During the summer of 2006 I received a certificate in nutrition counseling through the Institute of Integrative Nutrition and Teachers College. Shortly thereafter I decided to challenge as many beliefs and push as many of my boundaries as possible. I was dumpster diving and building bikes with the Freegans in New York City. I was staying up late and going into work in-time. I was trying as many new things as possible. This included pushing my consciousness as well as changing the way I ate and consumed.
One Saturday as I made my way to the Freegan Bike Workshop in Bushwick I passed by a slaughter house and thought, “I’d like to buy something from there.” The following week I selected 2 guinea hens then Katie Gilligan cooked them to perfection and Lukas Volger, Peter Joseph, Katie, and I ate them for dinner. And I can tell you those birds did not come cheap. They were $3.50 per pound.
I’d hoped to cut down on the food-miles traveled in an effort to reduce my carbon footprint. At the time of the guinea hen meal, I closed the food gap in terms of fewest miles traveled and fewest number of people who intervened in the production of the food. At that time that was the best I could do.
Then yesterday I set a new personal best: I killed my first chicken, one that had been pasture-raised less than 20 miles from the slaughter site.
For years I have been unable to find the appropriate word to describe myself as a food consumer. I might possess a slightly higher level of awareness than most eaters but no matter what I always feel like vegans kick my ass when it comes to food dogma and I always feel a little bit wimpy in comparison. But I’m not making any apologies here. I have yet to figure out how to live in the absence of a couple of servings of chicken per week. When it comes to chicken I’ve thought of myself as something of a hypocrite. I can waltz into any old super market or butcher shop and say, “Give me a bird. And make it snappy.” And then I fork over however many dollars per pound, head home, cook it, eat it and life, for the most part, goes on. The question (ok, the one of many questions) that has loomed large on my inner horizon: Can I kill a chicken?
Ever since I made the decision to own/operate a farm I wanted meat birds and laying hens to fill out the portrait of my farm. For the growing season of 2009 I thought the wisest course of action was to focus on growing vegetables (the best damn vegetables!) and then perhaps in 2010 add birds and change up the veggie segment of the business.
“What sort of lives will my meat birds live?” They’ll be pasture raised. They’ll walk around clucking and nibbling on insects and grass, have access to clean water and perhaps some feed (preferably organic). I’m thinking broilers: they’re ready to make the journey from the pasture to your dinner plate (ok, MY dinner plate) in 8 weeks.
When I looked into the broiler venture in earnest last November I came upon a giant stumbling block -- there was no legal slaughter facility for chickens in the state of Massachusetts. Hmmm. Sounds pretty freaking stupid to me. “You mean that the Commonwealth of Massacusetts wants grower/processors to raise their birds, truck them out of state (Um. Can we say loss of revenue?) and then they have to drive the birds back to Massachusetts and take them to market?” This made no sense to me. On my list of things to do, somewhere in the middle of the list, after I was situated as a vegetable grower was to complain (or appeal) to the DOH. What I had in mind was a face-to-face meeting with someone in office who could perhaps explain to me if there was any sense in this.
Luckily. (Have I mentioned that I’m very lucky?) Luckily, there were plenty of other people, growers/processors and people in government approaching this problem. As the result of a rare instance of communication between state governmental agencies—DOH, DEP, EPA, USDA, DAR a pilot program was created and called the MPPU – Mobile Poultry Processing Unit. (Please note: currently there are other mobile poultry processing units in operation throughout the US.)
Judy Gillan of NESFI has been a major player in this endeavor. She’s partnered with (among others) meat bird grower/processors Jennifer Hashley, Pete Lowy, Mark Cesario and on the state and local level with Rick Chandler, Kim Foley, and Catherine Skiba, and received grants from Northeast SARE.
I have to make a small food digression here: one of the things I adore about going to these types of events is that I get to eat junk food. I’m living on a pretty tight budget and beyond that I can’t feature spending 95 cents on one Dunkin donut. Paying that much money for all those empty calories doesn’t sit well with my stomach or my wallet. But when I head to one of these outings -- I ALWAYS bring an empty stomach. “What was there to eat?” you ask. For starters, biscotti, donuts, and munchkins. I don’t care for biscotti but I broke into those donuts and munchkins. There was fruit (snore – although I did eat a golden delicious apple in the afternoon, hoping to offset some of the effects of all the donuts in the morning. I’m not convinced this sort of food math works but I like to tell myself otherwise.) There was apple cider and lemonade and bottled water. (Bottled water is such a no-no. Ugh.) We were given menus from which to choose a sandwich for lunch that was prepared at The Black Sheep in Belchertown. As I was heading into my first chicken kill, something new for me I thought I should try something new for lunch. I ordered Southern Comfort. Buffalo Chicken, Bacon, Pepper Jack Cheese, spicy mayo, lettuce, tomato, and red onion on a baguette. The sandwich was ok, I’m not one for spicy foods and the bacon was rather weak although the baguette was very fresh. In the end I’d grade this sandwich: B. For dessert there were cookies. (Hot damn!) My favorite: chocolate with macadamia nuts. I find that dessert can either uplift a lame meal or condemn one to total and complete misery. (I will save regaling you with tales of dessert disappointment for another time or perhaps another blog altogether.) The cookie carried out its dessert duty wonderfully. It was a tiny bit stale (which I prefer) and the flavors were well-balanced. The cookie receives a grade of: A-.
…The training in the morning covered a wide range of topics: Federal, State, and local poultry processing regulations; Sanitation and food-safety regulations; solid and waste water regulations; and the MPPU license application process.
After lunch we were trained as to how to use the actual MPPU and then it was time: time to kill some chickens.
I’d been waiting a long time for this moment and as I stood in line I started to go through my process.
The first question I asked: How do I feel?
The answer: A bit queasy.
Then I segued into my usual “You’re a hypocrite” dialog. Then I watched a couple of people kill a few chickens and I created a new association in my head. I started to think about fishing and killing fish. Then I thought about pigs and cows and I was more or less where I always am: I eat very little pork or beef (because they’re warm blooded mammals).
I want you to understand that I was not looking to justify my actions, I was looking to see where my head and heart were at.
As I prepared myself to kill a chicken, I said my meat mantra: Thank you for giving your life and I’m sorry for any suffering that has been caused.
Then I stepped onto the platform, pulled a chicken out of the crate, held it upside down, pulled the head through the cone, applied the stun knife to the throat, counted “one two” and then made a small slit in the chickens throat. She bled out.
When it came time to eviscerate the chicken I found that I was quite good at it. My bird looked as good as anything you’d find in the store. (Actually I think my bird looked better than what I usually find in the store.)
I walked away with 2 birds, individually bagged. Yes I was altered but only in so far as I was going to eat the bird I killed. There was no huge awakening and rightfully so, I’ve been eating chickens for years. I guess if anything, once again I’ve been struck by the simplicity of it all. I don’t understand the food crisis. Now that I’m a food producer it comes down to this: Just do it. And do it right.
Stop thinking that food should come cheap.
Seriously. The dollar menu at McDonald’s is nowhere. Not even once a month. Not even once per year. Stop eating garbage. (I hope I didn’t just commit food disparagement…)
What it boils down to is this: Buy local. Buy what's in season. Eat intelligently.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Put down your guns and pick up your garden hoes
As this is a blog about organic farming I s’pose I should write about organic farming once in a while…
Hardwick update:
The field was amended (with cow manure)
The field was plowed
The field was harrowed
The field was tilled (we broke down and paid a guy to till)
Beds were made
Onions and leeks (Walla Walla and Varna/Bandit respectively) were transplanted
Potatoes (Red Norland, Yukon Gold, and All Blue) were direct seeded
Beets and Swiss Chard were direct seeded
Petersham update:
(Petersham is brimming with vegetable life)
People driving past slow down to admire (?) the rows and rows of vegetables
In the ground --
Transplanted:
Lettuce (Rouge D’Hiver, Parris Island Cob), kale (White Russian, Dinosaur), cabbage (Red Express, Bilko), Broccoli, collard greens, bok choi, fennel, parsley (Italian Flat Leaf, Moss Curled), onions (Walla Walla), leeks (Varna, Bandit)
Direct Seeded:
Potatoes (Yukon Gold, Red Norland, All Blue), radishes, carrots, mustard greens, arugula, spinach, gourmet lettuce mix
In the Greenhouse:
Tomato seedlings (Brandywine, Yellow Brandywine, Black Cherry, Silvetz, Scotia, Matt’s Wild, San Marzano, Toma Verde, Prudens), peppers (King of the North, Orion, Sweet Chocolate), bok choi, lettuce (Rouge D’Hiver, Parris Island Cob, Optima), parsley (Italian Flat Leaf, Moss Curled), basil (Lemon, Sweet)
In the Seed Pod:
Lettuce (Magenta, ), squash (butternut, acorn, zucchini, summer (straightneck and crookneck), kabucha),
Yikes.
Funny story about germinating squash seeds. Stayed up late one night, seeded the squash, put the trays on the floor, headed up stairs, and fell into a deep sleep. (Working 12 hours a day in the field does have that effect on a person.) Woke up the next morning, looked at the trays -- which would best be described as “disheveled” and thought, “Ben must’ve been in a weird mood [to do that].” My next thought was, “Mice!!!” I called out to Ben, “The f*cking mice ate the seeds out of the seed trays.” The industrious little sh*ts neatly dug the seeds out of several cells – about ten per tray -- and as far as I can tell; once they gorged themselves they crawled back into their stinking mice holes and passed out, their bellies round, large grins on their tiny mice faces. Sated on my seeds. Grrrrr.
As you can well imagine the practice of leaving seed trays on the floor (as far as squash propagation goes) has been brought to a swift end. Those trays are on a table. Thus far the mice have not figured out how to get at them.
Of course, the next stop for these trays is the green house and there are plenty of chipmunks in the yard. Well, there’s one less chipmunk in the yard as someone ran over it the other day. Truth be told this event pissed me off and saddened me. Is it really that hard to slow down and avoid running over a chipmunk?
It bummed me out only because I think this was the chipmunk I was talking to earlier in the day. Of course, I was saying, “Dude, don’t even think of eating my squash seeds.” He (or she?) flitted past the door to the greenhouse and I couldn’t tell if he (or she) was taunting me.
It’s weird how I get attached to some of the smallish creatures that live around the yard. There is the cutest red squirrel that lives in the attic. She (or maybe he) has deep brown eyes, long black eyelashes, and a small body -- about half the size of a grey squirrel. And don’t ask me why but I like seeing her (or is it him) making her way along the stone wall. She has intelligent energy.
Luckily the Little Red Squirrel heads into the woods to spend her days foraging and living out her small life. I’m not sure if this squirrel is actually smarter than the chipmunks or if it’s just not her habit to dash across the road.
I will be extremely bummed out if I come up the road and find her killed. I think she’s too cool to meet such a mundane fate.
In any event. What of these 14-hour days?
Well they’ve finally caught up with me. In a good way. I’m no longer that neurotic office worker who spends hours obsessing over the meaning of her dreams, surfing the internet, and hating being behind a desk.
The past couple of days -- once the heat has broken and I’m standing in the fields watering the plants – a gentle breeze will pass through the fabric of my t-shirt cool the sweat off my back and I think -- “Wow! In a couple of weeks I’m going to be at market.” At night I fall into bed and fall asleep, a couple times fully dressed, too tired to bother getting undressed and I sleep undisturbed by my dreams until around 5 am.
What else?
We learned the hard way that plants really do need to be hardened off. Some of the Rouge D’Hiver took a pounding after being transplanted and it ain’t coming back. Unfortunately there have also been a couple of days where the mercury hit 90 and some lettuce has been cooked in the fields. Yes, we’ll be offering this as cut greens (removing the scalded leaves) and soon, very soon, we’re placing an order for shade cloth so we can bring “head lettuce” to our customers as “head lettuce.”
I feel encouraged by garlic and radishes. They’re polar opposites. Not by design but our plants happen to be at opposite ends of the fields. Garlic, as many of you know, goes into the ground in October, winters over, and is harvested in July. Radishes can be harvested in 20 days. Radishes can grow in poor soil and as we’ve got some sandy patches (Cat box as we refer to these bits) were direct seeded with radish.
The garlic patch reminds me that last year I was ambitious enough (or is it crazy enough) to purchase organic garlic seed from Johnny’s.
Tomorrow I’ll go take a peek at the radishes because they match my spirit: they’re impatient. No other plant that we’ll plant will be ready to be harvested in such short period of time. The cotyledons are the size of dimes and teeny tiny true leaves have sprouted. The stems are what I’d call, “Terrific red.” Almost a blood red -- foretelling the pinkish reddish skin. I can hear the crunch of taking a bite, taste the slight heat. Radishes are a bit peppery.
The garlic and the radish are at extremes and here I am in the midst of that. Which is no kind of segue but it’s late and I’m tired so deal with it…
Farming has put me in the Present. Full on. Stubbing your toe or getting a paper cut can bring you back to the present. Ouch. Time to wake up and pay attention.
A few weeks back I realized that I was a chronic escapist. That I’d spent a great deal of my life wishing I were in other places. Even if I was somewhere totally lovely, with someone I wanted to be with, I would wander away. Once I realized that I was a chronic escapist I started to reel myself in. I started to put myself into the moment as deeply as I could. Bed making was a great way to be present. Instead of resenting it and wishing I were doing something else, I started to just make a bed. I watched my breath, I observed the way the muscles in my body moved as I dragged a hoe back and forth, as I raked the dirt to shape the bed. I was in the deadly dull grunt work of bed making. I was looking neither to escape nor to be gratified. I was looking to just be. And when my mind wandered I’d fetch myself and put myself back in the moment of bed making.
I told myself: This is it. This is all there is.
Of course there was much more than just bed making going on. The hawks screeched in the nest. The sun bore down on me. The black flies buzzed about my face. The breeze (when it arrived) cooled me off. The scent of lilacs wafted across the yard.
What was fascinating about all of this is it awakened something in me about how I value my time and my efforts and myself. I know that I’m not a farmer. The problem is I don’t know what I am. (Luckily I do know WHO I am. phew.) What’s more interesting is that I can’t think of any other way to spend my time right now. I know that being a farmer is exactly where I’m supposed to be. This is the beginning of the rest of my life.
To say I’m not a farmer isn’t entirely accurate. I think what I want is a more diversified operation. I want some chickens and a couple of goats. (I saw the cutest goat today at Misty Brook Farm. She’d totally managed to get past the fence and was front of a shed nibbling on an extension cord. I was going to alert the kid in the barn but then a woman who was feeding the chickens noticed the goat. The woman addressed the goat in a tone – the way any of us who spend more than a couple of days on the farm do -- “Goatie. How did you get out?” As if she were talking to a person and expected the goat to answer. So the vernacular with animals is always rhetorical questions.
Tonight Ben served the first serving of Seven Crows Garden kale. This was comprised of baby leaves plucked off and steamed. My taste buds will smile more broadly when I cut off a few leaves of mature Dinosaur kale, chop it up and sauté it in some butter. (Hot damn! Those will be some freaking good eats.)
And that’s all I’ve got right now.
Tomorrow is my day off. Yes, I do believe in the Sabbath (way more than ever before). I’m gonna sleep until 8 am. Yeah. That’s sleeping in.
Oh, my dearly departed city life. Will I there ever come a night when stay up dancing at Pyramid Club ‘til dawn? I do hope so. But that’ll be something to think about during the off-season.
Right now it’s lights out.
Sweet dreams dear readers.
Hardwick update:
The field was amended (with cow manure)
The field was plowed
The field was harrowed
The field was tilled (we broke down and paid a guy to till)
Beds were made
Onions and leeks (Walla Walla and Varna/Bandit respectively) were transplanted
Potatoes (Red Norland, Yukon Gold, and All Blue) were direct seeded
Beets and Swiss Chard were direct seeded
Petersham update:
(Petersham is brimming with vegetable life)
People driving past slow down to admire (?) the rows and rows of vegetables
In the ground --
Transplanted:
Lettuce (Rouge D’Hiver, Parris Island Cob), kale (White Russian, Dinosaur), cabbage (Red Express, Bilko), Broccoli, collard greens, bok choi, fennel, parsley (Italian Flat Leaf, Moss Curled), onions (Walla Walla), leeks (Varna, Bandit)
Direct Seeded:
Potatoes (Yukon Gold, Red Norland, All Blue), radishes, carrots, mustard greens, arugula, spinach, gourmet lettuce mix
In the Greenhouse:
Tomato seedlings (Brandywine, Yellow Brandywine, Black Cherry, Silvetz, Scotia, Matt’s Wild, San Marzano, Toma Verde, Prudens), peppers (King of the North, Orion, Sweet Chocolate), bok choi, lettuce (Rouge D’Hiver, Parris Island Cob, Optima), parsley (Italian Flat Leaf, Moss Curled), basil (Lemon, Sweet)
In the Seed Pod:
Lettuce (Magenta, ), squash (butternut, acorn, zucchini, summer (straightneck and crookneck), kabucha),
Yikes.
Funny story about germinating squash seeds. Stayed up late one night, seeded the squash, put the trays on the floor, headed up stairs, and fell into a deep sleep. (Working 12 hours a day in the field does have that effect on a person.) Woke up the next morning, looked at the trays -- which would best be described as “disheveled” and thought, “Ben must’ve been in a weird mood [to do that].” My next thought was, “Mice!!!” I called out to Ben, “The f*cking mice ate the seeds out of the seed trays.” The industrious little sh*ts neatly dug the seeds out of several cells – about ten per tray -- and as far as I can tell; once they gorged themselves they crawled back into their stinking mice holes and passed out, their bellies round, large grins on their tiny mice faces. Sated on my seeds. Grrrrr.
As you can well imagine the practice of leaving seed trays on the floor (as far as squash propagation goes) has been brought to a swift end. Those trays are on a table. Thus far the mice have not figured out how to get at them.
Of course, the next stop for these trays is the green house and there are plenty of chipmunks in the yard. Well, there’s one less chipmunk in the yard as someone ran over it the other day. Truth be told this event pissed me off and saddened me. Is it really that hard to slow down and avoid running over a chipmunk?
It bummed me out only because I think this was the chipmunk I was talking to earlier in the day. Of course, I was saying, “Dude, don’t even think of eating my squash seeds.” He (or she?) flitted past the door to the greenhouse and I couldn’t tell if he (or she) was taunting me.
It’s weird how I get attached to some of the smallish creatures that live around the yard. There is the cutest red squirrel that lives in the attic. She (or maybe he) has deep brown eyes, long black eyelashes, and a small body -- about half the size of a grey squirrel. And don’t ask me why but I like seeing her (or is it him) making her way along the stone wall. She has intelligent energy.
Luckily the Little Red Squirrel heads into the woods to spend her days foraging and living out her small life. I’m not sure if this squirrel is actually smarter than the chipmunks or if it’s just not her habit to dash across the road.
I will be extremely bummed out if I come up the road and find her killed. I think she’s too cool to meet such a mundane fate.
In any event. What of these 14-hour days?
Well they’ve finally caught up with me. In a good way. I’m no longer that neurotic office worker who spends hours obsessing over the meaning of her dreams, surfing the internet, and hating being behind a desk.
The past couple of days -- once the heat has broken and I’m standing in the fields watering the plants – a gentle breeze will pass through the fabric of my t-shirt cool the sweat off my back and I think -- “Wow! In a couple of weeks I’m going to be at market.” At night I fall into bed and fall asleep, a couple times fully dressed, too tired to bother getting undressed and I sleep undisturbed by my dreams until around 5 am.
What else?
We learned the hard way that plants really do need to be hardened off. Some of the Rouge D’Hiver took a pounding after being transplanted and it ain’t coming back. Unfortunately there have also been a couple of days where the mercury hit 90 and some lettuce has been cooked in the fields. Yes, we’ll be offering this as cut greens (removing the scalded leaves) and soon, very soon, we’re placing an order for shade cloth so we can bring “head lettuce” to our customers as “head lettuce.”
I feel encouraged by garlic and radishes. They’re polar opposites. Not by design but our plants happen to be at opposite ends of the fields. Garlic, as many of you know, goes into the ground in October, winters over, and is harvested in July. Radishes can be harvested in 20 days. Radishes can grow in poor soil and as we’ve got some sandy patches (Cat box as we refer to these bits) were direct seeded with radish.
The garlic patch reminds me that last year I was ambitious enough (or is it crazy enough) to purchase organic garlic seed from Johnny’s.
Tomorrow I’ll go take a peek at the radishes because they match my spirit: they’re impatient. No other plant that we’ll plant will be ready to be harvested in such short period of time. The cotyledons are the size of dimes and teeny tiny true leaves have sprouted. The stems are what I’d call, “Terrific red.” Almost a blood red -- foretelling the pinkish reddish skin. I can hear the crunch of taking a bite, taste the slight heat. Radishes are a bit peppery.
The garlic and the radish are at extremes and here I am in the midst of that. Which is no kind of segue but it’s late and I’m tired so deal with it…
Farming has put me in the Present. Full on. Stubbing your toe or getting a paper cut can bring you back to the present. Ouch. Time to wake up and pay attention.
A few weeks back I realized that I was a chronic escapist. That I’d spent a great deal of my life wishing I were in other places. Even if I was somewhere totally lovely, with someone I wanted to be with, I would wander away. Once I realized that I was a chronic escapist I started to reel myself in. I started to put myself into the moment as deeply as I could. Bed making was a great way to be present. Instead of resenting it and wishing I were doing something else, I started to just make a bed. I watched my breath, I observed the way the muscles in my body moved as I dragged a hoe back and forth, as I raked the dirt to shape the bed. I was in the deadly dull grunt work of bed making. I was looking neither to escape nor to be gratified. I was looking to just be. And when my mind wandered I’d fetch myself and put myself back in the moment of bed making.
I told myself: This is it. This is all there is.
Of course there was much more than just bed making going on. The hawks screeched in the nest. The sun bore down on me. The black flies buzzed about my face. The breeze (when it arrived) cooled me off. The scent of lilacs wafted across the yard.
What was fascinating about all of this is it awakened something in me about how I value my time and my efforts and myself. I know that I’m not a farmer. The problem is I don’t know what I am. (Luckily I do know WHO I am. phew.) What’s more interesting is that I can’t think of any other way to spend my time right now. I know that being a farmer is exactly where I’m supposed to be. This is the beginning of the rest of my life.
To say I’m not a farmer isn’t entirely accurate. I think what I want is a more diversified operation. I want some chickens and a couple of goats. (I saw the cutest goat today at Misty Brook Farm. She’d totally managed to get past the fence and was front of a shed nibbling on an extension cord. I was going to alert the kid in the barn but then a woman who was feeding the chickens noticed the goat. The woman addressed the goat in a tone – the way any of us who spend more than a couple of days on the farm do -- “Goatie. How did you get out?” As if she were talking to a person and expected the goat to answer. So the vernacular with animals is always rhetorical questions.
Tonight Ben served the first serving of Seven Crows Garden kale. This was comprised of baby leaves plucked off and steamed. My taste buds will smile more broadly when I cut off a few leaves of mature Dinosaur kale, chop it up and sauté it in some butter. (Hot damn! Those will be some freaking good eats.)
And that’s all I’ve got right now.
Tomorrow is my day off. Yes, I do believe in the Sabbath (way more than ever before). I’m gonna sleep until 8 am. Yeah. That’s sleeping in.
Oh, my dearly departed city life. Will I there ever come a night when stay up dancing at Pyramid Club ‘til dawn? I do hope so. But that’ll be something to think about during the off-season.
Right now it’s lights out.
Sweet dreams dear readers.
Fire Pit field comments
In the early spring we amended the ground with composted cow and horse manure. Then tilled that under.
Each bed was built after amending the soil with Cheep Cheep (North Country Organics 4 3 3 fertilizer made from dehydrated chicken litter) and lime. The ground was broad forked, then using a hoe we pulled the soil into mounds, then using rakes we shaped the beds. To build one bed took about 3 hours from start to finish.
Each bed has between 2 to three rows of transplants, and up to 5 rows where direct seed was applied.
(see photos below)
Each bed was built after amending the soil with Cheep Cheep (North Country Organics 4 3 3 fertilizer made from dehydrated chicken litter) and lime. The ground was broad forked, then using a hoe we pulled the soil into mounds, then using rakes we shaped the beds. To build one bed took about 3 hours from start to finish.
Each bed has between 2 to three rows of transplants, and up to 5 rows where direct seed was applied.
(see photos below)
Friday, May 8, 2009
Is there a connection between bandit leeks and world peace?
When asked what I want for my birthday, I usually respond, “World peace.” This answer often elicits a groan.
But it’s true – I’m not into celebrating my birthday, I don’t want anymore stuff, and if you want to give me something that I’ll truly appreciate then bring world peace, or at least contribute something towards achieving it.
In the meantime, we can all go about our regularly scheduled lives: worrying about how we’re going to pay the bills, wondering about the next time we’ll get laid, day dream about: getting a better job, owning a newer car, going on a nicer vacation, etc etc.
Today was another one of those in-between days at Anahata. It’s been raining (a good thing) but as we’re in the process of working the soil and building beds, a lot of rain hampers our abilities to do this. It’s not good to apply lime to wet soil and it’s a heck of a lot harder to move wet soil (much harder in fact) than it is to hoe and rake dry soil.
This means that today:
1. I went for a walk and took note of the trees the forester has marked for cutting.
2. Ben and I cut row cover to fit our beds
3. I attempted to mow the lawn only to find that the lawn mower needs to be charged before I can start it. (It’s being charged as I write this.)
4. A small discussion about which crops to plant over the next couple of days took place. The outcome – onions and potatoes are ready to go. Tonight we’ll cut up the potatoes, let ‘em dry, and then Saturday they’ll go into the ground. Yukon Gold, Norland Red, All Blue
5. I re-organized a portion the workspace in the basement
There aren’t anymore seeds to germinate, all the varieties for transplanting (TP) have been germinated and are either in the green house awaiting transplanting or for the lucky ones such as Bilko, Ripbor, White Russian, and Rouge D’Hiver (to name only a few) they’ve been transplanted. From here on out it’s direct seeding (DS). There was one tray of leeks in the green house that required attention -- trimming of the tips – to prevent the seedlings from desiccating after they’ve been transplanted.
I volunteered to trim the leeks and while I was engaged in this rather tedious task, I entered “the zone.” The zone is that yummy meditative state where goodness reigns.
As I sat on the floor of the greenhouse I noticed that I’m not as high strung as I used to be. Today I would have preferred to have been in the fields making beds and that means that I was craving activity.
On a side note -- if you had any idea what building raised beds entails you’d think, “She prefers that?”
Ben and I are running a human-powered market garden – on occasion we use a chain saw or a roto tiller, otherwise everything has been done by hand. This means that we amend fields using shovels and a cart to spread manure, when we build beds we use rakes and hoes. Lately it takes Ben and me about two and a half hours to build one bed that’s 50 feet by 5 feet. Yesterday while we were shaping a bed with rakes I started laughing. Ben asked, “What?” I said, “Dude, we spend all day outdoors moving tons of dirt with rakes.” He smiled and shouted, “Living the dream!”
Are you wondering if my back is broken or whether I’m in the best physical shape I’ve ever been in?” The answer -- “My back is nowhere near broken and my body is fit – fit in that lean, farmer kind of way.” Ben and I take a few breaks here and there but mainly we’re outdoors working the land for 12 hours per day.
-- A word to the wise: anyone out there who’s contemplating running an organic vegetable garden around 1 acre in size and doesn’t plan to use a tractor: give this a proposition a considerable amount of thought. The work is rewarding and interesting and you’ll be jacked into a Life of Ag but it requires a tremendous amount of physical labor. The physical labor can be almost mind-numbing. Of course when you look back at your beds and see them bursting with kale and lettuce and broccoli and cauliflower you’ll feel connected to the earth in way that’s would be impossible to imagine. (My vegetables will be damn good eats and there’ll be a hint of blood, sweat, and tears in each and every bite of them. Perhaps that’s the difference in taste between conventional produce and organic produce.)
I moved out of the city to strengthen my connection to the land and the food system, and I hoped to earn a living as an organic farmer. The “earning a living” bit has yet to emerge but I think it’s on its way.
…Now I find that I’ve digressed, where was I? …oh right, in the greenhouse trimming leeks.
I was seated in the greenhouse and I started to think about world peace. “Can it be achieved?” “What needs to happen to achieve it?” The first-grader in me said, “Stop dropping bombs.” But we all know how unrealistic and simple-minded that is. (Aren’t there entire departments in universities devoted to political science? I wonder what Christopher Hitchens would do in a world where there was peace, everywhere. Sadly war isn’t going away anytime soon.) Then when I leapt a few decades ahead in my consciousness and wondered if by sitting in a greenhouse, in the country, and being kind to myself was in fact a valid contribution towards attaining world peace. My new life style might not be a tax deductible contribution but it seems to count towards something. During the workweek I rode the C train in the mornings to give myself a few extra minutes to meditate before I entered the workplace where I was sure to be immersed in light pollution, noise pollution, poor indoor air quality, a lot of nasty office politics, and surrounded by several extremely toxic people.
Six years ago I started to have debilitating panic attacks at work. I told my GP that I wasn’t interested in taking a pill and asked him if I could try biofeedback. He said sure and referred me to a woman who offered biofeedback training. In many ways I think that those biofeedback sessions contributed to my being able to sit in the greenhouse and trim leeks and be at peace.
The biofeedback sessions comprised of me sitting in a comfy chair, in a dimly lit room, with a woman who would talk to me about “fight or flight” and then hook me up to a monitor and have me do breathing exercises. This woman also told me the lovely tale of my panic attack, it’s all about “fight or flight.” Something triggered the attack and then my brain would take over and send my body into flight mode. This meant that I was blowing off a lot of carbon dioxide and my boy was getting ready to fight to save its life. The standard line is that back in the day you’d see a lion and want to run for your life, blah blah blah.
Of course I hadn’t seen a lion, I’d been in New York City, on the 15th floor, seated at my desk. (The nearest lion possibly in an enclosure at the Bronx Zoo?)
This meant that something in the office was the equivalent of seeing a lion.
But the key to unraveling my panic attacks didn’t have anything to do with changing personnel it was a phrase the practitioner used, “You have to reset your baseline.” And when she put it like that I thought, “This I can do.”
In the years since the biofeedback I’ve deepened my meditation practice which means that I’ve turned to my breath as a way to re-set my baseline.
While I trimmed leeks I watched my breath and swatted away black flies and handled the plants and thought, “Inner peace is connected to world peace and we should promote peace on the level of the individual.”
As I sit here in the seedling pod, outside a strong wind has gathered force as a weather system moves in. Looking to the South I see large gray clouds heading my way.
Today Ben and I are awaiting several deliveries: “Cheep Cheep” (organic fertilizer), and row cover and hoops. I don’t hold out much hope that the deliveries are going to be made this afternoon. This means that tomorrow might be another day of not being able to build beds -- thanks to more rain and no fertilizer. Getting through yet another in-between day at this stage of the game will probably require yet another level of Zen because 2 consecutive days of not being able to build beds is almost maddening and I trimmed that one little tray of leeks.
Perhaps tomorrow I’ll clean the entire house? Peacefully.
But it’s true – I’m not into celebrating my birthday, I don’t want anymore stuff, and if you want to give me something that I’ll truly appreciate then bring world peace, or at least contribute something towards achieving it.
In the meantime, we can all go about our regularly scheduled lives: worrying about how we’re going to pay the bills, wondering about the next time we’ll get laid, day dream about: getting a better job, owning a newer car, going on a nicer vacation, etc etc.
Today was another one of those in-between days at Anahata. It’s been raining (a good thing) but as we’re in the process of working the soil and building beds, a lot of rain hampers our abilities to do this. It’s not good to apply lime to wet soil and it’s a heck of a lot harder to move wet soil (much harder in fact) than it is to hoe and rake dry soil.
This means that today:
1. I went for a walk and took note of the trees the forester has marked for cutting.
2. Ben and I cut row cover to fit our beds
3. I attempted to mow the lawn only to find that the lawn mower needs to be charged before I can start it. (It’s being charged as I write this.)
4. A small discussion about which crops to plant over the next couple of days took place. The outcome – onions and potatoes are ready to go. Tonight we’ll cut up the potatoes, let ‘em dry, and then Saturday they’ll go into the ground. Yukon Gold, Norland Red, All Blue
5. I re-organized a portion the workspace in the basement
There aren’t anymore seeds to germinate, all the varieties for transplanting (TP) have been germinated and are either in the green house awaiting transplanting or for the lucky ones such as Bilko, Ripbor, White Russian, and Rouge D’Hiver (to name only a few) they’ve been transplanted. From here on out it’s direct seeding (DS). There was one tray of leeks in the green house that required attention -- trimming of the tips – to prevent the seedlings from desiccating after they’ve been transplanted.
I volunteered to trim the leeks and while I was engaged in this rather tedious task, I entered “the zone.” The zone is that yummy meditative state where goodness reigns.
As I sat on the floor of the greenhouse I noticed that I’m not as high strung as I used to be. Today I would have preferred to have been in the fields making beds and that means that I was craving activity.
On a side note -- if you had any idea what building raised beds entails you’d think, “She prefers that?”
Ben and I are running a human-powered market garden – on occasion we use a chain saw or a roto tiller, otherwise everything has been done by hand. This means that we amend fields using shovels and a cart to spread manure, when we build beds we use rakes and hoes. Lately it takes Ben and me about two and a half hours to build one bed that’s 50 feet by 5 feet. Yesterday while we were shaping a bed with rakes I started laughing. Ben asked, “What?” I said, “Dude, we spend all day outdoors moving tons of dirt with rakes.” He smiled and shouted, “Living the dream!”
Are you wondering if my back is broken or whether I’m in the best physical shape I’ve ever been in?” The answer -- “My back is nowhere near broken and my body is fit – fit in that lean, farmer kind of way.” Ben and I take a few breaks here and there but mainly we’re outdoors working the land for 12 hours per day.
-- A word to the wise: anyone out there who’s contemplating running an organic vegetable garden around 1 acre in size and doesn’t plan to use a tractor: give this a proposition a considerable amount of thought. The work is rewarding and interesting and you’ll be jacked into a Life of Ag but it requires a tremendous amount of physical labor. The physical labor can be almost mind-numbing. Of course when you look back at your beds and see them bursting with kale and lettuce and broccoli and cauliflower you’ll feel connected to the earth in way that’s would be impossible to imagine. (My vegetables will be damn good eats and there’ll be a hint of blood, sweat, and tears in each and every bite of them. Perhaps that’s the difference in taste between conventional produce and organic produce.)
I moved out of the city to strengthen my connection to the land and the food system, and I hoped to earn a living as an organic farmer. The “earning a living” bit has yet to emerge but I think it’s on its way.
…Now I find that I’ve digressed, where was I? …oh right, in the greenhouse trimming leeks.
I was seated in the greenhouse and I started to think about world peace. “Can it be achieved?” “What needs to happen to achieve it?” The first-grader in me said, “Stop dropping bombs.” But we all know how unrealistic and simple-minded that is. (Aren’t there entire departments in universities devoted to political science? I wonder what Christopher Hitchens would do in a world where there was peace, everywhere. Sadly war isn’t going away anytime soon.) Then when I leapt a few decades ahead in my consciousness and wondered if by sitting in a greenhouse, in the country, and being kind to myself was in fact a valid contribution towards attaining world peace. My new life style might not be a tax deductible contribution but it seems to count towards something. During the workweek I rode the C train in the mornings to give myself a few extra minutes to meditate before I entered the workplace where I was sure to be immersed in light pollution, noise pollution, poor indoor air quality, a lot of nasty office politics, and surrounded by several extremely toxic people.
Six years ago I started to have debilitating panic attacks at work. I told my GP that I wasn’t interested in taking a pill and asked him if I could try biofeedback. He said sure and referred me to a woman who offered biofeedback training. In many ways I think that those biofeedback sessions contributed to my being able to sit in the greenhouse and trim leeks and be at peace.
The biofeedback sessions comprised of me sitting in a comfy chair, in a dimly lit room, with a woman who would talk to me about “fight or flight” and then hook me up to a monitor and have me do breathing exercises. This woman also told me the lovely tale of my panic attack, it’s all about “fight or flight.” Something triggered the attack and then my brain would take over and send my body into flight mode. This meant that I was blowing off a lot of carbon dioxide and my boy was getting ready to fight to save its life. The standard line is that back in the day you’d see a lion and want to run for your life, blah blah blah.
Of course I hadn’t seen a lion, I’d been in New York City, on the 15th floor, seated at my desk. (The nearest lion possibly in an enclosure at the Bronx Zoo?)
This meant that something in the office was the equivalent of seeing a lion.
But the key to unraveling my panic attacks didn’t have anything to do with changing personnel it was a phrase the practitioner used, “You have to reset your baseline.” And when she put it like that I thought, “This I can do.”
In the years since the biofeedback I’ve deepened my meditation practice which means that I’ve turned to my breath as a way to re-set my baseline.
While I trimmed leeks I watched my breath and swatted away black flies and handled the plants and thought, “Inner peace is connected to world peace and we should promote peace on the level of the individual.”
As I sit here in the seedling pod, outside a strong wind has gathered force as a weather system moves in. Looking to the South I see large gray clouds heading my way.
Today Ben and I are awaiting several deliveries: “Cheep Cheep” (organic fertilizer), and row cover and hoops. I don’t hold out much hope that the deliveries are going to be made this afternoon. This means that tomorrow might be another day of not being able to build beds -- thanks to more rain and no fertilizer. Getting through yet another in-between day at this stage of the game will probably require yet another level of Zen because 2 consecutive days of not being able to build beds is almost maddening and I trimmed that one little tray of leeks.
Perhaps tomorrow I’ll clean the entire house? Peacefully.
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