Corn in the fields. ehehe.
Overcast all morning, gave way to rain mid-afternoon. Temperature dipped to 69F and low 70Fs.
Corn is in the fields! Today was the first corn picking day-- Bah and Old Rudolpho were in the rows filling sacks all morning. First tomatoes too! Not many, but 10lbs of the moskvich came red and ready from the fields (they're the quickest to mature, 60 days from transplant to fruit). Wednesday is heavy picking, but today was variety day.
Waved down Newport and Stretch out behind the store, they watched and chatted as I watered down the greenhouse. The boss was out harassing the van dealership-- we're supposed to get the new van Wednesday (I think), but he wanted it early (didn't happen). So we followed the work list-- passed round the knives, grabbed the crates and bustled out to the lower field. We cut: 1 case of romaine, 1 case of loose leaf, 1 case of dinosaur/red boar kale, pulled 1 case of beets (first planting to survive to harvest, if you remember the previous rounds didn't work out so well), 15 quarts of strawberries. We stacked up the catch by the roadside and the foreman came by with the tractor, wagon piled high-- 15 buckets of big cucumber, 6 buckets of pickling cukes, 3 buckets of summer squash, 3 zucchini buckets, 1 bucket of kousa/patty pan squash, 4 bags of corn and a single green pepper. Bah and Old Rudolpho's crew had a busy morning.
Back at the store we set to work, washing the greens and lettuce, washing the cukes and squash, the beets, the kale, and the rest. We packed everything into bushel boxes and started loading up the cooler. It must have been a busy weekend, the walk-in was nearly empty-- we fixed that. Stretch and I finished rubbing down the pickling cukes and we all headed to lunch.
Action days-- gotta love 'em. After lunch we got out the buckets and loaded them up with Urea fertilizer (46% nitrogen). One of the maturing lettuce beds had developed a yellow tint to their bottom leaves, due to a nutrient deficiency-- the foreman sent us over to fix it. Stretch and I spread around all around the plants-- the boss pulled up right as we finished. He figured that since we were out there we might as well fertilize the string beans (they looked a bit nutrient stressed too). Bah and Old Rudolpho's crew was picking the beans, so we slid past them and spread the Urea. It seemed to go real fast-- though I did have to follow behind Stretch and shake the pellets off the plant leaves (concentrated nitrogen can burn/damage the plant if it isn't absorbed properly through the soil). Newport was out picking raspberries in one of the hill top fields that's just on the edge of harvest time. We finished up with the beans and headed to the trellised tomatoes. They were looking in need of nitrogen, so we laid it on along the plastic wraps' edges. Put away the fertilizer and Stretch ambled out to join Newport in the raspberries. I stuck behind to move some irrigation lines out of the foreman's way-- he had a lot of harrowing to do: next years strawberries' soil is getting prepped and several beds are spent and need replanting.
Headed back to the store and chatted around with the boss's daughter-- Viking took a couple days off, so she is watching after things. I am thick into poison ivy bought number 10+, but the daughter apparently has a steroid cream that works wonders (though it might bleach the skin temporarily). She said she'd bring some by tomorrow, we'll see about that. Then again, I was chain smoking all day as the ivy rashes around my knees were driving me crazy. Caught up with Jockey, then headed back to the lower fields with the trimmer.
All the sunflowers NYU and planted in early spring have busted up 4-5ft tall-- unfortunately you can hardly see them as the grasses and weeds along the wall have grown even taller (nearly choking the flowers out). I fired up machine and dealt with the long grasses, I had plans later in the day for the weed-bushes. The rain started slowly and built up over an hour. The foreman waved me over to the corn field at one point-- we hunted down the rows and each took a good ear. Ate 'em raw. Sweet as a berry. Got back to trimming-- headed up and cleared all the travel rows through the lower fields blueberries. It really started raining.
Time was flying somehow-- trimming must have taken a while, as closing was a half-hour away. I brought the trimmer back to the greenhouse and found Stretch/Newport seeding a new round of lettuce. I took up the machete and headed through the rain to deal with those weed-bushes around the sunflowers. Hacked them up and down-- people driving by must have thought I was psychotic.
Finished up and met the boss at the store. Things really seem to be working out for the best this year. He fixed the water pump's primer crank over the weekend, but blew a gasket. The replacement is due to arrive in a few days-- but wouldn't ya know it, here's the rain and irrigating doesn't even matter. The boss is getting giddy (or as near giddy as he can get) over the approach of the high season: when the corn hits stride and the tomatoes explode into red. It's contagious. I can't wait to get out there and pluck buckets full. Supposed to rain through tomorrow morning, so we'll see what's to be done. Took my leave and headed home.
Photo day tomorrow? Yes I think so. Though I got a morning doc appointment... but that doesn't matter. A day has room for it all.
On to tomorrow.
Monday, July 25, 2011
Friday, July 22, 2011
Fire in the Field and the Mother Hen
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.
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.
Thursday, July 21, 2011
What's the Difference Between Jam and Jelly?
Hot, very hot and a thick haze choked the air-- when the foreman woke up this morning (he told me), he walked out to the little porch off his apartment and saw the hazy sunrise: it was thicker than cigarette smoke. Thermometer bounced between 97F and 98F. Humid as a wet diaper.
Got in early again this morning and caught NYU down in the greenhouse watering the seedlings-- he was all dolled up in bermuda shorts and a tucked in polo for market. I tried not to laugh. We really soaked through the trays and let the water flood up in the rosemary pots. Especially on hot days you gotta be sure to let the hose run a few minutes before turning it on the plants-- the first 30 seconds of water comes out searing hot and would poach the plants to death. Newport, Stretch and I made up today's wrecking crew-- as per the boss's orders, we marched up to the forest field with pick crates to cut basil.
We filled three crates to overflowing-- had to sit on the top just to lock the latches. Since yesterday more cucumbers, summer squash and zucchini ripened up-- so we stashed the basil crates in the shade and marched down the field with a couple buckets. Midway through the pickling cukes the morning air burned off into the full day heat. Stretch parcelled us out some water from the 2 gallon jug he schleps around. We got 2 big buckets of pickling cukes, 1 full bucket of summer squash and 1 small bucket of zucchini. The boss swung around in the rental van and hauled us and the catch back to the farm store.
Today was double market, so we helped NYU load up the van then stuffed the cooler with our crates, the squashes and 9 buckets of string beans that Bah and Old Rudolpho's crew picked. Next up, the foreman took us over to the tomato fields to shift the irrigation line up to the field top. We got the water running without a hitch, except that the priming crank broke off-- it's the bit that slowly pulls the air out of the 40ft suction pipe, inching the water up to the pump fan which drives the entire irrigation system. That means we couldn't stop the pump for the rest of the day, or else we wouldn't be able to get it started again. So we spun different water gates to divert the pressure while working out the kinks in the tomato line. Fixed up everything successfully-- then horsed around along the water guns, catching a brief break from the heat. It felt pretty damn good.
Either the boss or the foreman must have been feeling sadistic-- as they sent Newport, Stretch and I out to the lower fields to hand weed the 3 mature lettuce beds. We were prepared for death marching out to the field's center, but the job went surprisingly quick and pleasant. Finished just in time for lunch.
After lunch we had a big pow-wow behind the store-- Newport, the foreman and I sat around smoking as Viking and Jockey chatted around with us. For some ridiculous reason Jockey has harassed the Boss relentlessly into letting him try the fields-- tomorrow is Jockey's big chance. Of course tomorrow is supposed to be even hotter than today (100F+), so he grilled us endlessly: what should he wear, how much water would he need, what would we be doing. I decided a long time ago that everyone was a bit too hard on the kid, so I tried to answer all his questions and calm him down-- the fields aren't a death camp (despite what NYU told him). Viking made a big batch of limeade with a couple liters of seltzer instead of tap water-- tasted divine. At one point I noticed that Stretch was out hoeing the young lettuce by himself. Just then the boss pulled in.
He'd brought over a big shipment of spinach from a neighboring farm for the CSA today, so Newport, Jockey and I got busy bunching. Easy arrived and we helped him get the beans and greens out on the produce carts. The foreman took me aside-- he wanted the young lettuce fertilized with a 19-19-19 mix (% nitrogen, phosphorous, potash). I cut a few bag open and poured them into some buckets, then we headed out to give Stretch a hand (I brought some limeade for him out of pity).
We hoed out one bed of the young lettuce and I started sprinkling the fertilizer (very sparingly) while Newport and Stretch got started on the second young lettuce bed. We crept along for an hour and some. Just as I was about to finish fertilizing the first bed-- the foreman waved me out of the field. The broccoli and cauliflower we planted on the hilltop needed to be watered tomorrow, it was time to get the water gun line in place. The foreman had a wagon piled high with pipes hooked up to the tractor-- I climbed on top and we rolled up hill.
We reached the field and got to work. The foreman crawled the tractor and wagon along the travel road-- I lept up and down from the wagon laying out 3in water gun pipes, 3in blank pipes, a reducer pipe, 2in water guns and 2in blanks (then the end cap). Easy as pie, we'll attach the line up tomorrow. We rolled over to the former arugula field to steal a couple long 3in pipes and T-connectors to attach the cauliflower/broccoli line to the artery. We got everything in place and rolled back downhill, detaching the wagon at the hill-crest. Back at the greenhouse I hooked up the big rotor to the foreman's tractor and hoofed it back to the lettuce field.
Between the heat and humidity and work, I was a blanket of sweat/slop. Newport and Stretch were collapsed in the shade-- I joined them. They'd finished hoeing out all the young lettuce while I was off with the foreman, so only the fertilizing was left. After a good break we got out and spread the mix over all the beds. We staggered back to the farm store like dead men.
The CSA had been going for a good four hours, cars and families were everywhere. We hid in the cooler choking down ice cream cups full of water. The boss found us and shook his head-- small mercies-- he sent us out to pick blueberries by the cow pasture. He even drove us over in the van. The blueberries saved the day-- a cool wind blew over the grass and streams, the big bushes hid us from the sun. For a long time, Stretch, Newport and I picked at some berries while reclining in the bushes' shade. The cow herd was grazing 20ft away, the calves rolled around in the dirt and the muddy stream banks. We got serious and picked a trays worth of berries. One of the cows started howling, Newport and I walked over to check her out. Everything was fine. I made a stupid joke and Newport laughed to be polite-- felt like a moron the rest of the day.
Closing time came and we carried the full tray and berry buckets back to the farm store. The boss waved us home, he called to me-- after a cold 6 pack, you'll be all set for tomorrow.
Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow. Tomorrow is the hot one, and Jockey's proving day. Well, my uncle is coming tonight for dinner and a few beers. Here's to tomorrow.
Drink up.
Got in early again this morning and caught NYU down in the greenhouse watering the seedlings-- he was all dolled up in bermuda shorts and a tucked in polo for market. I tried not to laugh. We really soaked through the trays and let the water flood up in the rosemary pots. Especially on hot days you gotta be sure to let the hose run a few minutes before turning it on the plants-- the first 30 seconds of water comes out searing hot and would poach the plants to death. Newport, Stretch and I made up today's wrecking crew-- as per the boss's orders, we marched up to the forest field with pick crates to cut basil.
We filled three crates to overflowing-- had to sit on the top just to lock the latches. Since yesterday more cucumbers, summer squash and zucchini ripened up-- so we stashed the basil crates in the shade and marched down the field with a couple buckets. Midway through the pickling cukes the morning air burned off into the full day heat. Stretch parcelled us out some water from the 2 gallon jug he schleps around. We got 2 big buckets of pickling cukes, 1 full bucket of summer squash and 1 small bucket of zucchini. The boss swung around in the rental van and hauled us and the catch back to the farm store.
Today was double market, so we helped NYU load up the van then stuffed the cooler with our crates, the squashes and 9 buckets of string beans that Bah and Old Rudolpho's crew picked. Next up, the foreman took us over to the tomato fields to shift the irrigation line up to the field top. We got the water running without a hitch, except that the priming crank broke off-- it's the bit that slowly pulls the air out of the 40ft suction pipe, inching the water up to the pump fan which drives the entire irrigation system. That means we couldn't stop the pump for the rest of the day, or else we wouldn't be able to get it started again. So we spun different water gates to divert the pressure while working out the kinks in the tomato line. Fixed up everything successfully-- then horsed around along the water guns, catching a brief break from the heat. It felt pretty damn good.
Either the boss or the foreman must have been feeling sadistic-- as they sent Newport, Stretch and I out to the lower fields to hand weed the 3 mature lettuce beds. We were prepared for death marching out to the field's center, but the job went surprisingly quick and pleasant. Finished just in time for lunch.
After lunch we had a big pow-wow behind the store-- Newport, the foreman and I sat around smoking as Viking and Jockey chatted around with us. For some ridiculous reason Jockey has harassed the Boss relentlessly into letting him try the fields-- tomorrow is Jockey's big chance. Of course tomorrow is supposed to be even hotter than today (100F+), so he grilled us endlessly: what should he wear, how much water would he need, what would we be doing. I decided a long time ago that everyone was a bit too hard on the kid, so I tried to answer all his questions and calm him down-- the fields aren't a death camp (despite what NYU told him). Viking made a big batch of limeade with a couple liters of seltzer instead of tap water-- tasted divine. At one point I noticed that Stretch was out hoeing the young lettuce by himself. Just then the boss pulled in.
He'd brought over a big shipment of spinach from a neighboring farm for the CSA today, so Newport, Jockey and I got busy bunching. Easy arrived and we helped him get the beans and greens out on the produce carts. The foreman took me aside-- he wanted the young lettuce fertilized with a 19-19-19 mix (% nitrogen, phosphorous, potash). I cut a few bag open and poured them into some buckets, then we headed out to give Stretch a hand (I brought some limeade for him out of pity).
We hoed out one bed of the young lettuce and I started sprinkling the fertilizer (very sparingly) while Newport and Stretch got started on the second young lettuce bed. We crept along for an hour and some. Just as I was about to finish fertilizing the first bed-- the foreman waved me out of the field. The broccoli and cauliflower we planted on the hilltop needed to be watered tomorrow, it was time to get the water gun line in place. The foreman had a wagon piled high with pipes hooked up to the tractor-- I climbed on top and we rolled up hill.
We reached the field and got to work. The foreman crawled the tractor and wagon along the travel road-- I lept up and down from the wagon laying out 3in water gun pipes, 3in blank pipes, a reducer pipe, 2in water guns and 2in blanks (then the end cap). Easy as pie, we'll attach the line up tomorrow. We rolled over to the former arugula field to steal a couple long 3in pipes and T-connectors to attach the cauliflower/broccoli line to the artery. We got everything in place and rolled back downhill, detaching the wagon at the hill-crest. Back at the greenhouse I hooked up the big rotor to the foreman's tractor and hoofed it back to the lettuce field.
Between the heat and humidity and work, I was a blanket of sweat/slop. Newport and Stretch were collapsed in the shade-- I joined them. They'd finished hoeing out all the young lettuce while I was off with the foreman, so only the fertilizing was left. After a good break we got out and spread the mix over all the beds. We staggered back to the farm store like dead men.
The CSA had been going for a good four hours, cars and families were everywhere. We hid in the cooler choking down ice cream cups full of water. The boss found us and shook his head-- small mercies-- he sent us out to pick blueberries by the cow pasture. He even drove us over in the van. The blueberries saved the day-- a cool wind blew over the grass and streams, the big bushes hid us from the sun. For a long time, Stretch, Newport and I picked at some berries while reclining in the bushes' shade. The cow herd was grazing 20ft away, the calves rolled around in the dirt and the muddy stream banks. We got serious and picked a trays worth of berries. One of the cows started howling, Newport and I walked over to check her out. Everything was fine. I made a stupid joke and Newport laughed to be polite-- felt like a moron the rest of the day.
Closing time came and we carried the full tray and berry buckets back to the farm store. The boss waved us home, he called to me-- after a cold 6 pack, you'll be all set for tomorrow.
Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow. Tomorrow is the hot one, and Jockey's proving day. Well, my uncle is coming tonight for dinner and a few beers. Here's to tomorrow.
Drink up.
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Bad Idea
The heat wave is creeping over us. Hot and hazy, sun all day. Temperature hung in the lower 90s.
I left for work very early today-- wasn't gonna get stuck behind again. NYU and the foreman were down in the greenhouse watering-- but I hung around the store waiting for the boss to arrive. Wednesday is picking day. Our crew staggered in and then headed out to cut swiss chard, kale, zucchini, summer/kousa squash and pickling cucumbers-- I had different orders. Other strawberries bloom/fruit in one big push, but the day neutrals draw out their berry bearing over a month-- today was the first day-neutral harvest. The strawberries were left entirely to me. I packed up a bunch of quart containers and headed down to the lower fields. Picking strawberries is quick and easy work-- but given all the waiting and heavy weeding, many berries were molded/damaged needing to be pruned off. The 3 long rows took a few hours and yielded only 10+ quarts. I brought the berries to the farm store and caught up with the boys as they finished cutting the cucumbers in the forest fields.
The string beans have exploded out and desperately needed to be picked-- which happens to be Bah and Old Rudolpho crew's specialty. But first the taylor raspberries needed to be picked-- so our crew marched up the hilltop to give them a hand. We picked straight through until lunch. Before leaving to eat, Newport thought he'd prank the foreman and secretly hung his car keys from a nail at the top of the farm store.
When I got back from lunch I found the foreman preparing to kill Jockey-- assuming he took the car keys. I set the foreman straight and he stomped out for a late lunch. Newport felt pretty bad, but we rounded up the boys and got back to work-- up to finish off the berries. Chatted with NYU as we picked along and over some long hours managed to pick 5 trays worth.
Just before lunch, Newport and I had left the crew-- running off to the lower fields to connect up the corn irrigation line and plug the string bean line, so Bah and Old Rudolpho could stay dry while picking. By the time we returned from the raspberries, the irrigation had been running for a few hours. Next job: The foreman sent us to clean up Big Boy's shoddy weeding job from yesterday in the cantaloupes and squash. The boys got to work while I double checked all the tomato/cantaloupe fields' drip line.
At some point I noticed there was something really wrong with the water gun's jets-- then the water stopped flowing entirely. The foreman and I ran over to the horse pond and saw that the tractor's PTO shaft had stopped turning. We tried shifting its control levers, but no response. The boss and Newport came over and we took the entire dashboard apart. The foreman was miserable, I don't know what else had happened-- but he kept repeating 'today is hell.' Looking around the tractor I noticed a big pool of oil collecting underneath a gearbox-- seems the entire hydraulic system was shot.
Newport and the foreman brought around the new tractor, while me and the boss crept the old tractor out of the way (we couldn't lift the front loader, because of the hydraulic problems, so the forklift attachment was driven straight into the hillside). I took NYU and Stretch out into the tomato field and we moved the water gun line a good 30ft up the field. I hustled back to the horse pond and helped the boss start up the water pump while the foreman and Newport ran out to adjust the corn line.
Success, the water was finally flowing again.
Closing time was slipping up on us, so I watered down the boss's brother's pumpkin and rose garden to keep busy. At the day's end the boss was ecstatic-- the day had gone so well. We were ahead of the picking schedule and the water was running. The foreman looked like a wreck-- said he needed to mainline a couple beers in order to wash off the day. I helped the poor guy check over a few more drip lines, then called it a day.
I am exhausted-- almost fell asleep at the computer.
And tomorrow is the hot day.
Here we go!
I left for work very early today-- wasn't gonna get stuck behind again. NYU and the foreman were down in the greenhouse watering-- but I hung around the store waiting for the boss to arrive. Wednesday is picking day. Our crew staggered in and then headed out to cut swiss chard, kale, zucchini, summer/kousa squash and pickling cucumbers-- I had different orders. Other strawberries bloom/fruit in one big push, but the day neutrals draw out their berry bearing over a month-- today was the first day-neutral harvest. The strawberries were left entirely to me. I packed up a bunch of quart containers and headed down to the lower fields. Picking strawberries is quick and easy work-- but given all the waiting and heavy weeding, many berries were molded/damaged needing to be pruned off. The 3 long rows took a few hours and yielded only 10+ quarts. I brought the berries to the farm store and caught up with the boys as they finished cutting the cucumbers in the forest fields.
The string beans have exploded out and desperately needed to be picked-- which happens to be Bah and Old Rudolpho crew's specialty. But first the taylor raspberries needed to be picked-- so our crew marched up the hilltop to give them a hand. We picked straight through until lunch. Before leaving to eat, Newport thought he'd prank the foreman and secretly hung his car keys from a nail at the top of the farm store.
When I got back from lunch I found the foreman preparing to kill Jockey-- assuming he took the car keys. I set the foreman straight and he stomped out for a late lunch. Newport felt pretty bad, but we rounded up the boys and got back to work-- up to finish off the berries. Chatted with NYU as we picked along and over some long hours managed to pick 5 trays worth.
Just before lunch, Newport and I had left the crew-- running off to the lower fields to connect up the corn irrigation line and plug the string bean line, so Bah and Old Rudolpho could stay dry while picking. By the time we returned from the raspberries, the irrigation had been running for a few hours. Next job: The foreman sent us to clean up Big Boy's shoddy weeding job from yesterday in the cantaloupes and squash. The boys got to work while I double checked all the tomato/cantaloupe fields' drip line.
At some point I noticed there was something really wrong with the water gun's jets-- then the water stopped flowing entirely. The foreman and I ran over to the horse pond and saw that the tractor's PTO shaft had stopped turning. We tried shifting its control levers, but no response. The boss and Newport came over and we took the entire dashboard apart. The foreman was miserable, I don't know what else had happened-- but he kept repeating 'today is hell.' Looking around the tractor I noticed a big pool of oil collecting underneath a gearbox-- seems the entire hydraulic system was shot.
Newport and the foreman brought around the new tractor, while me and the boss crept the old tractor out of the way (we couldn't lift the front loader, because of the hydraulic problems, so the forklift attachment was driven straight into the hillside). I took NYU and Stretch out into the tomato field and we moved the water gun line a good 30ft up the field. I hustled back to the horse pond and helped the boss start up the water pump while the foreman and Newport ran out to adjust the corn line.
Success, the water was finally flowing again.
Closing time was slipping up on us, so I watered down the boss's brother's pumpkin and rose garden to keep busy. At the day's end the boss was ecstatic-- the day had gone so well. We were ahead of the picking schedule and the water was running. The foreman looked like a wreck-- said he needed to mainline a couple beers in order to wash off the day. I helped the poor guy check over a few more drip lines, then called it a day.
I am exhausted-- almost fell asleep at the computer.
And tomorrow is the hot day.
Here we go!
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Ticked off and Bit
Full sun and a hazy heat all day through. Temperature stuck in the low 90Fs. The boys are talking about the coming 100F weather like a murder sentence.
Pulled in right on time-- but the farm was a ghost town. All the cars were around but none of boys-- the greenhouse watered. Clearly I'd be in the collective-shithouse for the rest of the day. On a hunch I ran up to the forest field and joined the gang. Everyone was there, like they'd made a secret decision to start the day a half hour early without telling me. The boss was there, Stretch, Newport, NYU and even Big Boy-- all out picking buckets of the summer squash, zucchini and a few kousa squash. I didn't think to bring a knife, so I just stood around carrying buckets like an idiot. Not an ally in sight.
Back at the farm store things evened out a bit. NYU and the boss got ready for the day's market, Newport and the foreman hitched up the new weeder attachment and headed to the pumpkins (Newport was tapped to control the machine). Stretch and Big Boy were entrusted to me. We gathered up some hoes and marched over to the young beds of lettuce out in the lower fields-- weeding was the order. I'm working on Big Boy and he's showing improvement-- but damn you can teach a kid to hoe, but you can't teach someone to give a shit about weeding-- even when he's excited by the idea of farm work. They either suck it up and get things done, or they half-ass through to closing. Even Stretch (who's usually a solid hand) chopped at the dirt like it was a fish on the beach. Once the boss left for market, the foreman shifted us over to readjust the remaining lines in the the trellised tomatoes-- then back to weeding. Half a lettuce row remained at lunch time.
After lunch I drove the boys back to hoeing lettuce-- it really took some pushing. Complaining about a job does nothing, it's better to look forward to another easier job-- so I told Big Boy how great picking blueberries would be. As per the boss's orders, we finished the lettuce and started packing trays in the barn to go pick blueberries. We got our buckets and morale was high as we made our way over the stone-slab bridge and through the blackberry fields. Then the foreman called-- change of plans. Begrudgingly we crossed the town road, dumping our trays and buckets in the blueberries for Bah and Old Rudolpho's crew-- it was more weeding for us.
Back in the greenhouse I once again handed out hoes and we meet the foreman near the tomato fields. The long rows of cantaloupe running parallel to the greenhouse needed a serious clearing-- weeds had grown into 4ft towers along the plastic's edges. The afternoon was getting hot and the boys looked like the foreman shot their dog. But we got to it.
An hour later, we still hadn't finished a single row-- something had to change. I'm much better with my hands than with a hoe, so I put it aside-- getting down and dirty pulling the old fashioned way. I went into a crazy man's mindset and just pulled. I finished both sides of a row in the time it took Stretch and Big Boy to finish one edge. The blueberries were coming I promised them. Things really turned around-- both of 'em put away the hoes and got on their knees to pull too. We had a row and a half left when I broke stride. The cantaloupes are in full bloom and I should have known to be careful-- I had a nasty bumblebee buried into my leg, stabbed clear through my jeans and all. First sting of the season, and honestly my first sting since I was very very young. I found a little shade behind some tall weeds, pulled down my jeans and scraped out the stinger with my pocket knife.
Back pulling, I was a lot more careful but also a lot slower. Finally done. Stretch and Big Boy ran to the kitchen to swipe a cup of ice cream-- I usually avoid that mess, but today I joined 'em. Coming out the farm store's back door, we bumped right into the foreman and Newport-- eyeballing our ice cream. Once again, we had pick buckets hanging from the shoulder-- but the foreman was pissy that we didn't think to weed the second squash planting/unplanted plastic rows by the greenhouse. Of course, we obliged. Stretch and Big Boy took the hoes and I went by hand. Eventually Newport and the foreman came to help out.
Big Boy made the mistake of complaining in front of the foreman, who looked the poor kid in the eye and said-- I've been working this job since before you could wipe your own ass (truth), suck it up. Big Boy certainly shut up. Fortunately, the weeding was finished before anything more. Off to the blueberries.
Newport, learning that Big Boy was a freshman in high school, decided we all needed to get our hazing kicks while the getting was good. Flashback to last year-- all the chewing outs Newport and the foreman gave me. Once we got across to the field, I took Big Boy aside and showed him how the picking is done: only pick all blue and only blue berries, faint reds/purples means its still unripe/tart. We filled up a few buckets over the hour or so until closing. Signed out, went home.
Glad to have the boss back tomorrow, but the heat wave is only building up.
On we go.
Pulled in right on time-- but the farm was a ghost town. All the cars were around but none of boys-- the greenhouse watered. Clearly I'd be in the collective-shithouse for the rest of the day. On a hunch I ran up to the forest field and joined the gang. Everyone was there, like they'd made a secret decision to start the day a half hour early without telling me. The boss was there, Stretch, Newport, NYU and even Big Boy-- all out picking buckets of the summer squash, zucchini and a few kousa squash. I didn't think to bring a knife, so I just stood around carrying buckets like an idiot. Not an ally in sight.
Back at the farm store things evened out a bit. NYU and the boss got ready for the day's market, Newport and the foreman hitched up the new weeder attachment and headed to the pumpkins (Newport was tapped to control the machine). Stretch and Big Boy were entrusted to me. We gathered up some hoes and marched over to the young beds of lettuce out in the lower fields-- weeding was the order. I'm working on Big Boy and he's showing improvement-- but damn you can teach a kid to hoe, but you can't teach someone to give a shit about weeding-- even when he's excited by the idea of farm work. They either suck it up and get things done, or they half-ass through to closing. Even Stretch (who's usually a solid hand) chopped at the dirt like it was a fish on the beach. Once the boss left for market, the foreman shifted us over to readjust the remaining lines in the the trellised tomatoes-- then back to weeding. Half a lettuce row remained at lunch time.
After lunch I drove the boys back to hoeing lettuce-- it really took some pushing. Complaining about a job does nothing, it's better to look forward to another easier job-- so I told Big Boy how great picking blueberries would be. As per the boss's orders, we finished the lettuce and started packing trays in the barn to go pick blueberries. We got our buckets and morale was high as we made our way over the stone-slab bridge and through the blackberry fields. Then the foreman called-- change of plans. Begrudgingly we crossed the town road, dumping our trays and buckets in the blueberries for Bah and Old Rudolpho's crew-- it was more weeding for us.
Back in the greenhouse I once again handed out hoes and we meet the foreman near the tomato fields. The long rows of cantaloupe running parallel to the greenhouse needed a serious clearing-- weeds had grown into 4ft towers along the plastic's edges. The afternoon was getting hot and the boys looked like the foreman shot their dog. But we got to it.
An hour later, we still hadn't finished a single row-- something had to change. I'm much better with my hands than with a hoe, so I put it aside-- getting down and dirty pulling the old fashioned way. I went into a crazy man's mindset and just pulled. I finished both sides of a row in the time it took Stretch and Big Boy to finish one edge. The blueberries were coming I promised them. Things really turned around-- both of 'em put away the hoes and got on their knees to pull too. We had a row and a half left when I broke stride. The cantaloupes are in full bloom and I should have known to be careful-- I had a nasty bumblebee buried into my leg, stabbed clear through my jeans and all. First sting of the season, and honestly my first sting since I was very very young. I found a little shade behind some tall weeds, pulled down my jeans and scraped out the stinger with my pocket knife.
Back pulling, I was a lot more careful but also a lot slower. Finally done. Stretch and Big Boy ran to the kitchen to swipe a cup of ice cream-- I usually avoid that mess, but today I joined 'em. Coming out the farm store's back door, we bumped right into the foreman and Newport-- eyeballing our ice cream. Once again, we had pick buckets hanging from the shoulder-- but the foreman was pissy that we didn't think to weed the second squash planting/unplanted plastic rows by the greenhouse. Of course, we obliged. Stretch and Big Boy took the hoes and I went by hand. Eventually Newport and the foreman came to help out.
Big Boy made the mistake of complaining in front of the foreman, who looked the poor kid in the eye and said-- I've been working this job since before you could wipe your own ass (truth), suck it up. Big Boy certainly shut up. Fortunately, the weeding was finished before anything more. Off to the blueberries.
Newport, learning that Big Boy was a freshman in high school, decided we all needed to get our hazing kicks while the getting was good. Flashback to last year-- all the chewing outs Newport and the foreman gave me. Once we got across to the field, I took Big Boy aside and showed him how the picking is done: only pick all blue and only blue berries, faint reds/purples means its still unripe/tart. We filled up a few buckets over the hour or so until closing. Signed out, went home.
Glad to have the boss back tomorrow, but the heat wave is only building up.
On we go.
Monday, July 18, 2011
Bull, Blueberries and Barred Rocks
Humid as all hell today. Partly sunny and hot all day until just before closing when showers passed through. Temperature kept to the mid 80Fs, but dipped low into the 70Fs with the rain.
It was an easy going weekend with Darlin-- she was a bit under the weather, so we spent a good time laying about in the sun. We took a detour on Saturday out west state for the tri-annual mega market of crap. Hundreds of junk vendors take up a couple miles of road and fields to sell old furniture and 'found' items. On our way to and from we passed through the territory smashed by the tornadoes earlier this spring-- entire forests were leveled. It's one thing to see an aftermath picture of Mount Saint Helen, then another thing to see the equivalent thirty miles from home.
Met up with Stretch and Newport behind the farm store. We lounged about a bit, then got to it. Headed for the lower fields to rearrange the irrigation lines. The foreman was in over the weekend and planted the final round of sweet corn where the peas and fava beans used to be. We ran a line between the new corn and old strawberries-- apparently the boss intends to let these berries remain until next year and squeeze another harvest out of 'em. The first round of sweet corn is looking a bit stressed from lack of water, so we moved the heavy guns along the middle travel road with 3in pipe. The foreman was out with the new tractor in the pumpkins, dragging a plow through the lanes to turn over some weeds. I replaced the artery plugs, then we hustled back to meet the boss at the store.
New orders: pick all the remaining arugula. Usually the boss sharpens up the knives, but today he sent me down to the workshop's grinding wheel. Despite my wording in the past, I've never used a grind wheel for sharpening. Fortunately, I figured how to get the damn thing started and my hazy boyscout-dropout memories were enough to finish the job-- it goes just as you'd imagine: hold the knife at a sensible angle (keeping in mind the direction the wheel spins), then slowly move the edge along. 2 minutes later I had 3 razor edges. Stretch grabbed the elastics, we passed around our knives, grabbed pick crates and hiked the hilltop. 1 hour later we had the entire arugula bed chopped and bunched. Waltzed back down, hosed the catch down and stuffed 'em in the cooler.
Over the weekend the boss acquired a new piece of machinery. As an aside: the boss has a real (talent? or) propensity for getting expensive heavy farm equipment for free/next to nothing. With the general state of small farm agriculture in a seemingly endless decline, many farms are out-of-business or closing up-- which is were the boss comes in. He knows all these farmers pretty well, so they give their old machinery to us. As the boss told me when I first started-- a farm doesn't do a farmer any good if he can't keep it. So we thrive and the others fall by the wayside. Another boss-ism: the only reason my family has managed to keep this place for 300 years is that we changed, constantly. We kept abreast of the technology and continually refined our technique. There has to be something to what he says-- as we're one of the few still buying, not selling it all away. Anyway--
As Newport and I concluded after a quick look over-- this new machinery is built to be broken. It's the strangest automated/manual weeder I've ever seen. The tractor pulls it, the power-shaft hooks up and rotates two downward facing claw arms. Some poor bum sits in a little chair in the back and moves handles controlling the claws, so they can be shifted back and forth to churn up weeds/soil while avoiding the good plants. It seems ingenious enough, but the attachment's wheels aren't even a foot in diameter-- how in hell is that thing gonna be dragged through our soft/rocky soil without killing the operator? I got a bad feeling I'm gonna be in that seat...
After oogling the new hardware we dragged bags of fertilizer out to the far side of the lower fields (on the other side of the sweet corn) to fertilize the pumpkins. We filled up our buckets and spread the Urea (49% nitrogen) with small sized ice cream cups. We finished 8 rows by lunch.
Big news after lunch-- Rosy calfed last night. It's a healthy bull-calf-- but there are complications. Rosy was bottle fed by the boss, because her mother died in the process of birthing. Apparently there isn't a maternal-cow instinct-- it's something they learn from being raised themselves. So far Rosy hasn't showed the least bit of interest in the calf, so the boss's brother has them fenced in together hoping that something will click. It'd be a shame if the bull-calf were to die of neglect, it's a beauty and we sure could use another bull. (There could be bottle feeding in the future.)
We returned to the pumpkin fields and finished the 9 remaining rows. The corn was looking very good-- ears are bulking up quickly. Only another week and some to go before first harvest (right around tomato time). Last year we had corn and tomatoes at this point-- the cold in May really slowed this season. During a run to grab more fertilizer bags Newport brought his car over-- so after finishing the pumpkins he drove us back to the farm. Apparently he's an Al Greene fan.
The boss was out, so we hung around out back. Jockey, Mouse and Rhode Island came by to chat. Rhode Island must have been on the meds-- he was a zombie. Jockey was back from a couple week vacation. The wholesaler truck came by for a pick up-- we let Jockey handle it. The boss returned and we were sent off again, this time to pick a few buckets of string beans to tide over the store until the CSA days.
String beans are a slow pick. The bucket never seems as full as it should be. We finally finished up and carried the load back to the store. New orders and good ones: we packed up some trays with pint containers, grabbed a stack of pick-buckets and hiked across the street to the blueberry fields on the other side of the cow pasture.
The blueberries we picked were from the first field the boss planted when he took over the farm-- they'd grown enormous over the decades. Newport, surprisingly, had never picked berries before-- so he and Stretch ground along at a slow pace. I got into a rhythm and we filled the trays just as the rain started. The foreman came with the tractor and loaded up the berries, but we were stayed picking through the rain until close.
---Chicken Time---
I've been going chicken crazy. Talked to some more owners and been doing a lot of research. Not sure if I'm in the position yet-- I want some acres before taking the big step. Residential-world isn't exactly the sort of place where neighbors mind there own business, letting me and my chickens be. So until land, it's just a dream (then again maybe...). There are a few farmers that write out on the internet that I respect and read regularly-- one in particular, is very dedicated to some interesting farm models. Reading his articles introduced me to Barred Rock Chickens.
From all I've read-- they're exactly the workhorse fowl I'm looking for. The general 'breed' is called Plymouth Rock, but I'm a bit taken by the Barred sub-species (named for their narrow black and white 'barred' feathers). They're a dual-purpose chicken-- good/regular egg-layers and good meat for the pot. They're known to be docile, none of the aggression and aloofness in other breeds-- a well socialized hen doesn't have a problem being picked up, so great around kids. The Barred Rocks are hearty enough to withstand the cold and coincidentally the breed was first established/recognized in the town just over from me. In the 1800s you couldn't find a farm in the country without one of these guys pecking around (so my historical impulses are satisfied), but their popularity has diminished with the rise of big-agro.
But, to quote Hank Hill-- anything worth doing is worth doing right. The Barred Rock breed used to be superbly managed-- with populations specially raised for their task (meat/eggs/dual). Now it's a hodgepodge, but I want them as that solid dual option. These chickens go broody without too much of a hassle-- which means they'll usually incubate their eggs and mother their chicks if you leave the eggs. Some breeds are notoriously difficult to coax broody-- sometimes other breeds are specifically needed to mother difficult chickens' eggs. Not the case with Barred Rocks (or so it seems). What I'm getting at-- 1 chicken quickly becomes 2, then 20. If you already have a few, why not a few more right? No matter how I look at it, I'll end up with a full coop. So I'm digging into the fundamentals of chicken breeding. The last thing I want to do is, after finding a type of bird I like, contribute to the breed's decline through mismanagement. That means, among many other things, selective chicken breeding. But we'll see all that is a long way off.
Oh yeah, here's a picture of 'em.
Darlin and I have been talking over the chicken question for a long time. And she has serious reservations-- which are entirely valid. But compromise is king.
Basic management: You keep the hens as egg layers, and one good rooster (for a small sized set up). Females are encouraged, but more than one male can lead to some violent scuffles for dominance. So you eat the extra roosters.
My compromise (i.e. a work in progress): Darlin can name all the hens whatever she pleases and they have safe status. However, the roosters bound for the oven will be named for reality-tv people to make killing 'em less traumatic. I even planned a little ritual. (I won't get into the details of actual slaughter processes, but I have been looking at many methods and their rationales. There may not be a 'right' way, but there are 'easier' ones.)
I think this can work. I would love to have the Situation for dinner.
Take it easy, the heat is coming.
It was an easy going weekend with Darlin-- she was a bit under the weather, so we spent a good time laying about in the sun. We took a detour on Saturday out west state for the tri-annual mega market of crap. Hundreds of junk vendors take up a couple miles of road and fields to sell old furniture and 'found' items. On our way to and from we passed through the territory smashed by the tornadoes earlier this spring-- entire forests were leveled. It's one thing to see an aftermath picture of Mount Saint Helen, then another thing to see the equivalent thirty miles from home.
Met up with Stretch and Newport behind the farm store. We lounged about a bit, then got to it. Headed for the lower fields to rearrange the irrigation lines. The foreman was in over the weekend and planted the final round of sweet corn where the peas and fava beans used to be. We ran a line between the new corn and old strawberries-- apparently the boss intends to let these berries remain until next year and squeeze another harvest out of 'em. The first round of sweet corn is looking a bit stressed from lack of water, so we moved the heavy guns along the middle travel road with 3in pipe. The foreman was out with the new tractor in the pumpkins, dragging a plow through the lanes to turn over some weeds. I replaced the artery plugs, then we hustled back to meet the boss at the store.
New orders: pick all the remaining arugula. Usually the boss sharpens up the knives, but today he sent me down to the workshop's grinding wheel. Despite my wording in the past, I've never used a grind wheel for sharpening. Fortunately, I figured how to get the damn thing started and my hazy boyscout-dropout memories were enough to finish the job-- it goes just as you'd imagine: hold the knife at a sensible angle (keeping in mind the direction the wheel spins), then slowly move the edge along. 2 minutes later I had 3 razor edges. Stretch grabbed the elastics, we passed around our knives, grabbed pick crates and hiked the hilltop. 1 hour later we had the entire arugula bed chopped and bunched. Waltzed back down, hosed the catch down and stuffed 'em in the cooler.
Over the weekend the boss acquired a new piece of machinery. As an aside: the boss has a real (talent? or) propensity for getting expensive heavy farm equipment for free/next to nothing. With the general state of small farm agriculture in a seemingly endless decline, many farms are out-of-business or closing up-- which is were the boss comes in. He knows all these farmers pretty well, so they give their old machinery to us. As the boss told me when I first started-- a farm doesn't do a farmer any good if he can't keep it. So we thrive and the others fall by the wayside. Another boss-ism: the only reason my family has managed to keep this place for 300 years is that we changed, constantly. We kept abreast of the technology and continually refined our technique. There has to be something to what he says-- as we're one of the few still buying, not selling it all away. Anyway--
As Newport and I concluded after a quick look over-- this new machinery is built to be broken. It's the strangest automated/manual weeder I've ever seen. The tractor pulls it, the power-shaft hooks up and rotates two downward facing claw arms. Some poor bum sits in a little chair in the back and moves handles controlling the claws, so they can be shifted back and forth to churn up weeds/soil while avoiding the good plants. It seems ingenious enough, but the attachment's wheels aren't even a foot in diameter-- how in hell is that thing gonna be dragged through our soft/rocky soil without killing the operator? I got a bad feeling I'm gonna be in that seat...
After oogling the new hardware we dragged bags of fertilizer out to the far side of the lower fields (on the other side of the sweet corn) to fertilize the pumpkins. We filled up our buckets and spread the Urea (49% nitrogen) with small sized ice cream cups. We finished 8 rows by lunch.
Big news after lunch-- Rosy calfed last night. It's a healthy bull-calf-- but there are complications. Rosy was bottle fed by the boss, because her mother died in the process of birthing. Apparently there isn't a maternal-cow instinct-- it's something they learn from being raised themselves. So far Rosy hasn't showed the least bit of interest in the calf, so the boss's brother has them fenced in together hoping that something will click. It'd be a shame if the bull-calf were to die of neglect, it's a beauty and we sure could use another bull. (There could be bottle feeding in the future.)
We returned to the pumpkin fields and finished the 9 remaining rows. The corn was looking very good-- ears are bulking up quickly. Only another week and some to go before first harvest (right around tomato time). Last year we had corn and tomatoes at this point-- the cold in May really slowed this season. During a run to grab more fertilizer bags Newport brought his car over-- so after finishing the pumpkins he drove us back to the farm. Apparently he's an Al Greene fan.
The boss was out, so we hung around out back. Jockey, Mouse and Rhode Island came by to chat. Rhode Island must have been on the meds-- he was a zombie. Jockey was back from a couple week vacation. The wholesaler truck came by for a pick up-- we let Jockey handle it. The boss returned and we were sent off again, this time to pick a few buckets of string beans to tide over the store until the CSA days.
String beans are a slow pick. The bucket never seems as full as it should be. We finally finished up and carried the load back to the store. New orders and good ones: we packed up some trays with pint containers, grabbed a stack of pick-buckets and hiked across the street to the blueberry fields on the other side of the cow pasture.
The blueberries we picked were from the first field the boss planted when he took over the farm-- they'd grown enormous over the decades. Newport, surprisingly, had never picked berries before-- so he and Stretch ground along at a slow pace. I got into a rhythm and we filled the trays just as the rain started. The foreman came with the tractor and loaded up the berries, but we were stayed picking through the rain until close.
---Chicken Time---
I've been going chicken crazy. Talked to some more owners and been doing a lot of research. Not sure if I'm in the position yet-- I want some acres before taking the big step. Residential-world isn't exactly the sort of place where neighbors mind there own business, letting me and my chickens be. So until land, it's just a dream (then again maybe...). There are a few farmers that write out on the internet that I respect and read regularly-- one in particular, is very dedicated to some interesting farm models. Reading his articles introduced me to Barred Rock Chickens.
From all I've read-- they're exactly the workhorse fowl I'm looking for. The general 'breed' is called Plymouth Rock, but I'm a bit taken by the Barred sub-species (named for their narrow black and white 'barred' feathers). They're a dual-purpose chicken-- good/regular egg-layers and good meat for the pot. They're known to be docile, none of the aggression and aloofness in other breeds-- a well socialized hen doesn't have a problem being picked up, so great around kids. The Barred Rocks are hearty enough to withstand the cold and coincidentally the breed was first established/recognized in the town just over from me. In the 1800s you couldn't find a farm in the country without one of these guys pecking around (so my historical impulses are satisfied), but their popularity has diminished with the rise of big-agro.
But, to quote Hank Hill-- anything worth doing is worth doing right. The Barred Rock breed used to be superbly managed-- with populations specially raised for their task (meat/eggs/dual). Now it's a hodgepodge, but I want them as that solid dual option. These chickens go broody without too much of a hassle-- which means they'll usually incubate their eggs and mother their chicks if you leave the eggs. Some breeds are notoriously difficult to coax broody-- sometimes other breeds are specifically needed to mother difficult chickens' eggs. Not the case with Barred Rocks (or so it seems). What I'm getting at-- 1 chicken quickly becomes 2, then 20. If you already have a few, why not a few more right? No matter how I look at it, I'll end up with a full coop. So I'm digging into the fundamentals of chicken breeding. The last thing I want to do is, after finding a type of bird I like, contribute to the breed's decline through mismanagement. That means, among many other things, selective chicken breeding. But we'll see all that is a long way off.
Oh yeah, here's a picture of 'em.
Basic management: You keep the hens as egg layers, and one good rooster (for a small sized set up). Females are encouraged, but more than one male can lead to some violent scuffles for dominance. So you eat the extra roosters.
My compromise (i.e. a work in progress): Darlin can name all the hens whatever she pleases and they have safe status. However, the roosters bound for the oven will be named for reality-tv people to make killing 'em less traumatic. I even planned a little ritual. (I won't get into the details of actual slaughter processes, but I have been looking at many methods and their rationales. There may not be a 'right' way, but there are 'easier' ones.)
I think this can work. I would love to have the Situation for dinner.
Take it easy, the heat is coming.
Friday, July 15, 2011
Tied to the Field
Sun all day through, temperature was somewhere in the upper 70Fs and lower 80Fs.
It was a long day in the day neutral strawberries.
I watered over the greenhouse this morning then got my orders from the boss. Went over the trimmer, fueled up and then walked down to the lower fields. Weeds have invaded the late summer strawberries-- weeds in the aisle, weeds along the plastic edges and weeds up against the plants. Usually Bah is the only one trusted with the delicate trimmer weeding, so this was a proving job for me. Had to be real careful: can't hit the plastic wrap, the strawberries or the plant itself. Trimmed non-stop (except to refuel) through till lunch.
After lunch it was back with the trimmer. I'd finished the main aisles in the morning, so it was time to clear the edges. When replacing the plastic string the whole front end fell to pieces-- cleaned everything over and slowly managed to reassemble the front mechanisms. Back to stringing. Newport came over and started the fine hand weeding immediately around the strawberry plants. Finally finished with the trimmer.
While dumping the 'string-machine' back at the greenhouse I bumped into the boss. Gave him a hand repairing one of the hood sprayers. They allow for precision herbicide applications (spraying the aisle weeds without getting any poison contacting the crops). The plastic hood was shattered at its top connection-- we built a steel plate, bashed the plastic back into place with an iron pipe and bolted everything together. The boss and I hung the hoods from the old tractor's forklift attachment, then it was back to the strawberries.
Joined up with Newport and we weeded the long slow way down the row. We saw the rest of the boys running around picking and transplanting. I was a bit jealous, wishing they'd come and lend a hand-- Newport didn't care what they did. We inched along and finished just after closing.
Got the paycheck and happy to be home. Darlin is coming in tonight and I am long due for some sitting down.
Take it easy.
It was a long day in the day neutral strawberries.
I watered over the greenhouse this morning then got my orders from the boss. Went over the trimmer, fueled up and then walked down to the lower fields. Weeds have invaded the late summer strawberries-- weeds in the aisle, weeds along the plastic edges and weeds up against the plants. Usually Bah is the only one trusted with the delicate trimmer weeding, so this was a proving job for me. Had to be real careful: can't hit the plastic wrap, the strawberries or the plant itself. Trimmed non-stop (except to refuel) through till lunch.
After lunch it was back with the trimmer. I'd finished the main aisles in the morning, so it was time to clear the edges. When replacing the plastic string the whole front end fell to pieces-- cleaned everything over and slowly managed to reassemble the front mechanisms. Back to stringing. Newport came over and started the fine hand weeding immediately around the strawberry plants. Finally finished with the trimmer.
While dumping the 'string-machine' back at the greenhouse I bumped into the boss. Gave him a hand repairing one of the hood sprayers. They allow for precision herbicide applications (spraying the aisle weeds without getting any poison contacting the crops). The plastic hood was shattered at its top connection-- we built a steel plate, bashed the plastic back into place with an iron pipe and bolted everything together. The boss and I hung the hoods from the old tractor's forklift attachment, then it was back to the strawberries.
Joined up with Newport and we weeded the long slow way down the row. We saw the rest of the boys running around picking and transplanting. I was a bit jealous, wishing they'd come and lend a hand-- Newport didn't care what they did. We inched along and finished just after closing.
Got the paycheck and happy to be home. Darlin is coming in tonight and I am long due for some sitting down.
Take it easy.
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