Big changes around the farm - including the introduction of our fifth root.
No sleep 'til November
I hate to admit that you probably could have predicted this, but it’s now August 18th and somehow all of July and half of August vanished before our eyes without a proper blog post. The punishing pace of August harvest has been hot and heavy, and our market schedule gives our weekly rhythm a certain… shall we say… chaotic tempo. My beloved sister left the farm a few weeks ago to move on to the next exciting chapter in her life (San Diego with her boyfriend, where she’ll grow avocados and citrus year round and we’ll live vicariously through her), so we’re back down to 3.5 farmers. With the invaluable help of our favorite neighbors/blueberry pickers, plus one very wonderful Papa Berg (who helps us with our Sunday market every single week like clockwork), we’re barely keeping our heads above water within our five market weekly routine. Each market rush (Thursday, Friday, Saturday x 2, Sunday) is barely over before the harvest for the next one ramps up again.
Not that we’re complaining. Our harvests have been prolific and delicious, and we’re so thankful for the productivity of our land in our first high season on our new farmstead. 500 pounds of eggplants a week leaves us slightly concerned about the structural integrity of our barn floor, but late summer veggies are officially upon us – and so, in order to abide by our strict LLC bylaws, we eat a minimum of one tomato sandwich per person per day. Hot peppers are starting to build heat, tomatoes are rolling in, and tomatillos, okra, and Mexican sour gherkins are the little unusual mysteries that our most adventurous customers bring home with them every week.
We’ve had what feels like an abnormal number of 1,000 degree days, but probably isn’t. When we want to get whiny about our desire to jump forward to sweater weather and snow and a slower pace, we try to remind ourselves and each other about how much we look forward to this steamy and fast-paced season each winter. At no other times of year are the fruits of our labor so literal, so immediate, so present, or so delicious. And the tomato sandwiches really help with the weariness. There’s nothing more nourishing.
Now, for some photos:
In case you're wondering what 450 pounds of eggplants look like, here it is.
Mexican sour gherkins, the surprise hit of 2015!
Turns out the rumors are true! Tomato hornworms glow under blacklight, so this is our new preferred picking method - out after dark, hunting by flashlight, squishing under our boots.
PS – What’s a tomato sandwich, you ask? Good question! A tomato sandwich is very simple and very strict: it’s a slice of bread, then mayo, then a THICK (half inch minimum) slice of a juicy heirloom tomato, then a little sprinkle of salt and pepper. Nothing more and nothing less. If you’re doing it the way my father taught me was the only way, the bread is required to be a fat slice of white Italian bread from the Columbus Bakery in downtown Syracuse. But, assuming you don’t live in Syracuse, another type of flaky, crusty, chewy Italian bread will have to do.
(If it has basil on it? Sounds delicious, but not a tomato sandwich. What about a little cheese? Yes, we also like cheese with our tomatoes sometimes, but sorry, it’s not a tomato sandwich.)
A Fruitful June
Among the many chaotic, productive, and wonderful things developing on the farm right now, the weather is one thing that seems to be settling into a rhythm. We’ve had some nice rain, some cool nights, some hot and sunny days. After a May that felt like desert August, June has felt much more like June.
The one exception to our seasonal June weather was a wild storm that barreled through the countryside last week, with huge wind and deafening rain that left many trees down in our area and some of our neighbors without power or internet. Though the plants in the field were battered and wind-blown, and though we had to repair a small section of the brand new blueberry trellis, we were otherwise spared any major damage. We suspect that the low pressure system carried with it some weird energy though, because the rest of last week was spent fixing broken things - among them the air conditioner that keeps our cooler at 42 degrees (thanks Provider Farm for allowing us to throw some stuff in your cooler while we got it fixed!).
As you know if you’ve read our blog in the past, my amazing Gucker family rarely shows up without an adventurous and vaguely scary plan to build something or take something down, and last weekend was no exception. The weekend’s agenda was to cut down the giant dead spruce tree that has leaning precariously out over the uphill corner of the house since we bought it, because the last thing we need is a tree falling on the most ancient corner of our ancient house. So, with absolute calm and competence, my brother strapped on his rock climbing harness and climbed the tree, cutting it down limb by limb. Once he had reached the top and found a good place to cut the trunk, he tied off his rope just below the cut line and chopped off the top third with my dad on the ground pulling it in the direction we wanted it to fall (away from the house!). It was a very impressive feat that they, of course, made look easy. The photos really say it all, but just to reiterate, my brother is a total badass. Then my equally badass sister and stepmother burned the entire tree in a giant bonfire, killing an inconceivable number of nasty caterpillars along the way. In the pouring rain. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: we’d be lost without you, Guckers. Thank you!
And then, at the end of the weekend, the most amazing thing happened. Lindsay, my all star farmer sister, STAYED HERE. And is staying here until the end of July! Having her here for part of the summer is invaluable to the farm, and such an amazing gift to me. Long summer days with my sister is the stuff that dreams are made of.
In recent weeks we’ve been blessed with an unexpected and delicious surprise. Our fruit trees and bushes have absolutely exploded with ripe fruit with an intensity we could not have predicted. Our low expectations for how productive they were going to be were mediated by their craggly limbs and old age (some of the trees were planted in the 1950s!) but boy were we wrong. The mulberry tree is covered in so many ripe mulberries that we don’t even worry about sharing with the birds, the concord grape vines are laden with tiny green grapes, and the wild black raspberries are ripening daily. Our 70 mature blueberry bushes have started to ripen the first few unbelievably delicious blueberries, which we have downright refused to share. Pretty soon we’ll be overwhelmed with so many blueberries that we will be ready to bring them to market and leave them on neighbors doorsteps, but for now we’re hoarding them all for ourselves. Besides turning our fingers and teeth blue eating them fresh by the quart, we’ve also achieved the ultimate luxury in celebration of Elise’s 30th birthday: blueberry pie. In June. With our very own organic blueberries. It may have been the most delicious pie we’ve ever eaten.
All that being said, our cherry tree deserves special mention. When we started to notice that the spindly old tree was covered in giant rainier cherries, and that they were turning red and tasted absolutely delicious, we were eager to share them with our beloved next door neighbors who grew up on our property. But when we excitedly told Peggy that the cherries had started ripening, she was shocked – apparently that tree has only produced fruit one other year since it was planted 40 years ago. It’s a mystery, but her working theory is that her parents are dancing around the orchard on the spring breezes, happy to see us setting down roots on their ancient farmstead. With full hearts we will gratefully accept the blessing, and are honored to be the recipients of such a delicious and positive omen about the years to come.
On Droughts and Wishing For Rain
In the three weeks since our last post the landscape of our farm has changed so much. It’s a totally different place, almost unrecognizable. We waited and waited for spring to come, and it seemed like we might wait forever, but then the season exploded overnight and we woke up to a green and verdant wonderland. Now that the trees are lush and thick with leaves the farm feels like the secluded and protected spot that we fell in love with way back in September of last year. When you’re up in the field, far from the road and deep in the woods, it’s easy to imagine that you’re the only person on earth.
The azalea bushes around the house have been blooming in otherworldly florescent shades of pink and red that glow in the moonlight. The pond is murky and dark under the heavy shade of the surrounding trees, which lean out over the water and gaze at their own reflections in the still water. On a warm and still evening the peeper frogs are so deafening that we have to close the windows in order to hear each other talk. We’ve eaten asparagus every day for the last three weeks (not an exaggeration, actually), and our meals are getting greener and greener as the harvests start their rapid acceleration towards summer.
It would all be totally dreamy and wonderful if we hadn’t also been saddled with a bizarre spring drought that left us without a single drop of water for 27 days straight. The forecast called for rain a few days ago and we awoke in the morning to the tiniest little precipitation event – it stopped after raining a measly 0.1 inches, and we were so disappointed. We’d been counting on that rain! But then! After a foggy and humid day with no suggestion of what was to come, an unexpected thunderstorm rolled in just before bed and it torrentially rained for a delicious half hour. Hallelujah. We’ll need more where that came from, but it’s a great start.
Because of the season and the weather, activity on the farm has been 100% focused on two things – planting and irrigation, tasks of equal priority but conflicting needs. The timing of planting seedlings out in the field has been a delicate balancing act between when they want to leave their trays and when they’re big enough to not die in the unseasonably hot dusty midday sun. The challenge of irrigation has been making do with the infrastructure that we’ve got until our grant funding comes through to dig an irrigation well. Poor Aaron has had to rig up an increasingly complicated series of systems for getting water all the way from the house well to the furthest corner of the field as we’ve gotten increasingly desperate. On any given day he can be found moving pumps, rerouting hoses, refilling gas tanks, running extension cords, checking pressure – all in the service of keeping our baby plants alive until the rain arrives. Good thing he’s a problem solving genius.
All that being said, it’s been a very productive few weeks – the bees are filling their brood boxes, the tomato tunnels are assembled with the tomatoes all snuggled up inside, the flowers, cucurbits, and potatoes are in the field, our markets are starting up, and the perennial garden is full of seedlings. Peppers, eggplants, and another round of greens are getting planted this week before the (supposed) rain on the horizon. No rest for the weary.
Late April
This spring, our first on new land, feels especially energizing because we’re learning and developing new things every day. In addition to our regular spring tasks – endless bed prep and endless seeding in the greenhouse – we’ve also learned how to prune our prolific 40-year-old blueberry bushes (thanks to the patient teachings of our next door neighbor, who grew up in our house and has pruned the blueberries for decades), how to effectively use our new BCS tractor, and how to establish and care for our new bee hives. It seems only fitting to be undertaking so many new projects on our new farm, and we’re proud to announce our recent organic certification from Baystate Organic Certifiers. You can read a more detailed explanation of our growing practices here, but we’re very excited to finally be certified organic!
After what felt like a deep and endless winter, spring has been announcing her arrival in lots of creative ways lately. We have been eagerly expecting the budding of our magnolia tree, the blooming of the daffodils, and the sprouting of our rhubarb patch, but we didn’t know to expect the raging thunderstorm we got last week that pummeled us with driving rain and bitter cold winds for 24 hours. We all woke up in the middle of the night to bright lightening and deafening thunder, and wondered if it was raining inside the house (it wasn’t, thank god). By the time it finally stopped we had gotten 2.5 INCHES of rain. That’s a lot of rain, even for an August thunderstorm, let alone in mid April. Of course the storm hit us the day after I’d gotten our first two beehives set up, and I spent the evening of the storm outside in yellow rubber rain gear trying to shelter the hives from the rain and wind, certain that all 20,000 bees were going to die. Bees are resilient though - over the course of last week they completely recovered and are happily getting their combs established while they wait for the pollen to come in.
With the patient and tireless help of our #1 favorite tractor guy, Jon Hubbard, we have plowed and harrowed one of our two fields. Elise feels superstitious about even so much as saying the work ‘rock’ (what if they are hiding? what if they all sneak in one night while we’re sleeping?!), but I will say that so far we’re very happy with what we’ve uncovered. It seems that our southern field is composed of nice deep topsoil and a completely manageable number of rocks. PHEW.
We are very lucky to have an amazingly talented artist and architect friend, Tessa Kelly (her etsy shop is here), who carves the most beautiful stamps by hand – we were so delighted when she agreed to carve our new logo for use on all our signage. She used sketches of a baby kale leaf that we gave her in a bag of salad mix last year as the inspiration for the leaf on our new logo, and we love it. Thanks Tessa!
Spring Drags Her Feet
This may seem obvious in hindsight but, as it happens, the coldest February in recent memory was not a charming time to move to a house that was built 168 years before the start of the Civil War. There was a blizzard on the day that we packed and drove the truck full of everything we own to our new home, and then blizzards every day after that for weeks. Literally one hour after we finished unpacking the truck, a cast iron radiator exploded and flooded an entire room of the house with steaming black water. Later that week our entire heating system predictably froze as the temperatures flirted with fifteen below, and we had to pay a plumber great sums of money to come rescue us from certain death. The snow came off the roof and piled high, blocking some of the windows. Even once the heating system was back up and running and our woodstove was installed, we struggled to keep the oldest part of the house (our bedrooms) above 40 degrees. Then, as we desperately scrambled to stay warm, our contractor had an epic meltdown and we were left with half a bathroom, no kitchen, and no contractor. It’s been a long six weeks.
But as the weather has slowly started to turn around (ever so painfully slowly), as the days have slowly started to lengthen, and as we’ve slowly made progress on rebuilding our kitchen and bathroom, things are starting to look up. We go back to the photos of the house before we started the renovation and realize that we have made real progress. A few patches of snowdrops have bloomed around the house, there is a family of ducks living on the recently-iceless pond, and the skunk cabbage are sprouting their alien heads everywhere in the bog across the street. Last night, for the first time this season and seemingly all at once, the peepers were out in full force – music to our cold winter ears. I think we can now safely say that we survived until spring, and by next winter we’ll be ready.
Though spring is really dragging her feet, we’re also already in the midst of the familiar full scale spring ramp-up in outdoor activity. All of a sudden the to-do list is a mile long, and is especially daunting because we’re establishing much of our infrastructure from scratch this season on our new land. Now that the ground is starting to thaw, we have to rebuild our high tunnels, plan for our new irrigation system, and rebuild our cooler. The heated greenhouse, though, is already overflowing with trays – thousands of baby seedlings are thousands of little promises about what’s to come, and we whisper gentle and encouraging words to them daily.
Watching the snow melt during this unseasonably late winter has been a great way for us to observe our new microclimate in East Haddam. We still have patches of dry crusty hard-packed snow around the fields, and we’ve estimated that we’re going to be at least two weeks behind the season we were accustomed to in Woodbridge. We’re turning over the fields in the next two weeks so that we can start the long process of making new beds from scratch, and are excited to finally see what we’ve got under there. Thank goodness we already have the toasty high tunnel packed with spring greens and carrots and hakurei turnips for our early markets. Counting the days!
AND we have one other very exciting ACRE announcement! Last weekend, after months of grueling training throughout the entire brutal winter, our very own Rachel ran her first marathon in celebration of her 30th birthday. We are very proud of her totally baller time (3:54:58!) and of the fact that she was the 17th woman to finish the race. What an amazing way to kick off the season!
January - Four Root Farm
First of all, the big announcement! We named our new farm!
It's been quite a process to try to find a name that we feel connected to, that is about us and what we're building, and that equally describes our connection to our new place and to each other. I would be lying if I told you we had a list with anything less than literally one hundred options on it. Many of them are puns (if you've ever met Rachel Berg, you'll know what I mean), many of them are names of things we like to eat, and an embarrassing number of them are related to Friday Night Lights. We've been circling our top choices for the last few weeks, and have finally landed on a name that resonates deeply with us.
Welcome to the world, FOUR ROOT FARM. We're happy that you were born.
It seems like it's been both an impossibly long time and an impossibly brief blink since we became farm owners! It's actually been five weeks, but it feels like it's been five days - five immeasurably long days during which we've aged five years minimum. I think we're still getting over the fact that we did, in fact, sign on the dotted line to buy our farm, yet it somehow also feels like it has been ours forever. Suffice it to say, the joy and wonder haven't worn off.
Here's what we've been up to:
House renovations have been inching along, slow and steady. We've uncovered 323 years of little mysteries as we've peeled back the many layers of our ancient house, but nothing that was too much more dramatic than we were expecting. Tree trunks for floor joists, hand-wrought nails that predate modern wire nails or cut nails, almost a century's worth of mouse-bedding in the kitchen ceiling. In some places the exterior walls didn't even have an air cavity, let alone studs. The horror. We found a stash of empty seed packets from the 1950s in the kitchen ceiling - apparently even our resident mice are farmers! Not yet found: the elusive right angle. There's got to be one somewhere, right?
We spent New Years eve on the farm with almost all of our siblings and their partners (fun fact: A, C, R, & E are all oldest siblings, and we have eight younger siblings among us), which was a peaceful and joyous way to usher in our first year on the new land. We made a big bonfire, used tarps for bathroom walls, and drank spiked hot cocoa to stay warm. My brother built a barely-structural bridge over barely-frozen ice so that we could colonize our island before the new year, which we did. No one fell in.
Crop planning is in high gear. The dining room table has been piled high with stacks of seed catalogues for weeks as we plan our 2015 season (spoiler alert: hold your horses, but we're going to be back with our same insane variety next season, and have settled somewhere around 200 vegetable varieties and 150 flower varieties). There are many spreadsheets. Mapping new fields from scratch has been both refreshing and overwhelming for the same reason - starting on brand new, wide open, fallow fields allows us to experiment with new systems and try new techniques, but also means that we'll be living with (or suffering through revising) our decisions for a long time to come.
Crop planning an entire farm in four days ain't pretty, but it's fun.
2015 CSA registration is open and filling up fast, so click over here for more information about how to sign up!
