Yesterday was supposed to be a Mellow Monday. Carrie had a doctor's appointment for Zoey's one year check-up, I had a date with Laura Cooper at the Leesburg Diner for breakfast. Mondays are worker-free on the Vienna farm so that we can make choices about what we do and we are not responsible for anyone but ourselves. In truth, this summer has not had many authentic Mellow Mondays, but there have been a few.
There were a couple of farm things we wanted to get done because rain was in the forecast for Monday night and the whole week was predicted to be unsettled and possibly wet. So Carrie and I planned to spend a couple of hours in Loudoun in the most gorgeous bean patch ever (they are often stunning at this time of year, and this one is exceptional), picking beans for the CSA this week.
The tiny Monday crew in Loudoun was going to use the mechanical digger to get the sweet potatoes up to the surface so they could be retrieved when we had a bigger crew on Tuesday. That is a three person job, with one on the tractor and two following behind on their knees, pulling the vines and potatoes off the digger so everything doesn't get tangled up. There were four beds left, 200 feet long, out of the original 12 beds. It was not a small job for three people, getting those potatoes to the top.
Plans change all the time, and we have to be ready for a new plan at any moment. We did have a lovely breakfast in Leesburg (Laura was en route to Nova Scotia by car, and we were just meeting at a mutually convenient place), exactly one hour long because the parking meter patrols are super vigilant and I only had $1.50 in change -- and I needed to get to the beans. By the time I got to Loudoun, Ellen had decided that we should actually pick up all the sweet potatoes and get them out of the field, not just dig them and leave them for Tuesday. She was on her knees with the crew picking up potatoes, when she had lots of other things to do.
But I really didn't want to dig sweet potatoes, I wanted to pick beans as this was my only chance until Thursday. So I resolutely went past the three people who were working so hard at a job that was bigger than the three of them, and I settled into the beans. I could help with the sweet potato project in other ways -- I started to make phone calls, even though it was slowing down my bean hands. It isn't really that easy to round up workers with no notice at all, on a Monday, but I found a supplemental group of four more people: Susan Planck and a neighbor friend plus a worker that we share with a farm next door plus a Lovettsville mom who works at the stand on the weekends. So then there were seven people on their knees picking up potatoes and I could pick beans with no guilt. Carrie joined me after dropping Zoey off at day care (not so happy because of all the shots she got at her check-up) and picking up some chicken feed on the way. We picked 21 ponies of beans, without even noticing. Instead of the usual 20-30 minutes per basket, these beans were coming in at 10 minutes a basket. That's how gorgeous this field is. Incredible.
Meanwhile, in the field next to us, the crew finished getting the last potatoes out and loaded up 132 ponies onto trucks and wagon.
Then Carrie had to go get Zoey, so she went home and Ecole and I loaded up the truck with the day's haul. We have become quite adept at filling a vehicle from floor to ceiling, layering and stacking. Every load is a masterpiece which most people would not really appreciate. I have to drive like an old lady until I get off the farm, so the crates of beets won't fall on the flowers that are tucked in by the back door.
When I got back to Vienna, my customary welcoming committee (Carrie and Zoey) were not there because sometimes our phones just don't cooperate with each other. Carrie says her phone was on Anti-Hana mode and my text came in 90 minutes later. So I unloaded by myself and headed up to the next project. It was 6 PM and I had almost an hour and a half before it got too dark to continue.
Here's the choreography that was planned, mostly. Jon had hooked up tractors for me, in anticipation of a small time window at the end of the day. He is my pit crew -- he makes it possible for me to work on two farms on the same day. He was at a Nationals game with a neighbor when I got home, but he had left everything in order. I dumped 400 pounds of fertilizer into the spreader (one 50 pound bag at a time), and went off to spread. Then I got on the next tractor and disked that all in. By now it was getting dark. I texted Carrie, and got through this time, asking if she would walk the seed in for me while I held Zoey. So she found the seeder that was hidden in the refrigerator for some reason and she got the 50 bag of clover seed and we met up. Zoey and I drove her on the golf cart from patch to patch as night fell, and she walked back and forth, cranking the handle, sprinkling the seeds that we could not see but we could hear.
It was an excellent day.
Tuesday, September 27, 2016
Saturday, September 24, 2016
50 Shabbat Dinners
I am a member of the Social Action Committee at the temple, and about a year ago we were tasked, like all the committees, with coming up with some way to celebrate/mark the 50 year anniversary of NVHC. The idea of having 50 Shabbat dinners appealed to me, and I said we should do it. I even said I would help to chair the project. Luckily, even though I said that, no one really believed me. There are two other women on the committee who are natural do-ers, and they did all the work. I have been relegated to the role of generating ideas and opinions (not hard for me), so they keep me in the loop and I go to the meetings, but they let me just be a full time farmer while they made it happen.
Last night there were 50 simultaneous Shabbat dinners hosted around the NVHC world, kicking off the Jubilee year. Everyone I know from temple was either a guest or a host and, by all reports, it was a major success. The idea was that people would host a table full of people they did not know. It could be a potluck or they could cook the whole meal, whatever they wanted. There were no services on Friday night. Over 500 people sat down together, meeting each other for the first time, often.
Jon and I volunteered to host, of course, and we used the Common House. In the end, we were paired with some more hosts (not enough guests for all the hosts who volunteered) -- the President and his wife, one of the do-ers who made it all come true. She made the melt-in-your-mouth brisket and baked the challah and Jon cooked all the side dishes.
Since it was Friday, of course, I left the house at 6:15 in the dark and never came back until it was time to take a shower for dinner. Zoomed up the hill at 5:30 and arrived at the Common House at 5:45. Unfortunately I didn't even think to bring flowers for the table, even though I had been bunching flowers just minutes before. We hadn't done any thinking about decorating -- there was just a big empty table (or six tables pushed together, really) leftover from a recent Blueberry Hill meeting.
Our group was four families with toddlers, essentially. None of them knew each other, not one. They gathered at the tot lot and played for a while, waiting for people to arrive. Jon was bustling around the kitchen, Julie and I worked on setting the table (if it had been at her house, the table would have been set in the morning, with matching dishes). I was pondering what a lot of work it would be to walk all the way to the farm with those little kids (to see the chickens, etc.) and it suddenly occurred to me that we should have a quick hayride while Jon finished making dinner.
So Jon went to the farm and got the tractor and wagon and we had a hayride. First stop was the stand so we could gather up some gourds and pumpkins for the table. Then to the pigs and chickens, then back for dinner. It was definitely a hit.
As it happened, all the mothers were Jewish and none of the dads were. One of the fathers had never been to a Shabbat dinner before. Goodness. We sang the blessings and we had dinner. People just talked and talked. I had assumed it would end early with all these little kids, but no one seemed to be in a hurry to go home. It was all very comfortable and good, and the kids ended the evening by jumping on the couch, and using the pillows as a road across the floor. I sent everyone home with gourds and pumpkins (partly so I wouldn't have to take them all back down to the stand, partly because it is fun to have a present).
We definitely feel lucky to have the Common House -- it allows us to host an event with almost no forethought other than cooking. Clean up is straightforward afterwards. We don't have to fight our way through our own clutter.
We didn't have any of the conversations that the Social Action Committee contemplated, but this particular group wasn't really suited for that. Besides, there were no long, awkward silences to fill. And now the Social Action Committee can sit back and enjoy the rest of the Jubilee events, whatever they may be.
Last night there were 50 simultaneous Shabbat dinners hosted around the NVHC world, kicking off the Jubilee year. Everyone I know from temple was either a guest or a host and, by all reports, it was a major success. The idea was that people would host a table full of people they did not know. It could be a potluck or they could cook the whole meal, whatever they wanted. There were no services on Friday night. Over 500 people sat down together, meeting each other for the first time, often.
Jon and I volunteered to host, of course, and we used the Common House. In the end, we were paired with some more hosts (not enough guests for all the hosts who volunteered) -- the President and his wife, one of the do-ers who made it all come true. She made the melt-in-your-mouth brisket and baked the challah and Jon cooked all the side dishes.
Since it was Friday, of course, I left the house at 6:15 in the dark and never came back until it was time to take a shower for dinner. Zoomed up the hill at 5:30 and arrived at the Common House at 5:45. Unfortunately I didn't even think to bring flowers for the table, even though I had been bunching flowers just minutes before. We hadn't done any thinking about decorating -- there was just a big empty table (or six tables pushed together, really) leftover from a recent Blueberry Hill meeting.
Our group was four families with toddlers, essentially. None of them knew each other, not one. They gathered at the tot lot and played for a while, waiting for people to arrive. Jon was bustling around the kitchen, Julie and I worked on setting the table (if it had been at her house, the table would have been set in the morning, with matching dishes). I was pondering what a lot of work it would be to walk all the way to the farm with those little kids (to see the chickens, etc.) and it suddenly occurred to me that we should have a quick hayride while Jon finished making dinner.
So Jon went to the farm and got the tractor and wagon and we had a hayride. First stop was the stand so we could gather up some gourds and pumpkins for the table. Then to the pigs and chickens, then back for dinner. It was definitely a hit.
As it happened, all the mothers were Jewish and none of the dads were. One of the fathers had never been to a Shabbat dinner before. Goodness. We sang the blessings and we had dinner. People just talked and talked. I had assumed it would end early with all these little kids, but no one seemed to be in a hurry to go home. It was all very comfortable and good, and the kids ended the evening by jumping on the couch, and using the pillows as a road across the floor. I sent everyone home with gourds and pumpkins (partly so I wouldn't have to take them all back down to the stand, partly because it is fun to have a present).
We definitely feel lucky to have the Common House -- it allows us to host an event with almost no forethought other than cooking. Clean up is straightforward afterwards. We don't have to fight our way through our own clutter.
We didn't have any of the conversations that the Social Action Committee contemplated, but this particular group wasn't really suited for that. Besides, there were no long, awkward silences to fill. And now the Social Action Committee can sit back and enjoy the rest of the Jubilee events, whatever they may be.
Wednesday, September 14, 2016
Riled Up
This story doesn't have an end yet, so this is just the introduction. But I am riled up enough that I have to write it all down before we even get to the punch line, whatever it may be.
Today while we were in the middle of an unusually chaotic CSA morning -- Stephen and Cory were building the next air conditioned room, which is right where we usually fill CSA bags, so we were all discombobulated and working on top of each other with the loud sounds of power tools drowning out our usual mundane vegetable conversation -- when I got a phone call from a number I didn't recognize. It was the guy who is overseeing the development of Maymont. He and I have worked together on various issues for about ten years but we haven't had much contact lately. He was calling to let me know that some of our neighbors are complaining about a shed that is unattractive and possibly a hazard. I told him this was a slippery slope: if our neighbors are asking us to take down a shed now, what will be next? It was not one of our best conversations (I said we didn't ask the neighbor to take down his house because it is ugly) but I told him to have the homeowner contact me directly.
Then I wrote a follow-up email to him, much more even-handed and moderate in tone, repeating that I would like to talk to the homeowner whose children are apparently endangering themselves by going into this dilapidated structure.
That afternoon I got a brief message from Ashley, the "Assistant Community Manager" writing from her office in Gaithersburg, asking me if we were going to take the shed down, as there had been complaints and it was a safety issue.
Now I was riled up, and I couldn't even take a nap on the couch. I wrote her back, asking why it was a safety issue. Was it because people were going into the shed? On our property? Again I asked her to tell the homeowner to contact me directly. I should have asked her what shed she was talking about, and to describe it please, and to tell me where it is. She has no idea. She is some unfortunate person with the job of sending me a message that is coming from a homeowner who doesn't like what he sees when he looks off his deck into our woods.
So then at the common meal tonight I still wanted to talk about this. Stephen is worried about how brash I am sounding, and how combative. But I have to get it out of my system. He worries that people with resources who are disgruntled have power and they could make our lives a misery. I can be quite charming if I need to be, and I am not going to be mean to this person who is uncomfortable with his view of our woods. But I can also be like Trump (this alarms Stephen) and I am happy to tell the homeowner that he should build a wall between our property and his, at his expense of course. Stephen points out that we get away with a lot of non-Fairfax County-ish activities on this farm and we don't want to jeopardize our happy existence. I am surprised at how skittish he is.
Stephen's friend Cory, who is the voice of reason in every possible way, does not see that this is such a big issue. The shed needs to come down, it isn't doing anyone any good. I agree with that, but I don't want to do it on someone else's schedule but on our dime. I would be happy to accept someone else's schedule if he is offering to pay for the deconstruction -- and to have it done in such a way that we can salvage the materials that we want.
So we will wait to see if anyone gets in touch. All of my worst tendencies are coming out -- the kids cringe when I get like this -- but we made it through the construction of Blueberry Hill and the subsequent construction of the mansions next door and everyone stayed on good terms even though I had to rant in private, often, before behaving appropriately in public.
There are several issues that are bothering me:
1. You don't own your view. You own your property. If you want someone to make your view better, you have to ask, and you have to offer something in return.
2. The homeowner has not come forward on his own. He has asked others to deliver his message.
3. That building has been there for 50 years and it was certainly there when the guy bought his house. Did he assume it would go away?
4. What about the issue of trespassing? There are prominent No Trespassing signs on that building, posted after a small gang of boys were prowling around our property on multiple occasions.
5. This is an issue that could potentially cause this farm to lose its viability in this location. If neighbors decide they don't like what they see, they can focus their energies on getting us to go. And this will bring out the fight in me. Nothing good can come of that.
Today while we were in the middle of an unusually chaotic CSA morning -- Stephen and Cory were building the next air conditioned room, which is right where we usually fill CSA bags, so we were all discombobulated and working on top of each other with the loud sounds of power tools drowning out our usual mundane vegetable conversation -- when I got a phone call from a number I didn't recognize. It was the guy who is overseeing the development of Maymont. He and I have worked together on various issues for about ten years but we haven't had much contact lately. He was calling to let me know that some of our neighbors are complaining about a shed that is unattractive and possibly a hazard. I told him this was a slippery slope: if our neighbors are asking us to take down a shed now, what will be next? It was not one of our best conversations (I said we didn't ask the neighbor to take down his house because it is ugly) but I told him to have the homeowner contact me directly.
Then I wrote a follow-up email to him, much more even-handed and moderate in tone, repeating that I would like to talk to the homeowner whose children are apparently endangering themselves by going into this dilapidated structure.
That afternoon I got a brief message from Ashley, the "Assistant Community Manager" writing from her office in Gaithersburg, asking me if we were going to take the shed down, as there had been complaints and it was a safety issue.
Now I was riled up, and I couldn't even take a nap on the couch. I wrote her back, asking why it was a safety issue. Was it because people were going into the shed? On our property? Again I asked her to tell the homeowner to contact me directly. I should have asked her what shed she was talking about, and to describe it please, and to tell me where it is. She has no idea. She is some unfortunate person with the job of sending me a message that is coming from a homeowner who doesn't like what he sees when he looks off his deck into our woods.
So then at the common meal tonight I still wanted to talk about this. Stephen is worried about how brash I am sounding, and how combative. But I have to get it out of my system. He worries that people with resources who are disgruntled have power and they could make our lives a misery. I can be quite charming if I need to be, and I am not going to be mean to this person who is uncomfortable with his view of our woods. But I can also be like Trump (this alarms Stephen) and I am happy to tell the homeowner that he should build a wall between our property and his, at his expense of course. Stephen points out that we get away with a lot of non-Fairfax County-ish activities on this farm and we don't want to jeopardize our happy existence. I am surprised at how skittish he is.
Stephen's friend Cory, who is the voice of reason in every possible way, does not see that this is such a big issue. The shed needs to come down, it isn't doing anyone any good. I agree with that, but I don't want to do it on someone else's schedule but on our dime. I would be happy to accept someone else's schedule if he is offering to pay for the deconstruction -- and to have it done in such a way that we can salvage the materials that we want.
So we will wait to see if anyone gets in touch. All of my worst tendencies are coming out -- the kids cringe when I get like this -- but we made it through the construction of Blueberry Hill and the subsequent construction of the mansions next door and everyone stayed on good terms even though I had to rant in private, often, before behaving appropriately in public.
There are several issues that are bothering me:
1. You don't own your view. You own your property. If you want someone to make your view better, you have to ask, and you have to offer something in return.
2. The homeowner has not come forward on his own. He has asked others to deliver his message.
3. That building has been there for 50 years and it was certainly there when the guy bought his house. Did he assume it would go away?
4. What about the issue of trespassing? There are prominent No Trespassing signs on that building, posted after a small gang of boys were prowling around our property on multiple occasions.
5. This is an issue that could potentially cause this farm to lose its viability in this location. If neighbors decide they don't like what they see, they can focus their energies on getting us to go. And this will bring out the fight in me. Nothing good can come of that.
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