I Didn't think I was going to be able to type at all tonight, we put in a 14 hour day. By we, I mean Bridget and I, I can not account for anyone else. Today I actually got breakfast. As I cracked my first egg into the pan Kristen's mother interrupted "you should," plop the egg went into the pan, "put it in another bowl first''. These being eggs from the farm it is possible they are spoiled, quality control at the industrial egg farm is stringent, here it is non existent, but wait. "Those eggs were found on the ground, so you really never know." She adds. The roving chickens around here just lay eggs wherever and whenever they want; they could have been duck eggs for all I know. These eggs - the ones found in the yard - are "house" eggs the ones laid in the hen house are for market. My second egg I followed the instructions and it turned out to be a good egg as well. Fried them up, tasted good too. Unlike any egg I remember eating before, there was flavor, a richness, and texture I am not accustomed to.
Weeding the high (poly) tunnels with Bridget I keep the thought to myself that this dirt should be mulched and that I never pull clover out of the beds at my house. Clover is often used in rotation as a cover crop because of its ability to take nitrogen from the air and bind it in the soil with the aid of root bacteria, making it available to other plants. If the clover gets too big I cut the tops and the roots die off releasing their nitrogen into the soil. Clover will spread aggressively horizontally. The soil in the tunnels has a high clay content and would be well served to get a top dressing of organic material, a mulching that is.
I peel onions in the basement barn for quite some time, Molly is there again working with me. She has such a positive attitude even while peeling onions, it's nice. Molly is enrolled in a food studies course; the volunteer work that she does here at the farm fulfills a course requirement. There isn't much to peeling onions, get the dirty layers off, pull and peel and throw it in a bucket. There is no glamor as the smell of onion permeates our skin and clothing.
Later Molly and I weed a row of parsley with Meg. She finds a volunteer cilantro that sparks an idea for a salad hinging upon this ingredient. And so lunch happens, I take the time to rally my spirits.
Weeding the high (poly) tunnels with Bridget I keep the thought to myself that this dirt should be mulched and that I never pull clover out of the beds at my house. Clover is often used in rotation as a cover crop because of its ability to take nitrogen from the air and bind it in the soil with the aid of root bacteria, making it available to other plants. If the clover gets too big I cut the tops and the roots die off releasing their nitrogen into the soil. Clover will spread aggressively horizontally. The soil in the tunnels has a high clay content and would be well served to get a top dressing of organic material, a mulching that is.
I peel onions in the basement barn for quite some time, Molly is there again working with me. She has such a positive attitude even while peeling onions, it's nice. Molly is enrolled in a food studies course; the volunteer work that she does here at the farm fulfills a course requirement. There isn't much to peeling onions, get the dirty layers off, pull and peel and throw it in a bucket. There is no glamor as the smell of onion permeates our skin and clothing.
Later Molly and I weed a row of parsley with Meg. She finds a volunteer cilantro that sparks an idea for a salad hinging upon this ingredient. And so lunch happens, I take the time to rally my spirits.
Back in the poly tunnels again this time we are watering, Bridget covers the tunnel with a shade cloth; there is some real heat inside as well as out. I make sure to water the left-over seedlings that didn't get sold at market, I hope to take them home at the end of the week a sort of foster care service for plants. There are some good looking seedlings growing in here right now, thousands of them actually, which will turn into a planting project soon no doubt.
Up to the high field we are set to do some tomato stringing. We are taking the golf cart, and I am given my first chance at the helm. I took it easy my first time driving it up the hill, its breaks are about as poor as the Custom's. When we get there I realize my string box is empty, so I drive back down to retrieve another box. This is the second time I have done this job and up here on the hill top it is peaceful and the views are very nice. There are trees and hills, a little country road, for once I am enjoying the work and finding the sweet spot where farming becomes enjoyable. The box of plastic rope fits on your belt so you can spool the thread out and use both hands to wrangle the tomatoes. To string tomatoes we weave in-between all the way down on the outside of the plant and around the wooden posts, then back again behind them pulling it tight the whole way. About half way through the second row that I'm working on my box runs out of string again.
Close to the end of tomato stringing Fred shows up on the tractor. He tucks some of the tomatoes up into the lattice by hand. We are to go field surfing when I finish my last row, as I had some catching up to do. Field surfing consists of riding on blades behind the tractor that cut the soil and push it over the edge of plastic "mulch". The plastic is just a row cover for keeping weeds down, not mulch. The tractor has a roller attached to the back and wheels that sit on top of the plastic to hold it down, the job of the surfers (Bridget and I) is to adjust the blades and wheels so that the correct amount of dirt is supplied to the edge of the plastic. If our current configuration is not meeting the criteria, we must yell to the driver (Fred) , lift the apparatus' arm unscrew the pieces, adjust them and hope that the problem is fixed. You must constantly monitor the amount of dirt, pushing it with one hand while holding on with the other, balancing and yawing to achieve the correct furrow depth. We did about eight rows like this as the sun set. Fred appreciative of our hard work sent me over to the barn to retrieve some pop (as we call it in PA). Grape for him and hot hot hot ginger beer for Bridget. Again I was impressed by her tenacity in the field. These were no small screws we were turning, Bridget may have skinny arms but she knows how to get some leverage out of them.
Up to the high field we are set to do some tomato stringing. We are taking the golf cart, and I am given my first chance at the helm. I took it easy my first time driving it up the hill, its breaks are about as poor as the Custom's. When we get there I realize my string box is empty, so I drive back down to retrieve another box. This is the second time I have done this job and up here on the hill top it is peaceful and the views are very nice. There are trees and hills, a little country road, for once I am enjoying the work and finding the sweet spot where farming becomes enjoyable. The box of plastic rope fits on your belt so you can spool the thread out and use both hands to wrangle the tomatoes. To string tomatoes we weave in-between all the way down on the outside of the plant and around the wooden posts, then back again behind them pulling it tight the whole way. About half way through the second row that I'm working on my box runs out of string again.
Close to the end of tomato stringing Fred shows up on the tractor. He tucks some of the tomatoes up into the lattice by hand. We are to go field surfing when I finish my last row, as I had some catching up to do. Field surfing consists of riding on blades behind the tractor that cut the soil and push it over the edge of plastic "mulch". The plastic is just a row cover for keeping weeds down, not mulch. The tractor has a roller attached to the back and wheels that sit on top of the plastic to hold it down, the job of the surfers (Bridget and I) is to adjust the blades and wheels so that the correct amount of dirt is supplied to the edge of the plastic. If our current configuration is not meeting the criteria, we must yell to the driver (Fred) , lift the apparatus' arm unscrew the pieces, adjust them and hope that the problem is fixed. You must constantly monitor the amount of dirt, pushing it with one hand while holding on with the other, balancing and yawing to achieve the correct furrow depth. We did about eight rows like this as the sun set. Fred appreciative of our hard work sent me over to the barn to retrieve some pop (as we call it in PA). Grape for him and hot hot hot ginger beer for Bridget. Again I was impressed by her tenacity in the field. These were no small screws we were turning, Bridget may have skinny arms but she knows how to get some leverage out of them.
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