A simple snapshot of hand-weeding brassicas, and yet, a wealth of clues to how tiny farming is done in this market garden. Upfront, can see the weeding before-and-after: give them a few short days, and those weeds would easily catch up to the seedlings. The pulled weeds go around the plants or on the paths, where they do their bit in mulching, that helps keep new weeds from germinating. (Unfortunately, weeds often get bigger: more work, with the smaller tradeoff that they do a much better job as mulch.) Behind Casey, row cover, held down by big rocks that are carefully hoarded for just this use. Without the cover, flea beetles would have already gone to town, perforating the leaves with tiny holes. Further on, a critical water line, a 3/4″ hose off a 1″ pipe from the dug well pump. These are far from from a Big Ag diameters—they don’t deliver a firehose amount of water, but they do get the job done. Besides, there isn’t that much water in this well. The hose is lying on a trodden path, measured out at the beginning of the season to divide the field up into five-foot wide (1.5m), wide enough to take two rows of the bigger plants, like these broccoli and a cauliflower. The tradeoff is, comfortable hand-weeding is often done from both sides, to avoid lots of reaching across, while being a little less…efficient. And then there are open beds, with the clean look of fresh rototilling, ready for more seeding or transplanting. Casy’s fashion choices for fieldwear wouldn’t be mine: too much skin exposed to sun, insects, and spiky thistles—I gave up even shorts ages ago, for long sleeves and jeans—but to each their own. It’s all in the details!
Mike (tfb)
A bushel of Music
A bushel of Music garlic: The bulbs were significantly smaller than expected, for no reason I could point to, but the fine, strong flavor is fully there. Still plenty of time for planting, going by the 14-day weather forecast… Cause if you can’t count on the weather, what can you count on?!
Turkey vulture on patrol
A turkey vulture lazily circling way up, looking for dead flesh. I’m not entirely sure of my bird ID, but pretty sure. These guys circle all the time, barely moving their wings. I used to happily imagine they were some kind of hawk, on patrol over the vegetable patch, the clear, weeded rows a perfect background for spotting rabbits, maybe even zeroing in on seedling-munching field mice and voles. It was a pleasant thought bubble, burst when I eventually looked into it. The overall boxy shape, the fingered wingtip feathers, the patient gliding loops with little flapping, all seemed to say, “Vulture! Turkey vulture!”
Wild turkeys in a field
Wild turkeys foraging in a field. I see them all over, all seasons, always looking quite alien as they dart across the road, make their way in a straggling line across fields, take off on short bursts of flight for whatever reason. They haven’t bothered the veggie garden over the years, so I think of them as fellow travelers, their own separate tribe, in a near orbit that hasn’t intersected with mine. (I do hear their meat is excellent, lean and flavorful, though I haven’t properly tasted it, only in homemade meat pie.)
Carrots front and center
Some of the veggies at today’s farmer’s market. The intense orange of rinsed off carrots tends to really pop, like some sort of neon beacon, especially in the flat light of overcast, grey days. Here they’re flanked by mixed bundles of curly, flat-leaf, and strap kale—the trifecta of kale—flat-leaf parsley, and…beets!
Cutting greens
Harvesting salad greens: bin, harvest knife, hands. This has never been one of my favorite things to do—doubled over one 50′ bed after another. A while back, we made a seat on wheels that straddled the bed so you could sit, pushing yourself back with your feet. It worked pretty well, but it became one extra thing to lug around and faded out of service. The greens—lettuces, arugula, mustard, mizuna, other brassicas—at this time are maybe the best of the season, growing before full summer heat. In the background, the goldenrod, native residents of the field, are thriving, towering over all the crops. I don’t think of them as weeds, because they don’t
It’s a snake eats toad world
Spring is here, the air is mild, birds are madly chirping, and the intricate interplay of life at ground level is back in full swing. Exhibit A: a snake eating a toad! It takes a long while, could be hours, for the toad to get swallowed alive and eventually die by suffocation. Seems extremely unpleasant for the toad, but in Nature’s grand scheme of things, a snake has got to eat like the rest of us! We humans do the same with oysters, minus the big swallowing challenge.