​Spring Daffodils. One of the things I love about living on our farm is driving along the country roads and seeing a big patch of daffodils.  When I first moved here, I thought the daffodils were wild. I’ve since learned that when I see a big patch of daffodils, it’s a sign that there was probably a house—a homeplace—there at some point.  The house is gone, but the daffodils remain, popping up each Spring with their thirst for life.  I like to imagine the lives of the people who came before us. On our seventh generation family farm, the landscape has changed over the years.  I hear stories of barns and houses that were once here, stories of what happened inside those houses and the people who occupied them, who tended this land.  I’m told where an old barn once stood, and it just looks like grass now. Within a few short years, the Earth covers the space with grass, regenerating. What was there becomes a memory.  The ghosts of old buildings remain, the sweat of the people who worked the land still in the soil. I like to think that the Earth remembers.
 
When you look at the landscape now, it’s easy to think that this is how things have always looked. The roads, the buildings, the pastures. Old roadbeds are still here, no longer in use and covered in wet leaves. Walking in the woods, you can hardly tell they are there, and when your eyes adjust, they look like a walking trail. There’s a story of when Adam’s grandmother went into labor with her first child, they used the tractor to drive her over the snow and ice on the old roadbed to get to the main road so she could get to the clinic in Brandenburg. (Adam’s dad was born in the old farmhouse, and Adam’s Uncle Mike was born at a hospital in Hardinsburg). The road in front of our house didn’t get put in until ’49, a year after that first child’s birth, and it was a gravel road until 1970. So even just two generations ago, that old road was still in use. Adam’s great grandmother Lora Keys quilted to help the family survive the Great Depression. She had a giant flower garden that is said to be beautiful. In that garden, she brought in a bush called Multiflora Rose, that everyone curses now because it has thorns and has invaded every piece of fence line on this farm.  It does have beautiful flowers in the Spring. We remember Lora fondly. She created a lot of beauty on the farm. She worked through love to nurture her children and grandchildren, and we still have some of her quilts. Planting that first bush, she couldn’t know what would happen. It’s hard to know what pieces of our lives will last into future generations, which pieces will be helpful, and which unintentionally harmful. Seven generations from now, will the remnants of our lives be like that rosebush? Or like the daffodil? Probably a little of both.
 
Each generation tries to live a good life and tend the land in a good way. We are incredibly privileged to farm land that has been in one family for seven generations, to hear the stories of the people who were here before, the ways they loved the land. We see ourselves as part of that story, that lineage, offering gratitude for the sweat, laughter and tears of the people who came before us, building on their work and offering our labor and our lives to tending this piece of soil for the next seven generations. We offer our lives and labor like a prayer to the Earth and to those who will come after. 

Every day since the first batch of baby chicks came a week ago, Sylvan has asked to go see the baby chicks.  At first, he did't want to hold them, but now he can't get enough! yesterday, he learned to catch them. It was adorable watching him chase after them and get frustrated when he missed, but he finally got the hang of it. Then he wanted to catch one for me and for Hazel, for her to hold. She was fascinated by them, and wanted to reach out to touch them but did NOT want to hold it.  When it was in my hand, she would reach out with one finger, then want me to put it down, but as soon as I put it down, she wanted me to pick one up again. I could only take that for so long.  Sylvan wanted to feed them, so he took the feed scoop and actually got it in the feedings area! (instead of all over the floor).  

We get the chicks in the mail as day-old birds. We use a design for the brooder house from an old war-era extension office booklet. It shows how to make a low-cost and super effective brooder area out of plywood (since metal was so scarce during the war). They stay in the brooder house till they are about two weeks (their "teenage" years), then they move out to the pasture to get bugs, grass and feed. They LOVE the grasshoppers, and they help fertilize the fields in the process. They're only cute for about a week, but they're super fun for the kids!

I love this cornbread recipe because it uses fresh-ground cornmeal we grew, it doesn't have sugar in it, and we eat it with the meal and also for dessert. It's best fresh out of the oven, or at least for same-day eating.  I got the recipe from Susanna Lein of Salamander Spring Farm, who also grows her own heirloom cornmeal.  We've been growing our own corn variety on this land for about 8 years now. We've dubbed it "Rhodelia Rainbow." It's a blend of two heirloom varieties called "Bloody Butcher" and "Hickory King." Planting and harvest is always a community event, where people from Sustainable Agriculture Louisville come out for a traditional by-hand planting of a "three sisters" patch of this heirloom corn, beans and squash.  We plant in May, harvest the corn in October or November, and then have corn to grind into cornmeal all yer long. if you try this, be sure to get a coarsely ground cornmeal. Ours is a combo of white, red and purple kernels that get ground into one delicious cornmeal.  For dessert, we add butter and plain yogurt over the warm, fresh from the oven cornbread, and then top with either homemade maple syrup or sorghum.

if you'd like to try it, here's the recipe. Like I said, the basis is from Susanna Lein, but I've changed the process and proportions a little. Here's my version of

Susanna's Cornbread:
Preheat oven to 400 degrees.

In a cast iron skillet, melt a stick of butter. Add 2 cups of cornmeal and toast, about 5-10 minutes. Set aside to let cool slightly.

Meanwhile, mix batter: 2 eggs, 1 cup buttermilk (I always use a combo of plain yogurt and either milk or water), 2 t. baking powder, 1 t. salt.

Add batter to cast iron and mix. Pop skillet in hot oven for 2o min. Enjoy while warm.