Ginger Beer

Today's cookbook.

We're trying our hand at making ginger beer today. Thanks to Sandor Ellix Katz's book Wild Fermentation, we are expanding from our initial ventures into cheese making and see sauerkraut on our horizon. Since reading The Untold Story of Milk, I have learned about the Weston A. Price Foundation and become a fan of its director, Sally Fallon Morrell. She keeps appearing in places where I am conducting research; she wrote the foreword to Katz's book, she presented a the 2010 International Raw Milk Institute and a recent conference of the Institute for Integrative Nutrition, and she wrote Nourishing Traditions--just one of many books on my wish list. So, when I read the conclusion to her foreword in Katz's book: "Wild Fermentation represents ... a road map to a better world, a world of healthy people and equitable economies, ..." I knew I had found a winner. Settling down with a tall glass of fresh milk, I nestled onto the couch and did not stir except to grab a handful of paperclips with which to mark pages of recipes to try.

Ginger beer in process. (Clockwise from top: once filtered base, dregs of ginger bug, ginger filtered out of today's beer.)

I am starting with the ginger beer recipe. It began with a "ginger bug" started some days ago--a mixture of water, sugar, and ginger--then left to ferment in a warm place. Situating it beside the crock pot worked remarkably well. (I tried to start with making raw milk yogurt, but could not locate the packet of starter that I had so carefully tucked away. I found it this morning: marking the recipe page in Wild Fermentation.) After obtaining jugs from a master gardener friend earlier this week, I was ready to try the recipe.

This morning I boiled a mixture of water, sugar, and ginger. Cooled and strained it. Added the strained ginger bug and lemon juice, and then strained that lot into jugs to be set aside to ferment. Not having been a science major can be a handicap in the kitchen. As the photograph illustrates, I had the second straining set up to wick nicely onto the stove top instead of into the jugs. Although I recognized the potential, I was unsure of how to address the problem. The funnel system in the rear is made from a Real Lemon juice bottle. (Yes, I cheated. I purchased enough lemons for the recipe as written, then chose to double it this morning. Luckily we had lemon juice in the fridge.) When I scooped the once-filtered ginger mixture into it, air bubbled up and the liquid poured into the jug quite nicely. The front funnel is made from the top of a two liter soda bottle and fits more snugly into the mouth of the jug. No air bubbles resulted in a slower-moving transfer of liquid.

Ginger beer in process. The second filtering.

My eyes are not as keen as they were once. By the time figured out that--yes--the clear liquid was being wicked from the tightly-fitted funnel setup, the stove top was swimming in about a pint of wasted ginger beer base. Once I loosened the funnels from the bottle necks, allowing for a ready transfer of displaced air, why--the process was completed in a jiffy! After mopping up the stove, I was ready to top off the jugs with water, then nest the jugs on either side of the crock pot where they will sit for a couple of weeks.

Crock pot maintaining bone stock with fresh vegetables.

This week we have been enjoying a hearty bone stock with fresh vegetables added periodically. That the crock pot serves this double duty in the kitchen pleases me to no end. That the nutritional wisdom I have gleaned over the past couple of months allows me to enjoy animal fats without guilt, makes devouring the bits of fat and gristle what originally clung to the bones all the more pleasurable.

Praise be for the bounty of this marvelous earth. (Here's hoping for a successful outcome to our first adventure making ginger beer.)

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Growing Poultry

The new arrivals.

In mid-September we sold Miss Lissamy Lucy, our APHA mare that moved here in late 2008; part of the exchange included new poultry. After Lucy left, we had six new hens and two more roosters. I had not wanted the roosters because we have so many, but was glad to have them when I realized they are breed specific. (Some days I just do not think very far ahead.)

The one of the roos and two of the hens are Domeneckers, black-and-white birds that produce brown eggs. The other rooster and his four hens are all white and produce white eggs; the farmer with whom I traded could not specify the breed. I wondered if they might be leghorns (like the big white rooster from the cartoons of my youth), but he did not know. All of the bird were a tad scrawny upon arrival. They appeared healthy enough, but I could see why the farmer wanted to be rid of them (nearly as badly as we wanted to be rid of a horse).

The day they arrived, we ousted the roos that had too-long awaited the pot. (We would eat them faster if we did not have to deal with the killing and cleaning to do so.) That made life among the free-rangers pretty lively for a few days, as the multitude of roosters established a pecking order. Their challenges to one another are beautiful to watch, especially since they don't take their fights to the level of game hen fights. Game hens fight to the death.

The "new guys" have settled in nicely.

This evening I took a look at the newcomers. They have plumped up nicely. Soon I will have to move them from the dog kennel, but first I need to figure where to place them. We recently inherited some nice nesting boxes from a neighbor down the road. (Their hens have moved into what they refer to as the Chicken Hilton, a very fancy new hen house they built.) I need to scrub them out and set them up for use here.

Each morning and evening I enjoy interacting with our avian residents. LaLa Goose comes when called, pretty well, because she knows a call is generally followed by fresh vegetables or fruit. A friend was passing along his overabundance of over-ripe cucumbers for a time, and the birds loved those. I developed a method of throwing the fresh feed down onto the driveway, effectively splitting open the fruit or vegetable, and the birds flock to enjoy the spoils. Currently they're enjoying pears gleaned from our new friend Opal, who has enough pears that she is ready to throw them over a fence to rot. We enjoy the bags and bags she sends, and we share the green pears with the horses and the overripe pears with the birds.

LaLa eats her spoils from the heart to the rind.

Everybody is happy. We are blessed with abundance this season.

Observable Impacts of Nutrition

Marcie on the milking stand.

With the Fodder-Pro Feed System still in the offing, hay and grain continue to dominate the dietary supplement we have to offer. Unlike the rigid 5:00 or 6:00 a.m. and p.m. milking schedules of larger dairies, at P&CW Organic Farm we enjoy a far more relaxed schedule of once-daily milking. Although we aim to milk at around the same time each day, circumstances--such as the occasional cold, hard rain or an off-farm obligation--are known to interfere.

When milking is postponed by half a day or more, milk production drops off slightly. The longer the hiatus, the greater the drop. To encourage increased milk production, I use the recommendation of the woman from whom I bought Marcie--Melissa of C&M Vally Farm--and add a handful or so of alfalfa shreds into the grain offered to the does on the milking stand. Interestingly enough, that small change yields observable results by the following day. Udders are fuller and teats are distended when I return with milk buckets in hand.

Already I am anticipating the milk we will miss when our does reserve their nutrition for the developing kids they now carry. As in the Biblical lands where goodness can be measured by the ample presence of milk and honey, so too is our existence enriched by the gifts of the farm. True, we supplement our nutrition with Emerald Express products, and they do help us to feel spry enough to greet each day, but most of our blessings come from the real milk we drink--whole, unprocessed milk from our free ranging goats; from the farm fresh eggs our hens provide for us; and from the myriad of herbs, fruits and vegetables we enjoy from various local farm sources.

Five years ago in another life, we ate fairly well. While I knew that cookies and cakes should be enjoyed in moderation, I often had difficulty moderating my intake. What we did not know was that butter, fresh eggs, raw dairy, grass-fed meat, and organic produce would make such a positive difference in our energy levels and overall health. Where did our society go wrong? How is it that so much of what we feed ourselves and our children is bad for us? When did we make the shift to thinking that cost, convenience, and availability should be the hallmarks by which we choose the food to nourish ourselves?

I am thankful for the changes that have brought me to this point in my life and eager to continue learning about how I can continue to improve and can help to improve the lives of those around me.

Paradigm Shift, Step Two

This the information in book is changing our lives.

Early in the summer when I picked up a copy of the 2009 revised and updated edition of naturopathic physician Ron Schmid's book The Untold Story of Milk, I was engrossed from the start. Waiting for my car to be serviced, I opened to the foreword by  Sally Fallon Morell, president of The Weston A. Price Foundation, and soon found myself digging in my bag for a pencil with which to mark the text. The first line that drew my pencil reads "[t]he purpose of this book is to create millions of [raw milk] consumers and by so doing revitalize family farms and communities." Wow, thought I, now there's a lofty goal.

Considering that sales of raw milk are illegal in many states and that most apartment dwellers will not likely shift to keeping a family bovine on their patio any time soon, building a such consumer base will be a massive challenge. Now, I love the "farm milk" our goats provide for us and often wish that I could share it with others; however, I have no wish to engage the regulatory powers that be in this state and nation. As such, I have no plans to sell the milk--even though I do occasionally entertain a dream of so doing.

The exorbitant cost of building a potential Grade A dairy facility leaves me focusing on the health and wellness of the farm's inhabitants (and, sometimes, on that of its occasional visitors). The laws and regulations surrounding raw milk sales leave me regretfully declining all entreaties to sell the milk to individual consumers or families. Maybe thirty years ago the firebrand that I was would have engaged in this fight, but these days I am more inclined to work to effect change on a very small scale and actively live within the law. Eventually I hope to apply for a license to sell milk for pet consumption; however, as I expect that will require a more organized facility than we currently manage, the future date is far enough off to be but a blurry vision in my mind's eye.

All summer I have been relishing this book, toting it around and stealing time with it as the opportunities arise. The pencil currently resides somewhere within the pages of the 19th and final chapter, titled "Raw Milk Today," and its rounded point attests to the frequency of its use. This month I have been enjoying listening to the eight CD's of the 2nd Annual International Raw Milk Symposium as I drive to and from the city. Meanwhile, the collection of "to be read" books grows, and several sport page markers of various sorts throughout.

Changes directly attributable to Schmid's book here on the farm include a shift from pasture-based feed augmented with ample grain rations daily to a more grass-intensive system whereby grain will be limited to that necessary to aid each animal's rumen with digestion. Of course, the grass-intensive feed will not be limited to the ruminants. While most of our poultry range freely about the farm, those who are more confined have been subsisting mostly on grains; they, too, will be able to enjoy greens as fresh as those consumed by the free-ranging birds.

We are in the process of selecting a hydroponic fast-growing forage system for the farm, one that we plan to convert to an aquaponic system in due time. Not only should the animals benefit, but the nutrition that they provide for us should improve--and the pain on our wallets should lessen over time as the system pays for itself. With the price of cheap hay hovering around $4.00 a square bale just now, it will be a relief to cut the bill before winter sets in. Already a late season drought has restricted the horses to hay, and the alpacas' pasture is needing to be supplemented with hay on a regular basis.

While this post lacks much in the way of explanation, suffice to say for now that this paradigm shift has us looking not only to raw foods for dense nutrition, but also toward farm-fermented foods as well. How big is this shift for us? Well, now that the Emerald Express products have us feeling younger and fitter--neither of us has been complaining of aches or arthritic pains for some weeks now--I am eagerly anticipating a time when my lack of health insurance will no longer be a cause for concern.

Life on the farm is a treasured gift for which we are most thankful.

Paradigm Shift, Step One

June, 2011. Horses at pasture: (left to right) Janet, Stella, Millie, and Lucy.

We have been undergoing a paradigm shift this summer in the way we view nutrition on the farm. It started back in June shortly after we put the non-gaited paint horses up for sale. Just two or three weeks earlier I had added two nutritional supplements to my daily diet with no adverse health effects. After taking in the lowest recommended dose on a daily basis, I had yet to notice results, not that I had expected to notice any. While I was intrigued by the impressive claims the product maker made for its products, I did not just roll off the turnip truck yesterday and am well acquainted with the ploys of hype and even direct falsification that plague advertisers today. As such, I was trying the supplements but my hopes for them were tempered by my more-than-healthy skepticism. Then Miss Lissamy Lucy intervened.

Forgive me, but to tell this right, I need to backtrack a couple of years. In a post titled Falling, I chronicled my unsuccessful adventure in horseback riding with Millie. The short version is: I tried riding, I got thrown (or chose to fall before being thrown), then I hurt for a couple of weeks. As I remember it now, I'd swear it took three weeks before all the aches and pains, bumps and bruises from that afternoon's single fall stopped plaguing me entirely. I still recall the nights of trying to get comfortable and waking when I turned over, and days where just catching my breath made my ribs ache. (The post reveals that distance may have magnified the event in my recall--or that pride kept me from fully reporting on the discomfort in the post.) Whatever the truth of the matter is, or was, I do know that the one fall that afternoon caused me considerable grief for many days to come. Anyway, with lesson learned and life being busily lived, I had not remounted any of our horses since then until one fateful afternoon.

We had finally decided that the horses had to go. At least the quarter horses, to start, would need to move on. Keeping them as pasture ornamentation is expensive since our acres are mostly wooded and they graze down what pasture we have more quickly than it can regrow. After posting an ad for Lucy and Janet, our red-and-white paint mare and her two-year-old filly, I got the bright idea to give Lucy some time under saddle before introducing her to potential buyers. That Saturday afternoon, she was calm and gentle as I saddled her up, familiar with the procedure even though she had not experienced it for a long two years. Although I considered doing some groundwork with her before mounting, I felt pressed for time and did not think it was all that necessary. Maybe prudent, but I chose to forgo it. After all, I had never ridden a horse that had been out to pasture with her herd for so long, and I "reasoned" that when I had first met and tried Lucy, she had already been out to pasture with a herd for some weeks, and had been a perfect lady then. Bad choice on my part.

When I went to mount, she stood like a lady until my toe nudged her in the side. Leg not entirely over her back, I had no chance and went flying the moment she exploded out from under me. Since I had been trying to mount with the assistance of a rock pile, that's where I landed--that first time--back on the rock pile. After just a few bronc-like bucks, Lucy settled down and agreed to be caught. A bit more cautious, I went to the house for help. I thought if our Operations Manager could just hold the mare's head while I bumbled onto her back, all would be well. Wrong. I will spare you the blow-by-blow description. Suffice to say, I managed to get thrown thrice that afternoon before having the good sense to hang up the saddle. We humans recalled my experience with Millie (see Falling) and agreed that, while I was moving fine just then, I would pay dearly for my indiscretions by the morning. Lucy, unsaddled and cooled out, was turned back out with her herd. I finished the farm chores for the day, and sent up a prayer of thanks for a learning experience gained without serious injury. Amazingly, I wasn't even sore at that point, but I knew that time and rest would rectify that situation.

Okay, so I had stopped counting by that point, but again I was wrong. Night passed with nary a twinge. Morning dawned and I felt amazingly well. Indeed, days passed with no physical evidence of my adventures. Finally on Friday, after steeping out of the shower, I saw a colorful bruise on one "cheek" in the mirror. I poked and prodded and found the spot was tender. But that was it.

Now, I have not gotten any younger over the past two years. I'm over fifty and at that time my body was happy to remind me of my age, frequently. Why, then, had I been able to get thrown off of a horse not once, not twice, but three times in a single day without paying with physical pain? We talked it over and the only difference we could discern was the addition of those two nutritional supplements mentioned at the beginning of this post. I went back to their literature and found claims about ease of movement and reversal of aging. Thinking about it, I could remember a time in my youth when I rode daily and suffered the occasional barn injury with no complaint. Without further hesitation, I contacted the company, reordered the supplements for another month, put my order on auto-ship, and signed up for a business site with them. I was not ready to "sell" the products, but I was eager to share my story with a few friends and figured that I might as well enjoy the benefits of referring possible sales in the event anyone I knew opted to try the products. The company is Emerald Express and their products are Emerald Sea--an encapsulated blend of organic sea vegetables, and Action Whey--a whey protein powder made from the raw A2 milk of organic, grass-fed cows.

I invite readers to research the products. (Here's a link to a YouTube video overview.) Stay tuned as I continue to ramble about our household's paradigm shift on nutrition. As stated above, this experience merely nudged us onto this journey; these products represent but step one for us.