In which we rehearse food in preparation for the Upcoming Feast

Here's the thing about cooking at Haiku Farm:

I make pretty good soups. The horses and dogs are also impressed with my mashes, especially the mashes that have lots of apples in them.

Jim is the King of Outdoor Cooking, and is also our chief Breakfast Maker and Bread Baker.

Willy is the the family member who makes the most amazing Korean food.

Although we won't be cooking the Thanksgiving turkey out-of-doors, Jim has claimed the project as his own anyhow. He has also brewed a special batch of beer for the occasion, and is concocting some amazing ingredients (apples from the orchard) for a turkey brine. Go crazy, sez I.

I'll be, uhm, mashing the potatoes. I also have a butternut squash-and-apple dish specialty.

Willy will be making SanJack. That's the best 'Murken translation of the name of the Korean harvest dish he made for our dinner tonight, as a rehearsal for Thanksgiving. Since he'd never made it by himself before, he wanted to practice it before making a bunch for the crowd next week.

Willy's directions are written in gold. I took the pictures.

San-Jack
need: beef, 2eggs, green onion, garlic, carrots, mushroom, oil, sort, sugar, black paper, and any kind of skewer

1. first making souse sugar(i don't use for Aarene),sort, garlic, green onion and olive oil little and mix

(I can't have sugar, so he skipped that ingredient for my benefit). He mixed up the sauce in a ziplock bag.

2. next mix souse and beef

3. than cut the Carrots,Mushrooms, and green onion like width 1cm length 6cm Thick 0.5cm4. after 2 and 3 low warm

He sauteed the carrots and mushrooms. The whole house smelled divine at this point!

5. then use the Skewer Piercings all to getther

6. next add the flour cover to 5

7. then use the egg and cover to 6(but only use to yellow part)

8. after use the pen and cook

We may be the only family in the Swamplands this year to serve this dish...but next year, who knows? I think it might catch on.

Life is good!

In which we inquire about readers' gravitational preferences

Please answer the following question in the COMMENTS section below.

Haiku Farm and scientific inquiry worldwide appreciates your contribution to this survey.

As regards an involuntary dismount (also called a "dirt check" or a "gravity verification") I prefer to fall off my horse in the:

a. summer

b. winter

c. arena

d. mud

e. nude

f. presence of qualified medical personnel

g. other (please specify): __________________

because the:

a. ground is more hospitable

b. seasonally-appropriate clothes I'm wearing offer more protection

c. accompanying sound effects are so gratifying

d. story is sure to get me free beers for at least a week

e. audience makes everything so worthwhile

f. news crew will be sure to play the whole thing over again in slo-mo so everyone can appreciate my airborn acrobatic skills

g. other (please specify): ____________________

In which I emulate the grasshopper, which is maybe a good choice

I'm having one of those weeks that seems to be full of the word "should.


I should be writing more words on my NaNoWriMo novel (25,068 so far, but not a single word for the past two days!)

I should rake the leaves before they blow all over the yard again.

I should tidy the kitchen before I leave for work.

And yet...

In the same way that other people listen to "inner messages" via their recurring dreams, my inner messenger often communicates through stories that get stuck in my head. For example:

When I was job hunting years ago, I couldn't stop telling the story of Cinderella, especially the part about how the stepsisters were urged to mutilate their own feet in order to make the shoe fit. When I accepted a really great job (which I still hold), I abruptly stopped needing to tell Cinderella's story.

Another time when my neighbors were making me crazy, I kept finding myself telling the story of the Old Woman who lived in a Vinager Bottle--she who kept wishing for a bigger and fancier house, but was never happy with what she had. When I took a box of apples to the neighbors, thereby appeasing their weirdness, I stopped being so unhappy at home and I moved on to a different story.

Hmmm. My storytelling subconscious isn't very subtle.

The story in my head today begins like the Aesop fable about the Ant who works hard all the year to plant and prepare and store away supplies for the winter, and the Grasshopper who sings and dances and tells stories all year.

You would think that a farmer like me would empathize with the Ant. But that's not how this version of the story goes:

The Ant and the Grasshopper : a story you thought you already knew:



If the embedded player above doesn't work for you, try listening on the source page, located here.

Enjoy!

In which I tell a story that I didn't anticipate telling

I went to the radio station this morning, although it isn't technically "my turn" in the tall chair.

Mary Marguerite and I take turns hosting the program, with Jim filling in for us as-needed. We aren't normally as elegant in the studio as we are in our publicity photo, by the way. I often wear my jammies when I'm on the air. Hey, it's radio. Who can know what we look like?

So anyhow, it wasn't my turn this week. But I went in anyhow, because I had a story to tell and I wanted to tell it and I didn't want to wait a whole week. This is typical for me.

Mary had the guest mike and headphones all set up for me, and we were almost ready to go...when the phone rang.

When the phone rings at a commercial radio station, a paid employee picks up the line and speaks in a professional manner with the caller. At a public radio station, especially a teeny-tiny public radio station like KSER, the phone is answered by a volunteer. On the weekends at KSER, the phone is often answered by the same person who is running the FCC checklist, making the coffee, swabbing the bathroom, and spinning the program...in other words, there is only one person in the building, and the voice you hear on the phone is also the voice on the radio.

Except this morning, remember? Because today wasn't my turn. So Mary turned off my mike and told a story on the air, and I talked to the person on the phone.

The person on the phone, bless her heart, was calling in a membership pledge, even though the pledge drive was finished last month. Hey, at a little station like ours, we'll take new members at any time of the day or night! So, I talked to her for a while and took her pledge information. It was nice. She's a nice lady, and she called our station on a Sunday morning to do membership stuff without us even having to do the "pledge thing" on the air. It was really nice.

So, I told a story just for the lady. And now I'm gonna tell it for you.

And hey, if hearing the story makes you smile, just think how much the person on the other end of the phone will smile if you call KSER and pledge some money as a member. Honest. We smile for hours after a call like that. Just think about it, okay? And see if you smile at the end of the story before you make a decision. The pledge info is at the bottom of this page.

The Storyteller's Blessing

If the player embedded above doesn't work for you, you can visit the storage site to play the story, instead.

Here's info about the radio station, just in case you smiled when you heard the story:

LISTEN LIVE LOCALLY at 90.7fm Streaming on the web: http://www.kser.org/

Between 7am and midnight (sometimes earlier and sometimes later, too) there are live, local people running the shows, so if you'd like to call and make somebody smile, the phone number is (425) 303 - 9076 Tell 'em the Sunday Storytellers sent ya.

If you want to pledge online, the smile is slightly more remote but just as genuine. Totally secure pledging at the website http://www.kser.org/ click the "Donate Now" button.

End of public service announcement and now we return to your regular Haiku Farm Day:

Life is good!

In which I keep writing, and I get a little LUCK in the mailbox

Today is Friday the 13th, and look what showed up in the mailbox today:


His name is LUCK, and he's a gift from BootsandSaddles4Mel. I stopped at the mailbox on the way out to run errands this morning, and there he was, waiting to go with me!

Isn't he just about the cutest little thing? I swear I must have kissed that sweet nose every time I was stuck at a stoplight. Then I brought him home and wrote him even further into my NaNoWriMo novel (21,319 words so far)!

Here's today's excerpt. A few days ago the novel was starting to stagnate, and it desperately needed a crisis so I pushed a supporting character down the stairs. Today, the main character tried to figure out the significance of the little sheep toy. Good luck, lady.

Or should I say, "Good LUCK" because that is, of course, our little toy himself in his very first cameo appearance in a novel?

“It's just really intense” she told Isabelle that evening as they chatted by phone. "Here’s this big, perfectly-capable adult man being watched every second by an over-protective eleven-year-old. No, “intense” isn’t the right word—it’s almost frantic. That kind of manic look you see border collies get when they watch a flock of goats that are bound to do something outrageously foolish at any moment.”

Isabelle considered. “Well,” she said, “the kid did just lose her mom. Maybe she’s afraid to lose her dad as well?”

“Yeah, I thought of that,” Libby said. “Except that she was the same kind of frantic about her grandmother until.” she paused, remembering the chain of events, “until she gave her grandmother that little toy, the sheep thing. That little girl looked like she was ready to explode when the toy fell, and she only relaxed when we ducted-taped the thing to Katherine’s shirtsleeve.”

“You didn’t duct-tape a stuffed animal to Katherine’s shirt really, did you?” Isabelle asked, sounding appalled.

“Well, yeah. I mean, the medics had a roll of the stuff right there, so I borrowed it. And as soon as the sheep was secured, the kid was okay, like she had unplugged the worry machine. It was really weird.”

Now, back to writing the novel. It's a good thing I've got LUCK right here. He reminds me to quit dawdling around with the blog and write another 1,000 words before dinner is ready!

In which I heed a friend's very good advice, and I Shut Up and Ride

Sometimes, even in the rainy season, it's better to ride than it is to talk about riding. So that's what I did yesterday!

I've included three short videos of some trails through the Pilchuck Tree Farm, one of the best local places to ride: lots of trails, lots of logging roads, and lots of wildlife. The film quality is not always the best, but it will give you a little taste of our terrain.

Let me take you with me on a few of our trails:

In which we salute the person who had to work on Veteran's Day

A bit ironic?
Jim, a veteran, doesn't
get a holiday.

In which I continue writing like a madwoman, and ponder gifts

NaNoWriMo continues to dominate my social calendar this month (word count: 18,170).

I had a breakthrough this morning and pushed a supporting character down the stairs, thereby gaining myself more than 1,000 words once I got the granddaughter on the scene, the volunteer medics on the scene, and the stuffed animal back where it belongs. Whew. Here's an excerpt from the story (before grandma's encouter with gravity):

Her dad was down in the kitchen, making waffles. “Hey, kiddo,” he greeted his daughter by lifting up the hat and plunking a kiss on her forehead, “you are just in time for the best waffles in the whole world!”

“You say that every Saturday,” she told him solemnly.

“I do say that every Saturday,” he agreed with her. “And every Saturday it is even more true than it was the Saturday prior. Isn’t that an amazing coincidence? Maybe we should call the record books or something.”

“Yeah, Dad. Sure,” she said, trying to sound sarcastic, but smiling at him shyly instead. She had actually always loved her dad’s Saturday morning waffle routine.

He had kept up the waffle routine for her even when her mom swore off waffles for life, (“I can’t ride with all those carbs, Michael!”) and he made a point of waffle-Saturdays even after the divorce. Then, he would pick her up early on Saturday mornings at her mom’s house—or sometimes, at her mom’s barn where they’d spent the night after a long week of clinics and lessons with visiting trainers—and drive her back to his apartment to make waffles and plan their weekend together.

Sometimes they would go fishing, sometimes they would go to the zoo, and sometimes they would just stay home and read books and watch movies. But always there were waffles.

“Maple syrup today, my dear? Or strawberries? Or…” he checked the contents of the freezer, “Yes, it looks like the blueberries survived the long and perilous journey across the state to the vast unknown wilds of this new and untamed freezer. Would you like to reward their tenacity by devouring them on waffles?”

“Yes, please,” she told him. “I’ll heat them up in the microwave if you want some, too.”

He nodded, and she carefully poured little frozen blue marbles from the bag into a glass measuring cup, and put them in the microwave for half a minute. Serving the blueberries this way had been the invention of her mo—um, her grandmother really liked blueberries served this way with waffles.

Yes, it was that same grandma who did the gravity check a mere two pages later. I am nothing but cruel to my supporting characters, and have never pretended otherwise.

I have also written in an unplanned character to the story, thanks to BootsandSaddles4Mel, who awarded me a Valuable Prize on her blog this week:

Isn't this just the cutest little thing? I've named him "Luck" and he will actually have a very important role in the next few chapters of the story. Thanks, Mel!

Now, can we talk about gifts?

The "holiday season" for ME is Hallowe'en and Thanksgiving and NaNoWriMo. After my mom's birthday on December 1st, I prefer to pull the covers over my head and sleep until the Pacific Northwest Endurance Rides' annual conference at the end of January. Don't bother me with Xmas, Hannukah, Kwanzaa or Junkanoo, please. I will arise for a brief celebration on Solstice (days getting longer, hooray!).

Other than that, just leave a message and I'll get back to you in early Spring, right?

But there's this "gift thing" in December that is morbidly fascinating to me. I find it almost almost interesting enough to stay awake:

The Fabulous Useless Gift of the Year.

You've seen these: S'mores makers. Ice-tea makers. Anything invented by Ron Popeil, and anything advertised in hyperactively excited tones: But Wait! There's More!

Jim and I love to try to discover these unreal items by watching the newspaper ads (we don't do television or commercial radio, so I'm sure we miss stuff...but that's another post).

He's betting on this for 2009:Yes, you guessed correctly. It's a Food Tumbler. People are starving in the world, and somebody wants to waste electricity to marinate meat. Sigh.

I haven't found my entry for 2009 yet. I'm still boggled by this:

2008 Truck Antlers. >shaking my head<

So, what does the discerning Poet/Farmer appreciate in a gift?

Jim and Willy hit the jackpot at the lumber yard the other day:(HINT: Lumber yard= good place to shop for farmer gifts. Hardware store = even better)

Not only is this a nice-quality single-hand folding knife with a locking blade, it's PURPLE. And also GREEN. And also SHINY! I used it to hack up the jack o' lanterns so the chickens could eat them.

Now that is a gift.

Life is good!

In which I learn important farming skills by telling an old folktale

On alternate Sundays mornings, I spend several hours at the radio station, broadcasting an eclectic mix of storytelling and world music as a host of the program Global Griot. (A "griot" is a storyteller).

Some days, I base my show on a theme. Other days, like today, I just share stories that get stuck in my head (like an earworm...but much longer and harder to explain to non-storytellers)

I learned the story "Sleeping While the Wind Blows" late last year, when Jim and I were looking at farmland and realizing that we might actually be able to buy the farm of our dreams...which, obviously, we did!

I told the story a lot last winter while we were waiting for the banks to do whatever it is that banks do. I wrote it down and sent it to people.

And then...I forgot about it.

Last week, when the rain was pelting down and the wind was gusting hugely, I remembered the story, and haven't been able to stop telling it. So, I told it on the radio this morning!

Now it's your turn to learn some important farming skills, by way of an old, old story.

Click to play:

If the player (above) doesn't work, you can access the story directly here.

Sleep well, friends. Life is good!

In which the Minerva Louises do not enjoy the rain at all

The tarp manufacturers must love us. I figure we're probably on their corporate Xmas gift list this year, because we've supported them so strongly since buying Haiku Farm.

Jim is on the last stages of finishing the chicken's Winter Palace...unfortunately, the part that isn't in place yet is the roof, so they can't move in early and must make do for now with the hastily-winterized Chicken Tractors.

Apparently, not all of them are satisfied with this arrangement.

Dear Farmer People

We want boots, jackets and hats

Sinceerlee, chickens