Hash Browns and Cabbage Rolls September 28, 2008

I felt like I was still dreaming as I stumbled down the dark road, under a brilliant Orion, the quarter mile to camp at 4:30 this morning.  Breakfast begins at 5 am, and I was on my way for a quick job introduction with Sharon, who was going on leave that day after a two week shift.  The other full time cook had called yesterday.  His partner, who had been very sick, had died after a failed heart operation.  He asked for a few days off, and Sue asked me if I’d like to work some hours this week.  The busy season hasn’t started yet, so the numbers are still small:  ten today, fifteen men tomorrow.  Still, it is breakfast, lunch(make sandwhiches, etc..), and supper.  And dishes.  Ok, so I’m game.  I’ll add “camp cook” to my list of accomplishments.

Sharon:  tall, tough, and tatooed with multiple piercings.  She looks like the camp cook you would not want to mess with.  Maybe it’s all looks, or maybe we just hit it off but in a few minutes, we were chatting about her grandkids, and her ferret, Stinker, who keeps her company during her long shifts.  We went over the menu for the week.  Tonight:  ham and cabbage rolls.  There was a nice big ham sitting on the counter.  “I’ll just make a glaze with apricot jam or something,” I said, thinking aloud.  “Don’t have none,” said Sharon
“Okay, well, just some dijon and brown sugar,” said I.
“Ain’t got no dijon,” was the response.

In the end, the ham was dressed with a few cloves, some French’s with brown sugar, and a whole orange squeezed over the top, than dropped in the water in the pan along with a cinnamon stick.  And it was very good.

Sharon and I did some supper prep and dishes.  “Don’t forget to dump the mop water for her, Tim,” she said loudly to the maintenance guy, “because she’s PREGGO.”  We finished with clean-up by 9 am, and I headed home just catching the last of the breakfast.  Nick took the kids over to our future house, and I got a nap.  Back to camp at 3 pm was enough time to bake some banana bread and get supper by 6 pm.

The best part of the day was when Nick and the kids showed up on the quad at 8 pm.  The children’s cheeks were rosy and cold.   Lyra had on her prettiest dress with tights, wool socks, hat, and mitts.  She is learning to dress like a northern girl.  “Pretty AND warm.”  I lifted them up on the counter and they drank a glass of milk with a piece of banana bread while I finished up.  Then, we all rode home together.

Adjusting September 27, 2008

Leaf House with Alison

Saturday was our last warm day.  I was out in the field in my tank top, enjoying the heat on my back.  The next day it clouded over, and got cold.  Yesterday morning, the fields were white with heavy frost.  I looked out the window at Zia, curled as tightly as she could in a deck chair, and the tips of her fur were frosted.  Occasionally, she shivered.   Poor girl!  She’s not equipped like these northern dogs.  Dave and Sue’s Akita, Sheena, must have about three inches of fur, and a couple inches of fat under that.  I’ve nearly doubled Zia’s food, and she has actually lost weight since we arrived.

The thermometer didn’t get above 0 C (32 F) till nearly 10 am.  Today has been cold, too, and cloudy.  Four cloudy days in a row are unheard of in New Mexico, where the forecast for this entire week is pure sun, with temps of 75 F (23 C).  I’ve wondered if five years of sunshine would spoil me for life.  What happened to that Canadian girl I used to know?  The combination of chilly air and dark skies made me feel sluggish.  I couldn’t decide what I should be doing, and perhaps it would be better to stay indoors altogether.

The children didn’t mind.  They still dashed out of the house without a coat or shoes yesterday morning, delighted with how their breath made frost in the air.  Alex and Alison raked a big pile of golden poplar leaves (aspen leaves to New Mexicans) for the kids to play in.  That led to a “leaf house” comprised of plywood, paint cans, sheets, and of course leaves.  I watched Lyra and Marley gathering handfuls of leaves, and realized they had never played in leaves before.  Pinon and juniper are what the kids are used to, and we didn’t live in a neighborhood with established deciduous trees.  How happy they are with a pile of leaves, and how rosy their cheeks were when they came in for supper!

It takes more than a pile of leaves for me… I want the security of a big pile of firewood.  We are so close to getting into our house.   Painting is finished (with the exception of some doors and closets), and we are just waiting on our countertops which should be ready early next week.  Nick and Dave pulled cabinets from one of the other houses and assembled a very serviceable kitchen for nothing, but the old countertops were not usable in the new configuration.  I can’t wait to put a big pot of beans to simmer on my wood stove, and make a batch of flour tortillas. Mmm. It’s going to be a good winter.

This morning, determined not to let the weather get the best of me,  I bundled up the kids and I, and we did some yard work.  Our future garden site is right next to our house, where an old cabin sat for 30 years.  Last summer, the cabin was bulldozed away and burned, and underneath is black, virgin soil: best part – no weeds.  Nick dumped a couple loads of horse manure on it, and the plan is to get it tilled in before winter.  Today I started a flower/herb bed on the south side of my house by laying cardboard on top of the thick lush grass, and covering it with wheelbarrow-loads   of soil and manure.  On top of that, I will spread my leaf pile and more soil, and in the spring, the grass, roots, cardboard and all will have turned to soil.  That’s the plan, anyway.  I like things to happen right away and it is hard to wait for results, but it felt good to be doing something.  After pushing that wheelbarrow for a bit, I didn’t feel cold at all.  Get your blood flowing – that’s what you have to do in the north.

Worth Repeating September 23, 2008

Lyra riding Charlie, a visiting miniature pony, assisted by Vicki

All these horse people, and yet scarcely a cowboy boot in sight.  And I’m not the only one who notices this.

Marley:  Are those cowboy boots you’re putting on?

Davina(smiling):  No, they’re ropers.  Is that good enough?

Marley:  Uhh… No.

Marley with Blackie

Horsetraining and good-byes September 23, 2008

Ingela working with a horse

Sixteen days and twenty pounds of coffee later… the house is ours again.  It feels strangely quiet.  It feels much larger.  We are down to nine in number, and all fit around the table.  The last three meals have consisted of mac and cheese(homemade, courtesy of Alex), leftovers, and Campbell’s tomato soup.

Our last guests to leave were Nick and Hilary, a middle-aged couple who live on a small farm in central England, along with Ingela and several other girls, two of whom were here as well.  Hilary raises lambs, gardens, and seems to be the one who takes care of the rest of the group.  The UK crowd ate their oatmeal on a plate with sugar – no milk, called beets “beetroot”, and were astounded to hear that we could cut down trees and build a fence, if we wanted to.  In England, you have to have a permit to cut down a tree even on your own land.  Hilary and I talked about gardening, cooking, and lambs, and she gave me the nicest hug anyone has given me in a long time when she left.

Both Vicki and Katie, the girls from England, assisted Ingela teaching classes.  When I went out to the field to catch some action the last afternoon of the camp, it was Vicki who walked up to me holding the bridle of a horse.  “Here you are,” she said, passing the bridle to me and handing me a long stick attached to a longer piece of rope – my training tool.  I’ve ridden a horse maybe three times in my life, and here I am, face-to-face with a horse of my own.

Mr. Parelli, who pioneered the “Parelli Method”, teaches from his home ranch outside of Pagosa Springs, Colorado – less than three hours from where we lived in New Mexico.  Natural Horsemanship is about training your horse to respond to body language rather than force.   It requires intense concentration, as you use your energy to direct the horse.  It sounds vague, but Vicki broke it down for me into little managable bits.  I started by cracking my whip, or “carrotstick”, desensitizing the horse to the noise, and getting her used to me touching her all over her body.  I noticed right away that Lady was pushy.  She got right in my face.  That made me back away, which meant she was training me.  Vicki told me not to let her get in my space, my “bubble”, and to shake her bridle vigorously when this happened.  This actually worked.  “She’s licking her lips,” said Vicki, after I’d stood up to Lady, “that means she’s thinking about things.  It’s a good sign.”

I hoped that it was a good sign, and that she was thinking hard about things when a little later, she reared up on and jerked the bridle out of my hands.  We got over that, and I worked with that horse for two hours, teaching her to retreat, to turn, and to advance, with motions of my stick.  At first, it required considerable prodding, but by rewarding her(releasing the pressure, or removing the thing giving her discomfort) as soon as she took a step in the right direction, she learned quickly.   By the time we gathered in a horseshoe to discuss what we learned, I was quite ready to stop.  Lady (the touchy-feely type, I decided), nuzzled my hair, and I felt quite affectionate towards her, like we had gotten to know each other, and gained a measure of mutual respect.  It was a good feeling.  And I understood why everyone was so ravenous at meals.

“We’ll get you on a horse next time,” said Vicki, when we hugged good-bye.

Felix and Michael on horses, Alison leading Fiona, her horse

The Latest on Nick September 19, 2008

Some of you have requested to hear more about what Nick has been doing. What HAS Nick been up to? Wouldn’t we all like to know….

He has been suffering from beer deprivation. After a week without beer, he jotted “six-pack of amber or IPA or Stout” on Dave’s town list, and… Dave forgot it. On Monday, Nick made a trip into town to pick out countertops and some fixtures, and procured the desired malt. Now, the dilemma is, where does he drink it? In the living room, where one is surrounded by a dozen people at any given time? Let’s see…half a beer each… In the bedroom after the kids have gone to bed, in the dark? Perhaps in the shower stall, like Marley? You see the difficulty.

He has really been enjoying Sirus radio. The first thing he did in our new place was set up his Sirius player. I think it is comforting to him to be able to catch the same tunes here, 100 miles from nowhere, that he did back home. And it’s great to be able to crank the hard stuff when you are performing a task such as tearing out decade-old carpet or installing a toilet.

He has been getting in touch with his masculine side. I’m talking about the work-with-your-hands-solve-the-problem man thing. He’s been doing some maintenance down at camp, and yesterday, I swear, he was having way too much fun driving the big tractor. Delivering water to the horses, clearing out some manure; I don’t exactly know what all.

He has been working on conquering his deep-rooted fear of large four-footed animals. Yes, that would be bears. A few days ago, four horses escaped from their pen. This was a big deal. They were not our horses; their owner lives a 100 miles away, and had just loaned them as horses to practice with, should there not be enough to go around. Outside the parameters of our land, there are no fences. There are logging roads, mountains, and more mountains. Also, these horses were not the kind you can summon with a whistle from the other side of the pasture. Dave handed out aerial maps of the area, and people set out in different directions. Nick headed up river through some wooded areas, willowly, even muskeg. Bear country. And, he found the horses, about an hour’s walk from here. He had a tie-down strap with him. First, he put it on the one which was not the leader. The other three took off, and that one went, too. When he caught up with them again, he walked up to the leader, put a rope around his neck, and led him home. The other three meekly followed. Here are all these professional horse people, and then, there’s Nick, who saved the day.

Berry Boy September 17, 2008

Any of you who know Marley would appreciate this story.

We had peach/blueberry cobbler the other night after supper.  Marley, as he always does, asked for seconds, and was, as usual, refused them.  I noticed two cobbler bowls on my way up the stairs a little later, one half eaten, and I asked the two boys who had eaten their dessert on the stairs to clear them.  We were sitting in the living room later on, and I noticed Marley was absent.

“Has anyone seen Marley?”, I asked.

“I think he went upstairs,” said Megan.  Not a peep from above.  I headed up the stairs.  The half-empty bowl was missing from the step.  All was quiet.

“Marley?”, I called.

“I tricked you!” said a little voice from the dark bathroom.  I turned on the light.  There in the shower with the door closed sat Marley clutching the bowl in the crook of one arm, his mouth purple.  I opened the door and he looked up with that little smile.  I couldn’t help smiling back.  “I don’t ‘sink Alex wanted all his dessert”, he said, as I wiped his face.

A Walk to the Pavilion September 15, 2008

old cabin down at the Pavilion

There were no classes today, so we called an official day off with NO COOKING!  Someone suggested a hike, but in the end we decided a leisurely walk upriver would be more relaxing after a very busy week.  A picnic lunch was quickly assembled, with hot dogs included for the bonfire.  About 15 of us set off on an overcast morning, dressed warmly.  We were headed for “The Pavilion”, a campsite upriver about a mile and a half from the farm.  The road winds through a series of fields, edged by trees, out past the edge of the property though groves of gold-leafed poplars down to a wide open gravel bar along the river.  As a child, I remember a a rare outing; a picnic for the whole farm out at the Pavilion.  The tractor pulled a wagon, rimmed with bales, for the old folks and littlest ones.

Dave and Sue led us a out a different route; through upper fields, past the farm cemetary – a registered cemetary, with half a dozen graves, some marked with headstones, some just mounds overgrown with grass.

Down at the river, the older kids hauled logs to the river to see who could get the biggest splash.  Lyra found a long stick and she and Marley fished.  Nick built his characteristic rock cairns.  Dave constructed a fishing rod with a stick, some twine, and a bent nail for a hook, and nearly caught a grayling.  The rest of us sat around the fire, watching the river go by, chatting about this and that.

Half of the group headed further upstream for a hike, and the rest of us packed up for home.  I knew it was going to be a long walk with two sleepy kids.  “Can’t I just lie down in the grass?”, begged Lyra.  The sun was warm.  I was loaded down with all the layers we had shed, and I was sleepy, too.  Alex carried Marley for a ways, but Lyra made it whole way home – about three miles.

Click here to view more photos of “A Walk To The Pavilion”.

Worth Repeating September 11, 2008

Playing on Old Farm Equipment

After a chilly evening playing outdoors:

-(Lyra, excited) Mommy, I’m learning about Canada Life!

-(me, puzzled) Really?  Can you tell me about it?

-Two coats on top of each other.  That’s Canada Life, isn’t it!

Shaggy Manes for Breakfast September 11, 2008

My Ukrainian grandmother was an avid mushroom gatherer.  She was always eager to learn a new species, and whenever we took a walk in the woods, her sharp eyes combed the ground on either side.  She is not a tall woman, so maybe it helped to be a bit closer to the ground.

Mushrooms, moisture-loving, do not thrive in New Mexico’s dry climate, so I was very excited the spring I found a patch of morels up behind Tesuque.  Finding mushrooms is like treasure hunting, and children catch on quickly.  On one hike up Pajarito Mountain, looking for puffballs kept Lyra going all the way to the top – and back down.  She insisted on keeping them all, and I made her a mushroom omelet when we arrived home – and cream of mushroom soup for dinner.

I wasn’t looking for mushrooms this morning as I was out for my walk, but I couldn’t help noticing the white heads of shaggy mane mushrooms gleaming in the sunshine on a south-facing slope next to the road.  We had had a good rain last night, and they looked as if they’d just popped out of the earth.  Shaggy manes remind me of baby owls, perched on the ground with their little feet tucked under and their downy feathers ruffled.  I climbed the hill to pick a few for breakfast, taking off my coat to use as a basket.  Just then Henry, a visitor from South Africa here for the horse clinic, came running by.  I said hello, and he stopped, “What are you doing up there?”, he asked as he joined me.  “Picking mushrooms,” I said.  “Oh, fantastic!  Let me help you!”  Henry is one of the most enthusiastic people I’ve ever met.  He wouldn’t hear of me picking just a few, and only when my coat was quite heavy with the weight of mushrooms, did we stop.  Henry carried my mushrooms home and we talked about the North.  He grew up south of Johannesburg.  “I don’t think you really know how beautiful this place is,” he said.

Shaggy manes are quite tedious to clean; at least these were with the wet dirt and meadow grass clinging to them.  I had to scrape the lower half of the cap, but when I was through, I had an impressive pile of mushrooms.  I sliced a few greens onions, sauteed them in butter, added the mushrooms, and simmered over high heat.  Shaggy manes are a wet mushroom, so the effect was a sort of brothy mixture.  Seasoned with salt and fresh ground pepper, they were delicious on hot butter toast with a fried egg on top.  At least, that is what Henry and I had for breakfast.

Click here to view more photos of “Shaggy Manes For Breakfast”

Shepherd’s Pie for a Crowd September 11, 2008

We are currently hosting a horse training clinic.  It began on Saturday, the 6th, and continues through the 22nd, divided into several different sessions.  The horse trainer, Swiss-born, teaches the Parelli method of Natural Horsemanship (think “Horse Whisperer”) and could be charging a great deal of money for the camp, but instead is teaching for free.

The camp has been a wonderful opportunity to meet the neighbors, as we have had many drop by for the day.  The Russian community up the road about half an hour, a self-sustaining group of about 250 people, has been well-represented.  The first morning while we were waiting for things to get started, Sue and I had a chance to sit and chat with several of the girls for an hour or so.  They dress like Mennonites, but their belief system seems to be unique to them.  The girls were friendly, liked to laugh.  One in particular, Lora, 15 years old, was very outgoing.  Ever on the lookout for local foods, I asked if they might have any surplus they would sell to us.  It looks as though we may have an arrangement for a weekly pick-up of raw cow’s milk, fresh eggs, and root vegetables.  Score!  The next day, Lora brought me a gallon of milk, a quart jar of huckleberry pie filling, and an 18” homemade cured beef sausage.  How neighborly.  A man from the native community also on the Mile 95 road has been a regular as well, and today he arrived with two lovely sockeye salmon.  Salmon don’t run on this side of the Rockies, but a friend of his from Lilloet area had caught them.  Supper tomorrow!

I will be giving a personal account of the horse training at a later date.  Unfortunately, I haven’t made it out to the horse corrals much to observe, as I have mostly been hanging out… in the kitchen.  Sue and I, and Sue’s daughter, Megan(15), are it for the cooking team for the next couple weeks or so.  Oh – and the nearest grocery store is a mere two hours away.  On the first night of the event, maybe five people had responded which, in addition to our ten, and the horse training group made just over 20.  We cooked for 30, but were astounded to see crowds of people outside our door at suppertime.  The line wound through our kitchen, around the corner, through the entrance and out the door.  We served supper to over 40 that night, and somehow (thank God for leftovers), we had enough food.
The numbers have since leveled out to around 30, but one can’t be too sure what could happen.  Tonight, I made an extra Shepherd’s pie, just in case.