Sharpen the Edges

I've been writting sloppy and repetitive. It's time to sharpen the edges and flex out. Gotta stay loose, gotta keep going-- season ain't over yet.

State of the Farm

Things have slowed, that's certain. Corn is on its last legs, only a few green peppers left (the reds are too delicate for the weather/rotted), the kale and chard have grown old-- the leaves are much smaller these days. Cherry tomatoes are all dead, berries (as I've belabored) are dead, the string beans have stopped any further growth. No more pumpkins/no more squash/no more onions, their fields are empty. So whats left-- a few beets, lots of potatoes, that little bit of corn, thyme needs to be cut, the hilltop tomatoes will keep chugging until the first killing frost, then there's broccoli, cabbage, brussel sprouts, spinach and arugula-- but that's it. We're cooking up a good amount of jam these days-- filling up the shelves for the winter holidays. It won't be too many weeks before we start clearing up the fields and start the winter pruning. Another month, by my counting, until most of the field work is shut down until March.

State of Things

Lot's of action these days. Just came back from another weekend in the city. Darlin had some big plans up her sleeve-- it's been all over the internet and trickled into the 'normal' news. I booted up and we marched with all the protesters to a big rally in the center of the city. I can't do much half way-- I hollered my head off and lost my voice down to a whisper. It was my personal mission to keep Darlin from getting arrested again, and that nearly failed. Most of the march was pretty worry free-- lots of families, old folks, little kids, students, workers and the whole lot. We stood in front of a big group of doctors in their lab coats-- flanked by a contingent of dentists. Marched along with a World War 2 vet and his wife-- she wore his flight jacket and medals, he had on a sandwich board as he hobbled along with his walker. When we got to the center of the city things started to get heavy-- police buses, paddy wagons and swat trucks lined the way. Cops stood every 5 ft from the beginning, but near the end were row on row of serious fellas decked out in riot gear-- shields, clubs and enough quick-ties to arrest half the city.

Things got pretty tense-- we kept moving and singing along with the little kids. At one street corner I got a real bad feeling-- the police had stretched out the 'kettling' nets and had formed a shield wall. I pulled Darlin out of the march up into a store front saying-- whoa whoa, lets hold on for a moment. Not a minute later the nets were drawn, trapping everyone else inside-- there were screams and fifty-some riot shields scooted up from behind. Darling and I slipped back along the store fronts and away from the trouble. But we kept on-- we found a way around and joined up at the big central rally. No further incidents while we were there-- though I've seen the pictures of horse police charging in later in the night. We were far off by then.


So now I'm home again. Gizzie and I are planning on something tonight-- all this work and play only amounts to so much. I want him to teach me to act, ehehehe-- seems like something good to be able to do. But most likely-- we'll settle down and record more music. Last winter we played around with some mixing boards and equipment-- we play guitars, mandolin, accordion, drums and bass between the two of us. We banged out one good-horrifying song and 6 or so crap-half finished songs. So it's time for more of that. Another option is to write-- we chatter off a dozen or so story/scene ideas every time we go for a drink. Maybe it's time to reign in the stallions and get some pages filled. That's for tonight-- if only to prove ourselves wrong, thinking we wont do it.


Today

Full sun all day through. Temperature in the upper 50Fs.

Old Rudolpho is gone. Headed back to Guatemala-- and I might never see the guy again (Marco let on that the old man might not have another season of work left in him). It's too bad, really. It's just the boys now.

We loaded up the tractor with buckets then rode the hilltop early in the morning-- a full day of tomato picking ahead. The foreman and Newport took their rows, Gizzie and I took ours. No surprises here-- just buckets to fill. We picked straight to lunch.


There was considerably more to do after eating. The boss's brother is selling off six of his calves-- they're going to farmers who'll fatten 'em up over a year, then it's to slaughter. Of the four calves he's keeping-- the baby bull will be raised up maybe to breed or maybe to sell for breeding, the 3 cows will be fattened and then slaughtered next fall. So after lunch we trucked down to pasture to separate out the calves from the herd-- so the brother could decided which he wanted to hold onto. We set up a holding pen down by the feed trough-- the herd was all gathered together nearby. They knew something was up-- the cows yelled over and again.  The brother gave us sticks to guide/drive the cows with. We dumped a few bags of corn into the pen-- and the whole herd ran in and gobbled the stuff up. It took a few minutes to round up the strays, but everything went without a hitch. With the whole herd inside the pen, the boss and his brother hopped inside and corralled back the calves while we lead the adults out with more corn-- it took 2 minutes tops. We left the brother and his wife to handle sorting through the calves. I got splattered with more than my share of cow shit.

Back to the tomatoes. We cleared the rest of the field, loaded the buckets onto the wagon and trucked 'em down to the barn-- 87 buckets total. Great numbers. We grabbed knives and set out again-- this time to cut the broccoli. Gizzie hadn't cut the stuff before and was excited-- he was sorely disappointed. The foreman was in a sour spot-- he nearly bucked Gizzie off the tractor and into the horse pond on the ride up. We filled 5 bushels before closing.

Tidied up the yard and got things ready in the barn for tomato sorting tomorrow. Then off for home.

Day was done.


On Gizzie:

My friend has made himself right at home on the farm. Ehehehe, but really-- the boss has really got a soft spot for him. Out of the boss's farm 'sons' Gizzie has become the beloved baby.

Riding to and from markets the old man really opens up and talks straight-- saying personal things I have no business writing about. But according to Gizzie: while rolling down the highway, Lucy perched on his lap, the boss will ruffle the dog's ears and say "whaddya think Luce? Should we let the kid get his nicotine fix or just let 'im squirm? Alright, alright-- spark up Gizzie, but you should really think of quitting. Maybe try smoking something else beside cigarettes, worked for me when I was a kid."

Stay warm. Take it easy.