Six Arrows Farm

A Six Arrows Farm Update

2012-01-28T13:20:00.000-06:00

Well, the Minnesota winter held its breath for a staggeringcouple of weeks, peaked the effort with an almost unheard-of 50 degree Januaryday, and let it all go this morning in a frigid blast of the arctic. Fromthe balmy-forget-your-hat-and-wear-a-light-jacket day to abiting-button-your-coat-collar-and-wear-long-underwear day; all in forty-eighthours! If the weather-man isn’t selling exaggerated news (which he almostcertainly is either way since the poor fellow truly can’t win), the thermometerwill finally drop to the more familiar few degrees above zero tonight and thewind will drive a chill through your bones at a ghastly 10-15 degreesbelow! Instead of sniffing stale autumn air when I step outdoors, I can gaspenough to swallow a snowball when I turn the handle and the crack between doorand jam wuthers in my face.

Yet again the family room in the basement becomes a naturalretreat after dinner and during the short mornings and afternoons. Hereevery day has its fire and across the floor and festooned over chairs and sofasour papers and projects bask with us in the heat. Now we can delve into thedeep ingenuity and musical wonder of Bach’s double violin concerto, study reamsof evidence and talk thoroughly and frequently on the subject of the UnitedStates Jury System, piece and perfect the lines and seams in an 1860’s militaryfrock coat, pour over documents and study guides and reference books on everytopic from calculus to air brakes.

Now we can rise early in the blessed dark ofwaning winter nights to unborn mornings with coffee in the pot and socks on ourtoes. Hot food, however simple, is suddenly banquet fare when the aromasmeet the freezing howl at the door. The satisfaction of “beating thecold” by fetching fresh onions from the root cellar (now in official workingorder!) to concoct a big batch of spaghetti sauce is even better than pullingthem right out of the garden! The precious food we stored away for theselong, “garden-less” months is reappearing to grace the table and Aubrey’sfamous pesto remains the favorite by far!

I got a little jolt last week when a small package arrivedin the mail with a Burpee Seed Company return address on it. Yes, thefirst of the seeds! Here we are planning to fill the garden yet againwhile the ground sleeps deeply.

Finally I can truly sign off,

Stay Warm!

Craig, Karenand The Six Arrows

A Thanksgiving Farm Update

2011-11-23T22:25:00.001-06:00

Mama pulled an old favorite from the love-battered recipecollection tonight. Pork chops and potatoes take on a character of theirown when boiled together with her savory onions and seasonings. The memories ofwarm winter nights spent in gales of family merriment and deep discussion aroundthe table are called up at every bite. Scroll to the bottom of the post for the recipe!
We are pulling up more than a few old standby recipes, alongwith the lists from years gone by that somehow gain value with age. “Rememberthe year when…?” jumps out on every scribbled page. I can read myown history in the nearly illegible cards covered in the well-known hand ofGrandma or Mama or Aunt.
Long after the well-known steps to a dish are learned likethe measured steps of a dance, those pieces of history...a handwritteninheritance…will come out every year to be touched and perused for their ownsake.

Thanksgiving was less than two weeks away when I wrote that andsomewhere between then and now the urgency of necessary preparations lit a fireunder me. With a list that grows until ”the eleventh hour"rather than shrinking, my philosophy is that it never helps to getmarkedly excited more than four days prior to an event. Admittinganticipation of any kind sooner than that yields only a let-down of energy. (I take full, and probably sole, credit/responsibility for this“preparation policy” in the Lenz household) The first of these four daysis characteristically spent in ruminating upon and composing the final schedulein a sort of hazy rush. The third day is swept up in a flurry of dustingrags, brooms, vacuums and brushes. The second day dissolves in acacophony of mixers and clashing dishes in the kitchen while the farm out ofdoors undergoes its final overhauling. The fourth day the foundation ofthe house remains alone unmoved as all else makes room for the stupendousdining table the surface of which is instantly requisitioned for extra dishesand fearfully-soon-to-be-wonderful decorations in motley heaps.
Thanksgiving morning is a run-on sentence. (I know day four lookedan awful-lot like one...but that is only because it serves as a prelude for thereal thing. If run-on sentences disturb you, take the matter up withCharles Dickens. He seems formidable enough to appeal to.)

The plans for colors and table-settings began in Octoberwith foraging expeditions to the woods and shopping trips to town in search ofappropriate decor and supplies. Amidst the business of those weeks ofearly fall we start thinking about the turkey; and a walk through the grocerystore will produce things in our cart that are nowhere on a list. By thefirst week of November, the requisite additional supplies of flour and butter,sweet potatoes and seasonings are stashed away. Already the space in theextra refrigerator is nearly hallowed ground reserved for feast viands alone. In this manner the insurmountable Thanksgiving shopping list nevermaterializes, but goes in and out with the everyday activities of our liveslike a tide. With a habit of opening our door to guests on a weekly oreven daily basis, Thanksgiving becomes a climax of hospitality where theheaped-up abundance of a year of giving and receiving overflows into our livesin one short day of merry-giving and good-cheer taking. Yes, there is agreat deal of labor involved...but there is nothing good which is not wellworth working for.

The food itself is a merely a gift of sameness given fromone to another not only because it took a measure of effort, but because itserves to remind us. Our beings are made to be fluent in aesthetics. From an early age habitual languages of tradition pour identity andheritage into us. There is, after all, nothing magical about themountains of mashed potatoes, the specially cleaned home, candles or tableadornments, or the third Thursday of November. These are called intoliving, breathing and speaking eloquence by the powerful truth that overshadowsthe most simple of commonalities.

Five kernels of corn rationed every day through a winterthat nearly obliterated them inspired an intrepid company of men, women andchildren to fall on their knees and rise again in thankfulness before the Godwho gives life and takes it. Abundance of health and comfort shouldinspire no less in us, yet it often fails to do so. Rich hearts can oftencomplain of poverty in one thing: gratitude. How is it that"fullness of bread" breeds in the human soul a bitterness and apathythat abundance of want with a measure of grace rarely brings? It is mybelief that in the receiving of gifts, discontent grows only in the one whocannot and will not acknowledge the Giver.

So, in recognition of what we cannot repay, from our littleor great we pour out preparations proportionate to the demeanor of our hearts. Each year can only succeed if it outdoes the last in some way. Thetable gathers round itself a broad array of lives, each with his own loan oflife to add to the smaller glow of beauty that reflects the greater glory ofthe Table "over the way".

Here we pile in bounty the rich and the ripe, savory andsweet. Steam-shrouded platters of stacked meat overlook lakes of gravy;piping hot rolls amass in heaps beside fathomless bowls of creamed and seasonedvegetables and endless quantities of stuffing. The language of abundanceis expressive and even absurd. It mocks the lackadaisical and pokes funat the centrist. If not otherwise, at least at the Thanksgiving table thelukewarm is worthy of disparagement. Is this acknowledgement ofindebtedness too effusive for some? I hope not. I will dare to saythat we have yet to find the "fullness of joy" that comes fromknowing just how poor we are in gratitude for the wealth we are daily given.

"Thou wilt show me the path of life: in Thy presence is fulness of joy; at Thy right hand are pleasures forevermore." Psalm 16:11

Skillet Pork Chops
(serves 4)
4 pork chops
2T butter
2 T flour
½ t salt
1/3 c parmesan cheese
¼ t pepper
4c thinly sliced potatoes(you don’t have to peel farm fresh potatoes!)
1 onion thinly sliced
3 beef bouillon cubes
¾ c hot water
1 T lemon juice
Coat chops with flour andbrown in butter. Dissolve beef cubes in water. Add lemonjuice. Set aside. Combine 2T cheese, salt and pepper and sprinkle onchops. Cover with potato slices and 2 T cheese. Add onion. Pourbeef broth over all. Sprinkle with remaining cheese. Cover andsimmer 40 minutes or until done. I find it is done in 20 minutes if Iprecook chops in crock pot (make sure you add drippings to skillet). Ifyou have grocery store pork chops you may want to skim the fat before addingdrippings. Also, when we double the recipe we use 4 bouillon cubes and alittle more water. You don’t need 6 bouillon cubes.
We like that we can makeSkillet Pork Chops fairly quickly…and there are potatoes, onions and pork chopsin abundance on the farm this time of year!

2011-11-01T16:38:00.000-05:00

Dull and quiet, the sky of looming winter hovers close toearth most days now; a blanket of peace settling on a landscape that has ceasedto strive in abundance and ebbs to rest in latent age. No more will thehosts of vibrant colors vie for attention in splendid panoply. The timeof completion and maturity lends to simple monotones of grey a noble eleganceand softened beauty. Highest of births, greatness of growth andexperience of fruition will yield the realization of a hoary crown needless ofmore testimony to labor.
The year is completing its last work in layingaway the seed of a new birth yet to come. Aubrey gave the iris theirannual “hair-cut” while I completed the annual window-swabbing yesterday. The wood pile has grown, albeit a little sluggishly due to the greater loomingproject of root-cellar building. We pulled up enduring tomato plants withtheir cages and posted strong picket lines of the ungainly wire contraptionslike sentries around apple trees and blueberry bushes against the onslaught ofhungry deer. Sam plowed the garden under the other day and all thatremains of the bounty are ragged scraps of vine and drab mounds of bareearth. The tractors already sport their winter chains and Mama mulchedthe blueberry bushes with pine-needles (blueberries love nice acidic soil),while I still need to mulch my hydrangea bush and cut down the last of myflower garden that sports frost-seared spikes.

The lively business of readying for winter around here wouldprobably resemble a disturbed ant-hill from the perspective of an aerial viewtime-lapse. All the activity is a tacit acknowledgment of an urgency notunlike the spirit that hastens men to hustle into ranks at the call of acommander before a battle. No one takes firm hold of a spade unless heintends to dig, or buys seed unless he intends to plant. Only a foolgathers wood and block to build nothing, or collects books he does not intendto better himself by. And we never gather everything together and put itall away and tie this down and cover that up without the firm assurance that wehaven’t ever done it quite soon enough to beat the invading rush of the arctic.

Especially in the woods, there is the general sense of“battening down the hatches.” Like the lights of a house blinking out atnight, everything curls up and retreats for a long sleep. The ruddy“berries” on the right are a woodsy herald of fall just as Bloodroot is thefirst sign of spring. Some of you probably recognize the brilliant seed-podof the exotic wild orchid native to Minnesota, the Jack-in-the-Pulpit. Most don’t know the baneful mosquito proves her worth in being the only speciesthat can pollinate and thus propagated this remarkable plant. Needless tosay we were not short on mosquitoes this year, since forest floor around thefarm is literally bespangled with these Christmas-red pods. Plants andanimals, with the blessed gift of instinct from the Creator, know better thanto wait until the first snow flies to prepare for the coming lack offood. This is the second year in a row that our raspberry bushes havebowed under the weight of late autumn berries after the first frost; andyesterday two squirrels chased each other madly across the yard, one with hisface full of a nut, the other very apparently wanting one. Extra bountyat harvest is never a mistake, and the wise observer doesn’t disregard thehint. The cold is not great yet, but it is settling in with a kind ofdetermined energy.

The biggest race against time this week was the root cellarroof. The boys poured a thick concrete slab that will be insulated withat least two feet of earth. If they can manage to put the door in soon, we willhave the capability to dispel pyramids of jars and mountains of potatoes amongwhich we are nearly buried.

Frankly, the cellar is an engineering masterpiece. Itcouldn’t be anything else with Daddy on the team. Everything he buildsstands as a lasting and sturdy testimony to his painstaking work. Whenthey troop in to dinner, the men wear daubs of cement with dustings of graveland sand and scratched and dented fingers permeated with the distinct odors oftractor fuel and musty earth. I washed Ben’s jeans yesterday and found afew determined gobs of hardened concrete yet clinging tenaciously to them whenI pulled them from the dryer.

It is our earnest hope to finish the project in the next fewdays, and in the spirit of the “lighthearted” Puddleglum the Marshwiggle, “thebright side of it is...” if cellar is finished, as long as we don’t faint fromexhaustion in a Minnesota winter tramping the extra 50 yards to fetch a can oftomatoes, at least we won’t die from lack of exercise in the next sixmonths. “Very likely…” what with being tired of canned tomatoes andmashed potatoes, and having next to nothing to do and living in such closequarters for such a long time, “we’ll hardly notice the weather!” J

To be quite honest, rather than having “next to nothing todo,” I find that my list of winter projects has grown so prodigiously, I amalready relegating some to next year’s toll. What winter undertakings areon your lists, I wonder?

This year is about to roll over one more time to tuck hischin in under the covers and then we too must nestle in to short cozy days andlong warm nights indoors.

Dull November brings the blast,

Then the leaves go whirling past.
Chill December brings the sleet,
Blazing fire and Christmas treat

Craig, Karenand The Six Arrows

2011-10-24T12:05:00.000-05:00

The works of the farm roll themselves up like vines frozenon the crusted earth in October. Twisted together and burgeoning allsummer they climax now with a rush of things to tend to. The word “holy”may sound a bit too sacrosanct for the farm in light of our modern vernacular,but on the farm we literally "set apart" or "put by" to acertain purpose many things at once before the winter. This “making holy”can mean neither more nor less than the Creator intended. The “first-fruits”of harvest were, in times past, more habitually set aside in accordance withHis beautiful laws to reflect an awe-inspiring truth about Himself and what Hehas made. In this way the commonalities of life, the everyday provisions,become sacred and holy; turning the eyes of our souls back to the divineProvider through the abundance of common gifts given to an uncommon purpose.

These are days when we can revel in the changeful rush ofsky and earth towards year’s end. I love noticing the way a leaf curlsclose together in helpless and impulsive protest of the frosty chill, or theway the sun rises ruddy and defiant on crisp mornings from his new place andcasts a sultry glance down the frosty lawn to challenge the deepening cold ofnights growing ever clearer. I watch the crests of the hills in therolling farm-land for the tell-tale clouds of dust thrown up from a combinereaping. Long days of blustering rain and harsh wind out of doors promisewarmth and busyness inside. There are few joys greater than pulling upthe drive in autumn dusk to the greeting window-lights of home or yankingstocking caps down over ears and long socks up to knees to tramp over hardenedearth and under icy sky. Here are the days when you can work up a goodsweat and a great appetite on the last of the garden work and wear yourshort-sleeved shirt to dinner when the house is suddenly too close and warm forcomfort.

Our irons are so numerous they hardly fit in the fire, whilethe largest of them, the root cellar, is coming along well. The hurry andscurry of our last minute wood chopping, window mopping, supply shopping,can-topping, project stopping, market hopping, brow-sopping, summer-droppinglife is nothing short of exhilarating. We sometimes take a breath justlong enough to realize we are making our own heat and can attest to the oldadage Daddy posts in his office… “He who cuts his own wood is twice warmed.”

Here’s hoping you are warmed just so every day!

Craig, Karenand The Six Arrows

2011-10-05T11:10:00.000-05:00

It was one of those warm ripe days, the kind where the heat of the sun soaks into the very marrow of you and makes you want to jump up and run for miles and be very still all at the same time. Breathing the air was like drinking strong wine, so laden was it with the flavors of harvest. Dappled light was dancing to the music of the lively trees. Old patriarchs of the woods tossed their lofty arms in a cheery gale, casting leaves merrily into the breeze like clouds of confetti at a celebration. A broad span of corn field mesmerized my eyes with the shimmering role and dip of the sea turned to gold and heralded the onslaught of the wind with voice of thundering waves. The whole world swayed and whispered with the roar of one mighty crowd in the midst of an overture, peering over the vast edge of a moment of expectation towards an indiscernible culmination.

I was driving home…yes plain-old-ordinary driving home…with these thoughts simmering in my mind. I thought of what a nice beginning that would be for a really good sit-by-the-fire story; and then remembered how much easier it is to begin a tale than end it, even as “The end of a thing is better than its beginning.” (Ecclesiastes 7:8) For all the books ever written, there must be a thousand that languish in closets in a perpetual state of infancy.

Between the covers of a story, that stand out in ripples of poetry, lie the facts in lines of prose. Here, while the colors of autumn flame and fade, the wood must be chopped and stacked, the last chickens processed, the last grass clinging to living green must be cut, the last fruit gathered.

Already the last of the apples, excluded from regimental rows of cans stored away, are just beginning to wrinkle with age in bushel baskets. Our pumpkins sport wooden stems cured from once-juicy slips of vine. The tomato plants are officially spent; resulting in a blending of emotions for those of us who reveled in the treat of fresh tomatoes all summer and survived the late nights and soggy hands of the sixty-quart canning season. The diminishing “side-table” in our family room is reestablished to its former height with new bags of wheat. It probably comes as no surprise that we decorate with our bulk food-supplies. In any case, once the stack is leveled with a board and draped with tanned deer-hides, it truly makes a lovely buffet...really. The only drawback I can discover to edible furnishings is the perpetual fluctuation in size.

Our table groans under bounty of a different kind than heretofore. Mountains of potato salads and fresh salsas, and heaping bowls of cherry tomatoes give place to pots of hearty chili and savory soup and steaming stacks of cornbread with vegetables from the frozen regions of the freezer.

Autumn is in the lane that leads home now. The bird-songs will trill on a chilled and shortened tune when the wind blows with ice on his breath. The door to the old year is just around the corner. Very soon it will close, but the wonder of living is the privilege of leaving the old behind and walking on into the time on the other side of the door.

In this sense, a tale never really ends. I am beginning to think the best “end” to a story must be a closed door, with mystery and promise of the nameless future behind it, since it tacitly forbids the mortal reader to look past the threshold of time into the awesome knowledge of eternity; a thing which none of us can really do…yet.

Basil Anyone?!

2011-09-22T09:46:00.000-05:00

We have large quantities of fresh basil available! For those of you who like to make and freeze pesto or dry basil in bulk, we are offering a plastic sack-full of stems for $10. For those who are interested in the Rochester area, we can bring your order to the Rochester Farmer's Market. Need a good pesto recipe? This is a favorite in the Lenz household. An excellent, healthy and easy winter meal with all fresh, uncooked ingredients.

Pesto

~ 1 cup fresh basil leaves, washed and patted dry

~ 2 good-sized garlic cloves

~ 1/2 cup shelled walnuts

~ 1/2 cup virgin olive oil

~ 2/3 cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese (already grated, but purchased in the deli section is fine; no canned cheese)

~ salt and pepper to taste (we do 1 tsp. salt and 1/8 tsp pepper)

~ 1/4 cup heavy whipping cream

Combine basil, garlic and walnuts in the food processor or blender, chopping thoroughly
With processor running, ad the oil in a slow steady stream
Turn the processor off and add the cheese, salt and pepper. Process breifly
Add 2 T hot water and the whipping cream and process again.

We tend to make 6 recipes of this at a time and each recipe in a 1 quart freezer bag. Set one out to thaw early in the day. Make 1 lb. of pasta and pour the thawed pesto over the warm pasta (this melts the cheese and it gets nice and “gooey”). Serve with fresh grated parmesan.

A Six Arrows Farm Update

2011-09-21T10:25:00.002-05:00

The Lenz family never stays in one mode of action long enough to be stuffed into any kind of box of modern identification. Just when you have us comfortably settled into the musical family mold, we pop out with a day of chicken processing on the front drive. As soon as you are sure we can’t be anything but farmers, the tendency to dress up and play at history pokes suspiciously through a cranny. It happens accidentally on purpose. We can’t be satisfied with the hum-drum of a singular occupation when our sheer numbers alone, not to mention the varied gifts and united purpose of the household, enable the most lively kind of economical enterprise and social development. The danger is not doing too little, but trying to do too much.

Just as we transition a hundred times a week into entirely different kinds of work, our house morphs nearly as often into drastically varied forms of function. Today it is a bakery, root-cellar, and sorting/packaging facility. Tomorrow it will be a rehearsing venue for the Lenz quartet. Sunday it may throw wide its doors for hospitality and Monday it will turn into a canning facility.

True to custom, the last of the tomatoes are gathered into the house in miscellaneous mounds. From the first vine-ripened fruit to the last half-green straggler time leaps in a few short weeks. The transient type of glory stored up in the brilliance of the dazzling red tomato is akin to its season. Just as the abundant snow of winter melts away as if it had never been, so the fruit of the vine grows, ripens and vanishes again. Seasons are like that. They are enduring only because they are always sure to come back, for as long as they are ordained to, with a kind of persistence that savors of the changelessness of their Designer. Since there are no officially designated tomato storage and sorting rooms in evidence on the farm, we establish the cheeky invaders on the floors of our basement and entry-way, honoring the future situation of a guest’s chair with the present habitation of a profuse harvest.

I can admit freely that picking your way from the front door to the stairs over boxes and buckets of tomatoes in various stages of ripening and decay is less than convenient. And to be quite frank, stumbling blindly over them in the dark of night on the way to the kitchen for a drink is positively dangerous, especially to the toes. In consequence, Ben, with substantial assistance from his brothers, is digging a 10x12 root cellar into one of our hillsides. It is our sincere desire to avoid stubbed toes and mad rushes to clear the mountains of produce for visitors in future. How successful the attempt will be remains to be seen. We tend to be creatures of habit and, regrettably, often fly in the face of expedience with the traditional modus operandi when it comes to gardening.

The chill air is laden with one of my favorite scents today: fresh-cut hay. Some neighboring farmer, compliant with ageless necessity, cut off his rich emerald crop and laid it in windrows on the shorn earth for the sun to turn to gold. Wherever I am when I taste that ripe sweetness of mown alfalfa in the wind, I come home in my heart. Here to the daily sameness and constant change, the relentless energy, the lasting rest, the old familiar and new every sunrise little taste of heaven.

2011-08-22T18:52:00.001-05:00

“I have just returned from Perm’s Hill where I have been sitting to hear the amazing roar of canon and from whence I could see every shell which was thrown. The sound, I think, is one of the grandest in nature and is of the true species of the sublime. Tis now an incessant roar, but oh, the fatal ideas which are connected with the sound. How many of our dear countrymen must fall.” ~Abigail Adams in a letter to her husband John Adams on March 4, 1775

The Six Arrows were not in evidence on the farm the last two weeks. We believe vacation is absolutely a necessity for those who work, so we took one. Long before taxes became a burden on the modern American family, God instituted the vacation tax, that is, a family was to set aside for themselves a tithe of their income for a vacation and rest. The Lenz family also believes fervently that man is made for work. We believe work, rather than being a burden or curse on men, is actually a gift and blessing.

It was the mixture of these two convictions that inspired many great family vacations throughout my childhood entirely devoid of laying on the beach. We have no inherent dislike for the said activity, we simply didn’t know how to do it...or how to do nothing rather. As you may imagine, when there is literally a crowd of us, we don’t tend to do things by halves. Stuffing clothing, sandwiches and pillows everywhere but between our toes in the family “bus” to gobble up thousands of miles of highway has consequently become a habit for our household.

Our first real vacation was a road-trip to Maine. We tent-camped the whole way, staying in a hotel only once because of a heavy thunderstorm, and made memories of the grandest and best kind. In retrospect, that vacation inspires admiration and respect in me for my dear parents, since they ventured courageously out on the enterprise with five children under seven (Sam was still on the way).

Such an auspicious beginning, fraught with high-adventure and higher education, could not fail to institute a tradition that is anything but “traditional.” Our avid love for history was birthed, not out of textbooks (because our parents never bought a history curriculum) but out of a vivid knowledge of real stories from books, and even eyewitnesses, brought to life in many cases through our vacations to the places where real life happened. Standing before the ancient and not-so-ancient landmarks of our forefathers endures as an indelible mark on my mind that far outlives the even the valuable dates and facts I often imbibed at the same time.

My favorite part of vacation was always the site marked with “living history.” I loved walking onto a replica Mayflower and being questioned concerning my sewing capabilities by a young lady in Pilgrim garb, or meeting “General Longstreet” on Little Round Top at Gettysburg and hearing him talk about the battle ground spread out before us in the early evening light, and dissemble on the existence of an airplane that flew overhead. I could only dream as a little girl that I might one day be able to do the same thing for someone else.

As I write, we are barreling down the highway a few short hours from Wilson Creek Missouri, the site of a battle on the Western Theatre of the War Between the States. This is our currently evolved version of “Family Vacation;” fairly unrecognizable compared to its classic modern-American counterpart. We will pitch our tent in an encampment with a few thousand fellow re-enactors to commemorate and pay tribute to our forebears, many of whom paid the ultimate price for the cause of justice and freedom. In camp, we laugh among ourselves over the irony of our position. Twenty-first century Americans don the layers and fashions of a past age and almost exclusively eschew the comforts of air-conditioning and running water to bury ourselves in the 1860s. For the better part of four days we par-boil in the heat of summer, “climb for our water and dig for our wood,” and wear the distinctive acrid scent of the campfire. The men and boys drill and march and stand in ranks under an un-blinking sun, and the ladies cook along with the food over the fire. We laugh at the “misery” because we keep coming back anyway. Transient reasons like “It’s fun,” mask the reality that we don’t carry the burden of a meaningless heritage.

Now more than ever the lines between education and experience, learning and living, become blurred beyond recognition. We no longer know how to relegate the circumstances of history to the words and pictures of an encyclopedia, or wonder with disdain at the sentiments and convictions of past generations.

Some say we are “wiser” in the present age; that a “brave new world” is open before us and the advancements of science and technology have forever dismissed ignorance and primitive lifestyles to oblivion. “Somewhere in the past,” we are told, lie the ghosts of another way of life. For most, there is only a transient desire to temporarily call them up to remembrance for “interest” and entertainment. Culture has forgotten that past has given birth to present, and that those “antiquated traditions” and “backward prejudices” were the seeds of our present condition.

We pitch our tents in the encampment of the past to blast the trumpet of awakening to our generation. The battles fought yesterday are more pertinent than ever today. Modern advancements of technology cannot spirit away the war that rages in the heart of man. We are still more dogmatic in our ignorance, more convinced of our “rights” and more consumed by our greed. Today, many of my peers are not educated in how to think rightly. They are often schooled in how not to think at all; to quote Charles Dickens “How not to get it done.” The gift of understanding of the times, however weakly borne by men, rests squarely in the hand of God and is given through no merit of the receiver.

Some say that we reenact to glorify war and gore. To this I answer as follows:

“...For everyone to whom much is given, from him much will be required; and to whom much has been committed, of him they will ask the more.” Luke 12:48
I quoted Abigail Adams at the beginning of this post reflecting on the nature of war in her time. I personally aspire to be her daughter and the daughter of the women who went before her and those who followed. It is not allowable for me to avert my eyes from the truth, to cover my ears to the blast of the murderous cannon mouths, or close my mind to the horrors evoked by the grim toll of death exacted and the fears arising from looming personal danger and sacrifice. The stakes are high and growing ever-higher. I trust my words do not smack of sensationalism or the conspiracy alarmist when I say so. I believe I am not far wrong in asserting that, as it has always been, so it is now; that we face an even greater conflict with more deadly implications than have yet confronted the human race. It may not become a bloody deluge with lead and canons (we aren’t making canon-balls in the basement in any case) but a battle, if not physical, then of principle and jurisdiction, that rages and threatens. I am firmly convinced that the following lines of exhortation from Abigail Adams to her twelve-year-old son may fittingly be taken as pertinent in principle to our own time.

“These are times in which a genius would wish to live. It is not in the still calm of life or the repose of a pacific station that great characters are formed. Great necessities call out great virtues. When a mind is raised and animated by seeds that engage the heart, then these qualities which would otherwise lie dormant, wake into life and form the character of the hero and the statesman. War, tyranny and desolation are the scourges of the Almighty, and ought no doubt to be deprecated. Yet it is your lot, my son, to be an eyewitness of these calamities in your own native land; and at the same time to owe your existence among a people who have made glorious defense of their invaded liberties; and who, aided by a generous and powerful Ally, with the blessing of Heaven, will transmit this inheritance to ages yet unborn.”

“Blessed be the Lord my Rock, Who trains my hands for war, and my fingers for battle- my lovingkindness and my fortress, my high tower and my deliverer, my shield and the One in whom I take refuge, Who subdues my people under me. Lord, what is man that You take knowledge of him? Or the son of man, that You are mindful of him? Man is like a breath; his days are like a passing shadow. Bow down Your heavens, O Lord, and come down. Touch the mountains, and they shall smoke. Flash forth lightning and scatter them; shoot out Your arrows and destroy them. Stretch out Your hand from above; rescue me and deliver me out of great waters, from the hand of foreigners, whose mouth speaks vain words, and whose right hand is a right hand of falsehood. I will sing a new song to You, O God; on a harp of ten strings I will sing praises to You, the One who gives salvation to kings, Who delivers David His servant from the deadly sword. Rescue me and deliver me from the hand of foreigners, whose mouth speaks vain words, and whose right hand is a hand of falsehood- That our sons may be as plants grown up in their youth; that our daughters may be as pillars, sculptured after the similitude of a palace; that our barns may be full, supplying all kinds of produce; that our sheep may bring forth thousands and ten thousands in our fields; that our oxen may be well-laden; that there be no breaking in or going out; that there be no outcry in our streets. Happy are the people who are in such a state; happy are the people whose God is the Lord!”

Psalm 144

2011-07-22T07:10:00.001-05:00

When we aren’t digging in the dirt with our hands, our family loves delving into history with our minds. Sometimes we do both at once…don’t ask me how, but the most engaging discussions usually take place during the more simple occasions in our lives. Yesterday in particular, Aubrey and I were puzzling over the number of yards required for an 1860’s petticoat while strong-arming ambitious weeds out from between the tomato cages. The deliberation was not in vain, since we decided on the correct yardage and “saved,” as you might call it, some fifty aspiring tomato plants.

As if the garden and farm were not quite enough for a summer, the eight of us recently dove heart and soul into reenacting what many call the Civil War. Thus while we are up to our elbows in the myriad colors and tastes and smells of high summer out of doors, we are up to our knees in the living room with scissors and pins and bits of bright thread and scraps of muslin "Too narrow breadths for nought--except waistcoats for mice," as Miss Potter’s Tailor of Gloucester said. (Unfortunately, we have no mouse-friends to do midnight miracles and save us the trouble of pricked fingers and aching necks as the aforementioned tailor did.) And amid the feathery arms of carrot tops and out from between the ranks of onions, old battle songs and rallying tunes ring across the field like echoes from tongues long-silent.

The farmer’s market stand, in the meantime, blossoms into full splendor. If one didn’t know how little of the beauty is truly beholden to one’s own effort one might be in danger of growing remarkably proud. Setting out the most brilliant displays of produce is a privilege for those who are not afraid to break their finger-nails and scrub the ever-loving dirt out off their hands and feet, but he who is most familiar with the soil knows full well just how much he relies on his Maker for the increase.

I speak of dirt often, when I write about the garden, mostly because I think it is inescapable. Yet there are also things there that cannot be described well because of their beauty, nor experienced any other place. The sublimity and grandeur of even the Grand Canyon or a broad range of mountains is frankly hard-put to be more sublime than the scenes that occur in a garden. There in our garden I stand often on a day-brink, at the top of our path through still-dusky, sleepy woods, my feet in a misty green sea of dewy grass and my eyes blinded by the million morning suns sparkling in our apple trees, dripping and shedding diamonds.

There, if you linger till late, the sun will bid the day adieu with a glory of blazing smiles and, sweeping up the clouds with his train, send back a final fiery flash before withdrawing behind his counterpane. Where but in a garden can you watch the bee at his business in his velvet suit; stuffing his pockets with dusty gold from the heart of the rose? Where but in a garden can you walk down emerald halls under an azure arch and eat freely on every side a feast of heaven’s own making? Each of us is given good gifts every day so that, surrounded as we are by the dirt we so often stir up for ourselves, we remain unable to forget the goodness of God.
Craig, Karen and the Six Arrows

2011-07-06T09:30:00.000-05:00

When I was a little girl, Mama used to read poems from play-worn volumes, filled to the brim with lovely, captivating words and the beautiful illustrations of good artists that leapt out of the pages and smiled up at me like old friends. Those afternoons filled with our mother’s low sweet voice drawing us into a beautiful world through verse impressed on my heart a love not only for reading, but especially of the tuneless songs of language we called poetry. They turn over in my head faster than I can name them, these old favorites that steal into the mind with a kind of power of memory that comes with the well-spent golden hours of childhood. The valuable moral lessons they still sing are often indelible. I remember A Good Play (R. L. Stevenson), the kind of poem that makes you want to jump up and play with a will. In The Village Blacksmith (Longfellow) the remarkable integrity, firmness of character and purpose mixed with infinite tenderness and singular love called up the noblest of aspirations. Daddy and Mama hung My Little Sister (“I have a little sister, she is only two years old;” Unknown) on our wall so that I knew it by heart from childhood, and more often than not, considered it ruefully after being less than kind to a sibling.

The poem that fairly leapt to mind again the other day was The Wind, by Robert Louis Stevenson. We were processing chickens, not exactly the most stirring or thought-provoking of occupations, when several great gusts rushed down over the ridge and charged into our valley like an express train, wailing and roaring till the trees looked like girls tossing their hair. It was a strong wind, the rollicking kind that sends your heart into your toes with a foreboding sense of helplessness and then soaring up and away with a wild kind of exaltation.

I saw you toss the kites on high
And blow the birds about the sky;
And all around I heard you pass,
Like ladies' skirts across the grass--
O wind, a-blowing all day long,
O wind, that sings so loud a song!

I saw the different things you did,
But always you yourself you hid.
I felt you push, I heard you call,
I could not see yourself at all--
O wind, a-blowing all day long,
O wind, that sings so loud a song!

O you that are so strong and cold,
O blower, are you young or old?
Are you a beast of field and tree,
Or just a stronger child than me?
O wind, a-blowing all day long,
O wind, that sings so loud a song!
~Robert Lewis Stevenson

As a child, I never understood the questions at the end of the poem, but I recognized the unspoken mystery of the wind. The wind is one of the first things to teach us our own smallness. We can neither control it, nor ever completely understand it. After all, the weather man may predict it, and the scientist delineate in certain terms how it works, but why it blows…this is beyond the comprehension of human thought, and even little children unconsciously know it. I am reminded in it of the breath of God; that presence that fills the soul with wonderful, terrible fear, boundless awe and ceaseless joy.

I walked my garden in the heat of the day,
And buried my feet in the sun-baked clay;
And smelt the grass ripen, kissed of the sun,
That roams his dominion till day is done.

The wind brushed my arm on his way by
And whispered the strangest of lullabies.
Wild, strong and sweet his song still rings,
In my ears, of the plenty that summer brings.

Wind’s words, though I hearken, he cannot form,
Be his breath a breeze or high summer storm;
Yet perforce plays his melody at the command
Of thundering Word and prevailing Hand.

The earth bears its fruit and sky yields rain
And grass in the fields dies and ripens again.
How much more shall I than the mindless soil
Yield to His glory my heart, will and toil?
~EKL

This summer day is hot and languishing in the sun, the machines mixing bread grind away, and the rich strains of the Cleveland Quartet weave tales of the American countryside through the haunting melodies and harmonies of Dvorak’s 12th and 14th String Quartets. Everybody else is harvesting!

Craig, Karen and The Six Arrows

Anyone who reads Gene Stratton Porter will recognize these… A dear friend, who read Gene Stratton Porter to her children, sent these to us. They are prolific, just like the story reads. And they taste like grapes.

2011-06-03T11:16:00.000-05:00

Many of you have asked for our Six Arrows Farm Party Recipes. Here are two favorites:

Chili Corn Bread Salad

1pkg (7 oz-smaller works too) cornbread mix

1 can (4 oz) diced green chilies, do not drain

1/8 tsp dried oregano

Pinch rubbed sage

1 c mayonnaise

1 c sour cream (8oz)

1 envelope Ranch salad dressing mix

2 cans (15 oz ea.) pinto beans rinsed and drained

2 cans (15 oz ea.) whole kernel corn, drained

3 medium tomatoes, chopped

1 cup chopped green pepper

1 c chopped onions

10 bacon strips, cooked and crumbled

2 c shredded cheddar cheese

Prepare corn bread mix according to directions and add chilies, cumin, oregano and sage. Bake in 8 in square pan according to mix directions. Cool and crumble. Combine mayo, sour cream and dressing mix and set aside. Place half crumbled cornbread in 9x13 glass dish. Layer with half of the beans, mayo mixture, corn , tomatoes, green pepper, onions, bacon and cheese. Repeat layers. Dish will be very full. Cover and refrigerate for 2 hours or longer. 12 servings.

Banana Brunch Punch

6 medium ripe bananas

1 can (12 oz) frozen OJ thawed

1 can (6 oz ) frozen lemonade thawed

2 c sugar

3 c warm water (divided)

1 can ( 46 oz) pineapple juice

3 bottles (2 liters each) lemon lime soda

Orange slices optional

In blender or food processor, blend bananas, orange juice and lemonade until smooth. Remove half of the mixture and set aside. Add 1 ½ c of warm water and 1 c sugar to mixture in blender; blend until smooth. Place in large freezer container. (ice cream pails) Repeat with remaining banana mixture, water and sugar, add to container. Cover and freeze until solid. One hour before serving; take punch base out of freezer. Just before serving, place in a large punch bowl. Add pineapple juice and soda; stir until well blended. Garnish with orange slices if desired. 16-20 servings.

2011-05-10T17:47:00.001-05:00

Blood Root, a kind of Wood Anemone, (thus named due to the “blood” that runs out of the red roots, or “rhizomes” when they are broken) is the first plant that blooms in spring here. I don’t truly admit of the possibility of spring until the flower’s tender thumbs poke up across the forest floor. The bright little buds relieve the dull brown of the spring ground like stars on a velvety dark night and the absolute purity and delicate nature of the remarkable blossoms is a glorious pronouncement of spring. As far as I’m concerned…it is now official!

I heartlessly pruned the raspberries last night, chopping away with a large clipper until my sore hands could no longer grip the handles. The work evoked memories of past springs...

I can still see Daddy pruning his trees and shrubs while my siblings and I, curious and adoring lads and lassies, bobbed around his knees, mildly solicitous for the welfare of the “poor plants.” After all, the trees bud so busily in spring, and he was cutting off all their hard work with remorseless brevity.

The first year I was entrusted with the task of trimming our rose bushes, I “executed” the job with a few cautious snips and a guilty feeling akin to that of…well…an executioner. When Daddy checked my work, he was kind, but told me I had failed to accomplish the necessary pruning. I have to admit to my shame that I protested a bit at first. Those bushes had sprouted up and out marvelously and it seemed a shame to cut back the tender green shoots.

My feelings in the matter have revolutionized dramatically, but I believe watching my characteristically tender and loving father trim with care and resolution year after year gave me a new understanding of love as well as the nature of plant growth. Experience taught me that the pruning of growth is a inexorable prerequisite to the bearing of fruit. Season after season showed me the abundance that comes out of healthy plants cut back and branched out.

In fact it is the expectation of fruit proves the love of the gardener for his plants even while he cuts back what seems to be good; because he prunes to make way for what is better. This understanding has brought a kind of joy and satisfaction to the task of pruning that supplants the naive hesitating cringe I used to harbor at every snip. Love knows when to gently cut away what is temporary so that what is lasting may be gained with patience.

So we cut back and train up and plant down and water in with faith and expectation…that the Lord of the Harvest will bring forth the bounty of His choosing in His good time.

Potatoes and Peas, Beans, Beets and Radish seeds are planted, with nothing as yet to mark their final resting place but trim rows of dirt and rugged stakes. Broccoli and Cabbage, frosty of leaf and sturdy in stature are set in neat squares, and feathery Onions march in regiments down the length of the garden. And chicks peep merrily from 207 throats and convulse any watchers with their clumsy antics. Our dear friend Gracie seemed to bring out the best in them!

Craig, Karen and The Six Arrows

2011-05-03T17:01:00.001-05:00

"Even a child…"

Because culture is by definition an identifier, identity is a culture's greatest strength...and weakness. In a time when identity in our society has become anything but identifiable, understanding who we are is often difficult to say the least. I have noted that many of the young people of my generation have a case of identity failure. In many ways, they are the natural victims of a crumbling society. Often, they no longer know who they are, or what they are supposed to become. Why this talk of culture?

Observing plants grow up from tiny seeds to full-blown vegetation is a unique privilege and gives cause for thought. If one is responsible for the care and nurture of something that is growing, one learns to be attentive and proactive. After all, if you can’t recognize the beginning stages of distress in a young plant, it often fails beyond full repair; if it doesn’t die completely before you can effect a change.

As home-educated/self-educated young people, my siblings and I are questioned often about the level of social interaction we experience…many would call the method our parents chose to raise us “brain-washing.” Yet all education is just that…a forming of the mind into a certain pattern of thought. Naturally, the world-view into which we are trained uniquely defines the way we grow. You can probably see the parallels (albeit imperfect ones at times) in the language of vegetation and philosophy of life. Children grow up to be what we purposefully or passively train them to be. So also, young plants, are “brain-washed” from youth. True, a basil seed has all the created potential to flourish into a savory smelling, vibrant green plant. From the moment of planting, however, the gardener begins to train it. Soil temperature, the amount of light, moisture and air are all tools that must be properly administered in order to encourage life. A plant that receives too little light gets etiolation, a disorder that causes it to grow tall and spindly without casting down roots and the plant almost never fully recovers because it is forced to spend good growing time later compensating for early weakness.

From the moment true leaves appear, and even before, there are defining traits that mark a plant. We learn the seedlings by name...when they are young, because our “babies” from the earliest age have an identity. They look and smell and taste and feel and grow the way their full-grown counterparts do. Oregano buds and branches out into a bush, thyme trails and creeps in vines, setting down new roots as it grows. If at any time, the plant stopped growing the way it was supposed to, we would call it a mutation or ill-health. The loss of DNA…or identity…seminally divides a good plant from a bad one. By their fruits we know them and understand how to help them grow.

“Even a child is known by his deeds, whether what he does is pure and right.”
~Proverbs 20:11

Aside from lessons on life, the greenhouse is also bursting at the seams with pots. Aubrey’s famous Kitchen Herb Gardens are flourishing and nearly complete! Cracking the door every day after the bright “percolating” morning hours releases aromas that are just a step away from the draft of a window opening into heaven. Maybe I’m biased. After all, when most people tally their favorite smells, sodden dirt, ripe vegetation, and damp heavy air don’t usually make the “Top 10” with Grandma’s Hot Apple Pie and Coffee. Even so, I can’t resist a good greenhouse scent.

Half of this year’s 3000 onion’s were the first thing in the “fallow ground” this past week. We planted in trepidation and watched with no small measure of concern as snow drifted over the tender plants. But onions are hardy in cold, and we found on Thursday that they had brightened from the slightly distressed condition they arrive in when shipped; in spite of this rugged Minnesota spring!

Craig, Karen and The Six Arrows

Itty Bitty Chicks - One Day Old

2011-05-02T16:15:00.000-05:00

I love listening to the contented cooing, chirping sounds they make as they settle down for their first nap in the warm 92 degree F. brooder.

Pancake insists his intentions were never to eat a chick. He just wanted to taste one.

2011-04-12T18:05:00.030-05:00

Fallow ground…look up “fallow” anywhere and you will most likely find mixed definitions. It is a beautiful Old English word that has its roots in agriculture. Throughout history, those who till the soil have learned that even in the balmiest climates, the land needs a time of rest. We call ground that is left unplanted and untended “fallow.”

In the book of Exodus, God actually commands His people to let the land “rest and lie fallow” every seven years. We shouldn’t be surprised. The Creator knows exactly what He made and how He designed it to function. We as farmer’s know by experience the wisdom in this directive. Like anything else that is overtaxed, soil loses vitality and becomes nutrient depleted when is continuously cultivated.

In Minnesota, we have little choice but to leave the land fallow annually, since winter effectually cuts off farming for a good six months. The remarkable part about winter is that moisture in the soil does what you would expect it to; it expands as it freezes. In this way, winter effectually pushes the “reset button” on the land. Spring is always muddy because the frost “comes out” from the soil and, with the additional snow melt, must be absorbed into the softened sod. When all the extra water seeps in, the surface of the ground is hard as rock, but less than an inch below the surface, the soil is light and rich, ready for eager hands.

When I opened the greenhouse this morning the sun was so inviting that I ventured up the garden path, driving a flock of indignant foraging hens before me. The air and light are electric with life now, even though the dull browns and grays of the old dead year are still hiding all but a very few intrepid buds. Our garden stretches away into the field like a cracked and desolate desert, dead to all appearances. But those fastidious hens know better. In the corner where morning light touches first when it breaks over the eastern tree-line, I found “hen-wallows,” places where persevering claws and beaks penetrated the hard crust and delved into a warm soft bed beneath. I admit that I couldn’t help but bury my hand in it. Last year’s dry and dusty dirt was unrecognizable in this fresh, ripe earth.

The time of renewal is at hand when billows of loam will roll over to greet the strengthening sun and swallow whole the germs of every kind of good thing…seeds that will fall in the ground and die…to give life. The land will be fruitful and multiply in obedience to the ancient decree.

Fallow ground…the hard crust, the dormant heart. My mind springs forward in expectation to the fruit of summer, but the principle of the fallow ground remains burned in my memory. You see, breaking up the fallow ground reveals what Daddy likes to call “black gold.” But to reach that treasure, one must endure death and a long wait; and in the end, it takes the breaking, tearing, overturning of the smooth surface. It takes dirt under your nails and grit in your teeth, sweating brows and sore muscles. Yet the reward is so abundant and glorious that all this is more than worth it…if you can see it with clear eyes and a heart free.

So…Sam is tying his boots in preparation to pull out the tractor and break up the fallow ground…I can already smell it. The birds know “that time” has come and they sing more joyfully than ever this morning…and the ground waits to yield to the blade of the plow.

“Sow for yourselves righteousness;
Reap in mercy;
Break up your fallow ground,
For it is time to seek the LORD,
Till He comes and rains righteousness on you.”

~Hosea 10:12

Craig, Karen and The Six Arrows

A Six Arrows Farm Update

2011-03-25T12:46:00.002-05:00

"Water, water everywhere, nor any drop to drink.”

– Samuel Taylor Coleridge, The Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner

There is a sort of battle that rankles in a young soul when they begin to see the child in themselves. Unconscious childhood is precious then, because it is unreachable. No longer can the lighthearted thoughts fly free of convention and reality. It is the blessed one who can treasure the childlike innocence and beauty of youth and carry it tenderly in their hearts into the wisdom and maturity that comes with age. In the irresistible draw of nature, I think the Creator leaves a door to childlike conviction open that we must choose to go through or shut. I didn’t particularly wish to drag myself through the mud and spent snow to poke about in the snow-melt, but I’m glad Sam prodded me away from the realities and conventions of my habitually grown life long enough to revel in the timelessness of it. By God’s grace, there will always be a sunshiny carefree girl dancing away in the heart of me that wants to go out and dabble in a puddle.

No, you can’t drink any of it (something I thankfully learned before I understood why), but there is plenty of water to go around. I put my foot through an innocent looking drift and found it running knee-deep and strong beneath me, chattering and merrily unconcerned about being exposed to the light. Of course the last gasp of a Minnesota winter happens long after it is thought probable, so I’m not declaring Spring yet; even though technically the calendar says it’s here. I sincerely believe the weather is just daring us to get comfortable with the idea before dumping on us.

Half of me is willing May to come with all my might. The other half is frozen in dread…no, not really.

But the truth is, as Aubrey mentioned driving home one day, one hardly knows what to think. With May comes the tasks of garden and farm. I have to admit, “The spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak.” My spirit rises up to the challenge of fallow ground, ripe and ready for gardens to till and plant, animals to grow and life to thrive. The flesh…well let’s just say “it” doesn’t relish the idea of sweat. Frankly, though, I can’t wait to sink my teeth into a warm ripe strawberry or crunch through a gushingly crisp snow-pea.

This year we have the added anticipation of Garrison’s graduation. As you may already know, our family strives to excel, and at the very least revels in the making of celebrations on the slightest (or greatest) provocation. This one will be no exception. I am unofficially planning the flower gardens with the help of our green-house expert, Aubrey, who is doing the preliminary planting for our Market garden as well. Mama is planning stupendous quantities of delectable viands, for the preparation of which every one of us lends two hands. Daddy is Master of Ceremonies and Advisor in technical difficulties. The boys are responsible to primarily direct the order of the farm for guests. And we all clean…a lot. :o)
Along with the responsibilities that this home presents, the boys are finishing off a season of orchestra and the wedding season for our quartet is looming up in the future. After all, how can we maintain the (in?)sanity more effectively than with the help of good music!? (Incidentally, don’t you think the boys are remarkably dashing in their tuxes? I just had to include a picture. :0) )

Craig, Karen and The Six Arrows

Six Arrows Farm

(507) 356-8223

sixarrowsfarm@pitel.net

http://sixarrowsfarm.blogspot.com/

http://sixarrowshome.blogspot.com/’

P.S. It may interest the readers to know that I never write an update without the influence and atmosphere of good music…most often classical. I often wish I could include the lovely sounds with the updates, since it often communicates expressly what I am thinking without the weight of American English. At the moment, I am harkening to the rich, refined splendor and delicate exuberance of early Beethoven as used in a relatively modern soundtrack. Follow these links if you want the full experience!...Here for the inspiration (really the whole septet was inspiration) and Here and Here for the way Andrew Davies used it in BBC’s 1995 Pride and Prejudice Soundtrack. :0) I never lose and opportunity to defend my position on good soundtracks: namely, they are, nearly without exception, always inspired by an original classical piece, if not an almost direct plagiarization. Try comparing the West Wing track from Disney’s Beauty and the Beast to Camille Saint Saen’s Aquarium from the Carnival of the Animals if you are intrigued!

A Six Arrows Farm Update

2011-03-15T15:12:00.002-05:00

Much as I love poetry, I am no poet. There are times when I hear the words falling as distant lilting music on my mind's ear, but putting them down on paper with clarity is a discipline of the English language I have yet to master. I have resorted often to the garbled or "un-translated" verse in spite of the lack of rhyme since poetry often makes very nice prose. A true poet would probably accuse me of a negligent approach to communication...and they would be correct in their assessment. There are in fact enough instances when I feel the need for skill in poetry that I now believe the time is not far distant when I will buckle down and learn the theory.

This is a time when I wish poetry were at my finger tips. How do you write about the germination and emergence of seedlings with common everyday prose? The growth that results in the birth of a new plant is nothing short of miraculous. It simply gets swallowed up and overwhelmed by the crushingly profound terms...germination...emergence. Perhaps my quandary is a language issue. These words are rich in meaning, they just don’t sound that way. Take French for example. Even a conversation about a common fence post in French sounds gracious and refined...unless, perhaps, you speak French? In any case, the world of small plants has crept quickly and silently right into our living-room, so I felt I should attempt to address it.

There is something very brave and vulnerable about a new seedling. Small forests of thyme and oregano, sage and chives are thriving in a world of warmth and light not removed from the blustering cold by more than a few inches of air and glass. Twisting and cracking the humble dingy husks that were their only safety, in haste these germs of flourishing growth reach up and delve down in all sorts of fantastic shapes. No one tells them what to do or how to do it; but when moisture softens their shell, they reach blindly but un-erringly for that life-giving and yet deadly light penetrating their darkness. Without proper moisture light is death to a sprout. Yet a plant will never cease from its earliest moments to lift up its face and arms to the light. In awe-inspiring variety, each plant flourishes best in its own unique habitat of light and wet. And there is no plant which receives life and health from the sun and rain that will ever cease to bear good fruit as long as it lives because it is the joy of a healthy plant to grow and flourish and ripen. The only way a plant with light and water will not bear fruit is if the earth no longer yields nutrients…dead earth.

One of the changes a new seedling effects in the first weeks of growth is the loss of the first leaves, “cotyledons,” as it pours all its life into the “true leaves.” The “seed leaves” wither away and die, but the plant neither stunts nor wilts in growth, but drops the things of the past by the wayside to reach new heights.

I know of no more profound work in a creation filled with wonders. The wisest man in the world directed us:

“Go to the ant, thou sluggard; consider her ways, and be wise: Which having no guide, overseer, or ruler, provideth her meat in the summer, and gathereth her food in the harvest.” ~Proverbs 6:6-8

Solomon, the wisest of men, understood the simple yet weighty significance of every creation. Nature shouts praise to the Creator in the quiet diligence of the ant and the silent audacity of a plant, daring heat and flood, cold and wind, death and time to stop it from doing what it was created to do.

“…And buds of rarest green began to peer,
As if impatient for a warmer sun…”

~Hartley Coleridge

“Hast thou commanded the morning since thy days; and caused the dayspring to know his place; …Have you entered the storehouses of the snow, or have you seen the storehouses of the hail, which I have reserved for the time of trouble, for the day of battle and war? What is the way to the place where the light is distributed, or where the east wind is scattered upon the earth? "Who has cleft a channel for the torrents of rain and a way for the thunderbolt, to bring rain on a land where no man is, on the desert in which there is no man, to satisfy the waste and desolate land, and to make the ground sprout with grass?"

~God in Job 38:12 & 22-27

By the way, the most mindful and tender of greenhouse-keepers, among many other things, just turned 21!

Craig, Karen and The Six Arrows

2011-03-06T17:24:00.001-06:00

Two worlds are at work on the farm this week.

In the outdoor world, we Minnesotans were just liberally dowsed with over a foot of our winter diet, snow, topped with a icing of freezing rain…what the weather-man feebly dubs “a wintery mix” with that amiable and yet non-descript expression we have all learned to expect from someone blandly exaggerating the next “foreseeable” meteorological event. Daddy says this alias for predicted precipitation sounds like something off a restaurant menu, “And what drink would you like with that Ma’am; a dose of cold north wind?”

I know I’m a little hard on the weather forecasters, but you have to admit they often take things far too seriously. I often wonder if excessive enthusiasm for their work adequately accounts for the zeal of the catastrophists at large on the weather channel.

Indoors, a world of life is brewing. New herbs are already unwinding their first leaves and bending towards the light. We can stare out on a glaring frigid waste and turn back to peep at the garden flourishing under our noses. I love the way chives grow in particular. If you look carefully at the image on the right, you will see that each shoot is doubled, and one in the background just out of focus is unbending…they “cheat” a bit and grow ahead of the other herbs that way. Aubrey and I are itching to delve into last year’s “pot-hills” and piles of rubbish in the greenhouse and reorganize the “nursery” for the soon-coming “babies.” But then we’re all a little fidgety. The planting bug tingles through our finger-tips and we can’t stop ordering seeds. Ordering seeds about now is truly a risky business not unlike grocery shopping when you are hungry.

Speaking of hungry, we attached a recipe to the bottom of this post for a favorite cake of ours that is unbelievably easy and remarkably delicious…not to mention beautiful. The cake bears the name of the person making it, so this is what we call Lenz Cake. Substitute your name in the title and treat your guests to a delicious dessert next time you open the doors to your corner of culture.

If you’re in the “great recipe” mood go to: http://tammymaltby.typepad.com/tammyhansonmaltby/ (That’s where we learned about the Lenz Cake)

Winter is finally beginning to wind down. I could feel it even in the intense gusts of blistering chill that heralded the last blizzard. Very soon the last great dying gasp will give space to spring. Now we trudge up the lane off winter’s last toilsome road. Here a tree, there a bush shakes off its gossomer blanket as if anxious to have done with the sad songs they have creaked all the long cold months. And then, through the last of the falling flakes, we’ll spot it in a quivering of wonderment. The bright warm glow of Spring shining on the edge of time. The next step will be heavier and softer and everywhere the white shrouds will melt and flood away. Soon there will be mud underfoot and buds overhead. Laughing and shouting the gush of life will burst the bonds and carry us away with it until the soft glow is dancing all around in the

warmth. Somwhere between here and there it will come: Summer. And we, all unconcious of the wall we have passed and the gate that was shut behind, will rove in freedom through another world. Last Winter, still a-shimmery and glorious will peep from this young Spring’s walls o’er which it can never pass and watch us gambole away. We may look back at it like children all grown up and wonder with a deep yet fading sense of loss at what we had and knew and never can have or know the same way again. A season gone, a chapter finished. You may glance to me and read the history …last year’s joys… that will be shining like tears in your eyes refleced in my own; and wonder why we don’t turn and return to the dear old familiar. And yet neither of us can…or does.

So my take on all the snow?…learn to enjoy it while you can!

Craig, Karen and The Six Arrows

Lenz Cake

1 box white cake mix (don’t get mix with double the pudding)
1 box vanilla instant pudding
1 box chocolate instant pudding
4 eggs
½ cup oil
1 ½ cup water
1 cup chocolate chips

Grease and flour two 9 inch round cake pans. Mix all ingredients except choc chips according to directions on the cake mix box. Stir in chocolate chips. Pour cake pans and bake at 350 for 30 minutes or until done. (When testing cake with a toothpick, the trick is that the cake continues to “bake” until it cools, so take it out when there are a few moist crumbs (not gobs of batter) on the toothpick rather than waiting until it comes out “clean.” This will yield a more tender and moist cake.)
Remove from pans after 5-10 min. Cool cake completely.

Topping
2-3 pints fresh strawberries
½-1 pint fresh blueberries
1 pint whipping cream
Powdered Sugar
Vanilla
1 cup chocolate chips
1 Tbsp butter

Melt chocolate chips with butter and dip half to ¾ of the strawberries. Refrigerate until set. Whip cream with powdered sugar to taste (3-5 Tbsp) and vanilla (usually a generous tsp.)
Layer and frost the cakes with the whipped cream. Garnish with chocolate strawberries and remaining strawberries and blueberries. (Can also use raspberries) You can also drizzle the cake with leftover chocolate from the strawberries.
Lightly sprinkle with powdered sugar.
Enjoy!

Choosing Seeds the Day after Christmas!

2011-01-08T09:53:00.000-06:00

What you'll need:

Coffee (preferably lots! ) :o)
A few seed catologs... Johnny's, Jung, Burpee, and maybe Mr. Sandyman if you want to try some rare heirlooms
Some of Daddy's ingenious spreadsheets that outline strengths and weaknesses of different varieties
A careful eye and a ready good humor!

Do you think perhaps there are enough tomato varieties to choose from?

What is your highest priority in choosing a fruit or vegetable variety?
A. Size (i.e. massive two-pound fruits)
B. Resistant to Fusarium Wilt, ABCD terrible virus and sudden flop over dead syndrome
C. Will NOT bruise, crack, crush, squeeze, respond to pressure, burst or split
D. Superb, decadent, mouthwatering flavor and crunchy, juicey, bursting texture typically found in heirlooms or less genetically modified varieties with high brix (sugar content) and thus high mineral and vitamin content

If you choose A you will sometimes struggle with flavor and produce less fruit.
If you choose B (I am assuming you are a small farmer) you will not gain the advantages a mass producer would because you will typically not have those diseases in a small clean environment with proper rotation and symbiosis, and your variety will have been so genetically modified to accomplish this immunity it will have lost it's flavor.
If you choose C you will enjoy hard, powdery textured fruits that last forever without spoiling and never quite ripen having poor flavor.

If you live on Six Arrows Farm you will with very few exceptions choose D. Whatever is good for you in that particular fruit or vegetable will be enhanced 10-fold because of the high brix, you will enjoy bountiful harvests so that small amounts of spoiling will not bother you and the flavor and texture will be simply incredible. In fact, the test of "real" food is how quickly it spoils! If you bite into an apple and it quickly turns brown it is a real apple. Similarly, if the food on your counter spoils rather quickly you know it has something good in it, unlike the 10-year old granola bar and the 6-month-old wrinkle-free apple!

So what words make for a Six Arrows Farm variety choice?

! :o)

Pattymelt...

2011-01-08T09:46:00.001-06:00

This is Patty.

She was given some milk.

How did she get the milk? She made faces like this.

This is what Patty does after the milk is gone to the very last drop.

She attacks feet under chairs until... she is given more milk.

Chores in the Snow...

2010-12-30T12:16:00.000-06:00

Excessive snow brings a new challenge to feeding and watering animals. No more quick trips to the field; this is a battle with the elements! :o)

2010-11-30T16:40:00.000-06:00

A Tribute to Sven

(A cat)

"Alas, how the mighty have fallen!

The prince of the Lenz residence brought low.

He was feared by all pests

But loved by his masters,

He was Sven, the lord of the shed.

His eyes were like flaming emeralds,

His teeth like daggers, his claws scimitars,

The muscles of his body rippled with power

Beneath a luxurious coat of fiery blond,

All his enemies knew and feared his lion-like tread.

Weep, kitties, weep! The father of a nation,

The last of the proud race of Hon-ites

Struck down at the height of his glory

By the cold hard undercarriage of a car,

Never to return to his great halls again.

Alas, how the mighty have fallen!

The prince of the Lenz residence brought low,

He will be remembered with love by his own

And as his progeny rise up in his place

He will never be forgotten, Sven, the lion of his race."

~ Garrison Lenz

(posted with permission by Aubrey Lenz)

dedicated to Sven's youngest offspring: Pancake, Hamburger and Pattymelt

From The Six Arrows Farm Update...

2010-09-25T10:16:00.003-05:00

‘I beg your pardon,’ said the Mole, pulling himself together with an effort. ‘You must think me very rude; but all this is so new to me. So-this-is-a-river!’

'The River,’ corrected the Rat

‘And you really live by the river? What a jolly life!’

‘By it and with it and on it and in it,’ said the Rat.

~From The Wind in the Willows by Kenneth Grahame

Well we have lived by and with and on a river for quite some time, but now we are literally in it as well…and I can tell you, that is nothing to sneeze at.

Howdy from soggy Pine Island!

It is a little hard to tell in the picture on the left, but that is not a river…it’s a main road through town!!! The rain started early Wednesday afternoon and has fallen steadily ever since. I think the current precipitation is around 8 or 9 inches with no let-up in the foreseeable future.

Roads all around us are completely washed out to the point where it is difficult to leave or enter Pine Island at all. I took the boys to work this morning and we marveled at all the water during the 15 minute drive. This afternoon, it took me over an hour to pick them up and bring them home. I had to drive miles out of the way to circumnavigate the worst of the flooding.

Even then, we had to cross the river twice over bridges that looked like they were floating. The boys spent much of the afternoon helping sand-bag in town and taking furniture out of a friend’s house. Please pray for folks who are trying to save their possessions from flooded basements. We are so thankful no one has been hurt.

All the fields in the immediate area are either lakes or surging floods. Our backyard had a small torrent gushing through it (above). Today I personally understood, for the first time, the phrase, happy as a duck in water. A neighbor of ours has ducks, and when we drove by on the way to town they were dabbling swimmingly. Now there was nothing so very remarkable in this aside from the contrasting fact that everyone else has become almost cat-like in our discomfort with all the surplus water. Ducks are “In their element”, but I think that Kenneth Graham hits the proverbial nail on the head again in his cheery nonsensical, yet profound fashion.

Ducks’ Ditty

‘All along the backwater,

Through the rushes tall,

Ducks are a-dabbling,

Up tails all.

‘Ducks’ tails, drake’s tails,

Yellow feet a-quiver,

Yellow bills all out of sight,

Busy in the river!

‘Slushy green undergrowth

Where the roach swim -

Here we keep our larder,

Cool and full and dim.

‘Everyone for what he likes!

We like to be

Heads down, tails up,

Dabbling free!

‘High in the blue above

Swifts whirl and call -

We are down a-dabbling,

Up tails all.’

The flood truly has a bright side as well in spite of all the damage done.

1. We were forced to have a short respite from farm projects, which always gives new enthusiasm when we resume operations.

2. After looking at the forecast Wednesday, we decided to process the remaining chickens a day early. It was a mercy of God that we did. Thursday morning would have found the chickens all drowned, since the portion of the field where their pens still repose is under a foot of water. One customer did make it out this afternoon…he was very happy to relate his adventures in attempting the trip when he arrived and victoriously claimed his chickens!

3. The neighboring population turned out in force to repair damage and try to prevent more. Disaster always brings that camaraderie out in a community and it is often rewarding in spite of the difficulty, anxiety and even loss.

4. Now all the farmers in the area will have something truly exciting to discuss and digest over in the morning coffee groups for weeks on end. If you know the right people, you never miss out on the best information gleaned from what one of our “connections” calls a “support group for farmers.”

Tomato, Tomahto

2010-09-03T10:19:00.003-05:00

The bounty of our tomato plants yielded over 50 quarts of stewed tomatoes this year!...

This flatbed-full represents only a fraction of the harvest.

We make everything from fresh Salsa to V8, Taco Salad to Tomato Soup.

It means chili, lasagna, spaghetti, soup and canned salsa all winter long!

Ballooning Big Beefs, Rosy Cherry Juliets, Smooth Romas, Delectable Brandywine Heirlooms, Pearly Pink Beautys, Purpley Cherry Sugar Annes, Bright and Round Wisconson 55's...a tomato for every purpose.

Affectionately known as "ditter dats..."

2010-08-09T20:54:00.002-05:00

What is Market Baking Day Like?

2010-07-29T23:27:00.000-05:00

First Fruits...

2010-07-08T21:54:00.000-05:00

Delicious Montmorency pie cherries; sweet and tangy...

...and frosty blueberries bursting everywhere, tantalizingly sweet crisp and juicy, looking like tropical rarities hidden beneath their bright thick shiny leaves!

I was originally only going to post pictures of cherries and blueberries but since it is around the Fourth of July, Mama reminded me of white strawberries for a patriotic atmosphere. :o) Wild white strawberries have a piquant sweet flavor much like a grape! And yes, this berry is fully ripe and ready to pick in all his creamy-white beauty!

The Secret Ingredients to a Joyful Processing Day...

2010-06-29T17:25:00.003-05:00

Rich, piping hot coffee and cream...

A good hearty breakfast in the dim hours of the morning...

A warm scalder...

Cheerful music that makes us want to sing and dance (though not very long; our muck boots are heavy)...

Ready hands willing to work...

And most of all... Joy!

We're farmers striving to be good stewards of the land and by the gracious hand of Providence we were delighted to be able to offer our customers delicious fresh pastured chicken!

Snoring pigs on a rainy day...

2010-06-11T14:48:00.002-05:00

Snoring in the Rain from Craig Lenz on Vimeo.
Rain falling on the leaves all around you, the smell of freshly turned dirt at your nose, the lingering taste of a ginger root, surrounded by the comforting grunts, huffs and snores of your co-pigaerators... Ah... the life of a pig on Six Arrows Farm!

On the subject of Capitola Peaches

2010-06-11T12:00:00.001-05:00

or just "Cap" as you please... the latest farm mascot.

Harvesting, Mulching, Pruning, Training... and then lunch

2010-06-10T17:29:00.000-05:00

Blueberries love pine needle mulch...

We're strategizing how to keep birds away from our ripening treasures... because of course the birds will eat them when they are still sour. :o)

Picking enough strawberries for jam...

Charlie putting together the last of the tomato cages...

And then home in the rain for Ben's grilled venison steaks!...

The Lenz Boys and Tractors...

2010-05-05T14:22:00.003-05:00

A testimony to the influence of toy tractors on the minds of little boys... :o)

Yesterday, Charlie, Benjamin and Samuel helped our neighbor "drag" his field. Farmers drag their fields to help break down the old grain stalks, encouraging the fields to compost and prepare them for planting! It was so fun to see all of them working on tractors at once. Sam, especially, was in raptures! And yes, he is the one who waves at the end. :o) I remember trying to keep him awake in his carseat and failing miserably until one of us older siblings came up with the ingenious idea of saying, "Tatter!" in an awed voice and pointing excitedly out the window. He would eagerly sit up and watch them, fascinated. With this conditioning, is it any wonder he is captivated by them?! Ah, the joys of being the youngest child. :o)

Helping Mr. Berg with Tractors... from Craig Lenz on Vimeo.

Guess who's here!!!

2010-04-29T11:48:00.000-05:00

The legendary "Itty Bitties have come! And we have recorded their cheerful little voices for you so you can get a taste of what the farm sounds like this morning...

Itty Bitties!!! from Craig Lenz on Vimeo.

You may want to turn the volume down on this video! :o) The chicks were so excited when we put them in the brooder, their ecstatic "cheep, cheeping" was almost deafening. They have so many new things to discover just a few hours after hatching; how to dart about on two feet without toppling over, how to drink from the water trough without hopping in it, how to slurp up water and let it fall down their throats, how to find the heat lamp and huddle next to another chick if they are chilly, how to pick bits of grain and just the right amount of grit to digest their food and etc. They are truly masterfully designed and their delight and enthusiasm is thoroughly contagious to those of us who love to watch them! :o)

A Closer Look... from Craig Lenz on Vimeo.

Six Arrows Farm Customer Interest Survey

2010-04-22T20:49:00.004-05:00

Here at Six Arrows Farm, we love to find out exactly how we can serve you best. For this purpose, we have created the below survey which asks a few important questions especially on the subject: "Would you be interested in a Six Arrows Farm CSA?" We have heard a lot of positive feedback about these groups, so we're interested to know how many of you would be like to be involved in this venue. With that said, let us know what you think! Survey ends May 31.

Thank you for participating in our survey! We look forward to serving you! ~The Six Arrows

"Cheery Welcomes of the Spring..."!

2010-04-21T20:24:00.000-05:00

A Peak into the Greenhouse... :o)

2010-04-21T20:21:00.000-05:00

“Then God Said, ‘Let there be…and there was…’”

2010-03-19T13:50:00.001-05:00

From the Six Arrows Farm update...

"Every season runs into the last, blotting over the faint shades of its forbear that yet linger in the earth. Yet even in the midst of winter, one can put one’s face close to a patriarchal oak and trace the delicate strokes of fresh living green that last year’s moss painted into the gray bark before frost nipped off the bloom of summer and covered the bareness of autumn with a glittering veil. The flashing, regal splendor of winter, it’s pure lines and austere bearing, dissolve dying into the dead ground, fade into the canvas of latent earth, and thus feed a birth. The infantile mouth of spring opens wide and drinks in the wells preserved so long for its hungry advent. Silent waters break out in a reformation and wash away the frigid barriers in a thrill brimming with promise.
Laud another season if you dare, but in Spring the world is made all over again.

The Six Arrows took our annual adventure to the river again. I was reminded of the quote below for that reason.

“… And in that silence Edmund could at last listen to the other noise properly. A strange, sweet rustling, chattering noise - and yet not so strange, for he’d heard it before - if only he could remember where! Then all at once he did remember. It was the noise of running water. All round them though out of sight, there were streams, chattering, murmuring, bubbling, splashing and even (in the distance) roaring. And his heart gave a great leap (though he hardly new why) when he realized that the frost was over. And much nearer there was a drip-drip-drip from the branches of all the trees. And then, as he looked at one tree he saw a great load of snow slide off it…”

~ C. S. Lewis, The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe

All winter long, we are not even reminded that we have forgotten the sound of running water. We forget to miss it until it breaks its bonds in the warm hearty breath of Spring. Water chortling is Spring laughing in the face of the frost. If you live near enough to hear it, the sound calls you out to come and exult with it.

All winter long, we are not even reminded that we have forgotten the sound of running water. We forget to miss it until it breaks its bonds in the warm hearty breath of Spring. Water chortling is Spring laughing in the face of the frost. If you live near enough to hear it, the sound calls you out to come and exult with it. Perhaps we are all far too old to “play,” but that doesn’t prevent us from exploring every inch of the water-ways within half a mile of our house every snow-melt.

Of course there is little spice to adventures such as ours unless someone “goes in.” This year both Charlie and Yours Truly fell in “the drink.” Since we never get anything worse than a good dipping and a boot full of water, nobody minds more than to have a good laugh. Laughing is about the only thing you can do when you are breathing air that smells and feels electric with life. We found a pair of beautiful little ruddy gray water rats in a temporary brook. The way they caper around and navigate the water with their little paws and tails is comical. They just quiver with excitement to their very whiskers. The birds are ecstatic and warble for the mere delight of singing...the higher, brighter and more trilling, the better.

I can’t stay to write more because the water is roaring today and we’re off to mess around in the river some more before dinner.

“He thought his happiness was complete when, as he meandered aimlessly along, suddenly he stood by the edge of a full-fed river. Never in his life had he seen a river before – this sleek, sinuous, full-bodied animal, chasing and chuckling, gripping things with a gurgle and leaving them with a laugh, to fling itself on fresh playmates that shook themselves free, and were caught and held again. All was a-shake and a-shiver – glints and gleams and sparkles, rustle and swirl, chatter and bubble. The Mole was bewitched, entranced, fascinated. By the side of the river he trotted as one trots, when very small, by the side of a man who holds one spellbound by exciting stories; and when tired at last, he sat on the bank, while the river still chattered on to him, a babbling procession of the best stories in the world, sent from the heart of the earth to be told at last to the insatiable sea.”
~ Kenneth Grahame - The Wind in the Willows

What did Spring time whisper?

2010-03-12T11:50:00.002-06:00

O, ye rivulets, waking from your trance so sad?

Speed, for summer's in the air,

Prattle for the breeze is warm,

Chatter by the otter's lair,

Bubble past the ivied farm;

Wake the primrose on the banks

Bid the violet ope' her eyes

Hurry in a flood of thanks underneath serener skies!

What a revel's coming soon..."

~ Norman Gale

We all six of us decided we needed to take a long breath of fresh air and nothing is so alluring in the Spring as running water! Especially when great chunks of ice and snow break off from their winter fastness at your feet and precipitate impetuously down stream, bumping recklessly over bunches of weeds or stones on their way.

All sorts of little animals have come alive in the melee...

Charlie found a regular wolf spider casually riding on the surface of the icy waters...

We also saw the little water rats swimming about ecstatically as if busy to make up for lost time. The current is so strong that if they lose their footing they often have to let themselves float down stream until they can catch at a bit of grass and "climb" the weed stalks like monkey bars back up to their home. They are sociable creatures and let you get quite close. :o)

Several times a few of us stepped in water too deep and had to empty our boots and wring out our socks! Of course this made it all the more interesting; how deep can you walk before water pours in above the rim of your boot!

We all walked home more or less wet; although I wouldn't have been wet at all if I hadn't practically sat down while photographing the little rats...

Looking in from the "outside"...

I am not regularly fond of spiders in the woods who weave webby strings from tree to tree at about the level of my mouth; but just now in the Spring when they are most of them still asleep I can truly appreciate a little "jumper". You can see him below sitting like a little bump on the branch; he is not very active yet but he is slowly, groggily waking up, strategizing for his first web.

Cabbage and Broccoli and Peppers....

2010-03-12T10:08:00.005-06:00

Sam commented in the midst of meticulously placing hundreds of seeds one by one in their cells that this job can be fearfully tedious. Conversation is limited because of the necessary precision and thought required in such labor. But the reward of seeing little green shoots poke their heads out of the soil like vibrant green spires is ten times worth the effort! To see living, growing plants full of potential where before there was nothing is deliciously exhilerating! :o)

All we have left to plant now are tomatoes!... and various and other sundry things too numerous to mention.

The Three "Bad"...Cats

2010-03-03T01:23:00.004-06:00

Six Arrows Farm Presents at the Athlete Lab

2010-03-01T08:50:00.002-06:00

Last Friday, two thirds of The Six Arrows gave a presentation about Six Arrows Farm at The Athlete Lab, Kate Klaers’ gym in the Twin Cities. We would like to extend an especial thank you to Kate Klaers for inviting us to her gym! Kate has invested in her clients, we can see they are truly her friends and she has a passion for healthy and responsible living.

The message at the gym that evening was healthy food. Our part was to present our farm story. We really enjoyed revisiting the path God has taken us and reviewing our methods in providing food to our customers and our family. By His grace, we are thankful for the wisdom we have received from others who are good stewards of the land and animals.

A few slides from our presentation...

1998...

The Lenz Men at Joel Salatin's Polyface Farm in Virginia in 2003...

The Hens and their Eggmobile...

Pigaerator Pork...

After our farm presentation, Kate showed the film, FRESH. We couldn’t have planned it better, the movie featured Joel Salatin, the farmer the Lenz “boys” visited in 2003, to learn about raising poultry, hogs, and cattle. Joel Salatin is a farmer practicing sustainable agriculture, who understands his responsibility as steward of the earth including “respecting the ‘pigness’ of the pig, the ‘chickeness’ of the chicken, the ‘cowness’ of the cow and the ‘tomatoness’ of the tomato”! :o) We have personally learned and benefitted so much from Mr. Salatin; he has developed so many wise and practical methods that are very helpful for farmers trying to practice alternate and sustainable farming. On the flip side, the film also interviewed farmers who know first-hand the regrettable state of the current poultry, cattle, hog and crop industries. Industrialized agriculture has had consequences we’re sure farmer’s didn’t imagine. The film discussed farmers who are producing antibiotic-resistant bacteria through over-medicating their animals. When animals are placed in huge factory farms, they must use chemicals and antibiotics to keep the animals alive! When farmers use antibiotics as a means of disease prevention rather than treatment, the danger of promoting mutant, antibiotic-resistant bacteria is almost inevitable. Also, when land produces one crop, repeated over many years, this can be a proponent to problems, like the development of the soybean aphids infestation. There seemed to be an especial focus on raising pigs that we particularly enjoyed. :o) Much of what was communicated we know to be very true. However, as with most films, we have a little disclaimer…not every view portrayed by the film can be endorsed by Six Arrows Farm.

Once again, a big thank you to Kate Klaers for hosting us and all our gracious listeners! Now we are really excited for Spring!

For Truly Curious Green Thumbs…

2010-01-30T18:19:00.005-06:00

Our plants do have roots...

And this is what it looks like when you dig up a seed to ask it why it hasn’t germinated yet! :o)

On the subject of thinning, (a truly painful topic for the short sighted gardener)…

We were just recently in a Bible study discussing the verses in Colossians chapter 2, “As you therefore have received Christ Jesus the Lord, so walk in Him, rooted and built up in Him and established in the faith, as you have been taught, abounding in it with thanksgiving." We talked about the truly agrarian nature of the simile.... What does this very literally look like in the growth of a seedling?

If a seedling is poorly nourished, the soil being depleted, the plant will develop an extremely minimal root system and in order to conserve energy it will rarely if ever put out it’s true leaves, thereby remaining an immature seedling that will live for years(literally years; firsthand experience in that area) at a relatively unchanged level.

If a seedling is not given sufficient light exposure it begins etiolating; growing very few leaves but continuing to grow in a thin line upwards until it eventually drops to the side and continues to grow sideways across the floor. This has happened to us several years, including the year we planted our tomato seedlings with their stems buried sideways and then twisted them upwards out of the soil at the top.

Often when choosing between two seedlings during the thinning process, we choose the seedling with the sturdiest stem and broadest leaf spread because this suggests an excellent root system and a less susceptible plant life. A seedling that grows in a thin tall burst will be more likely to die in the hardening process but a seedling that in time puts on vibrant green foliage over its thick sturdy stem will be able to handle drought and wind by only growing stronger!

That may be a lot of information for you non-green thumbs, :o) but how comparable this is to our own rooting and building system! Without the nourishment of the Scriptures and the light of Christ we too grow weak and produce poor fruit.

So tell me,which is stronger?

The Miracle of Germination...

2010-01-28T11:31:00.002-06:00

“You visit the earth and water it, You greatly enrich it; the river of God is full of water; You provide their grain, for so You have prepared it.” Psalm 65:9

Then God said, “Let the earth bring forth grass, the herb that yields seed, and the fruit tree that yields fruit according to its kind, whose seed is in itself, on the earth”; and it was so. And the earth brought forth grass, the herb that yields seed according to its kind, and the tree that yields fruit, whose seed is in itself according to its kind. And God saw that it was good. ~Genesis 1:11-12

“To satisfy the desolate waste, And cause to spring forth the growth of tender grass…” Job 38:27

“He causes the grass to grow for the cattle, And vegetation for the service of man, That he may bring forth food from the earth,” Psalm 104:14

2 Samuel 23:3-4 “ ‘He who rules over men must be just, Ruling in the fear of God. And he shall be like the light of the morning when the sun rises, A morning without clouds, Like the tender grass springing out of the earth, By clear shining after rain.’”

“Rain down, you heavens, from above, And let the skies pour down righteousness; Let the earth open, let them bring forth salvation, And let righteousness spring up together. I, the LORD, have created it.” Isaiah 45:8

Though I have seen it thousands of times, a tiny vibrant green spire of growth twisting itself out from beneath a weight of soil never fails to astonish me with its mysterious constancy. Surely the beauty of what we do see is accounted for doubly by the invisible process we do not see. And despite the advances of scientific observation much of the process still remains a Divine mystery. As one scientist put it: “We understand the kitchen… We can see the toaster, the oven and the eggs and ham but that still doesn’t make breakfast!” In other words we understand how the outer coating of the seed is moistened, becoming malleable, allowing the endosperm to swell sending chemical messages to the germ. We know what hormones act to bring the seed out of its protective casing seeking light above, and yet that still doesn’t make breakfast. We know the ingredients of life but the actual process, the initial stigma that causes the life, not merely the proper environment but the actual initialization of life itself remains an utterly unsolvable mystery apart from a Divine Creator; a mystery that dozens of so-called authors and scientists have attempted and failed to explain, like Mary Shelley's fictional Dr. Frankenstein. It is indeed a miracle to witness the germination of a seed. As someone once said, “Anyone can count the seeds in an apple but only God can count the apples in a seed.”

Romans 1:20 says, “For since the creation of the world His invisible attributes are clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made, even His eternal power and Godhead, so that they are without excuse,” and 1 Corinthians 13:12 says, “For now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part, but then I shall know just as I also am known.”

His invisible attributes are clearly seen…by the things that are made, and yet we see but through a mirror dimly compared to what we shall see hereafter!

“The works of the LORD are great, studied by all who have pleasure in them.” Psalm 111:2

Spring is Come!

2010-01-27T11:58:00.001-06:00

Six Arrows Farm is pleased to announce that despite evidence to the contrary Spring is come! In January, in Minnesota of all places! Well, almost….

Though we are still buried in mounds of white and we are supposed to be resting from garden work, some of us have an unresting green thumb that refuses to be stifled. Perhaps we come from equatorial descent… Whatever the case there are certain places in the dry warmth of winter where dwelleth a perpetual Spring, (i.e. wherever there is a south-facing window). We have an experiment with gourd seeds some of which were harvested from a hybrid plant and germinated at 72%, we have a rare greens garden, several other test plots for germination percentages, a forest of chives and various other long season perennial herbs getting a “head start”. Really, they need a head start. :o)

A Happy New Year To Everyone!

2009-12-31T14:20:00.000-06:00

We pray each of you had a Blessed Christmas!

Winter officially set in not so long ago, but it feels as though we have been buried in snow for months! How pleasant to be buried in the cozy house with one’s family when there are so many good books to read and a perfect wonderland to enjoy outdoors. The house is perpetually filled with the pungent, bitter sweet aroma of burning wood. I’ll have to admit that in the morning when one of us is starting the fire, the “aroma” isn’t exactly sweet…more choking, but overall, I don’t believe anything can replace the atmosphere a real wood fire gives. Another advantage of having a wood-stove is that we are all good at handling fire, or should I say, we all enjoy fire…hmmm…not sure I remember what that is called…pyro…something.

Yesterday morning, the smoke mounting from our chimney was picturesque…perfect for a Thomas Kinkade painting. I decided to wait to take a picture until this morning. Today, the smoke was hardly visible as you can see. I was disappointed, but truth be told, picturesque smoking chimneys are the result of a few less than pleasant circumstances…an especially bitter cold day which concentrates the smoke, and wet wood that makes weak fires that emit smoke indoors as well as out and produce watering eyes, and very little heat. The chimney pictured above, while appearing less than productive with its grey halo of haze, is in fact the product of a hot and healthy fire, for which I am grateful in spite of the missed photo-op.

The mailbox is loaded daily with the extra weight of seed catalogs! Seed time seems to come earlier every year… some catalogs came before Christmas! Harris Seeds, Johnny’s, Jung’s, Seed Savers, Burpee, Gurney’s, R.H. Shumway’s, Park Seed, Henry Fields…just to name a few! Believe it or not, some of our orders have already arrived! Of course the green-house isn’t remotely warm enough to start seedlings up here in the “Arctic” of Minnesota, but we are already discussing small beginnings! None of us can picture greens and gardening and grass with all the pleasures of winter still before us, but of course you have to plan. A friend of ours who comes from Indonesia was laughing with us at the idea that we have to wait to plant seeds for six months out of the year. Of course, living near the Equator, she was able to have a garden all year round. Even so, I’m not sure I would trade the six-month break for the heat, even though the idea of a year-round garden is intriguing!

Blessings to everyone’s New Year!

The Six Arrows

Sights and Sounds and Feels and Smells and Tastes of ... Christmas!

2009-12-22T14:09:00.000-06:00

It's officially winter now!!!

2009-12-17T14:37:00.000-06:00

Charlie plows us out...

The Six Arrows at the SOS Conference in Cincinatti

2009-12-16T13:41:00.010-06:00

Read more on our Six Arrows at Home blog

Ice cream at Fair Oaks Farm(on 65, between Chicago and Indianapolis)...we say this velverty ice cream is worth the stop! Their 5 year cheddar cheese is wonderful too!

Life is truly an adventure when you are on vacation and make a habit of running ahead of blizzards as we have the past two years. :o)

We are eternally grateful for good neighbors who are willing to do our chores in arctic Minnesota weather!

Thanks to Hannah!

And to Mr. K. who kindly shoveled us out!

Wintery Things...

2009-12-04T14:34:00.000-06:00

Miss Grace stirring the fudge... Mmmmm....

Thanksgiving at Six Arrows Farm!

2009-11-27T14:36:00.000-06:00

~Six Arrows Pastured Turkey~

Gravy

Dressing

~Vegetables~

Mashed Potatoes

Squash

Sweet Potatoes

Green Beans

Creamed Peas

Corn Pudding

~Whole Wheat Breads~

Herb Bread

Rosemary Garlic Bread

Wheat Germ Rolls

~Salads~

Broccoli Salad

Lettuce Salad

~Hors Douvres~

Baby Dill Pickles and Olives

Bite Brownies

Crackers and Cheese

~Desert~

Homemade Pumpkin Pie (served with whipped cream)

Pecan Pie (served with whipped cream)

~Beverages~

Punch

Cider (served with whipped cream and caramel)

Coffee

Hot Tea

Iced Tea

And other things too good to mention. :o)

Moving the hens to their warm winter quarters...

2009-11-23T13:05:00.002-06:00

You would be surprised how warm it is in this hoophouse on a cold day. Because the light plastic allows solar heat to penetrate all day the house is still fairly warm even at night. Our hens LOVE digging through their deep bedding during the winter months searching for grains or bugs. This process of disturbing their bedding surface enables the chips to compost creating additional heat. Our job is to keep the right bedding depth maintaining a healthy carbon-nitrogen ratio so their home is always clean and sweet smelling (that distinct sweet pickley smell that a farmer especially appreciates :o) ).

Sam makes sure his birds have a clean new home.

Tucking in the Garden...

2009-11-22T12:53:00.002-06:00

Ben heads out to the garden to stir in the compost.

Thinking in terms of baking, he's kneading it for the last time before the final deliciously long rest! :o)

Edmund says hello...

2009-11-20T12:52:00.004-06:00

Autumn Prose

2009-11-18T13:00:00.000-06:00

The mesmerizing log-splitter convert thick chunks of trees into aromatic wedges for the stove, Sam rushing across the living room floor to catch sight of the grain carts or combines rumbling down the gravel road, the sharp bright autumn sky, tall boots, hearing the boys wake early in the morning to tramp over frosty turf and leaves with their guns on their shoulders, cutting up venison in the kitchen and wrapping it for the freezer, the tip of my nose bright and chilled with the snap of early morning air, the sweet and bitter rush of cold air invading my lungs, two pairs of socks, the way warm food sizzling in the kitchen gets more savory and inviting the colder it is outside, standing in the freshly shorn fields and listening to the fall wind worry the lifeless leaves and trumpet the coming of snow with every breath, planning resplendent and engorging menus with which we will laden the Thanksgiving table, cold fingers and toes to tickle each other’s necks, plants and greenery buttoning up against the cold and retreating into the heart of the earth, the myriad shades of brown, stocking caps, trees, rigid and shadowy pillars, casting severe elaborate shapes on the leaf-mottled floor, the smoky, earthy tang that accompanies the boys every time they come in for dinner, long sleeves, birds singing the autumn symphony, and frost scattering its wonderful lace-work abundantly. Summer is glorious melody, winter is lilting song, spring is ecstatic whistling, but autumn is magnificent harmony.

2009-11-16T21:37:00.000-06:00

Our precious chocolate Labrador, Lucy the Valiant, passed away last week. We were very sad to lose our faithful canine friend with her unique personality and lasting loyalty.

As the farm mascot, Lucy earned one of her many titles… “greeter dog.” We miss her every time we pull up the driveway, her perky ears, her energetic race up the garden path, her clever ploys for treats, her solemn hazel eyes that would plead tears out of a rock, the way she watched movies with us, rode faithfully in the ranger with whoever was driving, endured “love” from the cats and ate everything from chicken feed to green beans…we are so thankful that we had eleven and a half years with the best dog any family could have.

We were talking about all of those things and observed that God had truly blessed us with a good dog. Even a dog in its own way, can us teach lessons of loyalty, faithfulness, endurance and patience.

Musical Nests (Chairs) :)

2009-10-30T10:21:00.002-05:00

Sam took this video of our happy, busy pastured hens in their nesting boxes!...

Musical Nests(Chairs) :) from Craig Lenz on Vimeo.

Calling all "Sherlock Holmes" and "Inspector Buckets"...

2009-10-25T11:03:00.001-05:00

Any guesses as to what Mama is sewing?...

Hint: The clue is directly behind Ben in this last picture.

Autumn Harvest...

2009-10-20T22:21:00.005-05:00

From the Six Arrows Farm Update:

"I recieved a pleasant surprise when I walked up to the garden a few days ago. Tomato cages and stakes were lying in piles to be stored. One almost forgets the desolation that follows harvest when you have witnessed a year of plenty. The dull monochromatic colors saturate the landscape. They are relieved by the brilliant leaves and clear azure sky. When I'm out driving this time of year, I love to listen to Vivaldi's "L'autunno" (Autumn) from The Four Seasons. There are few inspirations from human composer that have come closer to reflecting the song all of creation seems to sing. Summer is such a glorious symphony that nothing but autumn can be a more fitting or glorious requeim. I love such endings only because they are beginnings as well.

Even now, there are a few buried riches that the resting earth gives up. Aubrey dug the carrots, the boys and Mama washed them... and I ate them. Of course, I was well occuupied while they were working. :)"

"This was a particularly good carrot year! The lovely orange roots are uniform, sweet and crispy! I think the early frost was good for them. :)"

Early frosts make for snow on green maple leaves! "Sam found two different colors when he took this picture last week. Green leaves covered with snow is uncommon even here! Yes even here in this "semi-arctic" climate!" :)

The last few weeks have been filled with processing, sorting and drying produce..

Our potatoes and onions were plentiful this year and the onions especially dried beautifully!

The Colors of Famer's Market...

2009-10-02T16:16:00.008-05:00

From the Six Arrows Farm Update...“This time of year is the best for coming to Farmer’s Market. The colors and smells are myriad and brilliant. When the sun’s rays stretch down our aisle, it looks like the hallway of a treasure chamber with glowing jewels of every size and tint piled in small mountains on either side. The scents are mellow and spicy, rich, ripe, and tangy. We managed to bring the camera along for pictures so you could see for yourselves!”

We were all devastated when my pumpkin plants ate up Emily’s flowers (accidentally, of course)and even had the audacity to thread their way through a few tomato cages!

But when those presumptuous vines yielded so prodigious a harvest we forgave them(at least I did…)and welcomed the lovely round shapes and colors so characteristic of harvest.

Mama loves the little green curly cues on the ends of pumpkin stems so we cut the vines farther from the pumpkin. They look so bare and lonely with out remnants of their vines. :)

Chicken Processing Day!!!

2009-09-22T15:06:00.003-05:00

I think we have mentioned before that "Chicken Day" for us is not a grueling or unpleasant experience so stop biting your nails, turn up the music, and imagine a day of laughter, pleasant hardwork and productive discussions on topics as broad as Turkey and government education!

And there is always joy in preparing a product that you know will delight your customers and constitute dozens of savory dinners for families all over the area!

Todays processing took just over 2 hours and then clean-up takes about another hour. We wake up at about 5:30 and Charlie and I start up the scalder while Emily makes "oodles" of muffins!

We don’t normally post pictures like the one below, but this one has a story. At the moment the picture was taken, we were listening to our customary motivational music. I can’t remember if it was the Red River Jig or Cowboy Jubilee. The boys pull the birds out of the cooling tank and set them to drain a few moments before bagging them. Mom and Em turned around and saw these four draining and everyone started laughing. The chickens looked for all the world like they were dancing to the lively music!

Chicken Processing Day!!! ...and the Red River Jig from Craig Lenz on Vimeo.

Sweet Stuff!

2009-09-17T14:04:00.007-05:00

Any guesses as to what these jars contain?

A "Cherry Picker" for Plums

2009-09-08T14:07:00.004-05:00

Well we didn't get it strictly for the plums, but it worked capitally!

The boys and Daddy spent as much time as they could with it this weekend, cutting down dead trees and trimming live ones!

Hogs and Corncobs

2009-08-25T20:34:00.002-05:00

If you stand at the edge of the pasture south of the plum trees and call into the woods, pigs come running like bandits from an ambush.

This morning, Garrison, Sam and I picked two buckets of sweet corn to freeze. It was one of those foggy, soaking, drippy mornings. We were taking an advantage of a break in the rain, but it started dripping again as we finished grabbing the last few ears. Sam suggested that we go to the tree fort to husk the corn. Our tree fort is in the pigs current paddock, so we ran down, hauled the buckets over the fence, and dragged them up into the fort. The pigs knew why we were there. They were snuffing around the base of the fort by the time we had the buckets up, and grunted in approval when the first husks fell. The advantage of the fort is that once you are in it, there is no fear of the pigs getting at the peeled ears, and the roof keeps off the rain! It is rare to hear a mixture of sounds as ludicrous, curious or peaceful as a gentle rain on leaves and the grunting of pigs. I know it sounds funny. You had to be there.

Of pickled "cucs" the birdie sings...

2009-08-24T19:59:00.003-05:00

Grandma and Grandpa came last Friday and helped with market preparations. They added good conversation to a typically rather silent day. Hard work is made so much easier when you can do it with someone, and Grandma and Grandpa make it doubly it fun!

The best part of the day was lunch...we had corn-on-the-cob, refrigerator pickles, and Reubens! It was the first time three of the boys and I had experienced sauerkraut, and being half German, we all decided to live up to our heritage. I thought it was very tasty! A new taste to add to the glorious variety that overflows from the garden!

2009-08-22T21:24:00.002-05:00

"The last few days, when I walked across the wind-swept field, or trudged up the garden path with a bucket for corn, a breath of wind wafted by me, carrying air from another world; sweet and golden, rich and cool. For a moment, the breath of Autumn was rushing down my neck and filling my senses with a tingling fragrance. It was gone a moment later, swallowed in the perfume of high-summer; but not without whispering in my ear the promise of harvest time

~ From the Six Arrows Farm Update this week

2009-08-22T19:23:00.000-05:00

"...th' sun shines on the rain and th' rain falls on th' sunshine..."

- Frances Hodgson Burnett, The Secret Garden

Another sign of the coming autumn...

2009-08-19T21:21:00.001-05:00

Rose Hips!
These small "fruits" of the fragrant wild roses make a good tea. They are an excellent source of Vitamin C!

BEES...

2009-08-18T20:16:00.001-05:00

I happened to be in the field with the camera when Mr. Rossman came to put another box on the hives! Ben and Charlie enjoy learning what Mr. Rossman teaches them. Bees are such an amazing testimony to the wisdom of our Creator! We can't wait to taste honey from our own land!

2009-07-31T20:30:00.001-05:00

From the Six Arrows Farm Update this week:
"We have both turkeys and chicks growing in the brooders, but not together. They are very different even at this young age. You can tell from the pictures that their respective personalities are unique. Cheerful or Austere, Fluffy or Fuzzy, Simple or Clever, Absent or Curious. The incredible diversity that reigns in even the world of poultry is wonderful testament to the infinite mind of the Creator."

The Pigs

2009-07-30T20:43:00.005-05:00

Those comical, roly-poly India Rubber barrels of mischief.

With their inquisitive beady little eyes, odd, almost pugnacious, round noses, and droll legs on "high heels," they are enough to make anyone chuckle. I love the chorus of grunts I am greeted with every time I walk to their fence.

Want some Candies?

2009-07-22T16:53:00.000-05:00

Onions that is.

Some more new babies...

2009-07-22T16:30:00.001-05:00

This is Una...A very loved and spoiled kitty. She is an "only kitty."

And this is a nameless chick...there are over 80 of them, so we decided not to name them. They are cute too though. These are the last chicks we will have this year!

"Pigaerator Pork!"

2009-07-20T23:26:00.000-05:00

Ever seen pigs in a more beautiful environment?While taking this picture I was marveling at the number of human labor hours it would have taken to get the woods to look this way!

The Boy's New 1955 Case 400

2009-07-18T13:58:00.000-05:00

We almost have an on farm shop class! Mr. Berg is taking the boys through every step of how to fix up and maintain a tractor.

That's One Big Pea!

2009-06-29T12:55:00.000-05:00

Shelling Peas!!!...

2009-06-27T17:26:00.000-05:00

20 minutes... All the peas are shelled!

You can only tell so much from pictures
Watch the short clip of 5 pairs of hands shelling...

Baking Day Adventures

2009-06-26T16:54:00.001-05:00

This morning Mrs. Bell, AnaLiv and Lydia came to cheer us up! well, I doubt that was their singular objective but we certainly did enjoy their visit! :0) We all donned our aprons, scooped wheat berries, and explored the strange habits of dough together!
During strawberry season I bake angel food cakes for market and, of course, I have LOTS of extra yolks! : ) I thought that only egg whites whipped up 5 times their volume but I guess egg yolks do too!... 1 1/2 cups of egg yolks made ten cups of this ... creamy mixture...

Here's the non-squishable sponge cake!... made with yolks and no whites... :)

The Primroses are in blossom!!!

2009-06-25T16:38:00.001-05:00

"Now blooms the lily on the bank,
The primrose down the brae;
The hawthorns budding in the glen
And milk-white is the slae;…"

~Burns

"Long as there’s a sun that sets
Primroses will have their glory
Long as there are violets
They will have a place in story."
~Wordsworth

"All twinkling with the dewdrops sheen
The briar-rose falls in streamer’s green;…"

~Scott

"Ho! The Rose, having curled it’s sweet leaves for the world,
Takes delight in the in the motion it’s petals keep up
As they laugh to the wind, as it laughs from the west!"
~Shakespeare

5:55 am

2009-06-22T20:38:00.001-05:00

It's Market Day! A beautiful one too!

Mama slips gingerly down the driveway and onto the dewy road with a load that threatens to topple over at every turn...it never does. It was my turn to stay home that morning. I was not really fully awake, but the morning was calling to me. I can't "get over" this time of day, as you have probably noticed.

There is a hymn that expresses my thoughts often at a moment like this.

Morning has broken, like the first morning
Blackbird has spoken, like the first bird
Praise for the singing, praise for the morning
Praise for them springing fresh from the Word

Sweet the rain's new fall, sunlit from heaven
Like the first dewfall, on the first grass
Praise for the sweetness of the wet garden
Sprung in completeness where His feet pass

Mine is the sunlight, mine is the morning
Born of the one light, Eden saw play
Praise with elation, praise every morning

God's recreation of the new day

~ Eleanor Farjeon

The chickens recieve callers...

2009-05-28T15:45:00.006-05:00

The hens had a visit from the three Stout boys bright and early this morning! They helped gather eggs...

Feed the lambs...

And scatter scratch feed for the hens!

Heralds of Summer

2009-05-15T18:00:00.000-05:00

New Babies on the Farm!!

2009-05-13T17:13:00.007-05:00

Fifteen feeder pigs are tearing around their pen like a football team...well they tear around unless they are eating and sleeping. The eating is prodigious and sleeping abundant. Pigs are such good sleepers...they relax completely...hooves in the air or whatever other position they happened to be in the moment they flopped down. I love the way their noses make them look curious and a little silly.

I have determined that sheep can be rather austere, though very lovable...at least these two feeder lambs are. We are still trying to decide on some good names.

Make "Hay" While the Sun Shines...

2009-04-24T21:28:00.000-05:00

There are over 3000 in the ground.

Onions, that is. :) That is five 125 ft. double raised beds of them!

We were anticipating rain at any time; which is not shocking for any of us, and we didn't leave until it was raining hard enough to thoroughly wet every one of us; which wasn't remotely surprising either. Here are the thunderheads we raced...

I especially love this kind of work because of the way our team effort shines. I think we put the onions in in less than 4 hours!

The ground being freshly tilled was perfect and the sets slipped in perfectly.

A 125 ft. row of "candies."

Mama puts an organic fertilizer down the middle of the raised beds...

The final count? Sam knows, or he did...

Another favorite...Sweet Yellow Spanish.

Aubrey also put in her "baby" broccoli and cabbage.

There are no "After" pictures of us because we weren't very good to look at by the end, being much smudged and be-smeared with dirt and grime. But our treat was supper at A&W! "Junk food" only looks and tastes good after a hard day's work; it is delicious then. :) Hot crunchy, greasy onion rings, cold zippy, sweet root beer, and steaming cheese and chili-drenched coney dogs. Yep, you kinda had to be there.

The Most Thankful Animal on the Farm?

2009-04-13T16:23:00.000-05:00

As farmers we say chickens must be the most thankful animals in the world. Everytime they take a sip of cool water they lift their little heads to heaven and thank God for it. :)

We hope you enjoy this short clip... if you watch the waterers closely, you may see two thankful chicks... :)

Come into the garden...

2009-04-11T16:32:00.000-05:00

There haven't been many April showers, but we were happy to get in our potatoes today! I think we planted around 100 pounds of seed potatoes...thats a lot of potatoes...

...and lots of tilling! Here Daddy and Ben are working together to make a deep furrow. The tiller is much harder to manage with the blade on it, but it is still easier than grubbing out 500 holes with a shovel.

Mama and Charlie talk through the varieties in the background...Sammy worked the front tyne on another section of the garden. The hens know we turn up all sorts of bugs, grubs and other munchies when we turn over the soil in the spring, so they follow closely to pick up on the fresh treats.

To quote Daddy... "We are out planting potatoes and sweating in t-shirts on April 11!"

The Chicks Are Here!!!

2009-04-09T15:31:00.000-05:00

We received a call from the post office at 6:30 am this morning, "Your chicks are here."

If you could "hear" this box it would be making a racket of loud, curious cheep, cheeps.

So peep inside the box with this short video clip... :0)

Little Cock Chickie in the background has a thing or two to say about being photographed...

There are 256 broiler chickens and 56 Barred Rock hens exploring their new warm home... The chicks are just hours old and sway back and forth for balance on their little new legs. They demonstrate wonderful skill in the 2 yard dash as they tear across their box from one end to the other preparing for the Great Worm Competition to be held on the day of the first rain (watch for future posts).

2009-04-07T14:24:00.000-05:00

Lucy and the kitties wanted in on yesterday's counsel. Lucy loves attention; the kitties are looking forward to free lunch. :)

2009-04-06T14:08:00.000-05:00

A solemn counsel on the status of our chick water and feeder supply. Three-hundred chicks are due Thursday!