Robbing the Crop

Despite relentless potato beetle attacks all spring, our first plantings of potatoes are thriving, and some of them just started flowering this weekend. The purple and yellow blossoms are a welcome sign: they tell us that little baby spring potatoes are waiting just below the soil. Farmers can harvest the crop at flowering for "new" potatoes; otherwise, we wait for the plant tops to wither, and harvest full size, mature potatoes later in the season.

Although I want to wait for the potatoes to get at least a little bit bigger before we harvest them, I couldn't resist taking a few home for lunch. While ominous clouds gathered overhead, and Christian worked to finish some weeding, I reached my hands under the lush potato plants and dug my fingers into the cool soil, searching out the little pink orbs. I "robbed" just a few from several plants, allowing them to continue living so the potatoes I left behind will reach full size later this summer.

As big raindrops, thunderclaps and lightening moved in, Christian and I quickly gathered some broccoli and spring onions and put everything away.

Our potatoes, onions, Beetlebung Farm's carrots and rosemary are now roasting together in the oven, and in a few minutes, we'll lightly cook some broccoli and sugar snap peas to complete the meal. We'll invite our Mom to join us and together the three of us will enjoy a rainy day, summertime treat.

Brother and Sister

Christian and Lily at the end of the day. 

Farmer's Market

Come find us and our delicious vegetables at the West Tisbury Farmer's Market, every Wednesday and Saturday 9-12. Hope to see you there!

Lucky

The other day Collins turned to me and said, "Lily.... how did you get so lucky?"

After thinking on it for a few days, I still can't figure out how I got so lucky, but I sure am feeling it these days...

The field is filling up, and everything is looking beautiful, strong, and healthy. I have Collins, Christian, Jason, or volunteer friends out there with me every day, and we have been able to stay on top of all our seeding, planting, weeding, harvesting, and mowing.

Farmer's Market started last week and I have been overwhelmed by all the positive energy and good purchasing from customers, friends, family (my mom is our #1 fan), and other farmers.

The Scottish Bakehouse has allowed us to sell a few six-pack plants on a self-serve stand in their parking lot, and already many of our extra vegetables have found their way to gardens all over the Island.

And get this stroke of luck: Our Farm Institute field neighbor, the Pig, escaped from her pen the other day, ran all the way across our field, and somehow managed to not stomp on a single vegetable or flower while on her mad dash. Lucky us!

I am doing what I love to do, in a place I truely love, with the people I love most. Lucky, indeed.

Compost

Farmer minds think alike.

We weren't together all day. I don't even think we talked on the phone. And yet Collins and I both ended up with the same reminder scratched on our hands:

Clouds

The weather has been so variable this spring. Last week, it was close to seventy degrees and sunny every day. I was working in shorts and bare feet. We were so hot one afternoon that we went straight to South Beach after work for a quick dip in the still cold ocean. Summertime had arrived.

Until this week. Cold, rainy, windy. Instead of shorts, we've been fully suited up in layers of sweaters and rain gear. The wind in Katama is absolutely ferocious and I was worried as I watched all our broccoli and kale bending dramatically until they were horizontal on the soil. Our sunflowers and tomatoes, waiting to be planted, took a beating in their seed trays, the edges of their leaves turning black from wind burn.

But, the worst of the bad weather for the week is over, and we seem to have come out alright. Today, our vegetables could stand up straight again. And we could breath a little easier while taking in the spectacular sight of the clouds rolling over the Katama plains.

So Long Harvey

Harvey arrives at Slip Away Farm

I was so excited three weeks ago when my friend Taz gave me a bunny, my first farm animal. The little guy (pre-named Cottontail and re-named Henry and then re-re-named Harvey) went to work every day, busily mowing and fertilizing the grass pathways between some of our beds. Collins and I built him a rabbit run with wheels and a wire bottom so we could scoot him around the field easily multiple times a day.

Among the Kale

On the days that I was at the farm alone, Harvey kept me in quiet company.

We were even working up to a real bunny/owner relationship: he was just starting to let me scratch him lightly behind his ears without running to the corner of his cage where I couldn't reach him.

And then.... a few days ago I noticed Harvey's munching was slowing down. He didn't eat all the pelleted rabbit food I left for him that night, and his fertilization came to almost a complete halt. By Thursday night, he looked really really sick. I'm pretty sure he was pale under all that white fur. His eyes looked a little off. He was squeaking. And he let me hold him. That never, never would of happened unless he felt completely rotten.

I knew things were not looking good. I called Taz-- a rabbit connoisseur of sorts-- and we talked through a few rabbit symptoms.

Were his ears hot? Rabbits regulate their body temperature through their ears, so if he was overheating, we would have felt it there. They didn't seem particularly hot.

Was he crouched up really tight? This would signal gastro-intestinal issues. But he didn't seem any more crouched than usual.

Was he grinding his teeth? Its a signal of rabbit pain. No teeth grinding in Harvey.

Turns out it is difficult to diagnose rabbit illnesses. I made a nest of tall grass for him to curl up on, gave him a bowl of fresh water, and left him for the night, only mildly encouraged by his feeble attempts at eating and drinking.

And in the morning, our little mowing machine and first farm animal died. Poor guy. I buried him in our field, and planted a few sunflowers on the spot.

Goodbye Harvey Henry Cottontail!