I've been a bit negligent when it comes to reporting on homesteading efforts in the kitchen, but that's partly because Dan & I have been doing these things for years now having been in the food service industry and hardly think of them as worth reporting. But alas I do have some morsels I want to share. Dan has been working on his breadmaking, an art form I leave solely to him, versed as he is (and I am ruefully not!) in the care of his sourdough starter. He has been using this book for helpful tips and has turned out some very fine petit boule. He uses only starter and no yeast in his dough and bakes it in a covered pot (or Dutch oven) to mimic the steam-circulating method of the commercial ovens that provide such uniform, perfect breads. Liberally rubbed with butter and garnished with coarse salt, this bread eats like a fine dessert, it's such a treat. We also had a slight reworking of the kitchen to allow for easier prepping and general enjoyment of the space. A few months ago, we stripped the finish off an old table from my Dad's workshop intending to refashion it into a kitchen table and, since we ditched the broken hydraulic legs it once sat on, were searching for the perfect antique cast iron legs for it. But alas, we are poor and perhaps too idealistic and since this beautiful wooden slab has spent several weeks leaning upright against a wall, Dan had the idea to repurpose it as a countertop, since we've little room for a table anyhow. So, ridiculous though it might look for the time being, it is actually serving us much better as a counter-height butcher block that we can chop, prep and eat on freely. We did treat it with mineral oil, though, to protect the wood, which one should reapply from time to time. One day it'll be a workbench on the homestead, or a big table around which to have family meals. Most of the vegetables we got in this week's CSA lend themselves particularly well to crisp salads and so that is how we've been enjoying them, though the mint we steeped in lightly boiling water on the stove to make a tea and added a healthy amount of granulated sugar to make it an especially tasty treat. Because it was so hot out we plunked some ice cubes in and divided the rest into jars to take to work for an afternoon refresher. My favorite vegetable we received this week was the green garlic, which looks just like a scallion but has a delicate garlic taste to it, so soft that you can snack on it raw. I am looking forward to sauteeing this in a stir-fry with lots of ginger too. Because we're going to be receiving so much with our CSA this summer, we're going to double down on our food preservation skills. Last summer, we pickled Wisconsin ramps that we munched on all summer long, and I'm hoping our dill holds out a little longer to add to a brine. Dan bought me Paul Virant's The Preservation Kitchen a few months ago after our visit to Vistro in Hinsdale, and I haven't yet made a dent in it, so I'm looking forward to digging in and trying some new methods. I'm really excited to start canning, which neither one of us has ever done, and might even propose a little canning party with my mom at the end of summer to make jars upon jars of tomato jam and salsa from her enormous garden. We'll be enjoying summer all through the long Midwest winter.
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Today, we picked up our first CSA from the Tempel Farms Organics booth at the Logan Square Farmers Market. And what bounty it contained! Carrots, arugula, lettuces, overwintered honeycrisp apples, popping corn, spinach, green garlic, and mint. I can't wait to get cooking! After months of touting the benefits of CSAs to friends and family, we realized we should follow our own advice and finally signed up for one. It is really such an extraordinary treat, having all these fresh, beautiful organic foods packed and ready for us when we arrive at the market.
The Logan market is short and sweet and to-the-point, coming as I am from Madison, Wisconsin, where the market covered every square inch of sidewalk surrounding the state capitol building. But it's succinct in a good way - there are a lot more opportunities to talk to vendors and farmers without having to fight your way to the front of the line, which in turn creates a smaller, more intimate community and the chance to really learn about the items you're receiving. Chatting with one vendor from Geneva Lakes Produce, we were informed the strawberries we bought would be tart and the juicier, sweeter ones would be at the next few markets. And, having volunteered to set up the market last weekend, we've already run into recurring faces this time around, making the daunting city a little more welcoming. What we've been able to create at the market, I've also been trying to replicate on a broader scale online. I've been thinking about the importance of having a community of like-minded folks to talk to about shared experiences and have been reading a lot, both in print and online. I thought I'd share some of the resources I liked best:
These are my picks right now, but there are honestly so many amazing resources out there, I've barely scratched the surface of top-quality homesteading sites. I will add to the list once I find more. Are there any sites or blogs you recommend? A large part of the lure of homesteading for me is the desire to do meaningful work. Lately, I've been feeling the familiar fatigue, the burnt-out, can't-do-it-anymore feeling that comes when your heart just isn't into what you do for a living. I'm feeling a strong pull towards tilling the land, getting my hands dirty and aiding in the creation of new things. The last time I felt this urge so strongly was at my last desk job five years ago, and the way I solved that was by signing up for a community garden plot. I had forgotten the progression or the decisions that led me to get that plot, but funny it should occur to me now when I'm in the same boat. Here it is, mid-summer, in all its glory, the only evidence that it ever existed: I grew an ambitious amount of plants and didn't read anything about gardening or even plan ahead. I figured I'd gained enough experience poking my little fingers into my dad's garden soil and dropping green bean seeds in them for all those years of my youth that I could patch together a garden. I figured he put all that work, what seemed like fuss, into it unnecessarily. I didn't even trellis my tomatoes because I had no idea this was necessary, I just thought it was a decoration. But it all mostly turned out okay. Actually, it turned out really nice. It was a gratifying and proud moment getting all the plants in the ground, especially since this plot, maybe 6x10, was densely packed with weeds up to my thighs when I showed up to the first community work day with seedlings in tow that I'd bought at the farmers market and whole-heartedly believed I'd just stick right into the ground, dust my hands off and be home within the hour. I remember thinking, "Okay, but who's going to clear all these weeds for me?" and then turning around to see the other gardeners already burrowing into the soil with their little digging tools, weather-appropriate wide brim hats perched on their hats and pads beneath their knees. "Oh," I thought. Hahaha. After several hours of digging, scratches all up and down my arms and dirt caked under my fingernails, I packed it up for the day with more a sense of accomplishment than I'd felt in years, the kind you only get from rigorous physical work. I planted zucchini (front) because I'd remember being knee-deep in these at my parents' garden as a kid (they made me set up a stand at the end of the driveway to sell the baseball bat-sized fruits of their labor, and when I abandoned post to shoot waterguns, was somehow surprised this was wrong. I was not naturally entrepreneurial). I planted mint, not knowing I didn't need to given it's invasive tendency, basil, onions, cucumbers, tomatoes that grew well despite the lack of support I gave them, and green beans which did not, as well as ill-conceived potatoes, which I remember my friend Ben uncovering when he was digging through the dirt and came out with a finger-full of watery white potato rot. Seriously. I knew nothing of composting, except that it was a hippie buzz word around Madison that annoyed me vaguely, or of the importance of pruning and harvesting for the health of my plants. I showed up every few days to water the soil and pluck some weeds out of the ground, but I was a little baffled about what exactly I was supposed to be doing. Other people had adorned their plots with bird feeders and decorative stakes, on which they had written in careful penmanship the names of the vegetables that lay underneath. Some people grew flowers, which I hadn't even considered, and erected intricate anti-bunny systems - all these things you accumulate throughout adulthood, while I was only on the very brink of my own. But I really enjoyed visiting my little plot and tending to it the best I knew how. And somehow my garden grew, as things have for centuries and centuries, without my constant fussing and fancy gardening accessories. I enjoyed caprese salads, grilled zucchini and cold cucumber sandwiches all summer long. Such a primordial thing, growing. The gist of all this being that, and I stress this in nearly every post, seasoned as I now am compared to a few years ago, I am continually learning more and more with each trip I make into our current garden: that I should have put up wind barricades, how important clipping flowering growths is, that too much watering is just as bad if not worse than too little. And remarkably, we have had some casualties along the way, but mostly everything goes just fine. As for how our garden is growing now, we have had a few problems with some wind damage on our herbs in the pallet garden, and the cilantro may be on its last leg. I consulted with my mom, who said that once it goes to seed, or starts flowering, it might be done for. But I continue to prune and water it in hopes it may revive. Our green beans have suffered from the wind as well - their leaves have all snapped and I'm not sure how to handle this, so have just let them keep growing, thinking that they'll form new, stronger leaves at their bases. Then vs. now Wah-wahhh. It's also a way gloomier day today so the lighting makes them look extra pathetic. Their stems are still quite strong though, so I think there's hope for them still. I feel like I'm writing all these let-downs immediately after talking about how resilient plants are, which is a stupid thing to do. But here is some evidence that most of our vegetables are doing quite well! Here is our lamb's quarter, which is actually a weed but eats like a normal leafy green. People compare it to spinach, but I think the texture is a little more like arugula. Also, speaking of arugula, ours is maybe the best I've ever tasted. It's beautiful and fragrant and so delicious. It's peppered in here with the chard, which is gorgeous as well. We'll have lots of greens this summer, because we also signed up for a CSA, which we thought prudent to do because our means of growing enough for our weekly needs are pretty limited. We'll be picking up our first delivery this Sunday at the Logan Square Farmers Market from Tempel Farms. I'm very excited to find out what we get.
And, in keeping with the opening of this post, the lamenting of the less-than-inspiring nature of the desk job, I though I'd also share some photos of the flower studio I worked at in Seattle, as I keep toying with the idea of starting my own floral design business once we flee to the homestead. As we get closer to vacating the city every day, and are actively searching for land on which to build the homestead and hopefully a business, I keep in mind this little workspace I once used, and think how nice it would be to have one of my own. I just returned home from vacation and really want to write about some experiences I had but fear the prosaic nature of this pursuit. I promise to do everything in my power to avoid the vague tropes about how important travel is for you and how decompressed you feel getting in touch with the land and out of the city, how you're able to reconnect with yourself and your purpose in life but, well, that is exactly what happened. My folks planned a trip for the whole family as a retirement gift to themselves after 15 years of owning a small but successful family business. We were whisked away to Sedona, Arizona, a destination wholly different than Chicago in every conceivable way. The landscape was alien: red rocks jutting at unexpected angles across the clear, expansive sky; fuzzy, prickly plants that look as dry as the dirt beneath them; the adobe houses tucked into cliff sides and all a modest one-story, so low to the ground the desert trees around them rendering them nearly invisible to the onlooker. Partial as I am to seasonality and more temperate weather, I was never really interested in the Southwest, save for some of the design aesthetics that have been seeping into the larger consciousness the last few years: animal skulls, fur tapestries, mosaic tiles. But what I didn't know about Sedona is that it has an actual tangible energy, that it is one of the most mystical places in the world, as it is considered to have vortexes, or confluences of energy, unlike anywhere else in the world. And the energy really is palpable. At least to the believer. And placebo or not, it worked, which is all that really matters. We stayed at a resort that offered a number of activities and classes, from guided meditation to yoga and spiritual walks around the land. Dan and I took advantage of a lot of these, starting the days off with stretches and poses and following tour guides across the dusty terrain to learn about the energy of the land. In one exercise, we walked through a labyrinth that signified the unexpected turns in life, the meandering paths we take towards our desired outcome. It was a very apt metaphor for life and such a calming notion to consider whenever you're inclined to become upset about something not working out as you'd originally planned. I also sat in a guided meditation in a teepee, which triggered some anxiety and claustrophobia I get with small spaces. I really had to work at not freaking out and then, slowly, I just let go and allowed things to happen. Everything is actually really perfect when you accept things just as they are, not assigning any label of good or bad to them, but allowing them to just be and cooperating with their just being. Back in the urban war zone that is Chicago, I am trying to keep these meditative practices forefront in my mind, to remember that all anything is is just a cooperation with nature and none of the seemingly important daily struggles and stresses really amount to anything at all. And here is a photographic catalog of the journey. First, the majestic red rocks. And more mountains with rain threatening, a rare treat in Sedona. Unidentifiable plants. And some that were more familiar. Gorgeous nasturtium. And a cheesy airplane shot for good measure.
It's been a busy week of building, planning a transplanting at our household as we rework and expand our deck's little victory garden. With the first round of transplanting behind us, we've perhaps formulated a better game plan for the second time around. Having had general success, there have also been a few bumps along the way, and we've figured out some things we might have done differently to allow for healthier & happier plants, which is great because that's really the whole point of our gardening endeavors - to learn what works and what doesn't. I feel that every farmer or gardener I've talked to, no matter how many years' planting they have under their belts, never professes to have a complete and total understanding about growing things, as there are infinite variables. It's all trial and error and even what works one year might not work subsequent ones. Such is the nature of, well...nature! It's so cool and humbling, and also such a remarkable joy when things turn out they way you'd hoped. So I thought I'd share some of our progress this week, which started with fashioning some new beds for our seedlings. As you can see, it was definitely outgrowing this as well, so we relocated it yet again to a larger crate, and we also found something surprising in doing so - there were several arugula that had ended up with it from the starter tray. Both are growing really well, so they seem compatible enough. Dan has become the resident handyman, though I am in no way adverse to this type of work. It just sort of happened that way. In any case, here are some more crates we were lucky enough to happen upon for free, lined with burlap to keep the soil in. (As a side note, we looked at over-the-rail planters and clay pots at Menards today and I am very pleased indeed that we decided to make our own. I have yet to sit down and figure out the numbers behind all this, but I would say so far the planting has been more spiritually fulfilling and less the practice in frugality that I thought it might be. Organic soil is not cheap! Nor are pretty basic planters.) So one thing we've learned so far is that, when we transplanted our seedlings from their initial starter trays, we really should have put them in much larger beds, with greater space between each plant to better allow for growth. Originally, we transplanted the chard into the shallow crate below. This time, we spread the chard over three different containers - I think they'll get pretty big. We also gave our mint a whole lot more room to breathe and decided to put just one plant in its own container, as it is so wont to propagate wildly. Here is the mint fairly bursting out of those tiny tomato cans we had it in: And now with proper spacing: We've done the same with the basil too, which is a sensitive herb to grow, and which we will be bringing indoors after our last fateful basil mistake. I've also decided to take my lavender outside. It's been doing so well but the containers are just too small at this point. I'm a little worried because lavender can be finicky and requires a sandy, well-drained soil, so I hope it adapts to the humidity alright this summer. I'm not sure what to think! Some of it has gotten really tall, though, and it just needs a larger environment to keep growing. They tend to look sad immediately following the transplant, but I think it's just a shock to the system and they buck up relatively quickly. At first the pallet garden looked like that, but all those herbs are coming along nicely now. I want to start eating them, but Dan is practically equating this to infanticide. He is having some trouble letting go. I am banking on this wearing off in time, though I'm not so sure. One more new addition: we built a trellis of sorts out of bamboo sticks and twine for growing green beans. We planted the seeds about a week ago, but haven't seen any growth yet. I'm not sure it'll work, but it was fun to make.
So here it all is, ever-expanding and filling me with a nagging anxiety that the deck will collapse after a few more additions. But it's worth it.
Last night when I came home from work, I was pleasantly surprised to find some of our plants have starting sprouting lovely, delicate white flowers.
This is a lime basil plant that we actually didn't start from seed; Dan got it from work, and it has been shooting up like crazy since we potted it.
And this is our cilantro, which I guess when it flowers is referred to as coriander? Although I think cilantro and coriander are technically interchangeable names, but the seeds that come from the flowers are coriander seeds. So that's something.
We've also had some of our arugula stems shoot up above the leaves and sprout flowers.
This is all somehow very amazing to me, even though I've known arugula flowers were a thing, but I guess seeing it happen was such a delight that it took me off guard.
Meanwhile, my lavender plants remain very green indeed, and the mint, given as it is to rampant, often invasive, growth, is doing just that. It's been a couple of weeks since we transplanted most of our seedlings outdoors and, optimistic though we were that the freezing temps were officially behind us, it was alas too cold for our resilient, yet sensitive basil. Serious goners. Such a shame! We did reserve some basil indoors luckily, and are planning on moving it to a large pot for the deck, once we procure said vessel. We had also held off on transplanting our dill, as the vertical garden didn't afford the space, but now that the basil is out, we planted the dill in its place. I'm looking forward to grilling fish on the deck and plucking little dill sprigs to adorn it in the coming months. Also in anticipation of warmer times, I finally bought an aloe plant for soothing sunburns, which I've been meaning to do forever. It's such a cheery slice of the Southwest to have in the house. I don't know why but lately I've been obsessed with Southwestern aesthetic, particularly mosaics and adobe. I've even considered the probably completely inane idea of getting temporary mosaic tiles for my apartment in an effort to get what I want now, even though I know that never brings lasting happiness (but look at these!). Yes, there's something really wonderful about the colors and textures of the south that feel almost like they breathe on their own. Maybe it's the result of living in a concrete jungle, or three floors up, but I've had such an urge to be closer to the ground lately. When I explained this to Dan, he relayed this Lao Tzu quote, which I really like: "In dwelling, live close to the ground. In thinking, keep to the simple." Then when I looked up the quote, it said more: "...In conflict, be fair and generous. In governing, don't try to control. In work, do what you enjoy. In family life, be completely present" (from Tao Te Ching). Such lovely thoughts to think, and how often I forget to think them. But enough of that! We have some other little plants' growth to share- cyclamen flowers, mint and lavender. Everything is growing to be really strong and fragrant, but also quite attractive to ants! Not sure how to deal with this without chemicals - any advice?
We are finally averaging mid-60s temps and our little plants were most definitely growing out of their starter trays, so last night we transported them to the vertical garden we made out of an old pallet.
We packed the soil in really loosely, about 2 inches from the top of the pallet, but added more soil around the plants once they went in.
The plants popped out of their trays really easily; I guess the hexagonal shape of the holes is good for easy transplanting. It also encouraged root growth really well - some of the roots were almost two feet long!
Naturally, we ran out of room and had to fashion another little plant-home out of a smaller wooden box. In here we are putting the chard and only the chard because it has perhaps had the most difficulties along the way (i.e. yellowing, papery leaves) and I think, given the long, curly nature of its leaves, it'll need more room to spread out than the other plants.
Ta-da! I don't know why, but I've grown particularly fond of these chard. Maybe due to their resilience in the face of adversity.
So here it all is, complete, and soaking up the remnants of the daylight. It was such a gorgeous night for doing this, and the transplanting itself was restful and invigorating all at once.
I hope they'll get enough light as, even though we live on the top floor, the deck has a roof, though I tend to think it may be good that they won't be baking in direct sunlight all day long, particularly mid-summer when it's stiflingly hot. Here's a view off the other side; very serene (although later that night I counted 41 police cars screeching in hot pursuit down our street. Ah well, the juxtaposition is kind of neat).
Stay tuned for more, as the arugula didn't make it outside quite yet. We'll probably start even more of those indoors because they grow so quickly and are so great for munching all day long in summer.
It would be remiss of me to report only on our successes and none of our struggles. And besides, that's not the point! The point is to share the experience in order that we, and whoever may be reading this, may benefit from others' advice/trial and errors. So. Issue #1: Many of our arugula and chard leaves are turning red. Arugula I read something that suggested this may be because arugula hates heat (it sits on the sill of our large picture window, so this is possible), but if it doesn't taste too bitter, it's still good. It tastes like arugula to me, which is inherently bitter in any case, but I'm still not sure if it's dying or what. We are hoping to transplant everything to our more shaded back porch soon - could this revive it? Also Wikipedia didn't offer much in the way of advice, but it did have this rather amusing anecdote about arugula: "Grown as an edible herb in the Mediterranean area since Roman times, it was mentioned by various classical authors as an aphrodisiac,[12][13] most famously in a poem long ascribed to Virgil, Moretum, which contains the line: "et veneris revocans eruca morantuem" ("the rocket excites the sexual desire of drowsy people").[14] Some writers assert that for this reason during the Middle Ages it was forbidden to grow rocket in monasteries.[15] It was listed, however, in a decree by Charlemagne of 802 as one of the pot herbs suitable for growing in gardens.[16] Gillian Reilly, author of the Oxford Companion to Italian Food, states that because of its reputation as a sexual stimulant, it was "prudently mixed with lettuce, which was the opposite" (i.e., calming or even soporific). Reilly continues that "nowadays rocket is enjoyed innocently in mixed salads, to which it adds a pleasing pungency".[17]" But okay, the chard is also getting violently red and some of the leaves are yellowing and becoming papery, which seems to be very bad news indeed. When I read about chard developing red leaves, it said that the leaves redden when the temperature dips to freezing (probably not the case, as they're indoors), or if the soil has Boron deficiency. If the later is the case, is there any chance they can be revived? We're also noticing some mold in the soil, which Dan believes to be benign because it is the good kind (i.e. white and fuzzy, not colorful). We are thinking we'll just pick it off, but I wonder why it's there in the first place. It's growing in the soil of the basil, which otherwise looks very healthy and smells terrific. Anyone have any experience with reddening leaves on their indoor plants?
I recently started a really high-stress job, and I say this having spent years waiting tables - not exactly a low-key profession. In any case, I've always had problems compartmentalizing the stress of work. I'd often take it home with me, fully recognizing this was not the sane or healthy thing to do, but letting it happen all the same. Yes, letting it happen, because it is a choice. Dan and I have had quite a busy agenda since moving to Chicago; weekend trips, time with our families and reuniting with friends - not exactly the lifestyle we've had in the past few years, which was more leisurely and a lot less focused, at least for me. Time together and at home has became a premium, and maybe there is more of a sense of urgency at this point in our lives, but we started doing all the things we'd been talking and reading about for so long - gardening and building things, cooking at home more because Dan no longer does it professionally - and so we created a reason for living that was larger, and much more meaningful, than our jobs. And in the space of time that we carved out to attend to our home and grow our hobbies, I finally started feeling that working was a means of being able to have and sustain the kind of life that I wanted, and not the end goal in itself. I've long lamented what I believe is the misguided focus of state-run education, the emphasis on traditional markers of success like status and money, but only recently have I realized that I was still a victim of these mental trappings. I definitely had felt that external success or accumulation of things could bring internal peace, even though I wouldn't admit it. And so maybe that's why it was easy for things that happened throughout my day to follow me home and affect my personal life, when I believed the work was the important thing. But here I want to be careful, because I don't want to confuse "work" and "jobs." It is very hard work to garden and cook and build things, but perhaps more enjoyment may be derived from this type of work, from creating something from nothing, a very instinctual kind of soul-fulfillment. Jobs I take to mean anything you do for money, in order that you might eat and drink and have a place to live. In any case! An update on our garden: We are still patiently waiting for a time when there are no freezing night temps, and until then our garden remains on our window ledge, where I rather like it, and will be sad to see it go. We're talking about our next round of planting, though - tomatoes? Something will have to take its place. The lavender will stay indoors - its coming along pretty nicely now. I'm looking forward to making a lavender oil if we get enough blooms. I have a friend who soothed a really painful burn on her wrist with lavender oil - a helpful thing to have around kitchens. Can ya see 'em?! They're just barely there, but each day a new bud pops up, which is neat. Our little zen corner of the world.
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