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Terra Brockman's new book is 'The Seasons on Henry's Farm.'
Like many raised in the Midwest, author Terra Brockman didn't fully appreciate her rural roots until she moved away. After years spent in New York City, Japan, and elsewhere around the globe, Brockman returned to Congerville, Ill., where her equally well-travelled brother, Henry, had decided to settle his own family and take up farming as a fifth-generation agrarian.
Brockman's new book, "The Seasons on Henry's Farm" (Agate, 2009), follows this small-scale, labor-intensive family farm through the 52 tiny seasons that comprise a year. Interlacing vibrant description, thoughtful reflection and mouth-watering recipes, Brockman's book explores and recounts the physical and personal realities of a daily relationship with the land. She spoke to Radish about her book and her experiences.
Radish: You frequently write on the interconnectedness of life and death in farming. Does death lose its sentimentality when you see it so regularly?
Terra Brockman: The thing I was struck by, coming back to the farm, was how everything is cyclical. It's always the same, yet it's always different. And no matter where you look -- every season, on every level -- you start to see those cycles.
There are the insects (that) hatch and go into a larval stage, then a butterfly or moth stage, then lay their eggs and die. The plants go to flower and to fruit and to seed and die in the winter, then come back to life in the spring.
So you don't get sentimental, but it becomes very poignant. You get used to it in one way, but you appreciate it every time it happens. It's got this reassuring-ness about it: Every time there is death, it leads back to life somehow.
R: This isn't just a book about a farm. This is also a book about your family. Who is Henry?
TB: Who is Henry? He's very quiet, calm, incredibly hard working, thoughtful and kind. I think he was born understanding some things. He got married pretty young; he had kids pretty young -- he didn't need to live for 30 or 40 years before he "got it." He was the little brother. He was very funny and still is. But mostly, he's a quiet, hardworking person.
R: Sustainability is an emphasis on Henry's farm today. Has it been for generations, or is that a recent shift?
TB: My grandparents and great-grandparents had a sense of sustainability and ran a very diverse farm. But my grandfather had a bad farm accident in the early 1960s, when everyone was changing to mono-crops, planting fencerow to fencerow in corn and soybeans. They started to rent the land to the neighbor, who went the same way everyone else did.
My grandma always said, 'I wish they wouldn't put on those darn chemicals!' But they also felt like, 'Oh well, this is progress. This is science. This is what all the experts tell us we need to do.' Gradually my dad got a different neighbor to transition all the farmland back, and now it is certified organic again.
So it did go through the same pattern that a lot of midwestern farms did in turning to chemicals. It's just maybe a little ahead of the curve in transitioning back to something that is very sustainable.
R: Why do you start the book in November?
TB: I love November. It's a beautiful time of year. But I started there specifically because that's when we plant garlic, the first crop of the following year.
People think of November as the time of, if not death, then at least dormancy. Creatures go into hibernation and trees lose their leaves. It seems like this stark time, but while all that's happening, there's something in the ground that's starting to have life, starting to put roots down, and getting ready for the spring already.
R: Your writing often ties small natural details to larger truths. Is there something that you've experienced, personally, that resonates as a particularly meaningful symbol or metaphor?
TB: I have a little redbud tree outside the bathroom of my house. I've looked out that bathroom window a million times, at all different times of year. Of course you notice when it's in full bloom, but then you forget about it because it's not very striking. It's just a tree -- a little tree.
But one day I came in from the field, and I noticed a little heart-shaped red leaf was coming out the end of each branch for that year's new growth. And I thought, 'How many times have I looked, and I've never seen this? How many other things go on every day in nature, or with people, that I just haven't noticed? That I have my blinders on, or am so involved in my day, that I just don't notice it?'
It's one of those little wake-up calls, and things like that happen all the time. I love that you'll never stop noticing, or learning, or having some level of awe about what is around you. We can only absorb so much. But isn't that a wonderful thing? It means that no matter how long we may be lucky enough to live, the world is always new.
R: Do you think that a sense of awe is necessary to be a truly good farmer?
TB: It is. Every side of a human being comes into play when you do this kind of farming. It's a lot more than just having a strong back. You have to be hard-working and scientific and practical.
But there's also this quasi-religious awe, this total respect, for all the things you can't see that are going on in the soil — to know that you, the farmer, the human being working on the land, are just a small piece of the bigger things that are happening. We will never control something that's so much bigger than we are. All we can do is learn from it and do our best to nudge it along.
Terra Brockman's book "The Seasons on Henry's Farm" was published this fall by Evanston, Ill.-based Agate Publishing. It is available at agatepublishing.com for $15 and through major book retailers.
Elizabeth Janicek of Kenosha, Wis., is a self-employed writer and Web consultant.
Recipes
Here are a few recipes and notes fromTerra Brockman's book, "The Seasons on Henry's Farm."
Courtney's Fried Green Tomatoes with Cornmeal and Thyme
Our intern Courtney and her boyfriend Mike arrived a few days before the killing frost, having ridden their bikes all the way to central IL from Wisconsin. On Wednesday night, they made us a meal of cornmeal-thyme–encrusted fried green tomatoes, from some of the just-rescued fruits.
1 tablespoon vegetable oil or bacon drippings
Cornmeal, seasoned to taste with salt and pepper
1 teaspoon thyme
1 egg
1 cup milk
3-4 medium size green tomatoes, washed, cored, and sliced, not peeled
Grease a skillet with the vegetable oil and heat over medium heat. Mix the cornmeal, salt, pepper and thyme, and spread a thin layer of this mixture on a baking sheet or plate. Beat the egg into the milk. Pour the mixture into a shallow bowl. Dip each tomato in the milk-egg mixture and then into the cornmeal.
Place the battered tomato slices in the preheated skillet. Brown each slice on one side, and then turn it to brown the other side. Serve hot.
Sweet Dressing for Spicy Autumn Salad
This is the time of year when the bags of mesclun salad mix get bigger and spicier -- full of not only the full-flavored lettuces, but spicy and pungent greens like arugula, red mustard greens, golden frill, ruby streaks, and mizuna. Henry supplied these to Kendall Culinary College for its special Slow Food dinner with Alice Waters a few years ago. The chefs there tossed the greens with a light vinaigrette, which is really all they need.
1 cup olive oil
2/3 cup sugar
1/3 cup distilled white vinegar
1/4 small onion, finely diced
1 teaspoon salt
4-6 cups fall greens of your choice
Whisk together the oil, sugar, vinegar, onion, and salt until emulsified. Toss with greens. Serve.
Henry's Autumn Pear Salad
We often have Asian pears clear through Christmas, and sometimes have Kieffers into January and February. They keep well in a cool, dark place, like a basement. When the Kieffers are golden yellow and have a sweet, musky aroma, they're ready to eat. Last year, Henry made a warm pear salad with a hint of vanilla topped with black sesame seeds.
6 Kieffer pears, peeled, cored and chopped
1/2 shallot, minced
1 1/4 teaspoons diced fresh ginger
1 cup water
1/2 teaspoon vanilla
1 1/2 tablespoons sherry vinegar
1 tablespoon mirin (a Japanese sweet cooking wine)
1 tablespoon soybean oil
Black sesame seeds, for sprinkling
1/2 pound fall greens
In a 1-quart saucepan, cook the pears with the shallot, ginger, and water over medium heat until soft. Strain and set aside to cool. Once at room temperature, purée one of the pears and strain through a sieve.
Add the vanilla, sherry vinegar, and mirin to the puréed pear and process in a blender or food processor. Slowly add the oil to emulsify. Dice the remaining pears for garnish.
To serve, toss the greens well with the pear mixture. Divide among four serving plates and garnish with the diced pears and sesame seeds.
