Three Hopeful Steps to Feeding the Planet by Feeding Yourself

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Our front porch where we spend a lot of our down time.

Raise and grow what you like to eat. This may seem obvious. Perhaps it is the lazy Southerner in me, but too often would-be farmers are focused on the business and not the pleasures gained from working the land. They visit our farm and I hear the schemes with numbers and data. Slow down, I tell them. What do you like to eat each night, I ask? For special occasions? Focus on that. Give yourself the goal of feeding yourself and your family. Then see if you can turn a profit. But make the profit the byproduct.

And, you don’t have to live in the country to produce a significant part of your diet or at least add to your table. We all know someone in the city who has a magnificent garden, even keeps hens or bees. I have a niece in Oregon who, with her fiancé, raises crawfish in a mini-aquaculture system next to the garage. If you have even a small parcel and are willing to work, Mother Nature can be a wonderful partner.

Eat what you grow and raise. The rural French, God love ‘em, have an elevated peasant cuisine. All cultures have a cuisine of want, born of the land, hard work, and frugality. But country French cuisine makes a special art of not only not wasting but also turning the cast-off into something special and memorable. Take your inner French peasant out for a stroll, and use what you have raised and grown and use it all. Learn to make stocks out of bones, pâtés out of organ meat, delicious terrines out of a hog’s head. Save the tough stems of asparagus for soups, the zucchini as big as a bat for savory pancakes. And learn to compost. It is not hard; nature knows how to rot.

Celebrate what you grow and raise with friends and family at the table. Use what you have raised to rekindle family ties and build community. Put the phone away, log out of Instagram and Facebook, and prepare a meal that is as much from your land as is possible. Experience real joy in that act of preparation. Make that your goal for every meal. When dining alone or with your loved one, be mindful of the food. Make each meal a Thanksgiving. And as often as you can, invite others to share in that act.

Yesterday we had a full day of work on the farm. But we found time last night to have four guests join us for a dinner on the front porch. The night before, I had braised one of our pork shoulders, then minced and rolled it with various herbs from the garden. The ultimate dish began with a potful of grits cooked with raw milk from a nearby farm; next came a large mess of freshly picked turnip greens, cooked in homemade chicken stock and homegrown garlic. The minced pork was fried in medallions and served atop the greens and grits.

It was a mindful celebration of eating and drinking wine with good friends that paid homage to the work we do. A sharing of that bounty that rewards us for the sore backs and the stress of maintaining the farm. No scheme, no data, just a simple conviction that producing, eating with love, and sharing with neighbors just might help feed the world.

Fruit Loops, Root Beer and Gumbo Filé

The weather has mercifully turned colder with a seasonal low of 37 degrees this morning. In anticipation of this change we have been rushing around the past couple of weeks harvesting the last muscadines and scuppernongs, green tomatoes, hatch peppers and herbs. Yesterday in a fit of derring-do I climbed on top of the equipment shed, leaned far out, and harvested the last of the figs from our twenty-foot tall tree. But, for this man, and I speak for no other, cold weather has me thinking of food: stews of all sorts, chili verde, goulash, bean soups, greens, a bowl of red and of course gumbo.

Last night a first time making the Alsatian dish Choucroute. A real show stopper of a dish that regretfully only the two of us dined on and experienced the joy of eating. It included several pounds of freshly fermented sauerkraut, ham hocks, smoked pork kielbasa, cured ham, onions, clove, coriander seeds, and a bottle of homemade muscadine rose wine. A quick hour and half in the oven, served on a big platter with fresh boiled Kennebec potatoes and we could call it a farm to table dinner since most of the ingredients came from our farm and gardens.

But Friday night, and this is where the title of this piece comes into the picture, we had gumbo. Made with one of our Saxony ducks and some pork sausage, a good gumbo is good for what ails you. A few weeks back while looking over our stock of spices a moment of horror when I found our Zatarain’s stash of gumbo filé was dangerously low. For the uninitiated, filé powder is the final garnish atop any bowl of gumbo. A natural thickening agent, with a slight hint of bay leaf and spice it is indispensable.

An hour into Knoxville to find a place carrying filé, made from ground sassafras leaves. Or, hang on; we have a grove of sassafras trees by our drive. So trooping out to the grove I harvested enough to fill a two gallon bucket. These leaves were spread out on the drying racks in the greenhouse. Once dry I cleaned them of twigs and stems and pulverized the remaining leaves into a powder. Hard to describe, if you haven’t had the commercial spice, how fresh and aromatic my home ground filé smelled and tasted. But farewell Zatarain’s, you will not be missed.

What a great tree is the sassafras: a critical ingredient for gumbo from the leaves, root beer from the bark and roots. What more could you ask for? Ah, how about those fruit loops. For those who know, in early spring the emerging little curled leaves of the sassafras tree taste remarkably like Fruit Loops cereal. And that is a good thing to know if Western Civilization crashes into the dustbin of history. Who wouldn’t want a natural alternative to one of our crowning industrial achievements?

A Winged Elm Farm Alphabet Book: “C”

“C” is for Crabapples

When planting our orchard crabapples were an afterthought in the main apple orchard. But thirteen years later the larder is full of jars of crabapple jams and jellies. Crabapples with rosemary, with pear, with blueberry and a few jars of apple butters all make buttered toast a more satisfying breakfast.

Thomas Jefferson was able to get 129 gallons of cider from his Hewes Crabapples. My output is more modest. Yet under our stairs are bottles of crabapple wine, cider and mead. The extra fruit is used to make sauces to spoon over pork chops or to spoon into pigs.

It is hard to imagine our orchard without our Calloway Crabapple tree with its bright red fruits each year.

Hogs, uncouth relatives and nannies

It starts with the clang and rattle of a lid being removed from the feed barrel. A deep belch like rumble, like that of an uncouth relative rolls from the woods, answered by other noises, all gastric in tone. The hogs have awakened. From various locations in the woods, for they all seem to have their own special sleeping spaces, the sounds grow in volume and slowly converge near the gate. I’m still a couple of hundred yards away and unseen. But they know I’m there and impatiently wait until I round the corner swinging a five gallon bucket of feed in one hand.

The feed bucket contains the contents of 10 cans of food purloined from the picked over debris of Donald’s belongings. After we bought his old house we spent a day hauling the bits and clutter from his life to the dump. But the canned food, a few hundred cans worth, well that was worth saving. So each day for the past month I open and heat about ten cans of creamed corn, sauerkraut, carrots, black beans, northern beans, mustard greens, spinach, sweet potatoes, add about five pounds of shelled and cracked corn and slop into the trough, turning deep belches of hunger into grunts of contentment.

Simon Fairlie in his essential work Meat: a benign extravagance
has an interesting chapter titled “The plight of the pig in the nanny state” dealing with food waste due to excessive interference by an over protective bureaucracy. He touches on how a complex system of food waste collection from homes and businesses in Germany and Austria fed six million hogs a year. That is until forced to stop this practice by the E.U. in 2006 and move their production to commodity grains. The ostensible reason was the danger of feeding tainted swill to hogs that could pass on pathogens to humans. The reality was that their system produced statistically zero cases. Provided one follows basic food safety controls feeding slops to hogs is safe, useful and makes sense and has fed pigs for tens of thousands of years.

Instead the E.U. has moved to an expensive system of feeding an omnivore exclusively on grains: grains that could be used to feed people. Hogs have always been the companions of humans living off their excess waste. The timidity of the E.U. certainly had no impact on the third world. Predictably hog production in Europe has declined even as pork consumption has remained steady. China and other countries with less strict controls and perhaps scruples over food safety have filled that void. Shipping pork at a lower price for thousands of miles in container ships to a consumer that had a perfectly sound system of low cost production at hand…now, that makes perfect sense!

In a world of population overshoot, waste of food products seems senseless. Yet every day one hears or reads about the struggle of landfills in the modern world to deal with food waste. Some ingenious people come up with overly complex methods to turn it into compost, methane farms, etc. with high tech and high energy inputs. But the simple low cost method of feeding pigs that feed us is abandoned, except by the small farmer, in favor of subsidized grain production.

The age old “A pig is health” or “a pig pays the rent” are simple testaments to the enduring relationship between hogs and food security for thousands of years of human history. Sometimes a wheel does not need to be reinvented.

Speaking of wheels, the sun is starting to rise and soon our “uncouth relative” will be demanding attention out in the woods.

Thanksgiving

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving Day, a sacred day slowly being encroached on by the steady beat of commerce. A day we pause in our mad rush to accumulate more things. Things we manage to forget the ownership of even more quickly. A day when we hopefully pause to reflect on what we are most thankful for in our lives.

For most of my childhood Thanksgiving morning started around four am at the Duhon duck camp. All the men and boys rolling out of bed for a hearty breakfast of bacon, eggs, grits, biscuits and homemade fig preserves before piling into pirogues and pushing out into the marsh to hunt ducks. By mid-morning, loading up our game harvest we pushed back through the marsh. A light lunch before everyone headed home with the cleaned ducks. We arrived to find the dinner preparations well under way for the main event. Not a bad way to spend ones youth, hunting ducks in the company of your father. For that memory and experience I am thankful.

Last Friday I deboned a twelve pound pork shoulder roast, prepared a corning solution and immersed the meat to brine for five days. I pulled it out today, rinsed and put it back in to soak overnight. The corned pork roast will be the center piece for our dinner tomorrow. A classic boiled dinner of turnips, cabbage, carrots and potatoes to accompany the meat with a fresh pumpkin pie for dessert. Not a traditional meal. But I’m thankful to have a partner in Cindy who is willing to indulge these culinary whims and thankful we are able to provide the majority of the food from our farm.

Saturday we had an excellent dinner with the Fuja brothers a few valley’s over. The brothers entertained us by showing off their farms extensive ornamentals and vegetable plots. Sunday Mr. Kyle drove his tractor over to see us and chat. Earlier in the day I hung out with Lowell, an older farmer over the hill, talked and loaded a truck load of hay. Monday evening our friend Adrienne came up the hill to see the new lambs born over the weekend and stayed for conversation and a glass of wine. For all of them and so many more I am thankful.

Everyone enjoy the day.