Farm Woman Invents New Pie


I've always admired the Farm Woman Icon---a woman able to raise her own vegetables, milk the cow and make her own cheese, and whip up a hearty meal when twenty people suddenly drop by.

If you've read any of my books, you know I am none of the above. My Aunt Ilene in North Dakota is. She has two freezers--each about a mile long--- filled to the brim with stuff she's made. If she ever broke her leg and couldn't cook, she and my uncle could live for two years on what's in those two freezers. So this cooking and baking gene is in me somewhere, but I fear it lies dormant.

Until now. I have invented a new sort of pie. The Farmer and I picked strawberries the other day, and they were so beautiful we couldn't stop picking. In 45 minutes we'd picked 18 pounds, and could have kept going. Since I ended up cleaning them, I'm grateful we stopped at 18 pounds.



Then I began making strawberry pies. I don't actually eat strawberry pies, as I dislike cooked fruit of any kind (yes, I know that's weird.) But the Farmer in this house loves strawberry pies, and strawberry-rhubarb pies, so I decided I could be a Real Farm Woman and bake some pies for the girl.

I'd like to say I made the crusts from scratch, but I won't. (Thank you, Pillsbury Dough Boy.)

I took these lovely strawberries....




And made a pie. In the process I invented something new: The Floating Crust Pie. I plan to register this invention with the Patent Office so I'll get all the credit and own the idea.

Basically, you press the bottom crust into the pan. Then you fill the pan with berries and sugar. Then you lay the top crust onto the pie, and here's where my innovation comes in. Instead of moistening the edges of the two crusts so they bond, or folding them over together, or generally pinching them correctly to form a tight seal, you just press the top crust onto the bottom crust and figure that will be good enough.

Then when the pie is in the oven, and the hot fruit begins to boil up, the top crust will lift off the pan and begin floating. It's amazing. This floating top crust then allows the fruit filling, in this case strawberries, to ooze out the edges of the pan and down onto the bottom of your hot oven. It's fun to watch the top crust floating free on an ocean of molted strawberries.

After inhaling the incredible scent of pie burning on the oven bottom, I finally took out the finished pie, a little stunned at the mess I'd created. Only after I'd set out for my walk did I realize I'd cleverly invented a new pie. I planned to photograph my invention, but then I remembered the Farmer was loose in the house so I raced back, relieved there was something left to photograph.




The Floating Crust pie must be tasty, since the Farmer has inhaled the rest of it, and I've since made another one. My mother, grandmothers, and aunts will be so proud when they learn what I've done....Too bad I have no intention of telling them...

The Feral Chicken

Last fall the residents of a house about 3/4 of a mile away moved out. We didn't realize it at the time, but they just left their small flock of chickens and geese to fend for themselves. (Don't get me started on how cruel people can be when it comes to animals.) While poultry are great at finding food and water, they aren't so skilled at avoiding predators. By the time we learned the birds had been abandoned, weeks had gone by, and we knew it'd be too late to rescue them---they would have either left the property in search of food or been eaten.

But then one evening Melissa saw a chicken in some woods bordering our north pasture, far from where our chickens live, and not that far from the abandoned house. Minnesota isn't known for its feral chickens, but I think this chicken qualified.

Melissa tried trapping her in a cage, but the wily bird didn't fall for it. Melissa grew increasingly worried about the bird surviving predators and the winter, so she started visiting the area at dusk, watching for the hen.

Finally one evening she saw the bird about 30 feet up in a gigantic pine tree. When it gets dark, birds find a place to roost and are easier to catch.

Did I mention the bird was 30 feet up the tree? Apparently, if one easily climbed trees at age five and fifteen, it's nothing to climb 30 feet up a tree at age 50. Lordy, if I'd known what the woman was up to, I'd have thrown a fit.

But instead, Melissa returned to the house on her 4-wheeler, triumphant, with pine bough scratches all over her arms, and holding the feral chicken.

Having been on her own for so long, the chicken had some adjusting to do when put in with the other hens. She was defensive and hard to get along with, but at least she had food, water, and a safe place to roost at night.

Early this spring she began spending a lot of time in the shed. In fact, she hid back among the junk and started spending all her time there. When we'd open the shed in the morning, the hen would dash out and head to the barn for food and water.

Then one day our friend Mary was in the shed and heard peeping. Turns out our feral hen had been sitting on a nest, and hatched out 8 little chicks.




Not surprisingly, she's a ferocious mother, and keeps the cats at bay. Although one day I did see Eddie stalking the little family, so he and I had a serious discussion about this topic. I had to have the same discussion with Maisie the other day. Hopefully they both got the message.




Because the little chicks were sitting in the water bowl, Melissa was worried about drowning (it's happened before) so note the rocks in the red bowl below...ensures the chicks can easily get in and out of the water.



The chicks have wing feathers now, and run around the shed like they own the place, which, I guess, they do... not a bad piece of real estate for a formerly feral chicken.