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.

Whew, We Made It Again




In one of our shortest lambing seasons ever, all but five ewes have given birth in just two weeks. So other than these few stragglers, we're done! As usual, I'm delighted, and Melissa's face grows longer and longer as reality sets in. She loves finding new baby lambs on the pasture, and thinks she has the best job on the planet.




Our helpers think it's pretty great as well.






Here I am trying to hold four bottle lambs in stairstep formation, but they're too squirmy for a photo!




Look at the little pipsqueak on the right in the photo below. She was a triplet (as are all the other bottle lambs) but came out 1/3 the size of a regular lamb. Luckily after a few shaky days, she's up and running, hopping around like a piece of popcorn, and has just gone to a new home.



Most ewes make great moms. Here are three wary ewes who don't like that I'm in the pasture. Each is standing guard over at least one lamb. The lambs snuggle down into the grass until you almost can't see them.




This ewe has just given birth to triplets. ChaChi has come over to check out the new ones, and is gently sniffing a lamb at his feet.




There's a whole lot of sleeping going on at this farm. Bottle lambs snooze after a big meal:




The calves are clearly uptight about their lives:



I'll leave you with a few pasture images....



(No, that black sheep above isn't standing on Zipper's back....just a photo issue!)





Our reward for the hard work of the last two weeks are all little strong, healthy, and robust babies running around on the pasture. One of these days I'll figure out the whole video thing and show you what I mean.

A Farm Play in One Act

Setting: Small barn on Rising Moon Farm
Characters: Lamb, Calf


Lamb: "What are you in for?"



Calf: "I think it's for being too cute. I keep hearing them say, "You are just too cute."



Lamb: "Bummer. So, how do we get outta this joint?"



Calf: "We have to stop being so cute."





Lamb: "Yeah, like that's ever going to happen."

THE END

What?

This morning after we finished feeding the calves, I went inside to start cleaning the house, and Melissa did a few more chores. Thirty minutes later she came inside, beaming. "Guess what?" she asked.

"No! It's too early! I haven't cleaned the house or bought groceries or anything." And we hadn't moved the sheep from the barn out onto the pasture, where they'd start lambing. We had a few more days until the lambs started coming.

Why do I think I have any control over these events?

Melissa had looked up toward the barn to see a ewe glancing furtively over her shoulder toward the barn, as if she was hiding something she didn't want Melissa to see. That's a clear sign that the ewe IS hiding something she doesn't want Melissa to see.

Melissa tramped up there, and found three sets of twins that had been born either last night or early this morning. It was barely 40 degrees this morning, but the three ewes had gone into the barn to give birth...not the most sanitary of places, but the warmest.

So, it's begun, again, and with a bang.

First set of twins:




Second set of twins:




Third set of twins:






Meanwhile, this ewe is still pregnant:



And this one is still pregnant:



And this ewe is still very, very pregnant (as are all the rest of the ladies):


It's fitting that the ewes started giving birth today, of all days:

Happy Mother's Day!

Cavorting Calves

We've had the calves about 2 1/2 weeks now. Each has gotten sick, and Melissa has nursed each one back to health. We've trained three of the four to drink from a bucket.

This involves letting the calf suck on your fingers, then immersing your hand in the milk and trying to keep the calf's head in the bucket long enough he sucks milk up between your fingers. You feel as if your entire arm is being sucked into the calf's mouth. Oh, and they now have lower teeth---massive white "Chiclet" teeth, only sharp. You repeat this process twice a day for about 3 days and they finally get it. Number 1, the youngest, is still on a bottle, but I'm gonna tackle that problem this weekend. My hand just hurts thinking about it.

Today it's 65 degrees and sunny, so it's time to get them out of their pens and used to being outside the barn. So I opened up the pens and got out of the way.



What we've been told: Jersey calves are skinny, so we're not to be alarmed. About 4 farmers have warned us not to overfeed Jersey calves because they can get really sick. So the three brown guys in these photos look leaner than I'd like, but what do I know about cattle? Not much yet.



They're a bit unsteady on their legs still, especially on uneven ground. They take a tumble, then leap right up and go again.








I'm just guessing, but I think these four calves are going to like it here. Once they're weaned off milk and have learned to eat grass, they'll have 53 acres to explore over the next 2 years. That experience will be good for them, good for the land, good for us, and good for our customers.

After an hour of running around, the calves all wandered back into the pens for naps, which made my job of re-penning them ridiculously easy. Of course No. 4 was in No. 2's pen, and No. 1 was in No. 3's pen, but I got everything sorted out. The best way to lead a calf from the wrong pen to the right one?

Let it suck on your fingers, of course.

Welcome to a Party!


Last night (April 30) Common Good Books of St. Paul (MN) hosted the book release party for my latest book (The Compassionate Carnivore, Or How to Keep Animals Happy, Save Old MacDonald's Farm, Reduce Your Hoofprint and Still Eat Meat.) It was scary and fun at the same time.



The party was held in the Virginia Street Swedenborgian Church, a small, charming church in an old St. Paul neighborhood.

Eric, the church's minister, introduced us. He and I are both shepherds, but I think my flock is easier to lead than his.

The event was hosted by the proprietor of Common Good Books, Mr. Garrison Keillor (aka Guy Noir for those of you who listen to A Prairie Home Companion every Saturday night.) Here's Garrison laughing.



Here's Garrison not laughing.



Here's me talking with my hands.



Here's the crowd dispersing after the talk and questions. I'd share what we talked about, but I can't remember. It took so much concentration to keep up with Garrison that I had to shut down the memory chips and was unable to record the conversation.


Every party needs cake.



Signing books....



And this is Melissa and our dear friend Willard, the guy who taught Melissa so much about farming. He loves to look at me with a twinkle in his eye and say he doesn't know if he should take the credit...or the blame... (I tell him he can take both.)



Thanks to Common Good Books, Garrison Keillor, my parents, family and friends, and some total strangers who came to celebrate with me.

What you can't see in this last photo is that the photographer managed to snap this shot just before exploding with pride. Dads are like that.