A Vagabond Song

In October I leave home, headed home. Seven hundred and forty one and a half miles lie between my yellow brick house on a hill in this city and the white farmhouse which still holds my roots and my heart. In October the leaves begin turn to flame and in the dark before the dawn I load my children into the van and set off, bound on a vagabond journey back to where I began.

As we drive across the green rolling hills of Ohio as they begin to turn golden, we read this poem:

There is something in the autumn that is native to my blood-

Touch of manner, hint of mood;

And my heart is like a rhyme,

With the yellow and the crimson and the purple keeping time.

 

The scarlet of the maples can shake me like a cry

Of bugles going by.

And my lonely spirit thrills

To see the smoke of asters like a frost upon the hills.

 

There is something in October sets the gypsy blood astir;

We must rise and follow her,

When from every hill of flame

She calls and calls each vagabond by name.

-Carman Bliss 1861-1929

 

 

 

The Magnificent Mile

By: Colleen

You readers may not know this, but I just returned to the farm again from a 7 week stay in Chicago, mentoring and teaching inner city girl in 7th and 8th grade.  It was a wonderful experience, being able to get teaching experience and to touch the lives of some very wonderful girls.  I would just like to put in a plug for 7th and 8th graders in general. They are FUN! I never thought I would say that, but it is so true.  After they get over being “too cool” and just start to be themselves, they are so sweet and hilarious.

One of the most interesting parts of being in Chicago was experiencing city life.  At one point, I had considered living in the city of Chicago, finding a teaching job, getting an apartment, and living happily ever after, just five hours from home.  Hah, about that…it would work if I didn’t hate the city, which, after my recent stay there, I have realized is how I feel about it.  I felt smothered by the concrete from day one, as I stayed just four blocks from Union Station, very close to downtown.  On the third day, I went to a park down the street and realized that I had not sat on grass for three days.  The farm girl in me was starving for beauty, beauty that I could not find in the spires of the Sears Tower.

Lake Michigan was my saving grace, and as often as I could stomach wading through the crowds and past the homeless people all along the way, I would run the mile and a half down to the lake and run out my frustrations on the lakefront.  The bobbing boats and ever-changing, blue-green water meeting the horizon would calm me down, and prepare me for another day in the concrete jungle.

One of my very favorite memories from my stay in Chicago was when I got a visit from my very dear friend, Katie Hand.  Katie and I run track and cross country together at the University of Dallas, and she hopped on a bus to ride overnight to Chicago to cheer up my last days in the city.  She came to work with me for a day, and we got the question all day from the girls: “Are you two sisters?”

We might as well be.  This girl and I have been on enough runs together to bond us for a lifetime.  And this is where the story of our Magnificent Mile in downtown Chicago starts.

Katie is not the greatest at organization.  There have been many times where I have come to her room to get her to come to track practice to find her asleep or just plain missing.  And so when it came time for her to catch her bus out of Chicago, things got interesting.  She was supposed to leave at 11:30 pm from Union Station.  And somehow she, our friend Monica, and I were a good mile away from there by 11:10 pm.  We were on the train, one stop away from where we wanted to get off, and of course, it was having technical difficulties.  We all looked at each other, shrugged, and hopped of the train.  What else was there to do but run through downtown Chicago at 11 at night for a mile?  Two of us were in dresses, and I was sporting low-heeled sandals and carrying my purse and Katie’s backpack on my back.  I strapped it down tightly on my shoulders and just ran.

There was a moment where the hilarity of our situation hit us as we ran through intersections, ignoring the stoplights and stares of the few people out on the streets with us.  Panting and laughing, we arrived at Union Station with 8 minutes to spare.  Adventures are sure to happen when Katie Hand is around.  Monica and I managed to walk the 4 blocks back to our place of residence without being bothered by the local homeless with a story to tell upon our smiling lips.

Chicago, I may not like you at all, but thank you for the Magnificent Mile.

A Wish To The Moon

By: Mary

Cold rain battered down in intermittent frigid cycles all of yesterday. This morning the white powder of snow has been layering the ground as it falls from a grey and windy sky. Everybody is talking about the weather as it continues to become more difficult with week after week of dismal conditions. My laughing line that I have shared with friends, family and even cashiers at my favorite food co-op is “well, I am starting to understand why they drink all the time in Russia.”

Laugh as I may when sharing my observation, I have been thinking back upon my time in Vladivostok.

Vladivostok is a sea city. It’s a big city with about 5 million people getting through life in the commotion of it’s city boarders. The city is next to the sea. Because of the proximity to fresh water, many fish are sold at markets, or even on street corners heaped upon a pallet.

One dear sight to me was on Saturdays when a man would come to the orphanage with a black gym bag packed with presumably fresh fish to sell to the nurses on duty.

The city of Vladivostok is many things other than just a sea city: It’s cosmopolitan in part, and impoverished in part, and it’s also very sad.

The parks in Vlad confirm this. I do believe that I took these pictures on a random weekday afternoon. Drinking in the parks during daylight hours is common as it is even on a bus or sidewalk or in a grocery store.

Sunlight is strained and smiles are seldom, but there are still so many beautiful faces.

Sunny skies and the beginning of fresh growth can’t solve all problems.

However, it’s one heck of a good jump-start into positivity and production. I wish to the moon for sunlight and the freshness of spring brightness in both Russia and here, in the Midwestern states.

City Girl, Country Girl

By: Colleen

It is the small, quiet moments in life that truly call out to my poetic soul.  The quiet and chill of an early morning run, an undercurrent of vibrant excitement caught in the trill of the birds.  The silence that comes (every once in awhile!) out in the fields, the summer sun setting, the dirt deep and dark underneath my hands.  And last week, I found that quiet as I sat upon the banks of the Potomac, in milky, early Spring sun.  The boats slipped by quietly, I could see away and off into Maryland across the shore; and life was beautiful.

For Spring Break, I traveled to the Washington, DC area to visit friends and explore a bit of the East coast.  I grew up dreaming of boarding school on the East coast, my dreamy little head filled with images of school uniforms and dormitories, curled up with a book of the same subject  in a patch of sunlight in our roomy, white farmhouse.  As I grew up, that dream faded into the background, and I found myself in school way down in Dallas, TX, just about one of the least romantic places I could think of.  So, when I got the opportunity to spend a week on the East coast for break, I jumped on the chance.

My absolute favorite day was the one spent in Alexandria, Virginia, just off the blue line of the Metro.  I headed out in the morning, bought my metro pass, and navigated my way down into the depths of the metro station.  There was something so freeing about taking the metro by myself.  And yet, standing on the platform and waiting for the train in my deep green pea coat and tall blacks boots, I felt so very far away from home.  The rush and bustle of the metro and the city excite me, but also makes me recess farther into myself, my iPod in my ears and the far away look in my eyes that I recently learned to adopt.  And so, it was with a small sigh of relief that I exited the metro at King Street Station, and headed down historic King Street in old Town Alexandria.  immediately, I was in love.

The street was lined with coffee shops, boutiques, and restaurants.  It was as if the town knew me, my likes and dislikes, a simple girl from Wisconsin with an avid love of all things Francais.

(I actually did end up going into this one, and was promptly frightened out by the saleswoman who told me that you weren’t allowed to touch the clothing in the store except by the hangers and had a genuine witch’s cackle.  You can’t win them all, I suppose.)

I grabbed lunch at this little French bistro, filled to the brim with breads and cheeses, and headed down to the river, swinging my baguette sandwich by my hand.  After lunch, I wandered into the side streets, house hunting.  Since I had fallen in love with the town, I needed to find a place to live other than the cafes. There are shutters on almost every house in the town, and mysterious, hidden gardens behind curved gates, colored red, green, and blue.  This house was a little too small:

My friends and I agreed: this is a little more my size:

I’ll admit that I was a little worried that the real owners of the house might come out and ask me what I was doing posing on their front steps  so we smiled quickly.  The house was absolutely lovely, as was the town.   I could see myself there, taking early morning runs next to the river, finding a private high school to teach at, and coming home to a (small) apartment with green shutters on the windows.

But, the Midwestern, Slattery girl in me knows that she would and could also be completely content in a house more like this, filled with family and love.

I peeked into a courtyard in Alexandria and found this gem.  And I was back home in an instant.  No matter how far you go, you’re never really far from home.  My feet will always be bare and dirty, I’ll always defend raw milk, and I’ll always love the country, where one can breath and live and be.

Comfort and Calamity

By: Mary

In a matter of hours my connecting train from Pittsburgh to Chicago’s Union Station will take me back home. Home may only be 5 hours away from the busy city of Chicago, but to my county girl heart this layover in the city makes me feel both foreign and lost. The streets are full of slow moving traffic caught in jams, and the sidewalks offer little space as they accommodate the congestion of pedestrians moving at many different paces, most of whom are dressed in darker colors, and all of whom wear thick winter clothing to combat the cold and sharp wind that blows.

I have heard that in Wisconsin there has been a terrible storm raging away. It has been said that this is one of the worst of the year which means it must really be a beast of a storm as it has been an exceptionally cold and snowy winter.

Surely when I get home the snow will be deep and the pipes in my recently completed apartment will still be frozen. Grh!

Despite these obstacles, I am ready to return to my roots.

I don’t have a place in this busy city traffic. When in Pittsburgh, I ended up in a conversation with someone at a Brazilian Carnival. He tried to sell me the concept of moving to Pittsburgh. I laughed and told him I gladly would move to the city with the requirement that my closest neighbor would have to live at least a mile away.

I love the silence and life that living on a ridgetop offers.

I love the comfort

and calamity

that comes from being surrounded by open space and family.

The richness that rural life provides challenges me as I balance (not only on my horse’s back!)

I love the roulette of farming.

I am thankful for knowing what contents and captivates me. Also, I am very excited to welcome the goodness of spring under the sphere of its golden sunshine.

Castles and Kings, Galoshes and Spring

By Kate

At midnight, my sister Mary will board a train.

Like Cinderella she will vanish from this city of stone castles, though she’s not likely to leave a glass slipper behind. No, I’m sure the galoshes she liberated from my closet will be firmly laced up on her feet, headed back to the muddy fields of Wisconsin in the spring.

I promised Mary spring in Pittsburgh, a respite from the long shivering wait for warmth to thaw the frozen Wisconsin soil and the pipes in her renovated barn apartment. Snow fell to herald her arrival and snow is falling on the city this morning of her departure. Still, Mary has brought so much warmth and brightness into this cold grey city during her visit this past week.

She carried spring with her and gave it to me.

Heading out into the city with two small children in the cold is so much easier with a sister to share the journey.

As you can see, we wore bright colors and dramatic prints to combat the cold.

We explored the city, ate Indian and Vietnamese food, perused the spring 2013 offerings at Anthropologie, and attended a Brazilian carnival. I’m pretty sure Mary had plenty of urban living, and is ready to return to her free spirited rural life on Wisconsin soil. However, we did have one city adventure perfect for a farmgirl in the big city. On Saturday, we visited the Pittsburgh Children’s Museum. We loved this installation of pink ribbons cascading from the high domed ceiling….

…but as an added bonus, we found farmers on display as well.  A number of local farmers had set up shop near the restaurant of the museum, offering CSA shares for the upcoming season. The event was sponsored by the Pennsylvania Association for Sustainable Agriculture, which is a great resource for farmers and consumers in Pittsburgh and all across the state. If you are living in or near Pittsburgh and still looking for a CSA, you can still contact the participating farmers from the CSA Fair here.

I have an urban garden complete with strawberry patch in my backyard and I wasn’t in the market for a CSA this year, but Mary quickly realized that the fair had something else to offer- a chance to meet a bona fide King of the farming world.

As you may remember, Mary is the Queen of Brussels Sprouts, so meeting Peter King was a real highlight of her urban Pittsburgh trip.

Pete King is one of the (many) famous King brothers from Freedom Farms. I was unaware of this fact, and I’m pretty sure that the most of the people milling about the Children’s Museum were too. I’m not sure how many Pittsburghers watch the Great American Country network on cable, so they may be unaware of the bronzed shirtless young men gleaming like sun gods under a deep blue sky. The second season of their show is premiering April 11th on GAC. The King brothers are perhaps best known for their torsos, but they also have a striking optimism about the future of agriculture, a great work ethic, a deep sense of family loyalty, and a whole lot of high quality local food to offer to the Pittsburgh community.

We had the opportunity to do a brief interview Peter King about fame, family, and farming. I’ll post the interview tomorrow. In the meantime, you can learn more about Freedom Farms on their website here.

For more stories about our farming adventures at Sweet Ridge Farm, check out these links:

My Garden, My Canvas

The Queen of Brussel Sprouts

The King and Queen of Brussels

The Red Vegetable from Hell

Putting the Lug in Luggage

By: Mary

When looking for a means of transporting an entire set of china that was left to Kate after the passing of my grandmother, I decided to find a new use for a sturdy cardboard box that is used to pack pie pumpkins and cabbage when shipping organic produce to Organic Valley.  Okay, I know that lugging about a produce box is not exactly the most hip (or practical) way to travel, but I formulated a plan that included getting two boxes of china, to my sister along with a few fur coats, some blackberry jam I made that is a fleeting commodity at this time of the year, a few purses, and of course a  ballgown that Kate wanted back after an extended loan back to the farm so it could be used as a prom dress.

As you may remember, Kate is quite comfortable with train travel in an heirloom fur…

though in my opinion it makes her look a bit like a gigantic mother hen.

Because I was traveling on the train, I hoped with optimism that my plan of checking the two boxes could go off without a hitch. Well, the plan did work… but only with a LOT of lugging. The first setback was that I was told I couldn’t check the boxes because they were not fully sealed. I knew that the only way I could handle taking Kate her “stuff” was to just start consolidating as much as I could into only one box. When boarding the train, the not so hip me ended up with my luggage bag checked under the train, and a roughly 75 pound produce box bruising my hip, which was beginning to strongly resemble the blackberry jam.

Due to an early spring snowstorm from the never-ending winter I was trying to flee, my train got into Chicago several hours late. I missed my connecting train to Pittsburgh, but got in plenty of exercise lugging that heavy box through Union Station, into a cab, onto a Greyhound bus, and through the bus terminal in Pittsburgh the next morning.

Thankfully, my farmgirl strength and a winter full of kickboxing classes had me in fine form for heaving produce- or China and ballgowns. Still, I was happy to arrive her for some much needed Porch Time with my sister.

For more about the fur coats and recent and past travels, check out these links:

Furs on the Farm

Train Travel

The Slattery Oklahoma Suburb Rush

A Saturday Away

Greetings From Texas

by Kate

Greetings from Texas, where the skies are so blue.

Where the breeze is warm…

Where the sugar is sweet….

And the meat plentiful.

Where the hands of a 92 year old great grandmother are soft and strong.

Greetings from Texas, where there are snakes, and snake farms too.

In Pittsburgh the snow is falling but on this last day, greetings from Texas! From me….

To you.

Italian Dreams and Dallas Streets

by Colleen

On Saturday, I called home for an update.  I miss the goings-on of our big family in our big, rambling farmhouse while down here in Dallas, and calling and skyping home is one of my favorite things to do on a lazy Saturday morning.  To my surprise, I found out that it is still winter back home, complete with 16 degree high temperatures and a foot of snow.  The sunny, 65 degree weather outside my window had fooled me into thinking it was March or even April, and classes already seem to be interminable.

Despite the glorious weather, this semester has been off to an uncharacteristic start.  Many of my closest friends are away across the ocean this semester, studying on the University of Dallas’ Rome campus, and while seeing gorgeous pictures of them traipsing across Italy on Facebook is fun, I’d much rather they were still living down the hall from me.  In an attempt to become more cultured and not just sit in front of our computer screens, scrolling through pictures, a few of my friends from here (who are also never going to Rome) and I decided to get out into Dallas and attend a concert last Sunday night.

After a frantic day of studying, my friends Joe, Monica, and I headed out to the light rail station in the Dallas dusk, ready for some music and time away from campus.  We alighted at Mockingbird station, and wandered around looking for a place to eat that was nowhere even close to cafeteria food.  We found what we were looking for at Izmir’s Market and Deli.  The Iranian man behind the counter was charming  the falafal was fresh and flavorful, and for just a moment, we could pretend we weren’t in Dallas, TX.  Satisfied, we headed to the concert, and spent the night enveloped in the music of the Punch Brothers, a folksy, Mumford and Sons-esque band that filled the Granada Theater with glorious sound.

We headed back to campus that night content and tired, our minds, not lost in contemplation of the streets of Rome, but centered on the present here and now, which suddenly seemed a lot less lonely.

Train Travel

By Kate

I begun and ended my recent journey on trains.

Last week my family landed in the kind and frozen city of Minneapolis. Five strangers immediately offered friendly unsolicited advice and directed us to the light rail station, where my tall husband bent his knees a bit and purchased tickets.

We watched a train speed in and out of the station at lightning speed, and moved quickly to catch the next arrival.

That light rail sure is quick.

That train led to the next portion of our journey, which involved an exploration of the Mall of America, followed by a gorgeous winter wedding. After the wedding I headed home with the kids for a week of wood fires, wild siblings, sauerkraut making, and barn building on the snowy ridge. It was great to be home and I have many words and images to share with you from that time.

But now I am home again, in the city, and I am thinking about the train trip home. I made that trip wearing my late Grandmother’s absolutely fabulous coat, which features a huge fox fur collar.

Now, my grandmother not only made the best beer brats in the world (see this post for the recipe) she was also an incredibly stylish woman. I had never seen this coat before she died, but I fell in love with it the moment I set eyes on it.

This coat was made for train travel. In fact, I felt as though I was time traveling as well. There were only two tiny problems. The first was the fact that the fur blocked my peripheral vision, making it easy for me to knock my very small child over with my baggage now and then.

Thankfully my little traveling companion is pretty tough. The second problem is that there is something about that fox fur coat that just screams city to me. I can think of 1000 reasons to wear that here in Pittsburgh. In Middle Ridge? Sigh. Not so much. I’m afraid that coat might be a sign that l’m meant to be a city girl, at least for a while. So I’m glad the last train carried me smoothly home.

I love traveling and I love trains. I love both of my homes- the farm on this snowy ridge top and the brick house halfway up a steep ridge in the city of bridges.