Life and Seasons, with Potatoes

A lifetime is a long time, or a short time...and it's all the same time, the same life, just a matter of your perspective. It's one of those relative units of measure, like a cubit or span...varies from individual to individual, but is basically unchanging in and of itself. Today I find myself in the odd place of feeling I am smack at the middle of my life, while knowing that one of my bus customers came suddenly to the end of his life on Saturday...and that could happen to any one of us, any time.

Not that it always makes a difference, but--please wear a helmet, or hard hat, or whatever. It's the only head you've got. Life's dangerous. But for heaven's sake go out and DO it, with gumption and gusto, just take care of yourself.

***
A season is a long time, or a short time...depending on where you are in relation to it, and how much remains on your "to-do" list that really MUST be done, and on the other hand depending on how nice or miserable the weather is.

This current time is a shifting of seasons, the "dog days" of summer (downtown side walk sale this Thursday--a frenzied shopping ritual I avoid) easing their way into prominence. The early cicadas, shrieking in the trees. The advent of blister beetles in the garden, helping to reduce leaf area on drought-stressed plants (not many of those this wet season!). In a predictable turn of the seasons, the springtime "fair weather" volunteers gradually fade away to air-conditioned rooms, cozying in with good books until after Labor Day, or plotting get-aways to cooler climes. Like sand slipping through an hour glass, the announcement of travel plans dwindle the work crew week by week. By and by, they'll return with cooler weather and busy fall schedules.

The dedicated ones plug away at it with me. "When I do have my own farm, it won't be in Kansas," one comments--and that's on the pretty cool morning of a not-as-hot-as-it-could-be day. I laugh. I have to agree with her--and the sheep also would agree, if they understood her words. But God had other plans--He lured me to this piece of land and let me fall in love with 12 acres of perfect soil. A bit hard to transplant to a new location. They say real estate is about location, location, location...well, I guess farming is about dirt, dirt, dirt, and here's where my dirt happens to be, August and all.

But it's all good. We have a lot of potatoes and tomatoes in...a lot of garden pretty well mulched...most of the fences pretty well mended...a lot of routines pretty well in order. The heavy push of spring and early summer has faded into a slightly saner, steadier routine for summer. We have acheived a lot of progress this season. There is a lot of work to be done, but now is the time for slacking off a bit, taking longer breaks, looking around at what we have created and saying, "This is good".

The main occupations are harvesting, weeding, mulching, mowing, moving sheep. We have new tools and tehcniques for some of these this year, especially the mowing. As crazy as the weeds are looking with all this rain, I can see hope that we are prevailing. And next year will be even better. Instead of maximizing profits this season, we are "farming for next year"--focussing on things that will make next year our best season yet.

There is a certain rhythm emerging this time of year; every task has worn into a sense of familiarity for the season. Next year they will seem new again, at first, but then quickly settle back into routine. That will happen earlier in the year, since we won't be starting from scratch with so many of them. Then the season of summer will be even more relaxed.

We took about 40 lbs of potatoes to Farmer's Market on Saturday--rummaged out of half of each of 4 beds. There more than 20 beds...so far...and each bed has 2 rows... that's more than 40 rows that will be harvested at least 2 or 3 times each. We are perhaps 3% done with potato harvest! Harvesting potatoes will be one of the steady rhythms of the next several months.

Washing potatoes.

Admiring potatoes.

Selling potatoes.

Eating potatoes.

And it IS good.

Things Are Hopping...

...This little guy, for one. A young man visiting the farm found it hopping through the grass in the front yard. Without my glasses handy, I couldn't get a good enough look to identify it, and I didn't want to detain it too long. Better to encourage youngsters to "catch and release". I suspect there are more of these around.

There are also MANY baby grasshoppers appearing around the place. The thought of them ALL, grown up, is a little frightening. I've seen heavy grasshopper years when the 'hoppers have eaten holes in vinyl window screens...paper signs and labels...the weathered layer of wood off a tool handle. So glad I did not live in the times of real locust swarms eating everything green in sight!

Speaking of locusts, I heard my first cicada of the season today. I guess it IS half-way to August, even if it is only in the mid-60's tonight. Strange cool weather, but I'm NOT complaining! The cool, wet weather may encourage grasshopper diseases.

Turning Over the Land -- or -- The Emotional Rototiller

You have not heard much about the water main project for awhile.

Partly that is because I have not heard much about the water main project for awhile...since the public meeting June 12, to be exact. The City has been utterly silent. I have no idea what that means...this time of year, perhaps it only means that almost everyone is on vacation, and those remaining are busy filling in for each other and supervising work on projects already in the construction stage. Maybe they really ARE "back to the drawing board". Maybe they are waiting for my next move.

Mainly, I have been working hard (and having a great time doing it!) FARMING, and working my bus-driving job. I’ve often quipped, "I can either farm, or defend my right to farm"...and right now the focus is on farming. Where I hope to keep it.

One means of keeping my focus on farming–on achieving my own (and God’s!) long-term goals for this beautiful, rich, living land–is to enlist the aid of others in defending my right to farm, and the land’s right to be farmed. I deeply appreciate those with expertise in various areas (geologists, hydrologists, economic analysts, policy-makers, etc.) who have let me pick their brains, and continue to call me with thoughts on angles I would never have thought to consider.
Attorney Kathy Kirk has enthusiastically agreed to handle the various legal angles of the situation for me and the farm. What a blessing! She comes to this situation with a great background–I’ve known of her originally through her mediation work, so she brings the ability to work for win-win solutions to the table–and she has direct experience with eminent domain proceedings for public utilities. I cannot say what a relief it is to welcome her to the Pinwheel Farm Community, and to surrender the idea that I have to wade through the legal swamp alone.

On the other hand, it’s a bit of a weird feeling...I’ve just turned over primary control of the land’s (and my) future to "someone else". Letting go of control is scary...even if all I’m really letting go of is my illusion of control. While we will be working together as a team, it’s a new thing for me to remember that I need to consult with her before speaking or acting in areas related to the situation. Among other things, that means TURNING OVER the blog--letting her review, and potentially edit, any blog entries pertaining to the water main project.

THAT will be a challenge, as much as TURNING OVER the legal journey. Not because I mind someone "criticizing" my writing (coming from a fine arts background, I’ve always thrived on constructive criticism), but because I’m such a perfectionist and obsessive reviser that it will be hard to let an entry lounge around for approval for a few days, then post it without making extensive cosmetic changes after she’s approved it. That will be good practice in self-discipline, for sure!

Of course, this paper exercise in "letting go" of control is a great reminder that really, GOD is in control...whatever happens, He will use it for His good, and we pitiful humans really haven’t much of a clue what He has in mind, anyhow.

As good as I am at "taking things back" after I THINK I’ve turned them over to God, I’m sure this "turning over" will be a lot like riding an emotional rototiller!

Harvest Updates

I have not been doing well at noting the crops ripening, other than in passing.

We have transitioned from spring greens and green onions to early summer things. Wheat, garlic, and shallots all reach the natural end of their life cycles and begin to wither as the days grow hotter and the nights begin, imperceptibly, to grow longer after the solstice.

We've cut some wheat, but more to go...and the sparrows are beating us to a lot of it. But, it's been a great experiment with cover cropping, and I'll surely write more about what we've done and learned in that regard, as well as what we do with the grain we harvest with a hand sickle.

Several crops have gone to seed, and we've saved seed from them. First, I noticed that turnips were germinating in profusion under a bolted volunteer turnip that was still in flower...and I realized that the volunteer turnips that were blooming had all started to "shatter"--their long, slender pods dry enough to bust open in the hot summer sun and scatter seeds nearby. So I pulled those plants and put them in a plastic tote in the barn to dry. We'll thresh them out and have them for both cover and cash crops this fall.

I used pruning shears to cut all the bolted cilantro that's nearly dry...it's full of round coriander seeds. That, too, will be dried in the barn and threshed, partly for replanting (these are the plants that overwintered, so in saving them we're selecting for hardiness), partly for use and sale as the spice. It's a refreshing taste treat to nibble on a few while I'm working in the garden.

The shallots suddenly declared their senescense by somehow ejecting themselves from the ground and mulch, lounging about on the surface to be picked up effortlessly! I want garlic to be this easy! There is a vast difference in how the several varieties did, but I think a lot of that is luck of the draw on soil history...part of one bed was long ago a sheep waste compost pile, and clearly is still much richer than the other end of the bed.

Haven't dug the garlic yet, but I need to soon. It's hip deep in foxtail and lambsquarters, and we need to put late potatoes in those beds.

Kale is doing well, some cabbage worms but not many. We pick and pick, and it doesn't seem to show in the lush bed. Today's 95 degrees had it drooping, but tonight it was straight and stiff again. Many plants droop in the heat of the day no matter how much you water them...it minimizes leaf surface and reduces water loss. I just try not to look at them in the hot afternoon!

In other parts of the yard, we've moved from mulberries and apricots to black raspberries (along the front fence, seeded by the birds 3 or 4 years ago) and "Pristine" apples (by the parking spaces in the driveway). The apples are especially exciting--this is our first real harvest from them! At this point I'm picking up windfalls for applesauce. Since I'm not canning the applesauce but rather freezing it, I can do small batches in the evenings rather than making it an all-day ordeal. A colander half-full, quartered and cooked in a medium saucepan and run through the Foley Food Mill, yielded a quart jar full that has been supplementing breakfasts and snacks. Simple and satisfying.

Raspberries are accumulating in the freezer for fall jam-making, along with the apricot puree. But I took some and crushed them with a spoonful of honey from the farm's bees...an easy, tasty spread for a piece of toast, or topping for yoghurt!

It's easy to snag a few new potatoes from under the mulch on my way to the house for lunch. Then easy to slice them and fry them in a little oil--and top them with a little fresh sage and oregano. Nice with a fried egg, or some slices of mutton and pork summer sausage.

Suddenly I realize that, other than my convenience food indulgences, I'm eating mainly from the bounty of the farm.

It satisfies an appetite that has been hungrey since I left the farm, nearly 4 years ago.

Better Late than Never

It's taken a week to get this posted.

Also, we usually shear the llama at least several weeks earlier in the season. Usually we plan ahead. This year, Danny, the shearer, called the night before and asked if he could come the next morning...and it happened to be perfect timing.

A picture is worth a thousand words. First, "Why It Helps to be Tall when Shearing Llamas"--by reaching over and shearing the far side, if Freckleface kicks, Danny is mostly out of harms' way. Llamas can kick 360 degrees with their hind feet.

Second, "The Photog Gets Away With A Stupid Move"--a.k.a. "Why Danny Didn't Want to Be Kicked." "If this foot gets loose, it's like being hit by a jackhammer," he nonchalantly comments when I become so absorbed in getting the shot that I forget my own safety for a moment. Freckleface's claws have not been trimmed in a LONG time, and they are about the same size and shape as the claws on a common hammer.

Third and fourth, "Who the.....?" Several sheep reacted in similar manner to seeing Freckleface in his newly shorn state. It's a very different posture than the sheep take when checking each other out after shearing. Reminds me of the dogs' classic "snake in the grass" posture...how close can their curiousity get while their caution is as far away as possible?

My "F" Word

An acquaintance--as in someone who hasn't known me long or well--signed off in an email with the thought that "we could all use some fun."

Folks who've know me awhile are more circumspect about throwing the "f" word around without proper consideration. The rant gets old (if I forget they've heard it before), or they get tired of that certain puzzled look I give them. "The look" that says, "I thought we WERE having fun!?!" Only they didn't think so, apparently. And they still can't see it. In that moment, we realize we live in different universes that somehow intersect but don't connect. Those moments aren't so fun because there is a certain bittersweet loneliness to having fun alone in the midst of a crowd of people who aren't.

There seems to be a cultural understanding of "fun" that excludes "work", and vice versa--and an idea that "fun" is desireable, with few reservations, and that "work" is not, in and of itself, desireable except as a means to the end of having the "fun" that the money from working can facilitate.

Huh?

That didn't even make sense to me BEFORE I started farming.

I guess the closest I've ever been able to translate the word "fun" in my world view is "enjoyable" and/or "exciting"...and just about EVERYTHING, pretty much, can be enjoyable or exciting or both, for me. Even bookkeeping, once I get started on it (my plan for tonight). Doing chores in the pouring rain, once I'm out there, as long as I'm not hypothermic yet or being bludgeoned by hail. Pulling weeds--fun to test my strength if they are tough ones, fun to make progress if they are easy ones, fun to see the livestock scramble after them, fun to see the happy plants in nice tidy beds where I've finished. Fun to eat the yummy weeds. Fun to abolish the bad ones.

Fun to hear the birds, fun to think that the neighbor with his gas-powered weeder (rototiller) is missing the birds' free concert, fun to pet the cat when he wanders by, fun to feel the sun/wind/rain on my back, fun to stop and watch the biplane droning overhead, fun to throw a stick to the dogs, fun to look around at this beautiful farm that has created itself over the course of 12 years with my help, and the help of many others.

Fun to see the shadows shift as the day passes, fun to realize they have changed with the passing seasons, fun to see the cycles and the patterns of it all.

Fun to be an intimate part of it all.

Fun for everything I do to be a part of being a part of it. Therefore fun to drive the bus, fun to visit friends, fun to build things, fun to clean things, fun to tear things down, fun to throw things away.

Fun to go to Farmer's Market, fun picking the vegetables, fun washing them, fun getting up that early, fun being that tired, fun in the rain and snow and sun, fun hanging on the canopy so it doesn't blow away, fun dashing home to unload and turn into a bus driver. And fun taking a day off from that, as I did today.

Fun setting boundaries, fun insisting that rules be applied fairly, fun pointing out blind spots and inconsistencies, fun being a pain in the neck to people who take it all too seriously or not seriously enough. Fun dotting the Is and crossing the Ts...and dotting the Ts and crossing the Is. Fun persevering until nonsensical situations are resolved to everyone's benefit (today, can you imagine Farmer's Market without meat sales? Fun overturning that old rule a few years back!).

Fun everywhere. Nearly all the time.

But don't ask me to set my real life aside and go looking for fun at the amusement park...the city pool (Fun? Have you read all the warnings and disclaimers posted there about water-born illnesses?), the movie theatre, the bar...anywhere else removed from my daily life. I'll give you "the look."

Or--I might just say, "That sounds like fun!"

Tomorrow, part of my fun will be mowing...weeding...mulching...working on fences...working on the privy...cleaning house. And part will be a combined Shape Note Singing, picnic, and carillon concert by one of the singers at the KU Campanile, starting at 4:00.

Anyone's welcome to join me for any of it. The more, the merrier!

README before farming

I'm writing this for those readers who are settling in to enjoy their Independence Day holiday tomorrow, dreaming that someday they, too, might have their own little bit of a farm like mine. Dreaming of the simple life. The slower pace. The reduced stress. True independence.

Most of all, I'm writing for the dozens if not hundreds of single women (frequently with small children) that I've met who envision doing this ALONE, way out in the country "away from it all."

Forget it. Please. Quit while you're ahead, before you've sunk your life savings into it.

Farming is pretty much an all-or-nothing job...at least an integrated farm like this one. Once you've got the system figured out and up and running (more or less), the seasons just roll around in orderly fashion (give or take a late hard freeze), the chore cycles ebb and flow predictably, one thing leads to another. Momentum keeps it going. It keeps YOU going. Most of the time.

But then HUMAN things come up. Like getting sick.

Wednesday I woke up feeling not very good. I'd eaten a light supper the previous night, so maybe I was just extra hungry? I cooked my usual breakfast. The toast tasted great, but somehow I just didn't feel like eating the eggs. Not very good at all.

I dragged through the morning, getting a few long-delayed tasks done like hitching up the scrap metal trailer and taking it to the recycler's a few blocks away. It's not entirely a bad thing to procrastinate on a few non-critical, unintellectual, fiscally rewarding tasks like that so that you have something useful to do on days when you are not feeling up to par. Most of the morning was spent trying to evaluate whether I felt good enough to drive a bus for 7 1/2 hours.

As I went through the morning, what little energy I'd awakened with waned. I decided to call in sick to work--something I really hated doing, because I think they think I'm yet another irresponsible driver taking an extra day off before the holiday. Trust me, I REALLY would rather have been at work!

Good call. About the time I'd have started driving, breakfast came up. And maybe part of dinner. The rest of the afternoon I drifted between sleeping and heading to the bathroom again.

At some point I remembered that the sheep needed to be moved to fresh pasture. Thankfully, two of my volunteers had planned to work here that evening. So I tried to give them instructions for where the sheep were (over on Chaney's pasture which is west of the shady area where the swing is, which is west of the little corner pasture....), where they needed to be (in the main pasture north of the willows but not through the central lane, through the 16' panel gate on the west end of the willows) and what adjustments needed to be made to the electric fence in order to contain them (go through the little panel gate to the left just after you go in the 16' panel gate, then follow the 4-wire fence back to the green-cote fence and hook it up to the green cote).
We got out the aerial photo of the farm and pointed. I repeated directions as clearly as possible with my foggy brain. They went trouping off into the wilderness.

If you DO try this at home, be sure everyone has cell phones. It's maybe a 5 minute walk from those pens to the house, including the time for opening and closing gates along the way. Not so far? Multiply that by several questions and clarifications in the course of the task...cell phones saved a lot of time and energy that day.

Several calls later, we all felt reasonably sure everything was as it should be. One of the volunteers graciously ran to the gas station 4 blocks away and brought back Gatorade...lots of Gatorade. By that point I was seriously concerned about ending up dehydrated from the afternoon's activities.

Today I'm feeling much better. Even so, it took the better part of the day to get around to dragging myself out to the pasture to check on the sheep and make sure they had enough grass for the night, and figure out their rotations for the next few days.

I rarely get sick like that. And as time goes by, the farm is better laid out and more organized for people to be able to help me. And I have more people available to help out. It is still a sobering experience. If I were sick for several days, how long could volunteers manage the rotational grazing and the web of electric fences? What if I get sick in late July, when nearly everyone is planning to be on vacation?

Speaking of vacations, that's another thing to think about before you commit to farming. Vacations are a LOT of work.

I was planning an overnight Independence Day visit to friends in Jamesport, MO, about 2 1/2 hours away. Even for less than 24 hours away, the arrangements get complex.

You who can just jump in your car and take off, appreciate it! First I arranged to borrow a car--the key to the whole trip, since I can't afford gas to drive the truck there, at 10 miles per gallon. When that was arranged, I called my friends to let them know I was coming. I called the Farmer's Market coordinator and let her know that I was taking the day off from market (a significant loss of income, but sometimes I just need a break since I'm doing market totally solo this year). I arranged for someone to come get the dogs and take them to a relatively fireworks-free location for the evening, since both dogs are terrified of fireworks. And I made arrangements with my evening chore person to handle chores a bit differently since the dogs would be leaving. I made plans to rotate the sheep right before I left, and to return from the trip with plenty of time to rotate them before heading off to drive the bus Sat. afternoon.

This evening the car-loaner called to let me know that it wasn't going to work for him to loan me the car, after all. Too late for me to try to borrow a different car...at 6:30 on Thursday, probably everyone who was planning to take off for the weekend and leave their other car unused in the driveway, had already left.

So I had to un-arrange as many arrangements as I could. I'll still skip market...at least that will be like a little mini-vacation, even if it's less than unpaid.

A farm is NOT a permanent vacation. When you need a break--and you WILL need a break-- who will cover for you? When you are sick or injured, who will care for the livestock and keep things going? A farm doesn't stop when you do. It is crucial to keep these things in mind before you even start. Maybe the best time to dream a farm is when you are flat on your back with the flu. In your delirious state, try motivating yourself to go out to break ice off a water tank in a blizzard...mend an electric fence in 99 degrees, 99% humidity...chase sheep out of the garden in a hailstorm...and there's always the classic call from the neighbor way down the street, "I think your goose is walking down my driveway."

A wise friend once said, "The real distance of a country house from town is 3 times the round-trip distance to the nearest hardware store...because that is how far you will have to drive every time you fix the plumbing." So true! Now I'll add to that--consider also the distance to the nearest purveyor of Gatorade. And the nearest troup of AWESOME, much-appreciated, essential volunteer chore-doers.