For the Love of Veggies

Well, I now know how to aggravate Eric. My good ole southern hospitality (funny…. I’ve found altruism to be more prevalent here than in the south) has taught me to ask politely when I desire something….say, a handful of kale or a garlic clove. I know I’ve worked hard enough to earn more than the few carrots I’m requesting, but no one likes a mooch, so, might as well ask politely like all those childhood manners classes taught me to do. Not to say those classes that my mother so kindly invested in weren’t important (because there does come a time when one must decipher which of the 84 spoons at the place setting is dubbed “pudding spoon”), but Eric’s generosity has resulted in a little feud involving said manners and my love of veggies. He recently told me that if I were to ask for something one more time instead of just going and grabbing it from the field, that…..well…..I don’t recall the threat, I just picked up on the fact that I should be more assertive in my vegetable bartering.

So look what I so stylishly toted home last Friday. Navigating through the Burlington traffic (ahem, lack of bike lanes), barefoot, dirt stained, but proudly bearing my Pitchfork Farm canvas tote filled to the brim with stir-fry ingredients. And I didn’t even ask.

All of this is to say: look at all of my beautiful options!

Kohlrabi, which resembles an alien, but tastes delightful in a stirfry.

red cabbage

radicchio, used as a filler for the mesclun if they're running low on other greens, or the head lettuce bolts.

kale, which is my new favorite green. roughly chopped and sauteed for 10 minutes, or tossed in olive oil and baked to make kale chips!

green cabbage

garlic

fennel, which I have not yet tried. I am doubtful, as it smells like licorice.

broccoli, absolutely diviiiiiiine.

beets, which I have not done much experimenting with.

rainbow chard makes me religious

It's so beautiful! I feel like I'm walking through Willy Wonka's chocolate factory. The nutritious version.

Wheel-Hoein' and Flame-Weedin'

Pitchfork Farm was set into orbit six years ago, and since then, Eric has been experimenting with what crops he grows based on the success of his sales. He and Rob now focus on salad greens, which they have found to be the most productive and promising crop. There are a few different types of beds for the mesclun, including a mix of lettuces (seen below), a mix of mustard greens, and then the beds of single greens like arugula, radicchio, and head lettuce.

There are also many other things growing, just not in copious amounts like the greens. Things like: beets, radishes, carrots, kale, chard, kohlrabi, broccoli, cilantro, cabbage, squash, watermelon, cucumber, fennel, garlic, what am I forgetting???

Eric, Rob, and Sophia managing the beds with the plastic coverings, using my new favorite tool: the wheel-hoe.

Correction...I take that back. My new favorite tool, which I could have delighted in operating if I weren't so fond of working sans shoes: THE FLAME WEEDER. Apparently it’s more common than one might think, but, as my enthusiasm can attest, very exciting to behold.

The way it works: a bed is rototilled. Then, the first round of weeds is demolished. Then, they wait a few days, or a week, for another round of weeds to come up. Plant seeds with a tractor (over second round of weeds). Then, the flame weeder is unleashed and used to buuuuuurn all of those little pesky weeds to a crisp. Here, Rob is flame weeding the walkways after we wheel-hoed them. Exciting, yeah?

Oh, here's Zak:

Vermont, y'all

Made it to Burlington! Has my southern accent gotten stronger since I left New York, or are Vermonters more adept at detecting foreigners? I do suppose it's a promising conversation starter, so I'm starting to embrace the drawl rather than adapt it. I'm a week into my stay here and am glad to say have overcome the initial culture shock of transitioning from a month in the woods to the commotion of a city (toilet?! what's that??). And I still have the farm, the dirt, the veggies, and my best friends, the weeds to make me feel at home. Ah, that's where I was going with this: the farm.

The Intervale Center is an amazingly progressive organization that manages 350 acres of land within the Burlington city limits, and leases it to farmers. It's such a positive presence for the city. It creates a non-competitive community of farmers, sells local and organic produce to restaurants and groceries, and creates a more food-conscious, earth-conscious community in Burlington. There is a collective CSA managed by Intervale that includes produce from most of the farms (although some farms also have their own CSAs). There's a community garden, which, for something ridiculous like $20 a season, allows residents to have a plot of land where they can grow whatever they choose.

It houses the state's largest compost pile, where anyone can purchase miracle compost for incredibly cheap.

So I contacted one of the farms based on the exciting description of how they utilize "hand-build bicycle powered machines for keeping fields weed-free and a van powered by fry-grease for deliveries." I was intrigued. A phone call later, I was talking Eric, co-owner of Pitchfork Farm, who was excited at my request of free labor in exchange for an invaluable learning experience and perhaps a few veggies here and there. So here I am. I could not have chosen a better group of people to work with. They have completely taken me under their wing, showed me around Burlington, offered free housing, and shared with me their philosophy on farming and life.

Here's the gang:

Eric, looking uncommonly pissed off at the reemay.

And Rob, co-owner of Pitchfork Farm
Sophia, a UVM student

And there's Zak, another UVM student who I haven't managed to snap a picture of yet, but he will undoubtedly materialize on the blogosphere one day.

More veggies to come.

Goodbye, New York!

With mixed emotions about my departure - sad to leave but excited for the new quest - it's time to say goodbye to the state that has been my home for the past month. I found so much happiness, simplicity, and wisdom during my short stay on the land trust. It was strangely nostalgic, parting with my bitty house and the constant cackling of chickens. But most of all, I found it hard to drive away from the comforting sense of home I felt while living with Karl and Alison. Seeing Karin walk up the driveway every morning and sharing unexpected meditations over a bed of weeds. The tranquility of being surrounded by trees instead of power lines. Not to mention everything I learned about growing food. I will undoubtedly miss life on the commune! Will return one day.

Scooby the SCOBY and I take some last minute farewell pictures before we hit the open road.

We then find it necessary to all get in my rainbow sparkle hula hoop (made from PVC piping) and do some hoopin' to delay my departure.

The morning I left, Alison gifted me with a goody bag of sorts, but better than any party favor I've ever received. Complete with a quart of kombucha and a kombucha-making "kit," a tub of shea butter (because I'm tired of putting synthetic lotion on my skin!), two bars of homemade goats milk soap, calendula ointment for my cracked hands, and a bottle of 2008 blueberry wine.

Thank you, Karl, Alison, Karin, Jason, and everyone else at the land trust for being so gracious and beautiful, for welcoming me into your lives and imparting so much of your wisdom. I will see you again!

Onward to Vermont.

La Luna

Living in a tent, waking up with the sun, and making friends with the snakes has inspired me to become more adept in my lunar knowledge. I have been brushing up on my moon vocab, studying the lunar calendar, and, of course, gazing at her come nightfall. I do believe that it in some way has an affect on us, I'm just not quite sure how. I mean, it moves oceans. And our body is ...what? 70% water?

yeah, well, it's pretty controversial, I realize. But even more so than human behavior, I can definitely see how she affects vegetation, and am doing some light research into the concept of lunar planting. Like I said, the moon forms the tides, so what about the amount of moisture in the soil? or the gravitational pull on plants? Just sayin, makes sense to me. (does it tyew? thanks Tim James)

Alison doesn't necessarily plant by the moon because she is in a race against time to just get things in the ground, but she does try to consider the moon's position when planning. Based on what she told me, plants that grow above ground should be planted when the moon is waxing (between the new and full moon). Comparably, root crops should be planted during the waning moon (full to new). Also according to this theory, no planting should be done on the new and full moon.

In my light research endeavors, I've found many other (and often contradictory) details and explanations for when to do certain things - like weeding, harvesting, pest control, tilling, etc - according to the moon cycle. I suppose the only way to find out what really works is to ditch the google search bar and experiment.

Biointensive

Frosty Morning Farm, of course, utilizes organic methods, but they have also introduced me to a new concept called biointensive farming. This method entails cultivating small areas of land to produce the largest amount of yields.

Biointensive farming encompasses wide, raised beds, in which plants are positioned in a diamond-shaped pattern instead of squares, so that every inch of space is utilized efficiently. Crops are planted rather closely to ensure that there is a "canopy" when the plant matures - the idea being to discourage weeds.

You can see how wide the beds are...kind of difficult on the lower back when it's time to plant in the middle of the row. But very efficient. And there's Alison, with her tape measurer for precision.

It's not extremely clear in this picture, but see how the cabbage isn't planted side by side on each of the rows? They're alternated to form a diamond.

Leaving "wild spaces" is also important, as it welcomes happy garden animals that eat the pesky ones and keeps the local ecosystem in check. I must remember this every time I cringe at the garter snake slithering away to escape my footsteps.

There's a poster of organic guidelines hanging in the outhouse that I think is especially cute. It reads:

GOING ORGANIC

Cultivate the earth and our connection with it

Greet the sun

Thank busy soil organisms hard at work

Feed the soil. Let it breathe

Welcome earthworms

Practice non-aggression

Bless the seed you sow

Observe weather

Weed early and often

Leave wild spaces

Mulch

Feel your whole body

Know the cycles of the moon

Keep a garden journal

Charm fairies

Explore companion planting

Welcome beneficial insects

Dance in the fields

Save seeds, tell stories

Look at stars

Rotate crops, rest the earth

Observe, adapt, enrich, sustain, preserve

Savor the abundance

Share the harvest

Give thanks

Kombucha

About a year ago, I discovered and delighted in the joys of Kombucha, a magically delicious fermented tea that apparently has a lot of health benefits. The problem is, it's kind of pricey. And can usually only be found at health food stores. And did I mention pricey? BUT, I refuse to continue compromising my budget for that fizzy, tart deliciousness. So I make my own! Thanks to Alison, queen of homemade creations.

So. This is about to get crazy. This is a SCOBY, which stands for Symbiotic Colony of Bacteria and Yeast. The kombucha sits in a jar with the mother scoby for about a month. And they multiply. So you put one in, and one month later, you have multiple little scobys. Coooooooooooool.

I'm not going to get too far into it since it's not really about farming, but here's a recipe for those of you who know someone who has a mother scoby and want to make your own:

for 1 gallon of kombucha:

14.5 cups water

8tsp tea (green or black or half and half)

13 oz of old kombucha

1 cup minus 1 tbs sugar

boil water, add tea, cover and let sit for 15 minutes

rinse scoby (in tepid water), add 13 oz of old kombucha to scoby, set aside

strain the tea and add sugar after it steeps

set tea in cold water in sink until the tea reaches 75 degrees.

bottle in a gallon jar. instead of cap, use a piece of fabric - cut an old sheet - and wrap with rubber band.

It should ferment for at least 3 weeks (in a dark, cool place), then take scobi out and bottle individually and refrigerate for another week or so.

Alison sent me on my way with this little guy, whom I dubbed Scooby. The scoby. We've had a great trip thus far. Scoob's been trying to stay out of the heat in my car, so he's couchsurfing with me and lovin downtown Burlington.

Alison, in all her graciousness, also sent me away with a quart sized jar of already made kombucha. With a top from 2008 labeled "Rabbit No Salt," which I think is incredibly appropriate.

Farmer's Market Excitement, Round II

Well, Saturday was my second and final day at the Cazenovia farmer’s market. It was a rather eventful day – met some new people, learned about medicinal herbs and essential oils (namely, spilanthes and calendula), got my weeks worth of exercise from loading and unloading the millions of plants from the truck, learned some new perennial names, and ate too many cookies.

Here's a pic of the loaded truck. So many plants!

and more radishes, which I've found are quite photogenic.

Bought some cherries from a fruit vendor.

And strawberries. And a muffin.

smelled all of Alison's homemade goat milk soaps...

Oh yeah, the tent next to ours was a wine maker from Syracuse. Best neighbor ever. So, of course, what’s there to do besides put on some charm and delight in a few samples? For breakfast. He even helped (or, attempted to help) me sophisticate my pallet by using a lot of big technical words that I can’t seem to remember now.

Next to the wine man’s tent, however, was the greatest entertainment of the day. Meet the fishmonger. This guy is like an old-timey, New Jersey, Italian town eccentric who, because of his nutty persona that “adds interest” to the market, is an exception to the Cazenovia market rule that the vendors must produce at least half of their merchandise. With a cooler of “fresh, never frozen seafood,” the nameless fishmonger yells….no, barks out deals and assertions about the quality of his seafood in an auctioneer voice. He also sells dog bones, so the sound resonating in my ear all day was: “fresh fish fresh fish, get your fish, 20 dollar a pound, never frozen, get your fish, dog bones.”

Apparently the radishes weren't the only photogenic ones at the market

Well, he took a liking to me last week and sent me home with some complimentary monkfish. This week, as he was packing the cooler and barking out ever-decreasing prices, he called me over again. Finding out that it was my last week, he gifted me with about eight flounder filets and what was left of his clams. So we took ‘em back and had ourselves a fish fry.

Added some kale, onions, and garlic from the garden:

Then went to a potluck to share the excitement!

A commune potluck in Thilde's straw bale house.

A house built with no nails, just pegs.

And finished the night with a bonfire, hula hooping, and drums.