Appearing today on The Hur Herald (www.hurherald.com)
Resolutions or Goals?
It’s been years since I’ve made any New Year resolutions. I don’t much care for the idea of starting over. Some like to look at the New Year as a fresh start. Well, I’ve made plans, I don’t want to go back to scratch. For me the turnover to a new year is a time to reassess the goals I have already established.
In early 2006, Frank and I set a long-term goal to simplify our way of living and become more self-reliant. For us, this is the path we have chosen to pursue our happiness. Two-Lane Livin’ Magazine; our “super sized” garden; farming; my experiments with canning, freezing, raising chickens, baking bread; our studies into earth and body friendly resources; practices of budgeting and saving and recycling – all of these are attempts to “simplify” our lifestyles.
Unless you were raised that way, simple living is anything but simple. In order to be “self-reliant,” your life schedule comes under the control of daylight and dark, the whims of seasons, the influences of the clouds and the sun. Meeting times are set by chickens and projects are planned around planting, weeding, watering, and harvest.
In college, I studied writing and literature, not herbs and livestock. I may be able to quote Shakespeare, but I cannot tell you the germination period for a tomato seed. You have to study, learn, practice and polish simple living skills to reach the goal of self-sufficiency, and I feel, in many ways, I’m just getting started.
1. Learn About and Launch Hot Beds: Frank and I learned last year in our first “serious” garden that vegetables like carrots, beets, etc. really need to be planted early. Also, we don’t want to wait until spring to have fresh leaf lettuce. We know that hot beds can help us get an early start and more fruitful harvest, but I know very little about how hot beds work or how to manage them.
2. Study Compost, Fertilizer and Earthworms: In an attempt to increase the quality of our soil, we began a compost pile last year. In addition, this year, we have what we need to “farm earthworms.” While these things may not seem related, the soil the worms will be living in will be excellent for our garden, and we might sell some worms for fisherman. Worms can double their population in less than three months. Of course, I know very little about raising worms, and I haven’t quite gotten full control over the compost pile, but I can continue my studies and practice.
3. Expand the Herb Garden: I started an herb garden last year, mostly from plants given to me by friends. It did fairly well until the rabbits, chickens and deer found it. Even so, I have herbs dried and frozen and I use them in my breads, teas and other dishes. But, I need to fill out the selection I have, and I need to get a fence around it. I will master what I’ve learned about drying and freezing them, and maybe next year I’ll learn to make salves, vinegars, oils and tinctures. But right now, I just want to master keeping them alive.
4. Get More Hens: I’ve been the parent of four hens for eight months now. We call them “The Ladies.” DeeDee, Ellemby, Pepper and Red provided eggs for Frank and I, my mother, my aunt and uncle all summer and fall. If I get four more, I can supply more friends and family, and maybe work through the process to sell some at the farmer’s market with excess herbs and vegetables from our gardens.
These four goals are some early 2010 goals for the land around us. We also have goals for the house, goals for the business, goals for our health, goals for our minds and our mentality. So much can be done in a year, the possibilities are overwhelming.
It helps me focus, organize and plan if I reassess my goals instead of making resolutions. For me, it’s the difference between promises made from scratch, and simply maintaining our set path.
It helps me remember that I’m already part-way there.
magazine: a periodical paperback publication, released at regular intervals, containing articles, fiction, columns, photographs, etc.
newspaper: a weekly or daily publication with current news, editorials, features and reviews.
Perhaps it’s my newspaper background that some of our readers are familiar with, perhaps it’s the fact that Two-Lane Livin’ is printed on 50-pound and 30-pound newsprint — but so many people familiar with Two-Lane Livin’ Magazine refer to it as a “newspaper.”
When people say “magazine,” we get the image of a glossy publication, 8 1/2 x 11 inches, filled with full color photos arriving in the mail box, or reflecting flourescent light at the news stands. When people say “newspaper,” we get an image of a tall and skinny publication on greyish paper, with community and world news printed in black ink that smears.
Two-Lane Livin’ doesn’t fit either image, really. A tabloid size publication that only dreams of glossy paper, Two-Lane Livin’ includes only two pages of news — pulled from newspapers and media outlets in the region. Granted, it’s a popular section of the magazine, but it does not define the publication itself.
We are NOT the news. I believe this is exactly why readers enjoy Two-Lane Livin’ so much – we’re not the news. So, why then refer to it as a newspaper?
I suppose it matters not what people call it as long as they are talking about it, and the difference between a magazine and a newspaper is subtle, I admit. But it’s that subtle difference between the two that led me to leave the newspaper business and start a magazine.
It’s the difference between going out every day to supposedly hold officials accountable and report keep the community informed of newsworthy developments (newspaper), and teaching the community about topics of themed importance and keeping them entertained (magazine).
It’s taken me two years to slough off the newspaper reporter mentality. Two years to surround my life with positive instead of negative. As an investigating reporter, I often felt… Sneaky and slimy. As editor and publisher of a healthy living guide for the Central West Virginia region, I feel… Cuddly and warm.
The difference between a newspaper and a magazine, to me, is the difference between tattling / telling – and teaching. And although it may also seem subtle, there is a huge difference between telling and teaching.
People will call Two-Lane Livin’ what they want. A rag, a paper, a newspaper, a hippie mag, a magazine. As long as they are reading and learning, that’s all that really matters. But, if I am now a teacher, a philosopher… A columnist and not a reporter… Then I hope I also teach the difference…
…between a magazine and a newspaper.
Two-Lane Livin’ – We’re not the news.
When I left full-time employment status, one of the first things I did was join the local CEOS (Extension Homemaker’s) Club. When I was a reporter for the local paper I, of course, often covered the goings on of such clubs, but did not feel it appropriate for me to join any specific club or serve on any board.
But truly, my neighborhood CEOS made me feel like a club member anyway from day one. They know where I live, know my husband, his parents, our farm. They know what I drive, when we put up hay, when we go camping.
They are my community, and to them, though I hadn’t yet paid dues, I was already a member. So, when I was finally able, I joined.
Now, meeting once or twice a month with a collection of elderly women may not sound like a good time to many in the younger generations.
You don’t know these ladies.
Food. Laughter. Community service. Friendship. Learning.
Now, doesn’t that sound like fun?
I’ve learned from these women. Not just about gardening, cooking, canning. I’ve learned about faith and duty and friendship, and the responsibilities that come with such things.
I have learned how to cook. How to save money. How to be charitable.
Because of this club, I know how many families are fed by the food pantry we donate to each month. (This month over 250 families were served.) I learned what makes great gifts for those in long term care. What needs victims of domestic violence have in the first 24 hours. I know who cares for our community cemeteries (our club), who cleans our roads (our club), who is in the hospital, getting married, feeling better.
I’ve learned about my community.
Of course, I’ve learned other things.
I’ve learned, for example, that it takes just as long to load 12 elderly women on a wagon to drive up a hillside than it does for said women to mow, rake and clean an entire cemetery.
I’ve learned that you do not meet without eating, and you do not eat without giving thanks.
I’ve learned that you often merely need to speak a need aloud, and the answer will come.
And I’ve learned about what I call, “The Country Exchange.”
The Country Exchange is based on the following principle:
“Well, if you’re going that way, take this to there.”
Let me give you a simple example.
A friend totalled her Rover. Once the smashed vehicle had been towed to a junk yard two counties away, she realized she left something in the vehicle. So she called the junk yard, they rescued the item, and were holding it for her.
Now, she doesn’t go that way very often, but another friend happens to work in the next town, and does here grocery shopping in the same town as the junk yard. So she goes two counties over from friend A, picks up the item, and returns to her own home county, still a county away from the owner.
In the meantime, friend B and I have been invited to friend C’s house for dinner. Friend B brings Friend A’s item to me, and I thus return home with the item in Friend A’s home county.
Now you can see where this is going. my next move was to take the item to town with me to where Friend A works, so that she could then take the item home.
But it’s not that simple, because today was CEOS Day. See not only did I have to remember Friend A’s item, I also had to bring a covered dish, extra copies of Two-Lane Livin’ for club members, pop tabs for Ronald McDonald House, trial size bath items for Domestic Abuse services, t-shirts for another friend’s son that came to me from a lady in Belpre, cucumbers to drop at the neighbor’s, mail to go out and my bank deposit. Plus, I left the farm with my father-in-law’s empty prescription bottles.
This is The Country Exchange.
If you think it gets crazy at the stock exchange, you should see six women trying to load the right things into the right vehicles to get to the right people after a CEOS meeting.
One person takes the donations for long term care. Another has the box that goes to the senior center. A third has the signed get well cards for members and friends in the hospital. I had the box headed to the newspaper office. Plus, of course, we had to fix a plate from our covered dish lunch for the one who couldn’t come because of work.
I go to town with a full box — I come home with a FULL BOX. This one found the special flour I was looking for. This one brought extra cupcakes for everyone to take home. This one brought her column to the meeting. I got rid of cucumbers, but came home with cantaloupe. Another had saved coupons for our dog treats to give me.
Following our meeting, I stood on a corner in town and watched our members head to their destinations, carrying our community services in boxes, plates and bags. So much taken care of by so few.
I went to the paper office, carrying the original item left in the crashed Rover. I walked out carrying a house fern left for me the day before — to be transported back to Friend B, and empty pickled sausage jars from a recycling center committee member who had left them there for me to pick up so I could make bigger batches of pickled eggs.
All these gifts delivered and received, and I never spent a dime.
THAT is The Country Exchange.
If I have ever given the impression that we are polished farmers or gardeners, I must apologize. This is no where near the case.
This is our second year having our own garden, first year for chickens, first year learning to freeze the harvest, first year using the pressure canner. It’s the first year we’ve really put some effort into producing our own food, and the first year we’ve really managed to follow through on our spring intentions clear to fall.
Although much of our garden did not do well, we have still come out ahead. From our $100 investment in the spring, and the gifts of our neighbors and friends throughout the season, we have two nearly-full freezers and a still filling pantry.
We purchased seed for lettuce, carrots, corn, beans, cucumbers, pumpkins, parsley, thyme, oregano. We purchased plants for tomatoes, peppers, cabbage. We were given additional corn seed, and were given the starts for the sweet potatoes. We purchased a bag of seed potatoes, but then split that with Frank’s mother.
We were given basil, sage, chives, and cotton as plants.
Of all this – the corn failed and the beans brought a very weak harvest. But I still froze 9 quarts of beans, and we were given corn from three different neighbors. I have five quarts of corn frozen, and also used it (and some green beans) in five quarts of vegetable soup.
The tomatoes and cucumbers have been the greatest successes so far, and I have nearly 30 jars of different pickles canned; bread and butter, cinnamon pickles, honey pickles. The tomatoes and flourishing green peppers have so far produced 24 jars of salsa, 16 quarts of roasted pepper tomato soup. Sick of making pickles, I even found a cucumber jelly recipe, and made four small jars of that when I made the season’s first batch of hot pepper jelly – so far, four pints of that.
I have six quarts of carrots frozen, and others cleaned and soaking in water to be pressure canned tomorrow.
I have rosemary, oregano, sage and lavender hanging to dry. I have parsley, thyme, chives and lemon balm preserved in the freezer.
And I nearly forgot to mention the early harvest of leaf lettuce, garlic and onions.
All this from a second-attempt garden that, my most measures, did not do all that well.
The herb bed has been a total success, but the vegetable garden… Well — that could use improvement for sure.
In a year when the value of the dollar has dropped so drastically, our garden, by far, has been our best investment. (Keep in mind, we didn’t pay for our fencing. We scrounged old fence from around the farm and expanded on the fence we had from last year.)
Even the canning supplies and freezer bags were less than a single trip to the grocery store. We’ve been collecting jars for two years, and began buying lids and rings (although we’ve been saving rings too) in March and April, before seasonal demands cause their prices to increase. Freezer bags came from the Dollar Store, which had quarts and gallons, but alas the pint bags I had to get elsewhere.
In the spring, I read articles that noted raising a garden was just as expensive as purchasing those groceries at a store. In our experience, this has just not been the case.
Our chickens have also been a good investment. We purchased four for $20 in late May, spent $20 on grit, mash and oyster shells (We were given a chicken tractor), and since then have spent $12 on more mash since then. I have no idea how many eggs we’ve been through. At least 20 dozen. I know I’ve made $30 from donations from my city-dwelling relatives. (It’s illegal, of course, to sell eggs in West Virginia without an egg permit.)
I suppose you can do the math… The arrived, say, the beginning of June. And, not counting the first two adjustment weeks, the four hens pretty much lay on a schedule that works out to be: four eggs a day, four eggs a day, three eggs, two eggs, then no eggs. So, that’s thirteen eggs, a baker’s dozen, every five days. On average. Some days, they’re off a little, and this winter, they won’t lay as much in summer, but it really is nice knowing that we’ll always have eggs.
Right now, I have eighteen hard-boiled eggs, a dozen pickled eggs of two different flavors, and 12 dozen fresh eggs in my refrigerator. I have sixteen scrambled eggs frozen in the freezer (two eggs per bag, for baking or for breakfast.)
Within the next week or so, I’m going to get four more hens. The man who sold us Daisy Dewdrop, our beagle, is now selling Cocoa Maran hens for $3 each. So, for another $12 I’ll be doubling my flock. The new hens will lay dark chocolate brown shelled eggs.
For the winter, the new hens will live in a hay-bale coop, slowly being integrated with the original four. By spring, when the haybale coop is destructed, they’ll have hopefully set their new pecking order without too much bloodshed and injury.
Next spring, I do intend to get my egg permit. With that, I can sell eggs to the two local mom-and-pop stores in my region, and at the local Farmer’s Market.
I graduated from high school, three different colleges, won association awards, created a magazine.
But the feeling of accomplishment you get when you stand in front of a freezer packed with food you planted, food you tended, food you fed and watered and harvested… Food you washed and prepared and cooked and created and canned.
The feeling of accomplishment is deeper.
When you graduate, or meet a milestone, or win an award — it seems that there is always the implied worry of “What next?” Those are accmplishments that serve as mile-markers to see where you go from there.
But with the harvested garden, you are not faced with worries of the future, but instead a sense of security. You have the rewards of your labor before you, waiting to be enjoyed.
You success is your sustenance for the upcoming months, using methods and manners of a culture and tradition that in many, many places, was almost lost.
Still, with the shelves and freezer filling, I do think about the future. Deer meat, facing the pressure canner for the first time, and what other foods can I produce myself?
Even with my bounty, I impose the “What next” into my life.
When the garden is solid and white beneath snow…
When deer season is past and the freezers and shelves will hold no more…
When we shut ourselves in to endure the chill of winter….
What shall I do next?
I’m going to learn to bake my own bread.
Friday evening, we attended a bonfire in celebration of a friend/columnist’s daughter’s graduation. It started at 9 p.m., and I had no idea how time flew until the teens headed to bed around 1 a.m. I immediately said, “Oh! We have to go!”
We made it from the kitchen table to the front porch chairs before we got caught up in another interesting discussion.
When we finally did leave, it was 4 a.m.
Frank, who falls asleep quickly and knows it takes me about an hour, let me sleep in until 10 a.m. this morning, when the phone rang — my weekly Saturday morning phone call from my mother. About 10 years ago, because my life was so crazy and I often forgot to call her on a regular basis, Mother suggested she call every week at the same time.
It is now a routine part of our lives.
The topic of this week’s phone call, (and much of the party discussion) concerned four laying hens. My new hens. My hens who didn’t get fed this morning until 11 a.m. because I was up all night talking about them and sipping home made wine.
My friend Sue, who hosted the party, is The Farm Queen, Ms. Organic Herself, a woman who (I am sure) has not a single additive or preservative in her entire body. She has several beautiful chickens.
It’s Sue’s fault I have laying hens.
And once we finished celebrating her daughter’s accomplishment and settled down to chat I said, “Sue, I have chicken questions.”
She explained. Hens lay every 28 hours, not 24. They have to have food, PLUS oyster shells (calcium) to make the egg shells hard, PLUS grit which is basically rocks in some part of their throat that helps them chew because they have no teeth. But — that’s not all.
Sue’s also get Olive Oil, to make their feathers shiny. They get garlic every three days to keep away mites, fleas, and other nasties. They get brewer’s yeast for the same reason.
She gives them raw meat (organic) and milk and cream (organic). The layer feed she gives them she makes herself, and it’s 100% natural, not like the 17% natural mix you get at the feed store.
Sue has the most beautiful, glossy, spoiled hens there are. That’s what I pictured when I pictured hens. And then, we went and purchased mine, from a farm overstocked with mixed multitudes of chickens, guineas, ducks — all free range and rather fending for themselves.
We brought them home at night, captured from their roost. When I got a good look at them the next morning, I realized, these were not like Sue’s hens.
They were not beautiful, they were not clucking and cute. They were not pets.
First off, they stunk. I can handle bird poop, feeding schedules, food formulas, egg gathering, care taking.
But I don’t do stink.
At the party, I asked Sue if I could give them a bath. She told me to put out a pan of dirt.
See, if you want chickens to bathe — you give them dirt, not water.
Through this first week, I have seen improvement in my hens. Not being a farm girl, I am not about to judge their former living environment. However, I do think being catered to is much better for them than fending for themselves.
They no longer act like they’re starving, and have already gotten accustomed to my voice and the shaking of their feed can.
Within three days, they established their little “pecking order.” They are now a rather cohesive club, not a bunch of snippy singles.
My favorite, the Barred Rock, is low girl on the totem pole. I’ve named her “Peppa,” as she’s salt and pepper speckled.
Her eggs have a dark brown shell.
In the first week, our four hens produced 12 eggs in all, two of which I dropped.Â (I need a little more practice reaching through the access hole in their pen to grab the eggs.)
I had provided one roost and one nest for them to share (as Sue’s do) but after a day of watching them establishing their pecking order, I broke down and provided a second roost and a second nest bucket so Peppa wouldn’t have to fight so hard for her space.
I put in a second feed container so she wouldn’t have to fight the other three so hard for food.
She must realize I favor her, because she is no longer intimidated by my presence as the others are.
Every morning this week, I have tried to feed them on a schedule, gather eggs on a schedule, uncover and cover them on a schedule.
Today, I blew it. I couldn’t help it, I was up until 5 a.m. for the first time in nearly two years.
Frank went out an uncovered them for me this morning, but didn’t know my feed formula….
So when I fed them, I was four hours late.
They didn’t seem to mind — and had two eggs waiting for me.
I’ll make it up to them tomorrow.
I’m setting up a dirt bath.