July: Where the going gets tough and the tough suck it up

July is the hardest month. That is what Thomas told us our first working day in July. We start the workdays an hour earlier. Long, long workdays. And still there are things that are forever needing weeding, cultivated, trellised or transplanted. This week we started watering with the waterwheel because it has been terribly dry. Terribly. Makes for good weeding though- and that’s about it.

I want to tell you all the things I have not mentioned thus far. How Chris and I sleep separately most nights; he- all 6'5" of him- on the full-sized bed (barely) and me on the futon folded out into a larger bed. Every single night we sleep apart, because it’s the only somewhat not-so-terrible way to sleep. It is still far from comfort.

I want to tell you on Tuesday and Fridays when most the harvesting is done, I end up walking around most of the day in pants and shoes that are sopping wet. Imagine that time when you got off one of those water rides at Six Flags and you had to walk around for the next three hours with wet socks and wet underwear in the blazing hot sun. Yeah, it's sort of like that. Because we are power washing and soaking and spraying veggies to get most of the dirt off of them, we get a little wet.

And tomato plants, what’s the deal? They are so sticky and yellow and after trellising rows of them for hours on end my arms look like the incredible hulk’s: green. My hands and arms are covered in yellowish, green sticky film that will only wash off after the third or fourth scrubbing. But it keeps the insects away- at least.

And after pulling weeds and pulling garlic and knotting twine around bunches of garlic to hang them up to dry, my fingers ache. I usually don’t realize this until I wake up the next morning and think that I have early onset of arthritis. My mom told me when I was young that a woman shows her age in her neck and hands. In these four months my hands have gone from looking 25 to looking 45. I am not exaggerating. This is how it is. My hands look, well, like someone who digs in the dirt for hours on end while in the sun. Farming: it’ll age a person.

We’ve harvested potatoes, eggplant, leeks, cucumbers, tomatoes, broccoli and currants all in the past week alone. Our table at Farmer’s Market on Saturday’s is brimming with harvest o’ plenty. And so is the table in our apartment. We’ve been able to enjoy sautéed yukina savoy, boiled potatoes, slices of tomato on our sandwiches and cucumbers marinade in vinegar.

It’s a good feeling- working so hard. It’s something I’m proud of at the end of the day. Even if it is work that is not highly regarded, eating is necessary. Growing real food is necessary.