I dropped off three citrus trees in the greenhouse that I picked up for Fred at a garage sale this weekend. Something is going on in there, all the apple tree cutting that have been rooted in buckets were moved around. I hope that it's not Nate's plan to take them all when he leaves. I enter the house where Kate and Kristen are working on some canning in the kitchen. I have brought some grapes from my home arbor that I think will be a great treat, two small bunches. Turns out that Kristen had harvested five lugs full from a friends vines that are 30 years old. My vines are only four. She says it's like bringing coal to some Pennsylvania coal town, the name of which could be many. She has juiced them and I am sipping on some juice right now, it is quite good. Meg is in the high tunnel they tell me, this is code for go out there and help her with whatever she is doing. Weeding. Same high tunnel I weeded last week, the thistle came back like the cat. This is a losing game, and yet we always play. When that was done, we planted scallions. Rows planted every four inches. It will be interesting to see just how thick these little guys will grow in. The seedling tray has slots no bigger than your thumb, the scallions are as thin as twine.
John, Meg's boyfriend is here, he had spent the night in the a-frame and is doing a little fishing in the pond. I almost grabbed my rod today before leaving home, but wouldn't have had time to join him.
The couple heads out to the woods to pick mushrooms. Chanterelles I presume, a small orange trumpet fungi. Kate and I are sent to the beets. Weeding. This job I loath, the sun is hot and the weekend too short, I try and lounge and pick but no position is too comfortable. Then salvation; Kristen on the club car holding baby Evelyn. She wants to know if one of us will help Fred manage the fence. Not knowing what exactly this means, I hesitate. Luckily Kate does not jump on the opportunity. Kristen instructs me to scoot around the fence in the golf cart and pull the electric fence out of the weeds, tie any broken strands back together, and move the posts once Fred has mowed the lane. Simple enough, and I get to drive around. Out riding fences I still feel lazy, the cart is giving me the rest I need, this desperado takes his time traversing the weeds.
I hit all the fences, Fred with the tractor plus brush hog are nowhere in sight. I decide to be proactive. There are some fallen branches on the fence and I am sure that a hand saws can be found in the garage. I have become a wiz with a saw in my childhood days of wood prep for fires, and the occasional branch in our yard after a storm. Besides this will kill more time that won't be spent weeding. Bing, Bang, Done. I return the saws to the house and Kriten spots me. She has prepared lunch, I courier the message to the girls. They are moving mellon vines out of the rows so the weeds can be trimmed tomorrow. Essentially more weeding.
What a spread! Roasted beets, cantaloupe, grapes of course, chard with pork steak, cucumber salad with sun golds, and squash salad. I find the beets very tasty and have seconds, then thirds. Gangs all here, except for Bridget; taking the day off for her pinball tourney, although Meg suggests there is a boy involved.
John, Meg's boyfriend is here, he had spent the night in the a-frame and is doing a little fishing in the pond. I almost grabbed my rod today before leaving home, but wouldn't have had time to join him.
The couple heads out to the woods to pick mushrooms. Chanterelles I presume, a small orange trumpet fungi. Kate and I are sent to the beets. Weeding. This job I loath, the sun is hot and the weekend too short, I try and lounge and pick but no position is too comfortable. Then salvation; Kristen on the club car holding baby Evelyn. She wants to know if one of us will help Fred manage the fence. Not knowing what exactly this means, I hesitate. Luckily Kate does not jump on the opportunity. Kristen instructs me to scoot around the fence in the golf cart and pull the electric fence out of the weeds, tie any broken strands back together, and move the posts once Fred has mowed the lane. Simple enough, and I get to drive around. Out riding fences I still feel lazy, the cart is giving me the rest I need, this desperado takes his time traversing the weeds.
I hit all the fences, Fred with the tractor plus brush hog are nowhere in sight. I decide to be proactive. There are some fallen branches on the fence and I am sure that a hand saws can be found in the garage. I have become a wiz with a saw in my childhood days of wood prep for fires, and the occasional branch in our yard after a storm. Besides this will kill more time that won't be spent weeding. Bing, Bang, Done. I return the saws to the house and Kriten spots me. She has prepared lunch, I courier the message to the girls. They are moving mellon vines out of the rows so the weeds can be trimmed tomorrow. Essentially more weeding.
What a spread! Roasted beets, cantaloupe, grapes of course, chard with pork steak, cucumber salad with sun golds, and squash salad. I find the beets very tasty and have seconds, then thirds. Gangs all here, except for Bridget; taking the day off for her pinball tourney, although Meg suggests there is a boy involved.
Fred tells me that he has a design project in mind, a label for his new composting project. I say I will do it. It is fantastic if this internship can legitimately include digital design, in-farmhouse designer it will read on my résumé.
The Brush Hog is a large orange attachment for the tractor that has a large cutting blade, approx. 5' wide. Fred starts his first pass and I follow on the golf cart hoping I can figure out my roll, not knowing for sure If I should be there at all. Things are going fine, I follow close behind moving the steaks back into the area that Fred has just cut so that he may cut the other side. When I look up I see that Fred has stopped the tractor and is sitting beneath the brush hog. I am hoping for the sake of this job he didn't get caught on the fence tape. Of course he has. In a matter of moments the fencing wrapped around the blade so many times that it will take some effort to release. Fred says "Thanks for the help but that is all the work we can do on this today." He is frustrated, but not at me. It turns out that this fence has not been electrified for quite some time, he set it up but feels that it was not his responsibility to manage it after that. Then suddenly changing his mind he cuts the wire. After this small set-back we start rolling and the job gets done with nary a hitch. I believe Fred to be recognizing my competence. I take the Custom and load some hay we found on the job into the bed. Then drop it by the compost. I read "Ford Motor Vehicles" on the hub cap.
The girls are still in the melons. Sugar baby and stars and moons watermelon, there are cantaloupes here too. This job is not too bad, but the watermelons have a tendency to grab on to things and weave around. Whilst it is not too hard to pull them out, they are fragile and every once in a while they fall off the vine. Unripe melon can't be sold so we take them back to the house to see just how ripe they are. The largest one is cut open. Slightly pink inside and sweet to boot. I've had worse.
Into the municipal forest behind the farm, we are now on our own hunt for chanterelles, or a hunt to make Meg some money. She knows a chef in town that she can sell them to. I don't mind, I would rather be in the woods then out in the field most times. A few pounds of mushrooms are found, but they seem past their prime. I finally eat a little, and find it barely has flavor at this point. Disappointing but I am willing to give them another shot.
A small seeding project in the greenhouse is to conclude our night. I learn their secret formula for seed starting media. One bag of top soil, to three scoops of vermiculite. Add water and stir. Some chard, kale and cauliflower are being started. I wonder if Meg added it to the Farm Notes.
I head to the bathroom. Oh my god, my urine is reddish orange colored! This would have alarmed me if I did not overhear a conversation a few days back about beets making your piss turn colors. No need to call the doctor.
The Brush Hog is a large orange attachment for the tractor that has a large cutting blade, approx. 5' wide. Fred starts his first pass and I follow on the golf cart hoping I can figure out my roll, not knowing for sure If I should be there at all. Things are going fine, I follow close behind moving the steaks back into the area that Fred has just cut so that he may cut the other side. When I look up I see that Fred has stopped the tractor and is sitting beneath the brush hog. I am hoping for the sake of this job he didn't get caught on the fence tape. Of course he has. In a matter of moments the fencing wrapped around the blade so many times that it will take some effort to release. Fred says "Thanks for the help but that is all the work we can do on this today." He is frustrated, but not at me. It turns out that this fence has not been electrified for quite some time, he set it up but feels that it was not his responsibility to manage it after that. Then suddenly changing his mind he cuts the wire. After this small set-back we start rolling and the job gets done with nary a hitch. I believe Fred to be recognizing my competence. I take the Custom and load some hay we found on the job into the bed. Then drop it by the compost. I read "Ford Motor Vehicles" on the hub cap.
The girls are still in the melons. Sugar baby and stars and moons watermelon, there are cantaloupes here too. This job is not too bad, but the watermelons have a tendency to grab on to things and weave around. Whilst it is not too hard to pull them out, they are fragile and every once in a while they fall off the vine. Unripe melon can't be sold so we take them back to the house to see just how ripe they are. The largest one is cut open. Slightly pink inside and sweet to boot. I've had worse.
Into the municipal forest behind the farm, we are now on our own hunt for chanterelles, or a hunt to make Meg some money. She knows a chef in town that she can sell them to. I don't mind, I would rather be in the woods then out in the field most times. A few pounds of mushrooms are found, but they seem past their prime. I finally eat a little, and find it barely has flavor at this point. Disappointing but I am willing to give them another shot.
A small seeding project in the greenhouse is to conclude our night. I learn their secret formula for seed starting media. One bag of top soil, to three scoops of vermiculite. Add water and stir. Some chard, kale and cauliflower are being started. I wonder if Meg added it to the Farm Notes.
I head to the bathroom. Oh my god, my urine is reddish orange colored! This would have alarmed me if I did not overhear a conversation a few days back about beets making your piss turn colors. No need to call the doctor.
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