The recent shooting at Fort Hood last week has made this week’s observance of Veteran’s Day especially somber. It’s a vivid reminder of not only how fragile life is and how quickly it can be taken away, but how sometimes we can take our national security for granted. None of us ever expected something like this to happen at one of the most secure places in the nation. It’s easier to accept soldiers being killed in action on foreign soil, than it is for them to killed by one of their own on a U.S. Army base. It’s difficult to comprehend.

My dad was stationed at Camp Hood (as it was known then) in the early 1940s. So on this day, I not only pray for those who lost loved ones at Fort Hood, I also remember my dad, who was a veteran of World War II. I used to love looking at pictures of him in his uniform (and still do) and hear stories of his army days.

Dad was drafted in 1941 and went through basic training at Camp Robinson in Arkansas. He was hoping to put in his two years and get out, but the bombing at Pearl Harbor changed everything.

In 1942, while Dad was stationed at Camp San Luis Obispo in California, he and my mom were married at her uncle’s home in Riverside. The following year, Dad was transferred to Camp Hood. In 1944, he was sent to Europe. Dad was a mess sergeant (with the 635^th Tank Destroyers Battalion), so he was behind the front lines, but it was still a dangerous place to be. Dad lost one of his cooks to a landmine on Omaha Beach about two weeks after D-day.

Dad returned to the states after the allied victory in Europe in 1945. His battalion was scheduled to go to the Pacific, but before they could be shipped out, the atomic bombs were dropped on Japan, which ended the war.  After Dad was discharged from the army, he and Mom settled in Topeka, Kan. and eventually bought the house where my mom still lives.

As a child, I remember being fascinated by the German gun Dad had brought back from Europe and wondered about the fate of its previous owner. It wasn’t until after Dad died that my brother told me what happened to the bullets. Dad threw them overboard on his voyage back to the states. He knew he would have children someday and didn’t want a potentially dangerous weapon in the house.

Dad remained close to his army buddies up until the time his death in 2004. It was one of those experiences that galvanized a group of young men for a common goal. I’m proud of my dad and his service to our country. I’m also grateful to live in a country where men and women are willing to put their lives on the line for my freedom.

Next time you cross paths with a veteran or someone currently serving in the military, shake his or her hand and thank that person for their service.

If you’re interested in obtaining the military records of a loved one who has passed on, visit: http://archives.gov/veterans/military-service-records/get-service-records.html

 

Thursday, August 27, 2009, my family welcomed my brother Josh’s first child, Elliana Marie Regan, into the world (6 pounds, 9 ½ ounces, 21 inches long and looking every bit a Regan). What an experience it was to be able to be there at the hospital, right outside the delivery room, ear pressed against the door hearing that first wail out of that beautiful baby girl’s mouth.

The doctor emerged from the room moments later – probably a little surprised to find us so close – and said something along the lines of, “You guys have got a little cutie patootie, I’ll tell you that.” I couldn’t agree more. Although she initially seemed to look a little too much like my brother, I’m sure she’ll be alright.

I have to admit I was nervous. It sank in on Wednesday that the following day my brother and his wife would be going through childbirth, and any number of malignancies seemed a remote but very real possibility. And, not to be egocentric, but I would be an uncle for the first time. It was absolute relief when we entered the room and saw her little arms and legs flailing wildly as she tested and stretched her muscles, and to see Nikki with a wide, yet weary, smile on her face.

Ya done good, sis.

I can’t say that new life is more powerful or life-altering than death after a couple of hardships endured – losing a father in an unexpected woodcutting accident among them – but this felt like pure triumph worthy of giving thanks, and I do know that if there were ever a time when Dad was looking down smiling, that would have to be one of them. The birth of Elliana, or Ella, as she’s called, was indeed life-altering to more people than just Josh and Nikki. I know it was to me.

And our mom just beamed, which is usually life-altering in its own right.

On a side note, I did manage to sneak out Saturday during the middle of the day, while Josh and Nikki were entertaining guests in the hospital, and experience some beautiful Kansas countryside and catch a couple of small fish.

Ever since I can remember, I’ve been interested in everything Dutch. It may have something to do with the fact that both sets of my Dad’s grandparents came from Holland. I grew up identifying most with my Dutch heritage since my Dad’s parents were the only grandparents I knew. They lived in a small town in western Kansas that was settled by Dutch pioneers, including my great-grandparents. When I began doing family history, interest in my Dutch heritage intensified. I developed an affinity for windmills, wooden shoes and anything that looked Dutch. 

Several years ago I began visiting local antique stores just for something to do on my lunch hour. When I go to antique stores, I’m not usually looking for anything in particular. I just like to browse. Its fun to find items that might have belonged to my parents or grandparents, or something I remember from my childhood.

Recently, I was on my lunch hour and had some time kill after picking up a prescription. The pharmacy was in a shopping center, so I decided to visit a small shop at the opposite end of the shopping area. I never made it. I passed an antique store and doubled back to go in. I had no intension of buying anything, but I spotted a small pitcher and basin with a Dutch windmill on it. From that moment, I was on the hunt for Dutch items. I scoured the shelves and discovered a small ceramic “wooden” shoe, a tiny pair of ceramic “wooden” shoes and a ceramic windmill. All of the items were reasonably priced and two of the items were Delft (pottery made in the Netherlands), which made my discoveries even more thrilling.

I felt a rush of excitement as I walked up to the register. As the items were being totalled, I had to stop and wonder about the history of these items. Where did they come from? Who owned them? Why did they or someone in their family choose to give them up? If only these pieces could talk. One can only imagine what stories they could tell.

When I got back to work, I proudly showed off my treasures. I felt as if I’d purchased a piece of history and, in a sense, a connection to my past.

Photo by Brenda L. Kipp

I want to begin by heaving an enormous sigh and taking in a deep breath of rainy atmosphere.

It’s been a bumpy and amazing ride these last two months. I feel like I am just resurfacing for air after a dive to the deep end of the public pool: I can see the wavy light above me, but my lungs are burning for the oxygen promised on the other side.

Whew. It tastes good. Since I last wrote about what was happening here at the farm, we had just remodeled our old pump house into the small, but functional farm store. We have since added some little bits of home to make it comfy and welcoming and overall, our customers like it very much. Since then, we have been really slammed with work here and since we have so many new endeavors this year, everything that happens is like an emergency and must take center stage. To say the least, we have been stressed out.

However, I have uploaded a bunch of photos from the beginning of June until just a few days ago in order to help me keep the days straight. We’ve had so much going on that I need these visuals as much as you do! Here we go ...

Gardens

Below, you see our back field that held the pumpkins/chickens/sheep last year. We have since converted it into a fully functioning garden. Well, about half of it at least. Here, Bret and his mother Rita spent an entire day planting and tilling and planting and watering. We got our garden in super late this year, but I am thankful we have a garden at all. You see Rita and her husband Gale and family of eight kids have pledged time to come out and work the gardens throughout the season in order to have food for both our families. It works out great! Andy and I had high hopes for a pretty large garden this year, but when everything hit with the dairy and raw milk, we just had no time to devote to it. Enter Rita and her two oldest kids, Bret and Cortnie. We have the two of them nearly five days a week now in the summer, sometimes all day and they help with weeding, watering and eventually, harvesting.

And of course, other chores as well. It’s a great blessing to have them here as they can often take over simple duties of feeding chickens, watering animals, picking eggs and my favorite: babysitting! :-)

Lawnmowers

Here you see our rams eating our front lawn. There’s a book called Food Not Lawns (have not read it, but I get the premise) that talks about getting rid of the lawn mower and turning your yard into a garden. Well, we’re a few years down the road from that. However, I had this hair-brained idea to have the sheep graze the lawn way back in February. This June, I got to see it come to fruition. One thing I did not count on was having to “let it go” for such a long time that when the rams were finally let onto it, the area didn’t look like a front yard at all. I was happy to have satisfied my interest in “green lawn mowing”, but I think we need to retool a little bit before we do this again. The front yard now has a bunch of SUPER green circles that stick out like polka dots on a housewife’s dress. Not exactly the sort of lawn you want new customers to see.

But it was fun while it lasted! And with the wonders of temp fencing, it’s like we never had sheep there at all!

Raising Chicks

We got brand new baby chicks in about June 12th. We had these high hopes of helping a heritage breed chicken increase its numbers and showing off our geniune “old fashioned” hens. But apparently, everyone else in this down economy was thinking: I’m gonna lose my job, I better raise chickens to be safe. So the Delaware chickens we had been so carefully researching over the winter did not get ordered in time to beat the rush. We would not have gotten our chicks until this week had we waited! Since half of them would be raised to replace our old, old laying hens, and it takes 5 months to get a pullet to lay a single egg, we needed something a little faster.

So we went to a local hatchery in Beaver Dam and ordered their generic Blacks. 100 straight run chicks for 87¢ each. That beat the Delaware price of $2.09 each, but they certainly lacked the street cred that a genuine, critically endangered animal would have carried! Right?

Boy were they cute!!! As soon as they came, I could care less about their pedigree. These chicks were awesome. Small enough to hold two in one hand and 100 fit easily into Elly’s kiddie pool. This was our makeshift incubator for the first week to ensure they would stay warm and cozy and not get lost. We only lost three from shipping and that was it!

Once you are past the first week, chicks are so easy! Above, the chicks at a week old. Now that they are nearly two months old, we’ve had them free-ranging for several weeks. They are naturals! The little cockerels have turned white and black spotted and the pullets remain pure black. This week or next we will separate them and begin an intensive pastured poultry operation. In the meantime, they enjoy their brooder house home behind our large field garden. (See our posts about getting that brooder house up to standard last fall!) We are going to order more females this winter and raise them to be layers for ourselves and another farmer next May. We might even invest in an incubator ourselves and just take our own eggs when we get the right varieties here on the farm. But I digress...

Shearing

Below is a bunch of our woolly ewes and their lambs. Can you even tell the difference?? They are only a month old here, mid-June, and already over half the size of their mommas. The one in the middle facing away from us was the subject of much curiosity. In the field, he looks like a fox hopping over the grass. We’ve never seen a sheep with this sort of coloration before. He has begun to lighten in color, but still has this tawny, shaggy hide that must be a combination of some serious recessive genes. As you can see, the ewes all have their wool yet and we had already hit the heat of summer. It was just another one of those things that didn’t get dealt with until it was an emergency. We went about three weeks straight with the sheep out every single day.

They were some of the most stressful days we had encountered and we strengthened the fences and gave them fresher grass and checked for shorts and it didn’t matter. They would lift the high-tensile wire with their fully wooled necks and run right through. So we called around and found a sheep shearer about an hour away who would be able to come within two weeks. It was the longest two weeks we’d ever waited! But with a lot of prayer and fence diligence, we made it through with only a few break-outs.

When Courtney arrived, he had this excellent equipment and 30 years of sheep knowledge under his belt. We set up a shearing area and he just dove right in. The follow shots give you a little idea of how smoothly it went. He was shearing the next sheep before the last one was back in the pen. It was amazing and he was a very genuine guy. We had him stay for a country lunch as a sort of tip for his time.

To keep the wools clean, we laid down an old wagon side. You can see this ewe’s lamb watching in the cattle chute. When she was done, we’d lead her to the pen behind the red gravity box and dump the lamb(s) in with her.

Courtney knew just where the pressure points were on the sheep in order to hold them relatively still. They folded and flopped into place just like little sheep rag dolls. We were in awe. Below, my mom Judy holds up a shorn coat. We placed the fully white wool into one bag and the black or mixed colored wool into a separate bag.

The holding pen for the freshly shorn ewes. Now it was even harder to tell the full grown sheep from the lambs! We will never make the mistake again of letting our flock out to pasture with 4 inches of wool around their little bodies. No fun for anyone involved!

The Little Peckers

Not to forget about our chickens, they have been rangin about our sheep and cattle fields since early April. We were moving them about once every two weeks, but found that some sort of varmint was getting the late hens at dusk. We finally set out some traps and moved the trailer about 30 feet and even set up some night vision motion senser cameras to see if we could find what was killing our hens.

All we saw were beautiful shots of the farm during the day and cryptic shots of Andy closing the chickens in at night. :-)

I laugh at the one above. I love Andy’s sense of humor! But we lost about 25 laying hens in two weeks and then the raids stopped. We haven’t had a problem since.

A direct consequence of the stress the rest of the flock felt was a reduction in egg numbers. Couple that with a summer molt, old hens, hot weather, inconsistent watering/feeding and our huge flock was down to about 3 dozen eggs per day. 36 eggs from 180 hens! So we smartened up our feeding schedule, moved them to a short grass, thick clover field and move them nearly every single day to thwart the predators. We are now back up to seven to eight dozen eggs per day and boy do we need it! We have expanded our raw milk sales and the egg demand has gone through the roof! For about three weeks at the end of June, we couldn’t keep a dozen in that store for longer than 12 hours. Above, can you find the ranging hens? This is one of our north fields that face the permanent pasture and the ancient oak trees. It’s a lovely sight to behold!

Mornings

Speaking of sights to behold, the shot below is sunrise over the sheep paddock about a week ago. The freshly shorn ewes have a new found respect for electric fencing and we rest easy at night again. Andy goes out about 5:30am and moves all the animal fencing before rounding up the milking herd. He lets the chickens out, moves the sheep, opens up new paddock for the beef/heifer herd and lets the milking herd into fresh grass. I have often asked him to take the camera to capture early morning life on the farm. On this day, he did!

Moo-calves

Below, some of our scamps nose up to Andy. We have eight young calves now, a direct result of nine cows milking in our barn. Our first cow Charlotte had still-born twins back in April, but the rest of the cows each had one healthy calf. Then our seventh cow, Isabelle, had twin bulls which we named Imis and Ignatio. The last cow to have her calf, just last week, had difficulties in labor and lost the calf to stress. But thankfully she is doing well. Below, from left to right: Tess out of Tilly, Imis out of Isabelle, Alex out of Anna and Barbie out of Bea. Not shown is Midnight out of Mabel, Leeloo out of Leche, Ignatio and Ghost out of Gretta. Ghost is pretty cool. I’ll have to get a shot of him sometime; he’s like a tan/grey Holstein looking little guy. Never seen a calf that color before.

Gardens Again

Back to the gardens, they are growing strong. This shot below shows what has grown in a month in the back garden. My dad Dave takes the disk and kills the weeds in the other area not being used. We are raising everything organically, so weed control is a daily task. Bret and Cortnie step up to the job as well as they can, but there’s only so much work a 12 and 14 year old want to do in a given day. They aren’t here to be slaves, so we don’t push them. I get out there when I can to assess the plants and pull a hand full of weeds or two. We have had serious run-ins with cucumber beetles on our cucumbers and flea beetles on our lettuces. Now we are dealing with cabbage loopers on our cauliflowers and cabbages. I have made some homemade tinctures of garlic and dish soap with limited success. However, the beetles and looper remain. I am going to look into Bt as an option. I need to learn more about this spray to see if it’s right for us. We have a sort of mini CSA going on with two friends of ours and one of the big selling points for them is the organic aspect of the garden. It can be bug eaten but not pesticide ridden. So we’ll see.

On the Dairy

On July 2nd, we got our dairy barn “whitewashed.” This is a process by which barn lime is mixed with water and sprayed over the entire interior of the barn, coating it a pristine white and also creating a natural anti-bacterial shield over all surfaces. In order to ship commercially, this needs to be done once per year. Here I took a before picture (FINALLY!) and below is the same alley after. It’s amazing, isn’t it?!

Our quest to ship our milk with Weyawega Star Dairy, a local cheese plant, is still in the future. We had to get our 100 year old well shocked with chlorine in order to clear out some common bacteria and we are waiting on a follow-up water test. In the meantime, we sell the milk raw (which will not change) and feed it to the calves and collect cream and dump the skim to the chickens or on the gardens. We don’t like dumping milk at all, but at least the excess is being reused in a good way.

Feeling Patriotic

Independence Day came like a breath of fresh air for us. We got chores done early and headed into my hometown of Omro for the highly anticipated festivities. My mother Judy organizes the annual Lion’s Club art fair and this year she participated after a 6 year hiatus. Here is her booth with Andy and Ethan in the corner. My mother does a lot of oil painting, crafting, furniture reclaiming and sowing. She also paints birdhouse gourds and full scale murals. She’s quite the little artist in her spare time! There was also a large parade, in which our little church won Best Of the Parade for all the floats involved! There was a rubber duck race and bands playing and a pie and ice cream social at our Historic Society. (Andy and I are card carrying members, by the way!) At night, the fireworks came, but our little troop went into melt down about 15 minutes before the start, so I’ll have to wait until next year to see the big show.

Here, Elly is being hugged by our friends’ son Haiden. In true Elly form, she simply tolerates it. But the photo was cute, so I had to post it! We spent the afternoon at Haiden’s grandmother’s house for a cookout and games. It was a welcome break from the farm. For reasons completely unrelated, Independence Day is my favorite holiday of the whole year!

The next day, here is Elly and Ethan on the way back from collecting eggs. The walk is about a quarter mile and they enjoy the wagon ride. At the parade, Elly managed to fall THROUGH a park bench and bust open her chin. That is the mar you see on her little face. She came through like a champ, though.

Family Time!

A week after Independence Day, my family from Colorado Springs came to visit us for a few days. You may recall, we drove to CO over Thankgiving to see them and others before Ethan was born. (See: We Went on Vacation.) The next several photos detail our trips to parks and back yards and family time. It was another blessed respite from the intense work on the farm.

Elly hamming it up!

Daddy and Ethan enjoying a beer...well, just Daddy.

Dan and Krista took their girls Silvie (3), Josie (2) and Madaline (1) to Menominee Park in Oshkosh. Me, Elly and Ethan tagged along and Grandma Judy came for support. It was a lot of fun ... Elly on the dinosaur. She looks so big there!

Ethan really liked the baby swing!

So did Elle-belle.

Then all too soon they had to go back home. Elly sure loves her cousins and can’t wait until they move closer to play more often.

Our Life

Back in the real world, Ethan has begun his journey down solid food lane. He took to it like a champ! He just turned five months last week; what a big boy! Normally foods can be started a lot earlier, but with everything going on, I just didn’t get to it. He’s not hurting for lack of solids; he just nurses all the time. So, it’s time to get him on to other things as well as me! Also, Elly has been successfully potty trained since June and Ethan is now exclusively in cloth diapers. It’s a small way we can contribute less to the landfills.

Gardens AGAIN

Back to the gardens, these next photos were taken just a few days ago, showing the progress from a couple weeks ago. Here is our front garden, mostly populated with peppers and tomatoes. (And Ellys!)

We let the sunflowers come up on their own and love the splashes of gold and yellow that they add to the sea of green.

Here is an example of companion planting. The basil in front aids bug protection to the tomato plant behind. For extra security, we stuck an onion in between because no bugs like the smell of onions!

Hollyhocks also volunteered their beauty this year and we have allowed a few to adorn the perimeter of the garden.

This is the back garden again, looking back at the house. Here are our cabbages, desperately needing help from those blasted loopers. Gotta look into that!

My favorite row of crops so far: our lettuces. Aren’t they so pretty? We enjoy the “cut and come again” aspect of greens and have been able to share organic, graden fresh greens with some folks who have never ventured outside the world of Iceburg! It’s been wonderful to see the response and interest generated. Yes, there is life outside the grocery store!

Old is New

Another side project has been getting an antique cream separator up and running. Hank, you will be interested to know that it is a DeLaval Model #18 hand crank stand separator. We got Gale in on the action because he is very knowledgeable and gifted in machinery technology. We got all the parts sorted and clean and realized we were missing one part, a very important bowl separator. I looked online, but am having major difficulty in locating anything resembling a parts shop for something this obsolete. Can any of you help??

Closing Thoughts

Finally, we are up to date. Now we can post non–novel-length blogs in order to keep you up to date on our comings and goings. A parting shot: taken in June, this is one of our eggs cooked just right, broken open on my homemade bread with some salt and pepper. Have you seen a yolk that dark before? We were shocked and had to capture it on film. I’ll never order an egg in a restaurant again! I am ruined!

Thank you all for your support and we’ll flesh out what’s been going on with the marketing side of things in a future post. We have welcomed many new milk members in the last month!

Blessings,

Becky

I took a long-awaited week off from work last week. I never seem to get everything done I want to do on the weekends (even if it’s a long holiday weekend). So, I took the time off to work on some projects I’d been putting off.

One of my major projects was to scan my dad’s slides (taken in the late 1960s and early 1970s) and save them to my computer. My goal was to scan at least four trays and I got six done. Most of the slides were of our vacation to Yellowstone and Grand Tetons National Parks. It was the first vacation our family took without my older brother. Although we missed having him along, it was one of the most memorable vacations our family ever had. As I looked at each picture, it immediately took me back to our trek out west.

The first leg of our journey led us through Western Kansas and the northeast corner of Colorado to Cheyenne, Wyo. We stayed with my cousin’s in-laws. After a tour of the capital city, we enjoyed rainbow trout for dinner. My sister and I slept in the family’s camper and we thought that was a real treat.

After we left Cheyenne, we headed north. We stopped at a tourist attraction called Hell’s Half Acre, 40 miles west of Casper. It’s not the kind of scenery you’d expect to see in the high plains of central Wyoming. Hell’s Half Acre is a horseshoe-shaped gorge with jagged spires and eerie rock formations.

Our next stop was Dubois. I fell in love with this authentic western town nestled in the valley between two mountain ranges. My parents, sister and I took an evening trail ride. I pretended to be a rancher’s daughter surveying our vast Rocky Mountain empire.

I hated to leave my little hamlet in the mountains, but the best was yet to come. We headed further west to Moran, a small community just outside of Grand Teton National Park. The motel where we stayed looked like a log cabin with a rustic décor. The view of the Tetons from the motel was spectacular, but the mosquitoes were so thick, it was impossible to sit outside and enjoy the view. 

Our time in the Tetons was one breathtaking sight after another. We toured the park, stopping at various turnouts to enjoy views of Jackson Lake, Wind River and alpine meadows. We also took a shuttle boat across Jenny Lake. The spray from the alpine lake hit my face – and it was cold!

 

One of my favorite places was the Chapel of the Transfiguration. The tiny log cabin structure, built in 1925, is owned and operated by the Episcopal Church. A picture window in the front of the chapel frames the Teton Range. I thought it would be a perfect place to get married (they do have weddings there).

Another day found us visiting the town of Jackson Hole. We had a picnic in the park that features an arch made of antlers. We also took the tram up Rendezvous Mountain, but it was so cold when we stepped out, we quickly looked at the spectacular view and immediately stepped back into the tram.

Our travels next took us to Yellowstone National Park. What amazing sights awaited us there!  We saw Old Faithful and other geysers, Mammoth Hot Springs, thermal pools, a mud volcano and sulphur caldron (it smelled like rotten eggs – Eww!). We also took in the grandeur of the Grand Canyon of Yellowstone complete with spectacular waterfalls. We had heard that there were a number of black bears in the park, so we were disappointed that we only saw one young bear.

After we left Yellowstone, we spent the night in West Yellowstone, Montana. I felt like I’d stepped back into the 1800s. We took a day trip up to the area where the largest earthquake in Montana history struck in 1959. A vistor’s center told the history of the quake and the area showed evidence of its destruction (a huge landslide and damaged houses) and the beauty it created (a peaceful lake).

We left Montana and drove down through Idaho to Utah. We spent the night in Ogden, then toured Temple Square in Salt Lake City. Aside from the inspiring temple, I was most impressed with the acoustics inside the large tabernacle (built without any nails). Our tour group stood in the back while our guide stood in the front with his back to us and whispered. We could hear every word he said!

The last leg of our trip took us thorough familiar territory in northern Colorado (a favorite vacation spot for our family) to visit some friends and then back home to Kansas.

As I finished scanning these slides, I felt as if I’d been on that wonderful vacation all over again. I’m glad my dad took so many pictures of that and other family vacations. It allows me to not only relive the good times we shared, but take a vacation without ever leaving the house!

How do you take a mental vacation? What is your most memorable vacation?

Photos taken by Kenneth and Velma Kipp

In my area, spring has disappeared, and summer’s heat and humidity have taken its place. Being a complete indoors type, I’m not particularly thrilled with the changes. However, there is one outdoors arena in which I’m pleased to report a bit of success. OK, only if you don’t count my lack of weeding skills (or more accurately, weeding motivation).

You may remember a blog post from last November – Garden Headaches – in which I detailed my wonderful sister’s efforts in clearing out my front garden and dividing/transplanting hosta and sedum. (Do I have that right, folks? What variety of sedum do I have?) The before shot is above.

Check out what the spring brought! All of the transplants are flourishing, and a couple of the sedums are now almost as large as the two we divided last fall. Amazing!

I added the rock around the downspout, because the rain kept washing away the mulch, which is the same reason I added the border. And while both have helped, mulch continues to wash away. I think it’s going under the border, which I only placed on top of the ground. It probably needs to be installed properly. One of these days.

I smile every time I drive up to my house. It’s looking pretty good, if I do say so myself. Now if I can just get it weeded!

In the backyard, I actually started my container gardening. Yes, I actually did it. In Neophyte Gardener, I wrote about my intention of starting a container garden. I am proud to report that I am now the owner of three containers holding a Brandywine tomato plant, a red pepper plant, basil and oregano. The tomato plant has buds on it, so I am eagerly awaiting fruit. My mouth’s already watering.

The basil and oregano have yet to be used, and I’m struggling with ways to cook with both herbs. Once the peppers and tomatoes start arriving, though, that probably will no longer be an issue. I love tomatoes with oregano and mozzarella cheese. Yum!

So there you have it, and I promise I’ll keep you updated on my gardening adventures. I feel like a gardener; am I?

 

My youngest daughter, Alaina, came to the farm to visit last weekend. She was between terms in her physical therapy doctoral program at George Washington University in Washington, DC. She wished to reconnect with her old man by going fishing, like we used to do when she was young. I was taken aback and touched when she requested an angling excursion. The memories of wetting lines with Alaina (and Erin) in Black Hills streams and lakes, and the prairie rivers and potholes in South Dakota are powerful indeed.

Since I hadn’t yet gone fishing here in Kansas, I was quite sure that the day would be a bust. I didn’t have time to scope out any likely spots – but a couple of fishing lakes and 110-Mile Creek are all within minutes of the farm. We stopped at the sporting-goods store for some fresh fishing supplies and licenses on the way home from the airport and headed to the local bait shop for some crawlers the next day (after a work clothing photo shoot and mowing the lawn). As luck would have it we ran into a buddy there and he told us to check out a spot on 110-Mile Creek that was just a few minutes from the farm.

We packed the old Binder with supplies and headed down the road. It was warm and relatively wind free – we both felt optimistic. Turning left off the main gravel road, we found ourselves with the truck’s front hubs locked, pushing through a muddy bottomland trail in 4-wheel-drive and low range. I am pleased to report that the 1964 International truck never gave a moment of doubt as it delivered us to the old bridge. I rigged poles and baited hooks just like I did 15 years ago. Alaina dropped her bobber-adorned line into the creek and within short order she had her first Largemouth Bass. I was thrilled, she was thrilled. In a moment of reverie I saw a much younger us sitting on the banks of French Creek or Legion Lake or the 81 Ponds – all in South Dakota. But this time we were catching bass and crappie and bluegill instead of trout, pike and perch.

By the time the night crawlers ran out, Alaina and I were ready to head home. It was the first time I can remember that she didn’t fall asleep on my shoulder on the drive. Of course, since we were only 3 minutes from the farm, there was little chance for that. When we were younger, we fished to stock the freezer. Last weekend, we released every fish we caught. I think we were both a little relieved that we could just visit and make homemade pizza for supper instead of cleaning a mess of pike. We talked about the big bass that got away long after our evening campfire had died to glowing embers. We marveled at how it would have tasted slow roasted over that bed of Osage Orange coals.

I saw a bald eagle flying over our farm a few days ago and it made me think ...

We’ve been here on the farm for almost a year and a half now and the transition has been interesting to say the least. Toss a toddler and a new baby in the mix and life turns into a train on its own track. If you’ve been following our blog for a while, you know that there have been many ups and downs, successes and failures. We’ve spent a lot of time getting things cleaned up and tried to develop an operation that is both profitable and efficient, it has not been and continues to not be an easy venture.

I look back at these short 18 or so months and am in awe of the trek. The grand plans that we started with were blooming with ideals but not rooted in experience. This has proven to be a boon to us. We were not wed to the convention of old but rather allowed to take the best of what was available and discard the rest. This put us at odds with many of the paradigms that must be in place for most traditional farm to succeed. To say that bigger is not necessarily better and that the “economy of scale” builds a house of cards caused many people to look at us as a hobby farm or just some city kids playin’ farm.

Deep down though, they know we’re right. They’ve seen their farms ravaged and plundered by the government. The ideals and goals that they had when they were kids sitting on their daddy’s lap drivin’ the tractor have been replaced by an unprofitable dairy, crops that the government pays for, and the sad realization that their friends have sold out and they are the only ones left.

Most of us will never know the ecology of farm life 30 years ago. The story was very common here in the Midwest but its tale is echoed all across America. Farms thrived. I mean REALLY thrived, not just getting bigger to stay in business. You farmed, your brother farmed down the road, your cousin farmed in the next town over. You split the farm with your brother when your parents hung up their spurs just as they did when their parents passed on. If you had a question or were in a tough time people rallied around you. When you had an out-building that needed to be raised, the men-folk put in the work and the women crafted high summer meals and drinks when the day was done. Large gatherings of friends and family were the norm, not the exception. All that is left of that era are fields of corn and abandoned homesteads. The only “farmers” left are the ones who adapted to the “agribusiness.” They are wildly popular and have thousands of acres that they purchase as each little family farm dries up. Get big or get out.

* * * * *

Life is cyclical isn’t it? I love humanity, we have a such an amazing capacity to weather the storms of history. In just a few short years we have seen a generation grow up that has said to its shackles, “I’m done with you. I’m done with your models, your schemes, your perceived wealth, I’ll do it MY way!” And you do. You find yourself newly liberated, it’s refreshing but the weight of being an outcast soon begins to be realized. Your friends don’t seem to call as much, the refrigerator begins to look sparse, and one by one the amenities that you had surrounded yourself with either are jettisoned or confiscated. Is this what it means to be free? I didn’t know it would be this tough? I didn’t know it would feel this alone.

It is at this moment that you have truly realized your freedom. Life is not about “going it alone,” life is about surrounding yourselves with people who share your ideals, people who are personally and intimately vested in your family’s life. People who can answer the questions you have, people who will be there when you need. Freedom is not the answer, freedom is just an ingredient. Community is the key. Without community you simply have islands. Community is learned through compassion, through empathy, and most importantly, through the giving of time. Community is not available for most Americans. They are too busy watching primetime television, spending 2 hours a day on a commute, and being just too worn out to give a damn.

Congratulations friend, you are on the path to being unlocked. You are asking the questions that are vital in the liberation of your spirit. Keep asking, persevere, have integrity, you will see your dreams.

As I sit here, sipping my coffee with my newborn son passed out on my chest, my wife and daughter still sleeping, and the animals already in the fields enjoying a dew-drenched breakfast, I wonder when it happened: the moment I got the life I never knew I always wanted ...

“It’s a …”

I received this text message from my brother, Josh, earlier today while I was at work and he was either sitting in, or just leaving, a doctors’ office. A minute later, his next response came, “Girl.” My brother and his wife, Nikki, will welcome a little baby girl into their family in August, God willing, and I couldn’t be more excited.

Sometimes in life, we’re hit with one of those moments that make you take a step back and go, “This is going by fast.” Usually, it’s holidays and birthdays and dates that make us remember loved ones that have passed on. In this case, it’s a great feeling to be getting older.

And it felt even better to get the next message from Josh, saying, “It looked really healthy.”

There are many things that I’m looking forward to doing with my niece and her Daddy: watching football, grilling out, hunting and fishing … it turns out I don’t do a lot of the things little girls do, but you know what?! I’ll give anything a try to earn the affection of this particular little girl.

And she just might have a little tomboy in her. (Though knowing Nikki, I wouldn't count on her noodling for catfish.) After all, her dad came from a family of four boys and one girl – our mom – so I think Dad’s in about the same situation as me. We don’t know what, exactly, little girls are like.

I’ve never seen anything wrong with little girls being tomboys. My girlfriend’s siblings include her two sisters and no boys, so her dad raised her to hunt and fish. That turned out to be pretty cool for me because she understands and appreciates what I love to do.

It wouldn’t be a good thing, though, if she were better at my hobbies than me.

But I digress …

I know there’s the typical answer of playing with dolls, but for all the women out there, or for the fathers who have daughters, can I get some help? What do little girls do?

In the meantime, I’ll be thinking and praying about the health of that little, hope-she-doesn’t-look-like-her-dad, girl.

Erin, my eldest daughter and I are more likely to pay one another visits on the comment pages of this blog, than in person. It isn’t ideal, but yet another way that we keep some connection going. Imagine my excitement when Erin, who is between quarters in the Social Service Administration Master’s program at the University of Chicago, called to say she would like to come to the farm to wind down for a few days.

To say that I was excited would be an understatement, but suffice it to say that Erin jumped in her VW early yesterday morning and arrived at the farm around 5 PM. We had a wonderful visit and supper that consisted of smoked beef brisket and banana cake. I had been working on wiring the new shop all day so I fell asleep early; her arrival was an awesome ending to a productive day.

I know the dogs and other animals are tickled to have Erin around too. Valentine and Jack, our donkeys are especially pleased with the peppermints she feeds them. I look forward to another couple of nights of visiting and at least one lunch date too. And hopefully, we will get her car into the barn before the hail hits (if it hits) later this afternoon. I’d hate to send her home with a dimpled reminder of her most recent visit.

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday of the year. Sure, I am glad to live in this country, but the reason I so enjoy Thanksgiving has nothing to do with pilgrims or the Mayflower. It has everything to do with the fact that when I was a hungry little fellow, Thanksgiving was a time when there was so much good food to eat that everyone in the family seemed happy … I believe that they really were. It was one of those days when my dad would spend time with me cutting the giant grapes with pits in them (remember grapes with seeds?) in half to remove the seeds. Making the fruit salad was one of my responsibilities, and it was always made better because dad was there to help. Once we had enough of those giant green and purple grapes, we would cut apples and bananas and chop some walnuts. The grand finale was getting to play with the Sunbeam Mixmaster, to whip the whole cream. Later I graduated to pumpkin pies. I still make them today … sometimes with fresh pumpkin.

Fast forward a lot of years, and Thanksgiving is still my favorite of holidays. These days a collection of daughters, sons-in-law and/or boyfriends come home for a few days of food, fellowship and fun. There’s almost always a little bit of drama, but for the most part each of us takes on some meaningful dish and we wind up crowded in the kitchen, cooking way too much food for a feast that flies by too fast. If you could rationally analyze it, I bet you’d discover that our highpoint is the kitchen and the cooking. Actually, the highpoint is likely spending time with people you love.   

Then there will be the hikes around the farm, fooling around with the utility vehicles and even some chores. This year we hope to get five big spruce trees planted … along with the garlic. On Sunday, there will be the choked up trips to the airport … just enough emotion to let us know we are alive, and that there are some very special people in the world who care to care about us.

I don’t know what your tradition is, but I hope that you have plenty to be thankful for this year … and I hope you’ll spend a bit of thought giving thanks.

See you on Monday.

 

As far as I’m concerned, gardening is hard work!

My garden area is between the house and the sidewalk to the front door, and it’s always been a sore spot. When I first moved in, it looked like a jungle. I finally cleared it out, and then the grass took over.

There’s a beautiful Japanese maple that keeps getting better every year near the front window. A huge hosta huddled next to the house, and it just kept getting larger. Two sedems also managed to survive the jungle, and they too were huge, leggy and unmanageable. All three plants were constantly being hit by the lawn mower, as we tried to keep the grass under control.

So after more years than I care to count, I decided something needed to be done. My sister volunteered to help (I’m sure she regretted that offer at some point during our adventure), and we set a date.

That Saturday morning, I headed to the garden supply store and bought mulch. Soon the bags were stacked in the garage, and I was trimming back the sedems and the hosta.

When Mary arrived with her two youngsters and a set of garden tools, we got down to business. Within an hour, the three plants were dug out, setting on another section of lawn, and a large section of sod was gone.

There were, of course, problems from the get go. Neither of us thought about how wet it had been recently, so we had mounds of mud to contend with, and the soil was much more clay than dirt. Both factors made digging difficult. Mary took it as a personal challenge and declared she was going to kick that grass to the curb before she was finished.

And she did.

About four hours later, Mary was dividing the hosta into eight pieces, and the two sedems into three each. I tried to envision the plants in full summer green, and pointed to spots I thought would work. (The placement is marked on the photograph at the end of this post.) We dropped in the divided plants, pushed the muddy clay around the roots, with our hopes high that they would all survive.

Once the 14 transplants were in the ground, the mulching began. I tried to be dainty (hah!) about it, raking carefully. Mary soon convinced me the only way to garden and mulch was down on my knees, close to the ground, pushing those cedar chips around. My 10 bags of mulch didn’t last long, but we put it down around the plants. My Sunday task was to find more mulch, and finish around the maple. (I added another six bags of mulch!)

After a great deal of effort, we had eight bags of sod at the curb for the city to pick up Monday morning. A neighbor gave me recyclable bags so it all went to the city compost pile. The bags were so heavy, we placed each on an empty plastic mulch bag and dragged it to the curb, a task that took both of us to accomplish. Whew!

Then it was cleanup time. What a mess! It may take me a while to get that sidewalk clean, but it was definitely worth it.

My niece Maura wanted to help with it all, and she did – bringing us water and watching her little brother. My nephew Thomas was fascinated by the earthworms, and more than a few glasses of water had to be thrown out after the worms were given baths. It was fun to spend time with Mary, Maura and Thomas. I’m not physically able to do as much in the garden as others, so Mary did the lion’s share of the work, for which I am eternally grateful.

Do you have any suggestions for my hosta/sedem garden? Any tips for a non-gardener? How do I keep it user friendly?

On this long Saturday, I learned a few things. One, my sister Mary is amazing!

Two, I learned that I am definitely not a gardener. Mary and her husband Mike, our sister Tricia and her husband Mike (who has a degree in horticulture, and they have always had great outside gardens and lots of indoor plants) are the gardeners in the family. I’ll stick to my few house plants, thank you very much!

For the past month the pumpkin farms near and far are in full swing! Carnival rides, petting zoos, haunted houses, apple cider and homemade fudge … fall fun at its best! The many different varieties of pumpkins – miniature, white and striped, to name a few – are quite different from what I remember growing up. We would shop for our one pumpkin (maybe two) and the family would make an event of carving the design and roasting the seeds. In recent years, I have enjoyed painting designs on the pumpkins and have expanded my designs to include a few gourds. This year I approached the pumpkin farm differently.

This time around, I was looking for unique pumpkins to grow next year in the garden, and I found a few.

 

I also became quite fascinated with gourds and more so now that I actually have some drying.

The drying time differs with each individual gourd based on the size and thickness of the skin. I did end up with one swan gourd from my own garden and also purchased two others along with apple gourds, a huge bushel gourd and a handful of miniature ornamental gourds. I have several books on the subject of gourds and after the drying takes place, they have to be cleaned and made ready to work into pieces of art; in my case it will be a bowl or vase. As I patiently wait for them to dry, I am brushing up on my painting skills so I can apply some impressive techniques. The American Gourd Society has chapters in most states and membership along with a wealth of information about gourds and creating artwork and functional pieces. Another organization, Decorative Painters, is dedicated to painting skills and teaching techniques.

Luffa, also known as the sponge gourd, is not a true gourd. It is currently in the final stages of drying on the vines in the garden from earlier this year.

I had quite a successful crop last summer and made luffa soap for Christmas gifts and will do the same this year, since I am receiving requests for it already! Once the luffa skin dries, it can be peeled away to reveal the sponge within. The seeds are removed and the sponge is washed, dried and cut into pieces to work with.

 

As for squash in my gardens, zucchini has always been a regular member producing plenty to keep my mind searching for new and interesting recipes! Zucchini is a summer squash and another that did very well in the garden this past season was yellow scallop squash.

The summer squash has a thinner skin and can be eaten raw, whereas, winter squash has a much harder skin and should be baked or steamed in the microwave. Winter squash lasts longer than summer squash and can keep up to several months in a cool cellar to be eaten all winter long. Discovering new varieties of winter squash is presently occupying my time as I browse around for gourds and pumpkins. So far delicata squash is my favorite and I made sure to purchase enough to cook up and take to our Thanksgiving dinner so the whole family can experience a new and different dish!

 

Sweet mama buttercup was the chosen squash to try this weekend along with butternut.

We did pick up three more types, and those that I really enjoy I will be saving the seed and growing next year. Delicata is definitely a winner!

Pumpkins, gourds and squash need a large space of the garden to grow. Some varieties grow in a bush manner, but most develop vines, and the vines can reach many feet in length. A trellis or some type of support is recommended for those that don’t become too heavy as they grow. Regular watering and a watchful eye for pests is about all that is needed to grow a successful crop.