North Star Homestead Farms, LLC

The morning must rises thick and dense, up to the tops of the maples and pines that surround the pasture.  The early sunlight beams through in radiant shafts, catching floating mist particles on their way.  It clings to my hair and face and hands as I shrug on a jacket.  Last night was just a hair’s breadth away from our first frost.

We haven’t seen a hummingbird in several days, though we leave the half-drunk feeders out, just in case a straggler passes by.  Their flits and chirps have delighted folks who visit all summer, but now these wee little birds must make the long journey south towards a warmer winter.  The barren feeders remind us that we probably won’t see the hummers again until Memorial weekend, when they’ll come buzzing at the windows, announcing their return.

The Canada geese are beginning to flock, sometimes headed north, sometimes headed south.  Their calls ring through the morning air like sirens calling all to collect and follow.  Even the cranes make infrequent appearances in the fields, flying higher and higher in the sky.  They are preparing to leave.

In the garden, the catch-up game continues from our late spring season.  The second planting of green beans are finally ready to pick.  And the zucchini will keep on stubbornly producing until they freeze out.  The raspberries are finishes, and the blueberries are winding down.

In their place comes the early season apples.  Crabapples are already falling off the trees, and we pick and pick and pick—hauling them back to the kitchen by the boxfuls for making jelly.  What we don’t get now to process we’ll rake up later as a treat for the pigs.  What with fallen apples, oversized zucchinis, and more, it’s a happy time for the pigs, to say the least.  As soon as they see the farm’s golf cart pull up with bags and buckets, they start dancing around, spinning in circles and grunting with glee.  Just wait until the under-ripe squashes need a home!

Some of the eating apples are ready now too—Duchess, Melba, Transparent, and a few others go into baskets and boxes.  The first apple pie of the season is always a special treat, just like the first rhubarb custard pie in springtime.  Studies have shown that the human body naturally craves fruits and vegetables about two to three weeks before they are seasonally ready—encouraging us to keep close tabs on the garden, the meadow, or the woods so as not to miss the proper harvesting time.  No wonder these first apples taste so good!

Random, mist-laden clouds pass through the otherwise sunny day, sprinkling the sunflowers, zinnias, and cosmos in the garden with glistening droplets.  The mums are beginning to make tight buds, preparing for their autumnal bloom.  Marigolds sit pretty with their fiery yellows, oranges, and reds—matching the tips of a few maple branches I notice on the way in to town.

Some folks are warning that this could be a long, cold, and snowy winter.  But since I’ve moved up to Wisconsin’s Northwoods, someone has said that at some point going into each winter!  I guess all we can do is take what comes, harvesting and storing away the last of summer’s bounty as best we can.

It’s certainly jam-making time.  Enormous pots of deeply tinted black currants or choke cherries bubble on the stove or swirl round and round in our hand-cranked Foley Food Mill.  The oven is packed with glass Mason jars, while a second pot bubbles with lids and rings.  Don’t talk to Mom while she’s counting cups of sugar—you’re too distracting!  The recipe must be just right, or you’ll end up with a whole batch of chokecherry syrup instead.

While the chokecherries grow wild around the edges of the forest, we planted the black currants from cuttings given to us by a farming friend to the north in 2004.  Their first location became invaded by tag alders, so we moved the three survivors to the edge of our yard where they could still keep their feet wet near the creek.  Last year, there were plenty of fat robins and blue jays (guess where the berries went), but this year we hauled in our first jam-worthy crop!

Surely, three bushes shouldn’t take long to harvest, I thought.  But after pulling up branch after branch loaded with fat, black, juicy orbs, it soon became apparent that each one would take at least an hour to clean.  A few reinforcement pickers and six or so ice cream buckets later, the black currants were safely tucked in the fridge, ready for cleaning and cooking.  A distinctive, tart flavor, black currants will keep our toast topped with purple-black all winter.

Here is a treat of the season that may soon be harvested—spaghetti squash—along with a few compatriots.  Give it a try!

Spaghetti Squash Ratatouille

1 medium-sized spaghetti squash

1/4 cup white wine

1 small onion, diced

2-3 cloves garlic, minced

1 green pepper, diced

1 red pepper, diced

1 medium eggplant, peeled and cubed

1 zucchini, sliced

2 cans stewed tomatoes (or make your own!)

1 cup spaghetti sauce

Oregano, basil, and pepper to taste

Prepare and cook squash as you would any other type of winter squash (halve, remove seeds, place face-down in a pan of water and bake in the oven at 350 degrees for 45 minutes to an hour, until fork tender). 

Heat wine in a skillet.  Sauté onions and garlic in the wine for a few minutes.  Add both kinds of peppers and cook until tender.  Add zucchini, eggplant, and tomatoes, cooking until the mixture begins to thicken.  Add spaghetti sauce and stir together, then add oregano, basil, and pepper to taste.  Separate spaghetti squash strands with a fork and place in a large bowl.  Spoon sauce over the spaghetti squash strands and serve hot.  Enjoy!

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However it is you mark the changes towards fall, take some time this week to smell the crispness in the air, walk the mist in the morning, and enjoy the first of the foods of autumn.  This morning, a rainbow shown through the mist, right over our barn.  See you down on the farm sometime.

Laura Berlage is a co-owner of North Star Homestead Farms, LLC and Farmstead Creamery & Café. 715-462-3453 www.northstarhomestead.com

There’s no way around it, this week has been so hot and muggy you could just about cut the air with a knife.  Last night’s rainstorm was a blessed relief, but now the air is heavy and close like the tropics.  All the humans are doing their best to stay inside for the air conditioning and drink plenty of fluids.  But for the farm animals, escaping the heat really isn’t an option.

This is one of the reasons we order our meat chicks early—usually starting in April—so that butchering is pretty well over before August.  These fast-growing birds have extremely low tolerance for hot, muggy weather, especially as they grow to maturity.  Congestive heart failure, belied by purplish combs and wattles, can lead to an early demise.  This is especially heartbreaking after all the time and care than has gone into raising these birds, only to lose them in the last days due to heat stress.

Currently, my portable chicken tractors are filled with teenaged turkeys of varying sizes.  Tarps tied over the top of the tractors offer shade, and the water buckets are kept full.  The turkeys pant with beaks wide open and spread their wings to allow air to flow past their bodies, but the heat is bearable for them.  Shade, plenty of water, and access to a breeze is really the best farmer’s can do in this kind of weather.

I was giving a farm tour earlier this summer (on another hot day) to some folks who came from the cities.  The sheep were hiding from the heat in the barn, lying down to discourage biting insects from eating their legs (so they ate ours instead while we observed the sheep). 

“Why does that one have its mouth open?” one of the ladies with fluffy golden hair and wearing high-heeled sandals asked.  “It doesn’t look good.”

“Well, as you’ve probably noticed, it’s pretty hot out today.  The sheep is panting, like a dog, to help cool off.  Dogs and sheep don’t sweat, so panting is a way to evaporate water and release heat.”  At this point, in my sweat-drenched shirt, I was wishing that panting might work for me as well.  But the lady did not seem convinced that what is suitable behavior for her Golden Retriever might be equally applicable for the domestic ovine.  Perhaps she wanted to invite the whole flock of sheep into her air-conditioned new car?

Interestingly, pigs can’t sweat either—except for the very end of their snout.  That is why it’s important to leave them a waller or large mud puddle in their pen.  The pigs roll and flop or sink into the water so that only the very top of their back, head, and snout sticks out.  They stare at you from this position with their beady dark eyes like half-submerged barnyard alligators.  Sometimes they’ll even put their snout in the murky water and blow bubbles…because they can.

The ducks love water, all the time, but especially on hot days.  They clamor into the kiddie pools and dip and duck, letting beads of water slide down their backs, wagging their tails like a dog and flapping their white wings.  Water flies everywhere amidst raucous quacking and splashing.  Then someone gets spooked and they all climb out in a hurry, only to run back again with renewed glee. 

But even with a pool full of water, ducks are dependent on having shade, so I keep them in amongst the pine trees by the farmhouse or beneath the spreading apples by the garage.  They lounge beneath the trunks, tongues sticking out as they pant, waiting for evening.  The ducks, like most of the animals on the farm, consume very little feed during the hottest part of the day.  They snarf down a bit in the morning, then wait until the coolness of evening for supper.  The rest of the day is consumed with doing anything to keep from overheating.

That’s our goal as well, as farmers, while doing chores and other necessary outdoor activities.  But sometimes you just plain old get stuck butchering chickens, making hay, or harvesting in the heat because it has to be done.  Thank goodness for a cold glass of water and a chilly basement to retreat to at the end of those projects.  The dogs agree—they happily stay there most of the day!

Spells of steamy-hot weather are a blessing and a curse for the garden.  On the one hand, sensitive crops such as lettuce, spinach, or peas have very little tolerance for high heat and humidity.  Those lovely heads of romaine, which you thought were just about ready for picking, suddenly sprout forth tall green spires from their core.  Known as “bolting,” the lettuce is doing its very best to flower and make seed (instead of grace your table for dinner), and the seed stalks can grow as high as me!

On the other hand, there are many garden crops that love—no need—these hot and sticky days.  Zucchinis love it, doubling in size so quickly it seems that you could watch them grow.  Eggplants, peppers, tomatoes, and winter squashes also thrive in the tropical environment.  Our 150 tomato plants in the high tunnel on the north end of our garden are producing boxes and boxes of red, pink, and yellow heirloom tomatoes.  Every time I turn around, it seems that something needs harvesting again!

Still feel that you are melting from the heat?  Here is a traditional English recipe for lemonade that might help you recover.

Summertime Lemonade

3 unwaxed lemons

1/3 cup sugar (or ¼ cup honey)

2 ½ cups water

Ice cubes

Sprig of fresh mint

Chop the whole lemons and puree in a food processor with the sugar until the mixture becomes a fairly fine pulp.  The processing helps pull the oils from the lemon for enhanced flavor.  Place pulp mixture in a glass jar and stir in the water.  Refrigerate overnight before use.  Serve in a pitcher with ice cubes, steeped with a sprig of fresh mint.  Enjoy!

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However it is that you try to keep cool on these hot summer days, remember that the folks out there raising your food are doing their best to keep everything going, despite the heat.  Personally, I’m looking forward to autumn, but it looks like it’s going to be another hot one today.  See you down on the farm sometime.

Laura Berlage is a co-owner of North Star Homestead Farms, LLC and Farmstead Creamery & Café. 715-462-3453 www.northstarhomestead.com

It’s been about a month now of “too much of a good thing”—clear blue skies with a few puffy little clouds, a gentle or blustery breeze, and no rain to spoil your canoe trip or picnic with friends.  While all these sunny days have been great for the seasonal visitors, it’s getting to the point of desperation for the local farmers.

There are plenty of perks to farming sandy soils.  During wet times, the excess water drains easily.  Combined with rich organic matter, the soils has loft, breathability, and is worked easily.  But when things turn dry, sandy soils dry right up with it.  One day’s pleasant rain can simply be gone by the next with a beaming sun and a brisk south wind.  Without plenty of mulch or good leaf cover, the soil will soon be frightfully dry a LONG ways down.

This is why sand-loving plants and trees develop penetrating tap roots so that dry times are not nearly as stressful for them.  But a towering pine tree certainly has more means of surviving a drought without assistance than a little eggplant could ever hope to accomplish.  Pathetic, drooping or wilted leaves are sure signs that the sun and the wind are gaining the upper hand in the garden.

It used to be that irrigating the garden wasn’t much of a concern in the Northwoods.  Before our trio moved to the farm full-time, Grandma would plant winter squashes and a few other odds and ends in the modest garden behind the farmhouse.  The hearty seedlings received only sporadic attention until it was time for harvest.  Somehow, they made it through the hot and sometimes dry August stretch on their own.

This was the way of things for the first two years when we began the lengthy task of revitalizing the homestead.  Sprinkle a bit with the watering can to get the little plants going, and there was no need to irrigate.  It would rain, quite consistently, every third day.  The clouds would build up, a gently shower would ensue during the afternoon, and then the leaves would pata-drip with a musical lilt into the evening.  Sometimes the rains slipped through during the night, leaving the soil damp, soft, and fragrant by morning.

Then, on the third year, the drought started.  Perhaps you didn’t hear about it because it was quite regional and didn’t affect the corn and soy growing regions further downstate.  But we felt it here.  Eight years of it.

Each year, the drought started earlier.  The first year, it really hit in August.  The second year, it started in July.  By the peak, things were already getting dry in April or May and staying that way.  Water tables dropped.  Many folks we knew who lived on the lakes nearby had their shallower wells run dry, which meant the inconvenience of having to haul in water and do ones laundry in town.  But the thought of having the well run dry at the farm, with all the needs for the animals, was a terrifying and very present thought.

Eight years of drought trains you well, as a sustainably-minded farmer.  Soon we had a fleet of rain barrels under each eave, to catch what little bit of rain did fall.  We knew that irrigating the garden to keep the crops alive and producing was imperative, but we wanted to be as responsible about it as possible.

Instead of relying on our well, which was already held in demand for the animals and personal needs, we added a sand point near the garden that draws water from a higher table that is part of the wetlands bordering the east end of the farm.  While this water is not suitable for drinking, it is actually much better for the garden than well water.  Nutrient rich and not as cold, the water from the sand point has proved an extremely important part of the garden’s success.

Overhead sprinklers that shoot sprays of water across the garden are fraught with sustainability problems.  Most of the blue gold is lost to evaporation before it even gets to the grounds, and more is lost from evaporating off the plant surfaces that it coats.  Too much watering on leaves that are then stressed by bright sun at the same time leads to mildew infestations, tip burn, and other health problems for plants.  If plants begin to suffer from these ailments, they are more susceptible to attacks by insects or funguses.  In effect, top watering can cause more harm than good for your garden.

The best place to put irrigation water during hot, dry, windy periods is right where the plants need it—in the ground, just under the surface.  We were able to do this by burying lines of soaker hose irrigation (a product made from recycled tires); a somewhat awkward assembly of pressure reducer, anti-backflow valve, water filter, and hose Ts; and a Medusa-esque array of garden hoses.  With two lengths of soaker hose in each wide raised bed, we can move the irrigation system around within the garden to water specific rows as needed.  Fruiting vegetables like tomatoes, eggplants, peppers, cucumbers, or zucchinis (which require a higher use of water in order to produce crop) can receive more frequent irrigation attention than slower-forming carrots or onions.

But even with the most sustainably-oriented irrigation system, nothing compares to a good, steady, soaker of a rainy day.  We need such a day now—or two or three or four.  Just tonight, as I was digging potatoes, the soil just crumbled into dust, some of it blowing away in the wind.  The pasture is hard—baked dry by the sun—and the grass refuses to grow.  No grass means we’re scrambling to find places for the sheep to graze.  And no grass also means likely no second-crop hay to help us get through the winter for feeding the sheep.  With everyone else in the area also feeling the effects of the dry weather, there won’t be much hay to purchase from other folks either.

While the long-range forecast for this week is hardly hopeful, I am still wishing for rain—for our farm, for the forest, for the lakes, for the water table, for us all.  What are your most memorable rain stories?  What are the dry stories?  Take some time to share them with someone this week.  Either way, it can be too much of a good thing…or not enough.  See you down on the farm sometime.

Laura Berlage is a co-owner of North Star Homestead Farms, LLC and Farmstead Creamery & Café. 715-462-3453 www.northstarhomestead.com