October at the farm
Fall fell into the farm this week in large succulent drops dampening the earth and bathing our seedlings nestled in dry soil. Hoods covered smiling faces and farmers in mud streaked pants sat side by side under the eaves of concrete when the mist turned into droplets turned into nuggets of chilly wet.
The tomatoes are dwindling on shriveling vines, the butternut squash deepening their golden hues on beds of flaxen straw. Summer squash vines are cleared, tiny broccoli roots luxuriate in dark composted soil. Emerging peas send out their tender shoots searching for the remaining bits of spring season's twine trellising blowing like spiderwebs in the crisp autumnal breeze.
We dig up the withered and toss fibrous remains into the compost. Rustle around in the shed. Digging fork and rake in hand we return to empty beds. Edge, fork, fertilize, compost, fork, level.We stop and ponder the grey and white sphinx moth perched on a post where the tomatoes used to vine. We fluff the amended soil with the rake, remove rocks, break up unruly aggregates, smooth as best we can. The imprint of a dowel a tiny valley for minuscule carrot seeds to be lightly blanketed in a fog bank of compost. We look at the bed, look up into the sky, feel the dry soil between our fingers and wonder if it will rain.
Grow your bed.
Grow your zone.
Dig up old, plant anew, water, wait, grow, cheer.
Repeat.
Pull your hoodie tight around your body, savor the slanting goldenness of October light through the amaranth, plunge your hands into the dirt.
Repeat.
(originally posted at: seedsatcityurbanfarm.blogspot.com)
The tomatoes are dwindling on shriveling vines, the butternut squash deepening their golden hues on beds of flaxen straw. Summer squash vines are cleared, tiny broccoli roots luxuriate in dark composted soil. Emerging peas send out their tender shoots searching for the remaining bits of spring season's twine trellising blowing like spiderwebs in the crisp autumnal breeze.
We dig up the withered and toss fibrous remains into the compost. Rustle around in the shed. Digging fork and rake in hand we return to empty beds. Edge, fork, fertilize, compost, fork, level.We stop and ponder the grey and white sphinx moth perched on a post where the tomatoes used to vine. We fluff the amended soil with the rake, remove rocks, break up unruly aggregates, smooth as best we can. The imprint of a dowel a tiny valley for minuscule carrot seeds to be lightly blanketed in a fog bank of compost. We look at the bed, look up into the sky, feel the dry soil between our fingers and wonder if it will rain.
Grow your bed.
Grow your zone.
Dig up old, plant anew, water, wait, grow, cheer.
Repeat.
Pull your hoodie tight around your body, savor the slanting goldenness of October light through the amaranth, plunge your hands into the dirt.
Repeat.
(originally posted at: seedsatcityurbanfarm.blogspot.com)
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