#3 - January/February 2005
Flour Power
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By MaryJane Butters
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Seeing the good in an ugly act of vandalism
“I've got some bad news. Your mill was vandalized.” My mill, known as the Barron Flour Mill, is listed on the National Register of Historic Places. Three stories tall but no longer used to mill flour, it sits as a sentinel in the middle of Oakesdale, Washington (population 420), about an hour's drive from my farm.
As the extent of the damage was described to me, I thought first about Joe Barron, the third-generation miller who had made me promise I'd take good care of the place. After Joe gave me title to the mill, I put locks on the doors. Maybe I shouldn't have. Does a lock say, “I don't trust you?” And if you tell people you don't trust them, will they act accordingly?
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I still have Joe's old sign, framed now, on the porch of my farmhouse. “If no one here, help yourself.” For the decades that Joe sold flour, he offered it self-serve. He kept the drawer below the sign full of change, and claimed no one ever helped themselves to the money.
Mills are often far from where farmers grow our grains now, and even farther from most peoples' kitchen tables. But just as bread was once at the center of the table and the culture of families and food, mills were once at the center of our towns. In pioneer days, a good place to build a mill was a good place to start a community. It's no surprise, then, that a mill—and an honest miller—would be worthy of such respect.
A miller his entire life, Joe died four years ago, at age 92. Slim but strong, he milled flour like he did everything—tidily. His mill was always swept clean no matter what time of day you walked in. I came to know Joe because 10 years ago I started selling falafel and needed a way to mill garbanzo beans. He agreed to let me use his newer mill, the one he used, but he watched me with an eagle eye. Twice a month, I'd drive my old '64 Rambler station wagon, full of beans, to Oakesdale and spend the day working alongside Joe.
I remember my first “tidy” lesson. I was stacking my discarded 50-pound paper sacks against a wall where Joe stacked his. I knew that twice a week, he took them out back to the ditch bank behind the mill and lit a match to them. Joe tapped me on the shoulder. Since we couldn't talk (the mill was too noisy), Joe silently picked up one of my bags and demonstrated how to fold it back into brand-new form before placing it just so on the floor. Even though he'd be burning them soon, it was the right way.
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When I saw the damage to the Barron Flour Mill, I was relieved that Joe couldn't see the disarray. As I stepped over broken windows, opened cans of paint and oil poured on the floor, footprints in spilled flour, and a pickax stuck into the office floor, I remembered what a visitor once said of the mill: “It feels like I've just walked into a cathedral.” I waded through sacrilege along with the Oakesdale town marshal. Since this act was considered a felony (the vandals had attempted arson in two places), he recorded the damage with a video camera as we pushed through the litter on all three floors.
By the time we surveyed the third floor, I was breathing easier. Armed with a pickax, the vandals had trashed the historic five-foot-tall safe in the office, but they hadn't taken the ax to the ancient rolltop desk or the intricate wooden machinery or, worse yet, burned the place down. Paint can be sanded off; windows can be replaced. And the mill's place in the community still held sway. Word had spread. People started calling. By the time I left, a member of the Oakesdale City Council had offered to spend the next couple of days boarding up all the broken windows and securing the building.
It was Wednesday. My son and I made plans to begin cleaning on Saturday. I figured it would take several weekends, but I was eager to get started. I felt like Joe might be tapping me on the shoulder at any minute.That Friday night, the town's mail carrier called. “A lot of the farmers have been rained out [from working in their fields], so we'd like to help you. How about a clean-up potluck party? I have lots of garden produce right now, and I can make some bread.”
The bread would sustain the community, and the community would sustain the mill, just as it had for generations. Yes, bad had entered my life, but it had united the good. We've all heard stories about good. We remember them, recite them, especially in times of bad. My daughter was all of six years old when she “zenned” me in a stunning way. A single mom living the homestead life, without indoor plumbing, without money, I drove a car so old we wore masks in it because it sucked dust in through the rusty floorboards. Late one evening coming home from town, the drive train fell off. It jammed into the ground like a javelin. Crying, I lifted my two-year-old from his seat and the three of us began to walk. My daughter grabbed my hand, “Momma, there's always something good out of something bad.”
Yes, it's a drag that my mill was vandalized. But I'm okay with it. I wouldn't go so far as to say I'm grateful. But okay with yet another deep bite of life.
MaryJane Butters is an organic farmer, teacher, and author in Idaho. Write to her at maryjane@maryjanesfarm.org or visit www.maryjanesfarm.org.
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— Sidebar Content —
Sourdough Bread
Making sourdough starter is like planting a flower. As it grows, pulling in wild yeast spores from the air, you become attached to it, waiting each day to see how active its little bubbles are.
Making Your Starter
2 cups organic whole-wheat bread flour
1 1/2 cups distilled water
Place flour and water in a glass jar or bowl and stir with a wooden spoon. Cover with a cloth and keep it on your kitchen counter. Each day mix in an additional 1/4 cup water and 1/3 cup flour. Repeat for 6 days. On the seventh day, the starter will be ready. It should have bubbles and smell sour, kind of like beer.
NOTE: You must refresh your starter every 7 to 10 days. Use 1 cup of your starter in a recipe, then replenish the remaining starter by adding 1/4 cup water and 1/2 cup flour. (It will need to grow for at least 12 hours before you borrow from it again.)
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Sourdough Bread
1 cup sourdough starter
2 cups purified water
2 teaspoons sea salt
3 to 4 cups organic flour
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 medium egg yolk
1 tablespoon milk
Place starter, water, and sea salt in a large glass bowl and whisk for 1 minute. Stir in enough of the flour to make a firm dough. Turn onto a lightly floured surface and knead the dough for about 10 minutes, working in flour as necessary, until the dough is smooth and elastic. Shape into a ball and place in a large oiled bowl, turning dough once to coat the top with oil. Cover with a damp tea towel and let rise in a warm, draft-free place for 4 to 6 hours, until doubled in bulk. Punch down and shape into one large round loaf or two baguettes. Place on a lightly oiled baking sheet, and cover again with a damp tea towel. Let rise again for 1 to 2 hours, or until nearly doubled in bulk. Place a shallow pan of water on the bottom rack of your oven. Preheat oven to 500°F. Make slits on the top of each loaf. Beat together the egg yolk and milk, and brush on the tops. Place baking sheet on center rack of oven and bake for 15 minutes.Reduce heat to 450°F and bake for an additional 15 minutes, or until crust is a rich golden brown and loaf sounds hollow when tapped on the top.
Yield: one large round loaf or two baguettes
Sourdough Flapjacks
1 cup sourdough starter
1 cup organic flour
1/2 cup water
Mix starter, flour, and water. Let stand overnight (about 12 hours), covered with a cloth in a warm place. Stir mixture well and carefully ladle onto a lightly greased griddle. Flip flapjacks after bubbles form and tops have lost their sheen. Serve with Elderberry Syrup (see “Farm Kitchen,” page 136).
Yield: eight flapjacks
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