Homegrown Happy Valley

Week 1:

Cherokee purple tomatoes (photo courtesy of Carolyne Meehan)

My first day of work on the farm begins in the greenhouse. After a few quick directions and demonstrations from the farmer, it is just me, the plants, the seeds and the faint smell of manure hanging in the thick air. It takes me a few minutes to get past the excitement of it all, as I peak at the black cucumber starting to sprout, and ogle at the mini jungle of Cherokee purple tomatoes.

Soon I begin to wonder if this farmer is crazy for leaving me alone in here. The last time I planted something from seed was in the fourth grade – marigolds for Mothers’ Day maybe?  I always have the intention of starting my plants from seed, but year after year, May creeps up on me and the seedlings at the local greenhouses lure me in. I am a sucker for instant green in the garden.

This year will be different. I will learn the true meaning of the phrase “slow food” as I follow the journey of my food from seed, to sprout, to field, to harvest – to my own table.

I get to work transplanting bell pepper seedlings into larger potting trays. I shake the dirt free from their roots and gently place them in their new, temporary home. It’s not long before I begin the feel the sweat bead and roll down my back. It’s cooking in here! I tell myself the humidity must be doing wonders for my pores as I shovel a pile of soil onto a big blue tarp.

I sift the hummus rich dirt through my hands, hydrating it to just the right consistency, then pile and pack it into the planting boxes. These will be an experiment, the farmer tells me. He wants to see if he can keep some organic lettuce mixes going all through the summer in the greenhouse. The seeds are the tiniest I have ever worked with, and trying to space them evenly throughout the 15 inch by 15 inch wooden boxes makes my eyes crazy. This is my first planting task and I really don’t want to screw it up. I carefully label and date everything, then say a quiet prayer that they will turn out okay.

Fields at Greenmore Gardens (photo courtesy of Carolyne Meehan)

I head out into the fields to find the farmer, ready for my next task. He leads me through the newly prepared beds where many leafy plants I can’t name are growing. We stop at the onions, and I am happy to see something I recognize. I now get to pick grass, going up and down the rows, as thoroughly as possible. To pull and break the grass is not enough; I need to get down deep to the rhizomes or else the buggers will grow right back. This is a young farm and these fields are newly plowed. Keeping the grass out will require much persistence. I should get used to this task.

After an hour, I have not even made it down one row, but my bucket is overflowing. This is meditative work. The sun warms my back, songbirds are making music, and there is a breeze that moves the tall grass in the next field. Again, I am alone, talking to the onions. Tending to their dirt. Looking forward to putting their peels in my chicken stock. Smelling thin slices caramelize on my stove-top.  All in due time.  The promise of what is to come makes the work worthwhile.