Johnny Ortiz

Recipe

General guidelines for harvesting and processing fruit from the fruiting cactus of Northern NM Opuntia engelmannii ↓ Northern NM being high desert is full of piñon pine and cactus. If we are lucky, both will produce in abundance many gifts. This year is one of those years and we're excited to share with you our method of picking and producing one of the sweetest gifts the high desert has to offer, 'desert cactus fruit juice'. The nights in Northern NM are now getting cold and the cactus fruits are concentrating their sugars and are ripe for picking. HARVESTING ↓ Watch where you step, the desert is full of sharp hard things. Pick as late as possible, usually around the first cold spells. This will result in a ripe fruit. Just be sure you don’t wait too long or the coyotes will beat you to them. Use tongs to harvest and harvest into a container that won’t hold the glochids (small spikes) that may find you later. PROCESSING ↓ Fill a pot with the fresh picked fruit and then fill with cold water just to cover. Drain the water removing any dirt or debris and fill the pot again. Bring the pot to a light simmer ~200f and turn off the heat. Let cool for a few minutes and then smash all fruit. We do ours in a conical colander with a bowl underneath it, but any means of smashing will do. If you have a press you can transfer all the pulp to the press, if not add solids in a clean cotton towel and press or squeeze out all excess liquid. Strain all juice through a fine mesh strainer into glass jars and freeze if storing for later use. It’s worth noting that somethings are best enjoyed in their most natural state. The juice from cactus fruit is one of those things and is great as just a juice, by itself or mixed with alcohol, especially mezcal. We love to use it as a granita because it usually has exactly enough natural sugars to create the perfect ice crystals. This like many of the recipes we share here is just a launching point so make some juice and explore the possibilities.

<p class="p1" data-mce-fragment="1">General guidelines for harvesting and processing fruit from the fruiting cactus of Northern NM <i data-mce-fragment="1"><b data-mce-fragment="1">Opuntia engelmannii </b></i></p>
<p class="p1">↓</p>
<p class="p1">Northern NM being high desert is full of piñon pine and cactus. If we are lucky, both will produce in abundance many gifts. This year is one of those years and we're excited to share with you our method of picking and producing one of the sweetest gifts the high desert has to offer, 'desert cactus fruit juice'.</p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1">The nights in Northern NM are now getting cold and the cactus fruits are concentrating their sugars and are ripe for picking. </span></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1"></span> </p>
<p class="p3" data-mce-fragment="1">HARVESTING<span class="Apple-converted-space" data-mce-fragment="1"> </span></p>
<p class="p1">↓</p>
<p class="p3" data-mce-fragment="1">Watch where you step, the desert is full of sharp hard things.</p>
<p class="p3" data-mce-fragment="1">Pick as late as possible, usually around the first cold spells. This will result in a ripe fruit. Just be sure you don’t wait too long or the coyotes will beat you to them.</p>
<p class="p3" data-mce-fragment="1">Use tongs to harvest and harvest into a container that won’t hold the glochids (small spikes) that may find you later. <span class="Apple-converted-space" data-mce-fragment="1"> </span></p>
<p class="p1" data-mce-fragment="1"> </p>
<p class="p3" data-mce-fragment="1">PROCESSING<span class="Apple-converted-space" data-mce-fragment="1"> </span></p>
<p class="p1">↓</p>
<p class="p1">Fill a pot with the fresh picked fruit and then fill with cold water just to cover.</p>
<p class="p1">Drain the water removing any dirt or debris and fill the pot again.</p>
<p class="p1">Bring the pot to a light simmer ~200f and turn off the heat.<span class="Apple-converted-space" data-mce-fragment="1"> </span></p>
<p class="p1">Let cool for a few minutes and then smash all fruit. We do ours in a conical colander with a bowl underneath it, but any means of smashing will do. </p>
<p class="p1">If you have a press you can transfer all the pulp to the press, if not add solids in a clean cotton towel and press or squeeze out all excess liquid.</p>
<p class="p1">Strain all juice through a fine mesh strainer into glass jars and freeze if storing for later use.<span class="Apple-converted-space" data-mce-fragment="1"> </span></p>
<p class="p4" data-mce-fragment="1"> </p>
<p class="p3" data-mce-fragment="1">It’s worth noting that somethings are best enjoyed in their most natural state. The juice from cactus fruit is one of those things and is great as just a juice, by itself or mixed with alcohol, especially mezcal. We love to use it as a granita because it usually has exactly enough natural sugars to create the perfect ice crystals. This like many of the recipes we share here is just a launching point so make some juice and explore the possibilities. </p>
<p class="p3" data-mce-fragment="1"><img src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0685/9653/1485/files/IMG_6498_480x480.heic?v=1729007683" alt=""></p>

Processing cactus fruit

Words + Photos

/ shed in MARFA TX

The Horno oven is an important tool of the desert southwest, vernacular to each location in style and material. Traditionally an horno is made of small mud bricks that are made of the earth where the horno was built with the addition of straw from grain harvest. Originally from the Iberian peninsula and adopted by the Spanish from the Moorish people and carried to all Spanish occupied lands, the horno made its way here to New Mexico and surrounding areas. It’s hard to imagine that the indigenous peoples of this area didn’t already cook in mud already, but the method of building and stacking bricks became the common practice. In New Mexico to this day you still see hornos of various qualities scatted through both old Spanish and Pueblo settlements, some still used, some turning back into the soil. Henrietta, an elder at Taos Pueblo, my preschool teacher and a dear dear friend once described the horno to me as a woman. She spoke to how they all unique with different needs that need to be understood before using. To use an horno you must be intimate with her, no two are the same or should be treated the same and that it takes time to learn such needs. We're honored to be part of this culture still and to keep it going through practices like building adobes and hornos from the soil we inhabit, especially for friends. This horno was built for Ballroom Marfa at Capri restaurant in Marfa TX using soil from Northern NM for the bricks and plaster and soil from Marfa TX for the mortar. Some exciting news on us using the horno and the beautiful space at Capri coming soon. ↓ 35mm photos by Johnny & Maida

<div data-mce-fragment="1" style="text-align: left;" data-mce-style="text-align: left;">The Horno oven is an important tool of the desert southwest, vernacular to each location in style and material. Traditionally an horno is made of small mud bricks that are made of the earth where the horno was built with the addition of straw from grain harvest. Originally from the Iberian peninsula and adopted by the Spanish from the Moorish people and carried to all Spanish occupied lands, the horno made its way here to New Mexico and surrounding areas. It’s hard to imagine that the indigenous peoples of this area didn’t already cook in mud already, but the method of building and stacking bricks became the common practice. In New Mexico to this day you still see hornos of various qualities scatted through both old Spanish and Pueblo settlements, some still used, some turning back into the soil. </div>
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<div data-mce-fragment="1" style="text-align: left;" data-mce-style="text-align: left;">Henrietta, an elder at Taos Pueblo, my preschool teacher and a dear dear friend once described the horno to me as a woman. She spoke to how they all unique with different needs that need to be understood before using. To use an horno you must be intimate with her, no two are the same or should be treated the same and that it takes time to learn such needs. </div>
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<div data-mce-fragment="1" style="text-align: left;" data-mce-style="text-align: left;">We're honored to be part of this culture still and to keep it going through practices like building adobes and hornos from the soil we inhabit, especially for friends. This horno was built for Ballroom Marfa at Capri restaurant in Marfa TX using soil from Northern NM for the bricks and plaster and soil from Marfa TX for the mortar. </div>
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<div data-mce-fragment="1" style="text-align: left;" data-mce-style="text-align: left;">Some exciting news on us using the horno and the beautiful space at Capri coming soon. </div>
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<p data-mce-fragment="1" class="p1"><strong>↓ 35mm photos by Johnny &amp; Maida </strong></p>
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BUILDING AN HORNO FOR BALLROOM MARFA

¬ I get lost, from time to time, wondering about my ancestors and all the things that have been built up from their time to now, and those that no longer remain. Things that have been forgotten like a feral adobe exposed to the elements. Times there are semblances of objects or memories that give me more info and paint a picture better. Sometimes it's just a curiosity that may never be fully understood. I feel that my ancestors far enough back lived underground, in something like what we know of today as kivas. It seems to me, that maybe they’re seen as the sacred spaces because they were once our homes. Regardless of that being true or not, the people I come from have been living from and in the earth they were on for centuries. One of the ways that has lasted and is still present current day is the use of making mud bricks (adobes). The history goes that the Spanish had brought the technique of forming the mud brick to the new world, something they gleaned while the moorish occupied Spain. Though the adobe is an original a ‘Spanish’ practice, many of the ruins pre-contact are made solely of stone - the practice of building with mud is timeless. With the practices and ways of life and sheltering it that have been lost, the adobe remains. The smell of dry dirt, sifted and soaking with water to soon become a brick is still one of my favorite smells. It reminds me of the mud plaster and dirt roof at my grandfathers house after a rain, or witnessing my father build his own home of mud while I skateboarded around the concrete foundations. Being a child playing in fresh mud, or the taste of bread baked in a mud oven with a mud floor (horno). Despite the countless memories and feelings mud of northern New Mexico bring to me, it's hard to overlook how beautiful this practice of building shelter of the earth is. Especially when that earth was shaped with your hands, each component set with intention. Traditionally, while building an adobe home one would use the materials present in their location. Making their own bricks and plaster from what ever soil was present. In the village we live in if you look at each home with adobes exposed each one is different. Some have lots of rocks, some with sharper corners being mostly clay and lots of straw or wheat shaft, some with round edges and full of sand. Some of dark soil some of light, some with charcoal chunks. It could be argued that there is such a thing as a perfect adobe and that that should be the standard for building, but isn’t it endlessly more beautiful to think that each home could be made of the unique qualities of the specific terrain they are on. The same goes for the plaster, if the dirt was red and the mountains that surround it, so would be the house. I could wax on about aesthetic qualities and the feeling that mud structures bring me, but at the end of it all it's also extremely practical. Mud breaths, allowing air to flow in and out, providing clean air flow. Being made of mostly clay, adobes are fireproof, biodegradable, non toxic, and remotely water resistant. If the walls are built thick enough the biomass will keep the house cool in the summer and warm in the winter with south facing windows/fireplace, while also providing sound proofing and blocking emfs. Most of all though, mud bricks are something anyone can make and the things built from them become an extension of ourselves. At Taos Pueblo, each horno is talked about as feminine and in a way that intimacy with your horno is imperative as they are all unique and need specific love. The bricks we are making in the photos are made all by hand of mud from the terrain we inhabit of northern New Mexico, with straw, and water, dried in the sun. I’m not at the point of building a structure quite yet, so we have been making two sizes and one will soon become the horno and the other larger brick will be used for our courtyard wall of our future dinner space. The bricks with indents are from our house lambs who love to jump all over the fresh bricks. I'm proud each time I lift the frame from a batch of bricks and the bricks comes out smooth, honored to be able to take part of such a special practice the is intertwined with who and where I am from. ADOBE SIZES ↓ TRADTIONAL HORNO - 4" x 5" x 7" STANDARD - 4” x 10" x 14"

<div style="text-align: left;"><img style="float: none;" alt="" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0685/9653/1485/files/000006860001.jpg?v=1683905250"></div>
<p class="p1">¬ I get lost, from time to time, wondering about my ancestors and all the things that have been built up from their time to now, and those that no longer remain. Things that have been forgotten like a feral adobe exposed to the elements. Times there are semblances of objects or memories that give me more info and paint a picture better. Sometimes it's just a curiosity that may never be fully understood. </p>
<p class="p1">I feel that my ancestors far enough back lived underground, in something like what we know of today as kivas. It seems to me, that maybe they’re seen as the sacred spaces because they were once our homes.  </p>
<div style="text-align: left;"><img style="float: none;" alt="" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0685/9653/1485/files/000006860002.jpg?v=1683905276"></div>
<p class="p1">Regardless of that being true or not, the people I come from have been living from and in the earth they were on for centuries. One of the ways that has lasted and is still present current day is the use of making mud bricks (adobes). The history goes that the Spanish had brought the technique of forming the mud brick to the new world, something they gleaned while the moorish occupied Spain. Though the adobe is an original a ‘Spanish’ practice, many of the ruins pre-contact are made solely of stone -  the practice of building with mud is timeless.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p>
<p class="p2">With the practices and ways of life and sheltering it that have been lost, the adobe remains. The smell of dry dirt, sifted and soaking with water to soon become a brick is still one of my favorite smells. It reminds me of the mud plaster and dirt roof at my grandfathers house after a rain, or witnessing my father build his own home of mud while I skateboarded around the concrete foundations. Being a child playing in fresh mud, or the taste of bread baked in a mud oven with a mud floor (horno).<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p>
<p class="p1">Despite the countless memories and feelings mud of northern New Mexico bring to me, it's hard to overlook how beautiful this practice of building shelter of the earth is. Especially when that earth was shaped with your hands, each component set with intention.</p>
<div style="text-align: left;"><img style="float: none;" alt="" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0685/9653/1485/files/000006860003.jpg?v=1683905301"></div>
<p class="p2">Traditionally, while building an adobe home one would use the materials present in their location. Making their own bricks and plaster from what ever soil was present. In the village we live in if you look at each home with adobes exposed each one is different. Some have lots of rocks, some with sharper corners being mostly clay and lots of straw or wheat shaft, some with round edges and full of sand. Some of dark soil some of light, some with charcoal chunks.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p>
<div style="text-align: left;"><img style="float: none;" alt="" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0685/9653/1485/files/000006860005.jpg?v=1683905321"></div>
<p class="p1">It could be argued that there is such a thing as a perfect adobe and that that should be the standard for building, but isn’t it endlessly more beautiful to think that each home could be made of the unique qualities of the specific terrain they are on. The same goes for the plaster, if the dirt was red and the mountains that surround it, so would be the house.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p>
<p class="p1">I could wax on about aesthetic qualities and the feeling that mud structures bring me, but at the end of it all it's also extremely practical.</p>
<div style="text-align: left;"><img style="float: none;" alt="" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0685/9653/1485/files/000006860004.jpg?v=1683905351"></div>
<p class="p1">Mud breaths, allowing air to flow in and out, providing clean air flow. Being made of mostly clay, adobes are fireproof, biodegradable, non toxic, and remotely water resistant. If the walls are built thick enough the biomass will keep the house cool in the summer and warm in the winter with south facing windows/fireplace, while also providing sound proofing and blocking emfs. Most of all though, mud bricks are something anyone can make and the things built from them become an extension of ourselves. At Taos Pueblo, each horno is talked about as feminine and in a way that intimacy with your horno is imperative as they are all unique and need specific love.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p>
<p class="p1">The bricks we are making in the photos are made all by hand of mud from the terrain we inhabit of northern New Mexico, with straw, and water, dried in the sun. I’m not at the point of building a structure quite yet, so we have been making two sizes and one will soon become the horno and the other larger brick will be used for our courtyard wall of our future dinner space. The bricks with indents are from our house lambs who love to jump all over the fresh bricks. </p>
<div style="text-align: left;"><img style="float: none;" alt="" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0685/9653/1485/files/000006860006.jpg?v=1683905367"></div>
<p class="p1">I'm proud each time I lift the frame from a batch of bricks and the bricks comes out smooth, honored to be able to take part of such a special practice the is intertwined with who and where I am from.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p>
<div style="text-align: left;"><img style="float: none;" alt="" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0685/9653/1485/files/000006860008.jpg?v=1683905389"></div>
<p class="p1"> ADOBE SIZES </p>
<p class="p1">↓</p>
<p class="p1">TRADTIONAL HORNO - 4" x 5" x 7"<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p>
<p class="p1">STANDARD - 4” x 10" x 14"</p>

ADOBES

¬ We raise landrace churro sheep, and while great for meat, these words are in reverence of their fleece. Churro sheep, originally 'Churra', name meaning “scrub”, is more of a landrace ( mutt ) than a breed, brought to the 'New world' in 1598 by the Spanish explorer Juan de Onate. They were brought with over other Spanish breeds because they were thought to be the lesser breed, unlike the Merino, and we're willing to loose them. After being introduced, and over hundreds of years the sheep became the endemic sheep to Spanish and Native peoples of the desert southwest, despite deliberate attempts to eradicate the sheep. Through out this time the sheep adapted to the terrain and has become its own unique creature, and while almost losing them still persist. It's important to remember that when we label things we begin to limit our understanding of them. This is especially true for the churro, being a 'landrace' means that the complexities are vast and complicated. The label churro has warrant, but there are at least two groups of churros being raised and groups within those groups. The two main groups being the landrace churro & the modern churro. There are a few distinctions between the two, but the main one in regards to the fiber they provide is the prevalence of 'kemp'. The landrace sheep carry a hollow fiber called kemp, found in the fleeces of the most primitive sheep around the world. It is a hard, brittle, opaque, medullated fiber (possessing a core of air filled cells). It is usually coarser and much shorter than the wool fibers with which it is associated. After growing for a limited time, it is shed and frequently lies loose in the fleece. Being hollow, the fiber acts as an insulator that helps in protecting the sheep in extreme conditions, which is important for a sheep inhabiting the arid conditions of the desert. Kemp while being a major tool to the survival of these sheep has also become looked down on because of the slight coarseness of the fiber, hence the beginning of the modern churro which is bred to have a 'softer wool' that has as little kemp as possible. We have actually found in specific genetics some sheep with high kemp actually have a high luster and soft feel. I can imagine a time where shepherds having hundreds of sheep and an intimate relationship with them could separate various textures of the wool for various needs. Soft of clothing, coarse for rugs, and so on. "Nature isn't efficient, it is abundant." Anytime I look to a healthy ecosystem there is always diversity leading to abundance, and with the sheep it feels the same way. The non modern churro holds the stories of the past, and to us it is important to embrace that rather than try and change it to fit another need. For us the material always dictates the use, not the other way around. The fiber from these sheep are naturally colored that are extremely durable, insulate, full of luster, and adsorbing ( even when wet, feels dry ) May/June usually is time for us to shear the sheep as the threat of late frosts has past in our high desert village. Once sheared we take the wool to the only Mill west of the Mississippi in Mora NM to get spun and use the yarn for various projects. This year we will be offering a limited amount as yarn. LINKS: → Past 'Recuerdo' on processing in Mora → Our wool available in our 'Mercado'

<p class="p1">¬ We raise landrace churro sheep, and while great for meat, these words are in reverence of their fleece. </p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">Churro sheep, originally '<span data-mce-fragment="1">Churra', name meaning “scrub”, is more of a landrace ( mutt ) than a breed, <meta charset="utf-8">brought to the 'New world' in 1598 by the Spanish explorer Juan de Onate. They were brought with over other Spanish breeds because they were thought to be the  lesser breed, unlike the Merino, and we're willing to loose them. </span></p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1"><span data-mce-fragment="1">After being introduced, and over hundreds of years the sheep became the endemic sheep to Spanish and Native peoples of the desert southwest, despite deliberate attempts to eradicate the sheep. Through out this time the sheep adapted to the terrain and has become its own unique creature, and while almost losing them still persist. </span></p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1"><span data-mce-fragment="1">It's important to remember that when we label things we begin to limit our understanding of them. This is especially true for the churro, being a 'landrace' means that the complexities are vast and complicated. The label churro has warrant, but there are at least two groups of churros being raised and groups within those groups. The two main groups being the landrace churro &amp; the modern churro. There are a few distinctions between the two, but the main one in regards to the fiber they provide is the prevalence of 'kemp'.</span></p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1"><span data-mce-fragment="1">The landrace sheep carry a hollow fiber called kemp, found in the fleeces of the most primitive sheep around the world. It is a hard, brittle, opaque, medullated fiber (possessing a core of air filled cells<em data-mce-fragment="1">)</em>. It is usually coarser and much shorter than the wool fibers with which it is associated. After growing for a limited time, it is shed and frequently lies loose in the fleece. Being hollow, the fiber acts as an insulator that helps in protecting the sheep in extreme conditions, which is important for a sheep inhabiting the arid conditions of the desert. </span></p>
<p class="p1"><span data-mce-fragment="1"> </span></p>
<p class="p1"><span data-mce-fragment="1">Kemp while being a major tool to the survival of these sheep has also become looked down on because of the slight coarseness of the fiber, hence the beginning of the modern churro which is bred to have a 'softer wool' that has as little kemp as possible. We have actually found in specific genetics some sheep with high kemp actually have a high luster and soft feel. I can imagine a time where shepherds having hundreds of sheep and an intimate relationship with them could separate various textures of the wool for various needs. Soft of clothing, coarse for rugs, and so on.  </span></p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">"Nature isn't efficient, it is abundant." Anytime I look to a healthy ecosystem there is always diversity leading to abundance, and with the sheep it feels the same way. The non modern churro holds the stories of the past, and to us it is important to embrace that rather than try and change it to fit another need. For us the material always dictates the use, not the other way around. The fiber from these sheep are naturally colored that are extremely durable, insulate, full of luster, and adsorbing ( even when wet, feels dry ) </p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">May/June usually is time for us to shear the sheep as the threat of late frosts has past in our high desert village. Once sheared we take the wool to the only Mill west of the Mississippi in Mora NM to get spun and use the yarn for various projects. This year we will be offering a limited amount as yarn. </p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">LINKS:</p>
<p class="p1"><a href="/recuerdos/wool-processing-mora-nm" data-mce-href="/recuerdos/wool-processing-mora-nm">→<span> Past '</span>Recuerdo' on processing in Mora</a></p>
<p class="p1"><a href="/product/wool-yarn">→ Our wool available in our 'Mercado' </a></p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<div style="text-align: left;"><img style="float: none;" alt="" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0685/9653/1485/files/1_f021ad00-4050-4a22-a92d-eaa54dc7e3a6.jpg?v=1684462344"></div>
<p> </p>

Churro ( fiber )

If you have spent any time in northern NM during this time of the year you have probably smelt the unavoidable smell of the native plum blossoms. They are one of my favorite aromas of all time, that vary with the terrain. Their smell reminds me of sweet milky white corn and their blossoming reminds me of the beginning of the tradition of flooding of our pastures via the acequias ( diverted river water ). The blossoms with raw milk from our cow Dolores, and eggs from our chickens is very hard to beat. While the native plum blossoms are my favorite, any plum blossoms should work in place in this recipe. ↴ RECIPE 250g heavy cream - ( ideally raw from a reputable farm ) 125g whole milk - ( ideally raw from a reputable farm ) 35g sugar - ( the best white cane sugar you can find ) 1 pinch salt - ( celtic or redmonds ) 3 egg yolks - ( from the most reputable farm ) 40g plum blossoms - ( preferably the native species ) ↴ METHOD In a small pot, we use a Staub, warm up heavy cream, milk, sugar and salt while stirring constantly to avoid scorching until the sugar completely dissolves and the mixture reaches 125f. Take mixture off the stove and remove blossoms off of their branch's while avoiding as many of the green parts of the blossom to avoid too much bitterness. Once picked down add the plum blossoms to the mixture, cover and steep for an hour. Strain the base and warm back up until a light steam. In a separate bowl, whisk yolks. Whisking constantly, slowly whisk about a third of the hot milk base into the yolks, then whisk the yolk mixture back into the pot with the remaining mixture. Return pot to medium-low heat and gently cook while stirring until mixture reaches 180f. Remove from the heat and pour the mixture into the bowl used for yolks and submerge in an ice bath. When the mixture has cooled completely add it to your ice-cream maker. ( alternatively you can put it into your freezer covered and stir every 15 minutes until solid ) Once it is ready remove the ice cream and place it into a cold container and store covered in the freezer. If the ice cream is too cold to scoop let it sit in the fridge 10-20 minutes before eating.

<p class="p1" data-mce-fragment="1"> </p>
<p class="p1" data-mce-fragment="1">If you have spent any time in northern NM during this time of the year you have probably smelt the unavoidable smell of the native plum blossoms. They are one of my favorite aromas of all time, that vary with the terrain. Their smell reminds me of sweet milky white corn and their blossoming reminds me of the beginning of the tradition of flooding of our pastures via the acequias ( diverted river water ). The blossoms with raw milk from our cow Dolores, and eggs from our chickens is very hard to beat. </p>
<p class="p1" data-mce-fragment="1"> </p>
<p class="p1" data-mce-fragment="1">While the native plum blossoms are my favorite, any plum blossoms should work in place in this recipe.</p>
<p class="p1" data-mce-fragment="1"> </p>
<p class="p1" data-mce-fragment="1"> </p>
<p class="p1" data-mce-fragment="1"><span class="s1" data-mce-fragment="1">↴</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" data-mce-fragment="1">  </span>RECIPE </p>
<p class="p1">250g heavy cream<em><span class="Apple-converted-space"> - ( ideally raw from a reputable farm ) </span></em></p>
<p class="p1">125g whole milk<span class="Apple-converted-space"> - <em>( ideally raw from a reputable farm ) </em></span></p>
<p class="p1">35g sugar - <em>( the best white cane sugar you can find ) </em></p>
<p class="p1"><span>1 pinch salt - <em>( celtic or redmonds ) </em></span></p>
<p class="p1">3 egg yolks - <em>( from the most reputable farm )</em> </p>
<p class="p1">40g plum blossoms<span class="Apple-converted-space"> - <em>( preferably the native species ) </em></span><em> </em></p>
<p class="p1" data-mce-fragment="1"> </p>
<p class="p1" data-mce-fragment="1"> </p>
<p class="p1" data-mce-fragment="1"><span class="s1" data-mce-fragment="1">↴</span> METHOD </p>
<p class="p1">In a small pot, we use a Staub, warm up heavy cream, milk, sugar and salt while stirring constantly to avoid scorching until the sugar completely dissolves and the mixture reaches 125f.</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">Take mixture off the stove and remove blossoms off of their branch's while avoiding as many of the green parts of the blossom to avoid too much bitterness. Once picked down add the plum blossoms to the mixture, cover and steep for an hour. </p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">Strain the base and warm back up until a light steam.</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1"><span data-mce-fragment="1">In a separate bowl, whisk yolks. </span></p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">Whisking constantly, slowly whisk about a third of the hot milk base into the yolks, then whisk the yolk mixture back into the pot with the remaining mixture. Return pot to medium-low heat and gently cook while stirring until mixture reaches 180f. </p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">Remove from the heat and pour the mixture into the bowl used for yolks and submerge in an ice bath. When the mixture has cooled completely add it to your ice-cream maker.  ( alternatively you can put it into your freezer covered and stir every 15 minutes until solid ) </p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">Once it is ready remove the ice cream and place it into a cold container and store covered in the freezer. If the ice cream is too cold to scoop let it sit in the fridge 10-20 minutes before eating. </p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<div style="text-align: left;"><img style="float: none;" alt="" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0685/9653/1485/files/Plum_blossoms_2.jpg?v=1715350131"></div>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<div style="text-align: left;"><img style="float: none;" alt="" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0685/9653/1485/files/000005850003.jpg?v=1715350196"></div>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<div style="text-align: left;"><img style="float: none;" alt="" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0685/9653/1485/files/Screen_Shot_2024-05-09_at_8.24.40_PM.png?v=1715307888"></div>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<div style="text-align: left;"><img style="float: none;" alt="" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0685/9653/1485/files/18519B58-CA26-4814-94C7-9EDB1CB2DF12-978-000000E63D00AA03.jpg?v=1715307602"></div>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<div style="text-align: left;"><img style="float: none;" alt="" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0685/9653/1485/files/Screen_Shot_2024-05-10_at_8.06.56_AM.png?v=1715350024"></div>

PLUM BLOSSOM ICE CREAM

As a kid born and raised in the 90's I have high nostalgic love for commercial foods like an egg mcmuffin or a box of cheese-its, though I seldomly got them growing up but on special occasions as my parents were very young and lacked monetary comforts. These textural masterpieces were saved for special occasions like road trips or birthday parties. Now that I'm older and practicing creating and capturing the energy within food I still seldomly partake but on special occasions. These crackers to me taste like the best parts of a cheese-it, but made with ingredients that are good for us. They were made out of a desire to utilize the excess sourdough starter that gets thrown out each morning. I can honestly say they’re better then a cheese-it. They are great by themselves or with any topping you can imagine. ↴ RECIPE 100g sourdough discard ( 50/50 water and flour fermented for 24 hours ) 20g flour ( mountain mama winter red whole wheat ) 15g olive oil ( use good stuff ) 1.5g salt ( celtic or redmond real salt ) ↴ METHOD Gather all ingredients and a bowl. Start by adding the oil to the bowl and then the rest of the ingredients. ( Avoid using the dry bits of spent starter ) Mix and then kneed until the dough is all smooth. Cover and let sit at room temp for a few hours, around 2-4. The longer you let it sit the more sour it will get. Sometimes the starter is already sour and the dough can be baked right after making the dough. Roll the dough in two batches between baking parchment. Roll to your desired thickness, we roll it thin enough to see though it when lifted to the light. Take off the top sheet and rub olive oil over the whole cracker and sprinkle more salt. Bake for 8 min at 350 turning half way through, or until a golden brown color. This will vary depending on the desired thickness. Let it cool and it's ready to eat right away or saved for later. In NM we live in a dehydrator so they can stay out indefinitely.

<p class="p1" data-mce-fragment="1"><span class="s1" data-mce-fragment="1"></span>As a kid born and raised in the 90's I have high nostalgic love for commercial foods like an egg mcmuffin or a box of cheese-its, though I seldomly got them growing up but on special occasions as my parents were very young and lacked monetary comforts. These textural masterpieces were saved for special occasions like road trips or birthday parties. Now that I'm older and practicing creating and capturing the energy within food I still seldomly partake but on special occasions. </p>
<p class="p1" data-mce-fragment="1"> </p>
<p class="p1" data-mce-fragment="1">These crackers to me taste like the best parts of a cheese-it, but made with ingredients that are good for us. They were made out of a desire to utilize the excess sourdough starter that gets thrown out each morning. I can honestly say they’re better then a cheese-it.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p>
<p class="p1" data-mce-fragment="1"> </p>
<p class="p1" data-mce-fragment="1">They are great by themselves or with any topping you can imagine. </p>
<p class="p1" data-mce-fragment="1"> </p>
<p class="p1" data-mce-fragment="1"> </p>
<p class="p1" data-mce-fragment="1"><span class="s1" data-mce-fragment="1">↴</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" data-mce-fragment="1">  </span>RECIPE </p>
<p class="p2" data-mce-fragment="1">100g sourdough discard ( 50/50 water and flour fermented for 24 hours ) </p>
<p class="p2" data-mce-fragment="1">20g flour ( mountain mama winter red whole wheat ) </p>
<p class="p2" data-mce-fragment="1">15g olive oil ( use good stuff ) </p>
<p class="p2" data-mce-fragment="1">1.5g salt ( celtic or redmond real salt ) </p>
<p class="p1" data-mce-fragment="1"> </p>
<p class="p1" data-mce-fragment="1"> </p>
<p class="p4" data-mce-fragment="1"><span class="s1" data-mce-fragment="1">↴</span><span data-mce-fragment="1"> </span>METHOD </p>
<p class="p2" data-mce-fragment="1">Gather all ingredients and a bowl. </p>
<p class="p2" data-mce-fragment="1">Start by adding the oil to the bowl and then the rest of the ingredients. ( Avoid using the dry bits of spent starter )  </p>
<p class="p2" data-mce-fragment="1">Mix and then kneed until the dough is all smooth. </p>
<p class="p2" data-mce-fragment="1">Cover and let sit at room temp for a few hours, around 2-4. The longer you let it sit the more sour it will get. Sometimes the starter is already sour and the dough can be baked right after making the dough. </p>
<p class="p2" data-mce-fragment="1">Roll the dough in two batches between baking parchment. Roll to your desired thickness, we roll it thin enough to see though it when lifted to the light.</p>
<p class="p2" data-mce-fragment="1">Take off the top sheet and rub olive oil over the whole cracker and sprinkle more salt.</p>
<p class="p2" data-mce-fragment="1">Bake for 8 min at 350 turning half way through, or until a golden brown color. This will vary depending on the desired thickness. </p>
<p class="p2" data-mce-fragment="1">Let it cool and it's ready to eat right away or saved for later. In NM we live in a dehydrator so they can stay out indefinitely. </p>
<p data-mce-fragment="1"> </p>

Sourdough cracker

Video

'ethos' book ( process video )

In my early 20’s, after a few years of working at the restaurants Alinea in Chicago and The Willow's inn in WA, I worked in San Francisco as a sous chef at the restaurant Saison. I had joined the team as they were opening their brick and mortar space and in the span of 4 years time we earned three Michelin stars and a place on the top 100 list. To say it was hard work would be an understatement, though mostly self imposed, I was inseparable from the place. On my days off, between the necessities, I would spend it exploring art, food, and the terrain of the coast. The concept of a dinner series came to me while exploring the de young museum seeing art broken up in series of works. I loved the idea of dinners being unique to a series, unlike the familiar pop up style. It wasn't long after leaving Saison I started / shed 'a dinner series' and was excited for all the possibilities. This time in San Francisco was booming and there was abundance everywhere, especially in the food world. I loved the beautiful publications that were just coming out at that time and was inspired to invoke that spirit into my project. ( kinfolk, cereal, wilder, gather, y mas ). This is where the membership + sharing of information concept was formed. I dreamed of making a 'journal' that would be in print and would share about each series and how I could tie that in with a membership model. An ongoing sharing of the work and intentions behind it. Once starting / shed however, I quickly knew it needed to be back home in NM and I quickly made the move and put such things on hold. Though this inspiration never took place as it's initial seed, it has been a driving force in the work that I do. / shed isn't a restaurant and it's impossible to capture it's ethos from merely a dinner. It's an ecosystem of forces that hide in the daily practices. Our subscription is an attempt at sharing and honoring these forces, and through it comes our first publication. This book is an attempt at capturing our path to authenticity and words that guide our every action. A book of 'Dichos' ( phrases ) that can be looked to daily. It’s been years in the making and hours of printing and binding. We’re thrilled to finally share it with you all. → 'ethos' - first printing

<p data-mce-fragment="1" class="p1">In my early 20’s, after a few years of working at the restaurants Alinea in Chicago and The Willow's inn in WA, I worked in San Francisco as a sous chef at the restaurant Saison. I had joined the team as they were opening their brick and mortar space and in the span of 4 years time we earned three Michelin stars and a place on the top 100 list. To say it was hard work would be an understatement, though mostly self imposed, I was inseparable from the place.<span data-mce-fragment="1" class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p>
<p data-mce-fragment="1" class="p2"> </p>
<p data-mce-fragment="1" class="p1">On my days off, between the necessities, I would spend it exploring art, food, and the terrain of the coast. The concept of a dinner series came to me while exploring the de young museum seeing art broken up in series of works.<span data-mce-fragment="1" class="Apple-converted-space"> I loved the idea of dinners being unique to a series, unlike the familiar pop up style. </span>It wasn't long after leaving Saison I started / shed 'a dinner series' and was excited for all the possibilities.</p>
<p data-mce-fragment="1" class="p1"> </p>
<p data-mce-fragment="1" class="p1">This time in San Francisco was booming and there was abundance everywhere, especially in the food world. I loved the beautiful publications that were just coming out at that time and was inspired to invoke that spirit into my project. ( kinfolk, cereal, wilder, gather, y mas ). This is where the membership + sharing of information concept was formed.<span data-mce-fragment="1" class="Apple-converted-space"> I dreamed of making a 'journal' that would be in print and would share about each series and how I could tie that in with a membership model. An ongoing  sharing of the work and intentions behind it. Once starting / shed however, I quickly knew it needed to be back home in NM and I quickly made the move and put such things on hold. </span></p>
<p data-mce-fragment="1" class="p1"> </p>
<p data-mce-fragment="1" class="p1"><span data-mce-fragment="1" class="Apple-converted-space">Though this inspiration never took place as it's initial seed, it has been a driving force in the work that I do. / shed isn't a restaurant and it's impossible to capture it's ethos from merely a dinner. It's an ecosystem of forces that hide in the daily practices. Our subscription is an attempt at sharing and honoring these forces, and through it comes our first publication. </span></p>
<p data-mce-fragment="1" class="p2"> </p>
<p data-mce-fragment="1" class="p1">This book is an attempt at capturing our path to authenticity and words that guide our every action.<span data-mce-fragment="1" class="Apple-converted-space"> A book of 'Dichos' ( phrases ) that can be looked to daily. </span>It’s been years in the making and hours of printing and binding. We’re thrilled to finally share it with you all.</p>
<p data-mce-fragment="1" class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1"><a href="/product/ethos-book">→ 'ethos' - first printing</a></p>

'ethos'

Talk with Nate Ready of Hiyu wine farm

Brandon, our sister Allysa and I were lucky to grow up with two amazing parents, though young and relatively poor ( 16-17 years old ). We spent many of those early years moving from house to house. We lived in low income housing projects, mobile homes, in grandmas house, the women's shelter, and my grandfathers house on Taos Pueblo. My parents were together 12 years, and for my later childhood years we split the week between the two of them. All three of us were four years apart so in a way we were all close but also independent. I'm fortunate as the oldest to have witnessed the golden years of my parents relationship. Brandon being the middle child had a slightly different experience than I. Looking back, it has always felt like he liked being in the middle. He has always been the the empathetic one, the peace maker. I have always been ultra competitive and Brandon unseemly so. He would always keep up with me. When I moved away after high school is when he entered and joined football, becoming homecoming king his senior year. Everyone has always loved his ever present warm spirit. After leaving Taos I was engulfed in my work in the restaurants I was at and would see my family once a year for Christmas and that was pretty much it, maybe a call or two here and there. Brandon and I pretty much had very little connection after I left. I was around the country working 16 hours a day in restaurants and he was pulling all nighters in architectural school. I moved back in 2017 and was making ceramics for a year or so before that and when I reconnected with Brandon we realized we were both working with clay. I was working with a friend who specialized in porcelain so that's what I was using and he had taken a class about wild clay so he was playing with micaceous clay which was the clay from our ancestors at Taos Pueblo. It flipped a switch in my brain and I never touched porcelain again. We both dig from the same terrain, and use relatively the same practice but our work is pretty different. It's so sweet to see how unique his work is to him and how much we have both evolved since then. We love to use his bowls for our dinners, at home, and to now offer them through the 'Mercado' ( market ). → Dah-kuh-neh 'Daily bowls

<p>Brandon, our sister Allysa and I were lucky to grow up with two amazing parents, though young and relatively poor ( 16-17 years old ). We spent many of those early years moving from house to house. We lived in low income housing projects, mobile homes, in grandmas house, the women's shelter, and my grandfathers house on Taos Pueblo. My parents were together 12 years, and for my later childhood years we split the week between the two of them. All three of us were four years apart so in a way we were all close but also independent. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>I'm fortunate as the oldest to have witnessed the golden years of my parents relationship. Brandon being the middle child had a slightly different experience than I. Looking back, it has always felt like he liked being in the middle. He has always been the <meta charset="utf-8"><span data-mce-fragment="1">the empathetic one, the </span>peace maker.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I have always been ultra competitive and <meta charset="utf-8"><span data-mce-fragment="1">Brandon unseemly so. He would always keep up with me. W</span>hen I moved away after high school is when he entered and joined football, becoming homecoming king his senior year. Everyone has always loved his ever present warm spirit. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>After leaving Taos I was engulfed in my work in the restaurants I was at and would see my family once a year for Christmas and that was pretty much it, maybe a call or two here and there. Brandon and I pretty much had very little connection <meta charset="utf-8"><span data-mce-fragment="1">after I left</span>. I was around the country working 16 hours a day in restaurants and he was pulling all nighters in architectural school.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I moved back in 2017 and was making ceramics for a year or so before that and when I reconnected with Brandon we realized we were both working with clay. I was working with a friend who specialized in porcelain so that's what I was using and he had taken a class about wild clay so he was playing with micaceous clay which was the clay from our ancestors at Taos Pueblo. It flipped a switch in my brain and I never touched porcelain again. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>We both dig from the same terrain, and use relatively the same practice but our work is pretty different. It's so sweet to see how unique his work is to him and how much we have both evolved since then. We love to use his bowls for our dinners, at home, and to now offer them through the 'Mercado' ( market ). </p>
<p> </p>
<p class="p1"><a href="/product/da-kuh-neh-daily-bowls">→ Dah-kuh-neh 'Daily bowls </a></p>
<p> <img data-mce-fragment="1" alt="" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0685/9653/1485/files/Dah-kuh-nehbowl_480x480.jpg?v=1708962544" data-mce-src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0685/9653/1485/files/Dah-kuh-nehbowl_480x480.jpg?v=1708962544"></p>

Dah-kuh-neh ( Brandon Ortiz )

Yesterday was a day dedicated to organizing and binding the / shed ‘ethos’ book, more on that to come soon, and in pretty full flow I hear the dogs barking outside, usually because someone is here. I go out side and find Sebedeo Chacon waiting to have a word with me. I greet him and he greets me back politely and asks if I have a chain he can borrow. They’ve gotten stuck in the mud down the road in Rancho de los Trujillos - pulling in to round up their bull that has been finding his way through the village and upsetting some neighbors. The bull had been kicked out of our field just a couple days before. I have a chain and I offer bring it and my truck to lend a hand. The stopping of viejos in front of our home to say hello is an unpredictable occasion. Often we find ourselves feeding cows, flooding our fields, cutting hay or some other outdoor activity to be stopped by some viejo who tells us stories, shares gossip, or asks for help. The time line of this generation is on a totally different pace than ours. We are always trying to finish everything as quickly as possible to get to the next thing, and when we can hear the loud truck or four wheeler coming towards us we have a hard time being totally excited for the chance of spending an hour talking about who knows what. Funny enough though I can’t think of a single time I’ve regretted it. The stories these guys have aren’t written or filmed, it is a culture that has evolved with and from the high desert terrain of Northern New Mexico that has been mixed with primarily old mother Spain and old Native customs, both of which make up me and Maida’s blood and generational DNA. I generally leave one of these interactions invigorated. It’s invigorating to actually be part of a community, not one fabricated or designed, but one formed solely by proximity and common practice. One where I don’t hesitate to ask for help, nor give it. This interaction with Sebedeo was particularly special. After offering a hand I went back inside, stoked the fire, put on my boots, and jumped in the truck. It’s still winter and though sunny is still cold, but today the sun felt more spring like. I drove down the muddy dirt road, perfect adobe mud, and over the old wooden bridge to see the truck and stock trailer stuck. There were two guys with Sebedeo that I hadn’t formally met yet, but we all recognized each other from driving up and down the same road. I back up to their truck and when going to attach the chain realize I didn’t have my hitch so the two guys scrounged through their trucks to find one. When they found one there was not pin so we found a bolt, put it on as much as we could and hoped it would work. We are at least an hour away from any store so you can generally count on someone up here having what ever could be needed on their person or land. Me with the chain, the guys with the hitch. I pulled them out easily and when I jumped out of the truck and Sebedeo said “that’s not a truck, that’s a caterpillar”. A compliment from this guys is a big deal. Sebedeo once told me, “nice fence. You’re the only one who knows how to build a fence around here.” And that one is still to this day one of my proudest moments. My job was done, and Sebedeo asked how much he owed me, I said nothing, maybe just a helping hand next time I needed one but he gave me a 20 anyway. I accepted and offered to stick around in case there was another issue. As the younger of the men was trying to back the truck and trailer up I noticed that our bull, we had been missing him for a few days, he was in with Sebedeo’s cows so we rounded him up also and took him back to our place. The younger man tried to drive back onto the bridge on his own accord, he jack knifed, rear tire almost sliding off the bridge. Sebedeo yelled some things in Spanish then asked if I would pull them back up, and I did. We stopped pretty quickly after hoping he could just drive forward again. I released the chain and got out. Right when the younger man started the truck Sebedeo yelled in his vernacular ‘norteno’ accent, “what are you guys thinking, put stuff under the tires!” Both guys didn’t seem fazed or to really listen. I joined and put cottonwood bark underneath. - He got out and then there was a debate, the older of the two men said “we’ll just come back tomorrow”, Sebedeo said “no were already here, we’re going to take the damn bull”. I suggested how about they drive back to the main road and come back in head first and that was what they did. While the younger of the two men drove it back I stood with Sebedeo by the corral. He asked me if I was selling any hay, and I told him I had just sold his brother a couple hundred and might have some still if he needed any. Then he asked if I wanted to buy a horse. We have been wanting a horse to add to the ranch, especially for when we have to push cows up and down the road. I asked how much, he told me $1,500, and I said maybe we trade for hay and he nodding his head intrigued. I said that I have been wanting a horse but haven’t gotten one because I don’t want to get the wrong one and asked about his and why he was selling her. He said he had too many and he’s getting too old. “I have 5 race horses and 2 mountain horses, this one is a mountain horse.” It’s interesting, I have never heard an older ‘norteno’ call an animal by their name, I don’t think they name them ever. It makes me think of a story in our favorite book ‘River of Traps’ - Jacobo didn’t name his horses because he feels their not his, they are their own being. He responds when asked “I suppose they don’t have a name for me either”. Sebedeo whistles to the older of the two men and says “get on the horse and show Johnny it’s a good horse.” And the man gets on easily and rides around with ease and starts separating the bulls while the other man backed up the the corrals. I jumped in to help and our bull came right up to me and in to the trailer, his followed, but because we wanted to unload ours first I pushed ours back out and locked theirs in the back. When I got out of the trailer our bull got spooked and jumped over the 5 foot corral. We all ran to get him back in, me in front, the older man on the horse and the younger man between the other cows. He went back in pretty easily and once we locked him in the younger man said “daddy" in a way that felt like his family has been saying it that way since they came from Spain hundreds of years ago, and I realized they were his sons. His sons moved trucks around and Sebedeo and I leaned against the corral talking. I said that I have been wanting to catch a wild colt from the mountains and train it and asked if he ever done that. He said “oh yeah, I have done a lot of that when I was younger. Me and my brothers used to get the job from the forest service to do it. Once I caught 18 in one day, I can’t believe I’m still alive. I used to run all over these mountains.” I asked about the horse he wanted to sell me and he told me all the guys who had owned her before him and that she was just a mutt from all the horses around here. I asked about his forest grazing permits and he started recalling to me all of the issues he had with them over the years and said “everyone thinks they are permits, but they aren’t, they are rights, rights given to use before New Mexico was even a state. The forest service likes to think they own them but they don’t they are ours. They are just the care takers” I ask about where his ‘rights’ are and he says “I graze my cows on that side of the mountain ( east ) and my brother Alfonso grazes his on this side ( west ). His sons had loaded up and was ready to go and Sebedeo said, “you know this place is changing. Everyone here used to be a cowboy. Everyone used to have cows and horses.” We exchange a few more words and he heads to his truck loaded with the two bulls and Jeff the younger son comes over and asks me what kind of beer I like, I say commercially I like Budweiser, he says no what’s your favorite local beer, and I say La Cumbre Elevated and he says “Okay, next time I’ll bring you some of that, I like that one too.” As we’re talking Sebedeo zooms through the field down the muddy turn and onto the bridge perfectly and Jeff says “they don’t make those 84 year old cowboys any more” and I chuckle and say “they sure don’t. It’s nice that you guys are keeping it going though” and he says “yeah, we’ll see for how long”. We shake hands and he grabs the horse and I get in the truck and head out while he closes gates. It’s an unbelievable honor to be part of and to witness this culture I come from and to aid in its continuance. It is at the same time sad they don’t make them like Sebedeo anymore, and that his sons are active in the life but don’t love it as he does. I love it though. Maybe that’s because I found it on my own, maybe it's because it's just in my blood. I chose this life and had to build it from scratch. Every day it takes work to maintain and with almost no financial return, but each day feeding everyone, fixing fences, cutting or stacking hay, moving water, random chats with the viejos, and all the other daily chaos with my family Maida and Flora, I wouldn’t trade any of it for anything. I use the phrase “Create the world you wish existed” and sometimes that means participating in maintaining and evolving the perfect one that already exists.

<p class="p1" data-mce-fragment="1">Yesterday was a day dedicated to organizing and binding the / shed ‘ethos’ book, more on that to come soon, and in pretty full flow I hear the dogs barking outside, usually because someone is here. I go out side and find Sebedeo Chacon waiting to have a word with me. I greet him and he greets me back politely and asks if I have a chain he can borrow. They’ve gotten stuck in the mud down the road in Rancho de los Trujillos - pulling in to round up their bull that has been finding his way through the village and upsetting some neighbors. The bull had been kicked out of our field just a couple days before. I have a chain and I offer bring it and my truck to lend a hand.</p>
<p class="p2" data-mce-fragment="1"> </p>
<p class="p1" data-mce-fragment="1">The stopping of viejos in front of our home to say hello is an unpredictable occasion. Often we find ourselves feeding cows, flooding our fields, cutting hay or some other outdoor activity to be stopped by some viejo who tells us stories, shares gossip, or asks for help. The time line of this generation is on a totally different pace than ours. We are always trying to finish everything as quickly as possible to get to the next thing, and when we can hear the loud truck or four wheeler coming towards us we have a hard time being totally excited for the chance of spending an hour talking about who knows what. Funny enough though I can’t think of a single time I’ve regretted it. The stories these guys have aren’t written or filmed, it is a culture that has evolved with and from the high desert terrain of Northern New Mexico that has been mixed with primarily old mother Spain and old Native customs, both of which make up me and Maida’s blood and generational DNA. I generally leave one of these interactions invigorated. It’s invigorating to actually be part of a community, not one fabricated or designed, but one formed solely by proximity and common practice. One where I don’t hesitate to ask for help, nor give it.<span class="Apple-converted-space" data-mce-fragment="1"> </span></p>
<p class="p2" data-mce-fragment="1"> </p>
<p class="p1" data-mce-fragment="1">This interaction with Sebedeo was particularly special.<span class="Apple-converted-space" data-mce-fragment="1"> </span></p>
<p class="p2" data-mce-fragment="1"> </p>
<p class="p1" data-mce-fragment="1">After offering a hand I went back inside, stoked the fire, put on my boots, and jumped in the truck. It’s still winter and though sunny is still cold, but today the sun felt more spring like. I drove down the muddy dirt road, perfect adobe mud, and over the old wooden bridge to see the truck and stock trailer stuck. There were two guys with Sebedeo that I hadn’t formally met yet, but we all recognized each other from driving up and down the same road. I back up to their truck and when going to attach the chain realize I didn’t have my hitch so the two guys scrounged through their trucks to find one. When they found one there was not pin so we found a bolt, put it on as much as we could and hoped it would work. We are at least an hour away from any store so you can generally count on someone up here having what ever could be needed on their person or land. Me with the chain, the guys with the hitch.<span class="Apple-converted-space" data-mce-fragment="1"> </span></p>
<p class="p2" data-mce-fragment="1"> </p>
<p class="p1" data-mce-fragment="1">I pulled them out easily and when I jumped out of the truck and Sebedeo said “that’s not a truck, that’s a caterpillar”. A compliment from this guys is a big deal. Sebedeo once told me, “nice fence. You’re the only one who knows how to build a fence around here.” And that one is still to this day one of my proudest moments. My job was done, and Sebedeo asked how much he owed me, I said nothing, maybe just a helping hand next time I needed one but he gave me a 20 anyway. I accepted and offered to stick around in case there was another issue. As the younger of the men was trying to back the truck and trailer up I noticed that our bull, we had been missing him for a few days, he was in with Sebedeo’s cows so we rounded him up also and took him back to our place.</p>
<p class="p2" data-mce-fragment="1"> </p>
<p class="p1" data-mce-fragment="1">The younger man tried to drive back onto the bridge on his own accord, he jack knifed, rear tire almost sliding off the bridge. Sebedeo yelled some things in Spanish then asked if I would pull them back up, and I did. We stopped pretty quickly after hoping he could just drive forward again. I released the chain and got out. Right when the younger man started the truck Sebedeo yelled in his vernacular ‘norteno’ accent, “what are you guys thinking, put stuff under the tires!” Both guys didn’t seem fazed or to really listen. I joined and put cottonwood bark underneath. - He got out and then there was a debate, the older of the two men said “we’ll just come back tomorrow”, Sebedeo said “no were already here, we’re going to take the damn bull”. I suggested how about they drive back to the main road and come back in head first and that was what they did.<span class="Apple-converted-space" data-mce-fragment="1"> </span></p>
<p class="p2" data-mce-fragment="1"> </p>
<p class="p1" data-mce-fragment="1">While the younger of the two men drove it back I stood with Sebedeo by the corral. He asked me if I was selling any hay, and I told him I had just sold his brother a couple hundred and might have some still if he needed any. Then he asked if I wanted to buy a horse. We have been wanting a horse to add to the ranch, especially for when we have to push cows up and down the road. I asked how much, he told me $1,500, and I said maybe we trade for hay and he nodding his head intrigued. I said that I have been wanting a horse but haven’t gotten one because I don’t want to get the wrong one and asked about his and why he was selling her. He said he had too many and he’s getting too old. “I have 5 race horses and 2 mountain horses, this one is a mountain horse.” It’s interesting, I have never heard an older ‘norteno’ call an animal by their name, I don’t think they name them ever. It makes me think of a story in our favorite book ‘River of Traps’ - Jacobo didn’t name his horses because he feels their not his, they are their own being. He responds when asked “I suppose they don’t have a name for me either”.<span class="Apple-converted-space" data-mce-fragment="1"> </span></p>
<p class="p2" data-mce-fragment="1"> </p>
<p class="p1" data-mce-fragment="1">Sebedeo whistles to the older of the two men and says “get on the horse and show Johnny it’s a good horse.” And the man gets on easily and rides around with ease and starts separating the bulls while the other man backed up the the corrals.<span class="Apple-converted-space" data-mce-fragment="1"> </span></p>
<p class="p2" data-mce-fragment="1"> </p>
<p class="p1" data-mce-fragment="1">I jumped in to help and our bull came right up to me and in to the trailer, his followed, but because we wanted to unload ours first I pushed ours back out and locked theirs in the back. When I got out of the trailer our bull got spooked and jumped over the 5 foot corral. We all ran to get him back in, me in front, the older man on the horse and the younger man between the other cows. He went back in pretty easily and once we locked him in the younger man said “daddy" in a way that felt like his family has been saying it that way since they came from Spain hundreds of years ago, and I realized they were his sons.<span class="Apple-converted-space" data-mce-fragment="1"> </span></p>
<p class="p2" data-mce-fragment="1"> </p>
<p class="p1" data-mce-fragment="1">His sons moved trucks around and Sebedeo and I leaned against the corral talking. I said that I have been wanting to catch a wild colt from the mountains and train it and asked if he ever done that. He said “oh yeah, I have done a lot of that when I was younger. Me and my brothers used to get the job from the forest service to do it. Once I caught 18 in one day, I can’t believe I’m still alive. I used to run all over these mountains.” I asked about the horse he wanted to sell me and he told me all the guys who had owned her before him and that she was just a mutt from all the horses around here. I asked about his forest grazing permits and he started recalling to me all of the issues he had with them over the years and said “everyone thinks they are permits, but they aren’t, they are rights, rights given to use before New Mexico was even a state. The forest service likes to think they own them but they don’t they are ours. They are just the care takers” I ask about where his ‘rights’ are and he says “I graze my cows on that side of the mountain ( east ) and my brother Alfonso grazes his on this side ( west ).<span class="Apple-converted-space" data-mce-fragment="1"> </span></p>
<p class="p2" data-mce-fragment="1"> </p>
<p class="p1" data-mce-fragment="1">His sons had loaded up and was ready to go and Sebedeo said, “you know this place is changing. Everyone here used to be a cowboy. Everyone used to have cows and horses.” We exchange a few more words and he heads to his truck loaded with the two bulls and Jeff the younger son comes over and asks me what kind of beer I like, I say commercially I like Budweiser, he says no what’s your favorite local beer, and I say La Cumbre Elevated and he says “Okay, next time I’ll bring you some of that, I like that one too.”<span class="Apple-converted-space" data-mce-fragment="1"> </span></p>
<p class="p2" data-mce-fragment="1"> </p>
<p class="p1" data-mce-fragment="1">As we’re talking Sebedeo zooms through the field down the muddy turn and onto the bridge perfectly and Jeff says “they don’t make those 84 year old cowboys any more” and I chuckle and say “they sure don’t. It’s nice that you guys are keeping it going though” and he says “yeah, we’ll see for how long”. We shake hands and he grabs the horse and I get in the truck and head out while he closes gates.<span class="Apple-converted-space" data-mce-fragment="1"> </span></p>
<p class="p2" data-mce-fragment="1"> </p>
<p class="p1" data-mce-fragment="1">It’s an unbelievable honor to be part of and to witness this culture I come from and to aid in its continuance. It is at the same time sad they don’t make them like Sebedeo anymore, and that his sons are active in the life but don’t love it as he does. I love it though. Maybe that’s because I found it on my own, maybe it's because it's just in my blood.</p>
<p class="p1" data-mce-fragment="1"> </p>
<p class="p1" data-mce-fragment="1">I chose this life and had to build it from scratch. Every day it takes work to maintain and with almost no financial return, but each day feeding everyone, fixing fences, cutting or stacking hay, moving water, random chats with the viejos, and all the other daily chaos with my family Maida and Flora, I wouldn’t trade any of it for anything.<span class="Apple-converted-space" data-mce-fragment="1"> </span></p>
<p class="p2" data-mce-fragment="1"> </p>
<p class="p1" data-mce-fragment="1">I use the phrase “Create the world you wish existed” and sometimes that means participating in maintaining and evolving the perfect one that already exists.<span class="Apple-converted-space" data-mce-fragment="1"> </span></p>

THEY DON'T MAKE 84 YEAR OLD COWBOYS LIKE THAT ANYMORE

Growing up in Northern New Mexico one of the most nostalgic smells is a pot of beans and chile cooking on the stove. I grew up as an extremely picky eater so this with bread was one of my most consumed foods, and most of the time it was ate at paternal grandmother Mary's, while my uncles watched football or after church. Grandma Mary lived in a mobile home with her brother and her sisters lived next door. Every night the whole family was around. Mary and her siblings were poor, though I never realized it. They never had a drivers license, walked to work, ate the same thing almost every night and worked at the same restaurant for 40+ years. I wish I could say we ate beans they grew, in a clay pot they made, but it couldn't be any further from the truth. Despite this truth, it is traditional for a reason. Most 'norteno' families still make this dish. A quiet ode to the 'los viejos'. Now that I've moved back from a few years of travels working in restaurants, I appreciate those I come from and what built traditions. We serve at dinners, and eat at home, beans and chile like I was raised on at my grandmothers, but now from beans we grow, clay we dig and a pot we make. It's an honor to be from families that have been from this terrain for generations and to be able to have a chance to build off that. Here's the recipe for my favorite dish / side dish of all time. ↓ RECIPE SERVES 4-6 10 minutes prep time 8+ hours cook time ↓ INGREDIENTS 120g dried beans ( tuah-tah, pinto, anazazi, bolita ) 30g chicos 2 small garlic cloves salt ( celtic or any unprocessed salt with trace minerals) 120g fat - tallow, lard, olive oil or sunflower oil ( highest quality to avoid an oxidized oil) 1,400g cold water 20 - 40g red chile powder ( depending on desired spice level ) ↓ METHOD Sort through the dry beans for little debris or rocks then add to your micaceous bean pot or pot of choice. Add chicos to the same pot. Fill the pot with water and soak over night. Cook the next day in the same water. Place pot on the stove and bring to a light boil. Once at a simmer add a pinch of salt, and turn down to a slow gentle simmer. Once at a slow simmer add fat, chile, and both cloves of garlic lightly smashed and shelled. Season with little amounts of salt through the entire process, doing so will give you depth of flavor you cannot get otherwise. Add every 30 minutes or so, taste and add accordingly. Cook for roughly 8-10 hours, or until the beans are soft through. ( it will vary with each bean variety. salt is important for human health, as for all things we consume, celtic salt is an unprocessed salt that still contains trace minerals unlike most that are pure sodium chloride.) These beans can cook all day, but are ready once tender all the way through. Beans are great brothy with bread, or less brothy as a side. * I have found that beans that are rapidly cooked, in a pressure cooker, or from a can, negatively affect my stomach and never taste nearly as good. I recommend trying a nice quality heirloom bean, soaked over night, cooked for a long period. I believe slow cooking beans this way also makes them more nutritious and less toxic due to the lectins.

<p data-mce-fragment="1" class="p1"> </p>
<p data-mce-fragment="1" class="p3">Growing up in Northern New Mexico one of the most nostalgic smells is a pot of beans and chile cooking on the stove.</p>
<p data-mce-fragment="1" class="p3"> </p>
<p data-mce-fragment="1" class="p3">I grew up as an extremely picky eater so this with bread was one of my most consumed foods, and most of the time it was ate at paternal grandmother Mary's, while my uncles watched football or after church. Grandma Mary lived in a mobile home with her brother and her sisters lived next door. Every night the whole family was around. Mary and her siblings were poor, though I never realized it. They never had a drivers license, walked to work, ate the same thing almost every night and worked at the same restaurant for 40+ years.</p>
<p data-mce-fragment="1" class="p3"> </p>
<p data-mce-fragment="1" class="p3">I wish I could say we ate beans they grew, in a clay pot they made, but it couldn't be any further from the truth. Despite this truth, it is traditional for a reason. Most 'norteno' families still make this dish. A quiet ode to the '<meta charset="utf-8"><span data-mce-fragment="1">los viejos'.</span></p>
<p data-mce-fragment="1" class="p3"> </p>
<p data-mce-fragment="1" class="p3">Now that I've moved back from a few years of travels working in restaurants, I appreciate those I come from and what built traditions. We serve at dinners, and eat at home, beans and chile like I was raised on at my grandmothers, but now from beans <meta charset="utf-8"><span data-mce-fragment="1">we grow</span>, clay we dig and a pot we make. It's an honor to be from families that have been from this terrain for generations and to be able to have a chance to build off that. </p>
<p data-mce-fragment="1" class="p3"> </p>
<p data-mce-fragment="1" class="p3">Here's the recipe for my favorite dish / side dish of all time. </p>
<p data-mce-fragment="1" class="p3"> </p>
<p data-mce-fragment="1" class="p3"> </p>
<p data-mce-fragment="1" class="p3">↓<span data-mce-fragment="1" class="s2"><span data-mce-fragment="1"> RECIPE                                                                               <meta charset="utf-8">SERVES 4-6<span data-mce-fragment="1" class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></p>
<p data-mce-fragment="1" class="p1">                                                                                              10 minutes prep time<span data-mce-fragment="1" class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p>
<p data-mce-fragment="1" class="p2">                                                                                              8+ hours cook time<span data-mce-fragment="1" class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p>
<p data-mce-fragment="1" class="p4"> </p>
<p data-mce-fragment="1" class="p4"><span data-mce-fragment="1" class="s1">↓</span><span data-mce-fragment="1" class="s2"> </span>INGREDIENTS</p>
<p data-mce-fragment="1" class="p5">120g dried beans ( tuah-tah, pinto, anazazi, bolita )<span data-mce-fragment="1" class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p>
<p data-mce-fragment="1" class="p5">30g chicos</p>
<p data-mce-fragment="1" class="p5">2 small garlic cloves<span data-mce-fragment="1" class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p>
<p data-mce-fragment="1" class="p5">salt ( celtic or any unprocessed salt with trace minerals)<span data-mce-fragment="1" class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p>
<p data-mce-fragment="1" class="p5">120g fat - tallow, lard, olive oil or sunflower oil ( highest quality to avoid an oxidized oil)<span data-mce-fragment="1" class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p>
<p data-mce-fragment="1" class="p5">1,400g cold water<span data-mce-fragment="1" class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p>
<p data-mce-fragment="1" class="p5">20 - 40g red chile powder ( depending on desired spice level ) <span data-mce-fragment="1" class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p>
<p data-mce-fragment="1" class="p3"> </p>
<p data-mce-fragment="1" class="p4"><meta charset="utf-8"><span data-mce-fragment="1">↓ </span>METHOD</p>
<p data-mce-fragment="1" class="p5">Sort through the dry beans for little debris or rocks then add to your micaceous bean pot or pot of choice.<span data-mce-fragment="1" class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Add chicos to the same pot.</p>
<p data-mce-fragment="1" class="p7"> </p>
<p data-mce-fragment="1" class="p7">Fill the pot with water and soak over night. Cook the next day in the same water.</p>
<p data-mce-fragment="1" class="p7"> </p>
<p data-mce-fragment="1" class="p5">Place pot on the stove and bring to a light boil.<span data-mce-fragment="1" class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p>
<p data-mce-fragment="1" class="p7"> </p>
<p data-mce-fragment="1" class="p5">Once at a simmer add a pinch of salt, and turn down to a slow gentle simmer.<span data-mce-fragment="1" class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p>
<p data-mce-fragment="1" class="p7"> </p>
<p data-mce-fragment="1" class="p5">Once at a slow simmer add fat, chile, and both cloves of garlic lightly smashed and shelled.<span data-mce-fragment="1" class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p>
<p data-mce-fragment="1" class="p7"> </p>
<p data-mce-fragment="1" class="p5">Season with little amounts of salt through the entire process, doing so will give you depth of flavor you cannot get otherwise. Add every 30 minutes or so, taste and add accordingly.</p>
<p data-mce-fragment="1" class="p5"> </p>
<p data-mce-fragment="1" class="p5">Cook for roughly 8-10 hours, or until the beans are soft through. ( it will vary with each bean variety. salt is important for human health, as for all things we consume, celtic salt is an unprocessed salt that still contains trace minerals unlike most that are pure sodium chloride.)</p>
<p data-mce-fragment="1" class="p7"> </p>
<p data-mce-fragment="1" class="p5">These beans can cook all day, but are ready once tender all the way through. Beans are great brothy with bread, or less brothy as a side.<span data-mce-fragment="1" class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p>
<p data-mce-fragment="1" class="p7"> </p>
<p data-mce-fragment="1" class="p5">* I have found that beans that are rapidly cooked, in a pressure cooker, or from a can, negatively affect my stomach and never taste nearly as good. I recommend trying a nice quality heirloom bean, soaked over night, cooked for a long period. I believe slow cooking beans this way also makes them more nutritious and less toxic due to the lectins.  </p>

BEANS + CHILE

Ocote is New Mexico’s ‘palo santo’. It is a resinous pine, once struck by lighting or under some other distress, caused the tree to fill itself with resin to heal. Over time the tree dies and because of its resin does not rot. Yearly we make the trek to gather Ocote for fire starter and ‘inceinso’ in the deep mountains of Northern NM. I like to hike far, up rocky mountains far from roads to find the best and oldest logs. There are easier ways to start a fire these days, but we love to quote, "Your life is the medicine", and there just isn't much better medicine than gathering ocote in the woods, especially covered in snow. It is a quest in search of nature to sustain our bodies and spirits. The trek to find ocote is part of what makes it so special. If you have ever been to the Taos Pueblo Christmas bonfires you know the intoxicating, slightly sweet aroma that the black pitch smoke produces. If you haven't it is perhaps too hard to explain and you will need to experience it when you can. What can be explained though is that this wood, is as useful as it is beautiful. It can be used daily in the cold months to start your fire, in your survival kit, or used daily to set intention. → You can find Ocote bundles and ocote holders made of pit fired wild micaceous clay in our MERCADO. → You can also watch our latest process video of Johnny harvesting Ocote filmed by Maida in RECUERDOS

<p class="p1" data-mce-fragment="1">Ocote is New Mexico’s ‘palo santo’. It is a resinous pine, once struck by lighting or under some other distress, caused the tree to fill itself with resin to heal. Over time the tree dies and because of its resin does not rot.</p>
<p class="p1" data-mce-fragment="1"> </p>
<p class="p1" data-mce-fragment="1">Yearly we make the trek to gather Ocote for fire starter and ‘inceinso’ in the deep mountains of Northern NM. I like to hike far, up rocky mountains far from roads to find the best and oldest logs. There are easier ways to start a fire these days, but we love to quote, "Your life is the medicine", and there just isn't much better medicine than gathering ocote in the woods, especially covered in snow. It is a quest in search of nature to sustain our bodies and spirits. The trek to find ocote is part of what makes it so special.</p>
<p class="p1" data-mce-fragment="1"> </p>
<p class="p1" data-mce-fragment="1">If you have ever been to the Taos Pueblo Christmas bonfires you know the intoxicating, slightly sweet aroma that the black pitch smoke produces. If you haven't it is perhaps too hard to explain and you will need to experience it when you can. What can be explained though is that this wood, is as useful as it is beautiful. It can be used daily in the cold months to start your fire, in your survival kit, or used daily to set intention. </p>
<p class="p1" data-mce-fragment="1"> </p>
<p class="p1" data-mce-fragment="1"><meta charset="utf-8"><small data-mce-fragment="1">→</small> You can find Ocote bundles and ocote holders made of pit fired wild micaceous clay in our <a href="/mercado">MERCADO</a>. </p>
<p class="p1" data-mce-fragment="1"> </p>
<p class="p1" data-mce-fragment="1"><meta charset="utf-8"><small data-mce-fragment="1">→</small> You can also watch our latest process video of Johnny harvesting Ocote filmed by Maida in <a href="/recuerdos">RECUERDOS</a></p>
<p class="p1" data-mce-fragment="1"> </p>
<p class="p1" data-mce-fragment="1"> </p>
<p class="p1" data-mce-fragment="1"> </p>

OCOTE ( words )

OCOTE ( gathering )

Words by Santiago Goodhue age 18 of Taos NM Chasing the bloom as winter starts to loosen its icy grip and the ground begins to thaw the cycle begins. It's time to start work. The end of March begins the blossoming of the incredibly frost hearty buffalo berry. This awakens the hibernating pollinators of the Taos valley, and marks the time to begin moving the bees from the winter pastures of our local communities down to our traditional orchards of the villages of Velarde and Ohkay Owingeh to pollinate, first the apricot blossom then the plum, finishing with apples and cherries. This is a very important time in the cycle of life. Many families rely on our skills to bring the bees to ensure a healthy and plentiful harvest, to maintain traditional living styles and livelihood for the agricultural regions of northern Nuevo Mexico. Great care and instincts must be used at this time as many forces of nature are taking place, such as the awakening of the formidable hungry Taos Osos, possible Sangre de Cristos blizzards, flooding, and horrible relentless spring wind. Rapid weather change from hot to cold can confuse the bees. Forest fires, and whatever else mother nature has in store for us and our bees, creating a demanding lifestyle. Working early mornings and late nights for a labor of love, we begin by taking stock of what bees made it through the harsh winter. We use the survivors to create new life for many generations of future bees. We use a survival-of-the-fittest technique because we don’t believe in using commercial beekeeping processes which use harsh chemicals, neurotoxins, antibiotics and toxic acid all of which are cruel and non sustainable to bees and humans alike. Many of these poisons are fat soluble which breaks down into the honey and combs, which ultimately contaminates the honey and any product related to that bee hive forever, also degrading the genetic pool of future bees. This is why we choose to do what is right and follow our traditions of organic agricultural practices. My dad has been using the same strong surviving genetics of bees of northern New Mexico for the last 30 years, far longer than I have been alive. During the late 1990's globalization and mono farming caused colonies of bees to suffer tremendous loss and spread parasitic mites, viruses and toxins to bees across the world. The end of March and beginning of April is a delicate time period we use to travel to each bee yard, to check on the surviving bees and assess any damages inflicted upon bees and hives. The bee yards are locations all across northern New Mexico giving a small sanctuary by like minded norteña y norteño ranchers and farmers who want to give the bees sanctuary on a very small piece of their land. We must quickly come to a conclusion of how to safely make the journey and take the survivors to the southern orchards to begin the cycle of chasing the bloom. Arriving with our packages of life, we can smell the sweet scents of the apricot and plum blossoms and hear the flow of the Rio Grande, feeling the currents of the acequia irrigating under the light of the moon. This is our most crucial time as the cycle begins to pollinate and start raising our most important asset, our survivor stock and queen bees.This process is done with limited time and resources. We make do with what we’ve got. And we load the bees onto my grandfather's old trailer and ol’ rusty trusty truck starting at dusk. This must be done in darkness so the bees don't fly and they stay in their little wooden boxes and are safe and warm. We bring them from the high country of Taos to the Velarde valley at the foot of the rio. We have to beware of our surroundings as Velarde has a rich history and folklore of many frightful, paranormal things, not to mention the bombardment of violence, drugs, alcohol, gangs and human trafficking fed by the flow of the ancient Camino Real. By the time we reach the Velarde valley it's late and all these forces are at play especially on all the eerie misty bumpy back roads that most folks don't ever get to see or even know exist. I've grown up hearing tales of La Llorona, skinwalkers, chupacabra, ghosts, faceless men, and the haunts of Oñate’s unfathomable atrocities and beyond. ...and yet, we have an important job to do in this beautiful bosque where the gigantic slumbering cottonwoods are now awakening. We now remember each gate and backroad that leads to the life-giving orchards where we must deliver our precious cargo. Carefully and delicately navigating each orchard while assessing how many hives to successfully pollinate each location, typically 10 strong hives for 400 mature fruit trees, leaving hundreds of thousands of little workers to do the cycle of life, a delicate dance of pollination. This is only a glimpse of the beginning, a constant cycle of our life with the bees.

CHASING THE BLOOM

YEAR END RECAP ( PROCESS VIDEO )

TUAH-TAH RED BEAN ( harvest )

¬ Each year as summer starts to wean and the apple trees are full of ripe and juicy apples we begin apple picking season. This is a practice I have been participating in since 2016, that with each year grows both in our interests and production. Apple season is always a nice reprieve for us these days because it marks a break from hot days spent on hay and fencing among many other things into cool days shaking trees with friends drinking thick golden apple nectar like bears. It is always a reminder of the abundance around us. Throughout the rest of autumn we will be pressing the apples we've collected and stored in our underground cellar to ferment using wild yeasts and bottle for the following year. This is the time of year when this cocktail is best, especially with cider straight from the press. ↓ NOTE Though this is a recipe, it is largely a launching point. Each of these ingredients can be swapped out for another, this is however our tried and true absolute favorite version. Each of the ingredients listed though fairly common will vary in flavor and intensities, so feel free to adjust to your taste. RECIPE ↴. MAKES ONE SERVING ↓ INGREDIENTS 1oz Fresh squeezed lime juice 2oz Del Maguey Vida Mezcal ( or any of your favorite agave spirits ) 3oz Fresh pressed apple cider 1 pt Chimayo heirloom sun dried red chile powder 4 pt Redmond ‘Real Salt’ or celtic grey salt Smokey quartz as ice cubes or regular ice Ice for mixing ↓ PREP The day before you want to make the cocktail put washed smoky quartz rocks into the freezer. Gather all of the ingredients and mix the chile powder with the salt. The chile powder you use will probably vary in spice so don't worry too much about proportions, just find the balance you'd like best. Cut limes and with one of the halves, circle the rim of each glass and dip into the chile salt. Using a handheld juicer juice limes until you have the desired amount. Fill each glass with desired amount of smoky quartz rocks, we use 5 or so. (alternatively use normal ice cubes) Lastly measure out each ingredient into a glass with ice cubes and stir for a few seconds, strain into the glass and drink.

<p class="p1">¬ Each year as summer starts to wean and the apple trees are full of ripe and juicy apples we begin apple picking season. This is a practice I have been participating in since 2016, that with each year grows both in our interests and production. Apple season is always a nice reprieve for us these days because it marks a break from hot days spent on hay and fencing among many other things into cool days shaking trees with friends drinking thick golden apple nectar like bears. It is always a reminder of the abundance around us.</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">Throughout the rest of autumn we will be pressing the apples we've collected and stored in our underground cellar to ferment using wild yeasts and bottle for the following year. This is the time of year when this cocktail is best, especially with cider straight from the press.</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">↓ NOTE  </p>
<p class="p1">Though this is a recipe, it is largely a launching point. Each of these ingredients can be swapped out for another, this is however our tried and true absolute favorite version. Each of the ingredients listed though fairly common will vary in flavor and intensities, so feel free to adjust to your taste.  </p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1"><br> RECIPE <span class="s1">↴.                                                                    </span><em>MAKES ONE SERVING </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p class="p1">↓ INGREDIENTS<br> 1oz Fresh squeezed lime juice <br> 2oz  Del Maguey Vida Mezcal ( or any of your favorite agave spirits )<br> 3oz Fresh pressed apple cider <br> <br> 1 pt Chimayo heirloom sun dried red chile powder <br> 4 pt Redmond ‘Real Salt’ or celtic grey salt</p>
<p class="p1">Smokey quartz as ice cubes or regular ice</p>
<p class="p1">Ice for mixing </p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">↓ PREP </p>
<p class="p1">The day before you want to make the cocktail put washed smoky quartz rocks into the freezer. </p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">Gather all of the ingredients and mix the chile powder with the salt. The chile powder you use will probably vary in spice so don't worry too much about proportions, just find the balance you'd like best.</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">Cut  limes and with one of the halves, circle the rim of each glass and dip into the chile salt. </p>
<p class="p1"><br> Using a handheld juicer juice limes until you have the desired amount. </p>
<p class="p1"><br> Fill each glass with desired amount of smoky quartz rocks, we use 5 or so. (alternatively use normal ice cubes)  </p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">Lastly measure out each ingredient into a glass with ice cubes and stir for a few seconds, strain into the glass and drink. </p>

SOMBRA

As you might know Maida and I had a baby girl, Florá Inés, a couple months ago and the only way to describe the experience of late is pure magic. I woke this morning exploring the thought of magic in my waking dream state, and thought I would write a little about it. There exists variations of magic, but the magic I’m talking about is the infinite beauties beyond comprehension around us constantly, unlike the common view of magic that is of tricks and slight of hand. As a young man getting interested in food I was enamored and blown away by restaurant’s like where I worked at, Alinea, who where creating magic in settings commonly reserved for simply having a meal. As a 19 year old in that kitchen it felt like I had joined the army, but I always felt surrounded by magic. I now wonder if it’s just me getting older or if restaurants have lost their magic. I haven’t been blown away by a food experience in a while and maybe it’s the situation of me knowing too much about the world itself, but part of me feels that the common understanding of magic and trickery has become how things are created these days. New things open that feel formulaic and variations of something else and I can’t help but think that there is a lack of seeing the magic around us. When I think about why we go out to eat, I believe that at the very heart of it all we are looking for the feeling of being taken care of, like at grandmas house as a kid where you could have anything and everything. There is a reason grandma’s chile, or whatever grandmas make, always taste better. For me grandma Mary’s house was a place where in hindsight the objective and practical world didn’t exist, only an ever flowing amount of love and magic. / shed wasn’t built on this realization, but has slowly been evolving in that direction. In all it’s stages though / shed has been a means of finding, creating, and sharing the magic of the natural world and specifically of Northern NM. The key it seems is to be perceptive of the magic already present around us. On our ‘estancia’ ( a landed estate, cattle ranch, a place of rest ) we are bombarded with daily tasks that can quickly become daunting if we aren’t careful. There is always a moment where I stop and realize that despite the hard work at hand, how actually mind blowing it is that I even exist much less have the opportunity to do work that I deeply enjoy. The fact that the trees around us are breathing in carbon and expelling oxygen for us to breath, or that someone invented barbed wire and the tools to mend it and that I can drive to almost any town and buy a perfect role of it in itself is pretty wild. The fact that I can have a personal relationship with such beautiful creatures such as our cows, and that I can help the grass grow by diverted river water to feed them, and that when time comes they will nurture us. The list could literally could go on and on infinitely. Magic can't be rushed either. One of the natural magics I am most blown away with is the fruiting process. The mature tree who has survived and flourished starts with buds that will blossom when timing is right. Then the insects come at exactly the right moment and pollinate bringing pollen from another tree after which the flowers start their process in becoming fruits. In any stage of this process if you were to pull apart the bud there would be no flower no fruit. The fact that this whole process just happens is pretty fucking insane if you really think about it, not to mention the fact that there are infinite potentials after the fruit has been created. The magic is there, we just need to be present and patient. The truth is that magic exists in an overflowing state around us if we see it as such. Just as easily it can become the opposite. Without the lens to see it, the magic of existence can become mundane. As I write this I am watching the sun rays move over our pasture as the cows follow to warm themselves after a cold night as they graze the freshly perked up grass. I realize that magic is a practice, and one that I hope to continue to get better at. In a / shed dinner the magic isn’t about creating a fancy new thing, or tricking you to think anything is but what it is, it’s about putting this practice into physical form. It’s about sharing the magic we have found around us with different materials that are distinct to this terrain and our culture and sharing them with you.

<p class="p1" data-mce-fragment="1">As you might know Maida and I had a baby girl, Florá Inés, a couple months ago and the only way to describe the experience of late is pure magic.<span class="Apple-converted-space" data-mce-fragment="1"> </span></p>
<p class="p2" data-mce-fragment="1"> </p>
<p class="p3" data-mce-fragment="1">I woke this morning exploring the thought of magic in my waking dream state, and thought I would write a little about it. <meta charset="utf-8"><span data-mce-fragment="1">There exists variations of magic, but the</span> magic I’m talking about is the infinite beauties beyond comprehension around us constantly, unlike the common view of magic that is of tricks and slight of hand.<span class="Apple-converted-space" data-mce-fragment="1"> </span></p>
<p class="p2" data-mce-fragment="1"> </p>
<p class="p3" data-mce-fragment="1">As a young man getting interested in food I was enamored and blown away by restaurant’s like where I worked at, Alinea, who where creating magic in settings commonly reserved for simply having a meal. As a 19 year old in that kitchen it felt like I had joined the army, but I always felt surrounded by magic. I now wonder if it’s just me getting older or if restaurants have lost their magic. I haven’t been blown away by a food experience in a while and maybe it’s the situation of me knowing too much about the world itself, but part of me feels that the common understanding of magic and trickery has become how things are created these days. New things open that feel formulaic and variations of something else and I can’t help but think that there is a lack of seeing the magic around us.</p>
<p class="p2" data-mce-fragment="1"> </p>
<p class="p3" data-mce-fragment="1">When I think about why we go out to eat, I believe that at the very heart of it all we are looking for the feeling of being taken care of, like at grandmas house as a kid where you could have anything and everything. There is a reason grandma’s chile, or whatever grandmas make, always taste better. For me grandma Mary’s house was a place where in hindsight the objective and practical world didn’t exist, only  an ever flowing amount of love and magic.</p>
<p class="p2" data-mce-fragment="1"> </p>
<p class="p3" data-mce-fragment="1">/ shed wasn’t built on this realization, but has slowly been evolving in that direction. In all it’s stages though / shed has been a means of finding, creating, and sharing the magic of the natural world and specifically of Northern NM.<span class="Apple-converted-space" data-mce-fragment="1"> </span></p>
<p class="p2" data-mce-fragment="1"> </p>
<p class="p3" data-mce-fragment="1">The key it seems is to be perceptive of the magic already present around us. On our ‘estancia’ ( a landed estate, cattle ranch, a place of rest ) we are bombarded with daily tasks that can quickly become daunting if we aren’t careful. There is always a moment where I stop and realize that despite the hard work at hand, how actually mind blowing it is that I even exist much less have the opportunity to do work that I deeply enjoy. The fact that the trees around us are breathing in carbon and expelling oxygen for us to breath, or that someone invented barbed wire and the tools to mend it and that I can drive to almost any town and buy a perfect role of it in itself is pretty wild. The fact that I can have a personal relationship with such beautiful creatures such as our cows, and that I can help the grass grow by diverted river water to feed them, and that when time comes they will nurture us. The list could literally could go on and on infinitely.<span class="Apple-converted-space" data-mce-fragment="1"> </span></p>
<p class="p3" data-mce-fragment="1"><span class="Apple-converted-space" data-mce-fragment="1"> </span></p>
<p class="p3" data-mce-fragment="1"><span class="Apple-converted-space" data-mce-fragment="1">Magic can't be rushed either. One of the natural magics I am most blown away with is the fruiting process. The mature tree who has survived and flourished starts with buds that will blossom when timing is right. Then the insects come at exactly the right moment and pollinate bringing pollen from another tree after which the flowers start their process in becoming fruits. In any stage of this process if you were to pull apart the bud there would be no flower no fruit. The fact that this whole process just happens is pretty fucking insane if you really think about it, not to mention the fact that there are infinite potentials after the fruit has been created. The magic is there, we just need to be present and patient. </span></p>
<p class="p2" data-mce-fragment="1"> </p>
<p class="p3" data-mce-fragment="1">The truth is that magic exists in an overflowing state around us if we see it as such. Just as easily it can become the opposite. Without the lens to see it, the magic of existence can become mundane. As I write this I am watching the sun rays move over our pasture as the cows follow to warm themselves after a cold night as they graze the freshly perked up grass. I realize that magic is a practice, and one that I hope to continue to get better at.</p>
<p class="p2" data-mce-fragment="1"> </p>
<p class="p3" data-mce-fragment="1">In a / shed dinner the magic isn’t about creating a fancy new thing, or tricking you to think anything is but what it is, it’s about putting this practice into physical form. It’s about sharing the magic we have found around us with different materials that are distinct to this terrain and our culture and sharing them with you.<span class="Apple-converted-space" data-mce-fragment="1">   </span></p>
<p class="p3" data-mce-fragment="1"> </p>
<div style="text-align: left;"><img style="float: none;" alt="" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0685/9653/1485/files/000015380008.jpg?v=1696861737"></div>

MAGIC

We have a quite a few rituals on the ranch and in the kitchen and one of those is our daily coffee. Until a few years ago I spent my entire cooking career by drinking black coffee first thing in the morning, and zooming off to what ever task I had before starting work, usually at 10am, and usually stoping for a second coffee and some sort of pastry somewhere. I never made breakfast at home. As I've dedicated my life more and more to food, I have been interested more and more with it's role in our lives. "You are what you eat" There is of course its role in entertaining, but primarily and fundamentally it should be to nurture. If we as cooks, or anyone really, don't understand that, then you can only imagine what that means. As folk aspiring to take advantage of this time in this existence, we want to fuel ourselves with only the best. To nurture myself better I have come to a daily coffee that fuels and nurtures me that is derived from the original bulletproof coffee. The 'daily' coffee is made with mold and toxin free coffee that is remineralized and brewed with clean structured well water blended with a few things. I'm not going to go too deep into why these things are so great, but if you are curious for more read more here: Essentially the 'daily' coffee is helpful in starting the morning off in a way that also fills the place of breakfast. Part of the magic of this coffee is that it keeps you in ketosis allowing you to intermittent fast if desired. As a rule of thumb we eat twice a day with almost no snacks in between except for our 'Honey soda's'. The fats in the coffee help disperse the caffeine more slowly and evenly but also help fuel the body and brain, fueling you off of fat rather than glucose, which is more efficient and gives your body time to finish it's digestion process. Salt is probably the most misunderstood ingredient and is essential to our health as humans. Our blood plasma has a similar make up as sea water, but somehow we still demonize it. There is a huge difference between table salt ( pure sodium chloride ) and real salt made as nature intended. Salt, with trace minerals, is especially important in staying hydrated and getting essential trace minerals. Lastly we mix in a mushroom powder that for one, seems to emulsify the coffee in a nice way, but that also has it's own benefits on human health. This recipe is designed to optimize our energy as humans so that we can do more and feel good doing it. ↴ RECIPE 50g Ground coffee - Danger coffee 800g Boiling water - Structured water 25g C8 MCT oil - Brain octane oil 2.5g Mushroom powder - Stamets 7 12g collagen peptides - Vital proteins 1.5g grass fed gelatin - Best bloom gelatin 1.2g Good salt - Redmond's or Celtic 45g Unsalted grass-fed butter - we use our own, but when we can't we use Kerigold 1.2g Shilijat - Kensho herbals ↴ METHOD Put your cold water to boil and grind coffee beans While waiting for water to boil weigh the rest of the ingredients into a blender Brew coffee ( we use a hario pour over ) Pour brewed coffee into blender and blend on high for 5-10 seconds Pour and drink _ You can adjust amounts based on your taste and/or add new ingredients. You can play with the blend time and speeds to get different textures

Daily coffee

Native hops ( Lúpulo ) humulus lupulus var. neomexicanus As summer seems to start to fade and warm evenings and mornings become cool we near the end of our hay season. The season we always look forward to and always slightly resent. The end of hay season signals the start of apple and hop picking, among many other things, but two of the things we get the most excited to pick. Both of which have less room for things to go wrong and far less physical demands than making hay. Each year, almost as a vacation, we venture south to the spot I have been picking hops at for six years now. It is a valley like our own, but instead of hops here and there, there are seemingly infinite fragrant little neon green flowers, strobiles, sprawling all through the foliage that boarders the spring creek. Neomexicanus hops, or Lúpulo by the old Spanish speaking folk, are native to New Mexico and are considered completely separate from the European varieties. Like those of us from NM for generations, lúpulo is hardy, unruly, and unpredictable, but more the interesting because of it. Lúpulo hasn’t really been commercially grown because they grow differently than commercial species. Instead of always growing tall and up, these plants grow all over the place, mostly found sprawling and crawling through the willows. The flavor and characteristics of each plant vary, seemingly to what they are growing with. Fresh, they smell to me of pine and garlic, some more in one direction or another. The unpredictable flavor also leads to an undesirable attribute in commercial growing and brewing. We like to pick at the end of August and as the stobiles start to turn brown on the edges. After they're picked we dry them in our sun room on a drying rack and use to make beer shortly after with some reserved dried for later use in cooking and in our ‘honey sodas’. Despite the interesting flavor and aroma lúpulo has, the plant is known to be a remedio plant that is used as a sedative and for all uses anti microbial. Luckily for us, lúpulo in the wild can be found in pretty large numbers, but not enough for commercial use and just enough to reward those of us who are willing to venture out to pick and who are happy to let it grow exactly where and how it wants to.

<h4 class="p1">Native hops ( Lúpulo )<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>
</h4>
<p class="p2"><i>humulus lupulus var. neomexicanus</i></p>
<p class="p3"> </p>
<p class="p2">As summer seems to start to fade and warm evenings and mornings become cool we near the end of our hay season. The season we always look forward to and always slightly resent. The end of hay season signals the start of apple and hop picking, among many other things, but two of the things we get the most excited to pick. Both of which have less room for things to go wrong and far less physical demands than making hay.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p>
<p class="p3"> </p>
<p class="p2">Each year, almost as a vacation, we venture south to the spot I have been picking hops at for six years now. It is a valley like our own, but instead of hops here and there, there are seemingly infinite fragrant little neon green flowers, strobiles, sprawling all through the foliage that boarders the spring creek.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p>
<p class="p3"> </p>
<p class="p2">Neomexicanus hops, or Lúpulo by the old Spanish speaking folk, are native to New Mexico and are considered completely separate from the European varieties. Like those of us from NM for generations, lúpulo is hardy, unruly, and unpredictable, but more the interesting because of it. Lúpulo hasn’t really been commercially grown because they grow differently than commercial species. Instead of always growing tall and up, these plants grow all over the place, mostly found sprawling and crawling through the willows. The flavor and characteristics of each plant vary, seemingly to what they are growing with. Fresh, they smell to me of pine and garlic, some more in one direction or another. The unpredictable flavor also leads to an undesirable attribute in commercial growing and brewing.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p2"><span class="Apple-converted-space">We like to pick at the end of August and as the stobiles start to turn brown on the edges. After they're picked we dry them in our sun room on a drying rack and </span>use  to make beer shortly after with some reserved dried for later use in cooking and in our <a href="https://www.shed-project.com/recuerdos/honey-soda">‘honey sodas’</a>.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> Despite the interesting flavor and aroma <meta charset="utf-8"> <span data-mce-fragment="1">lúpulo has, the plant is known to be a remedio plant that is used as a sedative and for all uses </span></span>anti microbial. </p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p2"><meta charset="utf-8"><span>Luckily for us, lúpulo in the wild can be found in pretty large numbers, but not enough for commercial use and just enough to reward those of us who are willing to venture out to pick and who are happy to let it grow exactly where and how it wants to.</span><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<div style="text-align: left;"><img src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0685/9653/1485/files/000075620002.jpg?v=1694035275" alt="" style="float: none;"></div>
<p> </p>
<div style="text-align: left;"><img style="float: none;" alt="" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0685/9653/1485/files/000075620001.jpg?v=1694035294"></div>
<p> </p>
<div style="text-align: left;"><img style="float: none;" alt="" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0685/9653/1485/files/000075620003.jpg?v=1694035315"></div>
<p> </p>
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<p> </p>
<div style="text-align: left;"><img style="float: none;" alt="" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0685/9653/1485/files/000075620005.jpg?v=1694035345"></div>
<p> </p>
<div style="text-align: left;"><img style="float: none;" alt="" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0685/9653/1485/files/000075620005.jpg?v=1694035345"></div>
<p> </p>
<div style="text-align: left;"><img style="float: none;" alt="" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0685/9653/1485/files/000075620003_4806fd9c-7f2c-43b9-8f09-a8f9f0e7cbd1.jpg?v=1694035491"></div>
<p> </p>
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<p> </p>
<div style="text-align: left;"><img style="float: none;" alt="" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0685/9653/1485/files/000075620007.jpg?v=1694035532"></div>
<p> </p>
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<p> </p>
<div style="text-align: left;"><img style="float: none;" alt="" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0685/9653/1485/files/000075620011.jpg?v=1694035574"></div>
<p> </p>
<div style="text-align: left;"><img style="float: none;" alt="" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0685/9653/1485/files/000075620015.jpg?v=1694035594"></div>
<p> </p>
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<p> </p>
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<p> </p>
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<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<div style="text-align: left;"><img style="float: none;" alt="" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0685/9653/1485/files/shed_beer.jpg?v=1694185256"></div>
<p> </p>

Lúpulo

I grew up in my grandfather, Lupe Concha's, house at Taos Pueblo and as the oldest child I was lucky to spend some time with him before he passed away. I was still young and don't remember much but he definitely imprinted many things on to me. I can't remember if apricot jam reminds me of him because of the amazing apricot tree he had in his fading orchard, or because he would make jam of said apricots. Regardless apricot jam is my favorite and always has been and is always the first thing I make sure to make when I get my hands on apricots. As fate may have it the land I first bought has two giant apricot trees that produce fruit here and there but this year seem to have infinite little red fruits that are different than any other apricot I can remember ever trying, sharing more similarities with a peach than most apricots. They are getting more red each day and we'll soon be picking and making jam. Here's the recipe we use ↴ ↴ RECIPE 500g apricot 200g sugar ( good quality pure cane sugar ) 1 lemon, juiced ↴ METHOD Pit apricots and toss in sugar, then add lemon juice and let sit covered at room temperature for 12-48 hours ( trust me, the longer you let them sit the better ) Put mixture into a pot and put on high heat. ( Micaceous pot if you have one you're willing to use ) Stir with a wooden spoon until it had reduced enough for your liking, or until temperature reached 217f. ( It will thicken a little as it cools so stop it just before where you actually want it ) If you like the apricots smashed up more smash them before transferring to jars. Fill your clean mason jars with hot jam leaving 1/4 in at the top and screw on the cap and transfer to boiling water for 10 min. Remove after 10 min, screw the cap completely and let cool at room temp.

<p data-mce-fragment="1" class="p1">I grew up in my grandfather, Lupe Concha's, house at Taos Pueblo and as the oldest child I was lucky to spend some time with him before he passed away. I was still young and don't remember much but he definitely imprinted many things on to me. I can't remember if apricot jam reminds me of him because of the amazing apricot tree he had in his fading orchard, or because he would make jam of said apricots. Regardless apricot jam is my favorite and always has been and is always the first thing I make sure to make when I get my hands on apricots. </p>
<p data-mce-fragment="1" class="p1"> </p>
<p data-mce-fragment="1" class="p1">As fate may have it the land I first bought has two giant apricot trees that produce fruit here and there but this year seem to have infinite little red fruits that are different than any other apricot I can remember ever trying, sharing more similarities with a peach than most apricots. They are getting more red each day and we'll soon be picking and making jam.</p>
<p data-mce-fragment="1" class="p1"> </p>
<p data-mce-fragment="1" class="p1">Here's the recipe we use ↴</p>
<p data-mce-fragment="1" class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1"><img alt="" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0685/9653/1485/files/Apricots_from_farm_480x480.jpg?v=1691686931"></p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1"><meta charset="utf-8"><span data-mce-fragment="1" class="s1">↴</span><span data-mce-fragment="1" class="Apple-converted-space">  </span>RECIPE </p>
<p data-mce-fragment="1" class="p2">500g apricot <span data-mce-fragment="1" class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p>
<p data-mce-fragment="1" class="p2">200g sugar<span data-mce-fragment="1" class="Apple-converted-space"> ( good quality pure cane sugar ) </span></p>
<p data-mce-fragment="1" class="p2">1 lemon, juiced <span data-mce-fragment="1" class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p>
<p data-mce-fragment="1" class="p3"> </p>
<p data-mce-fragment="1" class="p1"> </p>
<p data-mce-fragment="1" class="p4"><span data-mce-fragment="1" class="s1">↴</span> METHOD </p>
<p data-mce-fragment="1" class="p2">Pit apricots and toss in sugar, then add lemon juice and let sit covered at room temperature for 12-48 hours</p>
<p data-mce-fragment="1" class="p2"><em>( trust me, the longer you let them sit the better ) </em></p>
<p data-mce-fragment="1" class="p3"> </p>
<p data-mce-fragment="1" class="p2">Put mixture into a pot and put on high heat.<span data-mce-fragment="1" class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p>
<p data-mce-fragment="1" class="p2"><em><span data-mce-fragment="1" class="Apple-converted-space">( Micaceous pot if you have one you're willing to use ) </span></em></p>
<p data-mce-fragment="1" class="p3"> </p>
<p data-mce-fragment="1" class="p2">Stir with a wooden spoon until it had reduced enough for your liking, or until temperature reached 217f.<span data-mce-fragment="1" class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p>
<p data-mce-fragment="1" class="p2"><em><span data-mce-fragment="1" class="Apple-converted-space">( It will thicken a little as it cools so stop it just before where you actually want it ) </span></em></p>
<p data-mce-fragment="1" class="p3"> </p>
<p data-mce-fragment="1" class="p2">If you like the apricots smashed up more smash them before transferring to jars.<span data-mce-fragment="1" class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p>
<p data-mce-fragment="1" class="p3"> </p>
<p data-mce-fragment="1" class="p2">Fill your clean mason jars with hot jam leaving 1/4 in at the top and screw on the cap and transfer to boiling water for 10 min.<span data-mce-fragment="1" class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p>
<p data-mce-fragment="1" class="p3"> </p>
<p data-mce-fragment="1" class="p2">Remove after 10 min, screw the cap completely and let cool at room temp.</p>

Apricot jam

On Friday 7.21.23 at 8:05 am Maida and I, mostly Maida, brought Florá Inés Juliette Branch Ortiz-Concha into this world and we couldn’t be more over the moon! Generally I don’t hear birth stories from the masculine perspective. This is slightly that. Birth is probably the most potent expression of the feminine, yet like all things it is really about a balance of the two. While I wasn’t the one giving birth, I was there the whole time making sure Maida had anything and everything she needed, whatever that meant. Sometimes that meant solitude in the cave of our bedroom, and sometimes that meant holding her lower back telling her how great she was doing and that she could do it. My parents had me while they were young, mom was seventeen and my dad was barely nineteen and growing up I always thought I would wait to have children, maybe twenty two or twenty three I thought. Now ten years later than I thought, it is finally a reality. When my mother ‘Juliette’ was my age, thirty two, I was already fifteen years old. There was a certain magic involved with growing up with my parents even though I’m sure it wasn’t easy for them. Julie at some point after her and my father, Johnny Sr, had split up, had three kids part time, was going to school part time and had a full time job. Anytime I hear anything about how hard life is going to become after having a child I think about Julie and how she loved us more then anything, and while things were hard it was never a compromise. The truth is everything changes everything. Of course things are going to change, but I couldn’t be more ready or excited for it. When we first got our milking cow we were told of all the things we were going to have to do and how our life was going to change. A few years later and I can’t imagine life without her. However this is in part because we disregarded everything we were told. I usually don’t like to talk in absolutes, but I’m pretty certain we disregarded EVERY SINGLE THING. It’s been a philosophy of mine to build my own systems, ones that work for me and that are based around my ideals. I don’t want to milk a cow twice a day, once a day already is a 45min commitment, but it turns out milking once a day yields less milk, but yields more fat, which is what we are after anyway. If I would have become disheartened initially I may never have made the leap into having a dairy cow. Instead we got her, adapted her to our lifestyle and both of our lives are better for it. This same mindset goes for birth also. Maida and I had decided we couldn’t imagine bringing a child into this plane any differently than how we expect our sheep, cows, dogs, et cetera to give birth. This type of birthing mindset is usually referred to as ‘free birth’ which really just means natural birth. The same way humans have been giving birth for centuries before the rise of western medicine and the destruction of our own trust in our own bodies and health. It is something I believe any expecting mother or couple could do, but only if they believe that themselves. We tend to look for a savior in hard situations, with free birth you are that person through and through. If you have one foot out the door, odds are you'll probably take it when things get hard. I’m somewhat jealous and grateful that giving birth is something I will never experience in the same way that Maida did. The closest I can say I have ever got to that was a backcountry hunt in WA a couple years back. I had no idea exactly what to expect as I was with a guide who, unperceived by me, was taking me to get a ‘trophy’ Rosevelt bull. The hunt started at 5 am each morning where we would get to our destination and hike until dark until we found a bull worthy of taking home. It was December and it was cold and wet. We spent three days hiking for hours until we finally saw a bull heading up the hill to the north of us. It was mid day and we knew time was running out so we set into another gear and went around the hill from the back to where we imagined he was heading. We got to a zone and looked around but couldn’t see him and decided to go lower to where we thought he was going to be and half way there I realized my phone had fallen out of my pocket, so we turned around and went back up. Luckily the phone was right where I thought it would be so we picked it up and headed right back to where we were initially headed. A couple miles later we started to descend a steep rocky hillside where we saw a few cow elk and theorized the bull was sure to be around, so we sat down, trying to communicate but staying as quite and still as possible, and got ready for him to come after the cows. This was muzzleloader season so you would need to be within 50 feet, which you can imagine is pretty hard to do in the first place. A few moments later just like we had hoped for we saw the bull slowly approaching the cows directly in sight. We both raised our muzzle loaders and once he presented himself we both squeezed the trigger. Nothing happened. Our gun powder had gotten wet from three days of treacherous hiking in the rain even though we had the open vulnerable points wrapped up. So we scrambled to load the guns with powder again, the whole time the bull remained, looking at us even. This process took minutes and I swore were had missed our chance, but he remained. The guide I was with even broke something on his gun and so I was going to have to shoot alone. I aimed, took a deep breath, and fired. I shot him straight through the heart and he passed from this plane almost instantly. At Taos Pueblo where I am from, it is an old belief that when hunting you ask permission ahead of time and when the time comes the animal will present themselves for you, and that is exactly what happened. It was getting dark at this point so we hiked down to him and took out his guts where we would leave him over night and hiked back out to our truck getting back after dark. We came back the next morning, day 4, and hiked a couple hours in. Who knows how many miles we had hiked, but we hiked up and down old logging roads until we got to him. We were glad no bears had found him in the night before we got back. An hour or so later we had broken the animal down and packed in our first round into our packs, hung the parts we didn't pack and hiked back out. We did this four times over two days with 100+ pounds of flesh and bone on our backs. I only weigh 135 pounds so it was almost like I was carrying myself for hours through the wet cold up and down logging roads to the truck. I remember the last couple times needing to stop every 30 seconds or so because I felt like my hips were about to pop out of place or that my legs wouldn’t hold me up any longer, I remember praying to who or whatever that a random park ranger would drive by and offer us a ride, because I swore I couldn't do it anymore. This was by far the hardest thing I have ever done in my life, and likely the closest I will ever know to giving birth. I find it interesting on how my closest experience to giving birth involves death, and I realize how closely connected the two actually are. We talk about it sometimes mindlessly as if it is some universal truth, but experiencing it so potently is a whole other thing all together. In truth, being present for the birth of Florá Inés felt exactly like being with my mother in her final days on this plane in her struggle with breast cancer. The way I was there for Maida was exactly the same as it was with my mother. Both of them so strong and graceful in their journeys despite the pain involved. My experience of this birth I helped initiate and see through has taught me some things, but also solidified existing beliefs. Maida and I spent 5 days, the same as my hunt, in varying degrees of labor, where I saw Maida in what seemed like more pain then possible, that in an instance was alchemized into pure joy once Florá came spiraling out and on to the bathroom floor. There was a moment in the birth where Maida started to worry maybe something was wrong because it had taken so long, and at one point I remember her saying “I don’t think I can do this anymore” and I knew it was about to happen. In truth I feel like we should welcome long births. It's like trying to force open a flower, it never works the same. Give it the proper environment and time and it will blossom all on it's own. Wilderness hunting or free birth aren’t for the faint of heart, though I do believe any of us could do them if we set our minds on it. You have to believe in what you are doing and believe that you can do it whether someone or your own subconscious say otherwise. It is a reflection of your fears and comfortabilities that must be conquered. On my hunt if I had a cheat code where I could take the meat out by vehicle I would have taken it in a second, however it wouldn’t have been as meaningful to me now. I wonder about that with pain, whether in life or death. If we avoid the pain will the reward be worth the same? When Florá was born the first person I wanted to tell was my mother. I don’t know what I think about the after life, but I know she is always with me, and that I am still learning from her. It's wild to be able to welcome death with my mother, and to welcome life with Maida, but despite it all I am better because of them. What a gift to be able to experience life from both ends. I've never experienced such magic as as being part of a 'free birth' with my favorite human. Now it's time to revel in the reward our hard work and convictions which is, and will always be Florá. <3 ↴ NOTE If more interested in free birth, it's worth it whether just to learn about life or to learn more about having a free birth yourself : bauhauswife freebirthsociety ↴ PHOTOS

<p class="p1">On Friday 7.21.23 at 8:05 am Maida and I, mostly Maida, brought Florá Inés Juliette Branch Ortiz-Concha into this world and we couldn’t be more over the moon!<br><b></b></p>
<p class="p3"> </p>
<p class="p2">Generally I don’t hear birth stories from the masculine perspective. This is slightly that. Birth is probably the most potent expression of the feminine, yet like all things it is really about a balance of the two. While I wasn’t the one giving birth, I was there the whole time making sure Maida had anything and everything she needed, whatever that meant. Sometimes that meant solitude in the cave of our bedroom, and sometimes that meant holding her lower back telling her how great she was doing and that she could do it.</p>
<p class="p3"> </p>
<p class="p2">My parents had me while they were young, mom was seventeen and my dad was barely nineteen and growing up I always thought I would wait to have children, maybe twenty two or twenty three I thought. Now ten years later than I thought, it is finally a reality. When my mother ‘Juliette’ was my age, thirty two, I was already fifteen years old. There was a certain magic involved with growing up with my parents even though I’m sure it wasn’t easy for them. Julie at some point after her and my father, Johnny Sr, had split up, had three kids part time, was going to school part time and had a full time job. Anytime I hear anything about how hard life is going to become after having a child I think about Julie and how she loved us more then anything, and while things were hard it was never a compromise.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p>
<p class="p3"> </p>
<p class="p2">The truth is everything changes everything. Of course things are going to change, but I couldn’t be more ready or excited for it.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p>
<p class="p3"> </p>
<p class="p2">When we first got our milking cow we were told of all the things we were going to have to do and how our life was going to change. A few years later and I can’t imagine life without her. However this is in part because we disregarded everything we were told. I usually don’t like to talk in absolutes, but I’m pretty certain we disregarded EVERY SINGLE THING.</p>
<p class="p3"> </p>
<p class="p2">It’s been a philosophy of mine to build my own systems, ones that work for me and that are based around my ideals. I don’t want to milk a cow twice a day, once a day already is a 45min commitment, but it turns out milking once a day yields less milk, but yields more fat, which is what we are after anyway. If I would have become disheartened initially I may never have made the leap into having a dairy cow. Instead we got her, adapted her to our lifestyle and both of our lives are better for it.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p>
<p class="p3"> </p>
<p class="p2">This same mindset goes for birth also. Maida and I had decided we couldn’t imagine bringing a child into this plane any differently than how we expect our sheep, cows, dogs, et cetera to give birth. This type of birthing mindset is usually referred to as ‘free birth’ which really just means natural birth. The same way humans have been giving birth for centuries before the rise of western medicine and the destruction of our own trust in our own bodies and health. It is something I believe any expecting mother or couple could do, but only if they believe that themselves. We tend to look for a savior in hard situations, with free birth you are that person through and through. If you have one foot out the door, odds are you'll probably take it when things get hard. </p>
<p class="p3"> </p>
<p class="p3"> </p>
<p class="p2">I’m somewhat jealous and grateful that giving birth is something I will never experience in the same way that Maida did. The closest I can say I have ever got to that was a backcountry hunt in WA a couple years back. I had no idea exactly what to expect as I was with a guide who, unperceived by me, was taking me to get a ‘trophy’ Rosevelt bull. The hunt started at 5 am each morning where we would get to our destination and hike until dark until we found a bull worthy of taking home. It was December and it was cold and wet. We spent three days hiking for hours until we finally saw a bull heading up the hill to the north of us. It was mid day and we knew time was running out so we set into another gear and went around the hill from the back to where we imagined he was heading. We got to a zone and looked around but couldn’t see him and decided to go lower to where we thought he was going to be and half way there I realized my phone had fallen out of my pocket, so we turned around and went back up. Luckily the phone was right where I thought it would be so we picked it up and headed right back to where we were initially headed. A couple miles later we started to descend a steep rocky hillside where we saw a few cow elk and theorized the bull was sure to be around, so we sat down, trying to communicate but staying as quite and still as possible, and got ready for him to come after the cows. This was muzzleloader season so you would need to be within 50 feet, which you can imagine is pretty hard to do in the first place. A few moments later just like we had hoped for we saw the bull slowly approaching the cows directly in sight. We both raised our muzzle loaders and once he presented himself we both squeezed the trigger. Nothing happened. Our gun powder had gotten wet from three days of treacherous hiking in the rain even though we had the open vulnerable points wrapped up. So we scrambled to load the guns with powder again, the whole time the bull remained, looking at us even. This process took minutes and I swore were had missed our chance, but he remained. The guide I was with even broke something on his gun and so I was going to have to shoot alone. I aimed, took a deep breath, and fired. I shot him straight through the heart and he passed from this plane almost instantly. At Taos Pueblo where I am from, it is an old belief that when hunting you ask permission ahead of time and when the time comes the animal will present themselves for you, and that is exactly what happened.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p>
<p class="p3"> </p>
<p class="p2">It was getting dark at this point so we hiked down to him and took out his guts where we would leave him over night and hiked back out to our truck getting back after dark. We came back the next morning, day 4, and hiked a couple hours in. Who knows how many miles we had hiked, but we hiked up and down old logging roads until we got to him. We were glad no bears had found him in the night before we got back. An hour or so later we had broken the animal down and packed in our first round into our packs, hung the parts we didn't pack and hiked back out. We did this four times over two days with 100+ pounds of flesh and bone on our backs. I only weigh 135 pounds so it was almost like I was carrying myself for hours through the wet cold up and down logging roads to the truck. I remember the last couple times needing to stop every 30 seconds or so because I felt like my hips were about to pop out of place or that my legs wouldn’t hold me up any longer, I remember praying to who or whatever that a random park ranger would drive by and offer us a ride, because I swore I couldn't do it anymore. This was by far the hardest thing I have ever done in my life, and likely the closest I will ever know to giving birth.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p>
<p class="p3"> </p>
<p class="p2">I find it interesting on how my closest experience to giving birth involves death, and I realize how closely connected the two actually are. We talk about it sometimes mindlessly as if it is some universal truth, but experiencing it so potently is a whole other thing all together. In truth, being present for the birth of Florá Inés felt exactly like being with my mother in her final days on this plane in her struggle with breast cancer. The way I was there for Maida was exactly the same as it was with my mother. Both of them so strong and graceful in their journeys despite the pain involved. </p>
<p class="p3"> </p>
<p class="p2">My experience of this birth I helped initiate and see through has taught me some things, but also solidified existing beliefs. Maida and I spent 5 days, the same as my hunt, in varying degrees of labor, where I saw Maida in what seemed like more pain then possible, that in an instance was alchemized into pure joy once Florá came spiraling out and on to the bathroom floor. There was a moment in the birth where Maida started to worry maybe something was wrong because it had taken so long, and at one point I remember her saying “I don’t think I can do this anymore” and I knew it was about to happen.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p>
<p class="p2"><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p>
<p class="p2"><span class="Apple-converted-space">In truth I feel like we should welcome long births. It's like trying to force open a flower, it never works the same. Give it the proper environment and time and it will blossom all on it's own. </span></p>
<p class="p3"> </p>
<p class="p2">Wilderness hunting or free birth aren’t for the faint of heart, though I do believe any of us could do them if we set our minds on it. You have to believe in what you are doing and believe that you can do it whether someone or your own subconscious say otherwise. It is a reflection of your fears and comfortabilities that must be conquered. On my hunt if I had a cheat code where I could take the meat out by vehicle I would have taken it in a second, however it wouldn’t have been as meaningful to me now. I wonder about that with pain, whether in life or death. If we avoid the pain will the reward be worth the same?<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p>
<p class="p3"> </p>
<p class="p2">When Florá was born the first person I wanted to tell was my mother. I don’t know what I think about the after life, but I know she is always with me, and that I am still learning from her. It's wild to be able to welcome death with my mother, and to welcome life with Maida, but despite it all I am better because of them.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> What a gift to be able to experience life from both ends. I've never experienced such magic as as being part of a 'free birth' with my favorite human. </span></p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p2"><span class="Apple-converted-space">Now it's time to revel in the reward our hard work and convictions which is, </span><span class="Apple-converted-space">and will always be Florá. &lt;3</span></p>
<p class="p3"> </p>
<p class="p1">↴ NOTE</p>
<p class="p2">If more interested in free birth, it's worth it whether just to learn about life or to learn more about having a free birth yourself :</p>
<p class="p2"><a href="https://www.instagram.com/bauhauswife/">bauhauswife </a></p>
<p class="p2"><a href="https://www.instagram.com/freebirthsociety/">freebirthsociety</a></p>
<p class="p3"> </p>
<p class="p1">↴ <span class="Apple-converted-space">PHOTOS </span></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="Apple-converted-space"><img src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0685/9653/1485/files/000005860010_480x480.jpg?v=1690732398" alt=""></span></p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1"><span class="Apple-converted-space"><img src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0685/9653/1485/files/000005200004_480x480.jpg?v=1690732504" alt=""></span></p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1"><span class="Apple-converted-space"><img src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0685/9653/1485/files/Flora_sleeping_480x480.png?v=1690732744" alt=""></span></p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1"><span class="Apple-converted-space"><img src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0685/9653/1485/files/Flora_laughing_480x480.jpg?v=1690732585" alt=""></span></p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1"><span class="Apple-converted-space"><img src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0685/9653/1485/files/Flora_and_dad_480x480.png?v=1690732827" alt=""></span></p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p3"><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p>

BIRTH

On the ranch a lot of our work outside is during the hottest times of the day and there is no better treat mid day than a cold honey soda, except for the evening ‘DAILY MARGARITA’. Honey is produced by bees of course, but what we know and love as honey is made only from the ‘honey bee’. Honey is a substance made and excreted by the bees from their consumption of nectar, the sweet liquid produced by flowers to attract pollinators, that the bees in cold months use to help insulate themselves and feed off of. Honey itself will last almost forever, but once water is added raw and unfiltered honey has all the yeasts and carbohydrates needed for fermentation. Once Water is added to honey you open up a world of possibilities. Yeasts; added, present in the atmosphere, or in the honey itself will feed off of the carbohydrates and will produce carbon which is what makes what we think of as soda. Most of the time though sodas are force carbonated with C02, but this recipe is a path to producing and capturing that carbon naturally. Being a soda, it is a drink that is a pretty early stage of fermentation, but if left for a longer period would continue it’s process from soda to alcohol, to vinegar. We love to make honey sodas because they are the perfect template for us to extract and showcase the various endemic plants found here in the high desert southwest and their specific yeasts while supplying us with energy and nutrients. Each flower or fruit untreated will have it’s own world of yeasts present that have evolved with the plant for hundreds of years. Each variation you add will change the ferment and the final product. Some of our favorite things to use in our sodas are ( wild hops, cota, juniper berries, plum blossoms, dandelions, wild roots, bee pollen, y todo ) From our understandings well timed honey, in any form, is very good for us. Almost as good as it tastes. I won’t go too into it, but honey is a pretty magical food and if you are on the fence at all about it I would urge you to dig into why it is so good for you, especially if you are leaning towards an animal based diet. This soda is a launching point to capture the magic of honey. NOTE: For this batch we tried using the blossom from the plant Showy Milkweed ( Asclepias syriaca ). This batch is only for personal use. All milkweed species contain cardiac glycosides, making them varyingly toxic to humans in their raw state. However, showy milkweed is the least toxic and can be eaten when properly prepared. RECIPE ↴ HONEY SODA ↓ INGREDIENTS 200g Raw unpasteurized honey 1900g Clean well or spring water ( don’t use chlorinated or fluoridated city water ) 20g Wild flowers or herbs or nothing 2L Growler or glass jar ↴ METHOD Fill your glass vessel with all three ingredients listed and top the vessel with an airlock or some breathable fabric and let sit for an hour or so in the sun. After an hour or so, put a cap on the vessels and shake it or stir it until the honey dissolves into the water. Put the airlock or fabric back on and bring it inside and let it sit somewhere in ambient temperatures out of the sun. Each day shake or stir the mixture up to 1-3 times and continue to let it sit. The initial fermentation usually takes 2+ days, we like ours 2-4 days. ( Each variation of honey and yeasts present on the flower or material will change the fermentation. ) Once your soda begins to bubble, strain out the herbs, and then transfer the liquid to bottles. ( we use old Budweiser bottles found in dumpsites in the mountains that we cleaned vigorously and cap those, but stoppered bottles work great also ) Allow your beverage to ferment at room temperature capped for another 12 to 24 hours, and then move it to the refrigerator for storage. Once chilled, your soda will be ready at any point, but we like to let it sit for it to gain carbonation. We like to give it a week in the bottle before drinking. Drink within 9 months. Like all our recipes are a launching point. When we are making batches we go more by our intuition and taste then we do anything else. Follow the recipe, but also feel free to play around!

Honey soda

PLANTING

As winter fades and spring slowly creeps in and the acequias began to fill with parciantes cleaning out communal ditches so that fields can be flooded, the wild asparagus get ready to send their fresh shoots. For me, the joys and bounties of spring in northern NM can be found in the favors in a single stalk of wild asparagus. A shoot from plants with roots that that have been around for longer than I have have so much life and flavor you can never really appreciate conventional asparagus again. The flavor signals so much to come. When I think on feeding myself, and others, in the most optimal ways, I think on how my ancestors might have ate. The answer always includes a little of 'what was available', which is a little obvious but nonetheless an helpful insight. What is a little less obvious is how, Mother Earth provides what we need, when we need it. Asparagus after a dormant winter to help cleanse, fruit in the summer to give energy, rose fruit in the fall for immunity, so on and so forth. I wonder if the asparagus would taste the same in the winter. It's hard to not want to capture every moment and to hold on to it for as long as possible. I always get sad when the wild plums drop their fragrant sweet masa smelling blossoms to begin making leaves and then fruit when I had passed my opportunity to be able to 'preserve' them somehow, but so it goes. The blossoms mean nothing if they last forever. They reward those who are present, for only a brief movement. As I walk through our fields, giving the dry ground a needed drink of water from our acequia full of water diverted from the river that a few miles north that came from a spring and of snow melt, to grow grass that will collect sunlight and minerals that will nurture our cows and sheep that will in turn nurture us. My skin is seca and muscles are sore as I check my asparagus patches to collect a shoot or two and eat them then and there as I walk to the next lindero.

PICKING WILD ASPARGUS

SACAR LA ACEQUIA (cleaning the acequia)

¬ Each year as the days start getting warmer but the mornings are still cold we participate in the centuries old tradition of cleaning and squaring off our acequia. Acequias are channels of water diverted from the river up hill to then flood pastures, gardens and orchards in turn to each parciante for an allotted amount of time based on the size of land they have. Acequias are said to be the oldest systems of water management in the United States, and while true in the fact that they are the oldest ‘documented’ form, I can’t imagine that is actually true. Water had been managed pre contact in many different forms, however the acequia system as we know it now has shaped the landscape of Northern New Mexico and continues to live on. The acequia system is so special because it has been practiced in almost the exact way as when they were initially set up, with minor differences between communities and with modern approaches as time has gone on. In the northern mountain village we inhabit the acequia is said to have been started in the seventeen hundreds. Some sections of our acequia are over ten feet tall with cedar trees so thick and old you can hardly wrap your arms around them. Acequia in arabic means ‘water carrier’ and were brought to the ‘new world’ by the Spanish ( half of my lineage ) but taken or learned from Northern African. The Spanish had a book called law of the indies which was essentially a guide book to colonizing a new land. That book has negative connotations, but I can’t help but admire the way it has shaped the land I am from and continue to inhabit. Part of this guide book explained how to settle a new land, and essentially it said to build the acequia first, and then the church. To simplify the method of digging a new acequia, you would find a new land and walk up the river as far up as you could until it closes up and then go back on the highest point. This would be where you would dig the ditch and everything below that would be delegated to pastures and the growing of food, everything above would be the dry land where the home would be built and where the animals would be kept. It’s hard to stand in the ditch and to not think about all those that have dug and cleaned it up to that point. I can’t help but admire how hard it must have been to dig a ditch along rocky mountain sides moving water up hill. I grew up with an acequia running through my grandfathers property on Taos Pueblo where my siblings and I grew up. It hadn’t been used since my grandfather had used it, which was around when I was born, but being a communal system the water still ran. We got to play in the cold waters of fresh snowmelt that flowed though the property and spring/summer and hide in the willow groves that surrounded it. Because the acequia was and still is all dirt the water seeps through and nurtures the wildlife around it. At my grandfathers there was more fruit than we could ever or ever did eat. ( plums, chokecherries, apples, apricots, sour cherries ). As I’ve gotten older I have grown a deeper appreciation for the bounties the acequias bring and all the sweat that has and will go into them. The grass grown on our pastures are all watered by the flooding via the acequia and are cut, dried, baled, and stored to feed our cattle and sheep through the rest of the year. Besides that inherent value of hay produced, the acequia system is rewarding in the way that is largely a community operated system. To be honest I am a pretty independent person and like my autonomy, but I also like to be part of the community that is where I live. This communal system ties everyone together in a way that nothing else does or can. All winter we will spend weeks without talking to anyone in the village, but once the acequias open its rare to go a day out without speaking with at least one neighbor. Where we live almost every person on the acequia uses the water from it and this means that if anyone neglects their portion they are spoiling the bounty for everyone else or making others take responsibility for their neglect. The parciantes, those participating in the system, keep each other in line. If someone steals the water, they are stealing from everyone else, so most parciantes respect each other by sharing the water as each person is allotted. Now beginning of April, as I post this, the community gathers in the morning and heads up to ‘la presa’ ( head-gate ) where the water is diverted from the river and participates in cleaning out the acequia from the beginning to the end. Before this ritual, each parciante is responsible for cleaning their own portion, so when this time comes the mayordomo can let loose a small portion of water as each parciante with their tool of choice, usually a pitch fork, can help each other in removing any debris or rocks that may impair water flow. This stage, the ‘sacar la acequia’, is about strength in numbers, but also makes each parciantes hard work transparent to all the others parciantes. To me this portion is the part that keeps each member from neglecting their section as everyone can see if they are neglecting their portion during the walk. Acequias are many things, but for me at this moment, they are a reminder that culture is preserved and perpetuated through participation and not in externalization. We can romance the acequias and write or share about them, but what keeps them alive is our participation in them. This task is one we look forward to all winter, and one that when it finally comes we are excited for it to be finished. You can watch a process video of the preliminary cleaning of our section below: PROCESS VIDEO ↓ ‘SACAR LA ACEQUIA’ Video work: MAIDA BRANCH

<p class="p1">¬ Each year as the days start getting warmer but the mornings are still cold we participate in the centuries old tradition of cleaning and squaring off our acequia.</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">Acequias are channels of water diverted from the river up hill to then flood pastures, gardens and orchards in turn to each parciante for an allotted amount of time based on the size of land they have. Acequias are said to be the oldest systems of water management in the United States, and while true in the fact that they are the oldest ‘documented’ form, I can’t imagine that is actually true. Water had been managed pre contact in many different forms, however the acequia system as we know it now has shaped the landscape of Northern New Mexico and continues to live on.</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">The acequia system is so special because it has been practiced in almost the exact way as when they were initially set up, with minor differences between communities and with modern approaches as time has gone on. In the northern mountain village we inhabit the acequia is said to have been started in the seventeen hundreds. Some sections of our acequia are over ten feet tall with cedar trees so thick and old you can hardly wrap your arms around them. </p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">Acequia in arabic means ‘water carrier’ and were brought to the ‘new world’ by the Spanish ( half of my lineage ) but taken or learned from Northern African. The Spanish had a book called law of the indies which was essentially a guide book to colonizing a new land. That book has negative connotations, but I can’t help but admire the way it has shaped the land I am from and continue to inhabit. Part of this guide book explained how to settle a new land, and essentially it said to build the acequia first, and then the church. To simplify the method of digging a new acequia, you would find a new land and walk up the river as far up as you could until it closes up and then go back on the highest point. This would be where you would dig the ditch and everything below that would be delegated to pastures and the growing of food, everything above would be the dry land where the home would be built and where the animals would be kept. It’s hard to stand in the ditch and to not think about all those that have dug and cleaned it up to that point. I can’t help but admire how hard it must have been to dig a ditch along rocky mountain sides moving water up hill.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p2">I grew up with an acequia running through my grandfathers property on Taos Pueblo where my siblings and I grew up. It hadn’t been used since my grandfather had used it, which was around when I was born, but being a communal system the water still ran. We got to play in the cold waters of fresh snowmelt that flowed though the property and spring/summer and hide in the willow groves that surrounded it. Because the acequia was and still is all dirt the water seeps through and nurtures the wildlife around it. At my grandfathers there was more fruit than we could ever or ever did eat. ( plums, chokecherries, apples, apricots, sour cherries ).</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">As I’ve gotten older I have grown a deeper appreciation for the bounties the acequias bring and all the sweat that has and will go into them. The grass grown on our pastures are all watered by the flooding via the acequia and are cut, dried, baled, and stored to feed our cattle and sheep through the rest of the year. Besides that inherent value of hay produced, the acequia system is rewarding in the way that is largely a community operated system. To be honest I am a pretty independent person and like my autonomy, but I also like to be part of the community that is where I live. This communal system ties everyone together in a way that nothing else does or can. All winter we will spend weeks without talking to anyone in the village, but once the acequias open its rare to go a day out without speaking with at least one neighbor.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p2">Where we live almost every person on the acequia uses the water from it and this means that if anyone neglects their portion they are spoiling the bounty for everyone else or making others take responsibility for their neglect. The parciantes, those participating in the system, keep each other in line. If someone steals the water, they are stealing from everyone else, so most parciantes respect each other by sharing the water as each person is allotted.</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">Now beginning of April, as I post this, the community gathers in the morning and heads up to ‘la presa’ ( head-gate ) where the water is diverted from the river and participates in cleaning out the acequia from the beginning to the end. Before this ritual, each parciante is responsible for cleaning their own portion, so when this time comes the mayordomo can let loose a small portion of water as each parciante with their tool of choice, usually a pitch fork, can help each other in removing any debris or rocks that may impair water flow. This stage, the ‘sacar la acequia’, is about strength in numbers, but also makes each parciantes hard work transparent to all the others parciantes. To me this portion is the part that keeps each member from neglecting their section as everyone can see if they are neglecting their portion during the walk.</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">Acequias are many things, but for me at this moment, they are a reminder that culture is preserved and perpetuated through participation and not in externalization. We can romance the acequias and write or share about them, but what keeps them alive is our participation in them.</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">This task is one we look forward to all winter, and one that when it finally comes we are excited for it to be finished.</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">You can watch a process video of the preliminary cleaning of our section below:</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">PROCESS VIDEO </p>
<p class="p1">↓</p>
<p class="p3"><a href="https://shed-project.com/Recuerdos-videos">‘SACAR LA ACEQUIA’</a></p>
<p class="p4">Video work: <a href="http://maidagoods.com/">MAIDA BRANCH</a></p>

Sacar la acequia

¬ A good margarita is one of the great joys of life on the / shed ranch. A hard days work moving hay, guiding water from the acequia, building adobes, picking rose fruit or any of the other countless activities we engage in is often rewarded with an ‘daily margarita’. In my cooking I’m interested in a myriad of things that build up what makes it to the plate, or glass. The flavor really is just the reward, and is always greater the greater the quality of ingredients. I whole heartedly believe that food that is good for us, if we are perceptive to it, will always taste better. The salt I find on every margarita rim from any restaurant is always either diamond kosher salt, or the margarita salt they seemingly sell to every restaurant, both mostly sodium chloride which is man made and in no way natural or very great for our health as a human, due mostly to the lack of trace minerals. Salt is something that helps keep us hydrated and aids in the delivery of trace minerals. If you are using a commercial salt try one that tastes amazing and is good for you! We use Redmond ‘real salt’ mined from ancient sea beds in the desert of Utah. Living in the high desert I believe we should also be eating things from the desert. This is the salt we cook with daily and also the only salt we give to our livestock. REDMOND REAL SALTThis recipe is a glimpse into our idealogy that to make food + drink at its highest form - it’s not about the tricks or tweeks, but rather the identity of each component. All of this is found in our ‘everyday margarita’.RECIPE ↴ DAILY MARGARITA MAKES ONE SERVING ↓ INGREDIENTS60g Del Maguey Vida Mezcal ( or any of your favorite agave spirits )30g Cointreau ( best because it’s sweet enough but is soft on your palete ) 30g Fresh squeezed lime juice ( definitely fresh squeezed as you also get the oils from the rind) 150g Ice Redmond ‘Real Salt’ ( trust me on this one ) ↓ NOTE Though this is a recipe, it is largely a launching point. Each of these ingrediants can be swapped out for another, but this is our tried and true absolute favorite version. ↓ PREP Gather all of the ingredients and start cutting the limes. With one of the halfs, circle the rim of your glass twice and dip into the salt. Using a handheld juicer juice limes until you have the desired amount. In a 1 quart wide mouth glass mason jar add your ice, then add the rest of the ingredients. Once everything is weighed out close lid and shake vigorously 20 times. Remove the lid and pour the entire contents of the jar into your glass over ice.

<p>¬ A good margarita is one of the great joys of life on the / shed ranch. A hard days work moving hay, guiding water from the acequia, building adobes, picking rose fruit or any of the other countless activities we engage in is often rewarded with an ‘daily margarita’. <br><br>In my cooking I’m interested in a myriad of things that build up what makes it to the plate, or glass. The flavor really is just the reward, and is always greater the greater the quality of ingredients. <br><br>I whole heartedly believe that food that is good for us, if we are perceptive to it, will always taste better. The salt I find on every margarita rim from any restaurant is always either diamond kosher salt, or the margarita salt they seemingly sell to every restaurant, both mostly sodium chloride which is man made and in no way natural or very great for our health as a human, due mostly to the lack of trace minerals. Salt is something that helps keep us hydrated and aids in the delivery of trace minerals. If you are using a commercial salt try one that tastes amazing and is good for you! <br><br>We use Redmond ‘real salt’ mined from ancient sea beds in the desert of Utah. Living in the high desert I believe we should also be eating things from the desert. This is the salt we cook with daily and also the only salt we give to our livestock. <a href="https://redmond.life/products/real-salt-kosher-10-lb-bag?variant=40396921962544" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">REDMOND REAL SALT</a><br><br>This recipe is a glimpse into our idealogy that to make food + drink at its highest form - it’s not about the tricks or tweeks, but rather the identity of each component. All of this is found in our ‘everyday margarita’.<br><br><small>RECIPE ↴</small><br><br></p>
<hr>
<p><br><br></p>
<h1>DAILY MARGARITA </h1>
<p><small>MAKES ONE SERVING </small><br><br><br><small></small></p>
<p class="p1">↓ I<small>NGREDIENTS</small><br><small>60g Del Maguey Vida Mezcal ( or any of your favorite agave spirits )<br>30g Cointreau ( best because it’s sweet enough but is soft on your palete ) <br>30g Fresh squeezed lime juice ( definitely fresh squeezed as you also get the oils from the rind) <br><br>150g Ice <br><br>Redmond ‘Real Salt’ ( trust me on this one )</small><br><br><small></small></p>
<p class="p1">↓ <small>NOTE </small> <small>Though this is a recipe, it is largely a launching point. Each of these ingrediants can be swapped out for another, but this is our tried and true absolute favorite version. </small><br><br><small></small></p>
<p class="p1">↓ <small>PREP </small><br>Gather all of the ingredients and start cutting the limes. With one of the halfs, circle the rim of your glass twice and dip into the salt. <br><br><br>Using a handheld juicer juice limes until you have the desired amount. <br><br><br>In a 1 quart wide mouth glass mason jar add your ice, then add the rest of the ingredients. <br><br><br>Once everything is weighed out close lid and shake vigorously 20 times. <br><br><br>Remove the lid and pour the entire contents of the jar into your glass over ice.<br> <br><br><img src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1184/q/75/i/84f781783111fc04ca0ec5debe533c71224e1f81497af362cd35ad95edf8cd56/everyday_margarita_topview.jpg" alt="" width="1184" height="1776" border="0" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/84f781783111fc04ca0ec5debe533c71224e1f81497af362cd35ad95edf8cd56/everyday_margarita_topview.jpg" data-mid="172543113"></p>

DAILY MARGARITA

“I planted that tree which you know is straight and full of life”. I first learned of Patrociño Barela’s work when seeing a large collection of his at the Harwood Museum in Taos. Patriciño Barela born around 1900, was raised as a sheep herder, a laborer, a wanderer due to work and immigration in his early life, but innately he was an artist and a santero. In New Mexico, a santero is someone who carves saints and spiritual figures primarily out of red cedar wood. Patrociño would describe his work as “santo feeling” not strictly santo santo as the catholic New Mexican histories would say. When I first came upon his work, his figures struck me so much - like a punch in the stomach - the faces and movement carved in the wood reminded me of susto, the soul pain, my friend and mentor Camilla Trujillo describes. I couldn’t stop staring at them never wanting to leave their side. When I read the title card beside them, I was blown away that I had gone this far in my life without knowing of his work and that as a New Mexican artist, his work was highlighted in such an elevated way that I had only seen of white contemporaries. After that museum visit I couldn’t stop reading about Patrociño and his life - I learned he began carving when a friend asked if he could repair a broken santo, made of multiple pieces of wood, a common way of making santos especially larger pieces - Patrociño fixed the piece and found that there was more integrity if the santo was made from one single piece, not multiple. From that moment on he became a santero, and described the initiation as “I planted that tree which you know is straight and full of life”. In 1936, he had eight of his pieces (more than any other artist exhibited in the same show) as part of a group show at the Museum of Modern art in New York.. The show was organized by the Federal Art Project, and included unknown artists from all over the country. TIME Magazine declared Patrociño as “discovery of the year”. His work was likened to Romanesque carvings of the 11th and 12th century, described as “primitive” a high compliment of the time when artists like Picasso were investing in collections of African and Indigenous sculpture, pieces that greatly informed the silhouettes his work. He received so much praise after his group show that he would have autograph requests in mail, hand written letters requesting he sign a printed portrait of himself. The Federal Art Project allowed Patrociño to make work full time, still making less than he would with his labor jobs, it sustained him and his work. After his New York show there was a serious pursuit in having a solo show of his in galleries in New York. Patrociño primarily a native Spanish speaker, wasn’t able to read and could barely write - this along with his cultural differences from those of the New York art world distanced his ability to take on his business affairs himself, advocate properly for himself, and pursue the interest that existed on the east coast. His person was often ‘protected’ for the sake of anglo art dealers that were close to him. It is said that a gallery in Taos would often trade a piece of his for a bottle of wine. One art collector discovered his work when seeing it as a door stop for a store off the Taos Plaza. After WWII ended, the Federal Art Program was defunded and national interest in Patrocino’s work began to fade. He returned to work as a sheep herder and picking potatoes in Colorado. He migrated all the way to Wyoming more than once for labor or herding work. Very aware of Patrociño and his work, Mabel Dodge Lujan chose not include him in her book Taos And Its Artists published in 1947. The primary art narrative around Taos at that time focused on the Taos Arts Society and its collection of anglo artists. To me, much of what’s known about Patrociño is that he was utterly gifted and mostly utterly overlooked. Thanks to private collectors and some local galleries who purchased his work - his work has survived today. His wife Remedio would often steal pieces of his from his studio to pay for groceries, she worked as a laundress at the nearby San Geronimo Lodge - hauling water for the linens from a nearby creek. Patrociño lived in Cañon with his wife. They met when her main work was as a enjaradorra or mud plasterer - traditionally a matriarchal practice. Together they were hired to work on a house in Cañon, later married and had two children, when they met she was a widow and had four of her own. Patrociño was a notorious lover of mission wine - much of what can be read about him includes his tumultuous relationship with his wife due to his alcohol dependency and their poverty. The depression affected everyone during that time in American history, and in New Mexico it also created less work for the labor class, the mestizos, the native people, those whose land was taken by American settlers, settlement and land displacement encouraged by the American government. Yet despite the difficult times for those like Patrociño and his family, Patrociño’s constant was his spiritual practice that transferred to his wood work. He would carve all night amidst kerosene lamps before a day of labor work. He had a modest studio below their adobe home and never stopped carving even when his eye sight faded towards the end of his life. What’s clear is that Patrociño was an artist moved by something beyond himself - his ability to transfer pieces of wood, material directly earth bound, and translate deeper messages within the wood, creating a multi-dimensional understanding between him and for the rest of the world. “The mother, the struggle, the search, the heart” a well known quote of his when describing what he tries to say in the wood. Patriciño died in his studio around the age of 64, (his exact birthday was never known) - in a fire after falling asleep with a cigarette in hand. His wife and son woke around 3:30am to see the studio in flames. As tragic as much of his story seems, and representative of the many mestizo & Indigenous artists of the time whose stories are unknown, or overshadowed by the Georgia O’keefe and Agnes Martin happenings of the time - none speak to me as deeply as Patrociño’s work does in capturing the true spirit of this land its people, his work is a susto, a soul pain, and a soul window into the spirit and complexities of New Mexico. Patrociño’s only medium was red cedar, also known as rocky mountain juniper, a material endemic to this land over 2,000 years. Red cedar is the same wood Johnny uses in his pit firings when firing his micaceous clay work. Patrociño, unaware of any art scene, or cubist, or german expressionist movement that he was compared to - made santos and bultos from a need to translate his own internal and external experience. The desert southwest wasn’t a romanticized place to visit, to meet with those from Taos Pueblo for a more more spiritual understanding of oneself - but it was inherent in his life, his daily practice. Sheep herding early on created a relationship with the land that only sheep herders throughout time can have. Patrocino's father was a curandero, a healer and died in Truchas, NM. Reflecting more on Patrociño and his life I learned that their was a disconnect between his practice and his family and communities understanding of what compelled him to work daily on something that didn’t always make him money. Remedio his wife often criticized him for working for hours alone on his studio instead of providing for the family more securely. Remedio and her family began to become superstitious of his carvings, believing they were linked to dark magic or worship due to his commitment to making them and their abstractness. Most santos of the time were more literal looking in relationship to the bible and saints. One day with his art dealer in Taos he was pulled away by a local priest, when he came back to the table with his art dealer he said the priest was asking why he didn’t make his santos more perfect, more in the perfect depiction of God. To which Patrociño replied “I’m not perfect, humans are not perfect, then why would I try to make a perfect reflection for God” I’m reminded of this cultural distinction we have with our families and others Indigenous to this place, that the translation of how the predominantly white, over culture of the art world sees us and our work is with a knowing and understanding and support of what we do and why we do it. A genuine interest and curiosity in this place and people we are from and the ancestral knowledge we share in our work. And yet when talking to our own families there can sometimes be a distrust around it, a suspicion around the sharing, and unknowing of the worlds we walk between as they themselves do not. My friend Grace talks about this often, recently she had her uncles help her ship work to shows in San Francisco, New York, & Minneapolis, she’s been painting most of her life and professionally for years, and still her uncles and cousins will ask “are you still doing that art thing”, how was your “little art show”. I think of all of our work and its relationship to homecoming, centered around place, and how like Patriciño, the very people and spirit we’re celebrating within it are not often the ones as interested in it. And so there’s this space between us, the work we make, and those who celebrate it in worlds away from where from. In New York, and those who have second homes here. Those who moved here. Those who see it as a part of a story of this place they want to know more about, a way to enter in to this land, with context of its people. My grandma often asks why I took her name of Maida, named my project after it, a name she says gave her a hard time throughout her life as it’s difficult to pronounce. When I started MAIDA I was still living in New York and would come home to visit, home being a place I so desperately wanted to leave when I was 18. But in my twenties I’d visit in awe of where I was from, now distanced from it - with a perspective more akin perhaps to what those visiting in the 1930’s or today see when they come to New Mexico for the first time. A land unlike any other, full of people and complex histories and practices unlike any other place in the world. Having studied art history and performance in college and graduate school - I learned about so many western artists that filled the canon of art as we know it and I wondered where my people fit in to it all. Minimized as ‘folk art’ or primitive, I knew of ceramicists, santeros, and weavers that made work as prophetic as anything I had seen or studied. Yet, their names were not known, their histories not told. One day I was talking with Johnny, talking about our love and reverence of the Martinez Hacienda in Taos - how it was one of our favorite places and the only place besides the space we’re fixing up on our farm, where we could imagine doing / shed dinners. So I called a number given to us by Louisa at the gift shop of the Hacienda and called the President of the Board of the Taos Historic Museum Daniel Barela. I introduced myself, sharing my families last names, Branch, Perea - as is common to do so here, to notate family, querencia, relationship to place. He told me he grew up in Talpa and I shared about / shed project, our work together, MAIDA, and the collective of artists. We spoke of ancestry and more of querencia. I brought up Patrociño and how much I admired his work, how my lives work is the pursuit of honoring those from this place by sharing their stories and work and by living with honor and beauty in the ways our ancestors once did. Clearly overlooking the similarity in last names - Daniel humbly and casually mentioned that Patrociño was his great-grandfather and that he too was a santero, 4th generation in fact. Daniel never knew his great-grandfather but heard countless stories and recognizes the spirit of what has been passed down to him and his work. I’ll never forget the quality of Daniels voice on the call, soft, resonant, with an ochre I would liken to a sound wood makes. No front of any kind, just real and knowing. Rightfully unsure at first of my character until some trust and understanding of intent was established. We ended the conversation with him saying he’d bring up our work to the board and was moved by what we were doing the importance of us telling our stories, and honoring our histories. We see Daniel often now as the Martinez Hacienda is the generous host of / shed dinners currently. I’m inspired by Daniel and his dedication to the Hacienda, all volunteer his work - he recently re-did the mud floor in the only fur trapper room. In warmer months we saw him mud plastering, and recently he helped organize a film screening about land grants and mud plaster with adobera and artist Anita Rodriguez. I feel honored to be able to share some of Daniel’s work with this ‘CON AMOR’ collection. Daniel is the first santero in the collective and I’m so excited to get to share more about him, his lineage, and another art form that is inherent to this place. What a dream to get to meet the great-grandson of an artist I so admire, and to share the spirit of both of their work through MAIDA. Santeros have had a relationship in New Mexico since the Spanish colonized and brought physical remnants of christianity from Spain along with many other transgressions. The practice of carving saints or religious figures and moments was a common practice to decorate their churches and fill those spaces. The penitente Brotherhood, was ex-communicated by the Catholic church, dedicates its religious life to the Passion of the Christ, culminating in the reenactment of christ's crucifixion during holy week. Known for their self flagellation and self-purification practices they have had a long religious and social influence on rural areas in northern New Mexico building moradas - separate from churches the penitentes are a secretive sect that’s relationship to its communities was birthed by initial religious colonization of Indigenous communities and the baby that was made from the two. In hopes of making some sense and spiritual structure out of two cultures, previously decimated due to settlement, the brotherhood albeit smaller now, lives on. Although Patrociño had friends in the brotherhood and they often commissioned work of his and talked with him about the bible and its allegories. Its remarkable that for Patrociño was so well versed in the old and new testament and its stories, as he was illiterate and avoided going to church. Ambivalent towards the catholic church he used its iconography as a source of inspiration and knew his spirituality and relationship to God was not beholden to place. Perhaps he felt strong in his knowing from years of shepherding alone, his unsaid understanding of the spirits within trees and in nature. Unlike traditional Santeros who focused on the perfection of santos and depiction of the perfection of God - Patrociño disagreed and pursued his own imperfection in himself and the figures he carved. His work he described was more ‘santo feeling’ than strictly santo like - and carved himself and his personal life often, distinguishing him from any other santero before. His work does not resemble any other santos made before and pieces like ‘Arguments’, ‘Everybody Has Got His Own Load’, and ‘Figure Depicting Birth’ - personal portraits as well as portraits of friends - all of these pieces exemplify his knowing and innate spiritual expression within himself. He carved allegory but was not afraid to depict his own personal experience that warranted the holy. LINKS: ‘CON AMOR’ collection by Patrociño’s great-grandson Daniel Barela Spirit Ascendant, The Life and Art of Patriciño Barela by Edward Gonzalez & David L. Witt

PATROCIÑO BARELA 

¬ Last winter our friend and fellow Range Rover lover Stefan was in NM and came out to the ranch to visit and shot his time with us on film. Maida and I take a lot of photos, documenting almost everything we do, but there is a certain magic to the photos Stefan took that ours don’t have( at least to ourselves ). I cherish these photos because they are beautiful obviously, but mostly for the way they are taken from a different perspective. Each time I look through them I gather a new appreciation for our daily life and everything in it. The photos from this visit crystalize a moment of time at the ranch when things have been dormant for a while and are slowly getting ready to explode with life, ourselves included. ↓ You can see more of Stefan’s work here www.stefanjunir.com www.instagram.com/stefanjunir ↴ PHOTOS

Ranch visit with Stefan Junir

¬ My Paternal Grandfather Lupe Concha of Taos Pueblo raised cattle. I was born too late to witness it, but that is what I hear from those that knew him. Now all that remains of that life now are some old haying equipment buried in plum trees and corrals that are barely hanging together. I became engaged with food after learning from my mother that Lupe used to eat the wild roses, and found my way to having cattle through food. If I had to make a map of my life, the spirit of Lupe would be in the legend. Though I was never witness or taught to these ways of life, they seem to have found a way in regardless. Lupe Concha The last few days have been corralled with sorting our cattle. Deciding who might become meat, who will stay in the herd. It’s a strange thing to be playing god in this way. Tuesday was all about sorting out the two herds then pushing them down the road to our second property where they will remain until spring. There they have access to the river and if it doesn’t get too cold, will be able to drink water as they please. Back at the field where we were pushing them from we would have to haul water almost each day, which now that winter has finally kicked in becomes too frequent and difficult. My sister Allsya, who now lives in Lupe’s old house where we grew up and her daughter Meia came out to help. When we had finished sorting out the two herds Maida drove the truck with a bale of hay weighing close to a thousand pounds on the back with the cows trailing close behind. Allysa and Meia drove behind the cows, and I walked between the making sure the cows wouldn’t stray into the hills. This isn’t the first time we’ve pushed them between fields so they were pretty good about it. After unloading the hay and turning the truck around we drove into a badger hole in the field buried by snow. If it were easy it probably wouldn’t be any fun. Eventually, I pulled the truck out and we carried on with feeding, watering, and sorting. This task took the majority of the day. When we finished we all shared a meal together. The following day, Wednesday, we got up at 6 and made coffee as the sun starts to light up the sky. We made our fire and started the trucks and tractor. Maida was heading to get our dog spayed and I had to load the two cows that were two years of age that I would be hauling to Tierra Amarilla to have processed for our Meat Share. As I started the truck I glanced at the thermostat which read six degrees. The the tips of my fingers were already stinging from the cold. As the morning warmed up slightly so did I, slowly sorting out the small herd and loading the two cows. We inherited our corral not of my grandfather, but of someone else's when we bought our land. A distant relative of mine in some way or another from the Chavez linage. This corral isn’t much better then Lupe’s and when a cow notices whats going on they could brake right though. So I take it slow, taking a step here and there, gently guiding them where I want them. After an hour or so of this, and a few situations of mayhem I manage to get the two cows into the trailer. These tasks are much easier with a second person, and I wished a time or two that Maida and I hadn’t tried to divide and concur, but I managed. I finally got on the road and in my hour and a half drive to the mantanza I have time to contemplate life and death and why being connected to the cows life and death in relation to my own is so important. It’s not an easy task by any means raising cattle, emotionally or physically. You need trucks and trailers, tractors and water tanks, barns and corrals, land and forage, fences and ditches, strength and tenderness. When you look at the numbers and try to imagine how it ever is worth it, you either become overwhelmed or remember that this as anything else in life. It isn’t a means to an end, just a constant means. This practice and how it feeds our life is incalculable. We might lose money if we put it down on paper, but the land and our lives are better because of it. We could raise 6 head a year, 1 bull and 5 cows and have 4 calves each summer. This would make our life easier, but it would also be only for ourselves. As we look toward the years to come it’s nice to think about creating systems that benefit us, but also that benefit those in our community. We have 22 head at the moment, and on the drive back instead of contemplating life and death and further, I delve into our systems and how to make them better, maybe one day having it sustain itself monetarily. With the task complete I get excited for the tasks awaiting me as I return home. My niece Meia is close to two years old now, and she loves pushing the cows with Allysa, sitting on moms lap while she pretends to drive. I think about Lupe and what it would have been like if I would have been around while he was active, and thinking on it I must be something like this. Maida and I are having a child this summer and I’m excited to have meat from cows we raised, who are loved and nurtured to nurture us and this new family. I get home and spend the rest of the daylight hauling water and chopping wood.

<p class="p1">¬ My Paternal Grandfather Lupe Concha of Taos Pueblo raised cattle. I was born too late to witness it, but that is what I hear from those that knew him. Now all that remains of that life now are some old haying equipment buried in plum trees and corrals that are barely hanging together.</p>
<p class="p1">I became engaged with food after learning from my mother that Lupe used to eat the wild roses, and found my way to having cattle through food. If I had to make a map of my life, the spirit of Lupe would be in the legend. Though I was never witness or taught to these ways of life, they seem to have found a way in regardless.</p>
<p class="p2"><img alt="" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0685/9653/1485/files/GL_480x480.jpg?v=1684463710"></p>
<p class="p2">Lupe Concha </p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">The last few days have been corralled with sorting our cattle. Deciding who might become meat, who will stay in the herd. It’s a strange thing to be playing god in this way. Tuesday was all about sorting out the two herds then pushing them down the road to our second property where they will remain until spring. There they have access to the river and if it doesn’t get too cold, will be able to drink water as they please. Back at the field where we were pushing them from we would have to haul water almost each day, which now that winter has finally kicked in becomes too frequent and difficult.</p>
<p class="p1">My sister Allsya, who now lives in Lupe’s old house where we grew up and her daughter Meia came out to help. When we had finished sorting out the two herds Maida drove the truck with a bale of hay weighing close to a thousand pounds on the back with the cows trailing close behind. Allysa and Meia drove behind the cows, and I walked between the making sure the cows wouldn’t stray into the hills. This isn’t the first time we’ve pushed them between fields so they were pretty good about it. After unloading the hay and turning the truck around we drove into a badger hole in the field buried by snow. If it were easy it probably wouldn’t be any fun.  Eventually, I pulled the truck out and we carried on with feeding, watering, and sorting. This task took the majority of the day. When we finished we all shared a meal together.</p>
<p class="p2">The following day, Wednesday, we got up at 6 and made coffee as the sun starts to light up the sky. We made our fire and started the trucks and tractor. Maida was heading to get our dog spayed and I had to load the two cows that were two years of age that I would be hauling to Tierra Amarilla to have processed for our Meat Share. As I started the truck I glanced at the thermostat which read six degrees. The the tips of my fingers were already stinging from the cold.</p>
<p class="p1">As the morning warmed up slightly so did I, slowly sorting out the small herd and loading the two cows. We inherited our corral not of my grandfather, but of someone else's when we bought our land. A distant relative of mine in some way or another from the Chavez linage. This corral isn’t much better then Lupe’s and when a cow notices whats going on they could brake right though. So I take it slow, taking a step here and there, gently guiding them where I want them. After an hour or so of this, and a few situations of mayhem I manage to get the two cows into the trailer. These tasks are much easier with a second person, and I wished a time or two that Maida and I hadn’t tried to divide and concur, but I managed.</p>
<p class="p1">I finally got on the road and in my hour and a half drive to the mantanza I have time to contemplate life and death and why being connected to the cows life and death in relation to my own is so important. It’s not an easy task by any means raising cattle, emotionally or physically. You need trucks and trailers, tractors and water tanks, barns and corrals, land and forage, fences and ditches, strength and tenderness. When you look at the numbers and try to imagine how it ever is worth it, you either become overwhelmed or remember that this as anything else in life. It isn’t a means to an end, just a constant means. This practice and how it feeds our life is incalculable. We might lose money if we put it down on paper, but the land and our lives are better because of it.</p>
<p class="p1">We could raise 6 head a year, 1 bull and 5 cows and have 4 calves each summer. This would make our life easier, but it would also be only for ourselves. As we look toward the years to come it’s nice to think about creating systems that benefit us, but also that benefit those in our community. We have 22 head at the moment, and on the drive back instead of contemplating life and death and further, I delve into our systems and how to make them better, maybe one day having it sustain itself monetarily. With the task complete I get excited for the tasks awaiting me as I return home.</p>
<p class="p1">My niece Meia is close to two years old now, and she loves pushing the cows with Allysa, sitting on moms lap while she pretends to drive. I think about Lupe and what it would have been like if I would have been around while he was active, and thinking on it I must be something like this. Maida and I are having a child this summer and I’m excited to have meat from cows we raised, who are loved and nurtured to nurture us and this new family. I get home and spend the rest of the daylight hauling water and chopping wood.</p>
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<p class="p1"> </p>

SORTING CATTLE ( reflection )

ALINEA CIRCA 2010 ( relection )

¬ As we welcome the new year we were reflecting on all the things we had done in 2022, and one of the highlights was a trip to the west coast where we cooked a dinner for the series BUDS at TOMO, which is a small restaurnt in Whitecenter WA, ran by Brady Ishiwata and a small team of amazing humans. The pastry chef Richard Garcia and I grew up together in Taos. When we were asked to take part of their BUDS series we were quick to say yes. It also happened to be around Maida’s birthday so it was a good excuse to take a trip away from the ranch. I have always wanted to have a space that I could cook / serve food to the music I listened to. Something that had the intimacy of a small lively punk show. Though I have that in someway with / shed currently, TOMO was refreshing in the way that they have built a space that allows for that lively energy. The entire meal was served to ‘Title Fight’ radio. Title fight is one of my favorite groups of all time. Their album ‘Shed’ was what I listened to a lot while beginning / shed. Having that music in any other space would feel jarring and forced, but in their space it felt warm and natural. Listening to Title fight the week leading up to the dinner while we thought on what the menu would be I felt the same energy that was present while starting / shed. It was the raw energy of creation in the face of uncertainty. We had never worked with the team at Tomo, worked in their kitchen, nor made much of what we were going to serve before. I am in parts a creature of habit, but contrary to that, for dinners like this I like to retain the ethos of / shed which is in part exploring and honoring the terrain, letting the materials lead us rather then the other way around. So that is the route we took. Before heading to Whitecenter we drove up the coast to the restaurant on Lummi Island where I worked at for a season back in 2011. We spent the evening after having yet again another incredible feast and then spent the following day with Blaine and Hugo foraging and harvesting from the surrounding terrain. We dug for clams, which we didn’t use in the dinners, but inspired a couple courses on the menu. These moments are some of the moments I find most exciting about cooking. The team at the willow’s inn was incredibly helpful in our quest to source materials for dinners, other then exploring and foraging with us, they let us glean from their garden and even ground the masa that we would use. The restaurant has since closed, but will always hold a deep place in my heart. Their efforts and support in us for this event was imperative and made everything more enjoyable. I could speak for a long while about all the parts of this dinner at TOMO, but I will refrain and allow the photos to speak for themselves. I will however finish by saying that when I look at these photos I can’t help but feel a spark of warmth course through me. The space, the music, the terrain, the staff, the guests, the food, the drink, everything feels like a dream.↴ PHOTOS

TOMO dinner ( buds series )

¬ Oshá root, or bear root is the root part of the plant Ligusticum porteri found in parts of the Rocky Mountains and northern New Mexico. Oshá is in the lovage family, sometimes called wild celery or porters lovage. At the pueblo in Taos it is called bear root because when the bears come out of hibernation they immediately dig up the root to consume and rub it on themselves. Oshá is generally thought of as one of the most medicinal plants of this terrain and I would have to agree with that. While we tend to think of things in a vacuum, I don’t think it is ever that simple. Medicine is a tricky word and has many meanings. I love the quote “your life is your medicine” and I feel the medicinal qualities of a plant, or anything really, are embedded in the thing itself but also in everything that surrounds it. For me part of the medicinal qualities of oshá root are embedded in the journey to it, the drive into the mountain with a purpose, the loved ones in the vehicle, the air around it being expelled by the trees, the mycorrhizal soil soaked into my skin while I dig, et cetera. These facets of the plant can’t be bought or sold. Every time I catch the intoxicating scent of oshá, it brings me back to the journey. Generally the medicinal qualities thought to be in oshá are used in a variety of purposes. It is used as a tea or tincture to aid in sickness of all kinds or for sore thoughts, chewed in large amounts to induce sweating, smashed into a poultice to help aid wounds, placed in gardens to inhibit cutworms and other larvae, used to ward off rattlesnakes, and many more depending on who you talk to. My paternal grandmother Maria had diabetes and one time she had heard I had just picked oshá and asked for some to put in her sock to help with an infection. Part of the ethos of / shed is not separating food, or life in general, and medicine. Eating is our fuel and the thing that sustains us, the main foods of sustenance for me being meat ( wild or from our animals ) and secondary eggs, fats, fruit, and honey. Plants make their way to my plate often, however I don’t ever think of these as sustenance. Oshá being in this category fills the place of providing me with micronutrients and the with small amounts of the medicine when my body desires it. If I begin to feel unwell oshá is the first thing I reach for. This is not to say that I think everyone everywhere should immediately order oshá in some form or another. I feel that as part of nature itself we, or at least myself, should be thinking more about what is around us and using those things to nurture and heal. Maybe the power of bear root is strongest when you are closer to the trees that the root itself needs to grow next to. In picking oshá, it’s important to be familiar with the plant for it very closely resembles poison hemlock. Despite almost looking identical to one of the most poisonous plants oshá only grows in the higher elevations ~7,000-10,000ft ( in NM ) and when dug from the ground has an unmistakable intoxicating aroma that the hemlock or another root for that matter doesn’t have. Oshá is like the ginseng of NM and with it’s mystical powers the desire has grown exponentially and there is fear of the possibility of over harvesting so it is important to to harvest responsibly. Each plant grows and has a series of taproots, so if you take some and not all the plant it will continue to grow. We harvest our oshá in the late autumn when everything is on fire with red and gold everywhere you look, before the ground is frozen and the plant has had a chance to seed and send it’s energy back to it’s root. This is important for us because we’re not only after harvesting for flavor but for it’s energetic properties, which in my opinion go hand in hand. You can watch our process video now of our annual journey to harvest oshá root. → OSHÁ ( harvest ) process video

<p><img src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0685/9653/1485/files/OSH_480x480.png?v=1684463030" alt=""></p>
<p class="p1">¬ Oshá root, or bear root is the root part of the plant Ligusticum porteri found in parts of the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rocky_Mountains">Rocky Mountains</a> and northern <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/New_Mexico">New Mexico</a>. Oshá is in the lovage family, sometimes called wild celery or porters lovage. At the pueblo in Taos it is called bear root because when the bears come out of hibernation they immediately dig up the root to consume and rub it on themselves.  </p>
<p class="p2">Oshá is generally thought of as one of the most medicinal plants of this terrain and I would have to agree with that. While we tend to think of things in a vacuum, I don’t think it is ever that simple. Medicine is a tricky word and has many meanings. I love the quote “your life is your medicine” and I feel the medicinal qualities of a plant, or anything really, are embedded in the thing itself but also in everything that surrounds it. For me part of the medicinal qualities of oshá root are embedded in the journey to it, the drive into the mountain with a purpose, the loved ones in the vehicle, the air around it being expelled by the trees, the mycorrhizal soil soaked into my skin while I dig, et cetera. These facets of the plant can’t be bought or sold. Every time I catch the intoxicating scent of oshá, it brings me back to the journey. </p>
<p class="p1">Generally the medicinal qualities thought to be in oshá are used in a variety of purposes. It is used as a tea or tincture to aid in sickness of all kinds or for sore thoughts, chewed in large amounts to induce sweating, smashed into a poultice to help aid wounds, placed in gardens to inhibit cutworms and other larvae, used to ward off rattlesnakes, and many more depending on who you talk to. My paternal grandmother Maria had diabetes and one time she had heard I had just picked oshá and asked for some to put in her sock to help with an infection. </p>
<p class="p1">Part of the ethos of / shed is not separating food, or life in general, and medicine. Eating is our fuel and the thing that sustains us, the main foods of sustenance for me being meat ( wild or from our animals ) and secondary eggs, fats, fruit, and honey. Plants make their way to my plate often, however I don’t ever think of these as sustenance. Oshá being in this category fills the place of providing me with micronutrients and the with small amounts of the medicine when my body desires it. If I begin to feel unwell oshá is the first thing I reach for. This is not to say that I think everyone everywhere should immediately order oshá in some form or another. I feel that as part of nature itself we, or at least myself, should be thinking more about what is around us and using those things to nurture and heal. Maybe the power of bear root is strongest when you are closer to the trees that the root itself needs to grow next to.</p>
<p class="p1">In picking oshá, it’s important to be familiar with the plant for it very closely resembles poison hemlock. Despite almost looking identical to one of the most poisonous plants oshá only grows in the higher elevations ~7,000-10,000ft ( in NM ) and when dug from the ground has an unmistakable intoxicating aroma that the hemlock or another root for that matter doesn’t have. Oshá is like the ginseng of NM and with it’s mystical powers the desire has grown exponentially and there is fear of the possibility of over harvesting so it is important to to harvest responsibly. Each plant grows and has a series of taproots, so if you take some and not all the plant it will continue to grow. </p>
<p class="p1">We harvest our oshá in the late autumn when everything is on fire with red and gold everywhere you look, before the ground is frozen and the plant has had a chance to seed and send it’s energy back to it’s root. This is important for us because we’re not only after harvesting for flavor but for it’s energetic properties, which in my opinion go hand in hand. </p>
<p class="p2">You can watch our process video now of our annual journey to harvest oshá root. </p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1"><a href="/osha-harvest">→ OSHÁ ( harvest ) process video</a></p>

OSHÁ ROOT (  thoughts  )

OSHA ( harvest )

¬ In case you’ve never had a biscochito it is the official cookie of New Mexico and one of the best cookies on this planet. It is found around the holidays at the homes of most New Mexicans, of all the varieties of cultures. At the pueblo in Taos they tend to be thicker and to have colored sprinkles and no cinnamon. Some recipes have no flour at all making them incredibly thin. This cookie has the same name in most households, but each family has their own method to making theirs. Our recipe includes our favorites aspects of biscochitos all into one cookie with one main difference is the inclusion of oshá root in place of cinnamon. ↓ LINKS: → OSHÁ harvest ( process video ) → OSHÁ ( thoughts ) ↓ RECIPE OSHÁ BISCOCHITOS / shed variation ↓ INGREDIENTS 200g whole wheat flour 2.5g baking powder 2g grey salt 120g pasture raised manteca / butter 80g white raw cane sugar 1 medium pasture raised egg 14g crushed fennel seed ( or anise ) zest of one orange, meyer lemon, or lime 50g organic unrefined cane sugar ( we use ‘just panela’ ) 5g micro-planed osha root ( or cinnamon ) ↓ METHOD Preheat oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit In a large bowl, mix together flour, baking powder, and salt. In a separate bowl, combine the sugar and lard. Using an electric mixer, beat the lard and sugar until light and fluffy - about 3 minutes. Add the egg and beat to combine. Add orange zest and anise seed. Remove bowl from the mixer and add the flour mixture. With your hands mix until combined. Dough should be fairly thick and similar in consistency to pie crust dough. Refrigerate dough for 30 minutes. Line baking sheet with parchment paper. In a small bowl, combine the sugar and cinnamon for topping. On a lightly floured surface, roll out dough to ¼ inch thickness, or thicker if you’d like ( we like ours thin ). Cut out cookies with a cutter of your choice. ( I use one from my great grandmother ) Place cookies on lined baking sheet and sprinkle with sugar mixture to cover the cookie. Bake for 4-5 minutes and then rotate for another 4-5 minutes until just barely golden and set (be careful not to overcook!). Remove cookies to rest on a cool surface and sprinkle a little more sugar mixture on the warm cookie as it’s cooling.

<p class="p1">¬ In case you’ve never had a biscochito it is the official cookie of New Mexico and one of the best cookies on this planet. It is found around the holidays at the homes of most New Mexicans, of all the varieties of cultures. At the pueblo in Taos they tend to be thicker and to have colored sprinkles and no cinnamon. Some recipes have no flour at all making them incredibly thin. This cookie has the same name in most households, but each family has their own method to making theirs. Our recipe includes our favorites aspects of biscochitos all into one cookie with one main difference is the inclusion of oshá root in place of cinnamon. </p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<meta charset="utf-8">
<p class="p2"><span>↓ </span>LINKS:</p>
<p class="p1">→ <a href="https://shed-project.com/Recuerdos-videos">OSHÁ harvest ( process video )</a></p>
<p class="p1">→ <a href="https://shed-project.com/OSHA-thoughts">OSHÁ ( thoughts )</a></p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">↓ RECIPE</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<h3 class="p1">OSHÁ BISCOCHITOS</h3>
<p class="p1">/ shed variation </p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<meta charset="utf-8">
<p class="p1"><span>↓ </span>INGREDIENTS</p>
<p class="p1">200g whole wheat flour</p>
<p class="p1">2.5g baking powder</p>
<p class="p1">2g grey salt </p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">120g pasture raised manteca / butter</p>
<p class="p1">80g white raw cane sugar </p>
<p class="p1">1 medium pasture raised egg</p>
<p class="p1">14g crushed fennel seed ( or anise )</p>
<p class="p1">zest of one orange, meyer lemon, or lime</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">50g organic unrefined cane sugar ( we use ‘just panela’ ) </p>
<p class="p1">5g micro-planed osha root ( or cinnamon )  </p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<meta charset="utf-8">
<p class="p1"><span>↓ </span>METHOD</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">Preheat oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit</p>
<p class="p1">In a large bowl, mix together flour, baking powder, and salt.</p>
<p class="p1">In a separate bowl, combine the sugar and lard. Using an electric mixer, beat the lard and sugar until light and fluffy - about 3 minutes. Add the egg and beat to combine. Add orange zest and anise seed.</p>
<p class="p1">Remove bowl from the mixer and add the flour mixture. With your hands mix until combined. Dough should be fairly thick and similar in consistency to pie crust dough. Refrigerate dough for 30 minutes.</p>
<p class="p1">Line baking sheet with parchment paper.</p>
<p class="p2">In a small bowl, combine the sugar and cinnamon for topping.</p>
<p class="p2">On a lightly floured surface, roll out dough to ¼ inch thickness, or thicker if you’d like ( we like ours thin ). Cut out cookies with a cutter of your choice. ( I use one from my great grandmother )</p>
<p class="p2">Place cookies on lined baking sheet and sprinkle with sugar mixture to cover the cookie. Bake for 4-5 minutes and then rotate for another 4-5 minutes until just barely golden and set (be careful not to overcook!). Remove cookies to rest on a cool surface and sprinkle a little more sugar mixture on the warm cookie as it’s cooling. </p>

OSHÁ BISCOCHITO ( recipe )

¬ Ever since I've had sheep, which is going on six years now, I've been taking my fleece to the wool mill in Mora NM. This journey to the mill is one we always look forward to. It’s a journey through friendly mountains, which we usually only get to visit for this purpose. Each journey always includes a stop at Teresa’s tamales before or on the way out. The Mill is in the heart of downtown Mora with a store front that has a small cafe and gallery for all things wool. Just up the road is the old adobe gristmill where folk would bring their wheat harvest to be ground by stone powered by water diverted from the river. If you have never been to the Mill or Mora in general, and are in the neck of the woods it would be worth stopping in. The Mill in Mora is the only commercial wool mill west of the Mississippi and is a conglomeration of various Mills from around the state that have gone out of business at one time or another, with equipment ranging from small to massive. The spinning machine was built with seats for over twenty people, now it would be rare to see more than two. Though at a glance at the processing facility it might be disheartening to think of all the potential and the time when this equipment was used at full capacity, the space is still radiates with life. It’s hard to think of the dwindling nature of the wool industry, and those that make/made it up, which has been in slow decline since the army stopped using so much wool and sheep herders switched to cattle. It’s one of those things like the railroads, that seems on the verge of becoming obsolete. If you were to speak to any older norteño about borregos likely you will find yourself on the other end of a story rooted in hardships, solitude and beauty. Almost everyone here in Northern New Mexico either had sheep or worked with them in some way or another. A relative of mine tells stories of how he would be sent out with a horse with a riffle into the woods to graze the flock as early as ten years old. Unlike cattle, sheep are constant prey with almost any flesh eating creature is their predator, and really only man as protector. Raising sheep is hard work. More so when large flocks were grazed public lands. The reward that comes from such work however makes it all worth it. For us, the sheep we raise provides us a nice supply of natural and very warm fiber as well as a great source of food and the joy of carrying on a tradition that made us who we are today. There is a sweet film called ‘Sweetgrass’ that shows one of the last pastoral shepherds in Montana on the last few years of their operations. The Mill is ran by JD who is a shinning light, both in the world of wool but in general, that makes this process such a joy. JD and his very small team are one of the few threads to the past of New Mexico’s culture of raising borregos we have left. We’re grateful for him and his team that keep this special place going, and we’re happy to be able to be a part of it. → Mora mill ↓ PHOTOS

<p><img alt="" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0685/9653/1485/files/SHEER_480x480.png?v=1684461814"></p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1">¬</span> Ever since I've had sheep, which is going on six years now, I've been taking my fleece to the wool mill in Mora NM. This journey to the mill is one we always look forward to. It’s a journey through friendly mountains, which we usually only get to visit for this purpose. Each journey always includes a stop at Teresa’s tamales before or on the way out. The Mill is in the heart of downtown Mora with a store front that has a small cafe and gallery for all things wool. Just up the road is the old adobe gristmill where folk would bring their wheat harvest to be ground by stone powered by water diverted from the river. If you have never been to the Mill or Mora in general, and are in the neck of the woods it would be worth stopping in.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">The Mill in Mora is the only commercial wool mill west of the Mississippi and is a conglomeration of various Mills from around the state that have gone out of business at one time or another, with equipment ranging from small to massive. The spinning machine was built with seats for over twenty people, now it would be rare to see more than two. Though at a glance at the processing facility it might be disheartening to think of all the potential and the time when this equipment was used at full capacity, the space is still radiates with life.</p>
<p class="p3"> </p>
<p class="p1">It’s hard to think of the dwindling nature of the wool industry, and those that make/made it up, which has been in slow decline since the army stopped using so much wool and sheep herders switched to cattle. It’s one of those things like the railroads, that seems on the verge of becoming obsolete. If you were to speak to any older norteño about borregos likely you will find yourself on the other end of a story rooted in hardships, solitude and beauty. Almost everyone here in Northern New Mexico either had sheep or worked with them in some way or another. A relative of mine tells stories of how he would be sent out with a horse with a riffle into the woods to graze the flock as early as ten years old. Unlike cattle, sheep are constant prey with almost any flesh eating creature is their predator, and really only man as protector. Raising sheep is hard work. More so when large flocks were grazed public lands. The reward that comes from such work however makes it all worth it. For us, the sheep we raise provides us a nice supply of natural and very warm fiber as well as a great source of food and the joy of carrying on a tradition that made us who we are today. There is a sweet film called ‘<a href="https://www.amdoc.org/watch/sweetgrass/">Sweetgrass</a>’ that shows one of the last pastoral shepherds in Montana on the last few years of their operations. </p>
<p class="p3"> </p>
<p class="p1">The Mill is ran by JD who is a shinning light, both in the world of wool but in general, that makes this process such a joy. JD and his very small team are one of the few threads to the past of New Mexico’s culture of raising borregos we have left. We’re grateful for him and his team that keep this special place going, and we’re happy to be able to be a part of it.</p>
<p class="p3"> </p>
<p class="p1" data-mce-fragment="1"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/p/Mora-Valley-Spinning-Mill-100066515572134/">→ Mora mill</a></p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">↓ PHOTOS</p>
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Wool processing ( MORA NM )

WOOL ( mora mill )

HAY PT. 2 ( bailing )

HAY PT. 1 ( harvest )

¬ I often times refer to living in the high desert of NM as living within a dehydrator. With something close to 25% percent relative humidity we really do. Carna seca, perhaps present in most cultures, is a vernacular food to NM that is a way of preserving meat in way of drying with the power of the sun. It may look and taste reminiscent of jerky, however the sun-drying maintains that raw bloody flavor and nutrients of the meat in a way a dehydrator could not. If you’ve had the pleasure of making or having sundried Carne seca, you know what I’m talking about. Within the ethos of / shed there is a quest to honor and learn from our terrain, the ingredients are the connection point, and the food becomes the fruit of the quest. In so it is also a way for me to connect to not only the terrain I come from for generations on both maternal and paternal sides, but with those that I come from. My paternal linage comes from the Conchas from Taos Pueblo where I spent my formative years in my grandfathers adobe house with a dirt roof and beautiful orchard. Unfortunately these formative years were at the end of his and I was only able to glean a glimpse of such a life. To this day the trees still threaten to produce fruit and tangled in their overgrowth are remnants of farming implements. At Taos Pueblo there is no written culture, everything is taught and passed down through participation. With this you can imagine a lot can be lost overtime. One thing that seems to me to be fading is the traditional foods, and I’m not talking about the fry bread or prune pies which are delicious in their own regards, that have replaced the food of the ancient ones, but the foods that they ate before this shift in culture. For me, cooking, and eating endemic foods that can only be found in our terrain is a way for me to connect to my ancient ones. The dish that expresses this the most is our Carne Seca. Carne seca is made at the Pueblo, but as you can tell by the name it is also a sSpanish thing. My maternal lineage is mostly Spanish ( mother spain ) Martinez and Chavez and so this is also a way for me to connect also with those lineages. We are currently fixing up a old adobe that will soon house / shed that was built by a Chavez and in the attic was a string loosely tied to the rafters going north to south between two little doors that let in the sunlight and created airflow that once hung meat to dry for winter. It’s sweet to witness and participate in living with my terrain and all that it teaches me, as long as I am willing to listen. It’s a portal to the past, but also the deepest way to be present, and what becomes the future. The work we put in today will remain long past us. While I love cooking things that tell a story of who we are and where we come from, I also realize and love the idea that we are forging a new set of terrain practices. Sun dried carne seca is a / shed staple and always evolves with the year and seasons. Some of our favorites are made with elk or bison, a little NM lakebed salt, and a sun-dried endemic herb like Fetid marigold ( Dyssodia papposa ) or Crow-weed ( Monarda fistulosa ). This is a very simple seeming dish, but simplicity is deceiving. With only three ingredients nothing can be hidden, you taste everything, and it is important that each component is it’s fullest expression of itself. Below is a guide on how me make Carne seca, and perhaps a launching point for you to do so yourself. If you never embark on that quest, perhaps at least, it can provide an insight into a seemingly simple dish. CARNE SECA Meat Salt Dried herb Sunlight ↴ NOTES ↓ MEAT The meat needs to raised or hunted in a way the animal had utmost ability to enjoy and sustain itself, then killed in a way that induces minimal stress. Then the meat needs to be processed properly, if done so the meat will not have that gamey taste people often attribute negatively to meats more wild. When the time comes a chuck of meat is frozen to the point that it stays solid but can be sliced with a knife. The freezing process also helps kill bacteria et cetera if you are worried at all about that. ↓ SALT We travel down to southern New Mexico during hot months of summer and collect salt from ancient lake beds that no longer hold water, but produce mineral rich salt. With the heat of summer the salt forms a layer on the surface that we gently peel away. ↓ HERB When working with wild plants you realize they grow at their own pace. You have no control other than your own participation in their process. Fetid marigold for instance in our terrain will shoot up after monsoon rains and when the heat has reduced it’s intensity. There is a week maybe two where the plant is bright green and full of life and energy while bursting with aroma, so much so that when you are driving this time of year and pull off the side of the road you will often smell a burst of fetid marigold. The plants will continue it’s process longer than that week but we want it in this state so that it holds all of it’s energy, flavor, and aroma, just before the flowers start producing seed. We collect as much as we can/need and dry in the sun with airflow just long enough to dry out the plant, but so that the color doesn’t start to fade and store in bins that block out any light. When needed we pull out what we need and grind on a matate ( grinding stone ). ↓ PROCESS We slice the meat and put on a cutting board or wax paper. As soon as the the meat has thawed out and the myoglobin becomes dark red full of oxygen we thin out the meat a little with the back of the knife and sprinkle salt and ground marigold. We then put the carne into full sunlight, and in a matter of minutes you will see the meat drying out and the oils from the fat melding with the salt and marigold. Once dry to touch and before the meat sticks to which ever surface we used then we flip the meat over allowing the second side to dry out. Once dry we’ll pile all the pieces together until we need them, if we intend to hold them over a period of time we will allow them to dry further together. You can’t really over dry them, but you can under dry them ( for preserving ). If preserving they can be kept away from humidity, we use paper bags and bins but you could use ziplocks et cetera. ↓ PHOTOS

<p class="p1">¬  I often times refer to living in the high desert of NM as living within a dehydrator. With something close to 25% percent relative humidity we really do. Carna seca, perhaps present in most cultures, is a vernacular food to NM that is a way of preserving meat in way of drying with the power of the sun. It may look and taste reminiscent of jerky, however the sun-drying maintains that raw bloody flavor and nutrients of the meat in a way a dehydrator could not. If you’ve had the pleasure of making or having sundried Carne seca, you know what I’m talking about. </p>
<p class="p2">Within the ethos of / shed there is a quest to honor and learn from our terrain, the ingredients are the connection point, and the food becomes the fruit of the quest. In so it is also a way for me to connect to not only the terrain I come from for generations on both maternal and paternal sides, but with those that I come from. My paternal linage comes from the Conchas from Taos Pueblo where I spent my formative years in my grandfathers adobe house with a dirt roof and beautiful orchard. Unfortunately these formative years were at the end of his and I was only able to glean a glimpse of such a life. To this day the trees still threaten to produce fruit and tangled in their overgrowth are remnants of farming implements. At Taos Pueblo there is no written culture, everything is taught and passed down through participation. With this you can imagine a lot can be lost overtime. One thing that seems to me to be fading is the traditional foods, and I’m not talking about the fry bread or prune pies which are delicious in their own regards, that have replaced the food of the ancient ones, but the foods that they ate before this shift in culture. For me, cooking, and eating endemic foods that can only be found in our terrain is a way for me to connect to my ancient ones. The dish that expresses this the most is our Carne Seca. </p>
<p class="p1">Carne seca is made at the Pueblo, but as you can tell by the name it is also a sSpanish thing. My maternal lineage is mostly Spanish ( mother spain ) Martinez and Chavez and so this is also a way for me to connect also with those lineages. We are currently fixing up a old adobe that will soon house / shed that was built by a Chavez and in the attic was a string loosely tied to the rafters going north to south between two little doors that let in the sunlight and created airflow that once hung meat to dry for winter. It’s sweet to witness and participate in living with my terrain and all that it teaches me, as long as I am willing to listen. It’s a portal to the past, but also the deepest way to be present, and what becomes the future. The work we put in today will remain long past us. While I love cooking things that tell a story of who we are and where we come from, I also realize and love the idea that we are forging a new set of terrain practices. </p>
<p class="p1">Sun dried carne seca is a / shed staple and always evolves with the year and seasons. Some of our favorites are made with elk or bison, a little NM lakebed salt, and a sun-dried endemic herb like Fetid marigold ( Dyssodia papposa ) or Crow-weed ( Monarda fistulosa ). This is a very simple seeming dish, but simplicity is deceiving. With only three ingredients nothing can be hidden, you taste everything, and it is important that each component is it’s fullest expression of itself. Below is a guide on how me make Carne seca, and perhaps a launching point for you to do so yourself. If you never embark on that quest, perhaps at least, it can provide an insight into a seemingly simple dish. </p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<h3 class="p1">CARNE SECA </h3>
<p class="p2">Meat</p>
<p class="p1">Salt</p>
<p class="p1">Dried herb </p>
<p class="p2">Sunlight</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<meta charset="utf-8">
<p class="p1">↴ NOTES</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<meta charset="utf-8">
<p class="p1"><span>↓ </span>MEAT</p>
<p class="p1">The meat needs to raised or hunted in a way the animal had utmost ability to enjoy and sustain itself, then killed in a way that induces minimal stress. Then the meat needs to be processed properly, if done so the meat will not have that gamey taste people often attribute negatively to meats more wild.</p>
<p class="p1">When the time comes a chuck of meat is frozen to the point that it stays solid but can be sliced with a knife. The freezing process also helps kill bacteria et cetera if you are worried at all about that. </p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<meta charset="utf-8">
<p class="p1"><span>↓  </span>SALT</p>
<p class="p2">We travel down to southern New Mexico during hot months of summer and collect salt from ancient lake beds that no longer hold water, but produce mineral rich salt. With the heat of summer the salt forms a layer on the surface that we gently peel away. </p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<meta charset="utf-8">
<p class="p1"><span>↓  </span>HERB</p>
<p class="p1">When working with wild plants you realize they grow at their own pace. You have no control other than your own participation in their process. Fetid marigold for instance in our terrain will shoot up after monsoon rains and when the heat has reduced it’s intensity. There is a week maybe two where the plant is bright green and full of life and energy while bursting with aroma, so much so that when you are driving this time of year and pull off the side of the road you will often smell a burst of fetid marigold. The plants will continue it’s process longer than that week but we want it in this state so that it holds all of it’s energy, flavor, and aroma, just before the flowers start producing seed. We collect as much as we can/need and dry in the sun with airflow just long enough to dry out the plant, but so that the color doesn’t start to fade and store in bins that block out any light. When needed we pull out what we need and grind on a matate ( grinding stone ). </p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<meta charset="utf-8">
<p class="p1"><span>↓ </span>PROCESS</p>
<p class="p1">We slice the meat and put on a cutting board or wax paper. As soon as the the meat has thawed out and the myoglobin becomes dark red full of oxygen we thin out the meat a little with the back of the knife and sprinkle salt and ground marigold.</p>
<p class="p2">We then put the carne into full sunlight, and in a matter of minutes you will see the meat drying out and the oils from the fat melding with the salt and marigold. Once dry to touch and before the meat sticks to which ever surface we used then we flip the meat over allowing the second side to dry out. Once dry we’ll pile all the pieces together until we need them, if we intend to hold them over a period of time we will allow them to dry further together. You can’t really over dry them, but you can under dry them ( for preserving ). If preserving they can be kept away from humidity, we use paper bags and bins but you could use ziplocks et cetera. </p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<meta charset="utf-8">
<p class="p1"><span>↓</span> PHOTOS</p>
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<p class="p1"><img src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0685/9653/1485/files/7_2182a863-0849-4122-91c1-c437719784ab_480x480.jpg?v=1684376093" alt=""></p>

carne seca ( dry meat )

MONARDA

CLAY PT. 1 ( harvest )

¬ The valley we inhabit is starting to smell of native plum blossoms. The smell reminds me of fresh ground pueblo white corn and honey, one of my very favorite aromas and one that helps mark the coming of spring. We live on the northern most section of the valley and it will be a couple more weeks untill our fence-lines of the farm will burst too with these blossoms. It’s always an anticipation of what’s to come driving the road north watching mother earth bloom as we gain in elevation. I’ve been raising bees for the last few years now and I’m sure they are as eager for the blossoms to open as I am. Each year, as I get excited for this moment of fruition, I soon remember that winter will come and test us all again. Each hive that makes it through the harsh months, will ideally be stronger for it. I like to think it’s the same for us. Though each year we lose a few hives, I like to think of it was an investment. That in my lifetime we can have hives that in their DNA can thrive in this terrain, and the honey we may be able to consume from them will help us do the same. In so many ways our bees are a lot like an accumulation of our ethos, a balance of freedom and restraint. Despite if we like it or not, the bees know better than we do on what they want, or need, and I try and respect that fully. Each spring as another hive or two disappear or die it’s hard to know which side of the scale is unbalanced. It seems though, that each year it is getting better. Each hive will swarm off and inhabit our terrain, if not collected, and will be the most resilient that they could be, eventually lending those genetics, and ideally, that resilience to the more domestic hives in the future. Last year my mother past away at the age of 47. It always seemed to me that she was always on the edge existence on this planet, and that in her passing she would be closer to each of the children she raised so diligently. In a way her job had been accomplished. I felt this the day after her passing in a swarm of bees from our hive that swarmed off to the closest piñon tree in our yard. This could just have been nature doing it’s thing, and me seeing something in it, but it’s sweet to think she's around, if not, at least that the life that I now have is only possible because of her and that as beautiful things happen she in alive in again in my thoughts. I was able to catch the swarm and it now resides at the farm as the “Julie hive”, despite a hard winter they survived and will soon be out getting the nectar of our fruit trees and wildflowers.

<p class="p1">¬  The valley we inhabit is starting to smell of native plum blossoms. The smell reminds me of fresh ground pueblo white corn and honey, one of my very favorite aromas and one that helps mark the coming of spring. We live on the northern most section of the valley and it will be a couple more weeks untill our fence-lines of the farm will burst too with these blossoms. It’s always an anticipation of what’s to come driving the road north watching mother earth bloom as we gain in elevation. </p>
<p class="p1">I’ve been raising bees for the last few years now and I’m sure they are as eager for the blossoms to open as I am. Each year, as I get excited for this moment of fruition, I soon remember that winter will come and test us all again. Each hive that makes it through the harsh months, will ideally be stronger for it. I like to think it’s the same for us.</p>
<p class="p1">Though each year we lose a few hives, I like to think of it was an investment. That in my lifetime we can have hives that in their DNA can thrive in this terrain, and the honey we may be able to consume from them will help us do the same. In so many ways our bees are a lot like an accumulation of our ethos, a balance of freedom and restraint. Despite if we like it or not, the bees know better than we do on what they want, or need, and I try and respect that fully. Each spring as another hive or two disappear or die it’s hard to know which side of the scale is unbalanced. It seems though, that each year it is getting better. Each hive will swarm off and inhabit our terrain, if not collected, and will be the most resilient that they could be, eventually lending those genetics, and ideally, that resilience to the more domestic hives in the future. </p>
<p class="p1">Last year my mother past away at the age of 47. It always seemed to me that she was always on the edge existence on this planet, and that in her passing she would be closer to each of the children she raised so diligently. In a way her job had been accomplished. I felt this the day after her passing in a swarm of bees from our hive that swarmed off to the closest piñon tree in our yard. This could just have been nature doing it’s thing, and me seeing something in it, but it’s sweet to think she's around, if not, at least that the life that I now have is only possible because of her and that as beautiful things happen she in alive in again in my thoughts. </p>
<p class="p1">I was able to catch the swarm and it now resides at the farm as the “Julie hive”, despite a hard winter they survived and will soon be out getting the nectar of our fruit trees and wildflowers. </p>

Bees ( thoughts )

BEES PT. 1 ( catching a swarm )

CEDAR PT. 2 ( farm )

↓ THOUGHTS It is a beautiful thing to realize that the things that end up in your orbit become, in some ways, a reflection of yourself and your choices. I feel grateful each day to find in my orbit some of the most beautiful and tenacious humans. RETRATOS is an ongoing collection of portraits of our community shot on film. You can see them at the link below. ↓ LINK → RETRATOS ( portraits )

<p class="p1">↓ THOUGHTS</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">It is a beautiful thing to realize that the things that end up in your orbit become, in some ways, a reflection of yourself and your choices. I feel grateful each day to find in my orbit some of the most beautiful and tenacious humans. </p>
<p class="p2">RETRATOS is an ongoing collection of portraits of our community shot on film. You can see them at the link below.</p>
<meta charset="utf-8">
<p class="p1"><span>↓ LINK</span></p>
<p class="p1">→ <a href="/retratos">RETRATOS ( portraits )</a></p>

RETRATOS ( portraits )

↓ LINKS → Conversations with Ron Boyd // Passcode: SBC-CFE2021 → Ron’s instagram ↓ THOUGHTS: I honestly can’t remember the first time I met Ron, he is the type of person I feel has always been in my life. That a kin to a tio, but also at the same time a peer. I feel our paths are parallel and that anything I am interested in at the moment, Ron has knowledge pertaining to it. I’m grateful for him in my life, and all that he shares with me, but also with the world. Each year we gather apples for naturally fermented hard cider for / shed dinners. Our goal is to find landrace apples planted by the Spanish that have no names but are unique and that have a character that can’t be found anywhere else, and we press them at Rons. Ron also presses his own apples and makes his own hard cider. I long for the day we’ll have our own press, but I cherish the days spent pressing at his farm. Last year Ron and his wife Debra took over Debra’s mothers horse ranch and are expanding their beautiful touch onto 100 acres. ( You can now stay at their farm, La Vallita Farms. Each year when I get to see Ron there tends to be an underlying theme, this year it was corn. Each day this past fall, when we finished pressing at his farm, we’d cheers with some cups of cider he had pressed from the year before, and after wed’ sipped and talked a bit, he’d get back to listening to the radio, shucking and cleaning corn, piles of blue all around him, humbly sitting as if on a throne with beautiful corn mother encouraging him along the way. He told us this is a nightly activity for him through fall, time consuming - but like everything Ron does on the farm, he treats as a gift and blessing and often mentions how lucky he is to live a life doing work he loves and feels honored to do. Growing up on Taos Pueblo, corn has always been a big importance in my life, and it keeps becoming more so. It is the main thing we grow on our farm and it is something Ron is growing more of on his and something we are working on together. We recently had a recuerdo about corn + ash, and the corn we have been using was Ron’s glass gem flint corn from a couple seasons ago. I’m glad to have so many beautiful humans in my life, and Ron is one of those humans. I was honored to carry on our conversations while at my Chef in residence program at Stone Barns Center. The link above is that conversation, and if you are interested in the others you can access them all at: LINK → talks Ron’s rio grande turquoise corn // 2022 Our “Taos Pueblo blue corn” // 2021 Ron’s rio grande turquoise corn // 2022 Corn mother bowl // fired full moon of 3.18.22

<p class="p1">↓ LINKS</p>
<p class="p1"><a href="https://zoom.us/rec/share/4TACd-pzBZ56_8IvkZZbjXDFjOcJmylboaZczXAGxQfgxjrl9yGPOXQfn-Z9HdOA.xqoD4GqG-MUVjaUq">→ Conversations with Ron Boyd //</a> Passcode: SBC-CFE2021</p>
<p class="p1"><a href="https://www.instagram.com/greenfootl/">→  Ron’s instagram</a></p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<meta charset="utf-8">
<p class="p1"><span>↓ </span>THOUGHTS:</p>
<p class="p1">I honestly can’t remember the first time I met Ron, he is the type of person I feel has always been in my life. That a kin to a tio, but also at the same time a peer. I feel our paths are parallel and that anything I am interested in at the moment, Ron has knowledge pertaining to it. I’m grateful for him in my life, and all that he shares with me, but also with the world. </p>
<p class="p1">Each year we gather apples for naturally fermented hard cider for / shed dinners. Our goal is to find landrace apples planted by the Spanish that have no names but are unique and that have a character that can’t be found anywhere else, and we press them at Rons. Ron also presses his own apples and makes his own hard cider. I long for the day we’ll have our own press, but I cherish the days spent pressing at his farm. </p>
<p class="p1">Last year Ron and his wife Debra took over Debra’s mothers horse ranch and are expanding their beautiful touch onto 100 acres. ( You can now stay at their farm, <a href="https://www.airbnb.com/rooms/51769489?source_impression_id=p3_1647788086_2nrJIuZhihJQmJk8">La Vallita Farms</a>. </p>
<p class="p1">Each year when I get to see Ron there tends to be an underlying theme, this year it was corn. Each day this past fall, when we finished pressing at his farm, we’d cheers with some cups of cider he had pressed from the year before, and after wed’ sipped and talked a bit, he’d get back to listening to the radio, shucking and cleaning corn, piles of blue all around him, humbly sitting as if on a throne with beautiful corn mother encouraging him along the way. He told us this is a nightly activity for him through fall, time consuming - but like everything Ron does on the farm, he treats as a gift and blessing and often mentions how lucky he is to live a life doing work he loves and feels honored to do.</p>
<p class="p2">Growing up on Taos Pueblo, corn has always been a big importance in my life, and it keeps becoming more so. It is the main thing we grow on our farm and it is something Ron is growing more of on his and something we are working on together. We recently had a recuerdo about <a href="/corn-ash">corn + ash</a>, and the corn we have been using was Ron’s glass gem flint corn from a couple seasons ago. </p>
<p class="p1">I’m glad to have so many beautiful humans in my life, and Ron is one of those humans. I was honored to carry on our conversations while at my Chef in residence program at <a href="https://www.stonebarnscenter.org/">Stone Barns Center</a>. The link above is that conversation, and if you are interested in the others you can access them all at:</p>
<p class="p1">LINK <a href="/talks">→ talks</a></p>
<p class="p1"><img src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0685/9653/1485/files/1_d4429cc7-2e52-4029-8492-1b24cbcabb20_480x480.jpg?v=1683999078" alt=""></p>
<meta charset="utf-8">
<p class="p1"><span>Ron’s rio grande turquoise corn // 2022</span></p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1"><img src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0685/9653/1485/files/2_dac74cb8-b595-4cdf-9b88-17a59e50c22c_480x480.jpg?v=1683999093" alt=""></p>
<p class="p1">Our “Taos Pueblo blue corn” // 2021</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1"><img src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0685/9653/1485/files/3_0b9848c3-bffe-4c48-babe-0404fa1c5e40_480x480.jpg?v=1683999109" alt=""></p>
<meta charset="utf-8">
<p class="p1"><span>Ron’s rio grande turquoise corn // 2022</span></p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1"><img src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0685/9653/1485/files/4_b7ff24d7-c622-4978-8fc1-69af086a1937_480x480.jpg?v=1683999123" alt="Corn mother bowl // fired full moon of 3.18.22"></p>
<meta charset="utf-8">
<p class="p1"><span>Corn mother bowl // fired full moon of 3.18.22</span></p>

Conversation with Ron Boyd

LINKS: → TALKS ( video links ) → FOOD ( photos ) → FIRING ( photos ) → BEHIND THE SCENES ( photos ) → MAESTRO EATS ( article ) It has been exactly one year since I arrived in Tarrytown NY at Stone barns center. Months before I had received a text from an unknown number that said maybe: “Dan Barber”. I wondered if I knew a Dan Barber, I obviously did, but maybe I knew someone else with that name also. I was chopping wood when I saw the message come in so I waited to open the message until later that evening and it was in fact the Dan Barber ( chef of Blue Hill ) I knew. He wrote to ask if we could chat about this residency project they were putting together, Blue Hill restaurant + Stone barns center. I spoke with him but felt weary of committing due to trying to finish up my own space, and to make a long story short I refused the offer a couple times before finally saying yes. It was one of those moments that a no really felt like the right answer, but in reflection, and honestly after I said yes, I was so glad I did. It had been a few years since I have been in a professional kitchen running an entire team, but this would be the first time I would be doing that with my own menu, not to mention with a team I have never worked with. I was second to Josh Skenes for 3 years running the kitchen of SAISON so this wasn’t too foreign, and I started / shed in 2017, where I have been creating my own food since, but with / shed I touch almost every detail. To jump from that to a whole team was special to witness. It was nice to witness that I could still do it, kind of like riding a bike, but more so I thrived. I loved it a little too much and found my self standing at the pass towards the end of the residency thinking to myself I could do this all the time. The thing is kitchens are largely fueled on adrenaline, and I thrive on that a little too much. In starting / shed I had the intention of being more grounded and to have a lifestyle a traditional kitchen couldn’t offer. After agreeing to be the chef in residence no.3 back home I started to make vessels both for the future dinners and for an exhibition with Object & Thing. I had the idea to make a horno ( mud brick oven ) to do most of the cooking in. So much of my cooking is terrain based and in doing this residency I wanted to carry that ethos to the new terrain. Having an horno would be a through point in everything we cooked, passing on a sense of home in everything. My idea initially was to send a guide to making adobes to the Stone Barns team and having them build the adobes with their mud before I arrived. It would be sweet to think that though it would carry the ethos of home, but it would also be from their terrain. In discussion with the team they were intrigued by the idea and after a few more discussions had decided it would be too much, the ground was still frozen, their soil was mostly sand, and they were worried it may mess up the courtyard where I wanted to build it. I almost gave up on the concept, but last minute I decided it was imperative to have, so Maida and I loaded up 50 old adobe bricks from a wall we took down in our future / shed space onto our flat bed dodge truck and Arkas and I drove them out to NY from NM. In arriving I was immediately met with the warmest and most welcoming souls. We spent the morning yesterday catching up with Irene who was such a force in making magic happen while I was there. Thinking back on all of the said warm and welcoming souls, there are too many to mention but it was beautiful that a place with so many people could have ingrained into it a culture of warmth and excitement. / shed is really an ecosystem and a culture and Stone Barns was the same in a lot of ways, just on a larger scale. The next four weeks to come were filled with excitement and explorations. Some of the the most exciting things to come out of this experience were talks with individuals I chose to have conversations with over zoom. There was no underlying conviction in conversing with each of these individuals, aside from that they have had some importance in my life or are on the same path as me, or ahead of. I loved getting a chance to share with a new group of people my love for the desert southwest, and to speak with some amazing people I had recently met like the head farmer of Stone Barns Jack Algeire. As for the food, I thought I would be compromising my ethos going to a place I knew less about and not cooking all the food myself, but the kitchen staff besides being great humans were excited to learn more and this felt like a moment for us all to explore and learn. We did trials of any corn the team could find cooked in ash from the horno, of every wood from the property, for corn tortillas and posole. We found local salts and used only those. We made “oven bread” like at the pueblo with grains from Stone barns center and nixtamalized corn. We made a beer with Hudson Valley Brewery, with nixtamalized corn and New Mexico native hops. ( humulus neomexicanous ). We used almost every wild thing we could find. We used as many parts of the cow as possible, even the manure to fire plates. I can’t believe it has already been a year, it doesn’t feel like this all happened that long ago, but looking back over it all it makes me miss being there. I learned a lot in my month being at Stone barns and taking over the kitchen of Blue Hill, and largely it was learning more about myself, my relationship to food and terrain and it’s importance, I was also affirmed that with / shed I was on the right path. Maida, Arkas, and I drove back more excited then ever to be back home, excited to continue to put in the energy to be able to host dinners in our terrain again.

<p class="p1">LINKS: </p>
<p class="p1"><a href="/talks"><span class="s1">→</span> TALKS ( video links ) </a></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1">→</span> FOOD ( photos )<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1">→</span> FIRING ( photos )<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1">→</span> BEHIND THE SCENES ( photos )<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p>
<p class="p1"><a href="https://www.maestroeats.com/post/johnny-ortiz-in-residence-at-stone-barns-pocantico-hills-ny"><span class="s1">→</span> MAESTRO EATS ( article )</a></p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">It has been exactly one year since I arrived in Tarrytown NY at <a href="https://www.stonebarnscenter.org/">Stone barns center</a>. Months before I had received a text from an unknown number that said maybe: “Dan Barber”. I wondered if I knew a Dan Barber, I obviously did, but maybe I knew someone else with that name also. I was chopping wood when I saw the message come in so I waited to open the message until later that evening and it was in fact the Dan Barber ( chef of Blue Hill ) I knew. He wrote to ask if we could chat about this residency project they were putting together, <a href="https://www.bluehillfarm.com/">Blue Hill restaurant</a> + Stone barns center. I spoke with him but felt weary of committing due to trying to finish up my own space, and to make a long story short I refused the offer a couple times before finally saying yes. It was one of those moments that a no really felt like the right answer, but in reflection, and honestly after I said yes, I was so glad I did. </p>
<p class="p1">It had been a few years since I have been in a professional kitchen running an entire team, but this would be the first time I would be doing that with my own menu, not to mention with a team I have never worked with. I was second to Josh Skenes for 3 years running the kitchen of <a href="https://www.saisonsf.com/">SAISON</a> so this wasn’t too foreign, and I started / shed in 2017, where I have been creating my own food since, but with / shed I touch almost every detail. To jump from that to a whole team was special to witness. It was nice to witness that I could still do it, kind of like riding a bike, but more so I thrived. I loved it a little too much and found my self standing at the pass towards the end of the residency thinking to myself I could do this all the time. The thing is kitchens are largely fueled on adrenaline, and I thrive on that a little too much. In starting / shed I had the intention of being more grounded and to have a lifestyle a traditional kitchen couldn’t offer. </p>
<p class="p1">After agreeing to be the chef in residence no.3 back home I started to make vessels both for the future dinners and for an exhibition with <a href="https://object-thing.com/">Object &amp; Thing</a>. I had the idea to make a horno ( mud brick oven ) to do most of the cooking in. So much of my cooking is terrain based and in doing this residency I wanted to carry that ethos to the new terrain. Having an horno would be a through point in everything we cooked, passing on a sense of home in everything. My idea initially was to send a guide to making adobes to the Stone Barns team and having them build the adobes with their mud before I arrived. It would be sweet to think that though it would carry the ethos of home, but it would also be from their terrain. In discussion with the team they were intrigued by the idea and after a few more discussions had decided it would be too much, the ground was still frozen, their soil was mostly sand, and they were worried it may mess up the courtyard where I wanted to build it. I almost gave up on the concept, but last minute I decided it was imperative to have, so <a href="https://maidagoods.com/">Maida</a> and I loaded up 50 old adobe bricks from a wall we took down in our future / shed space onto our flat bed dodge truck and Arkas and I drove them out to NY from NM.  </p>
<p class="p1"><img src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0685/9653/1485/files/1_480x480.png?v=1683073358" alt=""></p>
<p class="p1"><img src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0685/9653/1485/files/2_afda914c-4718-481a-bb2f-f8d309cebadd_480x480.jpg?v=1683073380" alt=""></p>
<p class="p1">In arriving I was immediately met with the warmest and most welcoming souls. We spent the morning yesterday catching up with Irene who was such a force in making magic happen while I was there. Thinking back on all of the said warm and welcoming souls, there are too many to mention but it was beautiful that a place with so many people could have ingrained into it a culture of warmth and excitement. / shed is really an ecosystem and a culture and Stone Barns was the same in a lot of ways, just on a larger scale.</p>
<p class="p1">The next four weeks to come were filled with excitement and explorations. Some of the the most exciting things to come out of this experience were talks with individuals I chose to have conversations with over zoom. There was no underlying conviction in conversing with each of these individuals, aside from that they have had some importance in my life or are on the same path as me, or ahead of. I loved getting a chance to share with a new group of people my love for the desert southwest, and to speak with some amazing people I had recently met like the head farmer of Stone Barns <a href="https://www.stonebarnscenter.org/staff/jack-algiere/">Jack Algeire</a>.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p>
<p class="p1"><img src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0685/9653/1485/files/3_949edfa6-5932-4dad-981e-7ee94b2e6c50_480x480.jpg?v=1683073405" alt=""></p>
<p class="p1">As for the food, I thought I would be compromising my ethos going to a place I knew less about and not cooking all the food myself, but the kitchen staff besides being great humans were excited to learn more and this felt like a moment for us all to explore and learn. We did trials of any corn the team could find cooked in ash from the horno, of every wood from the property, for corn tortillas and posole. We found local salts and used only those. We made “oven bread” like at the pueblo with grains from Stone barns center and nixtamalized corn. We made a beer with <a href="https://hudsonvalleybrewery.com/">Hudson Valley Brewery</a>, with nixtamalized corn and New Mexico native hops. ( humulus neomexicanous ). We used almost every wild thing we could find. We used as many parts of the cow as possible, even the manure to fire plates.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p>
<p class="p1"><img src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0685/9653/1485/files/4_27a89496-008f-4f2d-943e-5281e1645e7d_480x480.jpg?v=1683073427" alt=""><img src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0685/9653/1485/files/5_c32e6434-fd89-4b4a-bf50-a50a9a14d22a_480x480.jpg?v=1683073452" alt=""></p>
<p class="p1"><img src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0685/9653/1485/files/6_42f74ef7-f7f0-4395-85c8-5fbbec45d47a_480x480.jpg?v=1683073461" alt=""></p>
<p class="p1">I can’t believe it has already been a year, it doesn’t feel like this all happened that long ago, but looking back over it all it makes me miss being there. I learned a lot in my month being at Stone barns and taking over the kitchen of Blue Hill, and largely it was learning more about myself, my relationship to food and terrain and it’s importance, I was also affirmed that with / shed I was on the right path. Maida, Arkas, and I drove back more excited then ever to be back home, excited to continue to put in the energy to be able to host dinners in our terrain again. </p>
<p class="p1"><img src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0685/9653/1485/files/7_c9b6b93b-faa3-40bd-b1ff-a90bfa9ce2a1_480x480.jpg?v=1683073490" alt=""></p>
<p class="p1"><img src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0685/9653/1485/files/8_1ddebe23-3561-48bd-8f26-ab1b753d226b_480x480.jpg?v=1683073501" alt=""></p>

STONE BARNS residency

¬ Corn mother is a staple food of the desert southwest, and is a food we who grew up here hold close to our hearts. Where I spent my youth at Taos Pueblo it seems everyone eats some version of atole ( corn porridge ) for breakfast. I like mine made with cedar ash, blue corn, raw honey, grass-fed unpasteurized butter or bear fat, and a little desert lakebed salt. The Comanche people would travel north from the plains with bison hides and meat and trade with my people of Taos Pueblo for their corn. The Comanches knew they needed carbohydrates, which help with hydration and living in the desert southwest. Since they were nomadic and couldn’t grow crops of their own they would seek it out from pueblo people who had given into Spanish control and were safe to grow crops. In modern day, the addition of ash is rare to find in food containing corn, but is a tradition that goes back centuries. When you cook corn in ash, or cal, the alkaline solution creates changes not only in flavor, texture and aroma but in the chemical composition, functional properties and nutritional value. Cooking corn in ash increases bioavailability of vitamin B3 niacin, increases calcium intake, increases resistant starch content, which serves as a source of dietary fiber and many others. We use blue corn that we grew with ash from our wood stove. Not only does corn + ash tell a story of who we are and where we came from, but also it nurtures us. ↓ MASA 500g Ash or 5g Cal ( NM red cedar ) 3000g Water ( well or spring ) 500g corn ( flint ) 3g Salt per 500g masa ( fine ground Celtic salt ) NOTE: Though this is a recipe, it is largely a launching point. Each corn, each ash, each water used will change the process. If you decide to start exploring cooking corn in ash and making masa or tortillas, revel in the unknown and the failures and know the only way to consistently make perfect tortillas is in persistence. ↓ METHOD Add ash and water together in the cooking pot. ( we use a Staub or micaceous clay pot ) Bring ash and water to a simmer, and strain through a fine mesh strainer. ( commonly hardwood ash is used, but in NM we don’t have much hardwoods so we use cedar ash ) Add corn and strained liquid to a pot and simmer for 35-45 min. We cook ours for 35min but each corn is different. ( the corn should be translucent of the outside and whitish opaque on the inside. ) After cooking let the corn sit in cooking liquid for 7-12 hours at room temperature.( do not refrigerate. Ideally you cook the evening before you need the masa and let it rest as you sleep ) After resting rinse the corn in warm water and rub between your hands to remove the outside skin of the corn. ( not all the skin needs to be removed, it actually holds a lot of the flavor, but removing some or all of it helps with the consistency of the masa ) Rinse again as many times in cold water as it takes for the water to be clear. ↓ GRIND Grind in a CORONA stone mill molina or in a MOLINITO once. After this point add masa to a bowl and add salt. Mix in salt and warm water ( if needed ) by hand, squeezing through your fingers until fully incorporated. ( add a little warm water if needed / Masa should be dry enough it doesn’t stick to your hand, but as wet as possible. Add water in small amounts to be sure to not add too much. ) Grind 1-2 more times. Store and let the masa hydrate until needed at room temp, it’s best best if let to rest a few hours. ↓ COOKING Heat a comal to medium high heat. Either a flat seasoned cast iron or a clay coma work best. ( don’t let it smoke ) In a tortilla press ( VICTORIA ) with cut out squares of ziplock bags roughly the size of the press, press a ball, roughly 20g, to the thickness of roughly 1/16 of an inch. ( each masa will be different and you’ll have to try different thicknesses, heat, and timing. ) Remove the tortilla without compromising the integrity and gently put on hot comal. Let it cook until it is no longer sticking to the comal ~30 seconds. Flip once onto a new spot of the comal, let it cook for 15 seconds ( if flipped on to the same spot the pan won’t be as hot ) Flip twice onto a new spot of the comal, let it cook for 15 seconds. ( you are trying to create a seal on both sides, if it is cooked for too long or too little it wont puff ) Flip a third time onto a new spot of the comal, let it cook for 15 seconds and on this last stage if it hasn’t puffed you can press it with the tips of your fingers or the back of a spatula to help the puff. Remove once puffed. ( it should puff and not be dry ) Store in a linen and keep warm. If you have leftovers leave out over night to dry out, and have tostadas for the following evening. ↓ PHOTOS

Corn + ash

¬ As I go back to the village ( Taos Pueblo ) where I grew up I see remnants of haying equipment, each year becoming taken over more and more by the plum trees and various weeds that creep in as worked land becomes feral again. On one hand these remnants remind me how little importance we actually have, no matter what we build nature will always take over if we neglect it, but on the other hand it lights a fire in me to work harder, to reignite the flame that was once lost. These remnants were my Grandfather’s ( Lupe Concha ) and are scattered around the property I grew up on, but by the time I was born Lupe and family had already stopped working the land. I was never able to learn how to farm/ranch from him, something he learned with/from his father and so on, but like a seed I can feel that knowledge in me somewhere. When I decided to move back home to Northern New Mexico from travels around the US cooking I knew I wanted to have my cooking connected directly to what I could produce / harvest from the wild. While harvesting wild, endemic plants to cook with is the primary practice of food for / shed as well as a connection to my hunter/gatherer ancestry of Tuah-tah ( Taos Pueblo ), being able to tend to the land I am on was just as important. As the years back home went by I slowly inched myself closer and closer to having a place like Lupe’s where I grew up. I found myself in a mountain valley of Northern New Mexico not too far from Taos as the crow flies, that feels like where I grew up, where now my partner Maida Branch and I take care of 20+ acres of land, raise landrace churro sheep and criollo cows, among all the other creatures. We have these animals for many reasons, their history to this terrain, their connection to my ancestry, for our livelihood, for dinners, to nurture loved ones, and to aid in the regeneration of our land, for materials like leather, et cetera. For all these reasons, like all creatures ourselves included, their food is imperative. The hay that we start flood irrigating off the Acequia ( diverted river water ) at the end of winter and will eventually cut, rake, bale, and store will be the food source of these creatures for the cold months. It’s hard to explain, but this work is unbelievably rewarding. It also, is unbelievably frustrating. You are racing against nature ( or working with ) to cut, rake, dry, bale and stack before the rains hit it and diminishes its quality all while the low autumn sun beats down on you, a process that takes us at least one whole week straight. As you ride the tractor trying to keep the wheels on track, while looking back to make sure everything is going as it should you can see the yellow leaves falling one by one off the cottonwoods with the slightest breeze as the hawks circle above , and coyotes below, to snag one of the snakes or field mice that got caught in the machine. The air is thick and you get to spend your days alone in nature in the climax as everything is getting ready to go into the cold months. The moment the sun goes down the temperature drops drastically and it's time to go inside and start a fire. This year we cut our 22+ acres, Arnold Gurule’s 16, and Ernie Giron’s 4. This means we moved 40~ acres of grass from the fields to the barns. Each bale weighs roughly 65 pounds and we ended up baling roughly 800 bales ( a slightly below average amount ) meaning in the course of two days and at least 20 hours of moving Maida and I moved ~52,000 pounds of forage twice, once from the field to the trailer and once for the trailer to our barns. This is also ~52,000 pounds of organic material that will nurture our animals and after going through their digestive systems will end up back on our fields. Providing nutrition to the soil for the following years as winter’s snow blankets everything which then slowly breaks down the organic material below for all the creatures under the soil. We have some help time to time, this year our friend ( who I grew up on the pueblo with ) Midnight Lujan joined in for a few loads as well as one of the locals who has been in this valley his whole life Gene Martínez, who drove the truck for us as we threw each bale off the field onto the trailer. While we all forked out last years hay debris from the barn Gene recalled to us how he used to have to help his father and grandfather rake the hay from the fields onto horse wagons and into barns. There was no tone of romanticism in Gene’s voice when he said this, only an objective recollection. Remembering this makes me feel so grateful to be able to move ~50,000 pounds of grass from our land that we day in and day out tend to. After we unloaded the load into the barn Gene and Midnight went home and the next morning Maida and I got out at first light to start this process all over again. It was going to rain the next day, which it did, and we felt the push of time against our skins. The village we are part of also bales a lot of hay, besides firewood and cattle, hay is probably the thing most folk up here produce. On the field next to ours our neighbor Rudy Jaramillo and his son Juan Jaramillo also decided to cut. It’s fun to have a community where everyone has the same things to do, and mutual understandings of the consequential beauties and hardships that come with it all. At times I would look over and try to race them. There were times it seemed we were in the lead, but this was a race we could never win. The Jaramillo's probably have more than 200 acres to cut and have been doing this year in and year out since they were kids. They now have newer equipment, including a bale wagon, which you drive through the field and with hydraulics picks up each bale that then stacks it into the wagon. Watching them drive the wagon to collect all the bales while we manually drive around and load each bale by hand we couldn’t help but think “must be nice”. While it must be nice, it also is nice that we are young, strong and healthy and that we get to do ours all by hand. We are pretty much the gathering hay by pitch fork folk in this modern world baling our hay into small bales with equipment made in the 80’s. “Your life is your medicine” and moving ~50,000 pounds of feed for your animals is some pretty strong medicine. Besides the weather, the list of frustrating components is endless. As each hay season ends and a year passes I tend to forget all the things that went wrong and get excited for the following season yet again. How I can flood the field better, how I can rebuild the compuertas better, graze better, et cetera. This year the tractor I rebuilt with my neighbor and dear friend Olin Christy a few years ago after sitting over winter decided to give me a run for my money. Each day as I raced against time something else, like clockwork, would go wrong. I would think maybe I should call Olin to help, but knew he was too busy to come help, but he would, so I would take a deep breath ( or maybe kick something ) and get to work. All the issues that happened over the course of these 7 days I had diagnosed and solved by myself, either properly or with some wire laying around. It’s like magic. And now that it is all over I couldn’t be more grateful about it. This is the way that my grandfather learned and his father and so on. By doing the things and having a tenacious mindset. Each year I learn more and more and get closer and closer to the impossibility of perfection I know I will never achieve, but nonetheless is always the goal. ↴ PHOTOS ( from the year prior 2021 )

<p class="p1"><img src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0685/9653/1485/files/1_0b2dfe0f-cdd8-4814-a4a8-70ed3c168cbe_480x480.jpg?v=1684376434" alt=""></p>
<p class="p1">¬  As I go back to the village ( Taos Pueblo ) where I grew up I see remnants of haying equipment, each year becoming taken over more and more by the plum trees and various weeds that creep in as worked land becomes feral again. On one hand these remnants remind me how little importance we actually have, no matter what we build nature will always take over if we neglect it, but on the other hand it lights a fire in me to work harder, to reignite the flame that was once lost.</p>
<p class="p1">These remnants were my Grandfather’s ( Lupe Concha ) and are scattered around the property I grew up on, but by the time I was born Lupe and family had already stopped working the land. I was never able to learn how to farm/ranch from him, something he learned with/from his father and so on, but like a seed I can feel that knowledge in me somewhere. </p>
<p class="p2">When I decided to move back home to Northern New Mexico from travels around the US cooking I knew I wanted to have my cooking connected directly to what I could produce / harvest from the wild. While harvesting wild, endemic plants to cook with is the primary practice of food for / shed as well as a connection to my hunter/gatherer ancestry of Tuah-tah ( Taos Pueblo ), being able to tend to the land I am on was just as important. As the years back home went by I slowly inched myself closer and closer to having a place like Lupe’s where I grew up.</p>
<p class="p1">I found myself in a mountain valley of Northern New Mexico not too far from Taos as the crow flies, that feels like where I grew up, where now my partner <a href="http://maidagoods.com/">Maida Branch</a> and I take care of 20+ acres of land, raise landrace churro sheep and criollo cows, among all the other creatures. We have these animals for many reasons, their history to this terrain, their connection to my ancestry, for our livelihood, for dinners, to nurture loved ones, and to aid in the regeneration of our land, for materials like leather, et cetera. For all these reasons, like all creatures ourselves included, their food is imperative. The hay that we start flood irrigating off the Acequia ( diverted river water ) at the end of winter and will eventually cut, rake, bale, and store will be the food source of these creatures for the cold months. </p>
<p class="p1">It’s hard to explain, but this work is unbelievably rewarding. It also, is unbelievably frustrating. You are racing against nature ( or working with ) to cut, rake, dry, bale and stack before the rains hit it and diminishes its quality all while the low autumn sun beats down on you, a process that takes us at least one whole week straight. As you ride the tractor trying to keep the wheels on track, while looking back to make sure everything is going as it should you can see the yellow leaves falling one by one off the cottonwoods with the slightest breeze as the hawks circle above , and coyotes below, to snag one of the snakes or field mice that got caught in the machine. The air is thick and you get to spend your days alone in nature in the  climax as everything is getting ready to go into the cold months. The moment the sun goes down the temperature drops drastically and it's time to go inside and start a fire. </p>
<p class="p2">This year we cut our 22+ acres, Arnold Gurule’s 16, and Ernie Giron’s 4. This means we moved 40~ acres of grass from the fields to the barns. Each bale weighs roughly 65 pounds and we ended up baling roughly 800 bales ( a slightly below average amount ) meaning in the course of two days and at least 20 hours of moving Maida and I moved ~52,000 pounds of forage twice, once from the field to the trailer and once for the trailer to our barns. This is also ~52,000 pounds of organic material that will nurture our animals and after going through their digestive systems will end up back on our fields. Providing nutrition to the soil for the following years as winter’s snow blankets everything which then slowly breaks down  the organic material below for all the creatures under the soil. </p>
<p class="p2">We have some help time to time, this year our friend ( who I grew up on the pueblo with ) Midnight Lujan joined in for a few loads as well as one of the locals who has been in this valley his whole life Gene Martínez, who drove the truck for us as we threw each bale off the field onto the trailer. While we all forked out last years hay debris from the barn Gene recalled to us how he used to have to help his father and grandfather rake the hay from the fields onto horse wagons and into barns. There was no tone of romanticism in Gene’s voice when he said this, only an objective recollection. Remembering this makes me feel so grateful to be able to move ~50,000 pounds of grass from our land that we day in and day out tend to. After we unloaded the load into the barn Gene and Midnight went home and the next morning Maida and I got out at first light to start this process all over again. It was going to rain the next day, which it did, and we felt the push of time against our skins.</p>
<p class="p1">The village we are part of also bales a lot of hay, besides firewood and cattle, hay is probably the thing most folk up here produce. On the field next to ours our neighbor Rudy Jaramillo and his son Juan Jaramillo also decided to cut. It’s fun to have a community where everyone has the same things to do, and mutual understandings of the consequential beauties and hardships that come with it all. At times I would look over and try to race them. There were times it seemed we were in the lead, but this was a race we could never win. The Jaramillo's probably have more than 200 acres to cut and have been doing this year in and year out since they were kids. They now have newer equipment, including a bale wagon, which you drive through the field and with hydraulics picks up each bale that then stacks it into the wagon. Watching them drive the wagon to collect all the bales while we manually drive around and load each bale by hand we couldn’t help but think “must be nice”. While it must be nice, it also is nice that we are young, strong and healthy and that we get to do ours all by hand. We are pretty much the gathering hay by pitch fork folk in this modern world baling our hay into small bales with equipment made in the 80’s.</p>
<p class="p1">“Your life is your medicine” and moving ~50,000 pounds of feed for your animals is some pretty strong medicine. </p>
<p class="p2">Besides the weather, the list of frustrating components is endless. As each hay season ends and a year passes I tend to forget all the things that went wrong and get excited for the following season yet again. How I can flood the field better, how I can rebuild the compuertas better, graze better, et cetera. This year the tractor I rebuilt with my neighbor and dear friend Olin Christy a few years ago after sitting over winter decided to give me a run for my money. Each day as I raced against time something else, like clockwork, would go wrong. I would think maybe I should call Olin to help, but knew he was too busy to come help, but he would, so I would take a deep breath ( or maybe kick something ) and get to work. All the issues that happened over the course of these 7 days I had diagnosed and solved by myself, either properly or with some wire laying around. It’s like magic. And now that it is all over I couldn’t be more grateful about it. This is the way that my grandfather learned and his father and so on. By doing the things and having a tenacious mindset. Each year I learn more and more and get closer and closer to the impossibility of perfection I know I will never achieve, but nonetheless is always the goal.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1">↴</span> PHOTOS ( from the year prior 2021 )</p>
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HAY ( thoughts and photos )

CEDAR PT. 3 ( firing )

¬ I am from the terrain of the red willow people, tua-tah. This is the terrain that shaped me, and those before me. The same way the land holds memory, I feel in me a memory of all my practices. I started my journey in food and clay as a young boy who ate terribly most of my childhood. I remember walking down the dirt road to my grandfathers house with my mother and her showing me the wild roses, and sharing how my grandfather used eat them. Every summer I would walk from school with my classmates and as we darted off to go hand fishing, build wood forts, or snag some pu-la-lu ( wild plum ) pies from the shops inside the pueblo, I would stop and eat a handful of rose petals. Everyone thought it was crazy and I would dare them to try it, usually with little to no luck. Being this picky kid I thought that these rose petals some how were magical, almost as if they were the only “food” found in the wild. My grandfather passed away early in my life. He was a Concha, my connection to Taos Pueblo. Lupe Concha was a farmer and came from a farming family, the last at the pueblo to raise cattle. All this was lost on me as a kid, though we grew up in his house in the midst of his orchard that looked up to the south end of the village. Even though I got to spend some time with him, he had already let go of his practices of working with the land at that point. His house had three rooms, a bedroom and what was added on just before I was born, a bathroom and kitchen. The floor was mud and so was the roof. I helped my father take off the dirt from the roof to fix it from leaks and the stress the weight of the earth put on the beams…he would put in it’s place a modern pitched roof. I remember though the spirit of that initial roof, a terrain of its own holding weeds and cactus. As a teenager we spent more time in town as the pueblo didn’t have a high school and my parents had split ways. For some reason, while at high school in town and I’m still not sure why to this day, I decided to join the culinary arts class and started to become enamored by food, a feeling I never shared for public schooling or schooling in general. After high school, I dropped out of college and decided to move to Chicago to learn cooking through working. I found myself as a nineteen year old in the kitchen of Alinea restaurant, the youngest hire at that time. That year they won three Michelin stars and sixth best restaurant in the world award. Being eager to learn as much as I could I spent a morning once a week before working twelve+ hour shifts at Alinea at a local butcher shop. Despite the allure of such an amazing kitchen, I was still eager to learn as much as I could and later moved to Washington state and San Francisco to work at The Willow’s Inn and Saison. Looking back I don’t think I could have picked any better places to learn. They all were operating at the highest levels, but all had completely different ethos. This journey, which took seven years became my initiation into manhood. Something that is important to those of Taos pueblo, but something that I never had because of my father making a conscious effort to distance himself from the culture. My initiation however, was no less important. It was the separation from familiar, the self responsibility, the self generated action and the learning who I was and who I wanted to become. I always knew I would come back home, I just never knew when, but after what I now look back on as my initiation, I knew there was nothing that would keep me away from it. In this transition back home I created my project / shed with the hopes to conjure my own voice but also to shed for myself all that I had learned from others on my journey. I always loved the concept of shedding, the way that when a snake sheds it loses a part of itself, but in the process becomes more of itself. Thats the process I wanted to generate. The project started as merely dinners, in which I wanted to feel fully authentic, something unattainable in a restaurant. I started to learn about clay and making my own vessels, most the food was foraged, and I would cook and serve a small table of ten on a table I had built. Now five years later / shed has molded more to its underlying ethos and has become a whole ecosystem of practices, many of which are vernacular to this place and terrain. A contact point between the past and future and a blurring of the lines between life and work. Like in nature, there is abundance in diversity. The ecosystem of / shed and my life, is parallel and is based on a diversity of practices that are imperative to the whole. Each practice involves an intimacy with our terrain and the culture created by those living the same way. The ecosystem is all imperative to the whole and looks something like this. ¬ Terrain ( participation ) ¬ Ecology ( connection ) ¬ Land and animal husbandry ( agriculture / horticulture ) ¬ Remedios ( foraging ) ¬ Dinners ( gathering ) ¬ Clay ( vessels ) ¬ Generating ( culture/education ) ¬ Mercado ( making ) ¬ Recuerdos ( remembering ) My practices which all build up this ecosystem, and which in fruiting body are dinners, revolves around the season and my terrain which are the tempo kept by the dinners. As I delve deeper into the meaning of cooking, these dinners take the shape of a ceremony or prayer, with reverence for everything that makes up a dinner. Where I spent my formative years, at the pueblo, though rare these days, is the mentality that there is no separation between spiritual practice and the daily practice. I always found this beautiful, the idea that an action like chopping and stacking wood can be done with such reverence and even more so, with mastery. I move about my practices with the same ethos. I aim to do my work, no matter how mundane or basic, with the same reverence and pursuit for authenticity as if I was doing a dinner. I grew up on the outskirts of all these practices, people where I come from only a couple generations back used to be self sustaining, and all of that that continues to bleed into norteño culture of modern day. I never got to learn from my paternal grandfather about farming and ranching or how to flood irrigate a field with the acequia or how to hold a seed in your mouth to help with germination, I never got to learn from my maternal great grandmother how too cook or how to harvest food from the wild, I never got to learn from my paternal great grandmother how to work with clay or how to plaster with mud and tierra blanca, but I can feel it all in me, all the way to my bones. The same way a seed holds memory from those before it. The ancestral knowledge embedded in my DNA helps inform me and the ways in which I move about the world. I’m grateful to have been able to hear it, and to continue to be able to draw from it. While thinking of mastery, I realized it is something deeply important to me, and seems to be a word or thought that seemingly has many variations of meaning, but at the heart of it, and for myself, I find that it is the overwhelming pursuit to understanding something wholly through experience. It is something completely unattainable, to know everything about anything, but the desire to spend the time to learn and to have the reverence for the process has been my pursuit of mastery in all the things I do.

<p class="p1">¬ I am from the terrain of the red willow people, tua-tah. This is the terrain that shaped me, and those before me. The same way the land holds memory, I feel in me a memory of all my practices.  </p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">I started my journey in food and clay as a young boy who ate terribly most of my childhood. I remember walking down the dirt road to my grandfathers house with my mother and her showing me the wild roses, and sharing how my grandfather used eat them. Every summer I would walk from school with my classmates and as we darted off to go hand fishing, build wood forts, or snag some pu-la-lu ( wild plum ) pies from the shops inside the pueblo, I would stop and eat a handful of rose petals. Everyone thought it was crazy and I would dare them to try it, usually with little to no luck. Being this picky kid I thought that these rose petals some how were magical, almost as if they were the only “food” found in the wild.</p>
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<p class="p1"><img src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0685/9653/1485/files/Wild_roses_480x480.jpg?v=1683042031" alt=""></p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">My grandfather passed away early in my life. He was a Concha, my connection to Taos Pueblo. Lupe Concha was a farmer and came from a farming family, the last at the pueblo to raise cattle. All this was lost on me as a kid, though we grew up in his house in the midst of his orchard that looked up to the south end of the village. Even though I got to spend some time with him, he had already let go of his practices of working with the land at that point. His house had three rooms, a bedroom and what was  added on just before I was born, a bathroom and kitchen. The floor was mud and so was the roof. I helped my father take off the dirt from the roof to fix it from leaks and the stress the weight of the earth put on the beams…he would put in it’s place a modern pitched roof. I remember though the spirit of that initial roof, a terrain of its own holding weeds and cactus.  </p>
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<p class="p1"><img src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0685/9653/1485/files/Johnny_as_a_kid_480x480.jpg?v=1683042090" alt=""></p>
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<p class="p1">As a teenager we spent more time in town as the pueblo didn’t have a high school and my parents had split ways. For some reason, while at high school in town and I’m still not sure why to this day, I decided to join the culinary arts class and started to become enamored by food, a feeling I never shared for public schooling or schooling in general. After high school, I dropped out of college and decided to move to Chicago to learn cooking through working. I found myself as a nineteen year old in the kitchen of Alinea restaurant, the youngest hire at that time. That year they won three Michelin stars and sixth best restaurant in the world award. Being eager to learn as much as I could I spent a morning once a week before working twelve+ hour shifts at Alinea at a local butcher shop. Despite the allure of such an amazing kitchen, I was still eager to learn as much as I could and later moved to Washington state and San Francisco to work at The Willow’s Inn and Saison. Looking back I don’t think I could have picked any better places to learn. They all were operating at the highest levels, but all had completely different ethos. This journey, which took seven years became my initiation into manhood. Something that is important to those of Taos pueblo, but something that I never had because of my father making a conscious effort to distance himself from the culture. My initiation however, was no less important. It was the separation from familiar, the self responsibility, the self generated action and the learning who I was and who I wanted to become. I always knew I would come back home, I just never knew when, but after what I now look back on as my initiation, I knew there was nothing that would keep me away from it.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">In this transition back home I created my project / shed with the hopes to conjure my own voice but also to shed for myself all that I had learned from others on my journey. I always loved the concept of shedding, the way that when a snake sheds it loses a part of itself, but in the process becomes more of itself. Thats the process I wanted to generate.  </p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1"><img src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0685/9653/1485/files/shed-dance-hall-space_480x480.jpg?v=1683042119" alt=""></p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">The project started as merely dinners, in which I wanted to feel fully authentic, something unattainable in a restaurant. I started to learn about clay and making my own vessels, most the food was foraged, and I would cook and serve a small table of ten on a table I had built. Now five years later / shed has molded more to its underlying ethos and has become a whole ecosystem of practices, many of which are vernacular to this place and terrain. A contact point between the past and future and a blurring of the lines between life and work.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p2"><img src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0685/9653/1485/files/Micaceous-bean-pot--1-2020_480x480.jpg?v=1683042148" alt=""></p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p2">Like in nature, there is  abundance in diversity. The ecosystem of / shed and my life, is parallel and is based on a diversity of practices that are imperative to the whole. Each practice involves an intimacy with our terrain and the culture created by those living the same way. The ecosystem is all imperative to the whole and looks something like this.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p2">¬ Terrain ( participation )</p>
<p class="p1">¬ Ecology ( connection )</p>
<p class="p1">¬ Land and animal husbandry ( agriculture / horticulture )</p>
<p class="p1">¬ Remedios ( foraging )   </p>
<p class="p1">¬ Dinners ( gathering )</p>
<p class="p1">¬ Clay ( vessels )</p>
<p class="p1">¬ Generating ( culture/education )<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p>
<p class="p1">¬ Mercado ( making )  </p>
<p class="p1">¬ Recuerdos ( remembering )</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1"><img src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0685/9653/1485/files/Pinon_blocked_480x480.jpg?v=1683042190" alt=""></p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1"> My practices which all build up this ecosystem, and which in fruiting body are dinners, revolves around the season and my terrain which are the tempo kept by the dinners. As I delve deeper into the meaning of cooking, these dinners take the shape of a ceremony or prayer, with reverence for everything that makes up a dinner.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">Where I spent my formative years, at the pueblo, though rare these days, is the mentality that there is no separation between spiritual practice and the daily practice. I always found this beautiful, the idea that an action like chopping and stacking wood can be done with such reverence and even more so, with mastery. I move about my practices with the same ethos. I aim to do my work, no matter how mundane or basic, with the same reverence and pursuit for authenticity as if I was doing a dinner.</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1"><img src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0685/9653/1485/files/000080340011-copy_480x480.jpg?v=1683042229" alt=""></p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">I grew up on the outskirts of all these practices, people where I come from only a couple generations back used to be self sustaining, and all of that that  continues to bleed into norteño culture of modern day. I never got to learn from my paternal grandfather about farming and ranching or how to flood irrigate a field with the acequia or how to hold a seed in your mouth to help with germination, I never got to learn from my maternal great grandmother how too cook or how to harvest food from the wild, I never got to learn from my paternal great grandmother how to work with clay or how to plaster with mud and tierra blanca, but I can feel it all in me, all the way to my bones. The same way a seed holds memory from those before it. The ancestral knowledge embedded in my DNA helps inform me and the ways in which I move about the world. I’m grateful to have been able to hear it, and to continue to be able to draw from it.  </p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p2"><img src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0685/9653/1485/files/000080340024-copy_480x480.jpg?v=1683042260" alt=""></p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p2">While thinking of mastery, I realized it is something deeply important to me, and seems to be a word or thought that seemingly has many variations of meaning, but at the heart of it, and for myself, I find that it is the overwhelming pursuit to understanding something wholly through experience. It is something completely unattainable, to know everything about anything, but the desire to spend the time to learn and to have the reverence for the process has been my pursuit of mastery in all the things I do.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p>
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MASTERY ( thoughts )

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