Here are a few fun shots from a day on the farm. We wish all of our friends and family the best of holidays, okay so I am a few holidays late. And we pray for a peace-filled and prosperous new year.

No Chicken Dinner for Us

We searched out new chicks to add to our flock this Fall. Our four "big grirls" as the G&F call them: Fondo, TaDa, Blanche, and Mildred, were all about a year and a half old. We really knew nothing of chickens before we got them, just that we loved to visit friends' chickens, and the idea of knowing exactly where our eggs came from was irresistible. Our first "coop" was created under the deck of our Seattle home, and our four girls quickly learned the routine of rooting around the backyard and perching by the kitchen window during the day, and snuggling into their coop at night. We brought these four hens with us to Vashon, after converting a stall of one of the outbuildings into the Uber-coop.

Shortly after moving into their new digs, Mildred began to molt. And when we learned that chickens, in general, do not lay as many eggs after molting, and witnessed the other girls starting to look a less bird-like and a little more lizard-like, we decided something had to be done. So, being the overachievers we are, we started researching new chicken breeds. After weeks of research and a few lengthy phone calls with "the chicken lady", we headed off-island way out in Carnation to track down some downy new chicks to increase our "pet" flock.

Home on the farm our chicks grew fast. We lost one chick right off the bat, we think to the neighbor cat, but that's to be expected right? It taught us to be more careful about protecting our little chicks, and we did until St. Barbara's Day. This is a day in early December when the tradition is to clip fruit tree branches and put them in water to bloom on Christmas Day. (it actually worked too, within a week of Christmas, but that is another blog entry) On this fated day, we lost three of the young girls, we are pretty sure, to a hawk or an eagle. Our first finding of the remaining girls was in the dark, in our dress clothes, because of course that night was our one and only night out of the holiday season, complete with babysitting from the grandparents overnight. Needless to say discovering that you lost some of your flock puts a damper on the night's "festive" mood. And our worst fears were confirmed the next day when Toby and Gus walked the property and found just hints of evidence in three places, while Freja and I were at yet another "party".

Now we accept that living on a farm truly means we are living closer to the Earth, both its beautiful and gruesome sides. And we recognize that the beautiful raptors that we see flying overhead need to eat as well. But, and here is the kicker, out of the six chicks we picked out this fall on our epic quest to find the next great chickens, only the ones we named were eaten/killed. So I dedicate this entry to Pollo, Cutie, Petutie, and Lilly, four of the cutest little chicks ever. We are grateful to still have our four original girls, and love them and hold them and pet them every day. And we are also glad to have the two remaining "little girls" and really enjoy watching them find there place in the pecking order, although we are still afraid to name them!

By the Light of the Moon?

The sweaters are now strewn about the house. Every time we leave the house we put on a hat. The teapot is set to boil several times a day. We are heading into the cold, wet, mostly grey days of winter, which around here can last for more than its prescribed three month time slot.

Yesterday was a day of scrambling in anticipation for a bitterly cold night. We heard that the night-time temp might dip below freezing and began to worry about our crops. Now, when we lived in the big city, a weather report like that would have just motivated us to put an extra blanket on the kids, but not so now that we are farmers. We tune into the weather report. We notice where the fog settles around the island. We walk the property and feel where the air is warmer. We get whiplash driving around the island noticing how everyone else prepares their gardens for the winter.

Up until yesterday, we were slipping into what I would call "hobby" farming; putzing about the farm doing a little something here and a little something there. I had started to remove a ring of sod from around each tree in the orchard and then planting the uncovered dirt with bulbs that would hopefully emerge in the Spring. I started this project in October, and still was not finished. (keep in mind we have 72 trees in the orchard) We worried that if things got cold enough to freeze we could not dig in any more bulbs, so we headed down to the orchard to get to work.

I started planting bulbs around mid-day before I had to fetch kids from schools, and then we returned as a family after naps. By the time we got down to the orchard it was 4:00 and the sun was going down fast. I started heeling in bulbs as fast as I could while the kids played in the fading light. Toby got the tractor started and delivered several loads of fresh topsoil to blanket the bases of the trees. The headlights on the tractor lighted our way to planting the last 150 daffodil bulbs we had ready to go. The kids made great shadows to entertain Toby and I as we frantically worked to get everything tucked in and buttoned up. Gus performed a benediction declaring that we worked hard, but still may lose some of our crop. (I think he has been reading too many little house on the prairie lately) We all gave thanks for a job well done, no matter what the outcome, and headed home.

I marveled at the moon last night, it was a perfect crescent. Just a sliver of light, but enough for you to find your way. And I marveled at how we needed just that little bit of a kick in the pants to get us to remember that we are farmers. And sometimes that means you end up working your fields by the light of the tractor headlight, because you can't wait for a full moon.

Blessings All Around.

Last weekend we officially blessed the farm. And in true Holmestead fashion it was a grand celebration with great friend and family and fabulous food and drink. We chose today because it coincided with the 200th anniversary of the Messe du Sovenir des Charcutiers; or mass of remembrance for the guild of butcher who create hams, sausages and pates. So what you say? Take a moment and think about the importance of this group of "artists" and the many connections they have to us as burgeoning farmers.

We have really tightened our belts to swing the purchase of the farm and preparing for its transformation into our permanent home. One of the greatest savings we have discovered is eating as locally as possible, mostly from our own garden, and when we eat meat it is often the "nasty bits" that taste so good if treated right, and cost so much less than the more traditional cuts. We have cultivated friendships with fellow farmers to find out who are the good slaughters and butchers on the island and surroundings. We have asked more questions of chefs, and cooks at every restaurant we visited and community gathering. And we have read way too many books on how to grow your own, slaughter your own, grind your own, and cure your own food.

So when I heard that November 16th was the 200th anniversary of honoring this guild of butchers it seemed like a wonderful reason to eat, drink, and hold church in our favorite sanctuary: the farm. What resulted from our call out to friends and family was a triumphant affirmation of friendship, generosity, and lots and lots of humor. We pressed cider for hours, and even ended up with a little left over despite the long line of kids (and a few adults) catching the fresh juice in paper cups. We could not wait for Toby to deliver his homily before diving into the food, and were happy that we did. The fog of the morning, of our minds, of the state of things, burned off just after noon. Toby lead almost 90 of us down into the field and gave a heartfelt thanks and praise. And then we all got back to eating!

Some of the most memorable dishes were:
Lise and Tamlyn's Pigs in a blanket (what makes it the perfect dish is Lise's professional cooking background)
Ann's plate of trotters
PK's Thai pork with yummy rice and rooster sauce
Wiley's chocolate chip cookies with crackling's
Andrew and Erin's offerings from Canada (is it legal to bring cured meat across the border?)
Steve's rillettes
Bill and Shirley's spare ribs
The Hammer's showing up with enough various pork products to feed us all twice
The Vegetarians Kathleen and Bryce showing up with Kielbasa
And the fabulous array of salumi from Salumi

It was absolutely stunning to see the thought and creativity that so many people put into what they brought to the party. It reminded us all that we chose to gather that day, we chose to be friends, we chose to create this community. And what a fabulous foundation we set for all of us in this vacillating time hope and uncertainty. Thanks everyone.
Here is a copy of Toby's Homily, enjoy:
The Blessing of the Farm

The sun shines of us all today after days of fall rain. Like the growing plants around us, we welcome the energy to renew our spirits. And we welcome you here today for a gathering of friends and family for many reasons to take pause and celebrate. We celebrate the bounty of the fall harvest. We celebrate the sale of the Seattle house and the ability to now pursue our vision for Holmestead Farms and share that vision with you. We celebrate by pressing cider together, enjoying each other’s company—making new friends and reconnecting with long time friends. And honoring the pig.

Our gustatory theme today is the natural pairing of apples and pork. Today, November 16th, marks the 200th anniversary of the charcutiers mass of remembrance. In 1513 the charcutiers formed their own guild and broke from the general butcher trade. The mass honors the makers of sausages, hams, and pates. By the way, Saint Anthony is the patron saint of the chacutiers—thanks Tony. And the pig is a great and appropriate symbol of a farm—pigs eat the scraps and eventually become food, with virtually every single part of the pig edible.

We want to thank everyone who is here today for supporting us in our move to Vashon and in our first season of production. Each of you, in some way, helped us and we appreciate your support and love.

Remember the original Stuart Brothers roasterie in the old Country Store building—the current location of Minglemint, now a central gathering place to share a good cup of coffee or chew the fat with buddies? How about the monks who have been roasting coffee for ever? And now, Vashon has a vigorous farmers market, the most active fruit club chapter in Western Washington and beyond organic farms like Sea Breeze, other family farms like Greenman Farm, Hogsback, and others. And how about the underground dining at Kurtwood? Vashon has a productive and engaged farm and food culture.

There’s a demand for local produce, dairy, and meats. In preparation for this party, the woman at Salumi in charge of wholesale accounts asked when they can buy our eggs. We’ve sold berries and apples at the local farmers market, through Bernie and Norine, and privately by the box. Much more to come next year. We’re excited about people’s interest in knowing where their food comes from and who grows it. Ultimately our vision for Holmestead Farms is to include the production and sale of honey, preserves, pickles, produce, eggs, and fruit. And we intend to have culinary gatherings, cooking classes, and private dining events.

Why are we doing this? We firmly believe that the sharing of food is the key to building a community—to break bread with one another. Growing our food connects us with the land, the air, and the water and reminds us that these are delicate resources to be handled with respect and care. Our animals have personalities and are well loved, especially the ones that become food. Food brings us together, slows us down, and nourishes our bodies. And it’s important for conveying our family values to our kids.

May we all be blessed to find and develop a greater community through the connections provided to us by sharing food. We bring together friends and family to celebrate each other, the bounty of the harvest and to give thanks for our resources, both the natural resources and our individual industrial efforts. May we not take these for granted.

Let’s remember our obligation to treat the earth, air, and water with respect, like the essential relationship between bees and apples trees. Neither survive without the other. Let’s remember the value of communing with others and the significance of sharing food—for sustenance, pleasure, and for art. Let’s remember to give and receive graciously and thankfully.

It takes soil, rain, sun, seeds, tender care and patience to raise a good turnip, apple, or raspberry. It takes magic and chemistry to make a great meal or vint wine. But it takes human interaction and love to make any of it worth while or taste good.

As Pere Luc Forestier, the pastor of the church in Paris where the mass occurs every years says, “It’s not just about taking care of an organic need of the human body, but, more important, about providing what responds to our desire of conviviality, for sharing, for good taste, for beauty.” Amen.

Slow and Steady, Slow and Steady

So we have this turtle named "Reach". I adopted him many years ago when a student of mine went off to college and need a home for her pet turtle that was as old as her. I had a large biology classroom at the time, and would take in fish, hedgehogs, small rodents, plants, etc. partly in an effort to fill up the room with living examples of our topic de jour, but also partly because I had a hard time saying no to something that needed a home.

Reach lived in a 65 gallon tank his whole life, and when I received him he came with the tank and his "play things", a glass fish and plastic dinosaur he seemed to enjoy moving around the tank. I would bring Reach home in the Summers, and then back to the classroom in the Fall, and when I finally stopped teaching, Reach and his tank were tucked up against a wall in the playroom of our old Seattle home.

When we bought the farm out here on Vashon, we decided that Reach could use a change of scenery. Instead of moving him and his tank, we just moved him to the pond in front of the farmhouse. We figured that he had lived a long enough life (we figure he is almost 30 years old) in a tank, and either he could retire happily in the pond, or just "retire" if he could not survive on his own and that would be alright as well. Time passed and every once in a while we would see Reach hanging out in the bottom of the pond with the few resident goldfish swimming overhead. Then we stopped seeing him in August, and wrote it off to either a Raccoon that we knew was visiting the pond, or to the over-grown lily pads that provided lots of hiding places.

So this morning we received quite the surprise when our neighbor down below our two-acre farm, came up the long drive to see if I wanted a new pet. I immediately told her we were quite full up with cats, dogs, and chickens, and we could not take any livestock until at least the Spring. She smiled and said, "This pet is perfect, I think it could even just live in your pond!" I immediately asked her if it was a turtle, to which she gave me a shocked look and asked me how did I guess? I told her that we "had" a turtle many months ago, but were pretty sure he was dead. Besides, this turtle she found trying to cross the busy road at the bottom of our driveway in a downpour yesterday afternoon. Could it be that Reach went on a three-month tour of the farm, and was still alive? As soon as we peered into the empty bathtub at the neighbor's home it was obvious that Reach was still with us, and as soon as I picked him up he game me an appropriate hiss and tucked into his shell. We returned him to the pond, did a big three cheers for the traveler, and left him to his own devices.

Reach's big adventure through our farm, the neighbors' properties, and dodging traffic fit so perfectly into how I have been feeling this week. We just witnessed the first black man being elected in our country, and all around me I see stunned and happy faces. It has been a long slog for so many before us to abolish slavery, fight for the right to vote, march for civil rights, and struggle for equal opportunities. Sometimes those struggles got stretched out so much that the daily efforts went unnoticed. People wake up every morning and decide to fight the good fight, knowing that they may never reap the rewards for themselves. And then one day the seas part, we summit a mountain, we feel the sun on our face, and know that today is different. We have elected a new man to be "boss" of our country, as my kids put it, yet they struggle to see how he is different. They think he is a great person because they hear how excited I am, they see me tear up when I hear him speak, they feel like they won, because he is the one we voted for. They are still young enough that they truly take each day as it comes. They were happy yesterday because Barack Obama was elected our new president, and they are happy today because we found Reach.

Thank you to all those that have gone before us to pave the way for peace and change. Thank you to our children who welcome each day as it comes. And thanks to Reach, who shows us that all you have to do is put one foot in front of the other, and although you may not get very noticed in your day to day slog, you still can go far!

I wonder were Reach will take us next?

Taking a Vacation from the Micro

A few days ago we headed off island to join a celebration for a friend's birthday. It was the first time we, as a family, went back to the city since we sold our house there. It was a strange feeling to be "back" where we used to live, but have no touchstone, no home base. At first, I was nervous, would the conversations be forced and awkward with friends we had not seen in months? Would I be able to talk about something other than farming? (Is there anything other than farming?) Would G & F find some city manners, and adjust to the hustle and bustle they had not visited since September?

The party turned out to be great. Seeing old friends was just the shot in the arm we needed. We shared "farm tales" with friends who then wanted to sign up to come out and help us. We laughed at their hectic, frenetic lives and how they manage to keep all their balls in the air. G & F quickly found their peeps and invented game after game in between happily eating food that is so far away from farm cooking it seemed like a vacation. All of this got me to thinking as we rode the ferry back to our little bubble of civilization. Maybe we could extend our vacation just one more day.

The next morning we hooked the kids up for a playdate with their Omi, while Toby set to work doing chores and I got in the ferry line off the island. I was armed with five Asian cook books a few shopping bags, and determined to buy up the makings for an Asian feast. We have eaten so close to home ever since we moved to the island, partly to keep within our new tight budget, partly because we can get such wonderful food straight from our own land. I felt like we could all use a trip away from our 10-mile diet and enjoy a vacation on our dinner plate.

A few hours later, I had bags bursting with all kinds of treasures from fresh Jujubes to pork belly, lacquered duck and Sechuan peppercorns. My head was filled with all the advice I received from proud merchants excited to see a tall out-of-place white chick looking to make a good meal. On my way out of the ID I grabbed a jasmine bubble tea with tapioca hopped in my yummy smelling car and headed for the ferry.

Back on the island we put in a team effort with friends to construct a feast of Cashew shrimp, Snow peas with fresh water chestnuts, Braised tofu with pork and mushrooms, Gai lan in ginger sauce, Pork belly with cabbage, and Crab in chile sauce.
We ate until we were stuffed, and the kids were running wild. We drank the wrong wine, and didn't care; we were on vacation from the norm.

At night's end we were sated and home again, on Vashon, with a list of farm chores longer than our arms. But just that little break, the different smells, tastes, techniques, and people, helped me return to my responsibilities on the farm with a renewed energy. It is so wonderful to live on an island that is just as far away from things as we want and need it to be.

To Everything, A Time to Be Born, A Time to Die

This morning I awoke to find a dead mouse outside my bedroom door. Now, my cats (really just one cat) are prolific hunters, and started bringing us trophy kills after we had our first child. I try to look at these dead rodents as offerings of thanks, pride, and worthiness that our cats see as their duty to our family. For the most part they catch the small things that would just be in the way should they find a nook in our homes, and usually by the time they make it to my doorstep they have "gone to a better place". This morning's offering was something more extraordinary, not because it was a rare bird or a bat, but because of the way our kids reacted to it when they saw it.
When I pointed out the seemingly dead rodent resting at our doorstep, G and F ran outside to admire it. G marveled at how "cute" it was, and how lucky that its eyes were still open. F wondered if maybe mice just slept with their eyes open, to which I convinced them to just leave it be until after we returned from our morning of school to find out.
Sure enough, the dead fuzzy thing was still there when we returned after school. Before anything else could happen G insisted we have a funeral, "to help it find its way back to heaven". How could I say no to that? So I carefully picked up the mouse (using a towel) and laid it in the middle of our backyard. G, F, and I then joined hands around the small grey creature, and just when I was expecting a solemn prayer, G suggested we dance around it. So there we were in the middle of a sunny Fall day, dancing around a dead animal singing songs, can it get much more Pagan? We sang to thank the Earth for life, and loving the life we have. We sang to wish the mouse a happy time in heaven and a fun life the next time around. We ended the funeral by tossing the mouse over the edge of the ravine and listening to it come to rest in the leaves below.
I never cease to marvel at the depth of empathy all of our children posses. I would never have honored this small creature, had my kids not witnessed its death. And how wonderful for all of us to get a chance to embrace life, all of it, as the circle that it is.

Take a Moment to Sit and Say Thanks

Yesterday was one of those juggles. Toby was gone from early in the morn until way past every one's bedtime. Thankfully, one of the "Omis" swept the kids away on an island adventure for a few hours while I tried to preserve the last of the summer harvest. This latest round of kitchen mania included a double batch of green tomato chutney, and yet a few more loaves of zucchini bread for the freezer. As we plowed through the day we all accomplished a lot, although we missed a crucial element: the farm.

Some of you may not understand our current living situation, so I will distill it quickly to bring everyone to the same page. In January of 2008 we decided to buy the farm, pun only half intended, on Vashon. The farmhouse is way to small to house our crazy, energetic family so we got to work planning a remodel. In June we moved to Vashon to be close to the farm, the remodel, and start maintaining the orchard, field, chickens, and gardens. Since the farmhouse is too small we decided to rent a nice home a few miles away. In July we put our Seattle home on the market, and hope to finally close the sale of it in a few days. Whew, I get tired just explaining!

This somewhat fractured living situation keeps us constantly in flux. Almost every morning the kids ask if we can/need/have to go the farm and when. Sometimes it is not until the lights are all off and we are drifting off to sleep when we remember that we never went back to the farm to tuck in all the chickens and make sure the gate is locked. And it really stings when you head to the farm to do a specific thing, like press cider, and realize once you are there that you forgot what you needed back at the rental house, like all of the clean gallon jugs to hold said cider!

Last night, after G & F and I finished an early dinner I mentioned to them that I missed going to the farm that day. They both responded that they too missed the farm, and especially the chickens; they LOVE the chickens. So we all hopped into the bus and drove over to say goodnight to the "girls" and just be. As I paused at the beginning of our long driveway to collect my voter's ballot from the mail, I could see one of the two regular families of deer waiting for us up near the gate. We drove slowly so as not to disturb them and G&F called out happy greetings while we passed them by. The chickens were already roosting for the night, but seemed to enjoy being held for a bit and treated with some stale popcorn the kids saved for them. Finally, after making sure everything was secure we went running down to the orchard in the fading light of the day. Darwin dog lead us to a beautiful tree near the bottom of the orchard and there we all sat listening to the coming night noises. We all unwound and leaned against each other for support as we watched the sun set behind us and the moon rise in front of us. We listened to the ducks fly up from the neighbors pond (ducks are surprisingly loud fliers) and the occasional car driving by on the road below. Gus declared that he was happy, and could hardly wait until we were always here on the farm, and just as I was starting to choke up Freja jumped up declared that the day was done and started running back to the bus to head back for story time. I smiled, hugged Gus, grabbed his hand and we chased Darwin and Freja all the way up the field. The grass below our feet appeared iridescent with the rising moonlight, and the field smelled sweet and wet as we ran through it. As we drove away from the farm and back to the rental house no one really spoke, we all just breathed in the night, and I bet we were all thinking the same thing: we are so glad to be here.

You Grow What You Eat

So now we are trend setters. It seems everywhere we look or read we see a call out for returning back to our farming roots. The specific start of civilization is marked by evidence that people started farming. This meant they stopped wandering, built more long-lasting living shelters, prepared the earth and put down roots.
We are eeking ever-closer to closing on the sale of our city home and can already feel our roots deepening here on the island. We are eagerly planning on remodeling the farm so we can all fit there at once, and we have so many ideas swirling around about what to grow, manage, harvest and process.
The bottom line is that we want to culture the farm to grow food, serve as a daily refuge from the commercialized buzzing world, and feed ourselves with it's good food, fabulous views, and even have left overs to share with others. We know farmers who are doing it just for a "hobby"; they like caring for a small number of livestock, some apples in the fall are great, and just living in a growing place inspires them. We also know farmers who are attempting to be self sufficient; they want to produce everything they need to survive and not take anything from anybody, including power, gas, or water from utilities. If you know us at all you know we fall somewhere in the middle of these two limits. And right now we are plowing through one day at a time looking for a more clear picture of where we fit. As I stare at the hundreds of bulbs I have to plant in the orchard, and the six boxes of apples that need to be sorted in the garage, it is easy to feel overwhelmed. Then, I remember my dinner plans for tonight: Pork Tenderloin, with braised red cabbage, apples and onion saute, green salad, and mashed potatoes. The only thing not coming from our garden or a neighbor's is the pork. To have such a close connection to our food is intoxicating. I swear that a bite of an apple from your own tree tastes better than any other. Bon Appetit!

The Way to the Heart

The rains have found their way to our island farm. We snuck a few seeds in the ground just as the first drops hit the back of our neck, and said a little prayer for what we can reap in the upcoming months. Broccoli Raab tossed with fresh sausage, lots of garlic, breadcrumbs, and good pasta is always a winner at our place. A big bowl of borscht with beets from the garden and beef from a local farm is perfect on a cold winter night. French radishes dipped in butter and salt help us forget that we are in the middle of the rainy season. And lactino kale baked in a very hot oven become irresistable chips that go with anything. Food is such a pleasure in our home, and although our kids are not the most adventurous eaters, and if given the choice would definitely opt for anything with ketchup over a kale chip, they are happy to devour many healthy snacks that we make together.
A favorite treat in our house is homemade graham crackers. My oldest son, Gus, told me the other day in astonishment that he just discovered you could buy graham crackers! He admitted that he was given some as a snack at Summer camp, and although they were "really yummy" they were not as fun as ours that we make at home. Our homemade crackers are a staple in the kids' lunches, and have stirred a lot of interest for the recipe from teachers, parents, and other kids. So here you go, roll out some dough on a rainy day like today. Let your kitchen get messy with something you can eat instead of just the usual play dough. No matter how my kids abuse this dough with ridiculous sprinklings of flour "snow", or how ever many times they roll, cut and then roll again, these always taste great. Just make sure you dock the dough before it goes in the oven (prick it with a fork several times) to ensure the crackers bake evenly. Oh, and have the milk ready for dunking.

Graham Crackers
1 ½ C Flour
1 ¼ C Graham flour
½ tsp Salt
½ tsp Baking soda
½ tsp Cinnamon

¾ C Butter
1/3 C Sugar
¼ C Brown sugar
¼ C Honey
1 tsp Vanilla
1 Egg

Mix dry ingredients and set aside. Beat cold butter till soft. Add sugars then honey, vanilla, and finally egg. Continue to mix until egg is completely combined. Add dry ingredients to mixer and beat until fairly stiff dough forms. Wrap dough in plastic wrap and chill for several hours or overnight. Roll out dough to ¼ inch thick. Cut into 3 inch squares and bake at 350 degrees for about 15 minutes, or until dark golden brown. Note: you can play around a bit with proportions in this recipe, for example I usually use more graham flour and a little less white flour.

Peeling the Onion

When "the farm" came into our sites we were not looking for it. We simply were asked to go and visit Toby's 5th grade teacher who is married to the retired middle school librarian while we were on the island at Christmas time. The first time we drove up to the farm we thought that for sure they only lived in the little house at the top of the property and kept the big garden. We were quite surprised when we learned that they also maintained a big field and a HUGE orchard. However, the more we talked with Phil (the 5th grade teacher) and Mary (the fabulous librarian) we found ourselves warming up to the idea of buying a farm; of becoming farmers.
I first realized we were on a steep learning curve when we were faced with Summer pruning. Even if you just snip one of two branches on each tree, there are 71 trees in the orchard, it adds up to lots of time. Pruning took three weeks. Then the berries started coming. Now, I am the first person to sit down with a pint of berries and a bit of chocolate and be perfectly happy, but after the tenth pint and the fifth batch of jam you just feel full. So we started selling our berries, and then the zucchini, and then the apples and plums. And of course, we couldn't just open a little road stand, we got official: business license, website, bank account, and business cards.

All of this "growing" of the farm felt right, and I was often reminded of my college roommate's book that was gifted to her by her mother: Do What You Love and the Money Will Follow. The more we invested into the farm the more I was loving what we were doing, until the most recent issue of Brain, Child arrived in the mail. Brain, Child is one of our favorite journals and we often bemoan the moment we finish reading the current issue because it is only published quarterly and both Toby and I tend to read it in the first week of its release. In this Fall issue I stumbled upon the feature "Eco-Housewives: Enlightened Caregiver, or Feminist Nightmare?". I resisted reading the article for a day, but eventually succumbed, plowed through it, and ended up calling Toby for backup when I finished.

The main subject in the article is Shannon Hayes, a mother, farmer, and writer, http://www.shannonhayes.info/. She has "unplugged" from what she claims if the consumerism expectations of parenthood and gone a different, "enlightened" path. "These women-and men, I might add-who are stepping back ad focusing on the home as an ecological movement are stepping out of the workplace treadmill that has them slaving for wages to buy crap," Hayes says. And I say Rock On sister!
But do you have to call me a housewife? What if I wasn't married? What if I was a lesbian? So yes, I happened to end up with a pretty pedestrian resume when it came to relationship building and "growing up", but feel pissed off getting called a housewife, eco or otherwise.

We all work. Not just for a paycheck, but for a better life. A better life that is more balanced than the sit-coms that someone watches on TV. A better life that allows us to just work on being the best person we can be for our children, our significant others, our families, our communities, for ourselves. I think the thing I dislike the most about being labeled is that I do not consider myself just one thing, I am a moving target that can't be nailed by just one bullet. So now, I would like to end this entry telling you who I am, but that would just be a label.

Tilling our Earth and Finding our Groove

A few months ago I mentioned to some friends that I was "freaking" out about all of the changes we were going through; I had no idea. One of my friends spoke up that struggle is closely tied with living, and so many people just wander through, but at least we were living it. Well, if that is true we are now fully present, completely conscious, and living in the moment. I have given up listening to public radio, which is big for me, because I feel like every half hour they are highlighting our obvious struggles. We have yet to sell our home in Seattle, Toby works in the hemorrhaging financial sector, we are trying to plan out a way to live on the farm, and we are attempting to launch the farm into business that can both support and nurture us. Our struggles are not unique, but how often do you pick up the paper, listen to the radio, or, God forbid, turn to network news and feel like they are actually talking about you?

It is ironic that I don't want to be popular now, as opposed to my many late nights scheming with my teen-aged friends about how we could break through to the popular cliche. Back then I thought being on the pom-pom squad, or having the lead in the school play would change how everyone perceived me, and how I even felt about myself. Of course none of that made any difference, although I do admit it was kind of fun to wear the cheerleader outfits and sing my lungs out.

Our new cliche is the farm community here on the island. At first, I was a bit worried that farming would isolate me from the community, and I would not meet all the people on the island that are worth sharing time with. But now I see we just got elected Homecoming Queen. We are the new kids on the block, and lately it seems that just about everyone is watching our fledgling footsteps. What techniques are we employing to maintain our "crops"? Where will we sell our products; farmer's market, wholesale distributor, farm stand? Are we going to price our products according to what the market can bear, or do we just want to feed the world? And of course, every time we answer one question, a branch of the family tree of popularity is sprouted. Do we go up into the lore of the farmers everyone wants to hang with? Or do we droop down into the mucky wallows of the wanna be "hobby" farmers? And is it just okay to fall on our faces a couple of times while we sort it out?

I have been thinking a lot about the Buddhist fairy tale of the farmer and his horse. A farmer wakes up one day to find his horse has run away. His neighbors come by to say they are sorry for his bad luck. The farmer responds that maybe it is bad luck and maybe it is not. The next day the horse returns with two other wild horses, and the neighbors all congratulate him on his good luck. The farmer responds again that maybe it is good luck and maybe not. The story continues on like that until the average thinker starts to get the message that there is no luck, but there is balance in life and we need to check how we perceive things.

Gus and Freja started school recently, and they both have blossomed. Freja is just the most amazing, imaginative, and talkative two-year-old you could imagine. Gus loves kindergarten so much he does not want to leave, and is already perfecting signing his name. The farm is tons of work, and we have met a number of wonderful people who buy what we can spare, and cheer us on along the way. I got to spend the morning with a cow named Hazel, a farmer named Will, a produce maven named Norine, and a caterer named Mardi. Toby enjoys every day that he commutes by ferry, and comes home every evening with tidbits of information gleaned from the friends he has made on the boat. We received an offer on the house in Seattle, and although it is ridiculous, it is an offer.

In Seattle we had a groove that we had worn pretty deep. Here on the island, on our farm we are just scratching the surface, and already are amazed with what we have uncovered.

Take a Breath

Last night as I walked the orchard inspecting the apples, resetting insect traps, and removing the imperfect fruits for cider, the Harvest Moon rose up over me.  It made me think of a high-pressured school-reform trip I took down to San Diego when my principal launched into this story about when he tried his hand at farming.  There were about six of us around the table while he regaled how he harvested his wheat with a hand scythe under the harvest moon, naked.  About half of the teachers around the table had to pick up their jaws from the floor, and the rest of us whispered under our breath..."Cool".  Well, I didn't strip down last night, but I did pause and give thanks to the warm light that bathed the farm while I did my final clean up for the night.  And I felt a pretty strong pull from that moon; my tide is in, and it is here.

http://www.ebridant.com/images/Harvest-Moon_xxx.jpg

Ready, Set, Launch!

Yesterday we officially launched Holmestead Farms into the public arena by participating in the Vashon Farmer's Market.  The day started early with Amy carefully packing the pickup and slowly driving up to the market (she did not want to bruise one plum), while Toby played parent extraordinaire to G & F back home.  By 10 that morning the whole family was gathered at our market table underneath the chiseled driftwood sign Papa Ed made some thirty years ago that read "The Holmestead".  Gus and Freja ran around the market area selling everlasting bouquets that Shirley put together for them, while Amy and Toby helped the early, serious shoppers buy big quantities of plums, apples and raspberries.

It was a beautiful day, very social, and the day was punctuated by many a surprise visitor.  We ended up supplying the snack for the Seattle Sounders professional soccer team, reconnected with too many friends to mention, met our neighbors around the farm, and even got to see Mary.  Mary, and her husband Phil were the previous owners of the farm, and she just happened to be on the island that day.  She made a stop at the market, because it is the social place on Saturdays, and you could see the surprise in her face to see us selling the delicious apples, plums and raspberries that she and Phil worked so hard to grow and pass on to us.  She beamed with pride to see us use so many of the things they left for us, like the antique crates and boxes we used to show off the fruit.  And we were proud too, to show her that we take the land seriously, and don't just see it as "someplace" new.

All in all, we turned a small profit, even after accounting for the start up costs of business cards, a market scale, produce bags, gas, labor, and paying out a percentage of our sales to the market association.  We certainly gained more respect for the other local farmers that do this every day, and were reminded why local, organic produce costs "so much".  We hope that maybe just a few people outside of farm owners really start understanding that soon, and really start supporting us and other small, local farms with more vigor.  This week on our local public radio station they are highlighting farming in our region, and we encourage everyone to have a listen and maybe even take the time to check out the following website: 

Thanks and happy eating, plums, apples, plums, tomatoes, plums, raspberries, and plums!

The Guru and Humble Pie

I met with the premier expert in apple cultivation and propagation this past week.  His name is Robert (Bob) Norton and he happened to retire right here to Vashon.  Now, if you never heard of Dr. Norton, then you don't know your apples!  Even before we agreed on a final price for the farm the Glebs (previous owners) made us promise to track this man down, and join his "fruit club".  We smiled and agreed not understanding the half of what we were getting into!

So the fruit club is quite a thing in itself, and I think by Toby and I joining it we reduced the average age to 65; oh yes, we are the newbies.  But the age thing did not discourage us one bit!  We happily attended the annual Vashon Island Fruit Club (VIFC) potluck with homemade jams to share at the tasting table and a berry salad straight from the garden.  We did not blink when only one other parent showed up with kids (and she wasn't even a member of the club, she just came for the food), and Toby even signed up to be the clubs new treasurer.

With our foot in the door of such an austere and somewhat aloof organization we thought it was about time that we invited Dr. Norton to the orchard for a "walk".  Bob showed up right on time and proceeded to lead me down to my own orchard. (he apparently had been there many times before)  He drilled me on many of the varieties and struggled to keep up reading my "orchard map".  He deemed our orchard "starving" and lacking any significant growth.  I shied to tell him about our triumphant pruning fearing he would point to it as the culprit.  He said we had two improperly labeled trees and took samples home to try and correctly identify for us as well as a couple unknown trees.  And he showed me how many of the beautiful nearly ripe apples were actually "ruined" by cottling moth damage.  He gave a few other pointers, that I wrote down, but after about the fifth criticism I had a hard time listening.  When our hour was up I wrote him a check and he lead me out of the orchard back to his car and on his way to his next "appointment".

As he drove out of site I frantically wrote down everything I could remember from our meeting and then took a deep breath.  Not since research science in college had I been dealt so much "constructive" criticism in so little time.  It is hard to hear that something you are working so hard on is imperfect, and still needs work.  And I guess I feel better about paying him for giving me advice instead of a pat on the back for a job well done and glowing compliments.  But it is very hard to see your farm as something not totally under your control.  I certainly could not monitor each apple and shoo off any moth that came near it, or know exactly how far back on a branch to make a pruning cut.

Farming is a giant lesson in letting go, I know this, and I also know that I am a control freak.  It must be comical for some people to watch me try and do this.  However, my spirits were lifted today when I sold some berries at the Saturday market.  People were happy to see me, kids in tow, and asked about what we will be bringing to market next week.  They don't see my "office", and they don't care.  They just care about what I bring to the table to share, and I think that is really all that matters.

Still Waiting for Summer Vacation

Today I did the weekly "shopping".  As much as I would like to say we are self-sufficient, we are still a long way away; and that is okay.  I started my outing by visiting my favorite farmstand for our weekly allotment of raw milk.  My jar of milk today was so fresh they had a note included telling me that it was so freshly milked that it had not yet been totally chilled and I needed to put it to cool pronto.  I then proceeded to the "real" market, after pulling over twice to re-attach my front bumper. (long story made short: early foggy morning heading out to sell the berries and high-sided the beemer....oops)

As I walk into the only market on the island that people regularly shop at (it is somewhat of a secret that there are actually two grocery stores on the island, people seem to only shop at one of them and I have never been in the other which it practically across the street) I start saying hello to people I recognize.  I then glance at my list and get ready to b-line it to what is essential: wine, flour, and cheese.   You may pause at my list, but I can do a lot with just those things!  I rounded the bend at the first aisle and was enticed by roasted turkey at a screaming deal in the deli.  I then went looking for some aseptically sealed milk for the next power outage and was psyched to see it was on sale too.  We needed some more raisins and low and behold they were on sale too.  

And then it hit me: Tomorrow is the first day of school.  In that moment I realized that the entire store was set up like a pirate map leading us all to a successful start of the school year: yogurt cups, juice boxes, cheese slices, glue, thermoses, granola bars, and snack chips.  A few of the items I was glad to see on sale: string cheese, yogurt, and a pair of left-handed scissors for Freja, but for the most part I was saddened by the nudging of what I "needed" to start my children off right for school.  I opted for some raw-milk cheese, a few bottles of Syrah and Malbec wines, and really good goat's milk blue cheese and three bunches of fat, organic carrots.  We will eat well this first week of school, and always.

The Red Queen Theory Revised

One of my favorite evolutionary theories is the "Red Queen Theory". This was an evolutionary theory proposed in 1973 by Leigh Van Valen (great name), in which he realized that, "For an evolutionary system, continuing development is needed just in order to maintain its fitness relative to the systems it is co-evolving with". The title of the theory comes from Lewis Carroll's Through the Looking Glass when the Red Queen said, "It takes all the running you can do, to keep in the same place."

The last few days on the farm The Red Queen has been breathing down my neck. I try very hard to feel the farm vibe and tend to things as they come up, but lately I am feeling as though the competitors are co-evolving faster than me! I just got a handle on sap beetles attacking the Cascade Berries, when I discovered that the Buckley Giant apple in the orchard is suffering from "Bitter Pit".

Even just the name "bitter pit" eludes to how one feels after you see more than half the apples on a tree fail the grade for market. The thing that slayed me was that one of the causes for bitter pit is vigorous pruning the year before, which I had no control over and only learned about after I fantastically pruned the tree again this year. And oh yeah, I am only talking about one tree in the orchard, remember the mention a few posts ago about the 71 trees we have?

Here is where the running as fast as I can part comes in. I know that we have more apples than we all will know what to do with, it is just so hard to "lose" a tree, or miss a needed picking of berries to keep ahead of the pest, or to catch that zucchini and pick it before it becomes the size of a baseball bat. My struggle today is letting go of the expectation of perfection. Maybe tomorrow I will make applesauce, jam, and zucchini bread with my "rejects".

How to Get Rich Without Turning a Profit

So the peaches are definitely in, and picked, and peeled, and frozen, and canned, and eaten. What a complete surprise to get about a bushel of peaches from our few trees (five) and even after we balked at pruning them or doing any other kind of maintenance.

The last two days Gus and Freja have attended camp at Huckleberry Kids and I used the time to can, pickle, jam, or bake everything I could get my hands on. (the pickled purple cabbage from the garden was my favorite) This morning I picked more blackberries in the hopes that we will end up with enough to attempt a batch of wine along with grape wine this fall. Raspberries are just starting to ripen, and it is such a treat to have them after all the other berries we enjoyed so far.

This morning I walked the orchard to pick up ground falls and nearly blew a gasket when I found the second pear tree that has been completely ravaged by something not human. The first tree was bad enough, a strong open tree with about ten big pears, all half-eaten, still hanging from their stems. If you looked at the tree from just the right angle it looked like we had some good fruit going, until you walked around to the other side to see that each pear was a hollow shell! I quietly plucked off the skeletons and chalked it up to the necessary payment to the "garbage collectors" in this neck of the orchard. Now a second tree has been pillaged and the worst thing about it is that there was only one pear on the tree to begin with! When I found it this morning it looked like an Asian chef attempted fruit carving on the poor specimen, or that a cartoon firecracker blew out one side of the pear.
I instantly started to think of ways to thwart future attacks, because (for those of you who have not yet visited we have more than a few trees) I have put way to many hours into coddling this orchard to have some free-loaders blow it all to Valhalla. Is is wrong to want to camp out in the orchard with a bb gun, or wire a few of the most vulnerable trees with low voltage?

Then I caught myself and started adding up the cost of various ways to keep pests away, and was reminded of the $20 homegrown tomato. We are trying so hard to produce enough food to feed us and others, as if it is a money saver/money maker. Who am I kidding? We have spent about a hundred dollars in seeds and starts along this year, not to mention soil amendments, tools, pest traps, and plenty of sugar, vinegar, and pectin for all the things that come out of the garden. I guess I need to reframe my expectations away from "saving/making money" to "owning" a lifestyle change. I am no longer the city mouse curious about life outside of the neat borders of metropolis. I am the country mouse, like it some days, and maybe not so much others. We are so at peace out here (even if you do see me chasing down racoons with a shovel) and feel so much more connected to each other than we did in the city. Gus asked today if he could stay at camp after it was time to go home. I told him that I was sorry, but we had other chores to do. He smiled and said, "Then lets get going!" and that is just what we did.

A Petition for More Hours in the Day

There just never seems to be enough time to enjoy all the moments in the day. Today we begrudgingly left Cousins Camp 2008 up on Whidbey Island, rode home with kids napping on ferries. Arrived back at the farm to visit with the girls, pick a LOT of peaches, collect the daily offerings from the garden (raspberries, zucchinis, beans, herbs, and logan and cascade berries, and cabbages), and give everything and everyone a good drink of water. Then it was back home to the rental for dinner while watching a bit of olympics and then bed for the G and F. I am just tired typing it all! Here are a few pics of us out and about doing our thing:

Robert Frost Peach

Today I took a break from chores and enjoyed the first ripe peach from the orchard. I sat next to Darwin under the tree and tried to really taste each bite and enjoy the juice dripping down my chin. I then looked up that this very tree and started to count all the peaches that remained to be picked and noticed that some of them are very high up in the tree. I then looked around the whole orchard, all 71 trees, and started to realize that even though Summer's harvest is in full swing, this is the calm before the storm.
I used to read a lot of Robert Frost; Mending Wall is probably my favorite of his. He wrote a short poem about apples that I never paid much mind to, but now I am thinking about getting it tattooed across the back of my sunburned neck:

For I have had too much
Of apple-picking: I am overtired
Of the great harvest I myself desired.

Here are all the different varieties of fruit trees in the orchard:

Frost Peach

Italian Plum
Santa Rosa Plum
Brooks Plum
Beauty Plum

Pear:
Bosc
Chojuro
Nitaka
Ubileen
Bennett
Bartlet
Sirrine
Orcas
Concorde
Wenatchee Gold
Highland

Apples:
Striped Gravenstein
Red Gravenstein
Williams Pride
Chehalis
Glowing Coal
Blushing Golden
Melrose
Akane
Spartan
Buckley Giant
Boskoop
Sunrise
Stayman Winesap
Baldwin
Keepsake
Bleniem Orange
Honeycrisp
Hudson's Gem
Bramley's Seedling
Jonagold
Aroma
Spitzenburg
Sweet Sixteen
EasyGro
Cox Orange Pippen

Planting by the planets

We are trying our best to be the busy ants this summer, and not the lazy grasshopper. Mary and Phil, the previous owners of the farm, left us in great shape, and much of what we do on a daily basis is maintaining their hard work. As some of you may not know I have farming in my blood, but not so much dirt under my nails. However, being the scientist that I am, I hit the books and honed in on a few "styles" of farming to guide us through at least this first year.

My first resource was our local Seattle Tilth, which provided us with a basic calendar of what to plant when living here in the Pacific Northwest. But I ended up feeling a bit overwhelmed at the start of each month staring down a list of all these plants that I could put in the ground, so I looked up the philosophy of Biodynamics. Okay, for those of you who know this philosophy I can see you nodding your heads, and for those of you who do not know what I am talking about, try to suspend your disbelief while I explain.

Biodynamics is a way of planting, growing, and reaping according to the allignment of the Moon, Sun, and all the planets. They classify all plants into four categories: Leaf, Flower, Fruit, and Root. And there is a calendar published that tells you when to plant each type of plant by the hour. (yes I just wrote hour) Being the curious scientist, I just had to try out a combo of both the Tilth's general suggestions on types of plants with the Biodynamic calendar of specifically when to put them in the ground. Here are some of the results: Peas sprouting after 7 days, and rutabaga after two weeks in the ground.

In, Out, and Around the Garden

We "completed" the worm bin today, and it is HUGE. Toby did a great job sticking to the task of building is 99% from scraps found on the farm. This morning Gus and Freja helped to rip up lots of newspaper and gather a good amount of old chicken straw to provide a soft bed for worms. We then hightailed it over to our friend Cheryl's house and absconded with a bowl full of wrigglers. We gave them lots of stinky compost to munch on and hope that they take to their new home. In the end, if we are lucky, we will close one more loop of consumerism in our lives and give back to the garden that which is gives to us: food.

Summer Vacation?

We took a short break for a day to remember our anniversary and celebrate Toby's birthday. (29 + a few)
It was hard to look away for a couple of days, and even though we gave ourselves permission to take a break for even longer the siren song of the farm called us back. (and no I did not choose the wrong metaphor, sometimes I feel like I am hurtling ever closer to the rocks)

Tonight we worked together as a family, and shared dinner on the farm as well. The kids are starting to get the hang of hanging; today they listened to a book on tape while picked berries. And after dinner much fun was had chasing chickens, watering the orchard, and generally goofing around.

The big news is that we ate our first fruit from the orchard today. I was desperate to show G & F that all our pruning, watering, and refusing to allow tree climbing had paid off, and finally I was validated. We ate three plums that were the most delicious things I think I ever could claim credit for. We did a dance and thanked everything and everyone for them. Yum!

Holding Our Feet to the Fire

We found the Lacanche!  We found the beautiful French Range!  We honed in on our next great kitchen monument!

For those of you who are new to the scene of our local, organic, seasonal food obsession, we will bring you up to date.

Amy started reconstructing our eating habits shortly after the arrival of August (Gus); realizing that it is one thing to feed yourself, but another to feed your child.  She started a mad pursuit of honing her cooking skills, tracking seasonal produce and dairy, and tracking down the best tools of the trade.  One day she stumbled upon a "French Range" posting on Craigslist and her curiosity was peaked.  Turns out the range is made by a small company in France called Lacanche, and the design has changed minimally over the many decades that they have been hand crafted.  

She did not successfully snag that first range she saw on Craigslist, but made sure to not miss the second, which then led to an entire kitchen remodel of their Seattle home.  Of course as these things always play out, the week after the range was in the perfect place with the dynamite hood over it, Amy and Toby decided to by the farm here on Vashon.  It was with a heavy heart that Amy said good bye to her "black beauty" and tried to be positive about finding a new range for the farm.

Shortly after moving into their temporary rental on the island, and cooking on an "average" range, Amy had a fit and contacted the only US importer of Lacanche. (which just happens to be here in Western Washington)  She explained to them her love of food and the vision for the Holmestead.  The fairy-godmother turned marketing director, Molly, heard Amy's cry and helped her find just the right range, even better than what they had in Seattle.  

So here are the first pictures that Amy snapped when she saw it for the first time in the warehouse.  It has the same five burner set up as their range in Seattle, but more safety features (great when you have two curious toddlers), a warming oven, and it is "British Racing Green".  All the gauges are metric, which is perfect for an ex-science teacher turned cook, and the top is a solid french top styling.

So now we are going to build a farm around a range, instead of just a kitchen as we did in Seattle.  Are we crazy?  If we are, at least we are happy crazy!

Who wants to attend the first dinner party?

Kids in the Field

Gus shows off a not-quite-ripe Cascade berry in the garden. We had just spent the morning biking at the park and the kids were taking a berry break before we did more work in the orchard. We planted two rows of peas today and will plant more in another two weeks. We like how the kids ask, before picking berries, "Is this for market or can we eat some now?"

Freja enjoying her round of berries. The raspberries are just starting to come in, which is really late for Vashon, but the crop looks like it will be sufficiently large.

The kids are not always happy to do chores around the Farm.