The Crew

Nothing Strange

It's been challenging to write in the last two months. We are so busy harvesting and doing farm chores. I get home after a 10 hour day and mostly want to rest, check e-mail, and eat. I've had lots of thoughts and experiences that I wanted to share with you but I am so tired. I apologize for the hiatus. IT will probably continue.

Of note: On Monday I ate two flowers for the first time in my life. The first was a red flower from the garden. IT was part of our salad that the cook made. THe second flower was a purple pea flower. Our peas are sprouting again as a cover crop. Their stems are juicy and their flowers are delicious. October promises top be a month of change for many.

The Transplanter

This is the transplanter I talked about in the earlier post.

Small Farms

The following was written by a friend of mine, Benjamin Shute. He co-owns a small produce farm in Tivoli, NY. I thought what he wrote was eloquent, poignant, and inspiring. You can visit his and Miriam's farm at www.heartyroots.com.

"Small sustainable farmers are all over the media lately. A few years back, Hearty Roots might have been in an occasional story in our local paper or a food related magazine. These days, we have literally been inundated with requests from filmmakers, TV and radio producers, and editors of books, newspapers and magazines. In fact, this week in Brooklyn we will have a crew from Japanese Public Television (NHK) filming distribution of the vegetables; this past weekend Stoneledge Farm, which is in a neighboring county to ours, had a film crew from ABC News documenting their Garlic Harvest for a national TV feature; and last week, I was invited to speak on the radio about the economics of small farming, on WNYC's Brian Lehrer Show.

In the past few months alone, the New York Times has featured stories on young urbanites becoming farmers; corporate executives switching to the farm lifestyle; CSA in general; and people hiring gardeners to create their own organic CSA's in their back yards.

Is this just a fad, or Is there something going on to merit all this attention? Judging by our experience at Hearty Roots, this is more than just media hype-- we're in the midst of a local food and farming movement whose growth is momentous. Hearty Roots has seen unprecedented demand for our CSA shares this season, selling out far earlier than we ever have before. We are seeing new farms pop up and hearing from many people who are excited about learning to farm. We've been forced to turn down many neighborhoods, restaurants and specialty stores interested in getting our produce, since even though we have grown our farm by nearly 100% each season, we are still unable to keep up with demand.

So what's next? In order for this local food movement to keep up with the media attention, and demand from a locavore-savvy public, we need more farmers! Even in our area, which faces development pressure due to its proximity to NYC, there is lots of land that is currently growing low value crops like hay-- land that could be used to grow higher value crops to meet NYC's demand for fresh, local produce. It will be no easy task to achieve this: we need changes in local, state and federal policy; we need young people who are working for farmers now to have the tools they need to launch their own farms; we need to protect our existing farmland from development; and we need existing commodity farmers to diversify into direct-marketing. It won't happen overnight, but now is the time to build our capacity for a strong, local, sustainable agricultural sector in the future."

The Moon

Last night the full moon. I did not have to use a flash light to walk home through the brush. Tired clouds crowded in front of the moon's glow, and I was able to watch the moon light fade from the pale lit fields. A ghostly mist sat over the grasses and low Autumn Olive trees. Crickets and distant trucks were the only sounds out there. With less fear than before, I wondered what else lived in the meadow. In the mornings I have seen the tracks of skunks, deer, coyotes, and the woodcock, but I rarely encounter anything on my way to my tent. When I reached my cloth home I did not turn on the lantern either. Fresh from my moon bath I crawled into bed with clean feet and fell asleep.

rachel: no autobiography exists. If you're ever in the area I'd be happy to meet you.

Tomato Festival/ August 23rd

The Tomato Festival is coming up in two weeks! August 23rd. $5
Please come and have some fun.

Three bands
5K Run
75 Varieties of tomatoes (I've only eaten 4 or 5 varieties)
3 Chefs
Me

www.redfirefarm.com

The Weather is nicer now.

The rain seems to have calmed down. Although there is supposed to be a thunder storm sometime today. It rained so much here. Some of our crops have rotted a bit and our spirits were certainly dampened. Thankfully Saturday and Sunday were nice days that I spent soaking in the energy of the sun. All things dried out, mostly.
My tent has been a real life saver in all of this wetness. Each night that I hiked back in the rain I always knew my tent would be there ready and dry for me. It behaved so well that I cleaned it up a bit and built some shelves, and now it looks wonderful. I'm thinking of inviting a guest over soon. It can handle about 3 people at a time. When it's partly cloudy out and there is a light breeze the tent is an awesome place to sit and relax with a good book or some classical music on the radio. With the flaps open and the screens down it is a lot like a summer screened-in porch. I love my tent.
I found a new cure for athletes foot. Well, it's not new because I got it from a nutritional health book, but it's new for me. Soak your foot in Epsom salt water. Dry it completely, especially between the toes. Then apply olive oil to the irritated area. Allow this to air dry. I did it last night and now I am totally cured! Wonderful!

Soulmate (Rachel): Mim no longer works here. If you mean blond Dave who never wears many clothes, then yes he is still here. Who are you?

Dirty Feet, Clean Socks

I brought ten pairs of socks with me in order to always have enough. However, since I bought rocks I never use socks anymore. Thus all of my socks are relatively clean compared to my feet at the end of each day. Because of the dirt that is caked on my feet I was them each day at a spigit next to the farm stand. However, last night I forgot to wash and found myself at my tent with terribly dirty toes. In order not to get my semi-dirt free bed more dirty I decided to put socks on in order to trap the dirt on my feet. The few crumbs which filtered through the threading were minor casualties compared to what could have happened. I awoke happy and with a clean bed. My feet were still dirty but that's alright with me.
P.S. I'm thinking of wearing gloves and a hair net to bed as well. My finger nails are terribly black and my hair is so greasy.

The end of the week.

Over the last two days there were a number of incidents that occurred.
1) Our harvest truck got stuck in the mud and we had to get a tractor to pull it out.
2) While I was driving a harvest truck a tire blew up.
3) Two of our trucks overheated while making deliveries.
4) I helped slaughter three chickens.
5) I roasted and ate the chickens.
6) One of our delivery vans was hit by another car. Everyone was alright.
It was another incredible week.

The Hour Glass

Rain. It's there and all this week I had to deal with it. I have an interesting relationship with it. I've spent most of my life trying to protect myself and my things from it, yet; it is so necessary for my existence.
It brings the water from above to feed the plants I eat, and, it replenishes the reservoirs from which I drink. It's silly to have such a contentious relationship with something so vital to one's existence. I am going to work to change this. The rain needs love too.
We worked straight through the storms this week and I think it's safe to say that I spent more time in the rain than out of it. Amazing!
I made my peace with the rain on Wednesday while picking chard. The field was soft from the unending heavenly flood. Our feet sank deeper into the beds as we searched for the best leaves. I looked to the gray horizon and wondered when the rain would end. Then, I tilted my face to the sky and allowed the drops to stain my cheeks. When I looked at the chard again I felt warm and sleepy, like after drinking a cup of cinnamon milk at the end of a cold day. I wanted to lay down in the softening soil and let the rain pour over me like the sand in an hour glass. Being out in the elements made me feel ancient and quiet. The sands of time stood still while the rain fell. I watched and listened to the rain for ages. I was happy and content to just be.
Awakening from my timeless slumber I felt a quiet sense of loss. As if I had lost something archaic and simple that I had been told to hold forever. I reached out for it but only found a fading echo of meaning.

This is a view of the path I walk to work. The dead trees are from the beaver dam that I cross to get to the main farm house. The water is the pretty little place that I cross over. Notice the cat tails and their reflections.

My Tent

Karate Karrots

Some inquirers have wondered what is difficult on the farm for me. Everyone has their fun job. For me it is hoeing. I enjoy carefully, yet quickly, scraping the surface of soil around the delicate shoots of a young plant. It's like massaging a scalp so that the hair will grow well. The true purpose of hoeing is to dislodge weed seedling and their seeds so that they won't take over a bed. Hoeing is a relaxing, useful, and a good time.
However, opposite the excitement of raking over the tender shoots of weedlings, is the monotonous and imposing task of hand weeding carrots. Last week I met a true challenge. I will do my best to describe hand weeding.
After seeds have been placed in a row their young sprouts are suddenly in a contest for their life against voracious and quick growing weeds.
In a newly planted bed, carrot sprouts are slow to warm up while weeds are feisty and quick to hog the sun, water, and nutrients. Thus carrots need a lot of help to stay alive until they are big and strong. In comes me with my trusty butter knife. It is my job to get down to the ground and meticulously scrape away the weeds between each carrot. Butter knives seem to be the most appropriate tools as they have no harp edges.
This might sound simple, but on a hot day, in the dust, with 850 carrots sprouts to care for, at 1000 ft per row, and 3 rows to do, suddenly I am not a happy farmer. I am lost in a desert trying desperately to keep my carrot crop alive.
No, I do not do this alone. There are two other hand weeders with me. One in particular is super fast at hand weeding. The entire time I was weeding I became obsessed with how he moved so fast down the rows. I tried going quickly but only got clumsy and ripped carrots out of the ground. I tried different sitting techniques. I scooted backwards on my ass, then forwards. I straddled the row like sitting on a horse, I bent at the waist. If you video taped me and put it into fast forward it would appear I was doing aerobics because I changed positions so many times. I just couldn't seem to find a groove and this guy was moving faster and faster ahead of me. I became super competitive. At one point he got up to get a drink of water and I furiously scraped away at the soil with no regard for carrots or weeds just to catch up to him. When I actually passed his stationary knife I felt victorious only to be overtaken again once he returned to his usual efficient and quick pace.
No, even copying his style did not help even the gap. The inequity in our pacing was really getting me down. At one point I got up and walked to the end of my row and worked backwards just to feel that I had somehow got ahead of him. This was only a momentary balm as he finished his row and was still scooching forward to where I had left off.
After 5 hours of hand weeding I had given up hope of ever going faster. I settled in, ready for a life at the bottom wrung of hand weeding society. As I acquiesced to my new station on the farm I suddenly found myself on my hands and knees doing a double scoop with the knife and a shuffle forward. I was moving, quickly!. It was like I was Ralf Machio in the final tournament of Karate Kid, "Nothing is Gonna Stop You Now" played on the wind as I raced down the row destroying weeds and saving carrots. It was incredible! I found my groove.
While I didn't beat the other guy (he's a master) to the end of the row, I felt I had overcome the challenge of hand weeding. My self dignity was restored. It is still my least favorite activity but I now know how to get through it.

The other night I came across a mother skunk and her three little babes. They were so cute. I did not get sprayed.

Upside down raspberries

Today I picked raspberries. This delicious plump berry is guarded by an army of subtle thorns. They also hide beneath their leaves so it can be difficult to spot the ripest ones. They are ready when they are a dark red and fall off into your hand when you brush against them. Sometimes I would shake the bush and hold my bucket beneath to capture them. Other times I bravely stuck my hand deep into the bushes to bring out the juicy prizes. Yes, I ate them too.
While picking I realized that if I were a child it would be easier to see the berries. A child would be the ideal height to spot the raspberries that liked to hide beneath the cool leaves. (Incidentally, the raspberries weren't really hiding, that was just an adaptation to keep them from the sun). Any who, My back was already sore from bending over and my knees were tender from squatting upon them. Suddenly I was inspired to look at the bush upside down and through my legs. And there I saw hundreds of raspberries just hanging out. When I stood up again they disappeared. It was as if I had x-ray vision. I announced my discovery to my fellow pickers. No one seemed impressed, but they encouraged me to continue down the beds in that fashion if it helped me find raspberries to fill the crates. I did just that, until my back started to hurt again.

By the way, if you were worried about my swelling forearm, like I was, I'm fine. The swelling went down and everything is back to normal. Yay!

The transplanter

Today I worked with the transplanter. It's hard to describe so I will provide a picture by the weekend. It's basically a huge contraption that is attached to a huge tractor. Three people can sit on it at a time. The purpose of this mechanized wonder is to "transplant" seed starts from the green house to the field. As the tractor moves down the field it is my job to quickly and delicately remove the plants and drop them into a rotating shoot. As the shoots and plants rotate a small trap door opens at the bottom of the shoot. The plant drops to the ground where the transplanter has made a small furrow. The plant lands in the opening and then the transplanter closes it up. It's incredible. I had a quick tutorial today. Transplanting is a very hectic job. You have to keep your eyes on the rotating shoots plus pick out the plants form their cases. Sometimes the plants break and then you risk getting behind in your shoots. At the same time you have to be replacing your seedling cases and making sure everything is in line. It's multitasking at its best. I love it.
Also, today I got stung by a Zucchini bush and my arm is swelling up. I think I either have a thorn burrowing deeper into the flesh of my forearm or I have a quickly metastasizing tumor. I am a little worried, I'll give it a day and then probably freak out.
And another thing. I biked to my friends house today. A beautiful ride. What was better than the pleasant ride there was the sunset ride home. I would say that the clouds reminded me of orange creamsicle cotton candy. So beautiful.
Further more, I found a free box of hats but I didn't have a means to carry them home. Then best hat was a Robin Hood style cap. It had a feather and everything.
One last thing. Last night it rained and my tent stayed dry. I'll show pictures of my tent by the weekend as well.

My Morning Walk

There are two ways to travel to the farm house from my tent. I can take the service road through the meadow to the paved road. Or, walk the meandering path through the beaver swamp and emerge onto the pondside strawberry fields. I prefer the meandering path. There seems to be something more beautiful and alive when I go this direction. This morning I awoke to the 5am birds and the morning wind. The wind wanted me to get up. It kept rustling my tent. It pulled on my rain fly and threatened to remove the delicate silver stakes from the soft earth.
I was happy to be curled up in my covers. I didn't want to get up. Besides, the sky was gray and fluffy with clouds. I thought it might rain. But, the wind had other plans, it pushed the clouds away to reveal a bed of blue sky. I struggled up as the wind continued to rustle and jostle my home. I stepped out of my tent and felt shocked by the beauty and balminess of outside. The meadow grasses swayed lazily back and forth, the leaves shimmered like water and the wind danced and flitted about like a happy bird. The sun felt good.
I smiled at the day and new why it had been knocking at my door. I fastened my door closed, removed a tick from my bag and hefted my laundry onto my shoulder. Walking down the path to the swamp I couldn't help smiling at the wonderful day it was going to be. I was off to finish my essays and perhaps clean-up the wood shop. When I came to the stream the cattails looked like markers for travelers on a long journey. They appeared strong and immortal. I waved hello and said thank you to their dignified postures. I leapt across the stream and hoped not to slip. Safely on the other side I strolled through some young birches and finally emerged on the pondside fields.
The day pushed me on.