Notes From The Field: Sunshine

Summer time is upon us in full bloom and I must say when I step back, breathe, and look at the whole picture, the farm is absolutely radiant.  The sun is now at its highest point in the sky extending its rays with great intensity upon each and every being below.  Last week the sun made itself known.  It's that time of year when we must pull out the big hats, the sun lotion, and hydrate.  Even the greenhouses must wear sun protection.  The shade cloths will go up this week so that the seedlings can tolerate the heat to come.  This is the time of year when our farming days come the closest to the length of the daylight.  It would be neat to see a time lapse of all the places we go and the work we do throughout the day: we are like humming birds, never stopping to rest our wings. 

Each morning Janelle and I harvested lettuce at our Lyman Fields, rushing to get the harvest done to be back before the field crew begins at 8am. The field crew was the newest edition to the staff last week and is making the transition into farm life in June: harvest and a lot of transplanting.  The mornings start off cool but before we know it the sweaters are off and a sweat is already broken.  Erinn and Naomi harvested the last of the lettuce for the Waltham Public Schools.  Radishes are beginning to bulb up and the bok choy is a bit bigger than the last generation. 

The garlic scapes we picked in the morning were so juicy and aromatic that even that evening in my yoga class I could smell them as I came into downward-facing dog.  I'm glad I love the smell of garlic!

We were able to plant the rest of the peppers and cantaloupe last week at our fields in Weston.  Our 4th generation of beets went in at Lyman as well as the eggplant thanks to a volunteer group through Boston Cares.  At our Waltham site we put in round two of cucumbers as well as okra and more lettuce.  On Saturday we had an amazing turn out for our biannual Crop Mob - we were able to collect and put away all the bags, hoops, and floating row cover from the spring brassica plantings.  This was a huge feat and had been weighing on our minds.  

Crop Mobsters rescuing the Swiss chard! 

Now we will be able to fertilize, cultivate, and water the kale, collards, and cabbages.  In addition, we weeded two beds of Swiss chard and 5 beds of carrots.  It is refreshing to see how people who have never met each other can come together and work together to create such a change in the landscape.  Thank you all so much for supporting this event.  If you weren't able to make it we will be hosting one more on July 23rd.

June is a challenging time of year in that we have an overwhelming amount of work to do, but more so in that it is a time of transition.  With each week harvest increases in size, time, and space.  We are heading into the hot, sunny and dry weather when we must think constantly about irrigation.  There is still seeding to be done both in the greenhouses and in the fields.  Transplanting must continue at a steady rate as well as everything that leads up to it.  And don't forget the weeds.  They are fierce and seem to jump out of nowhere when you aren't looking.  They are sneaky that's for sure.  But through these challenging times comes transformation.  There is the reward of knowing we work hard and the sense of accomplishment that comes with our dedication.  We are always learning and through this a deep sense of community forms.  We work closely together and we are like family.  

Kamelia, Lauren, Erinn and Shannon bring out fixin's for homemade ice cream
sandwiches to celebrate Naomi's birthday during lunch break.

I feel grateful for the people I work with and for the opportunity to work with the land and so close to our food.  I just want to say thank you for all the support from the farm staff and the members of Waltham Fields Community Farm.  It's so easy to get caught up in day-to-day details. 

I'm learning that it's important to observe through clear and calm eyes and remember to take time to look back on where we have been.  Remember when there were almost no leaves on the trees and the fields were barren only a couple months ago?  And also to bring ourselves to the present of where we are today, once again the fields bursting with a multitude of the color green, full of growth and bounty.  The rhythm of the farm life continues.

Looking forward to seeing some of you at the next Saturday pick up!  Enjoy the harvest,

Anna

Assistant Farm Manager

For the Farm Crew

Notes from the Field: Resilience

Mid-June is a transitional time on the farm.  The big planting pushes of the spring are over.  While we'll keep putting in successions of carrots, lettuce, beets and greens until September, only one more big block of planting -- our fall broccoli and cauliflower -- stands between us and autumn.  The major tasks of the next few weeks are getting those plants in the ground, keeping everything as weed-free as we can, staking and tying our acre of tomatoes, and feeding the crops as they need it.  The harvests are manageable up until the first big pick of the season -- the garlic -- in early July.  At some point later this week, nighttime temperatures will climb out of the fifties and we will start picking squash and cucumbers three times a week.  The plan is in place, the die is cast, and a big part of what we have to do now is pay attention so that we know what to do when the time comes.

There is a lot of talk about resilience, in farming and out of it, these days.  A resilient small farm, in a somewhat dry dictionary sense of the word, is one that is able to respond to unexpected adversity with strength and flexibility.  This week, as I've been thinking hard about the ability to bounce back, to grow stronger through challenges, I realized that I have spent the better part of a decade trying to create a plan for a farm where nothing can go wrong.  This, of course, is nonsense.  Unexpected adversity is as much a part of farming as it is the rest of life.  Adversity, absurd or appalling, makes an appearance in every farm season whether we look for it or not.  It might be a pest that devours eighty percent of our spring peas.  It might be a tractor that stubbornly refuses to start no matter what we do on a day when the sun is shining and we need to cultivate, or a flood that washes away a crop and a field with it.  The challenges we take on ourselves -- the everyday hard work that is just part of farming, like training for an athletic endeavor -- are a very different thing from the sudden hailstorm, the unforeseen blight, the dry spell that becomes a drought before your eyes.  The real strength of the farm lies not in somehow, through superhuman effort, barring the door to these troubles; it is in realizing that there is no door.  All that we have is our ability to adapt, survive, and, if we are very lucky and very wise, build something new and beautiful from the aftermath.

We build a resilient small farm with three kinds of strength, woven together like warp and weft through the work of everyday.  One is an internal strength, the work that we do that's almost invisible.  It is soil building, team building, creating systems and practices that are both extremely effective and totally dispensable if need be. It is incorporating farming methods that we believe are good for the environment and adaptable to the vagaries of the new normal weather patterns -- cover crops, beneficial organisms, and all the old artistry of organic agriculture that it takes a lifetime to learn.  It is the constant work of maintaining a mental state that can create and believe in a complex plan -- for the day, the week, the season -- and let it go at a moment's notice.  This kind of strength has as its basis  the courage to be awake enough to see the thing you least want to see, whether it is trivial or tragic, and to let go of your former plans to begin your preparations for a new reality.  It is the strength to give up on a practice that you have come to rely on, that feels familiar and easy, because it is no longer serving the larger purpose of building a healthy farm. It is the fortitude to cut your losses, to turn in the crop that won't make it despite the work you have invested in it.

The second kind of strength is the strength of patience and healing, the adaptability to move beyond the rift in the pattern we had planned and begin to weave a new one.  It is the ability to dig deep, to recognize that scar tissue can be strong.  It is the backbone both to grieve and to not take it personally.  This is the strength that turns the loss, after the initial shock is past, into an opportunity -- it is the ability to re-plant the empty bed, to know that if the soil is good, some other mystery will take root there to be harvested.

The third strength is the strength of community.   In all the work that we do on the farm, we are dependent upon the understanding and responsiveness of our community (you) to support us through the hard times, and we owe you a constant stream of explanation and education; in crisis, however, community support means freedom, the chance to take the time to reflect and make good decisions instead of responding based on debt and fear of loss.  The resilience that comes from community also means all of the other things that community brings with it -- conversation, connection, mutual learning and respect, shared meals, generations, friends of friends, mistakes and missteps, and, if we are very lucky and very wise, deepening knowledge and increasing flexibility.

As we move into this mid-season pattern of tending to the plants, watching the skies, and interacting with each other through our various programs, I am hopeful that our farm's strength is this kind -- not the strength of that barred imaginary door, but the strength of the open window that can't shatter, of those "prayers that are made out of grass."

Enjoy the harvest.


Amanda (for the farm crew)