I posted my last entry on Friday the 17th on here as well as our personal blog and broadcast it through many of my networks to raise awareness of Vernon Hershberger's trial and I definitely got a response. We have been blogging for six years this June and of all our posts, The Quiet War on Our Farmers has the most hits by far. 

That's good. Really good. Most of the hits came the day I posted it. 

Now here's the interesting part. Saturday night, we got a call from the Wisconsin Department of Justice and suddenly, after months of knowing about us and our story, they won't need our testimony. Our subpeonas had officially been released and we would not be needed as witnesses for the state. 

I've been around this arena far too long for me to consider this coincidence. 

I held off blogging publicly about our involvement in the trial in the best interest of the defense and our friends who are deeply involved in Vernon's case. Then, within 24 hours of posting a tell-all blog (not really telling it all, though...trust me), we get contacted to let us know we are no longer needed.    

I admit, Andy and I are relieved only for the simple reason that we are about to move and close on a house in the country. This week is needed for packing, prepping and cleaning. Having to be "on call" for the state all week was a huge pressure for us. However, now that we won't be physically traveling to the court room, we'll be watching the headlines all week to see how it goes. And really, our problem of moving during this time is nothing compared to what Vernon and his family have been going through. I almost feel ashamed to compare our situation to his dire one. 

 

The case remains pivotal and the deck is stacked against Vernon, from the jury selection to the limits the judge is holding on who the defense can call to speak. It's already much in favor of the state, but we shall have to see. The small town of Baraboo is reportedly opening its arms to the influx of media, supporters and VIPs in the food movement. I'm happy about that. Maybe there's hope yet in the arms of small town America. Grassroots, right?   

Vernon's Trial Begins Monday 

The Far Reaching Implications of Vernon's Trial 

Trial Updates 

You please stay tuned, too. This is important and even if you don't know the people involved, Andy and I do. They are good people. God's will be with them...

In December, I was going to write about something that happened to us, but I was concerned that it might be in poor choice due to the circumstances. I feel liberated now to tell you the whole story, and ask that if you read this post, pass it on. People need to know what is happening to our independent farmers.

And above all else, the story I'm about to tell is not about us. Not at all. It's about a breach of people's personal freedoms.

About three years ago, June to be exact, Andy and I drove across the state of Wisconsin to support a farmer friend of ours. Truth be told, we didn't know him that well; had only met him once or twice since the inception of our own farm. However, we had a common bond with him: he sold farm fresh products directly to his farm members and so did we. So why, might you ask, did we take off a whole day of farm work to visit him?

We went because his farm had been raided the previous day by Department of Trade and Consumer Protection (DTCAP) officials and his farm store shut down. They claimed they were coming back the next day to confiscate all his food products, thousands of dollars worth of food, to dump them. All of this in the name of public safety and the fact that he had no applied for a few licenses from the state. Let me be clear: he was selling raw milk, but no one had been sick from his farm, ever.

In order to save his business and his farm, let alone his family of ten, this farmer did the only thing he felt right in his conscious to do: he called for support and opened the store up again the next day. In his mind, the consumers who depended on his whole, fresh food were more important than any licensing he might have to acquire. Besides that, because he was selling privately and not to the public...and did not have the licenses that most farmers have, he was not in the jurisdiction of the DTCAP to even come onto his property to shut him down.

We dropped our things, grabbed our [then] two children and drove. By the time we reached his farm and farm store, most of the initial supporters had left. But there were a few there left, to make sure any follow up by the DTCAP would be seen and recorded by the public.

They didn't come back...that day.

We spent the afternoon talking with our friend and enjoying watching our kids play with his. We left a few hours later wishing him well and promising to keep up to date with all that might play out. Then we drove home.

It turns out that a lot would happen between then and now. A lot.

We came home to a farm that wasn't really ours anymore. In a month, we made the connection with St. Brigid's Meadows and a short four weeks after that, left Foxwood Farm completely. We moved to La Crosse. In less than a year, we moved back to the Fox Valley, but lived in Winneconne. Just last March, we moved into Oshkosh to be closer to business with Gourmet Grassfed. In three years, we lived four places. I tell you this because last December, we were found.

We had been hearing about this impending trial for Vernon Hershberger, our friend whom we had supported that day. While we lost touch with him over the years, we stayed relatively abreast of his situation and his farm. Despite the fact he cut the yellow tape on his coolers and freezers, he remained in business for his large customer base. They are a very supportive group, demanding the right to purchase food directly from the farmer of their [well-researched] choice.

The trial had seen setbacks and postponements over the last couple years but a date seemed solid for Vernon: January 6th, 2013. About a month before, I was at my mother's house sewing diligently on a suede coat for Elly for Christmas. I got a call from Andy who was at home alone in the early afternoon. He said that two female field agents for the Wisconsin Department of Justice (DOJ) had visited looking for me. They were in town on other obligations and wanted to follow up with me on the day I had been at Vernon's farm with my kids. They wanted to know why I was there and what my relationship with Vernon was.

Andy told them to come back next week as I wouldn't be home until supper time. I couldn't imagine what they wanted or how I was involved. It would soon be revealed.

I came home that night and we talked some more about the odd incident and ate our meal. Shortly afterwards as we cleaned up from supper and the kids played, there came a knock on our front door. It was the two agents. They just happened to still be in town...a full six hours later. We knew this not to be simple coincidence. We had seen a police car parked in the next alley all day, something we had never seen before (or since). We ate with our window blinds up, so anyone from the street could see exactly when we sat down and when we finished our meal.

We got shivers as we realized our home had been under surveillance all day.

Thankfully we aren't the deceitful type. I came home just as Andy said I would. And they politely waited until we finished our meal to come in to question me.

A few weeks prior, a judge had ruled that lawyers seeking information could not subpoena reporters who might have knowledge about their interviewees. I don't really read a lot of extra news outside my interests, but this one caught my eye for some reason. The reason because glaringly clear that night. When the DOJ couldn't tap the reporter's resources for info about who was at Vernon's farm and when, they decided to go straight to the source.

Did I forget to mention that the day we traveled to Vernon's farm it was heavily covered by Madison papers and news crews? Maybe because I didn't think it was that big of a deal. As I said, he has support networks far and wide who are very passionate about food rights.

During our scant afternoon there, a man took a picture of my children and I walking down one of Vernon's grocery isles in the on-farm store. The journalist asked my permission and got our names. I never even knew the photo existed as I don't subscribe to any of the Madison papers. I never thought about it again.

But apparently the photo did run. And apparently I was one of three or four people the DOJ was trying to get to when they pressed the journalists present at the farm that day. They were the ones that went to the courts and found a ruling in their favor that they did not have to talk to the DOJ. And then the Department of Justice tracked us down, four houses and three years later.

We sat down, me nine months pregnant and Andy with his notepad. If they were taking notes, so you better believe was he! They questioned us for an hour, asking us all about that day, what we remembered and what our relationship was to Vernon. They asked us really subjective questions and pushed us to remember details about our farming that we didn't think were even relevant. You see, we had nothing to lose; yes, DOJ, we did sell raw milk. What does that matter in this case? It didn't, we were assured. Why then, we wondered, did they need to ask?

When they left, we talked to one of our lawyer friends who was intimate with the case being tried. She let us know that we were actually considered persons of great interest to the prosecution because we might aid in proving Vernon was selling food that day.

We didn't buy anything from him, though they asked us several different ways and repeatedly if we did, in any shape or form. We did not. Thank God.

A few weeks later, we got our subpoenas in the mail. We were going to trial. Thankfully for me (and Finn), the trial was postponed one more time to the end of May. I was concerned I would take the stand with a newborn or worse, in the midst of labor (I was due January 5th)!

So now it comes to it. We are scheduled to speak against one of our compatriots in the farming world because the state and even federal government are at odds with farmers who dare to make a living without them. If I sound jaded, it's because I am. I've seen a lot and experienced a lot to make this attitude a reality for me. However, I am hoping that a jury of right minded citizens, not politically minded officials, will see the folly in all of this.

If you are interested in learning more or even want to show support for Vernon and his family, this case will be a landmark case in the fight for food rights. Think you don't have to worry about it because you don't consume raw milk? Think again. They attempted to squelch all of his on-farm goods including grass-fed beef, pastured chicken and free-range eggs. And this is not an isolated case.

Follow the rabbit trail friends. Follow it and plead ignorance no longer. It's time to do something about the over-reach of our government and the quiet war they've waged against our rights and the rights of small farms.

Links to start the journey:

Farm Food Freedom Coalition: http://farmfoodfreedom.org/event/vernon-hershberger-trial 

Farmers on Trial: http://www.farmersontrial.com/why-should-i-care/ 

Farm to Consumer Legal Defense Fund: http://www.farmtoconsumer.org 

This link is the one that started it all. Please notice the photo on the left side. But most importantly, read the article: http://host.madison.com/ct/news/local/govt_and_politics/blog/capitol-report-deputies-inspectors-make-early-morning-visit-to-raw/article_4f5d084e-74ac-11df-9b16-001cc4c002e0.html 

As I said at the beginning, this post is not about Andy and I. It's a small facet of a large story that supersedes even Vernon's case. Use the links above as a launch pad. And take the blue pill.

To bring you up to speed a little:

When last we talked, I had learned of my second place status with Brownboots Interactive. Andy had interviewed with the Wisconsin Food Hub Co-op (WFHC) and we were waiting to hear if he landed the job.

As he expected, while he seriously impressed the board of directors, he was not asked to take the sales manager position. This was ok as ultimately, we want to see the Hub succeed. However, after he learned this, we were asked to present a proposal to take on the marketing and design aspect of the WFHC.

Let me explain. A month or so back, Andy had been at a trade show on behalf of the brand new WFHC. In order to make an impression on potential buyers and institutions, they needed some corporate ID and they needed it in about 36 hours.

Since the Wisconsin Farmer's Union is a large backer of the WFHC, and they knew of my graphic design experience, I was asked to come up with a logo, a flyer, a banner, a poster and a simple website for the Food Hub. We were able to deliver in time and the feed back on the logo, flyer, etc was really receptive at the restaurant trade show. Andy helped make a lot of connections with his ability to speak to people's needs and that is where he was first asked to apply for the sales position.

Ok, fast forward two weekends later: knowing how well we delivered a nearly complete corporate identity, the board asked us to answer their call for a bid to take on the Food Hub's marketing and design needs for the forseeable future. This would be answered by four other established marketing firms and while we don't have that sort of clout, Andy and I fully believe we are capable of selling regional food. It is after all, Andy's passion and I have been working with farming design for nearly six years.

We went south of Madison with a four page answer to their bid, within budget and with examples of our previous work. As well, we had Finn, who was a model baby during the whole interview! Has anyone out there taken a baby to an interview before? Probably not, but we were comfortable enough with our experience and knowledge to be totally real with these people. Ironically, all but one individual had been at Andy's sales interview just one week prior.

We did well. We did really well. Again, in the top two of the candidates they considered. Again, not the candidate they ultimately went with.

ONLY because they collectively decided they needed some strategic planning and another firm was able to help them with that. We agree that this is a good idea for everyone as no one wants a client who doesn't quite know what they need, nor a client want to waste money on ideas that aren't what they need.

So that was two weeks ago. Since then, there hasn't been much to talk about insofar as events around our house. We are still waiting to hear about our potential involvement with the Food Hub and the home buying is inching along with delays left and right. In the meantime, Andy has rekindled my interest in sewing.

Well, it's not like it actually left. My interest that is. It's just that a baby was born and heaven knows that come 7pm I am about creatively tapped. (hence the lack of writing here as well). However, we just moved Liam to his very own toddler bed and moved Fat Baby (Finn) to the crib. So far, it has served all four of our children very well! But as I was attempting to make up the bed for Liam, I realized that somewhere between Ethan and Liam, we lost our toddler bed sheets. I went online to look for prices and Andy said, "Why don't you just sew them yourself?"

"Right," I said. "Like when?"

"I'm just saying, if you wanted to sew them, you can. I'd support your efforts." 

After stewing to myself for awhile, I looked online for some free patterns from the myriad sewist bloggers out there and found a few that all said about the same thing. Simple to do, simple to buy for. Save about half the money. Ok. So I did it.

 

Two sewing sessions later, one of which I was fully accessible to all the kids (something I didn't think was possible with all the needles and scissors and such) and there was a nice flannel sheet for Liam to sleep on. Even matched his random pillow case we got from his cousin Maddie at Christmas!

  

Speaking of Christmas, I mentioned a jacket I sewed for Elly for Christmas. I finally took photos of the derned thing! This was about $40 in materials and roughly 24 hours of work. Really puts into perspective the amount of labor we get for virtually free when we buy clothes made in third world countries...

 

  

I couldn't have done it without my mom's guidance and a little tag team sewing here and there!

So now, I am back on the sewing train. Next project? A messenger bag for Andy to take with him on business meetings. We picked out the fabric and accessories this morning at the new JoAnn Fabrics here in Oshkosh. I might be doing that tonight if energy permits. Otherwise, there is the weekend! I found a great pattern here: OCD: Obsessive Crafting Disorder.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So, about the title of this post: last weekend Andy and I got a rare night out with NO kids (not even Fat Baby) thanks to my parents babysitting. It was supposed to be a short night out at Mahoney's in Oshkosh for a drink and a dessert to alleviate some tension between us that had been building up lately. What came of it was a great, though sober talk about where we are at in our relationship. In about two weeks we will be celebrating our seventh year married and January 2013 marked ten years since we began dating. It's a long time to be close to someone day in and day out, through thick and thin and kids and moving and jobs and losing jobs and losing loved ones and celebrating successes and becoming deeper human beings.

We are not the same two people that began dating over a table of sushi back in college.

Friday night we sat in silence for a long time. For me, I knew something was really weighing heavily on Andy. For Andy, he wasn't sure what it was but the uncomfortable presence was soon revealed.

For a long time, my unhappiness in my life has been growing. Very incrementally, but definitely growing. I get overwhelmed easily. I feel like I'm failing most days at this thing called motherhood, let alone wifeliness. I realize a lot of this has to do with poor quality sleep and a new baby taking center stage, but this is a problem I've had for some time. I can't really pinpoint when I first thought to myself that I was unhappy with my life, but I know it was over two years ago...all the way back to St. Brigid's Meadows era.

If it seems as though this might be a major thing to overlook in a blog about one's life, rest assured; I really didn't know it was overtaking my view on life until maybe the last six months or so. I never mentioned it to you because for a long time, I just thought that I hadn't found my niche and this was the root of my restlessness.

I knew from day to day that I was not being the mother I wanted to be. I snapped at the kids too much, my patience seemed to be waning and again, that feeling of being overwhelmed by [first world] problems. Additionally, Andy was feeling like he had to take more and more off my plate to make me happy. This is what I knew.

What I didn't know is that my attitude was totally dragging down the whole family. Andy suggested (nay, assigned to me) reading a book called "Happiness is a Serious Problem," by Dennis Prager. It's a book we've had for years and neither of us have read it. Being given an assignment by my husband is something I relish. I am goal oriented and this business of being down all the time had me exasperated. How do I solve it? I need steps, goals to reach towards and "just getting better" doesn't cut it for my personality. Finally, a first step. Reading this book.

Back at the restaurant, I made small talk but finally we began to zero in on the root of the problem. Andy was exhausted and becoming apathetic to a lot of things, but he confessed it was mostly to me and my feelings. As hard as it was to hear, I was hungry for the truth and welcomed his feedback. He discussed how he thinks about me and what I need 24 hours a day, and how nothing he does helps me feel better. After months of basically walking on egg shells so as not to tip my mood, he said he is just ready to give up. For my part it was the first time I was able to see outside my own sphere of pain and frustration to witness just how my attitude was hurting the people I loved. 

That fell harder than Andy saying he was tired of it all. I couldn't bear the fact that me being down in the dumps was making everyone else end up feeling...well...down in the dumps! 

Behind us in a nearby booth, a man and woman were out celebrating their 50th wedding anniversary. We paused our conversation as the server congratulated them and the man stated that it hadn't been easy but each day was a blessing to be with his wife. Andy looked squarely at me and said, "Don't worry. That will be us someday. We'll get through this."

With that sort of reassurance and a new mission ahead of me, I left Mahoney's refreshed and ready to become the woman I was meant to be.

And since then, life has been so much more bearable and joyful. That book is amazing in pinpointing everything that Americans find to destroy happiness. I must recommend it to anyone. Everyone. It squarely placed the responsibility on me and for the first time in my life, I feel in control of the circumstances that normally cause me to get flustered and down. It's liberating! And I can only go up from here.

I can also say that Andy's overall demeanor has relaxed and become more fun-loving than he's been in ages. I asked him if it was because I was taking responsibility for my feelings and actions and he paused. Then he said that yes, he didn't even realize what a pressure was taken off his shoulders when I decided to adjust my attitude.

Now, I'm not saying I'm completely well. Take this blog for example; it's taken me three days of popping in and out just to complete it and that sort of thing drives me insane! Or today; Andy is busy preparing for a very important expo he is co-coordinating this weekend and I have a load of design things due this same week for Gourmet Grassfed. I had a few "not-my-best-moments" today already.

But overall, we're getting there. I have to run right now, but I'll post again soon. Lots going on here!

"Life begins at the intersection. What direction, what direction, what direction, now?" ~Switchfoot

Remember how I mentioned we had a lot going on behind the scenes? How I couldn't really talk about it right then because so much was yet to be understood?

 

I think I can finally talk about it.

On the day Finn was born, Andy had a wonderful conversation with a friend of ours who came to cuddle a new baby. As I watched him speak with her about some relationship issues she was having, it really dawned on me that his long time desire to study psychology was well founded. This guy can really read people and help them out! A few days later, I expressed my support of him returning to college to finish his bachelor's degree. Instead of English like he began back in 2000, he would finish with a degree in psychology. From there, he could open doors to a number of vocations and careers involved in helping people overcome their problems.

We contacted the local university we both had attended years back (and is now consequently a mile from our home) and got him enrolled in their non traditional student, "welcome back, we understand it was rough the first time around" amnesty program. He applied for financial aid and was all set with his student counselor to begin school again for Spring semester (beginning at the end of January).

But then, the VA office was hard to get hold of for his paperwork and we were super busy with baby and life happened. Details for me at this point are a bit hairy as I was sleep deprived, but we sort of let it go on purpose. Summer school, it seemed, would be more likely and then really dive in next Fall.

Around this time, my father casually mentioned that the house across the street from Foxwood Farm was going to be sold. When we lived at Foxwood, the home was (is) owned by an older fellow whom I grew up knowing as Mr. Carly. Mr. Carly lived with his parents in a house down the road a bit (like 100 yards) until both of them passed. Then when I was in middle or high school, he built his own home directly across the street from our farm. He sold off his folks' home and kept seven acres to himself. He planted flowering trees and bushes and had a sizable pond dug at the very back of his property. An avid birder, he also carved wood as a hobby and built an enormous three-bay garage in which he kept his woodshop. My father rented out most of the acreage for farming and this arrangement has been going on happily for years.

When we heard that Mr. Carly's house was about to be available, our hearts skipped a beat. We could no longer have Foxwood, but here was a chance to create a farmette of our own, right across the street from family. It seemed so timely. Just that week, Andy and I had seen Mr. Carly out and about in Oshkosh in his silver little hatchback and we talked about whether or not he would ever move away and if it would be possible to buy his house. We agreed then that he likely would never move as he is fiercely independent, despite his old age.

Hearing Dad's description of the house, it sounded just right. Dad thought it might be a great investment home for us to work on for five to ten years and then have the equity and savings to build up on the hill at The Other Farm. The more we talked it over with family (both my side and Andy's), the more it seemed like a good idea.

We visited Mr. Carly and toured the home. With all due respect to the man, he has been a bachelor his whole life and the home will need some serious TLC! :-) But we have plenty of sweat and very little cash. So this works out.

We talked to a couple lenders and are getting qualified for a mortgage. Meanwhile, we talked to our old neighbor Mr. Carly and he is agreeable to the price we offered him! So the home has not been listed and neither of us has realtors, yet we are virtually at an agreement to buy a home in the country!

As exciting as that is, the intersections in our lives just keep cresting on the horizon.

While Andy is interested in continuing his education (something he has gone back and forth on for years), he is also passionate about the local food scene. Outside of Gourmet Grassfed, he is inserting himself in various organizations in the Fox Valley and Wisconsin to become a sort of grassroots expert on food systems and scaling up to the regional level. The inherent problem with knowing your farmer is that a school district cannot rely on one farm for all their food needs. But a collaboration of growers as well as local transportation just might work to get nutrient dense fruits, veggies and meats into the hands of those who really need it. In his dealings, he's been asked to be a mentor, an advisor and has become a sounding board for several non-profit groups who are trying to get local food more accessible.

This sort of acknowledgement of his abilities and skills is new. For years Andy has been battling delegitimizing and belittling authority figures. People who didn't take him seriously or only knew him for certain aspects of his past.

Perhaps until now, he didn't really deserve it. Rest assured, the time he spent being humbled has only served to build within him a desire for servant leadership; to kneel down and wash the dirty feet instead of sitting in the throne. Having people outside of me and a select handful of close friends begin to rely on his hard won expertise is a very new experience for Andy. Within this came an opportunity to work on the ground level of a new food hub being developed and partially funded by the Wisconsin Farmer's Union. Called the Wisconsin Food Hub Cooperative, it is brand new and already hitting the ground running for 2013. They have growers contracted and need a full time manager and full time sales person.

After Andy's work with them, a few of the board members asked him to apply for the sales position. They interview all the candidates next week. The job can be worked from home, too.

He is going to apply.

Which brings back the question he's been struggling with: Do I go back to school for a degree in psychology in which I am totally passionate about, but cannot do with street cred? You can't do anything in counseling or psych without at least a bachelor's and for most things you need a masters or more.

Or do I follow my food passion and continue to build up my street credit with hard won experience and learning? So far being in the trenches, degree-less and instinct-full, has gotten Andy some serious double-takes by people with influence. If he is not offered the sales position, he plans to continue to be a part of this local food movement both on the county and state level.

Then, to add another point to the intersection in our life, I just had an interview for a graphic design position in Fond Du Lac (20 mins south of Oshkosh). It would be full time and this is not temporary.

If hired, I would be a full time working woman again. Andy wouldn't be homeschooling, so Ethan and Elly would be enrolled in public school next Fall. If Andy gets hired, the younger two would be watched by someone else while Andy works from home.

Suddenly the intersection starts looking more like this:

  

"The future is a question mark/ of kerosene and 'lectric sparks." ~Switchfoot

In a few weeks, we'll know if any of this comes to pass. And then so will you. Exciting and strange times, right?

Dearest Grit Friends,

I feel as though I am writing to a loved one from whom I have been absent from for many months. I have much to tell you about! I have been keeping up with things relatively well on my personal blog but have seriously neglected you. Therefore, I will give you a run down of our last few months here in Oshkosh, pulling excerpts where I think we need them. I’m sorry for the delay; once again, life happened and it seems that winter is full of fun even without an active garden!

In mid-November, we traveled to Minneapolis for a Farmer’s Union weekend and I wrote about it here:

I find myself at an ergonomically pleasing hotel room desk, sipping sub-par complimentary coffee and listening to a Japanese radio station via iTunes. In the background, Andy is finishing his shower and the window to my left show the city skyline, still dark but busy with cars zipping by.

I have a moment of serene peace before we head out for today's activities and I am trying to soak it all in. Our children are safe with our dear friends in Omro and should probably be awake and begging for oatmeal about now.

We arrived in the Twin Cities yesterday afternoon in a nice rental car and full of good conversation. Our purpose in being five hours from home is a leadership training event put on by Farmer's Union Enterprises (FUE). An offshoot of National Farmer's Union, FUE is the brainchild of Farmer's Union Industries, a for-profit investment arm of the non-profit National Farmer's Union. Farmer's Union Industries helps fund numerous outreach events and workshops to enable rural communities and farms to work together to build up resources and rely on one another to sustain and survive. One of the problems they faced several years ago was how to motivate young farmers and rural couples to become leaders in their communities and become involved in making a difference for all parties.

With the help of a strategic planning company whose founder was also a member of the Farmer's Union, they came up with FUE. The premise is simple: One couple from the five leading Farmer's Union states would be trained for a year at various gatherings and events throughout the nation and then asked to take up the mantel on their own and use that knowledge to make a difference on the local level. This is the sixth year of the leadership training and Andy and I are the sixth Wisconsin couple to take the reins in learning about ourselves, our family, community, and country. One of the first Wisconsin couples to go through training became the president of the Wisconsin Farmer's Union in his first year following his time with FUE. This is not usual but shows the sort of people that are attracted to this venture. The Farmer's Union Industries spends a substantial amount of money on each couple each year. Andy and I are here completely free of charge. We are completely thankful for the generosity of the organizations behind our retreat here and don't take the time lightly.

Last summer I mentioned this organization, as it was the reason we drove to North and South Dakota. This weekend is the second installment of training. It purposely coincides with the Minnesota Farmer's Union Annual Conference, held in this same Ramada Hotel. Today, we will have a day-long meeting with just the other four couples and a keynote speaker, along with our guide, Mr. Danielson, who has been leading the FUE couples since the inception (and which he helped envision via his company).

Andy has finished grooming and looks very handsome for our group breakfast. The skyline is a faded salmon-grey and I-94 is steadily picking up. Andy and I are excited for the day ahead in which we'll examine a personality profile we filled out online last week. It will help us understand others' personalities and the best way to approach them in conversation and as leaders.

We thank our friends the Gerhkings who lovingly took our three littles ones into their fold for two days. Tonight, Elly, Ethan and Liam will move "homes" to Grandma Judy's and Grandpa Dave's house to stay until we come for them Sunday afternoon. We are very blessed to have the sort of family support network that enables us to leave for this many days completely free of worry for our precious babes.

Friday was a good long day of learning about each other's personality styles through a questionnaire we all filled out called DiSC. You may be familiar with the program. You basically answer a bunch of questions about how you'd react in various situations at home and at work and then they are compared against the general population to see what sort of personality you lean towards.

Andy is quite familiar with this sort of personality profile as he has been on a years-long search to discover how he "ticks" and how to go about daily life with that knowledge.

Each letter stands for a personality type.

D = Dominant (Direct, results oriented, Firm, strong-willed, Forceful)

i = Influence (Outgoing, enthusiastic, optimistic, high spirited, lively)

S = Steadiness (Even-tempered, accommodating, patient, humble, tactful)

C = Conscientious (analytical, reserved, precise, private, systematic)

Nearly all the time, people test with two of the traits being part of their personality. For example, Andy tested as an iD. He was marked by Influence and Dominant characteristics. I was categorized as a CS, which is a person who craves routine, reliability and security. Learning these things about ourselves wasn't necessarily a surprise, but learning how to relate to each other was an answer to a specific prayer I had not one week ago. I want to support Andy more in his decisions and ideas, but given my personality, changes are scary and stressful. So I was able to learn how to relate to him on a level he understands and in turn, he became more sensitive to my needs as both a woman and a person who needs to feel safe.

We spent the whole day as a group talking about the different styles and how they generally relate to one another; how they view different personality types and how to mitigate conflicts by just stepping into each other's mindsets. I was able to pin point a couple of my immediate family members right away and began thinking of ways in which I can increase effective communication with them. After we exhausted our brains on acronyms and tendencies, we had a short break and then we gathered as a group to go out for the night. On deck? Dinner theatre!

I have never been to a dinner theatre, so as the 15 passenger van hauled us west of the Cities to Chanhassen, I just watched the sun set and listened to the small talk going on amongst the couples.

We arrived after dark to an unassuming building amongst strip malls and stores. We exited the van and entered a whole different era. The building was decked in dark wood and fireplaces and large stone walls. There were Christmas trees fully decorated and boughs of evergreens adorning every doorway and tree-trunk post. It was warm, magical and totally inviting. 
Andy and I were immediately impressed. We headed to the lounge to wait for our turn to go to the theatre. Low ceilings, leather chairs on casters and intimate conversations gave the impression of an exclusive supper club. Soon we were asked to get in line for our dinner seats. As we handed the tickets to the hostess, we were escorted to the center of the great room and just took in all the wonder.

Before us were tables and chairs able to seat as many as 600, tucked in here and there and covering at least four different levels. To our left was a large stage, protruding into the audience with a great sweeping curve. We settled in with two other couples and waited for our meal, still taking in the atmosphere. After we ordered and got our food, the bustle of the waitstaff and hustle of the multitude of people around us gave plenty of visual stimulation while we digested. Soon, the lights dimmed and the the MC announced our show for the night (which we already knew): "Bye Bye Birdie."

We settled in for a fantastic show of dancing, singing and orchestral performance right before our eyes. It was just amazing. I've been to plays before, but everything about this was just special. We were so grateful for the experience and acknowledged that it was something we could rarely have afforded in our own lives. What a special night out!

The musical ended about 10:30pm and we hopped in our van to ride back home, about 40 minutes. I was asleep on Andy long before that.

Saturday morning we began the Minnesota Farmer's Union Annual Convention. We spent the day in and out of policy sessions and listening to annual reports from various leaders and guest speakers. It was very informative and I could see how the stuff would be even more important when/if we attend our own Wisconsin State Convention in January. It largely depends on the goodwill of our babysitters and the temperament of our new baby!

That evening, there was a fundraising dinner, which seem to be attended by just about every farmer there! The entire convention hall was filled and they had to open another room to fit the last 40 people in! The food was all locally produced and very tasty. The speaker was Minnesota State Senator Al Franken and he gave a nice speech about the farmer's he'd met in the last year and what farming means in Washington.

   

Next morning, we got up about 7am and rushed down to breakfast thinking that we were missing something. Turns out, we were well ahead of everyone else in our group and got to have a leisurely 1.5 hour breakfast while we waited for the conference to begin again. Andy and I were able to talk with Harley and his wife more about life goals and direction and it was incredibly encouraging for Andy to figure out a direction for our family and him. (me too!).

We listened to a few more updates in the conference and then decided to pack up about 9:30am. We had babies to see and a mother with a birthday, so we were excused a few hours early for the drive home. Before 2:30pm, we were in Omro and reunited with the little ones. It was nice to spend the day at my parents' house before finally ending the trip at home, later that night. Everyone was well and only a few items were missing from the kids' clothing bags. All in all, a good trip!

 

In mid-December, I gave an update on the comings and goings surrounding the holidays:

I am grounded today by my pregnant body and decided to put in something educational for the kids on TV and kick my feet up and write. It's been a long time since I wrote because we once again rearranged our schedule to allow Andy more time to work during the day. In return, I spend more time with the kids exclusively and running errands or visiting friends with kids. As well, I have been working several hours at my mother's house sewing a winter peacoat for Elly for Christmas. The task is beyond my limited sewing skills and uses faux sherpa material which has been more difficult to cut and sew than normal cotton fabrics. However, with my mom's guidance here and there and a bit of reading and re-reading the directions, we are making progress. In the end, it will definitely look homemade, but it will be a wonderful expression of love every time Elly wears the jacket some place special. [it actually turned out beautiful!]

My downtime today is due to being in the final month of pregnancy and the general aches and pains that go with a larger than life body at the end of its stretchiness. However, today I have some unusual stabbing pains in my lower pelvic region that I don't recall experiencing before. Thankfully, I have a prenatal appointment this very afternoon, which will allow me to ask the midwife if she knows what's happening.

Our Thanksgiving this year was highly unusual. We planned to meet up with my parents and brother's family in Omro, but the morning of the big day, we got a call that my Dad was really sick with a cold and that the celebration was to be moved to the family farm (where my brother lives). However, they weren't feeling the best either and no one was sure the day should even happen. Given that each of the three families were to make part of the total feast, we postponed our Thanksgiving until Friday.

On Friday morning, no one was better. In fact, they were worse. So we decided to meet briefly at my parents to exchange the food we had all made so that each family could have an individual Thanksgiving at home. We divided up all the dishes into thirds and went our separate ways. Andy's family had also been unavailable with Maddie receiving more cancer treatment in the hospital and the grandparents working all weekend.

We never did have a big family gathering. My father was diagnosed with bronchitis and just this week has been able to get out and about and start catching up with chores and such! We have been relatively healthy and thankful for it! Thanksgiving weekend we decorated the house for Christmas and it was quite fun. As in years past, we let the kids decorate it with minimal interventions from the parents. This was Liam's first year decorating as last Christmas we did not have a tree (living in a friend's house). Before I even had the chance to show him what to do, he had hung no less than three ornaments all by himself! I guess watching Elly and Ethan, or just intuition led him to do it on his own.

    

In early December,  we went to the annual Experimental Aircraft Association’s Christmas in the Air event, which was a lot of fun for our family, for free! I wrote a bit about it here:

Last evening we were grabbed the kids and headed over to the EAA Airventure Museum here in Oshkosh. They were entertaining their annual Christmas in the Air event, which happens to be free for the community. Christmas lights and trees, cookies, beverages and a myriad of performances happening all over the huge complex were the main draw for folks. We went last year and saw all the sights and watched the performances and then waited in line to meet Santa who'd flew in on a helicopter. This year we saw him land just outside the main building to a large crowd, dancers and music. But by the time he entered the building, our boys had worn out their sugar cookies and napless afternoon and were downright belligerent. There would be no Santa lap this year. Even though the night ended on a rather rough note, we did have a good time and hope to bring them back soon when there are no crowds and we can really see the museum for what it's worth. Ethan so loves airplanes and after last night, it appears Liam might as well.

As we draw upon the final two weeks before the Day of Christmas, our days will be filled with schooling, baking, creating, wrapping, visiting, hosting, and sewing (the last one me, not so much anyone else). Then we (ideally) have two weeks before Baby arrives. No name yet. No worries. It will come when it's right. For now, the little guy keeps me on my toes already! Or, in the case of today, on my rear.

   

At the end of December, I gave my annual year end wrap up:

I suppose I better get this blog in while the gettin' is good! As I write this a mere two days before the turn of 2013, I am in the early stages of labor with our fourth baby.

Over the last two days, several definite "baby coming" signs have been showing themselves and while my official due date is the 5th of January, we all know that babies come when they are good and ready. Liam was eleven days early and Ethan was five days "late." Only Elly came exactly on the day they said she would which, if you know Elly at all, makes perfect sense!

Early this morning I was awakened by heavier than normal Braxton Hicks every half hour or so. Because they were waking me up, I knew them to be more like early labor. Throughout the course of the day the contractions chilled out but never completely went away. As this evening begins, I anticipate the contractions to ramp up again through the night. We have childcare lined up with my mom (who spent the afternoon with us in hopes of baby, but went home just before supper), and our friend Malissa lined up to accompany us in the delivery room as a support to Andy and myself.

My bags are packed, the car seat is resurrected from the basement and the bassinet is all set up. For Christmas, Andy's mother Julia made baby a quilt, which will travel with us to the hospital. My mom bought us a new outfit, which will be his going home clothes. We are pretty much set. Just waiting for the child to make his appearance.

We are still undecided on a name. Andy is very fond of one iteration that I just can't seem to get behind. While I am not sure what is holding me from giving the green light, part of me just wants to be decided and go with it. And then there's always the possibility that the ultrasound was wrong and we've got a little girl about to make her debut! :-)

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This year we had a lot of changes. The last two years I've been amazed at how much we've gone through and this year was a little milder but no less eventful. At the start of 2012, we were living in a friend of a friend's house in the basement, with most of our belongings waiting patiently for us in a storage unit across town. Liam was about to turn one and Ethan about to be three. I revisited an interest in writing and sewing and began to get restless for a place of our own. Still employed by Gourmet Grassfed, Andy and the family enjoyed many days as a family unit working from home. As Spring began to trickle in, we finalized a search for a house to rent in Omro or Oshkosh. By the end of March, we had found a place with character and a large yard. We moved in in early April and relished a place of our own, even if it wasn't a country estate with land for chickens and cows.

We settled in and Andy tried several iterations of working from home before I took a job with Oshkosh Corporation as a temp employee in May. For about six weeks, he played SAHD while I worked long hours typesetting. I thoroughly enjoyed my time back in the workplace and the only thing holding me back was the morning sickness I began feeling about two weeks into the job. Yes, we were pregnant again and while it was not planned or even hoped for, we quickly accepted the new being inside me and prepared ourselves mentally for the major change in the coming winter.

After that job ended in late June, we got to go on a trip to the wild west of the Dakotas and take the kids on a good ol' fashioned family vacation. Upon returning home, we settled into life with a city garden and a super hot dry summer. There were farmer's markets to be at and playdates to be had. We explored our new town on bike and on foot and stroller and even stopped to eat ice cream while the cars went by once in a while. Summer seemed to fly by into Autumn which quickly revealed itself to be one big canning festival. We reorganized Gourmet Grassfed and placed all sales and marketing into Andy's hands while Ben took on all other responsibilities. New flavors were developed and labels needed to be designed, along with a website overhaul that is much anticipated to break in the coming month. I started Elly on her kindergarten year of homeschooling with some work in numbers, writing, reading and any sort of nature interest that caught her attention. The boys were just along for the ride and have been picking up all sorts of stuff because of it. In September I got to go to Pennsylvania for free to the Mother Earth News Fair. Because of the people I was riding with, had the incredible privilege to eat across the table from Joel Salatin of Polyface Farm. He shared an intimate story from his childhood with the group of about 20 that touched everyone deeply. It was so neat to listen to a person so well known and remember that he’s just human, too.

Late fall gave us respite and a low key Thanksgiving, building into the Christmas season. Now we are into early winter and we definitely had a white Christmas this year. Just yesterday it must have snowed another 10" on top of the pre-Christmas snowfall of a foot or more! If this is any indication of the winter we'll have, I'm really sorta thankful we don't have animals to care for this winter. Digging out a public sidewalk and your driveway is nothing compared to deep snow and animals to feed. Waterers to unfreeze. Feed to uncover and replenish. Bedding to change out daily. (do me a favor and thank your closest farmer today!)

And so with the close of the 2012 year, we look forward to what 2013 has to offer. A family of six, living in interim in the city, praying and hoping for a place in the country, doing their best to pay off their debts so that they may begin building their future once and for all.

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As I close, I know the next time I write will be to share the story of Baby's entrance into this world and there will be photos of him to share with you all. As it is right now, I bid you farewell 2012. You haven't been too shabby to the Sells and for that we are grateful. A little less tumult in our lives is always appreciated (at least by me, a personality who craves stability and order!).

   

The next morning, our baby boy made his entrance into the world and kept me from writing for about a month. I recapped his birth and the rest of January here:

Finlay Dael Sell was born on December 31st, 2012 weighing in at 8lbs 1oz and 20" long. We were all surprised at his weight, given that no one thought I was even close to being due from my belly size. We were not surprised at his gender this time, quite unlike our boy Liam from two years ago. :-)

   

Andy and I headed to the hospital (no home birth this time; financially unviable) at around 2:30am on that Monday and our friend Malissa met us there to be a support to both Andy and I. After the initial round of heartbeat monitoring and questionnaires, I was able to labor in peace. We dimmed the lights and added music from the Prayer Room in Kansas City and Andy had brought candles to add softness to the room. Around 4am, I was in hard labor and asked to have a bath drawn. I have never labored in the luxury of the hottubs most delivery wards offer these days as I have back labor and that keeps me moving almost to the end. This time, though, we decided to try it, even though I was convinced I would have to hop out as soon as I was in.

Well, I was so very wrong...and so very thankful of that! As soon as my first foot hit that hot water, I was instantly relaxed and soothed into a meditative state of labor in which even the most strenuous of transition contractions left me with just a few moans of pain. Man, I wish I would have given this a try with the other labors! It wasn't long before I knew without being checked that I had to push. Since the hospital we were at does not allow water births, I knew I had to exit the water even though all I wanted to do was float blissfully into motherhood. Malissa and Andy helped me out and I headed to the bed. The room flooded with nurses, equipment and the midwife. I knew I had to push, but since I had not been checked to see if I was indeed fully dilated, I pushed only hesitantly at first. When the midwife was ready and waiting, I really began pushing and only then did my water break. Within 15 minutes, little Finlay made his debut and I had him cuddled in my arms, so tiny and warm and beautiful. It was 5am. Malissa left about a half hour later to go to work. She pulled an all nighter like us and didn't even bat an eye. We were so thankful to have her there as moral support and even some comic relief for Andy during the long parts of my labor.

   

Family and friends came to visit us that day and as the rest of the world rang in 2013, we cuddled down in a hospital room with a brand new human in our charge. Welcome to the planet, Finn!

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The month of January has passed quickly only because I am usually not sure what day I'm actually in. On the 11th, our quirky personality Liam turned two years old. We held a party for him on the 12th with family and friends. He very adorably accepted his gifts and cake amidst the bustle of the get together. Liam is talking now and "sharp as a tack" according to his Grandpa Steve. He continually makes us laugh with his expressive face and ability to repeat phrases at just the right moment. He is amazingly compassionate for a two year old boy and seeks to make things right when he's been naughty. Often, a frustrated outburst that resulted in him hitting or biting will cause him to immediately recant with a diminutive hug and kiss. He melts anger in us in a way that the others never could. We began potty training him last week, but for some reason he has refused to accept it. We'll wait another month and try again. He definitely gets what's going on, but fails to see the independence in it.

   

Eleven days later, we celebrated my 32nd birthday, on the 22nd. I was blessed with several nice gifts from my family and a small get together with my in-laws at the end of the week. My mom even handmade me a table runner and some cloth napkins with some fabric that I had found at a rummage sale. It's funny because she totally stole it from me one time in late fall and I looked for it several times during the Christmas season because I had an idea that I wanted to sew a gift for someone with that fabric. As I apparently had "lost" it, I gave up on the gift idea. Turns out I never had time to sew it anyway so when Mom presented my birthday gift, I laughed out loud. It all worked out for the best!

  

Just after that, Andy and I spent the weekend in Eau Claire attending the Wisconsin Farmer's Union annual conference. I was asked to take photos in exchange for our admission fees, which helped us afford to be there at all. We took young Finn and had the kids stay with family for two days. It was a long Saturday in which I had a bit of a fever and my camera battery nearly died, but Andy got to attend most of the sessions and take part in the important policy discussion.

   

I got a few neat shots of the day and the break out sessions throughout the hotel. The evening dinner had a local author as keynote speaker and several awards were handed out to the farmer's union youth (they put a lot of effort into young people education). The keynote was Michael Perry, author of Coop and Truck: A Love Story, amongst others. He is a great humorist and I was already a fan of his writing. I brought my copy of Coop for him to sign, but it didn't work out. Mr. Perry did however admire Finlay when Andy had him out in the hallway just before he and his band played for the late night crowd.

   

Everything was to pick up again on Sunday, but due to an impending ice storm, the convention was wrapped up by mid morning and Andy and I headed back to his folks' house several hours early. Our boys had been with the Sells and we would pick them up there. Elly stayed with both her cousins in Omro and my parents for the weekend, so that no one family would be too overwhelmed by kiddoes.

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As we entered February, there were a few things that I wanted to talk about but had to wait until things got fleshed out a little more. Jonathan Foreman, lead writer and singer for the band Switchfoot has a line in one of his songs that rings with me this past month: "Life begins at the intersections." We have many choices ahead of us as a family.

2013, unlike 2012, is already shaping up to be a season of opportunity and fruition. Whereas Andy and I have been in a period of waiting, learning and proving ourselves for a couple of long years, now it seems that we may have come through that time and are seeing doors open. Doors that once were closed and doors that were only just recently unattainable. I know that's a lot of vague jargon to many of you, but I feel compelled to keep it that way until we know more. In the meantime, we huddle down in this cold Wisconsin winter, sip our hot coffee and pray for God's continued guidance in our lives.

  

Since I wrote that last post, our very own Ethan turned 4 years old in the middle of February. How could it be that when we started blogging for Grit, I was just barely pregnant with this little being and now he is nearing school age? We love the little scamp as he daily brings us the most challenges and laughs of our four children. Finlay remains to be seen, of course! 

  

And so, now that you are caught up on our lives thus far, I will be able to tell you about those “intersections” in a following blog. However, Andy and I leave again on another FUE adventure in just a day: We are flying with Finn to Massachusetts for the National Farmers Union Convention to be held in Springfield. We spend four days away from our other babies who will be in the loving homes of two different friends of ours. It will be interesting to see how they fare without us but I think they’ll be ok as long as they are together. Meanwhile, Andy, Finn and I will take in the continued learning that awaits us in MA. Hopefully I’ll be able to write about that experience as it happens, but no promises! Take care and I’ll chat at ya soon.

   

Flavoring. Nothing conjures up more fear for me as a parent than this word. The FDA says "Natural Flavoring" is the "essential oil, oleoresin, essence or extractive, protein hydrolysate, distillate, or any product of roasting, heating or enzymolysis, which contains the flavoring constituents derived from a spice, fruit or fruit juice, vegetable or vegetable juice, edible yeast, herb, bark, bud, root, leaf or similar plant mate-" blahdy blah blah blah. Just more technical jargin for crap they allow that will kill you.

No thanks. Reading a friend's Facebook status she said, "The essence of fall; watching my kids play in leaves, grey dreary days and pumpkin everything!" I couldn't agree more. So how does one infuse this ubiquitous flavor without using some sort of enxymolysis of edible yeast? I decided to put on my thinking cap.

  

Pumpkin pie, the comfort food of autumn: roasty, nutty, spicy, caramelly, make your knees knock together and faint when you smell it-y. So, lame admission, I didn't have any pie pumpkins or squash on hand so I had to use canned for this. I will detail both ways (as the former is by far superior).

As I dropped the pale orange blob into a mixing bowl it became quickly apparent that this is NOT was I was looking for. Raw pumpkin is tart and not incredibly palatable. It is in the roasting that draws out it's home-in-every-bite flavor. I turned on a pan and added the spices and such. Once it had all incorporated I added the pumpkin and stirred it until bubbling. Soon the color began to darken and that classic aroma began to fill our kitchen. Bingo. Just out of curiosity I passed it through a couple of strainers to make sure it was fine enough. I wanted something that would add an intense flavor to drinks or stews without the stringy texture that some pumpkins and squash have. Upon cooling it was ready to use for a number of dishes.

We'll start with the master recipes:

Natural Pumpkin Flavoring** 

1 can pumpkin

1/2 cup packed brown sugar* (light or dark, honestly who really cares?)

2 cinnamon sticks

1 whole vanilla bean (slit) or 1 tsp vanilla extract

3 whole cloves

1 cup water

1/2 tsp nutmeg (optional) this will give the final product a more Christmassy feel (just no Christmas music till after Thanksgiving!) 

*If using for primarily savory dishes, reduce the sugar by half 

**If you want a more roasted flavor, add the pumpkin to the spice mixture and transfer to oven safe pan. Bake at 350 for 30 minutes or until a slightly golden crust appears. Remove the crust before using.

Add water, sugar and spices (add vanilla bean if using, omit extract if not). Bring to a boil and reduce heat to simmer. Simmer until all of the sugar is dissolved and mixture is reduced to half and quite dark.

   

Add the pumpkin (and extract if using) and bring back to a boil (do not allow to burn on bottom or sides). Mixture will begin to darken.

   

Continue to stir until mixture is quite thick.

   

Take off heat and strain to remove the steeped spices. Allow to cool and use.

  

Granny's Homemade Pumpkin Flavoring Variation 

1 pie pumpkin or non-spaghetti type squash (Mother Hubbard squash is a family fave but they are large and will require more butter and salt, or just halve the squash quantity) 

2 tbsp butter

1 tsp salt 

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Halve pumpkin or squash and remove seeds. Drop in 1 tbsp butter and 1/2 tsp salt into each half. [Salt draws out moisture and the butter will help caramelize the liquid which will impart a much deeper flavor]. Roast on a pan for about an hour. Remove and using a fork, gently slide it into the flesh. A properly cooked pumpkin will be smooth and soft. Pumpkins and squash vary greatly so you may need to put it back in for up to a half hour longer.

Once soft, remove from oven and let cool. Pull off any dark or crusty parts and remove the soft flesh with an ice cream scoop. Process in a food processor until smooth. Pass through a fine strainer to ensure a creamy consistency.

Follow Natural Pumpkin Flavoring recipe above using about 2 cups of puree.

 

Now that you have the master recipe, you can add it to a number of different dishes!

Pumpkin-Spiced Coffee 

Our favorite recipe was also the reason I tried this at home. We were tired of the overly syrupy Starbucks pumpkin lattes of the season. Here you get a nice hint of pumpkin with all the homemade goodness.

Add 1 tsp Pumpkin Flavoring to each cup of coffee. Serve with cream and sugar to ensure no bitterness from the pumpkin. 

Pumpkin-Spiced Whipped Cream 

Whip 1 cup of cream until stiff peaks form. Briefly whip in 1 tbsp sugar. Fold in 1/4 cup Pumpkin Flavoring (make sure it's cold).

Place large dollop of Pumpkin-Spiced Whipped Cream at the bottom of a clear glass and top with hot coffee.

   

   

Sprinkle with light dusting of cinnamon sugar (find a cozy place to read and listen to the rain). 

Spiced Pumpkin Butter 

Allow 1 stick of butter to come to room temp and whip until light and airy. Whip in 2 tbsp packed brown sugar. Whip in 1/4 cup Natural Pumpkin Flavoring. Chill and serve on English muffins, pancakes or scones.

Autumn Oats 

Add 1/2 cup to every 4 servings of oatmeal (at the end of cooking). Top with Spiced-Whip Cream or Cinnamon Sugar.

Pumpkin Egg Nog 

Add 1/2 cup Natural Pumpkin Flavoring to 1/2 gallon of (preferable home made) egg nog.

Pumpkin-Apple Bisque 

Add 2 cups apple juice to puree and bring to a boil. Add 1/4 heavy cream and 1 tsp salt. Bring back up to boil and allow to thicken slightly. Dust with cinnamon and serve with hot buttered bread and something salty (like some home made sausages on the side). 

Pumpkin Stew 

Add 1 cup puree to broth or braising liquid just before serving.

There you go! Pumpkin Everything!

On Sunday, Andy was able to realize a goal of his for the last decade; roast a whole animal in a pit in the ground. Ever since I met him in college, he has wanted to do a pig in the ground, wrapped in leaves, Hawaiian style. However, the very act is incredibly intimidating. It's not like people do this every day and you can flip to page 53 in your Betty Crocker cookbook. Also daunting is if the process goes wrong in any number of ways, you've potentially ruined an entire animal, not just a single cut of meat.

When the weather threatened to freeze off our tomato plants last Saturday night, we took advantage of a slow day at home and went to the back yard around noon to grab the last of the red 'maters from the garden. Unlike the previous sweat-filled harvesting sessions, we were bundled up in warm jackets and hats at first before the sun broke and the heat of our efforts caused us to shed a layer.

Andy came out and helped, too, as my ability to bend and pick has greatly diminished as the months wear on. Ethan again showed laser beam dedication to the cause, easily picking his own weight in tomatoes before asking to go ride bike. Elly was a bit harder to keep focused and I finally had to give her a tangible goal of filling two grocery bags before she was excused to hop on her two-wheeler.

   

Before we were even half way through the rows (if you can even figure out where the rows are in the photo above), two neighborhood boys came zipping through the alley on their Razr scooters. I'd seen them before. In fact, a few weeks ago, I'd been out weeding while our kids played and they came by, asking if I had any jobs for them to do. I was amused as I had heard about this; people paying local kids to rake the leaves or mow the lawn for them. While our lawn really needed it, we didn't have petty cash budgeted for jobs we could do ourselves. I weighed the value of the work they could do verses our saving money, and in the end I was just too far outside my comfort zone to give them anything to do. As it was, they were happy to play with our kids in the yard while I worked, which benefited all. I have seen them around here and there since that day and each time the boys were very friendly and waved hello or asked what we were up to.

There are a lot of kids around our neighborhood, ranging in age from baby to teenagers. Most of them are pretty indifferent to our family and won't even acknowledge when our overly outgoing kids yell "Hello!" to them. There's a pack of them that hang out at the end of the alley on school nights, all sitting on bikes and chatting idly as the evening creeps in. We call them the Biker Gang and deem them about as harmless as the Apple Dumpling Gang. I'm not sure if these two boys are a part of that group, but of all the kids we've seen zoom past our backyard this summer, they have been the most polite.

I was pondering all of this when the boys stopped on the road and asked what we were up to. Smiling, I said, "What does it look like we're doing?"

"Harvesting tomatoes," said the brown haired boy.

"That's right!" said I.

"Can we help you!?" he asked with such fervor that I wasn't sure what to make of it.

I hesitated. "Well, we don't really have any money to pay you for your time–"

Brown Haired Boy responded before the words were out of my mouth. "That's ok! Just give us a bag and we'll help 'til you're done!"

"Wow, ok! And if your families like tomatoes, you can pick some to take home."

Brown Haired Boy dropped his scooter on the grass and his friend, Blonde Haired Boy did the same. Andy handed them some bags and they began grabbing beautiful ripe tomatoes and filling each respective bag until they had quite the haul. We asked them where they lived. Blonde Haired Boy lives on the very end of the alley, in the house closest to where Biker Gang congregates. Turns out, it's his family that has a small bike repair business in their garage and every time we walk past, someone is working on a bicycle with countless pieces of two-wheelers scattered about the garage floor. (that might explain Biker Gang a bit). Brown Haired Boy lives on the next parallel street to ours and is best friends with Blonde Haired Boy.

Finally I asked them their names. Brown Haired Boy turned out to be Austin. Blonde Haired Boy goes by Carter. Austin and Carter took their cache of tomatoes to Austin's house (down the block) to give to his mother. Andy and I kept picking, thinking that was the end of it.

We were very wrong, in a very blessed sort of way. Within minutes, we saw the boys walking back to our yard with a couple plastic bags bulging with produce. Behind them a woman just a bit older than us came with another bag. It was Carter's mother.

I was closest to the road as they approached and paused my picking to acknowledge her. She asked, "Do you like cabbage and carrots? We just harvested these from our garden and thought you might be able to use them, seeing as the boys told me you only grew tomatoes this year."

"A veggie exchange! How wonderful!" I exclaimed.

In fact, the bags were filled with squash, onions, beets, carrots and cabbage. What an incredible trade! They must have brought over three times as much as we gave them. Andy and I thanked her profusely while Austin and Carter began harvesting again. It was the first time we had met her and she and I talked about the gardening year and Carter's friendship with Austin. Soon she headed back home and the six of us continued to work in the garden.

Sooner than I thought, we had found every last ripe tomato. Because of the frost coming, we also picked any tomato that showed the least bit of ripening, including some that were by all accounts green, but yet had a shade of pink or orange on one side.

"Well, guys, I think we're done for today," Andy announced as we hauled our bags to the back of the house.

"Oh, do you have anything else we could do?" asked Austin. He is the more outgoing of the two.

"Actually, if you don't mind, it would help a lot if the tomatoes were sorted by ripeness, so we can process them before some go bad," I stated.

"OH YES! Please let us help sort the tomatoes!" both boys exclaimed. How could we resist that? Andy and the boys put all the harvest in one area of the lawn and began sorting by green, sort of ripe and super ripe. Below, you can see the group sorting together.

   

When the task was finished, they happily helped us haul the boxes and bags of produce up the stairs into our newly cleaned out back pantry. We're not really sure what the room is supposed to be. It shoots off our kitchen with a single door and is about four feet deep by fourteen feet long. There is a makeshift door to the backyard without a handle on the outside. The whole thing looks like someone put an afterthought into it and just tacked it to the back of the house. It looks a lot like an enclosed porch with very few windows. A few weeks ago, Andy cleaned it out from top to bottom and made it into a very useful storage space for our food, cleaning supplies and other odds and ends. This is where we'll be cold storing a lot of our winter produce as it keeps a solid temp of 40˚– 50˚. Below, just some of the produce Carter's family shared with us, neatly stored in existing boxes and containers left here by our landlord.

   

When the harvest was in, I asked everyone if they'd like to be in a photo for a blog I was sure to post. :) Of course the kids were super excited, so here are our harvesters from left to right: Carter, Austin, Andy, Elly, Ethan. Not pictured, me. Liam had been napping the whole time. Behind is the alleyway we speak of so often.

   

As Andy and I prepared a hasty lunch of three left-over soups, we invited the boys to stay and eat. While we worked in the kitchen, they played with our little ones. When it was time to eat, they helped set the table and politely tried each soup, even though they had never heard of two of the three we were serving.

During the meal we were able to get to know Carter and Austin a little better. They are both ten and go to school together at the elementary school just a few block from our homes. When they saw Andy spicing up his soup with some chipotle powder in his soup, they wanted to try it as well. Soon this escalated into a no-holds-barred heat-tolerance-man-show in which each young man at the table tried to up the ante with more and more hot sauces from our fridge. By the end, Austin was pretty red and sweaty, but Carter held his own, going spice for spice with Andy and keeping his cool (we even broke out Might Mustard and had them try it straight up)!

When lunch was over, they helped clean up the table and then offered to clean up all the toys they'd used when playing with our kids. Before I knew it, they had the broom out and my washcloth and were urging me not to leave the kitchen until they were ready for me to see their work. "Almost there! Don't look yet!" I kept hearing from the other rooms.

It really warmed my heart. And the whole experience from harvest to meal time with these two ten year olds got me thinking about the children in our cities. As I washed the dishes and listened to the hustle in the living room, I wondered how many of our children are craving the sort of attention these boys were. They were literally begging to be put to work by us and when they finished one job, they happily moved on to the next. I bet they would have cleaned our bathroom had we asked.

When I was growing up in the country, I had designated chores from early on. Pretty much as soon as I could wield a broom and feed calves, I was officially employed by my parents. I began getting a weekly allowance of a few dollars per week and I was able to save up for toys or art supplies that I really wanted. It gave me a sense of value as well as responsibility in my own home. I went to a country grade school in which most of my friends had farms of their own and had the same home life as I did. It wasn't until middle school when they blended the city kids with the country kids in one big city school (big for a small town I guess) that I began to see how the "other half" lived outside of the classroom. Many walked home, dumped their backpacks in their rooms and ran off to someone else's house to play video games or play basketball or just loiter in the streets in groups until the dinner bells rang. These kids had nothing to do!

As middle school gave way to high school, the separation between country kids and city kids was far less apparent as many of us got involved in after school sports and spent more time at the school going to games and participating in clubs. As I reflect, however, those of us with chores waiting for us at home were far less likely to be the ones getting in trouble. It wasn't a generality, of course, because those farm kids are very ingenious with the way they spent their midnight hours on a weekend. It wouldn't be a small town without someone having been toilet papered over the weekend and a party in the woods being busted. Still, the sense of purpose and a general ability to face down temptation was higher in those of us with something real to do after school.

As more and more Americans have moved away from the farm or countryside and grow up in pretty little suburbs with everything at their fingers, there is a sense of un-direction in the youth. We've seen it with the Biker Gang down the street. This mindset of "I've got four hours to kill between the last bell ringing and dinner. What do you want to do today?" is perplexing those kids. They WANT something to do. They crave responsibility. How many college students can't handle the freedom when Mom and Dad are no longer there to come home to? How many thirty year olds are back living in their parents' home?

I grabbed a soup pot and began scrubbing as the clamor in the other rooms continued.

An overall sense of un-direction. What a disappointing and depressing way to feel. Austin and Carter, at age ten, showed the initiative and drive that I'm sure most of those kids have to begin with. Humans are designed to feel needed and useful, especially the children. I think it's only from years of being trained otherwise that folks grow into the cog role that most adults fulfill. Work for the weekend and indulge in as much pleasure as possible between 5pm Friday and 8am Monday. 

It seemed to me that part of the reason Carter and Austin were the only polite kids on the block and so willing to help is a combination of desire to be needed and responsibility at home. I don't see them very much on the weekdays like I see most the other kids. I see them out and about on Saturdays, presumably their day off. The fact that they wanted to help us, then hang out with us, then eat with us and clean belied their own unique sense of family.

We seemed right to them. We felt safe. A garden was a familiar start for them to step into our world. We felt just as drawn to them, as if we could offer something for these boys that they might be missing.

"Ok, you can come look!" Austin yelped from the dining room. I was torn from my thoughts and the soup pot in my hands. I grabbed the kitchen towel and crossed the kitchen to the dining room door. "Wow!" I exclaimed, not even a bit exaggerating. They had washed the table, picked up the toys, swept the floor, put all the shoes in order, tidied up the end tables and folded the blankets in the living room. The place looked amazing and I'm not sure I could have done it better myself. Andy gave out boisterous high fives and I offered Mom-hugs to each child.

We sent them off with a bag of home-canned tomato products for their mothers and a handful of chocolate chips for themselves, and the promise that they were welcome to stop by anytime.

I really hope they take us up on that offer because it is genuine. Both of the boys were especially interested in what Andy had to say and followed his every move, whether he noticed or not. I felt very deeply that they needed us in some tangible way and who were we to brush that aside? I wish I had gotten their phone numbers so that I might call them over this week as we process tomatoes and make sausage. I know they would jump at the chance to learn a skill, to be useful. And their enthusiasm would be a wonderful influence on our small ones who are just learning the trades of self-sufficiency at home.

Yes, I'll be looking for those boys next Saturday, zipping by on their Razr scooters. We have so much we can share with them and I'm not really talking about the food.

This is how community starts in your own backyard garden.

PS: The freeze we were expecting never came. There will be another harvest before the week is out!

This time of the year, back to school and changing weather all signal one thing: COLD SEASON!

The Sell family is not immune, though we strive to be one of these years. When our family got hit hard just two weeks ago, we felt it out for a couple days to see what we were dealing with. As Ethan and I progressed through the coughs and sniffles, Andy, Liam and Elly remained immune. Within a week, however, Andy succumbed to some sort of cold variation that was completely different than Ethan's and my symptoms.

Within a few days, he was coughing very hard and deep. One day he was laid out completely and that's when we started looking online for symptom descriptions. I found a site on the Mayo Clinic website. There we saw that most of what he was suffering matched up to Whooping Cough, or Pertussis.

A home diagnosis is not as reliable as the sort of diagnosis a doctor's office would give, seeing as they take swabs and samples to verify in a lab. However, given the general public fear of this bacterial infection and the way we've seen whole families quarantined by the county, we decided to play it safe and keep Andy at home. Whenever there is a case of whooping cough, it is blasted all over the news and people are urged to get in right away for the pertussis shot or a booster, especially kids.

We don't believe in vaccinating our kids. As I write that, I realize I'm stating it like a religion, but that's how militant the government and local health authorities have gotten about vaccination. You pretty much have to say it goes against one's religion in order to get a "pass" for your family. That's messed up. One of the minor reasons we are homeschooling is so we don't have to compulsorily shoot up our kids for public school.

Many of you might believe differently about this and that's ok. I'm not here to make converts. Andy and I have simply done some research and looked deeper than the photocopied handouts from the CDC that we always get at each well-checkup. Being spoon-fed anything is not always Truth.

That being said, we didn't want one of several things to happen upon a doctor's visit:

1. Being forced to explain our kids' lack of "up to date" immunizations when it's none of their business.

2. Possibly being quarantined when we have no plans to leave our home anytime soon anyway.

3. Causing a major "outbreak" fear mongering of the media and hospitals.

4. The only thing doctors give for pertussis is antibiotics which we avoid at all costs anyway, since even one dose severely damages the essential gut flora necessary for proper immunities in the first place.

Whew. That was a lot. I'm getting to the point of this post, trust me!

While Andy lay resting in bed, I took a break to look up some herbal remedies for whooping cough and learn more about the infection online. I came across a wonderfully written blog article at Natural Home, a sister publication of GRIT magazine. We love Natural Home for its many eco-conscious building ideas and home accessories. One of their bloggers, Heidi Cardenas, had some ideas for licking the cough right at home with some common household spices and herbs. Her ideas explain the individual benefits of a variety of herbs and spices, each with its own cough-fighting properties.

Here is her link: Natural Home Remedies for Treating Whooping Cough

When I read the short post to Andy, he said..."That sounds a lot like the ingredients for mustard."

And so began our experiment: Mighty Mustard. Below, Andy details the ingredients and prep.

   

MIGHTY MUSTARD 

The flavor is intense. You may have to tweak it based on your level of taste comfort. Do this with water; you want a consistency like a thin paste or a slightly thick mustard. It will be slightly grainy and the onion and garlic will be very fragrant.

Use high quality, organic and raw whenever possible, especially the onions, garlic and ginger as they are the powerhouses of this recipe.

Ingredients 

1/4 Cup turmeric

1 half head garlic, peeled

1 Tbsp mustard

1/4 white onion

1 Tbsp mustard seed

4 Tbsp honey

1 Tbsp mineralized sea salt (we use Redmond's)

3 Tbsp fresh ginger (finely grated and compressed)

4 Tbsp Bragg's apple cider vinegar

water to taste/texture

1 Tbsp cinnamon

Add all but water to food processor and blend on high until VERY smooth. Slowly add the water until you are at the desired consistency. If the sharpness is too strong, cut it with another tbsp or two of honey. If it is still too intense, cut it with more water. Flavor mellows with age so the more you make the more palatable it is. Stays for up to a month in the fridge.

Take one tablespoon four to five times per day, or once every four hours when ill. Take as a condiment for preventative care whenever you are well.

The reason we are even sharing this with you all today is because it worked miraculously! Andy wanted to call it Spicy Death Kill because the intensity of the flavors melding together, but he dutifully took one spoonful every few hours washed down with a glass of water. We began this experiment late morning and by evening, he was showing a reduction in coughs by two thirds and when he did cough, it wasn't the deep body cough of the pertussis; it was a phlegm extracting cough. The garlic, ginger and turmeric are all expectorants, as well as anti-bacterial, anti-fungal and anti-spasmodic.

The next day Andy continued the regime and he was nearly back to his normal self with energy, vibrant color and very few whooping-type coughs (though some still crop up).

We are not doctors. We don't boast any sort of treatment background; we just know this worked in our family. It's worth a try in yours. You know ol' Gramps had some sort of ointment or oil he always took everyday and swore by it. Mighty Mustard (aka: Spicy Death Kill) might always be in our fridge as an immune building condiment. Perhaps it should be in yours as well!

PS: Don't be pushed into doing anything you are not sure of. The pertussis vaccine doesn't even work effectively beyond three years and when there have been outbreaks, just as many immunized people as un-immunized were sick with the cough. In fact in some cases, more immunized people were sick than those that had not taken the shot. Food for thought, friends:

http://articles.mercola.com/sites/articles/archive/2012/07/30/whooping-cough-vaccine.aspx 

For the Young’ens…or those with no heat tolerance like me! 

This is for my friend Jill, who had a very good question. She asked with the last post if there was a way to make the Mighty Mustard a little more palatable for kids not too keen on eating a super spicy condiment. Unfortunately, the mustard itself gets its kick from the very items that are the most healthy for one's body: garlic, turmeric, ginger and onions. While we discovered that the mustard's strong flavors definitely mellow after a day or two in the refrigerator and continue to mellow every day it sits, the Mighty-ness of the condiment remained far too strong for our children to take it with a smile.

Therefore, I had a backup plan for the kids. (And me!) We haven't seen the miraculously quick results of the one-day of treatment that Andy saw with Mighty Mustard, but we have seen results. As well, there is science behind these simple ingredients and they can be found at most health food stores. We found ours at NDC in Oshkosh for those of you local to the Fox Valley.

Remember, homemade or raw is best when you can get it.

Kid-Friendly Tonic for Cold and Flu

1 teaspoon Colloidal Silver (optional*)

1 teaspoon Elderberry reduction (syrup)

4-6 oz orange or apple juice (preferably fresh squeezed, but whatever you can get is fine)

Mix all three ingredients in your child's favorite cup and serve with breakfast. Tell them it’s a berry orange juice and let them have it. Serve up to four times per day for to 7 days.

   

Above, you can see the brands we found at Nutrition Discount Center last week. Both are super kid friendly and the directions tell you how much to serve based on age. I drank a teaspoonful of the elderberry syrup by itself as it was so tasty but my kids seemed to prefer it "watered down" with juice. Also, they are not sold with child safety caps, probably because it would be hard to overdose on a natural thing like elderberry. Even still, don't let your toddler grab it while you are preparing breakfast. They are smart little buggers and want to do exactly as Mommy does. See below for evidence of Liam's Hitler-esque elderberry experience.

   

Now that you have the recipe, I'll talk a bit on the health benefits of colloidal silver and elderberry.

Colloidal Silver

Much to our amazement, the slightly yellow water is nothing but silver added to water at the molecular level. That's it! But it's been used for centuries as an anti-bacterial agent and for disinfecting medical tools and instruments. When anti-biotics became prevalent in the 1940's, the use of colloidal silver declined dramatically until in 1975, the medical establishment declared that oral ingestion of the silver had no substantiated claims to helping build up immunities and clear out viruses for colds and flu.

*Now I am not medically trained and I don't have sufficient background to refute or endorse those claims. This is why I put it as optional in your tonic. We use it because we have talked to a couple people who have used it to great success in killing off all variations of the sorts of colds that hit people this time of year. Two actually are trained medical professionals and therefore gave us peace in allowing our kids to have a sip of this unique water.

Something to note here is that we swear by raw milk and will always drink raw milk, which has been consumed by humans for millennia. Only in the 1930's did they decide that maybe it might not be the best and then as the the years passed, it became a "serious public health risk." We have done our research on that and have decided to go with the alternative health community and drink to our hearts' content the un-cooked milk product the medical establishment so adamantly abhors. Not everything the medical community deems “worthless” is actually so.

Elderberry Syrup

This is far less controversial and I only looked it up after two moms in my world recommended it for our kids' colds. Knowing a tad bit on the herbal remedies that elderberries are known for, I looked into it further, lamenting that I had missed the season of harvest right here in my area by only a month or two. (Next year, baby!!)

Elderberry syrup alone is known for its ability to treat those with colds and flu, causing their symptoms to subside days earlier than those who did not take the elderberry. It has strong antioxidants and has even been used for anti-cancer properties in patients. Because it is readily available in the northern hemisphere, it makes sense to me that the berry has been used for so many centuries in North America, Europe and Asia for the curative remedies. Even the medical establishment is beginning to green light this one. :-)

Below is a link to a two minute video put out by Fox News just this past March on the health benefits of elderberry. Enjoy!

http://video.foxnews.com/v/1526868241001/health-benefits-of-elderberry/

I don't suppose it's a stretch to say that hanging up clothes on a braided white cord strung between two large trees is a form of homesteading, but I wanted to include it in my posts because it's such an easy way for people to take that "first step" into a more sustainable lifestyle.

The simple act of allowing the sun and breeze dry the clothes is certainly more time consuming than tossing a heap of wet clothes from one appliance hole into another. However, the meditative and environmental bonuses should outweigh the convenience...most of the time.

Obviously if laundry day(s) lands on an overcast or raining period, throwing the wash into the dryer is almost the only option. Or winter...don't see a lot of socks on the line in January. But I have seen laundry out with snow on the ground, so it is possible to be that hard core. And I have friends who have drying racks built into the walls of their great rooms for rainy days or winter time. So it's definitely possible. Of all the appliances our modern lifestyle afford us, I would say that the dishwasher and the dryer are the most un-essential. A small adjustment and you can get by perfectly without them.

[I don't count a microwave as an appliance that any household should have to begin with, so that doesn't make my list at all.]

Now before you think I'm stepping up to some hand-made soap box, I will be the FIRST to admit that our gravitation to hang laundry on the line came partly from necessity and...no, mostly that. When we first moved in to our house in April, the dryer plug did not fit the outlet and we had to wait about a week before the correct one could be installed. In our house, a week's worth of laundry might as well be a month! I had to get something washed and dried, so we bought some clothes line at the local Fleet Farm and looked for a place to set it up.

Despite two large side yards and a backyard to boot, there are scant few trees with which to string a line. The only option was two mature trees in the shared yard with our neighbors. Andy is a whiz with knots and came up with a hook and knot solution that tied the singular strand of cord to itself without pulling away under the stress of heavy, wet clothes. A single fat nail in each trunk keeps the line from scooting downwards as it wraps around the tree. And within minutes, we had our natural dryer all set in place.

  

I began the long process of "digging out" which took about two days of washing, drying and folding. After all, laundry is like the mail. There is always more the next day.

Then, just after our trip to North and South Dakota in July, our dryer gave out on us. It spun just fine, but the heating element was dead. So the clothes came out just as wet as they went in, albeit "fluffed." Given that I had purchased the dryer and washer before I met Andy from a college friend who had gotten them used before he began his own higher education, this put the manufacture date at least into the mid-1990's. 20 years is a good haul for a dryer in my opinion, and given the advent of Craigslist, we decided to line dry for the summer and save up for a dryer for the cold season.

We're still saving...and we just welcomed October. :-) Methinks it's gonna be a chilly end to the month and our basement will still be housing that old beast appliance.

We probably wash the equivalent of one full load per day, though I only get to it about every three days. Part of the reason our laundry content might be higher than the average family is because we use cloth diapers and cloth napkins...and we have kids. Who play outside.

  

When you hang your laundry out on the line, it takes a chunk of devoted time. About a half hour covers both ropes, but that is rarely enough to fit all our clothes. (perhaps if I did it everyday like I should, right?)

We can make it without a dryer, though as the cold mornings set in and I need longer and longer drying times to get the laundry in before dark, I'm longing for that ease of use which comes with an indoor, tumbling sun and breeze machine. When Baby #4 arrives, it will be a blessing to have one in place.

Therefore, I am not as hard core as some in this arena. I love the quiet, contemplative moments one can have while gently clasping a shirt to a cotton line. I love listening to the birds in the mornings and watching the kids play about me while I reach for another sock. Seeing the clothes swinging easily on the wind is also such a piece of Americana that even here in the city, I am taken back to the days on the farm.

However, as Andy can attest, I really want a dryer again! Just for the winter this time, I promise.

  

Hi Friends,

I was looking through some photos I took in 2011 and realized that we did a lot of homesteading even before we moved to Oshkosh. I documented many things we did, from canning to harvesting free apples to fishing, which I never wrote about in here.

Welcome to my series entitled "Homesteading Last Year." HLY for short, it's incredibly creative, don't you think? (sarcasm)

I'll have about ten in the series to pick up when things in the here and now aren't so very interesting or we're on another spurt of canning tomatoes and you are asking for Pete's sake, Becky, please don't blog about more tomatoes.

Fair enough! I'll begin the first blog today seeing as our household has been a bit under the weather and any sort of homesteading has been pretty nondescript.

HLY # 1: Fishin' in the Channel 

Last year we lived with a friend of a friend and he happened to have his home based securely on a man-made inlet. Everyone on the block had a boat dock and a boat. It was a nice upper-middle-class neighborhood and many of the things people owned or did were completely foreign to us simple folk. For instance, the few homes not situated on the channel housed their nice yachts in a small harbor at the end of the channel and would need to drive or walk from their home to go boating. We never did see anyone walking. But we did see several variations of golf carts or ATVs traversing the nicely paved roads on Saturday mornings. Our family preferred the solace of the backyard, small as it was, with its charming edible landscaping and terraced gardens. The dock sprouted right out of the lawn and made for a very picturesque scene, no matter what time of year it was.

  

Our host was an avid fisherman with his own bass boat, but during our stay we never saw him take it out. Every once in awhile we'd see him fishing for bluegill off the end of the dock, a few tip-ups at hand and a cold iced tea. Andy decided he would learn to fish.

He'd fished as a youngster with his paternal grandfather and knew the basics, but it had been a few years. He and Elly and Ethan dug for worms in the garden and grabbed a likely looking fishing rod from the garage, donned life preservers and headed to the dock. I stayed back with Liam, who was not yet walking and photographed the fun.

  

Yes, there's a fish in this photo! :-)

  

Removing the hook as gently as he can, Andy places the bluegill into the bucket.

  

The kids then poked at the catch with nets...

  

As all boy as Ethan is, he wouldn't touch the shiny fish.

  

Elly catches her first fish, with Daddy's help reeling it in!

  

Now one might not immediately think of fishing as a homesteading opportunity but little thought has to go into the idea. Talk about relatively free food! A little investment in supplies, some patience and a good fishing hole and you can potentially have hardy protein for the whole year through. The day we caught bluegills, the tiny filets lasted a single meal. However, with some prep and foresight, practice and time, one can catch a lot of fish and lots of larger varieties at that. Good ways to preserve fish besides freezing it is to smoke it or salt and brine it. Some even enjoy the flavor of pickled fishes (pointing at my own family for that one)!

In the Great Lakes Region and specifically in our area of Wisconsin, one must be cautious with fishing as the rivers and lakes are laced from years of paper factory pollution. Up until the late 1980's large local companies used the precious waterways to dump unwanted "refuse" completely unchecked. Only until the government began enforcing environmental laws written in the '70's did they clean up their own acts.

The legacy is fish that are laced with PCBs and other toxins that have harbored in the silt and sand along the bottoms of the rivers and streams. Bottom dwelling fish in specific are discouraged from being consumed wild, but since everything is connected in a delicate web, all fish from the water systems here must be carefully considered before consuming in large quantities.

How sad and unfortunate! Even as I type, the Fox River (which runs along the northern border of Foxwood Farm) is being dredged anew for PCBs. Our home here in Oshkosh is nestled within blocks of the Fox River as it pours into Lake Winnebago, Wisconsin's largest unshared lake. To our south is the river. To our east is the lake. We see people fishing during the various seasons. We don't fish. Not here. The ferries and barges with enormous dredging cranes float past daily and parts of the river are off-limits to boaters, small buoys and inflatable barriers marking just where they happen to be pulling up nasty dirt at any given moment.

So here one could feed themselves indefinitely on fish alone, yet be poisoning themself with every bite they take. The fish we caught near Winneconne came from a tiny man-dug inlet, but ultimately that water ends up in the Bay of Green Bay and out to Lake Michigan, up the St. Lawrence Seaway and to the ocean beyond. Nothing is an island when it comes to water. The best we can hope for is a spring fed lake and while they do exist crystal clear in part of the state, we don't know of any around here.

So, while we enjoyed our meals here and there at the channel, fishing for food will not be one of our mainstays for quite some time. Still, the idea has merit and if you can make it work where you live, we encourage you to commune with nature in that very unique way; taking what you need to live for the day or the winter and sitting out in the elements soaking it all in.

As I mentioned last week, I was inspired to keep writing in this blog, but I never fleshed out what I might be writing about. A short list of items includes homesteading, harvesting, unschooling and urban foraging.  

One of the sessions I attended at the Mother Earth News Fair talked about all the food she had within reach of her backyard, or on the roads she travels to and from work. Living in Maine, she had an abundant supply of wild blackberries, blueberries and raspberries. But she also found that the plants in her own garden, so often ripped out as weeds, were very edible and sometimes more nutritious than the very veggies she was trying to protect. 

In our home, we have already known from our time at Foxwood Farm that pigweed, purslane and lamb's quarter were very delicious and hardy weeds. The kids make a regular snack out of the purslane we keep in our backyard garden this year, pulling it between bike rides and the tree swing. They love the idea of foraging for food, even in this small way. Sometimes they'll bring me a stalk or leaf and ask if its food? After careful identification, I give them the thumbs up or down. Since I am so inexperienced in what herbs and plants can be consumed, most of the time it's been a thumbs down. 

Well, no more. I endeavor to learn every plant we can eat on our 1/2 acre lot we rent here in Oshkosh. 

An easy one to start with is our city garden. 

I suppose this can't be considered foraging as we intentionally dug up the ground and planted it with peppers and tomatoes. However, seeing as the spirit of foraging (especially in the city) is to be more self sufficient, the garden is our number one supplier of free* food. 

* We paid $30 at the beginning of the season for all the started plants and $15 for some makeshift fencing.  

In June, when I was holed away in an office for 12 hours per day, Andy took on more than most Stay At Home Dads (SAHD) do. He kept the kids wrangled and dug up a garden from sod that hadn't moved in well over a century. At first he did it by hand, spending three hours moving sod from a 6 x 3 foot patch of lawn. 

  

Then my father graciously offered the industrial sized rototiller we had used when we gardened at the farm. There is a setting on the tiller specifically made to uproot grasses and this made the work much more expedient, though still exhausting. 

  

We decided to make four rows, three feet across and about forty feet long, with three foot stretches of grass in between the rows. 

  

This was a good start for the garden. Good for this year. Next year we will likely expand it just as many rows. As it is, the plants we bought completely filled in the rows and we had no room for anything but tomatoes and peppers. We have some large stuffing peppers, but mostly hot banana peppers, which we think was a labeling error on the part of the gardener we bought from, as we never had a need for that many hot peppers. The tomatoes are two varieties; the classic red heirloom Brandywine and a new (for us) long-storing red tomato called Mountain Mist. You can easily tell the two apart both in appearance and flavor. It's nice to have a small variety; we usually have about 15 different tomatoes, but in the end, they all get boiled and canned and look about the same, even the colorful ones. 

Very late in June, shortly after my temp job ended, we planted the tomatoes and peppers in the fresh farm compost my father had driven over in the pickup truck. Since it came from several composting sites on Foxwood Farm, there was a rich variety of nutrients and compost age. A lovely black earth, Andy took the same tiller and worked it in with the hard, poor soil the sod had been hiding. At last, he used a hiller function on the tiller and gave us "raised beds." Not the fancy ones held in by gleaming white pine boards but certainly enough to keep the plants from drowning in case of a flood. (Little did we know in June that this would be a record breaking year of drought for not only Wisconsin, but over half of the United States. Drowning...not really a concern this year.) 

  
In the process of planting, we discovered lots of bones in the compost. Some were small. Some were large. Now before you get the willys, remember that this came from when Andy and I were still on the farm. Do you remember us talking about those sheep we purchased from a Craigslist ad? We had been told they were wormed before we got them, but shortly after their transition to Foxwood Farm, we lost three ewes in as many days. On a farm, all flesh is grass and they went into the newly formed compost pile to aid in fertilizing our fields in the coming years.  

We really didn't think about that very much after we left the farm. We had a nice little reminder of our time as shepherds and thanked the sheep for their contribution (however untimely) to our new garden here in Oshkosh. At the time of their death, could we have ever known how that compost would be used? It served as a simple reminder of how God works things out in much more perfect and complicated ways than we ever could.   

After the tomatoes were planted, we headed out west and came home to find an amazing growth spurt in both the tomatoes, but also the weeds. In fact, before we even put our luggage back in the house, Andy and the kids and I spent two hours weeding compulsively, before dusk and hunger pains shooed us indoors.   

 
Above, before mowing the walkways. Below, after. Isn't it beautiful? This of course, before the great tomato take over in about a month! 

   

After that, we kept the garden watered during July and August to preserve the parched plants. Our lawn was brown, but our garden was gorgeous. As the farm market vendors began to showcase their Early Girls and Cherry Tomatoes, we were beginning to get restless for our own brood to hatch. Plenty of green globes danced about the ever-expanding vines but nothing even hinted at ripeness. We bought our tomatoes from a vendor friend instead and dreamed of the first sun-warmed red fruit that would sit triumphantly on our kitchen counter, proclaiming to anyone who cared, "I'm as local as they get!" 

We didn't have to wait long. Early September came and we were getting a steady sprinkle of red maters  hanging out on our counter, waiting for bruschetta or BLTs or a simple slice and rock salt. Then...we didn't look for a few days. We got a heat wave followed by a steady rain for three days.   When the thunder clouds cleared, our own homegrown downpour had only just begun. As Ethan excitedly proclaimed, "It's tomato season everybody!" 

  

And we set to work. Since we didn't get the tomato plants staked in time, they literally took over the garden and even finding our grassy walkways was a tall order. All the super ripe fruits begin at the bottom, so much of the work is gently and firmly lifting a plant to find it's hidden treasures below. It's exhausting work for a normal person, but with my belly expanding daily and heat tolerance near zero, harvesting became quite the chore.   

Thankfully, I had two excellent helpers in Elly and Ethan...and Liam was just amusing to have around as he eagerly picked all the tiny green "balls" he could find. I found out that while Elly has an eye for the very ripe ones, Ethan was fearless, burying his small 3 year old body deep in the monstrous tomato plants for the red globes underneath. 

  

Over the course of the month, Ethan has been my best and most eager helper in the garden. As a middle child, it's sometimes hard for him to have a niche in the family. I want him to know that his help has been irreplaceable and of great value to his Mommy and Daddy.   

 
Once the harvest is in, the time comes for processing. This is where Andy takes over and shines as his personality must find the most efficient and effective ways to can food. Putting eager kids to work never hurts and much of canning is very kid friendly.  

 
One Sunday about two weeks ago, I had some pressing freelance work that needed to be completed by Monday morning. The tomatoes were just as dire. So beginning right after church, Andy began the long day of processing what we guessed to be 120 lbs of tomatoes.  

  

  

It was a long day indeed. Hours after the kids were in bed, he was still boiling water and slicing stems and peeling skins. Hours after I was in bed, he was cleaning the kitchen and making sure the last jars sealed. In all, he worked for 14 hours. We are now blessed with 50 quarts of stewed tomatoes and sauce. When I asked Andy if that would supply us for the winter, he laughed and said, "Maybe til Christmas!"   

It's a good thing that when I began harvesting tomatoes again this morning, we got 90 lbs in boxes and I still have 2/3 of the garden to pick.     

  

Our neighbors in our small block think we're nuts. Some even have gardens, but only enough to supply them for the fresh season. An older lady saw us weeding in July and asked if were had planted a truck garden. For those of you who may not know, truck gardeners were the equivalent of the farm market vendors of today; people who planted huge gardens with the intent to truck the produce into the nearby towns and cities to sell. No, we assured her, this was not our intent. We explained that we just liked to make our own food and her eyes brightened immediately. She told us a story of her own mother, canning away in the kitchen and how she had to help put the food by. We promised to share our harvest with her when the time came and she seemed delighted. "Can't beat homegrown tomatoes and how I do love to slice them and eat them fresh!"     

We love how a garden brings people in a small community together. The rag tag family down the alley comes by often and offers to pull weeds from time to time. The divorced hairdresser across the street checks up on the progress regularly as she has a green thumb for landscaping. The blended family two houses down has a little girl about Elly's age and after a few get-togethers, we gave the mother several tomatoes and hot peppers. Just yesterday her daughter came over with a homemade cake for us.  Just three days ago, we got a note in our mailbox from a handicapped woman who walks through our alleyway regularly. She asked for some of the green tomatoes for fried green tomatoes. She offered to pay for them, but we'll just give her a bag to enjoy. We'll certainly have enough! 

As the canning season winds to a close in the next two weeks (our first hard frost often lands in the first week of October), we will turn to other means of foraging and winter prep. As I'm actively learning, there's a lot of food out there if only we are willing to work for it.   

  

This brings me to the country garden.     

A few days ago, we headed about fifteen miles due west to the farm (formerly known as Foxwood Farm). My brother and his family live there now, keeping up the house and front yard quite beautifully. My father continues to raise crops and beef cows on the rest of the acreage while the fate of the family farm seems more securely in generational hands than when we first exited two years ago.     

One of the projects they are diligently working on is repainting the house and garage, no small task as they are doing it without help of a contractor. My parents and brother and sister-in-law have been working for the last month, prepping and priming and painting the wooden siding and sills. When Andy and I pulled in the driveway late in the afternoon, the house fairly glowed with fresh white paint. Ever the classic midwest farmhouse, she is doing well under new management. Having spent about 75% of my life in that home, I am pleased with the care being given.     

Our purpose, however, was not to supervise any home improvements that might be brewing. Today we came for pumpkins and potatoes.   

A joint project between my parents and my brother's family, a large field garden was planted with rows of sweet corn, pumpkins and potatoes. What used to be sheep and cattle pasture is now commercial corn. The temporary fences long taken down, the lane between fields offered ample access for a small strip of garden. Here is where the sweet corn and pumpkins grew. Across the lane, a small triangle of land with very sandy black soil holds the two long rows of potatoes.   

Last week the farm experienced an early frost, killing the family garden and causing the field garden to die down as well. My family harvested the pumpkins and brought them to the front lawn in hopes of selling a few to passersby. Mom and Dad have been involved in a year long fundraiser to build a well in sun-parched Uganda and decided that half the proceeds from pumpkin sales will go towards that cause. We thought it would be nice to see the operation and get a few orange cucurbits ourselves. 

  

I had hoped to help with the harvest, but they had to grab them last week when I was in PA, so we got to benefit from the season's labor by just walking amongst the beauties and choosing what we'd take home. Since we had no hand in helping grow the pumpkins and yet were invited to take some home free of charge, we chose sparingly.   

  

I was a bit surprised when the kids gravitated towards the smallest pumpkins in the group, but pleased that they could carry their prizes to the car all by themselves. It also gave them a sense of accomplishment, I'm sure. Even wee Liam managed to grunt a pumpkin over to Daddy before thumping it at his feet! 

And of course, the obligatory kids in the pumpkin patch photos ensued. :-) 

  

Elly with her new hat from Grampa Steve. 

   

Ethan, with his exuberance flowing through even a static photo. 

  

Liam, more than displeased to have been deposited in between these cold, slippery lumps of orange, attempting a fast get-away.   

After we chose our pumpkins, we drove down the dusty lane and began our subterranean search for potatoes. Again, beneficiaries of my family's hard work, we were thankful for the homegrown goodies that lay in wait of our digging fork. 

At five and three, Ethan and Elly have been two full years removed from the last potato harvest we undertook. I knew they wouldn't remember that potatoes grow underground. I asked Elly as we stepped out of the car where she thought the taters were. She looked around and guessed at the remains of the pumpkin patch across the pathway.   

Nope, we told her. You've got to look under the ground. She thought we were crazy and when I explained that a potato was part of the root of the potato plant, it didn't really help her dismay. The best way was to just show her. Andy and I had good fun playing up the digging experience. What could have been a sweat-inducing, mundane task became a veritable hunt for treasure as our children squealed in delight at the sight of each colorful tater emerging from the black earth. 

  

Here, Elly grabs handfuls of a red variety in which the name presently escapes me.   

  

Ethan and Elly work together to find the "baby ones" and add them to our grocery bag.   

  

Finding a particularly large potato caused ripples of excitement. 

  

Below, Ethan shows off his "Swimming Cow" potato which he dug himself. As I found in the tomatoes, Ethan was again our best helper, sticking with Andy as he dug for the duration of the hunt. Elly lost interest and began exploring the fields with Liam, which was fine. However, our Little Man here never lost focus. 

  

Before we knew it, we were joined by three of our nieces, who walked the 1/8th mile from the white farmhouse to join in the potato dig. They had come from digging potatoes with their own parents not one hour earlier, but enthusiastically helped us up and down the rows by finding the biggest and most unusual looking taters to add to our bag. In no time at all, we filled the bag much past our initial intent and had to call the search party to a close. With 6 pairs of helping hands, the abundance of food will last us a solid few months. 

  

Again, I am thankful for the generosity of our family in sharing the feast without any help from us during the season. We were able to share a 30 pound box of tomatoes which mutually helped us out. 

We intended to eat potato soup that evening for supper but by the time we were back in Oshkosh it was already 6pm and the kids were clawing at the windows for food. Poor planning, Mom and Dad! We stopped for pizza at Papa Murphy's instead. I know I know! We're not perfect by any means and we do love a good pizza... 

We had warm potato cheese soup for lunch the next day instead. :-)   

Hello dear friends,

I have been absent from this blog since before our vacation to the great West for a number of reasons. Besides my utter exhaustion at the end of the day from kids and pregnancy, the busy-ness of summer and gardening, homeschooling (we don't really stop learning once June hits) and working with  Gourmet Grassfed  has eaten a lot of my creative energy.

Finally, and probably the most important reason I have been absent is the fact that I had lost direction for this blog. You see, for the first three years it was pretty obvious that I was recording our efforts to make a farm into our lives. Then we moved to St. Brigid's and while I was not nearly as involved in day-to-day farm life, there were still plenty of interesting stories to share. But when we left that farm, began living in suburbia and living a much more "consumer" sort of life, I lost things to talk about.

Honestly, how many posts about my kids do you really want to read? Other than for immediate family and friends, there really was no point to me posting anything about what we were doing. So my motivation to write utterly dried up. I thought about blogging many times this past summer and each time my creativity shriveled with the thought..."but who really cares?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Enter an opportunity to go to the Mother Earth News Fair in Seven Springs, PA last week. Imagine my surprise when our acquaintance from Misty Moraine Creamery, Ms. Elizabeth Rich, needed some graphic design and social networking done for her budding cheese-making business. In the course of conversations about what sort of logo and Facebook site she wanted, she mentioned that she had an extra seat in her car and a free ticket to the Fair, as she was an invited presenter for the three day long conference. Andy and I, along with the much appreciated help of my parents, were able to swing it so that I might go and absorb all the homesteading, farming, sustainable goodness that the Mother Earth News Fair was bound to offer! (plus a chance to meet up with any of the fine folks from GRIT!)

What an amazing gift! Besides the obvious of a four day trip to another state, learning about great green-minded orgs and companies, and helping the Farm To Consumer Legal Defense Fund at their booth, I was able to reacquire a purpose for this very blog.

One of the sessions I attended was one giving homesteading tips and tricks. Much of what he said was very valuable, but I realized that I already knew 70% of what he was saying. Hmmm...

At another session, I learned more about eating for free in the city. Andy and I already have a name for this: Urban Foraging. Now, I don't know if we coined that term or if it's already well in use, but the session made me realize that we could be doing so much more to harvest food right in our own back yard. I learned the names of several edible plants that I know we mow down every week and it gave me ideas of where else we could forage for food. Some of you may recall last year when I talked about all the free apples we collected from neighbors who were just going to run them down with the lawn mower. This session gave me ideas for so much more than that! Another Hmmm...

Finally I attended a session given by a young farmer/author named Jenna Woginrich. The point of the session was to talk about making a side income on your farm (or business) by freelance writing, blogging and books. Very intriguing for me, as you might imagine. She currently has three books about farming and such under her belt, newly owns her own small farm, writes a very popular blog called Cold Antler Farm and freelances as a graphic artist. Plus she's pretty darn hilarious. Oh yeah...did I mention she's self sustaining on all of this side income and she just turned 30? Triple HMMMM!

The sessions I mentioned, along with a book I'm reading about homeschooling and fitting it in with one's crazy life as a mother and home keeper inspired me to begin my writing again, with much more effort and determination than ever before. I know I have ebbed and flowed here in the recent years, but I believe I have a serious direction that will sustain my creative juices. I would like to start recording our adventures as homesteaders in the city, actively relying on ourselves even as we pay utilities to a system that is susceptible to failure in a crisis. All of this, while actively learning more and more and saving towards our farm of the future. Andy and I worked through a new family routine that will help keep me on my writing track. He is incredibly supportive of my desire to be an author and will be an amazing accountability partner as we push this endeavor through.

We declared this just last night; that he would work on Gourmet Grassfed and his budding social networking business in the mornings and I would have time in the afternoons for writing, reading and more writing. Mornings I will keep house, homeschool, homestead and just be a mom. Afternoons, he will homestead, homeschool and just be a dad. It sounds beautiful to my ears.

No wonder that this morning, everyone slept in an hour late (missing the proposed breakfast start time), Ethan and I are downright sick with fevers and a chest cold and I have a ton of household chores staring me in the face, mocking my lack of energy and newfound enthusiasm for blogging.

Every declaration for positive change comes with a test, mark my words. We've seen it happen in our own household a dozen times.

We were not caught off guard at all. We are ready for it. And if the laundry doesn't dry on the line today...it's not gonna end the world. Certainly not ours!

So I've been there and I'm back again. I'm so happy to be blogging from the middle of the city as I watch squirrels plunder our black walnut supply out the office window. There will be more, much more, as we settle into our new routine.

In the meantime, God bless and keep the vision for your dream close to your heart. It's so easy to lose it in the dailiness of life. Sometimes we need just a few reminders to bring us back around. 

Since I last wrote you, more than a three monthhave passed. And so many things have changed. 

Let me begin at the beginning...which is actually the end of April when I chronicled the post below...

I had been hinting that we were looking for a place of our own and while our first choices were Omro or Winneconne, there was nothing affordable that truly fit our needs. That being said, we found a great old house to rent in downtown Oshkosh. It's the lower half of the home, with the upper being completely chaotic in the midst of renovation, so we don't have upstairs housemates and likely won't for a long time. The yard is roughly 1/3 of an acre, right here in the heart of the city. There are three bedrooms, a large farmhouse kitchen, one bathroom, a huge dining room and living room. Also of note is the sizable front porch and ample space in the lawn for a garden. The ceilings are 14' and the original hardwood floors and woodwork make this home full of character and style. For Andy and I, it was the next best thing to a home of our own on a farmette. As part of the rental deal, the landlord renovated a room in the basement to serve as Andy's work-from-home office, which he is utilizing daily.
   

Here is a view of the front from across the street. Elly is flying past on Ethan's balance bike. The yard on both sides is ours. There is an alley in the back since our street is a one way and our garage is in the very back. We love the porch and cannot wait for warmer weather so we can have meals out there. 
   

Also came with a tree swing in which Ethan here demonstrates his floating run. You can see the back alley and the kids toys to help you figure out what direction you are looking.

Inside, the home also came with a free set of bunkbeds which we needed for Elly and Ethan and a 1947 baby grand player piano. Andy is currently learning how to tune it himself. He's amazingly good at it since he can hear the notes perfectly. We've always wanted a piano!

Below, Liam and Ethan read books in one corner of the Elly and Ethan's room. Liam has his own space again, complete with crib (not a pack-n-play like he had for the last nine months) and rocking chair. It's the smallest of the three rooms and just the right size for him. (sorry, no photos yet).
  

I love the counter in the kitchen. The home came with two tall and stable bar stools that we fit into the corner when not in use. But we can fit the kids up there to help learn cooking and baking, or just watch us work in the kitchen. They love it and consistently fight over the two. Early on, Liam learned he could sit there too like the big kids and now he feels he has just as much right to a stool as anyone else. So...we figured out that if we scrunch the two stools together, we create a bench of sorts and then...

 

 

...Everyone can see! And, everyone can participate, just like they always wanted. Whew! 

Here Ethan works on some playdough while I blog and Liam naps. This is a shot of our kitchen with the 14' metal ceiling and farm kitchen cupboards. We had to put our canned goods and Grandma's cooking utensils on center stage. It just felt perfect. What you can't see is that we also had room for a "kitchen couch," thereby inviting guests and family alike to hang out in the kitchen when the cooking is being done. Let's be honest, it's where everyone gathers most the time anyway!

Fast forward to the month of June and there have been even more changes in our life...

1. I got a hair cut (ok, not that big of a deal, but it's still a nice change to mention). Before, then after!

 
2. Andy and I celebrated 6 years of marriage on May 6th! (and the reason I cut my hair; a gift to Andrew as he loves short hair on me)

3. Elly turned 5 years old on May 9th. (so soon!?)

 
4. Elly completed her first dance class with a single recital for all the kids in the Omro grade school gym. She was very excited about it, but after three months, she was definitely done with dancing.

5. I got a full time job.

6. We learned we are pregnant with our fourth child!

The last two combined caused me to be utterly spent at the end of each day and the thought of even checking my email made me want to curl up in a coma and sleep for a week.

My job was a temp job with a local corporation doing layout design and typesetting. Very agreeable work, but long hours. My longest week was 70 hours and the shortest was a typical 40. I say was, because the job ended last week. I had about 5 solid weeks of hard work and good pay to help us bank up a little reserve for the summer.

During that time, Andy took over being the head of the domestic arts and excelled at being father, chef, house-cleaner, home schooler and playdate maker. At any given moment, I'd receive an email at work with a photo of the kids' current events. It was very heartening for a newly working mother to know that all was safe, sound and very well at home. He put in a large garden in our back yard and nice looking fence row of raspberry transplants across the front of the yard. It was three weeks of intermittent labor, but it all looks amazing now!

I only had one incident at work in which the morning sickness overcame me but I was able to make it to the bathroom in time. JUST in time. Thankfully, I have come out of morning sickness stage and though I am still drained at the end of the day, I can eat most foods set in front of me. We think I'm due about New Years.

Because we weren't planning this fourth addition, we are now in need of a mini-van again. While the Plymouth Breeze has served us well, it won't fit another car seat in the already crowded back seat. :-)

That was our past two months. Really, really nutshelled that one, but I need to move on with current events. And naps are ending in T-minus ten minutes, I just know it!

In a couple weeks, our family has the privilege to travel for the Wisconsin Farmer's Union to North Dakota. This is for their FUE (Farmer's Union Enterprise) Young Couple's program. We applied to be this year's couple and were chosen to represent Wisconsin amongst four other states: Minnesota, North Dakota, South Dakota and Montana. We will have the opportunity to travel to five locations across the nation in the next year starting with this leadership retreat in Medora, ND. The kids are welcome and we are making a family vacation out of it.

After the three day retreat we plan to visit some friends of ours in Colorado Springs from our CO days. However, with the wildfires causing so many homes destroyed, our friends may be evacuated! Our prayers are with them...

On our way home, we hope to visit our favorite editors at Grit and Mother Earth News!

Dear Grit Family,

We have been so caught up in day to day life that I have not been taking the time to properly update you on the interesting things in our life. Truth be told, much of what we have been doing might not even be interesting to you, so it's been hard for me to justify sending along a blog post. However, I felt that something must be told about our lives and so I've taken a compilation of a few blog posts from my personal writings and put them together here for you, as sort of a rundown of our last two months.

(Early February) Learning to Breathe; Learning to Sew

Since we last spoke, I have dug deeper into creating things and developed an new found love of sewing! As I was hand sewing another felt toy, it occurred to me to look up patterns online of other toys I could make and well, let's just say Pandora knew I was coming. After about an hour of collecting free patterns of felt toys I could make, I realized that I could sew more, and faster, if I used a sewing machine and other materials. I began an Amazon search for books on making toys and that led me to look into popular books on learning the art of sewing from the ground up.

When I was younger, I learned to sew pillows with my mom. She was always mending my father's work jeans and my play clothes, as well as make the occasional window curtain or throw pillow for the house. I didn't really have an interest beyond pillow making and eventually, quit sewing along side her. It became obvious to me that I needed to revisit sewing with Mom and picked up the phone to ask her if she'd like to teach me how to sew...again.

She was delighted to work with me and we began informal lessons at her house, using her machine. With my birthday a week or so away, I asked to get a couple sewing books I'd found online and sure enough, they arrived at my door just after I turned 31. So there it was. A rabbit trail that led me to a destination I never even considered a mere two weeks ago. I now had a deep desire to become a sewist.

It had evolved past the toy making stage into a real desire to make things, useable things, for the family. I have been working through my new book, Stitch by Stitch, which takes you through step by step lessons and each project is not only practical, but builds upon the previous skills. It's incredibly thought out and the author's conversational tone makes me absolutely love it. Plus, it comes with a CD of patterns you can print.

Needless to say, I am excited. I'll take pictures of my projects as I complete them so you can follow my progress. Right now I am completing my fourth and fifth "mini-project" which teaches necessary skills before launching into a full blown sewing assignment.

As well, our family has been learning to Breathe. It's a reference to an early 2000's Switchfoot song, but in our instance, it applies to learning the art of patience before the Lord. We greatly desire another parcel of land to make a farming go of it (though not so large scale as at Foxwood), but financially, it would be very miraculous to make that happen. So we are continuing to work hard at building up Gourmet Grassfed, building up our family and reading as much as we can about homeschooling, sustainable home building and living off the land. Meanwhile, we are actively looking for a place to truly call home. A place in the country, some pasture, a home with a few bedrooms. Nothing fancy. Just some place we can garden, maybe keep a few chickens and return to some self sustainability. We eagerly anticipate a home for us. In the meantime, we're learning to just breathe.

(Mid March) Near Death; Near Life

Something about nearly dying seems to change a person and those around them. A couple weeks ago, Andy's father, Steve (whom I've written about many times on this blog) collapsed at work with a heart attack and had it not been for his quick thinking boss, the proximity to a hospital and a host of other little miraculous things, I'd be posting about a funeral instead. In my family's little world, we got the call while participating in a home school group at a local church. We rearranged plans and whipped the kids into the car and headed to Madison to see the patriarch Sell. At the time, no one was sure what happened when he blacked out, but after several tests and an invasive procedure, they determined he indeed had a heart attack and that he would need a quadruple bypass surgery within days. Thankfully we had a bunch of prayer warriors behind us and the knowledge of modern medicine in our corner. Today, a mere two weeks since the surgery, he is home and resting and even beginning physical therapy a few times per week.

This comes after our niece Maddy was diagnosed with Ewing's Sarcoma, a rare bone cancer in it's fourth stage. At one point during Steve's stay in Madison, Maddy was mere blocks away at the University hospital receiving her next dose of chemotherapy. Steve and Maddie both had laptops in their respective rooms and Skyped each other, laughing if nothing else, at the oddness of the situation.

On top of everything, most people weren't aware that Andy had just had light surgery to remove a "pre-cancerous" growth on his upper back. After Maddie was diagnosed in December, we decided to have a few odd moles and bumps on Andy's back looked at. Most of the biopsies returned negative, but they removed about five moles anyway. One, however, had warning signs of cancer and they wanted to get it out while the gettin' was good. In light of everything else going on, it seemed like the only thing to do.

And so, Andy is in the clear. But seeing his ten year old niece suffer every other week with chemo and his 60 year old father reduced to merely walking about the house every two hours motivated him to make some daily life changes. One can only change themselves after all and while we eat relatively healthily, our lifestyle is pretty sedentary. For the last three weeks, Andy has been working out nearly every morning in our family room to some Maximized Living DVDs. The concept is built on short bursts of serious workout. The whole thing never lasts more than 12 minutes each day, but it's pretty amazing how much body fat is burned and how much strength is built. I encourage him to "get down there and do it" when he needs it, but most mornings he flips that DVD on with no words from me. Elly and Ethan sometimes "workout" with him and that's when I realized that his motivation is being passed on to the next generation.

This is where change happens. In the home, by example and with intentionality.

Hopefully for you, it doesn't take a near tragedy to snap you into shape. Steve is already eating more greens as they have him on the Mediterranean diet. I'm not sure what that means exactly, but when we visited a week ago, we saw more organic items and green leafy veggies in the fridge than we ever had before. I remember making a salad for my in-laws when we first began farming. Everything in that salad had been grown in our own garden. At the time, I had no idea that Steve just didn't eat salads. He politely took a small amount on his plate and found himself amazed that he scooped up seconds. I guess home grown can make a difference. I'm hoping to help him set up a container garden for his deck this summer. That way, the deer and rodents won't get at them and he can easily walk out and pick a tomato or pepper as needed. We are excited for the coming months of recovery on everyone's part.

Maddie still fights on with an amazing hopefulness about her. We have been strapped for disposable income the last couple months and visiting her has been hard to coordinate. We can Skype with her from time to time at least and are thankful for that modern convenience.

In more recent news, Andy and I have been looking for a home of our own. In fact, we've had a couple of months of trying to figure out just what the heck we want and after looking at a few farmettes in the area and whether or not to rent some place or buy some place, we hit upon it. We are going to save up and build some place. Not just any place, but a completely sustainable home that uses the best technology to heat, light and cool nearly completely off the grid. Where, you might ask? Below, a panorama I pieced together in Photoshop looking at the countryside from a hill...

Let me tell you. There is a patch of land that contributed to Foxwood Farm back in the day, but we never really counted it as part of the acreage because 8 miles and the Fox River sat in between the two parcels of land. My parents bought this piece of land a few years before they purchased Foxwood (though it wasn't called that then) in 1978. They lived in the home on the property and Dad cash cropped the roughly 30 acres. When they had opportunity to buy the home farm, he kept the land and sold off the house, plus one acre. For the last 30+ years, it has been cropped for corn, soybeans, wheat and alfalfa (hay). The parcel is on a hill that overlooks the small town of Omro and even the Fox River. It's wonderfully situated with a south facing slope with a rim of woods on the southeastern side. We proposed to my parents that we'd like to eventually purchase an acre and build a home up there. Then, as we were able, we would buy the rest of the farm land. They were immediately receptive and expressed desire to see it go into family hands.

Dovetailing into this conversation is the fact that for the last 5-6 years, Andy has been passively "building" our dream home in his head. It began as a log cabin, then a yurt, then a hybrid of a few other designs, but after seeing the gorgeous slope northwest of Omro, he was able to put all his learning and knowledge together to plan out a bermed home that will serve as our place of refuge for the foreseeable future. Once the home is built, we'll add a couple small outbuildings to house our animals and continue to build our homestead each year as finances allow. Below, you are looking west and the crest of the small hill is "The Other Farm." The trees to the south are the border for the land and the road marks the northern end of the property. It's not much to look at in March, but just wait until June!

Until then, however, we have been given permission to rent a single acre to start a garden and an orchard. We figure it will take an orchard a few years to get established and it would be nice to have it close to functioning when we move in. So, where do we live until then?

We are pretty sure we've found a nice interim place to live in Oshkosh, but since that is not a done deal yet, I will not mention it just yet. Our friends at Grit Magazine have been watching us collect books that deal with sustainable home building, water systems for those not hooked up to a sewer, solar heating books, alternative energy sources for the home and a myriad of other great home design books. They had to know something was up!

So as the 70˚ winds blow across our brown, March landscape, all we can think about is planting and digging in the earth and beginning anew. The thought of having our own stuff back from storage (as pared down as it is) is also very exciting to us. To have chickens again is probably the most thrilling for me. But I digress...there is a lot of planning and dreaming that must happen before any of this comes to pass.

Andy has been named President of Gourmet Grassfed which is really cool until you remember that he is one of two people actually running the company. :-) But this allows him to focus like a laser beam on efficiency and production while Ben takes CEO role and dreams big for the company, and the community. This delineation of roles will be good for them, and has already proven interesting as they learn how to live within their boundaries. I can't wait to see what they come up with next.

(Mid March) Sewing Update 

It's been too long since I updated you on my sewing endeavors. Well, there hasn't been much to report. The last time I dragged the ol' machine out was nearly a month ago. I took these photos of my creations. The paw print here is a study in embroidering with a standard wide stitch. Since I don't have a fancy embroidering sewing machine, this was quite a lesson in spacing and turning fabric and making sure the cloth didn't pull too much. Luckily, we found a plain shirt of Elly's that was a thicker cotton and didn't stretch nearly as much as most shirts would have. She is excited for warmer weather in which she can wear her "new" shirt. She picked out the material from my mom's scraps and since it was a fuzzy leopard print, I thought making a paw would be fun. The lesson asked you to make a heart so that you got a nice combination of straight edges and curved for your first time embroidering. After working on the main pad of the paw, I was wishing I had stuck with the heart. In the end, it's not perfect, but it will hold and from a distance, the paw print looks just fine.
 

My next project was more fun. I was to pick out a cotton print and make a set of four formal napkins. We already use and love cloth napkins in our home, made especially for us courtesy of Sarah.  I was excited to try my own. In this lesson, I learned how to miter edges and work with an iron. I also used an over-stitch to keep the edges of the cut fabric from pulling out. Below is the result. I ended up giving these to Steve for his birthday last week (yes he celebrated in his hospital room!) to use as handkerchiefs. My grandpa on my father's side used handkerchiefs and I was very fond of him. So the fact that my father-in-law uses them is not off-putting to me at all. In fact, it is very endearing.

Dear Grit Family,

Our lives have been an interesting mix of super busy, yet busy with things that might not interest you. However, I felt that an update was needed nonetheless. I am going to put together a few posts from the last month or so to help fill in the gaps on our family's journey. We are always moving, as I'm sure you are too, so there's always something to write about.

~˚~~~~~~~~˚~

(Late February) 

Since we last spoke, I have dug deeper into creating things and developed an new found love of sewing! As I was hand sewing another felt toy, it occurred to me to look up patterns online of other toys I could make and well, let's just say Pandora knew I was coming. After about an hour of collecting free patterns of felt toys I could make, I realized that I could sew more, and faster, if I used a sewing machine and other materials. I began an Amazon search for books on making toys and that led me to look into popular books on learning the art of sewing from the ground up.

When I was younger, I learned to sew pillows with my mom. She was always mending my father's work jeans and my play clothes, as well as make the occasional window curtain or throw pillow for the house. I didn't really have an interest beyond pillow making and eventually, quit sewing along side her. It became obvious to me that I needed to revisit sewing with Mom and picked up the phone to ask her if she'd like to teach me how to sew...again.

She was delighted to work with me and we began informal lessons at her house, using her machine. With my birthday a week or so away, I asked to get a couple sewing books I'd found online and sure enough, they arrived at my door just after I turned 31. So there it was. A rabbit trail that led me to a destination I never even considered a mere two weeks ago. I now had a deep desire to become a sewist.

It had evolved past the toy making stage into a real desire to make things, useable things, for the family. I have been working through my new book, Stitch by Stitch, which takes you through step by step lessons and each project is not only practical, but builds upon the previous skills. It's incredibly thought out and the author's conversational tone makes me absolutely love it. Plus, it comes with a CD of patterns you can print.

Needless to say, I am excited. I'll take pictures of my projects as I complete them so you can follow my progress. Right now I am completing my fourth and fifth "mini-project" which teaches necessary skills before launching into a full blown sewing assignment.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As well, our family has been learning to Breathe. It's a reference to an early 2000's Switchfoot song, but in our instance, it applies to learning the art of patience before the Lord. We greatly desire another parcel of land to make a farming go of it (though not so large scale as at Foxwood), but financially, it would be very miraculous to make that happen. So we are continuing to work hard at building up Gourmet Grassfed, building up our family and reading as much as we can about homeschooling, sustainable home building and living off the land. Meanwhile, we are actively looking for a place to truly call home. A place in the country, some pasture, a home with a few bedrooms. Nothing fancy. Just some place we can garden, maybe keep a few chickens and return to some self sustainability. We eagerly anticipate a home for us. In the meantime, we're learning to just breathe.

~˚~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~˚~

(Mid-March) 

Something about nearly dying seems to change a person and those around them. A couple weeks ago, Andy's father, Steve (whom I've written about many times on this blog) collapsed at work with a heart attack and had it not been for his quick thinking boss, the proximity to a hospital and a host of other little miraculous things, I'd be posting about a funeral instead. In my family's little world, we got the call while participating in a home school group at a local church. We rearranged plans and whipped the kids into the car and headed to Madison to see the patriarch Sell. At the time, no one was sure what happened when he blacked out, but after several tests and an invasive procedure, they determined he indeed had a heart attack and that he would need a quadruple bypass surgery within days. Thankfully we had a bunch of prayer warriors behind us and the knowledge of modern medicine in our corner. Today, a mere two weeks since the surgery, he is home and resting and even beginning physical therapy a few times per week.

This comes after our niece Maddy was diagnosed with Ewing's Sarcoma, a rare bone cancer in it's fourth stage. At one point during Steve's stay in Madison, Maddy was mere blocks away at the University hospital receiving her next dose of chemotherapy. Steve and Maddie both had laptops in their respective rooms and Skyped each other, laughing if nothing else, at the oddness of the situation.

On top of everything, most people weren't aware that Andy had just had light surgery to remove a "pre-cancerous" growth on his upper back. After Maddie was diagnosed in December, we decided to have a few odd moles and bumps on Andy's back looked at. Most of the biopsies returned negative, but they removed about five moles anyway. One, however, had warning signs of cancer and they wanted to get it out while the gettin' was good. In light of everything else going on, it seemed like the only thing to do.

And so, Andy is in the clear. But seeing his ten year old niece suffer every other week with chemo and his 60 year old father reduced to merely walking about the house every two hours motivated him to make some daily life changes. One can only change themselves after all and while we eat relatively healthily, our lifestyle is pretty sedentary. For the last three weeks, Andy has been working out nearly every morning in our family room to some Maximized Living DVDs. The concept is built on short bursts of serious workout. The whole thing never lasts more than 12 minutes each day, but it's pretty amazing how much body fat is burned and how much strength is built. I encourage him to "get down there and do it" when he needs it, but most mornings he flips that DVD on with no words from me. Elly and Ethan sometimes "workout" with him and that's when I realized that his motivation is being passed on to the next generation.

This is where change happens. In the home, by example and with intentionality.

Hopefully for you, it doesn't take a near tragedy to snap you into shape. Steve is already eating more greens as they have him on the Mediterranean diet. I'm not sure what that means exactly, but when we visited a week ago, we saw more organic items and green leafy veggies in the fridge than we ever had before. I remember making a salad for my in-laws when we first began farming. Everything in that salad had been grown in our own garden. At the time, I had no idea that Steve just didn't eat salads. He politely took a small amount on his plate and found himself amazed that he scooped up seconds. I guess home grown can make a difference. I'm hoping to help him set up a container garden for his deck this summer. That way, the deer and rodents won't get at them and he can easily walk out and pick a tomato or pepper as needed. We are excited for the coming months of recovery on everyone's part.

Maddie still fights on with an amazing hopefulness about her. We have been strapped for disposable income the last couple months and visiting her has been hard to coordinate. We can Skype with her from time to time at least and are thankful for that modern convenience.
 

~˚~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~˚~

In more recent news, Andy and I have been looking for a home of our own. In fact, we've had a couple of months of trying to figure out just what the heck we want and after looking at a few farmettes in the area and whether or not to rent some place or buy some place, we hit upon it. We are going to save up and build some place. Not just any place, but a completely sustainable home that uses the best technology to heat, light and cool nearly completely off the grid. Where, you might ask?

Let me tell you. There is a patch of land that contributed to Foxwood Farm back in the day, but we never really counted it as part of the acreage because 8 miles and the Fox River sat in between the two parcels of land. My parents bought this piece of land a few years before they purchased Foxwood (though it wasn't called that then) in 1978. They lived in the home on the property and Dad cash cropped the roughly 30 acres. When they had opportunity to buy the home farm, he kept the land and sold off the house, plus one acre. For the last 30+ years, it has been cropped for corn, soybeans, wheat and alfalfa (hay). The parcel is on a hill that overlooks the small town of Omro and even the Fox River. It's wonderfully situated with a south facing slope with a rim of woods on the southeastern side. We proposed to my parents that we'd like to eventually purchase an acre and build a home up there. Then, as we were able, we would buy the rest of the farm land. They were immediately receptive and expressed desire to see it go into family hands.
 

A view of the 25 acres from the east, looking west.
Dovetailing into this conversation is the fact that for the last 5-6 years, Andy has been passively "building" our dream home in his head. It began as a log cabin, then a yurt, then a hybrid of a few other designs, but after seeing the gorgeous slope northwest of Omro, he was able to put all his learning and knowledge together to plan out a bermed home that will serve as our place of refuge for the foreseeable future. Once the home is built, we'll add a couple small outbuildings to house our animals and continue to build our homestead each year as finances allow.
 

On the hill looking towards the road, north.
Until then, however, we have been given permission to rent a single acre to start a garden and an orchard. We figure it will take an orchard a few years to get established and it would be nice to have it close to functioning when we move in. So, where do we live until then?

We are pretty sure we've found a nice interim place to live in Oshkosh, but since that is not a done deal yet, I will not mention it just yet. Our friends here at Grit Magazine have been watching us collect books that deal with sustainable home building, water systems for those not hooked up to a sewer, solar heating books, alternative energy sources for the home and a myriad of other great home design books. They had to know something was up!

So as the 70˚ winds blow across our brown, March landscape, all we can think about is planting and digging in the earth and beginning anew. The thought of having our own stuff back from storage (as pared down as it is) is also very exciting to us. To have chickens again is probably the most thrilling for me. But I digress...there is a lot of planning and dreaming that must happen before any of this comes to pass.

Andy has been named President of Gourmet Grassfed which is really cool until you remember that he is one of two people actually running the company. :-) But this allows him to focus like a laser beam on efficiency and production while Ben takes CEO role and dreams big for the company, and the community. This delineation of roles will be good for them, and has already proven interesting as they learn how to live within their boundaries. I can't wait to see what they come up with next.

~˚~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~˚~

 I have not sewed anything else since these and while I long to get back on the machine nearly daily, I have since returned my mother's sewing machine to her house, realizing that until I can have a permanent spot for sewing, it's just not going to happen. In order to sew these napkins I had to have Drew watch the kids in the basement nearly a whole afternoon and that's just not practical. I think we'll be able to set something up in our new place so that I can continue on my learning journey. That's all for now!

I like this shot of Liam and Ethan rolling around together and reaching for the camera woman. Life isn't always this rosy for these two boys. Ethan is nearly three and hitting some cognition milestones in which he's realizing that life can be his fault, too. What I mean by that is he's figuring out that bad things can happen and it just might be because of his actions (a time out after pushing over Liam, a bruised knee after running around a corner too fast, time spent alone in his room after throwing a tantrum over something he already knows we won't give him). Needless to say, he's really pushing the boundaries we set in this family, as a way to understand this new-found realization. Liam is pushing physical limits by crawling everywhere, achieving stairway mastery (both up and down) and cruising like crazy. He has taken a few hesitant steps, numbering no more than five in a row, for the last month. He's been fooling all his immediate relatives into thinking "it'll be any day now!" when he keeps relying on the tried and true crawl.

Together, Liam and Ethan are definitely attracted to each others' boyness. They can be found plotting little boy schemes in hidden areas and the gentle beginnings of wrestling have already begun.
 

While Elly is invariably a sister, she's also a little mommy to her brothers and therefore has a different sort of relationship with them. She adores her baby brother and loves the fact that Ethan is now old enough to pretend and play-act with her and her elaborate imaginings. She cares for Liam by "helping" him more than she should and gets super concerned if he nears anything that might resemble trouble.
 

Liam just thinks all this playing and mothering and brother scuffling is par for the course. It's certainly been interesting as a mother to watch all these developments for each child. With our ability to be home as much as we are, Andy and I have been deeply pondering the best way to raise our children. We are unique to most families in that we both work from home nearly all the time. We are blessed by this and actively try not to take it for granted.

It was just last week, as I struggled with our home school routine for Elly, that I questioned how I would manage homeschooling her full time next year (for kindergarten). I've been struggling not only with finding a regular time slot in which the schooling takes place, but also the manner in which we school. I picked up a workbook to help Elly with her letters initially, as she was interested in learning the alphabet in writing. And at first, there was great enthusiasm. But it didn't take long for her to become frustrated with the nature of the workbook...and the way I must have been teaching her. I'm fond of saying that there's a reason I didn't go to college for a teaching degree. I just don't have the patience, let alone the talent for lesson plans, that would go into a formal classroom.

I began to question our choice to keep Elly home. While there is no requirement for 4K or even kindergarten in our state, soon I would need to be sure what we wanted for her...public school or home. I admittedly had been feeling a lot of pressure from the circles we run in, to keep her home and out of "the system." And when I talked it over with Andy last week, saying I just couldn't keep this up with Elly and that we needed to send her to "regular" school for Kindergarten...something inside me said, "You've got to keep looking."

I then recalled a book I had picked up from the local library on a subject I had referenced to me by my friend (and fellow homeschooling mother) Rita. It was sitting on the shelf for the last four weeks untouched due to the holidays and suddenly I knew I had to read it. The book was all about the concept of Unschooling.

Unschooling is a term that is very new to me, but as I read through the questions and answers in this particular book, it became abundantly clear to me this was a direction we could take Elly's (and the other children's) home education.

Are you familiar with Unschooling? The idea stems from a general disdain for one-size-fits-all, lowest-common-denominator Western education system most people entrust their children with. I was already half way there just in the simple fact that we wanted to home school in the first place. In reading this book, I learned that there is a whole other niche facet of home schoolers who Unschool their kids and they do it successfully. A definition of Unschooling, while pretty broad, might better be named Interest-Led Schooling or Child-Led Education.

On Wikipedia, a definition goes like this: “While there is significant variation in what is meant by “unschooling”, generally speaking, unschoolers believe that the use of standard curricula and conventional grading methods, as well as other features of traditional schooling, are counterproductive to the goal of maximizing the education of each child. Instead, unschoolers typically allow children to learn through their natural life experiences, including game play, household responsibilities, and social interaction.”

The book I was reading was pretty extreme, to the point of living an unschooled life all the way down to letting your child decide if they want to go to the doctor when they've got a broken limb. This author never punished her kids, all discipline was learned through interaction with the parents and talking out issues. I'm no expert in parenting, and I have no idea of the set up in this person's true home (not the one she portrayed to build her case for unschooling), but I do know that talking to a toddler does little to quell the storm of boundary pushing. We aren't spank-happy here, but we know that our babies are much happier when we are consistent with rules and limits.

So while I was excited at the thought of allowing Elly to choose her education, I was unsure it could coincide with our Christian faith. Andy was very wary of this new path I was learning about and encouraged me to dig deeper than this book. I asked myself...and then Google...can Christianity and Unschooling coexist?

My answer came in the form of a website. Called Christian Unschooling, I don't think I could have found a more blunt and specific answer! It is a resource page for unschoolers and those who are thinking of unschooling. It is a collection of blog submissions from unschooling mothers and fathers who have "been there, done that" in an arena of homeschooling that is a minority within a minority. It was heartening and interesting and exciting all at once. One specific post caught my attention right away, "Following the Rabbi." In it, a mother talked about how she justified her unschooling in the midst of evangelical 'persecution' (for lack of a better word). She talked about a book she came across that described the world in which Jesus lived and the way children were educated in ancient Israel. You'll have to read it for yourself (the link is above). I came to the conclusion that this route would definitely work within our family.

For instance, one of my struggles with Elly is letter memorization. She gets some letters and others just float right out of her head the moment we reach the next letter. She deeply desires to "write" things such as people's names, birthday messages and even short stories. She can write her own name very well and while she has this interest, learning the letters conventionally has taken the spark out of her passion. I was not helping the matter. It was hard for me to understand her way of learning as it seemed she enjoyed completing the pages of the workbook (which was colorful and varied from page to page), but her lack of retaining the letter knowledge was troubling me. This is the girl who will randomly pull a memory from nearly three years ago and tell us in great detail what we all were doing. When she was 18 months old.

So how is it that the letter M is so mysteriously out of her cognition? Why can't she keep C and D from getting mixed up? How is it that the small letters are like a foreign language to her while the capitols are nearly always retained?

Without going into too much detail, we've had many a home school session end with both of us frustrated with the other and sometimes in tears.

I knew that homeschooling wouldn't be a breeze, but the last thing I ever wanted was to keep my daughter from her innate love of learning. This is why I knew we had to stop on the path we were on. Why did I choose to take her out of public education if I was going to be teaching her the exact same way the public education dictates?

For us, it didn't make sense.

For us, unschooling did. When I showed Andy this Christian site, he and I spent hours reading the blog posts and evaluating the validity of the opinions generated by the experienced unschooling click. Much of it we agreed with. There were a few times that Andy stopped short; this is the way he would have thrived had it been an option in his childhood. Learning in bursts of interest, following desires to learn more, self-directing further education in a certain subject: all of these things he does on a daily basis! Andy has long struggled with not obtaining a degree in the education system of college. But he has never stopped learning. Our local librarian can tell you he's studied soap making, underground housing, distilling essential oils, recycled building materials, Quantum Physics and organic animal husbandry for the small-scale farm. He's studied piano, computer programming and calligraphy; taught himself how to can and preserve food, and continually stretches his culinary talents with long-studied French recipes or crazy new ideas from The Underground Food Collective.

Everything I've mentioned here was done outside of a classroom. Some of it will be immediately applicable. Other aspects of his interests may come into play later. Still others may only be an interest.

But that is the essence of Unschooling, of Interest-Led Learning. It is learning that births from each individual's natural passions. A quote from Christian Unschooling sums it up pretty well:

"As Christians, we are called to:

“Train up a child in the way he should go and when he is old he will not depart from it.” Proverbs 22:6

Because of this we look to God to show us the way to train our child, and allow them the freedom in Christ to find the way that He has laid out for them.  In other words, we train them about Him and His ways, help them develop Godly character and trust God to show us and them what they will need in order to do His will in this life.  In order to do this we look to what He is doing in their lives and the interest and passions He has given them, and gently guide them and follow their lead in the directions, knowing that HIS plan for them is better than anything we could come up with.  You could say that Christian unschooling is God led instead of child led, as we watch and help the children grow towards His best for them, using what He has placed in them as a guide.  It is definitely trusting Him to show us the right way, whether it includes book work or not, whether it seems “traditional” or not.

The best part of being a Christian unschooler is not being bound by other’s opinions of what home education should be but being free in Christ to grow together with our children into what God has called for us as individuals and as families. We can adjust to where He has us, keep our eyes on Him, and go where He leads."

And so...with much prayer and meditation, we will continue to research this possible path for our family. Indeed, it has already taken hold in some of our daily life routines.

Just about the same time I checked out the Unschooling book from the library, I also came across a slew of resource books on playing with your 2-5 year olds. Why, I thought, I have 2-5 year olds in my house! What can I learn about that I don't know from life experience? (see, the desire borne out of experience, fueled by a passion to learn more) So I checked out a bunch of books on how to play games and make up songs and do crafts with your pre-school kids. In that mess of books was one in particular that stood out to me. Called "Creative Play for your Toddler: Steiner Waldorf expertise and toy projects for 2 – 4s," this book gives detailed instructions for hand making various kinds of toys for you children. These toys are not just random things made from a piece of cardboard and string. They are thought-provoking and imaginative toys that cause the child to use his creativity to play and pretend. The Waldorf education is largely based on this sort of early childhood experience, mimicking adult interactions within a safe home environment and allowing the budding emotions of the child to safely play out with simple cloth or wooden toys.
 

 
 

 We had my brother's family over for a small gathering. Liam enjoyed the attention...
 

In conclusion, this winter is providing us ample opportunity to grow deeper and inward and focus more directly on our family at our feet. It has been one of the most rewarding things that I've worked on in a long time and I am extremely grateful for the time I've been allowed to seek my direction in this. Thank you Lord, for our children! Thank you for all you are teaching me in my continuing education.
 

Something we've been learning over and over again this year is that nothing is certain and few things are permanent. A year ago at this time, we were gearing up for a new baby in a place we were sure we'd be living for another decade or so. Our home was decorated with lights and homemade ornaments and banners of Christmas cheer. The whole house had a faint scent of cookies, cinnamon and savory dishes. Christmas music had been in our home since the end of October and throughout our minds and hearts was a great anticipation of the holiday season.

And as you well know, we acted and God acted and we reacted and so forth. Which brought us here.

This year, we had several factors keeping us from our traditional seasonal celebration of Thanksgiving and Christmas. Living in a borrowed home, with very few of our accouterments and the relative inability to decorate the way we are familiar, left us a little out of sorts by the time Thanksgiving rolled around. Another factor is that while we are free to entertain guests here, we don't feel comfortable doing it on a grand scale (like a formal holiday meal) out of respect of our home-owner roommate. Andy and I LOVE to entertain and have frequent guests, so this aspect of our holiday luster was also a bit dimmed. And finally, a factor that we could not have controlled no matter where in Wisconsin we lived: this was the first year in about a decade (according to my flawed memory) that we've had a BROWN Christmas. No snow to speak of the whole month of December.

It's hard to get "into the season" when the things that you normally surround yourself with are missing. But as we pondered our surroundings and watched as the nation geared up for that annual whirlwind of tinsel, spending and Fa La La La La, it was much easier for us to take the proverbial step back and really evaluate exactly what it was we missed so much.

In early December, we made the trek to Oshkosh's EAA Airventure Museum for their free Christmas celebration. The annual event was the first for our attendance and we couldn't have been happier. The kids love airplanes, especially Ethan, so the festively decorated grounds were truly magical for the older two. The photos here were taken with Andy's new work phone ... the iPhone. (So much for getting rid of "smart phones!") Below, Ethan and Elly stand at the top of the staircase leading down into the heart of the museum, in which full sized, once-flown airplanes are parked, suspended or jetting across the walls. There were lights and hundreds of people and competing Christmas choirs and cookies to completely overwhelm all five senses.

They couldn't believe they were actually able to sit in a real cock pit. We couldn't either, since this particular one had seen action in WWII.

As the evening wore on, we waited in line just like the rest of the good American families for a chance to have our kids sit on Santa's lap (who, by the way, showed up in a helicopter). We hadn't done this before, really. We randomly ran into a Santa at Piggly Wiggly during Elly's second year and we had her photo taken with him. She freaked out. It wasn't a cute photo. While waiting in line, it became more and more obvious to me that I was the only one in the family that was truly interested enough to wait a full 1.5 hours amongst other families. But we stayed to the end, despite all three kids having meltdowns at some point (though not simultaneously, thankfully). And then, after all the hype, when it was Elly and Ethan's turn to hop on Santa Pop, Elly absolutely froze and refused to move an inch forward. Ethan ran into his arms and I placed Liam up there, too. Elly just stared him down and wouldn't even talk about her fear (very unlike her).

The boys were pretty cute. The photo below shows Ethan just after being posed the question: "What do you want for Christmas?"
 

I think he said thoughtfully, "Ummm....a airplane..."
Liam just tolerated the visit, which lasted less than a minute.

Afterwards, Elly lamented her shock and awe of Santa with tears and regret. I assured her that we could write him a letter in which she expressed her Christmas wishes. That seemed to help.

By the end of the night, we were worn out and most of the festivities were drawing to a close anyway. While the night itself had been super special for our family, it got Andy and I questioning just how far we'd take this Santa bit when we're really trying to teach our kids what the meaning of Christmas is in our faith. It's a fine line, in my opinion and going out of our way to perpetuate the fantasy seemed to undermine the true meaning of the holiday. I know that Andy is personally against teaching them about Santa and while we sat and chatted with some friends over a Christmas dinner a few weeks later, it finally came out in the open. We had never actually talked about this subject before! It amazed us that something like this had never crossed our plates, but it made sense, too. Elly was finally at the age when things like this would make sense and her analytical mind asked a myriad of questions about the logistics of Santa and his world. In the answeringing was when we began to question how far we'd take this.

Elly loves Christmas. She loves decorating and carols and the colors and lights of Christmas. Santa seemed to be a natural fit in her aesthetic Yuletide world.
 

And this is where things got real for us.

Trees and decor and Santas aside, we realized that God was pushing us to find Truth in this commercialized madness our culture puts forth. We came to the realization that we had bought into the trappings of "Xmas" just as wholeheartedly as any person with any faith (or no faith) would have done. There was nothing in our home that would have differentiated our celebration from anyone else's. Even in previous years I've posted about our Christmas traditions and what we do every Thanksgiving and every Christmas in our small family unit.

Yet this year, here we sat, in a home that looked just like it did in the beginning of November and would look the same at the end of February: No wrapped gifts, no lights, not a single partridge in a pear tree.

Outside, the browning grass and dormant trees served up a constant reminder of personal ideals and how they might be shaken up this year: No snow.

Lest you think I'm playing the victim card, I must bring this full circle now. In the stripping of Andy's and my personal identifyers of "Christmas-as-we-know-it," God was able to effectively cast off our cultural Christmas and cause us to truly find what matters.

The birth of a tiny baby boy two millennium ago, with angelic fanfare and shepherd audience; a birth so moving and earth-shaking, people remember it world wide to this day. Our Savior has come. Emmanuel!

The week before Christmas, we got another reminder of what matters most. We learned that our 10 year old niece Maddie was suddenly diagnosed with stage 4 bone cancer. Andy's whole family was turned upside down in a single moment and will be forever changed.

As we gathered together for the Sell family Christmas, it was a somber day with pockets of tears and pockets of laughter. The atmosphere was covered in solemn understanding of the adults and blissful glee amongst the cousins. We even attempted to get a photo of all of them sitting together, as shown below. Left to right, Maddie, Sammie, Ethan, Liam, Wyatt, Elly.
 

After that day, I pretty much didn't care one bit about our non-decorated house, the snow-less yard and the fact that most of our gifts were opened in other people's homes. All that stuff was just stuff. Before we learned about Maddie's cancer, I had this blog growing in my mind. But it was all wrong, all wrong. I didn't realize it, but I was going to take this issue of not having our Danny Kay "White Christmas" from a victim viewpoint ... sort of like we got robbed of something. I had completely missed the point. And I'm not saying this thing with Maddie happened so that I might change a silly blog post, but God's timing with things is infinitely out of our sphere of understanding and recognition. At any rate, I think I finally Got It.

It's family that matters. It's faith that matters. And most of all, as I learned this Advent season, God really only cares about where your heart is at. Do you know where your heart lies?

As we prepare to end this revolution of the Earth for 2011 and begin anew in 2012, I'm quite certain that the Sells will be much more focused on finding what matters most amongst the distractions of this world. And working together with all our might to help a little girl overcome the odds.

We love you Madelyn. Our prayers are with you every single day.

I love to make cookies for the family, but due to the average age of my kids (2 years old), I tend to make them during naps or after bedtime, just so I can get it done and not have to deal with a litany of eager "helpers." Helpers though they wish, the kids really can't do much with exact measurements and a heavy duty mixer at play.

Then I found this recipe, which several other bloggers have written about. I did a little digging and I believe that the originator of this glorious recipe is King Arthur Flour. All I know is that the cookies are amazing, kid-friendly and a crowd pleaser. While probably not intended to be Yuletide cookies, I don't see why they need to be left out in the cold. I have deemed them Christmas worthy, especially given the name of the cookie. I give you:

Fresh from the oven, too pretty to resist!

From the start, these cookies have a lot going for them. To begin with, there is a heaping amount of cocoa involved and since we don't skimp on cocoa in this house (only high quality, raw varieties), the outcome is always outstanding.

Secondly, there is perfect blend of peanut butter. I know within my own sphere of influence that peanut butter is a hot/cold item and some people can't stand it in anything but their sandwich while others can only take it if the spread is blended in well enough. I have taste tested these cookies on a couple people from both sides of the table and 100% went back for more cookies!

Finally, and the main reason I am reprinting this recipe at all, is the kid friendly nature of these little morsels. There are a lot of hands-on steps to these cookies and most of them require just that: your hands. A bit of rolling and forming and flattening and sugaring. With a couple of eager palms, you can work out an assembly line in no time, with everyone enjoying their task and reaping the rewards as they work. (See below!)
 

Ethan shows that even a 2 year old boy can focus on this recipe...and the sugar.

Admittedly, the whole process takes about an hour from ingredient list to oven, which may turn some of you off. But if you have a desire to spend some quality time with the kids and sneak some baking skills in to boot, this recipe is for you!

• 1 1/2 cups unbleached all-purpose flour (I'm sure whole wheat would be great too)
• 1/2 cup cocoa powder, unsweetened baking cocoa or raw cocoa
• 1/2 teaspoon baking soda
• 1/4 teaspoon salt
• 1/2 cup granulated sugar (plus extra for dredging)
• 1/2 cup brown sugar
• 1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter, softened
• 1/4 cup smooth peanut butter
• 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
• 1 large egg
• [optional] three tablespoons milk (if the dough seems too dry or crumbly; I recommend this step)

Peanut butter filling

• 3/4 cup peanut butter, crunchy or smooth, your choice
• 3/4 cup powdered sugar

Elly makes her peanut balls on her own tray.

Counting and ordering.

Bonding and learning.

To shape the cookies: Scoop 1 tablespoon of the dough (a lump about the size of a walnut), roll it into a ball and place it on an extra cookie sheet. Make an indentation in the center with your finger or a spoon and place one of the peanut butter balls into the indentation.  

Chocolate dough balls squished and peanut balls set in place.

Sugared balls, waiting for the last steps. Definitely not 2" between these yet.

Ball of goodness, just getting better...

Ethan woke up from his nap and jumped right in with the ball rolling.

He and Elly rolled nearly all the balls for me. Look how serious they are!

Flattened and fresh from the oven.

And shiny-eyed Liam just got to mill about our feet. Sorry, Baby Fatz! You can't try these for another month!

When I last wrote, I was sitting comfortably in a Bergstrom dealership, sipping coffee and eating cookies while our ten year old van was getting brand new tires and brakes.

It's been over a month since I wrote and there's a reason. Just two hours after I drove away with hundreds of dollars worth of work, a full tank of gas and a few errands to run, I was rear-ended on the highway by a loaded gravel truck. It was an accident that couldn't be avoided.

Before you worry, I am ok. There are many blessings in the event, such as the fact that the truck that hit me completely demolished the rear end of the van, but left the brand new tires unscathed. I was able to drive off the highway and effectively use the van normally. The kids were not with me (a rarity these days). I had enough sense when I saw the truck about to hit me to accelerate forward, thereby reducing the impact to both the van and my body. The man that hit me was very shaken and apologetic and made sure his insurance assumed full responsibility for the accident. When we learned two weeks later that our van was deemed totaled by the other insurance company, we were greatly saddened. Almost to the day, we had purchased that van three years earlier; our first family vehicle when we were expecting Ethan and about to take a road trip to Colorado. (And visit GRIT!)

But there is a blessing in the van being totaled as well. Instead of a fixed up, high mileage vehicle, we got a check in the mail for an amount just $300 under what we paid for it in 2008 (and 65,000 fewer miles!). Starting at 1:30 pm, September 30th (the time I got hit) and culminating about a month later, God put our family on a lesson-journey into the world of our hearts concerning material possessions, family and where our true values lie.

When I said the accident was unavoidable, I did mean that no matter what, God was going to allow our van to be liquidated. We had just stuck $700 into it and suddenly it was taken away. Yet God did it in such a gentle way. I mean it! The brand new tires, with rims, were able to be salvaged and will likely sell by themselves for a few hundred dollars. Any other vehicle hitting the van would have taken out the rear axle in a crash like that. And then there's my own well-being. God allowed the van to be totaled in such a way that I am only experiencing minor whiplash effects, and my chiropractor care is being funded by the truck driver's insurance.

At the end of September, the perspective of Becky Sell was this: a good van, a nice back-up sedan we bought from our friends in July, a really nice TV, a giant storage unit full of great stuff waiting to fill a home and a great family. And...the treasure of my heart in all the wrong places.

When God allowed me to get slammed from behind, he also laid me open to do some work on my heart and priorities. Let me ask you something. If your home were burning to the ground and you only had ten minutes (I'm being generous) to get all that mattered out of the blaze, what would you grab for? It's a rhetorical question because anyone with a balanced mindset will immediately speak all the names of the people in their home, followed by pets and then, if there's time, the photo albums or computer or home videos. And after that, unless you live alone and have all your personal memories stuck in one easy-to-access box, there would not be time for more.

Or what if you became a refugee for some reason? Flood? Tornado? War? Are you going to lament the loss of the 42" plasma TV or genuine leather sofa-sleeper? Do I need to pound this point home any farther?

Maybe. I know God did for me. Now, rest assured, I am with the 98% of the people who answered "people" not "things" in case of a house fire. There's no question. But my lesson was of a deeper sort. A more everyday application, if you will.

The van was to awaken me to the futility of things. Things can be given and taken away in a moment. So why surround yourself with things? For a sense of accomplishment? Security? Status? Maybe a bit of all of those reasons. Now, to be sure, some "things" are necessary for running a household. I don't need to list what I think is necessary because everyone might have a different idea.

In this season of frugality (in most of our homes), being aware of excess spending and where the money is going is super important. Andy and I have been trying to be mindful of every financial decision we make, even to the point of not driving into town more than needed to save on gas. But it wasn't enough, at least not for our family.

One Saturday after the van got smashed, I went to a women's conference with my mother. She paid for the ticket because she wanted me to hear the keynote speaker. This was the sort of Christian women's conference where you might expect to see the stereotypical, well-dressed middle aged women and their older, even-better-dressed counterparts with bluish hair and giant broaches on their collar. Before I even arrived, I admit that I was skeptical. Blessings on my mom, but I didn't really want to go. I had taken a full Saturday about a month before to attend a free women's retreat, and I got a lot out of that day. I fully understand a person's need to fill themselves spiritually with these sorts of conferences from time to time, but I wanted to be aware of the sacrifice being made on the other end for me to take a whole day "off" and be by myself. And while this women's retreat was only a half day, it still caused a lot of shuffling around of the kids in order for me to go, as this was during Andy's time to sit at a farmer's market for Gourmet Grassfed.

Having preconceived notions of how it was going to be, I came into the mega-church where it was being held and saw instantly the fulfillment of my shallow expectations. Kind looking matriarchs of all shapes and colors milled about the breakfast buffet, daintily picking up mini muffins and fruit slices, placing them onto their tiny plates while secretly hoping no one else thought they took too much. (Side note: One thing I dislike about women and eating in public ... just admit that you are hungrier than you are and go back for seconds! Seriously, no one makes a reasonable breakfast out of one mini-bagel and a coffee. Get over yourself, who cares what people think of you and remember that every other woman in the room is wishing they could run back up and grab the normal sized slice of coffee streusel cake and scarf it down.)

I fully admit that I was also battling with feelings of being wasteful with time and resources. There is a syndrome within the modern church that is probably not addressed very often ... if at all. I call it Conference Addiction. It's when a woman or a man attends as many of the faith-building, Bible-teaching, Spirit-filled getaways as they can and then never do anything to apply what they've learned in their everyday life. I don't know what it is, but the few retreats I've attended have impacted me in deep ways. I always take something from that day and with work, bring it into my daily life. However, I have had conversations with people who have attended the same function who are unable to comment on how they'll make this work "on Monday morning" (when real life hits). These are the same folks who were at the last three retreats and raved about the food and the music.

It just burns me. How much money is spent on these people to attend these very beneficial functions when nothing is learned? How much better that money would be spent helping folks without homes or teens in abusive relationships? How did the church get to this point of self-serving "feel good" conference attendance while people in their own neighborhood go without heat or food this month? Of course this is a generalization and not everyone who goes to a church conference abuses the intent of the teaching within. Not everyone spends frivolously to earn points amongst their peers for annual retreat attendance. And I know for a fact that a lot of lives are changed for the better from going to even a single Bible study.

I just had to vent that and explain my hesitancy for going to another Saturday conference in one month, let alone one that charged what this one did for three hours of worship and learning. And yet, a small part of me was very drawn to the speaker and what she might bring these women and myself. An audience of nearly 400 women is not something I would relish taking on, so I already gave Ms. Speaker credit for that.

I can tell you that the first half of the day, I was praying hardily against the skeptical and "know-it-all" spirit that seemed to be blocking my intake of anything worthwhile. When we returned from a break, I was able to really listen to the speaker and take in exactly what she was saying. Her emphasis, at least in my ears, was the fact that God the Father only desires relationship with his children, and we are more concerned with what the people around us think of ourselves, our lives, our kids, our jobs, our homes, our cars. That's the incredibly abridged form of the message I heard, but it was enough to send me home with a crazy idea brewing in my head.

I greeted Andy that afternoon in a house that we call temporary home, surrounded by possessions not our own, in a neighborhood full of people who are not our neighbors. I asked him if he would be ok if we sold off most of our things in our storage unit. He looked at me with a half smile and said, "Baby, if that's what you think we need to do in order to be closer to God, I'm all in."

God had been cultivating Andy's heart that week as well. A few days prior to this women's conference, he got a phone call that there was a family emergency and he might lose a dear member of his family. For 24 hours, it was touch and go, and Andy began a sincere time of wrestling with the implications of a possible death. In the end, he found that God was so very with him in this time of fear and sorrow, that he no longer feared or wept. He was driving home from work the following day and the sun broke from the clouds of daylong rain to reveal a brilliant sunset on the horizon. A song came on that spoke to his hurting heart and as he came around the corner of our street, he saw his family playing with the wet leaves on the driveway. We had just gotten home from somewhere and instead of rushing the children inside, I let them rake up the yellow leaves from the road since it had suddenly stopped raining. I knew Andy was on his way home, so when he drove up I wasn't surprised. He stepped out of the car and just wept in my arms. It was a beautiful and tender and heart wrenching moment. Our children rode tricycles about our feet and the warmth of an October sunset permeated the landscape. Andy later told me that God was giving him a visual lesson in seeing our family jumping over leaf piles in the street: for so long we have yearned for a home of our own, a place where we can call home and though we are fully grateful for our ability to stay with this friend of ours, we had felt a burden of missing the things that define us. With Andy's family in jeopardy, his perspective was suddenly shifted. Upon turning the corner to the house we call temporary home, God spoke to his heart. Home is wherever this family is. If home is in a tiny apartment or a sweeping vista farm, it is not complete without the people who make it. Suddenly he was at complete and true peace with whatever the outcome in his family's emergency. If he lost that person to death, then it was not in vain. And if the person pulled through, there would be room for more and more love in that person's life brought about by the infinite and abundant love of our Father above.

The family emergency had a happy ending the next day.

Our family, however, was forever changed. Vans being smashed, people nearly dying, a conference speaking Truth amidst complacency. The message was beginning to come loud and clear. We are not the culmination of our things. They do not determine our worth. And even more extreme, the people in our lives are of such prime value to us, but they do not determine our worth or our security. Nothing is secure or of value except our relationship with God. It's the foundation of everything else. By having a clear understanding of the way he loves us, cares about us and disciplines us, only then can we turn our focus to the valuables in our physical life. Our family, our children, our friends, our neighbors. Did I mention the car we drive or the TV we watch? Not so much.

Two Saturdays after the van got smashed and I was meditating on this idea of selling off everything but the clothes on our back and utensils in the kitchen.  A two-fold reason for this is that we are paying a monthly fee to hold on to these items that are going totally unused. Obviously we won't be living in this borrowed home for the rest of our lives (it's on the market for sale, so it's only a matter of time), but no matter where we live, God made it pretty clear that it's not the things that make the home. I can live with eating Japanese style and making a bed on a mattress with no frame if it means losing the trappings of this world to focus better on Christ. The second aspect of my growing desire to dump the junk is that Andy and I are enslaved to a credit card debt that we haven't been able to shake since before Elly was born. Throughout our various life adventures, it's been hard for us to devote a large chunk of money to pay it down and with moves, babies, LIFE, the debt has just sat on us, draining us every month with interest charges. I'm not defending any actions that might have caused the debt to get to this size, I just know it started small and grew subtly over the years. Having the card was a form of security and we see now that it took the place of faith. What a price we're paying now. Literally.

And then I see all the nice things in our storage unit, piled to the ceiling doing nothing. A wise sale of most of those items would liquidate the value and allow it to be placed against this enslaving debt we owe. It sounds crazy to many people. I'm sure you think I've gone off the deep end, but that's ok. God spoke to me three more times before Andy and I decided to take action and give this idea a green light.

Three Saturdays after the van got smashed, I took the kids to the last farmer's market of the season in Oshkosh. We just cashed the check for our van and took some of the money to buy our Thanksgiving turkey from one of our farmer friends who raises pastured turkeys. Andy was at his Gourmet Grassfed booth and the kids and I set up shop there. The way the farmer's market is set up this year is that two long city blocks on Main Street are shut down with vendors on either side. Andy and Ben happened to have one of the very end spots on the south side of the market, meaning normal downtown traffic is dissuaded from plunging into their tent by a few orange saw horses and cones. It's a good spot as many people enter and exit the market from that side, but it's also very close to traffic and we have to keep a close eye on the kids when we visit.

At the end of the day, Andy and I were helping a neighboring vendor take down their tents while Liam sat in the stroller and Ethan and Elly played nearby. At one point, Ethan fell on the road and came crying to me about his scuffed hands. I was presently distracted because I saw a man across the street about to pack up his last bucket of beautiful apples and I wanted to grab them. I quickly assured Ethan that his hands would be ok, then grabbed the double stroller, Elly and Liam in tow and crossed the street. We chatted with the man briefly before purchasing the apples and walking the 20 feet back to Andy as he scurried about packing up. At this time, most the vendors on Main Street were already gone and the police officer directing traffic was very close to opening up the street for cars. The urgency was palpable and everyone left packing was doing so in direct-focused haste.

Suddenly I was stricken in my gut the way a mother just KNOWS something is wrong. Andy brushed by me. "Hey," I said. "Where's Ethan?"

Expecting Andy to point to someplace I couldn't see, my heart began to pound when he stopped short and looked at me wide-eyed. "He wasn't with you?"

"No!" I parked the stroller and instructed Elly to stand by Liam and guard the turkey and apples. I walked about our immediate space and found nothing. I called his name and heard no response. I watched Andy run halfway up the block weaving in and out of the few remaining vendors' cars and piles of goods. Ethan was no where to be seen.

It was at this point that something in me started to work in slow motion. I began having thoughts about life without Ethan and other extreme ideas of what happened to him. I noticed silly things going on about me, like the fact that the Hmong family selling pumpkins down the street still hadn't picked up their tarp and the police officer was doodling something in his notebook. One of the vendors had some similar aged children running around down the block and every time I heard them laugh, my stomach tightened. It was like torture hearing the sound of a carefree child when my own was missing and who knows what was happening to him right then.

Andy disappeared into a corner store and I walked over to the policeman to describe what my son had been wearing that day. He began taking notes feverishly and grabbed his walkie-talkie to call in the description. I vaguely wondered how I would be able to drive home that day with Ethan's carseat empty. Would Andy and I divorce over this because I'd heard somewhere that couples frequently divorce after the loss of a child. In a daze, I turned back to see Elly, fully aware that her brother was missing, staring down the street calling his name. I needed to be calm for her. I needed to be calm for the police officer. I needed to be calm for Andy. Andy, unbeknownst to me at the time, was in a dark, dark place. He told me later that he was preparing himself to do anything necessary to get Ethan back. He thought our boy had been kidnapped.

As the police officer clicked on his walkie-talkie, I saw a woman walking briskly toward Main Street from around the corner. Holding her hand was a very upset and confused Ethan. I gasped, "Oh there he is!" and ran the thirty feet to cover the distance between myself and my son. I thanked the woman profusely and grabbed Ethan to my chest, expressing to him how crazy it was for him to run away. He was trying to talk in his halting, two-year-old speech, so I quieted down. "Me not find you, Mommy! I fell down and me not find you!"

I looked up at the woman and asked her where she found him. She said he was a block and a half away, darting through a parking lot when she rushed over to him. "He nearly got ran over," she ended, with a stern tone in her voice that edged on chastisement. Andy came up just then, within earshot of the explanation and just grabbed Ethan to his body and held him close. The lady headed back down the street, calling back, "You need to keep a very close eye on that one!"

Now, really. Did I need to hear that? I'm thankful beyond words that she had the presence of mind to look for Ethan's parents at the nearly finished farmer's market. I'm blessed beyond reason that the person who found our innocent little boy had no ill intent for him. And of course, I'm beating myself up for losing him in the first place. Ethan was not satisfied with my hurried response to his painful fall. When I ran across the street for those apples, I assumed he'd stay put by Andy. He assumed I went back to the car with Elly and Liam. Wanting only his momma to salve his hurting hands, he wandered down the very sidewalk our family had traversed only hours before. Somehow he had a homing sense where the car was parked because he was found within 20 feet of our vehicle.

We finished packing up that afternoon and went about our day as usual, visiting a park and keeping a close watch on the little ones as they played. It looked normal, but hovering over Andrew and I was this solemn sense of near loss. What is a child worth? How can he be replaced?
 

The day we lost, and regained Ethan

As Ethan took his turn on the teeter totter, my thoughts wandered to Abraham in the Bible. He waited nearly his whole life to have a promise from God fulfilled: a son. When he finally got this son, Isaac was the most precious to Abraham on earth. When the boy was still young, God asked Abraham to sacrifice the him on an alter (a common practice of the time, though never with people, only very fine animals). God gave him this boy and now he was asking for him back. We aren't given a view on the psychological impact this had on Abraham, or if he wrestled with the idea before going through with it. But if he was human, and he was, I know he struggled with placing God before his family. Here was this promised son. A gift from God standing before his father, innocently helping gather the sticks that would ignite the very fire of his death. What was going through Abraham's mind? Was he saying, "Your will be done," or "I don't understand your ways, but I trust you God?" In the end, God interceeded and gave Abraham a ram to sacrifice instead of his boy, telling Abraham that he now knew he was "all in" for God.

Is that what I was saying in those minutes-like-hours that Ethan was missing? I'd like to say I felt that odd peace about me as we searched the empty streets. But I don't know if I even thought about it. Later, Ethan safe within our home, I thought long and hard about it. Is my family more important than God? Just like our van, our material possessions, God can take away our family members in an instant as well. And once that is gone? What is left? Who is left?

Only the One who matters most of all.

That night, I had a very specific dream in which the farm (Foxwood Farm, still in my parents' possession) got destroyed by a supernatural storm. During the storm, the kids, Andy and my mom and dad cowered in the basement of the farmhouse. The dream was significant, though, because when we saw the storm coming, we headed for the shelter of the basement, but couldn't get down the steps because the entry was blocked by boxes and boxes of Andy's and my stuff! We couldn't enter the house or the basement because piled from floor to ceiling and several yards wide were boxes labeled "Dishes," "Clothes," "Books," "DVDs," etc. Eventually, as the tornado drew close, Andy and I literally tore through the boxes, whipping them this way and that, clearing a path to the safety of the basement and joined our kids with their grandma. As the storm ripped apart the buildings that had stood for 100 years, I remember distinctly thinking, "Whatever, at least we're safe!" At the end of the dream, we drove away from the destruction and aftermath, every single item on the farm utterly demolished, and me thanking God for the blessing of every member of my family completely unscathed. This is significant because I've had an unnatural amount of dreams involving the home farm since we left last August and all of them were lamenting the loss of it. For the first time, I didn't give a damn about that farm.

I told Andy the dream on the way to church the next morning and reiterated that I felt strongly about selling off our things. He again agreed that it would be wise. The message that morning was on the Prodigal Son and the brother that stayed loyal to the father. Our pastor talked about the father's reaction when the Prodigal returned home, how he ran to meet him (totally taboo in that culture for the patriarch to run anywhere, for anything), how the father sheltered him from a culturally deserved stoning by running to reach the son before anyone in the town did, how the father knew his son had returned because he had been diligently watching for him to come home. All these things spoke to a parents' heart, especially after the incident the day before. I scooped up Ethan from the nursery after church and just reveled in his chatter about all the toys he'd played with during service. How precious you are, Dear Ethan, that we would run to meet you after you ran away. How fleeting a time we have together before life takes us parting ways.

The following week, Andy and I met with our spiritual mentor just to catch up and we ran this idea of selling off our possessions to her. She received it with much thought and prayer, like she normally does, and found the idea to be totally inline with God's Word. In a spiritual sense, we were unshackling from the material things that distract us in this world. In a physical sense, we were liquidating what we had in order to be responsible adults and pay off our debts. There it was. All laid out before us.

Four Saturdays after the van got smashed and Andy and I declared that we would sell off most of what we own and begin living anew for life in its fullest.

And that's where you find me now. Within the next week, we're heading over to the storage unit to find a few items that we need for the winter, the title to the smashed van and then to sort through a 10x20' space filled with stuff. It's just stuff. Of course it holds value, but it's the sort of value that can be transferred. We'll decide what we want to keep, section off the items that have long family history, and then, with trembling liberation, get rid of it all!

On the Fifth Saturday after the van got smashed we'll hopefully have a clear idea of what it is we can part with and what we can keep. Because now, we know without doubt, what truly matters to us in this world.

 

Above, Liam sits and exudes joy for everyone. He's a good kitchen mate. It's a good thing, too. The family spent a good deal of time in the kitchen on Saturday. We had half a bushel of very ripe tomatoes needing to be processed and in our minds, there was only ONE THING we could do with them.

Lacto-fermented salsa. It's probably our most favorite home-preserved product out of everything we've ever tried canning.

We discovered this technique while reading a book called Nourishing Traditions, by Sally Fallon. In a sentence, this book changed the course of our very lives. Click the link. Buy it. Be forever changed...for the better!

Tonight, I'm going to give you our recipe, which is built for a sliding scale of quantities based on the harvest you are bringing in. The first time we made lacto-fermented salsa, we had our dining room table full of ripe, heirloom tomatoes and about two, 5 gallon buckets full of bell peppers.

 

Above, this was taken in September of 2009. 2 year old Elly is standing on our 7 foot long couch behind the table, four leaves in place and both ends extended, with tomatoes piled two deep. It was overwhelming and awesome and blessed all at once. Obviously, we couldn't have given quantities for this amount of tomatoes. All I know is that by the end of the LONG night, we had sealed 55 quarts of salsa. Enough for one quart a week for a whole year. Isn't that what harvesting your own food is all about, though? Making it through the winter?

So, let's begin. This recipe is adapted from one in the Nourishing Traditions cookbook to fit our taste. You can adapt ours as well to fit what's sitting on your counter top. Got some summer squashes with no home? They work great in salsa. Sweet corn? Great! Not sure how to use kohlrabi? It's got a place in your salsa. (just peel it first).

There are four great things about this homemade salsa that I want to emphasize.
1. It's not cooked, so it saves on energy and spares you a hot kitchen in an already hot season.
2. It's not cooked, so all the natural enzymes and probiotic activity are still present in 6 hours and in 6 months.
3. It tastes and looks fresher than fresh when you open it. No mushy salsa here!
4. It's carbonated! Yes, naturally fizzy, which takes some getting used to, but makes for a great side dish or topping this way (as well as the obvious).

Ingredients

(all organic, of course! It's not homemade for the pesticide load)
1/2 bushel ripe tomatoes
10 bell peppers (green, red, yellow, whatever)
1 large onion (the kind that resemble softballs)
1 head garlic
2 bunches cilantro

In the canning jars
1 TBSP sea salt per quart jar (halve it for pint jars, etc)
4 TBSP raw whey per quart jar  

Now let me just stop you right there. This is not the whey you would find in the body-builder section of Target (if there is such a place). That stuff is processed and powdered and won't have active enzymatic activity. In fact, I don't know of anyone selling what we need to make this salsa complete. Lacto-fermentation is the process by which the micro-organisms that are on everything are allowed to flourish and make war and have an otherwise territorial battle for supremacy on your food. While doing that, they kill off any bad bacteria and leave only the beneficial bacteria. Think of it; probiotics all over your food, and it's whole, uncooked and ready to sit on your shelf for months. And all you had to do was add a little whey to a jar and screw the top on.

But whey-t! (I couldn't resist!). How does one acquire this amazing whey? Well, remember Miss Muffet? Her favorite food was curds and whey. Curds of what? MILK! Properly soured milk will divide itself and create two components: soured cream curds and yellowish whey. Both have a lot of good uses, but today we'll just talk about the one that gets us lacto-fermemented salsa.

How to Make Whey

I need to mention that this recipe for making whey is also found in Nourishing Traditions. Thank you Ms. Fallon! Below, I have a half gallon of fresh, raw milk sitting on my counter. It hasn't been there long, only about a day, so you can't see any separation going on yet.

 

You can see the cream line on top and we've discovered over the years that skimming the cream off is best as it does weird stuff when it sours. Use the cream fresh for whipping cream, in your coffee, alfredo sauce, etc.

After your milk has sat on the counter for about 4 days (less if it's warm outside, more if it's cold), you should notice a split in the milk either in the middle of the jar or on the bottom. In the split will be a clearish, yellowish liquid. This is your whey. The milk has successfully soured and you are ready to divide your curds from your whey.

**DO NOT try this with pasteurized milk. It will not sour. It will rot and be useful to no one.

Find your fine mesh strainer and straddle it across a deep mixing bowl. We find that the bowl of our stand mixer is perfect. Take a super clean tea towel or any fine grain towel and line the strainer evenly with the towel. Next, pour the entire contents of your milk jar into/onto it and the strainer. The curds should look something like this:

 

Our tea towels are packed away right now, so this hand towel did well in its absence. Once the entire curds and whey are out of the jar, you will notice that already the whey is dripping through the towel and strainer. You want as much of the whey out of that milk as possible, so the next step is to carefully pull up the sides of the towel and bring them together in a bundle. Secure the ends with string, rope, zip-ties, or whatever you can find. Be sure not to squeeze the towel as you'll get soured cream pushed through the fiber pores and that's counter-productive.

 

When you lift the towel up, you'll still have a steady stream of whey coming from the bundle. This is good. Move the whole aparatus (bowl and all) to a counter situated below a wall cupboard. You will tie the whole thing to the cupboard and allow the whey to continue to drip for about 4 hours. Don't worry, you'll be so busy you won't even notice the time flying by!

 

The Salsa

While your whey collects in the bowl (leave the strainer in place to reduce splashing), you now turn your attention to the bounty of produce sitting in your kitchen. The recipe above, I want to reiterate, is a starting point for ratios, but use whatever you have on hand. If you want hot peppers, add them. If you want no green peppers, eliminate them. Seriously, as long as you get the salt/whey ratio spot on, you'll be fine.

First dice your onions. Or do them last. Whatever. I'm just showing you the order of our salsa. It all goes in the same bowl.

Andy has a cheater trick for chopping onions. Below you see him slicing lines into a halved onion about a half inch thick. The onion is halved for greater stability. You will do the same thing for the other half soon. The lines he cuts are not through to the other side. Rather, they reach to about a half inch from the other edge of the onion. This keeps the onion together.

 

Next, turn the onion 90˚ and cut similar sized cuts the opposite direction. This time, however, try to follow in a radial pattern, the natural curvature of the onion. As you see below, with minimal cutting and effort, you have perfectly diced onion squares. Notice also the way he holds his hands. The one holding the onion has finger knuckles pushed out and fingertips turned inward, gripping the veggie. His knife slides along his knuckles, the blade securely below where his fingers meet the metal and thereby ensuring a safe cut over and over.

 

One big onion yields quite a bit of diced goodness!

 

Next, the cilantro can be chopped. If you take your bunches and bind them with a rubber band, you can easily chop off the desirable leaves with two quick diagonal cuts. Proceed to chop the leaves several times until you have broken up most of the big areas and are satisfied with the size of the plant. There really is no substitute for cilantro. To me, salsa isn't salsa without it. But you add it only if you like it! Some folks don't.

 

 

Next, take your green peppers. Cut the seed packet out with the stem and dice into squares similar to your onion. Here's another perspective for safe handling of veggies and knives. See how Andy's finger tips are safely pointed away from the blade, even at an angle? The knuckles provide a barrier to the blade and help stabilize it at the same time.

 

Be sure to share the fresh bounty with anyone helping make salsa!

 

Above, the finished product. You'll want to have a large, large mixing bowl set aside for combining all your ingredients. When we processed the tomatoes in 2009, we had to use four sanitized 5 gallon buckets!

Here come the tomatoes. These are probably the most finicky of the group because you want to get the skins off without actually cooking the little beasts. If you are the type of person who does well in an assembly line, this should actually be quite fun.

Get a large pot on the stove and boil some water. You want enough water to cover your largest tomatoes. While that comes to temp, plug your sink and fill half way with icy water. Now, grab your washed tomatoes and carefully core out the stem.

 

Cut out any bad parts and then slice a small "X" on the bottom of the tomato. You don't need to cut deep, just enough to break the skin. This will aid in getting a peeling started later.

 

 

Above, I used a nested colander to put about 8 tomatoes in at a time. Once the water is at a rolling boil, dip the tomatoes in (one by one if you have to with a slotted spoon) and let sit for no more than 5 seconds. This will loosen the skins but isn't long enough to kill off the enzymes. Immediately submerge the hot tomatoes in your ice bath.

 

They'll float and that's fine. You just want to stop any sort of cooking and this will do the trick. Once you have them all par-boiled and dunked, you can begin the skinning process. It doesn't take long if the tomatoes are super ripe. Nearly ripe or tomatoes with some green left on them will need longer than 5 seconds in the boiling water to loosen the skin. Here the "X" comes in handy finding an edge to pull from.

 

Everyone can help with this part of the job as it involved no knives, hot water or exact measurements. (I was referencing Ethan, not me!)

 

 

When the skins are off, you will then de-seed the 'maters. The best way that we've found is to physically shove your thumbs into each quadrant of the tomato and sort of scoop out the seeds. It's not pretty and you'll get full of juice, but the other methods we've tried are no less messy and far less controlled (meaning, seeds shooting all over the place).

 

Andy, in his eternal quest to find the most efficient method in every process, wondered if dicing all these skinless, seedless, slippery globs of tomatoes was the best route. He experimented with a food processor on short bursts of speeds and found the result to be satisfactory. The tomatoes were chopped and runny, but exactly the desired consistency for salsa. This little trick saved us quite a bit of time.

 

Here he pours a batch into the great big mixing bowl, being careful not to lose the blade.

 

Finally, take your head of garlic and remove the papery outside. Separate each clove and smash with the flat side of your knife blade. That's right, press the flat blade against the clove and slam down with the heel of your palm. This will split the clove in about four pieces and allow you to peel it with ease. Mince the cloves and add them to the big bowl.

Now you are ready to mix it up. The best way, really, is to use your hands. They are your best tools after all, and besides, you are so full of veggie goodness at this point...you really won't care.

 

Well, we'd been working together for about 2 hours at this point and Andy got a little punchy.

 

This was nothing compared to the epic canning of 2009, though. Four, five gallon buckets of salsa goop and Andy nearly up to his armpits, stirring the ingredients together. That was a sight to see at 1am! I laugh to think of it now...but I digress.

Find your canning jars. Hopefully you already have them sanitized and tops at the ready. If not, sanitize and get your tops ready.

 

We have so many canning jars in our possession, but very few of them are NOT in the storage unit right now, so we scrambled to find any that would be empty for our use.

Turn your attention back to that dripping towel in the corner. By now it should be an intermittent drip and most of the whey is in your bowl. One half gallon of milk (with cream skimmed off) yields roughly 1 quart of whey. This is more than enough for the quantity we've spelled out here today. The remainder will successfully refrigerate for half a year!

Scoop out 4 tablespoons of whey from the bowl and dump it in your quart jar. If you use pints (we had a smattering of both), then only use 2 tablespoons.

 

Next, take your sea salt (I do mean sea salt; table salt is refined and has a bunch of added yuck to it) and add 1 tablespoon per quart jar. Just dump it on the bottom with the whey. Won't look pretty, but it doesn't have to. Again, half this for pints.

 

Once you have divied out the whey and salt, now is the time to add your salsa. We were missing our trusty canning funnel, so we had to carefully scoop the mixture into each jar, but no matter.

 

Now this is important: Be sure to leave at least one inch of headroom at the top of the jar. Lacto-fermentation builds up enzymatic activity in the exact opposite way that pressure canning reduces it. You literally need that room at the top for all the bacterial parties that will be starting as soon as you screw the lid on. If you fill it too full, you'll know it. The jar will leak. Not the end of the world and you won't lose the salsa. But it's messy in your cupboard or cellar. Below, Andy is scooping some salsa out. We filled it too full.

 

The beauty of filled jars and preserved food never ceases to catch my breath. The best part is, the food will look just this fresh the day you open it again, even if that day happens to be during a blizzard in February and the thought of a ripe tomato is completely foreign to your mind.

 

 

Wipe the tops of your lids clean and dry, then attach the lids and screw them down tight. TIGHT. Let the jars sit in a room temperature area for two full days, out of sunlight. Then place them into cold storage (for us, this meant our basement at the farmhouse, a steady 65˚ and that worked out well).

Within hours, you will see tiny bubbles forming on the sides of the jars. This is the bacteria gathering for their epic battles and you know only good things will come of it. By tomorrow, your jars will have a very distinct bulge on the top. Again, you want it to bulge up; opposite of pressure canning where the delectable "pop!" of no air means success.

 

One more thing to note is there might be a liquid gap on the bottom after a day or so as the vegetables rise to the top and the water/whey sit at the bottom. This is not a problem and a gentle flipping of the jar will mix everything back.

Congratulations! With minimal heat energy and just a couple hours of chopping and mixing, you now have about 6 quarts (give or take) of organic, home-made and fresher than fresh salsa to enjoy the rest of the year through! We like to use it not only for chips but as a topping in salads, over meatloaves, as a side by itself or in stews. The possibilities are vast.

But wait! There's more!

How to Make Sour Cream (or Soured Cream)

Lest we forget the title of this post: how one product becomes three, I shall conclude with a simple wrap up of the curds from the beginning.

If you want to wait until you see your bundle of soured cream dripping no more, you can go for another few hours, or up to about 12 full hours of room temperature hang time. When you have extracted as much whey as you please, carefully remove the towel from your cupboard and untie it on a clean surface.

 

When you open it up, you'll notice that the contents are much much drier than when you first poured them into the strainer. In fact, you wouldn't be able to pour them at all now. Depending on how much whey you extracted, you have soured cream all the way to a soured cream cheese. Above, the soured cream is about the consistency of Philadelphia Cream Cheese spread, just the way we like it. I had the towel hanging for about 6 hours, so right in the middle. After six hours, you won't really get much more whey out, but some folks like it drier for different purposes.

Next you want to store the soured cream in a container in your fridge. DO NOT use plastic! The plastic leaches off flavors into the soured cream and actually causes it to go rancid a lot faster. Glass is best. Ceramic will do as well.

Andy discovered awhile ago that a soup spoon works well to scoop up the soured cream from the towel without pushing too much of it through (and thereby rendering it useless). Cap your zesty creation and refrigerate. It will last a solid month, but you won't have to worry about that; it will be gone long before!

 

Be sure to wash the towel you used as soon as possible. Rinse it in the sink to get any visible cream chunks off and then wash. You may have to designate one towel for such deeds as souring because the odor lasts even through a couple washings.

Homemade soured cream can be used as is, or as an incredible base in dips, spreads and even in baking. Andy makes a sour cream coffee cake that is just divine!

Well, there you go! How one amazing product (raw milk) gives you three life-giving foods all at once. And this is just one lacto-fermentation recipe. Wait til I tell you about lacto-fermented sauerkraut! And your very own lacto-fermented lemonade! But that's a post for another night.

Let me know how your recipes turned out! Comment on here or email me. I'd love to know, and learn from your variations.

Good night!

As I write this, Andy and I are getting all of our half gallon jars together and seeing what quantity we have. So far, we're good for 4.5 gallons and could possibly acquire three more bottles for a total of 6 whole gallons. We're putting together our bottle stock in preparation for a milk run tomorrow.

Since we began milking cows in May of 2009, and then worked for the farm in La Crosse, we have always had access to free, wholesome, fresh-from-the-cow milk. Since we moved away from the farm three weeks ago, we have officially stepped out of the role of producer and been ushered into the realm of consumer once again.

It's a bittersweet time in our lives. Being a consumer is by far the easier path to follow, at least physically. As I watch the thermometer outside push beyond 100˚ today, I'm secretly thankful to not have any animals to check or fences to repair. Likewise, I think of the bitter winter winds dropping the degrees below zero and count my blessings to be able to stay in warm socks and a sweater indoors. Farming, or gardening, isn't an easy route to travel and the reason you see the majority of folks in this country opting out. But not producing is bitter for us as well. Being able to make a meal from meats and veggies and fruits that you worked hard for, managed and harvested is an incredible reward that no sauna-like day can take away.

Part of Andy and Ben's business involves taking part in several local farmers' markets, trying to spread the word about Gourmet Grass-fed and just get the local public educated about grass-fed meats. I have taken the kids to visit them at three of the five markets they do in a given week and we have fun seeing all the different farm vendors and crafters in each city. It sure is a lot easier to walk the aisles of breads and vegetables and meats, picking what you'd like for the following week's meals, than to have planted and weeded and sweated and harvested all those good things. The folks behind the tables busily tend to the customers or replenish their stock, making it look beautiful for me, the consumer. I appreciate the effort and smile as I see some have gone to more effort than others.

Last week, I bought a pasture-raised chicken from one of our old farmer friends, Ralph Polasky. $8.25 was a steal in my opinion, considering I know the amount of work it takes to raise a pastured bird to market weight and get it ready for sale. I wanted to give his newest product, Cornish Game Hens a try, but I had run out of cash for the day (I budget $20 per week at the markets). Maybe this week will be Game Hen week.

At the Neenah Farm Market, I saw our old friends from Hample Haven Farm. This family was just getting into grass-fed lamb as Andy and I were setting up the Omro Friday Night Market last summer. They wanted to be a vendor in the fledgling market and we welcomed the diversity. Ultimately, the drive was too long for their return on sales, so they stopped vending in Omro. We didn't hear from them again. Therefore, seeing the family last week, selling out of their healthy and sustainable lamb cuts in Neenah was very encouraging for me. Knowing what I do about the unique challenges raising grass-fed lamb, I spent $11.64 of our $20 on some meaty lamb shanks from Hample Haven Farm and wished that I could have spent more. I know that this Saturday, we'll probably get some more "poor man cuts" from them as braising hocks and necks and tails are our favorite dish! (And even something I feel comfortable doing in the kitchen).

It feels good to patronize farmers we know. Our eggs are coming directly from a farmer just outside the county line. He raises free-range hens, pastured poultry and bison. We are happy to drive out once every few weeks to stock up on $2.50 orange yolked eggs from this man. Lennie and his wife Julie were one of the few established farmers that took us under their wing when we first began our adventure at Foxwood Farm. They even gave us twin Jersey calves in exchange for fencing labor back in 2008. Even though our situation is completely different now, I feel no shame stepping into their thriving on-farm store for 6 dozen eggs at a time. Soon, we'll be purchasing some bison cuts on one of our trips. We're happy to have the good food so close to home and want Lennie and Julie to stay in business.

Or course, buying local and not producing much of your own food does cost money. We are on a tight - super tight - budget now that we are helping grow a company from the ground up. We've been on super tight budgets before (remember, we were the farmer once)! But the difference now is our priorities.

Let me elaborate. $20 at a farm market once a week isn't going to feed a family of five, no matter how well you plan. We decided that in order to keep eating like a sustainable farmer without actually being a sustainable farmer, we were going to have to give up some of our "consumerist pleasures."

• No paid TV. What the antenna gets is what we get. Some days we get nothing. We're better off for it. Saved: $45/month 

• Goodbye Smartphone. While a necessity when working at St. Brigid's Meadows, this is now a luxury we can do without. Including the internet plan. Saved: $100/month 

• Combining errand running/other trips. Gas isn't cheap and until we are blessed with an alt. energy vehicle, it's going to continue to tax us. Saved: $75/month (one tank of gas)

• No more going out to eat. Going out to eat became quite the bad habit of ours at St. Brigid's. When Andy would deliver products or we would be in town on errands, inevitably, some mealtime would show up and we'd be unprepared with food for the kids and just have to stop somewhere for grub. Better planning and fewer trips into town = no excess restaurants. Saved: $60/month 

This is just the beginning. If you add up everything that we are cutting out and the accompanying cash, we have a total of at least $280 that is not being tied up in luxury items. $280! Now, some of that money will just never get spent as we are reducing what we spend each month overall. But you can bet that at least $100 will go right back into our monthly grocery bill. And we'll eat like kings for it!

So we don't have GPS on Andy's "dumb" phone and can't look up a business's address on the fly. Really don't care because I've got a couple green bags full of lamb, chicken and eggs, direct from the farmers who produced them. $100 out of the pockets of Olive Garden and Kwik Trip. $100 into our local farmers' hands. $100 making our family healthier, happier and better overall consumers.

Pretty simple math if you think about it. As a full time consumer, I am happy to be so intentional about how I am voting with my very limited Dollar. Never again will I compromise food because of income. That's just our family credo and I don't want to push it on anyone else. Everyone has different needs and wants. I don't presume to place everyone into our box of existence.

Food makes us happy, though. So I want the best possible food on our table. Top of the line, straight from the farmer whenever possible. Which brings me back to the start of my post: gathering bottles for fresh milk.

Tomorrow, I'll be driving with a former Foxwood Farm customer and good friend of mine in order to gather up milk for our families. She will also pick up milk for two other families in the area who also used to buy fresh milk from us. In total, we'll present this new farmer with enough bottles to fill 24 gallons! At $4/gallon, he will bring in just shy of $100. Imagine, a farmer being paid a fair price for his grass-fed, Jersey milk. I was told that he is selling nearly enough milk direct to sustain his dairy on direct sales alone. What a wonderful thing! I am happy to be getting fresh milk again and more than happy to help him reach his goal of complete independence from the creamery he ships to. After all, I can relate.

But here's something I won't be doing for this farmer. You see above whenever I mentioned a farm producer, I included their website (if they had one) in order to possibly give them more business. For our dairy farmer here, I won't even tell you his first name. As you well know, in the state of Wisconsin looks fondly on people making a living off of vegetables and fruit grown in their yard. They encourage families to raise chickens and sell the eggs or meat. They have programs to help farmers convert ailing cropland into managed pastureland so that more grass-fed beef and bison is produced sustainably. It's the smiling face of the Department of Ag, saying "Buy Local, Buy Wisconsin." Keep our farms in business!

But as soon as a grass-fed dairy operator says, "Hey, my product can sustain this family farm as well! People are demanding fresh milk at an exponential rate. I'd be a silly businessman if I didn't provide product for this burgeoning market," the same Department says "You need to sell your milk to a distributor at historically low prices and figure out for yourself how to stay afloat. Get big or get out. Your product is not safe for human consumption no matter how you produce it and we will spend our last tax dollar making sure you go under if you sell one drop to the hapless public."

Ok, ok. The last paragraph is admittedly dripping with a bit of experiential anger. That department began the downward spiral which caused us to lose our farm. I will not allow that to happen to another farmer on my watch. This man is helping over 40 families get the product they desire or need at the risk to his entire operation. How sad a state that I have to keep it quiet. He will be getting a sizable percentage of our monthly food dollar and I can't whisper a word about him.

But I'm so glad he's here for a consumer like me. Andy and I ran out of milk from St. Brigid's over a week ago and we've simply done without. Andy is close to flipping a table for lack of milk, so I arranged to join a rotation of families to keep us all in supply of milk. Each week, one mother will gather jars from the others and go to the farm for fill up. Tomorrow, I'll learn the ropes and start pulling my weight. Waiting two weeks for milk is nothing. The families I'm buying with waited well over 6 months to find this producer in the void left by Foxwood Farm.

For those of you not really into the fresh milk scene, this probably seems like a lot of hassle. I'm not denying it's a bit extraneous. But having had the BEST for our family, we won't compromise and go back. Having fresh milk as close to home as we do, we consider it pure joy to drive "out of our way" to get what we need and support this farmer as well.

Andy and I are not producers anymore; of milk, of beef, of lamb, of eggs, of pork. It's bittersweet to be a consumer again. But I now know how we can embrace our new life: We will do whatever we can to support our local farmers. We've got a revised food budget that we can pour into their income streams and possibly help them do what we could not: stay producing and survive.

Honestly, it's the very least I can do for them. I mean, on days like today with a heat index of 110˚, I know my friend and fellow mother Dani is out harvesting and watering her produce with her 8 month old babe strapped to her back. I know that Ralph is keeping his poultry and turkeys fully watered and under shade at the expense of his own comfort. And I know that the dairy farmer I'll meet tomorrow won't miss a milking in this heat. Can you imagine sidling up to a sweltering cow in a stifling barn just to collect milk for the likes of me?

Dedication and tenacity like that deserves to be rewarded and if I can humbly present them with a few more food dollars each week, I will be the one amply blessed to be the consumer of their fine products.

I truly hope that you, too, can experience that sort of blessing in your weekly consuming as well. Revisit your priorities and choose with your heart, friends. It will make all the difference in your daily consuming.

I've been at a bit of a loss to tell you all what has happened to us since we completed our 21 day challenge. It's been hovering over me like an angry deer fly and I haven't been able to swat it away. Honestly, finding where to begin is much more complicated than simply stating that we completed the challenge and this is what we learned. But it's been exactly two weeks since June 28th (the twenty first day of the challenge) and it's time we fill you in on the whirlwind of events in our lives.

You see, the final day of our challenge was also the final day at St. Brigid's Meadows in La Crosse. We loaded a moving truck that day and moved back to the east side of Wisconsin, about to pursue the next step in our lives.

* * * * *

When we began that clean up of our personal lives, I didn't let on in my original post, but Andy and I knew something big was going to come out of it. We just didn't know exactly What. We just knew When. In the three weeks that followed our declaration to the Heavens and to you, we began in earnest to keep a tidy and structured household. That's really what it was all about: get our house in order and clean up our minds.

Andy is fond of saying that you can tell a lot about a person's state of mind by the way they keep their home. It's definitely the place that most people spend the most time (even if it is just sleeping) and the home becomes an extension of one's self. When I said last month that I had come to a point of being stressed out by everything, my mind was in disarray. I had no routine other than a pretty set bedtime for the kids. I had no schedule, other than the days that Andy delivered products (M-W-F). And my home was in a constant state of "almost clean." By that I mean, the main things were usually taken care of: dishes, laundry and meals. But everything else that comes with keeping house was fit in here, there, or not at all. Such was the state of my mind as well. No wonder I was stressed about everything! And in my stressing, the family suffered. The other saying we're fond of is true, too: "When Momma ain't happy, ain't nobody happy!"

It took snapping us out of that rut of chaos for me to realize that I was not happy. Think about it for a moment. Are you happy? By happy, I mean content with your place in life. Or thankful for the moment you in which you live. I had not thought about whether or not I was happy in years. Frankly, I had not thought about much of anything in-depth for quite some time. But when Andy and I had that argument the day my mother was over, I finally took the time and thought long and hard. No. I was not happy anymore.

That's pretty heavy stuff. Andy was kind as he pointed out my entire existence was one reaction after another. Reacting to the kids waking up before 6am. Reacting to the workload of dishes when there is no dishwasher but yourself. Reacting to the accounting, email and design work demanded of me by the farm. Reacting to the precious needs of my husband. When in exasperation Andy stated that we would take on this challenge, I lapped it up with eager intensity. I needed the change and for the first time since we had kids, I took on the task with a fiercely proactive heart. It was time.

A couple days into it, the kids became sick. That passed on to us adults and even over to the other farmers. I believe that in some circumstances, sickness is a sign that you are doing something right. Think about it: if you are attempting to correct something in your life, wouldn't the Enemy try to squelch it? Sickness doesn't work well with routine. But I was determined to make it to Day 21. I began to thrive under this challenge.

Not only did I create a routine for the daily chores and doings of a household with children, but I became empowered as a mother and wife. It felt good, really good, to take charge like that and live each day PROACTIVE. We began implementing cleaning arrangements that caused Andy and I to work side by side (something we had not done ever before) and marveled at the blessing of new conversation we enjoyed. I became almost militant about Ethan napping at 1pm after lunch time and before I knew it, he was going down without fighting me. In fact, after lunch on a normal day, he goes and finds his blankie and heads to bed by himself without me saying a word! Elly's attitude has improved substantially and we hear much less whining and complaining from her. She now knows what to expect and for her, that sort of security is priceless.

Most of all, Andy and I are on the same page (as much as a human couple could be) as far as parenting, routines and schedules. That is empowering for both of us as we head into, once again, uncharted territories.

About a week into our challenge, as we were noticing the positives coming from that within our household, we knew we needed to account for the situation in our jobs. As I alluded to earlier, things were not so rosy as Andy and I found our position at the farm shifting to meet its needs. Things were happening in the natural that surely had spiritual implications. People and events within the structure of the farm were aligning so that Andy's and my position was whittled down to personal cooking engagements, sales and graphic design. The question on everyone's mind was simple, but weighty: How does this third family cash flow at the farm?

This is good business and we'll be the first ones to tell you that everything and everyone at a farm needs to have a purpose or it's got to be re-purposed...or removed. During the middle of June, Andy and the others at the farm worked numbers, scenarios, business models, and projections to see where our place would be in 6 months' time. Some of the projections were exciting and hopeful, like Andy and I taking on an entrepreneurial cheffing endeavor separate, but associated with, the farm. Other options all seemed to point to the same dilemma months down the road.

Andy and the fam and I traveled back to the east side of Wisconsin, the Fox Valley, to clear our heads and get a little clarity on the grave issue before us. Obviously, this whole time we were deep in prayer and searching out the next step before us. Andy and I both knew it was coming, and soon. But it was not ours to take. We had to be shown first.

That's when Andy met with our good friend Ben.

Ben is a young man with a lot of drive and business sense. We first met him when we sold fresh milk at Foxwood Farm. He came to us, fresh out of college, hungry to know more about the underground food rebellion that we were a part of. A guy like that just wanted a cause to get behind and when he learned that he wasn't allowed to buy milk from a farmer in the Dairy State, you can bet that was enough fuel to light this firecracker of a man. He was one of our biggest supporters, coming with us to the Raw Milk Hearing after only knowing us for two months and attending the International Raw Milk Symposium in Madison. There, he took stole the microphone in front of a panel of distinguished big-wigs in the Slow Foods Movement and catalyzed the audience into acting on all this knowledge they had received at the conference. We called him The Foxwood Farm Hero. When we lost the farm and moved to St. Brigid's, Ben made the three hour drive to visit us at least once a month, but often more than that.

During the long dark days of winter, he and Andy dove into long discussions about what the local foods movement needed in order to launch it to the next level. Ben had a great desire to consult with farmers and consumers alike in order to help them better reach each other than the standard farm market or CSA. At the same time, he had been brought up with an extensive working knowledge of meat and meat preservation. Ben comes from a prestigious lineage of cured meat artisans (if that is even a term!). His grandfather began Hillshire Farms and built the company up to a reputable force in the industry. When Sara Lee wanted to buy the company, Ben's grandfather accepted on the condition that he would be allowed to make decisions about the quality of the sausage and meat. Soon, however, Sara Lee wanted to cut costs and put "fillers" into the meats. When Ben's grandfather protested, they eliminated his position.

Undaunted, the man began a new meat company in his middle age called Silver Creek Specialty Meats and has preserved that company within the family ever since. Ben's parents both work there today and Ben grew up knowing everything a kid could know about preserving meat. After learning of his heritage, it should come as no surprise that this year, at age 24, Ben began his own company called Gourmet Grassfed. He sells locally produced, locally raised grassfed beef meat snacks that are reminiscent of jerky, but so much better for you. I can tell you more about the products themselves another time.

Circling back, the reason this info is so relevant is because when Andy met with Ben in June, it was to tell him that something big was on our family horizon. The more they talked, the more it became clear that our paths were once again connecting. Ben had reached a ceiling in what he as one man could do to promote his incredible and niche product. He needed someone else to come on board to help with sales and marketing.

Someone who knew the product as well as he did, and someone that had been there from the ground up. In those winter nights over organic Vodka mixers and braised ox tail, Andy had helped Ben with his vision of Gourmet Grassfed. When I was overwhelmed with a nursing infant and bleary eyed from lack of sleep, I helped him design his label.

 

(So if you don't like it, lay off me, I was delirious, plus the label regulations are pretty specific)!

Suddenly, we had an answer. There it was. All laid out for us. With one week left in our 21 Day Challenge, we officially resigned from St. Brigid's Meadows. The leaving was not a surprise to anyone there, but it came with a distinct sadness that the position had not worked in the way any of us had first envisioned. Truly, Andy and I played a large part in that shifting of reality, but certainly there were others on the farm that played a role in our leaving as well.

Once again, we were saying good bye to families and patrons that had carved a special place in our hearts, but at least this time, they would experience no loss of the farm fresh food they had come to depend on.

The final week of the 21 Day Challenge was spent packing and cleaning and tying up loose ends. Liam helped as best he could.

 

As we are trying to pay off some debt, Andy and I don't have much in savings. Coming to a fledgling business like Gourmet Grassfed would inherently mean that we'd be living on savings for upwards of three months and no paycheck. By our best estimations, we only had money for two months total.

Then God placed our next step for us just in time (or just in His time, I should say). A friend of ours has been unable to sell his home and lives in this 5 bedroom beauty by himself. He offered to have our family stay with him as long as we need for a seriously reduced rent and no utilites. In addition, he has a thriving backyard organic garden all ready for harvesting and lives in a town that puts us central to the farm markets that Ben and Andy will be attending. Finally, our friend works from home, but keeps to himself a lot of the time and has basically given the kids and I free reign of the entire household. So all we had to do was pack up dressers and a few toiletries and we were set up. (all else is in storage). With this blessing of a home to come to, our savings would indeed last us three full months.

 

And the last Tuesday of June, we hauled our boxes and furniture and lives across the state once again, a short ten months after doing it from Foxwood Farm. Above, Cortnie and the family take a break on the way home. Cortnie came for the day to help keep the kids occupied while we shoved the moving truck full. Again, many thanks for the Gerkhing family in all the ways they've helped us through the years.

Now it is two weeks later and we are strongly into our routine here in Winneconne, WI. It's the same routine that we laid down at The Blue House three hours west of here and it still works. Little things within our Challenge now seem tailored to life with a roommate; things like doing dishes after every meal and cleaning up toys every night. Surely these are noble goals in and of themselves, but work especially nicely as a habit when being considerate of a generous friend. Andy has his own schedule now, too. He leaves for work with Ben at about 6:30am and works out with him before having a mutually made breakfast and sitting down in the office at Ben's apartment. He works until supper time, but it varies depending on the nature of the day's demands.

Today, for instance, they went to Silver Creek Specialty Meats at 6am and physically made the next batch of Gourmet Grassfed Meat Snacks, from a grassfed cow straight off the fields of the former Foxwood Farm. (did I mention that my father still has a beef herd living there?) Today, they marketed their first box of wholesale snacks, to be sold in an Oshkosh Piggly Wiggly. Every day is exciting and new and we are blessed to be a part of this next endeavor. The company is the immediate goal, but connecting consumers to locally grown products is still the larger vision.

It's pretty amazing what can happen when you clean up a mini-van and shop-vac your mind. Andy and I are just humbled to be serving a God as outside-of-the-box as ours is.

And, now that I've got this off my back, I can post more frequently about our happenings. Life is a journey, friends. If Andy and I have ever "made it," we'll have surely been fooled somewhere along the way.

We arrived home from church this morning and began clearing out the van. As those of you with children might understand, it takes but a few trips before your vehicle of choice is littered with innumerable crumbs, toys and random items that have found their way beneath the seats. For us, taking out the necessary items each time (diaper bag, jackets, drink cups), but leaving the rest of the crud is our typical M.O.

For one, it's just practical. Between the two of us, getting three kids out of the van along with their accompanying items and our own, one trip is just barely possible on a good day.

But two, as we are learning, leaving the rest of the "crud" for another day is indicative of more than just the family mini-van. It represents our entire lives right now.

Andy and I are working in reactive, triage mode and have been for the last...well, goodness...how far can I back up? As I think about it, I don't know that we've ever been proactive in our approach to life!

I'm walking in the house with an armload of books, toys and two random bath towels, and I hear the Shop-Vac turn on in the garage. Andy has all the large items out of the van, spread across the driveway and Elly and Ethan are playing in the vacuous space in the back of the van. The kitchen is as we left it this morning; half eaten muffins and leftover scones litter the table along with empty milk glasses and a lonely French Press near the sink. Normally we clean up after every meal, but we had a late night last night, visiting family 3 hours away for an annual reunion. We pulled into the drive around 11:30 pm and pretty much shoved everyone into their respective beds before crashing ourselves.

It was nice to see family, have a day off and watch the kids run around with cousins removed. Little Liam passed though about 15 different mothering arms before the day was donem, and we all enjoyed a small town June Dairy Days parade in which Andy energized Ethan and Elly to smile and wave the hardest of all the kids on the block. On our long drive home, we forced conversation in order to keep the driver alert and on the ready.

We were talking about our lives and what God has for us. In the eight months since we left Foxwood Farm, we have found ourselves pushed to the brink in our spiritual journey and growth. When we moved, we knew without doubt that this was the place God was preparing for us. Energetic and hopeful for the future, we dove in, somewhat hesitant but mostly confident of our mandate here. In the following months, our job description morphed from market gardeners/delivery personnel to marketers/patron communications/design/catering. The people working at St. Brigid's saw what our strengths were and allowed us to play to them.

We flourished with the freedom but struggled in the execution of such broad and limitless expectations. Unbeknownst to us at the time, God was lining things up for a power punch of reality that wouldn't fully hit until mid-February.

I walk back outside to grab a bag of trash and listen to the high pitch whine of the shop-vac echoing in the garage. When we arrived home last night, we pulled in kids and nothing else. My intention this morning is to get the big stuff out from the trip, but in light of our new life goals, it becomes a complete deep cleaning of the vehicle.

In January, there was a tangible shift in the way our family interacted with the other two families that work on this farm. It was not for the positive. Without disclosing personal facts, I can say that we were beginning to feel isolated in our home across the street from the dairy and a few miles from the beef farm. The dead of winter didn't help and the arrival of a newborn increased the physical separation from us to them. During that time, Andy took on certain responsibilities within his role as Marketing Manager and unknowingly stepped outside his boundaries.

He sought to take on a leadership role and ended up violating the trust he had enjoyed with both our peers and our boss. Near the end of February, he was disciplined within an inch of our jobs and began down a path of searching and sorrow that perhaps just today has reached it's fruition. God encountered Andy in a deep and personal way, speaking to him via a live web-cast from our favorite organization, International House of Prayer in Kansas City. It was a message from a missionary pastor who was renowned for church planting, deep prayer movements and general self-less acts of service for those in need. He had been spoken to by the Lord with such a dramatic message that he had to share it live, with millions of viewers across the globe. IHOP-KC posted it live and if you care to have your faith shaken to its core, click here and give yourself about one and a half hours.

In the message, the man talked about being spoken to in a manner of ways by God, but the most important thing that Andy got out of it was that he is not worthy of God's saving grace. Yes, we've all heard it: Saved a wretch like me. This finally hit the core truth. When the African missionary told us and his audience that after all he had done for God, all he had sacrificed, all he had given for God's glory, God spoke to him very clearly, as if an actual person were speaking to the inmost consciousness of this man's mind. God told him as plain as the nose on his face, "If I were to come back for my people today, I would not take you."

This pivotal moment in this man's life became the pivotal moment in Andy's life ... and by default, mine. Andy heard that to the deepest core of himself and lay crumpled on the couch, tears pouring down his face as the reality of that statement sunk to the middle of him. He boldly asked God to show him how He sees Andy, the real Andrew, below the layers of pride and protection and even to the dark corners of his heart that Andrew himself didn't even realize were there. And God did. And it was horrifying and heartwrenching, and he felt absolutely naked in front of his Creator.

{Our beliefs are what we live by and we can only hope others might learn from what we expose about ourselves on this forum.}

In the days following that afternoon, Andrew wrote a heartfelt letter of apology to the other two families here and awaited his judgment.

In the months that followed, judgment would come. But not in the way we were anticipating ... at least not all of it.

There is an analogy that is quite appropriate: you must first plow a field in order to ready the soil for planting. If it's new ground, there are several ways it needs to be plowed before a seed can even touch the newly exposed earth. First the ground must be sliced and turned over 180˚ to kill off the weeds and grass that currently inhabit that field. Next, a more refined harrow comes through to break up the rolled clumps of upside-down sod and then a disc plow breaks up the dirt even more. After a few rounds of this further refining, the field is smooth, weedless and ready for fertile seeds.

It's not hard to imagine that if God wants to plant new seeds in someone, he must first slice and overturn our current existence. Plowing is not a gentle process. And if your entire perception of oneself is ripped up and laid bare, the procedure can be excruciatingly painful. At the time, we thought the initial encounter with himself through God's eyes was the complete plowing process, but it became clear as the weeks brought us into March, that the refining had just begun.

I return outside to the van and collect little Liam in his car seat. He's bright-eyed as usual, watching Daddy vacuum a Kellogg serving size pile of stale cereal from the seat Ethan usually inhabits. It's been about three hours since Liam last nursed and while he's not cranky, I prefer not pushing him to that point. I'll leave the unkempt kitchen a few more minutes and settle down on the couch with my tiny man. Gazing out the window, the leaves on our maple tree flutter softly in the cool breeze, causing the diffused cloudy light to peek in and out of the lush foliage. My mind's eye takes me back to the very short time ago in which the bitter winter winds whipped the skeletal maple tree limbs back and forth against a sharp blue sky. As March drew to a close, we ventured back to the Fox Valley (Oshkosh area) to see family and meet with our spiritual mentors. We needed clarity and a little re-calibration.

What we learned was heartening and discouraging all at once. Sparing some details, it came down to this: Andy was being taught how to humble himself before those in authority over him. It was a hard lesson and one that he was not taking to very well. As such, the leash at work was getting shorter, and the trust was not being regained. We came home with a sense of knowing what God wanted, and now the will to carry it out. But a mere three days later, Andy violated once again the lesson he was being taught and caused another complete shift in trust and confidence in our family's role here at the farm. Once again, we were at the near precipice of being asked to leave. It was at this point my eyes were opened to a simple fact. So simple that it had been overlooked by us for years. So finally obvious that it was controlling our very lives.

Andy had never been able to bow before those in authority over him, not fully, ever since I have known him. And he will tell you, it's been his whole life. As I traced our steps backwards, I realized that this process had not been months in the making, but years! One step back, and he couldn't work with my father at Foxwood. Two steps back and he couldn't work under his sales managers at his last corporate job. Three steps back and he couldn't work with his District Manager in Colorado Springs. Four steps back and he couldn't work in the Air Force Reserves. The pattern of his life ... and mine entwined within that ... slapped me across the face in a sudden blast of reality.

I became angry with him. I was more angry with Andrew than I had ever been and wanted nothing more than to scream at him everything I was feeling, including the loss of my family's farm. How much God still cares for those he is disciplining, though. He caused Andy to get violently ill for 24 hours in which I needed to care for him at every need and take pity on his poor body as it rid itself of the toxins within. God coincided this illness with my realization and fiery anger. I was unable to say a word to Andy that day. Everything I wanted to tell him, to vent at him, to make him feel, I had to pen up inside me and instead, care for him as a mother to her sick child. The following day he was completely well and gone for another ten hours before I'd see him again. By that time, I had collected myself and worked through my emotions enough to speak to him in a rational and loving way.

God must have known that the state of Andy's spirit would not have been able to handle my wrath and so caused him physical illness in order to protect his wounded inside. I don't take pleasure in telling you this, but I feel it is significant enough to be included. I will not forget God's act of supernatural protection of Andy from my own anger any time soon.

When Andy recovered, and we had worked out our feelings on his behavior regarding authority, we dove into our work with a renewed sense of training and worth. If God was plowing our fields like this, he must have some very important seeds to plant. As painful as the refining was, we knew it was necessary and in the end, we would be much better people for it.

April passed us by and as our three children grew, so did our workload at the farm. Being jacks of all trades can sometimes lend itself to long work days with no clear boundaries. We began clocking in every time we performed a task for St. Brigid's even though we are salaried just for our own awareness of time spent. After several weeks, it was revealed that Andy works longer than full time hours, and I work longer than part time hours. And it also began to be revealed that while I work hard, I don't work efficiently. The focus of God's plow began to be pointed directly at me, and I didn't like it.

It's easy to be the supportive wife in light of your husband's life changing revelations. It's hard to have the focus turned onto yourself. And in my pride, I fought it. I don't know why it takes hitting a low point for people to stop fighting the inevitable, even after watching someone else hit the lowest of lows and suffering every single day for it.

I hit my low point a mere week ago. Remember how we take the necessary items out of the van, but leave the build up of crud for later? Well, that had become our daily lives and everything in them. It had begun affecting my entire existence as both a mother and wife. Our house was in a complete state of disarray nearly every day. The kids would get dressed and fed each day, but everything in between was thrown together by need and reactive measures. I began stressing out over just about everything and anything. Every day was triage from the last, and we never got ahead. Between the responsibilities placed on me from the job and the bare minimum of daily housewife chores, I felt I had no time in between. I realize three children under 4 and one of them being a baby with no real schedule is cause for some chaos. But this was beyond excuse. And I was losing it.

About a week ago, I asked my mother to come for a couple days to help us redo our lack-luster landscaping in the front yard. She has a knack for that sort of thing and loves to visit the kids, so it was a natural fit. On her final day, I was beginning to stress about the lack of progress in the front yard. In reality, there had been a lot accomplished, but in my mind; far too much had yet to be done. I went on a disappointing field trip with mom while the kids napped to look for some plants to put in our shaded flower bed (disappointing because we didn't find anything to plant). I returned to find Andy playing video games and the kids freshly up from their naps. The house was in disarray as usual and the flower beds were no further progressed. I just lost it. All I could see was the mountain of work that needed to be done and my husband sitting in the cool house wasting time with a video game. We got into a heated debate while my mother wisely stepped outside to work on the flower beds.

And in our argument, we realized that we were both at fault. As part of Andy's discipline, he realized that he needed to grow up. Really, truly grow up and accept the role of adult. He admitted that he had not done that yet and determined on that day to take responsibility of himself and his role in the house. I learned that I am in a constant state of reaction and never proactive about anything in my life. The clutter building up in the physical realm was wholly indicative of the chaos in my mind and heart. It was that day that we began our 21 day habit building test.

Let me explain. Andy had heard and learned that it takes 21 days to form a good habit. (Bad habits are easier to learn than good, only three days). He wisely suggested that we take 21 days to implement several good habits into our daily life and that if we miss just one day, we start the 21 days all over. He put 21 small squares on the whiteboard hanging in our kitchen and said we can't X them out until the day is completed with all our adult responsibilities.

In that, I determined to keep a routine and schedule for my family and household. Here is what we came up with:

6-7am: Rise and get ready for the day. Make breakfast, get kids up and dressed and be prepared for 7am meal. 

7am-8am: Breakfast and clean up. Andy (or me) leaves for work by 8am. 

8am-9am: Kids get Sesame Street while I (or Andy) continues cleanup or other household chores. During this time, computer work for St. Brigid's will also be completed 

9am-10am: Craft/playtime with the kids. 

10am-11:30am: Free time for the kids, work time for the parent. 

11:30am-12pm: Prep for lunch 

12pm-1pm: Lunch time and clean up, preparation for naptimes 

1pm-?pm: Kids' naps. They vary in how each sleeps, so this is open ended. Parent works for St. Brigid's during this time or accomplishes tasks about the house that are not child-friendly 

4pm-5pm: Playtime with kids (open-ended), Andy returns home (or me) 

5pm-6pm: Dinner prep, household tasks 

6pm-7pm: Dinner and cleanup, prep for bed times 

7pm-8pm: Execute bedtime routines, including book-time, wrestle-time and teeth brushing 

8pm-9:30pm: Andy and Me time 

9:30pm: Bedtime 

Within those time-frames are other tasks that must be completed during the day for it to be called a victory in habit making. Obviously the times are loose enough that we can fudge a little, but the basic structure is there to keep me on task and help me not lose my mind. And you know what? It's totally working! And we haven't missed a day so far.

I'm done nursing Liam and Elly peeks her head in the door. "I just wanted to say Hi," she says.

"Okay," I respond.

"Hi!" she sings and disappears back outside. Before the door can slam, Ethan sneaks in and I notice he's barefoot. "I, Mommy!" he greets (His Hi's have silent H's).

"Hi, Ethan. Where are your shoes?" I inquire. He looks down, as if surprised that they are missing and points towards the now closed door. "Owside! Shoes! Owside!" he explains. I'll be embarking on a sandal hunt before I clean up the kitchen, I conclude.

But then Andy comes in the same door, small leather sandals in his grip and triumphantly claims, "You have a van again!"

Indeed, after today's sermon, I feel like I have a life again. The sermon was given by a man who lives in England, so while the dialect was deliciously engaging, the content was the final plow sword into Andrew's and my life.

He spoke about fear. And it suddenly became the final piece of the puzzle in the last four months of intense fire and learning in our spirits. There is the healthy fear: fear of the Lord and rational fear (such as your child running into traffic). Then there is irrational fear and fear based on false facts. The man gave some lecture notes in which I have copied here. (This is the abridged version.)

1. Describe your fears
What do we fear most in life? 

2. Displace your fears
To displace fears, cultivate a close relationship with God.
Conquer the battleground: speaking God's word out loud
The lies we tell ourselves and believe are the most destructive.
What we say is often the deciding factor for how we will live 

3. Dare your fears
Confront them with boldness 

And what do I fear? I'll tell you. I fear insecurity. And I've done everything in my life to hide that fear, cover that fear and ignore that fear. In doing so, I have caused great disorder and chaos in my life, growing ever worse as the responsibilities have mounded up. I have perpetuated insecurity in my life by the very act of trying to hide it.

And now that I've described my fear, I can work actively to displace it.

Andy realized that his fear was with a specific person and the influence that person has over him. When we compared notes after the sermon, our 21 day mandate came fully in to focus.

Along with cultivating pro-active habits of a successful and stress-free family, we will be cultivating habits of deep prayer and self examination.

Lunch is being set upon the table as I encourage the kids to take their seats. It's left-over potato soup with a homemade Alfredo based broth and just the thing for this slightly cool June day. I glance at the white board in the kitchen and see that we have five squares in a row filled in along the bottom. Sixteen more days to re-organize our life and be fully prepared to take on the next stage. It feels good to have a vacuuming from time to time.

And now, I know it won't be because we let it get away from us. It will just be a part of our life's routine.

Elly and I were telling stories outside on the deck this morning while we ate homemade donuts and lounged in the shade. One in particular seemed to have enough substance that I just had to type it out as she dictated. The following is called:

City: Viroqua[Mom's note: I have no idea how this pertains to the actual story, but this is what she insisted it be called]

Once there was a family of horses. There was a baby, a sister and a mom and dad horse. One day they were walking out in the woods. They found a path and they thought it was a horse at the end of the path, but it was a lion! They ran away as fast as they could back home, but the lion was too fast. The horses ran right into the door of their house and hid inside. The lion jumped on the roof of the house and broke it! The horse family jumped out the window and ran to the wood place and bought wood and screws and came back home. They fixed the roof with wood and screws because it was only made of blankets before and wasn’t strong enough. When the house was fixed, the horses asked the lion if he needed something to eat and drink and he just sat there thinking about it. Suddenly he ran back to his own house and ate and drank. Then a beautiful rainbow came out.

The End

It's been a long time since I wrote here because my night-times have been overtaken by a smallish loveable squishy baby man. He's approaching the three month mark and while he is sleeping better through the night, our days have been so fast paced that by the time I get him down (between 7-9 pm), I am creatively and physically spent. There goes my small window for any substantial writing.

I know it's been long, and I have a lot I want to catch up on. So this Friday, while Andy takes the kids on his weekly delivery trip to Viroqua, I have a few hours with just Little Liam and he really is a good enough baby that I can squeeze in a sentence or two on here. (Isn't Liam totally adorable?! I know, I'm in love and biased)

The dishes are a mile high and the laundry buzzer just went off, but I need a little writing therapy here.

One of the reasons the dishes are so piled up is that this week has been one big fat catering event for St. Brigid's Meadows.

I laugh as I think of it now. Tonight is Andy's last night for the gig, but it feels like we've been under cooking siege for the last three weeks. Down on Vince's farm, about two miles down County PI and from our Blue House, there is a full scale movie production set up. Vince and Dawn, through a series of knowing the right people and generously giving up their farm sanctuary for a week, have brought the farm into the limelight. Down the windy, tree-lined County Road PI, there lies a car that has "crashed" into one of the older trees and is the center-piece for this film production. They only film at night, as that is part of the precedent for the scene, which means the crew of 40+ sleeps from about 8am to 4pm. They awaken, return to the farm from Westby and La Crosse, and have breakfast.

That's where Andy and the rest of the farm come into play. He is in charge of catering two meals a night for these folks, in the Hundt farmhouse, from this last Tuesday through tonight (Friday). Breakfast is actually a full scale meal served around 7pm. The crew goes out and shoots for roughly 6 hours and then comes back for lunch. That's around 1:30am, in which Andy has gotten out of bed and set up again in the Hundt kitchen for round two. He's usually back in bed around 3:30am.

In the first part of the week, Vince was gone for an annual business trip. Kristin (who runs the dairy with husband Jason) is always in Madison getting her Masters from Monday through Wednesday. With both key people gone, Andy basically out of commission besides cooking and delivering all week and me with three small kids (housebound), the work of two full farms fell on Jason and Dawn's shoulders. Beef animals needed to be fed and one rounded up for a weekly date with the butcher on Wednesday. Dairy cattle to be milked twice a day, daily chores surrounding all that and care for the hogs and chickens to boot. On top of that, we are still collecting sap for maple syrup and there are trees tapped all over the woods surrounding Poplar Coulee Ridge (the Hundt farm).

It's been crazy in our home as well, with a tiny galley kitchen being used to feed 40 people twice a day for four nights, and no automatic dishwasher. I had the foresight, and God had the timing, to allow for a helper in our home. Since Sunday night, we've been enjoying the company and capable helping hands of our young friend Cortnie. You may recall, her family was integral in our Foxwood Farm days and she's on the old side of 13 now (14 in June!). It's her Spring break this week and her parents were generous enough to let us borrow her all week to help with the kiddoes. She's taken a special fondness to Liam and he to her. We joke that she's got lavender scented arms because she has an uncanny ability to get Liam to fall asleep under her stead.

Here she demonstrates her Liam-taming ability early in the week. We couldn't have managed a peaceful household this week without her help. It's been amazing and we'll be sad to say goodbye as we take her home tomorrow morning.

In family news, Liam is very much smiling and cooing now. He's taking on a more unique look, but still reminds us of Ethan at the same age.

The kids are highly involved in his care and deeply interested in everything Liam is doing. Here you see Ethan and Elly helping with bathtime.

Just in case you were wondering about Ethan's hair and could it possibly get any longer...we have an update. After realizing that even in the dead of winter our son was sweating on his head, we finally gave in and cut his hair. Andy took him in the bathroom, set up a movie on the iPad and hand cut (no buzz-cut here) all those blonde locks right off. The finished product is a happier little boy who somehow looks a year older! See for your self:

We're happy with the cut and will likely keep it short until cooler temps again.

We've been involved making maple syrup for the last two weeks straight (as I mentioned above). It's a process I am completely unfamiliar with, but have been delighted to learn about. Having no prior experience, I was unaware that there are old-fashioned methods to producing syrup and "new-fashioned" was as well. Not surprisingly, Vince is very proud of the fact that he successfully employs the more time-consuming and healthier OLD-FASHIONED method of collecting sap and turning it to syrup.

The process is straightforward. Tap the maples at just the right time in early March (when the trees begin to wake up and the sap begins to "run.") We use stainless steel metal buckets and taps, a stainless steel bulk tank to store the sap and a stainless steel boiling unit.


I say all this because plastic has been proven to leach unknown chemicals into food when they are in contact and most modern maple syrup operations use a host of plastic when making the syrup. Also, most maple syrup these days is made by dehydrating the sap (the process is not something I am familiar with). The sap here at St. Brigid's Meadows is brought up to temp by wood fire and evaporated nice and slowly. At the right time, it is poured off and finished in the house to be sure not to burn it.

Exact temps and times are essential to produce the right consistency. Andy, Vince, Jason and Kristin spent all last weekend boiling sap, taking turns in shifts and going all day and night.

It's a lot of work, but can be fun with the right friends and "warming" beverages at your side. :-)

It takes 40 gallons of maple sap to become 1 gallon of maple syrup. And the unit that we use, with wood and flame, can boil 20 gallons per hour. You can imagine that the cost of this syrup isn't going to compare with Mrs. Butterworth's HFCS laden bottle at Piggly Wiggly. As Vince is fond of saying, "This is the genuine article!" and we're pretty proud of it. It tastes pretty amazing, too, which is more important than any other factor combined.

After tonight's catering I think we're going to go into a family hibernation of sorts and just refuel. I need some cookies and since our kitchen has been under siege, I haven't been able to bake at will. :-)

Oops, gotta go; Liam is up, the roasts I'm braising for tonight's "breakfast" are beeping and my laundry needs to be switched over.

Back at it!

Good Day! I'm so happy to meet you! I'm new. 

 

As I sit in my cozy living room, thankful for thick carpet, soft blankets and energy star windows, I also have to chuckle at the events of the last couple weeks.

You see, not only am I being warmed by the aforementioned items, I'm also holding onto my own personal heater: a newborn baby.

This post has been long in coming because I have found myself in the unique place of being solidly outnumbered by small humans needing a lot of "mommy time." It helps that Andy is able to be home as much as he is, and that I can work from this very computer as needed.

But let me back up. Something I didn't talk a lot about in 2010 was my pregnancy with our third child. It came up from time to time, but overall, the lack of communication stemmed from our amazing life changes and attention being drawn elsewhere. Throughout it all, however, we were very aware of the life growing inside me and rather excited for an unplanned baby.

Truly, unplanned. In fact, we could argue that it was an immaculate conception. The place we were back in April was not conducive for baby-making and in fact, it was the farthest thought from our minds. We were dealing with farming stresses, raw milk bills and financial anxieties. Family was strained and the idea of bringing a child into that just didn't seem wise. On top of that, I was not yet 'regular' from having weaned Ethan just a few months earlier.

This is why we believe with all our hearts that God had a plan for this baby. Something more than normal. All signs in life and body pointed to abstinence of new life. In fact, it was already in May that we just knew life was going to change dramatically at Foxwood and we shut off any possibility of having more children...at least for now. What we didn't know in May was that I was already three or four weeks pregnant with our next child, the child we didn't think we could have. So God gave us a new life...in about the only two week possibility of the entire year!

Fast forward to the very beginning of this year, just days after my last post. Andy was catering a holiday party in our small town with a local business. He needed the helping hands of a couple servers. My mom was able to drive out to watch Ethan and Elly while Vince, Andy and I played dress up and made a great party for the local workers in Coon Valley. I was on my feet for about 5 straight hours (not the norm) and really felt it the next day. At my prenatal, it was determined that all signs pointed to an impending labor.

It was interesting, because I was only at 38 weeks and I went full term or over with the first two. Also, I had been measuring small since about 25 weeks. (A pregnant momma's tummy is measured in centimeters and usually coordinates with the number of weeks pregnant; 34 cm = 34 weeks along. It's pretty sweet!) But on that Friday, I measured just 35.5 cm, 2.5 cm short of my progress. For those reasons, I had been thinking I might actually give birth in February. But here it was, January 7th and all signs said "GO!"

We scrambled that weekend to get the house in order and make sure all the midwifery tools were in order. (Did we mention that we were having a home birth?)

No baby. Monday came and in the evening, I began feeling pretty regular contractions, but not enough to cause alarm. We went to bed around 10 pm, and I awoke several times over the next 2 hours to a rather strong contraction. Finally, just before midnight, I got up and walked around. It seemed that we needed to start timing them, though my contractions have never fallen into the convention of a pattern. We called Denise, our midwife a little after midnight, and we all confirmed that it was time for her to come over.

I proceeded to walk circles around the house during the contractions while Andy got the bed ready and the mood lighting set up (candles, ambient white lights and low light lamps). He then did the dishes from the last couple days, out of pure embarrassment that the midwife crew might see a dirty kitchen. :-)

Denise, Tavniah (her midwife assistant) and Amanda (a student midwife) arrived just before 1 am and by then, I could talk between contractions, but not so much during anymore. We were certain this was the real deal. We worked through the next hour of heavy contractions and around 2-ish, I really got down to business. At one point, I think I literally felt the contractions opening my uterus up, a sensation I did not have with the first two. (Did I mention this was all natural? And back labor?) It was amazingly painful, yet reassuring to know without a doubt those contractions were not only doing their job, but doing it fast.

Soon I moved into our bed and felt a little like pushing. At the hospital births, the midwives had been diligent about checking my dialation and letting me know it was time to push. Denise had said that she didn't tend to do that, and indeed she had not once. So when I felt like I needed to push, I was really unsure of myself. I didn't want to waste energy pushing if I wasn't fully dialated, but I felt so much better if I did push. This was my signal. Pushing contractions feel different. And when you push with them, you are almost transported to a pain-free contraction. That in itself is motivation enough to expend the energy.

I gave a few 'test pushes' to see if anything would happen. It felt right. So I had the girls stack up some pillows and I sat up. It was time. I looked at the clock for the first time since about 1:30 am. It said 3 am, on the dot. Wow, pushing already? I was amazed; it took about 7 hours the last two times to reach this point. Here, just over 3. I began pushing and my body just took over. Andy and the midwives were very encouraging; though I was still unsure I was making any progress. Then Tavniah said, "Oh look at all that hair!"

Ok, progress! We worked together, and I pushed again. Suddenly there was a small baby head emerged into the world.

Now, not to get too graphic here, but I have to comment on this. With Elly, I didn't want to look. With Ethan, I was at the wrong angle and I couldn't really see his head. With baby number three, I could see everything. And I must tell you this: Seeing a miniature human head sticking out upside down between my legs is THE MOST bizarre thing I have ever witnessed in my entire life.

Ok, back to the story. I was tired and seeing baby was so exhilarating. I knew just one more good push and she* would be in my arms.

* Up to this point, I want you to understand that we were convinced (without scientific backing) that we were having a girl. We knew it, several people close to us knew it, and we had the perfect name.

And just like that, I was holding a brand new baby, all wet and beautiful and vigorous.

 

She was immediately covered in towels and close to my breast. I glanced at the clock and couldn't believe my eyes: 3:06am. 6 minutes of pushing?! It had felt like half an hour.

So a few minutes passed and it occurred to me that Denise had not announced the gender of our baby.

"What do we have? A girl?"

We peeked. Denise saw before me, I know it, but she allowed me to make the astonished announcement: "IT'S A BOY?"

I laugh as I think about it now. Not a statement, but a question. A boy? But how can that be? We don't even have a name picked out!! Andy came over and had to look for himself as he was in just as much shock as me. Sure thing, no mistaking the gender. Our little guy had fooled us all and we were excited for it.

 

The next hour went by in a blur. We worked on me, we worked on baby. Andy snuck into the kids' room and brought a bleary-eyed Elly into the room. She understood immediately that this was the new baby and took an immediate interest in all that was going on. When we told her she had a brother, not a sister and that we didn't have a name for him yet, she ran out of the room. She popped her head back in and said "Hold on, I'll find the name." A moment later, she returned with an imaginary handful of “name” and placed it gently on the bookshelf. "Here's the name, guys! I found it!" We got a good chuckle out of it.

 

We had Elly cut the cord though I'm sure she wasn't sure what was going on. The little man was then weighed and all his vitals were taken. He was deemed amazingly healthy and full term. No early baby here.

 

 

 

His weight at birth was 7lbs, 10oz. His first cry didn't occur until they were taking his pulse and heartbeat nearly a half hour after he was born, but we weren't worried; he was pink and vibrant and even trying to look around.

 

By 5am, the ladies had cleaned up everything and left, and Elly was back in bed. We settled into our clean bedroom with a new baby and settled down for the rest of our night's sleep. Yes, we had gone to bed, had a baby and returned to bed in the course of one night.

I love home-births! The last thing I recall as I drifted into sub-conscious thought was hearing the snowplows outside our home, clearing the roads for the morning commuters. It was amazingly peaceful as we lay soft and warm in our own bed, a new baby in arms and knowing that the snowy world outside was still running full force, without the need of us to be in it.

That is the story of our home birth. No complications, peaceful music, attentive midwives and a loving husband at my side the whole time. After two hospital births in which we were very satisfied with the service, I feel like I've been fooled into thinking that those were the best it could be. Sort of like being told as a child that pudding out of a box was the primo dessert and believing it for years. Then someone offers you homemade cooked pudding, with homegrown ingredients and you are vaulted into another realm of taste you never knew could be possible. Suddenly you look back at those years of Jello pudding and wonder ... how could I have been so fooled by you? You imposter! I'll never go back.

And so, if we have children in the future, we will never go back to a sterile hospital room (barring some medical emergency). For any of you considering it, or even for those whom a home birth makes you nervous, let me tell you: there is nothing more comforting than your own home when you are at the peak of vulnerability. Nothing is more intimate and beautiful than the birth of a child and to have that experience with trusted and loved ones ... I just don't know how you could want the boxed substitute.

My mother came that morning around 8am to help us out for the week.

 

Over the next couple days as I was quickly recovering, Andy and I came up with name possibilities. But we could not agree. Finally, in a passive conversation where we weren't trying so hard, we came up with it.

Liam Jakub Sell.

The explanation we gave our family is as follows (because our pursuit of this name caused us to learn a lot about names in general and we wanted to share our path):

Liam, in honor of his two great-great grandfathers (from both sides), both named William, both immigrants from Germany, with the root meaning "determined guardian."
Jakub, in the traditional Czech spelling (part of Andy's heritage), with the root meaning of "supplanter." One who takes the place of another. We thought this appropriate since for so long, we were convinced we were having a girl.  

And now, let me give you what you really want: photos!

Blessings to you all and thanks for tuning in. :-)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When our guests arrived at the same time Thursday morning, we were a bit surprised. One couple, our friends and coworkers at St. Brigid's Meadows, live across the street. The other couple, my parents, live 3 hours east of us. When our guests came in the door bearing gifts of smiles and pies, we knew this would be a good day. Welcomes and introductions aside, we settled in for a homemade brunch consisting of farm raised foods and good cheer.

In the background, the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade added atmosphere and we all dug in. Soon, we fell into comfortable conversation and before long, the pretense of new faces was shed. It was a great start to the holiday, followed by a group effort clean-up in anticipation of the Big Meal later in the afternoon. The Blankenheims' left around mid-day to check on the animals, do a few chores and take a nap. We continued cooking and child entertainment with my folks, leisurely setting up the house for a Christmas tree and catching up. It was amazingly comfortable, and I found myself hoping the minutes wouldn't tick by the way they were. Mom alternately cleaned and played with the kiddoes. Dad helped Andy with a couple projects and played make-believe baseball player with Elly. I managed to get some accounting work squeezed in and Andy happily prepared the side-dishes and the turkey for our grand meal.

It was a long distance from where we were in our relationship just a short month ago. But to fully understand what happened in the last month, I must back up nearly two years. (Don't worry, it won't be a day-by-day account!)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As Andy and I dove more and more fully into this farming take over at Foxwood Farm, we had to start thinking differently. When we first moved back to Wisconsin from Colorado Springs, we were still in the corporate rat race. I had quit full time graphic design to freelance from home, in anticipation of our first child in a few months. Andy took a sales position that had him away from home over 10 hours per day. Between long work hours and late pregnancy, we did not have many thoughts toward the farming endeavor and only had a few planning meetings with my parents on the direction of the farm. Our initial interest had been a tourist type farm with a few niche artisenal products and more of a hobby farm atmosphere. As we progressed into our pregnancy, we took a natural birthing class and learned a great deal about nutrition and diet for a pregnant mother. Logic told us that what was good for the pregnant mother was good for everyone, and we started to change the way we ate. We found a local source for eggs and switched to whole milk, some organic fruit and whole grains. For my birthday in 2007, I got a book from my oldest brother that became the catalyst for an entire life paradigm switch. The book, The Untold Story of Milk, completely opened our eyes to the benefits of fresh, unprocessed milk ... and the amazing government take-over of our food system in the last 100 years. We had the time to read most of it together and when Elly was born, continued reading it individually. We knew then that we had to get hold of this milk, but did not know how.

In August of 2007, we moved to the farm. Andy still worked the same job, and I had my freelance work, with a baby, and our lives were not yet involved in farming. Andy took care of the animals on weekends, but it wasn't until winter of that year that we knew we couldn't work a full time job and farm. There were not enough hours in the day. Our plans for a tourist destination had morphed into providing local, everyday folks with the type of food that would nourish them and not poison them. Suddenly we were in the mentality that this was no longer a hobby dream. This was the real deal. When Andy quit his job in February of 2008, we had taken the plunge. There was no going back then. We'd intentionally burned the boat and we were here to stay.

Looking back, that fierce "Pilgrim" mentality was both our greatest driving force and our deepest downfall. Our focus on what we needed to realize this dream became like a laser beam. Others outside that focus had trouble getting a word in edge-wise and most often that was my parents.

We were very conflicted with our plans. On one hand, Mom and Dad were very supportive of our future goals, yet on the other hand, we felt a lot of pressure to do things that Dad had always wanted to do on the farm. It was a battle from nearly the beginning. In June of 2008, about the time we first began this blog, Andy quit his part time FedEx job and devoted all his strength, time and thoughts to Foxwood Farm. There was much to do. A lot of the farm had been allowed to decline for several years because at the time, my father saw no one coming to take over. He was thinking of retirement and buying new machinery or fixing not-so-urgent problems was low on his list of priorities. Now, with a young, entrepreneurial man ready to take it all on, there were several years of clean up and catch up to do. The hours were long and hard. Andy learned so much that first year.

And he also learned about the dynamic of The American Farmer. My dad is The American Farmer. He is independent, often working weeks at a time alone, relying on neighbors for seasonal help and in turn helping them in season. He has gotten by for years on his own ingenuity, thriftiness, and self-reliance. Cold days, sweltering days, sick with the flu; no matter. There is a job to be done and The Farmer will not call in sick. (He can't!) That self-reliance is what has kept the people farming through this difficult century.

And that same self-reliance has the unfortunate effect of closing off new or unproven ideas. Bring in Andy; completely new to farming, having no credibility, and a learning style completely foreign to my father. Andy asks questions about everything. He just has to know why/how/when things work. "Why do you do that with this tool?" "I'm not familiar with this process ... wouldn't it go more efficiently if you eliminate that?" "Couldn't we try this method?"

In trying to ascertain the "WHY?" of farming, Andy became to my father a great hold up in the progress of things. He was not interested in teaching Andy. He just wanted to get the job done and on to the next bullet point in the never-ending list of To Do's. But for Andy, just doing something and moving on was not teaching him anything. If the same problem occurred, the cognition to recall how to fix it might not be there because he didn't fully understand the process from the first time around. It wasn't but a few months of this delicate question and answer dance that tensions arose between the two of them. When we took our turn at being shepherds in the summer of 2008, relations were already strained. As a family, we decided to look into group counseling, to help us understand the dynamics we were confronting on a daily basis.

From early fall 2008 to early spring 2009, we went faithfully as a group of four (Elly had a babysitter during that time) to work out our personalities. It was rough at first, but after coming to a safe place to vent our feelings, reveal hidden emotions and talk through misunderstandings, the four of us felt like we could "graduate" and meet weekly at home to continue planning for the ramp-up of Foxwood Farm. Suddenly we had a basic platform on which to talk through ideas successfully, and all of us were renewed with hope.

With a new baby in the mix, I was pretty much taken out of the farming equation, and it was again many hours with Andy and Dad working side by side. As our product line expanded from free-range eggs to grass fed beef, we looked forward to gaining a milking herd. The sheep continued to be a source of future promise for independent income, and we expanded our family garden to a quarter acre.

As our first cow Charlotte freshened a whole month early, we scrambled to set up the barn for milking. Our dream of having fresh, unprocessed milk was finally here and hopes were high. Dad taught Andy and I to hand milk her as we had NOTHING ready yet. But within the week, and then the following month, we got sufficiently set up with a milking system. We revamped the milk house, built an on-farm store and bartered for some essential freezers and electrical work. By the time our second cow, Tilly, came into the barn, it was just about June of 2009, and we had already pre-sold shares for her milk. We finally felt like we were underway.

And you know the rest of how it all went down, as we detailed the chickens, sheep and garden story right here in this blog. Our customer base was growing steadily and so was our milking herd. By the end of July, we had 7 cows and more milk than we could sell (at the time). So we decided to become part of a processor to pick up our excess milk. On Andy's birthday in August, our first milk pickup occurred. It was exciting and bittersweet. We never wanted to go outside our customers and sell commercially. But the pressure for bills and rent caused us to reconsider.

During this time, our families still met weekly, but the meetings were less and less productive. They became more centered on money and bills and becoming profitable. Mom and Dad were rightly concerned that they had put a lot of saved cash back into the farm, but were seeing little, if any, return on the investment. We were also rightly offended that they would demand as much return on investment so early in the game. After all, statistically it takes new businesses upwards of five years to become fully profitable. We were barely into our first year. The problem was two-fold. Our unwillingness to do things as they "always had been done" (Andy's questioning everything, either out of sheer thirsting for knowledge, or actually asking if there was a better way) and an out-of-the-box marketing strategy. What we wanted to do was not only foreign to the farming community in which we lived (crop farmers, government subsidies and selling everything off the farm wholesale), but it was foreign to how my parents had farmed as well. Though they knew it could work, and we all had studied several successful families doing direct-to-consumer farming, the actual nuts and bolts of working within that framework were still hard to adjust to.

As the months passed, it became more and more obvious that Andy and Dad could not even work together on projects. They divided the farm responsibilities between them and went about business as usual, barely talking and often, not seeing each other throughout the day. It was a mutual decision in order to keep the farm running without constant battles throughout the day. In the fall of 2009, we were asked to start paying rent on the house, cows and land. This was something we had been graciously pardoned by my folks from the time that Andy quit FedEx the previous summer. With our current bills and income, we were only able to pay on the house rent. All other rents silently added up ... on paper and in our heads. We sold the sheep, having too many projects for Andy to take care of effectively all at once. We continued selling the milk via word of mouth. At the end of 2009, we were actually poised to become profitable. If our milk sales continued the way they were, we could quit selling commercially. By autumn, our beef calves would be old enough to sell direct to consumer and with the added income, we'd be able to start paying all the rent for the farm. It was a hopeful time, and we couldn't wait to ease the tensions that were at a breaking point with Mom and Dad. In December, we "got off the truck" from our commercial milk hauler and welcomed the New Year with high hopes.

In January, we got the letter that would send our business into a tailspin we were never able to recover from. With our infinite tax dollars, the Wisconsin Department of Agriculture, Trade and Consumer Protection had surfed this very blog and found us "guilty" of selling fresh unprocessed milk directly to consumers. They threatened to shut us down if we didn't cease what we were doing.

In fear and desperation, we shut down our personal blog, erased our Facebook page, canceled our LocalHarvest page and had this very blog purged of anything related to raw milk. Every source of viral advertising that had been steadily leading consumers to our door was effectively silenced. Our patron base plateaued as we asked our current milk customers to keep their favorite product on the down low. All our hopes turned to the pending raw milk bill coming through our legislature in the coming months.

We asked for more time with my folks and they granted it. We and others rallied our friends and customers and overwhelmed the public session on the bill in March of 2010. 700 people from around the state came to show support for the bill that, although flawed, would keep farms like ours in business until a better bill could be passed. In April, the bill passed both the House and the Senate by just under a two-thirds majority. It seemed we had won and Andy and I began getting the farm ready for the new bill requirements and updates. We had a massive marketing campaign ready at the very minute we heard the green light from the governor's mansion. And so we, along with my parents, and the rest of the fresh milk farmers across the state (and the nation), waited on that signature.

It was sure to come. He had stated support early on and for months, reiterated that he would sign a reasonable fresh milk bill. A month passed. Still we waited. The controversy grew. And we began to feel the pressure. Even before we learned of the governor's veto, the dam had broken on Foxwood Farm. A few months back, my parents had written a letter explaining their needs and feelings in the farming effort. It was basically saying, if you can't make a go of it by June, we all have to be done. The strain, the relationships, and the financial burden was coming to a head.

It had been half a year and we had managed to take on almost all the livestock and building related bills. We had taken over all animal husbandry, and while there were still mistakes being made, we felt the crash course had really given us a surviving knowledge of how to farm on our own. But we still could not pay anything but the house rent. The DATCP letter, compounded with the lack of new customers, had left us far from our end of 2009 projections and once again, we were not showing Mom and Dad what we promised.

To make matters worse, when we thought the bill would pass, we changed the way we sold milk on farm. We no longer bottled for people; we asked them to buy our bottles and fill jars on their own. We also eliminated assigned days for people to pick up milk (a way to regulate a finite supply of milk). In doing these two necessary changes, we lost almost half of our regular patrons between April and July. Our income dropped to half of what it was and we were desperate.

Most of our former customers don't know this, but every time just one of them didn't come to get milk in a given week, or opted to buy milk from the store because filling up in the milk house wasn't convenient, we were one step closer to losing hold of the farm. This is not to blame any one family or person. It's just a simple fact of small businesses. It's the people that know the service is there and choose not to spend their dollars at said business that eventually see the "Closed" sign on the door.

Though we hadn't talked with my parents directly in months, we could sense on a spiritual level that our time at Foxwood Farm was at a close ... unless we did something. In a last effort, we all met with a mutual friend and had a mediated meeting about the future goals of each family. Andy worked for several days on a counter-proposal to my parents' initial demand: buy the whole farm, rent the whole farm, or we're all done. In his well reasoned proposal, we would rent only the number of cows we needed, only the number of acres we could manage and all the buildings. This brought the monthly rent to a manageable amount that also brought my parents a nice monthly income. In addition, it allowed us to focus heavily on ramping up our current products in order to begin saving to buy the farm.

Unfortunately, that wasn't at all in the goals of my parents. They had reached a point that they just wanted to be done with the farm, and us taking over only five to ten acres was not a viable solution. What would they do with the rest while they once again waited on us? It meant more crop farming for Dad, and at the time, he was much more interested in his personal pursuits that did not allow for a farming lifestyle. All of this was completely understandable and totally within their rights as landowners. They had a lot of money built up in the equity of the farm and at the end of their 60s, wanted to see some of the fruits of their labor.

June came and went. We barely talked to them anymore. One morning as Andy and I prepared to head to church, our friend Gale stopped in unexpectedly and told us that we needed to do something regarding the farm. He didn't know quite what, but he'd been feeling this for a long time and had finally felt he needed to sit us down and talk with us. "You've got to ask for help," he told us. "Maybe make your story known and see what happens." It began a ball rolling that we never ever dreamed of.

My parents took a short trip to visit my brother in Colorado and during that week, we wrote a letter to five or six people within our sphere of influence explaining our dire situation and asking if they had wisdom and advice for us. Each of them came back with amazing ideas and empathy, but one happened to know a farmer in La Crosse that was looking for a family to hire. The rest of that thread you all know very well.

By the time my parents returned from Colorado, we had already met with Vince once and had determined to follow this unexpected path as far as it would lead. We were unsure of how to do this, but needed to break the news to Mom and Dad that we were pursuing a plan that did not involve Foxwood Farm. We took them out to eat and told them the whole story. When they told us we had their blessing and that they felt this was a good plan, we knew that there was no turning back.

I think it was that very day Foxwood Farm actually died.

For we knew, if working at St. Brigid's Meadows didn't pan out, there was no net for us at Foxwood. We were either moving west, or done farming. Period.

In August of 2010, just a short 15 months since we had begun milking a single cow, we packed up the house and left the place we thought we'd call home for the next 40 years.

We left the farm, but we couldn't leave our feelings of failure, hurt, sense of unfairness, and a lingering ache that our dream had been robbed of us. Initially we shut off all contact about the farm. It was too painful to hear. And since my parents were intimately involved in the dissolution of the farm goods, we needed to squelch contact with them as well.

Andy and I were harboring intense feelings of betrayal and anger towards my folks. In order to deal with them, we didn't. We busied ourselves in our new jobs and dove head-first into our new roles at St. Brigid's. We set up boundaries for what we would or would not talk about on the phone. We had need to return to the east side of the state a couple times and purposely took roads that did not pass the farmstead. It was a complete shut down.

I knew it was a temporary fix, but it's all we could do in the immediate. The distance was a welcomed barrier and the only thing we were sad about was the fact that many of our patrons had to flounder to find another source for their milk. We could fool ourselves that we were dealing with the loss of Foxwood Farm, but my subconscious knew better. My Spirit wouldn't let me get away with it that easily.

A few months passed. I found myself encountering dreams about the farm and the farm house on a nightly basis. In fact, as I talked through these dreams with Andy, I realized I'd been having an awful dream relating to the farm nearly every single night since mid-September. They were not necessarily nightmares, but filled with an overall uncomfortability about the events unfolding. They ranged from real life knowledge to ridiculous, but all were themed around the farm house and the changes being made to it. They became so frequent, that I quite telling Andy the details and just said in the mornings, "Had another farm dream."

We finally sat down and talked about what to do about it. Obviously I needed to deal with this painful loss in a more constructive way, but was unsure of what to do. Initially, I wanted to write a letter to my parents letting them know exactly what I felt, as a way to get them to understand their role in everything. It was a very human and self-centered plan. And a normal one. As we prayed for guidance in this delicate issue, my brothers contacted me about getting in on an anniversary gift for Mom and Dad. Their anniversary is right after Thanksgiving.

This is important because they wanted to honor our parents with a substantial gift to celebrate 45 years of marriage. I found myself wanting not only to participate, but help dictate how we could make the gift more meaningful for the two of them. I mused on this feeling before church one morning. Why was I so eager to honor people who had dishonored my dreams and family so recently? It was a deep desire within me to do something very special for them. I pondered this as we drove to church. The sermon that day was all about honoring those in authority, regardless if we agree with them or not. I couldn't believe it. God was setting me up! (He's good at that.) I listened at the edge of my seat. I had no notebook to take notes, so unfortunately I can't recall most of the details, but the Bible verses the pastor found in both the Old and New Testaments confirmed and reaffirmed my desire to honor my parents.

Within the week, I wrote them that letter, but it had a completely different tone. I didn't mention everything I had wanted to unload on them. Instead, I came in the opposite spirit and told them that for the first time, I was beginning to see God showing me the role Andy and I played in the very demise of the farm. That we were just as, or maybe more, in the wrong from the very beginning of the farm endeavor. That we did not honor them and that we allowed the perceived offenses to keep us from seeing their part in the farm. It wasn't long, but I laid it all out for them.

And as deer hunting season opened the week before Thanksgiving, I went to visit them with the kids for the weekend. It was a nice visit, and we officially invited Mom and Dad to have Thanksgiving at our home in Coon Valley. They graciousy acknowledged the letter and as the two of them walked in our door, it was a truly an event to be thankful for.

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Thursday late afternoon, we sat down with the Blankenheim's, my parents and our little family said a substantial prayer of thanks. Just the fact of us sitting there was a testament to the humbling grace of God and what he can do with broken hearts. We aren't through it yet, and there is much more healing to be had, but we are positive this step was the first good step in a long time, for our relationship.

Then Dad gave a toast. It was short and could have easily been missed in the following conversation, but I heard it loud and clear.

"Here's to an interesting and painful year...and a beautiful ending to that year."

I have been packing all day and wondering how in the world am I going to write this post. So much has happened in the last five days; it's hard to wrap our heads around it. We had a large rummage sale in which we asked people to donate towards our move; no price tags. It was very successful. We were able to bless some families with a lot of great stuff and in return, some generous folks donated a few bucks here and there. It was enough to completely pay for our moving truck and gas.

As we busied ourselves with the future, the reality of our present hit us pretty hard. The following is a post I wrote (but did not publish) about a week ago. It was never meant to be published, but after a nonproductive exchange with our parents about the value of the business itself, I felt it necessary to have them read this very private diary entry of mine. After reading it, my father gave his blessing...encouraged me, actually...to post it for you. He felt it appropriate to let you all in on the realities of our time here, the bad with the good. Rita as well has read this post and feels it to be appropriate to share. I preface this because the following piece is very emotional and caused both Andy and I to cry with tears pouring down our face. I guess this is my disclaimer. I have edited it a bit in the interest of the parties involved, but I have not changed the facts.

As I write this, I see the Gehrking family testing out the 4-wheeler, trying to keep the old thing from killing on them. Cortnie trains under her father’s watchful eye. They zip back and forth in front of the house and I can see a blur of color every few minutes as they pass the porch window. It’s a hot, humid August day and the farm is alive with activity.

Andrew and I are in the final hours of our rummage sale in which we expected a myriad of friends to come and find some great stuff, donate to our moving expenses and give a final chat. We were disappointed, though not entirely surprised, to see only a handful of loyal customers and friends actually show up.

My father is busy fixing the manure spreader and alternately preparing fencing materials for the coming week. The Gehrkings are having fun with the 4-wheeler before commencing to afternoon milking. It’s really nice to see the life all over this farm. Soon, Rita and the rest of her kids will be here, ready in their muckers to take part in the family milking time.

We are glad for this change, though we admittedly feel like passengers on a train these days. My Dad is taking interest in this farm like the early days with us. It’s hard to see him fully active and teaching and investing when for so long he had shut that off to us. He wants to buy our LLC and is encouraging Rita to take over writing the blog because he doesn’t want to lose all the customers we built up. My parents are bending over backwards to ensure the Gehrking’s success here. We used to have that with them. But that’s a whole separate issue.

We learned long ago that money changes family and though we thought ours would be immune, we saw first hand that it was not. While we completely agree that my folks needed the rent that was due, we also had many verbal agreements that would get us all there in a reasonable amount of time. Consistently, those agreements would be overruled, or “forgotten” completely in exchange for a shortened timeline. We grew to fear my father’s appearance on the farm. High anxiety over the next blow up and imagined offense permeated our household. I’m sure the same was true in some way for Dad.

When we got targeted by DATCP and had to pull back our marketing, all our projections were just shot. We put all hope in the raw milk bill as a viable income. But that failed as well. It didn’t matter at that point. We knew we were out. Mom and Dad had given us an ultimatum months before the bill got vetoed and expected results by June. We needed a miracle and couldn’t see anything even close to that.

When this opportunity with Vince presented itself, we had long prepared ourselves for leaving Foxwood and it was a no-brainer. We had to jump on this. And we did. As soon as we told my parents that we were looking into leaving, that tension between us noticeably lifted. It was like we backtracked two years and felt an easiness around them we had forgotten existed. It was then that we knew...even if one of us fell into half a million dollars...we still had to leave this place.

And for the last month, we have been on full tilt, presenting our best faces and telling everyone how excited we are to move to La Crosse and St. Brigid’s Meadows. And we are! But is hasn’t been until this last week that something else has covered our moods. We’re having a tough time with it; indeed, we had not suspected this would even occur.

We are mourning the loss of our Foxwood Farm.

Andy trained Rita and the kids in one week flat. We thought it would take the whole month of August. But they really knew what was going on. Today marks the end of the second week. Andy’s been out there a few times, but for the most part, they have been on their own. And here is something that we weren’t expecting: seeing them work the farm in their own way and own schedule is amazingly hard to watch! We weren’t supposed to be here when they took over. That was supposed to happen in the last week of August or the first week of September. But time again got truncated for us and here we sit. Mere renters on a foreign farm, watching the activity of the day pass us by in a blur by our front window.

The single event that catalyzed our realization of the paradigm shift was the birth of a calf.

Our cows freshened late last year, and so repeated the process this year. We’ve been waiting and watching the herd get rounder and rounder. Just last week, the first calf was born. A diminutive heifer from Silvie, one of the Milking Shorthorns. Andy found her out in the field and delighted in seeing her walk with her mother and the rest of the herd back to the barn for milking time. She pranced and trotted and stumbled, with Silvie turning proudly back to ensure her safe passage. It was amusing to see the size difference between the two day old calf and our smallest 8 month old heifers from last December. For the first time, they looked so big!

A few days later, Rita and the kids began their twice a day milking schedule in order to prepare to ship commercial milk again. It will take the cattle a few weeks to mentally get used to this and physically respond with more milk production. That same day, a Holstein named Leche gave birth to a strapping bull calf. We were excited to see our herd expand with healthy calves.

Last year, we didn’t have a lot of calf raising knowledge and lost a lot due to malnutrition. Over the winter, we did some research with several farmers who kept calves on the mothers longer than a few days. We really wanted to imitate nature and keep the babies with their mothers for at least two months. We learned that this was not only possible, but successful for small scale diaries. And it was perfect for us, since we weren’t shipping commercially. The excess milk would be going to the calves anyway. Why not bypass the human intervention and just let the animals live the way they were designed? We were excited to try this out, despite all the headaches and extra work involved. To us, it was worth it to have 100% surviving calves, with shiny coats and healthy family units. Last year, we lost nearly 40% of our babies. We learned a grave lesson and determined never to repeat that again.

What we didn’t count on was an entire change in farm management between March (when we came to this conclusion) and August. When Silvie’s baby came to us, we were still in charge. When Leche’s baby arrived, his birth coincided with an unspoken farm transfer. That day, without even knowing it, we had entered our first day as “civilians,” for lack of a better term.

We learned from one of the kids that they’d successfully separated Silvie’s and Leche’s calves and put them into the two available calf pens in the barn. We both were like, “Oh.” It hadn’t dawned on us that the calves would be separated. It was one of those moments that catapulted us out of our St. Brigid’s Meadow’s stupor and caused us to realize...this farm is leaving us. The very face of it is changing.

Now, to be fair to Rita and her family, separating calves from milking mothers is a very common practice. I would estimate that 99% of modern dairies do this without a second thought. It is successful and calves grow well and the rhythm of the diary doesn't skip a beat. Andrew and I, through a series of mistakes, learning experiences and research had come to the conviction that we wanted calves on mothers. In our farming model, it made complete sense. Rita, with aspiring to increase production and ship commercially as well as raw, needed the calves to be off the mothers. She was doing nothing wrong. It was just something that really hit home for us.

The next day, Andy came into the barn to supervise the milking and saw that the tiny shorthorn had wiggled out of the pen and found her mother. The big Holstein bullcalf had busted out of his pen and found his mother as well. They were promptly recaptured and tied up with twine to keep them in place. I didn’t see all this, but Andy told me about it with a deflated spirit. We listened to them bellar all day until they were fed at the evening milking. We began discussing why it bothered us so much to see the babies separated from their mothers. After all, didn’t we do the same thing last year? Didn’t we callously confine the infant cows and shove a rubber nipple in their hungry mouths? Why were we brought to tears over this single event?

We didn’t really know. We hadn’t come to grips with it yet. The following morning, long before sunrise, we heard a way-too-close moo from our bedroom window. Andy lept out of bed to see poor Leche seeking her calf’s bawling on our front lawn. Our hearts just broke. It reminded me of the scene in Dumbo, when his mother proudly washes her new baby elephant and protects him from the cruel comments from the people. In a tragic scene, Dumbo is taken from her and she just loses it, thrashing tents and equipment, losing all care for her own well-being in order to once again secure her precious little one. Leche broke through at least three electric fences in order to appear on our front lawn. She didn’t care. She was searching out her little one in order to protect him from the unseen terrors that were causing him to call for her all night long.

What could we do? We knew she would continue to break through fencing in order to find him. So we let her in the barn and she trotted a bee line to the bewildered little bull tied to a stanchion pole. We stood back and basked in the reunion. We knew it would only last an hour, until milking time. But it was so completely satisfying, the emotion caught us by surprise. I thought once again to Dumbo and his short lived reunion with his banished mother. The tender embrace she gave him as she stretched to the end of her chains; nuzzling, loving, tender animal warmth. An instant later, the small shorthorn heifer shot out of the other calf pen and ran out the door. We took a step to stop her, but just let her go. We were happy that she’d have a similar short lived reunion with her own momma.

And in the last few days, we have seen three more calves arrive in the barn. Each one within hours of birth, tied to a stanchion with string and being bottle fed colostrum. Andy stepped into the barn today for the first time in two days to see this scene. He came back to the house with tears in his eyes. “I can’t be here anymore,” he said. “Seeing a new family, with those calves...in the place I worked so hard to build up...” He stopped from emotion.

“I know,” I said. “I don’t think we were ever supposed to see this transition. We didn’t know it would happen so quickly.”

But it doesn’t change the hurting. It doesn’t make the time grow shorter. We were able to arrange a sooner moving date; ironically, because we thought we’d be bored! But I think it was God’s grace in helping us deal with the pain of losing a business that had become our very lives. I think we’d go crazy if we had to stay a whole week longer amidst this flurry of activity. Our sale wraps up today and then we focus on packing the actual house. Our days are filling up with friends who want to see us one more time before we go. We can’t busy ourselves enough...

As I close this post, the Gehrkings drive past the porch door heading for home. Milking is over, fencing is made, manure spreaders are fixed (for now). Suddenly the farm becomes “ours” again...for a few fleeting hours. Tomorrow we are thankful to the Gehrkings that we don’t have chores before church. We can take a leisurely morning eating homemade pancakes and eggs, giving baths and heading off to service. It’s been a year and a half since we experienced a Sunday morning like that. It’s nice, and frankly, a luxury for us. We’ll take the day and enjoy a small break.

This farm was our lives for such a short time, in the grand scheme of things. Two years, really. But those two years came to define us as people and as a family more than a the calendar could reveal. We grew up here. We became adults here. And we cried, sweated and bled here. Saying good bye is really saying good bye to a huge part of ourselves. Yes, we get to take the fruits of this labor away with us. But Foxwood Farm will always be our proving grounds. It will always be our First Step, our Leap of Faith.

And so, in leaving the farm, we inevitably leave a piece of our hearts here. Maybe that’s what it is. A realization that we’ll never get this back. That our hard work is being pushed forward by someone else. And somehow, it doesn’t seem to hurt less just because it’s someone else that we love and trust.

It’s just something that’s going to hurt. And that is where we are at. Longing for our amazing future and mourning for all that was...and could have been.

[We want you to know with fullest clarity that we have nothing against Rita and Gale. The transition would have been hard to see with anyone at the helm of this ship. We love them very much and want you to know that they did nothing wrong. We are simply expressing our mourning.]

When I wrote this last Saturday, we did not see what was to come in the next four days. Monday afternoon we met with my parents to discuss the inherent value of the LLC and the amount of rent that we owed them from the last ten months. Both parties came with different hopes for the meeting, and it became glaringly obvious 30 minutes into it that a solution would not be found that night. Something that they revealed to us, however, was that they wanted to be done with farming. This was not news to us. It was the very reason we had to leave in the first place. But in training up a new family, they had inadvertantly become more involved with the farm than they had been in the last year. It dawned on them that the retirement they were hoping for was still months, if not years, away. We encouraged them to offer the Gehrkings more responsibility because they are very capable of taking it on. We don't know how that was received. The meeting ended inconclusively and we agreed to meet again later in the week.

On Tuesday, we met with two good friends who have also been amazing mentors for us financially and spiritually. We discussed the status of the farm and felt the need to offer advice to Rita about the goals she had for the farm and the working relationship with my parents.

On Wednesday, we talked with Rita at great length and the outcome of that meeting catalized her to re-evaluate her needs and goals. Unbeknownst to us, my father and Gale were having a similar conversation about the same time. That evening, Andy went to the garden and ran into Rita harvesting the tomatoes. They had a heart to heart about the future of the farm. She had decided that the best course of action for her family was to pull out. With this knowledge, we soberly accepted the reality coming forth and spent a nice night with out-of-state friends.

Thursday morning we awoke to a message from Rita saying that my parents had confirmed her choice to stop working here by saying they were not ready to invest the time and energy into another endeavor. Both families agreed that ending now, rather than later, was the best choice for all. We agreed as well.

As important as this business is, relationships are far more important. We cannot condone placing money and work in front of God and family. We support Rita and Gale. We support my parents. And we brace ourselves for an emotional farm auction.

So here we are, on the eve of our big move to St. Brigid's Meadows, sitting with another good friend who came to see us. We are talking about packing, grass-fed pork and bad dates in college. What we aren't talking about is the fact that when we leave this house in two days, we will be leaving it forever.

We haven't mentioned that our friendly milking cows will be gone in a matter of weeks. We have skirted the fact that when this farm sells, I won't be able to drive down this road without shedding tears.

This week marks the final week of our time on Foxwood Farm. This has been established for quite some time. What we never saw coming was that this month marks the end of Foxwood Farm completely. Five generations of history. Over 100 years operating on the same land. Livelihoods made and broken here.

Done.

But I don't want to think about that right now. We are looking forward to Saturday. It marks the new beginning that God created for us. There is so much potential and so many lives to touch.

And we can't wait to tell you all about it.