Madness.

Approximately a millennium has passed since the residents of Easter Island, dedicated to making ever more lavish statues (called moai), deforested their island and shoved their society over a cliff. It ended in an orgy of starvation, cannibalism, disease, and death. 

Some 500 years ago Columbus landed on an Island in the West Indies and found a peaceful, materially satiated tribe coined the Arawak. Agriculture and trade were good, and the Arawak found time to develop games, crafts, and religious ceremony. Columbus noted in his journal that with less than fifty men he could “subjugate them and make them do whatever we want.” After determining they had little gold, he did just that.

Over the past decade, Bernie Madoff constructed one of the most intricate Ponzi schemes in American history. His ability to defraud millions of dollars from thousands of people bears witness not only to his own greed, but to the money lust of those he conned.

Last year, AIG, along with several banks and car companies extorted billions of dollars from American taxpayers. The companies, with an assist from corporate media, simply narrated a passion play that portrayed the consequences of economic depression unless their ransom demands were met. We capitulated. By socializing risk and privatizing profit these organizations are now free once again to make or buy risky loans, make bad cars, and formulate further unwise investment decisions.

Undoubtedly, many societies go through a type of cultural psychosis that blinds them to their own flaws. Columbus, I am sure, felt completely justified acting the way he did toward the Arawak. I am just as positive the Puritans, who were oppressed by the official church and government of the day, felt little guilt as they oppressed the Wamponog. It is easy to recognize another culture’s genocidal tendencies - e.g., the Germans in WW II). On the other hand, it is quite another to recognize one’s own malevolent behavior - e.g., Anglo behavior during the 15^th – 21st centuries in North America. Corporate polluters, global warming deniers, and people who drive hummers are easy targets for most of us. Yet, a queasy feeling begins churning in my own stomach as I think about cultural psychosis.

And, it’s not the chili I ate for lunch (which was quite good – I will share the recipe later).

I fear that I suffer from the same malady as the corporate guy, just in a more subtle form. Could I handle the eccentric label that would be produced if I were truly to live my convictions? Could I do without corporate capitalism? Could my anxiousness for status handle stepping away from society? Could I quit participating in the madness of consumption? I sympathize with the Easter Islander’s who cut down the last trees on the Isle (effectively destroying their society) because it was much easier than walking away from comfortable societal norms.

What truly frightens me is that if I am having trouble developing a truly sustainable lifestyle, what about the 99% of western culture who are not even thinking about it. Cultural psychosis, indeed.

I realize very quickly that I often do not see the pertinent problems. For example, I traveled to Nevada a few weeks ago to interview several folks about their thoughts toward Yucca Mountain as a possible storage area for nuclear waste. While driving through Las Vegas, I quickly realized I was asking the wrong questions and studying the wrong problem. Las Vegas , simply stated, is a city that should not be. It is a monument to a decaying culture. Unbridled capitalism, mixed with fantastical allure of sex, material, escape, and power sit in the middle of the desert, using and wasting the only life giving force in the region – the Colorado River. It is cultural heroin allowing people, for a little while, to forget the emptiness in their own lives. The strip is the perfect post modern artifact. Artificial, kitschy, bifurcated. Celine Dionne sings of everlasting love inside a hotel, while grandmothers and pimps stand outside offering passerby’s playing cards featuring prostitutes’ pictures that leave nothing to the imagination. The street was full. The heart was empty. I was asking the wrong questions about the wrong problem. A culture whose glory is a city such as this will do far worse to the planet than dump a few nuclear rods in a desert mountain. Besides it’s just Indians that live around the mountain, anyway.

A boy and his dad climbed the hill toward the woods, backpack in hand. Sumac shimmers, burnt red and orange, the dry grass crunches underfoot, and the breeze tickles the yellow leaves on the cottonwoods. The boy nearly steps into a hole that has undoubtedly been dug by one of the  coyotes that reside on the hill. The clouds hang low, shades of pale gray but remain impotent. No rain  falls this day. The boy, his long hair falling away from his brown face looks up to his dad and asks, “Is this the spot?”

The dad answers by sitting down and taking the contents from the backpack.

The first day of Autumn – Canapeghi Wi – and it is time to pray.

From the top of the hill they could see for many miles, all the way into Nebraska. Fields of corn, alfalfa, and soybeans speckle the landscape. In spots, close to creeks and ultimately the river, trees mark water paths. Here and there, fields of grass, nearly brown, provide a marked contrast to the Alfalfa, which is still quite green. Crows sound their familiar “caw” alerting their brothers to human presence. The boy states that he can see forever; the dad simply smiles and says that we can see all we need to see.

The two pick out a red piece of cloth for the prayer tie, along with a strip of yellow to bind the top. The boy reaches into the pack and brings out sage and tobacco. He lays a hefty amount of both on top of the cloth and asks with his eyes if that is enough. The dad answers by tying the cloth. They have sit down by a small wild plum and they take the prayer cloth and tie it to the tree.

The boy rises and begins to pray…

“Wakan Tanka, please forgive me for any offense.

Pilamayaya yelo for my mom and dad and brother and sister.

I pray for all my relatives.

Keep them warm this winter.”

It is enough.

The dad takes out the pipe and fills it with tobacco and sage.

The boy takes a match and lights it as the man kneelsbeside him.

Rising, facing the east, the man begins his prayer.

“Wakan Tanka, please forgive me for any offense.

Pilamayaya yelo for this little one, and for this time to pray together.

I lift my pipe to the four sacred directions and ask guidance.

I pray for ina macha, may we learn not to scar her.

I pray for all my relatives, may they stay well.

I pray for my wife, may she know my love.

I pray for my friend, Mary, may she find peace during troubles.

Wakan Tanka, pilamayaya yelo for the sun that rises in the east.”

The man faces the north. He smokes.

“The harsh, bitter wind will soon come from grandfather’s house in the north.

I pray for the creatures in the field and the humans without shelter. May they find warmth.

I am thankful for the harvest that you have given us this summer so that we may eat during the cold months.

The man faces south. He smokes. The north breeze carries it down the hill.

Wakan Tanka, Pilamayaya yelo, for the summer breeze, its warmth and gentle spirit revive us.

We will watch for the spring and the return of life she brings.

Finally, the man faces west – the direction of the spirit world. He brings his pipe to his lips one last time.

“Wakan Tanka, please forgive me for asking this.

I am growing old. I know this. Please, grant me life to see this little one grow. It is my greatest desire to see him become a man and begin his journey.

I pray to be here to guide him, his sister and his brother.

It is my only wish from this world.”

With that, the prayer ends. The boy takes the cloth, tobacco, sage and pipe and places them in their containers and into the backpack. He reaches for his father’s hand and they begin their walk down the hill.

A hawk screeches overhead. Their prayers have been heard.

 It is a good day.

The change of seasons always touches me in ways that, to be blunt, I do not fully understand. Especially fall. There is a sense of inevitability mixed with anxiousness, yet excitement and satisfaction as well. It is really quite difficult to describe in English. I think I may have to coin a new word to describe it. Yesterday, while working on the horses’ fence, Cy and I witnessed the first flock of Canadians flying south. It was not a large procession, perhaps 50 birds, but they were magnificent. It was then I knew. Change is here. The temperatures over the past couple of days have dropped nearly 20 degrees (85-65) and sunrays have a bit different color in the mornings and evenings. The Lakota call this Canapegi Wi, meaning “the time when the leaves turn brown.”  It was during this period when they planned the autumn buffalo hunt, picked ripened fruit, and enjoyed the blessings of the earth. It is this time that brings contentment and little hunger; but the morning crispness is also a reminder of the time to come. Hunger and death often arrive with winter’s bitter winds. Canapegi Wi is a good word. Perhaps I don’t need to coin a new term after all.

Today we will celebrate autumn’s arrival by picking a few pumpkin, making apple sauce, moving the horses to the fall/winter paddock, chopping a bit more on the elm, and eventually this evening, smudging, tying a prayer tie, and smoking the pipe. It is a big day.

I am also saddened today. Hyperion, the firm that is planning a monstrous refinery just to the east of us, received their air permit from DNR. Many of us have been fighting the gorilla for two years. Yet, it seems, as each month passes, the possibility of the abomination draws ever nearer. The plant, if it does reach fruition, will certainly change this area. Adding a few thousand people is going to tax infrastructure. Adding a myriad of pollutants is going to change this environment for a long, long, time. Hyperion, in a stroke of PR incongruity has labeled this refinery as a “green” plant. I grow so weary of that term. Green is coming to mean anything that might make someone a buck, consequences be damned. The oil to be refined here is coming from Alberta’s tar sands, which by sheer definition, can never be “green.”

The plant will, of course, take several years to build and pipelines, etc will have to be created in order to supply the tar sands. Sandy and I will have to decide in a few years (as I grow closer to retirement) whether we want to live in its shadow or not. It will be a tough choice. I really never thought that I would leave this place.

Yesterday, we had wonderful meals, all fitting in the parameters of the 100 mile diet. In the morning we had eggs and watermelon. For lunch, a buffalo roast sandwich. For supper we had buffalo steak, apple sauce, green beans, and a squash/apple/black walnut soufflé that was really good.

Two acorn squash (cook until soft)

Blend with two eggs, salt, cinnamon, and nutmeg (to taste).

Mix together.

Add apples (2 cups of cooked apples, chopped apples or apple sauce).

Add ½ to full cup of black walnuts. Pour in greased pan, dot with butter, and top with dried apples (optional). Cook at 350 for 25-35 minutes.

Entomologists and mammalogists tell me that rats and cock roaches were very good sailors and did not exist in North America before the arrival of the Puritans.  Invasive species are a bane to my existence (are you listening leafy spurge?) and I would really love to have a chemical free way to deal with them. Thistle also ranks quite high on my list of bad boys out of control. Truth be told, however, most of the plant invasive species tend to be “end dwellers,” that is they take up residence at the end of forests and native prairies and not in the middle. In other words, where humans set up habitat, problems arise. I think there is probably a lesson to be learned in this somewhere.  During the summer, we loaded the car and headed to North Carolina to visit our oldest son and bore witness to the most horrendous invasive specie I have seen. I may curse thistle and spurge, but the south’s kudzu plague is far worse. 

I spent the weekend cutting and chopping firewood for this winter and next. An old elm died in our front yard and I have had the privilege of creating firewood from its mass. I cut and split nearly four pick up loads and stacked it in the wood shed and still have the trunk to do. Part of the tree had died last year and I will burn it this winter, however, most of it will have to season a year. The problem with elm is its tendency to be “stringy” while splitting. This makes the task much more difficult than one would hope.

Sandy is canning apple pie filling today as well as making bread. The house is filled with a cacophony of scents that delight one’s palate. It rained last night and is supposed to continue today, so my outside activities will be limited. I still have some tomatoes to pick and the apples just keep coming, but overall things will begin to slow down with the advent of autumn.

Even the chickens are placing notice. We had been gathering 3 dozen eggs per day until the last couple of days. The number has been slashed by a third. I also had a chicken die this week. She was on the roost when I went in to gather eggs. I startled her and she flew off the roost, hit the north wall and broke her neck. After saying a little prayer over her I took her out to “sacrifice hill” and lay her on top for the coyotes and/or vultures. The circle of life is a powerful thing. Anyway, the vultures showed up yesterday and the sky was filled with them. They are beautiful in their way. An old Lakota story tells us that each vulture is our spirit brother or sister, looking out for us as they scavenge. Cy saw them first yesterday and yelled out, “Look dad, our brothers!” That made my heart sing.

There are several lessons (besides the circle of life)to be learned from that chicken. I think the most potent is that, most of time; it isn’t the monster in the closet that is going to cause us harm, but our reaction to it. As we enter into this time of epic change, I hope most of us remember this. Our ability to adapt to and grow as a response to change will tell the tale of our species.  I am sometimes amused by many of my colleagues’ marriage to specialization. Like the chicken, they are quite good at laying their specific eggs, but when perceived danger arises, their concrete thought boxes limit response. So they fly into the north wall. While specialization, and its cousin reductionism, may have its place, our obsession with it is a fools’ game.      

Yesterday we had a delightful dinner of buffalo roast, baked potatos, green beans a medly of butternut squash and apples, spiced with cinnamon and butter and baked in the solar oven. We had apple pie for desert. WOW!!!

It has been a few months since I attended to my blog and I think that must change. The baby is older now, our summer gardening is coming to an end, and the work I have put into an upcoming book is beginning to reach fruition. I enjoy the blog as a “speech act” and hope that I will be able to update throughout the fall and winter.

Since the advent of the baby and the travel I have done for research on the book, the 100 mile diet took a few hits. Still, overall, we are enjoying the experience, and continue to eat and live in a local, 100 mile manner. For example, this morning we ate eggs from our chickens, homemade biscuits, and watermelon picked yesterday from the garden. Sandy has already begun to make apple butter from the apples in our orchard. What delight fresh apple butter on hot, homemade biscuits brings. For lunch we will have buffalo burgers, potatoes from the garden, and apple pie that Sandy made last PM. The key to the 100 mile diet is intentionality, planning, and, luckily for us, plenty of rainfall throughout the summer.

The summer production from our garden was the best we have had since we moved to South Dakota 9 years ago. We still are not finished with the harvest. Sandy and I canned nearly 200 quarts of green beans, froze 50 quarts of corn, 20 quarts of peas, and 15 pints of carrots. We have canned 60 quarts of tomato juice and sauce (we are still dealing with tomatoes). I dug 8 bushels of Yukon Gold potatoes and they are stored in the basement. We have a couple of bushels of turnips. We have enjoyed copious amounts of cantaloupe and watermelon. Sandy will soon be canning pumpkin. We have apples galore and will continue to can, dry, store and freeze them,  Perhaps, my most surprising success, this summer, however has been with grapes. I planted the vines 3 years ago and they had never produced, even though I followed the mulching, care, and pruning advice given by owners of successful vineyards in South Dakota.  Fortunately, the grapes produced abundantly this season. I simply love fresh grape juice and grape jelly.

I will also be honest. The goal of the 100 mile diet has changed over the year. We are not as strict as some (for example, we decided late last spring to enjoy spices, salt, and tea that cannot be produced locally). We also waive “a magic wand” when traveling or visiting others who do not share our convictions. However, we have also decided to continue it indefinitely. Next spring I am going to reenter the “dairy business” and purchase a Dexter cow to milk. We have been buying milk (and making butter) locally, but it would be better if I could produce it. I will also raise a couple of pigs again next summer. I know I would probably live longer if I discontinued eating pork, but to be frank, I love the stuff. The chickens are doing well, but we are also making a change there. Finding young chicken to eat locally has proven to be a chore, so last week we went to a farm auction and purchased an incubator so we can hatch a few throughout the spring, summer, and fall to butcher and eat.

The work that we have undertaken to find a level of self-sufficiency is always being evaluated and reconsidered. There is no end game here. It is a journey, not a destination. This, I think, is how it should be. I am sitting out on the porch as I type this and I just heard an apple fall from a tree. A deer will probably end up eating that apple. Eventually, I may say a prayer over that deer when I hunt her this fall. The journey of life is all pervasive. There is no end here. No winner will be crowned. It is enough to simply be a player in the game.

Choctaw religion tells us we have two souls; or more precisely, a soul and a shadow. (Ancient Choctaws worshipped two Gods – the sun, and his wife, the moon). The primary soul, at our death, begins the trail westward toward the place of the happy life. The shadow sticks around, finishing up odds and ends that might need attention. It can only leave and join his spiritual other after the excess baggage is handled. It pays to lead a tidy life.

More interesting to me, however, is the journey of the primary soul. Ghosts, shadows, and such are a bit passé  – Hollywood destroyed that thrill about 14 million horror movies ago.

It seems that this first soul has to blaze the trail for the shadow that is still hanging around.  Before either can enter “the happy place” the soul has to cross a wide canyon, situated far above a dark river. The only way across is a large birch log, its bark peeled away, leaving it slick and difficult to stand upon.  While crossing, people in the river who already fell in, and dank, slimy reptile monsters shoot darts and arrows at the soul. If the spirit, during life, portrayed courage, provided for his or her people, respected other creatures, and owned moral purpose, he or she will have cultivated the ability that will allow the spirit to cross. If not, he or she will join the others in the river, who, because of the life they lived, failed to obtain that which makes us better people.

I do well to pay attention to my own hedonism. I should be aware of my own cowardice. I must stop harming this planet.

Too many times I have the tendency to remain silent and let injustice proceed unobstructed.

It is strange how Wakan plays games with us. Once, when young, I was a physically fit warrior soldier, filled with brashness, love of the American experiment, and willing to kill for her. Now that I have grown older, I am what the young Lakota would call a “fat belly.” My displays of outward self confidence are much more limited, I am cynical toward the American experiment, and am willing to kill only for my family and community. Some call that wisdom. I am not so sure. It is, however, at the very least, experience.

This evening we will be churning butter, grinding wheat, and taking care of the new baby. Social services folks let us know that the parental rights hearing was today, so we will soon find out how long we will be keeping this little one. He is a fighter and I am quite pleased and proud of his progress over the last few days.  Cy is becoming more accepting of him, which is very good. It’s hard to give up the baby position in a family, I think, even if it is only for a short time. Sandy is baking bread today, and not unlike Pavlov’s pup, I’m salivating.

Yesterday’s meals

Breakfast: Ham, Eggs, Toast

Lunch: leftover steak and onions, dried apples, biscuit

Supper: mixed vegetables, baked potato

One of the things I am going to do this summer is cut my meat intake. As soon as the vegetables begin….

It has been almost a month since my last blog and I owe faithful readers a bit of an explanation. First, my MIL became very ill and was hospitalized for three weeks. Second, our adopted children’s biological mother had another child and Social Services asked us if we would at least watch it until they decide what to do. We agreed. Further, work has been crazy. I am teaching three classes this semester, one of which has 130 students enrolled. Along with that, I am Chair of our department, etc, etc, etc.

So we have are overworked, underpaid - situation normal.

Still, we have, except for the newborn, remained true to the diet. We have ground wheat, made butter, cooked all of our meals from our produce, and planning a new garden for the spring. I cannot wait!!! I found some seeds (2009) in Sioux Falls for 10 cents a packet and I went nuts. This time of year always forces the agricultural genetic memory to the forefront of my mind.

But, today’s blog is not about any of that.

Today is about economics…

I guess the question is – Is it time to push the red button yet?  Or perhaps more importantly, where is the red button?

I voted for Mr. Obama and would do so again, but the bailouts, for both the corporations and mortgages are, I fear, bad policy. Not bad politics – it certainly produces healthy sound bites and looks good. It seems to most that the government is “doing something.”  It will also probably ensure roughly 8-10 million votes for the next round of elections. Good politics all the way around.

But still, the move is bad economics. It seems we are trying to solve for drunk driving by changing the oil in the car. Or, perhaps more aptly, giving new cars to any drunk driver who totaled theirs. Bluntly, we had a housing bubble. Prices were too high. Any attempt to sustain the bubble is a fool’s errand. Painful as it might be, a better policy is to let the prices fall to a more reasonable, sustainable level. Indeed, eventually, housing prices could fall to a place where more families could afford appropriate housing.

With unemployment at 8% and real unemployment at 13 or 14%, the energy specter waiting to soon raise its ugly head, and credit much more difficult to attain, there is a place for government in all of this. Education, research, sustainable infrastructure, public transit, alternative energy, more alternative energy, health care, parks, climate change, and superfund clean-ups are where governmental monies should be spent.  Real jobs. Green jobs. Sustainable jobs could be created.

Instead, the administration seems hell bent on propping up an unsustainable bubble.

Mr. Obama, this is the time for a change.

Life on the homestead is hectic right now. The chickens are laying at an incredible rate – we are getting nearly 40 a day. I am hoping to fence our pasture this summer and perhaps get a cow.  We shall see.

Lydia, our granddaughter had become quite ill, but is now home out of the hospital. I am thankful.

Finally, we attended a “Blessing of the Children” ceremony on Saturday, where Cy was blessed by the elders of the tribe. Shannity was blessed last year, but is too old now. Until a child is four, his or her spirit is able to make the journey between the earth and spirit world rather easily. So we bless them.  I think Cy’s still makes the trip nearly every night.

The ceremony  was wonderful. We had a great wacipi and meal. Both Cy and Shannity received star quilts from the elders who named them at their naming ceremony a couple of years ago. Grandma Pauline, as Cy says, makes warm quilts.

Yesterday’s meals…

Breakfast:

Toast and honey

Lunch:

Meatloaf sandwich, dried apples

Supper

Grilled steak and onions

Baked potato

Mixed vegetables

On Religion…

From the Holy Mystery comes a beautiful unifying spirit that flows through all things. It blossoms in spring with the prairie flower and one can hear it in the call of the hawk. When the first snowflake of winter dances to the ground, one can see it and feel it if it lands upon the skin. Its spirit is in all things – rocks, trees, water, and love. It is in the sunrise and in the full moon. It is in the ghosts of my ancestors and friends that I have lost. It is in me. The spirit has many names on many different tongues. Allah, God, Yahweh – no matter they all point to the same place.

Unfortunately, all too often it is subverted into something quite different and utilized for perverse purposes. Crusades and wars, domination and cruelty, tend to be religion’s footprint and for that we should be ashamed. Missionaries have destroyed entire cultures in the name of one God or another. Power and government use religion to control societies in ways laws never could. It has been used to justify bigotry, murder, and instill a dominant class.  All in all, I think, religion has been less than beneficial to most people.

Still, I believe.

It is much easier, I think, to read Bertrand Russell, Richard Dawkins or Sam Harris and turn to reason as a guide. Reason provides much comfort and control, really. We understand that two parts hydrogen and one part oxygen make water…quite reasonable. We understand that 14 billion years ago, give or take a billion, the universe as we know it began with an awesome explosion that filled nothingness with something. We comprehend that in the primordial stew that existed on the planet the building blocks of life arose. Some of us can even grasp that some 50,000 years ago Neanderthal met Cro-Magnon and lost everything. Including existence.

Still, I believe.

It’s not egotistical, really. I do not think that I am so important that all of eternity would suddenly come crashing down if I were simply to cease to exist. In fact, there is some comfort in believing that in 30 years or so my body would fertilize the fields that provide the plants eaten at the bottom of the food chain.

But I don’t think it is that simple.

I have felt it. I know it. Yeah, the Great Mystery, God, Jesus, Allah, whatever. It exists in a system filled with links and chaos, numbers and music. Most recently, I felt It on top of a mountain in Wyoming. Someday, if you get the chance go to Dubois, WY and visit the Rams Horn.

Monday’s Meals

Breakfast: Honey and Toast

Lunch: Buffalo burger on homemade sourdough roll, apple

Dinner: Leftover smoked pork chops, baked potato, green beans, corn, peas

The engine that generates power for the entire homestead operation resides in the garden plot. It soon becomes the central focus of planning and engineering for much of the homestead experience.   I have gardened on some level much of my life and I have had outstanding successes and resounding failures. I woke one early AM to find nearly my entire garden leveled by deer. Bugs have in the past, denuded my green beans. Squash bugs have killed vines almost instantaneously.  Drought and hail have at different times, nearly wiped me out. Overall, however, this experience has left me with 10 rules that, I think, if adopted, will produce an adequate to outstanding garden.

1)      The first rule applies to most things in life. Labor is key. Gardening is not easy. During the summer, I spend an hour a day in the garden – with much more than that on harvest, planting, and bug removal days. Weeding takes time. Culling takes time. Irrigating takes time. So, before you begin, understand that successful gardening is time extensive. There are those who claim that perma-gardening, layer gardening, raised beds, mulch etc will lessen the labor. To some extent, they are correct. However, in the end, you still must get your hands dirty and break a sweat. If you aren’t prepared for that, your garden will show it.

2)      Location…Location…Location. When you begin to plan your garden, look for an area that drains well. Standing water is a bugaboo.  Second, have the soil tested. Third, make sure it gets full sun. Trees take water away and most vegetables need full sun. Finally, make the garden large or small enough to fit your needs. My garden is about ¾ acre in size and that will feed my family as well as produce enough to sell or give away to neighbors. I have read how some folks can produce 2 or 3 tons on 1/10 acre, but I am not that gifted.

3)      If you live in a rural area (or in some cities) build the fence before you plant the garden. Deer and rabbits are sweet lovable creatures until they spend an evening in your garden patch. See my earlier post on the deer proof fence.

4)      Bugs will come. Plagues of squash bugs, potato bugs, grasshoppers, bean bugs, have all, at one time or another wrecked havoc on my plot. I prefer to be organic in my garden and pick or shake off the bugs by hand into a tub of water mixed with dish soap. I will admit, however, to having used Sevin dust on green beans before. I simply cannot get the green bean bugs off the plants before they kill it. Squash bugs are bad as well. If your squash becomes infested, your best bet is to not plant for a year and make sure you clear your garden well in the fall.

5)       Plant things you like. If no one in the family likes beets, why mess with them? (I have never planted eggplant in my life and I don’t plan too).

6)      Figure out how many vegetables your family eats and plant accordingly. When we decided to go on the 100 mile diet I kept track of what we ate for several months and planted that. My garden consists of potatoes (Yukon gold brand – they will keep until March or April of the next year if stored properly), corn, green beans, beets, turnips, squash, onions, lettuce, okra, pumpkin, watermelon, cantaloupe, broccoli, cabbage, cauliflower, cucumbers, popcorn, various herbs, carrots, radishes, tomatoes, strawberries, raspberries, blueberries, and sweet potatoes. We also have several apple trees and trade for pears and peaches.

7)      In South Dakota, I must water. Irrigation is key to the garden in the heat of summer and figuring out a way to do that is vitally important.

8)      Manure. Compost. Mulch. MCM (my acronym) is, I think, at the core of what makes a successful garden. We have chickens and horses, so getting the manure is fairly easy. Compost comes from table scraps (no meat or dairy products), grass clippings, and the neighbor’s rotted hay. I use straw mulch, but folks use everything from newspaper clippings to pine needles. Mulch, more than anything else really helps the water situation. 

9)      Know what you are going to do with your harvest before harvest arrives. Canning and freezing take time, selling at a farmers’ market takes time (and if you live in SD you have to gather and pay sales’ tax - bad, bad legislature). If you don’t want to do all that, size your garden accordingly. 

10)   Finally, make it a family affair. Have some fun. The kids work with me and they tend to really enjoy it for a while, and then they go play elsewhere, come back and help some more….Many of my most pleasurable moments are in the garden.

Weekend meals:

Friday:

Breakfast: Oats, black walnuts, blueberries

Dinner: Buffalo Roast Sandwich, apple

Supper: Vegetable soup

Saturday:

Breakfast: Waffles and blueberry topping

Dinner: BBQ hamburgers, mashed potato cakes

Supper: Smoked pork, green beans, corn, peas

Sunday:

Breakfast: Scrambled Eggs, Biscuits and sausage gravy, sausage

Dinner: Leftover smoked pork chops, baked potato, corn, green beans, peas, rolls

Supper: Popcorn, apples

We had a great weekend. Although it is very muddy, we hauled a rank of wood up to the porch, cleaned out the chicken house, hauled hay out of the shed to the horse corral, bbq’d hamburgers and smoked pork. WOW!!! It’s amazing what a little apple wood, charcoal, and water in a pan mixed with apple juice can do to pork. I let the meat smoke for nearly eight hours and it was simply exquisite. Sandy baked bread and sourdough rolls on Sunday. I ground 16 cups of wheat and we churned 4 pints of cream into butter.

I spoke of consumption crack in an earlier post, but I want to expand on addictions.

I often like to reflect upon classic texts…Homer, Beowulf, Dante’s Inferno, and yes, Milton’s poem, Paradise Lost. Religious allegory often strikes a responsive chord in my own soul and Paradise Lost does just that. I view the poem as a tale of addiction though...Satan is addicted evil. Adam is addicted to Eve and Eve is addicted to becoming like God. Most of all I think the poem strikes an indictment against the irretrievable loss of innocence that comes with addiction.

The best portrayal in Milton’s work of addiction is the punishment that God inflicts on Satan for tempting (seducing?) Eve. God turns Satan and all the demons of hell into ravenously hungry snakes. He then creates a grove of fruit trees and causes the snakes to hunger after the fruit. When they bite it however, they taste their own poison and the fruit turns to bitter ash in their mouths. They fall to the ground, nauseas, and vomit out the fruit in distaste. Unfortunately, for them, the hunger immediately returns and the fruit is irresistible. So they attack it once again…

So what does this mean in a post-modern, mass consumptive world? The easy addictions - drugs, food, alcohol, gambling, smoking are easy to talk about (and for many, easy to condemn). That type of addiction is easily dismissed as simply viewing the addicted as the “unholy other.”   It happens to folks less capable than us.

And it is not really of what I am speaking.

They tell me once that forest existed, all the way from the shores to Atlantic to the Mississippi river, so dense that a squirrel could climb a limb in Virginia, head west, and not hit the ground again until somewhere in Missouri. I have been told that the water in springs and streams across America was often times so pure that one could drink it and not become ill. Lewis and Clark climbed a little mound (Spirit Mound) some two miles from where I live and wrote “beheld a most beautiful landscape; Numerous herds of buffalo were seen feeding in various direction; the Plain to the North N.W. and N.E. extends without interruption as far as can be seen." I would have so loved to see that….

Addiction destroyed all of it. Milton’s poetry is our own history. We had our own Garden yet we traded it for the fruit in the grove. We desire petroleum. We dream of McMansion. We want our electronic cocaine to dull pain, escape failed relationships, and provide novelty to wasted lives.

Our addictions. They led to the search for Gold that polluted the Black Hills. They drove the desire for cotton that destroyed the soil in Georgia. They built an improbable city in the middle of the Nevada desert that keeps the Colorado River from flowing into the Pacific. Our addictions confined the wildlife that is left to cages in zoos or in larger cages called national forests.

Sometimes it would do us some good, I think, to find the essence of things. For example, someone today told me that he had a very nice Caesar Salad for lunch. I thought about that for a long time. It is February in South Dakota. The lettuce for that Salad must have travelled 1,500 miles. The onions - the same. The olives probably traveled farther than that. The carbon footprint for that small salad must be enormous. I wonder how much of the environment was destroyed to deliver the salad. I wonder how many people the energy delivering it would have fed.

To live intentionally on this planet – to flee as quickly as one can away from conspicuous consumption is to fight the toughest addiction of all. The grove blossoms with beautiful fruit that causes great glee for a short time.  Our owners tempt us with freedom commercials – buy this and pain will disappear; buy that and beautiful women (or men) will fall at your feet with desire.  

And we buy…all of us. And after we consume we vomit it out and search ravenously for the next appealing apple….

Milton gave us a glimpse into our souls. In this era of late capitalism all we have our are trinkets. I remember as a child being told that the Lenape sold Manhatten for 24.00 to the Dutch. I doubt the authenticity of that story, but be that as it may, we have sold our garden for a straw and a packet of white powder. Our noses bleed but still…we want.

Tuesday Meals

Breakfast: Honey and Toast

Lunch: Buffalo Roast Sandwich, 2 apples

Supper: Vegetable Stew

Wed Meals:

Breakfast: Egg sandwiches

Lunch: Leftover vegetable Stew

Supper: Sandy’s Pasta soup.

Several chickens got out of their pen this morning so it looks like I am going to spend the weekend working on the chicken pen fence. The Buff Orpingtons seem much more curious about the world than the Rhode Island Reds. They are always looking to “head for the hills” at every opportunity.

Unfortunately, for them, coyotes live in the hills. We hear them nearly every evening.  Still, I am very happy that they are there. It reminds me that wild sometimes still exists.

On the anniversary of honor and friendship

I have had good friends during my life and I consider them much more valuable than anything I own. I tend to be a private person, however, when I make a friend I open up heartily, giving or taking as need might dictate. It is easy, I think, to be friends with people who are in your family or clan; further, it is easy to see friendship grow with one’s mate. When friendship blossoms between two people who are not related and not seeking gain, something special happens. It is almost spiritual, in a way. And something not to be taken lightly.

I am mourning the anniversary of the death of a comrade. It happened quite some time ago, but every year at this time I become somewhat melancholy, as I remember this person. My friend died honorably and that is something for which I wish as well. Life as well as death should be honorable. I remember reading about the journey of Chief Joseph. During his 1,100-mile trek, even though he was traveling with the old, sick, and wounded, when he came across a white person who needed help, he gave it to them. In one instance, he gave a family horses that I am sure his people needed as they ran from the army. That is honor. Jacob was kind of like that.

Jacob was a religious man, much more so than I was, at the time. We had served in the Army together for a couple of years.  We went to Panama (Ft Kobbe) together where we delighted in shenanigans against the structures of Uncle Sam. Let me give our most famous example. We lived off base in a little town called Arraijan, about 17 miles north of Panama City and ten miles from the base. Across the road from us lived a family of 9, mom, dad, and 7 kids. There was a deep divide between Panamanians and American occupiers during the time we were there, but we became quite friendly with the family. They taught us rudimentary Spanish, and we taught them the intricacies of American English. Good times for all.

Health care in the country was poor. The best health care was at Balboa in the Canal Zone, but you needed to be military or employed by the CZ company in order to get it. One evening one of their children (he was only 18 months old) became quite ill and Carlos and Maria (the names of the parents) were frantic. They didn’t have money for a doctor, nor any way to get the child to a doctor if they did. Jacob and I hatched a plan. We had an old Fiat (horrible car, by the way) and told the parents that I would act the part of the father, claim I was married to a Panamanian woman and take the child to the clinic in Balboa. We didn’t want to take the chance of even one of them being a part of the deception – jail in Panama is nothing to be toyed with. Jacob had pictures of his wife (who was darker skinned) and we invented the story that she was on the Atlantic side visiting relatives.  I really became nervous as we neared the hospital. This was undoubtedly a court-martial offense. However, Jacob was as smooth as silk. For a religious person, he lied really well. He later told me the story of Rahab (a prostitute in the Bible who lied to save some folks) and said that certain lies were covered. I agree with that logic.

Long story short, the child was treated, spent a couple of days in the hospital, and Jacob and I should have won Oscars for our portrayal of concerned father and friend.  I signed a bunch of paperwork that is probably still floating around in the annals of governmental bureaucracy. Carlos and Maria were eternally grateful and showered us with small gifts while we lived in Arraijan.  

Jacob died in Panama during the uprising. He did not fire his weapon. He died trying to save others. With honor.  He was a hero. He was my friend. And Feb 3 is always a day marked in red on my calendar.

Back at the homestead, the times are a bit hard. My mother in law may have had a stroke and is currently convalescing in the hospital. Sandy contracted the flu and is trying to keep everything down. Sandy’s niece is watching the children this evening while I teach. We will, however, get through this.

Weekend Meals:

Friday:

Breakfast: Pancakes with blueberries

Lunch: vegetable medley, Apples

Supper: Beef Stew, fresh baked sourdough bread

Saturday:

Breakfast: Eggs, ham, biscuits

Lunch: Grilled Pork Steak, fried potatoes, beets

Supper: Leftovers from lunch, popcorn

Sunday:

Breakfast: Oats, blueberries

Lunch: Buffalo roast, mashed potatoes, green beans, carrots

Supper: Leftovers from lunch

Monday:

Breakfast: Ham, onion, omelets, biscuits

Lunch: ham and biscuits, 2 apples, walnuts

Supper: Rest of the roast, corn, green beans

I find it somewhat humorous that so many people desire forever in heaven, but don’t know what to do with themselves on a snowy, weekend evening. While it is easy to rail against the injustices, both real and perceived that we experience at our jobs, those same jobs seemingly are providing us some sort of psychological justification for existence. I worry about that. Who we are ought not to be defined by who signs a paycheck. Too many are far too quick, when asked who they are, to describe what they do. It’s compulsion really. We have adopted a software program that makes us feel uncomfortable with time away for work. Perhaps work has become so much a part of our lives that we have forgotten how to play.

Try this experiment with a child. Give him a book of puzzles. Tell him that you will give him a dollar when he completes one. He will do one puzzle, accept the dollar and put the book aside. However, if you give another child a book of puzzles and walk away, she will play with it for hours. Play for play sake, without the medium of designer leisure material, is a wonderful gift. Every parent I know has experienced box syndrome – i.e. where the child shoves aside the expensive birthday toy and plays with the box.  Imaginative, creative play is so much better than directed play. Playing a pick up baseball game on a makeshift field far outweighs the structure of the adult supervised, highly competitive, little league system that has taken over childrens’ summer schedules.

Then there is the ugly side of play. I once read a set of studies concerning first time kills for people in the military. It seems in World War II, many soldiers did not fire on the enemy or missed on purpose. In fact, as few as 15% soldiers shot and actually hit a person deemed to be the enemy.   By the time the Gulf War came around the number was 95%. How did this happen? I would argue (as do many psychologists) that desensitization and conditioning play a very large role. The big bad media is not at the root of all our problems, but still, every child has viewed tens of thousands of violent acts on television. It matters. Further, they are conditioned with simulated video games to pull the trigger time whenever the “bad guy” approaches. Perhaps, one thing we ought to think about is that our soldiers find it easier to kill than they once did. What that says about the leisure and games we teach children is up to each of his to decide.

Ultimately, I think, if one can figure out a way to create both play and work as being soul satisfying and socially responsible, life has much value. I have a confession. Most of what I do at the university is not real. I get paid for it, but honestly, too much it lies in the realm of public relations, spin, promotion of the department, promotion of my faculty, promotion of self, and turf guarding.  The single portion that I view as very valuable – teaching – is often directed by folks who have agendas other than helping to create renaissance citizens. Monetary considerations are apt to be the single most important variable in education policy decisions. Further, the university is in the public sphere – money undoubtedly carries more weight in the corporate world. Social responsibility should outweigh ANY other given variable. In the work world and I suspect in the play world, it tends to rank far below other considerations.

I wrote all of that to say that the homestead and the 100 mile diet are about changing our family’s work and play world. When I get up in the morning I will go to the Chicken House and give my birds a bit of alfalfa and some grain. I will take a five-gallon bucket, fill it with water at the hydrant and pour it into two round, rubber, water holders.  I talk to the hens, wish them good morning, and stand and listen to them cackle and fly off the roosts as the sun rises. The two roosters get into a crowing contest. It’s cold and I watch my breath float out of my mouth as steam, reminding me what a mysterious and wonderful thing life is. I’ll then go to the hayshed and grab a bale of hay for the horses and carry it to the feeder. I talk to them as well, “Morning Slate, morning calico.” They always neigh in return because they love the sound of my voice or perhaps are telling me to hurry up and buck up the bale because they are hungry. Mornings at the homestead are beautiful. I don’t have words to describe the sunrise – splashes of color announce the promise of a great day. I know peace.

This is the way I want to live. And I have carved out this niche. I sell myself a bit during the day to keep it alive but perhaps, one day, that too will be overcome. It’s not narcissism to want to grow real things to feed real people. It’s not nihilistic to teach Shannity and Cy to plant potatoes or squash or corn. Despair is kept at bay by walking a deer trail with Sandy and being rewarded by viewing a doe and fawn lying in a wild plum thicket. I consider myself wonderfully lucky because I am one of the few people who have ever walked on top of a wild hill, and frightened off a coyote and her pups.  

Work and play. The homestead is both.

Thursday meals

Breakfast: Oats, blueberries, toast

Dinner: leftover meatloaf sandwich, apple

Supper: Ham, greenbeans, corn

Sunday marks the 44^th annual most holy festival in this nation. One hundred twenty million of us will stop what we are doing and spend three/four/five hours in meditation staring at the holy box that sits atop the alter or, if we are truly pious, hung upon the wall. This, of course, illustrates just how much we tithed to the most holy God (called NFL) in our pantheon.  We will bring our white sacred popped corn and the produce of our fields (Doritos and salsa) along with the sacramental drinks (Miller, Bud, & Coors) to celebrate the Holy Festival. We will applaud and cheer as the smaller Gods, whom we call Cardinal and Steeler, battle for the Holy Grail. Our overlords, corporations from all walks of life, will give 30 second offerings every five minutes or so that cost millions of dollars. These offerings are for our benefit though. They tell us how we too, can be sexy, happy, and satisfied if we simply spend 50,000 dollars on a new Cadillac. I hear that the prices for the privilege of attending the blessed event are going for as little as 3,000 dollars a seat. Only the truly sanctified can do this though.

The Roman Gladiators had nothing on us.

I know I am only an old, contrarian, wanna-be homesteader, but I hear the temperature is supposed to be in the 40’s Sunday and the sun is supposed to shine. I think that I will take Cy and Shannity for a walk in the woods; afterward we will play some sort of Calvin-Ball (from the greatest Comic strip ever produced, Calvin and Hobbes). The great thing about Calvin-Ball is that it has no rules except those pragmatically needed at the time. It mimics my view of life pretty closely.

Here is how a typical game of Calvin-Ball proceeds. Shannity gets a ball and throws it. Cy and I run after it and get filthy as we slide in the mud to grab our prize. Cy usually wins, because he cheats, but then he throws it and says we have to wait until he counts to 23 to go get it. I change the rule and say only the first 17 numbers count, slide after the ball, grab it and give it a long toss. At this time both Cy and Shannity squeal with delight and take out after the prize….

Calvin-Ball rocks.

I am going to make a proposal. Instead of worshipping at the temple of NFL, maybe we all should spend Sunday playing Calvin-Ball with our kids. The benefits are huge. We old folks get exercise. Domestic violence decreases because no one ever drinks when playing Calvin-Ball. That’s quite taboo.  No money is lost in Vegas, because there is no winner. And, in the end, our kids love us and we love them. We didn’t even need to spend 50,000 to find happiness.

Wed Meals:

Breakfast: Sausage & Biscuits

Dinner: Buffalo Burger, 2 apples

Supper: Meatloaf, mashed potatoes, green beans  Meatloaf is made with all home-grown ingredients. Sandy makes the meatloaf and I need to get the recipe and post it. It is really good. She is almost as cool as Calvin-ball.

One of the things that I do every fall after we butcher our hogs is to render the fat into lard, which we use as grease, shortening, etc. Lard makes the best piecrusts in the world. Period.  I suspect few people know how to do this and someone asked me to share the method. My mother used to render it inside, but the smell was heavy and tended to stay in the house for days, so I improved upon her method and do it outside over my fire ring. You can do it indoors though. Just open the back door.

To render lard, one needs hog fat, a large cast iron container,  a lard stick, mason jars and, of course, a fire. I built a tripod over my fire ring and hang the cast iron pot from that. Here is the process…

I render all of my lard at once, but unless you are butchering you will not need that much at one time.  So I would guess that you need to acquire a pound or two of pig fat or fatback. Every pound will equal a pint of lard, more or less.  Chop up the fat into little pieces and drop them into your cast iron pot. Pour in a cup or so of water for each pound. Place the pot on the stove or over the fire and cook on medium low heat. Make sure you stir it occasionally (every 10 minutes or so). As the fat starts to melt you will hear loud pops, which means the “cracklings” are forming. Don’t worry – that is just your signal to stir more often.  The cracklings (little fried pieces of pork) will begin to float to the surface. Be careful now, because the fat will sometimes “pop” on your skin as you stir. Keep stirring. When the cracklings finally sink to the bottom, the lard has been rendered. Let it cool a bit and then pour it into your mason jars using a colander or cheese cloth. The cracklings will be left and they make for a fine garnish for salad. The lard will be rather yellow – that is the way it is supposed to look. Place it in the refrigerator overnight and it will begin to turn white. Ultimately it will keep in the refrigerator for 3-4 months and in the freezer for a year.

There are those out there who would decry using animal fat for cooking, etc. Those folks tend to drive me crazy. Home rendered lard is not bad for you. It has much less saturated fat than butter. It has no “trans-fat” as long as it has not been processed (hydrogenated, I believe they call it) to prolong shelf life.  

The key is – if it isn’t refrigerated, it has been processed. Don’t eat it.

On a fall day, with the leaves falling all around, standing outside working the fire for rendering lard is actually quite pleasant.

Rendering lard is unhurried. I have found that the unhurried life is a wise one.

Life is too often hurried, torn by the bustle of the everyday world. I can’t reflect when standing in the check-out lane. It is quite easy to reflect while standing over my fire ring, smelling the odors of autumn mixed with smoke from the fire. I think when we are unhurried we recognize those things which are worthy and permanent. Last summer I was building a new fence around the corral where we keep our horses. While I was hammering, digging postholes by hand, and enjoying the sweat of real work, Cy was watching a caterpillar. He studied it, literally, for two hours as it climbed up one blade of grass and down another. We didn’t speak. He was lost in nature. I was lost in physical labor. When I was ready to go in for lunch, I asked him how his morning went. He said, “I know caterpillar.”

And so he did.

I became a grandfather again yesterday. Little Lydia was born into this world – 7 lbs 2 oz, mother, father, and baby all doing fine. Being a grandfather is not like being a father. In some ways it’s easier, but in others, more difficult. I find that I like to have my family near to me, always. But with these new little ones, they tend to be farther away. Their parents lives are so busy. It is hard to make ends meet in world that is driven by materialistic gain. My older children grew up with me, while I was on corporate treadmill. I fear that they, too, hopped on track. It is only when I became older that I realized that no one really cares whether I own. Not even me. I hope that they learn soon that all of that “out there” is smoke and mirrors. It truly is the largest bait and switch con job in the universe. It is my prayer that little Lydia know love. And Peace. May she stay far away from the failure that comes through comparison.

Monday Meals

Breakfast: Sausage and Biscuits

Dinner: 2 apples, black walnuts

Supper: Buffalo Chili

I will give my chili recipe.

 2 lbs ground buffalo (or hamburger)

 Quart Tomato Sauce (canned last summer)

1 onion (from garden)

Crushed Chili Peppers (grown in the garden- season to taste)

1 cup corn (frozen last summer)

2 teaspoons honey

3 cups beans

Brown buffalo

Put in large pot.

Add rest of ingredients. Simmer for hours. You may want to add a bit more tomato sauce or water if it gets too thick.

Tuesday Meals:

Breakfast: Oats and blueberries

Dinner: Leftover Chili

Supper: Baked potatoes, Beets, Corn, Green beans, carrots (our vegan meal)

Wendall Berry once wrote, “The modern mind longs for the future as the medieval mind longed for heaven. “

Living in the present seems so very difficult for us to do. It seems that we continually think, “when I get, complete, achieve, etc, I will truly be happy.” Unfortunately, by the time we get, complete, achieve, etc. our sights are set on a new goal – a new way to be happy. I fear that so many of us plan so much for our lives that we fail to live them. Indeed, even reaching the achievement could very well be detrimental to organism earth.

I have a conscious. His name is Henry. Whenever I begin to plan for my next achievement, I hear him in the background paraphrasing to me – if you walk in the woods simply because you love them for a day folks may call you a ne’er do well and lazy. However, isn’t that better than being the yuppie over-achiever whose work always facilitates shearing another section of woods;  killing the planet one forest at a time. Henry does a very good job keeping me in line.

How we spend our time (really, the only tangible asset we own) is the ultimate question. Time is the implement that our overlords utilize to rule us. And “they” are quite content for us to be living in the future. As long as the next toy exists to add to our collection, we will dutifully sign up for five, seven, or fifty more years of indentured servitude.  The rewards have changed, but there are times that I think the system has changed little since 1400. Saint Benedictine had a thing for busyness and orderliness. Idle hands, in his view, were the work of the devil. He began to measure what he and his fellow monks did in equal increments. This religious assembly line began our long descent in McDonaldization. Benedictine, at least, gave heaven as the final goal. Our present slavery to the clock simply makes the car payment.

It seems to me that the majority of present day folks tend to live with the hope that one fairy tale or another might give them. We are all playing the part of Cinderella, working incredible amounts of time at tedious jobs, hoping against hope that the prince notices our slipper. Or the Fairy GodMother shows up.  Or that our intrinsic beauty would turn the aristocracies’ head. In the end we get it all. The prince, the castle, riches beyond measure, and happily ever after is just one lucky break away. If we just keep doing what our evil step-mother (after all, are not all of our bosses evil) demands, it will be ok.

So forgive me if, when I tell the story of Cinderella to my kids, the evil stepsister gets the prize and servant Cinderella remains a peasant and dies an impoverished, young death. Sandy sometimes gets miffed, though ;).

Time well spent understands the paths deer take to get to water. Time well spent makes sure my child knows the name of more plants than corporate logos. Time well spent is teaching Cy to make a tobacco prayer tie while saying a thanksgiving prayer to the Creator for another good day. Time well spent is working in the garden and canning green beans. It is splitting wood for the fire. It is living intentionally.

I often ask my students to think about time. One of the exercises I have them do is turn off all media (TV, radio, computers, cell phones, newspapers, books, etc) and live life for one weekend intentionally and in the present tense. Most find the assignment one of the most difficult assigned. The fairy tale fades when there is no background noise but our sense of the present. We experience the discomfort of beginning to understand that our customs could be myths. It is fundamental, I think, to understand that the future is a fairy tale and that to deny ourselves the present is the worst thievery of all.  

Weekend Meals:

Friday:

Breakfast: Corn fritter pancakes with blueberry topping

Dinner: Biscuits and Ham, 2 apples

Supper: Vegetable Soup, Fresh Bread

Saturday:

Breakfast: Ham and onion omelets

Dinner: Chicken pot pie

Supper: Roast and potatoes, green beans, peas, carrots, pear sauce pie

Sunday

Breakfast: oats and blueberries

Dinner: Leftover chicken pot pie

Supper: Popcorn, Apples

I was very busy during the weekend. Besides grinding grain for bread, biscuits and pie shells, (it takes about 16 cups per week) I moved wood to the porch and split other wood I had cut earlier. We went to church Sunday AM, then Sandy’s mom became quite ill, and we took care of her. 

My chickens are now laying 15-20 eggs per day so I am back in the egg business. I am looking for fencing materials to do some more fencing around the upper pasture. I want to add some calves to our farm early next summer, but I will need to get the fence fixed first.

Thoreau haunts my thoughts today. I truly believe that we (I) could develop so much more insight if we (I) would take his thought, “the cost of a thing is the amount of life we exchange for it” to heart. Consumption is crack. Our teachers have done a very thorough job teaching (brainwashing?) us that the next thing we buy will truly bring us happiness. And for a moment it does. Then the high goes away and we are left on the street, junkies looking for the next fix. Sadly, it seems our entire economic structure depends on keeping most of society addicted. No matter the stress placed on marriages, the latchkey kids left alone, or the amount wilderness destroyed, the crack must continue to flow. Ipods, and Jordans. Lexus’s and cookie cutter houses. We need. Sometimes the craving is so real that it threatens to overwhelm us. We cut corners or jump on the newest Ponzi scheme. We are taught to throw our monies into the stock market, even though the mutual fund in which we we invest holds companies that we despise. Fundamentalist Christians invest in pornography. Liberal environmentalists invest in coal. But, it’s ok. It is saving for our retirement so we can continue to consume, even then.  Crack, indeed.

I think I should perhaps talk about our teachers. Not the obvious ones like television advertisers selling desire, or sports superstars hawking too expensive shoes, but other teachers.  These are much closer to home. What would happen if we taught our children to buy nothing today. Or tomorrow. Or all of next week. Instead we tend operate on impulse, dragging them to the store, to get whatever widget  we think we need. We never stop to tell them – “this or that cost two hours of my life.” I am the real teacher. So are you. Unless we decide to fight the addiction, it will continue unabated until it destroys us. And I mean that literally.

“The cost of a thing”…I put some wood on the fire this morning as it was quite cold. Our January thaw seems to have receded. The cost of those sticks of wood was several minutes of my life. I cut it. I split it. I hauled it into the woodshed, eventually placing it upon the fire. Nevertheless, this was good. I didn’t mind spending a few minutes of my life for a day of warmth.  I was working for me. Not all of my life costs have been this well spent.

A few years ago, I purchased a new car. It was the first new car I had bought in a decade. I purchased the car (a Toyota Prius) for a variety of reasons, but the major ones were that I felt that I would save money on gas, and I would be helping the environment. I thought about this purchase quite a lot. I read consumer reports. I figured the amount of gas saved. And I bought the car.

It was a stupid thing to do.

What I failed to consider at the time was the amount of my life I was trading for this car. Nearly half a year (I made 40,000 a year at the time and the car cost 20,000). If someone would set a Prius in front of me and ask – you may have this car or 6 more months of quality life – which would I have chosen? The vehicle that I was driving was a small pick-up that I needed on the place anyway. Further, I failed, at the time to consider the amount of oil needed to create a new car versus the amount of extra oil I was using driving the less efficient small pick-up. I could have driven the truck for 500,000 miles and still not utilized the amount of oil needed to create the new car.

But I was on consumption crack. We all backslide from time to time.

Wed meals:

Breakfast: Oats and blueberries
Dinner: Biscuits, sausage, 2 apples
Supper: Chicken noodle soup

Thursday Meals

Breakfast: Omelets with peppers, onions, ham, Toast

Dinner: Hamburger with onion on homemade bread, two apples

Supper: Skipped as I was teaching. Had a couple of apples and a slice of ham when I got home.

I have long believed that the most vigorous political, religious, and ethical statements we can make surround how we decide to live. Votes count, but still, decisions to live in one manner or another matter so much more. Indeed, many folks who claim to be either of one political bent, or of religious conviction, or of moral conscience live lives that are completely devoid of the philosophy they espouse. And often they simply do not see it.

Let me give an example. As I alluded to earlier, we are homeschooling our little boy. We are doing so, not because of religious reasons or really even educational ones, but because we believe that for now, it is the right thing to do. He is very active. He talks a lot. He is curious. He likes, very much, to be tickled. School will tell him to sit down, to be quiet, to wait on his curiosity until unit 12, and there is, of course, no tickling. School will teach him to be the perfect corporate worker in a very consumption oriented world.

However, let us get back to my point. I told a good friend of mine last week that we had decided to home school and they were shocked. “What about socialization,” they asked.  “What about finding new friends?” “What about getting into a good college?” I answered all the questions with pat answers that I do not need to go into here, but what amazed me is this friend has a daughter who was troubled all through high school, dropped out of college, and now spends much of her time intoxicated on various chemical compounds. This friend is well educated and has a very good income, but he simply didn’t see any connection between his daughter’s “socialization” and her subsequent behavior.

Other examples abound. Liberal environmentalists whose carbon footprints are larger than many small cities in developing nations might be considered an exemplar. Conservative moralists who decry abortion, yet have never lifted a finger to help the millions of children in the foster system might be another. Ultimately, I think, if this species is to survive we are going to have to make some very vigorous, political, religious, and ethical statements by changing our lifestyle. Runaway hyper-capitalism, the free market disciples ought to realize, is no more sanctified, or workable, or sustainable than state planned economies. The Soviet Union, not too long ago, decided to spend themselves out of existence with forays into Afghanistan and building the next intercontinental ballistic missile.  I fear, all too often, we have decided to walk the same path.

So I decided to do something about it. I no longer play. No credit card needed. No airplane travel accepted. Lettuce, whose calorie output is much less than the energy used by the truck that delivered it from California, is no longer a side dish.  My family has decided for our part, to halt the environmental degradation that grows even more ghoulish with each passing year, at our doorstep.

 Tuesday’s meals

Breakfast: Toast and honey, apple

Dinner: Buffalo burger on homemade bun. Pumpkin seeds

Supper: Leftover squash surprise, beets.

I am going to plant some onion seeds indoors soon. We are running low on onions from our garden from last year, but green onions are better anyway. Put them by a window or under a grow light and you have instant winter sensation!!!! I have a bunch of old plastic tubs (I put holes in the bottom and then place it on top of its lid) that I use to plant things such as this inside.

I am also going to plan an addition to our orchard this spring. We have several apple trees, but need to diversify. The problem is keeping the deer off them. I suspect I will end up having to patent a deer-proof tree fence, but that is going to take some more thought.

The microwave oven. In so many ways it paves the road that leads to the fragmented artificiality that plagues this culture at this specific moment in time.

Let me digress.  I do not watch television very often, but over the weekend, Sandy wanted to watch a movie that was on one of the cable channels. So we did. I didn’t care about the movie, but there was one set of commercials that grabbed my attention and held it. During the commercial, Marie Osmond (yes of Osmond family fame) makes fun of her post-partum depression and then goes on to proclaim the value of something coined “nutra-system.” This company, for a large cash donation, will send you all the Styrofoam meals you desire and let you microwave them so that you can lose weight. You get cardboard pizza, plastic burgers, fake chocolate, and something with pseudo-chicken in it – all ready for your microwave. And I suppose they make money. At least enough to get Marie to make fun of her mental state to a national audience.

Back at the homestead, where “nutra-system” is not served nightly, I am ecstatic about Buff Orpington Chickens. They started laying (they were chicks in August) this weekend in pretty good numbers, and though the eggs are small, they are becoming more and more plentiful. I had mostly Rhode Island Reds, prior to this year, but wanted a hardier, meatier, bird with less comb that is susceptible to frostbite. The Buffs, so far, have come through with honors. They are also better “setters” than the Reds, so Chicks ought to be easier to come by next summer. All in all, this experiment has been a resounding success. I also got new nests put up in the chicken house this weekend with which I am pleased. They are rather “upscale” for my down home chickens, but they (the chickens, that is) seem to enjoy a bit of luxury.

I have also decided to double my garden spot for next spring. The hardest chore in gardening, in my opinion, is not the planting, weeding, harvesting, or preserving. It is building soil. Well I have a new spot that has had some fine topsoil dumped on it from the construction of my MIL rooms on our home. I am going to blade it down, till it, and plant my corn, squash, watermelon, pumpkin and etc on that plot, and my other vegetables on the plot I use now. I have quite a bit of compost from the horses, chickens, and lawn mulch, etc so I will be busy spreading it.

We had a wonderful weekend, filled with delightful meals from our pantry and freezer.

Sat:

Breakfast: Biscuits and honey

Dinner: Stir fry with steak, onions, peppers

Supper: Squash Surprise (recipe in earlier post)

Sunday:

Breakfast: Pancakes with blueberry topping

Dinner: Meatloaf, mashed potatoes, green beans, corn, beets.

Supper: leftover meatloaf

Monday (MLK day)

Breakfast: Omelet’s with onion, ham, peppers

Dinner: hamburgers on home made buns, fries from our potatoes

Supper: Leftover squash surprise, green beans, corn

Life is filled with choices – and the direction in which we take says so much about who we are and who we will grow to be. We can choose the complex and technical or the simple and clear. Choosing primal simplicity at each fork in the path, I have found, is the single most effective way to curb my over demanding desires. Many, in a narcissistic culture wonder why anyone would want to curb desire. Truthfully, I think it is the only way to experience peace- both spiritually and physically. The white noise that is the background of many of our lives is driven by desire…the desire for the material, the desire to be the object of other’s gazes, the desire to be loved, the desire to be unique, the desire for power-it’s the essence of who we have become.  A student came to me recently and stated, “I cannot  seem to get anything done, because there are so many things in my life that I must attend too.” I think the jargon for this in our vernacular is “multi-tasking.” I told the student that the world will settle down on its own accord if he would just make choices that simplify his day. Don’t answer the phone.  It is your tool, not your master. Walk away from the computer. You don’t need its addiction. Use your television as an end table. It will serve you better. Quit speaking poorly in texteze. Say a simple sentence, directly, to communicate your thoughts. I honestly believe that it is all about the decisions on the scale of simplicity that a person makes which brings peace or turmoil to one’s life.

 We tend to do many things to try to impress people we really do not like. It is mental instability really. I liken it to people who put up with fascistic managers and bosses in the corporate world just so they can own a McMansion or the latest Lexus.  Kenneth Burke called it occupational psychosis. He was right.

But it is more than that.

Our decisions are often determined by a kind of rock concert mentality. Our desires are played with through tension. Let me explain. A band is never on time at a concert. Ever. Neither are politicians on time for campaign speeches to live audiences. The handlers of both know that if they can keep the crowd waiting for 10 or 15 minutes that they will begin clapping in unison, or stomping their feet, again in unison, so that when the band (or the politician) actually bursts onto the stage the crowd erupts into a kind of manic frenzy. It builds excitement. It hits at something very basic in the desire box in our heads.

I read recently that a guard was killed on Black Friday at a WalMart store in the south. Seems that Walmart offered a few computers at a nonsensically low price so that it could drive up business. By the time the store opened on the morning after Thanksgiving, the line to go in was literally blocks long. As the guard opened the door, the people stampeded in, running over, stomping, and killing him.

Criminal Psychosis.

I am doing much planning for the spring out on the homestead. I need to build a new woodshed, closer to the house. I need to fence the pasture behind the chicken house so the cow can graze there. I need to think about how to grow sweet potatoes in a growing season that is just a bit too short for them (I love sweet potatoes and find that I really miss them on the 100 mile diet.) We also want to add to our orchard. We lost a couple of apple trees last summer to wind storms and I think I am going to replace them with cherry trees. This, too me, is real work, good work, in the real world. It brings peace.

Wednesdays Meals:

Breakfast: Oats, blueberries, and black walnuts

Dinner: Leftover Buffalo Roast on homemade bread, apple

Supper: Chicken and Dumplings MMMMM……!

Thursdays Meals:

Breakfast: Ham, Eggs, Sourdough biscuits

Dinner: Leftover Sourdough biscuits and Ham, apple

Supper: Last of the Buffalo roast, apples, green beans

I ground wheat again on Wed evening and did about 7 lbs in 40 minutes.  There will be enough for Sandy to make bread today (which I look forward to with eager anticipation). I will also need to churn butter once again this weekend.

I would be remiss if I did not include the Chicken and Dumpling recipe in this post….

Ingredients

1 whole chicken (we used an old hen)

1 ½ cups flour

4 tbls lard

Sourdough

1/2 cup buttermilk

1 egg

Another cup buttermilk

Directions.

Cut lard (or shortening) into flour…mix in sourdough. Beat the egg and add it. Pour on ½ cup buttermilk. Roll into ball and place in cool place (outside if it is cold, in refrig or freezer if not) while Chicken cooks

Put chicken into pot. Add 4 cups water and 1 onion diced. Cook until done.

When done, take out of water and debone.

Take dough out of refrigerator and roll out. Cut into 1 inch sqares.

Bring the water back to a boil. Dump in dumplings. Put deboned chicken pieces back in. Pour in other cup of milk. Turn down heat, put the lid back on the pot and let simmer for 20 minutes. Serve Hot.

On a cold day, this dish is outstanding.