Spring is over-run by flood waters in our field — the newly sprouted rhubarb is submerged now! Boo!
Meet this week’s vegetables:
- Purple sprouting broccoli — We have reached the high point of this broccoli harvest. There is always an arc to certain kinds of “pick and come again” crops (peas, beans, broccoli sprouts) — the first few are hard to find, followed by a reasonable crop, followed by an exponential explosion of productivity! We are in that stage with the broccoli, and in the midst of our waiting and waiting for dry weather, it feels good to see some fresh new abundance in the field.
- Turnip rapini
- Other rapinis — Rapini picked from collard greens, arugula and Brussels sprouts.
- Marina di Chioggia squash — This is the last of our winter squash for the season!!!
- German butterball potatoes
- Celery root
- Parsnips
- Leeks
Even though I am primarily a farmer and mother now, writing has always been a big part of my life — before we started the farm, I earned a Master’s degree in creative non-fiction and taught a college composition course (talk about a different life!).
But writing continues to be a part of my life — in addition to the joy of my weekly newsletter writing, I continue to write regularly for farming journals and even have an essay coming out this month in a book compilation of essays by young farmers.
It is not surprising then that I often think of life in terms of writing metaphors. I now have a deep understanding that a good piece of writing is rarely hatched fully formed, but instead drafted out roughly and worked over and over again in an intentional and explorative process of revision. Much like life, eh? And definitely like our work here on the farm!
In retrospect, I think these were huge gifts I gained from my graduate work — the ability to see the world in this light and lose the pressure to perform perfectly the first time. Even coming into graduate school as a “writer,” I still resisted notions of serious revision — it’s so hard to take apart something that “feels” finished (i.e. has a beginning, middle, and end). But in my experience in school (and since), the more time I can spend working on an idea or piece, truly the better it can become. Often the actual point of the essay doesn’t even reveal itself until I’m finishing the first draft, and then it’s essential to go back through and rework the rest to fit.
Even though revision is hard, knowing it is ahead of me is often a huge relief when staring at an empty page. All I have to do is start writing. There is time and opportunity to make it “good.”
This ability to get started, take a risk and throw words on the page, and then be willing to read them critically and rewrite are practices I tried so hard to instill in my freshman writing students. But acknowledging that we grow through mistakes always struck them as a dangerous idea. Mistakes are unfortunately treated as permanent (at least in terms of grades) in most high school settings, so by the time I got these bright young adults, they had often lost much of their eagerness and willingness to take risks.
Clearly, not every student graduated with a fear of writing, but those confident writers usually tested out of my class. I was left trying to simultaneously coax the less confident writers out of their comfort zones, encourage them to actually try writing in new ways, and then grade them on effort and performance. No small feat in a single quarter (and for a new teacher no less!).
In contrast, I feel grateful that Casey and I receive no permanent grades for our farming. Certainly, in every aspect of life, there are natural forms of feedback and consequences. When we started the farm, our veggies were pretty good, but we often felt compelled to sell or give out even the ugly stuff (since it all felt so hard-earned!) and we heard from our customers. Or, in some cases, didn’t hear from them again when they visited other booths instead of ours.
One could think of these as grades, except that we have countless opportunities to revise, revisit our mistakes, learn, and improve our farm. Perhaps in the early days, we may have lost one or two customers, but there have always been many more out there willing to try our vegetables, as long as we keep working toward the goal of quality!
That feedback has of course always been invaluable (and part of why we survey our CSA members every year) as we guide our farm in new directions and focus our energy on improvement.
But, that kind of feedback and revision usually happens in a different season — often when we reflect on the year as it closes. Right now, we’re faced with a different kind of risk taking, problem solving, and constant revision of our plans. Once again, we are still in a holding pattern of sorts — putting a million plans in order, drafting and drafting and drafting again as we wait for a window in the weather for planting to begin. It’s not likely to come soon, given that we’re experiencing the opposite at the moment — the river has flooded again, and we once again have a finger of the Willamette flowing across our property.
And, so, we revise our plans once again. Once we saw some of our tender spring greens go under water, Casey immediately made plans to sow another round of spring starts — kale, chard, and bok choy that we will transplant when we can.
We’ve also revisited our 2012 budget at least three or four times already (I’ve lost count honestly), reassessing plans for capital expenditures versus employee costs versus likely income from CSA and restaurants. Most recently we revisited it because we had two strong employee candidates that we really wanted to hire, even though we’d only budgeted for one. We pushed a few numbers around and cut down on some of our expectations for projects and made it possible to hire them both (one begins in mid-May, the other in mid-June).
I love that Casey and I have grown flexible enough to respond in this way — if we hadn’t learned it before starting the farm, it would have been a lesson we’d have either learned very quickly or failed very quickly. Because the reality is that our plans rarely pan out exactly how we expect — weather and other natural factors are always variables, but our plans aren’t always ideal anyway. Planting maps get redrawn mid-season as we realize the cover crop in one spot isn’t going to break down in time for potato planting; or because the kale plants didn’t germinate well; or whatnot.
The dance of responding to our world makes us continually grateful that our farm is small enough that we are intimate players in every aspect still. Even as we add more awesome people to the team, the farm is still very much our life — we live here and we see everything. And, because the business is still quite small, we can respond immediately, revising even on the spot as needed. In contrast, I pity the large corporations that are run by distant CEOs and have massive inertia of people, investments, policies, regulations, payrolls, etc — how much more challenging it must be to respond to any kind of change in the economy or the industry!!!
By now, when we embark on a new project, we’re acutely aware that it is in a way, a draft. Even as we add animals, we consider this notion — that what we do with them this year is likely to evolve as we learn more from the animals themselves. If we are willing to listen, the farm itself is always our best teacher, but we also find other farmers to be a continuous source of inspiration and ideas.
Yesterday I was chatting with a farmer friend who has a skill we’d like to learn, and I asked if we could come shadow her sometime. She paused and expressed some reservations, wanting to make sure we understood that she is still improving her skills and process. I think she simultaneously wanted to make sure we wouldn’t limit ourselves by seeing what she is currently doing and also not judge the areas she is still working on.
I totally understood the desire to make these reservations explicit, but at the same time, my response was: “of course!” How else could we even start a farm, except by jumping in and then revising as we go? Certainly preparation and planning are important for success, but even more important is that act of seeing our weaknesses and responding accordingly — continually and constantly.
Of course, as with writing, there are ends to our work of revision — or at least stopping points. Thankfully, or else I’m sure it would feel like a never-ending uphill trek. At some point, the essay goes to print, and at some point, our season begins and we harvest what we have. Even though we will still be thinking about ways to improve quality and our work in the future, when we harvest for our CSA we are in a way publishing our work — enjoying the products of all that prior planning, revision and work. We love being able to share that final product with you! Harvesting is definitely some of the most fulfilling work we do on the farm, and we are glad to be able to do it year-round — even in seasons such as this one, when other parts of the farm are simply in waiting mode.
I’m sure there are many different metaphors that could be applied to these same experiences, but the writing ones will always be in my head.
And, while I’m talking about risk taking, perhaps this is the week for you to try or start something new — perhaps even just a poem? Spring is a wonderful time for new adventures!
In the meantime, enjoy this week’s vegetables!
Your farmers, Katie & Casey Kulla
… and the rest of the farm crew
~ ~ ~
Next week’s vegetables (probably!):
Salad mix • Cabbage • Rapini • Beets • Fingerling potatoes • Parsley • Walnuts • Garlic • Green onions
