Waxing Poetic (farm blog)
This picture is from last year, but you get the idea.
We had a day lily open yesterday. One surprise stalk- the last drips of summer for us to actually stop and enjoy because of the lessened work load. I’m glad autumn is taking its sweet time letting go. I took the dog for a walk on Sunday. She misses Taurus and the workload. I did my best to squander the day in laziness, but then it was such a gorgeous day. And the dog needed me. So we meandered around the dog park until all the dogs left, then ambled (as much as Tully would allow ambling) around the walking path that winds around the park. People were out playing. Football, basketball, playgrounds, and gardening: all with smiles on their faces. I spoke to a gardener who labeled his efforts “fun work” and I understood. I get to do that too.
Jason harvesting ALL of the chard before the last market
Usually this time of year I’m tired, lazy and sort of praying for frost. Then we rest for a few weeks before we begin planning the next season. But a perfect storm (not Sandy) has me already in an excited dither for next year. First of all, after some sort of expansion and capital investment every year since beginning, we had decided last year that this was to be a “no new projects/infrastructure” year. Which was great! It had us a little more relaxed and concentrating on improving current systems. And secondly, I just returned from a sustainable agriculture conference in Greenville, SC that was full of education and inspiration both. So now I’m all excited to talk about and plan our next big thing, especially if it means I can hang out inside by the fire until this whole Sandy thing blows out of town.
Have I mentioned how much I love October in North Carolina? A few wine shoppe Wednesdays ago (is that like dog years?), we found ourselves elatedly enamored with the North Carolina weather and many a toast was made. Well it may be cool at night and the crops growing slowly, could the days be any more divine? And now, the colors! I know there’s a scientific explanation for all of this, but I prefer the majesty. Sometimes it’s just more magnificent shrouded in mystery. It’s as if some playful child cracked open several different cans of warm colored paint and spilled them all at the top of the mountain, and they are oozing their way down to us. 75 degree days edge us outside to feast our eyes. Once again, nature conspires to captivate us. Just in case we were tempted to feel gloomy about the winding down of the growing season (I’m not) and the approaching cold and potential wetness, nature stuns us into submission with its magnificent light show. We’ll all be sure to ease into winter now with a smile pasted on our faces. Okay, I say, bring it on: I can head into winter this way.
I awoke today to heavy darkness, the sound of rain pounding on the tin roof. No way was I getting out of bed for that. So we didn’t. It was worth the wait. The day morphed from misery to this cerulean sky, set against the blushing forest. I’m always awestruck in October. From the day of my birth, I suppose. Every autumn, it’s like this—a kind of rebirth (heck, it was fun the first time!). This is the month we molt our farm tans and mutate into something else. Not farmers, but tourists in our own community. Always a little awkward, we toddle around the world with wide eyes. Strangers in a strange land. Awestruck by all of what’s beyond Tumbling Shoals Farm.
Decontructing the hayrove tomato umbrella is a sure sign of resolution
We have entered into the resolution season. I don’t mean the kind inspired by a New Year, but the “return from a pathological to a normal condition.” I can tell because my wardrobe lies in chaotic transition: the warm winter clothes half regurgitated from the box they lived in all summer but the light summer clothes still hanging on as I check and re-check the weather forecast. Saturday was sleeveless, Sunday was sweater-fest. I can also tell because I did absolutely nothing productive on Sunday. And very little today. There are still “to do” lists, of course, but I glance at them with a wary eye and find it easier and easier to put forth the procrastination effort. There are very few crises these days. With most of the summer crops gone, their fields turned and cover crops sown, we turn our heads toward winter rest and restoration. Toward the return of a slow daily cycle. We await the inevitable frost with a hands-folded, quiet, monk-like acceptance. We embrace it like a long absent lover.
One of my favorite photos of the farm in fall (actually, it's mostly my neighbors farm, but it's still a pretty autumn picture)
October is my favorite month. Well, isn’t it everyone’s? I mean after all, it does contain my birthday, our anniversary, AND Halloween. The leaves start changing, the evening air gets crisp and clear, and the descending angle of the sun leaves the world in a delicious tilt. We’re kicking this October off with a moody day fit only for curling up with the cat, a good book, and a cup of tea. We really tried to be diligent here on the farm today. There we were, out working in the rain, all productive, but then I got cold and the warm, cozy house began to call to me like the house of Usher (well okay, less creepy and more inviting, but nearly sentient all the same). So we did it. We set a perilous October precedent by taking an afternoon off.
Emily looking at Charlotte in the distance (yes, it was that clear)
Emily and Jason on McRae Peak
Looking down from McRae Peak--it's a LONG way back down!
Do you remember that song "Hurts So Good"? Come on, I know you do, even if you don't want to admit it. Well, every now and again, it seems like a good idea to do that to ourselves. Monday was one of those times. Emily, Jason, and I decided to take the day off from work and kick start our hiking season (we only have time to do such things in the fall and winter) with a little 10 or so mile hike covering 2000 feet of elevation change. Yep. It was indeed one heck of a kick off! If you see me moving slow tomorrow, you'll know why. Although I'll be hurting for a few days, I have to admit that it feels good too. It was an absolutely perfect day--so clear we could actually see Charlotte! It's also always a good idea to kick those muscles back into gear that will be needed next spring (lest they get too fat and lazy!). Maybe Mr. Mellencamp was right after all.
Installing the log we drug out of the woods (our creek bank restoration project)
You may have been told at some point that fashion doesn’t make a difference in who you are. Well, I’m beginning to disagree with that. When I was in the Peace Corps in Madagascar, I spent a lot of time in various types of sandals and flip flops. It was hot and seemed the most practical. I also felt sort of fat, slow and lazy. Probably because I was! Then I went to the big city one day and bought me a pair of fake brand name tennis shoes. As soon as I got back home I put those shiny shoes on and suddenly I felt like an athlete. Not only did I feel like an athlete, I took off and went for a run! If you don’t know me, you might not understand how positively shocking it would be to see me running (unless there’s something very big and scary chasing me which, of course, would be just as shocking).
I’ve noticed this phenomenon on the farm as well. I don’t wear sandals on the farm, even when it is hot, because I tend to be a little more timid in my work habits. So last week, we had to move this gigantic tree (20’ long and about 20” average diameter) across this STEEP and slippery hillside. This was going to take a bit of, um pardon my French (it’s okay, I speak French), badassery. So I put on my rugged boots and thick Carhart pants and, you guessed it, I felt solid, stalwart and tough as nails. I put everything I had into that tree (and subsequently didn’t have much left the rest of the week!). But by golly, the four of us moved that monster across that hillside and now it’s installed in the creek.
Emily and Lacey having some fun in the okra patch
It’s an auspicious evening breeze that scatters the farmily around the world each year. While relief is in order as the nights (and sometimes days) cool down and the workload lessens and slows, still a twinge of sadness drifts in as the employees, one by one, end their stint here at Tumbling Shoals Farm and move on to other things. Mitch left us a couple of weeks ago to head back to school. Lacey has already begun cleaning and a sort of semblance of packing for her last couple of weeks here. Suddenly, we find ourselves a little clingy. Where before, we would lunch and dine together only occasionally, recently we’ve noticed our plans must involve each other. It feels like eminent empty nest syndrome, though we never actually had to build that nest as our farmily arrives already raised and pushed out of a nest. Still, it’s a scramble to spend as much time as possible together as the days grow shorter.
our last bursts of color before the greens of fall
Do you ever have days where your mind just draws a blank? I don’t mean stupidly (though I have those days too), but comfortably: days when you just can’t find anything to fret about. Perhaps it’s some sort of resignation, but it feels more akin to acceptance. Where things are just set in motion and you refuse to worry about them anymore. I’m having one of those days, well, weeks, maybe even months. I am aware, somewhere in my conscience, that there is still some scrambling around left to do, still some large projects looming, but I can’t resist the ease of cool evenings, open windows, and the front porch. It’s an alluring lullaby, the end of August. More and more fields trade in their feverish reproductive fervor for a simple cover with no expectation other than to hold onto the soil over the winter and hold onto hope for the spring. Even the buckwheat with its whirring metropolis of insects scrambling to store enough sugar for the winter season sounds like a sigh.