Thick layers of nostalgia surround the notion of mornings on a farm. Blazing orange sunrises with streaks of pink,
crowing roosters, steaming cups of black coffee, and plates loaded with bacon,
homemade biscuits, and sunny-side-up eggs are usually the first images that
drift through our imaginations.
However,
our mornings on the homestead are more similar to the average household than
you may think. Like most folks’, our days kick off with plenty of hustle and
bustle and even a measure of regular ol’ chaos at times. While I love the idea
of serving a full country breakfast with all the fixings to my family each and
every morning, in reality that rarely happens. We aren’t necessarily rushing
out the door to make the morning commute or running the kids to the bus stop,
but our farm mornings aren’t as lei surely as I once imagined they’d be in my
pre-homesteading days.
Sure,
sometimes there are indeed those picture-perfect mornings where I pull on my
boots before the rest of the house awakens and steal down to the barn to do
chores by myself. The rooster crows with impeccable timing as I pass the coop
and I hear the hens clucking as they sit in nesting boxes leaving their eggs
for the kids to find later. The mingled perfume of animals, hay, and leather
(the very best smell in the entire world, by the way) surrounds me as I enter
the cinder-block barn and grab a halter from the hook on the wall. Our milk
cow, Oakley, stands right inside the door slowly blinking her big brown eyes as
she waits patiently to be milked. The swish of milk streams hitting the bucket
lulls me into deep thought as I strategize how I’ll tackle the day’s tasks. By
the time I stroll back to the house lugging my pail filled with frothy milk, I
feel centered, energized, and ready to take on the day.
But
there are also the mornings that aren’t exactly Instagram or Facebook worthy,
the ones that make you laugh, otherwise you’d cry. They go something like this:
Upon waking to do chores, I discover the kids are already awake. Not one, not
two, but all three, of course. “Mommy! We want to do chores with you!” they
scream as I begin the process of hauling them outside, complete with blankies
and pajama-clad feet jammed into cowboy boots.
Somehow
I make it to the barn without losing a child, a sippy cup, or the milk bucket,
only to discover someone left the middle gate open last night. This means that
instead of standing patiently in the barn, Oakley is now standing in the corner
of the south pasture, as far away as she can possibly be. Back to the house I
go to grab the four-wheeler. I load the kids up and drive (very slowly) down to
the corner to halter her and lead her back.
We
arrive at the barn. Finally. I tie Oakley in her milking spot and throw her a
pile of hay in hopes that it will appease her so I can milk quickly. Her udder
is a mess from lying in the mud last night, so I jog back to the house to grab
an extra washing towel—the first one I brought with me is caked with mud after
the first wipe.
The
kids harass the barn cats as I finally sit down to milk. This annoys the dog,
who starts to bark, which in turn seriously offends Oakley. And so I alternate
between dodging her swinging tail and her stomping hind foot as I squeeze the
milk into the bucket. I deem the bucket full enough (the calf will drink the
rest today) and we start our trek back. Upon the insistence of my brood of
children, we make a brief stop at the chicken coop to collect three eggs, two
of which meet an untimely demise on the concrete sidewalk on the way back to
the house.
By
the time we finally make it inside, I stop to catch my breath as I pick flecks
of dried manure out of my hair. Is it time for coffee yet? Nope. Now it’s time
to make breakfast. And therein lies the true, though probably surprising,
romance of a morning on the homestead. I enjoy the chaos in a weird way, although
I most certainly appreciate the slightly quieter mornings too. Even by itself,
homesteading can be overwhelming, but when you throw kids into the mix, well,
it borders on sheer insanity. And yet, I love it. This is also why our
breakfasts must be hearty and nourishing but not too fussy. By the time I make
it back inside, the last thing I want is to be in the kitchen for two hours.
In
this chapter, you’ll find a mixture of classic farm breakfast fare as well as
make-aheads and quick morning meals to help you start your day, regardless of
whether your morning chaos is navigating traffic and the drop-off line at
school or dealing with a persnickety cow and broken eggs.
Foraged Frittata with Potato Crust :
The
dandelions and I have officially called a truce. I used to give them death
glares each spring when they’d arrogantly pop up all over the homestead, but
now we have an agreement: you grow wherever you want and I’ll turn you into
this delicious frittata. I think it’s working out well.
3 tablespoons lard or
unsalted butter
1 small onion, diced
2 heaping cups foraged greens (dandelion greens, purslane,
lamb’s-quarter, or chickweed all work well)
3 cloves garlic, minced
3 medium potatoes,
sliced ⅛ inch thick
½ teaspoon fine sea salt
½ teaspoon freshly
ground black pepper
8 large eggs
⅓ cup whole milk
¼ cup freshly grated
Parmesan cheese
Heat 1 tablespoon of the lard in a
10-inch oven-safe skillet (I use my cast-iron, of course).
Sauté
the onion until soft, about 8 minutes, then add the greens and garlic and sauté
for 2 to 3 minutes more, or until the greens begin to wilt. Remove the greens
from the skillet and set aside.
Preheat
the oven to 400°F.
Sprinkle
the potatoes with ¼ teaspoon of the salt and ¼ teaspoon of the pepper. Add the
remaining 2 tablespoons lard to the skillet and fry the potatoes until they are
softened and lightly browned, about 10 minutes. Arrange the potatoes in a layer
on the bottom of the skillet.
In
a large bowl, whisk together the eggs, milk, cheese, and remaining ¼ teaspoon
each salt and pepper, then add the egg mixture to the greens, mixing until just
combined.
Pour
the mixture over the potatoes in the skillet, transfer to the oven, and bake
for 20 to 25 minutes, or until the eggs are set.
kitchen notes • If you don’t live in an area where you feel comfortable
foraging for wild greens, trimmed spinach, kale, chard, or collards will also
work beautifully in this frittata.
Baked Eggs with Cream & Chives :
Chives
and eggs have to be among the most perfect ingredient combos we grow here on
the homestead. Eggs fresh from the coop and chives plucked from the herb garden
outside the front door elevate this homey dish to a farm-fresh masterpiece.
It’s one of our early-summer staples when the hens have resumed their heavy
laying and the wire basket on my countertop is overflowing with speckled brown
eggs.
3 tablespoons heavy
cream
1 tablespoon unsalted
butter
8 large eggs
3 cloves garlic, minced
2 tablespoons minced
fresh parsley
2 tablespoons minced
fresh chives
¼ teaspoon fine sea salt
⅛ teaspoon freshly
ground black pepper
Preheat the oven to 425°F.
Place
the cream and butter in a 9 x 13–inch baking dish and heat in the oven for 5
minutes to melt the butter.
Crack
the eggs directly into the hot pan. (Be careful not to break the yolks!)
Combine
the garlic, parsley, chives, salt, and pepper and sprinkle evenly over the
eggs. Bake for 5 minutes, then switch the oven to broil and broil for 2
minutes, or until the whites are set but the yolks are still slightly runny.
Serve
with a bit of crusty bread (such as leftover Crusty Dutch Oven Bread) or toast
to sop up the yolk.
WHEN LIFE GIVES YOU
WEEDS, EAT ’EM
Scouring your yard for edibles, formerly known as weeds, is
extremely satisfying, not to mention strangely addictive. But before you serve
up any foraged goodies, do your homework thoroughly to make sure you aren’t
accidentally eating something poisonous. County Extension Offices are fantastic
local resources and will be glad to help you identify any plant you are unsure
about. Also, only forage in areas you know have not been sprayed with
herbicides or pesticides.
Farmer’s Breakfast Hash :
If
I put this simple hash on the menu at just the right time in late summer, I can
make it completely from ingredients grown right outside my back door: home-cured
bacon from the pigs; potatoes, an onion, and a pepper provided by the garden;
eggs laid by our multicolored hens; and chives grown in the herb patch. It also
works beautifully with your favorite variety of sausage, just in case you don’t
have any bacon on hand. (And if you don’t have bacon on hand, we really should
have a talk about priorities.)
½ pound bacon, chopped
4 or 5 medium potatoes,
cubed
1 small onion, diced
1 medium bell pepper,
seeded and diced
½ teaspoon fine sea salt, plus more as needed
¼ teaspoon freshly
ground black pepper
6 large eggs
Fresh chives, minced
In a 10-inch oven-safe skillet,
cook the bacon over medium-low heat until crispy. Remove the bacon, setting it
aside on a paper towel to drain and leaving about 2 tablespoons of fat in the
skillet.
Add
the potatoes to the skillet and fry them over medium heat for 8 minutes, or
until they begin to soften. Add the onion, bell pepper, salt, and black pepper.
Cook until the potatoes are golden brown, about 10 minutes more.
Stir
in the bacon, taste, and add more salt if needed. Make shallow wells in the top
of the hash and carefully break the eggs into the wells. Cook over medium heat
for 3 to 4 minutes, until the egg whites are beginning to set, then transfer
the skillet to the oven. Broil on high for 3 to 4 minutes, or until the egg
yolks are set to your liking (I personally like mine a bit runny). Sprinkle
with fresh chives and serve immediately.
kitchen notes • This recipe is incredibly forgiving, so play around with it as
you see fit. You can bump up the amount of veggies, crack more eggs on top, or
double the potatoes in a larger skillet. I usually make this in a 10-inch
cast-iron skillet, but if you have smaller skillets, you can make personal-sized
hashes in each one.
Crispy Hash Browns :
Crispy
homemade hash browns that don’t turn into a gummy mess in the pan? It’s a lofty
request, but after making a million pans of soggy, sticky potatoes, I finally
figured out how to fry up hash browns that will make your hometown diner
jealous. Just a few tiny adjustments to the technique make all the difference.
Get out the ketchup—you’re gonna love this one.
3 or 4 large russet
potatoes
1 teaspoon fine sea salt
¼ teaspoon freshly
ground black pepper
¼ cup (½ stick) unsalted
butter or lard
Wash the potatoes and shred them
using a box grater or a food processor fitted with a grating disc. I don’t peel
mine first, but you can if you like. Place the shredded potatoes in a colander
and rinse them under cool water until the water runs clear.
Drain
the potatoes completely; sometimes I even squeeze them with a clean dishtowel
to remove as much water as possible. Season the shredded potatoes with the salt
and pepper.
In
a 10-inch skillet over medium heat, melt the butter until it sizzles when you
place a potato shred in the pan. Add the potatoes, give them a quick stir, then
pat them into an even layer. Now, this is the hard part—leave them
alone to cook over medium-low heat. Yes, resist the urge to fuss
over them. It’s hard, I know. But it makes all the difference.
When
the bottom of the potatoes has developed a crisp, brown crust, after around 8
to 10 minutes, flip them. I’m not quite talented enough to flip the entire
bunch at once, so I do it in quarters. Cook for another 8 to 10 minutes, or
until they are browned to your liking. Serve immediately with a side of
ketchup.
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