Flower Power

"I'm watching a guy movie," the Wrangler cautioned as I entered the family room, book in hand. "It's pretty violent. Don't watch. Read your book over there." He gestured to the armchair in the corner. Averting my eyes, I crossed the room and settled in with my book. But I couldn't help hearing the various slashing/splatting/moaning sounds. "The movie sounds very...stabby," I said, beelining it back to my office. So much for family time tonight.

The Wrangler gets a pass, though. The good man actually watched a 90-minute instructional DVD with me yesterday on making lavender wreaths and baskets. Our Hidcote lavender plants in the orchard have surprised us with a second bloom. A fall bloom, which is not as lush as a summer bloom, typically involves a variety that blooms earliest in the summer, such as Hidcote. When the plant is harvested at peak bloom (as the flowers begin to open), and the foliage is pruned around the same time, a fall bloom sometimes occurs. That we got this fall bloom despite doing absolutely nothing with our lavender last summer--no harvesting or pruning--is a testament to lavender's hardiness and tolerance for neglect. (Which makes it the perfect crop for me.)

Incidentally, Hidcote is favored for crafts because it dries nicely and the florets remain on the stem. I'm going to try my hand at some wreaths and baskets, which looked easy enough on the DVD. And since the Wrangler watched the instructions, I can put him to work as well. I can just see him wrapping delicate lavender bundles around a grapevine wreath while watching a guy movie. Slash, splat, and wrap!

Lavender Friday

Today the Wrangler and I took a lovely drive on a winding road through the orange, lemon, avocado, and persimmon groves of Valley Center. We were headed to the store at the Keys Creek Lavender Farm, which we thought might be a tranquil alternative to Black Friday traffic and crowds. We were right. Our trip to Keys Creek far exceeded our expectations.

Keys Creek is at the end of a rugged dirt road. Alicia, the charming owner of Keys Creek, told us that some visitors complain about the road, but I think it's just part of the farm experience. True, if you try to barrel through to your destination, you might hit some pot holes. But the road is fine if you just slow down and enjoy the country. Although Keys Creek generally is closed during the winter months while the lavender plants are dormant, Alicia had decided on a whim to open the store for a few hours today.

Alicia treated to a personal tour of the farm. We started at the pretty country store, where we sampled delicious lavender crunchies (a granola-like treat), lavender tisane, and lavender caramel sauce. I also was treated to a luscious lavender hand scrub. We walked past the hillside lavender field, up to the lavender labyrinth, and past the barn, which has been converted into a beautiful meeting space for bridal showers and other events. We saw the poolside outdoor pavilion, which has been the setting for weddings and farm-to-table dinner events, and strolled across a large patio that is used on occasional for a high tea service. On our way back down the gently sloping hill to the store, we peeked in the distillery room (where oil is extracted from lavender buds) and the snack counter (from which tea and scones are sold during the farm's busy season in May and June).

Not only were we thrilled to meet the warm and welcoming Alicia--who originally is from South Africa and bought Keys Creek three years ago after living in Laguna Beach for 20 years--we also met a fellow customer who is starting a homesteading meet-up group in our area! As we drove away with a bag filled with lavender goodies and the email addresses of two new friends, I couldn't think of a nicer way to spend Black Friday.

Giving Thanks

As we all pause today to give thanks for our blessings, I can't help but feel especially thankful for the Wrangler. Fellow feminists, don't hate me for saying that marrying a genuinely nice guy is the smartest thing I've done. Don't worry--I can stand on my own two feet. But it's kinda nice knowing that I don't always have to.

Not a Must, Crust

Even before I jumped on the farm-fresh bandwagon, I was a pie crust purist. I've made lots of pies over the years, and I've never looked to a store-bought crust to do the honors. Making pie crust is easy. Everyone has the ingredients (all four of them) on hand, and it takes less effort and skill to roll a pie crust than to unwrap and thaw a frozen store-bought crust. My pie crusts are perfectly light and flaky, if I may say so myself. However, I have a deep, dark secret: I dislike pie crusts. I just don't think they add much value, especially considering the calories and lack of nutrition. I've been making apple crisps instead of apple pies for years. I'm a traditionalist and do roll a crust for my pumpkin pies, but I've decided to bake crustless pumpkin mousse in ramekins this year. I'm pleased to report that even the esteemed New York Times food columnist Mark Bittman agrees with me on this one. He recently wrote that, "pie crust adds little to a fruit dessert apart from heft or calories."

I'm carrying this philosophy from the dessert realm to the savory sector. I've been a making a lot of quiche lately--I'm trying to eat more green veggies like broccoli and asparagus, and burying them in eggs and cheese has been a decent way to stomach these vile weeds. But instead of whipping together a pie crust, I make a mushroom crust. I don't know if it's necessarily a healthier option, but it is delicious.

Mushroom crust:

Chop about 1/2 pound of mushrooms (any kind) and saute with garlic and a pat of butter. When the mushrooms are soft, add 1/2 cup of crushed saltines. Pat this mixture into a pie plate sprayed with non-stick spray.

That's it. You can add a variety of fillings. My staple is broccoli and cheese: saute bite-sized pieces of broccoli with either chopped sweet onions or green onions, until soft. Pour over the mushroom crust. Sprinkle with Swiss or cheddar cheese. Mix four eggs with 1 cup of cream or milk and pour on top. Salt and pepper to taste. Bake at 350 until firm--about 30 minutes.

Like Bees to Honey

A few weeks ago my sister-in-law sent me an email asking what brand of honey we buy. "Your brother keeps talking about the honey he had when we visited you guys." This came as no surprise. I don't buy honey at the grocery store anymore. Ever since visiting a beekeeper and getting a taste of warm honey that was in the hive literally 30 minutes prior to my visit, I've found that store-bought honey has almost no flavor. Last week a food safety report claimed that the pollen frequently is filtered out of products that are labeled as "honey" and sold in conventional stores. The study found no pollen in 75 to 100% of the samples tested from various supermarket and convenience store chains.

Removing pollen from honey is a safety concern (without the pollen, there is no way to trace the source of the "honey"), but I'm convinced that this practice also affects the taste. I buy raw, unfiltered honey from local hives, and I can practically taste the flower blossoms in every spoonful. This stuff could inspire poetry.

Last night as the Wrangler poured honey on his peanut butter sandwich (I do feed the man, but he likes to snack on peanut butter sandwiches), he looked from the jar of honey to the jars of homemade beeswax candles on the counter and declared his love for bees. "I will be in charge of the hive, the honey, and the candles, if you'd like," he announced. I like bees and beeswax, but I'm not one to hoard farm chores.

"Bee my guest."

Homemade Is Where the Heart Is

I spent a couple hours today making beeswax candles using widemouth 8 oz canning jars as molds. Of all the crafty things I attempt, beeswax candle-making is probably my favorite because of the easy factor. The kitchen smells nice, mistakes can be melted away, and it doesn't take long to have a tangible, practical product. The only step I struggle with a little is chiseling the two-pound block of raw beeswax into smaller pieces for melting.

I ordered some kraft boxes for packaging sets of votives and tea lights that I'll make for gifts. I'm glad to see that the stigma once associated with homemade gifts is fading. When I receive a homemade gift from a busy friend, I almost want to cry because I know that she is giving me something extra special--the gift of her time. It takes so little effort to send a gift card, but setting aside precious time to create a gift means a lot. It doesn't have to be fancy or even that time-consuming. A box of homemade rice krispie bars could make someone's day!

Wouldn't it be cool if, instead of feeding the grotesque Black Friday shopping tradition (which, by the way, is now encroaching into Thanksgiving Day--Walmart is opening at 10PM on Thursday, which is beyond gross), we stayed at home and made things to give for the holidays? Instead of strapping on running shoes and pepper-spraying old ladies in the name of "big savings," we could relax and recover from the Thanksgiving festivities and maybe invite a couple good friends over for, I don't know, a knitting bee or something? I realize that my Anti-Black Friday manifesto makes me sound old-fashioned. I can hear the protests: "Stay home and knit instead of scoring a cheap iPad? Surely you jest." I really should have been born 100 years ago.

Old Farmer, New Farmer

We're finally getting some cozy winterish weather--highs in the 60s, lows in the 40s, clouds. I'm thoroughly enjoying the shorter, post-Daylight Savings days, the sound of the furnace, plush down comforters, and chilly pets who want to snuggle on laps. As I write this now, it is pouring rain and I feel alive. With the monotonous summer weather finally out of the picture, I'm regaining my energy and motivation. I've been baking again (bread and cookies), crafting again (making cheese, candles, and hats), planning again (holiday activities and parties) and plotting again (working on the numbers for Snow Day Farm, my newly-christened farm business that I will be writing about in the coming days).

My dad just left after a wonderful week's visit. I took advantage of my status as a farmer's daughter and pored through farming books and data with my dad, who was raised on a 280-acre commercial farm, a smaller version of which is still in the family. In its heyday, the farm yielded large crops of soybeans, sugar beets, and corn, and kept at any given time 250 pigs, 500 chickens, and about 25 dairy cows (they sold only the cream; the milk was used by the family or fed to the pigs.) Dad's view of farming is pragmatic, whereas mine is admittedly more utopian. Dad farmed in an era in which pesticides were welcomed innovations, grain-fed cattle were considered to be superior to their grass-fed counterparts, and animals were products not pets (and certainly not family members!). He wasn't a back-to-the land hobby farmer, but he does understand what I'm trying to accomplish. Dad comes from a family of hardworking, self-sufficient entrepreneurs. He's shown us kids the value of being your own boss and relying on your own two hands whenever possible. I often wish that I'd listened to him more when I was growing up.

When I described my problems in making the numbers work for my envisioned hobby farm operation, Dad made things simple. "You have to remember that a hobby farm is just that: a hobby. You can have a few sheep, a couple goats, some chickens, and a horse or two for fun but not for profit. To make the numbers work, you have to think bigger. You want to sell fleece? You'll need at least 50 to 100 sheep."

The Wrangler tried not to look alarmed. "How many people does it take to care for 50 sheep?" he asked. Dad was matter-of-fact. "Just one. You put the sheep in a five-acre fenced pasture with a gate in the corner, and then rotate them into a second five-acre pasture as needed. Give 'em a three-sided shed for shelter. Sheep are easy. Goats, on the other hand..." We already were well-aware that Dad thinks Goats Are The Worst.

It sounded do-able. The only catch? His business model for my sheep farm would have me selling the older sheep for slaughter. "It's the only way to be profitable," he tried to explain. "You can't keep a bunch of old animals around. The expense of caring for them won't be recovered." Selling my little sheep for meat?? My eyes widened in horror. "No way! The animals get to stay on the farm forever and die peacefully in their sleep at ripe old ages," I proclaimed with benevolence.

"What are you really going to do with a herd of old animals?" Dad asked.

"Maybe the old sheep will naturally get thinned out...taken by predators when they're no longer quick enough to escape," I suggested, only semi-hopefully. Even the "nature conquers" scenario sounds pretty brutal.

"Wouldn't it be better to just spare them that misery, have them slaughtered for meat, and recoup some money?" Dad reasoned.

I see his point, but I just don't want to sell my farm animals for meat. There's got to be another way to make the numbers work. The only problem is that my dad is usually right about things.

Heritage Lawn Mowing

There was a great article in the New York Times today highlighting small agricultural businesses founded by people in their 20s and 30s who have found themselves frozen out of the traditional job market. In particular, I was very interested in the lawn mowing business that rents out sheep to graze on dandelions, grass, and weeds. Customers pay $1 per sheep per day, but the owner also accepts barter payments. These have included karate lessons and maple syrup. Hmmm...

No Ghosts

The Wrangler was out-of-town yesterday, his first time away since we moved out here to the sticks. I knew that my night alone on the farm was going to be either (a) a scary fright night filled with strange creaks, weird shadows, and a pair of strange eyes (human or not) glowing in the darkness outside my window, or (b) a typical cozy night in the country. It was the latter. The sunset over the canyon was breathtakingly beautiful as usual, and the familiar ocean breeze (which rolls in each day at 5PM, like clockwork) blew away the tensions of the workday. As darkness fell, the serenity of the country enveloped the farm, and I felt peaceful and safe. Although the pets and I missed the Wrangler, we were not lonely. We slept soundly.

Back in the cottage in Laguna Beach, I hated nights when the Wrangler was out-of-town. The neighbors seemed louder than normal, the cottage felt stiflingly small, and the pets and I locked ourselves inside after dark. It was hard to sleep. The pets, missing their alpha, were on high alert and barked at any noise.

I guess we are at home in the country.

Missing New England

And so many weeks passed away. Heidi did not know if it was winter or summer, for the walls and windows she looked out upon showed no change....[T]hey generally only saw more fine streets and large houses and crowds of people; they seldom got anywhere beyond them, and grass and flowers, fir trees and mountains, were still far away. Heidi's longing for the old familiar and beautiful things grew daily stronger, so that now only to read a word that recalled them to her remembrance brought her to the verge of tears, which with difficulty she suppressed. So the autumn and winter passed, and again the sun came shining down on the white walls of the opposite houses, and Heidi would think to herself that now the time had come for Peter to go out again with the goats....Heidi would go and sit in a corner of her lonely room and put her hands up to her eyes that she might not see the sun shining on the opposite wall.

--from Heidi, by Johanna Spyri