All posts filed under: Farm

some of what the earth says

Have you ever felt like rows of cut rainbow swiss chard and heads-down sunflowers, with skies of gray threatening an any-minute-down-pour? Yeah. That was me the moment October hit. I feel similarly now, and decided to carry William Stafford with me in hopes for a better mood. But, like my good friend Valerie says, “He’s so comforting and yet disturbs or awakens (awakens is a better word) at the same time.” Which is what I need. The earth says where you live wear the kind of color that your life is (gray shirt for me) and by listening with the same bowed head that sings draw all into one song, join the sparrow on the lawn, and row that easy way, the rage without met by the wings within that guide you anywhere the wind blows. Listening, I think that’s what the earth says. The earth was saying a ton when October hit. It was saying it in rain and darkened clouds. In the passing of my favorite neighborhood flowers, the cosmos. In the threatening of all outdoor plans. …

at wilkens fruit and fir farm

Originally posted on Crystal Rivera:
i. the McIntosh apple tree has a brace on each side. so many of the trees here are leaning and breaking or already broken. they are the ones that bare the most fruit. i, too, have this much to give. said this to myself as i had one knee in the apple-mud of the fallen. ii. “why bag ’em or buy ’em? when picking them alone is so much fun.” if only trees had a choice on who to give. who not. suddenly i wanted to stop picking, start searching for ones on the ground to take home. but they were already bruised, already gotten-to, half-eaten by man or ant, and i can’t save every goddamn thing no i can’t save every goddamn thing no i want to. iii. are we the only poets here? i take an apple and another would drop. immediately you pick it up and place it into your basket. from the looks of this place, not too many folks had felt this responsible and so I take an…

when your friend asks you to pick up her CSA share

1. you say Yes. 2. at first, you think you’ve been asked this because Tory is going to be away that Saturday and she just needs someone to keep her veggie loves nice and safe. still, you say Yes. and you are already delighted because any reason to go back to the Brooklyn Grange will always be a really damn good reason. (VEGGIES AND CHICKENS AND BEES, OH MY.) but most importantly, your friend asked you to do something for her; you say Yes. 3. through FB messenger, you ask her when you guys can meet so you can give her all her veggie goods. she takes a moment to respond. maybe she’s laughing. maybe she called her husband, Jon, over, to tell him what Crystal just asked. and then after a minute or two, she says, “no no I meant for you to keep it!” and your jaw drops. this is really about love. Tory could’ve chosen anyone, but really, she chose you. this may seem insignificant to some. it’s just veggies, right? but no. it’s just …

my garlic scaped week

I will gladly eat the almost-flowering buds of a hardneck garlic bulb. I would also eat their flowers, but I haven’t seen them in bloom yet. I saw these wild scapes at the farmers’ market for 2 bucks and needed to have them. They reminded me of the strange curl of my hair, each thick strand curving in a different direction, looping dramatically each morning. This bunch had about 18 scapes and I put them in every dish I could think of for the week. They are a tad bit less intense than garlic itself, but the garlic flavor is still clearly present. The first dish was Lemon Scaped Pasta with Roasted Grape Tomatoes. I filled my cast iron pan with cut scapes, slices of red onion, grape tomatoes, quickly sauteed in olive oil + salt and pepper, then roasted til tomatoes looked ready to pop. I tossed this with thin spaghetti, arugula and spinach, lemon zest and a few squeezes of it’s juice. That’s it. Simple and bright. You can eat it hot or cold. Next day …

from Farm-to-ThankYou

I’ve had a rough week. Rough usually means little-to-none eating (which is CRAZY) because eating n cooking is the only thing that makes my heart sing when everything else is of dim light. But things, lately, have been DIM. So when I ask Tory if she’d like to do anything stress-free this weekend, and she tells me we should head to the farm and then get some meditative coloring done at her home, I know to my heart-core that I have me a very beautiful friend who GETS IT. Who gets me. We went to the Brooklyn Grange to pick up her share of produce for this week.  I got me some radishes, turnips, and their “famous mixed greens.” I went on a little photo excursion as well because that always makes me feel better. There were CHICKENS on this roof, errbody. Chickens and BEES, all sorts of lettuces, a purplish bulb(ous) root vegetable bruised with dew called Kohlrabi. There were rows of onions, squash, purple basil, chard, herbs, flowers. Tomatoes that have yet bloomed red. It …