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!

Cooking: Everyday Deviled Eggs

Where there are hens, there are eggs. Where there are eggs, there are people who are desperate to find things to do with the excess eggs when they aren't selling well and the family is getting tired of them. What's a gal to do?

Older eggs make better hard-boiled eggs, so when we get overloaded I either sell them cheap or boil them. The children, however, aren't all that excited about hard-cooked eggs as a snack. They can sit in the fridge for days if left unprepared. I have found, however, that it is simple to make them irresistible:

1. Cut them in half lengthwise
2. Take out the yolks
3. Mix the yolks with a few household goodies
4. Put the yolks back
5. Sit back and watch the kids devour them!

Deviled eggs are not just for parties! Watch how easy it is to turn them into an everyday snack.

Seriously, this is not hard. Cut 6 hard-boiled eggs in half lengthwise as carefully as you can. Gently remove the yolks and place them in a sandwich bag. Add 2 tablespoons of mayo (click here to learn how to make your own) and a teaspoon of mustard (I like spicy brown). Smoosh up the yolks in the bag. Snip the corner of the bag with scissors, and squeeze the filling back into the divot in the eggs. Sprinkle with paprika.

That's it! So easy! And Yummy!

Pigs: Much Ado About Buster

Hi, Ron!!

A friend and fellow farmer had a dilemma. Buster was an old pig- 7 years old if I have my facts straight- and it was time for him to go. The butcher, however, would have no part of him. A pig that old is only good for sausage, and our friend was not in the habit of processing hogs himself, so he offered him to us in lieu of burying him in the back field. We accepted.

Sadly, once the skin is off a pig, the clock is ticking. Yes, the meat is served well by resting a few days, but after that it is a race against spoilage, especially with an animal this big.

All was going well until Mr. Farmer had a car accident. He was not injured, but the car was totaled. Since we only had the one vehicle everything was put on hold, including the making of sausage, until the transportation issue could be handled. So, while Mr. Farmer scouted an alternate vehicle, I spent my day off alternating between calls to the insurance company and packing the already boned meat into freezer bags for longer term storage.

 

Over and over I rinsed the sink, rinsed the meat, labeled the bags, filled them, stacked them in the freezer, and re-sterilized the countertop. I managed to get half of the meat safely stowed before I ran out of freezer space. (On a side note, if the neighbors thought the sound of piglets protesting being put into the back of a truck was disturbing, imagine if they could have seen what I was up to in my kitchen that day!!)

Once again my enemy, Waste, has been thwarted. YAY ME!

 

Cooking: Concord Grape Syrup

The kids and I picked a lot of concord grapes this summer. Somehow they got loose in the woods and were growing up through some trees. Most summers you can smell sweet grapes, then wine, then vinegar on the breeze in late August. Most summers we smell them before we remember that they are even there, and by the time you smell them, it is too late.

Concord grapes are fairly acidic and very seedy, and therefore not great for snacking. In the past we have made wine out of them, but Mr. Farmer was not in the mood. Many years ago I made jam and jelly, but there was a recent coupon/sale combo that resulted in this:

There are 16 of These

So, having what appears to be YEARS worth of concord grape jam and jelly in the house, for thirty cents per two pound jar, which is less than what the glass alone would cost me if I made my own, it just didn't make sense to make jam. But I remembered my attempt at jelly when Young Master Farmer was just about two years old. I did something wrong, and the jelly didn't gel. The result, however, was a delicious syrup that we enjoyed on pancakes and waffles and French toast. Syrup made a lot of sense.

Concord grapes are very seedy. Those seeds are stuck really well to the flesh of the grape, and removing them is a chore. The seeds also have a fairly strong flavor, so you have to choose your battles when removing them. Cooking them will impart some of the seed flavor into your juice, but removing them raw is a lot of hard work. I chose to take the easy road this time and cooked the grapes whole (seeds, skins and all).

Of course if you want to cook a bunch of THESE...

You must first pick through a lot of THESE.

After picking through all the stems and leaves, I washed the grapes thoroughly and simmered them for a couple hours. As they cooked, I mashed them in the pot and stirred them so that the seeds broke loose. When they were done, I was finally appreciative of this weird seive that Mr. Farmer has always insisted was important:

This worked SO well!

I had to do almost NOTHING to get down to just seeds!

Look at all that beautiful juice!

I returned the juice to the pot and simmered some more, adding alternate cups of white sugar and corn syrup. I lost track of how many, and I think I burned my lips from all that acid, but it came out to be quite delicious. I poured it, still hot, into jelly jars and canning jars, wiped them up, and stuck them in the fridge. As expected, we ate it all so fast that there was no point in canning it properly.

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!

Pigs: Get a Life, Lady.

For most of the day I thought I was too depressed to write, but I'm not. However, I'm still unhappy, so this is not going to be pretty. Mom, if you are reading this, you might want to stop now.


***Seriously, Mom, you aren't going to like this. Go play on Facebook or something. I mean it. ***

It was hard for Mr. Farmer to give up the pigs. I know this. But when we got evicted from the Beta Site, there was no choice. We knew we couldn't bring them home; our neighbors have been laying in wait since we sent them away some months ago. We quickly put some down and shoved the rest into a less-than-ideal situation where they await their fate, which has yet to be determined. There was some small comfort in knowing that some of the piglets were being sold off for a very worthwhile cause: the 4-H Club.

That comfort did not last, however. In the process of transferring them to the going away vehicle in our driveway, the understandably distressed piglets kicked up a fuss. It wasn't a half hour later before the phone was ringing off the hook (again), and the nosiest of our neighbors were peering over from a safe distance through the trees.

***Last chance to turn away, Mom.***

Don't try to tell me it isn't personal. Was she really that upset and frightened by the noise? I don't think so. It is far more likely that the stupid cow was so bored on a Sunday afternoon that she had nothing better to do than overplay the inconvenience of 30 seconds of squealing. Perhaps she is such a loser that the only thing she can do to socialize is complain about us. I guess I should feel sorry for her, right? I mean, if you need to make up excuses to call your "friends" on a quiet day, then maybe you really are alone in the world. That is truly tragic, don't you think?