Pages

Monday, April 27, 2015

First Harvest

March 28, 2015
April 25, 2015
April 26, 2015
Maybe you noticed, I've been toying with the idea of giving up this space. As my children get older, and nap less, and eat more, and need me in changing ways, I find that I have to prioritize my time differently. Our house at the farm doesn't have an internet connection, and I hate to waste precious hours, when the kids could be digging in the dirt, posting here. But, those same children are completely without photo albums, or baby books to document the life spent so far. This little corner of the internet is all the memory book we have, so I guess I will keep doing it until I find the time to sift through the 10,000 (wish I were kidding) photos I have taken during their short lives, edit them, and send them off to Shutter fly.

With that, I am going to simplify things a bit, and give weekly updates a try. No hard and fast rules here, if I get excited about something you'll know it.

Here is our garden this week. Peas sprouted, garlic well on its way, onions, and potatoes just planted. This is the best year for asparagus I've had in a while. It's a shame I left some of it in the ground thinking one more day to grow would be a good thing during a 26 degree night. Little ones so contented with freshly tilled earth, that it's a shame we have to plant it at all. Better to keep small hands busy with our vast collection of dump trucks than pushing each other out of trees, and tipping over egg cartons out of pure curiosity (again, wish I were kidding).

 have finally gotten a community garden plot in the city. Three years of patient waiting for my name to come up on the list, and I am now the proud borrower of 64 square feet of inconveniently located Philadelphia real estate. Seems like a trifling nuisance after the muscle sculpting work of getting the farm garden into shape, but I am happy to have it to satisfy my 4 season gardening curiosity. I plan to focus on cool weather crops like greens, and roots, that are difficult to time with school year visits to the farm. It may pop up here from time to time.

You also follow our progress on instagram at #morrowfarmfresh. Or follow my (knitting and sewing intensive, consider yourself warned) feed @kristi_sweetkm.

Tuesday, November 25, 2014

Not My Story

When J was little and we snuggled at night he would say tell me a story from your mouth, meaning tell him a story that is my own.

I would tell him my stories about getting the cows when I was little, singing my cmon cows song and collecting the seed heads from all the different kinds of grass into a bouquet. About chasing pigs, the worst of all livestock to wrangle as my impatient father shouted directions. About climbing bale filled wagons pretending to help, while the men sweated and tossed hay into the barn. About riding in the back of the farm truck to the edge of an August cornfield where my dad would disappear into the stocks to pick sweet corn for supper. We would hold our breath afraid to worry out loud about how he could possibly find this way back. About going to the barn with my mother, handkerchief in her hair, to do the milking while we amused ourselves with kittens and playing in the grain cart. About eating soup on the tailgate when we took supper to Dad in the field. About the independence, hard work, and thoughtfulness it takes to run a farm. The stories I remember.
This summer J has been Grandaddys little shadow. Waiting at the edge of the porch, boots on, listening for the sound of the farm truck to start up in the morning, the first sign that Granddaddy is headed to the barn. Then rushing to the end of our lane waiting for his signal to cross the road for the morning chores. He plays in the feed room while Grandaddy fills the feed cart. He walks along for fence moving, and cow getting, stopping to examine one thing or another amid a steady stream of chatter. He grumbles when I make him come home for supper.

He has been tucking away pearls all the while, how are corn kernels made, what is the first milk after calving called, how does the milk truck get the milk out of the tank. He knows how the milk tank is cleaned, where to put the compressor hose on the pipeline, and when to milk a cow into the bucket. He knows the difference between heifers and cows, which one is the steer, and where it is destined. He has been along for the matter of fact rituals of birth and death, considered our place in the cycle, and catalogued the experience in his old soul. My J is a reader, so when he brings up these pearls to me I ask him how he knows, did he read it or did somebody tell him. The answer is always Grandaddy.

I have occasionally followed behind cautiously documenting this phase, afraid to call attention lest it might shatter the budding magic. I have taken the uncharacteristic stance of saying nothing. Understanding that the precious autonomy available in this rural place is part of the appeal. I act as if I expect all this, though honestly I am surprised at his interest, and proud of his curiosity. I have taken a step back.

Now, the story is his.

Friday, October 31, 2014

Happy Halloween : Corn Husk Witch Craft

The Process
 1. Boiled sunflower seeds in salt water before roasting.
2. Oh look, the water is purple. What can we do with that purple water?

3. We can dye corn husks to make our corn husk dolls some fancy clothes. 
Happy Halloween!



Popcorn Harvest Highlights

Doing the same thing a little differently every year.

Highlights from past popcorn harvests.

Friday, October 10, 2014

Rolling Beauty