El fin

I think that we can call this blog defunct.

I'm not even updating my reading lists anymore.

Life is full: outdoor work, food preservation, parenting, the joy of loving and being loved by one's spouse, morning solitude, kitchen work, homeschooling, getting outside to revel, reading and singing together, poetry, bunny trails, solid rest and sleep.

It's all happening.

Life is good, life is hard. I take it all.

Maybe I'll post again at some point? Perhaps just a check-in to let anyone who might be checking in on me know that I'm still alive? Perhaps.

Lil' Eliza Jane

 A niece!  The sweetest thing.

Born "on Christmas Day in the mor-ning". For realz.

Sweet Eliza Jane, named for my sister.

 Here she is, three days old.

Erik and Ashley are smitten. (Of course!)

I can't stop smiling whenever I see her.

 She was a breech baby until 39 weeks. Un-un-un-un.

Then she was posterior. Un-un-un-un.

Then Ash pushed for 5 hours after laboring on and off for three days. 

UN-UN-UN-UN. (Lil' Eliza's head was at an odd angle.) (She had a tilted conehead.)

In the end Ash feels good about her birth, and I'm so glad.

One week old, lips pursed.

"It is amazing how fast they change." But seriously.

I thought she looked more like Ash this time,

though when she opened her eyes I saw Erik.
I can hardly wait to smooch and snuggle her come March!

The boy is named

::: Eliah Len :::

It took us 5 days, the longest ever.

His name is like a little sunburst in my mind --

I wake up saying it to myself at night, so happy.

Brand-new baby borealis, yet unnamed

 8 lbs 3 oz :: 22 inches long :: one hour old

Born at home at 2:13 AM on 5.31.13

He is the exact same weight (but an inch longer) than Baby Diego --

We think he looks a lot like Truen as a newborn.

♥ His hair is dark and little tendrils curl upward ♥

He has a good latch and took to nursing like an old pro.

The next morning: 

Meeting the two biggest brudders for the first time.

They were so excited!

We went to bed "as usual" last night and they slept through everything

They went to G&G borealis' for the day today . . . 
the solitude is divine.

 Big brudder Diego got to hold him first --

He ooooh'd and ahhhhh'd over all his little baby parts.

 Big brudder Truen held him second --

He was particularly interested in his little hands and feet.

 Big brudder Jamie held him third --

He tapped his little nose gently and seemed very interested and pleased.

 Surrounded by boy-ohs

First family picture --

I love all the action in this shot.

Jamie was cranky because we took his "papo" out.

It's a . . .

'nother baby boy.  What else could it be?

Here's his little foot --

And his little arm --

They tried to get a 3-D image of his face but he was wiggling around too much.

Of course . . . I was hoping for the outside chance that it might just possibly be a girl, but after couple of minutes of crestfallen disappointment, I was back to my usual happy self.  A boy is what we were pretty much expecting anyway.  I know boys and I love my boys.  Blaine is pleased (though was initially a little disappointed over the fact they it wasn't twins, the rascal).  He would have flipped over a girl, but as he says, "I love my boys".  The sweet little fellas.

And I have all their gear, conveniently sorted by age; there is definitely a part of me with a strange satisfaction to be able to use their clothes all over again.   This little guy will be suited up with all the socks, shoes, boots, pants, shirts, undies, coats, hats, and mittens that he'll ever need.  I've saved it all.  Though I do suppose a number of things will be totally worn out by the time it gets to him.  The knees in most of the 4T pants are already threadbare.  I really need to learn how to patch (I think I can, I think I can, I think I can).  I wonder if little girls wear out the knees of pants like little boys do?

Shoot, maybe he'll even have a name by the time he's born.

The twin saga

We had a bit of a wild ride last month, when the possibility of TWINS cropped up.  I know, I know.  I spent many a sleepless night, my mind running and not able to stop contemplating the possibility of caring for two babies at once.  I mean, I know people do it, but it just sounds so. hard.

Here's the story --

Back in December, I measured 18 inches at my 16 week prenatal appointment.  Five weeks later, at my January appointment, I measured 29.5 inches.  For anyone who doesn't know, at 21 weeks it is normal to measure 21 inches.  Not 29 inches.

I didn't realize what she was contemplating until she asked, "Are you planning to have an ultrasound with this pregnancy?" as she measured my belly for the third time.  I answered cheerfully at first, "Well . . . only if you want me to," as the slow terror of what she was considering dawned on me.  Twins?!

In addition to what appeared to be a rather large growth spurt, my midwife was reminded of her twin-mamas with some of the things I was telling her: heavy pressure on my pelvic floor, substantial ligament pain, movement that seemed much stronger than it should be, etc.  Though I wasn't ever quite sure it the movement was actually stronger, or if I was just more aware of it due to experience.

She found one heartbeat and two placental tones, which didn't tell us anything because it could have easily been the placenta attached at the back and reverberating off the sides of my uterus.  There was no telling for sure.  She also felt a lot of "baby parts" but couldn't necessarily place the exact position of the head or back or feet, though it did appear the baby was laying in a breech position.  She recommended either 1) waiting until next month's prenatal to see if I was still measuring large, or 2) if I really couldn't stand it, go in for an ultrasound for the final word.

Initially, I figured I would just wait.  I have measured large two different times before, always evening out by the next appointment in both cases.  It seemed silly to go in for an ultrasound just for measuring large.  Right?  Right??  But then I started checking in with one of my yahoo groups, a group that I know has a number of twin-mamas on its list.  Two of the answers, "I didn't find out until my ultrasound at 20 weeks" and "I didn't start measuring large until 20 weeks or so" was enough to spur me into action.

I called my back-up doctor and scheduled an appointment.  A doctor's order is required to get an ultrasound and I needed to connect with him at least once before the birth anyway, so it was going to work out for my benefit either way.

At the appointment, I was still measuring large, though not in correspondence with the two weeks which had passed.  He also checked for fetal heart tones and thought he found two - TWO.  One on the lower-left at 150 beats per minute and then one immediately afterwards on the upper-right at 160 beats per minute.

I think I screeched, "Are you telling me that you found two heartbeats?!", but then he was unable to relocate the "first" heartbeat.  This could have meant that either the baby moved, or the first baby moved behind the second baby.  Either way, there was no telling.  An ultrasound was the way we were going to find out.

We all went in together two days later, thinking that if this was a doozy-of-an-ultrasound with the huge news of two babies, not just one, it might be fun for the boys to witness it.  I didn't sleep very well the night before, as you can imagine.  How would I get anything done?  How I could I ever travel by plane again?  How would we fit everyone into our mini-van?  How could there ever be enough of me to go around?  And so on.

We all filed into the room and I lay down on the table.  The ultrasound tech slopped the glop on my belly, put the instrument down, and said, "There's your baby".  Talk about anti-climatic.

"My baby?  There's only one in there....?" I asked.  She evidently didn't get the memo that this was the sole reason why we were there.  "Yep," she said.  After checking and re-checking and confirming that yes, she would absolutely be able to tell the moment it came up on the screen, I was satisfied.  One baby.  One baby!  There was only one baby.  The relief flooded in.

The reason I measured large is because the baby is in a longitudinal breech position, with the head in the upper-right part of my belly, the feet in the lower-left.  It also measured about a week ahead in size, so it could have been a "growth spurt" in conjunction with the breech position.

 Isn't it just the cutest little thing?

And . . . we know what we are having.  Does anyone want to venture a guess?

(If you know already, shhhhhhhhhhhhh.)

The size of a fig

An excellent introduction

I always had a "whole foods gut instinct" in my youth.  While it may have not added up to much more than instinct, I knew that anything labeled "low-fat" didn't taste good and furthermore, it probably wasn't good for you anyway. I cut out red meat, not because I didn't like the taste, but because I was afraid of it with the Mad Cow scare or getting sick if I didn't cook it long enough. It was frightening. And bewildering.

Then I started reading about Real Food. My knowledge expanded and I started reading about industrial agriculture and the idea of locally-sourced foods.  That is when I stumbled across the philosophy of eating that gave shape and form to my previously nebulous "whole foods gut instinct".

The answer? Traditional Foods. The cookbook Nourishing Traditions* is what kicked it off. I joined Traditional Foods yahoo groups. I was introduced to the Weston A. Price Foundation.

Through all this, I realized that I could eat grass-fed meat and wouldn't face the dangers of conventionally raised agri-biz beef (and that the animals would live and die humanely). I found a source for raw milk and started experimenting with the wide variety of options it affords, from the many uses for sour milk to butter-making (and the near-distant voyage into cheese-making). I finally understood why I was always so desperately hungry after boxed cereal for breakfast.  I realized that amping up a meal with quality fats left me satiated.  I reveled in butter-slathered vegetables.  I started fermenting.

Then I cleared my then three year old's dry, red cheeks with a daily dose of cod liver oil. I transformed my then four year old's poop, which had always been akin to "frothy slop" into "well-formed stool" by limiting (not eliminating) grains and upping fermented foods. I healed my own cavity (the first ever, btw) by taking butter oil and fermented cod liver oil, limiting grains and natural sugars, upping vegetables and fats, and eating grass-fed meat. These are all things I always meant to blog about but never did, mostly due to the simple march of time (whoopsies, sorry . . . because they are truly amazing stories).

As a philosophy of eating, the idea of Traditional Foods -- AKA eating as our ancestors ate, AKA if your great-grandma wouldn't recognize it as food, don't eat it -- well, it has been a major revelation in my life. And so, dear reader: I offer up this beautiful 20-minute introduction to Traditional Foods through the research of Weston A. Price. If you have time, please watch it. You may find it very interesting.




*Interestingly, I don't care for a good chunk of the recipes this cookbook offers. I generally find them to be either overly bland or too heavy. But the principles and dietary information? Pure gold. And some of the recipes are very good.

Pickl-It: the perfect counter-top fermenting system

Half-gallon jars of sauerkraut

Does everyone know that I am crazy about fermented foods?  I am.  Crazy about them. 

All the fancy holiday meals that we ate growing up included cut-glass dishes of pickles and olives; what a treat it was to bite into something cool and tart and crunchy with a rich meal.  I remember it well.  

Over the years I've come to understand that my palate has always veered towards savory tang vs. sweet.  (My parents have told me that I ate tomatoes as a little tyke.  Tomatoes!)  I go ga-ga for sour dishes.  They are just so yummy.

Now . . . . add that to my whole foods gut-instinct, then stir in my recent grounding in traditional foods (approx. 5-6 years of study and assimilation), and voila! the path to fermented foods. 

I am crazy-in-love.

Sure, everyone has heard of yogurt.  Or buttermilk.  Or sour cream.  All of which are fermented.  Many tart side-dishes that we are so familiar with, like the classic dill pickle, were once fermented (vs. the current use of vinegar to preserve and give that sour taste).

But what about pickled beets?  Sauerkraut!  Pickled peppers, kimchi, gingered carrots, salsa, fermented bean paste, bread and butter pickles, pickled pearl onions.  And so on.

These delectable dishes are created by allowing chopped (or shredded) vegetables to sit at room temp in a brine of salt and water, or their own juices, in anaerobic conditions for several days.  Instead of decomposing, they start to sour.  They are preserved by the combination of salt and the lactic acid created by anaerobic conditions.  Once the initial ferment is over, they can be feasted upon immediately or moved to cold storage to age and develop a bit more flavor,  i.e. the refrigerator, cold basement, or root cellar.

I have been fermenting for a few years now, with guidance from Nourishing Traditions and Wild Fermentation.  I also participate in two Traditional Foods yahoo groups, which provide discussion and camaraderie for the "trad foodies".

Through connection to these groups, I have found the perfect counter-top fermenting system.  Forget about crocks.  Don't waste your time with canning jars that overflow and corrode.  Use a Pickl-It.  A Pickl-It!  These fermenting jars are so unbelievably worth the investment.  I cannot believe how wonderful they are.  The ease!  The intrigue!  The consistent results!  Production has definitely picked up.

And so . . . with no further ado . . .

May I please introduce you to the Pickl-It --

Initial ferment in the Pickl-It

Beautiful beets, both red and golden

It truly is the perfect fermenting system for the modern kitchen.  Why?

• Small batches keep things in regular rotation.
• Small batches allow for greater variety.
• The airlock ensures perfectly anaerobic conditions.
• You can see the fruit of your labor as it ferments.
• It comes with a plug for the bung, allowing for easy storage after the initial ferment.
• No decanting is required, unless desired.  Simply plug and store.
• Its small size allows for easy storage in a variety of locations.

I cannot gush enough!  These vessels are AMAZING.  A true delight.  They work beautifully for both the fermenting enthusiast and the serious home preserver.  With two large gardens, I decided on the largest bundle and kept the jars in regular rotation this past summer, amassing a collection somewhere in the range of 30 quarts (around 7 gallons) of sauerkraut, 12 quarts salsa, 3 quarts pickled onions, 4 quarts pickled peppers, 3 quarts pickled beets, and 4 quarts bread and butter pickles.

As you can tell, sauerkraut is my favorite.  L-l-l-l-l-l-ove it.

With that much output, it is necessary that I decant after the initial ferment.  And because I have a fully-functional root cellar, we have plenty of storage space (awesome).  I decant into either quart or half-gallon canning jars, using new lids, and then transfer to cold storage.  No heat processing, as that would destroy the beneficial bacteria for your gut.  I've found this to be an effective strategy, and a good number of the jars seem to have even sealed, enough to keep air out and create a tight-fitting lid that does not "boing" when pressed.

Seriously?  Awesome.

Shifting

So, yes . . . I am tinkering with the look of my blog.  I've been contemplating doing it for awhile, but never had much in the way of time or inspiration.  The blip-bloop green top had been my template since I started my blog 6 years ago, but finally, this weekend, I decided that it was time.  Time for change.

Tinkering commenced after I started thinking about my blog title, Rain Garden.  I chose that name when I finally decided to start my own after enjoying others' blogs so much.  We were still in Minneapolis at the time and interested in actual rain gardens for the urban landscape.  I thought it was clever enough of a title and always envisioned "percolating" as my blog description.  Ha.  Ha.  Like . . . I'm thinking about all this various runoff in the form of information and ideas, absorbing and sorting through it, and there you have it: me.

But, meh.  I never did get too fancy.  And I don't intend this blog as a public forum or showcasing myself.  I cherish it as a way to sort through ideas and life, to connect with people who mean a lot to me, and enjoy the process of writing and re-writing.  Through time, I've realized that it is also a very important tool in helping me to remember my own history "as it was".  I often look back and find that my memory is kick-started with events and emotion I might have otherwise forgotten.  And I do keep a journal.

But back to the point.  My blog's name.  Though I do think it is pretty, I don't feel like it suites me much anymore.  I've shifted a bit.  I've been thinking about it and feel like I want to change it while staying within the "garden" theme.  It seems to run in the family: Rock Garden, my SIL, and Fire Garden, my dad.

The pictures I've chosen as part of my new "look" are significant to me for several reasons.

1. Diego took them.
2. This owl belonged to Blaine's great-grandma, Mammy.
3. I love the clouds and the sun and blue sky.
4. The boys in the background in the first one make me happy.
5. It gives a fuzzy representation of our rural surroundings.

This cute little guy sits atop our water meter.  I screwed it into the wooden post when we first moved here, always a little unsure what to do with it before that, but never wanting to part with it because of its charm and that it was Mammy's (and I think I might have a thing for owls).

Living rurally, it is our responsibility to check the water meter every month.  In the city we got our water bill in the mail, but not with "rural water".  We do everything, from remembering to check the meter to filling out the coupon and mailing in the bill.  It definitely took a little getting used to at first.

But I remember that first month, in the dead of summer, checking the water meter.  It was mid-afternoon.  I was pregnant and two year old Diego was napping.  Walking to the meter was almost surreal in the thought that I had essentially just walked to the end of our Minneapolis block, and I wasn't even halfway up our driveway.  Or another time near the beginning, when I was in the quonset (the curved building in the background of the first picture) and realized, "Our entire house and yard could fit inside this building."  Literally.

It is interesting how things change.

How about the name "Prairie Garden"?

Meet Jamie

He has a name!

::: Jamie Sterling :::

I am totally smitten



My sweetest little darlin' Baby Borealis (still no name)

10:36 AM

So quick, I know.  Our third little baby BOY was born this morning after just a few pushes.  In the tub.  With daddy, doula, and midwives watching.  Another amazing experience, though it went so quick I could hardly believe I was actually experiencing it.

• 8 lbs 7.5 oz
• 21 inches long (I think)

Nursing like a champ.  Totally has Diego's nose.  Sleeping softly.

Precious.

Back in the saddle again

We're back online.

It feels nice, as you can imagine.  Both Squeeze and I missed that connection with the greater world, in different ways.  We are so lucky in the fact that our BIL's parents had a computer that they were looking to give away.  With everything else that has gone on in these past months, it was such a relief to us.  Yesterday the vacuum stopped working mid-swipe (it came unplugged) and my first thought was, "What?!  The vacuum too???"

It's been rough.

I am thankful for my time away to some extent, because I feel like it taught me a lot.  It felt good to not have that raging curiosity tickling my mind, wondering what is going on in all the blogs that I follow, or if so-and-so has emailed me back yet.  Or worse, that black hole that Facebook is to me.  It's just best not to go on.

I wouldn't say that I was controlled by the computer (Squeeze might), but I do think the accumulated time spent here-and-there added up throughout the day.  And that tickling -- it was irritating.

So now I need to set manageable and realistic expectations of myself.  My primary method of communication is through email, both personal and practical.  I like the interaction and life-sharing of blogging.  It is nice to have that slight connection with the past through Facebook, however intermittent.  I enjoy listening to iTunes at different points throughout the day.  I regularly request inter-library loans at home, often on the spur of the moment.

etc., etc., etc.

But I can't let this whole business tickle my mind like it has in the past.  It was nice to have that month to show me the alternative, which was NOTHING at all; but freeing nonetheless.  Conclusion: I'll be parring down my tickle-time.

You'll be hearing from me, though.

And so it is

First verse, same as the first
Old bag version, a whole lot worse

The only difference from last week (or was it the week before?) to now is that it has come to light that we also need to replace our washing machine, telephone, and the front struts of our luxurious Dodge Caravan. 

Oh well, I guess.

Out for the count

I'm alive, but our computer, sadly, is not.  Or at least, it is in a very deep coma.  A virus attacked and totally decimated it.  The ETA of recovery is unknown at this point. 

So that's why you haven't heard a peep out of me.  Otherwise, things are good. 

Here's the short rundown:

• 26 weeks pregnant
• The baby is moving all the time -- lots of be-bopping and head-bonking.
• A first: we butchered, roasted, and ate a hen all in one night.  She had a prolapsed vent that wasn't showing any signs of improvement, so it was "now or never".  Otherwise she would have been a goner with a miserable and lengthy death.  It was normal and strange all at the same time.

The boys are going nuts, so it's over and out.

Later.

I might as well tell the world

It has been so quiet around here, without the rooster. It's amazing - it sounds like a deserted island outside vs. chickenville. Soft breezes are blowing into the silence.

So, with a jarring change of subject, remember last summer? When I un-announced a pregnancy? Oh dear, yes. That was humiliating.

Well, as it turns out, my hormones were completely out of whack. All kinds of weird things were going on with my body: horrible vaginal infections that occurred in conjunction with my cycle (between days 6-8 and again on day 20), urinary tract infections, night sweats, funny smells, erratic cycles (anywhere from 18 days to 79 days), etc. It was horrible.

Long story short, I went to a chiropractor this winter who specializes in muscle testing. From his testing, he deduced that I had a staph infection, one that I had had for an extremely long time, and it was finally wreaking havoc on my lady gear (and my face). I took the supplements he gave me for 3 months, and, again, long story short, it worked.

Everything I've been dealing with (except my face) cleared. After a year of turmoil, my hormones settled and went back to normal. It is so nice to feel normal again.

And now I'm pregnant. Due in early January.

Ha-HA. Surprise!

Crook-crook-crook

One of our hens went broody last week and is sitting day and night on a clutch of eggs. She's in one of the nesting boxes in our chicken coop. Excitement!

Hopefully we'll get to see a mama hen with her baby chicks. It sounds thrilling. And I'm sure it will make me feel doubly-sorry for the little chickies we have in boxes in the garage, with no mama but a heat lamp to hover over them. It will be so interesting - we are all very pleased.

And I'm okay with that

Aside from being a little flummoxed about my un-announcement, I truly am okay with not being pregnant. A few people have asked me if I'm okay . . .

And, yes - I'm fine. A bit perplexed with a dash of embarrassment, but I'm good. Though I was starting to get excited about the idea of a new baby and the thrill that goes along with it, I really did want more space between Two and Three.

As for the future, we shall see . . .

This happens all the time, right...?

So, in light of my last post, albeit rather dramatic . . . ahem . . . I'd like to un-announce my pregnancy.

Yes, that is correct. The friggin' doofus that I am, I'd like to un-announce my pregnancy. Take back. Renege. Recant. Withdraw. Retract. Un-announce.

Un-un-un-un.

Unbelievable. So yes, while most everyone thinks I'm happily humming through my twelfth week of pregnancy, I am here to say, officially, that I am, in fact, NOT pregnant.

I thought I was.

Yes, I thought I was, but I am not.

How is this possible? What it does explain is my lack of extreme exhaustion and need to eat like an overworked team of oxen. What it doesn't explain is the strange tightening of my waistband, the ever-present need to pee, sore nipples, and why I hadn't had my period since the end of May. Shoot, I just figured every pregnancy was different.

Things this past week were starting to feel a little goofy, like, shouldn't my belly be a little bigger than this? . . . and why am I not tired at all? . . . and most alarming, . . . blood. So we decided it was time to take a pregnancy test. [Ahem, a first for this time 'round . . . coughcough . . . mmmmph]

Negative.

So, ladies, please: un-congratulate me. I am NOT pregnant. What I AM, however, is a complete and total nincompoop. This whole deal was announced to my entire family while I was home (too-good-to-be-true, everyone-in-the-same-place-at-the-same-time) and then, doorknob that I am, to the entire internet via my blog. Yes, I thought I was, but I am not.

Most definitely not.

Un-un-un-un.