Audrey Arner and Richard Handeen were children of the '60s. After earning their liberal-arts degrees, they went “back to the land” — the 240-acre chunk of the Minnesota prairie that Handeen’s great-grandparents homesteaded in 1872. Through the 70s and 80s, they strummed electric guitars, painted watercolors, threw pots, raised two children, and grew organic soybeans on Moonstone farm. They were vegetarian (wasn’t everybody?).
And then in August 1986, Arner found a wounded deer in their stream and their lives — and diet — changed.
"I could see that the animal was in pain,” she said. “I called a neighbor with a shotgun and when he asked if I wanted the deer butchered, I realized that, yes, that was part of honoring the deer.”
It was also a karmic experience, according to Arner. Soon after, she began eating meat and today she and her husband have only one caveat:
"I won't eat meat if I don't know where it comes from." She knows exactly where her hamburger comes from. It comes from their land and the 90-head of cattle that now graze there.
The wounded deer prompted them to take a second look at how they were using their land and they quickly realized that their farm’s topography was better suited to grazing. Cattle is more sustainable, more eco-friendly and more profitable. In the late '80s, the couple switched from soybeans to beef.
Over the years, they've built a community of like-minded artist-farmers. Arner's brother, a musician, came to visit and never left. The couple’s daughter and her husband run a small organic farm nearby.
In a life that's ruled by the seasons, winter is about making art, making bagels, and making pasta.
"Ravioli spells winter for us," Arner says.
Thanksgiving kicked off the art and pasta season. Arner’s mother, visiting from her home in Pennsylvania, summoned her progeny to the kitchen. With her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren watching, she made the dough. The youngest children kneaded and cranked the pasta machine. The older ones filled ravioli.
“I’ve been making pasta since I was old enough to hold the dough,” says the elder Arner, whose parents immigrated from Italy.
“My mother would invite her best friend over to make pasta like other women would invite neighbors in for coffee. They'd go at it for hours, gabbing and having a great time.”
She paused, fed some dough into the machine, watched as her great-grandson cranked the handle furiously, and added, “We always have great time too.”
Continue to the recipe: Moonstone Farm's Ravioli
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