A Quick Independence Day DIY

What is it about the US Mail that fascinates me?  I've had a pen pal for over 20 years, so I delight in checking the mail for a new letter or card. For mere pocket change, I can send my dear friend a hand-written letter and tuck in a four-leaf clover, a pressed flower, or an herbal tea bag. She and I have found myriad ways to make creative stationery from wallpaper sample books, old maps, cereal boxes, and our children's artwork.  And the postage stamps we stick to our creations are miniature artworks in themselves.  Whenever I pop down to our country post office, our postman knows to ask "Do you need any stamps?"

"Have you got any pretty ones?" I inquire, leaning in to see what he's got to offer, glancing over the plain ones to find the unusual, colorful and artful stamps.

Here's a postage stamp upcycling idea from my daughter, who found a collection of postage stamps when cleaning her room.  She carefully peeled them off of their envelopes and tape-encrusted packages.  Using a glue stick and the stamps' original stickiness, she applied them to the back of her Otterbox, making a very American collage.  Total project cost=$0.00.

Happy Independence Day!

Betsy

The new pond

About a month ago, our bean plants withered for lack of rain, newly tilled soil was dust dry and we lost a fifth of our onion starts in spite of our best watering efforts.  We began to worry about our well water running low, though we use drip tape to conserve water.  Our good friend Rich Rogers of Rogers Haul -n-Hoe came to the rescue with his backhoe, and dug us a 10,000 gallon pond -- a project we had planned for years.  Rich trucked in sand, with which we lined the rocky depression he carefully crafted, so that the jagged points wouldn't puncture our pond liner.  David and I raked out the sand in the afternoon heat, and we rolled out the recycled vinyl billboard pond liner we had bought online (https://billboardtarps.com/).  We prayed for a direct hit as thunderstorms moved through the area.

As you can see, the pond has filled up -- with water and with life.  In the evenings, Gray Treefrogs call from the trees overlooking the water, and their tadpoles wriggle along the shallow water at the edges.  Blackberry bushes hanging over the water hold ripening fruit, and predacious diving beetles patrol the waters.  We added rosy red minnows and goldfish to eat the mosquito larvae, and sometimes, when David and I stand, mesmerized by the abundant water, we are surprised by the silent flight of a Tree Swallow that dips over our shoulders, down to the still water's surface to scoop a mouthful of refreshment, disappearing with the quickness of thought, and leaving nothing but ripples to mark its visit.

Another friend, Myron Elliot, brought his trencher over to lay a water line from our spring development down the hill up to the pond.  Now, a single solar panel powers a pump to trickle water from the spring development into the pond -- that is when we aren't receiving monsoon rains as we have of late.

David has developed a watering system for the next time the rains stop and we need to irrigate the beans.  Below is a short movie about his gravity watering system.

Thanks to the work of friends, we move forward with new capabilities.  I know we don't need the watering capacity now, but I sense it may save future bean crops, and that feels like money in the bank.

Wishing you abundance in your life,

Betsy

The Most Beautiful Day of 2015 on Hawk's Hill

April 14, 2015 (posted late)

This morning, my body feels slow and stiff after a day of potato planting -- David tilled and furrowed the earth, and I cut seed potatoes, dipped them in wood ashes and planted them down the long rows.  We had fine planting weather.  Sunny and nearly 80 degrees, it was the warmest and most beautiful day of 2015 on Hawk's Hill. The song of the mockingbird in the hedgerow cherry trees cheered me as I dropped potato pieces from my basket into the soft, black earth.  Bare toes wriggling in the delectably soft spring earth, hair blowing in the breezy winds, skin relishing the kiss of the sun's warmth and the breath of the whisking winds, soul rejoicing in the mockingbird's varying tunes.  After winter's cold kept me locked away from the earth, immersing my entire being in nature felt like renewal, rejuvenation, a celebration of living.  

The day had begun with preparation of a new bed for potatoes.  David removed an old phone wire, and added compost to the bare earth while I ran errands to the post office and feed and seed, washed a load of laundry, and hung it out on the line.  Clean clothes flapping in the breeze, flats of broccoli and onion starts set out in the sunshine, tomato seedlings watered, chickens fed, eggs gathered, we finished our morning work and then snuck out to the state park for a picnic lunch and some sun-gathering.  Spring hits in a rush with long lists of projects to complete -- like replacing 700 feet of rabbit fence on the garden this year while completing the spring planting.  But, we have learned that stealing a few hours for fun makes the day more fun and the workers more productive.  

The day unfurled like a dream, lush grass, perfect earth for tilling, animals out and enjoying the sun.

After I finished planting, I sat in the verdant grass with Max flopped at my side, and admired the workings of nature.  A few notes in my garden journal, a few notations added to my garden map, a prayer of gratitude for the day and a prayer of hope for a good harvest.

David came along to ask help in catching a hen who had fluttered out of confinement.  Startled by the tiller ignition, she had flown over the electric fence and was now plucking fresh spring grass nearby.  I laced up my boots and after a few failed attempts, we caught her up between us, her wings battering our bodies.  Happily returned with her sisters, she melded back into the flock.  I admired the work David had done to soften the bottoms of the furrows with the Mantis tiller, and found a couple more Japanese beetle grubs to toss to the hens.  We talked about potato planting plans, about our lunch at the state park beach, about the cranky tiller motor, and called it a day.

As I put away my hoe in the garden shed, my ears picked up the sound of buzzing from a patch of blooming Heal-All in an un-tilled bed.  The lavender haze of blossoms amidst the mint green mounds of foliage had drawn a half dozen queen bumblebees.  Racing the setting sun to gather nectar from the diminutive flowers, the bumblers captured my attention with their hurried, rolling, blundering dance.  Pressing on as quickly as possible, they answered the need to gather, gather, faster, faster,  to feed their larval children back in an earth-sheltered home.  Smiling in gratitude for the connection with wild denizens of Hawk's Hill, I pushed on to get back to my earth-sheltered home to feed my hungry child and man.

Tugging my garden cart back up the hill to the barn, tired as the sun gilded the white clouds, I could feel my legs had strengthened over the past few weeks of outdoor work.  What a boon!  We ate a simple dinner of freeze-dried pinto beans and home-grown salad at 9:30 pm, the glow of sunshine still on our faces.

Today, I will plant more potatoes in furrows David pulled yesterday in a new potato patch.  The hens worked on the patch for several weeks at the dawn of spring, tearing up the grass and fertilizing the soil, but still, what a shock to see the thinness of the untended earth.  It had grown lush grass for years, but had not built up the thick layer of organic material that comes from manuring a garden for years.  Working in the old garden bed in my bare feet was pure delight.  The new bed still has rocks, Japanese beetle grubs, and quite a lot of clay.  I feel like I am looking back in time at our inauspicious beginnings, but back then, not only did I have poorer soil, but I knew less.  Still, the struggles built something worthy in me, taught me about pride and humility, and the power of daily labor organized and compounded over 6 years.

May you be graced with beautiful days and the kiss of sunshine this spring!
Betsy

A Peeping Spring Tonic

My friend, Faith, came out from the city to have lunch today, bringing along the six baby chicks she had just purchased at our local feed and seed. We had a heat lamp set up over a galvanized tub to keep her little pullets warm while we visited, but soon cuddled up with the fuzzy little 5 day-old chicks, tucking them in our shirts to keep them warm, delighting in nosing their fuzzy down, their pipping voices, their tiny scrambling feet. How invigorating new life is, in celebration of the end of winter!

 Just the sound of spring chicks peeping is a natural tonic to the winter-pressed soul.  Right now is the time to visit your local feed and seed or Tractor Supply Center to simply listen to the sounds of peeping, whistling, chirrupping chicks.  Immediately, the sound triggers a sense of joy at the new life thrumming and thriving in springtime.

Though some days still feel raw and blustery, spring has begun, if you know where to look for it!

If you can't get out to a feed and seed to see baby chicks, here's a link to a Hawk's Hill Farm video of our chicks growing up https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8HDpiJuqS7U

Hoping you are cozy as this little chick, and enjoying the harbingers of spring!
Betsy

A Late March Foraging Walk

Snowflakes have danced over the greening grass all day long.  At dusk, just after David and I came in from our venturing, a wall of white swept in over the neighbor's pasture from the southwest, making me glad for indoors and warmth.  Muddy knees.  A mug of tea.  A soft seat where I can watch the bread bake in the hot oven.  Simple pleasures work their magic on my soul.

The tail end of winter is the time of year that seems the hardest to eat locally, but I love to defy such rules of thumb. I took a basket and a trowel along when David and I went out to pull the taps on the Sugar Maples.  After we removed the spiles and thanked the trees, we stopped down to visit the hens and give them some stale bread.

Down by the chicken tractor, outside of the electric fence is a bed of Jerusalem Artichokes, also known as sunchokes.  A native to North America, the wild sunflower produces knobbly tubers that Native Americans cultivated and ate.  In just a few minutes, I had dug an easy handful of the roots, which I now munch on.  Crunchy, earthy and a little sweet, the tubers are surprisingly mild-flavored for a wild food.  Like most wild foods, the J-chokes are high in nutrients including iron, potassium, thiamine and fiber.  They are high in inulin, a carbohydrate that is considered diabetic-friendly (though consuming a lot of inulin leads to flatulence), and are a crunchy addition to salads, or may be cooked like potatoes.  I've even seen recipes for fried sunchoke chips.  As with all wild foods, positive identification is critical.  I had planted the Jerusalem artichokes in that spot and watched them bloom, so I knew what I was digging, but if you go hunting J-chokes, make absolutely certain you've got the right plant. This time of year, without flowers or leaves present, identification is much more difficult.  (My favorite field guide is the Peterson Field Guide to Edible Wild Plants.)

The tops of the tall sunflowers still bear seed heads.

Digging at the base of the old stalks yields golden nuggets of wild food.

 

The product of 5 minutes of scratching the earth.

I suppose I could add the collection of some icy cold and delicious Sugar Maple sap to the wild and local food collection, as I kept some of the last sap to drink.  I pulled the taps because the red maples' buds are beginning to swell, which will make the sap taste bitter when boiled down.  And because with the thaw, my attention must go to the garden now.

The last of the maple sap.

I also collected 14 eggs from the hens.  Back inside Soulstice, lettuce greens growing under lights have sprung back from the last picking.  Maybe I'll make up a salad of lettuce, leftover carrots dug on my last foraging walk, hard-boiled eggs, and a maple syrup-based dressing!

Even if you don't have J-chokes to dig or hens on the yard, you can eat local food treats right now.  I'll leave you with an easy dessert recipe you can try this weekend:

Baked Custard

2 cups Brunton's milk
2 eggs from Shepler's Farm (if you don't have your own flock)
1/4 cup local honey or maple syrup
1/2 tsp vanilla
pinch salt

Preheat oven to 300 degrees F.  Beat all ingredients together with a wire whisk.  Place four ramekins, small mugs or heavy teacups in a lasagna pan or other baking dish.  Fill ramekins/cups with sweetened milk-egg mixture and pour boiling water into pan to surround the cups.  Bake for 30-45 minutes or until a knife inserted near the edge of a custard cup comes out clean.  Remove from oven and let cool completely before covering and refrigerating.  Best served cold, and delicious plain or with fresh fruit.

In the end, eating wild and food you've collected from the land or purchased from a farmer produces a feeling of connection to the land, a sense of groundedness and gratitude.

May you find ways to connect with the land even on snowy, cold, blustery days like today.
Betsy

Waxing Towards Spring

The narrow moon hangs bright in the dark sky tonight.  Waxing.  It is building towards full, just as we are building each day towards the land awakening and beginning the life cycle of the farm again. Saturday, we boiled down 20 gallons of maple sap over a wood fire outdoors to make a half gallon of syrup.  Our first crop of the year has been harvested and canned up.  Beyond the syrup production, the day gave us peeks of sunshine to bask in and visits from friends curious to experience small scale maple sugaring firsthand.  An old country friend from my childhood would have called Saturday "a red-letter day."  The kind that slips past too quickly, filled with glimpses into friends' true thoughts, shared laughter, and delightful surprises. Like when my friend, Cheryl, offered to make vegan biscuits to feed the hungry little boys running about the farm.  She taught the boys how to mix up the dough and roll it out, letting the 3 year-old knead and help pat and cut out the dough.  In a trice, Cheryl popped two trays of biscuits into the oven. We took the basket of piping hot quick breads down to the fire to nosh on with butter and damson plum jam while we chatted and stirred the pans.  So many stories & connections --the sun set on us chatting.

Inside Soulstice, the broccoli, cabbages and Brussels sprouts I started in January have nearly overgrown their plant stand, and it is time to start heirloom tomatoes and peppers for the garden.  I spent yesterday potting up leeks, onions, kale, and lettuce plants, and filling trays with potting soil to start tomatoes, peppers, and eggplants in.

Broccoli, cabbage and Brussels sprouts reach for the sunshine

A source of winter salads.

Leek and onion transplants.

Today found me out in the woods at Raccoon Creek State Park, taking time away from the farm to prepare for a class I will teach in Nature Journaling this Sunday afternoon at the Park.  For more information or to register, click here.

Handmade nature journals ready for class participants.

While rambling the spring woods, I recorded these thoughts:

A Time of Awakenings-- Maple buds burst red and bulbous, Spring Beauties reach narrow green fingers through pale oak leaves, the Turkey Vultures sail again the azure afternoon sky, and the world fills with light.  Lighter coats, brighter sunshine, lighter hearts now unburdened with the first week of warmth behind us.  Again I can lay on the forest floor and gaze at the mesh of arms and twiggy fingers above me.  Again I hear the humble burble of bluebird voices.  Again my hand sketches unmittened.  Last week's exhalation and shaking off of winter's crushing weight has unfurled into this week's grateful acceptance of new expectations.  The snow that showered us yesterday couldn't linger past noon today.  The pruning put off by February's cold is scheduled.  The chickens will leave the barn tomorrow to return to pasture.  Seeds sprout under lights.  Birds sing us to the bus stop at sunrise, and driving is easy on dry pavement again.  Welcome spring and the easing of the soul.

May a sense of spring dawn upon your soul this week,
Betsy

Our cat Chubby reveling in the spring sunshine.

Tiny New Year

(Blast from the past -- This post was written in early January and temporarily forgotten!)

January is full of tiny joys, the time of year when you feel the pause after the party, the quiet after the rush, the simple after the lavish.   The seemingly still landscape reveals small wonders.  Today's tiny things for me included the joy of whisking bread crumbs off the wooden cutting board onto the snow by the kitchen door for the Juncos and sparrows; the pleasure of eating a small bowl of warm oatmeal with my True Love at the kitchen counter; watching the sun come out after the snow, clearing the sky momentarily to blue dazzlement;  watching a dust devil whisk glittering snowflakes into a fairy spiral in the air, only for an instant.  The quiet of the house seeps in; the voice of the wind sings its ancient song, cutting runes in the snow; the cats curl and nap; and peace settles in my heart, knowing the day lies open to be filled with words.

This morning, just after sunrise, as Kate and I walked against the biting wind to the bus stop, we tucked our heads against a buffetting zephyr and spotted our cat, Chubby, astride our boots.  Oh no!  The one cat who follows, puppy-like, and has no sense of cars managed to sneak out behind us on our way towards the road at rush hour.  I spied the old greenhouse down the hill, scooped up the cat, and tucked him in amongst the dead weeds and dry perennial herb stalks.  He'd be safely contained there for 15 minutes away from the rushing traffic.  When I came back, he was happy to be picked up and cuddled, and expressed his gratitude by purring and rubbing against my parka.  Nuzzling his warm fur, I inhaled sage and catnip, the scents of summer he had encountered in his captivity.  Add another tiny joy to the morning.

A stop in at Soulstice to draw water into two plastic watering cans and snatch a bag of vegetable scraps from the kitchen sink, and my dog and I were back out in the wind heading for the barn.  In their cozy coop, the hens attacked the carrot chunks, parsnip peels and turnip tops while I cleaned and filled their water fount, topped off the feeder and stuffed new hay into their nests.  Standing back for a moment, just taking in the fluffy golden hens busily scratching, pecking, commenting in their growling, clucking voices brought a glow of satisfaction.  One hen scrambled up into the manger, where the 5 gallon buckets and loose hay offered inviting nesting places.  She purred and chuckled as she settled into a lofty pile of new hay, apparently finding the fresh bedding irresistible.  Mark the industry and vigor of the hens as another tiny pleasure -- just a moment in the day.

Today's chore of cleaning out the pantry, culling withered sweet potatoes and soft onions, combining half-full boxes of potatoes, and removing the last butternut squash from a bushel basket led to the discovery of various root vegetables that needed to get used up.  So dinner consisted of Trader Joe's Vegan Chorizo , mashed potatoes and a variety of veggies roasted using Ina Garten's recipe.  The joy of fresh space and order in the pantry, the joy of dinner inspiration upon finding veggies that needed a purpose, mingled with the joy of hungrily nibbling hot sweet potatoes fresh from the oven with David. We have been carefully cutting back our diets to lose a few winter pounds, so when dinnertime comes, we are famished.  And food becomes more potent -- the need fulfilled satisfies more deeply than a whim entertained.

The pleasure of dining at the kitchen counter with David and Kate; the contentment of our warm Soulstice on a cold, snowy, blowy night; the knowledge that our butternut squash, sweet potatoes, and mashed taters came from the now-frozen earth just down the hill from Soulstice nourished my soul.  In fact, I had just the day before walked my garden cart down through the garden gate and loaded it with 10 pounds of carrots, 5 pounds of turnips and rutabagas, a grocery bag of kale with snippets of oregano and cutting celery, and several pounds of parsnips.  The heavy tines of the digging fork that had stuck in frozen earth earlier were able to pierce the now soft mud and pry out some experimental parsnips.  Though I planted them in July, much later than recommended, the cool, rainy weather favored them, and the earth offered up surprisingly thick 10-inch roots, sweetened by the winter weather and untroubled by the many frozen nights.  I had to cut off the top inch or two of most of the carrots as they had been frozen with the earth.  But the hens loved the soft (unspoiled) carrot tops, and the rest of the roots are sweet, juicy and delicious raw.

As I look ahead, I can see winter stretching  out, garden planning, seed ordering, reading and considering new strategies for our homestead.  But for now, I will just relish the moment and the tiny joys of January.

May your winter be blessed with many tiny joys.
Betsy