Hay

Lesson #52 in country/ranch living 101:

Pasture=$$$. Pasture feeds livestock. You let your livestock graze, hay it for winter, sell your hay or sell grazing opportunities on your pasture.

We have come to learn the economics of pasture. As city folk buying a house in the country, we didn’t see the pasture as an income generating opportunity. Though, it should have been ridiculously obvious being in ranch country that land is an essential source of income but we failed to connect the dots. I guess this logical connection was lost in between moving from 2500 square feet of pitiful lawn to 10 acres of glorious pasture. We just didn’t have a clue. Thank god people around here are kind enough to impart some basic country wisdom to enlighten our ignorant urban asses.

We have no plans for the pasture this year. We are taking it slow…chickens, then goats and next year we will expand our ranch repertoire. Next year, we’ll either have a steer, more goats or will hay it. If we do hay it, we’d keep some hay for the livestock and sell the remainder of the hay.

So for the price of a 12 pack of beer delivered weekly, we are going to let a gentleman who helps run the local 4-H use our pasture for 4 or more horses. Some of the 4-H kids have hungry horses in dire need of pasture and would simply love to have a hay buffet.  We were more than happy to lend some hay and stoked to help out people in our community. If there is one thing I came to learn, favors are always reciprocated ’round here.

So, in an effort to bring this story back to why I’m waxing on and on about all this pasture business…

J came over to talk more about having the horses out on our pasture today.  Mainly to exchange phone numbers- in case a horse goes AWOL and what not.

Standing on the outside in the bright sun, I whipped out my fancy-shmancy iphone and deftly inputted his number.

He pulled out a worn leather-covered notebook from his shirt pocket along with a small yellow pencil and says “My PDA”, with a wink and a laugh.

Loved that.

Babies

My dearest friend had a baby yesterday. Her first. I’m 500 miles away and all I can see are pictures of her precious, sweet baby and I badly want to squeeze her! Babies are so squishy and new!

I was reminded that babies are also very deceiving. As you watch them silently sleep, making little sucking gestures with their perfect cupid lips, you forget all about the relentless, sleepless nights and the hours of uncontrollable screaming where you simultaneously think “what the hell is wrong with you?” and “what the hell is wrong with me?”. As they gurgle and look deep into your mommy soul with their innocent, clear eyes, you forget the stretch marks, mama hips and raccoon eyes you now possess. As they curl their tiny little fingers around your hand, you forget that you have no idea who or what you are other than a mommy, because you have completely lost any sense of self you’ve ever had giving every cell of your being to your tiny little poop machine.

Now, I have 3 young kiddos. You’d think I’d have enough crazy in my life to even allow a tiny pang of longing for another baby to emerge. But, like I said, newborn babies are deceptive, wily creatures.

And so is the female anatomy and endocrine system. Many say a man is controlled by their penis. But put a mom in the vicinity of a delicious newborn (with that intoxicating newborn smell!) and her uterus and all those female hormones take the wheel and drive.

Thankfully, my mind does a pretty good job of shutting my coveting uterus the hell up. This is because my mind knows that real mommy experience is the only effective weapon against magical newborn powers.

Take today, I took my 3 kids grocery shopping, right after school…when they are at their most tired, cranky and whiny state ever in the day. Brilliant. Needless to say, I seriously contemplated selling them. As I oogled the pictures of my friend’s newborn baby, my mind politely reminded me that I also considered wrapping them up in plastic wrap and leaving them in the meat section. Another baby? Seriously?

But, newborn babies are tricky and can never be trusted. They have mad baby skills of persuasion and illusion. They’ll make you lose sight of the fact that babies turn into toddlers that scream “MAMAMAMAMAMA!” while pulling your shirt down to expose your bra to your fellow grocery shoppers. They turn into preschoolers that whine- aisle after aisle-about the Red Dye #40 infused cereal you won’t buy. They turn into 1st graders who, unbeknownst to you stuff about 10,000 twist ties from the produce section in their pocket to make fashionable rings and necklaces with.

So today’s grocery shopping hell actually had a silver lining. It is yet another experience I can readily refer to that reminds me that having another baby is not recommended.

P.S. If and when my children read this when they are older: I love you three little nuggets. With all my heart. I’d choose a million maniacal grocery shopping trips over a life without you.  XOXO Mama.

Clouds

Love is in the air.

Peaches 2 (with bacon!)

Peach, Onion & Bacon Salad With Buttermilk Dressing

Peaches…Bacon…(everything is better with bacon)…Buttermilk Dressing.

I want to eat it. Now.

It’s next on the food docket, I’ll let you know how it goes.

Recipe:

http://www.foodandwine.com/recipes/grilled-peach-onion-and-bacon-salad-with-buttermilk-dressing

1/4 cup mayonnaise

1/4 cup sour cream

1/4 cup buttermilk

2 tablespoons chopped mint

2 tablespoons chopped parsley

2 tablespoons snipped chives

1 teaspoon apple cider vinegar

Salt

Freshly ground pepper

1 pound thick-sliced bacon

1/4 cup light brown sugar

1/2 teaspoon cayenne pepper

3 pounds Vidalia or other sweet onions, cut into 1-inch-thick slabs

Extra-virgin olive oil, for brushing

4 large ripe peaches, cut into 1/2-inch wedges

1. Preheat the oven to 325°. In a small bowl, whisk the mayonnaise with the sour cream, buttermilk, mint, parsley, chives and vinegar and season with salt and pepper. Refrigerate.

2. Line a large rimmed baking sheet with parchment paper. Arrange the bacon slices on the sheet in a single layer and sprinkle with the brown sugar and cayenne. Bake for about 25 minutes, until caramelized (the bacon will crisp as it cools). Let cool, then cut the bacon into bite-size pieces.

3. Meanwhile, light a grill or preheat a grill pan. Brush the onions with olive oil and season with salt and pepper. Grill over moderate heat, turning occasionally, until softened and browned, 10 minutes. Separate the onions into rings. Brush the peaches with olive oil and grill over moderately high heat until tender, 2 minutes. Transfer to a plate.

4. In a large bowl, toss the onions with the peaches and bacon. Add the buttermilk dressing and toss to coat. Serve right away.

Images

Fuego

United States of Cast Iron

Henrique Oliviera Yatzer

Peace Out, River Trout

Fireflies

Peaches

I love an in-season peach. Eating an out of season peach is just self-cruelty.

My favorite peach recipe is not a pie. It’s not a cobbler. It’s a savory salad.

Savory? Peaches? WTF?

It’s true.

Here’s the recipe:

4-6 yellow peaches, ripe and in-season. Cut into chunks.

1 cup of torn basil. Or chopped…whatever’s clever.

1 cup of fresh mozzarella. If it’s not in water, it’s not fresh. No dry hard stuff posing as fresh mozzarella. I like the little 1 inch sized balls floating in water from Trader Joe’s.  (can’t remember the name of them, sorry…)

Olive oil.

Salt.

Fresh ground pepper.

Gently mix the peaches, mozzarella, basil together. Drizzle olive oil over the salad and gently mix again. Salt and pepper to taste.

That’s it. So freaking good.

Hooray peaches!

Highways and Byways

When we bought the ranch house, something very interesting came to our attention. Apparently, the county has an easement on our property for the highway that runs in front of the house. Basically, we own half the highway.

That got me thinking…Since its our property, we could:

Make it a toll road. Anyone coming from a locality that has a Starbucks must bring me a Venti Vanilla Latte with whole milk and NO foam.

Regular commuters can skip ahead of the line, if they make trips to CostCo and Trader Joe’s for me on a bi-weekly basis (it’s already growing tiresome to drive an hour to get groceries).

Have an obligatory Farm-Tourism Experience to pass. (Those are all the rage right now!)  To pass, you have to clean out the chicken coop, shovel horse manure, turn the compost pile, rota-till the garden or any other chores I find tedious.

Have a drag-queen fashion show, complete with a bedazzled runway, thumping house music and lots of glitter! (the locals would LOVE that!)

Invite some professional Canadian curlers and host a week-long curling championship.

Require that drivers blow bubbles for the kids for at least 5 full minutes. I’m getting really out of breath.

Mandate that people open all their car windows and take a couple hundred mosquitos and other bugs with them. I’m tired of looking like I have chicken pox from all the bites.

Set up a Zombie Apocolypse checkpoint- just to make sure that zombies aren’t coming into Sierraville to eat the faces off the ranchers and livestock.

The possibilites are endless! Suggestions welcome!

Foundations

The original bricks on our ranch house..made in the 1800’s in the Sierra Valley.

The more I look at this picture, the more it means to me. Not only do I love that our new home has so much history but the history is tangible. Our home sits on these bricks, made 154 years ago. This home is imprinted with the history of this breathtaking valley, of the ballsy people who settled it, the Holland (Dearest Husband’s Uncle) who restored it and now our Holland Brood.

This home, these bricks, this land is our new foundation. It will change…it will age…the cycle of life will have its’ way with it. But with work and determination, we’ll do everything in our power to carry it on…to our children (if they don’t completely resent us for moving them to the country once they enter their angst-ridden teenage years) and their children’s children…

As a family, we’ve moved quite a bit. But, this is it. We’re done. I feel it in my bones.

Commute

Sights on my way to drop the kiddos off at school…

Cows outnumber people.

Old barn, still in use…with a “Obama Lies, Liberty Dies” sign on the front. Apparently, people are not big fans of Obama around here…

The Sierra Valley

Predators and Prey

We moved up here to be closer to nature. I know that sounds all dirty-crunchy-granola-hippie-esque, but it’s true.

In the short time I’ve been here, I’ve come to learn firsthand that nature isn’t a still, peaceful Ansel Adams photo. It’s messy, violent, competitive, unpredictable and ridiculously complex. I see this played out from my kitchen window…the dance between predator and prey is always on display.

Consider the chickens. Lot’s of critters want to eat the chickens (including me). Hawks want to eat the chickens. Coyotes want to eat the chickens. My psycho dogs want to eat the chickens (but I have control- albiet limited- over them)  Even the eggs are not safe. Magpies want to eat my chicken eggs. Hell, the chickens sometimes want to eat their own eggs. And what are the chickens eating? Bugs. See? Predator and prey…

On a side note: Did you know that if you give a chicken some chicken she’ll eat it? I was once blissfully unaware of chicken cannibalism. (Wonder if chicken tastes like chicken to chickens?)

I am all too aware of the coyotes, bears and mountain lions roaming around here.  And of the owls that probably think our wiener dog would make a lovely little meal, so I’m his bodyguard while he is doing his business at night.

Amusingly, the predators I once feared, I now adore. Just last night, I was ecstatic to see bats swooping around my front porch. God bless ’em- eating the mosquitoes that have been relentlessly feasting on me and my kids. Predators come in all sizes…insects will gladly make a meal of you at any given moment.

Even the swallows that made a city of mud nests in the eaves of our barn are an example of raw nature at work. (At first, I thought the swallows were delightful, then a 1000 pounds of bird shit later…not so much) Some of the swallows fly so fast that they smack right into the barn walls and we end up with dead swallow bodies scattered on the ground. This gave the children an up-close lesson in the life cycle of a fly (maggots! Weeee!).

Though, my kids still haven’t come to understand the balance between predator and prey. Just the other day my son asked “Why do people kill deer?” (Dearest husband and I were talking about hunting).  We explained that you hunt to eat- just like we kill chickens to eat.

His jaw dropped in disbelief and he shouted at me with conviction:

“NO MAMA. WE EAT NUGGETS. NOT CHICKENS!!!”

This whole country adventure is proving to be nothing but enlightening for the entire family.