The Day I Saved a Mouse's Life

As you may know from previous posts, I despise mice. They really just freak me out. It might be their sneakiness, or their ability to show up just about anywhere. And yesterday, I accidentally spared the life of a mouse.

But first - for the story to make sense, I must tell you that we have baby ducks on our farm! Cute, adorable little ducklings that I whole-heartedly love!

I love these little ducklings so much that I have claimed them as my own! Luke was shocked when I said I wanted them to be my job! They are mine to raise and to take care of daily. This is pretty simple - give them food and water and change their bedding every few days. And just sit and indulge in their pure adorableness. I may regret this spontaneous decision in the winter, but for right now I am thrilled!

Yesterday I was keeping a  very close eye on my sixteen sweet little ducklings. I went inside to give Henry a snack, and I heard a cheeping, that seemed to belong to the ducks. "Oh no," I thought. "One got out!" I quickly ran outside with Henry and panicked to see that a little duckling was running in the chicken coop! Now, pecking orders are real things - chickens will peck a bird to death if it is not one of their own - their size. So I legitimately panicked, and quickly called "Help - anybody! Someone watch Henry so I can save the duck!"

The hilarious part that I then noticed, the full-grown chickens were terrified of the baby duck! The duckling was lost and therefore running all around, and the chickens were running from it, terrified! I couldn't believe this because I have watched chickens catch, and eat, mice.

Luke and Derek came to watch Henry and laugh at the site of grown chickens hiding from a duckling. I went into the coop and grabbed the little duck and returned her to her home, safe with her other ducklings.

Well, last night I was washing dishes, looking out my kitchen window which has a great view of the chicken coop and fence, and I noticed a big hub-bub among the chickens! I also heard a faint little cheeping noise! "Oh no!" Another little duckling. I sprinted outside and my fear wasn't imagined - a little duckling was hanging from a chicken's mouth, so I thought. All the other chickens were swarming the one who had it, trying to steal it away, so it was hard to get a good look. I sprinted over to the fence and scared the chickens and they released the duckling. I could see it ran under a board, but that was it.

As if that wasn't enough, our vicious hunter Murtle was right there, ready to pounce. I knew I would have to act fast before her claws caught on to my little duckling. I lifted up the board, and a MOUSE sprinted away. Ugh! I ran into the duck coop and counted - all 16 ducklings were in there, safe and huddled together under the heater. Thankful, I walked out of the coop, happy to have all 16 ducklings, but so irritated that I saved the life of a mouse. Murtle chased the mouse - I am pretty sure she wouldn't let it get away, she is a quick cat!

Farmland, Part 2: Tradition

As you recall, last week Luke and I took a little date night to see the documentary "Farmland." The documentary filled me with a sense of pride, ownership, and love that I had not felt for our farm in a long time. Why did it take a documentary about people I do not know to restore those feelings in me? Why did I lose my pride in the farm? How did this come about?

I believe the reason this all occurred was because of loneliness. Farming requires countless hours spent in the fields, in the greenhouses, in the wash shack. Luke works incredible hours. It means, for the greater part of our marriage, I have spent a lot of time alone. In the past, I would join Luke in the fields - bring him a beer and chat as the sun set around us. During the school year, I was surrounded in my own immense workload, and so times when I had to pick peppers until sunset were frustrating, but also meant time together.  I could be in the fields with Luke, or chat in the basement while he watered sprouts; it wasn't as lonely, it didn't seem so separated.

The factor that changed this year was Henry. Henry is my world, he is everything. He is my greatest blessing, my heart completed. But as far as parenting the first year, there is not a lot of give and take. Rather, it is one great give-a-thon. And I love it. But, it has caused me to be a lot more home-bound than I ever have been before. I am a social butterfly - I love to be with other people, I like to conversate and share. For me, to be tied to my home, has been difficult. This, combined with one of the worst winters, followed by one of the worst springs that I can recall, has meant that I spend a great amount of time inside with Henry, while Luke works outside. I have great conversations with Henry, but they are pretty one sided. And so I have become lonely - lonely and longing for more quality time with Luke. And this loneliness has caused me to hold a grudge against the farm. But I cannot continue having that sentiment, because our farm is truly something to treasure and love.

Farmland helped remind me that I need to take pride in our life. I wrote in my last post about the beauty of the farm, how wonderful of a place it will be to raise our children. Another great principal that "Farmland" reminded me of was tradition. That farms carry with them a great deal of familial tradition. I was reminded of that great essence of tradition today on our farm.

Luke started the produce portion of our farm, but Luke's father and grandfather started a Christmas tree farm many years ago. A farm that has provided thousands of children with smiles as they have awoken to their presents appear on Christmas morning. A farm that has allowed hundreds of families to continue their holiday tradition.

Christmas tree farms are a lot of work. The work varies throughout the year: grinding stumps in the spring, planting new seedlings, fertilizing, picking pine cones, shearing trees, and finally, preparing to give the trees their home for the holiday. Today, I was reminded of the great familial tradition of farms. Today, Luke's grandfather, grandmother, father, and Luke planted the seedlings that in 6-8 years will be lit up with both lights and with smiles on Christmas morning. Luke's mom was watching Henry while I worked, so we both arrived to the farm after the planting was already done. But, then the greatest part of the tradition occurred.

Luke's grandparents, parents, Luke and I gathered in the front yard of his grandparents. We sat on the chairs, watching the cars driving bar. We talked casually, we reflected on our days. Old-fashioneds or beers in our hands, we sat; men to the left and women on the right. Tobshu panting eagerly, playing more fetch than he had in months. And, this year, our greatest new addition - Henry, crawling on the ground, walking along the wagon, showing off his near-readiness to take his own first steps without anyone or anything helping. I sat there, listening to and partaking in the conversation, but also thinking about what a great tradition we have on our farm. A tradition that we get to share with each other, a tradition that we get to share with Henry. Farms are a beautiful place to raise a family, they are also rooted in beautiful tradition. And for that, I am also grateful.

Farmland, Part 1

I fell in love last night. With what, you might ask?

Luke and I had a date night. The fact that we went on a date during the spring is surprising - the fact that it was on a weeknight was even more surprising. What could pull Luke away from the farm you might ask? Earlier in the week I saw an ad that a documentary entitled "Farmland" would be playing for one night only at the movie theater. It seemed like something Luke would like, so I watched the trailer. The trailer made the documentary look awesome, so I asked Luke to go with me. (View the Trailer here: http://www.farmlandfilm.com/#trailer).

As Luke and I drove to the movie theater, it was quite obvious we were cutting in close on time. Running late, as usual. Why do farmers always run late???

 I said to Luke "Well, there will probably be a lot of farmers in the audience. They might as well start the movie 5 minutes late so that everyone will technically be on time." Luke chuckled, and agreed. He told me that by always running late, he was adding years to my life. I disagreed, saying the stress of perpetually running late was taking years off my life. His argument was that knowing that no matter what, we will be late, means I never have to stress about being on time. Faulty logic, but I suppose I would stress less if I didn't hold myself to the notion that being on time is incredibly important. Or, I could just do what I do now, and blame Luke!

 The documentary was excellent. The film acknowledges that farming is a relatively old profession, but yet that we need young people to return to farming to keep the farming tradition alive. The movie celebrates the work, the lives, of 6 young farmers. One thing I loved about it is that it didn't bash any type of farming. So many farming movies these days ("Food, Inc." for example) promote one side of agriculture while bashing the other. I loved that "Farmland" celebrated all types of farmers: the small-scale CSA farmer, the large- scale organic farmer, the cattle rancher, the pig farmer, the chicken farmer, the GMO cash crop farmer. It didn't push judgment against any one type. The farmers in the video even said while they prefer their own method of farming, their job is not to bash other farmers. I very much respect that and appreciated that about this documentary.

So, why did I fall in love last night? Because the video filled me with a lot of pride for the farm, pride and love that I haven't had in awhile. I have been very apathetic toward the farm in the past year. I did a lot of reflecting on that during and after the video. I could write a short novel on it - so I will spread out my digestion, and my overcoming, of my apathy over a few blog posts.

One reason the video filled me with pride was to see all the farmers and their young children (4 of the 6 farmers had little girls and boys.) To see them riding on the tractors with their dad, the love they had for the farm, to see their squeals when they opened up a toy John Deere combine for Christmas. I can already picture that for Henry. Henry loves to grab his toy tractor and push it all around our house. I can see how wonderful it will be to have Henry grow up on a farm. The smile that forms when he goes to look at the pigs running around the pasture. The manner in which the fussy boy settles down when he listens to the clucks and calls of our chickens. Henry has his own little mini petting zoo that he is growing up on. I can't wait until this summer, to see him explore the farm for the first time. To watch him munch on a cherry tomato right off the vine, grab off a cucumber and enjoy it right there in the fields. This fall when he will be staining his hands red with the juice of a raspberry as he picks them with his mom. Wiping the dirt off his knees from falling in the fields when he runs to visit his dad. I can picture it, and it is beautiful.

This is a picture that I took of Henry when he was watching the pigs run around their pasture. The pure joy on his face. And on Luke's. If that isn't a reason to love farmland.....

....To be continued....

Pig Poop < Baby Poop

My tough-guy farmer husband has handled a lot of "dirty" jobs. He cleans the chicken coop without a second thought. He takes no issue with grabbing a shovel and scooping a trailer's load worth of chicken excrement. If he takes a break to get a drink of water, sometimes he even absentmindedly leaves his boots on and brings chicken feces-coated bedding into our kitchen. (This is one of the many reasons I need to vacuum my house every single day, especially since our sweet little H has hawk-like vision, and can scope out a microscopic speck on the floor over ten feet away from him, that he just MUST put in his mouth. If you remember back to my ladybug post: yesterday, I saw him chewing and making a strange face. I open in his mouth and what do I find....a ladybug! I can surround him in toys and vacuum daily, and he will still find the one thing that he can't have, and try to eat it....but I digress).

Anyway, back to the point. Luke also has the responsibility of shoveling the pig manure. Typically, the pigs go to the bathroom in their pasture, but the pigs that we have when there is still snow on the ground don't like to venture outside, so they go to the bathroom in the pig pen. I find pig manure to be foul stuff. It stinks. When their is an east wind and I have the windows open, the smell quickly consumes my house, and forces me to shut windows. It is terribly nasty. But Luke will not hesitate to grab his shovel, and clean out the pig pen, stench and all. 

Pigs, chickens, ducks, even Tobshu's feces....none of it bothers him, and he cleans it up without a thought. So how is that little H can go to the bathroom in his diaper, and Luke high-tails it out of the room? Or pass him to me and scoff at the smell? I don't get it. In my opinion, baby poop is not nearly as bad as pig poop. Luke disagrees. Now don't get me wrong, he has changed plenty of dirty diapers in his fatherhood debut, but if he had the opportunity, he would pass the job on to me every time. I find it hilariously ironic.

Little H isn't feeling well this week, and therefore left us something of an unpleasant surprise. Tough guy, manure-shoveling farmer-man was beyond disgusted. I needed assistance with that one - Luke sort of awkwardly laughed or cringed the whole time.  Now, don't get me wrong, it wasn't a glowing-motherhood moment for me either. But I guarantee I would rather change the diaper of a baby before shoveling pig manure. I guess that is just another way Luke and I are different from each other. And I suppose, it establishes a good balance between us as well! 

It Smells Like Ladybuy Pee?

If people every worried about ladybugs going extinct, they could rest assured the population that exists in our house could probably replace the wild population. They have a very healthy residence in very peculiar rooms in our house. In particular, they like to inhabit my son's room, our master bathroom, and the laundry room. I rarely see one in our living room, but walk into H's room and it is like a ladybug metropolis. I can vacuum them up, get every last one, and the next day they reappear, by the dozens, as if by magic.

Luke orders live ladybugs to help control aphids in the greenhouse. It works wonders. No chemicals involved, and the ladybugs really do their job. Sometimes I wonder if Luke accidentally released them in the house, with how many we have. He swears he didn't, but I have to wonder. There have been many occasions where he brings one or two into the house by accident. They travel aimlessly on his Carhart pants, only to find themselves in some new paradise, most likely Henry's room. I find them to be a mild annoyance, Luke finds them to be an essential farm employee.

Luke orders ladybugs by the quart. How many ladybugs is that?  About 20,000!!! (If you ever want ladybugs for your own purposes, check out http://www.thebeneficialinsectco.com/aphid-control-ladybugs.htm ). He releases them into the greenhouse; a location that he himself spends countless hours. Needless to say, he knows the little creatures well. I had no idea how well he knew them until a recent candlelight diner.

It was a peaceful night. Henry was in bed, dinner was made, and the wine was on the table. Lights were out, candles were lit, and we were conversing about our days. Out of nowhere Luke says "It smells like ladybug pee."

"What?" I ask, confused. The dinner I made smelt delicious, delicious aromas of pork filling our house and enticing our tastebuds. How on earth could it smell like ladybug pee? What does ladybug pee even smell like?

Luke said "Didn't you tell me that when a ladybug lands on you, it pees?"

I think my face let him know I had no idea what he was talking about.

Luke continued, "Well, whatever it is, it has a distinct smell. Trust me, I am with them all the time. I know."

My face, still blank.

Luke went on further, "Seriously Mel, I mean it. I bet there is a ladybug by us." He seemed like a lunatic, but being a scientist myself, I had to check the theory. So, I started looking around. I stood up, walked behind him, and sure enough, crawling on his left shoulder was a ladybug.

I know my profession well. I know the ins and outs of my students, and can read many of them like a book. But to recognize the excrement smell of an insect - well that is just beyond me. Impressive, to say the least.

Growing in Antarctica

At this very moment in Wisconsin, it would be easier to grow in Antarctica than it would here in Wisconsin. A continent covered in ice 100% of the time - and our greenhouses would be doing better if we moved them down there.

Okay - sure, we can ignore the obvious fact that it is summer there, and winter here. But still, it is crazy to think about. They have warmer conditions and 23 hours of daylight - our greenhouses would do awesome.

Allow me to demonstrate via picture:

This first image is a screenshot of current conditions at Camp Esperanza, Antarctica:

And here we have a screenshot of current conditions in Green Bay, WI:

So, if we look at the windchill, we can compare -32 in Green Bay to 13 in Antarctica. Anyone up for a vacation? Because 13 sounds balmy :)

But seriously, I will admit I have been questioning the value of keeping our greenhouses alive. Luke currently has a fire going in each greenhouse wood furnace, and the propane furnaces haven't turned off either. Combine that with the propane shortage that puts propane at $4.50/gallon, and we are basically throwing money up into those 30 mile per hour windgusts!

I am certain any customer eating our kale, spinach, or salad mix will appreciate the healthy, delicious, local product this time of year, but I can't wait for 20 degrees. Positive 20, that is.

It's Simple: DIY

Have you ever tried a DIY project? "Do-it-yourself." What a simple sentence. As I was writing this blog, I realized we have a DIY lifestyle. You know,  when you are a young couple living on a farm, you get all sorts of opinions about your lifestyle. Some people think we are hippies (so not correct), others think that we are work-obsessed and trapped by our lifestyle (a little correct), but the number one thought I hear is something like "It is so neat what you do; I wish I could do something like that." Even if they don't say they wish they could be farmers, they tell us how "neat" it is what we are doing. And today I realized I want to figure out why that is the comment that I got twice at farmer's market today.

So, I started to ponder - why would everyone say what we do is so neat, so intriguing? What a simple thing to say, but the reality is (and I'm not bigheaded) that this lifestyle is not for 99% of people. I don't know that I am even one of the 99% of people that this lifestyle is for, but I give it my best effort! The fact of the matter is, it is so easy for people to say, but not do. I remember back to when Luke told me he wanted to be a farmer, and I too thought it was simple.

If I flashback to that moment, I remember it quite clearly. We were walking to Picnic Point in Madison, Luke a college sophomore and me a college junior. We were in a very long distance relationship - six hours apart and seeing each other once a month. Luke told me that he didn't think he was happy with his major, that he was thinking of making a change. And then he said it,

"Mel, I want to be a farmer." A simple sentence - and yet how could I ever know the complexity, the adventure, the journey it would bring me. We talked about his plans, his dreams, and the passion in his voice shined through in that moment. That may be the thing I love most about Luke - his passion; he can intoxicate people with his passion for what he does. The rest of that day, our talk of the future, was clouded by learning that Luke would need to transfer closer to me in school.

And that summer, the farm began. The roots of our DIY life. Luke interned on another organic farm, but he also started his own. Twin Elm Gardens was born in 2008. I can't believe where the time has gone - from a small vegetable garden to where we are now. Meager beginnings: our first farmer's market we had zucchini and some greens - I think we made $75 total. And now we have a farmhouse that we can call our own, a family, a dog, two greenhouses, pigs, chickens, ducks, a barn, tractor - all a simply beautiful farming life. And we provide local food for people all over the Green Bay region, from our restaurants, to our CSA program, to farmer's markets.

I think in this complex, money-ridden, fast-paced society, what people are truly enthralled by is the simple concept of providing for ourselves. Slowly but surely, the shift in perception is to support local, to "do-it-yourself." I used to spend hours on pinterest, looking up DIY craft projects. I never stopped to realize that right there in front of me, our farm is the best DIY project we ever took on!

Love Hate Relationships

My mind has been a chaotic place lately. I decided to start writing again in hopes of gaining some clarity. I know the general topic I want to cover, but I am not sure my true feelings on the subject. That's something I hope evolves as I write. I suppose, before I get going, I should note that as I type this, I have our two month old son Henry sleeping in my arms. That is one big change that happened on our farm, and while parenthood is an entirely new adventure, we are very happy to be growing our family.

So, love/hate relationships. You know what I mean....You've probably seen those couples that have a love/hate relationship.  They are screaming at each other one day, unable to be near each other without arguing, and the next time you see them, they are madly in love, inseparable, happy as can be. Am I talking about my and Luke's relationship you may be wondering. No, I'm talking about my relationship with our farm. I have a very intense, very powerful love/hate relationship with our farm.

How can that be? There are so, so many things to love about our farm and our life. I often am filled with pride by the farm. It is a beautiful thing to walk out to the chicken coop, grab eggs, still warm from being laid, and cook the most beautiful sunny-side-up breakfast you could ever want. I am proud to crack open an egg and know, just by looking at the yoke color, that our chickens are healthy and active, pecking at the ground as all chickens are meant to. I can open the freezer and eat ham, pork sausage, brats, venison, fish; all food that Luke either raised or hunted, and feel pride in what he provides our family. I love knowing where our food came from, and knowing the animals lived a good life before they became our food. I am proud to say that I can throw my food scraps to the pigs - feeling less wasteful because I know the pigs are eating every last morsel. It truly is an empowering way to live. Food isn't just a meal - it has meaning, a story to it.

So many people admire our lifestyle - they hear what Luke does and they talk about how impressed they are, how they would love to live our lives. It is true there are not a lot of young farmers anymore, and I love how close we are to being self-sustainable when it comes to food. I have become a less picky person because of this life - food that I once would have frowned upon I happily utilize now. I am less wasteful with food, and more conservative with money. We live meagerly, but happily.

I also love the ambiance of our farm. When little Henry is fussy in the evening, I love taking him on a walk around the farm. Listening to the chickens clucking, the snorting of the pigs as they graze in the pasture. I can watch the sun set over fields of tomatoes and zucchini, listen to the crickets and look at the stars. We have a beautiful home, and I find myself so much at peace in it.

But, I also have many days where I despise the farm, want to get away, to be done with this lifestyle and just live a "normal" life. There are so many times what it just totally encompasses our lives, holds us back a little, and I resent it for that. As an example, Luke and I used to love camping, and would often just pick a spot to go for the weekend. Now, a spontaneous decision to go camping or go up north for the weekend never happens. Our tent is dusty, as are our sleeping bags. Leaving for the weekend is just not all that simple - pigs and hens need to be fed and watered in the morning, the eggs need collecting, the broiler chickens need food and water at least three times a day, and sprouts need watering. Their are daily chores, and without finding someone else to take the burden (often our parents), we can't go anywhere. Not to mention the pure stress of leaving, we are typically so fed up with each other by the time we can leave that the first day of our weekend we don't even want to talk to each other. I miss that freedom to just go.

I also hate that there isn't a simple answer anymore. Every question, no matter how simple, is shadowed by the farm. It may be an invitation to go hang out with friends in the spring, but we are unable to because it is a partly cloudy day and the greenhouse temperature varies too much, and thus requires constant attention. The farm always takes precedence. I went into labor at 12:15 in the morning, on a Tuesday - the busiest farming day for us, of course. (The universe got a good laugh at that one). I awoke to my water breaking, and instead of rushing to the hospital and being focused on the extremely exciting moment, Luke's question was, "What are we going to do about the farm and CSA pick-up?" I tried not to snap, but I resented the farm for burdening us at that moment. So there I was, struggling through a contraction, and at the same time, typing an email to all our CSA customers explaining the change in food pick-up for the week. Sure it sounds funny, but it is also maddening. For such a simple life, farming has made our lives anything but simple.

More than anything, I hate the farm for making me feel like a mistress sometimes. The farm controls Luke's life, and I often feel like the "woman on the side," waiting for a visit, for a moment. This is the lifestyle of farming unfortunately. The work doesn't stop, and like Luke always tells me, if he quits early one night, it just means he has to work later the next. I know it is the busy season right now, and winter will be a different story, but it is so easy to get hung up on the frustrations of the present. I will often look out the window at Luke working in the fields, pushing a tiller, planting seeds, or weeding; his back a deep tan from so many hours spent in the sun, his nails blackened by dirt. When I look out at him, my mind fills with thoughts: I worry how the stress of the job is affecting him, how long he can maintain this pace, this workload; I fear he works so often that he doesn't take time to enjoy and relax. I worry he is missing out on precious and fleeting moments with Henry. But I'm also filled with pride and love, to be married to a man so passionate about what he does. Many people don't have that kind of passion, and I feel lucky to be married to someone who does have it, even if it means I lose time with him because of it.

So, where does that leave me? In love, or not? I guess it depends on the day, the season. Farms, as relationships, are constantly evolving. While I sometimes can't stand our farm, I am also so eager to see how it changes and progresses. As much as my frustration mounts, I wouldn't be able to leave it. The farm has pushed me to my limit and back many times over, but I'm a better person because of it. I guess what they say is true, in the end, love always prevails.

Eating Bacon, Making Wood

I can't believe I didn't blog once during the month of September. A lot has changed since my last post.

The pigs are gone. Well, I guess not really "gone," more like frozen. We butchered them at the very beginning of September, and we got the meat back on September 19th. The day they left, I wasn't sad at all really. They had a great life and it was time for them to go. Those three little pigs sure gave us a hard time loading them into the livestock trailer though. They didn't want to get in that trailer for anything! The pig loading crew consisted of Luke, Austin, a volunteer, and me! The pigs didn't want to go gently, and they needed a little persuasion to get in the trailer. It wasn't helpful that we had two women present who thought you could "call" them into the trailer with little sayings like "here, pig, here girl," and then making little clicking noises. Luke's method wasn't working either, simply because our pathway to the trailer was too big so the pigs kept turning around. Ultimately, with a little help from an experienced pig farmer, we got them loaded, but it took a little over two hours.

Now that the meat is back - well, they are delicious! Mmm, I love digging into the bacon! I believe we've tried the deli ham, pork chops, and bacon now. All delicious! And how awesome, knowing exactly where your food is coming from. With the addition of the pork and the chicken, we can easily make a meal entirely raised by us. Actually, we have to much meat from killing the pigs and butchering our second batch of chickens that we had to buy another chest freezer! Chives Restaurant also bought one pig, and we were honored to hear that their menu is now featuring a "Twin Elm Gardens Pork Chop." I believe it is paired with our own potatoes and greens as well. It really is a wonderful feeling to know you are contributing to a local food movement! :)

I also don't think I blogged about the rabid dog incident....but that should really be its own post....so maybe I'll try to do to that tomorrow.

Luke and I are officially homeowners, which is very exciting. We bought the farmhouse from Luke's parents, so it is now officially our homestead. Of course, the second we because homeowners, we instantly started renovations, but that is okay - and fun! We are putting in a wood burner, and tearing out the carpet in the living room. Because wood will now be our main source of heat, Luke has been spending a lot of time chopping wood to get ready for the winter.

Making firewood has a strong foothold in my memories. Growing up, firewood was the main source of heat in my own home as well. I can remember splitting wood with my dad - he would hold the big stumps in place, and I had the very difficult job of pushing the hydraulic lever - forward and back, over and over. But what a great memory to have with my dad. That was always my job - my dad usually babied me, so not too often did I have to haul the wood - just work the wood splitter, which I loved. We also would have to get the wood in our basement, and that was a whole family experience.

My parents would load up the trailer of wood and then pull in front of the storm windows. My brother, sister, and I would all head outside and help toss wood into the basement. I have many, many memories of doing this. I don't know why I got away from it so much since I grew older.

But as of late, all the word working experiences of my past have come back to me! I was home alone about a week ago, and I saw Luke's grandparents unloading a massive trailer of kindling, piece by piece, into their basement. I couldn't very well let them do that by themselves, so I bundled up, hopped on the trailer, and pushed all the wood down the storm window. It got a little dicey when Butch tried to use a pitch fork to push the wood. I alternated between pushing wood and jumping out of the way of the pitchfork spikes...but we made it without any serious injury.

Then today, it was so beautiful outside, that after the Packer game, I decided to play with Tobshu a little. I don't know what came over me, but when I saw Luke splitting wood, I just got the urge to help. So I put on my flannel, boots, and deer-skin gloves, and headed outside. Luke had a shocked smile on his face when he saw me. He would split the wood (with a splitting mall), and I would pick it up and stack it in! We quickly got through the pile, and Luke decided that since he had my help, we would do another load. With that, we hopped on the four-wheeler and headed out to the wood pile in the woods.

What was most adorable was Tobshu, running right in front of the 4-wheeler, just trotting along with a toy in his mouth. Luke said it is always their routine - I couldn't believe it - Tobshu led us all the way to the wood pile! We worked for about an hour, and it was fun and refreshing. I somehow forgot how enjoyable some time in the woods, working among the leaves and with your family, can be.

Homecoming!

Well, this post is out of order with my last one, but my nerves and energy has settled enough to be able to blog this happy post: Banjo has returned! It was 8 days after his official departure, and I had all but given up hope! In the week he was missing, I had walked the yard calling him, set out extra food, and had the boys look around, and he never showed up. I was very, very sad and felt horrible for Murtle, who was quite lonely.

On Friday night, I was sitting at my kitchen table cutting up tomatoes for salsa, and when I looked out the window, I noticed a cat. At first I looked away, thinking it was Murtle, but then I realized it was a black cat, and I quickly rushed outside to confirm my thoughts. Banjo was home! I was so excited! I took pictures of his homecoming.

He and Murtle greeted each other happily:

Banjo came right up to me, and he was purring and happy to be home. I checked him over - he didn't have any injuries, but you could tell he was hungry. He ate over 1 cup of food and drank over a container of water.

But, considering he was gone for over a week, I couldn't believe nothing else was wrong with him. I quickly called Luke to share the news. I know people so you aren't supposed to get attached to outdoor cats, but Luke and I sure love those two little kitties! Here is a few more cute pictures I have to share:

: 

And my personal favorite:

Anyway, I just had to share the good news. Several people asked about him - at Farmer's Market, at CSA pick-up, on Facebook! It was wonderful to know so many people cared! Tobshu was even happy to see Banjo - they played a little together. And of course, just because I love him, a picture of Tobshu as well.

It was absolutely wonderful this evening to watch Murtle and Banjo wrestling around and playing as usual, I couldn't be happier about his sudden homecoming. I hope he learned his lesson and doesn't disappear again.

Mud Run - Pig Style

Recently, mud runs are getting a lot of press - from the "Warrior Dash" to the "Hot Mess Mud Run" to the "Warrior Princess Mud Dash" (which I'm actually doing in October), it seems like everyone wants to sign up for a race to get messy in. I thought I did too - as I said, I signed up for such a race in October. Unfortunately, I got to experience my very own mud run today, and it has left me with two large, broken blisters, a achy back, and a bruised mentality.

You see, Luke and I decided to have a little get-away this weekend, and go up north. This isn't easy to arrange. Luke went up Friday, and I stayed until Saturday morning to do the initial chores. Then I headed up yesterday for some R&R. I came back before Luke did, and I had great intentions for the day: balance my checkbook, laundry, a good meal, dust. I pulled into the driveway, got out of my car, and as I walked to the front door, I casually turned my head to the left. Right at that exact moment, two pigs were busting out of their fence.

My heart dropped. Getting pigs back in the pen with two people around is difficult, but it was just me, with no one around to help. I quickly through on my mud boots, grabbed a broom, and ran to get to work. It was horrible - chasing pigs isn't easy. One was frightened of me and took off toward Luke's fields. I corralled the other one into the gate, opened it, and in she ran. The other escapee seemed interested in me and my tactics after about 5 minutes, and also ran back up. Some shooing and pushing with a broom, and within 10 minutes I was able to get her back in the pen. Problem solved. I was full of mud on my pants (the pigs were muddy and running into me), and I was a little out of breath, more from anxiety than anything, but the problem was resolved.

I went up to the house, grabbed my phone, and told Luke to thank me, as "the pigs got out, and I got them all back in." I was just starting to tell him he owed me a trip to Gap, when the pigs escaped again. You see, I may have got them back in the pen, but I didn't fix the fence. The walked right back out, and my heart sunk. After herding them in once, the pigs decided they didn't like me all to much, and they took off. I would follow one pig, focus on one pig and the other would wander. I would get one pig back in, go to look for the other, and a different one would escape. It was horrible. I needed bodies. Luke kept calling me, asking for updates, anxious and telling me I couldn't lose the pigs (he wasn't really helping) and I cried and yelled and begged for help. But he was 2 hours away. I informed him of the situation at hand - 2 pigs in the pen, and a fixed fence (I thought), and one pig no where to be seen. The last I saw her, she was headed into the corn field.

I knew I needed to find her. I was muddy, sweaty, my face was tear-stricken, my feet were forming large blisters because I had on mud boots with no socks, and my morale was down. I knew I would have to find the pig but how? I had visions of her on the road, so I decided to hop into my car. Worst idea ever...even if I found the pig - what the hell would I do, put her in the car?! As I was backing up I realized I hadn't fixed the fence as well as I though and another pig got out, again. So the total was 2 out, 1 in, and a still-broken fence.

These aren't easy animals to corral. It was three 220 pound pigs versus me. Each big weighed nearly 100 pounds more than me, and what I lack in weight, I don't make up for in strength. Fortunately, the one pig seemed used to our "escape/capture" routine we had established, and was worked back into the pen in 5 minutes. I laid down some cement blocks to 'fix the fence,' and then continued looking. Then I knew what I had to do - follow the final pig's tracks through the mud in the corn field. I'm really freaked out by corn fields - they are so endless, so consuming, so hard to maneuver. But, I grabbed my broom and headed in. I was trying to sprint, following her tracks, getting bombarded over and over with wet leaves in my face, my arms. I was a mess - crying, stumbling, running with all my might. My feet ached, I felt my blisters tore open. My cats, Banjo and Murtle, were running along next to me, giving me assurance. (Yes! Banjo is back - I plan to blog about that too!) I made it to the end of the row, and followed the tracks, turning to the right, toward the road. It was so hopelessly silly and absurd, the pig was too far gone. I headed back to the house, hoping she would as well. By the time I got back to the pen, the worst was confirmed. In my chase for the third, the other two escaped. It turns out cement blocks aren't that hard for pigs to roll and that is what they did.

I returned to the empty pen, and I just cried. I called Luke balling, not knowing what to do. I couldn't be in two places at once - I couldn't get the pigs while also preventing the others from escaping. Luke told me help was on my way - he called some wonderful neighbors to assist me, and they would be there in 10 minutes. He told me to be calm, to stop chasing the pigs, and to just relax. Luke reminded me that animals sense emotion. While I pushed along the largest pig (the one who was on her first escape), the other two came bopping out of the corn field. I ran, grabbed some feed, and walked into the coop, and they followed me. Two down, one to go. Fortunately, James, Nancy and their son arrived, and corralled the final pig into the pen. I can't imagine what they thought of me - muddy, panting, crying. By their own goodness they didn't comment on my appearance.

And then I had what I needed - bodies! Two of them guarded the broken fence (and those pigs were just shoving, trying to get our), while their son and I went to get cement blocks. We loaded about 5 of them on, grabbed a long board, and went to fixing the fence. James thought we would need even more blocks, so I went back to our pile. The son was just about to grab a block when I noticed the wasp hive poking out of it. I stopped him just in time - and even though we were very close, the hornets didn't move. I'm pretty sure God knew we had enough to handle at that point in time. We barricaded the fence, and then they left - I couldn't thank them enough. I used a handsaw to cut the pigs some branches to play with, and then I just froze. My tears were openly flowing - the anxiety of the experience all coming out. I had arrived home at 11:15, the pigs were finally all contained and fence fixed by 1:00. 1 hour and 45 minutes of immense stress, frustration, and anxiety. It was horrible.

I had to take care of the rest of the chickens and do chores, and my blisters were just throbbing. I put on a pair of Luke's socks to help. When I was done, I finally called Luke, who was on his way home. I cried and cried. I don't think I can convey in words how stressful that was. I also informed him that I planned on charging $1 per minute of stress during that time - which means he owes me either a $105 shopping spree to the Gap, or a fancy dinner!

After staring at the pigs, hoping they wouldn't escape, and after calling my sister to calm me down, I decided to take a nice, hot shower. I was filthy, sweaty, and exhausted. Unfortunately, the shower wasn't that soothing because my blisters that had ripped open were not fond of the hot water. I suffered through it though, and eventually the pain went away. Once Luke was home, we made some permanent fixes to the fence. Those pigs leave in a week, they will be butchered. Quite frankly, I won't mind to see them go. They each probably burned off 10 pounds today with all the running they did. Pigs are fast! As for me, I've had enough with mud runs for a very, very long while.

"Get Home!"

In the past two days, the phrase "Get Home" has been shouted to me, desperately requested to me, and even thought by me. Each time a different scenario, and right now, 2 for 3 on positive out comes.

The first incident was on Sunday. We were helping our in-laws move, and their new house happens to only be 7 minutes from ours! We were unloading a bunch of stuff, I was working on the small, light items, and Luke was helping with the brute work - the chest freezer, the washing machine, the dryer. All of a sudden, Luke came outside and said "Mel, the sky looks really dark and the radar shows rain. One of us has to get home, now, to cover garlic." You see, we harvested 5 pallets worth of garlic, and we are in the drying process right now, which takes about 4 weeks. But, if the garlic gets rained on at all, it halts the drying process and can even cause rot. Therefore, we have been working very had to assure this doesn't happen. I ran to my car, jumped in, and headed home.

As I was driving, I could literally see the rain coming down ahead. I know it was close to our farm - how close, that I wasn't sure. I was driving a decent amount above the legal speed limit, but I needed to get home quickly. As I was working my way down County Rd B, the sprinkles started to hit my windshield, and I could literally see the downpour coming. I pulled a pretty highly technical turn onto our road, and probably kicked up a decent amount of rocks on our gravel driveway. I grabbed the tarps and threw them over the garlic, and then the downpour hit. It was literally perfect timing. I didn't do it all as skillfully as it sounds - I did trip over a cement block and cut up my leg - but that is pretty standard for me. I had to put weights on the tarp as I was getting poured on, but the garlic was dry, and that is what mattered. I then rushed around in the rain, closing the garage, putting the four-wheeler away, putting the lawn mower away. Of course, once I was finally done, the very brief rain shower had stopped and the sun was back out. 

The second time I heard "Get Home" was last night. I was at school, working with an AP Biology teacher from a different district, doing some lesson planning together. Ironically, he was Luke's former biology teacher from high school, but it was a smooth transition from former teacher to colleague. All of a sudden my school phone rang, and when I answered I could hear the desperation in Luke's voice. "Mel, I'm so sorry to do this, I know it will screw up your planning, but a pig is out and I need help. Can you please get home and help me?" He sounded so urgent and panicked. When the pigs get lose, it is very important they don't get into the corn field, or we may not get them back. I looked at my colleague, apologized, said I would be back as soon as possible, and then literally sprinted out of the building and drive quickly home once again. Thank goodness it's a small town and I work close to where I live. 

I pulled into the driveway, leaped out of the car for the second day in a row, and found Luke, corralling the pig back towards the pig pen. The pig didn't want to go back in, so I helped by opening the pig pen door, then providing a block so that the only place for her to go was back in. Of course once she was in there, she was content and fine. I threw some pig food at them, and then went back to school. Crisis averted.

The last "Get home," came from me. Banjo, our little black cat, is missing. The picture is him as a little kitten. Banjo and Murtle always spend their days perusing the farm, looking for mice and enjoying their day. They return every night for some food, wrestle each other, and sleep on the lawn furniture. They always join us for a campfire. They typically munch again in the morning, and then head out for another day. But, the last I saw Banjo was Thursday night, and now I'm starting to panic. He never is away from home for this long. 

The last I saw Banjo, was Thursday night. I was cleaning out the mudroom, and he was being pesky as usual. Trying to sneak in every time I opened the door, and climbing the screen all the way to the top when the door wasn't open. Every trip I made to the garbage he followed me, rubbing up against my legs and cuddling. I would lightly scratch between his ears every time, but I never stopped to really pick him up and pet him, because I was busy and figured I could the next day. And I haven't seen him since. I didn't give it much thought until Sunday, and then by yesterday I was feeling pretty helpless and sad. The worst part is seeing Murtle last night and this morning, just sitting there, "meowing," calling to her friend that she normally wrestles with every night. She looks so sad and lonely, and it breaks my heart. I shed quite a tear over Banjo  yesterday. I know he could still show up, cats do wander, but my hope is starting to disappear. Neither Luke nor Austin saw Banjo in the fields yesterday, which is very, very unusual. That is his hunting grounds. All I can do now is hope he is okay, and pray for him to "get home." 

A Fresh Coat

I know what you all thinking - apparently the Farmer's Wife fell off the tractor and is now incapable of typing. I know - it's been a long time since I've blogged. Not having a laptop really infringed on that - I don't find myself with a computer on my lap every night, which is rather nice, actually. But there is happenings on the farm that I suppose I should be updating you all on.

Summer has been going well. We are in the heat of the season right now - which means we have vegetables coming out of our ears. Luke is incredibly busy, but he is doing a great job, and I am proud of him, as always. Sometimes I look around in wonder at all the food and everything he does and just ponder how he does it...he really knows his stuff. Definitely something to be proud of.

My mom and I painted our mudroom on Friday, and it looks awesome! We put a deep gray on the walls, and then painted the doors bright lime green! It sounds out there, but it is beautiful, and I love it! Even though it is a room that is often dirty and cluttered, it feels good to have a fresh coat in there. Maybe with some new paint, we will work to keep it a little cleaner!

But that's not the only reason I named this post "A Fresh Coat." As you all know from my old posts, summer gets busy, and with stress comes arguments and frustrations. Last week I found myself with something I rarely have - time off. Sure, I'm a teacher so I have summers off, but I am not a person who likes to have idle time. If I have a lot of free time, I get lazy, more than anything. So, I teach summer school, attend conferences and summer academies, and with all that, I found that my first true week off of school arrived last week. I was actually looking forward to the time off - and had 4 "To Do" lists to occupy my time. But I needed to make it clear to Luke that just because I was around for two weeks, it didn't mean he could bombard me with more work. I explained that it was my "January." Luke has two weeks in January that still require him to do a little work, but he gets to sleep in, relax, catch up on things he wants to, go ice fishing. I was in desperate need of my "January," so I politely requested that I didn't want extra work beyond my typical farm duties.

Well, within the first day he already gave me 60 extra pounds of tomatoes to can. Then there was a few extra deliveries. And then some other favors. And by the end of Tuesday, I was wondering what happened to my "January." I hadn't crossed a thing off my to do list, I felt lost in the farm, burdened by stress, and yearning for some downtime with my husband. I went to my father-in-law for some very solid advice, and he definitely helped me see a brighter side, and look for some alternatives for Luke and I. But on my drive home, I did some further reflecting. I realized that I was looking at the negatives a little too much, focusing on what was wrong rather than focusing on what was right - and it caused both Luke and I to be burdened by stress.

So I went home, and I read the poem that my brother read for Luke and my wedding. It says to "Focus on what is right between you, rather than that which seems wrong. In this way, you can ride our the storms when clouds hide the sun in your lives, remembering that even if you lose sight of it for a moment, the sun is still there...." It goes on - and it is a beautiful poem. After talking with my father-in-law, and letting the words of the poem come back to me, I decided to let my self roll with optimism instead of realism. I looked at all the great things happening, and I went into each day with a smile. And the next two days, Luke was incredibly positive too - without me even saying anything to him. He was goofy, less stressed, happier. So I kept it up, tried to avoid discussing the stress and the amount of work. Rather than talk about it, I just worked at it. And what I've found in the past week is that if I keep my positive attitude, it really rubs off on Luke. We are eating lunches together and laughing, goofing around and watching movies, throwing rotten tomatoes at the other when they aren't looking, and it feels simply wonderful. It feels more care-free and fun than we have had all summer, and I'm loving it. It's interesting how much things change when you just try to give them a "fresh coat."

Gender Roles and Learned Helplessness

I have wanted to write this post for an incredibly long time. I even told my mother-in-law about it two weeks ago, but somehow never made it to the computer. It doesn't help that our laptop bit the dust, or the water, I guess I should say! One late market night we were listening to music as we unpacked, playing our computer outside. Pandora sometimes stops playing, asking that age old questions "Are you still listening?" Well, we must have not noticed the music stopped, so we went inside and forgot about the computer.

The next morning we woke up to the sweet sound of rain. The way this summer is going, hearing rain is always exciting and peaceful - a break from the heat. I jumped in the shower, prepared to have a great day, and all of a sudden Luke yells "Shit Mel, we left the computer outside last night." Let the chaos ensue! Thankfully I have some great tech guys at school who talked me through how to save our jumpdrive, which contains the important files. The computer didn't make it though, so now we are doing our work on an old-fashioned desktop! It works though, and maybe this winter we will get ourselves a new little computer!

Anyway, that aside, lately I find myself thinking about gender roles and learned helplessness. Luke already dreaded this post, he said it was going to make him sound like a moron, but I don't think he knows where I'm headed with it. See, both Luke and I have fallen into our gender habits, and are relishing in this notion of learned helplessness.

It all started with a simple comment, one little line that Luke muttered when he wasn't even thinking. You see, one Thursday, after CSA pick-up at Kavarna, I decided to stop by my friend Stef's house to go jogging. It felt great and I felt great. But I didn't get home until 8:00. Luke was just walking in from the field, and it was obvious from the get-go that he was in one of his hunger-induced temper tantrums. He was as crabby as can be, and he went tearing into the fridge. I immediately became frustrated, having given him plenty of notice that I would not be home to make dinner. He said "It's 8:00, I'm starving and there's nothing to eat." I replied with something along the lines of "Your a big boy, you could have made dinner," and he pulled out this next comment that nearly made me vomit in my mouth: "I have a wife, so I don't need to make dinner." Every muscle inside of me clenched, this historic principle from the 1950's could not be making a revival in my house.

The night went on, things were fine after we ate, but the comment stayed with me. And then Friday happened. I wanted to get a bunch done in my house, and three times Luke walked into the house asking me the dreaded question "Can you do me a favor?" It is usually some sort of chore - a delivery, a bank deposit, feeding the pigs. But I hate that question, because it pulls me away from my intended activity of cleaning, or reading, or making dinner. Well, by the third "favor" on Friday, I was stressed and frustrated. I was delivering a last-minute order to Chives, and I was literally yelling in the car, thinking to myself how Luke never does me favors. I will admit I was pretty negative about Luke at that moment in time.

And then I got home. And I went back to cooking dinner, and I noticed something I hadn't seen in over a year and a half! A dead mouse, in the mouse trap. If you are someone who gets mice in your house, you know it is very unusual to get them in the summer. I immediately called Luke in, asked him to do me a favor, and bring the dead mouse out. And he did, immediately. And then I stopped, and I smiled, and I knew that it was God's little way of saying, "Slow down Melissa, lose the anger, Luke does a lot for you too." It felt good.

But anyway, those two scenarios really have me thinking about gender roles and learned helplessness. Luke and I have fallen into these roles that we aren't breaking out of - I cook all the time and clean the house, and he does the 'man' stuff, taking out the dead mice, bringing in the veggies from the fields, cutting the lawn. And it confuses me, because Luke used to make gourmet meals when we weren't married and he lived on his own. And it used to be that a dead mouse wouldn't bother me at all - heck I would grab a mouse at the Wildlife Sanctuary, put it in a container, and then feed it to a snake. So how did I suddenly find them so "icky?" The fact of the matter is I started depending on Luke to do those man jobs, and he started depending on me to do the women's.

But, now that it's been called to our attention, we are deciding to shake things up a little bit. We caught another dead mouse, and I'm pretty sure this was just God's little test to make sure I still knew I could handle it. And I did. I put on a glove, carried it out, and that was that. No cringing, no begging Luke to do it. And ironically, right now the house smells of fish and grilled veggies - and that's all Luke. He's cooking for me tonight, while I walked to the field to get some extra dill for dinner. I guess all it took was for us to identify the rut we fell into, and then all we needed was a little effort to start digging our way out of it. Now, I'm not saying he is going to cook every night, or that I'll carry the 50 pounds boxes of tomatoes in, but at least it's a start. See ya later, 1950's gender roles!

I'm not a slob???

Happy 4th of July from Twin Elm Gardens! Did we spend the holiday relaxing and enjoying our day? No - not exactly. We plan on doing that later this week - we are heading up to Crandon for a much-needed day on the lake. But today we had a big day of work on our hands! My parents and I are helping us put in a gorgeous brick patio under our pergola, and even though it was upwards of 100 degrees today, we were outside working on it from 7 am until 6 pm! It was quite the exhausting day! Laying brick is not an easy task - I can't imagine my dad's part of the job because he had all the rough work. I just had to haul bricks or pound stakes - he had to do the hardest parts. We were all pretty sweaty, and I hadn't showered from yesterday's workout at the farmer's market. Needless to say it was obvious I was the most smelly because the flies would only land on me, not my parents. Except when Luke came around - then they migrated to him. We had a good laugh about that.

So this week has afforded me a little more down time that most weeks. Summer school has not yet started, so beyond CSA and market, I had a little time to pluck away at my to-do list. Yesterday morning Luke gave me the morning entirely to myself. It was his "thank you" because last night I did the farmer's market by myself, from start to finish. Anyway, the morning to myself was very refreshing. I took the time to do an extreme cleaning session on our kitchen. I washed all the dishes, scrubbed the counters, cleaned out the fridge, and even scrubbed the floors by hand. If you wanted to stop over right now, I would gladly show you my kitchen. The rest of my house doesn't look nearly as nice.

Anyway, the entire time I was cleaning, I thought about our lifestyle a little bit. Our house isn't all that cleanly -  I have blogged about that before. I have always justified it - we are too busy to clean and whatnot. By the end of the day, I'm too tired for dishes and laundry. I would tell myself I'm not a slob, and we just are too busy to keep a super clean house. And it is true, we are busy. But that is just an excuse. A little time management and organization and we would be all set. The thing is Luke and I don't take the time for those tasks - we always find something else to work on.

The truth is Luke and I still have boxes from when we first moved in...over two years ago! My mom would tell me that if we haven't unpacked them yet, then they are probably just junk, but I will most likely find something of sentimental value in there. Since school has not yet started, now truly is the time for us to get organized! We have made a lot of progress in the past two days, and hopefully we continue to do so. Don't get me wrong - it is not a disaster or anything - you can see all the floors and have plenty of spots to sit - but it isn't as orderly as I or Luke would like. So we are going to change that - otherwise I just might have to stop adamantly telling myself that I'm not a slob. On that note, I'm going to fold a little laundry while we watch our movie.

I would like a half-share, please.

Well, this summer is very different than last summer. Last summer we looked at the cloudy sky and hoped it wouldn't rain because the fields were too wet. This summer, we are avidly looking to the sky, hoping for a cloud formation that will bring us some much needed rain. It was the same way a few weeks back, and when it did finally rain, Luke and I literally danced in it - jumping around and cheering. And yet the drought is upon us again!

The situation is much worse in the southern part of the state. Luke and I were down there on Sunday, and Luke taught me how to tell how dry things are. He pointed out the corn to me. The corn was short - only knee height. And looking at the corn, it looked more like a pineapple farm than a corn field. Luke explained that when corn is stressed and lacking water, the leaves curl up on themselves and point straight out - a more cacti-like arrangement. It was very interesting to stare out the window, watching the terrain, and see the difference between corn that was irrigated and corn that wasn't.

Beyond that side note, I want to talk about healthy eating. People probably think Luke and I eat awesome all the time! That we gorge on veggies and are always enjoying our farm produce. The truth is, we don't utilize the great resources that we have here as much as we should. When I am going through the fridge and cupboards, planning my meal for the evening, I make note of what we have and then I use those items. The issue is that I don't think of the gigantic fridge outside that contains all of our delicious vegetables. Because of that, those items frequently go unused.

But, I'm trying to change that. I am putting in a big initiative to start depending more heavily on Luke's delicious vegetables. I make a smoothie most mornings, and my goal is to always include some sort of greens, even if it means walking across the dewy grass to get some greens from the raised beds. I want to incorporate more veggies into my diet, and be more sustainable by eating seasonally. If any person has the chance of being a seasonal eater, it is me! We do a pretty good job of that (we really never buy vegetables in the winter, but depend more on frozen foods), but we could make a bigger push. Eating sustainable also means more preserving in the summer, but Luke and I figure if we slowly pluck away at it, then it won't be so daunting.  (With that in mind, we do have a batch of salsa simmering away right now!)

So with that is my push to become a seasonal eater. I started yesterday where we had spring rolls with cabbage, carrots, red pepper, and a cilantro peanut butter sauce. Today, I made guacamole and a fresh salsa to enjoy with a raw walnut "taco" meat. It is important to practice what you preach, and here I am every week, writing these recipe sheets that utilize all of our farm vegetables, but then I don't use them myself. It seems pretty silly honestly, so I guess what I really mean is "Can I get a half-share, please?" Luke makes about 50 CSA half-shares every week. I'm asking Luke to bring in a box of goodies every week that contains all the produce we have available on the farm, sort of like we are our own customers. With that, hopefully my seasonal eating push will be more successful.

Chicken Butchering and a Food Tangent

Well we butchered chickens on Saturday, 43 to be exact! Luke and I were up early, prepping the area and getting everything ready. We had our two employees, Austin and Ryan, come to help us, and Austin also brought his friend Tom to assist. I ran over to Super Ron's to grab doughnuts for the crew. I know what you are thinking - farmers who try to be as sustainable and natural as possible eating doughnuts?! Okay, yea, sounds like an oxymoron, but it was 6:00 am and we had 43 chickens to butcher before the day got too hot - so yea, doughnuts for breakfast. Plus, I knew I was on the right track because there was a local construction company owner also buying doughnuts for his crew. And added bonus was that I got to chat with Arlene at the check-out line - she is one of my favorites there :) Read my previous post about living in a small town if you don't understand this. Arlene was wondering why I was up so early when I didn't have school (she always opens - so she sees me whenever I need to buy something last minute for school). I told her we were butchering chickens on the farm, and she was shocked to hear that someone my age knew how to do that. It is interesting how many adults I talk to: my mom, my aunts, my grandparents, random strangers, and it seems they all helped butcher chickens at some point in their life. But yet talk to anyone our age, and they wouldn't know how to start.

Chicken butchering is quite a process, and it always starts out slow. If you have ever watched Food, Inc. then that is what chicken butchering looks similar to on our farm. (As a side note, if you haven't seen that movie, watch it!) I won't gross you out with the gory details - some people just don't want to know how chicken butchering works, and I understand that. Let's just say we used an assembly line system that went pretty slick, and we were able to butcher, clean, and freeze 43 chickens in 4 hours, a pretty impressive feat. Being a little competitive, Austin even timed the entire process for the very last chicken, from death to the second it enters the cooling tub, and we were able to go through the whole process in just less than 10 minutes! Austin went record-breaking style and had the entire chicken cleaned in about 4 minutes, which is pretty impressive!

Now some people may be reading this post and thinking how inhumane it is. But again, industrial chicken butchering is not a pretty process, and many of the birds have to suffer and be in pain through it. We avoid that as much as possible. There death is very humane, and is grounded in scientific research. (Trust me, just to make sure Luke was reading his "Raising Poultry" book at 5:00 that morning). But yet people question us, question our methods. So with that, I'm going to go off on a little tangent.

People are so far removed from the food process system these days. I was too, until I started living on the farm. People roll their eyes at our food prices, would never pick free-range organic chicken over the much cheaper regular chicken, and they look at Luke and I and wonder why in the world we would want to farm in such a way that makes it difficult for us to leave the farm at the same time! I have been buying organic food since I was a sophomore in college. One of the only one of my friends who shopped at "Whole Foods," many questioned why I would fork out a lot more money just for organic food. Not that I'm a genius on the agricultural/industrial food system, but I know enough to stand confident when I decide I'm not going to put the more conventional food in my body. Agriculture has become a industrial process based off technology and mass production rather than an industry that grows good quality food for people.

Except the small scale farmer. And I'm not saying they even have to be certified organic or having organic practices, just the down-to-earth, small scale farmer. While they may use chemical fertilizers and pesticides, they likely use less because they are also going to be eating what they grow.

Other people scoff at me when I say I'm excited to butcher our pigs and enjoy the bacon, or to slow cook a chicken that we just butchered and then make some delicious fajitas. They feel sorry for the animals, and think I'm an inhumane person for being able to stand tall and say "Yes, I'm excited to eat that  bacon, even if it means the pig I helped raise 4 four months has to die." Yes, they scoff and me, but then THEY eat meat. I'm not saying everyone has to be a vegetarian, I've been there, done that. But if someone is going to judge us for butchering chickens, then they should not be a person who partakes IN chicken. The same can be said for any other meat. And I will stand firm, knowing that those chickens pecked at the soil, found worms on rainy days, chased each other, established a Peking order, grazed among the tall grasses, walked around, stretched their wings, and died a humane death. And when I cook them, well they are extra delicious because I know all of that. I appreciate chicken more now that I have been a part of the butchering process. Every year that Luke shoots a deer during hunting season, he makes me come out and look at it. I cry, every time, probably related to my childhood obsession with Bambi. But Luke says, and I agree, that if I can't look my food in the eye and appreciate what it is giving me, meat for a year, then I don't deserve to eat it. And so I stay proud, knowing that I can answer Arlene's question, that yes, at my age, I do know how to butcher a chicken. If you want to be answer the question the same way, well, we do have 57 more chickens to butcher...

A "Simple" Task

Lately, I have had a lot of seemingly simple tasks become not-so-simple. It all started on Memorial Day weekend when I was doing a big spring cleaning (not that you could tell anymore). I was tired of the egg cartons and dozens of eggs on my counter, so I thought I would move them to a counter in the mudroom. That counter had 2 boxes on it: potatoes and garlic. The potatoes were storage potatoes that I was supposed to use over the winter but forgot about. I grabbed the box from the bottom - taking them outside was such a simple task - until I start to feel the ooze, all over my fingers. The ooze that meant the simple task was going to go very, very wrong. I quickly realized the potatoes had rotted and while I bolted for the door as fast as possible, I still had potato goo dropping all over me. I made it just outside the door when the bottom of the box broke open and all the potatoes fell out. Oh, the smell!!!! Disgusting. I was gagging the entire time. Luke was cutting the lawn, and he saw me shaking my hands and screaming in anger. He pulled over and asked what was wrong, and after I told him, he sort of chuckled and said, "sorry about that." I went and put on latex gloves, and slowly cleaned up the mess. I had to hose down the porch, scrub the mudroom rugs with carpet cleaner, and Swiffer the mudroom floor. That "simple" task was anything but! At least now I don't have the eggs in the kitchen anymore! And, the mudroom was very clean.

Then today, another simple task. Luke called me at around 5:00 and asked me to plug in the fridge/freezer in the garage in preparation for chicken butchering tomorrow. I plugged it in, and then opened the freezer. The freezer was all clean, but there was a weird smell from the area. Then, I opened the fridge door. This was NOT a simple task. It seemed that Luke and/or his employee Austin left their lunch and a few sodas in there last fall before unplugging the fridge for the winter. They obviously didn't check that the fridge was empty when it was unplugged, and disaster occurred. The winter caused the soda cans to freeze and explode, and then the spring heat caused the soda and lunch bag to mold. YUCK! What an utter disaster. I again grabbed some latex gloves (thank goodness we have those lying around), grabbed the lysol, a roll of paper towel, and a garbage bag. 20 minutes later and the fridge was clean, but yuck! Thankfully we don't use the fridge portion at all, just the freezer, but still, what a chore. All off the simple question "Can you plug in the fridge?"

Well, then of course my hypochondriac self needed to have a minor freak-out session. You see, my stress level is directly correlated with how much I worry, and I am VERY stressed out right now so I was bound to have a hypochondriac moment. It has been such a busy week - this was my first week off, so I took over restaurant deliveries, CSA deliveries, market set-up, am now assisting more with farm duties, plus just the regular business of cleaning the house, teaching summer school, etc - yea, my stress level is up there! And because of that, I did spend a serious 30 minutes after cleaning the fridge worrying about the mold I had cleaned up - what if I inhaled a spore?!?! Luke and my mom quickly talked me out of it, thank goodness.

Well, Luke got home, and we ate dinner around 8:45 at night. In preparation for chicken butchering, we needed to separate the 40 chickens we were going to butcher. So...a SIMPLE question - "Mel, will you spend 20 minutes and help me move chickens?" I'm definitely my father's daughter - I can't say no to helping, so of course I agreed. I put on my rubber boots, my deerskin gloves, and I was ready to go. It was going pretty swiftly - Luke would hand me a chicken, and he would grab another, and we would walk over to the other cage and set the birds in there. Besides my initial panic of how to hold them and keep them calm, Luke and I were enjoying ourselves. Then - it happened. He happened - a nasty little rooster. He freaked out in my arms and was flapping all over - and his claws were digging into my left arm pretty incessantly. I couldn't get him to calm and my arm hurt! He settled after about five seconds, and I walked over to drop him in the cage. Heading back to see my arm in the light of the four-wheeler, I could tell he had done some damage. Three solid scrapes, one deep enough to draw blood.

Luke could tell that I was very much nearing the edge that I don't reach to often, and the stress breakdown was definitely in sight. Luke said (and this is a very dark humor), "Don't worry Mel, no one messes with my wife, I'll kill him tomorrow. Literally, I'll kill him." I laughed so hard - it was perfect. Exactly what I needed to hear and my mood was instantly better. Even in all the stress and all the hardships lately, Luke knows exactly what to say to make me laugh! That is one of the reasons I love him!

The rest of chicken drop off went well, right until the very end. One more rooster got my left arm pretty good, he also drew blood. To add insult to injury, he pooped on my shirt. At that point I didn't care anymore. Luke and I were having a great time together, which was exactly what I needed. But as I put that last rooster in the cage I told him "Little shit - you may have won this battle, but tomorrow I win the war." Okay - again, a little dark, but those chickens have had a good life, better than most chickens that people eat. And they will be food for a family, a couple, a person, who can rest assured that these are healthy delicious birds that lived the right way.

Now, that I think of it - I better go - I better put hydrogen peroxide on my arm - chickens have a lot of bacteria....oh boy - don't want to go there. I need a good night sleep for the big day tomorrow. Now, just don't go around asking me to do a "simple" task, because I won't believe you.

Small Town U.S.A.

It's been awhile since I posted. I really want to get back into the habit - hopefully with school winding down I will find more time for it. To be honest most days I become a zombie by 8:00, and blogging just doesn't make the list. There are always things I want to write about - like taking care of the farm so that Luke had a chance to go fishing, updating on the pigs, and discussing my new vendetta against the chicken coop (I may share that story at the end - it is sure to get some chuckles).

But first I'm going to start with this - I have been planning it for awhile. You see, I live 15 minutes away from where I grew up. I was never the adventurous child who moved across the country and started up a new, I mean honestly, what is so great about Seattle anyway? (Kidding, Becca and Greg.) The reality is that part of living on a farm means living in a rural region, which means I now live in a cozy little farm town. There isn't a stoplight in town - there used to be, but they took it down. Ironically, the stoplight use to double my commute to work if I caught the red light - now with the roundabout I can quickly buzz in within 4 minutes.

Living in a small town is a very unique thing, and while I used to feel a little claustrophobic, I now love it. And I mean love it. At a school district meeting, our superintendent was discussing a possible referendum and updating the school's pool. He made a joke, saying "Do you want to know what Pulaski is without a pool?....Bonduel." I laughed out loud, literally, and trust me, you have to be a part of the small town to find that one hysterical.

You can't escape the gossip around here - nor can you escape the old ladies talking gossip. From my dear neighbor and grandma-in-law, to the elderly stylists at the only hair shop in town, to my co-workers and students, you learn about everybody. I know some intimate details about people I don't even know, but hey - in this town I'm sure I will meet them eventually.

I also live one minute from the grocery store - so close that sometimes I think to myself, "Well, I don't have to put my seat belt on - its practically in my driveway." But then I remember the statistic that whatever percent of accidents happen within one mile of home, and my hypochondriac self makes me put it on anyway. The local grocery store is called Super Ron's. It has a nice little selection - though my students (several of which work there) tell me if you dig deep enough in the shelves then you will find canned goods from 2001. I go to Super Ron's frequently - there is always something I am missing for a meal - today it was mushrooms. I have gone 3 times this week already, and every time I run into 2-3 students, maybe a parent of a student, or someone I work with.

One morning I was up really early on Saturday, hair a mess and pajamas on. I was in the mood for some baked item for breakfast - probably cinnamon rolls, and needed flour. Without thinking twice, I ran to Super Ron's. But Super Ron's in Pulaski is like the paparazzi for celebrities - you can't go there without seeing someone that might judge your appearance. A former student gave me the weirdest look of my life, and one of my current students just chuckled and said "morning Mrs. W." I took that one to heart, and now always make sure to at least straighten my pony tail before bopping in there.

And the old ladies of Super Ron's - I love them! Luke always chuckles when he goes with me - because I act like they are my dear friends. Donna, who almost always opens the store, sometimes recognizes my car in the parking lot at 5:55 am and opens up for me early because she knows I need school supplies. Sandy - my favorite- she always perks up when she sees me. One time I complemented her on her haircut and then it was like we were best friends. She tells me I look nice, asks how I am doing, last time she politely told me that even though I look really young she knows me so well she doesn't have to card me anymore. Haha - too cute.

And then of course, I have to deal with other small town grocery store elements as well. Luke and I had a bonfire last week, so I bought two thirty packs of beer. Well, as I was paying and gave the cashier my ID, she said "Wojcik? Are you possibly my sister's teacher?" Well then first thing 5th hour on Monday, that student didn't hesitate to ask me how my weekend was and chuckle. All part of being a small town girl I suppose. It is all worth it  - there is comfort in the familiarity of it all.

So with that reminiscing over, I will end with a humorous story. On Monday, Luke was very busy getting ready for our CSA membership meeting, and he was feeling pretty stressed. Being the supportive wife, I offered to feed and water the pigs and chicks.  The pigs were easy - I knew enough to wear my rubber boots so that when they nip at my feet they couldn't get me. Those little piggies are entertaining.

But then it was time to feed and water the chickens. Luke designed a light-weight, user-friendly portable coop - for MALES. It is a little to tall for me, I have to stand on my tip toes on one half of a tiny little 2x4, straddle the fence, and try to hop over while on my tiptoes to avoid any..."damage." This isn't easy - it is a very technical, Olympic-worthy maneuver. While balancing on my tip toes of one foot and looking for a spot to set my other foot, I'm also shoeing away the chicks so I don't step on any. And that is how disaster struck.

There I was, on my tip toe, one leg over the wire fence, shooing away chickens and getting ready to plant my other foot, when it happened. A chicken ran under my foot and I had to change my trajectory last minute. And then...I lost my tippy-toe balance, and wound up both feet in the air, straddling a wire fence with no feet touching the ground. I may not be a man, but ouch!!!! Seriously, I'm semi-scared that there might be permanent damage. It was a painful few seconds, trying to shimmy back and forth on that wire fence, just trying to get a footing. It was...uncomfortable, to say the least. Needless to say, my temper slipped as well and the cuss-words were flying at the chickens. Good thing that swearwords don't affect the quality of the meat, or those birds would be pretty nutrition-less by now! Once I freed myself, I filled the water, filled the feed, and then quickly went to inform Luke that we may never be able to have children because of the emotional scarring and possibly long-term physical damage. Okay - I'm over-reacting, but it hurt!!! Guess I will work on my balancing skills for the future.

We have piggies!

Well, we have another first at Twin Elm Gardens! A week ago it seems we were talking about getting a few goats for the farm, and then within a day, the conversation shifted to pigs!

Now, Luke and I were vegan for a few years - but I'm gonna be honest - we both LOVE bacon. We deprived ourselves for so long, that now when a friend of ours who raises pasture-raised organic pigs barters bacon for veggies, we literally scarf the pound of bacon down in one to two meals. BLT's are like the best thing ever - and I make a mean "cholesterol sandwich." So when we first started talking pigs - all I thought was "That'd be a lot of bacon!"

Luke knows how much I love animals, that I would get attached and probably not want to butcher them. He told me that when the 3 little pigs arrived, we would be naming them breakfast, lunch, and dinner - to give me that constant reminder that however cute the pigs may be, their purpose is for food. I requested the name lunch be switched over to BACON - with how much I love bacon I figured it was an appropriate name!

So, Luke (and Austin) worked hard to build a pig pen and a little hut for them over the weekend, and while I was at school today, the pigs arrived. When Luke called me to tell me they were here, I could hear the excitement and energy in his voice. I arrived home, and I totally understand why:

Even though these are feeder pigs (already 50 pounds), they are ADORABLE! Only a foot tall and 1.5 feet long, they are the cutest little piggies I have ever seen! I was instantly attached - I am hooked! I took ridiculous amounts of pictures - most are on facebook - but how do you not love these little guys:

I literally had to start repeating to myself "Breakfast, dinner, bacon." It's hard to think of butchering them - when they are sooooo cute! I got a little sad about it actually, but Luke was really encouraging. He said to think of all the bacon I've ever eaten and how many of those pigs lived - locked in a barn and never seeing the light of day. These 3 little pigs are going to have a fantastic life. They have a HUGE pig pen - literally, the people who dropped off the pigs thought it was a pen for camels it is so big. So, these pigs will have a good life, cruising around their pen, munching on grass and leftovers, and rolling around in the mud. 

They are so cute - they are very happy - and the cruise around as a threesome. Literally, they are always within two feet of each other. When one runs away, the other follows.

Our cat, Banjo thought he would check things out a little bit. When he entered the cage, he crouched down low, as if stalking the pigs, ready to attack. When he got close enough, the pigs noticed him, and they were excited. They went running up to him, and sniffed him out a little bit. Banjo, originally all tough, got so scared and took off running. The pigs thought it was a game, so they chased after him! Totally the opposite of what you think it should be - pigs chasing a cat around the pen. 

I can already tell those cute little bundles are going to bring bundles of happiness to our summer. I am so happy to welcome "Breakfast, Dinner, and Bacon" into our farm lives.