A View From Here: Resettling Big Stone County Minnesota

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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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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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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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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Kids in front of our garden

This is season two of our farming adventure. We're learning a lot, making some of the same mistakes, and vowing not to repeat them next year. Well-- next year will be another adventure on its own with setting up 92 acres of managed grazing.

But this organic food production is enough to kill you. Spring is all fresh and lovely with well tilled fields -- no weeds. But by the end of July the weeds are threatening everything we've planted. We know... we know... cover crops, mulches, landscape fabric, all kinds of options. But we've got a couple acres of sweet corn, popcorn, and flint corn alone. And I've been "walking the bean" to try to keep our organic black turtle beans (1+acre) weed free enough to combine come fall.

I bought some marigolds, flower seeds, and purely ornamental plants this spring. Needless to say... they were not prioritized above weeding my strawberry bed, gourmet lettuce patch, and my potato field. Between work, family and farm.... there is just no time for ornamentals.

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Photo credit: Dan Bush

Last Saturday our whole family was privileged to take in the most amazing fireworks display- right here in our own township (population 96 souls in 36 sq. miles). Sometimes the greatest pleasures in life are the unexpected ones. We watched the prairie sky fill with jaw dropping bursts of light and color- with multiple grand finales in a row these were among the most spectacular fireworks I've ever enjoy. The setting helped too... out on our quiet dark prairie with stars all around- the contrast was breath taking and we all screamed with delight.

This was part of a family and graduation celebration for one of our neighbors. So in addition to the fireworks (put on by one of the family members who is a professional pyrotechnic) we enjoyed the blessing of community-- good company, festive atmosphere, good food and drink. I.e. the works.

Mike said as we drove away "I bet there are very few people in this country that saw fireworks that like tonight." We all nodded.

What a way to launch a young one into the world- best wishes Mishayla.

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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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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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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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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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Odessa, Minnesota- photo courtesy of the Minnesota Historical Society

Small Enough to Care About.

There is a scale at which it is possible to make an impact. A scale at which ideas, thoughts, and actions can turn into something changed, good, and tangible. Like our farm- we're going to put a chunk of it into pasture to raise grassfed livestock. The change and good I seek is 1) Meadowlarks return to our corner of the prairie 2) the winter snows won't be covered with black dirt from the blowing soil. (oh and more romatic ideas of flying kites, chasing kids, and watching cows chew their cud in verdant fields)

In small communities it is possible to work together, build a new idea, and see it come to fruition. We have a local food group forming in the county and there are steps forward. I hear a community garden may be planted on a vacant mainstreet lot. Now that is Change You Can Believe In.

What I like about where I lives is that it is small enough to care about.
As for those too big to fail? Somehow I think we will be just fine without them.

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This morning I stopped and listened to a silence in the world that I have never heard before. It was about 10-15 degrees, windless, a light fog hung all around the edges of the world.

The silence was startling in its completeness. No birds, cars, planes, people, machines, or wind. It was complete, total, and utter silence. There was not a single sound except my own heartbeat.

The only sign of life this morning was death.

I found a dead mole in the middle of the road. His whiskers still full of the ice crystals he made with his last breathes. He was curled in a comfortable ball- his fur lovely and rich in the early morning sun. What was he doing out there?

Mike came in the other night astounded that it was so quiet he had heard the 6 pm whistle blow in Clinton- 10+ miles away. Imagine standing in Highland Park, St. Paul and being able to hear a noise made in Edina.

Imagine being so surprised by a quiet world, having lived in it for 40 years. After a bit I hollered “I am here!�? My voice echoed back- but I’m not sure off of what on this prairie

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Ice on (yet) un-named pond on our road

I dreamt the other night that I was in the barn with Jens and Alma. It was warm and I had lost one boot. Jens was barefooted. It was getting very dark and I decide to run back to the house with the one boot and with Jens in my arms - feet wrapped. I ran throught the snow and then fell through the crust and up to my chest. I could see the yellow glow of the house lights close- but out of reach. Alma and Jens crawled across the crust and I tried to "swim" my way out of the snow.

Monday I walked into the ditch to get on the pond. I walked on the crust until I fell in up to my waist- the dream returning to me in the pre-dawn morning. I walked around the ice taking in the frozen animal tracks, the drifts of snow like isthmuses across the blue grey ice, the patterns of cracks. Again yesterday I waded through snow onto the pond, thinking I was taking a completely different path and surprised to find I was walking the same steps. By day 3 it has become a looked for path of comfort. I smiled at myself the critter- a path making critter. There was an element of instinct- I'd found a safe path and sought that path.

What lies ahead of us is uncharted and we need a new path. It's going to require some trail blazing. There will anxiety, even fear. But somehow, sometime that new path will bring comfort.

Sunrise on the pond

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Alma in the storefront

Alma and I spent the better part of the day running the Granary Coop on mainstreet Ortonville, Minnesota. This store is a gem, and would be a gem anywhere it was located. It is a 100% volunteer run coop with the best variety of bulk organic foods that I've seen anywhere- Twin Cities included. The Granary, with its huge picture windows in a historic building on Mainstreet, adds a lot to the richness of living in Big Stone County for me.

This is a nice time for Alma and I to spend together- playing at being proprietors of our own little store of organic and local foods. Today there was bright sunlight, the smell of wholesome food, public radio playing in the background, and a mom and daughter with a world all our own.

This store wouldn't be here except for the dedication of a handful of people in Ortonville. Many thanks to Donna and Meg and all the others whose dedication keeps this great place open.

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Mike is the king of gift-givers (I'm not as evidenced by the soap dishes he got Year 1 and Year 2 of our marriage). Lookey lookey what I got for Christmas this year! My very own Country Living Grain Mill. So now I can make my own flour, corn meal, bean meal, nut butters, and maybe oatmeal.

We had a great day yesterday-- foraging for good things in Big Stone County. We headed down to Odessa (population 113) to buy bulk honey from Ellingson's. They have a robust honey and beeswax industry that employess folks year around. [Sadly my hives died last week with the extended below zero and 60mph winds and windchills. A sad lesson learned]. Then we went to JoAnn's house to buy some homemade soap and we plotted together to make some 100% Big Stone County soap- lye from our woodstove and vegetable oils from local crops. Lunch at The Cabin in Clinton and over to Todd's to pick up some wheat.

Bless Todd's soul- he pulled two bushels of wheat out of his grain bins. The variety of wheat Todd grew, Traverse, was developed by South Dakota State University and is named after the lake and county just north of us a few miles. So now I have some local wheat to turn into flour. Luckily Todd's son Travis (the football player) dropped by this afternoon and ground a couple cups. This is NOT as easy at it looks or sounds.

Grinding the wheat has a lovely smell. I've baked since I was young and never experienced the aroma of fresh ground flour. It is the smell of that Gerber dry baby food. It is probably lovely because it evokes those golden days of feeding babes their cereal.

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Queen Frostine- of Candy Land fame

My son Lake is a lot like me-- we are both early risers. In these early mornings we often play Candy Land. Queen Frostine is the jackpot of Candy Land. In the last couple of days Lake has taken to stacking the deck, in mom's favor.

"You go first mom. Look! You got Queen Frostine!"

I've often puzzled over the meaning of "grace." Other people seem to understand grace more intuitively than I do. I've had some first hand experience with Grace- in fact I perceive it is a rolling theme that I struggle to understand in my own life. A few months after our daugther Milly died, a little girl showed up on our doorstep-- literally. She was an adorable, clean, well-dressed baby of about 18 months. She was too little to talk, but could walk. I didn't recognize her from the neighborhood. Alma (then just 3) and I took in this baby- changed her diaper, played with her. I called the police. When I tried to hand her over to the policeman she cried and clung to my neck. The officer asked if I could keep her until her parents were found. After a couple hours the frantic mother burst in my front door and scooped her baby up (she had toddled away during her nap time). "Grace! Oh my darling Grace!" the mother sobbed into her baby's neck.

Lake extends Queen Frostine "Mom! You got Queen Frostine!" surprise- surprise. And it is grace-- it is grace handed to me at 5 am by my 4-year-old son. Grace in the form of his disposition towards kindness.

And for me the lesson somehow lies in the acceptance of that grace. That God's gifts can be manifest through me--imperfect and frail.

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Warm home- calm before the storm

We had a blizzard last Sunday-- more wind than snow- but an entire day of white-out. This was combined with deadly wind chills. The winds were gusting to 60 mph.

This picture was taken on the warm (relatively) evening before the storm. You can see the snow falling down- not racing horizontally across the plains. We were snowed in for 2 days- school closed.

We talked over dinner how anyone could live here without heat and light. Seems infathomable- impossible.
I remember to be grateful for a warm, bright house.

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Photo Credit: Baikal Ice Crack (anon)

How did it take me so long to get off the road? Off the trails? It took 15 months.

Every morning I walk the kids to the bus and then head out on my own. The road provided enough beauty, interest, safety that I never really thought to leave it on this morning ritual. Until yesterday.

I went cross country behind the abandoned farm stead and delapidated windmill. Through the plowed field, across the prairie. It was cold- 0 degrees and I'm wearing my new Carharts which are stiff-- this is harder than running. Just lifting my knees against the heavy canvas overalls through the snow. I followed footsteps- deer, pheasants, Happy's and a mans. I was surprised to find a man's footprints- Mike said there were hunters out a few days ago.

I pushed my way through head-high, thick reeds towards the slough. There are a lot more muskrat lodges this year. I walked out onto the ice. It was so clear and smooth it looked like open water. I stand looking into the crystal clear ice, the few cracks help me gauge the depth of the ice- 6 inches? There are areas of ice where the springs gurgled up and made cloudy ice. I observed this last year and now in winter #2 I know these spots are springs where the ice is built up and tan.

My heart pounds-- the ice might be thick-- but I'm alone. On a pond. In December. Before the sun is up. There are springs scattered around "our side" of the slough. I walk out to a snowy area in the middle of the slough and make a snow angel. This greatly disturbs Happy who barks loudly in my face at my being prone. High strings of clouds are sailing by-- but the wind is not bad here on the ground.

I see my house to the north and make a bee-line. My bee-line takes me past my bee hives. I get on my hands and knees and put my ear to the hive entrance. I can hear them buzzing. Blessing to you little ones on this cold day. I dream of the honey I'll harvest next summer.

Up my porch steps- ruddy cheeked. The sun rises as I stand on my porch. A new day.

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State Football Semi-Finalists- Clinton-Graceville-Beardsley (click on Proud of Our Kids under recent posts to see the whole team)

The congregation uncharacteristically burst into applause twice during yesterday's church service.

In the church announcements the pastor congratulated our football team for reaching the state semi-finals. People in the small congregation started pointing out the players and saying (rather loudly for Lutherans) "and here's the coach!" The place erupted in loud applause.

Let me just point out that there are 180 9-man football teams in Minnesota. C-G-B is among the top two in the State with their win last Friday in the Dome. Go Wolverines! It looked as though nearly every family in the district was at the game.

Later in the church service about 25 of our youngest were up front to play bells in the children's bell choir. It was lovely, I mean it really sounded lovely. The children were so earnest, engaged, wiggling around and hugging their bells when they weren't playing. It was moving on so many levels. Again the congregation erupted in applause. Like every community, we are just so proud of our kids.

But I would also like to add that I am thankful for the grownups who take all the time to coach our kids (my kids)- be it football, bell choir, girl scouts or 4-H. Thank you for your loving care, guidance, time and attention to our precious little ones- even the 6 foot, 200 # little ones. It is abundantly clear to me that the heart of this community lies with nurturing our youngest citizens.

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One thing about living on the farm is that the kids work harder. Alma helped a lot iwth the garden and farmers market. Here's a picture of the boys on their way to clean out the chicken coop with their Dad.

I remember taking a Global Food Supply course as a graduate student. I learned that in parts of the world, children start making an agricultural contribution at age 5 and that at age 7 some kids are doing enough agricultural work to supply their food needs for the year. How can that be?

Mike said when be brought them back in:
~They were more help this year than last!~

I'm thinking-- they were only 3 years old last year. Amazing that at 4 years old they actually help lighten the load a bit.

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Photo credit: MN Historical Society 1970
(No details with this picture- but I imagine it is a farmer with his banker. Here's hoping he kept that tractor through the farm crisis)

The countryside is mobilized to bring in the crops. Wheat is in- soybeans coming off the field- the corn has a ways to go. Friday I passed a field full of combines and semi trucks-- a harvest crew working together. It was impressive. On Saturday I watched my neighbor climb into his monstrous John Deere combine holding his 2-year old daughter's hand. She pranced around in a fluffy pink dress. I'm sure they both like the time together-- but with two fulltime working parents and farming, sometimes there is no choice.

It seems that people of this country mobilized against the Wallstreet bailout and their congressional representatives listened-- a victory of sorts for democracy. $700 billion is a lot of money and, in truth, I think it's ok to take some time to figure out the right path. There's some lesson here about honest work by real people for real products-- but I'm not sure I know what it is. Just some vague notions about hard times, hard work, sacrifice, integrity, and the democratic process. If you figured it out, I'd like to know.

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Prairie Sunset by Tom Lockhart-- Pastel

This was the view as I raced home to the farm tonight.

Earlier in the evening we had our first paid baby sitter out here on the prairie, got dressed up, and went to the vacant Beardsley Minnesota school for a wedding dance. [Aside- Beardsley- pop. 262- has some of the most beautiful brickwork school, church, and auditorium I've ever seen]. Not long after, the phone rang and one of the kids was very sick. All three kids, in some combination, had been home from school sick on Wed- Friday, but we thought we were safe (and due) for a fun night out.

Since we'd hardly started the evening I left Mike with a neighbor and headed back the 30 miles home. Those minutes in the car were the first moment I'd been alone in days. I opened the sunroof to a perfect September evening. Turned the satellite radio up loud to The Verve's "Rather Be Here Than Anywhere" and headed east.

I'd been having a few days where the 'new car smell' had left this adventure on the prairie-- a few hard days in a row-- sick kids, work stress, more tomatoes than I can sell, can or freeze, and when will that wind ever quit blowing?!!

As I headed down the road I saw a line of steel grey clouds stretching across the entire eastern horizon -- a few pinkish floaters in front reflecting the setting sun behind me. Then the moon caught my eye-- a full moon half risen over the bank of clouds. To my left and right were sloughs and wetlands and for a while a flock of ducks flew beside me, just parallel to my car. I could see the blaze orange/pink sun setting behind me in the rear view mirror. The fields of wheat stubble yellow against the still green landscape.

As I turned onto our gravel road--swerving sharply to avoid salamanders-- I could see an animal ahead on the road, either a coyote or very small deer. As I closed in, the tiny deer disappeared into the soybeans. I rushed into the house and scooped up my sobbing, pale, sick son. He's sleeping right here beside me now. It's dark and that same moon is shining right on me. And it is good to feel I rather be here than anywhere.

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I was stopped on mainstreet Ortonville the other day and someone asked me "what exactly did you end up doing with those eggs of yours?"

It has been one year since we moved here.
One years since we put in the order for those chickens.
I thought that I should revist some past posts and give some updates

~I've found a market for our eggs (Chicken Confidential) selling them to colleagues and friends at some of the meetings I attend in the Cities for $2.50/doz. My artist neighbor, Liz, is also a regular customer and it is nice to have a reason to visit with her on a regular basis.

~Artist Mark Mustful moved to Big Stone County despite the 15 inches of snow the day of his visit last April. It occurs to me that this lovely pottery has an integral connection to local foods as we will need stunning and inspiring butter crocks, bread bowls, grain keepers, and pitchers. James Kunstler says in his book "A World Made by Hand" that as our world became simpler we could no longer fail to incorporate beauty into the fabric of our everyday lives.

~The flash flood through our farm permanently destroyed about 30 acres of soybeans. We moved the bees to higher ground and they seem to be doing well. I opened the hives last week to check on them. The bottom box held dark amber honey, the upper box was pure, clear honey-like thick water. I stuck my hive tool into the honey comb, lifted my veil and tasted the wonderful sweetness of our farm's and the prairie's pollen and flowers.

~ We spent a month at the Ortonville Farmers market (Saturday mornings 8:30 to noon in front of the Columbian Hotel). Since this was our first year we are learning as we go. We've run out of vegetables except for tomatoes and our squash are not quite ripe. We'll spend a few more Saturdays there this year-- maybe selling coffee along with our veggies.

Here's a close up of less than 10 minutes of harvest time. That translates into 10 hours of processing to sauces and canning. This is exactly how I want to spend my Labor Day.

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A theater in North Dakota in lieu of the Mill Theater

People have asked me over and over what I miss about being in the Cities. At this point-- approaching one year-- there are no things or places I miss (just people). Good coffee, great conversation, interesting attractions are all around me here.

Let me tell you about last night. After doing our farmers market stand, Alma and I came home and started processing the vegetables that hadn't sold-- mostly the Amish Paste heritage tomatoes. We started making a big batch of ketchup. It was, however, Saturday night and we were all ready for some off-farm fun.

The boys had been begging to see Kung Fu Panda and so we were pleased to see it had returned for a 2nd run to Mill Theaters in Milbank, South Dakota-- 30 miles from our farm. We headed to main street Milbank and enjoyed dinner at the Triple Dip cafe that features ice cream/espresso. The movie theater is a main street gem showing 1st run movies. I'm guessing it's more of a public service than a lucrative business venture. Admission for five, popcorn, 5 pops, 3 candies came to $29. If we wanted to we could have stayed to watch Indiana Jones for free-- but that wasn't going to happen with kids.

It was as fun a family outing as I could expect anywhere. We drove home in the dark across the prairie-- the western horizon slightly purple and blue. Jen commented on the shadows of tree overhanging the prairie potholes looked like trees in the lake.

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Jeanne Taylor, Small Town, 1940

Yesterday I drove many more miles across rural Minnesota on my way to St. Paul. One of the pure luxuries of living in 2008 is that I can get a very fine espresso in small towns throughout the state. I pulled into a parking spot on mainstreet MN, population 1007, and got out of my car for a coffee and scone. Joy of joys on lovely summer morning in the oak savanah.

As I got out of the car, there was a family gathered around the small late model SUV in the next slant in parking spot. The patriarch of the family was sitting in the passenger seat of the car. Elegantly dressed, thick well groomed grey hair, his eyes squeezed shut, and cannulas deliverying oxygen into his nose. I walked into the coffee shop, forgot my go cup and back to the car, I overheard the family saying that he could stay in the car and people could visit him there.

At the counter- the owner took my order then turned to some of the family members and friends of the gentleman and asked if they would be coming in. No-- they wouldn't be able to bring him in afterall. The owner of the coffee shop asked if he could go out to the car to say goodbye. "Of course. By all means."

The coffee shop was rearranged to recieved the man, his family, his friends. They all came to mainstreet to say goodbye. In the end, he couldn't come to that table. But people stood in mainstreet-- hugging each other, leaning into the passenger seat-- saying their goodbyes.

As I got into my car and drove out of town I was struck by the public goodbye, but even more by the empty table that was ready, but unable to be occupied.

In my minds eye I saw Pastor Arlan at the alter. Turning to the congregation- smiling-- saying "The feast is prepared! All are welcomed to the table." I drove on for miles with the tears running down my face.

Saying goodbye-right there on mainstreet. The table is ready.

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Last Friday we laid Uncle Conrad to rest at Artichoke Lake, Minnesota-- a beautiful, lonely resting ground out on the prairie. Forty-five years ago there was still a general store at Artichoke and the name of the town appears on most Minnesota maps. But no people live there now.

The message at the funeral created a buzz around Big Stone County, in part because of the length, but mostly because of the content. The preacher, Brother Jobe, came straight out of the distant past or perhaps the not so distant future. He flew in from Pennsylvania (note--he wasn’t native to this place) and was presented the honor of giving the funeral message.

Brother Jobe’s message was old-timey, riveting, and delivered with the best oratorical skills I’ve ever experienced. I was rapt at his words and gestures. Brother Jobe called for the complete subjugation of women in business, church, government, and home. He called for the uplifting of men. The 80 and 90 year old women in front of me squirmed in their seats.

Out here on the prairie they suffer no illusions about women. Uncle Daniel said- with an economy of words that I lack- this land would not have been settled without pioneer women. Leadership, fortitude, grit, strength- was called for from every pioneer—man or woman. Men and women had different work- but every effort was needed and valued- a partnership for survival.

When a First Lady at the turn of the 20th century began a national campaign to eliminate girls athletics in high schools, rural Minnesota was among the very last to abolish women’s basketball. My grandma- who would have been 100- played basketball in high school. Why was rural Minnesota the last to ban women’s sports? Because those immigrants who settled this harsh prairie had no illusions about the frailty of women.

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Photo credit: Gary Greff, www.EnchantedHighway.net

The high price of gas is helping me savor my time on the road. I've changed my route to take the single lane Highway 12 and lowered my speed from 80 to 55 mph. I like it.

The other day I left my house about 5:00 am and drove 40 miles before I met the first car as I was crossing the Chippewa River coming into Benson. At first I reflexively worried about meeting troopers, but at 55 I don't have a care in the world. Roll down the windows, open the sun roof, turn on the satellite radio-- listen to Bob Edwards interviewing Lester Brown. Actually, I listened to every kind of music imaginable. Thoroughly enjoying the journey instead of barreling towards the destination. When I got to the Cities -- merging from 394 to 94 --I know I was the happiest person on the road.

My gas mileage went from 22 mpg to 32mpg. Round trip I spent 2 extra hours in the car, but I saved $22.70 in gas.

The other nice thing about high oil prices is that I appreciate being able to drive- that I have a car, that gas is available, its preciousness now reflected in its price. I recognize that I have the freedom of speed and movement-- all freedom comes at a cost.

Have you ever considered how perfectly smooth a newly paved road is? It's a delight to drive-- not a bump nor blemish. I fully expect that when the oil runs out we'll have other cool fuels to run our cars. But what will replace the petroleum in asphalt? Look down at that road-- it is held together with oil. What will keep up our road infrastructure? No one knows. So I'm just gonna savor that long ribbon of highway stretching from Artichoke Minnesota to St. Paul.

Trading time for mileage- and a bit of gratitude.

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I spent 2 hours on main street Chokio (pronounced Cho-ky'-yo) yesterday. I enjoyed a couple diet cokes at John's cafe while Alma had her swimming lessons. Brilliant that they have 2 hour swim lessons for those of us who live remotely. The CHOKIO EQUITY EXCHANGE towers over the town of 400 people. There's something inspiring about sitting under the 20 foot high word "EQUITY." And don't be so sure that when it was painted that they just meant common corporate ownership-- there was probably an undercurrent of equity meaning:

"the concept or idea of fairness or justice in economics, particularly in terms of taxation and welfare economics"

When I rode in the ambulance from the farm to Ortonville last month I was with the county's emergency plan coordinator. Of course we talked about disaster preparedness. He told me that the city of Wilmar is planning that within 72 hours of a disaster their population will swell 2-3 times. That means in case of a pandemic or other scary unpredictable event that many cousins, great neices, college buddies, etc... will flee the Twin Cities to head to safer ground in Wilmar.

What does this have to do with Chokio?

Well- Chokio's population is swelling 2 to 3 time this weekend. Last night was the Federated Telephone Cooperative Annual meeting. I'm lucky and thankful to be a Federated Coop member. John, owner of the Chokio Cafe, was planning on feeding 750 people for that meeting! It doesn't stop there. Tonight is the 1947-1948 class reunion. Tomorrow, Saturday, is the town celebration and they are expecting 1,000 people to attend. They are serving FREE MEAT-- just bring your own salad for the noon meal, following the parade. On Sunday there's a fund raiser omelet breakfast at the Catholic Church to help pay for a new "Welcome to Chokio" sign.

On Saturday night Todd Sandberg, the Rock 'N Roll Farmer, will DJ the Chokio street dance from 9pm to 1 am.

The crops are under water-- we may as well dance the night away.

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On Sunday I was outside before the sunrise. As I stood looking to the pinkening sky to the east, a fog rose from the prairie grass just 100 yards from me-- its genesis right before my eyes. A deer walked into that fog. Birds were singing all around. I remembered a lesson from my high school band teacher, Mr. Paulisch, playing a symphony and telling us to train our ears to hear one instrument at a time. I trained my ears and pulled out different bird songs one at a time. A small, nondescript sparrow landed a few feet from me and startled me with the most lovely calls-- unexpected from such a drab, brown bird.

Three jets made their way east over the prairie-- maybe looking down on "fly over" country. Then the sun rose like a neon pink laser-- a pin point piercing over the praire. The world exploded in color-- the white silo turned pink and casting a 1/2 mile shadow across the field.

Later, at church I was surprised to read in the bulletin that I was the day's lector-- reading scripture about our responsibilities to our children. Muffins and coffee afterwards with the good people of Trinity. I walked with the kids to Bonnie's grocery on main street-- collecting an entourage of little kids along the way and the cell phone number of a local stone mason. After gettting our groceries we went over to the Clinton Depot playground. Our three kids the nucleaus for what became a gathering of 16 kids--a couple of whom went back to Bonnies for ballons. The waterballons were flying-- the ground around the water pump covered with multi-colored scraps of ballons. Lovely kid confetti.

When we came home, I made a batch of homemade mozzarella cheese, picked some basil from the garden, took a loaf of freshly baked crusty bread out of the oven and watched Star Trek TNG with my kids.

It was the best birthday of my entire life.

I had been asked to consider running for the open Minnesota District 20A House of Representative's seat.
I decide not to run.
I would hold still.
At least for now.

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I asked Todd if I could take a picture of him for my blog and he said he wondered why he hadn't been on it yet. This is Todd-- he's a stand up guy-- and he's our farmer. Todd has been farming this land for about 5 years-- some good some bad-- and he'll be farming most of it again this year. Todd is also known around here as the Rock and Roll Farmer. He dj's at all the good events and has a depth and breadth of the music scene. He's made us a few discs of his musical finds and selections. We're so glad to be friends with and have a farmer like Todd for so many reasons.

The kids love him. Todd's had his share of back troubles-- including surgery last winter. So every night the boys say their bedtime prayers and race to see who can say first "God bless Todd's owey back!" or "God bless Todd's better back." It's gotten quite competitive to see who can bless Todd first and in fact, it's been ending in tears and punches being thrown the last few weeks. I'm sorry-- but I can't help laughing at them pounding each other over who gets to bless Todd. He's that special.

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On my way to the Cities I ritualistically stop after turning out of my driveway (usually around 3:30 - 4am), turn off the lights, and look at my farm on the prairie. I see the halo of the yardlight, the silhoutte of the farm house.

This morning there was no trace of my farm. It completely disappeared.

Agralite, our electric coop, owns and maintains the yard light on the condition it comes on automatically dusk to dawn-- there's no switch. I'd been stomping around because "what's the use of living on a farm way in the country if you can't see the stars for the yardlight." So we bought the yard light from Agralite ($50) and put a switch on the light pole which is about 100 feet from the house. It is switched off. It's nice to step outside in the early morning dark and see the stars. This morning, however, I left the house at 3:30 am and couldn't find my car 20 feet from the house.

When I stopped at the end of the driveway and turned off my car lights it was downright scary. Pitch black with no reference point of home-- no yellow glow from the farm yard-- no silhoutte of a house. I rolled down the windows thinking I could see better. Nothing but complete and still darkness. I rolled up my window and drove the 2.5 miles to the blacktop road.

That's when I realized that I didn't just put out the light for my family-- but I put out the light on another farmstead in Big Stone County. I used to see the light of our farm from that blacktop road. Now I saw an even larger expanse of black prairie-- depopulated--dark. A couple of our neighbors put out their farmlights lately (saving $10-$15 in electric per month). A couple months ago I actually missed the turn to the farm because the farm on the corner turned out their light which was my landmark at night.

Do you remember-- does anyone remember-- the nightime rural Minnesota landscape 30 years ago? As a child, sitting in the back of my mom and dad's Delta '88 cruisin' between Hayfield and Dodge Center, WCCO on the radio, driving home from grandma's -- my head against the glass looking at the series of barns with their lights on at 6 pm. All of them milking cows.

It's darker now on the prairie. This morning I saw one barn with lights on in 200 miles of driving -- one red barn with what I'll guess is one old farmer who just loves (or doesn't know how to stop) dairying. So I've turned the light off on my farm. One less light on the prairie.

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Well, this was the View From Here I didn't expect to see. Sitting in the back of an ambulance, in a back stabilizer-- I watched my farm fade away through the thick white cross symbols on the back windows of the ambulance.

I took a spill. It wasn't so much the fall as what I fell on. A solid sturdy wooden stool that cracked in between my lower spine and my ribs.

Funny how my first, urgent response was to get to Mike. He was in town attending a funeral, his second of the week. Marriage is a funny thing. Power struggles over chicken coops, two-way exasperation over kids, schedules, and housework. But when the world narrows to excruciating pain and fear there was only one person in the world I wanted to hold my hand and look into my eyes. Mike. The funeral director found him in seconds. He called home and said "call 911." By then I was starting to go into shock.

I wish I could say that help was there in a heartbeat. It wasn't. I hung on listening to Elmo's World in the background trying not to pass out. I thought by the time Elmo was over help would arrive. It didn't. Living in a remote rural area means having to wait at times like this. The first responder (one of only 3 in a county of 528 sq miles) was Nita who has been the first responder for 30 years. She gave me oxygen, took my vitals, said a silent prayer.

Then Rusty arrived. When I saw his face I could have cried with relief. I'd sat with Rusty in meetings for Big Stone Area Growth. His emergency radio clipped to his shoulder-- pausing his conversations and thoughts to listen to the squeaks of his radio. They are all volunteers you know. They got me to the hospital. No fractures. A few days on pain meds and I'll be fine. Mike surprised me by saying to the ER staff, "I didn't expect Kathy would be the first one to take an ambulance ride from the farm." His View From Here includes ambulance rides-- mine didn't. But then farming is dangerous and he's seen the ambulance at this farm before.

My friend Kris had just given me the book Population: 485. Meeting your Neighbors One Siren at a Time. A collection of poignent essays on being a first responder in a small community. Friday I found myself in one of those essays.

Thank you to Rusty, Jim, Nita, Mom, and the sheriff who came to my rescue. Thank you to the 10's of people who called offering help. Blessings to all of you.

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Actually a 40 minute mile would be on the fast side. When the weather is nice, and even when it isn't, the kids and I walk the 1/2 mile long driveway to and from the school bus. Those walks bookend my days when I am home- a slow, distracted walk in the finest sense. At least in the afternoons there is no rush- no intent in the walk. Time to kneel, sit, to look at the clouds, grass, rocks in the driveway, ducks, geese, play in the puddles, feel the wind and the changing seasons. We've laid in the grass watching flocks of geese approaching and passing close over head.

Between walks to the bus I had a great day. Fascinating conversations, spreadsheets, pursuing ideas of great promise- some to the end point others to the beginning point. Lightening fast multi-tasking. Feeling like all the plates are spinning as they should be-- delightful actually. But distracting in a way that narrows the world to the laptop and the phone.

My boys turned 4 years old yesterday. They've all grown so much this year. Alma is 8--her baby face completely matured to girl. It takes those 40 minute miles to really observe these sweet children. And to accept this gift from my kids -- the gift of a walk unfettered by purpose.

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Mark Mustful, potter

Between the April 10 and April 25 snow storms, we've had a minimum of 23 inches of snow. They said 9 inches yesterday-- but we have 4 foot drifts in our yard. School let out at early due to the storm and I was scared waiting by mailbox in my car, 1.5 miles from home. It was zero visibility, the wind violent and painful. I waited 1/2 hour for the bus and was so happy to have all the kids home. People used to die in these unexpected storms.

Due to that excitement I missed fun art outings. Kristi Fernholz has a show at Java River in Montevideo. Check out her portfolio on line-- she really captures the initmate beauty of this landscape.

Also, we were ready for a potluck to meet potter Mark Mustful who is considering moving to Big Stone County. Looking at his art, I can see that he would have lots of inspiration here. The potluck at the home of some of the local artists who made this stained glass depiction of the headwaters of the Minnesota River (below) for the MN Sesquicentennial. A lot of creative people here on the prairie. Did you know that the more "creative" class people, the higher the income of all the people in the area? Seems like another good strategy-- attract creatives to our region.

Enjoy this:

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Around the end of December we installed a Central Boiler in our backyard (thanks to my father in-law David for help with cement and neighbor Bruce for the cement mixer and his electrician help). We have a lot of standing dead wood around the farm site that we weren't sure what to do with. So we decided to heat our home and water with it.

It's a fun experiment. And I would say with 3 months under our belts- a success.

The Central Boiler heats about 300 gallons of water and has some magic mechanisms for calling up and reducing the flame and so is very wood efficient-- we can go a couple days without needing to add more wood. We have hot water heat in the house and run the wood heated water right through our furnace boiler and a heat exchanger heats the water in our hot water heater. We've:

1) Turned off the electricity to our hot water heater, saving about $60 per month on our electric bills
2) Have hardly used any propane since we fired the stove up around the 1st of January (saving about 1,500 to 2,000 gallons of propane per year)

A conservative estimate is a 3 year payback on the investment. Wow! Plus, I believe it is pretty carbon neutral since the wood was decomposing and releasing its carbon naturally before we burnt it and released the carbon faster. Plus we'll be planting more trees than we use.

Aside-- I can be borderline cruel about conserving energy- like making my kids wash their hands in cold water. Now I'm like "FREE HOT WATER" --take a long hot shower, fill the sink with hot water to wash the dishes, let the kids have warm water hand washes! Makes me smile just to turn on the hot tap. I said this Mike and he says "uhh... yeah it's free except I'm the one cutting and loading all the wood." A small price to pay.

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There are gravestones made of wheat and here there are farmsteads marked with granite headstones. Tombstones to remember the once vital landscape.

This is the farmstead at the end of our section.

The Hansons erected this monument to their beloved. To a life well lived. I invite you to come visit this marker yourself. It shows a beautiful farmstead that I imagine with chickens, pigs, cows, small grains, a pasture, flowers, gardens, children. The windmill tower still stands. It is the most beautiful farm site-- right on a shallow lake. They probably saw waterfowl in the hundreds of thousands. I image they were happy, well fed, comfortable much of the time.

Was it a blip in time to have this American landscape populated with small farms? With self reliant, hard working folk? Is that all gone forever? Nothing remaining but old groves where barns and houses once stood. An occasional granite marker where the farmsteads and churches once stood.

I know a thing or two about grief-- and this is grief. One day last year I sat on the St. Paul campus in a group of faculty and rural community members. The metro faculty talking about how to confront all the encroaching growth and development. After 1/2 hour one of the rural people said "you talk about growth-- but we are just trying to stave off the grief at all the loss." The loss of our farms, farmers, children, neighbors. This county--Big Stone-- has lost 50% of its people in the last 30 years.

I'm not staving off grief. I never have. But we're certainly not ready to give up that dream of having more farms and farmers all around us. Did you hear MPR this morning? There are people who want to come back.-- to farm for a living.

I can show them some really nice farm sites....

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The Minnesota Rural Health Association lists this resolution as their legislative priority. This is a great idea. This could help us get neighbors, enough new kids so there can be a pick up game of baseball on a summers day in the pasture.

State Resolution of the Minnesota Rural Health Association

Whereas there has been a demographic shift in Minnesota; and

Whereas this shift has resulted in declining populations in many rural communities and a decline in economic and social capital in these areas; and

Whereas this shift has also resulted in urban congestion and related problems;

Be it therefore resolved that all new state initiatives include a review to assess opportunity to locate selected state funded jobs and infrastructure, over time and when appropriate, in rural communities, thereby helping to relieve urban congestion and fostering rural vitality.

The review to be called a “Rural Opportunity Assessment, ROA.�?

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Neil Linscheid

I was at a public workshop in Baxter, Minnesota recently and met Neil Linscheid. Neil is the Economic Development Director for Region Five Development Commission out of Staples.  Neil introduced himself and told this story:

Neil is a born and bred city boy from the metro. He went to school and UM Morris and found himself needing a job.  So he applies at the UM Morris Center for Small Towns.  All he wanted was a job and some $$—he got a mission and it changed his life.  He was given a research project on how the media portrays rural Minnesota.  He says “the metro is hogging the limelight.�?  He made up his mind that he was meant to contribute to rural Minnesota.  And here he is.

Kudos to Neil for Resettling Wadena County.  Kudos to Ben Winchester, Tom McRoberts,  David Fluegel and all the folks at the Center for Small Towns for inspiring the Neils of the world.Click on Extended Entry to read the 2050 Scenario inspired by Neil....

Continue reading "Neil Linscheid— Brought to us by the UMM Center for Small Towns" »

Posted by Kathryn Draeger at 9:45 AM | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBacks (0)

I’ve been traveling a lot. It reminds me of something my friend Paul told me. He was in the Peace Corp in Saharan Africa. He was with some Bedouins around the campfire and confessed that he felt out of sorts- homesick. The Bedouins ask him where he came from and he said “across the great desert there’s a great ocean. Across the great ocean is another great land. Halfway through that great land is my home.�? The Bedouins said,

“No wonder you don’t feel right. Your soul can only travel as fast as a camel can walk. Your soul hasn’t caught up with you yet.�?

Posted by Kathryn Draeger at 7:58 PM | Permalink | Comments (3) | TrackBacks (0)

Back in my Masters degree days, Dr. Terry Cooper gave our Soils class an assignment to take an actual farm area in Minnesota and use the soils data to create your dream land use. I don’t think I’ve ever had as much fun with an assignment. I saved the resulting drawing- replete with lamas, wild rice, tea and herb gardens on a farm site I chose in Dodge County, MN.

So now we are doing a similar exercise for real. A contingent of US Fish and Wildlife, Natural Resource Conservation District, and Ducks Unlimited folks pulled into our driveway in a convoy of white federal pick up trucks. They laid out some really tempting visions for a grass based farm. We focused on the wetland/grassland restoration lined in purple. It is a beautiful vision—working lands—grazing cattle.

The hitch is that it is in perpetuity. Forever. That concerns Mike especially. We’ve hardly owned this farm any time at all and now we’re talking about ceding 1/3 of it to federal government oversight?

Kids are up… More later…

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Funny where blessings come from and how you can actually see and count them. I've been traveling a lot-- like usual-- I run a statewide program. But now I don't have a home in the Cities to stay in. So when people say, "ya need a place to stay?" I say "Yes-- how about Thursday night?"

Thursday night I stayed with my friends Chris and Steve. We've been so busy over the past few years-- Chris going up for tenure, me having a gaggle of babies, working, etc... So it was great to stay with them in their lovely house that exudes peace and beauty. They greeted me at 9 pm with a cheese tray, tea, and good conversation. There were fresh flowers in my room and a big bed with quilts so thick I thought I was back in Grandma's north room in the wintertime (upstairs, no heat). The next morning Chris pressed house keys into my hands with tears in her eyes. Stay here anytime.

I'm gettting a collection of keys.

Each of them a blessing.

Posted by Kathryn Draeger at 11:25 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

I'm pleased, and have no hand in-- from either end, the kudos given to our school district in this recent U of M study ranking it among the top 10%. Guess we just lucked out moving here.

Actually, the 2007 Small Town Symposium at UM Morris was on schools and community revitalization. So in terms of resettlement, it looks like we have a firm foundation. So here is an advertisement on this blog to Resettle Big Stone County. We have good schools-- move here, move back here, stay here. I'm looking for an artisan cheesemaker in the community. Got milk? Got school age kids?

This quote from rural SW MInnesota author Paul Gruchow seems apropos

"Among the science courses I took two full years of biology, but I never learned that the beautiful meadow at the bottom of my family's pasture was a remnant virgin prairie. We did not spend, so far as I can remember, a single hour on prairies-- the landscape in which we were immersed.

I took history courses for years, but I never learned that one of the founders of my town and for decades the leading banker... was also the author of the first comprehensive treatise on Minnesota's prairie botany. I can only imagine now what it might have meant to me- a studious boy with a love of nature- to know what a great scholar of natural history had made a full and satisfying life in my town. I did not know until long after I left the place that it afforded me the possibilities of an intellectual life.

Nothing in my education prepared me to believe, or encouraged me to expect, that there was any reason to be interested in my own place. If I hoped to amount to anything, I understood, I had better take the first road east of town as fast as I could. And, like so many of my classmates, I did."

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As I walk to meet the schoolbus this Friday afternoon it is a gorgeous, sunny 25 degrees. The sun is going down as I walk due west to the bus-- the world so sparkling fresh and warm I really want to do somersaults. I've never achieved a somersault in life but just ache to go end over end somersaulting down the driveway.

I pick up the ever delightful Alma and we hold hands walking back to the house. A long, slow 1/2 mile of rare Mom and Daughter time uninterupted. Alma says her gym teacher brought the 2nd graders an almond cake as a treat today. "What's an almond cake?" I ask. It has bits of this an that and is like a salad. "Like a salad?" Ewww lettuce and spinach in a cake? "You know Mom - with Cool Whip." Four short months and salad has come to mean a jello-y, cool-whippy thing with mini-marshmellows in it. She doesn't mean anything green other than the food coloring in the pistachio pudding blended into the cool whip. Salad redefined.

Posted by Kathryn Draeger at 11:40 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Maybe there was this much Christmas all around me in St. Paul but I was oblivious or my attention dissipated by so many other distractions. I went to church in St. Paul -being among the social justice side of the religious left. So it's not like I found church in Big Stone County. But I will tell you that there is something refreshing about the lack of self censorship here. An innocent indulgence in the spirit of Christmas among grown ups and kids.

We drove out our driveway and three miles into the dark prairie-- through the low marshlands to the south and up to Eidskog Lutheran church. As isolated as any prairie church could be-- not even the occasional farmstead light along the way. We parked on the road and crunched through the night snow. We walked into the church ablaze with light and the smell of coffee coming from the basement fellowship "hall." The smell of coffee permeating from the very walls from 120 years of egg coffee brewed by generations of sturdy old world women. There were over 200 people seated in this isolated country church. We sang and listened to Christmas hymns and heard people's stories and memories of the songs they offered up. Then we moved downstairs in a rush of talking and laughter for coffee, sloppy joes, pickles, and Christmas cookies. Can you smell it?

No offering asked for.

That was the first of three hymn sings I've been to close to our farm. Aside-- in St. Paul I wasn't even asked to audition for the choir. Here a couple people told me I had a lovely voice. It's a fair, alto voice-- but here I join a choir a bit more scant. And I try very seriously to blend in remembering the women from out of town singing soprano solos amidst the congregation-- their lovely lilting voices lifted to God and the enjoyment hearing themselves standing out.

Posted by Kathryn Draeger at 2:12 PM | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBacks (0)

photo credit Chris Long

[an entry from October]

Took Alma and the boys (in burly) out for a bike ride-- 6 miles in total, about 4 miles on blacktop. After about 3 miles Alma says to me "There are no cars at all. It's kind of creepy." We rode all 6 miles without being passed by a single car. It's not creepy to me. What a change from our house in St. Paul where we couldn't let them ride bicycle even on the sidewalks. Strangers and neighbors constantly pulling into driveways and turning around. We saw a little girl on our block riding on the sidewalk get hit by a car turning into a driveway. She was ok, but her bike was crushed.

We lived here for 6 weeks before I saw a car drive down the gravel road at the end of our driveway. Alma and I were riding bike up the driveway and I looked to the north and saw a truck coming down the gravel road. I actually said out loud "what is that?!" Six weeks -one car.

That was in mid-October. Then the harvest started and hunting season and the world came alive with men. Tractors, trucks and combines all night long, all around us. You should have seen the harvest moon and the men out working the fields. I drove home to the farm from the Cities-- looking at the suddenly populated acres that had been sitting so still and quiet for the first six weeks we had lived here. The moon so bright-- it was enchanting.

And hunters everywhere. One of Alma and my last bike rides we were on our way back home when a truck of hunters approached slowly and rolled down the windows. The urban alertness in me made me feel really frightened. Alma and I were in a completely isolated area with a truck full of men approaching. We were wearing blaze orange and the men laughed and asked us if we were hunting. They said they were from the Chokio area and waved goodbye.

Posted by Kathryn Draeger at 6:26 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Alma and I took a trip to Washington DC last month-- thanks to my birth Mom Leona. It was wonderful, relaxing, and inspiring. I find the quote above from the US House of Representative inspiring-- exactly why I want my kids to farm. Exactly what I want my husband to be doing while I'm writing the great American Agro-Eco Thriller in my 3rd story office overlooking the prairie. Teehee hee.

The picture below is my favorite sculpture in all of WDC-- it sits in front of the Supreme Court. I've kept a framed photo I took of this sculpture close by me for the past 10 year. A confident woman riding a seething horse/serpent while brushing back her hair. In this picture I can see the relaxation in my face-- it was so wonderful to be completely there.

Posted by Kathryn Draeger at 8:41 PM | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBacks (0)

I was asked to give the Veteran's Day keynote to the Clinton-Beardsley-Graceville highschool program November 9 and to the VFW on November 11. I wondered if it was even really right for me to be the one to do this-- I'm no veteran. As I put together a speech my main point would be to make the high schoolers proud of where they came from-- where they are. Click below on "Continue reading..." to see my speech-- it's not a great work of oratory.

But here's the kicker-- in my speech I wrote about an incident a few days earlier where I was served lunch by a young guy, home on leave from the services and working in his family's restaurant on main street Clinton. Well-- here is that guy in the gym and carrying the flag for the ceremony. I was kinda choked up to see him-- cooking my california burger on Friday and Monday morning holding the flag. His family drove him to the Cities a couple days later so he could fly to his new post.

Regarding that lunch-- they gave me my pop for free-- why?. Because they are glad that we moved to town. They are glad that Mike brings our twins in for breakfast every once in a while. These honors and gifts are very much appreciated, even if yet unearned.

Continue reading "Haven't yet earned my stripes" »

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Our beautiful home in St. Paul sold yesterday. Mike is just giddy with joy- a huge weight off his shoulders. I'm stunned and scared. Truth be told-- I have my feet in both lives. Yeh, I talk big about my life on the prairie. But I've been in St. Paul every week for work. Coming back to this sunny, lovely home of my own. With an espresso maker and premium ice cream in the freezer.

So now my bluff is called. The house is gone. There's no going back to this comfortable, easy street in Highland Park. Mike's committed. I have to ratchet up my commitment to a new level. Frankly I'm scared. Who will I be outside of the Cities?

Yesterday I took Alma and Jens for a bike ride -- Jens in the pull behind. There were hunters out so we all wore blaze orange. We rode "next door" to the US Fish and Wildlife land. We hiked into the marshy wetlands surrounding the pothole pond/lake. My kids were intrepid. They found a water trail leading through the reeds to the pond. They were so much more eager to explore it than I was. Walking through the prairie grass whenever Jens saw a huge ant (or other critter) mound he would climb on top and yell "Beware the wolf-- hoowowoowooowooo." He's 3 years old. I actually thought "well-- at least these kids won't suffer from Nature Deficit Disorder."

So... until one is committed

Continue reading "No turning back..." »

Posted by Kathryn Draeger at 10:25 AM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

Fiber optic light that is!

This is Jason. We would not be able to live here if it were not for Federated Communications out of Chokio Minnesota. They put down 2 miles of fiber optic cable to our farm. We are not in their service area-- just on the edge. It cost them over $11,000 for which we signed a two year contract for phone and high speed internet. A deal.

Thank you Jason! Thank you Tom Lorenz! Thank you Federated.

I am sitting here in my 1912 farm house looking our over plowed corn, silos, prairie, and wetlands. The geese are flying through in the thousands. Unlike anything I've ever seen. All the while listening to Fine Tuning on XM satellite radio via my wireless internet, compliments of Federated. Hip Hip Hurrah!

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I'm in a crowd of 450 Bush Fellows. They just identified us by where we live in the Bush region-- North Dakota, South Dakota, Twin Cities, and Greater Minnesota. For the first time I've been id'd as a resident of greater Minnesota. See-- it says "Clinton" on my badge. Now begins the "where is Clinton" series of questions. One thing about living in greater Minnesota is that you lose precious time identifiying where your place is rather than the substance of work and life. But now, I guess, my identification as a rural Minnesotan is part of the susbstance of my life. I'm pleased to be put in the breakout session for the vitality of greater Minnesota. There are 50 Bush Fellows here (of over 450) who hail from greater Minnesota.

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In St. Paul we walked out the door at 9:08 to be in Alma's classroom at 9:10 with time to spare. There were three doors between our door and the Elementary school-- we didn't even have to cross the street. I loved my leisurely mornings with my kids.

Now I walk out the door with my three little ones (ages 8, 3, and 3) at 7:10 am. That gives us 15 minutes to walk our 1/2 mile driveway to where the school bus picks them up. It takes all 15 minutes to walk that far with 3-year olds. Now that the toads, frogs, and salamanders are gone the walk goes a little faster. We are the furthest stop on the route-- but not the first kids to be picked up thankfully. The bus turns around in our driveway and heads back north.

My boys are incorrigible – maybe because they are boys, because they are twins, because I have a totally emotive parenting style in contrast to their dad’s authoritarian style (we’re a good parenting team). Dale, the bus driver for the past 1/3 century is threatening to suspend my little darlings from riding the bus.

Which leads to the logical question—what are a pair of 3-year olds doing on a bus for 1.5 hours per day anyway??? I asked myself that question before we put them on the bus for the first time. But Mike (my husband) and Dale (the bus driver) assured me that this was the proper and logical thing to do. Dale had dealt with as many at FIVE 3-year-olds on his bus in the past. So, Mike put them on the bus for the first time in their lives on Thursday September 6, 2007. The only problem was, there was no pre-school on Thursday September 6, 2007. So he put them on a bus by themselves in the world to, well, nowhere. But we now live in a small community. So the boys were well cared for in the absence of parents or teachers until the offending parent could pick them up.

So they all ride the bus. We now arm Alma with a pile of candy that she can dole out for good behavior as the bus travels down the gravel roads picking up the increasing number of kids in our “neighborhood.�? Did I mention that we are the only family in a four square mile area? So like the term “prairie�? I use the term “neigborhood�? loosely.

But look at that sunrise—it is a pleasant treat to walk that mile a day with my kids.

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This is the last of the original 1912 buildings on the farmstead and it is not long for this world. The only thing holding up that building was the 1952 pickup truck-- which was pulled out and collapsed the west side of the building. I'm sentimental about these buildings in a way that my neighbor says he and his fellow farmers can't afford to be. Life can be hard and cruel on the farm. Attach your heartstrings to a building and they'll get pulled down along with the building.

I'm reading The World Without Us right now. It's an ecological trip through various parts of the world if humans are wiped from the face of the planet in an instant (i.e. not dragging down the entire planet with us over the coming centuries). The author quotes a farmer as saying if you want to bring down a barn put an 18 inch hole in the roof. In 10 years the barn will be dust. It's true. Drive around rural Minnesota-- not the collar suburbs or the exurbs-- but the far agricultural corners of this State. There are no animals in barns. The barns, where they still stand, are surrounded on every possible side with corn and soybeans. There are no pastures and there are no functioning barns. I think that SE Minnesota might be faring better than other parts of the State, but wouldn't count on that. My sister and her husband have a dairy farm there- a confinement dairy like the majority of dairies. But there are a few pasture based dairies left. Not here.

I feel grief, a heavy sadness at this building coming down. Yes-- we will salvage the wood and Yes-- it will be the bus shelter at the end of our 1/2 mile drive or the siding on the "chicken coop of my dreams" yet to be designed and built (and the chickens are waiting!!).

I feel grief that no one cared to fill the 18 inch hole in this granary. It was a two story granary. Beautiful, but not useful to modern agriculture. If you are working from morning until night-- your fingers swollen with arthritis-- your farm on the verge of bankrupcy-- you don't have the luxury to buy the supplies, take the time and take the physical risk to climb atop an 85 year old granary that serves no modern purpose. There isn't room for sentimentality.

I feel grief that all of these buildings are going away-- more and more every year. And believe me when I tell you that modern buildings-- like granaries and confinement feeding operations-- are not built for beauty. Out here form follows function in 2007-- and the form of industrial agriculture is not beautiful. Somehow I believe it was more than that in 1912. I don't know for sure, but I have a sense. There are some core pieces of beauty inside our house-- I've seen some lovely hand carved rafters.

I can afford to be sentimental. I have a job in the City. I don't have my heart in my throat to just hang onto the land in the face of industrial agriculture.

Posted by Kathryn Draeger at 9:39 PM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

Well-- thought I should give a few details about this place on earth we are seeking to resettle. Big Stone County is on the far western edge of the State-- due west of the Twin Cities. There are about 5,000 people in the county-- down from 10,000 people who lived there 30 years ago. Nearly 10% of the land area (491 square miles) is water-- this is the heart of the prairie pothole region. Less than half of the prairie potholes remain, the rest being drained for agriculture. While our farm has wetlands adjacent on the south side and kitty corner to the west, we could probably restore a couple on the farm itself. That is where economics confronts values. I don't know that we can pay for this farm with wetlands, but I do know that we can pay for it with corn and soybeans. Give us some time-- we might find our balance....

Posted by Kathryn Draeger at 7:54 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Well... We find ourselves living on the prairie. Alma in school and the boys in pre-school at Clinton-Beardsley-Graceville Elementary. Hope to learn to use this blog and start describing my adventures. I am having new experiences and insights every single day and I feel compelled to share them.

Wish me luck in learning to use this tool. The pictures are amazing and that is part of what I hope to share.

Kathy

Posted by Kathryn Draeger at 9:27 PM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)