Project Homestead

Fairly full from Common Ground

I just returned from a glorious, enriching day of lapping up organic living and growing in Unity, Maine, home of the Maine Organic Farmers and Growers Association. The group's annual Common Ground Fair is so full of information, friends and amazing food, I left feeling full to bursting. Here's what I can remember...

• Angora goats are “addictive.”
• Organic, locally grown fair food is VERY expensive.
• The Maine Organic Farmers and Growers Association, a.k.a. MOFGA, is magic: Its fair is simultaneously down-home and ethereal.
• Young bulls are called bullocks.
• Who needs roller coasters, when kids can slide down a grassy hill, using only cardboard, for two hours and 17 minutes?

• Top-bar beehives give bees room to build honeycomb in the size they naturally need. Some beekeepers plant lavender and thyme beneath their hives to keep mites at bay.
• If you have a cordless drill, you can whip amendments into worked soil with the nifty Tilther from Johnny’s Selected Seeds. 
• I pine for Johnny’s Six Row Seeder.
• “Chestnut” crab apples are sweet, juicy and bright; the perfect size for little hands or a few big bites.
• Apples are the most interesting fruit I know.
• You can make fire by rubbing two sticks together … after tying a basic bow, carving a peg to rub in a whittled plank, and kneeling very carefully while rubbing furiously. Having a friendly Maine Guide nearby is a big help.

• Sheep are far easier to herd than goats. Sheepdogs have an easier time doing it than kiddos.
• Spinning wool is a quiet art; spinning "in the grease" works wonders on dry winter hands.
• “Fingers look like carrots” to livestock.
• Friendships made in the course of pursuing your passions are lasting and real.
• Forests selectively harvested and replanted with varying species are less stressed than single-species stands of timber.
• Hula hoops whirl around hips longer if you stand with one foot in front of the other, spread apart a bit. If you can manage it, your kids will cheer.
• You can live without cell phone service for an entire day.
• Garlic is easy to grow in fertile soil (6 inches apart on 12-inch rows). Hardneck varieties are easier to peel than softnecks. Curing bulbs in a dry place will help them store them well for months.
• Abundance is all around us.

It's time to harvest just about everywhere. Eat up, and enjoy.

Vote for Goats!

Goat heaven.

There comes a time in a homesteader's life when a dream (of raising friendly livestock) and chance (the possibility of winning a herd of goats!) overlap. That's just what happened when a dear friend forwarded me word of the amazing Goat Giveaway from Martha's Vineyard Fiber Farm and its uncommonly generous owner, Susan. Our essay is in—and we can use all the help we can get. In a hurry? VOTE for us here. If you've got a moment, read on...

Here's what I wrote:

When our young family settled in coastal Maine five years ago, we did so with an eye toward planting some deep roots—and tapping into a simple, grounded life we always wanted.

We feel blessed to have found a 7-acre property that flanks a sunny four-acre fresh water pond and a broad hill covered with shrubs, maples and white pines that shelter us long after other trees have turned in for the winter. Our log cabin overlooks our chicken coop, which we built ourselves near the house to make daily visits to our dozen “girls” easy. (Our two boys collect most of the eggs.) We also tend to a productive hillside berry and vegetable garden and small orchard. We plan to welcome our first batch of bees next spring. And I’m sewing a lot of my family’s clothes.

We couldn’t have imagined how quickly we’d take to it all. Now we can’t imagine living any other way.

That’s because we found a clutch of good friends here who build, bake, knit, sew, quilt, felt, grow and raise as much as they can themselves. Luckily, they are happy to share what they know with us. We buy raw milk from dairying friends. We all raise backyard chickens (and a few sheep). A few garden year-round in hoop-houses. And we stitch handmade birthday presents for all of our little ones. When I brought it up, the idea of this contest was so exciting that a handful of friends jumped at the chance to form a “village” that would help raise (shear, feed and pet) this wooly herd.

We’re not sure if it will be a cooperative, a collective, or a CSA like yours, but our goal is the same. We want to share with others the experience of raising and caring for animals that nourish us, our families and our crafts. We have the land and the animal know-how. Others have skills to help us erect the shed that will house the flock. Still others have spun and dyed yarn. Most are knitters, crafters and mothers.

The longer we’ve lived here, the more we feel empowered to see the possibilities of what we can do with what we have—and how rewarding those accomplishments can be. I even started a blog to keep track of it all. It’s called Project Homestead. (Not all of this is new to me, though. I grew up riding and caring for my family’s horses, and rising before the sun to milk our Nubian goats. My sisters and I loved everything about them—from bottle-feeding our first kid, to their velvet-soft ears and their winsome souls.) So when we added chickens to our family last year, we all knew we were onto something. Caring for animals who help care for us is a cycle that feels organic, in the deepest way.

That cycle is what grounds us and our boys to this place we love to call home. And we think your beautiful goats would feel happy and at home here, too. In fact, our young would-be shepherds have a few ideas of their own.

“I would like to give our goats leaves and carrots and peanut butter crackers,” explained three-year-old Caleb, who often upends his bike and pretends it’s a spinning wheel. After hearing this, Owen, who is 6, agreed (what’s not to love about peanut butter crackers?). He continued: “I’d like to have goats because they would be fun to be with. I would like to help take care of them. And feed them. And give them love.”

We all would, more than anything.

Thanks so much for considering us for your unbelievably generous gift.

Fondly,

Victoria, Michael, Owen and Caleb Stefanakos

Freeport, Maine

Of course, there are DOZENS of other knitters, spinners and animal lovers who also entered the contest. To help them choose, the grassroots Fiber Farm has asked its devoted readers and supporters to vote for their favorite essay. We'd love it if you'd take a minute to support us, The Stefanakos Family shepherds, by clicking on the star at the bottom of our essay. Please vote only ONCE, as folks clogging the works get disqualified.

Thanks SO much for your support. I'll keep you posted.

(really) handmade ice cream

I've been known to eat a fair bit of ice cream. So much, in fact, I was shocked to realize sometime in high school that a pint of coffee Häagen-Dazs was not created solely for me, to finish in one sitting. After all, it took a while for the solid mass to soften just enough that a spoon could slide into the creamy moat growing around the frozen edge. And by then, the container was nearly empty anyway...

This admission explains why I consider it my duty to help replenish the world's ice cream supply. And once Owen and I made this delicious, beautifully simple, vanilla version in 30 minutes, with nothing more than Ball jars, ice cubes, pickling salt, and a few stirs, I was convinced I could do it over and over again.

We got the idea from the brilliant River Cottage Family Cookbook (the recipe is below, with a few tiny tweaks). I recommend the book for anyone who likes to cook real, whole food and understand how fresh ingredients work together. It's instructive without being overly simple or, worse, condescending. And if you have kids, it's a no-brainer. Wander over to your local library and borrow it, or buy it at once.

This recipe is so fun because it's human powered and requires no cooking (that's a bonus on hot day). It's also a great excuse to use fresh cream skimmed from my friends' raw whole milk, good sugar and today's ripe berries. Then there's the chemistry: Ice isn't cold enough, long enough, to freeze cream solid. Toss in some salt, though, and voila! (By the ocean, we know firsthand that while fresh water freezes at 32 degrees F, saltwater freezes at much lower temperatures. So, by adding salt, the temperature of the ice drops quickly—and is happy to freeze jars of cream and sugar while it's at it.)

To get going, here's all you'll need:

• 2-3 Tbsp. well-chilled heavy cream (we used 4 or so Tbsp. with fine results)
• Flavoring, such as vanilla extract, 2 or 3 strawberries, 2 tsp. of your fave jam, a little melted chocolate
• 2 tsp. confectioner's sugar
• Clean half-pint Ball jar with lid, 5 cups ice cubes straight from the freezer, 1 cup of salt (we used plain, cheap pickling salt), and a heavy metal pan (we used an enameled cast iron stock pot) with a lid.

What you do:

1. Spoon the cream into the clean jar. Add your favorite flavoring: For vanilla ice cream, add a few drops of the vanilla extract; for strawberries, crush them until they're runny and stir them in, or mix in 2 tsp. of good jam; for chocolate, stir in melted chocolate. Add the sugar.

2. Screw the lid tightly. Place the jar in the fridge while you sort out the ice and salt.

3. Get the ice from the freezer. The ice should be as cold as possible. If that sounds a bit silly, remember that the temperature of ice can vary a lot. Straight from the freezer, it could be as low as 14 degrees F. Ice that's been sitting around in a bowl and is just beginning to melt will be only 30 or 28 degrees F. Put the ice and salt into the container and mix them together well. The temperature of the ice will fall rapidly.

4. Make a well in the ice mixture. Take the jam jar out of the fridge and stand it in the well. Put the lid on the container and let it stand somewhere cool. (I put our pot back in the freezer.)

5. After 10 minutes, take off both lids and carefully stir the cream mixture, making sure you don't get any of the salt in it. It will have turned very cold but it won't have started to freeze yet. Replace the lids. Repeat this stirring process at 10-minute intervals until the cream turns to ice cream. It will do this quite suddenly, so be ready.

6. This makes a small amount of ice cream, just right for a single cone or to sandwich between a couple of wafers. You could use a bigger pan and add more jam jars. Just keep the proportions of ice to salt the same. (Note: We made eight jars' worth in two pans, and I plan to experiment to see how full we can make each jar. See full explanation of my weakness above...)

Enjoy.

a fine day's rest

I tend to fill most free time with activity, like switching loads of laundry or planting neglected leek seedlings, or chicken tending or sewing (just one more seam!). But on my birthday, yesterday, I took a detour: I decided to simply recline. In every way. I let dear friends plan. I packed no lunches. I watched boys entertain themselves on the beach. And, I must say, it got me to thinking how restorative such rest days can be. DOING at all times takes doing. For those of us with unfinished gardens and dishes, not to mention conscientious lives to attend to—all of us, that is—being does, too.

After such a fine day, I remember now that doing nothing is worth the effort. Gazing, lazily, at trees jutting out of the endless blue makes the forest that much easier to see, once back home. Of course, bare feet, sand, and ample sunshine (following weeks of wool socks, mud and rain) may have improved my vision a bit.

Repeat after me: Take a load off... The weeds won't mind a bit.

Chicks, round two

They arrived this week, the six of them. Downy, soft, frail. Within days, they're hopping up to a small roosting bar, settling into a quiet boy's loose shirtsleeves, even managing to cover their galvanized tub home with poop. All is well. These new babes—two more buff orpingtons (to replace the pair we lost) and four gorgeous barred rocks) in our midst remind us how fast it all goes.

It's fast, because these tinies will be LAYING EGGS with their big sisters from the nearby coop in about five months. (Hard to believe, looking at them now.) It also seems like just yesterday that we were entering the world of hen rearing. But, a year later, we feel like old pros. Friends seek our advice (hmm...). Michael's marvelous "Poulet Chalet" (so-named by our friend Melissa) is an engineering marvel for a small flock like ours. And the hens follow me around the garden like nosey girlfriends. The fact is, our eggs are so plentiful, I practically take them for granted.

I shouldn't, though. A bold fox visiting the flatland down near the pond one morning this week made off with a rather large Canada goose gosling, leaving the family of seven we've watched grow, swim, and explore all spring ... missing one. The mother hen in me felt sick as I watched them swim off to safety. The parents looked back, hoping a straggler would catch up from the cattails. But it never did.

I remind myself several times a day (when boys are flying through the air on rope swings, say) that we watch them as closely as we can. And we have to relax and enjoy their unfurling. Like the chicks who can ALL roost on a calm arm now, the boys' hands are so much more nimble than a year ago that they can cradle them without choking (usually). That's not to say they don't leave a chick wandering around the mudroom, unattended, now and then. They do. They just help wipe up the floor afterwards.

spring creeps in (under cover of snow)

Despite the snow that still surrounds us and looms large in sad plow piles in driveways everywhere, Spring is here. The sap is rising in the maples* (and the kiddos). The first red-winged black birds just broke into song. And everyone from happy hens to little boys can't wait to stretch out their toes and scratch a bit in the FINALLY thawing ground. 

While soaking up the balmy 40-degree sunshine, I spent a few minutes taking pictures of my various hillsides and sleepy garden plots to help me site future cold frames, bulb and fruit tree sites and micro-climates that might best nurture cold-hardy greens. It surprises me to no end how the complex patterns of sunshine, snowfall and tree cover can influence the ground below. Our land has several aspects, all of which are waking up at different rates.

I observed one clear constant: The chance to dig a bit, if only with chicken claws and Tonka trucks, is a fine, welcome start. There's life under there. And we've all got a primal urge to find it.

* Stay tuned for a first-hand report of the tastiest holiday in these parts: Maine Maple Sunday. Y-u-m. 

snow day

It's the first week of March, and the snow is still coming. And coming. And coming here in Maine. It's spectacular—in the forest, on the marsh, on the boys' eyelashes. It's a heavy blanket, protecting roots from Spring's fickle freezes and thaws. And it's a burden, for trees like this one on the edge of the marsh. It must have given way under the stress of one gust too many. Now, it's a bittersweet sight to behold, frosted with an even coat of powdered sugar. When the weather warms, it will be a living bridge over a thin stream. Later, a fine found stack of hardwood, perhaps. 

Until then, we'll just enjoy the views. This stream winds its way through the marsh, reminding us that the ground is rustling under the covers, after all. Spring is coming, I swear.

will it make me sweat? yeah.

In fact, whenever we prepare to make the brave, cold run to our wood-fired Snorkel hot tub, we sing the entire SNL James Brown tribute. It is hardly spontaneous, of course, when the water inside is frozen solid, and it requires a finicky fire to thaw it and another to warm it up to a perfect 100 or so degrees. But, after all that, the smell of wet cedar—transporting me to memories of damp docks that lead to lovely lakes—starry skies, cold cocktails, and these smiling faces are worth all the trouble. (Michael does nearly of the work. I just have to wait.)

We have to earn this great pleasure. But I wouldn't have it any other way. 

giant tub of sparklyness

My thin perfectionistic streak comes in handy when I’m painting walls and dicing onions. But it’s a liability in almost every other situation I can think of. Case in point: keeping track of my little ones’ milestones. Like most new moms, I searched high and low for baby books for each of my boys that reflected my aesthetic. They’re brimming with hip design and charming illustrations. And they have little pockets for things like the boys’ first lock of hair and baby teeth, which are all still in use.

The problem was that I didn’t feel up to filling out the pages if my favorite fountain pen wasn’t working, or my handwriting seemed less-than-lovely. There were also plenty of memories I wanted to capture that didn’t fit neatly into any prescribed category. Little dialogues went uncaptured. My heart felt heavy with guilt.

Then, two summers ago, I found inspiration. We took visiting grandparents to a lovely lake not too far from home. By the time we arrived, the sun was shining low on the water and the air had cooled enough that only Owen, now 6, and I were willing to brave the breathtaking water. Treading water along the shore of white pines and mounds of granite, Owen looked out at the glistening lake and said, “Mama, let’s swim into that giant tub of sparklyness.” “You bet,” I answered, and off we went.

That night, I found an old glass cracker jar and pasted a piece of paper with the words “Giant Tub of Sparklyness” on the front. Inside, I placed a pile of small cardstock (about 3”x 3”) and a pen. I sat it on my desk and instructed Michael about its simple, beautiful, and completely imperfect purpose. Now, whenever something strikes me as memorable (or ordinary), I jot it down. And the stack of memories fills the tub with joy.

There are countless simple but clever ways to collect memories, conversations, and favorite things about your family life. The best part? Choose one that works for you, and posterity won’t care how you remembered that your three-year-old once drank a glassful of pickle juice. You just know. 

handmade? check. simple? check.

Struggling for gift ideas for grandparents, aunts and uncles, I was so, so glad I picked up four sheets of beeswax and a small bit of wicking. The boys (ages 2 and 5) and I rolled these beauties in less than an hour. And they smelled wonderful all the while. My holiday mantra: Keep It Simple.