Waiting for Warm

         Winter sucks. As a child growing up in a suburb outside of Denver, CO I became accustomed to cold and snow; 4 years of living on the Eastern Plains 40-ish miles southeast of D-town I learned just how cold winter wind can be. Blowing snow that scratched your face until it bled, more akin to dermabrasion than precipitation, seeping though every crack of the house and every seam in our clothes. It got pretty damn cold, sure, but nothing compared to what Old Man Winter has unleashed on us this year.

          The cold is very different here in southwest Michigan. The humidity adds a bone-chilling depth to the cold that makes it so hard to shake off. Our move from Colorado to Michigan actually took place in December 2011 and began at about 7pm MST, and at one point our daughter Ivy's hair actually froze to the inside of the car's window as she slept. My toes got so cold my knees ached, and the possibility of breaking down in rural Nebraska and being stranded in that cold was a huge worry. When we finally made it and tucked kids into beds the next night, not even a hot shower could chase the chill away. The rest of the winter was cold, dotted with blizzards and resulting school snow days here and there. The winter of 2012 had its moments but really wasn't bad. This year, not so much. That miserable drive in December '11 was a weekend in Cancun compared to this winter.

          The coldest temp I've seen so far during this 'polar vortex' was -37*F. The towels and old baby blankets that we rolled and used as extra draft protection all froze to the windows- inside the house. Our water pump in the barn became so brittle the metal handle snapped, and most of our buckets cracked as the water in them froze and expanded. The kids layered on socks and multiple sweatshirts and drew in the frost on the windows even as the furnace churned away. We kept the thermostat at 66* to conserve our fast-dwindling propane, adding more covers to the beds and wrapping blankets around the kids' shoulders. They looked like miniature hobos gathered around LEGOs instead of barrel fires. The snow continued to fall and the drifts continued to build, doors froze shut and our driveway remained impassible no matter how many times it was cleared. Our huge German Shepherd had to dig for several minutes in order to make himself a spot to crap without his butt in the snow while the barn cats tiptoed across the surface looking supremely annoyed. Mama Cat and Fearless made themselves a nice snug cat condo inside a loosely-tied bale of straw and were probably warmer than we were in our beds at night. 

           We burned through 20 bales of hay in a month and added fresh straw to the goat pens daily, furry circles with ears and horns curled up in pockets in the piled bedding. They slept in windrows and, for once, allowed the chickens to snuggle up too. Colonel Sanders the rooster will lose most of his impressive wattles to frostbite damage despite being moved into the barn. Baby Henry reluctantly wore his goat coat and sweaters, bounding around Pixie's kidding pen as the wind howled away through the barn's soffits. If force of will alone could raise the temperature it would feel like July around here by now.

         Winter sucks, this winter especially. But it's going to end. Every day the kids and I look at the forecast for the upcoming ten days and rejoice at any projected rise in the mercury. "It's almost over, Mom" they assure me when I worry aloud about our animals in the barn. When I declared open season on Punxsatawney Phil they jokingly ran for their boots, ready to go groundhog hunting. As rough as this winter has been, we are still so blessed. We haven't lost power at all (for once!) Our propane held out until the truck could get through to refill our tank. Thanks to our freezers, food storage and preference for cooking from scratch we didn't run out of anything all that vital. Aside from one white-knuckle 360degree spin-out on black ice we didn't get into any accidents. Despite multiple fake-outs (as always) none of our uber-pregnant mama goats delivered in the arctic temperatures. Although their cabin fever has to be worse even than ours, we haven't lost any animals to illness or freezing (knock on wood.) Our roofs have held and our old furnace has chugged on like a boss. We've been given a pretty good look at just where we need to concentrate our energy in preparing for future winters and which priorities need to jump straight to the top of the list (two words: WOOD STOVE.) 

      Brutal as winter has been (and continues to be) spring and summer really are just around the corner; and they make every second of this cold absolutely worth it. 

You just might be a homesteader/hobby farmer if:

*Strangers are constantly pointing out that you have either feathers, hay or straw in your hair (sometimes all three.) 

*You've had several cell phone cases partially consumed by goats ('defender series,' my ass!) 

*Your favorite apparel ensemble contains two or more items purchased at a 'farm store' (I.e. Tractor Supply Co., Big R, ect) or an Army-Navy Surplus website or store 

*People notice your forearms and ask if you play tennis; actually, those guns are from hand-milking and digging rocks out of your tomato patch. 

*You chuckle and feel superior when walking past the fridge full of eggs at the grocery store

*You wear muck boots more than you wear actual shoes

*Your poultry's pecking order is of genuine concern to you

*Your mood for the day has a direct correlation to whether the pump in the barn is frozen or not

*New visitors to your property during the spring and fall receive a 'you will probably  see and/or hear animal sex while here' disclaimer upon arriving

*You have to remind yourself to stop asking 'could I can that?' and start asking 'SHOULD I can that...'

* You choose winter coats based on how difficult it would be to remove placenta from the sleeves

*Your mail carrier knows to honk and wait for you when he/she delivers a package, because exiting their vehicle comes with the high probability of being mobbed by turkeys

*Friends no longer ask if you've 'seen that movie yet.' Because you haven't. 

*There are at least two scars on your body that were inflicted by fencing, and you can name the date, time, location and dosage of your last tetanus booster

*The perfect winter afternoon involves a hot beverage and knitting or crocheting lamb/kid sweaters or poring over the seed catalogs

*Your neighbors have a nickname for you (I.e the heirloom tomato people, the escaping sheep people, the loud cow people) and you take it as a compliment

*There's pretty much always some sort of poop on your shoes

*70% of the inventory at the local big-box 

grocery store is made up of things you have either made yourself, currently make or plan to make in the near future, or can't imagine actually paying money for

*The people in your life are sorted into two categories: those you would protect & feed in a post-apocalyptic wasteland scenario and those who would be eaten (or tripped in the path of the oncoming undead horde) first

*You can never have too many bungee cords and good scissors are worth their weight in gold

*Being almost out of bread and milk during a blizzard is not a big deal; being almost out of hay is a catastrophe

Buffalo Squash Chili --- Recipe

There's nothing like chili and fresh bread when it's cold outside. I hated chili before (probably because we ate a lot of the canned stuff) but now it's a regular feature on our dinner menu. Easily thrown together and put in the crock pot for days when we're working in the barn or busy in general, and a great way to use up vegetable odds-and-ends. I use the crookneck squash and zucchini from our garden that we chunked up and dehydrated, but all sorts of veggies would work. This one is easily changed to suit your tastes and works with ground beef or venison as well. NOTE: I add dehydrated heirloom tomatoes too, just for kicks. If you use fresh or frozen vegetables you might need to drain your canned tomatoes so it doesn't end up watery. We use onions from the garden that are on the smallish side, and therefore stronger in taste. 

-1lb ground buffalo OR venison, beef, ect

-1 medium onion

-2-3 cloves garlic, chopped

-1 quart tomatoes OR 14.5oz can diced tomatoes, undrained

-1 half-pint jar plain tomato sauce OR 1 8oz can

-1C dehydrated vegetables (improvise freely!) 

-1 16oz jar beans, rinsed and drained

-1 tbsp chili powder

-1 1/2 tsp cumin

-Sea salt and pepper to taste 

Cook meat, onion and garlic in a 3qt pot over medium heat until browned. Drain.

 

Transfer to crock pot if that's the plan. Stir in tomatoes, squash and seasoning. 

Bring to a boil, stirring frequently. Reduce heat and cover, let simmer for at least 1hr. Add beans, simmer uncovered for 10min. Serve with shredded cheese, oyster crackers, ect. Serves 4, we double it. 

Resolution for Revolution: Help Change The Future of Food in 2014

           I've never been any good at New Year's resolutions. I'm great at making them, not so great at actually following through with them. My resolve usually peters out by about the third week of January and I'm right back to scarfing down chocolate, ignoring my abs or neglecting my kitchen floor again. I still haven't knitted a pair of socks or cleaned a fish myself, I still succumb to the occasional deep dish pizza binge and I haven't gotten past the Tom Bombadil chapter of "The Fellowship of the Ring." The list goes on. And on, and on, and on... yeah.

           Resolutions seem to be rooted in the human need to repair, maintain and improve ourselves. Our waistlines, our bank accounts, our level of education, and so on. The Walmart sale flyer stops advertising toys and god-awful Santa sweaters and goes straight to treadmills, hand weights and Suzie Orman books immediately following Dec. 25th. Some people do go so far as to resolve to improve the world around them through outreach, volunteerism, random acts of kindness towards strangers and so forth. All good things that should be acknowledged and encouraged, don't get me wrong, but there are other resolutions that could encompass both the personal growth and benefit of mankind spectrums.

            http://www.rollingstone.com/feature/belly-beast-meat-factory-farms-animal-activists

     This article does an amazing job of illustrating the reality of factory farming in America. Years of undercover work and insider accounts have given consumers a look inside where our food really originates, and its far from the bucolic circle of life and death that Fern confronted in 'Charlotte's Web.' The green pastures dotted with quaint wooden barns have been replaced with feed lots crammed with desperately ill cattle.

                "I was on my way to visit a farmer in California's Central Valley. It was one of those gorgeous autumn days when the hills of California are gold. Out of nowhere, a really nasty smell assaulted my nostrils—the stench of a gas station restroom sorely in need of attention. But I could see nothing that might explain the smell—all around me were the same blue skies and golden hills.

              And then, very suddenly, the golden hills turned jet-black on both sides of the highway: black with tens of thousands of cattle crowded onto a carpet of manure that stretched as far as the eye could see. I was driving through a feedlot, with tens of thousands of animals bellying up to a concrete trough that ran along the side of the highway for what seemed like miles. Behind them rose two vast pyramids, one yellow, the other black: a pile of corn and a pile of manure. The cattle, I realized, were spending their days transforming the stuff of one pile into the stuff of the other. This is where our meat comes from? I had no idea."                          

                                                                  -Michael Pollan, 'The Omnivore's Dilemma'

                      Sick chickens crammed into battery cages so small they can't move and resort to pecking each others' combs and feathers off in a desperate attempt to get the calories they need to churn out the eggs they exist to produce. Broilers who cant even stand due to a mixture of their terrible living conditions and the fact that they've been genetically modified to reach butchering weight at such a rapid pace that they often await slaughter lying in a soup of their own waste and the decaying bodies of their dead comrades. If they should happen to have open sores and obvious signs of disease, they're probably still fit for you to eat though. Pus? check. Salmonella? check. Campylobactor? check. http://truthaboutchicken.org/?utm_source=ASPCAsite&utm_medium=SalmonellaBlogPost&utm_campaign=TruthAboutChicken There's a darn good chance at least one of those is in there. No amount of Frank's Red Hot is going to make that any more appetizing.
                 
                    Pigs don't have it any better.
 http://www.humanesociety.org/news/press_releases/2012/05/wyoming_pig_investigation_050812.html
                    Neither do turkeys. http://www.mfablog.org/2013/11/thanksgiving-alert-investigation-uncovers-animal-abuse-at-turkey-factory-farm.html  We've raised turkeys for two years now, and I can attest to just how much personality these animals really have. Despite their tendency to become difficult to deal with as they reach maturity (and are instinctively focused on breeding during every waking moment, not unlike teenage boys) they're intelligent, endearing and just as deserving of humane treatment as any animal. We kept two hens as pets last year because we just couldn't bear to process them, and they died a natural death days apart after spending their lives presiding over our barnyard like matronly old ladies on a stroll in the park.

                    Cows in large-scale dairy operations don't fare any better.
http://www.cbsnews.com/news/video-shows-alleged-criminal-abuse-of-bettencourt-dairy-cows-in-idaho/ Even when not subjected to outright abuse, most cows live in a way that's far from ideal for them (as living beings) and us (the beings who subsequently consume their meat and milk.) They're pumped full of hormones to increase their milk production, hormones that have been proven to increase the rates of breast, prostate, colon and other cancers.http://www.foodandwaterwatch.org/factsheet/what-research-shows/ Recombinant Bovine Growth Hormone (rBGH) has been banned in Canada, Japan and Australia as well as the European Union, and somehow remains legal in the USA (kinda like the GMO corn these cows eat, hmm...) They're injected with antibiotics in order to counter the assault on their health from abhorrent living conditions. This is standard practice with the poultry and pork we eat as well. Yummy... who ordered a side of drug-resistant staphylococcus aureus with their burger? Anyone...?

        It's easy to demand change. Talk is cheap, until the McRib comes back on sale and the ethics of pork production stop mattering as much as getting that 2 for $4 BBQ pork-like product fix. We can point fingers at 'Big Ag' but in the end, we're the ones buying their products. Their practices continue because a market exists for what they provide, and things could get worse before they get better if Ag-Gag laws keep popping up on the ballots.  Every time we fill our shopping cart with their products, swipe our cards or hand over our cash, we're giving factory farms the means to continue committing atrocity. We're inviting them to keep making us sick. We're allowing ourselves to stay helpless and relinquishing control of our food to politicians who are more interested in the kickbacks from Big Ag than they are in the safety and sustainability of its products. Every time we eat their food we're putting our stamp of approval on their methods and assuring that their practices continue, at least for the time being. 

          There are alternatives. The market for responsibly-raised meat and dairy products is growing, and small-scale farming is gaining momentum again. Finding protein for your dinner table that you can actually feel good about eating is getting easier, even if you can't raise it yourself. Websites like http://www.localharvest.org and www.eatwellguide.org help pair up food-conscious folks with farmers.  Even good old Craigslist (as always, use with caution) can be a place to locate local farms that are willing to allow potential buyers to observe their practices and purchase directly. Word of mouth is invaluable; even if you're surrounded by urban sprawl, chances are there's a place to buy better meat nearby. 

        It's probably going to cost more, yes. The solution? Simply eat less meat. Incorporate more meatless into your meal plan, and you'll save even more money than you would've spent on factory farmed foam-tray nastiness. You just might lose some pounds as well; Americans eat far too much meat as it is. Do your aorta a favor, as well as your waistline and your wallet. Then when you do eat meat, why not have it be meat you can feel good about? 

          We hunt. We fish. We also barter with friends and relatives for our family's meat. What meat we do buy is purchased from the local family-owned butcher shops, and although we can't confirm it's all from responsibly-raised sources at least it's not Tyson. We occasionally submit to the siren song of the McD's dollar menu (and at least 2 members of our 8-person family always end up fighting over our lone bathroom for hours afterwards) and I can tell you exactly how many party boxes of tacos we require to feed us all. BUT, we're a lot better than we used to be. It's progress. It's something. The three homestead-raised chickens we roasted with garlic and parsley a few nights ago were three chickens that were not abused, mistreated or malnourished and had lived a life full of sunshine, green grass, adequate feed and clean water. They weren't fed chicken feed containing arsenic. They were healthy at the time of butcher and they weren't washed in bleach water. They tasted damn awesome, too. 

          This year, I resolve to put a lot more effort into sourcing our family's meat responsibly. I know we'll still end up eating Big (G)Ag's meat here and there as well, but it will be much less frequently. I resolve to vote with my grocery cart and with my debit card in all things I buy, and to continue shopping at family-owned small businesses as much as possible too. I resolve to stop being complacent, to stop being oblivious and to stop hiding behind apathy. I resolve to provide the best possible life for the animals in my care, our pets as well as our livestock. I resolve to make more deliberate food choices fueled by actual thought instead of convenience. Most importantly, I resolve to pass this knowledge on to my children, in hopes that they will live their lives as contributors instead of consumers. With the start of the new year, please take a second look at what goes onto your plate and consider what took place to get it there. You might find yourself in the same place at our collective table as I'm finding myself.  

                   
















                   

Homestead Burnout

     I'm tired. Tired as hell. There just aren't enough hours in the day right now.

     Our youngest three kids are 4 1/2 years, 2 1/2 years and 6 months old. They're all boys. Our preschooler and toddler sons seem to operate on only two speeds: endless font of bubbling energy and fast asleep (while snoring loudly.) The frequency of the former by far outweighs that of the latter. They climb everything like miniature Sherpas, empty bins of toys at lightning speed and throw down like tiny MMA fighters. Their baby brother is a sweet, happy baby but as all babies do, he's teething. He's also growing like the proverbial weed and requires near-constant breast milk refills and corresponding diaper changes around the clock. Our three older daughters rightfully need attention too (and often need their limbs and possessions saved from their brothers.) The laundry, the cooking, the errands... I'm tired. 

         

           Luckily the garden is finished for the year. The turkeys have been checked into Hotel Sub-Zero and are no longer crapping on our porch and menacing the barn cats. The goats are still their goat-ly selves, requiring their own care and taking advantage of every chance to cause mayhem. Breeding season brought its usual shenanigans; the does taunting the bucks, daring them to rip down the fence for the fifth time, escapes here and there that had to be carefully documented 'just incase.' Half the chickens are thrilled with the lovely little coop Justin built them, but the other half stubbornly retreat to the barn every night instead. The rebels are staging a protest and ignoring the nest boxes, laying their eggs in top-secret hidden nests and forcing us to search the barn for them every day. Tired... So tired.  

     

          We were warned that the aptly named 'homestead burnout' was inevitable. They weren't kidding. Even with as long as we waited and as much as we want to be here, I can totally understand why the last hundred years have been spent propelling people into cities in the name of progress. Taking a more active role in providing for your own needs, as worthwhile as it is, has a great way of devouring your free time and your energy right along with it. Those cartons of pale CAFO eggs and gallons of hormone-laden cow's milk start looking like a vacation in plastic casing when the dirty laundry is towering so high the kids start asking if they can sled down the pile. 

           Its so easy to want to jump in with both feet and want to take on every project immediately . A year ago I had been completely gung-ho to take on even more as soon as financially possible; Bees, a small herd of fiber sheep, a 1+ acre pumpkin patch on our back pasture. I looked into raising a few pigs and was all set to order 200 Red Ranger broiler chickens. Even after we discovered that the goats weren't the only mammals expecting new babies in 2013 I was still ready to take on the world. Luckily, the resident voice of reason (aka Justin) was willing to use his executive veto power to save me from myself, and we agreed to give it a year and then reevaluate. I agreed to humor him; I never thought I'd get burned out, not for a second. But for the last 4 months it's been Burnt Toastville, population me. 

     I'm using this time to reevaluate a lot of things; the usual time, energy, and finances as well as taking a long second look at just what we want to accomplish with our land in the long term. Now that the giddy enthusiasm has been more curb-stomped than simply curbed I can hopefully focus on reality a little better. There's nothing like grating soap for detergent and shearing off half the flesh on the tip of one's finger or having to care for livestock in the midst of a polar vortex to put things right into perspective.

         Rejuvenate. I'm making time to be lazy here and there. I'm taking naps, even though they're few and far between and it takes more choreography than the Rockettes' Macy's parade routine. I'm turning my brain off sometimes. It's nice, I'd love to do more of it.  

          Rewind. I'm re-reading old favorite books. We're re-watching some of the documentaries that originally piqued our interest in homesteading years ago. Since our hens are in winter rest-mode and laying less frequently I bought store eggs for several breakfast casseroles, and one look at those sickly pale yolks made every pile of chicken crap we've cleaned worth it. Reminding myself just how far we've come and why we're here in the first place has done a world of good. 

           Re-inspire. The spring seed and hatchery catalogs couldn't have arrived at a better time. Nothing gets my green thumb itching like Baker Creek Heirloom's annual publication, and if there was ever a time to look forward to spring it was our recent -30• temps in SW Michigan. We're researching fruit trees and planning a strawberry patch, and waiting on more baby goats any day. Getting excited about the future has been the best way of all to throw off the burnout blahs. 

         Wherever you are in your homesteading/ self-reliance/ preparedness journey, a little burnout here and there is inevitable. BUT, it gets better. Learning to be more self-sufficient is never time that's wasted. That knowledge and those abilities are investments in yourself, your family, and this rapidly-changing world. It's exhausting but far from futile, it's expensive but worth every penny. In the end it's the chances we didn't take that generate the most regret, and I'm still SO glad we made the leap from suburbs to homestead... In spite of my trashed fingernails and goat-chewed hair. 

         

 

        

         

         

            

        

         

  

         

        

    

Canning: A Little Jar of Anguish

   

 Everybody has that one friend or family member who gives out delicious homemade jams for gifts every December; adorable little mason jars of jewel-hued charm topped with a square of calico straight from Laura Ingalls Wilder's sewing basket. Heart-warming, old-timey and sweet, just as often kept for decoration on countertops as actually eaten. Luckily that's not what I'm going for when I can, because I would've driven myself insane by now. 

        

           My introduction to the world of home food preservation was at the hands of my sister-in-law back in 2008. We were on our summer vacation to Michigan to visit family. They had an enormous strawberry patch that fascinated our kids, pulling them back in for more until every inch of their skin was sticky and pink. We set both our broods to picking berries and she patiently taught me each step of the canning process. I was enthralled. She sent us home to Colorado with a 12-jar flat of strawberry jam, a few quarts of blackberries from their bushes and a 10lb box of blueberries from a friend. My first solo attempt resulted in scorched blueberry syrup that boiled over and permanently dyed part of the cabinet next to the stove. So I gave it another try, and this time it came out perfectly. I stood watching the row of jars after they came out of the water and waited, doing a tiny touchdown dance after each successfully sealed lid let out its unmistakable ::ping!::

         

          That was it, I was hooked. I bought cherries at a butt-puckering $3.99/lb in order to make cherry-berry jam with the blackberries. Justin started helping on his days off, and pretty soon we added homemade pickle relish and dill spears to the growing line of mason jars in our makeshift pantry. I scanned the grocery fliers every Tuesday for the produce loss-leaders and wondered how we could preserve them. Fruit flies became a mainstay and our floor was perpetually sticky, boxes of pectin always stacked on the countertop ready for action. I burned things; getting waylaid by children, forgetting to turn the temperature down, and being of a generally ditsy and distractable nature all contributed. Slowly but surely I figured it out, and managed to successfully preserve more than I managed to wreck. 

 

        

         Canning really isn't difficult, just painstaking. There is no room for experimentation in almost all recipes, or you're risking improper processing and its BFF: food poisoning, particularly botulism. The amount of time your product spends in the boiling water of your water bath kettle or your pressure cooker depends on your altitude, the amount of air you leave between the top of the food in the jar and its lid depends on what you're canning. Jar size and diameter of its opening depend on the same, as well as whether you want to be able to remove your final product without it looking like its already been chewed. It generates a crazy amount of dishes and pretty much puts your entire kitchen out of commission. 

             Tomatoes and peaches hold the title of biggest canning headaches in our home. Both have to be dunked into a rolling boil before a second swim in ice water, then their skins peeled away. This leads to the dreaded 'tomato hands;' symptoms of which include soft, ragged fingernails and prune palms. We've taken to using non-latex gloves not only for moisture barrier but for added grip, since accidentally squeezing the peach you just spent 3 minutes peeling and squirting it across your kitchen royally sucks. 

        

         Peaches require treatment with ascorbic acid (vitamin C) to retain color, tomatoes require coring if their final destination is paste or sauce. A finished quart jar of whole tomatoes has an unsettling veiny spleen-ish appearance but tastes incredible compared to the bland, mealy diced tomatoes available at the grocery store (and its ability to double as a Halloween decoration is an added bonus! Dual-purpose is always a homesteading win.)

        

         Apples are exponentially easier. A quick spin on the peeler-corer-slicer gadget and a few quick slices with a paring knife and they're ready for either the food processor or a direct flight into the pot. Applesauce that actually tastes like apples and spiced apple butter are yearly must-haves in our house. Michigan is the third-largest apple producer in the country, and truly fresh apples are available at roadside stands all over the place for prices worthy of stocking up. We're lucky enough to have the ultimate hook-up; family with peach & apple orchards and thornless blackberry bushes, all free for the picking. There's nothing like a canning bee where you can sweat in the sun together, curse at uncooperative fruit together, throw peach pits at each other and take a mandatory drink of your malt beverage every time a jar seals. 

          Raw-pack pickling is one of the easier canning processes, and my personal favorite. After the usual wash and slice, your vegetable/fruit spears/slices/whatever get packed into hot jars and the pickling brine ladled in. A quick wipe of the jar's threads and application of the lid and band, a relatively short boil in a standard water-bath kettle and boom- pickles worthy of serving, gifting, bartering, or just feeling like a bonafide preservation badass while you crunch them on your couch in your underwear. 

     

        I've always wanted to branch out into pressure canning, using a pressure cooker to process low-acid foods like corn, green beans, meats and other things. However, the draw of homemade jerky and fruit leather won out and we bought a 9-tray dehydrator with the pressure canner funds. So instead I'm working on adding more variety to the usual repertoire with a blueberry-basil jam, watermelon jelly, homemade steak sauce and Harissa (so far.) All have turned out pretty well, and pressure canning can always be conquered next spring anyways. 

 

           Interested in learning how to can? Here are a few good places to start: 

*The Ball Blue Book. (Not to be confused with The Blue Ball Book... I'm sure there's one out there.) Ball brand mason jars are the classic, and their Blue Book is like Canning 101. A great book to pick up for relatively cheap, so if you decide to go back to Smuckers-ville you're not out a lot of money. Ball also has The Ball Guide To Home Preserving;' this is my go-to book for canning and fruit leather recipes. A must-have! 

 *Pinterest. An amazing source for all sorts of canning recipes, from über-basic to WAY off the beaten path. Sometimes the cutesy-factor gets nauseating but all in all, a good place for info and inspiration (which you'll need, if you decided to buy 35lbs of Kirby pickling cucumbers during a very busy week thinking you could find time to get them all processed during your spare time. Guilty.) 

*www.pickyourown.org. Want freshness that's guaranteed? Then use this site's database to find local produce and go play farmer for an afternoon. Once your kitchen is piled knee-deep in fresh hippie time bombs start sifting through their recipe listings; they also have photo tutorials on various canning methods and techniques. 

*YouTube. Wondering if there are any improvements you could make to your jelly bag technique? Well hey, it's your lucky day! All of the knowledge and none of the dishes. 

*Shared to the Heritage Homesteaders blog hop, February 2014! 

www.heritagehomesteaders.com