‘Maters

 

            The first thing I noticed upon crossing from North Carolina into Tennessee was the stifling rise in temperature. Ten days in the Smokey Mountains made me forget how far below the Mason Dixon Line we actually are. The chosen route to farm #2 wound through Smokey Mountain National Park, where a cool mist and soft breeze rendered air conditioning obsolete. However, 45 minutes later, and a few thousand feet lower, the temperature went from 80 to 100, with a heat index that easily topped 105. Welcome to the South.

By the way, my car has no AC.

   With the windows down and lots of water handy, we continued on towards Nashville, speculating all the while how we would handle working in such oppressive heat. Will the next farm have AC? Maybe. Plumbing or a compost toilet? Compost, Doug guessed. Hot water? Doug guessed no, but I said yes. We made a few bets, then got lost, and finally arrived at Green Market Farm around 10 pm.

We pulled into the driveway of a stately southern mansion.

“This is their house,” Doug said, “We’re probably staying in the barn out back.”

     After knocking, a young guy with boundless energy opened the door. He informed us that the farmers didn’t live here. They lived a few miles away. This was the stately southern mansion for farm volunteers. Everyone had their own space, a comfortable bed, and a hot shower. The house had internet access and a washer/dryer. A wonderful lady named Jaya prepared gorgeous vegetarian feasts daily. The AC was blasting. Somehow, we had unwittingly stepped into a wwoofer’s paradise.

   There have been more lessons and a look into a different methodology with organic farming. In NC, everything was small scale and hands-on. We planted everything individually on our hands and knees. We watered with 5 gallon buckets. It worked out great, but painted a picture of organic farming that isn’t always true. Sometimes there are 5 gallon buckets and stirrup hoes. Sometimes there are power tools and a brand-new, air conditioned tractor.

    One method isn’t necessarily better than the other; it is merely a question of scale. Green Market Farm is much bigger. Although they have a wide variety of in-season produce (okra, squash, green beans, and cucumbers, to name a few), tomatoes are their strongest suit. The farm boasts 8,000 tomato plants, and each plant will produce 20-25 pounds of fruit before the season is through. Green market has every kind of tomato you can imagine, in most any size, shape, and shade of the rainbow. As for space, there are 15 acres of cultivated land spread out in three different fields. With this much space and these many plants, mechanization is necessary.

 

 Green Market has a tractor with some innovative flair: An attachment allows two people to sit on either side of an unplanted row. As the tractor rolls down the row at a slow speed, spiked wheels puncture holes into the row cover and dump water into them. Those sitting in the seats can then put the seeds or plants into the watered holes. Take a look:

 

It was a far cry from racing the other volunteers at Anna and Paul’s Farm down the rows as we planted on our hands and knees. However, there are good and bad sides to mostly any situation. Sure, taking a leisurely tractor ride is nice, as long as you can stand the smell. Some of the most nutrient dense, healthy-for-plants fertilizers around are fish poop and seaweed, and Green Market Farm isn’t shy about using either. They have a special blend of the two, and use it to make the soil a rich, ideal environment for growth, but it’s at the expense of the workers’ nostrils. The aroma is a cross between sweet and pungent, and a New Jersey bay in the heat of August. The volunteers had their hands swimming in the stuff all day, an experience that I’m certain toughened me up at least a little.

Green Market Farm didn’t only give me my first experience on a tractor, but also my first experience running a mean chainsaw–  I didn’t want to touch the big one, so they gave me one attached to a ten foot pole.  We put up a deer fence through the woods, but first we had to clear a path through the brambly Tennessee jungle.    

 

Green Market Farm sells produce at two farmers’ markets, one of which is in Nashville. Here are a few images I took:

 

A final note on tomatoes here in Tennessee. Folks like to call them “maters.”

“Did you see how big that ‘mater was!? Two pounds, easy.”

“The ‘maters are lookin’ great.”

“What are we gonna do with all these ‘maters!?”

That last question is easy. Pair them with some of the delicious lemon basil that’s growing in the field and make a killer ‘mater salad.

Tree Rope and Wiggle Wire

     I’ve been learning about all kinds of new tools and methods of construction out here in rural America. Tree rope and wiggle wire are two examples. I was introduced to these useful materials the other day when the whole team at Anna and Paul’s Farm got together and finished constructing a beautiful green house.  Coincidentally, a friendly photographer named Patrick came to take some photos for a local magazine this same day, and ended up joining the work force. The six of us spent the morning and the better part of the afternoon covering the frame in plastic, tweaking all the odds and ends, and putting on a shade cover.

The official "before" shot

 

    The house was put together using wiggle wire. I will do my best to describe how this stuff works, although the following photos will likely do a better job. The frame of the house is constructed with metal rods that have raised edges. The plastic is put over the rods, and then the wiggle wire is, well, wiggled into the edges, thus locking the plastic in place. It was perfect for securing the plastic sides and roof, though it makes me wonder what other uses it could possibly have besides green house construction.

Wiggle wire being fastened into place.

 

Doug working with wiggle wire.

 

Farmer Paul at work.

 

Half way there.

 

Another work photo.

 

Shade covers are essential to green houses in the summertime, which can reach 110 degrees or more. The shade covers allow only 50% of the sun’s rays to penetrate through to the plants. If not for this material, the sun would most assuredly fry anything trying to grow inside the house.

Volunteers and photographer Patrick gettin' the job done.

 

 

 

The official "after" shot.

 

At the end of the day, it was amazing to see how far we’d come. The green house looks fantastic. It is ventilated with walls that can be mechanically rolled-up, and the shade cover is so secure that even 70 mph winds (Paul says that these are commonplace in the valley) could not tear it down.  Tree rope, which is very durable and strong, is responsible for this security.  High spirits were felt all around, as captured by Patrick in these lovely “after” shots.

Lightning Bugs

   I remember farmer Paul telling us first thing as we arrived, in the dark, that this was the best place in the world to watch fireflies.  It bothers me that I felt the need to capture something beautiful instead of just enjoying the spectacle, but I couldn’t resist asking Nicole “hey, if we set up your camera outside and hold the shutter wide open, would it pick up the lightning bugs?”

   So, we bickered over the length of exposure, twenty seconds, that’s too long, five seconds, that’s too short.  With a little experimentation, we found that a fifteen second exposure gave us the backdrop of the mountains set against a moonlit sky, and a tapestry of bioluminescent dots.  With several tries, and some good luck, we finally captured a streaking firefly zooming close to the lens.  Then we put the camera away, let our eyes fully adjust to the substantial light cast by just a half of the moon, and started to think.

   This was once Cherokee land, we thought, staring at a night landscape lit up by thousands of little lantern-butt bugs.  The only thing separating us from the Cherokee in this place is several hundred generations of plants and animals, right?  It’s always tempting, in a place so wild and untouched, to imagine that you’re looking at it and seeing the same landscape that long gone societies once saw.  It looked EXACTLY like this, right? 

   Yes, the Cherokee once looked out upon the very same peaks hundreds of years ago and witnessed a similar spectacle, but since then, the land has supported an ever changing cast of societies, some of them stewards, some of them extractors, some foragers, some barely scraping by and some flourishing…on the same land.  This land has seen them come and go.  Different societies with different ethics and extremely different methods doing the same thing, farming, on the same land.  There is no right way to do it.  Ever since the first acre of forest was cleared for cultivation, a myriad of different people have grown crops here and fought the never ending farmer’s battle with nature, a constant pressure, because she’s trying her damnedest to turn it back into a forest.

   Farmer Paul’s land was previously many things: The Cherokee farmed here, frontier settlers farmed here, plantation owners farmed here, sharecroppers farmed here, but most recently it was a mechanized tobacco farm.  Unable to turn a substantial profit, the large-scale tobacco planters divided up their land and sold it off in parcels to developers, homesteaders, and small family farmers.  Throughout the country, this situation is not unique.  Thus, anyone today farming on this kind of land has the added challenge of repairing the damage done by cultivating one crop, nutrient depletion, and also the damage done by cultivating it with machines, soil erosion.      

  The Cherokee believed that the land belonged to no one, and the fruits belonged to all.  The frontier farmers who carved into “the wilderness” believed that the land belonged to the young nation, under their god, and their hard earned fruits went to fortify foothold communities.  The plantation owners unashamedly believed that everything–land, farm, fruits, and labor belonged exclusively to a superior owning class.  Subsistence farmers toiled their entire lives on this land to earn a title deed.  Mechanized farmers invested heavily, bought up the deeds, and believed that they too could live like plantation owners of old, minus the moral dilemma.  With their departure, now, Mom and Pop vegetable farmers, and Community Supported Agriculture (CSA) farmers – what do they believe?  To whom does the land belong, and to whom do the fruits belong?

   If you ask farmer Paul, the land belongs to him, but like the Cherokee, he also feels a responsibility to care for the land, for the benefit of his continual harvest and favorable feedback, yes, but also so that this land can be productively farmed forever.  The fruits belong to whomever buys them, on a sliding scale:  The most aesthetically perfect, beautiful fruits go to local markets for sale at a premium.  Very good fruits go to CSA members, who have invested in a share or half share of the harvest for the whole season.  Ugly, oddly shaped, discolored, buggy, full of holes but still perfectly edible and nutritious fruits, a.k.a. Farmer Grade Produce, are eaten the day they are picked by the people who picked them.  Us.          

   Is there one right way to farm?  Never.  Something edible will grow in almost any circumstance.  However, faced with concerns over mass erosion, poisoned watersheds, food scares and epidemics, some might be inclined to say the Cherokee had it right all along.  Unfortunately we cannot transport ourselves back to the world they knew.  We can only learn to respect the land the way they did.  The challenge faced by farmer Paul and organic farmers like him is to take a step back.  He must ignore modern technology’s tempting chemical shortcuts.  He must remember that a timesaving machine can deplete decades worth of fertile topsoil.  He must wear the farmer’s cap, carry the businessman’s briefcase, and read the mechanic’s manual.  He knows this, and he’s prepared to work hard his whole life to do something he believes in, but he needs help.  He needs as many farm hands and feet and eyes and minds as he can get.  And here we are– young people wondering what to do with our lives, finding a meaningful place to exert ourselves, trying to see through the curtain that’s been drawn across our food.

-DB

The Birth of the Shiitake

     Shiitake mushrooms are downright delicious. They’re my favorite mushrooms of all, even surpassing the meaty, grill-friendly Portobello. Their mellow flavor sets off any Asian dish, notably pad thai (which happens to be one of my favorite dishes in the world). So I was pretty excited to hear that they are grown here on Anna and Paul’s farm. The journey a shiitake mushroom takes from the Earth to my stir-fry was a total mystery to me, so I decided to ask my co-worker Kat about it. She is interning here for the summer, and is already quite farm-savvy. She told me that holes are drilled into oak logs and then inoculated with mushroom spores (for farm newbies such as myself, inoculant is a solution or substance that contains the mushroom spores). After the mycelium colonizes the logs(think: mycelium is to fungi as roots are to plants), they soaked in water for 24 hours, and placed in a shady area. The mushrooms should grow within 2 weeks, though they could show up much sooner based on the season. 

An inoculated oak log.

 

Kat soaks inoculated oak logs.

 

Inoculated oak logs.

 

   If you think that producing shiitakes would be more complex than this, you’re right. There is more to it, but that’s certainly not to say you couldn’t give it a try. You’ll need a special drill bit plus some direction in finding where to purchase the spores. I’m certainly not an expert on the subject, but I can direct those who are interested to a website that lays it all out with crystal clarity: http://www.fieldforest.net 

    Although it may be a good bit of time before I attempt to inoculate any of my own logs with my favorite savory spores, I appreciated the lesson. Shiitake mushrooms are valuable, and make for a fantastic cash crop for any organic farm. They sell, on average, for $12/lb. For those who feel crafty, you could always try to make your own log and store it in your basement, cellar, or even beneath the kitchen sink if there is room.

    Also, if the fabulous, exotic flavor of Shiitakes doesn’t make you want to seek them out immediately from the nearest organic farmer, consider the underestimated health benefits. Shiitakes are proven immune system defenders, and have been long used in Asia to resist infection and disease. In the book Family Herbal, author Rosemary Gladstar explains that Shiitakes contain lentinan, a polysaccharide complex that enhances the immune system. Gladstar states:

“It also stimulates the production of interferon, macrophages, and lymphocytes, infection-fighting agents that form the first line of defense against viral infections and other illnesses.”

     She also mentions that shiitakes have anti-tumor properties, and are useful in nutritional therapy for those with cancer. As an added bonus, they also help lower cholesterol when eaten regularly (once or twice a week).

    Anna and Paul’s shiitakes are looking great. Here are some photos of a fruiting log, a few hours before harvest:

The First Taste

    When we chose western North Carolina for the first stop on this cross country farming journey, I figured the scenery would be nice…we’d get to see the Smoky Mountains, a river or two, and of course the organic farm.  I woke up in the woods one morning to find my expectations crashing to the ground from atop a 50 foot waterfall, replaced by awe and reverence for this beautiful part of the country.

         I was surprised to learn that the Smoky Mountains are considered a temperate rain forest. The land is lush, green, and thick with biodiversity. From any distance the mountains are quite impressive in size (the highest peak is 6684 ft), and are constantly transforming. In the morning they take on deep shades of blue and purple, then change throughout the day into a verdant palette of kelly-, yellow-, and evergreen. Sometimes after a rainstorm, a spectacular double rainbow stretches over the entire valley. At night, fireflies emerge in droves, breathing sparkly life into the pitch-black tree line. A place like this could pull a romantic out of nearly anyone with a mind open to it.

Barnardsville under stormy skies.

 

A double rainbow over Paul and Anna's farm.

 

         Although I could get caught up in the scenery for the entire duration of this entry, it’s definitely worthwhile to mention the historical heritage of the Cherokee. Farmer Paul (he runs the show around here) has found 10 arrowheads out in the field in one planting season alone. I felt a bit envious when I heard this, and secretly hoped that I would find one too. If I did, would admire it, speculate its age, and realize that it was probably once used to acquire food, lost in the ground, and found hundreds of years later by others who are trying to do the exact same thing.

         Amongst all of this Appalachian beauty and history is Anna and Paul’s Farm.  This has been our humble abode for a week now. Doug has been farming for a few months already, so his feedback would be considerably different from mine. From the perspective of an unfit 1^st timer, let me tell you this: organic farming is tough. I mean it; it’s no joke. It can be grueling, back breaking, and tedious. Most of all, it is endless.

         Let me say it first that I am not knocking the job. In fact, I love, embrace, and downright revel in its relentlessly challenging nature. And challenge it does. The day begins at 6:30 AM.  Typically, we (there are four volunteers total, myself included) head into the field to harvest the crops first, when the air is cool so the greens won’t wilt immediately. The farm is diverse, and I’ll most certainly leave something out, but here are the goods you can get from Anna and Paul in June:

-sugar snap peas (honestly the best I’ve ever had)

-bush beans

-carrots

-potatoes

-onions

-chard: white; red; and bright lights

-spinach

-lettuce: red leaf; buttercrunch; and romaine

-kale (enough to last a lifetime!): red, green, and dinosaur

-basil

-cilantro

-broccoli

-radishes

-beets

-flower bouquets

A CSA box awaits pickup.

 

     Harvesting takes about an hour or so. Afterward, we head to the processing station, where we prepare all of the fresh produce for market, CSA members, and restaurants. This usually lasts until lunchtime.

         After lunch is when the job becomes challenging (this is somewhat of an understatement). We head out into the heat of the day, with the sun blazing, and do the physical labor. We weed, hunt bugs, plant and transplant crops, and cultivate. “Cultivate” was a new word for me in terms of farming. I now understand that it means to shake up the topsoil in order to discourage weed growth. To do this, we use stirrup hoes that dig into the ground and break it up. Over time, this task is extremely demanding on your arms and shoulders. Throw a hot sun into the mix and you’ve got yourself a stellar workout.

Kat wears a pea-stache while harvesting.

 

         And this is the heart and soul of organic farming: sweat. I hope you won’t associate sweat with your broccoli, I assure you everything is washed (3x!), but it’s true. Sweat is the core of this kind of agriculture. If it weren’t for the long hours, watchful eyes, caring hands, forgiving knees, and labor-induced sweat of those who work the fields, organic simply could not exist in ample supply. When one takes away chemicals, pesticides, and genetically modified seeds, a whole pandora’s box of vulnerability is opened all over the farm. There are still slugs, bugs, and weeds galore to be handled. And oh boy, are weeds ever resilient! Today one of the other volunteers told me that he saw a weed, which had been pulled out and left in the sun to dry, actually re-root itself into the ground. So how are these issues resolved?

         With hands and hoes. For hours at a time, organic farm workers comb through the rows of vegetation, pulling out intruders and squishing pests. I simply cannot imagine anyone running an organic farm alone. I could easily understand a solo farmer eventually throwing his or her hands into the air in exhausted defeat, and then promptly reaching for some RoundUp. But it’s the belief in quality and honesty that keeps farmers committed. Organic produce assures consumers a clean, nutrient dense product. It’s good for us, and it’s good for the planet. I’ve always had respect for organic farms, but after working on one for only a week, I now look at them with sheer awe. Kudos to all of them, I can’t wait to meet more along the way.

Farmer Paul of Paul and Anna's Farm.