By Rae Axner, Field Crew
There
were some weeks on the farm in the heat of June and July where the days seemed
to last forever and the thrice-weekly cucurbit harvests (summer squash,
zucchini, and cucumbers) melded into one strenuous yet meditative motion. And
just as a 90-degree day comes to an end and you find yourself singing along to
the radio and pulling onto Beaver Street, so too ends the lifespan of a
seasonal crop. Three plantings of cucurbits, the first at Lyman Estate, the
next in Waltham's "Around the Corner" field, and the last in the East
field, were raised from seedlings in the greenhouse, delicately transplanted
into their beds, grew larger day by day, and produced an unbelievable amount of
food (I hope you remember bringing home as many cucumbers as you could carry as
well as we remember harvesting them!), before waning and eventually being mowed
and disked back into the ground to prepare the soil for its next purpose.
This week
marked our final cucurbit harvest. For me it brings mixed emotions. Initially
it's a feeling of relief and excitement to see a particularly tedious crop
being turned back into the earth. Shortly following enters a twinge of
premature nostalgia and of course, culinary regret. (Hindsight is 20/20 when
you realize your fridge will no longer be stocked with a certain ingredient.)
Eventually, this fades into a sense of satisfaction. Pulling up irrigation tape
and gazing out over the rows of newly empty beds reminds me of what that soil
supported thus far this season, in seasons past, and in seasons to come.
Aside
from the end of cucumbers, there are many other unavoidable signs this week on
the farm that summer is coming to a close and fall is near. The air is crisp
and the dew on the kale is chilly. The farm team has started arriving in
fleeces and flannels. My personal sunscreen usage has drastically decreased.
More importantly, our tomatoes are popping off of the vines faster than we can
pick them and our fall harvest crops are thriving. You couldn't fit even one of
our collard green leaves in a breadbox these days. There are over a thousand
pounds of storage onions in the greenhouse, curing to save for the long winter
ahead. And I've heard whisperings of sweet potatoes. If that's not fall, I
don't know what is.
We all
feel it in the air. This week is different from the last. Just like the end of
the cucurbits, the end of summer is bittersweet-met with one part relief and
one part sadness. But there is hardly time to linger. We consider our
accomplishment and pride of making it through the hottest part of the year for
a moment, and then dive back into the cooler to re-arrange bins and make room
for the largest harvests of the season.
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