"High Anxiety" April 9, 2007 |
April 9, 2007
High Anxiety
Greetings Friends of the Farm,
Sunday, Larry said he was bored. "Bored." Like a "lifer" in the army who craves the adrenaline of war duty and goes back for repeated "tours," as he can't handle the daily grind of home life. But here on the Austin farm, which is purportedly home, how could he be bored in the midst of the weekend's weather-related "high anxiety?" Wow, I thought, I definitely am NOT bored -- more like petrified maybe, over the prospect of losing a ton of squash at the Gause farm. His right hand man was supposed to show up at 10 AM so that they could go to Gause and cover the squash that they ran out of time and energy to cover on Friday. But, no anxiety on his part, the fellow didn't show up.
The Sunday night weather forecast was clouds, but Larry didn't trust that. The matter of clouds is critical when temperatures are of a nature unkind to squash, which of course, is a "summer" crop. Clouds keep the temperatures from falling further; no clouds permit heat to rise, and all can be lost in a wicked dawn frost.
"Larry," I remarked, "they are saying mid-forties and clouds." Then of course, the clouds we had, suddenly, impetuously, evaporated.
You can't throw around compliments and favorable assessments lightly, as always, such egotism is punished by the exact, horridly opposite conditions. Later under a clear afternoon sky, 5:30 PM to be precise, to relieve his boredom and anxiety, I suggested that we go on and drive to Gause, a mere three-hour round trip, and cover the dang squash. As soon as that ridiculous, over-the-top, un-common-sense thought was uttered, the clouds rolled in, proving that dire depression can often yield wonderful results. My willing agreement for us to suffer, when everyone else was lolling on a couch somewhere, clearly stuffed beyond capacity from the holiday meal, brought us good results. And we didn't even have to go. That was a wonderful moment, although we still didn't know whether we should be relaxed or stay anxious. He stayed anxious.
This morning, he couldn't wait -- got the "red a-s" -- to get up to the other farm, the war zone, to see if we received the punishment we apparently deserved by our slothness and faith in clouds. I won't know until tonight when he calls with the evening farm report, but I'm confident that all will be well. Oops, no, I'm worried out of my mind that all is ruined. There, that's better. Safer.
Here, the row cover had to come off, as it is the heavy type, and leaving it on when unnecessary causes more damage than good. A strong breeze will cause it to abrade leaves and crunch stems. Thus, this was my work for the early hours. The cover is weighted down on either edge by the black bags full of sand that look like giant grackles perched in the field, ready to rip every transplant out of the ground and chew up the drip tape for good measure. I certainly had to pick up those bags as looking at them, thinking they are grackles, is always an unsettling thought.
They are heavy. The sand inside them is wet. I pushed a wheelbarrow along the footpaths, freeing the row cover, dumping the bags in the wheelbarrow. It's best to push a wheelbarrow, not pull it, especially if it holds a hundred pounds of sand bags. Of course the first trip, I was in "wrong," so my pulling out of the field dumped the entire load on top of a Red Russian kale. I apologized to the kale, which was flattened beyond skillet duty, as I wrenched the wheelbarrow upright and collected the spilled bags.
Then to the tractor, waiting at the edge of the field. This was the easy part -- tractoring the bags and dumping them on the bag mountain next to the hen run. Once it was all over, I drove the tractor back to the barn, where Aunt Penny demonstrated an anxiety not dependent on clouds or no clouds. She was ready to lay her egg, and since her farm stand barn nest is temporarily out of favor with her, she wanted inside the Hen House, and fast! Of course, I obliged.
Instantly she weaved her way through the hens she holds in contempt and up the ramp to the nest boxes. Oh, my, but three other hens were waiting on the rail. Only two of the four nests had occupants, but the waiting three desired none of the empty boxes. Auntie, full of anxiety, looked under the hens, around the hens, over the hens, but there was no passing them by. Just a narrow rail and it was full of feet with plump hen bodies towering above. She looked like she was about to have a fit and not one of those hens cared a whit. So she started plowing her way through them, pushing them along the rail until a free nest presented itself. Auntie, perhaps favoring the next one, thought better of it, and entered the first empty one and settled in. The egg was laid within five minutes, demonstrating that she really was ready. (Usually it takes about thirty minutes for the egg to come down the chute. Often, when a hen in a hurry can't maneuver like Auntie, she merely lays it on the ground, then walks away quickly as if to say, "wasn't me!")
Finished with the rent payment, Auntie wanted outside again and joined me in the hoop house where I was digging holes for the heirloom tomatoes. Tita saw the commotion and ran over to search for worms also. And did they find them! So many worms, but Auntie still worried over Tita's intrusion and felt called to run at her several times. Soon, however, both hens were satisfied. Tita wandered off, while Auntie watched, with only a comment or two, as I planted the Prudens Purple and the Anacoycka tomatoes in holes loosened by the shovel. With the aroma of strawberries wafting our way, I planted the over-tall tomatoes deeply so they can root along their stems and thus create more support for the hoped-for heavy loads of tomatoes. It's an experiment to plant them in the most Eastern two beds of the hoop houses to see if the morning sun and shade-cloth-reduced-afternoon-heat will make them think that this is Pennsylvania or Northern California, and not the tropical frontier.
I want no anxiety for them, no sun scald, no hail damage, no spider mites, no cracks and splits, but it makes me worried, just thinking about their probably troubled futures. Larry's not too concerned about them however, as he's never put much stock in hairloons. They belong up north he says. Give him a successful crop of Early Girls and Celebrities, tons of them. Then he's a happy boy -- with no anxiety at all, except for the fact that tomato season doesn't last forever.
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For Market at the Farm, Wednesday and Saturday, 9-1:
Millions of Strawberries! (Should be nice picking -- not like last Saturday when folks picked in the rain and the sleet! "Making memories," one family told me, as I harvested more beets and Spring garlic nearby....); Frozen Strawberries too; Salads (Succulent Spinach, Baby Arugula, Baby Lettuce, Tender Spring Greens, Chicory Salad); Head Lettuces (many varieties!); Celery; Celeriac; Parsnips; young Fennel; Colored Carrots; Baby Carrots; Beets; Bunches of Kale, Brussels Greens, Chard (4 colors), Collards, French Sorrel, Cilantro, Dandelions; Dill; Leeks; Spring Onions; Green Onions; Spring Garlic; Batavian Escarole (great sauteed or grilled); sweet Snow Peas; Perhaps Brussels Sprouts on Saturday; and Snapdragon and Sweet Pea Bouquets...
Condiments and Accessories include: Larry's Smoke-dried Tomatoes; Gause Yaupon Honey; Smoke-dried Tomato Dressing/Marinade; Pure Luck and Wateroak Farms' Goat Milk products (chevre, feta, ice cream, yogurt); Sweetish Hill's Fresh Breads and Croissants (Sat); Miles of Chocolate; White Mountain's Tofu and Wheat Roast; Louis' Eggs; Hen House Eggs; and Natural Meats (Thunder Heart Bison, Loncito's Lamb, Alexander's Beef)...
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Everything here survived the winter storm just fine. We probably didn't even need to cover. But if we hadn't???!! Well, the immediate future might have been pretty bleak, a real set back, a start-over scenario. Sometimes you have to take that extra, conservative step, needed or not, to insure success. That's just the way it is...that Easter Cold Snap, as Larry's grandmother used to say. You can count on it.
Carol Ann