Saturday, July 18, 2009

As if the cool summer wasn't enough.

Now we have this to worry about -- though, truth be told, we do experience late blight in our tomatoes from time to time.

One interesting aspect of this story is how the disease seems to be especially widespread in plants purchased from garden centers of the big box stores -- another good reason to buy locally and to know your farmer.

Also, note how this outbreak highlights the danger of monoculture farming. As the article explains, late blight was also responsible for the infamous Irish potato famine. Again, I'm glad Trillium's success or failure doesn't hinge on only one crop.

Friday, July 17, 2009

I've got autumn on my mind.

This morning, we all bundled up in sweatshirts and knit caps, as though it was fall. With the cool temperatures and the sky a clear, crisp robin's egg blue, it felt to me more like mid-September than mid-July.

It has been an unusually cool summer -- though nothing like 1816, I suppose. Still, I fear this year won't be a good one for heat-loving crops like peppers, eggplant, melons, and (alas!) tomatoes. But that's all right. Since we grow over fifty different kinds of vegetables, something is bound to do well. Our lettuce, for example, is thriving this year, the broccoli is beautiful, and the potato plants look quite robust. As Michael likes to say about such things, we shall see.

Since we've taken a sabbatical from the Fulton Street Farmers Market and moved our Forest Hills Foods delivery to Thursday, Fridays are now wide open. With the week's harvesting behind us, we were able to make good progress on the last big push of seeding and transplanting -- such good progress, in fact, that we emptied the greenhouse of plants ready for the fields and then filled it again with newly seeded trays. All were fall crops: cabbages, brussels sprouts, kohlrabi, and cauliflower in the fields; collards, kale, and more cabbages in the greenhouse. It's a good thing, too. We have only around seventy days until the first hard frost and the end of our growing season.

Wednesday, July 15, 2009

On throwing things together and calling it good.

When it comes to my farm share, sometimes I fill the week with thoughtfully considered meals that efficiently use the week's produce. More often than not, I look in the refrigerator the day before the pickup and realize I have a sack of vegetables I haven't even thought about using.

This week was about to be like that. Then I happened on the latest "Minimalist" column from Mark Bittman. The frittata -- like the quiche, the stratta, and the stir fry -- is one of those staple dishes in which you can throw a bunch of vegetables, use scattered leftovers and remnants, and generally clean out the crisper drawer.

So into a pan went last week's broccoli, scallions, frisee, a leftover roasted red pepper, and some fresh tarragon from the pot on my front porch, along with a couple of eggs and some grated Parmesan cheese. It turned out more like a scramble than a frittata (next time I think I'll use one or two additional eggs), but it was still delicious. What's more, I had a nice empty place in the fridge to put this week's share.

Saturday, July 11, 2009

The test of scalability.

Emma Slager, a Trillium intern during the 2007 season, is this summer helping to run the new community garden at Calvin College. And she's writing a blog about it. Here's how she describes their project:
The Calvin College Community Garden is a new garden for students, faculty, staff, seminary families, and alumni of Calvin College. We’re in our first year and we’re still pretty small (18 6×4 foot raised beds) but learning as we go. We’re committed to sustainability, healthy living, education, and community. We want to celebrate God’s creation and learn more about how we can be responsible earth-keepers.
It's a good blog and a fine garden. And I like seeing how she's putting her Trillium experience to work, using the same methods we follow at Trillium, right down to how she stakes her tomatoes.

It strikes me that this business of scalability is important. In contrast to conventional agriculture -- where the only methodology is bigger, faster, and more -- our basic principles and practices can be scaled up or down depending on the local circumstances, whether a half-acre market garden or a 1,400 member CSA.

Wednesday, July 8, 2009

Kale: the vegetable that helped defeat Hitler.

As the farm's members may be noticing, kale is one of the staple vegetables of the share. I asked Michael about this the other day, and he explained he likes kale because it's easy to grow and a reliable producer throughout the season. What's more, due to a clerical error in the greenhouse, for which I have to be responsible, we planted more than we intended. So our shareholders can expect to see a lot of kale this season.

This is a good thing. Really, it is.

Kale is a member of the brassica family, which includes plants such as brussels sprouts, broccoli, cauliflower, and cabbage. In fact, it is considered to be the closest relative to wild cabbage. It has been cultivated for over two thousand years and was grown in the gardens of the ancient Greeks and Romans. Up through the end of the Middle Ages, it was one of the most common vegetables in Europe.

Kale is also nutrient dense. It contains high levels of vitamins A, C, and K, as well as important antioxidant and anti-inflammatory compounds. In addition, it is relatively high in dietary fiber and calcium. Kale's high nutritional value made it a staple vegetable in British victory gardens during World War II. "Those raised on a wartime diet," one study suggests, "were considerably healthier and fitter than their modern-day counterparts."

To store kale, wrap it in a paper towel, place it in a loosely sealed plastic bag, and put it in the vegetable drawer of your refrigerator. Stored this way, kale should keep well up to a week. For longer-term storage, it can be blanched and frozen. (You can find a helpful tutorial, with pictures, here.)

How to eat it? I tell people to memorize this formula: kale + potatoes + pig = deliciousness. This formula is very traditional, and variations include the Irish colcannon, the Portuguese caldo verde, and, my personal favorite, the Dutch stamppot.

Tuesday, July 7, 2009

The farm at sunrise.

Back in February when things were gearing up, this job was pretty much a nine-to-five gig. Since then, the start time has been creeping forward steadily. Michael gave word last week that harvest days would now start at six-thirty. That makes for a long day, but mornings like this morning compensate for it.

When we arrived at the farm, the sun had just risen, slanting across the mist-shrouded fields and firing the trees along the fencerows all golden. The cottonwood tree by the swing set in the yard was full of birds -- I couldn't tell what kind -- and they flew in and out of the branches in clusters and sang as they flew. The early coolness yet promised a hot afternoon, and, all around us, the fields rested, waiting for us to fill them with our work.

That's how my day started. It ended with me nearly tipping half our irrigation pipes and their trailer into the ditch. Sometimes, that's how things go.

Monday, July 6, 2009

Blogging the invincible summer.

Shane Folkertsma, a photographer and farm shareholder, has been running a photo blog of Trillium over at A Season in the Sun. His magnificent photography captures the farm's story far better than words. Be sure to check it out.

Thursday, July 2, 2009

Apologies for the hiatus.

Over the past month, my weekdays have been full of farming and my weekends full of traveling here, here, and here. But I'm back now, at least for a little while.

In the time since my last post, the operations here at Trillium have become significantly more complicated. Aside from a handful of succession plantings for vegetables like scallions and lettuce, work in the greenhouses slows down at this point in the summer. All our attention is in the fields, as it better be by this time of year. We still have some transplanting to do, as well as some direct seeding. Though almost all the tomatoes are staked, they'll need to be strung as they grow. There's always cultivating and weeding to be done somewhere on the farm. And harvesting. Lots and lots of harvesting.

Since we're no longer working in the greenhouses on a large scale, my responsibilities have shifted from there to the wash station. I'm responsible for cleaning the produce as it's harvested, packing it in crates, and stacking and organizing it in the cooler.

The final touches have been put on the new, larger produce cooler that we assembled last winter, and we switched it on a couple of days ago. Glory and hallelujah, it's nice to have it up and running! Since I started working at Trillium a little over two years ago, the number of our shareholders has doubled. We've felt the growing pains of this increase each year. First, the trailer was too small to make the delivery to the Fulton Street pickup. That problem was solved when Michael bought the new delivery truck. Then, we maxed out what we could fit in the old cooler. That made the farm pickup tricky. At the high point of the season last year, everything simply wouldn't fit, and I had to get creative with keeping the vegetables cool by spraying them with water now and again as they sat stacked in the wash station. Again, tricky to do in the heat of August. Now that the new cooler is on line, there's plenty of room to keep the produce organized and accessible, and that makes things run so much more smoothly.

Managing the wash station also means that I get to help run the on-farm pickup on Thursday afternoon. This is the high point of my week. It's been great seeing the returning members and meeting the new ones. I also enjoy answering folks' questions about some of our goofier vegetables. Everything we do is oriented toward these pickups, and it's satisfying to lay the fruit of our labor out on the tables for the members to receive. It closes the long loop of the week's work, and it makes me immensely happy to be a part of it all.

Thursday, May 21, 2009

The certified organic greenhouse is nearly empty.

This morning we made one of our final deliveries to our distributor, Luurtsema Sales. Since we started shipping, we've moved an incredible number of plants. Last year, the greenhouse didn't look this empty until early June.

Back in March, the high demand for seeds made us think vegetable plants would sell briskly, but how briskly they sold surprised us. Each time we backed up to the warehouse, we had to navigate a swarm of trucks. There must be a lot of new gardeners out there. I’m glad for this.

We do encourage our CSA members to try their hand at gardening, to grow at least a couple of vegetable plants. Why? One reason is to complement your share. Herbs, for example, are easy to grow, even in pots, and are useful for enlivening your cookery. Also, if you really like a certain vegetable -- tomatoes, for example -- you may find that you don’t receive enough in your share to satisfy you. Try growing some of those too.

But there’s another reason to grow your own. An important part of mindful eating is understanding how our food makes its way to our plates. Tending some vegetable plants teaches us how this happens. Wendell Berry, in his essay “The Pleasure of Eating,” encourages us to “participate in food production to the extent that you can.” In his words,
If you have a yard or even just a porch box or a pot in a sunny window, grow something to eat in it. Make a little compost of your kitchen scraps and use it for fertilizer. Only by growing some food for yourself can you become acquainted with the beautiful energy cycle that revolves from soil to seed to flower to fruit to food to offal to decay, and around again. You will be fully responsible for any food that you grow for yourself, and you will know all about it. You will appreciate it fully, having known it all its life.
If you don’t have a spot in your backyard sunny enough to grow vegetables, we sell a number of varieties that thrive in containers. We also carry some very ornamental vegetable plants that you could slip in your front flower beds, and no one would be the wiser. And if you were planning on buying some of our plants but haven’t yet, don’t worry. We made sure to set aside some of every variety we grow to sell at the market and to our shareholders. We also planted some small successions so that we can have fresh plants to sell later in the season. So there’s plenty to go around, for now. But I wouldn’t delay much longer.

Thursday, May 14, 2009

Postcards of the transplanting.

The weather's been holding nicely, so we've been taking advantage of it to transplant as much as we can -- leeks and shallots, cabbages and kale, parsley and I've lost track of what all else. Transplanting is a straightforward operation, though everything we do aims at growing the healthiest -- and therefore most naturally pest- and disease-resistant --  plants we can.

As I mentioned in a previous post, tending our soil’s fertility is an essential part of our work. To see how this is so, it helps to contrast our approach with that of conventional agriculture. For conventional agriculture, the soil has little value. Decades of extensive farming practices have depleted much of the soil’s natural fertility, so crops require a massive amount of synthetic fertilizers to return nitrogen, phosphorus, and potassium to the soil.

The problem with this approach is not so much that it’s wrong but that it’s incomplete. We are beginning to understand that plant health depends on more than just a handful of nutrients that can be manufactured and injected into the soil. A whole host of micronutrients and trace minerals play a role in plant health, as well as all the microorganisms, earthworms, and other creatures that live in the soil. Using things like animal manures, compost, and fish- and kelp-based fertilizers develops all the soil’s components and builds up the soil’s health. Healthy soil means healthy plants, and healthy plants better resist pests and diseases.

So after the fields are prepared and the beds made, we spray them with a combination of concentrated fish and kelp emulsion diluted in water. In the meantime, the rest of the crew pulls the plants from the greenhouse, loads them on a wagon, and gives them a thorough watering, which helps them endure the shock of transplanting. From there, it’s a simple matter of hauling the wagon to the beds and putting the plants in the ground. While some larger operations mechanize this process with sophisticated -- and expensive -- planting machines, we do all this work by hand. Though it can be tough on one's back, it's not distasteful work. There's even a measure of leisure to it, with the freedom to talk and watch and listen without the howl and whine of machines ringing in our ears.

Thursday, May 7, 2009

What twenty tons of manure looks like.

At the beginning of each season, Michael has soil samples analyzed to assess the state of the farm's fertility. Based on the results, he places an order for minerals to spread around the farm. Earlier this week, Michael took delivery of a dump-truck load of well-composted manure premixed with these minerals, and he has spent a couple of afternoons applying this mix to the fields.

This is a critical yearly task. One of the central principles of the way we farm is that the health of the soil is all. The early-twentieth-century English agronomist Sir Albert Howard -- who is considered one of the fathers of organic farming -- promoted the idea that we should view the "whole problem of health in soil, plant, animal, and man as one great subject." The health of our plants -- and the health of our shareholders -- depend on the health of our soil. We therefore do all we can to ensure that our soil is fertile, nutrient-dense, and teeming with worms and beneficial microorganisms. And sometimes creating healthy soil means spreading twenty tons of manure.

Thursday, April 30, 2009

It was a good day to be a duck.

Though yesterday was a fine dry day, in the morning we had to fulfill some large plant orders -- over three thousand units.  The crew didn't get out in the fields to plant most of the onions until later in the day.

This morning, as we prepared to plant the last bed and a half, the rain started, gently at first, then more steadily. The sky thundered a couple of times, but not close enough to send us for cover. We put on our rain gear and kept planting, which was fine. If I can stay dry, I don't mind being in the rain. (But, once I'm wet, I get cranky fast.) It's a quiet and peaceful way to work. Just as we finished the last bed, the rain really started to come down, ending the fieldwork for the day.

Michael had been gone much of the morning running errands, and, when he returned at lunchtime, he brought with him a cardboard box of ducklings. Tractor Supply Company was running a clearance sale, two bucks a duck. He figured that, since we were already set up for chickens, adding a few ducks to the poultry mix wouldn't be much more work. He bought six.

They're lively, inquisitive little things. At the end of the day, we let them out for a while to explore the wet world. They took to it ... well, like a duck takes to water.

Wednesday, April 29, 2009

Stalking the wild leek.

Over at Mark Bittman's blog, a couple of guest contributors are extolling the virtues of ramps. A member of the allium family (along with onions, leeks, chives, garlic, and scallions), ramps are a wild, native perennial that appears in the woods around here this time of year.

I'd never heard of ramps until I started working at Trillium. Though some may think of them as haute cuisine -- ramps often appear on the menus of tonier restaurants and on cooking shows of celebrity chefs -- their culinary roots are quite humble. Which is what you would expect, as country people scoured their local woods and fields for something green to carry them through the lean early spring.

When Michael and Anja started farming here, ramps grew naturally in a few spots in the woods. They've since planted several more patches, with an eye toward developing them for sale as a specialty crop. We're waiting for them to become established so they can be harvested sustainably. I don't know if we'll harvest any this year, but I hope so. I'd like to try them.

Or I could just plant my own. As an experiment, Michael bought a box of ramp starts from a farm in West Virginia. We've been planting them in four-inch pots to sell along with our other vegetable plants. It's been a bit of a trick learning how to grow them. We planted the first batch too soon, and now they're past their prime, so we'll plant those in the woods. But the next couple of rounds are looking pretty good. Look for them at the market. 

Tuesday, April 28, 2009

This is what vegetable gridlock looks like.

As soon as I say the weather is cooperating, it doesn't. Of course. All this rain -- over three inches so far -- is keeping us out of the fields. Not that we can't work in the rain. We'll stay out so long as there isn't lightning, and sometimes even then. But if the fields are too wet, moving tractors and wagons and feet through them only compacts the soil. So we're waiting for the fields to dry out some. And waiting.

To make room in the greenhouse for more seeding, we've been moving seedlings that are ready for transplanting out onto the wagons. Well, all the wagons are all full now, and the greenhouse is still filled wall to wall. Muck fields drain pretty quickly, though, and today was a dry and sunny day, so there's a good chance we'll but putting a lot of things in the ground tomorrow. If the weather cooperates.



Sunday, April 26, 2009

Suddenly, we're in the fields.

At least, that's the way it seems. So far, activity on the farm has consisted mostly of greenhouse work with the occasional construction project. This past week, though, we started transplanting. The crew was ready for it. Thursday, we put in the first round of lettuce, radicchio, and endive. About a quarter of the onions went in on Friday. Next week, we'll plant the rest of them, as well as the kale. The weather seems to be cooperating, with gloriously warm and partly sunny days at the end of last week and now a solid rain this weekend to water in what we transplanted.

Tuesday, April 21, 2009

The first plants are on the road.

Today we made the first delivery to our distributor, Luurtsema Sales. It was a smallish order, only about a thousand plants or so -- a good warm-up, just the right size for us to remember how the process goes. The new truck was a big help. Last year, we ferried the plants to the warehouse several small batches at a time in Michael's pickup. Now we can take all of them at once. Throughout the month of May, we'll spend part of each morning shipping plants. And that's a good thing, since the greenhouse is packed full and the plants are tall and green.

All these plants are certified organic and marketed under the "Harvest in Harmony" brand. Why are our plants certified while our produce is not? Because, with the produce, our personal relationship with our customers serves as its own certification. In contrast, since most of the plants are shipped throughout the Midwest and we never meet the people who buy them, organic certification becomes a more important designation.

Delivering those plants was a bit of a wake-up call to me about how quickly the season is progressing. It's hard to believe that, in a little less than two weeks, we start selling these plants at the Fulton Street farmers' market. If you're planning this spring on putting in a garden, or even just a couple of containers of tomatoes, you might want to browse our plant list and stop by the market the morning of May 2.

Sunday, April 19, 2009

The other day, I took a walk through the farm to see where things stand.

Though it's too early for the trillium in the woods, the honeysuckles are leafing out and the trout lilies are blooming. In our permaculture plot in the five-acre field, the rhubarb is pushing through the soil, and the chives are thick and green.

On the drive in, there are a number of houses with forsythia bushes, all in full bloom. Many old-time gardeners use this blooming to time their seeding, as it's a sign that the soil is warm enough to plant early crops, such as peas. We haven't put any peas in, but we did plant the fava beans last week, and Michael has been preparing the fields with the disk harrow. Soon, we can begin transplanting.

And that's good, because the greenhouses are bursting at the seams. It makes me nervous to see them so full, because there is still a great deal of seeding to be done. We've already moved the onions, scallions, and shallots outside, since they're fairly frost-resistant, but we still need more room.

Last week, we started building the new greenhouse. By Friday, we had raised and braced all the hoops. Our plan is to enclose it as soon as we can. Even unheated, it will be a good place to move plants to harden them off before transplanting.

In the meantime, we'll just have to start transplanting. The crew is itching to do so. As much as I enjoy the greenhouse work, it will be good to get out into the fields and put things in the ground. The kale is ready, as well as the endive, radicchio, and the first round of lettuce. We'll have to be careful, though, because our official last frost date is still a month and a half away. If there's a chance in the meantime that temperatures will drop below freezing at night, we'll need to cover any of the more tender crops.

Saturday, April 11, 2009

The Sparrow answers your questions: House music.

Mary Jane writes:
You should add a post for music recommendations -- you know, which veggies respond to indie music, the blues, bluegrass. My instincts say that the eggplant will respond to Zeppelin.
I wish we could play more Led Zeppelin. I do love me some classic rock, but there's no better way to provoke intern rebellion than by cranking up Houses of the Holy. Alas.

In fact, when the greenhouses are vacant, we do play music to the plants -- mainly Blue Lake Public Radio. When we're in there, though, all bets are off.

Of late, Michael has been on a Daisy May bender. He gets that way sometimes. Last year, he played Carla Bruni until all of us could speak French. But I shouldn't talk. A couple of days ago, John cried out in dismay, "Not Steve Earle again!" Other artists with a lot of airtime so far this spring are Sigur Ros and Neko Case. When we tire of music, we listen to NPR podcasts. Aaron is a big Radiolab fan. I like Krista Tippet's Speaking of Faith.

Each season, one album gets under our skins. Two years ago, it was Regina Spektor's Begin to Hope. Radiohead's In Rainbows was last year's soundtrack, and now "House of Cards" is forever connected in my head with the memory of those awful marathon Friday nights, the moon rising and night settling over the fields and us with still more vegetable washing to do.

Got questions? I've got answers. Oh. My. Yes. E-mail me at sparrowinthehall(at)gmail.com, and I just might answer them.

Thursday, April 9, 2009

Work in the greenhouses continues apace.

Lately, we've been spending most of our time working through the schedule for our certified organic seedlings -- seed, pot, water, repeat. The house is about two-thirds full, and it's nice to see all that new green. The first shipment to our wholesaler is due April 27. We should be at the Fulton Street farmers' market with our share of plants shortly after that.

As activity in that greenhouse levels off, work in the house for the CSA ramps up. The onions, leeks, shallots, and scallions are all up and growing and should be hardy enough to move outside soon. The kale, chard, and bok choy are just starting to sprout. We've seeded the first round of lettuce, as well as celery and celeriac. We've also started a couple of rows-worth of early tomatoes and peppers, as well as some extra potted herbs for sale at the market.

In the organic house, all our plants are started in plastic trays and grown in plastic pots -- a pretty standard way of doing things. In the Trillium house, our method is a little different. For many of our plants, rather than plastic pots, we use soil blocks. We make these blocks by moistening the soil mix, then working it with a special tool that presses out the blocks onto broad trays (like Aaron is doing at right). Once we seed the blocks, we place the trays on the greenhouse benches. Then, at transplanting, we load the trays onto the wagons to take them to the field. 

The main advantage to this method, aside from minimizing the use of nonbiodegradable plastic pots, is that the plants don't ever get rootbound. In a pot, when the plant's roots reach the pot's sides, they keep growing. Left too long in the pot, the roots will form a thick mat. Such a rootbound plant has trouble creating the kind of healthy root structure that allows it to thrive.

Soil blocks, on the other hand, are formed in a way that leaves an airspace between them. When the plant's roots reach this airspace, they simply stop growing, and the plants can be held that way for some time. Upon transplanting, those roots are poised to push down deep into the soil, and the plant will be therefore healthier. And a healthy plant better resists pests and diseases than a stressed one.

By the end of today's work -- seeding cabbages, fennel, and more lettuce -- we neared the Trillium house's capacity. This is the earliest I've seen it this full. It's good incentive for us to start the work of erecting a third house, one of the bigger construction projects Michael has been dreaming of this spring. Well, now we are compelled to start. Tomorrow's plan is for us to plot out the foundation and see if we can't get one or two hoops raised.

But we'll have to get moving, for the soil is now warm and dry enough for us to start the fieldwork.

Tuesday, April 7, 2009

Overcoming Vegetable Fatigue.

In less than two months, Trillium will host its first CSA pickup of the season. At first, it's exciting getting all that fresh green produce after the long, lean spring. But, soon enough -- often with new members and especially after the more unusual vegetables go online -- the panic sets in. What does one do with all that kale? (Or dandelion greens? Or Chinese cabbage? Or, God help us, celeriac?) I know, because I've experienced it firsthand myself.

It's a problem that affects anyone who tries to eat seasonally or consume a wider variety of vegetables, as an increasing number of Michael Pollan-ated Americans are trying to do. But it becomes especially acute when you're faced with a new delivery each week, whether you're ready for it or not. One friend confessed "utter panic" at the sight of tomatillos. When I asked another what he did with his mustard greens, he responded, straight-faced, "I take them home, put them in my refrigerator, and wait until they rot." Cabbage, kohlrabi, collards, bok choy—everyone, it seems, has their problem vegetables. And, like me, many feel guilty about it.
Her solution? Call in some experts, namely Mark Bittman and Deborah Madison. The upshot:
I realized my problem was not that I had lost my creativity but, rather, that I was trying too hard, as evidenced by my attraction to any recipe containing the word gratin. Rather than covering my vegetables in béchamel sauce, I should be making recipes that complemented and highlighted their natural flavors.
My wife and I underwent a similar inversion of thinking our first year as shareholders. Instead of planning a week's worth of meals and then buying the produce to prepare them, we needed to learn how to look at our share and figure out how to make meals with what we had. Such cookery takes audacity and a little panache, but it can be done. And, remember, should you get stuck, we're all here to help.

Thursday, March 26, 2009

All hail Mark Bittman!

Do you know Mark Bittman? If not, you should. In addition to being the author of the indispensable cookbook, How to Cook Everything, he's a columnist for the New York Times, and writes a great blog called "Bitten."

His approach to cooking is straightforward and enthusiastic, which makes it really accessible. In his words,
I have no interest in helping people becoming chefs. I have an interest in 50 percent of the people in America knowing how to cook. And whether they cook like chefs or not, I don’t care. It’s probably better if they don’t.
So his cookbook is really less a collection of recipes as it is an explanation of techniques. It's full of options, suggestions, and encouragement, which has made it the go-to cookbook in our kitchen. To top things off, he's become a sharp commentator on not only how to cook but also how we eat. His latest book, Food Matters, is a sort of Omnivore's Dilemma, but with recipes.

All of which brings me to his latest article, explaining how the organic label is not the ultimate standard of mindful eating. In his words:
Today, most farmers who practice truly sustainable farming, or what you might call “organic in spirit,” operate on small scale, some so small they can’t afford the requirements to be certified organic by the government. Others say that certification isn’t meaningful enough to bother. These farmers argue that, “When you buy organic you don’t just buy a product, you buy a way of life that is committed to not exploiting the planet,” says Ed Maltby, executive director of the Northeast Organic Dairy Producers Alliance.
We're often asked the question, especially at the farmers' market, "Are you organic?" It takes some finesse to answer it, since, due to the regulations, we can't legally use the word organic, apart from our one certified greenhouse. Even the term organic in spirit seems a little dicey to me. The truth is, while the whole farm could be certified, there's really no need, and for just the reasons Mr. Bittman presents. What's more, our relationship with the farm's shareholders is its own certification. You can come out to the farm, see our practices, and decide for yourself.

Is Alice Waters full of it?

Jennifer Reese, over at Slate, thinks so

News, good and bad, in the NYT.

The New York Times has been chock full of good reporting on food and farming issues lately. There's Shannon Hayes describing how the proposed National Animal Identification System would hamstring small pasture-based livestock farms. Then, there's this two-part op-ed by Nicholas Kristof on how modern hog farms are becoming incubators for antibiotic-resistant pathogens.

On a happier note, the Sunday edition features a fine overview of the rising fortunes of the movement for organic and locally grown food. You won't want to miss it.

“Come on! Grow a pot of lettuce, man.”

Well, this Felder Rushing, self-described "slow gardener," sounds like a hoot.
The entire space [of his garden] is encased by a fence of corrugated tin designed to thwart rubberneckers. “I’m not a snob, but I’m outside in my bathrobe a lot, and in the mornings I look like Jesus’ drunk brother,” he said.
But his approach is sound. On starting modestly: “Build up to your level of comfort as your expertise grows. Don’t start out with a big area and a tiller like a farmer.” On composting: “I’ve got two rules: stop throwing all that stuff away and pile it up.” On scale: “Grow something in a pot that you can cook. It’s not that hard.”

That last bit is, I think, the best. There's no reason to think that vegetable gardening needs to be a stressful, expensive, and extensive undertaking. Even a couple of containers of tomato plants on a sunny porch or patio is a good thing and a great start.

Tuesday, March 24, 2009

Arrivals and departures.

The Chicken Palace welcomed it's first residents today. In the morning, Aaron fired up the heat lamps in the brooder and then went to pick up the box of new chicks. After he released them, they took to the place pretty well, peeping and running around and generally behaving like the little chickens they are.

They're Ameraucanas, a breed with an interesting history. These layers of beautiful blue-green eggs are related to an old South American breed, called Araucanas, which was discovered in the early twentieth century. Since the colored eggs were so popular, Araucanas were crossed with a number of other breeds, which resulted in a whole host of different chickens, generally called Easter Eggers. A few North American breeders, though, were dedicated to creating a "standard Araucana," eventually establishing breed standards through the American Poultry Association in 1984.

In addition to the chicks, Michael also ordered a few guineafowl keets. Ground birds similar to partidges, guineas help control insects and, when kept with a flock of chickens, act as a sort of natural alarm for birds of prey.

What's more, lambing has begun. The first lambs were born Thursday afternoon. We were working at some spring cleaning, when we noticed the sheep in the pen standing and staring at the barn. Then, we heard one of the ewes inside the barn bleating. When we went to check on her, there was a little black lamb laying in the hay and the mother licking it clean. Later that day, she gave birth to its twin. Over the weekend, another ewe gave birth to triplets. One didn't survive, which might be just as well. Sheep don't seem to be able to care for more than two lambs at a time, so it would have struggled anyway. 

And the farm's goat died today. Strangely enough, we had just been talking about her over lunch. Before we left for the day, we went to check on the lambs and found her laying on her side in the pen. She must have died sometime this afternoon.

Wednesday, March 18, 2009

Michael Pollan on the importance of getting it partly right.

The latest issue of Mother Jones is a real humdinger, all about food and farming. I've been working my way through it and just finished this interview with Michael Pollan.

One thing I like best about Mr. Pollan is how he refuses to be absolutist with his approach to food. For example:
MJ: Should we be trying to go as quickly as possible toward organic and local, or can the perfect be the enemy of the good?

MP: That's why I don't know if organic is the last word. It's sort of an all-or-nothing idea. People getting it partly right is very important. Getting your chickens out of those cages is important, even if you're not getting them organic feed. Those will not be organic eggs, but they will be so far superior. There are many varieties of sustainable agriculture we should support; it doesn't have to be a zero-sum game. Let a thousand flowers bloom, and let's see what works. The whole problem of industrial agriculture is putting all of your eggs in one basket. We need to diversify our food chains as well as our fields so that when some of them fail, we can still eat.
You won't regret reading the whole thing. (Extreme Pollan fans shouldn't miss the extended version.)

Tuesday, March 17, 2009

Welcome to the Chicken Palace.

Early spring is the season for farm improvements. Late spring is full of sowing and transplanting. During the summer, there's time to do little else but harvest and weed. And the fall is mostly about harvesting and then, with what energy remains, cleaning up the farm and preparing it for winter. But in the early spring, there's both the time and the energy to build things.

 The past week's big project was a new, semi-permanent chicken brooder.

Farm members who've been around for a couple of seasons may recall seeing the crazy doghouse/deer blind/icefishing shanty that Michael bolts to his pickup and calls a truck cap, and that he built for overflow from the farm's produce trailer. Last year, the number of farm shares at the Fulton Street pickup tested even that limit, and he had to rent a large panel van a few times. So over the winter, he bought a big snub-nosed delivery truck with an insulated box and a reefer unit, and the doghouse became obsolete. Hence the idea to repurpose it into a deluxe chicken brooder.

And deluxe it is. Concrete block foundation. Twin screened side vents. Secondhand computer-regulated climate control. It even has a dutch door. The chicks ought to be quite happy. Aaron (seen at right giving the joint two thumbs up) will be overseeing much of the animal operations this year, which will include two or three rounds of new chickens -- one for eggs, the rest for meat. 

I think we're all pleased with how the brooder turned out. It still needs a final coat of paint (as well as an official name, though "The Chicken Palace" is the working title), but it's fundamentally finished. And none too soon, since the first batch of chicks is due to arrive next Tuesday.

Next on the construction docket is putting the finishing touches on the farm's new, larger produce cooler.

Thursday, March 12, 2009

"As the economy goes down, food gardening goes up."

It seems the present recession has more people thinking about where their food might come from in hard times.
Veggie seed sales are up double-digits at the nation's biggest seed sellers this year. What's more, the number of homes growing vegetables will jump more than 40% this year compared with just two years ago, projects the National Gardening Association, a non-profit organization for gardening education.
I asked Michael today if he had any trouble this year getting Trillium's seeds. He said he didn't, since he places his orders in late December and early January. He also said that other greenhouse operations in the area are reducing their inventory of flowers and growing more vegetables. Trillium ought to do brisk business with our certified organic plants when we go to market later this spring.

Wednesday, March 11, 2009

"Nature's first green is gold."

Eggplant seedlings, this year's first sprouts.

Tuesday, March 10, 2009

Today it seemed we crossed a threshold.

For one, all the snow has melted and the ground is thawing. For another, I noticed the air was full of the song and flight of birds. This afternoon's rain punctuated the change -- not a winter storm but a very springlike downpour. Everywhere was the rush and tumble of water. The new season is right around the corner.

In the greenhouses, though, it's high summer, at least when the sun shines. We started sowing seeds for the CSA last week. Leeks were the first to go in. They're also one of the last things we harvest, so they always feel like the bookends of the season. This week we seeded onions, chives, celery, and celeriac. We've also been busy in the certified organic greenhouse, seeding eggplants, tomatoes, and herbs for the Harvest in Harmony seedling sales.

These are some of my favorite times on the farm. The four of us -- Michael, myself, Aaron, and John -- sitting around the work table, talking about anything, making plans for the coming season, and, often, mocking each other mercilessly. The whole of our work is bounded by the walls of the greenhouse and seems so manageable, able to be organized on a clipboard with yellow legal note pads. But soon enough, the work will spill out the doors and into the fields, and I am always a little stunned by the sudden scale and complexity of it all. Each year it makes a little more sense, though, which is encouraging, and I am always impressed how Michael can keep track of it all. For now, though, it's good to sit and talk and seed.

This is perhaps Trillium's most important crop.

A month ago, the New York Times published this editorial by Verlyn Klinkenborg. Citing the 2007 Census of Agriculture, he notes that while midsize farms have been consolidated into larger operations, many small farms are being created.
These are interesting numbers — 4,000 Iowa farms under 9 acres and about 1,500 with 2,000 acres or more. Still more interesting is the age differential. The average age of the “principal operator” on a farm has crept upward to 56 years old. But those small farms are being run by young farmers.

In a very real sense, they are going back to an earlier model of farming in Iowa. The farms are more diverse, and so are the crops they grow. To me, this is where the new passion for local foods finds its real meaning, and the best news is that Iowa is not alone. Nationwide, there are some 300,000 new farms since 2002. And the farmers? More diverse than ever, including a higher number of women. This is a genuine source of hope for American agriculture.
We're again seeing this trend at Trillium. This year's first two interns, John and Aaron, are both returning for their second season with an eye toward starting their own farms. Time and again I read that the obstacle to turning our food system away from the industrial model and back toward more local, traditional, and healthful ways is not a lack of land or know-how but a want of farmers. Well, after this year, we'll have at least two more.

Monday, March 9, 2009

A month ago, the farm was at full rest.

Dead quiet, the ground frozen, the greenhouses empty. The only animals about were the hawks wheeling above the empty fields and the sparrows flitting in and out of the chinks in the barn. Everything from last year -- our victories and our defeats -- was covered in snow. The farm was a blank sheet of paper, waiting for us to write this year's story on it.