Waxing Poetic (farm blog)
"skinning" the tomato umbrella
I attended a workshop on meat production last Friday. You may have noticed from the full takeover of my photos that we’ve taken on some hog production the season. There is a potential expansion of Tumbling Shoals Farm on the horizon and we’re considering adding more livestock to the mix. But that’s a whole different train of thought. At the end of the workshop, Chef Jay (I can’t remember his last name) from Lucky 32 in Greensboro got up to speak. I found myself in that awesome state of head nodding validation as he pontificated on integrity drawn in by knowing who you are feeding. Some of you might remember me expounding on the same thing a couple of years back. The federal department of ag did this whole “know your farmer, know your food” thingy. Tom Vilsak standing there in his suit and tie—the whole bit. I believe in that too, don’t get me wrong, but it had me waxing poetic about the benefits of knowing who you are feeding. Like chef Jay, I believe that knowing the families you grow (or cook) food for brings a whole other level of integrity into the system. It makes us want to go that extra mile to bring you a special quality product. Different, I suppose, from boxing it up and sticking in on truck to be mixed in the vast wholesale market to end up on some anonymous plate.
Pigs telling secrets
A pig with "pants"
I know I don’t need to mention that it was snowing and sleeting only four days ago. It’s all the rage in the small talk circles. But how can I not??? As farmers, we are so completely at the mercy of the weather that it’s hard to leave the craziest weather changes unmentioned. We were preparing a hoop house for tomato planting while it was snowing and sleeting. Said tomatoes were actually scheduled to go into the ground three weeks ago, but after last year’s damage, we’re erring on the “precious little baby tomatoes” side of things. So we planted them finally today, three weeks “late.” That’s kind of the thing on the farm. There’s not really a “late” per se. It’s a little loophole that we live in. There’s “early” and “right on time”, but never late. So I hope you’ll understand when we show up “right on time” with our crops a few weeks later than planned. As it turns out, you just can’t plan on the weather.
Lettuce in the hoophouse, just waiting to be put on a list
Although the nights still bring a bit of a chill, the sunshine of the days brings enough warmth to shed the top couple of layers of clothing and lessen the dread of sticking fingers in the soil. Nathan and Shannon began work on Monday and we are settling into the rhythm of the daily farm work and crossing things off lists. I am an obsessive list maker. I’ve got lists for every aspect of life, hanging about in every corner of my world. And there’s no glory like the glory of crossing things off from said lists. I guess that sort of make Nathan and Shannon gladiators. Since their arrival, there has been carnage of the lists. Beautiful scribbles everywhere. With the settling in of the rhythm, comes a deep satisfaction of shrinking lists. Now if Mother Nature would get on board, there will be harvest lists to add to that satisfaction.
We are going ahead with our Lenoir drop point and have just a few harvest shares left. You can get more information at www.tumblingshoalsfarm.com. Please pass along this information to your friends in Lenoir who might be interested. Also, we are planning our fashionably late but grand entrance to the downtown Hickory farmers’ market Saturday, April 13th when we are predicting our crops to catch up from the cold spell we’ve been surviving. We’ll see you there!
Lee from visitwilkesboro.com came out to the farm and made this cute video.
The farm under blankets (which really love the wind, I might mention;))
You may have noticed that I sort of disappeared from the virtual world for a bit. It’s just that the real world grabbed me for a whirlwind dance for a while. The weather whips around our heads (sometimes quite literally) like an angry insect and we get dizzy attempting to plan around its whims. The day’s plans change quickly and we’re constantly in motion. Every March we reach our management capacity. Inevitably, something gets neglected. This year it was the pho. Pho is a delicious Vietnamese brothy soup that involves boiling bones for a long time. We started it in the morning. While we were scrambling to get plants in the ground, row covers on baby plants, fields prepared for further planting, new plants seeded in the greenhouse, etc., somehow, we forgot about the pho. The light began to wane and we headed up to the house in anticipation of our delicious supper, only to find the house filled to the brim with smoke. Indeed. In the madness of March, we burnt the soup. A night out at the local taco joint, a few days of open windows, a virtual ton of laundry, and a deep cleaning and the house is fine. We have only a couple of more weeks of the whirlwind dance until the first of our seasonal employees arrive to rescue us from the madness. We are counting down the days until we are four rather than two.
Tully can hardly contain her excitement over the arrival of pigs on the farm today
I feel lethargic in winter. I find it easier to do less work each day and over more days than to experience a true “weekend.” Some days I even get downright snuggly. A warm fire, a warm beverage. This is comfort zone extreme. I crave heavy, hearty foods like stew and gravy and dough. I trimmed the extra plants out of the greenhouse tray cells the other day. I call it giving the greenhouse a “haircut.” I saved the tiny greens for a salad. The first fresh of the year besides the kale and collards and carrots we’ve been milking out of the last year’s fall field. It felt so good, eating fresh again. I felt so good. So good that the next day I felt so energetic that Tully and I decided to hike up the ridge behind the house. I’ve never seen her so happy, I swear. The neighbor’s motion activated wildlife camera must have gotten some hilarious shots of her as she ran up and down and jumped around in full puppy mode. I guess that’s how I felt too: like laughter beneath the eyes of the long awaited sunshine. The rest of the day was spent hanging out with the baby plants—getting back in touch with a part of this lifestyle that I love. Watching things grow into plants from those tiny seeds never ceases to amazement. Welcome to spring!
Jason tilling in a beautiful cover crop in the hoop house (turn the volume down, tractors are loud!)