Nazareth

High was 76F, low of 40F. Clear skies, light wind and some big sun.

I've been thinking a lot about this whole farm-blog business. Going through the season, this time around, I feel like a broken record. I've written a lot of the same manner of business before. Lists of tasks are a chore to write and worse to read-- so in the spirit of mercy, there'll be no more of that garbage. Instead, let's focus on what's new-- with maybe a nod here and there to the progress of minute mundania.

Tonight's the first time this week I've had an ounce of head left for typing. With Stretch back we've ground three long days out on the hill top-- just tractor, iron pikes and boulders. We've ripped more and bigger stones than I'd like to remember. Stretch is an athlete in the peak of high school buff-- so forget him. Newport nearly died each day from exertion-- falling asleep in the dirt, head in his hands once an afternoon. I felt the same.

There hasn't been substantial rain for a long time-- technically we've reached 'severe drought' classification. So the soil is dust, deep and loose-- each step sinks four inches up the boot. I looked up yesterday during a strong dirt storm, blown on by the wind gusts-- Newport and Stretch were grinning brown. Their mouths coated throughout with soil.


Today started by myself-- I had hitched up the harrow to the tractor last night, so I gave the hydraulic lines a quick check-over and puttered out. I talked around some of this during my fever-dream-writing these past few posts, but harrowing is like steering a locomotive that's popped off the tracks. First you yank up the throttle bar and lock it at 150,000rpm. The diesel engine hacks out a black cloud and hits stride-- it gets a mind of it's own and my job is to corral it away from destroying anything important. Harrowing demands the most from the machine-- dragging 6,000lbs of jagged steel through a foot of dirt and stone. Haha, I forget about that sound! I feel sick just remembering it-- the crack and knife note of steel grinding into rock. Either repetition has dulled it for me, or the volume has made me a decibels deafer. Take your pick.

I harrowed the cherry section of the tomato field and the old cantaloupe area that runs parallel to the greenhouse. I finished up right as the boss and Newport arrived. We seeded up about a thousand plugs worth of lettuce (the earlier round failed to germinate, last years seeds didn't winter well). I had just begun seeding the first round of basil when the boss dragged me off-- Newport stayed behind to finish up.

The boss wanted to start building the cold-box-- and now I have some idea of what he has planned. The boss intends to assemble the box almost entirely of old telephone poles. We traveled to the junk-pit and a variety of odd wooded 'storage' locations peppered around the property searching for the 40ft logs. I wrapped a chain around each pole's midsection and hooked the mess onto the tractor bucket-- then we began the balancing-walk back to the greenhouse. I dangled from the ends, in some attempt at keeping things level-- I missed being mashed to death by a hair's breadth/luck. It didn't help that all the posts still had the old fashioned iron-steps jutting out like 2 foot nails in a baseball bat.

But the poles are now laid out, for the most part (more fine positioning is in store tomorrow). Lucy the dog found a big dead rabbit. The boss, Newport and I chased the dog around--finally convincing her to drop it. The boss needed to see whether it was a fresh kill or scavenged. Lucy is allowed to keep what she kills, but decomposing animals are diseased and off limits. It was old rabbit. So we dug a deep pit, buried it and headed off to lunch.


Newport and I grabbed sandwiches-- ate 'em at his house while heckling Family Feud on the TV.


After lunch we rounded up the gang plus Stretch and began the day's heavy work. The news calls for some heavy rain this weekend, but looking ahead to what could be a very dry summer-- the boss decided the irrigation system should be set up early. Scrap-metal thieves have been fingering over our pipe storage, so many of the steel/aluminum fittings have been disappearing. They left the 30ft pipes, luckily. We ran a long artery of 3inch diameter through the lower fields, placing the water gun pipes through the big planting of peas and fava beans (except sans the water guns, they were all stolen). We branched two big lines off the pea line into a raspberry field and into the vacant space where onions/carrots will soon be planted. Another line (with 3in and then 2in pipe) led off the main lower field artery through the strawberry field (they look pretty dead) and along a few unplanted rows.

Next, we crossed over the farm to the horse pond. Stretch and I lugged the 5in heavy steel pipes into place. The boss was in a piss of a mood, and we stood in a pile of horse shit arguing about the proper placement of the 600lb water gates. He finally saw my point. We ran a long line across the pasture to the pump and then began the second line leading up hill along the orchard road. It took another two hours of hard hiking, but Stretch and I reached the plateau-- coupling the 5in line into the permanent/underground artery. Now we'll be able to water most of the farm (with just another afternoon's worth of fine tuning). We hitched the water pump to the tractor and sussed out the pipe's coupling angles-- fortunately everything lined up.

Newport and I sat awhile on the pipe wagon for an end of the day cigarette. He couldn't believe how April has flown by-- May is just a week and some away. He was eager for the CSA to get going and the store to open up. Things really start moving with people around and plants in the field. Endless work is good work. Newport headed home-- I watered the greenhouse over, closed up everything/locked the store (never know where the thieves will raid next) and was homeward.



How'd this week pass by so quickly? I'm gearing up for this weekend-- have a big trip in the works.

Back when I was in school I worked in a windowless/underground office. With a bunch of older men, I helped maintain/setup/repair all the technology and computer junk around the college. I became good friends with one particular Gent over many late night cigarette breaks. Me and my-right-hand-friend talked with this Old Gent as he struggled through a series of the worst years a man might be dealt. Well, the Old Gent has been reborn. At the end of his dark spell he bought himself 20 acres on a forest hill way out in the middle of nowhere, overlooking a big ol' river. The man then built himself an enormous cabin (complete with an upstairs recording studio).

Somehow this Old Gent figures me and my-right-hand-friend did him some great kindness with conversation. So to celebrate all these accomplishments he's throwing a big reunion for all the old tech-work crew-- it's been a long time and they're a very storied bunch. To make matters wilder, the Old Gent has found a job/new life for my right-friend-- and offered the two of us free use of his forest estate whenever the mood strikes us. But the part which really interests me is the Old Gent's plans for the future. In order to have the property pay for itself, he's begun the work of clearing spots around the hill to make a little hotel/musican/artist retreat. And he needs muscle help. Depending on how the summer goes, I might see some long weekends in distant hills building cabins and carving trails.

Sounds like off-brand paradise.


Take it easy.