Sugarsnap Finale

On a farm, nothing is ever static. There is constant motion -- constant changes in weather, in season, in plant growth, in farm chores. Just when you think something is in its place, it must be moved. Just when the lettuce is looking its best, it's time to harvest it and head on to something new. The beauty of each crop, each row, and each plant is ephemeral.

This week marked a number of seasonal milestones. The one that left the biggest impression on me was the sugarsnap pea finale. In other words, we took down all the trellising that had been blistering our hands for the last two months, removed the stakes, and then, sadly, mowed down what was left of the peas. Sure, they were still producing, but only a little. Mostly, their leaves and stems were brown, their pathways were overgrown with weeds, and their pods were swollen and past their prime.

The night before our good-bye, I went out in the field with my large kitchen colander and filled it to the brim, snacking on the crunchy pea pods as I went along.  When I got back to my kitchen, I washed them, pulled their strings, and stuffed them into several pint jars. If you can't have 'em fresh all year long, why not pickle 'em?

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Below is the recipe I used, which is a modified version of a recipe that originally came from The Joy Of Pickling....

       - Peas. Stuffed into two pint jars or one quart jar.
       - White distilled vinegar. 1 and 1/4 cups
       - Cold water. 1 and 1/4 cups
       - 1Tbsp. salt (or so)
       - 1 Tbsp. sugar (or so)
       - 2 garlic cloves, sliced
       - Hot pepper flakes

Add the garlic and pepper flakes to the jars of peas. Heat up the vinegar with the sugar and salt on a stovetop until dissolved. Then add the water. This will help the liquid cool down. When cooled, pour the liquid into the jars, over the peas. Put the lids on the jars. Refrigerate. Peas will be pretty pickled within a couple of days. They'll last quite a while in the fridge....unless you eat them all. They're yummy!

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So that's it for the peas. Until next year.

What else happened this week? Carrots. And eggplants. Sweet onions. Fennel. Harvests that go on for hours. Bountiful CSA shares and farmer's market stands. A sighting of a tiny baby watermelon. The fluttering of a monarch butterfly's wings. The discovery that the clover I pull out from so many beds is called lemon clover, which is edible, tangy, and delicious. The seeding of our fall plantings of kohlrabi and bok choy. The planting of two more beds of lettuce, affirming the fact that I'm much better at using the transplanter now than I was in May. The half-way point of my apprenticeship. Adding fertilizer to my personal garden, and spotting tiny zucchinis and cucumbers. Sunflowers in full bloom. Ripening cherry tomatoes and husk cherries in the field. The browning of garlic leaves, telling us they're almost ready...not quite...almost...

It's so satisfying to recognize different points in natural cycles as they occur. Last week the Japanese beetles went wild -- eating away at plants and mating like there's no tomorrow. The wild parsnip is almost ready to go to seed, so we have to make sure we chop it down before that happens.  Monarch butterflies have been joining us on the farm this week. Spiders are laying their eggs in sacs.

In nature and in human-dominated landscapes, there's no rest. Full of life, everything is changing and moving and growing and senescing. Next year, there will be more peas.

What's in Bloom! (A picture story)

 Mountain Laurel was recently in full bloom at Mount Everett State Reservation, and it gave the trails a lovely fragrance. It's in the laurel family (fitting, right?) along with cranberries and blueberries.

Milkweed has a gorgeous pink bloom.

In my garden plot, the tomatoes are flowering. (And if you look closely, there are already some tiny fruits!) I planted this little garden very late in the season, so it's a thrill to see it coming along so nicely. More about that later...

 The part of the broccoli plant that we eat is the flower head. We've been harvesting broccoli for a couple weeks now.

 Snow peas are just about done for the season, but our sugar snaps are still going. 

 Oh, zinnias! Our members picked their first small bouquets this week.

You can't go anywhere around these parts without seeing the bright orange glow of day lilies poking their heads out onto the road. I recently learned that the flower is edible, and it's quite tasty. It would make a beautiful addition to a fresh summer salad.

 We're just about done harvesting garlic scapes, which is what the garlic plant shoots up in the spring. These are the garlic's flower stalks. When they first come up, they curl around and keep growing until the flower bud eventually faces the sky to open up, which is what the one is this picture is getting ready to do. You pick 'em when they're still curled and tender. Pure garlicky goodness. 

 Eggplant has a beautiful purple flower. 

 We haven't yet harvested eggplants for distribution, but as you can see, they're growin'!

 Same with the peppers. Lots of flowers, lots of maturing fruits, but not quite ready for harvest. They look good though!

 Wild parsnip is also in full bloom. This a weed in the umbel family (apiaceae) which is the same family that carrots, dill, and Queen Anne's lace are in. Wild parsnip is everywhere, and I recently learned that the sap is toxic and can cause a reaction if it touches your skin. Beware of wild parsnip and its relative hogweed. Don't put them in your bouquet!

And of course, summer squash. We've been picking hundreds of pounds a week of yellow squash, patty pan, and zucchini, and the harvest has only just begun! Male blossoms can be picked and eaten, though I have yet to try this out.

It's starting to really feel like summer.

On Garden Pests and the (un)natural cycle of life

Groundhogs are rodents that belong to the group of ground-squirrels known as marmots. Although they're known to sometimes eat insects and small animals, their diet consists mostly of grasses and (to the dismay of many a farmer and gardener) agricultural crops.

Today, as I drove home from a morning in town, I hit one. It was the first time I had ever hit an animal while driving, and hopefully the last. After I pulled over and managed to get my sobbing under control, I thought about how even though no one, no matter how light their tread may be, can live without affecting the world around them, my impact on the world around me for the day was suddenly much greater than I wanted it to be. Sure, it wasn't my fault that a groundhog had chosen that very moment to dart across the street, but it didn't help me brush off the fact that a life was lost.

As I slowly crept home, still trembling, I thought about where this action -- this karma -- might lead me.

A half an hour later, however, it struck me that this encounter had not been the first time a groundhog -- or the thought of a groundhog -- had forced its way into my day. Earlier in the morning, I had been talking to the owner of a shop in town. After finding out that I worked on a farm, she asked me for advice about protecting her garden from critters like groundhogs and voles. Something, she didn't know what exactly, had been confusing her garden for its own leafy buffet. The kale, she bemoaned... and the peas! All stubs. I told her about the kind of damage we had been finding on the farm (similar to hers, many small plants left as tiny stumps), and the small actions we had been taking, but all in all I wasn't very helpful since I don't know much about deterring garden critters. I told her about how we've been having quite a bit of vole damage to flats of plant-starts in the hardening-off area, but just this week we set out some tables in the hope that raising the flats off the ground will keep the plants safe. This wasn't anything that would help her, but I commiserated with her since she was so visibly frustrated -- venturing into angry -- and we had been frustrated too.

Maybe the groundhog I hit was one that had been feasting on someone's garden. Or maybe my hitting it was meant to remind me that its life was precious. Or maybe it was just an unlucky animal in the middle of the road. Regardless, may it rest in peace.

I still feel deeply sorry. It's small consolation to know that other animals will have full bellies after feasting on an easy road-side meal.