Down on the Farm - Henry's and the Wettstein's

Before Sophia and I had a chance to dig into the pot luck lunch, a documentarian from Farm Aid asked if we could talk for his camera. He wanted to know what everyone was looking to get out of Saturday's tour. I told that since I was so into eating, I might as well understand a bit about the start of the whole cooking process. I never got a chance to tell him how great the day was and how much I learned.

As our tour guide, Tara (Henry's sister) correctly told us, we were in a bit of Eden in the middle of Illinois. The bulk of the ride down I-57 contains what you mostly expect of Illinois, a lot of nothing, and faux farms as Tara would tell us again and again, the huge anti-agriculture, bio-tech dependent, soil-less (and soul-less) farms planted with endless rows of soy and corn. The world changes as you approach Henry's Farm. You first encounter the county seat of Eureka. College home of RR, and if this town did not already exist, those endless processions would have surely created it. Outside of Eureka, the grounds turn decidedly un-Illinois, with many a rolling hill. Seems one of the last glaciers spent a few extra years here and carved up this land to look more like our state to the north. This accident of nature is one of the primary factors for Henry's Farm. One of the first things I learned on Saturday.

Hills and valleys are not very conducive to large scale agri-business. Perhaps even out of necessity, this county has been organic for a while. In fact, the second thing I learned was that neighboring Henry's Farm was several acres of organic wheat farmed by an octogenarian and his son. Now, did you even know that anyone grew wheat in Illinois, let along organic wheat. Oddly, though, the entire production of this organic wheat went last year to Canada. We did learn that a portion of Henry's farm, the upper, flatter fields, had once been farmed in the Illinois way. This is when we really learned what soil-less and souless soil meant. All our cides used by farmers drive the life out of their soul. With all the nasty critters and fungi and weeds go all the earthworms and bacteria and such that make the soil alive. Tara told us that when Henry first sought to plow his field for organic crops, he could not get an contraption through the hard soil. He had to use nature, hay crops with deep seeking roots, to turn the soil, bring it back to life. Henry's lower field, isolated by a stream and forest, never saw hard agriculture.

What a vista when you end the deerpath and gaze up the lower 40. My mind instantly replaced the crops with rows of grapes because this field looked like a classic European vineyard. Instead it was full of a portion of the 450 varieties grown yearly by Henry. As we poked around the fields we learned how the crops are rotated yearly, that nothing stays in the same spot, and that hay--which we learned was a generic term for any grass fed to animals in the winter--was included in the rotation. Firstly, the crops were moved to control pests. If certain worms attacked the tomatoes one year, they could be well controlled by planting the tomatoes somewhere else, fooling the dormant larvae when they arrived the next year. The hay attacked as fertilizer, getting that patch of soil rich in nitrogen for next year's vegetables. We got to sample some of the more unusual things growing down there including the peppery Madras podding radish (as it sounds you eat the pod not the root) and weeds like amaranth and lamb's quarter. We also learned, new to me at least, that cultivated dandelion was actually chicory bred to look like dandelion, but since this was totally organic pastures, we also got to try actual wild dandelion (as well as much more delicious actual wild raspberries). Another in the long line of things we learned was the reason for the dog houses around the fields. Come harvest time, spot and fido and the rest would be keeping the fields free of any unwanted guests.

We went up and down some of the biggest hills in Illinois to get to the storybook farm of the Wettstein's. With their 8 kids, 18 goats, tree swing, free-roaming chickens, pet raccoon (an interesting story), flock of sheep, flock of sheep protector llama, stray kitten, herds of cattle, boxes of bees, cages of rabbits, grain towers filled with their own organic feed, wandering ducks, suckling pigs and angry sows, barns a plenty, a few gardens, wells with nasty water, and assorted tractors parked here and there, this was THE storybook farm. I so admire what they are doing, and as Sophia and I later worked out, these folks could pretty much live off of their farm, needing perhaps salt and coffee extra. Even the fuel for their outdoor grill could come from their timber fields.

For me, the chowhound, it seemed like one big buffet. What did I want for supper? It was there. Incredulous that they simply released the guinea fowl and quail, I asked twice, about them. Do not you know guinea would command big bucks back in Chicago? I am going to do my best to order and eat their beef, chicken, turkey, eggs (what Henry's Farm sells at the Evanston Farmer's market), maybe even roast a goat. The Condiment Queen, will not, so far, agree to make me headcheese from one of their piggies even though there is a recipe in a Diana Kennedy book she just got at the Brandeiss bookfair. I'll post later on some ways to obtain the Wettstein's organic meat in Chicago.