Diary of a Dairy Queen

Radical Change

noreply@blogger.com (Alison) — Wed, 20 Jan 2016 18:51:00 +0000

Here's some exciting news: Glamour Magazine published my story of radical life change in the Feb. 2016 issue.

We were taking a much-needed break from farm life on sunny Sanibel Island, when out of the blue I received an email asking if I'd share my story with Glamour readers. Wow! Yes, of course!

Over the past few years, I've had many interesting opportunities to share my story, from being a guest on my favorite radio program, to a feature in my alumnae magazine, to a story in Fast Company. Everyone loves a happy ending, and I think a lot of people fantasize about dropping out and starting over and making a radical change, so it resonates. It doesn't hurt, of course, that I married a farmer. I am fairly certain the story would be a lot less compelling if Ransom were an accountant.

What I find most ironic is that I spent an entire decade trying to be a fancy person who did interesting things, on purpose. I felt a lot of pressure, particularly when I worked in advertising, to be edgy and unique. It was a lot of work, but didn't amount to much. And then, of course, I grew exhausted, dropped out, and moved to the country, just because I wanted to. Then all of a sudden, I had something interesting to say.

Hello, September

noreply@blogger.com (Alison) — Mon, 15 Sep 2014 13:00:00 +0000

Lighter Days

noreply@blogger.com (Alison) — Mon, 16 Jun 2014 21:28:00 +0000

Summer is easy.

After months of trying to strike a truce with the weather, summer shows up like a long-lost friend, ready to gab, share a few belly laughs, and guzzle sangria.

I think to myself, “aha, winter! I was right. It’s not me, it’s you.”

Grouchy curmudgeon.

But why dwell on it, when there’s so much to do?

There are weeds to pull, and berries to pick, and endless brown bag lunches to pack for the fellas, who take their meals in their tractors, out in the fields, while haying.

There are hundreds of tiny greenhouse babies, ready to graduate to freshly fluffed flower beds.

There are holes to dig, rocks to move, and plenty of piles to rake.

It’s work that doesn’t feel like it.

My knees and nails are filthy. My mind is calm. My clothes fit better because I’m getting things done, not just sweating for the sake of it. The pulleys and conveyor belts and move-in-place devices at the gym suddenly strike me as sort of laughable.

This same body that fights with the alarm clock all winter long bounds out of bed of its own accord, when light fills the bedroom at dawn.

Hours fly by, under sunny blue skies, as I happily plod along, hoe in hand. (Look out earth worms, I’m not slowing down for anybody.)

In the evenings, sticky and soiled, we jump in the pick-up and head to the lake. There’s a bar of soap on the dock to help wash the dirt off.

Not that I mind it.

This time of year, I am lighter in every way.

Skating through the dark

noreply@blogger.com (Alison) — Wed, 08 Jan 2014 15:37:00 +0000

Every autumn, as I watch my gardens, technicolor and elastic in summer, stiffen and brown, I ask myself the same question. Winter in Vermont: how do we do it?

Then, muscle-memory kicks in. I find myself standing over the stove, experimenting with soups and sauces, listening to my favorite public radio programs on the old Panasonic. I find myself digging in storage spaces, bagging up cast-offs for Goodwill. I find myself at potlucks, and skating parties, or curled up on the couch, watching Downton Abbey, with fingers crossed. (We do not have cable...so I need the luck...will the tinfoil attached to the curtain-rod hold the signal so I can find out what happens to Mary?)

I am scalier, plumper, and generally chapped. I am cursing under my breath, as I chip ice off the locks on the chicken coop. I am peeling splinters out of my gloves, after trips to the woodshed to fill the stove. It's very dark, but the night sky is often brilliant and clear.

When we are lucky, it stays cold and predictable. Brief bursts of warmth do little to cheer us, but do quickly melt the blanket of snow covering the vast farms fields. These snow covered fields are where my senses wake back up. I strap on my skis, and skate across the white expanse, racing against myself. Cold air fills my lungs, and the tips of my ponytail freeze. I feel smooth and slippery against the unyeilding everyday.

Some nights, after dinner, I go for a ski. Lighted by my headlamp, I tread across the open fields. Poles, skis. Poles, skis. 1, 2. 1, 2. Faster and faster, until my wool layers feel too warm. My headlamp makes a tunnel of light in front of me. The beam stretches out for about fifteen feet, then drops off in the blackness. My eye focus on the small, bright patch of snow in front of me.

What is beyond that? I'll know when I get there. Faster and faster. 1, 2. 1, 2...wind whipping my cheeks, breathing deeply, into the unknown.

Let's keep in touch...

noreply@blogger.com (Alison) — Tue, 24 Dec 2013 19:15:00 +0000

So much has changed in the world of social media since I started this blog four years ago. The point back then was to keep up with friends and family from afar. But the technology tides have turned, and the blog has been mostly back-burnered in favor of newer, more accessible platforms. I still check in here from time to time, but for more regular updates, out-takes, and scenes from the farm, follow me on Instagram @alisonkosakowski or twitter @vtfarmgirl (I picked that twitter handle several years ago, when "girl" felt more appropos. Alas, I've already aged out of my handle...) Thanks to all who've supported me during my "rural transition." It continues to be a surprising journey! See you on the Internet. -Alison

Merry Christmas from Vermont!

noreply@blogger.com (Alison) — Tue, 24 Dec 2013 18:58:00 +0000

Hope your holidays go over easy, and your New Year stays sunny-side-up!
-Alison

Poison Parsnip

noreply@blogger.com (Alison) — Fri, 31 May 2013 11:16:00 +0000

Friends, I interrupt this blogging hiatus to share a very important public service announcement.
BEWARE OF POISON PARSNIP!

Over the weekend, during a leisurely evening walk, I absent-mindedly picked a bouquet of a yellow field flower that was vaguely familiar.

"How pretty!" I thought to myself. "What are these called again?" I wondered aloud.

As I think back on the moment, it all went down in slow-mo.

"POOOOOOOYZZZZZON PAAAAAARSNIIIIIIIIP!" my husband bellowed, as I dropped the flowers in horror. How could I forget?

If I were a superhero, cursed with an ironic, but potentially career-ending vulnerability, this might have been the end of the line for me: a gardening crusader, brought to her knees by seemingly innocent, irresistible wild flowers. Poison parsnip could be my kryptonite. I've had incidental exposure to the plant before and experienced blisters and subsequent scarring. In this case, I'd been exposed massively.

What next ensued was a frantic rush to mitigate the impact, which involved a mostly fruitless Google search for:
"poison parsnip exposure"
"what to do if you pick poison parsnip"
"stopping poison parsnip blisters before they start"
"omg I am such an idiot there goes my summer what do I do now?" AND "poison parsnip"

Thirty-six hours later, I am still blister free, thanks to some smart advice from a friend who also happens to be a botanist. Here's what worked for me:
(I am not medically trained - use your own judgement and seek expert medical advice!)

What to do if you are exposed to poison parsnip
1) Wash exposed areas immediately. Don't waste time. Get indoors, and wash thoroughly.

2) Get out of the sun. Poison parsnip causes phytophotodermatitis, a big word for "a condition wherein your skin's chemistry is temporarily altered, due to exposure to certain plants, rendering it more vulnerable to UV rays." The plant itself does not cause the blisters, but instead makes you more susceptible to the sun. The burns and blisters that accompany poison parsnip exposure are actually acute sunburn on the compromised skin that came in contact with the plant.

3) Stay out of the sun. Channel your inner vampire, and stay out of the sun for at least 24 hours. Even minimal sun exposure can cause serious harm. Draw the curtains, cover all impacted areas (I wore gloves), and stay inside. Read a book, watch a movie, but whatever you do, avoid the sun, especially in cases of extreme exposure.

4) Consult a doctor. If you begin to react, call your doctor.

5) Moisturize. If you are lucky enough to avoid blisters or a rash, be sure to moisturize. Your skin will be stiff and dry in the impacted areas.

6) Treat the burns. If you do experience burns and blisters, cold compresses and aloe can help. Consult your doctor.

By following the steps above, I came through this situation blister-free. Summer is saved, and I can get back to the business of tending to the kinder, gentler flowers in my garden.

Be Merry!

noreply@blogger.com (Alison) — Tue, 25 Dec 2012 17:09:00 +0000

Happy Holidays, to you and yours, from Riverside Farms in Richmond, Vermont!

Lookin' for Love

noreply@blogger.com (Alison) — Tue, 02 Oct 2012 10:30:00 +0000

I just had to share this awesome video from Farmrun about finding love in unexpected places. Here's to "getting creative" in the search for a soul mate...

Read more about "Weed Dating" on grist.org

Ladies on the move

noreply@blogger.com (Alison) — Mon, 17 Sep 2012 20:57:00 +0000

These gals come when I call them. Pretty nice, right? I just have to convince the cow at the front of the pack to follow me, and the rest are right behind. That's how herd animals work (and high schoolers, too, if I recall.)

Summertime is vacation time for dry (non-lactating...funny term, right?) cows. They spend their days in the pasture, staring blankly at the tourists who pull over on the side of the road to snap their photos. Soon, the weather will get cold and we'll bring them back to the warm barn for the winter. People always comment on how lovely they look outside, but in truth, they are very happy to be in-doors. Still, there's no denying their stark black and white spots look postcard pretty against the deep green pasture backdrop. I will miss watching them through the window as I type at my desk.

As summer concludes...

noreply@blogger.com (Alison) — Sat, 08 Sep 2012 20:06:00 +0000

My up-close view of this lovely monarch was bittersweet. Summer is winding down, and she'd grown too weary to flee my curiosity. I found her tired and limp in the driveway. I lifted her gently with my fingertip, and placed her on this plush pink zinnia to rest. Her time is near.

There's a rhythm to the seasons and a plan for all living creatures. Sometimes we just have to let go and trust things will be ok.

Summer on the shore of Lake Iroquois

noreply@blogger.com (Alison) — Fri, 07 Sep 2012 19:46:00 +0000

Fish nibble our toes as we float in our tubes

Laughing, yelling, swigging off beer cans

Women are fussing over pasta salads

Men prod a leaking pipe on the back porch, offering theories

“We’ll fix it tomorrow.”

A bare-bottomed bandit, who’s escaped his mother

Jiggles victoriously as he flees a fresh diaper

photo by Shem Roose

“It won’t be long until we get him on water-skis”

A proud grandpa assures an unconvinced uncle

We talk about baseball, and weddings, and sweet corn varieties

But not about bosses, or bank accounts, or chemotherapy

This is how summer comes, and this is how summer goes
One day blurring happily into the next

Sun burned and sleepy

We settle in by the campfire

As the sun slips behind the pine trees

At the foot of the western shore

Slightly older, significantly wiser

noreply@blogger.com (Alison) — Mon, 27 Aug 2012 22:44:00 +0000

Like many Americans, I was deeply saddened by the death of Nora Ephron. With humor and heart, she brought relatable women to the silver screen, a welcome relief from the feckless feminine tropes favored by Hollywood.

But I must admit a disproportionate degree of my sorrow came from an unsavory source--a line buried deep within her obituary. My vanity was stirred by the vague and unwelcome recognition that I am moving into a new phase.

“Oh, how I regret not having worn a bikini for the entire year I was twenty-six. If anyone young is reading this, go, right this minute, put on a bikini, and don't take it off until you're thirty-four.”

― Nora Ephron, I Feel Bad About My Neck: And Other Thoughts on Being a Woman

Today is my 34th birthday. From Nora’s lips to God’s ears, I’ve crossed the threshold.

For quite some time, my hairdresser has been hinting it’s time for a shorter, more age-appropriate bob. “Ma’am's” outnumber “misses” 5:1 when strangers address me. And when the teenage cashier calls the higher-ups to check my ID at the liquor store, the manager takes a one look at my burgeoning crow’s feet and sensible shoes and waves me through, from across the store. No need to get up and take a closer look.

My age has snuck up on me in subtle, peevish ways. My skin still breaks out like it did when I was a teenager, but I need to keep a much closer eye on the topography of my moles. An acquaintance recently inquired about my new spider tattoo – turns out it was just a vein. And body parts just don’t spring back into place the way they used to…more sag and sway than bounce, that’s for sure.

Now, I know some will read this post with a glib smile and think, “HA! 34? Nice try, honey. Wait until you are 40!” or “52!” or “68 years, four months, six weeks, and two days!”

I get it. I’ve got a long road ahead of me – thankfully so! And just as the sixth grade version of me rolled my eyes at the naive fifth graders who complained of too much homework and shouted back “just WAIT til next year!” I know someday I will look back and laugh at the lamenting 34 year old me, who had no idea of the damage to come. The more mature me will assert that she’d gladly face down varicose veins and simultaneous acne in exchange for whatever phase of the aging process I am experiencing at that very moment. I know it.

In truth, I am enjoying the aging process -- perhaps not the all physical signs, but the emotional benefits are great. This post exemplifies the best of older me. The midriff baring (good God, what was I thinking?) me of yesteryear wouldn’t dare write in public. What will people think? Too much risk. Potential embarrassment. Inappropriate! But the older me just ~~doesn’t care a lick.~~ ~~doesn’t give a crap.~~ doesn't give a SHIT! (I know it's ill-advised to swear on the Internet, but just look! I am doing it, anyway, just to make a very bold point! Look out, world. I'm for real now.) I am finding a voice, at last. Before you know it, I'll be that opinionated Granny in Glaucoma glasses from the Hallmark cards, telling it like it is.

Today I turned 34. I'm no longer dabbling in my 30's, I'm fully immersed. I’m not yet a bona fide oldster, but certainly not a “girl” anymore. Women don’t have a comfortable word like “guy” to bridge the vast crevasse between “girl” and “woman,” like men and boys do. Likewise, there are few female role models in the middle, between Taylor Swift and Meryl Streep. I’ve been resisting the latter, but the former just feels silly. Why has it been so hard for a feminist like me to call myself a "woman?" There's a gravitas to the word "woman" that I've resisted, in favor of flimsy, cutesie alternatives like "chick," or "gal." This is silly, and contradicts my values and beliefs. So what's the hold up? Confidence, I guess. It’s time to make the leap and embrace that title as my own! (Now I need to figure out a new Twitter name...it's currently @vtfarmgirl)

I am a happy, confident, 34 year old woman today. Happy birthday, happy coming-of-age to me, and to all the women out there who are traversing the great divide to womanhood. Lingering pimples, emerging wrinkles, mandatory mammograms...bring it on! I'm ready for all of it. It's a beautiful thing.

Letters from Strangers

noreply@blogger.com (Alison) — Mon, 30 Jul 2012 22:49:00 +0000

A few weeks ago, I was interviewed for one of my favorite radio programs, The Story with Dick Gordon. It was very exciting to be part of a show I enjoy and admire so much!

After the program aired, something really surprising happened. I started getting emails, LOTS OF EMAILS! People from all over the country wrote to me to tell me what they thought of my interview.

I heard from truck drivers, professional gamblers, stay-at-home moms, and many, many corporate folks who said they dreamed of escaping their cubicles. I heard from people who were happily married, and people who were unhappily married, and those still hoping to meet someone.

The family of one of Ransom's old girlfriends even wrote to me saying they agreed he was a great catch, and wished they could have kept him instead of their niece! What can I say?* He's a keeper.

Some people wrote to share stories of visiting Vermont, others confided they had always wanted to try farming. Nearly everyone expressed their desire to live a simpler way of life. Nearly everyone talked about the chances they wanted to take, but were hesitant.

It was amazing and completely humbling to realize how many people were listening.

A few of the messages brought me to tears. For instance...

After having a brain aneurism and stroke a year ago i had to quit working a 30 year career. I have had a lot of time to read, think, listen, to what life is all about. I heard your interview on NPR today. I'm pretty sure it was "for a reason". Your courage to say yes to what was asked of you and go against what others thought would be best for you, tells me i can listen more closely to what my heart and God is tying to tell me. You have given me a reassuring hope and insight on how we are part of a plan that we don't know and a higher power has control of.

Wow.

It has taken me five weeks, but I have now written everyone back (except for a few who wrote anonymously).**

The experience has taught me how important it is to share our stories. There was a time when I faced some really unhappy circumstances and felt very lonely and overwhelmed. I turned inward and cut myself off. It wasn't until I started opening up to the world around me that things changed for the better.

When I started this blog, I was afraid it was self-indulgent and silly, but I did it any way. We spend too much time in our lives censoring ourselves, isolating ourselves.*** I've come around to the opinion that life is too short to keep everything inside.

You might as well tell your story.

Footnotes:
* Don't get any big ideas, Auntie, I do not share.

**As I read these emails late at night, at my computer, wearing my favorite yoga pants with the disintegrated elastic waist, I felt truly unworthy.

***this does NOT apply to those awkward self-portraits some people take of themselves with their cell phones while posing sexy in their bathroom mirror. In that case, please continue to censor yourself. No one wants to see you making kissy faces, standing in front of your dirty toilet.

Red, White, & MOO!

noreply@blogger.com (Alison) — Fri, 13 Jul 2012 01:02:00 +0000

July 4th is the anniversary of our nation's Independence, but here at Riverside Farms it will also forever be known as the day the Conants took home the grand prize in the Richmond town parade.

Getting ready to head into town -- before the Conant clan boarded

Now, I was never really into the crepe-paper insanity of spirit week back in high school, and if I had the opportunity to sneak out of a pep rally, I'd gladly take it. Frankly, I was never much of a joiner.

But that mentality just doesn't cut it here on the farm, and in my new role as a bona fide farmer's wife I decided I needed a radical attitude make-over, crepe-paper included. Which is why I decided we'd be entering a float in the July 4th parade this year.

At first RM was very reluctant! "Too much work to do! No time to build a float!" But that didn't stop me, and frankly his resistance didn't persist very long. Soon he was charging forward on construction and every one was joining in -- his sisters, brother-in-laws, cousins, and Ryan and Melissa, part of our farm staff.

Melissa and Liberty

The star of our float was a real-life calf we named Liberty, and a costumed cousin named Greg who danced around (and frankly, nearly died of heat stroke) inside a giant cow outfit. My vintage 1974 tractor pulled the float, and our classic Case followed behind. Some lovely dairy maids and their men handed out goodies to the crowd. RM wore a "barrel" of cheese (I wish I had a better photo!) and the little boys and I dressed in overalls.

Our friends at Cabot Cheese and Keep Local Farms donated some fun giveaways. Thanks to their generosity, we were able to toss yummy cheese and funky cow bracelets to the crowd. Parade go-ers of all ages eagerly snatched up the giveaways.

Greg: smiling on the outside, sweating on the inside!

When the parade was over, we all headed to the lake to cool off and hoped for the best. Around 3pm, as I floated in a giant pink inner tube, someone yelled out to me that the parade judges had called.

"We won first place!"

Was it the free cheese, the cow costume, the calf, or the fact that we told the judges we'd donate the proceeds back to the parade fund that ultimately sealed our victory? Perhaps we'll never know for sure. What I do know is, if you thought this year's float was good, Richmond, look out! The Riverside Farms parade committee has big plans for next year!

"Perfect" is the only word

noreply@blogger.com (Alison) — Tue, 19 Jun 2012 23:23:00 +0000

Candid shot by Shem Roose

It's risky to call a day "perfect," but I can't think of any other word to describe our wedding day. The sun was shining, an easy breeze was blowing across the lake, and our closest friends and family members surrounded us with love and support. It was amazing.

It was a really personal, intimate wedding. We invited just a handful of our oldest, closest friends to the ceremony, along with our parents, my grandmother, and our siblings and their partners. RM's best friends played our wedding music, and some close family friends cooked us dinner. A good friend shot some photos. My new sister-in-law made my bouquet and the centerpieces.

Flowers by Gilly Rohlin, photo by Shem Roose

At dusk, some more friends and family members sailed across the lake by boat to join us for cocktails. And there were a few surprises -- a family friend, stationed on a raft out on the lake, played us a trumpet solo. Someone set off fireworks, as a giant heart, constructed from welded metal and holiday lights, blinked in the distance.

Perfect, perfect, perfect.
The older I get, the more I realize it's usually true: good things happen to good people.

Many thanks to our good friend, the talented Shem Roose, who shoots all sorts of photos, weddings included, and who makes this blog a lot easier on the eyes.

Gender-bending chickens, farm updates, and some really big news!

noreply@blogger.com (Alison) — Thu, 31 May 2012 22:30:00 +0000

Do I look happy, or what?!? I DO! Photo by the amazing Shem Roose. Check him out! www.shemroose.com

There’s lots of news to report from the farm! Here’s the dispatch from the slow-living fast lane…

Silky the ROOSTER, in his splendid, frilly white glory

First up: scandal in the hen house! After several eye witnesses reported seeing our most fabulous, flamboyant chicken, Silky, engaging in a “special kind of hug” with some of the hens, and crowing at the break of dawn, it has come to our attention that our most glamorous hen is actually a rooster! Cock-a-doodle-doo! The ladies seem to love his sensitive side, because we’re getting more eggs than ever. Little Red, previously known to be the only rooster in the bunch, is coping, albeit reluctantly. All’s fair in love and poultry!

Omelets galore! Thanks, Silky!

Hay season: In the words of the great singer/song-writer Corey Conant, we’re hayin’! Ranny, Dave, Bus, Brado, Ryan and crew are making hay while the sun shines, as the saying goes, but literally, too! There’s nothing like the smell of fresh cut hay, but the days are long and the boys are pooped. (Listen to this song -- so awesome, so catchy, and basically the soundtrack of RM's life right now. Corey, you rock!) Pick'em up and throw'em down! Looking forward to getting all that hay in the pile!

Bees gone wild! Was it something I said? My bees have swarmed, and they took their honey with them. Here today, gone tomorrow. My hives are a ghost town. I’m going to buy some more bees and try again, but not until next year.

We love you, Gram!

Power to the people: I’ve taken a new job, working to promote Agriculture in the great state of Vermont. I sure do miss my free time, and my weedy gardens are proof! But I’m glad to be making a difference. If there’s one thing I learned from Gram Conant, if you want something done right – do it yourself. Look out, Montpelier! PS: We love and miss you, Gram.

We’re getting hitched: I’ve saved the best for last! I’m making an honest man out of Ransom :-) We're having exactly the type of wedding we wanted -- a small dinner and ceremony with our closest friends, parents, sibs, and their partners. We're so exited! The big day is in just one week. Say a prayer for sunshine, and drink a toast to our happiness. I’ve found my mate, and it’s for keeps.

Big Dave (my to-be father-in-law) hayin'!

Oh, Baby!

noreply@blogger.com (Alison) — Wed, 09 May 2012 04:36:00 +0000

Baby Eleanor Roosevelt-Cow, me, & nurse Moe (sans sweater)

I am a woman of a certain age, but not a mother. Life is complicated, you know? And timing is everything. So while I hope to be a mother some day, for now I just dress my dog up in little sweaters (hey, it's cold up here!) and hope my eggs aren't drying up in the meantime. (Is this post too personal? Mom, are you reading this?)

But here's the thing: when my mommy friends tell me I couldn't even imagine the miracle of birth, I just smile. Because while it is true I have never brought a human infant into the world, I have helped welcome several cows. And that really is a miracle, every time.

Someday perhaps I will get organized enough to post a video of a Holstein birth, but for now you'll have to just imagine it. Picture the 1400 lb Mama, making small, huffy breathing sounds, alone in the maternity pen, almost as if she'd attended lamaze classes. Cow mothers are almost always silent when birthing, until the final moments, when sometimes they bellow as they heave and push. They usually give birth on their own, unless there are complications, in which case the farmer will assist by reaching inside to turn the baby (if the calf is breech) or help by pulling (often the case with twins, which tend get stuck in the birth canal).

I was a very big baby, almost 10 lbs. And my brother was over 10 lbs (Thanks, Mom! Still reading?). But that's small, compared to a baby Holstein, which typically weighs-in at around 100lbs at birth. Within just an hour of entering the world, the babies are up on their feet, testing out their wobbly, knock-kneed new legs. Mama looks on, sometimes licking her baby when not anxiously lapping up fresh water to rehydrate herself. It's a tender moment, and then it is over. Almost as if it were nothing at all. Cows are gentle, but they are not sentimental.

But I am. Never in my wildest dreams did I think I'd be the girl at the tail end of a cow, covered in birthing fluid, pulling a stuck calf out with every ounce of strength in my body. Nor did I know one day I'd be crying tears of joy in a puddle of placenta, exhausted and relieved when a new born we were sure wouldn't make it comes out breathing like a little champion.

It's a miracle. Every time. And then it's over.
That's just life on a farm.

(PS: Mom, if you are still reading, you're a trooper. And you'll make a wonderful grandma someday.)

Autumn Cozy

noreply@blogger.com (Alison) — Tue, 01 Nov 2011 14:06:00 +0000

In case you don't have a fireplace nearby, here's a little video to warm your bones -- sort of like the Yule Log, but with NPR in the background, instead of choir hymns.

Autumn on the farm is a feast for the senses... the aroma of squash soup simmering on the stove, the warty texture of Halloween gourds growing on prickly tendril vines, the deep red hue of last remaining leaves clinging to the branches of our oak tree...

I always feel sad to see the long, sunny days of summer come to an end. But nothing erases end-of-summer regret like pulling on a pair of cozy woolen socks and curling up in front of the wood stove with a hot mug of cider.

Harvest Time!

noreply@blogger.com (Alison) — Wed, 05 Oct 2011 14:15:00 +0000

Harvest is here and it is a very busy time on the farm. Everything's on hold until the crops are in. My main job during harvest time is making an endless supply of bag lunches. Don't laugh, it's an important role! For more than a week, the guys are out on the fields, chopping and trucking 16+ hours a day. Thanks to Tropical Storm Irene, harvest is a lot more complicated this year. More on that later.

In the meantime, I wanted to share a short video of the corn chopper. We grow 400 acres of cow corn, which is chopped into small pieces. The entire plant -- stalk, leaves, husks, and ear -- is cut up and stored in a bunker, where it goes through a fermentation process, before becoming part of the cows' diet. The end product is called corn silage.

In this video, I am riding alongside RM in a tractor, which is pulling a wagon. You can see the chopper next to us cutting the corn, then shooting it into the wagon behind us.

The chopper reminds me of one of the bad guys in the Transformer cartoons I watched as kid. Needless to say, harvest time is a real thrill for our nephews, who are totally ga-ga about tractors, especially tricked-out machinery like the chopper. They watch from afar, or if they are lucky, sometimes they get to ride alongside the adult drivers.

If you thought farm life is always quaint, charming, and serene, think again. This is a working farm, not a hobby farm!

Cows on the loose!

noreply@blogger.com (Alison) — Sun, 02 Oct 2011 15:52:00 +0000

On a recent Sunday afternoon, we got a call while shopping for groceries -- "the cows are out!" We rushed home to find 13 heifers on the loose in the pasture. They'd broken through a gate.

So, I spent several hours I should have been preparing to host Sunday dinner chasing 13 crazy cows around a meadow.

I can't say I didn't enjoy myself! The sun was shining and the fields were flush with purple asters and the hundreds of Monarch butterflies who were feasting on their nectar. The cows weren't easy to herd -- heifers are teenaged cows, and demonstrate all the rambunctious characteristics you'd expect at that life stage. What a workout it was chasing those girls! But it was a great chance to break in my new muck boots and spend some quality time with my farmer fiancee. When it comes to bonding, nothing says lovin' like herding animals together.

Here's a quick video of the culprits, back in the pen after their meadow romp.

With less than an hour before guests arrived for dinner, I was able to shower, straighten up, throw together a cake from scratch, and bake a pot pie. My guests were none the wiser.

I'm getting a hang of this farm girl life, wouldn't you say?

Curious Hearts

noreply@blogger.com (Alison) — Thu, 15 Sep 2011 19:05:00 +0000


Candle Balloons over the wedding tent. Photo by Corey Conant

"There’s a common misunderstanding among all the human beings who have ever been born that the best way to live is to try to avoid pain and just try to get comfortable. A much more interesting, kind, adventurous, and joyful approach to life is to begin to develop our curiosity, not caring whether the object of our inquisitiveness is bitter or sweet." -Pema Chodron

Over the weekend, RM's youngest sister and her beau tied the knot. The reception was held here at the farm under a magnificent tent. The bride was radiant, the weather was spectacular, the food was delectable, and the crowd consisted of all the family's nearest and dearest. It was an absolutely wonderful affair.

As night fell on the farm, dozens of candle balloons were released into the sky, sending up a message of joy, hope, and remembrance to the bride's best friend, who passed away in a tragic car accident several years ago. I can only imagine how many hours those two girls spent discussing their futures together, and how difficult it was for the bride to keep on living after such a huge loss. This tribute was such a touching way to celebrate the beginning of the couple's life together, and honor the formative girlhood friendship that shaped the bride into the woman she is today. The balloons reached up into the sky, over the mountains, and towards the moon before gently fading away. I have never seen anything so magical.

This was a wedding with a certain depth not often found among the heaps of crinoline and frosting flowers that define many nuptials. So much love, but also loss. So much happiness, but also moments of sorrow. That's what life offers us, if we are open to living it. What better way to start a marriage?

The reception tent, with the barns in the background. Our house is in the far left corner of the photo. Photo by Corey Conant.

Chicken Wordplay

noreply@blogger.com (Alison) — Tue, 13 Sep 2011 18:21:00 +0000

Every now and then, here on the farm, I have one these amazing moments of etymological discovery - when all of a sudden, some word or trite expression I've used countless times makes sense in a completely new way. When you think about it, so many of our everyday adages have agricultural origins. Take for instance...

"Against the grain"

"Make hay when the sun shines!"

"An axe to grind"

"Putting the cart before the horse"

"The cream of the crop"

...and on and on.

It got me wondering just how many of the phrases we use everyday are derived from the farm. Can you think of any? I'd love to make a list. Help me out by adding them in the comment field below.

My new chickens have really underscored this farm-phrase origin issue. A few weeks ago RM surprised me with a small flock for my birthday. (He also got me a massage at Stowe and took me out to dinner -- now that's a man who understands my range!) It's been so much fun collecting their eggs, and observing their funny little mannerisms and the truisms they represent...

Turns out sometimes chickens can be terribly excitable, fretful creatures...in other words, big fat chickens. When the young rooster tries to cut the dominant hen off at the feeder, he will inevitably be hen-pecked. That big hen really rules the roost! But she can also be a gentle, nurturing, cooing creature...the typical mother hen. And when my feisty little terrier sneaks in the coop, they all run around like chickens with their heads cut off (even though, thankfully, they are fully intact). Even after all the feed is gone, they'll be searching around furiously for chicken scratch. And don't even get me started on chicken shit....

I wonder if any of my English professors would be pleased to see me using my degree to decode chicken cliches?
(Help me make a list of expressions derived from farm life! Please leave any you can think of in the comments field below.)

For those interested in learning more about keeping chickens, I'd definitely recommend the book Keeping Chickens, with Ashley English. Ashley's Homemade Living books and her blog, Small Measure, have kept me entertained and inspired as I've waded through many of my rural adventures, and chicken husbandry has been no exception. Her writing is witty, and her book designs are uncommonly chic among the other dowdy Ag books on my shelf. Check her out!

After Irene

noreply@blogger.com (Alison) — Fri, 02 Sep 2011 01:00:00 +0000

The flood waters have receded, and we've had a few days to assess the crop damage from Tropical Storm Irene. The more we learn, the worse it gets. The corn is coated in a thick layer of dried mud and silt, and there's really nothing that can be done. You can't feed cows dirty corn. What now? R&D have spent many weary hours trying to figure it out.

We are so grateful no people or animals were injured, but the mud hangs on the plants like the nagging sadness weighing on our hearts for all the time, effort, and money lost as a result of this storm. I've seen photos of other farms that were hit worse than ours, and my heart aches for those families. We are so lucky our barns weren't damaged and our animals stayed safe. But we still have a big problem on our hands.

I was telling a friend from college about the storm today, and was struggling to explain what it's been like. The best I could come up with was this: You know that awful feeling you get when your computer crashes and you realize you haven't saved your work? This is like crashing while writing the final paragraph of your thesis.

When it rains...

noreply@blogger.com (Alison) — Mon, 29 Aug 2011 16:18:00 +0000

corn field

My next post was supposed to be about sweet corn season here at the farm. We've had three great weeks of corn, and the farm stand has been abuzz with all the loyal sweet corn fans who come back day after day all month long, year after year. It's a fun season, and I've been fortunate to spend many happy days this month picking with Deb in the mornings, and spending my afternoons chit chatting away with our local customers.

But it appears corn season came to an abrupt end today. We are unable to access the fields to know the extent of the damage yet. Instead of picking, I am staring out the window at fields devastated by flood waters. Corn tassles rise up from the flooded fields like tiny flags of surrender. The crop losses are certain to be huge. Losing the sweet corn would hurt, but everyone is more worried about the cow corn -- which we harvest to feed animals all year long. Hard to tell yet just how huge the losses will be. But they'll be significant.

I can't say this enough: we feel so fortunate no people or animals were hurt here at the farm. The water stayed out of the barns by mere inches...how lucky is that? So it could have been much, much worse. But it's worth noting there was far more damage than any of us Vermonters expected. Homes have been evacuated. Businesses have been ruined. A close friend's family lost their restaurant. Thankfully, no one we know was injured.

flooding literally stopped inches away from the barns...so lucky!!

There's a lot of talk right now about how this storm was over-hyped. It's frustrating to hear people complain the media exaggerated the impact of this storm. Sure, downtown Manhattan was not seriously impacted. But there's a whole world outside New York City. And many parts of it are under water!

As a relative newcomer to this farming life, I am proud to witness the quiet strength Ransom and his family have displayed in the face of these losses. I suppose when farming has been in your bloodline for six generations, patience, acceptance, and determination are passed through your genes.

It's been a very tough year for Vermont farmers. Please try to buy locally when you can, and do your best to support your farming neighbors (that means no honking or speeding past tractors on the roads!) Not many industries are so susceptible to forces of nature, and few years have been this bad weather wise.

Corn field covered by flood waters