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.
Friday, October 9, 2009
Friday, September 18, 2009
The footwell on the passenger side of my car
(clockwise)
Tori Amos (Strange Little Girl)
Off (unscented)
2 organic onions (from the farm)
tomato twine
buttercup squash (from the farm)
peel from an organic banana
Jay Z (The Black Album)
Buttercup squash (from the farm)
Eggplant (from the farm)
The buttercup squash did not remain in the footwell for long. I rushed home and baked them. They were f*cking amazing. Nutty and sweet. Exactly what winter squash should be. They required no seasoning whatsoever, as soon as they were cooked (30 minutes at 350 degrees) they were eaten straight out of their skins.
Tori Amos (Strange Little Girl)
Off (unscented)
2 organic onions (from the farm)
tomato twine
buttercup squash (from the farm)
peel from an organic banana
Jay Z (The Black Album)
Buttercup squash (from the farm)
Eggplant (from the farm)
The buttercup squash did not remain in the footwell for long. I rushed home and baked them. They were f*cking amazing. Nutty and sweet. Exactly what winter squash should be. They required no seasoning whatsoever, as soon as they were cooked (30 minutes at 350 degrees) they were eaten straight out of their skins.
Wild. Mushrooms. Finally!
There’s a plenty of lore surrounding Anahata. Carly told me of an Italian man who used to ask her father's permission to take the mushrooms that grew on the trees along the main road. Each year the guy showed up with a ladder and harvested the mushrooms.
I’ve been observing those trees wondering if/when mushrooms would appear and what sort they would be. Carly mentioned that they were large and white.
Lately in the local papers there have been articles about chefs collecting chanterelle and black trumpet mushrooms. (How I would dearly love to find the nooks where those mushrooms thrive!) I think I came across a chanterelle a few weeks back but it’s got a poisonous look-alike so until I go ‘shrooming with a more experienced mushroom hunter, I'm keeping chanterelles pull from the forest floor, or a possible deadly look-alike, off my dinner plate.
About a week or so ago I noticed some large, white mushrooms protruding from the side of one of the old sugar maples along our road. I wondered if this was the type of mushroom the Italian man from days gone by had harvested.
Two days ago I removed one of these shelf-like fungi and consulted the National Audubon Society Field Guide to North American Mushrooms. I was pretty sure I had Northern Tooth on my hands. And they were listed as EDIBLE.
Today -- after I cleaned: my car, the bunny cages, and the house -- it was time to stop procrastinating. Time to harvest some Northern Tooth.
Here’s some of what the Audubon Feild Guide has to say on the subject:
Northern Tooth. Climacodon septentrionale. Large, overlapping, yellowish-white caps with toothed undersides; stalkless. Cap: 4 – 6” wide, in clusters 6 – 12” high, 1 – 2” thick near the base, thinning toward margin; shelflike, growing in overlapping, horizontal clusters from solid base, …densely hairy to rough. Flesh 2 – 4 cm thick; white, zoned, fibrous, tough, elastic. Odor mild when fresh, become rank and hamlike on drying, taste mild when fresh, bitter with age…Season: July --- October. Habitat: high up on living sugar maples; also reported on beeches. Range: NE. North America. Comments: This large tooth mushroom looks like a polypore but for its teeth. It grows in the wounds of living deciduous trees and rots the heartwood.
When I pulled the mushroom from the tree I sniffed it and found that it had almost no odor. I thought this was weird as most mushrooms have a somewhat musty smell. Once in my kitchen I removed the obviously tough bits, shook off the bugs, and then cut it into pieces about 1” x 1/2”. As soon as they hit the skillet and started sizzling in the butter -- the familiar aroma of mushrooms filled the kitchen. “Now we’re cooking,” I thought.
One batch was sautéed in butter, the second batch was sautéed in butter and red wine. I thought I’d prefer the mushrooms in wine but it turned out that the plain mushrooms tasted better.
The taste is difficult to describe. Very mild but pleasant. Almost sweet. The “teeth” are soft and that texture off them play off the firmness of the flesh. The next batch is going to be sautéed in butter and then drizzled with fresh lemon juice. Norhtern Tooth would complement a white fish (sole) or chicken.
Now I’ll sit back for a day and see if I get an upset stomach. Or get violently ill. Or slip into a coma and die. (I know! Wild mushrooms can be very scary.)
If all goes well, I’ll be having more sautéed Northern Tooth in the coming weeks. Fingers crossed.
I’ve been observing those trees wondering if/when mushrooms would appear and what sort they would be. Carly mentioned that they were large and white.
Lately in the local papers there have been articles about chefs collecting chanterelle and black trumpet mushrooms. (How I would dearly love to find the nooks where those mushrooms thrive!) I think I came across a chanterelle a few weeks back but it’s got a poisonous look-alike so until I go ‘shrooming with a more experienced mushroom hunter, I'm keeping chanterelles pull from the forest floor, or a possible deadly look-alike, off my dinner plate.
About a week or so ago I noticed some large, white mushrooms protruding from the side of one of the old sugar maples along our road. I wondered if this was the type of mushroom the Italian man from days gone by had harvested.
Two days ago I removed one of these shelf-like fungi and consulted the National Audubon Society Field Guide to North American Mushrooms. I was pretty sure I had Northern Tooth on my hands. And they were listed as EDIBLE.
Today -- after I cleaned: my car, the bunny cages, and the house -- it was time to stop procrastinating. Time to harvest some Northern Tooth.
Here’s some of what the Audubon Feild Guide has to say on the subject:
Northern Tooth. Climacodon septentrionale. Large, overlapping, yellowish-white caps with toothed undersides; stalkless. Cap: 4 – 6” wide, in clusters 6 – 12” high, 1 – 2” thick near the base, thinning toward margin; shelflike, growing in overlapping, horizontal clusters from solid base, …densely hairy to rough. Flesh 2 – 4 cm thick; white, zoned, fibrous, tough, elastic. Odor mild when fresh, become rank and hamlike on drying, taste mild when fresh, bitter with age…Season: July --- October. Habitat: high up on living sugar maples; also reported on beeches. Range: NE. North America. Comments: This large tooth mushroom looks like a polypore but for its teeth. It grows in the wounds of living deciduous trees and rots the heartwood.
When I pulled the mushroom from the tree I sniffed it and found that it had almost no odor. I thought this was weird as most mushrooms have a somewhat musty smell. Once in my kitchen I removed the obviously tough bits, shook off the bugs, and then cut it into pieces about 1” x 1/2”. As soon as they hit the skillet and started sizzling in the butter -- the familiar aroma of mushrooms filled the kitchen. “Now we’re cooking,” I thought.
One batch was sautéed in butter, the second batch was sautéed in butter and red wine. I thought I’d prefer the mushrooms in wine but it turned out that the plain mushrooms tasted better.
The taste is difficult to describe. Very mild but pleasant. Almost sweet. The “teeth” are soft and that texture off them play off the firmness of the flesh. The next batch is going to be sautéed in butter and then drizzled with fresh lemon juice. Norhtern Tooth would complement a white fish (sole) or chicken.
Now I’ll sit back for a day and see if I get an upset stomach. Or get violently ill. Or slip into a coma and die. (I know! Wild mushrooms can be very scary.)
If all goes well, I’ll be having more sautéed Northern Tooth in the coming weeks. Fingers crossed.
Sunday, August 9, 2009
July 27, 2009
Today was the most peaceful day of my life.
It only took 22 years to accomplish but who’s counting?
I’m not entirely sure why I’ve become obsessed with peace. I knew that farming was going to bring about changes in my mindset but this? This obsession with peace I was not expecting.
I’ve been wondering about the genesis of the day of peace that I’ve just lived and perhaps it wasn’t 22 years in the making. Perhaps it was only 6 weeks in the making. But when I search my memory I must include many dark and dismal days as part of the genesis process because it was my resolve to move away from my shadow and into the light that brought me to this time.
When I moved to the farm I wasn’t looking to be city-Ilsa living in the country. I wanted to become a brand-new-kind of Ilsa. This meant that the first few weeks living here took their toll on me. I had nightmares and I felt like crap. I anchored myself in getting the farm up and running. I kept to the same time of rising and going to bed. I kept to a decent diet of slow cooked, organic food. And I prayed. A lot. I asked the Universe (or God if you prefer) to give me the strength and the insight to move beyond who I was. I knew that the farming and vegetables and market days and CSA deliveries were all fated to come into existence but my new-self. I wasn’t so sure about that.
I’ve done battle with myself before. I’ve fought all kinds of habits and demons and patterns. I knew what I was in for. But I wanted to write a letter to my self (which was then my current-self) and say, “Self. You’re done for. I’m going to prevail. I’ve kicked your ass in the past and I plan to kick it again in the very near future.”
Nightmares.
Part of my process -- my unconscious -- is so incredibly strong. When Mark Simmons and I were doing Jungian dream work a couple of years back, after a particularly intense session Mark said, “Your old self will try to take you back.” He meant that while we had brought some great stuff out of the Shadow and into consciousness, my old self was going to do her darnedest to make sure that work didn’t stick.
And while I’ve never been too keen on mantras, these past 3 months I’ve turned to them as the newest weapon in my arsenal. I needed to create my own mantras that suited me to a tee. As far as I can tell mantras are a great tool to use when doing tricky, tough heartwork. I felt that there were a ton of unconscious “things” at work and instead of going in search of the yucky, sticky stuff in my unconscious I would use every second of my waking-life to interrupt those well-worn cycles.
It was in the early part of May when Ben and I were working on Dedie King’s land that I hit on the best way to use mantras – while I was hard at work farming. One day we were taking truck loads of wood chips from one field to another, to use as mulch. With each shovelful I said, “I am peaceful.” Then when we dropped mulch near the field with each step I took to distribute the mulch, I said, “I am peaceful.”
I’ve got to tell you, after 8 hours of shoveling and employing mantras I was freaking beat. But I didn’t care. Tough titty. I decided to run my then-self ragged in the hopes that the new-self would emerge. (Admittedly odd logic but I had nothing else to work with.)
Then I started to use mantras all the time. When I weeded. Each time I pulled a weed, “I am peaceful.” Any repetitive, dull task was infused with mantras.
I know that it takes 21 days to create a new habit. 21 days seemed like an awfully short time to take a self that was in turmoil and convert it into a peaceful self.
Then the nightmares started to subside. The internal struggle and self-torment started to lessen.
Then there was today.
A sunny day. A cool breeze. I began the day harvesting for the Harvard Forest order. Delivered that. Then moved onto the CSA harvest. Then moved onto field work.
It was during the early afternoon when I realized that something in me had shifted. In a way being peaceful had a slightly exciting aspect to it. A small shiver or a slightly elevated feeling was moving through me. Unlike the past when I’ve waited to watch a mood move past, this feeling of being at peace lingered. It’s a subtle feeling.
I want to get back to the Genesis of this, the most peaceful day of my life.
Back in April on a gray, rainy, cold day I went for a walk in the forest. I started to think about people around the world who were, had been, or will be -- raped, tortured, or murdered. When I was young I was physically and sexually abused. I don’t let those instances of violence define me. Although I do think they had something to do with my being homeless (as a teenager) and alcoholic (into my late 20s). I’m certain that there are thousands of people who’ve been treated far worse than I was.
What I’ve got control over is the way I chose to deal with the way things had an impact on me. I feel that life is way too short for bitterness. I was bitter for a time in my 20s but then I just couldn’t feature bitterness in my life any longer.
Anyway. I was emerging from the forest on the cold, wet, day in April when I realized that if I wanted people to treat each other more peacefully I had better start with myself and I had better stop tormenting myself. I’m not sure I was doing any sort of world-class treatment on myself. I was probably being overly critical in a way that I know accomplishes nothing.
I don’t know if I employed a mantra at that time. Instead I told myself that it was time to be nicer and gentler with myself. I spent a lot of time telling myself to get over myself. I spent a lot of time reminding myself that I was pretty f*cking lucky to have this opportunity to farm and that I should focus on the good in that.
It bowled me over how much negativity there was in my daily sub-routine. But I just couldn’t take it anymore. Sometimes I just have to push through a feeling if I’m not going to turn to drugs/sex/alcohol (you know the Rock ‘n’ Roll treatment) then I’ve got to do what I call the “hard, heartwork.” I’ve got to face up to who I am and then do whatever it takes to undo that.
It would be hard for me to define who I was a few months ago. Mostly I was run down. But I said, “Too bad. Pick yourself up and make something new of yourself. Otherwise you might as well go back to Manhattan, sit in your apartment (or at a desk job) and just rot.” The idea of rotting away, really more like not wanting to rot, is what motivated me.
And when I found myself doing anything vaguely self-tormenting, I brought my focus back to the farm. Break new ground. Add amendments. Propagate seeds. Build beds. Mulch. Transplant seedlings. And eventually the new-self took over.
Per haps, you the reader can see the Genesis point. For me there’s nothing to be gained in looking any further. I found what I was looking for. O\r rather I fashioned myself into a newer, more peaceful Ilsa.
And in a couple of months I’ll learn it it’s the real deal when I head back to Manhattan. It’s one thing to feel at peace on a beautiful day in the country. If I can maintain this peace in the Big Apple I should be all set.
It only took 22 years to accomplish but who’s counting?
I’m not entirely sure why I’ve become obsessed with peace. I knew that farming was going to bring about changes in my mindset but this? This obsession with peace I was not expecting.
I’ve been wondering about the genesis of the day of peace that I’ve just lived and perhaps it wasn’t 22 years in the making. Perhaps it was only 6 weeks in the making. But when I search my memory I must include many dark and dismal days as part of the genesis process because it was my resolve to move away from my shadow and into the light that brought me to this time.
When I moved to the farm I wasn’t looking to be city-Ilsa living in the country. I wanted to become a brand-new-kind of Ilsa. This meant that the first few weeks living here took their toll on me. I had nightmares and I felt like crap. I anchored myself in getting the farm up and running. I kept to the same time of rising and going to bed. I kept to a decent diet of slow cooked, organic food. And I prayed. A lot. I asked the Universe (or God if you prefer) to give me the strength and the insight to move beyond who I was. I knew that the farming and vegetables and market days and CSA deliveries were all fated to come into existence but my new-self. I wasn’t so sure about that.
I’ve done battle with myself before. I’ve fought all kinds of habits and demons and patterns. I knew what I was in for. But I wanted to write a letter to my self (which was then my current-self) and say, “Self. You’re done for. I’m going to prevail. I’ve kicked your ass in the past and I plan to kick it again in the very near future.”
Nightmares.
Part of my process -- my unconscious -- is so incredibly strong. When Mark Simmons and I were doing Jungian dream work a couple of years back, after a particularly intense session Mark said, “Your old self will try to take you back.” He meant that while we had brought some great stuff out of the Shadow and into consciousness, my old self was going to do her darnedest to make sure that work didn’t stick.
And while I’ve never been too keen on mantras, these past 3 months I’ve turned to them as the newest weapon in my arsenal. I needed to create my own mantras that suited me to a tee. As far as I can tell mantras are a great tool to use when doing tricky, tough heartwork. I felt that there were a ton of unconscious “things” at work and instead of going in search of the yucky, sticky stuff in my unconscious I would use every second of my waking-life to interrupt those well-worn cycles.
It was in the early part of May when Ben and I were working on Dedie King’s land that I hit on the best way to use mantras – while I was hard at work farming. One day we were taking truck loads of wood chips from one field to another, to use as mulch. With each shovelful I said, “I am peaceful.” Then when we dropped mulch near the field with each step I took to distribute the mulch, I said, “I am peaceful.”
I’ve got to tell you, after 8 hours of shoveling and employing mantras I was freaking beat. But I didn’t care. Tough titty. I decided to run my then-self ragged in the hopes that the new-self would emerge. (Admittedly odd logic but I had nothing else to work with.)
Then I started to use mantras all the time. When I weeded. Each time I pulled a weed, “I am peaceful.” Any repetitive, dull task was infused with mantras.
I know that it takes 21 days to create a new habit. 21 days seemed like an awfully short time to take a self that was in turmoil and convert it into a peaceful self.
Then the nightmares started to subside. The internal struggle and self-torment started to lessen.
Then there was today.
A sunny day. A cool breeze. I began the day harvesting for the Harvard Forest order. Delivered that. Then moved onto the CSA harvest. Then moved onto field work.
It was during the early afternoon when I realized that something in me had shifted. In a way being peaceful had a slightly exciting aspect to it. A small shiver or a slightly elevated feeling was moving through me. Unlike the past when I’ve waited to watch a mood move past, this feeling of being at peace lingered. It’s a subtle feeling.
I want to get back to the Genesis of this, the most peaceful day of my life.
Back in April on a gray, rainy, cold day I went for a walk in the forest. I started to think about people around the world who were, had been, or will be -- raped, tortured, or murdered. When I was young I was physically and sexually abused. I don’t let those instances of violence define me. Although I do think they had something to do with my being homeless (as a teenager) and alcoholic (into my late 20s). I’m certain that there are thousands of people who’ve been treated far worse than I was.
What I’ve got control over is the way I chose to deal with the way things had an impact on me. I feel that life is way too short for bitterness. I was bitter for a time in my 20s but then I just couldn’t feature bitterness in my life any longer.
Anyway. I was emerging from the forest on the cold, wet, day in April when I realized that if I wanted people to treat each other more peacefully I had better start with myself and I had better stop tormenting myself. I’m not sure I was doing any sort of world-class treatment on myself. I was probably being overly critical in a way that I know accomplishes nothing.
I don’t know if I employed a mantra at that time. Instead I told myself that it was time to be nicer and gentler with myself. I spent a lot of time telling myself to get over myself. I spent a lot of time reminding myself that I was pretty f*cking lucky to have this opportunity to farm and that I should focus on the good in that.
It bowled me over how much negativity there was in my daily sub-routine. But I just couldn’t take it anymore. Sometimes I just have to push through a feeling if I’m not going to turn to drugs/sex/alcohol (you know the Rock ‘n’ Roll treatment) then I’ve got to do what I call the “hard, heartwork.” I’ve got to face up to who I am and then do whatever it takes to undo that.
It would be hard for me to define who I was a few months ago. Mostly I was run down. But I said, “Too bad. Pick yourself up and make something new of yourself. Otherwise you might as well go back to Manhattan, sit in your apartment (or at a desk job) and just rot.” The idea of rotting away, really more like not wanting to rot, is what motivated me.
And when I found myself doing anything vaguely self-tormenting, I brought my focus back to the farm. Break new ground. Add amendments. Propagate seeds. Build beds. Mulch. Transplant seedlings. And eventually the new-self took over.
Per haps, you the reader can see the Genesis point. For me there’s nothing to be gained in looking any further. I found what I was looking for. O\r rather I fashioned myself into a newer, more peaceful Ilsa.
And in a couple of months I’ll learn it it’s the real deal when I head back to Manhattan. It’s one thing to feel at peace on a beautiful day in the country. If I can maintain this peace in the Big Apple I should be all set.
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