Farm Notes
CSA Newsletter
Vol. 4 No.8
September 23-24, 2003
Potomac Vegetable Farms
[email protected]
[email protected]
(703) 759-2119…Vienna
(540) 882-3885…Purcellville
Isabel: Before and After
In the end, we were very lucky. The wind and rain did little
damage to the two farms, there was no flooding, and we only
lost power for about 18 hours. What a relief. We spent
Tuesday and Wednesday getting ready -- like everyone, we
took this storm seriously. We picked, packed, and stored all
the vegetables for market, thinking that our usual market prep
days of Thursday and Friday would be too rough. We
harvested all the winter squash on both farms. We stashed the baskets and bags
and everything that would blow away. We closed up all the greenhouses very
tight so the wind wouldn’t catch them and rip the plastic off or bend the metal
frames. In Loudoun, we filled the step van with tomatoes and filled the little
walk-in cooler to the brim. At the Vienna farm, we put in more posts and
stretched baler twine between them in an attempt to keep the zinnias from
falling over. We moved the tomato tables into the stand
and prepared for flooding. The stand is at the lowest point
on the farm, and the melon cooler has filled with water
many times this summer.
We got word on Wednesday afternoon that the Thursday
market was cancelled – after we had already picked
vegetables for it – so the Loudoun team decided to try to
sell the surplus to their CSA group. The shareholders rose
to the challenge and purchased lots of extra chard and
beans, and got free flowers as an extra bonus.
At around 4:00 PM on Thursday, a large locust tree
fell at the Vienna farm, missing three cars and landing
right on top of our most recent equipment purchase –
a grain drill. We hadn’t even paid for it yet, but
fortunately it was not an (continued next page)
With the federal government closed and power out all
around, Charles Newcomb (wind engineer) and Richard
Bloom (carpenter) spent several hours helping us cut up
the locust tree. Charles went through a record four tanks
of gas. The grain drill, above, is a loss. We got lots of
excellent firewood and a few good posts, though.
Working for the Money
Michael Bradford
Having fun being a farmer died out at the beginning of
summer, when I found out that I would be doing three times
more farm work than I was expecting for the next two months.
As I work, I keep wondering about the same thing: why am I
working here, and not sitting on a couch taking a nap? I
gradually get so tired of weeding beans that I go ask the slave
driver (Hana) that same question, and this is the only answer I
get: “for the money.” The thing about me is that I have, in my
opinion, too much money. You may think that isn't possible, but
when all your money is saved up, and you can't spend it on
anything, you have too much money.
Anyway, as I walk away from Hana, the answer dawns on me: I don't have a choice.
If I had the choice I WOULD be taking a nap on the couch. The funny thing is that
people still believe that I'm into working for the money. The reason for that is other
people could think of a billion things to do with one thousand dollars. For now it's going
to sit in the bank until I can think of something. Maybe I should donate some money to
the "let Stephen have more leisure time" fund. Then again, maybe not.
Michael, 12, claims to be a reluctant participant but he is a punctual, reliable, and steady worker. We think that we’ll
be able to train him to enjoy this, but if not, at least he’ll have a lot of skills saved up for later (when lying on the
couch is no longer a cost-effective use of his day).
(continued from previous page) expensive item. We were not emotionally attached to it, although it is
almost time to start planting cover crop.
On Friday we opened the stand, without electricity, but no one came. They were probably too distracted by
the fallen trees and lack of power and water to think about acquiring more vegetables. The Saturday
markets were quiet, for the same reasons.
Our Sunday market in Takoma Park had extra troubles. The street is still blocked by power lines and broken
poles, so the market was moved to a rather obscure location behind City Hall. We sold about half our load.
But we know that we were some of the lucky ones. It could have been much worse. We hope that your
lives are returning to normal and that you can cook your vegetables this week, in potable water from your
tap.
Hana Newcomb
amor vincit omnia
As I write this, Friday, the day after Isabel, still some wind lingers about and still
some rain spits down, but the hurricane has passed. We have to consider ourselves
lucky in Loudoun, for still our crops and houses stand, and still the season beats on,
albeit still wet. Much blew and bent, but nothing really broke. We did what we could
to protect against the dire predictions. I have learned repeatedly, though, like rolling
thunder, of the huge hand Chance holds in this whole farming affair. One can
prepare for a million possibilities, but one can never know them all, nor expect
which ones will actually arrive. Probably the million and first--the least likely--will
come.
Whereas in this stone house I live in I know fairly well what the weather will be, out
there, in the fields, under the open, mercurial sky, I have no clue what the next hour
will bring, let alone tomorrow, or next week, or next month, despite the confident,
specialized words of the meteorologists. When the rain stops, perhaps a blistering
drought ensues, or perhaps the rains resume again and again, perhaps a careless
gust snaps the necks of our carefully cultivated crops, or perhaps some minute
creature delights in a little ruining nibble from each once-perfect fruit. Who knows,
and who decides? There are more levels and factors at constant play than any mere
mind can conceive of.
But is this all? Have I experienced and learned nothing more than the omnipotence
of Chance, Fortune, Volatility, Powerlessness? No, for there is one thing that
conquers any effect, any seeming fortune or misfortune, any simple or complex twist
of fate, and it is Love, however beleaguered or begrimed or distorted this word and
notion may be. Love, beyond any conception of love, beyond any pain or product of
love, Love is the only anodyne for the predictably unexpected, for the freakishness
of Time. Loving the soil, what sprouts from the earth, the sky, what falls from the
heavens, our friends, our fellow workers, the many who hurry past and never look
aside or in the eyes, the magic and miracle of each moment, the completeness and
inseparability of each and every piece, every appearance of difference--this is the
greater lesson. Love defies success and failure. It transcends our impotence and
isolation.
We stay sane through our understanding of beautiful Unity. All is one; the rest is
illusion. Let the storms buffet and bluster, let the winds of change shake our very
certainty, our love will only increase, and encompass, and overcome. I see that all of
life is farming, is trying to grow and produce and provide and share, be it
accompanied by auspicious tides or be it despite the ugliest elements. Love does not
demand what it thinks it wants, but accepts it all, high and dry and sunk and damp.
There is absolutely no telling what new obstacle awaits us tomorrow, but, by Love, it
does not matter at all.
Carden Willis
The Purcellville Farm Open House and Salsa Party: Sunday, September 28 from 2 –5.
Hayride, tour, compost demonstration, and potluck snacks. Bring a batch of your salsa, or
anything else you’d like to share. RSVP to Ellen at [email protected] or 540-882-3885.
We will reschedule if it rains.
From the east: take the Greenway to the end, then go west on Route 7. North on 287, go
four miles, cross Route 9 (traffic light) and the farm is about a half mile beyond, on the left.
Notes From the Field: Two Views From Loudoun
There's nothing better than a hurricane to provoke a shifting of
gears at PVF. When I first caught wind of the news that Isabel was
blowing our way I was near ecstatic. Even though I just finished
college "back east", as a West Texas native I am still perpetually
captivated by torrents, draughts, sprinkles, and other forms of
wetness. For everyone at the farm, captivated, I think, was the
general feeling leading up to the anti-climactic showdown with
Isabel. Although the tell-tale sign of ominous dark clouds didn't
descend upon us until a few hours before the storm actually hit, the
veritable showering of media coverage had us convinced well in
advance that we were all sitting ducks. With admirable alacrity our
humble farm was soon given all the trimmings of a well fortified
compound, gracefully transforming from vegetable farm to vegetable
fortress. Our philosophy regarding Isabel, it seemed, was that the
best offense was a good defense.
Just minutes before the confrontation with Isabel began, suddenly
gripped by the certainty of impending doom, by the melancholy
awareness that the farming life I had finally acclimated to and come
to love would be violently uprooted by 70 to 100 mph winds, I did
what I considered to be the final duty of any self-respecting farmer
after a stint in the field: I de-robed, went out back, and jumped
in the shower. So what if small branches were already being
liberated from their trunks by an agitated atmosphere and the trees
around me emitting a cacophony of foreboding creaking? When I finish
work I am entitled to the small luxury of a long hot shower and this
day would be no different, regardless of the dread inspired by
distraught voices on the radio that should have rendered me a hermit
hours ago. Of course, I also relished the novelty, some would say
the absurdity, of bathing outdoors in the middle of a hurricane. I
just hope my mom doesn't find out.
-- Chris Bell
I recently went on a journey in the heart of West Virginia on a
stream that begins as a trickle on the flanks of West Virginia's
highest peak. The lack of intense mining, logging, poor farming
practices, and development means little erosion, thus allowing a
glimpse into a beauty that no longer exists in other parts of West
Virginia. This creek is called Seneca Creek. The section that I
descended drops 70-90 feet per mile through West Virginia's biggest
mountains. Icy, crystal clear water that I have only known to exist
in western states such as Idaho, flows over beautiful ledges of rock
and large rounded cobbles. As you float through a pool after
carefully navigating a whitewater section, a world of underwater
rock sculpture, rarely visible in the east, pacifies any tension the
swirling dangerous rapids may stimulate, allowing an excited state
of joy to coexist with an inner peace as a spiritual Yin and Yang.
With the physical exertion of paddling and the emotional highs I
experienced I was hungry. Unfortunately the local restaurants do not
suit a vegetarian diet and "healthy" snacks purchased from a general
store could not fill the expanding void in my stomach. Sunday came
and I drove back to the farm in a nutritional stupor feeling somehow
inwardly dirty and unhealthy with the knowledge that what I consumed
this weekend was not the best I could give myself nor in tune with
the rest of my experience.
Now on Sunday evening as I sit and eat my stir fry of organic PVF
green beans, beets, beet greens, carrots, broccoli stem and flower,
onions, garlic, and tofu with olive oil, honey, ginger and soy sauce
on a bed of rice, sweet recollections of a creek of clean water and
absolute beauty intermingle with the wonderful food flowing into me.
They are one and I am thankful. I flush with tears at the thought of
a life lived without knowing either. Thank you for supporting
organic practices and Potomac Vegetable Farms
-- Conrad Schaeffer