I’m in Montreal - a city I love - for work this week, but I feel like a mom stripped from her babe. I’m so looking forward to returning to my clover meadow, my love, and my kits.

The farm is so much more beautiful than I imagined it would be in summer.

The 2 acre field is filled with graceful grasses, buttercups, clover, wild strawberries, and wild flowers yet to be ID’ed. I’ve strolled through it in a skirt at dawn and come back completely soaked in dew and happy. I’ve also walked to the field’s edges after the rain in Roddy’s oversized hip-waders, and I still got dew-dusted.

The grasses are growing taller at an alarming rate. Roddy mowed a path right the way round the field and the cats come bouncing along with us. I wonder how many trips round we’ll make?

We have a few things in common.  We’ve both fallen for a beautiful tree-lined field lined in Guelph/Eramosa.  We’ve both washed dishes in the same kitchen sink.  We’ve also both graced the same porcelain bowl - you for 45 years more than I.

Maybe you loved your 12 litre American Standard toilet when it was first installed.  Perhaps you loved the view of the garden and field while you were perched upon it (I sure do).  But I am quite sure that in the months (years?) leading up to your ultimate departure from this farm, you did not love this toilet.

Surely you grew tired of endless blockages?  Or if the blocks didn’t bother you, the overflowing effluence did, no? Maybe because your bathroom floor was lined with carpet your overflows didn’t leak into the basement and onto the washer and dryer?  The carpet wasn’t the freshest when we ripped it out…

Or maybe you just preferred fertilizing the field the old fashioned way, or opted to shit in the woods?

We don’t mind running out for bush pees.  But we do mind facing a blocked and overflowing toilet on an almost daily basis.  More to the point, it really pisses us off.

Your aging toilet will be ripped out of our new bathroom tomorrow.  Please let me know if you’d like it.

Yours (with filthy hands and exaserbated spirit but ever so) sincerely,

Andrea

We’re living the life on our new farm and diving right into home reno and DIY.  With so many projects in the queue, our minds are boggled but we’re making progress carving out a living space.

In lieu of photos (our temporary net connection is tedious), I’ll paint a picture with words of our inaugural farming experience -

Green: verdant field, asparagus patch, over 300 seedlings awaiting transplant, lawn that takes 2 hours to mow

Blue: skies everyday, Wellington County recycling bins brimming with reno refuse, stripes on dishes we went 3 days without

Purple: bruises, sunsets, psychedelic Pansies (first housewarming gift from old friend and new neighbor Elise)

Orange: hideous 1970s carpet now lying on our front lawn, cheese in basket from our new neighbors, fox

Yellow: buttercups, painting tools, pad of paper in make shift office space, firefly

Red: clothes strewn about only habitable “bedroom”, necks (ours, not the neighbors), Red Winged Black Birds

White: light from 2 lamps (our only light source for 4 rooms), moonbeams falling on excited pillow faces, strawberry flowers, budding farmer tan-lines

Brown: original pine plank floorboards revealed, blocked toilet for 30 hours, well-deserved cold Creemore Springs Lager

Gray: mosquitoes, outdoor clothes line, dead mouse between our sheets, leaky plumbing, septic tank (of which we’re now intimately familiar)

Black: ants in the kitchen cupboards, wellies, bats at dusk, hot roof with stunning view of neighboring fields and forest

Yes, a veritable rainbow of experiences all in our first few days.  At least we can laugh at the mishaps… toothy white smiles are also a common sighting.

I’m missing Roddy. His absence leaves so many holes in my life. I need him to:

steam asparagus to perfection

weave wonders on his guitar

play with me

bake his homemade bread

make me laugh (and laugh and laugh)

snuggle during a thunderstorm

stroll with me

dream farm dreams with me

rouse me in the morning with tea

inspire me.

The countdown is on: in 6 days we’ll be back in each other’s arms. This brightens my spirits, but boy the wait in Ontario hasn’t been easy!

My dad’s rhubarb patch has been keeping us busy. It’s e-n-o-r-m-o-u-s, and has given us enough fruit for 2 large pies, 2 dozen muffins, and frozen bags of rhubarb to last into the winter.

Rhubarb muffins are now old hat, so this morning before work my mom, dad and I made our second rhubarb pie of the season. I haven’t honed my pastry making skills yet, so I’m hoping my mom’s guidance will yield flaky results when I’m on my own.

Here’s the custard-y recipe my dad found in Janette Haase’s new book From Seed to Table. It’s the perfect balance of tart and sweet - absolutely delicious:

Fresh Rhubarb Pie
Servings: 6-8

2 9” pie custs
6-8 cups chopped fresh rhubarb
1 ½ cups sugar
½ cup flour
1 tsp grated orange rind
2 eggs

Preheat oven to 425 F (220 C). In a large bowl, mix together rhubarb, flour, sugar, orange rind and eggs. Place in one pie shell and cover with the other. Seal the edges and brush with butter if you wish. Bake for 10 minutes and then reduce heat to 350 F (175 C) and bake for another 20-25 minutes or until pastry is golden. The moisture content of rhubarb depends upon the amount of rain it’s had, sometimes the pie can be quite runny but the juices are delicious so I never worry about it.

Anyone know how to substitute honey or maple syrup for sugar? I want to try but have no idea what ratio to follow.