36 ~ Cycles of life, and interruption of an eagle life
Greetings at sunrise as I write this, at -16F (-26.5C) here at the farm. Just took the photo above from the back deck.
Cycles have been on my mind lately. The pandemic lockdown has been a gift in the way it has allowed me to settle more resolutely into a regular cycle, a rhythm. No longer thrown askew by repeated long-distance work travel, or chasing the next entertainment or social engagement, I’ve been compelled – and allowed - to narrow my focus to one place, like the center of a potter’s wheel, around which everything can revolve. My center, at least, can hold. I probably benefit from the fact that, while I love people, I tend towards introversion and solitude. The pandemic has been comparatively easy for us introverts.
I’ve noticed that my annual cycle unfolds and revolves mainly around the production of food. This is not novel – until very recently it was fundamental to the cyclical focus of most humans, over nearly the breadth of human existence. I’ve just returned to, remembered, something I’ve always known.
My choice to step away from the grocery store, and to let go of things like fresh mangoes in Wisconsin in winter and saltines, has brought me closer to that memory. And there are tangible bennies – last week, instead of fresh mangoes, it was a strawberry/raspberry/rhubarb pie made from last season’s fruit (along with a couple of quiches, one for dinner and one for the freezer, now that the hens have started laying again, roused to action by the lengthening days).
I recently dove into an activity that often marks the start of my annual cycle, one of the first tasks after the winter solstice: making venison jerky. After I kill a deer or two in November or December (“harvest” is for wheat and soybeans; let’s be honest here, the world will be better the more we can be – I don’t harvest a deer, I kill it, with a mix of grief and gratitude), I typically skin it and butcher it just to quarters and large chunks, along with a few steaks, and put the meat in the chest freezer. If and when a test for Chronic Wasting Disease comes back negative, I then proceed with further processing (fortunately, of the ten or so deer I’ve killed since moving here to the farm in central Iowa County, none has tested positive for CWD). One of my favorite winter activities, huddled in the kitchen on a cold day (and we’ve had plenty of those lately!), radio on, is to make and dry jerky – warming the house while making warming food. There’s nothing more reassuring in my pocket on a ski trail or a long-distance snowshoe than a strip of jerky.
It’s simple to make. With a view out the kitchen windows to the beautiful winter snowscape, I cut the venison into strips, then mix up a marinade of a this n’ that. These days this n’ that is whatever I can still find on my shelves, and this time it was soy sauce, Worcestershire sauce, liquid smoke, brown sugar and maple syrup. A bit of one, some of the other, until a dip with my finger hits the “mmm” stage. Then the venison strips go in the marinade for an hour or two.
After draining, I use two options to dry the strips to jerky: a standard food dehydrator or, a bit more traditionally, I thread the ends of the strips onto long bamboo skewers, suspend the skewers from the oven rack, set the oven temp to its lowest (170F in my case), and crack open the door (so moisture can escape, and thus facilitate drying rather than cooking). After just a few hours, with the rich, caramelizing smell of the marinade gradually filling the house, it’s jerky.
The word “jerky” is derived from Quechua, the main language of the indigenous peoples of the Andes of South America. The ancient Incas dotted their complex road system with inns that sustained travelers with stores of jerky (ch’akri) made from llama meat. It’s interesting how many things important to me and my annual cycle (and to many of us) come from of the language of native peoples – in addition to jerky, there’s ‘canoe’, ‘kayak’, ‘parka’ – and/or were invented by them -snowshoes, maple syrup, birch syrup, cornmeal.
In fact, there are few possessions I value highly that don’t have very old origins. I love my snowshoes and wolverine fur mittens more than my laptop.
A few other other activities that mark the winter point of my annual cycle all involve seeds produced last growing season: shelling beans (for soup), shelling blue corn (then grinding it) for cornmeal, and roasting squash seeds. The shelling of beans and corn is a wonderful, meditative activity in front of the fireplace on a cold evening. Winter Zen.
Remember the sublime, sensual scene from the film “Amélie”, when she slowly pushes her hand into a sack of dry lentils? Here’s the Driftless Area corn grower’s version.
I love winter for its sense of being a bridge - a transition in my cycle that spans final processing of foods from last summer & fall, and the first preparatory looks toward spring (last week I dove into the seed catalogs). Here’s a summary of my annual cycle at the farmhouse (besides butter, about the only thing I produce throughout the year, the only other non-cyclical, is kombucha; it gets made and flavored in summer & fall with fresh raspberries and strawberries, and with frozen the rest of the year; this time of year, when it’s time to make kombucha, it’s also time to bake a pie – juice for kombucha comes from thawing fruit for the pie).
Cycles are probably important for our well-being. They support us to keep centered, and grounded. Take a moment to reflect on the cycles important in your life - perhaps they revolve around an artistic pursuit, your cycle of work, family events, or seasonally cyclical outdoor activities like birdwatching. Please feel free to share your reflections in the Comments section below.
Eagle update: Sad news, hopeful news.
In my last post I shared that my housemate and I had found a debilitated male bald eagle near the house, within sight of a regularly active nest, and sent the patient to a wildlife rehabilitation center in Madison. Alas, I learned last week that the eagle died, from acute lead poisoning.
While sad, there is at least some good news to this story: Two adult eagles have recently been housekeeping at the nest (portrait of them by my neighbor Jerry, taken last week). So either the unfortunate male didn’t belong to this nest, or if he did, the female has already pair-bounded with a new mate. In any case, this gives hope that the nest will again shelter eaglets this spring.
Present-day lead poisoning of wildlife is a cycle that perhaps we can help interrupt. A lot of lead flies during the deer gun season in November, followed by lead poisoning of eagles and other wildlife that scavenge on the carcasses and remains. In areas of the west where California condors have been reintroduced, use of lead ammunition for deer hunting is banned. I plan to investigate this further, and see if it holds any opportunities for Wisconsin eagles. I’ll let you know what I learn (and please share what you might know about this issue in the Comments, thanks).
Be well all, nourish yourselves, and nourish life.
