A Season of Giving

From when we first started selling the vegetables we grew, it was always a goal of ours to grow for everyone who wanted our products.

It's no secret that good produce, grown organically in healthy soil, often comes with a higher price tag at retail. 

There is a reason for that. Human scale agriculture that puts quality over quantity requires more human work hours to achieve. Small farms like ours do not benefit from the economics of scale that large commercial producers enjoy. 

Our produce costs more. But it is better. Better for you, better for the community and better for the environment. 

Often the people who need good, nutrient-rich vegetables the most are those who can't afford them.

We grow for the community. And those who are in need of help, whether they are on a fixed income, or sick, or have fallen on hard times, are a part of our community, too.

Last year, we began our Community Funded CSA. 

With the help of the Country Pantry and our customers who donated, we were able to provide four families with fresh produce every week throughout the 2024 growing season. 

If you gave last year, THANK YOU! 

It's a small dent in filling a large need within our community but it's a first step that we hope to build on more and more. 

The holiday season is a special time and the magical feeling that comes with it comes from giving. 

Our donation page is open. If you are able to give this year, we will stretch every cent of your gift into growing more food for those in need. 

If not, please share this message with someone who may be able to help. 

Every little bit counts. Many hands make light work and helpful hands build communities. 

As always, thank you for your support of our farm, your interest in what we do, and your dedication to healthy food and a healthy community. 

Merry Christmas. 

—Allie and John

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Fast Food and Loathing on the Campaign Trail

I was listening to an interview with one of the major political candidates this election and they were describing what it's like being on the campaign trail.

It went something like this:

"It's rough. You know, it's Chick-fil-A for breakfast, Subway for lunch, some other fast food for dinner..." 

Gross, I thought.

That would get old, expensive and disgusting really quickly. Then, as I thought more about it, I wondered if diet, having to cram in a Big Mac here and a Cheesy Gorditia Crunch there, in between phone calls with foreign leaders and photo-ops with the working class, is one of the contributing factors why sitting presidents seem to age so much during their term in office. 

Fast food is a staple in the USA. Our sweet land of liberty is littered with Whopper wrappers and soda fountain straws and it is in fryer grease and combo meals that we now trust. 

These corporate eateries are so important that politicians are now making visiting them into full-fledged press events. Whether it's President Trump making a spectacle salting fries at the drive-thru or Douglas Emhoff teaching Beto O'Rourke his two-thirds Diet Coke, one-third regular Coke recipe at Whataburger, the message is clear and bipartisan. America supports fast food!

The few, the proud, the McDonald's!

With a healthy (heh!) lead, heart disease maintains its title as the number one cause of death in this country, so why not celebrate the very establishments that supply the unhealthy diet in order to make it possible?

"Why don't they just walk into the Marlboro factory and light up?" asked comedian Tim Dillon when commenting on this recent fast food campaign trend. 

Would I rather the political candidates make time to stop by a real organic farm or shop at one or two farmers markets along the way? Sure! (Local and state-level politicians actually do. I’ve seen many, from both sides of the aisle, at our markets. Washington hopefuls should take note!) 

Do I blame them for not? Eh.

Sure, it's not a great look if you supporting anything close to a healthy population, which clearly they are not. But showing up to fast food places with cameras is a strategic political move. Simply because fast food is relatable to the public. 

Sad. But true. 

There are over 200,000 fast food restaurants in the U.S. That's about one fast food restaurant for every 1,600 people. (I hope I did that math right!) So... A lot of people are eating it. Thirty-seven percent of American adults, in fact, eat it on any given day. 

That's not everyone, of course. More and more people are choosing to eat healthy, unprocessed food as they become more informed. But that's still a big chunk of the voting demographic who isn't. Relatable.

I don't have any issues with fast food restaurants existing. In a pinch or from time-to-time as a treat, whatever. (We used to have birthday parties in the caboose behind our McDonald's!) Americans should be free to eat whatever they'd like, even if it is killing them over the long term or, in some cases as we just saw, more immediately. 

But whether it's pushing for better ingredients, banning additives allowed by the FDA or just educating citizens more about simple, good food, politicians can do better. They have the platform and the power to do more than celebrate the status quo. I wish they would. 

Be sure to vote this week. 

It's a long fight to get mainstream America interested and excited about healthy, local, chemical-free food. "Slow food." But it's a fight worth having. Four years from now, when we do this election thing again, maybe the candidates will have traded in their large fries and double cheeseburgers for salads and roasted squash.

—John

Food, The Remake

It has been a long time since we've been to the movies. What was once a sacred event growing up, sometimes even a birthday party outing with friends, has fallen by the wayside with the help of busy schedules and easy at-home streaming options. 

But Allie and I got a chance to see the new Beetlejuice movie last week. We loved the original and, as a longtime Tim Burton fan, I had high hopes.

It was fun. Silly. Chaotic. Weird. With nods back to what made the original movie so good. 

Whether it's Beetlejuice, Jurassic Park, Star Wars, Ghostbusters, Godzilla or even Twister, Hollywood loves a sequel. And a remake. It's not purely nostalgic. It's an easy money grab for studios with an audience already built into the property. 

But it is nice every once in a while to look back. To remember the good times, the things that worked well, and to maybe bring some of them back for another spin.

In recent decades, the food industry doesn't do a whole lot of looking back. Instead, it's tended more toward the ways of the tech world: Make as much product as it can, as cheap and as addictive as it can be . 

Social media, video games, apps, artificial intelligence are the not-so-distant cousins of McDonald's, chemical fertilizers, and processed food. Their family reunions are wild!

When you approach agriculture like this, things happen. Food is cheap. Awesome! Americans have more money to spend on other things. And we are producing plenty of it. But health suffers. The health of the people consuming the food and the health of the soil that produces it. 

I was listening to Eliot Coleman, a pioneer of the modern-day organic movement, talking about the current state of food production in America. Soil health and eaters' health are what guide his work in growing vegetables today, but that isn't really a new, revolutionary concept. Not even for this country.

He mentioned the 1938 USDA Yearbook, titled "Soils and Men." The forward, by then Secretary of Agriculture Henry Wallace, starts:

"The earth is the mother of us all — plants, animals, and men. The phosphorus and calcium of the earth build our skeletons and nervous systems. Everything else our bodies need except air and sun comes from the earth."

The purpose of the 1,200-page document, Wallace describes is to "discover man's debt and duty to the soil."

Forty years later in the 1970s, with Secretary of Agriculture Earl Butz now at the helm, the USDA had changed its game plan, urging farmers to "plant fence row to fence row" and to "get big, or get out" in order to supply food factories with the cheap inputs they needed to feed the growing middle class.

That mantra has carried us to the food system of today, with scienctific and technological advances only furthering the cause. Meanwhile our soils, our health and our culture is suffering.

Let's take a cue from Hollywood. It's about time food gets a remake. 

A return to the 1938 classic where Earth, not industry, was our mother, where flavors came from the nutrients in our produce and meats and not from the dust on a Dorito, where meals were had at the dinner table and not while driving to the office, and where farmers gave more to their soils than what they gave in return.

It's a big wish. And many of the statements from current Agriculture Secretary Tom Vilsack (a Hamilton College grad) do give me hope. 

But I think that remake would make for a great movie, and an even greater future for our country. Maybe Michael Keaton can star in it. 

—John

The Farmer Needs No Ice Breaker

Earlier this summer, probably late spring, I was driving up Post Street on the way to our greenhouse. It was a sunny, calm day and one of the large fields on the way up had just been hayed. The first cut of the year.

The large, sprawling field was as tidy as a soccer field with a spotted grid of square bales waiting to be loaded. These were the large, dining room table-sized bales, too. The kind you would need a machine to pick up. And sitting on one near the road were two girls, maybe middle school age, facing each other, having a conversation. No phones. Just talking. 

It was a nice image, an image that contrasted the AI-powered, Twitterbot-populated, endless scroll world that we call home now. 

Farming jobs sure seem to bring out the conversationalists in all of us. Haying a field on a small farm, where the task of cutting, baling and moving the harvest requires a lot of hands, is often a large family affair with everyone chipping in. A couple of people on the wagon stacking incoming bales. Another group finishing meal prep for lunch break. Maybe some younger kids climbing and playing nearby. Think of the gossip and stories shared between bale tosses and hamburger bites.

I see it on our farm, too. People get chatty when it comes to farm work. Last week, when our family members came together to harvest our garlic, there was very little downtime. Neither with the work nor the conversations. And that's a good thing.

The job seems to go by easier when you have someone with you to help and to talk to. With your hands busy your mind is free to ponder and discuss the recent current events (yikes, there's been a lot), the weather, family news, conspiracy theories, local politics, business strategies, recipes, and the new Nicolas Cage horror movie that everyone's talking about.

It's a refreshing kind of talk and it seems to come easy. Maybe it's because your guard is down with your focus on the whatever task is at hand that the words just pour out. Maybe we feel compelled to fill the silence with an announcement of our existence. Maybe, with our eyes pulled off away from our screens for once, we can finally reach out and pluck the thing that we have been trying to grasp all along. 

Real human connection. It's important thing. And growing food locally, along with all of its environmental, nutritional and sustainable attributes, seems to provide that for us, too.

Don't believe me? At your next business, family or friend gathering where people are meeting for the first time, or conversation can be awkward, consider providing a hay bale. Go to your local farmer and purchase a bale from them. 

Stick your bale in the living room or prop it up next to the charcuterie board. People will wonder, "Why is there a hay bale in the middle of your house?" They may sit on it, or set drinks on it, or smell it, but they will surely talk about it. And laugh about it. And tell stories later on about that party they went to with the hay bale. "That was weird," they'll say. "That was the greatest party ever."

Farming connects people with people and hay bales are great conversation starters.

—John

Reflecting on Spring

I haven't done a blog in a while and there's a reason for that. Spring. It has been a series of long, challenging weeks at the start of the season and by the time the weekend rolls around, our bodies and our minds are running on fumes.

This has been our fourth spring of real farming production and it has been, by far, the most challenging. I've been telling people that it feels like we've been working twice as hard and getting half as much done.

And I'm really not sure why. It's likely a combination of many things.

We're growing more. In an effort to offer more produce to the local area you are growing more of it. We've added new crops and increased quantities on the items our regular customers know and love.

We're too spread out. We're currently growing in a total of five different locations. Each garden is not within walking distance of the other and each has its own unique soil, watering system and pest prevention protocols. That leads to a lot of running around and putting out fires. A lot of wasted time.

We're subject to the weather. Even when the weather is perfect, it's not perfect for what you're doing. We had a wet spring and a June heat wave and nothing seemed to land in our favor. When we needed to germinate seeded field crops it was dry. When we needed to be working the soil and prepping beds it was wet. I'm sure I'm preaching to the choir to all the area farmers on this one.

We're developing a new farm. In an effort to grow our business and become more efficient, we are developing the growing space around our greenhouse on Gridley Paige Road. This will be our main headquarters in the future and our main farm for production. What comes with that is a laundry list of projects: building beds, running irrigation, fencing... A lot of the fall work that didn't get done in 2023 got pushed to this spring when there already isn't enough time for everything on our shoulders.

We're too hard on ourselves. This is one Allie reminds me all the time. Our standards for the products we produce are high and difficult, often impossible, to achieve with a small crew and restricting circumstances. I often judge myself on the standards of the farm I see us being in three to five years and not the farm we are today. It's easy to become discouraged.

I'm not afraid of the hard work involved. It's the long days pushing yourself only to find you’re further behind from where you started that chisel away at your spirit.

Has it made us want to quit? No. It's more of a mental struggle for me. Why is this so hard? This shouldn't be this hard. Why can't we be better? I know what needs to happen. Why can't we make it happen?

Focus on the positives. We're growing food! Summer crops are maturing and we have a hefty stock of fall crops on the way. The greens look great. We have tomatoes in June! We're bolstering our efforts on our core customer base at the Clinton Farmers Market and we're able to give food to the Country Pantry. The CSA is humming. Our well is not dry. We are not dead!

This thing called farming is a voluntary struggle. And it's a growing year for the business with growing pains. We're figuring out the systems that it takes in order to bring good, healthy food to our customers—to make our community more self-reliant and vibrant.

As growers, we're fighting for a different kind of independence this holiday week. We want an independence from the industrial food system—the status quo of unsustainably grown, unsustainably transported, nutrient-lacking and often-processed food. We can do better and we should do better. It's a goal worth fighting for and worth struggling through.

That's our purpose. That's why we keep pushing.

—John

Broccoli For Breakfast

Breakfast seems to be getting a lot of attention lately. Does anyone else keep hearing about it?

Jerry Seinfeld took a crack at the topic with his new movie about Pop-Tarts. "Unfrosted" examines the cutthroat worlds of two breakfast cereal giants in the 1960s through a comedic lens. But, when you start looking into where our modern version of the day's first meal came from, it's truly bizarre. So bizarre, in fact, that a comedy film might just be the only way to do it justice.

Start with cereal. Corn Flakes. They were originally invented by Dr. John Harvey Kellogg to dissuade American consumers from engaging in sin.

"I am not after the business,” he is quoted as saying. “I am after the reform.”

And then there's the issue of breakfast as "the most important meal of the day." Says who?

Says Kellogg. The popular phrase stems from a marketing slogan from around the same time cereal was beginning its dynasty as an American breakfast table standard.

We recently saw yet another attempt by the Kellogg machine to further control your meal planning with its failed campaign to push cereal as an affordable dinner option for families dealing with rising food costs.

Healthy and cheap!

If breakfast truly is the most important meal of the day, common sense would have you at least rethink your menu choices. A bowl of processed grains? Maybe a piece of buttered toast on the side?

X/Fangs.Up

In an interview I heard a while back, comedian Zarna Garg talked about feeding her kids steamed broccoli every day before school. Brainfood, I believe was her reasoning.

An initial reaction? That sounds insane! Eating anything green before noon is a wild thought. Breakfast is beige. Period. Maybe sometimes a little yellow thrown in for egg yokes, sure. Sugar? Yes. Vegetables? No way. C'mon. This is America after all!

But, alas, we've all been fooled by the world of corporate marketing.

In fact, up until the late 19th century, before Big Cereal and Big Bacon came around, breakfast was up to whatever you were feeling. Usually, whatever you had left over from the night before.

So, of course Zarna Garg is right. A bowl of broccoli is a better choice than a bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch.

Can you dig it? Can your kids dig it?

Well, that's the real challenge now. We're probably going to need a century of clever ad campaigns, a boardroom of broccoli lobbyists, a cartoon mascot, and maybe then we can sell this one.

But, really. Trust your common sense. Eat right. All day long.

—John

Lessons From a Squirrel - Part 2

Michael Nerrie/Flickr

I brought the squirrels back to the house and got to work trying to find them a new home. I put the kits in a basement room that the cats couldn't get into. I set up a heat plate with some water and got them comfortable per the suggestions on the internet. (We were oddly prepared for this having raised chickens from chicks in the past.)

Next, also per the internet's guidance, I started contacting local wildlife rescues. And, I must say, these people are super responsive considering it was almost 9 p.m. that evening. 

The first person I got in touch with was a bust. "I only take raccoons," she said. 

But she gave me the number of another woman in the area that could help. The squirrel lady. I gave her a call and she picked up halfway into me leaving a message on her machine. 

"Are their eyes open?"

"Yes."

"What color are they?"

"Squirrel color. Gray. Redish."

We made plans for me to drop them off the next morning. It was actually a pretty easy exchange. She told me they were red squirrels, both males, and thanked me for helping them. 

So, I don't know. What does this all mean? What did we learn from the event?

For one, I learned that helping wildlife isn't as crazy as it may seem. There really are people out there that do take in injured and orphaned animals if you find yourself in a similar situation to me—heart strings pulling at you like a runaway wagon. 

On a deeper note, I can't avoid the metaphor here.

Asking for help is tough. On the farm, it's especially hard for me. I have a particular way of doing things. If you want something done right, you've got to do it yourself. It's easier for me to do it myself than teach you how. Blah, blah, blah...

I battle with this a lot. To my own and the farm's own detriment sometimes. I'm a perfectionist. There, I said it.

But, what I have to admit, whenever I do ask for help despite my inner protests, is that things get done. Things move forward. Many hands make light and all that jazz...

The end result might not be perfect. But, overall, it really is better than what I could do on my own. Farming isn't a perfect system. It's a system of constant perfecting. And, when you focus too much on the little details, you miss the big picture of what you're trying to accomplish. It's too much to do on your own. It really is. You've got to ask for help sometimes.

Two newborn squirrels skip up to a skyscraper-sized human mammal and ask for a place to crash for the night. Imagine the apprehension they had to overcome in order to ask for some help that day. But, despite the impeding odds and mental logic, they did it. And they're better off because of it. So, if they can do it, I guess I can, too.

—John

Lessons From a Squirrel - Part 1

A squirrel follows us on a dog walk.

OK, so... Every night, it has become part of the routine to go for a dog walk. Our dog, Murphy, jumps in the truck with me and we set off on our evening ritual. We close up caterpillar tunnels, lock the greenhouse, tuck in chickens and plants for the night and set off on a stroll to wind down the day.

This past week, I believe it was Monday, we were on the early side. I had planned on doing a project before bed when we got home so I got a head start on the mandatory walk. (Murphy is very good at guilt-tripping if you try and skip a night walk—his second of the day—and I try to avoid the shame.)

It was still light out when we came around a bend in the path. Something over my shoulder caught my eye and I looked back. It was a baby squirrel, fit-in-your-palm-size small, with another one just behind it. They stumbled out of the grass onto the walkway, stopped and stared up at me, as if to pose for a picture.

"Oh, that's cute," I thought.

I took out my phone and got a couple shots and off I went on my way. The baby squirrels had other plans. They followed us, first at a walk, then a jog. Murphy, somehow, thankfully, hadn't spotted them yet. They were tiny after all.

"This is weird," I thought, now starting to get concerned. I needed to get away from them. One, so they didn't get lost from where they came from. And two, so the dog didn't see what I was seeing and they became an appetizer for the kibble waiting in his bowl at home.

In a harried decision, I thought the best course of action was to beat a hasty retreat. Murphy and I sprinted. As fast and as far as it took for their little legs and spirits to give up on trying to follow us.

When we were clear enough away I looked back to see them stopped, the one in front watching us disappear, the one behind looking to its sibling with worry. They were lost.

In the time it took to finish our walk, I had researched on my phone what the heck that encounter was all about. In short, no, this is not normal behavior. Duh. They were lost. Orphaned most likely.

Wildlife experts refer to orphaned squirrels that follow humans as "pant tuggers." They don't know enough to fear humans or larger animals. So, in search of food and warmth, they follow and even climb up onto you. A last desperate plea.

The weather forecast was scheduled to get below freezing that night. By the time Murph and I got back to the truck it was already pretty chilly. It was getting dark now, too. As we sat there and I started the engine, I thought, "Well, that's nature. Best not to interfere." And, "Their mom has likely already rounded them up. She's probably reading them a bedtime story right now and scolding them for running off on their own. Yeah, I'm sure they're just fine."

But, of course, my conscience got the better of me.

Looking back, it was like that scene in No Country For Old Men, when Llewelyn is lying in bed thinking about the man he left stranded in the desert, with no "agua." He can't sleep, gets out of bed, fills a gallon jug with water and sets off into the night to find him.

Crap. I was having a Llewelyn moment.

I drove over to where we left the squirrels, found them shivering in the middle of the path, tossed them a Tupperware tote and drove home with them.

Great. Now what?

To be continued…

—John

Blooming Wisdom: 5 Lessons that Tulips Have Taught Me

The sun sets on our field-grown tulips.

If you can believe it, field-grown tulip season has arrived. This is only my third season growing tulips, and each season has brought on its own successes and challenges. My first year, I was struck with beginners luck and had an abundant harvest. But the second year was nothing short of humbling after I experienced a complete crop failure. This year, my tulips are thriving. The cool temperatures and consistent rain have kept them happy and the stems strong. Whether you’re a seasoned grower or a hobby gardener, tulip season is highly anticipated and welcomed — and we can all learn from them. These are five invaluable lessons that tulips have taught me:

1. Resilience: Tulips are resilient, weathering storms and harsh conditions with grace. Despite facing adversity, they stand tall and bloom brightly, showcasing their strength. In life (and in farming), we encounter several challenges and setbacks. But like the tulip, we can persevere and thrive in the face of adversity. By embracing resilience, we can navigate through life's storms and emerge stronger than ever.

2. Embracing Change: Tulips are synonymous with the arrival of spring, signaling the end of winter. Their emergence from the cold earth reminds us of the beauty and inevitability of change. Just as tulips eagerly embrace the changing seasons, we too must learn to embrace change in our lives. Change brings growth, new opportunities and the chance for renewal. By embracing change, we can adapt and flourish in an ever-evolving world.

3. The Beauty of Diversity: Tulips come in a kaleidoscope of colors, shapes, and sizes, each one unique and captivating in its own way. Their diversity is a testament to the beauty of variety in nature. Likewise, in society, diversity enriches our lives and broadens our perspectives. Embracing diversity fosters understanding, empathy, and appreciation for the uniqueness of every individual.

4. Living in the Moment: Tulips have a fleeting beauty, blooming for only a short period. Their nature serves as a reminder to live in the present moment and cherish each fleeting second. In a world filled with distractions and worries about the future, the tulip teaches us to pause, appreciate the beauty around us, and savor the present moment.

5. Rest and Renewal: After blooming, perennial tulips enter a period of dormancy, where they gather strength for the next cycle of growth. This period of rest allows them to replenish their energy and prepare for next season. Similarly, in our own lives, we must recognize the importance of rest and renewal. Taking time to recharge allows us to gain strength for the busy growing season ahead.

As we walk through life, take time to draw inspiration from the tulips and bloom brightly. Here’s to a beautiful and bountiful spring ahead!

— Allie

A Chicken's Guide to a Total Solar Eclipse

If you are a chicken and you are wondering what to do in the rare event you are caught in the path of totality during a solar eclipse, then rest assured. You have come to the right place.

What is a solar eclipse?

A solar eclipse is a giant shadow caused when the Moon's orbit crosses paths with the Sun. The Moon gets in between the Sun and the Earth causing it to block the Sun's light and for things to go dark for a few moments on Earth.

What is the Sun?

That giant glowy thing in the sky. It comes out every day letting you know to get up and go look for food.

What is the Earth?

The thing you stand on.

What is the Moon?

Another thing in the sky. Don't worry about it. You're a chicken. You don't need to know.

When will this happen?

Monday, April 8. In the afternoon, around 3 p.m.

Got it. I will mark it on the calenda... Oh, I see a worm. Nice. I will eat it.

Wait. Don't you want to know what to do during the eclipse?

(Chewing) The what?

The solar eclipse. The thing we were talking about!

Oh, right. The eclipse. What is the Moon?

Don't worry about the Moon!

What will happen for the eclipse?

The world will go dark for a few minutes and then go back to light.

If it goes dark we go to the coop.

You don't have to go to the coop during the eclipse. It's only for a few minutes.

So don't go to the coop when it's dark?

Well, still go to the coop at night when it's dark.

Right. Go to the coop when it's dark. But also don't go to the coop when it's dark. Got it!

At night dark go to the coop. Not solar eclipse dark.

How will I know the difference?

You probably won't.

Sounds confusing. Oh, I see another worm!

The important thing is to remain calm. It will only last a few minutes. Some of the other chickens might panic and be scared. But it's really nothing that can hurt you. This event is a once in a lifetime, especially your lifetime...

What?!

Sorry. Nevermind. The point is this is a very big deal. It's a very special thing that very rarely happens. Try to enjoy it!

Will there be worms at the eclipse?

There's always worms. So, yeah, there will probably be worms. But you won't really be able to see them. Everything will be dark. Remember?

Because of the Moon?

No... Well, yeah, actually. Wow, I'm glad you understand.

Chickens are actually pretty smart animals.

I guess you're right. Sorry. I underestimate you sometimes.

No problem.

Could you do me a favor and tell the other chickens about all this?

Tell them what?

About the eclipse! Explain to them what is going to happen and to not panic.

What is an eclipse again?

Gah! Nevermind. Good luck.

Who was that guy?

Nature Has Left the Building

There's a scene in “The Office" where Dwight Schrute leaves the Dunder Mifflin paper company for a brief stint due to some coworker drama. He gets a job working the floor at Staples, the company's corporate competitor, forcing him to wear a red polo instead of his preferred mustard yellow short-sleeve button-down.

While away, Michael, Dwight's boss, notices little things going awry. The potted plants around the office are dying. The toys on Michael's desk aren't organized correctly in the morning when he comes in. The vibe is off. These were all things that Dwight took care of quietly on his own. It isn't until now, in his star employee's absence, that Michael realizes Dwight did a lot more than he thought.

As growers, we are pretty new to the craft of greenhouse farming. Having a few years of indoor growing in tunnels under our belt, and now, a full year with our new greenhouse, it's clear that this is a whole new world.

Sure we've read books and watched videos on the subject of indoor growing. But, really. You're growing vegetables in 30-inch beds outside and moving those same 30-inch beds underneath a sheet of 6 mil clear plastic roof. How different can it be? Turns out: a lot. The experts warned us.

Why?

One word: nature. Soil + seed + sun + water = food. When you move indoors, you're removing an element of the equation. Or, at the very least, you're messing with it. And that throws things off. There's a glitch in the matrix.

Nature does a lot of things quietly, often without us humans taking notice. It's the Dwight Schrute of our office, shuffling around after hours with a watering can, putting things back in order. When you bring farming indoors, you get further away from nature’s world.

Already we've noticed problems that come up because of this. A buildup of soluble salt levels at the soil surface where our tomatoes grow under dripline irrigation, for one. There's no rain getting in to leach these out organically.

Disease takes off quicker in the high heat, high humid greenhouse environment with plants tucked away from the natural cure: airflow from an afternoon breeze. Pests proliferate, protected alongside their plant victims, away from the natural predators that keep them at bay.

There are herbicides, insecticides and fungicides to solve these problems, sure, but doesn't that take nature even further out of the equation? And what problems does yet another inorganic solution to the organic problem of growing plants bring up?

But indoor growing is a necessary thing in our climate. It extends our season, protects crops against harsh weather and boosts our yields.

So, what do we do?

Well, we're figuring that out in real time. It has occurred to me, thinking back on all the problems we have already addressed so early in our greenhouse adventures, that it's pretty simple. Pretty obvious, actually. If you're going to take a portion of nature out of your production, you have to account for it. You have to take on nature's responsibilities in its absence.

In our own systems, we've flushed the soil with sprinklers to mimic rain water. We've installed fans and vents to mimic the breeze and cut humidity. We've brought in beneficial insects and are planting herbs and flowers that attract more to fight the pests.

It's a constant learning curve, figuring out not only what tasks nature took care of for us on the outside, but just how she took care of them. Find a problem, figure out a solution, try to anticipate the next.

And so on.

It's amazing how much introducing a thin sheet of polyethylene changes things. But it's humbling at the same time. Nature has figured it all out long ago. We're still learning everything we don't know.

—John

Growing For Everyone

I was listening to "James Brown's Funky Christmas" while picking spinach this week. It was late afternoon. The weather was spring-like and the sky was projecting its orange-pink sunset glow on the sides of the caterpillar tunnel.  

It was the kind of idyllic moment that comes to mind when one might daydream about leaving the corporate world behind and moving out of the city to the farm. In actuality, these moments are few and far between in market farming. It's mostly the stress and worry. Do we have enough carrots for this week? Do we have enough that will be ready for next week? Is it ever going to rain? Is it ever going to stop raining? Why isn't this lettuce growing faster? Where did all these aphids come from?

Erin Benzakein of Floret said it great. Farming is "not all floppy hats and flowy dresses." What you see on Instagram is not what you get in reality. That becomes real clear when you start farming. 

But occasionally, these dreamy moments do come and you take them when you can get them.

In the midst of my sunset spinach serenade I thought back on this year. The things that worked well, the things that didn't, the things to do differently, and the things we want to start for next year.

Winter is a time to dream for farmers. Things seem so plausible when they're laid out on a spreadsheet. Every crop block fits perfectly in the master plan and it seems like your biggest problem will be finding ways to sell all this beautiful, delicious bounty you will be gracing the world with. 

Yeah right...

But high hopes drive the year ahead. And this winter we are dreaming of growing for everyone. 

Since we started selling our food it has always been a dream to grow beyond that. We want to serve our community beyond those who can afford to pay retail prices at the Farmers Market or on our Virtual Farmstand. 

Don't get me wrong. Those sales are the bread and butter of what we do. Not just for supporting us financially but also emotionally. Every carrot bunch or bag of greens that someone takes home is an adrenaline rush. That sounds corny but I don't care. It's hard to put it into the right words but our sales are the connection we have to the community and to our purpose within it. 

But we know there is a huge portion of the community we haven't been serving. This was made even more clear when I visited the Country Pantry during their monthly distribution last week, part of the Clinton Chamber of Commerce's Networking Breakfast event. 

The scope of how many people this organization works to feed (400+ families!) every month was on full display. Cars lined up down South Street in Clark Mills, some arriving as early as 4 a.m., wrapped around the block, waiting for their turn in the drive-through food pickup service.

Volunteers from the community as well as helpers from the local correctional system manned the stations. Some directed traffic. Some packed cars. I helped stock bags with apples, oranges and pears. I'm not sure how many people it takes to pull one of these distribution days off, but there were about 10 people helping at my station alone. 

Thinking about managing the food vendors, the government organizations, the volunteer help, the recipient list—all with varying income and need levels—must be a real logistical nightmare. I thought putting together two different size CSA shares a week was a lot. Hats off to Mary Zimbler and the Country Pantry team. They make it happen every month, and, from what I witnessed, it runs smoothly. 

As I said, it has always been a goal of ours to grow for everyone. We have wanted to grow food not only for sale but also for donation. It hasn't been until now, going into our fourth major growing season, that I feel we are stable enough to try and do so. 

To make this happen, we have launched our Community Funded Farmshare project, based on a similar model that Edible Uprising Farm uses in Troy, N.Y. We're calling on our customers and the community as a whole to donate to help offset the costs of growing the food we will donate. 

It's our first step in working toward our goal. I'm sure it will be an effort that will evolve and adapt over time but we are committed to making it work. A community works best when everyone is pitching in. There is a huge need in our community and we can all help fill it together. 

Growing food isn't cheap or easy work. But with some help from you we can use our resources to produce a little extra that can go a long way. We hope your holiday season is one to remember. And, in the words of James Brown: "Let's make this Christmas mean something this year." 

Happy holidays and thank you as always for your support. 

—John

A Weirder Alternative

I traveled north this past week to attend the High Tunnel Production Conference in West Lebanon, N.H. Moose Crossing signs, windy mountain roads and ski resort towns unfolded along U.S. Route 7 on my way to a Wednesday morning tour of Spring Ledge Farm. 

The conference was great and I came away with lots of new ideas to improve our own operation. Most surprising, though, were my fellow attendees. I didn't know what to expect going in but these people were, for one, very serious about farming. And two, they were mostly young people. 

Some wore overalls. Others wore business casual. There were knitted winter hats, manicured nails, Carhartt vests, sneakers, hiking boots, buttondowns, hoodies and flannel. Lots and lots of flannel. One guy even trudged through the snow in Crocs. And everyone, almost everyone, came with their own reusable water bottle. All types of people, though. I'd say that 80 percent of the audience was 40 or younger. 

According to the U.S. Department of Agriculture, the average age of farmers in the US is 57. That's up from just over 50 years old in 1978. In some select areas of the country now, the average age of farmers is over 70. 

So what gives? Why didn't the conference reflect this?

There’s are a lot of doom and gloom stories out there when it comes to the future of farming and farming in general. All outlooks on agriculture seem to paint a grim picture. Pessimism pairs with farming like pork chops and applesauce. Climate change. Depleting top soil levels. Drought. Floods. When's the last time you read a headline like, "Yields and Profits Booming, Farmers Rush to Jacksonville to Retire Early"? 

No, it's no shocker that "Farmer" didn't make the U.S. News & World Report's 100 Best Jobs of 2023. 

But it's true. There are so many things that need to go right to farm well. And so many things that can go wrong.

For young farmers willing to brave that storm, there are even more hurdles. Access to affordable land is a major one for those first generation growers. Add to that the costs of equipment, the physical demand of the job, the stress, the modest, often inconsistent income, the influence of the aforementioned grim view the industry, and, well… Yeah. Web developer seems like a way better career bet. 

The odds are stacked against the young farmer. But, boy, based on what I saw in New Hampshire, it hasn't stopped young people from trying. But why?

A big part of it is likely the altruistic nature of these young farming hopefuls. They see the vulnerabilities of the modern food system, the effects of conventional agriculture on the environment, the lack of nutrition and flavor in supermarket aisles, and they want to change it. They want to change the world.

But I think another part of their drive is fueled by how new farmers are approaching farming. They're coming in through the back door and they're rolling in on a skateboard. They're trying it differently. 

These young growers are not farming acres and acres of one or two cash crops. They're doing 20 crops on half an acre. They're working smaller areas to be more productive per square foot and more diligent with soil health and weed management. They're farming in tunnels to have more control over climate conditions. They're ditching heavy equipment and, in some cases, boots to walk barefoot on the dirt. They're weird. More politely, they're "contrary farmers," as Gene Logsdon put it in his book "Letter to a Young Farmer." These were the people at the conference.

Sure, the average age of the farmer in this country is 57. But the average age of the weird farmer—the contrary farmer—is probably around 27. Or less. 

I've heard it said by people whom I believe in that small farms, many small farms, are the real future of farming. Is this weird young movement the answer, the solution that will save us all?

Maybe.

If nothing else it offers some hope. And hope feels like a pretty great alternative to all this doom and gloom. Even if it doesn’t wear shoes.

—John

Nutrition Without Food?

There's a funny thing happening with food and nutrition right now. That is, food—real food—is showing up less and less in the conversation. We're getting away from, "An apple a day keeps the doctor away." Now there's a pill for that. Forget the apple. 

Recently, the USDA released a study that found a healthy diet can be achieved by consuming mostly ultra-processed foods. In the study's report, nutritionist Julie Hess said, and I wish I was kidding, "According to current dietary recommendations, the nutrient content of a food and its place in a food group are more important than the extent to which a food was processed."

Hmmm.

Looking at food as an equation feels a little... weird. Yes, when you break down diet into charts and a math problem you can get one side of the equation—ultra-processed food—to equal the other—healthy consumption. It looks good on paper. 

But what else comes along with all that factory food finagling? Added fat, salt, sugar, reconstituting and restructuring? Emulsifiers? Preservatives? And how do our bodies respond to that?

In nature, it is possible to come across a strawberry and eat it, but it is far less likely to stumble upon a strawberry Pop-Tart bush. We can look at this as: "Cool, we've won the game. We’ve progressed as a society. Let's get our Pop-Tart on!' Or we can say, "Maybe we should rethink where we're going." 

If you need more convincing, here's another study. Two twins consumed the same number of calories, nutrients, fat, sugar, and fiber for two weeks. One ate naturally and the one ate ultra-processed. Everything was the same if you go by the USDA's definition. But the twins had two very different experiences. 

In local healthcare news, there has been a lot of excitement about a new hospital, the Mohawk Valley Health System's Wynn Hospital. For years, local media has been covering this development and for good reason. A new facility with advanced equipment and services to serve our community. It's great! But in all the news coverage on this development—we've heard about the robotic surgery, the stroke center, the valet parking!—I don't remember ever hearing about the food that will be served to patients. 

@mvhealthsystem

Sure, it's small potatoes (heh!) in a project this big. A side note. No, I don't think farm-to-table is an option when you're serving that many people and at all hours of the day. But it is interesting that food doesn't come to mind to anyone—myself included at first—when talking about patient care in this new facility.

In fairness, the cafeteria options might very well have been covered at some point in interviews with MVHS staff—I didn't listen to every interview. And I did look over the menu on the Wynn Hospital website. It looks decent! But, let's face it, hospitals do, in general, have a reputation for bad food. 

Healthcare should be founded on a nutritional—and hopefully natural—diet. You wouldn't run a marathon without training ahead of time and wonder why you're winded on mile three. No amount of gatorade or Go Gel can make up for not putting the work in to prepare.  

Food is food. We should keep it in mind when thinking about overall health and we should think twice before reengineering it too much. Willy Wonka's three-course dinner chewing gum seemed like a great idea to Violet Beauregarde at first. But we all know what happened when the blueberry pie course hit. 

Stick to real blueberries. Avoid the juicing room.

—John

Holiday Gifts For The Home Gardener

There are plenty of holiday gifts and gift guides out there targeted at home growers. There are probably just as many variations of a hoe as there are types of vegetables. But we put together a quick list of tried-and-true items we use on our own farm. We'd be happy finding any of these under our tree this year.

EARBUDS Anyone that does a lot of outside and inside work around the house knows that a good song or podcast will make the day go easier. Allie and I both use Raycon earbuds. They sound good, and they stay in your ear when bending over. Plus, they are affordable enough where if you lose them—and you will—it's cheaper to buy replacement Raycons than a new pair of AirPods. BOOTS Most boots are pretty much just boots. I've never found a brand of rubber boots that stay waterproof for more than a few weeks. For now, I use Keens in the summer and Arctic Pro Muck Boots in the winter. BOOKS A lot of books we have turned to over the years are geared more toward growing for market, versus home growing. But "The Living Soil Handbook," by Jesse Frost, goes deep on soil health, which anyone can benefit from. KITCHEN COMPOST BIN If the person on your shopping list is a gardener, chances are they probably have a compost pile along with some kind of receptacle in the kitchen to collect scraps for it. We use this kitchen bin at our house. It looks OK on the counter, and keeps things tidy until you have a chance to run outside. Take it out when you take the trash out. PRUNING SNIPS Allie uses the ARS brand snips. She says, "They're the best pruners I've ever had." SOIL BLOCKER Try getting your gardening loved one into soil blocking for starting seedlings. We switched to a soil block system this year and it has been great. And you save on plastic trays! AQUIFER SPRINKLER These sprinklers can hook up right to your garden hose but with a pro-level wobbler head on them. A reasonable price for what you get. Move them around as you need. They're super handy. KNEE PADS Companies like Growers & Co. and Duluth make high-end knee pad systems with the padding built into the pants. But honestly, a simple pair of volleyball knee pads from Dick's under your pants will do just fine. Anything to keep your knees off the soil will help on those long chore days. CARHARTT BEANIE Everyone can use one of these. Even if you already have two. There are artists on Etsy that embroider flowers into them for an added pop. If you can find someone to do this for you locally even better! STIRRUP HOE These must be getting popular because I'm seeing them in the big box hardware stores now. They're great and Johnny's sells the best one. Cut weeds at their roots just under the soil. Keep your beds clean with minimal ground disturbance. They come in all sizes but I find the five-inch width is very versatile. RAPPER GARDEN GNOME No we don't have these, but I couldn't resist. They're goofy and fun. A quality gag gift for the gardening/hip-hop music lover. And if they’re not into that, some other form of garden art will work. A handmade painted sign out of scrap wood has heart. A “Grandpa’s Future Pickles” sign next to the cucumber plants, for instance.

Blue Blom

On the STOCKING STUFFER front... These vegetable playing cards are great. Or how about some good ol' organic fish fertilizer from Neptune’s for the nursery? (Make sure it's sealed, though. That stuff smells like the locker room at Seaworld.) To help with the aches and pains of working on your hands and knees, try Head and Heal CBD. Produced right down in Cortland, N.Y. A good knife is never a bad present. This is the one I use. Simple, with many purposes. I always have it in my pocket. And, this might sound weird, but braided elastic cord is a good fit for the stocking. You can use it in place of twine to tie vining plants to their trellises. As the vines mature, the elastic stretches to allow growth. We don't use it anymore in our current systems, but we have used it in the past and it works great. Throw a couple Liquid IV packets in that stocking too! I’ve seen them online and at Stewart's, so they’re not too hard to find. It’s an easy-to-use electrolyte mix for your water bottle on those hot, hot days. But, when in doubt, go with a gift card to a reputable seed company. Your loved one will get to pick out what they want and then be bombarded with seed catalogs for years and years to come. It's the gift that keeps on giving. 

The thing every gardener needs the most, though, their highest value asset, is time. There's never enough of it in a day and it doesn't cost anything for you to give. Volunteer to help them in the garden next year as a gift. You can make it into a homemade coupon book to up the "cute" value. But be specific. "Five Hours of Time Weeding the Roses" or "A Half Day of Helping Plant Potatoes." It'll hit harder that way. 

I hope these ideas get the wheels turning for you and ease some of the brainstorming workload. Of course, shop local as much as possible. Like I said, there are a million gifts out there that cater to "the gardener in your life." These are just the things we use and stand by. Keep it simple and useful. A gift should accumulate dirt and dings from the garden, not dust from hanging in the tool shed. 

—John

Giving Thanks

During the season, when the harvest-plant-repeat routine is in full force, it’s easy to lose sight of all the things that had to come together to make our farm possible. And all the things that need to keep coming together to continue moving forward. It’s not the seeds, soil and sunlight that make a farm work. It’s the people.

This Thanksgiving, we certainly have a lot to be thankful for. First, and probably most obvious: our customers. It’s one thing to go to work knowing in your heart that what you’re doing is important and what you’re making adds quality to someone’s life. It’s a whole other thing for them to tell you that it does in an email, or social media post, or in person at the market.

We have the most supportive customers. They drive our business, not only by buying our products, but by being passionate about our work. When we started growing and selling produce just a few years ago we were struck by the fact that the need for what we were doing was equally matched by the excitement for it. It is the most encouraging customer base to work for and the most rewarding work to do because of it. We are truly grateful.

An extra special customer shout out to our CSA members! This was our first year trying a CSA model on our farm and we had a lot of people jump on board. Looking forward, I can see the CSA becoming a pillar in our farm business. Thank you for being a part of it and for being so motivating in our first steps.

Equally guiding the winds on our small farm sails are our families. When it comes to all-star cheerleaders, you couldn’t ask for a better team than Allie’s parents. They make our accomplishments seem bigger and Allie’s dad is always willing to taste test whichever weird variety of cabbage we decide to grow next.

And if you bought greens from us this past summer, it’s more than likely that my mom and dad were the ones who washed and bagged them. They’re always willing to lend a hand with the work. Even the worst jobs. I can’t thank them enough for all they do. If we didn’t have them, we wouldn’t be where we are today.

Thinking back on family on the farm this year, scenes of my sister and nephew harvesting garlic, and Allie’s brother transplanting cucumbers in the greenhouse, and my niece popping beet seeds into soil blocks come to mind. It seems like everyone in both our bloodlines pitched in at one point or another. Thank you.

And on the subject of our help, thank you also to Tim. Your inside jokes and willingness to man the busiest hours of the market are much appreciated. The days go by a little easier when you’re around. Thank you also to all our volunteers. I think we had over 20 people come through the farm to pitch in this season. That is truly awesome and you are all truly awesome.

I would also like to say a big thanks to our fellow farmers. The rising tide lifts all boats—farming is a proof of that. Whether it was Kingfisher Farm suggesting suppliers, or North Star Orchards offering us leftover equipment, or Clinton Tractor lending us tractor attachments, or my cousin giving us pumpkins to sell, this is a nurturing local industry. As the new kids on the block we were always supported and encouraged.

Thank you to our neighbors for putting up with our weird garden yard, our delivery people hauling all our packages and materials (and sometimes even helping unload them), our social media followers for liking and sharing, our friends near and far for not thinking we’re too crazy, for the sun and the soil for doing the real miracles… The list goes on and I’m probably forgetting people.

But, lastly, I want to say thank you to Allie. “Doing farming” is hard. Getting ready for the market, the way we do it, feels like the physical and mental equivalent of running the Boilermaker and cramming all night for a final exam. Allie is my backboard through it all, bouncing me back to sanity and positivity when I need it most. Thank you for your optimism, your organization and your ability to get your things done with enough time left over to help me with my things.

From our farm to your family, Happy Thanksgiving. Thank you!

—John

It Goes On And On

Our dog, Murphy, goes on two walks a day. Once in the morning with my dad and once at night with me. Yes, he's spoiled.

My parents have been out of town this week which means I got to take Murph on both walks. Which means I got to see a lot of nature this week. On one walk, we were coming around a bend in the woods. On a hill near us there was a black mound. When you take the same route every day, year after year, it's easy to pick out things that are out of place. And this mound was not normally there. 

Getting a little closer, I saw that the black mound had feathers. A lot of them. A little closer still and I saw that it was a turkey vulture. Its head spun to watch us as we turned and quickly walked the other direction. Seeing that it was after dark, I assumed the bird was hurt if it wasn't roosting. I was hopeful when we didn't see it still there passing through the next day.

On another bend we came upon two cats in a standoff. A scrawny black shorthair in a pounce position and the largest Siberian-looking breed I've ever seen. Whatever was at stake in this fight it must have been a big deal because neither of them flinched from their mid-fight staredown when Murphy and I tiptoed around them. I wonder if they worked it out.

Driving up to the greenhouse one day I saw a squirrel channeling his inner NFL Hall of Fame instincts. The tiny guy darted in and out of the line of my tire in one motion like a mini-Emmitt Smith. In one jump from the ditch he was on death's door. And in the next jump, springing from the momentum of the first, he was back in the air, out of way, in the direction from where he came, safe and sound in the same ditch. It was pure agility and all before I could think to move for the brake.

It got me thinking: nature is a real bucking bull. An untamable beast. We are just here to observe it and—worst case scenario—obstruct it, or—best case scenario—react to it. 

I once heard someone say that it takes ten years to truly get good at farming. (It was J.M. Fortier, a grower we admire and whom we have learned so much from.) It's an interpretation of the 10,000-hour rule to master a subject. Mastery takes 10,000 hours. Throw axes at a target in your backyard for an accumulation of 10,000 hours, working on your accuracy and consistency, studying videos of the pros, and you will become an expert axe thrower. But as good as you get at farming (and we are far from considering ourselves there yet) you can never master it. Because you can't control nature.

When we build greenhouses, lay out irrigation, install insect defenses, we aren't controlling nature. We are reacting with the rules it has set forth. If you play by the rules, she rewards you. If you stray, she takes over and leaves her signature of weedy rows, low yields and weak germination. Nature has been around a long time, much longer than 10,000 hours, and she's truly a pro. We're still rookies, still learning the rules and the best ways to react to all of them. We will never catch up, but maybe that's the best blessing. 

Another farmer and legend, Elliot Coleman, compared farming to climbing a mountain. In his younger years, Coleman was a big outdoorsman, and mountain climbing was in his repertoire. He said the worst part of a climb was reaching the top. You just stand there at the peak looking at the view. There's nothing hard left to do. Growing food, he said, was like hiking a mountain with no peak. That's why it's great. It's never not hard. You're constantly challenged and you're never done.

Farming is unique like that. There are small accomplishments along the way, but every accomplishment produces even more challenges. A crop is finished—how do grow more of it next year? The lettuce yielded great—how do we harvest it faster? A growing season ends—how do we extend it and grow longer? 

The bridge construction is done. That leaf raking is done. The concert is done. But "the farm is done" is a ridiculous phrase. Because farming's industry is nature. And nature is never done throwing you curveballs. She's a mountain that keeps getting taller, and even Jared Leto could never make it to the top.

—John

When Life Gives You Radish

A view of our winter radish beds

The watermelon radish has been on the wish list of things to grow for a while now. It's a neat root vegetable; round, sweet, super versatile in the kitchen and, most notably, they look cool—white skin with a pink, meaty center. Its cross section, when sliced at the equator, looks a lot like a hamster-sized watermelon slice. Consequently: the watermelon radish. A mature watermelon radish is twice the size of a standard salad radish and it stores well in the cooler. A perfect fall crop. We've actually had customers request for us to grow them.

This year we decided to give it a shot. 

Back in late August, we direct-seeded three beds of them. The beds were 50 feet long and there were three rows of radish in each of them. Spaced at about four inches on the row, that would round out to about 1,400 watermelon radish between all three beds. The plan was to sell some radishes fresh with the greens on them and store the rest to sell throughout the winter.

The radish seedlings started out great. We timed the planting ahead of a good rain and got near perfect germination. Radish is tried-and-true like that. Consistent sprouts and fast. It's a sprinter from start to finish and a welcomed crop for the impatient gardener. 

I didn't notice any trouble with these radish beds until I went to cultivate between the rows. The beds were all covered by one large floating row cover to help prevent the flea beetles from getting to the greens, especially in their young, tender state. The row cover is a pain to remove and put back. As a result the cover stays on unless absolutely necessary. And through the cover it's hard to get a good look and what's happening underneath. You can tell things are growing, but you can't make out details. 

When I moved the cover to get in with the cultivator I got a closer look. These were not large, white globes promising a watermelony center. They were a pale red, long and narrow. Initially, I suspected a growing error but the plants seemed healthy. Just wrong. When I pulled one and cut into it, the center was white. Sweet tasting, then spicy at the end. Hmmm. 

A closeup on the mystery radishes

I got in touch with the seed company. They agreed with me that it was definitely not a watermelon radish, though they couldn't say with certainty what type of radish it was at that stage. I checked through the rest of the rows and found more of the same. But I also found a lot that were different. Some big, some small, round, long, pink, purple, red... This was a radish melting pot.

I double-checked the seed packet label but it was right. Could the seeder have had seeds left in it from a previous planting? No, not that many of them anyway. The sales rep at the seed company (a proven reliable source for us) guessed it was a mixup on their end. My guess is the seed we planted was some kind of radish variety blend. They offered to refund the order. It was less than $10.

This of course doesn't cover it. It doesn't cover the cost of the row cover that protected the young plants, the wire hoops to hold it up, the amendments added to the bed ahead of seeding, or the work that went into the bed prep. More importantly, it doesn't cover the cost of time lost. Those beds were occupied for many weeks, taking up space that would otherwise be for other, profitable crops. When you're farming like us, working with limited bed space, when your farm goal and crop plan is based on maximum capacity, time plus space equals profit loss. 

In short: $10 is not enough.

My response to the extravagantly apologetic seed company was, paraphrased: "All good." We've never had issues with this company in the past and I'd be willing to bet this was a one-and-done situation. And the truth is that everyone makes mistakes. Farming, we make a lot of mistakes. Constantly. Things happen and you've got to shake them off. 

At the end of the day, our problem is: we have radishes. Not the right radishes, but we have something. We're still trying to sort out what varieties we have and how many—and I did even find some actual watermelon radishes in the mix. But for now, we're selling them as an assorted radish bunch, a colorful blended bouquet for the radish lover. 

The ones I have tasted so far have been juicy, sweet and packed with that fresh crisp radishes deliver best. They're good. All good.

—John

5 Horrors of Gardening

I love a good horror movie. And sometimes I love a bad one too. Among my favorites are the slasher films of the ‘70s and ‘80s. They’re fun, usually not too scary, with a grit and feel that only the culture and film stock of that era could produce. At the top of the list of the best slasher films is the one that defined them all: Halloween.

No, I’m not one of these obsessive people that dresses up like Michael Myers or has T-shirts and bumper stickers with his face on them. That’s a little much. But Halloween is not just a perfect Halloween movie. From its clever storytelling in spite of a limited production budget, to its many nods to Hitchcock’s 1960 Psycho, to the many hurdles John Carpenter had to backflip over just to get the movie made—it’s a perfect movie. Period.

This weekend marks the 45th anniversary of Halloween’s original release. And so, like I do most years on October 31, I will probably rewatch the movie. Allie tolerates the tradition and joins in, though even she could recite most of the dialogue at this point. (“It was the Boogeyman.”)

With Halloween, and also gardening, on my mind, I got to thinking about the farm through the Mike Myers universe. It’s probably a stretch. But whatever. It’s Halloween. It’s fun. And everyone’s entitled to one good scare.

THE JUMP SCARE

Hornworms. Yuck. Now I’m OK with most insects and I know everything has a purpose in nature. Yeah, yeah, yeah. But hornworms are foul. I don’t like finding them and I don’t like touching them.

We got hornworms pretty bad this year in one of our caterpillar tunnels where we were growing some tomatoes. They devour the plants from the top-down. Some growers will take the time to pull these suckers off the plants one-by-one but we more or less left them alone. Other projects took priority and our main tomato crop was already thriving in the greenhouse.

Hornworms are masters at blending into foliage. When we did have to go into the tunnel to prune or trellis or harvest, the hornworms were there. Sitting. Waiting. Plotting. And then, right when you are reaching to pull a ripe grape tomato from its vine, right when you’re least ready for it... Bam! A hornworm falls into focus. Plump and menacing on a dangling leaf just inches from your face. Foul. Just foul.

GORE

We try to avoid this at all costs. Farm accidents are no joke, even on our small operation where heavy machinery rarely gets used. But even still, sometimes when I’m cleaning out debris from the tilther we use to prep beds for seeding, my mind can’t help but wander to a scene from Halloween H20: 20 Years Later.

The tilther has a rotary blade on it like a tiller. It doesn’t go as deep but it could still do some damage to a finger or two. I tell anyone who works with the tilther to disconnect the power source before cleaning it out. Do I do this every time myself? I’d be lying if I said yes.

In the Halloween H20 scene, Adam Hann-Byrd’s character is trying to retrieve a corkscrew from inside a sink’s garbage disposal with Mike Myers close by. Things don’t end well for Mr. Hann-Byrd and I should learn from his mistakes.

FEAR OF THE UNKNOWN

Why is the Michael Myers mask so scary? It is blank, empty and ambiguous. A blank slate that gives you nothing, so you project all your fears onto it.

That’s kind of like root vegetables, right? (Stay with me here.) Of all the vegetables we grow, root vegetables are the most mysterious to watch mature. You can’t see what’s going on with your carrots under the soil so you worry. Are the roots hitting compaction? Is something eating holes into their skin? Is there rot or rust?

A lot of times you don’t know until you harvest. Scary stuff.

SUSPENSE

Farming is delayed gratification. You plant, you tend, you wait. Days to maturity might as well be renamed suspense. A suspense we choose.

Think about the opening scene in Halloween. You know the one. It’s the point of view of young Michael Myers walking through his house on his way to kickstart a lifelong career in murder. It’s tense and unnerving. Time stands still as you watch it play out, hoping for the best but fearing for the worst. That is farming in a nutshell.

THE SUPERNATURAL

Michael Myers is not human. He’s beyond human. An excerpt from a monologue by his handler, Dr. Loomis, declares: “I realized that what was living behind that boy's eyes was purely and simply... evil.”

The closest thing to the supernatural in farming: Mother Nature. She is great and she is fierce. Of her many gifts—sun, rain, soil—wind is tricky. It scares me.

Wind can knock down top-heavy plants, break stems, destroy structures, and make for a long, hard day’s work. A breeze is pleasant, beneficial and welcomed. But wind, real cruel wind, is purely and simply evil.

Happy Halloween, everyone! Steer clear of the Boogeyman.

—John

Do you know the muffin man?

The trail to the peak on Mount Jo, near Heart Lake.

We ran away. 

Allie and I took a few days to go up North to the Adirondacks. It is becoming a tradition for us to head there at the end of the summer season. We drove up in the dark listening to ghost stories. Nothing to see but what the headlights scrolled through on the windy path up Route 28. (Spooky.)

We woke up to bright colors and mountain backdrops on the tail end of leaf season in Wilmington, N.Y. We took advantage of the one sunny day we got on our trip and hiked. It was pleasant. Damp, soft ground that smelled like pine and autumn. We met a senior dog named Donny. He was leading the way for his owner and crew. They asked if Donny would have trouble making it up the rock scramble near the peak. Donny didn't seem concerned. 

It's nice to step away from the farm for a few days. To force yourself to have nothing to do. To relax and reorganize your thoughts about the many projects ahead. 

Winter always seems to be the time to dream. When you're not tied down by summer workload and weekly obligations, farm potential has room to spread its roots. The land of make believe for adults. Daydreaming about garden beds and farm layout rather than princesses and dragons. Our minds are already setting into that mode. 

Every craft, whether you're knitting handmade sustainable winter socks or designing a new efficient system to heat a home, needs some solitude. Moments to think and tweak. But if your product is going to have any value it needs to serve the customer. You've got to know what the customer likes. Do you know the muffin man? How about: Does the muffin man know you?

I try to aim at targeting the needs of our community by farming like a customer. How are things priced and packaged in our local grocery store? What's out front? What is in our friends’ and families’ refrigerators? What would draw me into a farmers market booth?

But a lot of our "hit" products, so to speak, have come from listening to our customers. Both directly in conversations at checkout and indirectly by what sells. If something sells out fast, grow more of it more consistently. 

Seems obvious when I write it down. But you can't create in a vacuum. Or you shouldn't. 

Edgar Allan Poe, since he's trending right now, died of mysterious causes. One theory I read was poisoning of toxic gas from holing up in his house. Maybe if he had to sell his stories and poems in the fresh air of the town square every week he would have lived a long, fulfilling life. And maybe, inspired by his neighboring farmers market vendors, he would start a garden, filled with black radish, fiddlehead ferns, and other ghoulish-themed delights. He would read his plants poetry by the moonlight as his backyard hens Ligeia, Lenore and Annabel Lee settled in their coop for the night. He'd name it Nevermore Farm and every CSA box would come with an original work of prose. 

He'd be happy. And his customers would be full.

—John