I never knew that vegetables would make my soul sing.

Dear readers. I believe there are 8 of you...

It's time to bring this blog to a close.

I've been thinking about the farm at Anahata and the blog and I fear that as a farmer I did a piss-poor job of blogging about farming. And as I end this blog I don't much feel like writing about farming. What it comes down to is this: I'm not a farmer.

I was a commercial grower but the farming was just a small part of a project that will someday grow up to be larger than the sum of its parts. Seven Crows Garden operated under the umbrella of Anahata.

My relationship with my farming partner did not work out. In the end I accept the responsibility for not being able to communicate with him clearly. And of course money played a big part in our failure.

Money. Egads. This proved to be just about the most toxic aspect of farmlife. I didn't farm to make money. The farm was meant to be a weapon in an arsenal. Organic farming was meant to be kind to pollinators (honey bees, humming birds, insects, birds). Organic farming was meant to produce the best f*cking vegetables ever. Organic farming was meant to bring great food to the marketplace without destroying the environment.

Money was not the point. If I had farmed to make money I would have felt dirty. Actually I would have felt cheated. Making money was somewhere on my list of things to do, somewhere at the bottom. At the top of the list: wake up and feel immensely grateful I have another day to live. Second on the list: live to my highest good. Third on the list: feed the bunnies and eat breakfast. Fourth on the list: go outside and work my ass off and when a cool breeze comes through the fabric of my t-shirt feel relieved and be ridiculously happy that I get to stand in the field, surrounded by my vegetables. Fifth on the list: take a moment to note how the clouds are moving across the sky and that I don't have to listen to the blaring of sirens. And so on. By the time I think about making money I've usually had a thousand other thoughts. Doing anything just to make money is what I consider soul-sapping.

I knew that communication and money were the weak points and it comes as no surprise to me that we failed. This is not to say that the farm was a failure. Hardly. We grew (and sold) a ton of delicious, organic vegetables. Our CSA members and our customers at farmers markets raved about our veggies all season long. I was pretty darn happy with most of the crops we grew and I can't believe I have to go back to shopping in a supermarket; paying top dollar for sub-par produce. It's enough to give me an eating disorder. And I'm not kidding. When I think of the bitter broccoli and bitter kale that awaits me in the produce section of Whole Foods I want to curl up in the fetal position and wait it out until next summer when I can eat real food.

For a long time I had some very odd eating habits. I don't like meals per se. I prefer to graze throughout the day. There were many afternoons this past growing season when I walked into the field and pulled: potato, scallion, radish, bok choi, peas, chard, green beans, wax beans, carrots, lettuce, turnip, broccoli, cauliflower, fennel, my choice of three varieties of kale and then I'd cook and eat my face off.

I know that I'm going to have to buck up. But ugh. Who wants to? I'm not going to bother to psyche myself up. I'm going to have to get creative here. Casserole?

One thing that bums me out is that we didn't grow enough food to set aside anything for the winter. At the outset I didn't have a clue as to how to conceptualize "yield." Well. Now I know.

Next year I hope to grow -- at the very least -- enough winter squash to get me and Carly through the winter. And onions. And garlic.

I do know this. If I were given the opportunity to grow vegetables on a commercial scale, I would take it. But I'd want more land, more help, and I wouldn't do it without having a written agreement.

In parting I'd like to say this: avoid dollar menus. Go into your kitchen and cook. Make mistakes. Toss out all the burned or bland stuff that you make on our way to becoming a good cook. Experiment. Have fun. Don't settle for lame veggies. And if possible support your local farmers.

Better living through good eating. That folks -- not making money -- is the point.