Hunter vs. Farmer

One of my favorite books on ADD is Attention Deficit Disorder: A Different Perspective by Thom Hartmann (bear with me -- I promise this will relate to farming and growing!). His point of view can be boiled down to this: it's Hunter vs. Farmer. That in evolutionary terms, looking at the development of humans over the millenia, being a "Hunter" -- someone whose senses are keen enough to be easily distracted by/tuned into any change in the environment, who can think quickly and make fast changes without having to think something through carefully, thriving on the excitement of the hunt -- meant being a survivor. That today's world, however, is set up for the "Farmer" -- one who can be comfortable with routine, repetitive tasks, sit still when asked, work incrementally towards distant goals with self-discipline. Someone who can cope with disastrous weather, an infestation of bugs, deer breaking through the fence ruining their crops, and is willing to try again next year.

I'm probably not characterizing this very well; if you're interested, check out his book at Amazon (or better yet, your friendly local bookstore.)

But I am, for lack of a better description, an ADD Farmer. An oxymoron, if you will. I have all the characteristics of ADD that can be found listed in the hundreds of books on the subject. And yet I'm passionate about growing, something that requires forethought, planning, many repetitive mundane tasks, and patience. My ability to summon forth those qualities varies wildly from day to day, month to month, year to year. I repeat a lot of mistakes. I get impatient and plant too early, or forget and plant too late. I grow weary of weeding and in short measure, a jungle grows. I forget to close up the greenhouse on a cold night. I go out to plant potatoes, get distracted by the daylilies, and the potatoes must wait for another day. Sometimes I just sit in the field for a long while and drink in the perfectly blue sky, the cottony clouds, the hawks circling overhead, the wind sighing through the pine forest.

This is why, of course, I'm not really cut out to be someone who makes a living at farming. Not enough organization and discipline. It's extraordinarily hard work as well; for several years we grew veggies, herbs, and flowers for market. We worked from early in the morning until sunset; we worked on hot, humid summer days and in the cold, wet spring and fall; we battled black flies and deer flies and mosquitoes, potato beetles, underground voles, and learned not to let the chickens run free when the tomatoes were ripe. There was a point during each summer when I thought, why do I spend my summers this way? This is just too much. I'm not doing this any more.

But the rewards! -- the excitement of the seeds sprouting through the earth each spring; perennials peeking through the early spring snows; the taste of fresh peas and green beans, ripe tomatoes warmed by the sun, rich buttery garlic and fresh basil made into pesto, a tea of homegrown chamomile and lemon balm. The miracle of so many flowers, not only those we grow simply for their beauty, but those whose purpose is to attract the pollinators and will transform into cucumber, squash, melon, strawberry. The lushness of the flower beds at the peak of bloom. To work in a garden and a field of crops is to be surrounded by the miracle of life, expressing itself in ways that delight all the senses. Even the occasional sightings of deer, of bear, of a flock of turkeys, takes my breath away.

And so now it begins all over again, with the seeds emerging from their pots. The particular fun of growing daylily seeds is that each one will produce a flower never seen before, a new combination of genetic code -- like opening a gift, not knowing what's inside. It requires patience: they will not flower until the second year this far north, at the earliest. It requires the willingness to be disappointed: many will be only so-so, destined for the compost pile. But during the blooming season, as soon as the sun comes up, this ADD Farmer cannot stay in bed nor in the house: it's up and out to hunt for the newest daylily, to see what may have bloomed, to gather greens for the day, to revel in the beauty of the early-morning gardens.

Somehow it all works. Imperfectly, of course, but isn't that life?

Alfalfa Farm

When my kids were young and I was a single mom with a very limited budget, we would go camping in the summer. Our route usually took us north of Boston, on the way to Maine or the White Mountains, and one of our favorite landmarks was a farm with a big sign that read, "Alfalfa Farm." Something about that just tickled our funny bones -- try saying it three times fast! -- and we'd repeat it endlessly and laugh and crack up for several miles. Even today, it brings a smile.

So what does that have to do with anything? Well, for several years I've been reading that some daylily and hosta growers spread alfalfa pellets around their nursery beds first thing in the spring. Alfalfa contains a wealth of naturally-occurring nutrients that are highly beneficial, especially its powerful growth stimulant, Triacontanol, and a variety of minerals and micronutrients.

While alfalfa can also be purchased in cubes or meal form, the pellets seem to work best for our purposes -- the meal is dusty and shouldn't be inhaled; the cubes take longer to break down. And here's the bonus: it's really cheap!! -- I paid $15 for a 50-pound bag. It may well be cheaper in other areas, or from other dealers; I didn't shop around this time.

So just before this week's rains started, I spread alfalfa around most of my daylily beds. Most of the plants are already coming up -- after looking over my weather records for the last five years, we are at least two weeks ahead of usual -- despite having some concerns that once again, I'm jumping the gun in my enthusiasm. About an inch of snow fell this morning, although it melted within a few hours.

One caveat: if you choose to use alfalfa too, make sure it's pure, plain 100% dried alfalfa with no medications or other additives. Use it on the front end of the season only; you don't want to be stimulating top growth at the end of the season. And keep adding compost at any time -- that's the best year-round way to keep your plants healthy and happy.

Seedy business

I'm like a little kid in the spring when my first seedlings emerge ... you'd think I'd never seen it happen before. Kale's first this year; I bought Beedy's Camden last year from Fedco, and it has so much vigor that it nearly bursts out of the soil in just a few days. Delicious, too, once it's grown. Lettuce and broccoli are coming along nicely, too.

While I tend to buy most of my seeds from brokers who pledge not to sell GMO and/or Monsanto seeds -- Fedco and Baker's Creek, for example -- inevitably I fall prey to the seed packet displays at various stores in the springtime. And this morning, having read yet again of the amazing and outrageous punitive behavior of Monsanto, I am thinking that I simply will not do that any more. Here's a link to a page of the Organic Seed Alliance, warning organic vegetable farmers of their possible inadvertent "agreement" with Monsanto that can result in unannounced searches, seizures, and lawsuits -- thousands of which have been brought already:
http://blog.seedalliance.org/

This isn't the place for any extended conversation about the politics of seed patents, but it's a deep concern of mine. One corporation having near-complete control of our food supply is a frightening thought -- not to mention the genetic manipulation of said seeds. Since the beginning of agriculture, centuries ago, farmers have been collecting and saving seed, and now that is increasingly becoming a criminal offense.

The simple answer for the home gardener is this: buy organic seeds. Go online and buy seeds from Fedco. The bonus is that they're less expensive than seeds you'll find anywhere else. Or buy seedlings at your farmer's market from your friendly local organic farmer. Even my local Agway now sells organic seedlings every spring. Organic isn't just about how they're grown any more ... it's also about the future ownership and control of our food supply.

End-of-winter squash

Last summer I found a volunteer winter squash growing under a small tree in the new semi-shaded perennial bed. Odd, I thought, since I hadn't put any of my own compost into that soil ... our yard, many years ago, was a barnyard, and the soil is wonderfully alive and rich and not so much in need of amendments; mulching, and coffee grounds, seem to keep the flower beds near the house quite happy.

Being a sucker for such curiosities, I let the squash grow unimpeded through the daylilies, wild bergamot, echinacea, and hostas, and at times thought its large leaves were not in the best interests of some of the newer perennials that hadn't reached full size. Eventually one big squash was produced, acorn-shaped but a deep yellow-gold, unlike anything I had grown before in the vegetable field. A parent of a hybrid, perhaps.

I cured it along with the butternuts and delicatas and acorns and other squash, and then set it on the kitchen island. And left it there. I kept thinking, hmm, ought to give that rogue squash a try ... and still left it there.

Finally, now that it's March, I realized I'd better get to it. This squash has amazing keeping qualities! So I saved the seeds, and roasted it up. It was moist, amazingly, and delicious with butter and cinnamon ... worth deliberately planting this year.

Can't wait any longer!

Spring fever got to me yesterday, and I planted a few daylily seeds ... a little early, given that the seedling room isn't ready yet. "Seedling room" sounds more organized and focused than the reality: it's one end of our narrow first-floor furnace room, south-facing, with a slanted ceiling and skylights. The temp is usually around 80, not consistent, but with heating mats for veggie seed sprouting and gro-lights, it works pretty well. The main problems are dryness, and not enough space. Our furnace is a wood boiler; its proximity guarantees a severe lack of humidity. No damping-off for us! With two families using the small space for veggie seedlings, along with starting daylilies, herbs, and other perennials, there's a lot of jockeying for prime real estate. This year my intention is to build some shelving that will alleviate some of the strain.

Turning the calendar

At last! -- the month that officially signals the beginning of spring. Lots of action at the garden center yesterday, itchy gardeners cruising the seed displays -- myself included, although I had already put in my big seed order weeks ago; those tempting pictures on the packets were irresistible. The first few years after we moved to this farm, we bought at least three times as much seed as we needed, feeling like kids in a candy store. I hope I've learned something after having to toss so many packets of old seeds a few years later.

And lots of daylily talk at the feed store this morning ... three of us sharing our impatience and our anticipation. The first blooms are still months away; but the hens have begun laying again, a sure sign that spring is returning.