I was excited to work on this project from the outset. I already knew I wanted to work on a farm this summer, but one that was just beginning rather than an old operation had the added benefit of teaching me what it would really take to start up my own one day.
The team began preparation for the summer by spreading alfalfa on the field in early April.
We got started around the end of the semester and I am already asking myself “Could we have possibly have broken ground only two months or so ago?” It doesn’t seem like it. Too much has happened since then. What was just a plot of grass and bare earth now bursts at the seams with life, food, and potential. How did we get here so fast?
John, prepping seedlings for the plant sale in April
Prepping beds by hand and transplanting seedlings took place in May
In quick succession the field was fenced, amendments were added to the soil before it was plowed and tilled, beds and roads were measured and formed, irrigation line were run in and drip was laid, transplants came out from the greenhouse covered at first, seeds were sown directly, and I learned a ton doing it. There, the entire process thus far laid out nice and neatly in one sentence. But it didn’t all go so smoothly. There have been some difficulties and setbacks. We’ve worked through them with a good plan, a lot of sweat equity, and some help from OPP (thanks for the fence, water line, and skid loading the rocks, guys), and what I’ve learned from some of our difficulties is what I’d like to reflect on now.
First, there were the aforementioned rocks. We knew when we first plowed and tilled there would be plenty of rocks to remove to make the beds nice and smooth, but nobody expected the rockpocalypse that came. There were buckets and wheelbarrows and skid loaders full of them. Tons probably. Enough rocks to fill your room, enough rocks that the field has probably sunk a few inches now that they’re gone. We carried them, pound by pound from the field, reaching so as not to compact our newly fluffed beds, to the roads where OPP was kind enough to come load them and take them away. So I’ve learned three things from this for my future farm: know my soil as well as I possibly can, not just my topsoil but even the deeper horizons, know how I am going to move them all, and if possible have a project that will upcycle them when I’m done.
The summer intern team with the BCS tiller
Next came the phantom BCS. The BCS is our push tractor which serves many vital functions around the farm. Only, due to unpreventable delays in delivery, we didn’t have it yet and we needed our beds formed. So we got out our shovels and we did it by hand. I already knew farming would be hard work, but knowing it intellectually and experientially are very different things. The other big takeaway from that experience though is that dedication from a small team can overcome a lot, and is a force that should not be underestimated. I doubted we would be able to dig a couple hundred feet of trenches quickly enough, but we got it done.
Last came the flea beetles, little black specks that could do a surprising amount of damage for their size. They thrive on the wild mustards that grow in the fields and forest edges all around our farm, but unfortunately they love eggplant even more than mustards. In fact we were told that we wouldn’t be able to grow eggplant outside at all, but we were determined. So we meticulously cleaned the bugs off of each plant and dusted them with diatomaceous earth, a powder made of microscopic algae fossils that drys out insects exoskeleton’s. Then we sealed them off tight under a protective cover and crossed our fingers. They are doing just fine today and should be budding soon. My take away from this is that we should experiment, try different things, see what works, and not to accept conventional wisdom about organic solutions being too difficult or impossible.
Freshly transplanted kale
John with kale, midseason