FOOD: Holidays, Milestones and Blessings

The winter holidays are definitely the time of the year we celebrate with food, and I am amazed at the crucial role food has played in my life during the past month:

I crafted my first successful Thanksgiving dinner. I had attempted it once before, but this time it all seemed to turn out perfectly, and my family and in-laws gave me rave reviews.

Yummy turkey.

Table setting 1.

Table setting 2. So thankful my in-laws gifted us their large dining room table. I had enough "good" seats for 12.

I killed and processed my first chickens. A local farmer was nice enough to give me a couple of meat-type chickens, but my laying girls did not take too kindly to their new friends. With my husband’s help, I said a nice prayer and thanked God for each chicken, and I made sure it was quick. I felt such a sense of empowerment. This was also a perfect opportunity to have a great conversation with my daughter who did not like the idea of eating her new “pets.” But she was quick to realize that the other chickens were out for blood. I did not want her to watch this first attempt in case something went awry, but she was eager to get a look at what made those chickens tick. We will be having one of those chickens for dinner tonight.

I cheated... we just skinned them instead of plucking. Too much work!

My nearly three-year-old son has decided that he likes bell peppers, so I get to add one more veggie to his list of food likes. That is such a blessing! I need someone else in my household to help me eat them.

And did I mention that my daughter has slimmed down? It’s amazing what will happen when you don’t allow your child to continue eating double lunches and cookies every day at school. I think she had a “eureka” moment. The pants I had to buy her in November are now too big.

My younger sister and I were passed the Reed Christmas Cookie torch. For years and years, my grandparents made holiday cookies and presented each of their kids and grandkids with a box of delight prior to Christmas: chocolate chip with walnuts, oatmeal, date nut balls (similar to wedding cookies), and Pop’s special chocolate caramel cookie bars. After my Granny passed away a few years ago, my “Pop” continued the cookie making with my sister’s help, but finally decided to give it up due to being uncomfortable with a full day on his feet. I gladly took on the role as the new cookie guru even though I had some worry that my cookies may not be as good. But they were. And I know why Kristen does not want to make the cookies at her house… they won’t be there for her to eat until they are gifted away. I may have to make a few more.

We added a new cookie this year: peppermint sugar cookie. Thank you, Pillsbury! They are fabulous!

Finally, I have eggs running out of my ears. The hungry hawk has migrated, and my remaining hens miraculously starting laying the day after I “processed” the meat chickens. I laugh to think that my girls might have thought they would be next if they didn’t start earning their keep, but I honestly think they just got happier; they aren’t looking over their backs every second of the day worried about being a local critter’s dinner. Don’t laugh, but I also now feel a Godly connection with my chickens. I don’t want to call myself a chicken whisperer, but I can honestly say that I understand what is going on with them. Instead of running away when I walk by like they used to, they squat down still as can be, and allow me to pick them up with nary a fuss. They also seek me out when they need something. They even came running out to my car one day when the door on their coop closed shut. I got out, walked up to the coop with a line of anxious chickens running behind me, and they hopped in as soon as I opened the door. They were ready for some real food. And to my husband’s displeasure, they have also decided to venture to the house and get on the front porch. I don’t mind it a bit; we have formed a symbiotic partnership, and maybe they’ll keep all the bugs off the porch next summer.

My peeps.

The first publicized photo of our chicken mansion. My husband is an engineer and it had to be perfect.

I love my food-centered life! And my Christmas prayer to my readers is that we all learn to celebrate food as the wonderful blessing that it is. Thank you, God. Thank you, farmers. And thank you, chickens.

Big may not be all BAD, but Small is not OUT OF TOUCH

In my post "Incedible Cause for Concern" last week, I shared my frustrations with the public's lack of understanding about today's farmers. Whether you praise their efforts or curse the current direction of our food system, the average U.S. farmer is feeding 155 people, compared to 27 people in 1950. The point of my post was to encourage people to remember the faces behind all the farms that are providing us 82% of our food, as they are not all huge food company conglomerates hundreds of miles away. What I may have failed to do, however, is praise the small farmers (whatever your definition of "small" may be) in which so many hold dear to their hearts. Each farmer has a unique story, and we all need to learn to listen to every voice at the "table," myself included.

Therefore I wanted to share this post by a fellow Kentucky blogger, Friends Drift Inn. She wants to make sure we know that she is also a famer - a very tired farmer -  trying to produce food for reasons she believes the current food system has failed her.

"I am a farmer. I am not the enemy" - http://www.friendsdriftinn.com/real-life/world-food-day-2011.html

Happy reading.

Wordless Wednesday - Eggstatic!

Our first eggs and the girls who made it happen!

Proud to Wear Dirt

I am writing this post for two reasons: 1) it makes sense to honor a hard worker at Labor Day, and 2) there is no better time to celebrate my mother than on my birthday.

A couple of weeks ago a Facebook friend who rides at my parents’ horse stable commented that she could not believe how dirty she was after spending a few hours at the barn. I replied, “Now you know why my mother looks such a mess most of the time.”

My mom did not think this was amusing, but after I thought about it, I think it can be paid as a compliment, because I know she wears her dirt with great honor. She loves her job. She gets to work with horses every day. She gets to teach people how to work better with their horses so they form a wonderful relationship. While she is a teacher, she is also always in student mode, soaking up every bit of information she can find, whether from a book, video or another instructor.

Because of her success and great love for her job, she always gave me the same advice when it came to my career. “I will be proud of you no matter what you do; I just want you to be happy doing it.” She did not push me to go to college (even though I did) or have a job that would make lots of money (though sometimes I wish I had chosen that route). She just let me find my own happiness, and I can truly say that I also love my job.

When I speak to school children, and even now to my peers, I proudly say, “When I was thinking about what I wanted to be when I grew up, I never in a million years thought that I would work for farmers. But I am so glad that I do, because I cannot think of a job more important than providing food to people who can’t provide it for themselves.”

While working with the land or livestock may not be the fashionable career choice, it is most definitely an honorable career choice. I hope, like my mom, anyone who gets their hands dirty to make a living, will stand strong and be proud to wear their dirt. I appreciate you!

My parents gave me a wonderful birthday present on this Labor Day - they took me and my daughter horseback riding at one of their favorite riding spots. Thank you so much!

How Not to Herd Chickens

Have you ever had one of those experiences where you cried so hard it actually made you laugh? That was my evening last night.

I came home from a business trip this afternoon on an emotional high though quite exhausted, and my husband announced that he wanted to go ahead and move the chickens to their nearly finished coop. The chickens have been living in our horse barn, but they are making a big mess—scratching up the limestone floors, feathers and poop everywhere—so he wanted them in their new home a.s.a.p. The coop is located in our front yard, about 150 yards from the barn. We knew that getting them to their new home and convincing them to stay close while roaming would probably be a challenge, but a plan was in place.

Unfortunately I did not have a video camera, as I am sure the events that followed would have earned us an Emmy on “The Lifestyles of the Naïve and Stupid.” But please picture this:

The chickens were in “roosting” mode since it was starting to get dark, so they had already perched themselves in their dedicated horse stall. This made it very easy to catch them as chickens become very lethargic at bed time. I picked each one up and placed them in a large cage. We then loaded the cage into the truck and drove it up the driveway. Carried the cage to the coop and decided that the only way to get them inside was to place them in one by one. We placed our oldest child at the temporary door to make sure the chickens we placed inside did not come back out. Six chickens in and so far, so good. (BTW, the easiest way to catch a chicken is to grab its legs and then flip it upside down if it starts to flap their wings. This really calms them down. If they don’t struggle, just hold them upright in the crook of your arm.)

Unfortunately our youngest child was running around trying to entertain himself. He decided it would be fun to smack the smaller chicken door (for them to come in and out on their own) as hard as he could. The chickens inside freaked, and out most of them flew… into the woods behind their coop. Keep in mind that our woods are horribly thick with very narrow trees, briars, fallen limbs etc. They are not very easy to maneuver through. And did I mention that runny chicken poop flew out with them… all over my husband’s face and on my new white T-shirt.

We just stood there with the “oh, %@!*” looks on our faces and immediately started to try to herd them back toward the coop. While they are pretty easy to round up at dinner time at the barn, they are now in a new place and have no idea where they want to go. They are also Leghorns, which tend to be very flighty and skittish. If one goes in a different direction, they all go. We were back and forth between the woods, the yard, the road, the driveway, and back again, and again, and again. The children were not much help. Miss E does not know the fine art of cutting chickens and scattered them more. Mr. L had had enough and cried and cried for me to take him to the house. I just tried to keep taking deep breaths, regroup and continue to have positive, happy thoughts.

I have to give my husband “kudos” at this time because I expected him to throw up his hands and say "to  heck" with the chickens. He was very good at listening to my suggestions, even though they did not work the way we would like. Finally, we decided to put up a ramp to the chicken door, encourage them with some grain and pray that they would eventually go in. If so, we would just close the door later in the evening. They decided to run into the woods, however, and this time they decided to fly up into the trees because it was past their bedtime.

Ah, ha, I thought. I can just grab them out of the trees.

I gave them a few minutes to get settled by playing with Mr. L. (Miss E had thrown in the towel and went to the house. My husband had to finish his horse chores.) Then the two of us set out on a hunting trip to find chickens in the deep dark woods. Mr. L thought it was fun. The first four were fairly easy to catch as they were either low enough for me to reach. The last four were a bit out of reach. I was able to untangle the branches to bend the tree down they were roosting in. I had to call for reinforcements to get them since I had visions of the tree slipping out of my hands and the chickens being launched into the next county. Luckily that did not happen and four more made it the coop. The last chicken was about twelve feet up, and we had to knock her out with a long stick. But don’t worry. She is perfectly okay.

The final step was to climb into the coop and place the chickens on their roost pole (since it was dark, they could not see that it was available to them). I really love my chickens. I also really love my husband for putting up with my animal projects and working so hard to see that the animals and I am happy. I gave him a really big hug and a kiss after we closed up the coop door, knowing the chickens were safe and sound. He said, “If you ever get any more animals….”

This scenario made me very mindful of the fact that our farmers also have to deal with animals getting out of their fences or barns. I have a feeling that they too feel the extreme adrenaline rush required to strategize and get those animals back to safety. If you are a farmer and have such a story, I would love for you to share it with me and my readers. I think we need to be reminded that raising livestock, no matter the species, is not an easy job and takes a lot of passion, compassion, and a dash of comic relief to make it through the mishaps.

If you want to read our other stories about our chickens, check out Eden's Chicken Chronicles or 7 Families Went Hungry.

The ups and downs of having a farmer father

This past Father’s Day I invited my dad to dinner to show him how much I appreciate him. When I made the “Father’s Day” call, he told me that he would try to be there, but it depended on if he was able to empty the manure spreader and/or if he was not going to cut hay that day.

What? He may not come so he can do chores? It surprised me more that I was a little disappointed, since the conversation has been a pretty familiar one over the years.

I know full well what it means to have a business tied to animals. My suburban, horse-crazy mother made sure to find a husband that shared her equine interests. The year they were married, they purchased 9 acres with a run-down house and an area that looked like a riding arena, and that was the start of it all. Nearly 30 years later, their farm has evolved into a home for more than 30 horses, and a wonderful recreational/sporting retreat for hundreds of horse fans. But even in the beginning, with a few chickens, rabbits, goats and our first few horses, the rules were presented to us as if from the Mount: the animals eat before you do, and they get taken care of before you rest or play.

The upside to this is that we were taught responsibility at an early age. I had farm chores ever since I can remember, and I got in trouble quite a bit because they were not attended to with the upmost satisfaction. As we and the operation grew, so did the responsibility. We mucked horse stalls daily, packed water and brought in the hay. The fact that we were girls made no difference. As soon as little sister was old enough to guide the tractor and wagon, my older sister and I took our turn throwing hay. As hard as it was, I was pretty proud of my muscles.

Hay harvest usually occurred in May and June and again in the fall. Occasionally we would harvest three times during a year if we had great growing weather. I knew that my dad would always be “on call” at these times of the year, and I remember several school functions where he could not attend – awards ceremonies, games and concerts. Graduations were even tough for him to attend, but I knew he was working to take care of the operation and his family. Did I mention that he also had an off-the-farm full time job up until about 15 years ago?

Back to Father’s Day - I cooked all day, and at about 6 p.m., my mom called and said the manure spreader had broken. Knowing this is a vital piece of equipment, I figured my dinner plans were over; Dad is also the “fix it” man.

But all was not lost. I began thinking about how my life was shaped because of my father’s dedication to his family. He works endless hours every day to make sure my Mom is happy and the business is successful. He taught me that you pave your own way, you don’t stand with your hand out, “smart” doesn’t come from a book, and a man with soft, manicured hands is just about useless. Dad still deserved that dinner, so I packed up the food and the family, and we took it to him.

Even though life on the farm did not allow my father to stand beside us a lot of the time, he was, and still is always behind us. Thanks, Dad! I appreciate you so much!

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