Notes from the Field: Summer Solstice

The sun stood still last week at the northernmost point in its travels up the sky. The weekend full moon was huge, the closest to the earth it will come this year. A double rainbow graced the sky after a brutal thunderstorm pounded the fields with yet more rain. We plowed under the spring's cover crop, driving the tractors through fields of purple and white vetch and pea flowers under a perfect blue sky to prepare the way for the fall's broccoli and cauliflower. Must be summer.

The beautiful weather at week's end was a balm to farmers to whom the spiritual exercise of waiting and acceptance does not come easily in the rain. Dan, Sutton and Zannah jumped on the tractors to cultivate everything in sight, and the weed crew followed behind to clean up what was left. We were grateful once again for our well-drained sandy loam soils as the sun and light breeze quickly dried them out and left them perfect for planting and cultivating. The field crew, who had their first few days with us last week, proved that they are up to the task, picking beautiful bunches of greens and radishes and transplanting chard, rutabaga and beets for harvest later in the season. We ferried a thousand tomato stakes to the fields at the Lyman Estate, ready to tie up the robust, stout tomato plants that escaped their brush with the pythium soil fungus during the wet weather and now stand as tall as our knees. We released our first batch of beneficial parasitic wasps, to try again to cut down on the fuzzy yellow bean beetle larvae that can decimate a bean planting. We seeded a summer buckwheat cover crop on a fallow field even as we turned in our spring cover crops. Fava beans grew. Carrots and squashes lengthened and fattened. Pigs seemed hungrier than usual once the rain stopped and they could forage outside again. The sun stands still, but farmers and vegetables don't.

Still, there is a subtle shift in the tasks of the season at the solstice, despite the fact that weeding, planting, harvest and field preparation continue. The twin hurdles of the summer -- staking and tying tomatoes and planting the big block of fall brassicas -- are still before us. As those finish, we'll turn our thoughts and bodies to the summer's heavy harvests: summer squash and cucumbers in July, eggplant, peppers, and tomatoes in August. The fruiting crops remind us that the energy of summer is in ripening, maturing - the work of completion and fulfillment that tends towards the autumn seed. The quick growth of the crops (and weeds!) on sunny summer days is almost visible to the naked eye. Vegetable plants are building their framework, adding on daily, growing above and below the soil during these longest days, resting at night to prepare for more growth, more stretching, more expansion during the day. And although we farmers sometimes barely notice it in the full business of the season, the solstice is an immovable marker on the wheel of the year. It comes, and passes, whether we observe it or not. The crops tell us. The sun tells us. Our tired bodies remind us. Summer's work is upon us.

Enjoy the harvest,

Amanda, for the farm crew

Photos courtesy of Saul Blumenthal.

Notes from the Field: All in Good Time

One of our favorite farmers, Clayton Carter, posted some photos from Failbetter Farm in Maine this week with the title 'August is Hell.'  These pictures were not of suffering sinners or rings of fire.  They were not even of extreme heat, tornadoes, or the terrible drought in the Midwest.  They were snapshots of beautiful vegetables including tomatoes, eggplant, and peppers ready to go to market, lovely tiny carrot plants growing for harvest in October, and other wholesome, vibrant, farm-y subjects that one would not normally associate with Hell, if one were inclined to think much about that dark place.  No one was being tortured, or even punished for anything, except maybe for the crime of planting a few too many vegetables to reasonably harvest.  In fact, those photos looked very much like what we envision when we think about a successful harvest as we create the farm plan for the year in midwinter.



At the beginning of last week, I was wondering if we were ever going to get enough cherry tomatoes for everyone to harvest.  I kept walking and driving by the field tomato patch, looking at the same green tomato every day, wondering if it was ever going to ripen.  It seemed to have been the same size and color for weeks.  Even the harvest records from last season, which clearly showed that our tomatoes don't really begin to ripen until the second week of August, did not convince me.  Watched pot never boils or not, I was starting to become a little obsessed.

After a few days of August weather (hot, but not too hot, and humid), it began to appear that that particular worry was probably misplaced energy.  By Thursday it was clear that we were DEFINITELY going to have enough cherry tomatoes for everyone to pick that afternoon.  Friday it rained, which causes the Sun Golds to split when they are very ripe, so there were lots of cherry tomatoes for, let's see, about 24 hours.  A few more hot, humid days, and it became difficult to explain to some enthusiastic Sunday evening cherry tomato pickers why we had ever had a 2-pint limit.   On Monday we picked 195 pounds of tomatoes.  Two days later, we picked more than 700 pounds.  I was reminded (once again) that while we can control certain things on the farm, like when crops are transplanted and when and how they're fertilized or weeded, one of the many, many things we cannot control is when they ripen.  They ripen when they are ready, and when they are ready they need to be picked.  Now.


August harvests, which are marvelous, are also backbreaking.  Peppers and eggplant and okra and tomatoes all put us in the same hunched posture for picking.  Summer squash and cucumbers require us to lean all the way down to the ground for hours at a time.  Melons are another thing entirely; they took Erinn and Andy all day long on Friday to pick after a morning in the squash plants -- lifting and tapping or smelling each one, examining it for signs of ripeness, then gently, gently sliding it from the vine and tossing it to the other person to load onto the truck.  All this picking doesn't leave very much time for transplanting (lettuce and spinach are still going in the ground for October harvest), seeding (arugula, radishes, turnips and other fall greens), fixing tractors (Gretta and Gus), weeding (those delicate fall carrots), fertilizing (broccoli!) or office work, which is why I'm writing the newsletter this week at 12:30 at night.

Now, I'm not complaining.  Better this than the alternative.  Better abundance than scarcity. There's no way to rush this kind of summer harvest.  Staring at the tomatoes will not make them ripen; being anxious about them will not make them ripen.  Same with the melons.  Only their own good time, a little warm weather (but not too hot!  Not too windy!), and some ethylene gas can make it happen.  All we can do is be ready to pick them when they do.  All of them.  Right now.  


Enjoy the harvest,

Amanda, for the farm crew