Diary of a Homesteader

DEER HUNTING

Thanksgiving conjures up thoughts of warm houses, pumpkin pie, and roast turkey on a table filled with family. But it also brings another thing to mind. A past-time ever older than the Pilgrims who held the first rendition of this holiday: hunting. Some might romanticize the Native American hunt and its ties to life and land, but hunting in our era is no less romantic. As soon as your sitting in the woods in the cold, surrounded by the elements, nature has control. You can't stop the wind from carrying your scent or make the deer run into your clearing, you just have to wait and watch while everything runs its course around you. Squirrels make a whole lot of noise and are rather careless about being heard while they hunt for their own winter food supply. Birds peck at seeds in the trees above. Geese move from field to cut corn field, flying in their classic 'V' formation overheard. And moving too much willed have the crows gossiping all over the woods about who's sitting under that tree down by the gully. You become a rather small part of the whole.

Though it was only recently that I decided to acquire my hunting license, I have enjoyed the bounty it brings whenever my husband gets a deer. It is not my intention to gross-out anyone who hates the idea of killing an animal or to enrage those who do not eat meat. Each gets to make their own choice and I hunt happily knowing that deer have lived quite free and exciting lives. They've fattened up on corn and soy beans (and lots of Ted's lettuce) then roamed through forest and field making sure they cross every road along the way, stopping in the middle to say hello whenever you are driving.

Deer can populate the countryside with as few as 5 to as many as 100 deer per square mile. Only 10-15% die due to hunting. See, nature has set up a way of balancing wildlife populations on its own through the harsh Northeast winters. Only a small portion of deer will have enough to eat over the winter months (creating a population threshold) and so a hunting season is offered just before the worst of the weather. In a sense, the meat that would go to waste is getting a chance to feed people. Most of the deer my husband and I have tucked into the freezer give us 75-100lbs of meat. It comes out to less than $1 per pound because we had to buy the liscence. Fortunately, for the weak of stomach, there are taxidermists who can cut and package the meat for you. And as for the often criticized taste of game meat, I promise that if you ate chili or tacos or stew at my house without knowing my deer hunting secret, you'd never know the difference.

Diary of a Homesteader

So for the Winter this year, I'm going to have a new blogging set up. The titles will let our faithful readers know what sorts of things are going on with Windflower and the crew. Since Daren will be traveling abroad to see Europe and work on various farms, his experiences will show under a designated title. My winter has not always been so lowkey, but this year I will be home to man the woodstove! Thus, my winter blogging: Diary of a Homesteader. Every time you see the title, you'll know what you're getting. Maybe the plight of wintering over chickens, deer hunting, and bottling homemade beer isn't interesting to you, then look for Daren's adventures in Ireland, Turkey, and France. Still, not enough to make you want to read? There will also be updates on the winter share at Windflower. Of course you can also let us know what you'd like to hear about by commenting here on the blog or emailing Victoria.

Last Day . . .

Another year gone by.

It's easy to begin thinking about all the things I'd like to do with my time over the winter, but it's also hard to take that last look at the empty fields. Every season I reap another set of memories from them. There were quiet mornings weeding at 6am when no one's coffee had kicked in yet, but we wanted to beat the coming summer heat. Aidan once played The Ants Go Marching on a blade of grass while we waited for a new load of plants to transplant. We sat in the shade and laughed. Daren and I revisited the old ways in Spring when Ted sent us to plant dozens of rows of potatoes by hand. In fact, I can look at any field and recite all the things that have happened there somewhere in the past.

This year's highlight was meeting many new friends in NYC. It has inspired me to want to know folks from other sites since Prospect Heights has hosted the crew two years now and it my main city contact. There are six others, some of whom I've met in passing at our harvest party, but would like to visit personally and bring a canning workshop to.

I could easily get carried away with thoughts. We grew the largest celeriac this year, but still argue that it's hardly a valuable achievement, I mean we don't get e-mails saying "send more celeriac!" It's a farmer-pride-thing. Big vegetables, straight rows, and weedless beds just mean that at the end of a day you can sit back with a cold Saranac and smile while the sun sets. There's no more to do.

And so there is no more to do. Winter will soon take over, and as soon as I've settled into my ways, the itch will come back and I'll be eager to return for a new season. Farming holds some power.

Night in Valhala

The sun began to set, the fires were lit, and our greenhouse-turned-meade hall suddenly filled with characters of every sort. Mugs of homemade brew were toted about in Jan's amazing theme of a Viking great hall. Everything from an Ent to executioner, cowboy and mosquito with vials of different blood-types arrived for the food and festivities. Thor himself made an appearance for the night, as he is a friend of Windflower. The white owl at his side was my favorite costume of the evening.

Oddly, most of the crew this season had some sort of brewing project happening in their home. Aaron and Adam made hard cider and meade, Daren brought some wild grape wine, and I had a few bottles of ale aging at home. I did manage to cork and prepare a bottle of apple wine for the party, needless to say, we had plenty to drink. It's hard to say why everyone suddenly had an interest in brewing. Either we were all really happy, a bunch of alcoholics, or depressed. (I was happy, for the record, and wanted to try something different. I'll blog about it later.)

Now, for pictures!