Monday, February 13, 2012

A lot can change in five years...

Five years ago...

  • I was a corporate trainer for a Fortune 500 health insurance company.  
  • I was on the fast track for a promotion.
  • I lived in the middle of a small town and commuted to the big city.
  • My yard had LOTS of flowers and strawberries, but no vegetables.
  • I had a big dog and a small bed.
  • I had never heard of pastured poultry or Joel Salatin.
  • I didn't buy organic food.
  • My parents and I went out to dinner often at our local cafe.
  • THE FARM still had a garden and animals.
  • I was dating a machinist who made me laugh.
  • I thought this machinist and I had broken up over the issue of eating raw vegetables.





Five years later...

  • I am a full-time wife, mom of three children, farmer and part-time non-profit executive director.
  • I am on the slow track for food production.
  • I live a mile and a half from the county road, 90.19 miles from the nearest Starbucks (just a frame of reference for you coffee-addicts), and I the only reason I go to town is to deliver fresh food to our customers.
  • My yard has LOTS of vegetables, raspberries and strawberries and very few flowers.
  • I have a big bed and an outside only dog 
  • I love pastured poultry and my kids refer to Mr. Salatin as Uncle Joel.
  • I buy organic food.
  • My dad is gone and my mom has moved away.  And I miss having breakfast at the Fiddlestix so much I could cry in my sausage and cheese omelet with hashbrowns.
  • THE FARM is overgrown with untamed grass and the only animals are some deer and two wild cats.
  • I'm married to an ex-machinist turned grass farmer/chicken man/soon-to-be-pig-and-sheep man.
  • Turns out that machinist and I aren't perfect, but we're perfect for each other.  We complement each other while we grow LOTS of raw vegetables.

Today is the five year anniversary of the night Hubby asked me to marry him.  When we promised to marry each other, we had NO IDEA that our life would look like this just five years later.  God certainly knew what He was doing when He brought us together.  

My favorite place in the world is next to him, working on a project, growing food for us and our members, raising our fabulous kids.  That isn't the enlightened, 21st century modern woman perspective.  I love to be with him and my kids.  I love to stay home and work on our farm.  

Happy Anniversary, my love.  I'm savoring the anticipation of the next 55 years...


Saturday, February 11, 2012

Do you know where your food comes from?


I've been thinking about this post for a while, ruminating over it really.  (grass based farming pun intended)




{Let me first issue this disclaimer:
I grew up on a conventional farm.  I have tank mixed chemicals.  I have dug summer fallow.  I have fed feedlot calves.  I don't do those things anymore.}


There is a call to action uniting all aspects of the industrial agriculture complex.  The call “Consumers have to understand where their food comes from.”  They are on an education mission.  I wholeheartedly support this call.  (You know, being the fan of learning that I am.) 
I’ll go one step further.  I believe consumers have the RIGHT to know where their food comes from AND be able to inspect and see it first-hand.  To be an active participant in the process of feeding themselves.  
I want to know where my food comes from.  Not just some nameless, faceless "farm" out there somewhere.  But to be able to put a face, a name, a place to my food.  To know how it was grown, by whom.  I don't want to be sold via a commercial as to the wholesomeness of my food.
We don't have TV in our house, so when I travel I like to see what's out there regarding food.  Imagine my laughter when I saw a popular food processing company advertising a potpie including "vegetables from a farm" while the image on the screen was a mom strolling through the vegetable patch carrying a wicker basket and wearing an apron.  (Here's how I know it was just for the camera:  Because if you were a real mom picking vegetables, you would have ditched the basket and just picked them into your apron!)  
And then I quit laughing, because the industrial agriculture complex wants me to believe that commercial.  They want me to think that this company hires apron-wearing moms with wicker baskets to pick their vegetables.  Because the reality of underpaid and illegal immigrants doing the harvesting doesn't sell potpies.  (You may be saying "What?  That doesn't happen in vegetable production."  Think about the last bag of lettuce you bought.  This week it's priced at $1.89.  If it only costs you $1.89, in February, what are the workers getting paid to pick it?  I guarantee they aren't making minimum wage.)
The industrial agriculture complex wants to educate the consumer to understand where food comes from.  There’s a funny thing that happens when you educate someone...they start learning on their own and then they start asking questions.  Questions like:
“How was this produce raised?”
“Do you use chemical fertilizers?”
“Are there GMO ingredients in this product?”
“Do your dairy cows go outside?”
“Was this beef fed grain?”
“Are my tax dollars funding your farming operation?”
Even with a website called The Food Dialogues, I don’t think the industrial agriculture complex wanted the consumer to talk back.  Because their mission to educate the consumer wasn’t so much to do with the benefit to the consumer as it was with the justification of industrial farming methods.  (If they really wanted the consumer to see where their food comes from there wouldn't be signs in farm driveways along Hwy 10 that say "Keep Out - Disease Control Area".)
But the consumer is talking back.  They are asking questions.  And they are demanding answers.  The dramatic rise in CSAs, farmers markets, buying clubs, and small local farmers indicates that consumers are making a choice with their food dollar.
Do I want to ban chemical use and CAFOs and increase regulations?  No.  But I do want a level playing field.  I want the opportunity to join in the marketplace To offer consumers not only the knowledge of where food comes from, but the opportunity to be an active participant in the process of feeding themselves.
Do I have all the answers?  Certainly not.  But there are a lot of people who are smarter than I am who have some pretty good ideas.
Joel Salatin was recently asked:
 What can the American people do to preserve small farms? What shift in consciousness needs to occur? Is it happening?

His reply is so eloquent, so simple and so true.
“It’s very simple:  patronize them.  We don’t need government tax incentives, agencies, or pamphlets.  We need every eater to realize that whatever we have today is the cumulative result of millions of everyday choices being exercised in the marketplace.  If everyone quit purchasing junk food tomorrow, it would cease to exist.  We have the power.  We vote three times a day;  we create tomorrow’s food system and landscape with every bite we eat.  Plenty of time and money exist to make this change.  We don’t need soda, cigarettes, alcohol, $100 designer jeans with holes already in the knees or Hollywood.  If you took the time and money devoted to vapid values and spent them instead on things that will heal your body, your community, and your natural resources, we’d have a different culture.  Maybe it would be one that other cultures could respect.  Maybe we could lead the world into a new era of happiness.  How’s that for a goal?  Maybe our children could inherit a planet with more soil, more nutrition, better health, and a brighter outlook.  Awesome.”


Do I think I've changed anyone's mind?  No.  Did I make you think for a minute?  I hope so.
When you look at your plate today, do you know where your food comes from?  Does it matter?

Monday, February 6, 2012

Teaching Children to Work

The Department of Labor is currently proposing changes to the child labor laws.  Drastic changes that will change the landscape of agriculture.  I'll let you look elsewhere for all the details, many have written about it.  Instead, I'll share a bit about how important it is for children to have meaningful work.

I grew up the oldest child of a small farmer.  I was the hired hand from the time I was 9 or 10 years old.  I learned to drive tractor at age 8, raking hay with the tractor my great grandfather purchased brand new.  And farming right alongside the watchful eye of my dad.

I love farm work.  I do to this very day.  This love didn't appear magically when I turned 16 or 18 (as the Labor department would have our children do), instead it was cultivated - pun intended - over years and years of life.  On a farm, everyone has a job and they are all important.  That sense of work, meaningful work, is vital to the development of responsibility and dedication in children.

Our kids are already helping to make our farm prosper.  Granted, at ages 3, 2, and 1, they aren't pitching square bales, but what they do contribute is valuable.

Recent example:  We buy grain for our chickens in 40 bushel totes.  And then we unload it into the grain bin so that Hubby can custom mix the ration.  This time it happened to be oats.


We don't use an auger because it would tear the tote bag.  Instead we use these 3 gallon buckets and form a bit of an assembly line.  Usually I am scooping from the back of the pickup and Hubby is unloading into a tote in the bin.

The kids are outside with us and want to be involved.

So, they each have a small bucket that I fill along with the big buckets that Dad uses.  Then the kids take their bucket and unload it in the tote, right along with Dad.   


And from then on, they know that their work is what feeds the chickens.  And the chickens feed us.  And that's what makes a farm-family go round.

Meaningful work...It's a good thing!


Winter Walk

Kiddo3 has become very proficient in her ambulatory skills.  In other words, she is running now.  Just a few short weeks after walking.  To take advantage of these newly developed skills, we turned her loose outside to see what she could do!


We put some tiny rubber boots on her tiny little feet.  My giant clod-hoppers are shown for scale...

Our cat, Raisin Bran, was an excellent lure.

We took a few stumbles and got our feet crossed up, 

but we were able to chase our brother down the driveway.

There she goes!


 Kiddo1 came back to join her sister, she's good like that.


 There were some episodes of standing on our head, a new way to play peek-a-boo.

 Then we came back to the yard and played frisbee...in February.

And it was all fun and games...

until the dog stole the frisbee.

Farm kids are nothing if not flexible, so we all rode our bikes...in February.

Friday, January 20, 2012

Homemade Playdough

Ever bought Playdough in the store?

I'm asking because I haven't.  I take one look at the small containers of way-too-expensive goop and turn and run the other way.  Someone gifted my children some store-bought playdough last summer.  The colors were garish, it dried out quickly and stuck to everything.

NOT like good old homemade playdough!  I love this recipe:  it's quick, fun, lasts forever and makes a lot.  What more can you ask for??

You will need: 
1 cup hot tap water 
1 cup of flour
1/2 cup salt
2 tbsp cream of tartar
2 tbsp baby oil
1 3oz package of jello


 Pour hot water into a medium saucepan.

Add homegrown Dakota Maid flour! 

 Then the salt.  It's a lot of salt but the good news is that it's a great exfoliant.  I use canning and pickling salt in my house so a half cup is pretty easy to come by.

We made blue playdough to start with (Kiddo1's first choice) and used Blueberry Jello.  Jello adds the color and a very nice scent to your playdough.

Playdough is the only reason I have for Jello.

In my single days, I traveled to Pennsylvania routinely for work.  On one of my trips there I purchased an Amish cookbook and I was very surprised by the LARGE number of recipes including Jello.  As luck would have it, on my next work flight I sat next to an Amish woman and her young son as they returned from a medical emergency in Minneapolis.  We chatted about various things and then I brought up the subject of the Jello, the lots of Jello.  She said, "Oh yes, we love Jello!  It's very popular!"  This struck me as funny:  electricity we don't need, but Jello we can't live without.

Then add the cream of tartar.  This is a LOT of cream of tartar and will probably be your limiting agent in playdough production.  The small grocery store quantities only contain 4 tablespoons so purchase accordingly or you will have disappointment on your hands.
Also, I use baby oil as it has a great smell and doesn't go rancid like a vegetable based oil would.
(It should surprise no one that I don't measure the oil, two good squirts is all you need.)

You're going to set your burner to medium heat and get a very helpful three year old girl to stir it for you.

 Stir constantly!!  I can't stress this enough, burned playdough is no fun a'tall!!

In just a few minutes, the mixture will thicken and start to pull away from the bottom of the pan.

Soon it will form a ball.  Don't be tempted to pull it out right away.  Really work it with a tablespoon to dry it out a bit.

Then flop it onto the counter and remember to turn off the burner!  (I speak from experience here...)

Then use your freakish giant hand (can you say distortion??) to knead the playdough until it is cools.  This is the longest part of making playdough, but also the most relaxing.  Why?
1.  The salt acts as a wonderful exfoliant for your hands.
2.  The scent of the Jello is oh-so-pleasant.
3.  The playdough is warm and soothing.
4.  Is there anything more calming that working some playdough?

Hubby asked me to help with something and I said, "Sorry honey, I'm making playdough.  It's very involved, I can't stop now."

When in reality, I was having a spa moment right there in my kitchen!

Kiddo1 and I had an assembly line going and we churned out orange, blue and red before we ran out of cream of tartar.  We have green and yellow yet to make to finish off the new round of playdough.

This playdough is safe if the kiddos eat it.  It's extremely salty as Kiddo2 found out, but won't hurt them if they accidently eat some.  He was fine, but very thirsty!  It lasts a LONG time, months!  In the past, I've discarded it not because it was moldy or dry, but because the two colors I had made were traded back and forth between kiddos so much they were now the same hard-to-describe color.

If you know any kids, or were ever once a kid, make some playdough!  It's fun, easy and just like having a spa in your kitchen.

Thursday, January 19, 2012

She's One!!

A year ago tonight we were a family of four.  At 8:03 the next morning, a red haired baby girl came into our lives and hearts.  

Kiddo3 is one!!  Her name means "light".  And she is certainly that!  I have never known a more happy or smiley baby than this one.  As my mom says, "I've never seen a louder or happier baby!"  You always know where she is, and she's always talking.  Her latest is to say "Yeah!!" to everything you say to her.

I wasn't there for this picture, something about sewing me back up and all...

Just lying there, contemplating the mysteries of the universe.

"Home Grown with Love" ain't that the truth!!  (Kiddo1 pointed out that the two cherries are Dad and Mom and the peas are the kids.  She's very observant like that...)

Here she is giving Grandma the big lip.  Don't worry, she grinned shortly after.

See?  You can't keep a happy baby down.  
(I like to paraphrase Alabama songs.)

Kiddo3 can't help it.  She was born into a family of laughter.
Here she is auditioning for the role of Mary in the Christmas pagent.

Or a bank-robbing outlaw in a John Wayne western.

Big blue eyes are a White family tradmark...see Uncle Skip.

To keep her admirers from her big blue eyes, Kiddo3 has to hide them.

Look at those cheeks!  They get kissed soundly and often...

Under chairs is a favorite place to crawl and then peek out.

This kind of joy greets us every morning. 

Peeking.  See above.

Again, happiness.

And helpfulness.  She unloads the dishwasher. 

And loads it...with herself! 

 She rides that pony like she just robbed a bank in a John Wayne movie.

We've still got red hair...and it's curly!!  

And we manage to get ourselves in positions like this:

And her hair does things like this:

She goes by many names:  the Narski, Muffins, Little One, ElNote...just to name a few.  But she will always be my baby girl!


Monday, January 9, 2012

If I hear one more person...

"I have reached the end of my rapidly fraying rope."


That's a phrase I've said a few times to my husband in the past 4.5 years of wedded bliss.


I said it the other day and it had nothing whatsoever to do with him.  It had to do with this winter weather, or lack thereof, that we've been having.  


All fall, everywhere I went, I heard the following phrase:  "You know we're going to get 200 inches of snow!!"  What I found the most ironic and most maddening about it is that it invariably was said by someone who has daily snow removal.  


Not someone, like me, who may have MONTHLY snow removal.  I am not exaggerating.  It happens so infrequently that we write it on the calendar.


I can't stand that sort of pessimism from those who don't plan their lives around the amount of snow, wind speed, wind direction and the amount of diapers they have left in the house.


Let's take a look at last year, shall we?
Those are 6+ foot drifts across our road.  The only road in or out of our farm.

There's at least 5 feet of snow in my yard, my whole yard and everything in the yard.

Remember?  Remember how stressful it was to be 9 months pregnant and wonder if you would go into labor when the road was blocked?  Remember how you had to spend an extra day in the hospital because your husband was home alone with two toddlers and couldn't leave them to use the tractor to open the road?  Remember how your whole family waited with bags packed for the plow to come so you could go to Fargo for a speaking engagement?

You don't??!!  I guess it was just us then.  And our neighbors.  And anyone else who lives out in the country.  

What has my dander up these days is that some people (again, those with daily snow removal) keep saying "We're going to pay for this nice weather!"  WILL YOU JUST SHUT IT!  I'm so tickled that we don't have to fight snow every moment of every day that I could just burst.  A smile lights my face when I look outside and don't have to wonder if the 4 wheel drive will get us there.  You can't imagine the joy!!!  (Although, there is a very, VERY mild disappointment that the kids don't have snow to play in, it is completely offset by the fact that tonight we took a family walk and they rode their stick horses.)

So, to those of you who INSIST on spreading your weather negativism, spread it somewhere else.  Like on your compost pile, where that kind of garbage belongs.

I, for one, LOVE it and will continue to be THANKFUL for each and every day!

And, if you need me, I'll be sleeping outside in my hammock tonight...