A New Definition of Excitement and Events

June 25
I woke at 5:30, changed into my dirty-ish work clothes (no sense in dirtying my clean clothes yet) and climbed on Amy Rose’s bike. I rode past sweet, tree-lined ponds, a front yard full of brown and white llamas, and dark green forests which would appear ominous except for the joyous songbirds twittering amongst each other competing to be the earliest bird that got the worm. Mist rose from green cow pastures while a white-faced red bull wandered through the pools of sunlight streaming hopefully through the gentle morning clouds, giving me the (false) idea that it would be sunny and beautiful all day. Well, it was certainly beautiful—but it wasn’t exactly sunny. I arrived at work by 6 and Sarah asked me how my first bike ride went. “Stunning. Also entirely downhill,” I replied.

Going home will be a little bit harder.


Auggie

Harvesting 40 lbs of spinach and lettuce, along with a box of garlic, buckets of cut flowers, and more, we were in a rush to prepare for the Queen Ann Market in a wealthier district in Seattle. Sarah and Willie left by 11 to drive to Bainbridge Island and catch the 12:20 ferry to Seattle. Cleaning the processing area, I hosed the bathtub, Tupperware harvesting containers, and wash machine of the dirt and straggling greens. We use the wash machine on its spin cycle to dry our greens—brilliant, no? (Though now that I think about it, I believe I forgot to clean the wash machine…ah, well, better memory next time). Snagging a ride to collect groceries so I could stop eating Sarah’s food (which she kindly gave me without any second questions), I prepared my own meal, took a quick nap, using my cuddly orange Monkey fleece as a pillow (still has sharp weed seed pods stuck in it from picnicking next to the river near Bolinas), and headed to the fields for my afternoon chores.


Bob the Bulldog

My hands were so dirty I couldn’t even see the blisters forming across the crest of each palm. Thus is life when you spend 5 hours weeding an artichoke row intercropped with delicate, elegantly purple lettuce heads. The path on either side was waist high with weeds—mostly lambs quarter—while the interior of the row was clogged with clover, various strongly rooted grasses, and other weeds I cannot identify (yet). Using a hoe, I cleared the pathway on both sides of the endless row. It was an excellent workout and made my biceps grow almost as fast as the city of weeds at Sunfield. I had to crouch and weed the interior of the row by hand lest I carelessly shred the precious crops with a hand tool. The artichokes were spiny and I had to be wary of which weeds I grabbed with my bare hands—it was difficult and slow to work with gloves since I couldn’t feel the smaller weeds ensconced just under the broad lettuce leaves. Despite it being a fairly gnarly process, I felt wonderful as I absorbed myself alone in the field, my thoughts moving entirely without direction but my body physically dedicated to the task at hand.


Danielle and Leslie

BLAAAA….well….It’s dark in the covered porch and the only light I’m using is my laptop screen. I was sitting here innocently writing in my journal and listening to my music when a 2 ½ inch spider just descended from the ceiling about 4 inches from the tip of my nose. My first reaction was to blow it away from my face—but physics dictates that the spider will swing directly back into my face after swinging away. Flinging my head backwards (into the wall), the spider grazed the bridge of my nose. I make lots of stupid mistakes, but I don’t usually make the same mistake twice—the next time it swung away, I ducked and moved to a safer location (it’s probably under another web, but whatever). The place is clean—spider webs are just an integral part of living in the woods.


Danielle


Danielle and Leslie process

June 26, 2009

Today was fairly uneventful. I pressed soil blocks and seeded flats for a few hours before weeding the pumpkin patch—an unpleasant task since the vines are quite spiny. My arms are itchy and rashy, so I’ll probably not be doing that again! That’s the nice thing about a farm. If you don’t want to do something, it’s okay. There are a million other things to do. I don’t know how heartening that is in the long run, but at least I won’t be weeding any more pumpkins!

HA. I am rereading my journal to make sure nothing ‘too honest’ has been stated before I post this on the internet and find the section about the pumpkins quite funny because I was wrong. I’ve returned to that patch a time or two. That said, I think you get the idea. Sometimes things just have to be done anyway!


Curran and Celeste help me braid garlic.


Friday night...Frances cooks real meals!

Sarah and I started talking about China and its laws limiting the number of children per household. I argued that I don’t like the idea of limiting parents on how many kids they can have, but since population is the number one contributor to poverty then it’s absolutely necessary to impose such restrictions. I think it’s terrible that this has lead to the death and abandonment of female babies, but this is a result of the Chinese culture—not the law itself. Thus, I disagree with that aspect of the culture. Sarah mentioned reading about a mother who had the audacity to birth 18 children to our crowded world. Each child’s name began with the letter “J” so I spent several hours thinking of names that begin with J, most of which are biblical.


Braided carrots I found while harvesting for CSA

In writing about thinking of names that begin with the letter J as an “event” I am fairly amused with myself. It’s amazing how the mind begins to wander when in the field for so many hours, hands moving methodically, back consistently sore. Some thoughts are completely random and lack direction or feeling. Sometimes I start thinking about how I wasn’t thinking about anything at all, realizing that I was unintentionally meditating just allowing the dry topsoil to slide through my hands or relishing the satisfaction of tearing a tough root from the dark soil. The majority of my thoughts, however, are memories replaying themselves in my head—not haunting or nagging me, simply making themselves present, available for reflection. I don’t hit recall buttons, searching for specific moments or scenarios but allow the thoughts to come and go as they please. Though I’ve come across various understandings of myself and what is likely to become of me and the relationships I’m forming with people, I haven’t had any spectacular epiphanies. More than anything, I’m gaining an appreciation for the freedom I’m allowing my mind to have. I’ve always enjoyed a nice hike or some time alone just sitting in the quad or a field or the mindless brutality of a hard run, but this lack of restrictions is quite different from anything I’ve come across. This independence lasts all day, every day. Though I don’t feel useless with it either, as if I’m floating without a direction in mind. This will allow me to stew and ponder as I please—hopefully not to the extent that I beat dead horses (I’m more likely to beat the wicked rooster that attacked me yesterday anyway)—but will at least let me consider the events of the past few months in peace.

This Farmer Likes to Write

I wasn't planning on creating a blog for this summer, but after my computer blue-screened for the 9th time in 4 months (as of last night) I decided I want to ensure that my journal and photos are preserved. That aside, I've been asked if I planned on creating another blog so I decided to do just that. I won't be writing as extensively here since there's not a whole lot I can say about weeding, but I can certainly share my photos with you. Plus after my first haying experience yesterday I am too excited to not share my excitement about life on the farm with the rest of the world in hopes of spreading some interest and developing the idea in peoples heads that farming is a beautiful career (perhaps not for me, but that's yet to be decided, if ever).


My Rockin' Airstream

I'm working as the farmer's apprentice (I'm officially Apprentice #2)for Sunfield Farm and School (501c3) in Port Hadlock, Washington (on the Eastern edge of the Peninsula). The school is a private Waldorf school (grades K-7) which follow's Rudolph Steiner's ideology on agriculture and education. The Waldorf education is quite different from the average public school education. Arts and social life are strongly encouraged at school. The kindergartners spend no time in the classroom. The children go to school in order to play. Granted their play is mostly in the from of songs or teacher led games and walks in the woods and wetlands on the 85 acre property (protected by a land trust) but they don't sit in chairs and learn their ABC's like other children. There is very little emphasis on reading, writing, and the "classics" skills (though mathematics are well covered). I believe that this helps involve parents with their children's education since many children learn to read at home with the one-on-one attention of their loving mothers and fathers. I know very little about the Waldorf education (the school is obviously not in session at the moment since it's summer and the camps they offer are not the same as their regular school sessions) so don't take my brief summary for granted. Waldorf is a fairly common system so just Google it and find out a bit more. It's fascinating. All I have to say is that the children are some of the smartest and friendliest people I've ever met. They're learning the same thing I'm learning in COLLEGE. Plus their interactions with each other are forgiving, patient, and beautiful--what more can you want from children?


The Hoophouse

Enough about Waldorf...I'm working on the farm. Though the farm and school are one operation, I'm based entirely on the farm, running the CSA and market harvests and pioneering the weeding with two other girls.

I have received an astonishing amount of criticism for working on a farm for the summer from various friends of a relative and other neighbors. Nothing direct was stated, but upon announcing my plan to work on a farm for the summer as an internship I found that certain people did not know what to make of me which read across their faces and their uncertain words of congratulations for finding such a wonderful job. This slightly non-conventional manner of developing my skills seemed to them to be a bit childish and silly. Why wasn't I studying abroad or assisting a marketing manager like all the other children of higher thinking? This has angered me (quite a bit) which is partly why I have interest in sharing my thoughts and experiences on the farm--not that I have created this journal out of anger, but I do like to channel my energy productively and I want to share the beauty of working outside with anyone who's willing to read this!


I like to have dance parties in my Airstream.

And we begin....

Finally home after my first official day at work (I jumped in to help when I arrived yesterday at 11 a.m. and didn’t leave until 9:00 that night…lots of chores to do), I’m getting a brief opportunity to catch my breath and absorb myself with my settings. Home is a 30 foot Airstream with a 150 square foot porch attached to it. Settled in a small clearing in the evergreen forest on a small, family owned and operated goat farm (future cheese-making business), I’m four miles from Sunfield. The family, Amy Rose, Bruce, and Esther (their five-year-old) live in the building that will become their business after they have a chance to build their home on the same small plot of land. They lived in the Airstream for a year after driving it across the country from Philadelphia where Bruce had a catering business (he still makes the most amazing pastries ever).


Broccoli Patch with Chicken Coop

The Airstream is fully outfitted: stove, oven, TV (not going to use it, but it’s here), stereo (don’t have CD’s), bathroom, double bed, pull-out couch, kitchen table, refrigerator, microwave…yes, you get it, the works. Best of all, it’s decorated with lots of Esther’s crayon drawings and a bouquet of fragrant wildflowers she picked for me this afternoon. It’s a 300 square foot home in the woods of the Olympic Peninsula. Basically my dream home. Amy Rose has loaned me various cooking wares; a pot, a pan, tea kettle, French press, some oatmeal, a towel, and dishwashing materials. All I need is a bike (which I have a loaner from Rose-May) and a trip to the grocery store…then I’ll never want to leave my trailer. It’s a good thing I love the farm already.

Sarah Alt (my 26 year-old co-worker from Wisconsin…”WiscAnsin”…she doesn’t actually say it that way, just poking fun at the Cheeseheads) and I woke early this morning…rather she was up at 5:45 and had to wake up my lazy ass at 6:15 since I slept through my alarm (big surprise, right?) and we promptly left her house at 6:30, pulling into Sunfield 15 minutes later. I knew most of the morning routine since it’s the same as the evening chores, except backwards. We checked the ropes to make sure the driveway was fenced (it only has a single line running the sides) before herding two Dexter dairy cattle, Lucky and Auggie, into the barn for milking. Snapping the stantions shut after they automatically placed their heads inside, eager to munch on the organic Canadian grains we fed them every morning. Sarah took care of the sweet mothers while I sterilized the pails and prepared the iodine solution we use to clean their udders.

Lucky goes first, and I wiped her udders with a soft, iodine soaked, hot rag and began to milk clumsily after drying her udders. I leaned against her warm black coat, my cheek against her side listening to her four stomachs gurgle and grind, my head moving left and right with each of her deep breaths. She didn’t mind me milking her despite how awkwardly I was performing—at least until she ran out of grain. Then she tossed her horned head impatiently, though never violently. I can manage well enough with my right hand, but my left hand can’t seem to coordinate itself with the same rapid, consistent rhythm as Sarah who can finish the job in 20 minutes (for both cows). Unwilling to continue being such a klutz and driven by my unrelenting desire to be good at everything I do, I admit to the fact that I’ve been practicing the motion of forming a fist and rolling my fingers down my palm while keeping my pointer finger curled (so the milk doesn’t shoot back into the udder…you can actually feel it move up the udder if you loosen your grip). My hands are cramped and sore from doing it all day, but I’ll be damned if I don’t learn how to milk a cow in ten minutes by the end of next week!


Broccoli

Today, Wednesday, is a CSA day. For those who don’t know, a CSA stands for Community Supported Agriculture. Community members buy a share from the farm (it runs about 500 dollars for the season) and receive one box of farm goods each week. Sometimes you receive the same things three weeks in a row, but that’s part of the reality in farming—not everything is available all the time and when there is availability, there’s generally an abundance. The CSA allows the farmer to receive income early in the season unlike the usual routine of getting paid once a year (in the fall) and farmers can prepare for next year’s crops. Sunfield continues to grow each year both in the farm and the school, as well as the infrastructure to support its apprentices. The CSA is an important part of that growth.

Perhaps it doesn’t sound exciting to my reader, but I had a blast today. I harvested 25 pounds of spinach (it takes a lot of spinach to make 25 pounds), 25 bunches of cherry drop radishes, and a stack of leeks. Dressed in ridiculously large yellow rubber overalls, I crawled on my hands and knees, covered in mud with a harvesting knife in hand, selecting the greenest bunches of spinach from the neatly lined (but incredibly weedy) rows…weeds are such a battle, especially when you’re short-staffed and rely heavily on volunteers. Listening to the ravens cackle like wicked children, watching the occasional two-seater plane scoot overhead, and munching to my heart’s delight on Lambs Quarter (a common weed) and spinach (one for me…one for Sunfield Farm CSA members…), I filled two large Tupperware bins with the iron rich greens. I will mention though, lambs quarter has far more iron and other nutrients than spinach. It’s considered a pest, but tastes rather nice with lots of garlic and hot sauce (then again what doesn’t taste good when smothered in fresh garlic and hot sauce?!). I’m planning on stir frying some in butter for lunch tomorrow…and drinking milk too, of course. Over the course of a day and a half, I’ve already had 1 gallon of fresh, whole, raw milk. We filter it, label it, and refrigerate it. Then I drink it. This rocks. So far this is the sickest summer of my life. Who could disagree?

I met my boss, Willie, today. Healthy, strong, and highly energetic, one would hardly be able to argue his age, save his appropriately weathered appearance—he is a farmer after all! I sense he is capable of talking my ear off, especially about agriculture. My only hope is that I can retain at least 1/10 of what he teaches me as he’s already proven to be a valuable resource, rattling facts about applied agriculture off the top of his head as easily as if he were just telling us what he had for breakfast an hour earlier. Both a teacher and farmer at heart, I’m sure I’ll have many opportunities to learn from him as long as he doesn’t swamp himself too much with Sunfield’s endless chores and projects.