Foraging

In my former life, Fridays were spent painfully watching the hours tick by until I was free for the weekend. These days, my work feels more like an adventure than a chore. Last Friday epitomized our current lifestyle: healthy, hard work. The weather was predicted to shift substantially over the weekend, and we knew that this may be our last day to hunt for mushrooms. We rode our bikes up the mountain until we reached a spot along the trail that felt seculded. Mushroom hunting is a popular activity in this part of the country and we had to search for an area that had not already been picked over. Our strategy was to avoid paths and climb high. Today, we were specifically hunting for Lobster, Chanterelle, and Puffball mushrooms. We typically find them near fir trees on the South facing side of the mountain. We had not been mushroom hunting for the past two weeks and it was a very different experience this time. The colorful leaves that made the forest feel like a living kaleidoscope were now scattered on the forest floor, which meant that finding mushrooms became a great deal more difficult. We armed ourselves with sticks and began lifting leaves, hoping for a glimpse of a bright yellow chanterelle or deep red lobster. 

Mushroom hunting feels like treasure hunting. You wander through the woods, actively scanning the ground, excited by the prospect of finding a hidden gem, but twenty minutes can pass by in the blink of an eye without placing a single mushroom in your bag. But, then, just when you start to loose all hope, you spot a yellow beacon of glory out of the corner of your eye and as you lift up the leaves, you discover a chanterelle. At this time of year, not every edible mushrooms is still good, so you are not certain that you have found treasure until you slice a bit of the stem off to check it's quality. If the stem is white throughout, then into the bag it goes, you have found yourself hidden treasure.

Oooo, I found a couple chanterelles, and they are kissing! 

After the hunt was over, we hopped on our bikes and roared down the mountain. The trail is filled with potholes, rocks and streams, so it takes a bit of courage to speed down the hill. The adrenaline that pumped through my body made up for every bit of the fear. We all made it home safely, with only a few extra bumps and bruises. After a hearty lunch, we harvested the remaining vegetables in the garden. The growing season was officially over and winter was fast approaching. Weather reports predicted that the mountain was expected to get 30 inches of snow over the weekend. The rest of the afternoon was spent cleaning our morning booty, I mean bounty. Mushrooms are very delicate and for all the work they take to gather, I didn't want to waste a single one.

The owners of Zig Zag Mountain Farm, Jim and Britta, were arriving Friday afternoon and Alex bravely volunteered to be our chef for the evening. Alex happens to be a few years younger than Chase and I, which seems to be the general age range for woofers and we are starting to feel old. He lives in the homestead with us and we basically spend all day, every day hanging out together. But, somehow we didn't know until Open Mic night that he was an incredible musician. Unable to bring his banjo on the airplane from Kennebunk, Maine, he was able to score a guitar from the host of Open Mic night and blew us all away with his talent. He played a few covers to warm us all up and then busted out a handful of original Alex Deely tunes. Sitting amongst the crowd, I overheard people whispering, "what a poet" "we should have him play full time" and "where did this guy come from." I felt like I was friends with a celebrity. At dinner on Friday evening he showed us another skill, he prepared mushroom gravy and poured it atop homemade, flaky, buttery biscuits. We left the table feeling not only full but also complete, as if we had participated in the lifecycle of nature by gathering and consuming the food that Mother Nature had spent the summer growing. 

Alex and A.J. enjoying mushroom gravy and buttery biscuits

Exploring Mount Hood

We arrived at Zig Zag Mountain Farm just over two weeks ago but it wasn't until yesterday that Oregon proved it's namesake of being a rain soddened state. A little rain wasn't about to prohibit us from experiencing the wonders of Mount Hood, so we put on our rain gear and headed out for a hike to Lower Twin Lake. The first two miles of the trail traversed along the Pacific Crest Trail. The Pacific Crest Trail runs 2,663 miles from the boarder of Mexico all the way to the boarder of Canada. Approximetly 180 individuals successfully complete the hike each year and it takes roughly four to six months of hiking 20 miles per day. I hope one day I can persuade Chase to complete such a massive hike, but we will have to take it day by day and yesterday I was able to persuade him into hiking in the rain to a misty lake in the wilderness of Oregon - mission accomplished. 

After we were thoroughly chilled to the bone, we drove up the mountain to the famous Timberline Lodge to sit next to roaring fires and indulge in some desperately needed hot buttered rum. The lodge was built in 1936 as a Works Progress Administration (WPA) project during the Great Depression. Franklin D. Roosevelt was especially proud of the project and visited the lodge upon it's completion in 1937 to note that this Lodge was a way to test the "workability of recreational facilities installed by the Government itself and operated under its complete control." The lodge was crafted with native timber by hundreds of local craftsmen that had been out of work until this project. In 1939, the original Magic Mile chairlift opened on Mt. Hood. It was the first chairlift in Oregon and the second chairlift in North America, with it came the golden era of skiing on Mt. Hood. Good times lasted until February, 1955 when the United States Forest Service was forced to shut down Timberline Lodge due to mis-management and bankruptcy. The formerly family friendly lodge was now overrun with gambling and prostitution. By July, 1955 the lodge was back open, complete with new ownership and new attitudes. Luckily, by the late 50's financial uncertainty was a distant concern as America flocked to the slopes and skiing became a new favorite American past time. 

We spent the rest of our afternoon cozy and content, sitting beneath fir trees with a six foot diameter and wondering how such a creation could have been completed in a mere 15 months. We watched as the land around us became white with six inches of freshly fallen snow. The food and drink only reaffirmed our love for Timberline Lodge. We shared a plate of northwest artisan cheese along with Portland made charcuterie. It was the perfect meal to follow such an idyllic afternoon with good friends.

Indoor Day on Zig Zag Mountain Farm

Working at Zig Zag Mountain Farm entails quite a bit of heavy lifting, but it also requires that each of us spend at least one day a week taking care of the indoor chores. Each morning AJ asks, "Who wants to be in the kitchen today?" and he is usually answered by all of us looking at one another with eyes that are just begging the person next to us to raise their hand and report for kitchen duty. Even though no one ever wants to be in the kitchen, it is a necessary role to keep the farm running smoothly. Kitchen personnel are responsible for making lunch and dinner for the group, preserving any abundance of vegetables, and general cleaning around the house. Today was Chase's lucky day to be stuck indoors on a crisp, sunny day on the farm. As any loving girlfriend would do, I volunteered to keep him company, and preserve the radishes and carrots that we had recently harvested. 

He began his kitchen duty with a rush, as he attempted to come up with a lunch menu that would keep the workers full until dinner time. At this time of the year, we do not have many vegetables to harvest from the garden so we must make do with what we have. His crafty concoction was vegetarian enchiladas with a side of rice and beans. He stuffed the tortillas with black beans, rice, green pepper, jalapeño, freshly foraged mushrooms, and onion. His enchilada sauce was a self creation that used up a bit of canned tomato sauce from earlier in the season. We served this with homemade green tomato salsa that was made last week. 

After lunch, he washed all the dishes and set about making a sweet carrot bread for an afternoon snack. I had been working on prepping the radishes and carrots in the morning, so I had some extra shredded carrot with his name on it. As he was making the bread, I started on a Vietnamese Carrot and Daikon Radish Pickle. I had never singlehandedly canned a vegetable in my life until coming to Zig Zag Mountain Farm - Mom, I know we used to always make jelly, but I am pretty sure I just watched you do all of the work. Since being here, I have pickled radishes and carrots, canned salsa, and preserved stewed green tomatoes. Each time I try a new recipe it seems to get easier and more enjoyable. 

While I was canning my mind away, Chase came up with a plan for dinner. We had lots of basil that needed to be used, so he made a tasty pesto. He mixed the pesto into pasta with fresh tomatoes and topped it with parmesan cheese. Not to be outdone by our professional chef fellow workers, we also made fresh breadsticks and a kale salad. These "professional chefs" are Mick and Marisa, they recently moved here from Chicago and are planning to live in Portland for the near future. Mick last cooked at RIA in Chicago and his talented girlfriend Marisa has mad skills in the kitchen. They are great friends and have even been known to break couples up due to their perfect kind of love. It's the truth. Their good friend in Chicago spent a weekend with them and the next week broke up with his girlfriend because he wanted to find the same kind of relationship. Yes, they are the perfect couple and incredible cooks. Together, they have prepared stunning meals that will forever standout in my mind. It's not even fair to try and describe the flavors of Mick's biscuits and mushroom gravy or his spiced brittle with pumpkin seeds atop yogurt, curried apples, pumpkin butter and pie crumbles - which is now lovingly know as the "pie-fait." Mick and Marisa's ingenuity in the kitchen has inspired Chase and I to spend more time making things from scratch for our own meals. Baking bread, rolling our own breadsticks, and making our own corn muffins are no longer too complex for our amateur cooking abilities, we now just tackle them because, really, what is the worst thing that could happen?  

From left to right: apple tart with roasted pumpkin seed and caramel, apple and pumpkin cinnamon rolls, spiced brittle apple pie-fait

It always seems like kitchen duty is the most exhausting of days and once dinner has been set on the table, it is the greatest feeling to know that your day is finally over. We have gained much respect for the stereotypical farmwife during our days of kitchen duty. I cannot imagine being stuck inside a kitchen all day, everyday, while my partner works outdoors and wanders to the table when hunger strikes. If I had been born in any other generation I would likely have been deemed a deviant and shunned from the family. Luckily, I was born in a generation where Chase and I, together, share any and all kitchen duties. 

Zig Zag Mountain Farm

I am exhausted. Our first week at Zig Zag Mountain Farm has ended and it wore me out. The month long hiatus we took in Minnesota did nothing for my endurance. I am now sitting in the kitchen, with a blazing fire at my back, sipping tea and reminiscing about our latest road trip. We planned on camping each night on our way out West, just as we did this summer, but this time the weather did not cooperate. Bismarck, North Dakota was our first overnight stop and Chase had picked out a sentimental campsite for us, located along the Missouri River, the same river we camped on earlier this summer when we set out on the road. However, the tornado warnings and torrential rain prohibited us from any outdoor sleeping and we settled on the cheapest hotel.

I do not have a single good reason for why we slept in a hotel on night two, only that we arrived in Missoula around 9:00pm, hungry and tired. We could not imagine searching for a campsite and setting up in the frigid darkness. Finally, on night three, in the middle of wheat country Washington, we camped. Our drive to Palouse Falls State Park was slightly confusing. We knew that we were camping next to a rushing waterfall that drops a sudden 200 feet, but we imagined it would be set within a lush, wooded area, since we had been told that the state of Washington was full of rain. Yet, once we crossed into Washington, it felt like we were back in North Dakota - only flatter. Fields of wheat ran off in all directions for as far as I could see. The road looked like it had been only recently paved and was so narrow that we held our breath whenever another car would pass. It was the type of road just meant for a car commercial. We snaked between farms and never once saw any kind of forest or wetland. Within a couple of hours, the GPS told us that we would be approaching our destination in one mile. Confusing, there was no water in site. We set up camp and could hear rushing water, but we still couldn't see this supposed waterfall. After walking a mere 100 feet, we set our eyes upon the beauty of Palouse Falls.

The falls are 198 feet in height and drop straight down into a 400 foot canyon. Tectonic forces and Ice Age floods over millions of years all contributed to the creation of such a spectacular sight. We climbed all around the waterfall for hours and never stopped being amazed. The canyon that contains the waterfall continues it's winding ways for miles. The best view is from atop the falls, standing slightly behind the drop. I could feel the power in the water that raged over the rock and I could sense the force that it took to form such a creation. There was no doubt in my mind that the energy in this location was palpable. The air felt like it was waiting for a single spark to unleash it's energy. Standing as close to the edge as I dared, I felt faint when I realized how much trust I was putting in Mother Earth. I was trusting that a cliff of rock and sand would hold my weight. I trusted that the ledge I was relying upon wouldn't crumble and become part of the pile of fallen rock below. What is it about nature that allows me to trust without question, when I can barely trust my doctor to read an X-ray?

Our night was a cold one. The temperature dropped to 35 degrees, but we were toasty warm in our sleeping bags and sweaters. The next morning we took one last hike around the waterfall and started towards our final destination - Zig Zag Mountain Farm. Along the way we watched the countryside turn from fields to forests. We drove parallel to the lovely Columbia River from east to west, until we reached our turn toward Mount Hood. Our home for the next month is located at the base of one of the largest mountains on the west coast. They say everything here is larger because of all the rainf they receive each year, but it has yet to shed a drop since our arrival. Each day, we work surrounded by Fir trees that rise 100 feet above the ground. The leaves on the Maple trees are massive and each time they tumble to the ground I mistaken them for an approaching animal. They don't just delicately drop to the ground like Minnesota leaves, it's as though they are trying to let the whole world know that this is their last moment of life by making as much noise as possible.

Zig Zag Mountain Farm is different from the other farms we have visited this year. They offer a mountain retreat for workshops and classes throughout the summer. The farm manager, A.J., makes sure that the garden is producing and that the land is in pristine condition. Part of his taking care of the land this summer has been completing a massive forestry project. He and the other volunteers have worked to thin 33 acres of temperate forest to promote tree health and prevent forest fires. I hope you realize what an undertaking like this entails, but in the case that you do not, it means taking a thick forest and removing trees until there is on average 10 feet between each tree. This way enough light can filter through to the trees and keep them growing strong. The process began with sawing down all of the unwanted trees. Once these trees were scattered across the forest floor they had to be responsibly removed. The felled trees had to be limbed, bucked and stacked into organized piles. This meant climbing up and down the mountain, carrying insanely heavy pieces of trees and placing them into organized piles. These piles of wood could now be used for firewood, building materials and woodchips. Chase and I worked on the tail end of this project for the first week and I am proud to say that together we can lift most any fallen tree in the woods - once it has been bucked up of course. My muscles are still getting used to this lumberjack lifestyle, but luckily we have a wood-heated hot tub to ease my pain.