tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-88502846458306964032024-02-20T16:47:33.647-08:00Doctor to FarmerA public health doctor's adventures in organic farmingAimee Sissonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13494327838705984720noreply@blogger.comBlogger37125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8850284645830696403.post-55960026430141847302014-03-03T14:55:00.001-08:002014-03-03T14:55:55.840-08:00Between farms<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Much like some unemployed individuals prefer the euphemism "between jobs" to describe their employment status, I've taken to using the phrase "between farms" lately when asked how my farming is going. I left Soil Born Farms in November when my apprenticeship ended. While I don't have a farm anymore, I still identify as a farmer. But is a farmer with no land still a farmer?Having been uprooted from the land I worked so hard to tend last season, I have felt a bit lost lately. When I left The Farm on Hurley Way last fall, my plan was to return to work at the California Department of Public Health part-time for the winter, find land to lease, and start my own small farm this spring. So far, only the first third of my plan has materialized. </span><br />
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I never imagined finding land would prove as difficult as it has. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">For the last 4 months, I have been actively searching for a new farm, but haven't found the right opportunity yet. Part of my challenge is that while I am intellectually and physically ready to enter the next phase of my farming career, my financial readiness lags behind. Land in California is expensive, and I don't have the money to buy a farm just yet. I anticipate being financially ready to buy farmland in the next 1-2 years, but what am I supposed to do in the meantime? I see my 2 main short-term options as follows: 1) Work on somebody else's farm or 2) Lease land for my own farm. </span><br />
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Option 1, Work on somebody else's farm: This option definitely has some benefits. I would get an opportunity to further develop my farming skills, be exposed to new farming practices, earn a paycheck, and take no financial risk of my own. The downside? I'd be working for somebody else. After pretty much working as my own boss for a year, I am not thrilled at the prospect of having somebody else make all the farming decisions while I just do what I am told. Perhaps a farm manager position for an absentee/uninvolved owner would give me the best of both worlds, but I haven't found any such arrangement within a reasonable commute distance from my home. </span></div>
</div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Option 2, Lease land for my own farm: Going into the farming off-season, this was my first choice, and I spent hours scouring <a href="http://www.californiafarmlink.org/" target="_blank">California Farmlink</a> and Craigslist postings for suitable land, talking to land owners interested in leasing, and visiting potential lease sites. What I have come to realize is that most people interested in leasing have unimproved land to offer. They've been sitting on their land for a while, and would like to have it be used, but it will take and investment of time and money make it usable. If there is water, there isn't an irrigation system in place to deliver that water to crops. There may or may not be fencing. If I were buying farmland, I would have no problem investing the time and money needed to start a new farm. But as a short-term lessee, it's hard to justify spending lots of money and time to install an irrigation system on a piece of land that I know I will leave in 1-2 years, for example. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So I have two options, and I don't like either of them. What now? Is there another option? There a probably several other options, one of which is to not farm this season. There is a drought, after all, so bringing new farmland into production may not be prudent. And while I wouldn't be farming, I could still grow produce, albeit on a much smaller scale, in my backyard garden. With my family's help, I've been resurrecting the garden I've neglected since beginning my farmer training, starting by removing the chicken coop from the garden area so as to reclaim it for actual garden use. I did my "crop planning" last weekend, inventorying leftover seeds, mapping out the garden space, and deciding what to grow where. I started a few seeds in the "greenhouse," our guest bedroom with great afternoon sun, and once it stops raining, I will start cool-weather, direct-seeded crops like lettuce, beets, chard, kale, and potatoes outdoors. The chicken coop, relocated to an unused patio area, has been enlarged through the addition of an enclosed run, and two new hens, </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Winona and Wilhemina, </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">now call it home. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN8dfaBBzgQW_M5Qy6Nu4BX4fSQm6jPUsTkXuOBYOGTq4uPab8_GNUDZSSUshCDzp46cl5EkkNmRh1Zj6aicmvUG1XOKgUbRRHsie2Au_RDOGuW39tFCLX7p711n8zUAlP1Kv18R6cn8LD/s1600/photo+(8).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN8dfaBBzgQW_M5Qy6Nu4BX4fSQm6jPUsTkXuOBYOGTq4uPab8_GNUDZSSUshCDzp46cl5EkkNmRh1Zj6aicmvUG1XOKgUbRRHsie2Au_RDOGuW39tFCLX7p711n8zUAlP1Kv18R6cn8LD/s1600/photo+(8).JPG" height="239" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Winona and Wilhelmina explore their expanded living space.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSlAgC8AnwwqPN1PB0C0ogiq2sfGfzWu28JHNwoo_XuS4Q0OOExXWYlR0lgghIgiha-bxalQhYUwmIJn3A6JgDEgz_8IBKUpccIgb8f02LTaAukeUxWddz5xJ9w2eGx45nD31L4XBrwGzo/s1600/photo+(9).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSlAgC8AnwwqPN1PB0C0ogiq2sfGfzWu28JHNwoo_XuS4Q0OOExXWYlR0lgghIgiha-bxalQhYUwmIJn3A6JgDEgz_8IBKUpccIgb8f02LTaAukeUxWddz5xJ9w2eGx45nD31L4XBrwGzo/s1600/photo+(9).JPG" height="239" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My backyard "farm," ready for planting.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm enjoying my part-time doctor job, especially its income, so I'm leaning towards keeping it for a while this time around. Its part-time nature leaves me with time to continue my land search, or even to volunteer my farming services at a local farm. I recently discovered a relatively new farm within a few miles drive of my house that is growing organically and selling at an on-site farmstand. None of the farmers have formal training and would welcome my help, in exchange for produce.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In the meantime, if any of you see or hear about farming opportunities in the greater Sacramento area, please let me know. I have a few more ideas I'm exploring, like starting a community garden/farm on a vacant lot in urban Sacramento or West Sacramento. And for you big picture thinkers out there, I'm always open to ideas for how to use my doctor and farmer skill sets at the same time so that I don't have to keep alternating hats (and jobs).</span></div>
Aimee Sissonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13494327838705984720noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8850284645830696403.post-19083651137864864532013-10-29T22:35:00.000-07:002013-10-29T22:35:06.474-07:00Closing Time<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
“Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end.” --<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Closing_Time_(Semisonic_song)" target="_blank">Semisonic, Closing Time</a><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
</div>
For me, fall has always signified change.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The leaves change color, the air
turns cooler, and the rains come.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now
that I am a farmer, fall epitomizes change more than ever before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Days on the farm are shorter, both in
daylight hours and working hours.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Sleeping in is now allowed, since there are no crops demanding an early
morning harvest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Rolling up to the farm
at <st1:time hour="8" minute="30" w:st="on">8:30 a.m.</st1:time> is no longer
shameful; in fact, it might even be construed as early!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Spring was all about new beginnings and possibilities, but
fall is definitely about endings, including the end of the growing season and
the end of my contract to manage the farm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Our last few weeks at the farm have focused on all these endings,
pulling out the summer fruiting crops and replacing them with winter cover
crops, doing end-of-season record-keeping, cleaning tools, and
organizing the office. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4_KKRNIinHmcNZCx3CFYj1yiQhaOt7Krmy1gyFFgbNqHjEtoGQgaEC8ZBxbq1heJeONVl-KcOGWdcCigRQMnh9o9tzpmFJYbTiFIlD54UO4_Fhs-2rGEjIBZ8af-duGDWlS2HOBqr0h-S/s1600/146.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4_KKRNIinHmcNZCx3CFYj1yiQhaOt7Krmy1gyFFgbNqHjEtoGQgaEC8ZBxbq1heJeONVl-KcOGWdcCigRQMnh9o9tzpmFJYbTiFIlD54UO4_Fhs-2rGEjIBZ8af-duGDWlS2HOBqr0h-S/s1600/146.JPG" height="239" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fall on the farm, with germinating cover crop seedlings (canola and lana vetch).</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
As this season comes to an end and I reflect back on the
goals I wrote down back in January, I am proud of what Becca and I have
accomplished this season.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> First and foremost, w</span>e met our
financial goal of generating $15,000 in sales, albeit by the skin of our
teeth!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thank goodness for our fruit
trees, whose bountiful harvests made up for our pathetic tomato crop.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For most of the season, it didn’t look like
we were going to meet our financial goal, and I told myself that this was okay,
that there were more ways to measure success than by income.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All true, but boy, did my heart leap for joy
the moment the revenue column of my spreadsheet hit $15,000! </div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Another goal I had was to produce a value-added
product.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We actually produced several,
including 5 varieties of jam (Simply Peach, Spiced Peach, Peach Chile, Peach
Butter, Spiced Pluot), and 3 types of sundried fruit (peaches, tomatoes, and
raisins).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The raisins were delicious,
but quite labor intensive to process, as the tiny stem had to be painstakingly
removed from the top of each raisin. Similarly, the dried peaches had to be carefully
cut into 1/8-inch wedges, but they dried within 2 days and were a sweet, chewy
treat. </div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbb-RcVghKHB_h-agX32CulXua2x5XilVoU_SaVty5xq5TwZmt1oZArwfg0v5nBNjZnoQtB24G5LbU3waGT8qTkZOj3nLjAFYvjI6fYVTC8UTqwx492mT7o5-bOmlnTm71RTiQEQ7PQF5Y/s1600/038.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbb-RcVghKHB_h-agX32CulXua2x5XilVoU_SaVty5xq5TwZmt1oZArwfg0v5nBNjZnoQtB24G5LbU3waGT8qTkZOj3nLjAFYvjI6fYVTC8UTqwx492mT7o5-bOmlnTm71RTiQEQ7PQF5Y/s1600/038.JPG" height="320" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dried peaches, per the Masumoto method.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl66YLFuAp27aJv3sDBD2emWaATblhWNLcXw274Req4VvsQXYuai8tKSlHHKpouYZOotryAGgZPFaetBhJ7hCZq_1TQAHui2Gwt3OhrkmKn1IJIL5TL5KcmKZZHD_1RTG-vgTmGI_dtYZc/s1600/031.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl66YLFuAp27aJv3sDBD2emWaATblhWNLcXw274Req4VvsQXYuai8tKSlHHKpouYZOotryAGgZPFaetBhJ7hCZq_1TQAHui2Gwt3OhrkmKn1IJIL5TL5KcmKZZHD_1RTG-vgTmGI_dtYZc/s1600/031.JPG" height="320" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grapes completing their transformation into sundried raisins.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
A third goal I set was to teach Dakota to be a farm
dog.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not sure whether Dakota and I
met this goal or not, but we made a lot of progress until the farm’s dog policy
changed mid-season and Dakota had to return to spending her days napping on the
couch at home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Compared to her <a href="http://www.doctortofarmer.blogspot.com/2012/03/doggie-field-trip.html" target="_blank">first (and only) day on the farm last year</a>, Dakota has come a long way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She now understands the command “Path!,”
although she struggles (and understandably so) to distinguish between the path and the top of newly
planted beds.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dakota is much less
interested in the chickens than she used to be, giving chase if a chicken has
escaped its enclosure, but ignoring the chickens in the coop area.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although Dakota did dig a few holes in the
tomato beds, in her defense, she was just trying to create a cool spot to lie
down and rest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can’t really fault her
for that, can I?</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3gOlC_uaoWuwWFSCN42mlPSn-m21HTowNrbFuyPNx1L64_A8H2HEmTPqwKBkFt3ZSwD6-GVhOIbvk-o5Krf895BKRH0Zsq_Ou5HrRNdRW0jzrbsW4PvkEQ5bqmPBACxMpUofDA_tn3mtg/s1600/007.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3gOlC_uaoWuwWFSCN42mlPSn-m21HTowNrbFuyPNx1L64_A8H2HEmTPqwKBkFt3ZSwD6-GVhOIbvk-o5Krf895BKRH0Zsq_Ou5HrRNdRW0jzrbsW4PvkEQ5bqmPBACxMpUofDA_tn3mtg/s1600/007.JPG" height="239" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dakota napping in a bed of baby tomato plants, recovering after a stimulating day on the farm.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixYpxiNXAJn96WMx-skzHdUHm8VFKpDPjSFvfsEaRIbe68nk-0TpoGoK-p8_kSSN91EaYxSoIFj-Rdk3QyRTIyuWverHzlHek2693cNaP98FoNYzwUiBwX0MphO-YMgyP_b96QCA86yWTS/s1600/013.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixYpxiNXAJn96WMx-skzHdUHm8VFKpDPjSFvfsEaRIbe68nk-0TpoGoK-p8_kSSN91EaYxSoIFj-Rdk3QyRTIyuWverHzlHek2693cNaP98FoNYzwUiBwX0MphO-YMgyP_b96QCA86yWTS/s1600/013.JPG" height="239" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dakota surveys the farm, guarding against attack squirrels.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
I also set a goal of improving access to healthy food in our
neighborhood.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While Becca and I made
progress toward this goal, there is still a long ways to go.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We tackled this goal with a “If you build it,
they will come” mindset, naively assuming that we could solve the problem of residents
in our low-income neighborhood having poor access to fruits and vegetables simply by
starting a weekly farmstand in the parking lot of the school next to our
farm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unfortunately, not many people
came, and those who did were mostly middle-class community members, not
low-income parents and students.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While I
should have known this already from my public health experience, you can’t
solve food access issues just by increasing produce availability; you must also
address barriers related to cost, and educate families about nutrition and food
preparation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Needless to say, as two
busy farmers, Becca and I weren’t able to take on all the steps necessary to
really improve access to fruits and vegetables in our community.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But we did make small steps.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Countless community members purchased fresh
produce at our farmstand and at a neighborhood farmers’ market.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We also donated unsold produce to a local
food bank for distribution to those who needed it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Finally, I hoped to create a community around my little
farm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Here, much like the previous goal,
we made progress, but much more could be done.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We began the season with grand visions of weekly potlucks, large
volunteer groups, a busy farmstand, and lots of school field trips, but these
visions were quickly replaced by reality.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We were two farmers trying to care for 2 acres of fruits, vegetables,
and chickens.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We didn’t have time to
organize or plan for community-building activities.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We did squeeze in a few field trips in the
spring, allowing hundreds of schoolchildren to visit our farm and see where
fruits and vegetables come from.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We
didn’t recruit scores of volunteers, but what we lacked in quantity, we made up
for in quality.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were blessed to have
two committed volunteers, John and Sarah, who each came to the farm about twice
a week to help with weeding and harvesting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We “paid” them with fruits and vegetables, but owe them a debt of
gratitude for their labor and their company this season.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The farmstand was rarely busy, but we did
have a few regulars who stopped by every week for tomatoes or apples, and even
more regulars who visited our booth at the Midtown Farmers’ Market on
Saturdays.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We also built community
through a successful relationship with local restaurants.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One restaurant, OneSpeed Pizza, not only
bought produce from us weekly, they even came out to the farm as volunteers!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK8yR4DEXspCOG6xJt0_sanzshW2MXnElCNzemAYUVYqMp84Taujlg6UZFrJtGrXkJnfnzMQtzwL7nbKRkODWRSn6KQVxd7sG0ppw6cSbrzO9Zn9AL5T-aQcTwIVh7y0Ez_hGorv9B2Z88/s1600/165.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK8yR4DEXspCOG6xJt0_sanzshW2MXnElCNzemAYUVYqMp84Taujlg6UZFrJtGrXkJnfnzMQtzwL7nbKRkODWRSn6KQVxd7sG0ppw6cSbrzO9Zn9AL5T-aQcTwIVh7y0Ez_hGorv9B2Z88/s1600/165.JPG" height="320" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A sign in our farm office has a few ideas for building community. We did at least one of these--we planted flowers.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsSlpTGSU95dAmzZAxS9gwJ0DYy0Hiy5I9ga0b130RGMQprZPCdA4II8T8NACYH773ZvMW9econfz7QVUtBeyk9-xhl8QWJFf44VFb0A-wgptwRBz0kspcGVkIxITwNTTuhIh2Lx-WGBpi/s1600/002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsSlpTGSU95dAmzZAxS9gwJ0DYy0Hiy5I9ga0b130RGMQprZPCdA4II8T8NACYH773ZvMW9econfz7QVUtBeyk9-xhl8QWJFf44VFb0A-wgptwRBz0kspcGVkIxITwNTTuhIh2Lx-WGBpi/s1600/002.JPG" height="239" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Students learn from Farmer Becca about what plants need to grow.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span> </div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU2OEEd9NPxyVOHPIhGBK-GtxDinx_8Tfl2mDfEKVvMYTh5tHfsFXias9b8CZ3vr5fnveR5lYOGK5Ea8WEys169YSjSu-SWHIc5-2ABDXPM1m9RGNBykLxBTYuIGH5RGDVLYSbO0FhF2R_/s1600/095.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU2OEEd9NPxyVOHPIhGBK-GtxDinx_8Tfl2mDfEKVvMYTh5tHfsFXias9b8CZ3vr5fnveR5lYOGK5Ea8WEys169YSjSu-SWHIc5-2ABDXPM1m9RGNBykLxBTYuIGH5RGDVLYSbO0FhF2R_/s1600/095.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sarah, one of our regular volunteers, hunts down weeds with Patches, our farm cat.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuvfkoCaweNTDOjc0yKcXpCABXn_15i1nOuZ6J85NyRQvMN3O9KSNCq6Gi-iU22pYvhXDLfTGJWG0FUAGb_EqWouKqCR5OwJcU2gfBqxEH107tZqEmH9E_ru12EJQEtZHRxSWKjnCRIP6r/s1600/021.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuvfkoCaweNTDOjc0yKcXpCABXn_15i1nOuZ6J85NyRQvMN3O9KSNCq6Gi-iU22pYvhXDLfTGJWG0FUAGb_EqWouKqCR5OwJcU2gfBqxEH107tZqEmH9E_ru12EJQEtZHRxSWKjnCRIP6r/s1600/021.JPG" height="320" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">John, a dedicated volunteer, harvests arugula with Becca.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLT-LH2QvI0mzzPUyXhtax3MvYC-ULHDsTy1n3DcOkPI-8cqH9crcxgBe6ZT8QK01tjr-f4T1-2SrrSCFJeGupyvGKWtrBxUCJG375tQ09lJHx9wJkKiwJQFvYSPASB4vek-WeGzlYD54Q/s1600/043.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLT-LH2QvI0mzzPUyXhtax3MvYC-ULHDsTy1n3DcOkPI-8cqH9crcxgBe6ZT8QK01tjr-f4T1-2SrrSCFJeGupyvGKWtrBxUCJG375tQ09lJHx9wJkKiwJQFvYSPASB4vek-WeGzlYD54Q/s1600/043.JPG" height="239" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The OneSpeed kitchen staff-turned-farmers. Never underestimate <br />
how much a group of hardworking young men can do in 3 hours.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Fall may feel like it is all about endings, but these
endings prompt new beginnings of their own.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>A new job for the winter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A new
farm to start up and run this spring.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As
the season wound down, others (and myself) began to ask, “What comes next for
you?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m still figuring this out, but I
have a few ideas on where I’m headed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m
hoping to spend the winter working part-time as a public health physician,
exercising the doctor part of my brain, resting my body, staying warm and dry
indoors, and earning money to support my farming habit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As for the next growing season, things are
more up in the air.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I love the farm I
managed this season, but it is a training farm, and two new farmers will learn
from this piece of land next year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
ultimately hope to own my own small organic farm, but I’m not financially in a
position to buy a farm just yet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m
<a href="http://www.californiafarmlink.org/" target="_blank">looking into leasing land</a>, but haven’t found my dream spot yet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My most promising lead at this point is with
a former surgery colleague who is hoping to start a small farm on land in Elk
Grove, with plans to donate much of what is grown there those who need it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This mission aligns well with my public
health values, and I feel ready for the challenge of starting and running a
farm by myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A new beginning, indeed.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKLmXV5yDrWtQOPkIhyVsaa2zW2TBXV3r_ZUzPQFZvnIrdhRlIB19ITIQOl3fk_nuIiNy8CN2hQRBimYZFWFrwFsb_SOJqorLHoWhhg8wWai_jbVECoWEP-ZL09AamHZnNZlYTroQpjQPD/s1600/087.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKLmXV5yDrWtQOPkIhyVsaa2zW2TBXV3r_ZUzPQFZvnIrdhRlIB19ITIQOl3fk_nuIiNy8CN2hQRBimYZFWFrwFsb_SOJqorLHoWhhg8wWai_jbVECoWEP-ZL09AamHZnNZlYTroQpjQPD/s1600/087.JPG" height="320" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fun with cherry tomatoes, courtesy of Misha, a first-year apprentice.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
</div>
Aimee Sissonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13494327838705984720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8850284645830696403.post-72988371148821663962013-07-08T21:17:00.000-07:002013-07-08T21:17:24.725-07:00Peach panic!Help! I'm drowning in peaches and I can't get out! Okay, not really, but it feels a bit like that. After navigating our first pluots and nectarines, I thought I was getting the hang of orchard management, but I have been humbled by our peaches. Both the pluots and nectarines came in small quantities thanks to low tree numbers, so we were able to find homes for them fairly easily between the CSA, farmers' markets, and a loyal restaurant account. <br />
<br />
Not so with the peaches. Our 6 Redhaven yellow peach trees ripened faster than we expected, and all at once, such that we had close to 200 pounds of peaches to move, and move quickly. Identifying the harvest window for fruit is an art, and one I have yet to master. Having harvested many of our nectarines early, I vowed not to make this mistake again, telling myself to exercise patience. So I waited patiently for the peaches, checking them by giving a few a gentle squeeze (which, it turns out, is not a good practice. I should have read these <a href="http://www.tougasfarm.com/peachtips.html" target="_blank">peach picking tips</a> first!). Too firm. I waited a few days and checked again. Still too firm. Then, as if someone flipped a switch, they were ripe. Too ripe. A gentle squeeze resulted in permanent fingerprints in the fruit. Despite our best efforts to pick carefully and gently, they ripped open at the slightest touch, making about half of the peaches too damaged to sell (more on these in a minute). Those that survived our picking went to the usual suspects, plus a few family, friends, and co-workers at case discounts. But what to do with the rejects? To let them go to waste would be a shame. The flavor of these peaches...in a word, amazing. Becca and I both agreed they were the best peaches we had ever eaten. Soft, juicy, flavorful...everything you could want in a peach, minus durability. Well, you know what they say: "When life gives you peaches...make peach jam!"<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx-PWQhrzfCFMrPZRlR9eU-_lHt5D7h6leZKh21uG90W1T59gMLr3R-rs3s7WhrGAzTKH6yrRzesj5tafOmBEblWTopIbmQ3ufODC3tnRVNLVoAoDgeXjbkPny-Za9uglY15Afy56QmZ-R/s1600/058.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx-PWQhrzfCFMrPZRlR9eU-_lHt5D7h6leZKh21uG90W1T59gMLr3R-rs3s7WhrGAzTKH6yrRzesj5tafOmBEblWTopIbmQ3ufODC3tnRVNLVoAoDgeXjbkPny-Za9uglY15Afy56QmZ-R/s1600/058.JPG" height="239" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Boxes lined up for picking peaches. Each holds 8-10 pounds of fruit. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
So make jam we did. We were able to work with <a href="https://www.soilborn.org/index.php?option=com_content&view=category&layout=blog&id=89&Itemid=84" target="_blank">Harvest Sacramento's</a> canning guru, Janet McDonald of <a href="http://www.thegood-stuff.com/" target="_blank">The Good Stuff</a>, in a commercial kitchen. In one day, the three of us turned 75 pounds of damaged but delicious peaches into 71 half-pint jars of peach jam and peach butter. By doing the work in a commercial kitchen, we can sell the jam at our farmers' markets, meaning that our "reject" peaches can bring in some funds to help us reach our revenue goal for the season, a goal that seems impossibly far away right now. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrQ6-BZZuSX2oSxp62OvCCORgWQq3ia3FkqoSpBNKB6KEVjxSQRQba99rXOdd7irI_Oj59gpNG2F7JB4kyQAxfFNsQd3uHWe8HfcvSrUPrGL6RbMLdLuxT1RhrkYQxG3wFJlvZ5rSv20ct/s1600/043.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrQ6-BZZuSX2oSxp62OvCCORgWQq3ia3FkqoSpBNKB6KEVjxSQRQba99rXOdd7irI_Oj59gpNG2F7JB4kyQAxfFNsQd3uHWe8HfcvSrUPrGL6RbMLdLuxT1RhrkYQxG3wFJlvZ5rSv20ct/s1600/043.JPG" height="239" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Becca and Janet hard at work making jam.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPDlFm5C8_k1VY_a1ooDhngJVP8rwIHny-HtuNRmBpAYzvN5rvUoEiXO6fxwd7IM7IQGiPSb5kwdxNmaurlU_9y3TvMKG8U8PsBIgPc9KzcryS40lYzcB8ApSOHGJCCG43LwaC0VbATTtz/s1600/047.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPDlFm5C8_k1VY_a1ooDhngJVP8rwIHny-HtuNRmBpAYzvN5rvUoEiXO6fxwd7IM7IQGiPSb5kwdxNmaurlU_9y3TvMKG8U8PsBIgPc9KzcryS40lYzcB8ApSOHGJCCG43LwaC0VbATTtz/s1600/047.JPG" height="320" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The beginnings of a batch of peach jam.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2gzeOp2pLWxvZXgb79iLyl87nIHsghV4zbGQ1GUtdj1BbT895csMCbP_7nwH95_msYtFE0m2EQFKQAjGK-u4OxZvOe6rwnWBaRS2iqbnY54ONfRmPo4cjCtqLmtT-vUjJmLDcf-RKWgnm/s1600/050.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2gzeOp2pLWxvZXgb79iLyl87nIHsghV4zbGQ1GUtdj1BbT895csMCbP_7nwH95_msYtFE0m2EQFKQAjGK-u4OxZvOe6rwnWBaRS2iqbnY54ONfRmPo4cjCtqLmtT-vUjJmLDcf-RKWgnm/s1600/050.JPG" height="239" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jars of peach jam cool down after canning. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
After surviving the attack of the Redhaven peaches, I could barely catch my breath before the next variety of peaches ripened. Technically, these were peach-plums, but taste wise, at least to my untrained palette, they are 100% white peach. The description provided by <a href="http://davewilson.com/product-information/product/tri-lite-peach-plum-interspecific-peach" target="_blank">Dave Wilson Nursery</a> notes of the Tri-Lite peach-plum, "A mild, classic white peach flavor and wonderful plum aftertaste make this fruit a unique treat. Try as I might, and believe me, I tried plenty of these peach-plums, I could not detect any plum aftertaste. Our 5 Tri-Lite trees set heavily this season, and apparently I was asleep on the job while thinning them, finding the ripe fruit much closer together than the requisite 6 inches apart. Oops. So we had lots of Tri-Lites, about 65 pounds per tree, for a total of 330 pounds of so. That's a lot of peaches. Although I did a better job getting this variety picked before they were too ripe, we still had a lot of seconds (fruit too damaged to sell). So we made jam. Again. This time, we couldn't get into the commercial kitchen, so we settled for a home kitchen. This jam would be for ourselves, our family, and our friends. After working half a day at the farm on the 4th of July, we hit the kitchen for the afternoon, canning 50 or so half-pints of various peach jams (peach-lavender jam, low-sugar spiced peach jam, no-pectin peach jam). This time, we got by with a little help from our friends--thanks, Michele and Sarah, for your hard work peeling, chopping, and jarring up peaches. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXdZCqjZnM1pYZRkUvN8NwoaAy1OJMsfQVsWiOMYvXe2kIRAFDfXi4V9D16XJI5QIZudduDF0RaI19lloE6RPocDg_CK6-GUjr4nTvNCRY9zONiS85iZ8JU7kVa9vL1q-vdjnzk109gM_m/s1600/071.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXdZCqjZnM1pYZRkUvN8NwoaAy1OJMsfQVsWiOMYvXe2kIRAFDfXi4V9D16XJI5QIZudduDF0RaI19lloE6RPocDg_CK6-GUjr4nTvNCRY9zONiS85iZ8JU7kVa9vL1q-vdjnzk109gM_m/s1600/071.JPG" height="320" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gorgeous Tri-Lite peach-plums for sale at the <a href="http://www.enutshells.net/profiles/Clusters/BeMoneySmart/Farmers_Market/Locations/farmers_market__swanston_park_4244.htm" target="_blank">Swanston Park Farmers' Market</a>.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9WoM6hrJ3hhyphenhyphen98Qx3Snz-JBuo0acNPERQM3UEMVVCVqw8LY__vRwVY8EUkWsZs3E7wSvAG8jLCoBvY0YhKg0d2naURUihsPQ_lhYlXtWlezv_QrvbvztGccK6K2YTB-412NQyk90uk9rO/s1600/062.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9WoM6hrJ3hhyphenhyphen98Qx3Snz-JBuo0acNPERQM3UEMVVCVqw8LY__vRwVY8EUkWsZs3E7wSvAG8jLCoBvY0YhKg0d2naURUihsPQ_lhYlXtWlezv_QrvbvztGccK6K2YTB-412NQyk90uk9rO/s1600/062.JPG" height="320" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Insufficiently thinned peach-plums on the tree. Note the brace holding up the loaded branch to prevent breakage!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiefQW7KxFguAZHD5E5Jtp_e1_m2VYwGUznD_pxtvgjNoncwoF3ojqfia2GUPoq5D8ewE5CUcJBGi_mBvDbZHnLIidlV3vdzojkgzxSMvhiRghW_bWJfuk7uJNK2kq1rnsg-5X3EjOVYf1J/s1600/065.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiefQW7KxFguAZHD5E5Jtp_e1_m2VYwGUznD_pxtvgjNoncwoF3ojqfia2GUPoq5D8ewE5CUcJBGi_mBvDbZHnLIidlV3vdzojkgzxSMvhiRghW_bWJfuk7uJNK2kq1rnsg-5X3EjOVYf1J/s1600/065.JPG" height="320" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A Tri-Lite peach-plum in its native habitat.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Yesterday, I canned and froze the last of the Tri-Lite peaches, plus I baked a peach cobbler. Although I love these peaches, if I don't eat another one for a long time, that will be okay. My peach meter is past full. Fortunately, we get a short break from peaches for a month or so before the next varieties will ripen, so I will have time to regain my peach appetite. In the meantime, I'll be swimming in Dapple Dandy pluots. The pluots are <em>so</em> good, but also <em>so</em> plentiful. By my estimation there could be as much as 1000 pounds on our 10 trees, so we may have to get creative to find homes for all of these fruits. If your stomach would make a good home for a pluot or two, let me know. I know where you can get some for a good price. :)<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4d-rzc2_SkQ0P_pzVLuD5KzZeCjzmII5kZ2FSdLNkQkjsi7Weir24KsB-m58RIHCFd8c7x05EpjJAfWKbLNgpTFwLX2aK_mZEVrSIvGUShqMduWTOeyUTt2IkXrTwfIVKuCVxH_6_Xtl7/s1600/067.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4d-rzc2_SkQ0P_pzVLuD5KzZeCjzmII5kZ2FSdLNkQkjsi7Weir24KsB-m58RIHCFd8c7x05EpjJAfWKbLNgpTFwLX2aK_mZEVrSIvGUShqMduWTOeyUTt2IkXrTwfIVKuCVxH_6_Xtl7/s1600/067.JPG" height="320" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The chickens also get their share of peaches.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
One final note (literally): packing all those peaches made me think of an old (1996) song about peaches. Anyone else remember this one: <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vmaF6IOODFc">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vmaF6IOODFc</a>? The lyrics about millions of peaches struck a chord with me, no surprise. (Dad, those puns are for you--hope you liked them!)<br />
Aimee Sissonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13494327838705984720noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8850284645830696403.post-29412741569002837672013-06-13T21:00:00.000-07:002013-06-13T21:00:08.891-07:00Fruits of our laborConfession: I love fruit. I eat it every morning for breakfast, usually with yogurt and granola. I eat it as a snack throughout the day. And I especially like to eat it in desserts like pies and crisps. Plus, now that Weight Watchers made all fruit zero points under its PointsPlus system, I can fill up on fruit without guilt (although only the unadulterated kind, not the pie kind). It's probably not surprising, then, that my favorite part about the farm I'm managing this year is its fruit. We have quite a fruit salad growing at the farm, including strawberries, rhubarb, mulberries, pluots, peaches, nectarines, plums, figs, apples, grapes, pomegranates, and persimmons. <br />
<br />
Our strawberries, an everbearing Seascape variety, have had a tough year, being invaded by weeds and attacked by slugs, but they are still producing, albeit very little at the moment. Last week, we only harvested one pint of sellable berries from 6 beds of plants, down from 24 pints at peak production. Two very dedicated volunteers have been patiently and determinedly working their way through the strawberry beds, removing every weed they see. Three rows down, three to go!<br />
<br />
We have one very large rhubarb plant on the farm, probably of the Victoria variety, which produces stalks that are primarily green, rather than the classic bright red. The plant is now done producing for the season, but when we had it, the rhubarb was very popular at the farmers' market. If I were going to farm this site for another year, I would definitely plant more rhubarb. Granted, customers are not flocking to the market in droves to buy rhubarb, but few local farmers grow it, so demand is high relative to supply. Rhubarb is a perennial crop, so the same plant will produce for several years, but it takes at least a year after planting to become established enough to harvest stalks, leaving no incentive for a single-season farmer to invest time and money into planting rhubarb for the next farmer, who may not even want it. <br />
<br />
Right now, I am most excited about our tree fruits. When Becca and I took over The Farm on Hurley Way, our first major task was to prune the fruit trees. I've always enjoyed pruning, finding it a nice mix of thinking and doing: pruning is a physical activity that should be performed thoughtfully. Once a branch has been cut, you can't undo it by clicking Ctrl-Z--it's gone for good. So when it was time to prune the orchard this winter, I was excited to begin. What I didn't anticipate is how excited I would quickly become to stop. Up until this season, my pruning experience was primarily confined to my own young backyard trees, which total 7 in number, are small in stature, and can easily be pruned in a single afternoon. The orchard at Hurley, on the other hand, has at least 80 trees, some of which are over 15 feet tall. As trees branch, the number of pruning cuts needed expands exponentially, such that an established peach tree has <em>a lot</em> of branches to trim back (heading cuts) or cut off (thinning cuts). Add in height as a complicating factor requiring multiple ladder moves per tree, and you have a recipe for eating up a lot of a farmer's time, in this case several weeks! <br />
<br />
Once pruning was finished (finally!), we needed to spray our peach and nectarine trees with lime sulfur to control peach leaf curl. Becca was my hero on this task, bravely facing the rotten egg smell for several days as she used a backpack sprayer to thoroughly apply a solution of lime sulfur to each tree. Smelly though it was, the lime sulfur seemed to do the trick, and we had very few deformed leaves this season.<br />
<br />
The next major orchard-related task was fruit thinning. It is necessary to remove fruit from a tree for several reasons, including to prevent branch breakage from excess weight, as well as to allow the remaining fruit to grow larger. Apples should be thinned to one per cluster, which for most of our trees meant cutting off about 5 baby apples for every one that I kept. Peaches and nectarines should be thinned to one fruit every six inches or so. Our trees set fruit pretty heavily this year, and I ended up removing probably 3 out of every 4 peaches. It was hard to pull perfectly good fruit off a tree and drop it on the ground, but I had to trust my reading and mentors that it would be better for the tree and the harvest in the end. Pluots and plums need little thinning, thankfully, because the peaches took a lot longer than I anticipated, and time is always in short supply on a farm.<br />
<br />
At present, our investment of time in pruning, spraying, and thinning seems to be paying off. That's right, the tree fruit harvest has begun! Flavor Supreme pluots were the first fruits to ripen, two weeks ahead of schedule, likely due to a hot spring. I inherited little information on the orchard when I took over the farm, mostly just a map identifying what variety each tree is. After stumbling upon a ripe pluot by accident, I realized that I needed more information about the orchard or we were going to miss the harvest window for our fruit. I've since created documents listing our fruit varieties, anticipated ripening dates, fruit descriptions, and pictures of each ripe fruit, along with space to fill in when the fruit actually ripens in an effort to help both us and future farmers at the site. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjAcSIammAhoFTpOj54yJnm_Fxo766sc0nxJgOM6PbOfbl2DPv8SmP-_GCzneyMr39g3d-zcykAKqUXxS94UhX3EGUl-lI-VCDqg1kPJR6HMtIlyAFkatLuOGb2I_6MKC_HBSXkCuNj53R/s1600/074.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjAcSIammAhoFTpOj54yJnm_Fxo766sc0nxJgOM6PbOfbl2DPv8SmP-_GCzneyMr39g3d-zcykAKqUXxS94UhX3EGUl-lI-VCDqg1kPJR6HMtIlyAFkatLuOGb2I_6MKC_HBSXkCuNj53R/s320/074.JPG" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pluot tree. First came the flowers...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVjhYfYrEt-JskEDnHw0em0vcdlsEP8PxFnV6Nx9KdgC9u_pPc6YmTJWiE3xxGVuxOxRsIQqbNNuGVQS8noDVEMwNeoz1CZI9NRdU1g7YHSRD3l1xfApHf9PhhyKX7KRq9uybtLoJ8L-Du/s1600/119.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVjhYfYrEt-JskEDnHw0em0vcdlsEP8PxFnV6Nx9KdgC9u_pPc6YmTJWiE3xxGVuxOxRsIQqbNNuGVQS8noDVEMwNeoz1CZI9NRdU1g7YHSRD3l1xfApHf9PhhyKX7KRq9uybtLoJ8L-Du/s320/119.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">...then the leaves...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWNL5NPkm6MjpUVGswbur8aJncX8OvV1j8-qk2lHPEUbS3NetXFg8gLU2l89C5GpzA2jlodXLD4iCdNEv4RkSGAtP_To1JcHFH0jViMTTg4eJOqYm6li_Cnhl4RoWTxhgyOBEEorXvnUfc/s1600/003.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWNL5NPkm6MjpUVGswbur8aJncX8OvV1j8-qk2lHPEUbS3NetXFg8gLU2l89C5GpzA2jlodXLD4iCdNEv4RkSGAtP_To1JcHFH0jViMTTg4eJOqYm6li_Cnhl4RoWTxhgyOBEEorXvnUfc/s320/003.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">...and then the fruit.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The Flavor Supreme pluots were delicious, but they didn't last long. Our three trees yielded around 80 pounds of fruit (not counting farmer snacks!), which we sold at the Midtown Farmers' Market and to our sister farm for their CSA, and have been picked clean. While I mourn the end of these pluots, I know that peaches and nectarines are right around the corner!Aimee Sissonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13494327838705984720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8850284645830696403.post-29035139445161214792013-05-20T18:22:00.000-07:002013-05-20T18:22:53.956-07:00MarketsFarming is hard work. The work starts long before a single seed is planted, with crop planning, ordering seeds, and prepping beds. It continues with planting, weeding, and watering, and culminates with harvesting. Harvesting is a great pleasure; it is the culmination of all that hard work, a time to literally reap the fruits of your labor. It is deeply satisfying to look upon a crate of gorgeous lettuce mix and know that my hard work helped make it happen. But as rewarding and satisfying as the harvest may be, it is far from the <em>end</em> of the hard work, because that gorgeous lettuce probably still needs to be sold.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
As a farmer, I have many options available to me for selling my food, each with its own set of pros and cons. I could offer a CSA (community supported agriculture) program, having customers prepay for a box of produce every week. In that case, my produce would already be sold at the time of harvest, but I would probably be pretty stressed out every week about whether I had enough food to fill the boxes and enough variety to keep my customers happy ("Collard greens, again? We got those last week!").</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I could also sell to restaurants through established accounts, contacting the restaurants each week to let them know what and how much is available. In this scenario, the produce may or may not be sold at the time of harvest. Restaurants are picky, typically only wanting top-quality produce, which leaves any imperfect produce without a buyer. In addition, while I would be proud to have my produce on the menu at a high-end restaurant, my goal of growing healthy food for those who need it would not be met. A third option, selling to grocery stores, is very similar to the restaurant approach. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Another option is to sell at a farmers' market. I can bring whatever produce I have to the market, even imperfect produce, but I have to pay a fee to the market organizer for my booth space, set up and break down the display, and spend hours off the farm (but on my feet) at the market, hoping that people buy my produce. If nobody buys my food, it will be too limp after sitting in the sun for hours to try to sell again.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Finally, I can sell my produce at a farmstand. Located on or near my own property, a farmstand allows me to sell whatever I have without having to pay a booth fee, but I have to do all the marketing myself. If I don't advertise well enough, there will be no customers to buy my fruits and veggies. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So what is a farmer to do? I've opted for a combination of numbers two through five above, trying not to put all my eggs in one basket. We have a accounts with a couple of area restaurants, sell to a local grocery store that believes in supporting local growers, sell at the <a href="http://www.midtownfarmersmarketsac.com/" target="_blank">Midtown Farmers' Market</a> on Saturdays, and host a farmstand right outside our gate on Tuesday afternoons. Each week, we have to figure out which produce should go where. Should the lettuce mix be sold to the grocery store on Thursday, or should we save it for the farmers' market on Saturday? The grocery store gets wholesale pricing, so we make less per pound, but it's a guaranteed sale, unlike the farmers' market, where the lettuce might languish. The decisions aren't easy, but we make them, trying to balance the sometimes competing goals of making money, improving access to healthy food, and not letting food go to waste. <br />
<br />
As I write this post, feet aching from standing at three markets last week while my tomato plants desperately needed trellising, part of me wishes that I could shift the balance toward more restaurant and retail accounts so that I could spend more time on the farm tending to crops and less time standing behind a table hawking my wares. But then I wouldn't get to meet the customer who told me that my lettuce mix and arugula were amazing, or the little boy who got so excited about a bunch of radishes. "What is a farmer to do?" indeed.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGDWCk1RPIkoRt_utxVudBqp7qiC1HG6NtN8lk_Pl8TMtG4ftBAw4TQR7nV2LjsdLNmL2jJIohw4EtbMfUK2YAQVluEnzhP-J5WyGH9rCtkHeTrUdXiXrfdcZTUXUymciMwQRThRc-mW8A/s640/blogger-image-580679446.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGDWCk1RPIkoRt_utxVudBqp7qiC1HG6NtN8lk_Pl8TMtG4ftBAw4TQR7nV2LjsdLNmL2jJIohw4EtbMfUK2YAQVluEnzhP-J5WyGH9rCtkHeTrUdXiXrfdcZTUXUymciMwQRThRc-mW8A/s320/blogger-image-580679446.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our booth at the Midtown Farmers' Market.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCU9Vyol1MKseD-YH6oriEap1hKdxx5GTi1U73geq2f-vwd6AbAzMCh4WzO4tMqNTZHxGVWttdI6KpMhEltKXIfm-JG9Wz-uZqp1WnTm2GMw-YX_oBkP8ElxaK3e1czviGYQGCAmREBRhZ/s1600/003.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCU9Vyol1MKseD-YH6oriEap1hKdxx5GTi1U73geq2f-vwd6AbAzMCh4WzO4tMqNTZHxGVWttdI6KpMhEltKXIfm-JG9Wz-uZqp1WnTm2GMw-YX_oBkP8ElxaK3e1czviGYQGCAmREBRhZ/s1600/003.JPG" height="239" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our Tuesday farmstand at the Farm on Hurley Way.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
Aimee Sissonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13494327838705984720noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8850284645830696403.post-60919332149339189592013-04-17T20:21:00.002-07:002013-04-17T20:23:40.233-07:00First HarvestToday, I reached a milestone in my farming journey, the farmer's version of the first day of kindergarten--my first harvest! Yes, I've harvested produce many times before today, but it was never really <em>my</em> produce--it was somebody else's crop that I was hired to help with. What I picked today I can rightfully call mine. I chose the varieties from the seed catalog, I prepped the beds, I sowed the seeds, I weeded the seedlings, I harvested the crop, I washed it, I packed it into boxes, and I waved it goodbye as it climbed aboard the delivery van en route to the local chef who ordered it. <br />
<br />
I should actually say we, not I, and ours, not mine, as my partner Becca and I are jointly working the farm. In using "I," I do not intend to take more than my share of the credit, I am simply trying to convey the sense of ownership and pride that I feel towards what I grew.<br />
<br />
Today's harvest was small, but a good warm-up for larger harvests to come. I was working on my own, since Becca was at her second job at a neighborhood coffee shop, so I'm glad the harvest was not a big one--it took me long enough as it was. Being the first harvest of the season, I had to spend time gathering and then cleaning the necessary supplies--harvest crate, harvest bucket, soap, scrub brush, knife, salad spinner, hose, spray nozzle, wash tub, drain plug, plastic bags, waxed cardboard boxes, labels, and an invoice. Whew! In all, I picked 4 pounds of <a href="http://www.johnnyseeds.com/p-6630-encore-lettuce-mix-og.aspx" target="_blank">lettuce mix</a>, one-half pound of <a href="http://www.johnnyseeds.com/p-6192-astro-og.aspx" target="_blank">baby arugula</a>, and one bunch of <a href="http://www.johnnyseeds.com/p-7279-easter-egg.aspx" target="_blank">Easter Egg radishes</a>. The harvest supplies were heavier and more numerous than the actual crop!<br />
<br />
I have never grown lettuce mix before, so I am learning about this crop as I go. When it came time to sow the lettuce mix seeds one month ago, Becca and I spent some time on the Internet and reading seed catalogs to figure out how to plant it. We settled on using our <a href="http://www.johnnyseeds.com/p-5475-earthway-vegetable-seeder.aspx" target="_blank">Earthway seeder</a> and planting 8 rows per bed. This is a fairly dense planting, with not enough room between rows to fit a hula hoe for weeding, but with enough room for weeds to grow (see photo below). This leaves us with only one option for weeding the lettuce: by hand. Yuck! So Becca and I spent a couple of hours on our hands and knees yesterday afternoon, pulling up nut sedge, bermuda grass, lamb's quarters, and rogue tomato plants that seeded themselves from the tomatoes Eric and Sarah planted last year. (Ironically, these volunteer, unidentified tomato seedlings actually looked better than the ones I intentionally planted yesterday on the other side of the farm, tempting me to dig them up and transplant them!) We had no idea how much of the bed we would need to harvest to meet our order of 4 pounds, so we weeded our entire crop, 50 bed feet, just in case. (It turns out that it only takes about 9 bed feet to yield 4 pounds of lettuce mix, so we didn't need to weed as much as we did, but now we know.) As of this morning, I had no idea how to harvest the lettuce mix, so back to the Internet I went. YouTube videos proved unhelpful (although I was entertained by <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MplrHSf4Mm4" target="_blank">one</a> playing soothing music while showing a tractor harvesting lettuce mix on a slightly larger scale than my little farm) but luckily the company we ordered our lettuce seeds from had produced a great <a href="http://www.johnnyseeds.com/Assets/Information/SaladMixProduction.pdf" target="_blank">2-page handout</a> on lettuce mix, including how to harvest it. Apparently, the mix should be harvested when 4-5 inches tall, using a sharp knife to cut about 1/2 inch above the soil level while holding the tops of the greens in the other hand. This method ended up working pretty well for me. <br />
<br />
Once the greens were cut, it was time for their bath. I used a large metal stock tank to wash the greens, at the same time picking out a few weeds that snuck past Becca and I yesterday. Once the greens were washed, I transferred them to a high capacity salad spinner to dry them off, then packed them in plastic bags. Once in bags, the bags were loaded into a box and the box placed in the cooler for short-term storage. Mission accomplished! <br />
<br />
Next Friday, we will have a much larger harvest, as our first farmers' market is next Saturday. We're hoping to bring lettuce mix, baby spinach, baby arugula, radishes, rhubarb, and strawberries to the market, so Friday will be a busy day of picking. In the meantime, we'll stock up on harvest and packing supplies and get the packing area better organized so our next harvest will be more efficient.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBRP-DUJLwzArlHzOaSx2pCkQ57MUSNU47yEibIITQmL0Zi-06heWLgP5fbJFk5VLkCmfPKwRTSJlBsobAd3MQlNoQR7uM2I-HahN1hO4ffZrxi3TK_4_G9F4693h67_z1l8DJpdPEq-Ll/s1600/007.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBRP-DUJLwzArlHzOaSx2pCkQ57MUSNU47yEibIITQmL0Zi-06heWLgP5fbJFk5VLkCmfPKwRTSJlBsobAd3MQlNoQR7uM2I-HahN1hO4ffZrxi3TK_4_G9F4693h67_z1l8DJpdPEq-Ll/s1600/007.JPG" height="239" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bed of lettuce mix, before weeding and harvest.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGzmmQChsWDUYnOWugh4wRW92SWX5-jMkixUgJbUqfrEnDcrdktvlOXtbBb4V6gzLOhChG77TaTnnZxnBEEbTKMOZ6HpliEsef_wvNxpSLM7f1Z0E8Rhccgh6Tdic6-Sq3FRIhYiFpcy45/s1600/014.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGzmmQChsWDUYnOWugh4wRW92SWX5-jMkixUgJbUqfrEnDcrdktvlOXtbBb4V6gzLOhChG77TaTnnZxnBEEbTKMOZ6HpliEsef_wvNxpSLM7f1Z0E8Rhccgh6Tdic6-Sq3FRIhYiFpcy45/s1600/014.JPG" height="320" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bed of lettuce mix, after weeding and harvest.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj47gAGFJWS1TTqlUpdGwBXNdYSKIT3bxVKLF6XLyMxuvlxOLqY3598I3oIWYKVUPF0XNGmkDC9p15tcD-VVmIG9_9OSMLuhGtp4fO4NvaFa4DafjNw0HSCL4XmURJOXUtxBaN1Bx9-9xDB/s1600/021.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj47gAGFJWS1TTqlUpdGwBXNdYSKIT3bxVKLF6XLyMxuvlxOLqY3598I3oIWYKVUPF0XNGmkDC9p15tcD-VVmIG9_9OSMLuhGtp4fO4NvaFa4DafjNw0HSCL4XmURJOXUtxBaN1Bx9-9xDB/s1600/021.JPG" height="239" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">4 pounds of just-harvested lettuce mix.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXegLYZUuY5tMkWYeXKz4hqM2_DTPiBG0uBosbkVnv1pPvy3wo8kexcNiZUx6F8MsKuplp6KMnXMBAAHk7iDYcc05X6aoWcKPEIcyPOlMPppKe9ewRamlOx8POejKLY3fs0TXL8vUScT8y/s1600/022.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXegLYZUuY5tMkWYeXKz4hqM2_DTPiBG0uBosbkVnv1pPvy3wo8kexcNiZUx6F8MsKuplp6KMnXMBAAHk7iDYcc05X6aoWcKPEIcyPOlMPppKe9ewRamlOx8POejKLY3fs0TXL8vUScT8y/s1600/022.JPG" height="239" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One-half pound of fresh, baby arugula.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKT7C5TYpZ_qk-GpM4vcY91g2AyNVKn6xm7tK6iaNgM6deMDM6kbQ-1Mo6zuVjZ7qy9kjIy0wynClTmVj0MErkK-sMsIR4nPQPSpvI3X0PDSO-BFYij0P7bob8WmjpDHpVVowy6937IbPo/s1600/023.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKT7C5TYpZ_qk-GpM4vcY91g2AyNVKn6xm7tK6iaNgM6deMDM6kbQ-1Mo6zuVjZ7qy9kjIy0wynClTmVj0MErkK-sMsIR4nPQPSpvI3X0PDSO-BFYij0P7bob8WmjpDHpVVowy6937IbPo/s1600/023.JPG" height="239" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Baby arugula going for a swim in the wash tub.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeaMO873oSRZrk4vuUttOMFZq860FxFaUV7jq6n62yBNX6aDX-y20U5ntgdB44K4SjWf3tqZEp3nCs-PlUiwLn0-OzRslkK2vtW7Y9RNvh-1nGH6XIKGHunuUdDWIV79cHf9xLzAHkG7xX/s1600/020.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeaMO873oSRZrk4vuUttOMFZq860FxFaUV7jq6n62yBNX6aDX-y20U5ntgdB44K4SjWf3tqZEp3nCs-PlUiwLn0-OzRslkK2vtW7Y9RNvh-1nGH6XIKGHunuUdDWIV79cHf9xLzAHkG7xX/s1600/020.JPG" height="320" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Easter Egg radishes. So proud of my little babies!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Aimee Sissonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13494327838705984720noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8850284645830696403.post-65224321057902919952013-04-13T21:26:00.004-07:002013-04-13T21:26:49.277-07:005 + 7 + 5 = ?On my drive to the farm one morning this week, <a href="http://www.npr.org/2013/04/12/176913038/short-and-sweet-celebrating-d-c-s-cherry-blossoms-with-haiku" target="_blank">NPR featured haiku</a> about Washington DC's cherry blossoms. The short, simple poems were intriguing, and got me counting syllables. Haiku is perfect for me right now, since I feel too busy to write for very long, and the one other time I did sit down to write a blog post, I struggled to find the right words. So here are a few farm haiku to kick off my second season of blogging. I do realize that they probably won't make much sense to most of you, but as our local NPR host commented, the beauty of a simple haiku is lost if you have to explain it. <br />
<br />
Plastic pipe, wood, wire:<br />
A new home for the chickens.<br />
But where are the eggs?<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9wvyTHFY22g2YgNNDAE0mgpQ_sgkbaf3uz53VmEINTtCiWtV8c64zWsgDM4VpAjGxEatXPc2d4Yw6EVhAhuEFwJ0Yg08qHTtrXrw3YQT7sMR3Q-K5TkHmPUrXDICiJTKcvqdRGgNztGy9/s1600/095.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9wvyTHFY22g2YgNNDAE0mgpQ_sgkbaf3uz53VmEINTtCiWtV8c64zWsgDM4VpAjGxEatXPc2d4Yw6EVhAhuEFwJ0Yg08qHTtrXrw3YQT7sMR3Q-K5TkHmPUrXDICiJTKcvqdRGgNztGy9/s320/095.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Last year they raised pigs<br />
Now the ground's too hard to till<br />
Forking breaks my back<br />
<br />
Sore throat, cough, stuffed up<br />
NCIS entertains<br />
No farm work for me<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.blackberrydave.com/" target="_blank">Blackberry Dave</a> disks<br />
Saving us a week's labor<br />
Worth every cent<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB_AwbfGJyNbWWcut15RO2UTQPYCYBRi-HSNm7p6HWeMcgdGFpEj3rrZq_DH-8OhMG6f70kybGroy6gjxyEyCUxc5QmUS7KswttbEhPKJKPlYHEjpRG_qqigSsC7gcdXePY29-msyEd7sI/s1600/138.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB_AwbfGJyNbWWcut15RO2UTQPYCYBRi-HSNm7p6HWeMcgdGFpEj3rrZq_DH-8OhMG6f70kybGroy6gjxyEyCUxc5QmUS7KswttbEhPKJKPlYHEjpRG_qqigSsC7gcdXePY29-msyEd7sI/s320/138.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Oops, there goes a pipe<br />
Could the doggies be to blame?<br />
Off to Home Depot<br />
<br />
The weeds grow like mad<br />
Undoing hard work so fast<br />
Hope the plants grow, too<br />
<br />
Aimee Sissonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13494327838705984720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8850284645830696403.post-38817508479769844872012-11-08T11:01:00.000-08:002012-11-08T17:05:24.216-08:00A long way from homeSince my apprenticeship ended last week, I am now officially on vacation, although some might call it unemployment. This break between farming seasons seemed a good opportunity to visit my brother and his family who recently moved to Virginia from Colorado, so I hopped on a plane to the East Coast. I visited the Washington, D.C. area when I was 6, but for all intents and purposes, this is my first real trip to Virginia. Flying on a prop plane from D.C. to the Shenandoah Valley, I survived a very bumpy, windy ride that had me worried I would throw up, pass out, or both, but I still managed to appreciate just how beautiful the area is: rolling hills, trees showing off their fall colors, and tons of green, open space. <br />
<br />
My brother lives on a farm, but he is not a farmer. He and his family rent a 200-year-old house on a 300-acre plantation. The farm, managed by someone else, is home to twenty-something beef cattle who graze the rolling pastures, and a lot of soybeans, grown by another someone else. Having just spent 8 months on a small, diversified organic farm, seeing a vast expanse of a single crop is quite foreign. The soybeans must be tractor-planted, as they are lined up perfectly about 6 inches apart in rows about a foot-and-a-half apart and about a quarter-mile long, with no paths for walking. The beans are dried now and ready for harvest. I didn't even know dried soybeans were a crop, picturing plump green pods of edamame at my favorite sushi restaurant instead, but it turns out most soybeans are not grown for fresh eating. In fact, most soybeans aren't even grown for human consumption; rather, they are grown for animal feed, with soybean meal (what's left after you extract soybean oil with hexane) being the foundation of confined animal feeding operations. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi57bmm6tajIR_m140S29ymgnIznUQwwYy7imXgO1O4S468eiak-WaOIxj0LOoWOaxbf0EOhr_l0vw6ZPLB0r0gwgpgLZ_CQbfAdh6m2-kR_UB4EEjpt4Gf207iTp11at3gLvmP4NlHSniP/s1600/soybeans.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi57bmm6tajIR_m140S29ymgnIznUQwwYy7imXgO1O4S468eiak-WaOIxj0LOoWOaxbf0EOhr_l0vw6ZPLB0r0gwgpgLZ_CQbfAdh6m2-kR_UB4EEjpt4Gf207iTp11at3gLvmP4NlHSniP/s1600/soybeans.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A river of dried soybeans awaits harvest on the farm where my brother lives.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Okay, enough about soybeans. What I really want to talk about is <a href="http://www.monticello.org/" target="_blank">Monticello</a>. Yesterday, I visited Thomas Jefferson's mountaintop home outside Charlottesville. At 5,000 acres, Jefferson certainly had a large plantation. But then again, he also had about 200 slaves to help him get everything done. I'm not a history buff at all, but I was drawn to Monticello by its gardens, having seen a beautiful picture of the <a href="http://www.monticello.org/site/house-and-gardens/vegetable-garden" target="_blank">gardens</a> in a recent magazine. While at Monticello, however, I gained new respect for Thomas Jefferson. Did you know he was only 33 when he drafted the <a href="http://www.archives.gov/exhibits/charters/declaration_transcript.html" target="_blank">Declaration of Independence</a>? That happens to be my current age, so I find the feat particularly impressive as I try to imagine myself sitting down to write such a monumental, world-changing document instead of this simple blog. In addition to being a founding father of the United States of America, Jefferson was a gardener. And not a casual gardener who would just toss a few seeds in the ground and see what happened; he was quite methodical and kept detailed records of his plantings and harvests. He grew 330 varieties of 99 vegetables on his 80-foot wide, 1000-foot-long terrace, growing both for food and fun, experimenting with seeds from other parts of the world. Jefferson organized his crops based on which part of the plant was harvested: fruits, roots, or leaves, as shown in this page from his garden notebook, and I system I like, as it groups plants roughly by how long it takes them to mature:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDmZqYfi0iDCZCro02qh2qy6qfT_whw15zBhrhgjenv-A2aVMhWRT1SdX55Z4qB50MMr-NWeeY-kDqPsRdoPF1ypCeLs4ROxMQMh9VCg8qtCfH8KGWJrDvxi3ot38WlEWjAbli8atWWCm9/s1600/book2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDmZqYfi0iDCZCro02qh2qy6qfT_whw15zBhrhgjenv-A2aVMhWRT1SdX55Z4qB50MMr-NWeeY-kDqPsRdoPF1ypCeLs4ROxMQMh9VCg8qtCfH8KGWJrDvxi3ot38WlEWjAbli8atWWCm9/s1600/book2.JPG" width="476" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Flipping through a facsimile of Jefferson's notebook in the Monticello visitor center, I was amazed that his planting records from 1812 looked nearly identical to a table in a recently published book on crop planning I had been reading just days before. Jefferson had columns for recording where he planted a crop, the seeding and transplant dates, maturity dates, and date of final harvest. I imagine he would have found each year's notes very helpful in planning the next year's garden. </div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjauSrVfIvtUZDXRDANTwH7cUVYxE16Rz-2JJ7XxWx68qVQtT6oCZxWcrPiXCBDboDAnNB7qcb4l_-M-bzySSJUugvZND89-mhgkkUzshzWSu-fkoIWMQrEXAnQmj4x8VNXXgeXoWZQreHM/s1600/book1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjauSrVfIvtUZDXRDANTwH7cUVYxE16Rz-2JJ7XxWx68qVQtT6oCZxWcrPiXCBDboDAnNB7qcb4l_-M-bzySSJUugvZND89-mhgkkUzshzWSu-fkoIWMQrEXAnQmj4x8VNXXgeXoWZQreHM/s1600/book1.JPG" width="478" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
The garden is tended today by one full-time gardener year-round and a few seasonal assistants. They grow many of the same varieties grown by Jefferson and using 19th-century techniques, such as these wooden trellises:</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbyYhIA9gXD2J4a3QWCozfkCf0utewIwYLkFkD81t1heOSwDjqI0IsSDsQgvoOpehpYr-TrljsJj2eXr_UhaA9SPrg0kxdINufhR7mo3hTHXAcv8JAGNl0kgA1hYxkLVi85A7vekOADIIv/s1600/gardens3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbyYhIA9gXD2J4a3QWCozfkCf0utewIwYLkFkD81t1heOSwDjqI0IsSDsQgvoOpehpYr-TrljsJj2eXr_UhaA9SPrg0kxdINufhR7mo3hTHXAcv8JAGNl0kgA1hYxkLVi85A7vekOADIIv/s1600/gardens3.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Having been on the Monticello garden terrace yesterday, I think it may quite possibly be the most beautiful spot in the world to have a garden. See for yourself:<br />
<div style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwkZtEhBerrewtY4qHN6jIqx9u7hbn8DeQA9rC9RUQPDinKSLkGXJE6TzcGOy42Ixipl49c6UxOVDf4o26gnGk1cnGmshTL-SBfdYCc28vlXGiAl1AV5-HxCsRNUuQsi0Y-z3nMVAEomgH/s1600/gardens1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwkZtEhBerrewtY4qHN6jIqx9u7hbn8DeQA9rC9RUQPDinKSLkGXJE6TzcGOy42Ixipl49c6UxOVDf4o26gnGk1cnGmshTL-SBfdYCc28vlXGiAl1AV5-HxCsRNUuQsi0Y-z3nMVAEomgH/s1600/gardens1.JPG" width="320" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrBthOJkom8AkxYMIKeXPZU0wii-CkrrfNGK0VxLhiPZASS-oSgcYT-lNqGoPSQ5Vd9zmxRNg-XLzoRCl8MRM05Pdu1z1ZL1Qob1eGfliPOgt_MPNtvYgFEqYpb2UgAeaL7YS5htqo5Zf9/s1600/gardens4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrBthOJkom8AkxYMIKeXPZU0wii-CkrrfNGK0VxLhiPZASS-oSgcYT-lNqGoPSQ5Vd9zmxRNg-XLzoRCl8MRM05Pdu1z1ZL1Qob1eGfliPOgt_MPNtvYgFEqYpb2UgAeaL7YS5htqo5Zf9/s1600/gardens4.JPG" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK1gKQtDbBo4r-nAoud-f8Pr4UbZigcAoweGoVFJj1XRxUgQQJ7LEvHaLFugjR6MjKiZRWMUMjkQ_UDcN96McfYcTR4EZ2p6w6xfjN3cxXlYJVP_ZG-sCRmGI2RhDlNd7oUCR9s7iVUsYY/s1600/gardens2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK1gKQtDbBo4r-nAoud-f8Pr4UbZigcAoweGoVFJj1XRxUgQQJ7LEvHaLFugjR6MjKiZRWMUMjkQ_UDcN96McfYcTR4EZ2p6w6xfjN3cxXlYJVP_ZG-sCRmGI2RhDlNd7oUCR9s7iVUsYY/s1600/gardens2.JPG" /></a></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div align="left">
<span style="font-size: small;">I left Monticello yesterday inspired to garden/farm next year. Although the farm on Hurley Way is not as scenic as Monticello, it is beautiful, as anyone who attended this year's Equinox celebration can attest. And perhaps Mr. Jefferson's diligent record-keeping will inspire me to do likewise. We'll see...</span></div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
</div>
<div align="center">
</div>
Aimee Sissonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13494327838705984720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8850284645830696403.post-76199884353227613262012-11-01T23:02:00.001-07:002012-11-01T23:04:28.214-07:00Done!After eight months of hard work, my apprenticeship is over. The end of the season could not have come soon enough for my left plantar fascia, which did not take well to me being on my feet all day, every day. Rest, probably the most effective treatment for plantar fasciitis, isn't really an option in the middle of a farming season, so I've been employing other modalities, none of which have worked well or for long. I did, however, enjoy four days of left-footed bliss after a cortisone injection into my heel, but the relief was all-too-fleeting, leaving me right back where I started. I'm hoping the end of the farming season will bring the chance to rest my foot so I can return to farming pain-free come spring.<br />
<br />
Yes, that's right--I haven't been able to get this farming bug out of my system and am coming back for more! Starting sometime in the spring, I will be co-managing a 2-acre farm in the Arden-Arcade neighborhood with one of my apprentice colleagues from this year, Becca. We will technically be second-year apprentices at Soil Born, but will essentially run the farm on our own, deciding what to grow and where to sell it. The experience will be very different from this year, when I mostly did what I was told, seldom making decisions. Next year, every decision will be mine/ours: what to grow, when to plant, where to plant, when to water, when to weed, when to harvest.... I'm a bit scared of all this responsibility, but mostly really excited. I have so much to learn before the season starts, but no matter how much I read this winter, I will still have much more to learn. But then, that's the purpose of the apprenticeship--to learn. <br />
<br />
Since my work at the farm on Hurley Way won't start until March or so, I now find myself with a few months off. I'm planning to fill my days with a lot of quilting and other sewing. I'm also hoping to work part time in the public health world, earning some doctor money to subsidize my farming habit. It's sad that I can earn as much working halftime for the state for 3 months as a doctor than I can in a full season of farming. I'm the same person, just using different skills. Why do we value doctors so much and farmers so little? <br />
Aimee Sissonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13494327838705984720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8850284645830696403.post-83841178450226027972012-09-17T19:48:00.000-07:002012-09-17T19:48:39.652-07:00Coming homeThe blog is back! Sorry it's been so long since my last post. I'm not sure if I've had writer's block, been too busy with other projects, just plain been feeling too old, or perhaps a combination of all three. At any rate, I'm feeling inspired to write today, so I'm going with it.<br />
<br />
Much has happened since I last wrote, but I can't give away all my news in one post or I'd run the risk of not having anything to blog about for another long while. Plus, I've heard from a few of you loyal readers that you miss my posts (thanks!). So I am rationing the news, starting with today's update about Hope Mabel. <a href="http://doctortofarmer.blogspot.com/2012/07/chicken-little.html" target="_blank">You will recall</a> that one of our chicks broke its leg back in July in a tractor (chicken tractor, that is) collision. "That chick is going to die," I was told. It didn't seem right that a chick should die from a simple broken leg, so I decided to put my medical training to use on a different species and play veterinarian. With gauze and duct tape, I fashioned a makeshift cast for the chick's leg. Because the injured chick kept getting stepped on by her siblings and mom, I moved her into an infirmary consisting of a large cardboard box with a chicken wire roof. With the help of our summer campers, I named the chick Hope Mabel (as in, "I hope she gets better"). <br />
<br />
After the U.S. women’s soccer team won gold in the Olympics, I renamed the chick Hope Solo in honor of our <a href="http://www.ussoccer.com/teams/wnt/s/hope-solo.aspx" target="_blank">amazing goalkeeper</a>. Once Hope’s leg felt solid under the cast, I removed the cast and started her on a physical therapy regimen consisting of passive range of motion and weight bearing exercises. Her injured leg was very weak and shaky at first, but she grew stronger with time.<br />
<br />
Once I began growing attached to Hope, I decided that now was the right time to build the backyard chicken coop I’d thought about for years. My confidence boosted by small building projects during my apprenticeship, I felt ready to take on the coop’s construction. I built about half of the coop by myself, then called in reinforcements when it became apparent that Hope had outgrown her cardboard box and needed a bigger house soon. My dad, an avid woodworker, came to my rescue, bringing another set of hands, much know-how, and better tools. Working side-by-side in the sweltering heat of my garage, we bonded over talk of power tools.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD9wPCIIvwxlP8Dl603vS2kKRYK7Qr3Z2uCDSwccRbat8Hnec9qDQx0q6l4YHVRY-vhW77XGvopioTDWyAqMwsfTmyw2OGaOGFjWS-NsqW2yAGP7Mvav5vpPOVBZX_JoVMSoEO139ZtUA3/s1600/coop2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD9wPCIIvwxlP8Dl603vS2kKRYK7Qr3Z2uCDSwccRbat8Hnec9qDQx0q6l4YHVRY-vhW77XGvopioTDWyAqMwsfTmyw2OGaOGFjWS-NsqW2yAGP7Mvav5vpPOVBZX_JoVMSoEO139ZtUA3/s1600/coop2.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hope's house.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Once the coop was built, I couldn’t wait to bring Hope home. As I transferred her from her small box to her spacious coop, I wished my new pet well. The first time I placed her on the roost, Hope nearly fell off, struggling to balance on her weak leg. One week later, Hope was getting around remarkably well. She roosted without difficulty and climbed the ladder into the henhouse like a champ.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfxslwhVvQS-WvmPIflC04sYCFa-xEbn7NIEG4pJsMXjrlZLHoTX8_fuPbSXpQuzjY9ohFjeG2wcKGea_RrRoSSyiN4KmkZQOTb1N-KdMmcn15NOJAJZqf3Blw734UJHZFRobekg100EnL/s1600/hopie.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfxslwhVvQS-WvmPIflC04sYCFa-xEbn7NIEG4pJsMXjrlZLHoTX8_fuPbSXpQuzjY9ohFjeG2wcKGea_RrRoSSyiN4KmkZQOTb1N-KdMmcn15NOJAJZqf3Blw734UJHZFRobekg100EnL/s1600/hopie.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hope enjoys her new home.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Chickens are social creatures, and I imagined Hope was lonely after so many weeks by herself, so once I thought she was strong enough, I introduced a new chick into the coop to keep Hope company. With the help of Alison and her mom, I picked out a curious Polish chick from the litter of Hope's cousins at the farm and brought her home. I had put off bringing home another chicken for a couple of weeks, filled with worry about Hope being picked on by the newcomer and not being strong enough to defend herself from attack. I never would have guessed that my innocent Hopie would be the bully, but there she was, pecking at the head of the new girl, making the new girl cower in the corner. Ever heard the phrase "establishing the pecking order?" Well, that's what was happening. Hope knew that she ruled the roost and let Abby know it. (Yes, I named the new girl Abby. Yes, after <a href="http://www.ussoccer.com/Teams/WNT/W/Abby-Wambach.aspx" target="_blank">Abby Wambach</a>, my absolute favorite soccer player. And if I ever get a third chicken, she will be named Alex or Morgan, after <a href="http://www.ussoccer.com/Teams/WNT/M/Alex-Morgan.aspx" target="_blank">Alex Morgan</a>. But if I ever get a third chicken, I can't tell you about it, because Folsom's municipal code only allows 2 hens.) Hope and Abby now seem to get along just fine.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUdTjXwpSmd2xv0rTsjw9VYwsPUUENTTpM44VHG-RTEUqn2F2n8A9AA2I8khs9NXspBX8TEi4uBvQRmP0F3YI9FGscmyWHOEumKiXty_f3842D1_CAu3z7jVSrD7sGThiLtyocYhUoj8Il/s1600/thegirls.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUdTjXwpSmd2xv0rTsjw9VYwsPUUENTTpM44VHG-RTEUqn2F2n8A9AA2I8khs9NXspBX8TEi4uBvQRmP0F3YI9FGscmyWHOEumKiXty_f3842D1_CAu3z7jVSrD7sGThiLtyocYhUoj8Il/s1600/thegirls.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hope and Abby roosting side-by-side at night.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Over the last couple of weeks, I've noticed that Hope is having a harder time getting around. She broke her left leg, but now her right leg is abnormal. The leg seems to give out underneath her, twisting awkwardly behind her. When I pick her up and manipulate the leg, the joints feel fine, so I'm at a loss for what the problem is. For now, I'm just keeping her under observation. Her activities of daily living don't seem to be impacted by her condition at this point; she can eat, drink, and poop just fine. I'm concerned that she may worsen as she grows, but that's just speculation at this point. All I know is that this chicken is a fighter, and I'm certainly not going to give up on her. <br />
<br />
Aimee Sissonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13494327838705984720noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8850284645830696403.post-51073347292387178352012-07-26T08:39:00.001-07:002012-07-26T08:39:28.210-07:00Chicken LittleLast week, the sky fell. While moving the portable chicken tractor through the orchard, one of the chicks didn't move quickly enough and got caught under the wooden frame as we set it down. Once we lifted the fallen sky off of the little chick, she couldn't stand up. A brief exam revealed a floppy leg with a palpable distal femur fracture (translation: a break in the thigh bone just above the knee that I could feel with my fingers). Diagnosis made, the question became one of prognosis. "That chick is going to die," I was told. Feeling like I had nothing to lose at this point, I decided to play veterinarian. It didn't seem right that a chick should die from a simple broken leg. <br />
<br />
With a stick and tape, I fashioned a makeshift splint for the chick's leg. Because the injured stick kept getting stepped on by her siblings and mom, I moved her into an infirmary consisting on a large cardboard box with a chicken wire roof. Unfortunately, the first splint fell off within a few hours (waterproof first aid tape is a waste of money) and its replacement didn't fare much better. My third try was the charm. Trimming the chick's feathers out of the way, I wrapped her leg snugly with gauze, then created a cast out of strips of duct tape. The cast is still in place after a week, so I'm pretty satisfied.<br />
<br />
With the help of our summer campers, I named the chick Hope Mabel (Hope as in "I hope she gets better"). Hope does seem to be getting better. She is eating, drinking, and pooping, as well as hopping around on her good leg. On an online forum about chickens, I read about chicks with broken legs making a full recovery, so I remain hopeful that this chick will grow up into a strong layer. I don't actually know if the chick is a girl, but I am working under that assumption because this seems like too much work to put into a rooster destined for the soup pot. A layer, on the other hand, is well worth the investment of time and resources. Here's to hoping...<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuYdewJdw_cRS-FdkrRqirfT2UUdJdsLZGSP-Mr6Yuuxreyr0V997B-HR6EAHDE3OAmNH6xq6ziKj1Wm3w1b1PaV2843pMeY2dumTh4YLamAnGrOB2BJJJd61N_ZYAn54loqsIkavDSvna/s640/blogger-image-823245489.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuYdewJdw_cRS-FdkrRqirfT2UUdJdsLZGSP-Mr6Yuuxreyr0V997B-HR6EAHDE3OAmNH6xq6ziKj1Wm3w1b1PaV2843pMeY2dumTh4YLamAnGrOB2BJJJd61N_ZYAn54loqsIkavDSvna/s320/blogger-image-823245489.jpg" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hope Mabel Chick sports her gauze and duct tape "cast."</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Aimee Sissonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13494327838705984720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8850284645830696403.post-63469872065394357432012-07-09T18:48:00.000-07:002012-07-09T18:48:51.431-07:00To market, to market<br /><blockquote class="tr_bq">
"To market, to market, to buy a fat pig,<br /><br />Home again, home again, jiggety-jig.<br /><br />To market, to market, to buy a fat hog,<br /><br />Home again, home again, jiggety-jog.<br /><br />To market, to market, to buy a plum bun,<br /><br />Home again, home again, market is done."<br />
</blockquote>
This nursery rhyme gets at my newest task on the farm, especially if you change "buy" to "sell": delivery girl! I never thought I would get paid to drive a cargo van, but life is full of surprises. Our farm has several markets for our produce, including a CSA, the Sacramento Natural Foods Co-op, the food bank, our own farmstand, and the Natomas farmers' market. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs3kwEvI4FIpRqMMd_lAmENH6VB-aUn8ZlPApEfdsGFbiP70zP21uteKP8PkKQwxYVxMFpTi88MWZDln8f3M1evpqUxKKSaIU2CIFPPFUOVGyFJ8ytwhJgPvASBx5BDhiMFPUXOu7upHNh/s1600/farmstand+art.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs3kwEvI4FIpRqMMd_lAmENH6VB-aUn8ZlPApEfdsGFbiP70zP21uteKP8PkKQwxYVxMFpTi88MWZDln8f3M1evpqUxKKSaIU2CIFPPFUOVGyFJ8ytwhJgPvASBx5BDhiMFPUXOu7upHNh/s1600/farmstand+art.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chris, one of my fellow apprentices, beautifies our Saturday farmstand with his chalk art.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Every other week, I cover deliveries to the Co-op and our CSA. Lately, the Co-op has been purchasing our summer squash, cucumbers, and new potatoes. Once our tomatoes hit, they will be a super important outlet for this cash crop. Our CSA delivery is on Tuesday, with drop-off sites across the street from the Co-op and at our farm on Hurley Way in the Arden-Arcade area. I load up the van with boxes of produce, check the inventory to make sure I'm not forgetting a box (having to come back to the farm because you grabbed the wrong box is no fun, trust me!), and head out. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh96MXTgo2g7sEy5Ggj9eEdnd6daNtJEO9-a8y42GBMSIajsPpr1x_Z-oizcxRTdoblYKHQDuv0l8LMsN05NQ7Ryg4TWtpB_QJTqKoM90bXLPF-JdJr1w4Vg8xGD23uJjn0bctzO3AYahyphenhyphenf/s1600/van.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh96MXTgo2g7sEy5Ggj9eEdnd6daNtJEO9-a8y42GBMSIajsPpr1x_Z-oizcxRTdoblYKHQDuv0l8LMsN05NQ7Ryg4TWtpB_QJTqKoM90bXLPF-JdJr1w4Vg8xGD23uJjn0bctzO3AYahyphenhyphenf/s1600/van.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Squeezing the van into a tight parking spot. Just don't make me back up.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR9h_oxNltYxBd2movEiNTowoipJ5SlXsn-TNCZrh_nwP1kC_hLihFpFRYKEXnNtornoFYMz7d3xWmAU8o4WWG3e0Y4zND5c3PwLlyZKnC5JEAf1TPSoFzcz0RxNgeqsiGthvZauhuvz9i/s1600/coop.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR9h_oxNltYxBd2movEiNTowoipJ5SlXsn-TNCZrh_nwP1kC_hLihFpFRYKEXnNtornoFYMz7d3xWmAU8o4WWG3e0Y4zND5c3PwLlyZKnC5JEAf1TPSoFzcz0RxNgeqsiGthvZauhuvz9i/s1600/coop.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Sacramento Natural Foods Co-op is a great partner of our farm, and also makes a great 16 ounce iced decaf single shot americano with room for cream for just $1.50.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Driving the van takes some getting used to, for several reasons: you sit up really high, you have huge blind spots because the van has no side windows and because you sit up really high, and the van is wider than my little Honda Fit. (The van also has a much bigger gas tank than my Honda Fit. The first time I filled up the van with gas, I had time to wash all the windows while the pump ran, and ran, and ran. When I returned to the pump to hang up the nozzle when the tank finally filled, I couldn't believe that the display read only 29 dollars. I must have used the world's slowest pump. Then I looked at my printed receipt and realized that the 29 was gallons, not dollars!) My least favorite part of making deliveries is having to back up the delivery van. Visibility is very limited, and if I am parked in a rightward slanting spot, I literally cannot see cars coming when I back up. I often park on the street and walk just to avoid having to back up the van in the Co-op lot.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjksy5ecg2Oz8HjM7KCL5eFPD8zAAoLn044ZDsluDoYVxmDnOL0M7QgWVt7DGLh0GrxoHiDnUUXxpZ8XoOIds9Z9d-7WCCLfThykA-a_sQH_CPWK569511l9xWPV4Xw5PJj1FBlKqVGGOKR/s1600/van+receipt.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjksy5ecg2Oz8HjM7KCL5eFPD8zAAoLn044ZDsluDoYVxmDnOL0M7QgWVt7DGLh0GrxoHiDnUUXxpZ8XoOIds9Z9d-7WCCLfThykA-a_sQH_CPWK569511l9xWPV4Xw5PJj1FBlKqVGGOKR/s1600/van+receipt.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That's 29 gallons, not the 29 dollars I'm used to!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I enjoy the deliveries a lot. I get a break from manual labor, get to sit in an air-conditioned environment, and get delicious iced coffee at the Co-op for $1.50. Oh, and I get to drop off our awesome produce to our customers. After I do my Co-op delivery through the back door, I usually re-park the van and enter through the front door as a customer--I can't live without Michaela's tortillas or iced coffee! I enjoy strolling through the produce section and seeing our products on display, proud of what I have helped to grow and harvest. <br />
<br />
Our CSA provides a box of organic vegetables once a week, on Tuesday or Friday. We pack around 9 different vegetables, fruits, and herbs into each box, along with a newsletter describing what's happening on the farm, what's in the box, and a recipe using some of the ingredients in the box. The farm staff take turns writing the newsletter, but I wish I could write it every week. I had my <a href="http://www.soilborn.org/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=768:june-19-2012&catid=74:csa-digest&Itemid=87" target="_blank">first chance</a> a couple weeks ago, but I don't get another turn until the end of August. Guess I'll just have to keep blogging until then. While I enjoyed <em>writing</em> the digest, <em>typing</em> the digest was a nightmare. I went through 3 computers in our office to find one that wasn't virus infected or super slow, and that had the right software. At the state, we used to complain about budget constraints keeping us technologically behind the times, but life at a non-profit is much worse. If any of you out there have an extra CPU that you aren't using, feel free to donate it to Soil Born so that I don't have to pull my hair out next time it's my turn to type the newsletter.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibKC9pKdZoTuSmVvstjY9EZkHnTZkzDN3smty7DXDl-4JNSK8u6qgW5nVlkD67NOrQxIs8J1IzqBmB-gR-fc9A_-uI1qypnSbMI0FwXF8_WL7tTQfB0SIGiLO1qZUiC9xJUmb2RQNb4BfS/s1600/csa+box.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibKC9pKdZoTuSmVvstjY9EZkHnTZkzDN3smty7DXDl-4JNSK8u6qgW5nVlkD67NOrQxIs8J1IzqBmB-gR-fc9A_-uI1qypnSbMI0FwXF8_WL7tTQfB0SIGiLO1qZUiC9xJUmb2RQNb4BfS/s1600/csa+box.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A recent CSA box with kale, collards, kohlrabi, lemon cucumbers, carrots, and garlic visible. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
By the way, it's not to late to join our CSA for the summer. If you'd like a box of farm-fresh organic produce grown in Sacramento, look no further than <a href="http://www.soilborn.org/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=744:sign-up-now-for-the-2012-csa&catid=51:csa-info&Itemid=80" target="_blank">here</a>. <br />
<br />
<br />Aimee Sissonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13494327838705984720noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8850284645830696403.post-65101562719420961592012-06-15T23:29:00.001-07:002012-06-15T23:29:38.559-07:00Irrigation"Food grows where water flows." Driving I-5 from LA to Sacramento and back every few months as a college student and driving Highway 99 between Sacramento and Fresno several times during my tenure at CDPH, I saw this sign on the side of the freeway countless times. I never gave it much thought at the time, but the rhyme made it catchy and memorable. While the signs on I-5 were making a political statement about water rights and peripheral canals, now that I work on a farm, I can appreciate just how important water is to growing food.<br />
<br />
Each week, one apprentice is assigned to irrigation duty. This past week, that apprentice was me. Not having covered irrigation before, I imagined it would be a very part-time task of just turning the water on a few times. I was wrong. Irrigation on a Sacramento farm in June is nearly a full-time task, with lots of pipe needing to be moved, filters flushed, leaks patched, and sprinklers tweaked. And did I mention pipe needing to be moved? Pipe moving is definitely not one of my favorite tasks. At Soil Born, we water crops primarily with very efficient, ground-level <a href="http://www.eurodripusa.com/seamless-drip-tape" target="_blank">drip tape</a> that puts water right at the base of our plants. However, some farm watering is done with overhead sprinklers, which spread water fairly evenly over a wide area. We use sprinklers to water beds with germinating seeds or to irrigate a field before it is tilled, for example. <br />
<br />
Those of you with yards at home might be thinking, "Big deal. Just turn the sprinklers on, already! Turn the dial on the Rainbird to ON and you're good to go." Not so fast. We don't keep the sprinklers set up in the field all the time. Rather, we assemble a sprinkler setup in place when and where it is needed. A typical setup consists of 17 25-foot lengths of aluminum pipe, each hand carried and carefully placed where needed. Working by myself, I usually carry one pipe on each shoulder, precariously perched at their balance point and uncomfortably pressing into my acromion process. That means I need to make 9 trips to move a pipe setup from point A to point B. It's a bit tiring in near-100-degree heat, not to mention that the pipe is usually burning hot from the sun. Gloves are a must.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj18Fl55Y-ysXhOYYh3x-XINSO_gUQHF5gDTONzfNqPPd1bJX8zpgY_9iSZ00yMPYyTXACFSDsY1uvdrIBouZAmvl8gHfJolr0vIeG23SKyNsxINflNcTH1ooTLlOHR7qcfYt2qq4Dr5o9r/s1600/oh+sprinkers.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj18Fl55Y-ysXhOYYh3x-XINSO_gUQHF5gDTONzfNqPPd1bJX8zpgY_9iSZ00yMPYyTXACFSDsY1uvdrIBouZAmvl8gHfJolr0vIeG23SKyNsxINflNcTH1ooTLlOHR7qcfYt2qq4Dr5o9r/s1600/oh+sprinkers.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Overhead sprinklers irrigating a field before disking.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Irrigation is an important responsibility. Food <em>doesn't</em> grow where water doesn't flow, so forgetting to water during the summer could ruin a crop. Luckily, there is an irrigation schedule that tells me what should get watered on a given day and for how long, plus an iPhone in my pocket that can be easily set to remind me to turn water off and on (although I learned the hard way this week to make sure to set AM and PM correctly on the alarm function!). <br />
<br />
Turning water on and off is not a mindless task, either. Our overheard sprinklers and drip tape use water that is pumped from the river, filtered, and then run through a maze of pipes and valves before it ends up on a plant. There is a specific protocol that must be followed when turning water on and off, or you risk breaking the expensive pump and filters or blowing out the underground pipe or above-ground drip tape. Adding another layer of complexity, the drip tape and overhead sprinkler systems operate at different pressures, so you can't run both systems at the same time, requiring each day of irrigation to be thoughtfully planned. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRoVDT8RuPHqkxLdUGpr3aICVtLmTNZkt9HgRU8c4LfJa9zjLT2qIgyR5j2-bH1js7Qa1So5EkIZjcHTgo2s2udSQS43-XbxaPblTeF5Q46-n4WFuMHA3eZ9mQCIs9JNPABVGCgvT_AsWa/s1600/filter.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRoVDT8RuPHqkxLdUGpr3aICVtLmTNZkt9HgRU8c4LfJa9zjLT2qIgyR5j2-bH1js7Qa1So5EkIZjcHTgo2s2udSQS43-XbxaPblTeF5Q46-n4WFuMHA3eZ9mQCIs9JNPABVGCgvT_AsWa/s1600/filter.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our sand media filters that remove particles from river water.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiOuKiFtQHjC2uVZmkRvasanFRG1mYYiyhYP9555DL5CHusKFAuw2GZtdjTU_TYhHwI6B3v0vwIWa75Yr7t7H7Sjp0Ta5_vTSg40pEE05xfBm9GQeiYQDohRB8-KA1Dv-5rVtqW5-TLZtP/s1600/valves.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiOuKiFtQHjC2uVZmkRvasanFRG1mYYiyhYP9555DL5CHusKFAuw2GZtdjTU_TYhHwI6B3v0vwIWa75Yr7t7H7Sjp0Ta5_vTSg40pEE05xfBm9GQeiYQDohRB8-KA1Dv-5rVtqW5-TLZtP/s1600/valves.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Irrigation manifold with numerous valves to control pressure and flow.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
One of the perks of being on irrigation is that you can run through the sprinklers to cool off. One of the drawbacks is that if you aren't wearing waterproof shoes, your socks will be wet all day long. Not fun. :( I only made that mistake once. Aimee Sissonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13494327838705984720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8850284645830696403.post-3330549950345782332012-06-03T10:41:00.001-07:002012-06-03T10:41:38.280-07:00Cross-cover<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Yesterday was a busy day on the farm. Instead of the usual 4 apprentices, only 2 were working yesterday, leaving me to do the work of 3 apprentices for much of the day. I was covering my own area, integrated pest management, plus the animals and the greenhouse. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
The day went like this:<br />
<ul>
<li>Check on the germinating plants in the greenhouse, which need constant moisture.</li>
<li>Clean the cow pens by adding fresh straw to any wet/poopy areas. Scrub livestock water troughs and refill with fresh water.</li>
<li>Feed the piglets. Move their enclosure to fresh pasture. Fill their water dish.</li>
<li>Herd the sheep and cows in from the pasture where they grazed overnight back to their pens to spend the day in the shade.</li>
<li>Feed the big pigs. Fill up their water trough.</li>
<li>Set ground squirrel traps in the orchard, baiting them with chicken feed.</li>
<li>Water plants in the greenhouse.</li>
<li>Clean the cow. Milk the cow. Filter and bottle the milk.</li>
<li>Water the plants in the greenhouse.</li>
<li>Feed and water the piglets.</li>
<li>Eat lunch, including dessert. :)</li>
<li>Move the plants that didn't sell at the plant sale back to the greenhouse. Water the plants. Inventory remaining plants.</li>
<li>Help turn on overhead irrigation in two blocks.</li>
<li>Water plants in the greenhouse.</li>
<li>Spray down the big pigs and make a wallow for them to cool off in.</li>
<li>Check ground squirrel traps--all empty. :(</li>
<li>Collect eggs.</li>
<li>Fill cow and sheep water troughs in preparation for their night graze.</li>
</ul>
Phew! Needless to say, I was pooped by the time I finished at 5:30. I felt much better after a shower, but still pretty tired, so I spent the evening watching TV and reading. I'm really excited to have the next two days off to rest and relax.<br />
<br />
On one hand, covering three areas in one day was empowering--I felt like an actual farmer, getting done what needed to get done, moving from task to task with little direction. I felt confident and proud of how much I had learned to do over the last few months. On the other hand, the non-stop craziness of the day was a bit stressful, reminding me a bit of my months on the trauma service as a surgery intern, rounding on 30 or so patients while answering endless pages and responding to incoming trauma codes. And at least that job was air conditioned!<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggIATnxcLsmxnYCC5niUDUDFoAh68B7COQ2B00T_MAPmD8yZd4ZscxYF_ifHBlBvdfoQLZ2FXT8ZbFhWrW5Th3CKVUj-DPDuXA_K4NoJYelY-bDBpsp79ZvHfbEmD68e-1TWH7aJ8_Gx1O/s1600/piglet+breakfast+mess.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggIATnxcLsmxnYCC5niUDUDFoAh68B7COQ2B00T_MAPmD8yZd4ZscxYF_ifHBlBvdfoQLZ2FXT8ZbFhWrW5Th3CKVUj-DPDuXA_K4NoJYelY-bDBpsp79ZvHfbEmD68e-1TWH7aJ8_Gx1O/s1600/piglet+breakfast+mess.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our three piglets, Emmer, Quinoa, and Farina, enjoying their breakfast. Their brother, Bulgur, left the farm last week to become a breeder.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTF7eZZI7mUU42ydXxrQl1dLJeQ2L8j_rY6zwXNN4fhpCD8Y1_KycOAfymL_sq0pkgPEXkvBeWRGJSQsSN4XTRiFD_Lkdp5TiYa1ENdk0wmdL9nCKkW6AptJJl7YK0sDJsUMGQAKmjQSLG/s1600/squirrel+trap.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTF7eZZI7mUU42ydXxrQl1dLJeQ2L8j_rY6zwXNN4fhpCD8Y1_KycOAfymL_sq0pkgPEXkvBeWRGJSQsSN4XTRiFD_Lkdp5TiYa1ENdk0wmdL9nCKkW6AptJJl7YK0sDJsUMGQAKmjQSLG/s1600/squirrel+trap.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Empty ground squirrel trap. These are live traps that do not kill the squirrel. It's a "squirrel motel"--the squirrels get in, but they can't get out.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV60ipnaE8gGF1wY3S8s6A0MnR9w91-nCJIQSM02hpLnsFB9vahE-offuOvvObgHBmqkWdExhCWdDbZR1-VI1dUTE4VzYF1mwrl58xParRdy0GD1AIdud7b5zG6JM2qOPm1ks0HNcj6p4A/s1600/baited+squirrel+trap.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV60ipnaE8gGF1wY3S8s6A0MnR9w91-nCJIQSM02hpLnsFB9vahE-offuOvvObgHBmqkWdExhCWdDbZR1-VI1dUTE4VzYF1mwrl58xParRdy0GD1AIdud7b5zG6JM2qOPm1ks0HNcj6p4A/s1600/baited+squirrel+trap.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Baited and camouflaged squirrel trap placed near a tunnel (upper right).</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3UXIkNG7Ziy3oIjt283reiu4Z8Q1mlDLJTlmGoGov7F8nyHY9imTfkfNgoJcsKPVMR7ShB5w5f7o4zijjiieynOQHpEyO_wE0qOJ3lsW_NXkvgSgD03jby6XKjdC3zjgMo4jwug07gG_7/s1600/milking.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3UXIkNG7Ziy3oIjt283reiu4Z8Q1mlDLJTlmGoGov7F8nyHY9imTfkfNgoJcsKPVMR7ShB5w5f7o4zijjiieynOQHpEyO_wE0qOJ3lsW_NXkvgSgD03jby6XKjdC3zjgMo4jwug07gG_7/s1600/milking.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Milker's eye view of Phoebe. We won't have Phoebe milk much longer--she is drying up as her calf gets older.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlOc4LN4YISozfkk5GcIsxfQVPNJUG-hXTmRFPYJw6iN0H5sGpaKdsR2bZpPO1V0uZUVwu8aZ0AfefcmcGQWXZgKimEnoDF_tvM-8yMQ5kp0kHiZa_Lq19yesNZ-Nqv4xkz4IQND0HifNt/s1600/filtering.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlOc4LN4YISozfkk5GcIsxfQVPNJUG-hXTmRFPYJw6iN0H5sGpaKdsR2bZpPO1V0uZUVwu8aZ0AfefcmcGQWXZgKimEnoDF_tvM-8yMQ5kp0kHiZa_Lq19yesNZ-Nqv4xkz4IQND0HifNt/s1600/filtering.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Filtering Phoebe's milk to remove any stray hairs or skin flakes.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Aimee Sissonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13494327838705984720noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8850284645830696403.post-231805495984340472012-05-28T22:05:00.000-07:002012-05-28T22:05:03.332-07:00Weeding, welding, and quilting?That's right--all in a day work. If you've been wondering why I haven't been blogging, I've been a bit busy on the farm and at home. My activities lately are quite an interesting hodgepodge. Last Thursday, I spent the morning weeding a bed of beets in the leaf-root block. (I'm sure I did other things that morning, too, I just can't remember what. Hand weeding is slow, but not that slow!) That was followed by an afternoon of welding class. Until that afternoon, I had never welded a thing in my life, but given the amount of welded things in this world, I figured it couldn't be too hard. I was wrong. Just cutting metal proved challenging, let alone trying to join two pieces of metal together. We learned three kinds of welding in our hands-on class: <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oxy-fuel_welding_and_cutting" target="_blank">oxyacetylene</a>, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Arc_welding" target="_blank">arc</a>, and <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gas_metal_arc_welding" target="_blank">MIG</a>. The oxyacetylene setup consists of a tank of oxygen, a tank of acetylene, and a torch/wand. <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigyAh-eolukjxgh7XAdpWjlzfPEONMJ17-ydtKVJtUnpbvoXnFV3Lz6D02kM9dEXygDXZxjsT-4FUqK6LBIHCcvBsTmt3oIVQLncSY6Z2-QEjwPtNa0fxDUXkT3PTQHpcFfQ9mLll3Zh-R/s1600/oxy+kit.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigyAh-eolukjxgh7XAdpWjlzfPEONMJ17-ydtKVJtUnpbvoXnFV3Lz6D02kM9dEXygDXZxjsT-4FUqK6LBIHCcvBsTmt3oIVQLncSY6Z2-QEjwPtNa0fxDUXkT3PTQHpcFfQ9mLll3Zh-R/s1600/oxy+kit.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oxyacetylene welding kit.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Getting started is a bit tricky and requires your brain to be engaged--the acetylene has to be turned on before the oxygen and its pressure kept below a certain psi or explosions can happen. Once the acetylene gas is running, you ignite it using a sparker (chemistry lab flashbacks!), making sure to get your hand out of the way of the flame quickly! Then you add oxygen slowly to make sure you don't extinguish the flame, adjusting the oxygen until you have a one inch or so cone of blue heat. To cut metal, you hold the tip of the cone over the area to cut, heat it up until the metal begins to liquefy, and then use the flame to push the liquid metal along the cutting line. Wild stuff.<br />
<br />Next came arc welding. Arc welding is weird because it uses electricity instead of a flame to heat the metal. <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjww-P_5yTeI9HKJPdtmmMjAX_VHm84By-0GTYP8HHdWRAMADJrcLHMLhKmyLtKy3EvkDYcZjmG2PNfzpBHR86WkPO2fOLYSnlls-0tYl5OPbvmPjBaGBM83PH2P6enzdprFKK-EtfSjL5/s1600/arc.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjww-P_5yTeI9HKJPdtmmMjAX_VHm84By-0GTYP8HHdWRAMADJrcLHMLhKmyLtKy3EvkDYcZjmG2PNfzpBHR86WkPO2fOLYSnlls-0tYl5OPbvmPjBaGBM83PH2P6enzdprFKK-EtfSjL5/s1600/arc.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our arc welder.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The challenge with arc welding is that you are practically working blind. To protect your eyes from the intense light emitted, you have to wear a face shield with very tinted lenses. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4c0TkFmvMSMEIydgtuVvkznjdW8wyLw7jRZ5k8oNk6tGC3UofKC9HmzGJyYHahp2WOrfdDZN1b46J7KP0XebkR0R46V0Z0KnwV7oknxO-hG8dbtAjvuIlUFfwkYDslJhL4zwqQY534g-G/s1600/welding+safety.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4c0TkFmvMSMEIydgtuVvkznjdW8wyLw7jRZ5k8oNk6tGC3UofKC9HmzGJyYHahp2WOrfdDZN1b46J7KP0XebkR0R46V0Z0KnwV7oknxO-hG8dbtAjvuIlUFfwkYDslJhL4zwqQY534g-G/s1600/welding+safety.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A fellow apprentice models welding safety attire, including face shield, leather coat, and gloves.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Until you touch the electrode to the surface to be welded and start conducting electricity, you can't see a thing. Even when the electrons start flowing and the metal starts glowing, you can only see things that are really hot. As if working half-blind weren't enough of a challenge, the stick of metal you are using to weld (the electrode) gets shorter as it melts. So you have to lower your hands as you go to keep the tip of the electrode near the surface to be welded. It reminds me a bit of tetherball in the sense that the rope gets shorter as it winds around the pole, and your arm swings have to compensate. I was never good at tetherball, and I don't think I will be good at arc welding for a similar reason. When I wasn't burning a hole in the metal to be welded, I did manage to create a very lumpy and uneven bead of weld. I have a long ways to go before I can fix anything metal, that's for sure. <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvVIAOL2X7hcCTrZZhuU5OpZ74lmDQ0p_RrpuDxDZ_-fATVQ3-c82_1_y58KaROZUYr5E_rOhSSjiwk35_fOLEPZpBKOj8ur87EhiXPj0a-yZn8YkMIM1RXPPDkiJFruXh56_c29YYIzrR/s1600/bead.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvVIAOL2X7hcCTrZZhuU5OpZ74lmDQ0p_RrpuDxDZ_-fATVQ3-c82_1_y58KaROZUYr5E_rOhSSjiwk35_fOLEPZpBKOj8ur87EhiXPj0a-yZn8YkMIM1RXPPDkiJFruXh56_c29YYIzrR/s1600/bead.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My attempt at arc welding. On the right is a hole I burned in the surface to be welded when it got too hot. On the left is a lumpy, almost bead.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
After welding class, I headed home to prepare for a night of quilting with my fellow apprentices. One of the Green Corps teens had a baby recently, and we are making a baby quilt for him. It's a teaching/learning quilt, with me demonstrating each step of the quilting process for my colleagues, then letting them have at it. The "see one, do one, teach one" approach used in my medical training also works with quilting, I've learned. At the end of the night, the quilt was in one piece, and now needs only to be ragged and laundered before it can be gifted.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPJyGlXhjU4hEcrwenYSTHmEKov6zi5RZUA69KKWwd-adNrzKZHXizLMXXEqN6o5EKjUuauoAZ32XOrAg6LCsw4fpQeEGY2XT-0wDlf9diOet5iMYK8WZBj5STbgRBbICzX1T92uNljYMT/s1600/fabric.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPJyGlXhjU4hEcrwenYSTHmEKov6zi5RZUA69KKWwd-adNrzKZHXizLMXXEqN6o5EKjUuauoAZ32XOrAg6LCsw4fpQeEGY2XT-0wDlf9diOet5iMYK8WZBj5STbgRBbICzX1T92uNljYMT/s1600/fabric.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fabrics for the baby quilt.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The juxtaposition of welding and quilting seemed perfectly natural to me, but I imagine others must find it bizarre. Sometimes I feel like a farmer, and sometimes I feel like a farmer's wife. What can I say? I'm just me.Aimee Sissonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13494327838705984720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8850284645830696403.post-59916956475340751312012-05-15T10:43:00.000-07:002012-05-15T10:43:55.429-07:00Staying coolIt's hot. We may be blessed with dry heat here in California, but it's still heat. Gone are the days of sitting in my air conditioned office oblivious to the weather outside. Now, I am intimately aware of the weather because I spend all day in it. <br />
<br />
"Some say the world will end in fire, some say in ice," begins the poem "<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fire_and_Ice_(poem)" target="_blank">Fire and Ice</a>," by Robert Frost. Given a choice, I'd take ice. My reasoning is that there you can always put on another layer, but there are only so many that you can take off (at least in public!). Surprisingly, however, our response on the farm to the heat is not to minimize clothing. Rather, most of us wear long sleeves and long pants to keep the hot sun off our skin, and a big hat for shade. For hydration, most of us wear <a href="http://www.camelbak.com/Sports-Recreation/Packs/2012-Aurora.aspx" target="_blank">Camelbaks</a>, drinking water from a tube attached to a backpack reservoir, allowing continuous access to water and keeping our hands free for work. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.camelbak.com/Sports-Recreation/Packs/~/media/CamelBak/Sports%20Recreation/Packs/Images/2012%20Aurora/WHITE/rec-packs-2012-aurora-blueshadowdreamblue-s12-61546_s12_v1.ashx?mh=575&mw=441" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://www.camelbak.com/Sports-Recreation/Packs/~/media/CamelBak/Sports%20Recreation/Packs/Images/2012%20Aurora/WHITE/rec-packs-2012-aurora-blueshadowdreamblue-s12-61546_s12_v1.ashx?mh=575&mw=441" width="137" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My Camelbak, which holds 70 oz of water.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
But given how much we sweat working in the field, just drinking water isn't enough. All that sweat means salt loss, and the lost salt needs to be replaced. My preferred electrolyte replacement beverage is Gatorade. Initially, I tried to carry a small bottle of Gatorade with me, but it always seemed to get left behind. I switched to a small jug with enough to share, which made my coworkers happy, too. <br />
<br />
Drinking fluids helps, but it's not enough. I also want shade and a cool breeze. Since these can be hard to come by in the middle of a vegetable field during a Sacramento summer, I decided I'd have to make my own. Alison and I spent a couple days of our vacation designing, buying parts for, and building a hydration and cooling station for the farm. Using a large, two-wheeled Rubbermaid cart as the base, we added a plywood shelf with drilled cupholders, a spot for a 5-gallon jug of Gatorade, two battery-operated fans, and two pressurized personal mister bottles. Inside the cart, there is space for two lawn chairs, a small cooler that holds wet washcloths and Otter Pops, and pretzels (for salt). On the side of the cart, we mounted a 9-foot umbrella. So far, the hydration station has been a big hit, with the <a href="http://www.orbitonline.com/products/Personal/04/01/01/491/" target="_blank">misters</a> being the most popular component. With just a little bit of pumping and flipping open a valve, you get delivery of a cooling mist that feels AMAZING on a hot day. I highly recommend these little gems to anyone who spends a fair amount of time outdoors in the heat. It's almost as good as A/C!<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.orbitonline.com/lib/img/product/20020_600.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://www.orbitonline.com/lib/img/product/20020_600.jpg" width="241" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Get one of these personal misters--they rock!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijAH-0424ahRFor96bDVduvT2LjskNbp16XMln17tDwo_ZdrzLOhceQ51jzJOein0wANusi3QKb5WX12CtVEfDMU0CCjyrZDZgxsSPMzztVw9UC5uhpVlhGlqIWDnwb2G-tQ2_DSWH1OTH/s1600/building+hydration+station.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijAH-0424ahRFor96bDVduvT2LjskNbp16XMln17tDwo_ZdrzLOhceQ51jzJOein0wANusi3QKb5WX12CtVEfDMU0CCjyrZDZgxsSPMzztVw9UC5uhpVlhGlqIWDnwb2G-tQ2_DSWH1OTH/s320/building+hydration+station.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Building the hydration station</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3L-ejktUKrBberdTBjvjuyy4Ly1GCNXSqmAGk9YlxhnX-54K9faW82nvO5lTJTNLoa1V0m5lsm-PHJlZRu6kF7bkPQBdOoRD2C4EpRpvg_ZFKk9tW0XN8ZZq4RDFkjG6wnmfFgsxHkT7p/s1600/hydration+station+in+use.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3L-ejktUKrBberdTBjvjuyy4Ly1GCNXSqmAGk9YlxhnX-54K9faW82nvO5lTJTNLoa1V0m5lsm-PHJlZRu6kF7bkPQBdOoRD2C4EpRpvg_ZFKk9tW0XN8ZZq4RDFkjG6wnmfFgsxHkT7p/s1600/hydration+station+in+use.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My coworkers demonstrating use of the hydration station</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
It sure is a lot of work to stay cool as a farmer. Perhaps we should all do what the pigs do and just lounge in the pool instead!<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj35IHNyyGIpxrbNxLQ-mWiFr01kUbiMoQkCYcXsbNayi8j4SpBkx4umuOdy_ye6bcMcML6d3s64Mm83VeULCQbIyETqJ01aXUCO_DDZZfsvYSsikvSGNVyNVxiQ6uqsYS-4gCsNkLaFQfZ/s1600/barley+cooling+off.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj35IHNyyGIpxrbNxLQ-mWiFr01kUbiMoQkCYcXsbNayi8j4SpBkx4umuOdy_ye6bcMcML6d3s64Mm83VeULCQbIyETqJ01aXUCO_DDZZfsvYSsikvSGNVyNVxiQ6uqsYS-4gCsNkLaFQfZ/s1600/barley+cooling+off.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Barley repurposing his water dish as a pool to beat the heat.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Aimee Sissonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13494327838705984720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8850284645830696403.post-2761379722600569882012-05-11T15:13:00.001-07:002012-05-11T20:10:14.073-07:00Road trip!Aah, vacation. I didn't need this vacation like I've needed vacation in the past, but I'd be lying if I said that having this past week off of work hasn't been a pleasure. I get 5 days of vacation during my 8-month apprenticeship. One could argue that using all 5 days during the third month of the program is perhaps not the smartest approach, but Alison had this week off, so it made sense to take our vacations at the same time.<br />
<br />
We spent the first 3 days of vacation on the coast, which was a great escape from the heat of the Valley. With overcast mornings and daytime highs in the 60's and 70's, the weather invited all kinds of outdoor activities and one last chance to wear a sweatshirt. Cool spring weather is a favorite of Alison's, Dakota's, and mine. Dakota loves being co-pilot on road trips, sitting in the front seat or sticking her head out the side window to watch and smell the world go by. When she tires of standing and sitting, which happens pretty quickly on long trips, she sleeps. My car (a Honda Fit) is the perfect car for a spoiled dog, with its magic seats that fold into several configurations, including one with the front seat opened flat. Once padded with pillows, it makes a bed comfortable enough for our "princess and the pea" pup. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiisugJ2lyTi4VFs4ntqoI919ZLU6Xt9d8Wf-vwasboSjhxG_B5qf7xwzVeqyfcJ5Oju9T1YCdmp2v3pI8lWn9UNlJmQoF7dc30RR4jfUjLg5Pz85BjenCPmpkFXj164cICnMtQKMM1ZoUs/s1600/dakota+sleeping+in+car.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiisugJ2lyTi4VFs4ntqoI919ZLU6Xt9d8Wf-vwasboSjhxG_B5qf7xwzVeqyfcJ5Oju9T1YCdmp2v3pI8lWn9UNlJmQoF7dc30RR4jfUjLg5Pz85BjenCPmpkFXj164cICnMtQKMM1ZoUs/s1600/dakota+sleeping+in+car.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dakota, my 6-year-old lab, loves car trips</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We stayed with Alison's brother just outside Pescadero, near Half Moon Bay, which meant we got to spend lots of quality time with Alison's 4-year-old niece, Natalie, and much of that time outdoors. Mornings on the beach, afternoon hikes in the redwoods, and strawberry picking were all on the list of activities.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDCYAviyPnHl8cYsenjcrDy-KtS6SxgtCa2B38BycrLHWqsAeK6wUOjf69DFxJs-rIj0Fue9aYdypqEZ1JJe3KaolrBxuBOFbui9TBn6R6DDHK1f24KcAp2k2zQBTxWlGbOGGAc00ErDHI/s1600/pistachio+beach.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDCYAviyPnHl8cYsenjcrDy-KtS6SxgtCa2B38BycrLHWqsAeK6wUOjf69DFxJs-rIj0Fue9aYdypqEZ1JJe3KaolrBxuBOFbui9TBn6R6DDHK1f24KcAp2k2zQBTxWlGbOGGAc00ErDHI/s1600/pistachio+beach.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pistachio State Beach, a great dog beach</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr8oqC6keHARLkSuRwTJdIuXNrafhSYo3DgcVSBhkDaXXUV2eqVGTCDDm89_rIFti3PfOE7hLl_XJFsbUMODaUqeSXl3sX610yGBPeZC9nRUu532hUn4NTmtcgKOTLMIkZxZY0ChiSdrRq/s1600/on+top+of+the+world.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr8oqC6keHARLkSuRwTJdIuXNrafhSYo3DgcVSBhkDaXXUV2eqVGTCDDm89_rIFti3PfOE7hLl_XJFsbUMODaUqeSXl3sX610yGBPeZC9nRUu532hUn4NTmtcgKOTLMIkZxZY0ChiSdrRq/s1600/on+top+of+the+world.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Alison, Natalie, and me rock climbing on the beach</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
The farmer part of me was particularly excited about picking organic strawberries at Swanton Berry Farm, petting the baby goats at Harley Goat Farm, and tasting local honey at a roadside stand. <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnj0ujjZKRSOicp9bKgDmqMyuJrga87gORUINQ2cxb38yJL-z4srMeveFkcMKJb7R5DjiQilnDOPqjqVouJaWTarsKgkykfK4HowIuQHENuvgBPx9sJJfHsUJPa2vFT0cJ7g2f34f310VY/s1600/swanton.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnj0ujjZKRSOicp9bKgDmqMyuJrga87gORUINQ2cxb38yJL-z4srMeveFkcMKJb7R5DjiQilnDOPqjqVouJaWTarsKgkykfK4HowIuQHENuvgBPx9sJJfHsUJPa2vFT0cJ7g2f34f310VY/s1600/swanton.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We picked organic strawberries at Swanton Berry Farm in Davenport</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDOBBegfY5zDMfHw2-reMErggikKKw-TFvqSwKYt5peURzUSrYngDQe__zswVcfsT_AcQ2wNza7xuLtCShalFOOVIpod1PkUlWOLXS8yQ7SAwFcaEZgfZL9HHztsXzmR2xl4CnF_R8JPe2/s1600/strawberries.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDOBBegfY5zDMfHw2-reMErggikKKw-TFvqSwKYt5peURzUSrYngDQe__zswVcfsT_AcQ2wNza7xuLtCShalFOOVIpod1PkUlWOLXS8yQ7SAwFcaEZgfZL9HHztsXzmR2xl4CnF_R8JPe2/s1600/strawberries.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our 1.54 pound strawberry harvest</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu3_K_CHkEO8PzoJEZPPu38_5uuIdAo0ES8bbTRgTOaKh3p_tcA-LZBfKdsLAEF_z9PYAvi1pt9tShMshpEW-3mRyMCpKvERrJ1-Ht5Rvozcrae2_QhOYVtIw2Pj_QkSyD8GeMJ1xbAx1h/s1600/petting+kid.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu3_K_CHkEO8PzoJEZPPu38_5uuIdAo0ES8bbTRgTOaKh3p_tcA-LZBfKdsLAEF_z9PYAvi1pt9tShMshpEW-3mRyMCpKvERrJ1-Ht5Rvozcrae2_QhOYVtIw2Pj_QkSyD8GeMJ1xbAx1h/s1600/petting+kid.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Petting a friendly kid. All the little ones tried to suckle my fingers.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF1x_P2ZfBwySgbPvlJIYatcFvRhxJAcYYe28E9U5fjwthbZXJgmsWwB7CTmX9E3kaUausl6PtZ-Kc2sfetlgzsShrNzswcuzJNucj9nAkbBR5ETyVOZFcHR3EJhEwfcokxqOnYR0U3SIS/s1600/kid+eating+straw.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF1x_P2ZfBwySgbPvlJIYatcFvRhxJAcYYe28E9U5fjwthbZXJgmsWwB7CTmX9E3kaUausl6PtZ-Kc2sfetlgzsShrNzswcuzJNucj9nAkbBR5ETyVOZFcHR3EJhEwfcokxqOnYR0U3SIS/s1600/kid+eating+straw.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Natalie kept trying to feed the baby goats straw. I tried to explain the difference between hay and straw, but she didn't get it. I myself just learned the difference last month. In short, straw is bedding, hay is food.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIPMkLZy5m5qo0URyMrJerNJvLL0INk7eF0j6vKIETqPUwdATQUsj2kVRvK7NEdOiS9ScGGeorPAA1zfztlQ-SzQoDQez72iwgLhkrMBGDUFVpAo4qjFbUH4DvAMsqRXRJQ6dF-Hh7jloa/s1600/kid+feeder.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIPMkLZy5m5qo0URyMrJerNJvLL0INk7eF0j6vKIETqPUwdATQUsj2kVRvK7NEdOiS9ScGGeorPAA1zfztlQ-SzQoDQez72iwgLhkrMBGDUFVpAo4qjFbUH4DvAMsqRXRJQ6dF-Hh7jloa/s1600/kid+feeder.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An ingenious baby goat feeder. I wish we had rigged up on of these instead of baby bottles for our piglets. Way less bottle washing, and Bulgur wouldn't have to push his sisters out of the way to drink his fill.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Driving back from the coast was a brutal reintroduction to the heat of the Central Valley. I fell asleep covered with a blanket in the Bay Area (in case you were worried, I wasn't driving), and woke up sweating somewhere inland. How rude! By the time we reached Sacramento's 90-degree heat, I was seriously considering turning around and heading right back to the coast. I know the Valley's heat and sunshine make the crops grow, but I sure wish I could somehow work in a climate-controlled bubble while tending to those crops!Aimee Sissonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13494327838705984720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8850284645830696403.post-76758823896418423302012-04-28T20:14:00.000-07:002012-04-28T20:14:47.994-07:00You can't run away on shearing dayToday was a big day for the sheep at the farm--time for their annual shearing. You would think that given the recent heat spell, the sheep would be excited about get summer haircuts, but this was not the case. We literally had to drag them kicking and screaming to the shearer.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAA-ryBcrlGqE2mEp4YwDVDyMYWf4x3kzgnynBtjCcQQW_7u1FjCFn8ung-zIoUmBZjYCO1leJ9vMbEeC-rKVIeUZINaLJA8iKdKabmgjFy_GXmg3tUMFW2vJBqTZ6xu9VPo0hZkFwyKWP/s1600/let+me+out.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAA-ryBcrlGqE2mEp4YwDVDyMYWf4x3kzgnynBtjCcQQW_7u1FjCFn8ung-zIoUmBZjYCO1leJ9vMbEeC-rKVIeUZINaLJA8iKdKabmgjFy_GXmg3tUMFW2vJBqTZ6xu9VPo0hZkFwyKWP/s1600/let+me+out.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The sheep crowded at the back gate to the shearing area, trying to avoid their haircuts</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Preparation for shearing began yesterday, when I cleared out an animal pen we were using for storage to create a shearing area. Last night, the sheep were brought in from the pasture a bit early, placed in the shearing area instead of their usual pen, and fasted overnight until the appointed shearing time of 1:30 this afternoon. There are a couple of good reasons to fast the sheep prior to shearing: 1) they weigh less, making them easier to handle, and 2) shearing involves placing the sheep into odd positions in order to reach all of the wool, and a sheep with an empty stomach is less likely to vomit.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEMlvo4grZOhkaBpSg9BlKFfbYXlry-WP7y8FTL52I2PBK6d6_eO6AmbavmF5sRU1SqGk6mi_fnwfWvPoRkfkIR8xWIaSMfYGOk-l4VPytTdupoqubVgYNHOeJ84FMAx380Am9udQkOWE7/s1600/sheep+holding+pen.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEMlvo4grZOhkaBpSg9BlKFfbYXlry-WP7y8FTL52I2PBK6d6_eO6AmbavmF5sRU1SqGk6mi_fnwfWvPoRkfkIR8xWIaSMfYGOk-l4VPytTdupoqubVgYNHOeJ84FMAx380Am9udQkOWE7/s320/sheep+holding+pen.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A lamb peering out from the shearing area</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We have 9 ewes and their lambs, but only the ewes were sheared today. Before you can shear a sheep, you must first catch it. We used a shepherd's crook for this (up until today, I thought those were just for looking cool in a nativity scene), grabbing a sheep by its hindquarters and pulling the sheep where you want it to go. I was not very good at this, or else our sheep are just extra stubborn, because every time I hooked a ewe, she laid down instead of letting me guide her. <br />
<br />
One at a time, we brought each ewe over to the shearer, Gary, for her haircut. Gary has been shearing sheep for about seventeen years, and he makes it look easy. It is not. After watching Gary shave several of the sheep, I made a feeble attempt at sheering the flank of a ewe. Standing over her with my legs strategically placed to hold her down, I held the clippers in my right hand and used my left hand to hold the skin taut to make shearing easier. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3kKw86_NV6TvEWkFatPGELY3ncttk9bx1ynysTsV4rc0IitToTeD0oVRlcn_Kquwk4TjA82TL1ERXaTCYNRvTWq683uuhQlWNoTvTakzJnHoTZ9X76kfCKEUcycma0F2siq2mafun5qCt/s1600/aimee+shearing.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3kKw86_NV6TvEWkFatPGELY3ncttk9bx1ynysTsV4rc0IitToTeD0oVRlcn_Kquwk4TjA82TL1ERXaTCYNRvTWq683uuhQlWNoTvTakzJnHoTZ9X76kfCKEUcycma0F2siq2mafun5qCt/s320/aimee+shearing.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My attempt at shearing</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
You have to hold the clippers much closer to the skin than feels comfortable in order to get a close shave. Combine the closeness of the blade with the squirming of a 200+ pound sheep and nicks and cuts are inevitable. I was assured that these cuts all heal without event, but part of me wonders if these nicks are part of why the sheep were not thrilled about shearing day.<br />
<br />
After shearing, the sheep were pretty stirred up, I imagine partly from hunger, partly from thirst, partly from not being in their usual environment, and partly from having just been twisted into all sorts of crazy positions. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dyIzVlAEQ0JhD-llbRfWyeoy2iR4fVx-kIL3DVTE_hyWzKgL7az5E82YPixuI4yorbeflQ5NBeZVuE7vWc66Q' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />
We did what we could for the first 3 issues, giving the sheep hay to eat, water to drink, and leading them back to their usual pen, but the sheep were still pretty agitated, suggesting that they just needed some time to recover from the stress of the day.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTCTmXKCPKx18HGKFy-c6SkU2vKD8IcH5-5BoY4vQCHPx1PsAykJVQ8S7016Q5wTs17ZBlkiqLiOHd7bn6WZnDqg78rkcHoBoBpjkdGK0Fhzk8wUV4yVGWkX0mMz2EHBKahD5wYd9BQsSx/s1600/shorn+sheep+eating.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTCTmXKCPKx18HGKFy-c6SkU2vKD8IcH5-5BoY4vQCHPx1PsAykJVQ8S7016Q5wTs17ZBlkiqLiOHd7bn6WZnDqg78rkcHoBoBpjkdGK0Fhzk8wUV4yVGWkX0mMz2EHBKahD5wYd9BQsSx/s1600/shorn+sheep+eating.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Shorn sheep breaking their overnight fast</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The sheep look so much skinnier now that they have been shorn. We will take the fleeces to a local wool processor for cleaning and then sell most of the wool, keeping a bit for our own use. Several of the farm staff plan to spin some wool and knit or weave with it. I've never done either, but this year is all about learning new things, so look out--you might just get a knit hat for Christmas!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3mnaF8RhxWT6unjYBEz2smYz2HzIWGZG7raZrYqesDGMvyo1aQu95rcFldNaWQhaGn4rfsdv_3WFo9zLQFJCXUqxWSk51phdOpwtunGlSfTcaWqEJdFnQVwwhr-LZ3GD0Xb-mb2L1ppL-/s1600/gary+shearing.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3mnaF8RhxWT6unjYBEz2smYz2HzIWGZG7raZrYqesDGMvyo1aQu95rcFldNaWQhaGn4rfsdv_3WFo9zLQFJCXUqxWSk51phdOpwtunGlSfTcaWqEJdFnQVwwhr-LZ3GD0Xb-mb2L1ppL-/s1600/gary+shearing.JPG" /></a></div>Aimee Sissonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13494327838705984720noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8850284645830696403.post-71486800867675255152012-04-24T21:39:00.000-07:002012-04-24T21:39:45.187-07:00OutlierThis evening, I stayed late at the farm to help bring the animals in from the pasture into their pens at night. To kill time between 5 (when the normal workday ends) and 7:30 (when the animals are brought in), I decided to watch the piglets' entire bottlefeeding session.<br />
<br />
What I saw was fascinating. Although all 4 piglets are the same age, give or take a few minutes, they are definitely not the same size. One piglet, Bulgur, who happens to be our only male piglet, is significantly larger than the others. That's him on the far left in the picture below. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBwTl2whW1yvoAk5aXqvNjkpCqYEe3EcFFp-aYm_Hs3dCwSLs0DRaWgn8GtJyKukedeGbFnKZEGWA0W5gQm5NJzdkGTb2yf69SYLZjGB2AMMjyNFyT17jzf1XicEQEoGLprys3neMdBnGA/s1600/Bulgur.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBwTl2whW1yvoAk5aXqvNjkpCqYEe3EcFFp-aYm_Hs3dCwSLs0DRaWgn8GtJyKukedeGbFnKZEGWA0W5gQm5NJzdkGTb2yf69SYLZjGB2AMMjyNFyT17jzf1XicEQEoGLprys3neMdBnGA/s1600/Bulgur.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bulgur on the far left, much bigger than his sisters</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
No, I didn't need to watch an entire feeding session to realize that Bulgur is big; what the feeding showed me is why. Bulgur is a champion suckler. Once the bottles are inserted into the feeding station, Bulgur goes to town, chugging down the warm cow's milk. Once he's made a significant dent in his bottle, he pushes his slower-suckling neighbor out of the way and starts drinking her bottle, which has more milk in it than the bottle he left behind. Once he finishes that bottle, he moves on to another, pushing his little sister out of the way, again. This little sister, the smallest piglet, is a slow suckler and has only finished about half her bottle in the time that Bulgur has downed almost 2.<br />
<br />
Thus, Bulgur's small advantage in suckling speed drives a cycle of perpetual advantage. Because he suckles faster, Bulgar gets more than his share of the milk. Because he gets extra milk, he grows faster than his siblings. Because he grows faster than his siblings, he is bigger than them. And because he is bigger than his siblings, he can push them out of the way and drink their milk. And the cycle repeats. <br />
<br />
Malcolm Gladwell, I've found you another example of an <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Outliers_(book)" target="_blank">outlier</a>. Much like professional hockey players in Canada, who are disproportionately born in the first few months of the year, Bulgur has taken an initially small advantage and over time, accumulated a significant advantage. In the case of the Canadian hockey players, birth month becomes an advantage because kids born in the same calendar year play in the same league. Kids born in the early months of the year are older than their teammates, and often stronger and faster. They do better in the league, and are selected for all-star teams. On the all-star team, they get extra practice and game experience, so they become even better players. Over time, they continue to get better faster than their younger teammates. <br />
<br />
The question that I am now left with is what to do about Bulgur's advantage. If we don't intervene, and continue to feed the piglets four bottles of equal size, Bulgur will continue to grow at his sisters' expense. One option would be to feed Bulgur separately, so he can't steal his sister's milk. Another option would be to give Bulgur a bigger bottle in the hopes that he sticks to his own bottle. A third option is to switch their feeding method entirely, such as to drinking from a saucer, meaning less bottle washing for us and perhaps loss of Bulgur's suckling advantage (although something tells me he will be a champion lapper, too!). And of course, we can just stay the course and allow for competition and survival of the fittest. But such a course certainly doesn't seem like natural selection to me, given how much human intervention there has already been with this litter of piglets. <br />
<br />
After watching the piglets bottlefeed, I decided to explore the area around the farm. Soil Born is right along the American River, but I hadn't walked down to the river until this evening. I'm sorry I waited so long. I found a spot right by the river to sit and watch the water flow by, listening to the ducks quack and watching the sun slowly sink toward the horizon. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx5SAHdxVB5a2sWzGjUciwBdtUOyTngyiDkHorN89Ae34o1JT-2aTUe8-JbJryG0z4RB8Ush8NQ5o5L-9q7a4LnHcFo5qb6Bi0yA0HSCKG8NLiZrj9WSHp30NdR9oiy1mZeG2Fdnqq3vbZ/s1600/river+sunset.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx5SAHdxVB5a2sWzGjUciwBdtUOyTngyiDkHorN89Ae34o1JT-2aTUe8-JbJryG0z4RB8Ush8NQ5o5L-9q7a4LnHcFo5qb6Bi0yA0HSCKG8NLiZrj9WSHp30NdR9oiy1mZeG2Fdnqq3vbZ/s1600/river+sunset.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunset along the American River</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
On my way back to the farm, I spotted a doe with two fawns crossing the bike trail. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc_1nwIy31gWEEPrFk82Ky3Du0lbrUIXmG8O74HQd0SQQhAuSvApGf8ScibXqEBFXhEvmeomEXLG2CSGDHxpTozHi6mF68MjT9HmILS9LM9G5dtjibumcODRtEgDKtBFyq-E_eVs7gWl5l/s1600/parkway+deer.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc_1nwIy31gWEEPrFk82Ky3Du0lbrUIXmG8O74HQd0SQQhAuSvApGf8ScibXqEBFXhEvmeomEXLG2CSGDHxpTozHi6mF68MjT9HmILS9LM9G5dtjibumcODRtEgDKtBFyq-E_eVs7gWl5l/s1600/parkway+deer.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Deer approaching the bike trail behind the farm</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The farm really is a beautiful place, in an equally beautiful setting. I am so glad I took this leap of faith.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDBKp5RCiWbQ9H7hWyHYkqSyd7H6Cwz5Nl9gdKr5vAQEtS2Et2HboXzLKCJBLZoQgOz8gux8nknRjTe0z8awlcPWbuZ_1vySiyHx6Hf0zJ3GoAOyUM1oKIPu10iV3ByFiOC3llJt_zIDV4/s1600/arr+from+bike+trail.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDBKp5RCiWbQ9H7hWyHYkqSyd7H6Cwz5Nl9gdKr5vAQEtS2Et2HboXzLKCJBLZoQgOz8gux8nknRjTe0z8awlcPWbuZ_1vySiyHx6Hf0zJ3GoAOyUM1oKIPu10iV3ByFiOC3llJt_zIDV4/s1600/arr+from+bike+trail.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Soil Born Farms' American River Ranch, as seen from the American River Parkway</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Aimee Sissonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13494327838705984720noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8850284645830696403.post-74130791866033349682012-04-23T08:33:00.001-07:002012-04-23T08:33:38.366-07:00The four musketeersFor those of you who were disturbed by my last post, don't worry, this one should not make you cry. The pig story has made a turn toward happy, and here's to hoping that it stays that way. <br />
<br />
Last Friday, we began bottlefeeding the piglets with a cow's-milk-based formula. Handfeeding the little guys was rather time-consuming, so our farm manager rigged up a feeding station to hold the bottles up for the piglets to suckle on. Ingenious! The piglets are crazy about their feedings, crawling over each other to find the "best" bottle of milk. They guzzle down their bottles and then fall asleep, curled up together in their pen.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1G2jzzZoi16rhkUDryqgDmUmDhT6ZfG7VGwcbyKHc5zapTwWlBD72cc7NsQ-44exgQ7hbHvOzsxqALxeB7N0gLlo5TndzJolEIcbtDopM6LPGPQctdZqhGJwXZOx03h4JRnPqw0qYnYjb/s1600/piglet+feeder.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1G2jzzZoi16rhkUDryqgDmUmDhT6ZfG7VGwcbyKHc5zapTwWlBD72cc7NsQ-44exgQ7hbHvOzsxqALxeB7N0gLlo5TndzJolEIcbtDopM6LPGPQctdZqhGJwXZOx03h4JRnPqw0qYnYjb/s320/piglet+feeder.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM_EzihXuxa4-5u-RmvuShSOlyE92-ZEq6jNyJDK8E2vISRxa_c0zDmaweBCG441A4R4eAIFcZcrX7eobZvT-0Qh16PUHCh1B0WJ2lS-oTcN4yPe-2je9soKJxpVW8_9aMwGXgX-ouL74X/s1600/piglet+breakfast.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM_EzihXuxa4-5u-RmvuShSOlyE92-ZEq6jNyJDK8E2vISRxa_c0zDmaweBCG441A4R4eAIFcZcrX7eobZvT-0Qh16PUHCh1B0WJ2lS-oTcN4yPe-2je9soKJxpVW8_9aMwGXgX-ouL74X/s1600/piglet+breakfast.JPG" /></a></div>
Last weekend, the piglets graduated to supervised daytime parental visits. Millet and Barley were happy to be reunited with their babies, grunting with excitement. Millet even showed some signs of mothering instincts, rolling over onto her side (finally!) to let the piglets nurse. The pig family spends most of the day laying near an olive tree, the adults in the shade and the piglets sunning themselves. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfRMF5bee-xKc_lsyI3q8NrMt-tO0q4vBb3zLniinz0z5IDxzVQpKjvDsUIl1eNr8aCKibfsz1IwREB4bjtnK04FmxGiMh_xFKj74gp95ri8yonLrXF-Su-CaqJOPGPcmhNzVnGKX0ES4Y/s1600/pig+nap.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfRMF5bee-xKc_lsyI3q8NrMt-tO0q4vBb3zLniinz0z5IDxzVQpKjvDsUIl1eNr8aCKibfsz1IwREB4bjtnK04FmxGiMh_xFKj74gp95ri8yonLrXF-Su-CaqJOPGPcmhNzVnGKX0ES4Y/s1600/pig+nap.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfRMF5bee-xKc_lsyI3q8NrMt-tO0q4vBb3zLniinz0z5IDxzVQpKjvDsUIl1eNr8aCKibfsz1IwREB4bjtnK04FmxGiMh_xFKj74gp95ri8yonLrXF-Su-CaqJOPGPcmhNzVnGKX0ES4Y/s1600/pig+nap.JPG" /></a>Millet isn't producing very much milk, so in the evenings, we bottlefeed the piglets, then tuck them into their own pen with a heating lamp and heating pad for warmth. After their cow's milk breakfast, we carry them out to the orchard in a milk crate to join their parents for the day. Of all the animal chores, this task is my favorite.<br />
<br />
The piglets are growing quickly and becoming more active and adventurous. They've taken to exploring their environment, so much so that we had to put up another fence to keep them confined, as the little piglets can walk right under the electric fence that holds their parents in. On Friday, I spotted the piglets wrestling with each other--adorable!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzefioCOf5nQpow0t5Kv3u-K3VjDVleQoplK8XiRb8HEbrERQG31dnW25OPX0vpbABMbc_oGKkmQc83Nnq1TN_BsLHRwTfa0Q44PejCU57dz0zAOL-ZBBuB_topUexxO_KftQ3JVvrrNmG/s1600/grazing.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzefioCOf5nQpow0t5Kv3u-K3VjDVleQoplK8XiRb8HEbrERQG31dnW25OPX0vpbABMbc_oGKkmQc83Nnq1TN_BsLHRwTfa0Q44PejCU57dz0zAOL-ZBBuB_topUexxO_KftQ3JVvrrNmG/s1600/grazing.JPG" /></a></div>
In other animal news, I learned how to milk a cow this week and was able to herd our flock of sheep out to the pasture all by myself. <br />
<br />
Milking Phoebe, our dairy cow is quite a process, beginning with a thorough cleaning of the cow. First, she gets brushed, then rinsed, then scrubbed with hot soapy water, then rinsed again. Once Phoebe is clean, you pull up the milking stool and start squeezing, two teats at a time. I'm still getting the hang of milking, but the basic idea is to let milk into the teat, pinch off the top of the teat to keep the milk from flowing backward into the udder, then squeeze the milk out the bottom of the teat into the bucket. About 4 gallons of milk later, Phoebe is pretty empty and you can stop milking. The milk is then filtered to remove any stray hairs or skin flakes, and refrigerated for later consumption. Fresh milk is wonderful, and best of all, free! I've taken to making yogurt from the milk, cooking about 3-4 quarts at a time. Mmm, mmm. The yogurt is as good, if not better, than the stuff I was paying $7 a quart for at Whole Foods, pleasing both my stomach and my wallet.Aimee Sissonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13494327838705984720noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8850284645830696403.post-79334476352701713012012-04-15T08:45:00.001-07:002012-04-15T08:45:28.318-07:00Sleep tight, little oneWARNING: This post does not have a happy ending. <br />
<br />
Friday was a hard day on the farm. The darkness began during our morning meeting, when Jared, the farm manager, shared the bad news that we only had 5 piglets left. Three piglets had died the night before, apparently from asphyxiation when their mother rolled on top of them. Another piglet had already died the previous night from being smashed by Millie. I was filled with disappointment and frustration. I had been so excited when Millie gave birth to her piglets--it was truly a joyous day on the farm. How had such joy turned so quickly into tragedy?<br />
<br />
Millie's parenting instincts seem to be nonexistent. She does not respond to the cries of her piglets. She prefers to lay on her belly, denying her piglets access to her teats (and milk). She shifts positions frequently without regard for the safety of her piglets, often rolling over right onto her babies. She nests right up against the wall of the pen, leaving her piglets exposed to the wind. Such behavior is completely inconsistent with her breed, American Guinea Hogs, who are regarded for their excellent mothering ability. Apparently, Millie forgot to read the breed description, and certainly neglected to read "What to Expect When You're Expecting Piglets." <br />
<br />
Late Friday morning, I went to check on Millie and the piglets and found one piglet laying apart from Millie and the rest of the piglets, which is never a good sign. In general, the piglets stay huddled together for warmth. I looked closer at this isolated piglet and knew she was sick. There was foam and blood around her mouth. A quick physical examination showed no apparent injury--her limbs all felt solid. Jared told me these were the same signs exhibited by the piglets Millie had rolled over the night before. I wanted so desperately to help this piglet, but there was little we could do. I held her close and encouraged her to fight, stroking her soft fur. We put her under a heat lamp indoors to warm her up, but her breathing grew shallower and shallower until she wasn't breathing at all. <br />
<br />
Tears streaming down my face, I buried little Farina in the orchard, beneath a fruit tree. I set her softly in her grave, wished her peace, and gently covered her little body with dirt. Once she was buried, I walked across the farm to where I had placed my spirit stick a month before and moved the stick to mark Farina's grave. <br />
<br />
Still grieving over the loss of Farina, I quickly had to shift gears and work to save her siblings. It was clear that Millie had no situational awareness, and would likely continue to suffocate her pigs, albeit inadvertently. It was time to intervene. We removed the four remaining piglets from Millie, placing them in a crate under a heat lamp indoors. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7jGMZJ-rP2aNVG8nS2B9yWsHrxUrOAQNE0ZRhzl0___jrswNYpvwT_TXOirh_LjwapvixM7OvdFBS4OHynyqOAo2mW2tg8C44Ls6CuKodYHCFVwPGT1w6ZaqpI1XxNsqlIvhEIVyVLe6R/s1600/warm+piglets.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7jGMZJ-rP2aNVG8nS2B9yWsHrxUrOAQNE0ZRhzl0___jrswNYpvwT_TXOirh_LjwapvixM7OvdFBS4OHynyqOAo2mW2tg8C44Ls6CuKodYHCFVwPGT1w6ZaqpI1XxNsqlIvhEIVyVLe6R/s320/warm+piglets.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
We prepared a sow's milk substitute from our cow Phoebe's milk and bottle fed the piglets with human baby bottles. It took them a while to catch on, but they eventually figured out that this was their new food. The first feeding was quite a mess--little black piglets covered in drops of milk--but it worked. The piglets will now get bottle feedings every 3-5 hours, around the clock. <br />
<br />
I left the farm that day emotionally drained, mourning for the senseless loss of so many piglets. However, as I pulled out of the parking lot, I was greeted by a full rainbow, shining bright against the figurative darkness of the day, and felt uplifted. We would not forget the pigs we had lost, but we would fight to save those who remained. Rest in peace, Farina. Rest in peace.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK2uSHV4FT5V2R0w7eFY1F6oQsqE3pz2Mi66IFFnJUleF3bXdJO53FQQdkPjSQd2Wujo9_pJMp7So36sQNqVgO1sBtDrA_kvSX7aVA1fCIernLiqdZPYOdzwrXcc9VW8WeiQMJ3G1TIfHW/s1600/rainbow+arr.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK2uSHV4FT5V2R0w7eFY1F6oQsqE3pz2Mi66IFFnJUleF3bXdJO53FQQdkPjSQd2Wujo9_pJMp7So36sQNqVgO1sBtDrA_kvSX7aVA1fCIernLiqdZPYOdzwrXcc9VW8WeiQMJ3G1TIfHW/s1600/rainbow+arr.JPG" /></a></div>Aimee Sissonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13494327838705984720noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8850284645830696403.post-15013483276101409472012-04-11T21:04:00.000-07:002012-04-11T21:04:10.330-07:00Piglets!Congratulations are in order for Millet, our heritage breed American Guinea Hog, who delivered 9 piglets this afternoon! There are 6 girls (gilts) and 3 boys (boars) and they are cute as can be!<br />
<br />
We had practically given up on Millie ever having her babies. Based on the last witnessed mating of Millet and Barley, Millie's due date was thought to be March 24. On March 24, we all checked in on Millie, anxious for piglets, but nothing. The "any day now" excitement lasted for about 3 days, until another farmer who raises the same breed of pigs determined Millie was about 2 weeks away from delivery. Two weeks seemed like forever, and we settled back into our routines, abandoning "Operation Piglet Watch 2012." <br />
<br /><br />
All the while, Millie kept getting fatter, and her teats more swollen every day. The short walk from the pens to the pasture became a laborious journey for her, and she would arrive short of breath. Finally, this afternoon, she decided that she had had about enough of being pregnant, and unbeknownst to any of us, went into labor under an olive tree in the pasture. All of the piglets were scattered on the ground in the pasture when Jared, our farm manager arrived. "Piglets!" he shouted, and I ran over from the greenhouse to find him rounding up the piglets and placing them next to their mom to suckle.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1C0f3FrZ-2sKkjJsY54eKvJjyR-b0xXZAgN2-EoDbBVyV21QlkSdAlvKK3mb9DFi85haOWaUFgJCWoyKiPkD1IXtL0M8XEfLqmriIVmtzw_3ERIfrtrDE2DPamQkGSa9Bz7TfJ-tzg-g2/s1600/millet+and+piglets.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1C0f3FrZ-2sKkjJsY54eKvJjyR-b0xXZAgN2-EoDbBVyV21QlkSdAlvKK3mb9DFi85haOWaUFgJCWoyKiPkD1IXtL0M8XEfLqmriIVmtzw_3ERIfrtrDE2DPamQkGSa9Bz7TfJ-tzg-g2/s1600/millet+and+piglets.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Millet with her nine piglets</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglSzzOleRvGzcYou6fHi__1pUKqZMjoWu20AWpeZ3Jw1dOumEn-IYuadSrTlUtCi10xqjb1AY0AlTj5FI9vSlvCUrJu7AosmFFPCZNFr0LtnLlOUfMq-8Nkh4Qsjc8VmL25O1JnPrl2jCh/s1600/piglets+zoom.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglSzzOleRvGzcYou6fHi__1pUKqZMjoWu20AWpeZ3Jw1dOumEn-IYuadSrTlUtCi10xqjb1AY0AlTj5FI9vSlvCUrJu7AosmFFPCZNFr0LtnLlOUfMq-8Nkh4Qsjc8VmL25O1JnPrl2jCh/s1600/piglets+zoom.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Piglets attempting to find a teat and stay warm</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
This is Millie's first litter, and her motherly instincts seem to be lacking. Apparently, most mother pigs clean off their young and chew off the umbilical cords, but Millie just lay there in the dirt looking exhausted and unconcerned. Since each piglet was dragging a several inches long umbilical cord around in the dirt, we decided that human intervention was necessary. Using some thread, I tied off each cord and another apprentice snipped the cord while Jared held the pig still. Then we returned each pig to its mother to nurse.<br />
<br /><br />
Millie has ten teats, so each of the nine piglets has a place at the table, which is good news. Three of the piglets are on the small side and appear weak. I'm thinking happy thoughts for them and hoping they pull through. Nursing on Millie is no simple task, considering that she seems prone to rolling over on top of her piglets, nearly smashing them. Let's hope that once the fatigue of delivering nine babies wears off, Millie has more energy to tend to her piglets.Aimee Sissonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13494327838705984720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8850284645830696403.post-44941727719749454042012-04-08T19:58:00.000-07:002012-04-08T19:58:27.742-07:00Cultivating a distaste for cultivationUntil now, I have always associated spring with cool mornings, warm days, rain, and the planting season. After this past week on the farm, I can add weeds to that list of spring associations. April showers may bring May flowers, but it is also true that March showers bring April weeds, although not nearly as poetic. Several hours of each day of last week were spent "cultivating" in the main field. Although cultivation technically refers to the entire body of practices used to manipulate soil, in this case it was being used as a euphemism for weeding. <br />
<br />
Honestly, I've never seen so many weeds. Without knowing it, I have been really spoiled by gardening in raised beds filled with practically weed-free soil. Or perhaps it is just that my garden is so small compared to the farm that it is really easy to keep up with the weeds. All I know is that the weeds are so plentiful on the farm that finding the crops can be a real challenge.<br />
<br />
The main weeding focus this last week was our leaf/root block that was partially direct seeded and partially transplanted a couple weeks ago. The crops that went in as transplants were relatively easy to identify amongst the weeds, since they were several weeks old when they were put into the field, giving them a major headstart on the weeds sizewise. The direct seeded crops, on the other hand, are pretty much in a neck-and-neck race with the weeds. When the rains came, the crop seeds and the weed seeds both got watered and germinated, and both are growing side-by-side in the planting beds. <br />
<br />
Weeding out the unwanted plants is no simple task. Hoes are useful for tackling the weeds that aren't right next to a wanted plant (aka, crop), but when it comes to getting the weeds that are crowded next to the crop, only hand weeding will do. Hand weeding is just what it sounds like--getting down on your hands and knees and pulling out the weeds with your hands. It's the same way I pull weeds in my garden, and most of us pull weeds in our yards. The difference is the scale in which hand weeding happens on the farm. At Soil Born, we plant in 200 foot beds. The area of our leaf/root block that we weeded this last week was around 10 beds worth, each with 3 rows of seedlings. In all, that comprises about 6000 feet of crop to weed, over a mile! That's a lot of crawling on your hands and knees, and trust me, my body felt it.<br />
<br />
The curious aspect of weeding is the fleeting nature of your effectiveness. One of my favorite aspects of farming is having tangible results at the end of each day, and weeding is no exception. You start the day with a jungle, and finish with an orderly bed of three rows of plants standing tall. The problem is that there are always more weed seeds in the seed bank, and the orderly bed doesn't last long. Last Saturday, we weeded a bed of kale. By Thursday of the next week, it had to be weeded again. Weeding is truly a constant battle. <br />
<br />
Already tiring of weeding after just one week, I clearly need to find a way to reconsider my definition of successful weeding. Rather than considering weeding a one-and-done task, perhaps I should think of it as more of a marathon tennis match--a five setter between Nadal and Federer--that will test both my mental and physical stamina. Let's just hope that in this battle, the plants win--I need to eat, and I don't really like weed salads!Aimee Sissonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13494327838705984720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8850284645830696403.post-69938015323354467422012-04-03T19:49:00.003-07:002012-04-03T19:50:26.269-07:00Big RedI eat meat. But until last week, I had never witnessed the harvest, or slaughter, of an animal for food. The process wasn't easy to watch, but it felt like something I needed to see. If I wasn't willing to watch an animal killed for food, then I shouldn't be eating meat. Nowadays, it's so easy to go to the grocery store and buy meat, hermetically sealed and highly processed, such that it hardly resembles its animal of origin. With the grocery store, meat becomes a commodity, not a precious sacrifice. You don't even think twice about throwing out leftovers--you can just get more meat at the store. To be honest, for most of my life, that is how I've approached eating meat.<br />
<br />
However, of late, I'm been trying to eat more mindfully and pay attention to where my food comes from. We've been buying grass-fed beef at the farmers' market from a local ranch where the cows live a good life. The natural next step seemed to be to witness the slaughter of the meat I eat.<br />
<br />
At Soil Born, we raise chickens for eggs, not meat, but roosters who don't play well with others are not tolerated. Big Red, the rooster we killed, was on the losing end of a battle with another rooster, getting pretty beat up in the process. After the fight, it was decided: Big Red had to go.<br />
<br />
At the appointed time, Big Red was carried from his isolation pen to the area we had set up for the slaughter. He didn't seem to know that death was imminent. Held upside down by his feet, he was practically asleep as the knife that would slit his carotid artery approached. I really didn't want to watch the cut being made, but felt like I needed to watch everything, every second of the slaughter. So watch I did, until Big Red's eyes stopped blinking. Once the rooster was dead, I was amazed at how quickly he was transformed from a fluffy, feathery creature to a skinny carcass as we quickly pulled the feathers off after dunking the carcass in near-boiling water. Once the rooster was dead, the emotional attachment that I had felt before the slaughter was gone. It felt odd that now that he was dead, I could handle his body just like any other chicken. <br />
<br />
That night, back at home, I cried for Big Red. The experience had been harder on me emotionally than I had initially thought, but I was glad I participated. I hope that I will get to the point that I'm ready to slaughter a chicken myself, rather than just watch, but I'm not looking forward to that day, either. Life, even a chicken's life, is precious.Aimee Sissonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13494327838705984720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8850284645830696403.post-32487859344340217632012-03-25T09:03:00.000-07:002012-03-25T09:03:01.500-07:00Tunnels<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This week, I began my integrated pest management rotation in earnest. Right now, the focus is on gopher trapping. The ambivalence I felt toward killing furry creatures before I began the rotation remains, but is now manifested in mixed emotions as I walk the fields setting and checking my traps. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Gophers are a major predator on the farm, destroying plants primarily by eating their root systems from underground. The basic approach to gopher trapping is to find areas of recent activity, set traps in the area, and return in 1-2 days to check the traps. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Step 1: Find areas of recent activity. Gophers live underground in an interconnected series of tunnels. When digging their underground tunnels, the dirt they are pushing out of the way has to go somewhere, so they push it to the surface, creating a mound of fresh soil. I think the freshly turned soil looks like coffee grounds. Damp soil, which is darker in color than the surrounding ground, indicates a fresh mound. Older mounds have dry soil. Of course, gophers aren't the only burrowing creatures on our farm, so I also have to distinguish between mole and ground squirrel activity. Ground squirrels don't create mounds--they just leave big holes in the ground marking the entrance to their burrows. Moles do create mounds, but they tend to be volcano-shaped, unlike gopher tunnels, which are horseshoe-shaped. So I walk the fields somewhat randomly, looking for horseshoe-shaped mounds of damp coffee grounds.</span><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyyeoOO5zjvUGFUiWnB_j6ryl6M7dV0qiQArtNedUxQQeVZqAhkzanxBsuE8wI-wMvOb1QPoRnIoZSaSi2G_RhIieLn_07PGhK0tzubHfJz8PJkBC_gKvg9rgPjTQ67muHcu9ITyLfDxPO/s1600/gopher+mound.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyyeoOO5zjvUGFUiWnB_j6ryl6M7dV0qiQArtNedUxQQeVZqAhkzanxBsuE8wI-wMvOb1QPoRnIoZSaSi2G_RhIieLn_07PGhK0tzubHfJz8PJkBC_gKvg9rgPjTQ67muHcu9ITyLfDxPO/s320/gopher+mound.JPG" width="240" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Horseshoe-shaped gopher mound</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Step 2: Set traps. Once I find a fresh gopher mound, the first step is to find the tunnel/s associated with the mound. This requires probing the ground around the mound with a plastic stake, feeling for an area of intial resistance as the probe penetrates soil, then no resistance as the probe enters a tunnel. Once I think I've found the tunnel, I slip a hori hori knife along the probe and create a pocket for my hand to enter the tunnel, pulling the knife out as I slide my hand in. </span><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.enasco.com/prod/images/products/58/AC046706.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="http://www.enasco.com/prod/images/products/58/AC046706.jpg" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Hori hori knife</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Once my hand is in, I feel around to determine which direction the tunnel is heading in. Often, there are 2-3 tunnels that converge into the pocket I'm in, and I can set a trap in each one. The next step is excavation, the most time-consuming part of the process. The traps we use are larger than the tunnel entrances for the most part, which means I have to widen and deepen the tunnel entrance to fit a trap inside. Once I have a big enough hole, I set the trap's trigger mechanism above the ground. We use Victor gopher traps. </span><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/410RIvaGVjL._SL500_AA300_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/410RIvaGVjL._SL500_AA300_.jpg" width="200" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Victor gopher trap</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxtDmHaS4A-gStAvStOJkn5qPv5IiTrRk5g_wnnFnJ7IFO0oSRSxHMI1AUP3sCeO3sHQJYvTcqgmGBKXpy0aqIolne_XCc9IZSmN3jwauIPKpeekYwBkOihYSyCxKDMo4beYktDPYauPmN/s1600/underground+trap.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxtDmHaS4A-gStAvStOJkn5qPv5IiTrRk5g_wnnFnJ7IFO0oSRSxHMI1AUP3sCeO3sHQJYvTcqgmGBKXpy0aqIolne_XCc9IZSmN3jwauIPKpeekYwBkOihYSyCxKDMo4beYktDPYauPmN/s1600/underground+trap.JPG" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Trap set in underground tunnel</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Once the trap is set, I carefully place it at the entrance to the tunnel, then backfill the area I excavated with dirt. To make sure I can find the trap the next day, I place a stake with a bright orange flag right next to the area. The stakes are tied to the underground trap, making it easy to pull the trap out of the ground to see if you've caught a gopher.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEYc4TpbMCTlZYVG0EO6PZLhYnon3m34TjD_4D9z2WV-DxHjTPaBqg5yFe_H7nO7aGJWCI2Y3G_xjvHIYBLDpaHfUDNQH3R0mZeNoc8FbnE2LmrfXDlUFR0fJ-S80jcTGwyqVLK17TUdxj/s1600/set+trap.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEYc4TpbMCTlZYVG0EO6PZLhYnon3m34TjD_4D9z2WV-DxHjTPaBqg5yFe_H7nO7aGJWCI2Y3G_xjvHIYBLDpaHfUDNQH3R0mZeNoc8FbnE2LmrfXDlUFR0fJ-S80jcTGwyqVLK17TUdxj/s1600/set+trap.JPG" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Flag marking a set trap</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I find steps 1 and 2 to be rather enjoyable. I get to work on my own, exploring the farm, keeping my eyes open for signs of gopher acitivty. I feel connected to what's happening in the fields. It's satisfying to identify a mound, successfully probe for a tunnel, and excavate an area to set a trap. If I don't think about what the traps are for (killing gophers), setting traps is a pleasant way to spend a day. It's step 3 where the mixed emotions come in.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Step 3: Check the traps. On Friday, I set 8 or so traps, in several areas of our main field. On Saturday, I looked for my orange flags and checked each for a gopher. As I grabbed the string and began pulling my first trap to the surface, half of me hoped the trap would be empty, while the other half wanted to be successful with this new task. Much to my relief, the first trap was empty. So was the second. And the third. And the fourth. At this point, while relieved to have not killed anything, I was getting worried that I was doing something wrong. As I pulled my fifth trap out of the ground, I fully expected it to be empty, too. So as the trap reached the surface, I was startled to find a gopher on the end of the line. My heart sunk as I jumped back at the sight of the lifeless gopher. I never thought success could be so disappointing. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My first day of trapping yielded two gophers, each of which was buried in its own tunnel. When I reported my results to my supervisor, I was congratulated. My heart soared momentarily--I had done my job well and been successful. Yet that success meant the loss of a life, and I didn't feel comfortable celebrating that. </span>Aimee Sissonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13494327838705984720noreply@blogger.com0