A Reputation

Rained last night-- mist/ light rain all through today, weather picked up after close. The temperature held at a steady 58F.

(Last night had another long boot repair session-- they were dry as bone by morning.)

I met the foreman and NYU outside the greenhouse this morning. We hitched up the wagon and loaded it with 30 of the rusted iron trellis posts-- I could see where this was going. I tossed the maul and pry bar in with the posts, NYU found an old, bent iron bar with a flat end-- perfect for tamping down the soil. The foreman drove the muddy path down through the tomato fields to the two un-trellised rows of cherry tomatoes, and we set to work. The foreman drove over the row with the tractor and wagon, NYU dug out 3ft deep every 14 plants-- I bent the posts' cross pieces straight and bashed that iron into place. NYU and I took turns packing down the soil around the posts, we agreed it was too early for this sort of work.

Finished up laying the posts and we headed back to the farm store. Mouse might be rotated/ phased out of the kitchen, the girl who ran the baking last Fall has come back-- she has one of those pompadour/ponytails. Pomp wasted no time setting things straight (she's definitely a capable baker/cook). I sampled the first cookie batch, and she has both Jockey and Mouse beat. As it was her first day this season, the whole gang stood in the kitchen chatting for a while-- then back to work.

I stacked 40 or so empty pick crates back up in the barn, then the boss finally arrived. More CSA this afternoon, and our stock of strawberries was running low-- with Bah and Old Rudolpho out picking peas, it became our problem. We loaded the new tractor's front loader with cardboard baskets and the pint containers-- then hiked up to the 5 rows of strawberries on the hill top.

Things didn't look good. There were long gaps in the rows, and the berries were tiny, cracked, molded or mis-developed. The foreman sized up the situation, and we decided to get on with it. Strawberries-for-sale have to be perfect-- full deep red ripe (no white tips), larger than your thumb and free of marks (no rodent nibbles/cracks/etc). All the seconds (flawed but still edible) head to the kitchens for jam. We covered all five long rows in a depressingly short amount of time. The catch: 10 pints of sell-able berries and 20 pints for jam. Another 10-20 pints worth of berries were left in the field-- they need a week more to fully ripen. It was just about lunch, so we carted the berries down and split off.

(Wasn't paid in time for the city trip this week, so I ate in the car while driving a few towns over to my credit union. Got back crazed and still hungry.)


After lunch Rhode Island packed up the boss's wife's car and headed out for the first farmer's market of the summer. The rest of us had to get the CSA ready. Easy and NYU set up the wagons, then we piled on the produce. Noticed the cooler was nearly out of bok choi-- the foreman and NYU set out to cut another eight crates worth. The boss had other plans for me. He had picked up another bale of soil and a big round of broccoli needed to be seeded.

I headed into the greenhouse and set out 20 trays ( ~100 plant plugs a piece). I set in the soil, watered 'em and waited a few minutes as they soaked. I poured a heap of seeds into an ice cream cup and started seeding-- first you compress the soil with your fingers, drop 1 seed per plug (broccoli seeds are pin head sized), cover with a 1/4in of soil and then soak the whole lot over-- then repeat for 20 trays. I lost track of time-- in a seed trance. When I finished, I stalked up the hill and found NYU had just got back from picking. One hour had passed-- that was some damn fast seeding right there. I helped NYU wash up the 8 crates of bok choi, then we rolled it all into the cooler.

The CSA members were pouring round, picking up their week's share-- when the boss came to ask a special favor. His wife and daughter had just pulled in after a three day road trip (coming home after college graduation), and the daughter's car was stuffed full with her stuff-- he asked me and NYU to go unload it for them. Sure why not.

I'd never been further into the boss's house than the kitchen, but this time we got a full tour in between lugging boxes and furniture. NYU and I stared at a wedding photo on the wall-- the boss 40 years ago, long hair down his shoulders and one mean handle-bar mustache. The professor (the boss's wife) said they had terrible weather on the drive-- they stopped one night rather than be swept off the road in a flood. It looked like the boss was in the middle of major renovations-- we packed all the stuff in a stripped master bathroom. Despite all the unloading, I still haven't so much as met the boss's daughter-- though the professor thanked us over and over. Walking back to the farm, NYU and I had a few laughs-- this job...

Time was slipping by this afternoon, but one big task remained. While we were busy unloading, the foreman had cut a thousand or so lengths of string-- it was time to tie up those cherry tomatoes. We each took a few hundred lengths of string around our necks and marched through the tomato field. The foreman explained the business-- tie a knot around the plant's base (needs to be a little loose, as the plant's stem will grow as the season progresses), carefully spiral the rope through the tomato branches (hefting it up, but not too taunt that parts of the fragile plant snap off) and then tie the rope onto the line of wire running along the trellises with a slip knot (the knot allows quick untying for readjustments).  We knelt down and got to it. Bah, Old Rudolpho and the latter's grandson Jay-jay , joined in the marathon stringing.

By the day's end we had several hundred plants strung and 4-5 rows completely finished (17 rows to go).

On the way out I picked up a bunch of stuff to bring Darlin in the city. Got some strawberry jam, lettuce, chard, and bok choi. The beekeeper finally came by and bottled up the first honey run of the season-- grabbed a jar of that for Darlin. Just as I was about to leave the boss stopped me.

2 things I don't like much-- complaining (as Perkins sings best: don't tell me your troubles, I've enough of my own, just thank god you're livin', drink up and go home) and bragging. I don't mean to be doing the second one, but: the boss gave me the week's paycheck, then gave me a pat on the stomach with the flat side of the butcher knife he was holding, he said-- I wanted to tell you, I'm damn proud of the work your doing. You like what you do, and you got a knack for it-- really shows. Take it easy this weekend.


I'm damn proud that the things I do can make a tough old man say stuff like that. I nearly forgot all about the late paycheck... almost.


Riding to the city on a bus right now-- typing in the dark. What a wet week. Happy to be dry and on this bus thinkin.

See ya on monday and take it easy.