A View From Here: Resettling Big Stone County Minnesota

Late winter afternoon at the pond

The kids and I spent a long winter's afternoon/evening at the pond. We left the house with the sun setting bright pink and red over the horizon- an early winter dusk. We walked down to the pond trying to (the kids) and not to (the mom) fall through the fragile, deep drifts that form in the slough.The kids love the feeling of falling into those drifts- for me it is the stuff of nightmares. Upside down, over your head in feathery snow with no traction.

**Aside- we are just finishing reading Laura Ingells Wilder's On the Shores of Silver Lake. One scene is a couple coming to the prairie on Christmas Eve and their sleigh falling through the slough drifts so they have to abandon it.**

We played on the ice, finding spots where the wind had blown away the snow. The kids never tired of playing "pile on" each other. Like a frisky litter of pups rolling around in the snow.

The stars came out one by one at first and then by the hundreds and millions. The cold air was crisp and clear. Soon we could see satellites gliding by and the Milky Way becames a cloudy streak of stars across the night sky. We lingered on and on into the night.

I'll admit to getting a bit of my adventure needs met by these nighttime walks into the prairie preserve and onto the pothole ponds. Alone on the prairie- no people- no lights at all (we've turned off our yardlight)- no sounds of civilization, cars, trucks, trains or planes. Wide open space, darkness and my children around me in the frigid cold.

Then I start getting nervous. It's a long trek home- there are those drifts in the slough to avoid- I remember the e-mail my neighbor sent last week about a farmer hitting an 800 pound hibernating bear while harvesting the corn that still stands in the snow. So I start to hustle the kids back towards the house.

Last weekend I attended the funeral of a friend's son. One of the older gentlemen talking to me after the service looked out the church basement windows, the smell of brewing coffee filling the air, and said "I can handle this better with the coming of the February sun."

The kids sang a new song called "There is Hope in the Darkest Night" as we walked back home- they taught me the words so I could sing with them. There is hope in the darkest night- and the February sun is here.

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U of M Board of Regents meeting 1889

This week I sat in a room with 20 other people helping to create the 25 year vision and pathway for sustaining Minnesota's waters. The meeting included a presentation from the State's Demographers office on the trends for Minnesota's population. I was the youngest person in the room-- a women in the late July of life and mom of three. I ached, ached for a young voice in the room.

48 hours earlier (to the minute) I had been in a sea of 4, 5, and 6 year olds- confined to a gym and allowed to run wild. Screaming, chasing, hugging, playing. It was called "recess"- which I understand is the 4th important educational "R." Standing in that gym amidst loud, rowdy, and giddy children- my eyes filled with tears of wonder and joy.

I've seen the movie Children of Men a few times. It's set one generation in the future when women can't have children and the youngest person on earth is 18 year, 8 month, and 16 days old. For what every reason I hadn't really resonated with the movie's ache- the human longing and hunger for the rollicking presence of children.

By the end of that 5 hour meeting I had, in all honesty, lost the yearning for young voices and engaged my ego with those around me. The truth is, there are few places on earth with the social and resource capital to really plan for a sustainable future 25 years down the road with the hope those dreams can be realized. And frankly- as the youngest person in the room- I know that the earnest investment of goodwill at that meeting is not for our own future but for those who come behind us.

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Our rooster- Shing Hun- in the midst of his hens

Every once in a while I look at the roosters and wonder if they are worth their feed. Frankly, Shing Hun is getting old and probably not so tasty and, obviously, he doesn't lay eggs. He is absolutely lovely and grand and the kids love him- but he's too fierce to be played with like the hens.

Shing Hun struts around, crows a lot, and is something of a dandy.

Then one day we found a dead hen at the barn door. The next day Mike went into the barn and found Shing Hun in a battle to the death with a 15 pound tomcat. The hens were in one corner and Shing Hun was between them and the cat- battling to protect them. Thanks to Mike's intervention- Shing Hun came out on top.

On days when I come out with chicken scraps- Shing Hun walks around the scrambling hens- too dignified and watchful to fight over bread scraps and the kids' left over oatmeal. At night, he seems to check to make sure all the hens are in their coop.

Most days the roosters have pretty light duty. Pleasant even. But we can rest a little easier knowing that Shing Hun has his eyes on things when we're not there and he's proven fierce in protecting his flock. And that's the value of a rooster.

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The view from my home office desk

This is the view from my farmhouse office on a day with life threatening wind chills and 6 foot high drifts in front of the garage. Note the froth on that espresso! I have fiber optic digital wireless internet- which means my home office is as fast or faster than my University of Minnesota office in St. Paul. I spent part of the day working on a nation-wide survey of natural food companies (research), talked to Minnesota's State Economist Tom Stinson, and shared some laughter with a staff person.

I'm telling you folks we live in the best of times. Here I am a woman, mom, scientist, "farmer" (more like the overlord who critiques the farm work from that same window! Hey! you missed some weeds over there! Get the lid back on the compost bin!). I have a challenging intellectual job, I do from the middle of the state's capitol city or from an isolate farm on the prairie. I feel like the work I do makes the world a better place for my kids and I have a boss who supports me telecommuting.

Seems like a person should just stop and appreciate all that the early 21st century is and can be. Virtual yet connected. Rooted but mobile. Global yet local. Fast and yet that espresso went down nice and slow to some XM satellite radio background music.

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Farm "fresh" foods in January 2010 at -30 degree F

My husband's ancestors come from a village in Norway north of the Arctic Circle. In my mind I imagined it would be a relief to move to Minnesota- way down by the 45th parallel. That was until someone pointed out that the ocean moderates Tromso Norway's weather- as a result the all time record setting cold temperature is -4 degree F. Here we sit midcontinent- 120 years later and 25 degrees colder.

What's more- I recall sitting in the Cabin Cafe in Clinton listening to an elder tell how her grandfather moved here from Norway at the turn of the 20th century. In Norway he had electricity. He lived in Big Stone County for another 30 years before his farm was electrified. "Imagine" she said "having to go back to living without electricity after having it in Norway!"

Here we are in January 2010, -30 F, still eating as much local foods as possible. And doing fine. However, the "fresh" squash, apples, beets, and cabbages in the pantry have to be processed or lost. I'm dehydrating tray upon tray of apple rings, making yet more apple sauce, and cooking all things apple. The patrilineal side of Mike's family is at odds with any vegetables in the cruciferous family (cabbage, brussel sprouts, cauliflower, only a little brocolli thank you). If I serve saurkraut for a meal it has to be covered at all time. So using the cabbage is tricky.

Last night we had a nice 90% local meal in January. The appetizer was crackers with sweet jalepeno relish, pickled green and yellow beans, and chokeberry wine. For dinner we had sauted beets, sweet corn, potatoes, sweet pickle and jalepeno relish over kielbasa sasuage. Dessert was apple crisp with cinnamon ice cream.

A couple nights ago we ate two of our ducks. They tasted fine roasted- but we wondered whether they were really worth the effort of raising. I used the leftover duck to make a duck confit (olive oil and thyme stewed duck meat) and tossed it with pasta and shredded parmesean cheese and served with roasted beets. That maybe tipped us to trying the ducks again next year.

Well my early riser is up and it's time to work on a puzzle or pull out the Candy Land.

Best hopes for a Happy New Year to you and yours.

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Casey Jones, early 1970's, Minnesotans of a "certain age" will remember him from local tv

One thing I didn't anticipate when we moved to Big Stone County was what an all out community celebration Christmas is. The grownups in the community join together to give the kids a truly delightful Christmas. This year our family has enjoyed:

• Another original holiday score composed by the school's music teacher Mrs. Ragan and performed by the elementary students. My review-- Excellent, witty, and moving.
• A modern and funny church Christmas program (thank you Janine, Maria, Lori, Kristi, Sandy, Melisa!!!) followed by a Luther League dinner, coffee, and a live Nativity that included goats and donkeys. We stood outside the church, just off Hwy 75, the King of Trails that runs from the Mexico border into Canada, in -7 degree weather. Teenage "angel" Kendra begging her petit grandmother to intervene and get her out of the cold.
• Santa Claus came to Clinton and the business community put on a bingo party for the kids with nice toys and prizes.
• Eidskog Lutheran had their annual hymn sing just down the road (the closest rural church to our farm).
• Last night with all the lights out except the Christmas tree the kids put on a Christmas program they had been practicing for days... Complete with drummer boys, babe in a manager, dancing princess at a ball (?)
• Top it off with a blizzard, wood smoke, snowshoes, and every abundances of the early 21st century

I make the kids sing this song (you simply must click here--) Just a Little Lefse in order to get a piece of lefse. I learned this song on my mother's knee--perhaps an homage to my biological culture. Please keep in mind that I'm a Scandinavian raised by Germans in the days when Lutheran Social Services still did cross cultural adoptions.

On Christmas Eve I was steaming king crab legs (bought at Bonnie's Grocery on Mainstreet Clinton) when Alma walked into the kitchen and said "are you cooking lutefisk?" I'm raising children who are more familiar with the smell of lutefisk than King Crab.

I have become an apologist for Christmas- an apologist in the meaning of a defender. Back around 1998 I mothballed all the Christmas cards that said "Merry Christmas." Christmas was out of style- replaced by the generic Happy Holidays. It was decidedly uncool to hale Christmas. Those cards are coming out this year- I may even get them addressed today!

This year I've had the Christmas that nostalgia is made of.

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Minnesota Historical Society, 1949

I dashed off to town yesterday for errands and it turned into a delightful Main Street Clinton afternoon. Amanda, on short notice, got me in for a haircut. After that I hung out with my friends at the grocery store - shopping and talking. Then off to the Clinton State Bank where author Brent Olson was doing his first public signing of his new book "Papa: Figuring out What Matters." It was the bank's Christmas cookie open house - so the place was packed. I've lived her two years now and was amazed at how many people I knew gathered around the cookies and hot apple cider. We had all kinds of things to talk about- choir, alter guild (I'm on it now but have no idea what it is??), work, local foods, etc...

Then a few of us left the bank's cookies trays and headed over to The Cabin Cafe for a Big Stone Area Local Foods meeting- including my husband Mike. We have a community group working to establish a robust local foods system for our area. Lots of great people- local Farmers Union rep, artists, Apple Ranch owner, Economic Development staff, producers/farmers, etc... Our leader is a very cool Park Ranger (thank you Joanne!). At 3:45 Dale, the school bus driver, kindly dropped our kids off at the Cafe. I take advantage of opportunities to have the kids around me since I travel a great deal for work. Predictably, all hell broke loose as the little boys tore around the place -- jumping down stairs, rolling around the floor. They have no fear of us or self discipline. When the pop and french fries were served the restaurant became quiet again.

We are lucky to have the Cabin Cafe in Clinton. Doreen is a great and very health conscious cook. She cooks from scratch with fresh food, uses oat flour in her baked goods and healthy oils in her pastries and the fryer. For example, she cuts her own potatoes for french fries and cooks them in canola oil. We stayed for the dinner buffet (served from 5-7 pm) and enjoyed a really good salad bar with great greens, veggies, and fruits, salad bar, soup, homemade bread.

**If you are in the area- please stop by and enjoy a meal at The Cabin- right on Highway 75 (the King of Trails) in Clinton.** We need to support this local gem.

We came home to a completely messy house- 3 hopping, happy dogs. I call that a perfectly fine Friday.

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The Geminid Meteor Shower- December 13th, 2009 from National Geographic

I woke up this morning and as usual stared up at the stars from my dining room picture window. From this window I can see half of the entire night sky and what seems like a pretty good portion of the world. I thought I had imagined the first couple of falling stars that streaked through the sky. Then they kept coming- dropping into the horizon, some big flashy stars falling right towards me. I quit counting at a dozen. I stood there awed and said to myself "well... thank you Milly."

When our middle daughter Milly was born it was by C-section. She was stubbornly sideways and wouldn't be turned around. I was really frightened being in the surgical ward, my arms strapped down, and then the spinal made me feel like I was going to quit breathing. The woman anesthesiologist looked down in my face and said comforting words. I looked up at her face and the powdered sugar around her mouth-- she said "had to grab a donut- low blood sugar."

Then I started to sing. Just the day before I'd heard "You are my Lucky Star" on MPR's Morning Show. So I started singing:

You are my lucky star
I'm lucky in your arms
You opened heaven's portal
Here on earth
For this poor mortal
You are my lucky star

I sang it over and over and over again. And then at last I had my beautiful baby girl. Amelia Rose-- our Milly Rose-- our Millsy. And she is my lucky star- though lost to my arms. As you may know we lost Our Mils unexpectedly before her first birthday. But her legacy in our family is a blessing. Mike set the tone the legacy that our much loved, much adored and adorable child will not be a tragedy, but a blessing. It's taken time for that to really sink into a grieving mother's heart.

And then this morning-- the anniversary of Milly's death-- the portals of heaven opened for me and the stars poured out. I smiled at those star with a quietly contented heart.

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Boys on wood pile - day after Thanksgiving

I unloaded two trailer loads of cut wood yesterday. In the morning, a huge flocks of geese passed right overhead. One flock was so large it looked like a small black cloud. I leaned back on the trailer to take in their flight. The multiple V-formations had a pattern inside it. Large goose, little goose, large goose, little goose. Parent/child/parent/child. At the end of the flock the very last goose had a section of his wing missing-- I could see the sunlight through where there should have been wing feathers. And yet- they stayed together- maybe a Grandparent pulling up the rear.

Last night the boys (all of 5-years-old) and I unloaded another load of wood while the sunset and the combines, unseen, rumbled to the north and west and all around. The stars came out ("star light star bright first star I see tonight...") and the moon had a large halo around it nearly touching our silos.

We're in the midst of clearing out our old grove (about 3 acres!) in anticipation of a major tree planting next spring. The bulldozer was in last week to pull up the stumps and our farmstead looks like a tornado passed through. What's exciting is that we're hopeful we have enough wood for the next 3 winters already cut. It's like money in the bank to see the stacked wood piles- strategically placed to cure or to burn.

Two years ago I was talking with my neighbor Brent wondering what we would do with all the standing dead wood on our farm. He said "get a Central Boiler" and we did. It's turned out to be a great move. Instead of letting the dead wood rot in place (emitting CO2) or burning it in a massive pile, we are metering it out to heat our house and water year around. We haven't purchased any propane since we installed the boiler two years ago.

It's the anti-Dubai.

Two years ago when I heard National Public Radio do an uncritical and fawning hour of "financial reporting" on Dubai I was sickened. Couldn't everyone see that this was the most unsustainable, ill-fated project of our times? I mean really- we need artificial luxury islands, indoors ski-slope in the desert, and unlimited high end shopping? All built and sustained on fossil fuel supplies and profits. And now bankrupt. Surprise.

Instead, I'm grateful for stacked wood, my family (mom helped out all Thanksgiving week and sister Kelley left her dairy farm in SE Minn to visit us), for a nice community and singing in the church choir, and the opportunity to be completely content. 'Tis a gift to be simple and, frankly, a lot safer.

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The neighbors called last Saturday with a grain wagon full of corn screenings- the cracked and fine pieces of corn. They said if we wanted them we could have them for our chickens. So Mike and the boys crowded into the John Deere 4440 and made the 2.5 mile trek to Sandy and Terry's grain bins.

When we got the corn back here, we found that we couldn't back the wagon into our barn, so we opted for manual labor. And frankly, it was a just what a family needs now and then.

Lake was the first to learn how to open the grain shoot and when we had buckets and bins ready below, I'd yell "Let 'er rip!" and he'd pull around the wheel that opened the sluice and the grain would pour out. All the kids pitched in- the puppy playing around our heels.

Mike took off his sweatshirt and looked like a strong and handsome farmer as he hauled containers over to our makeshift granary in the barn. Lake followed suit and took off his jean jacket- wanting to be like his dad.

The corn was perfect, dry and smelled like fresh corn muffins from the oven. It was a perfect autumn evening- not too chilly, the sun setting as we raced to get the grained hauled before we were working in the dark.

It was nice to work as a whole family on a project like hauling corn and stocking up for winter. It's a good feeling to know we have some feed put away for the chickens. And the labor, especially with kids and a puppy, is one of the soul's antidote for a hard week.

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My kids are still just little guys.
Our farm, 320 acres, is considered somewhat small in the scheme of things.
My job at the University is among the most meaninful work I've engaged in in my life.
I do a bit of volunteering in our community, like the Granary Coop in Ortonville.
All good and yet all together- they are Giants.

And so I find myself in the business of caring for and feeding Giants. I don't know what else to say about it- just that as much as I love those Giants they sure take a lot of attention. More attention, say, than there are hours in the day. And yet- there I was one Saturday afternoon- oil pastels, scissors, puppy peeing on the carpeting, screaming children, carpentry project going on around me-- and just enough creative energy to capture those Giants on paper. Just that one stolen moment of time. And you know- it's just what the soul needs when one is tasked with The Care and Feeding of Giants.

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The View from my rear window

We may name the puppy "Lucky" but my speeding luck ran out -- I was caught and ticketed yesterday at 4:30 a.m. driving between Rochester to St. Paul campus. Usually I assume I can drive with impunity between about 3:30 and 5:30. In those early hours I can drive 40 miles (out west) without meeting another car. It's quite pleasant.

Even as I merged back onto the highway I wondered to myself whether I would really slow down. It's not that I'm a compulsive speeder (ok maybe I've become one), it's just that I feel I can't afford to slow down. Hell, with some much going on in my life, I don't feel I can afford to slow down on any front.

Mike often asks of my blog entries "what's that have to do with resettling Big Stone County?" I guess the point is that living in rural areas often requires a lot of driving. I was at a meeting yesterday in St. Paul of about 15 people- one from SW Minnesota. She made a point of saying "why don't we meet in Slayton next time?" Then she laughed. The roads seem to only go in one direction for such things.

Living in Big Stone County is a choice I made and the cost is a lot of windshield time. Lately, I've taken to driving in complete silence- not flipping through my 300 satellite radio stations. Maybe it's a kind of meditation... with my eyes on the road, and my foot on the pedal- perhaps just a little too heavy.

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That which you manifest is before you.

My wonderful sister-in-law gave me a book to read "The Art of Racing in the Rain." If you're having a rough week, this book is enough to make you want to slit your wrists- (ok- a bit melodramatic). Thwarted dreams told through the eyes of a dying dog, wife dies, losing custody of young daughter, arrested for sexual assault, and, of course, the dog dies.

The one take home message that doesn't make you want to gouge your eyes out is "that which you manifest is before you. Simply put- your race car goes where your eyes go."

So it seems that Mike and the kids manifested a pair of dogs. Mike has been talking about getting a hunting dog and Alma said we could butcher her ducks if we got her a puppy (kinda gruesome bargaining wouldn't you say?). By now you know that we live alone on the prairie. So last Sunday Mike and the kids were driving home from Artichoke Baptist Church and saw a dog on a nearby unoccupied farmstead. When Mike got out of the car, a momma and her pup came out of the grass--weak, tired, hungry-- alone.

I was in the garden when the minivan exploded with screaming kids and dogs. Mike and I reminded them that the dogs were probably from a "neighbor's" house and started calling around. We put an ad on the radio as well. But it looks like we now have two golden labs.

That which you manifest is before you.

So now the naming begins. I think the momma should be Joy-- in hope that Joy will get along with Happy. The boy puppy is another story. I say he should have a character name- like Courage, Honor, Reliable, Honesty... At breakfast this morning Mike, exasperated, asks "How do you think it will sound if I'm yelling "INTEGRITY!" while out hunting?" Which led to a chorus of us all practicing yelling "INTEGRITY" at the tops of our lungs while eating our blueberry buckwheat pancakes. I don't know- I think it sounds like a great thing to yell out. Try it. "INTEGRITY!"

That which you manifest is before you.

I read books like "The Not so Big Life" "The Artist's Way" etc... about how to achieve a calm, contented life of directed and leisurely purpose. And I can't help but think that it is all a crock-- I mean, give that book to the mom in Haiti who is feeding dirt to her child to stave off the ache of hunger. It's all a narcissistic dream of a pampered western world. Keep in mind that most Americans live better, more comfortable lives than the wealthiest nobility a few hundred years ago.

One of my elders tells me of her neighbor, a farm wife, who died too young- in her 40's. She always suspected that the poor woman worked herself to death on that hard scrabble farm with a half dozen kids. Poor thing probably welcomed the big rest.

That which you manifest is before you... When I was in grad school I peacefully mulled over my future. My mind's eye had me on a farm, growing spices and herbs, the theme songs was "I always cook with honey, 'cuz it sweetens up the nights..." There was calm and candlelight and a handsome man adoring me. And maybe I'm partway there- a farm and adored. But like Denny, the main character in The Art of Racing in the Rain, I have to go through some trials before I can take that deep breathe and relax into that future I manifest for myself.

Or maybe I should just get back to work.

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Our stand at the Ortonville Farmers' Market

We shared some of our bounty at the farmers market again this year-- eggs, hand ground flour from Big Stone County, garlic, lots of veggys.

I was not a reliable vendor, but a happy and enthusiastic one when I was there. It's just that after working in St. Paul and then having to harvest, prep, and spend Saturday at the stand got to be a bit much. I'm glad my fellow farmers market folks were more consistant than me.

In reality- the economic don't really work out for us. It's not just that we don't earn much selling at the market, it's the opportunity cost. What else could we be doing on the farm to make it a productive enterprise? Is selling vegetables really our best way to have a successful local foods and farm venture?

Like Pooh Bear- I'm tapping my finger on my cheek going "think... think... think..."

What I treasure about those Saturday morning markets is the time with Alma, the faces of the community, the friends I made with folks in the stands around me. So we will see what 2010 brings.

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This killing frost came last night. The temperature dropped to 19 degrees just a few miles down the road in Benson, MN. This was not a good year for the tomatoes, or potatoes (massive size with thin skins), or the peapods. The orange and red peppers never made it past the green stage. The cold summer left the tomatoes green on the vine and our massive September rains left them un-ripened and splitting open on the vines. I still managed to put up over 30 quarts of tomato sauces and pastes, but we had 135 plants and hoped for more.

And as summer makes its rapid escape, I'm left with some regrets. Too few bonfires, picnics, cold drinks on the lawn while the kids swam. Too few hours of splendor in the grass, way too few Bacon, Lettuce and Tomato sandwiches. One should eat all the BLT's one can stand- day after day with sun warmed tomatoes straight from the garden and freshly washed greens.

It reminds me of a poem I memorized and love by Emily Dickinson
Nature: XLV As Imperceptibly as Grief

AS imperceptibly as grief
The summer lapsed away,--
Too imperceptible, at last,
To seem like perfidy.

A quietness distilled,
As twilight long begun,
Or Nature, spending with herself
Sequestered afternoon.

The dusk drew earlier in,
The morning foreign shone,--
A courteous, yet harrowing grace,
As guest who would be gone.

And thus, without a wing,
Or service of a keel,
Our summer made her light escape
Into the beautiful.

This year's summer made no light escape. Tonight's forecast -- snow. Two fronts coming through this weekend.

Snow.... already.... October 10th.

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