This week we set up a new feed storage bin. As interest in pasture raised poultry has increased, our flocks have grown and we found we needed a bigger bin for all the organic chicken feed we’re using. Having a second bin also allows us to keep two different feed mixes on hand so we’re better able to adjust the diet as the chickens and turkeys age. (Don’t tell the turkeys this because they might be offended, but after we start them on a turkey-specific feed, they transition to eating chicken feed too).
We needed some help getting the top section in place. We were able to assemble the legs and cross-bracing and then to set the lower twelve feet of the bin ourselves, but the upper half was out of reach. Varnum, our local pole barn builder, had a free moment in his schedule and brought his crane truck over to assist in flying the top section into position. I was going to rent a telescopic lift for the job, but I’m glad to have been able to hire a neighbor instead.
Zia and I are just finishing up the details, assembling the pneumatic fill pipes and the auger. Getting the auger in place is another job that would be easier with a crane or telehandler, but I’ve managed to contrive a cradle in the past using the tractor forks, so I think I can make that arrangement work again.
The turkeys and chickens are doing well this spring, so it has been gratifying to see how this year’s infrastructure improvements are helping us keep the birds in top form.
This week marks ten years for WDF. We moved to this farm in June 2011 full of ambition and eager to work.
As I look back, I can trace a meandering path of trial and error that has gradually led us to the place we occupy today as a functional, self-sustaining farm. While many of our specific ideas turned out to be imperfect, the general principles behind those plans have proven to be a solid foundation. We have managed to integrate family life into the life of the farm. We’ve been able to stay true to our goals of grass fed, pasture raised, and organic. We have connected ourselves to the life of a place and to the lives of many people.
July 2012 (I couldn’t find anything from 2011)
The children have grown and become competent in their own right at various aspects of farming. The land on our farm has become vastly more fertile as we’ve transitioned it away from a more extractive model of agriculture to be a regenerative grazing farm.
But I don’t think the narrative is complete by talking solely about what our family has accomplished here. I want you to know that if you are a person who buys and eats WDF products month after month, you have been building this farm. The choices you have made with your food dollars have anchored this farm, providing the cash to keep it going and growing. And over the years you have been there to bring encouragement and joy. We have only been able to make this work because of all the people who value this food and this way of farming.
Thank you for shaping Wrong Direction Farm into what it is. We are delighted to be your family’s farmers.
When I learned about the Syracuse Salt Company and their story, I knew I had to find a way to offer their products on our website. They are exactly the kind of family business we love to support, as they are committed to artisanal production right here in our area. And since their seasonings are a natural culinary pairing with our farm’s meats, the connection makes perfect sense.
David Iannicello and Libby Croom are a father and daughter team behind the Syracuse Salt Company. Scattered throughout our part of Central New York one can find salt springs, places where brine surfaces from ancient underground salt deposits. The Syracuse area is known for especially productive and pristine salt deposits.
After getting their start selling specialty sea salts, David and Libby discovered that they could get their own salt well drilled to tap into this salt deposit right under their feet. Here’s how they describe their process:
“In order to produce this beautiful flake, we evaporate the water slowly, leaving behind a pure, snow white flake loaded with minerals. It is sifted to a uniform size and hand packed for your use. As an added benefit, because the salt comes from a well, there is no risk of micro-plastics as with some sea salts.”
The result of their work is a fantastic finishing salt, versatile enough to rim your cocktail glass or to season your steak. They also produce some excellent seasoned salts. We’re offering their Black Garlic Flake Salt (made with fermented garlic grown by another farm in our area), Rosemary Flake Salt, and Chili Black Lime Flake Salt. Everyone in our family likes the Rosemary salt; it is a real crowd-pleaser. Rachel enjoys the Chili Black Lime salt on wedges of avocado. I think the Black Garlic salt is perfect when I sprinkle it on my morning plate of fried eggs.
Try it and let me know what foods you’re using it on.
A popular and insistent narrative is that we need more herbicides for humanity to survive. The argument is framed in predictable ways. Typically we are presented first with grim statistics and the utilitarian moral argument that the world will run out of food for a growing population unless we radically increase our dependence on crops grown with toxic chemicals, synthetic fertilizers, and gene edited plants. The moral argument is followed with a technology perspective that these chemicals are safe, necessary, and fully understood based on rigorous science. Given the urgent need and the consequences of inaction, we’d be fools or monsters to stand in the way of feeding a hungry child.
The EPA has conducted a review of its own decision to permit the widespread use of the herbicide Dicamba in 2018. And what it found was not surprising to me. Instead of reviewing actual research findings, internal peer review was curtailed. Political appointees with industry connections pushed the scales over to acceptance without regard for the research work.
The companies that stood to gain from the use of Dicamba include Bayer (formerly Monsanto) and BASF. The same companies that created the need for more potent herbicides because of over-use of their previous wonder herbicide Roundup are now positioning themselves as the ones holding the next solution to the problem. At the same time that their products were being fast-tracked for approval by the EPA without regard for science, they were producing paternalistic, feel-good ads about how their genetically modified seeds and herbicides were bettering the lives of marginalized smallholder farmers throughout the world. Who knew the soundtrack to the era of corporate colonialism would be delicate, looping piano music?
Maybe the EPA will surprise me, but US Agricultural policy has remained pretty consistent during the Trump, Obama, W Bush, and Clinton administrations, really going back all the way back to Eisenhower. I expect that this particular regulatory issue will only be a temporary setback as there are still too many forces pressuring the agencies to approve use of Dicamba and other herbicides. Perhaps the institutions can be reformed, but clearly they aren’t protecting us at present.
The industrial food system isn’t feeding us the kind of food we want to eat and the regulatory system isn’t protecting us from danger. Outrage at the failure is understandable, but action is better. If we want something better, we’ll all have to build it on our own, together. This is a great time of year to plant that backyard garden you’ve always been thinking of, even if it is just three potted bell pepper plants on your porch steps. For whatever you can’t grow, find farmers who represent your values in their practices. Be involved in and support the production of good food.
In lieu of writing the normal weekly farm blog post, I’ll just allow some pictures to speak for the activities this week at WDF. There’s a lot going on right now between the cattle, chickens, gardening, construction, and repairs. And repairs. And repairs.
We’re bringing Harry into the chicken raising operation as it was getting to be too much for AJ to handle on his own. The division of labor will be for Harry to take the newly hatched chicks through their brooder phase while AJ manages the chickens once they are old enough to go out to pasture. Earlier this spring Harry shadowed AJ to make sure he knew what to do and now he’s caring for three batches of chicks. The first few weeks in the brooder are critical to the health and wellbeing of a chicken for the rest of its life, so this is a significant undertaking for a newly-turned twelve year old.
Harry has been doing an outstanding job with them. We’re glad to see him taking on this responsibility so conscientiously. The job involves doing three daily checkups on each brooder, testing the waterers, filling the feeders, adjusting the heaters and fans, freshening the bedding, and diagnosing any problems that might come up. After he hands off the chicks to AJ when they go out to pasture, there’s a big job of shoveling out the old bedding, sweeping the brooder, and prepping it for the next batch.
I like the idea of our kids taking on these tasks. I don’t require that they aspire to be chicken farmers and I certainly don’t want to exploit their labor, but I would like to give them the privilege of meaningful work. Whatever life they choose, they’ll be well served by developing patterns of — with a nod to Rooster Cogburn — true grit. I find great satisfaction in hearing their updates, particularly when they discover a problem and work their way into a solution. Today AJ found a leak in a water line and repaired the fittings. Yesterday Harry showed me how he cleaned the air filters on the heaters to help them run better. When I went over the list of turkey tasks with Allie this afternoon, she was glad to tell me that she was already a step ahead of me having finished everything early.
I’ve probably nearly worn out these concluding lines from Wendell Berry’s poem A Vision, but I can’t leave them alone.
This is no paradisal dream.Wendell Berry, A Vision
Its hardship is its possibility.
Of course our farm is no paradise. Things break. Confusion persists. We know how best to annoy each other. Intentions and actions don’t always align. But somewhere in there I hope there are opportunities for each of the kids to thrive as they take an aspect of farming, work hard at it, and find joy in the accomplishment.
Remember I mentioned a few months ago that we were working on Organic Certification? Well…
We’ve made it over the finish line and have the Organic Certificate in hand. The inspection went smoothly and this week we received our certificate. Because we’ve always been using Certified Organic feed and we’ve paid attention to Organic regulations, there really wasn’t anything that needed changing on our end and the review period moved swiftly.
It might take a little while to get the labels refreshed, but starting in June you should see the “Certified Organic” text showing up on packages.
Now I wonder how I should talk about things. Is the preferred word order choice “Certified Organic, Pasture Raised Chicken Thigh” or “Pasture Raised, Certified Organic Chicken Thigh”? Either way, it gets verbose. Maybe, “the best chicken thigh”.
Sometimes I go into “test kitchen” mode and crank out batch after batch of the same recipe, trying to get things just right. I’ve been focusing recently on chicken fat and chicken skin.
The subject of eating fat cleaves my audience apart. I get specific inquiries from people looking for lean meat and from others who are looking for fatty meat. But if I have to take a side, my loyalties are to fat. I eat fat, a lot of fat. Beef fat, pork fat, chicken fat, butter, and eggs. I don’t pretend to understand anyone else’s metabolism or daily food needs, but I know that a fat-centric diet suits my body well.
My quest for good fat has taken me to rendering chicken fat. I’ve been trying to find a way to efficiently render chicken fat in large-enough batches that we could sell it in the future. WDF Pasture Raised Schmaltz anyone? Let me know what you think.
We use chicken fat for cooking a vegetable fry-up of greens (like collards or kale), peppers, onions, and mushrooms, a dish that is on frequent rotation in our household. We also use it for frying eggs. And of course there are certain recipes that just aren’t right without chicken fat, like chicken liver pâté or matzo balls.
I grind the chicken skin to speed up the rendering. To render chicken fat I fill a crock pot with chopped chicken skin and simmer it on medium heat for four or five hours, ladling and straining the fat as it appears. When the fat is removed, I’m left with an uninspiring mush that looks like porridge but smells like roasted chicken. But don’t stop here…
This is where the magic happens, as the next phase is taking all those flaccid skins and transforming them into cracklings. I place the skin pieces in a thin layer on a lightly greased cast iron skillet and cook over medium heat, scraping the pan and stirring frequently as the skins brown. Individual pieces start jumping and popping, so I add a cover to the skillet. Once I see a nice brown color I pat the skin pieces dry on a paper towel, and then generously season them. Sometimes I add garlic and paprika, but salt and pepper do quite well on their own. Chicken cracklings are incomparable.
Using ground chicken skin we end up with small crispy bits. Alternatively you can cut the skin into larger squares with scissors or kitchen shears if you want bigger pieces, more like the traditional Ashkenazi gribenes or Filipino chicharones (probably plenty of other food traditions have equivalents, but I haven’t had the chance to eat my way around the world to discover them all).
Interested in making chicken cracklings at home? You can use one of the lowest-cost products we sell: chicken necks. Our necks are packaged with the skin on, but it is quite easy to pull the skin off with one tug. You can prepare the skins as crackings and have another full meal if you set all the skinless necks aside for a batch of broth.
Growing up with a suburban backyard full of large willow trees, I had strong, uncharitable feelings about willows. They were forever dropping limbs and making a mess of the lawn I was charged with maintaining. So it is with a sense of irony that I find myself this week planting willows. But the management goals for a backyard aren’t the same as the goals for a pasture, so my tree prejudices have shifted.
I mentioned a couple of weeks ago our work planting Honey Locust trees to complement our pastures. But we’ve been at it with other trees as well. Harry and I have been planting sprouted red oak acorns in pots. And this week we took cuttings of a nice willow tree to propagate and plant near in a low-lying pasture near a stream.
During high school some of our backyard willow trees blew down in storms. One thing that amazed me was that two-foot diameter rounds of tree trunks, if left on the ground, would sometimes grow roots and sprout. Willow’s indomitable eagerness to regrow makes it a great plant for propagation.
Willow cuttings can be rooted in a pot of water. We have a few of them soaking on the kitchen windowsill this week as a learning project. But recently cut willow stakes can also take root directly in the soil, so that is the approach we are using. We drove the propagation stocks into the ground using a fence post driver. Since the ground near the stream is waterlogged, driving them was pretty easy. We just pounded them in until we had two feet of the stake below the surface.
Harry has been increasingly interested in plants, so it was fun to have him along as a companion on this project. He’s been learning to ask the important ecosystem-level questions about how grasses, trees, and animals, both wild and domesticated, can all fit together. Our goals are: increasing the complexity of the farm ecosystem, encouraging more water- and carbon-cycling, creating more variety of areas of sun and shade, and providing more habitat. Willow leaves and branch tips provide high quality forage for cattle, deer, and rabbits.
It is fitting that we planted the trees on Earth Day, but I didn’t realize the coincidence until a day later. Maybe that’s appropriate. Earth Day can be a stunt, or it can be part of a way of life.
We’ll check back on this project later. Willows are fast-growing trees so there’s relatively short-term satisfaction in watching them grow. Unlike our red oak seedlings, in just ten years these little twigs should turn into substantial trees. That is, if we can prevent the cattle from eating them down the first year…
Since I had help from Harry, I’ll quote his favorite author JRR Tolkien in what I suppose could be a benediction on the willow trees, or at least a handy magic spell to use on them in case they decide to turn malicious:
“Old Man Willow… Eat earth! Dig deep! Drink water!”
The first batch of chickens went out to pasture yesterday. We started with a small group. Greta, our livestock guardian dog, lived with the cattle all winter, so we wanted to give her a gradual reintroduction back to pastured poultry duty. She did just fine with them. I think she was quite happy to be done with the cattle. She likes little critters more than big ones.
At WDF we take the “pasture” part of pasture raised chicken seriously. Cattle grow shaggy coats and can thrive in temperatures far colder than we experience in our coldest winters. Old laying hens can also handle some severe cold weather, but young chickens don’t have that level of resilience. So for meat chickens, this limits us to a pasture season that begins in mid April and ends in early November. We’ve developed some improvements to our shelters to keep the chickens warm if we get an unseasonably cold snap or an out-of-season snowfall, but there are practical bounds as to how far we can stretch the season.
The rest of the chickens will go out to pasture today (that’s on the to-do list after I post this). From now until early fall we’ll be focusing on everything it takes to raise chickens out on the pastures with batch after batch of birds. It is something we like to do and I think we’ve gotten to the point where we do it well. But there is nothing as enjoyable as taking this step away from winter as we place the first group of the season on the newly green grass.