The Unprepared Homesteader...or, Getting Caught with Your (Work) Pants Down

A blizzard was predicted for Christmas Day.

Despite the threatening weather forecast, John and I left Berryridge Farm a few days before Christmas for a very different kind of holiday—an urgent family matter. Since we moved out here, we had never traveled over the holidays, due to weather issues. Besides, we loved our own little holiday traditions, and were happy to see family a few days before or after Christmas.

But this year, leaving wasn’t optional. We set out in a rush, with our concerns for our place on the back burner—far too stressed out to adequately prepare for bad weather here at home.

While we were away, I checked our local forecast—and it was more dire than the original. Nighttime temps way down in the single-digits, which we rarely get in the Foothills. But here we were, far from home, and there was nothing we could do about looking after our place.

We’d planned to return the day after Christmas, driving all evening…but poor road conditions told us it would be far wiser to wait until daylight. So after delaying our trip, we set out the next morning for 300 mile drive home, often forced to crawl along on the snow and ice covered highways.

As we got closer to home, long after dark, John had to punch through snowdrifts covering the narrow county road. Our private lane was passable, but in places, just barely. When John finally pushed through more drifts at the top of our driveway, we breathed a sigh of relief.

We had a over a foot of snow to shovel away from the door to get inside. I kicked off my shoes and went straight to the kitchen faucet and turned it on.

Nothing.

Our pipes were frozen.

We had followed the perfect recipe for a frozen water system. Before we left:

We did NOT block the crawlspace vents, which we always do around Thanksgiving. The frigid Christmas Northeaster was thus totally free to wreak havoc on the pipes under the house.

We did NOT turn on the pumphouse heater to keep the pipes from freezing out there. This is a no brainer, since we generally do this whenever the temps go below 20 degrees.

Lastly, we did NOT leave any faucets dripping in the house.

The next day after our return, in a rush to thaw the pumphouse pipes, I managed to blow the frost plug out of the water meter. Water spewed out, whooshing dangerously close to our new battery system for our backup solar well-pump. 

I atoned for my boo-boo by chopping wood while John sought advice from our neighbors. And after he lined up a plumber, $200 later the pumphouse was back on line. But still no running water in the house.

Clearly, underneath the house, everything was frozen solid. After 15 years in the Foothills, it was a first.

So. Rationing drinking water, and little to spare for toothbrushing. No showers, not even face washing. Dirty dishes piling up in the sink (Very hard for this tidy person). Absolutely no post-Christmas baking and cooking I hadn’t had time for before the holiday. 

And let me tell you, hauling water 180 feet from the pumphouse to flush toilets loses its charm very fast.

Hens pecking for scratch in the cold

Our chickens fared better. For their Christmas gift, before we least, John bought and installed a new, more efficient feeder and a heated water bowl. The girls made it through the storm just fine, although their poor combs were pale pink from the cold.

Our wonderful neighbors who gifted us with our chickens, were the ones to save our bacon. This afternoon, they loaned us a space heater. John got on  his grubbiest gear, and with a series of pretzel contortions, managed to crawl down, snake around the ductwork and piping, and place the heater as near the water pipes as he could and plug it in.

All we had to do was be patient. Just to make sure we didn’t get too overconfident, John hauled in two more buckets of water for the toilets. 

Crawlspace entry…for man 5’11 and 200 + lbs!

I watched the faucets like a hawk, ears strained for the tiniest drip.

Then, four hours later….Eureka! Dripping faucets!

We’d had no running water for 72 hours…and since the pipes very likely froze Christmas Day, our whole water system had been frozen for 5 full days. Another first. 

It took about 20 or 30 minutes for the pipes to completely open and full pressure to return—lots of sediment to flush out as well. But Berryridge Farm is back in business. Showers, dishes, cooking, the sky’s the limit!

This was a hard lesson, that we won’t soon forget. So one more time:Northeaster Deep Freeze, 3-step preparedness:

Block crawlspace vents.

Turn on pumphouse heater.

Leave faucets dripping.  

We already knew there’s no place like home for Christmas—and we plan to be here next time around!

Little Farm in the Winter Garden

I don’t mind a bit of cold weather.

In a February post, I talked about frilusliv, the Norwegian concept of “open air living.” I’m all for it—if I’m bundled up, that is.

Today, it wasn’t raining, about 37 degrees, and I had a bunch of chores to do before I ran out of light. So I packed on my layers—long johns, two wool vests over a shirt plus a couple of sweatshirts on top, Carhartt pants and the ancient ski jacket I’ve had since 1989. I pulled on my muck boots and a pair of thermal mittens and I was set.

I imagine any of you living in much colder climates are thinking LOL: she thinks 37 degrees is cold! But in my own defense, when I’m working in the garden, my hands get terribly cold—I get chilblains at the drop of a hat—though the rest of me will be fine.

Anyway, I chopped a little firewood to warm up, then tackled the chicken coop. After feeding the hens, I had a pile of fall leaves I’d been saving for mulch to haul out of the carport. Because, gee, we might want to park our car in there.

Next, I needed to add leaves to my compost pile—with all the rain we’ve had, the pile is beyond sodden. But on the plus side, turning all that heavy material is a way to stay strong.

After I’d finished these chores, dusk was falling. Yet, one more important task beckoned: I was 2 months overdue on harvesting my fall carrot crop. There had been numerous frosts, so I knew the carrots would be super-sweet. But with the holidays coming, I wouldn’t have much time for gardening. And leaving my crop in the soil through more rain and frost cycles, I was risking the roots starting to decompose.

My mittens were still dry. Although the temp had probably dropped to 34 degrees by now, I figured even in the fading light, I could get a few carrots out of the ground. So squinting at the bed, I pulled as many out as I could and stuffed them into the little plastic strainer-type tote I use for harvesting. Then as darkness fell, I hosed the carrots down as best I could and took the sopping little tote into the house.

I always process my veggies outside, and this reminded me why: it makes a big mess! Bits of dirt and carrot tops on the floor, all over the counters and in the sink. 

But I managed to get the roots thoroughly washed and the tops cut off. Tomorrow, I’ll toss the tops back onto the carrot bed—they’ll make good winter mulch.

As I cleaned up the kitchen, this harvest felt like a big win—and now we’ll have enough carrots well into winter.

Here in the Foothills, spinach leaves don’t really grow in the winter months; the best you can hope for is that the plant will just stay alive and not get devoured by slugs. Then, in the longer daylight of early April, the plants generally have a big growth spurt and will be ready for picking in a few weeks!

I got my garlic in just after Thanksgiving—a bit later than I wanted. Now it’s covered with layers of chopped leaves, with compost on top for nutrition and to weigh down the mulch.

I have yet to take on finishing my parsnip harvest—I still have about 2/3 of the bed to pick. Unlike carrots, which you can generally pull right out of the soil, the tops of the parsnip roots are at least an inch below the soil surface, and the roots get really lodged into the soil.

Another challenge is that by December, the foliage by now has died back considerably. As a result, a little tug will detach the tops from the roots. You need a hand fork at best, and this week, with the soil so heavy, you have to use a spading fork to loosen the dirt surrounding the root enough to pull on it.

The parsnips will actually overwinter fairly well, at least into late January or early February. So when it’s a bit warmer, and I’ve got lots of time and am primed to get really wet and dirty, I’ll take ‘em on!

 

Prepping is Not Just for Preppers--A Homestead Pantry

Bathroom closet pantry

I’ve always had a relaxed approach to grocery shopping.

From the time I was first married way back in the day, I would buy one of each item I had on my list. Just like my parents always did. When I was nearly out of that item, I’d buy another one on my next trip to the store—which was pretty much all my budget allowed for.

I continued the same habit when John and I got married. Even after we moved out to the Foothills, that didn’t change much. Sure, we had power outages, and were completely snowbound for a couple of days now and then, but we weren’t concerned. 

We’d figure we could get to the grocery store in the next few days—either in the small town 15 miles away, or the big box grocers in the city an hour’s drive from our place.

In any event, John and I would generally have enough groceries to get us through. Plus the homegrown produce we had on hand—root veggies in the fridge and berries out in the deep freezer—and eggs from our hens gave us a sense of security.

Then came Covid.

Folks all over started stockpiling food and household goods (and a whole new genre of jokes was born about hoarding massive quantities of TP!). Common items that had been available—even plentiful— my entire life, no matter where I lived, were disappearing from brick-and-mortar and online store shelves. 

It was time to change my attitude, and quick. We didn’t do it overnight, but John and I began to build up our shelf-stable food stores. Especially as we got further into fall—knowing we weren’t too far away from Northeasters and snowstorms.

For instance, we would shop less often, but would buy more of a given food item than we would use up before our next shop. Also, buy larger quantities: maybe two bags of nuts at a time instead of one. Ten pounds of sugar instead of five. Two cans of salmon instead of one, three if they’re on sale.

Backup grocery shelf is cluttered!

We also began the habit of buying a backup item. Or, as John would say, “a backup to the backup.”
Even if we had a half bottle of olive oil in the cupboard and a full liter in the pantry, we would buy a backup.

As the supply chain has affected grocery items, our habits have veered, it’s true, into more of a prepper mindset. I confess we have six bottles of organic tomato sauce for soup-making on hand. Five jars of nut butter. 

And my personal guilty pleasure, for adding to plain Greek yogurt: a comfortable supply of organic maple syrup in the pantry (at this writing, four large jugs!).

You might be thinking: who has the budget or space? Even with looming supply chain problems?

Budget: For John and me, it hasn’t been easy on our finances; some of the online food purchases have sat on our credit card longer way than I would have liked. Still, I would rather carry a balance on the card—since you never know when certain items might become available either in the short term, or even long-term. 

In any event, our loaded pantry is adding to our net worth, for sure!

Space. Well, you probably guessed our pantry is very crowded. Cluttered, even. Readers of Real Simple magazine would avert their eyes. But on the homestead, practicality takes precedent over aesthetics every time.

More true confessions: We have very little storage space in our house. The biggest closet is off the master bath. Well, guess where I made room for those extra pantry items? But maple syrup in your bathroom closet makes for eclectic closet organization.

When it comes to food shortages due to supply chain issues, I do have a recommendation. Buy as local as you can. It may be items produced in your area or in your state. If that’s not possible, I go for “Made in the USA” every time.

John and I have also gotten into the habit of buying a lot of our groceries from the little mom-and-pop grocery in the village 8 miles away. We know all the clerks and they know us; the personal service is amazing, and they’ll special order things for us.

For sure, the Foothills’ groceries are more expensive than from the big box store (we never go there anymore). But you can’t put a price tag on the sense of community.

Lots of tomato soup in our future!

Stockpiling can lead to another drawback: the a lack of variety, creating meals from your food stores. After all, you can only eat a certain dish so many times before you’re tired of it. 

Where we live, there are no take-out places, delis, or fast food restaurants, so we have learned to eat simply out of necessity. Yet it's one trade-off we gladly make to live in our quiet, peaceful area.

Still, given all the advantages of keeping a full pantry, you might keep this in mind: If you start small, you can gradually increase your stores, while you get more creative with your cooking!

 

 

 

Hens on the Homestead: Healthy and Happy for Winter

When life feels uncertain, hanging out with your hens always lifts the spirits. 

At our house, between our area's recent severe floods, the new Covid variant, and my being away from home a lot caregiving for family, there's a lot to worry about. But I'm grateful that our five hens are taking the last rocky months in stride.

In a big November windstorm, a sizable Douglas fir fell onto the chicken coop. Happily, the coop was pretty much unscathed--and the hens appeared to have slept through the impact. 

That's one of the great things about laying hens...unless they're being stalked by a predator of some kind, they'll go about their little routines through thick and thin, without getting too bent out of shape.

I'm happy to report we haven't had a broody hen since mid-October--one less thing to fret about. We've had some broodies who lost a lot of weight and color in their combs. At times, one or two of them looked so ill and were so lethargic we were afraid she wouldn't make it though the broody cycle. Right now, I'm guessing the chilly fall weather has cooled their body temperatures enough to stave off the urge to hatch eggs. 

Not that there's much to hatch these days. This time of year, when the days are shortest, some of our hens are molting--losing their feathers to grow a new set. Commercial hatcheries will often keep the hens in bright light 24/7, so they will lay continuously.

Allowing your hens to go through this natural process means their reproductive systems get a little break, and the hens will have a much longer egg-laying cycle. However, during this time, egg production goes way down; our girls are laying at a steady, if unspectacular rate of 1 egg every other day. On the plus side, John and I have about 8 dozen eggs in the shop fridge, which we've accumulated over the last few months.

Naturally, although the girls aren't laying much, they still have good appetites. So, while they're not earning their keep, as it were, it's still nice to have them around for entertainment value! 

However, our flock seems a bit crankier than usual these days: one of hens keeps chasing me and pecking my legs. I understand hens figure out their world through their beaks, so pecking is a natural behavior. I think she's doing this so I'll give her extra feed, but today, she jumped against my leg and flapped her wings on me. Not too happy about that!

The alpha hen has also been snapping at a couple of others when I fill the feeder. They'll make these hilarious little "toots" like a horn--but hens are pretty scrappy and will sneak back the feeder when the top hen isn't looking. 

Going into winter, I've been giving the hens some scratch grains before they go into their coop for the night. I understand digesting the scratch raises their metabolism, so they will stay a bit warmer overnight.  

Scratching for grains in the snow

With our area's recent record rainfall, the soil in the girls' yard is absolutely sodden. They'll do their
usual dust baths, though, then go out into the rain--and all five are looking pretty grimy! While our girls mostly lounge under the roof of their run during the downpours, they're always game to dash into the open yard when the rain lets up. 

And during these very short, dark days--yesterday, it looked like dusk at 11 am--seeing that flash of blond across the garden brightens the day.

Back to predators: we haven't seen any big cats all fall, and haven't even heard any coyotes the last couple of weeks. It could be it's been so darn rainy they're just hiding in their dens. But now that the weather is drying out a little, it's probably time to keep a sharp eye out!

A side note: I'm trying to keep to my regular Thursday posting...but if I miss a week here or there, it's because I'm away again for family.

Whatever your situation--and especially if  you're going through hard times--I hope you're finding ways to keep your spirits up!     

Cyber Monday Book Freebies

Homestead gardening 

Cyber Monday is already half over in the USA, but if you're looking for great deals, "free" is still the best price--especially if it's available all year-round! So I'm just sharing a little heads-up about my free ebooks, that you can get anytime. 

If you're a gardener, Little Farm in the Garden is still #1 in Pacific Northwest Gardening on Amazon! If you prefer a PDF format you can read on your laptop, it's available on my website, www.susancolleenbrown.com.

Breezy Irish novel

Enjoy warmhearted Irish novels and stories? It Only Takes Once, Book 1 in my Village of Ballydara series, is available at all stores...and,  

You can also get my Ballydara novelette-length short story, The Secret Well, by joining my list! 

For a real Irish experience, check out the home page of my site, and you'll find a fun mini-ebook of Irish expressions in PDF!

Fun Irish speech!

Mystical Irish story

Last but not least: For tween readers...or anyone young at heart...Morgan Carey and The Curse of the Corpse Bride, Book 1 of my middle grade adventure series, is free at all online book retailers. 

The next book of the series, The Mystery of the Christmas Fairies, is not free, but the print book could make a fun stocking-stuffer!

Finally, may every book you read be an adventure!

Breaking a Halloween curse

   

A magical forest leads to adventure!

Advent Sunday

 

If you're seeking inspiration for fresh ways to celebrate the holiday season, I hope you'll take a look at "Believe: A Christmas Treasury" by Mary Engelbreit!

For those celebrating Christmas, she has assembled a lovely and meaningful treasure-trove of holiday poems, carols, seasonal stories, old and new, and samples of delightful Christmas traditions from all over the world, adding her own whimsical, color-filled illustrations on every page. 

Some of my favorite stories are "Gifts of the Magi," by O. Henry, Christmas Day in the Morning," by Pearl S. Buck, and an excerpt of "A Christmas Carol," by Charles Dickens. I especially enjoy some of the holiday wisdom the author has collected--for instance:

"Blessed is the season which engages the whole world in a conspiracy of love." Hamilton Wright Mabie.

Ever since John gifted our family with "Believe" back in 1998, I have brought out the book every 1st Sunday of Advent. After darkness falls, John and I will light a candle and read several selections together. This little ritual, which we do each Advent Sunday, is a relaxing break between all the hustle and bustle of holiday preparation--baking, Christmas card-writing, shopping and every other holiday-related activity.

I keep the book on our coffee table until Epiphany--which reminds me that there is so much more pleasure and meaning to the winter holidays than just Christmas Day and New Year's. 

If you're hunkered down today like John and me (we are sitting tight at home, with flooding affecting every road into "civilization" in our area), this book is a heartwarming way to re-discover all the joys of the holiday season, simply being cozy at home.   

Pumpkin Pie with Cream Recipe

The first pie I made with fresh cream

When it comes to my Thanksgiving pies, I'm a traditionalist. 

Sure, pumpkin cheesecake, or pumpkin pie with a cookie crust or chocolate somewhere in there sounds yummy. But give me the basic pumpkin pie recipe on the Libby's canned pumpkin label and I'm your girl. 

Still, a few years ago, I figured out two things simultaneously: 1) evaporated milk didn't really agree with me, and 2) local whipping cream (not the ultra-pasteurized cream grocery stores generally carry) makes the most amazing pumpkin pie you'll ever eat. 

I also concluded that any given dish can only be as good as the ingredients. For two pumpkin pies, I prepare two large or deep-dish pie crusts, using butter, not shortening, and organic, locally-milled flour, in glass pie pans.

Once I've made my crust, I follow Libby's recipe (with a few tweaks), with the best ingredients I have on hand.

4 farm-fresh large eggs from our own hens, lightly beaten by hand

1 1/2 cups organic granulated sugar (A few times, I reduced the sugar by 1/4 cup and substituted a little organic maple syrup and a big spoonful of local honey, but now I just go 100% sugar.)

1 teaspoon sea salt

1 29 oz can Libby's 100% pure pumpkin (I once used an organic brand of canned pumpkin, but it wasn't as well strained as Libby's, and the filling was a bit watery.)

2 heaping teaspoons ground cinnamon

1 heaping teaspoon organic ground ginger

The Libby's recipe calls for ground cloves, which I don't care for. So I use 1/4 - 1/2 teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg

I mix the above by hand in the order given, and when it's thoroughly -blended, I add:

About 12 oz locally produced heavy whipping cream, more if you prefer.

The cream we buy is produced on the other side of the county, about 20 miles away. It comes in a glass bottle and is non-homogenized, so you'll find a layer of butterfat in the neck of the bottle. To use, all you have to do is make sure the cap is secure and shake it thoroughly. The cream also comes from Jersey cows, so the color of the cream isn't white, but slightly golden, which is lovely.

I gently fold in the whipping cream until everything is well-blended, then I fill the prepared, unbaked crusts. Using the reduced amount of cream instead of the larger amount evaporated milk that the Libby's recipe calls for, this recipe does make considerably smaller pies. 

I bake the pies at 350 until the middle is just about set. If you wait until the top begins the brown, the filling won't be as tender. Anyway, you can start checking the pies at 45 minutes--my pies in 9-inch glass pans are done in about an hour.

Some years back, I noticed almost all pie recipes called for pre-baking the crust, which I don't get--and never do. It seems like the crust would be so browned, all the flavor would be gone. But that's just me.

Not perfect looking, but they were delicious!

Anyway, after you take out the pies, let them cool on racks at least 1 hour. The filling may seem a bit
too soft for some folks--evaporated milk makes a firmer filling. Still, the pie is so rich and flavorful you don't even need whipped cream on top!

If you celebrate Thanksgiving, I hope you have a wonderful day--and my boundless thanks goes to all of you who read my Little Farm in the Foothills blog!

The Absent Homesteader…and the Bear

Frost-damaged tomatoes look ghastly!

Last week, I mentioned being away from home for a couple of weeks. It was an especially fun homecoming—my first morning back at Berryridge Farm, I was greeted by the sight of a coyote just outside my office window. 

In the 15 years we’d lived here, we’ve heard their yip-yip-yipping nearly every night, but we’d never seen a coyote so close to the house.At least when we were awake. 

Two years ago, coyotes (we are 99% sure) killed our flock of hens. Still, I can’t help but like these creatures. 

They’re smaller than you’d guess, given the high-decibel yipping they make, but very smart. I've encountered many coyotes from a distance, and it’s fascinating the way they give you a 100-yard stare for the longest time, then simply melt into the brush.

But on this morning, I didn’t have time to admire the wildlife—with all the chores waiting, I’d have to hit the ground running.

First on the list was tackling the chicken coop. Since I ordinarily clean it twice weekly, the situation was not pretty.

In late October, with darkness falling earlier, hens will spend more time in their coop overnight. And since laying hens do most of their…er, elimination in their sleep, as fall progresses into winter, you’ll find more and more manure in your coop. In my absence, the board beneath the hens’ roost had become piled high.

I ended up clearing three buckets of manure. It was satisfying to survey the clean coop, then lay down fresh wood chips. On the downside, all those days I was away without my usual lifting chores, I strained my shoulder hauling all that manure out to the composting site in the woods.

Still, the hens seemed glad to see me, since they kept me company (that is, got totally underfoot) as I cleaned up their yard.

Another task was usual culling of the mid- fall produce: delicata squash that didn’t mature, and zucchini that started decomposing with the first light frost we always get by mid-October. Also hit by frost: our tomatoes.

Generally, I’ll clean up the damaged plants the next day. But this fall, delaying the chore while I was gone, the rotting tomato plants and fallen tomatoes had gotten really gnarly. The soil probably got infected by even more fungus than usual too. 

Also, I had to go through the harvested tomatoes in the house. Given the amount of fungus around here, many tomatoes will start spoiling long before they ripen.

The Foothills get a lot of rain in autumn—but this fall has been usually wet. So I’ve gotten way behind on weeding. Rome wasn’t built in a day, goes the old saying, and I knew it might take me all the way to our first snowfall to catch up on the weeds.

But today, this first day home, I had one chore that would be a pure pleasure: our last apple tree harvest.

When I left, our Florina apple tree had been several weeks away from harvest—it’s our last fruit to ripen, and the harvest target time is late October. We had probably fifty apples on the tree, and this particular variety stores nicely well into winter—the perfect late fall apple.

John and I were planning to pick the tree as soon as I came back, and I pictured our shop fridge full of apples as we headed into the cold months. Instead of buying organic apples from the co-op grocery throughout the winter, our own harvest would save us a considerable amount of money.

All we had to do was clear some space in the fridge--and our horse-owning neighbors were ready and willing to take our old-ish August and September apples to feed their horses. A win-win situation, right?

Bear visit to the orchard

Well. John was away from home two days in a row: first to get new brakes on the car, then traveling to fetch me. We came home to a crunched up orchard fence—and a tree completely bare of fruit!

In this case: Bare = Bear. 

It’s amazing, that our neighborhood bear or bears—who broke down another part of the fence and almost killed our centennial crabapple last year—can have an immense feast without making a mess! There were no partially eaten apples on the tree, or even apple cores or other evidence laying on the ground.

It was like there had never been fruit on that tree.

What’s interesting about bears: if they’re determined to get to a food source, they will just take the most direct route to get to it. What we’ve seen is they’ve simply crashed or manhandled—or rather, bear-handled—their way straight to the chow. The Florina tree is just a few feet from the damaged fence.

And my guess is, the closer it gets to hibernation time, the more motivated bears are to attack your fall apples!

We’ve had other harvests cleared out wholesale before: the blue jays are champs at attacking our walnut and hazelnut trees long before harvest time. And if we didn’t net our strawberries and blueberries, there’s no doubt the birds and chipmunks would get every last morsel.

Puny human's attempt to keep the bears out!

You can't see it in the photos, but there's another steer wire panel that went to the top of the post. Clearly, it didn't faze this critter one bit.

My conclusion: as the evidence from the fence damage shows, you can’t net against bear.

Of course, our zero-apple harvest means we saved ourselves one chore: we didn’t have to find room in the fridge for all those Florina apples. But still.

Halloween Book is Once Again Free on Amazon!

Morgan Carey and The Curse of the Corpse Bride, my Halloween/Day of the Dead chapter book for young tweens, is back to free! Amazon corrected the problem right away--so if you want to take a look, here's the link to the free Kindle ebook.

Again, I'm sorry for any inconvenience. I hope you're enjoying sunny, crisp fall weather--and having a wonderful Halloween weekend!

  

Recipe for "Coming Home" Cornbread

 

When you’re away from your homestead, returning home after time away often means you’ve got a lot of catching up to do!

After being out of town for two weeks to look after family—a week longer than I’d planned—I discovered it wasn’t only the neglected garden that was in disarray. Tasks like cleaning the chicken coop and culling the mid-fall harvest needed serious attention.

Inside the house, unopened mail had piled up, and the kitchen needed a good once-over. But I’m pretty prompt about keeping our fridge food up to date. 

With the idea of good food = good health, John and I focus on buying organic, locally- or USA grown—which, let’s face it, really does cost more. And while we try to avoid wasting, once in a while some items will get away from us.

One of those high quality foods I indulge in is full-fat Greek yogurt. Since we don’t shop for groceries very often, we purchase the largest carton this particular brand comes in. In my rush to leave, I’d left an opened carton behind, and John didn’t think to eat it.

This brand has no additives, so it’s more perishable than most. The carton states: “After opening, consume within 5 days.”

I eat yogurt every day, so that first morning home I pulled out the carton.  It had been open at least two and a half weeks. I was sure it wasn’t really spoiled; after all, most food companies tend to provide very conservative “Best by” dates. So I tentatively ate a spoonful.

It wasn't soured, but still…off. With a definite vinegary taste. I briefly considered tossing it, but that would be wasting at least $2 or $2.50 worth of yogurt.

There are plenty of ways you can use up old-ish yogurt—especially with coffee cakes and quick breads. I could have made one of our favorites—maybe “Blueberry Buckle” (see the recipe in my August posts) or pumpkin bread.

But I had what felt like a million things to catch up on. Dinner was already running late, and I wasn’t up for a somewhat involved baking project that would mean a lot of clean-up too.

I also had one of our eggs I’d forgotten about and left out of the fridge for a day. It was totally fine—farm eggs will keep without refrigeration longer than you’d think, but I felt I should use it pronto.

Why not, I asked myself, make cornbread?

I’d recently bought some organic stone-ground cornmeal and cornbread is super fast to make—no fruit to process, or cans to open then rinse out. Plus with only one bowl to wash, clean-up is quick too.

Now in my experience, homemade cornbread can be pretty dry. It’s lacking additives like gums and dough conditioners that are in commercial cornbread mixes. Still, I figured cornbread would be a great way to used up that yogurt, and if it didn't work out too well, John is a really good sport about eating my less than yummy food experiments!

When you use a fermented product like yogurt in your quick breads/cakes, keep in mind that the yogurt will add acid to the recipe. So you counteract that extra acid with a little baking soda (an alkaline).

A lot of cornbread recipes call for 2 ½ teaspoons or 1 tablespoon of baking powder. I knew with using this much yogurt, I’d have to take a guess regarding reducing the baking powder and adding baking soda.

Here’s what a came up with:

Cornbread—With Yogurt

*1 cup cornmeal

*1 cup mixed organic unbleached white flour and whole wheat pastry flour

Combine the flours with:

*½ teaspoon salt

*1 ½ teaspoon baking powder

*½ teaspoon soda + another pinch

*1/3 cup organic cane sugar

In a separate bowl I mixed:   

*1 large egg (the one sitting out)

*1/3-ish cup olive oil

And here’s where I took a chance:

*I added 1 cup full-fat Greek yogurt—all the old yogurt from the carton + a splash of whole milk

I mixed all the liquids:the oil, egg and yogurt and milk, then put in the dry ingredients.

The batter wasn’t really batter at all, but dough! Meaning very dry and stiff. Clearly, the recipe needed more liquid.

So I splashed in more whole milk. Still stiff.

Then another generous splash.

Again, the dough was still pretty stiff. It seemed like the milk I’d added was the same amount I would have used even without the yogurt! I decided to just go with what I had.

I scraped the dough into an oiled 7” x 11” glass baking pan, smoothed it into the corners, and put it into the oven at 370 degrees—I usually bake cornbread at 350, but like I said, dinner was late.

After 25 minutes, it looked really done on top—but that was an unusually fast baking time. I was afraid the cornbread would be kind of wet in the middle.

I tested it, and happily, the cornbread was baked all the way through. I gave it a couple more minutes, then pulled the pan from the oven.

The cornbread was darker on top than I generally prefer—I think the cream in the yogurt makes baked goods brown more readily. But John, who likes well done baked goods, was enthusiastic.

After it cooled for 15 minutes or so, I cut us each a generous piece. Despite the well-browned top, this was the moistest, most delectable cornbread I’d ever made—crispy around the edges, but totally melt-in-your-mouth.

So...lesson learned: I’ll be using lots of yogurt in my quick breads!

While I was away, I missed doing my usual once-a-week posts. But now I’ll be back to my regular Thursday postings!

Free Halloween and Day of the Dead Book!

Are you gearing up for your Halloween or Day of the Dead festivities? Kids of all ages can celebrate with my free ebook for tweens, Morgan Carey and The Curse of the Corpse Bride! Here's more about the story:

Halloween and the Day of the Dead is just around the corner, and 5^th grader Morgan chooses the coolest costume ever—a dead bride. Prepared for a fun night of trick-or-treating with her best friend Claire, she definitely does not expect a trip to the costume store to set off a series of strange and spooky encounters… Like the snarky, mysterious clerk at the store, a very curious veil, and a weird fortune-telling machine that actually works...when it's not plugged in!

But Halloween quickly takes a scary turn: a Day of the Dead curse, an old book of magical spells, and a dark and deserted cemetery force Morgan, with Claire’s help, to call upon all her courage—and face the powerful magic of this extraordinary Dia de los Muertos!

This family-friendly Halloween adventure, Book 1 of the Morgan Carey Adventure series, is suitable for all ages…other Morgan Carey books include Book 2, Morgan Carey and The Mystery of the Christmas Fairies, and Book 3, The Secret Astoria Scavenger Hunt! 

The Curse of the Corpse Bride is free at Kobo, Apple and Nook...you can find more of my free books at www.susancolleenbrowne.com !

Quick update, Thursday October 28: I was on Amazon a little while ago and saw that something mysterious had occurred... the Kindle version of The Curse of the Corpse Bride was not listed as free, but at the regular price! So I deleted Amazon from the stores above. If you visited here this week and had clicked the Amazon link to get your free copy, I'm very sorry! I just contacted Amazon about the error, and hopefully they can will that price changed back to "free" within a day or so. Here's the Amazon link if you want to give them a try tomorrow or this weekend--and again, I apologize for the inconvenience.

Homestead Diary

So true!

When I was a young mom, I gardened a little. But my big guilty pleasure was reading novels while eating Reece’s Peanut Butter Cups.

Nowadays, with running our little place and my writing, downtime is limited. Also, we don't have TV. Our satellite internet is way too slow for Netflix or any other kind of TV streaming, so reading is still my favorite way to relax.

Instead of a novel, I’ll often go for shorter reads, like magazines. My latest guilty pleasure is the Food Network magazine, which my sister lends me. Though I guess not much has changed, since I also read it while eating chocolate.

My favorite part of the magazine isn’t the lavish recipes, but the “Star Diary”—where a celebrity chef dishes about the yummy food they ate and cooked over the course of the day. They’ll also share details of their photo shoots or TV segments or when they hang out with other Food Network celebrities.

I’m often in awe of the work ethic of these talented folks, how easily they can throw together a complicated dish, and everything they get done in a day—why I find “Star Diary” not just entertaining but inspiring. It got me thinking about what running a little homestead might look like to someone else.

So here’s a glimpse of an early fall day at Berryridge Farm, starring yours truly.

It’s a gorgeous, sunny day, but the forecast calls for rain the next three days. There’s loads to do outside so I give up writing for today. (You will note that unlike “Star Diary” I don’t mention what time we get up, because you would think we are slackers for sure!)

Much of my life pretty physical—gardening, compost-digging, and chopping wood—so I devote a fair amount of my routine to staying strong and flexible. I start my morning with about 20 minutes of super-basic Tai Chi I learned from a YouTube video. I’ve been doing it for about 7 months, and it must be beneficial since I’ve never felt better.

Breakfast is simple: a cup of very strong, very sugary black tea and a big bowl of our own blueberries—our blueberries are almost done so I really savor these. Instead of my usual nut-butter sandwich, I roast a few handfuls of almonds and walnuts for quick energy—I’ve decided to get a bike ride in before starting my outdoor work.

I bike most days, if it’s not raining. I often tell myself my time would be better spent working on our place, but biking is how I keep my back limber. Besides, it’s kind of a meditative experience for me, and I get a lot of writing ideas while I ride. I chow down on the nuts and off I go.

It’s a lovely ride—not too warm—and our main road has very little traffic so it’s perfect for cycling. As usual, I admire the picturesque scenery, passing by imposing, wooded foothills, and a small lake. On this calm day, the green firs and the red and gold of the maples are reflected in the still water.

Back home, I do some leg and back stretches, then fuel up: a big bowl of yogurt sweetened with maple syrup, and a piece of seed bread spread with a thick layer of peanut butter. Then my real day begins.

As beautiful as the day is, the coming rain means lots of chores that need to be done today. Our blueberry shrubs are pretty much done bearing, and the bird netting is dry at the moment. Once the rain hits it’ll be wet for days or even weeks—and too wet to fold—so I do that first.

Undoing the berry nets

The smaller blueberry patch takes about an hour: the nets get pretty tangled up with the poultry fencing and hardware cloth surrounding the seven shrubs. In a lot of places I’ve jerry-rigged a way to close gaps with bread ties, and undoing them is really painstaking.

Sadly, I find a patch of tiny bones and feathers wound into the net—and take a moment to mourn the little bird that got stuck in there.

With the net down, it’s far easier to pick berries. One bush is still bearing, and I get about 1 ½ quarts. Then I pick up all the berries that have dropped, to keep ants and hornets from moving in.

The nets on the bigger blueberry patch need removing too. These larger nets can be really cumbersome to pull down without getting caught on the shrubs. Sometimes John helps with this chore but he’s working on wood splitting. Filling our woodsheds is the priority this time of year!

Finally I get the nets off—they’re kind of damp so I store them in the carport to dry off before folding—and pick up the fallen berries. And now the season is officially over.

Approaching the house to put the berries inside, I see we haven’t gotten our skylight cover off…

We have a skylight in the kitchen—we love it, it brightens our main room wonderfully. But in the summer, the sun comes in at a direct angle and makes the whole front of the house very hot. Plus the beam of light shines directly into the pantry, heating foodstuffs we would like to stay cool.

We’ve devised an easy solution: early in the summer, we’ll cover the skylight with a white fabric shower curtain, and weigh it down with dumbbell weights and lumber scraps.

The hot weather has been over for weeks. And again, the cover is dry at the moment so might as well get it down before it’s wet. John hauls the ladder out of the shop for me. I’m younger than he is, and somewhat more nimble, so I’ve taken over the skylight chore.

Our house is just one story, so it doesn’t feel terribly dangerous up there. Still, even with John holding the ladder securely, I’m very cautious as I climb. Luckily, the supports bolted to the roof for the satellite dish are very sturdy. I grasp the supports and clamber onto the roof without much trouble.

It’s an interesting feeling, being up here. I can see practically our whole acreage, and being level with the treetops of some of the smaller trees makes me feel closer to nature. But I have a job to do.

As John waits below, I remove the weights and drop them to the ground. I take note of the patches of moss that are growing between the shingles—in our rainy climate, moss accumulation can degrade the roof pretty quickly. When we finally replace our roof, we’re going to get steel roofing, but we need to save some serious money first!

I call down to John that some branches of the October Glory maple next to the house are hanging over the roof, and he passes the pruning loppers up to me. I do a little judicious pruning to keep leaves out of the gutters. Then it’s time to climb down, collect my prunings—then I see the sun has gotten low in the sky.

It must be nearly 6 pm—and it’s coop day. I designate Tuesdays and Fridays for coop cleaning…since if I just did it when I felt like it, this less-than-fun chore would not happen!

As the days shorten, the hens are turning in way earlier—so I need to hustle. The girls seem pleased to see me—not that they actually look happy or anything, but they seem to like having their humans hang out with them. I clean the coop, picking up droppings from the pen and the girls’ yard, then fill their feeder.

By now, dusk is falling. I harvest a couple of zucchinis, find three nice cukes, and pick a bowlful of any tomatoes with some color—they’ll ripen nicely inside. We haven’t had to buy any store vegetables since the asparagus came up at the end of April, which has saved lots on our grocery budget.

By now I’m getting kinda hungry. I mosey around to the woodsheds to say hi to John as he collects his tools, and admire the stacks of firewood he processed that day.

It’s getting dark fast, and I never got to all the weeding I meant to do. Still, I feel a sense of accomplishment as we troop inside, change out of our outdoor gear, and think about something easy for dinner since we’re both tired. Salmon patties, brown rice with a little butter, and sliced cucumbers with a splash of honey-mustard vinaigrette fit the bill.

The day certainly has none of the glamor and intriguing dishes found in “Star Diary,” but John and I are convinced fame and fortune has nothing on the life we love here!

  

Slacktavism to Activism--Forest Wars

The clear cut near our place

Our little homestead is 10 acres surrounded by forest-covered foothills in the Pacific Northwest. It’s also timber country—vast swathes of the forests around us are privately-owned or state-managed tracts of harvestable trees. 

In fact, the property on our western boundary and that of our nearest neighbor is owned one of the largest timber companies in the region. 

When we first moved out here, the main road from the nearest town was a breathtakingly scenic drive: dense forests grew right up to the road shoulder, but you’d get occasional glimpses of rugged, deep-green foothills several thousand feet high.

Year by year, however, the trees in those forest tracts have been harvested. Now you understand, I’m all for sustainable forestry. Culling out the brush and weak trees so the biggest cedars and Douglas fir can thrive seems sensible to me.

In our area, there’s very little sustainable forest management practices; the forest lands are clear cut. Every last tree chain-sawed and loaded into trucks by an excavator, leaving unsightly vehicle ruts, piles of logging slash, and nothing more than a stump farm.

The landscape in our area—property either adjacent to the road or high on the slopes of the foothills—has been dreadfully scarred by clear cuts. Bare strips of land that are a stark contrast to the deep green forests right next to them.

In my homesteading book Little Farm Homegrown, I wrote about a clear cut that was done only a few hundred yards away from our place. One day there was a lovely forest of some 75-acres, a week later, that forest had vanished.

Seeing the destruction of what had been a dense, quiet fir woods, I had been devastated. And I wondered, what happens to the little forest creatures when their homes have been destroyed? My grief over the vanished forest inspired me to write a magical children’s story: The Mystery of the Christmas Fairies.

In any event, I never, ever thought I would be on the side of a timber company.

The forest with the illegal trails, next to the clear cut

That all changed when a nearby property owner decided to build a 3-4 foot wide dirt bike track in the privately-owned forest right next to us—just adjacent to the clear-cut tract I mentioned.

Decades ago, the timber company had agreed to allow hiking and horseback riding on their land. They had never posted “No Trespassing” signs anywhere in this forest. 

They prohibited motorized vehicles and trail-building, but other than that, the forest was available for anyone to enjoy.

The narrow trails back there, created over time by the horse folks, were fairly popular, and were always respected—“gently used,” as it were, by riders, hikers, and mushroom hunters. But this trespasser has confronted users to keep them out of the area, has destroyed trees, and now, along with his buddies, tears through the forest on his bike.

I had just recently discovered the trails through this clear cut and the forest. This past spring, after the bike accident that kept me from cycling for several months, I turned to easy hiking to recover.

Hiking on the clearcut, I discovered the place I’d once found so unsightly had been replanted with firs, many of them now 5 feet high or more. Fireweed and other wildflowers were everywhere, alder trees 15-feet tall, and the delicate, rich green leaves of vine maples fluttered in the breeze.

I saw that the land that had looked so damaged years ago was actually recovering—and the clear cut abounded with wildlife: bees and birds, rabbits and deer. Bear and bobcats, coyotes and cougars stayed on the down-low, but we knew they were there too. Yes, this tract would be harvested again, but that wouldn’t take place for maybe 40 years.

My “activism” if you can call it that, had been pretty non-existent up to now. I was happy to pay more for produce from local, organic farms, or buy as many green or organic products as I could. I read everything I could about climate change, but only worried about it—classic “slacktivism.” Which means, you might feel very strongly about some issue or another, but you don’t really get involved.

Yup, that was me.

John has been more of an activist the last few years; he has used his own funds to support the various causes he feels strongly about, and often writes letters to our Congress-people.

But the pillaging of the forest next door galvanized us both into real action.

Motorized vehicles in forests are a wildfire danger, particularly in the summer when we might go two months without rain. And our place is 8 miles from the nearest fire station. The noise pollution from the dirt bikers has been immense. Horse folks and hikers have become reluctant to use the trails, in case they might get hit by the bikers.

And you know, it was the principle of the thing! The illegal dirt-biking was ruining everybody else’s enjoyment of the forest.

Luckily, all our other neighbors—seven other families—felt the same. I, along with John and the others, have embarked on a campaign to put a stop to the trespass: hours of writing emails, strategizing via in-person meetings and getting together for work parties. After mostly keeping to ourselves for years and years, John and I and the other folks living along our little private lane have created a true community.

Last week, our neighborhood group met the forester from the timber company, who came to the area to investigate the trespassing. He’s a young family man with two little daughters, wearing a tee-shirt and jeans but a complete professional.

I had imagined the timber company as a bunch of suits counting their big bucks made from killing trees. But it turns out this particular company is a steward of the land. They replant their forests; they manage their forestlands for their long-term health. The face of this huge corporation, I learned, was a real person, with the same concerns for the forests that John and I had.

I believe we made a good case for intervention; we are meeting again with the forester, and the firm is ready to bring in the long arm of the law.

We—our little community of activists—are all feeling hopeful. We’re hoping that soon, the bikers will be gone, the track-building shut down, the noise pollution ceasing.

And we’re hoping the damage they’ve done will heal—shrubs filling in the track, soil rebounding from the ruts and compaction. And that there, in the quiet, calm woodlands, songbirds and bunnies and other wildlife will once again be free to forage and raise their young.

I know that this forest will someday be cut down, just like the clear-cut was next to it. I understand that’s at least a couple of decades away—but when it happens, and I’m still on this earth, I will try to be philosophical.

And I’ll imagine how the land will rebound yet again, and picture the clear cut dotted with baby firs—a new forest in the making.   

Happy Michaelmas!

Michaelmas, or the Feast Day of St. Michael and All the Angels, is an old-timey holiday that was celebrated September 29. 

In the British Isles, Michaelmas traditionally marked the day the grain harvest was pretty much done. People would celebrate with a feast of roast goose and all the trimmings--and the landlords would be pretty happy too because harvest time meant farmers could pay the rent.

Michaelmas also gets a mention in many of the historical BBC series John and I enjoy, created from classic English novels like Jane Austen's or Elizabeth Gaskin's. Those English-country worlds are very idealized, sure, but we all need a wee farm fantasy once in a while!

John and I like to recognize Michaelmas as an early start to the autumn holidays. We set out our set of fall figurines that remind me of an old-fashioned, New England apple farm, and they help brighten the house after the fall rains arrive and darkness comes earlier and earlier. 

We also like to celebrate our own little harvest time. The blueberries are done--we each had our last bowlful of fresh ones this morning--but we're still picking cukes, tomatoes, and zucchini. The fridge is brimming with apples, potatoes and carrots; garlic and onions crowd the pantry.

We definitely won't have roast goose though--a few years back, we bought a crazy-expensive, locally-raised, pastured goose, and I roasted it like turkey. And had to wonder, did I do it wrong? It was tough and gamey- tasting, and given the $40 we spent, we decided never again. 

So I'm preparing beef stew, full of our own vegetables, inspired by a super simple recipe I found in the October issue of Country Living magazine: Braised Beef with Tomatoes and Onions. I'll also make a cucumber salad with the gigantic cuke I found a couple of days ago. And with all the apples around, I think an apple dessert needs to happen. 

After all, with Halloween just around the corner and Thanksgiving not far behind, fall is a glorious time! 

Cottagecore Fun!

Irish cottage featured in "The Quiet Man"

I learned a new term the other day: “Cottagecore.”

Before you ask, “Hey, are you living under a rock?” I will admit, “Yes I am, and proud of it!”

For the uninitiated, aka, folks who are completely out of it like me, “cottagecore” is a trend that came along via the internet focusing on a cozy, rural style. Cottages and farmhouses are prominent features of this mostly idealized way of living.

Victorian houses and English manor houses, I understand, are associated with cottagecore too. The tiny house trend, I’m sure, is part of cottagecore as well—especially if it’s out in the country.

The thing is, I realized I have been a cottagecore fancier all my life. When I was a little kid in Central Minnesota, my dad used to take my siblings and I to a park on the banks of the Mississippi River. There, in the heart of the beautifully tended flowerbeds, was a tiny old cabin.

Every visit to the park, I would peer through the windows, hoping to find something mysterious, or at least interesting inside. There were tatty shades over the glass, but through a torn portion I could make out an ancient armchair and dust everywhere. My sister and I would pretend a witch lived in there. Or a troll. Whatever might be lurking inside, we never lingered around the cabin for long.

Readers of my “Little Farm” memoirs will know that I was a passionate reader of the “Little House” series by Laura Ingalls Wilder. My imagination was gripped by the Ingalls family log cabin in Wisconsin, their sod house in Minnesota, and the spare claim shanty on the Dakota prairie, made cozy by Ma’s little china figurine and handmade quilts.

Since most of the “Little House” books were written in the 1940s and 50s, “cottagecore” has actually been around a long time! Classic books like Jane Austen’s novels come to mind; likewise, Louisa May Alcott’s. I’ve pretty much concluded any story (book, film, etc.) featuring a cottage garden brimming with deep pink foxglove and sky blue larkspur counts as cottagecore—with extra points if the garden is next to a cottage or manor house with an Aga range in the kitchen.

On the cover of It Only Takes Once

When I created my Village of Ballydara series, novels and stories set in the countryside of County Galway, Ireland, I was in cottagecore territory and didn’t even know it. Here are some of the Irish cottages on my book covers:

On my Mother Love print cover

On The Galway Girls book cover

My new Fairy Cottage of Ballydara mini-series is all about cottagecore too...a cozy little store in The Little Irish Gift Shop, a Victorian mansion in Becoming Emma, and my upcoming book, Home to Ballydara, is set in, yep, the fairy cottage!

Naturally, I’m a big fan of reading cottagecore-related books too. Last week, I featured a memoir about a guy making a life in his hand-built log cabin in the Alaskan wilderness—a terrific yarn!

 However, I give my highest recommendation to my favorite author: Jenny Colgan. When it comes to cottagecore, she has it all! Her charming novels include a cottage in the Cornwall, England countryside, with honeybees buzzing around the garden, a Scottish farmhouse with a border collie snoozing next to the Aga, and cozy small-town cafés with ancient, creaky stoves in the kitchens. 

My favorite book of Jenny Colgan's is The Bookshop on the Shore, set in a manor house in the Highlands of Scotland, on the shore of Loch Ness! The story brims with cottagecore, complete with an Aga, a drafty attic and a massive library of old books. There’s also a wee bookmobile that trundles around the countryside, packed with old books and new… I hope you’ll check it out!