I am exhausted. What a day.
I met the foreman in an empty restaurant parking lot this morning-- he was running late. Coffee and cold cigarettes.
I really want to go into the day... but I'm collapsing hard-- I'll edit this up tomorrow.
But until then here are the classes I attended:
Soil I (was filled to capacity, they wouldn't let us in)
Winter Growing and Marketing (depressingly bad)
Strawberries I (excitingly good!)
Innovative Crop Rotations (Very good)
The foreman and I wandered around the exhibition hall-- I chatted up everyone I could force eye contact
with.
Lunch-- food options were sad and few, we escaped out into the vacant/beat down city to find a hot meal. Ended up at a bar, we ate old sandwiches and drank many beers. Walking back was complicated.
I got into Soil II: Masterclass (great speaker discussing no-tillage methods, lively audience of old men with Abe Lincoln beards, flannel and suspenders.)
The class let out early, so I hit up a few more presentations:
Tunnel Innovations (important, but dull as a rock)
Organic Production (an interesting slide show of every plant disease I should be horrified of)
Got home a little while ago. Now must sleep, must sleep.
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Monday, December 12, 2011
The Last Waltz
The end is in sight.
Last week turned into a six-day weekend on account of the rain and the boss's surgery. But here we are again. This week promises to be something very different. The boss phoned me up last Friday and had a favor to ask-- I agreed. So tomorrow, Wednesday and Thursday the foreman and I are headed out of state to a big Fruit and Vegetable exposition and trade show. Not getting paid, but the boss is covering all my arrangements-- tickets, classes and everything.
There's a lot to do and see-- the boss picked out a bunch of seminars he thinks would give my agricultural education a kick in the ass. Tomorrow morning I have Soil I: a biology focused class on the components of dirt/optimal composition for various crops/lectures on ideal conditions for maximum nutrient absorbency (from ground to veggie). Then in the afternoon is Soil II: a master class in dirt-- focused on emerging methods and technologies/ maximizing a field's soil potential. The following days I'm lined up for courses on Agricultural Machinery, Braccae (mis-spelled, but the broccoli/cauliflower/kale) vegetable family, Root vegetables (the boss wants to figure out carrots and improve out beets) and many other subjects. Each class is about 3 hours-- eheheh, it's gonna be a long day.
After the class room fun there is a large exposition space with hundreds of companies showing. The boss has a laundry list of booths we need to visit-- he wants catalogs and notes from each. Lots of work, but the whole affair seems pretty exciting-- what a way to end the year.
I'm meeting the foreman in a restaurant parking lot tomorrow at sunrise. Then off we go.
On to today.
Mostly cloudy skies, temperature hovered around 33F.
The boss is still recovering from his operation, so Newport has been on call as personal chauffeur. The two of 'em set off early to buy a load of shingles and roofing nails-- the foreman and I fired up the tractor and rolled around the horse pasture collecting stray firewood.
We all met up at the boss's house. Newport and I had stripped the rotten shingles last Monday, so today was all about hammers and nails. The job was made infinitely easier since the house is built mostly underground/into a hill-- we could walk straight up the lawn onto the roof.
We banged away all day, morning till after dark (surprisingly I smashed my thumbs more in the daylight). Only a tiny 5ft by 9ft section remains-- Newport will brush that off tomorrow.
After packing away the tools the foreman and I sat around the kitchen table with the boss, discussing tomorrow. He read over our itineraries and gave the foreman a blank check to cover the expenses. Afterward we walked back to our cars through the onion fields. I remember thinking about the season-- the past month has been staggered/ miserable work, but those summer days. Those summer days with endless things to do, berries, tomatoes, greens and potatoes-- Bah and the whole Guatemalan gang-- you almost forget how good it can be. Endless work, a hundred things that can never all get done. I wish it was May or June or August again.
The foreman told me story of the boss and his brothers-- I could hardly believe it. But that's for another day.
I have lots to get in order for tomorrow, and then early bed. It's gonna be a good long week.
Take it easy.
Last week turned into a six-day weekend on account of the rain and the boss's surgery. But here we are again. This week promises to be something very different. The boss phoned me up last Friday and had a favor to ask-- I agreed. So tomorrow, Wednesday and Thursday the foreman and I are headed out of state to a big Fruit and Vegetable exposition and trade show. Not getting paid, but the boss is covering all my arrangements-- tickets, classes and everything.
There's a lot to do and see-- the boss picked out a bunch of seminars he thinks would give my agricultural education a kick in the ass. Tomorrow morning I have Soil I: a biology focused class on the components of dirt/optimal composition for various crops/lectures on ideal conditions for maximum nutrient absorbency (from ground to veggie). Then in the afternoon is Soil II: a master class in dirt-- focused on emerging methods and technologies/ maximizing a field's soil potential. The following days I'm lined up for courses on Agricultural Machinery, Braccae (mis-spelled, but the broccoli/cauliflower/kale) vegetable family, Root vegetables (the boss wants to figure out carrots and improve out beets) and many other subjects. Each class is about 3 hours-- eheheh, it's gonna be a long day.
After the class room fun there is a large exposition space with hundreds of companies showing. The boss has a laundry list of booths we need to visit-- he wants catalogs and notes from each. Lots of work, but the whole affair seems pretty exciting-- what a way to end the year.
I'm meeting the foreman in a restaurant parking lot tomorrow at sunrise. Then off we go.
On to today.
Mostly cloudy skies, temperature hovered around 33F.
The boss is still recovering from his operation, so Newport has been on call as personal chauffeur. The two of 'em set off early to buy a load of shingles and roofing nails-- the foreman and I fired up the tractor and rolled around the horse pasture collecting stray firewood.
We all met up at the boss's house. Newport and I had stripped the rotten shingles last Monday, so today was all about hammers and nails. The job was made infinitely easier since the house is built mostly underground/into a hill-- we could walk straight up the lawn onto the roof.
We banged away all day, morning till after dark (surprisingly I smashed my thumbs more in the daylight). Only a tiny 5ft by 9ft section remains-- Newport will brush that off tomorrow.
After packing away the tools the foreman and I sat around the kitchen table with the boss, discussing tomorrow. He read over our itineraries and gave the foreman a blank check to cover the expenses. Afterward we walked back to our cars through the onion fields. I remember thinking about the season-- the past month has been staggered/ miserable work, but those summer days. Those summer days with endless things to do, berries, tomatoes, greens and potatoes-- Bah and the whole Guatemalan gang-- you almost forget how good it can be. Endless work, a hundred things that can never all get done. I wish it was May or June or August again.
The foreman told me story of the boss and his brothers-- I could hardly believe it. But that's for another day.
I have lots to get in order for tomorrow, and then early bed. It's gonna be a good long week.
Take it easy.
Thursday, December 8, 2011
Empty Branches
It has been nearly two weeks since I've sat down to write. Whew, feels somewhat strange sitting in front of the keyboard. That said-- much has happened to tell.
We're inching later and later into December, without end in sight-- maybe tomorrow, maybe two weeks from now. The uncertainty has taken a toll-- winter plans are postponed, every night at closing and every morning I linger for the conversation or phone call that brings the year to an end. But not yet. I am still waiting and will still rise, then march to the farm tomorrow morning. The boss went in for surgery today. It's an arthroscopic procedure, which means recuperation should be less severe-- nevertheless, the boss is getting old. He expects to be out and about after a night's sleep. His mind might be willing, but I suspect his body will be less than excited to comply. But I'll be there in the morning.
Last I remember writing, a few weeks back, we had just finished trimming back the blueberry fields. A few field touch ups remain, but the string-machine broke-- so nothing to be done there until it's repaired. A big order for Christmas wreathes came in-- multiple small sized wreathes for sale and then enormous special orders to decorate churches/firehouses/businesses. The foreman sawed down several trees, mostly scott's pine, and we hauled them back to the greenhouse. Over several days I pruned off all the usable branches, while the boss and foreman knitted up wreathes-- Newport cooked endless batches of jam in the kitchen.
After a few days of tree work the boss sent me off in the tractor to rip stray saplings out of the rasberry rows. I wrapped a logging chain around the root-bulbs and tore 'em one by one from the ground. The next few days I spent on my hands and knees with shears/machete clearing grasses, weeds and invasive vines from the raspberries. Clambering through the thorns shredded my shirts and arms into a mess of blood and ribbons. Those were long days-- but the cuts are finally starting to heal up and fade.
One day was very eventful-- the foreman stepped on a heavy rake the wrong way. He busted open his forehead along the eyebrow-- blood gushed down like a spicket into his hands. The foreman wandered around a while with a rag cursing to his girlfriend on the phone and chain smoking. It was a bad cut and the boss was worried-- he headed out to get some peroxide/butterfly bandages/ gauze-- but it the mean time had me get some hot coffee and check in on the foreman. I felt like an idiot, but it was a simple act of kindness-- the foreman was surprisingly touched by the gesture. He calmed down and the boss cleaned up/pulled the forehead back together. We all sat for a while trying to decide if stitches were needed-- the boss and foreman called around to everyone in town, but no one would do it. Seems the only way to get stitches is to go to an emergency room-- and the foreman certainly couldn't afford the bill. So he had to make due.
Newport, the foreman and I spent two days tearing apart and then reassembling the medium greenhouse perched on the hill beside the boss's house. After all the hassle back in spring, we knew the inside-and-out of the business. We hung, braced, bolted and sealed the entire thing one very windy afternoon.
The boss's brother has been out of town on business so the foreman and I have been feeding the herd. They get one bale every other day, 3 buckets of corn every day and another 3 buckets of mixed grains on the off days-- the last lengths of grass in the pasture lands tide them over between feedings. There's nothing like standing shin deep in a feed bin, shin deep in mud/shit/water, while cutting open bales of fermented hay.
Last week was the real gauntlet. The boss was running around the state going to farm bureau meetings and expositions-- we were left to sweat it out. It's been a few long months since I've worked up a heavy sweat. The big blueberry field across from the from the farm store, abutting the lower fields, was a heavy producer this year. But big yields mean big maintenance. Fortunately Bah carefully trimmed back all the weeds and grasses months ago, right before he was let go for the season-- his handiwork has held up perfectly. Unfortunately, the boss did a sampled the field's soil and it wasn't quite right-- blueberries require a higher acidic content in their surrounding dirt. So massive loads of wood chips were piled up by the pipe-junkyard. The foreman and I spent most the week, all day everyday, hauling out wagon loads into the field and spreading the chips out with 4ft wide pitchforks. We covered the entirety of every row, 1 1/2 feet into the travel rows the whole length 3inches deep. The foreman let me take turns in the tractor and gave me endless pointers on bucket technique, driving heavy loaded trailers and navigating the rocky farm terrain. I must be going soft, the shoveling was hell-- but then again even in my summer prime it's be a rough set of orders. We shoveled from morning until the sun had set, everyday. My forearms burned after the first day, by the end of the second day they'd periodically seize up-- had to step back, smack and massage the muscles back to work. By Friday we had only a few rows left-- and I had a half day, my family was throwing the yearly Christmas mega-party and I was needed at home to help with preparations.
Then the foreman got reckless-- probably as eager to finish the damn field as I was. He turned too sharp into the final row-- the fully loaded wagon pitched to the side and caught a tractor wheel and flipped. I was sitting atop the pile. So down I flew, followed by pitchforks, shovels, iron rakes, several tons of wood chips and 2,500lbs of steel/wooden wagon. I am a lucky man. I felt the sway and pitch as it happened-- gracelessly I sorta jump/tripped and then rolled through the rocks to safety. It was another proving time for me. The foreman panicked and started to beat into himself-- then he just froze and sat in the tractor cab, staring at the mess and mumbling curses. After a celebratory "I'm still alive" cigarette, I sized things up. The chips were a mess, but the real trouble was the wagon-- the bed had slipped loose from the iron wheel/hitch frame. Turns out the goddamn bed was never bolted onto the frame in the first place-- a death wish. I shouted at the foreman until he snapped out of his haze-- first things first, the wheel/frame needed to be dragged up the hill to level ground. So we did that. Next-- the wagon bed needed to be excavated from the mountain of woodchips. I shoveled like a demon, spreading as I went (hell why not, might as well do both jobs at once). The foreman lurched down to join me-- could tell just looking at him how bad he felt. Then fine, it was free-- now it was time for real ideas. I remembered the logging chain was still behind the pilot seat, so I waved the foreman/tractor into position and linked the chain through the bed frame onto the bucket. We lifted and slid it up hill to the frame without a problem. Next problem-- the arms on the tractor couldn't heft the bed high enough to settle properly onto the frame, so we had to do it piecemeal. Hiking up one side and then the other-- heaving, screaming and kicking it into place with our hands. After a few mistrials, we landed it perfectly in place-- it was a miracle. I collected the tools and we rode back to the greenhouse-- spending the remainder of the day repairing/properly bolting the bed into place. At the end the foreman came over, looking off and at the ground-- he apologized and thanked me, saying that he could not have gotten back without me.
Then Monday-- last day before these rains came in. Newport, the boss and I cut down/cleared the last remaining storm crippled trees from the property.After lunch the boss sent us up on his roof to tear down the old shingles so we could lay down a fresh set. Finished it in no time and spent the remaining hours raking around the yard. I don't know what got into me, but I somehow managed to snap the pole of two rakes right in half-- one not five minutes after the other. But the sun set and the rain has been falling hard for the past two days.
So that's what has been happening during my writing silence. It is late and I am tired. Time for bed.
See ya tomorrow and take it easy.
We're inching later and later into December, without end in sight-- maybe tomorrow, maybe two weeks from now. The uncertainty has taken a toll-- winter plans are postponed, every night at closing and every morning I linger for the conversation or phone call that brings the year to an end. But not yet. I am still waiting and will still rise, then march to the farm tomorrow morning. The boss went in for surgery today. It's an arthroscopic procedure, which means recuperation should be less severe-- nevertheless, the boss is getting old. He expects to be out and about after a night's sleep. His mind might be willing, but I suspect his body will be less than excited to comply. But I'll be there in the morning.
Last I remember writing, a few weeks back, we had just finished trimming back the blueberry fields. A few field touch ups remain, but the string-machine broke-- so nothing to be done there until it's repaired. A big order for Christmas wreathes came in-- multiple small sized wreathes for sale and then enormous special orders to decorate churches/firehouses/businesses. The foreman sawed down several trees, mostly scott's pine, and we hauled them back to the greenhouse. Over several days I pruned off all the usable branches, while the boss and foreman knitted up wreathes-- Newport cooked endless batches of jam in the kitchen.
After a few days of tree work the boss sent me off in the tractor to rip stray saplings out of the rasberry rows. I wrapped a logging chain around the root-bulbs and tore 'em one by one from the ground. The next few days I spent on my hands and knees with shears/machete clearing grasses, weeds and invasive vines from the raspberries. Clambering through the thorns shredded my shirts and arms into a mess of blood and ribbons. Those were long days-- but the cuts are finally starting to heal up and fade.
One day was very eventful-- the foreman stepped on a heavy rake the wrong way. He busted open his forehead along the eyebrow-- blood gushed down like a spicket into his hands. The foreman wandered around a while with a rag cursing to his girlfriend on the phone and chain smoking. It was a bad cut and the boss was worried-- he headed out to get some peroxide/butterfly bandages/ gauze-- but it the mean time had me get some hot coffee and check in on the foreman. I felt like an idiot, but it was a simple act of kindness-- the foreman was surprisingly touched by the gesture. He calmed down and the boss cleaned up/pulled the forehead back together. We all sat for a while trying to decide if stitches were needed-- the boss and foreman called around to everyone in town, but no one would do it. Seems the only way to get stitches is to go to an emergency room-- and the foreman certainly couldn't afford the bill. So he had to make due.
Newport, the foreman and I spent two days tearing apart and then reassembling the medium greenhouse perched on the hill beside the boss's house. After all the hassle back in spring, we knew the inside-and-out of the business. We hung, braced, bolted and sealed the entire thing one very windy afternoon.
The boss's brother has been out of town on business so the foreman and I have been feeding the herd. They get one bale every other day, 3 buckets of corn every day and another 3 buckets of mixed grains on the off days-- the last lengths of grass in the pasture lands tide them over between feedings. There's nothing like standing shin deep in a feed bin, shin deep in mud/shit/water, while cutting open bales of fermented hay.
Last week was the real gauntlet. The boss was running around the state going to farm bureau meetings and expositions-- we were left to sweat it out. It's been a few long months since I've worked up a heavy sweat. The big blueberry field across from the from the farm store, abutting the lower fields, was a heavy producer this year. But big yields mean big maintenance. Fortunately Bah carefully trimmed back all the weeds and grasses months ago, right before he was let go for the season-- his handiwork has held up perfectly. Unfortunately, the boss did a sampled the field's soil and it wasn't quite right-- blueberries require a higher acidic content in their surrounding dirt. So massive loads of wood chips were piled up by the pipe-junkyard. The foreman and I spent most the week, all day everyday, hauling out wagon loads into the field and spreading the chips out with 4ft wide pitchforks. We covered the entirety of every row, 1 1/2 feet into the travel rows the whole length 3inches deep. The foreman let me take turns in the tractor and gave me endless pointers on bucket technique, driving heavy loaded trailers and navigating the rocky farm terrain. I must be going soft, the shoveling was hell-- but then again even in my summer prime it's be a rough set of orders. We shoveled from morning until the sun had set, everyday. My forearms burned after the first day, by the end of the second day they'd periodically seize up-- had to step back, smack and massage the muscles back to work. By Friday we had only a few rows left-- and I had a half day, my family was throwing the yearly Christmas mega-party and I was needed at home to help with preparations.
Then the foreman got reckless-- probably as eager to finish the damn field as I was. He turned too sharp into the final row-- the fully loaded wagon pitched to the side and caught a tractor wheel and flipped. I was sitting atop the pile. So down I flew, followed by pitchforks, shovels, iron rakes, several tons of wood chips and 2,500lbs of steel/wooden wagon. I am a lucky man. I felt the sway and pitch as it happened-- gracelessly I sorta jump/tripped and then rolled through the rocks to safety. It was another proving time for me. The foreman panicked and started to beat into himself-- then he just froze and sat in the tractor cab, staring at the mess and mumbling curses. After a celebratory "I'm still alive" cigarette, I sized things up. The chips were a mess, but the real trouble was the wagon-- the bed had slipped loose from the iron wheel/hitch frame. Turns out the goddamn bed was never bolted onto the frame in the first place-- a death wish. I shouted at the foreman until he snapped out of his haze-- first things first, the wheel/frame needed to be dragged up the hill to level ground. So we did that. Next-- the wagon bed needed to be excavated from the mountain of woodchips. I shoveled like a demon, spreading as I went (hell why not, might as well do both jobs at once). The foreman lurched down to join me-- could tell just looking at him how bad he felt. Then fine, it was free-- now it was time for real ideas. I remembered the logging chain was still behind the pilot seat, so I waved the foreman/tractor into position and linked the chain through the bed frame onto the bucket. We lifted and slid it up hill to the frame without a problem. Next problem-- the arms on the tractor couldn't heft the bed high enough to settle properly onto the frame, so we had to do it piecemeal. Hiking up one side and then the other-- heaving, screaming and kicking it into place with our hands. After a few mistrials, we landed it perfectly in place-- it was a miracle. I collected the tools and we rode back to the greenhouse-- spending the remainder of the day repairing/properly bolting the bed into place. At the end the foreman came over, looking off and at the ground-- he apologized and thanked me, saying that he could not have gotten back without me.
Then Monday-- last day before these rains came in. Newport, the boss and I cut down/cleared the last remaining storm crippled trees from the property.After lunch the boss sent us up on his roof to tear down the old shingles so we could lay down a fresh set. Finished it in no time and spent the remaining hours raking around the yard. I don't know what got into me, but I somehow managed to snap the pole of two rakes right in half-- one not five minutes after the other. But the sun set and the rain has been falling hard for the past two days.
So that's what has been happening during my writing silence. It is late and I am tired. Time for bed.
See ya tomorrow and take it easy.
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