It’s around 6 a.m. and I’m out in the field, in a grassy meadow that hasn’t been cut in years. At this hour on a sunny June morning, it’s wet out here! The sun is low but fully risen, backlighting the dew. The light is intensely glittering but without glare, like millions of tiny droplet-sized lightbulbs, each nearly as bright as the sun. To get to the tool shed, I’m walking a well-trodden single-file path through the unchecked grass. Weighed down blades lean in and soak a line in my jeans as I brush by. Rubber boots for sure. It’s almost mind-blowing when you think about how much water is gathered out there, all in single drops. Then the sun burns it off in an hour or two, and it’s back to the regular day.
Weather
Wind and more wind
At this point, end of month, I’d have to say WIND has been the weather theme of this May. Practically every day. Gusty enough to sometimes threaten the more delicate seedlings, and to put off ladder work on the big greenhouse. Here, the wind has blown off the garlic’s row cover. Not a problem as far as protection from the nocturnal leek moth horde that may be lurking, but more work to put back. Complicating this little matter, the garlic is growing up and straining at the cover, gradually pulling it out from being fully weighted by the rocks. Since the cover should stay on through June, that will have to be solved. Stay tuned!
The tree at the end of the field
The sun’s almost set but the howling wind and bursts of heavy rain aren’t slowing down. It’s pretty wild out there, with ankle-deep marshy wet patches hidden in the grass. Stepped out for a last look around, and the tree at the end of the field caught my eye as it usually does. It stands in the middle of a large pasture, far from the woods, at the point where the main veggie beds end. It seems quite independent, holding back on the leaves when the other trees are already green, exactly the same shape year round, with leaves or without. Lots of big trees, sheltered in the surrounding forest, were snapped like twigs in the big wind and ice storms of the last four-five years, but this guy remains unbothered. I’m glad because it’s a central part of the tiny farming scenery here these last many years. Would be sad to see it snapped!
The water is high
If you live in a big North American city—the kind of cities I’m familiar with—the average ground is asphalt and concrete, and water table is not a household term. If on the other hand you rely on a well, or a smaller town water processing plant, or you grow things at some scale, water table is a big deal. You know the term whether or not you understand it beyond the basic idea of either abundant water or water shortage, and drought.
The puddle zone in the photo, in a particularly low-lying area of the field that my path to the veg garden cuts through, is my own local water table indicator. Earlier in spring, with snow melt-off and the ground still frozen quite far down, it starts out as a shallow pond, to be sloshed through in rubber boots. As the ground unfreezes and the water seeps off, down goes the puddle pond, until it disappears leaving dry ground. This is the water table level, like an underground lake or ocean that’s everywhere, except unlike when it breaks out in an open lake, here the water is running through soil. The lower the table gets, the drier the ground and the less water there is around. When you see a river dramatically drop in a droughty summer, that’s the water table, going down!
This year, the puddle has been dry for a couple of weeks, but after nearly two inches (5 cm) of recent rain, it’s back! Nearly a whole day later, it’s still pretty big, which means, lots of water right at the surface. At this point in the year, its main meaning to me is that lower spots in the field will still get a little flooded, so don’t plant there for a bit! Later on, since there’s no open water near the garden field, if we haven’t had rain for a long while, I’ll start checking the level in the dug well—lower down the string!
Zukes vs cukes
Zukes vs cukes—same family, different natures. On the left, zucchini are big, bold, and prolific with fruit that blow up to dirigible class if you take your eye off of them and stop harvesting more or less daily. On the right, cucumber, more modest in appearance, preferring to vine out than shoot up, unless trellised. Cukes are about equally prolific in the quantity of fruit as the zukes, but not so prone to expanding when left unharvested. Here, barely two weeks from being seeds in a package, with very similar seed leaves (the first two leaves to come out), the difference in their true leaf size already displays their separate ways. Today, they’re out in the sun.
Don’t stare
It’s just the sun at around 9 am, but looking unusually crisp, a clean white disk cutting through clouds and fog. Today is set to be the first near scorcher of the year, in the high 20s C (80s F) and humid, after the overcast is burned away. While the source of all planetary light and heat seems a little muted on the brightness side—you can actually stare at it right now—for the safety of your eyesight, the smart money says, “Look away!”
A New Year’s Day
A path through the snow on New Year’s Day. This year for tiny farming here will be different. More of a focus on repair—equipment, greenhouses—and generally organizing. After years of putting some things off, it’ll be fun to tackle them!