It’s a heady time of day to make such lists, stimulated by the caffeine of a good black tea. But I always like getting lots of ideas out there, and then sifting through them for the gems. To be sure, I am joining a farming couple with over a decade of successful, productive experience. I do not, as of yet, have a complete detailed understanding of how and what we will plant. But I do know that experimentation will be welcomed, particularly in a 1-acre plot that will be free of its usual boarded horses.

Some notions being tossed around include: planting ten or so fruit trees, probably apples (the 100-year old orchard on the farm is still producing, but we’d probably want more eating apples in the future, in addition to the existing cider-making sorts); flowers (for cut-flower sales to boost farm income, and to provide more delicious nutrition for insect life); and bees (with all the equipment at hand on the farm already, it feels like an obvious step towards boosting overall ecology). Notice how in large part, these ideas represent time input on our part that can be largely hands-off.

Further, I have some small-scale experiments in mind, such as intercropping. By planting vegetables such as radish and carrot together, one can supposedly maximize soil space and nutrient depth (as the different root depths will not compete with each other), while also potentially shading out most weed competition. I’m also thinking about a corn, bush bean and beet companion planting, although I’ll consider decorative corn varieties because we would be very lucky to see a mature cob during our short season. Using it as a shade and soil breaker-upper/enricher tool for the beans and beets will be the main purpose (perhaps less time intensive to plant than to weed all summer?).

Now, envisioning this all despite the two-foot cover of snow on the ground . . .

Thus, discovering that our spinach plants’ cotyledons had been munched, in many cases down to their base, produced a ‘hmm, wonder what is doing that?’ versus a ‘Let’s kill it!’ reaction. A couple days later, it would appear that the plants are surviving, their next leaves developing, and further leaf chomping not happening . . . famous last words? We shall see. Our best guess at the critter with nighttime munchies is the earwig.

The greenhouses are heating up delightfully these days; despite a couple of nights that saw temperatures drop to between 0 and 3 degrees, the soil is maintaining a daytime high of around 80 degrees, and dropping at night to anywhere between the high 30s and lower 40s. Clarence is waiting for a bit more confirmation from the weather gods before planting kale and chard; a minimum of 40 degrees is required for seed germination for these plants, and optimally the temperature should be 50 and above. A heavy black plastic covers the bed awaiting such plantings, helping gather the heat during the day and retain it at night.

For more information on soil temperatures and starting plants, take a look at John Jeavons’ “How to Grow More Vegetables.” This book also addresses fruits, nuts, berries and grains. And, of course, check back in with us.

In the meantime, Tona demonstrated washing and drying techniques. We swirled the plentiful clippings around in cold water for a minute, then let the whole lot rest, allowing dirt to settle at the bottom of the basin. Then, into the beater washing machine for a quick spin cycle. We filled about a quarter of the machine with this green load; in regular season, Tona tells me we’ll fill it about 3/4 full to maximize our time efficiency (a topic on which I’ll write extensively as the year progresses). The washing machine was acquired on the cheap from a used equipment vendor; with usage of just the spin cycle, even these elderly, otherwise inefficient washers should last several years or more, and never again waste water in the fashion of clothes washing. Water flossed from the greens is drained to the adjacent garden areas.

And me? I get crunchy spinach salad daily, topped with our in-house garlic-parmesan dressing. yum.

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F. Have a casserole dish ready (either round, for a deeper dish, or 9″ x 13″ for thinner presentation).

Cook 1/2 lb. dry pasta and drain (I use multi-color corkscrews because I like their attitude).  Chop: 2 cups onion, 1 cup cabbage and 2 good handfuls of chard (if you have spinach to work through, go right ahead). Mince 3 cloves garlic. Heat a large skillet and add 3 Tbs olive oil. When hot, saute onions. Add cabbage after several minutes, garlic, 1 teaspoon salt, and 1 teaspoon caraway seeds. Cook over medium-high until cabbage is just tender (or less if you want crunch). Stir in the chard, and remove from heat. Add to the pasta.

Stir in: 1/2 cup milk (or buttermilk or cream); 1/2 cup yogurt; 1 to 2 cups cottage cheese, 1 teaspoon dill seed or frond, black pepper to taste and 1 cup packed grated cheddar cheese. Taste to adjust seasonings (yes! do this, nothing in this will hurt you). Put in baking dish of preference, sprinkle with an additional cup of packed grated cheddar cheese and a few sunflower seeds. Bake uncovered for 20 to 30 minutes, until heated through.

Note: I topped this with some crumbled bacon I had left over from breakfast. Yum.

At over 5,000 feet in elevation, Fair Mountain Farm experiences vastly different growing conditions and climates, compared to my previous year’s farming experiences in southeastern Pennsylvania. Yet upon my arrival on February 10, two un-heated greenhouses were sporting vibrant green cotyledons of sprouted arugula, spinach and salad greens. Preliminary hand weeding of aggressive mallow has me in a t-shirt and sweating already. Despite the toasty interior conditions, nighttime temperatures fall drastically outside, and only these hardy greens are fit to survive for the moment without additional help.

Spinach left in the greenhouse ground over the winter began throwing up large new leaves just a couple days ago. This crop is generally covered with Remay rowcover to give an additional 10 degrees or so of protection. Watering this and the other greens crops every other day or so seems to be sufficient. New leaves will be offered to customers starting next week; while some could be offered now, we’d rather be able to provide many bags to salad hungry folks, rather than make them fight over several bags from this week.

At that point, we will have achieved another step in the cycle of nutrition and waste hoped for on this farm: rabbit droppings are perfectly suitable for chicken consumption, as they are composed of digested grass (or alfalfa). It’s like free-range in a pellet; the laying hens will always have the option to roam out-of-coop, and I am certain their new bunk mates will not distract them from the glorious bugs and grubs of the field.

As to our dearest loudmouths, the Quack Club, all eleven were dispatched today by the kindly Mr. Nolt of more northern Pennsylvania realms. A tad early, with regard to their size, the Pekins were slaughtered at an ideal time to avoid the development of pin feathers. Such underlayer warmth has a habit of sticking in the skin, rendering the body difficult to clean entirely for cooking. If you were to skin the duck before cooking, there would be no problem. Then again, just go eat a chicken if you aren’t interested in the duck fat.

VIDEO: click on the following for some candid footage- a quacker’s last bath Advice has it that the Pekin duck develops the pin feathers around week eight in life, and does not loose them until around week 14. So, get your butchering mindset ready at week 7, or wait until week 15. I would hope to absolutely verify this advice with personal experience, yet feel confident passing it along due to multiple conversations with persons more duck-y than I.

One final note on ducks: Given water, quackers will cavort until it is gone. It is not uncommon to enter their sleeping quarters in the morning only to find evidence of a full-blown rumpus. I highly recommend creating a safe night haven for them in an area which you can muck out easily. We took to putting their water in an enclosed container, such as a regular chicken waterer, sitting inside a very large plastic potted plant base. I still had a wet stall to deal with. They’re like pigs in mud – unless it’s everywhere, life is no good. This is definitely one critter you want to have out-of-doors as much as possible, simply to prevent cleanup tasks.

Who amongst us could concoct a meal using an entire lamb or pig, nose to tail? Many could, very few do. Not only do the rarest types attempt this at home, restaurant menus consisting of liver, kidney and heart dishes in addition to roasts and ribs flit in and out of culinary history incognito. Relished by their creators and some diners, such meals create ‘an experience’ for most eaters, something they can chew somewhat fearfully and live to tell the tale about around the office cubicles.

If you think you are more adventurous than my reductionist evaluation of the eating public, then you still don’t get it. Eating the whole animal is using (some would say ‘honoring’) the fella to its utmost, an act both practical and magical. There is adventure and creativity, but it’s also about eliminating waste and most importantly – satiating oneself in entirety. I’ve enjoyed a lamb and a pig prepared from nose to tail over the last couple of weeks, both cooked by Chefs Brian and Phil of the Fair Hill Inn. Lacking an office cubicle and co-workers for a proper drooling audience, you internet readers may feel free to imagine my facial gymnastics and pleased moans as you read the following highlights.

How did they prepare the heads? No apple in snout for piggie, nor split cranium of lamb was set upon our tables. Rather, for both evenings the chefs boiled the heads to obtain material for a terrine. Pressed and chilled, sliced into triangles and set upon frisee salad from their garden, accented by pickled green beans and the house-made mustard (a stone-ground, jazzed version of Dijon). The pig dinner terrine dish also bore the fried pig ear crunch, which clearly amused guests and lightened the dining room mood.

Both dinners contained sausage, grilled cuts of meat and braised ones as well. All were succulent and full of robust flavor despite the equally magnificently concocted sauces and sides also awaiting notice on the plates. I don’t know if the menus are planned to slowly but surely stimulate one’s sensorial awareness, but the last-served braised lamb (with a demi-glace) made me consider slaughtering our remaining lambs immediately. Likewise with the pork ribs; I was ready to buy a piglet and get to work.

Priced at $55 for each meal (which includes 5 courses and 5 different wines but does not include tax and gratuity), I found these unusual menus to be a financial steal. The portions may seem small, but you realize as the courses keep coming that these foods are truly satisfying and by the time you sign your bill, you wonder how you fit it all in. Check on the Inn’s web site for up-to-date info on such special offers. They are regularly open for dinner Wednesdays through Sundays, closed Monday and Tuesday.

The lamb was one of ours, and the pig came from Trebs Thompson of Whimisical Farm, just down the road in the other direction, who has been exceptionally kind to me with advice and visits. Using meat grown 2 miles away and their own vegetables, the two chefs are making it all as local as possible. Don’t know how to find food, animal or vegetable, nearby you? Look on LocalHarvest.org. You just might come home from your next errands trip with a half a cow! As for me, the ducklings grow exponentially and daily, plans are in the make for a December beak to tail extravaganza. Anybody hungry?

Anemia has delightfully thrown me into another realm of gastronomy: my baby steps with haute cuisine. It’s like French Vogue for chefs, except you’ll find more affordable items on the ingredients list than those draped across the pages of such a fashion magazine. Outside drizzle obliterating leaf-raking from my chores list, I selected a five-pound tomb from the sagging cookbook shelves, spinning the pages like a globe trotter determining his next destination. My months-ago randomly purchased inspiration: two pounds of oxtail sitting clumped frozen and neglected at the chest freezer’s bottom depths. Luigi Carnacina and his “Great Italian Cooking” led the way to enlightenment with a selection of four recipes.

How to put this . . . cooking Carnacina (who learned from Escoffier), turned into a ‘make-your-own-adventure’ at ingredient number six: Brown Stock. Hereby instructed to refer to recipe No. 4 in his book, I flipped half the book over in search of this key element. Short about five different pices of meat, and anticipating an addition of five hours to my meal preparation, I took swift stock of my rainy day ambitions. So this is what it takes? No time like the present to solve another of life’s great mysteries. If he could do it, and has written it for me to follow, it must be some insanely tasty dish. Car keys and I launched into the chilly mist.

The grocery store pulsed with Halloween night sugar supplies. Shopper’s carts overflowed with colors and boxes unbeknownst to any honest food. I darted through the cleaning supplies aisle and rapped at the meat counter’s set of swinging doors. Then I popped my head in, just in time to see a three-inch diameter bone getting cut and wrapped. Finding an amiable white frock, I gave him my list and asked for some of the huge bones with marrow. Together we hunted down some shin meat (bone and meat, but not veal, as I wanted to watch cost), soup beef (shank, cubed), raw ham, pork rind, and spicy pork sausages. Discussing my preliminary goal of stock and secondary goal of an oxtail dish, he pronounced it sounded like a fine meal. I suppose an invitation should have been forthcoming from me. How odd that such an extension of shared culinary pleasure no longer naturally comes to one in these times?

We’d better start chopping while you are still reading. What follows produced an exquisite meal, forever changing my approach to cooking meat. Three cheers for little Buckie and Hamburger, currently eating their way through our pasture. May they one day encounter such a fine fate.

Start with a Brown Stock. You’ll need 1/2 pound cracked soup bones; 1 lb. veal shin (bone and meat, I used regular beef!); 1 lb. lean soup beef (shank or shin) in 2-inch cubes; 1 Tbs butter or rendered beef fat; 8 ounces lean raw ham, diced; 2 ounces pork rind, in one piece; 1 medium carrot, diced; 1 stalk celery with leaves, chopped; 1 clove; 1 bay leaf; 1 clove garlic; 4 sprigs parsley; 2 sprigs thyme; 1 tsp salt; 8 cups water.

Brown the bones, veal shin, and beef cubes for 15 minutes in a 450 degree oven. Melt the butter in a large, heavy pot over medium heat and add the ham, pork rind, carrot, celery, and onion. Arrange the meat and bones on top, add 1/2 cup of the water, and cook until the water has evaporated. Remove the rind. Add remainder of water, salt, clove, bay leaf, garlic, parsley and thyme. Brind to a rapid boil, reduce heat and simmer 4 to 5 hours, skimming scum from top and replenishing water if needed. Remove from flame and strain immediately through hair sieve or cheesecloth-lined colander. Chill, and remove fat before using. Makes about 1. 5 quarts. For a meat glaze, reduce this even further until it becomes syrupy.

You’ll also need a quantity of kneaded butter, which is slightly softened butter mixed with an equal amount of flour. I used 4 Tbs butter, somewhat melted, and 4 Tbs flour, and just mushed them together in a small saucepan. Set this aside.

You’ll also need some enhanced tomato sauce. Heat 2 Tbs olive oil in a saucepan. Add 1/2 a chopped onion, 4 Tbs ham, chopped, and brown them over fairly high heat for 5 to 6 minutes. Add 1 Tbs flour and mix well. Turn the heat down to medium and add 2 lbs fresh tomatoes (or 1 16 oz. can Italian-style plum tomatoes, drained). Season with 1 tsp salt, 1/4 tsp pepper, 1 tsp sugar, 1 sprig thyme and a bay leaf. Cook 45 minutes, stirring occassionally. You can strain it if you like.(Clearly this process is easier if you have some seasoned tomato sauce frozen or canned and awaiting selection from your pantry!)

Let’s get to that tail. For Oxtail Italiana, you’ll need: 4 lbs cut-up oxtail; 2 carrots, sliced; 2 onions, sliced; 1 stalk celery, sliced; 3 sprigs parsley; 2 sprigs thyme; 1 bay leaf; 3 cups Brown Stock; 3 cups dry white wine (I used 1 cup of Vermouth instead); salt and pepper; 3 Tbs butter; 1 clove garlic, crushed; 1/2 pound mushrooms, sliced; 4 Tbs kneaded butter; 1 cup Tomato sauce; 3 sweet Italian sausages, sauteed for about 15 minutes and sliced.

Whew! Make yourself a cocktail while you’re at it. This is a thing of beauty. Put the pieces of oxtail in a large, heavy pot with the sliced vegetables and the herbs. Add the stock and wine and sufficient water to barely cover the pieces of oxtail. Season lightly with salt and pepper, bring to a boil, cover the pot and simmer over very low heat for 3 to 4 hours, or until the oxtail meat is very tender and will separate easily from the bones. While the oxtail is simmering, melt the butter in a frying pan over medium heat, add the garlic, cook for 1 minutes, add the mushrooms, and saute gently for about 8 minutes; remove from the heat and reserve. When the oxtail is fully cooked, remove the pieces from the pot. Strain the cooking liquid through a fine sieve, return it to the pot (should be about 4 cups; reduce over high heat to this quantity, if necessary), bring to a boil, blend in the kneaded butter with a whisk, add the tomato sauce, and simmer for 10 minutes. Correct the seasoning and then add the oxtail pieces, mushrooms, and sausage. Simmer for 5 minutes and then turn the contents of the pot out into a deep hot serving dish. Serves 6.

I served this with some gratineed celery, recipe No. 1659 in Carnacina’s book. We’ll save that for another time . . . but do note that this dish is best served with biscuits or bread to mop up the amazing sauce.

Like the tightening of belts economy-wide, such a situation calls for culling (one of those farm words that has passed from frequent usage into feeling a bit cruel). Our kitchen walls host their own pop-art version of farmlife – feathers from an infamous fox kill of chickens earlier this year fan out from former picture holes left unplugged. Where will I put my own Araucana wing? Perhaps atop the framed lion painting, currently bedecked with a black snake skin tinsel. Many is the guest who actually enjoys this. Those who do not clearly do not come for lunch ever again, of their own accord.

In case you find an extra chicken on hand, as I plan to, give this one-pot recipe a go. Inspired by L.L. Bean’s Game and Fish Cookbook, as usual I have traded ingredients, lacking theirs. You’ll need: 3 sprigs each of fresh rosemary, savory and thyme (or 1 1/2 tsp dried, total of all 3); 1 chicken (moderate, not jumbo. Or duck!); sale and freshly ground black pepper; 4 Tbs butter; 2 small potatoes, chopped; 2 medium white onions, chopped; 3 Tbs sugar (I used Jaggery); 1/4 cup cognac (book suggested bourbon); 3/4 cup duck or chicken stock.

Rub the inside and outside of the bird with salt and pepper. In a flameproof casserole, just large enough to accommodate the chicken and veggies, melt the butter over medium heat. Add the chicken and brown on all sides (this is somewhat easier when the chicken is quartered). Add potatoes and onions and brown them, sprinkling the sugar over and turning until glazed. Pour the alcohol over the chicken and set it aflame, basting the bird (I used a match, go for the flame-via-burner flare if you have the skills).

Add the stock and puts the herbs over everything. Bring to a boil, then cover and place in a 325 degree oven for 20 minutes. Uncover, baste and raise the heat to 375 for another 10 minutes. Baste a couple times during this period. When done, remove the chicken and place on plates or serving platter. Scoop the veggies around it. Simmer down the pan juices until almost syrupy and pour over the bird.

Bon apetit!  Please note that the usage of adequate fresh herbs, and a homemade chicken stock really makes this dish exquisite. See further postings about making stock, having the patience to do so, and why it’s worth it.