9.30.2005
9.28.2005
and then summer ended
In the mornings, when we start working, the temperatures hover in the 40s. We bundle into fleeces and warm our hands on mugs of coffee. Our attention turns to take-down and break-down tasks, away from the mainstays of harvesting and weeding. This morning, we took down the electric deer fence. Our pant legs were quickly soaked by the dew on what's left of the leaves on the pumpkin plants. We wore gloves. The seasons are definitely shifting.
What finalized it for me was harvesting the giant pumpkins. Thirteen of the big-bottomed beauties kept us busy all afternoon. We heaved them into the bucket of the tractor, three at a time, then unloaded them onto the stone wall near the barn. Several of them would best me in a pound-per-pound competition. (Though I like to think I could beat them in a speed-reading contest.)
I remember planting the giant-pumpkin seeds into plastic cell packs, back when the weather was cool on the other side of summer. They were transplanted into a bed in a low-traffic corner of the farm, and they've been sucking up water and nutrients ever since, out of sight and mind.
In the next few weeks, there will be a weight-guessing contest, and the lucky winners will somehow hump the fatties home. The pumpkins will adorn 13 front porches until the neighborhood kids throw out their backs trying to smash them. By then, there will have been frosts. We'll be in jackets. Summer a memory. That soft thud, a giant pumpkin landing gently on a stone wall, sounds like the end of summer.
What finalized it for me was harvesting the giant pumpkins. Thirteen of the big-bottomed beauties kept us busy all afternoon. We heaved them into the bucket of the tractor, three at a time, then unloaded them onto the stone wall near the barn. Several of them would best me in a pound-per-pound competition. (Though I like to think I could beat them in a speed-reading contest.)
I remember planting the giant-pumpkin seeds into plastic cell packs, back when the weather was cool on the other side of summer. They were transplanted into a bed in a low-traffic corner of the farm, and they've been sucking up water and nutrients ever since, out of sight and mind.
In the next few weeks, there will be a weight-guessing contest, and the lucky winners will somehow hump the fatties home. The pumpkins will adorn 13 front porches until the neighborhood kids throw out their backs trying to smash them. By then, there will have been frosts. We'll be in jackets. Summer a memory. That soft thud, a giant pumpkin landing gently on a stone wall, sounds like the end of summer.
9.27.2005
salvage mission
I brought my camera to the fireworks on Sunday night to see what I could see. Turns out, when you're using a SLR camera and long exposures, you don't see squat through the viewfinder. I might as well have been blind. Except if I were blind, maybe my other senses would have called an intervention and taken over operations to prevent a total loss.
Once the show had ended, a friend said, "Lemme see what you got." After scrolling through a lot of dark, blurred, fuzzy images--a LOT of them--he wrapped up the conversation as politely as he could manage: "It's HARD to photograph fireworks, huh?" Hard to photograph them well, maybe, because I apparently had no trouble taking loads of crap shots.
9.25.2005
everyone loves a parade
To celebrate its 375th birthday, Boston had a parade. I love a good parade. I love the bad ones, too. It's the marching bands--I can't help it.
This one was not at all advertised, and attendance was appropriately thin. Paul Revere, or an actor who plays him in parades, started things off by riding the route on horseback, shouting, "The parade is coming!" Or maybe, given his inability to work the meager crowds, it was really William Dawes. Anyway, it was perfectly fitting that, as our mongoloid Mayor Menino marched by us--just about the only spectators in sight--I was looking down, fiddling with my camera, not even noticing.
By the time the Puerto Rican group came by, with their deafening music and dancing girls, things were perking up. The route was lined by spectators on at least one side. Some bands were actually quite good. The gay pride people were all smiles and waves, even though censors apparently required the taping of a rainbow flag over the word "gay" on their banner. But pride! So much pride.
Then came the Boston Parks Department float: Imagine a flatbed carpeted with Easter grass, with potted plastic plants that had long ago fallen over and never been righted, with a park bench and drinking fountain stuck in there. As it passed, a guy behind me said to his friend, "All they're missing is the stray shopping cart and a homeless dude on the bench."
This one was not at all advertised, and attendance was appropriately thin. Paul Revere, or an actor who plays him in parades, started things off by riding the route on horseback, shouting, "The parade is coming!" Or maybe, given his inability to work the meager crowds, it was really William Dawes. Anyway, it was perfectly fitting that, as our mongoloid Mayor Menino marched by us--just about the only spectators in sight--I was looking down, fiddling with my camera, not even noticing.
By the time the Puerto Rican group came by, with their deafening music and dancing girls, things were perking up. The route was lined by spectators on at least one side. Some bands were actually quite good. The gay pride people were all smiles and waves, even though censors apparently required the taping of a rainbow flag over the word "gay" on their banner. But pride! So much pride.
Then came the Boston Parks Department float: Imagine a flatbed carpeted with Easter grass, with potted plastic plants that had long ago fallen over and never been righted, with a park bench and drinking fountain stuck in there. As it passed, a guy behind me said to his friend, "All they're missing is the stray shopping cart and a homeless dude on the bench."
9.23.2005
yum. pus.
A quart and a half of raspberries came home with me yesterday, and later that day I turned them into jelly. Ever since, a little jingle my mother and her sisters used to sing has been stuck in my head. I hereby release it from my head to yours, Internet, in the hopes that it will leave me alone:
Old man Kelly had a pimple on his belly.
His wife bit it off and it tasted like jelly.
If that pimple pus tasted anything like my raspberry-peach preserves, Mrs. Kelly is a wise woman.
Enjoy.
Old man Kelly had a pimple on his belly.
His wife bit it off and it tasted like jelly.
If that pimple pus tasted anything like my raspberry-peach preserves, Mrs. Kelly is a wise woman.
Enjoy.
9.21.2005
sitting
on the tailgate of the pickup as it cruises the farm road, watching the ground zing by below you, it's impossible not to swing your feet.
a word from Emily D.
The morns are meeker than they were,
The nuts are getting brown;
The berry's cheek is plumper,
The rose is out of town.
The maple wears a gayer scarf,
The field a scarlet gown.
Lest I should be old-fashioned,
I'll put a trinket on.
--E. Dickinson
9.19.2005
unsolicited opinions
1. Johnny Cash is The Man, and I will forever be sad that he's gone.
2. Women should avoid wearing white shoes (excluding the athletic variety) at all costs. I'm sorry, but they're terrible. There, I said it.
3. The Cavendish banana, the variety you and I know and love, could be extinct in 10 years, and I am not prepared to live without it. (I know snopes says it isn't true, but I heard it on NPR, so it must be.)
2. Women should avoid wearing white shoes (excluding the athletic variety) at all costs. I'm sorry, but they're terrible. There, I said it.
3. The Cavendish banana, the variety you and I know and love, could be extinct in 10 years, and I am not prepared to live without it. (I know snopes says it isn't true, but I heard it on NPR, so it must be.)
9.18.2005
unicorns: are they endangered or extinct? discuss
Yesterday, at the farmer's market, someone pointed a leek at me and asked me, "Is this a potato leek?"
"It's a leek," I replied.
"A potato leek?"
"A leek."
"A potato leek?"
Around and around we went, neither of us really understanding the other, until I started to wonder if she knew something I didn't about a shortcut for soup. Unfortunately, that's exactly what she was after.
This reminded me of a friend, who once believed the alphabet came in at 23 letters long, rather than the standard 26, on account of the uncommonly long one that precedes P: elemeno. [CORRECTION: Jerad knows his ABCs. But visit his site anyway.]
Another friend recently confessed that, to this day, she gets north and south confused. (A warning to the Internet: Don't travel America's highway system with someone suffering such delusions. You will not find your destination. In fact, I am still trapped in her car, trying to find Wrentham.)
The beloved This American Life's episode 293 documents what happens when we carry these unfortunate misunderstandings into adulthood. The result, usually, is massive humiliation (and sometimes costly gas consumption). Such as the guy, old enough to order a margarita with his meal, who figured "quesadilla" is Spanish for "What's the deal?" If it's not, I think it absolutely should be.
"It's a leek," I replied.
"A potato leek?"
"A leek."
"A potato leek?"
Around and around we went, neither of us really understanding the other, until I started to wonder if she knew something I didn't about a shortcut for soup. Unfortunately, that's exactly what she was after.
This reminded me of a friend, who once believed the alphabet came in at 23 letters long, rather than the standard 26, on account of the uncommonly long one that precedes P: elemeno. [CORRECTION: Jerad knows his ABCs. But visit his site anyway.]
Another friend recently confessed that, to this day, she gets north and south confused. (A warning to the Internet: Don't travel America's highway system with someone suffering such delusions. You will not find your destination. In fact, I am still trapped in her car, trying to find Wrentham.)
The beloved This American Life's episode 293 documents what happens when we carry these unfortunate misunderstandings into adulthood. The result, usually, is massive humiliation (and sometimes costly gas consumption). Such as the guy, old enough to order a margarita with his meal, who figured "quesadilla" is Spanish for "What's the deal?" If it's not, I think it absolutely should be.
9.17.2005
wakey wakey
Every tuesday through friday, I leave the house while Burton is still snoozing. In fact, most of the eastern standard time zone is snoozing. Because it's freaking early. More often than not, I get a kick out of being up before the rest of you, while the streets are quiet and the air is still and the intersection of routes 16 and 2 is mine, all mine.
Saturdays, though. I truly hope my next job doesn't require me to see 5:30 am every saturday. I fear this may mean the end of my donut-making career before it even starts. Helas.
Saturdays, though. I truly hope my next job doesn't require me to see 5:30 am every saturday. I fear this may mean the end of my donut-making career before it even starts. Helas.
9.15.2005
in a day's work
When I tell people that I work on a farm, four out of five dentists reply, "But what do you DO?" I explain the planting, harvesting, weeding, et al, but people often don't get it. Understandably. To assist, a list:
1. If it rains, I get wet. Like today, for example.
2. I mess things up. Like today, for example. Sometimes I really should know better. Sometimes I follow directions but people change their minds about what they really want. Sometimes I get bad directions. Sometimes I think I know what I'm doing, but one factor has changed--the price of weenies, for example--and what I thought I knew no longer holds. As much as I've learned this summer, there is so much more I don't even know that I don't know. You know?
3. I pull large quantities of things out of the earth, like potatoes, beets, and carrots. I also cut things off plants, such as arugula, swiss chard, eggplant, peppers, edamame, and melons, for example. Then these things get hauled around in wagons, weighed, washed, and stacked into attractive piles.
4. I kill bugs. Yesterday I likely caused the demise of zillions of brassica-eating cabbage worms. No one mourns the cabbage worm.
5. I spend a surprising amount of time washing buckets. Although this gets old fast, my hose skills have come a long way since May.
6. I explain to many people why I'm doing this for the summer.
7. Planting and weeding. Lots of it, but never enough.
8. Chatting, bitching, and laughing with coworkers, CSA members, or the voices in my head. Banter gets us through many a tedious task.
9. I pray for rain and set up irrigation systems when it doesn't come.
10. I breathe fresh air and suffer the stink of compost. My skin drinks in vitamin D while I swelter in the heat. The rain, the dew, the birds, the bugs, and the afternoon breeze--I take it all in.
1. If it rains, I get wet. Like today, for example.
2. I mess things up. Like today, for example. Sometimes I really should know better. Sometimes I follow directions but people change their minds about what they really want. Sometimes I get bad directions. Sometimes I think I know what I'm doing, but one factor has changed--the price of weenies, for example--and what I thought I knew no longer holds. As much as I've learned this summer, there is so much more I don't even know that I don't know. You know?
3. I pull large quantities of things out of the earth, like potatoes, beets, and carrots. I also cut things off plants, such as arugula, swiss chard, eggplant, peppers, edamame, and melons, for example. Then these things get hauled around in wagons, weighed, washed, and stacked into attractive piles.
4. I kill bugs. Yesterday I likely caused the demise of zillions of brassica-eating cabbage worms. No one mourns the cabbage worm.
5. I spend a surprising amount of time washing buckets. Although this gets old fast, my hose skills have come a long way since May.
6. I explain to many people why I'm doing this for the summer.
7. Planting and weeding. Lots of it, but never enough.
8. Chatting, bitching, and laughing with coworkers, CSA members, or the voices in my head. Banter gets us through many a tedious task.
9. I pray for rain and set up irrigation systems when it doesn't come.
10. I breathe fresh air and suffer the stink of compost. My skin drinks in vitamin D while I swelter in the heat. The rain, the dew, the birds, the bugs, and the afternoon breeze--I take it all in.
9.14.2005
pee-yunk
Last night, just before bed, Lucas wrassled with a skunk. The professor isn't as smart as he looks. But our house is stinkier than you'd expect.
9.13.2005
9.12.2005
9.10.2005
the talk of the market
I love the Saturday farmer's market--from the 6:30 am harvest, when the fog is still sagging over the fields, to the market itself, with its mix of earnest customers and those who couldn't tell you the difference between "heirloom" and "genetically modified." People mostly think I'm a college student and worry how I'm handling the workload this semester. Others greet me by name, asking about the harvests and my commute and plans for after the season. It's a mixed bag, for sure, but with enough redeeming material that I genuinely look forward to it--and the things I hear there--each week.
"That one doesn't have enough raisins. It isn't worth it."
-A woman who dismissed a 60-cent bread roll for its lack of raisin content.
[In an English accent:] "Why is it so DIFFicult to buy carrots?"
-One of a pair of women of a certain age--sisters, no doubt--upon learning they'd arrived too late for their favorite root veg.
"Why are you selling the tomatoes that the bugs ate?"
-A little boy, curling his lip at our heirloom tomatoes that were not at all nibbled at but definitely lumpy, warty, and the spitting image of a baboon butt. He opened the conversation by first saying, "Hi! I just saw a badger!"
"That one doesn't have enough raisins. It isn't worth it."
-A woman who dismissed a 60-cent bread roll for its lack of raisin content.
[In an English accent:] "Why is it so DIFFicult to buy carrots?"
-One of a pair of women of a certain age--sisters, no doubt--upon learning they'd arrived too late for their favorite root veg.
"Why are you selling the tomatoes that the bugs ate?"
-A little boy, curling his lip at our heirloom tomatoes that were not at all nibbled at but definitely lumpy, warty, and the spitting image of a baboon butt. He opened the conversation by first saying, "Hi! I just saw a badger!"
9.08.2005
thanks be to honda
In the midst of the terrible news last week, we received word that cousin Will made it out of New Orleans unharmed. He made his way to North Carolina, where he filed this story.
9.07.2005
feeling outpaced
A week away from the farm, and nothing is as I left it. The fall kales and collards, just wee little things in my memory, are now big and tasty, their blue-gray leaves the size of dinner plates. Arugula, a spicy old friend whom we haven't seen since spring, is unbelievably back. Corn was a novelty before a week of vacation but will soon be over for the season. The tomato plants, once spewing fruit faster than we could pick it, are starting their decline.
Just a few weeks ago, the crew was consumed with trying to tie all the tomatoes before their growth overran us. Today, many of the plants are dead or dying, all brown and crinkley like autumn leaves left too long on the ground. Change is sudden: One job, seemingly impossible in scale and urgency, takes the place of another, equally pressing. And before your eyes, the landscape shifts. Crops germinate, wage battles with weeds, then get cultivated, harvested, and finally tilled under, when they disappear completely, taking with them your sense of direction.
My landmarks are gone. Muscles are sore. Summer is ending.
Just a few weeks ago, the crew was consumed with trying to tie all the tomatoes before their growth overran us. Today, many of the plants are dead or dying, all brown and crinkley like autumn leaves left too long on the ground. Change is sudden: One job, seemingly impossible in scale and urgency, takes the place of another, equally pressing. And before your eyes, the landscape shifts. Crops germinate, wage battles with weeds, then get cultivated, harvested, and finally tilled under, when they disappear completely, taking with them your sense of direction.
My landmarks are gone. Muscles are sore. Summer is ending.
9.06.2005
while you were out
Vacation was, for the most part, splendid. Herewith, highlights and lowlights:
- The boys' fishing expedition: Enough blue fish to feed everyone on day one. Reports that bro-in-law caught a seven-pounder confirmed by photographic proof.
- Naps. Twice daily.
- Two- and three-pound lobsters for dinner with the best corn succotash. Ever.
- Job Lot, the Sass-back Oyster, and other venerable Chatham establishments.
- Being taught, ever so gently, that even sandwiches have their limits. It's true, they do. Ask Peggy.
- Revisiting Jonathan Dead Seagull, an old vacation friend who somehow always finds us at the beach.
- My sister, bless her gentle heart, deleting all 200-some photos of the vacation on the second-to-last day, freeing me from the burden of saving, organizing, or otherwise fretting over those pesky vacation memories. Thanks, sis! With my new-found free time, I plan to enroll in law school and apply for one of them openings on the supreme court. (Proof of the blue fish--revised weight of 27 pounds--also lost.)
- Off-roading in the ultimate Land Rover beach rig, complete with a 12-pack in the front cooler, fishing rods a-plenty, a 4-month-old Chesapeake Bay puppy, and enlightening talk of "fudgers."
- Squeezing four adults into a canoe built for two, then thinking we could take it for a spin in low tide. Downside: sloooow progress as we scraped along the pond floor. Upside: A loofah-like effect on our bottoms!
Really, though, it was time with family, away from daily realities and chores and duties. (Doodies!) For that reason alone, it could hardly have been better. Which put the slow and awful realization of what was happening on the Gulf Coast in even starker contrast. Heartbreak. Helplessness. Crushing. Despair. Love. Peace. Hope.
- The boys' fishing expedition: Enough blue fish to feed everyone on day one. Reports that bro-in-law caught a seven-pounder confirmed by photographic proof.
- Naps. Twice daily.
- Two- and three-pound lobsters for dinner with the best corn succotash. Ever.
- Job Lot, the Sass-back Oyster, and other venerable Chatham establishments.
- Being taught, ever so gently, that even sandwiches have their limits. It's true, they do. Ask Peggy.
- Revisiting Jonathan Dead Seagull, an old vacation friend who somehow always finds us at the beach.
- My sister, bless her gentle heart, deleting all 200-some photos of the vacation on the second-to-last day, freeing me from the burden of saving, organizing, or otherwise fretting over those pesky vacation memories. Thanks, sis! With my new-found free time, I plan to enroll in law school and apply for one of them openings on the supreme court. (Proof of the blue fish--revised weight of 27 pounds--also lost.)
- Off-roading in the ultimate Land Rover beach rig, complete with a 12-pack in the front cooler, fishing rods a-plenty, a 4-month-old Chesapeake Bay puppy, and enlightening talk of "fudgers."
- Squeezing four adults into a canoe built for two, then thinking we could take it for a spin in low tide. Downside: sloooow progress as we scraped along the pond floor. Upside: A loofah-like effect on our bottoms!
Really, though, it was time with family, away from daily realities and chores and duties. (Doodies!) For that reason alone, it could hardly have been better. Which put the slow and awful realization of what was happening on the Gulf Coast in even starker contrast. Heartbreak. Helplessness. Crushing. Despair. Love. Peace. Hope.
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