As summer changes to fall, the pace of the garden slows and I am able to think. How can I harvest more food with less labor?
Perennials.
A perennial comes back year after year, propagates itself, and if done right produces more with less work.
My strawberry bed is a great example.
I planted garlic in this bed last fall. Added some compost and mulched heavily for the winter. In the spring I had some space to plant strawberries. I interplanted ten strawberry plants.
Ten plants.
When the garlic was harvested space was made for the strawberries to grow. A little more compost. Grass for mulch.
Those ten strawberries became countless more.
Abundance.
And with the change of season the strawberries are sending out runners with a vengeance while still giving us handfuls of fruit when I remember to harvest.
I was able to maintain this bed by weeding and mulching a few times during the season. My input was minimal compared to the reward.
The runners will be transplanted to other beds. Abundance.
And so I ask myself, what other perennials can I establish?
Asparagus. Horseradish. Berries. Fruit trees. Rhubarb.
I harvested my first cabbage from my cabbage patch this morning.
This is 100% more cabbage than I harvested last fall. I tried to grow a fall garden last year, but everything succumbed to an early hard frost.
What did I learn?
Know when to start your plants. I started my seeds indoors in July so they would be ready to plant from the beginning of August.
Succession planting makes it easier. This area was planted with potatoes in the spring. Once the potatoes were harvested, I cleaned the space, added a layer of compost and planted the cabbage starts about a foot apart to fill the bed. When I found starts that died after planting, I replaced them with my extra seedlings. The bed was mulched with grass clippings and watered very occasionally.
No additional fertilizer. Nothing to deter pests.
Yes, there is damage from slugs and cabbage worms. Overall, I am pleased.
This spring brought new life to Fiat Farm. Our sows had piglets. Our ewes had lambs. Finally, our heifers had calves and can now be called cows. With each birth we distinguished whether the offspring was a boy or a girl. A farmer wants girls, because in time each girl will be able to have babies of her own. The boys, while still celebrated, will most likely be destined for the freezer or sold off the farm.
Life on the farm teaches you that the female of a species has more value than the male. That female – cow, ewe, or sow – will ensure a continuation of life. And so that female is protected, cherished, elevated.
We used to know that. It was understood.
These days some can’t even define what a woman is.
When did society begin to drift away from this truth?
I can’t pinpoint exactly, but I think World War II was a catalyst. The men left for war. Women left the home to take their place working the factories or running the farms. When the war ended, our society moved from agrarian to industrial. We moved from the country and into the cities and suburbs. Pavement and parking lots replaced fields and farms.
We separated ourselves from the truth before our eyes. We walked away from the truth of creation.
Away from the land, living on postage stamp lots, with groceries wrapped in plastic, we lost the knowledge that was once a part of life.
We need to get back to the land, steeped in creation, surrounded by truth.
I am increasing my apothecary this summer. Adding more infused oils and tinctures to my tried-and-true dandelion and comfrey. Mullein for the lungs. Green walnuts as an anti-parasitic. Yarrow for inflammation, fever, and flu symptoms. Slowly, I am learning the medicinal benefits of the plants that nature provides. Gradually increasing my knowledge.
Working in the garden this morning, I was surrounded by the steady buzz of bees as they collected pollen from an assortment of flowers. Then I noticed how they were particularly active around the mullein flowers – going at them with gusto.
It occurred to me: these bees are seeking out the medicinal properties of plants as much as I do. They instinctively know what properties they need for the health of their hive. From one day to the next they collect pollen from yarrow, plantain, comfrey, calendula, oregano, thyme…I could go on and on. This pollen infuses their hive with its goodness. It becomes bee bread (food for the young and nurse bees), wax, honey, and propolis (the substance bees make to seal gaps in the hive). In this way, the medicinal plants that I work to cultivate, harvest, and preserve are also harvested and preserved by the bees.
This is why I want to learn how to keep bees. The honey from my hives will be infused with the medicinal plants and herbs from my property. Sweet and delicious, but more importantly nutritious and healing.
God had a plan in His creation. A plan of goodness and abundance.
“If the Lord is pleased with us, he will bring us in and give us that land, a land flowing with milk and honey.”
The white blooms of these trees punctuate the landscape as spring begins to take over winter. My oldest son shared the following poem with me and from this day forward the Dogwood will mean so much more.
The Dogwood Tree
by Anonymous
When Christ was on earth, the dogwood grew To a towering size with a lovely hue. Its branches were strong and interwoven And for Christ’s cross, its timbers were chosen
Being distressed at the use of the wood Christ made a promise which still holds good: “Not ever again shall the dogwood grow To be large enough for a tree, and so
Slender and twisted it shall always be With cross-shaped blossoms for all to see. The petals shall have bloodstains marked brown And in the blossom’s center a thorny crown.
All who see it will think of Me, Nailed to a cross from a dogwood tree. Protected and cherished this tree shall be A reflection of all of My agony.
As Mr. J and I moved about the farm with morning chores, we heard a persistent low “mooooo” from Dude, our steer. His bawling tells us that there is not enough grass in his pasture, and he is expecting us to resolve the situation. Our grass is greening, but we are not at the spring flush so we decide to haul out the last roll of hay from the barn to keep our small herd happy for another week.
This roll of hay weighs about 600 pounds and requires some maneuvering to get it from the barn to the bed of the truck. But we have polished our technique over this past winter and work well as a team.
I drive the truck to the pasture, position it at the top of the hill, then Mr. J gives the roll of hay a heave-ho setting it on an unrolling path down the hill.
We then walk the length of this unrolled hay to spread it out.
While tossing hay here and there I pause and think:
Who would have thought.
Who could have predicted twelve years ago when we bought this truck that we would use it to haul rolls of hay to our cattle. In Tennessee.
Who would have thought we would be right here, right now, with this truck, in this field.
We had a vision when we bought the truck. We had a plan for our lives.
We knew we would pay it off and keep it for many years. It needed to be able to carry our three boys comfortably into adulthood.
We wanted the option of towing a trailer for camping.
And maybe at some point we would need the four-wheel drive to go off road.
Our truck has done this and more.
This truck has served us well.
It has carried soccer gear, ski equipment, and surfboards.
It has hauled loads of compost and fruit trees for my gardening exploits.
It has worn the license plates of California, Virginia, Nevada, and now Tennessee.
When we bought this truck in 2011, we could not have anticipated being on a farm in the South. It never occurred to us that Mr. J could earn a living working remotely with a computer and phone. Who would have thought that this truck would one day haul pigs and sheep to our own homestead or pull felled trees out of the woods.
God has a plan. He nudges. He guides. And if you are lucky, you can see a few steps ahead on your journey. But most of the time we just bumble along.
When I look back, I can see how we were gently positioned to be right here. Right now.
Ivan was born three hundred yards behind where he lives today. The road is named Clarence Lee Rd, after his father. His family home was one of the first two in Morgan County, but it has long since burned down. That’s ok because it didn’t have running water. Ivan didn’t live in a home with running water until after he returned from the war.
Ivan’s father, Clarence was a good man – an even better father.
I am learning to keep bees from Ivan, so we have lot’s of time for stories as we assemble hives and frames in his cozy workshop. It is here that I am learning about bees and “old ways” of doing things.
Ivan said his father always planted potatoes in February.
February? Really? When?
Well, when the weather dried out for a few days. Then they would have new potatoes to eat in early spring.
Huh. I have potatoes that are sprouting. Let’s give this a try.
So, I did.
We cleared the weeds remaining in the garden from last fall, piled them in a 12 foot low point in the garden and burned them. I then added some compost, placed my potatoes on top, and covered with more compost. Finally, a layer of broken down straw that the chickens have been working over.
Will we have potatoes in the spring? I have no idea. But I have nothing to lose. All the materials were on the farm and the potatoes I planted were inedible. The only thing it cost me was time.
Here’s to learning the “old ways” and giving them a try.
Last year I took advantage of a state program called Tennessee Tree Day. This program provides the opportunity to purchase native saplings at very low prices. We have a goal of adding tress to our current pastures and this seemed the perfect fit for our goals.
We picked up the saplings at our local extension office. Planted them the next day. Mulched around the base with wood chips and provided protection from wildlife with some t-posts and welded wire around each sapling.
These trees did not thrive. Mind you, I did not water them weekly as suggested. I relied on the mulch and rain to be enough. All that remains of last year’s efforts are sad little sticks that may or may not still be alive.
Huh.
Fast forward one year.
Saturday. The day for larger projects. And a Saturday in winter when you have time to catch up on things that have fallen off the plate.
Today we decided to bush hog the upper field. We hope to use this field as pasture in the future, but right now it is mostly brambles and broomsedge. With spring coming and grasses just starting to grow, we have got to mow down the brambles and sedge so the sunlight can get to the grass. Giving the grass an advantage, a leg up in the fight for sunlight and nutrients.
This is the first time we have worked this field since owning the farm. We have neglected it until today. We just didn’t have time.
But we have been watching it. Observing. Noticing that among the sedge and bramble there are saplings.
Oak. Pine. Hickory.
These trees planted themselves. We had left the field untouched. The saplings thrived in our neglect.
So, instead of mindlessly bush hogging the entire over-grown field we carefully walked through it looking for baby trees. We cleared the area around the ones we wanted to keep. Then Mr. J bush hogged the field avoiding our baby trees.
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Why trees in a pasture?
The trees provide shade for our livestock, food in the form of acorns and hickory nuts, habitat for birds, and potential lumber in generations to come.
I was terrified of this thing called pressure canning. I had visions of large metal pots exploding and causing dire harm. I just knew I would do it wrong and kill my family with spoiled food. On top of that, the food would taste bad, and we wouldn’t use it.
Despite all this, I bought a pressure canner last spring. It sat on the shelf in a closet for much of the summer. My brain began to hurt just thinking of learning this new and very foreign thing.
I lurked for months in a pressure canning Facebook page. Seeing beautiful jars of food. Reading rave reviews of recipes. Following the latest food bandwagon.
Finally, I gave it a try. I summoned my courage. Set aside an afternoon and evening. Read the instructions step-by-step. Gathered my equipment. Gave it a try.
You know what?
No explosions. We didn’t die. The food is delicious.
After canning several different recipes, I no longer need to reread the step-by-step instructions. I understand the process. I can do this thing.
Is there something new you want to learn? Summon your courage. Take a deep breath. Give yourself some time and give it a try.
If I can do it, so can you.
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Why pressure can?
It is a way of preserving the harvest, whether that be veggies or meat. The food is shelf stable and ready to heat and eat. This fits well with our goal of growing as much of our own food as possible. Pressure canning adds another level of resilience to our farm.
This week I began to rotate my two four-month-old piglets through the cow pasture. The cows had been moved out of this pasture the week before, so it is now available for the pigs.
In this rotation I am moving them daily. I use two hundred-foot hog nets to make a paddock. Moving these nets to make new paddocks each day takes about 15 minutes.
I walk the piglets out of their pen at the barn mid-morning, and bring them back at 4pm for dinner. For six hours each day they chew on the grass and root for worms, grubs, and who knows what else. They literally roll back the grass with their snouts looking for delicacies.
This process requires attention and effort on my part. It requires more than just dumping a bucket of food in their pen, checking their water and walking away.
I moved their nets this afternoon in the brisk winter air, observed the “damage” they had done to the pasture, and asked myself
What am I doing?
Most immediately I am pulling up short white polls attached to electric netting, gathering them in my arms, and resetting them on fresh grass. But why?
Providing the piglets with fresh pasture each day gives them a clean, healthy environment and supplemental nutrition. Moving them daily using small paddocks distributes their fertility (aka urine and manure) throughout the pasture and limits the destruction they do to each area.
I look at the pasture they are tearing up, walk around using my boots to replace the clumps of grass they have displaced and ask myself
What am I doing?
Well, I think I am improving the soil. The work the pigs do could be considered destructive, but what if we thought of it as disturbance. Sort of like aerating the soil. I am inputting my time and labor by rotating the piglets daily, but they are also working for me by just being pigs.
Will this intensive rotational grazing be destructive or beneficial to our pasture? I don’t know. I won’t really know until later this spring. I will observe what grows in the areas the pigs have worked. Has it improved or declined? Do the areas they disturbed look barren or healthy.
Fiat Farm 