My alma mater may not have an organic student farm...yet, but I'm thrilled to find out that it is starting research on green building. SDSU will soon have a straw bale house. Progress! The SDSU Collegian reported a couple weeks ago on the construction to be completed this summer. McCrory Gardens will be home to the straw bale building, which will also have a living roof. Read all about it here.
Construction of the building will be the result of an SDSU class this summer. I won't be able to take the class, but I'd love to hear from someone who does. At the very least, I'll snap some photos and post them here later.
Sidenote: Ever the stickler for grammar and spelling, I noticed the glaring word usage error at the beginning of the Collegian article (editions/additions). Journalism students, spelling does matter!
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
Sunday, March 18, 2007
Seeds
Yesterday I ordered the seeds for this year’s garden. Here’s what I’m getting.
From Seeds of Change:
It’s easy to get carried away ordering seeds, but I have to remember that I’m still a beginning gardener, so better to not get in over my head (plus, with a toddler around, I have limited amounts of time for concentrating on any one task). I’ve only planted a couple of very small gardens in the past. I’ve had success with sweet corn, tomatoes, and herbs. Lettuce is a cinch to grow, but I still manage to get it too bitter. I may try planting it in the shade this year, or just planting it in the spring and again in the fall to avoid the high heat that’s causing the bitterness. Ideally, though, I’d like to have it available continuously throughout the summer and fall, so I may just have to be religious about watering.
Husband holding the first fruits of last summer's garden.
I’m looking forward to growing several of the ingredients for one of my favorite recipes for Fattoush, a Syrian salad. I got this recipe a couple years ago at a Community Kitchens workshop in Vancouver.
Fattoush (Pita Salad) - 4 servings
Toss together in a colander:
1 small cucumber, peeled, seeded, and cut into ½-inch cubes
1 teaspoon salt
Let stand to drain for 30 minutes.
Preheat the oven to 350°F.
Open on a baking sheet and bake until crisp and lightly browned, about 10 minutes:
Two 7-inch pita breads
Break into bite-sized pieces. Press the excess water out of the cucumbers, rinse quickly, and blot dry.
Combine the cucumbers in a medium bowl with:
3 medium ripe tomatoes, chopped
1 small green bell pepper, diced (optional)
6 scallions, white and tender green parts, finely chopped
2 tablespoons chopped fresh cilantro
1/3 cup chopped fresh parsley
1 tablespoon finely chopped fresh mint
Whisk together in a small bowl:
1/3 cup olive oil, preferably extra virgin
juice of 1 large lemon (about ¼ cup)
1 clove garlic, crushed
¼ teaspoon salt
Pour dressing over the vegetables and toss well. Add the pita toasts, toss again, and serve immediately.
From Seeds of Change:
- Black Seeded Blue Lake Pole Bean
- Kurota Chantenay Carrot
- Stowell’s Sweet Corn
- Mideast Prolific Cucumber
- Butterhead Buttercrunch Lettuce
- Butterhead Four Seasons Lettuce
- Looseleaf Thai Green Lettuce
- Jericho Romaine Lettuce
- Cal Wonder Bell Sweet Pepper
- Ed’s Red Shallot
- Chadwick Cherry Tomato
- San Marzano Paste Tomato
- Costaluto Genovese Slicing Tomato
- Genovese Sweet Basil
- Slow Bolt Cilantro
- Greek Oregano
- Italian Flat Leaf Parsley
- Garden Sage
- Blue Solaize Leek
- Yellow of Parma Onion
- America Spinach
- Calendula Mixture
- Sunspots Morning Glory
- Grandpa Ott's Morning Glory
- Starfire Signet Marigold
- Golden Emperor Nasturtium
- Johnny Jump-Up Viola
- Benary's Giant Zinnia
- Sunflower Mixture
It’s easy to get carried away ordering seeds, but I have to remember that I’m still a beginning gardener, so better to not get in over my head (plus, with a toddler around, I have limited amounts of time for concentrating on any one task). I’ve only planted a couple of very small gardens in the past. I’ve had success with sweet corn, tomatoes, and herbs. Lettuce is a cinch to grow, but I still manage to get it too bitter. I may try planting it in the shade this year, or just planting it in the spring and again in the fall to avoid the high heat that’s causing the bitterness. Ideally, though, I’d like to have it available continuously throughout the summer and fall, so I may just have to be religious about watering.
Husband holding the first fruits of last summer's garden.I’m looking forward to growing several of the ingredients for one of my favorite recipes for Fattoush, a Syrian salad. I got this recipe a couple years ago at a Community Kitchens workshop in Vancouver.
Fattoush (Pita Salad) - 4 servings
Toss together in a colander:
1 small cucumber, peeled, seeded, and cut into ½-inch cubes
1 teaspoon salt
Let stand to drain for 30 minutes.
Preheat the oven to 350°F.
Open on a baking sheet and bake until crisp and lightly browned, about 10 minutes:
Two 7-inch pita breads
Break into bite-sized pieces. Press the excess water out of the cucumbers, rinse quickly, and blot dry.
Combine the cucumbers in a medium bowl with:
3 medium ripe tomatoes, chopped
1 small green bell pepper, diced (optional)
6 scallions, white and tender green parts, finely chopped
2 tablespoons chopped fresh cilantro
1/3 cup chopped fresh parsley
1 tablespoon finely chopped fresh mint
Whisk together in a small bowl:
1/3 cup olive oil, preferably extra virgin
juice of 1 large lemon (about ¼ cup)
1 clove garlic, crushed
¼ teaspoon salt
Pour dressing over the vegetables and toss well. Add the pita toasts, toss again, and serve immediately.
Thursday, March 15, 2007
Lettuce Growing
From the "In Season: Organic Gardening Newsletter" a good short article on growing baby lettuce.
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
Who Am I? Why Am I Here?
A bit of background. I’m a Midwestern girl through and through, born in Nebraska and raised in Brookings, South Dakota. I’ve made brief sojourns to a few places—a college trip to Spain, a few months on Long Island, and a year of grad school in Vancouver, British Columbia, as well as trips to about half of the 50 U.S. states. I always keep coming back to the plains, though. Despite an intense affection for various mountainous areas, the prairie is definitely home.
While I grew up in the most agricultural state in the country, I had a limited connection to the land. It wasn’t until college at South Dakota State University that I began thinking more deeply about the environment and the biblical mandate to care for it. That all came about through a special topics class, “Philosophy of the Land,” taught by Dr. David Nelson, for which Wendell Berry’s The Unsettling of America was our primary text. I wrestled terribly with Berry (future posts may describe more) but, in the end, found most of what he said in that book to be right and, consequently, found myself with a new set of convictions about earth-keeping.
Almost a decade ago I took a brief break from South Dakota to spend a few months working temp jobs on Long Island, NY. I remember a particular moment one fall day when I was debating just what to do next in life and where to do it. Stay in New York? Go home? Go somewhere else? It dawned on me that I actually did care about South Dakota—its people and its landscape—and that no one else around me at that moment did. After all, it probably took someone growing up in South Dakota, knowing both its beauties and foibles, to truly care for it. I figured that South Dakota might actually need me (and maybe I needed South Dakota). So, I moved back.
I described that realization to my husband while we were on our honeymoon in 2002. We took a leisurely road trip out west and ended up in Taos, New Mexico, new territory for both of us. We immediately fell in love with Taos with its artsy culture and beautiful landscape. While we ate dinner one evening and contemplated living in a place like Taos or Boulder or Moab, I recounted my New York moment to Cory. We both instantly understood that we had to stay in South Dakota. We loved it, cared for it, and our work was there. Of course, that wasn’t much of a stretch for Cory, who grew up at Lake Herman and had almost every intention of staying there forever. After that conversation, though, we were both certain.
Together we took another short break from South Dakota while I groveled at the feet of some excellent theologians at Regent College in Vancouver, British Columbia. We’ve been back home since April 2005. After having a baby and building a house, we’ve settled in on a couple acres just uphill from the shores of Lake Herman.
Lake Herman on a stormy November 2005 afternoon
Deciding to let our roots continue to grow here is both frightening and liberating. Living here is not easy on a number of levels. Madison has its share of problems. The job market isn’t spectacular, and there’s a fair bit of typical small town politics. But our decision is also incredibly liberating. We have dreams of an organic demonstration garden, some market gardening or a CSA, a straw bale greenhouse, a straw bale art studio, and maybe even a small intentional community. We’d love to open a café someday in Madison supplied with food produced as locally as possible (think the Farmer’s Diner), maybe even some from our own garden. Will we accomplish all this? Probably not. But staying here for the long haul means we have the freedom to think about plans like this. Acting on those plans means caring more and more about our place and our community each day.
When I expressed similar sentiments to my friend David W. last year, he responded with this:
While I grew up in the most agricultural state in the country, I had a limited connection to the land. It wasn’t until college at South Dakota State University that I began thinking more deeply about the environment and the biblical mandate to care for it. That all came about through a special topics class, “Philosophy of the Land,” taught by Dr. David Nelson, for which Wendell Berry’s The Unsettling of America was our primary text. I wrestled terribly with Berry (future posts may describe more) but, in the end, found most of what he said in that book to be right and, consequently, found myself with a new set of convictions about earth-keeping.
Almost a decade ago I took a brief break from South Dakota to spend a few months working temp jobs on Long Island, NY. I remember a particular moment one fall day when I was debating just what to do next in life and where to do it. Stay in New York? Go home? Go somewhere else? It dawned on me that I actually did care about South Dakota—its people and its landscape—and that no one else around me at that moment did. After all, it probably took someone growing up in South Dakota, knowing both its beauties and foibles, to truly care for it. I figured that South Dakota might actually need me (and maybe I needed South Dakota). So, I moved back.
I described that realization to my husband while we were on our honeymoon in 2002. We took a leisurely road trip out west and ended up in Taos, New Mexico, new territory for both of us. We immediately fell in love with Taos with its artsy culture and beautiful landscape. While we ate dinner one evening and contemplated living in a place like Taos or Boulder or Moab, I recounted my New York moment to Cory. We both instantly understood that we had to stay in South Dakota. We loved it, cared for it, and our work was there. Of course, that wasn’t much of a stretch for Cory, who grew up at Lake Herman and had almost every intention of staying there forever. After that conversation, though, we were both certain.
Together we took another short break from South Dakota while I groveled at the feet of some excellent theologians at Regent College in Vancouver, British Columbia. We’ve been back home since April 2005. After having a baby and building a house, we’ve settled in on a couple acres just uphill from the shores of Lake Herman.
Lake Herman on a stormy November 2005 afternoonDeciding to let our roots continue to grow here is both frightening and liberating. Living here is not easy on a number of levels. Madison has its share of problems. The job market isn’t spectacular, and there’s a fair bit of typical small town politics. But our decision is also incredibly liberating. We have dreams of an organic demonstration garden, some market gardening or a CSA, a straw bale greenhouse, a straw bale art studio, and maybe even a small intentional community. We’d love to open a café someday in Madison supplied with food produced as locally as possible (think the Farmer’s Diner), maybe even some from our own garden. Will we accomplish all this? Probably not. But staying here for the long haul means we have the freedom to think about plans like this. Acting on those plans means caring more and more about our place and our community each day.
When I expressed similar sentiments to my friend David W. last year, he responded with this:
In your e-mail you wrote: "we intend to be here for the rest of our lives." Reading that reflexively made me sigh a sigh of rest and peace and home. I'm so glad that you are doing something and speaking something--being rooted--that is so important in our mobile, disconnected, fragmented, homeless world. The very fact that you say "we intend to be here for the rest of our lives" oozes hospitality.Exactly.
Monday, March 12, 2007
SDSU College Farm: Why Not?
Any ideas on why in the world South Dakota State University, home of the state's only College of Agriculture, does not have a student organic farm?
Anyone? Anyone?
Anyone? Anyone?
Sunday, March 11, 2007
Raison d'Être
I have far too many Post-It Notes, bookmarks and scraps of paper scattered around my home. They contain various bits of information: the number of people one acre of land can feed, a couple good community garden websites, the title of a new book on strawbale building. It’s time I organized all of this, so I can actually find the information when I need it. Behold, the Prairie Roots blog.
On the surface, this blog is my online bulletin board, filing cabinet and garden journal. Deeper down, it’s all about roots: growing literal roots as I strive to become a sustainable food-growing expert (I’ve just started down that path) and metaphorical roots as my husband and I send our roots ever deeper into this place that, for one reason or another, we have chosen--although it might be more accurate to say that it chose us.
The content of Prairie Roots will focus on place and the land, specifically this place and this land—living on it, caring for it, digging into it, loving it—along with a bit of theology and philosophy about it thrown in. I’ll gradually gather all of my land stewardship-related paper scraps, articles, and bookmarks here (and maybe even a favorite recipe once in awhile). My hope is that the Prairie Roots blog will be a resource for like-minded people in this little corner of the world. Check back from time to time if you’re interested in gleaning from the information here. If you feel like it, send me your comments, questions and, of course, gardening advice.
On the surface, this blog is my online bulletin board, filing cabinet and garden journal. Deeper down, it’s all about roots: growing literal roots as I strive to become a sustainable food-growing expert (I’ve just started down that path) and metaphorical roots as my husband and I send our roots ever deeper into this place that, for one reason or another, we have chosen--although it might be more accurate to say that it chose us.
The content of Prairie Roots will focus on place and the land, specifically this place and this land—living on it, caring for it, digging into it, loving it—along with a bit of theology and philosophy about it thrown in. I’ll gradually gather all of my land stewardship-related paper scraps, articles, and bookmarks here (and maybe even a favorite recipe once in awhile). My hope is that the Prairie Roots blog will be a resource for like-minded people in this little corner of the world. Check back from time to time if you’re interested in gleaning from the information here. If you feel like it, send me your comments, questions and, of course, gardening advice.
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