Carolina Backyard Farm

suggestion for remaking "The Birds"

2012-03-02T08:01:00.000-05:00

At every opportunity, I encourage people to raise backyard chickens. They're easy pets and unlike any of our other domesticated animals, they provide breakfast for you on a daily basis, instead of the other way around. And so long as they aren't raising chicks or raised for cock fighting, they're quite docile and friendly. But do you know what's terrifying? A chicken tongue. We might have never known this horror if I didn't have such a curious man-child husband.

It looks like it wants to stab you.

On the plus side, if you have coyotes in your neighborhood (as we do) and a chicken with a face like this, you don't have to worry... looks to me like the bird can handle herself.

Welcome to our greenhouse!

2012-02-29T15:19:00.020-05:00

Isn't it wonderful? Abe made it. The doors were salvaged from a neighborhood where the HOA made everyone take out their perfectly adequate and expensive double-pane french doors to replace them with identical new ones.

A friend found the water tanks (there are actually two, one on each side) in the "free" section on Craigslist. Our aquaponics bins are cheap under-the-bed storage containers, and we used as much scrap wood as we could find.

I planned to do a whole series on our greenhouse construction during the winter, since during cold months there isn't really much going on around here . Instead I got ~~consumptive pneumonia~~ multiple colds and sinus infections and wrote nothing at all.

But there's always hope for the spring!

Things are growing in our greenhouse!

2012-02-29T14:48:00.000-05:00

Things like collard greens, swiss chard... and Dale.

Dale is a toad, and I hope he likes to eat mosquitos. The pond water for our aquaponics system plus the warm climate of the greenhouse is heaven for those suckers.

pullet care

2012-02-14T21:03:00.002-05:00

Happy Valentine's Day, a made-up holiday to celebrate the honeys that you should care about year-round. So what better day to talk about caring for baby chickens?

Instead of true baby chicks, we got 3-4 week old pullets. It's something of a trade-off:

PROS: CONS:

-they are bigger and less fragile -they are bigger and less adorable

-they don't take as long to start laying -they're awkward, pre-pubescent chickens

-they can be "sexed" (so no unlawful roosters) -they cost a bit more

The dark birds are Blue Wyandottes, and the others are mystery chickens. Hopefully, all of them are hens.

Pictured is all that you need to get your pullets home: a box with airholes and a bit of straw. At this age, they can snuggle together pretty well to maintain their body heat, but once you get them home you'll need a brooding lamp too.

You can order one online or maybe even three like my sister-in-law. She bought a heat lamp for Abe's Christmas gift last year, and the first one was completely mangled when it arrived. With good customer service, it was replaced quickly enough - but when the replacement arrived, her husband picked up the box, thought it was empty, and burned it behind the house.

We kept our pullets in our carport storage room overnight, and moved them out to the chicken coop the next day. They have their own exclusive area (for Very Important Pullets) separated from the other hens, because chickens are famous for bullying. VIP's need protection! See?

For only being a month or so old, they're pretty easy to care for. They need a feeder, a waterer (Abe is the feeder and waterer at our farm - but we also use this and this) and clean bedding.

To do:

2012-02-13T12:06:00.000-05:00

Lately I've felt overwhelmed. The past year has been full of changes - we bought a house, raised a puppy, lost a kitten, left behind full time jobs with benefits and started a handful of part-time endeavors. I've struggled with knowing what I want to do with my life and with all there is to do just to keep up.
I lose perspective and can't figure out where to start - with the day-to-day stuff like laundry, dishes and paying bills, the creative stuff like coming up with crafts to hussle for health insurance, the work stuff (like always having to be there...), and the long-term homestead goals.

I came across this the other day, and it reminded me that sometimes things are less complicated than I think they are. This is what I should do.

This is what you should do:
Love the earth and sun and animals,
despise riches, give alms to everyone that asks,
stand up for the stupid and crazy,
devote your income and labor to others, hate tyrants,
argue not concerning God,
have patience and indulgence toward the people…
reexamine all you have been told in school or church or in any book,
dismiss what insults your very soul,
and your flesh shall become a great poem.
- Walt Whitman, excerpt from the preface to Leaves of Grass

Someplace amazing. In Cherryville.

2012-02-11T13:45:00.000-05:00

I mentioned we were getting more chickens, didn't I? (Unfortunately, not this big boy... roosters aren't allowed in our neighborhood, and I'm afraid he'd scare the farm dog.) Because we did, from someplace amazing. It's a shop called the Flint Rock Coon Den in Cherryville, which is pronounced by locals like "Cher'vul" (and no, that is not an actual phonetic spelling. You might have me confused with my mother, the linguist).

The "locals" to the Coon Den probably live about a hundred miles away from it, because it is in the boonies of Gaston County. The internet classifies it as a pet store, which is hilarious - while they do have pets, it's not that kind of place. It is the kind of place that has four older guys - one called Bud - in folding chairs chewing tobacco by the register at 11 am on a Friday. A couple times a month, the old timers get out their instruments and play bluegrass and gospel for anyone who wants to stop by. It's a dusty old hardware store in the front, a classroom/music hall in the back, and around the side is where it's really amazing (and stinky). They hatch chicks! And in coops behind the store, they have just about every kind of beautiful heritage chicken and rooster: Black Giants, White Silkies, Delawares, American Speckled Sussex, Silver-Laced Wyandottes. Plus quail. And of course, pregnant coon hounds.

Up next: caring for our pullets.

if you pray

2012-02-08T12:21:00.001-05:00

It's been a long and very difficult week and I don't really want to talk about it. Our brand new Penny is very, very sick. She has an infection that's filled her lungs with fluid and made it difficult for her to breathe. For now, the vet is keeping her and trying to treat the infection with antibiotics, but we were told the sitatuation is very life threatening.

So if you pray, please pray for my tiny Penny.

update: Thank you for your thoughts and prayers. The vet found three cancerous tumors causing the infection, and there wasn't anything more she could do. Even though we didn't know Penny for very long, we loved her and miss her dearly.

Franc makes a friend

2012-02-01T14:09:00.004-05:00

With our frequent focus on baby animals, it was only a matter of time before this site single-bloggedly doubled the volume of cuteness on the internet. Meow we've done it! Abe surprised me with this little sugar plum on Christmas Eve.

Excute the purrr quality picture. New kitties don't cooperate and neither does my poor excuse for a camera phone.

At first, Franc wasn't so sure about his new buddy, who we immediately dressed in a Santa hat and named Penny. (What? You don't have appropriately sized holiday gear at-the-ready for adopted baby animals? No offense, but it's no wonder all of the wee little ones congregate at our place instead of at yours.) It wasn't that Franc felt jealous of her festive attire - he has his own, obviously. He just had to be sure that there was enough love to go around. And there was.

Penny's been with us for a month now, and we've had so much fun getting to know each other. These are her favorite things: all kinds of people food (seriously, watch out), sleeping on top of the house plants, watching movies, and kisses. When she's lonely, she looks all over the house for someone to love while she meows and meows. And when she's startled, she jumps straight up in the air with all four legs at the same time.

Living Simply :: A Lesson By Roaches

2012-01-31T15:04:00.004-05:00

Before you judge me, I can honestly say I've only ever seen one small roach in our house. It was summer time and we live in the South, so it was no cause for concern. Additionally in my defense, neighbors have told us that the previous owner of our home was a much worse housekeeper than even I am. He moved to Conneticut, so let's blame him.

Anyway. This story is about our dishwasher. Some of the buttons only worked some of the time until one day, when some of of the buttons were broken all of the time. Abe took apart the control panel to see what he could see.

If you think about it, a dishwasher is like paradise for roaches. The disgusting old food delivered to a dishwasher free and several times a day is just right for their disgusting appetites. I believe that our dishwasher was in fact Roach Heaven, which is why all of the roaches we found in the space behind the control panel were dead. Although this begs the question of the worthiness of roaches to enjoy eternal paradise (which is a matter that we leave to philosophers who hate cockroaches as much we do), it allows me to point out that I did not, do not, and will not have a colony of live roaches for housemates.

Being a sissy, I can hardly even tell this story, so luckily for me, Abe is much braver and he cleaned them out. But they left dead roach scum, so we're not sure if we'll be able to repair the dishwasher.
At this juncture, feel free to squirm, gag, admit that you have no idea what might be living in your dishwasher control panel, and go to get a bottle of water,* since you probably no longer want to touch any of the glassware that was cleaned in your infested dishwasher. We're moving along to the moral!

Washing dishes by hand is not my favorite housework. But the other day I was doing it anyway and I was thinking. Looking at parts to repair our old dishwasher had prompted a look at new dishwashers. Like everything, they cost more than I expected. (And no roach-inspection certificates are included, which you should probably address with your senator or congressman if they aren't too busy ruining the internet.) It would take me about a week of work to pay for a new dishwasher, and unfortunately, all of my weeks are already busy working. Technically we have the savings to go to Lowes if we have to, but do we have to?

I love the time I get to spend at home, and I would like to have more of it. I'd rather spend my time doing housework than at work earning money for a stupid kitchen appliance that will end up as free roach housing (hopefully not before washing all of our dirty pots and spoons for a good 10-12 years).

Abe and I have been talking about living simply. I've realized that the more we have, the more we want is not just true, it's true in my life. I have a cupboard full of dishes. So now I want an appliance to help me wash them. Then I want all new appliances to match my new dishwasher. Then I want to renovate my kitchen. If I didn't have so much, I wouldn't be worried about matching appliances or earning more money to afford a kitchen update. I'm not saying that Abe and I won't ever repair or replace our dishwasher - just that living without one has taught me that a satisfied, simple life means realizing the difference between what we want and what we need.

*not that I condone drinking bottled water.

keeping hens :: a classic

2012-01-27T11:22:00.000-05:00

Planning a garden

2012-01-25T13:45:00.000-05:00

Last week I bought my 2012 planner. I love me some papergoods, and planners are my favorite. I love the blankness of a whole year of pages, and the potential of that year to finally be the one when I got organized! had a social life! remembered the dog's heartworm medication! I love writing in the birthdays of the people I love, and looking forward to those celebrations. I love pencilling in visits and vacations and coffee dates. I like to plan, and to know what's coming.

As a financial counselor, I preach about planning. I teach budgeting, saving for retirement, planning major purchases. I love planners, and I am a planner.

But I have never planned a garden. The closest I've come is sitting down with Abe and a seed catalog, making a list of things we wanted to grow. If memory serves correctly, we forgot the list when we actually went to buy the seeds, and we ended up with five kinds of tomatoes and several herbs that we never even used (the shame).

Here are at least four

benefits of planning your garden:

Saving money. It may be easier to pick up young plants from a nearby nursery or home improvement store, but it's sure cheaper to grow your own from seed. Planning ahead allows you to get seeds sprouting in time to avoid paying retail prices for plants.
Saving time. Every year by July, it seems we've come up with a new plan for a lower-maintenance garden. Of course, if we'd started planning before we planted, we could have saved ourselves the effort this year, too.
Saving effort. We're lucky that just about every yard in our neighborhood has a kitchen garden. Last year, we traded cherry tomatoes for romas and squash for peppers. If you know what your neighbors grow best, you can save yourself the trouble of duplicating their efforts and swap produce.
Saving seeds. If you pay attention to what grows well, and keep a basic record of your garden from year to year, you may be able to save seeds. This is important to our farm because ~~we're pinching pennies~~ increasingly, large agriculture dictates what home gardeners grow, and heirloom varieties of fruits and vegetables are lost. For that reason, we don't mind paying more for seeds from Seed Savers - it's an investment in our right to continue to grow whatever varieties we want. If home gardeners don't invest in that right today, we won't have the same options in the future.

With Superbowl Sunday fast approaching, it's almost time to start some indoor seeds. That means it's time to get planning!

How to cook rabbit better

2012-01-21T13:18:00.001-05:00

My rabbit's been put to shame, y'all. Also shameful: these awful pictures. Abe and I splurged to install french doors in our dining room as our mutual Christmas gift, and Santa forgot to bring me the digital camera of my dreams this year. I also forgot to know anything about photography. So close your eyes if you have to, Ben Depp.

This rabbit was slow-braised with onion, garlic, carrots, mushrooms, fresh thyme, and of course lots of red wine by my friend Aubrey. And when I say "slow-braised," I mean put it in the oven, wait til you're starved, wait til the hunger passes, and wait some more. (Or serve hors d'oeuvres. Thanks, Aubrey!) It will be very, very worth the wait. Justin (my coworker at HMG & Aubrey's boyfriend) was responsible for the amazing roasted garlic of which I ate an entire glove like a greedy and starving person.

We feasted, and then had grown-up hot chocolate for dessert. Meals like this are why we raise our own food.

welcome to my broken New Year's resolution

2012-01-19T14:56:00.000-05:00

It took all of seven days for me to default on my New Year's resolution to blog once a week. How are you doing? You can be honest. I don't judge, unless your resolution was to "be less stressed." That's a ridiculous, immeasurable goal if I ever heard one, and doesn't it directly contradict all your other goals, like spending time with family, quitting smoking, getting out of debt, and drinking less?

It's been a long winter already, though not a very cold one. We've been gobbling up our bunnies, and we're getting ready to "refresh" our flock of hens, since some of the older birds are no longer laying. A contact in Cherryville is expecting to hatch blue wyandottes toward the end of the month, so I'll soon be ordering chicks. I can't wait, because there's nothing we like more around here than some baby animals.

blue wyandotte, not a chick. source

And if you haven't, check out backyardchickens.com. They have more than a thousand user-submitted coop designs, forums for your fowl inquiries, breed information and reviews (seriously, I've never wanted to review anything so much as chickens), a store where you can purchase this or this - basically, all your poultry problems solved on one wonderful website. (p.s., I was not paid for that endorsement, but I would very much like to be.)

winter gardening

2012-01-19T12:45:00.000-05:00

I Got Kin

Plant

So that your own heart

Will grow.

Love

So God will think,

"Ahhhhhh,

I got kin in that body!

I should start inviting that soul over

For coffee and

Rolls."

Sing

Because this is a food

Our starving world

Needs.

Laugh

Because that is the purest

Sound.

(Hafiz)

We wish you a Merry Christmas

2011-12-25T11:53:00.000-05:00

What do you get when you mix a grumpy man in plaid with a ten-second self-timer, three homemade Santa hats, a year-old coon hound mix, a chicken, a woman precarious in heels and a cat?

Depends who you ask.

Man?-------------------------------One more shot... [the liquor kind]

Chicken? ---------------------------Paranoid personality disorder

Dog or cat? ------------------------CHICKEN FINGERS! Please oh PLEASE!

Woman -----------------------------One more shot! [the picture kind] Let me try one more time. Just one more?

Welcome to the annual Kovach family Christmas photo.

collage courtesy of Ben Depp

We'll give you another chance to take our Christmas photo next year.

Payment in shots. You guess which kind.

Have a happy, happy holiday!

Love, Carolina Backyard Farm

"This is cute with baby goats"

2011-12-24T09:33:00.000-05:00

That was the subject line of an email I got this week from my mom's cousin Brad. First I was like, "what?" Then I was like, "wow."

Jingle all the way, indeed.

How to cook rabbit

2011-12-20T08:03:00.000-05:00

As I think I've previously mentioned, rabbit is delicious. The only trouble I've found with eating rabbit is the part that comes first - not the cooking, which I can teach you to do here. It's the killing. Evidently in NYC, there are seminars for people who want to learn, but NYC is an awfully long way to travel to do something for which I have no interest (or stomach).

So if you're squeamish as I am, find yourself a hardy partner to do the butchering. If that partner happens to be running late for work, maybe you can convince a family member to do a little extra rinsing - no one likes a hairy rabbit stew, I mean. (No one warns you about hairy rabbit ribs when they tell you to raise your own. They don't tell you that your chickens will lay their eggs in poop, either. Both of these occasions bring out the sissy in me.)

Your rabbit pieces will be delicious and tender if you kill the rabbit 24 hours ahead and let the meat rest in the fridge. (And by "you," I mean you.) The day of your Fête du Lapin, marinate the meat in white wine, white balsamic vinegar, oil, herbes de provence, rosemary, onion and garlic.

Around dinner time, sear the pieces on all sides in a pan with olive oil. (Our bunny was super-sized - we had ample supper for four and three big pieces we didn't even cook.) When the meat is lightly browned, add garlic, onion, and a few big scoops of the marinade. Sprinkle in more rosemary, and let it cook with a lid on. Let the marinade almost cook off, and add more white wine and stir. Near the end, add a cup of broth. You can test the rabbit for done-ness by cutting open the larger pieces. When it's cooked, remove the meat from the pan, but don't remove the pan from the stove. Add about 1 tsp of flour at a time, whisking, until you have a beautiful sauce. Serve with crusty bread and roasted asparagus.

Best enjoyed with quality wine and company.

All that local food isn't going to buy itself.

2011-12-19T14:56:00.001-05:00

The Harvest Moon Grille is having a holiday market! If you live in Charlotte, you should check it out. I think they'll be out M-F, 11-6ish. They'll be selling bacon brittle, local soap, beautiful local produce and some of my crafts! So if you happen to be uptown this week, stop by the HMG farm stand at 235 N. Tryon across from Discover Place. Have a happy Harvest holiday!

- upcycled paper Christmas trees, handmade by these very blogging hands -

You know you want one.

The Plan: How To Get Health Insurance

2011-12-12T18:52:00.003-05:00

Workaholism is a good place to start. I clock about 36 hours a week as a credit and housing counselor for a local non-profit. On Friday and Saturday I put in another 16 or so hours at the Harvest Moon Grille uptown. My Sundays? Wide open after church and catching up on laundry, grocery shopping, and housework. Obviously I needed to take on a new project. Introducing....

craftsformyfarm@gmail.com

[this is a valid email address for all your custom craft needs]

I've always liked sewing and spray paint. Now I'm hoping that people will pay me to do it. I've put a few things up for sale at the Sleepy Poet where Abe works: Christmas ornaments made with feathers from our hens, paper trees made from old trashy novels, reusable chalkboard gift tags, etc.

I also put up Christmas lights.
[shout out to Lexi, who contributed tireless labor in painting and set-up. We paid her in home brews and rabbit dinner.]

It's slow going, selling small craft items for a few dollars apiece. I probably would have gotten bored and moved on to another project by now (rearranging the living room! remembering how to knit scarves! reconsidering grad school! I've been a bit manic lately). But the Harvest Moon Grille where I spend my weekends ordered 15 of those paper trees (shown left) to use as holiday decorations on the tables. They turned out to be so stinking adorable that a week later, I've taken more than $350 in orders for my crafts.

A girl could get health insurance for that kind of money. So that is The Plan. 100% of the profits from my craft sales (I'm crossing my fingers that there are some) and Abe's antique sales at the Sleepy Poet will directly support some corporate health insurance provider. And, of course, our farm -- because without a healthy farmer, what we actually have is a fenced backyard with a poultry infestation. Much less charming.

A better planner would have come up with a name and a business plan for this venture, but do I look like I have time for that? I have to make hundreds-of-dollars-worth of Christmas ornaments and a whole paper forest between my regular day job and my regular night job. So I'll take your reasonable and witty suggestions, please, and I'll thank you with something hand-crafted if you come up with a winning name and supply a postal address.

Getting hammered

2011-12-05T15:18:00.000-05:00

In my absence, a lot has happened. It's winter on a tiny farm, so it's not that we're busy weeding or putting up any big harvests. I've been gone because Abe got hammered, and not the kind where too many homebrews sneak up on you.

Last week we cut a giant hole in the back of our house (obviously by "we," I mean Abe and a couple of old construction buddies. I was supervising with the cat). It's a cold time of year to install french doors, but we had a set that Abe salvaged from a construction site that we couldn't stand to waste. The demolition of the wall and the installation went smoothly. But the next morning, very early, Abe went out to work on sealing the doors to the brick. He had left a hammer and chisel on top of our 12 foot ladder, and when he went to move the ladder, they fell. His head intersected their path to the ground.

He came inside and called me, and when I finally struggled awake, I saw his head wound dripping blood on the floor. He turned on the shower and knelt to wash his forehead while I ~~calmly found first aid supplies~~ totally panicked and ran around uselessly. Then I checked every fifteen minutes for signs of a concussion by asking questions about his siblings and how many fingers I was waving in his face. Then I think he wished he had a conc@#$ion so he could be blissfully unaware of my bothering him. Then eventually he stopped bleeding.

So it turns out he's fine. And I have almost recovered, too. We are really, really lucky.

It's been a year since we had health insurance. Abe and I were both covered under his company's insurance plan until he was laid off. We didn't know if unemployment benefits would come through, so we trimmed our spending down to the bare essentials. COBRA (the law that would have allowed us to keep his insurance temporarily, minus the employer's contribution) was way outside of our budget - especially for something we figured we could do without for a while. We used the internet to self-diagnose sinus infections and we googled home remedies for sore throats and yeast infections (and conc@#$ions). Now I realize we're one chisel away from being completely screwed. I don't know how much the bill would be for a head x-ray, MRI, or Emergency Room visit, but I do know that we can't afford it. It's time for us to find insurance.

So I've developed a plan.

Pumpkin pie to you and to yours

2011-11-24T10:46:00.002-05:00

Happy Francsgiving!

My favorite turkey dressed for the occasion. He's thankful that Thanksgiving only comes once a year.

mute/unmute

2011-11-16T18:54:00.001-05:00

Over the weekend, my first cold of the season turned into laryngitis. Have you ever experienced laryngitis? It's my first time, and I can tell you now from experience that it might be the worst thing in the first world. Look out, Black Mold, because now we're on to something much worse than you.

For two days I couldn't speak at all. Abe and I had this whole system where I clapped once for "yes," twice for "no," and a whole bunch of times in quick succession for "yay." (As it turns out, that may be all I have to contribute to a conversation.)

Now when I open my mouth, sometimes there's sound (ugly, croaky sound) and other times nothing comes out at all. When you aren't able to talk, after the initial panic wears off, you realize - and it's amazing - how very little you have to say. On the other hand, you realize that without words (and knowledge of sign language), you can't do anything. Here is a partial list of things you can't do when you lose your voice:

Ask your husband about his day
Tell the dog to stop jumping on you/nipping at you/chasing the cat
Call the Apple store to ask about replacing the computer charger that died
Order Chinese food
Find your husband when he wanders into another aisle at the store
Alert the chickens that you brought snacks
Go to work.

Since I haven't been able to work, I have had plenty of time to research ways to heal my voice online. Here is a partial list of home remedies from the internet that will not even put a dent in laryngitis:

drinking gallons of herbal tea with lemon and honey
drinking/eating turmeric
nearly drowning in an attempt to gargle salt water
eating spicy foods
eating garlic
cough drops
steaming your sinuses with very hot water and eucalyptus oil
wearing a scarf day and night for four days in a row
resting
avoiding "mucus-producing" foods

I told you that laryngitis is the worst thing ever. Do you understand? Laryngitis makes the internet a liar.

Another reason to grow your own food

2011-11-10T14:24:00.000-05:00

The parking lot at Trader Joe's is tiny, and the other people who shop there all drive cars bigger than my living room.

I beg your pardon - I think I promised you a Crazy Face

2011-10-30T12:16:00.000-04:00

I owe y'all a photo, and my mom an apology. Although I suspect that nearly 100% of the comments may have all come from the same individual, here is the Crazy Face I promised:

I think this is irrefutable proof that people are nuts for my persimmon cookies.

I also want to take this moment to introduce my Mom. Look! She is beautiful. She's also smart (working on her second Master's degree), brave (ran the Paris marathon, beat cancer), and mad-skilled (she knits, cooks, speaks multiple languages, sews, grows beautiful plants, and teaches). All of that, and she's a good sport. My mom raised my sister and I to be independent and to think for ourselves. She taught me to be curious and to make things from scratch. I don't know who I would be without her, but I do know that I probably wouldn't be here, with a backyard full of chickens and a cupboard stocked with homemade jam.

She also drew that circle freehand. I told you: mad-skilled.

Thirsty

2011-10-26T11:29:00.001-04:00

I read this article in the NY Times the other day. We live in such a strange world, with such strange distribution of resources. I feel a little despair when I read this stuff, reminding me of how unsustainable our systems are.

And then I feel better when Abe comes home with two giant, food-grade containers stacked on the roof of his rabbit.

thanks to Josh and the man who gave them to us FREE via Craigslist

Because we don't have to farm 2,000 acres of carrots in a dessert. We can have a tiny farm in our backyard, watered with whatever we can collect from our roof. We can grow what we need, use dual flush toilets, and save pasta water for our house plants. Even within a broken system, we have choices.

Willy Nelson sells out

2011-10-25T20:54:00.000-04:00

Tonight Abe wanted me to look up a Coldplay music video on Youtube. (I know.) So I went rogue, and instead clicked on a video that said it was Willy Nelson covering Coldplay's "The Scientist." (I know!)

We were watching along (you'll see), and I hear Abe say, "aww... I like this..."

Until we get to the end, and I hear him again: "...until they Chipotle Mexican Grill your ass!"

Persimmons: A Primer

2011-10-20T17:27:00.000-04:00

You may already be acquainted with the Asian Persimmon. Just to be confusing, Asian persimmons are the kind sold in American stores. Here is a wonderful-but-sexual,-so-I-warned-you poem about persimmons and being Chinese.

Our persimmons grow in a tree planted by the original owner of our house, who kept a wonderful organic garden that still sprouts ghost tomatoes and watermelons in places where we never dropped seeds. [note to self: Arrange for delicious fruit to haunt the people who come after me when I'm gone. I think this is a beautiful legacy.]

Our tree is diospyrus virginiana, which is the fancy name for the persimmon native to the Americas. Although it's supposed to be a winter fruit, ours always ripen in October. I would like to brag about this the way that parents do when their children learn to walk or use the toilet at an early age. I would like to have a sticker for the back of my rabbit: My persimmon tree is an early bloomer at Carolina Backyard Farm.

so proud.

The tree is tall and very narrow, and Abe sometimes will climb it to shake the fruit down. I nag him not to, because the American persimmon is astringent and not-that-delicious until it falls from the tree unaided. Also, we don't have health insurance, so if he falls, his broken leg will have to go unaided too.

When the fruit is ready, it's very soft, apricot-y and finally sweet. I collect the fruits from the ground, pick out the leaves and dirt, and smash them in a bowl. The texture is kind of slimy; the color is bright, red-orange. Our persimmons have big, black seeds, so I pick those out too. Ripe persimmons don't keep well, so I try to use them quickly or freeze for later. The pulp makes delicious cookies or persimmon pudding, if you're a traditionalist. I have a recipe from my aunt's mother that's completely charming, written in beautiful cursive, full of her baking "tricks," and slightly terrifying to me, since her final word on it is "GOOD LUCK!" in all capital letters with an exclamation mark.

I basically learned everything I know about persimmons from persimmonpudding.com, which is a fantastic resource if you're interested in foraging the fruit or old family recipes for persimmons. (I just used other links so you'd think I'm well-read. On wikipedia... so never mind.) My favorite recipe is Lena Porter's, but I love to read some of the really old recipes there. Last year, we must have made at least 12 batches of cookies at Christmas.

don't worry, you're not too late to start your Christmas baking. this is a photo from last year.

You'll all have to take my word for it that there really are persimmon cookies in those bags (or Naomi's, since she ate them), because my mom might object if I posted the other picture I have of last year's persimmon cookies. She's in it, and making a Crazy Face. Should we petition her for permission to put it up by posting at least 10 comments here? I think we should. As a bonus, she will feel less lonely reading my blog, knowing there are ten other people lurking around (or at least one person who cares enough to develop with a very close relationship with their "post comment" button).

This year, the chickens have discovered the persimmons, and they've been greedy. I'm hoping to rescue enough for Abe to brew some persimmon beer.

party animals

2011-10-18T08:59:00.000-04:00

Leave a comment, y'all! It's my birthday. I woke up this morning to a phone call from my parents in Africa. We had a good connection for about five minutes, and then I just repeated "I love you!" a bunch of times because I couldn't hear their end. Their call was the perfect way to start my new year.

Then Franc decided to get in on the festivities, jumped on my belly, and licked my face. (I love having a cat named Franc. People think it's hilarious because it is. I don't love that I say things, and then feel an urgent need to clarify that Franc is a cat.) Franc really gets into a holiday spirit.

Abe's got the whole day planned, so party on, dudes.

In which Wendell Berry says it better than me

2011-10-14T10:37:00.000-04:00

My cell phone stopped working about six months ago. Since then I've been using my cell from college, which suffers from a broken speaker, explaining why the last time I called was around Easter. Finally, our contract is up, so I've been researching phone plans and mobile devices and pay-as-you-go options and wondering why, when you ask for "basic" phones, the salespeople take you to the cells-for-seniors section. On Sunday, Abe and I went to AT&T, Verizon, Best Buy, Sprint and WalMart (shudder). In four hours, we made as much progress toward peace in the Middle East as we did toward getting phones.

When did cell phones - and everything - get so complicated? I don't need for the internet to fit in my pocket, and I sure don't want the monthly bill for it. I don't need another touch-screen piece of junk that will break after a year. I just want it to be simple.

Oh yeah, and I want an iphone.

I find myself torn between these two lives - the one where I crave convenience and compliments on my shoes, and the one where I delibrately choose simplicity. There's a part of me that wants to redo the kitchen, add on a front porch, upgrade our appliances. And another part of me can't wait to move out of our conventional house and into something tiny and sustainable.

Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front

Love the quick profit, the annual raise,
vacation with pay. Want more
of everything ready-made. Be afraid
to know your neighbors and to die.
And you will have a window in your head.
Not even your future will be a mystery
any more. Your mind will be punched in a card
and shut away in a little drawer.
When they want you to buy something
they will call you. When they want you
to die for profit they will let you know.

So, friends, every day do something
that won't compute. Love the Lord.
Love the world. Work for nothing.
Take all that you have and be poor.
Love someone who does not deserve it.
Denounce the government and embrace
the flag. Hope to live in that free
republic for which it stands.
Give your approval to all you cannot
understand. Praise ignorance, for what man
has not encountered he has not destroyed.

Ask the questions that have no answers.
Invest in the millenium. Plant sequoias.
Say that your main crop is the forest
that you did not plant,
that you will not live to harvest.
Say that the leaves are harvested
when they have rotted into the mold.
Call that profit. Prophesy such returns.

Put your faith in the two inches of humus
that will build under the trees
every thousand years.
Listen to carrion - put your ear
close, and hear the faint chattering
of the songs that are to come.
Expect the end of the world. Laugh.
Laughter is immeasurable. Be joyful
though you have considered all the facts.
So long as women do not go cheap
for power, please women more than men.
Ask yourself: Will this satisfy
a woman satisfied to bear a child?
Will this disturb the sleep
of a woman near to giving birth?

Go with your love to the fields.
Lie down in the shade. Rest your head
in her lap. Swear allegiance
to what is nighest your thoughts.
As soon as the generals and the politicos
can predict the motions of your mind,
lose it. Leave it as a sign
to mark the false trail, the way
you didn't go. Be like the fox
who makes more tracks than necessary,
some in the wrong direction.
Practice resurrection.

Wendell Berry

multiplication of rabbits

2011-10-05T21:18:00.000-04:00

Blog, Meet Jena-from-the-wedding-this-weekend. In addition to having unusually long and silky ears, she is a dear, dear friend of the bride. She dressed like a rabbit, I told her about my faithful baby-rabbit-blog followers (known less formally as "mom"), and she obliged me with a photo. Then I obliged her by stalking her on facebook in order to spell her name correctly.

Yes, thanks for asking, the wedding was fantastic. It was (appropriately) held at a retired dairy farm in Lancaster County. It was even more beautiful than it looks here (and much, much, much, much much much colder):

There was love and drink and dancing and much bundling in sweaters. There may have also been accidental flashing - a story for another day. When we got home, we got busy with this rabbit:

...which we're hoping to bring home soon to be our very own VW Rabbit Pickup. As everyone knows, farms need rabbits and pickups. It's older than Abe and I, but runs really well and can also carry more stuff than we can.

And then, both of us under-the-weather from all the wedding cooties, Abe cooked up this rabbit:

...featuring fresh bunny meat, tomatoes, and herbs from our garden. Before making all of Franc's dreams come true, we're fairly certain this bad boy fathered another litter of kits, so we can prolong this baby-rabbit thing for at least a few more months.

Thank goodness, because I'm afraid we just don't have anything else to talk about anymore.

bunny love

2011-09-30T00:35:00.000-04:00

There's a farmer-family wedding this weekend in good old South Carolina. Abe and I are spent the evening tonight with relatives from out of town who are here for the festivities. Tomorrow morning we leave for Middle Of Nowhere, Lancaster County, so you'll have to muddle through the next few days without me. Here are rabbits so you don't get lonely.

get rich & get dirty

2011-09-27T21:43:00.000-04:00

I was going to post a book review, but surprise! I haven't finished the book, since I only got it from the library on Saturday, and I've basically been at work ever since. Also, I almost died, and I'm very easily distracted.

So coming soon, some sort of discussion about Pay Dirt, which you should probably come back for if you're the kind of individual attracted by the possibility of earning $10,000 by playing in the yard for a year.

THANK GOD I EVEN SURVIVED AT ALL

2011-09-25T13:07:00.001-04:00

Friday's "Thank Goodness I'm Farming" post is here! This is because yesterday, when I otherwise would have been posting it only one day late, I was instead flat on my back crying in pain like an orphaned, infant rabbit.

baby rabbit, empathizing

I've been getting my yoga on pretty regularly this week, and Friday I did my practice as usual before work. I felt pretty super about myself, thinking: This yoga practice is energizing and refreshing. Tonight I will be as energetic as Abe. And so fit! Then I left for work, which on the weekends is waiting tables at a a farm-to-fork restaurant. The use of both arms is encouraged, as is lots-o-energy. That became a problem when my shoulder started throbbing in the car. It continued to ache all evening, with sharper pains brought on by deep breaths, laughing, sneezing, lifting, and turning (and by the way, Yoga, thanks for all the help with that deep breathing. That turned out to be extra excruciating. A plague on your asana, Yoga). It was a weird kind of deep pain that I hadn't experienced before, so when I got home I decided it would be a good idea to put a heating pad on it.

That also turned out to be extra excruciating, because obviously I have no idea how to treat traumatic injuries. The next morning I woke up with such stabbing pains that I couldn't stand without Abe's help, so I just lay in bed crying. Then I discovered this new amazing resource called "the internet," and found out that you should only use heat on chronic injuries, and should use ice for the acute ones. After a few rounds of icing (note: unfortunately not the same as frosting), OTC pain-relievers, and a good night's sleep, I'm feeling much better now.

And I am thankful that I even survived at all, and that I will now know what to do for Abe in an emergency situation, like if he gets run over by a tractor, falls off a grain silo, or suffers attack by a rabid chicken (farm hazards). I will STEP AWAY! and then call our neighbor, who is an EMT.

Oh yeah, and farming. We'll talk about that next time.

how to feed chickens & alienate neighbors

2011-09-22T18:20:00.000-04:00

Open the back door and step outside. Announce yourself to the birds! I call them like this: "bawk bawk bawk bawk!" Be a little loud about it - some of the chickens really like the shade in the back corner of the yard, and you need to get their attention too.

The chickens will come running. Be sure you have treats. There are lots of things chickens like that you might have around the house, like

stale bread, torn into bits
crumbs from the bottom of a bag of tortilla chips
vegetable scraps*
oats
cereal
bird seed, if you're in to that sort of thing
rice cakes**
apparently, yogurt. I wouldn't recommend tossing yogurt at yo birds - although this is supposed to be about alienating your neighbors, so go ahead. Glob it.
Toes painted with red nail polish

Chickens love conversation as much as the next domesticated fowl. Advise them about their tail feathers (i.e., to shake them) and how to get the worm (early). Not being certain that chickens speak English, your best bet may be the noisy "bawk bawk bawk bawk" discussed earlier.

Wear closed-toe shoes if you prefer to protect your red toenails.

*Side note: Sort through leftover salad to make absolute certain that there aren't any stray pieces of chicken hiding beneath the tomatoes. Otherwise, you will watch in horror while your chickens turn into cannibals and eat the very flesh of their own kind. They will be enthusiastic about it, and you will not quite feel the same about chickens after. The guilt, though, will eventually subside. Not that I would know from personal experience. What?

**Now you can get rid of your rice cakes honorably without admitting you were never going to eat them. I was going to eat mine, but there are chickens who are hungry in Africa. How could I eat rice cakes when there are hungry chickens in Africa?

URGENT UPDATE

2011-09-21T08:55:00.001-04:00

I interrupt whatever else you might be doing to make this important announcement:

Somebody's online search for "tiny rabbits" brought them to this humble blog.

Not even 9 am, and I can already consider today to be a smashing success. Round of carrots! And just when I was starting to think y'all might be tired of those daily bunnies....

Real food & mycology

2011-09-21T08:52:00.001-04:00

The baby rabbits have been eating real food for a little more than a week now. It's so sweet to see how they watch their mama eat new foods before they try them. They love cabbage and carrots, and sometimes forgo the veggies entirely in favor of their rabbit kibble (made by Purina... who knew?).

And speaking of real food, my camping husband returned from the woods with a handful of foraged mushrooms (mostly oyster). We ate them with whole wheat gnocchi, charred onion, cherry tomatoes and fresh basil from the garden, brown butter sauce and sauteed kale. Delicious!

Then the next morning, Abe whipped up a veggie scramble with peppers, fresh eggs, and the last of our mushrooms, including a lone dark brown one whose name I can't for the life of me remember. Grandfather something? Maybe Grandfather Gross, because the whole thing tasted like straight dirt. You know that wonderful musty, dank forest smell? I don't recommend eating it.

Absence make the wife need a farmhand

2011-09-17T10:21:00.000-04:00

Things are "off" this weekend at our tiny farm. Abe is out of town on a camping trip with some man-friends. I thought I'd treat myself to a little extra sleep this morning, but Franc (that's the cat, remember, not some sexy milkman) wasn't having it. Since I work weekends and Abe's away, all the animals are clamoring for attention. 15 chickens, 9 rabbits, Franc and Cash (the coon hound) make for a lot of clamor.

We've kept the chickens in their coop and run since yesterday. There's been a hawk stalking around our yard. All the hens get along fine when they're free-ranging it, but literally cooped up I know they're feeling testy.

It's also unseasonably cold - poor me & baby rabbits! We all miss our farmer.

T.G.I.F. - the FOOD

2011-09-16T12:55:00.000-04:00

This morning Abe told me he's glad for our starter farm because of its impact on what he eats. We do get spoiled by the persimmon muffins in the winter, baby lettuce in the spring, tomatoes and muscadine grapes in the summer, fig jam and fresh eggs all year round.

It tastes so much better than what you'd buy at the store, or even the Farmer's Market. I like to think the difference is what satisfaction tastes like, because there's a healthy pride in enjoying things homemade and homegrown. Abe loves the eggs and proteins that he raises himself, but my favorites are the vegetables we grow.

Franc (the uneasy "farm" cat) longs for the delicious union of those proteins and vegetables, and brings you your daily rabbit: bunny stew.

your daily rabbit

2011-09-15T15:44:00.001-04:00

Today's rabbit takes it indoors and welcomes vegetarians, vegans, or people who just eat papier-mâché painted and shaped to look like vegetables.

If that is you, please stay for a real tomato sandwich. We still have some lovely tomatoes.

Carolina Backyard Furrybottoms?

2011-09-14T19:18:00.000-04:00

Obviously, as busy farmers with busy farming lives, the past few days we have been much, much too busy to blog. We've had to take very, very important naps with teeny, teeny, tiny rabbits. We've had to weigh the pros and cons of making this a blog dedicated entirely to pictures of those rabbits.

(Pros: teeny, teeny, tiny, and rabbits. Cons: the name might be misleading.)

We might be making this a blog dedicated entirely to pictures of rabbits.

Thank Goodness I'm Farming

2011-09-09T15:32:00.002-04:00

Today I introduce what may or may not become a regular feature around here. It's a little play on words, see, because "T.G.I.F." usually means "Thank Goodness It's Friday, Because I Can't Take One More Day Of This Insanity" (you can see why they abbreviate). But T.G.I.F. also happens to be the initials of "Thank Goodness I'm Farming," which may or may not become the name of a weekly Friday post about some great reason to farm.

Today's is short because I'm running late for a bachelorette party and I'm pretty sure you have more important work to do anyway.

So thank goodness I'm farming. I love to raise tiny animals, because they remind me there's a purpose to that giant time-sucking wasteland called the internet. They also hop much slower when they're little, so it's easier to catch them if they escape. And extra bonus: bite-sized.

Have a hoppy weekend!

the farmer and the tax man

2011-09-08T19:54:00.001-04:00

We've talked about farming for a long time, but only recently taken some of the big steps to get there. (1. acquire land. 2. acquire hound dog 3. grow stuff?) I've known that there was some tax benefit to farm land, and now that we've started to grow stuff, I wondered if we might be eligible.

source

So I did some in-depth academic research and was disappointed to learn that our 2/3 of an acre doesn't even bring us close to qualifying for a North Carolina farm tax ID, which requires that you own at least 10 acres. I don't think we can include 9 1/3 acres of our neighbors' yards, even though our farm dog and chickens occasionally roam there. But Google didn't seem to know for sure, and tried instead to direct me to invisible fencing sites and forums where people talk about how to stop their dogs from chasing their chickens. Easy: trade in your dog for a house cat.

Labor daily

2011-09-06T20:52:00.000-04:00

Labor Day is just another day to labor, even on a tiny farm that's just beginning. Abe gets up around 7 every morning to feed the chickens and rabbits. Real farmers the world over may laugh at our sloth, but God help you all the day anyone wakes me earlier.

Would you ask this lady for a day off?

the very beginning

2011-09-05T13:01:00.000-04:00

How do you start a farm? It's hard to know where to begin. Our interest in growing our own food began, inconveniently, when we lived in a one-bedroom apartment. We started seeds on our coffee table that first spring, and moved them out onto our narrow balcony when the weather warmed.

We were ambitious, planting everything from watermelon to cilantro. But our porch was tiny, so as our plants grew, we gave them to friends who had more space (and possibly more sense).

The next spring, we tried guerilla gardening. There was a skinny, soggy piece of wilderness behind our apartment complex, undeveloped because it lay in the city's hundred year flood plain. Our garden was accessibly only by a narrow trail and a trip across a sewage pipe, so the deer visited more frequently than we did. It was overrun with copperheads, and once my dad fell in the creek trying to get there. For our effort, we didn't harvest much except a few tiny carrots. It made us want more.

Two years later, we have our very own dirt outside the back door of our very own home. It's a small 50's ranch on 2/3 of an acre. That's just enough space to raise chickens, rabbits, quail, tomatoes, persimmons, cucumbers, figs, squash, herbs, potatoes, muscadine grapes, and hopes, along with an incorrigible red bone coon hound mutt. Keep reading... we're learning to urban farm the hard way.