Fermenting wildly . . .

One of my favorite books is Wild Fermentation by Sandor Katz.  It is the bible of fermentation.  He gives complete and detailed instructions for fermenting comparable to Julia Child's instructions for cooking all things French in Mastering the Art of French Cooking.

I got into the whole fermentation thing a few years ago when I started to pay more attention to the role of food in my health.  The more I read, the more research I did, the more I was convinced that for the most part we are hell bent on killing our food prior to eating it.  Pasteurization, irradiation, freezing, canning, drying, manufacturing (e.g. HVP, TVP, "breakfast" bars) - we just can't leave it alone.  What is wrong with picking an apple and eating it out of hand, on the spot?  Why not lightly steam some veggies right out of your backyard garden and drizzle them with melted butter?  How about a big glass of raw milk? 

So what can we do about it?  I will get to that in a minute.  I want to point out a few more problems with how we eat.  A UN study showed that it would take 10 apples of today to equal the nutrition from just one apple from 1976!  In 1950, a serving of spinach provided us with considerably more nutrients, especially minerals, compared to the nutrition of spinach tested today.  In looking around at various studies, the decrease in nutrition varies wildly depending on who paid for the study and who wrote the summary.  One study goes so far as to state that nutrition is actually increasing in spinach due to newly developed hybrids.  But I worry about those hybrids.  Hybrids were the precursors of genetically modified foods.  Just because we aren't injecting a fish gene into nature's spinach gene doesn't mean that we are not mucking with Mother Nature.  We think we can do better - sort of like deciding that margarine was better for us than butter.  We know that was a pig in a poke, hey?  So in addition to foods that are manufactured after the fact, we are manufacturing foods before the fact - messing with the genetic makeup of the plants - again, thinking we can do better than said Ms. Nature.

We are the lab rats for the genetically modified organism (GMO) study.  It has been pushed on us without our knowledge, given the power of the agribusinesses that own the patents on GMOs to back a law that prevents us from knowing that a product contains genetically modified products.  Yes, in this country, they do not even have to list GMOs on the label.  So how do you know if you are eating GMOs?  Count on anything containing soy to provide a dose of genetically modified food, first because 95% of soybeans in the US are GMOs, and second because the GMO beans have corrupted the non-GMO organic soybeans so that about 30% of organic soybeans tested are now genetically modified.  Those ill winds blow no good, leaving GMO beans to pollinate their pristine organic neighbors.  And soy is in everything!  See my earlier blog Food and Health.  You can be pretty sure you are eating soy, unless you are buying fresh fruit and vegetables and staying away from the edamame beans. 

Tests conducted and interpreted by the very companies that are developing GMOs have been used to convince the FDA that there is nothing wrong with GMOs.  Proverbial fox watching the hen house, hey?  I found this while surfing the web for information based on reliable studies.   "Mice fed genetically modified (GM) soybean were not affected in nutritional performance, but pancreatic microscopic features were disturbed . . . This indicates that GM soy protein intake affected pancreas function, evidenced by the early acute PAP mRNA increased levels and pancreas cellular changes . . ."  I found this in PubMed, a service of the U.S. National Library of Medicine and the National Institutes of Health.  This surely is a fairly reliable source of information.  And it is bothersome.

As a further safeguard from eating GMOs, look at the code on fresh fruit and veggies.  If it starts with "8" and has five numbers, then it too is genetically modified.  If it starts with "4" and has four numbers, it is chemically grown.  If it starts with "9" and has five numbers, then it is organically grown.  So that is a little help for you in making healthy choices

Okay, we know we can stay away from soy, and we can look for the right fresh fruit and vegetable codes, and we can stay away from manufactured foods.  What else can we do?  What if you don't have access to raw milk or wouldn't drink it if you could find it?  How do we give today's vegetables a nutritional boost?  Impossible, you say?  No, it's not.  Try fermenting!

Fermenting adds helpful bacteria and enzymes to our food.  It's easy, safe and prolongs the life of our food without high heat, irradiation or pasteurization.  Yes, you can ferment milk.  It's called kefir.  If you can't find someone to give you live kefir grains, then buy the kefir powder from your health food store.  But do try to get live grains.  Then all you do is put the grains in a quart of milk (be sure to leave some head room for the fizz that is going to develop), leave the milk on the counter, and give it a shake every time you walk by.  Depending on how warm your kitchen is and how strong you like it, you will have kefir in eight to 36 hours.  It is a little like thin yogurt and has a tangy taste.  After straining out the kefir grains to use for your next batch, add fruit, maple syrup or honey and whir in blender for a smoothie.  It is said to have 50 times the probiotics found in yogurt.  And it is a lot easier to make.  So now you have taken that dead ultra-pasteurized organic milk from the grocery store and injected it with new life!  And if you are lactose intolerant, those kefir grains live on lactose, so kefir can often be drunk by people with lactose intolerance given that the kefir grains have disposed of most of the lactose in the milk.

When we speak of fermenting food, the first food most people think of is sauerkraut.  And well they should.  It is such a great food!  Eating a bite or two of sauerkraut before each meal helps us to digest our food.  It starts the digestion process in our mouths by encouraging saliva production.  Then the rest of the meal digests more quickly and easily.  It is a simple thing to do, and very healthy.  Got to the bottom of the jar of kraut?  Try drinking the juice for a concentrated dose of the goodness of kraut.  It's low calorie, chock full of vitamin C, and inhibits the growth of undesirable flora in the gut.

Then there is kim chee, that Korean fermented vegetable dish that makes many people say yuck!  Okay, I don't like it either, so I make my own.  I love it with chopped root vegetables such as winter black radishes, carrots, beets, turnips and parsnips, a recipe that I found in Katz's Wild Fermentation.

The list of what you can ferment is just about endless.  If you really get into it, then you will create a crock of never-ending fermented veggies, pulling out what you need and adding more fresh veggies when you do so.  It bubbles away continuously, providing you with the liveliest of live foods 24/7.

So yes, we can improve the quality of our foods through fermentation.  Try it.  It's easy and fun!  I just decanted a gallon and a half of kraut yesterday.  Some of it was made with red cabbage.  The color is absolutely stunning!   It is edible now, but it will just get better with time.

Rain, or lack thereof

Rain + sun = grass

Grass + cow = milk

I am really, really, REALLY sick of this weather.  We only got about an inch of rain the whole month of  September.  Lots of fog, mist, a few days of drizzle.  That means not much sun.  The pastures are terrible.  Not enough rain, but plenty of clouds to block the sun.

October is not doing much better.  Again, today, it "rained" all day, but end result in the rain gage was less than a quarter inch.  It looks wet outside, but I can kick up dust with my boot, and I am not kicking very hard.  It looks wet, it feels wet, but it ain't wet!  All this weather did today was prevent the sun from shining on the grass.  (See equation #1 above.)

We are feeding a lot of hay.  The cows should still be feasting on pasture.  In fact, fall rains can produce some pretty good pastures.  But alas, it is not to be this year.  I looked at my rain records, and we got over 12" of rain in September of 2008.  I am glad I didn't spend the money to top seed the pastures this year.  The seed would have lain there without germinating - it would have been very expensive bird seed!

Well, enough of the kvetching.  It isn't going to change a thing.  I am going to bed.

Still the requisite number of animals here today - 15 chickens, 3 calves, 3 heifers inside the fences, 1 small white cat, 1 large black dog, and 1 cute yappy little dog.

Ayn Chee

My friend Evie who rescues animals called me and said she had a dog that she thought I might be interested in. Evie has several cats.  This little dog Angel was part terrier.  Terriers view cats as prey, so she wasn't fitting in very well at Evie's house.  But I said no, that I had two dogs and didn't need a third.  I was still working as sales manager for a large corporation and did a lot of traveling.  A third dog?  It wasn't fair to me OR the dog! 

I pretty much forgot about Angel.  In the meantime, Evie and I visited from time to time, usually by email or phone.  One day I could tell she had a little too much on her plate - she sounded pretty stressed.  On top of losing her lease on the place where she taught music lessons, she had just found out that her mom was quite ill.  I said, "Evie, you don't need another email or phone call.  You need a hug!  I'll be right there."  I ducked out of work early and headed to her house, which was just a few blocks from my office.

When Evie let me in, we immediately hugged.   I looked over her shoulder and there was this adorable little dog staring up at me.

 

I've never been a small dog person, preferring big, friendly dogs.  Angel was a little yappy dog, but so adorable, don't you think?  Look at that face!  Impulsively, I said, "I'll take the dog." 

Once I got her home, it was obvious that she was an alpha dog.   And she was no angel.  I changed her name to Ayn Chee, as in that great old Sinatra hit: "Ain't she sweet?  See her walking down the street.  Now I ask you very confidentially, "Ayn Chee" sweet?"

Ayn Chee had a rough time assimilating into our family.  She is jealous, wants to be the only pet.  She was about 18 months old when I got her, and my home was her fourth.  She was sorely neglected by the original family who had her.  The neighbor, who had been putting food and water over the fence for her, asked if she could take her.  Sure, no problem!  The second home had two other dogs, and Ayn Chee doesn't share - that alpha dog thing.  She was disruptive, so that person asked Evie to take her and find a home for her.  So Evie became mom #3, but that was destined to be short lived, given the cats in Evie's household, and a rabbit, too. Ayn Chee's sharp bark as she stalked cats and the rabbit earned her a lot of hours in the "time out" cage.

So I became mom #4.  She was a handful.  She tried to take out my dogs.  No matter that she was 18 pounds to Bear's 55 pounds and Buddy's 40 pounds.  Buddy put up with her; Bear (also an alpha female) tore into her.  Ayn Chee spent three days in hospital, had about 30 staples in her to close up a gaping wound that had come dangerously close to killing her.  When she returned home, she crept into the closet, lamp shade on head, where she spent several days recuperating.  After about a week of it, she came out of the closet, walked up to Bear and barked right in her face.  That is Ayn Chee.  A leopard doesn't change its spots.

There has been relative peace in the household.  Ayn Chee still mouths off to Bear, but the pecking order has been established.  Bear allows her to bark, which is very kind of her, but both of them know who is boss. 

Did I say I wasn't a small dog person?  My attitude towards little dogs has totally changed.  Ayn Chee sits on my lap as I work at the computer.  She snuggles with me in bed and often lays her head on my shoulder, snoring gently.  So I guess you can teach an old dog new tricks, hey?  This "old dog" cannot imagine life without a pooch that fits on my lap!

It's still daylight.  The chickens are on vacation.  I let them out of their yard to roam in the woods on the advice of one of my fellow chicken farmers.  They should be well protected from the hawks, and the gate is open so that they can return home at dusk.  Clay cleaned out the Moop, so they will come back to a clean house.  Hope all will be well.  I'll let you know.

PS - 15 chickens came home to roost.  :)

Stirring preps - Part 2

I wrote of spreading biodynamic preps on the paddocks last Sunday.  We got all of the paddocks on the west side done, and also did my gardens and flower beds.

Today we finished up, doing all of the paddocks on the east side.  Kathy asked if we should do the chicken yard.  How could I forget it?  But I had.  Kathy made sure that it was sprinkled with the BD-500 that we stirred earlier in the afternoon.

I did Paddock #7, and now I know why the cows didn't milk so well yesterday.  They were on Paddock #7 all day.  I didn't realize how bad it was until I walked every square foot of it this afternoon.  Ragweed and goldenrod do not make milk.  It does have its redeeming graces, however, since it is where the yarrow grows, yarrow that I harvest to make my yarrow cream. 

I made another discovery this afternoon.  I now know where the chickens are escaping the fence.  So tomorrow I will go out with pieces of bent coat hangers and secure the fencing along the ground.  There is also a big tear in one section, so a little heavy duty thread is in order.  I do so need that electric netting!  Maybe next month.

In spite of the escape hatches in the fencing, tonight there are 15 chickens in the Moop, 3 calves, 3 heifers inside the fence, 1 small white cat and 1 large black dog.  Tomorrow I will tell you about Ayn Chee.

Chicken alert!

Yesterday I said all of the animals stayed put.  How wrong I was!  I didn't get out to the Moop until well after dark.  I hadn't seen any chickens running around outside the fence earlier, so I was quite sure they were all there and didn't even bother to take the flashlight with me for a head count.

When I carried their feeders into the Moop, I looked at the shadowy figures sitting on the top rung of the perch.  It didn't seem like it was as full as usual, but it was quite dark in there, so I thought it was probably my imagination.  However, I knew I wouldn't rest easy if I didn't count.  As I have mentioned before, chickens in the dark are a lot more friendly than chickens in broad daylight, so I stroked each shadowy back as I counted.  One...two...three...four...five...six...seven...eight...nine...ten...eleven...twelve . . . . . . .  Nothing!  There are supposed to be fifteen chickens, not twelve!  I counted again.  Still twelve.  I went back to the house for the flashlight, shined it on the row of chickens, and yes, there were twelve.  Only twelve.

Usually I get out to button them up while there is still a bit of daylight, and if there are any chickens on the outside, they will be running around looking for a way to get back in.  I am still curious as to how they can get OUT but cannot get IN.  Anyway, by waiting until dark to go out there, any stray chickens had long since found a place to roost in the woods, and they were not going to come anywhere near the chicken yard once they were roosting.  They were in for the night, wherever "in" was.

I did not sleep well last night.  Berating myself for not getting that electric netting to enclose them, I finally took half a sleeping pill and tried to forget it.  I dreamed of chickens.  I would wake in the night and wonder if the three miscreants were dead.

Saturdays are my biggest market day, and I'm always up at 5:00.  It is still pitch dark at that hour.  By 7:00, I gave it a try.  It was still dark, but there were hints of dawn's light in the eastern sky.  There were no chickens to be found.  I propped their gate wide open and finished getting ready, loading the car with veggies and going out to the barn to pick up the shareholders' milk for delivery to the market.

Okay, one last try.  As I walked back to the pen, there they were, all three of them, looking quite bedraggled and a bit put out.  It had rained all night, not the best night to be out and about.  Maybe it was not such a great night for the coons and the possums to be out either, which may account for their having survived to see another day.  At any rate, as of 7:30 this morning, there were 15 chickens again.

I just buttoned them up tonight.  Still 15 chickens.  They must have decided one night on the town was enough.

Count tonight is 15 chickens, 3 calves, 3 heifers inside the fence, 1 small cat and 1 large black dog.  I shall sleep better tonight.

Hard frost

My weather forecast said low of 38º Tuesday.  I shouldn't have trusted it.  We got a hard frost.  Even my lettuce got nipped.  It stayed well above freezing last night, and it feels pretty balmy out there tonight, but I have got to make time to get my floating row covers out.  That is the only way that lovely tender lettuce is going to make it for another week or two.  I brought in the least damaged of the buttercrunch heads, and that will comprise a good part of my supper. 

As for what in my garden doesn't care about the cold, can you guess?  Collards, broccoli, cabbage and kale!

It is dull and depressing outside.  I am glad for my cast iron wood-burning stove.  It is a ray of light (and heat) when the weather gets like this.  My work room is just off the family room where the wood stove sits, so it was rather pleasant working down there today.  I am finally making a dent in my To-Do list, and I got the last of my internet orders out the door.

Nothing out of the ordinary happened today.  All the cows stayed in the pastures.  The dogs stayed home.  None of the chickens got out.  I am just realizing that my quality of life depends to a great extent on keeping animals in their proper places. 

Well, I am going to chill out tonight.  Another good book made it to my mailbox last night, and I look forward to enjoying a few chapters of it this evening.  That is what this weather is good for - warm fires, good books and the last of the buttercrunch lettuce.

Tashi

The youngest of my three dogs is Natasha Marie, Tashi for short.  She came to me in a roundabout way.  A friend of a friend of a friend (her name is Patty) is a dog groomer and has two large dogs of her own.  One night it was storming.  She opened the door to let her two dogs in, and a third dog came in with them.  She helped herself to some food and water and settled down to watch TV.

Patty tried in vain to find the owner.  This beautiful dog had no collar, no tags, and was not chipped.  Calls to vets and dog pounds were fruitless.  I was asked to take her, and I said no.  So Patty groomed the dog and took her to the animal pound assuming that someone would want her.  Here is how that dog pound operates -- find a new owner in three days or put them down.  Heartless, but that is how it is. 

On Friday night, my friend and his brother came to my farm and asked me one more time to take the dog.  Again I said no.  They said that she was to be put down the next morning.  I said yes, but if I didn't like her, she was going back.  They had her in the car.  I guess they know I am a patsy - they had already adopted her, assured that they could pawn her off on me given my penchant for saving the helpless.

I was a little miffed, but she really was a beautiful dog.  I already had two alpha females - what was one more?

It took me several days to name her.  I finally settled on Natasha because it sounds like a Russian ballerina's name, and Natasha is poetry in motion when she runs.  She weighs about 55 pounds, is long and lean, was about two years old by the vet's estimate when I got her and had the boundless energy of youth. 

It took me several weeks to warm up to her.  There was a part of me that held back.  I really didn't want three dogs, had just gone through a disastrous experience with a biter that I had agreed to take in and give one last chance.  It was all for naught and the dog had to be put down.  I was happy with my two lovelies, Bear and Ayn Chee, didn't need a third.

Tashi was always with me outside, just a few steps away.  I noticed that she followed commands well and loved to have something to do.  I melted.  It took awhile, but I melted.  One day I tolerated her, the next I loved her.

Tashi is chipped now.  I fear losing her, especially since she ran a bit when I first got her - once all the way to the nursing home three miles away.  The police called to tell me they had her in a cage up town, would I please come and get her?  But she sticks close to home now, except for an occasional visit to see Clay, the neighbor boy who helps with the garden.

Margie is a professional dog trainer, and she came out to help me with her.  She told me that it was very clear that Tashi had already been trained.  Someone loved her.  She had not been abused.  She is confident and loving, no cowering or fear.  She was well fed and healthy when I took her in.  But no collar, no chip, no name tag.  I fear that she is a victim of the economic downturn.  People who lose their large homes and move into an apartment that will not take animals cannot find a home for their pets, and they cannot bear to put them down.  So they put them out - out to fend for themselves, to cadge a meal here and there, to ingratiate themselves to strangers.  Tashi was one of the lucky ones.

And I am lucky, too, to have her in my life.

Tonight there are 15 chickens, 3 calves, 1 small white cat, 3 heifers inside the fence, and 1 large black dog.  All is well.