I am skipping the rest of the week because I have another project with a deadline, but I have come to help harvest. We don't even start until 10, daylight savings is over. Or has it just begun? Either way this later start time is agreeable to my sleep schedule. I am right on time.
Evan and Nicole pull in right behind me. We all head to the kitchen where we find Fred washing the milk pale. This week there will be no Cathy, there will be no church ladies, without agreeing upon it we have brought items for a pot luck lunch. I have Swedish meatballs that are well past their prime which I have pilfered from my mother's freezer, frost burn and all. Nicole has made butternut squash and chickpea salad. It has a special dressing that is quite delicious I find out later. I also find out later that Mary, the one true vegetarian in the group has made lentil stew. Kristen has made blue corn bread to go with Kristen's chili, when directed I add raisins into the crock.
Kristen goes whipping by on the club car out towards orchard field with Jack sitting shotgun. I am the only one to notice, but I make it known, and so we all head out to meet them.
It's election day, and there is little doubt that anyone on the farm is even interested in Mitt Romney. Political talk is always kept short, we all know it's not worth delving into. An agreeable argument is no argument at all. I mention that I have seen a Romney/Ryan lawn sign that had a black spray paint skull and cross bones on it. I kind of know who did it, the sign was in his parents yard. Jack says that Mitt scares him, and that is it. We go right back to cutting salad greens. Jack is not known to be a talker, at this point neither am I.
The sun has graced us with it's presence on this fine day, yet I find it hard to fill lugs like I was a few weeks ago. My knees are bothering me today, all the crouching is hard on them. Picking salad greens in the fetal position does keep your vitals warm.
Mary votes for the green party, and is unsure of her decision. I say she has done the right thing.
Evan and Nicole pull in right behind me. We all head to the kitchen where we find Fred washing the milk pale. This week there will be no Cathy, there will be no church ladies, without agreeing upon it we have brought items for a pot luck lunch. I have Swedish meatballs that are well past their prime which I have pilfered from my mother's freezer, frost burn and all. Nicole has made butternut squash and chickpea salad. It has a special dressing that is quite delicious I find out later. I also find out later that Mary, the one true vegetarian in the group has made lentil stew. Kristen has made blue corn bread to go with Kristen's chili, when directed I add raisins into the crock.
Kristen goes whipping by on the club car out towards orchard field with Jack sitting shotgun. I am the only one to notice, but I make it known, and so we all head out to meet them.
It's election day, and there is little doubt that anyone on the farm is even interested in Mitt Romney. Political talk is always kept short, we all know it's not worth delving into. An agreeable argument is no argument at all. I mention that I have seen a Romney/Ryan lawn sign that had a black spray paint skull and cross bones on it. I kind of know who did it, the sign was in his parents yard. Jack says that Mitt scares him, and that is it. We go right back to cutting salad greens. Jack is not known to be a talker, at this point neither am I.
The sun has graced us with it's presence on this fine day, yet I find it hard to fill lugs like I was a few weeks ago. My knees are bothering me today, all the crouching is hard on them. Picking salad greens in the fetal position does keep your vitals warm.
I am sent down to the barn to work with Gene, on my way down I stick the meatballs in the outdoor over which is heated to about 450 degrees F. Gene packs bags upon bags with the greens we have sent down. I don't think she weighs each one but a quarter of a pound goes in the plastic bag. I always think of a burger weighing a quarter lb. when compared to how many greens go in the bag it is laughable; not that much meat, but a healthy serving of greens. I am put on root crop washing duty. I mistake turnip greens from undersized daikon radish, which I end up washing a little later when Kristen walks them in from across the street. I am not aware at first that the club car has broken down and is derelict on the hill side. Kristen is the only other one who knows about my meat balls and she is stuck in the barn with me. Time flies when you go into a monotonous task like washing radish, next thing I know an hour and forty five minutes have passed by the time I finish my chore. I escape as soon as I can to check on my offering by the time I get there they have become a little crispy. Acceptable in taste considering how long they were in the freezer and in the oven.
Mary votes for the green party, and is unsure of her decision. I say she has done the right thing.
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