A year ago the city installed a sidewalk on our street (March 28, 2016, to be exact), and we asked them to not spread the dirt and lay sod after the work was done. We wanted to keep the “berm” created by the displaced soil. At first it was a lot of work to remove big rocks and create a somewhat uniform mound, so we wondered if we made the right decision. And it continues to take effort to (attempt to) fend off the bermuda and crab grasses. Would we do it again? Unequivocally, yes. If entertainment value alone were the only metric: yes, yes, yes. The berm has given us so much: Continue reading
I took Thursday afternoon off from work to join fellow urban agriculture advocates at a meeting of the OKC Planning Commission. We sat through nearly three hours of mind-numbing discussion before our agenda item — a comprehensive urban agriculture ordinance — was up for consideration. But it was worth the wait to hear the commissioners earnestly discuss matters of compost storage and rainwater harvesting. Most eagerly anticipated were the provisions allowing for backyard chickens: six hens per city lot! Sara Braden, a dedicated champion of the cause, spoke eloquently before the commission and expressed the group’s appreciation for the planning department’s efforts. The measure passed unanimously; next it goes to the City Council, with a vote tentatively set for December 31.
Some of my friends were more prepared than I for the grueling city meeting: Christine brought a novel and Sara had her crochet project. I decided to try out haiku, inspired by the matters at hand:
backyard food for everyone
gather, eat, repeat
gentle clucking soothes
cast seed sparkles in the sun
and the quiche is served
clean food, full bellies
nourishment just steps away
empower us now
And as the hours progressed…
testing endurance eyes glaze
faithful get restless
shut blinds prevent lust
for two hours of sunlight gone
now where is my book?
hard seats in the church
the congregation fights sleep
SPUDs are not tubers
Some friends went hiking in southwest Oklahoma Labor Day weekend and picked about two 5-gallon buckets of prickly pear fruit. I got to help make jelly, as well as a big mess!
We had a jolly assembly line going: singe the spines off the fruit, quarter the fruit, puree, strain. And things got progressively sillier, due to Nancy‘s prickly pear juice cocktails.
PB & (prickly pear) J
It’s been so long since I’ve posted anything, it took me a while to remember my password. So, hello, there. It’s been a while. Here’s some of the stuff that’s been keeping me busy: making ginger soda, killing roosters at Hill Farm, harvesting arrowroot and Jerusalem artichokes at Rose Ranch, fermenting kimchi and sauerkraut, picking persimmons, scarfing down homemade turkey pastrami and corned beef, picking pecans, exploring Oklahoma’s fall color, enjoying many potlucks with my dear friends and family, and pondering the point of this site. I haven’t come up with any answers about the latter, but I will elaborate on some of the former in the coming days. How about I start with the persimmons?
My generous neighbor, Anthony, shares his persimmons with me. After I noticed the trees in his yard last year, I included his house was on my walking route until I finally caught him outside. It’s a tricky thing, asking for permission to glean. It might be perceived as invasive and aggressive, but when well received, it can be an opportunity to create community. Anthony is the only person I’ve approached and luckily it went well. He has no interest in his persimmons, and was slightly amused by my enthusiasm.
Persimmons are still novel to me: I’m not sure I was aware of their existence before I moved to Oklahoma. Or maybe I was, but thought they were from some exotic land. (That land turned out to be Oklahoma and one of my goals from 2009 was to see a persimmon tree in person. Check!) Also, limited accessibility contributes to the persimmon’s novelty. They don’t ripen very well on the counter; ideally they are harvested at their peak, which means they are so soft they completely give under slight pressure, and they are so heavy and tender, they are barely hanging on to the tree.
The skin is edible and has a crystalline texture on the tongue. You can use it as a bowl to scoop out the creamy meat, which is best described as pudding. I made an actual pudding with persimmon purée, but I think the unadulterated form is better. If you have a good recipe, please share.
Burned-out hobby farmer in Georgia | Household: 1, while husband was deployed | Item of note: The top shelf holds a 2-liter bottle of oil for frying fish.
Stay-at-home mom in Del Valle, Texas | Household: 4 |”The veggie drawer is full of spinach that I promise to eat. My fridge looks healthier than from the first time.” | Item of note: Since there’s no nearby grocery store, they freeze milk in 2-liter bottles. A full freezer is more efficient, and there’s always milk on hand.
Outdoors enthusiast in Oklahoma City | Household: 1 human, 3 dogs, 2 cats, 1 rat | Item of note: More roasted pumpkin?!
New York City locavores | Poet/professor and communications associate | Household: 2 | Before Christmas vacation
Same as above, after Christmas vacation | Item of note: “The bowl [in the freezer] is a sad story. I made stock on Thanksgiving and poured it into a mason jar. … I put it in the freezer thinking it wouldn’t break without a lid, but I was wrong. I never got around to dealing with it, so when we went to Oklahoma for Christmas I sat the whole frozen/broken thing in the bowl in case the freezer quit. The good news: I saved the stock in the end since the glass broke in big pieces!”
Copy editor in Oklahoma City | 1-person household | Item of note: That’s a basket of fava beans from Peak Oil Hausfrau.
If this has merely whetted your appetite, check out this Fridge Fetish group on Flickr.
And here’s an artistic alternative to refrigerators, based on the designer’s oral history research in traditional food storage.
Some thoughts I had while compiling this post:
Why do I care about refrigerator contents? Do I care about refrigerator contents? Still pondering this.
A potentially interesting photographic commentary could be created by juxtaposing contents of refrigerators and medicine cabinets. It might illustrate what Michael Pollan stated in his 2008 letter to the presidential candidates: “Spending on health care has risen from 5 percent of national income in 1960 to 16 percent today … Spending on food has fallen by a comparable amount — from 18 percent of household income to less than 10 percent.”
Oh! What about a refrigerator component in online dating? You pick the most appealing refrigerator contents and see who is behind the refrigerator door. That sounds very fun. I think a clean refrigerator with diverse foodstuffs would definitely garner points. I’ve never given this much thought until just now, but I might be on to something.
A couple of weeks ago, I got together with a group of friends for a day of re-skilling, or learning skills that were ubiquitous a couple of generations ago. I cut down a tree! And then I got addicted to chopping firewood using a splitting wedge and sledgehammer. It felt so good to use all my might. And the cracking wood was deeply satisfying. Of course, as Doug reminded me, these activities are much more fun when they aren’t routine chores. Still, I haven’t had my fill.
After the tree-felling and firewood-gathering at Rose Ranch, we went to Hill Farm to make sausage from Doug’s 575-pound momma pig, Irma.
Doug picked up casings at Kamp’s meat market. They were silky with bits of grit that might have been salt. I triple-rinsed them and then Doug and Marcy loaded a piece on the sausage stuffer funnel.
Jim and Callie seasoned the ground meat. We made bratwurst and Italian sausage.
I’m sure the novelty of making sausage eventually might fade, but by the end of that evening my cheeks ached from giggling at all the sexual innuendos.
More photos here.
I didn’t realize it at the time, but a tradition began in 2010 when I and my then husband, Matt, and our friends, Chelsey and Jeff, shared a beef heart as an experiment and commemoration of Valentine’s Day.
This Valentine’s Day some friends crammed into my house to eat chicken hearts. We got together to share the novel experience, trade seeds, drink lots of wine and catch up on each others’ lives. It was a warm, wonderful evening and I am thankful to have many adventurous (or at least obliging) friends. I can’t wait to do it again next year.
My friend Julie fine-tuning the batter.
She dredged the hearts in a mixture of flour, salt, pepper, paprika and chipotle powder. Then she dipped them in egg and again in the flour mixture. We fried them in lard (from Doug Hill’s pigs) that I rendered the day before. Golden, bite-sized and delicious!
The incredible spread! I hoped the ranch dressing might comfort those that were particularly nervous about eating hearts.
More photos here.
Postscript: If you’re curious, there was a heart party in 2011. I failed to document it, but it was quite memorable. My friend Julie (same Julie! Isn’t she awesome?) and I sautéed strips of lamb heart, which we ate in little sandwiches with aioli and arugula. There was also a potluck and the amazing poetry of Lauren Zuniga.