Category Archives: the homestead

Wringing Sunlight

Posted on by under Photography, the homestead, Writing

Originally printed in the July/August 2024 issue of Down Country Roads Magazine

The sun-drenched days are already growing shorter, and before too long the shadows will lengthen a bit and remind us that summertime doesn’t last forever. But it is still the season to wring out every drop of sunlight from each blessed day, drinking in the warmth and the light that is so scarce at other times of the year. 

Wringing it out, wringing it out, soaking it in and wringing it out.

Wringing it out, like savoring those early morning sunrises.  The cool freshness of the day’s beginning, stirring the curtains and bringing the outside in. A woodsy ramble when the grass is still damp. The first breath of heat when the sun is yea-high. Garden puttering, throwing water, pulling weeds, up to the elbows in productivity and partnership with earth and sun. The snap of towels hanging on the line to dry, or my husband’s snap-front shirts. The heat of sun on uncovered head, the quiet, rhythmic work of laundry day. The cool of grass under bare feet. Digging my toes into good, black dirt. The low drone of bees busy in the flowers, the sweet singing of the crickets. The comical play-acting of the killdeer, the swift flight of the barn swallow, the bubbling up and overflowing melody of the bobolink in the hayfield, rivaling the meadowlark as the summertime songster, dipping and diving in the alfalfa, a little black-and-white-and-yellow speck of a songbird.

Oh, these days!

When the sun nears the evening sky and sinks low, the ridge to our west casts first the house, then the barn, then the hayfield, into its lengthening shadow which races to the horizon. Far to the east and a little to the south, Sheep Mountain Table gleams pink in the afterglow. The windows of the house get thrown open, bringing the coolness in, and nighttime falls, softly and sweetly, and the first of the summer stars appear in the pink and lavender sky.

We take the warm, sweet memories of these days with us into the shorter days of winter.

The sweetness, like the first of the sun-ripened, still-warm tomatoes, bursting in your mouth, fresh off the vine. The sweetness, like a cold glass of sun-brewed iced tea after a sweaty morning of work. The sweetness, like a pail of wild-harvested fruit and a glittering, gleaming row of jelly jars, still piping hot. The sweetness, like the sound of rain, gentle rain, sweet rain, and the low roll of thunder.

And then, maybe best of all, is the intoxicating sweetness of the sun-warmed pines. Can you smell it? It brings back impressions of my earliest childhood, recalls some of my happiest memories in what would one day become my home. I remember piling out of our minivan, myself and my three sisters and parents, piling out at the end of a 1000-mile journey, piling out at the top of a sun-baked hill in the glorious middle of nowhere near Hermosa, piling out and breathing deep of that wonderous smell – The pines! And there at the end of a little gravel sidewalk was a house made of rough-cut lumber with my grandparents waiting for us, and a joyful two weeks of summer vacation ahead, to be filled with hikes and rambles and Grandma’s 24-hour dill pickles. Almost ten years ago, we came and never left. But my heart still skips a beat when I smell the piney, resiny breath of summertime.

We can do without the havoc-wreaking hail that summer brings, or the dry lightning that sparks a fire, but somehow those aren’t the things we remember in the deeps of January. We remember and yearn for the sunrises and the sunsets and the sunkissed faces. And we long to wring out the sunlight, wring it out and drink it deep.

So, take the ramble, taste the wild plums, listen to the meadowlark, watch the sunsets and hunt the wildflowers. Wring it out, every last drop of beautiful summertime sunlight. It is days like this that get us through the long, dark nights of winter.

In the Garden | Spring Garden Prep

Posted on by under Agriculture and Ranching, country life, gardening, the homestead

Garden planning has been underway basically since the last tomato was harvested in the fall–Anticipation for the spring begins well in advance of springtime, and even in advance of winter. Gardening is an inherently optimistic and forward-thinking occupation.

I began ordering seeds in January, sticking with primarily (actually exclusively, I believe) heirloom varieties of vegetables. I’ve never quite had the wherewithal to really save seeds and I intend to change that this year! Consequently the selection was made for varieties I wished to continue to cultivate!

My absolutely favorite tomato varieties are the paste tomatoes, Amish Paste and Roma, both for flavor and texture as well as use. I love the meatier texture and honestly eat a lot of them straight off the plant! I actually have successfully started a lot of tomatoes from seeds left from last year that were wildly incorrectly stored, and I’ve still seen about an 80% germination rate, which seems really spectacular, given how poorly the seeds were stored. I also started a handful of Black Krim tomatoes, leftover from last year, though I wasn’t overly impressed with how they performed. They weren’t great producers by any stretch of the imagination, and it was actually really hard to tell if the fruit were ripe, because of their odd color. They were delicious, though. I’ve started some Mortgage Lifters, Comstock, Amish Paste, Roma, and a few varieties of cherry/grape tomatoes for fresh eating. Some herbs are going as well, with more to come.

This year, I opted to use dixie cups and solo cups instead of paper pots for seed starting and, boy, it has made things easier. I may roll some paper pots as I get more herbs going, things that will grow quickly and be transplanted quickly, but I’ve been happy with the switch. They hold up much better to jostling and watering, are much easily to fill with dirt, and they’ll provide a deeper base for root development, especially on things like tomatoes. A drill works great to make drain holes in the bottom, easily putting holes in 100 cups in, oh, three minutes. It really speeds up the planting. I’ll be able to save them this year and reuse for next, so that’ll be a nice time-saver.

The grow lights and seed starting heat mats I bought last year are working great still, and I actually bought two more lights and another set of four mats for this year. Tomato seeds have been germinating in 5 days! If you’re wanting to start seeds indoors, I’d definitely recommend these.

Remember the elderberry cuttings I got in January? They have absolutely flourished, and all but one rooted. They’re in dirt now and doing great. This will be the continuation of the little orchard we started in 2022, our “wedding trees.” Hopefully that will see an expansion as well. Menards has great prices on fruit trees, so I’ve been eyeing those.

I’ve been out in the greenhouse and garden a fair bit, getting some walking onions divided and put in the ground in the greenhouse, cleaning up, pulling weeds, and turning the dirt in all my tomato pots. As soon as we’re past this cold snap, I hope to get some greens and root veggies going. It has been gratifying and exciting to see what survived over the winter–Strawberries, rhubarb, chives, garlic, walking onions, and lots of perennials are already emerging. A peony I planted from bareroot last year has come up, catmint and verbena and English daisy and bee balm, yarrow and black eyed Susan…It is so good to see green!

Winter Pastimes

Posted on by under Agriculture and Ranching, country life, gardening, the homestead

Winter really gets a bad rap. Too cold, too dark, not enough to do. But that is just our insufferable modern American way of thinking, too reliant on recreation and not enough on creation, too caught up with thinking ahead to have time to think back, yet somehow too caught up in today to think to tomorrow. We are too addicted to being constantly occupied, too addicted to having something constantly vying for our attention, too addicted to convenience to be able to appreciate slower, quieter, and the sweetness of inconvenience.

This is really a wonderful time of the year. Harder in some ways, of course. Easier in other ways, because the short days and cold temps out of necessity weed out a lot of things that just don’t need to be done (or can’t be done) when it is this cold or so dark at 4:30. But the earth is resting. So why can’t we? Our modern conveniences have taken away the necessity of building our lives and daily rhythms around the seasons and the lengths of days and seasonal tasks. But we still are fighting against nature. Frankly, I think that is bad for us. I don’t think that is how we were made.

So it makes sense, then, that winter just becomes a frustration for so many people.

But I truly love this time of year. A little forced lull in the busyness of spring, summer, and fall. A chance to dream. A chance to make plans. I love envisioning my garden, and ordering seeds, and having time to bake and cook and be busy in my kitchen, and to put things up for later, especially with a milk cow giving me more milk than we can use! Mornings are often occupied making butter and yogurt and bread and cheese, and there is now about 15 pounds of butter in my freezer, and plenty of frozen milk for when Posey is feeding calves and I’m not getting much from her. But right now, even this late in her lactation, she’s giving me close to two gallons a day!

I have been happily watching some elderberry cuttings put out little leaves, sitting there in the sunniest window in the house, and I’m anxiously waiting for roots to sprout. They will be a wonderful addition to the garden. I made fire cider recently, and will be making some elderberry syrup and tincture with dried elderberries from Black Hills Bulk Foods.

It makes my husband chuckle a bit to see me leafing through my field guides, and I have been poring over books on growing and using herbs and making herbal medicines, something I have long been interested in, and my excitement grows for the spring and summer, for planting and harvesting and wildcrafting. Soon it’ll be time to roll a bunch of newspaper pots, and the picture window in the living room will become the designated spot for starting seeds. It is invigorating to see something green and growing thriving in February, or March, while the world outside is inhospitable.

The chickens are looking beautiful, in spite of the cold. All the extra protein and calcium and other wonderful nutrition they’ve been getting from the leftover whey after making yogurt and cheese, has made for some brilliant plumage and a great recovery after their hard molt. Egg shells are hard with the extra calcium, and egg numbers are slowly increasing already (when the eggs aren’t breaking from the cold, that is).

Long, dark evenings are a good excuse to read and write, and I love the chance to catch up with old literary friends, or make new ones. Spring is right around the corner. There is a lot of winter left, a lot of time for plenty of cold and snow and hard days, but spring will come. And it always comes faster than we think.

Baskets

Posted on by under country life, the homestead

My poor husband. I have a thing for baskets. And I love hunting for them at thrift stores, and finding beautiful and useful ones for egg gathering and bread serving and any other thing. He’s a little stymied by the basket thing. That, and the throw pillow thing. Oh, well. He doesn’t need to understand, it’s fine.

I found this pretty little one at a thrift store in town yesterday, and it is the perfect addition to my collection of egg baskets!

The chickens are finishing up a rough molt, but their egg production is holding pretty steady, and finally their beautiful plumage is growing back in! They looked so rough for a few months there, it finally they’re getting well-feathered and glossy again. Faithful little birds.

In the Kitchen | Sourdough Biscuits

Posted on by under country life, Recipes, the homestead

This delicious sourdough biscuit recipe is shared from the book Bacon and Beans: Ranch-Country Recipes, a Western Horseman book by Stella Hughes, published in 1990. It is a pretty foolproof recipe, comes together quickly, and with the addition of some baking soda you are just about guaranteed some fluffy biscuits!

Ingredients:

1/2 c. sourdough starter
1 c. milk
2 1/2 c. flour
3/4 tsp. salt
1 tbs. sugar
1 tsp. baking powder
1/2 tsp. baking soda
bacon grease or butter, melted

To Make:

Mix starter, milk, and 1 cup of flour in a large bowl and let sit for 8 hours or overnight. Cover with a towel and keep in a warm place. When ready to use, turn sourdough batter out onto clean surface with 1 cup of flour. Sprinkle salt, sugar, baking powder, and baking soda over the top of the batter, followed by the remaining 1/2 cup of flour. With hands or a spatula, mix dry ingredients into dough, kneading lightly. Handle as little as possible! Roll out approximately 1 inch thick and cut with biscuit cutter. Dip in melted bacon grease or butter, and place in a baking pan. Let them touch, but don’t overcrowd. Let rise in a warm place for about a half hour, and bake at 375 degrees for 30 minutes or until they are golden brown. Makes about a dozen biscuits.

Notes:

Handle the dough as little as possible to keep biscuits from getting tough. It can be difficult to get all the flour incorporated–Don’t worry about it! Instead of kneading, I try to stretch and fold to incorporate the dry ingredients into the dough, but don’t try to get the dry ingredients all moistened or evenly smooth, or you will over-knead and have tough biscuits.

I find that a single batch fills a 9×9 baking pan, with a couple biscuits leftover, which I tend to cook in a separate smaller dish. Depending on how thick they are cut, obviously, you could stretch the yield on this recipe. There is a considerable amount of oven spring with this biscuits–they will puff up in the oven! They are served best fresh out of the oven, and I love to serve these with homemade butter and homemade jam! They’re always a hit.

Enjoy!





Soaking it all in

Posted on by under Agriculture and Ranching, country life, gardening, gratitude, Ordinary Joys, Photography, the homestead, Writing

I woke up last night to the lullaby of rain on the roof. Gentle rain. Peaceful rain. No hail, no devastating winds. Just music on the roof. We woke to 2 inches in the rain gauge and another inch has fallen since. It it one of those turning-inward kinds of days, where outside chores are accomplished as quickly as possible, and the oven and stove and dehydrator all warm the house and fill it with the tastes and smells of the season.

But fall really is less of a season and more of a sense, or an over-abundance of the senses. It is the time of gathering in, of putting up, of savoring and preserving.

The color palate shifts, in one last glorious display before the long winter sleep, as the last of the flowers send up their leaves and open their buds, and the trees, which in summer are a wonderful backdrop of green, burst into the most vivid of colors in a center-stage kind of a way. Living right inside the treeline of what becomes the Black Hills National Forest a little further west, a ponderosa pine forest, the hardwoods hide until the fall, at which point they come out of hiding in flamboyant style.

The last of the harvest is trickling in – the last of the fruit tasted sun-warm off the vine, the last of the shaking of the branches, the last eaten while perched in the branches to reach just one more. But even when the last of the harvest has trickled in, the work still isn’t done, and it continues in a pleasant flurry. The whirr of the dehydrator, the bubbling of the waterbath canner, the tastes and aromas of the summer, preserved for the winter. Every countertop surface is a chaos of things preserved and things to be preserved – The jams and jellies from the abundance of wild fruit, summertime salsas from the garden, enough to last us through next summer, bags and bags of dehydrated apples and zucchini, and jars of glassed eggs to get us through the winter slump. It is a delectable time of the year!

Flowers I thought wouldn’t bloom after the August hailstorm wiped out the gardens have flourished in the interim. One last bouquet was hastily cut last night, on the eve of what could still turn into our first winter storm if the temps drop tonight. Herbs were gathered in quickly – mint and thyme and lavender and dill – and are bundled neatly to dry.

But the savor of the season is mixed with the sweetness of routine – Baskets of eggs fresh from the coop, loaves of fresh bread, still warm.

Daily walks in the freshness of autumn, with a passel of dogs.

The company of a good pup.

Kittens in the barn, shades of cinnamon and the one little white one.

The view between a horse’s ears.

A certain pair of eyes in a sun-browned face.

Quiet evenings.

Beautiful sunrises.

Winter will be here before we know it. It is storing up the joy of times like this that keep the winter blues at bay. So I’m just listening to the whisper of the rain on the roof, and soaking it all in.