Farming itself is only half of it. The other half is the wild things, and when the two intersect, we get surprises.
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Apple cider, back to school, and color in the leaves. This week sure feels like fall, despite another twelve days of summer on the calendar.
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It has been a week of friends, good food and a surprise window for dry hay. We got so lucky. The remnants of Ida that flooded the downstate area so cruelly brought to us, instead, high pressure, low humidity, and a strong wind.
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We got through what might have been the last of the summer heat. The plants loved it. Animals and farmers, not so much.
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It is indisputably tomato season now. Have you seen the heirlooms? Striped German, German Johnson, Yellow Brandywine and Cherokee purple.
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Four days of intense humidity and high temperatures that held on overnight made for an uncomfortable week here.
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Mark and Miranda and I are back from vacation (Jane is still with her exchange family in France), and it feels very August on the farm now.
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We are away from the farm this week for a family reunion with my mom, my brother and his family.
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An ode to the egg this week, in honor of its moment of perfection and abundance. Egg production, like everything else, is seasonal.
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I’ve been thinking about diversified farms this week, and looking for the roots of the connection between the decay of rural communities and rise of industrial monoculture.
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We got a soft, persistent rain through the night, exactly what we needed to water in forty acres of newly-planted cover crop seed.
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The bands of rain missed us, and we are feeling a little droughty, which makes our workflow easier (fewer weeds growing more slowly, and lots of hay getting made) but isn’t ideal for the growth of plants and forage.
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After that little spring heat wave it got cold again. We narrowly missed a late frost this week, saved by a stiff wind that kept the night air moving.
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The sun got serious this week, with daytime temperatures in the high eighties, and the first hay came in, carrying the dusty green smell of summer before summer has properly arrived.
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We’ve hit the balance point of the growing season, weighing the risk of a late killing frost against the benefit of moving plants to the field.
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A light frost this morning on the grass and fruit blossoms, a dusting on the just-breaking lilacs. I like these days of unpredictable weather, when bouts of rain and chill are interspersed by blue-skied glory.
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Hello spring, hello new life. There has been so much happening here I fell behind on farm notes, so here’s a catchup note along with a promise to deliver more regularly in the future.
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A double-header note this week, the consequence of more lambing hours than desk hours recently.
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The sun was so strong this week the snow cover shrunk from 100% to nothing overnight and the cold water filled the culverts and turned the ditches to rivers, moving from puddle to puddle on every slope.
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Sometimes a story ends in a predictable way but the plot point that gets you there comes out of left field. Mark was away this week, helping his mom and sister.
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