Full sun all day through and hardly a cloud in the sky. Cool breezes blew through the forest fields. Temperature moved between the mid 60Fs and lower 70Fs.
CSA, a market and a picking day. I headed down to the barn this morning and combed over the tomato trays-- either the barn cats are slacking off or they've developed a taste for tomatoes. Big bites through several striped german and rose. I squared away the store and CSA with tomatoes-- then off to business. Gizzie was watching the store today/packing up the market van. Newport, the foreman and I headed over to the big tomato field to join Old Rudolpho/his nephew. Picking the entire field is only going faster and faster-- what used to take 8-12 people two days now only took 5 people and the hours from morning to lunch. We filled 30 some buckets altogether-- but then it was lunch time.
After lunch Gizzie, Newport and I laid out the rest of the CSA. Looking pretty good today: tomatoes, corn, eggplant, cabbage, lettuce, cherry tomatoes, butternut, buttercup, ornamental pumpkins, beets, green/wax string beans, red/green peppers and 4 types of potatoes. The foreman took a long lunch to pick up his car from the repair shop-- they'd finally finished rebuilding it after a tree smashed in the roof during an early September storm. Newport and I got started on the afternoon picking-- we clipped 1 crate of swiss chard and 1 crate of half dinosaur kale/half red bore kale (things are looking pretty sad in the lower fields). Next we headed up to the forest fields and got a start clipping peppers. The foreman eventually returned in the tractor (bringing more buckets and boxes). The 4 long rows gave us: 2 big boxes of green peppers, 4 big boxes of red bull nose italian and 3 boxes of red bell peppers (plus 5 miscellaneous buckets worth).
By the time we washed, boxed and chilled the chard/kale/peppers it was near closing. The foreman was running around the store without saying a word. Gizzie, Newport and I joked around over a couple cigarettes behind the cooler-- everyone was waiting on the paychecks.
All paid and home again.
p.s. On we go. I'm working the early shift tomorrow. I'll see if I can't weasel my way into some basic tractor work. Then it is off to the fair on Sunday-- how much agriculture can a week hold? We're gonna find out.
Woof-- time for wine and to recline.
Take it easy.
Friday, September 30, 2011
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Pretty Purtie's Burly Birdy Heard He Hurt The Hurdy Gurdy
Rain, fog, thunder in the evening. Temperature in the mid 60Fs.
Things to talk about. I picked a hard haul of butternut/buttercup this morning with Newport and the foreman. I changed clothes at noon and was shipped out to cover one of the day's double markets. Few people showed up and those that did carried a hard chip on their shoulder. I came home late-- then went for a long drink at "The End" bar with Gizzie. (Warning: this could become a ramblin rant)
Over a table full of empty beer bottles and stuffed ash trays we worked Gizzie back from the brink. Farmer's Markets are a different breed of work-- the customers tend to be more pleasant than your average impatient bustler with a hand full of money. You have extended conversations as each one invariably asks about: the weather, x/y/z crop they heard is doing poorly, their garden, whether you are the boss's kid, recipes, why we don't have something we had last week or the big one-- "are these organic?" A typical day is generally enjoyable-- but no one can hound a person, twisting and tearing out your insides, like a farmer's market customer. Gizzie had his first taste of it and, still being new (having little idea how we did things things 2 months ago), he dug himself into a deep deep hole. It's like word boxing-- except you're hogtied and the customer is a cocky 1-0 heavyweight. And maybe that's the hardest part for the outsider to understand-- customers carry an edge, they turn vindictive quickly when they smell blood. They want to hurt you and they want to win.
I've dealt with these people many times before, I can deflect most of them off without incident-- but sometimes they're committed to an argument and it takes all I have to hold back my word torrent.
But examples and then the context:
The story I always tell from last year: I was working the big money market with the boss. It was an unusually sunny/hot/dry year-- so we planted okra and it thrived. It grew fat and big and delicious. We took okra to market. A woman had loaded up several bags of veggies at our tent and then packed a bag with 4lbs of okra, when she stopped. She plucked out a big one and extended it over to me, asking-- what the hell is this? I didn't have a clue what she meant-- it looked fat, big and delicious. She seemed genuinely mad, personally wronged, I couldn't understand what had happened. She said-- these are too big, you must have sprayed them. I knew for a fact that we hadn't, so I told her-- it's a perfect year, we took care of the plant, the vegetable did very well, what do you expect-- plants want to be big.
People can get so turned around in a genetic-food paranoia that they forget that in the right environment everything grows big-- just cause something isn't tiny, worm eaten and sad doesn't mean it's not healthy/spray-less. So anyway, the woman didn't say another word-- she just tipped her bag upside down and dumped out the okra into it's bin, then she dumped out all her other bags too. She leveled a long slow leer at me. She walked across to an organic tent and continued to stare a hole in my head, like I was a pig bleeding on the carpet.
I went crazy that afternoon. At first I felt I'd done something wrong, or that the boss had made some big secret mistake. Then I got angry, I thought-- who is this woman? Who does she think she is? Bah and Old Rudolpho/his sons/his daughters/his grandson, the boss/foreman/the boys, they sweated over this okra-- tilling the soil, seeding it, weeding it, watering it (frequently), praying the weather holds over it, picking it, packaging it and then I brought it for her to buy-- and that wasn't good enough for her? She had to make a show out of her offense at our crops? It was exactly what she'd hoped it was, but she turned up her nose. I was so mad that I stomped around the market looking for the woman so I could tell her off-- didn't find her (fortunately for me).
That was my first time, so it was the most memorable, but there were many others. It's a war zone out there.
Gizzie's first was a slightly more personal attack as he was alone. We bought some carrots this week from a neighboring farm. We boxed up some and took them to market. Gizzie is a man who cannot lie. A woman came up and began interrogating him about carrots-- how's this season for carrots, why do they look like this, are these your carrots? Gizzie was overwhelmed with questions he didn't know how to answer, but he knew and said-- no we didn't grow them. That sunk his ship. She laid into him hard-- so how do I know these are your corn, your tomatoes, your potatoes, peppers, lettuce, string beans, etc, etc? It's too late for corn, how can you have corn? These tomatoes are too big, what did you do to them? Where'd you get these beans? Gizzie was swallowed up whole. And everything was ours, grown/tilled and raised-- just not the carrots. Gizzie sounded like a child, but managed to say-- the carrots are good and we though you might like them, so I brought them here and I am sorry.
It chews you up. At a farmer's market we are Management/Factory/Sales Floor all rolled into one-- there's no mysterious line of command to pass up the buck, everything is our responsibility and our fault. But as a comedian once said: feeding people is sacred territory. We take our work seriously and personally. You can't help it-- I seeded the plants these tomatoes came from in March, transplanted them in May, weeded them through July and have been picking/shining/selling them since August. It takes 1-4 months to bring a plant from seed to fruit, we're there every day-- it takes a couple hours to a week for a customer to buy/cook/eat/shit out that fruit and they'll never think twice about it. You don't have to like them, you don't have to buy them, but never-- never insult my tomatoes. We bring them because we hope people will like them and, no, I am not sorry for that. Insulting our food and all its work-- is to insult Bah, the boss and a host of people just trying to make a good living by growing good vegetables. It makes my blood boil.
This has become a rant. Before I go on:
there are reasons I can understand that the "organic" matters.
1. Trace chemical pesticides can interact with chemotherapy treatments/other highly invasive disease medications. Suffering enough through poison treatments, you want to be 100% sure that it's not the stupid potatoes that are gonna tickle a drug the wrong way and accidentally kill grandma.
I've had only one person make clear this situation at a market. Last year an old woman at the big money market said-- my husband is undergoing chemotherapy treatments, I just need to be sure-- do you spray your tomatoes? Our tomatoes were clean and she was overjoyed. The boss helped her pick out things he knew were planted in fields far from the 1 block of corn we had sprayed. He gave her a discount and then pointed her to other tents he knew were straight spray-less/organic. She was polite, patient and well-intentioned. She had nothing to prove and I liked her for it. (ps-- she's a regular now, back every week. Her husband is recovering, just fine and dandy)
But that's the difference you see. The old woman was buying vegetables, many other customers aren't. Every asshole isn't a silent and dignified cancer patient. As I told Gizzie at "The End" bar: that lady who haunts you didn't come to buy carrots, she wanted to buy politics, a lifestyle, a story attached to carrots-- but the carrots are only incidental to the all important story. It's hard to explain, but people sometimes look at us with actual hatred -- we become little effigies for Monsanto, for supermarkets, for everything they disagree with and want destroyed-- just because we are honest, and tell them: yes we sprayed some of these veggies. Men and women walk away in disgust, their faces/voices contorted, from a table full of food. Some organic farms make a lot of money selling exactly what these people want: food attached to a lifestyle and politics.
But that's why. That's why I respect the boss and this farm: we just sell carrots. That's it, no more, nothing attached. It is food that will feed you-- we won't lie and tell you "today, you helped change the world by spending money and then cooking a dish." Buying our food won't coddle you into thinking you're a better person or somebody that you are not. It is just food. And all we do is make it and then sell it to you. No gimmicks: no straw hats and handmade banjos, no pamphlets on which choices are wrong, no model poster children telling you what a free/enlightened life they lead that you too can share by merely purchasing "the right" turnip. No lies, no gimmicks, just food.
It is just food. And still, we try our best to make it as cleanly, healthily and safely as possible-- but if fungicide didn't exist, there would be no tomatoes this year. Not one. And still we try to do without spraying.
Customers with a little knowledge and a big idea about themselves are a dangerous thing. Their barbs hurt because we care deep. And the honest truth is-- the irate customer doesn't. If they did: they would recognize that we are honest, that this work takes a heavy toll, that like a raspberry row our season is short and only so much can be done before we're harrowed into the soil. It's just food. If you want to eat it do so, if you don't-- walk away.
Take it easy.
Things to talk about. I picked a hard haul of butternut/buttercup this morning with Newport and the foreman. I changed clothes at noon and was shipped out to cover one of the day's double markets. Few people showed up and those that did carried a hard chip on their shoulder. I came home late-- then went for a long drink at "The End" bar with Gizzie. (Warning: this could become a ramblin rant)
Over a table full of empty beer bottles and stuffed ash trays we worked Gizzie back from the brink. Farmer's Markets are a different breed of work-- the customers tend to be more pleasant than your average impatient bustler with a hand full of money. You have extended conversations as each one invariably asks about: the weather, x/y/z crop they heard is doing poorly, their garden, whether you are the boss's kid, recipes, why we don't have something we had last week or the big one-- "are these organic?" A typical day is generally enjoyable-- but no one can hound a person, twisting and tearing out your insides, like a farmer's market customer. Gizzie had his first taste of it and, still being new (having little idea how we did things things 2 months ago), he dug himself into a deep deep hole. It's like word boxing-- except you're hogtied and the customer is a cocky 1-0 heavyweight. And maybe that's the hardest part for the outsider to understand-- customers carry an edge, they turn vindictive quickly when they smell blood. They want to hurt you and they want to win.
I've dealt with these people many times before, I can deflect most of them off without incident-- but sometimes they're committed to an argument and it takes all I have to hold back my word torrent.
But examples and then the context:
The story I always tell from last year: I was working the big money market with the boss. It was an unusually sunny/hot/dry year-- so we planted okra and it thrived. It grew fat and big and delicious. We took okra to market. A woman had loaded up several bags of veggies at our tent and then packed a bag with 4lbs of okra, when she stopped. She plucked out a big one and extended it over to me, asking-- what the hell is this? I didn't have a clue what she meant-- it looked fat, big and delicious. She seemed genuinely mad, personally wronged, I couldn't understand what had happened. She said-- these are too big, you must have sprayed them. I knew for a fact that we hadn't, so I told her-- it's a perfect year, we took care of the plant, the vegetable did very well, what do you expect-- plants want to be big.
People can get so turned around in a genetic-food paranoia that they forget that in the right environment everything grows big-- just cause something isn't tiny, worm eaten and sad doesn't mean it's not healthy/spray-less. So anyway, the woman didn't say another word-- she just tipped her bag upside down and dumped out the okra into it's bin, then she dumped out all her other bags too. She leveled a long slow leer at me. She walked across to an organic tent and continued to stare a hole in my head, like I was a pig bleeding on the carpet.
I went crazy that afternoon. At first I felt I'd done something wrong, or that the boss had made some big secret mistake. Then I got angry, I thought-- who is this woman? Who does she think she is? Bah and Old Rudolpho/his sons/his daughters/his grandson, the boss/foreman/the boys, they sweated over this okra-- tilling the soil, seeding it, weeding it, watering it (frequently), praying the weather holds over it, picking it, packaging it and then I brought it for her to buy-- and that wasn't good enough for her? She had to make a show out of her offense at our crops? It was exactly what she'd hoped it was, but she turned up her nose. I was so mad that I stomped around the market looking for the woman so I could tell her off-- didn't find her (fortunately for me).
That was my first time, so it was the most memorable, but there were many others. It's a war zone out there.
Gizzie's first was a slightly more personal attack as he was alone. We bought some carrots this week from a neighboring farm. We boxed up some and took them to market. Gizzie is a man who cannot lie. A woman came up and began interrogating him about carrots-- how's this season for carrots, why do they look like this, are these your carrots? Gizzie was overwhelmed with questions he didn't know how to answer, but he knew and said-- no we didn't grow them. That sunk his ship. She laid into him hard-- so how do I know these are your corn, your tomatoes, your potatoes, peppers, lettuce, string beans, etc, etc? It's too late for corn, how can you have corn? These tomatoes are too big, what did you do to them? Where'd you get these beans? Gizzie was swallowed up whole. And everything was ours, grown/tilled and raised-- just not the carrots. Gizzie sounded like a child, but managed to say-- the carrots are good and we though you might like them, so I brought them here and I am sorry.
It chews you up. At a farmer's market we are Management/Factory/Sales Floor all rolled into one-- there's no mysterious line of command to pass up the buck, everything is our responsibility and our fault. But as a comedian once said: feeding people is sacred territory. We take our work seriously and personally. You can't help it-- I seeded the plants these tomatoes came from in March, transplanted them in May, weeded them through July and have been picking/shining/selling them since August. It takes 1-4 months to bring a plant from seed to fruit, we're there every day-- it takes a couple hours to a week for a customer to buy/cook/eat/shit out that fruit and they'll never think twice about it. You don't have to like them, you don't have to buy them, but never-- never insult my tomatoes. We bring them because we hope people will like them and, no, I am not sorry for that. Insulting our food and all its work-- is to insult Bah, the boss and a host of people just trying to make a good living by growing good vegetables. It makes my blood boil.
This has become a rant. Before I go on:
there are reasons I can understand that the "organic" matters.
1. Trace chemical pesticides can interact with chemotherapy treatments/other highly invasive disease medications. Suffering enough through poison treatments, you want to be 100% sure that it's not the stupid potatoes that are gonna tickle a drug the wrong way and accidentally kill grandma.
I've had only one person make clear this situation at a market. Last year an old woman at the big money market said-- my husband is undergoing chemotherapy treatments, I just need to be sure-- do you spray your tomatoes? Our tomatoes were clean and she was overjoyed. The boss helped her pick out things he knew were planted in fields far from the 1 block of corn we had sprayed. He gave her a discount and then pointed her to other tents he knew were straight spray-less/organic. She was polite, patient and well-intentioned. She had nothing to prove and I liked her for it. (ps-- she's a regular now, back every week. Her husband is recovering, just fine and dandy)
But that's the difference you see. The old woman was buying vegetables, many other customers aren't. Every asshole isn't a silent and dignified cancer patient. As I told Gizzie at "The End" bar: that lady who haunts you didn't come to buy carrots, she wanted to buy politics, a lifestyle, a story attached to carrots-- but the carrots are only incidental to the all important story. It's hard to explain, but people sometimes look at us with actual hatred -- we become little effigies for Monsanto, for supermarkets, for everything they disagree with and want destroyed-- just because we are honest, and tell them: yes we sprayed some of these veggies. Men and women walk away in disgust, their faces/voices contorted, from a table full of food. Some organic farms make a lot of money selling exactly what these people want: food attached to a lifestyle and politics.
But that's why. That's why I respect the boss and this farm: we just sell carrots. That's it, no more, nothing attached. It is food that will feed you-- we won't lie and tell you "today, you helped change the world by spending money and then cooking a dish." Buying our food won't coddle you into thinking you're a better person or somebody that you are not. It is just food. And all we do is make it and then sell it to you. No gimmicks: no straw hats and handmade banjos, no pamphlets on which choices are wrong, no model poster children telling you what a free/enlightened life they lead that you too can share by merely purchasing "the right" turnip. No lies, no gimmicks, just food.
It is just food. And still, we try our best to make it as cleanly, healthily and safely as possible-- but if fungicide didn't exist, there would be no tomatoes this year. Not one. And still we try to do without spraying.
Customers with a little knowledge and a big idea about themselves are a dangerous thing. Their barbs hurt because we care deep. And the honest truth is-- the irate customer doesn't. If they did: they would recognize that we are honest, that this work takes a heavy toll, that like a raspberry row our season is short and only so much can be done before we're harrowed into the soil. It's just food. If you want to eat it do so, if you don't-- walk away.
Take it easy.
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
A Good Man Tries
Full sun all day through-- dodged the scattered showers, but thunderclouds could be in tomorrow. Temperature climbed into the mid-upper 70Fs.
Just to get it out-- the congressman/USDA officials/members of the board of Agriculture/an army of aides/press descended onto the farm today, but I didn't see a thing. We were up pulling potatoes and missed the whole event. I had a long sit down with the boss after closing, everyone else had left, and he told me the happenings. The parade of officials arrived and the boss ushered them around the farm store (showing them the kitchen facilities/business), he took 'em to the barn and around the yard. The entourage settled down out back and talked policy. The big federal farm bill is renewed every 5 years, this is the 5th year now, and major budget cuts are in order. Our congressman is of the opinion (as is the boss) that the majority of these cuts should come in the form of slashing commodity subsidies (corn/other staple crops are often underwritten, encouraging/discouraging their growth). It's big money-- hundreds of millions and more. Lots of money that we never see at least, we're a small farm not industrial agriculture scale. The boss took the opportunity to wrench his farm bureau presidency weight, strongly advocating for a more extreme budget-- cut as much of the subsidies as possible, beyond balance the budget necessities and then use the freed up funds to fund/incentivize agricultural-method research. So instead of forking out 100 million on new lab-crop research, put some money (any money), into development of farming methods. Sometimes how you plant is more important than what brand of seed you're planting-- I mean good healthy crops come from good healthy seeds. But-- arranging a specific crop row in the right place and in the right manner can do more (with less) to prevent plant mold/fungus, than expensive anti-fungal spray/spray resistant seeds. The boss made his case on a number of issues-- most of the visit was spent talking, little surprise. (Fortunately, there's no plan to change the young farmers land grants-- aimed to help new/landless farmers get established. These programs are chump change [.01% of their budget] when compared to subsidies.)
But we picked. Today was the first day we really felt the full load from losing Bah and most of the crew. We needed everything and we picked everything. We loaded all the bucket into the front loader and the foreman/Newport/Gizzie/Me climbed aboard the tractor, heading up and out to the forest fields. Beans, Beans, Beans. We hunkered down and picked string beans straight through to lunch.
Viking was back and came to visit while we ate sandwiches. She told us the full story: Viking wrote a 6 page ultimatum-letter and gave it to the boss. She was furious at the time--Me and Gizzie started to feel real bad for the boss. He had called up Viking afterward-- he was devastated reading that letter. He appreciated all she had to say about improving the business, but simply didn't have the money to pay her more-- this train wreck season has him on the money-ropes. Reconciling, Viking agreed to work Wednesdays through the remainder of the Fall. She'd forgiven the boss, at least partially, but Viking turned beet red and shook when talking about the daughter. Everyone has needs and demands-- in our case all of 'em fall at the boss's door. Gizzie and I scooted around the greenhouse for cigarettes, we decided to work for free if the boss needed it. A good boss is hard to find, a good man is even rarer. Yesterday, while at market, Gizzie asked the boss his side of the Rosie (the cow) saga-- he replied:
"Some people are straight as an arrow, like my brother, they need things to be just a certain way and when anything/anyone steps out of line they get mad. They belittle and write off people they don't understand as crazy. I always tried not to be that way. Yeah, there was a woman who was in love with one of the cows-- wanted to buy it save it keep it as a pet. To tell you the truth, I understand a bit where she's coming from-- people love animals, that's not so strange. Some people get attached to cows, some get attached to dogs or horses. I bottle fed Rosie twice a day for a year. It broke my heart to see her repeatedly kick away her own calf when it tried to suckle. It broke my heart."
We'd work for free.
After lunch we headed back up to the forest field and finished off the remaining string beans (altogether we had 14 buckets of green, 7 wax and 4 roman). Old Rudolpho and his nephew went through the peppers while we picked the 3 eggplant varieties. It's certainly pleasant having someone to talk to for once-- Gizzie did well for his first bean/eggplant extravaganza. We got 2 big boxes of green peppers, 3 buckets of fairy tale eggplant, 4 buckets of big eggplant and 6 buckets of oriental. On to the next line of business-- weck dropped off the haul, grabbed the hoes and more buckets: it was time for pulling potatoes.
The foreman pulled out the field chart-- the potato area is a mess of 1/2 rows of one variety mixed in with 1/3 a row of others. We finally got things straight, found then rows where we needed to be, and got to work. 4 buckets of kennebunk, 4 buckets of french fingerlings, 4 buckets of yukon golds and 4 buckets of another white potato variety (I think the variety sounds something like Satori or Sabatini, can't remember for sure). Gizzie left early for class-- the rest of us pushed through the end of the day. We dropped the buckets behind the store just in time for closing.
As I said-- I talked to the boss for a good while after work. We chatted about the congressman's visit, the crops, Viking, his doctor appointment, physical therapy (I know that rodeo well) , this season, the storm system coming and about me working this weekend.
Homeward bound.
It's gonna be a different day tomorrow-- the daughter wants to go to a concert or something, so I'm covering her market. Oh well, it is something new to do.
Take it easy.
P.S.
Gizzie asked me what the ball things are, something possessed me and I told him-- they're Harlot's Fruit. So that's what we call 'em now-- though Viking corrected us, it's actually a dark walnut tree and the nut grows inside the ball bit. Still, it's Harlot's Fruit. It grows right alongside the barn. (Not a bad picture for a cellphone, maybe I'll use it's camera from now on)
Just to get it out-- the congressman/USDA officials/members of the board of Agriculture/an army of aides/press descended onto the farm today, but I didn't see a thing. We were up pulling potatoes and missed the whole event. I had a long sit down with the boss after closing, everyone else had left, and he told me the happenings. The parade of officials arrived and the boss ushered them around the farm store (showing them the kitchen facilities/business), he took 'em to the barn and around the yard. The entourage settled down out back and talked policy. The big federal farm bill is renewed every 5 years, this is the 5th year now, and major budget cuts are in order. Our congressman is of the opinion (as is the boss) that the majority of these cuts should come in the form of slashing commodity subsidies (corn/other staple crops are often underwritten, encouraging/discouraging their growth). It's big money-- hundreds of millions and more. Lots of money that we never see at least, we're a small farm not industrial agriculture scale. The boss took the opportunity to wrench his farm bureau presidency weight, strongly advocating for a more extreme budget-- cut as much of the subsidies as possible, beyond balance the budget necessities and then use the freed up funds to fund/incentivize agricultural-method research. So instead of forking out 100 million on new lab-crop research, put some money (any money), into development of farming methods. Sometimes how you plant is more important than what brand of seed you're planting-- I mean good healthy crops come from good healthy seeds. But-- arranging a specific crop row in the right place and in the right manner can do more (with less) to prevent plant mold/fungus, than expensive anti-fungal spray/spray resistant seeds. The boss made his case on a number of issues-- most of the visit was spent talking, little surprise. (Fortunately, there's no plan to change the young farmers land grants-- aimed to help new/landless farmers get established. These programs are chump change [.01% of their budget] when compared to subsidies.)
But we picked. Today was the first day we really felt the full load from losing Bah and most of the crew. We needed everything and we picked everything. We loaded all the bucket into the front loader and the foreman/Newport/Gizzie/Me climbed aboard the tractor, heading up and out to the forest fields. Beans, Beans, Beans. We hunkered down and picked string beans straight through to lunch.
Viking was back and came to visit while we ate sandwiches. She told us the full story: Viking wrote a 6 page ultimatum-letter and gave it to the boss. She was furious at the time--Me and Gizzie started to feel real bad for the boss. He had called up Viking afterward-- he was devastated reading that letter. He appreciated all she had to say about improving the business, but simply didn't have the money to pay her more-- this train wreck season has him on the money-ropes. Reconciling, Viking agreed to work Wednesdays through the remainder of the Fall. She'd forgiven the boss, at least partially, but Viking turned beet red and shook when talking about the daughter. Everyone has needs and demands-- in our case all of 'em fall at the boss's door. Gizzie and I scooted around the greenhouse for cigarettes, we decided to work for free if the boss needed it. A good boss is hard to find, a good man is even rarer. Yesterday, while at market, Gizzie asked the boss his side of the Rosie (the cow) saga-- he replied:
"Some people are straight as an arrow, like my brother, they need things to be just a certain way and when anything/anyone steps out of line they get mad. They belittle and write off people they don't understand as crazy. I always tried not to be that way. Yeah, there was a woman who was in love with one of the cows-- wanted to buy it save it keep it as a pet. To tell you the truth, I understand a bit where she's coming from-- people love animals, that's not so strange. Some people get attached to cows, some get attached to dogs or horses. I bottle fed Rosie twice a day for a year. It broke my heart to see her repeatedly kick away her own calf when it tried to suckle. It broke my heart."
We'd work for free.
After lunch we headed back up to the forest field and finished off the remaining string beans (altogether we had 14 buckets of green, 7 wax and 4 roman). Old Rudolpho and his nephew went through the peppers while we picked the 3 eggplant varieties. It's certainly pleasant having someone to talk to for once-- Gizzie did well for his first bean/eggplant extravaganza. We got 2 big boxes of green peppers, 3 buckets of fairy tale eggplant, 4 buckets of big eggplant and 6 buckets of oriental. On to the next line of business-- weck dropped off the haul, grabbed the hoes and more buckets: it was time for pulling potatoes.
The foreman pulled out the field chart-- the potato area is a mess of 1/2 rows of one variety mixed in with 1/3 a row of others. We finally got things straight, found then rows where we needed to be, and got to work. 4 buckets of kennebunk, 4 buckets of french fingerlings, 4 buckets of yukon golds and 4 buckets of another white potato variety (I think the variety sounds something like Satori or Sabatini, can't remember for sure). Gizzie left early for class-- the rest of us pushed through the end of the day. We dropped the buckets behind the store just in time for closing.
As I said-- I talked to the boss for a good while after work. We chatted about the congressman's visit, the crops, Viking, his doctor appointment, physical therapy (I know that rodeo well) , this season, the storm system coming and about me working this weekend.
Homeward bound.
It's gonna be a different day tomorrow-- the daughter wants to go to a concert or something, so I'm covering her market. Oh well, it is something new to do.
Take it easy.
P.S.
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Shining Through
Mostly sunny throughout the day, only a few odd clouds. Temperature never climbed above the low 70Fs.
It was a picking morning.
Gizzie and I got started setting up the boxes for today's big money market. Some of the pumpkins out in front of the store had started to rot and cave in, so we mulled through the rows and culled out the stinkers. Newport and I picked through the zucchini/summer squash rows alongside the greenhouse-- not much happening there anymore, but we still managed enough for market plus another bushel for the store. It was time to start the real business. The boss took me, Newport and the foreman down to the corn in the lower fields-- we picked 5 burlap sacks full. We headed straight up to the forest field: picked 3 buckets of green peppers, 2 buckets worth of beets, 1 bucket of oriental eggplant and 1 bucket of fat eggplant.
We sat around on the tractor talking with the boss awhile-- he's getting prepared to meet the congressman tomorrow. The nature of the visit has changed several times over-- as of now, it's all business. The congressman wants to see us going about our everyday routine, so he can get a feel for what it takes for small agriculture to stay afloat. The boss has a list of things he's ready to pounce on, but we'll have to wait until tomorrow for that.
Gizzie had the van mostly loaded up when we returned. We boxed up the haul and chilled the remainders. The boss took Gizzie and headed out for market, I slumped out back for lunch.
After lunch I headed down to join Old Rudolpho and his nephew for some tomato shining. I scrubbed like a man possessed. With all the buckets from yesterday it was a monumental job for just 3 people. It took the rest of the day--I stayed late with Old Rudolpho to finish the last 4 buckets (90 some buckets total, ~70ish 10lb boxes for wholesale, 24 big trays to ripen, 15 big trays of seconds).
The foreman dragged me up to the store for an emergency session midway through the tomatoes. A business woman had arrived and demanded 6 baskets of our holiday-gift-wrapped-jams-- problem was everything was stowed away in the barn. We tore the place apart, finding the nice wicker baskets/wrap paper/Styrofoam padding/ faux hay/shrink wrap. The foreman hauled out the jam while I assembled the basket/paper combinations-- I packed in the jams and hay, then the foreman sealed the shrink wrap over each with an industrial heat gun. The business woman was very apologetic about the last minute order, even while insisting we complete it immediately. At least we got a heap of money in return.
Then back to the tomatoes, shining to sunset.
Tomorrow is the big day. My boots are all ready, I saved my good work pants (the only ones not riddled with holes all over the knees/thighs/pockets/ass). This weekend's plans are coming together-- Gizzie, his girlfriend, me and our dear mutual friend (we'll call him bonesaw) are going to the big regional carnival/agricultural fair. It's a big thing-- most people go for the carnie rides/booths/bullshit, but there's extensive seminars/competitions for all things agriculture. Several state farm bureaus chip in on the affair-- a union congress is even held there behind closed doors. The foreman went last weekend, and since we're all professional agriculturists-- the boss got him complimentary admission tickets/parking passes. Once the congressman fiasco is over tomorrow afternoon, I'm gonna see if I can get the boss to give our crew the same high class treatment. Anyway, it'll be good. I am gonna keep my eyes peeled for all things chickens/herding dogs.
But that's all a few days away. Tomorrow first.
Take it easy.
It was a picking morning.
Gizzie and I got started setting up the boxes for today's big money market. Some of the pumpkins out in front of the store had started to rot and cave in, so we mulled through the rows and culled out the stinkers. Newport and I picked through the zucchini/summer squash rows alongside the greenhouse-- not much happening there anymore, but we still managed enough for market plus another bushel for the store. It was time to start the real business. The boss took me, Newport and the foreman down to the corn in the lower fields-- we picked 5 burlap sacks full. We headed straight up to the forest field: picked 3 buckets of green peppers, 2 buckets worth of beets, 1 bucket of oriental eggplant and 1 bucket of fat eggplant.
We sat around on the tractor talking with the boss awhile-- he's getting prepared to meet the congressman tomorrow. The nature of the visit has changed several times over-- as of now, it's all business. The congressman wants to see us going about our everyday routine, so he can get a feel for what it takes for small agriculture to stay afloat. The boss has a list of things he's ready to pounce on, but we'll have to wait until tomorrow for that.
Gizzie had the van mostly loaded up when we returned. We boxed up the haul and chilled the remainders. The boss took Gizzie and headed out for market, I slumped out back for lunch.
After lunch I headed down to join Old Rudolpho and his nephew for some tomato shining. I scrubbed like a man possessed. With all the buckets from yesterday it was a monumental job for just 3 people. It took the rest of the day--I stayed late with Old Rudolpho to finish the last 4 buckets (90 some buckets total, ~70ish 10lb boxes for wholesale, 24 big trays to ripen, 15 big trays of seconds).
The foreman dragged me up to the store for an emergency session midway through the tomatoes. A business woman had arrived and demanded 6 baskets of our holiday-gift-wrapped-jams-- problem was everything was stowed away in the barn. We tore the place apart, finding the nice wicker baskets/wrap paper/Styrofoam padding/ faux hay/shrink wrap. The foreman hauled out the jam while I assembled the basket/paper combinations-- I packed in the jams and hay, then the foreman sealed the shrink wrap over each with an industrial heat gun. The business woman was very apologetic about the last minute order, even while insisting we complete it immediately. At least we got a heap of money in return.
Then back to the tomatoes, shining to sunset.
Tomorrow is the big day. My boots are all ready, I saved my good work pants (the only ones not riddled with holes all over the knees/thighs/pockets/ass). This weekend's plans are coming together-- Gizzie, his girlfriend, me and our dear mutual friend (we'll call him bonesaw) are going to the big regional carnival/agricultural fair. It's a big thing-- most people go for the carnie rides/booths/bullshit, but there's extensive seminars/competitions for all things agriculture. Several state farm bureaus chip in on the affair-- a union congress is even held there behind closed doors. The foreman went last weekend, and since we're all professional agriculturists-- the boss got him complimentary admission tickets/parking passes. Once the congressman fiasco is over tomorrow afternoon, I'm gonna see if I can get the boss to give our crew the same high class treatment. Anyway, it'll be good. I am gonna keep my eyes peeled for all things chickens/herding dogs.
But that's all a few days away. Tomorrow first.
Take it easy.
Monday, September 26, 2011
All Bets Are Off
Surprisingly sunny-- no rain, no clouds all day. We narrowly dodged another week full of rain, but the damage is done. The temperature clung around 75F in the sun.
All bets are off, who knows what will happen next.
The last two weeks of rain seriously compromised our fall harvest. Good weather will keep us hobbling a little longer, but more bad weather will end it. I was down in the city visiting Darlin this past weekend (hence no posting) and a lot happened in my absence.
First of all-- Bah has been let go for the season. I couldn't believe when I heard it, I really have a soft spot for the man-- he works harder, smarter and longer hours than anyone I've ever met. It's a shame for him to move along without so much as a handshake. Old Rudolpho and his nephew are still around, but his daughters and friends are gone. But even Old Rudolpho is getting ready to go home for winter-- 1-2 weeks before he boards the plane. Bad news, but worse still-- the boss's daughter told me and Gizzie: Viking rolled her gambit and crashed-- the Boss couldn't afford to give her a raise, so she gave her 2 weeks notice on Sunday. She can't be replaced. Things are gonna get real quiet around the farm-- I hope the boss knows how much we need Viking around. It'll just be me, Gizzie, Newport, the foreman and the boss. It's a sad state of affairs.
But the sun was here. Maybe too little too late, it's here all the same and we made the most of it. I joined up with the boys and we all headed up the hilltop to the fall tomato fields. The weather held this weekend, so there was quite a load ready for picking-- we pulled more than the boss expected (38 full buckets, instead of the 24 buckets last week). The foreman was in a sour mood and stalked behind Gizzie, yelling out furious for every tomato he missed (only 2). Still, Gizzie and I managed to pick along pleasantly-- it was nice catching up after my little weekend trip. We finished the field just in time for lunch.
After lunch it was time for more tomatoes. Gizzie was spared, he was dragged into the kitchen for jam/sauce duty. The rest of us joined Old Rudolpho and his nephew in the big field (what's left of it). The 28 big tomato rows are hanging on by a thread-- the nephew says there is no way they can last more than another week. We marched through the entirety of the field -- filling another 50 buckets (another big surprise)-- before turning onto the trellised tomatoes (18 buckets). Gotta love these solid harvest days, they shake the cobwebs out.
The day had grown late by the time we finished the cherry tomatoes-- one more job left. We hiked up to the forest field and set down in the string beans to get whatever we could manage before closing. The foreman mellowed out a bit and was chumming around with Newport-- I kept up alongside Old Rudolpho, picking fast and hard. We packed 7 full bean buckets into van at closing time and rolled back to the store/home.
Whatever happens the show goes on. This Wednesday the congressman is coming-- so it's time to patch up the pants and wash the work shirts. My trench foot has mostly cleared and I spent all of last night fixing up my boots. They needed serious help. At Darlin's suggestion I mixed up a rubbing alcohol/water solution and covered the interiors of the boots-- killing off the mold starting to settle inside there. Pulled out the laces and scrubbed off a month's worth of mud, then I poured a tablespoon of baking soda into each boot. Let 'em air dry by the fan all night and today (wore my old boots with the busted toes to work). They're looking/smelling a lot better tonight-- so I've reapplied a few rounds of sealant/waterproofing material. Maybe they'll be ready for tomorrow.
Take it easy.
All bets are off, who knows what will happen next.
The last two weeks of rain seriously compromised our fall harvest. Good weather will keep us hobbling a little longer, but more bad weather will end it. I was down in the city visiting Darlin this past weekend (hence no posting) and a lot happened in my absence.
First of all-- Bah has been let go for the season. I couldn't believe when I heard it, I really have a soft spot for the man-- he works harder, smarter and longer hours than anyone I've ever met. It's a shame for him to move along without so much as a handshake. Old Rudolpho and his nephew are still around, but his daughters and friends are gone. But even Old Rudolpho is getting ready to go home for winter-- 1-2 weeks before he boards the plane. Bad news, but worse still-- the boss's daughter told me and Gizzie: Viking rolled her gambit and crashed-- the Boss couldn't afford to give her a raise, so she gave her 2 weeks notice on Sunday. She can't be replaced. Things are gonna get real quiet around the farm-- I hope the boss knows how much we need Viking around. It'll just be me, Gizzie, Newport, the foreman and the boss. It's a sad state of affairs.
But the sun was here. Maybe too little too late, it's here all the same and we made the most of it. I joined up with the boys and we all headed up the hilltop to the fall tomato fields. The weather held this weekend, so there was quite a load ready for picking-- we pulled more than the boss expected (38 full buckets, instead of the 24 buckets last week). The foreman was in a sour mood and stalked behind Gizzie, yelling out furious for every tomato he missed (only 2). Still, Gizzie and I managed to pick along pleasantly-- it was nice catching up after my little weekend trip. We finished the field just in time for lunch.
After lunch it was time for more tomatoes. Gizzie was spared, he was dragged into the kitchen for jam/sauce duty. The rest of us joined Old Rudolpho and his nephew in the big field (what's left of it). The 28 big tomato rows are hanging on by a thread-- the nephew says there is no way they can last more than another week. We marched through the entirety of the field -- filling another 50 buckets (another big surprise)-- before turning onto the trellised tomatoes (18 buckets). Gotta love these solid harvest days, they shake the cobwebs out.
The day had grown late by the time we finished the cherry tomatoes-- one more job left. We hiked up to the forest field and set down in the string beans to get whatever we could manage before closing. The foreman mellowed out a bit and was chumming around with Newport-- I kept up alongside Old Rudolpho, picking fast and hard. We packed 7 full bean buckets into van at closing time and rolled back to the store/home.
Whatever happens the show goes on. This Wednesday the congressman is coming-- so it's time to patch up the pants and wash the work shirts. My trench foot has mostly cleared and I spent all of last night fixing up my boots. They needed serious help. At Darlin's suggestion I mixed up a rubbing alcohol/water solution and covered the interiors of the boots-- killing off the mold starting to settle inside there. Pulled out the laces and scrubbed off a month's worth of mud, then I poured a tablespoon of baking soda into each boot. Let 'em air dry by the fan all night and today (wore my old boots with the busted toes to work). They're looking/smelling a lot better tonight-- so I've reapplied a few rounds of sealant/waterproofing material. Maybe they'll be ready for tomorrow.
Take it easy.
Thursday, September 22, 2011
Sugar Pumpkin
Steady morning rain lifted after noon, actually got some sun in the late day. Temperature hung to the upper 60Fs.
Today was the double markets, so we spent a good chunk of the morning sorting out the crates. Gizzie oversaw most of the organizing while Newport and I filled up the store displays. Next up-- The foreman and I set out to the forest fields and cut 8 bushels worth of green peppers. After the sorting and the boxing, I got started laying out the CSA. Quite a spread today: 4 types of potatoes (red french fingerlings, yukon golds, kennebunks, reds), lettuce, spinach, butternut & butter cup squash, beets, red & green peppers, cabbage, tomatoes, cherry tomatoes, chard, kale, eggplant, zucchini, string beans (green and yellow wax) and tiny ornamental pumpkins. No corn today-- the cold slowed down the ear development on our late fields, so nothing is ready to pick. They're inching along, but it'll take a few sunny days to spring 'em to readiness.
Bah and Old Rudolpho's family took the day off on account of the rain-- smart choice, as usual.
It was almost lunch by the time everything was ready. We loaded up the van, then Newport and I followed the boss/his daughter to the first market to set everything up. Back to the farm and a late lunch.
After lunch it was rinse, wash and repeat. I followed the boss and Gizzie off to second market-- got everything set up there. Finally got back to the farm and to real work-- Newport, the foreman and I headed off again to the forest fields. We cut 4 big crates worth of beets--washed 'em, tucked some into the CSA and chilled the rest (the cooler is finally up and running again). The boss forgot to leave us anymore jobs so it was time to get creative. First-- we tractored up to the hilltop and picked a few front loader's full of sugar pumpkins (meaty and sweet, great for pies). After stowing several hauls away, we filled a picked a big load of tiny ornamental/ larger ornamental pumpkins. We washed off the field dirt and arranged them around the store and gardens-- precious few days left for getting ready, the big congress visit is next Wednesday.
Closing time, just in time.
Health Asides: Still having problems with my left hand. I bound my fingers together all day and that spread out some of the strain. I doubt anything is broken (hairline fractures, etc), but hurts like a demon.
Doing some major drying work on my boots tonight. All the wet has done a number on the feet. Had my mother (a nurse) take a look at the rash spreading over my right foot-- she couldn't be sure: either its from rubbing against the wet boot leather or its a bad bacteria (think the early stages of trench foot). God damn it.
Time to get busy patching myself together-- one more day then its a long (2 day) weekend.
Take it easy.
Today was the double markets, so we spent a good chunk of the morning sorting out the crates. Gizzie oversaw most of the organizing while Newport and I filled up the store displays. Next up-- The foreman and I set out to the forest fields and cut 8 bushels worth of green peppers. After the sorting and the boxing, I got started laying out the CSA. Quite a spread today: 4 types of potatoes (red french fingerlings, yukon golds, kennebunks, reds), lettuce, spinach, butternut & butter cup squash, beets, red & green peppers, cabbage, tomatoes, cherry tomatoes, chard, kale, eggplant, zucchini, string beans (green and yellow wax) and tiny ornamental pumpkins. No corn today-- the cold slowed down the ear development on our late fields, so nothing is ready to pick. They're inching along, but it'll take a few sunny days to spring 'em to readiness.
Bah and Old Rudolpho's family took the day off on account of the rain-- smart choice, as usual.
It was almost lunch by the time everything was ready. We loaded up the van, then Newport and I followed the boss/his daughter to the first market to set everything up. Back to the farm and a late lunch.
After lunch it was rinse, wash and repeat. I followed the boss and Gizzie off to second market-- got everything set up there. Finally got back to the farm and to real work-- Newport, the foreman and I headed off again to the forest fields. We cut 4 big crates worth of beets--washed 'em, tucked some into the CSA and chilled the rest (the cooler is finally up and running again). The boss forgot to leave us anymore jobs so it was time to get creative. First-- we tractored up to the hilltop and picked a few front loader's full of sugar pumpkins (meaty and sweet, great for pies). After stowing several hauls away, we filled a picked a big load of tiny ornamental/ larger ornamental pumpkins. We washed off the field dirt and arranged them around the store and gardens-- precious few days left for getting ready, the big congress visit is next Wednesday.
Closing time, just in time.
Health Asides: Still having problems with my left hand. I bound my fingers together all day and that spread out some of the strain. I doubt anything is broken (hairline fractures, etc), but hurts like a demon.
Doing some major drying work on my boots tonight. All the wet has done a number on the feet. Had my mother (a nurse) take a look at the rash spreading over my right foot-- she couldn't be sure: either its from rubbing against the wet boot leather or its a bad bacteria (think the early stages of trench foot). God damn it.
Time to get busy patching myself together-- one more day then its a long (2 day) weekend.
Take it easy.
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Turning
Full sun all day through-- good, good, good. The temperature reached the upper 70Fs.
As of today things are looking better. The recent cold snap shocked the corps, but also killed off the southern fruit flies and their larvae. Today's sun and warmth dried out the remaining raspberries-- the crew managed to pick a few trays worth before closing. There's more rain coming tomorrow/over the weekend, but hope springs eternal. Some raspberries might turn out.
After the store was squared away the real business began. The foreman, Newport, Gizzie and I hitched up the wagon/rolled up to the hilltop for potato pulling. All the weeds were mowed down yesterday, so new varieties this time around. We got: 2 buckets of reds, 3 buckets of Kennebunk, 3 buckets of yukon gold and 3 buckets of red french fingerlings. The soil was dense from the rain, making the hoeing slow. I screwed myself up a bit in the left hand, one of my finger joints tipped out of wack while cutting through some packed clay-- maybe I hit a rock. Anyway, I bound a couple of my fingers together and got back working. Hurts like a devil and I can't bear any weight on my left hand, but so it goes. I was in a sad head-state from the get-go-- Newport and Gizzie prattled along trying to snap me out of it. Deep funks take a while to squeeze out from underneath.
We washed and laid out the potatoes for CSA-- then lunch time.
Gizzie and I hid beneath the awning for sandwiches. Viking found us and needed to release some poison steam. She has the patience of a martyred saint, but no tolerance for systematic disrespect. The boss has been on a hair trigger all season on account of his pain/rapid decline in health. I wasn't aware, but he's taken out his frustrations on Viking. And she has had it-- no raise, 6 day work weeks and forgotten promises. She went on like a volcano. Viking planned on giving her two week notice today. He'd be devastated. Fortunately for him, the boss was on pain medication again-- acting nice as peachy rain. Viking cooled down and decided to wait a few more days before making any serious decisions.
After lunch we rode back up the hilltop to cut winter squash. We filled the bucket till overflowing with butternut and piled up a mountain of buttercup in the wagon. Big squash (like these) go easily and quickly. Back down at the store we washed and piled up mounds of squash for CSA, then stowed the rest in the greenhouse. Gizzie left early for class-- he gotta finally finish up his degree. Newport and I got busy rearranging the cooler/washing up everything Bah and Old Rudolpho picked. Then it was finally time to do something about the marble-molded butternut. We set up a table and painstakingly skinned several dozen squash. Once skinned, we cut off the stems, sliced them in two lengthwise, scooped the seed gunk, quartered up the meat and bagged it for sale. We went through several rounds of this for the rest of the day-- easy going.
They call for more rain tomorrow-- more rain, more worries. Endless worries. Time to scrub off the squash juice and eat.
Take it easy.
Post-Aside: My cousin had the baby this afternoon! Hadley-Rose is her name-- the next generation is here!
As of today things are looking better. The recent cold snap shocked the corps, but also killed off the southern fruit flies and their larvae. Today's sun and warmth dried out the remaining raspberries-- the crew managed to pick a few trays worth before closing. There's more rain coming tomorrow/over the weekend, but hope springs eternal. Some raspberries might turn out.
After the store was squared away the real business began. The foreman, Newport, Gizzie and I hitched up the wagon/rolled up to the hilltop for potato pulling. All the weeds were mowed down yesterday, so new varieties this time around. We got: 2 buckets of reds, 3 buckets of Kennebunk, 3 buckets of yukon gold and 3 buckets of red french fingerlings. The soil was dense from the rain, making the hoeing slow. I screwed myself up a bit in the left hand, one of my finger joints tipped out of wack while cutting through some packed clay-- maybe I hit a rock. Anyway, I bound a couple of my fingers together and got back working. Hurts like a devil and I can't bear any weight on my left hand, but so it goes. I was in a sad head-state from the get-go-- Newport and Gizzie prattled along trying to snap me out of it. Deep funks take a while to squeeze out from underneath.
We washed and laid out the potatoes for CSA-- then lunch time.
Gizzie and I hid beneath the awning for sandwiches. Viking found us and needed to release some poison steam. She has the patience of a martyred saint, but no tolerance for systematic disrespect. The boss has been on a hair trigger all season on account of his pain/rapid decline in health. I wasn't aware, but he's taken out his frustrations on Viking. And she has had it-- no raise, 6 day work weeks and forgotten promises. She went on like a volcano. Viking planned on giving her two week notice today. He'd be devastated. Fortunately for him, the boss was on pain medication again-- acting nice as peachy rain. Viking cooled down and decided to wait a few more days before making any serious decisions.
After lunch we rode back up the hilltop to cut winter squash. We filled the bucket till overflowing with butternut and piled up a mountain of buttercup in the wagon. Big squash (like these) go easily and quickly. Back down at the store we washed and piled up mounds of squash for CSA, then stowed the rest in the greenhouse. Gizzie left early for class-- he gotta finally finish up his degree. Newport and I got busy rearranging the cooler/washing up everything Bah and Old Rudolpho picked. Then it was finally time to do something about the marble-molded butternut. We set up a table and painstakingly skinned several dozen squash. Once skinned, we cut off the stems, sliced them in two lengthwise, scooped the seed gunk, quartered up the meat and bagged it for sale. We went through several rounds of this for the rest of the day-- easy going.
They call for more rain tomorrow-- more rain, more worries. Endless worries. Time to scrub off the squash juice and eat.
Take it easy.
Post-Aside: My cousin had the baby this afternoon! Hadley-Rose is her name-- the next generation is here!
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