wishes

On this New Year's Eve, I would like to take a moment to share with you all my very best wishes for the upcoming year. May it be filled with time to spend in the company of friends and family, time to learn new skills and cultivate passions, time to be outdoors. May we all have good health. May our blessings outshine our worries. May we all have peace.

Happy New Year's, my friends. Here's to enjoying the adventures to come!

new bulls for a new year

Here on our farm we maintain what is essentially a closed herd. We don't buy in any feeder animals, and we are at this point raising all of our own female breeding stock. But, in order to prevent inbreeding (sometimes referred to as line breeding, a common practice, but not on our farm) we do every once in a while bring in new breeding males, specifically boars (most recently Hamish) and bulls. Today, we drove to nearby Marben Farm to take a look at two young Belted Galloway bulls.

Born in May, these two little bulls won't be ready to get to work until the end of next summer or early fall, but they'll be coming to our farm in a few weeks, and will live here for the next several years.

What do you think?

Greta approves. Very important.

This is her signal: a reach. She's very into reaching these days.  It is just one of the ways she is learning to communicate her desires and preferences with us. This little hand is signaling that these two bulls have found a new home. 

But do you know who Greta really loved? Most of all, over and over, she reached for the Big Bull, the Herd Bull, Marben Farm's Ambassador. Huge and regal, his neck rippled with muscle and covered in tight curls of glossy black hair. 

With time, good pasture and good care, the two little bulls should grow up to look just like their daddy. 

About this, Greta will certainly approve.

better late than never

Thatcher, Greta and I started this salt dough ornament project at the beginning of December. I thought it would be a fun one-day crafting endeavor.

Salt dough: combine one part flour and half a part salt, add enough water to make a shaggy dough, knead until smooth, roll, cut, transfer to baking sheets, poke holes for hanging, bake at 200F for three hours, let cool. Highly complicated stuff. Greta had the whole thing down pat.

These cutters came from Ikea. I think they're pretty wonderful. I am a big fan of Scandinavian design.

Don't forget to poke the holes before baking! I intended to make a woodland critter garland with half of these, thus the two holes. This idea was perhaps better in theory than in practice, but they'll look fetching strung onto next year's gift boxes, don't you think?

And so the baked salt dough critters sat, waiting for ornamentation, all through this far too busy holiday season. My original intention was to attempt this sort of decoration, but my first try with the red sharpie was not at all to my liking. Finally, yesterday, I cleared off the counter, pulled over the step stool, got out the paints and brushes, and let Thatcher have at it.

Of course, he did a far better job than I would have done.

A portrait of the artist as a young man.

The elusive Violet-Backed Blue-Splotched Moose, seen here in his natural habitat.

Does it at least count for something that although these ornaments are too late for Christmas, they're just in time for New Year's? Yes, I think that counts.

How did it get late so soon?

It's night before it's afternoon.

December is here before it's June.

My goodness how the time has flewn.

How did it get late so soon?

- Dr. Seuss

making lists

This morning, before dawn, Craig was sitting at the kitchen counter making his list. This would be a moving right along list, a getting on with it list, a list that makes it crystal clear that the holidays are only sort of holidays on this farm.

And this morning, I found over at SouleMama a different kind of list, a list that has inspired me to count my own blessings. I took barely any photographs in the past few days, and those that I did take are locked away inside the camera which I realized late last night is still sitting in the dining room at my sister's house. So, words will have to do where there are no images, but of course my head is swimming with the photos I didn't take, with the moments I hope I will never forget, with the things both large and small, tangible and intangible that make the holidays magical...

Here's my my list, my so very grateful list.

Today, I'm grateful for:

- my husband, for so many many reasons, not the least of which being that on the Solstice, right up to the lighting of the bonfire, he grumbled and whined and moaned and complained about how many other things he needed to be doing (see the list above) but then, as we walked back to the house at the end of the evening, this same husband was full of plans to make the Solstice celebration bigger and better for next year. Fine. I'll take it. As long as he's happy in the end! I love you, dear. Thank you for the fire. It was a stunner.

- my children, for whom I have remembered the true meaning of this season.

- my dear Thatcher, who prefers that Santa and his reindeer land on the lawn instead of the roof, thank you very much.

- my sweet baby Greta, soundly sleeping on Christmas morning, snuggled warm against my side, in whose ear I whispered Merry Christmas for the very first time.

- this poem.

- this movie. Still gives me chills. Real, goosebumpy chills.

- my family, who know the true meaning of this season AND shower my kids with gifts.

- said gifts, even those that rumble and roll and play very loud music impossibly early in the morning.

- said very loud music, which has now inspired several spontaneous dance parties.

- this blog, because in the most unexpected twist of all, it has brought new friends into my daily life.

- new friends who send such wonderful handmade holiday gifts out of the blue! Thank you Brooke!

- my farm, because even when the nights are so long and dark and cold, we are still gifted with a breakfast like this:

- Henry's friend, who faithfully visits him each and every day, and who is able to look beyond his single spindly tail feather to love him for his inner beauty and gentle nature.

- beauty.

- joy.

- love.

- friends.

- family.

and to all a good night

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the nation

Not a creature was stirring, not even a dalmatian.

Ho Ho Ho Merry Christmas Eve! Santa's on his way and I have one VERY excited toddler on my hands. Also one completely, wonderfully and sweetly oblivious baby... Tonight, after a dinner of our own roast beef, I will read The Night Before Christmas to Thatcher and Greta for the first time. Next, we will leave a plate of cookies (as yet unbaked - hop to it, Mama!) and a small cup of milk out for Santa, along with a carrot for the reindeer. Then, I hope my small boy will be able to snuggle into his cozy bed and fall asleep, visions of firetrucks dancing in his head. Oh time is flying by SO FAST and next year these days will be different again. But for now, with my three-year-old boy and my very nearly one-year-old girl, all is magical and the possibilities are endless. 

For now, without question, reindeer really know how to fly.

Merry, Merry Christmas to you!

celebrating the solstice

Last night, on the longest night of the year, we celebrated by making our own light.

And in doing so, a family tradition was born.

My most favorite of all the Holiday traditions from my own childhood revolves around a bonfire. In my hometown, every year on Christmas Eve there is a bonfire next to the huge town Christmas tree. People gather there to sing carols, and the children all eagerly anticipate the arrival of Santa Claus, who is delivered to the crowd standing on top of the town's biggest and brightest fire engine. It is a completely magical moment - I don't care how young or old you are, or how many years have passed since you last really believed in Santa... My Dad was for probably twenty years, maybe more, in charge of the bonfire, so I felt like it was Our Fire, and I was always so proud of my Dad for making such a big and beautiful fire for everyone to enjoy. Does it come as a surprise that I should want to recreate (in small measure, for now) this memory for my family?  

Instead of a bonfire on Christmas Eve, the Solstice was a natural choice for us here on this farm of ours, where everything depends on the natural cycles of light and dark, warmth and cold, growth and rest.

We shared our fire with just a small group of friends. We had popcorn and cookies and clementines, cider and beer. I prepared song books filled with carols. But we never did get around to singing. Everyone was content to chat. Or just to stand quietly, watching the fire burn and change.

As the fire grew smaller and smaller, family groups left to head for home, and Thatcher reminded me that I promised him we would sing by our fire, so Craig and Thatcher and I (with Greta nestled in my arms) stood by the fire and sang not a traditional carol, but the one song Thatcher specifically requested - Frosty the Snowman.

I heard a bird sing

In the dark of December

A magical thing

And sweet to remember.

"We are nearer to Spring

Than we were in September",

I heard a bird sing

In the dark of December.

Oliver Herford

keeping the wolf from the door

Oh what I would give to be spending my time just now making and baking and singing and otherwise engaging in merriment of the season... Instead, I'm here, in front of the dueling computers, doing some of the work that pays for the odds and ends that enable the season in the first place. Work that has nothing at all to do with farming, and everything to do with contemporary Asian art. (Don't ask. It is a really long story.) Work that helps cover things like, oh you know, all the pesky un-fun things like health insurance, a mortgage, phone bills - oh it is all just too grim so I'm not even going to keep going on that particular list. 

I have a deadline to meet, a deadline of Wednesday morning in Hong Kong. I'm hoping that very late Tuesday evening New York time still technically qualifies as morning in Hong Kong (it's morning until noon, right??)... This deadline was moved up twice. It was going to be tight in the first place. But you know what, I'm glad it was moved up. Just as nature abhors a vacuum, so does this work stretch to fill all available time. So in the end, I'll have sat interminable hours looking at this view, but then it will be done. And I can MAKE and BAKE and SING and ENJOY again! I can wipe this table clean and cover it with gifts and tape and paper and string! I'm so close I can taste it. The Christmas cookies I make tomorrow are going to taste super duper especially delicious, for sure!

I can't wait to be back here with fun and seasonally-appropriate photos and sentiments. But for now, my nose needs to head back to the grindstone. See you all soon!

UPDATE: 12/20/11, 5:59PM NY, SENT FILES TO HK.  

b  r  e  a  t  h  e

a friend for henry

Henry has found a friend. A lady friend.

I decided to check on him this cold afternoon and I found him out in the driveway, sharing sips of water from an icy puddle in the driveway with a hen from across the road. I felt like I was interrupting a moment, so I left the two alone to get better acquainted. The next time I peeked out into the driveway, I saw only Henry, sulking, no lady friend in sight.

Update: Day Two 

I kid you not, when I walked outside this morning, I found this hen in the driveway, walking in a rather quick beeline, heading straight for the doghouse. Henry was lounging inside, but as soon as he spotted the hen, up he jumped so he could strut and preen and otherwise woo his visitor.

It looks like Henry's Christmas will be very merry indeed!

some days, good enough is just right

Some days, especially when these days are awfully close to the Holidays, this is exactly how I feel:

Why do the days have to race by so fast?

Amidst the hustle and the bustle, the fun and the very un-fun (why O why can't there be a holiday from bill paying?), and because I am a world-class procrastinator, I did a little baking. I decided to make Salted Caramel Thumbprints (found here, adapted from this). So I've never made shortbread? No big deal. Never made caramel? No problem. The instructions say "ungreased baking sheet"? Pfwah. Silpat works for everything. The recipe calls for regular, plain-jane all purpose flour? Well, I feel like using my fancy-pants whole wheat pastry flour. So there.

Would you then be surprised by the fact that my first batch of caramel tasted - I know this from my (short-lived) experience as a firefighter - exactly like the smell of a recently extinguished structure fire? The smoke rising out of the pan should have been the first clue that I'd burned the sugar, but no. I generally learn things the hard way. And then, would you furthermore be surprised to learn that my cute little round thumbprints flattened out like crepes with craters? Have a look at the batch in the back. Not cute. I thought giving the dough a few minutes in the fridge might help, and the second batch did show a bit of improvement, but not exactly winners in the beauty pageant, my cookies. But you know what? The second batch of caramel was bliss on a spoon, and these flat and ugly cookies were very likely the best I've ever had. Yes, I am using the past tense intentionally here.

Meanwhile, out in the workshop, Craig was replacing glass panes in the windows from the feed room. This first window was only missing five panes. Tomorrow, he begins work on this window, missing seventeen panes.

And in a funny way, Craig and I were doing the same thing on the same day (although my results were much more delicious, if also much less permanent, and yes, OK, also much less helpful in the grand scheme) because here is Craig, having never repaired a window before, just plunging ahead and getting the job done. And as much as I wanted to make a third batch of cookies to get them just right, so did I want to follow behind the caulking gun to get the lines even and straight and, well, perfect. 

But you know what? I hate to say it, but this sure ain't no show farm, and sometimes, the quick and dirty way is the best way to get stuff done. So I let it go, and in a moment, switched gears from seeing only the lumps and bumps of caulk to seeing my husband, doing, fixing, keeping this farm running. In this farm's rough edges lies the beauty of function. Just like eating an ugly but supremely delicious cookie. Exactly the same.

And anyway, these days, letting go of the desire for perfection allows me more time to enjoy. To enjoy the littlest details, like the shadows of pine needles cast on the ceiling by hundreds of tiny lights. 

And more time to enjoy the Really Big Things, like this warm and bed-toussled boy who wakes before dawn and says, "Look Mama, look at our beautiful tree"...

...and then proceeds to rearrange all the ornaments. Ornaments I had carefully placed, or quietly re-placed already.

I am letting go of the quest for perfection. I am reminding myself of this fact.

And I am remembering the magic of this season. Because above all else, there is magic.

chicken on the grill

Oh, Henry. Yes, the dropped-off-rooster has a name. That was Craig's doing, not mine, just for the record. So in case any of you were wondering about him, he's still here, doing fine. Better than fine, as I'm about to explain. Bear with me. 

After his middle-of-the-night arrival and subsequent kicking-to-the-curb by the resident roosters, Henry slept for several nights in the leaves down the bank on the far side of the road, looking particularly sad and forlorn. Thatcher, Greta and I brought him feed each day. We talked to him, bolstering his courage to try his luck with the bully roosters. He seemed to be warming up to us, but wasn't making the slightest effort to join his feathered friends in the coop. After several nights on the bank, he apparently had a narrow escape. I found him one morning, huddled outside under the playroom window, missing all of the feathers from the small of his back and most of his decorative tail feathers, too. So some fox (or coyote, or goodness knows what) got a mouthful, just not as tasty a bite as they planned. That night, Henry decided he was done with the bank and went out in search of safer digs.

He picked the grill. 

Right outside the kitchen door.  

Where he could keep an eye on all of us inside the house. 

Yes, it is weird to be watched by a chicken. One rainy night, he tried knocking on the door to see if we'd let him in, then settled for the grill again. After a few nights of this nonsense (not to mention the annoyance factor of a rooster crowing directly into the window at 4:30am) my OK-this-is-really-disgusting-and-I-might-be-a-farmer-but-I-don't-need-to-have-a-chicken-on-my-food-cooking-surface ick factor kicked in. Henry needed a new home. Off we go.

So we found him a new home in the lean-to, which isn't really a lean-to at all, but is an enclosed shed off the side of our garage. The first night in the lean-to also happened to coincide with the first snow since we put the cover on the hoop house. Neither Craig nor I could sleep at all for worrying about the whole structure collapsing, so Craig went out at 3:00am to knock the snow off the hoop house with a broom. The broom was being kept in the lean-to. Where in the world is Henry? Wait, what's that noise? Oh, Henry. Somehow, the rooster managed to slide down the side of the oil tank to wedge himself, feet up, between the tank and the wall. Craig pulled him out, but it was several days before his dignity returned (the rooster's, not Craig's).

That evening, I made a real roost for Henry, and he's been sleeping on it without incident or injury ever since, spending his days scratching about in our dooryard.

Of course, Henry still tries to sleep on the grill every night, so I have to carry him to to his bed. (Now on my end-of-day chore list: move the rooster.) If I have Greta in the Bjorn, then she helps with this task, too, sometimes awake, and sometimes sound asleep.

Yes, we are now officially Really Serious Farmers with a pet chicken.

new friends on the farm

Guess who arrived on Friday?

I asked Thatcher what we should name them.

He immediately said, "Weena and Oona".

Not so sure asking a three-year-old to name the sheep was a good idea, but he is absolutely adamant...

Silly new names and all, I'm in love! Don't you just want to give them a snuggle?

Weena and Oona, welcome to Meili Farm!