Category Archives: Alphabet Book

A Winged Elm Farm Alphabet: “V”

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V is for Vegetables

Even the most devoted carnivore needs a potato now and then. But for the rest of us our veggies are an endless source of pleasure. A thoughtful dish rewards the farmer for his or her hard work and celebrates the virtues of that plant. Eggplant parmesan, fried okra, crowders with garlic and dill, tomatoes in sauces or eaten raw in the garden on a hot summer day; these are few of our favorite ways.

In rows of beans and sprawling squash, with basketball sized cabbages and the pepper plant that never gave up, in the corn field or the potato hill, among the Brandywines and onion bulbs, you pause and give honor to that ancient rustic who first grew and harvested the dish that will grace your table tonight.

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Reading this weekend: Debt: the first 5000 years by David Graeber.

A Winged Elm Farm Alphabet: “U”

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U is for Udder

A last minute difficult lambing before guests arrive on the farm. We pull the still lamb from the ewe. Grabbing the back legs we swing it back and forth. It begins to breathe. A quick rubdown with straw and we push the big lamb to its mother. As a single it has both teats on a full udder to itself. It will do fine. We head out of the barn to greet our guests. We are gore spattered with afterbirth but satisfied we could help.

Whether two teats on a ewe or four teats on a cow an udder is nature’s delivery system giving health to newborns. A lamb or calf nursing an udder swollen with milk and life enhancing colostrum is your sign as a farmer that all is as it should be with your charges.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………Reading this weekend: The Humanure Handbook: a guide to composting human manure by Joseph Jenkins.

A Winged Elm Farm Alphabet: “T”

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T is for Turnips

And what did you expect? Of course “T” is for turnips. In spring or fall a few rows of turnips feed the eye and feed the stomach. Your greens and root vegetables in a perfect package: a glorious green with a pretty tasty root crop. They yield 15,000 pounds per acre for the root and 3,500 pounds of greens. That is a lot of food for the table. Or simply till them in as a cover crop and you will have just put a significant amount of biomass into your soil.

On this farm we like our greens. We like them in a stir fry or in long simmers with smoked pork and new potatoes. We like the greens and turnips in our kimchee or cooking the roots with potatoes for a spicy mash. Turnips make the garden look good and this gardener feel good.

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Reading this weekend: A Short History of Progress by Ronald Wright. If, as a former boss once told me, you can predict the future by looking at the past, then “progress” doesn’t end very well.

A Winged Elm Farm Alphabet: “S”

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S is for Scotch

On a cold January night there are certain essential luxuries that complete life on this farm. A fire lit in the woodstove, a kitchen table covered in seed packets, envelopes with vegetable varieties scribbled down on the back, jars of saved seeds, a sketchbook for the spring garden and a glass of Laphroaig. A vision to power one through the months of heat and humidity, finally brought safely to the hearth of a winter’s kitchen.

Smoke and peat combined in a whisky helps this farmer wrap his head around the dreams and work of the coming year. A garden that will be productive, beautiful, a credit to the valley, another sip and the garden has doubled again, transformed in size by the inspirational power of an Islay malt.

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Reading this week: Dionysos: archetypal image of indestructible life by Carl Kerenyi. A book that is much better than its title. And a new release, A History of South Carolina Barbeque by Lake E. High Jr.; it just might be time for a late season road trip.

A Winged Elm Farm Alphabet: “R”

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R is for the Rooster

He literally rules the roost, determines the pecking order and is the king of the barnyard. His crow is the opening note on that sheet music of the farm, a dramatic solo signaling the arrival of each day.

A Speckled Sussex rooster at three-years is a creature of beauty, broad of chest, dark red combs and wattles, long spurs and a full and colorful plumage. While the hens have their heads down eating his is up and vigilant for interlopers. Mating dozens of times a day he makes one exhausted with imagining the possibilities.

And when that day finally arrives and the old boy has lost his crow, he is butchered and cooked into a most satisfying coq-au-vin. And, next morning, around five, the new king of the barnyard sounds his opening note for the day.

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Reading this weekend: Kith: the riddle of the childscape by Jay Griffiths, an exploration of the loss of play and independence in modern childhood.