Signs of Spring

Spring has arrived in Italy! I'll get back to that in a moment, but first I want to share a few more pictures from the last farm, further south near a town called Acqui Terme. The name literally means "Thermal Waters," so called for a sulfuric spring in the center of town:




Here's a view from a nearby castle at the top of a town on a hill:




And an abandoned vineyard returning to forest:




Here are the kids of the family I was staying with, 5-year-old Ian and 3-month-old Valentina (whose hair always looks like that):




And a wood-fired oven in the kitchen which she uses to toast nuts and seeds, roast vegetables, and of course make pizza and bread:




Anyways, for the last two weeks I've been further north, in the beautiful foothills of the Italian Alps! While there was an early heat wave (causing a perhaps premature purchase of sunscreen), it's been mostly rainy in the past few weeks, with the result that the forest is getting greener and greener by the day! But the unfurling ferns and bluebells aren't the only signs of spring:




Baby animals abound! Since I've been here, three goats and a cow have given birth to babies, which means milk is flowing all around. The goats are only giving enough milk for their babies, so we let them nurse straight from the mothers. Starting in late May or June, most of the babies go off to become meat, leaving the milk to become cheese.




The cows, on the other hand, give way more milk than one calf could ever eat for longer than he would ever want to eat it. So we milk the cows with a small milking machine (except the one cow given to bouts of mastitis) and then bottle-feed the calves. This calf was born the day after I arrived, and is still a bit confused - after I finish feeding him, he keeps trying to find the udders on his pen-mate, a young male goat. The confusion, however, is mutual: the first time we put them in the same stall the goat tried to, ahem, make the calf his wife.




Chickens are also as entertaining as ever, especially this brooch hen shepherding her three chicks safely around the barnyard. I definitely looked a bit suspicious with my camera:




This is the first place that I've been very much involved in the daily care of animals, and I've been surprised by just how much personality they have, and how different they are from each other. With only four cows, you really get to know each one! I can't imagine that in a barn with 200 dairy cows one really gets to know the personality of each one, but I've never been in that situation. And of course baby animals are even more fun to watch in person than in silly YouTube videos. Watching a newborn calf try to stand up reminded me of the scene in Bambi where he walks on ice for the first time - and that tiny brown calf with the huge eyes actually looked remarkably like a fawn!

When I'm not milking cows, taking goats for walks, watching "chicken TV," cooking, etc., there are lots of paths through the woods in the hills for hiking. It really is beautiful here!




I'm here for another ten days, and then I'm off on one last homeward adventure: a 15-hour bus ride through the alps, four days as a tourist in Brussels, then another bus under the Channel, a quick visit in London, and then a flight home to Chicago!

Look for another post in the next two weeks where I will reveal all about my future plans! Sneak peek: they involve a little red pickup truck!

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Location:Caprile, Biella, Piemonte, Italia

An Easter Recipe

I've been back in Italy now for about a week and a half, and my Italian has just recovered from its winter hibernation. Right now, I'm at a farm in a valley about halfway between the Alps and the sea, southwest of Milan. At the beginning of April, I'll be moving on to my last WWOOFing stop this side of the Atlantic, a small dairy farm and cheesemaker at the foot of the alps northwest of Milan. Should be a great way to end this part of my adventure.




Meanwhile, between planting potatoes, pulling up last year's dead vegetable plants, pruning, shelling hazelnuts and putting together an Ikea kitchen, I've been hard at work on my book! At the rate I'm going, I'll just have to format all of this material into something resembling a book when I get home.




I want to share a recipe I found in a cookbook I've been lugging around since my December visit to Florence. It's a small cookbook that follows the lore of tradition Florentine cooking through the seasons, month by month. April includes some traditional Easter recipes, including this one:

Panettone di Pasqua / Easter Bread

500g di farina bianca / 17.6 oz white flour
200g di uvetta / 7 oz raisins
2 uova / 2 eggs
30g di lievito di birra / 1 oz yeast
un bicchierino di marsala / a small glass of Marsala
una tazza di latte / a cup of milk
75g di zucchero / 2.6 oz sugar
Scorza grattugiata di limone / grated lemon zest

-Impastare tutti gli ingredienti, a parte l'uvetta, e lasciare riposare una notte coprendo con un canovaccio.
- Make a dough with all of the ingredients except the raisins and let sit overnight covered by a cloth.
-La mattina impastare di nuovo e aggiungere l'uvetta precedentemente messa a mollo in acqua tiepida.
-In the morning, knead again and add the raisins, previously softened in tepid water.
-Impastare un'ultima volta, e infornare a 160 gradi per mezz'ora.
-Knead one last time, and bake in the oven at 320* F for half an hour.

Enjoy! Happy Spring!

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Location:Morsasco, Alessandria, Piemonte, Italia

Farewell to Ireland

Well, rural Ireland turned out to be a little more rural than expected, hence the distinct lack of blog posts. For the last three weeks I stayed with another family, also with four kids. This time, though, with two sets of twin boys! That brings me to one lesson I've learned while in Ireland: there is no possible way I am having four kids!





The family runs a smallholding, with three polytunnels full of vegetables, chickens, ducks, and a goose. (Goose eggs are huge! Bigger than any bump on the head I've ever seen!) They sell vegetables, eggs, brown bread, and preserves every Friday in the on-site store. I mostly helped in the polytunnels, sowing seeds for the spring planting, transferring seedlings to plug trays or pots, and planting mature seedlings in beds, among other things.





This week I have two recipes for you! The first is for Irish Brown Bread, which is legendary for being both delicious and dense. I like it, but I'm sure I'll like it even more after a break (much like potatoes). The other recipe is one that my host made rather well, and that I enjoy with brown bread and cheese (cheddar, cream cheese, goat cheese, anything).





Interestingly, the American version of "Irish Soda Bread" with raisins and sometimes caraway seeds is a much older version of this same recipe that went out of fashion in Ireland but lived on in America through the emigrants of that time.

Brown Soda Bread
(Adapted from Darina Allen's Forgotten Skills of Cooking,' Kyle Cathie Ltd 2009)

Makes one loaf

8 oz wholemeal (whole wheat) flour
8 oz white flour
1 level teaspoon salt
1 level teaspoon baking soda (sieved)
13-16 oz buttermilk (more for thicker, less for thinner milk)

-Preheat oven to 450*F.
-Mix flours in a large, wide bowl, then add salt and baking soda.
-Make a well in the center and pour in the buttermilk. With your fingers stiff and outstretched like a claw, stir in a circular movement from the center to the outside of the bowl in ever-increasing concentric circles. When you reach the outside of the bowl a few seconds later, the dough is made.
-Turn dough out onto a floured worktop.Gently shape the dough into a round loaf about 1.5 inches thick, tucking in any ragged edges. Slide your hand underneath and transfer to a baking tray.
-Cut a deep cross in the bread, then bake for 15 minutes. Turn the oven down to 400*F and cook for another 15 minutes. Turn the bread over and cook for another 5-10 minutes, until the bottle sounds hollow when tapped. Cool on a wire rack.





Beet and Apple Chutney
(Adapted from Catherine Atkinson and Maggie Mayhew's 'Complete Book of Preserves and Pickles,' Hermes House 2006)

Makes 3 lbs.

12 oz raw beets
12 oz apples
1 1/4 cups malt or cider vinegar
1 cup granulated sugar
8 oz red onion, finely chopped
Finely grated rind and juice of 1 orange
1 garlic clove
1 tsp ground allspice
1 tsp salt

-Peel beets and apples and cut into 1/2 inch pieces.
-Put sugar and vinegar in a sauce pot and heat gently until sugar is dissolved.
-Add beets, apples, onions, garlic, orange, allspice, and salt. Bring to a boil, reduce heat, simmer 40 minutes.
-Increase heat slightly and boil 10 minutes, or until the chutney thickens, stirring frequently.
-Spoon chutney into jars, seal. Allow to mature for two weeks before eating. Keeps up to six months. Refrigerate after opening, then use within one month.

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Location:Dublin, Ireland

Update from Ireland

So I'm here in Ireland halfway through my stay. I've spent the last three weeks with one large Irish family, and now I'm on my way to another! Here are the four kids, aged 4-10:




The countryside here in County Cork is also beautiful, and green even now in February. This particular day was far sunnier than any other I've seen in Ireland so far:




Mostly, the family raises beef cattle, but they also have a few goats, chickens, bees, and five tiny pet lambs.




While I've been here, I spent one day in Cork City, and another in Killarney. In Killarney, I rented a bike to ride through a national park (Europe's oldest oak forest!) and the old man who rented me the bike demanded to take a picture of me:




I told him my mother would be thrilled. The bike ride was beautiful, through a forest, around a lake, by a waterfall or two, an abandoned 17th century abbey, and a manor house turned museum.




For your amusement (I hope), I have penned a few poems about my wwoofing experience. These may or may not be the first in a series, but I hope you enjoy them!

Lament whilst in Ireland

O, potato:
What a friend you have been
all these many years.
Popping by every so often
to feed and comfort;
mashed, baked, roasted, fried,
I was always happy to see you.

Then, potato:
You took our relationship
to the next level.
You started to visit every day,
sometimes twice or thrice:
boiled, reboiled, boiled again,
I think we should take a break.




Meditation on Moving Shit Around

Day by day, I don my gloves
and arm myself accordingly:
fork, spade, and barrow.

Chicken shit, I scrape from floors
bent double, holding my breath,
matted shavings onto the pile.

Goat poop, plopped in pellets,
I sweep up with the straw,
and haul to the heated heap.

Dog doo, I just try to avoid,
side-stepping in my wellies,
barrowing by on one wheel.

Ferret feces, I met but once,
which was one time too many:
fumes to fell an elephant.

But well-rotted manure: black gold!
Forkful at a time, into the garden;
full circle, moving shit around.


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Location:Kilmichael, Cork, Ireland

Back to Work, and Pheasants

So, after about five weeks of extended vacation, I'm back to work (or back to WWOOF!). I spent the first half of December in Florence and Bologna, eating delicious food, soaking up art, and roaming around on bike and foot watching tourists and locals.



Bologna

The second half of December I spent in the company of my mother in London, Edinburgh, and the lovely Highland town of Aberfeldy. We made a thorough investigation of real ales, old pubs, and the joys of the BBC. We spent hours on hikes through the Birks of Aberfeldy and through the museums of Edinburgh and London.



Edinburgh Royal Botanic Gardens

Anyways, I now find myself on the Black Isle, just west of Inverness in the Scottish Highlands. I'm working on a family farm that includes a furniture restoration business, an organic brewery, and lots of animals. My jobs have included milking the cow and feeding the chickens, among other less pastoral tasks like moving earth, cleaning up after said animals, and the ubiquitous WWOOFer task of stacking wood.



Chickens

My most interesting set of experiences in the last two weeks, however, involve a newfound intimacy with the pheasant. In the past two weeks, I have participated in a pheasant shoot, plucked and gutted a number of pheasants, and eaten roast pheasant a few times. This might be called the first time I have been intimately involved with my animal protein, and for friends who still stare when I order a burger this may come as a shock.



Off Shooting

The first weekend I was here, I was invited to join two lovely humans and two lovely dogs to a pheasant shoot on the property of a friend. Never one to turn down a cultural experience, I donned all of my layers, including my new very handy Wellington boots, and squished into the truck for the short, early-morning drive across the firth. We were met there by some equally bundled and wellington-ed people and equally eager dogs. In all the we about twenty people and almost as many dogs. I was told this was a relatively relaxed shoot, and my job was to get into formation with some other walkers and dogs and to scare pheasants out of the brush to then be shot by waiting "guns." We were given instructions before each "drive," and then we waited for the horn to sound the beginning of the drive. We "beaters" would then walk forward in lines, clapping, whistling, and urging the dogs on with cries to "go get 'em." When a pheasant took flight, we would shout to alert the guns which direction it was going, and they would shoot it down. The "gun dogs" would then go retrieve the bird, and it would go into a netted bag to later be strung up in a brace to hang up and age. After about five hours of this, we retired to a shed for some hot soup and cold ham sandwiches. I only fully defrosted my toes after climbing into my electric blanketed bed back in the farmhouse.



Beating

Fast forward to a few days ago, when the pheasants that had been hanging up were deemed properly aged (along with the goose from a different outing) and we were to have roast goose and pheasants for dinner. We donned latex gloves, and plucked. After the bird was sufficiently denuded, we chopped off its head, feet, and wingtips and proceeded into the (warm!) kitchen to finish the job. We laid each bird on its back and expanded the existing hole between the legs to one that would welcome a groping hand. We then pulled out the insides, discarding the (ahem) digestive system and setting aside the liver, heart, and lungs for stuffing (that might have been a once in a lifetime taste...). After a thorough rinse inside and out, our bride were ready for roasting. After it was all said and done, I have to say that the whole process was less gross than expected. When you buy a chicken or a turkey from a grocery store, it's already naked, and those bits deemed useful are in a soggy bag in the cavity (often to land forgotten in the freezer, it seems). Somehow, picking up that naked, clammy bird and sticking your hand in that already-emptied body still seems more daunting. I haven't quite figured out why this is true for me. What's more, I'm not sure it will still hold true when the bird I am plucking and gutting is one I've raised from a chick and fed every day. I've yet to actually kill my own food, but perhaps that, too, will come before this adventure ends. I've come a long way from veggie burgers in less than three years!




Next week: a bus and ferry trip to Ireland, where I'll be working on two small family farms in Cork and Kerry until mid-March.

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Location:Allangrange, Black Isle, Scotland