A View From Here: Resettling Big Stone County Minnesota

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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Congregants at Holden Lutheran, Beardsley MN 1936

I'm reading The Land of the Living: The Danish Folk High Schools and Denmark's Non-Violent Path to Modernization. I stole this book from a very good man and frankly at this point have no intentions to return it (sorry John!). Mostly because I envision a rural landscape full of these remarkable folk schools and figure we'll need an instruction manual.

I read with interest the chapter on why Scandanavians are melancholy, or as I would describe it -- stoic. The author muses "an obvious direction in which to look... is the dark and cold northern climate." But then he decides these Danes actually take pride in living with extreme cold and short summers and delight in the changing of the seasons. Instead he decides that:

Whatever the reason, I find myself living among (one could even venture to say "with") stoics.

I know a man who served in World War II, married, raised a number of fine and productive children, farmed and worked very hard past the point he was able. He lived a solid life, stern and upright, he frowned on tapping ones toe to the hymns in church because it was too close to dancing.

And then he was stricken with Alzheimers and lost control. He now gushes over his wife of nearly 65 years, enchanted by her, unable to to stop telling her how much he loves her, holding her close. All those years of holding himself so close only to burst with love and delight as the twilight hastens.

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Sunday morning at 5 am the wind hit the farm like a thunderous wall. All the upstairs doors were knocking in their frames -- trying to open and close at the same time from the violent gusts of wind coming in the windows. The windows had been left open just a crack to let in the comfortable and fresh nightime air.

And I was hit with the flu- classic high temp, chills, body aches, headaches, etc... So I was in and out of consciousness while watching V is for Vendetta three times. I've always been one of those "things worth dying for" rather than "things worth killing for" kind of people. So while I don't relate to the Vendetta as much, I appreciate (to tears) the courage of people to take to the streets in search of truth and freedom.

I hope you can see this movie. And I hope you don't have to get the flu in order to do so.

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Photo credit: anonymous

A flock/swarm of Rough Swallows has descended upon the farm and prairie to the south. In the mornings on the way to the prairie preserve they are thick, flying low over the soybeans, playing "chicken" with me and happy. They seem playful as they dip close to my head and to each other. Like a game for them- who can get closest to the human.

Our "new" chickens are so cool- a grab bag of about 20 different heritage breed chickens. All colors, shapes, feather types. They're getting big enough to start cock-a-doodle-do at sun up-- 6:08 am. These chickens haven't graduated to the coop in the barn-- so they are still milling around the house. It's nice to hear them clucking and quacking outside the windows.

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New hand pump on the farm

We had to deal with an abandoned well on the farm-- our choices were to fill it with cement or put it back into use. So we decided to put it into use by installing a hand pump. It's by the barn on the cement slab where a windmill stood 100 years ago. Jury is out on whether this was a good decision - financially. It just seemed worth a little more to make the well functional than to pay to have it filled with cement...

I drove home from my job in St. Paul last night. It was a nice drive- the closer to home, the more lovely the landscape. I listened to loud eclectitc music- sunroof open. As I was about to turn off the last paved road onto the gravel road to our farm, I noticed a black lump in the road. I pulled over and helped get a large old turtle over to the wetland on the south side of the road (which cuts the wetland in half). As I turned down our dirt road there were deer- regular white tail and a mile later I swear I saw a mule deer. A skunk ambled across the road. Early in the week we saw a fox.

There were also geese flying to the south in V formations. But I try not to look and I plug my ears "lalalalalala" to block out the honking. I am NOT ready for another winter. It is simply too early for the geese to fly south. I hope that is not an omen for early winter.

It's funny how I just have to turn off the black top to take in all this wildlife. How the turtle marks my turn in the road and the landscape comes alive for me after nearly 200 miles of driving. Nice to be home.

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Today my boys entered kindergarten. When I woke them up they clapped their hands and yelled hurrah! We walk down the driveway under dark skies and light rain with thunder booming to the south and east. They held hands and sang songs together.

I waved as the bus rolled away and then jogged to the south- right into the storm. I expected to feel sad at this passing milestone- but instead I felt a sense of wonder. Maybe even a little bit of freedom (bad mom!).

There was a controlled burn of the prairie preserve last spring. This fall it is full of Big Bluestem and looks entirely different- darker- some of the grass taller than me. An egret flew overhead, the wind was gusting (up to 60 mph it said on the radio), the grass swayed in waves across the preserve-- a novelty. Oh how we humans love novelty.

So I experimented with the a short video clip.

As I walked through the prairie, down to the wetland edge and across to our farmland I found this deep muddy track through the grass. At the end of the muddy track was a large downed tree. A beaver. This is the same spot where an otter popped up and just stared at me over the grass.

All my kids in school- growing up. Burning the prairie- new grass comes up. Expecting grief- finding wonder. That's a good day.

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The gift of good family

Hopefully when we get back to the farm the tomatoes will be ripe. In the mean time- I'll just tip back a cold one and enjoy the last weekend of summer.

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One of the 2009 class of broilers

Mike and the kids caught the 75 free-range broiler chickens we've been raising this summer, put them in the chicken crates he made, and took them to Ashby Minnesota to be butchered. The one in the picture skipped the trip to Ashby.

We've learned a lot about raising chickens and it shows! I hope you can see how yellow this bird is- a striking difference from last year's chicken.

This year we didn't use the portable chicken coop- moving it daily around the farmyard. We just let the chickens run wild. They were smarter, more interesting, less concentrated manure, and ate more diverse food. They showed instincts- like diving under a car or propane tank when a hawk flew over. We even lost fewer birds this year. And I think they are tastier... They were "finished off" on crab apples. The chickens just hung out eating apples all day long the last couple weeks.

We made old-fashioned fried chicken (dipped in eggs- then into our hand ground Big Stone County wheat) and it tasted divine as part of a traditional August farmhouse dinner- slice tomatoes and cucumbers, sweet corn, fried chicken, and cilantro tossed rice (okay- not traditional). Everything but the salt, pepper and rice was grown on our farm. Topped the meal off with some Black Current Wine (for me and Leona) and a Summit Pale Ale for Mike.

Enjoying the fruits of summer's labor...

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When you click on and play this video, think instead of miles of prairie, wetlands, green corn and beans, and acres yellow wheat being harvested by farmers as we drive miles without any interuptions at all.

I drove the kids 70 miles round trip to the Benson Public Swimming Pool. We were there when it opened and the last to leave. Infrastructure? let me tell you about infrastructure. This is a great small town pool- four different swimming areas, slides, wading areas, and full of kids. Staffed by teachers on summer break and high school kids. It's like a flashback to my own childhood in Dodge Center.

If we had stayed in St. Paul my kids would be going to the Jewish Community Center day camp and playing in one of these elaborate pools five days a week. But instead this day is the event of the summer- one whole day at the pool, complete with a trip to the DQ where Lake was so tired his head almost dropped into his twist cone.

Before we moved from the city to the farm I went to talk to my pediatrician and the director of the day care at the JCC and asked their opinions. Should I take my kids out of this "enriching" environment and move them to a farm? They both said that if they could take every kid out of daycare and put them on a farm with their parents- that's what they would do.

So instead of a daily dose of fancy pool (we do have a pool in the backyard) they get an occastional treat of big pool fun. That's probably ok in instilling a sense of savoring and appreciating the good things in life.

It is certainly true for me. I left there remembering that the world would be short one giant joy if we couldn't enjoy our fleeting summer on the high prairie with a day at the municiple pool.

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Last day of preschool for boys- May 2009

I always appreciate your comments on my blog. Thanks to all of you who leave notes here. I just wanted to let you know that there have been some glitches in the blog's comment system that hopefully are resolved.

So please keep posting those comments!

Thoughts are turning to getting kids back to school. Hence, the running for the bus under a rainbow picture from last spring.

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