Today was an adventure in botany.
In an attempt to beat the looming storm coming from the tornadoes and such down South, we headed out to the fields first thing in the morning with scallions, kohl rabi, and bok choy seedlings to transplant. One whole bed of scallions (planted in bunches of ten), half a bed of bok choy and half a bed of kohl rabi. As interesting as that was, it doesn't compare to what we did next.
After having a light lunch and changing out of our wet clothes (because, of course, it started raining), we packed up a bunch of tomato seedlings and supplies to graft tomatoes in the barn. It was decided that the barn would be the best place to do this because we could control the environment much better than in the greenhouse -- keeping it at a steady temperature with little light and no wind to damage the fragile plants.
It has to be said that I love different plant propagation methods -- rarely do I ever not have a cutting or two rooting in a jar of water somewhere in my home. (That sounded just as dorky in my head before I typed it, but it's true so it stays in the blog!) Needless to say, this was totally up my alley.
The rootstock that we used is called "Maxifort." This tomato variety is solely used for grafting because of its ability to produce a better yield for weaker tomato varieties when grafted together. The varieties that we grafted to the Maxifort were Brandywine, Valencia, Green Zebra, and Purple Cherokee (heirlooms). For a step-by-step instruction on the exact method we used for grafting, check out the video below:
We followed all the steps of this method except for the stringent level of cleanliness used in the video's laboratory setting, which we found impossible to do on a farm...especially since our hands were covered in soil from potting up the tomatoes! We did what we could.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Rainy days and Onion Starts
This Spring has been a cold, rainy one. And if you're a farmer, you've had to wait day after rainy day, wondering if you'll ever be able to transplant all those seedlings that are more than likely taking up precious space in your greenhouse.
A couple days ago, after starting some pea and sunflower sprouts in the greenhouse and setting the lettuce, chard, brussel sprouts, and kohlrabi outside to harden off, the farm manager decided it was worth it to try to plant some of the 9,000 onion starts she had ordered from Johnny's Seed Company. Despite the thin mist, we donned rain pants and barreled down the hill to where the beds had been prepared with black plastic (to protect the soil from the nasty weed galinsoga).
Puncturing the plastic every five inches in long rows, we created little holes in the soil to place the small onion starts.
Basically, an onion start is a baby onion. In order to plant large onion seedlings when the soil can first be worked, you would need to start the seeds in your greenhouse smack-dab in the middle of winter, say January or February. To many farmers in the North East, this is cost prohibitive. Purchasing onion starts from a warmer climate far outweighs the cost of heating a greenhouse during the coldest months of the year. Not to mention the fact that it would take away from your off-season. So these "onion starts" are grown in the greenhouse, removed from the soil, bunched and boxed, and sent to your doorstep. There they wait until you're ready to plant them in the field. As long as you keep them cool and dry, they'll be fine.
So we marked the rows, pierced the plastic, dug the holes, and planted the onion starts over and over again, as the fine mist changed its pace and turned into a downpour. No turning back!
As soon as I upload pictures from my camera, I'll post some photos from the fields and greenhouse. Since Onion Planting Day (which actually ended up spanning three days), we've planted chard, lettuce, bok choy, kohl rabi, and scallions. So far, it's rained at least once every day. The crops are happy and well-hydrated!
A couple days ago, after starting some pea and sunflower sprouts in the greenhouse and setting the lettuce, chard, brussel sprouts, and kohlrabi outside to harden off, the farm manager decided it was worth it to try to plant some of the 9,000 onion starts she had ordered from Johnny's Seed Company. Despite the thin mist, we donned rain pants and barreled down the hill to where the beds had been prepared with black plastic (to protect the soil from the nasty weed galinsoga).
Puncturing the plastic every five inches in long rows, we created little holes in the soil to place the small onion starts.
Basically, an onion start is a baby onion. In order to plant large onion seedlings when the soil can first be worked, you would need to start the seeds in your greenhouse smack-dab in the middle of winter, say January or February. To many farmers in the North East, this is cost prohibitive. Purchasing onion starts from a warmer climate far outweighs the cost of heating a greenhouse during the coldest months of the year. Not to mention the fact that it would take away from your off-season. So these "onion starts" are grown in the greenhouse, removed from the soil, bunched and boxed, and sent to your doorstep. There they wait until you're ready to plant them in the field. As long as you keep them cool and dry, they'll be fine.
So we marked the rows, pierced the plastic, dug the holes, and planted the onion starts over and over again, as the fine mist changed its pace and turned into a downpour. No turning back!
As soon as I upload pictures from my camera, I'll post some photos from the fields and greenhouse. Since Onion Planting Day (which actually ended up spanning three days), we've planted chard, lettuce, bok choy, kohl rabi, and scallions. So far, it's rained at least once every day. The crops are happy and well-hydrated!
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Of farms and farm tools
This past Saturday I drove West to the Berkshires, where I'll be living and working as a farm apprentice for the growing season.
After hours of packing, driving, unpacking, and settling in, I attended a potluck event for farmer apprentices as part of a regional training program. Weary after a long day, I found myself coming back to the same question in my mind: How on earth did I get here?
How does a love of container gardening, teaching kids about plants, and growing tomatoes on a back porch somehow lead up to looking at $10,000 farm equipment in the rain with thirty other aspiring farmers?
Looking back on the evolution of my interests in gardening and ecology, my self-five-years-ago never would have seen me here. But therein lies the beauty! To quote John Muir: "When one tugs at a single thing in nature, he finds it attached to the rest of the world." When I began studying Biology, I did so because of my love of animals. Animals, however, interact with plants, and they do so in some pretty awesome ways. Studying ecology led me to stream research with a focus on riparian plants, which led me to ethnobotany, which, coupled with my love for teaching, led me to the Brooklyn Botanic Garden and onto other environmental education opportunities that somehow or another all included vegetable gardening. I tugged at a single thing in the natural world and it pulled me in at warp speed 'til I got to the bottom of the food chain! (Well, the human food chain at least.)
So here I am. As I packed up my things to bring out to the Berkshires, I found something I had purchased in Santa Fe last winter. It's a tiny piece of painted wood with a Native American proverb written at the bottom: "Creation is ongoing." The simplicity of this statement is beautiful, and for the past year it has been my mantra. I see creation in the way my life seems to keep taking exciting turns. I see it in the thousands of seedlings in the farm greenhouse. I see it in the endless opportunities to shift my mindset -- to think positively and be open to different perspectives. I see it in Spring.
I look forward to seeing where this apprenticeship takes me...
After hours of packing, driving, unpacking, and settling in, I attended a potluck event for farmer apprentices as part of a regional training program. Weary after a long day, I found myself coming back to the same question in my mind: How on earth did I get here?
How does a love of container gardening, teaching kids about plants, and growing tomatoes on a back porch somehow lead up to looking at $10,000 farm equipment in the rain with thirty other aspiring farmers?
Looking back on the evolution of my interests in gardening and ecology, my self-five-years-ago never would have seen me here. But therein lies the beauty! To quote John Muir: "When one tugs at a single thing in nature, he finds it attached to the rest of the world." When I began studying Biology, I did so because of my love of animals. Animals, however, interact with plants, and they do so in some pretty awesome ways. Studying ecology led me to stream research with a focus on riparian plants, which led me to ethnobotany, which, coupled with my love for teaching, led me to the Brooklyn Botanic Garden and onto other environmental education opportunities that somehow or another all included vegetable gardening. I tugged at a single thing in the natural world and it pulled me in at warp speed 'til I got to the bottom of the food chain! (Well, the human food chain at least.)
So here I am. As I packed up my things to bring out to the Berkshires, I found something I had purchased in Santa Fe last winter. It's a tiny piece of painted wood with a Native American proverb written at the bottom: "Creation is ongoing." The simplicity of this statement is beautiful, and for the past year it has been my mantra. I see creation in the way my life seems to keep taking exciting turns. I see it in the thousands of seedlings in the farm greenhouse. I see it in the endless opportunities to shift my mindset -- to think positively and be open to different perspectives. I see it in Spring.
I look forward to seeing where this apprenticeship takes me...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)