Goat Love, Part 3: Learning to Milk

Read about our other Goat Love adventures here and here.

the musical fruit

I'm involved in a whirlwind romance. With beans. Dried beans, to be exact.

I always have jars of them in my kitchen. They look so pretty, all colour and texture, shape and size! But the other day, after a visit with a friend during which she gifted me with these charmingly (and aptly) named Orca beans,

I got those jars out and took a new look at them. I think what always put me off about dried beans is the planning and time involved in preparing them. It always just seemed easier to open a can.




But now all I can think about is beans. Growing them. Soaking them. Simmering them. Sprouting them. Making them into delicious things: dips, soups, or baked beans! In addition to being nutritious, delicious, and versatile, they're cheap AND easy to grow! I got my Terra Edibles catalogue in the mail yesterday and will definitely be checking out their bean selection for this summer's garden.

Beans take care of themselves in the garden. If you just leave them on their stalks, they'll dry right up; for good measure, you can uproot the whole plant once they've dried, and hang them in your barn or basement to finish drying. Then your kids can help unveil the little treasures inside the pods! Store them for eating, and save a few for next year...what could be easier (besides, ahem, opening a can)?

In the past week I've made Black Bean Cilantro Dip (from Jae Steele's Get It Ripe), Yellow Split Pea Soup (from Sarah Kramer's La Dolce Vegan), mung bean sprouts, and split pea and ham soup. Oh, and baked navy beans, too!

I find that soaking the beans overnight, then boiling for one to two hours softens them sufficiently for most recipes. In Feeding the Whole Family, Cynthia Lair recommends cooking your beans with a piece of the sea vegetable kombu. Sea vegetables aren't easy to come by in these parts, but apparently they soften the beans and reduce their flatulent effects!

That little handful of Orca beans made me feel like Jack must have when he bought the magic beans (before his mother berated him for his poor bargaining skills, of course).

Now I'm hooked on beans as I journey towards a healthier, more whole way of eating.

Felt Nesting Dolls

It's that time of year, just before Halloween, when one starts to think about Christmas. At least I do. I imagine most mothers are like me...as the days get shorter, our hands start to itch with wanting to make stuff. Usually, this time of year sees me busily crafting five times five little items to share with other mama friends, to create our beautiful Advent Sticks. This has been a beloved tradition for the past four years.

This year, we collectively decided that we're busy enough with work, housekeeping, the various animals in our care (dogs, cats, chickens, bees, horses, etc.), and our children's extra curriculars (hockey, stepdancing, piano, singing, etc.), and that maybe this year we could...well...ease off a bit.

This led us to decide that we'll each craft five items only, to share with one another at a gathering sometime before Christmas. We'll add in a bottle of wine (or three) to the gathering, and all will be merry!

I had already begun these little felt Russian Nesting Dolls (they don't really nest!), and have decided that these will be my gift to my dear friends in crafting, mothering, and everyday life. Traditionally, these dolls come in all varieties; I've seen nesting angels, and a nesting Farmer in the Dell set.

There's something so sweet and charming about the Peasant Mother style of Matryoshka, though, isn't there? Even the name sounds maternal. Our little circle of mamas is not comprised of blondes in kerchiefs, but the sentiment is the same.

The serene face, the healthy figure, the roses in the cheeks: these are mamas that have found their wisdom and peace in their roles.

They embrace the busyness of their lives, and know when to take a moment to rest.

They also have great fashion sense, and looked so sweet near this red bowl of eggs that I couldn't resist adding it as a prop to this photo shoot!

The pattern came from Better Homes and Garden's Holiday Crafts magazine, which I buy every year at the grocery store. It's well worth the cost; this year's edition contains many lovely felt projects, with wonderful patterns. I have a few others on the go and will share as I complete them.

Late Nights at the Homestead

We get the kids to bed, then call our neighbour and friend up the road. He arrives 10 minutes later on his bike, ukelele strapped to his back, trumpet case in hand.

A set list is scribbled out with a bit of a plan of how it's all gonna go down.

We try out harmonies, throw in some ukelele here,

some foot taps there.

We communicate through eye contact, raised eyebrows, humorous asides, and much laughter and high fiving when we find just the right harmony or get through a whole song without messing up.

I've taken on the roles of egg-shaker, as well as singer, guitarist, and reluctant mandolin player.

I'm sharing music after 20 years of being a solo act, right here in my own kitchen.

I'm loving every minute of it.

If you happen to be in the Eganville area this coming weekend, we'll be performing at the Bonnechere Museum on Saturday, August 6, from 11:00 am till noon. Spread the word!

Like the Fonz

It's all about keeping cool. Think Arthur Fonzarelli. We're eating cool, playing cool, dressing cool.

The dress code is casual: cotton shirts or dresses, or nothing at all. Bare feet, hair tied up.

Coffee is left in the pot to cool, then shaken with milk, sugar, and ice in a big Mason jar, to be sipped all morning.

On the menu: wraps, pasta salads, veggies and tortillas and dip, popcorn.

Oh, and watermelon. LOTS of watermelon (best eaten naked, to let the juice drip down your arms, onto your chest, pooling in your bellybutton).

Last evening our friends down the road called with an invitation to come over for a swim in their pool. My response? HELL, YES! The kids cooled off, the adults had a few cool beverages, and we all just felt so...

coooool.

Fairy Tea Party

While I profess to follow the KISS* rule of raising children, I somehow cannot resist the potential of a little girl's birthday party...the food! the decorations! the favours! the costumes! I usually start checking out sites for ideas a few months in advance, jotting down anything that grabs my fancy. I can't really credit any of these ideas to one specific site; they're kind of a reflection of what my mind does with a bit of inspiration!

*Keep It Simple, Stupid!

Wands, created in Northern Ontario from birch bark coloured with watercolour paint, glued on to sparkly fun foam; ribbons and sparkly hearts were added as embellishments, then the whole lot was attached to a sturdy twig with hot glue.

Invitations gently suggested that fairy wings be worn, and every guest complied with joy. Daddy entertained the guests with silly songs, including the faery hokey-pokey..."You put your left wing in, you put your left wing out..."

Fancy tea cups are a must for any tea party; if the Guest of Honour's name happens to be Violet, then a tablecloth adorned with violets are a nice touch!

Tiny toadstool hors d'oeuvres...made from pinching one end of a mini-marshmallow and inserting it into a raspberry. Following the note I left before rushing away for the weekend, my husband and his buddy sat up till 2:30 a.m. making these...

...and these: Faery Fruit Wands!

Strawberry cupcakes with buttercream icing, tinted pink, of course...decorated with fresh violets from the garden (of course!)...

Violet requested that mommy wear a "special dress".

Tinkerbell graced us with her presence.

Sweet girl, with pink nail polish (only for a four-year-old girl!)

A wooden play kitchen has been on our wish list for a few years, but there never seems to be the money for one...so I printed off a picture of one I liked from the internet, handed it to my hubby and his buddy (the one with the tools and the know-how!), and sent him off night after night to work on it. I'm so thrilled with what they managed to create without a pattern!

Violet was thrilled, too!

While I did the research and planning of this party, credit for its execution goes to my beautiful man, who so graciously takes on extra tasks when I'm looking like I might burn out...sends me off to the north, stays home alone for a weekend with the kids, doesn't freak out when he realises that I accidentally took the van keys with me (OOPS!), and loads the kids into his little Mazda instead to get groceries for the birthday. Violet felt like the most special little girl in the world for a day, and what more could anyone want on their birthday? My heart overflows.

The Harbinger of Spring

A few weeks (months?) ago, some dear friends gathered for what has become a seasonal tradition: an exchange of handmades, intended to grace our nature tables. We used to create Advent gifts for each other's children (and still do), but felt that the year between each exchange was too long for our creative souls. Now, every few months, we settle on a date to share our goods. The friendship of these women has been an ongoing blessing in my life.

Unfortunately, I missed our Spring exchange, because two out of my three children were ill with fevers and coughs and snotty noses. Still I sent along my contribution:

I could refer to her in no other way but as the Harbinger of Spring. Her knitted dress is a slightly adapted version of Christine Shreier's "Flower Child" dress, found in Living Crafts magazine (Spring 2008), made with Noro sock yarn. I didn't have the materials on hand to create a doll exactly like hers, so I improvised. I used a peg doll form for the body (the "neck" worked perfectly as a waist, and the "head" became her bosom!) I wired the bead head onto the peg body using a pipe cleaner. I love how she turned out! I didn't want to fuss with fabric-covered-bead hands, so I opted to sew her cuffs together, monk-like...then had to figure out what to tuck into her embrace.

What else? Pussy willows, of course. They were that perfect finishing touch. We giggled at how she kind of looked like someone you might see on the streets of Killaloe, the beautiful village where I teach and once lived...and where most of my friends still live. Her floppy hat protect her from the Spring sun, and her eyes are closed in bliss.

PS: We crafty mamas know in our hearts that these little exchanges aren't really for our kids...they're for us. We know that when our children are well past the age of being interested in peg gnomes, felted flowers, and toadstools, we'll pop on our bifocals to continue creating for each other's delight. I can picture us in our 70s, giggling with delight over cups of tea, gently holding our latest handmade treasure, and adding them to a mantelpiece piled precariously with the offerings of all the years past. This will be our legacy.

The Best Laid Plans of a Working Mother

If you read this post you'll recall the efforts I go to to ensure that we all get out the door in one piece on Monday mornings. Last night when we went to bed, lunches were made, clothes were laid out, and three pairs of rubber boots were lined up and ready for the little feet that would fill them in the morning.

Winter decided to have a last hurrah and the snow blowing outside this morning encouraged me to put my kids in their snowboots instead. We got out the laneway 45 minutes later than usual, after a harrowing search for Violet's snowboots. After a thirty minute drive, I pulled into town with ten minutes to spare. Margot complained that her tummy hurt. I said in a singsong voice, "We'll be there soon!"

Not soon enough, apparently. As I turned into the parking lot, Margot barfed. And then again. Jude stretched out of his seat to see (because what's more exciting than looking at barf, really?), I roared at him to sit down, and then my mind did that mother thing, where it fast-forwards through the issue at hand to all the reverberations, and simultaneously finds solutions with lightning speed and clarity.

I dropped Violet off, raced to school, got Jude into the classroom, made notes for the supply teacher, then realised that Robin wouldn't have space to bring both Jude and Violet home (as he drives three neighbour children to school every day). I picked up Violet, then arranged for a friend to pick Jude up after school. I've washed the barfy clothes, coat, and blankie, and fed them lunch.

Now Violet is complaining of a sore tummy.

Bowl at the ready, movie on, child wrapped in cosiest afghan on the couch, I am ready for Round 2.

Bring it on.

A Day for Women

Upon watching season one of Mad Men on DVD, one must pause to wonder: how did women (or anyone BUT white men) survive the early 60s? It would be funny if so much of it wasn't true: the sexism in the workplace, the stilted conversations between husband and wife, the husband chatting with the wife's psychiatrist after her appointment. No wonder the women chain smoked and had mai tais and mint juleps in their hands all day long (even while pregnant)...yikes!

My mother spent her career as a nurse, and she remembers how the (male) doctors were gods; they patted the nurses on the heads (and likely on their asses, too!) It's easy from our modern perspective to think that we would not have stood for such patronising behaviour. But if we'd been raised in a culture where sexism was just a given, we may have thought it was just the way things were.

Imagine most men's shock then, when the women's movement gathered force! They must have thought the world was falling down around them. What? You want MORE than to just hang up my hat and be a sexual plaything? Handing me a drink at the end of the day and putting up with my affairs isn't ENOUGH for you? What goals could YOU possibly have? (I am exaggerating: I know not ALL men treated their wives and secretaries/nurses like servants/playthings)...

Today we modern (Western) women can giggle at the bra burning and the slogans decrying marriage and motherhood, and complain about the fact that in some ways the women's movement backfired in that we still do a majority of the housework/childrearing while also, in many cases, being the main breadwinner of the family. We have all the rights of men, and all the same responsibilities and pressures that women have always had.

But today, we can talk about it. We don't have to always pretend that raising our children is the deepest joy of our lives when in reality they're driving us to the liquor cabinet. We don't have to eschew knitting and the "domestic arts" for fear that our "sisters" will deride us for being against "the cause". We can write about the complexities, wonders, and frustrations of our lives with honesty, and hear the support and common experiences of women across the globe.

Today, I thank those brave women who didn't just accept that a woman's ONLY place was in the kitchen or bedroom. I commend their vision and hope, the sacrifices they made to make our modern lives better. I also salute the women of today who are reclaiming the right to stay home and raise their kids, be loving spouses (in equal partnership), to knit and can and sew and create a welcoming home. I salute the women who haven't had children, who work in traditional women's careers and who work in "men's" jobs. All of our experiences have value, no matter what choices we make about how we live our lives.

Today is the 100th International Women's Day, and for most of the women in the world, the women's lib movement is just a distant whisper. Today, let's give thanks to the courageous women who came before us and fought for our freedom, and send a loving prayer to the women who are still fighting, or are too frightened for their (or their children's)safety to fight.

In our busy lives, it's hard to think about what we can do to help women around the world. For today, start small.

Hug your daughters, tell them you love them, and give thanks. Hug your sons, too (because in so many ways, the women's lib movement freed men as well). Call the women that have inspired you and supported you. Send a note to women who have mentored you and encouraged you. Gather with women and make a toast (with mai tais!) to those who marched before you.

And, as always, count your many blessings.

Two

Margot at a few weeks old.

My Sweet Margot Joy,

Today I reflect on the day of your birth, a cold, clear morning two years ago. I started labour at around midnight, and just breathed in the quiet dark, curled up against your dad's back, until I knew it was time to call my support team.

My midwife, Leslie, lived a good hour's drive away, and I remember my profound sense of gratitude at seeing the headlights sweeping across the wall as she drove up the lane way. We'd had it ploughed that day because we knew our time was near.

This was my third labour, so I knew what my habits were: I like to be left alone, with a wet cloth to press over my eyes through each contraction...no distractions, no music, no words of encouragement. I prayed that you would be born by morning, and once Leslie had checked me out, she assured me that I would, indeed, be holding you by sunrise! She just barely caught your sister Violet, so she too knew how things go with me in labour.

By very early morning, my Doula (your aunt!) Julie arrived; the atmosphere was peaceful and calm. This was my first nighttime labour, and I understood why most animals give birth at night. We called your Nanny, and your aunt Lana, to let them know they should head out soon if they wanted to be part of this birth. Aunt Lana took this photo of the homestead as they came up the road in the dawn light:

Wisps of smoke from the chimney, house warmed to welcome a new babe.

Once I got into the bathtub, it didn't take long to reach the "pushy" stage. Violet was awake by now, and watched from the bedroom door, secure in Nanny's arms. Jude was snoozing away, in spite of the noise and activity just below him.

Then, there was you...my beautiful dark-haired girl, so different from your siblings, but decidedly MINE. I asked over and over if everything was okay, and I wonder now about mother's intuition; it would be 7 weeks before we'd realise that your tiny heart was in trouble.

But on that early morning, there was just you, in bed with your mom and dad and sister, and soon your brother; he woke up minutes after your birth. That bed was all that existed for me that morning, full of the man I chose and the children we created together. The tree outside the window stood bare, its empty arms reaching up to the late-winter sky. But were my arms full? You betcha.

Papa arrived to meet his new grandchild, then appointed himself head chef, cooking a big country breakfast for the tired support team. The sun rose, brilliant in a clear sky, and although I'd been left upstairs to rest and nestle in, I was drawn downstairs by the smells of coffee and bacon, and the lively chatter that travelled up the stairs. I settled into the wing back chair beside the wood stove, and basked in that I-just-birthed-a-baby bliss.

Tired daddy.

The weeks that followed are a blur now, of attempting to nurse while small children climbed up for a story, trying to pump to keep my milk supply up, struggling to figure out why you weren't gaining weight, and the realisation that something was, indeed wrong.

I had to record you as a presence in this family; I feared you might not live through your surgery.

Margot at exactly age one.

My Margot. Now you are two. There was a time when I wasn't sure if you'd make it here, and today I feel more than the normal joy and gratitude at milestones reached. I suppose it will always be this way, that whisper of "what if..." that casts a brief shadow over my heart.

You are aptly named, my wee wrestler, early morning song-singer, book-lover, belly-laugher, and wordsmith. You love your knitted blanket, nursery rhymes, listening to CBC in the van, other babies, and your Nanny. Your blue eyes contain so much soul and intelligence, and your curls can melt hearts.

Your love came unexpectedly, and we are so grateful for this surprise of your presence; we accepted you with joy and are thankful every single day that you chose us to parent you.

Happy, happy birthday, my girl.

Love,
Mommy

Handmade Holiday: Wee Things

In anticipation of Advent, several friends and I create handmades to share: 5 friends, 5 items times 5. We all end up with 25 unique gifts for our children to open, one at a time, on each day leading up to Christmas. Tomorrow evening we will gather, wrap our offerings in brightly coloured tissue paper, and attach them to a big stick. I don't know why we tie them to a stick, but it's what we do. We call them Advent sticks!

A month ago when I started thinking about what to make, I actually thought I'd back out this year. Too busy, too tired, too stretched. But then I got into the spirit with a loving nudge from a friend, and here's what I came up with.

A pretty button sewn onto a circle of wool felt, then layered over graduatingly-larger circles makes a lovely (and thrifty!)  ornament

with a message stitched onto the back!

A flock of crocheted snowflakes, each one unique,

silvery,

and intricate.

And last, and possibly sweetest, a tiny bit of fairy work.

Here are the simple directions for this quick gift:

Using 0-2 mm needles, cast on 10 stitches using a fingering weight yarn.

Knit as many rows as you like; I like it to look a bit longer than a square. That would be a rectangle! Break off yarn, leaving a long enough tail to wind into a tiny ball.

Slip the stitches on to a toothpick, and push another toothpick carefully through the work.

To finish, weave in cast on end, glue small beads onto the ends of the "needles", and glue the little ball of yarn onto the front of the work.

You can attach a magnet or a pin or a hanging string, depending on how you want to use this. You can also glue it to the front of a card for your favourite knitter, OR mount it in a tiny frame!

I love wee things, don't you?