Gardening, part 2

 
When last we left our intrepid gardeners, they were doing all the manual-labor/prep-type stuff.  You know — pulling up weeds and grass, building raised beds, shoveling manure. 

The sweaty stuff.

After all that, the little girls needed a "silly break":

Though we were not quite planned and ready to sow the seed and plant the "starts", we were able to get a "lovage" plant in the ground.  (Now, we have a strict "Rule #1" in our garden: everything must be edible.)  Having heard that celery (one of our favorite veggies) is a challenge to grow in the Flathead Valley, we decided to plant lovage as a celery alternative.  After it was planted, I chewed on a piece of the tube-like stalk, to see what we were in for.  It was supremely celery-y ("celery-ish"?) — so much so that I fear I'm the only one in the family with a palate for such a strong flavor.  No matter... it still complies with "Rule #1"!

We started to lay out how everything would look, taking into account that certain plants have their preferred "buddies" or companion plants that they like to grow up with.  The laying out is what took the longest, and while I was chomping at the bit to "just plant something" (!), my dear, thoughtful bride — the family "Garden Queen" — took the necessary time to make sure there was a place for everything, and everything in its place.

Then, on May 23rd, I woke up to this:

"Winter's Last Stand" (hopefully!)

Well, Winter's threat proved an empty one, and by the end of the day, it was all melted.

So, this afternoon, after a nearly perfect-weathered Sunday fellowship and potluck, we came back home to start digging and stuffing.  Here's what we have so far:

Clockwise from Left:
Nasturtium (edible) flowers, Lovage, various lettuces and (edible) flowers, Red Cabbage, Lavender, Rosemary, Garlic, Spinach, Sugar Snap Peas and Strawberries.


Still to come later: Tomatoes, Bush Beans, Cucumbers, Squash, Celery, Rhubarb, etc.

What are you planting this year?

Gardening, part 1

("Carrots" sign, by Sophia,age 6)

A couple of weekends ago, we started our first Montana gardening experience.  We marked off a 8' x 20' section of our "backyard"...

...plowed the ground and got rid of the grass and rocks...

 
...and built a couple of raised beds at one end.


Then, we went to our favorite local dairy, the Kalispell Kreamery, where we snagged a ton (literally!) of composted manure for $10.  (Most of our materials thus far had been salvaged for free, or next-to-nothin'.)  Here are a few pictures of the process:

(Of course, we had to stop and "see the girls"):

Then, we hauled the S#$% back home.  :-)

(Now, some of you may be thinking "HEY!  How come Ric's conspicuously absent from the working pix??"  Rest assured, I only stopped shoveling the stuff long enough to snap these pix, then it was "back on the chain gang".)


Finally, everything started to come together...

...and then it was time to take a cloud-watching break!

Planting will happen soon, as we have already amassed quite a set of "starts" in the house, which will be planted outside over the next few weeks.

We're learning as we go, and having a great time together.  It's no wonder so many of Jesus' parables have agrarian backdrops!

Venison Report, ongoing...

So, after marinating the meat in my "secret sauce" for about 3 days, I dehydrated it at 170 degrees in my oven (propped open about 1") overnight.  In the morning, I sampled a piece...

...and my face shriveled up like a Fresno raisin.  "Holy antlers, Batman!  That's salty stuff!"  I must have soaked it in the sauce too long, I mourned.

Later that day, I stumbled upon a sample of my friend Michael's venison jerky, and tried a piece.  Now granted, Michael is about as close to a Montana Mountain Man as I'll probably ever meet:  if it can be done in Montana, he's done it.  Twice.  And well.  As the jerky melted in my mouth, making my teeth lazy, all I could think was "Dang that guy!  He got it perfect!  How'd he do it??"

I humbly and embarassingly admitted my failure to Michael last Sunday, in hopes of getting some helpful advice.  When I got to the part about my use of a cup of salt (!) in my "special sauce", he just winced and chuckled a bit.

"What recipe did you use?", he asked.

"Something I got... off of... the... internet...", my voice trailed off, in reply.

More chuckling.  Then a sincerely kind and encouraging smile:

"You know, just a couple tablespoons of salt, or a little bit of soy sauce works much better", he said.

I questioned, "OK, but doesn't that decrease how long the jerky will 'keep'?"

"Well," he smiled (and his eyes lit up like a child's), "with my recipe, I'm not worried about how long the jerky will keep... I worry about how long I can keep the jerky!"

I thought back to how scrumptious that sample was... and how I uncontrollably finished the bag... and I saw his point.

Next time, I'm going with "handed down" preservation recipes... not Googled ones.

Have a great week!

Venison Report

WARNING:

If you are a member of PETA, I apologize in advance for offending your sensitivities.

Now that that's out of the way...

This morning the three wanna-be deer slayers (My two oldest children and I) went over to our friends' house, who had graciously offered us one of their deer, a buck with a mere 4" of antler on his cranium.  When we arrived, the animal had already been expertly eviscerated, decapitated and elevated by his hind legs:

Now let me just brag right now on a couple of young gentlemen, whom our family is proud to know.  Matthew, I believe, is about 13.  He's the lad responsible for our family's recent motherlode of meat.  He dropped that buck in his tracks with a shotgun slug, right out in his own backyard.  Handy.

Then there's his older brother Daniel, who seems to live-and-breathe hunting-and-skinning.  At 14 years old, the way that guy wielded a skinning knife and a sawz-all was downright impressive:

With the skills these guys have, it would have been easy for them to make sport of our inexperience.  But the best thing about Matthew and Daniel is that they have been diverted, by loving and wise Christian parents, from the trap of cruel and thoughtless peer pressure so pervasive in public education.  These guys have been taught to show love and respect at all times, and they wear such qualities like badges of honor.  They were glad to be able to help us out, without needing so much as a word of oversight from their father (who was occupied nearby).

Hats off to young people like this everywhere (including my beloved children), who will undoubtedly bring hope, healing and provision into this broken world, in Christ's Name.

A Happy Accident

In my last post (which, admittedly, might have been a bit confusing), I forgot to go into detail about a single event which really made the whole evening as memorable as it was.

Sunday afternoon, "The Puff" (our nearly-6-year-old girl) was successfully wrestling with the bike she inherited from her 10-year-old sister ("Munchkin").  The "Man-Cub" (13-year-old son) was using a jump-rope to hitch a ride ─ on his inline skates ─ from Munchkin on her bike (which she inherited from her 15-year-old sister, SweetPea).  I think the Dear Bride was pulling out some dead flowers from the planter in front of our porch, and little Miss Cougar Bait (our 2½-year-old) was napping.  It was a GLORIOUS Montana Spring day, and it was shaping up to be a nearly perfect evening, as well.  So, determining that we should stay up late and enjoy it (the sun sets around 9:15pm, presently), I started packing the car for a little outdoor cook-out on our future homestead land (more on that, later).

Knowing that we should cook up the 4 trout the kids caught the day before, I grabbed our cast-iron griddle


and our propane camp stove


and our "fire bucket" (a 5-gal bucket & lid from Home Depot, stocked with everything I need to get a fire going; doubles as a seat).  We arrived at "The Refuge" ─ our working title for the homestead ─ at about 6pm, meeting my parents and my Uncle there.  My Uncle Dave was towing his restored Airstream trailer (a beauty!), which he was going to set up on the property.  We all made it safely up the driveway (which was rocky but dry, with a 9% incline), and by the time we had parked and leveled the trailer, we were all getting hungry.  So I broke out the camp stove, found my bottle of propane...

...and realized we had left the propane pipe (the part that connects the fuel to the stove) back at the house.

RATS!

After my Dear Bride and I blinked at each other in disbelief for a few minutes, I had an epiphany:

The early homesteaders didn't use propane!!

I rifled through my fire bucket and found some old dryer lint (makes a suitable fire starter), a lighter and my folding "pack grill".

(Yes, I know the early homesteaders didn't have these things, either; but hey, "baby steps".)

The kids helped me round up some rocks for a makeshift fire ring and voilá: Instant Primitive Grill:

The trout turned out GREAT, thanks to my pioneer woman (who later grilled up some potates in bacon grease).

Special thanks to my Uncle, who brought his formidable trout-filleting skills to bear on the feast.  (We had also brought along some hot dogs, in case the fish idea bombed.)  Everyone had plenty to eat, and Miss Cougar Bait kept clamoring for "more fishy".  :-)

After we topped everything off with some homemade Choco-chip cookies (thanks, SweetPea and Munchkin), I found myself thanking the Lord for the happy accident of not being able to use propane.  The outdoor fire pit was much more authentic.  We didn't get home until after 10pm that night... and little Miss Cougar Bait talked excitedly and incessantly, the whole way home.

Something tells me we'll be getting to bed much later during the warmer months, when the sun lingers outside until well after 10pm.  The seasonal life is the life for me.