lunch at the Laumann place. smashed potatoes

The Big Farm Book

My kids loved 'The Big Farm Book'. The pages are yellowed and the binding is held together with black electrical tape. When Aaron was still little, Annie found another copy, also used, pre-colored with crayons and vowels. Now I have backup.

What is the 'Big Farm Book'? It is a lovingly illustrated story of a "family farm" published back in 1976. In it, the Baxters get up at 4, eat a huge breakfast, raise all kinds of animals, go to 4-H, skate, can fruits and vegetables, attend the county fair, grow corn and raise hay. They are a multi-generation family. So far, so good.

Lots of us either grew up or raised our families with that scenario. One of the defining characteristics of farming is the idea and/or ideal of the family working together across the generations. The Big Farm Book contains some anachronisms; there is a barn raising, for instance and Mama cooks on a wood stove. I'm not sure what kind of equipment Grandpa Baxter is using to plant the corn and Ben wasn't very old before he picked up on that fact. But it isn't a paean to some kind of back to nature agriculture either; there is a two page spread showing the airplane taking off, spraying the 'protective chemicals' on the food crops, and the beetles keeling over and dying at the bottom of the page. I always appreciated the inclusion of pests into this idyllic existence. A short quote: "Yearly pest control is an important part of farming." Isn't that nice? Haven't we regressed from that sensible world view that acknowledged the battle with the elements and nature that characterizes agriculture? I always picture farmers as "wresting" a living from the earth, "wresting" close enough to "wrestling" to describe the struggle to create order, defeat weather, weeds, insects, disease, and triumphantly bring to market the stuffs humans need to survive.

Well, this is what bothers me about the current idealized vision of food production. I can't really get the job done with a hoe; shoot, I don't even do that in my own garden! I want my food warriors up there on those giant combines; I want to see piles of grain waiting for the rail cars. A giant concrete grain elevator at a terminal is as much an example of greatness and prosperity as a Chicago skyscraper. 

If we can't have a prosperous economy without cities, how can we have a healthy populace without so-called industrial agriculture? If we travel a hundred miles to heal our bodies at huge medical complexes instead of our local g.p. or outpatient clinic, why do we assume a fellow with a four row planter is somehow better than an eight row planter? Why are we so hung up over the idea of scale in agriculture when we accept it as a normal fact of economic life in nearly every other occupation? Why is technology a boogie man for food when it is a miracle worker for medicine? Honestly, most people don't understand the workings of the machinery and pharmaceuticals of medicine any more than the mechanics of hybrid seed and pesticides. Why then does food bear the burden?

I assume much of this boils down to the animal issue. I don't know if we farmers can ever convince those who equate animals and humans that we are ethical in our occupation. That chasm between farmers who raise animals for people to eat and those who consider that each individual animal a soul itself is insurmountable. A chicken is a chicken. Look into a chicken's eyes and there is nothing there. My grandchildren are people. They were individuals from birth. Nuff said.

A gentleman in an airport shuttle with us last month asked how we could get more farmers. He was speaking from the viewpoint of a small d Jeffersonian. We really unloaded on him, defending both our industry and scale. We aren't the tools of any company; we aren't even the pawns of the government. We are still very small businessmen in very small places with ties to our communities and our families. That's why we are farmers, not because we have mystic ties to the corn gods. We think its a good thing that our crops are bountiful and abundant and uniform. And that's why I still like to read 'The BIG Farm Book' to the kids.

when the leaves came down

On the way back from taking dinner to the field yesterday I got behind someone's old grain truck laboring up the hill, so I changed my route. Its one of the beauties and conveniences of a dry fall day that if one section road is clogged with harvest equipment, you just drive a mile in any direction and that road will be just as good. And probably scenic as well. That was the case this time. I came out just below the Center Grove cemetery with a view of the gravestones gently marching up the hill to the east, the grass still green and free of leaves. Leaves don't linger away from the shelter of town and, besides, Center Grove's trees are primarily wind beaten cedars.

The beauty and peace of Center Grove reminded me of the dignified and austere silence of Arlington National Cemetery. Whether seen from a distance or experienced on foot, the place requires the same silence and reverence as a cathedral. I feel the same burden of history, the collective memories of many souls and the realization of our own insignificant slice of time and experience. Each life here is small as well, but immortalized and magnified by its participation in the great events of our country. Arlington carries the additional poignancy of its origin as the home of Robert E. Lee. There is a recurring sense of irony in the view from the front porch of Washington, D.C. and the monuments of the Union he denied in his loyalty to a state and his people.

Aaron and his class donned paper hats colored with red, white and blue stripes and stars. The hats themselves looked rather Napoleonic, but why quibble. Kindergarteners know nothing of dictators. They stood up in front of the school assembly and sang a little song someone penned about Veteran's Day and set to the tune 'Danny Boy'. They waved their little flags as they sang to some of the Atchison county veterans seated in front of the students. Aaron was particularly excited to have a chance to salute. The superintendent gave a very nice personal talk about his experience growing up a military brat, reiterating the difference between the freedom to conduct our daily affairs in thoughtless safety and the very real possibility of violence in many other lands.

I grew up with the violence and unrest of the Vietnam era. Even in Jefferson City the students broke windows and set fires. Even though I was young, I did not understand the impetus to disparage the members of the armed services doing their duty. Those demonstrating, or rioting, were not in harm's way; not facing a real enemy. It was an ugly time. The knowledge of war and the necessity for war fills me with dread, but this time around, our country has responded to those who protect her with honor, pride and respect. The citizens who fight for America deserve all this and we are a better country when we yield them our gratitude.

Fall food for Thought

Fall Food for Thought

C'mon In!!

I just finished printing up my pretend menu for my pretend Thanksgiving dinner for tomorrow's home tour in Tarkio. The food would look pretty familiar....my original intention was to pick some fancy recipes with even fancier titles...after all, I wasn't really cooking these; it was all for appearance. But, as so often happens with my cooking ideas, time ran out and I resorted to the old familiar reliable foodstuffs, even for my pretend menu. My pretend menu is not just my wish list. After all, if that were the case, there would be prime rib and cranberry sauce and brown rice and any of Millie's rolls and asparagus and that great spinach salad that Ann and Matt make. And, in my pretend world, there would also be room in my stomach for both cherry pie AND pecan pie AND a small piece of that new fangled pumpkin dessert. Then, I would sit down with a tiny little very hot cup of espresso and rock and gather assorted sticky grandkids on my lap.

Well, enough of menu porn. I did include olives, lots of them, for all members of the family. And sweet potatoes for most. And green rice for a smaller number. And cornbread pudding for the kids. Truth be told, I think I could farm out this menu and each item would come back prepared just perfectly by the person who has the comparative advantage for that dish. And isn't that one of the jobs of the hostess? To make everyone look good?

I'm posting my pretend menu on the front table. The front room is ablaze with fall hues in primarily natural though non perishable materials. Annie brought a dozen or so fruit jars of cut mums in a myriad of flower forms. Now the front room has come to life with jars of real live flowers on the window sills.

And the beautiful feast table is also graced by a regal bouquet in the gigantic crystal compote. Nancy sent that along to class up the joint. People sitting at this table will undoubtedly speak in complete sentences about whatever erudite subject is introduced. That's the influence of a formal floral bouquet.

I am not usually a big candle person; given the superior capability of electric lights, a candle is mostly a worry to me (did I remember to blow them out, I ask myself in the middle of the sermon). However, the local Hobby Lobby had some pillars on sale that more resembled marble or some other exotic semi precious gem or metamorphic rock. And these are gracing the piano and mantle, stunning even if I don't light them.

I do wish someone was actually going to be using the third floor. I banished Blow Up Santa to the utility closet until his time arrives. I dusted and set up a card table with coasters and decks of cards ready for cut throat pitch games. For tamer but no less competitive fare, there is a scrabble game on the bar. I even put the seat back on the white bar stool!! The fridge is empty though and won't be stocked until a party breaks out upstairs.

Its taken more than a few lists to finish this tale. But I've enjoyed telling myself a tale of a full holiday house. In among the props are real live loaves of pumpkin and apple bread and harvest wrapped Dove chocolates. And, in Kenzie's gift bag, a nice bottle of red that we can break out at the end of the day, put our feet up, and toast all our visitors.