Breaking Dawn

Here, right in my neighborhood is the states largest Dawn Redwood. And perhaps the largest in the entire region. Metasequoia glyptostroboides is the last survivor of its genus. Fossil records show that three other species existed in the Mesozoic but went the way of the dinosaur. Once the most common sequoia in North America, and common throughout the Northern Temperate Zone. Cleaved off by advancing ice sheets it neared extinction.

first planted in 1966, the tree measured in at a staggering 103'6'' in 2009

I wish this could have been published earlier so that as intended it could ride on the coattails of the twilight series "Breaking Dawn". If you came here expecting to read about witches and warlocks, or team prepubescent stalker crush, you have been bamboozled. If you stick around you might get to learn about a real long lost race, that time forgot in the murky nether-realms of China.

1944; Deep within the heart of the continent, in the south west corner of China, Zhan Wang a Chinese forestry official discovered this mystical unidentified tree on the outskirts of the small town of Madaoxi (磨刀溪).  

A conifer that lost it's leaves in winter, a deciduous redwood, what an unusual and sublime combination Zahn thought. In those early days he spent much time with the trees, the largest in particular. He felt a strong connection to the tree, as if it were calling to him. The tree appeared to be long lived and with vigorous growth. Zahn soon fell in love with the tree goddess known now as the Dawn Redwood. Zhan reported it to his superiors, as you do in communist China, but he never got the chance to extol his love. When, for reasons believed to be unrelated to the first living metasequoia, world war two broke out.

Poachers, treasure hunters, soldiers of fortune, soon came from America posing as Harvard botanists and slipped into China behind the red guard. They stole the seed of the mighty tree and brought it back for greedy Uncle Sam. A Cause for war?  I would say so. Specimens were then shipped to arboreta worldwide for extensive testing. Professor Hu soon discovered that the Dawn Redwood was a living fossil, he connected it to it's ancestral past and its taxonomy.


Some say Zahn Wang's love was the source of the tree goddess' power, and he took it to his grave. The knowledge was lost with him. The tree goddess now spread so thin could not maintain her earthly form and hallowed the forests of the Szechuan Province as she mourns her long lost love.




Okay, some of that was fictionalized, but I bet you can see that. The Metasequoi really is an interesting and beautiful tree.

Seasons Never-Ending

Although my days at the farm continue on in the spring of 2013, this is the end of my farm journal. With the holidays drawing in; nearly all seeding, transplanting, harvesting, and weeding have come to an end. The farm has a short season of rest. Cows still need milked, and chickens tended, but work for interns is minimal and they are sent home. You might imagine the farmer warming his bones by the fireside enjoying the year's work and looking forward to the bounty of the next.

Click here to go to the first "farm journal" post

Organic farming is hard work, you get very up close and personal with the land. Managing such a variety of crops takes planning and persistence. I set out each morning knowing that I would have a task to accomplish followed by another that would take concentration and manual powers. I would be outside in all sorts of weather, and at the end of the day I would be dead tired. Producing food takes lots of energy which we take for granted when it is exchanged for money instead of stewardship of the land. My hat is off to the Organic Farmer.

I returned to help raise a barn, and joined in on the work share crew. I simply could not resist taking home the farm fresh produce. Things were as they are on a farm, people came together and put their hands, seeds, and time into the soil.  Plants and animals grew while the sun rose higher. Each day a new commitment to the life that we had created. We shared in the work, and we shared in the spoils. The cycle goes; the days grew cold and life slowed. It's coming back around again to test us and nourish our body and soul.

Trickle Down Farmonmics

Today; a little mid afternoon barn mucking. I knew what I was getting into - for the most part - informed by a text message that I receive from Fred. Yeah we were going to be shoveling shit, and this shit's heavy.

For some reason at the entrance of the barn a sloppy mess of water and cow poop have been piling up. It is the kind of thick sludge that might swallow your shoe. I have the official mucking boots on. The window of the hardware store in Natrona Heights has an advertisement for them. We traveled out there earlier for general hardware type things, and a few black plastic corrugated pipes with drainage holes in them. The idea is to "french" drain the area down the hill making it much safer and nicer. There is still no way to control where the cow makes her business. In the truck under the visor I find an Iron and Wine CD, I tell Fred that I am a big fan and I pop it in. This must have been their most mellow album, forget the name now, Our Endless Numbered Days or maybe it was The Shepherd's Dog. I doubt Fred was feeling it, this is Kristen's CD for certain.

At the purple barn Fred is going to grab the Red Tractor so we can fill the bucket. I take the truck up the hill to grab a shovel and open the gate to the stock yard so the tractor can be pulled in. When I get to the Gate Ella (the cow) come waltzing up to me. I don't know what she expects I have never fed the beast. The gate, once open leads down a corridor of sorts. With Ella in this corridor Fred will not be able to drive through. I hurry down the the barn to grab her harness, I have only strapped this thing on once or twice, and I am unsure of the correct fit. No sooner than I get the harness situated Fred is there with the tractor. I have the gate out and I am standing there with the cow. Fred stops.

"The harness is on incorrectly."
"I had a feeling but was not sure exactly."

I start readjusting it. Seems it will be easier to take the whole thing off and retry.

"Great now she's loose in the pasture." Fred says as he drives away.

I have Ella in a headlock and then I slip the harness on her head with little problem. It would have been difficult to recapture her in the open field. Once you have the cow on a leash she follows with little resistance. Sometimes she even runs out ahead of you, it is good to get out of her way. In some respects it feels like walking a really really big dog. 
 

Live and Let Die

Four roosters will meet their end today. It is uneconomical to feed them through the winter, besides the farm really only needs one rooster for the small amount of hens. They call them roosters for a reason, they lead the hens to a roost! A place to sleep is all. Roosters also crow at anything that might threaten the flock, sometimes will even fight off a threat. Fred has supplied a reference book which he himself uses to refresh his memory and even pick up a new procedure for the processing of chickens. The book titled something like "country living" suggested that the bird is flipped upside-down in a cone, such as a gallon jug with the top and bottom cut off, in our case a jug of what was vinegar. This is pretty standard practice, and commercially made metal cones are popular for this purpose, but are unnecessary especially for the low amount of birds we will be processing today. Once the bird is upside down, it says, hold open the birds beak and pierce the roof of it's mouth with an ice pick. I mention that this is quite a graphic description, Fred agrees but intends to use the method. Once the brain has been pierced you are to immediately proceed with cutting off the chickens head. After a sufficient amount of blood has drained you are to dunk the chicken in hot water at a temperature of 140 degrees Fahrenheit. This helps to loosen the feathers, in our case we will be hand plucking.

It will be my job to dunk and rip the feathers off of the birds. I haven't been too personal with the birds, their free range status keeps them moving. I am not really watching the deaths as Fred dolls them out I am just getting ready to do the plucking as fast as possible. In some areas the feathers come off very easily. The wing and tail feathers need a sharp shuck but come out cleanly, the tip of the wing can be cut off to ease the process. We do two birds this way, then Fred decides we might as well just skin the last two, I am o.k. with this. Skinning them means that the skin will be removed with all the feathers on it. Clip off the feet and the wing tips, make an incision in the birds breast below the neck and start pulling.

The time comes for the fourth and final bird. Fred offers me the chance to finish the job. It is not my cup of tea to do this sort of thing but it had been a long time coming, I should take advantage of this opportunity. It is important to show reverence to the bird who's life you are about to take. Once the bird was in the cone flipped upside-down they all tend to calm down. Too much blood to the brain? I have its head in my hand and the ice pick in the other. I want to make this quick. Once I decide to do it I go all in. Slipping the prong through the birds mouth and between the eyes a pop into the brain. I can see the life immediately leave from the birds beady black eyes. Yet it thrashes in a last ditch effort, muscle spasm from oxygen derivation are unsettling. I take the shears directly after and attempt to decapitate the bird at the base of its skull. A sharp knife finishes the job.

Time to take the guts out! Procedure is to cut a keyhole around the butt-hole. Fred in a civilized manner calls it the vent. Then one must stick his hand in the bird to release connective tissue from the walls of the rib cage freeing the organs. This I find to be more difficult than the execution. The gross factor is raised a few bars. In any case I end up cleaning two of the birds in the basement sink. Running water is a necessity for keeping the process sterilized. afterwards they are put in zip-lock bags for storage in the freezer.

This has me thinking that all animals, including us, are just meat wrapped around vital organs. I like how the Native Americans did it, using all parts of the animal. How often do you eat a chicken heart. I bet it tastes alright.

Feeling the Burn

Evelyn eats two eggs at breakfast. What an animal. she must weigh 30 lbs., those eggs are high in nutrients. The chickens have been enjoying the rotten produce from the walk in cooler that was not distributed. I enjoy my tea.

The first project in store for me today is harvesting arugula from the high-tunnel. Again with the heartburn, it is faint but registers. I think it is about time I get to the bottom of this.

Kristen eventually joined me and we worked together for the rest of the day gathering and packaging produce for some orders that came in just last night.

Living Roof

It has become a novel idea to have a living roof, it used to be a best practice. New models of living roofs utilize plastic films and extensive drainage systems, often three layers of plastic. They rely on large scale manufacturing, huge supply lines, and fossil fuels. Then have the audacity to call themselves "green" or "eco". I don't believe I have seen anywhere at any time someone with the gall to question this product. What exactly makes this designed plastic use a sustainable and ecologically sound decision? Is it the need for retail suppliers and instillation crews to make a profit? Is a plastic mat truly an important feature to keep roofs from becoming bogs? Is this retrofit less of a solution and more of a money making scheme? Aren't our roofs waterproofed to begin with?

Shall we investigate how water is shunted from a natural  system? I would say with the correct slope and a bit of clay held together with the root mass from a polyculture of grass will.

I am all for more plants, plants everywhere on everything, but I can't stand for a system that has built in obsolescence and a lifespan of less than 30 years. Plants live and die, but are never wasted and never truly gone.

Concept art for new architecture is laden with trees growing on terraces and vines growing the entire height.

Is it a verdant need for plastic?

You could ask these three fellows how much plastic went into their green roof. I bet you would get the stink eye.  Ask if it leaks, I dare you.

The cumulative heat gain in cities from massive black tar, metal, concrete roof is a factor in the phenomenon known as a heat island. Yes green roofs can drastically curb the retained heat as well as insulate buildings in both summer and winter. Because I am only speculating here I can't say when if ever they become cost effective. If they are simply going to fail then I suspect not. Sustainable means forever, having created enough energy to have created and maintained it's self.

How do I envision a green roof? The fellow's roof in the picture above is most likely made of sod that they cut out in chunks from the prairie. It is suspended on a wood lath that is roughly milled. This is not a bad starting point. The root mat made from such tightly growing grasses and the years it took to create it include layers of thatch which repel water. Why does any roof fail? Water seeps through joints that were not properly sealed or have deteriorated. If your roof actually lives then it should be able to repair its self.

so perhaps a green roof needs to start on the ground.

Clearing out the Pipes

Kristen sends me a text, we won't be starting until some time after twelve noon due to the snow on the ground. If the snow doesn't melt we won't be harvesting any field greens. When field greens get a little frost on them over night most survive just fine. When they thaw out their vitals come flowing back into their veins, just don't harvest them before they thaw or the foliage will be without heft. I don't know if part of me thought that we were not getting to work today but I fiddled around the house and half prepared to leave for the farm. Right about midday Kristen sends me the word, "it's on". The snow had melted. "I'm on my way." was my reply, but there were a few more things I needed to gather before leaving. Brought some buckeyes (chocolate covered peanut butter sugar butter balls), and some lefse (Norwegian potato "tortillas"). It is always nice to share some food with people at the farm because they live and breathe it. Have to grab my boots, bag, toiletries. It is a task to move back and forth each week, but it is better than commuting again and again.

I have had a poor lunch in my rush to leave. I even forgot an apple just sitting on the counter I had intended to eat. Damn. I try and enjoy the 23 mile drive to the farm.

Probably 1:30 by the time I get out to the greenhouse with Kristen, I snagged some sunflower seeds and raisins from the pantry quickly before I went out. Fred and Kristen are standing in the animal paddock. We will all be snipping micro greens in the greenhouse. Either cabbage or radishes, and sunflowers have been sprouted in trays no further than two true leaves but preferably only the cotiledons or "seed leaves". They are planted very close together so we grab handfuls and snip off the roots. Plenty of dirt comes along with it but we are not to worry about this now. There were loads of trays ready to be harvested and this is the last day for winter CSA harvest. We clear the place out.

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Colin cleanse - at your own risk
a tablespoon or two of salt to one quart of water. If you have a back-up in the system this is supposed to blow it all out. Don't have plans for the day, or the next to be safe.
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Kristen has to leave after the micro greens. Fred and I are off to collect tatsoi.

I have the pleasure of getting all the turnips up on hilltop by myself while Fred sits in the tree stand hoping to kill his first deer. There is plenty of talk about bringing their numbers down because the damage they have done on the crops is beyond forgivable. I mention that it would be good practice for me to see and participate in the cleaning of the deer, but I may want to take my offer back. I have never field dressed a deer before and in the past slicing up animals never was my taste. One poor frog in high school was more than I could bare. Part of me was hoping Fred would miss. I collected 29 bunches of turnips. It has been getting dark around 5:30 and I didn't get to the radishes fast enough. I decide to make one bunch of them for Gene down in the barn because I know she will want them. Just as I am about to collect the final bunches, suddenly boom a gunshot clear and loud comes over the hilltop to where I am standing. Fred has fired, a deer has wandered into his field. And then BOOM, another shot a good ten seconds later. BOOM, one more. I work quickly to finish my harvesting I am sure there is a deer ready to be processed across the street.

In my hurry to drop things off at the barn I back the truck up into this rusty old contraption of Fred's. It's his peanut butter bucket cleaning station, two old metal shelving units tied together in an "A". I do minor damage. I take my turnips into the barn where I find Gene still working. I decide that it is more important that I help her with the processing of produce than to go hunting for Fred.

After all the work is done and I have returned to the house I find out that Fred has missed. Whew.

Show-up and tear it up

I roll out before 9 to get some watering done in the high tunnels. As I suspected, and Kristen confirms, they have not been watered in some time. The plants are paying a price for my absence. I find that the four way valve is on the floor and only one hose is connected to the spigot. One of the valves has busted rendering the entire contraption worthless. I get the greenhouse done and Fabio, then return to change out the hose for the other two tunnels where I find that the hose will not come off the four spigot split. I even use a wrench but the part spins not the coupling. When I bring it up to Kristen she says that Fred will fix it later and I should get to harvesting.

I ran out the door this morning without eating breakfast. So I return quickly to eat the last few pancakes that Fred Made for his guests, and some pizza from the night before. I don't usually eat pizza for breakfast and I pay the price with indigestion for the rest of the day. I took a Tums but it didn't seem to help. Every time I would bend over the contents of my stomach would slosh around, and I bent over a lot. You see that is where the crops are at.

No surprise that I will be cutting tatsoi for my first crop. I settle in for the long haul, Kristen desires two lugs full, searching out big plants that will fill my basket quickly. It feels like an hour has past when I finally fill my first basket, at the same time I realize that some four other volunteers have been in the tatsoi too and have collected a lug between them. I am very pleased to be done toiling in a crouched position. I collect a few radishes to help finish off another project.

I hop on the back of the truck with the work share kids as we drop off the goods just harvested and head to the hill top. There I pick a lug of turnips right up until the time that my brother and cousin arrive, both of them in town for Thanksgiving. It is nearly 11:30 by this time and nearly all the harvesting has finished. Kristen gives us the glamorous job of pulling up plastic. One of the worst and dirtiest jobs on the farm. Keeping it in perspective it never gets that bad. My cousin gets three rows done in the time it takes my brother and I to get one. Not all rows are created equal. I can tell this is not the farm type of job they were expecting. Luckily we all get to shuck and plant garlic until lunch!


Kristen has put together a lunch that would feed a small army, and I suppose we are. There are 24 lbs. of ground beef somewhere around here and Kristen has made a few lbs. of them into sloppy joe. Artisan bread made in the wood fired oven by a baker who wishes to rent the oven next year. There is a delicious salad and a dressing to die for, that supposedly is %50 brown sugar. A root vegetable bowl, with turnips, radish, potatoes, and carrots. To top that all off a chocolate banana bread.

Gene tells me of the small amount of work to be done in the barn. I reckon that my brother, cousin, and I can handle it lickity split. I tell Kristen my plan and she suggests that after that we finish the row of garlic we were planting. Sounds like a plan.

Hungry Hungry...

I would have turned up sooner but my cousin is in town for the holiday (thanksgiving) and we had some quality hang out time before other family begins showing up. I drag my feet after getting fully ready to go early in the morning. I even call the farm to make sure someone is home. It is hard for Kristen or Fred to get away. Might be close to 2 o'clock when I finally make it out and Fred is there doing something in the kitchen. We spend my first hour cleaning out his garage. There is a lug full of radish that we sort for good ones and compost the rest. then the recycling is sorted and tools gathered for our first real project of the day.

The plan is to work on the heritage seed garden, placing steaks for the new garden sections and marking those off.  Fred wants to plant the garlic that he brought home from Italy in the seed garden so that it doesn't get harvested and eaten. The numbers can be multiplied by this vegetative reproduction method. Each head has an average of six cloves and each of those when planted will turn into their own plant producing six more (theoretically). 

I imagine a farm concept where you start with only one clove of garlic.

Luckily I am not bothered by heights because I am chosen to climb the ladder and cut the rope that is holding the sun shade on top of the greenhouse. Fred sends me up with his multi-tool the blade out. He doesn't have time for anything slower. There is a large field behind the greenhouses where we fold the shade cloth. It is then stuck in the greenhouse ,"that will never again be used for chickens.". Fred drives in the steaks while I drag out a large sign printed on a thick plastic tarp. The back side is black and is faced towards the sun. The sign will "solarize" the spot it is lying on, snuffing out all the weeds that germinate and stopping any more from doing so. I never find out exactly what is on the sign, but this is a creative reuse for something that was surely going to the landfill after one use. A new seed garden will be started in-between the next two greenhouses.

Fred is hungry -- too hungry to continue working without a break. So we head inside where he puts together a PB&J. Kristen is back from wherever she was. The farm is having house guests tonight and they are on their way. Kristen says they were about two hours away at 2:30 and it is 4:30 now. They should be pulling in any minute, and sure enough before Fred can finish his sandwich they do. Fred assumes because the guests have arrived that he will have to entertain them. Kristen assures him that it will be fine and that we should try and finish one last project before nightfall.

Off across the street the deer have been desiccating, dismantling, disregarding, disgracing the broccoli. I remember planting these poor plants, they never had a chance. We are to remove the row covers which have been trampled and torn up by deer. This upsets Fred, the row covers are very expensive. So was the loss of broccoli. Now that the growing season is over there is no reason for the covers to be out there and what can be salvaged will be used next year. We set out uncovering the edges buried in soil and unfurling the cloth. Fred decides he can remove the rest on his own, so he lends me a headlamp to collect what broccoli I can find. It is a measly amount, the deer don't leave much behind. These roving packs are veracious eaters and once they get a taste of the good stuff they never let it go. 

Cryer Baby

Evelyn did make some noise last night. I can't tell for sure but she and I must be on the same sleep schedule, because I think I was awake before she started to fuss. Then with some reassurance we both doze off again.

It was in the morning when Fred started making noises that I knew sleep was nearing an end, I can't imagine how he entertains the baby for so long with noises and random song, things ejected from a constant stream of unconscious verbalization. Kristen has already milked the cow and is preparing to head to the barn to finish packing things up for CSA and some nice sized orders that came in. First I get to put together 11 lbs. of garlic. I count out 100 heads, cutting off the neck and roots of each. They weigh in at 13 lbs. when all said and done. Then Kristen needs five more lbs. of arugula which I am sent to cut. She only wants the young leafs, which will make the job go a little slower. I fill a black lug over thee quarters full. When I get fed up with the lack of small fare, I walk it down to the barn. It weighs in at seven lbs. and I am relieved. At this point there is not much left to do. Fred and Kristen are headed into the city for the rest of the day. They are giving a speech at Chatham University about ethics and farm community supported agriculture.

The Fatted Calf

I feel like I did at the begging of the summer, an empty pit inside of me. I fear that I am as cold as the weather. I think to myself don't take it out on these nice people. Over the past few months, and that is what it takes for me, the group has become more than the strangers showing up each week. More than that I think they understand my temperament. Extroverts can be offended by introverts easily, there is no purity on either side. I find myself in front of the outdoor oven, fire up and hot. At this point I can't figure out why Fred is stoking the thing. I just enjoy myself for a good five minutes before Fred and Evan step out to check on the flame and start their day. I am to cut salad greens in Orchard field. This I had assumed, somehow while I was standing there Jen, Jack and Kristen had ridden over. Fred and Evan will be pulling out drip line or plastic, I do not envy this job, but I am getting sick of cutting greens.

Snip, snip, snip, snip, snip and carelessly I cut the tip off my glove. Cold fingers is the main discomfort, maybe it distracts from the pain in my knees which are huddled close to my chest. I think of how I saw the ducks sitting this morning and will see Maggie sitting the same way later, legs tucked under the body to keep them warm. Crouching farmer hidden tatsoi. I long for the feeling of being completely alone out here. I breathe deeply and am not subject to my perception of the presence of human intellect. If I am not prepared to speak no one will ask me to. The birds enjoy my deliberate ground dwelling life as it is, and so they sing me a song.

I had yet to harvest a turnip, but I had seen them maturing. The first one I pulled today was bigger than a softball. A family of four could make a meal of it in some desperate times. I think it was split at least a little, otherwise the flesh must be thick and crunchy. Again I am left feeling dismantled by the whole picking experience. A drab and boorish task cloaked in gray. There is some satisfaction in filling up a lug with this root, dipped in dirt.
 

I am thankful for getting a job as mindless as spraying off the root crops. Dirt on, dirt off. Again, some faint satisfaction from seeing a brown radish turn white. It is addicting like a lotto scratch off ticket.

Today we eat Lucy stew. Finally the the fattened calf has been slaughtered. No more will she bray and disturb the wilderness so needlessly. My, she tastes good. We could be whacking groundhogs with a baseball bat and cooking them up for stew instead. I prefer this.

I get to wash root crops again after lunch, all by myself. Part of the task occupies the mind with keeping track of numbers. It's good to know that we have gathered enough for everyone.

Chris and his wife Kaitlyn have returned this evening to make pizza. This is why the oven was hot today. Chris gets some satisfaction of his own in the process of making pizza. He has brought dough, even though Fred has some in the freezer that he would like to use.

Greensleeves

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.

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.

Organzed Chaos

Halloween is perfectly neglected on the farm. I suspect there is little time for decorations or costumes. I get a bowl of oatmeal, and more cocoa. I do mention that my judge costume, a powdered wig and a graduation gown with a wooden mallet/gavel, was a great success last weekend. Mary is back this morning, she usually is seeding things in the greenhouse and today is no different. Micro-greens are being grown out in mass, it takes quite a bit of them to make an impact. I am surprised to find that sunflower sprouts are on the menu. I am sent to the barn to clean out the cooler, to organize things to be donated to a women's shelter, and pull veggies that are destine for the compost pile. I am to then replace them with a shipment of winter squash and potatoes that came in around 1:00 a.m. and were left outside. Not a bad task to start out with, only problem is that everything has been moved to the lower level of the barn because of a wedding reception that was held upstairs last weekend. I do have to retrieve a few things -like the dolly-  but all in all organizing is right in my wheel-house. 

 While I am off I take a walk over to the pond to collect a few cattails. I plan on introducing bulrush to the pond down the hill from me that is barren of aquatic plants. Bulrush has been called the supermarket of wild edibles. All parts are edible, most notably the fresh stalks in spring.

I need to collect the plastic that I pulled yesterday, all I really want to do it put it in a pile for easy pick-up. This is a quick task that takes me on a little walk out over the fields. The rain persists today. I am tempted to collect more basil seeds but hope that in the future they are dry. When I return to the house I tell Kristen my plans for the strawberry plants she has been given by a CSA member. A total of five buckets. It is about time they go in the ground, a few have died and the water they sit in is stagnant and smells like a swamp. I propose that they be planted on the outer edge of Fabio, and Kristen adds that we plant them under the fruit trees in front of the house, inspired by my food forest pitch no doubt.

planting goes well, I recon that this spot should be good for the plants and has the added benefit of giving reason to travel down this path, the heritage garden on the opposite side. We cover the plants with straw for a little protection.

I head home early this day around 1:00, but not before Kristen allows me to take a healthy group of live sorrel, which I will use to replace all the pachysandra I am pulling out around my house. Sorrel is a nice herb that is edible, recommended in stews and salads, literature says that it tastes like pineapple or wild strawberries, but be careful too much sorrel can be poisonous. Oxillic acid contained in the leaves is safe in small amounts.

how will things ever get better if people are not allowed to keep what they earn?

Mud Pies

I am in time to collect lugs from the barn before the volunteers arrive for our first winter CSA harvest. It is miserably cold and wet. I begin picking tatsoi with Evan. It is slow going compared to the spicy greens and arugula that Nicole and Mary are harvesting. As we go on my fingers become more and more numb, despite my fingers losing much of their power and ease of movement it is not painful. Kristen has assumed some of Meg's usual responsibility, she comes by on the golf-cart and picks up the harvested produce. She sends Even and I over to pick parsley. Bunches of parsley are wrapped together with rubber bands which becomes increasingly difficult with such cold fingers. The rest of me is not really cold, which helps, next week I should have appropriate rubber gloves. Only 26 bunches or so to be gathered takes us little time, Kristen arrives again as we finish; perfect timing. We crowd the club car as it is raining steadily.

To hill top where the wind is brisk and temperatures seem colder. We are picking cilantro from the tiny mounds growing close to the ground for warmth and because they have been clipped so many times by our scissors and the gnashing teeth of deer. Again the number of bundles that we have to collect is far less than summer CSA. I only have 12 to make, but my fingers will not move, they do not have the power to stretch the rubber band and hold the cilantro. I am dropping leaves here and there and barely holding them together. I actually have to use leverage from my leg to get the bands on. Kristen finishes a few ahead of me and takes some of Even's recounted bands. Then some of mine. Incredibly we are done harvesting all before noon.

Evan and I work in the greenhouse weeding and then tying up the raspberries. I am happy to find that Kristen wants to cultivate raspberries throughout Fabio, I am sure they will readily take over. I don't know how this fits into a long term plan, it just seems to me that raspberries will do just fine outside. Evan tells me that his banana plant is doing quite well, and that he will eventually get some fruit. It is not long before we head in for lunch.

Cathy, Kristen's mom is in town helping out in Fred's absence. We are lucky to have her back, people were not that impressed with the church ladies lunches, or at least they can not compare with Cathy's. She has made shepherd's pie in a new crock pot, the biggest one they could buy. There is tapioca with raspberries for dessert. I bring in my drawing from landscape drawing class to show Kristen and finally propose that I design her a food forest. I think she is impressed by the drawing and my open ended pitch. Something for her to think about. As usual after lunch everyone leaves, taking their work share home after 4 hours work. Good deal.

Kristen makes me a list of three major things for me to work on this afternoon.

    1. Pull plastic out of the corn, tomatillos, or eggplants
    2. Plant spinach and fennel in empty spaces around the greenhouses
    3. Strip some more garlic for planting

The cold wet day continues as I head out by myself, I figure starting with pulling plastic and getting it out of the way will be the correct plan of action. I start in a row of corn, notorious for begin a pain. This row has been cut down, with what I am not sure, just little stumps remain. It does not take long for my boots and gloves to become caked in mud. It is comical how much will actually stick to my feet. Mud mixed with straw reminds me of the recipe used to make mud bricks or cob. I buck like Ella at the milk bucket when she has had enough, trying to release my mud weight. Mud is flung up to ten feet. I find that walking through the weeds takes it off quite well. I am impressed at the boots that I am wearing, never have I experienced a leak with this pair (Crater Ridge). My last pair did blow out and soaked up water readily. I find the shortest rows in the tomatillos and pull the plastic from two of them.

The rain increases and wanes, I think it is time to head into the relative comfort of the poly tunnels. I notice that much of the greenhouse is drying out. There are less people around to do this job and it is less important, but there are apple tree cuttings, the citrus that I brought, figs, blackberries, herbs, and more that should be looked after. After a good soaking I take a tray of fennel, a tray of lettuce and one of spinach. It joys me to not have someone telling me how far apart to plant the seedlings. I surely have mentioned that high density planting makes the most sense to me. There are plenty of considerations when planting. Some things like head lettuce will be harvested, and if a plant is already reaching maturity planting underneath it won't effect its growth. This may slow down the seedling planted underneath, but once the mature plant is harvested the one underneath will have its day in the sun. Spacing the plants too far apart leaves room for weeds to move in, and dirt that is left un-shadded is likely to dry out quicker. Plants in nature grow on top of each other and do quite well. I understand we are growing for size and eliminating competition is a practical idea, but a little healthy competition is what makes a plant work harder to become bigger and stronger. Think of plants like a city skyline. The buildings and plants all reach up, hold their footprint and capture their share of sun. Eventually the silhouette changes as older buildings are torn down and new high-rises take their place.   

Kristen and her father are in the barn packing up produce, lots of greens. There will be peppers in the shares, but they were harvested in the weeks prior. Shares will also include garlic, cilantro, a bag of potatoes not grown on the farm, but organic all the same, and some mint or rosemary. The lugs are filled up in the barn where I am peeling garlic. The temperature is so that the cooler is turned off and the produce is left out in the open with no adverse effects. I would imagine that the cooler might even be used to keep the frost off the goods as the winter wears on.

Dinner is breakfast, pancakes, eggs, bacon, pure maple syrup and hot cocoa that Kristen's father has made. I mix the powder in some hot water from the tea kettle, it is surprisingly delicious. There is powdered milk in it and a whole bunch of other spices, cinnamon and allspice almost I'm certain of it. During dinner Fred is reached on Kristen's i-phone in a Skype session. It is 1:00 in Italy only a five hour difference. Fred's flight has been cancelled and he is getting home sick. What a poor guy stuck in Europe for an extra day or two (sarcastically). No real information is gained from the conversation as baby talk ensues as Evelyn is introduced to intercontinental video calls.

A Little Green

It's the last week of Summer CSA, the crops are falling off and the farm is transitioning to prepare for next year.

I got to bed early enough, but forgot that there would not be a flurry of activity in the kitchen to wake me up in the morning, and set no alarm. It was okay I got up by 7:30 and out by 8. Because I had the kitchen to myself I finally got to make some oatmeal in the orange iron pot. I added raisins and pumpkin seeds, and a healthy helping of raw sugar. It was great and set me off right. It has become my duty to get the lugs and fill a few for Gene back down in the barn to wash and bag so she has something to do when she first arrives. Spicy greens and arugula. I pick 5 black basket lugs. This is a lot more than I have ever picked by myself.

I join the rest of the crew picking tomatillos. I know their names by now. There is Jack, Abby, Even and Nicole, Mary of course, and Brit. I get to talking to Brit about nothing I am sure, and shortly there after she is whisked away to the barn to help Gene. There are not many tomatillos to harvest before the group is set upon cabbage, but I am to pick another lug of arugula. By the time I finish that they are on the homestretch of cabbage gathering. Kristen rolls in on the Custom and starts talking about chives while Fred is talking about leeks, I am the only one who knows where the chives are so I volunteer to take that job. 

 

It is another solo job for the day. I can relish the moments while I am free to hear myself think, not surrounded by gossip about restaurants in the area or food that the volunteers are eating at home. As I collect bundles of chives, carefully keeping the bottoms of the bunches even and wrapping them in rubber bands, Lucy won't stop her incessant bleating. Stupid cow, she should have behaved better, because it's off to the slaughter house soon, and I won't miss her.

I run into Kristen now on the golf cart, I give her my chives and she asks me to pick three more lugs of spicy greens. They want to give the CSA members a bag of each.

Whilst I was doing that the volunteers had finished picking the leeks, and were on to sweet potatoes. When I walked my lugs over to them they had just finished that too. Fred was directing them to the Sun chokes, Jerusalem artichokes, or fartichokes. Inulin in the tubers gives you the worst case of gas, so I hear. I have not eaten any. I grab a shovel and start prying them up. They are purple! There really isn't that big of a patch, these are collected to supplement the small harvest of sweet potatoes. I will use my share so that I can start my own patch at home. Just stick them in the ground, like a potato.

Right before lunch we pull off all the corn still left on the stalks and place it on a row of plastic. The corn is to be fed to the chickens this winter, while it lasts. As I go through I found a very nice ear, and I shuck it and take a bite. What a disappointment, it has lost all its flavor and is chewy. Guess it really is bird food.

At lunch Fred tells us all that when Kristen makes butter with Ella's milk, it is so rich in fat that all she has to do is skim off the cream and pour it in a bowl then sprinkle salt on top of that to make butter. Everyone is amazed at Ella's rich milk.

After lunch I am sent to hilltop to collect dill and cilantro. The weather has become radiant and warm. I am enjoying it so much that I am getting distracted by the fall foliage and warm rays. I have had my fill of down on my hands and knees. Two hours in Kristen calls me and asks how far along I am because if I could have kept a one bunch a minute pace I should have had plenty by then. I count what I have about 35 bunches of each and she wants 50. I get a third of the bunches made in a quarter of the time after this point.

In the barn I am packing up produce with Fred, an uncommon sight. Surprisingly he knows how to handle the chores in this department. Mainly we are moving lugs full of produce from the barn downstairs to the upstairs with the Custom. This is always the last chore before locking up the barn and calling it quits.

Shallow Cut

I awoke to a beautiful light outside my window and a promising new day. This did not last. In fact my fingers have not yet thawed and my typing is cumbersome. The computer is warm, this helps. Bridget and I have picked our last ground cherries, I hope. Bridget is headed home to the eastern side of the state on Thursday. For her this will be the last few days of work. I may stay on into the winter, which all depends on the projects that will be happening, or if I am allowed to head up my own. Some walls are breaking down between Bridget and I. Both of us do not trust new people as easily as others, and this starts our allegiance. My silence at many times this season Bridget thankfully accepted, has now given way to free flowing commentary. To let something out of my mouth means that it was not well thought out. Thinking and talking do not make a good pair.

In the afternoon we are set to planting some garlic. First I measure the rows with a roll-a-tape, a walk behind single wheeled measuring devise. I find that the rows are very close is size, decently shaped, but poorly plowed. I can't seem to find soft dirt to stick my garlic in. I don't complain too much, Bridget plunks away at them again just like my first day here I still struggle to keep up with her. We eventually plant three five gallon buckets full, a 223 foot row, plus 40-50 feet of the next.

 
We roll up drip tape, on a homemade jig that fits over the side of the Custum's bed, with a crank made out of pipe, one of Fred's inventions I presume. Drip tape is laid down at the same time as the plastic "mulch" for irrigation. This irrigation method delivers water to where plants need it the most at the crown of their roots, and discourages evaporation of overhead spraying.

Now Bridget and I close the barn taking all the lugs downstairs and into the basement to be filled one more time for the summer CSA.

A Strong Sense of Smell

I have a pocket full of basil seeds that are very potent,  it is probably considered sweet basil, but it has a faint anise smell. I had collected the seeds as the sun went down over the fields cool and empty, a small respite after a long day of the usual, and not as usual, harvest activities. The air is crisp and clear, fall is in the air. I drink it all in.

Again this morning with the fog, it hangs around longer and longer each day it seems. I have noticed this fog on my way into the river valley that is only a few short miles from here. Often I can see the water flowing around me, as I drive over the river. Now a mist that should by all rights fall to the ground, floats all around me. I am back to trimming off spicy lettuce greens. With each bunch my fingers grow colder and more numb. The fog has settled on the leaves, wet and healthy. As I cut the lettuce there is a faint smell of peanuts. I may have to do some research to find out the cause.

Fred shows up with the work share crew about an hour later, how they all came in at once is a mystery to me. They begin picking radishes. When I am in-between the two tasks I take second to check the asparagus seeds. They are close. When the berries turn red it means they are ripe.

I sit in the back of the custom with Evan and Nicole, they can't stop talking about how they are planning on getting a pig. I don't really broach in on the subject. Nicole offers me some trail mix that has candied ginger in it. I think I am beginning to grow fond of ginger here at the farm. We are headed up to hilltop to gather some lettuce first, then cilantro, and finally dill. I could smell the dill while we were working in the lettuce. There was some planted here previously, most of it lost to the lawn mower. What was not lost to the deer, a few rows down is growing well. Dill is delicate and soft, so crushing it in your hands is easy, but the smell does not overwhelm. Cilantro on the other hand is powerful and sticks with you for quite some time. The deer ate a good bit of it. I had one leaf, that was enough. It could be that cilantro this fresh retains all of its vitality evident in taste and smell. I truly think my body is not used to such richness due to a previous lack of well formed food molecules at home.

I have to take a leek. I have to take about 250 of them and spray them off with a hose. It has been quite some time since I had a leek, can't even remember cooking with them or seeing them in the store. And they smell too, it would be a good smell if there were only one of them in your soup, or however you prepare it. But I am standing over hundreds of them in the basement of the barn, and it is making me a little nauseous. This spraying job is not all that bad really, I get to wear a big yellow rubber smock to keep me dry. Trust the Gorton's fisherman.

Pepper Alley

It's a chilly and foggy day on the farm. Fall is in full swing as the temperature hovered around freezing last night. Trees are changing color, it seems, over night. Where do I find myself on a Monday morning? In the heritage seed garden, but only for a moment. The plants are looking shabby and only one thing really needs to be done, harvest a few things for seed. The problem is that by the end of the day I am in no mood to sift through sloppy tomatoes. I decide to look up these tomato varieties on the internet because all the markers have disappeared. The Heritage Seed Collective is a site in development, but the varieties are listed there. I used a search engine to find images of each. I took my time. Why go out in the cold when I can enjoy my tea? I find Meg in the kitchen, she has brought her "little" brother Mark to join in the work for the day. And a day of work it turns out to be. We start in the high tunnel weeding and pulling out a big patch of Sicilian squash. It is an interesting squash that is very long and cylindrical like a zucchini but some of the biggest ones grew to over four feet in length, some of them become curved depending on where they grow. We then do some hoeing in that same area. My heart almost stops as I slash downward with my hoe and notice a toad buried in the dirt, I miss cutting him in half by half an inch. He is a fat little fella, I have awaken him from a coma under the soil. At first he's very stunned I move the toad outside where the danger of hoes is much less. We plant lettuce in that area. As we finish Meg comes in and tells us to meet her in home field tomatoes.


When we arrive all the wooden steaks have been removed and are lying up and down the rows. It is our job to pick them up and bring them to the end of the row where the custom can be loaded. An easy enough task, but when you have to carry the steaks, awkward and heavy as they are, for about fifty yards it becomes more strenuous. This was just a warm up. Lynn wants us to pull out all the plants. Five 350 foot rows of plants, I can hardly believe it all the peppers, saladettes, and cherry tomatoes, done-finished-finito for the year all in one afternoon. I get the row of all striped German tomatoes, the largest and probably the hardiest of all tomatoes. These plants got big and tangled too. I could not keep up with anyone else, I assumed peppers would be easier for Mark so I let him have them. By the end of the row I am happy to have a little help from the other folks who have already finished their rows. I wonder if there is a noticeable difference for them between our respective rows. 

 

Just when it seems the fun is over we get to pull out all the plastic sheeting, a job that is actually never fun. Meg leaves us to do this job as she searches out an apartment for when she leaves at the end of next week. My row again seems to be a tough one to work with but Mark is having even more problems. I assume it is just a case of finding his groove with the new task, and some fatigue. This time I find a mole or vole, I can not discern which it is, under my plastic. He can not find a place to hide, so I pick it up (with gloves on) to see its beady little eyes, they are no good for seeing where to go in the daylight. I let him live even though it is policy to kill such "pests", besides there is plenty of food to go around. Bridget gets two rows done as I wrap up my one. Not all rows were created equal. As we pull out garbage bags to clean up Kristen calls us in for lunch.

It is hard for me to say how much I liked the soup that Kristen has made today without it sounding like I am blowing smoke. The soup was excellent. Kristen's homemade chicken stock makes a great base and has plenty of flavor from the get go. There are carrots, potatoes, couscous, sausage, and basil leaves. I think there could have been turnip, but I wouldn't have known. Kristen has also made biscuits, with Ella "yella" butter and I detect some corn meal in them, which are an excellent side.

Meg returns as we finish clean up of plastic and wooden spikes. We clean garlic till the end of the day. The barn is dark except for light which shines in-between each slat long cross sections of light. Each one a half inch gap between the weather beaten boards. I am told the gaps ensure that the hay or straw in the barn dries out and doesn't spontaneously combust due to high temperatures created in decomposition! Mark and Meg stay till the end of the day.




Why were all the students at Vegetable High in the gymnasium?

They were there for a pepper-ally. 

One Wild Ride

 When I first walked out to orchard field it was not raining and I didn't realize that it would, so I didn't take a rain coat. Now it's raining off and on in short bursts, it feels like last weeks harvest but it's warmer out. After harvesting a lug full of spicy salad greens, that look so cool with frilly leaves and different shades of red, I decide I need to get a rain jacket or I'd be soaked. At this point Bridget arrives with a new volunteer Ron, he has my rain jacket on, or at least the one I was wearing last week that belongs to the farm.



I walk back to the house to find that there are no more rain Jackets on the hooks, but I do find some muck boots that will be handy for the rest of the day. Then I see that the golf cart is sitting out on the driveway in the pouring rain. So I take it, there are more rain jackets in the barn. I head full speed down the hill towards a shortcut that heads over a steep embankment onto the gravel driveway. Normally to navigate the turn at the bottom of the dirt tracks one has to slow down. I attempt to slow down and like usual the breaks lock up a bit. I begin to fishtail wildly as I try to recover spinning the steering wheel back and forth gaining no traction and not even slowing down. In a split second I decide to forget about making it down the now muddy torn up tracks. I hold the steering wheel tight and sharp finally coming to a stop completely perpendicular to the tracks. Luckily I am facing towards the other end of the main drive and I am able to get the club car moving again and out into safety, for a moment. 

 

In all of the excitement and hurry, my adrenaline has spiked and my foot becomes lead. I whip around the corner again sideswiping a tree and getting splashed with water. I let up a bit to regain control. I speed down the lane to the barn, where I nearly run into Gene, dodge her and slam on the breaks skidding to a halt. The wildest ride I have had on the golf cart so far.

Lay me down in the dirt

The sunshine has returned to the hillsides of Western PA. It did take the sun a while to burn off the morning fog. I have shown up with my seed collected from the Mother Earth News Fair and a brochure from Expo East, to share with Fred and Kristen. Somehow I manage to have a light and nearly productive conversation with the two of them despite the fact that mornings are not my favorite.

Children of the corn have arrived at the farm, 3rd graders from the Waldorf School. By the time they leave I have hardly come in contact with them, thank god. I can hear them squealing all morning, it is not too obnoxious. As they harvest dried out corn stalks in the misty morning I do get the sense of something much more sinister beneath their colorful fall jackets and gap toothed grins.

I have a good little harvest in the heritage seed garden. Mainly for seed, picking overripe tomatoes and putting them in a bucket. The Sheboygan paste tomatoes were overloaded with small pear shaped fruit, many of which were fit for eating. Sheboygan is fun to say. Sheboygan.

I want to say we have finished planting seedlings almost entirely, I can say this because all the prepared fields are filled. I can not say that there are not more seedlings in the poly-tunnel, as there are plenty. What will become of them? Time will tell.

Lunch. We all pitch in making up a large feast. Meg has returned after a long break. Her car has broken down, an old volvo, and I don't think there are plans to fix it. She takes the Custom down to the barn so she can pick up some veggies for our stir-fry. Lynn makes baba ganoush, a garbanzo bean and eggplant puree that is great on many things. Bridget makes a salad and I cut up some turnip greens.

I have to put my sweatshirt back on because the sun has been blotted out by gray skies. This is expected in this region, I thought I would prefer that it was nice out, but I often find strength in the cool. I certainly did not like being cooked by the sun earlier in the season, I have even taken off my cowboy hat and sun glasses and put them aside for the last two weeks. Meg is stressed out because Fred has told her that the Tuesday volunteers have been complaining about having to work in the tall weeds. I suspect that this is Fred's way of telling her to do some work clearing them out. So we are in the turnips, which I believe I helped seed, stomping on the tall grass and ripping out some ragweed or thistle. When I finally come across a matured turnip the bulbous root is the size of a baseball. Impressive. I notice a few black streaks out of the corner of my eye. It seems that we are disturbing the field mice that are not used to human presence in this part of the field. They scurry into their dens.

Last week the girls pulled out all the tomato steaks and strings on the hilltop tomatoes and left them in the field. We collect them quickly, Bridget and I organize them into broken and not broken piles. There are many ways to die on the farm, and in a final destination scenario Bridget gets her shirt sucked into some machinery just to barely break free and get stabbed by the sharp end of a broken tomato steak, an agonizing and bloody death. She will be missed. After that is all cleaned up, I drive up the hill to pull plastic where the winter squash have succumbed to powdery mildew. Lynn and Meg have already started and finished a row perhaps. What comes over me next is mystery. As if possessed I rip out the plastic at a speed that surpasses even Lynn in her row started a few minutes before mine and she is in threat of getting lapped come my second row. This does not happen, I doubt she would allow it. This is the farm work-out program that is sold on late night infomercials. Great for the forearms, grip, pecks, and ob-leeks. Guaranteed to turn a fat flabby depressed slob of a human being in to a ripped and tan happy clean cut photoshop experiment.

Kristen is trimming some bushes outside the farmhouse when we get back. As I pick up the trimming I notice a distinctive red berry that seems to be open on one end. This is a yew, and when I find it in my herb book I glean some interesting information. Not only could it be used to cure cancer by inhibiting human cell division, but an insecticidal smoke is created and can keep mosquitoes away, or a cold decoction can be used on farm animals to calm their twitching nerves. I tell Kristen of my discovery, some info, that around here might come in handy.

C-love and the special sauce

We had a rainy night and a gloomy day with sprinkles, so field work was put on hold so that we could shuck, peel, and break apart garlic for planting, "seed garlic". All the largest bunches were set aside for this purpose, the theory is that the biggest bulbs with the biggest cloves will, in turn produce large garlic next year. For the sake of the starving children in Africa I hope this is the case. This garlic is to be planted in the first week of October and the time is drawing near. Bridget and I spent a hour or two doing this while Lynn was at her interview at the co-op. She comments, they don't actually have a co-op but simply a natural food store. This may be the case, I still don't understand what a co-op is, still her interview goes well.

    What do you call it when you are abducted by the garlic aliens?            
  A cloves encounter.

    What was garlic's drug of choice in the 80's?               
 Clovescane.

    What is Garlic's favorite cover crop?           
Clover, of course.

    What kind of cigarettes do garlic art students smoke?          
Marijuana.

Silent in the Weeds

A day for politics and the remembrance of age.

Today is Fred's Birthday, and he can cry if he wants to. I knew the day was approaching but let it slip my mind. Whilst we were on hilltop harvesting lettuce he asked me how old I was. I said 27, and I got you beat by ten he said. Okay, Fred is 37, owns his own farm for four years now, and has a baby less than one year old, this gives me some perspective I didn't think I would receive. I think it strengthens my resolve to do what I need to do, create something for me. That is forget everything else that has been going on around me, others lives and fears. Take up arms and fight every day for the chance to have my own life of peace and prosperity.

What have I
   to bequeath as a legacy?
The flowers of spring;
Hill cuckoos of summer;
   maple leaves of autumn.
RYŌKAN


Well the presidential election is a hot topic although it is understood around here that you think Mitt Romney is a poor choice, to put it kindly. If we don't vote for someone but vote against the candidate we don't want, then Romney has given some here reason to vote. What can be said that hasn't already fallen from the lips of pundits, candidates, the public alike? I just think it is entertaining to see Romney floundering around trying to pull his foot from mouth. This topic all in all is boring.

"The working poor are not devoid of responsibility they are drowning in it."
-Jon Stewart

After the Fair Comes Mother Earth

Slow, slow, watering job is all can do after a weekend like mine. This needs to be done as it is. The ground in here is dry as always, plus watering plants is somewhat cathartic. The girls are hoeing when I get to Fabio, preparing the bed for endive.

Out to orchard field with a truck full of frilly mustard. It is a good looking salad leaf. The rows where we are to plant this mustard are becoming overgrown with some volunteers from last years brassica crop. It is growing over the kohlrabi. So instead of planting we weed until lunch. I try and practice my zen weeding technique. It is hard to be zen when you are uprooting entire colonies of successful crop plants. If the body acts in a way to disturb the mind there is dissonance, zen planting is much more successful.



I found lunch to be quite satisfying. It included a salad with peanut dressing, chickpea and potato curry (turmeric), green tomato chutney, and redundant but delicious humus.

When returning to orchard field from lunch, some more weeding is done before we start hoeing the beds. I swung that hoe around again and again chipping away at weeds and clumps of clay until my wrists hurt from the constant bludgeoning. I do wonder why the rototiller was not pulled out. Perhaps it is broke or more trouble than its worth to lug it out here. 

I should mention that orchard field has no orchard in it. At one point it did, but the previous owner decided to take out all the trees. I do not know why this was done, seems very foolish to me.
I count my breaths and crouch down to cup little craters in the soil, homes for the newly liberated detainees, seedlings from seed trays.

My weekend:

I attended the Mother Earth News Fair, once a year the famed magazine comes to south western PA to promote green living, farming practices, and let vendors sell their wears.

I am scrambling to get out of the house by ten o'clock. When I find that impossible I push it back to eleven. I am packing my car with camping supplies, a last minute plan after speaking with B-rad. I called to ask if he was interested in going to the fair, but he already was, and with a group of friends. I don't have a real tent so I throw a couple tarps and a rope in my car and hope there will be a few trees on the campground to sling them over. The trip to Seven Springs is not a bad one, except for the tolls $3.20 both ways. I had only one mission when  arrived at the fair, and that was to hit the seed swap at Southern Exposure's tent. Looking around The Mother Earth News Fair it seemed a lot like a county fair. Goats and chickens in pens, hay bales strewn about, smells of food trucks.

The main attraction one Joel Salatin, the proprietor at Polyface Farms in Virginia's Shenandoah valley. He imparts that we all should participate, that this is the only time in history that we as a human race have decided that we are separate from the natural world, that it does not effect us and that we don't have to worry about our effect on it. He suggests that we leverage our remaining fossil fuels to create plastic laminate for greenhouses on every building. People could grow right in their own back yard and instead of wasting i.e. burning fossil fuels, we would be using them for years to come. Instead of Ecological abandonment, "It is our job to massage our ecological womb with the correct management to create more decomposable biomass than nature would do in a static state."  If it's worth doing, it's worth doing poorly - first, he says. The travesty of our day is not that we are lazy but rather that we are busy doing the wrong things.


 

I attended a few talks, one on Bioshelters by my PDC (permaculture design certificate course) instructor Darrel Frye. A bioshelter is simply a greenhouse managed like an ecosystem, it relies on some specific design elements to maintain a warmer climate.

Four step plan

Today I am working with Fred. He wants to put up a fence in the pastures for an onslaught of animals he wishes to add the farm. It might not come as a surprise, I am not all that excited about this decision, but as far as farms go its one that farmers often make. Animals need daily attention and this is added work at this point. Fred has a pretty good idea of how he is going to run these animals, and he tells me about it this morning as we look out upon the hillside. Fred wants to parcel up the land into six or eight paddocks, so that he can rotate the cow(s) and goats and pigs, of which currently he has the one, Ella. Of course there is Lucy but we are to forget her, with death looming.

Fred also tells me about how he plans to modify the barn to accommodate these new tenants. We speak of this for a long time, it is Fred's prerogative to talk. When we finally get to the fencing, it is hot and my brain and body are shutting down. I feel a step behind. Putting insulators for the wooden posts, a few small metal clamps, running the wire, which Fred does most all the pulling, it's not that difficult of a job. I use a square wrench to pick up the slack on the ratchet spools on the near end. Then the diesel delivery truck comes and Fred leaves me to set up some new spools before lunch. The tractors are hungry too.

I spend the evening planting lettuce in home field with Meg, Mary, and Michela.

Cut it up and add Heat

My special yellow heirloom tomato sauce.

-4 cloves of garlic
-5 striped germans
-8 Waspatoon peach tomatoes
-a handful of sun golds and honey drops
-a few of aunt Mollie's ground cherries
-Thyme, don't ask how much.
-seriously forget all the amounts I listed, use what you have.
-optional herbs (but not really) rosemary, oregano, basil
-white wine, shouldn't be too dry or too sweet I used Big House White
If you like spice add a hot pepper I used a Fish (one of my heritage varieties)
I didn't go for it, but in the case you are on Top Chef add a ripe pear

Brown garlic in olive oil. Add tomatoes and herbs. Boil down close to your preferred thickness, add wine. Continue to boil down.

I only yielded one jar, a small disappointment. I did serve three plates plus with linguini before canning. A delicate flavor that will ripen in the jar with time.

A Heck of a Job

I was still lying in bed when I heard Fred and Kristen shuffling around. Evelyn had been making a little fuss earlier which is not a usual occurrence. Fred has a meeting down at Pitt University, not sure what it was about in the end. He has a trip out to Philly directly after Pitt. We talked about it the day before over corn chowder that he made with farm goods. Corn and milk being the main ingredients. Last night after shuffling everything around in the barn for today's CSA pick up, we came back to Fred finishing the soup. He will be talking on a panel about getting food to the hungry, focused on people who "miss meals" during the week. Essentially the only way to help these people Fred believes is to teach them how to grow their own food. We look at a calorie table in a book he has. I suggest avocados as a joke, it turned out nuts have even more calories and sunflower seeds even more. I support sunflowers in the city.


Lynn was in high tunnel #2 when I got there to water it. I watered the hell out of it. They needed it too.

I am sure there was some harvesting to do and some work in the barn but now I forget what we did. There is a point that this farm work starts to all blur together. A strange occurrence, but I am sure as hell that I recognize a tomato that I have picked in the field, later on down in the barn. Like a face you've seen in a crowd, a stranger that you recognize months later. With the striped Germans anyhow, each one really does have its own character.

Meg was sent to market, and Kristen was in the barn all day. Cathy her mother is having knee surgery, and usually takes a shift at the barn. She will be out for a few months at least, and she will be missed. Bridget and I are tasked with pulling up plastic from the melon patch. One of, if not my least favorite job on the farm. The dust is enough to give a man a coughing fit. It's a long and arduous task. After only one hard fought row we break for lunch. Bridget breaks open a liter bottle of nut brown ale which I had bottled and put in the fridge last night. "irresponsible", but I'm game. Now after secondary fermentation with carbonation it tastes much better, I might even say I like it, although I have never had a brown beer that tasted this light. It is the perfect thing to quench thirst and raise spirits.

As the day winds down Kristen sends word that I should come down and get some produce. I strongly oblige, and gather four grocery bags. There is plenty to go around. I am somewhat less frustrated with the money situation. I wish all Wednesdays I got to clean up in the barn like this.

I am nearly packed and sitting at my computer finishing my last PASA CD rip, when Kristen drops off some money on my dresser, the $10 she promised I assume, I usually say thank you immediately but I was distracted and still sore in more way than one. When I finally go to grab it on my way out I see there is a twenty dollar bill, and another inside of it. I am flabbergasted. All this time I had thought Kristen just didn't think I was worth it or that I was getting enough by just being here. What an ungrateful ass I was. I had to at least thank her. With my bag slung over my shoulder I found Meg in the kitchen told her to have a good night. Meg was hoping to hang out with just-the-girls so I think my departure was perfect timing. She did tell me that Kristen was out putting the animals away.

I found Kristen just leaving the cow barn on the golf cart and called out to her. During a short conversation I found out that Abby had told Kristen about me saying that it was my last day, no doubt this had an impact on her decision to pay me, but still. If she truly thought I was leaving then she could have just kept her money I suppose, but this and a bonus ten I think she has seen me in action, in the barn as she was left to watch it all day herself. I want to give Kristen some credit here because she saw that withholding a small amount of money might have taken a perfectly good farm hand out of the equation. I don't want to say that things wouldn't have gotten done without me, but it would have been just that much more of a burden. I leave content with all intention to return next week.