Greenhouse Blunder



We decided to get fashionable, since we'd be spending all day in the kitchen!





Trip #1 - Hauling the cart of food from the barn down to Bill's house for the BBQ!



Last night we had a BBQ and I had my first farm guests – Erin and Sabina!  As I gave them the tour, I realized how much I have actually learned already; albeit small things, like how to make our soil amendment, or cut a salad bed. It was a nice feeling though, to be able to show someone (especially those two because they loved hearing about everything!) the tangible effects of what I’m doing here, and for me to see, from a more objective viewpoint, my own growth.  Unfortunately, I started fading around 7:30 and they were forced to leave.  I was, no joke, in bed and asleep by 8:00pm. 

I woke up this morning in a panic.  My first thought:  "GREENHOUSE!"  In my sleep-coma state last night, I had forgotten to close down greenhouse #1 (of course the one with all of our starts and newly planted seeds!)  I slipped and almost lost my boot  as I attempted to sprint through the fresh mud, to see what the damage was, hoping that by some grace of god, my error had occurred in my dream-life.  Nope.  The door to the greenhouse was wide open, rolled up exactly as I had left it yesterday.  I frantically inspected the plants, all of which looked ok, but what the hell do I know.  I came back to the kitchen and woke Bobby, asleep in his new post-5:20am spot on the couch.  I confessed everything and made him promise not to tell anyone.  He assured me that everything was fine, but what the hell does he know! (no offense Bobby!!:)  As everyone else started trickling in, all smiles and laughs, I just couldn’t hold back.  I announced my mistake and apologized in advance to anyone whose plants possibly lay dead out there.  They all took it in stride, thankfully, and agreed that because the temperature didn’t dip below freezing, that everything should be ok.    I gathered my courage and headed out to the packout to find Bill.  I said:  “I have something terrible I need to tell you.”  I explained how last night I had closed down the four other greenhouses, leaving this one open (with the intention of closing it later) because I knew there were guests touring the farm at the BBQ.  He smiled and said, “My heart! I thought you were going to tell me the barn was on fire or something! I saw the open greenhouse this morning.  It didn't' freeze last night - the plants will be fine.”  I can’t tell you how relieved I was to hear that.

The most irritating thing about the whole incident is that my greenhouse chore is over in one day.   I had gone this whole month without a single screw up, in fact, I had been pretty damn proud of myself for it.  Obviously a little too proud.  Lol.

After our salad harvest this morning, we harvested our first radishes!  They are the brightest red I’ve ever seen, and for a radish, taste surprisingly good!  I’ve never been a radish fan, eating them only a few times with my mom (who does not love vegetables, but strangely, used to love radishes) cut up with some salt - exactly how I ate my first Horton radish today!  Radishes are the first crop (aside from lettuces) we harvest because they were one of the first things planted, and only take 40 days to mature.  We pluck them out of the ground and rubber-band them into a bouquet of about 10-15.  We then take them back to the packout and wash/prep them for the next day’s market (sold for $1.50 per bunch). 

Starting next week, I will be in charge of doing Monday deliveries to the restaurants and grocery stores we supply in Eugene.  This afternoon Ashley took Bobby (who will do Thurs. deliveries) and I on a sample run.  I’ll have three hours to get it all done, which seems doable.  Once I’m done, I have the rest of the afternoon to run errands, etc., which is nice since I don’t have a car.  (It’s also nice because it means an afternoon no exertion!)

It’s another week of predicted rain and I’m in preparation mode.  This means:

 1. that I wear less bulky pants so I don’t feel like a sumo-snowman in my rain gear

 2. that I keep my rain pants on at all times - even if the sun comes out, because it’ll only disappear in 5 minutes and start pouring and if you don’t at least take them out to the field with you, then you’re gonna have a wet ass the rest of the day, and into the night, really. 

3. do the bulk of my cooking early in the week, because that’s the last thing you want to do at the end of the day when you’re covered in mud and wet and the shower has no hot water because the sun hasn’t been out.

I guess the rest of it is mental – being ready to have numb fingers, a perpetual runny nose, and an uncomfortably dirty body all week… the good thing is, it has to, by the law of nature, get warmer, and soon.   

Our new barn guest

It began at 5:20am, Monday morning, and has continued with little respite, for the past 4 days.  “brrrrrrrrrap-rap rap rap rap rap rap.  Just like that, one long one, 6 short ones - a little beak on a tin barn roof.  This woodpecker obviously missed the memo explaining the whole wood part of his nature.  However, Paul informed us that the pecking is actually a mating call, so, in fact, this woodpecker could possibly be the cleverest woodpecker to ever exist, as beak-on-metal is a piercing echo and will surely reach great distances, enhancing his chances of finding his better half.  Well, good for the bird, but it’s been a rough couple of mornings for the rest of us.  The situation lost its charm after the second 5:20am start to the day. Since then, even the pacifists and those against using the rat traps have given their consent to our possibly taking more extreme measures.  Poor Bobby, he just hasn’t had the best luck with birds so far (though the one in his walls has since left).  The woodpecker chose to set up shop outside of his window.  On the second morning he swore that if it happened again the next day, he would get a broom and give it a good scare, maybe ‘accidently’ whack it off the roof.   I excitedly supported this action, and I thanked him in advance.  So Wednesday morning comes, the bird starts in right on schedule, but I don’t fret, just lay and listen with anticipation for Bobby to fulfill his promise.  Lay, listen, and wait.  And wait.  And wait.  And suddenly it’s 6:15 and I have to get up.  Irritated, I throw on my dusty jeans and grumble into the kitchen, to find Bobby curled up on the living room couch.  Apparently he had tried the broom, failed, given up and gotten the hell out; the pecking unbearable. 

It’s likely that my day tomorrow will begin at 5:20am, again.  But, the more I’ve thought about it, I’ve realized that the fact that I’m irritated by a bird doing it’s bird thing while I am living in a barn is just ridiculous.  I can’t control nature, nor do I want to -in fact, I want to live fully connected to nature and so here’s my first lesson!  I’m going to try to incorporate the bird’s pecking into my day by waking with it and seeing it as an opportunity (for what, I’m not yet sure) instead of something to be in opposition of.  (Anyone else sensing some Tai Sophia mumbo jumbo …? lol… That’s probably because I was flipping through one of my old acupuncture books tonight. J )

Since it was raining heavily today, we had two classes instead of work!  It was such a relief to spend an entire day on the farm, completely upright.  Ashley taught our first class on composting, and we ‘built’ a pile using the ‘Berkley Method’ (a square 4X4X4 pile, that we will turn for 21 days, resulting in compost with a 30:1 carbon to nitrogen ratio).  Bill, who is wary of putting numbers, formulas or rules on things that naturally occur in nature, scoffed at the idea of a bunch of yoo-hoos down in Berkeley trying to maintain the ‘square’ shape – “yeah right” he said – and suggested that we take all of the information he or anyone else gives us, with a grain of salt.  The pile was pretty cool to build, (like making a layer cake of wet hay, freshly cut grass, compost from our kitchen, chicken shit, dry hay - repeat) but also pretty damn disgusting.  Especially as we dug further down into the compost (at one point, Lisa actually dropped her pitchfork, mid-scoop, to run off and dry heave).  For the next few weeks as we’re turning the pile, Ashley encouraged us to pee on it – “the more nitrogen, the better!” - which works out well for Bobby, who has been dumping his chamber pot (yes, he actually made this a reality) in the empty flower beds outside his window. 

 We get to use the end product in our apprentice garden! Unfortunately, we haven’t been able to plant out our starts yet because of the inconsistent weather. It’s been raining most days - except for the random patches of blue sky and warm sunshine that appear out of nowhere every hour or so, to be followed by a 20 minute torrential down pouring.  Temperatures at night are still in the 30’s and 40’s - part of the reason our cucumbers died off and our lettuce has been slow to develop.  One minute we’re zipping up our rain gear, the next minute we’re stripping down to t-shirts!  Oregon spring is really unlike anything I’ve ever experienced.  As the saying apparently goes: “Don’t like the weather in Oregon? Wait 5 minutes!”

The days are getting dirtier ...

A Little Lonely...

Mid-market, Saturday, I found out that my grandma is in the hospital.  This was quite a shock and I took the rest of the day off.  However, prior to this information I had a great morning.  Even with the overwhelming task of set-up and the stress of attempting to calculate correct change (during which I froze up and had to ask someone for help with ‘easy’ subtraction quite a few times, until I finally, after years of confusion, ‘got’ the count-back method… not a great day for my self esteem, as I also misspelled the word ‘original’ on our info chalkboard…) I had a good time.  I surprisingly enjoyed meeting our CSA members and took pride in selling the salad I had just cut yesterday! 

My grandma has since stabilized and will begin a slow recovery.  The scare of her possibly dying really made me miss my family and I felt a sudden void in my life out here.  Luckily, Erin is here - which was a comfort on Saturday - but eventually I had to leave town, (and cell reception) and I realized how far away I really am from the most important people in my life.   I understand that what I am doing for myself right now is necessary, but sometimes I honestly miss those couple of years I moved back in with my parents, was in love and engaged, and was surrounded by aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, old friends - - I guess part of me just feels a little lonely tonight…

Harvest Day!



The 'Board'



Today was our first harvest day!  We began the morning sharpening our knives then hit South Dakota to cut salad.  We were each assigned a specific salad green, which we will harvesting for the rest of the season.  I got the Ruby Streak, (a tangley crop with a longer stem and slightly spicy flavor) a slight disappointment.  I wanted the Arugula real bad because it’s easiest to cut and tastes the best.  The harvesting of salad greens is a pretty big deal around here, as it is Horton’s most renowned crop.  The quality of the cut (stem length, way it is handled, etc.) is taken very seriously and we have been instructed to treat harvesting like an art.  It took two hours to cut, and the rest of the afternoon to wash, sort, and package it all up for market tomorrow. 

Last night we had a wine/cheese party, thanks to Ashley’s participation in the Seattle Cheese Festival the weekend prior.  Our cheese board had at least a dozen varieties, all of which were delicious.  I never knew I could eat so much cheese in one sitting!  (Seriously, I must have ingested at least a pound.)  However, my over-indulgence made today slightly uncomfortable to say the least….

Tonight we bottled our beer (finally!) and Rita came up with the perfect name: Grandma Nettle.  ‘Grandma’ because the carboy has been sitting in our living room draped in these old, dusty, knitted blankets, and ‘Nettle’ because, obviously, the nettles.  I had the very first sip, which was an amazing blend of hops, ginger, and nettle.  Two more weeks of fermentation in the bottles….then we get to enjoy a Home Brew Friday!



Grandma Nettle is well loved!



I tried to get to bed early tonight, but the bottling took a few hours since we also had a feast of pan-seared salmon crusted with ground black pepper and sesame seeds, buttery turnips with sautéed greens, cheesy asparagus, sweet potato fries, and homemade baguette bread.  I don’t think I’ve mentioned yet that Ashley frickin’ rocks it in the kitchen.   She’s been a chef in some legit restaurants and everything she makes for us is absolutely delicious.  Anyways, now I’m dead tired and have to get up in exactly four hours to pack up the truck and head into Eugene for my first Farmer’s Market!  I’m a little excited, but mostly nervous because the whole process of setting up takes hours and we’ve been warned that it’s gonna be an extremely busy day.  That, and the fact that we don’t have a cash register, calculator, or any other digital means by which I will be able to quickly calculate change.  My math skills are more than embarrassing, and I know that my lack of sleep tonight isn’t going to help.  But, all in all, it should be a fun day tomorrow!

weeding, and more weeding...

David makes sure Bobby dosen't take too many stretch breaks!

Not much to report.  Seriously spent an entire day weeding yesterday.  Some good news though - my body has been showing signs of adjustment to the ‘bent-at-waist’ position, because, as of today, I can go at least one hour without that burning, sharp, pain shooting through my, well,  pretty much everything.  I could only manage about 10 minutes of pain-free bending at the beginning of the season.  And let me tell you, to look up after 10 minutes and find you’ve only completed 1/16^th of a bed, with several beds to go, is pretty damn torturous.  Hence, my excitement over reaching the one hour mark.  After that hour though, it sometimes takes all I’ve got to keep myself from straight-up screaming.    Most of the time I just try and ignore the pain.  Other times I imagine I am a soldier in the ARMY, or (and this is terrible) a war torn child, where pain just equals life, and to crumble to it would mean my death (a little intense, yes, but it works!).  Sometimes, I convince myself I can go all ‘zen’ on the pain, embracing the wholeness of the experience.  This works almost never. I guess one positive is that everyone is pretty much in the same boat as me, (thank god), so it’s not like I’m the only one hunched over, squinty-eyed, limping off the fields.  It was in a weakened state like this that Ashley unsympathetically forewarned us that if we were sore now, we’d better get a grip, because by July our workload would be at least 2 to 3 times harder than what we do on a typical day right now.  I can only imagine four scenarios in which I survive this:

 #1. I have a summer of back to back manic episodes

#2.  I make it, barely, through 9 hours of a workday, and sleep through the other 16 

#3. I triple in size and bust it out like a pack animal, or,

#4.  (and I hate to say it but) I break a bone or twist up my back and am rendered incapacitated, therefore unburdened of any stress related to the anticipation of increasingly difficult physical labor. 

On another note, the crops in “South Dakota” (the front field) are really beginning to flourish!  We took all of the row covers off today and the colors were stunning!  This week we will finally be able to cut salad to bring to the farmer’s market!  We’ve been unable to go the past three weeks due to cold soil = stunted salad green growth.  Apparently this weather is slightly unusual, as Bill can’t remember a time when Horton missed so many markets in a row.  However, he isn’t concerned because the bulk of the farm’s income is generated during July, August, and September. 

Salad greens and adult lettuces in South Dakota

Today we went on our second field trip to Wintergreen Farm – which is right down the road in Noti.  (Yup, good ole’ “No-Tie”.)  Wintergreen is a 120 acre biodynamic farm run by three families (one individual who was once an apprentice at Horton!).  The moment we arrived we were put to work planting tomatoes in a greenhouse triple the size of ours.  No one explained what we were doing, what the farm was all about, or anything that would have made me feel like we were actual guests.  The farm was so big that we had to transport the starts to the greenhouses by truck, during which we met some employees who filled in some gaps but basically knew little about biodynamic farming (which was the most interesting aspect of this farm, in my opinion).  After two hours of planting, we’d filled three of these gigantic greenhouses.  To put this in comparison, at Horton, so far, we've planted two rows of tomato plants, which is about half a greenhouse (a small 96 ft. one), which took us all of 20 minutes.  Finally, once we were done, one of the owners took us on a walking tour and answered some of our questions.  However, at that point, all I really had interest left for was a hot shower and cold beer.  I’m so glad I was able to experience work on a farm that size – it made me realize how lucky I am to be at Horton, where our team is like a family (not just a bunch of workers), and as we pulled into the driveway, I had the sudden feeling of coming home.

Gettin to work at Wintergreen!





I need some recipes!

Our apprentice garden finally dried out over the weekend so Bill could till the beds for us! I plan on planting out my rainbow chard, green onions, broccoli, thyme and parsley this week. I’m going to wait on my Roma tomatoes and brussel sprouts since it hasn’t reached a consistently safe nighttime temperature yet. I only have a few starts of each, but I figure it’s enough for me to keep track of on top of all the other projects I have going on.

I have to come up with recipes (18 of them) for vegetables I’ve been assigned to, which will go into the CSA newsletters this season. I’ve been given kale, green leaf lettuce, beets, broccoli, tomatoes, and baby bok choy. So, if any of you have a good recipe for those, email it to me please!

It’s amazing how one month of barn living will change a person. For example, I’ve grown so used to urinating outdoors that the last time I went into Eugene, I found myself choosing the grass on the side of the bike path over the hassle of finding a public restroom. I think most people would be appalled by this, but really, it was so much simpler. Plus, I didn’t have a bike lock on me. Of course, the moment I dropped trou a runner came up on the path. One of those really slow runners who was basically walking. I stared past him, as if there was something very interesting going on in the distant 7-11 parking lot. I think I scared him - as I hadn’t been very concerned about finding adequate cover. 

We’ve been moving and arranging the irrigation pipes for a few weeks, holding out for rain that hasn’t come through (in the quantity we need). Today Bill decided we could wait no more. Of course, an hour later we got the hardest downpour we’ve had yet - actually turning into a hail storm for a bit. This was bad news, as hail can seriously damage uncovered crops. Bill said that although there was no ‘shredding’, there could be bruising (on the lettuce, kale, cauliflower and broccoli) that wouldn’t show up for a few days. Our other challenge of the moment is the dying off of the cucumber (which I already mentioned) and basil plants. Bill suspects that the soil in the greenhouses is just too damp and there isn’t really anything we can do about it. We replanted some basil and gave all the greenhouses a good weeding; thankful to be involved in an ‘indoor’ task as the storm passed over. 

view from inside the greenhouse

 

 

 

 

Hail accumulating outside!

 

 

 

Judgement Day!

We started the weekend off with a half day Friday, after finally finishing ‘Blackberry Attack’, a job we’d been working on all week. A job with a no-joke title. It had been a slow progression along the outer fence, inner fence, chicken coop, and barn, paring back the brambles, wincing with each hard pull, sharp cries of prickly pain scatting up and down the row of us – but we endured with our bloody fingers and scratched up arms, yelling at them, "I'm going to EAT you" in monster voices. Ok, so it wasn’t really that dramatic, and we did have leather gloves and long sleeve shirts on. But, they were still a bitch to deal with!

On Saturday we drove out to the famous ‘Cougar Hot Springs’ and lounged around in the 105 degree pools for hours. It is exactly how you’re picturing it - pristine old growth and trickling waterfalls surrounding a series of small, round, steaming pools (that, plus a bunch of smiling naked folks and the occasional whiff of marijuana). Paul, Rita, Bobby and I barely spoke for two hours as we relaxed our sore muscles and took in the beauty of our surroundings. Later, we set up camp nearby and enjoyed the warm spring night dancing like fools around our campfire with fire wands to the only CD Rita had in her car, Brittney Spears’ new album, ‘Femme Fatal’. 

On the way home we passed a billboard advertising “Judgment Day” - apparently happening for all the world on May 21, 2011 - this coming Saturday: 6:00PM. It was one of those signs (a man praying against the backdrop of a dark abyss with some lightning bolts going on and a big white cross offering the beaming light of salvation) you’d expect to see in the bible belt of the deep south, not on a random street in one of the most liberal, progressive, conscious-minded cities in the U.S. Ok, ok, we’re all entitled to our opinions and beliefs, , , but, seriously, this Saturday?! And, a billboard?? Really?? Oh, and I forgot, the most laughable part was the text within a gold ribbon, (which had the appearance of being ‘stamped in’ the upper right hand corner) that read: “The Bible guarantees it!” 

Since it is guaranteed and all, and there’s no time to really get right with God by Saturday, we’ve decided to just go hog-wild with our last few un-judged hours. Curse, tell dirty jokes, listen to Brittney Spears’ “Till The World Ends”, and basically just get downright rowdy. Hope to see ya’ll on the other side!

Happy Birthday Lady Megatron

Today was Ashely’s birthday! We all gathered in the dark, early hours to make blackberry/chocolate chip pancakes and scream ‘happy birthday’ at her half-asleep face as she walked into the kitchen. She was so scared that she shrieked and actually ducked to cover herself. 

The sugar high was a good start to the day- we were literally running up and down the beds to remove row covers, planting lettuce in a frenzy of laughter (and in record time), and we tore up the comfrey patch like battle stars! 

Then, at lunch, we all crashed in the back yard.

Tonight was our first yoga class but I couldn’t go because I’m so tired. It’s only 6:00. The sun is perky and bright. And I’m going to bed after this post. I was kind of freaking out about it, but Ashley reassured me that it’s not unusual for apprentices to feel so worn out, and that my body is still probably adjusting to the demands of physical labor. My body is definitely changing in appearance due to physical labor – my biceps, calves, quads, abs, and butt have all tightened up and I feel awkward and kind of like a sumo wrestler (‘sum-bod’ is back, Erin). By the end of the summer I'm definitely gonna have some 'man arms', man.  I already kind of do... Here's my 'before' picture - I'm going to take another one at the end of the season, to compare.

gettin ripped!

CSA's and stuff...

Today we learned that the two beds of cucumbers we planted last week are un-harvestable due to ‘damping off’. Apparently, ‘damping off’ it is a common disease of the soil that afflicts crops in wet, damp climates – essentially it means ‘rot’. We direct-sowed (planted the seed directly into the soil as opposed to ‘starting’ a seed in a flat and planting the ‘start’ into the soil) two new rows in a different greenhouse and will have to wait and what happens with this round. 

Rotting cucumber stems...

This morning I learned a little about fertilization management and got to be the ‘sprayer’. Some crops that are typically in the ground longer than others (broccoli, adult lettuce, kale, etc.) and that are planted in the spring when the ground is still cold, have a harder time drawing nutrients from the soil. We spray the leaves (which absorb nutrients as well) of these plants with a stinky brew of fish by-product diluted with water. I spent about an hour doing some rows of broccoli and kale, humming ‘Ghost-busters!’, because with an accessory like that, how could I not?

'I 'aint afraid of no rows'

Horton Road participates in three farmer’s markets per week (two of which don’t start up until June), sells to local restaurants and grocery stores, and has a 50 member CSA program. Before I came here I didn’t really understand what CSA was, aside from it standing for ‘Community Supported Agriculture’. In a nutshell: (At Horton) people buy a seasonal ‘share’ and become members, sharing the agricultural risks and benefits in support of the farm. (Most farms make all of their annual income in a few months, so CSA dues help farms raise revenue to operate during the ‘off’ months.) Members receive a weekly box of vegetables that varies depending on the happenings on the farm. For example: one week a CSA box could contain salad mix, a bunch of radishes, potatoes, carrots, cucumbers, basil, broccoli, etc. But the next week it could all change, say, the cucumber beds ‘damp off’ or the tomatoes harvested didn’t meet the standard to sell at the farmer’s market - - that week the box would contain (along with salad, broccoli, potatoes, etc.) no cucumbers and some odd looking (but perfectly edible and delicious) tomatoes. Members understand that they never know what they’re going to get, and realize that their investment is in the farm as a whole, not a particular crop, whose ‘performance’ is dependent on nature. CSA’s are a way for members to build relationship to their food, nature, the farm and its seasons. 

Rita reads about herself in the season's first CSA newsletter

                                                                                               

My hoe's got rhythm!

- Horton's Hoe's -

It seems that with each new day, we are introduced to yet another type of ‘hoe’, used for weeding every tangly situation imaginable. So far, I know of three; the Hula Hoe, Hand Hoe, and Ozark Hoe (left to right, featured in the picture above). In just three weeks, the beds we’ve planted have already acquired quite a covering of invasive grasses, and we’ve spent whole afternoons knocking them out. It’s a tedious task that takes focus (to not decapitate the crop) and a good amount time to complete. Fortunately, we’ve relied mostly on the Hula Hoe, which actually makes weeding enjoyable for two reasons: 1. There are countless, hilarious jokes you can crack with a name like that (which never get old and help pass the time) 2. Its hinge-like head requires relatively little effort to operate, and the rhythm you get into, I dare say, is relaxing. My Hula Hoe is named “Gnarles Barkley, a.k.a. Gnarley Broccoli”. Fun stuff like that. 

Today we had bright sun all afternoon and everyone went weeding barefoot like a bunch-a hippies. Everyone, that is, except me. I just couldn’t reconcile the idea of later putting mud crusted toes into my sleeping bag (which is designated as my one clean space). I don’t know what everyone else ended up doing for themselves but there definitely weren’t any foot baths going on...

My Kim-Chi came out strange. It’s pretty spicy and salty, which I like, but it doesn’t quite taste like it should… But, tonight, Stacey and I made mozzarella cheese that was amazing! The process takes about an hour, mostly heating and stirring milk. It’s amazing that a whole gallon of milk produces just a little ball of cheese! 

stretchin it!

This week everybody’s really been into making these hodgepodge concoctions of honey, fruit, chocolate, and nuts. Every day after lunch, and then again after dinner, people are grinding who knows what up in the food processor and pressing it all into little trays. I’ve come up with my own snack bar which consists of oats, honey, raisins, cinnamon, peanut butter, flour, and some chocolate chips for the top. It’s pretty awesome.

Rita cooks best at drill-point

Update on the bird situation: Along with the adult bird in Bobby’s room, there is now a nest of baby birds in Paul’s room. These guys are so laid back it baffles me because despite some groggier mornings, they think the whole situation is ‘cute’ and interesting and are still ‘tee-heeing’ about it. Let me tell you (again, as I believe I already have), this would not fly (no pun intended) for me and my few very special hours of rest. (So, maybe I am a little more high maintenance than I’d like to believe…).

It’s only Tuesday and I’m already whipped. I’ve been experiencing a mid-morning slump for the past two weeks, and wonder if I need to adjust my diet/water intake. I’m not quite sure what’s going on, but on some days, around 10:30 I could literally pass out standing up. And then sometimes it will last all the way through lunch, at which point I actually do pass out (properly though, on the couch). Most other days I feel pretty solid, but I think I have less stamina than most people, which really frustrates me. (Side note: That’s the one redeeming factor in having frequent, distinguishable mood swings – on an up one, stamina is never even a consideration!  Last week I had a good three days of endless energy and dug out greenhouses each morning like a MACHINE!) I guess I need to accept that my energies are going to be dynamic - an ebb and flow just like all processes in nature - and that I can’t expect my body (or nature) to produce a single, consistent ‘result’. But, ‘ebb and flow’ and ‘acceptance of limitations’ shit aside - maybe it’s time to try a lumberjack breakfast or something, because, feeling like you’re going to drop over in a thicket of blackberries (true story) doesn’t make life exactly enjoyable - and at 10:30, the morning’s work is only half done!

One of the barn cats, David Byrne, likes to ride Paul's shoulders like a pirate parrot.  The other identical looking cat, Brian Eno, recently got a scratch on his eye, and just the other day David cut his paw real bad, so we plan to fashion the cats with a peg leg and an eye patch!

A little Maker's in my Mohawk...

So. First Things First. The Friday night BBQ somehow (the Maker’s Mark possibly?) meandered into an exploration of ‘What-Can-Ashley-Do-With-Hair-Clippers’. And in my typical fashion, I let an intoxicated person near my hair (but so did Bobby!!). Mid-way through the hair cut I was flooded with images of my past….. the night I stumbled home and was persuaded by Uncle Dan and Mom (half cocked on a bottle of white wine), to ‘chop it all off!’. Then there was the Thanksgiving Uncle Ducky corralled the whole family down to the basement with his grey goose in one hand and case of clippers in the other - everyone shouting out ‘just trust him’ - whilst falling over each other in hysterical laughter after every snip. And how could I forget the night our Lakeview gang shared a bottle of Jack Daniels with the 56 year old Joan Crawford crazy in apartment #3, and convinced me that bleaching my dreadlocks was the answer to all my love life woes. Of course, I’ve had plenty of haircuts the old fashioned way, but the funny thing is, my best hair has always come out of an impulsive inspiration and an inebriated stylist. 

 

First cut!

Anyway, back to this particular impulse: A mohawk!, with three stripes shaved in above my left ear, GI Jane style! I figured, if Ashley was as good at hair styling as she is at cooking, I really had nothing to worry about. (And, if it looked like shit, it’s not like I’d be missing out on any hot dates, being out here in the middle of nowhere.) The Horton crew wanted so badly for Ashley to carve in a lightning bolt - - luckily I had enough discretion left to remain unconvinced. 

 real bad-ass.

We all have barn and farm chores that rotate on a monthly basis. This month I am in charge of opening and closing the five greenhouses, one of the more important tasks. Important because if I forget and the temperature dips at night, all of the plants could die, and that’d be on my shoulders… My other task is emptying the compost and sorting the recyclables, which mainly consists of beer bottles, lol. Speaking of beer, we have pushed back bottling the nettle beer one week because the fermentation is behind schedule (it hasn’t been particularly warm out, which has slowed the process). 

And in other news - last Thursday, after a hard day of digging, slinging poo, and planting we decided to celebrate cinco de mayo at the pizza joint in Venita, the closest restaurant around (not that 20 miles is necessarily ‘close’). I’d had a light lunch that day, and with everyone’s support, was able to finish off the largest calzone I’d ever seen in my life, plus the bottle of chipotle hot sauce (which, to be fair, was only half full). I’ve always known of my ability to pack away pizza-like foods, but this experience actually surprised me. Mostly because it didn’t take any effort. I was even still kind of hungry afterwards! 

 

This week is going to be busy with the official/public opening of the zen-do, Ashley’s birthday, and night of cheese making! I look forward to the possibility of some sunshine too!

Weeding with the "hula hoe" !

Chamber Pots

This week sure as hell hasn’t zipped by. I can’t believe it’s only Thursday right now. We’ve been starting at 8:00 and going till 5:00 on the dot (with an hour and a half for lunch), two working hours longer than our first weeks here. Planting has officially taken off – this week so far we’ve planted out chard, celery, basil, tomatoes, cucumbers, parsley, potatoes (12 beds of them!), and a lot more of adult and baby lettuces, green onions and broccoli. Which equals lots of hours spent bent over. Twice this week I’ve been in bed by 7:30pm. And it’s only getting started!! I’m actually a little afraid of what summer will be like! I’ve already started eating twice as much as I used to, and every muscle I can think of is becoming noticeable (and sore).

Bobby made Giant cookies for our Giant appetites!

A few days ago, poor Rita realized that she had a flea infestation in her bed. That’s what you get when you let the barn cats sleep over. At least I’ll never have that problem. Though, I did hear rats in my walls last night, crawling and gnawing away. It’s gross to listen to, but Ashley assured me my room was impenetrable. Guess I’ll just have to wait and see… 

Something that really sucks about barn living is the middle-of-the-night pee. I’m prone to waking in the night multiple times to urinate, so it’s especially rough on me. It’s freezing cold, for one. For two, you have to find your boots and shove your sweatpants into them so they don’t drag through the mud and chicken shit that are sometimes one in the same. Then you’re stumbling through a dark barn with it’s drop off points and loose floorboards - still half-asleep – until you finally make it outside where you find the nearest spot in the wet grass to drop drawers in and try to keep yourself from falling over. What an ordeal. Some of us have had serious talks about the use of chamber pots. 

The work day is only 8 hours away so I better get to bed! Looking forward to a cookout and hot shower at Stacey's tomorrow night!

A Dose of Reality

This weekend was beautiful. However, I blew most of my energy Friday night at the Noti Pub in Noti, Oregon. It was the kind of place you’d expect in a small mountain village – all domestic beers on tap, video lottery + deer hunting simulation games flashing in the corners, CMT blaring out of a big screen TV, a local gal named Tina tending bar – but we fit right in with the regulars (primarily ‘rougher’-looking logging guys) with our carharts and unwashed hair. Tina told me that the name of the village, ‘Noti’, came to be back when an “Indian was supposed to return a soldiers horse, but didn’t tie it up outside the place, and it got away”. Hence, No-Tie. Some things are really just as simple as that I guess!

On Sunday, Rita, Paul and I hiked to Kentucky Falls, near Mapleton, Oregon. I won’t even try to describe it, just look at the pictures!

Today we planted onions for two hours. In the rain. In case ya’ll didn’t know, planting in general requires the constant position of ‘bent-over-at-the- waist’. Right now, hours later, I’m still not able to stand fully upright. 

After lunch we sat down with Bill to discuss an article that came out in the local paper over the weekend. A radical environmental group called the Pitchfork Rebellion (made up of farmers and citizens in the Triangle Lake area – about 5 miles away from the farm) did a pesticide study on a group of Triangle Lake residents. Elevated levels of pesticide residue were found in their urine, probably a result of drift from farms in the area (though there is no evidence of where it came from, as of now). This means that 1. Horton Road’s status of ‘organic’ could be affected 2. We are most likely ingesting these same toxins, due to the farm’s proximity to the findings. My immediate reaction was, ‘get me out of here’, but as we talked through it as a group I realized that my concerns, though valid, are not specific to me, to my situation or location. We are all at risk. No matter where I live, where I run to, I will be exposed to toxic chemicals, pesticides, radiation, etc. Toxic chemicals are all around us (there are even studies revealing that there is dioxin present in every mother’s breast milk). The effects of this exposure are not even known for the most part (except for the ‘coincidence’ that rates of cancer, autism, psychological problems, etc. have risen sharply over the past 20 years).

In regard to this study/article, Bill stated that he was not concerned with his own health, or with the health of his farm. He said that he has not seen any effects of pesticide drift on his crops – something that would be plainly visible. However, Horton Road will have its soil tested. Until then, we were instructed to inform customers at the farmer’s market that as of now; there is no sign of contamination, and to hand out Bill and Deborah’s official response, which goes into more detail (which I would expand upon here if I could remember it all). 

This whole situation makes me furious. It goes to show how our need to grow cheap, fast, commercial quantities of food (which necessarily requires the use of chemicals and pesticides) has direct, lasting effects. When we spray poison on our food, and then ingest it, we are poisoning ourselves! It’s not that hard of a concept to grasp. People who shun or denounce food that is labeled ‘organic’ absolutely shock me. To grow food organically, is only to grow it the way it has always been grown! (Ever since the WWII era when we had a shortage of workers and needed to maintain the same level of food production – pesticides and fertilizers were like a miracle drug. After the war, all of the factories built for ammunition production, etc. needed to stay in business, thus becoming fertilization, pesticide, etc. plants. Bill: “Who was going to want to go back to using a mule after that?”)

Not to say that just because something is labeled ‘organic’ means it is necessarily, ‘greener’, more ‘sustainable’, or healthier than something not labeled ‘organic’. In the overall scheme of things, it is probable that purchasing an ‘organic’ tomato that comes from Mexico is far more detrimental to the environment (and people who live there) than purchasing a non-organic tomato from a local farm. PLUS – food labeled ‘organic’ is not guaranteed to have zero traces of pesticides/fertilizers/etc. By law, there are ‘tolerable’ levels of pesticides, and food with contaminants below this tolerable level are considered ‘organic’. To grow food with zero levels of contaminants at this point in Civilization’s existence, would be close to impossible.

So. What the hell are we to do then, right!? Derrick Jensen inspires me to question where my threshold for damage lies, asking the most important question I can think of, for this specific time in space. He writes in Endgame: 

“What if Nazis or other fascists took over North America, what would we all do?...What if this occupied country called itself a democracy, but most everyone understood elections to be shams...What if the fascists irradiated the countryside, poisoned food supplies, made rivers unfit for swimming (and so filthy you wouldn’t even dream of drinking from them anymore)?...If fascists systematically deforested the continent, would you join an underground army of resistance?...Okay, so maybe your sense of kin, your sense of skin, doesn’t extend to the natural world. Maybe you don’t yet love the land where you live enough that you will fight for it. But what if the fascists toxify not only the landscape but the bodies of those you love?...Would you then fight back? What if the fascists toxify your own body? Would you still cling to the illusion that their edicts carry more weight than that brought to bear by their secret and not –so-secret police? Would you work for this regime? Would you teach others its virtues? Or would you fight back? If you will not fight back when they toxify your own body (and toxify your mind with propaganda leading you to believe their edicts carry moral weight), when, precisely, will you fight back? Give me – and more importantly yourself- a specific threshold at which you will finally take a stand. If you can’t or won’t give that threshold, why not?”

It’s a lot to consider, and for me, a question of personal responsibility, especially when ignoring the growing number of studies like the one at Triangle Lake, just isn’t possible anymore.