Preserving the Harvest...including a fruit leather tutorial!

It is spring. For us this means fresh strawberries. Lots of fresh strawberries. They taste like heaven, especially since the only strawberries we see throughout the winter are last seasons frozen surplus-tasty but so clearly lacking the sun kissed warmth of a freshly picked berry.  Strawberry season not only brings juice dripping smiles, like every successful crop it brings endless hours of processing in the kitchen. This year the patch is just a tad bit bigger than last year yet is producing twice as much. Sweet news.  Right now we are picking baskets like this one daily.

Now let's take this bounty into the kitchen.  The first thing we do is trim the tops, they go into the chicken scrap bucket, I think the chickens love strawberry season as much as we do!  Trimmed berries  fill a casserole dish headed for the freezer. This year we started using a Foodsaver. The berries absolutely must be a little frozen to be vacuumed packed. Ben has learned how to operate the device and he is now in charge. 

Now this prepares us for a sweet winter. One of our favorite meals is flaxseed pancakes topped with homegrown strawberry syrup. These berries will cheer up a chilly morning when they are cooked up with a little maple syrup!

We also use the berries for fruit leather. This is a great way to pack a lot of nutrition and savings into a lunch box. My boys love strawberries but they do not always get eaten when I pack it in the lunch box, actually that is the case with most fruit. With fruit leather if the kids don't finish it, we can save it. It packs home well, unlike the half eaten pear or apple.  Whenever we have a surplus of fruit I take the time to extend its life by making fruit leather.  So here we are, two weeks of lunch box packing left and lots of strawberries. Let's make so e fruit leather!

First we prepare the fruit. For this batch I used our own strawberries and four mangos leftover from the last co-op order.

I purée the fruit in my food processor. I think a blender would work just fine. We are looking for a chunk free slurry!  I have found that color is a huge factor when making fruit leather for kids. If it is red they will eat it guaranteed. Yellows maybe, brown (typical of fig purée) slim.  I always try to add something red! Each fruit will impart its flavor so the kids are developing their palate without too much risk.

Once you have your pure fruit slurry (that is right no extra stuff!) you can move to the next step. I have done fruit leather in the oven, in a small circular dehydrator, and now in a large temperature controlled dehydrator. All work fine but you have to pay attention, especially in the oven.  The ideal temperature is between 135 and 145 degrees. If you find your family likes the fruit leather I totally recommend making the purchase of a food dehydrator or sharing the expense with a friend or neighbor! I finally talked myself into spending g the money for an Excalibur dehydrator and I do not regret it. It is temperature controlled, has 15 square feet of space, and has fruit leather mats.  Last year I was cutting all my mats out of parchment paper which was a total pain when I was making a lot.  No matter what you need a mat, if you don't have one line a cookie sheet with parchment paper and pour your slurry.

Shake out the slurry gently trying to get level coverage. It is recommended to try to make the center slightly thinner than the edges since the edges will dry our more quickly. I have yet to be successful in this...

Load up your device of choice. 

Set the temp.

Wait. It usually takes between 4-6 hours. You have to check it periodically. You are looking for pliability.

When you like the pliability you can peel it right off. I like to roll ours up and slice it. Usually the first peel goes straight to the kids! 

So good. So nutritious. So easy. So pure.  I encourage you to give a try. Find a local farm or farmers market and when the fruit is ripe, process it. I have made many batches of fruit leather at once and frozen it in rolls. It is a great way to eat fresh and whole without bumps, bruises, or stains in the backpack or lunch box!

Culling the Flock-with an entourage

Today I traded a dozen eggs and a luffa for a hired gun, that's right-a sharpshooter. I needed help. My poor hens were suffering from a non stop show off of "I have more cock-a-doodle-do than you do" game amongst the resident roosters.  Here is a little history about our "roo-splosion," then I will explain the bit about my entourage.

Last August we received our first mail order shipment of chicks. It was a "bargain bag," meaning an assortment of leftovers. What a deal right? Not so much. Twenty six adorable chicks arrived. Of those twenty six we have had to dispatch eighteen roosters. One still remains, or I should say at least one still remains as we are still a little unsure of the sex of two more, which secretly deep down means we think they might be Roos too.  Don't get me wrong, when I orderd straight run chicks I knew I was going to have to cull roosters, however I didn't expect it to be quite as dramatic as it has turned out to be. 

About six weeks ago my husband and I, despite chilling rain took care of nine. I was totally tired of feeding so many roosters, not to mention tired of watching them begin to torment the hens.  It was cold and wet outside and the kids wisely stayed inside to play Legos. As my fingers were starting to numb around rooster number six I began cursing myself for allowing this to happen. Removing feathers is a total pain. The birds looked so skinny. (Because they were heritage birds, not a standard grow super fat quick meatbird) It was beginning to feel like a whole lot of work for a little bit of meat.  On the bright side, not growing up on a farm, I was gaining confidence in dispatching and eviscerating a chicken. Afterall apart from a few well chosen books recommended from Mother Earth News I had learned all of my skills from an assortment of YouTube videos including but not limited to a chicken evisceration performed by a young woman with a toddler wrapped in a sling on her back and a dispatch done by an authentic hillbilly under his deer stand. Anyway, I was thankful that I had only managed to catch nine. I would have cried if I had had to pluck one more bird under the slow and steady drizzle of a winter rain in Georgia.

Fast forward a couple weeks. I head to the coop to let the chickens out. On my way I resolve that if I can catch a rooster I will engage myself in the gruesome task of rooster culling. At this point I have attempted a few catches before and the roosters seem to be up on my game, so much to my surprise I was successful in catching not one but three more. Here goes. This time I go at the whole thing alone. Husband and boys spending quality, non violent time together. Three is bearable I say to myself. I can do this. I did. I was super proud of myself.

Another week or so, I catch one more. Only one more. The others are getting savy and my tricks of treats are no longer effective. Neither apparantely is cornering.  Well, I have one. He is bothering the hen. Better get to work.  Again, all by myself. Something about being all by myself is peaceful, even though I am hardly doing anything peaceful. I am killing a chicken and ripping its guts out. Gross.

I keep trying to snag the remaining roosters. I would like to admire their tenacity and allow them to live. I can't do that though. I love my hens. I love my eggs. My hens are suffering a relentless assault of rooster ego. And dinner is good, my family needs dinner. So I keep trying.

Now here we are back to today. I resolve to get help, aim and shoot help.  This may seem cruel but my hens really were suffering. I ask my husband to invite a gun loving friend to help us out.  Now comes the entourage. The friend comes with his two beautiful children, eight and two. My kids love friends. Now I have four kids curious about this rooster killing thing. My kids know what has been going on. They know where their dinners come from. My first kill both boys were there, eager to learn.  The second time they understandably asked to play somewhere else and were rather reserved about eating meat at dinner. Apparantely they have come full circle. They watched the last rooster evisceration with curiosity, questions, and respect. Still I wasn't quite prepared to do the whole job with four big pairs of eyes and hands.

At the coop my hired gun gets two Roos. I bring them back to my chopping block and sever the heads. This is where it got a little weird. The kids were very interested in the head. They were very interested in the death throws. They had questions. Why is the beak still moving? Thus the resulting stick poking at still moving chopped off chicken head. The death throws at our house are explained as the chicken flapping its spirit away helping it make its journey to its friends. My kids are used to this, it seemed to go over well with our visitors. Let's all help wave the chicken spirit off to chicken heaven and honor their lives.  

Now I have two chickens handing upside down bleeding out and I am beginning to wonder if this is an appropriate activity for a group of kids to be a part of on a Sunday afternoon. It is just kind of gruesome, it makes my heart beat faster, I get a little ache in my stomach, and honestly I can't wait for it to be over.  I want a beer. Or two.

It's not over. Time to scald and pluck. Yes, the kids help. Curiosity still the motivator. The question is still rolling around my brain, what kind of mother am I? Nightmares anyone? 

I move my operation and begin cutting off the feet, cutting the poor bird open and removing the guts. Interest is peeking on the kids part so as each part is removed we talk about it and look at it, the heart, lungs, never ending intestines, and the windpipe. The teacher in me approves of this. Anatomy. Biological science. In house field trip. I am a good mother.

Wait a second. These children just watched me point out a kill and finish the deed with my own hands. I am a murderer. Bad mother.

Why am I conflicted about this? What is my adorable little entourage teaching me about my choices? 

Luckily the children's interest had waned for round two. I had a good bit of time to think about these questions as I moved through the motions on my own.  I am bravely concluding that I am not a bad mother because I allowed my children to watch me kill an animal, more than once. I am not a bad mother because I plan on allowing them to watch me do it again and again. I am not a bad mother because I hope they participate more as they grow.  I am making a conscious choice not to shelter them from the sometimes unpleasant realities of life. I take pride that our friend felt it was a good choice to bring his kids and encourage them to participate in a brutally real event.  This is closing the circle allowing it to continue going round and round. The circle of respect. The circle of thankfulness. The circle of need. The circle of giving and sacrifice. The circle of life.

We ate curried rooster and biscuits for dinner. It was good. I had a homebrew with it. I deserved it. My kids are happy. I don't think they are going to have nightmares. Their father is reading stories to them  right now. I hear giggling. There are two more dinners in the freezer. Tomorrow we are going to transplant some strawberries. Tomorrow is not going to be gruesome. This spring will be sweet.  If it ever comes. I am tired, but I am smiling. 

Sweet dreams.

My First Eggasm

Did the title get your attention? I hope so. There really is such thing as an eggasm and it is amazing! My husband coined the term this winter when I came running into the house with Evoline's first egg.   I was overflowing, grinning ear to ear, my thumb and forefinger delicately holding up a tiny light green egg for everyone to see, somewhere inside thinking that everyone would or should be as excited as I.  Evoline was a special bird, the first to hatch from a clutch of eggs I was incubating in my classroom. Evoline was actually lucky enough to have most of our elementary school watching and cheering her tough journey out of her egg on their classroom smart boards via a live feed I had hooked up above the incubator. As her comb began to redden, a sure sign laying will ensue, I stalked the hen house even more vigilantly probably annoying all its occupants.  So yes it was very exciting, even exhilarating to finally discover that little egg. 

 I like my husband's term, even though it was clearly poking fun at me. I like it because I think it explains a lot of my motivation in the pursuit of homestead happiness. It is hard work spattered with failures and disappointments. Just last week I nearly cried when we returned from a week away to find that my entire row of kidney beans sprouted and molding in their pods after a week of steady rain. I mean they were beautiful when we left! I was expecting the usually painfully dry July weather to scorch the beans into dry legume heaven. Or how about that melon that I have stalked since pollination? Know what happened to that one? My good friend the squirrel decided to have just enough to ruin the whole melon. On the bright side the chickens got a good treat that day. We also thought we were so smart to  take free mulch from the local public works. Amazing stuff. Makes everything grow like crazy. Little did we know that one or two loads was heavily laden with a hidden demon, a weed we call Bermuda grass. Yup. Bad stuff. And guess what it grows in that super rich mulch like the plant from Little Shop of Horrors. There is always work to be done. Wood to be chopped. Animals to be fed. Blisters and backaches. Predators. Grass to be mowed. Weeds to be pulled. Harvest to put up. Pruning. Cleaning. Blah blah blah. But amidst all that toil are moments of Eggasm! It is not just for eggs, although if you like receiving gifts I highly recommend raising some chickens because collecting eggs everyday feels like Christmas everyday! It is the first bean sprout that erupts from your painstaking efforts to cultivate the darkest soil ever. It is the first squash blossoms and finding the bees busy at work pollinating. A full wood shed before the first frost. The first baby green tomatoes, the first hint of red, and finally the first bite. Cooking with your own garlic. Watching the beans climb your newly designed trellis just like you imagined!  Your child's smile after that first bite of fresh corn on the cob picked that morning.  Staring at your pantry filled with your own preserves relived through the dark winter months as you spread blueberry heaven on freshly baked bread.

When I tell people that I am trying to grow as much of my own food I can the first response I get is in reference to how much money we must save on groceries. Someday I do hope that to be true but that is not at all why I do it, and honestly we just aren't that good yet. First and foremost I want to raise a healthy family and I just don't trust or respect our current food system to support me there. I respect our planet and I want my actions to benefit her, again not happening with our current pesticide laden, monoculture food system. But let's be realistic here, I could carefully monitor every purchase, peruse all the local farmers markets, join a CSA, be off the hook for all the toil. If I chose that route however, where would all the Eggasms be?  

If you haven't yet experienced a real Eggasm, I want you to find a seed. Plant it. Nurture it. Cry if it dies but please don't give up. Find another and try again. I promise you once you have your first Eggasm, you will never turn back. 

Day by day the dream comes true.

It has been a while. My dream of self sufficiency hasn't wavered, even if my writing has...lots of improvements on the homestead have happened this past year. The chicken project is going well, we are now collecting two to three eggs a day. They are happy birds and I am learning how to partner with them. We also have two rabbit hutches built for pasture. Last weekend we found our bunnies and they are adjusting well, still awaiting names. We invested in a deer fence around the veggie garden for which the wait for spring is even harder. I can't stop fantasizing about future crops. We are working hard to protect our struggling orchard, hopefully this year we can spur some growth there. Our partnership with the guinea fowl holds promise, we have let them loose on the garden and they haven't fled yet!

Lots of work and lots that I feel so proud of. I am going to try to post more regularly as a way to document our progress towards independence.

Today these are the things that I am proud of...

I made banana flaxseed pancakes for breakfast with our own eggs, thank you Rosey and Betsey.
I ate an amazing salad today topped with our own pecans and dressed in a vinaigrette with our own garlic and local honey.
I made soup stock with our own garlic, peas, and bright orange pumpkin. I can't wait to eat it tomorrow!
My kids played outside most of the day utilizing their incredible imaginations constantly.
I let my chickens out on pasture today and enjoyed a moment of peace sitting with them in the warm sunshine while sipping a hot cup of coffee.
I washed 25 wine bottles in preparation to bottle our first farm wine tomorrow.
I picked a basket of kale with Simon and smiled when he said "I can't wait to eat this yummy kale!"
I have a happy, healthy family that loves being together and I wouldn't want my life any other way.

I Love Dirt!

Life on the homestead is pretty dirty right now. Spring planting and bed preparation has begun in earnest, Adam is bringing home nightly pots filled with transplants discarded from client's homes, spring garlic is finding itself in the cast iron skillet, garden greens are getting tossed in vinaigrette, flowers are popping everywhere! The dirt under my fingernails is now a permanent fixture, alongside blisters, poison ivy, splinters, and an occassional scrape. Inevitably someone needs something from inside and few of us are patient enough to unlace so the floor bears a gritty shine, soap dishes are lined with dirt splashes, the chopping block even sports a few dirt crumbs carried in by radishes and gloves, a pile of dirt-caked overalls and socks linger at the back door too dirty to wait in the hamper for wash day, and dare I speak of the lovely ring around the tub! This is life! I am going to cry when I have to return to school on Monday, once again closed in by four walls and a mountain of paperwork, luckily I work with amazing children and have managed to cultivate the beginnings of a decent school garden, so technically I am still engaged with dirt in my professional life, and so exhausted by being indoors for so many hours a day, that upon my return home I find myself rejuvenated by the possibility to get really dirty before preparing dinner, tubbies, and bedtimes, that I jump right in, weeding with a grin!

What is this love affair I have with Dirt? Could it not be the most amazing substance on Earth? I think of the Native American Folktale, "The Earth on Turtle's Back". I read it recently to my fourth graders who are beginning a unit on Native Americans. I chose the story to illustrate the theme of Survival but as I think about my affair with Dirt, this story comes to mind. Could it be that Dirt = Survival? Quite possibly so. Shall I share a quick version of the story with you, I am glad that you agree...so in the beginning there was only water, Sky Woman has a dream that the Tree of Life is uprooted, such a powerful dream must come true Sky Man orders the tree to be pulled up. Curious Sky Woman leans over to see below and falls, falls, falls down toward the ocean abyss. The water animals look up and see this creature falling. They send the swans up into the sky to catch and cradle Sky Woman. Immediately they recognize that she cannot live in the water, clearly her body lacks the appropriate adapations. The concerned animals decide they need to build her a place to land and live so one by one they attempt diving to the ocean bottom to bring up some Earth. Failure after failure occurs, and just as they are ready to give up teeny tiny muskrat says she or he (I can't remember and do no wish to offend...) will do it or die trying. (This is the survival theme I was shooting for with the kids; determination, motivation, etc.) What do you think happens, is little muskrat successful? Do we walk upon Earth everyday? (please don't argue this one with me, even if you walk on concrete most of the day, Earth is hiding below, just waiting for a breath of fresh air.) Yes, muskrat barely makes it to the surface, clutching one handful of Dirt. The ocean animals are all quite impressed, but quickly realize there is no place to put this Dirt. Wonderful, wise old turtle volunteers his or her back for the Dirt. Muskrat's hand lays the dirt on turtle's back and it begins to multiply covering all of turtle. The swans gently lay Sky Woman on turtle's new Earth back. In her clasped hand is the clutch of seeds she grabbed attempting to catch her fall out of Sky Land. She lays the seed in the dirt, and alas life as we know it began. Isn't that a wonderful story? It speaks to so much of why I love homesteading. I want to be an active participant in my family's survival. Is it a lot of work? Yes. Are our goals overwhelming at times? Absolutely. Is it worth it? Hands down the best life I could imagine for my family.

It is such a strange world that we live in now. In so many ways it is so disconnected to what we are, dirt. We can walk down any aisle in a grocery store and pick out just about anything we want, regardless of season, distance, or practicality. One might argue that this privilidge is so healthy, I mean fresh strawberries in December, yeah vitamin C. But is it healthier? Is it really any better, is there really any vitamin C left after the genetic modifications, long journey from Florida, and ripening in a truck? What happened? Have we completely fooled ourselves into thinking that having everything and in quantity at our fingertips is natural or normal? No wonder our student's lack the art of patience! How many have to wait, or resist the oh-so-tempting urge to pick their strawberries before they are ready?

Anyway, back to Dirt. We are what we eat. What we eat comes from dirt. We are dirt. It is our responsibility to care for it. If, anything at all, please start a compost bucket in your kitchen. Delegate a hole in the corner of your yard, or invest in a small home composting tub. Give dirt back what it gave you and I promise you it will not dissappoint you, or your children, or your children's children...

I started this post over a hot cup of tea last night, after a long busy day deconstructing pallets and recycling them into raised potato growing bins, preparing and planting our new addition to the farm titled "Cherry Lane", and scooting the chicken tractor around the yard to all the juicy clover patches. It must have been more exhausting than I realized because when my son asked me to read him some stories before bed, and asked me to snuggle him to sleep, I too drifted off, not to wake until the sun came up. So, I finish this post next to a steaming cup of coffee and a beautifully long list of to-do's for Saturday at the farm, no doubt involving OUR best friend, DIRT!

Spring Fever

The pinks and purples of spring are taking over the perennial beds.

Springtime is just around the corner. Signs are everywhere from the daffodils, crocus, and lily pips to the non stop chatter of songbirds from dusk till dawn. With the dream of feeding our family better produce that will last us longer throughout the year, springtime means lots of planning and lots of work. We have our seeds picked out. Tomato and eggplant sprouts in the kitchen window. Bush cherries are expected in the mail any day! We have been busy expanding the vegetable gardens. This year we are going to try out a no-till method. I am lucky to be able to aquire lots of cardboard from the school cafeteria so we are prepping and almost ready to go. The strawberries look promising, as is our large crop of garlic. We have herbs aplenty; rosemary, thyme, sage, mint, and oregano-I think a lucky combination of a sheltered herb garden and a mild winter. Peas are sprouting and the lettuce is growing. Blueberry buds are turning pink. All good things that I am very proud of.

And chickens are back on the farm. Six: Omelet, Scrambled, Mega-a-Zega, Modo-Bodo, Skipita-Friskita, and ?. They are quite a lot of fun to watch eat and grow. They do have their own little personalities.

Balance is still the goal. I wake up early, get Ben and myself off to school, teach all day, attend meetings afterschool, sometimes attend an evening class, all of which would seem utterly exhausting, and it is. But somehow no matter how tired I feel, the second I turn in the driveway I am instantly ready to charge at tasks with new vigor. Weeding while the children swing, orchestrating dinner, sitting beside the chickens, planting spring seeds, and jumping in mud puddles. No wonder I am behind on housework, can never seem to get my kids to bed on time, and once horizontal-out for the count.

The list is endless and the days never seem long enough. I can't imagine a life any other way.

The Wet, Rainy Season is here.

Well, it is finally raining in Georgia. We suffered another severe drought this summer. Hopefully this now endless seeming rain will help bring the water table back.

What does this mean for us at the farm? Despite the rain we have been busy; planning gardens, transplanting, and cleaning up.

This has been our first pecan year at the farm. So far this season we have probably collected around 100 pounds from around 12 trees. There are still trees out there that haven't dropped yet, which is good because we are not looking forward to crawling around the moist grass in search of nuts. We are enjoying the bounty, snack time is nut cracking time. Often Adam and I find our self in competition for cracked nuts with both the dogs and the boys, we just can't crack them fast enough for all the hungry nutmunchers as Adam likes to call them.

We had a large brushpile that has been growing from our first spring on the farm. We finally took the plunge and set the pile on fire for the first step in prepping the area for our perennial veggie and berry patch. Now on my to do list is weaving some more trellises for the blackberries. We found a nicely crowded patch of young pines in the woods that we have decided to cut into a forest hideaway for the kids that will provide the necessary poles for the project. I am looking forward to putting aside time to play in the woods with the boys and harvest our poles.

Adam and I are enjoying looking through seed and plant catalogs, dreaming about future purchases! We have already placed our seed order which includes seed potatoes and sweet potatoes, both a first for us at this farm. This year we are planning a large garden down the center of the Pecan grove that we will plant in the Native American Three Sisters style; squash, beans, and corn. I haven't yet picked out the beans for that yet. I have yet to eat a pole bean that I truly enjoyed, any suggestions? We are thinking maybe a been for shelling, which means a lot of canning, but we do eat a lot of canned beans throughout the year. Probably a good bet.

Almost all of the hundred garlic cloves I planted this fall have shot out of the ground. Can't wait to taste fresh garlic this spring.

I am hoping for a strong strawberry patch this year. I have always struggled with this plant, but I think this year we have at least the best chance yet. They are now in the ground long before spring, soaker hoses in already, lots of sun, and high hopes. We just need to combat the weeds that seem to have infiltrated from the mulch pile. I think I will put in a request with the custodians at school to start saving me cardboard again to line the rows organically before the real warmth of sun hits. All the strawberry farmers use black plastic and even though there fields are all weed free something just doesn't sit right with me and black pastic in my garden.

Adam has been inspired to delve into his big landscape dreams for the property. The driveway rockery has begun and transplanting is in high gear. We are again thankful for the rain as we truck loads of plants to the farm from our old property. It is amazing to me that we planted a half acre property and cultivated it to the point that we are able to remove enough plants to completely landscape this five acre property. We were fortunate to buy a property that had once been a cattle farm so the soil was rich and black, so unlike the typical shovelfull of red clay that we expect here in Georgia. Adam also discovered the free local mulch pit which provided hundreds of yards of rich organic material which created a "Little Shop of Horror's" effect, lots and lots of healthy happy plants growing. Perennial gardening is where it is at if you like to move plants around and grow your gardens. Variety is lacking however and we are enjoying putting aside a little budget to add some new plants to our iris and seedum laden beds.

On my list of to-do's is to get a few chickens. Adam pulled the tools out and built a chicken tractor recently, a movable coop that we plan on moving around the pecan grove primarily. For one the electric dog fence doesn't go there, remember Leo is a chicken killer, and the other reason is that Pecans like Nitrogen rich soil. Spending time at my sister's over Christmas and enjoying her farm fresh eggs has re-invigorated our desire to bring chickens to the farm.

Adam has also cleaned up his pallet area. This has become a winter routine for him. During the busy season stuff just accumulates from pallets, rock cages, and pots. The pallet stack was getting so tall I was beginning to worry that it may fall over and potentially endanger something living.

Pickles, we need to eat a serious amount of pickles before growing season begins. Jelly too. A goal for next year is to be more creative in my canning endeavors. Tomatoes are a breeze, I just freeze those and use them throughout the year. I just made a delicious pasta sauce from our summer tomatoes. Tomatoes are so easy to through into chilis, curries, and soups. Now that I have an immersion blender it is even easier to turn the tomato harvest into something the kids will eat happily too. We still have peppers in the freezer, need to think up something good for those. We are eating the frozen peaches almost daily in smoothies. Still have chili peppers in the freezer, one of these weekends I am going to attempt my own hot sauce. Definitely need to think smarter about food preservation next year, learning through experience what works and what doesn't. One goal-instead of jelly...wine. I think I will put Adam on that one.

On a sad note, our cat Luna has disappeared. We haven't seen her since before Christmas. I know how cats can be and I have not given away her food yet, but with each passing day we know that the likelihood of her return goes down. She was always rather aloof and rather prone to scratching for no good reason, but we did enjoy her daily visits for a quick nibble and pet. It was nice having a cat around, I can't remember many times in my life when there wasn't a cat nearby doing the cat thing. Luna wasn't the closest cat I have ever had but I do miss her little black face and her little crooked neck. We miss you Luna, wherever you are.

On a happy note Rama just had his thirteenth birthday! His face is getting whiter by the day but he still manages puppy play when something sparks his interest. Mostly he just lays around keeping his eye on any potential goodie that may come his way. Summer is going to be hard for him I think. I don't think he is in hiking form anymore. He was a trooper this summer but there were times on the trail that I began problem solving how we were going to carry him out of the woods. I really don't want to be in that predicament, nor do I want to see his face when we have to leave him behind. That decision is going to suck.

Ah well. Life just has a way of going and going and going. Fleeting moments of frustration, happiness, and all out exhaustion...are we lucky to be here navigating the road.

Something for the little farmers...

Yes, it is a rather long video but it was just too hard for me to cut any of it out. Their excitement was contagious.

Day 1 with new mini farm rig.

5 trips to the compost with garden debris, kitchen scraps, and pecan shells.

1 trip back from the pecan grove laden with nuts.

2 trips bringing wood from the shed right to the front door.

Two big fights resolved the driving roles, Ben resides at the helm now with Simon a happy co-pilot.

Simon was only run over twice, maybe someday soon he will learn to stay in the vehicle. He kept jumping out when he saw trouble ahead thinking he could pick up the truck and reorient it in the direction he wanted-hasn't figured out the steering capabilities yet...

Ben graduated from the slow speed and can now shift from low to high and maneuver reverse.

Day 2

7:30 in the morning, Ben is ready to go. He tells stories in bed to pass the time while I refuse to get up so early on my Sunday. By 8:00 he is out of bed, dressing himself in warm clothes, digging around for his boots, and out the door. First chore, we need some firewood to spruce up the morning fire. He is on it with a smile!

8:30 Simon gets out of the shower with Daddy and happens to spy Ben out the window as he laps the house. All of a sudden he remembers the truck and demands to get dressed. After much Simon decision making about which clothes are appropriate, digging for just the right mittens and jacket, he is out resuming his role as co-pilot.

9:30 The cold winter weather forces boys inside for a little breakfast. Mom and Dad drink coffee and stoke the fire. Mommy sneaks into the office to share.

"Mommy, you are one year older."

Well, Ben certainly understands what a birthday is. This was evident when on my birthday he said, "Mommy, you are one year older." Yes, I am, I guess. Talking about growing up is so hard to do. As children we dream and play grown-up. As adults we shake our heads at our children, our hearts filled with envy for their innocence and endless opportunities for play. The grass is always greener on the other side of the fence!

I am pretty pleased with my year. I wish I had worked with the fleece more. The story of my life is big ambitions and very little time. I stare at that beautiful fleece everyday in my classroom. Yes, I brought it there thinking I could sucker my students into carding it all. They love the carder. They loved felting beads for necklaces. One of my students even felted a patch for his backpack. Most of the wool still sits uncarded just because there is so little time in the day when the kids are free to explore. That strikes me as incredibly sad. I will get to it though.

What else, my garden. Pretty successful this year. I had of course dreamed bigger but the reality is that I am caring for two kids and teaching full time so until my kids are more independent I should say that I am quite proud of our progress. We are still eating garden tomatoes that we froze, bags of zucchini are in the freezer as well. Our supply of freezer pesto has been restocked. The pantry is full of pickles. I have almost 100 cloves are garlic sprouting. Salad greens, spinach, and beets are still growing in the winter garden. The strawberries didn't show out well this spring at all, I think we got them in too late. I have replanted them and they are doing well, so well that this warm December weather has spawned some blossoms on several of the plants. We are picking buckets of pecans and munching on those is simply heavenly. Hopefully we will have a good rain one of these cold days if they ever come so that we can burn the large brush pile. It is currently residing on space designated for perennial edibles like asparagus, raspberries, and other things yet to be determined. Adam is feeling juiced to work on some of the rockery he has planned. I am looking forward to planting that with him. Georgia is great for the gardener who likes to inspect their work all year long.

My house. I am learning how to live with busy kids. I was able to keep the place spit spot when they were infants. Now it is pretty common to step on a train, slip on a book, or stub a toe on a tricycle. I keep telling myself these days won't last forever and I should enjoy them while I can. Simon is just too cute riding that little red trike down the hallway nude as can be, can't stay mad at the trike forever. The dogs have re-entered the building. It was definitely too much when the kids were super small but as Rama ages his presence inside the house is nice. I wish his hair would stick to his body but again, his days are numbered as he approaches 13 this January and I have learned how to walk by the fur caught in the corner with a deep breath knowing I will get it later. Sounds so silly but this is growth for me. Growing up in the environment I did I would never have expected a neat freak to surface but upon owning my first house I realized there were several obsessive behaviors that had been buried. For a while I vacuumed twice a week. Now I am proud if I get to it twice a month. My life is fuller than ever and I think I like it that way.

The boys are really beginning to play really well together. Sometimes I find myself telling myself to hurry up and get something done, seize the opportunity. But what I find myself doing is listening in to their little conversation, role play, and laughter. Being a mom is my biggest blessing.

Yes, one year older. There are a million cliches for growing older. They all make perfect sense, life happens and we can't change that. Enjoy it while we can.

Taking time, to remember.

I just recieved news that my high school guidance counselor passed away today. I happened upon the news as I mindlessly scrolled through my facebook newsfeed. Strange how so many miles separate me from so many people that have influenced me yet the endless stream of data keeps me connected...in a way. This spring I learned of another long ago friend passing on facebook. Someone I occassionally exchanged emails with, but whose spirit left an indelible mark on me. It sounds gross for me to thank an entity like facebook for allowing me the opportunity to know and open myself up to the process of remembering and honoring.

Jeff. You passed away in a maple grove, checking your lines, alone. I think of you often, and an image of you in that grove weaves it's way in and out of my consciousness. Your friendship kept me going. Just the thought of knowing a man could exist as good as you makes me feel better about the world. You loved your family so much, respected nature so much, pursued happiness, and got tangled up just like we all do. You were like breath of real fresh air. I remember your laugh and I am glad that silly little me was able to drum it up so often. I miss you.

Alan. I am picturing you with your very long pony tail, probably totally grey now, taking a quiet hike with that little springer-was Emily her name? I remember Ethan taking me to your house the first time. It somehow validated all the craziness of my home. I felt relief to see another family navigating adolescence with pretense. Just doing what we are here to do, live. I remember pleading my case to you when I wanted to go to Highgate to see the Grateful Dead, "please help me reschedule this final, I have to go this show." Little did I know at that time that you would have hopped in the van too! Did you go to that show? I can't remember. My heart goes out to your family. They were so lucky to have you.

I should go to bed. I know I have lunches to pack by 6:00 am, a four year old to wake up and dress, strap into the car and be off by 6:15. I hope that my two year old sleeps through my morning so I don't have to close the door on a crying boy or explain to my principal again that I am struggling with being a good mommy and a good teacher. I hope my husband can forgive me for cutting down a small tree that I thought was nothing, it wasn't to him. I wish I could just figure it all out. Why do I feel like I need to have it all? Sometimes I just want to escape to that cabin in the woods, not for a weekend but forever. A gypsy caravan sounds great right now.

I know why. I know why I left the woods. I can't turn my back on the future. I am not sure Alan loved his job but he affected so many teenagers growing up. Where would we be without those people helping us see the lighthouses, teaching us how to read our own compasses, loving us?

All through high school, (actually I think the fantasy began in fifth grade, maybe earlier...) I dreamed of the life alone. Sometimes it was that cabin in Alaska, completely off the grid, barebones survival. Other times me and a backpack, first the AT, then Nepal...

My husband misses the freedom of his twenties. I think he feels trapped in responsibility. So many times I have dismissed him, isn't this what life is about honey? Is there really any other way? Don't we all have to survive, make a living, find joy in the mundane? I understand his perspective, he still holds on to those lonesome backpacking adventures, daring rivers, new places. When we are working so hard on a daily basis to keep our bills paid it is so easy to forget that we are not squandering our life's precious minutes in the mundane, we are in fact investing it. Every good meal we provide for our children is an investment that helps secure the future of our planet. Every lesson I teach is a drop in the bucket for our planet.

It is so hard to live each day in the present. Everybody always says to do it, but it is soooo hard. I started this off to remember. In remembering these two great men, I am once again reflecting upon the meaning of my own existence.

I need to remember that...

I am one woman who was once a girl.

I make mistakes like everyone else.

It is okay to be tired and nap with my children.

Dog hair and dust is no big deal.

Simon's tantrums will end.

Someday my students will remember me.

Balance is essential.

Effort beats intention.

Love heals.

Morning will come, it always does.

Goodbye and Goodnight.

Oh my, summer days.

One might think that a lack of posts means a lack of news. Not so in my case. Busy is the best word, overwhelmed maybe a bit better. I know for sure that I have absolutely no idea how to relax. The second my under exercised bottom hits a chair if a dimpled little hand doesn’t give my finger a tug it is my mind doing the pulling. Even our family vacation, which we are currently engaged in, seems so far from restful or relaxing…I think since parenthood and careers have taken over two otherwise over active recreationists, vacations seem like the time to catch up on all that was missed during diaper changes and commutes.
The last time I wrote I was incredibly excited about my first wool fleece purchase. That seems like lightyears away. School was still in session, summer excitement -still just a tease. Here summer is and in full swing at that! At the present moment I am sitting across from Simon at a small table in a tiny cabin nestled into the steep hillside of a Hot Springs North Carolina mountain. Ben finally gave into exhaustion and is sleeping on the fold out couch. Adam is kayaking down the French Broad River. I am scheduled to bring the kids, a couple cold beers, and energy to meet him in about an hour at the take out. We are both hoping that the kids will be up to a small evening hike along the river before we melt into the mountainside for burritos, marshmallows, and sleep. No phone, cell service, or internet. I finally feel the inspiration to write and for a moment mourn the loss of the internet. Then with an inner smile I realize I can still type here, post later because even though I forgot a few things during packing I did remember the laptop!
So yes, here we are in the super small town of Hot Springs. The Appalachian Trail crosses here. Hiking is idolized. There are lots of outfitters for boating trips. Adam and I stopped here on our first road trip down south about seven years ago, in the Subaru, with Rama, a couple boats, backpacks, and a leaky tent. We stopped here because we were both hit with an intestinal virus while hiking a small section of the AT nearby. Neither one of us wanted to continue squatting in the woods or hanging out in a stinky outhouse while our systems purged so we stopped in Hot Springs to recover. We have always wanted to come back. So far our visit here has been nice. We rented the cabin after a night in the tent in the Uwharrie National Forest. Adam and I learned there that it is too hot to camp in the summer in the south. We managed and it was fun, our campsite was beautiful and bug free, but we quickly realized that an extended camping episode would be very difficult in this heat with two kids who still take (and need) naps.
After the night in the tent we attempted to explore Badin Lake in the canoe, brutally hot and dusty. After sending Ben, Adam, and Simon overboard on the return to the boat ramp I successfully navigated the canoe to the dock. I had a minute to chat with a local as I always do in a desperate attempt to learn more about the object of one of my deepest southern fears, the water moccasin or cotton mouth snake. As I watch my older son swim happily towards Adam this friendly fisherman tells me the last time he was here there were three sightings in about an hour. My heart starts to race of course, images of the young Irishman in Lonesome Dove bitten to death by an onslaught of angry snakes. It helps that his girlfriend is happily paddling around on a float fifty feet off the dock. He shows me a snakebite kit, I shave now set my mind to purchasing one to keep in the first aid kit right next to Simon’s Benadryl.
We retreat back to the van, buckle two naked boys in and set our course for the US National Whitewater Park in Charlotte. We struggled to find a motel outside of the city that was not a total dive, ordered pizza in, and crashed. After morning snuggles and a good breakfast we hit the Whitewater park. Adam was skeptical of a man-made whitewater course and almost managed to talk himself out of checking the place out. Good think he didn’t because he had a lot of fun surfing some waves and battling a super big class IV rapid that wore him right out! It was of course still super hot and the boys and I tried hard to stay in the shade while Daddy played on the river. Loaded up again in the van and headed for Hot Springs.
The Hot Springs cabin reminds me a lot of my little “cabina” in New Hampshire. Of course this one is more equipped coming with running water and a flushable toilet. We walk onto the little porch and Adam spies a wasp nest hanging over the door. After that is dealt with as we wander around and check out our new space, cobwebs and all, I wonder if I actually did live in a tipi for a year in a bitter cold NH valley? 4 years in a cabin with no water, rain water collection for bucket flushing, toting 14 gallons of water up a steep trail for showers, dishes, and drinking-did I really do that? My how my life has changed…Then I ask myself another question, would I go back to that mountain lifestyle? The answer, in a heartbeat! Adam and I are always hashing out our alternatives to our current situation, which on the surface is so far away from what either one of us ever imagined for our future, we struggle to find like minded people and we miss the endless opportunities for escape that the mountains provide. We both loved mountain life but had no land and no money to buy any. I loved my cabin but it never really felt secure, I always felt a fear that the old man would be convinced to sell, or worse die and his kids sell the property, the result being a very homeless me. I was never completely comfortable and to be honest I like stability.
Then there is my career. This I have been pondering a lot on this trip. After dropping Adam for his run down the river I stop at the Hot Springs Elementary School playground for the kids to play. The preschool just happens to be walking by going into the school and one of the teachers asks us to join them for a puppet show! A few minutes later I am sitting “criss-cross apple sauce” in a pre-K or Kindergarten classroom with a group of moms, dads, teachers, and probably 2-6 year olds patiently waiting for a marionette production of “The Princess and the Frog”. I note how quietly everyone is sitting and imagine my own students in this situation definitely thinking they would not be so quiet and still. Then I take notice of the people in the room, the parents all look pretty crunchy sporting Birkenstocks, hairy legs (both men and women), long hair (again both men and women)…this thought enters my mind-boy would I like to teach here! I would fit right in. Then this thought enters my mind, and it is by far a more meaningful thought-these kids don’t need me, my students need me.
I am by far a black sheep in my school, I come from somewhere far away in so many ways (I am so lucky to have an administration that appreciates where I come from and gives me the opportunities to share it) I didn’t become a teacher because I liked kids. On the contrary I remember exactly when I chose my career path. I had just set up the tipi at the bottom of the Kinsman Ridge Trail in Easton Valley. I spent my mornings running up the trail with Rama, dangling my toes in chilly creeks, and thinking those young and amazingly philosophical thoughts. I decided during one of those thinking sessions that I wanted to go back to school and become a teacher, so that I could share all of this earthly beauty, connect kids to their roots, and perhaps even make a difference in preserving it, through the children. Now about ten years later I am living that dream teaching in a semi-urban school jam packed with kids who know more about video games than where their food comes from. When I look at it that way there is no way I can run away to the mountains again. I will continue to visit and honor them. I will continue to protect them the only way I know how, live by example and teach.
I love the mountains! They always lead me to great thoughts…maybe I am getting the rejuvenation I need after all. What Is more meaningful than rediscovering who you are and realizing that in fact you are living your dream? Writing too helps, I notice as I re-read this post how incredibly divergent it became, beginning with perhaps a synopsis of seemingly trivial family episodes and ending with the spirit juice I need to return to the farm and school.
I think I will end with this, a run-on sentence and slideshow of highlights from the past action-packed two months!

…carding, dying, felting soap with first graders, garden growing, cucumbers, cucumbers, cucumbers, pickles, more pickles, pickled peppers, dump truck harvest, Grandpa, hot, fix it up Subaru, getting old Rama, rivers, splashing, sun and sand and waves, road trips, miles and miles of beautiful land, Hot Springs=Poison Ivy, Balmy Boone, Simon and his wagon, Ben photographs trees-it is artistic Mom, canoes, kayaks, paddles, strap it on the van again, burritos, homegrown salsa, needle felting turtles, knitting again, maps, hiking little kid style, endless joy at throwing rocks into mountain creeks, mommy had homework, tadpoles in the pond=more loud frogs on the farm, wasp bites, late nights, long afternoon naps, so much more, still learning to be present in how wonderful it all is…

The Fleecy Beginning

Friday brought a smile to my face, bringing me home to memories of the front porch at Millwood. My sister and I at the drum carder turning, and turning, and turning the handle while my mother sat quietly behind her wheel, fingers adeptly guiding the oily fibers into a tight spin while her foot kept the beat spinning the wheel. Wool. It peppers almost every memory I have of my mother. Spinning wheels, carders, drop spindles, looms at Julie's house, their yarn shop The Dancing Ram, the ever present knitting projects beside every chair in the house, new hats under the Christmas tree every year, visits to the Nadeau's farm to check out the sheep...When I think of my mother, I think of fiber. It wasn't that fiber was her life, afterall she was a full time nurse, part-time midwife, mother, wife, gardener, reader, friend, and on and on and on. My memories of my mom when she was knitting and spinning are memories of her smiling. It made her happy. There are so many lessons and skills that I learned from her even though my living relationship with her was so short. Friday began a re-awakening for me with my childhood, my mother, my cultural heritage, and my own happiness.

I met the boys at a local farm. Thank you Mema for graciously picking the kids up and meeting me. I desperately wanted to share the beginning with them.

When I arrived there was a freshly shorn sheep getting her nails cut by our hostess. Behind her the rare sheep shearer working his art on another soon to be fluffless friend. Simon's eyes were fixated on the shearing, Ben's eyes equally as large and fixated. I almost feel badly for my arrival because it was inherently distracting for Mommy to arrive. The boys enjoyed the barn, the dirt floor and exposed beams, got to pet a baby goat, feed it's parents, observe horses grazing in the distance, and of course witness a sheep lose it's coat.

As the afternoon wore on, and I began to feel more and more like we were getting in the way of the end of a long hard day's work, we picked out a fleece. Both the boys were excited and worked together to tug the rolled and bagged fleece out of the barn and towards the van.

I left it in the back of the van as the evening routine of mommyhood beckoned. It's presence floating around in the back of my mind.

Saturday morning arrives early of course. Ben and I make waffles. I enjoy a hot cup of coffee. The fleece is in my mind but so is the list of chores I have neglected throughout the work week. I continue to neglect the list as I pack the boys into the bike trailer so that we can ride downtown, return our library books, pick up some dog food at the market, and pedal uphill to the park. Worth every second of it. As the boys show signs of wear, I load them up and pedal home, thinking that naptime is near and I can tackle that mountain of laundry that needs folding and hang the next one on the line. Lucky me the boys pass out before my legs do and I park the trailer in the shade. Do I go inside and fold laundry. No. I walk around to the back of the van, pop the trunk and tote the fleece towards the veggie garden. I dump it out and see if I can figure out how to unroll it. Of course I did a cursory reading of a few articles as to how to wash a freshly shorn fleece (it has been far too many years for me to remember the details), but afterall this is about exploring, and I can't help but jump right in, hoping that a little instinct and common sense will guide me. So here it is. My first grown up fleece, stinky, greasy, and just plain beautiful.

As water conscious as ever I opt for washing the fleece in a large garbage pail using natures best, water only, thinking that with every gentle rinse I can put that filthy (maybe nutrient rich) water on my thirsty garden. I fill the pail with clean water and immerse the fleece.

The thought crossed my mind to let water do it's work and let it soak, but impatient and not wanting to lose any minute of my precious naptime I begin gently immersing a smaller pail into the water, filling it, and walking it over to each individual plant, an offering of love. I have to say I felt like I was living my adolescent dream. I can't pinpoint exactly when I developed this dream, but it was defintely before 10th grade because I remember writing a narrative for Mr. Rode that he read to the class for it's imagery. It resembled something like this...cottage in the woods, gorgeous herb garden, antique cauldron over a fire pit bubbling with some natural dye collected from the forest, skeins of home spun wool hanging from lines strung from tree to tree, a woman of course presumably me in the future flitting about stirring the pot...

No, this water isn't exactly some magical dye brewing away but it might as well have been in my mind. I felt like I was there, or maybe it just held the promise that someday I would be...

I made it through that whole bucket and began to fill it again when I heard "Mommy" from the distance. We prepared our nap delayed lunch, ate together, played together, and not until Adam arrived home did I get to revisit my fleece, this time it got a chance to soak. This time the boys joined me in distributing the water that was getting clearer with every rinse.

The evening wore on and little eyes began to droop. We called it a night, filled the tub up one more time, and headed to the family shower (yet another attempt at frugal water use!).

I fell asleep with Ben to one side of me, Simon nestled near his coveted breast, spooned by my husband, and literally counting sheep in my mind.

Sunday arrived and there was no avoiding the chores. My little family worked away cleaning, organizing, maybe disorganizing a bit (Simon...), and I think I found my way back to the fleece mid-afternoon. I moved my operation to the herb garden so they could recieve some of the gift too. After another rinse that was quite clear I decided to hang it to dry. I could still see bits of hay nestled between fibers, and it still possessed an oily coat, but the weekend was drawing to a close and afterall this is all about exploring.

I decided to put up a few plant cages to drape the wool from over the herb garden, letting a slow trickle of water drip over the plants. When I was finished it reminded me of the caves we visited last summer in Montana growing stalactites and stalagmites. The colors resembled each other and of course the shape and steady drips. I think it is kind of pretty.

So stay tuned as the exploration continues. For now we are dripping and dreaming.

This Farm is for the Birds (except chickens...)

(except chickens...) please refer back to post titled "Not Much Farming" for a complete explanation as to why this is the case. I am not ready to revisit it yet...

However depressing our chicken story is, our songbird population is healthy and growing. It is a daily blessing. Outside our kitchen window is the coolest birdfeder I have ever seen. The couple that built the house put it in. It is a tray that spans the distance of the two windows, with a seut feeder on each end. Every morning while sipping coffee we get to watch the birds literally right infront of our noses! There is a constant stream of feathers at the window and we all enjoy it. We added two feeders in close proximity to this one and it is constantly in use. It is 8:30pm and I can still hear the steady chirping of our birds.

Not the best picture of it, but you can see the driftwood collection. We put it everywhere in the gardens and the birds just love perching on it. We actually had one at the old house that a bird found a little hole and began living in it.

Adam's grandfather recently gifted us a beautiful birdhouse. Yesterday, while Ben napped I loaded the birdhouse, cordless drill, and Simon in the wagon and headed out towards the muscadines to set the house up. Simon was thrilled to be a big helper and Ben was surprised to see it up when he awoke. The excitement of these two little boys over a birdhouse got me thinking about the environment that we are trying to create here at our farm. So, today after the boys hunted their Easter eggs (which I also took as a sign that it was time to think about birds) I took the camera out to photograph all of our little homes and feeders.

So beyond the patch of forest behind us which is home to so many birds, cardinals, tufted titmice, pine warblers, to name a few, we have an assortment of homes scattered across the farm.

This house is home to a lovely bluebird. She has three eggs in there, I spied. I tried very hard to get a picture of them but it was just too impossible to do without disturbing them. I wish I could share with you the amazing color of those teeny tiny eggs.

This nest in inside one of our large Camelias. Simon has adopted this Camelia as one of his play homes. Today, he pulled me in and we discovered two nests amidst the branches.

We got this from a client of Adam's. We haven't spied any birdies coming in and out yet.

We inherited this one in the muscadine vines. We moved it though and had to do several repairs. Ben picked the colored nails. It is a nice touch. This one reminds me of the little cabin I lived in when I met Adam, equally as ramshackle and repaired in much the same way, a nail here, maybe one there, yup I think that will hold it!

Ben painted this itty bitty house last summer in Gatlinburg Tennessee.

Some of these gourds came with us from our garden in Newnan, the vine overtook the backyard, very stinky flowers but very cool fruit. One actually began growing between the boards of the arbor and was flat on two sides, we called it the pancake gourd. It didn't make it here though, I think it cracked and rotted instead of drying out. Too bad. The white ones we discovered in the corner of the shed here shortly after we moved in. One afternoon we tied them all up into the Sycamore tree. That big white one has constant traffic in and out. There must be babies.
This one I just think is pretty. It looks so natural and I think if I were a bird it would be the best choice.
Today, the new birdhouse witnessed the boys hunting Easter eggs. Simon spied an egg to high to reach on his own and his Pop-pop gave a little needed assistance. Can you imagine the tales a birdhouse would tell if it could talk? Just think, all the different birds from year to year, babies hatching, and then the goings on of all the humans raising more humans.
Thank you Great Pop-Pop, for giving us a beautiful home for our birds and for inspiring us to contemplate our relationshiop with our feathered friends.

Earth Day

Earth Day has always been one of my favorites. I grew up outdoors, from an early age I learned the value and to value what Mother Earth provided for us. I have always taken pride in my conscious efforts to make choices that promote a sustainable lifestyle. I even gave birth on Earth Day, a sure sign that the collective conscious recognized that I really was trying to put our eco-system first!

Then, while searching for some Earth Day ideas on the web for my 20 first graders I ran across a Footprint quiz. I took it (and yes some questions were very general). By the end I learned that if everyone lived like me it would take 4 1/2 Earths to sustain our lifestyle. I made two green pledges (which I feel confident that I already do and were not factored into the quiz) which reduced my footprint to 4 Earths.

So much for the idea that I thought I was making gains in sustainable living.

I guess I just need to work harder, 4 Earths is too many, we only have 1.

On the flip side. I do know that I work hard at sustainable living and if I take up 4 Earths, how many Earths do other people use?

At the Painting House we live by this code of sustainable living, which we are preaching to our offspring.

• lights off, off, off.


• line dry he clothes...that is when the pollen count is down!


• we pick furniture off the sides of the street...and find ways to use it at home.


• most clothing purchases are from second-hand shops.



• we avoid purchasing anything packaged (hard to hit 100% here, but efforts are made)



• gardens are in and growing-local produce



• wood heat



• Ceiling fans in every room.



• Dr. Bronners, safe for the septic, safe for humans.



• AC at 78 during the summer.



• old adage "if it's yellow let it mellow, brown flush it down"



• we use magnets to wash our clothes.



• we use the "eco" light bulbs.



• COMPOST



• Re-usable containers everyday.



• our boys have been clothed almost completely in hand-me-downs.



• Cloth diapered both boys (that is almost 4 years of diapers spared from the landfill)



• High efficiency low water use washing machine.



• Heavily insulated attic space.



• Re-cycle everything we can!! And according to Ben we can even re-use shrink wrap...see endnote for a silly story about that!



• we plant things, let's not forget that green things clean the air.

Plans for more sustainability at the farm...

• insulate the floor.



• raise chickens for manure and fresh eggs.



• bigger garden and more fruit trees.



• new windows



• solar power



• Sarah needs to find a human to carpool with...very hard to do...observed that people like to work on their own clock, come and go when they want.



• continue to raise conscientious children.

Ben's 3 R's Story...

The boys and I are reading books. Ben finds a set of books wrapped in shrink wrap. "Mommy can we read these ones?" Of coure I say yes and we open them up. I ever so nicely ask Ben to throw the plastic in the trash, he looks at me and says flatly "no Mommy." I reply, "Ben, please throw it away like I asked." Again, "no Mommy", but this time he adds, "Mommy, reduce, reuse, recycle. We CAN reuse this." I am looking at the balled up shrink wrap wondering how I am going to explain that it is hard to reuse plastic wrap. Then Ben informs me that we can use it on the sail that we are planning on sewing for his driftwood pirate ship. So, I acknowledge his thoughts and instruct him to go set the balled up plastic on the sewing table. He was happy with this and we went on to read two fabulous Robert Munsch books. Ben won't be four until August but he sure is thinking like a little Earth Soldier.
This is one proud Mommy signing off, wishing her little boy Simon (Earth Soldier#2) a very happy birthday tomorrow, and pledging to make every effort to live a more sustainable life everyday.

Peace Mother Earth, may we at the Painting House Farm continue to observe, honor, and protect you.

Happy Birthday Simon!

Escape to Lake Wedowee...return to babies on the farm!

We had wonderful weather for my Spring Break, which meant zero housework got done! Instead of tackling my mile long list of things to do I sat back and did some relaxing with the kids. The first few days we spent at home, making dinosaur tails for the boys and homemade pizza, yum!

Yes, Simon got one too! He has a great growl!

Ben made a self-portrait.

Adam knew I would never sit down if we stayed home for the whole week so he bartered a trade...stonework for some time in a beautiful lake home on Lake Wedowee in Alabama (which I might add is an unbelievably pretty place). Everyday we took the boys out on the lake in the canoe, finding little nooks and crannies to search for new driftwood for the gardens and watch the boys find endless joy in tossing rocks into the water. Rama and Leo were excited to be part of the adventure and eagerly awaited the return of the canoe (Leo tried to follow us once and thank goodness he changed his mind because I really didn't want a repeat of the the time we were on the same lake, in kayaks, me 8 months pregnant with Ben, dragging a huge driftwood raft that we couldn't seem to part with, Leo tried to jump into MY kayak, which filled it with water, and made me swim to shore toting a super heavy kayak, a tired dog, and too much driftwood).

Can't get enough driftwood!

The last day was quite hot and Adam surprised all of us by running off the dock into the water. Of course the boys were eager to join him until they realized the water was really rather cold! Ben was out faster than he got in and Simon just enjoyed it. We left after that bring home too very tired boys!

Once home Ben noticed the backdrop of our farm in the spring (white spirea, dogwoods, native azaleas, and formosa azaleas) and insisted on taking pictures of all the new blooms with his brother Simon. We witnessed some exciting pollination by a bee in the azaleas and a butterfly in the lilac! We also discovered that two of our young peach trees have baby peaches! Yippee! After the peaches we decided we should check on the pear trees and they too are sporting lots of fruit, which is great because we just finished last season's pear sauce! The clematis on the swingset is blooming and we have some super tall bearded white iris that I put in last summer, in crazy hot June, not because it was smart planting time (it wasn't, nor was it smart to work a rototiller that weighs more than me in 90 plus degree weather), but because I just needed to plant a garden! Let's see, we also have columbine in bloom, blueberries, diathus, and roses! The best part for me is to witness the excitment my children have for what is happening outside! They are eager to count the seedlings as they pop up and jump up and down a the thought of picking our own fruit!

How cute are those baby pears?

And fuzzy little peaches?

Life is GOOD!