cheese and locked keys

On Saturday I biked into Eugene, which ended up being about 36 miles - my longest ride ever! It was easier than I had imagined (aside from the 20 minute uphill climb over the pass) - though running shorts weren’t the best apparel choice since my seat had this little ripped piece that had gouged away at my inner thigh by the time it was over. Thankfully Lisa came into town and gave me a ride back (after we saw X-Men: First Class, which was actually pretty good!). On Sunday I was a witness to a taco eating contest between Paul and Ashley. She never really stood a chance to his bottomless mary-poppins-bag stomach (apparently one time he ate 47 pieces of pizza) though she kept up for a good while. The final score was 15 to 12, and although Paul could have easily eaten another 15, he opted for an ice cream dessert instead. I’ve never seen anything like it.

Before the taco eating, I went out to my garden with my hoe, finally. Woa. My bed, overrun with green smartweed, stood out like a sore thumb in contrast to my barnmates’ brown, kempt beds; though, not including Bobby’s section, which actually looked worse than mine. He told me this morning that he hasn’t decided whether or not he’ll be weeding at all – he said he might just call it a ‘permaculture experiment’. I hope he dosen’t because I often wonder what would happen to our crops if we weren’t out there hoeing for hours a day. I mean, who knows, it could just be a big scam!

My little patch

b. sprouts!

My brussel sprouts are really getting big! Although, there’s a running joke between me and Bill that I’ll be long gone by the time they’re ready to be harvested. He constantly asks me if I’m taking good care of ‘his’ brussel sprouts. I hope he’s wrong, because I really freakin love brussel sprouts. Especially seared (or broiled) in olive oil with garlic, red onion, lemon juice, brown sugar, and lots of salt and pepper. You should try it!

Today on my delivery run I fell into one of my old habits: locking the keys in the car. (I’m sure some of you remember my high school and college days when this monthly, sometimes weekly occurrence seemed like a frustratingly inevitable part of my existence…) So, I’m driving around with the windows down, singing along with Roy Orbison, feeling pretty good about my hustle in getting the deliveries done early. I pull into The Kiva, excited with big cheese purchasing plans that are amplified by the free bread I see ahead, sitting on the dumpster. I hurriedly roll up the windows, grab my wallet, flip the lock, and bounce out of the truck eyes on the bread. It was one of those ‘shutting the door but grabbing for it at the same time’ moments where you realize your mistake as your making it. I just stood there silent for minutes, alternatively peering into the truck and scanning the parking lot (for who knows what), cursing my careless nature this time induced by an eagerness for cheese and dumpster diving. I climbed under the truck, pebbles sticking to my sweat-drenched skin, dirt and dust falling into my eyes as I felt around the rods and pipes and whatever else happens under a car, desperately hoping to find a spare despite my clear recollection of Ashely’s ‘one-key warning!’ weeks ago. Finally I got it together and went inside, looked up the number to the farm and used Kiva’s phone to leave a “I’m sorry I screwed up…” message, then went back outside to peer in the window of the truck some more, a part of me honestly feeling like the situation would just fix itself somehow. The other part of me felt sick to my stomach knowing that Ashley was going to have to drive all the way into town (a good 45 minutes) just to bring me Bill’s spare. And it was the fear of this impending situation that kick started me into action, despite my physical and mental exhaustion. So I made my way down 11^th to the St. Vincent DePaul thrift store and begged for a wire hanger which I somehow managed to force between the truck’s door frame and hook around the lock - popping it open within minutes! I screamed out “YES!!!!!!!!!!!!” and jumped in glee of a crisis narrowly avoided due to the years I put in refining my carjacking skills. I love saving my own day.

high times

Since I fell asleep sometime before 7:00pm Wednesday night, I got up at 5:00 yesterday morning and took a field walk. Bill and Ashley have been advising that we do these walks daily to observe changes and get an overall sense of what’s going on around the farm. Usually I’m too tired to do much more than dress myself and throw together a peanut butter and banana sandwich + coffee before work starts at 7 but I think I’m going to try and make it a part of my morning routine because it was really serene and peaceful. 

This week we harvested green onions – which was our first plant out ever! It was an interesting experience to pull out the same onions I had put into the ground. Somewhere in between there they had somehow grown! We also learned how to harvest broccoli – another task involving our knives, which I LOVE. You basically hack it off the stem and then hack off the leaves and pack it into the box. Hack and pack. Oh – and we learned how to harvest Rainbow chard as well. Pretty much the same deal as the kale – snap it off at the stem and make a bouquet. Unfortunately I didn’t get a picture of the bouquets, but I will during the next harvest. The leaves were GIANT; yellow, red, white, green, and pink. 

some rainbow chard

As the weather continues to get warmer, we are slowly but surely rolling up the Agribon FOR GOOD!! It’s a very exciting time for all of us. Each bed we roll up is one less we have to take on and off each day. 15 beds left! 

Barn life this week has been especially fun – I think it’s all of the hysterical, body shaking laughter that starts at breakfast. For some reason every comment, gesture, incident has been overly ridiculous and deserving of loud outbursts. For example, during a frustrating moment searching for the lid to a particular Tupperware container it was suggested that I crawl into the cabinet to have a look, (which seems like the worst idea ever because obviously it’s going to be dark in there, but ultimately I did find the lid when everything came spilling all over the place as I was trying to get out). This kind of environment is like ‘home’ to my spirit and has felt like a re-birth of sorts. I don’t remember laughing this much or hard since 2004, when I lived with the absolutely hilarious Brad Riley and Erin Paul. I think my barnmates were taken aback the first time I reached a state of pure hysteria, something I know all of you can picture – my deep asthma-cough guffaw bursting the blood vessels in my eyes as they pour out tears - and in between gasps of air, my classic outcry: “I’M GONNA PEE”. 

Anyway, it’s been high times. And it’s not just me, which is the beauty of it. Pretty much everyone but Rita has a booming laughter that apparently echos between the hills - tonight at our Pie Friday meeting Deborah reminded us that she is running a silent retreat this coming week and weekend, and asked that we be mindful of loud music, etc. Bill piped in with: “No, for this crew, it’s not their music I hear, it’s all the laughing.” To which we all burst out in laughter.

Yesterday was my meeting with Bill. It went fine, my worry was over nothing. I told him that because he doesn’t give me much feedback, I really was nervous that I hadn’t been doing a good job. He said that he figured we all knew that if he didn’t say anything, then we’re doing it right. Not how I operate, but, o.k. He said that he appreciated my preparedness, attentiveness, and willingness to ask questions. He also said that he’s noticed how discouraged and irritated I get when I don’t learn something or catch on to a task right away, and suggested that I work on not judging myself so harshly. He pointed out how frustrated I had been when we first learned how to cut salad, (in fact, his exact words: “there were some….tense….moments….) and how now I’ve declared it as my favorite thing. I acknowledged that I could make things easier by letting go of the need to be perfect at everything I try and to give myself time to learn something, practice it, be in it before forming a judgment or jumping to “I can’t”, which is something that’s pretty much true in all areas of my life. Other than that he mentioned some things that he had brought up to everybody regarding speed, efficiency, focus, etc. He also assured me that I wouldn’t have to do Saturday Market if I really didn’t want to – I think Ashley must have told him how poor my mental math was last weekend. I gave the wrong change back to at least four people – in fact, it was probably more than that because Ashley just happened to overhear me at those random times. I also charged a man 8.50 for spinach that was 4.50. By the time I realized he had walked away and it was too late. I think he was surprised at the 8.50 price, but paid only because he was also trying to flirt with me. Then on more than several occasions I lost all train of thought and forgot how much the totals were, what bill the person had given me, and how to do the ‘count back’ method, during which I just stood over the money box with wide eyes and waited for Ashley to save me. My god, I’m back on my Saturday Market woes. 

This Saturday, which is tomorrow, I will thankfully not be at Market. I’m hoping for some good biking weather and a bonfire or two. Maybe some coconut banana chocolate chip cookies. Yeah Weekend!

Summer is here!

I went with an open, positive, ready-for-anything attitude. It’s just not my thing. At the end of Saturday Market I was practically in tears from the stress of it all. I came on at 10 and worked till 4 with one other person (hired from town, not from the farm) who had only closed down the stand one other time. That’s to say, we had an idea of what was supposed to happen, but when it came time it was us just throwing things into the truck, racing against the clock, shouting out “I don’t know, and WHO CARES!”. 

To give you a little background about market (and Horton in general): There is a very specific way to do everything here, including packing up the market truck. Things don’t just ‘go in’. Baskets are to be ‘nestled in’ first, followed by the tables and wooden table pieces which are strapped onto the sides in a particular way. Then come the tents and signs and shade covers and at least 100 empty boxes, Tupperware tubs, leftover and traded food, bags, tablecloths, brooms, buckets, compost, and random other things. Loading must not take longer than 30 minutes or other vendors start to complain (because we are blocking the road and they can’t start packing up until we leave), which gets back to Bill and Deborah and we get a ‘reminder talk’ – which has already happened twice. It’s a friggin stressful situation. And on top of all that, it was pouring rain. I was done and ready to leave at 4:30, but hadn’t been quick enough to avoid the traffic jam and had to sit there, cold and wet, stomach eating away at itself, until 5:00 - irritated as all hell because apparently my frantic rush had been for nothing. I could go into how it’s not even over at that point, because then there’s a 45 minute unpack once you get back – but I’m so sick of thinking about it – let’s just move on. 

I went out to water my garden today and am surprised at how the chard and brussel sprouts have grown in just a few days! The weeds are creeping in too – I still haven’t given it a good hoe yet – which I hope will just be fine for another week or so. I’m trying to take a very low stress, low maintenance approach to my garden, and in my head, I imagine it working out even better than meticulous, continuous attention and care. I have a suspicion that I’m in the trappings of a delusional thought process. 

This week we have our mid-season reviews with Bill, who has conferenced with Ashley and Stacey to give us some individual feedback. I’m pretty nervous, mostly because there has been almost no feedback up until now. I literally have no idea if I’m going a good job or not. I’ve decided to just prepare for the worst because things are never be as bad as you imagine them to be. Actually, I take that back. We’ll see on Thursday…

On Sunday Bobby and I turned the compost pile – another project started but not exactly followed through on. I don’t think anyone had even looked over at it in a week. Oh well, it will just take longer to break down, which I noticed has already started to happen - the compost materials (straw, food, poop, etc.) have already become more of a homogenous glop. Impressive!

Tonight we had our monthly barn dinner at Stacey’s house. Grilled pizza’s, PBR, and s’mores. I think it’s definitely summer. The fire her (firefighter) fiancé, Tenzin built for the s’mores, was wild. We had to face away while we roasted marshmallows, our eyebrows practically singeing off. As much as I roll eyes at the thought of another ‘group meal’ (all that preparation, mess, and clean up) – it always ends up being really nice. 

attempting to roast marshmallows

Hilling Home

This morning we spent three hours in the potatoes, ‘hilling’ them, which basically means using the Ozark Hoe to pull soil around the stem of the plant, making a little ‘hill’. This is usually done a few times a season to vegetables that are considered ‘tubers’ (the edible part being the stem as opposed to the root or flower of the plant). That was some slave work right there – we even burst out with a round of “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot” (which my dyslexic/language-challenged brain always thought was “Sweet Low, Sweet Cherry High”, lol). Even though my hands were swelling with blisters after all was said and done, I actually really enjoyed it. Although my body is fatigued at times, I really do like the physical jobs more than the detail orientated, little-movement tasks like washing salad or sowing seeds. Plus, I want some John Henry-working-on-the-railroad pipes by the end of this season! 

Paul shot at the woodpecker with a garden hose!  Only he came back 20 minutes later...

I’ve read some good interviews recently, one being with author and OSU professor Kathleen Dean Moore who suggests that our personal identities are strongly tied to ‘place’. Not only are our bodies composed of the minerals and particles we share with the water, air, and soil specific to our geography – but our ‘Self’ is also constructed from location and landscape – by way of memory. Memories are easily conjured when we return to specific places, for example; the front porch of the home you grew up in, or the oceanside you vacationed at for years. She uses this context to explore what our obligations are to the landbase and the psychological ramifications of neglecting this – which is interesting, but I won’t delve into now. I think that because I am so immersed in nature every single day, the idea of ‘place’ being a part of my identity is especially apparent and relevant to my life right now. Since I moved to the Pacific Northwest I have been in complete awe of the old growth forests, golden-green mosses, pensive gray mists, and other random, strange-looking things. But because I have no history with or knowledge of my ‘place’ here yet, a deep part of me has begun to long for what is familiar - red pine-needled forest floors, black flies, trees swelling with summer lime-green leaves, and other random, unexplainable sensations and happenings of nature that I grew up with and was a part of. I’m beginning to notice more and more that I don’t have any solid sense of what the rhythms of this ecosystem are – which leaves me with a vague feeling of dislocation and disconnect. I don’t know whether this is a unconscious longing to regress back to what is comfortable and familiar – or if it’s a feeling that signifies a need for my body and spirit to eventually return ‘Home’ – not necessarily my childhood home, but to a place I feel in sync with and am able to give and draw wisdom to and from. Guess I’ll just have to wait and see what happens next…

The Adirondacks with Dad!

1/2 way to 28!

She's saying that I'm One Hot Hipster, lol

Today was my 27 and ½ birthday! This morning I opened the door to the kitchen as was greeted by half-naked Lady Gaga, a six pack of IPA, a pack of smokes and a sign that said “1/2 Birthdays Are Meant To Be Celebrated With Vices!” At lunch I ate a giant cupcake with miniature silverware and everyone sang their own rendition of what ½ of “Happy Birthday” would be. It was pretty sweet. 

Today we harvested garlic whistles. A garlic ‘whistle’ is the flowering part of the plant. It curls around – apparently like a whistle. I don’t really see it. During our harvest training, Deborah warned us that from now on, we will forever reek of garlic – as the scent soaks into clothing and is perpetuated by the washer machine. (As if my cracked, mud-crusted hands and fingernails weren’t enough to keep me ever getting a date…) Ever since we harvested green garlic out of the compost pile (too long of an explanation) I haven’t really been able to get excited by that smell. In fact, the odor of un-cooked garlic now makes me slightly nauseous, as it’s become exceedingly difficult to distinguish 'garlic' from 'compost'. Uhhg.

I had another major mishap this afternoon – it seems like every week it’s someone else’s turn to screw up. In fact, we’ve started a running list of everyone’s big fuck ups. Last week it was a double whammy – first Rita went to market and forgot all of the CSA boxes. Then on Bobby’s delivery run, the dolly flew out of the back of the pickup truck and got STOLEN within minutes! No joke. By the time Bobby did a U turn to go retrieve it, it was gone. He was informed by a gas station attendant who had witnessed the entire event that the driver behind Bobby had leapt out of his car, shoved it in his trunk and sped off!!!

 

Anyway, back to my mistake. I was pulling a cart filled with corn starts out to one of the back fields (like this). I came upon one of the irrigation pipes. I pulled the cart, one wheel at a time, over the pipe, and as the back was just about to clear it, it didn’t. Instead the sharp edge came down hard and pierced through the metal – spraying water up and out and everywhere! I let out a shrill “Jeezus!!!!” Bobby tried to turn off the water at the source but didn’t know what he was doing and instead ripped a piece of the handle off. Someone yelled ‘go get Bill’ and I started to run towards the packout - - but Bill had seen the whole thing from across the field and was already on his way. We just stood there, getting soaked like idiots, waiting. I felt really, really terrible, even though it could have happened to anyone. Bill took it in stride, like he usually does, (though I had a flash of what he told us all last week about biting off heads and it just being too bad). He told me that it happens every year and to just be more careful. And that was it! For as much as he rags on Buddhism (his wife, Deborah, is a Buddhist and runs events in the farm zendo – to which Bill jokes “we should be charging for that”) his way of being is reminiscent of a wise master/monk of sorts. 

So, it’s my weekend to go to market this Saturday, and I am not looking forward to it. It’s going to be a high stress day – starting early, with lots of loading, unloading, stocking, spritzing, mental math struggling, caffeine buzzes and crashes, and TONS of minute details that I’m probably going to forget. After last market, which I did enjoy, I decided that the whole ‘market’ part just wasn’t for me. I’d much rather be out in the field, breaking my back, then be worrying about all the time restraints, paperwork, presentation, and organization.We'll see how it goes, but I'm pretty sure this'll be my last.

Apparantly Still Adjusting...

Today I planted out my starts into the apprentice garden! I have chard, lettuce, green onions, thyme, brussel sprouts, Roma tomatoes, broccoli, and parsley. I’d been so worried about my stuff dying off in a cold night, but Bill told me “Rachael, it’s now, or never”. Planting my own garden was such a different experience than planting for ‘work’. For one thing, I let my careless nature run rampant – deciding not to pre-weed because it was going to take too long, then dropping the plants into the isles with things spilling all over. Secondly, I REFUSED to be in the bent-at-waist position – opting for a nice, relaxing kneeling position right into the bed. I also decided to plant my crops in a pattern based on size and color - as opposed to planting rows of one thing, because it looks cooler. When I was done, I realized that my rice was probably done cooking inside and just left the plants out there, un-watered. Oh, to be free. Lol.

 

It’s been a slow start for me this week. I’ve had a few hard mornings, partly due to the woodpecker, whose machinegun-like tapping has grown progressively earlier. It used to begin at 5:20, exactly, which was early, but became manageable. Now he starts in some time before 5am – I’m usually too tired to even check my watch. So there was that. Also, I’ve had another week of exhaustion. I can’t figure it out. The last two weeks I was going strong, even venturing into town for a beer a couple of nights. But, already I’ve had two nights of PASSING OUT by 7pm, and one lunch break nap. I guess I’m still adjusting? People have suggested anemia, chronic fatigue syndrome, and hypoglycemia – all those ‘catch-alls’ - - possible but I doubt it. I’m just trying to go with it – sleeping when I feel tired, and opting out of the extra-curriculars. Oh well. 

 

Actually, we were all talking about this yesterday - how when we first got here we were full of youthful energy - baking, making projects, going on hikes and staying up for one more beer – but how over the past month those things have kind of tapered off due to lack of energy after a day’s work (except the beer drinking:). It’s disappointing to think that we have all of this time and the space to create but it often goes unused. But, when it comes down to it, I am here to learn how to farm – working on my tan, etc., is just a bonus. I think in some ways I am still so used to living with a distinct separation between ‘work’ and ‘real life’. It’s hard to do that here, but I do find myself counting down the hours until lunch sometimes or choosing to forget all things associated with the farm on my days off. And thinking about this now, I realize that this is exactly the opposite of how I want to live my life. I want to be fully immersed and committed to each action I take because it will be meaningful and authentic to who I am and what I want to create in the world. But, I think this will take some time to cultivate, since I’ve spent 27 years dissociating during the hard, boring, in-between moments and maintaining a ‘socially acceptable self’ that was separate from my true self. I see my experience here as being my first step towards integration by living in a way that finally feels more authentic. 

end of the day...

"Seriously, it's June 7th and I'm pulling on my winter coat?!"



Kale in "Quad 1"



So.  It’s Sunday afternoon and I haven’t written a single thing all week.  Well, that’s not exactly true – I spent most of my evenings this week writing an article for the CSA newsletter and countless other hours working on recipe revisions (a bullshit task that I had already spent hours on the first time around.  The nit picking on font size, ‘personalization blurbs’, and more ‘storage tips’ finally breached my tolerance level Friday night, when I tried to knock the rest of it out, and after yet another formatting issue (and a few beers) I had my first real outburst since coming to the farm.  You all know me well enough to know what that looked like… lol… I think I really startled Paul, and definitely woke Lisa who was asleep upstairs.) 

Other than the stress of writing deadlines, the week was enjoyable.  The rain was minimal and we only spent one day of 9 hour hell in the bent-at-waist position (which I can now do two hours of without the urge to howl in pain!)  The hard day was Thursday – after spending the entire 4.5 hour morning weeding we jumped back into it after lunch and then finished the day planting out tomato starts (rolling out plastic, measuring out 18 in. intervals, cutting 4X4 squares in the plastic, digging a six inch hole, sprinkling each hole with bone meal, dropping plants at each site, and then finally putting them in the soil).  After we finished the two beds I seriously almost fainted when Stacey called out for one of us to go get the hoops and set up the row cover… we were far from done. 

We got a talking to from Bill earlier in the week regarding our performance as a group.  Apparently we are slow, compared to past apprentices.  Bill made it clear that we needed to pick it up, especially as harvesting exponentially increases next week and continues on through September.  I laughed out loud when he said:  “Have the occasional chat – you don’t’ need to work in silence… but you can have the chat without staring longingly into each other’s eyes.”  He also warned us that with the upcoming increased workload, there is an increase of stress all-around.  I laughed out loud again when he said:  “…To be honest, I’ll probably bite someone’s head off……(pause 5 seconds)…..and that’ll just be too bad!”  bahahah.  (Hope it’s not me.)

This week we harvested: salad mix, kale, radishes, spinach, and cilantro.  The fields are growing bigger each day, and we’ve cleared out most of South Dakota already.  The salad beds are only used once in a season – this is to assure that nothing wonky happens, since salad mix is Horton’s most profitable and popular crop.  The other beds are tilled and replanted, but with a different crop, preferably in another family of vegetable.  Crop rotation helps the spread of disease and assures that the soil doesn’t get drained out of a particular nutrient. 

This weekend a few of us took a road/camping trip to Canon Beach along the coast of Oregon.  What a relief to not wake up to that damn woodpecker, if only for one night.  The coast is absolutely beautiful – pristine and magical looking.  

Well, that’s all for now.  I’ll be better about writing next week, I promise!



Doin a sampler at the Rogue Brewery in Newport



 

It's June now!

It’s been a fairly easy week – the rainy afternoons have kept us from hoeing which has been a nice reprieve, but come the next sunny day and our bodies will be paying for it! 

Stacy harvesting the first kale of the season!

 

Yesterday we harvested kale -all you do is snap the leaves at the base of the stalk and rubber band them into a hefty bouquet! Ashley made us some ‘massaged kale’ for lunch – raw kale cut into ribbons ‘massaged’ with a little olive oil, lemon juice, and salt! It’s really, really good, you should all try it! The lemon juice breaks down the proteins (as cooking it would) so that the body is able to absorb all of the vitamins and minerals (that are otherwise unabsorbed when eaten raw).

Everything that we harvest goes straight to the ‘packout’ area, where it is ‘watered-in’ (gently sprayed down) until we are ready to wash it. After it is washed, the food is packed into either CSA boxes, wholesale boxes, or boxes to take to the farmer’s market. The veggies for CSA and wholesale are harvested on the morning of the delivery; the farmer’s market veggies are usually harvested a day prior and stored in a walk-in cooler. This means that we are harvesting at least 4 times per week! The goal is to finish all harvesting by 10:00am – this is because: #1. We usually have deliveries to make #2. Harvesting later in the day means the sun is brighter and hotter, which can stress the vegetables, causing them to wilt or decay more rapidly. So far, I enjoy the salad harvest most. I love falling into a rhythm of cutting and moving that feels like a dance or an art of some kind.

The woodpecker is still going strong. I really can’t believe it. I thought for sure that it’d last a few days, maybe a week… but, no. Now I’m starting to think that the ‘brrrrrrrrrap-rap rap rap rap rap rap’ is going to be a relentless echo for the remaining five months of the season. I think we’ve all given up on trying to get rid of it because, really, there is no solution. Bobby can reach out his window and scare it off with a good whack of a broom – but it always comes back. And now there is a new chain of early morning events testing my patience. The bird starts in, ‘brrrrrrrrrap-rap rap rap rap rap rap’, triggering the rooster to doodle-do every thirty seconds - all of which now irritates Ashley’s mammoth great dane into a trance-like response of deep howls. Despite all this, I haven’t once screamed out or attempted to throw a rock up there. I think I may really be changing, and I kind of can’t believe it. 

 

The greenhouse chore is over THANK GOD!! Though, I’ve now moved into the chicken chore, which isn’t much better. Mostly because it’s another twice daily chore (whereas the rest of them are weekly or monthly). But at least I’m getting the bad ones out of the way before the real hard work picks up. But, all I have to do is let the (13) chickens in and out of the coop, feed them, and collect and wash their eggs. Not bad - and it’s a good reminder to me to acknowledge and respect the life energy that produces my breakfast. Yum.