My friends, I would like to show you around my new shop that opened Saturday! My daughter and I (and a beautiful array of angelic friends) have been scrubbing, painting, creating, preparing, and decorating this glorious 1800’s store front. Welcome to Pumpkin Hollow Farm Homesteading Supplies and Classes. If you are ever in Pueblo, Colorado, do come by! 687 S. Union Ave. Facebook.com/pumpkinhollowfarm
The air is cool this morning. Autumn just whispers. A little early, it seems to me. A lovely few weeks of monsoon broke us out of our months of triple digit drought. The farms are half fallow for lack of water. On my little urban farm, the rain has brought forth abundance and we are just nearly tired of zucchini. Still, fried zucchini and early pumpkin beer sounds good today. I am grateful we do not rely solely on ourselves for food as I thumb through my depression era cookbook. We are eating well from our gardens. The herbs are lovely and fragrant, and though the produce is all slow to mature this year, we are now eating peppers and tomatoes and calabacitas.
The chicken’s yard is filled with birds of all kinds, apparently enjoying the new chicken feed. The egg eater was discovered and went to a chicken swap where she is going to live in a lovely coop with three other roommates. We now have eggs again.
Many years ago I wrote a post about the pros of urban farming. I think of that post now as I sit on my front porch watching the early morning world go by. The morning glories have run wild and made the porch art. Though I do want goats- many cities do allow them, perhaps eventually Pueblo will too- I see the many pros to living here in town. I have abundant space to garden. My garden on ten acres was smaller than the space I have here. I can go up and out and raised and potted and there is much more land to make into gardens and orchards. One does not need as much space as one might think. I have the benefit of not having crop dusters flying over my little organic homestead.
I have chickens and their hilarious antics and fresh eggs. I have local farmers for milk should I choose.
Today I am making soap for our new shop and for ourselves. I canned seven pints of fresh, organic peaches from the farmer’s market and seven jars of spicy pickles from my own garden. Little by little the root cellar fills. Soon Doug will be chopping wood for the wood stove. My favorite reading spot has oil lamps and candles and the power could go out and I would go on reading.
Homesteading, I have learned over a decade of experience, is not about self sufficiency, but rather it is a village ideal. One cannot possibly do everything themselves. I need sweet corn from the local farmer, organic meat from my friends’ ranch if I choose. They might get medicine or take a canning class from me.
Here in town, I can ride my bike to the newest coffee shop to pick up fair trade coffee and hit the library for a homesteading book. I can grow food and have chickens and even a farm dog. Old arts like quilting and sewing and crocheting are making a comeback. Homesteading is not insistent on the country, but rather a space in one’s heart for simplicity and old ways.
Wednesday: The idea came swift and clear as a starry night. Or perhaps it resurfaced. Or perhaps it was whispered in my ear by the homesteading spirits before me. Either way, it has been seven days since then and we are already planning our grand opening.
Thursday: I ran the idea by my youngest daughter to see if she wanted to be a part of it. She was in. We went for a long hike and discussed why we wanted to start a farmgirl store. I did not want to start something rashly with just money in mind. It needed to be meaningful and enjoyable. We came up with a list of why the homesteading lifestyle is important to us.
- Helps environment
- Creates better mental health
- Homesteading creates more family time
- Great for children
- Creates community
It was five and a half years ago that we stood in Nancy’s kitchen making goat’s milk soap, creating label ideas, going through seed catalogs and beginning “The Five Farmgirls.” Emily held a few-month old Maryjane on her hip as she and Nancy’s daughter, Faleena came up with product names. We laughed as we sarcastically came up with our own catch phrase, “It’s Farmgirl Good!” as we shook the cold milk trying to turn it into butter for two hours. Our friend, Lisa came over to help make soap and we sat outside on an early spring day and had a picnic lunch. A year later Nancy would suddenly and quietly cross over the veil.
Saturday: Doug and I had lunch with Lisa and Lance Saturday and I told her my idea. They raise humane meat on their ranch and we could have a pick up point at our shop. We could do the same for milk. We laughed and talked for three hours and discussed ideas. Still, with not a lot of dollars and no idea where to get an affordable retail space, it still felt far off.
So certain that this was going to take off, Emily and I started picking up usable antiques (that are sturdier and still work better than modern versions!) and items for our store. I bought material to make aprons and farmgirl style pillows. We came up with a name, Pumpkin Hollow Farm (of course); Homesteading Supplies and Classes.
Sunday: Doug and I drove around and gathered phone numbers for retail spaces. None of them were quite right. They also were way out of our price range. I wanted an old space that looked like a general store. And it had to be ridiculously affordable. (They are cleaning it up…I’m keeping the piano for the shop!)
Monday: I call on a shop that people had said would be hard to get. Many people had inquired on this space and had either been turned down or never called back. The manager picks up, says she will call the owner and call me back. Five minutes later she calls me back, the owner loves my idea. She will rent to me. For a ridiculously affordable price. Ten minutes later I am at the shop to see it. The building is over a hundred years old and it sure looks like a general store. It is in a great location.
Tuesday: Dad brings a box to my apothecary that says my name on it. “Mom wanted you to have these,” he says wistfully as he hands me a large bag along with the box. My friends Kat and Rod are like parents to me and Kat died almost exactly two years ago. I have a collection of her grandmother’s things. Hilda is alive and well in my home. A box and bag of homesteading items and china were the new gifts to me to carry on. A whisper from above that there are many friends helping this come together.
Wednesday: Yesterday morning we signed a lease and shook hands. A private loan came through. I registered my name. We have held on to our beloved name since our early farm. Our farm and homesteading school took a devastating turn a little over three years ago when we had to suddenly leave our rented farm and all of my beautiful homesteading items and our lifestyle was lost. In a twist of irony, as I searched for my name in the Secretary of State, the name expired three years ago to the day that I re-registered it.
Mission Statement: To increase happiness, health, and well being for people and Mother Earth by offering quality, second hand, homemade or sustainable objects that bring back the charm of an old fashioned, simple life.
Pumpkin Hollow Farm Homesteading Supplies and Classes coming in early September!
“It’s Farmgirl Good!”
Gandalf the Great Pyrenees had a new toy. The story goes (according to him anyway) that Buttercup the chicken got out of the pen and he was simply attempting to corral her back in. Three quarters of her was stuck in his mouth as I screamed at him.
Forget hawks, eagles, raccoons, skunks, bears, coyotes, or any other predator you may have heard about. Dogs are the most common predator chickens face.
My friend, Addie- aka Superwoman…if war breaks out, we are heading to her house- brought us three chickens to make up for Buttercup. Buttercup, was of course, our best layer. These three have some work to do. They were in a large coop hanging out in the front yard when we got home. A lovely surprise! We quietly put them in the coop in the night so that the chickens would all be fooled and think that they were always there come morning and there would be no blood baths. It always works. Except when it doesn’t.
We used the portable coop she loaned us that the chickens had been delivered in to lock up the chickens. “Should I put the three new girls in the pen?”
“No,” she replied, “you lock up the bullies!”
She further explained (if y’all knew how many homesteading lessons I have had from this gal over the years you would think she should have written a book!) that if you put the new girls in the pen it only tells the old girls that they are indeed below them. If you lock up the mean girls then they come to understand that they are not the bosses. It worked like a charm.
Then the egg eating started. Oh, those three rascals. One of them was eating eggs like she was sitting in an IHOP. Addie suggested we raise their protein intake in their food because they were all molting and they needed more nutrients to get through it. We also laid golf balls around the coop so the culprit would peck those once and would stop pecking eggs. That worked but no one is laying eggs right now!
I have been a subscriber since I was twelve years old to a magazine about country living. I am afraid its gotten a little high falutin and ridiculous. Very pretty pictures but really geared for rich people who have no idea what farming is about. Photographs of chicken coops with pea gravel and curtains with lush, landscaped yards and chickens crossing the kitchen without any poo in sight. I love it, but it is a little deceiving.
We have a noxious tree that I love called Tree of Heaven here, or Chinese Sumac. It’s poisonous so the chickens don’t eat it. It has popped up all over the chicken yard creating a jungle atmosphere and shade. When they first moved in they had two foot high grasses to jump through. They will eat any plant that is edible, y’all. Do not landscape your chicken yard!
We looked around this place and saw the chickens, the infant orchard, the vegetables growing tall, and the pumpkins jumping out of their beds, and we have realized that we live on a perfect urban farm. A lot of people cannot afford to live out in the country and I have decided to reopen my Homesteading School. I will be teaching canning, preserving, baking, cooking, gardening, and much more as our little-farm-that-could gets more organized and utilized.
Check out my Facebook page for events here! I will also be putting a link on this blog. Happy Homesteading!
Five and a half years of writing about farming and homesteading. Almost a thousand readers. Full circle. I am peaceful as I write this. The sun is behind the large walnut tree, filtering its light through the dense branches highlighting the herbs and flowers on the medicine gardens. My front porch rocker is comfortable and my coffee is hot.
We started with chickens, a garden, some dreams. Moved towards alpacas, goats, and sheep, and bigger, simpler; somehow tripped and found ourselves in an apartment. Yet, we gardened at a community plot and hung a calendar of farm animals in the kitchen. Now we own a home of our own in a good sized city skirted by farms and friendly people. “This is not a farm,” I said. But I was wrong. Because being a farmgirl and having a homestead heart does not die. It just gets more creative.
So we have started with chickens, a garden, some dreams. Our house is similar to the one we started in. We have a third of an acre of urban space to dream and build. More raised beds, hoop houses, a greenhouse. We have a root cellar, a wood stove, and fruit trees, and a place to settle and be. By god, this is the urban farm we have read about. Every year it will grow, and get better, and right now it is perfect and warm, and as the cars zoom by to get to work, the hummingbirds drink from the geraniums and honeybees buzz in the pumpkin flowers. The Pumpkin Hollow Farm sign sits proudly on the porch. It would be easy to dream of an off grid homestead, but the challenge and dream will be to see how sustainable we can get right here on this humble plot of land.
A dear, young woman is living with us right now with her little, baby farmboy. I inadvertently see through her eyes what we have here and I am grateful. I have been on a little book tour with my newest book (http://authorkatiesanders.com) but we had time to put up ten quarts of corn broth and a dozen jars of corn yesterday. It is really warm here and the climate whispers of year round gardening with a little wisdom. The chickens frolic, the farm dog barks, the kitties mouse, and all is well in our little house.
So, the original carryall is an apron. Y’all know my great love of aprons! This one carried dozens of corn cobs to the porch to be shucked, to the kitchen to be canned, to the chickens as treats. Don your aprons, Friends, our urban homestead adventures continue…
Soon. Soon now the dark greens of earth will peek through the moistened soil and seek the sun. Dandelions will unexpectedly be dancing through the grasses. The mulberries, black and velvet, will stain my fingers as I gather them. Perhaps the squirrels will leave some walnuts for me. And this is the year for the plum tree to fruit.
To forage for food gives a great satisfaction to the spirit but to forage amongst one’s own gardens and land is spectacular. I can already taste the cleansing lamb’s quarters, the tangy purslane, the scrumptious dandelions interspersed with sweet butter lettuce fresh from the garden. Just dressed with good olive oil and sea salt, the tastes of spring come forth and fill my body with nutrients after winter’s rest. Soon. Soon now.
I am reading a beautiful book called, “A Year in the Village of Eternity” by Tracey Lawson. It takes place in Italy, in the village of Campodimele, one of the Blue Zones, where the most active and healthy elders live.
Cibo genuino. Real Food. Roba nostra. Our own things. I let the many Italian words roll off my tongue and take their lessons. Real food. Our own things. Grow an orto, a garden. In this village they forage or grow nearly everything they consume. Is it possible? Last year on our own little third of an acre in town, in soil fit for a driveway, we grew all of our own produce for the summer. Our first season here with little time or money. Now we have eggs from our chickens. We have planted many fruit and nut trees (if I can just keep the puppy from thinking they are sticks to play with!), we are recognizing more and more wild foods, and are growing many more vegetables this year in better soil. Contadino. Farmer or gardener who produces their own food.
I cannot wait to feel the soil in my fingers. Soon. Soon. The season comes earlier where we live now and in three short weeks I will be folding spring crops into the cool ground. What preserves shall we do this year? I imagine lilac and lavender jam, stewed tomatoes, crisp fire roasted corn. We are enjoying our larder these winter months.
To live like this is to be ready at all times, for what you seek or what you want to “put up” may not be there tomorrow. Herbs must be harvested when ready. Fruit may be eaten by birds at dawn. Piles of corn need shucking. Ah, but I enjoy the work. I love our evening walks after dinner in the sunlight. I love the sound of water covering plants and the crisp sound of the pea pod being opened. Ogni cosa ha il sua momento. Everything has its moment.
For now I have winter preserving to do so that it is done once the busy season starts. In my cucina this week dozens and dozens of jars of beans will be put up. Vegetable broth too. I still have beans from the garden to shell. I will check on my vinegars and my kombucha. I have been resting and a tad neglectful. But now as each day falls closer to spring, I awaken, don my apron, and get to work. In campagna, c’ e sempre da fare! In the countryside (or city as the case may be) there is always something to do!
It seems a very long time ago that I stood outside on our prairie farm screaming. I watched the last of the chickens be swooped up and driven away by other farmers who didn’t rent their farms. The sheep were gone. The goats were gone. My dog had died. I continued to give away or sell my precious antiques for next to nothing, all of my homesteading items, my life. We moved into our friend’s guest bedroom. And the landlords continued their scam on other people. Ah well, that was a long time ago. Two years. A lot can happen in two years.
We would have never studied under Native American elders that became great friends. We would have never opened our Apothecary, White Wolf Medicine. We would have never thought to move to Pueblo. We OWN our own home now. The American dream is still very much alive.
I certainly didn’t plan on moving to the city. I am a country girl through and through but the great Unknown knew darn well that if I wanted people coming to me for medicines and teas, they weren’t going to drive out to the middle of nowhere. This central location in town sure keeps me busy. People know where to find me. I am so blessed.
We could have easily fallen into a city lifestyle. We sold our truck. Bought a Fiat. Doug has an IT job. But the shed was so easy to make into a chicken coop. The yard quickly became gardens. The back is planned as an orchard. Hundreds of jars of preserves are already lining the shelves of the root cellar. The clothes line does just fine. The dishwasher is wasting space. The cuckoo clock tells the time. The light from the oil lamp is soothing. Suddenly I look up and I am a Farmgirl again.
I guess Pumpkin Hollow Farm never really went away.
Fifty-five degrees. Well, that’s not good. The refrigerator should probably be colder than that.
We do not presently have the money for a new one. I slurp my lukewarm milk from my bowl of cereal. I panic.
I go outside, sit down, face to the sun, feet on the ground and quiet down. Then I laughed. Do I not speak for entire weekends about this type of thing? Am I not nicknamed the Farmgirl? At the last show we were at, more people recognized me as the Farmgirl then White Wolf. Have I not read every homesteading and pioneering history book I can get my hands on? Are my ancestors laughing right now? If anyone can handle this, it ought to me. Don’t I pride myself on knowing how live simply and without much electricity? I have been in the city for a year…I’m rusty.
Okay, first things first. Calm down and get another cup of coffee! We are alright!
Two. Defrost the meats in the freezer (before the refrigerator dies completely) and can them. I found some good blog sites on canning hamburger.
I can preserve most things in the fridge and freezer. Cheese doesn’t mind 55 degrees, that is the temperature I aged mine at when we had our little dairy. The milk…not so much.
Invest in a cooler! I wish there were ice trucks still. I wish I had added Ice House to my house hunting criteria! Get ice from the store. Switch to non-dairy milks that do not go off so quickly.
Now from there, perhaps it is an easy fix and it might be worth it to call a repair man? In the meantime, stop panicking and bring out my inner pioneer! We can do this. But, let’s do it before food poisoning tries to take over, shall we?
There are some that are content with flowers in a pot. There are those who are perfectly happy turning on a switch to make the fire come to life (the gas flame is rather pretty). A package of this food or that blended with another to make “homemade” food. Our society has a different view of homemaking these days. But I, well I used to think I had the homesteading bug. A bug that I wondered would pass once we entered the city. Would I miss canning? It is tedious work. Would I miss hand washing dishes and clothes lines, and the smell of firewood setting aflame while a pot of beans is set on the wood stove to percolate?
I guess you know the answer.
City life can be rather easy. My friend cleans my apartment once a week. I leave for work with everyone else and work very, very hard all week long. So does Doug. We come home and fix supper or head out to eat. We switch on the fire. And a movie. We feed the cats. I do laundry. It is quick, even though our clothes are a bit shrunk from the dryer…or the lifestyle.
We long for chores and the cool breeze as we run to the chicken coop to let the ladies out. We miss the sight of dozens of jewel colored jars cooling on the counters waiting for the larder (I did get several dozen things put up, but we’ll be out by next month). I miss the sound of the dehydrator and the smell of drying tomatoes. The sound of crackling from the first log that catches in the wood stove. I miss the extensive gardens to water and the music blaring from my earphones as I dance and water at the same time, entertaining the neighbors. I miss pointing out what we grew on the plate (sometimes all of it). I miss falling into bed exhausted with a huge smile of completion on my face. Planning the winter rests of learning to knit and weave and spin and the books I’ll catch up on. Only to be planning the next year’s gardens and pouring over seed catalogues instead.
We wondered if we would get over the homesteading bug when set into a life of a bit more ease. But, no, it turns out, it was homesteading blood. Not a bug. We are a few of those folks that could go back to 1890 with ease. Playing the fiddle or working as we please. To step out of normal society is a plus. Yes, on a mini-farm and homestead you will find us.
I look forward to donning my apron again. The one that swaddled new born goats and chicks. The one my granddaughter can hide under. To wipe my hands on after chopping a zillion vegetables or to wipe my brow after crawling on my hands and knees to plant tiny seeds that will become life and infuse our life with…life.
Some of us just have homesteading in our blood.
It might seem like a good time to put up the pressure and water canners but indeed this is actually a wonderful time to catch up on winter canning. We’ll be picking up meat from our friends after harvest in a few weeks and the freezer needs to get cleaned out. I save the green parts of leeks, the outer layers of onion, carrot ends, kale ends, heading to the edge veggies and store them in large freezer bags. When it is time to make broth I stick them all in a large pot. In this batch I did all the mushrooms I had in the freezer waiting for fried mushrooms that never came about. Onion, and garlic cloves joined the bunch of veggies and large sprigs of rosemary were added. 3 hours on low and the simmering broth smelled delightful. Rosemary and mushroom broth will make a delicious broth in rich dishes. The next batch I will be doing will be made with a chicken carcass and all the corn cobs saved in the freezer from summer.
The broth is strained and poured into hot quart jars. The rims wiped down, hot lids replaced, and the jars put into a pressure canner with three inches of water on the bottom. 10 pounds of pressure for 25 minutes for normal folks; we high altitude homesteaders just keep all the weights on at all times. The 25 minutes starts when the top starts ticking. Turn off the heat when the timer goes off. Do not open for a few more hours at least. It is always nice to have broth at the ready and to know what is in it.
I also took the opportunity to re-can the peach jelly..ahem, syrup. If you have been reading my blog for a long time you know that I never get it right the first time! I have had amazing high altitude homesteading jelly makers give me every tip in the book. I suppose my problem is not following directions, ever. It generally works the second time…one more box of pectin, 1/4 cup of lemon juice, 1 more cup of sugar, let it boil for longer than it says…we’ll see if I am giving peach jelly or peach syrup this season! It takes a few weeks to know if I succeeded.
It is always nice to bake bread while canning since you are stuck near the stove anyways. The warmth of the kitchen heals chaos and settles the spirit. The root cellar in the house we are buying has large shelving that I look forward to filling.