Waxing Poetic (farm blog)
Lettuce in the hoophouse, just waiting to be put on a list
Although the nights still bring a bit of a chill, the sunshine of the days brings enough warmth to shed the top couple of layers of clothing and lessen the dread of sticking fingers in the soil. Nathan and Shannon began work on Monday and we are settling into the rhythm of the daily farm work and crossing things off lists. I am an obsessive list maker. I’ve got lists for every aspect of life, hanging about in every corner of my world. And there’s no glory like the glory of crossing things off from said lists. I guess that sort of make Nathan and Shannon gladiators. Since their arrival, there has been carnage of the lists. Beautiful scribbles everywhere. With the settling in of the rhythm, comes a deep satisfaction of shrinking lists. Now if Mother Nature would get on board, there will be harvest lists to add to that satisfaction.
We are going ahead with our Lenoir drop point and have just a few harvest shares left. You can get more information at www.tumblingshoalsfarm.com. Please pass along this information to your friends in Lenoir who might be interested. Also, we are planning our fashionably late but grand entrance to the downtown Hickory farmers’ market Saturday, April 13th when we are predicting our crops to catch up from the cold spell we’ve been surviving. We’ll see you there!
Lee from visitwilkesboro.com came out to the farm and made this cute video.
The farm under blankets (which really love the wind, I might mention;))
You may have noticed that I sort of disappeared from the virtual world for a bit. It’s just that the real world grabbed me for a whirlwind dance for a while. The weather whips around our heads (sometimes quite literally) like an angry insect and we get dizzy attempting to plan around its whims. The day’s plans change quickly and we’re constantly in motion. Every March we reach our management capacity. Inevitably, something gets neglected. This year it was the pho. Pho is a delicious Vietnamese brothy soup that involves boiling bones for a long time. We started it in the morning. While we were scrambling to get plants in the ground, row covers on baby plants, fields prepared for further planting, new plants seeded in the greenhouse, etc., somehow, we forgot about the pho. The light began to wane and we headed up to the house in anticipation of our delicious supper, only to find the house filled to the brim with smoke. Indeed. In the madness of March, we burnt the soup. A night out at the local taco joint, a few days of open windows, a virtual ton of laundry, and a deep cleaning and the house is fine. We have only a couple of more weeks of the whirlwind dance until the first of our seasonal employees arrive to rescue us from the madness. We are counting down the days until we are four rather than two.
Tully can hardly contain her excitement over the arrival of pigs on the farm today
I feel lethargic in winter. I find it easier to do less work each day and over more days than to experience a true “weekend.” Some days I even get downright snuggly. A warm fire, a warm beverage. This is comfort zone extreme. I crave heavy, hearty foods like stew and gravy and dough. I trimmed the extra plants out of the greenhouse tray cells the other day. I call it giving the greenhouse a “haircut.” I saved the tiny greens for a salad. The first fresh of the year besides the kale and collards and carrots we’ve been milking out of the last year’s fall field. It felt so good, eating fresh again. I felt so good. So good that the next day I felt so energetic that Tully and I decided to hike up the ridge behind the house. I’ve never seen her so happy, I swear. The neighbor’s motion activated wildlife camera must have gotten some hilarious shots of her as she ran up and down and jumped around in full puppy mode. I guess that’s how I felt too: like laughter beneath the eyes of the long awaited sunshine. The rest of the day was spent hanging out with the baby plants—getting back in touch with a part of this lifestyle that I love. Watching things grow into plants from those tiny seeds never ceases to amazement. Welcome to spring!
Jason tilling in a beautiful cover crop in the hoop house (turn the volume down, tractors are loud!)
Jason preparing beds in the hoop house for planting
Last year we confidently took on a new approach to winter squash production. In this case “confidently” is close to “stupidly.” We had seen it work, more or less, on someone else’s farm. It seemed like a great idea. So we went for it. All of it. Never mind that usually when conducting an experiment or trialing a new crop, we do it on a tiny scale first. Just to see. Not this time, nope. We experimented with organic no-till on the entire field. Funny, I’m usually sick of winter squash by this time of year. But not this year. We lost the entire field to that experiment. Oops.
So it’s time to begin planting again. As usual this time of year, “planting” involves a lot of tricky maneuvering around the weather and wet fields. So the other day I was out sticking my hands in the fields expecting that oft-wet field where the no-till experiment so greatly failed us to be too wet to get into with the tractor. I stuck my hand in this year’s brassica field: too wet. I stuck my hand in this year’s beet/chard field: too wet. So only half heartedly did I even meander over to that ill-fated field to stick my hand in, but (you’re way ahead of me now)lo and behold! It was perfectly fine in the moisture department! I did a double take (or a double soil squeeze as is the case). Huh? Yep, turns out the ole’ no-till routine is EXCELLENT for soil quality (tons of organic matter and super drainage). Almost makes me want to try no-till again. Almost.
I am sitting in my office today, gazing out at what suffices in North Carolina as a winter wonderland. I hear the rapid staccato of ice pellets hitting the roof and find myself exhilaratingly thankful that I have a roof that doesn’t leak and is insulated. It wasn’t so many years ago that we would have been huddling together under blankets sporting bulky winter hats and clothes in the camper on a day like today. Instead, there’s a nice fire burning and a dog cuddled up by my feet which makes sitting here gazing out the window at inclement weather a lot more pleasant. We’ve just completed our taxes and yearly budget which, strange as it is, always energizes me for the upcoming season. I just picked up the last of the farm equipment from the repair shop and as soon as the fields dry out from this current system, we’ll be bundled up out there planting! We just hired our first employee of the 2013 season and I’m beginning to form visions of the greatest season yet in my head. For farmers, every season begins with hope. The new year begins with nothing but an inner vision of beauty and bounty. We sow these little specks in the greenhouse with all the faith in the world that they will grow into successful crops that will pay us back in kind for all the love and care we give them. I guess that’s the difference (one of them anyway) between what I like to call our “annual parenthood” and real parenthood: we fully expect a payback from our adult babies. That and the fact that they don't cry or talk back (not in the literal sense anyway).