Dirty Women

Did a rare and unusual thing this past weekend, we left home. Packed up our bags (except for the one with all our toiletries which was packed but left ever so inconveniently right there in front of the toaster) and the Gk's, bribed number two son to do chores for 24 hrs and went north...then west...then north.

We landed in the bustling berg of Geneseo, Illinois, home of the painted pig on every corner,  where I met famous woman of a dirty nature. Namely Miss Effie and Miss Amanda and Miss Tammy as well as Miss Tamara and my editor Miss Zan of The Renegade Farmer. Lots of very busy woman who once had corporate jobs or factory jobs or ordinary jobs and now had jobs that were much harder as they were all either cooking and gardening and teaching and bee keeping and soaping and blogging and bow making and doll crafting and spinning and weaving and owning construction businesses and homemaking and child caring and oh my...they were doing it all while being their own bosses at the same time and hopefully making ends meet with self generated income.

And before I go one step farther. Do you know how to tell a really busy self sufficient woman ? Well by her uniform of course. It looks something like this:

Miss Amanda (middle) discussing the pros and cons of Leghorn chicks with Miss Tammy
 and Miss Effie whose real name is Cathy

a beautiful heavy duty grape themed apron and a fabulous pair of equally sturdy chore boots. Anyone can look good in heels, it takes a special gal to look good in rubber Wellies. What a day it was. Keith sat in on Miss Zan's beekeeping class while I toured our host's (Amanda) property and chatted it up with the other dirty gals (this is a definition related to our outdoor work, not our moral status.)

The highlight of the tour was this extraordinary building. I fantasized about it being a writers hideout  complete with padlocked doors but apparently it is meant instead to smoke meats on the top level

                                  
                              and store roots attached to veggies, on the bottom level.

Testosterone man Jason and husband to Amanda, HAND DUG the entire root cellar portion of the building, WHY ? Because he could that's why. Its the same reason my own husband carries new born, 100 pound  calves through the fields and up to the barn when he could drive the truck or tractor out to rescue them in bad weather. Because he can.

And they say women are illogical.

After our dirty women gab fest, and sharing of marketing ideas, product production, business plans etc ...etc...we promised to get together more often . Even if, in the case of Zan Asha, it would mean a trip to New York city where this ultra creative woman cares for 7 bee hives on her roof top. Not only is she the Queen Bee of her urban neighborhood she also creates special fairy dolls and kittenfish. Yes, kitten fish. I love her website for the music as much as for the creativity. Listen for yourselves http://vagabondcreations.blogspot.com/   Oh yeah, she also edits the Renegade Farmer E-Zine.

Zan is the tall, youthful one on the left. I'm the un-tall, been around the block
backwards more than once on a two wheeled tricycle, one on the right.

I think  my next road trip (as a warm up to NY) will be to Miss Effies U-Pick Flower Farm owned and run by Cathy Lafrenze, and featured in Midwest Living not so long ago.This hardy chick and I hit it off right away. We're both on the edgy side, the edgy MATURE side. And we both admitted neither of us care about our hair anymore or housework. We do however care about how our barns appear to the general public. Check out her entrepreneur style right here right now
http://www.misseffiesflowers.com/

Cool huh ? What was that ? You have tiny ones at home and can't possibly start your own business ? Don't be throwing those words around Miss Amanda,  an accomplished soaper and the founder of http://www.mymommyscreations.com/   My GK Allana went nuts when she saw what was available to dress up little girls hair and could not be torn away from the turtle bow she brought home with her that day. She wore it up until bath time last night and put it right back in her hair for school this am. The best thing about that bow ? Yes its real cute, but best of all...IT STAYS IN THE KIDS HAIR !!

In addition, her prices are a real steal for the quality of hair bow you are getting. Order now before she too gets discovered by Parent magazine or someone else who will buy her company for the 1/2 million it is worth.

So there it was, my "restful" weekend with hard working woman. I left to go on a mini-vacation and came back with great ideas for making an even better living with homemade, home raised, home loved,  products.

Lucky me.

                                

Just another manic Sunday.

You know, the usual stuff like chores (demonstrated here by husband, Papa, and co-owner of South Pork Ranch)

The sheen on his shoulders is not baby oil to show off his muscles, it is old fashioned sweat, which has been applied to show off his muscles. It wasn't even 9 am and the sun was high and hot with no wind. Must still be summer.

We did take a bit longer for breakfast today. I made both bacon and sausage links because really. how can it be Sunday without bacon ? Promptly afterwards we made rooster rounds. We recently were gifted a Banty rooster and wanted to make sure everyone was still playing nice with him in the farm yard.

Banty looked good. No harm, no fowl. He's an amazing little guy, and the rooster is cool too. The GK's can touch him anywhere (they are very gentle) and he never makes any attempt to peck. He even walks up to them to be picked up. Now you know I hate those blogs that go on and on about the angelic qualities of poultry except of course when it comes to mine. I mean come on. Just look at those EYES

So full of wisdom and strength, so full of sweetness and light, so full of empathy and good will to all poultry kind through out the land. Sniff...he's so handsome too, regal even.His dark red comb the  hue of cherry jello almost. Don't tell me he doesn't take YOUR breath away as well. And if Banty is not enough to make you swear off chicken a la queen just take a glance at Sunset here:

A Black Spanish heritage turkey, he was a gift from a customer of ours in appreciation of our sharing some semen from our Red Wattle Boar ,Mad Max. Actually Mad Max was the one who did the semen "sharing" but this is no time to split hairs now is it?

Our GK Allana named it, Sunset,  for no good reason at all. That's just how she rolls. Having been with us since a wee little Turk he is also quite subdued and maybe even reasonably smart...for a turkey. Just the other day we saw him move AWAY from a moving vehicle. A good start indeed



Following poultry roll call, I went down to the barn for my pedicure appointment. I am the type of freak who enjoys cleaning all the manure and other debris off the milk tank room floor and walls. I start with hot hot bleach water to wash our calf bottles and buckets then splash it all around the room to share the germicidal moment. Bleach is an approved cleanser for organic farms and its a good thing because I am very fond of bleach. Its the nurse in me. The Deliverence HILLBILLY in me however, prefers to do all this cleaning in my bare feet.

Any little cut or scrape I might have on my foot is immediately sterilized and my toenails are a whiter shade of pale by the time all washing is completed.

I ended the day with a few photographs of a recently made soap. I call it...

Pretty Boy Lloyd soap. No particular reason, I just roll that way.

And now a word about my soap photography. In the beginning it really stunk, then I tried using a "white box" made with foam board and my pics improved. Or my soap making did, hard to tell which came first the sicken or the keg, (I'm making beer soap tomorrow by the way) but either way my soap was more presentable.

But tonight I walked out to our farm store where these bars were located and just plopped them down on our old wooden counter which was painted yellow. Worked well I think. Keep it simple Stupid. Keep it simple.

The Renegade Midlife Farmwife

I am very grateful to The Renegade Farmer who has published several of my articles this last month. The experience has been tremendous for me in regards to meeting a deadline (every Saturday) and staying focused in my writing. The deadline part is indeed the most difficult since I rarely know what day it is to begin with.

I've toyed with the idea of leaving a post-it on the side of my bed with the day of the week written on it in large letters, SUNDAY, for example but with my recent teen years flashbacks I'm worried I'll wake up, see SUNDAY in block letters and think I'm suppossed to find those day of the week bikini underwear. I'll spend 60 minutes rattling through my drawers, I mean my dresser, for SUNDAY before I remember they never made those dang things in briefs anyway so it couldn't be SUNDAY underwear I am looking for, here in 2011 could it ?

Where were you ? Oh yeah, if you've followed my blog for more than a post or two you are quite aware of my UNFOCUSED nature. It's really not intentional. I'll start on one topic but soon that ever haunting flight of ideas takes to the sky and I'm off rambling, rambling, like a rambling man.

I did a large number of back flips in my competitive gymnastics days (I did so!) and my brains are still partially scrambled.

This could too have been me....could too...could too...could...too.

So, this weeks article is about direct marketing to restaurants. A fair amount of folk ask us about how to do this, when to do this, and why did you do this ?   I thought an article on the topic might be helpful to other farmers who want to sell their farm raised meat to higher end restaurants without all the middle men like Tyson, to name just one we have no respect for. We're no experts but we've learned enough along the way to be completely aware of how clueless we really are.

A link ? Well I had a teacher named Mr. Link at Anna McDonald Grade School once., poor fellow, quite brilliant but he could not say his "D"'s for some reason so when he talked about The Mediterranean he said "Mefforanean" which gave us all uncontrollable gigg...what ? oh the link, here you go. http://therenegadefarmer.com/

I hear its your Birthday. Happy Birthday to Ya !

On this day 49 years ago my best fellow was born. He really is the best fellow. 18 years together and still he talks to me each day and, AND he even pretends to listen. I don't just love him. I really really like him. Even if he is only 3 years younger than me and people still mistake him for my son at least twice a year. Its enough to make me stop curling my hair with bobby pins and covering my head with a plastic rain bonnet I tell ya !

We had planned to take the day off but hay had been cut and was on its way or so we thought we best stay home to welcome it into the barn. Instead this am we got lots of HAIL. This actually cheered us a bit as we thought there was no way the hay that was cut would be suitable for baling. We could maybe leave Dodge for a short time after all.

Wrong again Robin. Seems the hail was isolated. Pretty much just over our farm. So hay is still coming, sooner or later, one of these days. In the meantime we both were home all day. Sister Mary (No not SISTER Mary like in those goofy Bing Crosby movies, but MY sister Mary even took our GK's for the night so we had a child care break as well.

Which is grand but not so much 'cause we really have gotten used to having those future farmers with us on the weekends. Its our routine man. We consoled each other with...wait for it...food. I baked my hubbie a birthday cake and then made a great supper out of ground boar meat. A personal favorite around here. Added some mashed potatoes with freshly made butter and wowla' we got supper.

And now I'll finish the day by preparing for the Farmers Market tomorrow. I have soap to wrap and a wagon to load and seller sheets to print and an invoice form to complete and chairs to wash. What am I talking about ? I never wash those chairs.

Soaping Addiction

Years ago, I went through a decorative painting phase. Donna Dewberry was the artist and she taught millions of folks how to "double load " their paintbrushes. Soon, all over the nation, in craft shops and antique stores, county fairs and school fundraisers, evidence of Ms Dewberry's technique was seen.

I was one of the stricken.

I even rented a booth in a local antique store and sold decoratively painted pots, suitcases, doors, windows, glassware and anything else with a paintable surface. Two of my sisters allowed me to paint flowers on their bathroom walls. The third sister claimed her landlord would not allow any wall painting.  She must have forgotten she owned her home.

 That summer I painted my donkeys ass (or was it my ass's donkey ?) and won Best Of Show  at the Melvin County Fair much to the embarrassment of my teenage children. About 6 months and $600 later in supplies, I decided the sunflowers with big squiggly leaves was not for me. The mailbox at the end of our lane was the last item I painted. If I remember right I sold $596 worth of  fabulous artwork, nearly breaking even minus the 6 months of booth rental.

Well, my husband thought it was fabulous. My greatest fan that guy. I could be making homemade bread out of sawdust and he'd not only eat it, he'd try to convince the schools to use it in their school lunch program.

That was 7 years ago. My granddaughters are still painting with the leftover bottles of acrylic paint. I may have overbought some supplies.

But soaping...now that is NOT the same thing at all. For one thing, no one else has soap like I do. Unless they make it up as they go (short on coconut oil ? then a little motor oil should work just fine) and then pour it into a mold that is nothing more than an empty diaper wipe container. Do you people do that ? Do ya huh ? No, I didn't think so.




At first I saw beautiful fudge, now I see the huge roots of overgrown
molars in a dental X-ray. 

 So don't even compare my soap making habit with my cabbage rose making habit. I painted to make a little extra money. I soap because I am. There is something about making soap that is so relaxing, so Zennnnnnnnnn.  I also have a reason to look forward to mornings again. Will my swirl go all the way through ? Will the dreaded 1/2 gel stay away ? Will the lovely sea glass green I got once from olive oil infused parsley stay true in this batch of soap or will it turn that putrid pond scum green I created three weeks ago. ?

 Waiting all night or heaven forbid a full 24 hrs until results can be visualized as I cut into my soap loaf, is like waiting for Bill Murray to pick me to be on his volleyball team all over again. Excruciating.

I am telling you...this is serious business. I plan to be making soap until I sell at least enough to pay for that expensive essential oil order I nabbed off of EBay last week. Which means I'll be making soap until I'm 112.

But that's OK, that will give me plenty of time to improve my soap photography skills which stink. Either I have the wrong background

One wood table under a glaring overhead light turns
green soap yellow. Got it.

Or the wrong focus and over exposed,

At least this time the green soap looks a little green

Or the wrong label which covers up the soap.

             I really cannot believe I gave up saving lives for this all new kind of pain.                       
                                                   Yes, yes I can.

Support your local farmer...BUY SOMETHING

This may come as a bit of a surprise to some of you (those who are reading this blog for the very first time) but you should know; I'm opinionated.

I take no responsibility for this personality flaw. My father was opinionated and my mother was opinionated. My fathers father was opinionated and my mothers father was a rotten guy who never valued his family or cared to provide for them. HIS opinion never mattered. But I regress.

You could say I was  blessed in the opinion department. You could but I wouldn't. A few weeks ago The Renegade Farmer agreed to print my opinion on a regular basis. But of course they don't really know me and they still have plenty of time to change their minds.

Don't bother clicking on the picture as I can't get the link
to work that way. Just one more personal impairment on my part.
I am adept at making soap out of pig fat though.

In the meantime, I am grateful for this writing opportunity. If interested in reading this weeks article just click here http://therenegadefarmer.com/   There is a spot for comments at the end of my article if you feel so inclined.

Many thanks.

Doubting Thomas

The tide has turneth. It happened so quickly I almost got pulled under the riptide. Almost. Fortunately I expected the Naysayers would be rearing their ugly heads soon and I had prepared some FAQ's myself.

A recent conversation went like this.

It can't be done. You can't live on $6000 a year
Why not ? (just an arbitrary number we picked out the sky. We're hanging on to it because it irritates people)
Because you have to buy things
Like what ? (playing dumb...a strength of mine except I'm not always acting)
Well, sugar.
Yes sweetheart...(He was not amused) We have honey
You can't use honey for everything.
Why not ? (he'd cringe if he knew some of the unique ways I'd used honey over the years)

Long pause

What about health insurance ?
I might not get any.
What ?!?! You can't do that!
Sure I can, Its still America. I don't HAVE to get health insurance.(yet) I paid thousands into the system why can't I take some back ? (hinting I might apply for public aide. Not hardly)
What about entertainment ?
I think canning 150 jars of tomatoes will be entertaining enough.
What about clothes ?
We have enough clothes to last us 10 years. You can give us underwear for Christmas. I prefer mine with underwire.


My opponent remained unconvinced. I think the bottom line is: no one want to admit that we can indeed get by and possibly even thrive on a much smaller budget living a much simpler life. Since the 1950's we (the society "we" because I like to speak for all mankind) have convinced ourselves of many odd "truths." Such as the absolute need for two cars, three TVs , four bathrooms and five phones.

Trying to convince others that we want LESS has proven challenging. But we don't mind as we are enjoying the looks on peoples faces when we tell them we are considering a composting toilet and heating our home by wood stove alone while drying our clothes year round on a clothes line. Oh OK, if it really snows hard we might have to use our clothing rack set up by the stove.

And while folks cluck cluck behind our backs we are having a ball planning our new DEBT FREE life and our new tiny house.

When designing a new home its always best to call in the
professionals. Fortunately Wesley Lloyd Wright was available

With Keith at one end of the dream home and the girls at the other, Wes decides
on the perfect placement of the imaginary wood stove.

Runaway Hides

Every time its the same thing. You birth them, you nurse them, you share your bed with them. You protect them from all harm and you give ONLY good advice. After all that what do they do ? THEY LEAVE YOU. They think they have all the answers and they just walk out the door oblivious to the sound of your heart breaking. Crrrraaaack. They make it worse by going into another animals pasture and embarrassing you with their pignanigans.

But of course, as soon as things get a little tough or a little bit scary, say maybe the donkey nips them in the arse or the big mean red-orange tractor fires up close to them....they come runnin' back to the safety of the home pasture. Right THROUGH the electric fence, that basically can't give them much of a shock anymore due to the high grass someone has not bothered to mow yet. Yes as always, it comes back around to me




Run Joey Run Joey Run Joey Run
(first one to name that tune wins two free bars of handmade soap
mailed to your home ! Yes even if you live out of the US )


Mow is me.*




The "Mow is me" phrase is copyrighted by its creator S.L. Unauthorized use of said phrase is prohibited with out appropriate fee payment. The appropriate fee payment is $50 payable by cash or check. Because S. L.is quite hermit like and prefers her privacy it is best if you send the money to me.Donna OShaughnessy 32796 E 750 N Rd  Chatsworth, Il 60921. I will forward all fees to her. Sure I will.

I love to follow other peoples blogs. Some more than others. I especially love this one http://disasterfilm.blogspot.com/   Although I ask you please do not follow or comment on his blog as this fellow is well known for stealing all the comments from all the followers in the land. He is one big comment hog. I mean he says "Rainy today in the village" and he gets 100 comments. (Happy Birthday anyway John Gray)

Anyway, on his blog I don't want you to see, he has this great pic of a chicken staring right at you. I have been wanting to recreate that shot with our own poultry for awhile. Today I got down on the ground and gave it my best attempt.

Yeah they got the nice feather thing going. My hair would look good too
if all I had to do all day was eat bugs and worms.

Now keep in mind, I am not a chicken chic. I do not normally attach myself to birds. I find them dull and very dull. I appreciate them for the eggs they produce and the chicken caccitore I have consumed. I do not name them. Well except for this little Banty rooster a friend gave us last week, maybe I'm a little attached to him but it doesn't count as he's not a real rooster.

Anyway, I'm on the ground and they start to notice me a little. Suddenly I have a flashback to 1993 the year Keith and I were married. I ventured into the barn after work probably still in my 2 piece suit with peplum skirt no doubt, to say hello.  He was milking a goat and I see the cutest little fluffy yellow baby chick on the ground next to him. I scoop it up and before I can say Kentucky Fry this, I am attacked by a flurry of white feathers. Some crazed chicken is going for my head ! I pull the chick closer to me to protect it and the hen intensifies her attack. Keith is no help as he has now fallen off the milking stand as he rolls with laughter. He's trying to say "put the chick down" but he's laughing so hard he can't speak. Finally this Chicago raised bride figures out the nutso hen just wants her chick back. I put it down. I may not be very smart but at least I'm slow.

Anyway, back to the present. I am getting nervous. I'm vulnerable down here. They seem to sense this. They begin to move in.




Face to face with Birdzilla, I begin to wish I had fed them more corn and less
of the organic raw milk.

I hunker down behind my camera and try to look less threatening. I make nary a sound unless you count the minor incontinence I am experiencing. I always lose a little control when I sense my eyeballs are soon to be pecked upon. I wait them out. They send in backup chicks.

"To me she looks harmless. Lazy and
unmotivated, but harmless.
What do you think Esmerelda ?"

Still unpecked, I decide to go even closer. I came for an awesome chickie shot and I am going to get it. I zoom in. What happens ? Some Rooster Boy decides to get all cocky with me.



Get back girls, Midlife Farmwife is all mine.

I reach for my cell phone, I'm not above calling for help. After all these bird things can get out of control so quickly. One minute you are admiring a couple of lovebirds in a cage chatting it up with a hottie named Mitch and the next minute the freaky things are dive bombing you at the filling station and your whole backwards town goes up in flames. But before I can flip open my cheap Tracfone to see I am out of minutes AGAIN, Mr. all full of himself takes a sharp right and strikes a pose. Vogue.

Anyway, I never got the shot I wanted, but I did bond just a little with the egg squaters. Still, I'm not naming them and you can't make me.

But if I was...it would be Marsha, Jan and Cindy. The blond in front would of course be Marsha.
Marsha, Marsha, Marsha.

One Odd Duck

Met this fellow today at the Rare Animal Show at Garfield Farm http://www.garfieldfarm.org/ in LaFox, Illinois. He was charming.

Hats were very popular at this event. Some were the expected sort being as it was hot and sunny.

Some were time period specific due to the numerous demonstrations being given.

"John ? JOHN ! Could you slow down please, my cullottes are in that bag."

While others sported suspicious looking eyes beneath their brims.

Some women get gawked at, me; I get glared at.

One brilliant hat managed to match itself perfectly to its owners blouse. Now that takes some planning. I'm lucky to get both arms inside the sleeves of my top let alone match it to something.



HRH Kate and new groom William attempted to avoid the
paparazzi by  disguising themselves as midwest farmers
but her hat gave her away.

All in all the day was great fun. Many of the animals on display and available for petting were critically endangered as are our two Red Wattle hogs we brought along for the day.

But as adorable as we believe our pigs are, they were even more cute and cuddly creatures scattered about the farm, like these Chinchilla rabbits.

Well, the granddaughter thought they were cute and cuddly. The grandson thought he'd borrow a few of the hare's carrots for a snack when no one was looking. He forgot he was on the Kid-Cam.

The best part of the show was the relaxation factor. Not one single obnoxious sign about, "Animals can be dirty, therefore if you touch them you will be dirty and will probably die so you must drench yourself in this chemical lung burning sanitizer."  Nor did I see any of those other equally obnoxious "You break it you've bought it " signs which always get placed in front of the angora wool displays.

Naaaa. Garfield Farm was one reasonable place. Extremely kid friendly. Not only animals to see but animals to touch...

and HOLD

The only part of the day that needed improvement was the blatant self promotion of farm products. Some people were just relentless. Soap made from pig lard and real lye. Imagine

Something is a little "off"

Every year it happens. The earth revolves around the sun. I know because Sister Viola taught me this in second grade. As the earth does this, Spring becomes a reality. With spring comes warmer weather, at least that's what happens here in the Midwest. You goofballs living near a place called Iron Creek Lake in South Dakota are still dealing with snow and therefore cannot relate. You will probably feel better if you just stop reading now, grab another blanket and put another piece of furniture on the fire. You must be out of wood logs by now.

With this warmer weather (and rain if you are blessed) comes the wild phenomenon known as pasture growth. Yeah man, I'm talking about grass. Green green grass.

Cows eat grass, at least those lucky enough not to be living their whole life on a concrete feed lot. That green green grass is converted to milk, and spring milk tastes different than winter milk. Every year, one or two of our new milk customers, the ones who have only been drinking winter milk, that which comes after the cow eats dry hay all winter, will react with a little shock and awe.

Some will say "Uh, I hate to say anything but your milk tastes a little funny."
And we will say, "Does it taste bad?'
They will say "No, just funny, sort of  "off"  I guess"
And we will say, "Is it fresh ?"
They will say, "Yes, I just bought it this morning."
And we will then tell them all about grassy milk vs hay-ey milk. (Put down your keyboards spelling Nazi's I know what I am doing.)

We tell them to look at this way. When a mother nurses her baby, her milk will often reflect or taste like, what she has recently eaten. A meal heavy in onions and baby might turn away and dial Rent-a-Breast  for their next meal. This is the reason why Docs advise nursing moms against consuming strong drugs, alcohol and even caffeine.

It is the same way with cows, which is why their milk tastes different in the spring when suddenly they are consuming a very different diet than they were a few weeks ago. Soon that new taste will be just as familiar as the winter tasting milk. To ensure your milk is safe to drink though, you should follow some basic rules, winter and summer.

1. Be sure you obtain your milk from a reputable dairy. The tank room should look and smell clean
2. ASK your farmer how he milks his cows, how he cleans their udders, how he cleans the pipe system and the bulk tank.
3. Ask him about any milk testing he does, ask to SEE his milk test results.
4. Check the temperature gauge on his bulk tank. It should be 42 degrees or lower.

Now be sure to do YOUR part to keep your milk healthy and nutritional

1. Always wash your hands before collecting milk in your container.
2. Make sure your milk bottles and lids/caps are VERY clean. Wash them with hot soapy water and then a 1:10 bleach water solution. The hotter the bleach water the better. Rinse and dry well.
3. Transport your milk in an ice chest with ice packs. Keep your milk COLD.
4. Educate yourself about raw milk . One excellent resource is Raw Milk Production Handbook by Tim Wightman. Available through http://www.farmtoconsumer.org/

Now go pour yourself a tall cold one.

Love that back fat

You know that area above your bra line where  fat sort of bulges over and out ? Oh, you don't ? Nice for you, real happy for you but some of us have to deal with imperfect bodies. And then there is  the lovely hog who gets paid to have back fat. Well his farmer gets paid. Don't mind me just having fun with fonts.

So yeah, the fattest pig wins as long as there is still a good amount of real juicy meat as well as fat. Chefs love back fat. Wives of chefs must be the happiest women on earth. Unless of course it the farmers wife. We all know how much they love fat calves.

 

Took this pic last week of a Red Wattle we were deliveriing to one of our Chicago Chefs. This particular RW had been reserved last fall about 6 months ago. It hadn't even been weaned yet from its mama but it and several of its siblings were tagged for chefs wanting the RW for future menus. Now at 7 months of age it's hanging weight was 286 pounds.

A big fellow with good back fat and beefy red meat. Folks often ask us, "Is the meat of a Red Wattle really any different from other swine breeds ?

                        Yes it is we say. Yes it is.

Goodbye Aunt Jemima and Hello Uncle Willard !

As a baby boomer I grew up with all the fun people.  Captain Crunch, Dr Pepper, Ronald McDonald, Tony the Tiger and Aunt Jemima.

I also have a weight problem.

Post World War II, the mama's of the world grew tired of the hard work it required to cook a healthy meal and they willingly turned to the new world of processed food followed very quickly by fast food and before we knew it our cupboards were filled with boxes and boxes of instant this and that , while our freezers bulged with cartons of "goodies" like fish sticks, pizza bites and ice cream. Demand resulted in mass production which resulted in crap food at a minimal price. Cooking got easier and folks  got fatter.

Weight Watchers, Jenny Craig and others saw an opportunity and began  charging people to learn about good nutrition...by selling said people THEIR version of packaged and boxed processed food, coupled with fresh fruit and veggies. People lost weight. Stopped the diets, gained the weight back, went back on the diets and money exchanged hands over and over. The Fast Food Kings saw their own opportunity and developed the Dollar Menu's so our country's poor could be fat just like the rich.

The cycles of fat and thin, good food and bad food (like food can have a character trait) diets and non-diets continues to gain momentum and struck me full in the face this past weekend when I purchased this small glass jar of real maple syrup from our friends at Spence Farms. http://www.thespencefarm.com/

Cost ?   $12.

Yes, thats right, $12. Now why on Gods still green earth would I do such a thing when I could spend $3.19 (on sale) for a much larger bottle of Aunt Jemima Quasi-Syrup ?. I do afterall have to feed three grandchildren on the weekends. Three who love French Toast and Pancakes and would eat them three times a day.

I bought it because I am smart...er than I was a year ago. I have learned that a larger amount of money spent on a smaller amount of healthy food is far better for my body, my relationship with my neighbors AND my budget. Lets go back to the $1 menu at McD's. Research has shown that folks will buy many more of the $1 sandwiches , filled with little healthy meat grown inhumanely on large feedlots, than they need or intended to buy in the first place. They figure "They  are only $1, I might as well get 2 or 3 of them."

I had that same mindset for years in regards to syrup. The stuff is relatively cheap so why not let the kids poor it themselves so that the pancakes are swimming in it ? So the kids ended up with cheap food that spread far more calories into their little bodies than was ever needed.

Then along comes Uncle Willard AKA Will Travis and his family. Located just a few miles from our home I am ashamed to admit this was my first time with Uncle Willards Sticky Yum Yum.  But I had heard the reviews and hating to be left out, I reserved my bottle. Last weekend we made the trek to Spence Farm ,   paid our very hard earned cash for their very hard earmed hand harvested and  hand created, syrup. It was an even trade. More than even.

Never has so little sweetness volume wise,  given my family so much joy. Thirty minutes alone was spent with my three GK's just "taste-testing" the syrup, comparing it in blindfolded and highly scientific studies , with Aunt Jemima's brew. Each time the kids could identify which was the REAL syrup and which was so less than real. And each time they picked Uncle Willards as their favorite, including the 3 year old.

We treasured that bottle of syrup and drizzled it slowly over our food instead of flooding our food with it. We were actually able to taste the woodiness in it coming  from, you guessed it, the real wood fires used on Spence Farm to boil down the sap. We treated the syrup like the treasure it was, not wanting to waste either our own money nor the efforts of those who worked so hard to bring us the really good stuff.

Something to think about the next time you are faced with the choice of buying a mass produced item produced by the masses versus selecting an item hand grown or hand made with gunuine effort and care from a neighbor or a friend.

We Salute You,  Uncle Williard !

Look at me , look at me, LOOK AT ME !

Yes, believe it or not ,the elusive and mystical white peacock with its silvery plumes and masculine chicken legs. resides here on South Pork Ranch in Chatsworth Illinois. In early Druid  times of Southern Wales he was thought to have awesome powers. If a famine struck peasant was lucky enough to see one and prove such by obtaining one of the creatures beautiful tail feathers, he would be rewarded with overwhelming wealth and good fortune. His critical wife would honor him and once again find him wildly attractive despite his poor dental hygiene and his 19 children would respect him, bragging about his wisdom to all their sheep thieving friends. His landlord would GIVE him the one room shack slash barn  in which he was living. The peasant would be able to speak many languages endearing him to the leaders of the world who would seek his opinion in all matters of importance.


Oh please. Its just a bird. I made up all that stuff.


But they are fun to watch. Strutting all over the farm like they are somebirdy.  First when you approach, you get the full frontal view but if you offend them in any way like say, looking at them they blow you off  with this view:

Nice, eh ? Once you've calmed their huge egos you might be lucky to get a  Barbra Streisand side view. Usually saved for bigger camera's like those of National Graphic, consider yourself lucky to get  his,  "this is my best side" pose.

Trying to impress anything else with feathers, such as the lowly chicken, the uninterested duck, the also too self involved rooster,  the white peacock soon becomes bored with the attention of such common farm animals and flounces off.

I mean really just look at that back leg, extended with heel up. Is that not a "flounce" ? He has never quite gotten over the fact that he ended up here instead of at Brookfield  Zoo like so many of his performance minded family members.  Receiving a urgent call from his agent he rushes to his private jet

Seconds later, because he was so busy with his model runway classes and never got around to getting his flying license, he crashes beak first into the chicken yard.

Mr. Bird Cage here is just one of several critters gearing up for spring. In fact, The South Pork Ranch Spring Review will be on stage for the next few weeks. Matings, birthings, flouncings,  etc etc...Mardi Gras time, farm style.