LAKE MACBRIDE— Today was the turnip harvest, and the crop was the best ever: plenty to use this season, and more to give away. There were so many greens that once I reserved a couple of gallons for soup stock, the rest went into the compost. It is turnip city over here.
We have a tradition to make soup stock in our household when the turnips are in. A large pot is coming to a boil on the stove. It includes, broccoli stalks, carrots, onions, celery, zucchini, yellow squash, bay leaves and importantly, the turnip greens which color the stock deep brown and add a delicious flavor. No salt is added until the stock is used in the final application. After cooking for a few hours, the stock will be turned off, to sit on the stove overnight, and canned in Mason jars tomorrow. In the past, I’ve used the cooked vegetables from stock making as a base for barbeque sauce, but I have several jars leftover from the last batch.
Great Grandmother with Turnips
With all of the large roots, we’ll have roasted root vegetables with turnips, potatoes and onions. If we had similarly size beets, those would be added. The recipe is easy— cut everything in half, approximately the same size. Coat with olive oil, salt and pepper to taste, and place open side down on a cookie sheet. Roast at 350 degrees for one hour or until done. It is a highlight of the season.
According to a CSA farmer, July 25 is the date to plant the second crop of turnips, and I’m about ready. One more row this year should be sufficient, and if I can find beet seeds, I’ll plant those as well. The question is how to arrange the spring vegetable patch for optimal July planting. A topic for another day as I bask in a successful harvest of a traditional vegetable in our family.
LAKE MACBRIDE— My grandmother was born on June 24 or 25, 1898 at home on the farm, west of the Catholic church in Wilno, Minn. The official record is unclear as to the precise date, and the clerk in the recorder’s office in the county seat told me that often births were not directly reported, but only when someone from the farm made it into Ivanhoe.
The church records show she was born Salomea Nadolski on June 25, 1898, and baptized on July 10, 1898 by the Rev. J.F. Andesejewski. Her godparents were Ladislaus Kuzminski and Maria Nadolski. I believe this version of the truth is closest.
The certified copy of the birth record I got from the county seat in Ivanhoe listed place of birth in Royal Township, Lincoln County, Minn. as Soluma Nadolski on July 10, 1898. Parents listed as Frank and Katie Nadolski.
Her certificate of death lists June 24, 1898 as the birth date of Mae N. and then Selmae M. Jabus, and those names and date were provided by my mother. The newspaper listed her as Mae M. Jabus in the obituary. Whatever may be official, we called her Busha after our daughter was born.
She told countless stories of life on the farm near Wilno and those stories came to life when I visited the home place, the church and the county seat after she died. If I am a story teller at all, it is because of her.
Her birthplace was still standing when I visited, and the owner kindly let me look around inside. I think he and his wife were looking to tear it down and build a more modern home for their growing family, although he didn’t say it. By today’s standards, the house was very small. There were shirttail relatives everywhere I went, including a gent who lived across the road from our home place. He was not doing well so we chatted only for the briefest of moments. He was connected through my great grandfather.
Like many descendents of Polish immigrants, my grandmother was fully assimilated. She still spoke Polish, but only with her sisters, and to the occasional wrong number who also spoke the language. There are stories about that for another telling.
Despite all the stories that have been and might be, I’ve been thinking about Busha’s life as I knew it the last couple of days. When I last saw her, she had moved to a nursing home where she used to work. She was mentally alert, and worried that the staff was stealing from her, even if there was not much to steal. She fumbled with her hearing aid so she could pay attention to what I had to say.
She got it to work, and we talked as we always had.
It has been 115 years since she was born, plus or minus a day. I feel so lucky to have known her for so long. The memory of so many things we did together persists as the sun sets over the Iowa prairie. I’m glad for that.
LAKE MACBRIDE— To say yard work has been a low priority is an understatement. During the 20 years since we built our home, landscaping has been a haphazard process governed by whim and fancy— and a vague sense of design that sufficed to get trees and a large quantity of lilac bushes planted.
An important consideration of buying a 0.6 acre lot was planning a large garden, but there is more to it than that. Trees were planted with an idea of gaining privacy on what was a barren piece of farm ground turned residential lot. Until the neighbor’s bordering evergreen trees began to die and were cut down last year, we had succeeded in getting as much privacy as one can in a rural subdivision.
The only surviving tree from the two that came with the lot is the mulberry tree. Since arriving we added four bur oak, one pin oak, two maple, two green ash, four apple, one pear, and two locust. With the mulberry, that makes 17. It took me a week to prune and cut up the fallen branches from all of these.
Burn Pile Storage
We don’t have a fireplace or use an outside burn pit for entertainment, so the brush needs to be cleared and disposed of. I’ll make a burn pile after the garden season, and store the brush for now. It should be a big fire.
If we lived in an apartment or condo, any yard work would be included in our association fees— others would do it. A state legislator recently said, “people want to live in cities,” but I don’t know about that.
Clearing the brush on a residential lot in the country is not the same as on a large acreage, but it remains a connection with nature and our attempt to cultivate it. This work runs through the heart of our lives in society, which might be less without it.
The exigencies of yard work and making something of the place where we live, in harmony with what remains of nature, takes work sometimes neglected. For a brief moment, when one job is done, and before another begins, we can feel good about our work, and that is something.
LAKE MACBRIDE— Reaching into the cooler, forearms covered with sawdust and sweat, I pulled out the last remaining bottle of chilled water. At 86 degrees and the air full of gnats, my mouth was dry. I drank greedily— momentary coolness quenching my thirst.
The mulberry tree grew from a seed dropped long ago by a bird sitting on the rebar marker of the corner of our property. Because of the way it grew, three of us now own a part of that tree, although I have been its caretaker. In this tree I first saw Cedar Waxwings eating berries. Under it, the deer and rabbits graze on the fallen mulberries. While a volunteer, it has been a good tree and too long neglected.
A neighbor asked me to trim it because the branches were so low he couldn’t get under it with his riding mower. I thought to myself, “that’s my problem too.” Today it was pruned. It looks much better with all the low hanging and dead branches cut away. The mulberries are beginning to ripen, indicating the turn of the season to summer.
The Great Eastern Iowa Tractorcade is a thing here. Farmers from all over get together in Cedar Rapids and for four days, go on extended excursions in tractors of all kinds. Some of the equipment is older than I am and still working in fields. The caravan extended a long distance, and based on the errand I was running when I passed the tractorcade, it took more than an hour for them all to pass the lane to our home. It is a chance for families to do something fun to show off their farm pride. Children of farm parents take time off city jobs to participate.
Row of Lettuce
It’s the lettuce season and more in the local food arena. The lettuce in our garden looks better than I have ever grown it. The CSA has been providing four or more heads of lettuce per week, so between both sources there is enough to be generous with our friends.
The lettuce seeds I planted last week have sprouted, growing the next batch of seedlings to plant later in the month.
I picked the second cut of spinach from the first row of plants, washed and froze the leaves on a cookie sheet with a silicone mat. Once they were frozen, I bagged them for cooking later in the year. We usually make a spinach-rice casserole with frozen spinach leaves.
Each day is bringing plenty of work, and progress in getting the yard and garden in shape. After so many years of neglect, it needs it. At the end of a day, before an evening meeting, supper is a salad made with what’s on hand in the fridge. A simple spring life in Big Grove.
LAKE MACBRIDE— The pledge was to downsize by 1,000 books and this time I mean it. In fact, here’s photographic evidence of my commitment to this round of downsizing. The books in the photo will go to the local library for their used book sale. I really mean it.
Inculcated by American consumerism, it seems normal to collect stuff for later use whether it is books, groceries, clothing, shoes, tools, whatever. As the years aggregate, there is less of later in which to use all of this stuff. Using an on-line life expectancy calculator, mine is 89 years with a 75 percent chance of making it past 81. At two books per month, I can expect to read about 675 books during the my remaining time and that would be a hopeful schedule. Suffice it to say, in a time where publication on the Internet is exploding, there will be no shortage of articles and books to read. Downsizing by 1,000 books is a modest start to a much bigger downsizing.
When I visited the Library of Congress in 2009, there was a display of the books Thomas Jefferson sold to the government after the British burned the Library of Congress in 1814. That is, of what remained after a second fire in 1851 destroyed two thirds of Jefferson’s books. The exhibit was a reconstruction of Jefferson’s library using the original bill of sale. It is a cool display for book lovers, and my inevitable conclusion was that while Jefferson may have been an avid reader, there is no way he read all of the books he accumulated. I didn’t feel so bad about the size of my library after that.
There may have been a 19th century reason for personal libraries of books, and even a 20th century reason, but libraries today serve a more varied function than being the repository of printed matter. Public library programs like downloadable e-books and audio-books press the limits of copyright laws to make written material more accessible. In a corporate culture that seeks to make a fungible commodity of everything, books have been and will be included. Already some of the books in my photo are available on-line, some for free. Among other reasons, we keep personal libraries for sentimental attachment, to work on specific projects, and for convenience. All valid reasons, but how many books need to be on hand? The answer is less.
As spring turns to summer, some of my time will be taken counting out the books to be donated to the library to make my pledge. It’s time to let go and focus on more important endeavors, like sustaining our life on the prairie in a turbulent world— something that does not require a large personal library, as comforting as one might be.
LAKE MACBRIDE— These are the best days. Partly cloudy, temperatures around 70, low humidity and plenty of outside work. We enjoy them when we can.
It’s not to say there is complete escape from the troubles of the world. Yet, for a few moments, beneath the cloudy heavens, it is possible to forget— a reason to anticipate such times with great fervor.
Today was what local food is. There were major farmers markets in Iowa City and Cedar Rapids. Between the CSA and my garden, we have most of what we need for the week, so I passed. After an hour at the newspaper, I did go to the grocery store to buy provisions: dairy, out of season vegetables and a few special items— popcorn, chocolate, snack crackers. The bill was much lower than usual as a result of growing so much of our own food, combined with working down the pantry.
When I arrived home, the rest of the morning was yard work, pruning the pin oak tree and repairing the erosion near the ditch with bagged soil and grass seed. The majority of the afternoon was harvesting, planting and processing vegetables: radishes, lettuce, turnip greens and oregano.
I picked the rest of the first row of radishes and put them in a bucket. Next, I harvested all of the first planting of lettuce. This cleared a space to till the soil and re-plant two rows of radishes and the rest of the first crop of lettuce seedlings. My garden mentor said one of the biggest mistakes home gardeners make is failing to plant in succession. There will be more plantings of lettuce and radishes.
Near the herb garden I cut a gallon bucket full of oregano from the volunteer plant. Finally, I picked most of the turnip leaves, leaving only those plants that looked like the root would fill out. The turnips grow too tall, too fast, and block out the nearby spinach. I have been thinking about the turnip greens since winter.
At the end of the harvest, I had a bushel of lettuce, five gallons of turnip greens, and regular one gallon buckets of oregano and radishes. A gardener has to keep the produce moving to make optimal use of it. I spent the rest of the day processing the harvest.
The radishes were easy. I trimmed them and placed them in a glass of water. They won’t last long. The oregano was also easy. Since two plants wintered (I only had one last year), the plan is to dry the leaves and make a jar of oregano flakes for cooking. I washed the leaves on the stem, placed them on clean towels on the front step, let the sun dry them and put them on the shelves of the dehydrator to finish drying. I don’t turn the dehydrator on. The temperature is too hot for herbs.
The bigger processing projects were picking through the lettuce to find the best leaves— cleaning, cleaning drying and bagging it; and making a large pot of turnip leaf soup stock for canning. Turnips make the best base for vegetarian soup stock, although leeks, if I have them, are good too.
As the day ended, I turned off the soup, left it on the stove and went to bed. Sunday will be back to the realities of finding suitable paying work, putting up the soup stock in jars, and weeding the garden.
LAKE MACBRIDE— One is ready to take on the world after a bowl of home made soup. In between projects, several things at home are de derigueur. Going through the refrigerator and pantry finding ingredients to make soup is one of them. A fresh start to new beginnings using preserved and aging vegetables.
A job, project or activity can distract us from our home life. Home becomes a camp— a place to return from doing other things. Making soup can be a way to clean up loose ends and refocus our energies for what is next. It is a re-centering on home life.
Making soup is also being frugal— picking from items reaching the end of their shelf life and using them for a warm meal. It is a reversal of consumerism and can be celebratory and reassuring. Most often, the results are delicious, especially when served with a slice of home baked bread.
Still tired from my last day of warehouse work, I made vegetable soup today. There was no recipe, but learned behaviors came into play. This post is intended to share some of the learning.
Put a half cup of water in the bottom of a Dutch oven and bring to a boil on high heat. Medium dice or slice a large onion, three or four small carrots and a couple of stalks of celery and add to the pot. Season with salt and pepper and a couple of bay leaves. This provides the basic flavor profile. (In our house, we add pepper when the meal is served so each person can get as much as they want).
Next, add fresh ingredients on hand. Today, it was potatoes starting to develop eyes, part of a zucchini, and baby Bok Choy leaves beginning to yellow. Peel and dice three or four potatoes, fine dice the stems of Bok Choy and add them to the pot. Grate the zucchini with a box grater and reserve along with 20 or so Bok Choy leaves. If there were other fresh vegetables on hand, I would use them. Note that soup is about using things up, not buying specific items especially for the dish.
In the freezer is my soup project. Throughout the year I collect the cut bottoms of asparagus stalks, broccoli stems, beet greens, spinach and a host of other odds and ends of garden vegetables to use in soup. It is how gardeners deal with their irregular and surplus produce. From the freezer I added bits of broccoli stalk, some finely sliced asparagus, and chopped greens of an undetermined nature (beet greens I think) to the pot.
Add a quart of home made stock if you have it and cover the vegetables with water. Bring to a boil on high heat and reduce to a steady simmer. Simmer until the vegetables are cooked through, add the zucchini and Bok Choy leaves and stir until the Bok Choy is wilted. Re-season and it is ready to serve, a fit luncheon for contemplating the future on a rainy afternoon.
LAKE MACBRIDE— The Friends of the Solon Public Library decided to do away with the Memorial Day Weekend used book sale. The decision leaves a gap in my usual habits for summer, and adjusting to change as best as is possible, I picked these books for 2013 summer reading.
“The Great Gatsby” by F. Scott Fitzgerald. It is a marker that summer has begun and I read it every year. I plan to clear a spot under the locust trees in the garden and read it there this time. I have an old Persian rug to lay on the grass, and a folding chair. I would prefer an Adirondack chair, but haven’t built one to my specifications— yet.
“How the Other Half Lives” by Jacob Riis. Revisiting Riis reminds me of the lives of immigrants in New York, and how the 1880s resonates with today.
“Cooked: A Natural History of Transformation” by Michael Pollan. His latest work, and I try to keep up with Pollan, even if I feel he is a bit too special.
“Murder as a Fine Art” by David Morrell. Morrell has been promoting this period piece on his Facebook page for a while. I took a modern fiction class from him during my undergraduate work at the University of Iowa.
“Reinventing You: Define Your Brand, Imagine Your Future” by Dorie Clark. I met Clark at a Democracy for America training session in Cedar Rapids a few years back, and have been following her burgeoning career.
“Revenue Matters: Tax the Rich and Restore Democracy to Save the Nation” by Berkley Bedell. Bedell sent me a copy of this book when it came out, and I owe him a report on it.
“Inside the Red Zone: A Veteran for Peace reports from Iraq” by Mike Ferner. I met Mike in Dubuque with my peace and justice work, and have delayed reading his 2006 book for too long.
“Doing Time for Peace: Resistance, Family and Community” edited by Rosalie G. Riegle. I met peace activist Brian Terrell in Iowa City and he has an article in this book. He is being released from prison again today. My interest is in the role of civil disobedience in creating social change. I am skeptical of the way it is currently being used, with celebrity arrests, and a small group of people who seek arrests the way gunfighters in the late nineteenth century notched the handle of their pistol. I hope to learn something.
LAKE MACBRIDE— Arriving home after midnight, it is difficult to resist pausing in the fragrance of the twelve-foot lilac bushes. 19 years passed since planting them in a row, angling from the corner of the house toward the surveyor’s mark. They are mature, as am I.
No cloud blocked my view of the crescent moon and stars. The moon was yellow— as in a children’s book— descending into the atmosphere on the horizon. Alert, I breathed the perfume of spring.
One can’t help but sense spring’s transient nature in the night air. Bound to our memories, and becoming aware of our pausing, we linger until the house lights beckon. And we go in.
LAKE MACBRIDE— Yesterday’s wind died down to reveal almost perfect weather conditions today. A little cold— frost is evident on the leaves of thyme— but not the hard frost about which gardeners often fret. My April 30 assessment proved accurate: it is still time for planting.
While the yard is too wet for mowing, there is laundry to do, and a day to organize. Today will include the first cut of lawn— an abundant and sustainable source of mulch for the garden. It will take four hours to make the two cuts, bag and spread the grass clippings on garden plots. The five-gallon gasoline container was filled yesterday, so if the mower starts and the sun shines, we’re ready to go. The neighbors will appreciate the results.
Garlic Patch
The other big task for today is digging and delivering spring garlic to the CSA for inclusion in tomorrow’s shares. I estimate two to three hours for the project. There is so much spring work to do, the balance of the day will be easily filled.
Before I finish my third cup of coffee and second breakfast, head down to remove the old sheet from the door to my study and put away the space heater for the season, I want to write about the sweatshirt in the photograph.
While making kits at the warehouse, it occurred to me the sweatshirt is as old as some of my cohorts who were born in the 1990s. It was a gift during a boondoggle of a trip to Aventura, Florida, where a group of corporate transportation equipment maintenance executives met to discuss braking systems. There were a number of these so-called “maintenance councils” sponsored by equipment manufacturers. While invited to join a many of them, one had to be selective. Brakes are important in trucks, so I went.
Turnberry Isle
Last to arrive, my schedule prevented me from playing golf on the one of the resort’s courses that morning as other council members did. My plane landed at the Hollywood airport as dinner was being served and the taxi delivered me to the restaurant as speeches, mostly related to tenure on the council, began.
When describing the trip as a boondoggle, it means everything was included: air fare, luxury hotel accommodations, meals, greens fees for golfers and entertainment. There was even a budget for gifts like the sweatshirt, although corporate policy prevented me from accepting anything too extravagant. Corporate staff had our beds turned down, and reviewed our final hotel bills to ensure everything within reason was paid by the corporation.
During the event, golfing was available, but I’m no golfer. As an alternative, we toured the inland waterways, went deep sea fishing and experienced the constant fawning of sales staff, engineers and corporate interns present for the event. The company wanted the experience to be unforgettable as they held a council meeting to discuss brakes. In transportation, a brake failure through improper manufacturing or maintenance is a liability— and there are lawsuits.
While doing the laundry, I noticed the sweatshirt was frayed at the seams. It won’t last much longer. I donned it again to head downstairs, and then to the garage and garden. Not because of the memories, but because it was something to keep away the chill as the sun burns off the frost and new work begins.
We launder our memories as well as our clothing, in hope of something. Better experiences and memories, I suppose. Memories we make ourselves, away from the exigencies of corporate masters and lawsuits. Eventually old clothes will wear out. There will be something else to wear— something we produce ourselves, rather than the gift of a corporation looking out for their own interests. At least that is what one believes on laundry day.
Journey Home 
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