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Posts Tagged ‘Barter’

I am Scottish. That should explain all, right? Let’s start with my name: MacLaren Scott. If that didn’t clue you in… well, there may be no hope. Sorry. My husband is Czech and German. Fortunately, my clansmen and women still love and accept him, regardless of this handicap. When he accompanies me to the Highland Games, they make him an honorary member of Clan “McKraut”, as it were. This way he feels… included and not quite so silly wearing a kilt of his wife’s tartan. (Besides, if he didn’t he may never have sex with said wife again.)

Now being an honorary member of Clan McKraut, Hubby also received the honor of tasting my newest batch of sauerkraut…. first. Because after all, he IS a descendent of two kraut making cultures. (I get the first taste from new bottles of scotch, so it all comes out in the wash.) Usually I just bring the sample to him, but this time I asked for his help in photographing the experience. He had never seen the disrobing of a freshly cultured crock of kraut before and therefore did not expect the colorful fur coat and pungent smell of roquefort cheese… and worse. He grimaced as he took pictures for me, rivaling only our 3 yr old for the most expressive face of revulsion west of the Mississippi. But once the mold was peeled away, the inverted plate removed, the top layers scrapped off and the inner sides sponged clean, his interest was beginning to grow.

Setting up to jar the sauerkraut.

Setting up to jar the sauerkraut.

The weight, a 1/2 gal jar of water, has been removed and now we ogle at all the pretty, furry colors!

The weight, a 1/2 gal jar of water, has been removed and now we ogle at all the pretty, furry colors!

Remove those pretty colors from the bottom of the plate...

Remove those pretty colors from the bottom of the plate…

...and then remove the plate by pushing down on one side and grabbing under the other.

…and then remove the plate by pushing down on one side and grabbing under the rim of the other side.

Scrap off the top layer of kraut, a bit deeper around the sides.

Scrap off the top layer of kraut, a bit deeper near the walls.

“Why are you taking so much off!?” he asked with dismay, demonstrating the way his wife’s scottish thriftiness has rubbed off on him. “Because I don’t want to be responsible for killing myself and my family”, I replied evenly. I don’t really think I would kill anyone, I just want to get as far away from the mold layer as I can without wasting too much of the gold beneath. I have never taken the energy needed to send off samples of the mold to see if it is harmful, I just follow my homesteading mom philosophy of “What would Ma and Pa Ingalls do?” Well, they sure wouldn’t be shipping their kraut molds off to a lab and neither will I. After all, I consume blue cheese and haven’t died yet.

Wipe around the inner sides of the crock to remove the rim of mold.

Wipe around the inner sides of the crock to remove the rim of mold.

And this is what you've got. This particular batch is a mixture of green cabbage, red cabbage, carrots which is why is has a pinkish-orangish color to it.

And this is what you’ve got. This particular batch is a mixture of green cabbage, red cabbage and carrots which is why is has a pinkish-orangish color to it, reminiscent of a NM sunset!

“Ya ready Dear?” I asked with a devilish smile. He nodded and opened his mouth like a good little guinea pig. I scooped a fork full from the side where the mold had seemed the deepest and shoveled it into his pie hole. “Mmmmmmm….” he said. He was still standing. “Dats ‘ooood.” “Does it taste like mold?” I inquired. He swallowed. “Not a bit! But what I don’t understand is how something can taste so good that smelled like a never ending fart for 2 1/2 weeks.”

Well, there you have it. Making kraut in a crock may not make friends during the culturing, but those same friends will be lining up outside your door once it’s jarred. Please see the beginning of this process from 2 1/2 weeks ago here. I would have jarred it after 2 weeks, but the entire family was down with head colds. Fortunately, the kraut is very forgiving. Two to three weeks is the window I shoot for, barring death or dismemberment. If that occurred, I am sure it could wait another week or so while we collect and reattach the missing limbs.

The afore mentioned 3 year old insisted on getting out of her bath to assist me with the last jar.

The afore mentioned 3 year old insisted on getting out of her bath to help me fill and pack the last jar.

Not as many jars as I had hoped for. I guess I did not realize how small the cabbage heads really were. This is the results of 9 med-small heads of cabbage and 9 large carrots. As I already had takers for half this haul, guess I'd better start the next batch soon!

Not as many jars as I had hoped for. I guess I did not realize how small the cabbage heads really were. This is the results of 9 medium/small heads of cabbage and 9 large carrots. As I already have takers for half this haul, guess I’d better start the next batch soon!

I doubt I need to tell you how to put kraut into a jar. But I will make a few suggestions. You’ll want to stir and fluff the batch first and try to take your spoonfuls (or handfuls) from the bottom of the crock. This is where the juice ends up and you don’t want your first jars to be dry and your last jars to be juicy. Aim for getting some juice in all the jars, and once full, pack it down hard. Continue to add and pack until the well packed jar is full. Screw on the lid and store in the refrigerator. You can certainly eat your kraut right away once it’s jarred, but it will get better and better the longer you wait – up until a point anyway. I sampled a jar from my friend that had been stored in the fridge for 9 months. He shared it with sacred reverence like a well aged single malt and it was quite divine. I try to wait at least 2 weeks after the jarring before I sell or barter any with friends. It’s a long time for them to wait outside in line, but people do it for concerts, right?

And if you find a long lost jar in the back of your fridge one day, and are nervous about trying it, let me know and I’ll send Mr. McKraut over with his pie hole. Just have your fork poised and ready, eh?

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That would be…. Me. It’s true. I chose to be one today. It was so preferable over my other choice – doing the exact same tasks while whining about it. Might as well embrace it enthusiastically! Yes?

So while Randy went to work (BLM) for a quick check in, and then to the mill for more lumber, I began my day of devahood. First I showered (with Isla) and dressed (while Isla sat on the floor of the shower, water trickling between her shoulder blades, scrubbing the bottoms of her little feet). Then I dressed the reluctant 2 yr old as well. Next I washed the pile of dishes (from last night’s dinner) and cleaned the counter tops (while Isla alternately became either a goat named Gwendolyn or a girl named Gwendolyn). Then I began the prep for the potato leek soup.

First, I sliced and washed the leeks, then Isla helped me scrub the last of our purple potatoes from the fall harvest. I peeled their nobbly, old surfaces, revealing the violet and lavender meat beneath. Isla walked a large potato around the counter tops on it’s dark purple sprout feet. Taters chopped, I sauteed the leeks in olive oil, added garlic, caraway seeds and pepper, and finally the taters.

I love the spring colors of chopped leeks.

Fresh ground pepper, celtic sea salt, caraway seeds, and garlic.

When I say "the last" of the purple potatoes, I really mean it as we are not planning on planting any purple varieties this spring.

Broth from boiling down some very mean roosters.

All was covered in defrosted rooster broth, salted, and brought to a boil, very slowly. Very, VERY slowly, as there are only 2 working units on our old stove top and both are of the most tiniest variety. I think on the high setting, the big soup pot, reserved for group rafting trips, MIGHT have felt a slight… tickle on it’s nether regions. But it gave me plenty of time to deal with the bread.

No-knead bread dough after the first rise.

I pulled the bowl of dough out of the fridge and stretched the sticky batch into 2 hunks. This is my favorite recipe for artisan bread – 4 ingredients and no-knead. But I kneaded each hunk a few times anyway just because I like to. After rolling the logs in some seeds  and cutting some sexy diagonal slices in the bulging mounds, I placed them on the baker’s peel with a sprinkling of cornmeal between. They rose for the second time beneath a clean towel while I went back to the soup. Then Randy arrived with the lumber.

Who can resist a little kneading?

Rising on the baker's peel.

Next was the kale. RG, here to add more time to his work barter, pulled into the driveway, and pushed through the gate with toolbelt slung over his shoulder. I tore chunks of kale off the stems and swished the pile in a sink of cold water, remembering to chop the stems up for the chickens. The soup was FINALLY at a boil, so I piled the kale on top and stirred it in. Yummmm. I love kale. Have you ever had kale chips? I made an entire dehydrator full last summer and they did not even last 24 hrs. Absolutely addictive!

Ripped kale.

Chickens get all the decent scraps - never just "compost" which goes in another container - and always organic.

“Mama? Can you read this to me?” It was the 3rd book from “elsewhere” that I had passed her to keep her from under foot. She was being extremely wonderful in occupying herself so her request gave me a pang of Mama guilt. I had a moment between the next boil (possibly hours with the stove top handicap) and when the bread would go in the oven. So we sat together in our reading nook and read some Aesop’s Fables.

The percussive waves of rhythmic hammering reached my chest. “I’ve got to get back to the cooking sweetie.” “No, my name is Gwendolyn Mama, not Sweetie, said Gwendolyn.” I have no idea how she developed this 3rd person narrative style of talking, but as it’s been in use for a few months now, we are getting used to it. “Yes… ah, Gwendolyn.” The oven was pre-heated enough (about an hour). I slid the 2 loaves from the peel to the pizza stone and filled the tray on the top rack with hot water. Steam issued from the oven as I slammed the door shut! “OK. Where was I?” I said aloud. Set the table, fill the water glasses, and peek periodically out the window as the siding went up, one board at a time. It was looking more and more like a barn every minute. MY barn. I heaved a happy sigh.

Working on the facia board for the upper clerestory roof.

As I washed dishes a second time, I thought back to my email volley with Elana, from whom I was buying our goats. She had decided that the kid “cousin” I could take, in addition to Fiona and her mom Hazelnut, would be Buckbeak. “Bucky” was 1 of 2 goatlings born in the most recent, and final kidding of the spring at the Pieper’s farm. He was actually 1 of triplets, but the second buckling had been stillborn. Bucky and his sister Prim had had a rough start, confused with the bottle and struggling with sucking from the nipple. They had not been sure Bucky would make it at all, even though he was massive for a newborn. But the siblings had made a strong recovery and were reported to be feeding voraciously as of today. Buckbeak also had an impressive overbite which made his appearance rather… dorky, but also quite lovable. As the castration process would begin in another day or so via the rubber band method (I saw that grimace, boys!), his poor confirmation would never pass to another generation. He would, in fact, be passing through our lives for a short year only…. on his way to our freezer. I had hoped for Hazelnut and 2 doelings, as well as a meat buckling. But in all honesty, it could have sent me deep into overwhelm. I have two hands that can hold two bottles. Two kids to bottlefeed makes the most sense. I ran my sudsy hand through my hair absentmindedly, leaving some decidedly goat-like horns behind. Yes. I think I would take Buckbeak. Fiona needs a play mate. And I don’t need more than 2 milking does next year.

Hot from the stone - delicious!

The oven timer said 5 minutes until blastoff. I opened the porch door, which immediately tried to deck me with a blast of warm, springlike wind. I gave one of my famous, piercing whistles and signaled with a double-handed welcoming wave to the boys. Lunch was almost ready. Isla streaked through the dining room, leaving a bubble of wild cackling in her path. “Honey – I mean Gwendolyn! Put your clothes back on please. We’re about to eat.” I glance back out at the 2 Randys, laughing together as one climbed down from the ladder and the other unclipped his tool belt. It made me smile to see my husband and my X-boyfriend in such camaraderie. They were terrifically good friends and had a connection like no other. I was most definitely aware of how lucky I was to have them both in my life.

As the wind blew in the stubbly, dusty, joking men, I ladled out the steaming soup and plopped a dollop of sour cream on top of each helping. I sawed off hot slices of bread and slathered butter on each. The boys wiped their noses and beamed at their bowls. I tied a towel around the neck of my still naked child, sat daintily on my chair (well, I can try at least), and scooped a steaming, purple potato onto my spoon. Being a Domestic Diva really wasn’t so bad after all.

It might look like dishwater and chicken scraps in this photo, but it is actually divine!

And for a finish to the repast, 77% cacao chocolate, fresh strawberries and coffee.

No rest for the weary. After slacking over lunch, the men are back at it as our next winter storm rolls in. Here, the purlins are being set for the southern roof.

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The winter sun cracked a beam over the top of our eastern hills as I squeaked down the trail through the new fallen snow. Molly, our 80 lb Pyrenees, did her best to pull my arm out of it’s socket. She may be small for a Pyr, but she still does an impressive impersonation of a sled dog, with me as her sled. It was 9 degrees and still, the NM sky a pale, early-dawn blue, the color of Easter baskets. I took in a deep, lung searing breath of crisp, desert morning. Then my mind turned back to it’s mastications….

Randy will go to the mill and get the siding… 1×8’s and 1×4’s….what lengths? I think 8′ and 10’ers…. I need to pick the meat off the rooster for the stew…. chop the veggies and get things simmering…. hope we have enough avocado… will anyone even show up on such a cold morning? Could my friends love me THIS much? I bet no one shows…. I’ll just freeze the rest of the tortilla soup….

Well, apparently they DID love me, evidenced by cars pulling into our muddy cul-de-sac just after 10. RG and Donna arrived first, hefting tools and tool belts out of the hatch. Randy returning next with the lumber, then Jim and Ray, then Jeremy…. I was a bit overwhelmed by this incredible display of support! It had been years since I had thrown a work party. While building our straw bale home, there had been several BIG work parties: the slab pouring, the wall raising (stacking of the in-fill bales), and 2 exterior mudding parties. The loft pony walls still show the slight wobble of a keg tapped a few hours too early. Damn those days were fun! But this time our dear friends were not arriving to help build OUR home, they were here to build a home for our goats.

My other friend was late to pick up Isla and I was trying to figure out what to do with her while the assembled crew told bad jokes and floated their teeth with hot coffee. The ironic thing was Kiersten, who would be taking my 2 yr old to support the work party efforts, was late because she was at the farm where our goats were! Why? She was midwifing out the last of the herd’s kids, along with the farm owners and their 3 collective teenage girls. Kiersten had also caught OUR two babies (the human ones), as midwifery is her full time job! So as I had a quick goat check-in with the Pieper’s to see how our goats, and the laboring mama, were doing this morning, they filled me in that Kiersten was there assisting. And when Kiersten arrived at our farm, covered in goat poop and afterbirth, she filled me in on our goats and the final kidding of the spring at the Pieper’s farm. Sadly, one of the triplets was stillborn. She had even tried to resuscitate the little buckling but he had remained slimy and still.

I felt bumbling and odd clipping on my old, stiff tool belt. It had been a while – full time mommys don’t get much time to hammer nails. Then Donna, designer/builder extraordinaire, my mentor and clone, said the dreaded words…. “Hey Mac! Where are the plans?” Plans? Ha! PLANS? Hee! What was wrong? Couldn’t she see them all neatly there in my mind? I had been planning and redesigning this barn, in my mind, for a couple of years! “Well, uh, ya see, Ranger D…. I was stressing out about that just the other night I was! Where are those plans? And, ya know, after YOU (I turned an accusatory eye at innocent RG) wiped our laptop for us and loaded those recovery disks, well, I just haven’t gotten around to reloading ACAD. And then I had an epiphany, in those wee hours of the night. And a voice said to me….. it said… ‘IT’S AN F’ING GOAT SHED FOR CRYING OUT LOUD! STOP DESIGNING AND START BUILDING!’ And so… we are!” I turned away from 6 blank faces, cleared my throat, and bent to pick up some 1×4’s, groaning as I stood back up. Fortunately, I heard a few chuckles in my wake, and the design challenges were successfully worked out in the field. As I had planned, all along… in my head.

I felt guilty as I tiptoed off through the sage brush to the back porch and scraped the 5 lbs of adobe mud from my rubber boots. I should be out there with everyone screwing, hammering and sawing…. laughing and joking…. telling stories while passing a handful of fence staples to a good friend. But then who would make lunch? Back to the kitchen with you wench! Well OK. I’ll chop these veggies and stir this soup and set this table, but don’t forget I built my own house! (Many, many, many aches and pains and years ago) Well, I did build the chicken coop two years ago! (Please don’t look too closely though.) I think one of the sweetest things I heard all day (other than car tires crunching up the driveway), was Randy, at the end of the long successful day, who lovingly said, “Honey, I know you wanted to be out there with us, but what you did – preparing the meal, getting Isla out the door, getting her down for nap when she returned, and washing dishes while she slept, was equally as important. This day would not have happened without your efforts either.” That man is a keeper. I brushed away a little tear and kissed him on his stubbly cheek (his beard always grows super fast when he uses a chainsaw… which he had).

And by the end of the day the house was an impressive disaster, with an inch of mud on the saltillo tiles and a leaning tower of bowls on the soup smeared counter. But outside, oh my! It was beautiful! About a 1/3 of the stock panel fence was attached to deeply sunk cedar posts, pole barn roof structure was in place, rafters on the south roof, and board and batten siding on 1/4 of the walls. The freshly milled, green wood shone in the setting sun. It had been a very good weekend.

One more weekend like this and I think Hazelnut, Fiona and her cousin or 2 can come home for good. I can almost taste the goat cheese!

After setting 4 posts by hand the previous weekend with RG, THIS weekend Randy rented a working auger! Here are the 6 poles for the first module of the barn.

Digging bars are essential once the layer of caliche is hit. Fortunately the auger sliced through it with ease, although adjusting the location of the hole was often done by hand.

This digging auger was a life and back saver! Here Randy and RG dig their umpteenth pole hole (I think there were 19 posts total for barn and pen, but they actually DUG about 25 holes due to misunderstandings and changed minds).

Here I am giving the auger a try. Niiiice!

Randy and Ray help plumb the post for Jim.

I am trying hard to ignore the mud and debris on Isla's hand wash only wool mittens....I succeeded.

Day 2 of the 3-day project weekend. Beautiful but frustrating. Randy took advantage of the down day by hauling home more lumber, hardware and stock panels in preparation for the following day of clear weather.

Donna, Jeremy and I discuss the lack of lag screws. Fortunately the can of old pole barn nails from our strawbale house building days sufficed.

Randy lops off the post tops with the chain saw. The round of wood he is standing on is part of the goat playground. They also work great as step ladders.

Donna and Jeremy rockin' on the siding. They made a great team! And just to prevent any gossip - they met that morning, Donna is happily married to another lucky fella, and is actually old enough to be Jeremy's mother!

Here is the floor BEFORE lunch... thanks to an escape Pyrenees I know....

Randy gives Jim and Ray a hand on the facia board while Donna steadies the ladder.

Whether goats or humans, I am a mama first.

Love these guys! Jeremy and Donna...

Randy and RG working on the pen fence. For goats, you need nothing short of a fortress. This 16'x50" stock panel is 6 gauge. We will also dig down 12 or more inches to bury more fencing (I haven't yet decided what kind), wire 36" of 18 gauge stucco netting to the bottom of the panels, and string several runs of plain wire above the panels. In my opinion I should not have goats unless I can keep them in their enclosure and keep predators out.

The goat gang, mid afternoon on the second work day. From left to right: Ray Baker, Jim Watson, Randy Roch, Jeremy Jette, Randy Grubiss (RG), Donna Lefurgey, Isla Roch, MacLaren Scott.

The morning after at quiet sunrise..... the first of the 5 modules, so near to completion. The clerestory will bring light and solar gain into the double 6'x8' stall at the back of the barn. The front 6'x8' "lounging porch" will have double barn doors in case of bad weather and space for the milking stand. It might be small, but by god, it IS a barn!

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I said that at the rate I was proceeding, I would certainly have the tomato trellis finished by January. So what was this miracle that contradicted my prediction, granting me a finished trellis a mere 24 hrs later? Well, the clue here is Isla and I were not a part of it, or not directly at least.

This summer, a local Taoseno started an incredible site on Facebook: The Taos Barter Bank. It is similar to a time bank (which was also launched in Taos this summer), but it is only between two people, and your time is only one of countless things you can barter with and for. It has the same sort of goal as Freecycle: Let’s do what we can to keep our crap out of the landfill and save money in the process. Reuse first. Last weekend I bartered a bag of veggies, eggs and a local, grass-fed, organic roast for a Mad River canoe (we pack our freezer with a 1/4 cow each fall). Granted, it needs some serious renovation, but nothing out of the scope of what we can handle. I got rid of a massive, butt-ugly dog house that had been dumped off on me before I knew what it really looked like. I didn’t need anything in trade for that eye sore – just the fact my friend came and picked it up was a gift. This week I am trading kale and eggs for 4 used ammo boxes (indispensable for raft trips). And 2 weeks ago I traded beets for buckets.

There is another amazing barter system available which is worldwide. It is called WWOOF, which stands for World Wide Opportunities on Organic Farms. The only set agreement is that workers trade a 1/2 day of work for each day of room and board. Everything else with the barter is between the worker and the farm. I signed up on the WWOOF-USA site, registering our farm as ready to host a WWOOFer for the month of August. Unfortunately, I received no responses as I had only discovered this treasure at the end of July. But through the Taos Barter Bank, and Randy’s network at the BLM recreation area he manages, I did find a young college student and 2 retired couples who have done various work trades on our farm for a CSA-type bag of produce after each stint. Some days it’s just a pile-o-veggies, and other days we add frozen beef, homemade beer, eggs, honey (last year’s), crock made sauerkraut, fresh made bread, frozen fresh basil pesto, frozen salsa verde made from last year’s garden, pickled mixed veggies, etc.

The college student was a hard worker and she spent 3 or 4 mornings picking up broken glass and rusted metal around our property. We live at the dead end of a subdivision on one of the historical lands grants divvied out by the King of Spain generations ago. We have found old midden piles of refuse that seem to date back to the 40’s – pre-landfill days. And we have also found midden piles that are much older – those of the Native Americans that first settled this desert valley, the Taos Pueblo Indians. I must admit, the multi-colored pot shards evoke much more excitement for me than the rusted metal.  I feared for the little feet of our daughter, pets and future goats and was having a hard time getting to the mundane task myself. Big thanks to Heidi for donning her Ipod earplugs and getting down to it.

The two retired couples are volunteer camp ground hosts in my husband’s rec area. Over the years, as they’ve returned again and again to this magical stretch of the Rio Grande Gorge, they have become our extended family. Jim and Tesa are avid gardeners from Georgia, and Ray and Melinda are originally from Ohio, although I more think of them as locals now. They live in their RVs along the river bank, or at the single apartment at the Rio Grande Gorge Visitor’s Center. Ray is a retired contractor and Jim is a excellent carpenter himself. They enjoy each other’s company and bang away at projects while Tesa weeds and harvests and Melinda teaches Isla old nursery rhymes and children’s songs that I never would have been able to dredge up myself. So far Ray and Jim have built a “latilla” (aspen sapling) wind fence on the windward side of the garden area (we get unbelievable spring winds in our desert that can decimate and desiccate our spring transplants in one afternoon), a beautiful step stool for Isla to access the “big potty”, and now our tomato trellis. It’s amazing what a couple of old farts can accomplish in a couple of hours. Next in line is a tool shed with attached, covered, garden work bench and sink. One more small step towards my goal of “a place for everything and everything in it’s place”.

But the biggest gift they give me is a relief from my torturous “project fever” that can keep me awake at night scheming and designing. Of course, I would prefer EVERYTHING I envision to be accomplished at lightening speed (whip in hand), but this pace, 2-3 hrs a week, is a good exercise in character and patience building. It reminds me to breath and be present, here, now, every moment of the waking day. It’s so easy to get sucked into living in the future when my focus is always on visions and dreams. Today, instead, I will look backwards at how far we have come…. how much we have accomplished…. how much promise is tucked in the depths of this approaching thunder cloud…

Everything in it’s own time.

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