Book Excerpt - "Easterchicks Gone Bad"

And now for something completely different.

Easterchicks Gone Bad was the first of (a bunch) of articles I've written for Neil at
www.homestead.org , the venue that first gave me an appreciative audience for my writing that wasn't related to me by blood or loyalty. My assignment there is to produce short articles suitable for publication that both educate and entertain. Compiling them all together was done at the request of the readers over there.

I'm always surprised and genuinely flattered by the cyber-fan letters I receive regarding my articles, but would like to remind people that all articles published over there need permission to reprint from Neil Shelton- I googled "Easterchicks Gone Bad" once and found it copied/pasted in a quilting forum. To their credit, the poster did not TAKE credit, but none was given to me or homestead.org.

Once we get this little house project out of the way, I'll be back to my sort-of-monthly schedule there- I promise, Boss.

Drawing a Circle in the Sand- Teaching Awareness to A Consumer Society

The following is a true story. Names have not been changed to protect the innocent.

On a picnic one fine day several years ago, my son Alec and I were lunching with my friend MaryHelen and her twin boys James and Noah, also my son’s age. Approximate age of these boys at the time is right around four years old.

My son was busy munching his Happy Meal and took a moment out from ingestion of grease and preservatives to inquire if the liquid in the wax carton was cowsmilk or goatsmilk. I told him it was cowsmilk and he accepted that without comment.

My friend’s boys however, were suddenly very quiet and eyeing their wax cartons with grave suspicion.

“What do you mean, what KIND of milk???” they asked Alec.

Alec cheerfully explained. “The milk at OUR house is goatsmilk. Every morning my mom goes out and feeds the goats. Then she gets down on the ground next to them and milks them like this (insert visual of young boy doing realistic rendering of milking a goat). She brings it into the house, strains it and puts it in the fridge for us to drink.”

After a stony silence, James announced, “Well, OUR milk comes from the STORE”.

Alec allowed that most people do not have goats in their yard and that for the unfortunate masses; store-bought cowsmilk is the only sad alternative for a calcium-laden drink. James and Noah were STILL not happy, saying that THEIR milk does NOT come from COWS, it comes from the STORE.

In the manner of most pre-school and congressional discussions, this rapidly escalated to fisticuff status.

Now, MaryHelen is a veterinarian and these boys are exposed to many animals both in and out of ‘nature’ all the time. The Circle of Life is not a stranger to them. Or so she thought…

At James’s pronouncement, followed by the zealous statement of belief, and the impending physical assault, MaryHelen was alarmed, and rose to the occasion with alacrity.

“WAIT- you are ALL right!” she hollered, the scruff of one boy in each hand, while I held my combatant at bay also. She then detailed how the cowsmilk that is usually in THEIR sippycups goes from the cow, to the automatic milking machine, into a truck with a lot of other cows’ milk from a lot of other farms, to the factory to be cleaned up, sterilized and cartoned ready to be delivered to their local store. That’s the point where they become personally involved with said milk. From cows. And that Alec spoke truth when he told them where HIS milk comes from.

Once the light of righteous indignation left the eyes of the three boys, they were loosed to resume their meal in silence. James and Noah would have nothing more to do with their milk.

I whispered to MaryHelen “Just wait till they learn that eggs come out of chickens’ butts- they’ll never eat another egg”.

She blanched and looked alittle faint.

Americans have always been farmers. Most of our founding fathers had huge farms and spent at least as much time in the fields and barns as thinking up Important Documents to sign. Then something happened.

We moved off of the farms in droves- driven by emancipation, drought, depression, disillusionment, the siren call of the cities who were hungry for manpower to run the ever-larger factories and accompanying businesses. Obviously this factory-workin’ thing was not a cushy gig by any stretch of the imagination, but the promise of weekly wages that relied on your ability to get to work and do your job instead of your life resting on whether Mother Nature rained on your crops or not was a welcome relief to many.

A fundamental drive of the human soul is the wish that your children have a better life than you do. In the urban world, the way to a better life lay NOT in going back to the land, but to college for an advanced education. When the children of these factory workers reached their teens they did NOT swing BACK, they swung forward.

Teachers, lawyers, doctors, dentists, art history majors, mechanical and aerospace engineers began rolling off of the collegiate assembly lines like the Buicks and Frigidares that their fathers made.

This puts the average American at least two generations off of the land.

So what the heck does all that have to do with James, Noah and Alec dukin’ it out over the source of their moo juice?

Somewhere in all this mess we call ‘advancement’, we not only abandoned the rural ways, we learned to shun them as well.

Clone-like orbs of vegefection that taste as interesting as they look have replaced fresh veggies from the garden, still warm from the sun and as individually scarred and lopsided as we are. Small details like vitamin content and flavor have been cast aside for uniformity, toughness under shipping stress, and shelf life. The veggies we buy at the supermarket have been genetically altered, chemically fertilized, drowned in pesticide, power-washed and dunked in wax, but thank GOD they aren’t DIRTY.

Meats (actually chickens, pigs and cows- who KNEW?) are grown in horrendous conditions and fed enough steroids to make them grow fast and enough antibiotics to keep them alive till we kill them. Of course ‘we’ does not technically refer to ‘us’, because ‘we’ don’t really want to see them till they are killed, gutted, soaked in anti-bacterial preservatives, hosed mostly off and wrapped in shrink wrap. They aren’t really animals anymore then, they are tenders, chops and steaks. Cuz eating dead animals would be gross.

“We get milk from cows and eggs from chickens” is our standard line to children. Are we even aware that when they put a picture to this statement they most likely get a mental image of various barnyard animals in white coats, manning the assembly lines in the milk and egg factories?

And let’s look for a moment at the other end of things.

There’s a most magical vehicle that comes into your neighborhood on a regular basis. You can hear it from blocks away by the sound it makes. People run out of their houses to meet it. People look forward to it’s coming. People are very sad when they miss it, and some have actually been known to chase it down in their cars. By your smile I know you know what I am talking about.

Ice cream? Who said anything about ice cream?

I’m talking about the garbage truck, silly.

That phantasmal chariot that swallows our trash like a giant metal pelican and carries it off. Poof. It’s gone. If a child is precocious enough to ask, “Mommy, where is the garbage truck taking our stinky putrefied wastes?” the answer will be “to the dump, honey”, and that will be the end of it.

Our food comes from the store and our wastes go to the dump.

The Circle of Life has been replaced with the Tunnel Vision of Consumerism.

We need to take our precious children and challenge them. If they stop asking ‘why?’ we are lost. “Why?” must be answered, and then “Before that?” and “Then what?” need to be addressed as well.

“We get our food from the store” must be followed with “But BEFORE that- it comes from the factory and BEFORE that it was grown and harvested on the farm using compost in the soil to help it grow”. If any link in that chain includes anything that we are ashamed of or don’t want our children knowing (or ingesting) we must change it, either by demanding that changes are made, or by growing our own.

“Our trash go to the dump” must be followed with “And AFTER that, it goes into landfill which takes up huge amounts of land area and pollute the earth, air and water. We must make sure that our additions to the landfill are minimum by recycling what we can, composting what we can, reusing what we can, and then and only then, throwing the rest away in biodegradable bags, not those quilted plastic nightmares that are advertised to be able to stop a runaway train.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, compost to compost, everything goes around and around in a circle as old as the earth itself.

Traveling in a straight line is exciting in a brash, blazing a trail kind of way. Taming of the wilderness (natural or corporate) and all that. The future is unknown, and there is no past before your tiny self appearing on the scene. If you are a proper consumer, you are also teaching your children to grow up blazing their own trail.

Taking what you need where you find it and discarding after use is unsustainable, irresponsible and ultimately discouraging. Because no matter how hard we try to hide it behind and underneath chemically processed hair, botoxed faces, designer-clad bodies that have been liposuctioned into submission, encased in our autos thundering down the highway with our cell phones attached to our ears there is still a core of organic matter right in the center of our souls, that little core needs roots, and roots need compost, dangit.

The Circle of Life requires a lot more thought and care to travel than a straight line, because it’s a CIRCLE and you will be back around this way again. Judicious pruning and mulching must replace slash and burn. Attention is required to preserve the knowledge and cornerstones of the past both for use today, and for our children’s’ use in the future.
The child who finds an egg, sees that egg hatch into a chick, feeds that chick till it grows and lays eggs of it’s own has learned a valuable lesson.

Planting seeds together, watering, weeding, playing in the dirt in general, harvesting and eating something you planted together will make an impression that will last long after the last cucumber is pickled.

Helping at milking time early in the morning has its payoff later in the day with homemade chocolate ice cream.

It’s our duty as homesteaders to not only keep our own family and farm in order, but to teach others how to do the same, because our ‘family’ is everyone and our ‘farm’ is this whole planet.

Quietly, gently, patiently, one perfect free-range egg, soft juicy taste bud tingling tomato and fresh cranked bowl of ice cream at a time, we can and will ease this generation out of the long dark Tunnel of Consumerism and back into the grandmotherly hug that is the Circle of Life.

Just An Ordinary Day- How Extraordinary

We got back into town a week ago yesterday, after over a month's forced interment in the Houston Medical District.

During that time, everything revolved around time spent at the hospital. Every minute, 24 hours a day 7 days a week, was ab-normal to our family. There were no daily farm chores, no big meals to be prepared- with just a kitchenette in the hotel room, there was no baking, roasting, broiling. The cleaning and linen laundry was done by the staff, our laundry was done in the hotel laundry room- no outside clothesline.

Most of our time was spent inside- the hospital, the hotel, the grocery store- and the times we made to spend outdoors were not fulfilling- there are no stars to be seen at night there, nor quiet to be had even surrounded by trees in a park.

The sounds, the smells, the oppressive closeness of millions of other people crammed into the cement jungle weighed heavily on us and we yearned for our little town of 756 people, the countless stars at night, open windows and the music of nature lulling us to sleep.

The first week we were home was devoted to catch-up, and acquainting ourselves with some new, although temporary realities.

"We'll have the home health people come give you a hand" seemed benign and helpful. What they don't tell you is that there is a nurse, a physical therapist, an occupational therapist, and a nutritionist- all with their own schedules that we must fit in between doctors' appointments and lab work.

I had a bi-monthly board meeting to prepare for and attend, and there were some pretty hefty changes at work that I had to institute, along with all the stuff that got way-sided while I was gone.

So this morning I got up at 7am and did what I most longed to do.

Not sleep in. Not put my feet up to read a book or watch a movie. Not go shopping or take a long bubble bath.

I did the morning chores, and delighted in the easy routine and the simple yet genuine pleasure of the animals at breakfast time.

I made a big brunch for my boys- pork chops, gravy, scrambled cheesy eggs and biscuits with lots of fresh ground coffee (cocoa for Alec), and delighted in the easy routine and the simple yet genuine pleasure of the boys at breakfast time.

I cleaned the guinea pigs and shuffled some around- separating out weanling babies and pregnant mommas- reflecting on almost 30 years of raising these endearing little critters.

I baked up a storm- 2 batches of triple fudge kickass brownies- one for us and one for a friend of ours who just had surgery on Wednesday, and an apple pie for the friend who ratted out which hospital the first friend would be at so I could surprise him and keep him company all day.

Cleaning the house is something that's not normally on my Favorite Things To Do list, but after being gone so long it's cathartic- possibly a form of "marking my territory" to go through the house room by room- making sure those few things that really bother me when they're undone get done correctly- in a way only a Mom knows how to do.

For dinner I made spaghetti sauce with italian sausages and mushrooms, and homemade garlic bread- heavy on the parmesan cheese.

All the cooking took just about every pot and mixing bowl I own, and it was good- the fact that we don't own a dishwasher not a burden, since washing by hand lets me remember where I got each mixing bowl, and appreciate the heavy smoothness of my grandmother's rolling pin.

And all day long I tended to the new puppy we got Friday- taking her outside where she demonstrated her obvious brilliance by pottying like a good doggie each and every time. While a new puppy might seem outwardly like the very LAST thing our family needs at this particular juncture, Fizzgig is a welcome diversion for Alec, for Ward, and for me- she's as sweet as she is smart, and has snuggled her way into our hearts in less than three days.

So I sat down here at 10pm- fifteen hours after rising this morning- the only times I've sat down otherwise all day were to pee, and here I am.

I'm stiff, I'm exhausted, but after a week of being here, I finally feel like I'm home.

Westward Ho! a.k.a. Romancing the (Grave)stone

I'm a proud member of a Homesteading Forum. The term "homesteading" loosely encompasses people in many different phases and incarnations- Those who are learning, or want to learn, how to become rural, those who are rural and dabble in agricultural pursuits, and those who make farming a livelihood.

To all of us, subsistence farming is a preferred way of life. Our main common thread is that we are devoted to being able to feed and shelter our families with as little dependence on outside sources as possible.

Knowing how to grow things, either plants or animals, and then turn them into food for the table both eaten fresh and preserved for later use, is paramount.

Having our homes set up to run well and comfortably even if the electric goes out gives us security and peace of mind.

Unlike alot of Homesteading Forums, though, ours is pretty laid back as far as membership requirements.

While a large number of forums are those who are mainly Survivalists aspiring to be hermits , or Fundamental Christians looking to escape from the evils of the secular world, or GlennBeckian Conservatives who are sure the whole shebang is headed for Hell in a Handbasket, we're pretty much a group of ol' hippie-types- Peace, Love, RockNRoll, pass the granola please.

As such, our group includes members of all the other types of homesteaders, and for the most part, we all try to see each others' points of view, get along pretty well and the name-calling and compost-slinging is kept to a minimum.

One of the only things that puts a hitch in my giddyup is when someone says

"I was born 100 years too late. I'd much rather have been a pioneer".

*Really?*

While I live in a 100+ year old house that's filled with antiques (other than us longhaired ol' geezers) and we own, use and love all manner of "old fashioned" things, I for one am pretty grateful I'm living now, in the futuristic 21st century.

If I had been born 100 years ago, I most likely would've died from one of the many bouts of toncilitis I had as a child. If I had survived to adulthood-

-the father of my older two children would've died at 35 from the heart failure he suffered

-my daughter would've died of the appendicitis she had at age 6

-my older son would've died from the severe colic he had as a newborn

-I would've had very little chance of traveling from Wisconsin to Texas where I met my current husband, who probably would've had very little chance of traveling from a different part of Wisconsin to Texas

-our son probably would've died from one of the many ear infections he had as a little critter. At the very least he'd be stone cold deaf from them.

-my husband would be dead of the cancer he was diagnosed with 8 years ago. Actually, he probably would've died of the heart attack he had right after we met (no, I did NOT cause it...)

-many people we love, and some we are proud to call "family" would've been completely unknown to us since we met them via the interwebs.

People who lived 100 years ago had a rough slog of it- never-ending work, little or no pay, precious bits of leisure time- a true hard-scrabble existence that makes my worst day look like a literal walk in the park.

Men could expect to live to about 45, if they were lucky.
Women could look forward to giving birth to many children but raising just a few, if they were lucky. Dying in childbirth was a very common way to exit this life.
Children- I don't even want to go there.

I'm grateful I live in a time where I have the CHOICE to live a "simple" life- although doing and cooking and living from scratch doesn't look simple to alot of people.

If I'm sick I can microwave dinner from the freezer, if it's raining I can toss laundry into the dryer instead of hanging it, and if I'm too tired to build a fire I can crank up the thermostat.

The point is, I CAN care for my family, and keep them safe thanks to a wondrous combination of old traditional ways and newfangled inventions.

Why on earth would I wish the drudgery and danger of a pioneer existence on people I love?

So while I'm happy and eager to LEARN pioneer ways, I'm pretty sure that if I could hop into a time machine and meet up with a real pioneer woman, showed her the way we live now and then told her "But I'd really prefer to live in YOUR time", she'd smack me upside the head, steal my time machine and leave me in 100 year old dust.

Because the pioneers may have been alot of things, but stupid they weren't.