Not yet

This little girl was on craigslit a day or two ago, and is now gone.  Its ok, because I don't have a barn to put her in.  She's a 3/4 dexter, 1/4 jersey 2 month old heifer calf.  In other words, she's ideal.  Dexter is the breed I've been thinking about, as they are a small dual purpose breed that thrives on small acreage forage and do well in harsh weather.  Jerseys are the color you see in this lovely little girl above, and have really rich cream that's good for making cheese. 

I never really thought I would want a cow.  But now, I feel that when I have a heifer or a milch cow in my barn, I"ll know I've arrived.

I want a cow for the milk.  I want the milk for the cheese and the yogurt and the whey and the butter, and the enzymes.  I want to lacto-ferment our food, and drink raw milk and make all our own dairy products.  Needless to say, I'm not there.  Not by a long shot.  Not yet.

When basil is only minutes old..,

My basil this year is actually growing, if not thriving as it might were it in a green house or a hoop house...  I harvested my first handful of lush fragrant leaves today, and bought heirloom tomatoes at Farmer's Market specially for this meal. 

My tomatoes are still small and green, but there are those up here who heat green houses with woodstoves, stoking the fire every few hours, in order to grow early tomatoes and cukes and summer squash.  We have the light to grow abundantly long before we have the temperature of air or soil.

I chopped the tomatoes and my basil, toasted pine nuts, added fresh ground pepper and salt, drizzled olive oil, tossed it together with al dente pasta, and grated imported italian Parmasean (you know, the kind that comes from Parma).  Enjoyed with a glass of red wine after a stressful encounter; perfect.

Raspberry pie from last years frozen raspberries; this year's crop is blooming!

CSA today

Oh, how I wish, in my madly frantic rush to get out the door on time (didn't happen) this morning; that I had had enough foresight to pull out the salmon or the halibut filets that are in the freezer.  CSA share is coming home courtesy of my lovely mother tonight, and having already read the farm newsletter that arrived in my email; I'm sure that the 'bunched greens' and the turnips would be divine with some fish...  The halibut's smaller, maybe I can thaw it out in water real quick?
I had been hoping for young beets, or even beet greens (which is still a possibility, as they can be bunched!) because I have sour cream in the fridge and a hankering for borscht. 

Maybe the flower shares will start this week?

Another reason it's called "fireweed"

 

Fireweed is one of the first plants to come back after a forest fire, and when it blooms, it turns whole feilds a flaming fuschia.  As you can see here, it is growing out of the ashes of the firepit in the backyard.

The whole plant is edible (as I'm sure you've gathered from my earlier posts on it), but the leaves become bitter after the plant has flowered.  Apparently, the leaves were a favored food staple for the early French explorers.

One of these years I'm going to make Fireweed Flower Wine, maybe next year, as I'm not sure either Darlin' Man or Breda Mine would really support the decision to move with multiple containers of fermenting wine....  So perhaps, this winter we'll just enjoy floral teas and dried fireweed flowers on salads and things?  I've already blanched and frozen a quart of new shoots.  We'll see how they hold up being frozen, maybe next year we'll put up more...

Meet Lucy

 

Lucy is my mother's new pup.  She's an English Shepherd, the breed that Border Collies were derived from.  English Shepherds, historically, were the most popular farm dog breed on small family farms.  They will both herd and protect various livestock (sheep, cattle, chickens and ducks, pigs, and even goats), as well as serve as watch dogs, companions, "babysitters," and even hunting dogs.  I've heard that the real-life stories that inspired the movie "Lassie" were about English Shepherds.

She is a joy, a bundle of mischief and energy, and faithfully trots along next to you from room to room and house to yard and back.  We're thinking that maybe, in a few years, Bunchberry will be home to her future boyfriend...

Alpine spring

We shot some footage for a music video darlin' man and his friend are making at the top of Angel Rocks a few weekends ago.  It were loverly: camping on a sand bar, bonfire, and puppy so happy to splash in the river and hike a trail. 

We started the hike around 1 or so in the morning, and arrived at the top to a summer sunrise: light spilling golden pink over the hills.  I twirled and danced and stared soulfully into the light with a camera focused on my eyeball.  Then we (leisurely) hiked back down, getting back to camp by 5 am. 

The hike was long and reminded me how out of hiking shape I am, my knee hurt, and I was middle-of-the-night-grumpy.  But the memory of it is transcendant.  Not only was I reminded how much I love getting out on a trail, and having that solitudinous, passing through eternity experience of nature - so different from the productive gardening relationship, or the integrative living-in-a-place relationship with nature that I recently tend to focus on.  All are equally important to one's humanity and spirit, I believe.

Nearing the summit of Angel Rocks, passing through the angelic boulders, we encountered a fairy land.  Or so I would have seen it as a child.  Out of the shallow dirt edging the path and the boulders, springing above the tundra (the moss and lichen and alpine-stunted low bush blue berries and lingonberries, and the like) were clumps of delicate white star shaped flowers, and brilliantly, almost florescently yellow alpine poppies.  There were bright yellow asters growing out of crevices in the boulders, and near-to-blooming buds of other flowers, they looked like more poppies.
It was so beautiful, and so visibly effervescent: a fleeting, passing show of joy and glory.

The wild roses were blooming too, the briars and the flowers, writ on a smaller scale in the harsher environment, yet seeming to vibrate with life.  Watching the blueberry flowers, little white bells on their green legs, grow smaller and smaller, the membranes somehow more delicate and yet more sturdy the higher we climbed. 
I felt blessed to see that window of (near-) alpine blooming.