Passionate about pantries

A couple weeks ago, tired of tripping over things that somehow got stored on the floor, I did a deep clean and reorganization of our pantry. It's always nice to do this, since it increases efficiency and reacquaints me with things that tend to get pushed in back and forgotten.

As always when giving attention to the pantry, I took a moment to step back and give thanks for this space. It's stocked deeply and thoroughly. It allows us to create entire meals without having to dash to the grocery store (an hour's round trip) for any particular ingredient. If we're getting low on something, it gets added to a running list for restocking at a future time.

I was asked to write a piece for Lehman's on the benefits of a well-stocked pantry, which I just sent in. I pitched a follow-up piece on pantry organization, on which I haven't heard back yet. But my enthusiasm to write on the subject made me realize just how passionate I am about pantries.

Interestingly, pantries took off in a BIG way during the COVID lockdowns (dubbed "pantry porn") as people (a) realized the benefits of having an in-home grocery store, and (b) were bored out of their gourds and decided pantry organization was the next Hot Topic. I thought it was great to see so many people get involved in pantries, although I think the trend has fizzled somewhat.

Of course, most of these pantries featured online involved a lot of beautiful organization that wasted a lot of space, at least in my opinion.

These intensely organized pantries may be Instagram perfect, but many don't reflect the reality of active usage. As meals are planned and prepared, things get raided, moved around, rummaged through, restocked, de-stocked, and otherwise used. Many pantries featured in the pantry-porn phase were more for photo ops than practical food storage.

Still, it was a trend I enthusiastically applauded. Pantries are the greatest thing since ... well, sliced bread. (The term "pantry" stems from the Latin word "panna," or bread room)

Our pantry is ugly. It will never be featured on anyone's Instagram feed. But it is perfectly suited to our family's needs, deeply stocked, and critically important, especially since my job loss. Therefore it is dazzlingly beautiful in my eyes.

Book hoarders? Oh please.

An article caught my eye the other day: "Ten Famous Book Hoarders." I mean, how could I resist an article like that?

But something mentioned in the article's intro was disturbing to a bibliophile like me: By some claims, owning as few as 1,000 books tips you over into the category of hoarder.

Further reading, of course, calmed me down. By the examples of book hoarders listed, I am firmly in the category of amateur when it comes to quantity. (I took a hasty count, by the way; currently we stand at about 1,750 volumes, not counting three hefty totes of children's books stored in the barn. I should point out this is considerably fewer than the 5,000+ volumes we used to own.)

Of the book hoarders listed in the article, Karl Lagerfeld tops the list at 300,000 books. Yowza. That's a lot.

Significantly fewer is George Lucas with a comparatively modest 27,000 volumes. Then comes Jay Walker (20,000), Michael Jackson (10,000), Ernest Hemingway (9,000+), William Randolph Hearst (7,000), Thomas Jefferson (6,487), Nigella Lawson (6,000), Harry Houdini (5,000+), and finally Hannah Arendt (4,000). These last few examples strike me as decidedly in amateur territory as far as "hoarding" goes.

Quite how this list was assembled, with the possible exception of Karl Langerfeld, is anyone's guess, because by no stretch of the imagine are 4,000 volumes a "hoard." Literal book hoarders – the kind featured on reality TV shows – often have hundreds of thousands of volumes, far more than the collections of the people mentioned.

I have books on book collectors (because of course I do) listing historical figures who assembled considerably more volumes than most people on this list. Some wealthy eccentrics in centuries past filled entire mansions floor to ceiling with books (and this at a time when such volumes were comparatively more expensive and difficult to acquire), then boarded up the building and went on to fill another building, then another, then another. That is true book hoarding.

Therefore I would argue that – with the possible exception of Lagerfeld's 300,000 volumes – the rest of the people on the list are book collectors, not hoarders.

That's why I would call myself a collector, not a hoarder. At least, that's my story and I'm sticking to it.

How to make decisions?

Years ago, when my book "The Simplicity Primer" was released, I always joked that the whole simplicity movement could be reduced to three words: Make good choices. I stand by that conclusion.

I mean, think it through. How many of our regrets stem from poor choices we made at the time? We make dozens of choices every single day, ranging from the minor ("What should I have for lunch?") to the major ("I think I can make it through this intersection before the light turns red...").

With that in mind, I just read something that makes perfect sense:

"The 10-10-10 Rule can help you make tough decisions. When faced with a choice, ask: How will I feel about this in 10 minutes? 10 months? 10 years? You weigh short-term stress against long-term impact. This approach helps you clarify what matters most."

Interesting approach. Very sensible.

Yet despite the benefits from making good decisions, people are in/famous for making bad ones. Why?

Scientists are examining this issue, trying to figure out why people make irrational or downright stupid decisions. At this point, the bottom line is nobody knows. There are competing factors (upbringing, environment, health, impulse control, diet, etc.) that play a part, but no one can determine anything specific.

Whatever scientists find out, it's unlikely to make a difference on individual actions.We're flawed human beings, and as such we will always make poor choices and decisions, and have lots of regrets.

Still, the 10-10-10 rule makes perfect sense. Let's all try applying it. Bottom line, Make good choices. Don't run that yellow light.

Product Review Monday

Have you ever thought what it would be like to live like the Amish? I don't mean just being off-grid or giving up a car; I mean really living like (and with) the Amish?

One man, Eric Brende, and his newlywed wife Mary, did just that ... and wrote about it. They lived for 18 months with a religious group that goes even beyond the Amish in terms of technology (or the lack thereof). Brende's story is called "Better Off: Flipping the Switch on Technology" and it's an extraordinary read.

I will quote the Amazon blurb:

What is the least we need to achieve the most? With this question in mind, MIT graduate Eric Brende flipped the switch on technology. He and his wife, Mary, ditched their car, electric stove, refrigerator, running water, and everything else motorized or "hooked to the grid," and spent eighteen months living in a remote community so primitive in its technology that even the Amish consider it antiquated.

Better Off is the story of their real-life experiment to see whether our cell phones, wide-screen TVs, and SUVs have made life easier – or whether life would be preferable without them. This smart, funny, and enlightening book mingles scientific analysis with the human story to demonstrate how a world free of technological excess can shrink stress – and waistlines – and expand happiness, health, and leisure.

This – book – is – incredible. I have read it and re-read and re-read it yet again, numerous times. If you're curious what living with an Amish-like group is like, this is the book to find out.

* * * * *

For our non-book product, I'd like to recommend something I've mentioned before: A manual hydraulic log splitter.

While we're extremely satisfied with our gas-powered log splitter, a concern we've always had at the back of our mind is how we would split wood if gas wasn't available. There seemed to be no other option except the trusty maul and wedge, a prospect that holds less and less appeal as we get older. (For those who think splitting firewood is easy, keep in mind hardwoods such as oak or maple split very easily; softwood conifers, which dominate Idaho, do not.)

So when we found this manual hydraulic log splitter, we knew we'd found the missing link between splitting by hand and splitting with a gas engine, and immediately ordered one. It has performed exceptionally well.

A manual hydraulic splitter is just a bottle jack in a horizontal position, with two levers for applying the hydraulics. Its only limitation is with very large rounds, which are beyond its capacity. Of course it's not as fast as a gas-powered splitter, but it has the compensating virtues of being much, much quieter. 

The splitter weighs about 80 lbs. and is easily transported on a hand truck.

The gas-powered log splitter is still a better choice for large quantities of wood and/or huge rounds; but having a manual hydraulic splitter is a superb backup, especially for those of us who depend on wood heat.

(Obligatory disclaimer: This post contains affiliate links. As an Amazon Affiliate, if you purchase through those links, we earn a small commission.)

Stormy weather

Our still-unnamed newborn calf has certainly had a baptism by fire. Well, water.

The huge rainstorm we were predicting Saturday night into Sunday kinda fizzled out. We checked the calf Sunday morning and she was fine, so we opened gates and let Maggie and her baby out to explore the driveway area. I should note that Sunday afternoon was supposed to be dry.

The calf got drenched in a few squalls as she followed Maggie around...

...including a brief but rather intense hail storm.

Later, we noticed the baby curled up near a brush pile while Maggie wandered off to eat.

Nothing unusual about this. Newborn calves normally curl up in obscure locations while their mothers linger nearby. Since we could see the calf from the house window, we kept an eye on her.

A squall came through, dropped some rain, and moved on.

Another squall came through, dropped some rain, and moved on.

And another.

And another.

And another.

And another. What happened to dry weather?

"I don't think that poor baby's been dry since birth," Don remarked at one point. This is when the calf was barely 24 hours old.

(Calf's viewpoint: "All I know about the world is that it's always wet.")

Another squall came and went. At one point, between cloudbursts, I went out to clean the barn. Since the barn has a metal roof, the noise of yet another passing squall was deafening.

It was at this point that Don came into the barn and nearly had to shout over the noise of the rain. He said he went to check the baby, since she hadn't moved in several hours, and he was concerned because she seemed listless. We knew we had to get her under cover.

This was easier said than done. (Most things on a homestead are easier said than done.) I had already pitched a small pile of hay in one of the barn corners in hope the calf would curl up on it. The difficulty wasn't getting Maggie or her baby into the barn; the difficulty was keeping them there, especially through these endless torrential squalls that kept hitting us.

The barn doors swing open, and since we seldom close them, they tend to get jammed in an open position over time. So we had to dig out the doors in the muck and mud. Then, since we planned to keep Maggie indoors with her baby, we needed to get a tub of water inside too. This tub hadn't been used for a while, so we had to hose it clean, then drag it inside, then find a hose long enough to fill it.

When everything was ready, I located a tiny halter and tied a rope to it. Don was right; the baby was listless and shivering. I suggested getting the Gorilla cart once again to transport her into the barn, since we're past the age where we relish carrying a wiggling 50-pound newborn calf uphill in the rain. The two of us managed to hoist the baby inside the cart, and started pushing her toward the barn.

In case you're wondering where Maggie was through all this, the answer was waaay down in a pasture, happily grazing. Eh, new mom. She isn't fully aware of her responsibilities yet.

We finally got the calf into the barn and out of the cart (at which point the halter also slipped off her head; we might need to purchase a smaller halter). But at least she was under cover. Don toweled her off and got her as dry as possible.

By this point Maggie had figured out that we were messing with her calf, so she was bellowing at a gate just outside the barn door. It was fairly easy to get her inside with her baby. We closed them in and left them alone for a bit to relax.

I went out after an hour or so (and a couple more squalls) and saw the calf was, indeed, lying on the pile of hay. That was a nice sight.

Maggie was resting by the feed box on the other end.

The calf soon got to her feet and went to see her mama. Her shivering had stopped and her movements were strong, so we think she'll be fine. Guess who's staying locked up until the rain passes?

But all these shenanigans with rain squalls and torrential downpours inspired Don to come up with the perfect name for the new baby.

Stormy.

Saturday surprise

Don and I were working on a project out in the yard today when a low "moo" caught our attention. We looked up into the pasture, into which we had released the cows yesterday. Maggie, our Jersey heifer, was ... staring at something on the ground.

"Did Maggie have her calf?" I exclaimed.

Don and I grabbed boots and went to look. Yup, Maggie had dropped her calf. This wasn't supposed to happen for another two weeks or so.

The birth had happened just moments before.  The baby was still wet and not yet on its feet.

Boy? Girl? No idea yet.

Maggie vigorously licked her newborn. Licking accomplishes three things: It cleans the calf, it stimulates its circulation, and it familiarizes the mother with her newborn's scent.

Meanwhile we were tasked with getting Maggie and her baby into the corral for a couple of reasons. One, we don't like newborns to be out in the field just after birth. Too vulnerable. And two, we have something like three-quarters of an inch of rain moving in tonight and tomorrow, and wanted the baby under cover.

After some discussion, we decided to cut a hole in the fence and fetch the calf in the Gorilla cart. God bless that Gorilla cart, it has a thousand and one uses.

We fetched a lead rope and pressed Older Daughter into service. I clipped the lead rope to Maggie (she was cagey but not aggressive, always nice to see considering bovine post-partum hormones), then handed the lead rope to Older Daughter. Don pulled over the Gorilla cart, and I lifted the wet and slimy (and heavy) baby and laid it in the cart. I also took the opportunity to check the gender: It's a girl!

We carefully transported the calf down to the driveway. My job was to keep the calf – who very much wanted to try out her new legs – from trying to get to her feet. Don pulled the cart. Older Daughter pulled Maggie along behind (and tried to keep her from crowding Don). By hook and by crook, we got the animals down from the pasture into the driveway, then pulled the cart to the feed lot behind the barn. (The calf was trying to rise to her feet just as I snatched this photo.)

Now we could let Maggie relax and learn to be a mother.

The new baby is a darling little thing. She's half Jersey, half Angus.

Naturally the other animals are wildly curious to greet the newcomer. Here's Mignon, making overtures of friendship.

It didn't take the baby long to find the faucet. Good! Suck down that colostrum!

Meanwhile Maggie had a strand of mucus hanging down. It was so long it was dragging on the ground and getting tangled in her back legs.

I took a pair of scissors and snipped it shorter.

Maggie still hadn't dropped the placenta, so the mucus is a normal part of the post-partum process in cows.

I left Maggie and her baby alone for a couple hours, then went to check on them. They were both laying down, doubtless exhausted after their ordeal, and looking sleepy and content.

Maggie had also dropped the placenta, which was good to see. Often cows eat this; if it's still there by tomorrow, I'll throw it away.

It seems all is well in our little bovine world.

So that's our Saturday surprise. Maggie wasn't supposed to have her calf until Memorial Day weekend, but calves are born when calves are born. I'm just grateful we were here when it happened and could get everyone under cover before the rain moves in.

I guess we'll be building the calf pen and milking stall sooner than we realized.

Life on a homestead. Roll with the punches.

Nature, red in tooth and claw

A few days ago, as I was working at the kitchen sink, I heard an enormous commotion out in the side yard where we have a line of willow trees. Something on the order of a dozen magpies were screeching and flapping in agitation.

I stepped outside to see if I could determine the source of their distress. And what did I see?

The magpies had built a nest in one of the willows, which I had failed to notice earlier.

A raven – not a crow, but a raven (no mistaking its size) – was in the process of raiding the nest, with all the magpies shrieking in outrage around it. As I watched, the raven flapped away with a nestling in its beak.

Gradually the magpies dispersed, and things have been quiet since. In fact, it's been so quiet that I suspect that nestling was the last one, and the raven had been there earlier for the rest of the nestlings. ("A vending machine for the raven," as Don put it.)

To be perfectly honest, I've witnessed enough brutal magpie raids of robin and bluebird nests that I'm finding it difficult to be sorry for the magpies. All members of the corvid family engage in such opportunistic behavior, some more than others, and it's never fun to watch.

Nature, red in tooth and claw.

Organic weed control

Two years ago, we participated in a county program in which workers came in and cleared out severely overgrown underbrush for purposes of fire mitigation.

Part of our contractual obligation to participate in this program is to maintain the condition of the property after the brush was removed (in other words, not to let it get overgrown again). In talking over how best to do this with the rep, we mentioned we were getting cows at some future point.

She was delighted. "Cows are one of the very best ways to control weeds!"

Of course she's right. The condition of the sacrifice pasture after the cows finished with it is proof enough.

Part of our intense rotation for the cows, therefore, is weed control. At this time of year, grass is growing fast and growing thick. We're managing the cows so they can eat things down without leaving them so long in any one place that they damage the baseline plant growth. Later in the summer, when the grass stops growing and things dry out, we'll have to be careful that the cows don't overgraze anything.

One of the places the cows had never been is the driveway area between the house and barn. This is staging area where we keep a lot of unkempt and loose stuff: Tractor implements, large items such as the log splitter and a small trailer, and miscellaneous things such as the burn barrel and scrap wood from the shop. It's where we keep rolls of fencing, unsplit log rounds, stacked and tarped lumber, unused cinder blocks, and the tarped hay bales. It's a messy and disorganized area we're not eager for visitors to see, ha ha.

But, because it's spring, many places are getting overgrown with grass between all these items. We really wanted the cows to graze it down, purely for purposes of weed control.

So we worked to cow-proof this section. We fenced off awkward angles against the hillside or in places we didn't want them to go (such as squeezing behind a shed). We picked up anything sharp that might hurt them. And finally, yesterday morning, we opened a connecting gate and called them in.

This is an especially overgrown section of hillside, and we welcomed the cows eating it down.

Of course, being cows, they did a lot of poking around. For obvious reasons, we're keeping the barn and shop doors closed while the animals are in the driveway.

Also, being cows, they're leaving a lot of cow patties. But that's okay. Cow patties aren't a fire hazard, just a walking hazard.

This open gate leads to a side chute against the barn, which in turn leads to the water tank at the back of the barn. The cows are familiar with the chute and therefore knew were to find water.

There's not enough grass in this section to keep the cows interested for more than two or three days, at which point we'll release them into the newly subdivided large pasture. Later in the summer, we'll probably put them in the driveway again, just to make sure it stays eaten down.

Organic weed control. Gotta love it.

SPAM spam spam spam SPAM spam spam spam

Every once in a while, I check the spam comments on this blog because sometimes a legitimate comment gets caught up in the filter.

I was rewarded with a doozie. Feast your eyes on this, all spelling/punctuation in the original and the most amusing parts highlighted:

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No red flags here! I'm certain this isn't from a scam artist in Nigeria. No siree.

It reminded me of this clip: