Plant-Animal Interactions

A few weeks ago I was hand-weeding near the tomatoes when I found a weed I hadn't seen before. At first glance, it looked like it was bearing fruit, since it seemed to have tons of pods all over the plant. Curious, I took one of the pods off the plant and started to break it open so I could see the seeds inside. But the "seeds" inside the pod were moving...

Inside the curled-up leaves of this plant (the "pods") were hundreds of tiny critters. Critters that, at some point in their life cycle (probably when they were eggs) triggered a chemical reaction in the plant, which caused the leaves to curl around the eggs and protect them as they matured. Crazy, huh?

Here's another insect that does something even crazier.

The tomato hornworm is a loathed creature in farms and gardens - anywhere tomatoes are cultivated. Its mint-green coloring makes it blend in just well enough so when you're pruning or harvesting it's a shock (at least to me) to finally realize there's something there. It's mostly a shock though to see such a large caterpillar, since the tomato hornworm eats and eats and eats and grows and grows and grows. Remember Eric Carle's The Very Hungry Caterpillar? This is it. But this hungry caterpillar likes to eat your tomato plants.

So, in a sick yet poetic turn of events, the tomato hornworm is the favored host of the parasitic Braconid wasp, Cotesia, which lays its eggs inside the body of this squishy, green caterpillar. They hatch (inside the hornworm) and eat (also inside the hornworm) until they emerge to make their cocoons (on the body of the hornworm). Creepy poetic justice.

Tomato Hornworm covered in cocoons of the parasitic wasp Cotesia

Falling into fall with alphabet soup

Where has the summer gone?

These days I wake up and shiver my way into a hot shower, before layering my body with fleece upon fleece upon fleece (and wool socks). As we load the truck and start harvesting, the intensifying sun slowly melts away the chill and warms our faces.

August has been interesting. After a hot, dry July (drought-like, really), August has been anything but. And the vegetables keep on keepin' on. I'm realizing now that despite the rainy weather we've had, August has been an exceptionally busy and exciting month.

With all this excitement going on, what to talk about first? The Northeast Organic Farming Association (NOFA) Summer Conference that I went to a couple weeks ago? The field tomatoes that are still holding on despite the downpours? The frogs and toads that hop across our fields, the roads, and even our harvest bins like its a revival of the ten plagues? The harvest of five beds of garlic that lay curing in the barn until the harvest of over 3310 pounds of onions (which took their place)? The work-day we had with a group of teenage farm-enthusiasts from the area? Or maybe the workshop I went to in Boston that combined lessons in food preservation (canning) with a Torah study?

All of the above.

But I'm going to save the NOFA conference and the Jewish food workshop for a separate post, so I can synthesize my notes and thoughts into something cohesive. The rest will unfold as I go through the fruit and vegetable alphabet. (How farm-nerdy.)

Apples: They're here. Well, not here, since we don't have an orchard. But on fruit farms nearby, the apple harvest is upon us. Seeing those first boxes of apples arrive for our fruit share members made me remember that I absolutely positively love fall. And that I absolutely positively love apples.
Beans: Green beans are tasty when pickled in vinegar, but even more so when lacto-fermented for a couple weeks. I've spent two afternoons doing some serious food preservation at the farm-house, and fermenting green beans was one of the "putting-by" experiments. (And a delicious one at that.) All these pickling, canning, and fermenting experiments will surely get me to experiment more on my own in the future. The idea of fermenting has always scared me a little bit, but in reality you can't conjure up anything too horrible (and if you do, just get rid of it and start fresh).
Corn: I made my favorite corn dish again this year, from Bryant Terry's Vegan Soul Food. It's a coconut-ginger creamed corn, which I spiced up with a bit of jalapeño. With the sweet corn we get from a nearby farm, and the sweet onions we've been harvesting at the farm (but no more! the bed has sadly been picked clean), this dish was incredible. If you love coconut, ginger, and corn, you must try this dish.
Dandelions: I just learned (either from a book or from the herbal medicine workshop at the NOFA conference) that a tincture of dandelions in apple cider vinegar can provide a hearty helping of calcium. I am hoping to get around to making some to use in everything from salad dressings to hot drinks.
Eggplant: It may have been an excellent year for onions, but it has been a pitiful eggplant harvest. Something is keeping the eggplants from flowering and producing. Sure, we've harvested some, but for two beds you'd expect a lot more than a bucket or two of fruit. The farmer believes it's a soil issue, which hopefully will be clarified for us when we do soil tests this fall.
Fennel: After my grandma showed me just how incredible a veggie stir-fry can be with a little fennel in it, I have been in love with this vegetable. I've been cooking it up with sweet onions, tofu, other veggies, and a sweet mango-curry sauce I got at the supermarket. Scrumptious.
Garlic: Today is the first day we distributed the garlic heads to CSA members! It took a lot of human-power (and a little tractor-power) to get all those hundreds and hundreds of bulbs out of the ground. Then, as they cured in the barn, we clipped the leaves off of each and every one and piled them into mesh bags. There's nothing like fresh garlic.
Howden Pumpkins: You know it's almost fall when the pumpkins are beginning to turn orange! We have a few pumpkins in the field near the tomatoes, and we've spotted more than a little orange. We don't grow winter squash on the farm, for lack of space, but the farm kids have been keeping their eye on the monstrous acorn squash plant growing out of the family compost heap. Fun fact: The Howden pumpkin was developed at Howden Farm in nearby Sheffield, MA.
I'm skipping I.
Jalapeños: gotta love 'em.
Kale: Kale is one of my favorite vegetable to harvest. The leaves just snap right off and in no time at all you've filled your bin. Today, however, in our post-Irene sogginess, it was a little trickier. In fact, as I stepped into a bed of curly Winterbor kale, my boot actually got stuck. I had to hold onto my bin for leverage as I pulled  myself out of two inches of muck, made soggy by the 5.5 inches of rain we got during the storm. Even though a portion of our field is under a couple inches of water, many other farms have it much worse. Catastrophically worse, even, and my heart goes out to all the farmers who have lost thousands of dollars worth of crops...
Lettuce: We usually harvest over 120 pounds of lettuce mix and about 80-100 heads of lettuce each week. On Friday we planted three small beds of lettuce. Over the course of the season, we've planted lettuce every couple weeks to ensure that we have enough each week. These last couple weeks it's been feeling a little tight, but I'm not sure how much of that is because of the weather.
Mayonnaise: It's most definitely not a vegetable, but at break-time everyday the "house special" is a rice cake or cracker with mayonnaise, basil, tomato, cucumber, hot pepper, onion, and cheese. I usually have the veggies with hummus or olive spread in the mayo's place. I've never worked anywhere before with such a delicious, nutritious, and generous break-time snack.
N: no N.
Onions: Remember all the onion starts we planted in mid-April? Four months later, they're all out of the ground. The sweet onions were the first to go, and since they didn't need to be cured, we've been distributing them to members for the last few weeks. A week ago today, we harvested the other three beds of onions: the storage onions. In all, it came to about 3310 pounds of onions, which are now laying on the floor of the barn to cure. There were two beds of a variety called Copra, which is a white storage onion, and one bed called Red Zepplin, which is a red storage onion.
Peppers: Like the eggplants, the peppers aren't doing as well this year either. The plants are producing a lot of fruit, but much of the fruit is rotting on the plant, well before it turns red. As we harvest ripe peppers, we have to remove the rotting ones that are filling with decomposing juices and other lovely surprises. Yuck.
Q: What vegetable starts with q?
Root vegetables: We grow lots of carrots, and we buy potatoes from a nearby organic farm. Both of these crops are washed in a funny-looking contraption plainly named a "root washer." It consists of a rotating barrel-like structure that has spray jets to wash the roots as they turn. Today was the first day I set up and used the washer by myself, and at first it was like a scene from an I Love Lucy episode as the the potatoes fell out of the washer faster than I could put them back in and the washer sprayed me with as much water as it did the potatoes.
Swiss Chard: Apparently, you can plant a bed of swiss chard and harvest from it all season long. I never knew that before this season! We have two beds of swiss chard, which continue to provide new growth to harvest week after week.
Tomatoes: There's a lot of them. We've been heavily harvesting field tomatoes for the last couple weeks, which is good timing since our greenhouse tomatoes are pretty tuckered out. We've started to rip out some of the least healthy plants in greenhouses 1 and 2.
U-pick: Members pick their own flower bouquets, cherry tomatoes, husk cherries, tomatillos, green beans, and herbs from the herb garden. Anybody want to go u-pick apple-picking with me sometime this fall?
Vetch: It's what's for dinner. No, just kidding. It's a cover crop. Rye and vetch will be planted in a section of the field which will not be used next year. Oats and peas will be planted in beds that will be used.
Watermelon: The melons are in, although now they're even more watery from all the rain. We don't sell or distribute the few melons that grow in the fields, and we've been enjoying them at break-time. In the cookbook I mentioned above, Bryant Terry has a good-looking recipe for pickled watermelon rinds, which I would love to test out this summer.
X marks the spot for cruciferous vegetables, whose flowers form the shape of an x. Brussels sprouts, broccoli, cabbage, cauliflower, and kale are all cruciferous vegetables. Yesterday we cut the tops off the Brussels sprout stalks to encourage them to focus energy on the lateral buds we know as the sprouts, instead of continuing to grow upwards. I took some of these tender leaves home with me and cooked them up with a little water, salt, and pepper. They were pretty darn good, but I can't wait for the real thing!
Yellow squash: See zucchini.
Zucchini: I've never been a huge fan, and now I'm definitely sick of it. Maybe I'll make another batch of zucchini pickles, though, because those were pretty tasty. A few weeks ago I co-made a chocolate zucchini cake, and it was heavenly. I guess I'll eat some more zucchini if it's hidden in chocolate...

And that's that! Hope everyone is enjoying the last days of August.

Peace,
Danielle

My Garden, Part II

Yesterday I left out some of the juicy adventures I've been having in my garden. Here they are, with photos!

 First week of August. It looks a little greener than it did in June!

Today I ate my third sungold cherry tomato. It was heavenly. The basil is just about big enough to start harvesting a little bit at a time. I have a big bag of basil in my kitchen right now though that was left over from a CSA distribution. Until I turn it into pesto, no more basil for me.

To my surprise, one of the heirloom tomatoes (Green Zebra, one of my favorite varieties) withered away and died this week. I was surprised because this was one of the plants from our plant sale, and not one I propagated myself or dug up in the fields. In retrospect however, I was taking the plants that nobody wanted to buy, and this plant was probably weak from the start. In the tomato plant's place, I moved over a partly shaded White Russian Kale to fill the void and give the kale plant the space it needs. A beginning from an end.

 Poor green zebra tomato plant. I harvested the green tomatoes when I pulled up the plant, but accidentally threw them in the compost yesterday! Ho hum. Does anyone know what could have caused the wilt? The bok choy that you see to the right of the tomato plant was harvested a few days ago, and was incredibly tender and tasty!

 All is not lost. There are still tomatoes. :)

After fertilizing the plants with alfalfa meal three weeks ago, they "popped" and started doing their thing (even the ones that had been stunted from being root-bound for so long before planting). A week earlier, I had been tempted to rip out the two lemon cucumber plants that (pre-fertilizer) had been standing up straight in all their stunted, yellow-leaved legginess. Every time I looked at them I was reminded of the fact that they were too root-bound when I planted them and that I should have planted them deeper in the soil. Since giving them the extra nutrient boost, they've exploded in size. I've eaten two delightfully sweet cucumbers and look forward to many more.

 Lemon cucumber plant. The fruits grow to be softball-sized yellow cucumbers with a crunchy skin and sweet flesh. 

Ants are walking all over my okra like it's the Appalachian Trail. What are they doing? Who knows. I thought at first they were eating the flower buds, but recently I've noticed some teeny tiny pests (like a smaller, duller looking flea beetle) that are covering the buds, and the ants seem very interested in this. I read that ants are attracted to okra because of the plant's high oil content. This past weekend I sprayed the plants with a garlic solution (homemade, and who knows if it was even garlicky enough) but no one (ant or beetle) seemed to mind. Regardless, today was a Very Special Day for okra, because I harvested three pods!

 This photograph was shot looking down on the okra plant, so you can see the new leaves, buds, and ANTS. Despite their presence on the plants, only a couple of buds on the most infested plants seem like they've been harmed.

 Okra plant, standing tall. In the middle of the photograph, towards the left, you can see a flower just about to open. Okra flowers are stunning, much like another member of its botanical family: hibiscus. Okra flowers are creamy white and purple. Members of the mallow family (malvaceae) also include marshmallow, cotton, durian, and kenaf.

Today's okra harvest -- first pick of the season! I cooked these cuties up with some sweet corn, sweet onion, garlic, olive oil, and salt. It was the first ear of corn I've eaten for the season, too. Not home-grown, but still local and delicious. 

Even in a ten by ten garden plot, there's plant drama.

  

My plan for the weekend: Weed, weed, weed. Give everyone a little helping of alfalfa meal. Stake that last tomato plant I've been neglecting. (I should have done this weeks ago!) Put up another trellis on the rest of the tomato plants to contain the new growth. (I'm using a pliant tape-like material to tie the plants to the stake; it supposedly has a little give to it as the plants grow.) Figure out how to contain the husk cherries, which are starting to get bigger and will sooner or later take over half the garden if I don't give them a trellis of some sort. Eat some more sorrel leaves, which are currently my favorite snack as I stand next the garden, dreamily staring into space.

My Garden

We're now harvesting hundreds of pounds of tomatoes each week, along with buckets full of summer squash, zucchini eggplant, carrots, cucumbers, and peppers. Add that to a couple hundred pounds of cabbage, some fennel, beets, broccoli, endive, kale, chard, scallions, onions, and purslane, and we've got quite a few farm-fresh veggies on our hands.

Compared to the farm's 4+ acres of organic vegetable production, my little garden is laughable. Its 10 foot by 10 foot perfect square is jam-packed with vegetable plants -- some of them experiments -- so who knows how they'll do. But much like the Little Red Hen who planted the wheat, harvested the wheat, ground the wheat, and made the wheat into bread all by herself, I've been taking care of this garden from the very beginning, and it's all -- for better or for worse -- mine.

I ripped up the sod on the lawn, I turned under the compost (which was acquired with the generous help of my co-workers), I raked it smooth, I sowed the seeds and planted the seedlings, I staked the tomatoes (more or less), I added the fertilizer, and wouldn't you know it -- I'm harvesting the vegetables!

The farmers were so kind to let me rip up a portion of their lawn so I could have a garden of my own. The following photographs show a little bit of the method to my madness:

In the beginning, there was sod. I measured out a ten by ten square plot, staked it, and started digging up the sod with my favorite farm tool: the digging fork. I started my garden rather late; this photograph was taken over Memorial Day weekend.

My enthusiasm for the garden was in constant flux as I dug up the sod. For all the sweat and effort I was putting into the digging, what I was really getting out of it (in the short-term, at least) was a perfect square of not-so-great dirt...

The digging fork, at rest.

 

I bought a package of  organic Clemson Sprineless okra seeds at a natural foods market in town. Here they are, germinating away, in the greenhouse. This photograph was taken in early June. 

The newly planted garden: more dirt than green. Here's a list of what's in it:

- 6 okra plants (sowed from seed in the greenhouse)

- 2 tomato plants left over from the seedling sales (sungold cherry tomato and green zebra)

- 2 volunteer tomato plants that I dug up from section 1. Last year's cherry tomatoes went crazy with the re-seeding, and these guys would have been pulled up to make room for this year's leeks and brassicas. I had no idea what kind of cherries they'd produce, but that was part of the fun.

- 3 volunteer husk cherry plants, which also re-seeded from last year. I dug them up like the cherries.

- 2 tomato plants I rooted from "suckers" pruned off of tomato plants in the greenhouse. I still have no idea what variety of tomatoes they'll grow, but they seem very healthy!

- 1 sorrel. yum.

- 2 lemon cucumber plants

- 1 zucchini

- 1 lacinato kale
- 3 pepper plants (1 mystery variety that lost its tag during the plant sale, 1 "lipstick" pepper plant, and 1 "King Arthur Bell" that I bought at Volante Farm)

Since this photograpg was taken I've added:

- 1 bok choy

- 3 Russian kale plants

- 3 lettuce starts

- 5 basil plants

- 12 red onion starts, which I found in the compost spreader we borrowed from a nearby farm. They're doing great. 

- 1 stunted sunflower, which has bloomed and is now looking a little sad.

I think this is a picture of one of the greenhouse "suckers" when it started producing fruit. These tomatoes are now huge but still green. Still not sure what kind of tomato plant it is. If only I could remember which plant I pruned it off of!

 

Lacinato kale. Scrumptious! 

Stay tuned for another post about what my garden looks like now-a-days. I'd love to say that I'm trying to build the suspense, but in truth I haven't yet uploaded the photos to my computer and I'm too excited to share the news about this little garden-that-could to wait. So far I've harvested one zucchini,  two lemon cucumbers, some kale, the bok choy, and a few leaves (here and there) of sorrel. Today, I ate my first two sungold cherry tomatoes! I definitely couldn't live off of this garden, but hey, it's a start.

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.

Some thoughts...on plant magic, miracles, and religion

I'm pretty biased, in my love of plants, towards new, green growth. Seeds germinating, tender leaves unfurling -- it's all breath-taking. Perhaps I'm just a product of the culture around me in New England, the culture that impatiently awaits the visible re-birth of nature each Spring as the snow melts, the green tips of crocuses push their way up through the frosty earth, and the tree-line becomes dotted with chartreuse.

In any case, I've found myself thinking a bit about my shifting attitude towards the plants we're tending to on the farm. Why is it that I feel less like a caretaker when it comes to the sturdy cabbage plants taking shape and thriving in the field than I did when they were tiny plant-starts in the greenhouse? And does that translate into lesser appreciation? Shouldn't I feel more in awe of their growth now as they take root in the earth and fend (more or less) for themselves? This week I've been awakening to the realization that it is a miracle in its own right to see our formerly fragile seedlings in the fields, growing stronger and larger each day, basking in the nutrients provided by healthy soil. They are beginning to resemble the vegetables they will ultimately provide for us. Which, after all, is the whole point.

You'd think it would be a given for me to appreciate this -- and I do indeed appreciate! It seems like pure magic, a miracle, to plant a seed and later harvest pounds and pounds of fruit. What I feel is a different type of appreciation though -- the first is for the beauty of the plant itself, whereas this other is for the the fact that it gives us food. There's a tension between my desire to see a plant as a beautiful mess of greenery that I partly understand and partly leave up to the whims of Mother Nature, and between the reality that this plant is a cabbage. And that we need the cabbage to eat, more than we need the plant to look at. Eventually, we'll behead this plant.

Although these large vegetable plants are now much less in need of our help in terms of their survival, it's not to say that there's no work to be done. We still have to weed around them to provide ample space for their growth, give them water during a dry-spell, and for some crops, give them an extra helping of nutrients. It is at this stage that it feels less like human hands are in complete control, and more like the whims and guiding hand of something much more powerful. It's at this stage that a farmer has to use everything he or she knows about each crop and various farming methods to make the best decisions. But, there are always twists and turns in the road, and questions that remain unanswered. For example, why are the husk cherries being ravaged by beetles? How can we stop the voles from tunneling under the heirloom tomatoes and chowing down at the base of the plants? How on earth can the radishes get this large and still not split or get pithy? There are always challenges and unexpected gifts.

Needless to say, I am in awe of everything going on at the farm right now. Everything seems miraculous in part because of my inexperience as a farmer, and in part because life is teeming with beauty and energy. This energy is the same life force, prana, that a yogi channels in his or her yoga practice. It's amazing.

When I went to Israel this year, I felt similarly awe-inspired and infused with spirituality. It was an eerie feeling to realize that after thousands of years, after diaspora, after generation upon generation of my family had been praying for Israel, that there I was -- smack-dab in the middle of the holy land. But also striking was Israel's connection to the land.  Not just the political history -- the exhile, the diasporas, the formation of a nation-state, the shifting borders... the connection to land as necesary for religious and political survival. What struck me was the connection between Judaism and agriculture.  The state of Israel and the farming of its precious soil. And how that tied into everything else I just mentioned. It's not surprising that this connection is so strong given the kibbutzniks of the '60s and '70s, and even before that: without a means to provide oneself with food, no Jewish settlement from the 19th century or early 20th century would have survived. Agriculture in Israel is crucial. For a country with so many enemies, with such critical water issues (it's the desert, after all), and with its location making it expensive to import foreign goods, an agricultural system that works and makes good use of the country's resources is a life or death situation. It's no wonder, as I found out while I was there, that Israel is on the cutting edge of sustainable agricultural practices. With such little water, it must be protected and used wisely! With little arable land, soil quality must also be protected and used wisely! (We U.S folks have to adopt these practices on a large-scale too...)

I could go on. But the real reason for my ramblings is because of something I read this week that made me think about farming in Israel in the first place, and connect it to the fact that we're beginning to ramp up our harvest on the farm. I somehow stumbled upon the website of Ganei Beantown, a Boston-based Jewish group focused on food and sustainability issues. In one of their workshop listings, I read that ancient Jewish farmers provided a portion of their harvest for the poor through the practices of Peah, Leket, Shechicha. "Peah," meaning corner, calls for farmers to leave a portion of their harvest, in the corners of the fields, for the poor.  "Leket" refers to gleaning. Produce left in the fields will be left there for others to glean. With "shechicha," produce accidentally forgotten in the fields will be left there for others to glean. Multiple ways to carry out mizvot, some planned, some not planned. Tackling the issues of poverty and food justice from multiple angles. There are numerous other rules relating to agriculture in the Mishna and Tosefta, Jewish Oral Law, as well.

And of course, we have to ask: Why? In asking the question, we are able to learn more about the world, human nature, religion, and ourselves. Why was this done, and how can we translate it to our current food system? Why did ancient farmers do this, and how can we adopt the principles behind it into our own practice of tzedakah? Why were these rules, and not something a farmer could choose to do through his own good will? Everything in Jewish law and literature is fuel for hearty discussion. In the Jewish tradition, you cannot study alone. In fact, you are required to study (and pray) in a group. That in itself is a beautiful thing.

Making sure healthful food is given (or made more accessible) to those in need is obviously not just a Jewish practice, but it makes for an interesting analysis when something like this is Law, religious or otherwise. And I also have to mention that quite a bit of the harvest from the farm I'm apprenticing on goes straight to the local pantry.

For more information on the connections between Judaism and farming, check out Adamah in Connecticut or the Jewish Farm School in New York. I am feeling inspired to learn more about Judiasm, ecology, agriculture, politics, and social justice, and to continue asking: Why?

There are so many ways to farm, and so many philosophies!

Everything is falling into place

This past week was a turning point in my apprenticeship. In what felt like a matter of days (but was actually a matter of weeks), we made the shift from plant production to vegetable production.

No longer are we working in the greenhouse all day long. No longer are we planting fast and furiously for the early season crops. No longer are we wondering if nature will be kind to us and turn our hard work into a bountiful harvest. Vegetables? They're here, baby!

This past week was also the first week of our CSA, which meant that individuals and families from the community were driving out to the farm on Tuesday and Friday (our distribution days) and bringing their enthusiasm for fresh vegetables and summertime along with them. CSA stands for Community-Supported Agriculture, which is a way for members of the community to invest in their local farms and, in turn, receive a share of the bounty. This type of arrangement gives the farmers some steady financial ground to stand on at the beginning of the season, and also strengthens the farm's community ties.

For the first CSA distribution, we harvested quite a bit in comparison to the previous weeks' lettuce and radish repertoire. If you're wondering what was in the first week's share, here's the list: (click on the picture to enlarge it)

We also opened the pea section up for members to pick their own:

But as wonderful as it was to be harvesting a variety of vegetables and start up the CSA, the week wasn't without its bumps in the road. After a week of storms, we realized that some of the lettuce had been damaged by hail. It hurt some varieties more than others, and all in all it wasn't horrible. It was most noticeable on the heads of Boston lettuce. On the bright side, the weather plumped up the radishes and -- amazingly -- didn't even cause them to split! The result? Huge (read: gigantic, baseball-sized) radishes that tasted sweet and juicy. Definitely not your average supermarket radish.

We also brought a variety of vegetables to sell at the Saturday Farmer's Market. That large leafy green on the bottom, to the left of the pints of sugar snap peas, is basil. HUGE greenhouse basil, with velvety leaves that have never been exposed to heavy rain (or hail, thank goodness). They love life in the greenhouse!

And perhaps the most exciting of all? TOMATOES! Our greenhouse tomatoes are on the way to red, ripe, juicy deliciousness. Can you spot the red ones in this photo?

Mmmmm tomatoes...

Peonies

In my family, we accept (and expect) the following to be true:

1. Whenever the dog is groomed, it will rain.

2. Whenever the peonies bloom, it will rain.

While my folks and I might not be the best meteorologists this side of the Mississippi, the peonies outside my home bloomed this week, and not hours before a storm hit the farm with such force -- with all its thunder, lightening, and hail -- that I was let out of work early. While this means that our rule remains steadfast and true, it also means that I have some lazy-looking (but still beautiful) peonies near my front porch. With their chins resting on the wet grass, they look as if they spent all their energy in producing a magnificent bloom, and then proceeded to take a nap. Which, coincidentally, is exactly what I did during the storm.