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.