End of Seasons

 
It's been a hell of a long time since I've written here.

I can't remember where I left off six months ago. No more silly names for people, as I can't remember who was who. It just feels necessary to tidy up around here and even off what loose ends I can.

My time as foreman of Olde Nourse Farm is just about over now. I spent today packing hay over dormant strawberry fields, chainsawing up storm-trees for firewood and sorting out turkeys in the cooler. Man alive its been a long year, I'll say that much.

All the fields were harrowed under months ago (by yours truly) and the rye cover crop we planted in October has grown thickly green. Everything is all packed up, pruned out and ready to weather the winter. Big mounds of scott's pine boughs fill up the greenhouse. We are polishing off a few longstanding wreath orders before the boss, John, goes in for double leg surgery two weeks from now. Everything has long since wound down and if I didn't know better I'd expect to be let go any day now. But the beat goes on.


It can be too easy getting down and blue this time of year. The fields are done and the store is an empty cemetery. Mike has taken over the kitchen, everyday he cranks out holiday jam and pies. I face up the remaining outdoor work alone. Meanwhile, John talks endlessly about next year, I haven't quite broached the subject of me leaving yet. And so it goes I guess. The sunsets have been fine the past few weeks and the last cold shower left a full arching double rainbow. Lucy, the dog, makes good company. Blessings are counted and codified.

Looking back, it was a good season. The weather was kind and everything grew. The strawberry crop failed-- all the high-tech plastic wrap broiled the roots alive. The blueberries exploded into the best harvest on record. The raspberries did about average, but then fruit flies (lingering over from last year's mild-winter) maggotted up the works. The summer tomatoes were gorgeous, but blight took the entirety of the fall heirloom crop. John's impending surgery hung over most of the season-- he's was in pain to the point of distraction. 3 different plantings of summer squash and zuke were killed by the old man before he stopped carpet spraying herbicide. 10 rows of beans were annihilated by deer (and I warned him!) because he forgot to buy a fence. But this stuff happens. For everything that went wrong, many things went right. It's just a shame, as so much of the wrong didn't need to happen.


But it's best to reinforce the positives, gotta ring the bell when it is due-- the pumpkins came out perfect, the onions/potatoes grew heavier than the stones, the peppers were just dandy-- the basil, herbs and melon came out top notch. And I nearly forgot about our the brassicas-- our broccoli/cauliflower grew 1' foot wide and rolled steady from June-October. Not too shabby at all.



It's hard looking back over the time and trying to pick out moments-- I can see why I used to write this daily. Too much gets lost in memory. But I sure as hell remember two days.


Old Rudolpho's last day: Maybe if you're reading this you remember the man. The 73 year old patriarch of the Guatemalan family that works with us each summer. He's a saint and killer by the same breath. The man got drunk on that morning, absolutely sideways-in-a-field. So at nine o'clock on a warm day early in October, we climbed the hill to pick greens. Admittedly, I am a naive man and didn't think much about any of it.

My name is Chris. But the Guatemalans call me Christian-- Rudolpho doesn't like the name, so he calls me Roldinyo. That day when he screamed Roldinyo I just looked up and waved, then went back to picking kale. But he kept yelling. It was only as I walked closer, maybe at fifty yards off, that I could see his hands were covered-dripping with blood. He'd cut long and deep through his hand, as though he got halfway and decided why not keep on going. I tied my bandana tight as a tourniquet around his wrist. But Rudolpho just stood there and grinned. We shook hands, and I was caked arm to arm in his blood. We fished through the empty vodka nips in his pocket and found one full-- Rudolpho bit off the stem and poured it onto the cut. Daniel, who has one blank eye, strolled over and we stood there together as the old man bled onto the beets. We just stood around, like idiots. Daniel speaks English and translated-- Rudolpho says you're a good man.
 
I sent Rudolpho to Mike in the kitchen, who cleaned and patched him up. The old man disappeared for the rest of the day. I hear he was found hours later, asleep on a hay bale in back of the barn. The next day he flew home to Guatemala.


John's Advice: I remember this day. For personal reasons, and that's all you get. Max the old foreman came to visit. He has moved down to live with his long time girlfriend in New York City, time was kind to him and he got a job with an experimental research farm in Westchester county. Max and I used to butt heads working together, but during my own time in New York we'd meet up weekly to share noon beers and swap rumors of employment. He came that day to visit and check up on things. It was late September and the CSA was booming. John and I sat around shooting wind with the guy as the afternoon wore on.

At sunset Max went to hike the fields and see all we'd done this year. I sat with John on two stools and there was a deep yellow-pink horizon-- we sat quiet-- he was turning things over heavily in his head. Finally John said, You know why he does all that in the city? (Nodding way off to Max's shadow in the peach orchard) Cause he loves this girl. And Chris. Love is rare. Real love is rare. Nail it down tight if you're ever lucky enough to find it. A lot of shit can happen in a life: affairs, mistakes, one night stands, lots of things. But none of that matters, not worth mentioning or getting into a mess over. But Chris, love is rare. Nail it down or you'll regret that long as you live. That was it, and John didn't say another word about it.

I left to the woods and had a heart stroke. I drank that night.


So this business goes on. It was a year, thick and certain. Over beers in the morning, a few fellows and I agreed-- it's been a thick year, may there be few like it. But there were beautiful things done, and damn it another of my "forty tries" has been knocked from the life bank. Another year less.

New work is coming, different work. I've sweated over this farm for three years now-- another year doing the same chores on the same land might snuff me out for good. I love the job, but I have started to do it for the wrong reasons. It's time to trudge on again.

Maybe I'll be back on sometime.

But either way-- Take it easy

Tense

I really need to figure out the farmblog rhythm for this year. I've been starting up a few new (and long) writing projects-- but there's only so much time. Things will all balance out soonly.

The past week has been mighty stressful. My buddy Jizzy has been having a rough road of it acting way down south. He drove a long ten plus hours up to call things off with his girlfriend face-to-face. Jizzy blew back into town around midnight. Tearfully and through many beers we sussed him back together. I could relate and the heart blood was all across the tracks... Jizzy slept to sober and lit out south in the early morning.

We're starting the long way to filling up the fields. A mess of cauliflower, kale (toscano and green leaf), cabbage (red and green), swiss chard and brussels sprout are in the ground up on the hilltop. The pea varieties are coming strong, the fava beans have broken surface, the spinach/beets/bok choi have sprouted. Things are coming along. We've had a few days of heavy rain and the cold frame has (barely) managed to survive.

I managed to mess up the tractor one rainy morning. When harrowing a small field along a row of blackberries I got stuck on a boulder while trying to turn around for another pass. Kicking the machine into reverse everything went haywire, the back wheel caught on a hydraulic line-- tearing the hydraulic system's connectors into a pretzel shape and busting a dagger sized hole in the tire. The boss was ready to strangle me.

 Ouch.

Tractor wheels don't typically have inner tubing anymore, so repairs are more simple-- but a highly caustic (and expensive) anti-freeze solution was jetting from the hole. Fortunately, the tire mechanic came on short notice-- patching up the tire for just a hundred dollars. The bent hydraulics are another matter-- next week's problem.

After a few days the boss eased off me. Running over a hydraulic line is a problem, but a relatively common one. The real issue was why the safety release didn't trigger and eject the line-- instead the coupler stayed attached and bent everything up. So the boss has relegated everything as mostly not my fault. He wouldn't even let me cover the repair bill...

It's been real busy these past days-- I'm forgetting almost everything that's happened. But the "pre-season" is almost over. Hard planting is about to begin, and Bah is due back next week.

I'm working this weekend-- on a special job. We're doing a little cattle drive tomorrow-- moving the heard across the town road up to new pasture. A lot of the boss's family is coming in to lend a hand and the town police are gonna be there to mind the traffic. It'll be a crazy day, most certainly.

Off and onward, we'll click into gear here soon enough.

Take it easy.

Fish Fluid

Light rain throughout the morning, it slowed down mid-afternoon into a cloudy brood. Temperature hung at the middle 50Fs.

It was a sloppy, wet morning. Snapped a few pictures of yesterday's masterwork:

There it is. On the left of the greenhouse. Haha, nothing fancy.

Here she lies. Tomorrow we're putting down a black plastic floor covering, rigging up the odd irrigation pipes as center-beams and covering over the top with extra greenhouse plastic. Can't wait to fill this up-- I've gone seed crazy. The more we start, the more to plant and be paid for. Sweet dollar bills-- I can hear 'em growing.


First thing I opened up the greenhouse and gave all the little-uns a thorough water. Then it was time to start harrowing. I headed uphill, hitched up and got grinding. The boss had some farm bureau event today-- he's still the county president-- so he dropped off thirty gallons of diesel and left us for the day.

I started in the old butternut field and had a hell of a time. The mud was thick and the tractor was getting swamped in muck at every turn. It was particularly terrifying to slide sideways downhill at a steep, tip-over-type-angle. I took a brief sit down and cigarette before going over the tractor, looking for some problem. Eventually I figured out that the boss had flipped the transmission into a 2-wheel drive setting-- I fixed that back to 4 wheel. The going was mercifully easier.

The light rain was perfect for the fertilizer spread yesterday (not so much for harrowing)-- for added effect I went over all the sweet corn fields (for the second and, I'm sure, not the last time). I spun those discs all day long-- everything on the hilltop has now been tilled once, and everything currently fertilized has been twice-tilled.

Here's a picture of the contraption. There are two rows of discs (the second is behind the wheels), angled for maximum turnover. The hydraulic lines (there on the right) power a wheel jack that raises and lowers the whole frame-- I pop that thing up and down all day to negotiate around the many sub-soil boulders and travel between fields. Behind the last row of discs is a split line of steel chain dragging a length of telephone pole-- it serves to even out the loosened dirt, smoothing the chaos into some semblance of a plantable field. The telephone pole is what cracked me in the hip earlier this Spring. Any long time readers might remember another harrow story from last year-- the solid steel cross beam that holds up the first row of discs: that's what I sledge hammered out of its fittings for welding-repairs, and those discs are what rolled over me and shredded the pants clear off my body. The harrow and I are on better terms these days.

The view from the tractor roof (I smoke sitting up there) at the day's end. It's an abnormally bright look at the day-- all the dark patches are freshly harrowed. The sloping butternut fields are just out of the frame on the left. I saw three bull-sized tom turkeys at the far wood's edge this morning-- they were bucking around trying to entice a mate. I tried to nab a picture, but couldn't get close enough-- the testosterone was pumping and they chased me back into the cab. I wasn't about to mix with a gang of raging turkeys.

Saw Newport for the first time at the end. He'd been in the barn all day, sanding and staining all the produce wagons-- opening is Memorial day (May 28th) and we're almost ready. His finger was bandaged up tight-- he'd slipped with the power drill and it skidded in under his fingernail, biting him good. Newport really needs to take it easier.

Another surprise-- when closing up the greenhouse, I had to double back and hold in my gut. The whole place reeked of well cured fish parts. The boss finally sprayed the seedlings with his new fish-fertilizer-- it's great for young plants, giving them a shot of nutrients without the killing strength of the regular commercial sprays/pellets. Apparently the boss lost his sense of smell over the years, but I surely still have mine-- and that greenhouse smells like hell.

On to tomorrow.

"Nothing Grows for Free" -- the Boss

May already-- feeling stronger and a little easier of the mind. But on to the work.

It's been a haggard week-- Monday started in the back of the boss's house. His water heater died, so we cut the pipes free, dragged the rusty tub outside and went hunting for a new one. The boss and I make a motley crew, our dirty slouch versus the pristine order of retail, sauntering about in public had an acutely surreal quality. I drove him around to a few box stores before we found a price he could agreed with-- we stopped for a fine time at the dump-- and then returned to the farm in order to meet the plumber. The pipe-man was a secret architect-geek and was fascinated by the boss's house. I left to harrow, while they debated green building and eventually installed the heater.

The weekend frosts passed, all blueberry and strawberry buds survived, but the pepper seedlings in the greenhouse didn't fair as well. A third of the trays caught a killing freeze-- I culled out the lifeless and consolidated the living into order. There was a big empty chunk left over-- a matter for Tuesday. The weather was pretty calm Monday afternoon, so we phoned in a fire permit and burned (burn season is now officially over). I had my own small fire on a hill overlooking the cow pasture. Popped the radio, smoked a few and dozed the day away.


Tuesday was rain. A shower turned into a day long down pour. I hid away in the greenhouse and seeded up a storm: 5 more trays of swiss chard (400 plants) , 6 trays of mixed lettuce (1500 plants) and 3 more basil (750 plants)-- these filled the pepper gaps. But there was a lot of day remaining, so I dry seeded a slew of broccoli to preempt the completion of the cold frame: 4 trays of 75 day (450 plants), 6 trays of 76 day (500ish plants), now I lost track of my tray numbers-- 2000 plants of 86 day, 3000 plants of 88 day and 3000 plants of 96 day. A little under 9000 broccoli plants-- god damn what a mess of work is ahead.

Then there was today.


Cloudy all day through-- temperature in the mid 50Fs.

I headed over to the berry fields with the tractor and four 4x4 wood beams-- last week we augured deep holes through the black-raspberry field, so it was finally time to sink in the head-posts for a new trellis system. After pounding everything down and tamping home the dirt I headed back to meet the delivery man. 5,000 lbs worth of fertilizers was delivered and laid out on palates-- signed all the paper work and rung up the boss for the check.

Once everything was straightened out, I hitched up the spreader and got the boss fertilizing the blueberries. These bushes thrive in tough soil-- acidic pH and low nutrients-- so we loaded up 500lbs of 7-7-7 (potassium, nitrogen and phosphorus). While the boss was off I put on shoulder length haz-mat gloves, grabbed a grub hoe and headed to the black raspberries to tear up 50ft x 3ft worth of thick poison ivy. It was my personal hell-- despite the gloves, I look forward to many new rashes. In between hoeing and refilling the spreader, I cleaned up the mess of spilled soil I left in the greenhouse during my seeding marathon (filled a trash bag).

It took a few hours for the boss to cover all the tractor-accessible areas of the three blueberry fields. In the last minutes before lunch we measured/staked out the cold-frame. We then worked long into lunchtime, chaining/hauling telephone poles into position, but it was all finally done/ready for hammers and nail.


Newport was back after lunch, and boy, time off did him no favors. Bill collectors had been hounding him and inaction had led him to the door of insanity. So it was a cold reunion. We gathered up buckets and cups, then hitched a ride with the boss to the far-off blueberry fields along the cow pasture. The terrain gets pretty shaky in these less-kept fields, but we hand fertilized 1lb per bush. It took around 700lb worth to finish the two fields.

We hiked back to the farm and loaded up the tractor with 500lbs worth of 9-19-9 (i think that was it, all the damn numbers run together now) and headed up to the peach orchard. The boss was out carpet fertilizing all the fields marked for early sweet corn, using that same 9-19-whatever it was. All the 1-3 year saplings got a light 1/2 lb sprinkle around the base, the older trees received the full lb. Aim is important with all hand fertilizing-- the granules themselves are pretty caustic (due to the concentration), so you never want to hit the plant. A few stray beads here and there can burn the root bulbs and cause some long term damage. So we sprinkle everything wide and loose over where the roots reach. That way, once it rains, everything will be diluted and seep downward where it's needed.


It wasn't long before the orchard was done, so Newport and I headed down to start bringing together the cold-frame. I took out the grind-wheel wand sawed off the old iron-telephone-ladder-pegs, while Newport hammered on the end-boards. The iron pegs were no joke-- sparks exploded and it took a solid minute of sawing per nail to hack 'em off. Newport started loosing up and tried to light dead grass on fire off my sparks. That was a bad choice. He caught a hunk of orange-hot steel filament to the eyeball. Through some miracle he managed to pluck it out before his eyelids dragged it all over the place-- which would have been very bad. He handed me the chunk and said-- feel it, rub it between your fingers (I did). Goddamn it! That was in my eye! He kept his distance as I finished off the pegs.

Next we measured everything up, took out the circular saw and built a middle partition. I could try to explain this construction project, but it's a tragic combination of genius/half-assed supplies/impatience. I'll take some pictures tomorrow morning so you can see how things develop. But anyway, we built the middle partition and then sawed up a series of notched posts-- we'll rest old irrigation pipes along the grooves to form a little tee-pee roof over the monstrosity. The end of the day was long passed when I looked over the whole thing-- we really should have leveled the ground more before building.

We met the boss-- I got my orders for tomorrow, and Newport left with a direly needed check.

Rain ahead, rain behind, this sunny sort of notion just crossed my mind.

Take it easy.



Because I can:

Fire, Fire on the Hillside

It's been a week-- how ya doing?

The rains last weekend set us up for some light days . Between the water and the boss's bank troubles, the money and work had run thin. Newport was coerced into a mandatory unpaid vacation week, while the boss and I fussed around with the store. The board of health was coming for their inspection on Thursday, so we gave the kitchen/store/bathrooms a deep double clean. I played the part of maintenance man, disassembling the condensers in the berry/soda coolers-- cleaned out the motor filters and generally poked about. We scrubbed our knuckles pink-- shinning up the ice cream implements and cleaning all the corrosion from the pipe work. The board of health only has so much jurisdiction over us-- they gauge the general cleanliness of our kitchen/bathrooms but they have no say over our produce/harvest infrastructure/methodology. Small agriculture exists under a magic pseudo-bureaucracy where no one really gums about in your business.

We passed the inspection, but couldn't escape a small list of recommended improvements-- so, they'll be back for a follow up-- much to the boss's frustration.

I'm a bit embarrassed, but we had a few problems in the greenhouse this week. I've been a tad heavy-- carpet watering all the seedlings. As the boss now repeats-- too much water is more dangerous than too little. 4-5trays worth of the swiss chard developed root rot-- instead of growing up and out, they slowly closed up and their color paled. Over the week half of the trays perked up-- we let them get bone dry and the rot died off. I say 5 bad trays out of hundreds isn't bad, but so it goes. The rest of the greenhouse is humming along, they'll be moved outside (once we finish the cold frame) to make room for the next wave. I grabbed a can of wasp spray and went on a killing spree-- 30 some nests wiped out in the greenhouse rafters alone.

The week was mostly spent on small pain tasks-- the tractor's front right tire went flat, so we hauled it off for repairs, spent hours trimming more blueberry bushes, harrowed more rows up on the hill and tinkered about with some of the seeders.

Thursday was clear and calm, so we burned off the few remaining brush piles. The boss had a little dinner event-at-sea to attend so I minded the blazes alone.

Fire days are good lazy days.


Lucy the dog has fallen a little worse for wear. The boss let her out one night and she had a run in with a bear sized coyote-- a big ol' bite was tore right along her back leg and rear. Now she's wearing a plastic cone and 700 dollars worth of stitches.

Friday was a mad scramble. In another twist of weather, a large front is blowing down out of the north-- bringing 30F night time frosts. Bad news. The wind gusted heavy, 40mph at times, as the boss and I scrambled to set up all the irrigation guns and arrange the water pump. I was soaked to the icy bone after unclogging the fields worth of guns, but everything was running smoothly before nightfall. We filled the tractor to the brim with diesel and let her run all night-- the constant water keeps the plants and buds a few precious degrees above freezing. I talked to the boss Saturday morning and everything survived the night fine, just a few more days of frost warnings to go... But the strawberries will be fine, it's the blueberries I worry about. They can handle the 30Fs well enough, but if we get a maverick night plunging into the low 20Fs-- their baby berry buds are doomed. Fingers crossed.


Hmmm. Looking back I guess I forgot to mention it, but strange thing happened the other week. A scrapper friend of the boss swung by in his rig looking for any odd metal he could pick up. We could hardly move with all the old metal piling up so the boss gave it all away free. Newport and I helped the guy load up a few tons worth of sheet metal/rusted tractor attachments and odd copper piping. I have my theories on how the boss met this fella, but he was a rare breed of crazy. When I told the man about where I lived he laughed his head off. He knew the area well. Back ten years ago the scapper used to be a manager for strippers. He would book them gigs and shuffled them between different dance halls. But he laughed because there was an old diner nearby, which would close down into a "sex-show-extravaganza" at night. He would shuttle his girls over there ever week. He was certainly a shady piece of work.

May is slipping up quick and I've plans a-million in the brain cooker. We'll see how next week goes.


Take it easy.

Stormed Out

My travel plans received a scramble this weekend. After weeks of drought a heavy storm rained from Sunday through to this afternoon. The boss begged me in Saturday to help get things situated for the weather-- so much for reunion getaways.  I slumped in and harrowed from dawn to dusk-- the amount of work I polished off was mind-numbing. Almost the entire 20 acres of the hilltop are churned under and ready to plant, including the span we rocked through last week. That day alone was a masterclass in tractor finesse-- unlike the smooth tomato/forest fields I worked over before, and despite the days of hauling-- enormous rocks still hid beneath the soil's surface. Managing the harrow depth was enough to give me a heart attack, I burned through two packs of cigarettes.

(Notes for me: I'm shifting a lot more smoothly these days, but gotta remember the engine can handle more stress than I'm willing to allow. The shaking/shuddering I noticed these past weeks was due to feather foot/throttle. Under 100,000rpm is too low, 100,000-150,000 is optimal driving (12-13 the sweet spot). During operation, with the PTO chugging and all, 150,000 is the lock in ( not much higher, definitely no lower). Gear ranges: B-2 is a nice fast clip for most work (spreading/fertilizing/dragging/ harrowing smooth fields), but when the going is rocky and the muscle needs to bear toss down to B-1. A is for overkill-- save this gear range for carving through mountains. Old remembrances: last year when hitching on the water pump (running the tractor stationary) 20-250,000rpms was pretty standard. All the irrigation arteries travel a long ways/ up some serious hills, so go high but try not to blow out the water system. No one needs that.)

My tractor paranoia served me well enough, but I still managed to shatter one of the 3ft disks on a troublesome stone shelf. The boss didn't seem to mind. Red-tailed hawks were out nesting, but the pleasure of the day was bittersweet. Empty farms breed a long dagger of lonesomeness. A place needs people: Newport, Bah, the Guatemalans and the summer kids can't come soon enough.

But the rains hit hard and weekends are a small sacrifice for a good season. The fields are looking beautifully, if we keep up the pace and stay atop the workload everything will be just fine.

It was dark this morning and the rain was still coming down, so the boss called us all to stay home. I filled the day with little errands, mostly trying to get my truck outfitted for the season ahead. With a fat fresh paycheck in the bank, I went on a spending spree: bought rubber mats for the truck's cab, air fresheners (for the cigarettes), a tarp ( to cover over the seats on the working-rain days), jumbo box of band-aids/polysporin, new boots/laces/leather sealant, a flashlight (for late nights at the greenhouse), picked up my new glasses (old man) and grabbed a new pocket knife (the old one's probably at the bottom of a field somewhere). After running out of excuses to spend money I was just left a bit aimless. A day off is the working man's enemy. Didn't know what to do with myself, but on the advice of a friend I started teaching myself Spanish.

I'm soaking up the vocabulary fast, but I have yet to touch the grammar bits. Tasks for another day.

Hasta Luego!

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.

Rationale

It's been a few days, how's it going. I've buried myself in work these past days (weeks?). First one to arrive in the morning and last to leave at night-- chugging along every day but Sundays.

The big greenhouse is loaded to the brim: more broccoli, peppers and trial tomatoes. The first plantings have been sunk into the fields: snow peas, spinach, bok choi and beets. The boss has been pushing my into longer/more rigorous tractor work. I started hitching on an old iron rake and swept all the dead brush from around the raspberry fields. And over the last week we hitched on an oversize broadcast spreader, distributing somewhere around 12,000lbs of lime into the soil-- gotta build up that soil pH (except where we're planting potatoes and around the blueberries, they like that acidic 5.5 level). I covered the lower fields, forest plateau, the tomato fields and all the raspberry rows.

The big test was putting me in command of the harrow-- churning over and flatting out the fields. I spent the weekend at the tractor wheel, stopping only to refuel, even taking my meals in the cab. Everything is almost ready.

Unfortunately, I had an accident. The harrow consists of a solid steel frame, positioning two rows of ~10 three foot diameter steel disks, a heavy linked chain drags an old telephone pole behind to flatten the soil. At sun down on Saturday (the boss had left for a dinner party), I was packing up the harrow for the ride back to the farm store and I tried toss the telephone pole up onto the frame. It rolled back and crashed onto my pelvis-- but I'm a lucky fella, nothing broke. My entire hip has turned a nasty black, blood and blue now, seems I might have bruised the bone too. Still hurts like hell.


Today.


High of 89F and low around 65F. A steady rain passed through last night, but it was clear and sunny al day.


We started this morning spreading the last of the lime: over the final raspberry field and giving a double coat over the field where a new block of strawberries will be. We weeded and hoed out the gardens surrounding the farm store, finished just in time for lunch.

Stretch is back. Or rather, he's on spring break and working afternoons. He brought around his little sister as a candidate to take over the farm store/ice cream window. The boss liked her, but we'll see what happens.

I'm beat, burned and exhausted writing all this. After lunch we rode up (The boss, Newport, Stretch and I) to the hilltop and pulled rocks from the field all afternoon. It's rough work-- my bashed in side didn't help. We stole 15 bottles of water from the store and drank every last drop. 89F is hot for this time of year-- we sweated draft horses. Following Newport's lead we all doffed our shirts and wore them like sheiks over our heads (ball caps perched on top).

We dragged out the largest boulder to date. The tractor's front wheels were airborne as the hydraulics strained to rip it from the ground. The boss had to flip the stone head over tail across the field, as the front loader couldn't  handle the weight-- 5tonnes.

At the day's end I drove the boys downhill. Newport was deep asleep before the five minute ride was over.


I helped the boss mend the dam at the far side of the horse pond at sundown and then went home. This is a pretty terrible post, but I feel terrible so whaddya expect?

Take it easy.

The Bull

 
High of 59F, low of 36F. Cloudy most of the day with a few spots of sun.


I drove in today-- borrowed my pop's car (for the last time). Nothing to do but sit down on a cinder-block: had my coffee and cigarettes. I watched the hawks until I heard some moaning down in the barn.

Down around the corner I found the young bull penned in by the horse paddocks. He was grunting and yelling his heart out. I later found out that the boss's brother has more calves than he knows what to do with. Three more have been born this month (all females). Over the weekend the old man had a sit down with his brother and decided that the bull was a bit over-zealous. The moment a cow could conceive, the bull saw that they did. 9 months from now is January, mid-winter, and winter babies are a hassle. So the bull is sequestered off at the barn for the next few months. He was stressed, when I checked him over, but in time he'll grow accustomed to the new order of things. I felt for him, poor fella.

The boss rolled in a bit early-- we opened up the greenhouse, pulled off the frost guards and watered the seedlings. The trays have exploded, everything is moving so fast. The swiss chard, collards, sprouts, some of the broccoli and cauliflower have burst through the soil and tossed out their juvenile leaves. The boss and I chatted around for a while-- the next two weeks will be wild. If all goes according to schedule, we'll have the peas seeded (in the field) by the end of this week and will have some of the irrigation flowing by next week. The boss gave me the afternoon off today so I could jockey around the county and get a loan/buy/insure/register a car.

Newport arrived and we bolted together a few loose hinges on the greenhouse. Then we headed out, shears in hand, to polish off the final raspberry field. We chugged along, cleared the field and had enough time to adjust the trellis lines. Newport did me a great kindness, listening and straightening out the flights of my head.


It was noon, so I tore out. Hit the bank, home (and filing cabinet), the bank, used-dealership, insurance office, registry of motor-vehicles and again the dealership. As of now, the bank and I are the proud owners of a heavily used blue 2001 Dodge Dakota pick-up truck. It suits me fine. Took my mother out for a ride tonight, and we laughed our heads off.

No more rides for me.

And, just because I can:

The Start and Getting Into It

I plan on returning to standard day form, but first-- there's still more wrapping-in to do.

Newport stuck around town this winter. He pulled a few odd-jobs for the boss and started delivering flowers to (barely) pay the bills. It was early/mid March when he came back full time. Together, he and the boss, they seeded the tomatoes back in late February and cleared most of the brush around the field edges. I was disappointed to hear they'd taken care nearly all the Spring burning-- only one big pile remains.

Things are very different now. Well-- as background: the car I used last season was bequeathed unto my little brother and it was made explicitly clear that my days of carpooling were limited. So I'm hunting after a car-- just had my loan pre-approved (?) this past Monday, now I gotta settle on the automobile. There's a slew of used-dealerships nearby with pick-up trucks going for nickles and dimes. Nobody wants 'em and they're more negative space than car anyway. I figure with my short drive to the farm/the ability to load junk/crops/crew maybe the pick up is the right choice. But anyway things are very different with Newport.

The days last week were bitter cold with high winds, several times coupled onto miserable rain showers. Rather than leave me huddled in the greenhouse munching stale peanut-butter sandwiches, Newport took me in. Everyday he drove me to his house, fed me left overs, swapped cigarettes in comfort, tussled with his two Corgis and argued over episodes of family feud. He did me a real streak of kindnesses. As Kev in the kitchen used to say-- Newport, I don't care what they say about you, friend you're alright by me.

Without the foreman, both of us received a big wage jump-- although, I keep one little bit secret: I inherited the foreman's rights: double overtime and seasonal bonuses. A monster I am, but so it goes. Foremanship weighs pretty heavily on me-- I'm fighting hard to live up to the title, but I went soft over winter. It'll be a few weeks until I claw my way back into farm muscles/endurance. I've been coming in early every morning and leaving late, giving me ample time to chat up the boss. For whatever reason, he's decided that this year is the big one. Even short one experienced hand, he's pushing us into a big year-- bigger plantings, faster/tighter crop rotations, plowing new fields, new field tech (electric fencing/new organic sprays) and we're trying new crops (carrots/agricultural beans/many new string bean varieties/many greens/new herbs/others that I now forget). The first plantings in the peach orchard (done 7 years ago) are finally mature and this year is set to be the first real harvest-- they've been sprayed, pruned and are being monitored for production.

Besides the new greenhouse construction (which we finally cleared way for today), the boss has big plans to expand the ice-cream business. He's shopping around contractors and intends to have a full (real, none gravel) patio installed with benches, tables, garden and the works. Maybe it's time chasing after him (now turned 65) or the double knee replacement surgery he has planned this next winter-- but he's attacking on all fronts. Exciting days ahead-- and profitable ones.


When I came back from New York I got to spend a day with my old friend Jizzy. He was shipping out the next day to act for a theater company in Lancaster, Pennsylvania-- performing from April through the first week in July (then he returns to the farm for a spell). But anyway, the money was great-- more than he's ever received before as an actor (+ free food/rooming). The Amish are apparently very generous to their arts people (it is an Amish themed play, tailor made for the community/benefactors). It was one day with Jizzy, and we spent it well. In the morning we set out with rods, chairs and beers for some fishing at a tiny pond through the woods. It was 40F, the wind was constant and stiff, but the alcohol kept us rosy. Jizzy's dad strolled over and joined us in a cove at the pond's far side, nestled out of the wind-- he brought a tackle box full of more fishing beers. The father and son had been out everyday for the past month, starting the day after the pond was stocked-- bringing home dozens of sizable rainbow trout. We fished through the day, but the wind and cold made the task near impossible, so we joked around. After dinner I took Jizzy out into the little city for a night of drinking, on me. He'll be missed.


Onto today, the right way.

High of 59F, Low around 33F. Mostly sunny and calm, but the wind kicked up in the afternoon.

I hopped in early and started seeding another 1000 kale down in the greenhouse. The boss had a rough nights sleep so he came in just after me-- figured he may as well be working. We polished off the kale and seeded another 1000 broccoli (75 day variety).

Newport pulled in a little later and we chugged out another big round of seeding. We completely rearranged the greenhouse to squeeze another 2 rows of palates and trays-- the boss intends to get the peppers transplanted into larger trays in the next week or so. The big topic of the day was the trans-gender Ms Canada contestant-- Newport showed me pictures of her on his phone, and he couldn't reconcile his attraction with the fact she used to be a man. The boss thought it was fantastic and launched into a big sermon on the subject. We headed up to the smaller greenhouse by the boss's house-- finished transplanting the last cherry tomatoes (sun golds/choco cherries/black cherries) and filled out the remaining space with yellow Valencias and Purple Prudence. Finished just in time for lunch.

I had lunch alone in the store today. With my mother laid out on heavy pain medications, relatives and church members have been delivering bulk meals every night-- so I had a mean plate full of chicken, rice, peas and onions. I've felt restless ever since leaving the city, the farm seems real alien. I took some time to lay in the sun and felt an inch better.

After lunch I took the tractor up to the junkyard to get more palates and cinder blocks for the big greenhouse. Newport met me and we got everything situated-- even setting the trays, filling 'em with soil and soaking them. All set for more seeding. We loaded up 3 final buckets worth of split wood onto the tractor-- hauling it up to the boss's wood shed (now he's ready for next winter). A few big logs remained and some lesser trees, so we buzzed them into bit size pieces with the chainsaw-- besides a few scrap metal heaps and a mound of pipe attachments, the space was finally cleared for the new semi-greenhouse.

The boss called me up and I took the van over to the junkyard. The buyers were coming tomorrow for the old truck bed, so I helped the boss and his brother wrestle the iron monstrosity onto a ramp of cinder blocks. We then headed back to the boss's house to clear away some odd logs and sticks from around the yard, then cleared the hay off the boss's wife's garden.

We ended the day back at the big greenhouse seeding another round of broccoli (a 76 day variety). We have another set of 88 day and 96 day broccoli to be planted-- different varieties take different amounts of time to mature, the day number marks how long from germination to first harvest.

Newport and the boss left early for home, so I did a few more broccoli trays-- pulled the frost guard over the seedling trays and closed up the greenhouse.

Home and diner.

Feels good writing again, we'll see ya tomorrow.

Take it easy.

The New Foreman

I'm back

And it's been a long road here.

Time to pick up where I left off. I waded through winter in New York City with Darlin: got a job in a classy burrito shack, drank myself silly, visited around with old fellows and new ones. To be honest, I had mostly decided upon living in the city for good and giving up on the farming business. But-- I had bad luck chasing after the big-money-jobs, my bank numbers grew tiny and then my mother needed her neck rebuilt. Those days blew out the window. Before I could settle my head on anything-- I was already back North.
Got back a week ago, the last week in March.

Lots of stories to tell, from the burrito kitchen and otherwise.

The 'restaurant' was as classy as taquerias get-- top star write ups in the NYTimes, Food & Wine Magazine, Zagat Review and Village Voice. The chicken was organic and the beans were made vegan. That said, we drank through most of the shifts-- people were falling into the grill and onto knives with some regularity. One fella I remember very well had "No Shit" tattooed across his eyelids, he was a short black man with a braided goatee falling along his neck. The fact he exists is a testament to something-- he'd rap about "cutti" and sang about his five baby-mamas (one in every borough). One day he taught me how to make guacamole:

I filled a 15 gallon bowl with prepped avocados, dumped in a deep pan worth of salsa, salt and lime juice. "No Shit" brought me over a tennis-racket-sized potato masher and told me to have fun. Apparently I didn't have enough fun-- "No Shit" shouted, No, no, no, no! You trying to make love to the guac-- but you gotta fuck it. He took the masher and thrust all in-- he sang, you having my baby tonight and I'm gonna get you pregnant, over and over. He trust his hips with each slap of the masher and spanked the side of the bowl for effect.

Two types of people worked in that kitchen: the college students rolling burritos, and the 30-year-old-men-paying-child-support cooking the food. I didn't really fit with either group.

So I kept to myself for the most part, but on my last night a group of us went out drinking. That's where I got to know some fine individuals-- my favorite was Kev: young 20 something, married with a new born son. He sent his wife and boy back to Oakland, California while he mailed them burrito-ing money and was finishing his degree in animation. Over many beers we talked about John K, the golden 40's of animation, the problems with white/black people, cops, North Philadelphia, women and the objective ranking of artful love-making. We drank till 4am, closed down the bar and ate McDonald's Cheeseburgers in the Manhattan streets.
Then I said good-bye and I bet I will never see one of those fellows again.

There are many stories, but I'll pepper 'em in as we go along through Spring.

Now I'm back on the farm. I got home the day my mother was finally released from the hospital-- I got to play nurse for a brief morning, before the boss called and it was back to the fields.

We've been busy. In the past week and a half we: worked a landscaping job, cleared out the greenhouses, trimmed the first round of raspberries in the lower fields, repaired all the greenhouses, got the tractor into fighting shape, split 6 trees worth of wood, setup the rows of palates/trays in the greenhouses, seeded 1000 swiss chard, 3500 broccoli (so far, we're going big this year), 1000 brusselsprouts, 1000 red cabbage, 1000 collared greens, 1500 kale (2 varieties), 1000 green cabbage, 750 romaine lettuce, 500 chives/oregano/some other herb, 1000 cauliflower, transplanted 6000 tomato plants (into bigger trays), sold a junked truck flatbed/van/spare van door, rigged a frost protection device out of field cloth/broken pipes/cinder blocks in the non-heated greenhouse, painted the store, raked the boss's yard, repaired last years tools and began clearing the ground for an open air/low-to-ground greenhouse that will eventually be upgraded into a full sized solid structure.

That's what we've done. It's a new year and everything has changed. The foreman is gone. He moved to New York City to be with his girlfriend (small world), and lives just down the street from Darlin (terrifyingly small world). We met up a few times for mid-day beers-- things weren't good for him. He'd been unemployed since December, medical scares led him under the knife (in delicate places) and he was fighting (bitterly) with his girlfriend. He needed the beers more than I did. The foreman was no longer his name sake, things had gotten so bad he asked the boss if he could pick up some odd work and maybe come back. The old man said no-- it was better if the former-foreman set off into the world and didn't look back. The former-foreman asked if I could find him a job in the burrito kitchen-- it'd be hard for me to explain why I didn't try.

Now it is me. Through some tangled way, it's me now. I am the foreman.

The foreman is dead, long live the foreman.

Starting at the End

It's been a while since I posted here and a lot has changed. I'll talk about all that, but most importantly, there's a little project I have up my sleeve.


Things became real crazy at the end of the season. The fruit and vegetable conference sped up, the work disappeared and then that was it. The year was over and we all went home.

I planned on writing everything as it happened, doing final picture days and long sentimental bits-- but haha, I decided to spare you. In truth, one thing just led to another-- car accidents, infections and fevers kept me bed-tied a good three weeks. I felt better by the first weekend of 2012, I figured: why not move down to New York City? So I did and here I am.

Darlin' is letting me stay with her until I get my bearings-- it's quite a distance and a change, going from the farm to Manhattan. But I'm crazy about Darlin' so here I am!

 I have a winter project for myself. The non-stop job hunting, rooting around for apartments and noise is liable to make me lose my mind, so: one hour a day (or more) I am going to sit down and start combing through the Farm Blog entries. I'm going to edit the bad days, fill in the empty days (I have notes from the conventions), polish the good days, and then organize the entire piece.


I am in New York City, but I still think about next season from time to time. The project will be a good opportunity to put everything in perspective.


Feels good to be writing again. Whew, my fingers get all bottled up without the exercise.

Keep an eye out, and check back soon.

--Chris