January

Here, along the shores of Lake Champlain, the sun doesn't shine much in January. January...deep in to winter...dark days, dark nights, bitter cold winds...some years the snow seems endless...this year I am left wondering where is the snow? 

Took a walk around the gardens this afternoon...garden beds iron hard...the still silhouettes of the deciduous shrubs stand mutely in the weak sunlight...the leaves of the hardy euphorbia stiff and leathery...a few twisted pods still cling to the dried stalks of the asclepias tuberosa...there is beauty here in the stark stillness of a late January afternoon. Beauty in the muted browns of the branches, silvery grays of sage and lavender, bleached out blondes of the grasses and faded chartreuse of the chamaecyparis...I can clearly see the framework of my gardens and admire the soft pinky-lilac of the stone that forms a backdrop for one bed...yes, it is beautiful and oh, so very still.

Late January...the days are noticeable longer. On those rare occasions when the sun shines there is a hint of warmth, just a hint but enough to briefly lift my spirits.

Late January...the freshness of the new year has worn off a bit, seed catalogs are well thumbed and the seeds have been ordered. A little winter pruning has been done. Too early to sow seeds. Too frozen to rake up the leaves that escaped the last raking in early December.

Late January is when I grow weary of winter even though it is a necessary part of the life cycles of the plants that I so love. I am hungry for sunshine and open windows, walking out in the early morning without a coat and scarf, the smell of moist soil and the fresh greens of growing plants. I remember now why, for three years in a row, I made sure I missed this part of winter in Vermont. I am ready for spring or a trip to a far away place where the sun shines and the sand is warm.

Magic

I believe in magic...in miracles. Yes, I do. When I hold a hand full of seeds I am in the presence of magic...I can feel it flowing from the seeds, in to my hand, up my arm, throughout my entire body. Magic lives within each one of those tiny seeds. Think about it...a seed holds within its hard coat all that is required for life to burst forth when given the right temperature, right moisture, right light conditions. Life bursts forth from this tiny thing...some of them so tiny you can barely see them...and yet, life lies within them...waiting, just waiting. I am the sower of this magic when I engage in the meditation of seeding a flat of moist potting soil with these seeds of shiny black or lumpy brown or pearly white. Some of these bits of magic are so eager to burst forth that they will germinate in 24 hours when the flat is placed on a nice, toasty heat mat. 24 hours to go from a hard seed to a bright green cotyledon! 24 hours...that is magic. I have been sowing seeds for many years...have sowed thousands of seeds...and yet, I am always delighted when those first green shoots appear. Time and again I dance a happy dance when I witness the magic I have been blessed to be a partner in. Yes, I believe in magic...I hold it in my hands every time I sow some seeds.

Eyes Bigger Than Belly Syndrome

January...heart of the winter...cold...dark...rather dreary looking with bare frozen ground. What's a gardener to do? SEED CATALOGS! I can while away hours oohing and aahing over the gorgeous photos and lush descriptions. I want that one and that one and, oh, I must have some of those. My pencil is sharpened and the crisp white lined paper waits. Soon I begin making lists...Johnny's, High Mowing, Fedco, Pinetree...lists from each of those catalogs...filling up multiple pages with all the must haves. This is truly fun! Jaska happens to be visiting and sitting right beside me..."what tomatoes do you want me to start for you? How about? And this one sounds really delicious, should we try this one?" She has nine varieties of beans on her list. And multiple peas. I'm up to 20 or 30 different tomatoes. At one point she does suggest that I really DON'T NEED any pumpkin seeds. I think that maybe I need to go down in the basement and review what seeds are left from last year but remain glued to the seed catalogs in front of me. I mean, how can a dark, cob-webby basement compare to full color pictures of tomatoes and swiss chard and zinnias and...I have to go now, the seed catalogs are calling, my pencil needs sharpening and there are more lists to make. Yipee!

Why Did I Think This Was a Good Idea?

My daughter, Jaska, wrote a great piece on her blog, philosopherfarmer.blogspot.com, about the hard way that really got me looking back at some of the not so smart, embarrassing, ridiculous, costly things I have done running this business for 14 years. I often preface observations about the hard way with "why did I think this was a good idea?"

For example, starting a business that requires a greenhouse without a greenhouse...really, why did I think this was a good idea...mixing soil by the kitchen sink, potting soil everywhere one would not expect to find potting soil, spending 3 hours a day moving plants in and out...from the dining area to the porch to the bench outside and then from outside to the porch to the dining area. Carrying watering cans from the sink to the plants in the dining area and in the basement. Lesson learned the hard way...a greenhouse grower needs a greenhouse.

How about finally getting a greenhouse but not having a furnace...why did I think this was a good idea? Found a furnace to borrow, a friend in construction wasn't using it, but did I call the propane company and have a 100 gallon tank delivered and filled? No. Instead, Andy picked up a 100 pound tank and hooked it up. I really had no idea how much propane that furnace was going to use. I managed just fine for a few weeks and then the temperature dropped dramatically one night, the temperature alarm went off and there I was, outside at 3:00 a.m. in my nightgown, barn boots and coat, wondering why the furnace was not working. Temperature dropping rapidly in the greenhouse, clueless me working up to a panic, Andy out of town. I called him and he had me check the supply line and tank. There was gas but the furnace was working so hard that it had froze in the tank. His recommendation...use a hair dryer to warm things up. Yup, 3:00 a.m., temperature 10 degrees, I am blow-drying the damn propane tank. Lesson learned the hard way...a furnace in a greenhouse requires more than a 100 pound tank of propane.

And why did I think it was a good idea to try a new fertilizer in my potting soil mix? Ah, I remember...it was organic, supposedly time-release and could be used instead of good old Osmocote. I was looking for an organic option. So, I bought some, but not just one bag, no, a half dozen 50 pound bags. Merrily I incorporated it in the potting soil and began potting up. Did I do a test batch first? No. Within two weeks everything I had potted up using that fertilizer was dead or on its way to dead. Thankfully I had not potted up everything but it was still a substantial loss. I cried the day I sent all those plants to the compost pile. Lesson learned the hard way...run test batches when changing product.

I know there are many times when I have worked 12 to 14 hour days for weeks without a break, that I ask myself, "why did I think this was a good idea?" Times, even now with the proper furnace and propane tanks, that something goes wrong and I am out in the greenhouse at 2 in the morning wondering...Or when the top of the birch tree fell through the greenhouse during a snowstorm and the three shortest people in the neighborhood; me, Jaska, Katie; were attempting to move it and patch the hole without a tall enough ladder...
Siting a greenhouse with trees on three sides...now there is the perfect situation to ask, "why did I think this was a good idea?"

Now, I can look back and laugh. I can say that I have learned much from all of them. The truth is, if I honestly answer that question, "why did I think this was a good idea", sometimes the answer is "because I did not think it all the way through"; sometimes "it was what I could do at the time"; sometimes it is because I just plain love what I do and wanted to do it and I would figure it out as I went along. Figure it out I have, sometimes the hard way. And sometimes I still ask, "why did I think this was a good idea?"

Love What You Do

There is a book called Do What you Love and the Money Will Follow...never read it...don't know what it says. I remember, though, a number of years ago being a guest speaker at a Growing Places class and Mary Peabody asked, at the end of my talk, what best advice I could give to the aspiring young farmers. My response was to do what you love, love what you do, because, in the end, loving your work is what will get you up on a cold, dark morning. Love is what will keep you singing and dancing in the face of disaster or too many hours in the greenhouse or too few customers or endless rain or a late frost that zapped all the you name it. Love lies there, within you, even when you are crying in frustration, disappointment or at your own plain stupidity. Without love you will throw in the towel, if not at the first road-block then, most likely, at the next one. Farming is hard. Sometimes it seems as if it is a thankless job. Your body hurts. You are tired, usually dirty. You don't know anyone else who works as many hours...in the dark...in the cold...in the rain...in the heat...on their feet. If you offer your products in a retail setting your customers can be cranky and ungrateful. Love will get you through.

Dragon's Breath and Lake Snow

Cold, crisp, clear blue sky. December. Absolutely still. Lake mist swirls above the surface of the glassy water rising in billows of pure white brushed with soft yellow and peachy-pink. Breath of the dragon floats above Lake Champlain. Then falls back to earth as glittering, dancing lake snow. Take- my- breath- away beautiful even after almost 40 years of witnessing. I am blessed to live here, by this lake, surrounded by this beauty.

Moodling

In August of 2004 I took a writing course called Writing Shelburne Farms. It was taught by Elizabeth Getchell, a professor at the University of Vermont, and Gale Lawrence, a writer. For as long as I can remember I have been keeping a journal and, for most of my adult life, I have told people that the reason I ask so many questions is because I am writing a book. So the idea of taking a writing course, giving myself the gift of two weeks devoted to writing was exciting. Plus, it was at Shelburne Farms, a place I have felt deeply connected to since I first stumbled upon it in the winter of 1974. Here is one piece from that wonderful two week course.
     Moodling, such a delicious word. Gale told us about moodling today. It is when you put ideas on the back burner while you go about the tasks that are on the front burners. All the ideas from this writing course, for example, can be placed on the back burner to moodle while I do the laundry, or grocery shop, or make supper. Moodling gives the mind a chance to relax, go on vacation. Then, when it's time to write again there is a wealth of material that almost writes itself.
     I think that farming moodled on the back burner for years and years. I didn't grow up on a farm. I didn't actively engage in any form of farming except for two weeks every summer visiting my grandparents and great-grandmother. I pursued very non-farming careers, although I did begin vegetable and flower gardening when I was twenty. Through my twenties my gardens were my friends-where I meditated-how I kept hold of me. The idea of farming was moodling. I mean, I was a banker, after all.
     Farming moodled there on the back burner until my mid-thirties when someone asked me to write down any interests or skills I might have that I would be willing to share with children in my daughter, Jaska's, school. Well, I had beautiful gardens. I loved started seeds. I was captivated by the magic, the mystery in the world of plants. I could share that! And I loved, still do, working with kids.
     Jaska's teacher, Sue Jewett, also a passionate gardener, took me up on my offer. Soon I was turning on lights and starting seeds with fourth graders. I was winging it all the way when it came to creating lesson plans. But I KNEW how to grow things and I intuitively knew how to talk to kids and enroll them in the magic.
     A farmer-educator-business owner emerged like a butterfly from its cocoon.