A View From Here: Resettling Big Stone County Minnesota

Photo credit: James Neeley

I just returned home to western Minnesota after a couple days in the SE Minnesota blufflands. Minnesota is unique in being the home to the intersection of three differnt biomes/ecosystems (prairie grasslands, coniferous forest, and deciduous forest) and when you travel between them you can see, feel, smell the difference.

So I'm suffering from ecosystem envy-- or probably garden envy! My sisters garden is a sight to behold. For example, last spring I planted 75 feet of strawberries which are soldiering on ankle high against the winds, cold, and dry spells producing hard little berries. At the same time my sister Kelley (and husband Jason- a dairy farmer) planted five plants and have knee high strawberries bursting with big berries and threatening to take over the rest of her garden, which by the way is spectacular.

Like I said in my last entry- the part of the prairie we live in is glorious savahna grasslands- but it is definitely a harsher climate. Violent winds, lower rainfall, longer winters (we are 250 miles North and West of my sister and mom). And not the easiest place to grow a garden. Our tomato plants were sand blasted by crazy winds blowing soil, my herbs just bake in the hot sun. My apple trees froze and thawed on their southern sides causing the bark to turn black and they too soldier on...

It also seems, from driving around, that the people and barns are holding up a bit better in SE Minnesota. Our barns, all around, are greying and collapsing. Empty farmhouses hanging on with thin hopes of being homes again. The barns in SE appear to holding up, painted if still empty of animals.

I tell my kids over and over that the key to happiness is to want exactly what you already have. To relish and delight in what is, not what could be. But dang, Kelley's strawberry pie tasted good!

**p.s. when I was little, a Dr. Neeley in Hayfield, MN sewed up my leg on a Sunday morning after an accident on Grandma's farm. This photo credit is a Neeley with lots of SE farm pictures. Anyone know if it's the same family?

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Photo credit: Lori Hynnek Kids after the Clinton Day Parade- June 2009

Tonight Jens and I drove home from visiting the homeopathic doctor in Montevideo with a car full of great smelling authentic Mexican food.

It was an incredibly lush, luxurious, and verdant drive home. As I drove I could hardly keep my eyes on the road because I wanted to take in all of the beauty around me. It looked like the scene from a Grant Woods' painting of rolling green hills and white farmhouses. Cows and horses grazed in the pastures along Hwy 7. The hay is lying in windrows. It is an absolute feast of bursting life.

Since Hwy 7 is under Federal Stimulus road construction, we had to take a zig-zaggy path along gravel roads to get to Odessa Minnesota. The owner of Ellingson's Honey graciously and generously put out four hive boxes and forty frames for me to pick up on mainstreet. See--the bees have already filled up 6 large boxes and need a couple more boxes. I'm telling you - this place is just bursting out of its skin with nectar.

My heart just swells with love for this place--the big sky, the open savanna, the tree lined Minnesota River Valley, the farms, pelicans, ducks, hawks, yellow headed blackbirds, the people. On the road between Clinton and the farm I met one car and one teenage boy jogging--they both waved. That is a 100% greeting rate.

Coming Home to Clinton was the name of our town's 125th Anniversary celebration last summer. I couldn't explain why I had a catch in my throat, my eyes filled with tear for much of that weekend. Same thing happened just two weeks ago for Clinton Days. I wasn't Coming Home to Clinton- I wasn't born or raised here like all the other exiles who filled the closed off mainstreet for three days of fun, baseball, and friendship. But I realized, some months later, that Coming Home to Clinton meant finding a home, a place I intend to stay as long as I'm permitted in this life.

I wonder if I could have been this happy anywhere? We looked at farms throughout Minnesota, places like Vera and a place near Cloquet. I wonder if my heart would have felt the same anywhere. But I'm not anywhere--I'm in Big Stone County. A lovely place to live, build a life, be in a community, and to just take in all the beauty that surrounds us-- if one is fortunate enough to have learned to be mindful.

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I was up before sunrise and stepped outside to a perfect late spring morning. The air was crisp and cool, a symphony of birds all around me- geese to the west, pheasants to the east, and any number of song birds and mourning doves all around me. Thanks to Mike’s hard work the garden is in. We have nearly five acres of market garden if you count the sweet corn, popcorn, and black turtle beans. Since we’re using organic production practices Mike strode in the house after planting the last of the beans and got on line to order Alma and me a couple of “stirrup” hoes. Says it’s going to be a challenging summer keeping the weeds down.

It’s wonderful to see the green shoots all around—it is full on biomass production time. With green shoots you can see, touch, and smell- shoots that will produce food to feed my family, friends, and folks in the community.

I had a dream last night. I was walking down a city street, like Wall Street, holding my newborn baby in my arms- only a couple days old. As I walked, a tall, young man in a suit pushed me over to get into his office door. I was very mad and walked into his office saying “how rude! You push over a woman carrying a newborn to get into your office?!” He looked over his shoulder, sneered at me, pointed Security over to me, and walked into his office. Three security guards, one like Secret Service, patted me down and one even groped me as my baby lay on the counter. I was furious and started citing my professional credentials. But I was ignored and helpless.

That dream shows my own frustration with giving the moneyed elite on Wall Street our national coffers so that they can get the green shoots going. They are sneering, taking your money, and groping you in the process. This will not end well.

I think we’re best off looking out here for green shoots.

**Note: I have to add that my Dad and Uncle were both community bankers who served families, communities, and small businesses with integrity and feeling (sometimes feeling quite bad during the hard times these).

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Alma reluctantly exploring an abandoned farmhouse with mom and Megan

The other night I made a couple loaves of fresh, homemade bread for a meeting in town. Alma was begging for me to leave her just ½ of a loaf. “No way! This is for the meeting. Maybe there will be some left over.” As I drove away, the scent of hot, fresh bread filling my car, my heart was heavy that I hadn’t left her a chunk of the loaf.

It brought to mind a story by Willa Cather, Neighbor Rosicky.

They had been at one accord not to hurry through life, not to be always skimping and saving. They saw their neighbours buy more land and feed more stock than they did, without discontent. Once when the creamery agent came to the Rosickys to persuade them to sell him their cream, he told them how much money the Fasslers, their nearest neighbours, had made on their cream last year.
"Yes," said Mary, "and look at them Fassler children! Pale, pinched little things, they look like skimmed milk. I`d rather put some colour into my children`s faces than put money into the bank."
The agent shrugged and turned to Anton.
"I guess we`ll do like she says," said Rosicky.

This story is not about feeding your kids first. It’s about giving the best of yourself to your kids and even your neighbors. It’s a lesson in quality of life-- simplicity with richness-- the richness of cream enjoyed rather than sold. I keep reminding myself and striving to live like neighbor Rosicky.

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A May 2009 View of the Gift of Good Soil

The crops are in. About an inch of rain fell over the weekend. You could hear the sighs of relief from the farmers all around the area.

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Dr. Peter Graham- admiring prairie legumes

Early last Monday morning I walked across my own bean field creating and composing an idea to work on with my esteemed friend and colleague Dr. Peter Graham. I was thinking about nitrogen fixation in edible beans under organic production practices. I was excited to pitch the idea to Peter and knew he’d share my interest.

When I sat down at my computer I learned that Peter had left us- unexpectedly over the weekend.

Peter changed the course of my life for the better in so many ways. Through the years he was my boss, adviser, mentor, colleague, and at last a friend. I am the person that I am today because of Peter’s generous and large investment of his time, teaching, and resources. I worked with Peter since I was an undergraduate in his lab- and stayed for nearly 8 years- working both in Minnesota and Ecuador. I found a home in his lab was a touchstone of my life.

Peter showed me first hand what it meant to really love the work that you do.

My interest and work in sustainability comes from him and his applied research in nitrogen fixation in legumes. Peter, a respected academic, was also an unsung hero of sustainability. To my mind and experience his work in South America, where he lived for many years, was the opposite of the green revolution. He worked with small farmer on low input (hence N fixation) bean production to improve peoples diets, not exports.

At a time when I was young, lost, and poor Peter brought out the best of my potential. I really am who I am and do what I do today because of the many years that Peter nurtured me with a free rein. There are so few people in life that look out for us (me) in the way that Peter did. Without him, my world is more uncertain and I've lost an umbrella of protection that he held over me for more than 1/2 my life... Even if he held it lightly.

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Grasp the Nettle= means to face up to or take on a problem that has been ignored or deferred

At first light on Sunday morning I'm sitting in a patch of frosty nettles watching Jens running across the backyard to find me. He's in his footy pajamas with bright blue puddle-jumper boots and wearing a huge red sweatshirt that hangs a foot beyond his hands and down to his knees. He has just turned five and is up early to ride the bike he got for his birthday the night before. In the chill of the morning he rides and I run up and down the driveway.

That is the image of my life I want imprinted in my mind forever...

The reason I was sitting in the nettles on Sunday morning is that Audrey (Moonstone Farms) introduced me (and Alma) to a new world of local foods on Saturday. I joined a group of folks to take her class "Grasp the Nettle" on eating native foods that grow all around us. This was another of those eye and world-opening experiences. We walked her farm and grove picking and eating all kinds of spring greens.

Then we prepared those greens into one of the finest meals I've ever had...
Nettle pasta with basil pesto (out of this world delicious!)
Steamed, buttered nettles with wine vinegar
Spezzati- spring onions, dandelion greens, Virginia Waterleaf and eggs
Ham and dandelion greens
Dandelion flower fritters
Burdock root sauted and mixed with wild rice and hazelnuts
Apple leather and dried elderberries

All that food grows around our farmstead without having to plant, weed, or water it. And it's free for the taking.

So we had nettles and eggs for breakfast and I even harvested enough to freeze some for next winter. Here's Jens eating the nettles- the thumb is pointed up, but his face says something different.

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Megan demonstrating to the Community Service Club how to plant the fruit trees

Last weekend we planted 177 fruit trees across the entire school district (which is about 50 miles wide) at the home of every elementary age kid in the school. For me it was a fun and interesting adventure.

My back of the envelope calculations are that those trees, at maturity, would provide enough food to feed the entire school district population for 4-5 days. Now that's a step towards community food security. What's more, it gives those kids access to healthy, local foods right out their back doors.

There are so many lessons we learned doing this project that I'm going to have to write them all down in a paper. But we couldn't have done this without the support of the Foodshelf, school board, Mr. Dreke (3rd grade teacher extraordinaire), the Community Service Club (farmers who left the field to plant other children's trees), Lou's Greenhouse in Big Stone City, SD, my husband, and Megan the student supported by the U's Community Assistance Program.

I want to say a few words about Megan the U of MN horticulture student who has an intuitive way with these trees- you have to see this woman pruning a few dozen trees to appreciate her skill and confidence with fruit trees. She whips out her pruners, hanging from her belt, and moves around the tree like Edwards Scissorhands (a dated reference from my youth). Megan's work with these trees brought to mind the book about scientist Barbara McClintock "A Feeling for the Organism." McClintock's discoveries in molecular biology were 30 years ahead of the times and she credits them to the intuitive sense she gained over years of working/being with corn.

Our traveling the county showed me the need for a home-scale horticulturalist to teach people to care for trees. People would grab Megan by the arm and take her to see their fruit trees and ask her to guide them in pruning. Next year (to which Mike quickly adds "there is no Next Year!") we will combine the fruit tree planting with some kind of tree care/pruning/maybe fruit preservation session.

Small enough to care about. Small enough to make a difference. What a great weekend.

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photo credit: Carolyn McDonald

~First frog calls in the pre-dawn morning
~First sighting of snake trails across the dusty gravel roads
~At the Prairie Preserve during my morning’s gaze to the N, S, E, W, sky, and ground, I put my bare hands into the yellow thatch of prairie grass and it felt warm for the first time this year
~With my hands in the grass and I heard wild turkeys gobbling for the first time out here
~First mosquito – honest
~First new lights out on the prairie- a new hog confinement unit with three bright yardlights startled me a few days ago shining a few miles off across the prairie to the NE of our house (I’ll have to drive and check that out)
~First green grass sprouting out of the flood flattened grass on the SE corner of the farm
~8 of the 10 Aronia berries (chokeberry) I planted put out new growth

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I gave up economics for Lent. It wasn't easy, but I quit checking the stock market, business news services, Bloomberg radio, blogs, futures markets and the Baltic Dry Index. Alma overheard me telling someone that I had given up the economy for Lent and she said "But mom, you ask Dad everyday "how did the market do?" Alma gave up her MP3 player, Jens wanted to give up naps (didn't let him), Lake just scowled at the idea. Mike said, from his Baptist tradition, that everything that everyone gave up for Lent they gave up all year.

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Child in from sledding on a mid-winters night

Yesterday the kids came running, yelling "Grass! We found green grass!" We have a calf hutch on the north-east corner of the house as a play fort for the kids. Inside the hutch was green grass- all three kids jumped inside to enjoy the greenhouse effect that grew the grass. MIke and I stacked wood while they played nearby. Mike guesstimates that we stacked about 6-8 weeks of mid-winter heating.

Last January the days were so short that in order to get in any decent amount of sledding, a kid had to put on a head lamp to play into the night (which would start around 4:30 in the afternoon). One particularly cold, snowy, long evening of darkness, Earnest came back in from sledding in the dark with his brother and sister. His headlamp shining like his eyes-- he cut through the darkness of winter both inside and outside of the house.

The sun is setting decidedly north of our west pointing driveway, there is green grass to be found if you want to crawl inside a calf hutch, and right now the full moon is shimmering on the lake west of our grain bins (wait- that's suppose to be our field). Point is... "Even a blind man can tell when he's walking in the sun." I think it is safe to say spring is here.

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photo credit: Alma (this is one among dozens of staged horse photos I found on the camera)

The sun is rising slightly north of due west. That means we are really starting the time of year where the sun’s intensity warms the earth. A pink blaze comes through my kid pawed dining room windows and with the sunlight at this angle I can see all the fingerprints, lip and kiss marks.

What a wonderful Saturday. It was cold enough to slow the flooding of Fargo—but that sun angle made the south facing porch sunny and warm. I watched the soil on our farm giving off steam and make ground fog clouds. And then about 6 pm waves and waves of 10 of thousands of snow geese made their way from south to north across our farm. The sun was low enough in the west that it shown on their white undersides—they look like clouds of white sparkles filling the sky. I was at a loss for words. Stunning/magical/breathtaking.

The kids and I moved the table and chairs out of the kitchen to make room for a dance party. Alma is at the age where we are listening to both Disney tunes and Jonas Brothers. We danced until our sides ached. The weekend also included grinding wheat, making our first batch of hard cheese- some Monteray Jack, and a plush toy parade around the farm.

Late Saturday night I realized that I had forgotten to put in the chickens (Mike was out of town for a Blues Fest). So I walked into the dark night (yard light off) and through the dark barn to our chicken coop. Happy was too afraid to go in the dark barn- and I don’t blame her. My flashlight was about out of batteries. Having locked the chickens in the coop, I all but run back past the empty cow stalls towards the door. I stand on the concrete slab outside the barn door- the house lights a couple hundred yards away, the sound of geese honking in the dark all around me, a half moon in the sky. I hear a large metallic clunk from inside the steel barn ceiling and am propelled towards the house.

As it turns out, in putting the chickens to bed in the dark, I locked a skunk in the coop with them. None of the chickens were killed, luckily. But what a shock to find a skunk in the corner of the coop the next morning.

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Minnesota's Local Foods Commission Legislation- introduced Monday March 23rd, 2009 All dressed up and in its jacket

A bill for an act relating to agriculture; creating a commission on local foods; requiring a report

It seems to me that a civilization and by extension, its government, should be devoted to first providing the basic needs of its citizenry. Frankly that is why I am incessently crabby about spending $10 trillion dollars on AIG, Citi, Bank of America, and others too big to fail. Another way of looking at the $10 trillion you and I are giving to banksters on the backs of our children's children's children is that it is the equivalent of paying for 170 years of the US Farm Bill-that includes food stamps, agriculture research, conservation practices, commodity payments, and all things agriculture.

That is why I am heartened and encouraged by Minnesota H.F. 2075. A bill to create a statewide commission on local foods. It is about bringing together our best, brightest, well intentioned, agrarian populists to make sure our state is doing all it can to ensure that healthy, local foods are available to us and our families. Contented sigh...

With all due respect to Representative Larry Hosch and Senator Gary Kubly (hopefully the senate author), the sound track in my mind for this legislation is "Sisters are doing for themselves! Standing on their own two feet. Ringing their own bells." That song is probably as close as I can come in my mental jukebox to a song about taking control of the basics of a wholesome, healthy, fruitful life.

You see that's the magic in local self reliance. That is the Jeffersonian ideal of a solid democracy. Can you see it? When we, collectively and supported by our institutions, are able to provide basic food, energy, water then we are free to be citizens. Standing tall and proud. And isn't that part of the beauty in small, diversified farms? It's why the eye and heart are drawn to a farmstead with a barn, garden, chicken coops, house, windmill and well handle.

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Our son "Earnest" holding the Boxelder Syrup we made

Yesterday the boys and I went to Big Stone State Park for our first adventures in collecting Box Elder sap for syrup. It was chilly and rainy, but Joanne (ranger extraordinaire) took us out to see the trees she had tapped, showed us how to tap a tree, and let us collect 3.5 gallons of syrup. At home we boiled the 3.5 gallons down to one golden, delicously sweet and buttery cup of Boxelder Syrup. Compared to Maple Syrup, the Boxelder is milder- almost marshmellowy. I hope I can do this every year from now on.

Do you have any suggestions for very special dessert on which to use this syrup?

The Big Stone Bounty isn't only this amazingly delicious syrup, it's the generousity of time, talent, and spirt that led Joanne to make this possible for us.

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Geese rising from our south field just before sunrise 3/19/09

I'll try to find a photo later, but in the mean time you'll just have to picture this. Last week we had one day where the high was -11 degrees with a -50 windchill. Yesterday it approached 70 degrees. That feels like 120 degrees warmer. So we decided to eat some seasonal foods on the front porch (Girl Scout Cookies) and watch the kids play in the gushing streams and rippling waterfalls all around our farmstead. There were 10,000's of geese all around-- honking loudly in every direction. We saw the first ducks migrating through today and some seagulls as well. The sun is now setting nearly due west down the driveway.

The kids played until their feet were nearly frostbit from the 32 degree water and came thumping up to the house crying (at least the little ones) with numb feet.

What a difference a 100 degrees warmer and 10,000 geese can make to a winter weary soul. Mike said that as much as he hates the cold, he wouldn't give up the feeling you get when the seasons change. I think he means that pure joy of the first day of spring.

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