Thwarted Plans...And That's OK!

(WARNING: There are a startling number of parentheses in this post. I'm not sure where they all came from, but they appear to have hijacked this entry. I hope you'll make it through OK. T-Dub)

Today, I was going to A) sleep in, then B) can up a bunch of chicken and beef I bought on sale this week, then C) go into the office and write a few articles for Wednesday's paper.

That was the plan.

I did Part A.

Then I jumped into Mike's truck, ran to town, grabbed the family a dozen donuts and myself two sodas (one for now, one for the fridge) through the drive-thru at our local donut shop, and got back home without anyone finding out I left home in my jammies. (Except the drive-thru girl, and I think she'll keep it between us.)

All set to start on Part B of today's plan, I went to the refrigerator only to find no chicken. Not a single breast. What happened to my chicken? Then I remembered...I'd put the chicken in the freezer because I didn't want to chance it beginning to get even a little "off" before the weekend. I bought it from a grocer I don't usually buy meat from and I just didn't want to chance it being anywhere near on its way out, you know?

Anyway.

As much as I was looking forward to putting up the jars of meat for the year (we're down to our last pint of canned chicken), I admit it didn't take me long to decide to use the time I'd planned to work on Part B of today's agenda another way.

I hopped back into bed with my favorite Christmas present.

OK, technically, it's Mike's Christmas present, but it is one of my favorites.

I caught up on updates from a few of my favorite blogs on the magical glowing Kindle.

And, now, I'm going to again crawl back into bed next to my slumbering husband (he worked from 6p last night and got home after 7a today) and do a little in-depth studying of a subject I feel the need to master:

Nothing like snuggling up next to your sweetheart on a blustery winter's day, and learning the fine art of letting things rot. So excited! (And by the way, I'm not kidding when I say blustery. I've been watching leaves swirling outside our front picture window the whole time I've been writing this. I love swirling leaves.)

Where was I? Oh, I was excited. Very excited...I can't wait to become a master composter.

(See the little glimpses of bedding surrounding the Kindle and book? That's my VERY favorite Christmas present this year...a beautiful quilt made by my Aunt Carol for Mike and me. I LOVE it! Not only because it is exquisitely crafted -- I'm fairly certain she won a ribbon at the county fair for this, this fall; I'll have to check -- but it's made with love and care, which she imparts in all of her handmade creation. She is such a lovely lady...I adore her. Thanks again, Aunt Carol. It makes me happy everytime I look at it. Every single time. So happy, in fact, for the first time in our 15 years of married life, Mike and I make our bed every day. And, I'm sure that makes my Mom happy, too. And Mike's mom. Our messy bedroom is pretty much legendary. Aunt Carol had no idea how many lives she would touch with this quilt.)

Anyway.

Before I go back to bed with my Diet Pepsi from Donuts Plus (there's an oxymoron), let me leave you with a shot of this little sweetie.

Macy was bringing in firewood and picked this little guy up and brought him in to say hi.

Hi, little rooster boy, who hatched in our home a few weeks ago. Glad to see you! Do you remember this place? Smell familiar? No? That's because you and your aromatic sibs aren't living in here anymore. Still, we love you dearly and are glad to see you growing like a little weed. (Note the lovely natural color variation in Macy's hair. Remember those days, ladies? The days of free color highlights? Those were the days.)

OK, we've covered a lot of territory this morning. I'm going to leave you now and go crack my book open for the very first time.

Don't even get me started on how much I like to crack open a new, never-opened-before book.  Or snuggle next to a sleeping husband. Much as I like Mike's Kindle, I'm a bonafide non-virtual book girl, through and through.

I'll get to Part C of the plan a little later on. Part B was going to take hours. No sense abandoning the plan altogether.

Love from the farm,

Teri

In the City

We're in the Valley this week - that's short for Valley of the Sun or Phoenix Metropolitan Area for those who don't know the lingo.

It's a busy week of doctor appointments: Tanner's kidney check up; my sister Lynda's thyroid surgery follow up ("So, where's this pill that's gonna make me glow for 3 days?"); her "how-do-I-function-without-a-thyroid?" appointment; a little school on the road; and a bit of recreation.

My sweet husband is home on the farm all alone while we take care of all this business. Before we left, he, Adam and I had an onion planting sprint - I'd say marathon, but the whole point is that it didn't take us all that long. We were on a deadline so we had to hustle. It was an impressive sight, I tell you.

Mike ripped up the onion bed with the as-yet-unnamed tractor. I got my first ride on the tractor. I hadn't been on one since I was a kid. It was awesome. I forgot how great it is to just dangle your legs as you rumble back and forth, back and forth. I already got it that Mike loves his little tractor. Now I really get it. Seeing my little chicken boots hanging off the side of the...whatever part they were hanging off...not thinking of anything, just along for the ride. Bliss.

But back to the sprint.

So, we ripped up the ground, worked in some bags of good potting dirt, wet the soil **guffaw laugh, chuckle, snort, grab side, guffaw laugh more, snort, hiccup, choke**. Oh, sorry, it's just that there's no way that sandy, terra cotta-colored substance is soil. It's not. It's going to take a few years. But we're in the gardening corner and we have to talk the talk, so we'll call it "soil" and I'll just try not to blow snot bubbles while I hold it all in.

Anyway.

We ripped the ground, worked in the dirt, wet the soil, marked a little grid and planted 300 onions, all in a little less than 3 hours flat. I kid you not. I have the sunburn across my lower back and throbbing fingernail beds to prove it. We were flying. We had to get those onions in the ground because there was no way they would have lasted until we get home this Saturday, and I wasn't going to ask Mike to plant them all on his own while we were gone.

Getting the first crop of the season into the ground is always monumental for me. Can you be gleefully serene? Because I was so excited every step of the way - seriously, even walking from the house to the garden was jubilant that morning - but then as I sat back on my heels (for which my thigh muscles and knees still haven't forgiven me) and saw those little green blades poking hopefully up out of the dirt, I was just so darn happy and, well, serene. I can't help it.There's something about the smell of the earth and digging and mounding dirt around young stems and watching the water darken the soil *heheheh, really I can't take it*, that gets my granola on.

So, anyway. Onions are in. I'll let you know how they do. Admittedly, plopping veggies down in "soil" that freshly dug isn't the ideal way to go. I had a little bed all ready for them that I'd filled with lots of good crunchy leaves and grass clippings and manure and bags of soil last year then left to simmer all fall and winter till now, only to realize there was not nearly enough room in that bed for all the onions, hence the big bed we dug the other day. So, I have my toes crossed that most of the 300 will survive. And, I'll find another purpose for that little patch of wonder dirt just aching to nourish...something.

If this were a gardening blog, I'd load you down with the names of all the onions I ordered, but since I don't know what the heck kind of blog this is, I'll just wait till I open a gardening tab on here somewhere to get that detailed. Suffice it to say we have red, sweet, big and good keepers.

Moving on.

Tan's doctor appointment went pretty darn good. His kidneys are doing great these days. Homeschooling during the horrendous cold and flu season seems to have paid big dividends. No general illnesses provoking a kidney response means we're not contemplating chemotherapy, which means Mama's a happy girl.

Now, we did find out that these little fellas aren't producing the way they should, so we're keeping an eye on that for awhile. The immunosuppresant meds Tan is on can cause his white blood cell counts and bone marrow to go awry, so we're testing his blood again in a couple of weeks to see if his numbers go back up. Hopefully, we'll find the dip is an anomaly rather than a trend and we won't have to change anything up. When things are going this good for his kidneys we hate to rock the boat, but we need to avoid causing other threatening issues while we're fighting the good fight for his kidney beans. I don't have that clenched fist in my stomach, so I'm thinking this will either end up being a non-issue or a manageable one, so we're going to enjoy the rest of our visit, by golly.

By the way, have you met Tanner?

Here he is.

And this is Tanner.

Awww...and this is Tanner. And Mike. And our old friend Whitney, who we sure miss.

I suppose meeting Adam, Macy & Karlie is in order, too. We'll do that later.

OK, so now that we've decided that we're not going to borrow trouble about Tan's white blood cells, we're going to get on with our time in the Valley.

After Lyn gets back from the doctor this morning, we're heading here:

To the Chinese Cultural Center in Phoenix. My kids love this place. We'll be having lunch at this big restaurant where they come rolling up to your table with a dim sum cart, and it's really easy to go crazy ordering all those little side dishes.

The restaurant opens out to this little gazebo and pond. And the waiters and waitresses smile placatingly but are very impatient for you to know what you want right away, be ready to order when they get to your table, and enjoy the nice atmosphere, but don't linger too long after you're done. We have tables to turn after all. Somehow, the impatience adds to the charm of the experience. I'm sure they'd love to hear that condescending little statement.

After lunch, we'll be going to the oh-so-Asian sounding, authentic Chinese grocery store:

Here, my kids buy all manner of weird treats and sweets. Adam goes in for some truly disgusting, exotic stuff all in the name of culture. Blech. I'm all for culture, I love culture, but I'll take good tasting, no-offensive-textured culture, thank you very much. This from the kid who doesn't like fresh tomatoes or mushrooms because of their texture. I don't get it.

I'm looking forward to our Ranch Market trip because if you haven't heard the secret yet, I'm about to give it away right here, right now: Asian markets have seriously fantastic prices. I've been wanting to get down here to stock up on cooking oils and coconut milk and other items that you'll find dirt cheap here and nowhere else. Seriously, you can't beat Asian market prices. And that is a statement that is backed up by strict scientific research. Well, not really, but it is true that a lot of people agree with me that anything you can get an Asian market, you should, because it is less expensive there. Swear.

Well, that's a lengthy rundown of what we're up to. Just think, if I were on Twitter, you could have gotten the bite-size version:

"Onions growing. Kidneys good. Lyn to doc. Off to Chinese market. No beef tongue, Adam, NO!"

Oh, and remember those two seemingly unconnected photos I showed you the other day? Well, here's one more.

But, I don't have time to tell you about it now, so we'll get to that later.

Love from the farm, if the farm were in Scottsdale,
Teri

Bringing Home The Bacon...& Sausage

We ordered sausage seasonings today in anticipation of trying our hands at our own meat processing late next week. From Columbia Spice company we ordered hot sausage seasoning (for packages of sausage - think Jimmy Dean 1-lb chubs), sweet Italian and hot Italian seasonings. We used the Columbia Spice brands for the sausage last year and loved them. I wasn't a sausage person before we made our own last year and didn't expect to become one, but, oh my goodness, my friends were right when they told us there is nothing like fresh sausage. You have to try it for yourself to begin to understand it. Yum.

I'm still searching for a bacon brining solution. We weren't thrilled with the flavoring we used for the last bacon, so we'll take a stab at another variety this time. We weren't very happy with our homemade hams, either; while I'm looking forward to learning how to cure ham eventually, I'm not going to be able to tackle it this year. So, we'll use the ham pieces and a few of the roasts for canned pork, instead, which is so flavorful and convenient to have in your pantry. (If anyone knows of a good bacon seasoning product, by the way, I'd sure appreciate hearing about it.)

As I've mentioned before, we were thrilled with the quality and flavor of the pork we raised last year (ham and bacon being the exception due to the flavorings we used, not the quality of the meat.) We are eager to enjoy and share the pork that will soon be coming our way, especially in light of the ever-increasing costs of store-bought pork that is shockingly low on flavor. I can't believe the way I had to doctor a flavorless pork roast lately in order to bring any savor to the pot of green chile I was making from it.

My Grandma Potts introduced me to canned pork when I was a young girl, and I haven't had it since my early teens, when I moved away from Grandma's pantry. The memory of how good that pork was has stayed with me, though, and I can't wait to try it again. We do enjoy ham around here, so I'm disappointed we won't be curing our own. Knowing prices may simply keep going up, Mom and I are going to buy some extra Easter hams while they're on sale next month, and I'll can them, using a method I just read about early this week. I like the idea of having meal-sized portions of ham, instead of having to figure out how to use up all the leftovers of a full-sized ham each time I bake one. I'll share the canning recipe and the results after Easter, for those who might be picking up a few extra hams of their own.

The man we purchased our pigs from this year offered to butcher them for us, but let us know several weeks ago that pressing responsibilities had arisen that wouldn't allow him to help, after all. We certainly understand how that goes. The last time we processed pigs, our friends who had some experience, tools and a book on butchering helped us. We're not going to ask them to guide us through the process this year, however, because one of their little guys, a 3-yr-old cutie pie named Diesel (yes, you read that right), just had brain surgery a week or so ago and I'm disinclined to ask anything of that preoccupied family at this time.

So, Mike and I are going to go it alone. And, actually, we did ask to borrow our friends' butcher knives. But other than that, we're going to process these big fellas on our own, enlisting whichever kids are interested in pitching in. We'll haul the pigs over to the butcher next week, he'll slaughter them and chill their carcasses for three days, then we'll pick them up and set to work.

I'm going to ask the butcher to save the fat so we can make lard, and I'll be sure to let you know how that process goes, too. I'm a little intimidated, I have to say. I don't know why - probably just the thought of dealing with all that hot grease. Still, I'm going to forge ahead and hope I complete the process unscarred.

Now, I have to go take a pick axe to the chest freezer so we can get it cleared out to welcome all that fresh, flavorful meat soon. Then, I guess I better check the library for a picture book on butchering.

Love from the farm,

Teri

Favorite Home & Cooking Discoveries

I've always loved to cook and do things around the kitchen, but it's only been in the last few years that I've really been able to concentrate any significant amount of time on all things homey.

Here are a few of my favorite discoveries:

• Rubbing your hands with a couple teaspoons of salt then running them under cold water will get rid of painful onion and aromatic garlic oils. Many a time my children have found me, mascara streaming down my cheeks, eyes clenched tight, furiously scrubbing my hands with salt. They've quit asking me if I'm OK; they know that within moments I'll be happily cooking again.
• You shouldn't add liquids to any dry good mixture containing baking powder until the last possible moment before mixing, so whatever you're cooking will have the perfect texture and height. This goes for your pancakes, quick breads, biscuits and any other item in which you include baking powder.
• Baking cornbread in a cast iron skillet. I don't know why I love this so much, but it makes me happy each and every time.
• Canning. Magical. It's hot, long hours, and don't even think about doing the cost analysis between the amount of time it took you to plant, grow and can the food compared to what it would have cost to go to the Piggly Wiggly and pluck it off the shelf. That's not what it's all about. It's about staring at the beautiful jars on your shelf, knowing YOU did that, knowing none of the goodness was cooked out - it's all sealed right up there in the jars; knowing there's nothing artificial or mysterious in those jars. It's love and health and security all gathered under a shiny, sealed tight lid.
• Using honey in place of sugar in cornbread, pancakes and homemade buttermilk syrup means your family will be calling out to you from the table, singing your praises with their mouths full, while you're still pulling the last batch of pancakes off the griddle before sitting down with them. Usually, we wait till we're all sitting down to bless the food, but this is one meal where we bless the food before I'm done cooking, because once the syrup is done and the plate is piling high with pancakes, my crew can't stand the suspense any longer.
• Grinding popcorn for cornmeal. It's beautiful, fresh and so full of flavor. And a cost saver: I never throw away ancient, half-used boxes of expensive cornmeal anymore. I buy regular popcorn, grind a small handful at a time and throw any extra - no matter how little is left - in a baggie and into the freezer. Then, I use the remnants for tossing on a baking stone before popping rustic bread or pizza pies into the oven.
• Oatmeal pancakes. They must be served with homemade syrup, which is easy to whip up while the pancakes are cooking. Served alongside bacon and perhaps fried eggs, it's the best breakfast ever. But you better get those kids off their tushies and engaged in some strenuous project right after they eat, or everyone will be heading off for naps following this carb-packed meal.

While I'm waiting for the cornbread to be done that I'm baking to go along with Mike's beans for work tonight, I'll share our favorite oatmeal pancake recipe. I'll include a buttermilk syrup recipe, too, but I have to confess, it is good but it isn't our favorite. I believe finding our favorite syrup recipe will be a reward the housecleaning fairies will bestow upon me for cleaning off the top of the refrigerator.

But first, my final favorite discovery - not one I learned in recent years, but from my Grandma Potts, when I was a little girl: drop a slice of homemade cornbread in a bowl, cover it in fresh cream or milk, and sprinkle with sugar. It's a ridiculously rustic, country little treat and I've never eaten it without being transported back to Grandma's little single-wide trailer up on the hill in Pottsville, sitting at the rickety table looking out the kitchen window at Grandpa's beloved roses.

Love from the farm,
Teri

Oatmeal Pancakes

1 C flour (we use 1/2 C wheat, 1/2 C white)
1 C quick oats
2 T honey (or sugar if you don't have honey)
2 T baking powder
1 tsp salt
1 tsp baking soda

1.5 C buttermilk (I always just add a teaspoon or two of vinegar to regular milk and let it sit for a few minutes to sour)
1 egg
1/4 C oil

Sour milk and set aside. Mix dry ingredients in a medium bowl. Add buttermilk (or sour milk), eggs and oil (and honey, if you have it); mix well. Cook on a hot griddle or frying pan.

It'll Do Buttermilk Syrup
(this is good, but as soon as I find our favorite syrup recipe, I'll replace this)

2 C sugar
3 T honey (or white Karo syrup)
1/2 C butter
1 tsp baking soda
1 C buttermilk or sour milk (see above for how to sour milk)
1 tsp vanilla

Mix all ingredients in a large kettle or saucepan (think deep! The syrup boils up high). Bring to a rolling boil for 3 minutes. Stir frequently. Remove from heat and add vanilla. Serve over pancakes or French toast.

Keeping It Fresh & Frugal

I find we're living closer and closer to the earth and the community the more we aim to keep it simple, healthy, fresh and frugal around here.

Last week, Mom and I decided to sign up with a produce co-op that delivers boxes of fruit and veggies to a neighboring town every two weeks. $15 a box. Even if I need to get 2 boxes to keep up with our family of 6, that's still quite a bit less than what I'm paying at our national brand grocery store for produce runs. You don't know what you're going to get in advance with the co-op, but the people I've talked to say they've been completely satisfied with the quality and freshness of the produce, with one gal telling me her lettuce kept nearly two weeks. As much as I want to support local businesses - and I do, in as many ways as I can - I have been increasingly disappointed in the quality of some of the produce available at our local grocery store.

In the gap between now and when our garden is producing, I hope the co-op will be a good alternative. My aim is to build a small greenhouse or hoop houses so I can begin growing produce year-round for our family and not be faced with this quandary in years to come.

Today, I sent a message to a family that has a milk cow to see if they're selling milk. I'd love to begin making our butter and yogurt, and Mike would like a little more milk fat in his glass. I hope to learn that 1) they are selling, and 2) that they're raising the cow without hormones and on feed that is all natural and organic.

I also sent a message to my friend who owns the local flower shop with her Mom, to see if she's still selling eggs. Since I'll be picking up new chicks that won't be laying until late summer, I'm back to buying eggs. Again, I'd rather buy from a local source, and thankfully, we have a few from which to choose. (Oh, how I just wanted to say, "to choose from," but I know it's poor grammar. Problem is, the correct way just sounds so darn formal. As much as I love words, at times I loathe grammar. It makes me nervous. At other times, I love grammar. I'm a bit perplexing.)

Anyway.

I'm also going to ask a neighbor if she has extra goat milk to spare that she'd be interested in selling. I've heard from far too many folks about how easy it is to make goat cheeses, and I think it's time to learn. After hearing from a produce worker at Safeway that they were told to expect 50% increases in grocery prices, the more I can make from scratch, the better. Plus, we love feta and goat cheese, so why not make it ourselves? It's bound to be amazing, as homemade usually is. (For those who are wondering, Gertie isn't a milk goat. We'd have to breed her, let her have the babies, let her nurse the babies, and fight the babies for the milk. Even if we didn't have to fight the babies for the milk, we'd have to convince Gertie to let us milk her. As quickly as ring-side seats might sell for that event, I simply don't have the constitution to take her on.)

As we finalize plans to butcher our pigs, I'm looking forward to filling our freezers, our larder and our parents' freezers with hormone-free, antibiotic-free pork. Good, clean food. With our son Tanner's kidney disease, I've become keenly aware of what we're asking our bodies to filter from our systems, and I just want everything that we're taking in to be as clean as possible.

With that in mind, today I fished out the last of the pre-packaged pasta and rice dishes that have been hanging around in the pantry to mix up and give to the dogs because we're out of dog food and I won't make it to the feed store until tomorrow. Not that I think the dogs deserve preservatives, because I don't, but it was nice to see that there is nothing left in the larder that is packed full of mystery ingredients. Plus, the dogs will likely love this rare, warm treat. They get the same old food, day in and day out. I've read with interest lately about how these folks are making home made food for their dogs and I wonder if there isn't some wisdom to that. Since I'm buying quality but not top-of-the-line dog food, I'm not at all convinced they're getting the best of nutrition, which I'm not comfortable with ("...with which I am not comfortable," she said regally, while gesturing to the butler, Jeeves, to refill her wine glass.)

Seriously though, we have stewardship over these creatures in our care, and I want to treat them well.

Speaking of cooking dog food, there was a funny moment today while I prepared the pups' food. I decided to add a couple of eggs to the noodles and rice to give the pups some protein. I found that, for some reason, the eggs had frozen in the fridge. I cracked them, pinched the slushy frozen oval masses from the shells and they plopped into the pot, egg shape intact. When I went back to stir a little later, I was surprised to find the eggs bobbing around the pot, now appearing to be nothing more than peeled, boiled eggs. I thought for sure those eggs would warm up and lose their shape before cooking through. It was an amusing little occurrence. Little white Weebles wobbling across the pot.

OK, I'm obviously just chatting here, so I better wrap it up. Suffice it to say, I'm enjoying choosing local, clean, quality and from scratch. It's good for our health, our community and our pocket book. When I get to start working in my garden, it'll be even better for the soul.

Love from the farm,
Teri

A Sink Full of Suds

I'm not quite sure when I developed this odd little quirk, but I feel the need to confess one of my "Ha ha ha, suckers!" guilty pleasures.

At some point a few years back, I realized all that soap gunk that gooes up the cap on your bottle of Dawn dish soap, and grosses you out every time you see it, is precisely enough to fill your sink with suds.

I was delighted the first time I started filling my sink with hot water and used the hard spray to blast that gunk right off the cap of the Dawn bottle. I felt this little triumphant glee when I had a clean cap AND a sink full of suds.

I felt smug. I felt like I had pulled something off. I feel that way every, single time I come upon a gunky lid and "get" to be the one to fill a sink with it.

I am a complete and total dork.

And, I invite you to be a dork, too. Seriously, go check under your sink and experience the thrill for yourself. Then, know you are one step closer to earning your thrifty & frugal wings.

Next week, repurposing your dryer lint. Oh, you get it all when you stop by here.

Love from the farm,
Teri

Psssst....

I started this post a couple weeks ago, then had to take a kid to the hospital, take overnight follow up trips to specialists, decide to homeschool kids to get everyone well, research how to homeschool, stay up nights wondering how the heck I would homeschool, oversleep, research some more, take a lunch meeting with a homeschooling mom, go to the library, go talk to the school counselors, sit at home eating chocolate chips while researching homeschooling some more....

...and I just remembered I'd never finished this riveting post. So I did finish it. But for some reason when I posted it, it posted it to the original draft date, which means Blogger won't send subscribers an email letting them know the post is new and available. And I really want feedback on this post, so I'm putting this post on here so Blogger will send subscribers a note and maybe you'll go ahead and take a look at this post after all.

Thank you.

Love from the farm...and bootless (if you'll read this post that will make sense),
Teri

(By the way, same thing happened to this other post several months ago and I don't think anyone read it. Seriously, there were crickets chirping and tumbleweeds rolling around that one last time I checked. If you have time, take a look at it, too. But take your umbrella. And you might need boots, too, which brings us back to the post I was talking about up there.)

I Want, I Need...

I've been pretty good the past few years about separating the "I want's" from the "I need's." But, oh, blessed be, how I love it when an "I want" becomes an "I need"!

Let me explain:

Example #1: I want a new hair dryer, because my old one just isn't blowing as much as it used to. It still works though, therefore, I don't need one.

Example #2: I want new towels, but the old ones still dry us, so I don't need them. (Actually, I do. Our towels are tattered and torn and we don't have any 2 that are alike. It's embarrassing.)

OK, bad example.

But, to the exciting part: I want AND I need a pair of boots for working in the garden. I can't keep ruining cross trainers in the mud, and my heels don't recover from my flip-flop gardening till about mid-December. I definitely, unequivocally need gardening boots. Yippee!!

Now, I just have to choose....

I've been all about the owl thing that started last year, so these trendy little fellas are a possibility...

But then these pink wellies are darling....

Or, should I act my age and get these more classic red wellies? Which are also darling.

What do think?

Love from the farm,

Teri

Chicken In a Jar

If you're looking for me today, you'll find me canning 80 pounds of chicken breasts at our big farm table.

An Aside: When we lived in the suburbs of the Phoenix metropolitan area, calling it a "farm table" made all the sense in the world. Now that we live on a little farm, it kind of seems like calling it "Chinese food" in China - don't you think there they probably just call it "food"? Still, it's really long, it's made of wood and there's a bench. It really is a farm table, and for descriptive purposes I've opted to call it that. Just to be clear.

OK, back to the chicken. My sister and I will be canning the chicken today that we got through a bulk order with other community folks yesterday. I don't believe Lynda has canned chicken before; I'm rather looking forward to what I anticipate will be her squeamish reaction. Since she eschews so much of farm life, this should be fun. Of course, if I really wanted to trigger her gag reflex, I'd have her around to butcher our own chickens and prepare them for canning, which I promise you would be a much messier proposition than the clean, trimmed breasts we'll be handling today. Truth be told, I haven't yet had an un-squeamish reaction to butchering day, and we haven't technically had one here on the farm, so I guess my mockery of my sister may be a little hypocritical. Not that I'm going to let that stop me, mind you.

"Hello, Kettle, my name's Pot, and you're black."

In addition to the chicken canning, Adam will be shredding a 40-pound block of cheddar cheese that we'll put in gallon bags for freezing. We were able to get the cheese for about $2 a pound, and the chicken for somewhere around $1.50 per pound or less, so we couldn't pass up the chance to shore up our food supplies.

I was nervous about canned chicken, I'll admit, when my sister-in-law Kammy first mentioned it to me several years ago. Then I tried it and realized it's just like the canned chicken you buy in a store to use in salads and enchiladas and the like. I use ours for those purposes, plus for tostadas, chicken and dumplings, and really anything else I would put shredded chicken in. I can tell you it's a lot more flavorful and a lot less expensive than the store version, and it is the easiest thing that I've canned, so far.

Now excuse me, I need to go get the pressure canner and a bunch of pint jars out of the summer kitchen, then go in search of rings and lids for the jars. I already have my apron on, so really, I'm half-way ready already.

(Remember my promise to have more pictures? Well, ok, if you're going to get technical about it - any pictures? They're coming, soon, I promise. Again.)

Love from the farm,
Teri

I'm Thinking...

...about a few changes around here. Not only here at the little farm, but also HERE, on this little corner of the e-mosphere.

It was when I was pulling on a quilted denim jacket to take the kids to school this morning in our big red truck that I had another one of those moments when I realized how dramatically our life has changed over the past few years. And that I'm as comfortable in this new life as I am in this quilted jacket.

In our old life, I was dressed in "career clothes" most days - or I was making a mad dash to Macy's just before a meeting to buy new career clothes to frantically change into before a meeting. Because my life was so chaotic, I didn't think of these as "new" clothes so much as "clean" clothes, because I never seemed to get around to taking any of my other perfectly suitable clothes to the drycleaners. This is a very expensive form of wardrobe management that I do not recommend to others.

Most days, I was off to meetings and off-site offices, and could go days without seeing my four sweet kiddos. I'd leave before they awoke and get home long after they'd gone to bed - if I came home at all. I'm embarrassed to admit, I'd pull all-nighters sometimes because I was so unable to figure out a balance between a busy PR/marketing career and a young, growing, ever-changing family. I entrusted the care and raising of my children to my sweet husband and a fantastic nanny, and I squeezed in cherished moments where I could.

I also made myself good and sick, missed out on moments I'll never retrieve, likely left gaps in my children's experiences that only a mother could adequately fill, and was jealous of every moment I could eke out with my family. We were making a good living, but our life was out of control and we felt almost frantic to change it.

If life was a movie, then the rare moments when I was in my kitchen on a Sunday morning before church, donning my apron and pulling out the wheat grinder to make steaming loaves of homemade bread would have been a prime example of foreshadowing. You know, those little scenes in a book or movie that tip you off to a major plot line still to come?There was something magical about putting on that apron, and seeing my little ones' excitement as they'd peer into the noisy grinder, watching the wheat kernels rumble their way down the chute. I felt more like a mother at those moments than at any other. I felt grounded and like I was doing something right, though I didn't know why.

I've since discovered why.

It's because I was meant to live a simpler life. Don't get me wrong - I enjoyed the city and the good people who I dearly loved and worked with. I enjoyed my work, I was good at it. But, truth be told, I became less and less able to get it done well or dependably as the years went on. My life in the city and in a demanding but sometimes glamorous or intensely important career, slowly ground to a halt. I had known for years that I wasn't living the real life for me and my family, and eventually, I couldn't force the two opposing identites to keep going any longer.

Now, I wasn't thinking all of these things at the time - these are realizations I made as time has passed. At the time, I only knew things weren't whole or complete and that I was getting more ill, and we weren't reaping the rewards of all of our hard work. And if we didn't make a change soon, our family would suffer in sad, small, half-life ways.

So, things fell into place in odd little inspired ways and we took off to a rural setting. We live just outside the city limits on a back county road. We have nearly 3 acres of what used to be a larger homestead. We live in a hodge-podge home originally built in 1927, and it needs a LOT of work. The property has a weathered old barn that I find beautiful, beat up outbuildings and bays, and appliances dotting the landscape that span the decades that have passed since the house was built.

Since we've been here, our fortunes have changed. Our youngest boy fell dramatically ill with a kidney disease that knocked me out of the 9-to-5 world at about the same time the U.S. economy REALLY crashed in 2008, taking most of my clients with it. My husband left a great job that made use of his incredible skills for one that would offer the substantial health benefits we'd need to cover our son's medical requirements. We had already ripped up all of the old carpet in the house and were looking forward to digging in and turning this place into a beautiful little farmstead in the country when we found ourselves suddenly trying to get by on 1/5 of our previous income.

So, two years later, we still have a concrete slab (complete with a crack) in our front room, and plywood flooring in the living room, and few noticeable improvements to the property. (Although, we have made a very handsome chicken yard, if I do say so myself.) I chuckle when I think about the budget I drew up when we first bought this place. I included a monthly home improvement line item of $3,000, which we figured we'd easily accommodate at the time. Well, that was then, and this is now.

I love now.

I love that I've learned to be thrifty and frugal in ways I never imagined I could. I love that I am drawing on the example of cheerful hard work that my Grandma Potts modeled when I was a young girl working by her side. I love that I am making a home instead of visiting one in the wee hours. I love that I'm with my kids throughout the days and running a flute to the school when it was forgotten, and smoothing a brow when it needs smoothed, rather than calling a much-loved nanny to make sure she does it for me. I love that I can't wait for school to get out for summer, so I can soak up even more time with my kids.

We didn't anticipate our stars would change so dramatically when we made this move, but we are in exactly the right place to make the best of this new alignment and I'm grateful for our new circumstances.

After more than 2 years of adjusting, learning, paring down, doing without, humbling ourselves and being humbled, I think we're ready to begin building up again. Not moving up, but enhancing this place that we love, even in all its dilapidated glory.

Here is where we'll share what we're doing and the progress we're making. We're going to be working on many fronts: becoming expert gardeners, turning this house into a home, doing what we can to improve the health of family members, getting a better handle on the animal part of farming (the local coyote population will miss their fast-food offerings from our little farm), and making our property beautiful and abundant. I'll continue this thrifty and frugal lifestyle, continue to emphasize homemade, from-scratch cooking, expand my preserving and "putting by", and do what I can to promote buying local.

I'll tell tales of Pottsville and Gertie the Goat as we go along, I'm sure, because all of those experiences color the life we have here.

All this means I'll have to get busy with the camera, so you can expect more than just reams of words (do I hear a great big hallelujah?!?).

I love our life. I love that after more than 2 years of intense learning and concern and some sorrow over the sorry lot our sweet boy has been handed, I feel a weight lifted that signals we've learned how to embrace this new dynamic in our family and find joy not only in spite of it, but also because of it - for the wisdom and blessings and increased appreciation for small moments that has been part of this unexpected and cumbersome package.

I love the promise of spring and new birth and growth that refreshes the world and our senses, if we'll let it. I'm ready to let it and I know this place, and our family, is going continue to be renewed.

Now, I'm going to go figure out how to use our camera then we'll get going.

Love from the farm,
Teri

A Bit O' the Bubbly

'Twas a blustery day today in northeastern Arizona. Just ask my pal Em, who witnessed the car door slamming shut on me as I shrieked like a little girl. I'm sure she was checking to see which appendage was stunted; all I can say is it's time to cut my hair.

Nothing like having a chunk of hair unceremoniously yanked nearly out of my scalp to send me reeling back to 1974 when all the teeth in my head were still babies, my hair was more than halfway down my back, the summer was hot and muggy, and the back window to the station wagon was down. Then it started to rain.

I closed my eyes and tilted my chin up to catch the refreshing cool offered by the rain drops, so I didn't see the window inching up, taking my hair right along with it. Dad wasn't quite as sympathetic as Em when I shrieked lo those many years ago. Remember the shag haircut? Yep, that was my style of choice after that little fiasco. I won't be going the shag route this time, but there's no question that a haircut is on the horizon.

The gale-force winds put the kibosh on our plans for the day, which included trips to the dump (imagine my sorrow at putting that chore off). So, instead, I enjoyed a nice little visit with Aunt Barbara who brought us our onions for the garden. We talked about our gardening and canning plans, admired the beauty and aroma of the pickling spices Mom and I recently ordered, and then I shared with her the laundry soap recipe that we've been using here on the farm for awhile now.

After errands in town and a few chores around here, I made myself a batch of the bubbly brew while I worked on supper this evening. (For those of you who do not have family hailing from the South, "supper" is the word that most of those living to the right of the Mississippi use for "dinner". "Dinner" in the South usually means the mid-day meal. Just a little down home Kentucky trivia for you.)

So, since I teased you once before about my laundry soap recipe, here it is for any intrepid soul who would like to undertake this quirky little task. All I can say is it's septic safe, it gets rid of all manner of farm grunge, and it lasts about 4 months with our family of 6. And, while I used to spend about $20 a box on my beloved Tide with bleach every couple of months, I spent about $7 on the ingredients for the homemade soap when I made my first batch, and that was 3 batches ago. And, I still have enough ingredients remaining for at least 2 more batches. Just a little thrifty and frugal tidbit for you.

Thanks to my sweet friend Tracy for sharing the recipe. And for being a perfectly normal, bra-wearing, makeup-donning person, so I don't feel as though I've gone too far down the backwoods babe route (or if I have, that at least I'm in good company.)

Laundry Soap
1 Bar of Zote soap
1 C Borax
1 C Arm & Hammer Washing Soda
5 Gallon bucket

Put 4 cups of water in a large pot and place on stove over medium-low heat. Grate Zote soap into pot. Heat until soap melts, stirring frequently. (This takes awhile - grab a book or plan to do some deep thinking.)

When the soap is nearly melted, fill the bucket about half full with piping hot tap water. Add melted soap to water and stir briskly (I use a whisk). Stir in Borax and washing soda. Fill bucket the rest of the way with hot water, give it another stir. Cover and let sit undisturbed overnight.

Resulting detergent will be a lumpy, watery gel. If desired, add a few drops of your favorite essential oil.

Use 1/4 c per load.

________________________________________________

Friend Tracy said her sister fills an empty liquid detergent container (like an old Tide bottle) half full of the finished soap mixture, then fills the bottle the rest of the way with water, giving it a good stir with the whisk when mixing initially, and giving it a vigorous shake before using at laundry time. The sister lives on a horse ranch, so her family sports some impressive dirt, yet she maintains that she gets great results with the diluted mixture.

I haven't wanted to mess with funneling the soap into a smaller container so I just use it full-strength from the bucket and have no complaints.

The only drawback of making the soap is that now I don't have an excuse to avoid laundry any longer. With this wind whipping around, I certainly ought to save the energy on the dryer and hang my clothes outside too, if I wanted to be a super thrifty and earth-conscious human being. But, I'm not gonna this month. I'm going to use my dryer until the nighttime temps are consistently above freezing. Hey, I'm cleaning clothes at about a penny a load, if that. - I think I've earned the right to a little (temporarily) extravagant living with a dryer and a Bounce sheet.

Love from the farm,
Teri

Gearing Up For Spring

We continue to have fun on the farm, especially as animal antics keep us laughing (or blushing: good grief, it's been a love fest - cats, dogs, poultry... these critters are all about Valentine's Day, I tell you). But, as the days grow longer and we have more and more hours when we can go outside without a coat, winter is easing back to reveal spring just around the corner, and it's going to get busy.

In addition to the animal antics, there's lots of hard work to be had around here. Here's the realities of farm life - both what we're doing on a daily basis, as well as what's on the horizon:

Daily, we:

• Feed and water: 17 chicks; 1 rooster; 1 hen; 3 cats; 2 horses; 3 dogs; 1 lonely goat; 6 people
• Gather egg (come July, that will be amended to read "eggs")
• Wash tomorrow clothes (I haven't mastered laundry yet)
• Take care of the feeding, cleaning, brushing, gargling, dressing, medicating, transporting, hugging, kissing and homework assisting of 4 kiddos and 2 adults

Every other day, we:

• Replace the straw in the chicks' brooder box
• Clean up the poo in the horse corral (the other horse's owners clean the poo on alternating days)

This week we also:

• Took a (most-likely pregnant) cat in to the vet to have an abscess treated. While Noodle was under sedation, Abbie the Vet also cleaned out her ears and treated for mites
• Which resulted in the plan to bring the other two cats in to be treated for ear mites, since this is a condition they like to share with one another. We were supposed to drop off the cats at the vet this morning, but for once the usually clingy cats were nowhere to be found. Mike and I roamed the farm for awhile but had to get into town, so the mite extermination will have to wait
• Made an appointment for Abbie the Vet to come out to sedate Buddy the Horse and take care of some man issues for him next week
• Will check with the gardening folks in Woodruff to see if they've made their annual community onion order, which we're hoping to get in on this year. Those Woodruff farmers grow the biggest, sweetest onions you ever saw and I've been coveting them for a couple years now. Every so often, I call my Aunt Barbara and say, "Have you ordered the onions yet? Don't forget me." I actually went to bed last night and woke up today worrying I might have missed the onion order. I'll be calling right after finishing this little update.
• Took a quick trip down to Phoenix in back for doctor appointments and whole food shopping.

These are the quiet, laid back days on the farm.

Here's what's starting this weekend and running into next week:

• Meet the farrier at the horse barn, for the horses' regular hoof trimming. Gotta keep Buddy's nails trimmed so he stays in sturdy health.
• Inventory the leftover seed from last year
• Develop the garden plan for this year; map out new plots of land to be plowed and improved to allow for expansion of the garden
• Complete the rehab of the new, used rototiller Mike brought home last week. Thanks, Uncle Rich!
• Determine from which plants we'll want to save seed at the end of the harvest, and research heirloom varieties. (Seeds from hybrid plants will not sprout; you must save seeds from heirloom, or open-pollinated, plant varieties. Growing heirloom varieties allows you to help preserve old strains of seeds. I was moved to tears when my Uncle Rich stopped by to give me a quart jar 1/3 of the way filled with colorful, precious bean seeds from our old family farm in Kentucky. I can't wait to get this little piece of our family's heritage transplanted into our Arizona farm.)
• Review countless seed catalogs and get new seeds ordered for this year
• Check on the onion order again
• Read up on how soon we need to start sprouting potatoes for this year's potato planting
• Make seed-starter pots from newspaper
• Plant seeds in the starter pots and begin growing seedlings in the house for eventual transplant into our garden
• Find out the source of compost you can buy by the truckload somewhere in Snowflake
• Move the chicks to a larger brooding box; they've outgrown the crib, but aren't quite ready for the coop. Think of this as their toddler bed stage.
• Fix the neighbor's fence the horses leaned over to get to the munchies on the other side. Apparently, they too believe the grass is always greener over there.
• Try our hands at making the "mother" for sourdough bread, per dear friend Emily's insistence

When warmer days are firmly upon us, here are the other things we'll be engaging in:

• Tearing down the rickety old horse corral
• Finishing the covered chicken run
• Cleaning out the chicken coop and putting down fresh litter
• Cleaning the hay off the barn floor at the neighbor's and bringing it over to the farm to use as litter in the chicken run. (Once Adam starts yard work for my Mom and Dad again this spring, we'll bring the clippings home to use as litter, as well. Since we can't let the chickens free range because of aggressive predators, we don't want them scratching around in a barren, depressing, dirty run. We'll refresh the litter in their run often with green clippings, giving them clean, new stuff to munch on and scratch around in. I can't wait until we can afford to properly predator-proof the exterior of our property, thereby allowing us to allow the chickens to roam free again. They're happier, fatter, their feathers are glossier, and they eat more natural, less commercially produced, foods when they free range. Their yolks are darker, too.)
• Finding a source for new piglets
• Building a new pig pen, with a dedicated water source
• Plowing, plowing, plowing, plowing the garden area
• Planting grass seed in dusty areas surrounding the house, to cut down on the flying dirt
• Asking our hay farmer friend if we can again relieve him of some of the decaying steer poo on his property, to spread on the garden
• Bolting the lifting tin strips back onto the barn roof and the back of the storage buildings at the front of the property
• Renting a huge dumpster to haul all of the scrap metal, extra refrigerators, rolls of carpeting and various other leavings of the previous owners of this nearly 85-year-old homestead
• Stocking up on straw for the straw bale fencing that Mike will be constructing around the house, marking the start of our property renovation. We just spent hours last week in a Barnes and Noble, poring over courtyard designs, outdoor cooking areas, lighting plans, landscaping - we're overflowing with ideas.
• Laying the tile in the house
• Replacing the rest of the windows in the house
• Starting the kids' egg selling operation
• Buying and raising additional chicks so the kids will have a decent-sized egg selling operation
• Planning our Walker Family Summer Road Trip; our big 12-day adventure in July that will be our last hurrah before sending Adam off for two years to some as-yet-undisclosed location, somewhere in the world
• Tearing out the pantry cupboards and replacing with open shelving
• Inventorying all of the food stores we have and developing a rotation plan so nothing goes to waste
• Improving the watering system for the garden
• Establishing a composting system
• Developing and planting an orchard area, or at least getting a few fruit trees in the ground
• Making more laundry soap
• Reclaiming my bread making prowess
• Developing the 3/4-acre pasture that we have not yet put into production
• Spending hours upon hours weeding, coaxing, and relishing the garden
• ....and oh, so much more.

The lazy winter days are about to give way to some serious work around here. In fact, if you don't hear from me until October, you'll understand why.

Love from the farm,

Teri

Simple Pleasures...Gone Too Far

Sunday afternoon, Mike and I bundled up the kids, threw the dogs in the back of the truck, then the kids crawled in after them, and we headed off to go "toolie hopping" - country speak for "exploring the countryside." After considering our various toolie locations, we settled on taking the back road to Woodruff.

We bumped along the dirt road for some time until we pulled off to explore a wash. Turns out, it was the same wash where Grandma and Grandpa Fraley had stashed a geocache for Tanner several years ago, and the kids were delighted when they found the cache and began rummaging through it to see what had been left in the box in the years since it had been stuck under a rock near the wash. Reading the enclosed journal, Adam learned one of his friends found the cache in 2007 with her dad. Her dad died in an accident last spring, so Adam was looking forward to the chance to remind her of what was probably their own fun family time not so long ago.

Off we all went down the wash, skating on little slabs of ice, exploring crevasses in the rock, wending our way to the Little Colorado River bed, finding shells on the rocks, following various animal tracks. Mike and I climbed up to the ridge above the wash and watched the kids goofing around, and commented that it was nice that our kids thoroughly enjoyed these simple little outings - no fancy destinations or big entry fees. Just knockin' around the high desert. I said it was nice that there wasn't some sullen kid with their earphones in, rolling their eyes because they were way above this nonsense. We're glad these kids enjoy the simple pleasures.

Flash to last night, while the kids were doing the dishes. Adam mentioned he'd found a carton of eggs in the fridge (this was noteworthy because we'd needed eggs over the weekend for a recipe but he didn't see them then.)

"Don't use those," I said. "I don't know how long they've been in there. I picked up fresh ones today."

His eyes lit up. "Hey, then can we throw the eggs at each other?" Something on my face must have revealed my revulsion at the thought.

Mistaking my expression for a concern over thrift and frugality and wasting the eggs he amended, "If we have the egg fight in the garden [where the eggs could be used for composting], then would it be ok?" All the kids joined in, pleading; a few were jumping up and down at the prospect.

"Oh, then ok," I replied out loud. As I turned to walk away, I silently added, "Ya big freaks."

Maybe we better plan a trip to the Valley for a zoo visit or ball game soon. I fear the kids are becoming just a little too easy to please. By the way, I haven't warned them yet about the pain potential in a raw egg fight. I'm deciding whether I should let it be one of life's little lessons. We'll see.

Love from the farm,
Teri

Art of the Barter & Neighborliness

I've become a bit of a twirler - or maybe more of a Lazy Susan, since returning to the northland. I spend a lot of time doing slow 360's, looking all the way around at the views. Hay fields to the east of us, a big red barn to the northeast, straight north is an expansive pasture alternately dotted with fat black cows or munching horses. But my favorite view has always been facing slightly southwest from my garden. There, I would find the neighbor's beautiful palomino - a goldenrod coat with a wheat-colored mane and swishing tail. Even from a quarter mile away, you could see the strength in him and the lustre of his coat. He'd stand there against this gorgeous green backdrop and there were many times I'd straighten up from weeding and just gaze at him for a few minutes, watching him mill around.

One day while in the garden recently, I heard a low hum filtering over to our place and looked up to see our neighbor out there mowing the pasture. I thought for a moment and realized I hadn't seen the palomino for awhile. Sure enough, when our neighbor stopped by a day or so later, he told Mike he'd had to put down his treasured horse. Then he asked if we'd like to put our horses out there on his pasture. For as long as we want. He hated to see the sweet grass go to waste and he'd seen the abysmal "corral" where our poor creatures were ekeing out a living (more on the disappearing corral at a later date). Secretly, I think he also just misses seeing and hearing horses out there.

He and his wife are both hard workers, but are slowed by arthritic maladies that keep them from getting to do as much as they'd like of the laborious work around their property. "As long as you all don't mind helping out with a little weeding or wood stacking once in awhile, we can call it good," he said.

So, our horses have been happily grazing in their new digs for a few days, and on Wednesday, our kids will pop over to the neighbors to do a little weeding. The benefit to us in terms of quality of life and nutrition for the horses is immeasurable, and this arrangement cuts down the feed bill significantly. This will allow us to get the corral fixed up as we can, get some hay stockpiled for the winter and begin preparing our front pasture for seeding next year.

This is just one of the latest instances of "bartering" we've been engaged in around here. With those same neighbors, we swapped some of our green chilis for some of their zucchini. Mike is forever swapping tools and labor for that of our neighbors' across the street. Last week, I loaded down a friend with bags of tomatoes for canning, and this week, she gave us dozens of ears of corn to freeze. There's an odd satisfaction in bartering; I can't put my finger on what the specific appeal is, but for some reason it feels like a little victory.

But what's even more touching somehow, is the level of neighborliness that accompanies all of this bartering and sharing. Pasturing and lodging our horses far outstrips in monetary value what we'll be providing in spruce-up projects around our neighbors' home. But I know the value to them of not having those nagging projects go undone will be hard to measure. And, the value to our children of serving their neighbors with a little sweat equity is rolled in there, too.

Another neighbor loaded me up with jars and lids for canning yesterday, brushing off offers of return favors with a jesting, "Oh, if it all comes crashing down, I'll know where to find them - and they'll be filled with food." She knows I like to can, she knew those jars were going to sit unused at her house for a good long time. Why not give them away? Simple as that.

And what about the Harley-driving Dutch transplant neighbor with the heart of gold who brought his tractor down this spring and tilled our garden for us? And the same horse neighbor who used his brush hog to knock down the weeds in our front pasture? He was about to take the brush hog off his tractor for the season and he would knock the weeds for his old uncle that used to own our place, so why not?

Then there are the friends who taught Mike and me how to process pork last week after our pigs were butchered. The husband had been up since 2:30am picking sweet corn, but worked with us until 8 that evening, teaching us how to cut, sausage, brine and wrap the meat. And would only accept payment for the spices we used for the sausage, bacon and hams. He's the same guy who came and picked up the pigs in his horse trailer and hauled them to and from the butcher in a nearby town for us.

When Tanner's kidney disease diagnosis was finally made, I was visiting with the owners of our corner feed store about how we were hoping for good gardens in this and years to come so we could fill Tanner up with clean, healthy foods, keeping his kidneys from having to filter too much foreign or toxic junk. We were also discussing the severely salt-restricted diet he was on at the time till we got him past a rough patch getting his blood pressure regulated. The gruff old owner asked, "Does he like apples?" and when I answered yes, he promptly hauled two big boxes of apples out to the truck. "Just want to do something for the little guy," he said as he was walking by with a box, refusing my offer of payment.

This represents only a smidgeon of the neighborly deeds we've been treated to. There have been meals dropped off just because someone heard I was under the weather. A stocking full of gift cards and cash just before Christmas when someone presumably heard we'd cut our income by 3/4 and must have guessed the mounting medical bills were crushing, and Christmas and lots else looked grim. There's the teacher and friend who's giving Karlie and her best friend roping lessons every Thursday after Hulet Harmonizers. It never stops. And we have a strong sense it's because these are simply good people, some of whom love us, and some who are just made that way.

This environment of neighborliness has given us the courage as a family to feel that it's safe to just do little random acts of kindness ourselves. After living in a (beautiful little) cookie-cutter neighborhood in Gilbert, where you only wave at neighbors as they're pulling into garages and you certainly don't show up at their doors unannounced, it's wonderful to wander down the road on a family walk and drop off fresh eggs, proud 1st attempts at peach jam, or fresh pork roast, and know the recipients will simply appreciate it for what it is: good, old fashioned neighborliness.

So, while we'll keep reveling in the fun of figuring out what we can barter next, it's when I look across from my garden to that gorgeous green pasture and see our own horses there that I'll have that warm little glow that comes from knowing we're surrounded by great neighbors whose generous spirits are the greatest spoils of all.

Love from the farm,
Teri

Laundry Confessions (Email Classics)

Written July 12, 2009

I'm a bona fide weirdo, I've decided, as I have unearthed yet another little startling revelation about myself this summer: I LOVE hanging clothes out to dry on the clothesline. Who knew?

I love any excuse to be outside, and there's just something delicious about hanging the clothes. Feeling the hot breeze instantly cooled when it hits the damp clothes and hearing the wind snap the clothes like an ornery jock popping his buddy with a towel in the locker room. It's just lovely for some reason. I can't explain it. The caveat is that I am certain I will not enjoy doing it in winter, so I will go back to using my dryer.

I suppose while I'm confessing, I should also confess that I actually made homemade laundry soap a few weeks back and I'm loving that, too. For about $7, I made enough soap for 600+ loads. And, I have enough supplies left over to make at least 2 more batches. Sure beats the 90 loads of Tide I was paying $20 for, plus this stuff is easier on our septic system. And, if my family had extremely sensitive skin, which we don't, it'd be easier on our epidermis, too. With farm laundry for 6, this is the best investment I've made yet! [laundry soap recipe to come]

Apparently, at some point in the past year, I died quietly in my sleep, and my Grandma Potts' industrious spirit decided to have a second go at life, this time in my body. If I begin telling stories of ant families and insisting my kids dance an Irish jig when we plant potatoes, call for a priest because it will be time to give Grandma the heave ho. There were times when I wanted to hide Grandma's stupid Reader's Digest "Back to the Basics" book with all its coffee-can-cheese-making, lye-soap-boiling, cottage-cheese-curdling nonsense. Now I love all that stuff. My poor kids.

Below is a little ditty about clothes lines.

Love from the farm,
Teri

(P.S. Oh, one more reason I love hanging out clothes? Because, when I bump open the screen door with my hip to carry the heavy basket of wet clothes out to the line, I get to hear the door SLAM behind me. And that, after all, is one of the things that sold me on this place. My slamming screen door. Which Mike has promised that he'll never replace as long as we both shall live. I'd like to exact the same promise from my children, for after we've passed.)

THE CLOTHES LINE POEM
Clothes line was a news forecast to dry.

It also was a friendly link
For neighbors always knew
If company had stopped on by
To spend a night or two.
For then you'd see the 'fancy sheets'
And towels upon the line;
You'd see the 'company table cloths'
With intricate design.
The line announced a baby's birth
To folks who lived inside
As brand new infant clothes were hung
So carefully with pride.
The ages of the children could
So readily be known
By watching how the sizes changed
You'd know how much they'd grown.
It also told when illness struck,
As extra sheets were hung;
Then nightclothes, and a bathrobe, too,
Haphazardly were strung.
It said, 'Gone on vacation now'
When lines hung limp and bare.
It told, 'We're back!' when full lines sagged
With not an inch to spare.
New folks in town were scorned upon
If wash was dingy gray,
As neighbors carefully raised their brows,
And looked the other way.
But clotheslines now are of the past
For dryers make work less.
Now what goes on inside a home
Is anybody's guess.
I really miss that way of life.
It was a friendly sign
When neighbors knew each other best
By what hung on the line!

~Marilyn K. Walker