Better Food for a Healthier Family: Our Journey's Beginning

My eye's swelling finally decreased enough to slit open around noon today. It felt like a long time to live without 3D vision. Made me feel empathetic towards all who have to wear an eye patch for life. (And I do have a photo of my swollen eye, but it's gruesome and the computer is actually refusing to load it, so I'll leave it out.)

Rain kept me from working outside. I was thrilled to stay inside and read to Abraham and Isaiah, picture book after picture book, hour after hour. Jadon played games with Gramps, the Skip-Bo expert. In the afternoon, the family went to mail off a water sample. I'll be interested to see what contaminants, if any, we have.

I also have us now registered at Local Harvest, apparently the premier website for finding locally grown foods. That's a bit of marketing finally completed.

And now, a brief history of our dietary journey, or, why we eat as we do.

Shortly after we got married, Phil made me quit the Pill. I was relieved: it had been a rough couple of months feeling so crazy-emotional. Since then, I have talked to maybe one woman who didn't feel the Pill made her crazy; almost universally, women feel like it's a harsh drug. (I've since learned that hormones in the body are measured in parts per trillion. I wonder how heavy the doses in the Pill are.)

After marriage, I also had odd rages at odd times. Those rages were really odd—I wouldn't feel particularly angry one minute, then would hit the roof, but still have a little voice in the back of my head saying, "Amy, you're not acting rationally. This isn't like you." I would say it felt almost like demon-possession, like something took over my body.

My brother, too, had rages. We both tried eliminating wheat. The rages ceased.

Was it psychosomatic? Well, my brother once ate teriyaki chicken and went off running around the hills, screaming for three hours. The teriyaki sauce had soy sauce, and soy sauce has wheat. No kidding.

And I would take communion until I realized I had rages every Sunday afternoon. No more communion for me. (Only for a short time, though. By the time we left Boulder, though, eight families of about 15 also had at least one person avoiding wheat, so we took rice crackers instead of bread.)

My oldest son had night terrors. This, too, looked a bit like demon-possession. He would shriek in the middle of the night, sometimes for an hour or two, eyes open, but no cognition. And so, no comfort. I took him off wheat, and from that day on he's had no night terrors.

As an extra benefit, my sister, who had only seen Jadon on rare occasions, said two weeks later, "When did Jadon become so nice?" She noticed an entire personality change that I hadn't really noticed.

For a time, grandparents would treat the boys with cheese puffs or candy. The boys cries changed, becoming more high-pitched and pervasive. They became more aggressive, more unhappy. We cut off such treats, and the emotions stayed normal.

Most dramatically, perhaps, was Phil's change. He suffered debilitating migraines several times a month since junior high. He would miss work, staying in bed for days at a time. We hadn't suspected MSG until I came across a link to Hidden Names of MSG. Apparently MSG has many names, and is difficult to peg down.

Once we started to eat primarily whole foods, it became easy to peg which foods still triggered migraines, whether hot sauce or salad dressing or Mexican take out. Chocolate and red wine also triggered them on occasion, but migraines hurt enough, he was willing to give those up, too.

Which is all to say, we are happy to eat mostly whole foods. We like being (mostly) emotionally stable and (mostly) healthy people.

This wasn't the only reason we started a farm, but the lifestyle of eating better quality food was the beginning of our farming journey, I think.

Photos from a Fun Three Weeks

I awoke unable to see out of my left eye due to swelling. I had expected that, but was still a bit disappointed to endure the day partially handicapped. Treasure your eyes!

Phil's parents left this morning shortly before church. They cared for my family while I was away, and it was quite a relief to have left them in such capable hands.

Cheri took some good photos while visiting. Below are some of my favorites.

Forget what I said about the cows not being friendly. Isaiah managed to get them to kiss him by simply feeding them handfuls of weeds. So cute!

This photo shows four generations: the boys, Phil, his mother, and her father.

Boy Wonder Gramps, age 87, wears no hearing aid, needs no prescription glasses, thinks clearly, digs holes, cuts down saplings, helps with woodworking, and looks great driving the John Deere.

Phil's parents left their motor home with us. All the boys, including Joe, love to run out and play inside. We'll see if they love it quite so much now that Grandma and Grandpa are gone.

Here are the few remaining fruit trees, heeled in. Ha! No longer, as now they're all in the ground.

Here's Phil in his "shop" between the construction trailers. He loves the straw hat; in hot weather, he soaks it in water and it keeps his head cold.

Abraham rides his "horse" and holds his "whip." He runs up and down the driveway all day.

Phil scything.

And Isaiah biking down the drive.

Stung Between the Eyes

A good day today. Other than Phil almost running over Chloe (we think she bounced off the bumper, because he felt the car hit her, but she walked away), and other than me getting stung between the eyes. Twice. More on that in a minute.

I finished planting all berry bushes, as well as a couple currants and some decorative bulbs. The 4" berry bushes aren't very noticeable, but the mulch helps us avoid stepping on them. (Notice the free range chicken—I hope she doesn't help herself to succulent blueberry leaves.)



Phil finished the Whizbang Garden Cart he's been working on. It's holding capacity is considerably more than I expected, but the large wheels make it handy to move around.

Even Gramps took a turn, and he's 87!

This afternoon we finally made it to visit our lovely neighbors the Bessettes. We haven't seen them since the end of February, and we've missed them. To top off Old Home Week, great neighbor Butch also stopped by, so Phil's parents were able to meet all our helpful neighbors.

Our orchard looks especially lovely right now, filled with many flowering herbs and blooming wild flowers. Walking through, we find dozens of tiny ripe Alpine strawberries, which eases my craving for fresh fruit.


Now, for the horrible bee stings.


First the queenless hive bees swarmed for the fifth time. I was nearby when suddenly thousands of loudly buzzing bees rose up and flew in every direction. I kept my head low, and within seconds all were gone. I have a queen somewhere in transit, and felt bummed out by my beekeeping failure, as well as the bottomless money pit that the bees have turned out to be (so far).

Phil reminded me: it's all tuition. We're doing plenty that we've never done before. And though it's not fun to spend money that feels "wasted," I need to not be too frustrated, but simply learn from what I've done and move on. (Some did eventually return to a spot near their hive. The swarm grows smaller every time.)

After speaking to the beekeeper a few days ago, he seemed to think that I should have three or four frames of brood, or baby bees gestating. In retrospect, that would make more sense in a regular hive, where the cells are already provided and the bees don't have to build from scratch. But I began to be concerned about my "healthy" hive. I'm not sure there is any brood! And I wanted to do some rearranging, to put the built comb closer to the queen.

So I needed to open the hive and take out brood comb.

Thinking about it now, I know that humans handling brood stresses the bees. However, I haven't ever looked at brood comb up close, and, truthfully, didn't even consider putting on my bee veil. I'd forgotten I had it.

At some point in the handling, an angry bee flew right up between the eyes. Or maybe two. The sting (stings?) were so light, I was hoping the noise and angry vibrating was simply a threat, but when it (they?) finally flew off (after crawling all over my eyelid&Mdash;ugh!), I could see the stinger in my nose out of the corner of my eye.

I've been fighting the swelling ever since.

Also in retrospect, I remember that my mentor didn't just start right away wearing no protection. He got to know his bees for a time. Prudence probably dictates I should do the same.

A Quick Summary for New Readers

My husband Phil and I will have been married a decade this June 24. If someone had told me on my wedding day that ten years later I would live on a fledgling farm with five cows and bees and a little orchard, I would have stared, dumbfounded. It's not that I had anything against farming—I just had never considered it as a potential occupation.

By background, I have a liberal arts degree (double major in English and Humanities). As a young 20-something I loved the classics and opera, classical music and art. If a city defined me then, it would probably have been Florence, Italy. I am now in my early 30s, and savor the moments of beauty as I find them, though man-made beauty, whether literary or aural, comes rarely.

God-made beauty surrounds us.

My husband Philip is a structural engineer by trade. Shortly after he got his graduate degree, he left his employer of 13 years and started his own business.

My parents, too, began a business. I've worked for (with) them, to greater or lesser degree, since early on. So we both have some entrepreneurial background.

We moved to unimproved land last summer. We have about 44 acres, which is about 176 times the amount of land we had in Boulder, but still quite small by "farm" standards.

Forty of our acres are wooded, and much of it is steep. As we considered how we could earn a living, we realized that cattle could not support us. Four acres of good pasture can support, perhaps, four cows, and cows might bring $1000 each. Clearly, not enough to live on.

A four-acre market garden could possibly provide enough income, and we looked at that for some time. Vegetables, though, require a great deal of effort, and since neither of us desires 100 hour work weeks, and our four sons probably wouldn't appreciate it, either, we opted against that.

One of the great joys of my life is fruit. My Bible study leader in college said, "I've never met anyone who eats as much fruit as you." So the idea of an orchard seemed good. We have outside income to live on while the trees grow, and at some point, Lord willing, we will harvest delicious fruit, enough for ourselves and many others.

Our four sons, soon to be ages 8, 6, 4, and 2, walk around now saying, "Two, four, six, eight, who do we appreciate? Lykosh Boys! Lykosh Boys! Goooo Team!"

How we came to farm, and how we came to farm in Virginia is another story. I suppose the story before that is how and why we changed our diet (to sum up: we were sick and all got better). And there are stories of God's faithfulness, and God calling us to himself. . . .

But those will wait for another day.

I leave you with a beautiful poem from today, by Irish poet W.B. Yeats. The recording of the poet reading it (available on YouTube) speaks with power.

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made:
Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honeybee,
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.

And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet's wings.

I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,
I hear it in the deep heart's core.

Raspberry Patch

After several days of rainy weather, I put on a sweater this morning. And quickly took it off as the temperature went to the mid-80s with high humidity. Phew! I felt soggy all over!

It's taken me a few days to readjust to being back on the farm. With all the changes, I felt like I was not quite in sync with the pattern of life here.

As much as I (usually) enjoy our life, it was a bit of a shock to return to a 224 square foot construction trailer home, without running water or a standard bathtub (Rubbermaid storage container or dedicated cattle trough are the current options, though I did shower in my in-laws motor home, and that was VERY NICE). It was a shock to remember that my kitchen has no cabinets, that I have no sink for dirty dishes (let alone a dishwasher), that dirty laundry requires a trip to the laundrymat and not just a trip to the basement.

It's taken a bit to remember that, despite these "hardships," we are still better off than most of the world. Amazing, really. And how foolish of me to be ungrateful.

Walking away from the mixed-up bees, I crossed the swath of just-grazed land, minutes after Phil had moved the Babydoll sheep off that part of the pasture. There was almost nothing but bare ground, nicely fertilized, devoid of stalks or prickers. Our plan to graze the sheep to avoid Monsanto's RoundUp around the trees is working! A thrill of joy.

I went out to begin my raspberry and blackberry planting. As I dug a few small holes, Phil pointed out that I should probably clear the 12" weeds before planting canes that need to be pruned to 4" (nothing like shading out the plants before I even begin!). So Phil scythed, and mother-in-law Cheri raked the forbs (usually called weeds, but used for cattle feed). She became quite the popular lady with the cows! Gramps cut off the 6" trees, and I started to plant.

This all took much longer than I expected. We got 12 raspberry plants in the ground, and five hours had somehow passed.

We took a break and drove an hour to the Frontier Culture Museum in Staunton.

I planted four more raspberries before dark fell.

And that's the story today.

All Trees Planted; All Berries Await

Late this afternoon, following a steady drizzle, we finished planting the trees. Phil immediately said, "No more trees for two years!" But, when asked about such an arbitrary determination, he commuted the moratorium to just a year. What a relief!

I immediately turned my thoughts to the next planting: various berries and such. On totaling the remaining plants, I was stunned to see that I have 290 growing things yet to get in the ground: 150 strawberries, 60 asparagus crowns, 27 raspberries, and on from there. Many of these plants will fit well between the newly planted trees, so Phil won't lose too much more of his grazing area. Gramps and I spray painted the planting spots for most of the larger berry bushes. I like just going out to dig, without wondering where I should put my shovel.

In the continuing trauma of odd behaving bees, I finally ordered another queen. When I spoke with him today, the owner of the apiary said something odd like, "I don't want to sell you a queen if there's no hope of the hive surviving." And I was thinking, "I already ordered a hive with queen from you, and there's no hope that the hive will survive without a queen. So if I have to buy a queen to have a chance at a living hive, at least I'll have done all I can."

The Queen of Sheba II should arrive soon.

But I am a bit worried now about the Queen Esther hive: they appear to be split in the two opposite ends of the top bar hive. What's the verse? A house divided against itself cannot stand? Maybe this should just be "a house not working together cannot thrive."

Ten Days Away

I was away for ten days. I came back to find all changed.

The beautiful red clover I left had turned to seed pods.

The two or three heads of spelt multiplied into dozens. (I don't know if I'll eat any, though, as the chickens range there and nip the grains out of the stalk very neatly.

In my herb garden, the two that came up, milk thistle and cilantro, both went to flower. They'll set seed soon.

The kale finished flowering and began growing seed pods.

The spinach finished growing leaves and set seed.

The chickens dug up all of my turnip bed.

The elephant garlic sent up scapes, beautiful central stalks that would flower and set seed, except the grower pinches them off so the root develops strong cloves. The scapes are edible, a potent mix between green onion and garlic.

One walking onion started developing a bulbous second tier. Eventually it will fall over (and "walk," as the bulbous part grows roots).

The stone fruit orchard shifted from almost bare ground (I had hoped to plant peas and corn between trees) to a flowering bed of wild herbs (er, weeds).

In my absence, Phil started rotating the Babydoll sheep through the orchard. They did a great job the last week. (In the photo below, you can clearly see the demarcation of where they grazed v. where they didn't.)

This morning, I walked out to find a horror: one of the apple trees lying flat, enthusiastic sheep tearing its leaves off. Thankfully the tree was not uprooted, so it sprang back without apparent damage, and I must have come across the sheep almost immediately, as they had not even finished devouring the leaves.

Unhappily, this affects future grazing: for a time, the trees will have to be outside the fencing, which makes rotations a bit of a puzzle. I think there are methods to train sheep not to eat desirables (spray trees with pepper spray perhaps?), but I have not learned those yet. There is plenty of organic matter for the sheep to graze, though: baby Benny and yearling Joseph romp through new pasture.

Also in my absence, Phil finished his enormous piles of chipping, and he, mother-in-law Cheri, and Phil's grandpa Gramps all planted the remaining eight apple trees. My fragile palisade vanished. And then was immediately replaced by the next round of planting: 13 trees, many berries (see below for the few heeled in plants). We got 13 of those trees in the ground today, pushing us over the 400 tree mark. (We're at 408!)

Despite Phil's heroic efforts, the egg consumption fell behind, and we still are not good at marketing, so we have a backlog of delicious, organic eggs.

And, speaking of eggs, while planting trees today, we came across a chicken hiding in tall grass. An hour later, after she moved, we discovered she was sitting on, not four eggs as we thought, but 25 eggs! What a cache!

In other news, the bees swarmed twice more while I was away. Phil bravely captured them each time, once trying to replace them in the populated hive, and the second time putting them into the empty hive. I came home to find a swarm once again on the ground. This time, they didn't move into the box, so when I dumped them into the empty hive this morning, most remained on the ground.

I dumped them into the hive again in the early afternoon, and felt encouraged to watch nine bees fly into the hive and none exit. Minutes before our afternoon thunderstorm began, I checked to find all bees in hives. Phew! What a relief!

Abraham turned four today. He is a cheerful, affectionate fellow and we are glad he's part of our family.