Amanda Miller
Columnist
Lettuce Eat Local

Here in central Kansas, there is always a feeling in the air around wheat harvest. It’s more than dust and chaff, although there’s definitely that too — it’s hard to really describe. It’s just harvest, you know? 

I’m guessing the feeling isn’t as noticeable for people who aren’t farmers, but even though I didn’t grow up experiencing the phenomenon and our family doesn’t have much wheat acreage, I can always feel it. It’s a mixture of energy and exhaustion, excitement mixed with apprehension, sweat running alongside satisfaction…or disappointment.

Let’s be honest, this year there was more disappointment. To put it bluntly, the wheat was trash. But that happens sometimes, and maybe it’ll be different next year. We are fortunate we don’t base our livelihood on the wheat harvest, and it’s a good (although not necessarily good-feeling) reminder that we can do all we can do, but it’s the Lord who provides the harvest and we are dependent on him. 

We never even got to the stage of waving seas of golden wheat that I so love. The amber waves of grain were there, but so short and weedy that they barely even rustled in the breeze, which is one of my favorite sounds. Nonetheless, we did get something, and that’s more than we are entitled to or could even count on earlier in the year; I still love harvest.

Keep in mind that my role in harvest is very minimal…I run people and food to the fields sometimes, and that’s about it. My love is an air-conditioned, I-still-go-to-bed-on-time kind of love. 

Part of the reason I love wheat harvest so much is that it’s so Kansas. I try hard to bloom where I’m planted, and there is something deeply meaningful and satisfying about these undulating golden fields stretching far and wide that just belong here. The combines and grain trucks are out in full force, the farmers in their sweat-stained hats are putting in the hours, and our whole nation (and beyond) reaps the benefits of their reaping. Kansas doesn’t do all things well, but (most years) it does grow wheat — and we should celebrate that. 

I have a special way I get to celebrate Kansas’s “Breadbasket of the US” identity all year round, since Brian always saves me a bucket or few of wheat berries from our very own fields. Talk about local! We don’t have a fine-tuned method of cleaning them, so we get a little extra “fiber and terroir” (i.e. chaff and dust), but freshly-ground whole wheat flour from our farm is a true gift. 

Benson loves all parts of this arrangement. We got to spend a few mealtimes with Daddy in the combine last week; he was mesmerized by the stalks rolling in through the header and the wheat filling up the hopper window. He will tell you many times how “the combine cuts the wheat, and then it goes into the grain truck, who takes it to the…(needs a cue) grain elevator!” And while it is assuredly not the efficient method, I try to make bread when Benson can “help.” He often shakes with excitement dumping in the flour and watching the mixer go around and around, and it’s all I can do to keep him from pinching off a hundred pieces of dough while it’s rising. 

Not many two-year-olds get to see their slice of bread go from sprout to oven, and honestly neither do many adults. Wheat harvest is never as romantic and easy as I like to make it sound, but it’s a true gift, and we’ll look forward to it coming around again next year. Until then, we’ll eat bread.

Cracked Wheat Loaf Bread

While auto-steer in the combine means Brian got some actual plate-and-fork meals delivered during harvest, sandwiches are still the general name of the game. I usually have a whole-wheat oat bread on hand, but it seemed appropriate to make wheat the star this time. The cracked wheat berries add this surprising yet enjoyable texture to a standard crumb, and I might just start adding them to other loaves more often. This recipe makes two loaves. 

Prep tips: you don’t need to own a wheat field to get wheat berries! Many groceries, especially bulk or health-food stores, sell both whole and cracked wheat berries (you want cracked, unless you have a Vitamix/other grinder at home). Just make sure you let the berries soften to chewy, not still crunchy, in the hot-water step. Hudson Cream flour is local and lovely, and what I buy for all-purpose flour. 

2 cups cracked wheat berries

¾ cup brown sugar

1 tablespoon salt

2 tablespoons butter

2 cups boiling water

2 eggs, beaten

5ish cups all-purpose and/or bread flour

2 tablespoons instant yeast

Mix wheat berries, brown sugar, salt, and butter in a heat-proof bowl, and pour in the boiling water. Let set until cool and the wheat berries are softened, then mix in eggs. Measure in 4 cups of flour and sprinkle the yeast over, then mix in thoroughly, adding the rest of the flour plus more as necessary to achieve a cohesive, moist but not sticky, dough. Knead for several minutes, then return to oiled mixed bowl to rise until doubled. Press down, divide into two, shape, and place in two buttered bread pans to rise again. Bake at 325° for about 35 minutes. 

Amanda Miller
Columnist
Lettuce Eat Local

“Ahhh! No don’t eat those!” 

It’s not often I yell at my child to not eat his vegetables. Benson’s been such a distracted eater recently, that if he’s on a roll with whatever’s on his plate, in general I try not to make any sudden movements or noises so as to not break his concentration. I’m clearly not just tiptoeing around or only speaking in a whisper, but as long as he’s not simply spooning up one of the forty-seven sauces he thought necessary for the meal, I probably want him to keep going. 

Unless, of course, the vegetable he is bringing excitedly up to his mouth is a mushroom from the grass. He usually enjoys mushrooms at the table, so why shouldn’t he in the yard? 

Poor kid, it can be hard to explain context. 

All this glorious rain last week changed the environment a little bit around here, at least for a couple days. Not only did the humidity encourage wild mushrooms to start popping up, but it made the garden comfortably soggy, our Muscovy and Peking ducks waddle around in bliss, and the corn in the fields rocket their canopying stalks skyward. 

We pray for long-term benefits too, like bringing soybean and milo sprouts up and replenishing the aquifer, but in our household, we were selfishly grateful for the short-term benefits of actually seeing Brian again. The last few weeks of time-sensitive harvesting, planting, and spraying, on top of the daily needs of the dairy, required much from our hardworking, farmer man; he was tired, and we were tired of missing him. Benson was starting to really feel his absence, and it was both adorable and heartbreaking the day he refused to go to bed until after Daddy came in at 10:30, woke up in the middle of the night screaming for Daddy, and got up with the sun immediately wondering where Daddy was (already out feeding calves). 

The good news is, he likes his dad, and in general we are spoiled by getting to at least catch glimpses and moments of him throughout the day. The other good news is, it rained that night. We’ve trained Benson to run around yelling, “Happy rain!” when we get some precipitation, and it makes it all that much better. 

Another thing that tends to happen around here when it rains is that we break out the grill. Now, I know most people tend to operate in the opposite pattern, but I’m assuming you’ve picked up by now that we are not most people. 

We have just enough of an overhang from the garage that Brian can wheel out the pellet grill and cook something up without getting soggy. And when it rains, that means he might have time to not only come in for supper but to also participate in its cooking. It’s not that grilling is only a male milieu, or that I can’t do it, but it’s not my natural bent. Our old grill had a problem lighting and I didn’t feel like getting blown up, and this new grill is a new style, so I’m still learning. Slowly, without much motivation. 

Which is ironic, because I love grilled food. I did roast two chickens and a bunch of tomatoes all by myself the other day, so I’m getting there. But if Brian offers? The answer is yes please. 

So this past weekend when he offered to grill something, I said perfect, the meat is already thawing in the fridge. All three of us contributed to the making of the meal: I formed the burgers and prepped all the veggies; Benson peeled the onions, salted the mushrooms, and got out all the sauces; and Brian did the actual grilling. (The baby didn’t help much except to catch the stuff I dripped on my belly.) 

It was a lovely meal, another blessing through the gift of rain. Even though Benson didn’t want to eat these mushrooms after all. 

Beef and Mushroom Burgers

Now, don’t go hating on me, but even though I’m a dairy farmer’s wife, I don’t love burgers. Naturally, they’re one of Brian’s favorite things. But we may have found a tasty middle ground in this mushroomy version. I will definitely not be allowed to mix mushrooms in with the beef every time, but maybe I can make at least a few burgers like this and look forward to them, too. 

Prep tips: I used button/white mushrooms, but I expect you could use mostly any type. Also this isn’t a recipe so much as an idea, so vary the ratio to your liking, although I wouldn’t go any higher on the mushroom content than 50/50. If you have a problem with them crumbling while you’re trying to grill them, just pop them on a piece of foil so you still get that nice smoky cook. 

4 ounces mushrooms (not from the yard)

1 lb good quality ground beef

salt and cracked black pepper

Chop mushrooms finely using a blender or food processor. Add to a mixing bowl along with ground beef, and mix with your hands or a dough whisk just until combined — try not to overwork. Form into 4-6 patties, and season both sides with salt and pepper. Grill over medium-high heat to your desired temperature, but keep the middle pink if you’re going to talk to Brian about it. 

Amanda Miller
Columnist
Lettuce Eat Local

Something gets me every time I hear a kid bite into a fresh corn on the cob, the juicy kernels popping and crunching: the sound of summer, made tangible. And with the level of our two-year-old’s enthusiasm for corn on the cob, “every time” is pretty often these days.
While we do have two rows of sweet corn planted on the north side of our garden, it’s just tasseling and isn’t quite mature enough to pick yet. Benson is learning, at least somewhat, the concept of waiting and letting the plants and vegetables in the garden keep growing and growing until they’re ready — something he’s also seeing with my expanding belly and the growing baby inside. He hasn’t been too impatient with the corn, but I’m guessing that if I let him peel back some of the husk to see the little kernels hidden inside, he’d be overcome with enthusiasm and not be able to hold himself back. Unattended, he could pose as much a risk to the young corns as a band of marauding raccoons.
Because that boy loves sweet corn. We’ve come by it several times this year as we wait for ours, whether from the farmers’ market or the neighbor or friends, and without fail Benson has tucked into it with a specific toddler eagerness that makes the crunching of the kernels sound all the more glorious.
Since the cows love a good corn husk, we like to go prep the ears over by the holding pen while the cows are waiting to be milked. He might pull off a few husks, then consider his work done; he should help me get the silk off, but he hates anything with a stringy texture so much that it may be beyond what his sensory input can handle. He’ll transfer his assistance to earnestly beckoning the cows for their corny snack, unless there’s a cleaned corn cob within reach — and the munching will commence.
He has not yet mastered the art of eating his corn in any sort of organized manner, so his cobs end up mangled or very artistic, depending on how you look at it. And because I’m a pushover when it comes to him wanting to eat vegetables, frequently Benson attacks a second cob before he actually finishes the first. This makes the step of actually cooking the corn look quite humorous, or uninviting, again depending on how you look at it.
On the subject of cooking corn, I have a few thoughts. First, don’t overcook it. The whole point is that it’s fresh, so don’t kill it. Five minutes in boiling water should be more than enough, and less doesn’t hurt. Second, microwaving is actually a delicious cooking method; wrapping ears in a damp paper towel and cooking for 4 minutes on high essentially steams the kernels and helps them retain all their sweetness and crunch.
And third, the best way of all to maintain sweetness and crunch is to not cook at all. I have zero problems with cooked corn (I once ate I think seven ears in one sitting as a child), but also love it raw here and there. You can follow Benson’s example and tuck straight into the corn as soon as it’s husked, or you can find lots of delicious ways to use raw fresh sweet corn in various dishes. Now is the time to experiment, in this beautiful window of sweet corn summer.

This delicious salad was full of pleasant surprises: in addition to the luscious pops of raw sweet corn kernels, there was a punch of brininess from the olives and salty creaminess from the cheese-infused yogurt. Together they created an unexpected harmony, one both myself and my “traditional” eater husband enjoyed. Benson didn’t like the stringy-looking bits of the dill so he just picked out the corn kernels.
Prep tips: grab homegrown sweet corn while you can! Farmers’ markets are a great resource, although you might even find some listings on Facebook. Technically Benson and I are gone this week and if you can get past Brian, you can help yourself to our patch since it’s probably ready….

½ cup plain yogurt
1-2 ounces crumbled feta cheese
a drizzle of fruity olive oil
3 ears of raw sweet corn, kernels cut off the cob
1 small cucumber, diced
½ cup good quality green olives, sliced; plus a splash of brine
a splash of red wine vinegar
a handful of fresh dill weed, chopped (or basil, if you’re like Benson)
a handful of fresh parsley, chopped

Stir or blend together the yogurt, feta, and olive oil, and season with salt and pepper. Spread onto a serving plate.
In a bowl, toss together the remaining ingredients, and season to taste. Spoon onto yogurt and eat.