Busy Hands Homestead

There is a phone call I have been avoiding.  For weeks now, I should have scheduled a re-enrollment appointment at Ivory's school.  When our family advocate called, I quickly told her I would have to discuss the matter with my husband (not a lie: I really did have to talk to him) and when I run into her I assure her that I will contact her soon.  For the past year Ivory has been attending Head Start four mornings a week, while Sylvan and I are left to our own devices.   A few days ago I received a survey from the program and the last two questions were:  What are three things the program is doing well?  What are three things that need improvement?  Well, the play ground equipment is nice....  as I thought about it, gingerly pecking out my answers on the keyboard, it just became so much more apparent that Head Start is just a bad fit. I have been wrestling with mixed emotions for weeks now. Ivory seems to love the program, but it is a ...

I have been neglecting the beet. More truthfully, I have been neglecting writing about the beet. I have been cooking beet dishes a few times a month, whether it be borscht, or roasted beets with chevre and walnuts or simply an assortment of roasted fall vegetables.  I have even been photographing them, but some where between moving the images from my camera and actually writing about it, it just seems like too much time has passed. I am eating beets right now. Now is the time to write. I am eating the few left overs from my new favorite beet recipe that I found between the covers of a book entitled Plenty; One Man, One Woman and a Raucous Year of Eating Locally .  I admit I was skeptical.  It only calls for five ingredients and three of those are disliked in my family.  Beets are marginally disliked by my husband, blue cheese is marginally disliked by me, and mashed potatoes which often are left uneaten by Ivory.  I tried the recipe anyway. P...

I have been trying, like many other mothers out there, to incorporate more fresh fruits and vegetables into our day. The promise of summer and the soon to come gardening season leaves me yearning for fresh produce. My shopping trips have resulted in boxes brimming with kale, beets, carrots, sweet potatoes, celery, potatoes, cauliflower, broccoli, cabbage, spinach, lettuce, avocados, onions, apples, pears, bananas, and strawberries. As I stash them all away in my kitchen, I admit that I feel just a little guilty as I briefly consider just how far some of these item have traveled to find their way into my kitchen. I brush the thought away: “Soon it will be summer and I can buy most things locally.” My husband's shopping trips result in some other items finding their way into our kitchen. He had to return an item to ACE, which happens to be right next door to Albertson's, and I asked him to pick me up a few apples for the cookies I was making. He brought back apples, but ...

It is the first day of spring. Out side of the window the chickens are still rooting around in the grass. Sylvan is asleep in my arms. He has been curled up there for the last five minutes, and those are the first continuous minutes of sleep he has had all day. He fell asleep on my hip while I was cooking dinner but refuses to be put down at all. A mysterious fever has been plaguing him, into which even the Dr. had no insight. Ivory is puttering around in the dining room, setting up a picnic in front of the furnace for her droves of imaginary children and class mates. The toys are steadily spreading out from their shelf on the living room through the dining room and stop at the kitchen door. I am sitting in the corner of the living room curled up in our blue arm chair – waiting. We are all waiting for Adam to come home from work. The longer days, often mean longer and often unpredictable hours. He came home late from work yesterday too, dinner and bed time...

March has been a whirl wind of activity. During the first week of March we fired the soda kiln at The Clay Studio. I excitedly waited for Sunday afternoon, when we would finally unbrick the door and reveal our wares.  “It is just like Christmas” one person after the other exclaimed. I would liken it more to Prom. The excitement, the getting ready, and then on date night, well, you never know how it might turn out. The dress was perfect, the date – hot, the dancing was fun, but the good night kiss was all wrong. I pulled bowls and mugs out of the kiln. Unsure of whether or not I actually liked anything. The slips and glazes are new to me, the soda process different from the salt firing I have experience with and I actually attempted to try a few new things (stamping and pleating bowls). My stamps got lost in the glaze; the mugs are, well, functional; the cup, bowl and plate sets I made for Sylvan and Ivory are cute; but the only things I like with certainty are my...

     He squats down, the blue dust pan in hand and smashes it into the pile of dog hair, dirt and crushed cheerios on the kitchen floor. Grinning he pushes the pile around the floor as if saying: “look Mama, I am helping you.” Just a few moments later he is sitting smack dab in the middle of the kitchen table both hands in the pie pan filled with crushed corn chex I am using to bread chicken legs. “Look Mama, I can help you”. We begin our up and down ritual that consists of me setting him on the ground and him climbing back up faster than I think should be possible. I set him back down, hugging him close, not using my hands because they are covered in raw chicken juice.      It almost seems impossible that Sylvan was born just a little over a year ago. Last year, this fast as lightning, climbing, running forward and gingerly stepping backward, full of hugs and kisses snuggly little guy was a wrapped up little cocoon hiding under my coat from winte...