Wait for it...It's coming from somewhere in left field!

It seems as though we are holding our breath around the farm until we turn blue in the face, hoping someone will let us have our way. Something has got to give. We are emerging from our winter havens a little like the groundhog looking for our shadow and trying to decide if it is nice enough to plant our peas yet.

In case you have not noticed, the blog has been on hiatus for the last month. "Why?" you ask? I will offer you two options: the short version immediately below, or the long, compelling, crazy, Booker prize-quality version following the short.

Snow. Car breaks, bus breaks, motorcycle breaks, washing machine breaks, fridge and freezer break. Fix everything. Amy starts to teach in a classroom again after many years of teaching every minute of everyday not in a classroom. Play musical cars to entertain ourselves while we sell the bus and buy a "station-wagon Volvo". Started a massive remodel on the farmhouse. Receive seeds for the garden, and dodge snow storms to plant them in the ground.

Let's take it from the top; snow. I am from the Chicago area originally, and have a great number of experiences with snow. I remember trudging through the stuff, my feet wrapped in old bread bags and secured with rubber bands around my calves, because my boots were never going to keep out all that white stuff even if their name implied it. I remember learning to drive in the snow pre-anti lock breaks. I remember packing snow on our front stairs and turning them into a mini luge track that lasted for weeks before melting away. And I remember how I felt when I moved up here to the Pacific Northwest; secretly happy to be leaving the Winters of guaranteed snow. Sure we get snow in the Northwest, but it is more like an old friend surprising you and showing up at your doorstep for a few days. You make accommodations, eat steaming bowls of goodness, sleep in because no one is going anywhere, and then tell yourself, "that was fun" when it all melts away to nothing. This year though, signals got crossed, my best friend from high school did not show up, instead it was the Mormons, followed by Jehovah's witness. It was someone from Sierra club, kids selling magazine subscriptions, and an acquaintance of my second college roommate who is on out of cash and hoping that they could just stay for a couple days until they figure out their next move. I was getting tired and scared of answering the door.

Yesterday was the Ides of March, and Brutus came knocking on the door with a sloppy wet snowball to throw in my face. Yes, it snowed, yet again. Just after I chew out one of the seed companies to hurry up and send me my asparagus crowns and seed potatoes, because even if they think it is not time to plant them, I, the expert farmer, know my zone and need to plant. All I know now is that I must be living in wonderland. However, today looks promising, no snow, just rain so far...

To Everything, Burn, Burn, Burn

We are "dreaming" in Winter around the farm. The first seed order is in and most of it arrived weeks ago save the live asparagus crowns which will arrive closer to planting time in March. Thirty six cardoon plants and twenty artichoke plants are inching their way out of dirt-filled peat pots and reaching toward the light of an artificial sun; hopefully they will be big enough when it is time to put them out into the chill to harden them off. We doubled the size of the vegetable garden which you can see at the end of this posting. And we are clearing away all the plants growing around the farmhouse to make room for the heavy equipment to roll in any day now and start reworking the home into our dream.

Through all this land clearing and tilling, and all the pruning that needed to happen in and around the orchard we built up quite the burn pile. Our original plan was to have a solstice pyre welcoming back the light, but it snowed so hard then we would have needed at least a gallon of accelerant to melt off the icy frosting alone. So, we continued to add to the pile, and we continued to wait for a better day to burn. Finally, as we turned the corner into preparing to remodel the farmhouse and preparing the gardens for Spring the burn pile grew to inexorable size and we agreed to split the job of burning over a couple of days to purge us and make room for what is to come.

Last Thursday I had a full day on the farm while Toby was in town working and the kids were in school. This was the perfect day for burning, partly sunny, very little wind, and it had not rained in several days. Even with these great conditions it took all the fuel in one lighter, a good two or three cups of diesel, and a whole lot of crouching on all fours and blowing like I was back in school on the bassoon playing the Marriage of Figaro to finally light the first pile on fire. And once it was burning I realized that my plans of working in the garden while every once in a while adding an armful of pruned branches was a pipe dream. I needed to stay and feed the flames pretty much all day, and at first I was frustrated by this realization, but after I found the rhythm of the fire I transcended the pull of earthen tasks like weeds and seeds and turned my eyes and mind to the heavens.

I watched as hydrangea branches, pruned away to make room for our eminent house remodel, bloomed in the fire unfurling perfect bright green leaves seconds before completely burning up. I watched our Christmas tree, that we cut on the island, start on the pile as a pillar of smoke and sizzle and then suddenly explode like a firework with the crack and pop I heard the week before in Chinatown. Apple wood, branches pruned from the orchard, burned clean and smelled a little sweet. Blackberry vines smoked for a while before finally catching on fire and disappearing a second later. And a broken fence post provided slow burning fuel to light up old wrapping paper from a pair of new sleds received at Christmas.

By the time I needed to leave the farm and pick up the kids from school I smelled smokey, my cheeks were rosy, and my heart was warm and a little lighter. Tending the burn pile was a secondary observation, forcing me to look at things again even after I thought I was done with them. When we still lived in Seattle these items that found their way into the burn pile would have been carted off on a regular schedule by the trash men. I would have never stopped, months later to rethink my actions in my backyard and where I was going to next. It is here, farming, that things are slowed down and we are forced to be deliberate in our actions, because we are the ones making the mess, and the only ones to clean it up. We are being nudged by this land to live more simply, more stripped down, more connected, and I love it.

Go Away Snow!

When I was younger I loved snow. I prayed for snow days. I loved to sled. I would build sledding runs down our front steps just to give me another place to throw down the sled between home and the park. Alas, I no longer love snow. We have endured a remarkable amount of snow at the farm. The first few days of the real snow we remained at our rental home, trapped at the bottom of a steep and slippery driveway. But after the second day, Toby brought out the tire chains before things got worse, and they did, and we crept our way to the farm. We figured that if we lost power at the rental house, were everything runs on electric, we would spend our days cold and miserable. But at the farm, although it is tight living quarters, the previous owners left us with a great generator that plugs right into the home’s power box and can pretty much run anything we need. Plus, we are one of the lucky few on the island who have natural gas as our heat, hot water, and cook stove, which is a big bonus when you have no power.



Now, for those of you readers who our new to our blog, or do not remember the set up at the farm let me bring you up to speed:

We have one room in the upstairs of the farmhouse. It serves as the primary, and only finished out living space for the farm. It is a fabulous, cozy spot with a sumptuous view; very romantic. However, for a family of four plus a lovely dog the space seems pretty small. And it was small. After eight days sharing this one-room sanctuary we all needed a bit more elbow room. By then we were able to cast off the chains and slip our way back to the rental to catch up on sleep and stare at the Christmas tree that ended up getting ignored this year.

The other reason for staying at the farm in the midst of all the snow, was to keep a closer eye on all of our “investments”. Daily we walked the rows in the orchard to make sure the snow and ice were not weighing to heavily on the branches. We were constantly digging out the garden to keep the hoops elevated over the slow-growing Winter garden, and thawing out the chickens’ drinking water once or twice a day until the temperature crept back up to above freezing. All of these things we embraced heartily and were thankful that nothing got too damaged, and we did not completely lose anything. We filled our bellies for a good week with the salvaged garden greens and roots, patting ourselves on the back for our fortitude. Since then we have dealt with more snow, power-outages, wind, and lots of rain. None of it is fun, and at least once a day I roll my eyes at the latest must-do that skips ahead of everything else on our long list of farm chores. I realize now, more than ever, that we pay too little for our food. We too easily forget the countless cold, dark, wet hours put into any crop before it even sees the light of Spring. So now we sit down to pour over seed catalogs, search out organic sprays and mulches for the orchard, and comb the aisles of our island thrift store for some gadget that can help us get things done. We clutch our checkbook in our hands and check our funds in the bank. We wonder how have so many farmers before us done it, and how many of us can continue to carry on the great tradition? Thanks to all who provide, and most of all to the Earth.

By the Light of the Moon?

The sweaters are now strewn about the house. Every time we leave the house we put on a hat. The teapot is set to boil several times a day. We are heading into the cold, wet, mostly grey days of winter, which around here can last for more than its prescribed three month time slot.

Yesterday was a day of scrambling in anticipation for a bitterly cold night. We heard that the night-time temp might dip below freezing and began to worry about our crops. Now, when we lived in the big city, a weather report like that would have just motivated us to put an extra blanket on the kids, but not so now that we are farmers. We tune into the weather report. We notice where the fog settles around the island. We walk the property and feel where the air is warmer. We get whiplash driving around the island noticing how everyone else prepares their gardens for the winter.

Up until yesterday, we were slipping into what I would call "hobby" farming; putzing about the farm doing a little something here and a little something there. I had started to remove a ring of sod from around each tree in the orchard and then planting the uncovered dirt with bulbs that would hopefully emerge in the Spring. I started this project in October, and still was not finished. (keep in mind we have 72 trees in the orchard) We worried that if things got cold enough to freeze we could not dig in any more bulbs, so we headed down to the orchard to get to work.

I started planting bulbs around mid-day before I had to fetch kids from schools, and then we returned as a family after naps. By the time we got down to the orchard it was 4:00 and the sun was going down fast. I started heeling in bulbs as fast as I could while the kids played in the fading light. Toby got the tractor started and delivered several loads of fresh topsoil to blanket the bases of the trees. The headlights on the tractor lighted our way to planting the last 150 daffodil bulbs we had ready to go. The kids made great shadows to entertain Toby and I as we frantically worked to get everything tucked in and buttoned up. Gus performed a benediction declaring that we worked hard, but still may lose some of our crop. (I think he has been reading too many little house on the prairie lately) We all gave thanks for a job well done, no matter what the outcome, and headed home.

I marveled at the moon last night, it was a perfect crescent. Just a sliver of light, but enough for you to find your way. And I marveled at how we needed just that little bit of a kick in the pants to get us to remember that we are farmers. And sometimes that means you end up working your fields by the light of the tractor headlight, because you can't wait for a full moon.

Blessings All Around.

Last weekend we officially blessed the farm. And in true Holmestead fashion it was a grand celebration with great friend and family and fabulous food and drink. We chose today because it coincided with the 200th anniversary of the Messe du Sovenir des Charcutiers; or mass of remembrance for the guild of butcher who create hams, sausages and pates. So what you say? Take a moment and think about the importance of this group of "artists" and the many connections they have to us as burgeoning farmers.

We have really tightened our belts to swing the purchase of the farm and preparing for its transformation into our permanent home. One of the greatest savings we have discovered is eating as locally as possible, mostly from our own garden, and when we eat meat it is often the "nasty bits" that taste so good if treated right, and cost so much less than the more traditional cuts. We have cultivated friendships with fellow farmers to find out who are the good slaughters and butchers on the island and surroundings. We have asked more questions of chefs, and cooks at every restaurant we visited and community gathering. And we have read way too many books on how to grow your own, slaughter your own, grind your own, and cure your own food.

So when I heard that November 16th was the 200th anniversary of honoring this guild of butchers it seemed like a wonderful reason to eat, drink, and hold church in our favorite sanctuary: the farm. What resulted from our call out to friends and family was a triumphant affirmation of friendship, generosity, and lots and lots of humor. We pressed cider for hours, and even ended up with a little left over despite the long line of kids (and a few adults) catching the fresh juice in paper cups. We could not wait for Toby to deliver his homily before diving into the food, and were happy that we did. The fog of the morning, of our minds, of the state of things, burned off just after noon. Toby lead almost 90 of us down into the field and gave a heartfelt thanks and praise. And then we all got back to eating!

Some of the most memorable dishes were:
Lise and Tamlyn's Pigs in a blanket (what makes it the perfect dish is Lise's professional cooking background)
Ann's plate of trotters
PK's Thai pork with yummy rice and rooster sauce
Wiley's chocolate chip cookies with crackling's
Andrew and Erin's offerings from Canada (is it legal to bring cured meat across the border?)
Steve's rillettes
Bill and Shirley's spare ribs
The Hammer's showing up with enough various pork products to feed us all twice
The Vegetarians Kathleen and Bryce showing up with Kielbasa
And the fabulous array of salumi from Salumi

It was absolutely stunning to see the thought and creativity that so many people put into what they brought to the party. It reminded us all that we chose to gather that day, we chose to be friends, we chose to create this community. And what a fabulous foundation we set for all of us in this vacillating time hope and uncertainty. Thanks everyone.
Here is a copy of Toby's Homily, enjoy:
The Blessing of the Farm

The sun shines of us all today after days of fall rain. Like the growing plants around us, we welcome the energy to renew our spirits. And we welcome you here today for a gathering of friends and family for many reasons to take pause and celebrate. We celebrate the bounty of the fall harvest. We celebrate the sale of the Seattle house and the ability to now pursue our vision for Holmestead Farms and share that vision with you. We celebrate by pressing cider together, enjoying each other’s company—making new friends and reconnecting with long time friends. And honoring the pig.

Our gustatory theme today is the natural pairing of apples and pork. Today, November 16th, marks the 200th anniversary of the charcutiers mass of remembrance. In 1513 the charcutiers formed their own guild and broke from the general butcher trade. The mass honors the makers of sausages, hams, and pates. By the way, Saint Anthony is the patron saint of the chacutiers—thanks Tony. And the pig is a great and appropriate symbol of a farm—pigs eat the scraps and eventually become food, with virtually every single part of the pig edible.

We want to thank everyone who is here today for supporting us in our move to Vashon and in our first season of production. Each of you, in some way, helped us and we appreciate your support and love.

Remember the original Stuart Brothers roasterie in the old Country Store building—the current location of Minglemint, now a central gathering place to share a good cup of coffee or chew the fat with buddies? How about the monks who have been roasting coffee for ever? And now, Vashon has a vigorous farmers market, the most active fruit club chapter in Western Washington and beyond organic farms like Sea Breeze, other family farms like Greenman Farm, Hogsback, and others. And how about the underground dining at Kurtwood? Vashon has a productive and engaged farm and food culture.

There’s a demand for local produce, dairy, and meats. In preparation for this party, the woman at Salumi in charge of wholesale accounts asked when they can buy our eggs. We’ve sold berries and apples at the local farmers market, through Bernie and Norine, and privately by the box. Much more to come next year. We’re excited about people’s interest in knowing where their food comes from and who grows it. Ultimately our vision for Holmestead Farms is to include the production and sale of honey, preserves, pickles, produce, eggs, and fruit. And we intend to have culinary gatherings, cooking classes, and private dining events.

Why are we doing this? We firmly believe that the sharing of food is the key to building a community—to break bread with one another. Growing our food connects us with the land, the air, and the water and reminds us that these are delicate resources to be handled with respect and care. Our animals have personalities and are well loved, especially the ones that become food. Food brings us together, slows us down, and nourishes our bodies. And it’s important for conveying our family values to our kids.

May we all be blessed to find and develop a greater community through the connections provided to us by sharing food. We bring together friends and family to celebrate each other, the bounty of the harvest and to give thanks for our resources, both the natural resources and our individual industrial efforts. May we not take these for granted.

Let’s remember our obligation to treat the earth, air, and water with respect, like the essential relationship between bees and apples trees. Neither survive without the other. Let’s remember the value of communing with others and the significance of sharing food—for sustenance, pleasure, and for art. Let’s remember to give and receive graciously and thankfully.

It takes soil, rain, sun, seeds, tender care and patience to raise a good turnip, apple, or raspberry. It takes magic and chemistry to make a great meal or vint wine. But it takes human interaction and love to make any of it worth while or taste good.

As Pere Luc Forestier, the pastor of the church in Paris where the mass occurs every years says, “It’s not just about taking care of an organic need of the human body, but, more important, about providing what responds to our desire of conviviality, for sharing, for good taste, for beauty.” Amen.

Peeling the Onion

When "the farm" came into our sites we were not looking for it. We simply were asked to go and visit Toby's 5th grade teacher who is married to the retired middle school librarian while we were on the island at Christmas time. The first time we drove up to the farm we thought that for sure they only lived in the little house at the top of the property and kept the big garden. We were quite surprised when we learned that they also maintained a big field and a HUGE orchard. However, the more we talked with Phil (the 5th grade teacher) and Mary (the fabulous librarian) we found ourselves warming up to the idea of buying a farm; of becoming farmers.
I first realized we were on a steep learning curve when we were faced with Summer pruning. Even if you just snip one of two branches on each tree, there are 71 trees in the orchard, it adds up to lots of time. Pruning took three weeks. Then the berries started coming. Now, I am the first person to sit down with a pint of berries and a bit of chocolate and be perfectly happy, but after the tenth pint and the fifth batch of jam you just feel full. So we started selling our berries, and then the zucchini, and then the apples and plums. And of course, we couldn't just open a little road stand, we got official: business license, website, bank account, and business cards.

All of this "growing" of the farm felt right, and I was often reminded of my college roommate's book that was gifted to her by her mother: Do What You Love and the Money Will Follow. The more we invested into the farm the more I was loving what we were doing, until the most recent issue of Brain, Child arrived in the mail. Brain, Child is one of our favorite journals and we often bemoan the moment we finish reading the current issue because it is only published quarterly and both Toby and I tend to read it in the first week of its release. In this Fall issue I stumbled upon the feature "Eco-Housewives: Enlightened Caregiver, or Feminist Nightmare?". I resisted reading the article for a day, but eventually succumbed, plowed through it, and ended up calling Toby for backup when I finished.

The main subject in the article is Shannon Hayes, a mother, farmer, and writer, http://www.shannonhayes.info/. She has "unplugged" from what she claims if the consumerism expectations of parenthood and gone a different, "enlightened" path. "These women-and men, I might add-who are stepping back ad focusing on the home as an ecological movement are stepping out of the workplace treadmill that has them slaving for wages to buy crap," Hayes says. And I say Rock On sister!
But do you have to call me a housewife? What if I wasn't married? What if I was a lesbian? So yes, I happened to end up with a pretty pedestrian resume when it came to relationship building and "growing up", but feel pissed off getting called a housewife, eco or otherwise.

We all work. Not just for a paycheck, but for a better life. A better life that is more balanced than the sit-coms that someone watches on TV. A better life that allows us to just work on being the best person we can be for our children, our significant others, our families, our communities, for ourselves. I think the thing I dislike the most about being labeled is that I do not consider myself just one thing, I am a moving target that can't be nailed by just one bullet. So now, I would like to end this entry telling you who I am, but that would just be a label.

Tilling our Earth and Finding our Groove

A few months ago I mentioned to some friends that I was "freaking" out about all of the changes we were going through; I had no idea. One of my friends spoke up that struggle is closely tied with living, and so many people just wander through, but at least we were living it. Well, if that is true we are now fully present, completely conscious, and living in the moment. I have given up listening to public radio, which is big for me, because I feel like every half hour they are highlighting our obvious struggles. We have yet to sell our home in Seattle, Toby works in the hemorrhaging financial sector, we are trying to plan out a way to live on the farm, and we are attempting to launch the farm into business that can both support and nurture us. Our struggles are not unique, but how often do you pick up the paper, listen to the radio, or, God forbid, turn to network news and feel like they are actually talking about you?

It is ironic that I don't want to be popular now, as opposed to my many late nights scheming with my teen-aged friends about how we could break through to the popular cliche. Back then I thought being on the pom-pom squad, or having the lead in the school play would change how everyone perceived me, and how I even felt about myself. Of course none of that made any difference, although I do admit it was kind of fun to wear the cheerleader outfits and sing my lungs out.

Our new cliche is the farm community here on the island. At first, I was a bit worried that farming would isolate me from the community, and I would not meet all the people on the island that are worth sharing time with. But now I see we just got elected Homecoming Queen. We are the new kids on the block, and lately it seems that just about everyone is watching our fledgling footsteps. What techniques are we employing to maintain our "crops"? Where will we sell our products; farmer's market, wholesale distributor, farm stand? Are we going to price our products according to what the market can bear, or do we just want to feed the world? And of course, every time we answer one question, a branch of the family tree of popularity is sprouted. Do we go up into the lore of the farmers everyone wants to hang with? Or do we droop down into the mucky wallows of the wanna be "hobby" farmers? And is it just okay to fall on our faces a couple of times while we sort it out?

I have been thinking a lot about the Buddhist fairy tale of the farmer and his horse. A farmer wakes up one day to find his horse has run away. His neighbors come by to say they are sorry for his bad luck. The farmer responds that maybe it is bad luck and maybe it is not. The next day the horse returns with two other wild horses, and the neighbors all congratulate him on his good luck. The farmer responds again that maybe it is good luck and maybe not. The story continues on like that until the average thinker starts to get the message that there is no luck, but there is balance in life and we need to check how we perceive things.

Gus and Freja started school recently, and they both have blossomed. Freja is just the most amazing, imaginative, and talkative two-year-old you could imagine. Gus loves kindergarten so much he does not want to leave, and is already perfecting signing his name. The farm is tons of work, and we have met a number of wonderful people who buy what we can spare, and cheer us on along the way. I got to spend the morning with a cow named Hazel, a farmer named Will, a produce maven named Norine, and a caterer named Mardi. Toby enjoys every day that he commutes by ferry, and comes home every evening with tidbits of information gleaned from the friends he has made on the boat. We received an offer on the house in Seattle, and although it is ridiculous, it is an offer.

In Seattle we had a groove that we had worn pretty deep. Here on the island, on our farm we are just scratching the surface, and already are amazed with what we have uncovered.

Take a Breath

Last night as I walked the orchard inspecting the apples, resetting insect traps, and removing the imperfect fruits for cider, the Harvest Moon rose up over me.  It made me think of a high-pressured school-reform trip I took down to San Diego when my principal launched into this story about when he tried his hand at farming.  There were about six of us around the table while he regaled how he harvested his wheat with a hand scythe under the harvest moon, naked.  About half of the teachers around the table had to pick up their jaws from the floor, and the rest of us whispered under our breath..."Cool".  Well, I didn't strip down last night, but I did pause and give thanks to the warm light that bathed the farm while I did my final clean up for the night.  And I felt a pretty strong pull from that moon; my tide is in, and it is here.

http://www.ebridant.com/images/Harvest-Moon_xxx.jpg

Ready, Set, Launch!

Yesterday we officially launched Holmestead Farms into the public arena by participating in the Vashon Farmer's Market.  The day started early with Amy carefully packing the pickup and slowly driving up to the market (she did not want to bruise one plum), while Toby played parent extraordinaire to G & F back home.  By 10 that morning the whole family was gathered at our market table underneath the chiseled driftwood sign Papa Ed made some thirty years ago that read "The Holmestead".  Gus and Freja ran around the market area selling everlasting bouquets that Shirley put together for them, while Amy and Toby helped the early, serious shoppers buy big quantities of plums, apples and raspberries.

It was a beautiful day, very social, and the day was punctuated by many a surprise visitor.  We ended up supplying the snack for the Seattle Sounders professional soccer team, reconnected with too many friends to mention, met our neighbors around the farm, and even got to see Mary.  Mary, and her husband Phil were the previous owners of the farm, and she just happened to be on the island that day.  She made a stop at the market, because it is the social place on Saturdays, and you could see the surprise in her face to see us selling the delicious apples, plums and raspberries that she and Phil worked so hard to grow and pass on to us.  She beamed with pride to see us use so many of the things they left for us, like the antique crates and boxes we used to show off the fruit.  And we were proud too, to show her that we take the land seriously, and don't just see it as "someplace" new.

All in all, we turned a small profit, even after accounting for the start up costs of business cards, a market scale, produce bags, gas, labor, and paying out a percentage of our sales to the market association.  We certainly gained more respect for the other local farmers that do this every day, and were reminded why local, organic produce costs "so much".  We hope that maybe just a few people outside of farm owners really start understanding that soon, and really start supporting us and other small, local farms with more vigor.  This week on our local public radio station they are highlighting farming in our region, and we encourage everyone to have a listen and maybe even take the time to check out the following website: 

Thanks and happy eating, plums, apples, plums, tomatoes, plums, raspberries, and plums!

The Guru and Humble Pie

I met with the premier expert in apple cultivation and propagation this past week.  His name is Robert (Bob) Norton and he happened to retire right here to Vashon.  Now, if you never heard of Dr. Norton, then you don't know your apples!  Even before we agreed on a final price for the farm the Glebs (previous owners) made us promise to track this man down, and join his "fruit club".  We smiled and agreed not understanding the half of what we were getting into!

So the fruit club is quite a thing in itself, and I think by Toby and I joining it we reduced the average age to 65; oh yes, we are the newbies.  But the age thing did not discourage us one bit!  We happily attended the annual Vashon Island Fruit Club (VIFC) potluck with homemade jams to share at the tasting table and a berry salad straight from the garden.  We did not blink when only one other parent showed up with kids (and she wasn't even a member of the club, she just came for the food), and Toby even signed up to be the clubs new treasurer.

With our foot in the door of such an austere and somewhat aloof organization we thought it was about time that we invited Dr. Norton to the orchard for a "walk".  Bob showed up right on time and proceeded to lead me down to my own orchard. (he apparently had been there many times before)  He drilled me on many of the varieties and struggled to keep up reading my "orchard map".  He deemed our orchard "starving" and lacking any significant growth.  I shied to tell him about our triumphant pruning fearing he would point to it as the culprit.  He said we had two improperly labeled trees and took samples home to try and correctly identify for us as well as a couple unknown trees.  And he showed me how many of the beautiful nearly ripe apples were actually "ruined" by cottling moth damage.  He gave a few other pointers, that I wrote down, but after about the fifth criticism I had a hard time listening.  When our hour was up I wrote him a check and he lead me out of the orchard back to his car and on his way to his next "appointment".

As he drove out of site I frantically wrote down everything I could remember from our meeting and then took a deep breath.  Not since research science in college had I been dealt so much "constructive" criticism in so little time.  It is hard to hear that something you are working so hard on is imperfect, and still needs work.  And I guess I feel better about paying him for giving me advice instead of a pat on the back for a job well done and glowing compliments.  But it is very hard to see your farm as something not totally under your control.  I certainly could not monitor each apple and shoo off any moth that came near it, or know exactly how far back on a branch to make a pruning cut.

Farming is a giant lesson in letting go, I know this, and I also know that I am a control freak.  It must be comical for some people to watch me try and do this.  However, my spirits were lifted today when I sold some berries at the Saturday market.  People were happy to see me, kids in tow, and asked about what we will be bringing to market next week.  They don't see my "office", and they don't care.  They just care about what I bring to the table to share, and I think that is really all that matters.

Still Waiting for Summer Vacation

Today I did the weekly "shopping".  As much as I would like to say we are self-sufficient, we are still a long way away; and that is okay.  I started my outing by visiting my favorite farmstand for our weekly allotment of raw milk.  My jar of milk today was so fresh they had a note included telling me that it was so freshly milked that it had not yet been totally chilled and I needed to put it to cool pronto.  I then proceeded to the "real" market, after pulling over twice to re-attach my front bumper. (long story made short: early foggy morning heading out to sell the berries and high-sided the beemer....oops)

As I walk into the only market on the island that people regularly shop at (it is somewhat of a secret that there are actually two grocery stores on the island, people seem to only shop at one of them and I have never been in the other which it practically across the street) I start saying hello to people I recognize.  I then glance at my list and get ready to b-line it to what is essential: wine, flour, and cheese.   You may pause at my list, but I can do a lot with just those things!  I rounded the bend at the first aisle and was enticed by roasted turkey at a screaming deal in the deli.  I then went looking for some aseptically sealed milk for the next power outage and was psyched to see it was on sale too.  We needed some more raisins and low and behold they were on sale too.  

And then it hit me: Tomorrow is the first day of school.  In that moment I realized that the entire store was set up like a pirate map leading us all to a successful start of the school year: yogurt cups, juice boxes, cheese slices, glue, thermoses, granola bars, and snack chips.  A few of the items I was glad to see on sale: string cheese, yogurt, and a pair of left-handed scissors for Freja, but for the most part I was saddened by the nudging of what I "needed" to start my children off right for school.  I opted for some raw-milk cheese, a few bottles of Syrah and Malbec wines, and really good goat's milk blue cheese and three bunches of fat, organic carrots.  We will eat well this first week of school, and always.

The Red Queen Theory Revised

One of my favorite evolutionary theories is the "Red Queen Theory". This was an evolutionary theory proposed in 1973 by Leigh Van Valen (great name), in which he realized that, "For an evolutionary system, continuing development is needed just in order to maintain its fitness relative to the systems it is co-evolving with". The title of the theory comes from Lewis Carroll's Through the Looking Glass when the Red Queen said, "It takes all the running you can do, to keep in the same place."

The last few days on the farm The Red Queen has been breathing down my neck. I try very hard to feel the farm vibe and tend to things as they come up, but lately I am feeling as though the competitors are co-evolving faster than me! I just got a handle on sap beetles attacking the Cascade Berries, when I discovered that the Buckley Giant apple in the orchard is suffering from "Bitter Pit".

Even just the name "bitter pit" eludes to how one feels after you see more than half the apples on a tree fail the grade for market. The thing that slayed me was that one of the causes for bitter pit is vigorous pruning the year before, which I had no control over and only learned about after I fantastically pruned the tree again this year. And oh yeah, I am only talking about one tree in the orchard, remember the mention a few posts ago about the 71 trees we have?

Here is where the running as fast as I can part comes in. I know that we have more apples than we all will know what to do with, it is just so hard to "lose" a tree, or miss a needed picking of berries to keep ahead of the pest, or to catch that zucchini and pick it before it becomes the size of a baseball bat. My struggle today is letting go of the expectation of perfection. Maybe tomorrow I will make applesauce, jam, and zucchini bread with my "rejects".

How to Get Rich Without Turning a Profit

So the peaches are definitely in, and picked, and peeled, and frozen, and canned, and eaten. What a complete surprise to get about a bushel of peaches from our few trees (five) and even after we balked at pruning them or doing any other kind of maintenance.

The last two days Gus and Freja have attended camp at Huckleberry Kids and I used the time to can, pickle, jam, or bake everything I could get my hands on. (the pickled purple cabbage from the garden was my favorite) This morning I picked more blackberries in the hopes that we will end up with enough to attempt a batch of wine along with grape wine this fall. Raspberries are just starting to ripen, and it is such a treat to have them after all the other berries we enjoyed so far.

This morning I walked the orchard to pick up ground falls and nearly blew a gasket when I found the second pear tree that has been completely ravaged by something not human. The first tree was bad enough, a strong open tree with about ten big pears, all half-eaten, still hanging from their stems. If you looked at the tree from just the right angle it looked like we had some good fruit going, until you walked around to the other side to see that each pear was a hollow shell! I quietly plucked off the skeletons and chalked it up to the necessary payment to the "garbage collectors" in this neck of the orchard. Now a second tree has been pillaged and the worst thing about it is that there was only one pear on the tree to begin with! When I found it this morning it looked like an Asian chef attempted fruit carving on the poor specimen, or that a cartoon firecracker blew out one side of the pear.
I instantly started to think of ways to thwart future attacks, because (for those of you who have not yet visited we have more than a few trees) I have put way to many hours into coddling this orchard to have some free-loaders blow it all to Valhalla. Is is wrong to want to camp out in the orchard with a bb gun, or wire a few of the most vulnerable trees with low voltage?

Then I caught myself and started adding up the cost of various ways to keep pests away, and was reminded of the $20 homegrown tomato. We are trying so hard to produce enough food to feed us and others, as if it is a money saver/money maker. Who am I kidding? We have spent about a hundred dollars in seeds and starts along this year, not to mention soil amendments, tools, pest traps, and plenty of sugar, vinegar, and pectin for all the things that come out of the garden. I guess I need to reframe my expectations away from "saving/making money" to "owning" a lifestyle change. I am no longer the city mouse curious about life outside of the neat borders of metropolis. I am the country mouse, like it some days, and maybe not so much others. We are so at peace out here (even if you do see me chasing down racoons with a shovel) and feel so much more connected to each other than we did in the city. Gus asked today if he could stay at camp after it was time to go home. I told him that I was sorry, but we had other chores to do. He smiled and said, "Then lets get going!" and that is just what we did.

A Petition for More Hours in the Day

There just never seems to be enough time to enjoy all the moments in the day. Today we begrudgingly left Cousins Camp 2008 up on Whidbey Island, rode home with kids napping on ferries. Arrived back at the farm to visit with the girls, pick a LOT of peaches, collect the daily offerings from the garden (raspberries, zucchinis, beans, herbs, and logan and cascade berries, and cabbages), and give everything and everyone a good drink of water. Then it was back home to the rental for dinner while watching a bit of olympics and then bed for the G and F. I am just tired typing it all! Here are a few pics of us out and about doing our thing:

Planting by the planets

We are trying our best to be the busy ants this summer, and not the lazy grasshopper. Mary and Phil, the previous owners of the farm, left us in great shape, and much of what we do on a daily basis is maintaining their hard work. As some of you may not know I have farming in my blood, but not so much dirt under my nails. However, being the scientist that I am, I hit the books and honed in on a few "styles" of farming to guide us through at least this first year.

My first resource was our local Seattle Tilth, which provided us with a basic calendar of what to plant when living here in the Pacific Northwest. But I ended up feeling a bit overwhelmed at the start of each month staring down a list of all these plants that I could put in the ground, so I looked up the philosophy of Biodynamics. Okay, for those of you who know this philosophy I can see you nodding your heads, and for those of you who do not know what I am talking about, try to suspend your disbelief while I explain.

Biodynamics is a way of planting, growing, and reaping according to the allignment of the Moon, Sun, and all the planets. They classify all plants into four categories: Leaf, Flower, Fruit, and Root. And there is a calendar published that tells you when to plant each type of plant by the hour. (yes I just wrote hour) Being the curious scientist, I just had to try out a combo of both the Tilth's general suggestions on types of plants with the Biodynamic calendar of specifically when to put them in the ground. Here are some of the results: Peas sprouting after 7 days, and rutabaga after two weeks in the ground.

In, Out, and Around the Garden

We "completed" the worm bin today, and it is HUGE. Toby did a great job sticking to the task of building is 99% from scraps found on the farm. This morning Gus and Freja helped to rip up lots of newspaper and gather a good amount of old chicken straw to provide a soft bed for worms. We then hightailed it over to our friend Cheryl's house and absconded with a bowl full of wrigglers. We gave them lots of stinky compost to munch on and hope that they take to their new home. In the end, if we are lucky, we will close one more loop of consumerism in our lives and give back to the garden that which is gives to us: food.