summer corn salad

Here on the farm, when we do things, we do them up big. Like when we plant lettuce, for instance. We don't plant just a row or two. We plant ten . . . that are all ready to be eaten on virtually the same day. 

No joke. There was a time earlier this summer when I had ELEVEN BAGS OF LETTUCE in my refrigerator. 

My dear husband, who loves salads, finally told me one day at lunch, "I don't think I can eat any more lettuce."

Like I said . . . we go big. 

Now our zucchini is ready for harvesting, and it's coming out of our ears. Not literally. But definitely out of every corner of our kitchen. 

And did I mention that the sweet corn is ready too?

That's why, last night for supper, we had zucchini boats and corn salad . . . and we probably will for the next 324 years at the rate we're going. 

So if you're in the same [zucchini] boat, with summer veggies in abundance, try out this refreshing, summery salad. It's fresh, cool and doesn't leave you feeling like you just ate a 10-pound steak smothered in gravy with a side of dumplings covered in cheese on the side.

Or you can just come visit us. We'll have plenty. Obviously.

Summer Corn Salad

6 cobs corn

1/2 lage red onion

1 jalapeno

1 can black beans

1 red pepper

1/2 cucumber

 1 cup feta

1/4 c. white wine vinegar

1/4 c. olive oil

1 T. lemon juice

 1 tsp. onion powder

1 tsp. basil

1 tsp. oregano

1 tsp. salt

1/4 tsp. pepper

Remove corn from the cob. Dice onion, jalapeño, pepper and cucumber. Mix in a large bowl. Combine vinegar, oil, lemon juice and spices. Whisk. Stir into vegetable mixture. Stir in feta. 

this is going to be the year

That's my go-to phrase regarding our garden pretty much every year: This is going to be the year! 

Let's just say: Hope springs eternal when it comes to our garden. 

Year 1 wasn't so bad. I maybesortakinda let the weeds get a little out of control. Ok, so we had to use the weed whacker at one point. But isn't that its job?! To whack weeds?

Year 2 was just a mess. Don't let the little surprise pictured above fool you. (Somebody found that in a bunch of trees and thought it would be funny to scare the living daylights out of me...and it worked.) It rained for roughly SEVEN THOUSAND WEEKS IN A ROW so nothing grew, and the sad little tomato plants that did survive only produced about a half a tomato a piece. I gave up part way through the summer. 

But every year, I tell myself it's going to be different this time around. And this year, I'm happy to report, it has been. 

For a solid two weeks now.

And by that I mean: the garden still has discernible rows, which is a small victory for me. 

I also planted -- and have managed not to kill -- two lilac bushes, because lilacs are my favorite flower in the entire world. My parents have a 1/10 mile stretch of them, and my favorite time of year is when they're all blooming and the air smells sweet. 

My sisters and I would pick them for our mom, and even though they only last about 12 seconds before the petals started falling off, we loved them. Our dad would go with us out into the pine trees and lilac bushes and help us pick some. He'd lift us up so we could see into the branches of the pine tree where robins built nests, and we'd count the little blue eggs. Good memories go hand-in-hand with lilacs.

And these beauties, even though they're annuals, survived the winter and bloomed again this spring, which is basically like Christmas in May.

Back home in Iowa, humans are lucky to survive the winter, let alone plants. Living farther south has its perks!

Also, little known fact: When you have dogs, also get fences for your garden. Lots and lots of fences. Unless you're into having them dig up your carrots before your carrots even know they're carrots.

See that face? That is the face of a pup who knows not to dig up a carrot.

It's not, consequently, the face of a  dog who knows to leave chickens alone or not to pull out their tail feathers, but heck, we can't have it all.

This may be the year. It may not. But for now, the farmer and I are spending 10 or 15 minutes here or there pulling weeds and grass, attempting to not let the garden tend toward chaos, even though it wants to.

Let's reconvene in August, and I'll let you know how those carrots, spinach, lettuce, sweet potatoes, corn, tomatoes, peppers, peas and watermelon worked out.

Or maybe not. History has a way of repeating itself, you know.

paula teen's green tomato chutney

Our garden wasn't much of a garden last year. The rain washed out half the stuff I planted and the leaves on most of the other plants were yellow from . . . you guessed it . . . too much rain.

We had a few tomatoes, some sad-looking corn, a lot of sweet potatoes, a handful of zucchini and about four cucumbers. 

And a lot of grass. 

As we said last summer, "It'll be better next year."

Riiiiight. 

So before the bugs got the tomatoes or the rain washed them away in yet another toad strangler, I whipped up a batch of Paula Deen's green tomato chutney. 

 

Because Missouri is the farthest South I've ever lived, I feel like green tomatoes should be a thing, but frying sort of terrifies me so this is the closest I get. 

Ok, so it wasn't close at all. 

This chutney pairs well with meat, which comes in handy because between our families raising cows and chickens and hogs, we're pretty much set in the meat department around here. 

You can also scoop it up on biscuits or crackers, and pour yourself a glass of wine for a little mid-afternoon snack or pre-supper appetizer. 

Or mid-morning snack, I guess, if it's a really rough day.

It also goes pretty dang well with squash or sweet potatoes, and we love us some sweet potatoes. My farmer usually grows enough to get us through the winter. Just pop a couple of those bad boys in the steamer while you make supper, slather on some chutney and pat your belly in satisfaction. 

Or you can pat your baby. Babies are usually cuter than bellies anyway. Although to be fair, baby bellies are even cuter than regular bellies. 

I'm betting this would even taste pretty good on grilled cheese. And I'm not just saying that because my husband's a dairy farmer. 

But seriously . . . who doesn't love grilled cheese? 

The days are getting longer. The weather will eventually get warmer. Gardeners will start to plan their gardens. And if you're one of them, add an extra tomato plant or two so you can nab the green tomatoes for this chutney. Your squash . . . and even your sandwiches . . . will thank you. 

day 7 of farmacology: community gardens

One of the things you may not know about farm folks is that

we keep tabs on our neighbor's gardens. You know, just in case theirs look better than ours. 

I'm no gardener. I grew up in a garden -- because my mom made me help her plant and harvest vegetables I didn't want to eat anway -- but the two gardens I've planted since moving to Missouri have been, well, lackluster. 

Last year, we got a little -- shall we say -- overzealous with the pepper situation. We planted a cowhorn pepper, which is apparently one of the hottest peppers known to man . . . and which multiplies more quickly than rabbits. 

We couldn't get rid of them fast enough -- ok, or at all -- so I dried them in a low-temp oven, stored them and have been using them in salsa ever since. 

And just to clarify: When I say they're hot, I mean they're so hot that a quarter of one pepper in an entire vat of salsa makes my farmer, who has taste buds of steel, break a sweat. 

So that happened. 

This year, it rained all spring. As in, I planted two perfectly straight rows of carrots, and then it proceeded to rain for the next EIGHT YEARS. Or maybe just the next month. But I definitely blame that rain on the fact that we ended up with a few tomatoes, a couple servings of asparagus, a handful of zucchini and, if we're lucky, a sweet potato. 

LAME.

Thus the reason we keep an eye on our neighbor's gardens, just to make sure that whatever we planted that's dying or not producing isn't a personal problem on our part. 

Plus, we're nosy like that.

I am not at all above asking my hair stylist if her tomatoes are growing or how her sweet corn turned out. Because if by chance her tomatoes didn't produce or the ears of her sweet corn were tiny, then there's hope for me. 

Regardless of the cowhorns. 

Or the rain. 

Or, just maybe, the gardener herself. 

Want to read more of my 31 day farmacology writing challenge? Click here. 

day 4 of farmacology: what do farmers eat?

One of the things you may not know about farm folks is that

we don't just eat meat and potatoes. 

I mean, I'd be fine eating steak and cheesy, buttery, herby mashed potatoes all week long, but we don't. Usually. 

A farmer's day usually entails a lot of physical labor, so it's not surprising that meat and potatoes are staples. Carb up and protein on! 

But we also actually also like wine and cheese, and BBQ and sweet potato fries, and butternut squash and alfredo-stuffed shells, and chicken enchiladas and homemade salsa (which I may or may not generally make just a shade too hot). 

We eat casseroles. We eat jello. We drink milk with our supper. 

But we also like jambalaya, and beet galettes with thyme and gorgonzola, and tangy sauces in chicken wraps, and edamame a hint of garlic and just a bit of salt and pepper. 

We're not foodies, but we do pay attention to what people are eating. After all, we produce food, and we're not going to sell a product we don't love ourselves. 

So don't be surprised when you come over for supper if we dish you up some Iowa corn chowder -- complete with a cup or two of cream -- or some steaks from cows we've raised, or Cowboy Caviar with corn from our garden. 

We like the staples, but we like our spinach tortellini soup too. So what if we have to eat an entire pot in one sitting to get us through the rest of the afternoon's work? There's always meat and potatoes for supper.  

Want to read more of my 31 day farmacology writing challenge? Click here. 

  

an ode to blackberries and goat cheese

Growing up, I didn't like the blackberries that grew wild on my parents' farm. 

Or the raspberries. 

Or the asparagus.

Or the . . . ok, really, if my mom would have grown tacos and pork burgers in her garden, I would have been a MUCH happier camper. 

Now, of course, I'm in love with blackberries, and I kick myself that I didn't pop them off the vine and chow down on them more as a kiddo. 

Yes, now I love them so much I could even eat them on, well, shoot, tacos and pork burgers. 

But if that's a bit much for you, I'd recommend covering a cracker in goat cheese -- that delicious, creamy stuff you can't eat while pregnant . . . sob -- plopping one of those giant, juicy blackberries on top and drizzling a little honey over top. 

My farmer says to go lighter on the goat cheese so it doesn't overpower the berry. I respond, "You seem to be implying that one can eat too much goat cheese. Recomputing." 

Some day, when we get to where we're going, I'm planting some blackberry bushes. 

And some raspberry bushes. 

And even asparagus. 

And maybe starting a goat dairy. Because goat cheese is just that good. 

No tacos required. 

(But don't think for a second that I won't still arm wrestle you for the pork burger.)

outdoor chickens

I will never be one of those Instagram ladies who put diapers on their chickens and then lets them crawl on their shoulders and sleep on beautiful vintage quilts in their bedrooms. 

People do that. To chickens. 

pocket letters

Farming can sometimes seem like a lonely business. There's no Target on the corner, no Starbucks down the street, no mall down the road. 

It's just you, the land, the animals . . . and that random guy from the city who's actually trying to find your neighbor's house but turned onto the wrong gravel road and ended up in your lane instead.

they're alive

Gardening is not for those individuals who don't like angst and sweat. 

You spend days wondering if your carrots are going to take off or survive or die or get eaten by rabbits or trampled by dogs, and then, when they do grow, you spend days wondering why you thought it was a good idea to plant them in the first place, because now you're sitting outside on black dirt in the heat of July pulling weeds, when you could be buying carrots for 99 cents at the air-conditioned grocery store. 

Like I said, angst and sweat. 

sweet potato and beet galette

I'm not a foodie but I have foodie friends. It's good to have friends that are foodies. Or to sell seashells down by the seashore. Whichever. 

So when they graciously agreed to trek three hours across country to spend a day in the, um, well, country, I wanted to make something funky that would warm their friendly foodie hearts. 

{Ok, I'll stop now.)

I made them a galette. I didn't actually know what that was or how to pronounce it, but that's what we have dictionaries for, people. 

starting spring planting inside

Earlier this week, it was 70 degrees here in Missouri. 

SEVENTY DEGREES. 

This is a big deal when you're a Northern girl who lived through Iowa and Wisconsin winters that had a tendency to still be going strong in May.