Farming & writing

From the farm archive: me (Katie) writing in our first farm “office” — a shed on the land we rented in 2006. I composed many an early blog post with that laptop propped on plastic totes full of seeds!

In case you’ve wondered, this moment — RIGHT NOW — is a highlight of my week. The moment when I sit down with my laptop, upload a few photos from the week, and begin to turn our experiences into a little story or essay to share with our lovely community of eaters. I love the ritual of it — looking at Casey’s handwritten (ahem, scrawled) note of this week’s vegetables and pausing to ponder what tips folks might appreciate as they turn these freshly harvested items into their week’s meals.

At this point in my life, writing these weekly newsletters is the bulk of my regular writing experience. I’ve come to view it as a practice of the best sort — a dedicated routine that keeps me doing something I love but might otherwise let slip in the midst of life’s pressures and endless ‘to do’ lists.

As we pick up new CSA members each year, the genesis of our farm slips farther into the past, and many of the new crowd know Casey and me only as the 30-something-farmers-with-cute-kids we are today. But of course, we grew into these roles. Ten years ago this month, we were embarking on this adventure, leaving behind the life we’d had in Bellingham, Washington, where we had been students, teachers, and farm workers (as well as studio-apartment-dwellers, food-co-op-shoppers, and frequent-burrito-eaters).

Before we moved, we had the privilege of completing Master’s degrees, and mine was in creative nonfiction writing (Casey’s was in ecology). Having that degree under my belt doesn’t necessarily mean that I am a great writer, but it does mean that I once upon a time took my writing very seriously and spent a good amount of time getting better at it with the help of fabulous mentors! An experience for which I am grateful! In fact, my gratitude for that experience grows the more perspective I have. Those early years of adulthood were so packed with growth that it is really only now that I can begin to unpack all the lessons we were gifted in a few years of life.

Back then, the world seemed like our oyster, of course. I look back on who Casey and I were when we moved to Oregon, and I remember how the world seemed so open. We were scared, of course — terrified! We were seeking to settle down and commit to something — to a new way of life, to a new endeavor, to a new community — and it was thrilling to think of the potentials but also nerve-wracking to give up all the other possibilities we could have pursued at that point in our life. To commit to one thing requires giving up others — in our case: further graduate studies, other careers and places to live.

We haven’t spent much time dwelling on the “what ifs” since starting the farm. This life has been so consuming in its demands on our presence and attention, and it has been so fulfilling too. But, of course, who doesn’t sometimes wonder about all those other paths? Especially when there was true love and passion there too.

With starting the farm and having kids, writing has been something that I have definitely pushed to the back burner. I’ve chosen this worn out metaphor on purpose, because I think it’s very appropriate here. The back burner isn’t a place where things stop cooking — those pots aren’t removed from the stove and allowed to cool off completely, forgotten. The back burner is where we put soup that we want to let simmer for hours and hours before dinner so that their flavors will be improved as they only can through the slow work of time.

For a few years (mostly before we had kids, as if that isn’t so obvious), I did keep writing and publishing a little bit — mostly farming articles and essays. But, my primary writing in the last ten years has definitely been this newsletter, my 45 essays a year that get published with essentially no revision on our little blog, read by our immediate community. A satisfying practice to me, but certainly a different publishing road than the one I was trained for in graduate school.

In recent years, I started telling friends that I know no longer considered myself a “Writer,” and I really meant it. It wasn’t a defensive stance so much as a helpful way for me to let go of old ideas about what I “should” be writing and where or how I should publish. Letting go of that assigned role allowed me to better appreciate the very hard work and dedication others have put into prioritizing writing as their craft in ways I have chosen not to do. Letting go of that role also allowed me to whole heartedly embrace other ways of spending my time that have felt rejuvenating to my spirit as I try to balance the mother-farmer roles of my life with other creative pursuits. Specifically I found that singing with a women’s choir became a more important use of my free time than sitting alone in my office on my computer! For me, connecting in that way with a community of women was a better balance for the sometimes isolating parts of rural life.

But, in the meantime, that big pot of soup has been on the back burner, tended by me as I continue this still beloved weekly practice of writing the newsletter. I don’t exactly know what the destiny of that big pot of writerly soup will be, but I have faith that my patience will produce something delicious. Or, to borrow a metaphor I got from Oregon novelist Ursula LeGuin (who I believe picked it up from Gary Snyder?), the writing life can also be thought of as a compost pile — a big, beautiful compost pile that will eventually produce the fertility for a vibrant garden full of color and flavor. But first, it needs a lot of different materials (experiences) added and allowed to break down together over time. If I remember correctly, in sharing this metaphor, LeGuin was making a case for not expecting to write much of excellence before 40.

Incidentally, I heard LeGuin talk at the first ever McMinnville Terroir Writing Festival back in 2010. I listened to LeGuin while standing in the back, rocking a sleeping baby on my chest. Many years have gone by since then, and the festival is still going strong and will happen again this April (registration happening now!). I have only attended again once since that first year, but I love watching this festival from a distance and appreciating all the writers who dedicate their time to connecting and learning from each other (and producing fabulous poems, books, articles, and more for all of us to enjoy!).

And, perhaps to everyone’s culinary benefit (I hope anyway!), I did finally really truly get started on that Big Writing Project that has been simmering away for the better part of two years now. The cookbook is finally really in progress! I think I first mentioned this book at the end of 2014 as a possibility, but it has taken this long for me to really wrap my head around the details — the tone and scope of the project. If you’re wondering what it might be like, look no further than these newsletters. You’ll hear a lot of my voice in the cookbook, sharing my passion for cooking fresh veggies in simple ways, just as I’ve done almost every week for the last ten years!

We’ll see how much I can compel myself to sit alone with my computer (beyond this valued weekly occasion), but I feel excited about how it is going so far. Books are Big Things, even when they’re just CSA cookbooks written by a farmer! So, I know better than to make any guesses about finish dates or much more beyond announcing that I am excited to be writing it! It’s a book that I want to exist, which I think is one of the best motivators. And working on it is enjoyable — the second best motivator.

And, now it’s time for me to bring my weekly writing ritual to a close. After a mostly dry harvest day, the rain is pounding on the metal roof outside the window as the world grows darker and darker gray. Casey and the kids are downstairs finishing the day, cleaning up the living room, setting the table for dinner, looking at an atlas together (a favorite pastime around these parts). I am excited to join them and to taste the fruits of the day alongside family I cherish. Here we are in the life we chose a decade ago, in the house we built, eating food we’ve grown. And, lucky me, I get to write about it.

Enjoy this week’s vegetables!

Your farmers, Katie & Casey Kulla

P.S. You need at least one cute farm kid photo this week. How about kids grazing on extra pea plants starts in the hot house? They sure eat a lot of fresh veggies this way:

Yum!

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Next CSA payment is coming up on March 17! This coming week I will email everyone a statement and reminder of what you owe, so watch your inbox! Please let me know if you have any questions about your account balance or payment history.

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Meet this week’s vegetables:

• Apples
• Radishes! — Many items from the greenhouses this week, including the first of the season’s radishes. These round, red gems used to be the mark of spring for us, since they are consistently the first item we can harvest from spring sown crops. This is because small red cherry radishes are ready to harvest about 22 days after sowing! That’s like instant food! (Ok, not really, but in crop times it is.) It’s definitely not spring yet, but the radishes have won the race again. These are mild flavored, but the heat does build up in your mouth if you sit and eat several plain and raw (as I did as a snack after lunch today). They make a beautiful salad topping, sliced into little circles and sprinkled over lettuce.
• Bok choy — Bok choy is another on of those faster early season crops that does great in the early cool season but just can’t handle the hot summers (radishes are the same). This makes it a special item to enjoy in these early months. Bok choy is an Asian green, somewhat related to mustard greens and turnips. When it is tender, it can be chopped and dressed as a salad, but traditionally it was cooked — often stir fried with yummy sauces (think soy sauce, ginger, and sesame oil) or chopped and added to brothy soups.
• Head lettuce
• Marina di Chioggia winter squash
• Butternut winter squash
• Mustard rapini
• Purple sprouting “broccoli” — These tiny broccoli florets have more in common with rapini than with what you might picture as big summer broccoli heads. But the flavor is all broccoli (with a purple tint!) and they’re delicious added to stir fries.
• Kale rapini — Kale rapini is going to have a very similar flavor and texture to the purple broccoli. They would be delicious chopped and stir-fried. Try a combination of bok choy, kale rapini, and carrots!
• Red Russian kale
• Carrots
• Potatoes
• Leeks