain element of delightful chaos.

After a while, Petra needed to find a quiet corner. We have those too!

Temperatures in the 50s made finding cool spaces a challenge, but after last year’s snow, was a welcome change.

We spent Boxing Day babysitting Felix.

We all arose before sunrise on the 3rd Day of Christmas: Michael to babysit Felix again and me to care for the livestock.

The 5th Day of Christmas brought us amazing hoarfrost.

Michael hunted on the Sixth Day. We received a small snowfall. No one was stirring. Not even a mouse.

On the 7th Day, we welcomed in the New Year with luminaria.

On the 9th day we moved our 400 lb. gun safe so we can finish our window opening project.

On the 10th Day I repaired this gorgeous necklace my mother sent me, which arrived with a number of the delicate birds in a broken state.

On the 11th Day (January 4th) I was doing my physical therapy exercises for my right leg when my left knee failed me. I later read that stairs (the exercise I was doing) is hard on knees.

We spent the next two days in a variety of doctors offices, which resulted in the not surprising news that I have arthritis in my knee. The pain is due to either an injured meniscus (that cushion behind the kneecap) or LCL (one if the tendons that keeps the knee stable). I have a knee brace that has allowed me to limp around the house. Michael has had to shoulder my chores on top of his own, as well as helping me with socks and other common items that suddenly are beyond my reach. It is good that PT has strengthened my right leg, else I would be even more disabled than I am! It is also good that we have a bunch of medical equipment, such as a walker and a shower chair, left to us by Irene. I have been using the grab bars we installed and have rejoiced in having space to use that walker and shower chair. I didn’t think I would be needing all of this quite so soon. I’m really happy my knee didn’t fail while I was out walking Zeke. I gratefully accept the blessings of the season and look forward to getting back on my feet and bending the knee.

Solstice journal: comfort

I awoke in the dark. I go to sleep in the dark. I smell the potato leek soup and barley bread we had for dinner, with a faint undertone of anise seed cookies. Michael gently snores by my side.

I cherish the brief periods of sun we have. Relative warmth keeps a hint of green in the fields, intensifying the gold of dry alfalfa and timothy.

I completed my second lap quilt yesterday. Our group of quilters will bring them to the assisted living center in town. A lot of laughter is sewn into these blankets.

We completed another two wall openings. Now we put away the tools. Clean. Bake. Make ready our house and hearts for the joy of sharing time and season with friends and family. Good night.

Season journal: La tamalada

In mid-December red chile scents the air. Time for tamales.

Ten pounds of pork roast went into a stock pot with garlic, chile caribe, salt, bay leaves and oregano. Boiled until the meat began to fall off the bones.

The meat then went into a large black iron Dutch oven, shredded, added with ground red chile, comino (cumin), garlic salt and stock until it was a plump mush. Petra gave the filling her blessings. Hojas (dried corn husks) were soaked in hot water until pliable.

Then the hojas are smeared with masa (a corn gruel made with corn flour, corn meal, salt, baking powder, lard and stock from the roast). Lilith did a great job! The meat filling goes on top of the masa and then the whole thing is rolled and folded to make a neat packet.

We stack the tamales on cookie sheets awaiting steaming. It takes about an hour in a steamer to cook.

Unwrapped, covered in more red chile, they are a Christmas tradition, every bit as necessary as gingerbread. These were made with blue corn masa. Yum.

The carrots are from our garden. This has been a very mild winter so far. The cold weather allowed us to use our deck as a freezer up until the 12th, but for the last several days we’ve had overnight temperatures above freezing. Tonight will see 12°.

What this tiny bear has been eating, I don’t know. A neighbor with a trail cam confirmed that the bears were still about as of December 12th.

Rain washed away our snow. The river runs low. It is hard to mourn drought in winter.

My sister Angela sends greetings from places warmer still.

Construction journal: beginning to finish the addition

Construction is all very well and good, but when you are marrying a previously built structure to a new one, transition areas can be tricky.

This used to be the east wall of the original cabin Michael helped Clyde build. It now separates what will become the kitchen and the living room. We want as much air flow between the two areas as possible. So we are taking out most of that old east wall. However, we don’t want to have to put headers in, because supporting that wall while creating headers is really hard. We’ve done that. We are seeking to avoid that headache by leaving the studs in place. Yes. They look terrible now, but I have plans…

The first thing we did was clear the area. Then I drew lines on both walls, using the current window sills as my reference point. Next, we peeled back the plastic that keeps the fiberglass from floating around the house, exposing the old sills and allowing us to figure out how they were attached.

Michael took out the old sills, which were 2x8s set into a 2x6 framed wall. He trimmed them to fit flush with the framing. I cut the wallboard down to my line.

Michael cut 2x4s for blocks to support the new sills and to add strength to them. We have climbing grandchildren. Wouldn’t want them breaking the walls!

Once those were cut, we realized they wouldn’t fit between the new sill and the wiring running through that wall. So I measured and marked where the wires had to be and Michael created notches.

And in go the “new” sills! Not shown is me making sure everything is level. I made the mistake of trying to level the sills between the two openings on my own. One sill turned out to be 1/4” lower than the other. Thankfully, the edging Michael took down was that 1/4”. He took off the sill, cut 5” sections of the finish board and shimmed up the sill.

Now they look even with each other.

While Michael was out putting the table saw and birds away, I took the nails out of the finish boards and cleaned up inside. Lowering the sills on these two former windows took us about 3 1/2 hours. We hope to get faster. The plan is to take out the wallboard between the two old window areas, lower all the sills, and also raise the height of those openings to match the doorway between the two areas. This will require re-routing the wiring for the ceiling fan in the old cabin area as well as the light switch for the new living room. Those switches needed moving so they will be next to the new doorway. This just means Michael will put on his electrician hat, climb up into the attic, and do his electrician magic. Yes. This is the week before Christmas. Yes. We are hosting Christmas. Yes. We are a bit insane. Cheers!

Giving thanks journal: the gifts of the land

6 PM feels late when the sun sets at 4:28 PM. Michael and I are snuggled in by the wood stove with the cat and dog stretched out at our feet as I begin this post. A good time to reflect on why we are all exhausted.

The corollary of early sunsets are late sunrises. The sun peeked over the horizon at about 7:30 AM today. This particular sunrise is from November 19th, and so was about 15 minutes earlier. I hunted the day after opening, but saw no deer at all. I was not alone. Fewer deer have been harvested this year than last.

Sunshine set the wild grass heads aglow. Light becomes precious in November.

November 19th was warm enough to awaken all types of insects. This little lady became mired on a freshly skinned carcass.

“Warm” is a relative term. Our tractor shed kept all our venison quarters quite cool while awaiting processing. I got the hearts, livers, and back strap cleaned, sliced and packaged before Thanksgiving. This was two day’s worth of heavy lifting.

Wednesday the 22nd we cleaned house, dug up carrots and pre-made what we could. We use our deck as a supplemental refrigerator/freezer. Thanksgiving morning the frost danced over the cover of the honey and ginger glazed carrots.

A third of this cabbage served 14 people and then some. Creamed, it was declared delicious.

I recognized this chicken by the way his leg stuck out. I thanked him once again for being a fine bird.

Beets, squash, carrots, stuffing, potatoes, chicken and canned cranberries made a lovely meal. A dear friend sent me the mushroom napkins for a festive touch. Some wild hen of the woods may have snuck into that dressing….

The Grand Girls raided the pickles and olives before dinner.

The best part of having a full house was having a house where family can gather and be together. A friend came over and was mumbling about how his brother had to have the best of everything, meaning the most expensive of everything. I laughed and told him I actually did have the best of everything. He raised the glass of cider we served and generously agreed.

The Friday after Thanksgiving I started processing the quarters of the doe I harvested. The next day I helped my daughter process the back strap and quarters from the deer her husband shot. We got most of the deer turned into venison, packaged and sent home with them.

November 26th brought our first snow since late October.

I stayed inside and ground 31 pounds of bits and pieces into venison burger. Both the deer that my son in law and I shot rendered about 45 pounds of meat each: roasts, stew, medallions, and burger.

Michael shot one last doe on closing day. He sat in the stand my son in law uses. We had cleared brush from that area several days before the season opened. My upper back ached from wielding my 6” electric chain saw (Michael cut bigger trees with the 20” gas powered saw), but our efforts paid off. I finished processing this doe three days ago. It was a bit smaller and resulted in 40 pounds of venison. I’ve been rendering fat for soap ever since. So far I have about 10 pounds of tallow (the fat resulting from rendering). I may have that much more by the time I’m done. Michael would like to harvest two more deer from our land, one to split between our children and one for his brother. I’m thankful for the venison we have and amazed that we still have room in our freezers.

The chickens would be delighted if Michael shot another deer. They are such tiny dinosaurs! Rawr. Squawk. The cleaned bones will go on the pyre we have built on our garden plot. We await New Years (and the final end of the hunting season) to set it ablaze, returning minerals to be used by next year’s crops.

The sun has long since set and now Michael gently snores as I finish this post. Tomorrow we will arise with the sun. Michael will feed and water the birds and I will walk Zeke. We will head into the Cities to deliver St. Nicholas packages to children and friends. Food. Clothing. A gift from this land on which we toil, and which in turn rewards us with gifts from the earth.

Harvest journal: being there

Today hunting-deer-with-guns season opened. Four of us climbed into various stands and we sat quietly, waiting for the sun to rise at 7:13 AM. Hunting becomes legal a half hour before sunrise and lasts to a half hour after sunset. There are sufficient deer in this area so that we all are authorized to take one buck and two does.

I listen for sound in low light. The first to awake were the squirrels, the grays then the reds. The birds arrived at the feeder precisely at dawn. Jays, chickadees, woodpeckers (Red Headed, Downey and Ladder Backs), and nuthatches.

We were not overly confident that we would find any deer, as our field holds few soy beans. Our renter planted his beans after the early rains. Then the June-July drought prevented the seed from sprouting in a timely manner. The weeds outgrew the beans once we did get rain in August. This means there is little on our land to attract deer. We are not alone in this dilemma. The shots fired this morning were few and far between.

Despite our misgivings, my son in law shot a young buck at 9:30 AM.

A large doe walked in from the field, heading toward the tamarack swamp. I heard her before I saw her. She stopped when I moved my rifle.

She died at 10:30 AM. It took me about a half hour to field dress her. “Field dressing” means taking out the viscera, which accounts for about one third of a deer’s weight. Removing the innards not only allows the carcass to cool faster, reducing the chances of spoilage, but also makes the deer easier to haul home.

I helped Michael wrangle her into the trailer. We get to use the lawn tractor! We are due to hit 53° today. It was this warm about 20 years ago, the year I started hunting.

Here’s to you, Miss Doe! Thank you for coming to feed my family this winter. We will appreciate your nourishment of our bodies and our souls.

We are not the only hunters here.

Deer are not the only targets of our attention. I have learned to be aware of patterns, differentiating between the rustle a squirrel makes from a deer’s footfall. The time and habit of an oyster mushroom or a blewit call to me as I bend to pick up ditch trash. I find plants and berries worthy of dinner walking in urban spaces. My friends become used to my bending to pick up random items as we walk along. It is important not only to go to a place, but to be in that place and learn from it. I am forever hunting; I am forever finding fortune

Celebration journal: Bonfire Night and Felix turns 2!!!

Felix, our Grand Guy, turned two in early November. We celebrated this past weekend with glorious weather, all the cousins, and a “two two” train. He appreciated the dinosaurs, but his favorite parts were the Pocky Stick bars on the cages.

Then Sunday was Bonfire Night, and we finally burned the cottonwood stump.

I had to look up when we created that stump. It was on March 14, 2020. It has threatened more than one car bumper in the past three years.

We’ve meant to burn it ever since it dried out. The time finally came!

There’s still a bit of stump left for our burning pleasure.

The time became right because we need access to the right side of that photo (behind that stump) to park our trailer over the winter. Our friend Robert has given us scathes of wood, a bit of which is green. Michael stacked the green logs in the space the trailer used to live. Then Robert came out with his log splitter and the boys cleared the pile of unsplit wood that had accumulated next to the wood bins. Voila! A place to park the trailer…but for that pesky stump. Thank you Robert for providing the motivation!

While Michael fed the fire, I beat back the bushes from the driveway. I love my new 6” electric chainsaw. I’ve been battling those bushes every year, but kept losing because I’m too wimpy to ply shears and Swede saw for as long as needed to keep the brush at bay.

We need to keep our driveway clear this winter as our newest Grand Girl is due to arrive in March. Thank you Persephone and Nate for providing us this most important of motivations!

Season journal: trick or treat

My breakfast views: first white and last reds.

Beautiful snow, but the ice accumulated on warm roads cut short my morning walk.

We made our rounds to the marble forests, sharing bread and wine (cheese curds and beer too) with our dearly departed, who return to us during these days. Michael dreamed Irene walking up the steps to the old part of the house last night. She really didn’t want to die. She was so afraid we would forget her. We try to ally her fears, even in death.

Our scions have made good use of pumpkins. So many would be so pleased with these children who have children. It has been ten years since Clyde died and our slow journey back here began. Walking through the graveyard where Michael and I plan to be planted, near Nonie and Ralph, reminds me how much this is home to Michael. I have no place where I know most of the etched names. I choose to make my home here, and look forward to resting among my adopted clan. I hope to live each day as a good day, so that when my days come to an end, it will not be a trick, but a treat.

Garden journal: late fall wonders

October 27. No snow. Yet.

We sent the Very Large Pumpkins home with grands and gather the last inside. Cold comes. The high of 46° happened at 8 am. Only chillier from here to the foreseeable future.

The squash shall live in the basement, lasting until spring.

I stripped the Northwest Greening this week, saving the few keepers, then patrolled all trees for strays. The apple maggots use fallen apples for part of their life cycle. Once established, they stay until a very hard winter wipes the soil clean of larvae. Better to keep the orchards clean. We do not spray.

Tomatoes, peppers, eggplant. All gone.

I made a green tomato galette, layering tomato slices with thin sliced onions. Grated Parmesan over and under tomatoes. Salt, pepper and paprika. All cuddled in a savory crust. Salad rounded out dinner. Michael loosed the ducks on the last of the lettuce. They will clear that garden for us.

The chicken pullets began laying on October 10th. A pullet is a young laying bird. Their first eggs tend to be small. They are hard to incorporate into recipes, so Michael boiled a batch and we had soup and egg salad for dinner. The soup is a type of borscht I created with the last of the red eggplants. I added onions and garlic and beets and cabbage and a number of different types of peppers and paprika. Oh, and chicken and chicken broth…and a bit of maraschino cherry juice. It just needed a little sweetness. Turned out a lovely red and even lovelier to eat.

Last weekend we visited a dear friend in Western Minnesota. The trees remained spectacular. Color started with maples and is ending with cottonwood, poplar and birch. The oak leaves will hang on until spring. The Glaciers there brought down a different mix of gravel. Our roads in Western Wisconsin are paved with Lake Superior agates. Their roads incorporate Iron Range taconite, which rusts. Thank you, Valerie, for sharing your time and world with us.

These lovelies kept the animals fed while we played hooky. Thank you Artemis and Matt for allowing us a holiday.

We can hardly wait to see this guy again.

Season journal: Wow. Colors.

Every year, the changing of the seasons creates cause for celebration. Spring flowers. Summer abounds. Fall flames. Winter sparkles.

Glory be to God for dappled things –

   For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow;

      For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;

Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches’ wings;

   Landscape plotted and pieced – fold, fallow, and plough;

      And áll trádes, their gear and tackle and trim.

“Pied Beauty”—Gerard Manley Hopkins

I’d try to say it better, but for lack of words, I borrow liberally.

First frost on October 9th had us gathering the last of our garden bounty and finding ways to eat tomatoes in all their glory: egg sandwiches, Brazilian fish stew (moqueca), fried green with white sauce. The parm substituting green tomatoes for eggplant and making sauce from ripe reds goes without record due to gobbling them unapologetically.

Michael cleaned our new chimney on October 5th, with my help. I climbed onto the roof TWICE, which tells you how much I love that man. My bad knees don’t like stepping off ladders and getting up on slanted surfaces. I admit to uncontrollable shakes during this process. No photos of the magnificent view due to said tremors.

Even so, I can’t believe I get to live in Wisconsin!

Where I stumble across blewits while walking Zeke. They are delicious!

Where we seek out entalomas while the trees exude cloud-forming particles that smell of cracked pepper.

Where we clear faded vines and plant garlic for future savor.

We collaborate on cakes to celebrate the birth of friends.

Where we squirrel away cabbage, beets and pickles for future feasts.

And revel in the long low light in the autumn of our days.

Celebration journal: combining the new and the old

We celebrated a birthday with visiting our dearly departed on a wedding anniversary this year.

Visitors from Michigan and Virginia drove us out into glorious fall weather, where we could picnic with ancestors without needing parkas.

Tales from more people, knowledge of times gone by, root us to place and to each other.

Married 34 years, John and Lori serve as supplemental grandparents, much as Klink and Harriette did for our girls.

We make space in our hearts and homes…

…and they leave gifts that last after they are gone.

We hope to do the same.

Moonlighting journal: Boston in September

I still lead a double life: down and dirty farm girl by day/highfalutin lawyer by and by. My caseload is pretty sparse, but things heat up now and again. That happened in September, when my presence was required by the First Circuit, which sits in Boston.

Going from ducks to mass transit was a little disorienting. Luckily, my Big City Navigation brain cells have not completely disappeared. I made it safely to my hotel all in one piece.

King’s Chapel, established in 1868. One of the first churches in Boston. Right across from my hotel. A good landmark to navigate to dinner and back.

This is Boston: ancient cobbles reflected In sleek architecture.

The Brutalism of City Hall. Irony?

This interactive memorial to the Holocaust billows steam as you stop to read survivor’s stories. Very effective.

The oldest Pub in the US. I had another destination in mind.

The Daily Catch in the North End seats about 15 and serves great seafood and pasta. I ate it all.

I took the greenway to the footbridge that leads to the federal courthouse, only to find it closed. I walked further to time the journey from the courthouse back to my hotel.

Night and exhaustion overtook me. I slept well, awoke early, donned my armor and went out to joust. I parried all sword thrusts but will not discover if my client will regain a chance at freedom in his lifetime until some unknown future date.

I got to explore more of Boston with a friend after work.

Thank you Ralph, Katherine and Rebecca for helping me transition back from antiseptic professionalism to the doctrine of friends, family, and dirt.

Livestock journal: pullet eggs!

Our new duck hens began to lay eggs this past Monday, September 25.

Two more Tuesday and two this morning. Different ducks as we went from one green and one white to both green today. We have 10 new hens. Our 10 older hens have given a total of 1-2 eggs a day for about two weeks. Losing 12 of our dependable layers hurt productivity. The remaining 10 old hens are laying a few more now. Weather? Molting? Stress from change of housing? We still haven’t quite figured it out. We await the first pullet eggs from our new Wyandotte hens. Stay tuned!

Equinox journal: hurtling towards winter

All the leaves on one walnut turned yellow today. The maples flash red, warning of waning days. The tomatoes look tired. We, like squirrels, scurry to store food for winter.

The eggplants produce more than we can eat. I split them, salt them to draw out moisture, then toss in olive oil and grill until soft. I scoop out the flesh and freeze for that winter day when Baba Ganouj on toast will transport us back to steamy September days. Along the way, I sample the different types we’ve grown. The orange round ones are sweet. The purple round ones are fleshy. The others taste more like classic eggplant. I mix them together and love them all.

We have squeezed 10 gallons of pear cider and 10 gallons of apple cider, and have more apples to process for wine and dried apples. We have tossed loads of fruit ruined by July’s hail storm. We may be in drought, but the trees remember winter snow.

The tartness of cider cools the tongue after a day in the sun.

I completed my first quilt. I hope it helps warm some fragile frame come winter. This is part of a church group effort to bring comfort to our community. Our quilting guru joked that we should make it a “Sip and Sew” event…so I provided home made wine to help ease the aches that come with hunching over a sewing machine. Michael and I really can’t drink all the wine and cider we make.

The blue potatoes are amazing boiled or roasted. They are becoming our favorite. Cabbages crack when cut open, fresh and crisp. The giant pumpkins will go to Grands for Halloween. Extras will go to the church rummage sale. We will eat the small ones before Christmas, saving the winter squash to cheer us and our birds with their rich orange flesh in hard winter. Beets and pickles we eat now!

Michael and I took a break from pressing apples to go hunt the wily wild hazelnut. We found a stand driving around in the sand barrens and gathered a couple of paper grocery bags worth in half an hour. The hazelnuts are about the size of a chickpea, but are sweet and lovely. Sitting down for a while in the evening and chatting while cracking hazelnuts has become our new favorite pastime.

Aborted entalomas appear near the equinox. They cannot be confused with any toxic mushroom, so we gather them when we see them. They have a firm flesh and umami flavor. Great in stews or omelets.

We harvested the last of the ducks and chickens on September 3. Between 26 ducks, 25 broilers and 12 Wyandotte chickens, we produced a total of 268 pounds of usable portions. This includes feet and bones for broth, as well as meat and fat for sausages. 81 pounds went directly to our children. The rest we share out over the year. We lost 12 ducks and 4 chickens to predators. The birds have moved to winter quarters, which provide better protection. Bob continues to do well and keeps up with the flock on her single leg.

“Autumn is here!” sings Roger the Rooster.

The Grands remind us there is joy in hurtling through space.

Gratitude journal: thanks for all the memories (and the chance to make more)

Clyde and Irene, Michael’s parents, have given us so much over the years. Clearing out Irene’s paperwork, I found the loan document when we bought our first new car. We paid less than the going rate and they earned more than their CDs paid. Seems we did a lot of that win-win coordination with them.

This is what the house looked like 10 years ago. There was a porch on the other side where Michael’s brother installed a mini-elevator to allow Clyde to get into the house when he got sick. This place is another one of our win-win joint projects. Michael and I purchased the real estate and Clyde and Irene put in the well and septic. The guys built the cabin together.

Here’s to you, Clyde! I’m feeling a little sentimental as today marks his 10th “death-aversary”. It marks 9 years and 2 days since we moved in with Irene. We’ve done a lot and have more to do.

More fishing.

More gardening.

More walks to the river.

More observing interactions between plants and insects.

More squirreling wood away for winter.

And many more pies.

August journal: sunflowers and other delights

Both Clyde and Irene loved sunflowers. We plant them every year. When they bloom, it’s time to visit.

It helps that we’ve had highs in the mid-90s. Running north with the windows down. A fine way to travel.

Eleven pints of tomato and jalapeño jam made our house a bit steamy this morning. Another good reason to decamp.

We still eat tomatoes morning, noon, and night. Even so, our vines produce more than we can eat or give away. Canning in August drives my desire for a summer kitchen.

My neighbor cans green beans. We have heaps of beans, but I will eat them fresh always.

No one is having a good onion year. The hail was hard on them.

August sees the giant puffballs magically appear in ditches and on lawns. These I refuse to eat fresh! They are best dried, crushed into powder, and added to sauces or pasta.

Meadow mushrooms (they are the ones you find in grocery stores) we eat immediately. This year they have an especially floral scent. Omelettes with sautéed shrooms. Yum.

Michael took me on a trek to find trout on one of our rainy days. We discovered cold water, cool ferns, and chanterelles. No fish.

August brought some wicked wind. It made the gate to the duck’s winter pasture a giant kite, anchored by the grape vines. Michael repaired the gate while I plucked fox grapes. Grape jelly like you’ve never tasted! We are cutting our vines so we don’t lose more fences, but I may hunt for these in the woods if we have another banner year. Who knew fox grapes could be so good?

The pears produced a juice of a lighter hue this year. A result of huge snow but shallow frost? We need to strip the tree before it drops all its fruit. One of the duties of keeping fruit trees is clearing the ground under the trees. It deprives the worms a vector to reproduce and infect the fruit next year.

We bottled the currant wine last week. The red reminds me of raspberries, as does the bouquet. The rhubarb pales in comparison (although this year’s rhubarb is the best ever).

All the Greats would love to see how the Grands grow, and how wonderfully the children they spent time with are doing as parents themselves. They are delightful!

Garden journal: the nightshade parade

I live for tomato season. This year, perhaps due to heat and drought, it came early.

Tomatoes on my birthday. Amazing and wonderful and worthy of sharing.

The chiles and eggplants were not far behind.

Followed by our other nightshade, potatoes.

We eat tomatoes morning, noon and night: sandwiches, salsa and solo.

We shared our bounty with Michael’s friend Walt, his family, and High School friends, feeding them chile rellenos and other delicacies from the garden.

We feed our family on pasta cooked with grated tomatoes and grilled eggplant, fresh basil and feta as garnishes. I can hardly wait until we can make our own cheese!

Our days are full as we learn new things and practice older skills.

At end of day we celebrate with a glass of wine. Is it so much sweeter because it comes from our land and our labor? This year’s rhubarb bathes the tongue with a light, round flavor that speaks of spring.

Lovely to share at sunset in late summer.

Farm journal: losing birds to predators

We have had a running battle with raccoons. Yesterday the score was 4 lost ducks to 9 raccoons to feed the vultures, crows and eagles. The raccoons upped their game last night.

This is never a good sign.

The damage to the yurts indicate that the raccoon climbed over the outer fence into the pasture, lifted the tarp, chewed through the chicken wire, and then snacked on chicken breast and duck legs. Today we make an emergency run to buy hardware cloth (which is raccoon-proof) and install it around all the summer yurts.

Lil’ Blackie was one of our geriatric chickens. She was a broody hen. After she hatched her last clutch of eggs two years ago, she stopped being able to perch. Broody hens will stop eating and drinking while they sit on a nest for three weeks. It takes its toll. We put her in the duck pasture with two other geriatric chickens who were being pecked to death by the young chickens. The others, Mr. Whitey and Boyo, can still roost, which protects them from this type of predation.

Ducks are ground dwellers. If they could, they would spend the night on a pond, beyond the easy reach of raccoons. And fox. And weasels. Last night, the raccoon reached through the hole it made in the chicken wire, caught a duck by their leg and pulled/bit the leg off. These two ducks, who were Pearl and Electra, died of blood loss.

This previously anonymous Pekin survived the loss of her leg. She will now be known as Bob. Michael noticed that she can still get around on her one remaining leg, so we will see if she can survive sepsis and heal.

We filled our metal wash tub (what my father called a “tina”) and cleaned her up. I put on antibiotic cream (a lot!), a gauze pad and then wrapped it all with that type of bandage that sticks to itself but not to anything else. We put her in the winter coop with Fawn, our last duck from our original flock. Ducks need companionship. But Bob doesn’t need competition for food and water, so we chose a calm duck to go with her. This is a ridiculous thing to do from an economic standpoint. But these ducks were in the “do not kill” pasture, which means we could form attachments to them. Michael’s uncle, who farmed this land when Michael was growing up, would have certain milk cows he would pasture until they died. He figured they had been exceptionally good cows and deserved a retirement. If Bob lives, she will have earned her place in the permanent coop, for pure grit if nothing else.