Me driving "Harrison Ford"
Did you ever notice that motorcyclists wave to each other as they pass on the road? It’s not something we are taught; it’s just something that we do without really pondering why. It’s acknowledgement that we’re both part of some club. It’s a club that doesn’t really exist, at least not with meeting and dues and all those things that make a club a club, but a group of people with at least this one overt thing in common.
I sold my motorcycle a few years back. Now I drive a creepy white cargo van. But the instinct to belong is still quite ingrained in me. The other day I was at a stoplight and another white cargo van pulled up beside me and that instinct took over. I waved.
As well I should have. There should be a creepy white cargo van club. We’ve seen parents pull their children closer when we approach or cross to the other side of the street we are parked on to avoid getting too close. I even got pulled over once just because I was driving a creepy white van. They told me they were pulling over all the creepy white vans.
So even though I sold my motorcycle and lost all my cool points, I still get to belong to a club. And I’m still going to wave at all the other club members I see out there on the road.
Where your food is grown
I heard this article on NPR the other day about Atlantic City implementing a new gambling game: a free-throw shoot out. Seriously. It was kind of amazing. The old L.A. Lakers shooting coach, the one that improved Shaq's free throw shooting percentage from 38% to 69% in one year (the biggest improvement in history, according to him) was there. His free throw shooting percentage is 99.3%.
So you would think that he and others like him would be the only people to show up for such a gambling event. But there were hundreds of people! The reporters asked most of them how many shots they thought they were going to make. They all said something like "all of them". Overconfidence. It's no different than all the casino games that are based purely on chance. Everyone thinks, "I'm going to be the lucky one". Overconfidence keeps the casinos in business.
I have been to Las Vegas many times. I have never gambled (unless you count the time my friends forced me to put a nickle in a slot machine because they didn't think I should go to Vegas without gambling). Overconfidence is not one of my afflictions.
Replacing our burned out well pump last Friday
(that was exciting)
Aromas of cooking waft into my office. Jason is in the kitchen downstairs singing “Ape Man” along with the radio at the top of his lungs, creating this evening’s cuisine while I push the pile of paperwork that awaits me every Monday. It’s amazing how easily we fall back into our seasonal routines.
Each year, Merlefest signals the onslaught of the busy season here at the farm, and we respond almost robotically. We didn’t discuss this division of labor. It just is the division of labor throughout the season. A comfortable settling in that occurs without us even really noticing it beginning. We mail back those Netflix DVDs that have been sitting there for a month and cancel our account; we cut back on meetings; we hone our focus in to the farm.
Sage, Alyssa, and Kyle planting our beneficial insect habitat
In a previous life I worked in social services. It’s a field of quick burn-out/high turnover rates. By definition, I’m one of those statistics. Henry David Thoreau said “It takes a special constitution to do good.” At some point, I realized that, perhaps, I didn’t quite have that constitution.
Not that organic farming doesn’t have a bit of “do-good” involved in it. It does. It’s just not quite as selfless as social service work. Because, quite literally, I get to reap what I sow. Plus, there’s all the benefits of working outside in this beautiful valley (how many social service workers can say that about their office?).
Sometimes though, we do things on this farm just for the pure “do-good” of it, and I get to bask in the glow of it. Last week, for example, we planted a little plot of flowering perennials just to provide habitat for beneficial insects and pollinators. I was totally geeking out. Don’t get me wrong, we do benefit from the work those good bugs do once they settle in at the farm, but it just felt so do-goody. Like suddenly, we were real organic farmers. Just hippy-dippy enough to fit into the old 70s idea of organic: a little less production-oriented, a little more getting friendly with the bugs. I almost dug out the ole’ bell bottoms.
Blackberries: after! (photo courtesy of Kyle)
My workplace is very beautiful. Even sitting here in the office/closet on a rainy day catching up on paperwork that piled up during the last weeks of lovely weather, I look out the window (yes, there’s a window in the closet!) at all the hues of rebirth washed clean by the rains. I can’t help but love spring. Even though she can be a cruel creature, I find myself sanguine in her embrace.
After all, spring brings back the farmily and a sense of relief as we suddenly go from two to six people and “to-do” lists disappear like magic. It is spring when we actually get around to our “winter” projects list. I have to admit to a certain amount of blackberry pessimism after we failed to dig them out of the weeds and trellis them this winter. But spring came and the farmily rescued us again and now I look with pride and promise of the juicy sweetness to come.
The farm under blankets for the cold cold night (spoiler alert: everything survived!)
Last Thursday night I literally ate chips for supper. I know it sounds absurd: the organic farmer ate an “I refuse to read the ingredients” processed food (ish) product for her entire supper. I confess, it happened, but I swear I have a good excuse.
You see, as we age and become more of an established farm, we have developed this goal to have at least a tiny bit of a life outside the farm. I admit it’s a struggle. Our choice of career, like most small businesses, tends to absorb all of our time and energy. That’s okay—we adore our job—but some small part of ourselves wishes to have some aspect of life outside the farm. Without it, we find ourselves at a loss when it comes to conversation.
I mean, when you are wholly absorbed into one thing, it becomes difficult to view the world through any other lens. Literally, ALL we can think to talk about is farming and related topics. In a word, we’re boring.
As part of our effort to expand our horizons, so to speak, (to become less boring) we are taking a Spanish class. Which brings us back to the chips for supper. You see, the class begins a half hour away at 6 and we currently call it a day at 5, so there’s only time to get cleaned up a bit and scamper off to class, which runs until 9p.m. which is our normal bed time. So, no time for cooking supper, or even scarfing down some leftovers. This, my friends, is my “good excuse”.
Signs of spring
Wow, spring. With the cold weather delay, spring is in acceleration mode here at the farm. Everything is happening all at once. The trees are budding out, the early and mid season daffodils are blooming together, the peepers are peeping. And the wind is blowing.
Spring winds are a fact of life here in the Tumbling Shoals Valley, and usually we appreciate their soil-drying effect that helps us be able to get into the fields to prepare them for planting. But like spring, we’ve been delayed, and everything is happening all at once for us as well. We just don’t have the luxury of waiting for that somewhat calm day to lay down the 90 foot lengths of landscape fabric or the 100 by 10 foot giant sails of row cover. Ha!
As the gust of wind actually pulls me 3 or so feet on my belly across the field (I refuse to let go!!!), I find myself looking the gift horse of wind hard in the mouth. I even scowl at it. Roll my eyes, sigh, beg, curse. But still, it does not relent. By the end of the day (the wind still blowing), I feel like I’ve been body surfing in a really rough sea. My entire upper body is sore down to my fingers just from holding on. I’m coated in a film of dirt like I’ve been sand blasted, which, I suppose I have. Alas, like Barbara Kingsolver wrote in Animal, Vegetable, Miracle, “This is what’s cruel about springtime: no matter how it treats you, you can’t stop loving it.”
Since the beginning of the year I’ve felt like a Loony Tunes character bouncing around in a scramble to beat back the ever encroaching “to-do” list. We took desperate measures to be ready to seed and plant on time, packed our greenhouse full, planned out our days in order to be able to accomplish all the things that needed to be done. And lo and behold, we caught up to where we should be this time of year, ready and willing to plant out in the fields and then this “slow-your-roll” weather struck.
The snow descended on the valley with a muffling arrest. All activity stayed, aside from the smoke tendrils weaving their way out of chimneys and a few robins ruffling their feathers in protest.
I have to admit, it’s a pleasant reprieve. It’s as if we’ve been running hard just to get to the starting line and now we’re forced to catch our breath. The race has been delayed. I’m sure I’ll be worried come time for these crops to be harvested and they’re behind schedule, but I’m going to live in the moment for a minute. Take a break. Enjoy winter’s beauty without question or quarrel. Maybe even have a little fun with it. And breathe. After all, there isn’t a thing in the world I can do about it. Snow is snow and there it is-beautifully blockading my schedule; slowing my roll. I might as well embrace the peace.