Monday, December 22, 2014

What's In a Name?

We have given much thought to naming our farm.

One possible name: Lone Tree Meadow
We wanted something meaningful, but we also wanted something memorable for potential customers.
We have toyed around with several names including Lone Tree Meadow (my idea) because we have one tree in the middle of our pasture, and Militia Springs Farm (my husband's idea) because before our town was called Ava, it was named Militia Springs as it was a civil war encampment.

In the long run we plan to have many features as a part of our permaculture homestead, including a small orchard, growing a variety of produce, as well as beekeeping, and raising chickens and livestock. In addition we hope to market ourselves in a variety of ways, maybe a CSA, selling at farmers' markets, pick your own produce, or all the aforementioned. 


Most importantly, this adventure is our great do-over. We "uprooted" our family in our early forties to move cross country where we could really grow and thrive and live our dream. (How our adventure started as a crazy idea)

How could we come up with a name that would encapsulate all of our ideals, business goals, and our family's personality?

Well, in our case we mulled over a kajillion and one ideas but left it alone for a while because nothing sounded quite right. Then it came to us out of the blue. Or rather it came to my husband. But I loved it from the first time I heard it and agreed it was the perfect name for us. 

Introducing:


Tuesday, December 16, 2014

Home Grown Chicken Really Tastes Better


The ginormous 6.5 pound organic pastured chicken from processing day.
(it's on a 10 inch plate)
I've often heard about the difference in taste and appearance of veggies from the kitchen garden compared to store vegetables. They taste better and look better. In fact, I experienced it myself; I never liked strawberries until I started shopping at a farmer's market. I had no idea there would be the same noticeable difference between farm raised fresh meat and boughten meat. I recently had the opportunity to eat that chicken pictured above. Let me sum up this entire blog post in one word: yum.

We are starting to raise our own animals for meat, and we may sell them at some point. I have no qualms about raising and caring for the animals that will end up on our dinner table. Our chickens are free-range and our cows are pastured. They don't live in cramped dirty conditions. We know what they've been fed, and what their living conditions are. They are happy and healthy. 


However, I'm not sure I can handle the actual process of changing them from live animal into meat. Butchering fees are costly, and most folks round here do it themselves. So when I heard that our friends the Deakynes were going to have a chicken butchering day I asked if we could help. They were happy to have us, so the girls and I got up early one October morning to try our hands at processing chickens.

Carter and Tracy taking chickens to the freezer
Lesleigh dove right in and handled the "whiz-bang," which is a machine that removes the feathers from the chicken after it's been killed and dunked it hot water. Carter didn't want to deal with the processing part, so she helped with packaging and weighing the birds after they were cleaned and chilled. I worked at the evisceration table cleaning the gizzards. It was a little icky, but I survived.


Here's the video I made detailing the process:


It was an interesting experience, and I think I might be able to help should we decide to process our own meat. 

Sunday we ate one of the chickens that we helped butcher. It was honestly the juiciest chicken I've ever cooked. At first I thought I might just be enjoying it that much because I had worked so hard that day. But everyone at the table commented that they could actually taste a difference between that chicken and the store bought chicken we normally eat.

Have you ever butchered your own meat? Can you taste a difference in store meat and home-grown?

Monday, December 15, 2014

Swinging In the Fall

Carter loves to swing and she loves her Grandpa. She gave me permission to post this paragraph she wrote for an English assignment recently.


"Swinging In the Fall" 
by Carter 
In the fall, my grandfather and I go out and I clamber into the old tire. He asks me how I like to be pushed and I explain, but before he pushes me he forgets. He pulls me back further and further; the excitement flows through me mixing with fear. Then it comes, he lets go, and I am sent flying past the trees. The brisk air hits me along with the smell of grass and apple pie. I cannot help a smile breaking out upon my face. I reach out with my legs and kick up a big pile of crunchy orange and red leavesI hold onto the rough rope tightly as I swing backwards. I start to slow down, and I feel a little sad and disappointed because I know that the fun is coming to an end. I turn back to say, "Thank you for pushing me," to my grandfather. He looks at me and asks, “Don’t you want to go again?” in his deep comforting voice. I hastily reply yes and he pulls me back. Then I'm off again, brown hair streaming back behind me.

Sunday, December 14, 2014

What did I just say?

Did you ever have a conversation with your child that left you shaking your head? Not because of what they said. Rather, I'm talking about those moments when you just shake your head and laugh because of what you said.
That happens to me fairly often.

I'm a little bit ashamed to admit that there was a fly living in my bathroom for several days. I don't know what kept it alive. I was kind of hoping that if I ignored it long enough, it would just die or go away. After nearly a week I determined that it had to be dealt with. So naturally I turned to Carter, my thirteen year old daughter. She's much more handy with a fly swatter than I am. My hand-eye coordination? Nil.

Carter The Fly Killer
"There's a fly in our bathroom," I explained, "I want you to go in there with a fly swatter and shut the door, and don't come out until one of you is dead.  Preferably the fly."

What?

I don't know. It just came out.


What odd thing have you heard yourself say to your child?

Tuesday, December 9, 2014

After much searching, we decided to build on my mom's property rather than buy a place of our own., and construction has begun! It is so exciting to see what began as drawings and dreaming turn into reality.

Want to see pics of the progress? Here you go: Home build photos

We are also posting daily time lapse videos in this playlist.

 And Here is where we post weekly update videos.


Saturday, June 14, 2014

My Dad Has Dementia; Don't Be Sorry

Carter and Dad on the swing
In January 2014 I moved myself, my two girls and our dog 1,670 miles across the country from the city life of Southern California to rural Missouri. We moved in with my parents. My husband is still living and working in California, but will be joining us once our house is built. We left California for several reasons, including (but not limited to) changing our lifestyle, becoming self sufficient, and lessening the Hollywood influence on our teen daughters. We moved to Missouri for a very specific reason: to be nearer my parents. 

My dad has dementia. 
Upon hearing that, most people respond by saying, "I'm sorry." I understand that is a natural compassionate response, but I'm not sorry. At least not sorry for myself. Am I saddened my dad often feels confused? Of course! Am I sorry my mom has to watch her husband change day by day? Yes, definitely. Am I sorry for me? Not at all. 

I love splashing through puddles with my dad, doing farm chores with him, and watching him push my kids on the tire swing (or vice-versa). We make pancakes together and watch reruns of Matlock. I love that each day he delights anew in details I often overlook. Today we looked out the kitchen window and he told me to watch the backside of the leaves as the breeze moved the branches. 


Me and Dad in the garden

I'm thankful for the opportunity to grow. I'm grateful that I am being stretched in ways I never imagined. I'm honored to be here at this stage in our lives. I'm thankful that I get to help my mom. I'm so very glad to be able to spend this time with my parents, at a point in my adult life when I can actually recognize and appreciate them as individuals. 


I'm thankful my kids are learning that life isn't always about "us four and no more". They are learning to sacrifice, and put the needs and desires of others above their own, and to respect and honor their elders. 

I can't speak for all persons who have family members with dementia, only for myself, but if you want to say something kind and find yourself at a loss for words, here are a few things I love to hear:
"How are you?"
"Tell me about your dad."
"I'm glad you are there for him and your mom."

There are hard days. And I know there will be more as we walk this path together. But I am so glad to be a part of this journey.