Wet and Frustrated Farmers

Come April, there are likely to be two wet and frustrated farmers around here. Come April, it's time to set up the irrigation.

If we are lucky, a dry spell in April, which activates the irrigation panic, will coincide with a warm spell, which means that the farmers won't be shivering as they are soaked from the knee down, or alternatively, soaked from the knee up, depending on what type of irrigation we're using.

Happily, we have never suffered a complete immersion, meaning, we've never fallen into the irrigation pond. It is a lovely little pond, with pollywogs and salamanders, turtles and visiting ducks and herons. It is also home to leeches, which my fellow farmer finds daunting, and it is home to a lot of wet cold water, which I find daunting.

Granted, it is a pretty shallow pond, and we have a wide sturdy blue rowboat, so there's not much fear of real trouble, but let's just say I would rather look at the pretty water than get any of it on me.

This year, my fellow tried his usual method, of going out in the boat and tipping the five gallon bucket-siphon hose-cement block tied together with baling twine rig over the edge of the boat into the middle of the pond. But it didn't work. The bucket, which is there to prevent the hose from sucking muck off the bottom of the pond and clogging up all our irrigation, came floating back up.

My fellow paddled back, we hauled the hose out, and tried again. This time, not only did the bucket float to the top, but the boat floated too close to shore during the hose-bucket-block tipping process.

More paddling, more hauling, and then my fellow had a new idea, involving me and the boat. I agreed. Then I took a closer look at the boat. “Why is there all that water in it?”

“There's a little leak,” he said casually. “I've got a bucket, so we can bail it out.”

“Oh, no,” I said worriedly, getting in the boat. My fellow and the hose-bucket-block got in the boat.

“I'm getting wet,” I said right away, feeling the panic rise, even though it was a slow leak, and just a general mucking around in the pond wetness that was getting me. Still I bailed furiously, while my fellow paddled.

But then I had to stop bailing and anchor the paddle in the muck to keep the boat still, not an easy task, and my fellow, who loves water and swimming, if not leeches, was standing up in the boat, causing it to rock dangerously close to the surface of the water on either side

I squawked, “Where is your daughter? Where is your daughter?” meaning our daughter now in college, who also loves swimming and water.

My fellow laughed. I was not laughing.

My fellow splashed the block in. Once again, the hose floated right out of the bucket.

My fellow looked gloomily at the rising bucket. “Well, that didn't work.”

“Will you sit down?” I said tightly, gripping the sides of the boat.

He sighed. He sat down. “I guess this isn't a good project for you.”

“It sure isn't,” I said, grabbing the bail bucket. “We need a new idea.”

Our new idea was two-fold. We would cut off the cinder block, and hope the weight of the water in the bucket would cleverly sink the hose. We would also tie a rope onto the boat, and my fellow would paddle out, throw me the rope on the other shore, and I would hold the boat steady in the middle of the pond.

Well, it took some throwing to get that baling twine rope to reach me. Finally the rope caught on a branch, and I got hold, and kept the boat in place. My fellow eased the bucket and hose in the water. Up came that blasted bucket.

“How about half a cement block, right in the bucket? How about bricks?” I called.

“Or a stone right from the edge of the pond,” my fellow answered. “Which I could get if you gave me a little more slack.”

I gave my fellow lots of slack. We were both feeling wet, frustrated, and downright grumpy by then.

My fellow got a rock. Then he eased the rock, the bucket, and the hose in the water.

Hallelujah! It worked! Plus the irrigation pump started right up! We were very pleased.

Then we spent the next several hours figuring out where the irrigation hoses, headers, and connections were leaking, thus getting soaked from the knee down.

But our just transplanted beets and greens and kohlrabi, and our just sown carrots and salad turnips, were beautifully watered in. And not only that, it was a nice warm day for two wet and frustrated farmers.

Originally published in the Monadnock Shopper News, May 5 - May 11, 2021

Farmer Stone Wall and Farmer Creek

The farm budget committee is giggling these days. The budget committee, ostensibly made up of two amiable, cooperative farmers, is essentially stonewalled by one farmer, the no-budge budget farmer. Yes, I admit it; I am the beautiful, practical stone wall, crafted by hundreds of thrifty New England farmers, the wall whose job is to keep some things on the farm, and some things off the farm.

This, not surprisingly, has resulted in various impassioned proposals brought before the stone wall by the budget committee's more flexible, excitable, passionate farmer, the beautiful, life-giving New England creek, we might call him, whose job is to keep things flowing, on and off the farm.

Early on in our farming years together, the stone wall and the creek agreed that they had to agree on the budget. However, the stone wall was much more easily persuaded in those days to invest in sundry impassioned proposals by the creek. Unfortunately, this easy acquiescence meant that we two were stuck with some farm items that proved less than necessary. But those mistakes did give the stone wall a lot more defense.

“This would be really great, we really need this, this would help the farm a lot,” the passionate creek might say.

“That's what you said about the bigger fuel tank on the irrigation pump, and it's still sitting in the box, after ten years. Or is it fifteen?” the stone wall answers.

After many years of the fuel pump, the creek suggested that the stone wall needed a new line of defense.

The stone wall chuckled. “A new one? How about the fly net for our horse Benny, because he was so bothered by flies that he couldn't work, and it's never been on his head yet?”

“Yeah, that's a good one,” the creek answers. “Use that one for a while.”

Over the years, several other stock phrases have evolved, designed to lift the spirits of the budget committee, who also comprise every other committee on this small vegetable farm: the irrigation committee, the draft horse committee, the advertising committee, the weeding committee, the transplanting committee, the making supper committee, and so on. All these committees must work together, in close proximity, which is where amiability and cooperation, civility and kindness, come in.

Thus, when the creek bubbles over with a new idea, the stone wall now chirps, “Gee, I wonder how we can do that and still fit it in our budget?”

“Nice,” says the creek. “I like that a lot better.” It makes for a much more pleasant budget committee meeting, with less flooding of the stone wall, and less damming of the creek.

Over the years, the creek has also changed its course somewhat, providing more research, comparing prices, testing new products by borrowing them first, and etc. (Plus, there is a ground rule here: anything that really costs a lot has to be entirely approved by both of us, so that if we buy a $1000 truck that we then take to the scrapyard in two weeks, we can freely grouse about it together.)

Now, after all this, you might wonder why the budget committee is giggling lately. This is why: the stone wall wants to purchase something! Something really great, something that we really need, something that will really help the farm a lot! The something is a new bigger greenhouse tub, to fill flats with soil mix, and to soak flats full of transplants before they move out into the garden.

For years we have been fiddling around with a too-small tub, tipping the flats one way and another, getting soil mix in places where we didn't want it, and not in places we did want it, i.e., in the flats. For years, we have been watering our transplants with the overhead wand, which just wasn't thorough enough for the big shock of transplanting.

“Ohhhh,” the stone wall moaned in the spring, as she tried yet again to fill a flat evenly with soil mix in the too-small tub, “I really want a bigger tub.”

And what did the kind creek do?

He researched tub sizes on-line. He ordered a bigger tub from Jack's Hardware store. He picked it up. He brought it home.

Then he offered to let me use the new tub first. Such a lovely creek is he.

I, the stone wall, am in ecstasy. The new tub! So big! So easy to fill the flats! So easy to soak flats! Oh, the tub! the tub! the tub! “We should have done this years ago!” I say. “It's fantastic! What were we thinking?'

The lovely creek says nothing. He just smiles. Maybe he has a new idea for the budget committee too. A new idea, with a new passionate, persuasive phrase: “We should have done this years ago! What were we thinking? We'd better do it right now!”

Originally published in the Monadnock Shopper News, April 7 --April 13, 2021

What's a March Farmer to Do?

Just like the weather, we farmers never quite know what to do in March.

If it's a snowy, cold March day, shouldn't we go out to the nice warm propane-heated greenhouse, and tend to our tender little green seedlings? Or, since it's a snowy, cold day, shouldn't we stay inside, and work on all our unfinished winter house projects?

Then again, if it's a sunny, warm March day, shouldn't we groom our draft horses, who are starting to shed like crazy? Or, since it's a sunny, warm day, shouldn't we stay inside, and work on all our unfinished winter house projects?

But maybe it's a wet, muddy March day, and we should clean out the tool area, in preparation for the garden season? Or, since it's a wet, muddy day, shouldn't we stay inside, and work on all our unfinished winter house projects?

If you were one type of farmer, say the enthusiastic, optimistic, loves new projects and getting things started type, as in my fellow, you would say “Yes! Yes! Yes!” to all the first options in the pairs of questions.

If you were another type of farmer, say the steady, let's pull over and think about it, loves to finish things up and put them tidily away, as in me, you would say “Yes,” very calmly and quietly, and somewhat doggedly, to all the second options.

So what's the perfect solution to March? Well, my fellow farmer could go out to the tender green seedlings and the nice hairy horses and the disheveled tool shed, and I could stay inside and finish all the winter house projects.

But heck, why does he get to have all the fun? What I really want is for both of us to stay inside and finish all the winter projects, and then have fun together with the very beginning of the season. But in March, my fun-loving farmer fellow doesn't think it sounds all that interesting to stay inside and sort papers, or make garden improvement lists, or organize cupboards, or make sewing repairs.

March is time for action! Time to fire up the heated greenhouse! Time to sow the first seeds! Time to groom the horses! Time to clean up the tool area! Time to start getting the horses and farmers in shape for the season, by harnessing and taking little jaunts down the road with the forecart! Now that sounds like fun!

Gee, somehow I can't make all those unfinished winter house projects seem all that interesting either.

Then I have a brilliant idea: what if we do both things at once?

We could water the seedlings in the greenhouse at the same time as we discuss last season, and what went well, and what didn't. Our leeks were great; our tomatoes were not as abundant as usual; the soybeans were fantastic; some varieties of winter squash rotted in the field. We can solve all these problems as we admire our pretty onions and tomatoes and cabbage and bok choy and basil poking their little green heads out of the soil in the flats.

Then too, we could groom the horses at the same time as we think about what projects we still want to finish in the house. Do we really need to go through all our books and clear out some? Or is that kind of a silly idea, we love books, let's let them stay! Likewise, do we really need to go through twenty years of paper tax records, keeping only what is necessary, and tossing the millions of gasoline receipts from 2003? Heck, no, we've still got room in the cupboard; we can stuff a few more years of receipts in there. Meanwhile, look at the pleasure we're giving the horses, as they lean blissfully into the currycombs and brushes.

Plus, when we go outside to get that tool area in shape, we could pretend we're really cleaning out the closets. Now that is brilliant. And when we're taking a little jaunt with the horses, we could pretend we were making sewing repairs. Yes! The possibilities are endless!

Of course, we might not actually, as in tangibly and visibly, get anything accomplished in the house during March. But all that thinking and talking and pretending could well lead to some house project action . . . next winter, for example.

Originally published in the Monadnock Shopper News, March 10 -March 16, 2021

Boss Hoss : The Dash, the Dance, and the Draft Horse

The snow is falling peacefully this morning on our fields and our woodshed and our house and our garden and our barn, and on our four draft horses in their winter paddock.

The snowflakes are like stars on the horses' winter coats, two red-brown-gold, one black, and our new horse, Clyde, bringing the herd together with his red-brown coat and black points. Of course, our black horse, Ben, may beg to differ on this peaceful bringing together point.

Back in the old days, as in last winter, when we had just three horses, Ben was the “boss hoss,” and that suited him swell. He was the first to the water, first to the feed, and the one who always started the game of ring around the hay piles, as he shuffled the other two horses from one hay pile to the next, sampling them all, and declaring his preference, or at least declaring his ability to shuffle the other horses around.

Now Clyde is the boss hoss, and he is a much less bossy boss. Yes, he's the one that stands at the barn door now, waiting for the first load of hay to come out. But even when he is all riled up, it's never with Benny's fire and pinned ears and mad dashes at other horses.

Clyde is more of a dancing boss, shaking his head and body all over in a lively trot, while the others slide out of the way. It's as if he's just expanding his presence, saying “Hey, here I am, don't forget,” rather than giving out orders. The dancing has the same effect as the dashes, but it's a lot more peaceful, in our view.

Whether fiery or peaceful, the horse relationships are more complex than we farmers think, as we hover at the edges of the horse world, and at the edges of our own understanding of the horse world. We know that the hierarchy in horses isn't a strict one, and that it depends on many factors, including scarcity and abundance of food and water and space, and various combinations of mares and geldings, and on which horses are related and which horses are pals.

Now we have, for the first time, one mare and three geldings, only two of which are related, which has led to this: Clyde, who can push Ben and Moon away; Ben, who can push Molly and Moon away; and Molly, who can push Clyde and Moon away. If you're following all that, you will see how strange it appears to us: Clyde over Ben, and Ben over Molly, and Molly over Clyde. Plus there's Moon, who mostly gets to eat with everybody, even if he doesn't get to push anyone else away.

With all this relationship shifting, we have had to figure out the best way to feed our horses little treats, which can sometimes cause a big uproar in the barnyard. We've tried various techniques, and sometimes it is all a little too close for comfort, with two or more big horses squealing or threatening each other, and the puny human in the middle with the apple core.

Of course, the humans have to function as boss hoses all the time, in order to even work safely with such big animals. But we are boss hosses more like Clyde, just expanding our presences if necessary, or, if we can, figuring out less contentious ways to bring treats without getting accidentally run over.

Our latest experiment was when we brought the horses holiday apples and carrots. I had two apples for each horse, plus a little pile of carrots divided up. I planned it all out. There were three people, and four horses, two of which always eat happily together. Thus one farmer went straight to Clyde, one went straight to Ben, and the third to Molly and Moon, with no treat rumors spreading ahead of time.

Oh, how peaceful it was! No racing, no squealing, no threats of hooves or teeth. It also helped considerably that it was one of those quiet mornings like today, since a windy high-pressure day or a storm will cause the herd to whirl and kick and squeal and feint and race just for the whoop of it all.

Sometimes a whoop is fun and exciting. Sometimes it's not. Sometimes it's nice to have a rest from whooping, to watch the snow fall on the fields, to feel a horse's soft lips on your palm, to savor the connection between the apple, grown here on the farm, the horses, living and working here on the farm, and the farmers, right in the middle, and held up by it all. Given, of course, that we're not being run over by it all.

Originally published in the Monadnock Shopper News, Feb 10 - Feb 16, 2021