July 7th, 2013
Today my laundry flaps in the breeze outside my window. In the corner of my yard the peach tree droops heavy with fruit. Julius lays under the trailer, paws and nose against the cool earth there, passing the heat of the day. I’ve just eaten lunch – fresh salad mix with roasted beets from the solar oven, lightly toasted walnuts from our friends at farmer’s market, a simple balsamic dressing with our own olive oil. I have a typewriter now, and I look longingly at it from my perch over the lit-up letters of the keyboard. Lately I have been charmed by the click and clack of this classic machine over the conventional hum and slightly eerie glow of the computer. But for all its enchanting qualities, widely disseminated newsletters and blog posts aren’t it’s forte, and so it silently sits, awaiting my next love letter instead.
There is a bouquet on my window-sill that I admire when I look up from my writing, Tassels of red grass bursting like fireworks from a mountain of bright orange calendula, spidery blue nigella, and yellow fading to burnt orange rudbeckia. Tomorrow night Willow and i will begin harvesting for the first flower pick up for our CSA members. Summer is undoubtedly here with the dahlias opening for the first time at misty meadows, the pincushion flowers bursting with light purples and dark maroon blooms, and even the first sunflowers unfurling their yellow petals. Only a few months ago we were unsure of this latest farm plan – to break from the familiar vegetable CSA and just grow flowers and salad mix. But yesterday, when we sent off a very happy father-of-the-bride with twenty over-flowing buckets of mixed flowers for his daughters wedding – we figured that it’s all going to work out just fine. And when i returned yet again from our saturday farmer’s market, having sold all of what we had brought, and then tallied, out of curiosity, how much salad mix we’ve sold thus far, I suddenly felt like maybe Willow and I can put an end, once and for all, to our occasional lapses into questioning if we’re proper farmers.
To date we’ve sold 561 pounds of salad mix. Add to that the estimated 80 pounds we’ve eaten amongst ourselves and friends thus far this season, and that means we’ve harvested upwards of 640 pounds of salad mix since April. That’d be a lot of miles to walk, or a lot of sheep to herd, or a lot of puppies to pet, but it’s certainly a lot of frilly, almost weightless leaves to pick, wash, spin-dry, and eat. I think this season’s going to be a good one.
I realized that the last time I wrote the tomatoes were dying, sweet peas were being planted, hearts were mending, and gratitude abounded. This is an overdue update. Today we’ve got five rows of tomatoes thanks to our friend’s at Hidden Villa Farm, trellised almost up to our heads; hearts that are becoming ever more clear, flexible, and open; sweet peas growing faster then we can pick them, and continued sense of gratitude that deepens with the passing of each day.
To the river, to the flowers, to leisurely sunday mornings, to the laughter of close friends, to santa rosa plums, to early morning harvests with Willow after she’s had coffee, to handsome dogs and to typewriters – I give thanks. And thank you for being a part of this farm in whatever capacity you are.
Love,
Maisie
