OUT IN THE FOREST

Suislaw National Forest makes patchy appearances from Tillamook to Coos Bay as it stretches lazily down the western coastal range of Oregon. With up to 100 inches of rainfall on a wet year, vegetation is as green as it is moist—soft, waterlogged mosses coat tree trunks and lacey lichens suspend carelessly from branches. In winter, fog hangs densely in low-lying meadows, whispers through evergreen bows, and sweeps a light yet substantial mist across everything in its path.

In short, it’s a beautiful place, if also somewhat dark and damp. And for us it's a place we just can't seem to get enough of. 

People usually have a few questions when they hear we have a little bit of land in the coastal forest and a tiny cabin. It's hard to describe just how small and rustic the cabin is, or how remote and disconnected the property happens to be, and that those things are what make the entire experience so cool—to us, anyway.

Even though there are plenty of off-grid solutions available for modern convenience, we have yet to implement any of them. That means that when we head to the woods we leave behind power, plumbing, natural gas, and an internet connection. But as a pair who's always been smitten with bygone eras, we tend to embrace our primitive setup.

Quick backstory: when we bought the five acres in 2014, we were fairly certain that with a lot of elbow grease we'd be able to restore the original 1970's kit cabin that sits on the property back to its glory days. Unfortunately, after some serious DIY demolition and soliciting a few professional opinions, we realized what we were dealing with was an unsalvageable, dilapidated mess full of dry rot and animal droppings (not to mention a poor foundation) that had sat for close to 20 years uninhabited in a rainforest. After a few months back at the drawing board, we decided to start small so that we had someplace out of the rain and cold we could stay while we took on that larger project. So in April of last year we worked with Oregon TimberWerks to construct a 12x12 one room cabin with a sleeping loft at the edge of the meadow against a backdrop of towering spruce and leaning alders.

Fast forward through the end of 2016, and we'd managed to paint and stain the exterior portions of the tiny cabin (and outhouse), as well as fully finish out the interior with materials procured from Salem Salvage, including reclaimed flooring, wall cladding, and trim—much of which is old-growth timber collected from derelict barns around the Willamette Valley.

When it came time to outfit the small space with furniture, we tried to strike a balance between economy, integrity, and practicality. Most of all, we wanted to keep it as simple and clean as possible, not only because of the lack of room for extra items, but also because we were aiming to have as few material distractions as possible. Every item we've brought out is a deliberate and purposeful decision, and we're continually vetting what's there to see what else we can eliminate.

What does an average weekend look like without modern amenities? Our bathroom is an old-fashioned outhouse tucked into the forest. It's set up with a simple sawdust bucket system, and we compost our humanure directly on our land. We've been surprised to find that there's virtually no smell with a sawdust toilet, and for an outhouse, it's got a pretty spectacular view.

As of yet we don’t have a method for bathing. This works out alright for us, since our stays are generally limited to two- and three-day trips and we're fine going a few days without a shower. That said, we'd love to build a simple wood-fired hot tub in the next year or so. That counts as a bathtub, right?

Water for cooking and drinking is hauled in and dispensed using a ceramic water crock, which again, we like in a way because it helps us stay cognizant of our water consumption. Someday, however, we'd love to collect and filter water from our metal roof since there’s no shortage of rainwater available. 

We're still tweaking our "kitchen" to achieve more functionality. Currently it's a minimal outdoor setup on the porch/deck which we have to construct/deconstruct upon arrival/departure, including two camping tables, a Primus camp stove, a Yeti cooler, and essentials like a good chef’s knife, cast iron skillet, and Chemex coffee maker. We kind of enjoy the break from our normally labor-intensive cooking routine at home, but admittedly it's a pretty clunky arrangement which we often cope with by making super simple meals that don't require much cooking, or on rare occasions hit up a spot on the nearby coast. The system meets our needs, but we're constantly thinking about how to improve it.

We heat the cabin 10 or 11 months of the year by building fires in our tiny Jotul woodstove, which puts out a ton of heat. We often get so warm that we have to open the windows to cool down. At night we live mostly by candlelight, which we absolutely love (except for the fire hazards and eye strain).

As far as activities go, when its just the two of us (which is how it is 95% of the time) we spend most of our time just reading by the fire, listening to classical music on the radio, tromping through the woods in wonderment, stretching out, doing a little yoga, and catching up on sleep. Now and then Evan will write letters on an old typewriter, or we'll play a game of Scrabble while attempting to spot birds with our binoculars. Honestly, sometimes we just stare outside at the vast green forest-scape in awe and try to fall back in love with the world after feeling beat down from city life and news.

In the fall we forage for mushrooms and in the spring we collect berries. Lately we've taken to exploring the beaches (Pacific City and Neskowin are each just a short 20-minute drive down the hill). It's a quiet, easy place to exist and for us a true reminder that we can always do with less than we think.

And yet, we continue to plot and plan for what's next...tackling the "big" cabin, erecting a few platforms for scout tents, installing solar panels, catching and filtering rain water, building a deer fence and digging out a garden. Our minds continually buzz with the possibilities...

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SPICY GRANOLA WITH DRIED CALENDULA BLOSSOMS

We take all seasons pretty seriously in our household, but one thing's for certain: when it comes to fall we don't mess around. If there's a leaf to rake, a pumpkin to roast, a fire to build, or a soup to simmer, we're all over it. This year was no different. We woke up on the Autumn Equinox with vim and vigor and made our way to Bob's Red Mill early before work to stock up on some dry goods for the coming season, as we do on the solstices and equinoxes each year.

One thing we always grab is gluten-free old-fashioned oats. Oats are an affordable and filling source of fiber and protein which also provide added health benefits like boosting our immune systems with beta-glucans.

Anyway, after vacillating for years on whether to buy or make granola (for Judith) or muesli (for Evan), we've finally gotten into a rhythm of baking our own batches every few weeks—and take a few seasonal liberties in the process. 

Most recently we put together an autumn-themed batch and topped it with the last of our calendula flowers from the garden. We love the warming effect from the spices and the golden color the oats take on from the turmeric. 

Happy fall, everyone!

SPICY GRANOLA WITH DRIED CALENDULA BLOSSOMS

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• 4 cups gluten-free old-fashioned rolled oats

• 1/2 cup raw pumpkin seeds

• 1/2 cup raw chopped pecans

• 1 cup raw sunflower seeds

• 1 tbsp. ground cinnamon

• 1 tbsp. ground turmeric

• 1 tsp. ground ginger

• 2 pinches of salt, divided

• 1/2 cup maple syrup

• 1/2 cup coconut oil (melted butter, sunflower, or avocado oil will also work here)

Optional: 5 calendula flowers, petals plucked and dried in a warm oven or dehydrator.

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Preheat the oven to 300°F / 150°C and line two baking sheets with parchment paper.

Spread the pumpkin seeds, pecans, and sunflower seeds evenly over one baking sheet and sprinkle with salt. Place in the oven for 10 minutes (I just listen for the pumpkin seeds to start popping, then I know it's time to take them out).

Meanwhile, combine the oats, spices, and other pinch of salt in a medium size mixing bowl.

In a mixing bowl with a spout, mix the maple syrup and coconut oil, then pour the wet ingredients over the oats and stir together until they're thoroughly coated. Spread the oat mixture onto the other baking sheet and place in the oven for 25-30 minutes. 

Immediately transfer baked oats to a mixing bowl. Pour in the toasted nuts/seeds and stir to combine. Store in a glass jar with a tight lid for freshness. 

When you're ready to eat your spicy granola, and if you're feeling extra fancy, top with calendula blossoms, hemp hearts, and/or golden raisins.

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NATIONAL PARK BROWN

The two of us have been U.S. National Park enthusiasts for a while, but we decided to take things to the next level last weekend when we painted the cabin and little outhouse the official National Park brown (or at least we got the paint swatch from a nice lady at Mt. Rainier National Park, so it seems pretty official to us). 

The paint swatch happened to be from Sherwin Williams, which is not only a great paint store but also conveniently located just down the road from our house in Portland. We swung by for primer (we needed an oil-based primer to help seal the cedar and prevent staining), paint, and supplies before heading out to the cabin on Friday. 

Neither of us had painted an external facade in a long time, and we were surprised and a little dismayed by the difficulty we encountered in getting the paint to evenly disperse and adhere to all the little cracks and crannies of the siding. We erred on the side of thoroughness, however (it's just so wet out there, one can't be too careful) and used up several cans of paint before running out.

We'll finish up the project next time, but for now the outhouse is finished and we're a day or so away from a fully painted and stained cabin!

BREAKFAST AT HOME

Fresh eggs, spring onions, and an abundance of greens—it must be spring!

A (TINY) CABIN RAISING

It was a soggy April day when Jan Kronke of Oregon Timberwerks pulled up with his little crew at our forest property to build us a tiny cabin.

When we say he pulled up, we really mean that he painstakingly backed his dually truck and trailer along our narrow driveway, then bumped over exposed tree roots before coming to a halt at the base of the meadow where we all breathed a sigh of relief.

The group of five (including Evan) didn't waste any time before surveying the area and unbinding the load of neatly packed and smartly labeled pieces which Jan mills from timber on his land, and pre-assembles in his workshop. The next four days were wet and grueling for the crew.

Happily, aside from the weather, we had a smooth build. Nobody was injured, and in the end there stood a small 12x12 cedar cabin with a sleeping loft and a six foot deck on the front of it, plus a little outhouse nestled just inside the edge of the wood.

Check out a few photos of the building process below to get a better sense for Jan's handiwork. We couldn't be more pleased with how it turned out! This is truly our dream come true.

Next up is painting and weather-proofing. 

WHEN IT RAINS, WE BUILD A PLATFORM

After several wet weekends in the woods with Judith's super generous family, we have a platform! We know that right now it looks like a strange houseless deck in the middle of the woods, but if all goes planned, this will be a sturdy little foundation for our tiny cabin come April. 

PROGRESS IN THE WOODS

Last weekend we cut down a tree.

We're pretty sure it's the first tree either of us have ever cut down, and even in the midst of a densely wooded forest, we still found ourselves welling up with feelings of sadness and regret at cutting short (literally) a beautiful life. 

But we did it anyway—cut it down—because it happened to be standing on top of what seemed to be the only flat-ish section of the meadow (it's really at the edge of the meadow, and is, as it turns out, not even remotely flat). 

Why do flat land and trees matter? Because we've decided to build a tiny cabin.

As far as the woods is concerned, the two of us spent the last half of 2015 mulling over the unfortunate conclusion that, due to major dry rot, mold, half-assed construction, and animal infestation, the original cabin on our forest property is unsalvageable (yes, it's hard to believe, and we agree, it's a real bummer). And when it came down to it, neither of us was feeling up to the financial and physical task of rebuilding an entire structure, on weekends, while sleeping in a small backpacking tent in relentless, rain-pelting weather.

So, we're starting small. Really small. 12x12 tiny off-grid cabin small. And we're really excited about it. Even if it meant cutting down a majestic tree.

Next up is building a platform for the cabin to sit atop, so stay tuned!

DOUBLE LIVES

We’ve been planning to spend the upcoming long-weekend out in Cloverdale, camping, cleaning up guano (if you've been following our story on Instagram, you may have heard about the discovery of a bat family in our cabin), and finishing up some demolition inside the cabin. At some point yesterday, though, we looked at each other and admitted we weren’t really looking forward to heading out of town for a weekend of roughin’ it. It’s not that we don’t want to go—there are truly few places we would rather be, and we love getting out of the city—it’s just that our lives have felt pretty chaotic this summer. For one reason or another, our jobs have both been quite demanding lately and we feel perpetually behind on gardening, housework, and personal projects we’re both trying to keep up with in our free time.

Plus, the oven portion of our 1950’s Westinghouse range stopped working a few weeks ago, and we’d like to make time to procure a new oven over the weekend before autumn arrives and with it all of the seasonal baking we like to do. After a long talk last night, we decided we could really use the time at home in Portland to get our bearings before another work week, so we’re truncating our trip to a one-night stay.

We sometimes feel like we’re living a double-life, and that these two lives are sort of at odds with each other. We have tried to turn our Portland home into a place where we are able to grow and cook a great deal of food, make household goods (like soap), brew beer, keep hens, and build things. We believe in and very much enjoy this way of being in the world, and we intend to continue down the path of becoming self-supporters—building an off-grid homestead in Cloverdale and eventually moving there one day.

For now, however, we spend the majority of our time working 9-5 jobs. We know that in order to purchase all of the infrastructure needed to run a successful off-grid mini-farm, we need a sturdy reserve of cash to draw on and a contingency plan for any glitches that will inevitably arise as we begin to work in earnest on renovating the cabin, building fences and outbuildings, restoring the water system, installing solar, and all of the countless other projects that will need to be completed before we are equipped to subsist off our 5 acre plot.

We feel lucky to have jobs that pay us well in an economy where that is not the norm, we just struggle with dividing our attention between our long term vision of homesteading in Cloverdale and the day-to-day existence of working in front of computers for hours on end, commuting in traffic (for Judith), going to the gym (so we don’t become useless blobs), cooking dinner, and keeping up on things around the house and the garden.

We sometimes talk about what it would be like to just throw in the towel right now and just “figure it out,” quit our jobs, pitch a wall-tent in our woods, and just start ripping down walls. Ultimately, though, we know that slow and steady is the best way for us to set up a sustainable homestead where we will actually succeed.

SUMMER GARDENING

Even though growing food is one of the most ancient human practices on the planet, it never seems to get old to us. Without fail there is always a new discovery, or challenge, waiting around the corner, especially when you begin to believe that you’ve mastered some aspect of the art. 

For relatively new gardeners like us, this abnormally hot summer has made us feel particularly aware of our horticultural shortcomings. Many of the lessons we have learned through flops and failures of the past haven't helped us out-wit these new tribulations that seem to be cropping up (no pun intended) this year. 

 Record temperatures in spring and early summer resulted in the sweetest strawberries and raspberries, pea plants that were taller than we were, and beautiful hordes of lettuces. It also meant that all of our fresh crops were ready at the same time, and our usual plans to “cut and come again” were foiled. Feeling desperate when so many of our beds started turning up empty after we pulled out plants that went to seed, we began to purchase starts wherever we could find them, since we didn’t have the time or conditions necessary to begin more of our own summer crops from seed. 

  We rejiggered our growing calendar and layout to get crops into the ground that could withstand the heat, and those plants that did survive and sustain themselves have required what feels like excessive watering, or have been covered in Cabbage Whiteflies. Even our tomatoes, which we were sure would do well in the hotter, drier climate this year, have lost most of their flowers due to heat, or have battled for nutrients with tree roots that have covertly impeded upon their bed (a situation we weren’t aware of until too late and that we’ll have to rectify when we turn the bed over). 

That said, we seemed to have made some headway and in conjunction with a break in the heat, our garden is exploding with produce right now. Currently, we have no need to purchase any produce whatsoever, with kale, chard, beets, carrots, cucumbers, summer and winter squash, green and shelling beans, rhubarb, as well as many cooking and medicinal herbs readily available just outside our front and back doors. We feel truly wealthy in the variety and quality of food available to us, and very lucky to have the water, soil, and seeds or starts we need to grow it. 

And, as much as we have felt out of our element this summer, our commitment to grow more of our own food is buoyed by the realness of the endeavor. When you walk by our yard and see all of our little beet seedlings laying lifeless in the 5 o’clock sun (they’ve since come around and are healthy), or our bean plants winding around themselves in a chaotic wad of un-trellised vines (we finally trellised them), there is no way to mask the inexperience or irresponsibility of the situation. Your mistakes are right there along with your successes for anyone and everyone who walks by to look upon. And as such, there isn’t much in the way of metaphysical distraction that can deter from the pure loveliness of pressing little seeds into freshly laid compost and watching them sprout in a few days’ time, or biting into a freshly picked and salted tomato, or peeling a clove of your home grown garlic come January when the ground is stiff with frost.

FIVE UPDATES FROM THE FOREST

1. So, even though there's a cabin on the property, we've opted to set up a campsite instead of sleeping inside since learning that our little structure is already pretty crowded with existing tenants (bats, mice, and squirrels to name a few).

2. It's been incredible to observe the seasonal changes in the forest landscape since September of last year. The meadow has already filled in significantly this spring, becoming wilder with each visit—the grass is now up to our armpits and hot pink foxgloves teeter in the breeze. 

3. Last time we were locking up the cabin on our way back to Portland, the door fell off of its hinges. We rigged up this makeshift door from plywood to "secure" the structure (which is pretty useless considering how much nature has already taken over the inside of it).

4. Our primary focus at the property thus far has simply been cleaning up all of the debris that was left inside, and around, the cabin. Judith's dad helped us haul away a ton and a half (literally) of junk earlier this year, but honestly, we're just getting started.

5. Lastly, some heavy duty demolition over the spring has revealed dry rot in many of the structural components of the cabin, so we've got some hard decisions ahead of us. 

WHAT WE LEARNED DURING OUR DIY HOME REMODEL

When we bought our home in Portland two years ago, much of its charm was buried beneath dirty carpet, wallpaper, vinyl linoleum, and dingy paint. Even though we only had half a notion of what the process would eventually entail, we wholeheartedly embraced the challenge of peeling away some of the layers our little house had accrued since its construction in 1951, especially given that these “features” were probably what allowed us to afford the home in the first place. 

From the day  we moved in we have  been swept up in working to transform our house and its surrounding yard into a place  we love to live, as well as a way to subsist more self-sufficiently in the world. We’ve painted every wall and every piece of trim, ripped up and replaced carpet, refinished the hardwood floors, remodeled the kitchen (with help from a great contractor), and finished many other seemingly insignificant (though somehow always challenging) projects. 

In  February, though, after  doing some demolition on the cabin up in Cloverdale to see what exactly was underneath those mysterious walls (turns out dead rats, beer bottles, hand tools, rotten studs, and filthy insulation)  we started to feel a little overwhelmed. There were still a number of loose ends that needed to be tied up at our Portland homestead, and it was becoming all too  clear that our forest house was not just a cosmetic fixer but instead more of a complete structural overhaul that will take years if not decades to complete. So, we decided to pull back and devote the  spring to finishing what we had started in the city. 

After six weeks without a shower,  many hours of YouTube videos, and less money in our pockets, our list of projects in Portland has an end in sight.  We have a freshly DIY remodeled bathroom, two guest rooms (that we’re thinking about renting out on Airbnb), a working hall light, matching door knobs, and most importantly, a house that is organized and ready to support all of the day-to-day tasks we are trying to keep up with. 

We’ve realized in all this that the projects never really end when you own a home—at least for us, which probably has everything to do with our approach to stewardship—but we’ve got to say, we’re feeling quite a bit more knowledgeable and very excited for what is next to come. So, here's five important lessons we learned  from DIY remodeling, just in case you’re gearing up to do any home work in the near future. 

1. Wear gloves.  

1. Always double (or triple or quadruple) the time you think you’re going to spend on a project. It always takes us MUCH longer to complete a project than we think it will. As much as possible, try to plan on things going wrong.  

2. Professionals are professionals for a reason.  We’re all about learning new things and doing things on our own—it’s kind of our MO—but it’s important to know when to call in the plumber or the electrician or the general contractor. These people have licenses and tools and experience that can save you, and they deserve every penny you pay them, especially the good ones. 

3. Eat before you start working. Also, eat during work (snacks and beverages both, please). It will save you plenty of unnecessary arguments. 

4. Don’t shout.  Believe us, you’ll never want to yell at your partner or yourself  more than when you accidentally compromise  a copper  solder inside a freshly tiled wall that you spent the last seven evenings building, and to which you now have no access, and  you can’t turn the water back on until you fix it and it’s 6 PM on a Thursday night and you haven’t had a shower in your own home in six weeks. But try as hard you possibly can to walk outside, sit down, have a beer, and remember that some people don’t have a shower  at all and everything will be okay, because you’re calling a plumber in the morning.

A RUNDOWN CABIN IN THE WOODS

When we met in the fall of 2008, one of the first discussions we ever had was about one day living in a cabin. At the time, we did not know that we would eventually marry each other; the idea of living an uncluttered life and doing without what we didn’t really need was something we each wanted to talk about independently. In the passing years, we have read broadly and have refined and expanded our initial thoughts about living self-sufficiently, and bit-by-bit we have begun to give it a try.  

We started out pretty small at first—planting a few vegetable starts in pots at various apartments and making bread—and then started to tackle some harder projects like paying off our credit card debt, and declining expensive outings to save money and ween ourselves off a consumption driven existence. All the while we’ve been trying to get to the heart of what’s really important to us.  

At some point we knew that if we wanted to start growing more of our own food and providing for ourselves more of what we use on a daily basis, we would need a little land and place to work. Even though we dreamed of moving to the country, we realized that living in the city was necessary for us if we didn’t want to commute an hour or more each way to work every day. So, in 2013 we bought a small house in SE Portland and since then have worked hard to transform it into a modest urban homestead. Every hour we’ve spent working on our homestead has made us more confident that we want to continue down the path of self-sufficiency. 

Our long-term goal, we realized, was to find a small patch of earth outside the city on which we could establish a small-scale homestead/farm that we would operate together. We spent lots of time talking and strategizing about what we would ideally want and need on this piece of land—from water and sunlight, to acreage and location. The more we have experimented on our urban 1/12 acre, and the more we read and reread books like Helen and Scott Nearing’s The Good Life and John Seymour’s The Self-Sufficient Life and How to Live It, the more we’ve come to appreciate what we could do with a little more space. So we began to casually look around at land and land prices and what was available on the market. 

What we didn’t know when we started exploring this idea was that we would find something far quicker than we expected. For better and for worse, as a couple we make decisions by deliberating for weeks and months (and sometimes even years—which tests the little patience Judith had to begin with) by trying to look at our decisions from as many angles as possible before we act.

But nothing could prepare us for stumbling across a little run-down, off-the-grid cabin surrounded by five acres of woodland near Cloverdale, Oregon. It seemed like it had just been sitting there for fifteen years (which it had), waiting for us to find it in the forest. So after seeing the property several times and having many serious and lengthy conversations, it became clear that we should go for it. 

We have to admit, we are still pinching ourselves. We feel a deep sense of good fortune and gratitude to have found such a special place to work on and slowly overhaul into a living, working homestead, and to have had the resources available to us to pursue this path without compromising our, or anyone else’s, well-being. We won’t ever stop feeling lucky.  

That said, there is a lot (and we do mean a lot) of work to do and many years in front of us before we will be ready to uproot ourselves from the city and begin subsisting in the forest. There’s a good bit of dry rot present, evidence of rodent inhabitants, faulty water and septic systems, leaks in the roof, and a whole host of other issues to be resolved before we can even begin to think about implementing the infrastructure we would need to make an earnest go of it out there. We aren’t intimidated, though. Not really. We knew the challenge before we accepted it, and we think we have a good plan. We’re sure we’ll make plenty of mistakes, and learn a great deal in trying, but there is really nothing else we would rather do with our time and resources—and no one else we’d rather do it with than with each other.

WINTER SOLSTICE WITH GOATS AND FRIENDS IN THE COUNTRY

Our friends Deborah and Ian have been housesitting a mini-farm in Oregon wine country for the last few weeks, and we boldly invited ourselves out to spend the afternoon with them. 

The countryside looked impeccably green today (as it usually does) against the gloomy Oregon sky on our drive. We arrived at the farm around one and drove up a dirt road, at the top of which a herd of pygmy goats, alpaca, donkeys, and a llama stood grazing. A huge fluffy white Great Pyrenees romped and barked around the herd as we approached, and a pretty fox-dog ran and jumped at the driver-side window as we pulled into the gravel driveway.  

Deborah and Ian invited us into the house for freshly roasted coffee and we warmed ourselves by the woodstove. Then we booted up for a tour.  

The “farm” is located on a section of Soter Vineyard, and is occupied by a couple who are working to transition the vineyard into a bio-dynamic operation. They also have a small CSA, and preservation business called Republic of Jam. 

Hoards of chickens (there were about 60, we learned) roamed about, pecking and running underfoot as we followed Ian and Deborah around the yard. We peaked into the kitchen garden next to the house and found garlic and onions buried under dirty oak leaves, and admired the enormous garden plot, which stood in the distance at the bottom of the hill.  

Then, the most exciting part of the day happened. We slogged through the barnyard and through a gate into the animal pen. A tiny pygmy Nigerian goat named Ethel pranced over to us, followed by her mother and 10 or so other goats of various sizes and breeds, along with the two soggy grey donkeys. Deborah picked up Ethel and held her, so we naturally wanted to try this out, as well. I picked her up and she nibbled on my hair and nuzzled my face, which was endlessly entertaining and made us want to take all of the goats home. We petted all of the animals and gave everyone a bit of hay. Then we headed inside for lunch: a beautiful loaf of Irish Soda Bread (Deborah is a native of Ireland), slabs of aged cheddar cheese, and a winter squash soup made from squash grown on the farm.  

We stayed on the farm until dark, taking a long walk and then sharing some wine together. Then we headed back to Portland, satiated by our afternoon in the country with good friends, good food, and the cutest little goats we’ve ever seen. All in all, this was a lovely way to spend the Winter Solstice. 

MUSHROOM HUNTING

We headed out of town last Friday afternoon to see if we could spot some early fall mushrooms with our friends Jon and Vicki. Jon drove us up a beautiful curvy road to some of his secret hunting grounds near Corbett, Oregon, where he thought we might be able to gather chanterelles and perhaps some lobster mushrooms. 

Jon pulled off onto a generous shoulder just past some clear-cut land. After assembling our baskets, buckets, knives, and guidebooks, Jon led us down a dirt road to where the trees started to grow up around us on both sides. We soon abandoned the road for the forest, cutting up a fairly steep embankment and onto the squishy decomposing forest floor. It smelled like new dirt and the sun revealed dust and spores hanging in the air. 

We still haven’t had much rainfall yet this autumn, so the pickings were somewhat slim. Jon found a few scattered chanterelles as we made our through the trees. We walked for what felt like an hour before we spotted a large brainy-looking fungus (a cauliflower mushroom) in a spotlight of sunshine, just where the forest met the stumps of clear-cut.  

Buoyed by this victory, we ducked back into the forest to keep looking and found ourselves traversing a steep southern slope. Suddenly Jon stuck his hands and knife into a hole and brought out a beautiful chanterelle. Soon all four of us had spotted bits of orange hiding beneath mossy loam and pine needles. Using our knives or sticks, we unearthed a few modest handfuls and put them into our receptacles. We crouched and scooted ourselves along the ground now, looking and looking, but only happened upon one more small cluster. 

On our way back to the car we spotted an old yellow logging truck, and other metal debris in the forest. 

On Sunday  we cooked up this first humble basketful of mushrooms with butter, garlic, lemon zest, and cream and spooned it onto crostini. The forecast predicts rain this week. With any luck, we’ll be back in the forest in a few weeks to look for more. In the meantime, we’re investigating preservation methods and collecting recipes. Let us know if you have any tips!

GARDENING WITH RAISED BEDS

When we first moved into our house in April 2013, the backyard was an RV parking lot and the front yard was a shapely lawn. What we saw, however, was the perfect canvas to establish a small urban homestead—a space that would allow us to start working our way slowly toward producing a good deal of what we consume. 

A large part of our motivation for buying a home was the ability to begin providing more of our food and resources through our own human power. When we were searching for the right property, two of the most important criteria were growing space and good light. We only have one large tree on our lot, and fortunately it only shades our garden beds for a small part of the day for only part of the year. The rest of the yard is virtually unobstructed, and we have taken advantage of this by putting in a total of twenty-six raised garden beds and eight whiskey barrels. 

We chose to install raised beds for a number of reasons. Despite the fact that we both understand and appreciate alternative methods of urban gardening, a large factor that influenced our decision was the hard-packed, rocky RV pad that covered most of the backyard. Instead of digging down and tilling the entire square footage of the yard—which likely contained glass particles and gasoline and oil residue—we decided to build upward by installing cedar raised beds that would allow for two to three feet of soil above the ground (where the beds themselves sit, we did dig close to two feet down, though, moving the river rock and old soil and replaced it with topsoil and compost).

Another reason we decided to go this route was tidiness and organization—with such a small area for growing (our lot is about 1/12 of an acre, including the house and garage), we needed to use the space wisely and deliberately. We have a garden plan wherein we have numbered each box. This has helped us establish a crop rotation schedule, and keep track of what has been planted  where and when. One other positive aspect of the boxes is cutting back on pest problems. For instance, we have stapled  copper tape on the perimeter of each box and it has greatly reduced the slug issues we used to experience.  Plus, also, at the end of the day we  really like the look of this arrangement. 

What's your favorite garden arrangement? Let us know in the comments.

AUTUMN + APPLES

We get really into autumn at our house. We love the crisp cool weather, the changing colors, getting to wear sweaters and boots, drinking cider and pumpkin ale, harvesting up our fall crops, and staying cozy in our house. Evan’s birthday is in October, and it’s also when we met, so we try to take advantage of every fall-like activity we can think of to celebrate the season, like visiting the pumpkin patch and watching Halloween movies and sitting by fires with spiced beverages.  

This last weekend, the first official weekend of fall, we drove out to Kiyokawa Orchard in Parkdale, Oregon, to participate in one of our favorite fall chores—apple picking. Kiyokawa is a vendor at the Montavilla Farmer's Market where Evan, and our good friend Kelli, are on the board of directors. Kiyokawa is a special apple grower, with wonderful, and sometimes rare, heirloom varieties. The owner of the orchard, Randy, was kind enough to give us a tour of all the different fruit grown in the orchard. As he told us about the history of his family's business, founded in 1911, he encouraged us to try whatever variety stood out to us. I was particularly thrilled to hear that one of the Kiyokawa Orchards is located on a piece of property in the little town of Dee, Oregon, where my grandmother, Violet, was born in 1920, and where Randy's father was born in 1923. Perhaps they were neighbors? 

We had a great time touring the rows of beautiful apple trees, set at the base of Mt. Hood. After picking about 25 pounds of our favorite varieties—Pink Pearl, Crimson Crisp, and Zestar to name a few—we loaded up and found a lovely little picnic spot down the road in Parkdale. We now have a freezer full of applesauce, dried apples, apple pie filling, and plenty left to snack on.

Notes from our Ledger

25 pounds of Apples for $57 from Kiyokawa Orchard in Parkdale, Oregon.

ONION + GARLIC HARVEST

Today, garlic and onions that we had sowed last fall came to full fruition and were ready for a summer harvest. After carefully—and somewhat ceremoniously ('cause we're nerdy like that)—digging the little bulbs from their south-facing beds in the front yard (and one less successful barrel-full of onions in the back), we laid each one in the sun to cure.* In their place we planted brussels sprouts, rutabaga, parsnips, turnips, and beets to overwinter.

*In retrospect, laying garlic and onions directly in the sun isn't the best method for curing. Turns out that if the sun is too hot, the bulbs essentially get roasted and end up rotting during storage (which sadly happened to us the year we tried that method). A better way to cure your allium crop is to hang the harvested bulbs by their stems in a warm, dark place with decent air flow, and let them cure for about 3 weeks—then braid them all together and hang them somewhere in your kitchen for convenient use throughout the year.

BERRY PICKING

As Portlanders, we cannot help but love those years that moody hot days magically raise us from our watery winter graves in as early as the month of April. Unexpected early-spring warmth, however, often results in crops ripening much earlier than expected. When we devised our fruit picking strategy over an early spring dinner with Kelli and Larren a few months ago, we had marked this weekend for strawberries, but as we are learning, nature is far from predictable and we missed strawberry season altogether (aside from our own small harvests which have been perfect for daily eating, but not substantial enough for jamming and preserving). But we were in luck of a different sort, though, because when we arrived at  Sauvie Island Farms  yesterday we were met by some of the largest, plumpest raspberries we had ever seen. 

Over the course of two hours out at the farm, we gathered about 36 pounds of berries between us, half blueberries and half raspberries. Kelli and Larren live only a few blocks from us and we have been lucky to be able to trade and share homestead tools and equipment between our households as needed since we both moved into our respective homes last year. Even before we lived in the neighborhood, our families were in the habit over the past few summers of using a big water-bath pot I received as a gift some years ago and making jam at our little apartment in NW Portland.

Follow Kelli + Larren's homesteading adventures @duckfeatherherbs.

When we arrived back at our house from the farm, the lady-folk proceeded to pick a classic raspberry jam recipe from one of our favorite canning books, Food in Jars by Marisa McClellan, and Evan and Larren headed to the Wolford's to brew a fresh batch of kölsch.

A couple hours of cooking and a few raspberry rosemary gin cocktails later, Kelli and I were ready to seal our jars of raspberry jam, raspberry rosemary syrup (which we are over the moon about), and some of the lavender syrup Kelli made earlier in the week.