Community Philosphy Blog and Library

HOMEGROWN Life: Shaking Off a DIY Fail


HOMEGROWN-LIFE-LT-GREENI’m a self-conscious chef. In an effort to minimize disasters, I seek out recipes with clear, step-by-step instructions that leave little room for interpretation. And anytime I try something new in the kitchen, I make sure my roommate is on standby as my frontline taste tester. She’s usually happy to oblige, but every so often, she gets stuck with a burnt or undercooked creation.

This was one of those times.

Over the holidays, with so many other things going on, I thought I’d stick to a baking project I couldn’t mess up. Cupcakes. In a past life (OK, a not-so-distant two summers ago), I worked in a bakery and became something of a cupcake connoisseur. No style, design, or flavor fazed me. If I had a recipe, I could make it happen.

Just to mix things up a little bit, I thought I’d try making my own food coloring. I loved the idea of knowing exactly what I was smearing on my cupcakes—no weird chemicals or fake stuff, just ingredients I had selected myself. As I trolled the Internet for tips, with visions of festive red and green icing dancing in my head, I figured this would be a low-stress challenge.

Before long, I came across a blog detailing the necessary ingredients for mixing both red and green dye, but the lists were long and full of powders I wasn’t sure I could pronounce, much less afford or locate in a store. I sifted through other recipes until I found one that made natural dyes seem even easier than I’d thought: spinach juice for green and pomegranate or beet juice for red. Sounds simple, right?

Pomegranate juice is easy to find fairly cheap. I grabbed a bottle for $1.50—on sale that week, too, so it had to be fate. Spinach juice proved a bit trickier. I saw some online, but the price tag was steep, and I didn’t think waiting a week or so for it to arrive seemed practical.

Without a juicer or any knowledge of juicing, I decided I would try to liquefy spinach. I turned to my little food processor, my trustiest friend in the kitchen, thinking it could get the job done. After repeated dicing, chopping, and grinding, I was left with a murky green liquid that resembled algae or moss—in other words, not something you would willingly eat, let alone consider a treat.



Next I tried mixing some of the sludge into my buttercream. The result: soggy white syrup flecked with green chunks. Needless to say, I couldn’t get my roommate to try it.

Zero for one, I held onto the hope that red icing would be easier. Who needs green, after all, when red is the color of Santa hats and candy canes? The pomegranate juice I had was already in liquid form, so turning it into icing should be as easy as stirring.

I added a few drops of juice to my buttercream and starting mixing. Nothing.

After dumping in a whole tablespoon of juice, the icing began to take on the palest pink tinge. My faith renewed, I dumped in another tablespoon of juice.

Hm. Still pink.



Yet another tablespoon in, the icing was slightly darker—though not quite red—but also extremely runny. I tried to spread it onto a cupcake, but it was too soupy to apply with a knife. I thought moving the icing to the fridge for a while might thicken up the consistency, but that was a lost cause, as well. The cupcakes looked like they had spent a 90-degree day in the trunk of a car. My roommate took a tentative taste and gave the flavor a thumbs-up, but she advised me not to take the cupcakes out into the world, where they would be subjected to ridicule.

I had to agree.



They say food is all about presentation, and in that respect, these cupcakes definitely failed. They’re the kind of thing I would usually hide in the back of my fridge rather than show off, but here they are now, in all their glory, on the Internet. To me, it’s a reminder that not everything you make will look or taste like the pristine examples you see in glossy magazines or on tastefully photographed blogs.

Sometimes we fail, whether through a flawed recipe or our own lack of skill. And you know what? It doesn’t matter one bit. You tried. You gave a shot. Maybe you made something edible, even if it’s not pretty. Hey, a laugh can be as much of a bonding experience—probably more—as sharing a fussed-over snack with a friend. The point is the experiment itself, in rolling with the punches and trying again.



Or not. Red food coloring is one project I’m happy to leave to the pros. Valentine’s is coming up before long, and what says, “I love you,” like homemade pink icing?

amandaNortheastern University student Amanda Hoover spent her fall semester interning for HOMEGROWN and Farm Aid. She is an amazing baker (don’t miss her 101s on homemade Nutella, biscotti, and peanut butter cups), in addition to being an awfully good sport. Thanks for sharing your hits and your misses, Amanda!



HOMEGROWN Life: Deciding Which Vegetable Varieties to Grow


HOMEGROWN-LIFE-LT-GREENAnother year has come to an end. The seed catalogs are rolling in, and as I sit here drooling over them, I keep coming across new, exciting vegetable varieties that I just have to try.

There’s a part of my brain that’s screaming at the rest of it: “Don’t fix what isn’t broken!” Year after year, I post about what I’ve learned, and one of the recurring themes is to stick with the things I know work for our area—not to risk losing productivity because I’m feeling adventurous. But really, what fun is that?

Vegetable VarietiesThere are some things I’m set on keeping the same. The Orangeglo watermelon and Bidwell Casaba have been very kind to me, unlike most other watermelon and melon varieties, so those are here to stay for the long haul. Catskill Brussels Sprouts will also probably stick around. There seem to be so few varieties of heirloom sprouts, and these do the best.

I always say not to mess around with our corn selection. We grow Bloody Butcher corn, which has served us well. It gets HUGE and gives us multiple relatively long ears on each stalk. The corn can be used fresh, or you can let it mature into a dent corn. After a failed attempt at saving seed from it and coming to the realization that we just don’t have enough space to save corn seed and avoid inbreeding depression, I’ve decided to expand my corn-growing horizons to include a flour corn, a sweet corn, and a popcorn.

Unfortunately, there’s no fast way to determine which varieties you should grow for all vegetables. Your best bet is to find varieties that were developed in areas that have a similar climate to where you live. For instance, Italian varieties will probably do best in coastal California, where we have the same basic climate. Russian varieties might serve you well if you live in colder areas. If you have a short season, choose varieties that mature quickly. This, of course, can take some research to figure out. For cool season crops, you’ll want to make sure they have enough time to develop before warm weather hits. For warm season crops, you want to give them time before the frosts come. Seed packets and catalogs include a number, usually next to the name or after the description, denoting that variety’s average number of days to maturity.

When it comes to latitude, rather than season length, onions are much more specific than most other vegetables about where they can grow. Varieties will either be long day, short day, or intermediate. If you live north of 35 degrees latitude (draw a line from San Francisco to Washington, D.C. to approximate), you’ll want to grow long-day onions. South of that, grow short-day onions. If you’re just on either side of that latitude, you can grow intermediate onions. I’ve also had good luck with long-day onions here on the 35th parallel.

Besides climate, you’ll also want to look at the size, yield, and disease resistance. If late blight is a problem in your area, choose vegetable varieties that have some resistance. If you have a small garden, choose compact or high-yielding varieties to make the most of your space.

Or you can do what I like to do and just pick a bunch of varieties to try and see which ones do best. Good luck!


Rachel on Vegetable VarietiesRachel’s friends in college used to call her a Renaissance woman. She was always doing something crafty, creative, or utilitarian. She still is. Instead of crafts, her focus these days has been farming as much of her urban quarter-acre as humanly possible. Along with her husband, she runs Dog Island Farm, in the San Francisco Bay Area. They raise chickens, goats, rabbits, dogs, cats, and a kid. They’re always keeping busy. If Rachel isn’t out in the yard, she’s in the kitchen making something from scratch. Homemade always tastes better!


HOMEGROWN Life: The Problem with Pedestals


HOMEGROWN-LIFE-YELLOWIt’s cold outside, people. Winter is here, and while it’s right on time, it means quite a bit of staring-out-the-window daydreaming for those of us used to gawking at the geese and the deer and hawks from their natural habitat: outside. Oh, there are still animals to feed and water to check, but many of the other chores have to wait.

I get antsy in the winter. Here it is, the first true subzero temps we’ve had in West Missouri, and I’m already getting cabin fever. But patience must be had. We’ll get some warm days here and there, although a long February and probably March looms cold and dreary. Patience. Patience.


In weather like this, my thoughts turn to two poles: one devoted to planning and anticipation for the spring and summer to come, the other stuck on the past. It’s the past—and with it, a reflection on the duality of farm life—that I can’t get out of my head today and that I’d like to share with you.

My ruminating got started by a great piece written by James Fallows for The Atlantic. Fallows’s article is about American attitudes and reverence for the military, despite the fact that very few of us actually have anything to do with the military itself. It’s worth a read.

What I can’t stop returning to is a passage where Fallows makes a comparison with the American farming sect:

“Now the American military is exotic territory to most of the American public. As a comparison: A handful of Americans live on farms, but there are many more of them than serve in all branches of the military. (Well over 4 million people live on the country’s 2.1 million farms. The U.S. military has about 1.4 million people on active duty and another 850,000 in the reserves.) The other 310 million–plus Americans ‘honor’ their stalwart farmers, but generally don’t know them. So too with the military. Many more young Americans will study abroad this year than will enlist in the military—nearly 300,000 students overseas, versus well under 200,000 new recruits.”

In a way, this is odd territory for those of us who live and work out here in the middle of Farm Country. We are farmers. We know farmers. We are surrounded by farmers and farming operations. That’s the way it has always been, at least since our ancestors occupied the place we call home.

Yet we are also members of broader American society. Most ofarf us work off the farm to support our families. The younger (and even some older) members of our community carry around smartphones and travel miles to eat sushi. We have a notion of Times Square in New York, South Beach in Miami, and the Vegas Strip.

I’m struck by the question of how this all happens. How can such a large part of the American economy—that’s agriculture—be so hidden to the larger society? How can so many Americans speak so highly of American farmers when they know so little about our lives and our communities?


For the sake of comparison, I’m going to pick on the gigantically popular ratings monster that is the NFL. Football games consistently rank among the most-watched shows on TV. Sports radio stations abound. There are all kinds of podcasts related to pro football, college football, and high school football. Millions of people play fantasy football and gamble on various aspects of the game. Super Bowl Sunday might as well be a holiday in American society.

And while agriculture is much more calm and stark and slow than the gladiatorial spectacle that is football, it’s interesting to look at the numbers. I’m going to list some revenues for our Missouri-based teams here for your information. First, the Kansas City Chiefs’ franchise value and revenue, as reported by Forbes. The Chiefs come in 24th in a league of 32 teams, with a 2013 revenue of $260 million. The St. Louis Rams, on the other side of the state, came in at $250 million in revenue. That’s $510 million in combined revenue for a state with two big cities and two NFL franchises.

So, let’s compare that number with Missouri agricultural revenue. I’m going to choose cattle sales, since it’s our farm’s economic engine. It’s too early yet to get USDA economic reports for 2014, so I’m going to make some estimates.

First, you have to estimate how many calves were sold in 2014. The Missouri Agriculture Statistics Services, a part of the USDA, reports that 1,820,000 beef cattle reside on Missouri farms. If we assume that most of those momma cows would birth a calf, and that slightly more than half would be sold (some female calves are kept back to either increase herd size or replace aging animals), we’re left with approximately 1 million calves hitting the market.

Now for prices. I’m going to use an average price in 2014 of $2 per pound for calves. This is a historical high, and for a good chunk of the year, calves sold for even more than this for a lot of reasons: smaller national herd size due to drought and grassland conversion to cropland, continued strong demand for beef on the international market, etc. So, if you convert the sale of calves at something like 600 pounds each (some sell at higher weights) at $2 per pound with 1 million calves sold, you reach a whopping $1.2 billion in cattle revenue in Missouri.


I’m not surprised that the amount of money generated by Missouri agriculture is much higher than that of the state’s two NFL franchises. But remember, I’m only talking here about a single aspect. Calves are just one part of the beef system, which is just one part of the big picture of farming in Missouri. I haven’t included the sale of corn or soybeans or cotton or rice or hogs or dairy or wood products or poultry. I haven’t even included the sale of older cows or finished beef ready to be sold as steaks and burgers. Remember, too, that Missouri is a diverse agricultural state and not the king of any of these farm products. Iowa and Illinois we are not.

By now, you’re probably wondering about the need for going through this mental exercise with me. Is it really interesting or important or even accurate to start threading together a comparison of the military with agriculture and football? What’s the point? I’m still trying to figure it out myself.

Part of the answer, such as it is, has something to do with a couple of arguments that have stuck in my memory—maybe because they don’t quite ring true for me.

The first one is a repeated conversation I’ve had with several middling-to-older age farmers right here at home, my dad included. I have heard them say, independent of each other, how much better off the football program at our public university—that’s the Mizzou Tigers—could be with a few roster spots reserved for small-town and farm players. Maybe they would never see the field, the thinking goes, but they would improve the “morality and culture” of the otherwise troubled group of young adults we root for on Saturdays.

The second comes from Secretary of Agriculture Tom Vilsack, whom I heard at the National Rural Summit in 2010, as well as on other occasions, lay out his version of why rural America provides a much larger proportion of military careerists than other Americans. Vilsack’s line is an attempt to debunk a long-held belief that, in the modern era of a volunteer military, it’s not that rural Americans join the armed forces because we lack economic opportunities. It’s that rural Americans have a superior sense of “service” compared to other Americans. Vilsack has made it a repeated theme in his public comments to explain that while only 16 percent of Americans come from rural areas, 40 percent of American military service members come from rural areas.


What I’m concerned about is the notion of “exceptionalism” with respect to all three communities: the military professionals, the farmers, and even the footballers. We erect a fortress of reverence around each in our society, making criticism and questioning tantamount to betrayal or even treason. In trying to reconcile these seemingly confusing themes, I’m left with a few thoughts:

1.) American farmers, like American military professionals, are generally good folks. The vast majority are good people who provide important roles and sacrifices for our communities. That role should be celebrated.

2.) Outside of their work—I’m talking about their personal lives here, not their service—American farmers, like American military professionals, should not be put on a pedestal above Americans.

3.) It is wildly unfair and creates a lot of society-wide problems to hold certain populations—in this case, farmers and soldiers—as “superior” to others.

At the end of the day, I hope we can move past these preconceived notions of moral superiority. In returning to the Fallows article, I would hope we can break through some of the same misunderstandings and romanticisms of farmers as morally superior beings.


Let me be 100 percent clear: We should celebrate and revere our nation’s farmers. But we should also be able to question our paths moving forward. That’s our task as members of a democratic society. Some of us might need to spend more time and effort getting to know the people who raise our food. Others of us, those who try our hardest to raise good food and generate a strong economy for our communities, might need to spend some time listening to the people who buy our products. Maybe there’s something to learn if we take the time to talk to each other—normal humans, responding the best we can.

That’s all I’ve got. Happy New Year! Let’s see what happens in 2015.

HOMEGROWN-bryce-oatesBryce Oates is a farmer, a father, a writer, and a conservationist in western Missouri. He lives and works on his family’s multigenerational farm, tending cattle, sheep, goats, and organic vegetables. His goals in life are simple: to wake up before the sun, catch a couple of fish, turn the compost pile, dig some potatoes, and sit by the fire in the evening, watching the fireflies mimic the stars.