I guess I’m no longer allowed to detest Mother’s Day as another guilt inducing, wallet widening holiday foisted upon us by Hallmark. That’s been my convenient excuse each May to rationalize the paltry present I’ve offer my mom: the ‘gift’ of my voice on the other end of the phone. But it turns out the holiday has a legitimate non-commercial origin, first celebrated in 1908 by West Virginian Anna Jarvis in remembrance of her recently deceased mother and in honor of peace. Combine that with the presence of a soon-to-be... Read the Rest →
Apparently, my farm school classmates are very good at keeping secrets. But it’s more likely that I’m easily duped. Driving to afternoon cow chores this Thursday, I keyed into Nora and Kate’s conversation: “SO tired,” said Nora. “What time did you stay up until working on the quilt?” Kate shot Nora a look I didn’t understand. “What quilt?” I asked, curious. “Oh, you know… just a project,” offered Nora vaguely. “Hey, look at those turkeys!” pointing out the window and changing the subject. “Yeah, cool. Turkeys,” I replied. End of... Read the Rest →
We were all holding our breath. “Come on… push girl… PUUUSH!” pleaded Josh our livestock manager, pulling hard on a slippery lamb dangling limply from the backside of her mom. “Lamb? Are you still alive?” None of us were sure. And from the guttural and wrenching sounds mom was making, I didn’t know if she was going to make it either. While on morning chores, Rich and Kate had discovered her only minutes before, laboring heavily, pawing at the ground, lip curling upward with each contraction. And as soon her... Read the Rest →
We spent this weekend in Ohio where Dina’s family threw us a little baby shower, and it’s clear now that our loved ones are having some fun with their gifts for farmer-to-be Swisher. So far, Swisher’s loot includes desperately cute baby-Carhartt overalls, pig-patterned bath towels and a mechanical chicken that lays plastic eggs while clucking up a storm. One gift, though, was meant specifically for Swisher’s farmer-parents: a 12-year scotch gifted by a friend on the advice of fellow farmer-parents, Kristen and Mark Kimball. And so far, we’re having a... Read the Rest →
Non-stop. That perfectly describes my last two weeks since we started our seedlings in the greenhouse. Bongi (my chore buddy) and I have been constantly watching, watering, and worrying over them like the needy infants they are. And because the entire farm is literally captive in a 30’ x 72’ tropical bubble, caring for those thousands of soon-to-be plants is priority number one around here. This means we’ve been left to squeeze everything else – animal chores and personal life – into the scraps of time in between pilgrimages to... Read the Rest →
We’re back from winter’s break. Our farmhouse remains a weather-beaten outpost in an ocean of snow. But since our return, signs are stirring that the blanket of frozen white will soon recede. This week, during a still and brilliant afternoon spent pruning raspberry bushes, a flicker of blue flashed in the thicket at the end of my row. A blazing blue – entirely unlike the hazy low mountains framing the Quabbain Reservoir on the horizon, and a world apart from the clear winter sky. We saw a second flash, then... Read the Rest →
In the event you haven’t noticed, things have been a little quiet here over the last three weeks. It was winter break at the Farm School. No chores, no chopping wood, no crop planning – just an empty farmhouse, an ocean of snow and the promise of a fully functioning wood-fired boiler upon our return. A number of the Farm School students have spent these past three weeks making prosciutto and sipping Prosecco in Tuscany. But Dina and I have been at home in the Boston settling quite comfortably in... Read the Rest →
Before farm school, I ran a food pantry in South Boston that mainly serviced two nearby housing projects. Every two weeks, we distributed 10,000 pounds of food to nearly 1,000 people struggling to make ends meet. But for each person who regarded the pantry as a temporary stopgap measure, there were 20 others who were locked in a more structural poverty and for whom trips to pantries were as routine as trips to the grocery store. Though I felt of service, I couldn’t shake the feeling that our efforts were... Read the Rest →
In July, I wrote about taking our four beloved Buff Orpintons to the butcher. And from that post, it’s probably clear that I can be a bit sentimental about killing animals. That cold morning I remember searching their eyes for clues: did they feel betrayed? And even though it wasn’t me who slit their throats, did I have the right to determine their premature fate? In the absence of definitive answers, we’ve plodded ahead holding close to these questions and the hope that we’d eventually find comfort in our role... Read the Rest →
Thanksgiving is in the rear-view mirror and hunting season is now upon us, which means the roadsides winding along the forest edges of our farm have been lined with pickup trucks. Hunters have their own harvesting schedule and it coincides with the time of year when adult animals have finished raising their young, furbearing animals are sporting their most luxurious coats, and, in agricultural communities, farmers finally have time off from their on-farm responsibilities. For us at the Farm School, hunting is not part of our curriculum, but sharing the... Read the Rest →
