The river floods

Casey and Rusty rafted across one of our low fields this weekend. The water has risen even higher since.

Have you ever watched a whole colony of ants busily transporting their eggs from one spot to another? It’s something that the kids and I stop to watch when we notice the activity under foot — hundreds of tiny ants, scurrying along, carrying their eggs with a truly singled minded purpose. Their determination and focus is absolute as they go back and forth, back and forth, saving their eggs from some perceived doom in their former home. Watching them, I too can become engrossed in their task and its urgency.

And, then, I look up and see things again from my worldly perspective, many feet above the ground. I see birds flying and children playing and clouds floating by in the sky, and I realize that these ants’ individual failure or success is not critical for all of this. Certainly if all ants anytime anywhere failed in their tasks, it would begin to affect the greater balance, but this particular ant hill is so small — just one tiny piece of a vast puzzle of beings and forces in the world.

I felt a bit like those ants this last week as we arrived back from our Breitenbush farmer retreat to a farm once again on the cusp of crisis. The melting snow plus warm rain was adding great amounts of water to the Willamette River quite quickly, and the NOAA predictions were for high water. As Thursday went on, the predicted peak kept rising, and by Friday morning, Casey made the call to move all our animals from our land next-door to the few acres of high ground at my parents’ cherry orchard.

We have spots of ground on our land next-door that is high enough for all but the most major floods, but the challenge is that the road gets blocked before we lose that high ground, meaning that we have to make the call early in order to get the animals out of there. This has been our plan since acquiring animals — we’ve known since before buying our land that the island floods. Indeed. It is no myth or possibility; it happens. With regularity. Almost every year brings “high water,” causing normally dry fields to fill into ponds and lakes. But every few winters brings even more water — such as two winters ago, when we experienced the 12th biggest flood in recorded history on the Willamette. We were cut off from the valley by water for several days. Much of our home farm stayed dry, but almost all of our 85 acres next door went under. It was a good thing to see before we brought animals onto the farm.

So, the plan: in high water, we would move the animals. But would this work? The distance they would have to walk from the high ground next door to the high ground near our house was half a mile. Of county road. We hoped it would work, but this would be the first test of the system, as it were. Fortunately, we move our animals frequently — in the summer, when the pastures are growing quickly, we move them daily, and they are quite familiar with following us around and understanding the patterns.

It worked. The pigs and sheep and meat cows followed the signals and walked the road all the way to safe high ground. It wasn’t without a few minor dramatic moments, such as when a calf and mother cow bounded into the water, and Casey had to literally swim after them. There was also a moment when the lead animal passed by the gate we needed them to turn into, continuing to head west on the road. Fortunately our neighbor and her dogs happened to walk out at that moment, and without any fear or anxiety, everyone turned around and landed in the right place. And we all breathed a huge sigh of relief.

The water rose higher after this photo was taken, but it still has not quite reached the inside of the greenhouses!

Later the work continued for Casey though as he hauled over enough hay to last the animals through what could possibly be a long cut off period. Or, so we thought — each subsequent day NOAA’s forecasted peak kept dropping. And, now it looks as though we certainly won’t lose access to next-door — this time around. The decline in the flood waters looks very slow on the graph. It ended up coming just shy of our planted greenhouses (hoorah! … although they need watering, so Casey was sort of hoping for a little flooding … haha), but we’ve still got some enormous bodies of water where there are normally fields. Given the slow decline, it could come back up again quickly. It’s not over yet!

Now, back to those ants. Through all of this effort and work and a bit of hand wringing, we’ve kept in mind some Big Questions about what it means to do our work in the midst of the wider world. Our CSA members who were aware of the impending flood kept us in their thoughts (and one came out to help move hay — hoorah!), which was all most appreciated. It was heartening and uplifting to know we weren’t in this alone.

But, perhaps even more useful was metaphorically lifting our heads up from our own immediate work. The river floods. It’s not personal. It’s not about us. It’s the way it is. The River Floods. And has done so now for millions of years in this valley. The river flooding is why our soil is so extremely well suited to growing crops of all kinds — the water bringing with it light fines and new fertility with each season. Over millenia, that process creates a beautiful setting for farming. But of course that’s not why the river floods. The River Floods.

Knowing that The River Floods, we could rage against it and cry and boo and whine and feel sorry for ourselves and so on. But the river will still flood. The River Floods.

Our other choice — the one we chose years ago and continue to choose each winter — is to accept that The River Floods. And make our plans accordingly. Which we have done, but of course making plans and executing them are two different things entirely. And understanding what flooding really means is another process too. Each year brings new understanding and perspective to how we farm here responsibly. How much do we risk in this winter season? How much do we stretch ourselves? What can we control? What can we not? How do we tell the difference? Oh, that wisdom that is prayed for in the “Serenity Prayer” is something that we work toward every day. It is truly not available on the cheap — time and mistakes and experience and successes … that is where the wisdom comes from.

We also metaphorically “looked up” from our intense work by getting away last week. It felt more than a little surreal to drive away from a farm still totally covered in several inches of snow — to go out of cell phone contact, no less. But, oh, was it good. We soaked in the pools with the kids (“hot springs” is now one of Dottie’s favorite phrases, followed by “nay nay” to describe our lack of clothing when bathing in said springs), but perhaps even more importantly, we got to check base with dozens of our dear far flung farmer friends.

This particular group of farmers is truly amazing. They are all outstanding skilled growers, many of them with decades of experience ahead of us. Even though many of us literally share markets, the openness among the group is total. Acceptance is the key to the gathering, and it is a beautiful thing. Especially in a winter like this, when the cumulative damage of the season adds up to a string of truly laughable incidents (laughable because what else can you do when you watch some crops die from cold, followed by others getting smothered by snow, followed by others getting eaten by geese, followed by others getting flooded?).

Sharing our stories of the season brought tears to more than a few eyes — I mean literal crying, born of both the frustration of watching hardwork disappear and also the relief of finding a truly understanding audience. Personally I dislike the phrase “misery loves company,” but there is great truth to that statement too, in that realizing we are not alone changes everything. As Casey and I conversed with farmer friends over the two days, we metaphorically “looked up” and remembered that this winter is not about us. It Is Winter. The River Floods. Also: “Farming Is Hard.” Those were words spoken to me over dinner by a dear friend and former employee of ours, who is now several years into his own farming career. I could only agree.

I think that cumulatively remembering that Farming Is Hard (indeed!) brought a lightness to everyone at Breitenbush. Those challenges we all individually faced last season and this winter suddenly became a more universal experience. We no longer bore them as individual failures but saw that they were part of a big scheme of things, much of which is Not About Us at all. Yes, late frosts are hard. And floods. And cold snaps. And geese. These things Are. They have their own purpose in the flow of the universe. As farmers, the more we hold firm to our own purposes and lose sight of that bigger picture, the more frustrated we will inevitably be.

Thus, perhaps the hardest part of farming isn’t the individual challenge at all — it’s the acceptance that’s necessary. Because it is only by accepting that flow (geese, flooding and all) that we can find our true resilience. Knowing that it floods today so that our fields will be fertile tomorrow (followed by more flooding), we can find peace with moving animals and replanting fields and watching the water rise.

That isn’t even to say that the flow of the universe will always end in “our favor” — maybe sometimes it won’t. Maybe it just depends on perspective. Things are. And sometimes they feel hard. Maybe sometimes a farmer will call it quits. That happens too. Sometimes that’s the right thing for an individual soul amidst the flow. Maybe.

To be clear, farmers are not unique. Farming may be Hard (indeed!), but we all live in that flow of the universe. Farmers just make our living and spend our life smack right up against some incredibly forceful and blatant manifestations of that flow — nature in all its forms. Other people’s daily lives may be more sheltered, providing some sense of distance. But we all have parts of our life we can’t control. Farmers just have to face that fact every hour of our work days.

But overall, in those conversations with other farmers, behind immediate words of frustration, there were oceans of hope and resiliency. Yes, today we almost have to mourn our recent failures in order to let them pass by quickly so that we can go back to the work of preparing for a new season. Conversations quickly moved to successes and dreams and plans for new projects. As with the seasons themselves, we dip into the dark before returning to the light.

Casey, the kids, and I are all more than ready for spring. Perhaps Casey is the only one not growing weary of our stored vegetables (Rusty is actively leading a mutiny against carrots and cabbage right now — usually followed quickly by happy chomping and chewing noises). We have hope that our greenhouses that were spared by the floods will quickly burst with all the baby greens that are growing in there right now. When the sun comes out from behind the clouds, its power is palpable. Spring really is just around the corner.

For now though we are going to have some fun with this flood. Taking our little cheap inflatable raft out on the water has turned it into a family adventure. And soon we will lead our animals back home. Our little actions barely making any kind of dent in the flow itself. We may just be tiny riders in this wave of the universe, but oh what power it brings to our experience.

Enjoy this week’s vegetables!

Your farmers, Katie & Casey Kulla

P.S. In case you don’t know the “Serenity Prayer” by heart, here it is, in all its profound simple wonderfulness (have truer words ever been written?):

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
The courage to change the things I can,
And wisdom to know the difference.

~ ~ ~

Meet this week’s vegetables:

• Greens mix — This is a mix of hardy greens from the field, certainly suitable for fresh eating as a salad (that is how we would eat it) but would also make a delicious braising mix or ‘slaw. Casey harvested some of these from the very edges of the floodwaters. Might as well get them before they get submerged!
• Beets — Hmmmm … beets. People seem to resist beets. Why, I wonder? Except that I remember not thinking I liked them either. Until I realized that undercooked beets are the problem. They take much longer to cook than carrots or potatoes, so when roasting or boiling, I think it is far too easy to serve them not quite cooked all the way. When fully cooked, the earthiness should mellow way out and let the sweetness dominate. Because of the longer cooking time, I often chop my beets into fairly small pieces to speed the roasting process (unless I start dinner well in advance).
• Carrots — We still do love carrots in our house, regardless of my earlier comment about Rusty’s mutiny (but it is true that he is eagerly longing for snap peas — aren’t we all, my child? Aren’t we all?). We have been eating carrots on a daily basis here — sometimes cooked, sometimes simply peeled, sliced and dipped in peanut butter. It’s a win/win. They’re always good.
• Rutabaga — Meanwhile, Rusty loves rutabaga and will ask for it. I suppose because it’s different? I love rutabaga for how it will take a stew and add so much volume to it. That’s the main way I use it right now.
• Sunflower seeds — A special winter treat! We grew these on the farm! They are in the hull still, so this is the classic sunflower experience: put it in your mouth, bite down, and spit out the hull (and then enjoy the tasty meat!). Roast and salt for an especially delightful snack experience
• Leeks