Whoa! That’s not turkey!
No, that’s two sides of pork ribs, smoked over a tray of pineapple juice with a brown-sugar spice rub. Farm raised pork. As in, raised here pork – on farm, yes! Historic for us because this was our first taste of pinkguitarfarm pork, over a year in the making (we’ve been patient). Was it delicious? Well, I, the author and farmer, cannot tell you if this mouth watering picture translated into a savory, sticky, spicy – gnaw on the bone(s) food revelation. It got excellent reviews, though.
Why? Because while I was making Pecan Pie, 5 individuals (3 under the age of 12) DEMOLISHED this entire appetizer dish. Nay, I can’t even call it a dish, these ribs DID NOT MAKE IT TO THE KITCHEN FOR PLATING. No utensils, napkins or dinnerware were utilized in the deconstruction of my special first course: pork ribs a la pinkguitarfarm!
I suppose I was not too upset because the main course featured fresh roasted hams (same rub) served with a Champagne cranberry reduction, wilted Swiss chard with pinenuts, caramelized sweet potatoes and Caesar salad with homemade dressing and croutons. Needless to say, I did not go hungry and more importantly I am very thankful for the wonderful bounty our farm provided. As for the ribs….there will be more in the future.
So, what about the contract negotiation?
Earlier in the day I ran across our farm turkey, Brad. He engaged me in a conversation regarding his status on the farm – while hiding under the truck:
Me: “Brad, it’s Thanksgiving! No worries, dude! I went to bat for you; your status here is good. You are an icon, our mascot – sort of. You have style, presence, pizazz! If you weren’t here, the silence would be deafening! We think everyone should have a farm turkey, really!”
So then he handed me a list of demands:
1. Girlfriends – a whole gaggle of them.
2. My own food bowl. I’m done sharing with those stinkin’ chickens.
3. That blond kid, on a permanent time-out: in the house.
4. I ride shotgun in the truck, no more sitting in the bed.
I had to give the fowl a long somewhat respectful once-over. He’s got wattles, man!
Me: “Brad (with a patient voice) gaggles are for geese. You want turkey hens? Done. Your own food dish? Done. Now, I know you don’t like Jack, but I cannot keep him in the house, he helps with chores. Heyyy….are you two working together now, so he can get out of doing the chores? Okay, no on Jack. And no on the truck! Trust me, you don’t want to ride with me when I take the kids to school or run errands, that’s just weird. No, no, no! And stop trying to hide in the bed as we drive off to school in the morning, you’ve been making us tardy and the kids are blaming it on me.”
I must say, Brad caught me a bit off guard, but I was going to get him some turkey hens anyway. Next time, I’ll have my own demands ready so we can really negotiate, like: quit sleeping on my car, no harassing the children or the chickens and no gobbling while I’m outside on my cell phone, it freaks people out.
That Brad, he’s a tough nut…and people think turkeys are stupid?
Pink Guitar Farm 
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