A View From Here: Resettling Big Stone County Minnesota

The Sky Has No Borders- by Benedicte Caneill (from Fiber Revolution)

I'm subject to obsessions. I'm in the midst of a 2 year search for US grown and milled cotton sheets. 30 years ago I could have walked into JC Penney's and bought them off the shelf. Now, it takes two years to find them.

As it turns out, I just happened to begin my obsessive search during one of our nations biggest industry declines. 80% of cotton fabric was milled in the US in 1985 and now it is about 5%. According to NPR:

Between 2006 and '09, U.S. cotton acreage dropped by 40 percent...
"The old world of cotton is probably dead," says Darren Hudson, director of the Cotton Economics Research Institute at Texas Tech University.

Now, I'm not hung up on cotton. I can't grow it here in Big Stone County anyway. So give me any old US grown and made fiber sheets- there's hemp, bamboo, flax makes linen.

I'm willing to save my pennies and buy some USA grown, milled and manufactured sheets. I've found some organic cotton sheets that are US made- start to finish. And they are expensive. But I consider that every single purchase I make a donation to the kind of world I want to live in. I vote with my pocket book. I could buy cheap sheets from Target and then pay higher taxes to support unemployed Americans who once worked in textile mills. We pay for this loss of capacity in many ways, besides workers dignity. We dismantle our ability to feed and clothes ourselves (as a nation) at our peril.

We need to keep making things-- real things that people need and use. Like sheets. I do not consider creating innovative investment instruments noble work. Bundling subprime mortgages into collateralized debt obligations (CDOs) creates nothing in this world but a mess- frankly.

There is a movement towards re-localization- local foods, local energy and now I think we need to start paying attention to local fiber. Mark my word- it's the next big thing.

Here in Big Stone County we can grow flax, alpaca, sheep, fancy goats with great soft fur. I'm hooked man. This could be a great place to start the Fiber Revolution.

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Harvest Fest meal- 2010- Artichoke Baptist Church

We've had a very cultural fall- with a large family lefse making (the old world style graham flour lefse- no potatoes) and a lovely Harvest Festival lutefisk dinner in the Artichoke church basement. That gelatenous lye soaked fish is the highlight of the feast. Jens wanted to make his own blog entry... so take it away Jens...

This is me. I'm standing by a box of lutefisk. Lutefisk is brought here all the way from the ocean by Norway. Lutefisk is a one and only time food- you can't have it like one day and then the next. Lutefisk is very famous. It is a very good food.

This is me with my great-uncle Mick. I helped serve lutefisk for the very first time because my dad put on this apron. I decided I was going to work because he said I could.

This is my brother. I love him. He is very kind. We can play all the time. He is very playful. We make good battle games and even pretend we are transformers. And he doesn't like lutefisk. In fact, he hates lutefisk.

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Good Shepherd Church- Artichoke, MN

I have only lived here three years and the loss of farmsteads, churches, historic mainstreet anchor buildings in our little area is a heartache. I can only imagine what is like if you've lived here your whole life and even have generational memories.

Change. Loss. No rational hope for rebuilding.

Take a look at that picture of the Good Shepherd Church-- about 10 miles out my backdoor. A lovely country church--with a congregation that endured for over 125 years. This month the church was picked up and moved away to a more populated area. Many people are happy that the building will be saved and used-- and not collapse over the years from the lack of people/use that keeps buildings alive. But it leaves another gap in the landscape. A gap where a beautiful and inspiring landmark stood as a testament to what, in my opinion, is a hallmark of our culture. That we can work together to build and sustain a place to nurture the human spirit.

Likewise, we once built monuments to business and industry. Businessmen invested in the permanence of a brick building on mainstreet. You have to believe in the future to build a brick building. I'm sorry to say that we may not even have the skilled labor, the noble stonemasons, who could even build those same buildings today. And so the two buildings that burnt to the ground on mainstreet Ortonville this month represent a loss that will never be replaced. Maybe a pole barn would go up in their place-- but the resources, skill, and belief in the future that it takes to build a landmark are not there.

Once these buildings are gone, they are gone forever.

There is a building in Clinton- a tall, two-story yellow brick building- that lives in my dreams. It lives as a completely restored dry goods, gardening, book store, coffee shop. Upstairs is a sunlit, elegant, comfortable living area -- our winter home so that the kids can go to school through the blizzards that isolate us on the prairie. I buy lottery tickets because they are my only hopes to achieving that dream. This venture is not a money maker, but a labor of love. Love and hope.

But the hope that I'll win the lottery before the building is razed is running low. The front page of Thursday's Northern Star newspaper included the city council's recommendation to raze the building because the bricks are beginning to fall and are a hazard. A race against time- will Kathy get enough money for a roof and a brick repair before the building collapses or is razed?

Last Monday, my program at the U co-hosted a talk with Nicole Foss, of Automatic Earth fame. I spent time with her following the seminar's gloomy description of what faces us in the future (economic, energy, and resource collapse). She whispered to me "You're in the right place. It will come back. It will be the soul and center of what is good, right and whole in the future." Ok- she didn't say that, but she did.

If we can just keep it together until the collapse. Until the pendulum swings back. Hope clings eternal.

Historic buildings lost Oct. 2010 in Ortonville, MN

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It's been a year now since we found Sunny and her little pup Lucky starving and nearly dead at an abandoned farmstead near our place. Lucky didn't make it through the winter- even with all the love and attention of three doting children and the vet care we could give him. Poor little pup just couldn't recover from whatever journey had brought them to our home.

Sunny responded to Mike with the most fawning, obsessive love I've ever seen in any living creature. Mike was the one who found and rescued them and one cannot underestimate the gratitude of a mother towards those who offer care to their young in need. She shadows every footstep that Mike makes and when he drives the tractor she maddeningly stays as close as possible to the tractor door- looking up at Mike even as he drives up and down long fields. Makes for a worn out dog some days. Yesterday, Sunny braved flying logs as we built up the wood pile for winter. "Move ya dumb dog!" But that might mean not being as close as possible to Mike. Loyalty- thy name is Sunny.

Pheasant season opened at 9 am yesterday- the first hunting season we've had with Sunny. She's everything a good yellow lab could be- ahead flushing out birds, obedient, and eager- so I hear.

She is also a great daily lesson in remembering that really good things sometimes come to us unexpectedly. I would say that Sunny came to us unbidden- but I realize that in our hearts we wanted and were waiting for her. A happy one-year anniversary to celebrate.

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What did corn do to merit so much care, attention, and expansion to so many acres of farmland around the world? One could say that corn has us by the short hairs. You, we, I (are) am servants to corn.

What if we are really like the bees- what if plants manipulate us to work for them the way flowers get bees to due their work for them (pollinating)? This is not my idea, but rather Michael Pollen's from his book The Botany of Desire. I remember the first time I heard this idea- then bought and read the book. I was pregnant with one of my four babes and jumped into this theory like a deep pool of crystal clear water. I completely take on new ideas- no barriers, no filters- to see how they fit and feel. If it's not want I want after a bit, I step up out of the water and dry myself off and wait for the next exhilarating feeling of being immersed in another paradigm breaking concept.

So play with me here. What if corn seduced us to put all this care, concern, effort, and time into propagating it around the world? Corn caught us the way a flower "catches" a bee. We are just a tool of corn to keep it going generation after generation.

Think about it. Men gather to advance corn's agenda - local chapters of the Minnesota Corn Growers Association are meeting somewhere tonight. Imagine organizing around a plant, meeting and figuring out how to keep your plant at the top of the heap. Who's the real winner? Well if you are in the corn family, I guess that would be the corn plant.

I've figured out how to grind corn in my flour mill. Corn bread for dinner tonight folks. We'll take that corn right in- no middle man like a corn fed feedlot steer or the ethanol in my tank to go to town for groceries. Grown, ground, consumed- in the quiet privacy of my home--mmmmm.

All hail King Corn.

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We had a bonfire and backyard campout over the weekend. I found myself missing my Dad- not that we ever camped, but he could build a good fire. He always repeated this line about building a fire:

One can't. Two won't. Three might. Four will.

Dad's point- You need four logs to start a fire. So I was telling the boys the same line- and one of the little fellers yells to Alma, "get over here- we need one more person to start this fire. We need four of us." Guess I could have been a little clearer.

Then the four of us (Mike knew better) and the big yellow lab- crowded into the two-man tent to sleep. Originally, I thought we could pack out into the prairie a ways. But frankly, I was glad we were close to home as the coyotes started yipping and howling to the south and to the east of our yard. I'm not afraid of coyotes- but it is chilling to be outside with my little kids and be the grown-up/protector.

It reminded me of a camping trip I took with Val just a few weeks after we graduated from William Kelly HS in Silver Bay. First we got lost in the North Woods, then she had brought Pudding Pops for food (uhhhh... they melt!), then we FROZE overnight, and the Timber Wolves- serious wolves- were howling all around us. Through the night it sounded like they were circling us. We packed out the next day if I remember right.

The kids and I had a great campout. It was surprisingly comfortable, plenty warm, and dog barely smells of skunk anymore.

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The Milky Way. Photo Credit: NASA

Local nonprofit, Clean up our River Environment (CURE), auctioned the talents of their board chair, Joe Hauger, to provide a first class astronomy "show" on our farm. Hey Joe- you put yourself up on the auction block next year and we'll bid you back to Big Stone County.

We are blessed with good neighbors and friends and the yard was filled with dozens of kids -- ages 3-13. Sloppy joes, bars, chips, kids, mosquitos, lawn chairs, blankets, and a night sky to enflame any heart.

Stargazing was off to a DRAMATIC start as the space station passed over us at 8:17- still twilight. It looked like a hugely bright star and passed over us in 3 minutes. I simply can't believe I've never seen this before. It was such a startling and huge night sky object.

The next space station siting for Big Stone County is September 30th at 6:41 pm to 6:46pm. Believe me, if you look up, you won't miss it. Click here to find out when the space station can be seen above you.

Then we looked through Joe's high powered telescope for a close up view of craters on the orange moon as it set in the west. Venus set in the West with the moon- how's that for love. And Jupiter rose bright in the east- boom! it was there. We could see the rings through the scope.

Then the stars began coming out by the thousands... Perfectly clear, crisp September night on the northern high plains. Believe you me... there is no light pollution on our little square of the prairie. No other yards lights and nighttime dark as dark as it gets.

The Milky Way emerge in the night sky and the kids asked what that was... it's our galaxy - the one we live in. A wide strip of cloudy looking stars that span across the night sky. The Milky Way seemed to be coming straight out of our silos and across the sky. No wonder it's so easy to feel like the center of the universe (or not).

Lay on a blanket- your child's head in your lap...Good people around you...The brightest stars ever seen in the sky. People for thousands of year have been laying on this prairie looking up at the night sky in awe. We joined their ranks. Even Joe was impressed with the stars in the sky on Saturday night and said as far as a dark night sky, our farm is "as good as it gets." Ain't it though?

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Almost a Farm
Gone Broke

A few miles down the Clontarf road from our place is this farmstead. Imagine the heartache that comes from losing your way of life, your dreams, the calling to farm. Farming is a calling. I had a great conversation with a Dean of a College of Agriculture from a major Land-grant University. He said that he had visited every farm in the then ground breaking book "Sustainable Agriculture" (National Research Council, 1989). He said that the people who farmed 'alternatively' defied all conventional and modern practices, without any rationale explanations. But, he added, more power to them.

The 1980's were brutal on farms. We're still losing a lot of those 'farms in the middle' (few hundred acres). But farming is more than just another industrial cog in a global system-- it sustains our bodies and for some their souls.

In the words of Thomas Jefferson:

"Those who labour in the earth are the chosen people of God, if ever he had a chosen people, whose breasts he has made his peculiar deposit for substantial and genuine virtue. It is the focus in which he keeps alive that sacred fire, which otherwise might escape from the face of the earth." Thomas Jefferson, c. 1781

"I think our governments will remain virtuous for many centuries; as long as they are chiefly agricultural." (TJ to James Madison, B.1787)

I think Jefferson may be a bit over the top. But there is an independence of body and spirit that comes from tending the crops and animals that feed ourselves and our neighbors. There is also the humbleness that comes from being at the mercy of the nature and the elements- hail, drought, and locusts.

Then there is the indignity and anger that comes from being at the mercy of a society that said to farmers "get big or get out." What good has that done us? Not as an industry, but as a society.

Almost a Farm...

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August 5, 2010 Harvesting Wheat in Big Stone County

It hardly seems like summer has begun and now the crops are being harvested. The neighbors are bringing in the wheat and I stopped to watch and wave on the way home. The countryside is lovely green, with golden wheat, and blue skies.

When I got home the phone rang. "Hey neighbor- that was you pulled over- right? Well drop your buckets off and we'll get you that wheat you've been wanting. 15% protein this year. Almost as good a yield as last year. And last year was really good."

I said- "Excellent. Then I'll grind some flour and make you really fresh homemade bread.:

"Deal."

The gift of good family farmers and neighbors.

(Note to self: remember to bring buckets to Trevor).

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Painting by RJ Silletti- Meadow Larks

Uncle Mick came for dinner over the weekend and the conversation turned to the birds that once were on this land and now are gone. Mick even knew which page to tell me to look at in the Birds of North America guide.
Here's what once was and now is no more on this prairie:

Kingbirds- Western
Kingbirds- Eastern
Bobolinks
Bobwhite Quail
Whippoorwills
Purple Martins
Prairie Chickens
Meadowlarks

Once the ducks were so thick, that as a boy he fired one shot and bagged 10 ducks that were in a row. At times the skies had been black with ducks- thousands that would land in the field while they picked corn. Someone commented that the waterfowl flyway had shifted away from here. But the truth is they are diminished.

There is a new normal. My kids have never seen any of those birds in the landscape. Unless someone tells them, they will never know they are missing. I never really knew they were missing. I look at all the relative abundance of wildlife we have here and can't see what I didn't know was once here. Meadowlarks would be unusual- not a part of the ecosystem I've experienced. And Big Stone County is a birders paradise.

Soon after moving here Mike and I agreed on one goal for our farm -- to have some meadowlarks return.

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Taking down the Quonset

I probably make life on the farm seem rather, well, pastoral. But it is a lot of hard work- mostly for Mike. He and Travis, a neighbor who just graduate from high school, took down our old crushed quonset in preparation for putting up a "new" one.

We really need a standing building to house our tractor, combine, and to have a workshop, potential grain storage and maybe even house some cattle if needed.

Through some of the hottest days of the year- with heat indexes over 100- these guys deconstructed an entire building- and left the ends standing. Now that is truly sweat equity.

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Photo credit: National Geographic

Big Stone County is the eastern most breeding grounds of the American White Pelican in North America. And we have these majestic birds in abundance. My husband grew up in this county and so is used to seeing the huge, prehistoric looking birds as part of the everyday landscape. But they are unique to this area. From here their breeding grounds range north and west into Canada.

Their wintering area is either 1) the Southern California coast or 2) the Gulf of Mexico. Frankly, noone knows where our Pelicans overwinter. If it is the Gulf, there is a chance that these birds may not be coming back next year in the same numbers due to the impact of the BP Oil Gusher. And some of those that come could be ill.

If you are reading this in Big Stone County- remember to take a good look at the Pelicans this year. Appreciate their gliding, synchronized flight. The way that they land on the water- they slow to a near stop just above the water and then lightly touch down with zero (0) forward momentum. A completely still stop on the water- hardly making a ripple despite their huge size. Look at these ancient creatures- as close to a teradactyl as still roams the earth. Lovely, silent creatures.

We have a flock of Pelicans that circle, low over our farm at least twice a day- morning and night. They live in our south wetland and must feed elsewhere during the day- or visit friends in neighboring sloughs. Sometimes when we are in the garden more will circle over us. Seeming as curious and watchful of us as we are of them. They feel like our own private Pelicans. Godspeed.

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Self portrait after a thoroughly soaking 2 mile return walk in pouring, warm rain (my friend Tiff dear is encouraging us to turn the cameras on ourselves. Of course she does so in opera gowns. I'm completely rain washed and bare)

I walked this morning at dawn under low grey billows of clouds. It's nearly 80 degrees with 100% humidity before 7 am. The air so heavy I can feel it resisting my arms as I walk. The song playing in the background of my mind today it was 59th Street Bridge "No deeds to do. No promises to keep. I'm dappled and drowsy and ready to sleep. Let the morning time drop all its petals on me. Life, I love you,.." Written before I was even born- but apropos for a lifetime.

It occurred to me that I am species rich. As species rich as nearly anyone on this planet. This morning I encountered- closely:
Mammal: Deer and fawn, muskrat (still watching the sunrise to the east), dogs, mule, cows, humans.
Birds: Numerous, including; Yellow-headed blackbirds (5 feet away on cattails), Pelicans, ducks, seagulls, sparrows, swallow, many more
Amphibians: frogs
Reptiles: Got skunked - didn't see a turtle, snake, or salamander this morning. (Actually got literally "skunked" on yesterday's walk when Sunny had a completely silent battle to the death with a skunk. She won- but bloodied and reeking of fresh skunk spray. I couldn't have been more than 100 ft away when this battle took place and all I saw was my bloodied dog)

We are living through one of the planets greatest global extinction event-- known as the 6th Extinction. Human activity, not natural events, is the distinction between this and the previous five extinctions. Some estimates have the extinction rate at 30,000 species per year or 3 per hour. The following is from the Proceedings of the National Academy of Science of the United States of America...

There is consensus in the scientific community that the current massive degradation of habitat and extinction of many of the Earth's biota is unprecedented and is taking place on a catastrophically short timescale. Based on extinction rates estimated to be thousands of times the background rate, figures approaching 30% extermination of all species by the mid 21st century are not unrealistic (1-4), an event comparable to some of the catastrophic mass extinction events of the past (5, 6). --Kathy notes- they are talking about dinosaurs- the 5th Extinction--

And so the Kings Play Chess on (our) Fine Green Sphere. I don't trust those kings and this is no game.

4th of July, 2010

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Artist: Ivy Popow, Oil and Acrylic

I stole a moment for myself this morning at dawn. I had jumped out of bed like a scared cat at 2:45 am this morning due to a large and pressing work project. I found myself humming the song "I don't like Mondays" and I was out of caffinated espresso. That's about as dark as it gets.

I sat working intently until just before dawn when suddenly the world was awash in pink. Everything! Everywhere! I jumped up from the table, threw on my shoes and headed out into the prairie. There was a vertical stripe of rainbow rising up from the south horizon- it made me gasp outloud. I walked down the gravel road and found so many prairie roses in full bloom- lovely flowers all along the sides of the roads and into the prairie preserves. The buds were bright pink and the flowers every hue of pink. Many of the petals had just fallen into the untravelled road- so I was walking like a bride following the flower girl among the pink petals.

I walked to the wetlands- the duck, pelicans, geese, two muskrats sat on the front porch of their lodge watching the sunrise as well. There was only a sliver of clear sky on the very edge of the horizon where the rising sun came through to turn all the rest of the low grey clouds brilliant pink- in every direction.

I walked back- smiling.

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The boys and I arrived a bit late for the Clinton Days parade. As we ran down the sidewalk trying to catch up, a fireman rolled down the firetruck window and asked if the boys would like to ride with him in the parade. I didn't know him and he didn't know my kids- but I didn't give a second thought to lifting my boys up into the fire engine. I could hear them introducing themselves as the truck continued on the parade route. I figured I'd find the boys somewhere near the end of the 1 mile parade route.

After the parade and a fine lunch at The Cabin, the fire station was set up for kids games. Again, I didn't think twice about leaving the kids there while I crossed the street for groceries. While there I mentioned to Bonnie, owner of the grocery store, that I could sure use a hot drink. She made me a cup of Fair Trade Colombian Coffee in the back of the store and we sat at the table outside on the grocery store deck- surrounded by huge pots of flowers- fire station in sight and the sounds of happy children.

Then - joy of joys- the firemen set up the fire hoses on either side of the block and groups of kids took turns trying to blast a ball back and forth at each other. My little guys each got a shot with the fire hose and got soaked. Jens- all 38 pounds of him- was shirtless and freezing from the cold well water. So it was time to go home

The day was topped off with a live band and street dance at night. The whole day is put on by the Clinton Commercial Club- the women's service club.

My memory imprint of yesterday is a relaxing sense of fun and being cared for... myself and my kids. The difference between this small town and life in St. Paul is, for me, the absence of a parental anxiety, mostly subconscious. There really is a village taking care of its children. A few weeks ago we were putting in a community garden at the Care Center in town-- one of the big Dad's yelled at my boys to behave. The group of about 30 of us chuckle when I said "Yup- it Takes a Village to yell at my children."

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Memorial Day flag raising in the Village Square- onlookers with hands on hearts

I had a Memorial Day much like many people around our region had Memorial Day. For me it was strikingly stirring.

Our veterans from town and the surrounding countryside all turned out in their crisp uniforms- including our WWII vets. The entire high school band was there in force- even the seniors who had graduation ceremonies (and parties) the day before and who probably had 0 to 3 hours of sleep before lining up at 8:30 am on Monday morning.

As the solemn, crisp procession went down mainstreet-my two little boys (still in kindergarten) asked if they could join the parade. Without a single concern I patted them on the backs and sent them out into the street. They were surrounded on all sides by caring community members who know them by name. At the end of mainstreet the flag was raised to half mast and the commander yelled "Fallout for Legion members taking the bus." Support for the elderly among their ranks.

The rest of us followed the procession the 5-6 blocks to the school gym- the band playing somber songs. People thronged through the streets and side streets to the gym- through a town with sidewalks.

One elderly woman stood in front of her house- the paint was peeling- her flag was flying- and tears were in her eyes. I don't know her personally or her story- but maybe she was recalling a husband, son, brother, uncle who had known war.

Inside the gym we all sing together and then the names of every fallen soldier from this area over the past 130 years is read off. Dozens of Mobergs, seven Hagens from WWII alone. We had a speaker- himself just a second generation immigrant from Sweden.

Following the ceremonies the crowd went to the cemetery and then to the Clinton Memorial Building for a potluck dinner. We went to the potluck last year- but not this year. Jens said "Veterans eat only plants." "No dear, that would be vegetarians, not Veterans."

From the time my kids were babies we played with blocks. We always start with a "firm foundation." The phrase "firm foundation" was among all of their first baby phrases. Because the first thing you need in building a block tower (or a life) is a firm foundation--otherwise it's all for naught.

Robert Putman, a researcher out of Harvard, looked at "social capital" in the United States. Social capital is defined, by some, as the "goodwill, fellowship, mutual sympathy and camaraderie among group of individuals and families who make up a social unity." Putman used many measures to determine which states had the highest social capital- the result is this blurry map below. Maybe by coincidence or fate- we landed in the geographic center of social capital on the North American continent.

When I was traveling in Guatamala- hitchhiking and camping- I stayed at a remote farm in the hills. It was run by 2 young Americans and I enjoyed a clean bed and great food. I remember talking with the other gringos about my longing for Minnesota- what an oasis of fairness, goodness, kindness, etc. etc. etc... My new "friends" looked at me like I was nuts- bragging- cracking up from too many long months on the hard, dusty mochilaro trail. I quit talking and retreated to my dreams of home. And you know what? I'm not disappointed with this place- almost 20 years later it still lives up to my visions.

And my friends in Guatamala? Sadly, the husband (a farm boy from Iowa) had his head cut off by the army and put on a post in his yard just a few weeks after I left their farm in the back of a local's pickup truck. I was already heading north. Heading home.

And here I am. This is a good place to build upon a firm foundation. I don't even have to lay the stone myself. Just stand among the capstones that have been set before me. And hold together that firm foundation for a generation- hopefully so my children can then take up the yoke - where the women are strong, the men are good lookin' and the children are above average.

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Author and veterinarian Melissa Nelson with her book "Small Scale Farming"

There is a breadth and depth of talent and goodness out here on the prairie. And coming upon those folks is one of the riches of life. Meet Dr. Melissa Nelson, veterinarian, author and farmer. She lives just 10 miles from our farm and is an interesting and resourceful neighbor to have around. Melissa is the author of the The Complete Guide to Small Scale Farming: Everything You Need to Know About Raising Beef and Dairy Cattle, Rabbits, Ducks, and Other Small Animals

She also has a couple other books in the works- one on Financially Successful Small Farms and a work of "fiction" about the experiences of a vet in an industrial USDA slaughterhouse. I got a sneak peek at the novel- looks like something for which Michael Pollen should write "in advance praise." It's so great to have met Melissa, found a cool vet for our new little herd, and gained one more member in that thing we call "community."

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The last of last years harvest...

The farm is alive with all things fully leafed out -- the blooms have come and gone from the fruit trees. So what is a local meal in May in Minnesota? Well, I'm making a stew of dried edible beans and the very last of the carrots and onions from the pantry.

Those carrots are not the botique image of local foods that people think about. But to eat seasonally, some stuff comes up from the pantry in May- before the new crop is ready to harvest and last year's produce is barely recognizable.

One of my elders said to me that when I talked of "local foods" all she could envision was the flacid, black carrots that the family dug out of the sand box storage under the floor boards (Minnesota circa 1950). Those carrots, like mine, bear little resemblance to the lovely fresh carrots we pulled from the ground. Eating seasonally and storing food needs to be part of the local food scene.

But I make it look worse than it is. My herbs are up and I have fresh thyme (which will go into the stew), cilantro, parsely, and oregano. We've had our first rhubarb and asparagus. The stored food in the pantry also includes canned candy apples, hot pepper relish, and italian sauces. We still have lots of frozen beets, sweet corn, chicken and one small package of lamb. For dried foods we have wheat, beans (in the stew), dried raspberries and strawberries (an experiment with the dehyrdrator), and dried sweet corn that I grind for corn bread- delicious.

Out with the old and in with the new... next month.

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The first milk from our cow

A friend of a friend says that her Scandinavian heritage husband has a daily limit of 30 spoken words per day. I would say my husband is somewhat similar. Once we got into what I thought was an awful argument and we didn't speak at all for a couple days- sat across from each other at meals, went to sleep together, etc... all in perfect silence. When I finally couldn't take it any longer I said "Enough! we have to talk this out." He said "Talk what out?" He didn't know we were giving each other the silent treatment.

So when I came home to this jar of fresh milk in the fridge, I knew that it was the expression of pure love and esteem from my husband. It's the little things- like the internal injuries he sustained milking a wild and never milked before cow- that lets me know just how very much he really loves me.

Now... How to explain the Mother's Day present he gave me. A mule.

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In the weeks to come you will be seeing many images of dying birds and ocean life. In the mean time, take a look at this boy with his feet in the white sands of the Gulf of Mexico and read what his mother writes about these last days of white beaches...

photo credit: Jeri Shaffer

Even with the threat of bad weather, the beach was packed. Unlike the previous week, the crowd was eerily quiet. There was no music and no small talk. We all stood staring out across the sugar white sand and watching the waves crash into the shore. A group of kids played volleyball and a father tossed a football to his son, but even these activities were low key and quiet. We walked down the beach, watching our children play in the breaking waves and wondering when another day at the beach would be possible for them. Everyone on the beach seemed to be in a stunned silence. The sadness was palpable.

I have lived within 30 miles of this spot my entire life and I have never seen so many people taking pictures. I snapped pictures, too. I want our children to remember the beach that we have always known. Our youngest child will be 3 years old at the end of May. I took a picture of his tiny feet in the sand knowing that he won't remember today. I don't know what the beach of his childhood will look like, but I wanted to give him a small piece of the beach I came to love.

I'm a fan of church hymns. They give us a glimpse into the thoughts and prayers of many generations before us. On Sunday, I am sure by coincidence, the last line of the last hymn we sang was...

"...bring good news to this and every age, till earth and sky and ocean ring with joy, with justice, love and praise"

How's that "ocean ring with joy" thingy goin' for ya?

There's an old joke about the congregation of a church all leaving the Sunday service so fast that it looked like a car race. One of the congregants jumped on the hood of his car and yelled "Christians-- START YOUR ENGINES."

My fear is that as we consume every last resource on this planet we will take down all of G-d's creation along with us. I picture a large whirling funnel flushing down the Meadowlarks, frogs, whales, and pelicans along with us. What is the answer? Probably a new austerity- a completely new way of living. "I bring you a new commandment 'loves others as I have loved you.'" Sunday's gospel.

Hear the call-- Stewards! Start Your Engines. Wait- reverse that.

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Photo credit: Anon

This afternoon the Schwan's Man drove down our 1/2 mile long driveway against 40 mph wind gusts. This is an important source of food- mostly healthy- for our family. They carry a lot of very good frozen vegetables and fish. We buy our share of salmon filets.

Local food this ain't.

The "Wild Caught Alaskan Salmon" is a product of China. When I asked how that could be I was told that the fish are caught and shipped to China for cleaning and freezing then distributed by Schwan's. Can you imagine that trip? Alaska-China- to smack dab in the middle of the North America continent. Now that is a global food system and I'm a grateful beneficiary at the end of that line.

I don't know if you can appreciate the pleasure of having the Schwan's man show up at your door. We buy lots of their vanilla ice cream-- it is the only kind my husband will eat. Period. So we buy three gallons every other week.

This afternoon I bought Tamales wrapped in corn husks. They are really quite good and made from very few raw ingredients- corn meal, meat and spices. I also bought the shrimp and tofu Pad Thai. Seriously folks- I'm in the middle of the Tallgrass prairie in an extremely sparsely populated area. And today I had tofu delivered to the door of my farm. With chop sticks.

The Pad Thai was spicy enough that the boys jumped up from the table and ran around with tongues lolling out of their mouths begging for liquids. Add a few crushed peanuts and squeeze a lemon on top and I can imagine that I'm at Ruam Mit on St. Peter Street in St. Paul.

Oh yeah- And that Pad Thai- It's a product of Thailand. Like I said- local food it ain't. But what the hell. Moderation in all things.

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Communion bread for Trinity Lutheran Church in Clinton, Minnesota

Grown in Big Stone County
Ground in Big Stone County
Baked in Big Stone County
Broke in Big Stone County

A short step from local to holy.

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Farmers' Cooperative Grain Elevator- Clinton, Minnesota

I was at a meeting with 70 of the best and the brightest the other day- working through how we build robust, economically successful local food systems. For example, how do we get apples from the local apple orchard into our grocery stores and schools- in place of apples imported from New Zealand?

One of the brilliant, well intention people at the Symposium led us through a thought exercise about how we could put a mental string around the grain elevators and pull them down. This was to be, I think, emblematic of replacing commodity agriculture with a local and regional food system.

So I went to visit the people who run the local grain elevator. Meet Sandy, Greg and Ron. Located in our small town (of 450 souls) the grain elevator is an independent, farmer owned cooperative. It is free to market and sell the locally grown grain to whomever they please. Every week of the year farmers bring in grain that to sell through the elevator. Grain is sold in 5,000 bushel increments - for corn that would be about 30 acres of yield.

Business office of the Cooperative Elevator

When I walked into Sandy's office she had two computers going at the same time- one was the real time commodity prices flashing on a screen the other was a live webinar on the USDA "Acreage and Planting Intentions Estimate." Farmers confer with Sandy about what they should plant.

In the 21 years that Sandy has been marketing the grain grown by our local farmers she has seen a few shifts:

1) a 50% decrease in farmers. In particular, she talks about the loss of young farmers with sadness- "it would be wonderful to see land [up for sale] going to young farmers" and,

2) that in 21 years her grain marketing has gone from global to local. In the early days, Sandy was selling grain that was shipped to the "coasts" and Canada. Now Big Stone County grain (corn, wheat, and soybeans) are bought, used, and processed locally- for ethanol in Big Stone City, SD and for bean meal in Dawson, MN. This shift to local outlets has made Big Stone County more profitable for producers- less transportation costs.

When kids raise goats for 4-H - where do they go to find out how and where to sell them and how the goat "market" works? They go to Sandy at the grain elevator. What's more, if you need goat feed- you just ask Ron and he'll help load it into your truck, or in my case a minivan.

So maybe instead of trying to mentally pull down that grain elevator, we should be finding the lessons learned in this elegant, locally owned and operated system. Maybe, even we should be working with them.

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Grooter Family at their Beardsley Country Market

The kids and I decided to check out all the grocery stores in the Big Stone County a couple weeks ago. We were able to make a truly delicious, nutritious and affordable meal with the groceries we bought from the Beardsley Country Market and the Graceville Country Market.

The Graceville grocery stores has a great selection of produce, including some hard to find fruit and veggies like blackberries, turnips, and portabella mushrooms. For our special Saturday night dinner we purchased fresh blackberries, strawberries and one orange pepper. The blackberries ($2.50 per half pint) were the best such berries I've ever tasted. I was pleased that Larry carried strawberries that were grown in the United States. I try to buy US grown food when I can't buy locally grown.

At the Beardsley County Market the kids greatly enjoyed playing with Alma's classmate Jada and the Grooter family was very welcoming and friendly. We purchased sirloin steak cubes ($6.51), fresh, authentic corn and lime tortillas ($.99 and made in Minnesota), and a large container of sour cream ($3.60) for our meal. The highlight of the Beardsley Market is their fresh meat, cut to order.

At home we made Steak Fajita's--here's the recipe I used

Marinate for at least 1 hour
1.5 pounds of steak cubes or strips in:
¼ Cup lime (or lemon juice in a pinch)
3 gloves minced garlic (grown on our farm)
1 T vegetable oil
½ t salt
½ t Cumin (I used about 1-2 Tablespoons because I love this mild spice)

In a large skillet cook over medium high heat:

Cool spiced/marinated meat until done to your liking

Then add:
2 medium onions sliced in strips
2-3 green, red, orange or yellow peppers sliced into ½ inch strips (from Graceville and some frozen peppers that we grew in our garden and roasted on the grill last fall)
Salt
Pepper

Stir and cook the peppers with the meat, onions, and spices until the peppers are hot, but still a little crisp.

Warm the tortillas in the microwave for a few seconds, place the meat, onion, and pepper mixture on the tortillas. Top with salsa and sour cream.

We fed this festive and very healthy meal to three hungry adults and three kids. In addition to the steak fajitas I served the fresh blackberries and strawberries on the side and made a batch of brown rice ($.50) that I had purchase bulk at The Granary in Ortonville.

The cost of all the healthy, fresh food purchased from our local grocery stores was around $21 (including the $4.50 splurge on organic cilantro salsa from The Granary in Ortonville). Without the pricey salsa, this meal cost us less than $2.50 per person. At a restaurant in the Twin Cities this meal would have cost at least $60. Even at the less expensive, but excellent, Mexican restaurant in Benson this meal would have cost us over $40 (if we didn't order Margaritas!).

I'm pleased at the effort that our local grocers put into providing us with fresh ingredients to cook healthy and fun meals for our families. Thank you to the owners of the Graceville and Beardsley Country Markets.

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Wetland Reserve Conservation signage- installed on our farm- March 29, 2010

For many years this spot on the farm has been wet. Some dry years it probably produced the most hay and grain as any place on the farm. But most years, hear tell, it was too wet to get a decent crop. With all the recent drainage tile going in around our township, this spot has been increasingly under water and hasn't had a good harvest in a few years. You see, we're at the bottom of the basin.

In the spring, when I looked at that land under water (now owning it and depending on it for part of our livelihood) I saw productive farmland underwater. It causes a sense of anxiety. Will a crop get in? If it gets in, will it grow? If it grows, will it be harvestable?

After much discussion, we've committed to putting 30 acres of our farm into the Wetland Reserve Conservation program. In perpetuity. That means this will be a wetland as long as the United States and State of Minnesota stand. Could be a very long time- but one never says "forever."

I remember being a young married women visiting my in-laws on this same farm. Early one spring morning- just before dawn- I left the house alone for a walk. This wetland had been full a couple years and reeds were growing along it. It was full of so many waterfowl I was awestruck. Ducks, geese, swans, pelicans, seagulls. I crept across the field on my stomach to get as close up to it as I could. It was magical. Beautiful. Soul filling, productive wild lands.

When a few weeks later the construction crews came in to drain it, my heart burned. But it wasn't my land. It wasn't my livlihood. It wasn't my future.

But now... Now It is my present. And now it will be a wetland and pond. In the spring the water will look lovely. It will be our own wildlife refuge- soon to be surrounded completely with pastureland and next to the larger USFWS Waterfowl Production area. In the winter we will sled down the soon to be build embankment, ice skate on the pond. There will be rafts to build and float around on. Frogs to catch, turtles to watch. Green pastures to lie down in. There will be wildlife to crawl out on our stomachs to watch with wonder.

The gift of good land turned to good use.

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Foodshelf Donations (every Sunday in March) on Palm Sunday

(letter to the Editor of the Northern Star newspaper)

March is the season when we consider those in need and contribute to our local area emergency food shelf. Our church asks congregants to bring bags of food to set in the church aisle every Sunday in the month of March. The children bring the bags up to the altar as part of our offerings. It is a joy to watch the little children struggling to carry all the generous contributions up to the front of the church. What a good lesson for them!

I've found a way to get three benefits from this March food drive:

1) Helping others. Our friends and neighbors, sometime unbeknown to us, use the Big Stone Area foodshelf. Some for the first time ever- after many years of hard work and frugal living.

2) Support local business: I purchase my foodshelf donations from Bonnie's Hometown Grocery on mainstreet Clinton. This helps keep a mainstreet business running and benefits all of by keeping our local grocery store healthy so we can buy our food close to home. I purchase food from the weekly specials circular to donate- healthy fruits and vegetables and staple items.

3) Buy Locally Grown Foods: Food grown by local farmers contributes directly to our farm economy. For example, Bonnie's is running a special on Dakota Growers pastas this week (March 16-21). Dakota Growers was formed by North Dakota farmers and makes their noodles in New Hope, Minnesota and Carrington, ND. So I will buy a couple couple cases of this brand of noodles and know that I'm helping keep dollars "local" (compared to foods grown and processed in China- for example). I would also like to add that when I found out that Dakota Grown has whole wheat and organic pastas, Bonnie said she would look into carrying them in the store. Bonnie has always added items to her shelves when we've asked her too.

So I encourage you to give to our local causes, support our local businesses, and support our local farmers all in one generous act.

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Flax in North Dakota- photo by Ann Hoffert

It is spring and a girl's mind turns to... crops. The land we live and farm on has, in recent memory, grown the following crops:

Corn
Soybeans
Wheat
Millet
Flax
Oats
Barley
Canola
Alfalfa
Sorghum
Milo (grain sorghum)
Mustard (on purpose - to sell)

In the 15 years that I've known this land (lived here for two growing seasons) it has only known corn and soybean. But a girl's got a right to dream...

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Lake Yergensen- March 17, 2010- our south forty

This morning I had to choose between laser pink/orange sun rising over the edge of the world or watching the first flock of geese flying low directly over my head. The first light is just a pinpoint and then a huge rising globe larger than any Serengeti sunrise you've ever seen on a documentary about Africa. I chose the geese because they are more ephemeral than the sun.

There is something special about the pre-sunrise and early dawn. The worlds isn't exposed to any harsh glares. Everything is muted and then pink. The low sun lights the geese from beneath and they shine in the sky. For me this is the best time of the day- full of wonder, hope and promise.

They are back. After 105 days down south the first two geese dropped low in our yard and honked as they flew directly in front of my kitchen window last Sunday. As we walked down the driveway this morning, a huge flock (in the hundreds, not 10's of thousands yet) flew up from our south forty "lake." We could see other large flocks rising up to the north- Alma said "the bus must be coming." The bus scares up the other flocks that are in the potholes to the north and west of us.

The patterns of this pothole prairie are emerging for me. The season changing... the darkness and the angles of the sun...sounds and silence...the smells...the taste of Girl Scout cookies (Thin Mints) which are now indelibly linked with the first thaw and those first geese of the season.

I have three school years of walking my kids down the driveway to the school bus.

Year 1- 2 preschoolers (3 year olds) and a 2nd grader
Year 2- 2 preschoolers (4 year olds) and a 3rd grader
Year 3- 2 kindergarteners and a 4th grader

There's even a gentle pattern in our kids getting older. But if I could hold them at this very moment in time- I would. I am already preparing myself to miss them when I am an old women walking out on the prairie to take in the seasons. These are the good old days. I know it and savor every moment of it that I can.

In the mean time, just like last year, they played in the ice water until they couldn't stand it one more minute and came clunking to the house sobbing with frozen feet in their farm boots filled with slushy snow water.

I walk a few miles, reverently, because running would be too loud. I hear the symphony of geese everywhere around me. As the sun rises there are more and more geese- louder and louder. Today, this very day, winter is bursting. I am giddy. My heart and soul are full of gratitude for the beauty above me, beauty below me, beauty all around me.

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Jump Rope for Heart Event as School

Last week we had a school and community celebration focused around jump roping and giving. Dozens of kids and parents played in the school gym last Friday night- followed by dinner in the school cafeteria (thank you).

The 2nd-6th graders were part of Jump Rope for Heart- with donations going to the American Heart Association. The families in our small towns raised nearly $4,000 for this event - well beyond the goal of $2,500.

It's such a great lesson for the kids to raise money for a cause that is not about them, their school, or their direct needs. It is 100% about giving to others- others outside of our community. And that is a value worth celebrating and jumping about. Kudos to Mrs. Fisher who has been the school coordinator of this event for many years- judging by the row of banners streaming along the gym ceiling from years past.

The local Township fund drives are another new thing to me. Our little township only has 90-some people (on a good summer day) and yet every year they pass the hat for a slate of worthy causes- about 20 different organizations from Sister Kenney's Rehab Center to the county's First Responders. I'm always amazed how much so few people can give as the newspaper published the list of donations township by township.

It seems to me that what Big Stone County may lack in rich folks, it makes up for with giving hearts.

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Church furnace room in Clinton, MN- ECONAR GeoSource Geothermal Heat Pump

Today I received a Lenten e-mail update from the Evangelical Lutheran Church of America (ELCA) on Climate Justice: Climate Change and Economics. The article talks about what churches can do to reduce carbon footprints, save energy, etc...

I have zero (0) bragging rights- but am deeply proud to belong to (having stumbled upon) a congregation that, without fanfare, happens to be one of the most environmentally progressive churches I know of. It's in Clinton, Minnesota on the South Dakota border- population 401.

I first fell in love with this church for a small thing- a 2 inch by 5 inch laminated note on the church kitchen refrigerator door. It said:

"It is a Trinity Church policy that NO plastic foam products can be used at church functions. Effective July 11, 1989."

Years before others began calling for an end to styrofoam, this church simply outlawed it. Now granted, it may have been passed by a church council "man" who didn't have to wash the ceramic coffee cups (I washed my first coffee cups yesterday in fact). But, for the two years we've been enjoying the smell, taste and companionship of Trinity Lutheran church coffee and no "Lutheran Brotherhood" styrofoam cups have graced our tables.

What's more, I stumbled upon the row of Geothermal heat pumps in the basement-- installed 10+ years ago when oil was about $8 per barrel and no one was thinking energy conservation. Leadership, foresight, and long term environmental and financial stewardship all tucked away together in a church basement furnace room out on the prairie.

It seems to me a quiet practicality and stewarding of resources that, in fact, make life more pleasant. As a part of creation myself, I appreciate drinking coffee from a real cup on Sunday mornings. Talk about congregations for creation.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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The view from my home office desk

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Minnesota Historical Society, 1949

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Boys on wood pile - day after Thanksgiving

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

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

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

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

It's the anti-Dubai.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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The View from my rear window

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

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

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

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

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That which you manifest is before you.

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

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

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

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

That which you manifest is before you.

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

That which you manifest is before you.

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

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

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

Or maybe I should just get back to work.

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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" »

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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.�?

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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..." »

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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

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