2013 saw a lot of successful gardening and foraging projects, and none were quite as fun to participate in as the apple harvest has been.
It is that time of year again here in the northern temperate climate of Minnesota when we start to see the abundance that pours forth from a well loved and tended garden.
While I am not typically a doomer, and try to stay rooted in reality, the honey bees are in a bad place right now.
While the world burns in ever growing forest fires, drowns in flash floods, and despairs in economic insecurity and social in-justice, our gardens grow.
During a Permablitz, an army of volunteers, friends, and neighbors descend on a home and transform the yard (back, front, or both) into a food-growing wonderland.
I have ruminated enough times on this blog about climate change that it should no longer pop up its ugly head, and yet it never ceases to amaze me as to how well it lends itself to a quick article. As homesteaders, so many of our daily activities lead to the out-of-doors, and therefore keeps us connected to nature and all her changing faces.
Death. More death here at the Dead End Alley Farm. This time it was our bees. The bees that up until a few weeks ago I thought were going to come through the winter successfully. But as life has shown us recently, nothing is for certain when walking down the path of homesteading.
So I have something to tell you all. With much hesitation and trepidation, but with encouragement from my wife and my good buddy Bill, I bring you the story of why I have blood on my hands. Two nights ago I had to kill a possum. I did not do it because I wanted to, or because I thought it would be fun, but because I was defending my chickens.