the Long and Short of It

Oops I slept in today, I awake at 7:30 to a few dishes clanking in the kitchen. Kristen has bought cereal and I get my first taste of fresh farm milk in my bowl of honey nut O's. Meg has left a message that she is out in the poly tunnel, and to see her there. When I arrive she instructs me to collect all the brassica seedlings from the green house and put them in Fabio, the name for the largest and first in the row of poly tunnels. I do not yet know the reason it has been given this name. The reasoning behind moving the seedlings I infer is to harden them off. Eventually Meg shows up and helps with the project, Bridget joins in after watering rounds.

We all begin to clean up an area that belongs to a hardening off station for seedlings outside of the poly tunnels that has been neglected, was full of dead plants, and some that had hung on. I immediately found some stevia plants. I am over joyed to find this plant, I try a leaf. Like any new thing you stick in your mouth the mind wants to question the move, in this case my mind was blown. Pleasure centers must have gone off all over the cerebral cortex, this stuff is swwwweeeet. There are some other plants of varying interest, purple cone flower, sorrel, parsley. All of these plants are root-bound and are practically unsalable.

Meg gives me the word that I am to start string trimming around the poly tunnels. I had noticed the amount of tall weeds that were going to seed, only to cause more problems down the road. I head back to the house to find Fred in the kitchen. The farm house has a policy when you enter you are to take off your shoes. I have been wearing boots that come off by unhooking the string, but I am also wearing socks unlike some of the farm hands, I take them off. I go through this process because I have some special equipment in the house for just this contingency.

 

Inside my duffel bag are a pair of sound dampening head phones and a dust mask. I tell Kristen and Fred I never mow a lawn without them. Fred hands me the trimmer with not a string but a metal cutting head. These are no small weeds, in fact they are the size of small trees and are about as woody. Unfortunately, the saw head is dull and the machine is heavy, I try my best to control it. No matter how careful I am I can not help but nick the poly tunnel plastic. No serious damage is done. At this point the sun is getting high and the temperature has risen up in the 80's. Sweat runs down my face as I engage my obliques to maneuver the long neck of the cutting end against the two stroke engine on the other. 

 

Gash after nick I become more frustrated. These are minor cuts but not the kind of damage that I want to be placing on my first go with the trimmer in my first week. I ask Kristen about some clear plastic tape, she tells me about some official patch tape in the greenhouse. I find the worst hole and patch it. Then I see a large hole in the door of Fabio, I assumed an animal had got inside and when it couldn't escape it ripped it's way out. When I ask Kristen about it she tells me that Fred had ran into it with the tractor, this takes some of the pressure off. People are pleased with my hard work.

======
Fred has a very special project for he and I to work on, we are going to survey some fields so that he can plow them and add a cover crop. One of the farms biggest problems is the amount of weeds; from disturbing the soil by tilling no doubt. Milkweeds, butterfly weed (hardly a weed in my book), Queen Anne's lace (wild carrot), red clover (a cover crop in my mind), thistle, a few grasses, and the worst of all poison ivy. There is so much poison ivy on the farm that it is hard to go anywhere without coming in contact with it. I am developing some pustules as the day wears on. I must have had some under my knee at some point which I thoroughly crushed. Although I had jeans on the oils wept through. 

 

Surveying for the farm field is pretty simple. The idea is to work out a line that is on contour with the land, this means following a level line around the field. We mark a spot that Fred thinks might be the edge of a starting row that will follow the contour and not go off into the road or another field. Make adjustments when this happens. Fred has purchased a Lewis and Clark antique set of surveying equipment. There is an eyeglass like a pirates telescope and a pole that has matching cross-hairs. First you level them out by placing the pole on the ground in front of the eyepiece. Walk out twenty five paces line them up an voila you have a level line on contour, mark it with a bamboo pole. We worked six or so fields creating plenty of tractor work for Fred.
======

I find the girls in the barn basement peeling onions. They all have a nice pile of skins, dirt and stalks beneath their chairs, they have been at it for a while. I decide to give chase. The surveying was not extremely physically taxing, although it was hot and poison ivy surrounded me. Onion peeling is a game of fast fingers, concentration, and numbers. I would be best served by showing commitment to the team effort. I remember a few things whilst we sit and shuck. First a visit from Chris during our surveying, who had promised to build a dock for the farm's pond. He got married at the farm for cheap, a gift from Fred and Kristen. Bridget is excited to hear that Chris is making good on his word. 

 

Yesterday whilst Meg was trying to remove a matt in one of her cats fur she cut much more than she intended and wounded the poor animal, leaving a deep gash. Naturally she feels horrible about it and was planing on staying all weekend with him. Usually she would take the weekend off and go to the city. I suggest that she make a poultice with comfrey or yarrow which are a proven healers. Eventually Meg and Kate quit peeling both of them feeling ill, as if they had been reading a book in a car. Meg postulates that the amount of finger and onion concentration has worn on them. I think it is a good theory, as I continue to concentrate on my onions.

This evening a photographer from Kitchen, a cooking and lifestyle magazine is coming out to take pictures of the wood fired oven, built by Nate, and pizzas will be made for dinner! Kristen creates interesting toppings like capers and nasturtium flowers, to put on Fred's sourdough crusts. Chris who evidently has cooked a pizza before and has half finished the dock in the mean time is tossing the dough and posing for the camera. The oven cooks pizza in about one minute at 600 degrees. I enjoy lying around while pizza after pizza is churned out.  Afterwards I take a shower, pack my stuff and leave for the weekend.

Sun up to Sunny Side Down

 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.
 

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.

Harvest so Soon

Today started off with me in the cow barn, Kristen showing me how to milk Ella the cow. A wash of the utters a quick squeeze with the hands to empty any stagnant milk, then on with a vacuum pump. Four little nozzles attach to the utters and suck in cadence; on off on off, to mimic that of a real calf, into a large shiny metal container. I should have asked how many gallons it was, something like 3 or 4. Ella has a calf Lucy, who may be a calf but is at least 300 pounds. There is much talk of eating her because she has a fifth utter, "it's bad genetics" Fred claims. 

 

Then as I returned to the house I am told to help Meg who I find in a beet patch, which didn't germinate but instead has filled with the "weed" purslane. As it turns out purslane is edible and has a fruity citrus like taste once crushed in your mouth. It also has the added benefit of being the best terrestrial source of omega 3 fatty acids; like those in fish oil. This begins a long day of harvest for the CSA (Crop Sharing Association or Community Supported Agriculture; either or) pick-up tomorrow. Some of the purslane had become enormous and resembles a weedier less thick jade plant, with its waxy succulent leaves.

First purslane then chard were harvested, yes the CSA members were getting a weed to eat this week, then dill which had become overgrown with weeds as well. The dill was reaching the end of it's life cycle, a perfect row for the pigs to root through. Incidentally they were slaughtered last night or early this morning by Nate (co-owner of the farm) who spent the whole day before building a caged trailer for the porkers to ride into town for the slaughter house, which he would later disassemble. Three little piggies went to the market, and ended up bacon, sausage, and ham. Dill on the other hand was still here, and we needed enough to fill the CSA shares. So Bridget and I settled in for a few hours of trimming off the spindly dill to make small bunches tied together with a rubber band. Bridget lives at the farm and is very dedicated, but it's her personality that stands out. She has a rough exterior and has admitted to not showering very often. Loves to play pinball, is a reader of science fiction novels (nothing pulp) Stanislaw Lem as of right now, studied anthropology and Japanese at the University of Pittsburgh. She is always cracking jokes, good jokes, witty jokes. It is hard to explain a girl like this but she just makes sense, there is something logical about her. Under the dirt and tangled mess of hair is a real girl (not too sensitive) veiled by her more than ordinary ways.  As I write she is off reading a book and finding out what adventures the dystopian future might hold.

     
After Picking up some onions, we ride the Custom, a brown ford truck that has been around the farm, more than a few times. Actually it isn't street legal so it has to live on the farm. Mary hops in the back with me. She is a CSA member that has come to volunteer along with a handful of others who are across the fields in the Kale. Mary is no spring chicken, to use a colloquial term, and she has been working as hard as anyone out there. It is no comfy ride in the back of the truck, and all of the sudden there is some abrasive noise, like that of gears grinding together, as Meg loses control at the wheel and veers the truck into a field which drops sharply down the hill. Mary and I are startled. Meg applies the breaks before any real damage is done. I jump off to see what has happened, Meg assures us that it's fine, the truck has just stalled. With there being engine problems Mary and I are directed to walk down the hill to the barn.

  Lunch is served, there I meet James. James is a soft spoken thin dark haired man, about 25 years old, he lives just north of the farm, he has come to work in exchange for produce, and work he does. We set out to pick cucumbers. James thrashes through the patch of vines searching for the ripe fruit. He fills his lug, a large tan plastic bin, before me. I have a more lackadaisical approach, sticking my knife down to sweep away spiny leaves. Lugs get quite heavy when filled with the plump veg; Mary is working with Bridget alongside us in a row of yellow squash. Some time after that we head to pick broccoli. Meg tells us the crop has "buttoned" meaning that the broccoli heads, the part we all eat - the immature flower buds - have not formed well, in this case because of a July heatwave. So we rip them all out and throw them into the bed of the Custom. They will eventually be added onto the compost pile. I suggest to James that they be made into slaw and that my favorite part is the stalk anyhow. Later on we harvest poblano peppers and islander peppers which are a wonderful shade of purple and lavender with white speckles and stripes. Again my back is pretty upset with the amount of bending over I have done to get the peppers, and we would still have time to wash and package a hundred and forty shares of produce before calling it quits.

Farm One

A year ago, today (7/31/2012), I began work on an Organic Farm, on which I was a live-intern for three or four days each week. From day one on the farm kept a log of the days events, chores, anything I could remember or have the energy to write. I'll be posting each entry exactly one year to the day, starting now.

My first day at Raspberry Fields Farm I arrived some time shortly after 7 am. I was the first to arrive. Kristen was in the kitchen and she offered me breakfast, but I had already eaten so she set me up with the task of watering the poly-tunnels. A relatively simple system of hoses originating in the "green house", the only double layer plastic tunnel with air blown in-between as "insulation". From a four valve bar hoses ran out to two more high tunnels on either side. Seedlings destine for the field sprouting from plastic cell trays were the most important items to be given the dousing. The tunnels are full of many different plants, fig trees, pawpaws, and a slew of Mediterranean herbs to name a few.

I assimilated into the farm group smoothy, I think they have a guest gardener types every so often and someone new did not phase the girls. The three interns that I am replacing were male. On the farm, girls seem to far outnumber boys, particularly on the field crew. Meg is the field manager, she makes the decisions and leads the crew of Kate, Molly, Bridget, and sometimes Michaela. They hardly let my arrival phase them, the girls chattering away like the hens in the hen house. There was talk of diets amongst their mentions of boyfriends and childhood crushes. I figure the boyfriend mentioning was for my ears. They would eventually ask me why I had come to the farm, "fresh air and sunshine", I told them. Trying to understand the life of plants takes constant observation, perhaps this is why I had come, perhaps it is the feeling working outside provides, maybe I will find out why I'm here in the coming weeks.

Our job is to stab the dry somewhat playable ground with our fingers to make holes for basil transplants. The basil was first dipped in "fish and kelp"; horrid smelling organic fertilizer slurry to get them started. Bridget is quite proficient at this task, her figure tips looks tough and callused from just a few months of doing this work, mine hurt, even now as I type. Transplanting became uncomfortable after the first row, my back was beginning to complain, but I wouldn't want to show weakness so early on, so I suffered through in silence.
 

Later on we harvested white corn a few days early because the deer were having their way with it. Kristen was there with baby Evelyn in a stroller. She handed me a freshly picked ear that was fully ripe but only three inches long fully shucked. "have you ever had it this way?". Fresh raw corn, well no I hadn't. I bit in and boy was it sweet, no need to cook corn this tender and fresh.
        

At dinner Fred, the owner of the farm with his wife Kristen, mentioned while weeding tomatoes, and this might go for all crops, that it is unwise to shake dirt all over the place and get it on the leaves as it contains fungal spores that might take hold, infect, and be spread in this way. The weeds are quite large and bring up much dirt, so it is an easy thing to do.
        

By the end of the day so much had happened, that while I remember it, I am too tired to embellish on it, for the sake of documentation, listing it is much simpler.
        Weeded rows, weeded some more, tied up tomatoes, and harvested corn.

 

 

Hit the "Newer" button to head to the next Farm Journal entry.

Mycorrhizal - fungal networks and soil

We know them as mushrooms, the strange little caps and fans that appear suddenly after the rain. Fungi dwells in a cool, damp, organic rich niche where early succession stages have already occurred. Fungi generate humus by breaking down organic material; for them sunlight isn't needed to produce food energy because fungi are metabolizing organic matter with enzymes and acids. Wood and leaf debris, thatch, animal, and insect, are all suitable substrates for the germination and growth of spore.

turkey tail

Mycelium holds the soil together, their underground network can direct nutrients from one part of the forest to another. Trees and fungi need each other. Nutrients are provided to trees who in exchange give up some sugars which have traveled from their leaves down to their roots. Micro-cavities in the mycelium hold water at 30,000 times its mass and create a spongy mat which is a rich habitat for microbial life.

 Fungi were the first to come to land, the first true fungi forming some 500 million years ago. it is estimated that 1.5 million species of fungi are out there. They manufacture oxalic acid which breaks down minerals, once absorbed by the fungi these nutrients become available for plants.

The part of the fungi that we normally see which we call mushrooms, is actually the fruit. When an area becomes saturated with a web of mycorrhizal growth, in order to spread spores (their version of seeds), a fruiting body appears on the surface. Fruiting bodies grow very quickly.

Water

The planet is 2/3 water
97% is salt water
3% of water is fresh

of the fresh water 75% is ice (for now)
11% is rechargeable ground water
14% is deep ground water
.03% lakes surface water
.06% is held in soil and trees
.03% in rivers
.035% is in the atmosphere

Water regulates the entire planet, it stabilizes the climate. Every living thing depends on it.

Once I filled a glass jug with pond water, the amount of visible creatures in that one gallon jug was amazing. It would be impossible to fill the jug with water from the pond which did not have life teaming in it. There is so much life in water, it supports the life that supports larger life.  Living water spawns life with ease and generates increasing amounts of biology.

 There is enormous amounts of energy in water. Chemical bonds, phase change, temperature differentials, gravity flow, tidal ebbs, stored solar and geothermal energy.

What we should be doing with water-
Reducing run off
Decreasing evaporation
Increase surface storage
Keeping it clean with biological filters

Installing a bat box

 

we dug a pretty deep hole. Three feet or so.

 But then we had a pretty big pole.

 How do you mix concrete again?

 Oh, just add water.

 Gotta screw this puppy on. Can hold 125 bats!

 They crawl up in there and sleep, instead of in your attic. 

BANG, and it's up. Easy instal my friends.

Enjoy bats, enjoy.