Another attempt to revive this blog yet again, complete with a new title and all. After a sometimes frenetic summer at the Farm and Garden, I find the fall lending itself to reflection and writing. As usual, the intent is to use this blog to stay in touch with folks I don't see everyday, and also to practice self-expression through writing and sometimes photos. So here I go again...
It's been two weeks since I graduated from the Apprenticeship in Ecological Horticulture at UC Santa Cruz, and my hands show the passing of time since I left the farm. While at CASFS, dirt clung to the undersides of my fingernails and any cracks it could work its way into. It was always there, a pleasant reassurance of the joy of laboring in the soil. Now, having spent most of my post-farm time in cities, it is gone. But not for long.
On the last day to move off the farm, Sunday October 17th, rain fell steadily from a gray sky, the first of its' kind we'd seen since June. It was a fitting end: when we arrived in mid-April, we experienced similar weather during the move-in. This dramatic shift of weather mirrored the shifts occuring in all our lives, and the inevitable changes that occur during the course of time spent on a farm. Everything always in flux, always in transition. Towards the end of the day, the rain subsided, and I took a last trip to the Chadwick Garden to glean some apples and wander that unique, sometimes mystical place. Mists swirled in the Redwood forests that tower over the garden like guardians, water droplets clung to the leaves of the apple trees. In some places, the yellows, reds and browns of fallen fruits covered the orchard floor. I selected those 'grounders' not too far gone with rot or mushiness and loaded as many as I could into a duffel bag. I was happy to have a lot of russeted ones in the mix. All those apples made for great snacks and gifts to share as I left the bountiful world of the farm, always abundant in delicious fruits and vegetables, for the urban world, where freshly harvested things can be a little harder to come by.
Last week involved not one but two departures: the first, leaving my fellow apprentices. We had had become close over the past six months and it was hard to see our little community fragment; saying goodbye to those folks whose homes lay in other countries and coasts was especially tough. The second, a departure from the Bay Area: finally moving my stuff out of storage and taking it up to Washington. In reality, my farewell from the Bay began long before then, even before I left my job in Hayward last February, first for Black Mesa then Santa Cruz. Of all the places one could choose to live, the Bay Area has so many assets: rich diverse cultures, beautiful weather, fascinating landscapes urban and natural, dynamic, funky people, great restaurants and a cornucopia of year-round produce. But for some reason I never totally felt at home there. Often considering going elsewhere at times, I remained loyal to my job and the Park School Community, despite the ups and downs of evictions (I had to leave a place not of my own volition three times in five years!) and frequent illnesses acquired from those adorable germ-bombs I worked with in Hayward (There is much more to this than that, I just don't feel like opening that can of worms at the moment). The opportunity to participate in the apprenticeship proved a blessing in many ways: a great learning experience, a fresh new group of folks to hang with and finally, the kick in the pants that finally got me up and out of the rut I saw myself stuck in. During my time in Santa Cruz, I grew disconnected with the East Bay and no longer viewed it as my home to return to after finishing the program. When it came time to move out of my tent cabin, I had made up my mind about returning to Washington State. I moved quickly, needing to arrive in Seattle the following weekend. After leaving Santa Cruz, I spent a couple days in Berkeley seeing a few friends, taking a bike ride down around Lake Merritt and out to the old neighborhood, Fruitvale, where I felt as out of place as ever. By my departure time, I managed to squeeze my stuff into my car: kombucha jar, ceramics, tinctures, butternut squash and all.
Of course, I couldn't stay away from farms too long, and made a brief but pleasant stop on my northward journey at Full Belly Farm in the beautiful Capay Valley, where Rawley has been working since January. This was my fourth visit to that farm, the first being that previous March, when rains still fell and the hills remained green. By July, the temperatures had reached 100 F, but Cache Creek still ran full and cool and the farm abounded with summer produce that remained elusive to us in fog-cloaked Santa Cruz. This time around, the air was cool, the leaves on the plums browning and the fields devoid of melons and tomatoes. We did enjoy some delicious recently-dug sweet potatoes along with newly returned greens and some remaining okra. Being at Full Belly--a highly mechanized 300 acre operation--has always sparked questions about the issues of scale and sustainability. But in the end, the farm is a beautiful place, full of wonderful people and delicious produce. It was a good place to spend what will be my last night in California for a while.
I proceeded with haste in order to surprise my mom for her 60th birthday, which I did, catching her in the basement and causing her to fall back onto the dryer. She was a bit shocked, but of course glad I had made it. It may be the last surprise we do for my parents though. Now, a week later, here I am, sitting in the house where I grew up, a place that for many years I vowed never to live in again, full of half-baked notions about what it means to be a 'mature adult'. I am not planning to be here for months on end, rather, I am taking this time as a gift, to be able to think about what I want to do, read, write, go over what I learned at CASFS instead of having to throw myself into a wage job, commute and rental house again. The transition from farm life to home life isn't always easy, but by the end of the sixth month apprenticeship, I often yearned some more quiet time. Still, it's hard to leave behind such great people and memories, and I am eternally grateful for all those incredible farm center meals, the lively sunday b-ball games , evening jam sessions singing 'Harder they Come' on the porch and countless other things. I am moving on from farm life as that's what I need to do, though I still drink lemon balm tea in the evening (OK, it's the dried stuff, not as good as the fresh leaves picked straight out of the young apple orchard). My plan is to find a farm up here in Washington to work at for next season, and I've started making contacts and planning work-visits in the coming weeks. I feel that after my time at CASFS, the best thing for me to do is to find a farm to work on and put what I've learned into practice, while getting the experience of being on a commercial farm instead of at an educational institution. I've got some other fun things planned too: on Monday, my Dad, my Uncle Marc and I are heading to Nash's Farm in Sequim to learn about NOVIC (Northern Organic Vegetable Improvement Collaborative) and local trials on beet and carrot varieties. Then in mid November I am attending the Washington Tilth Conference, a gathering of many of the state's organic producers. In the process, I hope to learn about the sustainable agriculture scene up here--which seems to be flourishing, not surprisingly--and find the right farm to work on for next season.
Sure, part of my wonders what I am doing here, leaving behind sunny California with its' breathtaking landscapes, persimmons and olive groves, for the gray skies and shortening days of fall in the Pacific Northwest. I contemplate going elsewhere: the Southwest, with its' tunas, dried chiles and blue corn, or the East Coast, where I have many close friends and which would be a place that truly offers a different farming experience from the West. But for now, I am here in the Northwest, happily so though I miss the beauty of the farm and the people there (as well as Bay Area friends and people from the Park School community), making a go of it as best I can. When I feel a little down about it, I brighten at the sight of the reds, oranges and yellows of the fall colors (no, it's not New England but we do have a real fall up here) and the rare glimpse of snow-capped Mt. Ranier or Mount Baker. I've long contemplated living here again; it's an experiment and an adventure like all of life...
It's been two weeks since I graduated from the Apprenticeship in Ecological Horticulture at UC Santa Cruz, and my hands show the passing of time since I left the farm. While at CASFS, dirt clung to the undersides of my fingernails and any cracks it could work its way into. It was always there, a pleasant reassurance of the joy of laboring in the soil. Now, having spent most of my post-farm time in cities, it is gone. But not for long.
On the last day to move off the farm, Sunday October 17th, rain fell steadily from a gray sky, the first of its' kind we'd seen since June. It was a fitting end: when we arrived in mid-April, we experienced similar weather during the move-in. This dramatic shift of weather mirrored the shifts occuring in all our lives, and the inevitable changes that occur during the course of time spent on a farm. Everything always in flux, always in transition. Towards the end of the day, the rain subsided, and I took a last trip to the Chadwick Garden to glean some apples and wander that unique, sometimes mystical place. Mists swirled in the Redwood forests that tower over the garden like guardians, water droplets clung to the leaves of the apple trees. In some places, the yellows, reds and browns of fallen fruits covered the orchard floor. I selected those 'grounders' not too far gone with rot or mushiness and loaded as many as I could into a duffel bag. I was happy to have a lot of russeted ones in the mix. All those apples made for great snacks and gifts to share as I left the bountiful world of the farm, always abundant in delicious fruits and vegetables, for the urban world, where freshly harvested things can be a little harder to come by.
Last week involved not one but two departures: the first, leaving my fellow apprentices. We had had become close over the past six months and it was hard to see our little community fragment; saying goodbye to those folks whose homes lay in other countries and coasts was especially tough. The second, a departure from the Bay Area: finally moving my stuff out of storage and taking it up to Washington. In reality, my farewell from the Bay began long before then, even before I left my job in Hayward last February, first for Black Mesa then Santa Cruz. Of all the places one could choose to live, the Bay Area has so many assets: rich diverse cultures, beautiful weather, fascinating landscapes urban and natural, dynamic, funky people, great restaurants and a cornucopia of year-round produce. But for some reason I never totally felt at home there. Often considering going elsewhere at times, I remained loyal to my job and the Park School Community, despite the ups and downs of evictions (I had to leave a place not of my own volition three times in five years!) and frequent illnesses acquired from those adorable germ-bombs I worked with in Hayward (There is much more to this than that, I just don't feel like opening that can of worms at the moment). The opportunity to participate in the apprenticeship proved a blessing in many ways: a great learning experience, a fresh new group of folks to hang with and finally, the kick in the pants that finally got me up and out of the rut I saw myself stuck in. During my time in Santa Cruz, I grew disconnected with the East Bay and no longer viewed it as my home to return to after finishing the program. When it came time to move out of my tent cabin, I had made up my mind about returning to Washington State. I moved quickly, needing to arrive in Seattle the following weekend. After leaving Santa Cruz, I spent a couple days in Berkeley seeing a few friends, taking a bike ride down around Lake Merritt and out to the old neighborhood, Fruitvale, where I felt as out of place as ever. By my departure time, I managed to squeeze my stuff into my car: kombucha jar, ceramics, tinctures, butternut squash and all.
Of course, I couldn't stay away from farms too long, and made a brief but pleasant stop on my northward journey at Full Belly Farm in the beautiful Capay Valley, where Rawley has been working since January. This was my fourth visit to that farm, the first being that previous March, when rains still fell and the hills remained green. By July, the temperatures had reached 100 F, but Cache Creek still ran full and cool and the farm abounded with summer produce that remained elusive to us in fog-cloaked Santa Cruz. This time around, the air was cool, the leaves on the plums browning and the fields devoid of melons and tomatoes. We did enjoy some delicious recently-dug sweet potatoes along with newly returned greens and some remaining okra. Being at Full Belly--a highly mechanized 300 acre operation--has always sparked questions about the issues of scale and sustainability. But in the end, the farm is a beautiful place, full of wonderful people and delicious produce. It was a good place to spend what will be my last night in California for a while.
I proceeded with haste in order to surprise my mom for her 60th birthday, which I did, catching her in the basement and causing her to fall back onto the dryer. She was a bit shocked, but of course glad I had made it. It may be the last surprise we do for my parents though. Now, a week later, here I am, sitting in the house where I grew up, a place that for many years I vowed never to live in again, full of half-baked notions about what it means to be a 'mature adult'. I am not planning to be here for months on end, rather, I am taking this time as a gift, to be able to think about what I want to do, read, write, go over what I learned at CASFS instead of having to throw myself into a wage job, commute and rental house again. The transition from farm life to home life isn't always easy, but by the end of the sixth month apprenticeship, I often yearned some more quiet time. Still, it's hard to leave behind such great people and memories, and I am eternally grateful for all those incredible farm center meals, the lively sunday b-ball games , evening jam sessions singing 'Harder they Come' on the porch and countless other things. I am moving on from farm life as that's what I need to do, though I still drink lemon balm tea in the evening (OK, it's the dried stuff, not as good as the fresh leaves picked straight out of the young apple orchard). My plan is to find a farm up here in Washington to work at for next season, and I've started making contacts and planning work-visits in the coming weeks. I feel that after my time at CASFS, the best thing for me to do is to find a farm to work on and put what I've learned into practice, while getting the experience of being on a commercial farm instead of at an educational institution. I've got some other fun things planned too: on Monday, my Dad, my Uncle Marc and I are heading to Nash's Farm in Sequim to learn about NOVIC (Northern Organic Vegetable Improvement Collaborative) and local trials on beet and carrot varieties. Then in mid November I am attending the Washington Tilth Conference, a gathering of many of the state's organic producers. In the process, I hope to learn about the sustainable agriculture scene up here--which seems to be flourishing, not surprisingly--and find the right farm to work on for next season.
Sure, part of my wonders what I am doing here, leaving behind sunny California with its' breathtaking landscapes, persimmons and olive groves, for the gray skies and shortening days of fall in the Pacific Northwest. I contemplate going elsewhere: the Southwest, with its' tunas, dried chiles and blue corn, or the East Coast, where I have many close friends and which would be a place that truly offers a different farming experience from the West. But for now, I am here in the Northwest, happily so though I miss the beauty of the farm and the people there (as well as Bay Area friends and people from the Park School community), making a go of it as best I can. When I feel a little down about it, I brighten at the sight of the reds, oranges and yellows of the fall colors (no, it's not New England but we do have a real fall up here) and the rare glimpse of snow-capped Mt. Ranier or Mount Baker. I've long contemplated living here again; it's an experiment and an adventure like all of life...
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