On the first day of SPRING! I walked 5 miles, liquid fasted until supper, did some research at the library, enjoyed my day off work.
I turned off the heat. I let the dog sleep with us because I didn't want him to get too cold in his crate (I am a pup pamperer). Bjorn turned the heat back on this morning. 'Twas too cold for him.
Today I got my taxes done. Da did them. Joint filing FT$!
And we picked up our cow. Wow. Wow. Wow cow. Cow wow. 706 lb hanging weight. ~21 cubic feet of freezer filled.
We got 17 boxes of cut-and-wrapped cow parts and 3 bonus boxes of dog bones (that is, cow bones for the dog). When we got home, we took the meat out of the boxes. Most of the boxes were packed by cut. 4 boxes of mostly hamburger (whoa, so much hamburger), 2 boxes of soup bones, 1 box of cube steaks and fajita meat, 1 box of T-bone and sirloin steaks (one cow makes a lot of steaks!), 2 boxes full of roasts ... yada yada fish paste.
(When Roscivs lived in South Africa one of his favorite friends there said "fish paste" after "yada yada" and he picked it up from her.)
Bjorn and I did a great job with a novel situation. Go team! Huzpaz! Together, we wanted to get everything into the freezer as fast as possible on this end (the now), and to get things out of it as efficiently as possible on the other end (the future). To that end (that is, the future), we divvied up the cuts and put them back in the boxes (dead cow Tetris) with the basics in each: hamburger, steaks, a roast, soup bones. So it'll go like this: take a box out of the freezer. Bring it in to the little freezer in the house. Dine on a nice variety of cuts instead of 3 weeks in a row of chuck roast all the time, 4 weeks in a row of nothing but T-bone steaks, and no more of either for the rest of the year. And no digging around in the freezer for this or that cut.
I think it'll work well. If we get stew meat in a box I take out in the winter I'll make stew; if in the summer, I'll make kebabs (on rosemary skewers from our garden!).
These are the daffodil days. Anything you want to, do it.
21 March 2014
06 March 2014
Tortoise
I am making progress toward my goal to walk 5 miles a day. In February, my walking looked like this:
wk 1: 10.7 mi
wk 2: 17.3 mi
wk 3: 12.6 mi
wk 4: 15.8 mi
I had a cold (the first cold I had had in 13 months), which kept me back a bit. Weak 3 was snottiest, weakest. I was resting more.
You can see that I do not average 3 miles a day yet. I walk a few miles one day, and then some days not even one (lesson days are particularly prone to this). A better goal (in attainment and enjoyment) might be a 25 mi/wk average. I'd basically give myself a pass for my working days.
Today I walked more than 5 miles, the first such length on record. Walking with nieces to school, walking to buy fish, stopping by the co-op, and going out for fresh air. And the day's not over. (And my feet are not tired!) Glory: Today near the heron rookery we spied 5 herons in 1 tree.
As to the fish. I marinated it: mandarin juice, garlic, green onion, ginger root, thyme. The marinade was tops, and I didn't mess up the prep or cooking, but I didn't love it. Whitefish fillet sautee is not an instant favorite. I do love how fast it cooked.
I have a food goal this ~year: Multitudes of Experiments With Sea Meat. I imagine this will include a lot of walking to the monger's, and, my finger on the pulse of seafood advisories, tuning myself to seasonal rhythms (which creatures are caught when—where—how).
wk 1: 10.7 mi
wk 2: 17.3 mi
wk 3: 12.6 mi
wk 4: 15.8 mi
I had a cold (the first cold I had had in 13 months), which kept me back a bit. Weak 3 was snottiest, weakest. I was resting more.
You can see that I do not average 3 miles a day yet. I walk a few miles one day, and then some days not even one (lesson days are particularly prone to this). A better goal (in attainment and enjoyment) might be a 25 mi/wk average. I'd basically give myself a pass for my working days.
Today I walked more than 5 miles, the first such length on record. Walking with nieces to school, walking to buy fish, stopping by the co-op, and going out for fresh air. And the day's not over. (And my feet are not tired!) Glory: Today near the heron rookery we spied 5 herons in 1 tree.
As to the fish. I marinated it: mandarin juice, garlic, green onion, ginger root, thyme. The marinade was tops, and I didn't mess up the prep or cooking, but I didn't love it. Whitefish fillet sautee is not an instant favorite. I do love how fast it cooked.
I have a food goal this ~year: Multitudes of Experiments With Sea Meat. I imagine this will include a lot of walking to the monger's, and, my finger on the pulse of seafood advisories, tuning myself to seasonal rhythms (which creatures are caught when—where—how).
04 March 2014
Remembrancers
The initial title for this post was "My Hat Wallet It Has Three Corners Folds".
I abandoned purses wholly last year. Before total abandon, I chose to secure a wallet. I tried several (it's odd shopping!) but couldn't find one that suited until I rediscovered Roscivs'. It's a leather tri-fold. When I came upon it I had a sudden memory of him talking about how he found tri-folds superior to bi-folds, yet they're very hard to find.
I love this wallet. It doesn't encumber me (like a purse does), it isn't expected to match my clothes, my event, or a venue (as a purse is), it doesn't suffer junk (o ΓΌber-culpable purse!). It is a soft cowhide token of Roscivs. Simple, sensible, and sentimental. Win, win, win.
I have also taken up handkerchiefs. (After reading Zero Waste Home, tissues seem a gross waste.) Another memento. Sniff sniff.
I abandoned purses wholly last year. Before total abandon, I chose to secure a wallet. I tried several (it's odd shopping!) but couldn't find one that suited until I rediscovered Roscivs'. It's a leather tri-fold. When I came upon it I had a sudden memory of him talking about how he found tri-folds superior to bi-folds, yet they're very hard to find.
I love this wallet. It doesn't encumber me (like a purse does), it isn't expected to match my clothes, my event, or a venue (as a purse is), it doesn't suffer junk (o ΓΌber-culpable purse!). It is a soft cowhide token of Roscivs. Simple, sensible, and sentimental. Win, win, win.
I have also taken up handkerchiefs. (After reading Zero Waste Home, tissues seem a gross waste.) Another memento. Sniff sniff.
03 March 2014
Austin is Plan B
We were driving in a car with the dog. We borrow a car to drive to training.
Bjorn said, in his not-kidding voice, "Would you consider moving to New Jersey..." He stalled; he was task-switching, backing into a parking space. Back-in parking is familial, like the religious use of napkins and honing steels. His not-kidding voice is unmistakable. He was born and raised in NJ, so NJ has charge. It's a suggestion more and less plausible than "let's relocate to Latvia shall we?" So where I might have laughed or said "piffle!" I balked. "?!?!?!"
He continued "... or maybe Texas ..." and finished parking the car. Um. Texas? I said, or maybe sputtered, "What. What what. WHY."
He put on the parking break. "So that we can educate our kid(s) the way we want." [Yeah, he speaks with finial parens.] I figured out where this was coming from. At dinner a month ago I made some remark regarding laws, rules, hoops to jump through to homeschool in WA. He didn't know. He began research. He found 10 states that are minimally invasive. "Or Idaho." "No." He doesn't like Washington's hoops. (You have to (i) submit a curriculum meeting XYZ reqs, (ii) have it approved, (iii) get your child tested (&c).)
In the last month he has read books, set up appointments, contacted alternative schoolers, and made phone calls to explore what he can do to protect his education choices for his child(ren).
Now all I have to do is get pregnant again and get a baby this time, eh?
If you're wondering, I said well if pressed I suppose I might be open to Texas because we have some family there and family is the main thing I'm attached to providing and experiencing when we have kids. Good Lord — the words I thought I'd never say.
About the napkins. They to me (more than back-in parking, or the honing steel) are the hallmark of the Onzwit family. Napkins abide at breakfast, lunch, supper, tea, snack (even be it a single banana). Will you partake? Touch the cloth. The gesture is Grace.
All my favorite prayers are prayers of the hands.
Bjorn said, in his not-kidding voice, "Would you consider moving to New Jersey..." He stalled; he was task-switching, backing into a parking space. Back-in parking is familial, like the religious use of napkins and honing steels. His not-kidding voice is unmistakable. He was born and raised in NJ, so NJ has charge. It's a suggestion more and less plausible than "let's relocate to Latvia shall we?" So where I might have laughed or said "piffle!" I balked. "?!?!?!"
He continued "... or maybe Texas ..." and finished parking the car. Um. Texas? I said, or maybe sputtered, "What. What what. WHY."
He put on the parking break. "So that we can educate our kid(s) the way we want." [Yeah, he speaks with finial parens.] I figured out where this was coming from. At dinner a month ago I made some remark regarding laws, rules, hoops to jump through to homeschool in WA. He didn't know. He began research. He found 10 states that are minimally invasive. "Or Idaho." "No." He doesn't like Washington's hoops. (You have to (i) submit a curriculum meeting XYZ reqs, (ii) have it approved, (iii) get your child tested (&c).)
In the last month he has read books, set up appointments, contacted alternative schoolers, and made phone calls to explore what he can do to protect his education choices for his child(ren).
Now all I have to do is get pregnant again and get a baby this time, eh?
If you're wondering, I said well if pressed I suppose I might be open to Texas because we have some family there and family is the main thing I'm attached to providing and experiencing when we have kids. Good Lord — the words I thought I'd never say.
About the napkins. They to me (more than back-in parking, or the honing steel) are the hallmark of the Onzwit family. Napkins abide at breakfast, lunch, supper, tea, snack (even be it a single banana). Will you partake? Touch the cloth. The gesture is Grace.
All my favorite prayers are prayers of the hands.
02 March 2014
I am growing
My garlic and my tulips have come up! They live! I planted them roundabout Thanksgivukkah. (Thank goodness for En, or I would not have known that garlic is supposed to get in before first frost.) The tulips were a housewarming gift; the garlic — I selected from our CSA box one varietal (we get several) that I hope is hardneck, so as to produce scapes. (Softneck varietals don't scape. Scapes are the whole point of our growing garlic. We don't need more bulbs than our CSA provides. We need more scapes!) I separated the cloves and stuck them into the ground.
Minutes after I planted my garlic I found little mystery sprouts elsewhere in the garden. I dug one up ... they'd planted garlic already! Ha ha! If their planting was hardneck, we'll have scapes aplenty. I doubt it is.
I was newly pregnant then. I didn't work in the garden again until after the miscarriage.
On the first good day in February, I ventured to survey the garden. Not too daunted, I cleared the raised beds, preparing them to be turned. Most of the beds were already emptied when we moved in (in October, remember), but I didn't plant cover crops, and I didn't cover the beds (with burlap, e.g.). I didn't know to. Blessedly very few weeds took purchase and clearing the beds was a work without dread.
On George Washington's birthday, a traditional pea-planting day, I planted peas (securing a trellis!) after I turned over two of the beds. I learned from a book last year that one is to turn one's beds. It was a mystery to me until I did it. Here's how. I took our garden shovel (a Hannukah gift) and upheaved the dirt — upturned clods happy with worms. Then with another gifted tool I raked until the clods were clods no more. You might say I rotated and fluffed the dirt. In analogy, the dirt in the garden bed is like the pillow or the mattress in the sleeping bed. Now it is a known mystery; I have been through that door of the universe. Or it has been through me.
Last Friday, I planted lettuce from seed in the greenhouse. My lettuce is a little late, but the way I figure it, if I fuss over dates overmuch I won't have fun and I won't garden. I'll learn what's worth a fuss as I go.
So far, everything I've planted has been from seed or bulb. It's unusual; I am used to the starts mentality, not the seed mentality. It is pleasant for me to work from seed. Maybe as I get used to having a greenhouse it will become the new usual. The holy grail is using seeds I've saved myself. Imagine gardening without needing to be at someone else's mercy or mercantile for seeds!
When we moved, I was concerned about how much it would co$t me to garden. So far, it's about $3. The only co$t to me has been buying the peas and lettuce seeds. Tools = borrowed or gifted. Da (Bjorn's dad) bought us a Costco set of his favorite gardening gloves. Bjorn found overalls and a flannel work shirt for me at the Free Store.
I need a hat. I discovered this happily on Friday. I was two+ hours working in the sun and my eyes felt it a little. A hat — and more plants. Co$ts will rise, but I am not concerned about them any more. What shall I plant next!?
Minutes after I planted my garlic I found little mystery sprouts elsewhere in the garden. I dug one up ... they'd planted garlic already! Ha ha! If their planting was hardneck, we'll have scapes aplenty. I doubt it is.
I was newly pregnant then. I didn't work in the garden again until after the miscarriage.
On the first good day in February, I ventured to survey the garden. Not too daunted, I cleared the raised beds, preparing them to be turned. Most of the beds were already emptied when we moved in (in October, remember), but I didn't plant cover crops, and I didn't cover the beds (with burlap, e.g.). I didn't know to. Blessedly very few weeds took purchase and clearing the beds was a work without dread.
On George Washington's birthday, a traditional pea-planting day, I planted peas (securing a trellis!) after I turned over two of the beds. I learned from a book last year that one is to turn one's beds. It was a mystery to me until I did it. Here's how. I took our garden shovel (a Hannukah gift) and upheaved the dirt — upturned clods happy with worms. Then with another gifted tool I raked until the clods were clods no more. You might say I rotated and fluffed the dirt. In analogy, the dirt in the garden bed is like the pillow or the mattress in the sleeping bed. Now it is a known mystery; I have been through that door of the universe. Or it has been through me.
Last Friday, I planted lettuce from seed in the greenhouse. My lettuce is a little late, but the way I figure it, if I fuss over dates overmuch I won't have fun and I won't garden. I'll learn what's worth a fuss as I go.
So far, everything I've planted has been from seed or bulb. It's unusual; I am used to the starts mentality, not the seed mentality. It is pleasant for me to work from seed. Maybe as I get used to having a greenhouse it will become the new usual. The holy grail is using seeds I've saved myself. Imagine gardening without needing to be at someone else's mercy or mercantile for seeds!
When we moved, I was concerned about how much it would co$t me to garden. So far, it's about $3. The only co$t to me has been buying the peas and lettuce seeds. Tools = borrowed or gifted. Da (Bjorn's dad) bought us a Costco set of his favorite gardening gloves. Bjorn found overalls and a flannel work shirt for me at the Free Store.
I need a hat. I discovered this happily on Friday. I was two+ hours working in the sun and my eyes felt it a little. A hat — and more plants. Co$ts will rise, but I am not concerned about them any more. What shall I plant next!?
01 March 2014
Beef Eaters
Bjorn's parents are very even in their parenting. Even, perhaps most obviously, in what they give to their children. I have never known such even parents. My parents were (are?) not that even. Roscivs' parents were definitely not even even.
What is it that makes his parents so even? I conjecture. It's that they are Ts, not Fs. It's that they have two children and not five. It's that they have one of each sex. It's that one of them suffered unfairness with a sibling.
It's my perception. Moreover, it is the perception of both children that their parents are fair!!
In all this this fairness, we have gotten ourselves a mighty chest freezer. His parents bought a stand-alone freezer for Em and En when they got a house, and so when we bought our house they offered to buy one for us. They didn't shop for it: "Pick the freezer you want", they said. So we did. We picked the grandaddy of all freezers. (The geezer freezer?) This is a freezer that will hold approximately 25 cubic feet of chopped up bodies.
This was on our long list (as opposed to our short list) of reasons to get a house: we could have a freezer. (We didn't know, before we moved, that his parents would buy us a freezer. That they'd bought one for Em and En was information retrieved only from the fairness.xls file in his parents' minds.) In this our dream scenario, we would buy "locker meat", which is to say, buy an animal by the quarter, half, or whole directly from a local, sustainable-scale rancher/farmer/grower/herder.
Being busy with other things, we did not get a freezer right away. November and December passed freezerless. Then Bjorn spent much of January organizing the garage to be ready for it. It was partly because I was pregnant, and it had been suggested that I really should have a freezer in order for it to be stocked by my mother and sister-in-law for meals to eat in the first month after birth.
And so the space was made, the husband fabulous, the freezer acquired and (not long after the miscarriage) delivered.
The majority of small-scale slaughters happen in the fall, I thought, so we didn't know when we would be able to get any meat to fill our behemoth freezer. I started making inquiries early — now — to get on wait lists.
In a piece of luck, we got an opportunity to buy cow from our second-choice cow folk. (Our first choice is doing "herd maintenance" this year and won't have any available animals for at least another season.) w00t!
This is very exciting for us.
We bought a cow, a whole cow! The term that our cow-seller uses is "a whole beef". I thought that "a whole beef" sounded weird. It sounded more like the other kind of beef. It sounded inappropriately countable. Now I'm used to it.
We had a deadline if we were to make the midwinter slaughter (today). I agonized over the butcher/cutting order. I called the butcher. How was I to make sure I got my oxtail?! There was nothing on the order form about it. What about the skirt steak? Should I get the top of the top round cubed and the bottom of the top round in fajita meat? Yes I want the brisket cut but no I don't know how! I was overly whelmed. I made the order. Bjorn posted it, with our deposit.
The price/pound is $3.80 (that includes the wrapping fee). That's a little more than half what we pay for ground beef at the co-op. Estimating we eat 300 lb of beef a year, this will be at least $1,000/year in savings. This is a happy animal. Born on the same farm where it died, never stressed by travel and filled up with stress hormones; weaned in contact with its mother; loved; named; fed on pasture.
In a couple of weeks (like any respectable outfit the dry aging lasts a fortnight), the cow will come home.
What is it that makes his parents so even? I conjecture. It's that they are Ts, not Fs. It's that they have two children and not five. It's that they have one of each sex. It's that one of them suffered unfairness with a sibling.
It's my perception. Moreover, it is the perception of both children that their parents are fair!!
In all this this fairness, we have gotten ourselves a mighty chest freezer. His parents bought a stand-alone freezer for Em and En when they got a house, and so when we bought our house they offered to buy one for us. They didn't shop for it: "Pick the freezer you want", they said. So we did. We picked the grandaddy of all freezers. (The geezer freezer?) This is a freezer that will hold approximately 25 cubic feet of chopped up bodies.
This was on our long list (as opposed to our short list) of reasons to get a house: we could have a freezer. (We didn't know, before we moved, that his parents would buy us a freezer. That they'd bought one for Em and En was information retrieved only from the fairness.xls file in his parents' minds.) In this our dream scenario, we would buy "locker meat", which is to say, buy an animal by the quarter, half, or whole directly from a local, sustainable-scale rancher/farmer/grower/herder.
Being busy with other things, we did not get a freezer right away. November and December passed freezerless. Then Bjorn spent much of January organizing the garage to be ready for it. It was partly because I was pregnant, and it had been suggested that I really should have a freezer in order for it to be stocked by my mother and sister-in-law for meals to eat in the first month after birth.
And so the space was made, the husband fabulous, the freezer acquired and (not long after the miscarriage) delivered.
The majority of small-scale slaughters happen in the fall, I thought, so we didn't know when we would be able to get any meat to fill our behemoth freezer. I started making inquiries early — now — to get on wait lists.
In a piece of luck, we got an opportunity to buy cow from our second-choice cow folk. (Our first choice is doing "herd maintenance" this year and won't have any available animals for at least another season.) w00t!
This is very exciting for us.
We bought a cow, a whole cow! The term that our cow-seller uses is "a whole beef". I thought that "a whole beef" sounded weird. It sounded more like the other kind of beef. It sounded inappropriately countable. Now I'm used to it.
We had a deadline if we were to make the midwinter slaughter (today). I agonized over the butcher/cutting order. I called the butcher. How was I to make sure I got my oxtail?! There was nothing on the order form about it. What about the skirt steak? Should I get the top of the top round cubed and the bottom of the top round in fajita meat? Yes I want the brisket cut but no I don't know how! I was overly whelmed. I made the order. Bjorn posted it, with our deposit.
The price/pound is $3.80 (that includes the wrapping fee). That's a little more than half what we pay for ground beef at the co-op. Estimating we eat 300 lb of beef a year, this will be at least $1,000/year in savings. This is a happy animal. Born on the same farm where it died, never stressed by travel and filled up with stress hormones; weaned in contact with its mother; loved; named; fed on pasture.
In a couple of weeks (like any respectable outfit the dry aging lasts a fortnight), the cow will come home.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)