the season is closing soon. one more csa distribution, one more farmer’s market. farmstand open indefinitely.
here are some photos, all taken by leila.
We will be open on Sunday September 25 from 10am-4pm. Here’s a chance to check out a lot of neat farms & take free tours. Our good friend Meredith Molli will be doing a cooking demo at noon. Hope to see you then!
(pdf 10 MB)
Although I spent many hours attempting to stave-off rampant Morning Glory by pulling out yards of intertwined roots extending in jute-like strands up-to thirty feet long beneath the eaves of our peaked, brown house, it was all about the food for me. Vegetables I wanted to grow, and vegetables I planted.
At the library, I stumbled across a copy of Growing Vegetables West of the Cascades, by Steve Solomon, which remains an oft-referenced book on my shelf to this day. My indoors-focused roommates wondered what I was possibly doing for hours outside beneath the canopy of cherry, Italian plum, and maple trees that draped over the food I’d planted.
I dug in the dirt, strung trellises for peas, and watched aphids devour my broccoli before its trophy-head even began to form. Very little food came out of that space, but it built upon a curiosity I’d gained while travelling in New Zealand, WOOFING on organic farms and harvesting apples to earn money for gas. I purchased a beat-up Austin Mini while travelling that southern nation, and the need for funds to keep travelling propelled me later in life in a direction I don’t think I otherwise would ever have seen.
Meanwhile, my parents grew flowers in the yard of their place in Bellingham. Driven by ideals and wanting to share them, I complained.
“Try growing vegetables,” I urged them.
“But we like our flowers,” was the reply.
“You can’t eat them!”
“They are easier to grow.”
“What do you do with them? They are not food!”
“We enjoy them,” was the consistent message voiced from my grounded and patient parents.
Now, years later, as I cultivate two relentless acres with my partners-of-the-farm, flowers have squeaked into the rotation here on Vashon–and my father’s veggie patch in Bellingham is getting more significant with each seasonal turn.
We grow flowers at Island Meadow to attract pollinators. They increase our crop rotations. Sweet peas have also been a good seller in the farmstand since they came on this year in June. But, most importantly, we grow them because they are beautiful. Those flowers stand tall with their multi-colored blossoms and force you to appreciate life’s temperate and subtle charms.
I was reminded of this earlier today, while cutting the sweet peas from our two trellises. Usually on harvest days either Caitlin or Chandler sneaks out early to the tune of, “I’m going to cut the sweet peas now.” Without thinking much of it, I’d not yet had the chance to bring them in this season. They were crafty, and had a corner on the flower harvesting market at our place. Until today. The scent of nectar and swath of pastel colors, drying from a rain that lasted through the night and well into the morning, relaxed me upon standing before the fragrant blooms. A friend visited the farm for a few days recently and dragged her sleeping bag out to the sweet pea rows to sleep during a stretch of clear, warm nights. I can see now clearly why.
All of this is to say two things here.
It’s interesting what life bestows upon us, and how. In my case, that gift is flowers. Once the bane of my veggie-growing aspirations, a unnecessary occupier of precious and limited space. Now a charm, a requirement, an unsaid parental “I told you so.”
Secondly, it is always amazing what you can pass by daily without fully appreciating. I’d seen those flowers hundreds of times, but not like I did this morning.
Neither of these are new ideas. But it took the sweet peas to make me notice.
– Greg Reed
Wendell Berry is speaking in Seattle on Tuesday.
The old idea is still full of promise. It is potent with healing and with health. It has the power to turn each person away from the big-time promising and planning of the government, to confront in himself, in the immediacy of his own circumstances and whereabouts, the question of what methods and ways are best. It proposes an economy of necessities rather than an economy based upon anxiety, fantasy, luxury, and idle wishing. It proposes the independent, free-standing citizenry that Jefferson thought to be the surest safeguard of democratic liberty. And perhaps most important of all, it proposes an agriculture based upon intensive work, local energies, care, and long-living communities—that is, to state the matter from a consumer’s point of view: a dependable, long-term food supply.
…though we feel that this work must go onward, we are not so certain that it will. But the care of the earth is our most ancient and most worthy and, after all, our most pleasing responsibility. To cherish what remains of it, and to foster its renewal, is our only legitimate hope.
—Wendell Berry, from The Unsettling of America, 1977
1. I cannot plant onions before May in an overwintered sod field at the bottom of a big hill in the coldest year since 1950. And if I try, I will plant into very grassy, clumpy messy soil. But at least I can do it with my best friends on a Friday night while watching the sun sinking into the Olympic mountains while listening to Stevie Wonder.
it’s rock and roll time. here’s a little visual taste of our latest endeavors:
oh wait, those are the pigs.
A short talk on the farm bill from Ken Cook, co-founder of the Environmental Working Group.
It’s that time of year again. Wet, muddy messy farm. Old flimsy carrots and the bottom of the parsnip bin. Mashed potatoes–AGAIN. We’re all getting tired of the winter, and it is no different for us here in the Pacific Northwest–people are complaining, for good reason. But there is hope in the greenhouse. The onion and tomato starts, yes, but I’m talking about something even better. Look down. The beautiful mass of green below our feet comprising of an amazing blend of mustards, asian greens, lettuces, cress, chicories, weeds and herbs to make one heck of a salad mix. The lifeblood of spring. Just like a dramatic dip in blood sugar, we begin to crash and burn with the lack of fresh food in March. Especially after our sprouting broccoli all died. Slowly but surely, all winter, the greens have been popping up underneath floating row cover, and now they are flourishing. Salad for breakfast with a poached egg on top. Salad for lunch surrounding a sausage on a heaping plate. Salad for dinner with chicken soup. It is time! So rejoice, and fear not. Spring is around the corner, even if we still haven’t planted potatoes, and even tilled the ground where they will live this year. It will come soon, so says the salad, and the glimmer of sunlight on my desk this morning.
But don’t forget, salad season also mean TAX SEASON! Better get on that…
Last week, I was reminded of the roller coasters I gleefully rode as a kid.
Not of the the neck-tweaking banked turns or upside-down loops that were drawn out into slow motion experiences of sensory overload–these adrenaline pumping moments will come later in the season. What last week evoked was the slow, rhythmic sensation of ratcheting upwards at the very beginning, leaning back while the roller coaster cars were pulled up to the top of the first anticipated plunge down into the rest of the fabulous ride; the view from above which preceds the long, and nauseously quick, initial free-fall.
At Island Meadow, we are nearing the top of that incline. The first car is nosing over the edge. It is, as if riding in the back, I can feel myself accelerating even though we are not quite over the hump and on to the thrilling downhill ride.
Our greenhouses are chock full. Salad greens started in the ground during January, tucked into their small indoor beds beneath a layer of floating row cover to contribute additional warmth to otherwise chilly soil, and to encourage germination, are now nearly sizable enough for picking. In February we seeded our first trays on the heating coils inside. First we laid down sweet and storage onion seed, followed by shallots and early summer leeks. Since then it’s been a steady procession as we use the heat to germinate our wee babes. The Allium were followed by more fancy mustards for salad–varieties titled with descriptive names like Green Wave, Golden Frills and Ruby Streaks. Those we succeeded with sweet peas, cabbage, broccoli, chard and kale.
Once sprouted, the seed trays are moved onto unheated greenhouse tables to free up room for the next batch of promising seeds. The place is all potential now, each bed planted, each table full of seedling trays. Last week we placed tomato seeds into germination mix. Tomoatoes! Those ones sure generated daydreams about long afternoons, warm evenings, and the sweet sensation of sitting outside at dusk for hours watching the sky shift through hues of blue, lavender, pink and explosive oranges before finally calling it a night.
We keep bringing more objects into the greenhouse and using them to set up additional tables, allowing us to move more trays off the heating coils and therefore to plant more seeds. Meanwhile, the rain keeps falling, the field rows remain inundated by moisture, and we keep waiting for that long and exhilarating roller coaster free fall to really begin. The weather forecasts I am looking at call for periodic rain and cold through the end of March. That leaves me with high hopes for April. Meanwhile, we keep working on the farm edges, performing off-season chores, and heading for home early in a last-chance effort to save energy for when the work really gets going.
My partner Caitlin and I moved to Vashon in mid-November to collaborate with Chandler at Island Meadow Farm. Through the winter, we’ve been planning, forming our business, clearing blackberry vines from forgotten corners of the farm, and planning some more. The three of us will work the small farm on Cemetary Road together this season, growing food for sale in the farmstand started by Bob and Bonnie Gregson many years ago, and at the Saturday farmers market, as well. We are thrilled to be here, leasing land from Greg and Julie, growing food for our community, our families, our friends, and ourselves. Full of potential, the greenhouse represents our ambition, and our hope that earth will offer normalcy with a proper shift in seasons. There’s a lot of food growing around here, and it’s bound to be delicious. Come find out!
It’s been a while since I’ve written on the blog–amid the comments from family members & curiosity of my new farming partners–I thought an update was due. Not much has changed in the field since the kiwi harvest. Perhaps the most exciting report from soil level is that the rye & vetch are slowly taking off, with the minutes more of daylight added each day, and after a much-needed break from the deer pressure this winter. Leeks have sat patiently for spring, cabbages have winced with the deep frosty mornings. The sprouting broccoli died; could not handle the extreme cold we saw briefly. Chickens have meandered across the grass, adding their manure & searching for bugs.
Raise your eyes to the rest of the farm, though, and you’ll find the scenery a lot cleaner & more organized than when snow fell before Thanksgiving. The arrival of Greg & Caitlin, two very good friends, has ushered in an emboldened era. They are helping breathe new life into the farm, and the energy we’re putting in is already showing–an organized tool shed, a renovated storage room, pruned fruit & nut trees, a hole-less deer fence, new chicken tractors, downed blackberries, and a giant pile of trash awaiting a ride to the dump. It felt great to clean up the farm, and it feels like we’re extra prepared for the season ahead.
Last week we started the first of our seeds in the greenhouse–sweet onions & salad mix for early spring. As soon as the seeds germinate, we’ll fill up the heat coils again with more shallots, onions & salad. After that–tomatoes. And so begins the process of creating an abundance of food, starting at our dining room table when we sketched out a crop plan, ordered seeds & a month later, dropped the tiny capsules of life into their freshly made bed of peat moss & vermiculite.
We’ve closed the farm stand today. The potatoes are down to the bottom of the bags, and starting to sprout. The kiwis are dwindling as well, and most of the cabbage has been harvested, save for some heads for a batch of sauerkraut. We’ll likely open again in a month or so, when the salad greens sown into the floor of the greenhouse reach a good size & there is enough to sell. And once we get a break in the weather, we’ll sow spinach, bok choi, radishes, arugula & other greens for an April harvest.
Winter has been bearable, and I have Greg & Caitlin to thank for it–flooding the place with joy, excitement & love. Get ready 2011, we’re ready for you.
Now available in the farmstand–Island Meadow kiwis!
Just ripen on the counter in a paper bag, like you would a pear.
and this; via salt, sugar, spices & wine:
How good it feels to be rich.
Rich in friends, rich in community, rich in support. Rich in food. Rich in bacon.
Many thanks to the amazing Sheards at Farmstead Meatsmith for their help in harvesting our pigs with the utmost integrity & respect.
And thanks to the pigs who gave their lives so that we may feel so rich & full of delicious food.
Documentary on the process from friend Andrew Plotsky of Farm Run. Enjoy.
This summer I took a month off of this urban farming pursuit and went down to the Arizona/Mexico border to work with a humanitarian aid organization called No More Deaths whose mission is to end the deaths and suffering of folks migrating to the United States. The organization is completely initiated and run by dedicated local volunteers and visiting volunteers from around the country. Its work is based on the ideal of Civil Initiative, the belief that communities must organize and take power to uphold humanitarian rights when states or nations cannot or refuse to do so. Every day members of the group hike trails, drop off hundreds of gallons of water and food in remote parts of the desert, and are available on encounter with migrants to provide medical attention. No More Deaths also staffs a desert medical aid tent and Resource Centers in the border towns of Nogales and Agua Prieta. (For more info about the work and mission of NMD check out the July blog post or visit their website: http://www.nomoredeaths.org)
A complex political and human tragedy is unfolding on our border. It is devastating and confusing to witness even just a slice of it. Every year hundreds of thousands of Mexican and Central Americans set out on a life-threatening journey across mountainous, desert terrain in order to meet family and find work in the U.S. Every year hundreds of these migrants get lost, injured, raped or attacked along the way. They die from hyperthermia, hypothermia, other illness or acts of violence. In the desert on a summer day, temperatures can soar to 120 degrees and flash rainstorms can produce instant rivers. Ironically on the same day that one migrant might die of hyperthermia–dehydration and heat-exposure, another could die in the same terrain from hypothermia–exposure to cold and wet. I arrived in July and there had been 51 recorded deaths in the month of June alone. The statistic would double or triple if it included the bodies of people who had perished in places so remote that they were never found.
The Sonoran desert is heart-wrenchingly beautiful at times. The sky is so broad and clear, the mountains peppered with flowering cacti and craggy canyons shaded by silver oaks. Living in it for one month and hiking across its wild topography gave me a vivid sense of just how treacherous this migration is. I had to drink water constantly and if I ran out towards the end of a hike I quickly lost energy and got a headache. Medical experts have evaluated that the average adult needs to drink 17 litters of water a day in these conditions to stay healthy, making it practically impossible to carry enough water to maintain proper hydration for even one day. Depending on their route and their luck, migrants are walking between 4 and 10 days. We were counseled to assume that any migrant that we met on the trails would be either moderately or severely dehydrated.
I had so much to say about the border it was hard to stop writing. If you would like to read more click here
photo by Cienna
With the Greenhorns Washington Young Farmer Mixer coming up, we’ve been getting a little press. Thanks to Leslie, Merilee & Cienna for your coverage of issues concerning young farmers. Look out for a KBCS piece next week.
From The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran, via Karisa’s amazing farm blog:
Then a ploughman said, “Speak to us of work.” And he answered, saying: You work that you may keep pace with the earth and the soul of the earth. For to be idle is to become a stranger unto the seasons, and to step out of life’s procession that marches in majesty and proud submission towards the infinite. When you work you are a flute through whose heart the whispering of the hours turns to music. Which of you would be a reed, dumb and silent, when all else sings together in unison? Always you have been told that work is a curse and labor a misfortune. But I say to you that when you work you fulfill a part of earth’s furthest dream, assigned to you when that dream was born, and in keeping yourself with labor you are in truth loving life. And to love life through labor is to be intimate with life’s inmost secret. But if in your pain call birth an affliction and the support of the flesh a curse written upon your brow, then I answer that naught but the secret of your brow shall wash away that which is written. You have been told also that life is darkness, and in your weariness you echo what was said by the weary. And I say that life is indeed darkness save when there is urge, And all urge is blind save when there is knowledge, And all knowledge is vain save when there is work, And all work is empty save when there is love; And when you work with love you bind yourself to yourself, and to one another, and to God. And what is it to work with love? It is to weave cloth with threads drawn from your heart, even as if your beloved were to wear that cloth. It is to build a house with affection, even as if your beloved were to dwell in that house. It is to sow seeds with tenderness and reap the harvest with joy, even as if your beloved were to eat the fruit. It is to charge all things you fashion with a breath of your own spirit, And to know that all the blessed dead are standing about you and watching. Work is love made visible. And if you cannot work with love but only with distaste, it is better that you should leave your work and sit at the gate of the temple and take alms of those who work with joy. For if you bake bread with indifference, you bake a bitter bread that feeds but half man’s hunger. And if you grudge the crushing of the grapes, your grudge distills a poison in the wine. And if you sing though as angels, and love not the singing, you muffle man’s ears to the voices of the day and the voices of the night.
Sunday, September 26th, 2010
Vashon Island 10AM – 4 PM
We’ll be open to the public all day, giving tours of the farm. Lots of other farms on the tour as well, check it out: http://king.wsu.edu/foodandfarms/harvestcelebration.html
You might never have thought that in this country–a consumer’s paradise–one would have to fight desperately to BUY something. But in the much of the country, folks who want to buy milk–that is, unpasteurized & non-homogenized–either directly from the farmer or from a store carrying that milk, cannot. On top of that, in most states where you can sell milk, farmers are required to have a certified, licensed dairy facility–a huge financial burden for small farmers like those here on Vashon, who only have the space to milk a few cows. Perhaps the consumer (myself included, as I consume, not produce, dairy) should take it upon themselves to seek good milk, from a farmer they trust. When the demand for that is created, the farmers will jump at that chance to provide.
Well, whether or not you’re able to buy milk, you can buy a shirt advocating it’s legalization:
If you are interested in purchasing a “Legalize Milk” t-shirt, you can do so! We have a box of them.
- shirts come in XS, S, M, L, XL; they run a little bit small, and the torso is long
- they are printed on American Apparel “track” shirts, which are thin, soft & comfortable, and somewhat tight fitting
- the color of the shirt is “coffee,” a gray with nice brown undertones
Shirts are $15 to anywhere in the U.S. or $10 in person. They cost about $9 to make.
Email me to place an order. chandler [at] riseup [dot] net
To learn more about the campaign for milk, you can check out www.realmilk.com or read The Untold Story of Milk by Ron Schmid, ND. Here is a milk law map of the United States to find out what’s legal in your state.
This evening, Anya & I labored as the vibrant orange sunlight dimmed into moonlight. While she cut down the small plot of hulless oats, I sowed vetch & rye as cover crop into the old onion beds & tilled under summer cover crop in for overwinter brassica plantings. Busy bees we were, enjoying the break of the heat wave while preparing for my upcoming vacation. Anya will be here running the farm for a week, until her departure for California at the end of the month, where she’ll be working as an environmental educator at a camp in Tomales Bay. She will be sorely missed, but I am excited for her to enjoy her new adventures.
This afternoon we had built more on our compost piles using rich aged sheep manure from Wolftown, old dandelion plants & potato vines. Feeling good knowing that for every pile we build this summer, the more compost we can add to our fields next spring.
Not all is good news though. Upon my retreat inside for computer duties, I read an article sent to me by my dad about the salmonella outbreak in eggs from a giant producer in Iowa, who recalled 380 million eggs in response to hundreds of people getting sick. Yet another example of industrial agribusiness & nationwide food economy failing us again. It seems as though every food group is unsafe (meat? check. nuts? check. spinach? check. eggs? check.) You can read more details about it here: http://www.latimes.com/business/la-fi-eggs-recall-20100818,0,1782002.story
Although I wish I could offer eggs to everyone who would buy them from us, our farm is small & thus our flock remains small. And our organic feed, which is shipped in from a mill in Canada, is not regional. It is unfortunate that most of the feed for our island animals–be it hay for our cows, sheep or goats, or grain for our chickens–comes from far away. A moral thorn in my shoe that constantly desires to move further into animal husbandry. And unfortunate that so many of the eggs consumed here, maybe in an omelet at the Hardware Store, or a pastry from Monkeytree, are shipped in from off island. Maybe even from Iowa.
But it is a process, and I don’t pretend that we are saving the world with every item of produce we raise. But we’re doing our best & at the very most, offering up some delicious, healthy food for our community.
Here are some amazing photos from Anya. Duck slaughter. Farm & ferry.
Click the photos for more from each roll.
The farm is great. I’m going on vacation next week. Anya is boss lady as of Friday. Then it will be September.
So many beans. So much basil. So much salad. Please enjoy.
I love you.
I love how long you are (12 inches?!). I love your color. I love how well you handle our cool cloudy weather. And how delicious you taste. Especially boiled in salt water for 1 minute and 30 seconds, then dunked in cold water, shelled & finally fried in butter with garlic scapes & walla walla onion tossed with pasta & sea salt.
Also, thank you for being so bountiful so that I may stock my farmstand full of your goodness for a fair price. I hope they all come to eat you too.
A few weeks ago we hosted a pig butchering class at the farm, taught by my friend & fellow island farmer, Brandon Sheard. Him, his wife Lauren & our other good friends Jon & Jessie raised four beautiful pigs this past winter. The week prior to our event, the class met where the pigs lived on Roseballen farmland on the pigs one & only bad day. The pigs are shot with a .22, then cut immediately to bleed while the heart is still pumping. In a container, blood is harvested for blood sausage made later that day. The intestines are cleaned & stuffed with blood, onions, garlic, wine, milk, eggs & sometimes a filler grain. Everyone pitches in to help scald & scrape the hair, which will allow the skin to be used, either in melting the fat off for lard or cooking into pork rinds. The skin stays on a some cuts, like hocks, large roasts & cured meats.
On the day of the butchering class, we got started preparing the large wooden table & the outdoor kitchen for all the materials. Although it rained a little in the morning, we were happy to have the cool cloudy weather for the meat. Jon & Severine went to the IGA, where the pigs had been stored in the walk in cooler for a week to dry age & firm up a bit. Here’s Jon petting a few of the halves.
Back at the farm, I gave the participants a farm tour, including our live pigs along the western fence line, where they happily greeted us for back scratches & a bucket full of slop from the local bakery. They will be harvested this fall just in time to start some delicious cured meats to hang for the winter.
Everyone in the class got their hands dirty, or lardy. Everyone got to hold the knife & practice: feeling with their hands, running along the bone, separating membranes, chopping & slicing. The cheeks were removed from the head & the trotters were saved for pickling. Once all cut up, some of the pork was salted for curing. The class salted, sugared & spiced up what will be some prosciutto, pancetta, bacon, guanciale & grinding meat for sausages. For lunch, we had our farm’s salad, grilled some ribs, scrap pieces, & our farm’s broccoli, onions & carrots.
The class was somewhat stressful—lots of planning & a long day for Brandon & Lauren, having organized the whole event, and a little so for us as the host—but mostly it was fun & gratifying to participate in. Sharing an old art, of harvesting the “whole hog” on our own. Without government bureaucrats, corporate agribusiness or grown ups of any kind telling us what to do, or to not wipe lard on our pants. Passing on valuable information within our community, using beautiful island-grown pork with friends. And best of all, eating some delicious food, all together on the grassy meadow under the afternoon sunshine.All photos
All photos by Severine except the first by myself.
At the beginning of this year, I began to search for some help on the farm. I was working my part-time job on the island with Potential Energy, Inc. & working most other days out on the farm, which as of December is all right outside my front door. Living on the farm is one of the peak benefits of running this place—no traffic on my commute, I can work as late or as early as I want to, & I can use the phone & computer during the day. Not to mention I have a place to hide if the weather turns really sour.
But I, still being quite new to running a farm, grossly underestimated the amount of work to be done. No one that I met or talked with seemed to be the right fit for my picky self, despite them all being wonderful people with great attitudes & lots of experience working on small farms like ours. So eventually I ended the search & decided to go it alone. Part time. I was cocky. I thought that, being my second season at a place, most of the hard work settling into a groove had been done. Figuring out how to work. Where to place my steps. Efficient routes. But it wasn’t easier. With less people, inevitably, the work becomes longer & more difficult. Beds got weedy. Some crops became nearly unpickable. On more than one occasion, people asked “Is there salad growing in there?” And like many have discovered before, working alone can be lonely. I did enjoy the autonomy at first, and I still do on the tasks where I work alone, but ultimately, farmwork was made to be done as a team. Somehow, 1 + 1 = 3 when you’re facing a long row of weedy carrots. Morale is higher. Songs are sung. Jokes are shared. Bonds are formed. And suddenly, you’re in the last 5 feet & you look back at all the frilly carrot tops sighing with relief at the sight of the full sun.
So when I connected with Anya Kamenskaya, from the Bay Area of my home state, I was relieved & ecstatic. Like a golden egg layed in my hands, Anya is colorful with vibrant yolk & she stands tall like the stiffest of whites. And her shell, young, tender, not yet jaded, but hardened enough with her strong eye for improvement & valuable opinions. She keeps me positive, but also indulges in the semi-serious discussions about the apocalypse. And most importantly, she has a passion for farming that resonates with me:
Prior to sinking my spade into the fertile soils of Vashon Island, I lived in Oakland, CA in a DIY urban homesteader’s paradise. Accessible within a two mile radius of my cooperatively-run household were not only other young people raising chickens and staking tomatoes, but a recycled biodiesel pump station, free compost from the city, and fruit trees with low-hanging offerings. However, I longed for another opportunity to try my hand at farming on a slightly larger scale. When I set about finding an exotic locale where I could build on the knowledge I gained last summer at Smithereen Farm, I had no idea I would end up in the Puget Sound.
I feel lucky to have landed in such an idyllic and ideal place to learn more about growing food. Having come by way of the Greenhorns, I am now in my third week on the farm, and enjoying the varied and multitudinous duties that keep our farm stand stocked with succulent greens and rich-yolked eggs. Each day spent in the field brings new skills – from broad forking to manning the chicken plucker, and even trying my hand at driving a draft horse on a friend’s farm. Happy to be working with Chandler, I look forward to the expanding smorgasbord of the summer harvest.
So I dearly thank Severine from the Greenhorns for connecting us. We are working hard, out in the field to bring in the bounty. But also inside on our computers. Anya is the West Coast Tour Manager for the Greenhorns & she is putting on the 10 events this fall, showing the Greenhorns movie at what we call “Young Farmer Mixers,” the first of which will be right here on Vashon Island: Monday, October 4th at the Vashon Grange Hall. More on those festivities later. For now I’m off to frolic in the shelling peas & prepare for our Sunday BBQ out in the meadow.