Homestead Weekend: the productive arts

Homestead Weekend: a weekend devoted to the productive arts (22 degrees this morning)

1. Squirrel Confit: Every New Year I make confit with the goose legs from our roast goose. It occurred to me that one could make a confit (meat cured in salt and preserved in lard) with anything at hand. What was at hand was a squirrel. Cured in salt, garlic, thyme and basil for 48 hours. Browned in in a skillet with lard. Placed in a pan with enough lard to cover for three hours at 250 degrees in the oven. Pulled out and allowed to cool the squirrel was stored in a mason jar and covered with the lard. Delicious! The remaining meat will be shredded and served over a small portion of pureed split peas as an appetizer.
2. Kimchee: I created a version of kimchee with cabbage, Hungarian and Hatch peppers, ginger, garlic, green onions, fish sauce and salt. Tossing it all together it was packed into a ½ gallon mason jar where it is fermenting nicely. Should be ready in 2-4 weeks.
3. Turnip Kraut: Ten pounds of purple top turnips and greens shredded, salt added and packed into ceramic crock. Fermenting nicely and should be ready in 4-6 weeks.
4. Lard: Five pounds of leaf fat (fat from around the kidneys of a hog) rendered out into beautiful snow white lard. Perfect for baking.
5. Bread: Cindy has been busy baking outstanding bread the past few days.
6. Strawberry Mead: Four pounds of honey, water and a pint of frozen strawberries from our patch, natural yeast and the mix is fermenting quietly in the corner of my study. The mead should be ready in six months.
7. Pork Link Sausage w/figs, brandy and nutmeg: replicating a reference I found to a traditional German Christmas sausage. Four of my favorite food stuffs…how could it go wrong? Making this one later today.
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Reading this weekend two early Christmas presents: The Art of Fermentation by Sandor Katz (ah, that explains the above) and Faviken by Magnus Nilsson, a great cookbook when you are trying to figure out what to do with your “perfectly shot and mature hazelhen” and that handful of lingonberries, or a backstrap loin of moose.

A Recollection of haymaking

A recollection of cutting late season hay two years back: Summer had seen heavy rain once or twice a week all summer. Finally as September arrived the experts agreed on a beautiful seven days, no rain and low humidity. I made my plans while the gods smiled, chuckled and made their own mischievous plans.

Tuesday afternoon under gray skies, I double checked the forecast, crossed my fingers and put on the disc mower. Four hours of mowing in the lower field and I was done for the day. That night I woke to hear the sound of steady rain on the tin roof. Normally, a pleasant sound, I’m sure I heard an ominous chuckle in the thunder.

It rained until dawn and remained overcast all Wednesday.

Thursday, a forecaster still telling one to get out and enjoy the spectacular sunshine, dawned with heavy cloud cover. Mid-afternoon, I hitched up the hay rake, reversed the wheels into the “tedding” mode and drove down the drive. I entered the field and begin turning over the hay. The hay had managed to cure on the top. But, underneath it was still green and damp.

As I laid down that night reviewing the next day’s raking and baling, it began to rain, just a light “screw you, Brian” kind of rain. It lightly rained for a few hours.

Friday dawned with a forecast calling for picture perfect sunny skies and low humidity. The sun showed late for its appointment around four in the afternoon. I checked three times and found the hay still slightly damp.

Saturday: The skies were partly cloudy with the sun showing often enough to dry the hay by early afternoon. I began to rake hay. Two hours in and the clouds began building over the ridge on Possum Trot. Putting the tractor into 5th gear I flew across the pasture, up and down, raking, even skipping a center section, where the hay was thinner, to save time.

I finished with windrows thicker than any seen all season, great swaths of hay piled 3 feet high, like long brown pillows striping the grass. This cutting alone would tide us over all winter with feed and bedding for the livestock.

I dashed back up the drive to the barn and unhooked the rake. In my haste I took off the drawbar thinking, incorrectly, that I did not need it for the baler. I drove the tractor back across the yard to hook up the baler. Immediately I realized my mistake, with one eye to the sky I double-timed back to the rake to pick up the drawbar.

A drop of water hit me. Must have been sweat I told myself. I ran to the barn to pick up a new cotter pin and heard the first wave of rain hit the roof. I sprinted through big plum- sized cold drops to the tractor and baler. “It will only rain for a minute and the hay will be fine”, I said.

In the short time it took me to sprint the fifty yards the drops turned into a deluge. I still tried in the pouring rain to hook up the baler. Finally soaked to the skin I held my hammer up to the sky and shouted “#$&%, Big Guy!”

He and his cronies laughed all night as we received another couple of inches of rain.

The proud windrows of Saturday afternoon were molding piles of compost by Sunday morning. It rained for the next four days.

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.

Aquavit

Another in the series of occasional recipes:
For a couple of winters now I have made aquavit for the holiday season based on Andreas Viestad’s recipe from his PBS show New Scandinavian Cooking. Spiced liquor: think a more pungent gin and you might not be too far off, aquavit is perfect for those cold months to come. The Scandinavians apparently drink this stuff at all stages of a meal. Not a bad way to deal with sub-zero temperatures, real or imagined.

Makes 1-quart

2 teaspoons caraway seeds, or more
1 teaspoon fennel seeds
2 teaspoons dill seeds
2 star anise
1 tablespoon coriander seeds
1 whole clove
one 1-inch (2.5cm) cinnamon stick (optional)
2 teaspoons cumin seeds (optional)
one 1-quart bottle vodka

Add the spices to a bottle or two. Let stand for 2-3 weeks, shaking every couple of days. Strain and bottle the aquavit. Place in the freezer and pull out as needed for a sustaining nip.