Change, change everywhere...and pretend mojitos to drink.
This week has brought much talk of change.
Although it remains hot as blazes, we've begun to look more ardently toward the coming Fall. We discuss brussel sprouts and cabbage over our morning coffee, spend lunch pondering whether we can sow arugula in with the existing sunflower bed to make use of its shade (this pondering done betwixt massive guzzlings of water and wiping of sweat pooled on one's lower back, of course) and on our evening drives home from the farm we sleepily debate how much footage to devote towards autumn tomatoes, popcorn or garlic. And then we remember--oh yeah!---we have to go harvest the okra in the field now or it will be 10 feet long in 5 minutes.
It's one of our biggest challenges, the maintaining of the present while also looking towards the future. A practice most definitely not reserved for the farmers among us.
My father arrived last week as well, and with his energy comes more talk of change. An excited talk of the myriad possibilities of Moon Dog Farms, the dreams we could dream and all the different paths we could take with this piece of land and the people who love us. And whom we love.
I adore this attribute of my father, especially when he's suggesting we incorporate the massive broken-down earth mover by the barns into a trickling fountain by which our patrons can sit at dusk, sipping mojitos. I mean, I love a good mojito.
A happy change lies in the orchard as well; the first ripe pears were found just this week. Promptly hurrahed and oohed over, eaten and celebrated. The orchard we inherited is a wild thing, with tallow, fox holes, dewberries and Hercules' Clubs galore, but the sweet secret of the occasional tree still bearing fruit is of the kind of happiness that is hard to wrap with words. The wild things are marvelous, and each has its own place within the larger organism, but now that these pears we've been waiting for and contemplating are finally here--well, it's a great change.
One last major shift at the farm will be in full effect by this time next week, and we're very excited about it. You may have heard me grumble in person or on-screen of the water that collects in a low spot covering one quarter of our field with every rainfall. It's a drag, to be sure. This bowl has diminished our produce yields, led to immense soil compaction and from time to time becomes a stanky mosquito village.
We've tried a few stop-gap measures over the months to ameliorate the situation, but it's become clear we've got to tackle it head-on. In preparation for turning that Summer field into a Fall field, we're turning all the soil under, adding more soil and creating drainage canals all in attempt to build up the surface and allow for the water to divert rather than collect.
I promise I'll make it sound more interesting next week.
And finally, how about one more change? To spice things up, last week we were paid a lovely visit from the amiable gang at Brennan's, and they were much cleaner and far more well-dressed than we ever are at the farm. Joe Cervantez, the sous chef who buys our produce for the restaurant, is leading a cooking class at the restaurant in September, local produce is the star, and he's using a bunch of Moon Dog Farms goodies. We think he's heaven-sent, and we also think his buddy Rommel is a classy guy with nice taste in shoes.
If only our ant piles and composted beds made better hosts.
Some things never change.