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.