Off Topic: Dinner Drama

Does anyone else feel like preparing dinner is like being on one of those competitive cooking shows? I swear that some nights (like tonight) I hear Ted Allen’s always-charming voice inside my head...

 

 

 

Ted: Contestants, open your baskets! Tonight you must prepare dinner with… (dramatic pause)…

 

1. Bone-In, Skin-On Chicken that you bought because it was cheap and now is threatening to spoil if you don’t cook it soon
2. Pasta, because you served rice last night and one of your kids would rather NOT eat potatoes
3. A completely filthy kitchen, with at least two loads of dirty dishes sitting around

 

You Have 30 Minutes. Please begin!

 

 

 

Judge 1: Oh, the producers have a bit of a sadistic streak tonight, eh? I mean, after the long day she had today, they give her bony chicken AND dirty dishes all over the prep table? Ouch!

 

Judge 2: Chicken leg quarters are inexpensive and low quality. But more importantly, they take at least an hour to roast in the over, and she only has HALF that time!

 

Judge 3: I agree, and Farmer is at a real disadvantage here. She will HAVE to bone out and skin that chicken if she’s going to finish in time, and she has only the smallest of experience butchering birds. Her real talent is disassembling pork. Couldn’t we cut her a break and give her more time?

 

Ted: No chance. Those kids have school in the morning, and they need to get up early. Besides, there is no doubt some homework that has yet to be completed, so she’s gotta get them fed so she can discover it. Wow! Look at her washing the dishes while the pasta-water boils! Excellent time management!!

 

 

 

25.5 Minutes Later:

 

 

 

Ted: The clock is running down. The table is nearly set, and the hubby is starting to circle. Water glasses are filled… She’s draining the pasta… Wait! The Hubby just called the kids to the table! They’ve come running and the dish isn’t assembled yet! Look at those faces staring into the kitchen as she stirs the sauce into the noodles…

 

Judge 2: Get it served… GET IT SERVED!!

 

Ted: AAAAANNNNDDD…. Time’s Up. Please step away.

 

 

 

Me: Whew. Hope you like it.

 

Family: MMmmm…

 

 

And Then the Cycle Repeats....

 

Off Topic: The Mouse

By popular demand (and with apologies to Edgar Allen Poe):

"The Mouse"
by Mrs. Farmer

Lazy morning, warm and cozy

Back to bed but not quite dozing
Not a worry, work would not begin for several hours more
Wood fire blazing, blanket calling
Kids at school, ambition stalling
Back to sleep I'll soon be falling
Nothing on TV and damn the chores.



Heard a noise, but not above me
Through the pillow, thinking, "Lovely,
What on Earth is scurrying down below me on the bedroom floor?"
Through the window, sunlight streaming
Wondering if I might be dreaming
Across my head it ran- I'm screaming!
Sat straight up, but still He snores.



Convinced that it was just not real
'Twas not a mouse, a phantom feel
So I rested back upon my pillow undisturbed once more
Heard the noise again and sat up
Saw the mouse this time, and spat up
Wouldn't believe how fast I got up
Grabbed my gear and made for the door.

***

Well, that's the story of the mouse running across my head as I slept a couple weeks ago. I hope eveyone had a nice Thanksgiving!!

Cooking: Apple FrankenPie

Many years ago, when I was starting to get to the age where it was difficult to guess what kind of gifts I might like, my mother asked we what I would like for my birthday. I pointed out, "Pampered Chef makes a beautiful stoneware pie plate. It even comes in my color, Cobalt Blue!" It was indeed beautiful- and expensive. It was certainly something that I wouldn't be able to afford to buy myself at the time. So, naturally, my mother replied, "Yes, but what would you like for your birthday?"


Of course I did receive the coveted pie plate for my birthday (my mother loves me that much!), and I love it. Mr. Farmer has made many chicken pies in it, to the delight of all, and I have even made use of it a few times myself. For the first few years it sat in a place of honor- as much decoration as useful kitchen item. Yesterday I made an apple pie in it.

No, I will not be posting the recipe. I used several different recipes from the Joy of Cooking (1979 Edition) to make this particular FrankenPie. I used one pie crust recipe for the bottom (it came up too dry and a little bit short of the top - thank goodness no one will see that ugliness once it is baked). I used the measurements for sugar, starch, and seasoning for the filling, but more apples than prescribed since it was such a deep dish. Determined not to come up short on the top crust, I used a double recipe of a different variety for the top crust. It was still unbelievably dry, and I had to almost double the recommended water to be able to roll it out. I have quite a bit left over.

In the end, however, the pie came out pretty and delicious, and I guess that is all that matters, right?

Happy Fall, Everyone!

Pigs: Skin and Bones

I'm going to have a hard time getting out of bed tomorrow.

We roasted a half-pig in the smokehouse for the Fourth of July, and the other half has been hanging ever since. Things have been busy this past week, and the second half had not been processed. Mr. Farmer just didn't have time, so the job fell to me.  

Men generally handle the skinning around here. They skin deer and pigs and sometimes various fowl, if they don't feel like dealing with feathers. We have a friend who can dress and skin a deer in under a half an hour. He can do it in twenty minutes if it is hung at the right height and his knives are sharp. I guess this is a skill that comes from practice, however. Today I learned that skinning is HARD WORK.

I've never skinned anything before, and skinning, like butchering, can't really be learned from books. Sure, the background helps, but you never really get it until someone puts a knife in your hand and says, "Go to it!" So I did. I put the half-pig on the counter and started trying to peel away the skin. The edges had sealed to the fat as they dried, and it was hard to get the angle right even to get it started. I had to turn it several times and contort my body in ways I didn't know I could just to get the knife in where I needed it. In short, it was a nightmare.

Nearly an hour later, the skin was off and I could get to butchering. I boned the entire thing, including a very tricky shoulder blade. Mr. Farmer said I did nice work, but it sure felt like a lot of exertion for only a few pounds of meat! My neck aches, my back is burning, and I feel like I could go to bed now!

Well, now it is time for a prophylactic dose of Aleve. Mr. Farmer is going to reward me by cooking the remaining fresh ham on the grill tomorrow. I can't wait!

Gardening: Mum Mum's Day!

It is a generally accepted rule of thumb that it is not a good idea to buy women gifts that represent work. Vacuum cleaners, stoves and the like are generally frowned upon. To a woman who enjoys gardening, however, a live, plantable flower is far superior to the gift of the kind that dies slowly in a vase. My children did well in purchasing a beautiful flowering mum (or, since I am traditionally called "Mum Mum," a beautiful flowering mumumumumum) as my Mother's Day gift.


After enjoying my breakfast in bed(with company), I went straight to work on it. Sunshine is scarce here in the woods, so the only available sunny bed outside the herb and vegetable gardens is at the base of the so-called "mother-in-law rock" at the end of my driveway. (Mother-in-Law Rocks are so called because of the propensity of visiting relatives to knick the marker boulders with their bumpers when they cut the corner too close when departing.) The rock, however, had not been painted in years, and was faded, dirty, and covered with mold. Likewise, the small bed was full of small stones, weeds, and roots from a nearby tree. There was a lot to be done.

I started by repainting the rock. I scrubbed the mold off with a brush and bucket, and I knocked off as much of the old, flaking paint as possible. Mr. Farmer located a small can of leftover white paint from some previous project, but other supplies were lacking. So, like with most spur-of-the-moment projects, I improvised. A disposable takeout container from some Chinese food made a suitable paint tray. There were no large paintbrushes available, so I used a rag made from an old towel. In no time, the rock was sparkling white on the flat side that faced the road.

Next I had to see to the bed itself. I dug out what seemed like miles of roots and sifted out the driveway stones that had been splashed into the bed. I repaired the stone wall. I dug a deep hole on one side of the bed, and lined the bottom with straw, as suggested by Mr. Farmer. I set in the beautiful, flowering mum(mum) and backfilled it with aged pig manure. I leveled the dirt, touched up the paint, and the job was done.

Now this is the beautiful sight that greets me when I come home from work in the evening:

I Can't Wait to Choose the Flowers for
the Other Side of the Bed!

Life Is Good: Breakfast in Bed? No, Thanks.

HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY!


I know my blog appeals to women and mothers in addition to others that are interested in the Rural Arts, so I'm going to step off topic a little today, if you will indulge me. The tradition of serving dear old Mom breakfast in bed on Mother's Day is sweet and quaint. The idea behind it, I suppose, is that Mom probably makes breakfast (or at least coffee) for everyone in the house every day for a large number of years. Therefore, on her special day, she should be treated not only to a breakfast that she did not prepare, nor needs to clean up, but that she should not even need to tidy up her appearance or even so much as get out of bed to enjoy it.

But wait- Shouldn't I enjoy it? Shouldn't I be pleased that I get to eat a hot breakfast on a Sunday morning? Shouldn't I be overjoyed that I get to sleep in a little and still eat breakfast long before noon? After all, if I wanted to make a hot breakfast on a Sunday morning I would first have to clean up the kitchen, wash up and get dressed, deal with whatever drama the kids could create during that time, and then feed everyone else their hot breakfast before I could eat mine. This is the reality of Sunday Morning Hot Breakfast on any of the other 51 of the year. The reality of Mother's Day Breakfast in Bed is a little different.

Mother's Day morning, on more than one occasion, I have been awakened by the well-meaning giggles of little children. It doesn't take long to figure out what they are up to, so I stay in bed. I can't sleep well, since it is somewhat late in the morning already and there is much clinking of glasses and banging of pots and pans, but I stay put. I strain to hear what is going on- desperate to discern something that assures me that there is adult supervision in that kitchen. I doze off a little, wait a little, and doze off for a while longer. Then, when the meal and small, darling, hand-made gifts arrive, everyone wishes me a Happy Mother's Day...

AND LEAVES.

Suddenly I am alone. Father and the children eat their breakfast at the dining table, quietly so as not to disturb me. I have adorable little cards or paper cups with precious little sprouted pea plants in them, a hot breakfast, a steaming cup of tea, and no one to enjoy it with!

Many years ago I explained this to my family. I made them bring their breakfasts along and we all had a picnic in my bed. On Mother's Day, the last thing I want is to be alone. Before my daughter was born, I was so excited for my "day off." I couldn't wait for that day in the hospital where the nurses would take care of the 2nd child, my parents would take care of the first, and I would sit back, enjoy the quiet, and rest. By 10 am that morning I was crazy with loneliness and boredom. I wanted my crazy toddler to chase around! Having a day off on a day when the kids are in school is the same: If Mr. Farmer is out and about, it isn't long before the empty house seems... well... empty.

So children young and old I implore you: DO NOT abandon your mother in her bed alone with a tray of food on Mother's Day. Eat quietly with her. Tell her happy stories about how you made the breakfast or the paper-doily greeting card. Joke and laugh and say kind things to your siblings in front of her so she feels like she brought you up right.

Then do the dishes.

Homemade English Muffin and Tea

UPDATE: The kids did great. I got my breakfast in bed, with company. Little Miss Farmer was her usual clever self, Young Master Farmer did the cooking, and they both (via Mr. Farmer) got me a beautiful flower to plant. I had a blast playing in the dirt and making the bed at the end of the driveway beautiful. What a perfect Mother's Day!

Cooking: Super Hero Potato Salad

This is Super Hero Potato Salad because making it made me feel like a little bit of a hero(ine). You see, Waste is Gluttony's ugly twin brother (or at least that cousin that always ends up in the shadows in family photos), earning him a spot among the 7 Deadly Sins as far as I'm concerned. When I made this Potato and Egg Salad, I saved red potatoes that were starting to sprout, celery that I accidentally put on the top shelf of the refrigerator that partially froze, and the hard boiled eggs that didn't peel pretty enough to be pickled. Rescuing those perishables makes me their savior, right? Ok, so if you have little kids, feel free to tell them you are making "Super Hero Potato Salad" just to get them to try something new. I won't tell.



Family/Party Size (I always cook this way. Sorry.)

3 lbs red potatoes, cubed small & boiled (peel if you like- I'd rather not)
4-6 stalks celery, chopped
6-8 hard boiled eggs, chopped
fresh chives, snipped
1 cup mayonnaise (Wanna make your own? Here's how!)
1 tbs prepared mustard
1 tsp salt
1 tsp granulated garlic
1/4 tsp cayenne or hot paprika (skip this if you used spicy brown mustard)

Quick Method

Cube the potatoes small and boil in salted water until just soft and not too starchy.
Drain, then plunge into cold water. Drain again.
Toss together potatoes, celery, eggs, and chives.
Chill thoroughly.
Gently fold in mayo, mustard & seasonings.
Chill again or serve. Don't leave out more than an hour, unless you can sit the bowl in a bigger bowl full of ice. Mayo can be a breeding ground for bacteria that causes a large amount of food-borne illness.

Chives:
The first to show up to the party, and the last to leave!

Cooking: Hard Candy Improvements

Ok, broken glass candy (recipe here) is fun, pretty easy to make, and inspires happy memories for lots of people. Still, I find it difficult to eat and messy to transport. So, over the past few months I have been trying to come up with a better shape for the candy that doesn't require me to hand roll the candy into balls. I tried some silicone molds, but the pieces were just too big. I tried to pour the candy in straight rows, which is tricky to do, then score it with a knife and break apart after it has cooled, but that still resulted in a sharp edge.

Then one day, inspired by a cooking show that showed commercial candies being made in molds made of pressed cornstarch, I decided to try that method- replacing the corn starch with confectioner's sugar. The process is very simple: I dumped a few cups of powdered sugar onto a hoagie serving tray that I kept just in case it might come in handy one day. Then I pressed circles into the sugar with the back end of my pestle (you know, that thing you use to grind spices with by hand), which was far easier to use than my thumb. I made them at varying distances apart from one another, and I found that the closer they are together, the better. Then I just drizzled the candy into the individual cavities. Once they cooled, I shoveled them into a flour sifter to remove the excess sugar, and put the sugar away for the next run.

There are a few drawbacks. For example, my wrist was a little tired after all that pouring. And not every drop came out perfect, but it is still far better than a whole load of sharp-edged candy. My regular recipe of candy make enough drops to fill two huge catering platters- probably 4 or 5 standard cookie sheets. But the feel of the candy in your mouth is amazing- smooth on one side, and slightly rough on the side that touched the sugar. It still has that homemade look without all the discomfort. I think this is a great improvement!

Pigs: The Man Returns

Our goals in our little family farm have never been to upset anyone. We raise animals for the sake of a better product- an exceptional (yet affordable) food source. We do it as an assertion of our independence and proof of our ability to survive. And yes, we do it because we can- for bragging rights. Of course we always knew that there would be some upturned noses by the people who prefer not to know from where their food comes, but the kind of persecution we have faced lately goes far beyond the consternation of the squeamish few. This is personal.


Sunday evening, while walking the dog we were babysitting, I saw that one of the slaughter pigs was grievously injured. She had somehow gotten her hip hung up on a protrusion in a fencepost and tore a foot-long, two inch deep gash in her ham. The slice went through skin, fat, and meat. It was too deep to use the liquid bandage and too wide to sew. So, to cut our losses to a spoiled ham versus a completely spoiled pig, I delayed our dinner guests, and we prepared to put her down immediately.

It screamed. The process is usually quick and quiet. A single, small caliber round to the head, followed by a cut in the throat, a couple squirts of blood, a few kicks, and it is over in a minute or two. This pig, however, screamed. It screamed loud and long, during dinner hour, on a mild-temperatured evening, on a holiday weekend. Someone called the police.

When my parents and several of Pennsylvania's Finest arrived, I showed my guests inside to relax before dinner while Mr. Farmer apologized for the noise and explained what had happened. Once they saw the animal and heard the explanation, they seemed satisfied and went on their way. We had a lovely dinner and my mother seemed pleased with her birthday tulips. The adrenaline wore off sometime well after midnight, and I was finally able to sleep.

Sadly, it was not over. Two days later, more law enforcement arrived. This time they were investigating a complaint of animal cruelty. Mr. Farmer confidently showed the officers to the well-maintained pen with large water barrels being filled constantly with fresh running water. They could easily see that the pigs had ample space, food, water, and shelter. Then, out of nowhere, one of the six-week-old piglets wandered out into the open with a severe gash in its belly and entrails hanging out. We fear that the sudden disruption from the arrival of the unexpected visitors while the pigs were eating may have caused it to get trampled. That surely did not help our case any.

Later that night, the police arrived again. This time they were questioning us about a hysterical neighbor. Cars had been racing around our usually-quiet neighborhood. Someone leaned on a car horn at 9:30 at night. The neighbor was repeatedly screaming, "why are you on my property?" to no one in particular. The whole thing was very strange, and we assured the officer that we didn't know anything about it, except that we had been outside because we were helping a friend move into a new house up the street. We were being targeted because of the previous days' events.

So, the pigs are on the move again. Some are off to the Beta site where they spent last summer. Others are are on their way to what we'll call the Gamma site, another suburban farm where a few of our other pigs currently reside as a result of a previous sale. We're downsizing. There are still four to slaughter and the three breeders whose fate is still unknown. These are dark times for us; I am thankful that we have friends and supporters who stepped up to help us with this catastrophe.

Pigs: Wilma's Second Litter

We were pretty close on our estimation of Wilma's due date. We had been on piglet watch all week. All the signs were there. She was very hungry and thirsty. Her milk sacks were full, and her belly nearly touched the ground when she walked. The day before she delivered, she bit two other pigs that were contesting her supreme rulership of the water barrell. We had predicted that Wilma would deliver the second week of January; she gave us 10 piglets on January 8, 2012.

Piglet Cuddling with Wilma

Wilma is proving to be a fine, solid breeder. Her first litter came in the night while we were home relaxing. Mr. Farmer and Young Master Farmer went to feed and water her and there they were! This second litter came with just as little excitement. She just settled into a corner of the hut and started popping them out, one after another. I watched many of them being born, including a breach that was out and on the ground before I could say, "Oh, no! That's a foot!" The entire process was drama-free and incident free.

The only difficulties came from the remaining pigs from the first litters. They were only mildly curious while Wilma did her thing, and they did not bother her. Still, Mr. Farmer was concerned; so as I watched the little piggies come out one by one in the freezing cold, Mr. Farmer closed off the larger pigs into a separate part of the enclosure. By nightfall, however, they became restless and unhappy. Pigs are social animals and do not like to be separated from one another. So, to keep the peace, he allowed them to be together for the night. He closed in the third side of the hut and put up fence rails on the fourth. He fed and watered Wilma inside her cage, and it seemed to be working well to keep the others out without making them feel separated.

The following morning, one of the rails was down and one of the piglets had a cut on its head from being knocked by it. Wilma had forced her way out (or a younger pig forced its way in). Mr. Farmer repaired the rails and added a door to let Wilma in and out. The younger pigs found there way in anyway (over the rails this time), and sometime over the following night, two piglets were lost. Crushing deaths are not unusual with pigs, but we were pretty upset since we didn't lose any at all from the first two litters in the summer.

Several days later, we had another casualty. One of the piglets had a significant injury. A flap of skin covering a quarter of its belly was hanging loose. We brought it inside to see if we could stitch it up, but the wound was too far healed to sew and appeared to be infected. It could not be saved, so we put it down so that it would not die of starvation or further maiming. That leaves 7 piglets.

The babies are starting to wean now, and all but one of the males have been castrated. They are putting on weight quickly, as they should. And, of course, they are cute...

Piglets Pestering Mamas

Pigs: More Fun with Castrations

WARNING: PHOTO BELOW IS SOMEWHAT GRAPHIC. (Post is not.)

Mr. Farmer: Aww... you ruined your yoga pants!
Mrs. Farmer: Nah... it's just a little blood. It will wash out.

That's right, it's castration time again. Wilma's second litter was 18 days old today. Since I was off work and Young Master Farmer had a short day because of mid-terms at school, we finally got down to the business that various emergencies had caused us to put off. We castrated 3 of the 4 males, leaving the last for possible breeding stock for another location.

Averaging 12.5 pounds each, the piglets were, once again, very strong for their size. I held the first, a white, spotty, splotchy little guy, while Young Master Farmer assisted and Mr. Farmer performed the operation. But the process was a little slow, and I soon tired. My right arm, holding the critical back feet, started to ache, then go weak. I could feel the blood draining out of my face as I held on as best I could, and dizziness soon set in. In the end, I had to ask Young Master Farmer to take the back feet while Mr. Farmer finished up, cleaned the wound, and applied the liquid bandage. It was exhausting!

The second and third castrations went better. Young Master Farmer took my position in the chair and held the squirmy piglets by the legs, while I assisted with the head and repositioned him as needed. The operations went fairly smoothly, and Young Master Farmer managed to avoid getting bitten by the sows when snatching the piglets from the pen.

Once again, when all was finished, we were tired and dirty- except for Mr. Farmer, of course, who was as clean as any vet would be after performing surgery. When I went for my shower afterward, I started by pre-washing the blood spots on my pants. I then found that I had a matching blood spot on my leg (yuck!) and dirt on me in places I couldn't believe those muddy little pig feet could have reached! I believe Young Master Farmer still has a muddy smudge on his face that I can't explain either. But the job is done, and we can move on to the next project.

It's a Dirty Job, but Someone's Gotta Do it!

Thrift: The Homemade Shampoo Experiment

Several months back, my dear friend Jenn posted a hilarious blog entry about getting sucked into purchasing an overpriced haircare product. At the time I seemed to be getting hit from all sides with haircare: she was bewailing how hers failed, and a number of other blogs I read were going on and on about homemade shampoo and conditioner. I'm a creature of Habit, but I am also a creature of Thrift. So when multiple blogs featuring women with many different hair types exclaimed that shampoo and conditioner could be replaced with water, vinegar, and baking soda, I just HAD to try it.

The recipe was simple:

Rinse out the last shampoo bottle you will ever buy. Add 2 tablespoons of vinegar. Fill the rest of the way with warm water. Shake. Rinse out the last conditioner bottle you will ever buy. Add 2 tablespoons of baking soda. Fill the rest of the way with warm water. Shake. Use as you would normally, skipping the lather step, of course.  That's Strike One for most people: You have to do a little work. It took about 2 minutes, so it wasn't really a negative for me.

The premise sounded too good to be true:

For pennies a month, your hair will be as clean and manageable as it was when you used commercial shampoo. There will be no chemicals on your hair or going into the ground. You will make less waste because you won't be throwing out bottles.

How it worked:

My hair was clean! I have fine, oily, poker straight, dark blonde/light brown hair. After using the homemade combo, my hair was as fluffy and oil-free as it is after using shampoo. I did not experience the static-cling fly aways that conditioner usually handles for me either. In short, it was pretty good! It did not leaving me smelling like vinegar at all. I did not tell Mr. Farmer that I was doing it, and he never knew until I told him.

Why I'm not still doing it:

I remember a very long lecture in high school about the American fascination with scented products. Some report or other determined that more than half of Americans choose their shampoo by scent alone. Another quarter or so choose them by other subjective factors, like how their hair feels while using it and after using it, the brand name sounding luxurious, and the like. In my case, however, it was largely a comfort issue.

It didn't take long for me to get used to squirting a runny liquid over my head instead of lathering. The results were good, and bubbles just end up in your eyes anyway. My problem was with Day Two, Three, Four, etc. You see, on the first day, when you make your products, you mix them with warm water, and go take a shower. After your shower, you stow them in the corner of your bathtub, or in my case, the floor behind the toilet (remember, I was trying to see if Mr. Farmer noticed a smell, so I didn't want to let on that I was doing it). Both the tub and the bathroom floor get cool when not in use. So, on the second day, I get into my hot, steamy shower, get wet and warm, then squirt a generous amount of freezing cold, vinegar-infused water over my head. EEK! Then I rinsed that out quickly, warmed up again, and had to repeat the process with freezing cold, baking soda-infused water.  The shock was terrible, and it made the chore of showering almost unbearable.

And did I mention:

...that for the past 17+ years, ever since Mr. Farmer introduced it to me, I have been using a shampoo and conditioner that top out at $1.29 a bottle? In fact, this stuff routinely goes on sale in my area for as low as $0.69 a bottle! I think it is OK to splurge on this less than two dollar a week luxury for the sake of not squirting ice-cold liquid over my head twice a day.

I can afford this small luxury.

Your mileage may vary, of course. But for me, it just isn't worth it. Of course, if I run out of shampoo, I am never out of luck!

Pigs: The Coughing Pig

I was really excited about going to the Pennsylvania Farm Show. I have watched it on television a number of times and really enjoyed it. Mr. Farmer looked at it as part research for a possible entry next year and part family vacation. I didn't even mind that the distance meant that I would have to get out of bed at 3 am to leave at 4 am so that we wouldn't miss the early morning pig exhibits that Mr. Farmer wanted to see. I even begged someone at work to cover my shift that day so that I could go. One of the pigs had other ideas.

A certain black and white pig started coughing about a week prior to the Farm Show. With Wilma expecting, Mr. Farmer wasted no time in finding the culprit. One morning, all the pigs came running out to be fed as always- except one. The last one wandered out, glassy-eyed and visibly thinner than the rest. So he did what any pig-farmer would do: He injected the sick pig with strong antibiotics, and he added a prophylactic dose to the drinking water for the others.

It was too late, however. The sick pig needed a second dose injected, and Mr. Farmer couldn't bring himself to potentially infect the prize pigs at the Farm Show if he himself carried the illness. So, instead of getting up at 3 am, slogging through a cup of tea and fighting to stay awake on a 4 hour drive to Harrisburg, I slept in until past 8 am and... well, that's the story I sat down to write for you just now.

Mr. Farmer's syringe looks like something out of a cartoon. It is an old-fashioned, reusable glass monster with metal rings on it so that you can keep a good grip. He told everyone how he bent a needle doing the first injection, so I figured that maybe those rings were a good idea. The large size allowed him to overfill it a bit, which also turned out to be a good idea...

You see, the first dose was a big help, and while the coughing continued, the pig was feeling better. He was so much better, in fact, that Mr. Farmer knew he was going to need assistance holding him still for the injection. So Young Master Farmer and I put on warm clothes, gloves for better grip, and gear that could get muddy, and went along to assist. Mr. Farmer dumped some food on the ground, we identified the sick pig, and Young Master Farmer grabbed him by the leg. The other pigs were too busy eating to pay any mind, and the sick pig wasn't well enough to squeal or scream. After some shuffling for position, I was able to grab the other leg and hold on. Once I had a good grab I dug my back foot in to keep the kicking from pushing me backwards, and I told Mr. Farmer that we were ready.

The rest of the process was a blur- literally. My hat slipped down over my one eye, but with both hands on the pig's ankle and Mr. Farmer already wiping off the ham with rubbing alcohol, adjusting it just wasn't an option. I held on as best I could, dug in, and waited for the all-clear signal. Out of one eye, under the bottom edge of my hat, I could see the medicine come back out of the needle-stick, then a little blood, then the bent needle going for a second stick, then more liquid running down the hind end of the pig. After what felt like five minutes, Mr. Farmer stepped back and young Master Farmer and I could let go. The sick pig went back to eating as if nothing had happened, in spite of the trickle of blood and extra antibiotic running down its leg.

As with any interaction that involves holding pigs still, there were the usual repercussions. The aching back kicked in just after we came home from the evening out, and I took a few pills before I went to bed. My clothes stayed pretty clean, but my rubber clogs have seen better days. They served me well, though, and I am pleased to announce that all pigs have a clean bill of health once again.

This Kind of Thing is Bound to Happen

Cooking: Homemade Hard Candy

If you follow my Twitter or Facebook, you already know that I burned myself making candy this year. I was testing for "crack," that magical (ok, it's science, not magic) change from gooey melted sugar to hard, suckable candy. I dipped a spoon in the goo, waited a couple seconds, then touched it with my finger (better test method described below). IT. WAS. HOT. I blew on it. The goo stuck to my finger and continued to burn me. I knew I had to get it off. So I did what any panicked, burning, too-proud-to-yell-for-help woman would do: I put my finger in my mouth. In my haste, I smeared some of the burning sugar on my upper lip. I quickly put my burning finger under the cold running water in the sink. I burn myself all the time. I'm a pro at this. The relief flooded over me. That was when I realized that my lip was burned. I guess the endorphins kept me from feeling it right away. As soon as I was able, I looked in the mirror to see what looked like a herpes blister on my upper lip. Four days before Christmas. Great.

This is my second year of making hard candy, and I think I have it down now. My first two batches burned this year, much to the dismay of Little Miss Farmer and the delight of the local wildlife who enjoyed licking the burnt sugar off a rock in my yard. Then I located the recipe I used last year and had much better success. Here's what worked for me:

Ingredients

2 cups white sugar
1 cup water
3/4 cup light corn syrup
flavorings (optional)*
food coloring (optional)
confectioners' sugar

*Flavorings that have worked for me:

• Mild Ginger Flavor - 1/2 tsp ground ginger
• Sweet Cinnamon - 1 tsp ground cinnamon
• Peppermint - 1 tsp peppermint extract
• Fruity - one (0.15 oz) packet of unsweetened drink mix, any flavor (adds color, too!) 

Directions

In a heavy 2 quart saucepan, combine the sugar, water and corn syrup. Cook, stirring constantly until the sugar is dissolved; then cook without stirring, lowering the heat and cooking more slowly during the last few minutes (seriously, do not rush it; sugar burns easily!), to the hard crack stage (EVERY recipe I have seen calls for 300-310 degrees F, but at my altitude, it is about 250 degrees F). An easy (and safe!) way to check for crack is to dip the tip of a dinner knife into the the candy, then plunge into ice water for a few seconds. If it is ice cold and rock hard like a lollipop, but not sticky, you're there.

Remove from heat, add flavoring and enough food coloring to color; stir only to mix. Pour into a cookie sheet or shallow baking dish that has been generously dusted with powdered sugar. Allow to cool slightly, score with a butter knife, and allow to cool completely. (Many people skip this step, but I find little squares more attractive than the "shards of glass" look accomplished by the traditional method of allowing it to cool then hitting it with a hammer.)

I'm not sure if dusting the top helps or not, but I did it...

Break the bits apart after it is completely cooled. Who am I kidding? Some of it is going to look like broken glass no matter how you do it. Toss in a small amount of powdered sugar to keep it from sticking together.

Now the hard part... try to keep the kids out of it!

Merry Christmas!

From my family to yours, a very Merry Christmas.  Thank you for your support and kind comments through the year. All the best to you.

Peace and Joy,
Mrs. Farmer
Mr. Farmer
Young Master Farmer
Little Miss Farmer

Gardening: Fall Garlic Planting

We're trying garlic in earnest next year, so we have to start planning now. A friend gave me some garlic bulbs from a gardening store two summers ago. We planted it in the spring (WRONG!), and hoped for the best. It sprouted. It died. We left it alone for a whole season. The onions we also planted that year didn't get even a little bit bigger than they were when we planted them, so we left the garlic in the ground to winter over. In the spring, they sprouted many new tops, but when I dug them up, they were just the small sets you see above. So I put them in a dry, dark corner until fall.

Columbus Day weekend I planted the garlic sets. Mr. Farmer told me of a pile of fine soil made mostly of worm castings and leaf rot. So after I pulled out the last of the dead tomato & pepper plants, took the unripened, frost-killed fruit inside for pickling, and turned up the bed, I set out for the woods. I found the soil, filled the wheel-barrow, and mixed the new soil into the old.

Somewhere in that process I injured my shoulder. The pain was terrible, even after taking an anti-inflammatory, and many motions caused it to worsen. So, I took Saturday night off and rested. I sat like my arm was in a sling and pouted because I wanted to plant my garlic.

The rest did me good, and I was able to put the garlic in the ground on Sunday. They needed to be set 8 inches apart, so I used a wooden pencil (7.5 inches) as a guide and used a screwdriver handle to poke holes of the right width and depth. Twenty-four sets went into the ground at perfect distance, were patted over, and covered with a tarp. I'm hoping the tarp will keep my marauding, free-ranging chickens from disturbing them before they settle in.

Twenty four is more than enough garlic for my family for the year. I really hope we are successful this time. We LOVE fresh garlic.

Off Topic: Mushrooms

As I have mentioned, 2011 was a crazy, wet summer. The rain was almost unending, and the ground was almost constantly mushy and slick. The tomatoes drowned. The eggs (and the chickens themselves, for that matter) were constantly muddy. The park and lake flooded. The wild mushrooms, however, were amazing. I saw more interesting mushrooms in the late summer than I have in my entire life. I became almost consumed with hunting them down and photographing them. Here are some of my favorite photos.

There were white mushrooms:

Inside out mushroom

There were brightly colored mushrooms:

Something was nibbling on this red one

This one is SO bright yellow- the picture doesn't do it justice

Mushrooms in bunches:

Traditional Rotten Log Fungus

Amazingly Cool Orange Mushrooms
Right at the End of My Street

Mushrooms that stood alone:

Red Mushroom

I found mushrooms that looked like flowers:

Doesn't it look like a Daisy?

This one looks like a petunia
(Mr. Farmer says, "There's no such thing as a black petunia!")

And mushrooms that had some animal company:

Orange Salamander
Just hanging out with the Mushrooms

Giant Slug!

I even saw a pink/coral Indian Pipe, which is not really a mushroom, but grows in similar conditions:

Indian Pipe

Aren't they great?

Life Is Good: Ouch

"Many Hands Make Light Work." -Proverb

Fall is creeping up on us- and not too subtly, either. We have had several chilly nights already, and the wood stove is keeping us cozy.The humidity-eradicating side effect of the wood stove, cursed in previous years, is helping to ease the fall mold allergies that we all suffer from. The wood fire is driving the dampness out of the house, and the mold from this overly wet summer is dying off quickly- at least inside the house.

Of course wood fires need firewood, so the work begins. Big, strong, healthy Young Master Farmer can wield an ax or maul better than even his father or the very athletic neighbor next door. He mows through piles of wood like a scythe through grass. I loaded the wheel barrow with cut wood and moved it from one side of the yard to the other. Little Miss Farmer helped me stack the split wood and broke the dead treetop at the end of the street into kindling. The three of us had a very industrious operation going on, and we were very productive in just an hour and a half of work.

The Start of the Woodpile

Sadly, even an eight hour day of work for me usually means sitting at a desk and taking two to four short walks to the bathroom and perhaps three or four more to the printer or a co-worker's desk. That means that an hour and a half of bending, lifting, stacking, and breaking wood is a more than my soft body is used to. Ouch! It is a satisfying kind of ache, however. I earned it. There is a nice stack of drying wood and several buckets of kindling to show for it, and a cozy cabin to relax in afterwards.

Cooking: French Onion Soup

Onions
(No, I did not grow these.)

Last summer my Enabling Brother In Law dropped off bag after bag after bag of onions at my house. When I was bewailing my frustration over what on Earth am I going to do with all these onions, my other brother in law suggested I make onion soup. After all, that's what he was doing with the many bags of onions he was given at the same time! I had my fill of dicing and freezing onions at that point, so I was willing to try anything- even something as fancy as French Onion Soup.

I was kind of let down when I looked into the process for making French Onion Soup. After all, French Onion Soup is a big deal, right? In diners it is never the soup of the day. In fact, any restaurant that serves French Onion Soup charges extra for it- you cannot just get it as part of your meal. So, obviously French Onion Soup must be expensive and time-consuming to make, right?

WRONG.

Onions, as you know, are cheap. No, you do not need a special kind of onions. Broth is also cheap. You can make it yourself from leftovers. Butter isn't exactly out of the reach of the common consumer either. Most recipes call for some red or white wine, but it is not completely necessary, and chances are you have a little lying around. Bread? Cheese? So... where is the expense?

Time consuming? Not really. If you don't have a half hour to watch onions caramelize, you can even use the slow-cooker. Seriously.

Difficult? My kids could do this.

I'm not going to insult you with a recipe. Here's how you make French onion Soup:

Half and thinly slice a whole bunch of onions.

Saute slowly in butter until nice and soft and brown.

Add wine (optional).

Add beef broth (I have used other broths, still yummy), pinch of sugar, salt, pepper, thyme to taste.

Getting fancy? Serve in a heavy bowl with croutons or toast, top with cheese, and broil until brown.

Easy. Crazy easy. Enjoy!

Gardening: Final Tomato Harvest

Hurricane Irene passed by on Saturday, August 27, 2011. We are far enough inland and high enough in elevation that we had next to no damage, and the brief  3-hour power outage was a non-event, since we have a whole-house, standby generator to keep things running. The following week through the Labor Day weekend, however, was one of non-stop rain. The nearby creek flooded repeatedly. The opening of school was delayed by two days. Our Labor Day picnic was held under the gazebo in the downpour as we shivered and enjoyed good company and some of the best roast pork ever. My poor tomatoes, however, drowned.

It has been a pretty good tomato summer for us. The Lemon Boys came in first, then the red tomatoes came in. We had a tomato or two on hand at all times for several weeks- perfect for snacking and salads. When the sun finally came out the weekend after Labor Day, however, the plants were black, shriveled, and sagging.

It is hard to believe that our vegetable garden went from this...

May 2011

To this...

July 2011

To this...

September 2011
(How Sad!)

... in just a few months. Where did the summer go?