Hot and humid. Temperature stuck at 102F through the afternoon.
I met the boys out behind the farm store, sitting in the shade. It was NYU, Newport, Jockey and I-- today was the day: the hot one. This was also Jockey's proving day-- he was excited and ready to go. First we handed out knifes, grabbed buckets, pick crates and hiked up to the forest field. We cut 80 bunches of basil (2 cases), 1 bucket of summer squash, 1 bucket of zucchini, 2 buckets of pickling cukes and 6 buckets of big cucumbers. The heatt came down on us hard and fast. I sent the boys over to the corn field to move the irrigation line, so the foreman could get down the travel road with the tractor. I ran back to the farm store, refilled everyone's water and grabbed several pick trays and quart containers. Waved the crew over to the day neutral strawberries and we got picking.
Some hours and many quarts of strawberries later, we had the entire field cleared. We dumped the strawberries with Viking, and loaded up the boss's car with everything for today's market. Spinach was up next, we pulled the boxes from the cooler and bunched up four or five crates worth. Cleaned over the yard, stacked up boxes and crates, then washed up the produce wagons. Pomp, one of the kitchen girls who hasn't been around much, was in.
The hours of morning picking had taken a heavy toll on the boys-- NYU was fighting back vomit and delusions. Pomp nearly had a heart attack when she saw us-- she once suffered a dangerous bought of heat stroke in Africa, so she knew just what to do. Pomp set up a little med clinic in the cooler-- we all drank ice cream cups full of salt/iodine water (something about iodine salt is real effective at transporting liquids throughout the body). She turned to NYU saying-- I don't care if your fucking embarrassed, take off your shirt. She took the shirt, dunked it and his hat in a bucket of cold water. NYU slipped back into his wet clothes and Pomp put wet towels on the back of all our necks. We dunked our heads in the bucket of water and drank our bottles dry. The boss joined us in the cooler and shooed us off to lunch.
After lunch, the boys were back to health. NYU's nausea, stomach and head ache were gone. He said he owed Pomp his life, and that-- working the farm is great, but not worth dying over. NYU, Jockey and I sat out back for a while. I slapped Jockey on the back, because damn-- I've never seen anybody have a better first day. He cut veggies fast and consistent, he stayed tough despite the hell heat and never once complained-- he's a funny kid to have around, even NYU and Newport started to like him. The foreman was having another bad day, so we cleared out quick. Jockey, NYU and I filled 4 trays with pints, grabbed pick buckets and dragged our mess across the farm to the blueberry field beside the cow pasture. We sat a long time joking by the stream in the shade. Then it was time to pick.
Newport wandered over to join us and a hot breeze kept the lot of us sweating through the field. We talked as we worked, about everything-- the foreman, filth, the boss, bad choices, people, the shit that happens, Jockey going to college, the city, farms, this farm, money, jobs, having a penis, women and experience. As Newport made clear-- what's said in the field stays there. All the same, I got a very different my picture of the farm's future after out chat. Turns out a trust/contract was drafted up to protect it for the next 300 years (literally). Never in my lifetime, my kids', their kids', their kids' kids' lifetime will this land be chopped up or sold away-- it'll still be a farm long after I'm dead. Crazy. Newport is the foreman's best friend, so he gave us a peak into the guy behind the tractor. Seems that the foreman and the boss really aren't on the same page (at all)-- this could be the foreman's last season. Life is taking him elsewhere. And that's a real shame.
We picked right through the afternoon, up until a few minutes before closing. We carried back 4 full trays of blueberries and the buckets-- stowed 'em all in the cooler. The boss was nowhere to be found, so the foreman took us up to the forest field to shift along an irrigation line. We shambled down the hill and started readjusting the trellised tomato lines while waiting for the boss. He came round with the paychecks and we all ran for home.
Stuck around a bit to chat with Viking-- NYU's girlfriend drove from down south and picked him up from work. We waved them off. The foreman was down in the greenhouse hiding from Easy and all the CSA members bustling about. He spent all day wringing his hands over the water pump, but never got it running. Had a cigarette with him, then the foreman and I went on our way.
The weekend is here. Picture, pictures, pictures. I should take some.
Oh well, what am I gonna do with myself... Drink the weekend away? Almost forgot, I wrangled my brother into another guitar/mandolin concert. We'll be playing some old old, type music on Sunday. So it's a drinking/rehearsal weekend.
Aside: (8th bought of poison ivy? Really lost count)
Seeing my uncle last night was good. Over some cigarettes and many drinks, he told me about a very different world, one I missed. All the factories, the fights, the stories, shops and nights-- that happened 40 years before I was born. Interesting stuff if you were me. Whelp. That's all for now.
Take it easy.
No comments:
Post a Comment