Jase, Missy, & Mia - Supporting Those with Cleft Lip and Palate | November 2022

WHO WE ARE...

P U BL ISHE R

From 2007 to 2012 we, the Millers, adopted our first three children, a preschooler on the autism spectrum and two babies with Down syndrome. We published our first issue of Plain Values in 2012 to highlight Biblical ministries, share the beauty of adoption, and to cultivate anchored community. In 2018 we welcomed our fourth child in a surprise adoption, this time a baby with Mosaic Down syndrome. We homeschool our family and enjoy working together to grow and raise food on our twelve acre homestead.

Marlin Miller SA L E S A DV ISO R - O HIO

Matt Yoder SA L E S A DV ISO R - M IC HIA N A + P ENNSY LVANI A

Aaron Stutzman E DITO R IA L M A N AG E R

Nic Stoltzfus Q UA L IT Y A SSU RA N C E

WHAT WE BELIEVE...

Sabrina Schlabach

Our values are plain values, steeped in the rich traditions of yesterday. We enjoy the simple things in life. Gathering eggs from the coop, getting our hands in the dirt to grow food, and cooking meals from scratch. Sometimes we sit around a fire and share life. We strive to walk humbly to strengthen authentic relationships with our families and neighbors. And, yes, we have taken a fresh pie to a front porch and surprised a friend… we didn’t even text them before! We just stopped by, walked up the steps, and knocked on the door! Just the way our grandparents used to do on a Sunday evening. They called it living in community.

We seek to serve our neighbors. Plain Values began with a prayer, hoping to play a small role in connecting a child with Down syndrome to his or her forever family. We have checked that box over a dozen times in the last ten years, and we will not stop until the orphanages are empty! We will rest in Heaven!

P RO DU C T IO N M A N AG E R

Isaac Hershberger M U LT I- M E DIA P RO DU C T IO N

Seth Yoder O F F IC E M A N AG E R / C U STO MER S ERVI C E

Jan Schlabach DEC E M BE R A D C LO SE

November 4, 2022 WR IT E R – SE RV IN G O U R N E IG H B O R

Elaine Tomski WR IT E R – WHISP E RS O F HO P E

HOW YOU CAN HELP...

Join us as we pursue a more authentic life. By subscribing to Plain Values, a portion of each subscription goes directly to Room to Bloom, our non-profit that supports children with special needs.

Stacey Gagnon WR IT E R – HO N E ST CO N V E RSAT I O NS

Wendy Cunningham WR IT E R – RO OTS + WIN GS

Rory Feek

JOIN US FOR PORCH TIME! Every third Friday from 1:00pm – 4:00pm

Stop by, enjoy a cup of coffee or tea, sit on the porch, and visit for a while. We'd love to get to know you! We're located in the heart of Winesburg, Ohio—just down the street from the church.

WR IT E R – T HE HE A L IN G L A N D

Shawn & Beth Dougherty WR IT E R – CO N F E SSIO N S O F A ST EWAR D

Joel Salatin WR IT E R – T HE WIDOW ' S PAT H

Ferree Hardy WR IT E R – O U R HE R ITAG E

Elam Stoltzfus WR IT E R – A L L T HIN GS O U T DO O RS

Jim Zumbo

Plain Values is published monthly by Plain Target Marketing, LLC. Please contact us with any questions.

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November 2022 // Issue 113

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JASE, MISSY, & MIA ROBERTSON Supporting Those with Cleft Lip and Palate

HONEST CONVERSATIONS WITH WENDY What if You're Wrong?

WORDS BY: ELAINE TOMSKI

COLUMN BY: WENDY CUNNINGHAM

Mia Robertson, daughter of Jase and Missy from the popular TV show Duck Dynasty, was born with a bilateral cleft lip and palate.

Now, they use their journey to inspire and support others.

Our newest columnist, Wendy Cunningham, shares the story of how the Lord used her husband, and a simple question, to lead her to the truth.

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CONFESSIONS OF A STEWARD Aromatic Hogs

THE WIDOW'S PATH God Makes No Mistakes (p. 2)

COLUMN BY: JOEL SALATIN

COLUMN BY: FERREE HARDY

Believe it or not, you can raise hogs without the pungent smell often associated with them. This month, Joel Salatin shares the strategies involved in making this a reality on your farm.

If you enjoyed Ferree's column last month, you won't want to miss the continuation of Jane Zempel's story with her son, Ben, who was born with Down syndrome.

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ON THE COVER Jase Robertson with his daughter, Mia; born on September 12, 2003, with a bilateral cleft lip and palate.

One Minute With Marlin Room to Bloom Report Whispers of Hope: The Weeping Soul Good Food Snacks by Eden Foods Prayers for the Nations: Finland

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ROOTS + WINGS Early Riser

THE HEALING LAND Late Autumn Musings

COLUMN BY: RORY FEEK

COLUMN BY: SHAWN & BETH DOUGHERTY

For as long as I can remember, I’ve been an early-riser in the mornings, but here lately, something else rising in the kitchen has me excited to get out of bed, long before the sun comes up.

This month the Doughertys enlighten us on some of their year-end practices on the farm, particularly the art of saving seeds to cultivate a crop perfectly suited for their homestead.

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OUR HERITAGE Reflections on the Martyrs—The Müller Family

ALL THINGS OUTDOORS Carp Fishing

COLUMN BY: ELAM STOLTZFUS

COLUMN BY: JIM ZUMBO

Elam continues his series on the hidden stories of early martyrs found in the back of the Ausbund hymn book. This month, he uncovers the stories of the Müller family.

In his younger days, Jim caught carp for every reason you could think of, except for eating them. Now, he not only provides tips on how to catch them, but how to cook them as well.

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One Minute with Marlin A NEARLY PERFECT FALL MORNING: the leaves brilliantly colored with a lazy mist rising from the river. A friend and I were floating a section of river we hoped was stacked with fish. He was steering from the rear, and I was up front hoping for a hookup. We fished awhile, and I put my rod to the side for a quick tip of the water jug. What I didn’t see coming straight for me was a patch of low hanging branches. The current had pushed us to the side of the river where we had to duck under a massive and very low hanging tree. Typically, it's not a big deal, but this time those branches were loaded with spider webs! Big, beautiful, perfectly symmetrical and very untouched spider webs! By the time I had set the jug back in place, the webs were upon me! Literally. I didn’t have anything in hand to clear the way, and I didn’t want to look like a pansy and jump out of the boat. So, I made the best of it. Both arms went flailing up and down, clearing the path while trying not to fall overboard.

You can bet it was quite the sight!

I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who enjoys walking into a spider web. If you do, I want to shake your hand.

Most often, when I do find myself scraping silk off my face, it's because I went too fast and was not paying attention.

Or it's because I’m not driving the boat!

How often do we miss the best parts of life because we are simply going too fast? Over the years, I've lost count how many times I have heard the words “crazy busy. ‘Oh, I'm just crazy busy!’” I always want to ask them one simple question… “Why?” It makes no sense to me unless they are getting part or all of their self-worth from being “busy.” We all have things to do but we can still take time to “be still and know that I am God.” This is from Psalm 46, a beautiful description of our God as a fortress and refuge. When we remember who is perfectly and sovereignly in control, we can slow down and truly enjoy this world.

As always, may you find joy in the simple things. //

MARLIN MILLER publisher, always looking for more friends

Want to help the victims of Hurricane Ian? Hurricane Harvey slammed into Texas back in 2017 leaving hundreds of thousands of people in dire need. Our readers sent tens of thousands of dollars along with boots and blankets to a local church in prayerful support. Hurricane Ian hammered and flooded Florida a few weeks ago and has become the second deadliest in our country’s history. The scenes are unimaginable; folks have nothing but the clothes they were wearing when it hit. Some have lost everything! If you can help, please consider sending a check to Palm Grove Mennonite Church with "hurricane relief" in the memo. Our team has family there and you can rest assured that every penny will be used with integrity. The address is 1087 S Beneva Rd, Sarasota, FL 34232. If you have questions on other ways to help, please reach out to the church deacon, Al Miller, at 941-915-0066. Thank you in advance for your consideration.

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whispers of hope

S U P P O RT F O R T H O S E W H O F O ST E R + A D O P T

The Weeping Soul RECOVERING FROM ADOPTION COLUMN BY:

Stacey Gagnon

"Mental pain is less dramatic than physical pain, but it is more common and also harder to bear. The frequent attempt to conceal mental pain increases the burden: it is easier to say 'my tooth is aching' than to say 'my heart is broken.' " I FLEW BACK FROM BULGARIA late Saturday night. I was in the hospital Sunday morning. Israel woke up with a leg swollen triple the size of normal with "concerning" redness. Mentally and physically, I was exhausted and emotionally spent. Much of Sunday was a blur.

At one point during his stay, I was helping to distract and hold him down as they tried for the third time to get an IV. He looked directly at me and then at the nurses and said, “STOP, please NO.” “You are going to be okay,” the lead nurse said. “We are almost all done.”

The nurses kept their eyes focused on the difficult task while my eyes read every single thought that crossed Israel's face. I knew this was not going to be okay. I also knew there was no choice—it had to be done. In that moment, I saw the curtain drop, and he retreated deep within his mind.

The hospital staff was not at fault. They were doing a job that had to be done every day to help sick kids. But I knew there would be a price to pay, much larger than a child going through an IV stick. I knew that we had just lost ground. It’s times like these that jolt my heart and remind me that repairing a traumatized brain is a lot like building

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a house of cards. If you jostle the table, the cards will fall, and you start over again… at ground zero.

We stayed four days in the hospital, and he struggled.

I tried to explain this to the staff as they hugged him and brought him treats. He charmed them, smiled, and collected compliments, a toy firetruck, coloring books, candy, and hugs. The moment they walked from the room, he checked out. He rocked in his bed, wringing his hands, while his eyes stared sightlessly at the ceiling, ignoring me as he sat at his "ground zero."

I looked like a crazy, over-reactive mother as I encouraged staff not to give him this extra attention.

I asked them not to hug him when he asked, and I watched as he frantically demanded their attention like his life depended upon it. I felt sick to my stomach as my son returned to the boy I had brought home from an orphanage 20 months earlier.

You see, he was rewarded in the orphanage by being cute, by being sad, and by gaining adult favor. He literally survived and was fed because he was "cute and engaging." And in this stressful moment, he is surviving with you. When you respond with favors and treats, you

have reinforced attachment with the wrong adult. You take away my opportunity to teach him what a mother is and what a trust attachment should look like.

He wants you to hold him and pick him up because, at that moment, you might take him home. You might provide his next meal, a drink of water, or basic human attention because his brain is screaming that he is back in that orphanage—alone. Food and physical contact mean survival. His brain is wired to survive, and babies who live through trauma cannot "fight or flight," so they learn to "freeze and retreat." My child learned that "not crying" and being cute gave him attention and food in a place of complete deprivation. This cannot be undone by months spent in a family; strangers’ affection doesn’t undo it, and my greatest fear is that it may never be undone. But what can’t happen is for him to learn to use strangers as a means to survive.

I want to show him that the world is a good place filled with good people. But nothing can erase the past; it has left an indelible mark on his perception of love and attachment. So, as a mother, I try to explain to people

that we can never erase bad things with good. Instead, we meet head on the nightmares, the pain, and the fear.

Because covering up a wound that needs to be dealt with is like putting a Hello Kitty band-aid on a hemorrhage.

We have spent the last six years taking an adultminded survivor and teaching him to trust like a child.

This includes daily work in teaching him to play with toys instead of anxiously rocking and twisting his hands; daily work to teach him to sit in quiet moments and not fill them with endless chatter. He has food issues, and we reteach him how to chew and swallow. It’s teaching him to cry out when he’s hurt or scared instead of sitting alone in cold stone silence.

Anniversaries and triggers jostle the table, the cards fall, and we’re back at ground zero. But mainly, it’s returning to ground zero, over and over, in a place of acceptance as we realize how deeply rooted the trauma is.

When we are sitting there, I repeat to him, “This is your home. You will never go back to Bulgaria.”

I say, “I am your mother, and mommies stay,” and he repeats it back, “Mommies stay.” //

Stacey Gagnon, along with her husband, Darren, are the founders of Lost Sparrows. They can be reached at P.O. Box 751, Winona Lake, IN 46590.

Learn more about Lost Sparrows at www.lostsparrows.org.

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Missy, Mia, and Jase Robertson with Abbey, the very first person Mia Moo supported when she was just a few months old

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WORDS BY

Elaine Tomski

Jase, Missy, and Mia Robertson Supporting Those with Cleft Lip and Palate GOD CREATED MIA ROBERTSON with the spirit to overcome. Like most parents, hers embraced a list of hopes as they waited for their baby to arrive.

That list did not include a birth defect. Yet, seven weeks before her birth, Jase and Missy Robertson learned that little Mia would be born with a cleft lip and possible cleft palate. An ultrasound revealed her smile was incomplete. One dashed hope became the opportunity for Mia and her family to share God's love through beautiful smiles.

Mia Elaine Robertson was born on September 12, 2003, with a bilateral cleft lip and palate. Her lip was split under both nostrils, and the roof of her mouth (palate) was also open. When Mia was a mere seventeen days old, her parents traveled to the International Craniofacial Institute in Dallas, Texas. "They checked her from head to toe," said Missy, "and fitted her with a palatal appliance in order to give her a fake roof to her mouth. This helped tremendously in the feeding process as it allowed her milk to travel down her throat, instead of out her nose."

Jase and Missy did their best to give little Mia plenty of nourishment so she'd be ready for her first corrective lip surgery at three months old. The Robertsons prepared themselves to supply medical care to Mia following surgery. However, they were not ready to look at her stitched and terribly swollen little face. They wondered if surgery had been the right choice. Missy said, "In just a couple of

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days, the swelling diminished entirely, and we soon realized that this indeed was the best thing to do for our child." At seven months, Mia received palate correction surgery and a natural roof to her mouth.

Little Mia had endured two surgeries in less time than she'd spent in her mama's womb.

Mia's lip had grown by age five, but the scar tissue had not. So, Mia endured a second lip corrective surgery and reconstruction in her nasal passages. By the time Mia turned eleven, she had suffered through a lengthy process of stretching her upper jaw. Once the upper matched the lower jaw, Mia endured major bone-graft surgery. Her surgeon, Dr. David Genecov, removed bone

"One might imagine Mia has a reason to frown from all her surgeries and suffering.

In reality, she has grown to smile all the brighter."

Cole, giving his new baby sister a kiss (top) Baby Mia dressed for her dedication (center) Brave Mia after her first surgery (bottom) 14

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from Mia's left hip and placed it in the cleft of her upper jaw. Her recovery required a mouth splint and twelve weeks of no chewing. One might imagine Mia has a reason to frown from all her surgeries and suffering. In reality, she has grown to smile all the brighter.

To understand the struggle associated with cleft lip and palate, let's examine some facts. According to the Mayo Clinic, "Cleft lip and palate are openings or splits in the upper lip, the roof of the mouth (palate), or both. Cleft lip and cleft palate result when facial structures that are developing in an unborn baby don't close completely." The lip and palate form in the second and third months of pregnancy. In the United States alone, the Center for Disease Control (CDC) estimates that 2,518 babies are born each year with a cleft lip and palate. About 1,402 babies are born with only a cleft lip and 2,333 with only a cleft palate. Cleft lip and palate are among the most common birth defects.

Researchers believe most cases of cleft lip and cleft palate stem from a combination of genetic and

environmental factors. Several risk factors may increase the likelihood of a baby developing cleft lip/palate.

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Parents with a family history of cleft lip/palate carry a higher risk of a cleft for their babies.

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Research shows women who smoke cigarettes, drink alcohol, or take certain medications may increase the likelihood of a cleft lip/palate in their children.

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Some evidence indicates a higher risk for children of women diagnosed with diabetes before pregnancy.

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Being obese during pregnancy may also increase the risk of cleft lip/palate.

"We had a huge support system with our family," says Missy. "But a lot of people don't have that."

Infants born with a cleft lip/palate face challenges in proportion to the severity of the opening. The most urgent concern following birth is the ability to feed.

While most babies with a cleft lip can breastfeed, a cleft palate can make sucking difficult. Children with clefts are at a greater risk for ear infections and hearing loss.

Tooth development may also be affected if the upper gum is open. Because the roof of the mouth helps us form sound, a cleft palate can delay normal speech development, and words may sound nasal. Finally, differences in appearance and the need for extensive medical care may create social, emotional, and behavioral problems in children with clefts.

Because problems come naturally with a cleft lip/ palate, the Robertson family appreciates the support they receive from medical professionals, family, longtime friends, and the new friends they discover on the journey. Missy stated, "Those with a cleft often have to work harder to live their lives the way they want to, but this does not need to be a bad thing. Overcoming trials is what shapes our identities and makes us stronger." After Mia joined the family, Missy said, "We had to figure out how to pay the bills." Although they were a middle-class family with health insurance, Jase and Missy still carried debt for years because of Mia's extensive medical needs and surgeries. "We had a huge support system with our family," said Missy. "But a lot of people don't have that."

Mia worked hard to put in the nessessary hours wearing her headgear.

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Maybe you've heard of Jase and Missy's family through the television show Duck Dynasty. A look into the real lives of the Robertson family received ten million views per episode. Duck Dynasty chronicles the Robertson family and their duck call business.

A fun-loving crew includes Mom and Dad, Phil and Miss Kay, and their sons, Alan, Jase, Willie, and Jep. Viewers also get to know the boys' wives and children.

Uncle Si, Phil's brother, is the show's unforgettable storyteller. Robertson men are known for their beards and Christian views. The filming of Duck Dynasty ended in 2017, but a new show, Duck Family Treasure, began streaming this year in June on Fox Nation Online.

Duck Family Treasure features Jase and Jep Robertson seeking treasure with the help of metal detectors, Uncle Si, and expert treasure hunter, Murray Crowe.

Better than gold, the precious gems they find along the way include laughter, faith, and family.

As God gives the Robertson family opportunity and wealth, they respond by stewarding their resources to be generous in return. Jase and Missy founded the Mia Moo Fund, an arm of the Worldwide Foundation, a 501(c)3 organization, in 2014. Their website explains, "The Mia Moo Fund is dedicated to raising awareness and funds towards the treatment of cleft lip and palate.

We invite everyone countrywide to participate with us as we strive to support one another, lend a helping hand, and bring a smile to each and every child." Jase and Missy's goal is to provide a support system for other families on the cleft journey. They want families with cleft palate or lip to know they are not alone.

"Those with a cleft often have to work harder to live their lives the way they want to, but this does not need to be a bad thing.

Overcoming trials is what shapes our identities and makes us stronger."

After a few years of financially assisting affected children and their families, Jase suggested they should also support these families spiritually and emotionally.

Missy wondered how they could do that. She was focused on paying the bills for several children and reminded Jase, "We don't know these families. We haven't even met these families." Jase replied, "Well, we need to get to know them, and we need to meet them."

It was Jase's idea to bring the families Mia Moo supports into their town. They intended to walk alongside these families, help them through the whole cleft journey, and listen until they were understood. They wanted each family to know they were not alone. And so, in 2018, the MIA MOO FUNDay was born.

In the beginning, Missy and director Bonny, who is Mia's great-aunt, organized a fun day near their home in West Monroe, Louisiana. They invited all the children Mia Moo had helped financially and their families.

Because the Mia Moo Fund sponsors every part of the event, the only cost families need to cover is the travel expense to Louisiana. By 2021, Jase challenged Mia, the

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now eighteen-year-old, to take on event planning. Missy said, "Mia took it over, and it exploded! She did way better than Bonny and I could ever do it because she's lived it. She knows what all the kids want to do, see, and hear." It is a joy for Mia's parents to see her inspire the kids the way they cannot because she has experienced the same doubts, fears, and insecurities.

MIA MOO FUNDay is held annually at Camp CHYO-CA, just up the road from West Monroe. After initial hellos, hugs, and smiles, the children never stop moving from one fun activity to the next. Imagine squeals on the inflatable slide, darts popping balloons, and song melodies wafting through the air. Watch bowling pins crash, balls soar through hoops, and air guns knock down a tower of plastic cups. Feel water rush past boats on the lake and the excitement of a child with a fishing rod exclaiming, "I caught one!" Smell the dust kicked up by ball games, campfire smoke, and the mouth-watering aroma of southern cooking. Once all the dancing, hopping, and skipping create a need to sit a spell, participants can take up card games, painting,

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"One hundred thirty-four families, and counting, have received assistance and support. That's an average of twenty-six per year!" or crafts. FUNDay means there is no opportunity for boredom. Only smiles.

Missy said, "It's a day where they can come to have fun, and everybody there is just like them."

There are no awkward stares, just fun. "There's a time where kids and families can ask questions. We also have a share time, Jase and I, down by the campfire with the parents while the kids do crafts, and it's just therapy!" Parents have the opportunity to share their difficulties and support one another. Some may share

Jase and Missy Robertson talking with the parents at the 2021 Mia Moo FUNDay

medical procedures and trauma they've already been through to help other parents prepare for what they must face.

Questions take voice, answers abound, and people feel heard. "It's just a wonderful sharing experience," said Missy. "It has become the most favorite time for the adults."

You may wonder how many families find support through the Mia Moo Fund. One hundred thirty-four families, and counting, have received assistance and support. That's an average of twenty-six per year! Since 2014, financial donors have provided more than half a million dollars. "This is really huge!" said Missy. She also wants donors to understand that every dollar given pays for medical and support services to the families. Jase and Missy cover all overhead costs of the foundation. "The families must go through a major vetting process to eliminate any fraud, and we never pay the patients or their families. We pay the doctors, hospitals, and medical caregivers. Our board meets and approves all applications." No donation becomes wasted.

What are the recipients saying about the Mia Moo Fund and FUNDay? "We are so grateful for the support we have received from the Mia Moo fund. What a blessing it has been. When we filled out our application, we knew we may receive financial assistance, but we didn't realize we would be part of a larger family that supports and encourages each child's journey. We are forever grateful for all the support and

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Mia Moo FUNDay

relationships we have gained from this wonderful Mia Moo organization." — Pricilla, Wyatt's mom "Mia Moo is special to my family. MIA MOO FUNDays are the best! I like playing with kids just like me. Mia Moo changes lives!" — Little Lulu and her family.

"When we found out about Ellie's cleft lip and palate at her twenty-week anatomy scan, we were terrified at the challenges we had ahead. Ellie is now ten-months-old and has conquered nasoalveolar molding treatment as well as her first surgery (lip and nose repair). All of the anxieties and uncertainty that we had have all melted away now that we see the amazing little girl she is becoming. She has the biggest, brightest smile that will make everyone in the room melt. We are so blessed to

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have found the Mia Moo Fund, as we can now worry less about the medical costs and focus more on enjoying Ellie through every stage of her cleft treatment. We truly feel that the cleft world is one big family, and we are so excited to tell Ellie about all the wonderful people who have been praying for her along the way. Thank you, Mia Moo!" — Ellie's parents Everyone involved with Mia Moo understands how important it is to support those who travel the same journey. Perhaps Mia understands best. She desires to help children who go through the same procedures and trauma she has experienced because of a cleft lip and palate. Still, it isn't easy. As she listens to patients' stories, Mia relives some of her trauma.

Pain, insecurity, and heartache she's kept buried come to the surface. And yet Mia continues to offer her friendship. She says, "You can give a lot of advice from the things you learn." She can share how you "grow through what you go through." Although it seems to oppose the attitude we hear from voices in the world, a favorite scripture reference speaks of the Robertson family experience.

"Not only so, but we also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not put us to shame, because God's love has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit, who has been given to us." Romans 5:3-5 NIV "We've seen that in our Mia," said Missy. Because Jase and Missy have watched Mia move from suffering to hope, they like to encourage families going through the same difficulties. "Just keep going. It will pay off."

From financial support to lending hope—this is why Mia Moo exists.

Mia recently graduated high school. She now attends Lipscomb University in Nashville, Tennessee.

Mia loves to play the piano and sing. She enjoys hanging out with friends and playing tennis with them.

Occasionally, Mia and her friends will travel to the center of West Monroe, where a piano resides in the middle of a shopping center. Calling themselves "The Neighbors," they gather around the piano to play and sing to shoppers and passers-by. Giving, courageous,

and secure. God's smile must be as broad as Jase and Missy's for their growing girl.

This past summer, at 19, Mia endured what she and her family hope will be her last cleft-related surgery. After returning home to recover, Jase sent out this message, "She is a champion!" The baby God created with a spirit to overcome is now a young lady continuing to walk the path, trusting in her faithful guide. Mia reflects the light of Jesus Christ, her Champion. An overcomer, a beacon of hope, she shares her beautiful smile wherever she goes. //

Find resources and more information on cleft lip and palate at:

www.worldcf.org World Craniofacial Foundation

www.craniofacial.net Details on the team who helped Mia undergo surgery in early 2014 can be found on this website.

Mia Moo Fund 117 Kings Lane, West Monroe, LA 71292 www.miamoo.org Elaine Tomski is the author of Pregnant and Praying, a gift book for expectant mothers. She and her husband call Ohio's Amish Country home.

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Good Food Snacks MEALS OFFER A VARIETY that supply us with needed sustenance. They are meant to satiate. Snacks are smaller amounts of food taken between meals. They do not supply all the nutrients we must have. Children and teens need snacks more than adults. They deserve the purest, organic, non-GMO snacks that can be had. Eden Foods excels at providing them. Wild Berry Mix is the overall favorite.

A snack can be leftovers such as soup, pasta/grain, fruit, vegetables. They can be savory or sweet. Good snacks between meals can help to avoid overeating at mealtime. Organic Eden Snacks and Popcorn are whole, pure, nourishing good food. They do an excellent job of keeping metabolism and frame of mind in strong, balanced working order.

Snack cravings arise when energy levels fall, or high energy output is demanded of us. Emotions, such as loneliness, sadness, or a looming deadline, can also trigger the urge to snack. Good snack food supplies a soothing boost. Snacks should be an important part of a balanced healthy diet if the quality and frequency of them are managed.

Eden Foods’ approach to snacks remains most appropriate for people; good food prepared as best as it can possibly be. The finest ingredients, avoidance of adulterates, and suitable handling results in the best taste and satisfaction.

The snack food industry’s primary goal is profit. Its defaults are cheap, poor-quality ingredients. Cheap sugar and bad fats abound, as do dubious chemical additives.

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"Eden ingredients are not irradiated, do not contain refined sugar, bad fat, or harmful toxic chemicals. They are natural, energizing nourishment from healthy soil."

Junk Food, Toxins, & Empty Calories The phrase “cheat food” appeared in 1916. The term “junk food” became common in the early 1950s. Junk food was defined in 1972 by Michael Jacobson of The Center for Science in the Public Interest as commercial food and drink, high in cheap calories and sodium with little or no nutritional value. Junk food is basically high-calorie filler. That term has been expanded into most food categories now. Commercial snacks are commonly loaded with refined and imitation sugars or GMO fructose corn syrup. Bad quality salt, fat, sugar, chemical color and flavors, and GMOs are the norm.

Legally Hidden Additives Big Ag, chemical companies, government agencies, and the snack food industry skillfully encourage food, snacks, and beverages that trick the brain with toxic chemical flavors, flavor maskers, undeclared processing aids, and ridiculous cosmetic cover-up. They misinform us. They craft cheap recipes with combinations of salt, sugar, chemicals, fat, and taste that compel us to keep buying more. Food additives and processing chemicals are used that mimic natural metabolic chemistry. They confuse and manipulate our nervous systems. The chemicals do not nurture; they deceive to enhance profit. Biochemical chaos results and tends to cause binge eating, excess weight, bloating, and a host of health issues. Food imitation and adulteration are fundamental causes of health epidemics and obesity, most notably in the U.S. for the past 125 years.

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Toxic chemical food additives that are common in the U.S. are banned in Europe as possible carcinogens.

A few are: Azodicarbonaminde—a whitening agent for plastics that is put in bread, pizza, bagels, and pastries in the US; banned in Europe for over a decade. Potassium bromate (possible carcinogen)—an oxidizer used in bread and dough. Titanium dioxide—a whitener used in food and snacks like cheese, gum, pastries, and candy. Propylene glycol—a food additive to preserve moisture in baked goods, desserts, prepared meals, candy, popcorn, soft drinks, and most fast food. It is also used to make “natural flavors” ubiquitously found in commercial and organic foods. Hexane gas from petroleum—used to extract and “purify” vegetable oils. Hexane is used to maximize fat extraction from oil seed. The fat is sold, and the resulting defatted meal is used for animal feed, cheap filler in commercial food and snacks, cheap soy food, and textured vegetable protein (TVP).

More Delicious, Pure Food Eden Snacks are pure, good organic food of Eden Foods selected ingredients, the best of the best. Eden ingredients are not irradiated, do not contain refined sugar, bad fat, or harmful toxic chemicals. They are natural, energizing nourishment from healthy soil. All ingredients are declared on an Eden label. EDEN Snacks are all low sodium. They provide excellent protein, complex carbs, vitamins, minerals, fiber, essential fatty acids, and beneficial phytonutrients.

There are 10 Eden Snacks: dried handpicked Wild Blueberries, dried Cranberries, and Tart Cherries; shelled Pistachios, Tamari Roasted Almonds, Sunflower, Pumpkin, and Spicy Pumpkin Seeds; and Wild Berry, Spicy Berry, and Quiet Moon dried fruit, nut, and seed mixes. They are 1 oz. Pocket Snacks, 4 oz. re-closable pouches, 1 lb. and 10 lb. bulk bags. Dried Eden Apricots, Apples, Mango Slices, and Raisins are available only at www.edenfoods.com and the Clinton, Michigan Eden Store. Eden Pocket Snacks go anywhere easily; school, work, on errands, and while traveling.

America's #1 Snack Popcorn is America’s #1 favorite snack. 17.3 billion quarts are consumed per year (about 68 quarts per person) with approximately 70% being consumed at home. Popcorn is an economical, highly nourishing snack. Two tablespoons of un-popped kernels make about one quart. Popcorn is whole grain with whole

grain polyphenol antioxidants, phytonutrients, and beneficial fiber. At the 238th National Meeting of the American Chemical Society, Dr. J. Vinson of the University of Pennsylvania said, “Early researchers thought fiber was the active ingredient for the benefits of whole grain... but recently polyphenols emerged as more important. Dr. Vinson further reported, “We really were surprised by the level of polyphenols we found in popcorn. I guess it is because it’s not processed.” Its high fiber and polyphenol content make it a satisfying, good low-calorie weight management food.

Eden Popcorn, yellow whole grain, has superior popping qualities for large, fluffy, popped kernels that retain all the benefits nature intended. It comes in a 20 oz. resealable package or in bulk.

Enjoy many Eden snacks like four kinds of organic Eden Apple Sauce, Muesli and Cinnamon Müesli cereal, three kinds of Mochi, Spicy Nori Strips, and Nori Krinkles. Find free recipes at edenfoods.com/recipes. //

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COLUMN BY

Wendy Cunningham

Honest Conversations with Wendy

W H AT I F YO U ' R E WRO N G ?

WHAT AN AMAZING WORK OF GOD that you’re reading these words right now.

There is so much I want to share with you in the coming months, but I figure the most important thing you need to know about me as we get started is: I’m rescued.

Many times over.

It is said God doesn’t call the equipped, He equips the called. That’s truer in my case than I can tell you. I didn’t expect to be a writer or a homesteader—I studied theater! (If you could sneak a peek at my shoe collection, you’d know I certainly didn’t intend to live on a farm with manure and cows, but God had a plan for that, too.)

Today, I’m grateful for the plot twists He throws my way. And here’s the biggest twist: in my early years, I never desired to know God. I was an atheist. But as Philippians 1:6 says, “I am sure of this, that he who started a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.”

God initiated my journey, and He sustains it. And I know now He is faithful to do the heavy lifting all the way to the end. But that doesn’t mean we don’t have a part to play in this adventure called life. The most challenging and impactful years of my life— coming to know my Father in Heaven—started with a simple question that humbled me: What if you’re wrong?

This is the question Tom (now my husband) posed when he discovered I didn’t believe in God. Not one part of me is left untouched on the other side of those four

"The most challenging and impactful years of my life started with a simple question that humbled me: What if you’re wrong? "

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words. Yes, I was an atheist. So, not only did I not believe in God, I was convinced there couldn’t be a God. Even though Tom was anchored in his faith and confident in the truth, mine was not a simple conversion.

When Tom and I started dating in our early twenties, I was terribly lost. The Bible calls it rebellion, and although that’s not untrue, mistaken is the word I’d choose. After all, I didn’t mean to be wrong. Who does?

Imagine growing up in a family that so completely believed in one school of thought that it would never have occurred to you that this school of thought could be incorrect. Generations of my family had rejected God—this was not new. It had always been that way. Growing up in the California public school system, it was not only easy for me to miss God entirely, but I was also given plenty of reasons to believe humans wouldn’t need such an entity. It all started with a Big Bang, we evolved from goo, and if you make enough money, there is no need to pray for anything. Trust the science.

My parents and grandparents had built their lives on the premise there was no God, my teachers confirmed that assumption, and my peers challenged none of these things—how was I to know we were all misled? Why would I even suspect?

Now imagine someone coming along, challenging everything you think you know for sure. They ask questions you’ve not thought of, push buttons that elicit insecurity, and make points that make you wonder—what if I’m wrong?

"Growing up in the California public school system, it was not only easy for me to miss God entirely, but I was also given plenty of reasons to believe humans wouldn’t need such an entity."

Wendy, her husband, Tom, and their three children

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"Tom knew if I was seeking answers to these questions about God, I’d arrive in the right place. And, like it or not, I was on my way toward that end."

Obviously, you grow agitated, alarmed, and get defensive. What other reaction would you have? And that’s exactly what I did. For years. This is where the enemy lies in wait, folks. He convinces us of falsehoods and sends our ego in to fight to the death. In my case, pride came hard and fast. I was angry. I was frustrated and annoyed with my new husband. And I was undoubtedly caught off-guard. But there was more at play than just a bruised ego.

I didn’t have a plumb line that anchored me and kept me focused on the straight and narrow. Just like when a contractor builds a house, he must first find perfectly level ground. If he starts building on what he assumes is a firm foundation, he’ll be long into the process and out a lot of money when he discovers he’s built a crooked house. I quickly realized I had built my life on flawed human wisdom, but that was the least of my concerns.

Because I had built my life on shaky ground, there were no guiding principles or values to light my path.

As I mentioned, I grew up in the theater. Rejection was my job, flirtation and seduction were my love languages. My value was assigned by whomever was in the position to choose me. Over the years, as you can imagine, those sorts of soul-deep injuries started to fester in my life. Tom found himself on the receiving end of a constant stream of anxiety attacks, bouts of depression, accusations, and issues. Poor guy.

With father figures who were absent or had drug issues and a string of abusive relationships to measure “love” against, trusting others was an uphill battle for me. Not just trust in Tom, but trust in everything. Not the least of which was a “perfect father” who had allowed me to wander through hell. If God was real, I wasn’t convinced I wanted to know any more about Him. Needless to say, even with God on His side, Tom’s work of ministering to me required a tremendous

amount of patience. There wasn’t a Bible verse to reference, or a quick church invite to throw out that would undo all that had been cemented into place in my life. There may have been a short list of people I trusted, but each and every name on that list believed along with me that a man in the clouds could not be real. Tom was sweet, and maybe there was hope for me beyond all my brokenness, but he was wrong about God. And I could tell it would be a problem in our relationship.

So, I did what anyone else would do when they’re certain they’re right about something. I set out to prove it. And herein lies the key, the thing that unlocked my salvation and brought a tremendous amount of hope to my husband, the man who was praying for my eternity: I desired to know what was true more than I wanted to be right.

The irony is the only reason I set out to find the truth was because I thought I already knew it. But here is the pesky thing about truth: There is only one. Don’t let the world tell you otherwise. Absolute truth is just that—absolute. It’s not subjective or relative­—it doesn’t change. By the same measure, God is either real or He isn’t; His Word is either sound or not.

Tom knew if I was seeking answers to these questions about God, I’d arrive in the right place. And, like it or not, I was on my way toward that end.

By the grace of God, He saw fit to pluck me right out of all the mess that comes with a lifetime of rejecting His way, and He started to heal my broken heart even before I’d acknowledged His existence. And God began to reveal truth. Not because I deserved it, but because He desired to do it. God knew what Tom knew: what had happened to me was not who I was, and it would not define who I would become. // ~ continued next month

Wendy Cunningham is wife to Tom and homeschool mom to three amazing gifts from God. In addition to that calling, she is an entrepreneur and author. Her book What If You’re Wrong?, blog, and devotionals can be found at gainingmyperspective.com. She is also host of the podcast Gaining My Perspective. Wendy loves Jesus and inspiring people to step into their calling—whatever that might look like in this season. When she’s not working, writing, traveling, or podcasting, she can be found homesteading and chasing kids and cows on her farm in Middle Tennessee.

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column by:

early riser November 2022

"For as long as I can remember, I’ve been an early-riser in the mornings, but here lately, something else rising in the kitchen has me excited to get out of bed, long before the sun comes up."

– rory feek

rory feek

I SET MY ALARM FOR 5am this morning, and though it was still pitch-black outside, about ten minutes before it rang, I woke up and turned it off so it wouldn’t wake Indy. I made my way downstairs excited to start the day. I was mostly excited to start making bread early, so it will be ready to come out of the oven right around 5pm for dinner.

I’m not normally a homemade bread maker, or even that much of a bread lover. But in the last few months, my whole relationship with bread has been changing. I’ve come to cherish not only the bread we’ve been eating but also the process of making it.

I grew up thinking Wonder Bread was about as good as you could get, and I don’t really remember anyone in my direct family ever making or even talking about making bread. The loaf slices we covered with peanut butter and jelly were just one of the many things in the pantry that you buy rather than make. My wife Joey dabbled with some bread making through the years. Mostly she baked for our family restaurant. For special occasions, she might make banana-nut bread and she even tried croissants once, but that was about it — unless you count the amazing angel biscuits she often made from a recipe passed down from her mama.

And so, the last half-dozen years that Joey has been gone, most of the bread we eat at our farm has come from Kroger. Over time, my personal tastes have moved from white to wheat to multigrain in search of healthier options. But in the last few months—as I’ve begun walking more deliberately down the path of simplicity that leads

Rory Feek is a world-class storyteller, songwriter, filmmaker, and New York Times best-selling author. As a musical artist, Rory is one-half of the Grammy-award-winning duo, Joey+Rory. He and his wife Joey toured the world and sold nearly a million records before her untimely passing in March 2016.

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to better food and a better life—I’ve been rethinking where our bread comes from. This has led me to make bread from raw ingredients here at home.

It really started this past spring when I had dinner at Marlin Miller’s house in Ohio's Amish country; his wife Lisa set homemade spelt bread out on the table for dinner. She told me that she’d just made it and how it was pretty much her kiddos’ favorite thing she makes. After a bite or two, I could see why. After dinner, she showed me the bread-making machine she was using and explained how simple it was to do. She said, “You just put in the ingredients, push start, and voila, about three hours later, a loaf of warm bread is ready for slicing.” I made note of the machine she had, and when I got back to Tennessee, I ordered one. Within a week or two, most of the meals at our table began to have a side of warm bread too.

But it didn’t take long for the white bread I was making to lead to sourdough. On our drive to Montana in June, Indy and I stopped by Jill and Christian Winger’s prairie homestead. I told her about the bread machine I’d been using and that I wanted to make homemade sourdough bread but wasn’t sure how to begin. That evening, so I could try making it in Montana, Jill sent me off with a jar of sourdough starter; a few instructions accompanied it on how to "feed it" and keep it alive, in and out of the refrigerator. Unfortunately, the starter made its way to the fridge at the lodge in Livingston... but not much farther than that. A month later, as we

"Now, I’ve tasted some pretty good bread in my lifetime, but nothing—­I mean nothing— like that first loaf of homemade sourdough, slathered in butter, just after we pulled it out of the oven. It was as if I’d never had bread before."

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cleaned the fridge for our trip home, I found the starter she had given me. It had a strange gray-brown color, and I was sure I’d "killed" it by not feeding it. So, I threw the jar away and vowed to make a better run at it when we got back home in August.

Back home, I tried again with some dried starter we’d ordered from Ballerina Farm. Although it seemed like it would be much more work than the breadmaker I’d been using, I followed the instructions on how to revive it and fed it the recommended amounts of water and flour for the next five days until the starter was ready to start making bread.

Honestly, I still wasn’t sure I knew what I was doing, but I did my best to prepare and bake the loaf.

Just twelve short hours later, I pulled my first loaf of homemade sourdough out of the oven.

Now, I’ve tasted some pretty good bread in my lifetime, but nothing—­I mean nothing—like that first loaf of homemade sourdough, slathered in butter, just after we pulled it out of the oven. It was as if I’d never had bread before. It was the same and yet completely different than any bread I’d ever eaten. Partly because

Rory's homemade sourdough bread, poised to fill the farmhouse with glorious aromas

there was no store involved and no machine—just some flour, water, salt, and a little starter to bring it to life, a warm oven, and my own two hands. But I think it’s also more than that. It’s about connecting with something that has been around and sustaining people the world over for thousands of years. It was magical for me.

I think it is this way with everything when you attach yourself to where it comes from.

When you stop thinking about what’s the fastest, easiest, or cheapest way to do something and instead start asking “What’s the best way?” then you really spend time thinking about what "best" even means.

Not to everyone else—but to you. To your family.

That’s been a few weeks and a half-dozen or so loaves of homemade sourdough ago, and in time I’m sure I’ll want to move on and try some more new bread recipes, but right now, I’m still savoring the bread I’m making and the fun I’m having with this one.

As I write this, it’s Saturday, almost noon here at the farm, and I’m not sure yet what we’ll make for dinner this evening. But I know one thing—we’re gonna have some homemade sourdough bread with it! //

rory

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THE

HEALING LAND COLUMN BY

Shawn and Beth Dougherty

LATE AUTUMN MUSINGS WE ARE EASING INTO WINTER under the slate-gray skies characteristic of this area. The last autumn leaves glow like sparks beneath the ashes of the old year. It is hard to believe so many months are now behind us, done with as completely as if they had never happened. But the turkey waiting to go into the smokehouse on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving is a solid reminder of the long hot weeks of summer when he patrolled the barnyard. The sweet potatoes that were just speculation in May are now an orange heap on the damp root cellar floor. Turnips and pumpkins—winter food for humans and pigs both—fill a corner of the west barn where, in July, the banty hen hid her stolen nest.

Landrace November 1st marks a change of seasons on our place; it’s the day the ram comes home from the monastery farm. He hasn’t seen his ewes since March when the first lambs were arriving; at that time, we sent him to spend the summer with the cows. All through the hot months, he followed the herd, grazing burdock, thistle, and Queen Anne’s lace, hanging out companionably with one of the steers or a young heifer. At noon he’d find a shady spot and kick at flies. Now he’s excited to be among the ewes again, and we hope he doesn’t knock down any fence. There will be a different order in the flock, and a sense of purpose, while he is among us. Even as we finish the year that is behind us, the stage is being set for the year that is coming.

Maybe that is really what farm life is about. Giving thought to the future is built into farming; each year, as we take what we need to live,

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The windowsill in the kitchen sports a constellation of small bowls and saucers. One or two of each vegetable and flower —tomato, black bean, squash, okra, cucumber, four o’clock, zinnia—was selected for its excellence and put aside so we can save its seed. In this way, we hope that the most beautiful, the longestproducing, the most robust, the largest will grow for us again next year. With each year that passes, the plant varieties selected become more suited to our conditions, better adapted to our home place: they become “landraces.”

Providence

provision must be made for future years: not just for our own needs, but for family, friends, neighbors­— even others, folks beyond the edges of our imaginations.

People will need to be fed as long as there are human beings on earth, and farmers have a responsibility for seeing that the land is still capable of nourishing our remotest descendants.

So we keep cows that turn grass into milk and sheep that control weeds. In the fall garden, we plant cover crops in most of the beds: green blankets of frost-hardy oats or wheat, turnips, or daikon radish.

Their leaves and roots will keep the soil in place under autumn rains, freeze in winter, then decay in spring to add fertility to the soil. Under the high tunnel in the kitchen garden, spinach, kale, beets, and carrots are sheltered from frost. In the deep of winter, we’ll sweep snow from its arched roof and dig a path to the door so we can enjoy fresh green salads. South of the high tunnel, a carpet of straw covers the long bed where next year’s garlic hasn’t waited until spring to start pushing up its strong green shoots.

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The fullness of the year strains its seams like chestnuts bursting from their thorny casings. There have been births, a great many: calves and kittens, lambs, a single chick brought up by the old black hen.

Human babies: two staying to grace our gatherings, two called early to Heaven. Separations lie on the year like a hand before a lantern, obscuring but not extinguishing the light. One son is in Africa with other men who offer to put their lives between us and potential danger.

Marriage, while it makes the family larger, often moves it further away.

Many meetings: a wedding, two funerals, and so many visitors to the farm, people coming to observe our pattern of husbandry, hoping to take it away with them to shape their lives wherever home is.

Jenny and Ben moved this year to Tennessee, where they are making a homestead with their seven children. Leaving their small farm in Texas was wrenching, but they’re cheerful about the sacrifice.

“We’re near family, and nothing can replace that,” says Ben. Jennifer thinks of the land. “Somehow, when I see how full of life the soil is—bugs and earthworms and roots and fungi, all turning rot into fertility—I can’t doubt God’s good providence,” she says.

Roger and Erin are raising two young sons on their homestead in Indiana, the whole family reveling in the freedom country life gives them. “I work long hours on the computer,” Roger reflects. “When I’m done, I want to be outside with my boys, teach them to work with their hands.” For Erin, growing their own food seems like the most direct way to establish a family culture. She loves her goats, which are clearing brush at the back of the property. “A mower doesn’t make milk,” she says.

Tommy and Grace are just beginning their family, and they’re determined to build strong. The baby that is coming this winter will start out with a stable home place, one that can feed her and give her belonging. New to farming, this couple is looking for food independence; maybe Tommy’s years of service in the Navy have made him more aware of the fragility of freedom.

With each family that comes and then leaves, our country is richer. These are people who will go back to their place with a new idea of what it is to be a community.

Patriotism is a virtue, but we can’t love what we don’t know. Land must be cherished. The first requirement of love is to be there; the second is to pay attention.

Always With Us Times have been hard lately, and there is no knowing who, or how many, may need to be fed tomorrow. For that, we must prepare not only the land and the shelves in the cellar but also our hearts. We hear that grocery prices are going up fast, and winter

fuel is expected to skyrocket. We know it will not be enough to say to our neighbors, “Eat well, keep warm,” if we do not help them with necessities. We are glad that our pastures grow more fertile every year.

Today the weather is closing down on us, and we bring in another load of split maple. We’re grateful that the long woodshed holds a year’s cured firewood.

Need hovers around our world like coyotes around a flock of sheep, and there is no knowing when or where it will suddenly grow acute. But, when it does, who can say, “That is not my concern?”

Of those to whom much has been given, much will be expected. //

Shawn and Beth Dougherty live in eastern Ohio, where their home farm is 17 acres designated by the state as "not suitable for agriculture." Using grass as the primary source of energy, they raise dairy and beef cows, sheep, farm-fed hogs, and a variety of poultry, producing most of their food, and feed, on the farm. They are also the authors of The Independent Farmstead, published by Chelsea Green Pub.

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Confessions of a Steward JOEL SALATIN

COLUMN BY:

Aromatic Hogs THE PROVERBIAL STINKY PIGSTY is probably one of the most accepted norms in farming. Few things are as repulsive as concentrated hog manure. When I promote pig raising, almost one hundred percent of the time, people ask, “But how do you handle the smell?”

One of my favorite things to do with folks who visit our farm is to take them to the pigs for a close encounter of a different kind.

These pigs don’t stink. You can walk in their pen with them, pet them, let them snoodle on your shoes, and the whole experience will leave you with aromatic pleasure.

How can this be? I’m not making this up. As long-time readers know, our farm offers a 24/7/365 open door policy for anyone to visit anytime to see anything anywhere unannounced. With that level of transparency, I’d better not be making this up. The one time when we have a slight hog odor is right at the end of winter when they’ve been cooped up in a hoop house for three months, and we’re pushing the limit of our carbonaceous diaper.

photos by Millpond Photography

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Otherwise, they are virtually odor free. You could literally eat lunch with the pigs... if you keep moving so they don’t have you for lunch. Few animals are as utilitarian as pigs. Being omnivores, they eat a wider variety of things than goats. Hog fat rendered through lard is both the most nutritious and healthiest of all cooking fats, contrary to popular dietetics. And who doesn’t enjoy pepperoni and the wide assortment of charcuterie that come from pork? Throughout history, pork, more than any other meat, offered long-term refrigeration-free storage options due to curing magic.

In short, the hog is one of the most beneficial animals to raise, but it is definitely one of the most problematic due to odors. If you’ve always wanted to raise some pigs but feared for your nasal future, fear no more. Here are the principles for raising odor-free hogs.

The biggest odor nuance in livestock is diet. Just like humans, you can tell a lot about an animal based on the consistency and odor of its manure. Anyone who has cleaned a diaper knows that consistency and smell offer insight into digestive completion and

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overall health. The pig, like all animals, is no different.

The single most dramatic way to influence manure odor is through forage and roughage.

On our farm, as we worked on the odor issue over the years, we learned that some hay in the hogs’ diet greatly reduced obnoxious manure odor. A grain-only or concentrate-only diet yielded a runnier manure too. But a bit of hay firmed it up and tamped down the odor. The same is true with poultry.

Pastured poultry manure doesn’t smell at all like chicken manure in a confinement industrial house.

Fortunately, pigs aren’t that picky about feedstuffs and are glad to chew on hay you wouldn’t feed to any other animal. No matter how careful you make hay, you’ll always have some that gets rained on a couple of times or gets made too wet and molds. If you don’t make hay, you can always find someone with a botched batch ready to practically give it away just to get rid of it. That’s your pigs’ gold mine.

For about three months in the winter, we have the pigs sheltered in hoop houses or sheds, where the risk of odor is greatest. During that time, each

morning we throw in generous amounts of junkie hay.

The pigs love tearing it up, rooting around in it, eating some, and pooping on the rest. This material is half food and half bedding.

Since pigs pick a toilet spot, we like to throw this hay on that area to help soak up the urine and manure.

Once they stomp it all into their toilet area, they won’t eat any more, but until they do, they’ll chew on it and play with it. This procedure has the additional benefit of giving the pigs some play time and work to do. Perhaps

"If you don’t make hay, you can always find someone with a botched batch ready to practically give it away just to get rid of it. That’s your pigs’ gold mine."

play and work reduce stress enough to have an effect on manure odor too. I know when I’m stressed, my bowels get in an uproar, and my stools don’t smell like the good stuff.

Don’t be grossed out about this, folks. Life revolves around poop. Get used to it. At our house, nearly every conversation past ten minutes—even around the dinner table—goes to poop because it’s such a foundational element of life. It’s the ultimate indicator of decomposition (sacrifice) that finds new meaning in fertility (life). Of all the smells I enjoy, probably the pinnacle is good compost; it’s rich and ready to launch new life.

Obviously, in a rotated pasture situation, the hay is unnecessary because the pigs get forage from their grazing. And pigs do love forage. That salad gives them fiber, vitamins, and minerals unavailable in concentrated grain rations. But just like indoors, outdoor pigs find a favorite toilet spot and use it every day. In order to keep the manure from building up there, move the pigs to another paddock.

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We try to never leave pigs in a paddock for more than 12 days. Not only does their extended presence damage the soil they stir and step on, but it also increases the amount of accumulated manure in their toilet area.

Even if you only have two pigs, rather than giving them a quarter acre for a month, give them 200 square-yards every few days. This spreads out their manure and keeps it from building up to odiferous levels.

"Their effect on that 240square-foot area in 24 hours was remarkable, but it didn’t smell because they could never accumulate enough manure in one spot to generate odors."

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The new spot also offers them new vegetation (salad) to enjoy. And don’t worry if it gets old, tall, or brown. They’ll find leaves, seeds, and stems to chew on, all of which aid their digestion. Pigs respond extremely well to electric fence, making this kind of caretaking easy and cheap. When we started with pigs, I built a 12 ft. X 20 ft. Tenderloin Taxi and moved it every day. Using locust poles as a rectangular base, I attached uprights and hog panel, put in four pigs, and moved them daily. Their effect on that 240-square-foot area in 24 hours was remarkable, but it didn’t smell because they could never accumulate enough manure in one spot to generate odors.

The final element in the no-odor equation is deep bedding. I’ve written about this before in these columns, but I’ll reiterate it here. You can absolutely raise two hogs in a backyard without noxious odors if and only if you use copious amounts of carbon. Added routinely. The carbon can be anything brown, from sawdust to ground-up corn cobs. As long as it’s absorptive and has a carbon:nitrogen (C:N) ratio above 40:1, you’ll get along fine.

Excellent quality hay has a C:N ratio of about 35:1; that’s a bit too low. All woody material, from leaves to pine needles to wood chips, fit the bill nicely. Depth matters. The deeper the bedding, the better it works. That means if you have extremely limited space and you want to raise a couple of hogs, you need a pen with sidewalls that can handle perhaps three feet of bedding depth. If it’s just one hog panel high, the pigs will fall out over the top once they stand three feet deep.

You have to plan your pen to accommodate this bedding depth. And you have to put together a supply chain. You may call your local sawmill or landscape service—perhaps a neighbor has junk hay, or maybe you know someone with corn fodder.

If you don’t have a dependable source for carbon, don’t get the pigs. Wait until you know you can soak up all that odious material before bringing in the porkers. Otherwise, you’ll be a month in, and your family will hate you. Don’t do that.

Stockpile your carbon next to the pig pen. Every day or two, fork some onto the toilet area. Toss in some moldy hay. Let all that material build up; don’t turn it or churn it. Let the sponge build and enjoy the process. After the pigs go to the butcher, you can let the bedding sit for a couple of months to break down. Ideally, you’d turn it and inject oxygen to speed the process, but time can be your friend.

Our favorite procedure is to push the material into

What Would You Like Joel to Talk About?

Joel is always looking for reader suggestions on what topics to cover.

Please email all suggestions to: reachout@plainvalues.com

piles. That disturbance injects oxygen to launch the aerobic composting process. Obviously, we try to mix the dry bedding with the toilet area to get that nitrogenous urine embedded throughout the pile.

After a month or so, it’s ready to spread.

If growing out a hog takes six months (assume you purchased a two-month-old weaner piggie) and on average requires at least one cubic foot per day of carbon, you’ll need 180 cubic feet of carbon for your absorption diaper. A pickup bed is about 8 ft.

X 6 ft. X 18 inches which is 72 cubic feet. You’ll need more than two pickup loads of carbon PER HOG. I’m not trying to scare you, but I am trying to drive home the point of the recipe: you can have odor-free hogs, but you have to get your carbon in order.

With roughage and either movement or carbon, you can raise odor-free hogs that will be every visitor’s most delightful animal encounter. And if you have extra pork, they’ll be excited to buy some. Anyone who has ever driven near an industrial commercial hog factory knows about odors. You can offer a delightful aromatic and nutritious alternative. //

Joel's Upcoming Speaking Events November 3–13

South Africa (Masterclass)

November 15

Ann Arbor, MI (Hillsdale College Lecture Series)

December 10

Columbia, TN (Rogue Food Conference) 2023

January 26

Paradise, PA (A Day with Joel Salatin)

February 4

Oxfordsire, UK (Oxford Real Farming Conference)

February 5

Birmingham, UK (Growing Sovereign)

March 7

Warwick, RI (Rhode Island Women in Agriculture)

March 17

Middlefield, OH (A Day with Joel Salatin)

June 2–3

Columbia, TN (The Homestead Festival)

June 30–July 1

Kootenai County, ID (Pacific Northwest Homesteaders Conference)

August 25–26

Marshfield, MO (Ozarks Homesteading Expo)

Joel co-owns, with his family, Polyface Farm in Swoope, Virginia. When he’s not on the road speaking, he’s at home on the farm, keeping the callouses on his hands and dirt under his fingernails, mentoring young people, inspiring visitors, and promoting local, regenerative food and farming systems.

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T H E W I D O W ' S P AT H

god makes no mistakes part two

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Ferree Hardy

"...MOM, WORDS CAN'T COVER the ache you feel.

With great love comes great pain—and you’ve enjoyed a romance for the record books…” Jonathan Zempel solemnly said at his father’s funeral.

If I hadn’t spent a weekend in their home two weeks prior to Tom Zempel’s unexpected death in 2016, I wouldn’t have understood what Jonathan meant. But I saw a very special marriage that weekend. There was kindness, teamwork, affection, and a fondness for each other that I’d seldom witnessed before. My friend Jane and her husband, Tom, were in sync. They delighted in each other and deeply enjoyed being together. It was the best of all romances. The spark of still being “in love” with each other was undeniable.

When I first visited them, I didn't know what to expect. Jane and Tom were about ten years older than me. I knew who they were, but I didn’t really know them because I was only eleven when they married and moved away. I hadn’t seen them in almost fifty years!

When I rang their front doorbell, I peeked through the window and saw them walking together down the hallway to let me in. They looked as delighted as children on Christmas morning and might have even been holding hands. I stepped through the threshold to the front row seat of a happy marriage.

Last month I wrote about their son Ben, who was born with Down syndrome. I had wondered what it was like to be a widow having a son with Down PLAIN VALUES NOVEMBER 2022

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syndrome. Jane and Ben both agreed, God makes no mistakes, and they shared about living with disability and widowhood.

I then wanted to ask Jane if we could talk about Tom’s death. I wondered if she still believed that God makes no mistakes? I knew that was a tough question, and she might not be ready to answer. But I also knew her as an excellent biblical counselor; she’d probably asked it herself over the past six years.

The Struggle I took a deep breath and sent up a silent prayer.

“So, Jane,” I said, “could I ask you this: does Tom’s death fit under the category of God Makes No Mistakes?

And if so, was that hard to accept?” (Please do not ask this of your widow friends—this is between them and God. Consider this article as a very unique and sacred glimpse of a widow’s challenge).

There was a thoughtful pause before she answered. And then, with all sincerity, she said, “Yes! Most definitely, my heart agrees with the fact that God makes no mistakes….”

However, she said she’d wrestled with the Lord over it for more than three years. “I knew where my heart needed to go, but it took a lot of repeated repenting and pleading for strength to not only accept, but to also embrace God’s plan.”

As I mentioned last month, the journey of aligning her will with God’s sovereign plan was not new. There was Ben’s birth, then Tom’s heart diagnosis and major surgery, her cancer, and many other challenges of life.

But when Tom died, the journey of accepting God’s plan all alone was the hardest of all.

“The big challenge,” she told me, “was my presumption that because God knew me, He also knew how deeply I loved Tom, how dependent I was on him, how much being his wife was the joy of my life…” Surely, she thought, God would allow her to “exit” to Heaven first, not Tom! How could she believe in God’s sovereign control and good plan when that’s not what happened?

As a counselor, she recognized this struggle and had a key question to ask herself: “What’s going on with

Jane Zempel with her son, Ben

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Feelings

Faith

Fact

CABOOSE

COAL CAR

ENGINE

my heart?” Her answer uncovered a deep desire that each of us probably struggles to admit: “I wanted my life to be comfortable. I didn’t want ‘THY will be done;’ I wanted MY will.”

How could she embrace God’s plan when Tom’s death went against her desire not only for Tom’s presence but also for a life of comfort? How could the truth that had anchored them when Ben was born—all things work together for good to them that love God (Romans 8:28)—apply in this terribly “not good” situation?

The Turning Point “I kept bumping up against the truth of God’s ultimate and good sovereign plan,” Jane said. She explained, “I love how someone has pictured how we should respond to life with a train illustration.”

The engine contains the "Fact” of our situation.

The coal car provides the “Fuel” of what we choose to put our faith in to help us. The caboose is then the emotional response. Feelings happen of course, but we can put them in the “Caboose.” Feelings don’t get to lead or determine our faith.

Jane explained it like this: “I have the fact: Tom went home to Heaven.”

“Now I have a choice. Will I believe in this allknowing, all-powerful, all-loving God who saved me?

Will I believe that His sovereign plan is designed to be best for me and bring Him the most glory?”

“Or will I continue to argue and fuss? I have a choice; that choice exposes where my faith is and what or who I am really worshiping. The problem is my heart.

Feelings can quickly become the engine that is driving the train—which can lead to really ‘going off the rails.’”

“I would add that attempting (and not always succeeding) to acknowledge God’s control in the little things (like when the washing machine broke down, or when we took the wrong road, etc.) helped the response of—this is not a mistake, this is God’s divine will being worked out—come more quickly to mind.”

Living With Hope “Do I miss Tom? Every. Single. Day. Many times each day! But, I’m seeing so many good things happening in my life. Chief among them is a deeper love for my dear Savior. My confidence in His loving provision and protection over me as a widow has grown exponentially! And I long for Heaven like never before. I see myself as a pilgrim just passing through on this journey. I’m not HOME yet!”

“Until I get there, widowhood has afforded me additional time. My three children: Jonathan, Ben, and Amy; my eight treasured grandchildren; as well as church family, counselees, and even people reading this article, have eternal value. I want to invest my time and purpose to reflect their value and God’s glory.”

She continued, “Someone said, ‘If we knew what God knows, we would ask for exactly what He gives us.’

That’s a hard pill to put down at times, but I’m at such a place in relying on God’s sovereignty.”

God’s sovereignty has brought Jane deep comfort.

She pictures it like the Puritans said centuries ago, “It’s a soft place to pillow my head.” // This Thanksgiving, may the understanding that God makes no mistakes be a comfort to you too.

ferree l

To learn more about widowhood, order a copy of Postcards from the Widows’ Path—Gleaning Hope and Purpose from the Book of Ruth. It’s a gentle, biblical guide for widows that has many saying, “This is the best I’ve ever read!” Mail a check for $14.99/copy (paperback, 248 pgs.), along with your address to: Ferree Hardy, 76 Grace Ave., Ticonderoga, NY 12883. Please allow 2-3 weeks for delivery. Free shipping for all Plain Values readers!

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Persecution in Switzerland, 1637 sketch by Jan Luyken

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OUR HERITAGE

Reflections on the Martyrs T H E M Ü L L E R FA M I LY

THIS MONTH IS A CONTINUATION of stories about the Müller family from “A True Report of the Brothers in Switzerland” (Wahrafftiger Bericht von den Brüdern in Schweitzerland) found on pages 845, 848, 849, 858, and 861 in the Ausbund.

In 1529 there is a record of an arrest of Anabaptist Hans Müller of Medikon in Grüningen district of the canton of Zurich, Switzerland. Hans was considered a radical and was put in prison. While in prison, he wrote a letter to the council explaining that faith is a free gift of God and that his conscience will not be forced. He asked for patience in another letter stating, “faith cannot be picked up like a stone.” The magistrate Berger said of him that he was otherwise a "fine, upright fellow.”

COLUMN BY:

Elam Stoltzfus

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Hans Müller of Uticken PAGE 845, AUSBUND

On January 6, 1639, Hans Müller from Uticken [a different Hans Müller from the previous page] was captured and taken to Zurich and placed in the Oetenbach cloister. His imprisonment continued into the second year. In prison, he became deathly ill, but he and other prisoners came out with a peaceful conscience. After this, his wife and children sheltered him in his own home, and he died while with them.

Subsequently, they had to pay a fine of forty pounds to the authorities because they had shown mercy to their very own father.

Hans Müller of Medikon PAGE 858, AUSBUND

In 1640, Hans Müller [same as previous page] was apprehended in the Grüningen district. He was one of those who, in the beginning, was imprisoned in the Council Hall for twenty-two weeks, as already indicated earlier in this booklet. After that occasion, they sent the catchers out for him many times by day and night. They searched for the brother in his house and in his neighborhood. And the unmerciful catchers threatened his children in the nighttime with bared swords, saying they would kill them if they would not show them their father. They had his name announced over the state church pulpit, that everyone would have authority over this brother to turn him over to the government. Also no one should lodge or shelter him anymore on pain of a severe punishment from the government. Afterwards the district magistrate in the Rüti cloister summoned the brother with a

written peace and safe conduct for three weeks and promised that no one would do him any harm. After the conclusion of their talks, they would allow him to go home in freedom without any danger.

At the [beginning of the] appointed three weeks, the magistrate sent his officers to call him to come to the cloister. When Hans Müller would not agree to attending the state church in the course of the talks, the magistrate then placed him under custody. Guards watched over Müller day and night so that the promise [of safe conduct] which he made to him basically amounted to nothing. From there, they took him to Zurich and kept him in the Council Flail for a while. Afterwards they put him into the Oetenbach prison under harsh conditions.

He was kept there for around sixty weeks with others of his brothers. Also he contracted a serious illness while in prison, and they stripped him and took his money. For sixteen weeks, they fastened him with iron fetters, after which he, through God’s help, was released with others of his brothers.

In this period of time, they apprehended his wife and took her to the Oetenbach prison in Zurich. Here she was imprisoned for one year and one half, after which she was freed with a peaceful conscience.

Later they searched again for him and his wife day and night, and with bared swords, they went through houses and barns. At one time, it occurred that his wife gave birth to twins. When the babies were eleven days old, ten catchers came in the night and found the wife with the two babies and berated the weak mother in her bed with rough and harsh words, saying that she must be imprisoned or promise them

Additional Points of Interest...

In 1710 Martin Kendig, Jacob Müller (Miller), Martin Oberholtzer, Martin Mylin, Christian Herr, and his father, Hans Herr, along with their wives, sailed from London on a boat named Mary Hope. Their forefathers had come from Zurich, Switzerland, farmed in the Palatinate of Germany along the Rhine River, then moved into the Netherlands because of religious persecution. At the invitation of William Penn, they went to London and waited for months for a ship to take them to the new lands Penn offered them in the New World. Here he hoped to make a “spiritual” settlement where people could worship as they pleased. These people were Anabaptists, called Mennonists in Switzerland.

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not to leave the house for six weeks. But she did not want to place herself under such bondage. Because the woman did not want to make such a promise, two catchers stayed and guarded her day and night.

Then in great anguish and distress, the new mother broke away during the night with her two babies in the winter into great cold, and they did not know where she was. By God’s help, she succeeded and escaped out of the hands of the enemy with her children. But she traveled a long, unfamiliar road with the babies. Also their household was dispersed, and the possessions rented out. A tax was levied on the possessions, namely of 1,000 guilders, and all this for the hands of the authorities.

Follow up on Hans Müller: in January 1646, Hans was arrested again, being blamed as a co-author of the “Anti-Manifesto” as a response to a manifesto that was written against the Anabaptists, issued by the City of Zurich in 1639.

This arrest was followed by a lengthy interrogation on February 17, 1646, then released in April.

Anabaptist families began leaving the Canton of Zurich for the Alsace area. Hans Müller and his family left Zurich for the village of Mackenheim, Alsace, on March 4, 1649. Hans was one of the Alsatian Anabaptists in 1660 who accepted the Dutch Mennonite Dordrecht Confession of Faith.

Later Hans and his family moved to Ibersheimer Hof, Electoral Palatinate in 1662. Müller made several attempts to receive compensation for the lost land in the canton of Zurich but was not successful. He died sometime between 1663 and 1666, perhaps of the plague that killed other family members.

Ulrich Müller PAGE 861, AUSBUND

On August 31, 1640, Ulrich Müller was also captured in the earldom of Kiburg at his work. (This man is an ordained minister of the congregation.) He was taken to Zurich to the Council Hall, and they kept him there for several days. Afterward, he was placed in the Oetenbach in a harsh imprisonment. He also was ruined in health by the severe and unmerciful bonds and imprisonment and after thirty-five weeks in his imprisonment, he fell asleep in the Lord. Later his children had to hand over 100 guilders to the authorities from his possessions.

"By God’s help, she succeeded and escaped out of the hands of the enemy with her children."

Catharina Müller PAGE 848, AUSBUND

Now, Catharina Müller, an old sister in the district of Knonau, was apprehended and was taken to Zurich, placed in the Oetenbach, and imprisoned there.

She was kept there in bonds for a long time and finally came out with a clear conscience. But she still has no secure place where she can live but must remain completely hidden. Her children are compelled to pay a yearly tax of 2,000 guilders to the government because of her.

Ottilly Müller PAGE 849, AUSBUND

A sister, Ottilly Müller, was captured and taken to Zurich, and put into the Oetenbach and kept for a while. Thereafter she was freed from those bonds with a good conscience.

Stay tuned next month, as we uncover the story of the Landis family. //

C I TAT I O N S Ohio Amish Library, Songs of the Ausbund V.2 ed. Edward Kline. Sugarcreek OH: Carlisle Printing.

Ohio Amish Library, Documents of Brotherly Love - Dutch Mennonite Aid to Swiss Anabaptists Volume I. Neff, Christian. "Müller, Hans (16th century)." Global Anabaptist Mennonite Encyclopedia Online.

Ausbund das ist: etliche schöne Christliche Lieder, Verlag von den Amischen Gemeinden in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania. www.wikipedia.org

Elam Stoltzfus currently serves as Executive Director of the Nicholas Stoltzfus Homestead in (Berks County) Wyomissing, Pennsylvania.

In 2018, he traveled to Germany to document the history of the Stoltzfus family—this research is documented in German Lutherans to Pennsylvania Amish: The Stoltzfus Family Story. To order a copy of this book, you can mail a $30 check to Elam Stoltzfus, 1700 Tulpehocken Road, Wyomissing, PA 19610.

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Carp Fishing IF YOU'RE LIKE MOST FOLKS, when you think of carp, you think of a trash fish that creates muddy water by rooting up the bottom of the lake and competing with valued fish for food and space. In some places, they stir up so much muddy water that the sun cannot reach underwater vegetation that produces oxygen. This causes oxygen depletion, affecting other plants and fish. In many cases, the biologists at fisheries will chemically treat lakes that are overpopulated with carp and eliminate all the fish. When the water returns to healthy levels, desirable fish species are introduced.

Most anglers are unhappy when they catch carp and toss them on the bank. Carp are also typically associated with polluted water, unfit to eat. Few people consider them acceptable table fare because of the difficulty of cleaning them and their large bone structure. They have huge scales and very tough skin, with a pair of barbels under the mouth— not exactly a pretty fish, though some folks see them as a thing of beauty. The American Carp Society has several thousand members and highly respects these fish.

In my younger days, I caught carp for every reason you could think of, except for eating them. I cut them up and used them for raccoon and mink bait on my trap line, crawfish bait, and fertilizer for the garden.

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"I recall my buddies and I made dough balls out of flour, strawberry jello, and many other varieties of baits. I knew an old man in New York who swore by french fries for bait."

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Catching them is not difficult, depending on the size of the fish. Bigger carp are far more wary than smaller fish. I use a worm on a line weighted with a small sinker, cast it out, and wait for a bite. Carp also eat vegetation and prefer baits made with dough. I recall my buddies and I made dough balls out of flour, strawberry jello, and many other varieties of baits. I knew an old man in New York who swore by french fries for bait. He’d cut off a small piece, put it on his hook, and cast it out. He believed carp were smart enough that they would drop the bait if they tugged on it and felt resistance from the

Some anglers pursue carp with dry flies. That sounds crazy, but it’s true, and it’s gaining in popularity every year. I was first introduced to fly fishing for carp on a large Montana Reservoir, which was extremely clear. We’d scan for carp cruising just under the surface of the water. When one was spotted, we’d cast a fly three or four feet in front of it. We found that one out of every three carp would hit the fly. Fighting a carp in deep water with a fly rod was a serious battle. It often took 10-15 minutes or more to land one. The flies that worked best for us were “hopper” flies that resembled

rod. He’d open the bail on the reel so the line would pay out unencumbered. Then he’d set the hook when the fish had the whole french fry in its mouth. This became a big challenge because carp were fussy and difficult to catch in the lake he was fishing. If he caught one a day, it was a successful outing.

a grasshopper.

Another popular way to pursue carp is to hunt them with bow and arrow. Carp have a unique spawning ritual that lends itself well to hunting with a bow. In the spring, they enter weedy areas along the shore where they lay their eggs. Males and females

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typically thrash around in very shallow water where their backs may be exposed. Hunters slowly stalk around the shallows and wait for an opportunity to shoot. When the fish are in a spawning frenzy, you can shoot continuously with little letup. If they’re in deeper water, it’s tricky to hit them because of refraction. They aren’t really where they appear to be. You must aim low under the fish, anywhere from 6 inches to a foot, depending on how deep they are.

Bows are equipped with reels that hold the line attached to a fish arrow with a specialized point. When you hit the fish, you slowly bring it in hand over hand or use the reel. If you miss the fish, you don’t lose the arrow.

Sometimes carp are so close they’ll swim between your legs or bump into your boot. In water this shallow, you can spear them with a special fish spear. Some folks have attempted to spear carp with a frog gig, but they’re typically too small for a strong carp. Bigger spears are required.

Though carp are found throughout the lower 48 states in large numbers, they weren’t always here.

They’re not indigenous to the US and were brought here from Europe and Asia beginning in the 1800s. The exact dates they were imported are variable, depending on the source. Some say they were first introduced in Orange County, New York, in 1831 and 1832. Others say they were first introduced in Southern California and places in the Midwest. From those early imports, carp found their way into other waters from flooding or dam breaks, where fish easily spread into other drainage systems. Then too, many folks took it upon themselves to capture carp and intentionally release them into other waters. Before long, they were found everywhere in the US. Why were they imported to the US at all? Believe it or not, they were highly desirable as food. In fact, to this day, they’re still considered a delicacy in Europe and Asia, and many Americans still enjoy them on the table— which might be hard to believe. Of course, carp that will be eaten should come from unpolluted waters. Ideally, fish from large clean reservoirs are perfect for dinner.

Some time ago, I had a seafood party and invited my neighbors. I had about a dozen species of fish that I’d caught, including salmon, halibut, trout, crappie, catfish, bluegill, etc.—and a carp. I cooked the fish in a variety of different ways. I filleted the carp, sliced away the dark red meat, seasoned the fillets with spices and herbs, and grilled them on the barbeque while continually basting them with lots of butter. I told no one what they were. I was amazed when people came back for seconds and asked what kind of fish it was. When I told them, they were astounded. One negative aspect is the large bones in the fillets, but the bones are big enough that they’re easily seen and discarded.

So far, I’m referring to the common carp. The Asian carp is a different fish and was introduced in the 1970s.

These fish are also called “jumping carp.” When startled, they leap out of the water—eight to ten feet in the air— by the hundreds. This happens when people in speed boats race across the water. This can be dangerous because a 10+ pound carp smashing into your body can cause serious injuries such as concussions and broken limbs. Some folks actually try to hit these carp in the air with a bow and arrow. Others catch them in nets as they are airborne.

Tens of millions of these fish are now well established in the Midwest, causing a huge problem.

There have been efforts to net them and use them as fertilizer and dog food. More recently, food chefs have discovered they’re outstanding on the dinner table. In fact, in June the state of Illinois has proposed a name change for the fish to “Copi” which is a take on the word “copious” which means plentiful. Already there are many restaurants in the region offering Copi on the menu.

There’s an ongoing battle in many states to stop the spread of these fish and to eliminate large numbers of them simply because of the damage they cause.

The good news is that if you’re willing to shed your old negative opinions on these fish, you might discover a new addition to the family menu. I’m glad I did. //

Jim has hunted all fifty states for deer, has fished in most states, has hunted elk in all the major western elk states, and has hunted on four continents. He worked for fifteen years as a forester, game warden, and wildlife biologist. Jim draws on these experiences for his monthly column “All Things Outdoors.” For more information, visit www.jimzumbo.com.

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