Thanksgiving

Our Thanksgiving traditions are quite established -- we eat at Anna's house, most of the cooking happens on Thursday morning at Anna's house, Alissa is the one who plans and organizes the pie making, Jesse and others do the deviled eggs and mashed potatoes, it is a beehive of activity.  I am in charge of procuring the vegetables for the day and delivering them after everyone has finished the Thanksgiving Day Turkey Trot. Somehow Jon and I get to have a quiet house to ourselves, once all the bowls and pie pans and ingredients have been whisked away.  Jon prepares the turkey and I make some vegetable side dishes, but we also get to sit in the living room quietly or read the paper at the table.

Almost everything went according to the usual plan.  Yesterday Sophia brought over a gigantic turkey (31 pounds) and Jon put it in a brine solution in a huge pot in the walk-in cooler.  I had already bought a smaller turkey from the milk delivery people, and it was waiting patiently in the bottom of our refrigerator but it got out-classed by Sophia's bird.

Ever since Sunday morning, Jon has been developing one of his chest colds. To be fair, he has been quite healthy all season long -- but when he does get sick, it travels to his chest and sits there.  By yesterday he was feeling worse and this morning when he woke up he knew he had to call Kaiser, even if it was Thanksgiving.  He got an early appointment and optimistically thought he would be home in time to get the turkey in the oven.  We had calculated that he would flatten it, divide it into two pans and it would need to be in the oven by 10:30.

At 10:00, after I had picked the spinach and pulled some carrots and gathered up other things from the coolers, I lugged the heavy turkey to the kitchen and announced to the many kids around the kitchen table that they would have to look up on google how to butterfly a very big turkey.  They got right on it.  They looked at two videos and appointed David the task of muscling the turkey into the pans.  First I had to go to Betsy's house to borrow some good kitchen shears since we don't seem to have anything here at the moment.  David cut out the backbone while I held the turkey steady on the counter. Shalini stood by with her phone, watching the You Tube pictures to verify that we were doing it right.  It took 40 minutes to get it ready for the oven, after I cut off the drumsticks and thighs because it just didn't fit in the pan.

Jon sent a text saying he was coming home soon, but they were doing some blood tests to rule out things, and they had confirmed that he did not have pneumonia.

Alissa and Becca and David and Jesse and Shalini took all their ingredients to Anna's house and I stayed home.  Jon got back at 12:30, having been poked and examined and found to have a bronchial cold (he knew that). But they did give him a round of antibiotics, which usually helps. He went upstairs to bed.  We just bought our first new TV after 28 years, so that makes watching TV more fun now.  He came down to make the gravy and then escaped again, not hungry and happy to be by himself.

Dinner at 3:00 with 17 of us around the table, a vast array of vegetable dishes, so much turkey, many simultaneous conversations.  As always, we were full way too early.  We got to see both Benjamin and Stephen in their respective faraway countries -- Benjamin had a big Thanksgiving gathering/housewarming party at his Haifa apartment and apparently Stephen was by himself today since they had forgotten the holiday, living in Berlin.

I organized a brief work expedition so we could take a rest from eating before we got to the pies.  We mulched the last garlic bed and did a little bit of work in the Christmas tree lot.  Then back up for dessert.  The pies were outstanding.  Most people decided the key lime pie was the best one, but the maple pecan pie was a close second and there wasn't much of the chocolate pie left at the end.

I feel grateful all the time. Not sure that I feel even more grateful on Thanksgiving, but it is a good time to notice all the many blessings that should not be taken for granted.  To start with, I am grateful for deep breaths and clear airways. I hope Jon gets better quickly so he can be happy to have healthy lungs soon too.

Suddenly Winter

Here is how we can tell it is winter:  I stayed in bed until 8:30 this morning reading a novel because there was no reason not to.  It was 29 degrees outside, no one needed me, and I have been starved for fiction reading lately.  And then I had a long meeting with Ellen, getting our world views aligned again (all relationships take maintenance, even the ones that have lasted for decades).  I practiced piano for a little while before taking a short nap and then I picked up my knitting!  Many momentous events in one day, and not a single vegetable has touched my hands.

But when I went to bed last night and thought about the last six days, I realized what a long sprint that was to the finish line.  On Tuesday it was CSA, and Wednesday we did CSA with an extremely small crew so others could devote time to picking, and then on Thursday it was rainy but we picked anyway because the weekend was going to be big, and Friday was a long day (already documented) and then Saturday and Sunday were markets, markets, markets.  On Saturday I went to all three markets between 6 AM and 11 AM, for one reason or another and Sunday I went to Takoma Park with my mother and Michael Lipsky and Richard and Michelle, thinking that I would just stay long enough to be sure they were fine without me.  But it was busy enough that we all stayed the whole time.  On Saturday and Sunday we managed to sell just about everything we collected up and washed between Wednesday and Friday, which is just what we hoped would happen. 

Other signs of winter are all around.  There is a fire in the woodstove.  Last night Jon took every single thing out of the freezer and the refrigerator and put it all on the porch and got to work and scrubbed out the entire fridge.  There are more leftovers in there than usual because it gets dark so early and I have been cooking lately.  There are some clear surfaces appearing -- half the counter, half the dining table, and maybe a third of the coffee table.  My inbox is EMPTY.  My phone is silent! 

It is incredible how quickly these changes can happen.  While other people continue to go through their daily routines, we are suddenly cut loose from the vegetable-driven existence (Chip Planck's term that I have always loved).  The roads are clogged with vehicles and we don't really care. We don't have to go anywhere.  Well, I don't.  Jon is currently driving to Winchester and then to Berryville (over the mountain, in other words) towing a trailer to pick up a loader that needs to go to a mechanic.  Jon's life is not exactly vegetable-driven so he doesn't have the same level of freedom that I am wallowing in today.

In two days the house will fill up with Alissa and Rebecca and David and other Thanksgiving celebrators, so I am going to soak up this quiet and read and knit and cook and clear surfaces to my heart's delight.  And soon I will go back to yoga...

Sunday, Not The Usual

I got a text from Richard yesterday saying that he was sick in bed and he wouldn't be able to make it to market on Sunday.  At this time of year, we are piecing together the market crews using whoever is still here, and since we all know how to do it, it doesn't really matter what the combinations are.  Only there weren't any combinations left for Sunday except Hana and Jon.  We haven't been to market with just the two of us since I don't know when.  Maybe never or at least before we had kids.  Anyway, we were scraping the bottom of the barrel and we came up with us.  Well, if we are the bottom of the barrel, this place is doing pretty well. 

So then I had to find someone to do my regular job of setting up the CSA room on Sunday.  Carrie has been easing back to work, a little bit here and there, so I decided it would be okay to ask her if she would watch the room for me in the afternoon, and I would set it up before Jon and I left for market. She said of course.

At 6:00 this morning, Robert and I were working with the lights on, behaving as if it were three hours later in daylight.  He just got to work on the bagging and I went right to the room and started setting up the shelves.  After an hour my mother joined Robert and by 7:30 we were pretty much done.  Jon loaded the market truck by himself (95 crates, a hefty load) and then we jumped in and left.

We drafted two fellow vendors to help us unload (I am not proud) and then we put up the tarp and set up, barely finishing by the time the bell rang.  It wasn't really very busy but we did our best to squeeze as much money as we could out of each transaction. I spent all my time puttering around, rearranging, getting things out of the sun, and Jon took all the money. It was hard for both of us to stand up for so long, on pavement, but of course we did it.  Loaded up (with help from Michelle who dropped by, bless her) and closed the van door at 2:33. I took a quick nap on the way home. 

When we got home, Forrest was pretty much finished with his book signing event. He said it had gone well.  Hard to tell what that means, but he said he sold some books.  Mom was the right person to be here to host, since she is the real reason anyone would come to the book signing (she is the subject of the first chapter).

After unloading the truck, chatting with Carrie, checking the room,  doing my daily homework of figuring out what we need to do tomorrow, writing the blog, making the chart, we went out for a quick dinner with Cookie and Paul.  Just as we were leaving the farm, I got a call from Bev, the farmer who loans us his pigs. He was coming to pick them up in a couple of hours.  I told him to call me when he got here and I would meet him at the pigs.

These pigs have only been living here for about six weeks and they never really truly warmed up to us.  They tolerate us, I think.  They let us scratch their backs, they come to check out the menu, but they don't actually like us.  Various people on the farm pay attention to them, but when push comes to shove it is really only my mother and me who remember to think about them every day.  And when  I was away overnight, they got out because they were too hungry and no one had remembered to feed them.   Stephen had to run and run, catching those fast little beasts -- the rest of us tried to be helpful by blocking their path as they scooted out of Stephen's reach, but he really did all the work, catching first the little pig and then the big one, many minutes later. The second time they got out a few days later (because now they knew that was an option), Michael and I were the only ones around when I found the pigs at Blueberry Hill, and we caught them without doing any running.  He walked behind them and I herded them with my golf cart and we convinced them to go back in without much argument.

My kids think that I am disproportionately attached to the pigs.  That I think about them more than I think about my own children.  Of course this is hyperbole.  But I do like having pigs around. They are interesting and they have personalities and they enjoy eating so much of what we would ordinarily throw away.  Each of my siblings has pets (in Lani's case, dozens of pets) but I don't. Like my mother, I don't want to have animals in the house.  But pigs and other outdoor beings are perfectly entertaining. 

Anyway, Bev called at 8:15 and I met him at the barn.  We figured out our plan -- he would catch the big one and maybe I would catch the little one.  He said the big one was at the very top end of the size of pig he can pick up and carry: about seventy pounds.  I don't catch pigs, actually.  I help other people catch pigs. I figure out how to get them back into the pen, or I lure them with food. But I don't throw myself on pigs like my nephews and son.  That is a young person's sport.

I stood at the door of the stall, and Bev stood at the open end. The pigs were between us, looking pretty wary.  Bev grabbed the big pig by the back legs but she squirmed away immediately.  Now she really didn't trust Bev and she had her eyes on him.  I was behind her so I got down on my knees and grabbed both her back legs.  She wiggled and screamed and then Bev grabbed her with his whole body (the way boys do) and picked her up -- while she screeched like she was being murdered -- and carried her to his truck, climbing up on the drawbar and heaving her over the tailgate that was well above our heads.  She stopped squealing immediately. Meanwhile, the other pig had taken off into the dark of the pen, not wanting any part of it.  We repeated the routine, trapping her in the stall, both of us dropping to our knees and this time Bev held onto the wiggly little one.  I laughed through the entire exercise, of course. 

We have hosted various groups of pigs for about four summer seasons now. I am glad that these don't automatically get butchered. Bev is always breeding pigs, trying to find the ones that make the best mothers, so all the girl pigs get to be mothers at least once. They get to demonstrate their mothering potential. If they are good mothers, they get to do it again. If not, they don't.

And then I went to close up the CSA room for the last time on a Sunday night.

Another excellent day among many.  This life is never boring. Tiring, yes, but boring, no.

Written for the last newsletter of the year

Not Everyone Can Be a Farm Kid, But Every Kid Needs a Farm

On Monday morning, Katherine and I were picking arugula for the CSA in the field that is right next to Beulah Road.  We were inside the deer fence, and therefore we felt sort of invisible – even though there are houses looming on all sides and cars zooming past constantly.  We were focused on collecting up the arugula, sorting out the yellow leaves, not cutting ourselves with our sharp knives.

We saw a minivan pull up to the gate.  Unusual.  A mom and two little boys got out of the car.  Hmm.  Where were they headed?  They eventually made their way over to us – they were CSA customers on a field trip, coming to see the farm before the season ended.  They were very respectful, they didn’t step on the beds, and they watched us pick for a few minutes.  After the excitement of watching someone pick leaves wore off, they went to visit the pigs and the chickens.

This got me thinking about another one of our missions on this farm.  Of course we have many missions – from the mundane (growing vegetables) to the sublime (changing the world through our efforts).  But since the very beginning of time, this farm has been about kids.  Teaching kids, feeding kids, having kids, raising kids, making memories with kids.  If you expand the definition of kids to include people who don’t yet know what they will be when they grow up, then the population includes the people who work here.

Every Sunday, a parade of families visits the CSA room.  Some of the young ones have been coming since they were in utero. I remember watching their moms’ bellies expand each week, and then they began to arrive asleep in car seats, and then they approached with the very slow walk of the newly upright, and then they come in running, crashing through the plastic strips.

I love listening to the kids as they are helping to choose the week’s vegetables.  They are just like any customer – they go for color and beauty.  They tell their parents that they WILL eat it.  There are cabbage lovers and carrot mongers, and kale chip aficionados.  They are such sophisticated foodies, even at age four.

These parents are consciously bringing the kids to the farm.  It is part of their education.  Sometimes unexpected opportunities come up – like the day that I wanted to till up the beans in the stand garden but there were still too many nice beans still there.  I decided the CSA customers should get the beans out of the patch, so that Sunday afternoon they did.  Since they didn’t know they would be in the field, most people were not dressed for the occasion, but CSA customers are adventurous by nature –  they got a little dirty.

We have had school groups visiting the farm for the last 45 years.   Occasionally the mothers of the preschoolers tell us that they remember when they came for a hayride as a toddler. I guess pretty soon someone will introduce herself as a grandmother who came on a tour of this little postage stamp of a farm.  It will happen.

And now we have a few CSA customers who can walk to the farm from home, without going on any big roads.  There is a family that pulls a little red wagon all the way to the CSA room, and after they gather up their flowers and vegetables they go to visit the pigs.  In the heat of the summer, they often had to have a drink from the hose (such a novelty) before making the long walk back.

One of our biggest missions is just to be here, really.  In order for all these children to stomp through puddles and taste celery straight from the field, we have to be here.  We could have moved our entire farm operation to Loudoun years ago, or somewhere even further away, but when you really think about it, it was the kids who kept us in Fairfax County.   

We are making a point that no one else has decided to make in this area.  Food is part of everyone’s life, and the more that you know about your food, the better you will be as a consumer.  Kids who see a carrot coming out of the ground will never forget it. Petting a chicken is a memorable experience.  Farms are not a thing of the past.  Food comes from farms, and kids need to know how that works.

Changing the world is a long, slow job.  We take it seriously, as we talk to small people wearing rubber boots decorated with ladybugs and fireflies.