The Make-Believe CSA Member

In June, we farmers always want our place to look nice. After all, it's the beginning of the harvest season, when we welcome new and returning CSA members to the greenhouses and gardens and the vegetable distribution shed. This time of year, my fellow farmer and I try to look at our farm with new eyes: we like to pretend we are brand new CSA members.

First we vroom up the farm road in our make-believe cars, on the way to our first exciting CSA pick-up. We eye the burgeoning multiflora rose hedge along the road dubiously. Did the road crew succeed in trimming it back adequately this year? Will people be able to park, without scratching their fine vehicles or their fine bare summer arms? We park our make-believe cars, which are not scratched at all. Excellent!

Then we assess the driveway. Are there any dead chipmunks and mice, or some viscera perhaps, thanks to our lovely two new kitties, ambitious in their youthful hunting years? Or are the kitties themselves there in the driveway, presenting a friendly, purring countenance to welcome everyone? (Or perhaps it is our scratch-bitey kitty, who, if not presenting a friendly countenance, at least presents a familiar one, to returning members. He has been scratching and biting CSA members for years now.)

“What cute kitties,” we croon from afar, or pet from close up, depending on the nature of the cat. “What a nice CSA farm!”

Next we check for piles of horse manure in the driveway of this nice CSA farm. Our four draft horses don't seem too concerned, on their way to and from pasture or gardens, whether our driveway is presentable. Happily the same shovel that picks up dead animals works well for horse manure too.

While the one farmer shovels, the other farmer, who is enjoying being an excited newly arrived CSA member, instead of a dead animal and manure shoveling farmer, checks out the the charming herb garden. Is it, in fact, charmingly dug and planted, reminding CSA members of their lovely summers in the lavender fields of Provence, or are the poor herbs still languishing in their pots, waiting to be transplanted and to become charming?

And another question: are the languishing herbs in the company of other languishing plants on the wooden tables next to the herb garden? Or have the farmers gotten all the tomatoes and basil and sweet peepers and squash into the greenhouse beds weeks ago, where they are now flourishing?

The CSA member/farmer peeks in the open door of the greenhouse. “'Ooo,” she says, “Look at those beautiful tomatoes! Look how big they are!” Excellent indeed. By the beginning of July, by the looks of the fruit, there will be scrumptious heirloom and standard tomatoes ready for eating.

The shoveling farmer rejoins the CSA member/farmer, and both are quite happy that there are no languishing plants that need to be planted in a hurry, before this new member tour is over. Plus the grass has been nicely mowed, which both cuts down on ticks and cuts down on the unkempt, scraggly farm look.

At last we are at the harvest shed, the true goal of excited CSA members, looking forward to the fresh crisp first greens of the season. Here we find the bamboo shades in good repair, keeping the sunlight away from the fresh and crisp, so that the fresh and crisp do not become limp and sad.

We find that the shed has been cleaned of its winter accumulation of lawnmowers, buckets, and errant tools, and that the harvest tables are in place. One CSA member/farmer shakes the tables vigorously, making sure heavy crates of produce and wooden tables don't fall upon innocent and excited new members. Luckily, the drill is handy, so we can screw the tables to the wall for a little insurance.

Then we notice that the harvest chalkboard has not been erased from last November's final CSA harvest. We admire a moment the evidence of all those vegetables we gave out so many months ago. We hope that we have a good harvest again this year. One of us erases, and then writes a fresh new greeting: “Welcome to Hillside Springs Farm!”

“Welcome! Welcome!” says one farmer to the other, offering a hearty handshake.

“I am so excited!” the other farmer shakes hands with equal gusto. “What a nice CSA farm! What a really really really nice CSA farm! Gee, I'd like to live here!”

“Gee, you're in luck!” The one farmer ceremoniously presents the dead animal and manure shovel.

The other farmer takes a step back. “Oh, no! No, thanks! I'm a newly arrived and excited CSA member! Remember?"

Originally published in the Monadnock Shopper News, June 8 - June 14, 2016

The Wonderful Whizzing Hose

In the fine month of May, amongst all the planting and weeding, we vegetable farmers spend a surprising amount of tine watering. Many of our transplants are still in pots, waiting for the magical June-first-post-frost planting date. In March and April, watering can be a pleasant, contemplative experience, with all the little plants in all their little plots. But in May, there's hundreds of plants, still in pots, and they don't want to be in pots anymore. They are bursting out of their pots, slurping up all available nutrients and moisture, and thus they need a substantial watering every day.

For all our years together, my fellow farmer and I have used a greenhouse watering system we've cobbled together ourselves. First there is a 100 gallon drum, a former Coca-Cola barrel (since Coca-Cola is practically a food grade substance!), filled with water from our well. The barrel filling process involves three hoses, threaded through the pile of junk in front of the barn, and catching on every possible protrusion: the various plow shares, broken wire netting, pipes, old carts, etc., all waiting to be sold or fixed or recycled. At least one of the hoses is sure to have a repaired spot, which, after catching on something, pulls apart, thus spraying water all over a farmer who prefers to stay dry.

Then it's shut off the water, stick the hose back together, turn on the water, trip over the junk, thread the hose more carefully through the junk, edge the hose under a gap in the baseboards of the greenhouse, and put the hose in the barrel. Sometimes the hose stays in the barrel. Sometimes the hose flips out, causing a flood in the greenhouse pathways, which a farmer would also prefer to stay dry, so she doesn't get her feet wet.

Now the barrel is filled, and the water is warmed by the sun (or the greenhouse's propane heater, when there is no sunshine) so as not to shock our plants. Then we plug in the submersible pump (ingenious! our favorite part of the lousy system!) which is connected to yet another hose, which we drag around the greenhouse to water both the transplants in pots on the tables, and the tomatoes that are already planted in the greenhouse beds. 

Drag is the operative word here, because it is very, very bad for a farmer to crush a thriving transplant in a pot or a thriving tomato plant in the bed with a dragging hose. Thus we have an elaborate maze of concrete blocks, stakes, and digging forks anchored at the ends of the tables and beds to protect the plants. Mostly this works. Sometimes it doesn't. Inevitably the hose gets caught in the maze, requiring many trips back and forth in the greenhouse. Sometimes a farmer gets wet too, from all this hose fiddling, and that is also very, very bad.

Periodically, along our farming way, my fellow and I would visit and ogle and covet the greenhouse watering systems of other farmers. “Look at that,” we'd say, watching as a hose whizzed by on a cable and the smiling farmer quickly, efficiently, and painlessly watered the greenhouse.

“That probably cost five hundred dollars,” one of us would say gloomily.

“A thousand dollars,” said the other. “There's no way we can afford that.”

But, for once, we were blissfully wrong about fancy-farm-things prices.

“You won't believe this,” my fellow says one day, coming to untangle the hose for me as I water and grumble in the greenhouse. I muster up an interested look for his news.

“I looked up the whizzing hose on a cable in a catalog. It's only 150 dollars!”

“No!” I say.

“Yes!” he says. “We can find 150 dollars somewhere!”

“Maybe we can!” My thrifty farmer nature is momentarily overcome by the idea of a wonderful whizzing hose. 

And we do! We order the hose, right away! It comes in the mail! Our fine CSA member who barters for carpentry work installs it! We test it out! It works perfectly, magnificently, whizzingly! Holy moly! We dance around the greenhouse, hollering in glee!

“Wow,” I say, “The great thing about having cruddy stuff and lousy systems is that we are so ecstatic when something better comes along! Maybe we should keep using our cruddy stuff even longer!”

“Wow!' says my fellow farmer. “You're crazy! I might have to squirt you with this whizzing hose!'

“Don't you dare!” I say, and we holler and laugh our way all the way down our quickly, efficiently, and painlessly watered greenhouse.
 

Originally published in the Monadnock Shopper News, May 11-17, 2016

Horses, Hoes, and Hankerings

In the spring, we farmers are full of hankerings. Woken up by sunshine and warm air, we are longing for a hundred things, a thousand things, a million things. Here are a few:

Greenhouse Hankerings: Everything starts in the greenhouse on our vegetable farm. We sow the seeds, and we long for good germination. We water the seeds, and we hope that our watering system holds out another year, hoses and couplings and hand-dug well alike. We compost the greenhouse beds, hankering after fertility and productivity and general vegetable abundance this season. And we hope warm temperatures really do come and stay, so we don't have to keep paying greenhouse propane bills into April, or May, or June . . .

Garden Hankerings: Some of our veggies–tomatoes, eggplant, basil, green and sweet red and hot peppers–spend their lives in the sheltered greenhouse, but most of our crops are either transplanted or direct-sown into the big world of the garden. This is when the hankerings of a farmer are strongly directed skyward: more rain, less rain; more sunshine, less sunshine; more gentle breezes, less big winds; much much much less hail. We also have some strong bug longings. We long for the beneficial insects, and we hope that the vegetable munchers stay away. In the garden we hanker for sharp hoes and tiny weeds, too.

Biodynamic Hankerings: We farm using biodynamic methods. Biodynamic agriculture is both a practical and a philosophical approach to farming, with a mission to revitalize the soil and to renew an understanding of the spiritual task of farming. Biodynamic farmers see the farm itself as a living organism, one that starts with healthy soil. Healthy soil helps provide healthy plants and healthy food, which in turn can nourish both the physical and spiritual lives of those who eat it. We like to encourage a good spirit in our food and on our farm, though sometimes that only means a frustrated farmer might curse under her breath rather than at a roar. But mostly it means a lasting belief in good, meaningful work in the world.

CSA Hankerings: We must admit that we also hanker for a solid CSA membership in the spring. As farmers, we never know quite what our income is going to be every year. It's always nice to be able to pay the bills, and the bills tend to come very early in the spring, whereas the CSA members come late in the spring, once the warm weather wakes up the garden-fresh-veggies urge. (Plus we hanker highly after members who love local food and farms and farmers, and our CSA members hanker too: Oh! Those sugar snap peas! Oh! That first ripe heirloom tomato! Oh! That first whiff of fresh basil! Sometimes our nice members hanker for hoes too, and come help us weed!)

Horse Hankerings: In all seasons, summer, fall, winter, and spring,our four fine draft horses help us accomplish many tasks around the farm, from bringing in firewood to making hay, from plowing and discing to spreading compost and cultivating, not to mention their generous deposits to soil fertility via the compost pile. But especially now, in the spring, our horses hanker for just one thing: green grass! The first day out on pasture, generally towards the end of April, or the beginning of May, is a day of great horse celebration! And then the second day is! And the third! And the fourth!

This hankering for green grass makes perfect sense to a vegetable farmer. What's better to celebrate than fresh, local, sustainably grown food?

Originally published in the Monadnock Shopper News, April 13-19, 2016
 

Gritting, Longing, Wondering, Raging, Yodeling: Life on the Farm

It's March on our vegetable farm, and there's a stir in the air. There's a warm breeze, wafting over the ice and mud, and we farmers lift our faces to the sunshine, smelling spring. Spring is surely close by, in March, and even if it isn't quite here yet, our heated greenhouse hollers Spring! Spring! Spring!

Every year we fire up the greenhouse's propane heater on March first. We turn on the heat mats, and we fill up the flats with soil mix, and we open the very first seed packets of spring – the onions, and the scallions, and then the lettuce and the salad greens, and the tomatoes and basil.

We press the tiny black or white or brown seeds into the dirt, trying to press in a little blessing for each seed too, a germinate, grow well, be healthy and happy, and bear much fruit! blessing. It is fine meditative work, there in the warmth and protection and almost-outdoorsness of the greenhouse. We feel the sun, smell the dirt, hear the birds warming up their spring songs. Such peacefulness, such quiet, such good vibes, amongst the seeds, the soil, the farmers . . .

Well, maybe there's not good vibes every minute between the farmers. Because, in the spring, there is a) the one farmer, who likes to meditate in the peace and quiet while sowing seeds, and b) the other farmer, who likes to listen to the radio while sowing seeds, and c) the fact that the radio can't be both off and on at the same time.

A small difference, perhaps, but over the past twenty years of working full-time together, the meditative farmer and the radio farmer have worked through many spring seed-sowing scenarios:

1) Gritting

Two farmers, sowing seeds: One happy farmer, listening to the radio, and one grumpy farmer, gritting her teeth, wishing she wasn't listening to the radio.

2) Longing

Two farmers, sowing seeds: one happy farmer, meditating restfully with bird-song and breeze-song and seed-song, and one slightly restless farmer, longing to turn on the radio and find out what's going on in the big wide world beyond this one little greenhouse on this one little farm in this one little village in this one little state.

3) Wondering

One farmer, sowing seeds: one happy farmer, listening to the radio while sowing, and one slightly restless farmer, working on boring bills and CSA advertising, and wondering what fun she's missing in the greenhouse.

4) Wondering, Take Two

One farmer, sowing seeds: one happy farmer, quietly meditating and sowing, and one very restless farmer, working the last of his winter substitute shifts at the local food co-op (where the radio is playing, but not his station), and wondering what fun he's missing in the greenhouse.

5) Raging

No farmers, sowing seeds: one enraged farmer, who's going out to the greenhouse to join her already sowing fellow farmer, but who discovers that the fellow has gone off to another urgent farm project, leaving the radio blaring, with no person even there to hear it! (Clearly this enraged farmer's meditative efforts aren't quite strong enough: she mutters and curses as she violently unplugs the radio, and then stomps off to find out what the other urgent farm project is.)

6) Yodeling

Two farmers sowing seeds: the meditative farmer, in a fit of tolerance and loving kindness, builds a shelf in the greenhouse for her fellow farmer's radio. The radio farmer, for his kindly part, turns the radio off when the meditative farmer is approaching.

“Here I come,” the meditative farmer yodels cheerfully, “will you turn it off?”

“Did you say 'Turn it up? Turn it up?' All right!” yodels the radio farmer back, laughing a lot at his own funny joke, and unplugging the radio.

The meditative farmer laughs too, and there we are again, another spring, two mostly contented farmers, having occasional bits of conversation, enough to satisfy the restless but not disturb the restful, and sowing the seeds of March together.

Originally published in the Monadnock Shopper News, March 16-22, 2016