The Twins!

Living on the farm has made me very aware of the fragility of birds. I didn’t really think of them that way before. They could always fly away, and if they died flying into windmills or hitting skyscraper windows, well, how common could those accidents be?

There have just always seemed to be plenty of birds around. It’s only watching birds come to our farm and nest, and then witness the disappearance of the little ducklings and goslings, that I’ve come to understand how precarious they are. And of course we hear about the impact of the gulf oil spill on them while they’re wintering and see them arriving while there’s still snow on the ground and hope they’ll be able to keep up with the challenges provided by humans and nature.

I’m reading a book, on recommendation from a FB friend who saw an earlier photo of the cranes, called The Echo Maker by Richard Powers. It’s a novel set in Kearney, Nebraska, along the Platte River, which is a major stopping ground for sandhill cranes making their way north. Roughly 500,000 cranes stop along the river every year between February-March for a few weeks, eating and preparing for the remainder of their flight north– some as far as the Arctic Circle.  They come in family groups with last year’s offspring, but they leave in pairs, the same pairs they will be in for life.

Someone said that they always lay two eggs. I have a photo from 2011 of the pair with a single offspring. Last year no babies ever emerged from the wetlands. So I was anxious this year to see if they’d be successful.

Just a few days ago Steve first spotted the babies with their parents, coming across the path and back into the tall grass and flowers of the prairie to eat. The parents are very alert and protective, but I’m heartened to see how big the little guys are! It certainly feels like they might make it if they’d gotten to this stage.

And so tonight I’m celebrating the presence of the twins on the farm. May they make it through the summer, all the way south, and back to Nebraska next winter, before making two more pairs and gracing someone else’s wetlands.

The First Prairie Flower

It’s always a great day when the lupine assert themselves in the greenery of the prairie. And it’s always a surprise. There in a field of flowers that still seem to just be getting started is a cluster of bright blue blooms on exotic looking stems.

This year they have sprung up in different spots than last year. But they are equally, if not even more, glorious than last year.

A lot of our prairie is still “immature,” and by that I mean basically full of weeds. But the stand behind our house is victorious, a place where “the natives,” by which I mean the flowers and grasses we like, have taken a firm hold and more than dominate. And though I’ve been mostly watching the growth of stands that will become rudbeckia, yarrow, asters and cone flowers, there are these occasional stunners– the butterfly bushes and the lupine.

How to Eat Radishes

Last year was the year of raw kale. This year I wanted to try cooking radishes. Having seen a cooked radish garnish on a menu recently, and since a bunch of beautiful radishes have literally popped up in the garden and no one seems particularly interested in eating them raw but me, I decided it was time.

Since discovering that radishes are the greatest thing to grow in spring, I’ve been trying different varieties. My favorite is still Cherry Belle, but I also bought a packet of Easter Egg Radishes this year, and I love them, too. There are pink, purple and white radishes and they have the same perfectly round shape as the Cherry Belles. (I also think the purple ones “bled” and gave the finished dish its good color. I’m not as fond of the French Breakfast radishes that seem like they’ll be elegant but are rather irregular growers.)

I looked for recipes and found a highly rated one on Epicurious.com that looked just strange enough and was raved about highly enough to make me try it. (I mean, radishes in chicken tacos and stir fries seemed somehow too obvious.) The recipe is below, with the oil and salt reduced per recommendations. I just put in a few turns of the salt grinder, but Steve said even then it seemed to salty. I’m wondering if one should just omit the salt altogether here.

I didn’t have watercress, which the recipe called for, but always hate discarding the radish greens (as recommended in the recipe) so I mixed a bunch of those greens with some young beet greens I harvested from the garden. I also managed to get enough spiky spinach and arugula to make a salad.

This is really a red-white-and-blue dish, if you want to sell it that way. Of course, it’s also primarily green. The blue salad is from an idea I got from the local coffeehouse, the Local Blend. It’s just greens topped with blueberries and blue cheese and a white wine vinaigrette (the Local Blend makes a dressing from blueberries as well, but I’ve found that’s not really worth the effort).

Steve got a brat instead of a salad with the side of sauteed radishes and greens. That also looked great and had a real cookout sensibility to it.

I highly recommend this dish and am just going to have to grow more radishes now so we can have it more often! Good thing they grow in less than three weeks!

Note on the recipe: the cooking times might need to be longer if the ingredients are “sturdier.” My veggies from the garden are a lot more tender than grocery store veggies and I find they always cook faster.

Sauteed Radishes and Greens

2 tablespoons unsalted butter
1/2 tablespoon olive oil
12-16 radishes, halved lengthwise, then sliced crosswise 1/4 inch thick
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
1/4 cup water
a few handfuls of flavorful greens, like radish greens, beet greens, spinach, mustard and arugula, coarse stems discarded, washed well, and chopped

Heat butter with oil in a 12-inch heavy skillet over moderately high heat until foam subsides, then sauté radishes with salt and pepper, stirring occasionally, 5 minutes. Add water and cook, covered, until crisp-tender, about 2 minutes, then cook, uncovered, stirring occasionally, until liquid is evaporated, 1 to 3 minutes. Add greens and sauté, stirring, until wilted, about 1 minute.

Read More http://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/Sauteed-Radishes-and-Watercress-232997#ixzz2VrbWwyzK

 

This recipe is heavily modified from the original, found here: http://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/Sauteed-Radishes-and-Watercress-232997#ixzz2VrbKGWJF

Ancestors

Before I tell you about yesterday, I know you’ll want to see this photo I took this morning of the sand hill cranes. They are off the nest! I hope this is good news, and it seems like a reasonable time has passed to expect eggs to have hatched. I’m not sure what they eat out there, but I hope it is weeds and bad insects… Thanks to the burn we can see them just fine!

OK. Yesterday we went to the Heymans family reunion in Sleepy Eye, Minnesota. I don’t consider myself particularly interested in history, but I am interested in stories, and I was quite excited to hear the Heymans stories. I was not disappointed. It was a great time.

The Heymans (Heijmans) are Dutch. And of course, they have a myth about their arrival in the New World. The story is that their ancestor Anton (one of three brothers) was a merchant and the owner of seven ships. They were named after the days of the week: Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, etc. Well, all seven of them sank in a single voyage, leaving Anton in debt he couldn’t hope to ever get out of and so– off to America and Minnesota!

Doubt was cast on this story by the fact that he and his wife Antoinette, who emigrated with him, owned a large and successful farm in America. He didn’t seem to have come here with “nothing.”

A connection was made to the Dutch relatives only in the last decade.  A man named Rob Heijmans who was very involved in tracing the genealogy, found some of the American relatives. We met Rob about four years ago when he visited the US. He came to the farm and knew all about it– from Google Earth, I suppose. Rob died shortly after his trip, but two of his cousins came from Weerts, Netherlands, for the reunion. They all said emphatically that there were no ships. We asked them if Minnesota was as they expected. They said that Rob had filled them in quite completely, and they knew what Minnesota would be like, but that before Rob brought back pictures from his trip they had actually thought Minnesota was part of a large desert!

One of the cousin’s spouses, Mike, was from Surinam (formerly Dutch Guyana), and one of the highlights of the day was his presentation on Anton’s brother Franz, the “lost brother.” Mike’s wife Joanne and her brother Alys who were also there are descended from Louis, Anton’s other brother. But Frans had been difficult to track down– mostly because he left Holland to become a missionary to Africa in the 19th century and much of his information, including the information on his gravestone in Italy, has been recorded incorrectly.

I have to say I adore the 19th century photos of the Dutch and German ancestors. Often bearded and with indistinct features, like Franz the missionary, they look decidedly Old World!

Another great story was about Uncle Joe, who lived in California and about whom there were many stories. The one I liked best was about how he got picked up for bootlegging in the 1920s. They put him in the back of the police car, along with the evidence, several cases of bottles of the stuff. Every time the car went over a rut in the road, Joe threw out a few of the bottles. By the time they got to the station they had to release him for lack of evidence!

Another highlight was arranged by my brother-in-law Tim, a reading of one act of their Grandpa Martin’s play, “Gilded Youth.” Roles were assigned on the spot and we discharged our duties pretty well, to the amusement of all gathered.

Anton and Antoinette had many children, and we were organized all day by the son or daughter to whom we were attached. We were Martin’s family, and also present were members of Al’s family and Margaret’s four girls, and Leora’s (with a lovely display that included a copy of her favorite book, Girl of the Limberlost, and a cloth book of tasks she sewed for her grandchildren). We gave reports and ate in the birth order of the children of Anton. And Mike, whose contact has been closest with Margaret’s daughters, presented them (and symbolically, all of us) with framed copies of the birth certificates of Anton and Antoinette!

On the way home we took a detour that brought us right through Hutchinson, Minnesota. We had to stop for dinner at Zella’s, a great locavore restaurant. They were serving morels, asparagus and fresh greens, and a darn good lamb burger.

 

Pickled Asparagus

One of my goals this year is to do more pickling. First on the list and most important was pickled asparagus. It’s the first year of eating asparagus from the garden, and I knew that as the spears got thinner they would be ready for a little “appetizer” treatment.

Of course, the main issue with canning is always having enough vegetables (or fruit) to make it worthwhile. Today, after two days of rain, I saw the asparagus had shot up in narrow spears perfect for the project. I had some other spears put aside and managed enough for two tall 1.5 pint jars. Gold. (Well, we’ll see once they’re opened. As you can see, they are not “gourmet grocery ready” and a little on the orange side from the turmeric, but the taste will tell!)

The first month of the garden has been wonderful. The cold frame gave me just enough of a head start that we could start eating salads and greens in May. The asparagus came in beautifully, and the radishes popped up quickly. Yesterday I pulled up the bolting first greens and most of the radishes to make way for the beets. Today I picked the rest of the parsnips that I planted last fall because the cauliflower and broccoli I interplanted with it now need the space. The kale is established

The wind is whistling on the porch and shaking “the darling buds of May” as Shakespeare called them. But the tomato plants are safely behind plastic walls.

The pea vines are climbing, the potato foliage is pushing its way up through the earth, and everything but the summer squash is planted. We’re ready for June and the second batch of lettuces and all that is to come!

The recipe for the asparagus listed “pickling spices” which I interpreted as whole yellow mustard seeds, celery seeds and a little turmeric for color.  It’s a standard recipe, so adapt it as you will!

(adapted from “Preserving the Harvest” by Carol Costenbader)

3 cups distilled white vinegar
3 cups water
1/4 cup sugar
2 tsp salt
3 lbs (about 8 cups) asparagus spears, washed and trimmed to fit the jars
4 cloves garlic, peeled (I used 2 and sliced them)
1/4 tsp turmeric
1/2 tsp yellow mustard seeds
1/2 tsp celery seed
12 whole black peppercorns

1. Combine the vinegar, water, sugar, salt and turmeric in a saucepan and heat to a boil.
2. Pack the asparagus in two 1-quart jars, leaving 1/2 inch head space.
3. Divide the garlic, mustard seeds, celery seed and peppercorns between the two jars. Pour the hot vinegar mixture over the asparagus, leaving 1/2 inch of head space. Cap and seal.
4. Process for 20 minutes in a boiling-water-bath canner (I love my steam canner, which takes less time to heat up and has always sealed the jars in the same amount of time as water bath canning).

Fieldstone

A recent visitor from the UK asked if this part of the country was “the prairie” and if there were any very large farms around. She had heard of these corn and wheat farms that stretched from horizon to horizon and I said, “No, you have to go to Illinois, Iowa, or South Dakota to see that. Mostly what we have are small dairy farms. I think it’s because the ground is full of rocks.”

Any former farm kid around here will tell you about picking rocks. It was an annual spring activity, and I’ve recently been working on a poem about it (link below). Small stones surface in my garden all the time, but so far nothing major. One of the things I love about this place is the extensive presence and use of fieldstone.

Early in my position with the monastery, interviewing one of the Sisters for her Golden Jubilee (50 years of professed religious life), she told me that, though she was a “city” kid from St. Cloud, she had family in St. Joseph and her grandfather had brought over stones from his field for building the church.

This is a story I’ve heard again and again, and I love to think of the farmers driving to town and dumping their loads of fieldstone to build the church. We owe the glory of our fieldstone church (one of several in the area) to those farmers, and the stone cutters and masons who fitted them into a beautiful church building that has stood for more than 150 years.

Mostly these days children don’t walk behind tractors piling stones onto trailer beds. But a lot of farms have giant piles of stones off to the side of a field. A new road on the edge of town has revealed a farm where clearly decades of work has gone into building a stone wall (like those ancient walls in Ireland, I can’t help but think) along the edge of the field (see above).

And along with the bathtub Madonnas this area is known for, here and there you’ll see a handmade chimney (this one on a very ordinary 1950s house).

Driving around on a rainy day, I was looking for (but never found) a field I love because it has been abandoned to the stones.

What I did find was this little plowed field and an old tractor, where the farmer had just plowed in circles around the rocks at the center.

To read the poem, go to: http://cowbird.com/story/70148/Fieldstone/

Birds!

turkey in March 2012

I was hoping to sleep until 7:15 a.m. today, but the pheasant outside my window had another idea. It sounded like he was standing on my balcony and every minute or two he’d let out a tremendous squawk followed by a rapid whirring of his wings. I’m sure it’s very sexy to female pheasants. It  made me anxious. And awake.

These are great — and anxious — days for bird life. It has been lush and green and rainy for the past four days, and the first goldfinches, bluebirds, cardinals and red-breasted everything are like jewels in the landscape.

Tom turkey is strutting his stuff and spreading his tailfeathers. The geese and ducks are coming and going at all hours, not sure where to go and what to do or quite where to set up house. (Not on our pond, please! It’s the pond of death!)

The turtles are also making their way from the lower pond to the upper pond. We moved three of them from the driveway to safe ground on Sunday alone.

But into all this, tragedy also struck. Last Thursday, when I was reading dozily on the screened porch, the chickens started putting up a huge ruckus. Although they are hens, now and then they will crow. But this was unusual, and I almost went out to see if they were OK. But I was drowsy and it seemed like whatever had happened was probably over.

Turns out, one of the chickens was caught and killed by a hawk. When I heard them, they’d rushed to the barn and were safely in hiding. (In fact, the sound seemed to be coming from the area where the bees are, and I was wondering if they were getting in each other’s way.)

Within two days, this is all that was left of the chicken. Between the hawk and the crows, they left nothing but the feet and a few feathers. (Making me wonder about people who eat chicken’s feet if they are even rejected by scavengers! Must be in the preparation.)

The other chickens are still a little stunned, and I spotted three of them standing on the dead understory of a pine tree for hours on Saturday. But every day they venture out a little farther.

Which is to say, it’s a wonderful chaotic time. The fact that it didn’t thaw until May doesn’t seem to have hampered things too badly, especially with the rain helping the plants to catch up. The sand hill cranes, clearly on the nest, are quiet. But the frogs, the birds, the rest of life is at full volume.