Dry Canning. Easy-Peasy.

When you buy dry stores in bulk (oats, lentils, barley, beans), you are sometimes left with storage problems:  creepy-crawlies in your oats...or no room in your freezer.

Black beans, brown lentils, oats, red lentils

I read an article a while back in Countryside Magazine (Sept/Oct 2011?) that described dry canning - and I couldn't believe how easy it was!

Basically, this is what I do:

Preheat the oven to 200 degrees F.

Take clean, dry quart or half-gallon canning jars and fill them with whatever I am canning.  Put them in a roasting pan, or other high-sided pan.  I do this strictly for ease of getting them in and out of the oven - you can also put them on a cookie sheet.  Once the oven has preheated, put the pan with open, filled jars (NO LIDS) into the oven and close the door.  Leave them in the oven for one hour.  Remove from the oven and, being very careful NOT to burn your fingers, wipe the jar rims quickly with a damp cloth and place clean, dry flats on top of the hot jars and screw on the rings.  Let the jars sit and cool.  As they cool, you may hear the telltale "ping" as they vacuum seal, depending on how quickly it works.  Test for a seal.  That is it.  If a jar does not seal, which happens on occasion, I put that jar to the front to use first.
This way, I can take advantage of a sale at the co-op of 25# of organic rolled oats!  Have I mentioned that I eat a lot of oats?  So far, I have dry canned oats, black beans and lentils.  According to the article, you can oven can:  flours, cornmeal, rice, beans, pasta, dried onions, oatmeal, box cereals, potato flakes, dried vegetables - even some nuts, such as almonds and pecans.  The trick is to make sure the food stuffs are dry (no more than 10% moisture) and do not contain a high level of oil, such as walnuts.  I would imagine that dry milk could be dry canned as well.

It is a great, frugal way of storing food for years.  Try it!

Monday Musings.

I am so glad that I have practical skills.  I have a heck of a time in winter with my hands, so I go through any number of combinations:  thermal gloves; silk glove liners with thermal gloves; mittens; thermal mittens - you name it, I've tried it.  The best combination seems to be silk glove liners (heavy version) with wool mittens.  So, I just whipped me up some nice, toasty wool mittens!  It also helps, of course, to have an embarrassingly large stash of yarn.



This is my 10th headband/ear warmer.  I'm addicted to cables thanks to Melanie.
It's actually a leaf green and the mittens are bittersweet-ish.  Go figure.

 While I was at it, I also whipped up a nifty little woolen sock for my iPhone.  With an equally nifty little front pocket for its new friend, Bluey.

Bluey is now safe from the Catz.

Wet wool always invokes my childhood in Ohio, right near the southern shore of Lake Erie.  We sure got winters!  We would be swaddled, bundled, wrapped, zipped and buckled into an array of woolen garments (yes, I was a child in the Stone Age before fleece...), then we would catapult out the door and play until we were blue-lipped, our mittens sodden, covering wet, wrinkled fingers - and we would still drag our feet toward home - after the appointed mother on our street gave the "Lunch!" call.  This was usually Mrs. S, as she had a voice that could reach Canada.  I swear we could have stayed out for days in the snow.

As I was schlepping through the slush and muck of our early January thaw yesterday (48 degrees!) trying to find patches of snow in order to pull my hay sled, I was thinking of creating the "Homesteader's Alphabet".  I was actually trying desperately to ignore the incessant clanging of the Guineas...  Here it is:

A is for Animal Husbandry - which you better learn fast
B is for Billy Goats - of which I am glad I ain't got any
C is for Carpentry - a skill which you will develop for better or for worse
D is for Dragging - your sled or your sorry butt out of bed
E is for Energy - you'll need A LOT
F is for Fun - harder to come by than you'd think
G is for Goats - small milking animals that unlatch any gate known to man/woman
H is for Horses - which I wish I had
I is for Ignorant - you may start out that way, but you'll learn fast...
J is for Joy - if this lifestyle doesn't bring it, it's not for you
K is for Kevetching - we don't blame you if you do
L is for Love - I love this lifestyle, no matter what and you better, too!
M is for Manure - learn to love it - you'll be dealing with it 24/7
N is for Numb - as are my fingers as I do chores in winter
O is for Optimism - a necessity in homesteading
P is for Perseverance - you'll need this in a truckload (see O)
Q is for Quiet - Those precious moments when the Guineas are mute
R is for Resilience - Another necessary ingredient (see O and P)
S is for Sleep - which you'll fondly remember
T is for Tired - your normal state of being
U is for Unglamorous - that would be your wardrobe
V is for Vivacity - you may have had it in high school, but 7 years of homesteading will take care of that
W is for Work - 'nuff said
X is for eXcellent food - okay, it's a stretch, but there's nothing like that which you raise yourself
Y is for Yodeling - just checking to see if you made it this far
Z is for Zen - mostly, my life is just that - a rythmn and connection that you can't find in most places.  My little piece of Heaven.  My Little Lucky Farm.

Monday Musings.

This whole business with Flora has made me realize that I have come such a long, long way from the beginning of my homesteading experience, a little over six years ago.  In my previous life, I had chickens, goats, a llama, and an alpaca.  But - for any problem/issue at all, I called the veterinary and they sent someone out.  I had cute rubber boots with flowers on them.  I wore little goatskin gloves and designer coveralls.  I had a full time job and a boyfriend.  I ate out at restaurants and had a clothing budget.  Then that particular dream turned nightmarish and ended.

When I moved to this little place, I put chickens in as soon as possible.  Then I moved through a series of good moves/bad moves (turkeys/quail/pigs/ducks/too many sheep).  I think that, when you've waited all your life for this kind of life, you can sort of lose your mind if you're not careful.  After a rough patch of hiccups, bumps and missteps, I am closing in on the right balance.  I learned quickly that you better take out a second mortgage if you're going to be calling the vet for every little thing.  Even for bigger things that you don't think you can handle on your own.  Thanks to good fortune, a benign Universe, pure luck, and a little divine intervention (just to cover all my bases), I ended up with friends who have been there/done that, and - most importantly of all, just down the road there is a knowledgeable, funny, smart neighbor (that would be you, Kay) who has helped fortify my self-confidence immeasurably.  I've also taken the time to read a lot and have developed a good animal husbandry library.  That beats running around, wringing your hands and looking for someone to save you any day.

Flora has been a handful.  A sweet, loving handful, but a tough nut, nonetheless.  After reveling in my celebration-ette of finishing the nine day penicillin treatment, I went out Thursday morning to find fluid building up under her jaw.  Again.  This time, I called the vet.  But, instead of making an appointment for a farm call (cha-CHING), I asked to speak to one of the vets.  I then went through the litany of symptoms, treatments, temperature, yadda-yadda.  We talked about cardiac problems, parasite problems, fluid build-up, quality and quantity of sheep droppings.  We talked raspy breathing and runny noses.  She prescribed two new medications, to be injected sub-cu every three days (hooray on both counts).  When I hung up the phone, I stood and emptied my pockets - hanky, reading glasses, empty syringe, notebook, pen, green tomato, and goat treat crumbles.

I still had to take a 5 minute shower, dress for work and drive an hour and a half to the vet's to pick up the meds, then an hour and a half to work.  But I believe I am getting close to arriving at where I want to be.

Dealing with the angst of being me.

I bet, if my mother had been a Famous Person when she had me, and if she had had any idea of the 'me' I would turn out to be, she would have named me Angst.  I have been worrying about the planet since the first Earth Day.  (I was a toddler.  Really.)  I worry about recycling - I can envision my trash on a landfill.  I hear sheep bleating in the middle of the night when there is none to be heard.  I read Joel Salatin and feel I must be just like him.  Visions of polar bears swimming in an endless search for ice floes pop up in my mind's eye.  I have to approach the cat litter aisle in my local pet mart with my eyes closed, so I don't see the cats and kittens up for adoption.  That can be painful in so many ways.

Some of my latest angst-driven moments have revolved around laundry detergent.  (It's sad, ain't it?)  I have been making my own since: a) it's cheaper; b) it creates less waste that must be recycled or, gasp, thrown out; c) I know exactly what is in it; and d) it is the thing to do if you are a true homesteader.  The problem is, the one ingredient that I have such a hard time finding is ... time.  Time to make it.  You can search every dang cupboard in my house and you will find no time.  No time in the pantry.  No time in the drawers or closets.  Yet, the weekend approaches and laundry looms.  Tired of losing sleep over the laundry soap dilemma, I took drastic action.  I ordered it online.  The good news?  I found a totally good, non-toxic, non-bad-for-the-environment detergent that is reasonably priced.  And, after opening the box and finding a compromised box seam which allowed a goodly amount of soap powder to scatter about the shipping box, the Seller agreed with my assessment that a plastic bag was in order (reusable, of course) and gave me a $5 credit for my trouble.

The bad news?  I envisioned my box and it's carbon footprint as it came lumbering to me.  And then I headed for the Merlot.

Preachin' to the Choir - Why it's good for your soul.

I ran across a glowing tribute to Joel Salatin's book, "Folks, this ain't normal" on a blog (and darned if I can  find it now - pipe up if it was you!) and thought that it was perfect timing for me to read something that spoke my language.  99% of the political speeches broadcast over the airwaves sure don't.  Many family members and some friends think I'm nuts to live like I do - and do the things that I do.  And since I've been feeling a little like the can that's kicked down the road lately (do kids kick cans anymore?), reading this book has been a tonic.

One of the (many) things I like and admire about Joel Salatin is his belief that it is a good thing to read opinions that are contrary to one's own.  I cannot agree more (although, I do draw the line at Rush Limbaugh).  And, while I don't agree with everything Joel Salatin does, I do agree with almost all of what he believes.  I can't recommend this book highly enough.  It's an eye-opener for those who don't fully grasp the true meaning of being environmentally 'friendly'.  And, in a way, it's a startling presentation of how far away we are from being sustainable, safe, and normal.

On the dust jacket, the New York Times (a paper I no longer read - it's gone off the deep end and the typos are atrocious) touts Joel Salatin as "The High Priest of the Pasture."  After shouting "Hallelujah!!!" after each chapter, I couldn't agree more.