North Ridge Farm

On the Eve of October

Confused and out of step is how I’d describe myself over the last several weeks. The extended forecast, which takes us to October 14th, offers nothing below 40 degrees for our overnight low. This places us at more than a month past our first average frost date. Myself and those around me do not feel in sync with our normal rhythm of the season. I wonder how early hunting will be this year, as it is typical for deer to not be on the move in warmer weather. They bed down and ride it out which sounds familiar to my own habits. Bow season is always warmer than rifle, but even more so this year. There is just so little chill in the air. 

A neighbor stopped by to assist Adam in designing the roof for the covered porch we are building. He is a retired master carpenter, a one time creator of the most beautiful timber frame homes and barns. Now he enjoys spending days on the farm with the pigs, cattle, chickens, gardens, and hemp fields. We are grateful for his willingness to lend his expertise; we have built many small structures in the past, but nothing that we felt needed to look just right.

A while back I noticed his wife’s baskets for sale at our local Agway, and being the owner of a few myself, I was pleased to see such a nice selection of goods offered right there beside the bird seed. Erik shared that he’d built many birdhouses for the store’s shelves during the holidays last year; with supply chains interrupted and bare inventory, he was happy to contribute. And truly, don’t birdhouses make the most wonderful gift? My father gave me one years ago and I still enjoy it to this day. I was also amused by the idea of a retiree tinkering away on birdhouses for the local feed store. How quintessential. 

I’ve been trying to think of a way to thank him, as he would not accept payment for his consultation, but living here is tricky in that most people provide for themselves the very things I have to offer as a thank you. I settled on a basket of homegrown goods that would do well in storage, so they would not feel any pressure to use or process them right away. 

Though I cannot imagine a bad foliage year in Vermont, this one seems weary and muted in comparison to years past. I think of the woeful sugaring season earlier in the year and cannot help but worry about the strength and health of our trees. They have endured so much. I know many humans feel the same, and I wonder who will rise from the ashes first. 

The garden is mostly harvested with only carrots, kale, Brussels sprouts, and potatoes remaining. Well, there is also my experimental raised bed of fresh greens in the greenhouse. This is a first for me and I’ve kept my expectations low with my hopes high. I am excited to discover how far I can take fresh greens into late autumn or even winter. If gardening has taught me anything through the years, it is that you can read all the books in the world, but until you try something for yourself (sometimes in a few different ways), you’ll never know the best systems for your individual location and soil. Our garden was so good to us this year and provided all the vegetables we’ll need to see us through winter and early spring. There is an undeniable comfort in that. Grateful is not a big enough word. 

The sounds of late September carry across the ridge in the form of geese flying south, combines in the distant corn fields, and finally, on the eve of October, a crackling fire to warm our bones. 

Slow Down and Notice

On our way home, we took the road that travels by an Amish farm because even though I am among those guilty of romanticizing their very human and imperfect culture, I always ask Adam to drive that way. Especially during gardening season. It appeared services were not held at their farm on this particular day, evident by the absence of the more than a dozen buggies we’d seen parked on a previous Sunday. Barreling down the dirt road toward us, three young boys dressed in crisp handsewn garments held up by suspenders, heads covered with straw hats. All three squished into a single radio flyer wagon, steering as well as anyone can steer one of those things on a hilly dirt road, reserved glee on their faces and a courteous wave for us English-folk passing by. A barefooted young girl aged three or four, dressed in a royal blue cotton dress and black head covering, stayed up on the grass jumping and running alongside them with less restrained glee as three year olds are so good at demonstrating. I hoped she would have a turn on the wagon. 

Our garden is winding down for the year. There is still much harvest to be done, but the inevitable die back of annual vegetables is happening quickly. The last few weeks I’ve been busy with corn and tomatoes, finishing up our bush beans, and just getting started on pole beans. Carrots have reached jumbo stage and early digging of potatoes indicates we’ll be set for winter eating and spring seed, with plenty to share, too. I’ve been tempted to pull our onions because they are so beautiful I cannot wait to see them all lined up curing, but they have another week or two to go before it is time. Cabbages and Brussels sprouts still to come, as well as winter squash. We could really use another two to three weeks without a hard freeze for the squash to fully ripen, but the patch looks promising so far. Overall the garden has provided far more than we could ever expect or need, and I will ease into hibernation knowing that by the sweat of our brow and strength of our tired backs, we are provided for. 

I recently sewed curtains with my daughter for her kitchen and got to thinking that maybe I’d like to sew some for our dining room. I struggle with curtains because they have a way of blocking (partially at least) the very best part of any room: seeing outside. On the other hand, I love beautiful fabric and curtains do provide texture and coziness. And with cozy season ahead, I might just have to go for it. Now the question is do I make them cafe style with a valance or two full panels per window? 

A few nights ago a pack of coyote barreled through the woods at a such a fast clip it was as if they knew their unimpeded, free-running days are numbered, with snow arriving soon than later. Nothing inhibits easy movement through the woods like snow. Unless you’re a moose, I suppose. Can’t imagine they are too bothered by it. It was fun listening to the coyotes; I attempted to imagine how many there were but was unable to. I will say it was more than I’d ever heard in one group before, especially with such an active, full-speed-ahead yelping and howling display. It sounded like the Iditarod was passing through! Adam and I both felt it was such a treat to hear, and we were glad that our own critters had already been locked up for the night. Turkeys have been back in the yard and Scout keeps escorting them back to the woods. Bear dogs can be heard in the distance and unfamiliar trucks have been seen on the ridge looking for unposted land to hunt. 

The weeks roll on, one into the next, and I try my best as I do with each turn of season, to slow down and notice the fleetingness of it all. Something about autumn though… I can hardly believe I get to witness the arrival of yet another one. 

I'll Leave the Light on for You

After nearly three days without water due to a broken foot valve in our well and the time it took to replace it, we are back in water which quite frankly means we are back in life. There is a part of me that embraces life’s hiccups and challenges as it seems to be the only sure way I can get through my noggin how best to endure such scenarios should they happen again. Something about experience being the best teacher. This particular hiccup happened during a stretch of hot days with record breaking humidity, which if you know about heat and humidity, you know it’s the record breaking humidity - not the heat - that makes things dangerously unbearable. We and our more than 70 animals made it through unscathed, thanks to our nearly 1,000 gallons of stored rainwater and drinking water, a pump to move water to the animals, a Berkey to filter it for the humans, and my trusty little hand-pumped sprayer contraption that we made years ago as a showering and dishwashing backup. Systems fell pretty easily into place that first morning when I awoke to no water from the faucet. By 6:30am I’d heated water from our stored water bricks and added it to the hand-pumped sprayer to wash the remaining sticky dishes from processing peaches the night before. I suppose that was another reminder to get all of my dishes washed before going to bed! At least it was easy to mobilize Plan B so I could take care of them as quickly as possible, before the heat of the day. 

The other reminder was the reality that the recommended minimum of 1 gallon per person per day is out the window when you have a lot of animals and are having extreme weather. My general practice is 3 gallons per person per day, but add in preservation season, wicked heat, and a lot of animals, and let’s just say we called in the support of our rainwater catchment pretty quickly. 

All in all, things moved along, the well eventually got fixed, harvest was preserved, and animals thrived. We even have a new resident frog living in one of the pigs’ wallows and he’s a pretty cute fella. 

This week I’ve been preserving green and wax beans, peas, and tomatoes. So many tomatoes this year and they are ripening earlier than ever. At this point I’ve only canned spaghetti sauce, and this year’s batch is my favorite yet. After a few years of our Vitamix being broken, we finally fixed it which means no more peeling tomatoes! I do remove the seeds, but even that probably isn’t necessary. I bet the Vitamix would pulverize those as well. So easy to just pop them into the machine and have the whole fruit pureed into a smooth, silky, slurry. The richness of flavor and texture is quite noticeable in the finished sauce with this method.  

I’ve been going through our extended pantry and getting things dusted, washed, and organized for winter. I do this at least twice a year and it’s proven to be the best way I know of to “inventory” our supplies. Spreadsheets or thorough inventory lists are popular methods for keeping track, but I prefer to regularly have my hands and eyes on things and see for myself where we stand. It is an embarrassingly simple method but it works for me so I stick with it. 

We are deep into cricket season with at least one sneaking into the house each day. We escort them out as quickly as possible because they do not know how to use inside voices. Bees and goldfinches have made homes among the golden, sky-reaching sunflowers. The big apple tree has dropped nearly half its bounty which we’ve taken to piling in the wheelbarrow, and parking it next to the pigs. We toss a few in whenever we walk by. There is still plenty on the tree which will be stored in barrels for wintertime treats of sunshine.  

Thankfully the oppressive humidity has passed, water has returned to our faucets, harvests continue to roll in, and we are currently enjoying our daughter being home for the week. No matter how grown and independent our kids become, they will always be home when spending time with us. It’s like they have two homes, the one they make on their own and the one that is provided for them whenever they need a soft place to land or the comfort of home cooking. I remember this with my own parents’ home, and am especially thrilled to see the same for our daughter. 

In photos and words, this is a bit of what has been happening here over the last week; please know how much I appreciate you stopping by to share in my days. I will be returning to Instagram in September, I believe, but the more that I post here the more reluctant I feel about it. I hope to find a better balance between the two spaces because there is a valuable archival element unique to blogging, and I do not wish for it to fade away. Please stop by again soon, I’ll be sure to leave the light on for you. 

Just Like the Good Old Days

Goldenrod, Joe Pye weed, and Queen Anne’s lace fill meadows that only a few weeks ago held daisies and St John’s Wort. Everyone is cutting hay again for what seems like the sixth time this year. The western fires have buried us in chest burning haze, erasing our bluebird sky and green mountaintops for the time being. I can only imagine how unbearably thick it must feel at ground zero, 3,000 miles from here. The leaves are beginning to change color in small pockets here and there. It actually began a week ago before turning the calendar to August, and is even more prominent now. 

While our winter squash patch continues to recklessly flourish and appears supreme at quick glance, it is fruiting slower than normal and I find myself wondering how substantial this critical-for-us harvest will be. We are drowning in tomatoes and have been harvesting basketfuls from the garden even earlier than was normal for our Connecticut plot. I think this is what I love so much about growing food: the brand new relationship each year to a new hosting of plants that teaches and expands and finds me out there multiple times a day cheering on and encouraging a collection of leaves and fruits in a way that would invite suspicion from a fence-peering neighbor, if I had such a thing. If you stopped by, I would invite you into the garden to unabashedly share in the revelry as well as the trepidations. Just ask the few people that have visited this summer… no shame I tell you. I guess it never gets old that a couple handfuls of seed (and a pile of potatoes) bears enough fruit to sustain us and others. 

On Friday my husband picked up our yearly two bushels of peaches from a formerly local to us farm, and I am about to embark on my annual Peach Week, preserving these beauties in a myriad of ways, culminating in a fresh peach galette to welcome our daughter home for a much needed visit. Even more than the peaches, I value the farmer who grows them telling my husband that while recently in the orchard noticing things were near peak, and he thought to himself: These are looking so good; it’s time to get Adam his peaches! After many years, our exchange is ritual at this point. I used to pick them up myself, but he knows we’ve moved and our new routine looks like me calling in early august to check in on the crop and reserve our desired share, and he helps us time it just right so my husband can pick them up as he departs from his workdays in Connecticut and heads home to Vermont. This farmer even does us the courtesy of picking them a touch prior to perfect ripeness as he knows the journey they’ll take and that I'll need a few days to work through processing them all. Staggered ripeness is so helpful to me, as is laying them all out single layer as soon as they arrive to prevent bruising and uneven ripening. I’m a stickler for peach handling and feel it pays off to take such care. 

I hope your garden is overflowing and any necessary crops are secured with farmers who are able to fill in your gaps. A farmer that can look you in the eye and say “see you next year” as you depart. Who knows, maybe soon we’ll even return to sealing the deal with a handshake, just like the good old days. 

Checking in... Hello!

We have been given the rare gift of a long, dry, warm spring this year, which has provided perfect terrain for checking many projects off of the outside list, and very little time for indoor pursuits such as writing. The summer-like weather has come with a cost, of course (more severe than an abandoned blog); it has put us in near-drought status earlier than most are accustomed to. Imagine, wells nearly dry before June roses bloom. Just as things began to feel desperate, two days of steady, gentle rain. The perfect kind of rain that waters deep yet is easy on the soil, not washing seeds from the rows you carefully placed them in. Sweet relief, for now. 

The garden is nearly planted, with only cucurbits awaiting their turn in the ground. They will go in today, then I will look forward to a day or two of resetting the house. Soon. May and June is such a wild ride.

My nest is empty once again as our daughter ventured off into the world of politics and government and making a home of her own, far from the quiet of northeastern Vermont. We have enjoyed our unexpected time together this past year, but now it is time for her to move on and pursue the life she’s envisioned for herself, which seems to include things beyond raising pigs, hauling sap, and digging potatoes. She spent much of this past year exhaustively reading the news each morning. Not just typical news, but that with a scope far beyond the soundbite headlines that find their way into the average person’s purview. Now, as part of her job, she starts her day doing the very same thing: reading the news. Only this time, instead of reporting the highlights to our pup Scout, she reports directly to the Senate. The icing on the professional cake is that she spends another part of her day writing press releases and speeches for the majority and its leaders. Occasionally she’ll send us a link to something she’s written that can be found in the press, or seen on TV. Last weekend we took the longest day trip in history and visited her new place. She has made a warm and charming home for herself, preparing meals in the evening and making sure to relax on the weekend. It’s been a long road for these young adults exiting college at the height of lockdowns and unknowns, I am grateful to see the veil beginning to lift, as healthy, fulfilling lives slowly resume on the other side. 

We'll Do Our Best

Our resident woodcock has returned. Before coltsfoot, before peepers, before green grass, there is the unmistakable and hilarious ground level peeent, peeent, peeent, followed by a melodic twirling in the sky as he ascends and descends in an impressive attempt to woo the ladies. Spring is here. 

We have had an unusually warm March. Myself and others find ourselves outside most days, wandering around a little aimlessly, unsure of where to begin this early. Be careful. It looks promising, but more snow will come. It will freeze again. And don’t forget about the mud. And so, we dabble. There are always more projects than time, so we pick and choose tasks that can endure a little snow, freezing, and mud. It’s too soon to step into the garden, so we work in the greenhouse, build a new summer coop for the chickens, upgrade chicken tractors for meatbirds, gather fencing supplies for other projects. There is always plenty to do during any season, even false spring. 

We are in the heart of maple sugaring season! What a strange, slow year it has been. I don’t have any final numbers to report yet, but I can say that we are grateful for the surplus of syrup held over from 2020. We made the decision to tap fewer trees this year than we are equipped to; just something in the air felt little off. Maybe because 2020 was such a mast year for us, all beings are looking to relax a little in 2021. It’s nice to have some years feel extra in many ways; it allows for other years to be more restful. 

I’m already looking forward to preserving less this harvest season. In some instances it’ll be because we simply put up enough to last two years, in other instances, some things although delicious, didn’t really feel worth the summertime labor to produce. We’ll still be sure to put by all that we need plus some, but I won’t be focusing much on novelty this year. 

Adam has been felling diseased beech trees this winter. From the Great Lakes to New England there is something happening with beech trees. I am not an expert on this, but my understanding is that a particular insect first breaches the bark, then a pathogen comes in and attacks, resulting in dark-spotted, scaly bark, and inevitably, a dying tree. This combination is spreading rampantly and there does not seem to be a fix other than culling the infected trees to help prevent spread, and being grateful beech makes excellent firewood. We have many beech trees in this predicament, as do most in this region. It is devastating, they are beautiful trees that contribute greatly to our forest food supply.

Sometimes I am asked if it has been hard for my husband to return to the place he grew up, all those teenage shenanigan memories and such. Truth is most of his friends have moved on; there’s not much that keeps people of recent generations here. I’d say the hard part for him has been returning to a forest unrecognizable to his boyhood self. Aside from the ruthless logging that has become the norm, it is the notable absence of old growth forest he mourns ("old growth" being relative, because by the late 1800s, 80% of Vermont's forests had been shorn; nearly everything below 2,000ft). He tells stories of beech trees so wide you could hardly wrap your arms around them; the trunks covered in scars from bear claws hurling their way up to the canopy to gather tasty beechnuts. Hemlock stands so dense the forest floor remained in darkness throughout the day. He notes the absence of a hunting culture so prominent it felt like a state holiday. Many things are different now, even if to me (a lifelong southern New Englander) it still feels downright remote and wild here, he sees and feels the changes. Change is inevitable, of course, sometimes for the better and sometimes it feels like a loss. I suppose solace comes in knowing that we have committed our time here as one of healing and growth. A rehabilitation for critters of the two-legged, four-legged and winged variety, and all manner of flora and fungi. Our efforts won't heal the world, but we'll do our best to heal a small corner of it. Who knows, maybe a few of those beech trees will survive and when I am an old women, wandering the woods collecting sap, I will notice bear claw scars on the trunk of a tree so wide I can hardly wrap my arms around it. 

I'm Sorry, I'm Not Taking Questions Right Now

Sitting at my desk in the afternoon, next to a western facing window that I’ve opened to enjoy the 45º degree day, I notice a dark brown shrew, two stories below, scurrying across the snowy field. Back and forth, to and fro, round in circles, this way and that. Little guy reminds me of myself and so many other humans I’ve observed recently, emerging from hibernation with a kind of disoriented enthusiasm; too excited to put our finger on exactly what we’d like to do with the first warm and sunny days, so we run about chaotically, hoping to not miss a moment of it.

After that wonderful taste of what is to come, temperatures dipped back down to single digits, whiteout snow moved in, as did 25mph sustained winds. Oh, March! I don’t mind it so much. Permission to continue hibernating  is about the only direction I am good at following. With the sap buckets frozen and winds too strong to ski or do much of anything outside, our winter weary bodies needed to move in some kind of productive way, so we spent most of the weekend spring cleaning. We could not go so far as to wash window exteriors, but we did tend to as much as we could on the inside. Carpets shampooed, lampshades wiped down, chandeliers washed, wall art cleaned, baseboards and radiators washed, bookshelves vacuumed and deeply dusted, interior windows and sills cleaned. All kinds of things that aren’t necessarily addressed weekly, but do need to happen once in awhile. 

I’ve been using the same dusting spray recipe for years, but have recently changed it up a bit. I’ll include it here in case you’d like to make some as well. As usual with this sort of thing, test it on a small inconspicuous spot before dousing your precious Eastlake with it. 

 

Dusting Spray

2 cups water 

1/2 cup vinegar

3 tbsp olive oil

10 drops cedarwood essential oil

10 drops patchouli essential oil

15 drops orange essential oil

Combine all ingredients in a spray bottle, shake well. Be sure to give it a shake once in a while when using, as it does not contain chemical emulsifiers to keep it blended. 

A few months ago, nearly a year into the pandemic, I was having one of those days where it felt like a hundred years since any of us really had any time to ourselves. Normally this isn’t a big deal, but it is something you become aware of when togetherness is forced. Our house is small by American standards for three adults living and working from home, with the supplies of a dozen indoor winter hobbies, to boot. Quarters can feel a little tight sometimes. One Sunday morning while making breakfast for my family, frustrated by my dysfunctional kitchen, I blurted out in response to being asked what felt the tenth question of the morning (it was probably the second... it’s been a long year): I’m sorry, I’m not taking questions right now.

Silence fell on the room. I wasn’t being rude, I also wasn’t being very helpful. My family initially did not know what to make of it. I didn’t know what to make of it! The nerve! I’m sorry, I’m not taking questions right now. Who says that? Well, on that particular Sunday morning, I did. After a moment of stunned silence, my family erupted with praise for such a statement, such a boundary. Who could really argue with it? In fact, they were inspired. What!? We can say that? That’s an option!? 

Of course! We’re all designing this pandemic life however as we see fit, and in that moment, I was not fit to answer questions. 

I’m sorry, I’m not taking questions right now, has become our line in the sand. The single phrase has now been adopted by all family members. We don’t abuse it (that would be rude), but it’s our individual ace of spades when a little space is needed during a long winter, and an even longer pandemic. 

February Greetings

One more month of deep winter, then the pace will pick up quickly. I am grateful to have the month ahead, to continue resting my bones and tending to indoor projects. Soon enough we’ll hit the ground running outside and I will do my very best to not get too caught up in the pace, to tilt my chin toward the sun once in a while and bask in the gentle beauty of a Vermont summer day. We have several years still before our dream for this place is fully realized; the sooner I can adopt an abundance of patience with the ever-growing list of plans and ideas, the better. I think I am beginning to turn the corner on it.

This winter has been one of ease. It snows most days, with just enough accumulation to cover the previous day’s roadside kicked-up grime. The temperature has mostly remained cold enough for mud to not be an issue. In the woods there is a couple feet of snow on the ground, a modest accumulation for the first day of February. 

In the morning I walk up to camp, early enough to catch the sunrise over the eastern ridge. I stand in the very spot we hope to have a cabin someday, and I wonder if this is the year that project will begin. There have been many reasons we’ve pushed it to the back burner, but maybe we need to focus on reasons to push it to the front. 

We have been eating well this winter! The larder is still over half full, with only a few winter squash spoiling before we could reach them. The loss of those few have been the reminder I’ve needed to focus on cold room veggies for the immediate future, taking a break from our reliance on convenient frozen veggies. It is just so easy to grab a bag of broccoli and toss it in a pan to quickly cook; no wrangling impenetrable squash flesh and hour long roasting. But we need to be grownups now and work a little for our meal. I see quite a bit of squash cooking in our future. I have no regret about the volume of broccoli and cauliflower we grew. Beans, peas, and kale, too. Corn we purchased from a local farm. We will appreciate having those frozen veggies still in the freezer come April-June, past any reasonable survival date of most squash and before the garden is producing in earnest. The availability of vegetables frozen at peak freshness as well as the many shelf stable varieties tucked into the cold room, are such a nice compliment to one another and deliver uniquely to our food supply.  

We have a nice amount of snow in the forecast which I am excited for. Nothing like the hush of a snow day. This year we are able to enjoy such days on skis, meandering through the woods around our home and beyond. We’ve rented nordic ski packages for the season, which was a shockingly good bargain, and have been swoosh-swoosh-gliding every spare moment we can find. I hope winter finds you well, in whatever form you enjoy it. 

Same As It Ever Was

There is a tradition here on the ridge that includes walking "the square" on New Years Eve. A two mile square-ish loop of dirt roads, containing three houses in total (two with year-round residents), that for some reason draws ridge-folk even beyond these few homes. A respectable walk with a couple of hills decent enough to feel your heart work. Pretty views, even on a dark winter night. Especially on a dark winter night. One of the roads is generally not plowed, but this year’s lighter snow pack makes it passable to those inclined. 

The waning near-full moon brightened the night, casting shadows across snowy roads in the form of humans, four legged friends, and century old maples. On this clear, starry night, Mars perched visibly over our little home’s rooftop in the western sky. Glowing orange in the distance, seemingly content in its beautiful loneliness.

Looking back on my writings from a little over a year ago, I noted that I was entering 2020 with a drive and clarity that hadn’t been felt in a few years. A welcomed awakening after a chapter that included a slow goodbye to my father, sending our one and only off to college, and packing up and moving our household and my parents’ household. Those years were about getting through, for merely keeping heart and mind afloat. On the cusp of 2020, something had lifted. I felt lighter. Clarity returned and with it, possibility. I stepped into the new year blindly optimistic. As 2020 quickly unravelled before the world’s eyes, I managed to hang on to that initial feeling of drive and clarity. For reasons I am not clear on, those feelings remained throughout the year and resulted in more than a handful of wonderful things that happened in our family's life, despite the very real challenges we all faced. We had the most abundant sugaring season to date, I was accepted into nursing school (specifically for hospice nursing; in the end I decided not to attend at this time), we grew the most productive garden of our lives, we unexpectedly welcomed our daughter home, and we had the pleasure of watching her creatively launch her post-college career amidst a pandemic. I relaunched my own business in a way that feels incredibly fulfilling and sustainable. We made it to the other side healthy and intact. 

There were challenges, of course. Like you, I miss friends and family. I miss faces. I miss babies knowing that I am smiling at them. I’ve seen first hand the devastatingly swift here today gone tomorrow nature of this virus, and I’ve seen others barely miss a beat. 

Early reviews of 2021 are not exactly glowing, but we continue to make our small life here, and we continue to steel ourselves in the face of the unknown as best we can. Which I suppose is the same as it ever was. Tomorrow we’ll enjoy a day of snow; we haven’t had much of it this year. Maybe I’ll make pumpkin pie. 

To Not Feel Acquainted with Boredom

Recent days have felt equally restful and productive. Small tastes of snow here and there, plenty of rain, too. Adam broadforked the garlic beds two weekends ago, despite damp soil. I came in behind him and raked the beds smooth. Then we waited. Just two or three days of sunny weather would dry things enough for planting, but those days never came. The garden has yet to dry out. We’ll be planting garlic this weekend regardless; there is no time to be particular about soil dampness at this point. 

One thing I’ve observed since living here, is that people - men in particular - never seem to inquire about whether or not you’re a hunter. They just assume you are, and jump right into asking how’s hunting going this year? Our new UPS driver introduces himself as Keith. Within a few minutes I learn he has sole custody of his four year old daughter. He seems rightfully proud of his little girl and his dedication to her. He tells me he loves coming up to the ridge, that he has many memories here as a boy. In fact, it was his grandfather that sold this land to my husband’s grandmother more than half a century ago. He tells me that right in the very field we were standing, where our house now resides, his grandfather would take a twelve point buck each autumn. I just shook my head. I think he could tell by the look on my face that we do not see those same yields today. I am still acquainting myself with the differences between hunting here and in Connecticut. Sugar maples fill this hillside, which do a wonderful job of feeding humans, but they are not a food source for deer. We have no oak trees in this region, a primary food for deer further south. We add nut trees to the landscape, but those will mostly be enjoyed by animals in a lifetime separate from my own. 

A man came to inspect our oil tank per the order of a new Vermont law. The inspection took all of sixty seconds, the conversation about hunting, power outages, and deer camp took another thirty minutes. This man shared that he went ahead and bought himself a camp over in New Hampshire, just south enough to ensure plenty of acorns for the deer population. He primarily hunts there now, and has already taken one deer with bow so far this year. 

While the deer may not be as plentiful here, I do appreciate the culture of how’s hunting going this year? It feels familiar. 

I intended to write a proper end of season garden post, to share the highs and lows as well as lessons learned, but I see the calendar is quickly ticking by and my time for writing here is never what I hope it will be. To sum things up: the garden this year was unbeleivably generous to the point of overwhelm. Every day I weeded, fed, watered, observed, and gathered. I kept pretty good notes and records and am grateful for the information it provided, with so little effort on my part. Weighing and recording harvests is more about discipline than added work. It took maybe an extra minute or two and nearly every time I set a basket of produce on the scale, I wondered why I’d never done this in prior seasons. It is such good baseline info to have. So, in a nutshell, we grew over 1,100 pounds of food in a 45’ x 80’ second year garden. I feel pleased with that. In time, the soil will improve and in turn so will our yields. But gosh, there's really nothing to complain about. Our greatest pest pressure was Colorado Potato Beetle, which were hand picked in both beetle and larvae stage daily without fail. We would not have had a potato harvest without hand picking. All brassicas were protected with row cover, which allowed us to grow more broccoli and cauliflower than ever before. Gorgeous heads, free from cabbage worms. Peppers started the season strong and I was feeling optimistic, but they just kind of petered out and failed to fruit plentifully. Research suggests it might be attributed to intense heat and drought right at the point of flowering, prohibiting decent fruit set. I’m not sure. Peppers have always been such a garden staple harvest for us, there is much to learn about growing them in this new climate. There were plenty more highs and lows, but to be honest, as immeasurably grateful as I am for this year’s garden, I am completely over the work of it all, and even my words on the matter feel tired.

Instead, I revel in the wonder of dozens upon dozens of colorful jars, gallons upon gallons of frozen fruits and vegetables, and a cold room filled with potatoes, winter squash, onion, garlic, carrots, and ferments. 

Today I trimmed dried leaves and roots from the last of the onions and brought the many bulbs down to the cool basement for storage. Aside from planting garlic this weekend, the onions were my final task. Oh! Except for shelling dried beans. I need to do that, too. And get all of our cooking herbs from stems to jars. And if there is a deer or two to process... well, I suppose we are never quite done. That is okay. Having purposeful, seasonal projects helps me to feel alive. I am not after a feeling of busyness for the sake of busyness, it’s just nice to enjoy the work at hand, and to not feel acquainted with boredom. 

Snow is falling gently, and the woodstove has our little home so toasty, even the furniture feels warm to the touch. It’s been a good day here, I hope things are going well for you, too.