I figure that if you were really interested in hearing about what it’s like to see for the first time tiny hooves, with the bottoms splayed white, coming out of the ass-end of a cow, you would be out here braving the wind and seeing it yourself. It is, after all, not all that interesting. There can’t possibly be that many reasons you’d want to hunch around, your knees creaking, brushing your hand up against dog shit, breathing as silently as humanly possible, all to stare through a grey and dilapidated fence. Your hushed caution comes from straight up fear that the nervous cow will just buck up and refuse to give birth because she knows that you are creepily stalking her during this sort of normal yet odd show. How would that feel, knowing that you are responsible for the hooves that perpetually peep past her tailbone, all because she’d rather not give birth with an audience? But again, if you really wanted to see these things, you’d find a way to live amongst it yourself, right?

As it turns out, cows aren’t so hot on the idea of company during childbirth. In fact, despite the fact that they are herd animals, when the time comes that a cow’s body tells her the baby is going to be arriving shortly, she quietly and stealthily excuses herself to head towards the hills. If that plan is thwarted, the cow becomes anxious and distracted and, as it turns out, pretty much lethal. That momma cow knows that she wants to have the baby in privacy, on a clean patch of ground, protected from both wind and predators. You quickly learn that in that cow’s sight, you are no longer the blessed alfalfa and apple angel, you are a predatory and stalking creature deserving a speedy death- the sooner you can be gotten rid of, the sooner that squirmy little squealer can come out of her abdomen.

So it just seems natural to let them do their thing.

The first pair to awaken to our Meadow Ranch, Wyoming (pathetic) interpretation of spring was discovered after the heifer was missing in the morning count. A cow missing in the “spring” means you might as well put on a helmet and shield before you go investigating the meadows. If you stumble upon her and her calf, you might be in for a scurry of a muddy run back to shelter. Or it might be just fine. All could be calm and the mother might just bellow at you a bit to keep your distance. That seems to be the case when you mostly stay out of the way of the whole birthing process and give the mother her space. Go figure. Our first pair was a sight to see, cuddling together against the sage brush, snow brushed on the long hair of the mother but the baby dry as a desert day. That was the first calf I have ever really had a chance to notice. And geez almighty was he a black beauty.

The next two, well, we are still bruised and battered. If only the two ladies knew our intentions were for the best- that we only stood between them and the isolated hills in case they were to need assistance during their first calving experience. Not their idea of a good idea. And they haven’t been the same since.

But wait, really, if you were at all interested in these things, you’d be out in the Wyoming wind, wading through the spring mud. You don’t need someone to tell you what it’s like to see a cow first learn of her baby… to watch her lick and caress and beg with her voice for that baby to rise and suck. And to see them the next day, together, the mama a bit slow and happy and seemingly satisfied to be curled in with her little one. I don’t think I ever even remotely fathomed what this experience would be like, or how deeply in love I would fall with this intimate connection to animals.

The calf born just this evening makes five total out of six. The last baby doesn’t look to be wanting to come anytime soon. We know that of the first four, three are bull calves and one is a heifer calf. Strangely, the heifer calf is from our wild Emma Gates with the unruly horns (you know, the one that had us climbing the fences to escape from her lovely motherly instincts?). The baby is named Franny Gates, after my mother and hers. Girl calves are named in a heritage breeding scenario like ours, and boy calves are simply numbered. They’ll live a shorter yet substantial life out here with us for about two years. Then they will become part of our cyclical life cycle. They are here with us to die- and quite honestly, they wouldn’t be alive right now if they didn’t have a food purpose. Maybe we all need to realize that that is a cycle that will keep happening long after we are dust again. And none of us would be here if we weren’t meant to only pass through this world, not to stay.

Garrison Keillor with The Writer’s Almanac appropriately sent this to his email subscribers today, a Shakespeare poem. Quite lovely and appropriate I’d say:
Our revels now are ended. These our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits and
Are melted into air, into thin air:
And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capp’d towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Ye all which it inherit, shall dissolve,
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff
As dreams are made on, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.

And of Vladimir Nobokov:
“The cradle rocks above an abyss, and common sense tells us that our existence is but a brief crack of light between two eternities of darkness.”

I’ve moved three times with this same bunch of risotto I bought in Michigan. Three times. That’s ridiculous. What could make one so intimidated to make such a beautiful and creamy food? I guess it was the unknown of something not only infamously Italian, but something as touchy as rice. Not to mention that I am not one to stand around in the kitchen, utensil in hand, having to stir my food often. I kind of like to do a million things at once while in the kitchen, whether cleaning the fridge, making yogurt, or finding fitting music from our computer. So if something requires frequent stirring, it will more than likely perish in the heat.

But last night… last night was different. Last night was an evening best spent doing things slowly and a bit monotonously. It was oh so worth it. This was a delicious dish, the risotto turned out creamy, and the locally-grown squash was brilliantly orange. When the rice and squash are mixed, you end up with a truly lustrous dish.

Butternut squash is a great way to pack in nutrient dense goodness, arming the body against winter sickness. Specifically, it is a good source of Vitamin E, Thiamin, Niacin, Vitamin B6, Folate, Calcium and Magnesium, and a very good source of Vitamin A, Vitamin C, Potassium and Manganese. Eat it up. It’s satisfying and complete in and of itself, especially when topped with a salty just grated parmesan.

Butternut Squash Risotto

1 medium butternut squash
1 teaspoon olive oil
Salt and Pepper
8 cups chicken broth
7 tablespoons cold butter
1 medium yellow onion, minced
2 cups superfino carnaroli rice
1/4 cup dry white wine
1/2 cup grated parmesan

Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Split the squash in half, drizzle olive oil on the flesh along with a sprinkle of salt and fresh ground pepper. Bake until soft, about 45 minutes. Remove from oven and let cool. Once cooled, scoop flesh from peel and puree in a food processor. If the squash is heavy with moisture, cook in a saucepan for a few minutes until relatively dry.

In a medium stock pot, bring chicken broth to a boil and reduce heat to low. In a separate large saucepan, melt 3 tablespoons of butter. Add the minced onion. Cover and cook over low heat until the onions are tender but not colored for about 5 minutes. Bring the pan to medium heat and deglaze the pot with the white wine. Add rice and stir continuously for 3-5 minutes until ou see the outer edge of the rice turn translucent. With a ladle, add enough broth to just cover rice. Slowly stir the rice with a wooden spoon every few minutes until the liquid has been absorbed. Don’t allow the rice to become completely dry.

Stirring the rice as often as possible will activate the natural starch, helping to make a creamier risotto. Repeat this process of adding broth, allowing it to absorb, until the broth is gone and the risotto is creamy and less firm to the bite. When the risotto is cooked, stir in the butternut squash puree until it is incorporated. Then add the remaining 4 tablespoons of cold butter, stirring until it is melted. Season the risotto with salt and pepper to taste.

Serve the risotto in bowls, garnished with grated parmesan.

Serves 6.

I always knew these pancakes were good, but I was totally convinced after a snowshoe adventure with Josh’s sis and a friend. We clomped through the Sierra Madres which were covered in feet of snow, our poor hound dog having to force herself to either swim in front, or succumb to following our deep tracks behind. Needless to say, we were worn out and hungry, satisfied with the work and ready to soak in some hot springs. That’s when I realized that I had grabbed all kinds of random goods from the fridge before we left the ranch, fully aware of what the cold outdoor air can do to a woman. Josh had made multigrain pancakes that morning, and I had packed up the leftovers. Sadie and Diane couldn’t have been more impressed.

It’s hard to say if they thought these were the best things in the world, well, because they are, or if they were speaking from their famished bellies. Regardless, here’s the recipe, great for a cold Sunday morning before heading out to feed the cows. Or watching cartoons. Or going to church. Or, preferably, going back to bed.

Josh’s Multigrain Pancakes

Dry ingredients

• 1/2 cup + 2 tablespoons whole wheat flour

• 1/4 cup ground buckwheat

• 2 tablespoons cornmeal

• 2 tablespoons red quinoa

• 1 teaspoon baking soda

• 1/4 teaspoon salt

Wet ingredients

• 2 eggs

• 1/2 cup milk

• 1/2 cup yogurt

• 1/2 teaspoon vanilla

Last ingredients

• 1/4 cup melted butter

• 2 generous tablespoons honey

In a large mixing bowl, whisk together all the dry ingredients.

In a separate medium mixing bowl, beat the eggs; add milk, yogurt, and vanilla. Mix well. Pour these wet ingredients into the dry ingredients.

Stir well. Meanwhile, melt honey and butter. Drizzle the honey and butter into batter. Stir with a fork.

Heat a flat skillet or stone; melt a bit of butter on the skillet. Once the skillet is hot and butter is melted, ladle the pancake batter to form 3 or 4 inch pancakes. The batter will start to bubble. At this point, check the other side and flip when browned.

You’ll have a beautiful and fluffy bunch of pancakes, approximately 10 or so.

Variations:

• Replace milk and yogurt with 3/4 cup buttermilk.

• Make batter the night before, excluding the butter and the honey, replacing the baking soda with 1/4 cup or so live sourdough culture.

• Highly recommend sprouting your quinoa the evening before. Eventually I’ll post simple directions on sprouting grains.

We had an Apple Bake Off at work a week or so ago. I was extremely pleased when the announcement arrived in my inbox, taunting all employees to compete. I had 45 pounds of organic Colorado apples sitting in the old stone house at the ranch, and I wanted nothing more than to have some form of motivation outside of myself to make an unusual and delicious apple concoction.

Well, instead of sharing something delicious (like this apple, onion and bacon galette), I made two things that I normally don’t like anyway, and boy oh boy, they were so not delicious. Maybe one of the two had a chance, but not my apple pie a la mode drink, mixed in the parking lot, floating with clumps of nutmeg. Yuk. The coleslaw was probably really good, but I’m not so fond of such things. And tell me this, my friends: why would anyone bring coleslaw to an apple bake off? Number one, this is a completely raw side dish, never baked for a moment. And number two, no one will eat your raw mixture, reeking with caraway, when it’s sitting next to warm apple pie and calorie doused apple cheesecake. Lost cause.

I hate to say it, but on this very same day I made a third dish. I was too embarrassed to bring three things, so I saved the truly delicious one, the galette, for family and only my immediate co-workers. Yes, this will be made again! The galette dough puffs up after only brief kneading and resting. The sweet and salty mix in flavor brings such satisfaction, erasing all need for seconds.

Yes, I felt really guilty not taking this offering to the competition, but it also felt so good to be able to have this for dinner with Josh and Gramma that very night, apple pie and cheesecake still sitting in my belly. Needless to say, with all the preparations in the early hours of the day, few pictures were taken. Just believe that as that bacon crisped up in those lovely morsel pieces, and the onions caramelized, there was nothing better than the finale of apples being added to the richly colored and flavored food in that skillet.

Apple, Onion, and Bacon Galette

First, the dough:
1/2 cup warm water
2 teaspoons (1 packet) active dry yeast
1/2 teaspoon sugar
3 tablespoons olive oil
1 egg, lightly beaten
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 cups flour, or as needed

Dissolve the yeast and sugar in the warm water in a medium size bowl.

Add the beaten egg, oil and salt. Stir in the flour slowly, a 1/2 cup at a time. When the dough is stiff and difficult to stir, turn out onto a floured surface (use some of the flour that is still left from the original amount). Knead until the dough is smooth and elastic, about 4 minutes. Add flour if the dough is sticky.

Set the dough in a lightly oiled bowl, cover with a towel, and rise in a warm place until the dough as almost doubled in size, about 45 minutes.

The Savory Filling:
1/4 pound local and naturally raised pork bacon, roughly chopped
4 cups thinly sliced onions
4 cups not too sweet apples (I used a mix of Gala and Jonagolds), peeled, cored and sliced
pinch of salt
A couple sprigs of fresh rosemary, chopped
1/4 cup of blue cheese or gruyere, optional

After you’ve chopped the bacon, fry it in a large skillet. After the bacon is just crispy, remove the skillet from the heat, and use a slotted spoon to scoop the bacon pieces onto a plate covered with a paper towel.

Drain bacon grease just until there is 3 tablespoons remaining. Saute the onions along with a pinch or so of salt in the 3 tablespoons of bacon grease until the onions are loosened up and a bit transparent.

Toss in the chopped rosemary with the onions. Add the apples and another tablespoon or so of the bacon fat. Stir until the apples are tender. Add the bacon back into the mixture. Sprinkle salt and sugar into the filling to taste. Set aside this mixture to cool while you roll out the galette dough.

Next!
Roll out the dough on a lightly floured surface until it is thin and about 14-inches in diameter. There will probably be more dough than you need. Cut away whatever is more than the 14 inches and save for another use. Fold the dough into quarters, then transfer to the back of a cookie sheet or sheet pan. Unfold the dough, allowing it to fall over the edges of the pan.

Once the filling is cool, scoop it into the center of this dough. Leave a border of 2 to 4 inches around the edge. Fold the edges over the filling, loosely pleating and overlapping the dough. The center of the galette will remain open and not covered.

Brush the dough with a beaten egg mixed with some milk or cream, or melted butter. Sprinkle the entire thing with an equal mixture of salt and sugar. Bake at 400 degrees until the crust is browned, about 40 minutes. About 10 minutes before the galette is done, top the filling with gruyere or blue cheese if you feel like it! Let that melt and meld its flavors into the galette. Could be just fabulous, I’m sure!

This steak takes little more than 25 minutes in preparation and cooking combined, yet the flavors rival any past steak we’ve eaten. The steak itself is seared to lock in flavors and juices, then the other cast of characters sneak into play: chopped up garlic, de-sprigged rosemary, and smooth red wine all added into your pan for deglazing. Our steak came from Wags Livestock out of Laramie, Wyoming. Someday it’ll come from Meadow Ranch, Rawlins, WY. But for now, they’re doing a pretty bang up job of raising grassfed cows and we’re buying from them.

This recipe has become a number one promoter of our to-be herb garden (hurry, hurry, faster, faster, plant those herbs!). How can I possibly have to run to the store to find “packaged in plastic” sprigs of organic rosemary? Silly. Down right ridiculous. I would like to transplant our Michigan gardens directly into these rocky mountain grounds we find ourselves on. I can’t wait for the days that we are able to return to plucking and picking thyme, tarragon, sage, and rosemary from our backyard on fanciful cooking whims. Wait. We don’t have a backyard. And wait. Do antelope, elk and deer like herbs? How about rattlesnakes? Oh boy.

We ate this steak with a quickly sauteed cabbage, butter, dill combo, cooked together with salt and water. We could mop up the braising juices and garlic with the cabbage. It was perfect.

Thanks to Nourished Kitchen for being such an inspiring place to find whole and healthy recipes like this one!

Wine Braised Steak with Rosemary and Garlic

1 16-ounce 100% grass-fed beef steak
unrefined sea salt and freshly ground black pepper, to taste
2 tablespoons butter or clarified butter
4 to 6 garlic cloves, chopped fine
1 branch fresh rosemary, plus more to garnish
1 cup red wine, any will do

Method

1. Pre-heat the oven to 300 degrees Fahrenheit.
2. Generously season the steak with unrefined sea salt and freshly ground black pepper as it suits you.
3. Heat two tablespoons butter or clarified butter in a cast-iron skillet over a very hot flame.
4. Sear the steak in the hot fat about one minute on each side.
5. Remove the skillet from the heat, add garlic and fresh rosemary needles.
6. Deglaze the skillet with red wine.
7. Place the skillet in an oven preheated to 300 degrees Fahrenheit for about ten minutes, longer if you prefer well-done steaks and less if you prefer a rare steak.
8. serve with pan juices, garnished with additional rosemary.

YIELD: about 4 servings.

TIME: about 10 minutes (preparation), 10 to 20 minutes (cook time)

A few years back, when a friend of ours was living with us, I got pretty hardcore into these smoothies. And all three of us agreed, they were delicious. But after about the second week of me obsessively blending these drinks, Josh and Michelle were done. They’d had enough. So I controlled the obsession, but every autumn since, the craving returns.

This is a recipe from the famed Moosewood Restaurant cookbooks, and this particular book is New Classics. Just because we don’t have many trees in this part of the country doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy autumn in so many other authentic ways. Like organic Colorado pears. In smoothies.

Autumn Smoothie

1 ripe fresh pear, peeled, cored and chopped
1/2 cup unsweetened apple juice or apple cider
1/2 cup milk (I suggest almond, they suggest soy. I have no milk and am substituting fresh and local heavy cream. But in a way lesser quantity…)
1 teaspoon pure maple syrup
1/4 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
2 drops pure almond extract
pinch of ground cinnamon

Puree the ingredients in a blender or food processor until smooth.

You can not be disappointed!