Comedian Atsuko Okatsuka has this great joke where she talks about standing in random parts of her apartment to fully appreciate them, solely because she pays rent for them. I think about that bit quite often, as I walk out into the field to clear my mind or get into it, depending on what the situation calls for. And just the other day, it dawned on me that I have a very favorite spot on the farm, a favorite vantage point that without fail makes the three mortgages we pay to farm here seem worthwhile. You might guess that it is the one with the majestic mountain view that inspires cars to pull over onto the non-existing shoulder along River Road to grab photos. But you'd be wrong. It is practically a 180 degree, about face, from that view. It is the view you see above, at the corner of intersecting pathways that face westward. To the left, there's not much more than fill dirt from when they built the levee and changed the course of the river. But to the right, I feel like I can see everything I want to, a snapshot of how this place grows and changes over the months, seasons and even years. Crops rotate, appearing in layered perspective. And you won't find a better place to catch a sunset. This weekend, as I was taking my farm loop, I couldn't help but be taken by the appeal of that patch of recently worked soil. Everything about it--the texture, the aroma, the drama! Lupa loves to pace up and down the length of those beds, practically disappearing into the furrows on those short little legs of hers. Within a matter of weeks, these rows will be fully planted and trellised. In the background, you can spot the overwintered Leeks that are getting pulled tomorrow, and behind them, a lush green stand of cover crop that will soon be worked into our soil. In short, it encapsulated what early Spring is like--acres of potential, plenty of work at hand, but for the meantime, reliance on overwintered crops for sustenance during these "Hunger Gap" months.
Read moreWild Hare Weekly, Spring #1/10: Kale, YES! It's Spring at Wild Hare →
We’re kicking off Springtime at Wild Hare in true form—donning head-to-toe rain gear to harvest flowering Kale Raab from the field, bunching tender greens from the hoophouses and washing up overwintered Parsnips. I say it every year, but Spring really is our most diverse season, with one foot in Winter as we round out March and another one reaching out toward Summer by May. This week alone, things are starting off really wet, then shockingly warm, then maybe wet and warm with a chance of thunder?!? Spring asks us to keep our plans loose but stay diligent in our work. And it really inspires us to eat our greens!
Read moreWild Hare Weekly, Winter #10/10: Bountiful Broccoli for the Last Week of Winter →
This is the last week of our Winter CSA, and without missing a beat, Spring Share will pick right up next week on March 25th & 26th. I could never have imagined that we’d be bookending our Winter harvests with Purple Sprouting Broccoli. In the wildest and most uncertain of times, I try really hard to recognize pleasant surprises for what they are—beautiful luck. And as my Patron Saint Ina Garten has implored me to do, I’m making it a point to Be Ready When the Luck Happens these days, though I’m busting my tail to make sure that the conditions are as germane as possible for it to do so. Even though frosty nights and soupy days are still on the menu for a while, the days are already busier and longer than they were just a few short weeks ago. The crew has been hard at work with Spring and Summer in mind, and greenhouse is filling up with tray after tray of seedlings for the seasons ahead. Mark texted me a photo of the first pepper sprout, which basically means “Brace yourself. Winter is over.” Spring brings about a new reality, but I couldn’t even fathom what we’re about to pull off if it weren’t for the dormancy of Winter. Moreover, Mark and I have come to appreciate the way that our Winter CSA makes so much of our Spring and Summer growing possible. Thank you for eating your squash, learning to love your roots, and for paying the seasons forward generously on the coldest, darkest days of the year.
In Gratitude,
Katie