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?