Reality Check

So much of this work is not comfortable: crawling, on my hands and knees through muddy, murky soil- rocks jabbing my knees and shins. There is no way to comfortably do this job. Crawling hurts. Squatting makes your legs go to sleep quickly. Kneeling is really out of the question because there are rocks everywhere. Bending at the back is probably the worst option, but sometimes it just feels so good.

Like yesterday while planning tomatoes I did an up-dog followed by some cat/ cow’s in the middle of mulch and manure just because my back hurt so bad. Currently, my legs are riddled with bruises all along my shins and knees. And there’s also the softball sized bruise on my calf that I got over a week ago now, when trying to alter the water pressure as we zipped down the rows on the transplanter. 

This week has been mentally challenging. Now that I’m well into my fifth week and made it past my first month, got my first paycheck--- I keep asking myself what am I doing here? Why do I want to know how to farm? And what am I going to do with the knowledge after the fact?

The plants are victim to rodents, and rains, and mold, and deer, and slugs, and frost and…. It’s depressing to me. It’s as if all the hard work I’ve put it to this point pointless. And it should be easier here, on this farm, that isn’t my farm. It’s not my land or loss or customers, but already in one short month I really care. I want the plants to grow and the soil to be rich and the CSA customers to sign-up.

I did spray something called Liquid Fence in the greenhouse to deter the critters. I’m not sure what exactly it is, but it’s organic and the first ingredients are garlic and egg whites. Chris thinks it smells much worse than fish emulsion, but I do not agree. Fish emulsion lingers on your clothes and under your fingernails for days. Liquid fence simply smells like garlic. Hot, steamy garlic in the middle of a compost pile. (Cause after all, that is exactly what it is like in the greenhouse).

Monday we worked hard- knowing that Tuesday would bring rain. Strawberries got planted and carrots. We weeded and planted and moved things. Tuesday it did rain, so we planted tomatoes in the greenhouse: Pink Lady, Green Zebra, Jet Setter, First Lady, Martha Washington, Valencia, Black Cherry, Yellow Mini’s among others.

In the afternoon Chris and I drove the Ford to the other side of Albany, NY to pick up the two piglets. We literally tossed them in the bed of the truck (which has a cab on it and was filled with hay) and drove them home. They spent Tuesday night in the truck. Poor things. They are eight weeks old, but much larger than I anticipated. I was expecting something the size of a football—these pigs were pretty hearty and long and not near as cute as I thought they’d be. But they were scared to death, and it didn’t help Wednesday morning when we drug them back out of the truck, by their hind legs and placed them in their new pig pen.

The pigs were welcomed the barnyard by loud chatter from the henhouse and the feral roosters sat on the pigpen fence almost all day long. The donkeys were curious and felt left out, hollering to get some attention and some sweet feed. I felt like a character in Charlotte’s Web as all the animals let Wilbur know, “You were brought here to be slaughtered. They will eat you one day.”