fresh from the hen house

Fresh from the Hen House

I am getting closer to the point where I’ll be pulling our sourdough starter, Oscar, from the fridge and attempting to perfect fresh-milled flour sourdough. Last winter, my youngest started her very own starter as well. We turned it into a whole 4-H/homeschool project. She even kept a journal on it. Then, the two homeschoolers and I did a sourdough experiment, baking loaves using different kinds of flour once Oswald, her starter, was established. One of us used all-purpose flour, one store-bought whole-wheat flour, and one all freshly milled hard red wheat. We were using fresh-milled flour for most things besides sourdough at this point, and this experiment taught me that there was going to be a learning curve with fresh-milled flour sourdough, though, we did make an edible loaf. By the time school was out, life was picking up pace, and we put the sourdough starters aside. I would need more time than I had to delve into the freshly milled flour sourdough.

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Fresh from the Hen House

I spent the better part of last week catching my youngest up on homeschooling since I was in the field the week prior. When she wasn’t in the field with me, she was at home with a pretty good understanding that she still needed to do school. Though, when I sat down with her this past week, I questioned what she had truly done, because oddly enough, I didn’t have much to grade, nor was the house sparkling. I would’ve been happy with either option. Of my three children though, she knows how to get distracted the most, even under supervision. I do give her the benefit of the doubt, she is home, where chicks are peeping in the porch, butterflies are at the window, kittens are in the yard, snacks are on the counter, so I do understand, but she is truly my queen of ending up doing something entirely different than told.

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Fresh from the Hen House

Sometime after my mom passed, someone gifted me this little crystal angel with purple wings. Unbeknownst to the sweet person who gave it to me, purple was my mom’s favorite color. I held on to this angel, trying to decide where she would go. I wanted a special, meaningful place. She hung out on my counter for a while, awaiting her spot. Then the first wheat harvest without my mom approached, and I quietly slipped into her role of grain cart driver.

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Fresh from the Hen House

The current 4-H year is coming to a close, and that means we’ll soon be able to sit back down at the kitchen table. Three kids means three 4-H record books, which also means a whole lot of information to be input into those record books. We’ve come so far in organizing 4-H projects and information, but the record book mess has me realizing that there is a lot more organizing we could be doing. Goals for a new year!

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Fresh from the Hen House

My life feels as messy as our deteriorating road from all this rain. It’s smooth for a while, then there are all these ruts you’ve got to get through. Then, all of a sudden, it’s slick and sending you in directions you didn’t plan on going. And if you don’t keep going, you’re, well, more stuck than a goat with its head through the fence. Throwing mud routes in with all the other activities of the past couple weeks has been a little more juggling than I want to do, but we’re slowly sludging through it all.

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Fresh from the Hen House

As a mother, the most important job to me is raising my children. I believe it is far more difficult today to raise good, kind human beings because of what they are exposed to and the state of the world. You can’t control it all, but as a parent, I will control what I can and my kids have no choice on certain decisions.

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Fresh from the Hen House

Living out of town, it’s sometimes hard to arrange to have several of the kids’ friends over all at once. Even more challenging these days is working around everyone’s schedules. My oldest doesn’t ask for much for her birthday, or ever, so when she said a handful of her friends could actually come over Friday evening, I stopped, dropped everything else, and baked a whole slew of hamburger buns and a carrot cake. The schedules were free, but of course, the weather was wet, and wet weather makes it even harder to get anyone to our house. My husband got handed the job of picking up and dropping off, as no one’s parents needed to attempt our road, this wet year has done a number on it. He said both times he took our corner he heard the words “Tokyo drift” from one of the girls as the pickup uncontrollably slid its back end around the corner while he crept forward through the slick, deep mud.

Read MoreFresh from the Hen House

Fresh from the Hen House

We had some of my husband’s family and their children stay this past weekend. They live back where my husband is from, the city (this is where my husband corrects me and says “the suburbs, not city” and then I shake my head, as I think it’s all pretty much “the city”). So, we had two extra kids in our house around our own kids’ age, but from very different lives. We didn’t do anything special really, just shared our life with them.

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Fresh from the Hen House

A family that grows and picks sweet corn together is a family that grows much more than corn. For me, growing up was caring for and maintaining the family farm with my family. A family farm, much like sweet corn or even a garden, took time together, making precious memories, but that time together cultivated so many values. You learned that everything built or planted needed to be cared for, and that took working hard by everyone. Caring for what you have makes you responsible while also making you truly appreciate it all. Growing gratitude makes you appreciate having something to care for and for being able to care for it yourself. Being able to care for something yourself, you grow into a capable and dependable person. Working as a family made everything more achievable. There are always age-appropriate jobs. If you’re little, you’re still going to be sent to retrieve a water jug, if you’re older, you can handle a bucket of corn or sometimes in my case, rocks. Working side by side and, more often than not, sweating together, that builds deep family bonds, bonds that create roots. Those roots, they are a source of tradition. I love carrying on what my parents taught me with my own children.

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Fresh from the Hen House

Well, we survived the first day and a half of going back to school. It already felt a little trying, but I know we’ll find our rhythm soon enough. I’m just not a huge fan of the school routine—there’s no time for quality moments in the morning, and evenings seem to fly by. That’s why it’s so important to me to make the most of the time we have before bed. Thankfully, I’m blessed to be at home when the kids arrive.

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