First Harvest

Today, 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 my 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. 

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.

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 lettuce mix, one-half pound of baby arugula, and one bunch of Easter Egg radishes.  The harvest supplies were heavier and more numerous than the actual crop!

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 Earthway seeder 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 one 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 2-page handout 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. 

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! 

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.

Bed of lettuce mix, before weeding and harvest.

Bed of lettuce mix, after weeding and harvest.

4 pounds of just-harvested lettuce mix.

One-half pound of fresh, baby arugula.

Baby arugula going for a swim in the wash tub.

Easter Egg radishes.  So proud of my little babies!

5 + 7 + 5 = ?

On my drive to the farm one morning this week, NPR featured haiku 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. 

Plastic pipe, wood, wire:
A new home for the chickens.
But where are the eggs?

Last year they raised pigs
Now the ground's too hard to till
Forking breaks my back

Sore throat, cough, stuffed up
NCIS entertains
No farm work for me

Blackberry Dave disks
Saving us a week's labor
Worth every cent

Oops, there goes a pipe
Could the doggies be to blame?
Off to Home Depot

The weeds grow like mad
Undoing hard work so fast
Hope the plants grow, too

A long way from home

Since 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.

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.


A river of dried soybeans awaits harvest on the farm where my brother lives.

Okay, enough about soybeans. What I really want to talk about is Monticello. 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 gardens 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 Declaration of Independence?  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:

 



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.  

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:

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:

 

 

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...

 



Done!

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.

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.

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?

Coming home

The 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.

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.  You will recall 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").

After the U.S. women’s soccer team won gold in the Olympics, I renamed the chick Hope Solo in honor of our amazing goalkeeper. 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.

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.

Hope's house.

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.

Hope enjoys her new home.

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 Abby Wambach, my absolute favorite soccer player.  And if I ever get a third chicken, she will be named Alex or Morgan, after Alex Morgan.  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.

Hope and Abby roosting side-by-side at night.

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. 

Chicken Little

Last 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.

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.

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...

Hope Mabel Chick sports her gauze and duct tape "cast."

To market, to market

"To market, to market, to buy a fat pig,

Home again, home again, jiggety-jig.

To market, to market, to buy a fat hog,

Home again, home again, jiggety-jog.

To market, to market, to buy a plum bun,

Home again, home again, market is done."

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. 

Chris, one of my fellow apprentices, beautifies our Saturday farmstand with his chalk art.

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. 

Squeezing the van into a tight parking spot.  Just don't make me back up.

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.

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.

That's 29 gallons, not the 29 dollars I'm used to!

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. 

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 first chance 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 writing the digest, typing 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.

A recent CSA box with kale, collards, kohlrabi, lemon cucumbers, carrots, and garlic visible. 

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 here.