porch-sittin'

9.26.16

The view from the porch (photo credit: Shanon Wood)

I spent some time porch-sittin’ yesterday with some good friends.  Just lethargically shooting the breeze that lightly rustled our hair. Just sitting, watching the sun move the day toward its end—easy like Sunday morning.  Laughing.  No pressure.  Gazing at the bumble bees and soldier beetles get drunk on the nectar of the Burr Marigold.  

Despite the title of my memoir that I’m never going to write, “Prosecco on the porch”, I just don’t do enough porch sitting.  It’s the kind of thing that gets forgotten in the great rush of the agricultural season.  Until now.  Now, our bodies creaking from the weight of the season, the cool evenings and low angled sun lighting the hillsides like firelight might just draw us outside for a little prosecco on the porch.  Just a little soul soothin’ porch sittin’.

 

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Relationships

9.19.16


I nearly cried three times on Saturday.  It’s not what you think.  It was a tearful joy brought to me by some lovely customers.  There I was at farmers’ market, doing my usual Saturday thing with my usual lack of sleep, when this couple brought me a gorgeous loaf of freshly baked bread and a jar of homemade jam:  a simple gift of appreciation for “feeding” them all season long.  I would go about my thing for a while then notice the smell of that bread and get a new wave of tears in my eyes.   

I was talking to Jim at Talia Espresso the other day about being small business owners.  “It’s all about relationships,” he said to me.  This loaf of bread and jar of jam brought that all home to me (enter another wave of joyous tears).  It’s true.  It is all about relationships.   

This is why we do what we do.  Whatever I said last week, forget about it.  I mean, that’s all true stuff too, all that about the fringe benefits of farming that can overcome the whole minimal income stuff. But really why we do what we do is because of you.  It’s because you care about us and what we do and we care about you and what we’re feeding you.  It’s a relationship.  And a lovely loaf of bread baked with love and caring (and a whole lot of skill, I might add!), and homemade jam reminded me of all this.  So thanks.  Thanks for caring.  Thanks for being a part of our lives.

Fruits of our labor

9.12.16

 

We don’t make much money.  Not of the tangible paper green stuff, anyway.  It’s not a secret, but also not a big deal or a “topic of discussion” or an “actionable item”.  It’s just the way it is.  And we continue to choose to do this.  “Why?” you ask.  “The fruits of our labor,” I answer.

I call it the “fringe benefits of farming”.  This is how we think about organic growing.  It’s a whole system approach with many little parts.  We manage the farm as a whole living, breathing thing, rather than looking narrowly at each crop.  I mean, don’t get me wrong, we look at each crop, but we also look at each crop within the context of the whole farm organism.  For example, we are extremely interested in the health of Tumbling Shoals Creek (which runs through the middle of the farm) because it actually affects the health of our farm organism.  We did some creek restoration and planted 700 or so native wetland plants in the riparian zone.  Did this directly affect the kale crop?  Well, not in so many words, but the native flowering plants created an attractive habitat and food for the native trichogramma wasp which, in an act of reproduction, parasitizes the caterpillars that feed on our kale.  This is what I mean when I answer the question “what is organic?” with “it’s a whole system approach”.

We think about our lives within this same context.  We are running a business that requires both our physical body and our minds (so we should never get dementia right?).  We are managing all aspects of the farm from planting and harvesting beans to counting beans (ha! Get it?!).  As an integral part of this farm ecosystem, we need to stay healthy.  The first step to staying healthy is eating well.  And boy, do we eat well.  Most evenings, while I sit tap-tapping away at the computer in some form or another of business management, Jason is preparing a wonderful meal from ingredients we grew on our farm, or that our friends and neighbors grew.  It was Virginia Woolf who said, “One cannot think well, love well, sleep well, if one has not dined well.”  Check.

Another step to health is physical exercise, of which, there is plenty to engage in on the farm.  It is, after all, a physical labor sort of job.  So, check. Mental health is another aspect of the whole human organism.  If you’ve been reading this a lot this year, you may have noticed a focus on “seizing the moment”.  We’ve been working on letting some things go, or at least letting them wait, while we seize an opportunity to relax or play.  It’s a work in progress, to be sure, but we’re improving every day. So, check (kind of).

So this is why we continue to choose to do this, despite the tiny margins and tiny bank account.  This is what I mean by the fruits of our labor, or the fringe benefits of farming.  Quite literally the fruits (and vegetables) of our labor, but also the physical and mental well-being that comes with breathing clean air, staying physically active, connecting with the earth, and being present in the world.

Labor of Love

9.6.16


Pasture party at Creeksong farm in Ashe County (on Sunday--we still worked on Monday)

Labor day is a day “set aside” to recognize the social and economic achievements of American workers.  The irony is never lost on me that most farmers I know work on labor day.  That farmers, borne of a fierce independence and social isolation, are not considered part of any great labor “force.”  Farmers, who have mostly existed in the lower socio-economic  factions of our society, shy away from any recognition of their place as the backbone of said society.  

We just plow forward, coaxing life from the land and distributing it among our fellow citizens.  We just do what needs to be done.  Humble.  Quiet. Steady.  Content to work “behind the scenes.” We labor in constant companionship with the land. And yes, it’s a labor of love.  A love like a long marriage: one that runs deep and true, and whose faded passions meld often into bickering, but whose constituents could never imagine being apart.  This is who we are.  This is what we do.  They are the same.

Acceptance

8.23.16


Kyle thinks we might need bigger buckets!

 

We slept with open windows last night.  I don a long sleeved shirt in the mornings now.  I look back at this date in all the years past and witness this same shift.  It’s a slight shift in perception—one where we can suddenly ignore the knee high weeds and other failures of this season and settle in for the final stretch.  When we gain a sudden purchase where we were once flailing around in despair.  Where it’s simply too late to correct this year’s mistakes.

There’s a strange comfort in this: "too late to correct this year's mistakes".  This year, extremely short on labor, we’ve been struggling against that reality, scrapping entire fields for lesser ground, sending an s.o.s. to the world for help.  But now, we’re just sort of settling in to what is.  Living in the moment (I hear it’s all the rage). And the moment happens to bring long sleeved mornings, big fluffy benign clouds, perhaps even a prosecco on the porch in the evenings, and acceptance.

Ode to capsicum annuum

8.15.16

oh. Oh. Oh!!!  Like the return of a long gone lover, pepper season has finally arrived.  And like the one left behind, I’ve been pining away for it, watching the pepper patch like the phone, waiting for the first ring of color.  I could almost taste the crispy sweetness on my tongue. And just when I thought I had been jilted, the brilliant shades of the season shine once again. 

Ahhh …August.  Most farmers despise August.  And really, who can blame them?  With the weeds that escaped us a mile high,  heat and humidity in dangerous digits, employees quitting, and summer’s bounty on the way out, but not me.  Nope.  August is jambalaya, gazpacho, salsa, chiles rellenos.  August is the candy crunch yielding to my greedy jaws.  August is roasted pepper sauce, soup, and sandwiches.  August is stuffed peppers, sautéed peppers, pepper pizza.  August is a pepper (or two) a day ….well, you get my drift.

Best Laid Plans

8.8.16


This.  This is our lives now.

 

We’re paralyzed by the weather.  What at first appeared like the cool kiss of relief has quickly turned vengeful jilted lover.  We have a waiting line of plants (that are not that patient) and seeds (that are) hoping for places to spread their roots. We have hoes sharpened and ready to protect the plants we managed to get out before this onslaught.  But the sun never comes and the rain never dries and the weeds are winning and we’re in triage mode.  

We had a beautiful plan for fall.  A best laid plan even.  But circumstances shift and we find ourselves on much muddier ground.  Time for business meetings and number crunching and a general scramble.  We miss Sage and Eli and worry that we put too much on the shoulders of our employees.  We call in the reinforcements. I hope they bring rain jackets.  

 

Arrival

8.1.16

Kelsey and Trey hanging with us in the extreme heat to trellis peppers. Thanks guys!


I’m just going to go ahead and admit it. Last week was a tough week to be a farmer in the southeast.  We tried, somewhat in vain, to maintain morale, but heat exhaustion is cumulative and the struggle was real.  The heavy air came in from the rain and mercilessly tried to choke us.  There was no sympathy from the sun.  It ganged up with the humidity and beat us even after we cried “uncle.”  

But we arrived here to August, somewhat in one piece, ready to take on the tomatoes.  Did you catch that?  It’s already August!  It’s sort of the pinnacle of our season.  It signals…well, something.  All it seems to signal these days is more tomatoes to pick.  But we’ve been here before.  We know August is the top of the slide into more angular sunlight and big blue skies and evenings that make you want to sip prosecco on the porch.  August: adjective meaning inspiring reverence or admiration; majestic.   

Yes, we have arrived. Not exactly the august arrival to August that we intended—completely on top of things and bursting with energy—but all the same, we have arrived.  Exhausted and limping, we still intend to conquer the world.  

 

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