Twelve months of busy farm life....

So...

Everyone knows,
who knows about farming,
knows that there is no rest
for the weary for a farmer.
Even with everything I've accomplished,
this past year has really flown by,
so I thought I would share exactly what it is
that I do here on Le Farm, from month to month.

January and February...  

This is my only chance to do major work outside, 

without having to douse myself in DEET.  

(I hate the stuff, but I literally would be just bones 

with itchy, bloody flesh hanging on them without it.)

 (Dead serious.  I would be seriously dead.)

This winter work involves pruning blackberries and blueberries,
pruning an acre of grapevines (and to exercise sustainability I
make wreaths and spheres from the vines),
digging new garden space and planning the garden for next year.

Did I mention that seeds need to be started now? 

And, I have to be very diligent to keep them warm.

Good luck. HA!
(Insert a very snide giggle here, unless you have a heated greenhouse, you lucky, lucky dog.)

March...

The ides of March made a mark on Roman history

with the assassination of Julius Caesar... 

or the movie directed by George Clooney,

whichever you choose to remember.

I see it as a cleverly disguised impostor that always,

without fail,

brings a heavy, wet snow to the southern states,

destroying any hope of an early spring planting, 

unless it is one of the few cold loving plants 

that does not mind a thick blanket of slush, 

but also notoriously bolts as soon as the sun shines.
... a catch 22.

All I can do is wait.

Dream of spring... drink beaucoup amounts 
of red wine, 
green beer,
and wait.

April...

I never get too anxious early on, 

or I will pay the price and need to replant everything 
that took weeks to get grown and into the ground.
The garden has been sleeping under a huge thick blanket of mulch 
loaded up from my many leaves last fall.
Can't wait to see that beautiful black loam it produces.
Some spinach and lettuce may have survived the winter garden, but nonetheless, it is very sad to see them go.    
They can't survive the impending heat that forces them to go to seed,
so, I have to concede and say, "Aurevoir".  

A week past the last frost is a good bet for planting.

(I have to be clairvoyant to know when that is...another talent that comes in very handy.) 

But patience is a virtue necessity, my friend. 
This year, I built a high tunnel that weighed over 500 lbs, 
to extend my growing season.
I moved all the pieces 4 times;  from truck to gate, from gate to trailer, 
from trailer to ground, from ground to tunnel. 
(So, basically, I moved 2000# myself, who cannot even bench press 100#.)

May...

I have just a few weeks before the heat sets in 

to get everything in the ground.

(Btw...Get out the DEET.) 
Early blueberries have me hopeful.
They taste amazing and fool me into wanting to pick more.

I take the bait and become a picking fool, as sweat drips down my back,
and carpal tunnel sets in.

June...

Ahhhhh, June. 

Up to my gills in blueberries.
There's little time for anything else but picking and selling.
Believe me, money is a motivator.
(And, even as fabulously wonderful as they are, 
there is only so much you can do with blueberries
before you are really sick and tired of them.  Into the freezer they go.)

Blackberries also ripen now, and the window of opportunity 
to have my arms look like I have been the prime contender
in a cat fight shuts tight after a few short weeks.
(But, they sure are goooood!)

  

July and August...
As the dog days of summer arrive, 
the unbearable heat cannot be escaped
when you are in the garden every waking moment,
and ironically, 
my dogs choose to enjoy the comfort of air conditioning.
I pray for rain, then pray for reprieve from the mosquitoes 
that could carry me away...like Calgon.  
The garden is in full swing, figs came and went, and by now
I am getting ready for a break.  Can't take one, but I am more than ready.
I dream of snow and an arctic blast.

September, October, November...
The garden holds out until the first frost.  It turns brown overnight and is my cue to rake and pile mounds of leaves on top,  
to nourish it and keep weeds at bay without the need for tilling.
The winter garden is planted early September, after the high heat ends.
Germination needs cooler temps for spinach, lettuce, broccoli, cabbage and kale.  Mustard greens and turnips are sown, too.  
It really is amazing to have these crops all winter here in the south.
We former northerners are programmed to wait until spring for these beauties.

December...
Time to put up the 12 ft. Christmas tree
and get out the seed catalogues, as my mustard greens 
simmer on the stove.  
(And boy, those frozen blueberries taste like
spring again, on top of my morning crepes!)
Hmmm...Tonight, I just might pick some lettuce and spinach 
and make a nice salad for dinner.

Looking back, it is all worth it...the hard work all year long, 
to live this healthy farm life.

Yeah...I get tired, 
dog tired,
but it is definitely worth it.

Take a bite outta this...

There is something really, really good that comes from 

a cold, cold winter 

down in the deep, deep south.

 (And it has nothing to do with 

sending all the Yankees  

 back home, so don't get your hopes up.) 

So, what is it, then?

It is...

Amazing Growth!

Thus, without thought or deliberation,

here on Le Farm, 

this has to be dubbed, 

none other than; 

"The Year of the 

Amazing, Humongous, Monstrous, Incredible Pear."

(All I can say is, these suckers are énorme.)

All three trees were loaded with juicy, amazing pears this year.  
I was under the impression that they politely took turns, 
and produced a bounty every third year.  

Farming is the science of statistics...
events really are predictable.  
For instance, "Clear moon frost soon", or 
"Cloud like towers, frequent showers."  Ever hear this?
"The taller the sunflower, the deeper the snow."
 These stats matter according to folklore, The Farmer's Almanac and everybody's great grandpa.

I chalk it up to Mother Nature...
She does as she pleases.
Always has, always will. 
She is the master statistician. 
(I keep relearning this lesson over and over and over... 
a statistical pattern in itself.)

So far, I have been painfully hit square in the mouth and the left eye by these blonde bombers falling from the tree, but the pain is worth the pleasure when a scrumptious pear tart, sweeter than any fall apple pie, comes steaming out of the oven.
{Can't you just smell it???}  

It just goes to show that life on the farm is full of surprises.
And sometimes, they are fabulous!

(Now, if she could just do something about my pecan trees that are on strike...) 

Hugelkultur rocks my world...

"Step aside Viggo Mortensen"... 

I have a new foreign love interest.  

I am crazy head over heels in love with,

Hugel Kultur! 

(Actually, it is just a singular name,
sort of like Prince...

when Prince was just plain 'ol "Prince".)

Meet Mr. "Hugelkultur."

Yes, he's German and his name means "hill culture".

Here is a lovely depiction of my new hardworking hunk...

The concept of our love stems from all the naturally decomposing materials 

under the soil stacked as high as you wish to go.

And boy does he work hard!

Everything grown in this luscious environment is huge...organic and huge!
(Those are 2 terms rarely paired together on an organic farm, but oh so desired for a hunk.)


The produce grows healthy and gigantic, without any of that fake miracle grow.
A typical mound is about 20' in diameter and 1-2' tall.
To tell you the truth, I've never seen my beans and squash looking so large and full.

Underneath the pine straw is a layer of dirt from grass I dug out of my garden,
 and underneath the dirt is a pile of old branches,
that I cut down two years ago.
It was an eye sore on Le Farm, until this eye candy came around!
It doesn't take much to make a big difference
in the quality of whatever you have growing in it.

I created another Hugelkultur bed for cukes and mustard greens.
They are also doing fabulous; bigger and better than previous years.

Permaculture "groupies" talk about Hugelkultur and have forever, it seems.
It's the original raised bed.  It's not a new concept, but I've never seen any farmer use it.
(He's rocked the hippie world for quite some time.)

I'm just glad he's rocking mine, now!

My new 593# baby...

Today I had a delivery...a 593# baby came to live at Le Farm.

I've already moved each piece of this 593# baby twice.  

"Three times a charm", because I have yet to move it to its 

final location for assembly.

It is my new NRCS (Natural Resource Conservation Service) high tunnel.

I finally ordered it, and it finally came!

YAY!

After I plow up the earth underneath it, it will house 

100 day-neutral strawberry plants.

They are a variety that produces fruit from late May to late fall.  

The 1-2" berries may be a bit smaller than June-bearing varieties, 

but they are very flavorful and sweet.

Incidentally, 

this is why I am growing my own organic strawberries...

Thanks to Wilma @Dog Day Farm for this great depiction of 

what is shockingly hidden in conventionally grown strawberries.

You don't have to grow your own, 

just always insist on buying ORGANIC.

It is well worth the extra dollar.

Don't you agree?

I'm hornswoggled by planting...

If I have learned one thing living on a farm, it is this:

PLANTING...

 HAS VERY LITTLE TO DO WITH PLANTING.

I am completely serious, y'all.

Last weekend I set out to "plant" 12 lovely little 2' olive trees.

After 5 hours of sweaty, grueling digging,

 and precisely measuring 3' around each tree,

and moving ten tons cartfuls of dug sod for the third time
to fill in lower parts of the back field,

and building pee-proof chicken wire cages staked into the ground, 

so the lovely acrid stream of dog pee stays far, far away,
BECAUSE,
 three dogs will run past 9 full grown pecan trees, 
2 acres of green grass,
 and miles and miles of tall weeds
 with a full bladder 
to "drop the dew from their lily" on one tiny olive tree.

After all that, I finally planted 5 of the 12 olive trees.

And...

It took all of 2 minutes 
to set them in the hole and cover them with dirt.

The preparation of the task of planting is what just gets my proverbial goat.

It is not just with the olive trees, either.

{On to the ranting...}

It took 3 months to scrape the sod off my 60X20 garden,

add yards and yards of compost, and dig 12" down BEFORE I could 

put a single seed measuring 1/32 of a millimeter into the lovely black dirt.

Don't forget what happens next...

Days and weeks of hand watering,

hours upon hours spent staring at the ground, 
wondering if that green sprig is a vegetable or not,
and the absolute worst part of all...patiently painfully waiting,

and hoping to holy heck that all is well, 1/2 inch under the soil
for that tiny pinpoint of a seed to sprout.

Because, 
the very last thing you want to discover,
 is that all that time you spent in preparation for that tiny seed 

to go into the ground was IN VAIN, 
when 10 days later, 

absolutely 
NOTHING
that resembles 
the seed 
grows.

On a farm, every day is Mother's day for Mother Nature.
"They" say she knows best.
You can't argue with her,
 and she can't be fooled.
(Ha! My own mother wasn't nearly as strict as this b*tch is!)

So, I will continue to be hornswoggled, duped, snowed and bamboozled 
here on Le Farm.

If the only mother you have left to teach you a lesson, is Mother Nature,
then here's my unofficial unqualified advice;

"Put your big girl boots on 
and take her hand in your muddy glove.
She will teach you all the lessons you'll ever need for farm life.
You won't be the least bit happy, 
but you will be very, very wise."

Have a Happy Mother's Day!

Sicilian Easter memories...and a few others

Has your Sicilian nanu ever piled 12 kids in his Edsel to drive to the Taste-Freeze on Easter Sunday afternoon?

Have your Sicilian grandparents ever bought cases and cases of 7-Up available around the clock for your enjoyment so you would never go thirsty?

Has your Sicilian nana made pan after pan of unbelievably delicious and mouthwatering homemade pizza out of a box of hot roll mix?

Have you ever had an Easter biscotti cookie, made just for you, large enough to hold an egg and last you for months as you scrape away at it with your baby teeth?

These are just a few of the wonderful memories I cherish about having two tiny Sicilians as my grandparents.  

They may have been teeny tiny but everything they did made a large impact on our family, especially at holiday time.

...I remember the turn signals in that Edsel...loud, melodic and clear as a bell over 12 screaming for joy kids.

...I remember the bubbles of the 7-Up as they burned through my nasal passages.

...I remember fighting over the last piece of pizza as it fell on the floor.

...I remember eating the egg of that biscotti cookie even though the white part was a creepy greenish-gray.

So it wasn't perfect.  So it wasn't classy.  So it wasn't safe.

We survived and more importantly...

 IT MADE US COMPLETELY HAPPY!

So, go make some imperfect, unclassy, unsafe memories with your family,

 and go have a very Happy Easter!

Suzanne @Le Farm

The "50 Shades" of Olive Oil...

I have a GREAT idea.

I am planting an olive grove.

In South Carolina.

{est-elle folle?...}

{yes, she is crazy...}

Ok, here are the scientific facts:  

1.  They love a mediterranean climate.

It is hot, moist and balmy here almost all the time.

2.  They love rich sandy loamy soil.

Already got it.

3.  The cannot tolerate a severe winter but can take some very cold temperatures 

down to 10 deg F.

It usually stays above 20 deg F in the winter and may dip down to the teens 

one or two nights a year.

4.  Extra virgin olive oil is apparently a scam, so I am going to make my own.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HqxZkhxtNbI

In investigating the planting of olive trees, I discovered this scandal around olive oil.  

I had no idea it wasn't real olive oil or not squeezed from beautiful little olives grown 

by Frances Mayes' neighbor in "Under the Tuscan Sun"...
(That alone burst my bubble.)

It's big business involving corruption and impostors.

...50 very grey shades.

My olive trees are already on their way from Oregon.

They are winter hardy and are French cultivar varieties.

It cost more to ship the twelve tiny trees than they actually cost, but I think worth every penny.

Because,

an olive grove on Le Farm translates to,

"Le Farm huile d'olive extra vierge",

without a shred of grey...anywhere.

...quelle bonne idée!

{What a great idea!}

Just because...

Heading to the Carolina Cup this weekend.

Just Because.

http://www.carolina-cup.org/

Can't do a thing until the frost is tired of planting itself like green moss, 

on the north side of the house.  

Can't do a thing until spinach decides that its blanket of mulch is way too warm. 

Can't do a thing until swiss chard decides that it will grow with a southern accent.

Can't do a thing until the lettuce says "Hey y'all... I've arrived."

Can't do a thing until the busy bees in the blueberry patch say, "Fini!".

Spring is taking its time this year, so...

 until it sticks around, I can play.

Just because.

(...A woman farmer's prerogative.)

Because, while I impatiently wait for spring, 

I want to wear a fancy dress, high heels and a big ol' hat!

Carolina Cup?  

You're no Derby, but you'll do! 

Colonial Cup 2013

Putting the Bedtime Story to Sleep...

A few months ago I told you a not so sweet bedtime story.  

It was far removed from one of those endearing, 
"And, they all lived happily ever after" snow jobs.  

Tom Hanks wasn't in it and no one was having what Meg Ryan was having...

Ok.  

So, you don't quite remember it, do you?

Here, let me help you remember the painful beginning:
http://lefarmcountryfrenchproduce.blogspot.com/2013/11/the-demolition-has-commencedaka-more.html

Thanksgiving was such a memorable holiday this year.

NOT.

It commenced the full week of Misery.  

(So very similar to the infamous sledge hammer scene in the movie...<insert scream>)

These heavy cement block steps were pulverized by an 8# sledge hammer and piece-by-bloody piece, I carted them away and threw them in a pile over my fence. 

(Did I mention the flesh eating fire ant infestation within?)

It wasn't a pretty story.

Nightmares followed until the bitter end.

 (The sledge hammer is an evil and vile invention, btw.)

BUT,

Just last week, after the snow and ice came and went, 

I ended up with the fairy tale ending, after all...

Voila!

 With some pretty topped posts.












And a welcome mat too sweet to wipe your muddy feet on.

AND, once again,
"They all lived happily ever after..."
(I'll have what she's having.)

The tip of the Iceberg...

It's snowing, sleeting and ice is clinging to everything in SC...

and that reminds me of something.

Have you ever realized that your knowledge about a subject matter only resembles 

the tip of the iceberg?

Not this one...

but it makes the same point I am trying to make.

Take mulching.

Easy concept.

But apparently SO much to know.

Most of us think that mulching should happen in the spring, 

after planting, 

and that cannot be farther from the truth.

I have recently learned from my absolute favorite organic gardener, Theresa, 

who writes, "Tending My Garden" blog, 

that you should do it in the winter for all the same reasons you'd do it in the spring.

I confess right now that I have been doing it all wrong.

As a farmer, I should have known this.

Unfortunately, my iceberg 

is much, much bigger underwater 

than it is above.

The dirty passion of a girly girl...

I'm a girly girl.

No, really...I am.
(My father didn't refer to me as "Miss America" for nothing.)

I love owning nearly fifty pairs of black shoes and pretty undies that I wear just for me.

I keep my well tailored clothes organized by color in my closet,

I apply makeup and perfume seductively; the way a French woman does.

 I intend to look the part when I walk out the door in my high heels...
every,
 single,
 day.

And...
 I adore cleaning dirt out from under my nails,

Because?

This girly girl absolutely loves putting her hands in DIRT.

The feel of the coolness of the ground, 

The sandy loaminess sifting through my fingers,

The unmistakeable scent of the earth,

These are intoxicating when your passion is soil.

I came by it honestly by following my tiny Sicilian grandfather around the garden when he'd spend hours with his hoe digging up weeds.

(...and possibly because he had a bag of chocolate kisses in his pocket?)  

Today, is the first day I am sowing seeds in my winter sown containers for outdoor germination.

Even though the soil will be from a bag, I am just as thrilled...

 because it is still dirt.

I don't blame seeds for wanting to stretch their roots deep into this beautiful mess.

and, I'm not alone in this passion...

“How can I stand on the ground every day and not feel its power? How can I live my life stepping on this stuff and not wonder at it?” ~ Dirt: The Ecstatic Skin of the Earth by William Bryant Logan

So...now you know mine...
What's your dirty little secret passion?