Thanksgiving, 2009.

We decided not to do Thanksgiving this year, even though it is perhaps the American tradition most worthy of export. As America sat down to enjoy a turkey feast, we enjoyed a feast of our own that was perhaps the quintessential embodiment of the lifestyle we have chosen.

To catch you up from our last post, we are back on track towards self-sufficiency. Our setbacks in October have been wiped clean. As much as October sucked, November has been just fine.

To illustrate the palpable difference between October and November, here's a little story. After the incident with Bessie the cow, we brought our truck in for its annual Warrant of Fitness. It failed. The next day, I tried to arrange for the necessary repairs to be done, but I was informed that Ford was on strike, and the warehouse wasn't shipping parts.

A friend of ours works at the garage. We started to talk about Bessie the cow, and about how I was having such a hard time finding a replacement.

"Hey, there's a guy who lives near me with dozens of Jersey calves. I don't know his name, but you should knock on his door."

November first found me pulling up in front of a tidy but secluded ranch house, in the middle of a big field of Jersey calves. I knocked. The man who answered looked unaccustomed to visitors.

"Let me guess. You're lost."

I told him about Bessie, and how I was so depressed because I couldn't find another Jersey to replace her. I told him about the truck, and the strike at Ford, and about how Quentin the mechanic told me to knock on his door, which was how I came to be there in the first place.

The man heaved a big sigh, and squinted a little as he looked me over. "So you want a Jersey. Well, I have six-hundred-forty of them. I guess I could give you a Jersey."

The next week, Gail and Levi accompanied me to select which cow to take. We had to ride an ATV for several miles across beautiful, rocky countryside. Gail rode behind me and Levi sat on the handlebars. It was a glorious day. Our insurance company would have, well, had a cow.

So that's how we bought Vanessa. She is two years old, and had her first calf a few months ago, so she is still in milk. She adopted Bambino, the orphan from Bessie. Everything has been coming up roses since then.

Zim milks her morning and evening. We get about a gallon per day from her. Gail mentioned this to her doctor, who grew up on a small farm with a Jersey house-cow. He became quite excited at the prospect of having fresh, raw milk again. So now, every Saturday, he and his wife come over for a cup of tea, and we fill their jug with fresh milk, and they bring us flowers and fish from his boat. It's a great arrangement.

So, back to our non-traditional Thanksgiving feast: Fresh bread, from our own oven; fresh salad, from our own garden; fresh vinaigrette, with vinegar made from our own elderberry tree; lasagne noodles that Gail made from scratch, and cheeses (mozzerella and ricotta) that Zim made from Vanessa's milk; home-made butter; and eggs and artichokes from a friend's henhouse and garden.

To carry the self-sufficiency theme even farther, Zim bottled ten gallons of fresh homebrew today (Moo Brew), and our first block of cheddar is in the cheese press.

This is a beautiful way to live. We are truly blessed, and we thank God for all of the people who have helped us along the way.

Happy Thanksgiving.





P.S. -- The strike at Ford ended, the truck got fixed, and Brian, the guy with six-hundred cows, is now a very good friend.