New Finds on the Farm

We've been busy this spring, and particularly the last couple weeks.  Here are some new things you will find on the farm...

A new group of piglets arrived in early May

 Guinea keets arrived four days ago

Katza, a friend's mare that is hanging out with us.  Oliver, my 20-year old bachelor gelding, doesn't quite know what to make of this new pasture-mate. 

 Shameless plug for the Farmers' Market.  It's a new sign!  Wednesdays, 3-6p.m!  www.flycreekfarmersmarket.com or like us on Facebook.

Our new roof that was put on last week! I'm truly excited about the flashing around the dormer and the chimney.  Really...

A new basic-model lawnmower we bought earlier in the spring.  Yes, we do not own a ride-on mower even though we live on a farm.  It's even self-propelled (yes, this is a treat for me). 

 Oh look, a new toilet was put in last month!  My mother will be particularly pleased since there is now a toilet upstairs that flushes! 

You can't see it really well, but there is actually baseboard and ceiling trim in the kitchen.  Plus, the color is a flat, very pale blue and not shiny-shiny white (which I couldn't stand).  My darling husband worked his tail off doing this kitchen make-over and it looks fabulous! While it will always be a country kitchen, the trim adds such definition to the room. 

Fires and Mice

A confluence of events over the past several days "sparked" my interest in the following poem: A friend and I were having a conversation about Billy Collins; the waitress at dinner casually mentioned that her husband almost burned down their house; and even though it's late April, our wood-burning furnace is still being put to good use, despite not having much more quality wood to fuel it.  Oh, and the fact that we do share our 200-year old home with plenty of mice.

The Country

Billy Collins

I wondered about you

when you told me never to leave

a box of wooden, strike-anywhere matches

lying around the house because the mice

might get into them and start a fire.

But your face was absolutely straight

when you twisted the lid down on the round tin

where the matches, you said, are always stowed. 

Who could sleep that night?

Who could whisk away the thought

of the one unlikely mouse

padding along a cold water pipe

behind the floral wallpaper

gripping a single wooden match

between the needles of his teeth?

Who could not see him rounding a corner, 

the blue tip scratching against a rough-hewn beam, 

the sudden flare, and the creature

for one bright, shining moment

suddenly thrust ahead of his time--

now a fire-starter, now a torchbearer

in a forgotten ritual, little brown druid

illuminating some ancient night.  

Who could fail to notice, 

lit up in the blazing insulation, 

the tiny looks of wonderment on the faces

of his fellow mice, onetime inhabitants 

of what once was your house in the country?

Bookstore as communication conduit

The set-up:

Anne from the bookstore calls about two weeks ago to let me know that Ariel (a poetry collection by Sylvia Plath) is in.  Apparently my darling husband had ordered it to use while writing his next novel.  I may or may not have told my darling husband of her call.

The aforementioned bookstore is 25 miles away, but in the same town as my nursing school and Bud's Tae-kwon-do classes.  There are plenty of opportunities to go and pick up the book.   There are also plenty of times to let my husband know that said book is in. And plenty of time for my husband to let me know that he did indeed pick up the book.

The scene:

I walk into the bookstore, and after perusing for a few moments (I didn't find anything that struck my fancy, but this is probably because my brain was so focused on school and became overwhelmed by the vast selection of interesting titles) I approached the sales counter. After exchanging pleasantries (I'm a familiar face in the shop)...

"I'm here to pick up a book, Ariel.  A book of poems" (I didn't know it was Plath at that time).

A slight pause by Meghan, one of the shopkeepers.  She glances over at Michelle, the owner.

"I don't think Tom picked it up, but he may have" I quickly add, in case there was some confusion. 

"No, it's up there, it's hardcover" Michelle says over her shoulder gesturing towards the reserved book section.

As Meghan hands me the book, I comment that sometimes my husband and I aren't the best with communicating these mundane details to one another.   Both women give a knowing laugh.  

"So now the bookstore is going to act as the medium for your communication! We'll just pass the messages between you two" Meghan exclaims. Then more seriously,  "If he comes in later, we'll let him know you picked it up." (Of course, if we were like the rest of the general populations, we would both have cell phones  smart phones and be able to text one another about these little items.  But, we are not the general population).

"That would be fabulous! Thanks."

Seriously, while we talk about the big things, my darling husband and I forget the little things.  The other night we thought the other person had let the mutt inside.  Nope.  She spent the night on the porch (although she didn't seem to be too bothered by it).  Then there's the communication that does occur, but follow-through is lacking.  It goes something like this:

"Honey, can you pick up some milk while you're out?"

"Sure."

30 minutes later...

"Did you get the milk?"

"Nope, I forgot!"

Which of course leads us to other establishments that act as communication mediums for us. The post office ("He already picked up the mail today") and the general store ("I just saw her when she came in to get the milk").  But I digress.

As I pay for the book, Meghan reminds me that I will get the 15% discount next time I come in (frequent buyers get frequent discounts). 

"But make sure you come in and spend it before he does!"

No worries.  I'll forget to tell him!

First Fridays: Artisan No-Knead Bread

Okay, so maybe I'm stretching my First Friday concept a little bit here, but really, a good homemade loaf or boule of bread can be considered art.  Plus I am super excited to share with you a new recipe that is SO easy.

I have been baking bread fairly consistently for about 6 years.  A couple years ago I provided my parental units and my in-laws with a bread-of-the-month club where I baked a loaf of bread and sent it (overnight shipping) every month.  Selections included a variety of yeast and quick breads such as anadama, French, Vienna rolls, squash bread, banana blueberry bread and challah.   I've also had fun working with flat breads such as naan, pizza doughs and have even attempted making crackers on occasion.

When my brother and sister-in-law gave me Alice Waters' In The Green Kitchen, I flipped right to the "No Knead Bread" page.  A quick Internet search revealed that this recipe was hot, hot, HOT!  It has a cult following.  I'm serious.  The recipe entered the public realm in 2006 from the New York Times article printed here.  It was adapted from Jim Lahey's recipe of the Sullivan Street Bakery.

Anyway, this is why I am in love with the bread.  It takes 2 minutes to make, literally.  You throw some flour (3 cups), salt (1 1/4 tsp) and yeast (1/4 tsp) into a bowl.  Stir.  Add water (1 1/3 cups).  Stir.  Cover.  Let sit for 12-18 hours.  Yes, that means you have to plan accordingly. The next day, flour your hands, scrape the dough out of the bowl, put it on a floured or cornmealed cotton dish towel.  Wrap it up and let it sit for 1-2 hours.  Then you bake it (450 degrees for 30 minutes) and you end up with a crusty, airy boule of bread. So good.

The hitch comes with the baking.  Essentially you're creating an oven within an oven by baking the bread in a covered pot at 450-475 degrees (the temperature depends on the recipe you use).  This means your pot has to be able to withstand high temperatures.  All of the bakers seem to suggest Le Creuset Cassoulet pots but I am not so fortunate to own one.  So the first time around I used my cast iron dutch oven.  After 30 minutes at 475 degrees, the bottom was unfortunately burned although the rest of the bread was perfect (I simply sliced off the bottom and threw the burnt bread frisbee to our lab; she seemed to enjoy it).   For the next loaf, wanting to get rid of the burnt bottom, I decided to change a few things (unfortunately, this is bad scientific method because I'm not sure which of the changes was actually responsible for creating the most yummy bread ever).  I used King Arthur bread flour instead of all-purpose flour.  I lowered the oven temperature to 450 degrees (and ended up baking it for 15 minutes longer).  I also used my crock-pot insert to bake it in (with a foil lid because I wasn't sure that the crock-pot glass lid would withstand the high temperatures).  The result is pictured below.

I think I may have found a new item to sell at the Farmer's Market this summer.  It would be lovely if I could find some locally sourced flour.  Until then I will continue using King Arthur bread flour.  So much for the no/low carb diet this summer. This is too good to pass up!  Enjoy!

Top Three Unexpected Country Moments of 2011

I know we are already well into the second month of the year, but while spinning some wool this evening, I was inspired.  And I haven't been inspired in a while (hence, no posts) so here it is.  Three of the top unexpected country moments of last year.

3.  At spinning group back in December, we were going around the circle for show and tell (I know, sounds elementary, but it's how we get to see each other's work and share ideas and upcoming events).  We get to Mother K, who is a nun and shepherd of actual sheep at the local convent.  Mother K had spent all day tending to the animals and had basically decided she needed a break for a while, so she came to  spinning group.  She stated somewhat sheepishly (no pun intended), "Nobody there knows I'm gone."  Then in a more playful confident tone, "It's easier to ask for forgiveness than to seek permission!"  Maybe I shouldn't be surprised by this statement as country nuns are people too and need breaks just like the rest of us.  And they certainly aren't infallable either.

2.  The husband of a friend of mine who is a nice guy and a "real" farmer and do-it-yourselfer (rough around the edges, slaughters his own beef cows, owns multiple tractors, hays his own fields, fells his own trees, builds his own house) stopped by one morning asking me for advice.  The questions were initially about nursing school, which caught me even more off guard, because it was the last thing I would expect from this person (he was looking into pursuing a "real" career).  We stood around for a while, looking at the pigs, talking about farming, the new USDA-approved slaughterhouse opening up, the harvest, etc. like any country farmers would do.  Huh.  While my darling husband has been able to navigate this road much more easily than I (no doubt in part because he is male and the perceived "head of household"), it only took me 5 years of running a small farm to earn some farmer respectability.  Not bad, in the grand scheme of things.  Kristin Kimball writes about a similar experience on her farm in The Dirty Life (I can't quote it exactly because I lent the book out to somebody but I don't remember to whom!). 

1.  My darling husband and I were sharing a quiet meal together in the kitchen one December day when the dogs started barking.  Old Farmer J down the street (another "real" farmer) was at the door.  He wanted to know if we were interested in a Kitchen Table discussion about local food and fiber.  Here is a guy who has worked on a farm his entire life, who puts up 10,000 bales of hay a year,  sells his own grain mixtures and basically lives off the land, and now is spear-heading a local movement.  While we have bought hay and grain and lumber from him for the last three years,  he is probably the last person I would put under the label "visionary".  And yet, here he is, driving up and down the valley, stopping at all the farms, big or small, wondering if we would be interested in such a discussion.  The group has already met twice, and what a lovely range of farming personalities.  The group consists of a couple life-long, honest farmers; there are several yuppy farmers; there are the farmers who want to be organic and use environmentally friendly practices; there are farmers who want to raise exotics; there are farmers who want to barter; farmers who want to sell their goods down in NYC.  We have already decided to set up a farmer's marker right in our little village on Thursday afternoons during the growing season.  Goods ranging from fruits and vegetables to honey to the fiber arts to meat to homemade goat milk fudge and breads will potentially all be available for sale.  Even if it never really gets off the ground, the fact that this particular person had a vision and acted on it is a testimony to all that is good and surprising in the world!