Seeds of Encouragement

All summer we've been getting ready.

Soaking in sun, quiet days, fun, rest, and family time has prepared the soil.

Today, many of us load children on buses, wake our home educated kids up to alarms, crack open the books, and begin to till.

And we plant.

We're purposing to cultivate minds.

Increase in knowledge.

Bear fruit in understanding.

Harvest an abundance of wisdom.

So, today - and every day, may your learning be profitable, and your pastures lush with hope that in due season, you may reap.

xoxo,
Laura

Flavorful, Succulent, Tender - Every Time

You've noticed haven't you, that the demand for locally raised, sustainably produced, fresh, real, whole, and flavorful food is on the rise?

And, you've also observed that there's a surge of interest in homestead practices, self sufficiency, earth keeping, participation in co-ops and markets, natural non toxic products, all things homemade or handmade,  and farm shares, right?

In fact, I think there's a word that's been adopted to try and capture the essence of some of these practices, and although I've not mentioned everything the word implies, much of what I've written is included when someone describes themselves as "crunchy". It's kind of fun reading through the urban dictionary and other sources when you put "crunchy" in the search bar!

When Weekend Farmer Husband and I made our big move to Liberty Farm, being crunchy was completely off the radar.

That was then.

Now, we at many levels talk the talk and walk the walk.

Why this long introduction that has nothing to do with the title of this post?
Well, first, if you've been here very long, you know that's typical.
Second, it's important that you know that much of what follows comes out of a vast share-house of people like you and me who are interested in the same topics, and have written and shared extensively on their success, failure, and practices.
So, what I'm about to record is a compilation of many generous sources.

For the last three years we have raised Freedom Ranger chickens to fill our freezer and eventually our bellies.  We purchase our chicks here, and if you visit the website, you'll get an easy overview of the breed and their distinctives.

They are quite large when finished. They are big breasted, long legged, with substantial thighs.  So, it's taken some getting used to when cooking.

If I remember the following steps, our dinner is flavorful, succulent, and tender - every time.  (phew, you were wondering weren't you if I'd ever get there?!)

• First, and I'm coming to believe most importantly, give these birds plenteous time to defrost.  Like days.  If it's a whole chicken I have it in my refrigerator for up to 5-7 days just slowly thawing, tissues softening. If I've been flighty - right- when I'm flighty and I forget to plan ahead, I sometimes rush this process, and without fail the meat is less flavorful and not as tender. Chicken should be tightly wrapped.
• Second, use a meat thermometer to check for doneness.  For me this began because my oven does not have a thermostat (no joke), so the temperature is not well regulated.  I have learned to cook by "feel" until such time as we replace the oven.  And, my trusty partner is an oven thermometer that can endure the heat of the oven and give me feedback about doneness. Your "normal" super store chicken is quite a bit smaller with more moisture injected into its tissues, so they cook much faster.  Which leads me to my next point.
• Third, allow enough cooking time.  These birds (given my particular wonky oven) take up to 1/3rd longer than the name brand chicken I used to get from my grocery store.
• Fourth, be generous with oil or butter when preparing your bird.  I've come to love butter for oven roasting chicken, and let me tell 'ya, even Paula Deen would be shocked by the amount of butter I use!
• Fifth, get your chicken started in a hot oven.  450 degrees. Then, back the temperature off to 350-375 for the remainder of the cooking time.  If my oven isn't behaving too schizo, I keep it hot for about 25 minutes, and then finish out at the lower temperature. (Most of the birds I prepare for our family are between 6.5 and 7 lbs.  Yup, you read that right.  Smaller birds = less time)
• Sixth, once your wonderfully aromatic chicken has reached an internal temperature of 165 degrees, pull that golden masterpiece out of the oven, discretely wipe the corners of your mouth because you're starting to drool. Wait. That's just me. Let the bird "rest". At least 10 minutes before carving.
• Seventh, keep in mind that I am an intuitive cook.  I rarely consult recipes and am prone to cook and create from what's available in my pantry, freezer, and refrigerator.  If what I've written is not detailed enough, use your mighty computer to source more specifics.  I'll link some helpful info at the end of this post to get you started!
• Eight, if a whole bird is too much for you (and there are many reasons why that could be - no guilt, I promise), fire up your YouTube channel, sharpen your knives, put on an apron (I like cute and colorful ones), and watch and learn how to portion up a whole chicken.  

Ignore the straight face and focus on the cute apron.  It was Monday. And February.  And I live in the North.  Brr.

• You then have options.  Dark meat in stews or soups.  Breasts on the grill or in a spicy pasta dish.  Endless opportunities.  Remember - plan ahead for defrosting.  In my family, this approach requires me to defrost three whole birds, but the variety and flexibility of using different part of the chicken at different times make the refrigerator space and time worth it. 

What? you're wondering if I have a restaurant size refrigerator?  Mwahahahaaaaah! Nope. I have a humble 16 year old "regular" refrigerator.  Maybe even a lot like yours?

• Ninth and finally, keep trying.  It's taken me awhile to fine tune my process to accommodate for the different kind of bird and meat than I'd been accustomed to.  Commit to the value of the product, the practical ideology of supporting your local farmer, and the nutritional benefits of whole, real food.  No experience is ever wasted, and if you end up with a mealtime bust, clear the table, whip up some scrambled eggs, or bread and cheese, or whatever. Shred the chicken, turn it into soup, salad, or casserole, and purpose to try again.  You won't regret it.

Okay, my fellow crunchies and crunchy wannabes - join the conversation! Share your best pins, Aunt Ginny's no fail recipe, or your questions.  Please? We'll all be the better for it, and so will supper.

xoxo 

Laura

Link to the You Tube channel with myriad tutorials on cutting up whole chickens here.

This is an informative blog post about the chickens I reference and we use the same practices at Liberty Farm.  Bonus - specific recipe included!

Many of these tips are a repeat, but it's sometimes helpful when sources independently confirm each other.

This post has lots of comparable information as well, but toward the bottom there's a yummy looking recipe for a split roasted chicken.  Will definitely be trying this!
And, last but not least, this a a magazine article reprinted from Alice Water's (a queen bee crunchy if you ask me...) The Art of Simple Food.

Note: Although I've read each of the posts above, I've not explored the each blog in depth - maybe you'll come back and tell me what you found?

Surprised by Love

I wasn't fixin' to fall in love.

In fact, I was already in a committed relationship.

We'd been together for almost six years and had finally arrived at that place where, having worked through lots of our stuff, we were really getting along.

Not only were we comfortable, we understood each other, we served each other well, and we complimented each other.

There was plenty of grace for each other's quirks and neither of us demanded too much of the other.
We worked well together, played together even better, and had learned how to offer each other rest.
Of all the relationships I'd had, this one was the best.

I was pretty sure we would be together for the rest of our lives.

And then, Weekend Farmer Husband said, "It's time."

Time for what?

Time to get out of what I had thought was a long term relationship and establish a new one.

Unlike the previous relationships I'd sought, this time I had very few requirements.

I was looking for something that wouldn't cost too much, couldn't be long distance, and wouldn't for a time be too jealous that it was going to take awhile to disentangle from the relationship I was already in.

Probably something that needed a rescue.
I could anticipate years of quirks that might remain unresolved, either unresponsive to whatever fixes I  might offer or too costly to engage.
And, unlike ever before, this time I was faced with physical undesirability- bad smells, over all unsightliness - I was looking for something the world would not esteem.

It wasn't love at first sight.
As anticipated, the smells were overwhelming and the ugly I encountered was daunting.
Although initially "affordable", this relationship was going to require a whole lot of fixin'- time, money, patience, and sacrifice.
And, for me, perhaps the most frightening was the requirement to quite literally move into a region and a lifestyle that I'd never aspired to.
Not only was I going to have to physically, mentally, and creatively labor to nurture and grow this new relationship, I was going to have to make unanticipated heart sacrifices of hopes for a kind of future that had no place where I was headed.

I gave up finished.
I gave up spacious.
I gave up comforts.
I gave up perks.
I gave up (to some degree) perceived status.


And I gained the world.
Not the "worldly" kind of world, but the expansive, beautiful, giving, life nurturing kind of world that one encounters in the creation account of scriptures.
I found my place.
The kind of world that leads to being "emplaced" - understanding that where you are and what you're doing in that place has a profoundly deep significance not only to you, but to those you serve and the generations to come.

A place of wide open sky, waving grass, gentle dawn, and passionate sunset.
Seasons bless my heart and mind and I experience exhilaration as nature declares its intent and I rejoice in mud, blistering heat, dancing leaves, and wave after wave of lake effect snow.
Formerly indifferent to animals, (at best), I've been enlarged by creatures of the air that traverse our fields, make their homes in rotted fence posts, and chirp into the calm or cry alarm to the winds. Beasts of the field have become a thing of beauty and I'm astonished at their intelligence, charm, and at the end their sacrifice.  Symbiotic relationship abounds and now separated from the commitments of subdivision, street lamps, and sidewalks I see how I need the earth and it needs me to steward, bless, and as long as God tarries, preserve it.

I understand that I'm in love in a way I've never experienced before.
It was so uncertain at first and so hard to trust.
How could this possibly work out?
It was going to be so hard, and although on the outside I appeared confident and committed, I doubted myself.

But, I entered into the brokenness and the need.
I embraced the imperfection.
I forgave the ongoing quirks, and I still do.
Smells notwithstanding, I overlooked the ugly and sought the beauty that I knew lay underneath years of bad choices, neglect, and being overlooked.
In short, understanding that I would be taking on a multitude of shortcomings, limitations, and enduring marks of the past, I decided to love and redeem.

I wasn't setting out to be a savior.
And, since I had no glorified sense of self, I suspect that I've been more open to seeing the parallels to my own salvation.
As I (we) sacrifice ourselves over and over again for this new life I am overcome with gratitude for Christ who at once through His perfect life, ministry, death, and resurrection redeemed my broken life.
He, because of His unending grace, covers over my bad smells, is merciful about choices I've made, and with gentle strength requires that I yield to him and His perfect design for this life and eternity.
I, who was once dead in my sins, have been given new life.
The old has passed away and the new has come.

As we seemingly lay down our lives again and again to raise our family well, and to establish and preserve this "emplaced" vision I am generously and gently reminded of how my broken life has been made beautiful by the love of a perfect Savior.

"This is how we know what love is: Jesus Christ laid down his life for us."
I John 3:16a

I'm thrilled to be linking up over at life{in}grace where Edie has cultivated a thoughtful, generous, and loving community to share in:

31 Days to Green Acres - Day 25

Welcome.  This is one of many entries as part of a 31 Day series.  To read earlier posts, please click here.

We're at it again.  You know, another one of our massive, all encompassing, exciting, draining projects.  And, while we're at it, life still chugs along here with it's regular and harvest time activities. I am grateful to be here today, to serve the words and the story that is still developing.  Thank you for coming back and for patiently walking alongside.  You make the journey more full.

Neither Weekend Farmer Husband nor I had any intentions for animals on the farm beyond a couple of laying hens and a cat.  The house restoration consumed all our energy until we moved in, and once we could camp comfortably in our own home, we quickly moved on to repairing the roof on the animal barn and installing a 44 panel solar array.

An aside - if you have read the Little House on the Prairie books or any other stories/series of the USA's early frontier and settlement days the idea of squatters sort of captures what the moving to the farm experience felt (and sometime still feels) like. The departure is that we have legal rights to occupy the property, but at some level I feel like we still have to earn the privilege of being here.  Do we have what it takes to save this house, bring new life to the land, and preserve the buildings? Somehow this relates to camping on our own home...and proving our mettle.

The old board and batten wood sided animal barn is probably original to the property.  There are no nails holding the structure together, just solid wooden pegs, and the dimensional lumber and support beams appear to be hand hewn, massive markers of an earlier time.  At some point in the mid 90's, near as we can tell, a concrete floor was added, electricity was upgraded, and a pole barn added on to form a "T" to the north.  There are multiple animals stalls, a water source, and a hay loft.  Clearly this structure was built to shelter animals.  Off to the side there's a lean to constructed of (no kidding), old wooden grocery store and wine boxes, covered with metal siding and a slapped on metal roof.  It made the perfect "shop" and likely held larger motorized equipment sometime after the upgrades were completed.

Weekend Farmer Husband noodled long and hard burning through notebook after notebook of scribbled details to prepare for the roof tear down, rebuild, and solar installation.  Until our current project (yes, yes, I'll tell you eventually), I've never seen him think so long and hard on any one thing.  Thinking soon became implementing, and we were up on the roof tearing away and tossing aside wooden shakes that had weathered better than a century.

If we'd known then what we know now, we'd have anticipated that this was another pre dawn to post sunset project.  Every weekend, evening, and any other conceivable other "free" time was dedicated to the barn.  And, no matter how much planning, there is always the unexpected.  But, we persevered  not just because snow would fly soon, but because we have a contract to sell the power we produce and our consumer expected us to complete by the agreed upon deadline.

In hindsight, it was a crazy dangerous thing we did. We wouldn't repeat it - at least not without changing a number of practices.  After all, we were 26 feet in the air at a 33 degree pitch - imagine a metal playground slide a little better than two stories high and you are handling costly, fragile, and dangerous tools and supplies while holding steady at the very top of the slope. Even with harnesses and safety equipment you are exposed and vulnerable to mistakes, poor planning, harsh weather, and the plain old randomness that we call accidents.

We passed inspections, hook ups were completed, the basic installation was finished and the snow came.  Literally, we laid our tools down, came off the roof and didn't revisit the project until the following spring.  Most of our tools got put away, but some of those tools we laid down brought a good chuckle the following season as the thaw revealed their whereabouts.

Finally, some rest.  We'd occupied Libby for seven months, and between Christmas and New Year's we installed the bathtub in the lower level bathroom.  Oh the bliss of a long soak and the relief of warm after the brutal cold of the barn roof.  And, I should be very clear, I never went on the roof.  This project was completed entirely by Weekend Farmer Husband, our offspring, and friends from church.  One of Weekend Farmer Husband's clients lent us some valuable tools and heavy equipment that made the job so much easier, but when I say "we", I really mean "them".

We watched lots of movies at night in the ensuing months.  Tired doesn't even begin to describe the lethargy we felt.  The indoor and screen time was fun and restorative.  After unrelenting work, work, work it was bonding and settling to sink into the couch after supper and veg.

When we ran out of comedies, family, and adventure type movies to share I started watching documentaries.  Both Weekend Farmer Husband and I gobble up that genre of program with the key difference his interests run to giant squid and deep sea type things (no, I'm not making that up), and I am drawn to social commentary type films.

After watching a number of compelling programs about food, nutrition, and food production by myself, I invited Weekend Farmer Husband to watch with me.  At first he wondered why I watched, "such depressing movies".  His kindness kept him at my side and I could see that he was warily engaged in buy in on the surface of the issues.

It was Food, Inc. that had just concluded when I caught his eye and said, "We should get a cow."

He didn't say no.

31 Days to Green Acres - Day 24

This post is one in a 31 Day series.  To find other entries, please click here.

I think you've gotten a pretty comprehensive and overwhelming view into the total renovation of our farmhouse.  One friend says I made him tired.  We actually hear that quite a bit.  When people visit and get "the tour" they are often astounded at the before and after.  And, yes, you too will have a tour.  We just have quite a bit of recovery to do after a week of illness (and did I mention a broken washing machine...?), before I'm willing to take pictures.  I know it doesn't have to be perfect to be beautiful, but I always clean up before I invite guests in, be you friend or family!

I don't know how it happened.  In the broadest sense I'd like to view it as God's gentle leading as He taught me a greater reverence for creation. That's sounds a little hooity tooity - what I'm trying to say is this.

I was, at best (before we moved to the farm), tolerant, bordering on indifferent, toward animals.

To meet me now, you'd think I'd been an animal lover for the whole of my life.

There were 3 failed attempts at pet ownership during my growing up years, and one doesn't even really count for me because I was away at college when a puppy came home for one of my siblings.  When I was a preschooler, we had a duck and sometime around late Kindergarten/First grade a golden retriever.  Neither "experiment" lasted too long, and although I have warm memories of Chatterduck and Chava, I don't have any sense that I especially longed to have them back once they were no longer part of our home.  Maybe I shed some tears when we put Chatterduck in a brown box and released her at a local forest preserve - or was it a park - I can't recall.  I was four people.

I never really "got it" - you know - animal people.  In fact, I probably used that term in my high school english class as an example of an oxymoron.  I was willing to accept that other's passion for all creatures usually defined by a kind was exactly that - a passion, and although I didn't understand it, I could see that it was real and ran deep.

Early in our family life,Weekend Farmer Husband and I brought home a really nice golden retriever, McKenzie.  She was a beautiful dog with a very sweet temperament, and she added a lot to our family life. Until the very last months of her life however, I was only capable of measuring her contribution in terms of stink in the house, mud on the floor, and epic hairballs in every nook and cranny.

She moved to the farm with us and spent her last days in doggie utopia.  I am pretty sure she smiled for 15 months straight.  One day she stopped smiling and we knew it was the end.  No one was surprised.  But everyone was shocked when I cried.

Something in my heart had started to connect with her, with the chickens in the coop, the kittens in the barn, and the cows in the field, and even the skittish, yippy, goofy dog who was her companion in the last months.

If you noticed that this indifferent to animals person had a partial barn and property full of warm blooded creatures before she began to identify an affinity to them, you've caught on.  It came late and caught me unawares.

The chickens came first.  It just made sense that with all the space in the barn and the 4-6 dozen eggs our family eats in a week that we should have chickens.  (This should settle it once and for all you folks who want to know what came first...it's always the chicken)

And then, we had lots of feed - and lots of mice.  So we got cats.
I watched my children fall in love.
Even the big burly man boys were and are smitten.
I felt myself warm.

I was bowled over by my affection for the cows.
Their presence in our pasture was a source of joy for me.
They have distinct personalities and they're very social and mostly sweet.
(Disclaimer - we have a weird one this year.  We'll be glad to see her go, but the other three are quite nice)
I search for them every day, feel deeply responsible for their well being even though I do none of the associated chores, and yup, I actually talk to them.

No time, no particular event, no revelation stands out as the clear moment when I began to "get" animals and animal people.  All I know is that it's been delightful.  The richness of experience and the sense of abundance that animals on the farm have produced is both real and perceived.

Real because as robust omnivores, we provide for our pantry, freezer, table, and our need for food by the work or our hands.  The abundance is evident in our larder.  (Does anyone even use that word anymore?).

Perceived because the ambiance, atmosphere, and level of relationship that the animals bring to family life, the land, and their role in this redemptive journey is difficult to capture in words or image.  A producing farm yields and overflowing cup - at least for us.

Now, it's not always rosy.  There's many a cold night that we're out in the barn keeping chicks from freezing when - it's no lie - we'd rather be under our cozy electric blanket.

And, yes, cows do run away and take years off of one's anticipated  lifespan for the stress of it all.

It's true- some chickens aren't very smart, (but some are...), and the meat birds are particularly smelly.

Have I let you know how much work this all is?  It's hard, and it's constant, and there's nobody else to do it but you.

But at the end of all the work and even in the middle of it, there's joy.
Getting a glimpse of what God might have been thinking when he fashioned a cow is such fun.
Learning to "think like a chicken" is funny and in the end proves to be effective!
Observing and participating in the complete life cycle of a meat bird helps you to see just how intricate life is, and that drumstick on your plate represents thousands of little life events to form the whole product you bring to the table.

We're almost to the end of our production cycle for this year.
I find myself lingering at the fence a little longer, gazing out the window to drink in the view of a full pasture more often than usual, and counting the days until it's done so that I don't fail to savor any that remain.

This is still so new.
I don't know when it'll feel normal - like it's "always" been that way.
But it is very welcome.

31 Days of Green Acres - Day 15

Welcome! This post is part of a 31 Day series.  If you'd like to read others from the series, please click  here.

Remember my son, you know the one who was struggling to write a paper for his college class?

He got "unstuck" while I'm still trying to find my way.

It is not a small irony that he chose to write about Liberty Farm.

I know you want to read it.

It's good.

And, you always see things here from my point of view.
His is similar, but with his own voice.

Prepare to be amazed.

I might be biased, but I think he should get an "A". Just sayin'.

His criteria- 2 pages.  Begin with the words, "I'm from..."

Liberty Farm

       I’m from Liberty Farm, a modest 1,700 square foot house that rests on a beautiful plot of ten acres, with two barns and a big hole we call the pond. The house, which is set only thirty feet from the road is almost always sheltered from the sun by two gigantic trees both of which stand towering over the house, one to the east and one to the south. The tree that grows to the east is a Catalpa, and like many trees of this variety it has grown to be very old, and also very large. Its long curving branches extend to almost unimaginable lengths, holding up the large heart shape leaves native to its kind. This tree is a favorite of the barn cats who make a regular habit of being stuck in its lofty heights. Equal in magnitude to the Catalpa, the tree to the south is a maple. Humungous gnarly branches raised ever toward the sky are now adorned with the red leaves of fall.

     Behind the shadowed wall of trees lies my house, a tall yellow affair, with statuesque narrow white trimmed windows, and dark red shutters. From the outside, it appears a pleasant place to live, and it is. Warm old maple boards cover most of the floor, sanded smooth with meticulous attention to detail. The wood has retained all of its original glory. Deep grooves between the planks, filled with dust and debris from decades before, provide dark lines of contrast against the amber glow of the boards. Thick white trim borders the floor. Spattered with scuffs and scratches,the trim bears the marks of many shoes and feet which have traveled this way before. A mix of ceiling fixtures and exposed light bulbs cast their illuminating rays down throughout the house, and give light to the robin's egg blue staircase which leads upstairs.

     Upstairs is a clear view of the barns, both bright red works in progress. The horse barn is used

for almost everything except horses. The roof, covered in solar panels, looks incongruent on the otherwise very old barn. Like a black eye, the square clean lines of the panels appear uncomfortable and unnatural, like dark bruises on an otherwise unblemished face. This disparity vanishes in light of their practical purpose, providing renewable energy for the farm.

     Under the roof, the dusty old barn serves to primarily house chickens, and tall towers of boxes. Chickens provide the unmistakable smell of live stock, further adding nostalgia while the boxes, although unsightly, make room for improvements in the other barn, known simply as the pole barn. Skinned in thin red aluminum siding the pole barn still wears its original color, while the roof's formerly steely hue has given way to the rust that comes with age. Inside the hard, dark, gray concrete floor is a recent addition, along with the half done ceiling. This barn does not smell like chickens, but rather, piles of lumber which will soon make up the rest of the ceiling and walls. The very back of the pole barn tucks into the fence like a plug in a dam holding in seven acres of pasture.

     Used for raising cows, the pasture has three small shelters placed throughout. The expanse of grass now faded yellow with the onslaught of fall, is hunched over, tired from a long season of growth. Low lying brambles now in view reside in the back of the property, a thorny bed I to this day have never seen a cow tired enough to sleep on. The fences that encase most of our property makes a square.

     On freedom's side of the fence, our pond, really more of a puddle is home to six ducks. Following this summer's drought the water is only about three inches deep, but come spring that will change and it can reach depths of almost four feet. Our farm ducks much prefer the greater pond depth of spring.

     Though I haven’t always called Liberty Farm my home it seems difficult to imagine living anywhere else. The lifestyle of the farm is something I've grown to love. At first, having moved away from a busy neighborhood, the relative isolation of rural living was disconcerting. Gradually, the palpable simplicity of life at Liberty Farm with its wide open spaces and sustainable way of living has yielded contentment.

Thank you Nester for hosting the 31 Days series.  Interested in reading what 1200+ other bloggers have to say?  Click here.

31 Days of Green Acres - Day 8

Welcome! This post is part of a 31 Day Series.  To find the other posts in order, please click here.

I can clearly see two mistakes I've made so far in pursuing this goal of posting for 31 Days.

First, each of these posts have been written hours and hours after my last cup of coffee for the day.  The little boost from caffeine gets applied to other important matters in the day.  If I were to drink a cup when I've been writing this series I would have yet to go to bed this month.  But, in addition to these posts I'd be all caught up on thank you notes, laundry, pantry cleaning, basement sorting...I'm starting to think being up all night is a good idea!

(Wait, I often am - with my light sleepers - never mind.  That's right , I remember now why it doesn't make any sense to have a late night cuppa - I'll be parenting (gladly) not working on projects.)

Second, and this is a biggie, I can't believe I've been massaging this keyboard completely devoid of chocolate.  This one I'm having a harder time making sense of.  Who in their right mind takes on a mammoth project without considering the role of salted dark chocolate, salted caramel chocolate, hot chocolate, chocolate chip cookies, chocolate cake...

O comfort chocolate, I crave thee!

And now on to the farm news:

We brought a new kitten home tonite.

Her name is Onyx.
Ooo, Onyx, that's fun to say!
(For all you Elf fans out there...)

We've learned some lessons about hanging on loosely around these parts, especially to cats.

They are an essential part of farm life and have become a precious part of family life.

Trouble is, they have an incredibly high mortality rate.

This is our 7th kitten to be introduced to the barn in less than a year.  Of the seven, four have perished.  It's heart wrenching.

We don't treat them badly, so neglect is never the cause.

Raccoons, a hawk, and twice curiosity have been the cats' end.

So for now, we fully enjoy the fun of kitty play.

But, she's gonna have to be tough.  Farm girls are, you know.


Thank you Nester for hosting this 31 Day blogapalooza.  Are you interested in checking in with the 1200+ other bloggers who joined the party?  Click here!

31 Days of Green Acres- Day One

Welcome!

This post below is the first of a 31 Day Series.

For other entries please click on the links below.

31 Days to Green Acres - Day 2

31 Days to Green Acres - Day 3

31 Days of Green Acres - Day 4 (well, not really)

31 Days of Green Acres - Day 5

31 Days of Green Acres - Day 6 

31 Days to Green Acres - Day 7

31 Days to Green Acres - Day 8

31 Days of Green Acres - Day 9

31 Days of Green Acres - Day 10

31 Days of Green Acres - Day 11

31 Days of Green Acres - Day 12

31 Days of Green Acres - Day 13

31 Days of Green Acres - Day 14

31 Days of Green Acres - Day 15

31 Days of Green Acres - Day 16

31 Days of Green Acres - Day 17

31 Days of Green Acres - Day 18

31 Days of Green Acres - Day 19

31 Days of Green Acres - Day 20

31 Days of Green Acres - Day 21

31 Days to Green Acres - Day 22

31 Days to Green Acres - Day 23

31 Days to Green Acres - Day 24

31 Days to Green Acres - Day 25

31 Days to Green Acres -Day 26

 

I'm actually afraid to start typing.  Because if I do, I'll keep adding words, ideas will build, and at the end I'll click "publish".  That, my friends, is terribly unnerving as I'm about to join in a blogging adventure initiated by The Nester in which I will attempt to post for 31 days in a row.  The goal is to write brief but targeted posts and since I've been so absent here lately, why not do a cliff dive and decide to just free fall into either epic success or dismal failure?  What could possibly go wrong?

Liberty Farm is the topic and I've got maybe 5 days worth of material loosely formed in the gray matter.  Ah hah, now you understand don't you?  Although I've thought about it, I've not planned ahead sufficiently, and there's that niggling phrase that began as a helpful whisper but is now pretty much an irritating jingle - "She who fails to plan, plans to fail."  Yup, that's me, the planning failer.

But, I've got a little secret - I "perform" reasonably well under pressure.  In fact, it's often my most effective motivator.  Furthermore, I'm pretty sure the blog police (could exist, maybe not, I've heard it both ways...), don't have their eyes on me, and what's the worst thing that could happen if I mess up or get derailed?

So, I'm gonna try.  My greatest concern is that I might frustrate you, the most valuable part of this blog - my reader.  But, you're not like that are you?  You is good, you is kind, and you're ok with me trying, right?

The kettle's on.  The mugs are clean.  Coffee or tea - your choice.  The door is open.

Won't you come on down to the farm?

Prose, Pictures, and the Practical

High white clouds drift lazily in the September blue sky.  Although quite warm outside, a small breeze makes for a pleasant place in the shade.  It is Labor Day and we're resting today.

Most of the time we work really hard.  And, Weekend Farmer Husband and I enjoy it. Most of our children do too, at least to a point.  But today, on purpose, we started and stayed slow, and it feels richly satisfying.

It's not that we didn't "do" anything though.  Animals have been properly cared for and appreciated.  Water has been administered to thirsty plants.  Meals are planned, prepared, cleaned up after.  A friend and some of his family came, we forged a new threshold of relationship as we processed a couple of his noisy rooster companions, now meant for his family table instead of their created role as daylight criers.

This is our normal.  A high labor high yield lifestyle.  And, we're only slowly beginning to understand that this may not be normative.

Recently, a good friend suggested that the content here should reflect the practical of what we've learned, how we "do".  After all, we were pretty run of the mill suburbanites a short two years ago.  Disconnected from food production, from land, from the span of seasons and how it impacts what we eat and how we live, reliant on grids, city water treatment plants, municipal salt and snow trucks, among an unnamed myriad of other services and conveniences, frankly, it was a good and happy life.  But, we had no idea of what it really meant when we decided to move out of town.

At first, we simply desired more space and the liberty afforded by downsizing our home.  For the first time in 17 years of parenting we committed me full time to supporting Weekend Farmer Husband, raising our children, giving my consistent attention to home educating and managing our home.

The curve was long and thankfully very gentle.  And somewhere along the way, influenced by books, movies, and convinced by the Holy Spirit, we found ourselves committed not only to "living out of town", but to land stewardship, animal husbandry, food production, health, the family table, and living with deeply rooted gratitude within our means and with eyes wide open for opportunity.

We didn't plan.  We just started.  And that's how we continue - we are perhaps the Clampetts of "Just Do It".  Sorry Nike.  I suspect your marketing team had something else in mind.

Our experience has been that most of what we purpose to do, wish we could do, or might like to do is achievable if we're willing to labor for it.  And we are.

Some of you have been very complimentary about the yield you can see from our efforts.  And, oh how your words are like honey.  Without outside encouragement our efforts always flag.  So, please, keep it comin'! But, sometimes you make the mistake of assuming that we're special, or different, or somehow more equipped than you are. And that from the outside looking in, the idyllic pictures portray a kind of life that you could never have.

Not true.

I won't diminish the idea that perhaps we've been given an uncommon gift in this new life we're forging.

Conversely, I hope you won't limit hope that you too could and maybe will someday do what we do, learn what we've learned, and lay hold of this high labor high yield lifestyle that allows for mellow September afternoons filled with iced tea on the front porch, chickens clucking in the barn, and night cool closing in on cows in pasture and family gathered satisfied and well.

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And since some of you have asked, here's something practical that we use with good success on the farm.  This formula is readily available on the internet - other blogs and Pinterest for sure, but I offer our farm tested, family satisfying, adapted home made Powdered Laundry Soap Recipe:

Ingredients:

Two Bars Castille Soap
( I use Dr. Bronner's Lavender or Peppermint bar soap. It's available at my local super market, or click on this to source it from Amazon))

One large box of Baking Soda
(Yup, just plain old baking soda found in the baking aisle of your local market.  I use the 64oz/4lb. size)

Lavender or Peppermint Essential Oil
(These too my local supermarket carries.  Lots of blogs I read recommend this site/company, but I've not personally purchased anything from them)

Directions:
Cut the bars of soap into small pieces.  Dicing is probably too fine...shall we try to define this as chunks?

Add about 1/4 of your chunks to your food processer fitted with mixing /chopping blade.

Add about 1/4 of the baking soda.

Pulse until combined.
(Watch out - the baking soda will "poof" out a bit and you might find yourself feeling a little sneezy with a strange salty taste in your mouth! )

While blade is spinning add 5 +/- drops of essential oil

Repeat above steps until you've combined all the baking soda and soap.

Place in a seal-able container (we use an old gallon ice cream tub) or containers and place in a place convenient to your laundry routine.

I use about 1/8th cup per load.

Some thoughts:
I'm risking a bad memory here and possible correction from you dear reader, but I think this gives me 80+ loads.
You can use less, more, or no essential oil.  The fragrance and its strength is according to your personal preference.
The oil does not leave any stains/residue on your clothing.
I have front loading HE washers and this formula has performed very well for us.
DO NOT use vinegar as a softner/rinse aid - it'll be the horror movie version of middle school science class all over your laundry area!
Depending on sales, coupons, and "buying it right" this costs me just under $10 per batch.
Our current favorite fragrance is lavender and there's just the faintest trace of lingering fragrance once the load finishes cycling.
If making this with the help of your children (and by all means, include them - then they'll know how to "do" too), please remember that essential oils are very powerful and avoid direct contact with skin.

Ok- so many words!

I'd love to hear from you - what would you like to learn more about?
If you try this, what results did you achieve?
Shall we make this a conversation? Yes? Please!