Farmschool

There is so much to share from this first “Shake-down Cruise” week.

A tiny tribe has made lots of magic together.

After weeding, these two took some hammock time to make potholders.

The black raspberries…unspeakably good!

Hand-dipped bees-wax candles.

My sweetie

I hope the iPod captured my girl bent in the rows, striding from one aisle to the next, engrossed in the joy she’d requested.  Biodynamic and ever so sweet, the strawberries swept away three days of vertigo I couldn’t shake. Yay! for strawberries. Yay for kids who beg to go picking. Yay for Spring, for sandy soil and brothers who go along anyway. It was a magical day.

Yesterday someone called me a farmer.  I’m a farmer?  No, I have a farming lifestyle.  A farmer has a farm, and farms full-time. Sounded nice. It will be true.

This morning I went out to let out the sheep and while there decided to pick up whatever eggs were already waiting.  A stray duck egg in a garden row definitely needed eating, and the spinach and kale would toss in nicely.

I came back with my shirt full of eggs. Duck egg and kale omelette anyone?  It’s delicious enough to make you feel like a well-loved SOMEBODY.

You gotta love a hen who goes broody on May Day.

Why?  Because when you start on the first of the month,  it’s so doggone easy for the kids to keep track of how many days she’s been on the eggs, and do the math for how many are left.

That silver-laced Wyandotte is Queen of the May…

Have you ever trussed with an onion?  Neither have I…until today. Cooking is becoming more significant lately.  I had to put Jacob down. It was really painful. We will use every part of him. Farming and hunting are different.  In farming, one lives in relationship with an individual.  In hunting, one is in relationship with the web of life. In the former, we belong to each other; in the latter, we are all subjects together. I almost prefer hunting. It hurts my heart less.

There’s no denying it now… we’re off our rocker!

As the day faded, and I wandered around outside talking on the phone and gently doing chores, imagine my shock when I turned around to find this!  Good Heavens!  You know it’s Easter when the lambs arrive.

This is the finished product, and the final stage (sans plastic cover) of aging in the refrigerator…unless you count eating and enjoying as Stage Four!

(Psst:  There’s a wee finger mark in the back where I had a sample…yum!)