Sunny morning, dark clouds covered over the afternoon. Occasional drizzles, but rain didn't start until after closing.
Made my way down to the greenhouse this morning and watered up the seedlings-- 4 rounds of lettuce left (6 trays apiece) and the 5-6 rosemary pots. The boss and Jockey headed out early for the big money market-- leaving the rest of us with some big projects to get done.
Newport, Stretch and I headed up to the raspberries (mid-hill over by the horse pasture), picking time. Big Boy and Rhode Island climbed the hilltop to transplant a big set of broccoli and brussel sprouts (the rest of us rolled our eyes hearing that they were going off alone). The bees were everywhere in the berry field-- we picked 1 1/2 trays before Bah and Old Rudolpho's crew came to lend a hand. We finished up the field, getting 3 trays total (75ish pints). Me and the boys grabbed our water and hiked up to lend Big Boy and Rhode Island some hands.
They hadn't even finished 1/3 of a bed in the 2 some hours they were up there-- and Rhode Island had planted all of it. He was very happy to see us. Big Boy was sitting crossed legged by the woods edge poking at the dirt. Newport corralled him back over. Between the 5 of us, we finished planting the broccoli and got a start on the sprouts. Lunch time.
After lunch Big Boy, Stretch and I climbed back up the fill and sunk in more brussel sprouts. The rest of the boys trickled back into the field. Drizzled on and off as we completed the sprout tray (all together, we filled 2 1/2 beds). Weeding time.
Got the hoes and hand tools dirty clearing the thick growth around 2 beds of broccoli and 2 beds of cabbage. Bah came over as it started to lightly rain. He found tons of pig (or was it hog?) weed mixed in with all the cabbage beds-- his wife cooks the leaves down with water,salt and shrimp. We helped Bah find and cut 2 big plastic bags worth of the hog weed. Back to pulling weeds. We inched along and horsed around, catching up on all of Rhode Island's vacation exploits. The foreman came to help us out-- it took most of the afternoon, but we finished the 2 long beds of broccoli. We started hacking back the cabbages' weeds-- finished half a bed by closing.
Homeward bound.
Viking isn't back till tomorrow-- it'll be good to finally have NYU in the fields again. Hope he hasn't lost his edge. Over lunch NYU was telling me that the store has him bored out of his mind, he's itching at the gate to get outside. No word yet from my buddy Jimbo-- then again, he's the sort of fella who just shows up. Maybe he'll get in late tonight-- ready for a day in the rain tomorrow. Well, here's hoping.
Take it easy.
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
Monday, August 8, 2011
Hawks Above
Much done, much to write. But first:
Had a fine time drinking and catching up with the family this weekend-- I've been out in the fields/bouncing to the city so much that it'd been a long time since meeting up with all the uncles, aunts and cousins. Sometimes you have one of those moments when reality catches up on you-- my cousin is having a baby in September. But what really got me-- her husband was real excited and asked me about bringing the baby to the farm to get pumpkins in October. Man, that just hit me at that right angle. I really hope they come on by, I'll give 'em the best damn pumpkins the world has ever seen. Hahaha-- It's the little things that really get a person excited sometimes.
In other news-- I got a phone call last night from a dear old buddy that had fallen off my radar into some jungle in Nicaragua. Turns out this fellow, Jimbo, is back state side-- looking to catch up/get to work. So ol' Jimbo is coming to stay a few days this week and put in some hours at the farm. He was studying/working tropical-climate farming, so I expect he'll pull his weight just fine. Jimbo is due to arrive tomorrow night or Wednesday-- safe travels to him. We got a lot of talking/work/drinking to do.
On with it already.
----------------------------------------------------------
Hawks Above
Strange weather today. Temperature stuck around 79F, but the humidity was near a swampy 100%. The boys decided that the problem wasn't so much the heat itself, or the humidity, but the damn sun. Stayed clear and miserable for the most part, but dark isolated rain clouds passed over a few times bringing brief and heavy rain. Cooled off during the rain, but once it left-- the sun felt twice as hot.
Busy day. Held up in road-construction traffic, so I got to the farm 10mins late. The foreman, Newport and Stretch were lounging around the tractor waiting for me. They busted my chops, then we got on with it. We all climbed aboard the tractor with buckets, crates, knives and shears-- then rolled out to the forest fields. Picking day. We fanned out and cut: 4 buckets of zucchini (found a monster as thick as my leg, as long as my arm), 6 buckets of summer squash, 2 buckets of patty pan, 2 buckets of kousa, 4 buckets of eggplant, 3 crates of beets and 1 crate of basil. The boss brought everything back in the van, then we followed on foot-- back to the store.
Washed up and boxed the kousa/beets. Bah and Old Rudolpho's crew was out doing a heavy tomato picking-- we ferreted full buckets up beneath the store's awning. New orders-- Newport, Stretch and I grabbed a tray of pints/buckets and headed out to the crappy rows of raspberries out mid-center of the lower fields. The picking was slow and staggered-- weeds had swallowed up most of the berry canes. We only managed to get 8 pints. A rain cloud swept overhead and we covered the berries with our shirts-- if picked raspberries get wet they mold in mere hours. Carried back the mostly empty tray and headed to lunch.
After lunch I stumbled into Rhode Island-- he's back from his 3 week vacation, so he's still a bit outta step. Tomorrow is the first full staff day in a few weeks: Rhode Island is back now, Viking/NYU/Big Boy are back tomorrow. The 8 pints of raspberries had already sold. The store/cooler was cleaned out of every berry we had, so-- Newport and Stretch headed to the blueberries and I stumbled down to the day-neutral strawberries.
The rows were looking a lot better than usual-- many more and bigger too. I inched my way down the three 500yard rows, but still only filled up 8 quarts in 2 hours. Brought back the quarts to the store and waited out a few minutes worth of rain-- then out to join the boys in the blueberries.
We picked along and managed to fill 3 trays (25+ pints apiece). Newport and I took a break on a big rock that rises up out of the middle of the field-- hawks were flying everywhere. We laughed watching a tight group of 70 or so sparrows chasing off a big ol' red tailed hawk. Closing time was a few minutes off and the heat finally caught up to us. We all hunkered down under the bushes for some cigarettes and bullshit/conversation. We carried back the final half filled berry tray to the store and met the boss-- he was happily shining and boxing 500lbs worth of big tomatoes.
Day is done, so home we run.
Aside: got a new pair of boots. Those Wolverines just couldn't hack it. Work/construction/hiking boots can't handle this job-- flipping between dry dusty heat, pouring rain, 1 foot deep mud, and every job in between. Most options disintegrate (like my old Wolverines), leak or get torn to shreds. So I upgraded.
Logging boots are it:
--They cover/lace half way up the calf (no more lower leg poison ivy, no more rolled ankles while carrying buckets of potatoes down a rocky hill)
--Steel shanked (more of an inner steel skirting than a steel toe, so if a horse stomps my foot all my toes aren't guillotined by the steel boot. But no more busting toes while dragging/kicking rocks out of the field-- Double plus!)
--Heavy water-proofed (supposedly everything is these days, but I like the leak protection on the shoe-tongue)
--The sole is attached by triple stitching around the edge and bottom, then reinforced with metal-polymer screws (haven't found a boot that holds up enough yet, but this seems like the last-best chance)
Today was the first time I've wore 'em, so they need to break in-- but all 'n all, so far I love 'em. The company is called Carolina, but they're made in China. It figures that last time (the wolverines) I bought US and they disintegrated, we'll see how these go.
Well, take it easy. Back tomorrow, maybe with the help/company of my buddy Jimbo.
Had a fine time drinking and catching up with the family this weekend-- I've been out in the fields/bouncing to the city so much that it'd been a long time since meeting up with all the uncles, aunts and cousins. Sometimes you have one of those moments when reality catches up on you-- my cousin is having a baby in September. But what really got me-- her husband was real excited and asked me about bringing the baby to the farm to get pumpkins in October. Man, that just hit me at that right angle. I really hope they come on by, I'll give 'em the best damn pumpkins the world has ever seen. Hahaha-- It's the little things that really get a person excited sometimes.
In other news-- I got a phone call last night from a dear old buddy that had fallen off my radar into some jungle in Nicaragua. Turns out this fellow, Jimbo, is back state side-- looking to catch up/get to work. So ol' Jimbo is coming to stay a few days this week and put in some hours at the farm. He was studying/working tropical-climate farming, so I expect he'll pull his weight just fine. Jimbo is due to arrive tomorrow night or Wednesday-- safe travels to him. We got a lot of talking/work/drinking to do.
On with it already.
----------------------------------------------------------
Hawks Above
Strange weather today. Temperature stuck around 79F, but the humidity was near a swampy 100%. The boys decided that the problem wasn't so much the heat itself, or the humidity, but the damn sun. Stayed clear and miserable for the most part, but dark isolated rain clouds passed over a few times bringing brief and heavy rain. Cooled off during the rain, but once it left-- the sun felt twice as hot.
Busy day. Held up in road-construction traffic, so I got to the farm 10mins late. The foreman, Newport and Stretch were lounging around the tractor waiting for me. They busted my chops, then we got on with it. We all climbed aboard the tractor with buckets, crates, knives and shears-- then rolled out to the forest fields. Picking day. We fanned out and cut: 4 buckets of zucchini (found a monster as thick as my leg, as long as my arm), 6 buckets of summer squash, 2 buckets of patty pan, 2 buckets of kousa, 4 buckets of eggplant, 3 crates of beets and 1 crate of basil. The boss brought everything back in the van, then we followed on foot-- back to the store.
Washed up and boxed the kousa/beets. Bah and Old Rudolpho's crew was out doing a heavy tomato picking-- we ferreted full buckets up beneath the store's awning. New orders-- Newport, Stretch and I grabbed a tray of pints/buckets and headed out to the crappy rows of raspberries out mid-center of the lower fields. The picking was slow and staggered-- weeds had swallowed up most of the berry canes. We only managed to get 8 pints. A rain cloud swept overhead and we covered the berries with our shirts-- if picked raspberries get wet they mold in mere hours. Carried back the mostly empty tray and headed to lunch.
After lunch I stumbled into Rhode Island-- he's back from his 3 week vacation, so he's still a bit outta step. Tomorrow is the first full staff day in a few weeks: Rhode Island is back now, Viking/NYU/Big Boy are back tomorrow. The 8 pints of raspberries had already sold. The store/cooler was cleaned out of every berry we had, so-- Newport and Stretch headed to the blueberries and I stumbled down to the day-neutral strawberries.
The rows were looking a lot better than usual-- many more and bigger too. I inched my way down the three 500yard rows, but still only filled up 8 quarts in 2 hours. Brought back the quarts to the store and waited out a few minutes worth of rain-- then out to join the boys in the blueberries.
We picked along and managed to fill 3 trays (25+ pints apiece). Newport and I took a break on a big rock that rises up out of the middle of the field-- hawks were flying everywhere. We laughed watching a tight group of 70 or so sparrows chasing off a big ol' red tailed hawk. Closing time was a few minutes off and the heat finally caught up to us. We all hunkered down under the bushes for some cigarettes and bullshit/conversation. We carried back the final half filled berry tray to the store and met the boss-- he was happily shining and boxing 500lbs worth of big tomatoes.
Day is done, so home we run.
Aside: got a new pair of boots. Those Wolverines just couldn't hack it. Work/construction/hiking boots can't handle this job-- flipping between dry dusty heat, pouring rain, 1 foot deep mud, and every job in between. Most options disintegrate (like my old Wolverines), leak or get torn to shreds. So I upgraded.
Logging boots are it:
--They cover/lace half way up the calf (no more lower leg poison ivy, no more rolled ankles while carrying buckets of potatoes down a rocky hill)
--Steel shanked (more of an inner steel skirting than a steel toe, so if a horse stomps my foot all my toes aren't guillotined by the steel boot. But no more busting toes while dragging/kicking rocks out of the field-- Double plus!)
--Heavy water-proofed (supposedly everything is these days, but I like the leak protection on the shoe-tongue)
--The sole is attached by triple stitching around the edge and bottom, then reinforced with metal-polymer screws (haven't found a boot that holds up enough yet, but this seems like the last-best chance)
Today was the first time I've wore 'em, so they need to break in-- but all 'n all, so far I love 'em. The company is called Carolina, but they're made in China. It figures that last time (the wolverines) I bought US and they disintegrated, we'll see how these go.
Well, take it easy. Back tomorrow, maybe with the help/company of my buddy Jimbo.
Friday, August 5, 2011
The Big Sweat
Full sun all day, big clouds here and there in the early afternoon. Temperature was a straight 88F in the shade.
Today was one of those long ones that never end-- long, but so much got done.
Pulled in this morning to find Newport waiting for me by his car. The boss headed out west state before sunrise to pick up the repaired water pump-- the repairs were much more serious than expected (new internal bearings, patched priming mechanism, replaced all internal gaskets, some inner bits connecting the fan to the PTO had rusted through and were replaced). The boss was on his way back, but still an hour out-- he wanted the water running the second he returned. So Newport and I had some piping to do.
With the irrigation out of commission for the past week (and no rain), the center of the tomato field had become a bit stressed and wilted-- time for the big gun. We carried out the big-gun from the barn and set in the middle of the center tractor road-- must have weighed 200 and something pounds. We ran a 4in pipe straight from the tomato field's water gate and hooked it directly to the gun, no reducer-- just a 4in column of water flowing like a freight train.
Next up-- we attached the strawberries' drip lines in the lower field and attached water gun lines through the chard/kale/beets and through the lettuce. Hustled over to the forest field and sorted out all the drip lines through the squash/cucumbers/peppers/eggplant/basil/cantaloupes. We headed back to the tomato field and attached up all the tomatoes' drip lines and got the drip running through squash/cantaloupe outside the store all squared away. The boss pulled up as we checked over the last nozzles. Newport and I dragged the water pump into the yard outside the greenhouse-- the foreman wasn't back with the tractor yet, but the boss didn't want to waste any time. We hopped into the van and chugged up the hilltop to collect Bah and Old Rudolpho's corn bags.
The boss crept the van along the tractor road in the middle of the field, I walked behind hefting the full bags up to Newport-- who piled them into the van. 17 bags of corn. We dumped the bags at the store and met the foreman down at the horse pond. Got the pump all connected up--the foreman and Newport ran out to check/clear the lines, while the boss and I got the water going. There's a big difference after the repairs-- the suction line fills up in no time. I got my first chance behind the tractor wheel too-- nothing fancy, but still. The boss shambled over to the far side of the horse pasture to keep an eye on the big gun, I sat in the cab inching up the PTO throttle-- from 10,000 rpms up to 23,000 rpms. The resulting high water pressure projects the beam of water higher and farther-- allowing it to spread/mist out into raindrop size by the time the water hits the tomato plant. This big gun drops an inch worth of water coverage every hour-- immense. The boss gave me the thumbs up and I sprinted over to help him check over the cantaloupe/squash drip.
Newport, Stretch and the foreman came over and we started trying to patch up the leaky drips-- it's supposedly a lot easier with the water flowing. The heavy water pressure pushing the big gun was too much-- all our splicing/plugging attempts exploded. Plastic adapters and steel bracers rocketed everywhere. The boss had bought parts a few sizes too small-- the foreman's sanity was ready to snap, he was furious. Soaked, muddy and on-edge we sloshed off to a late lunch.
After lunch, Newport and I kicked around the store helping Stretch, Easy, NYU and Jockey get the CSA setup in order. The boss met us and new orders-- Newport and I were going picking. We grabbed knives and each took a tower of 12 buckets-- then marched the long road up to the forest field. Walking by the tomato field we saw that the foreman had cut off the big gun and Bah/Old Rudolpho's crew was out picking. In the forest field we got right to it-- cut: 2 buckets of zucchini, 3 buckets of summer squash. Stretch came up to help us out and we cut 1 bucket of patty pan and 1 bucket of kousa squash. The foreman called me up-- he was starting the water artery leading up to the forest field. Stretch and Newport got a start on the eggplant while I ran down field to check the connections/headlines. Everything was going fine until the water pressure burst a steel bracer in the headline and a torrent erupted. The foreman sprinted out of the woods and between the two of us, we muscled the pieces back together (water still running) and replaced the brace. Soaked from head to toe-- man do I need new boots, the both toes are blown out.
I slogged down and joined Newport/Stretch picking eggplant-- the water guns soaked us through (just assumed I'd be sopping wet the rest of the day). We got: 3 buckets of big eggplant, 2 1/2 buckets of long oriental eggplant and 1 bucket of fairy tale. The boss picked up everything and dropped off more buckets-- it was cucumber time. And what a time it was.
As Newport said-- I can't swing a dead cat without seeing 40 goddamn cucumbers in front of me. The new plastic wrap planting method has worked wonders-- there's never been a cucumber harvest like this one. I filled a bucket covering just 6ft of plant vine-- one bucket fits 30-40 depending on its size. We filled 18 buckets, that's about 1,000lbs of cucumbers in 2 hours. Amazing. The boss laughed sadly when he came to pick up the buckets-- he had no idea what we'd do with them all. Picked the pickling cukes next and filled 6 buckets-- and we only stopped because there simply were no more buckets left. We cut and bunched a big box worth of basil-- 50 some bunches. Newport and I were ready to collapse.
We marched down the hill path, basil in hand. Closing time was here. The boss met us by the road side, perched up in his brother's open air tractor-- on his way to pick up the pickling cukes and straggling buckets of cucumbers. Checks were waiting for us in the store, he said get on home and take it easy this weekend-- don't do anything I wouldn't do. Like drugs?-- Newport smiled at him. The boss roared off in the tractor laughing to himself.
Got the check and got myself home. I am wiped out.
Take it easy.
Today was one of those long ones that never end-- long, but so much got done.
Pulled in this morning to find Newport waiting for me by his car. The boss headed out west state before sunrise to pick up the repaired water pump-- the repairs were much more serious than expected (new internal bearings, patched priming mechanism, replaced all internal gaskets, some inner bits connecting the fan to the PTO had rusted through and were replaced). The boss was on his way back, but still an hour out-- he wanted the water running the second he returned. So Newport and I had some piping to do.
With the irrigation out of commission for the past week (and no rain), the center of the tomato field had become a bit stressed and wilted-- time for the big gun. We carried out the big-gun from the barn and set in the middle of the center tractor road-- must have weighed 200 and something pounds. We ran a 4in pipe straight from the tomato field's water gate and hooked it directly to the gun, no reducer-- just a 4in column of water flowing like a freight train.
Next up-- we attached the strawberries' drip lines in the lower field and attached water gun lines through the chard/kale/beets and through the lettuce. Hustled over to the forest field and sorted out all the drip lines through the squash/cucumbers/peppers/eggplant/basil/cantaloupes. We headed back to the tomato field and attached up all the tomatoes' drip lines and got the drip running through squash/cantaloupe outside the store all squared away. The boss pulled up as we checked over the last nozzles. Newport and I dragged the water pump into the yard outside the greenhouse-- the foreman wasn't back with the tractor yet, but the boss didn't want to waste any time. We hopped into the van and chugged up the hilltop to collect Bah and Old Rudolpho's corn bags.
The boss crept the van along the tractor road in the middle of the field, I walked behind hefting the full bags up to Newport-- who piled them into the van. 17 bags of corn. We dumped the bags at the store and met the foreman down at the horse pond. Got the pump all connected up--the foreman and Newport ran out to check/clear the lines, while the boss and I got the water going. There's a big difference after the repairs-- the suction line fills up in no time. I got my first chance behind the tractor wheel too-- nothing fancy, but still. The boss shambled over to the far side of the horse pasture to keep an eye on the big gun, I sat in the cab inching up the PTO throttle-- from 10,000 rpms up to 23,000 rpms. The resulting high water pressure projects the beam of water higher and farther-- allowing it to spread/mist out into raindrop size by the time the water hits the tomato plant. This big gun drops an inch worth of water coverage every hour-- immense. The boss gave me the thumbs up and I sprinted over to help him check over the cantaloupe/squash drip.
Newport, Stretch and the foreman came over and we started trying to patch up the leaky drips-- it's supposedly a lot easier with the water flowing. The heavy water pressure pushing the big gun was too much-- all our splicing/plugging attempts exploded. Plastic adapters and steel bracers rocketed everywhere. The boss had bought parts a few sizes too small-- the foreman's sanity was ready to snap, he was furious. Soaked, muddy and on-edge we sloshed off to a late lunch.
After lunch, Newport and I kicked around the store helping Stretch, Easy, NYU and Jockey get the CSA setup in order. The boss met us and new orders-- Newport and I were going picking. We grabbed knives and each took a tower of 12 buckets-- then marched the long road up to the forest field. Walking by the tomato field we saw that the foreman had cut off the big gun and Bah/Old Rudolpho's crew was out picking. In the forest field we got right to it-- cut: 2 buckets of zucchini, 3 buckets of summer squash. Stretch came up to help us out and we cut 1 bucket of patty pan and 1 bucket of kousa squash. The foreman called me up-- he was starting the water artery leading up to the forest field. Stretch and Newport got a start on the eggplant while I ran down field to check the connections/headlines. Everything was going fine until the water pressure burst a steel bracer in the headline and a torrent erupted. The foreman sprinted out of the woods and between the two of us, we muscled the pieces back together (water still running) and replaced the brace. Soaked from head to toe-- man do I need new boots, the both toes are blown out.
I slogged down and joined Newport/Stretch picking eggplant-- the water guns soaked us through (just assumed I'd be sopping wet the rest of the day). We got: 3 buckets of big eggplant, 2 1/2 buckets of long oriental eggplant and 1 bucket of fairy tale. The boss picked up everything and dropped off more buckets-- it was cucumber time. And what a time it was.
As Newport said-- I can't swing a dead cat without seeing 40 goddamn cucumbers in front of me. The new plastic wrap planting method has worked wonders-- there's never been a cucumber harvest like this one. I filled a bucket covering just 6ft of plant vine-- one bucket fits 30-40 depending on its size. We filled 18 buckets, that's about 1,000lbs of cucumbers in 2 hours. Amazing. The boss laughed sadly when he came to pick up the buckets-- he had no idea what we'd do with them all. Picked the pickling cukes next and filled 6 buckets-- and we only stopped because there simply were no more buckets left. We cut and bunched a big box worth of basil-- 50 some bunches. Newport and I were ready to collapse.
We marched down the hill path, basil in hand. Closing time was here. The boss met us by the road side, perched up in his brother's open air tractor-- on his way to pick up the pickling cukes and straggling buckets of cucumbers. Checks were waiting for us in the store, he said get on home and take it easy this weekend-- don't do anything I wouldn't do. Like drugs?-- Newport smiled at him. The boss roared off in the tractor laughing to himself.
Got the check and got myself home. I am wiped out.
Take it easy.
Thursday, August 4, 2011
Market Day
Sunny all day through, temperature stuck to the low 70Fs.
Action packed day. I pulled up to the farm store to find the boys were out with Bah and Old Rudolpho pulling potatoes-- so I got up to my own business. Strolled down to the greenhouse, checked on the seedlings, and filled the trimmer with fuel. Got down to the trellised tomatoes and started clearing the aisle ways-- the grass/weeds had grown to 5ft tall in places. It was slow going-- hacking down a jungle and precisely trying to avoid tomatoes/plastic wrap are terrible tasks to attempt at the same time. Inched along and finished up the 25 rows (after several refuelings) just before lunch.
After a leisure lunch, I milled around out back waiting for the boss. Went into the bathroom and scrubbed off the hours of shredded weeds/dirt caked on my arms/hands/face. Changed into a clean set of clothes and the boss pulled up. We packed up the van for market, we brought: 4 tables, tent, cash box, crate of bags/elastics/cellophane, 1 box of tomatoes, 2 trays of raspberries, 1 tray of blueberries, one milk crate packed with jam, 2 big boxes of pies (large sized and the smaller individual type), 1 tray of cherry tomatoes (half purples, half reds), 1 crate of beets, 1 big basket of string beans, 1 big basket of cucumbers, 1 big basket of pickling cukes, 1 bushel box of zuchini, bushel of summer squash, half bushel of kousa/patty pan, 1 big bushel of green peppers and 6 burlaps full of corn. All loaded up, we set out for market in the next town over.
I worked 50/50 last year, half the time in the fields and half the times at markets-- so I know all the set ups and all the sellers pretty well. I always like this market. It's set up in an olde tyme town center in a farmy old town with a chip on its shoulder (Big Boy lives here). The market is held on the town green, beneath big oaks-- there's a band stand, a big old congregational church, store fronts, the library and all that sort. All the regulars were back-- the old folks in the stall beside us were real glad to see me back.
One of 'em is a big ol' lady (a retired school teacher) who bakes real good sweets out of her house-- cookies are caked in butter, lard, molasses and salt. She's the sort of old woman who is serious, the sort who gets suspicious, silent and stares when people act too friendly. Her little brother (in his 60s) is the bull dog. He is a big fella and can't walk too well but still helps his sister set up all her backed goods and hangs around to chat up customers/anyone in earshot. He works as a security guard for a theater in the dumpy former-industrial city I live near (just a quick swim across the polluted, dead body filled lake). The baker and her brother took me under their wing last year, which is a precarious thing (all the locals hardly tolerate 'em). The brother must have thought I was homeless/parentless/or just too skinny-- every Thursday last fall, he'd without fail bring me a large milk/sugar coffee and a big McDonald's cheeseburger. He'd turn red and get furious whenever I tried to pay him-- so I learned to shut up and eat. Last year the baker decided that farms, the sun and fields, were no place for a good young man-- so she took it as her mission to find me a 'proper' trade. Well, I refused all the security jobs, electrician/plumbing apprenticeships, but she still packed my pockets full of cookies and cake every Thursday. Good folks.
So the boss and I set up the tent, got the tables up and arranged the goods. I don't know how good or bad I am out in the fields, but I know this-- I can sell a person the food in their own stomach. I just don't like doing it. All the same, the boss was happy to have me out again making him money, he slapped me on the back and said-- go to it ace. Then he hopped in the van to go mind the farm.
I got the stall arranged to my liking then caught up with the baker and her brother. Nothing's changed, except now she has a framed picture on her table-- inside is a man's picture, with the words '(whatever-the-guy's name is) of Pawn Stars love (the baker's) cookies and a jumble of signatures. Apparently these TV stars gave a little history show at the brother's theater and the baker sent the stars boxes of her homemade cookies-- and they loved them enough to send a signed picture saying that they did. The baker was very, very proud of the picture.
Start time came and the market heads walked around ringing a big bell to signal that we could start selling-- the people came and I sold.
The boss really needs to print some business cards or something. I scribbled down the farm address and phone # for countless families all day long. Seems that many Lebanese families are settling in the area and can't find good kousa squash-- but we got it and cut it just how they like it. Unfortunately, they want it in bulk-- 60-80 squash at a go. The first family cleared me out.
Our market stall is a crowed place, but I move real fast-- I call aloud the price math to the customer so they can check my numbers (I could kill the boss for pricing things at $1.20/$.90/$1.10 a lb.). There's no calculators here so everything's left to my head. Had 15-20 people lined up to pay at one point-- busy, busy.
Things lull out from time to time, which give me a chance to chat with customers/answer their questions about tomatoes/our farming practices/the weather this spring. I take a real sick pleasure in telling people we're not an organic farm-- watching their reaction is a special kind of entertainment. In my defense, certain markets poisoned me last year-- the politics of organic farming is a petty and vicious thing. You can almost predict a person's reaction based solely on their haircut (90% accuracy), but then again markets make me a terrible person.
A new seller came by to chat during the mid-afternoon doldrums. I'll call him Stone-J (his face is rock slab, his name starts with J), think I might be seeing a lot more of this guy. I like the guy/seethe a bit in jealousy. Stone-J is about my age and just leased out 25 acres from the town land trust this year. With his girlfriend/friends he is doing it. He rented a place in town, got a small cub tractor and has 10 acres of organic veggies coming on a wet hilltop. He bought a round of beef cow this spring, setting them on the remaining 15 acres to keep it clear of brush/fatten 'em up over summer-- he'll sell them this fall for a tight profit (certainly can't afford to winter a herd). Stone-J has a big ol' beard and an easy disposition-- he did some program in environmental sciences before leaping on his lease land. We hit it off famously. Shot the breeze on all types of crop/soil/and such. He gave me his card, and I said hey friend-- if you ever need a hand over the weekend, I'm your guy. We shook on it and he showed me his veggie-stall spread. I gotta remember to shoot him an internet message-- I wanna get up close with those cows of his. Maybe my jealous son reflex was tingling-- the boss has stepped in to mentor Stone-J, helping him survey the plot/select crops suitable for his soil and organic disposition/ get into the market line-up/ join the farmer's union.
Yes, I am just plan green in jealousy.
I sold out. Sold all 6 sacks of corn, all the sting beans, all the pies, all the peppers, all the beets, all the tomatoes (and cherries), all the berries, all the jam but one (a 10oz of Peach-raspberry), all the cucumber and pickling cukes, all the zucchini and all the summer squash/kousa. Only a handful of patty pan remained. Selling a full basket/tray/box is nothing-- selling the scattered dregs of string beans is something. But not something hard. People love to haggle, so I haggle them. A mother and her baby walked by and I gave her the last handful of string beans for free. Another woman came by and I talked her into the last sad looking bunch of beets at 50% off. Gave another woman the last 4 corn for free. Hahaha, so I'm not much of a bargainer-- but every one of those customers were so happy they talked with me 15 minute and walked off with the farm's address. But what's a single bunch of beets, a few corn, a few string beans, a couple kousa or a single cucumber? So I sold out the way I always did last year-- when there's nothing left, give away what is.
The market bell rang again and the stalls shut down. The boss's daughter ran by, emptied my cash box and ran to the bank. I piled up the empty bags/boxes, folded up the tent/table and waited for the boss. He drove up and we packed everything into the van. The boss was happy to see the empty boxes, but happier to hear the profit number (I'm not giving away any business details, but I pulled well over the big 1-- which is the mark of a good day). I more than covered everyone's payroll for the day--yehaw!
The sun was down by the time we got back to the farm store and unpacked the van. Homeward bound.
A little part of me misses doing the markets, a very little part.
Aside: While pulling out of the farm the boss's daughter yelled after me, but I didn't really hear her and kept on going. The boss called me as I was going through the 400acre fields surrounding the vet school-- his daughter saw I had one big ol' flat tire. Pulled over into the field and flipped out the flat-- put on the spare and had a long cigarette in the grass. What a day.
Back to the fields tomorrow and glad to be-- can't have the boys think I've gone soft, can I?
Take it easy.
Action packed day. I pulled up to the farm store to find the boys were out with Bah and Old Rudolpho pulling potatoes-- so I got up to my own business. Strolled down to the greenhouse, checked on the seedlings, and filled the trimmer with fuel. Got down to the trellised tomatoes and started clearing the aisle ways-- the grass/weeds had grown to 5ft tall in places. It was slow going-- hacking down a jungle and precisely trying to avoid tomatoes/plastic wrap are terrible tasks to attempt at the same time. Inched along and finished up the 25 rows (after several refuelings) just before lunch.
After a leisure lunch, I milled around out back waiting for the boss. Went into the bathroom and scrubbed off the hours of shredded weeds/dirt caked on my arms/hands/face. Changed into a clean set of clothes and the boss pulled up. We packed up the van for market, we brought: 4 tables, tent, cash box, crate of bags/elastics/cellophane, 1 box of tomatoes, 2 trays of raspberries, 1 tray of blueberries, one milk crate packed with jam, 2 big boxes of pies (large sized and the smaller individual type), 1 tray of cherry tomatoes (half purples, half reds), 1 crate of beets, 1 big basket of string beans, 1 big basket of cucumbers, 1 big basket of pickling cukes, 1 bushel box of zuchini, bushel of summer squash, half bushel of kousa/patty pan, 1 big bushel of green peppers and 6 burlaps full of corn. All loaded up, we set out for market in the next town over.
I worked 50/50 last year, half the time in the fields and half the times at markets-- so I know all the set ups and all the sellers pretty well. I always like this market. It's set up in an olde tyme town center in a farmy old town with a chip on its shoulder (Big Boy lives here). The market is held on the town green, beneath big oaks-- there's a band stand, a big old congregational church, store fronts, the library and all that sort. All the regulars were back-- the old folks in the stall beside us were real glad to see me back.
One of 'em is a big ol' lady (a retired school teacher) who bakes real good sweets out of her house-- cookies are caked in butter, lard, molasses and salt. She's the sort of old woman who is serious, the sort who gets suspicious, silent and stares when people act too friendly. Her little brother (in his 60s) is the bull dog. He is a big fella and can't walk too well but still helps his sister set up all her backed goods and hangs around to chat up customers/anyone in earshot. He works as a security guard for a theater in the dumpy former-industrial city I live near (just a quick swim across the polluted, dead body filled lake). The baker and her brother took me under their wing last year, which is a precarious thing (all the locals hardly tolerate 'em). The brother must have thought I was homeless/parentless/or just too skinny-- every Thursday last fall, he'd without fail bring me a large milk/sugar coffee and a big McDonald's cheeseburger. He'd turn red and get furious whenever I tried to pay him-- so I learned to shut up and eat. Last year the baker decided that farms, the sun and fields, were no place for a good young man-- so she took it as her mission to find me a 'proper' trade. Well, I refused all the security jobs, electrician/plumbing apprenticeships, but she still packed my pockets full of cookies and cake every Thursday. Good folks.
So the boss and I set up the tent, got the tables up and arranged the goods. I don't know how good or bad I am out in the fields, but I know this-- I can sell a person the food in their own stomach. I just don't like doing it. All the same, the boss was happy to have me out again making him money, he slapped me on the back and said-- go to it ace. Then he hopped in the van to go mind the farm.
I got the stall arranged to my liking then caught up with the baker and her brother. Nothing's changed, except now she has a framed picture on her table-- inside is a man's picture, with the words '(whatever-the-guy's name is) of Pawn Stars love (the baker's) cookies and a jumble of signatures. Apparently these TV stars gave a little history show at the brother's theater and the baker sent the stars boxes of her homemade cookies-- and they loved them enough to send a signed picture saying that they did. The baker was very, very proud of the picture.
Start time came and the market heads walked around ringing a big bell to signal that we could start selling-- the people came and I sold.
The boss really needs to print some business cards or something. I scribbled down the farm address and phone # for countless families all day long. Seems that many Lebanese families are settling in the area and can't find good kousa squash-- but we got it and cut it just how they like it. Unfortunately, they want it in bulk-- 60-80 squash at a go. The first family cleared me out.
Our market stall is a crowed place, but I move real fast-- I call aloud the price math to the customer so they can check my numbers (I could kill the boss for pricing things at $1.20/$.90/$1.10 a lb.). There's no calculators here so everything's left to my head. Had 15-20 people lined up to pay at one point-- busy, busy.
Things lull out from time to time, which give me a chance to chat with customers/answer their questions about tomatoes/our farming practices/the weather this spring. I take a real sick pleasure in telling people we're not an organic farm-- watching their reaction is a special kind of entertainment. In my defense, certain markets poisoned me last year-- the politics of organic farming is a petty and vicious thing. You can almost predict a person's reaction based solely on their haircut (90% accuracy), but then again markets make me a terrible person.
A new seller came by to chat during the mid-afternoon doldrums. I'll call him Stone-J (his face is rock slab, his name starts with J), think I might be seeing a lot more of this guy. I like the guy/seethe a bit in jealousy. Stone-J is about my age and just leased out 25 acres from the town land trust this year. With his girlfriend/friends he is doing it. He rented a place in town, got a small cub tractor and has 10 acres of organic veggies coming on a wet hilltop. He bought a round of beef cow this spring, setting them on the remaining 15 acres to keep it clear of brush/fatten 'em up over summer-- he'll sell them this fall for a tight profit (certainly can't afford to winter a herd). Stone-J has a big ol' beard and an easy disposition-- he did some program in environmental sciences before leaping on his lease land. We hit it off famously. Shot the breeze on all types of crop/soil/and such. He gave me his card, and I said hey friend-- if you ever need a hand over the weekend, I'm your guy. We shook on it and he showed me his veggie-stall spread. I gotta remember to shoot him an internet message-- I wanna get up close with those cows of his. Maybe my jealous son reflex was tingling-- the boss has stepped in to mentor Stone-J, helping him survey the plot/select crops suitable for his soil and organic disposition/ get into the market line-up/ join the farmer's union.
Yes, I am just plan green in jealousy.
I sold out. Sold all 6 sacks of corn, all the sting beans, all the pies, all the peppers, all the beets, all the tomatoes (and cherries), all the berries, all the jam but one (a 10oz of Peach-raspberry), all the cucumber and pickling cukes, all the zucchini and all the summer squash/kousa. Only a handful of patty pan remained. Selling a full basket/tray/box is nothing-- selling the scattered dregs of string beans is something. But not something hard. People love to haggle, so I haggle them. A mother and her baby walked by and I gave her the last handful of string beans for free. Another woman came by and I talked her into the last sad looking bunch of beets at 50% off. Gave another woman the last 4 corn for free. Hahaha, so I'm not much of a bargainer-- but every one of those customers were so happy they talked with me 15 minute and walked off with the farm's address. But what's a single bunch of beets, a few corn, a few string beans, a couple kousa or a single cucumber? So I sold out the way I always did last year-- when there's nothing left, give away what is.
The market bell rang again and the stalls shut down. The boss's daughter ran by, emptied my cash box and ran to the bank. I piled up the empty bags/boxes, folded up the tent/table and waited for the boss. He drove up and we packed everything into the van. The boss was happy to see the empty boxes, but happier to hear the profit number (I'm not giving away any business details, but I pulled well over the big 1-- which is the mark of a good day). I more than covered everyone's payroll for the day--yehaw!
The sun was down by the time we got back to the farm store and unpacked the van. Homeward bound.
A little part of me misses doing the markets, a very little part.
Aside: While pulling out of the farm the boss's daughter yelled after me, but I didn't really hear her and kept on going. The boss called me as I was going through the 400acre fields surrounding the vet school-- his daughter saw I had one big ol' flat tire. Pulled over into the field and flipped out the flat-- put on the spare and had a long cigarette in the grass. What a day.
Back to the fields tomorrow and glad to be-- can't have the boys think I've gone soft, can I?
Take it easy.
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
Ahaha! Tomatoes and Chard
Oh boy. Forgot to mention it yesterday... but we had a visitor--the photographer for one of our state capital's big newspapers. Sure enough, as I was washing and bunching some beets, he snuck over and clipped a few hundred shots of me. So when I swung by the gas station to get coffee this morning, look who I found laughing back at me on the front page:
If the boys catch wind of this my name is mud.
Full sun all day through to closing, started getting a little cloudy around then. Temperature stuck in the mid 80Fs.
Long slow day today. I sharpened up the knives this morning and we got the boys together: Stretch, Newport and me. Piled up 8 crates and headed to the lower fields to cut swiss chard. Things went smoothly enough at the bed's head, but once we got further down things got bad.
Take a look at the chard photos from this weekend-- just a few days ago. It was enormous and healthy. When we got mid field we found nearly all the leaves (on every plant) eaten back to the stems, covered (caked, every square inch) in little shit pellets and big black/gray flying ant like beetles. In just three days they'd turned the chard into a near wasteland. I was the first one down there-- furious, I went from plant to plant crushing or slicing every beetle I could find (sometimes 10 on a single leaf). What would have been an easy half hour of rapid picking became a dirge. The foreman came over and we worked the entire field's length-- killing every beetle we found, pulling off every bare stem/emaciated leaf. On Saturday (when Darlin took pictures of the chard), I bet we could have filled 25 crates easy-- we just barely filled 8 lean crates. Finished going over the damage just before lunch.
After lunch, still in low spirits, we headed out for some serious tomato picking. The boss came down and joined us as we worked the rows. Tomato picking isn't as exciting as I'd always hoped. Rot/fungus has taken a hard toll on the first round of fruit (the boss plans on spraying a bit of fungicide to curb the dilemma)-- for every good tomato we picked, we pulled 3-4 rotted mold covered ooze sacks. There's nothing like stretching your hand beneath the plant and coming back with a handful of sludge. The field (and soon us too) smelt like ketchup mixed with gasoline with a dash of day-old diaper tossed in. The tomato plant's stem and leaves have a fine hair/film/power covering them over-- our hands, hair, pants and arms turned black/green. The trellised tomatoes were in much better shape and easier to pick-- less rot and less work negotiating around the plant. That said, this was the first big tomato harvest. We got:
Fair number of Rose, tons of fine looking Cherokees (they held up surprisingly well), fair number of striped romans, one ripe striped german, 3 buckets of red cherries, 1 bucket of yellow cherries and 1 bucket of dark purple cherries. We packed the tractor's front loader with the full 20 something tomato buckets, then headed up to the store.
Sorting and wiping time. We rolled over 2 carts and got everything squared away into: 52 full cardboard boxes of big tomatoes, 5 trays of cherry tomato pints. Not bad, not too damn bad at all.
8 of the boxes were ripe and ready to go, so we moved those into the store-- leaving the rest to ripen beneath the awning. Closing was a half hour off, but there wasn't enough time to start any of the next picking projects-- a big potato pull is next on the list. So the boss sent us home early, with a day's full pay.
Time to scrub off my tomato coat and get set for tomorrow-- gonna be a long day, market starts a little after noon and ends a bit after sun down. Gotta remember to bring a change of fancy 'market clothes.'
Take it easy.
If the boys catch wind of this my name is mud.
Full sun all day through to closing, started getting a little cloudy around then. Temperature stuck in the mid 80Fs.
Long slow day today. I sharpened up the knives this morning and we got the boys together: Stretch, Newport and me. Piled up 8 crates and headed to the lower fields to cut swiss chard. Things went smoothly enough at the bed's head, but once we got further down things got bad.
Take a look at the chard photos from this weekend-- just a few days ago. It was enormous and healthy. When we got mid field we found nearly all the leaves (on every plant) eaten back to the stems, covered (caked, every square inch) in little shit pellets and big black/gray flying ant like beetles. In just three days they'd turned the chard into a near wasteland. I was the first one down there-- furious, I went from plant to plant crushing or slicing every beetle I could find (sometimes 10 on a single leaf). What would have been an easy half hour of rapid picking became a dirge. The foreman came over and we worked the entire field's length-- killing every beetle we found, pulling off every bare stem/emaciated leaf. On Saturday (when Darlin took pictures of the chard), I bet we could have filled 25 crates easy-- we just barely filled 8 lean crates. Finished going over the damage just before lunch.
After lunch, still in low spirits, we headed out for some serious tomato picking. The boss came down and joined us as we worked the rows. Tomato picking isn't as exciting as I'd always hoped. Rot/fungus has taken a hard toll on the first round of fruit (the boss plans on spraying a bit of fungicide to curb the dilemma)-- for every good tomato we picked, we pulled 3-4 rotted mold covered ooze sacks. There's nothing like stretching your hand beneath the plant and coming back with a handful of sludge. The field (and soon us too) smelt like ketchup mixed with gasoline with a dash of day-old diaper tossed in. The tomato plant's stem and leaves have a fine hair/film/power covering them over-- our hands, hair, pants and arms turned black/green. The trellised tomatoes were in much better shape and easier to pick-- less rot and less work negotiating around the plant. That said, this was the first big tomato harvest. We got:
Fair number of Rose, tons of fine looking Cherokees (they held up surprisingly well), fair number of striped romans, one ripe striped german, 3 buckets of red cherries, 1 bucket of yellow cherries and 1 bucket of dark purple cherries. We packed the tractor's front loader with the full 20 something tomato buckets, then headed up to the store.
Sorting and wiping time. We rolled over 2 carts and got everything squared away into: 52 full cardboard boxes of big tomatoes, 5 trays of cherry tomato pints. Not bad, not too damn bad at all.
8 of the boxes were ripe and ready to go, so we moved those into the store-- leaving the rest to ripen beneath the awning. Closing was a half hour off, but there wasn't enough time to start any of the next picking projects-- a big potato pull is next on the list. So the boss sent us home early, with a day's full pay.
Time to scrub off my tomato coat and get set for tomorrow-- gonna be a long day, market starts a little after noon and ends a bit after sun down. Gotta remember to bring a change of fancy 'market clothes.'
Take it easy.
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
Riding in Style
Full sun through most of the day, partial clouds swept over the late afternoon. Temperature kept to 88F.
Our big money market was today, so I got in and ran about getting everything ready. Both Viking and the boss's daughter are out this week, so NYU is manning the store-- which means he sits at the cash register reading. Stretch and I ran out to the lower field to cut 2 crates of lettuce and 1 crate of beets. Newport was stuck with Big Boy-- they washed everything up and eventually grabbed 15 or so bunches of swiss chard. We got the van all packed up and the boss headed off to market alone. He left an ambitious to-do list. First up: we ran out and picked through the day neutral strawberries-- time flew and by the time we dropped the berries off at the store it was time for lunch.
After lunch we headed over to the nearest blueberry field and picked a large trays worth (30 pints). After their morning together, Newport whipped and drived Big Boy into slightly better shape-- unfortunately, there is no cure for lazy. We polished off the blueberries and left them off in the store with NYU. We hiked the hilltop and joined Bah/Old Rudolpho's crew weeding the winter squash-- little less than half of the field remained. We made fast progress with the assembled mega-crew.
As we cleared the final row, Newport and I worked alongside Jay-jay (Old Rudolpho's grandson). He's a big fella, but was down in the dirt pull more than his fair share. Newport laughed and asked him how old he was-- 13, about to turn 14 was his answer. Newport sighed and laughed again then pointed down to Big Boy saying-- well, look at this guy sitting staring at the dirt and he's older than you, Jay-Jay, it must be a cultural thing, because believe me when I tell you: white people are just plain lazy. I laughed, but Jay-Jay just smiled and kept pulling weeds.
Finally the winter squash was cleared. Newport and I walked the 22 rows and pulled any new weeds while Stretch and Big Boy collapsed on a log. On to the next task-- weed the 2 long beds of beets in the forest field. The winter squash and beets are as far apart as it gets-- a 15-20 minute walk if you follow the road. So we decided to take the direct line route through the woods, through 10-15 acres of thick forest. For some stupid reason Newport and Big Boy pressed ahead while Stretch and I got our water-- by the time we entered the woods the two were nowhere in sight. Oh well, so we made our own way. We followed one of the old cattle paths that the boss's father cut to bring his cows to what used to be the hilltop pasture. It led us along some old growth trees, deeper and deeper in. We hopped two streams and found one of the water-springs. Soon enough we spotted the upward slope leading to the forest field-- Newport was there waiting and Big Boy was half asleep in the shade.
We quadruple teamed one beet bed and made good time, sweating away until closing. The foreman rolled over in the tractor 10 minutes before the day's end. He weeded with us through till the end. We grabbed our water then all climbed aboard the tractor-- Newport hanging from the cab-stairs, Stretch/Big Boy/Me sat in the front loader. The foreman raised us 20ft into the air and floored it back to the farm store. We all hopped down and got homeward.
Because of all the scheduling madness this week, the boss is sending me to one of the Thursday markets. I'm looking forward to checking out what everyone is selling this year-- just hope the boss doesn't make a habit of sending me out. Tomorrow then.
Get on to it.
Our big money market was today, so I got in and ran about getting everything ready. Both Viking and the boss's daughter are out this week, so NYU is manning the store-- which means he sits at the cash register reading. Stretch and I ran out to the lower field to cut 2 crates of lettuce and 1 crate of beets. Newport was stuck with Big Boy-- they washed everything up and eventually grabbed 15 or so bunches of swiss chard. We got the van all packed up and the boss headed off to market alone. He left an ambitious to-do list. First up: we ran out and picked through the day neutral strawberries-- time flew and by the time we dropped the berries off at the store it was time for lunch.
After lunch we headed over to the nearest blueberry field and picked a large trays worth (30 pints). After their morning together, Newport whipped and drived Big Boy into slightly better shape-- unfortunately, there is no cure for lazy. We polished off the blueberries and left them off in the store with NYU. We hiked the hilltop and joined Bah/Old Rudolpho's crew weeding the winter squash-- little less than half of the field remained. We made fast progress with the assembled mega-crew.
As we cleared the final row, Newport and I worked alongside Jay-jay (Old Rudolpho's grandson). He's a big fella, but was down in the dirt pull more than his fair share. Newport laughed and asked him how old he was-- 13, about to turn 14 was his answer. Newport sighed and laughed again then pointed down to Big Boy saying-- well, look at this guy sitting staring at the dirt and he's older than you, Jay-Jay, it must be a cultural thing, because believe me when I tell you: white people are just plain lazy. I laughed, but Jay-Jay just smiled and kept pulling weeds.
Finally the winter squash was cleared. Newport and I walked the 22 rows and pulled any new weeds while Stretch and Big Boy collapsed on a log. On to the next task-- weed the 2 long beds of beets in the forest field. The winter squash and beets are as far apart as it gets-- a 15-20 minute walk if you follow the road. So we decided to take the direct line route through the woods, through 10-15 acres of thick forest. For some stupid reason Newport and Big Boy pressed ahead while Stretch and I got our water-- by the time we entered the woods the two were nowhere in sight. Oh well, so we made our own way. We followed one of the old cattle paths that the boss's father cut to bring his cows to what used to be the hilltop pasture. It led us along some old growth trees, deeper and deeper in. We hopped two streams and found one of the water-springs. Soon enough we spotted the upward slope leading to the forest field-- Newport was there waiting and Big Boy was half asleep in the shade.
We quadruple teamed one beet bed and made good time, sweating away until closing. The foreman rolled over in the tractor 10 minutes before the day's end. He weeded with us through till the end. We grabbed our water then all climbed aboard the tractor-- Newport hanging from the cab-stairs, Stretch/Big Boy/Me sat in the front loader. The foreman raised us 20ft into the air and floored it back to the farm store. We all hopped down and got homeward.
Because of all the scheduling madness this week, the boss is sending me to one of the Thursday markets. I'm looking forward to checking out what everyone is selling this year-- just hope the boss doesn't make a habit of sending me out. Tomorrow then.
Get on to it.
Monday, August 1, 2011
PICTURE DAY-- State of the Farm/ Food Sampler and Tomatoes Double Day
Darlin came to visit this weekend! It had been a few months since she's seen the state of the farm, so I took her on an eating tour of the fields. Without more blabbing, let's get to it:
(all photo credit goes to Darlin, she took every picture posted today)
It was one sunny summer Saturday, so we hopped across the street to see two of the horses out grazing. It's a shame the horse lady doesn't ride these fellas, I'd love to get up in the saddle.
The berries are forming on the blackberry canes-- harvest won't begin until mid/late August. The time is getting close.
Mullen. Weed to some, herb to others. Darlin is getting into the final weeks of an Herbalism course in the city. If I ever get serious about cutting the cigarette habit, this is a good plant to latch onto. Darlin said its dried leaves can be tossed in with tea and soothes weary/damaged lungs. Apparently you can chop it up and smoke it too, but I'd imagine that would cut back on its lung-healing effects.
Here's a smarmy asshole if I've ever seen one. I ain't half as photogenic as the berries. This field is directly across from the store and even weeks of pick-your-own and the crews haven't cleared out the blueberry tonnage left on the bushes. Most of the bushes on this end of the field have more berries than leaves, it's a race to pull the blueberries before their weight snaps the branches. Stretch, NYU, Newport and I were working on this field for most of last Friday. But, the blueberries have hit their high point-- things are due to trickle down to nothing over the next few weeks.
The staggered fruit of the day-neutral strawberry rows. They might not taste as good as the seasonal variety, but hey-- they're still fruiting and it's August. Not too bad.
Here is the raspberry field at the far end of the lower field-- you can see the trellis posts I bashed in this spring. The string line is still keeping things orderly, even though the berries have long since quit here. If you have the time/hands to do the work, I'd highly recommend this string setup to any grower. With the canes lifted, there was a much greater surface area for berries to form. Picking was much easier and very few berries were lost to dirt/rain damage.
The view from the far side of the lower fields. On the right are the day-neutral strawberry rows, a standard-small-water-gun irrigation line and then the last planting of sweet corn. The corn was planted just a week or so ago. In Spring/Early-Summer the snap peas/shelling peas/fava beans were here. But once they'd played out, the foreman rolled over the fields with the tiller and then harrowed all the soil/plant matter flat. We let the space sit a few weeks as the plants rotted into the soil, then seeded the corn in. Harvest for these guys wont be until mid/end of September.
Turn left from the last photo and here you are. The view across the lower fields over to the sweet corn we're currently harvesting.
The long bed of swiss chard (located somewhere midway in the lower fields). This was picked over last Wednesday/Thursday/Friday, but already its back up and thick. Now that the stalk and roots are firmly established, the chard can handle heavy picking like a champ.
We didn't pick this middle section last week and look at the size of 'em. This is the bright lights variety of swiss chard, they've been cross breed to have the variety of colors (red/yellow/purple/white). Normal chard's stalks are only whitish/greenish (same color as bok choi stems), but as NYU said-- whoever thought to cross breed the color into the chard is a marketing genius.
Right next to the chard (though only takes up 1/2 a long row) is the kale. The purple palm trees are the red boar kale variety. It's pretty funky looking stuff. Down the row, off in the distance, you can see where the bluish/green leaved dinosaur kale starts (its kinda boring to be honest). But both will continue throwing out leaves for the rest of summer.
Beet rows. If you look into the shadows you can see the rim of a beet-bulb. We pulled most of the hefty, big beets last week so this is all just demonstration-- so there you go. 3 rows of beets in a bed located next to the kale and chard.
The corn has grown high and mighty. We waltzed on over to the side of the lower fields to sample an ear fresh from the stalk-- which looks like this:
We grow a providence variety of butter-sugar sweet corn. As the boss taught me-- there's only one way to get a sense for the taste/quality of corn and that's to eat it raw. Preferably right after ripping it off. That's kinda the secret to all this regional small farming-- stuff this good (like tomatoes, berries, peppers, squash, etc) can't survive long distance shipping. So if people want good food, it's not gonna come by plane/train/truck. It's gonna come from small farmers planting good seeds-- so they better have ready customers (otherwise they're probably out of business already). This sweet corn is good for a day, maybe 2, after picking. We only pick what we can sell each day-- which, fortunately for us, means anywhere from 5-18 bags (60 ears apiece) depending on the markets/CSA/weather on a given day.
I think Darlin would agree with me saying-- why bother boiling the hell out of this stuff when it's better as it is.
Darlin snaps some great shots. This is one of our honey bees on a wild mustard weed at the edge of the cornfield. They're an Italian breed of honey bee, one that hasn't been genetically Frankensteined (many, many, many honey bees have been genetically engineered. Chances are, if you're eating honey, it came from engineered bees). The boss loves these little guys, as he says-- like Italians, they're lovers not fighters.
On the other side of the sweet corn. This is the tractor road that separates the corn from the pumpkin patch.
The pumpkin patch. If you zoom in and look into the leaves' shadows you can see the flowers out in full bloom. We really over did it this year, the patch rolls down the field's slope to the woods edge and then down the length of the corn field. At this stage I couldn't tell ya one pumpkin variety apart from another-- but somewhere in here we have: many sugar pumpkins (mostly for use in the farm kitchen for pumpkin pie, but we offer 'em for sale too), over-sized ornamentals, big whites and then some giant novelty varieties (for the kids).
It's a working farm. That it is. Last time Darlin came, if you remember, I touched the camera and screwed all the colors into some apocalyptic gradient. Happy to say-- I'd enough sense this time to leave the camera work to Darlin.
The view of the forest field from the van/tractor road. The squashes managed to survive the vermin and have flourished into something monstrous.
The summer squash.
The zucchini.
The patty pan squash. (Oo, pretty decent sized one too.)
The kousa squash. We've been cutting this stuff too big, people like it small-- so small they'll get. The kousa just above the flower is at the ideal size-- indian/middle east (i think they use it too?) recipes stuff kousa with
lamb and all sorts of good stuff.
The cucumbers. Hard to see, but there's a decently sized fella lying right in the center.
Field cooking a pickling cuke. Step 1-- take out knife.
Step 2-- put away knife and just bite the damn thing whole. As far as cucumbers go, they all sort of taste the same to me-- only the type/thickness of the skin really varies. That said, the picking cukes are a lot sweeter/fewer seeds than your average garden salad variety.
Darlin found the pow-wow/break circle Newport, NYU, Stretch and I left on the east edge of the field (shadiest spot there is in the morning). Judging from how we typically spend breaks-- I'd imagine we were arguing, over a few cigarettes, about who could throw their knife into the dirt best.
Peppers on the way. Nothing (except tomatoes) are as finicky, delicate and susceptible to pests as peppers.
The cantaloupes are coming!
The four rows of cantaloupes have completely taken over their stretch of field-- get ready, 'cause here they come.
Long rows worth of basil-- this is the second planting-- two more basil rows are just off camera to the left. We figured that another row would make weekly cuttings easier/more fruitful, by rotating between rows.
Walking down the woods path from the forest field...
Leads down to the corner of the tomato fields.
The trellised cherry tomatoes are getting ripe.
The big tomato field-- it is so overgrown that the travel rows don't matter anymore. It's just a matter of jumping in and wading through the sea of green.
Walked around the store and followed the road along the horse pond up to the hill top.
The view of (part of) the hilltop fields. Cauliflower/broccoli/cabbage on the right edge leading off camera. Late summer/fall tomatoes in the middle and then more sweet corn rounds on the left.
A handful of arugula leaves from the sad remainders of the hill top greens patch between the corn/stone wall/raspberries. Matured to the point of spicy.
Photo of the winter squash field. Hard to see but if you zoom in-- up close are the 12 rows we've already weeded. The wall of green running to the woods edge are another 8+ rows that have yet to be cleared.
Pulling potatoes. Ehehe, I gave Darlin a little demonstration-- it gets me every time. There isn't much more fun than yanking out red gold. And that concludes the farm photos! We continued around the hill top to munch on raspberries, before heading across to the blueberry fields by the cow pasture. Good day, great day. Darlin and I stopped to talk with the boss, Jockey and Viking. The boss gave us a dozen corn on the house-- ehehe what a sweetheart. We headed out the rest of the day to a big (and free) folk festival near the state capital. Bands were fantastic and food was just as good-- but there was a Zydeco band. Which means one thing-- we danced Zydeco for the rest of the night. What a weekend!
(If you've managed to make it this far, you might as well keep on through the end)
-----------------------------------------
2 Days in 1
Weather split the day in two. The morning started clear and sunny-- temperature in the upper 80Fs to low 90Fs. The afternoon saw a major front sweep over-- low dark clouds, thunder in the distance, chances of hail/tornadoes-- temperature fell to low 70Fs.
This morning was, finally, the kick off into high season. I met Stretch, Newport and the foreman out behind the store. We grabbed 1/2 buckets (you'll understand why soon) and waded out into the tomato fields. The first rush of Purple Cherokees and Moskvich are ready for picking. We pick tomatoes at 'the break point'-- where the green hue has faded whiter and the tints of red are starting to flush through the bottom. That's the ideal moment to pick-- when 95% of the tomatoes flavor is in the fruit, but you have some ripening lee-way for markets/CSA/farm store/local wholesale. The Moskvich are a pretty straight forward red tomato, so its easy to gauge where their fruits' ripeness stands. Cherokee's are a different matter entirely. Even at full ripeness they remain green around the stem connector, only the bottom/sides take on a deep maroon color. So we picked everything we could-- 'break point' tomatoes were the ideal, but we took anything full ripe/overripe too. The foreman also had us take all ripe/near-ripe but damaged tomatoes-- for the kitchen to make salsas/tomato sauce depending on the stage of fruit trauma. (We pick with 1/2 sized buckets because otherwise the weight of a full bucket would crush the tomatoes at the bottom)
After the Cherokees/Moskvich, Stretch and the foreman went through the striped romans while Newport and I picked a few buckets of plum-cherry tomatoes. We got everything that was good to go-- but there is a ton almost there. We finished the field just in time for lunch.
After lunch we began the post tomato ritual-- we gathered all the buckets under the back awning, stacked flat cardboard boxes, moistened up some rags and started shining up the tomatoes. Of course dead leaves/dirt/imperfections/juice/seeds cake onto the tomatoes and shining cleans that all off. But the real point to shining tomatoes is to sort them out after into their different classes:
--damaged/unsellables go into the kitchen bucket
--2nds (lightly damaged/horrendously ugly/very ripe tomatoes)-- people always come to the farm asking to buy seconds, but they really shouldn't bother. 2nds either go to the kitchen (if they're running desperately low) or to us. The boss brings them home for dinner, he fills bags with 'em for the crew or gives 'em to friends who make sauce. 2nds are a sacred right of farm work, we're never just gonna give them away (or sell 'em, that's what 1sts are for).
We make 2 subclasses for our 1sts
-- 1sts (not readies)-- these are perfect tomatoes (faint damage to unmarred) that have a ways to go before reaching full ripeness.
--1sts (ready)-- the perfect tomatoes, full/near ripe that can go to the store front/marketplace and is ready to sell immediately. Working on this farm has made all the hands into tomato snobs, so finding firsts has a very easy equation-- would you (mr. farmhand) pay money for this tomato? When you think like a picky customer you please the picky customer.
After all the staggered heat and rain the first picking (so the oldest tomatoes so far) were in tough shape. After the ragging was done we had: 5 full buckets for the kitchen, 7 trays of seconds, 4 trays of 1sts (not readies) and 3 trays of 1sts (ready). We pack the wiped down tomatoes real carefully onto cardboard trays, careful so that no tomato is touching another (touching tomatoes rot quickly, or bruise, or spread mold like wildfire if one happens to break in a clumsy transportation accident). So we only pack each tray 1 layer deep. It may not be the most efficient use of space, but the resulting tomato retains that peak quality.
One of the big things we looked for were juicers-- tomatoes whose skin has cracked enough to seep or spill their insides. With all the fluctuations this summer between heat and rain the tomatoes have many cracks, but that's not necessarily a problem. Cracks form when the inside of the tomato grows at a faster rate (due to sudden rain or a hot/sunny day following a rainy day) than the outside skin. Depending on the severity of the crack, most tomatoes will scar over and be fine-- others will crack too deep and become juicers. Purple Cherokees are very susceptible to cracking, but typically scar over without problem. Striped Germans (a very big tomato) also scars easily, but isn't able (due to its size) to scar over as easily.
So we dealt with all the tomatoes.
Next up-- the foreman got tied into tractor work, so the boss, Stretch, Newport and I headed down to the lower fields with buckets. We hit the string beans and picked the entire field length. It was mid-way through that the dark clouds started to cover the horizons and the weather front's cool winds picked up. The boss work right along side us. His daughters, wife and the farm girls have been driving him crazy-- so he was happy to be out with 'his boys.' Newport could get a stone to talk, so he found a ready conversation in the boss. The boss told us how he met his wife, the real and whole story-- from wild college to the west coast to letters to the farm and wedding. He told us about how her parents/family hated him because he wasn't jewish-- about how he didn't care and they eventually got over it. He told us boys about his marriage and all sorts of things an older man realizes-- we just kept picking along and listening to him.
We brought back the beans, packed up the van and headed out again. It was just us and the boss-- we cut zucchini, kousa squash, patty pan and egg plant (large variety/long oriental/fairy tale). We dropped off the catch, grabbed buckets/bags and got back in the van-- up to the hill top. We pulled four buckets of potatoes while the boss wandered out and picked 2 bags worth of corn. The thunder was sounding in the distance, but no lightning so no worries. We brought the buckets and corn back to the farm store, then loaded everything we got today into the cooler (tomatoes stay outside or in the barn, they are never refrigerated).
The weather above looked grim, but the boss said no worries. He had an inkling that all the trouble would blow south of us. Closing time was here, so we waved off and went on our way. Jockey ran out and tossed a cookie for me through the car window-- over the weekend he nearly cut his hand in 2, so it was bandaged up big time (don't know how he managed to throw that cookie). Took my leave and home.
Lots of writing here, so read up and take it easy. King summer is here. More tomorrow.
So get to it.
(all photo credit goes to Darlin, she took every picture posted today)
I think Darlin would agree with me saying-- why bother boiling the hell out of this stuff when it's better as it is.
lamb and all sorts of good stuff.
(If you've managed to make it this far, you might as well keep on through the end)
-----------------------------------------
2 Days in 1
Weather split the day in two. The morning started clear and sunny-- temperature in the upper 80Fs to low 90Fs. The afternoon saw a major front sweep over-- low dark clouds, thunder in the distance, chances of hail/tornadoes-- temperature fell to low 70Fs.
This morning was, finally, the kick off into high season. I met Stretch, Newport and the foreman out behind the store. We grabbed 1/2 buckets (you'll understand why soon) and waded out into the tomato fields. The first rush of Purple Cherokees and Moskvich are ready for picking. We pick tomatoes at 'the break point'-- where the green hue has faded whiter and the tints of red are starting to flush through the bottom. That's the ideal moment to pick-- when 95% of the tomatoes flavor is in the fruit, but you have some ripening lee-way for markets/CSA/farm store/local wholesale. The Moskvich are a pretty straight forward red tomato, so its easy to gauge where their fruits' ripeness stands. Cherokee's are a different matter entirely. Even at full ripeness they remain green around the stem connector, only the bottom/sides take on a deep maroon color. So we picked everything we could-- 'break point' tomatoes were the ideal, but we took anything full ripe/overripe too. The foreman also had us take all ripe/near-ripe but damaged tomatoes-- for the kitchen to make salsas/tomato sauce depending on the stage of fruit trauma. (We pick with 1/2 sized buckets because otherwise the weight of a full bucket would crush the tomatoes at the bottom)
After the Cherokees/Moskvich, Stretch and the foreman went through the striped romans while Newport and I picked a few buckets of plum-cherry tomatoes. We got everything that was good to go-- but there is a ton almost there. We finished the field just in time for lunch.
After lunch we began the post tomato ritual-- we gathered all the buckets under the back awning, stacked flat cardboard boxes, moistened up some rags and started shining up the tomatoes. Of course dead leaves/dirt/imperfections/juice/seeds cake onto the tomatoes and shining cleans that all off. But the real point to shining tomatoes is to sort them out after into their different classes:
--damaged/unsellables go into the kitchen bucket
--2nds (lightly damaged/horrendously ugly/very ripe tomatoes)-- people always come to the farm asking to buy seconds, but they really shouldn't bother. 2nds either go to the kitchen (if they're running desperately low) or to us. The boss brings them home for dinner, he fills bags with 'em for the crew or gives 'em to friends who make sauce. 2nds are a sacred right of farm work, we're never just gonna give them away (or sell 'em, that's what 1sts are for).
We make 2 subclasses for our 1sts
-- 1sts (not readies)-- these are perfect tomatoes (faint damage to unmarred) that have a ways to go before reaching full ripeness.
--1sts (ready)-- the perfect tomatoes, full/near ripe that can go to the store front/marketplace and is ready to sell immediately. Working on this farm has made all the hands into tomato snobs, so finding firsts has a very easy equation-- would you (mr. farmhand) pay money for this tomato? When you think like a picky customer you please the picky customer.
After all the staggered heat and rain the first picking (so the oldest tomatoes so far) were in tough shape. After the ragging was done we had: 5 full buckets for the kitchen, 7 trays of seconds, 4 trays of 1sts (not readies) and 3 trays of 1sts (ready). We pack the wiped down tomatoes real carefully onto cardboard trays, careful so that no tomato is touching another (touching tomatoes rot quickly, or bruise, or spread mold like wildfire if one happens to break in a clumsy transportation accident). So we only pack each tray 1 layer deep. It may not be the most efficient use of space, but the resulting tomato retains that peak quality.
One of the big things we looked for were juicers-- tomatoes whose skin has cracked enough to seep or spill their insides. With all the fluctuations this summer between heat and rain the tomatoes have many cracks, but that's not necessarily a problem. Cracks form when the inside of the tomato grows at a faster rate (due to sudden rain or a hot/sunny day following a rainy day) than the outside skin. Depending on the severity of the crack, most tomatoes will scar over and be fine-- others will crack too deep and become juicers. Purple Cherokees are very susceptible to cracking, but typically scar over without problem. Striped Germans (a very big tomato) also scars easily, but isn't able (due to its size) to scar over as easily.
So we dealt with all the tomatoes.
Next up-- the foreman got tied into tractor work, so the boss, Stretch, Newport and I headed down to the lower fields with buckets. We hit the string beans and picked the entire field length. It was mid-way through that the dark clouds started to cover the horizons and the weather front's cool winds picked up. The boss work right along side us. His daughters, wife and the farm girls have been driving him crazy-- so he was happy to be out with 'his boys.' Newport could get a stone to talk, so he found a ready conversation in the boss. The boss told us how he met his wife, the real and whole story-- from wild college to the west coast to letters to the farm and wedding. He told us about how her parents/family hated him because he wasn't jewish-- about how he didn't care and they eventually got over it. He told us boys about his marriage and all sorts of things an older man realizes-- we just kept picking along and listening to him.
We brought back the beans, packed up the van and headed out again. It was just us and the boss-- we cut zucchini, kousa squash, patty pan and egg plant (large variety/long oriental/fairy tale). We dropped off the catch, grabbed buckets/bags and got back in the van-- up to the hill top. We pulled four buckets of potatoes while the boss wandered out and picked 2 bags worth of corn. The thunder was sounding in the distance, but no lightning so no worries. We brought the buckets and corn back to the farm store, then loaded everything we got today into the cooler (tomatoes stay outside or in the barn, they are never refrigerated).
The weather above looked grim, but the boss said no worries. He had an inkling that all the trouble would blow south of us. Closing time was here, so we waved off and went on our way. Jockey ran out and tossed a cookie for me through the car window-- over the weekend he nearly cut his hand in 2, so it was bandaged up big time (don't know how he managed to throw that cookie). Took my leave and home.
Lots of writing here, so read up and take it easy. King summer is here. More tomorrow.
So get to it.
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