Recently in On Being Mindful Category

It hadn't been a good day at work in St. Paul; I was vexed, largely because of my own doings, and just wanted to be home. I had calculated that I'd have about 78 hours at home before I needed to leave for another 5 day trip. So I pointed my car west and headed heedlessly into the storm in the midafternoon. The schools had all closed like dominos ahead of me and many places of work, including some offices of my own organization in greater MN, had shut down and sent people home early.

Thanks to Alma, my road crew, who kept updating me on the MNDOT 511 road conditions the entire time (via hands free car phone, mom). All of which were "hazardous" and "no travel advised", with the occasional "difficult" to look forward to.

And it was an exciting trip those first 150 miles. When I stopped in Glenwood to pry my white knuckles off the steering wheel (now 5+ hours into what normally is 2.5 hours of travel), a guy at the gas station looked at my frozen and ice packed car and said "wow- what have you been driving through?" "HA!" I said- "hope you aren't heading east! It's brutal." There were cars all over in the ditches- on the MNDOT road condition map (above) all those purple diamonds are spin outs. In just the five miles before Morris, there were 3 cars newly in the ditch. How did I know they were "newly"? By the surprised and still faces of people still sitting behind their steering wheels.

Found my car iced over when I pulled into Glenwood

But the real excitement- the kind that makes you forgot all of your troubles- started when I turned south onto the Chokio road. I heard this "crrrrrrrrrr" sound under my car and realized that the snow on the road was up to my bumper and my chassis was pushing it down as I drove through it. If I slowed down now I would be stranded- 16 miles from home.

Note: This whole trip had a sound track and it was loud and thumping. I don't know about you, but Public Radio was not what kept me sharp and confident to keep my foot to the pedal. It was a Phillip Phillips HOME kinda trip, with some Mumford and Sons for emphasis.

View on the main road- between Sauk and Glenwood

Maybe it's kinda, you know, sick to enjoy this. But I did. Those last 16 miles were pure white out blizzard driving through snow that was up to and above my bumper. As I crashed through, the snow came up my hood and over the windshield so that I couldn't even see. I had to open my window and put my head out. It's almost sensual with the mist of the blowing snow pelting my skin, melting on my face and my hands on the steering wheel. Every sense is alert- with time slowing down intensely. There are no curves on this road, I couldn't see the edges of it on the prairie and in the white out- so I pointed straight and kept my foot firmly on the gas pedal. If I had met a single other car those last 16 miles and had had to slow down, I would have been stuck in that snow overnight. There was still just barely enough light that I could see apart from my headlights.

And then -- a flashback to an earlier trip Mike and I had taken in with his brother and sister, home from Arizona. Same deal- we drove from the Cities in a blizzard, turned south on the Chokio road, but it was night. We pointed the car south and gunned it. But this time we veered ever so slightly to the west and got sucked into the 10 foot deep snow of the ditch. Buried. After some time another car came along, luckily, and we waved them down. They stopped and took the five of us into Chokio where we were put up for the night by a big hearted older couple. And this is the part of the story that makes me laugh every time. Mike and I were put up in the 'doll' room, which displayed the many dolls made and collected by the woman of the house. Mike's brother, being the single guy, got put in the Cuckoo Clock room. So all night long, every 30 and 60 minutes, more than 100 Cuckoo Clocks went off. See, I'm laughing again. We got the car pulled out of the ditch and made it to the farm the next day.

Back to this most recent adventure. I had to turn west off the Chokio road now - keeping enough speed to bust through the snow, but not so much as to slide through the turn and into the ditch. It was close and like spinning a wheeley on purpose. It was 100% white out as I climbed the glacial moraine past where I knew the township hall would be sitting, could I have seen it. By the way, during this entire last 16 miles I'm driving in the middle of the road as there are no lanes, no line, and barely any distinguishable road out on the flatland prairie.

Note: this picture was taken close to home, AFTER I was through the worst of the driving

And the tale might have just ended like this. "Kathy made it home safe into the arms of her loving family." And, in fact, that is precisely what happened. But there's something else. Honest to G_d- as I closed in on home, a pair of swans flew up from the side of the road- nearly hovering as they were trying to take off into the 30+mph wind. Two white swans hovering just in front of my car. And as I drove over the slight hill, I broke through the actual edge of this blizzard and into a pink sunset on the horizon. Have you have ever felt that G-d or the universe is sending you a message? It was the Welcome Home for my soul. I had been wiped clean of any cares while I just focused every cell on surviving and then BOOF! You break through into beauty, peace, nature.

The trip wasn't done- I still had the final four (miles). And I'm happy to report that I burst through the last drifts on our ½ mile long driveway and made it to within 10 feet of the garage when I hit the final drift hard enough to basically, as Mike told me the next morning, lift the car off of the ground and set it on top of the drift so that the wheels didn't touch the ground.

And (back to the happy ending) then she made it home into the loving arms of her family. The table set with a glass of Dandelion wine; roast chicken and potatoes held warm in the oven.

Note: I actually have three children, but only one which throws himself in front of every camera. So while there are a disproportional number of pictures, there is proportional amount of love for all.

I made that dandelion wine with one purpose- to drink it after a couple snow days when I needed to remember and hope for lush, green, flowering spring. Back in 2011, Jens and I sat outside one spring day picking the abundant crop of dandelions growing in our 'organic' yard. Buckets of bright yellow flowers, my boy in the green grass, sunshine, and blue sky over endless prairie. I have now finished off the last bottle and I'm ready. For spring.

Mike pulling my car out yesterday morning

A few days ago I was driving east from our farm home to my work in St. Paul. I had the first 100 miles under my belt when my cell phone rang. It was a family emergency. My car was still heading east as I asked for more details- "which hospital are they taking dad too?" I found out Mike's dad was in an ambulance on the way to Sioux Falls, SD- which is the third hospital away from his home (150 miles) and a level up in providing trauma care.

There ain't nothing, people, like going into a dark ballroom filled with kids, loud music spanning 60 years from last week to 1952, and strapping on a pair of skates for a few hours. The whole world narrow down to this one great place and time. I make the boys hold my hand for the couple skate.

But last night I was in need of a little time to myself. So I walked the few feet over to the Lakewood Lodge. This is a great and beautiful place right on the lake- with a great patio and a dock to moor the pontoons that come down the lake for a good meal and nice drink. I found myself with a nice, pink drink in my hand. Blissfully looking at the pelican rookery and sun reflecting on the water. Complete peace and calm as the sun set to the west over the lake. Ahhhhhh.

And then it was time to herd the boys to the car (the girl is at Farmer's Union camp) and head the 18 miles back home. A lovely night with a half moon in the sky, thunderheads lit up by lightening in the dark sky. We begged the clouds to rain on our farm, but they were too far east.

Note to self: don't polka while recording video

The people here invest in the children- as a whole more than any one individual. Maybe that's the way it is all over. But it is so very clear how much all of these kids mean to the community. They close the streets for a kiddie parade.

The firemen set up the hoses and on a hot summer day and the kids get to play in the middle of the street for an afternoon of summertime fun.

Followed by a root beer float chaser and a carnival put on by the Civic Club.

And then it is Fair time. With 4-H stands and animal barns. And a tractor pull for the younger kids. For some seriously wonderful pictures of kids at the fair, click here to see Becky Red Barn's professional photos of the Big Stone County Fair. A must see.

First class mail is alive and kicking in Big Stone County, MN. Just try falling off the roof of one of the farm buildings and watch your mailbox get packed with well wishes. Just to clarify, it wasn't me that did the falling but my much loved and needed farmer-husband, Mike.

Friday, April 13th Mike tumbled off the new chicken shed and onto concrete- resulting in broken ribs and cutting open his elbow to the bone. As the story goes, he wouldn't have been hurt as badly if he hadn't tried to avoid falling on good dog Sunny. After driving himself to the clinic/hospital he began to deteriorated - slowly at first and then accelerating until he landed in the hospital the following week.

There's a reason that Farming is among the world's MOST DANGEROUS job. Farming ranks #4 (between SWAT officer and Structured Metal Workers) in this book that young Earnest brought home from the elementary school library.

All of this falling off roofs makes one realize how quickly life can change. And it reminds me to be grateful for all those we hold dear--from moment to moment.

It is also a lesson in the shortcomings of rugged individualism and the annoying stoicism of men of Scandinavian descent (and I bet we could add Germanic descent to that as well). Nearly a week after the accident, but before Mike was hospitalized we had the biggest fight in our 17 year marriage- toe to toe- in each others' faces. He was determined that he (wounded and sick) and I (inexperienced and annoyed) would put the bale fork on the John Deere 4440 and feed the cattle before we went into the clinic. I was equally determined that we should "just say YES!" to one of the dozen plus people who had offered to help us feed the cattle.

"You D#$m stubborn Norwegian! You can't be doing this in your shape!" "We have to do this now! And you need to learn to do this- NOW!" "Why in the middle of a crisis?" A number of other choice words about each others' priorities, capabilities and character ensued.

And in the way of these things, we were both absolutely right. Mike was right in that we got the bale fork on and I moved three 2,000 pound bales of hay into the pasture for the cattle and, in all honesty, with a sense of pride in the accomplishment. And I was right- in that he immediately thereafter landed himself in the hospital for 8 days and 3 surgeries. He's damn lucky to have that arm and probably his life. Without current medical interventions, I'd be a farm widow today.

I can joke now, but it's been a hard few weeks. After Mike's first two surgeries, the surgeon came out to the waiting room and escorted me down the hall to a private room. He closed the door behind me and gave me the news- not looking so good, gonna need another surgery in two days. After Mike's third surgery, the surgeon came to talk to me and didn't close the door. I knew then that we had turned the corner. And I was giddy with relief. When Mike was brought to his room after recovery, I said "Great news! No more surgeries! " "Then my arm is closed up?" "No- that's a ways out. You'll have a month of IV antibiotics ahead of you."

I cried with relief. It was the first time I'd cried at all. And Mike cried- tears of loss. Loss for an entire year of farming. Loss of the cattle he was on his way to buy. Loss of the expansion of our grazing lands to the adjoining USFWS prairie. Loss of a whole lot of plans, dreams, and investments of time and energy. April, May and June are cruel months for a farmer to be kept out of farming.

I'll just say this one last thing. My husband is a good, caring, hard working man of very few words. His daily word allotment is 40 words- so he uses them sparingly. A couple nights after he was home and trying to get his beaten up body comfortable in bed, he whispered so quietly I could have missed it, "thank you for taking care of me dear." And I'll say the same thing to many of you out there reading this.

Thank you for taking care of us dears.

When we first moved here 4.5 years ago, we had a shocking and ultimately laughable demonstration of prairie wind power. Three-year-old Jens opened the screen door on our front porch, which was caught by the south wind, and he was violently flung across the porch, down the five stairs, and rolled across the gravel until he nearly rolled under one of the parked cars. After the initial shock of seeing your child fly through the air and land many feet away, unharmed, we've had many good laughs at the image. In the convening years we've had the hinges blown off the door multiple times, tried any number of door catching devices- even some hill billy tree stumps strategically positioned on the porch.

The wind, I found, is relentless- blowing shingles off the roof; making the whole farm clatter and the empty silos sound like frightening pan pipes. The tender garden produce gets sand blasted and my exposed skin gets a cheap micro-dermabrasion.

The wind always wins, ultimately. And if you can't beat 'em, join 'em. So we've invested in a wind turbine and some thrilling parafoil kites.

I've been a bit reluctant to talk about our wind turbine as early in the venture one of my neighbors sauntered up to me and said, "say- I hear we have a wealthy farmer in the neighborhood." "Really- who?" "Well, the electrician was over and says he's putting up a wind turbine." wink-wink-nod-nod. A bit ironic since his tractor costs the same as about 4 of our modest wind turbines.

Nonetheless, there's a perception that a wind turbine is a nice luxury. And to be sure, we're grateful to be able to pull together the capital to put this baby up. But that said- 2011 was a good, sensible year to invest in a wind turbine. 1) There was a 30% federal tax credit for farm renewable energy projects as part of the economic stimulus, and 2) there was an allowance to depreciate up to 85% of the cost in year 1. So if you had income to offset, this was a good way to do it. After the stimulus tax credit and the depreciation over the coming years, I am hoping that this turbine pays for itself within 8 years. (knocking on wood). That will depend on our income and, of course, that wind keeps howling like it is tonight.

With 6 months of wind energy production data under our belt, our Bergey 10kw turbine is producing 2.5 times the amount of power that we use on our farm. The excess power is put onto the grid and used by our fellow Agralite Rural Electric Cooperative members. Though I get mixed messages from Agralite as to whether they like having wind power in their mix (reading the monthly newsletter), they have been professional, responsible and easy to work with in getting us grid tied. So - thank you Agralite.

I know that there are simpler ways for Agralite to get power- namely buying it from Great River Energy. And they seem to be very fond of coal- offering trips to coal-country every year for members. But I hope they also appreciate that just as our nation will be better off with domestic energy, that having some home-grown power produced right here in the Agralite service area is good for all our members and creates economic development for our region. So - let's mix it up a little.

At first we tried to site the turbine on the side of the farm where we couldn't see it. In the end- it sits right out our front door, down next to the barn. And frankly, it is a beauty to behold- I'm glad I can see it out the front door and perfectly in line with my office window. I love the way the turbine looks on this farm. Now in the morning I check the thermometer and then look out at the turbine to see the wind speed and direction.

And so, we made this maddening wind part of our long term farm plan. And even more than that- I discovered parafoil kites. Oh joy of joys! Forget those plastic $2.99 kites-- they are a bane to kiting. These parafoil kites were made to love the wind and the sky and can't be kept down. Over the past few months with a few bucks invested in some of these nylon parafoils I have fallen in love, again, with this prairie.

The kids and I sit on top of the giant hay bales and our kites voluntarily lift into the air. Then we just lean back in the hay and meditate on four or five brilliant colored kites in a sky so blue that your heart just aches. Sometimes we go out into the prairie preserve and fly our kites out there as well. One day Alma and I just laid in the tall grass- one of the nice January days when we didn't even need our coats (the first of such days in my lifetime).

One day last fall I was out alone with a couple kites on the edge of the prairie- but still in our field. An unknown hunter walked to the edge of the prairie and watched me flying those kites and I was jumping with excitement when a kite might dive into the tall slough grass and with a pull (from 200 ft away!!) of the kite string the kite would BOUND back up into the air. Truly amazing for me. The hunter looked at me and held his gun over his head with two hands-- I took it as some kind of salute to giddy use of this good day and good wind.

And so I've found not only peace with the windy prairie, but some profit, and even more importantly a new soul filling joy.

I've been buying my flour in 50# sacks from Swany White since about 1997. Even though Mike gave me my very own County Living flour grinder, I still loved my to mix Swany White with my hand ground whole wheat.

The Freeport, MN Swany White flour mill will not be replaced. They were still using the mill equipment from 1913-- and replacement doesn't make economic sense. So much loss-- a thriving small town business, a place farmers could bring their local and organic wheat, a great product that was beloved by those who knew and used it. Makes you kinda ache, doesn't it.

We're losing a lot in these couple of generations-- yours, mine, my children's. Once the pieces of our once thriving rural infrastructure are gone, they can't be replaced with the same quality as before. Just a few days ago, we lost the 2nd to last two story brick building on Main Street Clinton. It looks to me that the gaping holes that remain are filled with pole buildings. To me, those buildings don't have the permanence or skill embedded in them the way those lovely brick building do-- or as the case may be-- did.

Minnesota's 2012 Organic Farming Conference came on the heels of losing Swany White and was hosted less than 30 miles away in St. Cloud. There were a solid 450 solid people at this year's conference. Lots of old timers and new, young farmers. I walked away from that conference saying "Thank God" we have farmer like these who are stewarding the land and holding onto skills that would otherwise be lost in a couple generations. Cattlemen, vegetable breeders, small grain growers are just a few of the folks at whose feet we sat in the last two days.

One thing I learned and the crux of what I bring back to my farm, is that these organic farmers and keepers of animals and seeds (the 'seedies') are practicing "slow farming." Meaning they invest their time and give their intimate attention to their farm's plants (and animals and soil). The lessons I took away from vegetable breeding and seed saving workshop,(by humble, approachable, powerhouse Theresa Podoll) are to know what you want from your crops (taste, storage, pest tolerance) and to be mindful of every plant-- how it looks and feels the fruit; to both study and eat your squash (how long did it last in the pantry, how much flesh, how does it taste?), and; save the seeds from just the very very best.

Men and women out across the landscape (like the Podolls in rural North Dakota and ES and his soybeans) are stealthily saving the best seed from crops, developing even better varieties for the times, and ensuring a very small part of the biodiversity from the past -- for the future. These people and their seeds are the saving remnant. And frankly, in a global near-monopoly of seed companies, they are preserving freedom and independence along with those seeds. Thank you.

Today, Sunday January 15, 2012, we have the most complex food system in the history of humankind. You think it's easy getting your Hot Pockets and Mountain Dew to the Cenex Station in Grygla, Minnesota? It probably took 10,000 people to prepare that meal -- from making the fertilizer to grow the crops, extracting and refining the oil to make the plastic bottle, setting up the distribution system and delivering it so that we can eat it in the car on our way to our next busy task. All that for $2.59 and and a touch of diabetes.

Did I digress? No-- we've have lost a lot of our communities' real food infrastructure like creameries, butcher shops, and even our skills of how to grow food and cook it. And right now, we are under threat of losing even our rural groceries in a mass die-off across the countryside.