I started riding NYC subways and buses on my own when I was about 12. My sister and I would take the elevated train to music lessons Saturday mornings – me for flute, Cathy for clarinet. For a short stint, we rode into downtown Manhattan on afternoons to clean cages and welcome visitors at the ASPCA.
When I reached my late teens, I used public transportation at all hours to get to classes and night spots. A car was a luxury I couldn’t afford, and, anyway, where would I park the darn thing once I reached traffic-choked downtown?
It was the night-time forays that evoked my Mom’s advise each and every time I started out, “Walk in the middle of the street.”
Now, this directly contradicted the stay-out-of-the-street mantra drummed into me as a child, but it made sense. If you were on a lonely street, you were less likely to be pulled into a dark entryway or a parked car if you kept to the center line. This approach posed the challenge of dealing with passing automobiles, but hey, you had to use your judgement. I had to stay alert, use common sense.
Thinking back to the late 1960s, it’s interesting that the focus was on man-made things: lights, traffic, trains, speed, buildings, the crush of a crowd, and the hidden dangers of a run-down neighborhood. And that, too, made sense. These were immediate and significant factors as I navigated my city of 8 million people.
That was then. Things have changed – a lot.
Last night I found myself crawling on my stomach in the snow and dirty ice beneath the chicken coop. It was night, it was dark, yet there were chickens sitting under the coop instead of inside of it. This was not the norm. You see, poultry usually climb into their coop and settle themselves down for the night all by themselves. They take their cue from the angle of the setting sun. Once in the coop, all I do is shut the door behind them. This usually works like, well, clock work. But not last night.

When I went out to close things up, only half of the birds were dozing in the clean pine shavings. The rest were nestled into the snow under the coop. It was 5 below zero and I not only worried about them freezing but also about them becoming a midnight snack for a passing fox, raccoon, weasel or stray dog.

Why had they broken from their routine?

I think it was the moon. It was so bright, every tree cast a sharp shadow. I think the silly chickens were confused.
Clouds scudded across the silver-white wedge. It was cold, but the air was still and I was plenty warm in my insulated pants, felt-lined boots, and wool hat. Our beef cattle were silent on the far side of a small hill, happy in their hay bedding. Across the field, the road was black – no headlights. There wasn’t a soul to be seen. Quiet.
And I was belly-down in the snow, reaching around tires and sharp-edged axles to rescue hens from a peril-filled night. Dave was on the other side of the hen house doing the same. Fortunately, chickens don’t like running around in the dark, so the task didn’t take very long. After urging the last hen into the dark coop, I shut the door and we headed back into the house.
Farming means working outdoors in all types of weather and until all hours of the day and night. I’m careful to keep my ankles out of gopher holes, my eyes away from 2″ buckthorn, my knees bent when I pick up 50-lb. sacks of alfalfa. I wear my seat belt in the tractor and skid steer. I walk carefully among the cattle. They are familiar and curious, but they are not pets. Each animal weighs roughly 1,000 lbs., some much more, and a simple toss of a head could break a wrist.
As I haul hay and move equipment, round up chickens, and move cattle from pasture to pasture, my Mom’s cautions continue to echo in my head, “put on a hat,” “get some sleep,” “rest,” “sit down for a bit,” and “you want some coffee?”
Although she lives in New Jersey, her love and care keeps me company, and her advise continues to make sense.

Last year, we experienced the “polar vortex” with temperatures in the -40 range and winds of over 35 mph. Over 4.5 ft of snow covered our pastures and the cows eventually refused to slog through it to get to the brook to drink. Dave and I had to haul water every day, and break ice (that formed on the water trough) every morning. Ugg.
Now, we’re all wondering what this season will bring, what with January temperatures having arrived in November.
Right now, fat flakes are swirling across the fields. I brushed them off my face and coat when I came in 10 minutes ago. The air had been clear when I started out about noon. I’d heard snow was in the forecast, so I pulled on snow pants and woolen hat to insulate myself against the rising wind long enough to move two big round bales of hay out to the moos. The cows still had remnants of a couple of bales out there, but I wanted to make sure they could get their fill if temperatures began to drop.

It’s funny, the cows immediately began walking up to the barn when they heard me fire up my John Deere. They knew fresh alfalfa-and-grass hay was on the way. It was fun to watch them approach – they’ve become so furry for the winter season. These BueLingo beef cattle were designed for the Upper Midwest; they just don’t pay much attention to the cold.
Well, they’ve got their hay, and I’m going to warm up some tea and make a grilled ham and cheese sandwich for lunch. Then we’ll all sit for a bit and watch the snow.

A milestone.

Even as a kid in New York City, I knew that “to lay an egg” was not a good thing. It meant you’d failed to do something you’d set out to accomplish – and everybody knew it. Why’s an egg synonymous with failure? According to numbers of Internet sources, it’s because an egg resembles a zero; and zilch is what goes up on the board when you fail to score.

This expression took on new meaning when I moved to farm country. Over the last several years, I’ve learned there’s a world of difference between an egg from a free-range hen and an egg that comes from an industrial battery-caged bird. The free-range variety is deep orange (lots of carotene) and the yolk has tension and body because the hen pecks around in the sunshine foraging diverse seeds, insects and grasses. This makes for an egg that not only tastes great but packs lots of nutrition. According to research published in Mother Earth News, pastured eggs provide more beta carotene, omega-3 fatty acids, and vitamins A and E, and lots less saturated fats and cholesterol.

Dave and I raised chickens for the first time this summer. We bought three dozen day-old chicks to free-range across the farm. Most are meat birds – an iridescent mahogany – that now weigh between six and eight pounds each. The flock also includes four laying hens. The two Buff Orpington are a pale yellow, and the Buckeyes are a very deep brown.

Over the summer, Dave and I watched the birds grow and patrol the pastures for bugs, worms, seed heads, grasses and herbs. We laughed when five chickens would chase after the one with a tasty grasshopper in its beak. The birds helped our beef cattle by aggressively consuming flies and fly larvea. On the downside, Dave and I also contended with losses due to predation by hawks, eagles and fox.

Summer’s gone and the pastures are covered in snow. But the chickens are still here. Yes, they can do very well in our cold winters.

Yesterday, I opened the chicken coop and lowered the ramp so that the flock could climb down into the fresh air. I then opened the side door and reached in to refill the waterer. That’s when I saw them – two eggs sitting in the wood shavings.

Eggs! Tan and small (the first eggs always are) I carefully picked them up and carried them into the garage. They laid eggs!

Three small eggs now sit in our refrigerator. I can hardly wait to see if there will be one or two more tomorrow. First cows and calves, now chickens and eggs. For this city-girl turned grass-fed-beef-farmer, “laying an egg” means success.

You’ve heard lots of news stories about the toxic herbicides and pesticides used to grow food and about the illnesses from bacteria in foods, and now you’re wondering where to go for food you can feel safe to serve family and friends.

I hear ya. This morning, on Deep Roots Radio, we’ll take a look at places to shop for your holiday – on regular – meals.
Also check out resource links for Food Lovers on this website.

Tune in: Saturday, Nov. 22, 2014
Deep Roots Radio on 93.1FM and streamed live at wpcaradio.org.