Auntie Annie's Fields

Our farmers market season is over, but our hens are still laying up a storm! We’re going to offer egg subscriptions to be picked up at Ian’s parents’ house in the Longfellow neighborhood of Minneapolis.

- WHAT? A 10-week subscription. After that, you can renew for another 10 weeks. We’ll keep going like that until the market season starts again in May.

- WHEN? Picked up Thursday nights from 6:30-7:30 p.m. The first one runs Nov. 7 through Jan. 9. (We’re skipping 12-26, so that isn’t counted in the 10 weeks!) On some nights – like 11/14 and 11/28– the Minneapolis delivery might have to be moved to Tuesday.

- WHERE? Ian’s parents’ home near 46th Ave. S. and 40th St. E in the Longfellow neighborhood of Minneapolis. OR at our farm – out by Millersburg in the Northfield area.

- HOW? This is a prepaid subscription. We have a limited supply of eggs – although we’re getting more layers within a week – and we’ll take subscriptions on a first come first serve basis. You can send us your check by mail or give it to Ian when you first pick up your eggs. We might have extra eggs available some weeks.

- COST? $47.50 for 10 weeks, a discount off the regular price of $5 a dozen. Please bring your cartons back to us!

- WHAT IF YOU MISS A WEEK? If you occasionally have to miss a pick-up we’ll try to get you 2 dozen the next week. If the supply is really tight, there might occasionally be a longer wait for the replacement eggs. Or, if you want, we could donate your skipped dozen to the food shelf for you.

Our hens will be eating organic feed and going outside during the winter except when the wind chill is way below zero.

The regular farmers’ market season is coming to an end in Minneapolis, but we’ll be bringing chicken to the Longfellow neighborhood of Minneapolis every month. We’ll be at Ian’s parents’ home near 40th St. E. and 46th Ave. S from 3:30-4 on:

11/23
12/21
1/25
2/22
3/22
4/27

(Those are all Saturdays) We’ll send out e-mails when one of those dates is drawing near to ask if we should bring something up for you.

We’ll also be at the Kingsfield/Fulton holiday market on 11/10 from 9 to 2 p.m.

We won’t stop selling on farm either because it’s getting colder! You can still get a slight discount by buying chicken directly from the farm.

I never have cultivated much of a fashion sense, but at this time of year, clothing starts to feel very important to me. This morning, the indoors seemed warm and inviting, and the outdoors looked like a place to avoid. Still, my toddler and I had to venture out in the cool mist to take care of the animals. He was dressed in a yellow slicker with a hood, looking like a ray of sunshine to me, and I wore my Carhart jacket. Both my husband and I balked a little at the idea of buying the pricey Carharts, but we pushed past our reservations, each purchasing one as a gift for the other.

My mom, who always wishes beautiful things for me, was a little disappointed in my husband’s gift. “How does it look? ” she asked.

“It depends, I guess, on the look you’re going for,” I answered. “If you’re trying to look like a farmer, then it looks perfect!” Honestly, the feel of it it is more important than the look because when I’m wearing that jacket, I am rarely distracted by the weather.

This morning, my Carhart protected me from drizzle as my toddler and I marched out to care for a batch of chicks in the most distant coop. Instead of paying attention to the rain, I was wondering whether the speedy toddler was going to trip and crash on his stomach in the mud. (He did fall, several times, but picked himself up, saying “I’m OK.”) The rain that looked so daunting from inside was not even worth my attention.

When the chicks were done, we opened the hens’ coop and brought some corn and damaged squash to the hogs. Watching the hogs nibble and wrestle with some of those hard squash, I breathed that cool damp air, and savored the smells of wet earth and newly fallen leaves. Standing quietly under the trees by the pig pen, it felt like I had an intimate relationship with this little patch of the world.

There’s something special about being outdoors, not for fun, but because we need to be there. We end up learning how an autumn drizzle sounds sounds falling in a field of sorghum sudan grass, and we know how clean the snowy winds smell. We end up seeing the stars far too often, going out after dark to take care of something, but those stars can feel like mysterious companions when you’re looking up at them often enough.

In the end, my mother’s wish that I should have beautiful things is fulfilled by that rugged looking Carhart jacket. I am gathering a rich collection of stars, the perfume of rain, the treasure of intimacy with a little patch of the world. Anyone who tries to store such extravagant beauty in their heart is bound to be changed by it.

At the farmers markets, we love discussing differences between our two breeds of meat chickens, and we can wax eloquent about the virtues of our old-fashioned hogs. We can explain how we keep our animals outside eating greens, and why that’s unique and important. We speak with some authority about these things.

We are able to speak with authority because we’ve had help. Almost four and a half years ago, we uprooted our family of four from our beloved South Minneapolis home so we could follow our dream of farming, and we started to fix up a farmhouse that sat vacant after a foreclosure.

The wind whipped and wailed around the house like a chorus of querulous voices, and enormous farm equipment moved through the vast black fields at night, looking more like space ships than tractors. Inside the house, we tackled the leaky windows, distressed carpet, and stolen pipes. We bought 50 chickens, and my husband built them a coop. When I looked up from my work long enough to form a thought, I marveled at our hubris.

Then my husband Ian did something that changed our life: He bought a used dehumidifier. The man selling the dehumidifier had an antique tractor at his house, and so he and Ian started chatting. They talked for more than two hours, and after that, my husband had dehumidifier and a friend.

My husband’s friend Chuck grew up farming in Iowa in an era when a family farm looked more like what you see in children’s books. They had a menagerie of animals, and they rotated their land through pasture, hay and corn, to protect the fertility of their miraculous black soil. It is the kind of arrangement that supported people for many generations, and it’s the kind of farming we would like to do.

Chuck had plenty of advice about how we could keep our first little flock healthy. He also had advice about machinery. Early in their friendship, he and my husband drove out to buy our tractor together, then spent hours in the garage, working on carburetors and leaking gaskets.
Four years later, Chuck still puts in time on our tractor, but he has branched out. When we got 8 inches of rain, and our chicken coop flooded, I called Chuck. When we weren’t sure we could finish building a coop before the arrival of some laying hens, Chuck was there swinging a hammer. When we sit down to plan what our farm will look like in 10 years, he’s there with ideas.

Sometimes, when I have a moment to look up from my work with chickens and hogs, I still marvel at our hubris. The thought is overshadowed by respect for the people who have walked this path before us and who want us to succeed. Our friendship with Chuck has helped us stay rooted us in a solid tradition of farmers. For that, I am grateful.

Our meat birds really go outside in the morning. We’ve all heard of the “free range” birds that actually stay inside all the time, but that’s not the case with our birds. They all go inside at night by themselves now, and we just shut the door to keep them safe from predators. Then, in the morning, they’re ready to go outside again as soon as they possibly can. They really like the morning and evening times, and in the middle of the day, they’ll probably rest in their coop again for a while.

I was doing chores at twilight when I heard men’s voices from one of my chicken coops. My first thought was that it must be visitors, but the only vehicles in the driveway were ours. The chicken coop sat dark and still, with cornfields stretching behind it as far as I could see and distant lightning flashing in the sky.

The coop where I heard voices was the same one we’d emptied of chickens a few days before. Our gourmet meat birds grow up so be so lively and vibrant that after we take them to the processor, their old coop seems eerie and desolate.

The longer I stood listening to the voices, the less they sounded like regular people. They varied in volume, sometimes were muffled, and sometimes were gone. I decided that a couple of stalkers were not chatting in my chicken coop, so it was safe for me to finish the chores.

I was almost done when my husband came down to meet me, telling me that he heard men talking. He thought we should check it out together. I was more of the opinion that we should head inside, but I didn’t want to leave my husband alone with the voices, so I agreed.

My husband reminded me of how my great aunt used to pick up radio signals in her filling, and he expected something around the coop was doing the same. This sounded possible. My mother’s friend had also picked late-night WCCO radio on his toilet seat and had to set a heavy book on the commode to quiet it down so he could sleep.

We stood by the edge of the chicken yard together, looking suspiciously at the mesh fence and wondering if it was acting like a radio. Then we gazed at the darkness behind it, split by lightning flashes. The voices reached us in waves, sounding confident and masculine, but just muffled enough so we couldn’t hear words.

It occurred to me that I’ve seen fireworks from that direction on the fourth of July, and I started wondering if maybe the turbulent atmosphere was intermittently carrying sounds from a celebration in New Prague.

I wanted to tell my husband this, but I couldn’t think of the words “New Prague.” As I stuttered and searched for the words, I apparently looked stricken with a flashlight casting spooky shadows on my face from below. My husband waited in suspense, wondering what unspeakable thing I was trying say. Finally I spit out the wrong words: “Maybe it’s a celebration in New Ulm!”

At this point, we started hearing polka music. It was a rollicking version of “The Chicken Dance.”

I have never been so happy to hear polka. We listened until the song ended and the sky to the southwest blinked with fireworks. If the people at that celebration were half as happy as I was to see those fireworks, then the event must have been a smashing success.

A person might call someone a “pig,” to say they are sloppy or overindulgent, but when I started really watching hogs, I noticed something very different. Pigs are confident. They have reason to be confident too; they are strong, and rowdy and smart. Being in charge of these animals sounded daunting to me. I thought maybe I’d pass on the idea of raising them.

Then I saw guinea hogs. I was on a tour of Scattergood Friends School Farm in Iowa, when I walked up over the rise and saw small, black pigs standing in a pasture. They looked approachable, and I liked them almost immediately. During the last several years, I’ve learned more about the hogs and have only learned more reasons to admire them.

They are an old-fashioned breed, which was perfect for the farms where most people lived until a few generations ago. They’re gentle, and they are bred to be able to grow on food that they find themselves. In this way, they’re not as dependent on corn and soybeans as the modern breeds. They would fit well into the multi-species pasture system we’re working on developing.

When most people moved off the farm, and pork production changed, the breed was almost lost. In recent years though, their numbers have grown from the hundreds to the thousands. Because they’re rare, and also because they are unusually delicious, they made the Slow Foods Arc of Good Taste, a list of endangered foods that are worth preserving.

We have eight guinea hogs on the farm now, and also some pork in the freezer. It’s good stuff. We’re selling it mostly at Fulton Farmers Market in Minneapolis.

So far, my favorite time with guinea hogs was driving five piglets home from Iowa last week. We put them in two dog kennels in the back of the minivan, and checked on them frequently to offer them water.

At one rest stop, my daughter was looking in on them with the hatchback open, and the pigs were snuffing and grunting and making amazing noises. An older couple pulled up by the car and asked my daughter about the pigs.

“What are those?” the woman said.

“They’re just little babies!” my daughter answered enthusiastically!

“They’re little baby WHATS?” the man asked with incredulity.

“Pigs!”

“Where are you taking them?” the woman queried.

“Back home to our farm!” my girl answered, and the couple nodded, apparently
satisfied and pulled away again.

The piglets arrived safely at our home, and we are not actively trying not to feel too attached to them. They are the size of large cats, but are built like little tanks. Lifting one — which we did when we were transporting them — is like lifting a piece of heavy firewood, except firewood usually doesn’t put up a fight when you try to carry it, and these guys do.

My husband’s friend, who grew up raising old fashioned pigs, said it would be easier for us if we had 20 of them instead of 5. Maybe some day we will.

Hi,

My name is Emily and I am 12. I am Ian and Elizabeth’s daughter. I really enjoy living on the farm because it’s so fun to run around and play with the animals.

We still have 3 Guinea hogs that eat greens, organic grains, whey from a local cheese producer, and eggs. We have two kinds of chickens, Cornish cross and freedom rangers. They eat organic feed and greens. We have doubled or laying flock. They run around and eat bugs and grass. They are really pretty and soft. It is really fun to hold them and pet them.

We are selling at two markets, Midtown and Fulton in Minneapolis. We will be there through October on Saturdays. There are eggs and chicken at both markets, but at least for now there is only pork at Fulton market. It is really fun to go to the markets and I recommend that you guys come and look around.

You can come and visit the farm too! If you buy a chicken on the farm you get a 3$ off per bird. It is fun to come and meet the chickens and hogs. My brother would love to give you a tour!

The last month brought many exciting decisions for us.

First, we’ve set prices for the season. We’ll be offering 2 kinds of birds: the standard meat breed (Cornish Cross) and the slower growing gourmet breed (Freedom Rangers) that we grew last year.

• The Cornish Cross will be $4.95 a pound
• Freedom Rangers will be $5.35.
• There’s a discount of $3 PER BIRD when you buy on farm.

The prices are higher than last year for several reasons. First, organic feed cost went up a great deal, and that’s our main expense. The new prices are also a better reflection of the true cost of raising birds, and it will let us keep doing the work we love to do and that we believe is very important work. Please come visit us and take advantage of that significant discount.

We are moving up the schedule on our long-term plans to offer beef and pork. We have 20 acres here. Our hope has always been to eventually help heal this land with rotational grazing that included ruminants. We plan to offer pork and beef at Fulton Farmers’ Market this summer.

That brings up the third big decision we made. Because our friends the Brauchers decided not to sell meat at Fulton this summer, it opened up an opportunity for us to be the meat vendor there. Of course we’ll still be at Midtown. John Riley, who’s been living at our place with his wife and small children since October, will likely staff the Fulton Market. He’s a very friendly guy, and we trust him and his whole family completely.

We’ll be doubling the size of our laying flock next week to help keep up with the demand of 2 markets.

The hogs we’re buying are a very old fashioned breed called guinea hogs. They’re on the Slow Food Arc of Good taste (which is for endangered foods that taste amazing). They’re small black hogs and very gentle. I fell I love when I saw some in Iowa several years ago. We will have a very limited supply this year, but if it works well to raise them, I hope to offer more in coming years.

Our new steers will stay with our friend Kurt Schulz this season. We’ll be making many trips out to his place to help care for the animals and to learn from Kurt. Like the hogs, our supply will be limited, but I hope it increases in coming years.

We’re holding work days every Saturday from April 21 through May 11, making chicken coops and a pig pen. We may be able to thank helpers with some extra eggs after our new laying flock comes.

We still have eggs available in South Minneapolis Tuesday and Thursday nights. Order ahead if you’d like some!

Please let us know if you can come help and if you’d like to pick up some eggs.

The chicks are here, in 2 indoor brooders. When it’s so cold out and there’s still so much snow on the ground, this keeps them warmer. It’s also more inviting for the children to spend time with them.

Looking at the baby chicks

Baby chicks