Tuesday, July 17, 2012

Garden Update

Things are happening!
Here is the latest shot from atop the grain bin, taken yesterday morning. I've been behind on these photo updates for two very good reasons:

1) With temps in the mid-90s, the metal bins are scalding. It'd be like trying to scale a griddle.

2) I was losing a battle with weeds in certain areas, such as Quadrant #2 and I was ashamed.

At one point I confessed to Brent, "If some of these plants were actual babies, Child Protective Services would have already come and gone." 

What can I say? It's a big space for one person, no matter how crazy she might be. When I first moved here, I made the mistake of telling people I had a "huge" garden. Then, I'd visit their garden and realize it was much bigger than mine. I am still adjusting to all this endless space.

Beets, radishes, lettuce, beans, peas, tomatoes, kale, popcorn, eggplant, chilis and peppers - all trimmed by Marigolds.
But these other gardeners don't have an insane vision like mine so they are using sprays to control the weeds, not just the whacking of one angry hoe powered by an aching lower back. As for the thistles, pig weed, French weed, milk weed and the ever-present Quackgrass, sometimes I just skip the hoe and pull them out by the roots for a deeper satisfaction; that riiiiiiiiiiiip brings instant joy when seeking liberation for the babies.

My photo perch.
At one point, the weeds were just kicking my ass and I had to get strict with myself: No less than four hours per day pulling weeds - that was the new rule. This may not sound like much but keep in mind that I still work two jobs online. Also please note that I am organically slow. It's true. I move like a sloth, especially when the humidity average is around 70%, though it does help that daylight persists until 10 p.m.

Wider shot shows watermelon (right) and more tomatoes, plus carrots, brussel sprouts, onions and parsnips (left).
Oh yeah, I should also point out that other gardeners have the luxury of a water spigot next to the garden that includes beautiful, glorious water pressure - something I used to take for granted. I have neither of these things.

Instead, I pull the Tonka Truck with the water tank right up alongside the garden and use the hose. But without exactly 0% water pressure, I must stand in front of each individual plant to deliver moisture. While it gives me some solid 1-on-1 with the babies, enough time to tell them how beautiful they are and kiss their leaves, it does take forever. Because of this, I am incredibly grateful for the rain, which does show up every few days. (Not to mention a naturally high water table.) Thankfully, NoDak is nowhere near the drought that is now threatening 55% of the nation. My mother says she never recalls the garden in her childhood years needing to be watered, ever. This is a tremendous change from my gardening reality in dry, arid Denver soil. 

All my tools, including the wallet in the purse.
Meanwhile, my meal times had to be adjusted for my new mandatory weeding program. I never understood why farmers always had "dinner" at noon - usually a large meal with all the fixins' - and "supper" at night, something small like a salad or a bowl of cereal. I now understand completely why you need all those calories to power through the long summer afternoon knowing that you won't be able to quit until dark. By quitting time, you don't want a large meal, just a small snack to keep you awake in the shower.

Beets are coming in!
Every night, I'd finally come in to the trailer, exhausted and beyond filthy. My fingernails were starting to look like Brent's, with permanent dirt under the nails. My body was changing too. Though without a full mirror to confirm, I felt my legs and hips shrinking a bit and maybe the tummy too. All that physical labor and heat was melting me, a wonderful by-product of organic farming.

Just before quitting time.
I'd probably lose even more weight if folks stopped bringing me garden fresh red potatoes, organic beef and homemade cookies and pies.....but a girl needs more than just salad these days.  I mean, what's the point of working your ass off in the middle of Midwestern nowhere if you can't eat home cooked pie every night?

Wednesday, July 11, 2012

The Barnyard Bash

Cowgirl Maya
Assuming I'm one of those super efficient people who posts the day after a major life event, this post is exactly 5 1/2 weeks late. Alas, I'm not one of those people. I love blogging but Real Life must always take precedence, and there's been a continuous onslaught of Real (Dirty) Life in that time period. 

Jethro
In one of my bigger strokes of luck in this lifetime, I was once a full-time citizen of the Hearthstone cohousing community in Denver. Only the founding of SCRANCH, a longtime curiousity/dream, could tear me away. And what a tear it was.

On the eve my departure for North Dakota, the community threw Kirk and I a rousing Barnyard Bash, in honor of my rural future. Organized by Lynn, Susan and Tracy, the evening was definitely one of the highlights in my life - the gesture of the community, the farm-themed decor, the delicious food, everyone in costume - I can't believe I didn't cry all the way through it.

Diana, Brett and Isabella - in full overall glory!
When I first landed in NoDak and Kirk flew back to Denver, when the reality of my new life had settled in, I began to miss just two things, in this order:
  1. Hearthstone Kids
  2. Mexican Food

I'm totally ready to cry here.
I could be biased but I think they are the funniest, cutest, smartest kids in the world and I as much I love birdsong out my window every day, I miss their squeals of laughter much more than I ever imagined. 

Annika and Thea
I have a distinct memory in the days leading up to my departure that sticks in my mind. I was coming back from Sunflower (conveniently right next door, not 18.5 miles away!) and Caitlin and Alex were playing in the center yard. They began calling out to me, teasingly, something like:

"I'll be you can't climb as high as we can!"

And I volleyed back with something like, "Oh yeah, I'll bet I can!" 

And Kathryn responded matter-of-factly from her porch, shaking her head, "You're gonna miss all that crap."

Damned if she wasn't dead on. Sniff, sniff.....WAH!

ANYWAY, I've finally gotten around to posting the photos from the evening on Flickr (NOT a fan of the new upload format, btw) and with the help of David Nichol, got lots of nice shots. And I especially love how a bunch of otherwise 'normal' guys....

Jim, Joe and Craig
.... can reveal their inner redneck at a moment's notice.

JimBob, JoeBob and Lonnie
One of the best parts of the evening, came when I was asked to lead an impromptu improv performance with some of my Hearthstone students. They did great and the community audience just loved it! I wasn't expecting this but hey, isn't that the point of improv? Making it up on the spot and turning on a dime? I thought it was a terrific idea. Even the kids got involved.


And, if the party weren't enough, I also received gifts! How crazy is that?  I got this awesome shirt, which I still haven't worn because I don't want to get it dirty - I know, I KNOW:

Waiting for a special day....
The shirt came compliments of the lovely gal on the right:

Kellie and Tracy - ain't they purty?
Tracy is married to this lovable maniac, a man who I may or may not have tried to quiet later that evening in a restaurant with a severe baptismic gesture. It did nothing to alter his behavior but he did look shocked for a few minutes as he sat there, dripping wet:

Gah, I miss this guy too!
It was a beautiful evening - one I'll never forget. I can't wait to return in August for a visit and see everyone again.

Mmmmm, cowboys....
Still, I like to think I have additional Hearthstone memories coming down the road. My gut tells me I'm not done with this place at all.

Saturday, July 07, 2012

Bad News/Good News

I'm way behind in posts, too much going on around here. So, I'll try to cover the recent highlights in a bad news/good news format, starting with Bad News and my new leg wound presented above. Got it earlier in the week while fetching water in the '57 Chevy, the one with the wooden bed that is rotting and covered in moss.

After I filled up the tank, I climbed up the bed ladder, hopped over the edge and CRASH! My leg went straight down. My friend, Evelyn, was standing on the ground behind the truck and she freaked because she could only see my leg dangling down by the axle but couldn't see me behind the tank.

"Heather! You OK??? You hurt???"

I was fine but I did have fun saying to Brent: "I put a whole in the Tonka Truck today, hope you don't mind." You shoulda seen his eyes go wide...

***

Good News: Same day, my neighbor and new BFF, Evelyn, brought me a HOMEMADE blueberry-rhubarb pie! Full yummage. She is from the Phillipines and while working in Kuwait, met and married a local character, Powerful Pierre, who lives down the lane. Her garden is massive and immaculate but more on that later.

After the leg smash, I gave Evelyn some driving lessons in Walhalla. She is taking her test again (third time's the charm!) on July 11th - she is determined to learn this great American pastime and become more independent. And hey, I'm all about helping the sisterhood, especially when they bring you PIE.


***

Bad News: We had a big ass storm last Wednesday that I knew damn well was coming and yet, I failed to prepare by rolling up my awning. The storm was supposed to arrive mid-day, which made me think I had plenty of time, but alas, it arrived at 7 a.m. and I awoke to the sounds of clanging metal bars and flapping canvas:

Hoopsie-daisy!
Thankfully, it's been fixed but when Brent arrived that morning, he was in full farmer tizzy. In his town, they got 3.5" and some hail, which isn't good for burgeoning fields. It was then I learned what people do here after a storm - they drive. They cruise the highways and they stop in the middle to discuss the storm's intensity and compare notes on field and farm damage.

 "I heard Stinson's got three grain bins thrown up on the tractor..."
"Zat right? Well, I heard Donny's barley is all gone."


A wheat field mangled by hail.
Beans, which hate "getting their feet wet"
***
Good News: On the 4th of July, Brent's granddaughter, Emily, and her three friends stopped by the farm to light off their impressive stash of fireworks. Perched cozily in my in my camping chair and blanket, we admired the the glorious full moon rising behind the fields and enjoyed the free show!



We tried to get CORN spelled out but the 'R' proved difficult.

***

Bad News: Evidence remains that when learning to drive the Tonka Truck, I may or may not have started it while in gear - reverse, specifically. And I may or may not have put a very stylish swoosh stain on Brent's black pick-up truck, which, thank god, is his "beater"truck, not the fancier white one or the even fancier black truck he only uses "for weddings or funerals."

Heh.

***

Good News: The garden is producing!

Radishes - French Breakfast and Easter Egg variety
Lettuce - no more buying from the store!
Cilantro but alas, no onions or tomatoes yet for salsa.
Also, compliments of Brent and Kirk (via mail) - I've got a new climber fence for my ambitious beans and peas.

***
And, finally, because people are always telling Brent that he carries too much in the back of his truck - everything but the kitchen sink - here's a final image:





Wednesday, July 04, 2012

'Organic' is a Dirty Word

A few months back, I was talking with Kirk about - what else? - organic farming.

“They need a new word for it,” he said.

“A new word? What? Why?”

“‘Organic’ is just...I don’t know...not good. They need a new word.”

I was incredulous. Good lord, what is wrong with organic? I can’t think of anything more harmless or healthy. But once I put my self-righteous indignation aside, I gained valuable insight.

Y’see, there aren’t many situations where having a Republican beau comes in handy but this was certainly one of them. Drilling a bit deeper, I listened hard as Kirk tried to explain that the word ‘organic’ has some serious image problems and may even be working against itself in the fight for food awareness. ‘Organic’ was a trigger word, and a loaded one at that.

In an effort to clarify, I made him play the word association game for ‘organic’ and here’s what came up in his brain:

Hippies
Crunchy
Birkenstocks
Tie-dye
Liberals
Expensive
Snobby

As an aspiring organic farmer, I was interested in this perception, no matter how outdated and ridiculous I thought it was. Fact is, facts don’t matter here. All my well-positioned arguments - “It’s a legal term! Ask the USDA!” or “It’s 2012, not 1972!” - were useless in the face of a deeper emotional reaction to a word.

And, having made my living as a wordsmith in one way or another, this is a topic I know all too well.

For nearly a decade, I was a media strategist at a global public relations firm and repeatedly explained to my clients the serious weight of word values. This became most evident when putting together press releases, which can take weeks to create for a Fortune 500 company. “Your headline and sub-head should be a carefully selected handful of 50-pound words, not a careless string of one-pound words,” I would advise. 

I was reminded of this practice years later in trying desperately to talk Colorado’s Tourism Board out of their beloved slogan: “Everything but the ocean!” In vain, I applied mathematical reasoning, “You’ve got only four words, and three are negative!” It was a ghastly example of wasteful word spending. They ignored my advice until a Colorado state senator made the same argument and demanded they change it. (These days, it's "Come to Life." Still tame but a vast improvement.)

Thus, I fully understand that a single word can wield tremendous power and often comes with its own baggage. In this case, I think Kirk is correct, though it pains me to agree because it’s ludicrous and I cannot believe after all this time, it comes down to semantics. Such is the real world of communication and soybeans.

Truth is, I’ve been in conversations and debates with folks who visibly bristle and react to my application of “organic” with a standard eye roll, or some sort of facial snort that says, “Oh, here we go...”  And boom, the wall goes up and nobody learns anything.

Doesn’t help the cause at all, does it?

“They need a new word.”
Hmmmmmm.....okay.

So, who is ‘they’, I wondered, and how would I gather ‘them’ all for a rebranding brainstorm? I don’t think they’d all fit in my camper, The Mae Flower, seat of my SCRANCH empire. No, I’d have to figure it out on my own and just use my own mouthy skills to massage the lexicon. 

‘Natural’ was certainly out, having been diluted and prostituted by the likes of Kraft, General Mills and Proctor & Gamble on processed food packaging. ‘GMO-Free’ is a hot potato phrase that would surely bring a murder of Monsanto lawyers down upon our hempy heads so that wouldn’t work. ‘Traditional’ is appropriate but that would only make sense to those of us who grew up on produce and food pre-1995, when GMOs and pesticides really took off. No, there has to be another word out there...

So, there I am, driving down a dirt road to fetch my mail (yay!) and enjoying French-language hip-hop out of Canada while admiring endless green fields, when I stumble upon this sign:


Conventional? I like it.

Later, I ask Brent what the sign really meant. He sighed, heaved his big shoulders in a gesture that said, ‘Here we go..’ and explained:

“It means they don’t spray and....”

“WHO-HOO!”

“....that they probably use non-GMO seeds. They need to put up signs like that so that the spray guys, usually their own workers, know not to spray it with RoundUp.”


In this case, the farmer is giving non-GMO soybeans a good go, though it comes with risk. The conventional soybeans don’t grow like the super steroid beans so while the demand is there for non-GMO soybeans (not likely for food, Brent says, but to feed ‘organically raised’ cattle) per bushel, the bushel count would likely be lower.

So, while I doubt that all the farmers, product designers, advisory boards, organizations - both official and non - that promote all things organic will be swapping out The Big O any time soon, it’s good to know what the official stand-in word is: conventional.

My name is Heather Clisby and I am a Conventional Farmer.

Sunday, July 01, 2012

The Food Fairy Came!

Oh, joy of joys! My cousin, Carol, who lives in Minneapolis but grew up in this region, came to visit her parents this week and offered to fetch me my fancy liberal groceries! On Monday, she sent me an email: "Needing organic this-and-that? Place your order now." What a gem! I gave her some very general guidelines (organic apples being the most urgent) and she came through with this:

Carol, on the right, with her mother, Eileen
7 organic bananas
14 organic apples (Braeburn & Fiji)
1 pint organic blueberries
1 lb. organic strawberries
1 lb. organic limes
2 lbs. organic cherries
2 cucumbers
2 organic beef ribeye steaks
2 organic beef hamburger patties
2 organic boneless, skinless chix breasts
8 Jamaican ginger beers (for Moscow Mules, my fave summer cocktail)
12 whole wheat handmade tortillas
3 organic bell peppers (orange, yellow, red)
5 lbs. organic red potatoes
4 big bottles of Pelligrino
2 big bottles of Perrier
Joe Joe's chocolate cookies
Alba Cocoa Butter hand & body lotion

Came to about $96 - well worth it, and certainly better than the selection here.

 Yeesh.


And speaking of shopping, I scored the other day at the local thrift store, which is bountiful and incredibly organized.


Although I did manage to resist the the local fashions...


I did return to SCRANCH with a bounty of goods:

2 fancy rugs for the shed
fuzzy brown bathrobe with matching slippers
nightgown
toaster
frying pan
knitted white afghan
teapot


All for $68!

***

In other news, I got a new (meaning Brent scavenged) BBQ for SCRANCH HQ! Of course, after he did some Frankenstein action on it, the darn thing was carried over by frontloader, which we call "the barrel" - short for wheelbarrow. (When I said, "I need a wheelbarrow" I was told, "We have one" and was directed to this giant machine.)

Let the grilling begin!