Peel the husks back away from the ear a section at a time. If you leave some of them attached at the bottom, you can grab them and the stem like a handle and break it off clean to the bottom of the ear. If that doesn’t work, carefully cut off the stem.

After boiling – this is an important step – drain off the hot water and submerge the ears in COLD water for 5 minutes. This cools down the ear so you don’t burn your mouth and it keeps the kernels from shriveling up while you eat your first three ears. Warning: if you leave it in the cold water too long THE BUTTER WILL NOT MELT!!! Unthinkable.

This has been the weekend of fences. The goats are officially out of control and are being CONTAINED in a new-and-improved goatie run. The other was fine, but didn’t allow for any grazing. Since that seemed like a terrible waste (and cost) I’ve been letting them run amok in my back yard. Fun for me, but very destructive for the back yard.

They aren’t what you’d expect. I mean, I love my big-boy tractor and the power tools, but my absolutely favorite farm tools are:

A 12-foot length of chain with hooks on either end.
This is a marvelous little goodie I found half buried in a burn pile. When attached to either the bucket or the tow hitch is great for pulling things. It has recently pulled several hundred feet of rusty old fencing out of the bushes, a couple dozen metal T-posts out for repositioning, an old truck canopy from the field to the dumpster and a wood table from the other field to the back yard. Very handy!

Tape roller/Cat hair remover
I could never have really anticipated the amount of hair/fur I routinely encounter at the farm. It…is… EVERYWHERE. With 5 cats and three goats all shedding at the same time, a poor simple human just can’t keep up by herself. The lint roller is critical. Chairs, coats, pants (especially pants), sweaters and pillows – all kept tidy with the tape roller.

Rusty Cro-Bar
Is that how you spell cro-bar?? You know what I mean, right? The 18-inch round metal thingy with a socket on one end and a chisel on the other. AKA: tire iron. Found a couple in the barn and I use them anything I can’t lift and deal with at the same time. The tractor attachments, hanging plywood siding, riping off old plywood siding. Whatever needs a little lifting or leverage.

Bag-O-Rags
There are many things that happen on the farm that you just really don’t want to touch or ever have in your washing machine. Cat pee, goat barf, moldyness, placenta, any/all variety of poo and – of course – the unidentifiable. For real, you don’t want to touch the unidentifiable. And if you use paper towels, you run the risk of touching whatever IT is. Enter… Bag-O-Rags!!!! They are literally, a bag full of cotton (usually red) 12×12 rags. And they are only about 10 cents each, so you can pickup/wipe up whatever IT is and just throw everything in the trash. Ahh…

Originally posted 04/04/07

“Sisu is a Finnish term that could be roughly translated into English as strength of will, determination, perseverance, and acting rationally in the face of adversity. The equivalent in English is ‘to have guts’, and indeed, the word derives from sisus, which means something inner or interior. However, sisu has a long-term element in it; it is not momentary courage, but the ability to sustain the same.” –Wikipedia

Both my great grandparents were 100% Finnish. A lot of their culture is still present in my mom’s family. None of us can stand to be bored so we’re always working on something. We all have a deep appreciation for the landscape in which we live. Most of us can make 30+ meals with potatoes, cheese and milk alone. And there is a lot of SISU.

I’ve always understood the term to mean a blend of courage, stubborness, fortitude, pride and passion. When my great-grandmother Bessie immigrated to the US from Finland at 14 years old, she started to show some sisu. When she moved to the Yukon Territory and then to Alaska where she ran a bakery for prospectors with her (also un-married) sister, that showed even more sisu. And when she married my great-granfather Ed and settled in Beaverton Oregon to raise their son and make a house and farm from nothing but a 40-acre flat piece of land, that was probably the greatest demonstration of her sisu.

Its hard to explain, but that blend is something to strive for in our family. Not everyone has it – or wants it, for that matter – but it is in our blood. It gets us in trouble sometimes, but it also allows us to achieve seemingly unsurmountable goals. Failure is not an acceptable option when you have sisu to draw from. The past two years on this farm have given me a window of insight to the true expression of sisu. I can only hope that, like an old friend, it will continue to let me turn to it when the need arises.

Christmas was far from relaxing, I’m afraid. Rico got a kidney stone on the 23rd and had to be euthanized. I stayed up with him all night, then wrestled him into the car first thing on the 24th to go to the vet. When they told me how bad it was, I turned into a sobbing machine and spent the rest of the day hysterical — and cooking for the 10 person dinner party I was throwing that night.

The party was pretty good, the wine helped. I had the neighbors and their kids over, Elmer (one of the older neighbors on the street), my mom plus Molly and her daughter. Did the family thang on christmas day.

The past few days have been flood-control here at the farmstead. The basement sprung a leek on Wednesday morning and we’ve been scrabling to get everything up on stilts. I think it is okay now, so the next week will be interesting. I am still in my bathrobe today! Decided to take it a little easy since I’ve been goign non-stop for way too many days. Phew..

Rico is officially “one of the girls”. The vet come over today and whethered him – that’s castrated for all the city-folk ; ) I’ll spare the detals, but here’s the gist:

• First Dr. Wilson and Rebecca had to catch him rodeo-style (actually FIRST, the farmer had to have a shot of Tequila). He really didn’t like the rodeo and started choking, at which time I started having second thoughts coupled with severe anxiety and a strong maternal instinct to fight off Dr. Wilson and Rebecca with my bare hands.
• Second they sedated Rico and we all helped with the, um.. procedure. It was a little disgusting and painful, but neither of us threw up or passed out. Well, I guess he passed out.. sort of.
• After the vets left I had some more tequila and went back to the barn until little Rico Swave woke up. He stopped breathing a couple of times, but thankfully no mouth to snout was required.

Rico is walking a little funny tonight and has a gash on his head from the rodeo. Dr. Wilson says they girls are likely already pregg-o, and the funky goat/BO smell will go away within a month or so (THANK GOD). I’m still a little drunk, but it looks like everything is going to be okay. Cheers to farm animals and all the blog drama they bring with them.

Originally posted 10/19/05

There is a difference between “breaking” an animal and gaining the trust of an animal. I prefer to do the latter whenever possible.

Yes, I have become quite a good little goat whisperer in the past couple of months. Once they started getting apple slices and alfalfa cubes every night, they have been much better little goaties. I talk to them and scritch their cute fuzzy chins while they beg and beg for treats. First sweet Miss Dulci was brave enough, then the little piggy Rico, then the lovely Lola. From eating from my hand to being comfortable in the same stall that is how they go.

There is only one little problem with letting them go at their pace. And it has to do with Rico’s… um… male-style development. It turns out male goats (called bucks) are nastly little creatures, ESPECIALLY when they are left wild. He has started to get his signature goat odor (smells like really bad B.O. funk) but hasn’t started peeing all over himself or nailing the girls, so there is still time to get him “fixed”. Farmers always have a code name for what everything really is, so even though he is being castrated, we call it whethering. Don’t ask me why, I wasn’t in the FFA.

Before the vet can come out and perform the procedure Rico and the rest need to be tamed. Over the weekend, mom and I hooked up a very Goonies-esque trap for their stall. We tied rope, there were eye bolts and power tools… very impressive. The goats watched us while we worked and were incredibly suspicious of the barn all week. They barely came in the stall at all when I was there, and all three were NEVER in there together. But this morning, they let their guard down. While they were all in there eating, I went outside and pulled the rope taught. The gate slammed behind them and we ALL almost had a heart attack.

Lola started jumping up and down, bouncing off the wall. Rico and Dulce were running around in circles. After a minute they just stopped and stood there trembling. I felt like such an evil monster but I knew they would calm down if I just left. When I came home tonight, there they were. Quiet and hungry. Like nothing had happened. We talked and snacked on apples for a while before lights out. It is an interesting thing being guardian for all these different types of creatures. They are so much more emotional and social than I ever would have guessed. Tonight, Lola even pulled her face up to mine and gave me a good sniff. We have a couple of weeks before the vet comes out and armed with instructions from the 4-H guy, I think we’ll make it.

Originally posted 09/25/05

Look, I don’t mean to complain… but I’m turning 30 in a few weeks and I still haven’t met my cowboy. I’ve never been more baffled by something in my entire life. How do people do it? How do they find their soul-mate amidst all the frogs and freaks out there?

I have dated my fair share of men. They have been fun and interesting, all of them. A few I thought may have even been more than fun. But nothing has even come close to materializing. When people meet me now, they assume I am married and are shocked as hell when they find out I’m not. Its a compliment, I suppose, that they wouldn’t think one person can do what I’ve done (and plan to do), but every time I have that conversation, I cringe.

THEM: So what does your husband do?
ME: I’m not married.
THEM: You’re not married?!
ME: Nope.
THEM: That really surprises me! You’re so nice and you have this great farm. Don’t you want kids? Have you been divorced? Are you covered in scales?
ME: It just hasn’t worked out that way. Would you like to go out and collect some eggs?
THEM: So you do all this by yourself.
ME: Yep. Let’s talk about something else.
THEM: You know, I have this friend who knows this lady who works at the bank who might be able to set you up with her brother-in-law’s cousin. He just got out of jail, and I think he may have a drug problem, but he’s the only single guy your age I know of. Interested?
ME: [pause] Sure. Can he drive a tractor? 

Maybe a slight exaggeration, but it is starting to look a little bleak. Fewer prospects out here in the country. Not that thousands of guys were beating down my door to begin with. And the guys I do meet aren’t exactly Art Farm material, you know? Between the potheads, the rednecks, the man-whores and the truly desperate I remain nonplused.

The beauty of turning 30 is the inner-peace that comes with some of this life-lesson crap. I used to get pretty freaked out about the being single thang. But now I figure its been this long on my own, I may as well hold out for someone who is really right. Someone who can get excited about rebuilding the barn, or heading into town for the annual pancake feed. Maybe someone who would actually adore me for all the hard work I do, instead feel threatened by it. This man, my cowboy, will come someday. And I’ll know him when I see him. Until then, I guess I’ll just get better at changing the subject!

Originally posted 09/01/05

We have a new member in our little goat family, Valentino. He came to the Art Farm from Ed and Cindy in Oregon City and is a real sweetheart. His first and most important responsibility is to knock-up my girls! Yes, he is an entact buckling and a love machine.

Several of you have asked, “What are those papery green tomatoes and what do I do with them?” Great questions. They are actually not tomatoes at all. Tomatillos (pronounced toma-tee-yos) are a wonderful little South American annual fruit that can be eaten raw for a burst of flavor or roasted for a unmistakable, savory treat. If you can get past the mystery of the Tomatillo (also called ground cherry), you will become instantly addicted!

First thing you do, peel off the papery wrapper. Then rinse off the stickiness in cool water. They have a tangy, lemony flavor so you can dice them into a salad (seeds are small and soft so don’t bother taking them out), or toss them into a stir fry. They are great roasted with bell peppers in a sandwich, or – my favorite – pureed into a sauce for my fish tacos, pasta or scrambled eggs!

4-5 large whole Tomatillo, husked and cleaned
1 large yellow onion, sliced into thin rings
5 Tbsp olive oil
Pinch of salt
4 Tbsp lime juice
3 Tbsp sugar 

Preheat oven to 400˚. Place whole Tomatillo, sliced onion, olive oil and salt into an oven proof dish. Cover and roast in the oven for about 25 minutes. The fruit should be very soft and you’ll see a caramel-y sauce in the bottom of the pan. Let it cool uncovered for 10 minutes then pour every last drop – along with the remaining ingredients – into a blender. Puree until smooth. Keeps in the fridge for 2 weeks.