FarmerErin

Monday, April 29, 2013

Monday, April 22, 2013

Some people say that I asked for it, by choosing the name I did: Mud Creek Farm. Ruth says we should just call it "Mud Farm" -- after the storms we had a week and a half ago, that's literally what it is!

Luckily, we gained access to a really dry field down the road, which we'll be planting potatoes in this year. A gorgeous sandy loam. Our strategy, besides gaining some much-needed early ground, is to be as far away as possible from the dreaded Colorado Potato Beetle. Last year this pest was so heavy on our potatoes that it threatened to completely defoliate the plants. After squishing them on our hands and knees 2 or 3 times, I finally broke down and sprayed something on them-- an organically certified spray of course. But what a hassle! I had to spray after dark, so we wouldn't harm the honeybees, and believe me, after a 13 hour day of farmwork in 90 degree heat, you don't take kindly to strapping on a 3 gallon backpack sprayer, donning gloves, safety glasses, and a respirator. It was something that made me conclude that we should grow our potatoes THIS year as FAR away from these beasts as possible.

So Betsy (one of the farm crew) and I drove around the neighborhood, scouting out fields. She grew up here, and her family knows just about everyone who owns land on this side of town.

We narrowed it down to five options, looked up the soil maps online, and determined this one would be the best. We also really liked Pam and looked forward to working with her to help make her hayfield yield a more edible (for humans) bounty. (Currently the hay is going to feed Pam's horses as well as Betsy's very large draft horse!) Pam graciously agreed to let us plow some of it up. First we took soil samples. It looks awesome.

You might say it sometimes takes a village to raise a potato patch...

We enlisted the help of young Nick (also a neighbor) who got a chance to plow his biggest field yet, and he did a great job! This soil is SANDY -- we might not even be able to slap the word "Mud" on these spuds. Well, while its raining maybe. Hopefully it will rain decently this year, since we have no irrigation options here. But I've never irrigated potatoes before. And two drought years in a row...? The chances we take as farmers.

After plowing, we decided to just go in and till, to break up that grass sod as well as we could, so we can plant as soon as possible.

Ruth pulled her first 12-hr day of the season, driving the Kubota back to Mud Creek with the headlights on.

It looks splendid.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, the greenhouse is nearly overflowing! Tomorrow we get onions in the ground, then soon the broccoli, lettuce, kale, cabbage, swiss chard, kohlrabi, and more, go in.

Lots going on.

More seeding, more planting.

Garlic is up and growing strong.

Deep breath, it's "go time".

Thursday, April 11, 2013

Jack frost and bluebirds

Winter sure is putting up a fight!

Spring has decided to come s-l-o-w-l-y this year.

Farming teaches us to roll with the seasons, for we really don't have much of a choice.

Best we can do is stay warm and cozy inside, and keep ourselves well rested and well nourished, because when the green-growing season finally does get here, we'll need to hit the ground running.

It is quite beautiful though.

Finally the ground thawed enough to dig up our overwintered parsnips. Boy, are they sweet. We got lots of volunteer helpers, big hands and small hands, eager to get their hands in the dirt. It wasn't nearly as muddy as we thought it would be.

We washed some of them up, and had an open farm stand last weekend. Many folks came out to get these early spring goodies. Parsnips are really a truly nourishing food, they are one of my "comfort foods". They have been eaten since Roman times, and are particularly high in potassium, and antioxidants too! My favorite way to cook them is to cut them up into bite-sized pieces, roll them in olive oil and salt, and roast them until slightly browned in an oven. Yum. Also, anything that has been in the ground for that long (almost a year!) has to be nutritious, since it has had a long time to soak up minerals and nutrients from the soil, it's a proven fact. And the freezing temperatures all winter amplify their sweetness hugely. Ironic, huh? But you can almost see their "wintery" nature... I can imagine maybe Jack Frost's fingers... perhaps winter has its sweet aspects.

We had a nice warm week to get started on things out in the fields-- Here Ruth and Anna are putting new blades on our tiller, so we can start planting.

My dad put his bluebird boxes back up -- he said that after putting up four of them, he walked over to the first one again, and a bluebird was already sitting on the roof, staking his claim. It's a fast real estate market for birds this spring I suppose.

And, finally, we get some seeds in the ground! Sugar snap peas, carrots, beets, and spinach!

Now it seems we might have prayed too hard for rain... we'll see how the recent deluge has affected these seeds. Did someone hear me say I didn't want to irrigate this year? Well, I don't want a flood either! You can never really win when you're betting against nature. We just take our small victories when we can, count our losses, and move on. Til next time the soil dries out...

Sunday, March 31, 2013

Faith in tiny seeds

Like hibernating bears crawling sleepily out of our caves, rubbing our eyes, we look around and wonder, isn't it about time to see our shadows? Doesn't the sun usually grace us with a warm, kind, welcome this time of year? Daffodils and birdsong? Is there some kind of reverse-season trick going on, and winter is here to stay?

My planting schedule says I should be plowing by now. But the ground (when I can see it between snowstorms) has barely thawed out, let alone dried out enough to think about driving a tractor over it. Is it really wise to begin planting tomato seeds soon?

It is always a leap of faith to start up the greenhouse in the snowy tundra that is Mud Creek Farm for half the year. I scrape the snow out of the way of the greenhouse doors, maybe dislodge the ice with a heavy shovel, check that we have some gas in the propane tanks, and light the pilot light on the heater. A plastic curtain is hung so that we don't have to heat the entire greenhouse for the first few weeks, just three tables. I turn on the water to the hose, and take a deep breath as another growing season begins.

In protest of the sleet, snow, slush, ice, freezing rain, grey days, wintry mix, I decide I will wear a dress every day this week. If it doesn't help the sun come out, maybe it will help my willpower.

Volunteers help motivate me too, help me believe that what I'm doing is not in fact crazy.

I am always amazed at the spirit of dedication that folks bring out to the farm with them when they offer to lend a hand, at whatever needs doing around the farm. We are all in this together.

The seeds we shake into the trays are so tiny, that the room becomes hushed, as people are concentrating so hard that they can't even afford to make small talk. It is a quiet zen moment, as we all put our effort and our faith in these little brown seeds that blend in quite inconveniently with the potting soil mix.

At least it's warm in the greenhouse-- it felt really good to remove layers in the near-80-degree temperatures. A sneak-preview of the summer. Memories of sweaty July days seem so far away right now though.

As I watered in all the tables of trays that we filled with soil, seeds, and intention, the scent of moist warm earth somehow awakened something in me. Brought me out of hibernation, like a cup of strong coffee. Before we know it, all this hope and potential will be exploding in eager green growth -- robust transplants ready to go into the fields, throw their roots in the ground, raise tall round leaves to the sky. Then, when the time is right we will harvest, ripe and juicy, what we've sown.

Happy spring.

May we cultivate the patience and bravery that spring from faith in tiny seeds.

Sunday, March 10, 2013

Spring thaw

Well, things are certainly muddy out here! My eagerness to get things started is dulled slightly by the squish - squish - squish that my boots make walking anywhere.

In the fallow fields, the green rye grass that I planted last fall has overwintered nicely, and under it the tiny clover seedlings are waiting for their chance to shine. The rich sweet smell of the ground slowly awakening from its winter slumber permeates the air. The sun warms the soil and the biological life underground comes out of its hibernation. I swear I could hear the ice melting in the furrows yesterday as I stood, inches deep in sticky mud, letting the wonder of spring surround me.

I had to check on the garlic (below) -- and yes, it's popping up out of the ground, half an inch tall, tiny red-yellow shoots waiting for sunny days to turn that nice blue-green of garlic leaves.

I guess underground colors are all warm: shades of brown (think carrots, beets, potatoes, dirt). Then once the plants emerge into the world above they greet a world of blue sky and that life-giving chlorophyll starts working its magic, producing the wonderful green explosion of spring that makes all of our hearts sing for joy.

Long cold winter, move over. Time for growing things.