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bone stock in mason jars Cooking

How to make bone stock

  • December 29, 2020December 29, 2020
  • by Suzanne Nelson Karreman

Stock is the foundation of all that is good and holy and I can feel worn down, depressed, grumpy and out of every form of energy, and I can have some homemade stock and immediately I feel like a new person again.

We always have soup in the freezer and fresh stock in the fridge, always. I make it a point to at least drink a pint of salted, warm stock every day day. It’s a great pre-breakfast pick-me-up when the day starts earlier than breakfast, or an afternoon snack, or a late, late dinner or a tonic after I’ve eaten junk food to immediately set me right. I really believe that well-made stock could transform the world.

Everyone should know how to make stock. It’s up there with balancing a checkbook, knowing how important it is to vote, riding a bicycle and brushing one’s teeth in life importance, in my book. It’s incredibly healing to the gut, the seat of the immune system. Giving stock in the form of homemade soup is a wonderful way of being neighborly. Chicken soup really is for the soul.

A friend got this mug for me as gag gift and I love the orange color on the inside. See my stock quaffing in the cold, winter air?!

Whenever we cook a chicken or turkey, I aways use the bones to make stock. Sometimes I’ll roast chicken backs or turkey necks specifically to make stock, but oftentimes the stock parts are the byproduct of other endeavors (sometimes roasting poultry to make soup). Beef stock usually is a separate affair that I roast marrow and soup bones for specifically, but the principles are the same. It’s a simple process that adapts well to whatever you have on hand.

I used to make stock by simmering several birds worth of bones in my 25-quart stockpot for a day or more, but these days my 8-quart Instant Pot is much less fuss (and more energy-efficient to run for 24+ hours than our gas range, plus the very real fire safety issues of running too low on water if you neglect the pot for too long).

Whether you use your Instant Pot, crock pot or a pot on your stove, the important thing is just to make bone stock!

The bones of one chicken work perfectly in the 8-quart model. When I make turkey stock from the carcass, I usually do it in two batches. One 2.5-lb bag of chicken backs and a package of feet (I always add a package of feet…) makes one batch. Each batch makes about a gallon of stock, which I store in 1/2-gallon mason jars in the fridge. We easily consume a gallon of stock a week, both as a hot beverage and in soups and braises. If you are going to freeze in glass, do so in pint containers with 3/4″ gap from the top and the wide-mouth containers work best. Any other sizes will crack in the freezer.

No truly worthy stock with ample gelatin for your tired bones and soon-to-be radiant skin can be made without feet. Double bonus if you use turkey feet, as they are like adding dinosaur bones to your pot and are full of nutrients. Chicken feet are also amazing.

Roasting the bones in advance isn’t absolutely necessary, but it will make the flavor much better, and then you will have pan drippings, which are a sine qua non of good stock in my book. If you are using a chicken carcass, the bones are already roasted, and definitely save every bit of those drippings!

Pan drippings are your friend in stock

To get all the precious browned bits off the roasting pan (you want to do this), put a little water in the pan and heat up on the stove until you can dislodge the last bit of juices and bits with a wooden spoon. Add this flavor-water to your stock pot.

Rinse the feet well and add them to your stock pot. Add 2 T. of organic apple cider vinegar, 1+ T. of real salt and enough water to reach within 1.5″-2″ of the top of the pot. Ideally, this mixture of bones, salt, water and vinegar would sit unheated for 30 min. The acidified water begins the process of extracting the minerals from the bones. Sometimes I don’t have time for that. It’s more important to make stock at all than to make perfect stock!

Simmer the pot of stock parts (do not boil) for 12+ hours, but definitely at least 5-6 hours. I usually set my slow-cook setting for 20 hours, with the keep-warm setting on after that, which buys me 10 more hours before I strain the stock. (The 140 degrees maintained in that setting is more than enough to keep extracting goodness out of the bones for your stock, and it’s also a food-safe temperature to hold poultry.)

These regular-mouth jars are more apt to crack in the freezer in my experience, so I often use wide-mouth jars. A cracked jar can of stock can be rescued with a fine-mesh strainer.

Upping your game with aromatics

If you are really on your game, add a couple of carrots and a couple of sticks of celery and a yellow onion, peeled and quartered, to the pot anytime within the last 2-4 hours of cooking. Sometimes I don’t do this, and the stock will just not be as aromatic. For bonus points, add parsley stems (up to a bunch of parsley) to the stock 30-60 min before completion. There’s lots of minerals in parsley and it adds great flavor. I rarely get to do this, but when I do it’s amazing. Adding vegetables too early in the process will create off flavors, and the long cooking times are necessary to get all the gelatin out of the bones.

I use a cone shaped fine-mesh strainer to strain the stock, but you can use anything you have. Even just on the keep-warm setting, the liquid in your pot will be hot enough to crack a glass (ask me how I know!) if the ambient temperature is sufficiently cold, so I usually strain into a large bowl and then ladle into the mason jars with my indispensable wide-mouth funnel. (Splurge and get a stainless steel one. I use it almost every day.)

Remember: it’s more important to make good stock than to make perfect stock. Just make stock!

A word about pressure cooking

The most flavorful stock I’ve ever had was made with the pressure cook “stock” setting on my Instant Pot, and it’s done in an hour or two, but there’s a lot to be cautioned about this approach, as many stipulate that it destroys nutrients. I will say that the stocks I’ve made this way had more gelatin, so who knows. There is not a lot of good science on the subject. My general rule of thumb is that if my grandmother didn’t have it in her kitchen, I best use the precautionary principle when deciding whether a particular ingredient, tool or method belongs in my kitchen, so most of the time I just use the “slow cook” setting, which is like a long simmering pot on the fire. The bonus with this approach is that I can fill the pot past the pressure cook line and get another quart of stock in the process.

Scenes from a real kitchen: turkey stock x 2 and chicken stock in 1/2-gallon mason jars with simple masking tape for labels. (Lacto-fermented carrots and ‘kraut on the right.)

Drink your stock!

Stock isn’t just for soup anymore. Every morning I drink a pint of heated, additionally salted stock poured over a teaspoon of minced ginger (one of the only prepared foods that I buy because it’s so gingery!) and a tablespoon of coconut oil. This tonic helps me think clearly and gives me nourishment to head to the barn before breakfast.

On living well

This is for all the farming mamas — you got…

  • December 26, 2020December 26, 2020
  • by Suzanne Nelson Karreman
Vivian at about six months old while I’m holding a goat named Doodle. Most days weren’t this picturesque, but the time Vivian spent on my back was foundational to our relating now.

This is for all the mamas out there farming and doing your best to raise a kid with all the modern expectations of child-rearing layered over the increasing clarity you get from every day pursuing a more simple life. You feel torn because you are torn. And you are not alone. All of your efforts towards finding a place to stand between the world you were given and the one your heart longs to create will amount to something, and with the abundance of God’s grace your kids will learn from you to also find a place to stand in truth and love, straddling the world that is crumbling and, with better skills than you had because you taught them by doing, a place of more solid footing.

This is my proud-mama post. Pregnant with the idea of this farm and Vivian at the same time, I learned to milk a cow with her in my belly. I carried her as an infant everywhere for five months on my chest (it’s like being pregnant for 14 straight months…), until one day I threw the guidebooks and modern caution to the wind and realized that if indigenous peoples carried babies on the backs from birth, I could certainly learn to do it at 5 months.

That’s when I got my chest and arms back and could really work again (but that’s also when she figured out she had her own hands, and grabbed branches and gates and animals everywhere we went). Despite 11 months of being attached to her, I still needed to put her down sometimes, and my mom made it all possible with her devotion to me and to Viv.

Having a baby and birthing a farm: twins!

Having a baby and birthing a farm together was like having twins, and the farm often stole my attention and time because its demands are always immediate and the bedtime stories and meals together often had to wait indefinitely. If I didn’t tend to the newborn lamb, it may die of hypothermia. Bedtime stories are important, but they are also too easily put off. Vivian learned an important lesson early — she’s not the center of the universe. None of us are. That’s one of the core deceptions that modern conveniences allow us to harbor: if I need/want it right now, and I get it right now, if my desires for comfort and ease can be met, I must be really important.

Life in the dirt teaches otherwise. But the historically abnormal practice of putting children in the center of our worlds is pervasive in our culture and I often had deep pain that I somehow wasn’t giving her enough of my attention.

From one working mama to another, if you are feeling that guilt, let it go. It’s going to be okay. You’re giving your kids the gift of observing you do something hard and worth doing, and doing it anyway, even when you don’t feel like it.

Grit meets grit

On her own a couple of months ago, Vivian decided that our 25-yo horse needed more care than she was getting, so she set up a feed room, begged for a way to have a sliding door that she could operate to get Shauna in/out on her own, and set her alarm for 6a every day to go feed her before school. She isn’t a morning person. It’s often cold and wet and unpleasant at that hour. Still, she does it, and again after school, without prompting. Kids see your grit and meet it. Keep going. They are expectantly observing and readying themselves for their own purpose-filled life.

Farming

When rainy days aren’t office days: A day in…

  • December 17, 2020December 19, 2020
  • by Suzanne Nelson Karreman
Blue rounding up the sheep to show them the barn. Not pictured: cold rain.

Let me just start off by saying that getting to spend our days toiling to leave the ground better than we found it, care for critters and work amongst a team of people who also pursue such as life calling is pretty awesome. Please also indulge me to add the following: If you are ever interviewing for a farm job at Reverence or anywhere else, pretty much the worst answer you can give to an inquiry as to why you want to work on a farm is “because I really want to work outside.”

I guarantee you that any farmer hearing that is going to think of days like yesterday and struggle to maintain composure. On days like yesterday (34 degrees and raining in sheets with just enough of a breeze to make it interesting), we work outside because our work is outside. Outside is not an attribute.

Our goal, every farmer’s goal, is to get our outside work done when the sun is shining and it’s pleasant-enough. The day before yesterday, I was walking the farm with Niti Bali and I distinctly remember informing her what a miracle it was that we were getting to enjoy a beautiful, crisp, sunny winter day. My dream of doing desk work on rainy days and outside work on amazing days has a way of not always aligning. I guess I had a premonition that the following day would be the kind during which my hands could somehow simultaneously be both numb and very painful.

A perfect day

Anticipating the incoming freezing rain, two days ago, Hue, Jake and I sorted some heifers out of a group across the creek from the dairy barn so that the 35 ewes with the ram and the heifers could get in the hoophouse. The heifers have been hogging the shelter during recent inclement weather, and we knew yesterday was supposed to be particularly nasty. We ended up peeling 8 yearling+ heifers out of that group and had a very pleasant walk over the creek and through the woods to reunite them with the main herd. It was the kind of farm day that dreams are made of. (Hue even carried me over the creek, which was spontaneous and amazing, because I wasn’t wearing my tall boots.)

8 heifers cross Hobby Creek from the Austin Quarter side of the farm to the Haw River side.

Yesterday’s walk to the barn started off easy enough. Just feeding our 25-yo horse, Shauna, with Viv, and straight back to the house, I told myself… Didi (the 3-legged pit mix) and Dolly (the Blue Tick Hound) — our normal 7a companions to the barn — elected to stay home. Dolly wouldn’t leave the porch even with a coat on.

While Vivian was with the horses, I decided to take a look at the 50 or so sheep in the market group — they are apart from the main group on a separate property so that the ewes in the group don’t get bred to the ram, as these are sheep that haven’t made the grade as breeding stock and will become part of our grassfed lamb program. They were in the rain. They didn’t look terrible, but nor did they look especially content. We had specifically given them access to what we call the Long Barn (a run-in shed where we store equipment and straw but that also dubs as shelter) for weather like this.

Okay, I thought, it’s time for you guys and gals to learn that the barn really is accessible to you, even though the entrance appeared obstructed by one of our mobile shade structures. Blue — the rescued Border Collie who is not a perfectly trained sheep dog but whose instincts are pretty dang good — and I successfully had the sheep down to the barn in two minutes. And then we waited.

The sheep could get in this barn, but they’d rather stay in the rain. Why? Lots of folks think sheep are stupid, but we just don’t see what they see… The only area around the shader has a puddle, and puddles reflect light in a way that is often scary to livestock. With the water continually hitting the puddle from the roof, it can appear like a hazard to them.

When working with livestock, it’s best for them to move along in their own will. When you start forcing them to go where you want them to go, you better have good handling equipment to keep them contained. We rarely do, and we mostly rely on good stockman-ship, which is better for everyone anyway. Just because you can force livestock doesn’t mean you should…

Sheep have their own notions

They wouldn’t budge. Blue was perfect and twice went out to bring back an escapee on his own, no words from me. Clearly the shade structure was too much of a visual barrier.

So now I’m going to move the shader. No problem, really. It’s super easy to move with our UTV. But then one of the poles got stock on the barn post, and so now I need a second person to hold it back while I drive it out. No problem. Fred happened to arrive for morning chores at the same time Hue came out to help, so now I have two sets of hands. Easy. Then the UTV lost it’s little bit of charge while I was waiting for them (we are in process of repairing it’s electrical connections). Farming…

So now we connect it to the truck, get the shader out, and planned to just get it backed into another barn so we are ready for the next impending ice storm. But turns out the shader’s wheel base wouldn’t fit in the barn unless we re-organized the barn, which I’ve been meaning to do anyway, yet it’s still 34 degrees and raining, and now I can no longer feel my hands.

This was a sunny-day project

Fred and Hue ended up backing the shader into the barn by hand because double-axeled wagons are really challenging to back up with tinted-windowed trucks in the rain into a really tight space. My job was to prevent the shader poles from getting stuck on the barn posts on the way in (yellow arrow, below) — for which I was about 50 percent effective, because by now the only time I can feel my hands is the acute pain when they try to hold something. I had not worn gloves as a hopeful measure to prevent any kind of unnecessary activity at the barn that morning … so determined I was to come right back inside!

It’s now 10a and the barn is clean and I’m spent. I should have just given myself a 30-min respite and TLC, but now I’m several hours behind on office work and so I foolishly pushed ahead and got myself feeling pretty tired and overwhelmed, an unwelcome friend that pursued me until 10:30p last night when I finally collapsed after making some soup. We did have a fire, and the soup was amazing.

Truthfully, I didn’t need to put the shader in the barn yesterday (although it did need to be moved out of the other barn). It could have waited for another pleasant-enough sunny day. But sometimes it’s worthwhile just to get something done so you don’t have to come back to it, because 14 other things will come up in the meantime, and when an object is in motion, it’s best to just keep rolling. Some of it was just stubborn persistence.

Can you see the canine? Blue is proudly looking over his good work. You’re a good boy, Blue.

Lesson? When the sheep weren’t going in the barn at all, even when it was just a little crummy out over the previous 7-10 days, that was the time to listen to the quiet inner voice that said, “I wonder why the sheep aren’t using the barn?” The next pleasant-enough day would have been a perfect time to move the shader and reorganize and clean the barn, instead of lamenting that I was looking at spreadsheets when it was 60 degrees and sunny.

The other, and bigger, lesson? Like Eisenhower said, planning is indispensable, but plans are useless.

Days happen. Farming happens. Acceptance and surrender are really powerful tools. And gratitude, always gratitude.

Things to be grateful for from this life in the dirt: three cast-iron pans full of vegetables from people I know, butter that I made from our own cows’ milk, chicken stock from birds that graced our pastures, tomatoes grown by Doug and canned by Oci as a gift, radishes grown on our land by Doug, celery from my friend Howard at Faithfull Farms that Viv and I traded for beef bones, turnip greens that were a gift from my friend Tiffanie at Machaven Farm, Swiss chard from my friends Stephanie & John at Dinner Bell Farm that we traded for milk, rutabaga from Open Door Farm (purchased at the Carrboro Farmer’s Market on a Saturday morning trip with Vivian, and the only purchased ingredient, besides onions and spices from the Saxapahaw General Store). Every ingredient has a story. We ate love for dinner.
farmer woman herding sheep Farming

What is Reverence doing?

  • September 13, 2020September 14, 2020
  • by Suzanne Nelson Karreman

We closed the cafe. We closed the farm store on Hwy 87. We said we are “moving back to the farm”… What does that even mean?

Well, a lot of things. We are working on an honor-system store on the farm, where in the next couple of weeks you’ll be able to stop by unannounced and buy eggs, raw (pet) milk, along with your favorite cuts of beef, lamb and pork. It’ll be open from 9 til dusk seven days a week, cash or check in the box.

This month we started our on-farm pickups of pre-orders (reverencefarms.com will remain the only way you’ll have access to our whole 150-product full offering) at the little circle of vegetables, fruit trees and flowering plants that Doug planted as a wedding present for Hue and me. (1568 Haw Ranch Rd., across from Haw Village and 1/2 mile up on the right from the Saxapahaw General Store.)

All the energy we spent managing a whole separate building with all the accompanying repairs, upkeep and dilemmas has been dramatically shifted towards systems, infrastructure and husbandry on the farm.

Before and after photos of a really muddy spot in one of our lanes
(the first was taken at sunset, hence the beautiful purple hues with Hue).

This is what we’ve been up to during our August/early September lact-cation: repairing and building fences, water lines and roads; organizing and cleaning up and selling equipment we no longer need (farms accumulate a tremendous amount of stuff, stay tuned for what we have for sale…); mowing fence lines and spreading compost; planting annuals so that our cows and sheep have high-nutrition forage available all winter; training a dozen new heifers to the parlor and getting 30+ cows and heifers bred to calve next spring (on top of the 29 we are calving in this fall); cutting down old barb wire and removing rotten fences and filling old post holes with rocks; getting our winter “camp grounds” ready with water lines, frost-free waterers (we like JUGs) and culverts for non-sloppy lanes so that we can get cows to/from their hay-feeding areas and the barns, and we can feed hay on ground that needs feeding; organizing all of our inventory towards retail instead of wholesale-sized packages that we had created for cafe kitchen needs and readying our nation-wide shipping platform (that project alone is enough to take up the whole agenda); working on convincing the regulators that no, thank you, we do not want to put powdered eggs (or some liquified egg product) in our ice cream, we want to put our eggs in our ice cream, and jumping through all the hoops therein; harvesting our own summer annuals (hay/balage) for the first time on our 60-acres of rented ground and dealing with myriad equipment failures and learning curves but managing to come out victorious nonetheless; harvesting 55 turkeys and 150 laying hens and preparing to get a new flock of 300+ laying hens; dropping off and picking up bulls on lease spreading grazing genetics to local herds and collecting our bulls to sell straws to other farmers looking to milk cows that can thrive on grass only; forging relationships with a half-dozen Alamance County farmers and engaging with their knowledge and willingness to help start a dairy farm from scratch …

That list is not comprehensive, and it just reflects our August projects.

Turkeys have incredible personality and curiosity. The farm is always missing something after they aren’t around at the end of the season. Ours graze like cows with fresh grass!

And… that’s on top of taking care of two groups of pigs (the mama/baby Ossabaws along with the rescued factory feeder pigs who finally turned the corner and started growing robustly), two groups of sheep, three groups of cattle, 10 livestock guardian dogs and a lovely Ossabaw boar that is going soon to his new home with new Ossabaw ladies. Twice a day, every day, rain or shine. We spend about 40 hours a week just running temporary fence! There are probably 100 tires on the farm that could need fixing at any given time, not to mention a couple dozen motors/engines and their accompanying vehicles.

My have they grown! These are the rescued “pink pigs” enjoying life in the grass!

The cafe was our public face, but the real engine of Reverence has always been, and will always remain, farming. The cafe was how most of you knew us, however, so I wanted to spend a little time explaining what was always behind the veil. Most of you have been served a burger and fries by my family, but many of you still haven’t been to the farm. We hope you are as committed as we are to changing that. We plan to host outdoor events for our customers and friends this fall to see and experience the beauty and the magnitude of the farm and it’s vision. In the meantime, here’s how to visit. It’s a great place to take a walk or a jog (please, just leave your dogs at home).

Rick and Hue have spent a lot of time pretty much replacing every part on the baler.

For the precious among you who have been cheering us on for more than a decade, buying hand-raised and individually-cared-for food out of my garage, off my porch and at the side of my barns since 2009, there are no words that I can say to adequately convey my gratitude. Many of you are still making an effort to procure everything you can from us, as you have been for more than 10 years: you are the backbone of our business — our reason for being what amounts to a really large homestead producing beyond our family’s needs — and why we get to keep going. Thank you.

Jami and Doug processing turkeys on the farm last week. They are available for pre-order.

For three years we ran a grand experiment: Could we prepare and serve food without compromise on a country highway in a rural Southern county overrun with a food culture of quick, fast and cheap — living a couple of generations away from the traditions of raising hogs and harvesting sweet potatoes and corn as a community and then all getting together to feast —while still having enough margin for our family to still run the 400-acre farm that produced every bit of beef, lamb, pork, chicken, turkey and eggs we served? As it turns out, no. It was a high calling and a noble purpose, and it succeeded because we now know all of you, and the experience we took away.

Along the way we gained a lot of wisdom about remaking the food system from the ground up — something that the radicals have been talking about for a couple of decades and now the need for which is abundantly and plainly obvious even nestled in a convenience culture where there is plenty of money to be made on our dis-ease.

For starters, it all starts with really good soil. And in that soil is the seeds of hope, community, peace, justice, abundance, mercy and truth. We are building soil every day, and your participation, support, love and continued encouragement spurs us on. We believe that real food belongs to real people, and we have the highest standards of what constitutes real food that we know of. And for us, “real food” is also produced with an abundance of love. Was your food loved? Does it matter to you?

We’ve been farming right in Saxapahaw for a decade, visible, but only if you look, because most of the work of farming happens out of the places of commerce. The stability and resilience of solar-based systems carries people and communities through uncertain times.

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  • How to make bone stock

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1568 Haw Ranch Rd
Graham, NC 27253
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