Category: Uncategorized (Page 2 of 5)

Maybe I shouldn’t talk about buying meat from your local farmer when we’re all out for the year. That’s just mean, isn’t it?

And yet as I was perusing the USDA website (which proves how lame I really am), I clicked on the Find current food recalls link and was horrified at the sheer number of recalls in the past few months. That’s right…I said months. Then I figured out that I was looking at only the open recall cases, meaning the USDA hasn’t found all of the recalled product yet. Isn’t that reassuring?

There is a second link that leads you to the Recall Case Archive, which means the recall is complete and they’ve taken all of the product off the supermarket shelves. Phew!

And because I am known to be a caring and generous soul, ahem, I have graciously combined these two lists for your reading enjoyment. (I only included page 1 of the closed cases.)

July 19, 2007, Canned Meat Products, C. botulinum, OPEN

Nov 1, 2007, Totino’s and Jeno’s Frozen Meat Pizza Products, E. coli 0157:H7, OPEN

Nov 15, 2007, Double B Foods, Inc., Frozen Sausage Roll Products, Listeria, OPEN

Jan 5, 2008, Mark’s Quality Meats Ground Beef Products, E.coli 0157:H7, CLOSED

Jan 12, 2008, Ground Beef Products, E. coli 0157:H7, CLOSED

Jan 26, 2008, Chicken Products, undeclared allergen, CLOSED

Feb 1, 2008, Bacon-wrapped Beef Tenderloin Products, undeclared allergen, CLOSED

Feb 17, 2008, Beef Products, problem unstated (which worries me even more), CLOSED

Mar 2, 2008, Frozen Chicken Entrees, Listeria, CLOSED

Mar 3, 2008, Frozen Chicken Entrees, Listeria, CLOSED

Mar 4, 2008, Gourmet Boutique Meat and Poultry Products, Listeria, CLOSED

Mar 14, 2008, Chicken Gibliets, adulturated, OPEN

Mar 29, 2008, Frozen Chicken Products, mislabeling, CLOSED

Apr 4, 2008, Frozen Cattle Heads, prohibited materials, OPEN

May 3, 2008, Gourmet Boutique Meat and Poultry Products, Listeria, OPEN

Only 16 products in 10 months. Not bad, right? Except that they don’t include the sheer poundage of the nasty food that is complicit in the above recalls. Nor do they include the brand names the food is sold under, except for one or two.

So, let’s see. I could have a banquet of Listeria, E. coli, and botulism. I could partake in a delectable feast of cow head with prohibited materials. I could ingest a few undeclared allergens…I mean, what you don’t know won’t hurt you, right? (Right??) Or, I could just eat something that claims to be something else. No harm, no foul.

I read a list like this and never ever want to set foot in the supermarket meat isle again. But when we take ruminants, stick them in a CAFO (Confined Animal Feeding Operation), and feed them genetically modified grains, plastic “fiber” pellets, “recycled” chicken manure, distiller’s grain (ethanol byproduct), and maybe a little hay here or there, E. coli 0157:H7 is what results. When we lock thousands and thousands of chickens together with only 0.8 square feet of space per bird, who’s shocked if a little Listeria winds up on our chicken nuggets? And when we forget about the pots and pans in our kitchen, and only reheat the “canned meat products” on our pantry shelves, we submit ourselves to the industrialized quasi-kitchens that process millions of canned products daily. Who knows what contaminants lurk in those kitchen-factories?

I’m not judging, people. After a quick look at my own pantry, I found canned corned beef, for pity’s sake. That stuff looks and smells like dog food when you open it. But for the sake of our environment and our health, we have all got to get away from the sad, demoralizing, inhumane and unhealthy meat industry and back to the small family farms that were traditionally the backbone of our country.

Small farms like ours can have contamination problems…of course! But cleanliness and herd health are much easier to manage when you’re working on a small scale. Contamination is easier to track down and correct when things go awry, I might add. I know of not one local farmer who trucks in plastic pellets or chicken manure to feed his beef cattle….these things don’t happen on a small-scale farm. They happen all the time on CAFO’s. Not to mention the growth-promoting hormones and antibiotics.

Seriously. Find a local farmer. Ask them if you can buy some of their meat, be it chicken, pork, beef, duck, lamb, goat, mouse…OK, not mouse.

Now go. That’s right, go.

Go do it. Call a local farmer.

Really. For your sake and mine, for the environment’s sake, for the animals’ sake, GO!

You can thank me later.

Late Sunday morning, the call came. “Your chicks are at the post office. If you’d like, you can come pick them up. Or, we’ll send them out your way in tomorrow’s mail shipment.”

Here they are, still in the box. They come in these neat little compartmentalized boxes, 25 chicks per compartment. In fact, you have to mail-order a minimum of 25 chicks, otherwise they won’t have enough body heat to keep themselves warm. A cold chickie is a doomed chickie.

Madelina’s like a little mother hen.

Ana’s snuggled in nicely with this one.

It takes awhile to get the heat lamps situated just right. If the lamps are hung too high up, the chicks get cold and start to mob together like this:

Today is another one of those blustery Northern Illinois spring days. High 40’s and windier than all get out. Yesterday, we had thunderstorms and wind. The day before, nice warm temperatures accompanied by a stiff wind. Wind, wind, wind.

I hate windy days. Wind makes me angry. When I was in college, I lived a good 15 minute bike-ride away from campus. I relied upon my bike to take me everywhere. Madison, with it’s four surrounding lakes, tends to be a windy place. So when I would bike to class, loaded down by a backpack filled with textbooks and notepads, I’d often find myself sparring against a strong headwind. I’d put my head down, and pedal as hard as I could. Just when I’d think my legs and my lungs could take no more, I’d look over at the students walking to class on the sidewalk. It was hard to tell who was moving at a faster pace. My quick Irish temper would ignite and a few choice words would escape my lips. “@#&%@ wind!”, I’d mutter.

Today’s wind is making me feel isolated and lonely, and I imagine how it must have been for women years ago on the frontier. They say many pioneer women went mad on account of the unceasing winds that whipped across the prairie. For today, at least, I can relate. And just like in the old movies, the latch on our porch door is broken, and so the door violently swings open and hits the porch railing…”Bam!” A second or two later it then slams shut…“Bam!” I half expect a tumbleweed to roll on by.

When I go out and call to the kids, my voice goes unheard. The wind carries it away. My trusty barrette that I rely upon daily to keep my hair out of my face is no match for the unrelenting gusts of air. The ground grain that I carefully poured into the feedbunk for the cattle was whipped into a whirling dustdevil that proceeded to attack me viciously. And I dare not lay down the bedding that I bought for the baby chicks that are to arrive tomorrow.

And so I am imprisoned. Idle. Locked in. All on accounts of this maddening wind.

SOLD!! Thanks to everyone that responded. Unfortunately we are sold out for the year.

If you’re in the market for some tasty, fresh, good old-fashioned corn-fed beef….and….if you’ve got a freezer that’s spinnin’ your electric meter like nobody’s business because it has nothing in it but stale air…..and….if your favorite summer past time is firin’ up the grill and throwin’ on a few juicy burgers for the kids and a few tender steaks for you and your main squeeze, then have I got a deal for you!

We have orders to fill 3/4 beef, and need someone to take the other 1/4. That’s it! Just a 1/4 beef. A mere 200 pounds or so. You’ll hardly even notice it.

Well, okay…you might notice it a little bit.

But when you notice it, you’ll also notice the undeniable grumble in your belly and that your saliva glands are suddenly acting like Old Faithful.

If you’re interested, flit me off an email to comepifa@aol.com and I’ll fill you in on the necessary details such as where we take our beef for processing, how long it takes, and of course how we determine the cost. I’ll give you a hint on that one: we use market pricing, which always makes me feel like a rich, powerful oil executive:

“We charge you a buttload (is that a bad word?) for oil because we can…ahem, I mean because of high demand.”

Except that I’m your friendly local farmer who would never, ever charge you a buttload for anything. (There’s that word again…sorry!) And I should probably give up on the dream of being rich and powerful, too. It’s usually not in the cards for silly ole farmers like me. Ah, well…there goes that analogy.

So, um…what was I talking about?

Oh, right! Beef!

Beef that is humanely-raised; beef that has had 100% access to pasture, good quality hay, plenty of fresh air, and clean water; beef that has never been fed any type of genetically modified foodstuff; beef that spend their days snackin’, wanderin’, sleepin’ and chewin’ their cud.

Beef that is really, truly good eatin’, as they say in these parts.

So what do you say? Any takers out there?

Vacation…oooh. Sunny Florida…aaah.

It was so nice to take a break from life in Irish Grove. Florida was wonderful, and we were actually able satify the whole family on the trip, if you can believe it! We had lots of swimming opportunities and a visit to Busch Gardens for the kids, boating, golfing and relaxing for Marcel, an outing in a nature preserve for me, and a trip to a beautiful beach that made all of us pretty dern happy. Plus, we got to spend a lot of time with my mom, and shared our Busch Gardens time with my sister and her family, and my brother Matt. What more could you ask for?

Did I mention that for 6 out of 8 days, the weather was in the low 80’s, sunny with a nice gentle breeze? Ahh, such a treat for some pretty winter-weary Irish Grovers. So, come along as I reminisce.

Here we are, relaxing…

sightseeing….

playin’….

swimming….

and piggin’ out.

Plus, we got to see lots and lots of exotic animals (exotic for Irish Grove at least).

We saw a dophin….

a manatee (you’ll have to take my word for it)…

the homely, yet important and very rare wood stork (notice the water just in front of him?)…

a very large alligator (that luckily didn’t end up eating the wood stork above!)….

and a strange, elusive tropical creature that I just can’t quite make out.

This is very mysterious. It looks a lot like a ring-tailed lemur, but aren’t they only found in Madagascar? Yet it moves so sleekly through the understory. What could it be?

Wait….it seems to be swinging around this way….

I’m still not sure, and yet suddenly it looks a little familiar.

Aw, shoot. Did we come all the way to Florida just to see a raccoon?

Oh well. Raccoon and all, we had a wonderful time and are ready for farmin’ to begin. Rested and rejuvinated, all I can say is: Bring it on, Irish Grove! Let the fun begin.

We’re off….we’re outta here….we’re gettin’ the heck outta Dodge. Yep, we’re headed to sunny Florida to spend a nice week relaxin’ in the sun, swimmin’ with the kids, and coaxin’ my freckles out of hiding.

We like to take advantage of spring break around here, seeing as April kick-starts the farming season into full swing, and we won’t be comin’ up for air until late October or early November. (Whew….makes me tired just thinking about it.) Last year we went to Panama to see the family, this year it’s Florida to meet up with my cavortin’ mother. Of course, we have a few trips planned this summer as well, but it gets waay more complicated when you’ve got hay that needs cuttin’ and especially some mama cows giving birth.

We’re leaving this afternoon, so Marcel’s off filling hay cages with hay for all the animals, and after church we’ll be grinding feed for the beef cattle. The kids are helping immensely by eating lots of Easter chocolate, and spreading their Easter basket grass all over the floor.

We might be a little stressed at the moment, but it will all melt away once we’re poolside (or even better, ocean-side), sippin’ umbrella drinks in our bathin’ suits. Ahhh. See ya when we get back!

And, of course, have a very happy and blessed Easter.

Ahh, St. Patrick’s Day. A day that celebrates fun, laughter, and a playful spirit. A day for blarney, for embellishments, for a few tall tales here and there. The Irish are no strangers to hardship and misery, but they are good at reminding us to lighten up a little and to take life’s troubles with a grain of salt, or perhaps more accurately, with a glass of warm beer.

So it is with an Irish spirit that I salute you, with a raised glass I toast you, and with a wink I remind you that if you’re lucky enough to be Irish…You’re lucky enough!

Enjoy a bit o’ Irish culture, if you may….

Irish Diplomacy…

is the ability to tell a man to go to hell so that he looks forward to making the trip.

An Irishman’s Philosophy…

In life, there are only two things to worry about—Either you are well or you are sick. If you are well, there is nothing to worry about,

But if you are sick, there are only two things to worry about—Either you will get well or you will die. If you get well, there is nothing to worry about,

But if you die, there are only two things to worry about—Either you will go to heaven or hell. If you go to heaven, there is nothing to worry about.

And if you go to hell, you’ll be so busy shaking hands with all your friends you won’t have time to worry!

Irish Bravado…

The Mouse on the Barroom Floor: Some Guinness was spilled on the barroom floorwhen the pub was shut for the night. Out of his hole crept a wee brown mouseand stood in the pale moonlight. He lapped up the frothy brew from the floor,then back on his haunches he sat. And all night long you could hear him roar, ‘Bring on the goddam cat!’

Irish Family Values…

A family of Irish birth will argue and fight,
but let a shout come from without, and see them all unite.

An Irishman’s Character…

An Irishman has an abiding sense of tragedy which sustains him through temporary periods of joy.

Irish Ego….

The Irish, be they kings, or poets, or farmers,
They’re a people of great worth,
They keep company with the angels,
And bring a bit of heaven here to earth

An Irish joke…

An Irishman, an Englishman and a beautiful girl are riding together in a train, with the beautiful girl in the middle.

The train goes through a tunnel and it gets completely dark. Suddenly there is a kissing sound and then a slap! The train comes out of the tunnel. The woman and the Irishman are sitting there looking perplexed. The Englishman is bent over holding his face which is red from an apparent slap.

The Englishman is thinking “Damn it, that Mick must have tried to kiss the girl, she thought it was me and slapped me.”

The girl is thinking, “That Englishman must have moved to kiss me, and kissed the Irishman instead and got slapped.”

The Irishman is thinking, “If this train goes through another tunnel, I could make another kissing sound and slap that Englishman again!!

and an Irish blessing……

May the lilt of Irish laughter
Lighten every load,
May the mist of Irish magic
Shorten every road,
May you taste the sweetest pleasures
That fortune ere bestowed,
And may all your friends remember
All the favors you are owed.

And happy birthday to my lovely and, yes, blarney-filled sister Laura. An Irish toast for you, Laura….

May you have warm words on a cold evening, a full moon on a dark night, and a smooth road all the way to your door.

I added an old Irish proverb to my heading: He who has water and peat on his own farm has the world his own way.

This proverb speaks a rural language that is endangered in today’s urban society. It embodies the deep connection between farmer and farm, and illustrates the pride and sense of hope that comes with owning your own piece of rural land.

Today, our connection to Irish Grove deepens, as my mom, my siblings and I become full owners of this beautiful family land. We are realizing a dream that has been passed down to us through numerous generations of strong, rural Irish men and women, not the least of whom was my father.

Dad lived most of his life on this land, and had a deep and loving relationship with it. His desire to possess this farm for himself was not born out of greed or dominance or potential profit. He wanted to play a part in his family’s history as Irish landholders, and to lovingly nuture this farm for future generations. And he wanted this farm so he could ensure that our family had a place to call our own, a place to keep us grounded and united, a place that would instill a humble respect for the land, for hard work, and for our heritage.

Dad wanted to be the connection between the past and the future. He was, and continues to be.

Dad died two years ago today. At first glance it seems ironic that we would close on the farm on the anniversary of his death. At second glance it feels, quite simply, bittersweet.

I hate campaign season.

I hate that they call it a ‘season’ when it lasts 2 long, painful years.

I hate how the candidates want us to think they care about us, but really only care about our vote (and campaign contributions).

I hate the non-stop political reports, the requisite scandals, the knit-picking of every syllable spoken by every candidate.

And I especially hate the endorsements made by those who take themselves and their political sway way too seriously.

Does it matter to you that Ted Kennedy loves Obama or that Arnold Schwarzenegger favors McCain? Do you care what Eva Longoria (Clinton) or Chuck Norris (Huckabee) think about our political future?

Well, I certainly don’t. But then again I don’t speak for all of Irish Grove, do I?

Suddenly I’m curious as to what my Irish Grove cohorts think. Let’s go find out.

“Hillary really moooves me. She’s proud. Articulate. Ready to face the world. I can relate to that.”

“O-baaah-ma, baby. He’s multi-colored, err racial, just like us.”

“I’m single, progressive, and like to treat all animals in a herd equally. Plus I like to run. Over and over again. Just like Ralph Nader. He’ll take my vote this November.”

“The candidate that best resembles, err represents me is John McCain. He’ll keep the country in line, just like I keep the cows in line.”

“I just wish John Edwards was still in it. He made me giggle and feel tingly all over. I never did get a chance to bat my long, luscious eyelashes at him.”




“Huckabee. He’s as persistent as a rooster in a flock o’hens. Oh, and he eats possum; a nasty habit that is, nonetheless, a relief to chickens everywhere.”




“Who me? I’m an independent. Ain’t nobody takin’ my vote for granted. If they want it, they’ll have to work for it.”

So, folks, there you have it. Straight out of the horse’s mouth…and the cow’s mouth, and the….well, you get my drift. And these? Well, these might finally be some endorsements I can take seriously.

In Irish Grove we don’t make mistakes, we have “learning opportunities”.

A learning opportunity is good. Positive. Desirable. A mistake is bad: a reminder that you’re a big fat failure, a screw-up, a nobody. Yesterday I was presented with a learning opportunity, and I’m nice enough to share it with you.

Our cows needed hay. The poor pregnant mama’s and the young heifers were slowly walking circles around our snow-covered pasture all morning, trying to find a bit of grass to eat. They weren’t starving, by any means, since Mom had thrown them a few small squares of good, green hay in the morning. But our cows are a lot like me: they’re not happy unless they’re chompin’ and chewin’ and chawin’ all day long. (Hey, a girl’s gotta eat.)

So late in the afternoon, I finally get around to grabbing the tractor so I could haul a few round bales up to the ladies. When I was finished, I was all like “I’m the real deal, man. I just can’t get enough of myself. I’m a rockin’ farmer, that’s me allright.”

I mean, I had dropped off the loader bucket and hooked up the bale-spear, I had plowed a path through our newest 6 inches of snow to the hay bales, I had loaded up the hay and driven it up the road without causing an accident, I had gotten the frozen gate open, and I had lifted those hay bales way up high, up and over the fence and dropped them squarely into the bale cages. It was the work of a professional…beautifully executed, if I do say so myself. And so I slept soundly last night, all warm with my feelings of self-congratulation and adoration.

But winter is bitter cold, and so is the feeling that washed over me when Marcel peeked his head inside before leaving for work this morning to say, “Hey, who drove the tractor yesterday?” (Conversations that begin by asking “who did that?” usually never end well.)

“Umm, I did. Why?”

Now Marcel has been stung by his wife’s “how dare you accuse me” wrath before, so he’s too wise to just come out and accuse me of something. “No. I mean who took the tractor out (meaning out of the shed)?”

“Yeah, I know. I did.”

“But didn’t Rob use the tractor to plow yesterday?”

Uh-oh. If he’s looking to scapegoat Rob in order to escape my reaction, it must be really bad.

“Yes, he did. But I had already taken it out and gotten it ready for him. Why?”

Note to self: never ask why.

“Umm, well someone forgot to unplug the tractor before they drove it and reeked havoc with just about everything. Are you sure someone didn’t drive it before you?” (Boy, this Marcel is good.)

And it is about now that that bitter cold feeling I mentioned earlier started to overtake me. “And by everything, you mean what? What did I do?”

Please note how I immediately took responsibility for my actions.

“Well…insert hesitation here…you drove the tractor with the extension cord still connected between it and the electric box (which, if you don’t know, keeps the diesel fuel warm in the winter, since diesel fuel can freeze at cold temperatures, unlike gasoline). The electric box was ripped off the wall, the cord is split and ruined, and you bent the h*ll out of the plug on the tractor.”

To which I adeptly responded, “Oops.” Then I crossed my fingers, hoped to die, and stuck a needle in my eye (not really) as I quietly asked, “Can it be fixed?”

My husband sighed a heavy sigh–like he needs more to do!–and said, “Well, I’ll see what I can do.” This, when uttered by my superbly-talented mechanically-gifted husband, usually means yes.

Whew! Thank God it will get fixed. And especially thank God we don’t make mistakes in Irish Grove. We just create new learning opportunities. And I’m saying ‘we’ in a very general sense, if you know what I mean.

So, what did I learn? I learned that when you’re gonna drive this:


you first have to disconnect this:

or else you’re going to ruin this:

And you don’t wanna do that.

Glad I could share this learning opportunity with you, everybody. I’m nice like that, no matter what my husband might fear, err think.

P.S. I’m soo glad Farmer Bill is on vacation.