Spring Dreams

It is hard to imagine.  Under the weight of heavy thick snow, grass mulch, and three inches of amended soil lies the seed of the rocambole garlic.  They tried to sprout in the delayed winter weather of November but now they rest, stretching out their roots deep into the nutrients, gaining energy. 

Next to them lies nine rows of strawberries.  They too are buried under seven inches of snow and three to four inches of grass mulch.  Only the rounded mounds and row markers give any hint that there is something there.  Waiting.  Anticipating.  Yet growing, reaching, and increasing in vigor.

In the distance the pole bean fence stands abandoned.  Frost and snow envelope it.  Mounds of last minute horse manure lie scattered throughout the field.  Even the stalks of the long gone sunflowers stand as if on guard.

It is this time of year when the brrrr-cold of winter buries all remnants of growth and I have finally caught up on rest.... the sun rises reluctantly, the skies remain gray, and the setting sun dips with long streaks of pink and orange.  It has been awhile since I heard the hoot of the owl, the cry of the coyote, or the buzz of the bee.

Yet I know spring arrives in just a few short months. 

So I plan for the next season, pick and chose seeds and plants, dream about where I might plant and harvest.  Set up spread sheets and goals.  Order from my favorite seed companies.  I will be starting the tomatoes, peppers, and basil in mid February.  Early?  Perhaps not.

We may be getting a high tunnel hoop house courtesy of the USDA.  If granted, I can start these plants under the warmth of the tunnel two months earlier.  Wouldn't that be amazing?  Stay tuned.

Until then.... I'll gaze back over the field thankful for its gifts.  Both of plenty and of rest.

The End of the 2010 Market

Heavy sigh.  It is done.  The steady collecting of beans, tomatoes, lettuce, and blackberries.  The digging of French fingerling, Carola gold and Dark red potatoes.  The picking and shelling of delicious yellow popcorn.  The extracting of fall honey.  The peeling, slicing, drying and grinding of stiff neck garlic powder.  It is all completed now. 

Early summer found me weeding and planting.  But mostly picking scrumptious blueberries.  Our first blueberry picking summer ended in about 500 pounds of blueberries.  And believe it or not, not a one is found in my freezer.  (That will change next year!)

I moved markets this year.  I drove across the river (Mississippi) to the big farmers market.  There are over 200 vendors there compared to about 15-20 (on a good day) at my previous market.  It was a good decision.  I met some wonderful folks.  Clarence and Barb next to me on the right.  Sarah who sold cut flowers in glass vases, Mike and Jayne across the aisle who sold creative jams and jellies, hosta plants and biscotti.  The wine folks - Steve and Cindy.  And a fellow beekeeper who also sells pickles - Phil. Great folks and now some great friends.

It's almost time to rest.  Mowing, spreading of horse and chicken manure, and fence taking-downing. (I don't believe that is a word but it works.)  One more final look at the bees and a last feed of old honey.  The garlic has been planted (1000 cloves!) and tucked in under 6 inches of dried seedless, marsh grass.  The strawberries need a couple more hard freezes and they too shall be tucked under some grass.

It's been a great summer.  Soon I will share my lessons learned and hopes for next year.

Popcorn Ramblings

This year the popcorn grows tall.  The sugar pie pumpkins stretch to extend their boundaries.  Burning orange as the days shorten.  Unkempt apple trees laden with disfigured fruit but hungry for chicken appetizers hang low.  The August tomatoes, usually slow growing and moisture barren, are this year bursting their skins.

And the UPS man comes delivering packages.  School books.  New red embroidered uniform tops and jackets.  Sneakers, an extra size big, requested after shoe shopping this past week. Reading material for enjoyment... "chicken coops," "easy concrete," "easy to build birdhouses: a natural approach".  Our UPS man has been busy.  Hundreds of pounds of beehives and equipment.  Honey bottles and buckets.  "Local Honey Sold Here" sign.

And still it rains.

We could use a week or so of sunshine and dry weather.  The potatoes need unearthing.  The beans need harvesting.  The plump and ripening blackberries need picking.  And the bees need flowers. 

But the popcorn grows tall.  It's at least 7 feet with two long thin cobs at the 36 inch level.  No sign of raccoon or deer dinners either.  "That's the tallest popcorn I've ever seen," said a gentleman this past weekend.  Perhaps the corn loved the former orchard nutrients.  Or perhaps yellow popcorn just happens to be taller.  I don't know. But the popcorn saga has been much more pleasant this summer.  Two months 'til harvest.

"That's going to be a big harvest," the gentleman added.  I tried to encourage him and others to volunteer for the great popcorn picking.... they could each take one row.  Except that there are at least thirty rows and there were only six of them.  "But it would make short work of it." I added.  "Ha!" he laughed, "Indeed it would."  But no offers were forthcoming.  Perhaps if I made popcorn....

Today's Journey Joy - popcorn and our UPS man

Focusing

"Do you think I'm being realistic?"

My Farmer Husband sits patiently gliding back-and-forth, back-and-forth, in his rocking chair.  The soft whirl of the ceiling fan the only sound in the silence that follows my question. I've been talking quickly and fervently for the past five minutes.  With barely a moment for a breath.  I've outlined my thoughts about our new focus. I'm excited and hopeful.

He quietly shakes his head from the whirl of my litany, trying to focus himself.  Lost in the presented information. "Uh, ... sure.  That sounds great," he responds trying to sound supportive.

"Are you sure?" asking for more reassurance.  For I was unsure. I was eliminating so many tasty vegetables from our farm market. But we had to focus.  My ambitious vision surpassed my abilities to maintain.  The weeds, particularly the grasses, destroyed 3/4 of the sweet corn, 100% of the dried beans, 100% of the melons and cucumbers, 3/4 of the onions and half of the leeks.  The tomatoes almost succumbed but they have only been delayed.  The big pumpkins are not vining like they should as well.  Although much of their difficulty is the squash beetles this year.  We have had strawberries, blueberries, a few black raspberries, potatoes, some sweet corn, some snap beans and a few onions and leeks.  Without the potatoes doing so well I don't believe there would be much of a reason to go to the market these past few weeks.  But if our melons, onions, cucumbers and the rest of the sweet corn had made it, well, then it would have simply been much better.  The prolific growth of weeds this wet and hot summer has been great for the grass.  But not so great for the vegetables.

And so I read the list to him again.  He didn't ask for it.  I'm not sure he actually heard me in the rapidity of my first report. But he is, and always has been, supportive of any farming decisions I have made.  And really, I just needed to hear it for myself again.

"We will expand the fruiting plants.  Eighty hundred more blueberries.  Fifteen hundred summer red raspberries (three varieties that ripen over different periods of the summer).  More strawberries to fill about 1/8 acre.  Black raspberries.  Blackberries. Fruit trees (sweet and sour cherries, pears, plums, peaches, nectarines and apples).  Table grapes planted on the west fence."

He's listening again.  Not so blurry-eyed this time.  Taking it in and thinking.  "Yes..."

"But it's the vegetables we will really change."  I pause to state it again.  Because taking out a bunch of different vegetables is difficult.

"Our major vegetable in the summer will be....." I pause looking at his face trying to determine his response.  "Heirloom tomatoes."

"Amish paste, marglobe, marmande, JDT (the Campbell's soup tomato), Green Giant, Brandywine and German reds and yellow.  We will start them in the hoop house in March so that we will have some ready to go by mid May. We will plant around 350 plants throughout the summer because many of the plants are determinate tomatoes that only produce for a couple of weeks and will need to be replanted.  We would still plant potatoes (but fewer), peppers, garlic, onions, Mirai sweet corn, beans and pumpkins. But the rest.... someone else will have to plant."

"What do you think?"  "Am I being realistic?"  "Can we do this?"

"Sounds great.  And if we are able to do these well we can always add more later or remove the more labor intensive things like potatoes if we run out of time or energy," he says encouragingly.

I sigh with relief.  Always hopeful.  Always looking for that perfect growing year.  And always learning.  But I think we can do this.  Farmer Husband's Mulch-o-matic collecting system will help tremendously.  We can place the grass mulch between the plants and till the rows.  We may use some selective pre-emergents on some of the plants... especially the sweet corn.  But for the most part the fruits and vegetables will be grown as naturally as possible.  I'm encouraged about the future.  I hope that this new focus will eliminate the tortuous work of finding vegetables through the grass.  And that our efforts will be rewarded with beautiful, abundant, superb tasting produce. 

"Ah, honey?" I ask.  "One more thing..... we will have to grow more flowers.  Zinnias, cone flowers, rubeckia, and marigolds.  We need more color around here...."

He smiles.

Today's Journey Joy - Focusing

Visitors

We had visitors yesterday.  Farmer Husband Gary met the wife at the farmers market on Saturday.  She was interested in farm fresh eggs.  Since the market he goes to does not allow us to bring our eggs there we suggest to interested persons that they come visit the farm and purchase direct.  They get to save 50 cents a dozen as well.  Farmer Husband gave her one of my "Farmer Chris" business cards as she left.

She called me late morning.  "Do you have some eggs?"  "Yes," I replied, thinking she wanted maybe a couple of dozen.  "Do you have...say, ten dozen?"  "Ah.... I don't think so, but I'll let you know by the end of the day and you can have what the girls give us."

With the help of a very good friend who also free ranges her chickens, I was able to get a total of eight dozen.  Apparently this new family goes through a dozen eggs a day.  They have four young children (six years and under) who like pancakes and eggs for breakfast every morning. "Great!" I thought.  Now I should have no trouble getting my eggs sold come this fall when I am not at the markets anymore.  But ten dozen a week?!  That's 120 eggs.  And I only have about 25 girls laying right now.  And they are sporadic due to the excessive temperatures lately.  And "Tom," my other regular, usually wants about six dozen every ten days.  Good thing that the new ones should be laying in about a month and the 25 baby partridge rocks should easily be laying well by spring.  We may have a slight difficulty meeting demand in the meantime though.

But I wander.

The visitors came as a family.  They all wanted to see the farm and the chickens.  I guess I was unprepared for such scrutiny.  Usually my egg buyers (or any buyers for that matter), simply drive up, get their stuff, chat a bit and leave.  They don't want a tour.

But these guys did.

I discovered that they were a young family who recently moved back to the area.  They try to eat only organically grown fruit and vegetables and free range chicken eggs.  They sweeten everything with honey.  In fact, they purchase their honey by the 30 pounds. (That's a lot of honey!).

As we were showing them the fields and our progress I found myself getting anxious.  Weeds everywhere.  Disarray.  Branches down in various piles.  Equipment here and there.  Hoses stretched in coils on the sidewalk.  Kittens jumping.  Chickens (and their droppings) cruising about. Crops lost in grasses waist high.  Flowers barely able to bloom between the horse weed.  Not my idea of a beautiful farm.

I was embarrassed to show the farm.  We've been working so hard at farming organically / naturally.  But on this scale, with only a couple of hands, that beatific vision I have of the farm is unrealistic.  And looking at the place through "new visitor eyes" made me aware of the chaos surrounding me both inside the home and outside on the farm.  Change is due.

We have made plans to focus.  For which I will have to wait until tomorrow or so to describe.  But I am excited about the possibilities.

Today's Journey Joy - visitors

Life's sunsets

"Mommy?" my little girl who happens to have Down syndrome inquires.  "Mommy?.... Mommy?"  I'm distracted and dizzily busy.  I don't hear her.  But she implores emphatically.  "Mommy!?"

The frequency and fervor of her voice finally catches my attention.  I stop what I am doing.  Turn.  Look at her.  Her face has furled eyebrows and a serious expression.  Unusual for my typically content and happy girl.  She is concerned about something.  She stammers in her special way, trying to say just the right words, but not knowing how to express her query.

"Mommy?"  she inquires again.

"Yes, my dear."  I can see she is relieved that she has my attention.  That perhaps her puzzlement will be answered.

Her face curls and her emotional voice stutters just a little.  "Mommy, when you are a thousand years old who will make supper?" 

"Oh." 

I grin just a little.  Mostly inside.  She is serious.  And it is upsetting her.  How do I explain to her that I will not be one thousand years old?  That by the time she is my age I will most likely not be living in this body?  That one day I will be gone and she will still be.  And furthermore, that one day, she too, will die.  How does one describe this to a child?  Any child.  Her understanding is literal and concrete.  Try explaining redemption, death, and heaven without using abstracts.  I don't completely understand it all.  How to explain it to her?

"Don't you fret my dear.  Before I reach one thousand I will teach you to make your own supper."  Her eyes brighten and then her follow-up question is asked.

"Can we make macaroni and cheese?"

"Sure we can," I say with reassurance. Happy that the idea that I won't be here to take care of my vulnerable daughter is becoming less acute.  Push the thought down.... down deep.  If I don't think about it perhaps it won't happen.  

"But we don't have any in the cupboard Mommy," she interrupts my thoughts.

"Oh, I will teach you to go to the store and buy things as well.  You will have your supper."

She sighs and smiles that smile of innocent glee and seems comforted.  "Great!" she exclaims and returns to her thoughts and game. 

But my thoughts linger.  In life there are sunrises.  Full of hope and promise.  The sun lingers and nourishes as the circle unwinds.  But then it always ends with a sunset.  Some more beautiful than others.  Some very uneventful.  And I ponder awhile.  "I hope my sunset is beautiful.... I hope and pray that her memory is filled with bright lights and warm love.  I hope the colors at the end of my journey are deep and long." And I remember that sunsets are often due to dust or fragments of particles in the air which are reflected as the beams of setting light strike them at an angle. 

The dust is a result of the happenings of the day. 

What kind of dust am I raising today?  Will it reflect the Light?  I am uncertain.  The busyness that I approach and attack the day with is often filled not with beautiful sunset makers but monotonous day breakers.  Ending in exhaustion not knowing where I've been.  Spinning in routines and deadlines.  Responding to the daily tyranny of the urgent.

But seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be added to you." (Matthew 6:33).

Sunset makers are a result of doing and being the person one was created to be.  Today, I hope to keep on the forefront of my heart and mind that in order to end beautifully one must live beautifully.  Sunsets are the result of the day's doings.

"Mommy?" she implores again.  Another question has crossed her mind.

"Will there be "pa-sketti" in heaven?"  And as I smile ever so slightly and pause in my response she adds, "Who will make supper in heaven?"  "Where will my room be?"  What will our house look like?"

I grin outright.  "Oh my dear one, you will live in a house that is beautiful....  And yes, there will probably be "pa-sketti" there too.  I bet it will be the best you've ever tasted."

She giggles and grins.  And returns to her game.  Oh, the thoughts of a child.

Today's Journey Joy - life lived fully

Ouch!

A few days back Farmer Husband and I took the honey supers off the beehives.  We got 70 frames of beautiful, sweet, delicious golden honey from the hives. (About 240 pounds of honey!)  I'm still draining the wax cappings for our honey enjoyment but everything else in the extracting process has been completed.

Well.... almost.  An unexpected healing process has become necessary.

Yesterday afternoon, after I returned from some errands and responsibilities (and a fun lunch with a good friend!), I placed the now empty, but sticky and wet with honey supers on the Gator to return them to the bees for clean up.  The bees usually quickly fix the hexagonal wax compartments that were damaged in the extracting process, move the honey that was still on the frames, and then begin to collect more nectar for refilling.  Typically, the bees are mostly friendly and gentle (like the picture above).  Usually, putting the supers back on a hive is a relatively uneventful process.  One doesn't even need smoke.  You simply crack the top open, remove the telescoping cover and place the wet super on top.  Replace the cover making sure that the top entrance block is still in place and move on to the next.  Simple.

But yesterday it was quite warm (86 degrees).  But worse than the heat was the very sticky, oppressive humidity.  Perspiration was dripping down my back, my tummy, my nose... I s'pose I didn't smell too nice.  And perhaps the bees remembered that I (with the help of Farmer Husband) had just stolen all their early summer's work.  I'm not certain.  But what I am certain of was that one particular hive was most unwelcoming.

It was our biggest hive in the spring.  We split it three times.  But it was still big.  It produced almost a third of the honey that we extracted.  And we only had one super to put on top when we took their honey.  So imagine sixty thousand relatives in a big house.  All of a sudden the house becomes smaller.  The cupboards are bare.  The temperatures go up.  The humidity makes collecting food stores unpleasant.  And it's time for the house bees to make orientation flights around the hive.  Introduce a wet, smelly intruder who looks an awfully lot like the robber from two days ago.  What would you do? 

Yes... and they did.

As soon as I cracked open the hive the buzzing frequency changed.  That should have warned me.  And actually it did but I thought, "I'll just quickly put the super on and move to the next one.  They'll settle down as soon as they get more room and honey."

That's not quite what happened.  Recall that I didn't bring the smoker.  Usually the smoker masks the alarm pheromone that a bee would make.  That way, if a bee shouts "Intruder!" no one really knows or cares.  One alarmed bee is nothing.  Hundreds of alarmed bees is another thing...

They pelted my suit. Bounced off my bee net.  Curled up in a tight balls trying to get their stinger into some flesh.  Four of them penetrated my suit at the left knee.  The burning sensation of a bee sting is most unpleasant.  And it keeps going until you get the stinger(s) out.  So I needed to retreat.  Time to go get the smoker.

After walking three hundred yards away from this most unpleasant hive I discovered that I had at least forty stingers in my gloves, arms, legs and chest suit.  They were serious.  This intruder was not going to get access to the hive.  Thankfully, only the four had penetrated the suit. 

I got the stingers out without difficulty.  Redonned the bee suit and lit the smoker with some coals from the outdoor wood burning furnace.  I didn't want to go back to the hive. I was a bit scared.  I'm not used to bees purposefully defending their hive against me.  They are usually gentle. But I had to go back.  The lid was opened.  The empty super was on the ground next to them. And I needed to button the hive up.  So off I went.

I smoked all the stingers in my suit and gloves trying to mask the alarm pheromone.  I smoked the hive until it almost looked like a fire.  They were still upset but not as bad.  And I was able to relatively quickly get the hive placed back together.  I had only one hive to go.  They too were a little unfriendly but the smoker helped and I was quick to return to the house.  I peeled off the wet sweaty bee suit, drank about a half gallon of water and placed some 2.5% hydrocortisone that my Farmer Husband uses for poison ivy on my left knee.  Today, the knee is still a little red and puffy but will be just fine.  And the bees?  We're leaving them alone for awhile. 

Lesson learned?  When dealing with bees in hot humid temperatures who have just lost their dinner and part of their home.... use smoke.

Today's Journey Joy - protective bee suits!