Kitschy Kitchenware

I'm overhauling my baking equipment drawer. After almost 11 years since settin' up shop with ye olde Wrangler, it's time to replace the faded and mismatched stuff. Anthropologie has some super cute kitchen things this season. I love these chicken measuring cups; there also are some funny nesting geese measuring cups. I'm not sure that Anthropologie's $18 flower-shaped measuring spoons work any better than the standard sort that cost less than two bucks, but the ranch is all about putting the "f-u-n" in "functional," right?

Soup's On

I picked up a cute cookbook, From Portland's Palate, in the airport gift shop on my way home from Portland this past weekend. Last night I tried one of the soup recipes--and we ate every last drop. Here's the recipe:

Italian Sausage Soup

1 lb Italian sausage, sliced and casings removed (use a really good sausage--I used the excellent sweet Italian turkey sausage that my local grocery store Gelson's makes)

1/2 cup carrots, chopped

1/2 cup celery, chopped

1 cup fresh mushrooms, sliced (I used baby bellas)

2 Tbsp. butter

1/2 c fresh flat leaf parsley, chopped (I used parsley from my spice garden--yum!)

3 cups chicken broth (I used organic chicken broth that comes in the box)

1 (15.5 oz) can garbanzo beans with liquid

1 tsp. dried sage

salt and pepper

1 cup freshly shredded Parmesan cheese

In large saucepan over medium-high heat, saute sausage until browned. Remove from pan and set aside. Drain excess grease (if you use turkey sausage, there isn't any grease to drain). Add carrots, onion, celery, and mushrooms and saute in butter over medium-low heat for 5-10 minutes or until veggies are softened.

Return sausage to pan. Add parsley, chicken broth, garbanzo beans with liquid, sage, and salt and pepper. Simmer 30 to 40 minutes.

To serve, sprinkle each serving with Parmesan cheese.

Artisan bread with three cheeses baked in the crust was delicious with the soup.

Small Farm Conference

Yesterday I took a vacation day and headed down to San Diego for the California Small Farm Conference with a fellow lawyer/wannabe farmer-rancher. The main attraction? The "Opportunities for New Farmers" workshop, which didn't disappoint. I took pages of notes during the presentation of the Executive Director of California FarmLink. This non-profit organization is nothing short of the answer to the prayers of all aspiring farmers and ranchers in California. FarmLink, which serves as a clearinghouse of information and contacts, links retiring farmers with aspiring farmers and provides advice on land sales, business planning, and innovative farm financing techniques. We also enjoyed the keynote address of A.G. Kawamura, the Secretary of the California Department of Food and Agriculture. I've previously blogged about visits to Tanaka Farms here in Orange County. Turns out, Tanaka Farms is run by Secretary Kawamura's third-generation farming family.

Sometimes I am so caught up with the ranch fantasy (open spaces, happy animals, and the simplicity, freedom, and independence associated with ranch life) that it is easy to overlook the harsh realities faced by many of the small farmers and ranchers in this country. We caught the Q&A session with Rayne Pegg, Administrator of the USDA Agricultural Marketing Service, and I was brought back to reality with a jolt as I listened to one woman's impassioned and tearful plea for help from the USDA. Her family farm was recently foreclosed. Other members of the audience rose and spoke of their need for help--what do you when growing a tomato costs you three times as much money as Wal-Mart is willing to pay you for that tomato?

I looked around and found myself surrounded by real people. Jeans, dusty boots, and deep suntans of the outdoor labor, not spray-tan, variety. After all the seats were occupied in the meeting room for one of the break-out sessions, latecomers just plopped down on the floor. I couldn't help but compare and contrast this conference with the law conferences that I usually attend. Much food for thought. It was a good day.

"Scalpel, Please" or "The Case of the Constipated Fish"

I stopped in at the Ocean Institute this morning to catch up with my fellow animal husbandry volunteers, clean a tank, and assist with a necropsy. A Pacific Mackerel in the schooling tank had been swimming upside down for a week, so he was gently euthanized and put out of his misery. Another volunteer, Allyson, researched possible maladies and concluded that the fish might have been constipated. Constipation puts pressure on the swim bladder, which causes the fish to swim upside down. Our boss disagreed. She said the condition likely was neurological. Allyson expertly performed the necropsy to confirm the diagnosis. She made a clean horizontal incision running from the gills to the tail and then identified and removed each of the major organs. (Did I mention Allyson is in high school? Scrubbing tanks and being intellectually outmatched by high school kids will keep you humble.) The organs looked healthy, which supports our boss's theory. Chief aquarist, 1. Volunteers, 0.

Little Gremlin

Almost 13 weeks old now and spunkier than ever.

Massage or Dressage?

This morning the Wrangler and I toured the Equestrian Center at Nellie Gail Ranch. The facilities were impressive--very clean and well-kept. The Center can board 96 horses, but the buildings are spread out among several training rings and sun pens. The area feels spacious and pleasant. Twenty-three miles of nicely groomed (clear paths, fresh wood chips) horse trails run through the community.

The Equestrian Center has a soothing energy. Good vibes are abundant. As we strolled along the paths and through the barns, a happy barn cat kept an eye on things from his post. Chickens clucked at us from their tidy coop. Good-looking boxer dogs lounged in the sun. A mild-mannered trainer quietly worked with two students in the jumping ring.

When we saw the beautiful Friesian elegantly high-stepping in the dressage ring, I decided then and there that I'm starting dressage training at some point. Western-style riding is fun and all that, but dressage looks like ballet. In fact, I later learned that it's actually referred to as horse ballet. As we reviewed the pricing for lessons and training, boarding and upkeep, veterinary care and supplies (not to mention the cost of leasing or buying the horses!), it occurred to me that we probably should trim some other expenses. My spa membership is an obvious thing to eliminate, although I pretty much live for my massages! They will be sorely missed! And the irony is, after all that riding, I'm sure I'll need a massage more than ever. How very Gift of the Magi.

A Horse, Of Course

My horseback riding party at the Marriott Ranch in Hume, Virginia

I guess it was inevitable--just a matter of time. The Rainy Day Ranch might get a horse or two. I've resisted this urge for a while. Horses are temperamental and even dangerous. They're expensive. They demand a lot of time. They're a major commitment. But some people sail, some people travel, some people restore cars, some people have kids. In other words, a lot of people have costly, risky, and time-consuming interests. There's really no excuse for an urban cowgirl to deny herself a horse. (Well, except for the fact that I know next to nothing about horses.)

Although the Wrangler has rather mixed feelings about my plans to acquire goats, sheep, and alpacas, he actually is fully on board this Pony Express. I'm going to get started. First step: lessons.

Guest Contributer: The Wrangler Speaks

This being my first guest blog entry, I feel obligated to introduce myself. I'm the Wrangler. You may be saying to yourself, I thought this Wrangler guy was just a fictional character in one of those crazy stories where each chapter is more random than the next. What I mean is, if you've been following Starr's blog, you've read about sheep, goats, chickens, and alpacas. You've been to a Texas livestock store, Farm Camp, Christmas tree ranches, through the L.A. wildfires for Ethiopian food, and back to Texas for the rodeo (just to name a few places). The theme of the blog brings to mind a book Starr gave me back-in-the-day, The Journals of Dan Eldon. I won't go into the details of this young man's extraordinary life because I couldn't do it justice. But the essence of his story is that The Journey Is the Destination. I remind myself of this every day. I love this journey and hope the destination is never found.

--The Wrangler

A Dashing Lad

Our little guy Dash skates by on his good looks. If he weren't so darn cute, I'd be tempted to set him outside for the owl. Of course, I say this in jest. Dash is a good-hearted fellow--he's not a complete monster. He can be very sweet when he's not barking, squirming, biting, chewing, and destroying stuff.

Icarus(es) R Us

Going to Costco three times in as many weeks was, perhaps, ill-advised. The Costco moratorium is back on. Today the Wrangler flew too close to the sun with his 8-lb bag of frozen potstickers and 15 lbs of bloody, fleshy chicken wings. There are just two of us. I don't feel like seeing Ziplock bags of chicken wings in our freezer for the next four months. Is it so much work to stop at the market a couple times a week for the fresh stuff? "Stocking up" on the ranch should involve things like jars of preserves from the garden, not a five-year supply of frozen processed potstickers. I looked down at the madness in our SUV-sized cart and bolted.

Dearest Costco, it's not you, it's me. Well, maybe it's a little you.

Here Comes Trouble

Our first Jack Russell Terrier clearly tricked us into thinking that all the rumors about JRTs just couldn't be true. Stubborn? Nah. Hyper? Not at all. In fact, even as puppy, Fenway was pretty darn good. He never went through a biting or chewing stage. He never made a peep--we didn't even know he could bark until we'd had him for four months. He still isn't very vocal. He likes his little puppy pen, which made crate training a breeze. He chills quietly when we have to leave him at home. He loves going for rides in the car. He can sit still and relax.

Although it might be too early to tell, it is looking like our new JRT is going to be a more typical terrier--trouble! Dash loves to bark. He hates his crate. He can't sit still. He bites us with his sharp puppy teeth and chews on everything. He screamed like a cat--and at the top of his lungs--the entire trip to and from the vet's office.

But that little face! It is impossible to resist. The hardest day with a puppy is more fun than the easiest day at work. I can't help thinking that we should get a third JRT ASAP. Let's get the puppy stage over all at once. Three dogs isn't too many, right? Or maybe a nice even number, like four? Better get working on finding that ranch.

We All Go to Costco

I have an on-again, off-again, love-hate relationship with Costco, but I can think of only two other Costco holdouts among my friends. Whenever I inquire about a particularly nice patio set, beautiful bouquet of fresh flowers, cool surf board, stunning custom photo book, or delicious steak, the answer invariably is, "Thanks! I got it at Costco."

On our last visit to Costco a couple years ago, we had just renewed our membership after a two year lapse. The Wrangler, who unabashedly loves Costco from the $999 flat-screen TVs right down to the 39 cent hot dogs in the cafe, was giddy. "Better get this now, before things get picked over," he kept saying happily, as he filled our cart with things like a lifetime supply of Ziplock sandwich bags and a herd's worth of beef jerky. I grew increasingly annoyed. "Warehouse stores like Costco and Sam's Club represent everything that is wrong with this country," I told the Wrangler indignantly. "What have we as a society done to get to the point where we need six-packs of full-sized boxes of Raisin Bran?" A tray of cinnamon rolls looked yummy, but when I picked up the tray, four other trays came with it. We didn't need five trays of cinnamon rolls. "Who cares," said the Wrangler grandly. "At these prices, just buy the five-pack and throw away four." With that, I imposed our most recent two year hiatus from Costco. We didn't have room in our tiny cottage for the 20 boxes of Ziplock bags, and I ended up donating 19 of the boxes to the Ocean Institute. (The OI goes through a lot of Ziplock bags because it apportions the frozen shrimp it buys in bulk...probably from Costco.)

All this being said, we just renewed our membership a couple weeks ago. The Wrangler, itching to take advantage of Costco's great deals on HD sound systems, explained that if we plan to live on a remote ranch, we have to start adopting the "stocking up" mentality. "On the ranch, a snowstorm could hit and we might not be able to get into town for days or even weeks," he cautioned, as the sun streamed in the window of our urban beach cottage. This was a bit rich coming from someone who constantly employs the "we don't live on a ranch just yet" reasoning to shoot down sensible ideas like getting a pickup truck or two for livestock. "Plus, think of our grocery list for the dinner for 40 at the Friendship House," he wisely argued. "We really do need 20 cans of tomatoes and 15 cans of beans."

And so we embarked on our first trip to Costco since 2007. I will admit that the deals in Costco's electronics section alone knocked me off the soap box, and by the time I cleared the book and DVD aisles, my self-righteousness was but a silly phase of years past. We bumped into friends there, of course. We also happened upon a brochure introducing us to Costco's no-haggle, no-hassle car buying service. The following week, said service saved us a tidy $2000 and a day's worth of headaches when we bought a new car. Costco now has my allegiance. At least $2000 worth.

Friendship House

It's been quite a week here at the ranch. I got six hours of sleep last night, which felt luxurious indeed after getting a total of six hours of shut-eye from Tuesday to Friday. It's Puppy Time, and sleep deprivation is only part of the game. We had to leave the little guy at home alone for the first time today while we made dinner at the Friendship House, but we had a neighbor stop in to get her puppy fix while we were gone.

Each month about five of us plan a menu, buy the groceries, and prepare dinner for 40 people "in transition." The Friendship House isn't a soup kitchen; the residents are people actively getting their lives back in order. They may stay for up to 90 days and must be employed and sober during their stay. Our friend John, a lawyer by day but a wonderful cook and skilled gardener in his free time, leads the team of us sous chefs. My daily recipes tend to require things like a can Campbell's cream of mushroom soup, a package of frozen potatoes, or canned fruit cocktail (lest anyone forget that I am from the midwest) but, thanks to John, we don't stoop to using convenience or packaged foods at the Friendship House. Nor do we serve your standard cooking-for-a large-group type of meals like bland spaghetti sauce over sticky pasta, a generic tossed salad in a bag, and over-seasoned store-bought garlic bread. It's cool to see the residents lingering near the kitchen to take in all the good smells as we're working in the kitchen: potatoes au gratin baking in the oven, a delicious stew simmering on the stove. Today we made bread, cornbread, three-meat chili, vegetarian chili, Anasazi beans, salad with homemade croutons, apple crisp, and rice pudding. Everything was made from scratch with organic ingredients.

Even the halfway homes are luxurious in Laguna Beach--the Friendship House has great ocean views, and we always break for a couple minutes to see the sunset. Even better than the sunset? We don't have to do any dishes or other cleanup after the meal.

The Daily Coyote

In 2005, Shreve Stockton decided to move from San Francisco back to New York City and embarked on a solo trip across the country on her Vespa scooter. A month later, after reaching New York, she decided to return to a small Wyoming town, population 300, that she had scooted through in one day.

After settling in, Shreve took in a wild-born coyote after his pack was shot and killed in a state-sanctioned coyote management operation. Since then, Shreve has raised and lived in harmony with Charlie, who walks on a leash, plays with his cat and hound-dog friends, and snuggles in bed. Nonetheless, Shreve never forgets that Charlie is a wild animal.

Shreve's story is fascinating (and includes lots of gorgeous color photos of Charlie). Don't worry--I'm not about to start raising wild-born coyotes. I'll leave that to pluckier folks who undertake solo cross-country Vespa trips and randomly move from big cities to cowboy country. But here's to those who can live a life less ordinary and tell us about it.

Reading Material

I bought three years of back issues of Hobby Farms magazine on ebay. It's like Christmas when each new bundle of magazines arrives. Five years ago, I never would have guessed that I'd read and dream about things like caring for chestnut crops, herding water buffalo, building an electric propagating bed for spring gardening, and plucking meat chickens. I'm either crazy or branching out. Or maybe both.

Puppy Prep

Today I bought a new puppy crate (I inexplicably tossed out Fenway's puppy crate the last time we moved), a Sherpa bag for in-cabin airline travel, puppy wipes, a stuffed cow, and lots and lots of rolls of paper towels. On Wednesday the Wrangler will fly to Dallas and return the same day with our new puppy who, appropriately enough, hails from a real Texas ranch. Which makes the puppy more of a rancher than any of us clowns here at the RDR.

Buckle Up

The Wrangler scored these custom-made cowgirl-appropriate belt buckles, one for each of the Six-Button Cowgirls. I'm commissioning the Denver-based Cowgirl, who is getting into leather crafts, to stamp or brand our names into the belts. Fancy!

Back to Work

As the English proverb warns, all good things must come to an end. And so, after 16 glorious days away from the office, today I recharged the Blackberry and traded my Ranch-wear (Uggs, comfy but decidedly unflattering jeans, t-shirt, and a hoodie) for lipstick, heels, and a dress.

View from my office on a smog-free day: tiny strip of ocean and Catalina Island in the distance

Ranch Cookin'

I just found a great cookbook this weekend, The Pioneer Woman Cooks: Recipes from an Accidental Country Girl, by Ree Drummond. Ree grew up in a city but married a real cowboy (she calls him the Marlboro Man) and now lives on a cattle ranch in Oklahoma and home-schools her four kids. Her book is fun and has lots of great pictures and simple recipes. I had to laugh a little, though, when reading her intro: "As members of a working family ranch, we aren't 'weekend ranchers' who moonlight as attorneys or doctors or Hollywood actors..." Hey, now!

New Beginnings

It's January, so you know what that means--new classes are beginning. As I've mentioned, I optimistically enroll in new courses each quarter. Within a month or two, my enthusiasm for some or all projects usually has waned considerably. Nonetheless, I'm undeterred. One of these days I'll find an interest that sticks. This time around it's an online course for beginning farmers and ranchers offered through Cornell University's USDA-funded Small Farms Program, and the Backyard Skills series at the Ecology Center in nearby San Juan Capistrano (the winter series includes workshops on terrariums, sprouting, non-toxic homemade cleaning products, organic and homemade beer brewing, garden design, sourdough, and composting with worms). A dance class and puppy kindergarten complete my winter line-up. This week: hip-hop on Tuesday and terrariums on Saturday.