It’s been a busy week at our farm to be. It seems that every time we need help in a specific expert kind of way, the right person just appears to help us. When we were leaving Santa Cruz, a neighbor introduced me to Art Morales, who is a local irrigation specialist. Art, in turn, introduced to Antonio who I shall now always think of as the Man with Big Machines. We originally called Antonio to help us plant our cover crop for the winter. However, this man, well, he and his crew can do it all. He walked our property and immediately suggested we rip out the arena, to return an acre or so of land to farm production and put in a ditch to open up the lower field to potential perennial production. He also offered to tear down our crappy shack and remove some intrusive trees. All for an extremely reasonable price. When I saw his quote, my response was simply, HELL YEAH. So, it’s been a week of earth moving and big machines. And for those of you who love big machines, here are some pictures to enjoy.
One of the great mysteries of this property is our “irrigation system.” We have a great well, that produces 60 gallons of water a minute from a large natural aquifer right underneath us. In a drought state like California, that’s pure gold. We also have the remains of a once burly and functional irrigation system. We have found valves and spigots and knobs all over the place. If feels a lot like a game of Myst, if you remember that. A typical session of play goes something like this: let’s see, if I turn this valve on, and this electrical switch on (even though it looks like it will kill me), and turn off this other valve off, maybe those spray heads on the arena will turn on? Yes! wait, No! Only half of them turned on … WHY WHY WHY?
The entire irrigation system is full of similar mysteries in a myriad of baffling ways. Lots of water, but not actually flowing through all the pipes, or at least the pipes we have managed to find. There are pipes running underground all over these 8 acres … but we are not exactly sure where they all are. A blueprint you say? Hah! No such thing exists. And before we ask some serious guys with serious tractors to go ripping and discing and other mightily destructive sounding practices on top, we really need to know where these pipes are underneath.
So, we hired some experts. Thank all the gods of agriculture for agricultural experts. One of the great benefits of moving to a town where a lot of people still make a living from farming is that we are surrounded by extremely knowledgeable neighbors, and the many businesses and business owners who service this community.
It’s odd being a total newbie again, and oddly exhilarating. I have worked in technology for over 15 years, and hey, it’s great to be an expert, but at the same time, a bit sad to realize there isn’t that much more to learn, patterns repeat, change is incremental. As far as knowledge about farming on this scale goes, however, I have only deep passion, fairly good instincts, lots of book learning and some very foggy childhood memories. Without the physical local community, and some excellent online communities as well, this farming adventure would be sooooo much harder.
Jason and I love to learn, but some subjects like industrial agricultural irrigation take more to master than a few hours of web surfing. I did buy a college course textbook for irrigation, and quickly realized I needed several semesters of study, or even better years of experience, to have any sort of clue about such basic questions as: what size pump do we need? What width of pipe in which material goes where? How much pressure do we need to get to the top of our hill? What filtration does drip irrigation require? And this is one that really scares me: what questions that I don’t know to ask should I really be asking?
As I was saying, I give thanks to experts, especially the extremely friendly ones we keep meeting.
Hey, we live on a farm now, and it’s rather cool!
After a few long tedious months of remodeling and moving, packing and unpacking, we are now actually living on the farm – whew. It’s, well, it’s wonderful. We wake up to birds singing, cows lowing, tractors on the horizon. The weather has been hot and dry, not ideal from a farming perspective, but a warm welcome to country living nonetheless.
Our farming neighbors have been dropping by to say hello and welcome us to the neighborhood as well. I find some comfort in being surrounded by old farming families who have worked this land for generations. So far, none of them have mocked our newbie farming plans, at least not openly, but rather have been full of genuinely helpful advice, recommendations and contacts. Pascal took off on an unsupervised romp around the neighborhood a week or so ago, almost giving me a heart attack, but ended up visiting the nearby Gizdich Ranch. The extremely nice owner Vince and manager Linda caught him for me, so we have been patronizing their delicious pie shop, perhaps more than we should.
Now, after almost a year of thinking, planning and plotting, it’s time to truly start farming. Our very first challenge is, we bought 5 acres or so of dirt, but dirt is not soil. To transform our dry brown fields of clods into healthy rich soil is going to take no small amount of work and time.
We have been talking to folks far and wide about the best course of action to increase our soil fertility before planting, and this is our current plan. First, we need to cut down the weeds and break up some of the clods, which is accomplished through discing. Discing, for the uninitiated (like myself, just a month or so ago), involves a tractor with a serious attachment of steel ‘discs’ that break up the soil and till in weeds.
Next, and as soon as the winter rains begin, we will sow a cover crop for the winter. Cover crops are nifty, and a basic element in organic farming. The basic idea is to grow a mix of fast growing annual plants, then till them under in the Spring, to add nitrogen and organic material back to the soil. A cover crop also prevents erosion and further nutrient leaching by winter rains and run off. We will probably be planting a mix of lana vetch, bell beans and cayuse oats, a seed mix we can purchase ready to for just this purpose.
After we till our cover crop under in the Spring, we will then do something called “deep ripping.” This is another tractor technique to break up compacted soil. Since our fields have a clay base, years of tractors and other heavy machinery have created something called plow pan, which is a layer of hard compacted soil right under the surface. We will need to break up this hard pan, so that our tree roots can get down deep to water and nutrients. Then, another cover crop next Fall, another round of discing, and in the Spring of 2015, we will actually be ready to plant our orchard.
We also collected soil samples last week, and sent them off to the lab for analysis. We are hoping to learn about the general chemical composition of our soil as it is now, the Ph, and amount of organic materials. This will help us decide what kinds of organic fertilizers and other soil amendments to use when it does come time to plant.
Patience, definitely not my forte, so originally I was a bit disappointed to learn we are more than a year out from planting an orchard. Thinking about it a bit more though, I have to admit I am relieved. We now have far more time to decide exactly what tree varieties we want to plant and where. We also have more time to work on that other crucial part of the puzzle, our irrigation system, which is such a mystery of confusion, I am saving it for a whole ‘nother blog post. And in the meantime, I can plant a small veggie bed in the spring, once the first cover crop is tilled under, and I am very much looking forward to it.
Next up … Pipes are Not Water
We were back at the farm on Thursday to do the requisite inspections before closing escrow. After writing large checks to the building, termite, septic and well inspectors, we learned, quel surprise, there is a lot of broken to fix. Not shocking when buying a 50-year-old farm-house, but, sigh.
Here are some more pictures of the place I took while we were there.
We were at the farm-to-be the other day, and I got a bit over-excited about the apricot trees there, just coming into an absurd abundance of fruit. Now these three trees have not received much love, or fertilizer, pruning, or even watering, yet they are covered in the most tasty tasty fruit. The sight of those drooping branches over-weighted with ripe sweet gemstones gave me hope that even novice farmers like us could coax some food out of this 8 acres of dirt we are about to buy.
When the current owners gave me permission to pick as much as I wanted, well, I went a little overboard. Now I love apricots above all other stone fruit (except maybe Rainer cherries), but still, no same human or family of humans can eat 10 pounds of apricots before they go bad. And I don’t like canning, all that sugar is not for me. So then I felt a wee bit sheepish and even panicky, since wasting such beautiful fruit seems a serious crime.
Bounty is never a cause for panic, though, only reason for generosity and celebration. I have given away most of the apricots by now, and tonight, I made a truly tasty apricot salsa to go with the fresh halibut from our local fish CSA, Local Catch Monterey Bay.
I get great pleasure from giving things away. Those who know me well, know that I love to craft odd little things, leather pouches, silks scarves, random foodstuffs, and hand them out for birthdays and random events. As I get older, I have lost most of my desire to shop and consume. Producing, making and gifting give me far greater joy. But perhaps that is another post …
In the meantime, I give you all my simple recipe for the apricot salsa, which is just an adaptation of my favorite mango salsa. I think it would work well with just about any pit fruit, and I can’t wait to do a cherry version. These types of pit fruit salsas go well with most fish, chicken or even pork dishes.
Apricots, 1 cup pitted and coarsely chopped
Red bell pepper, 2 tablespoons finely chopped
Red onion, 1 tablespoon finely chopped
Olive oil, 1 tablespoon
Fresh basil and/or mint, 2 tablespoons freshly chopped
Salt, a pinch
Mix all ingredients together in a small bowl and serve.
Although we are wannabe farmers, Jason and I have been designers forever. So, how do we start a new project? We examine our constraints, then start making diagrams and wireframes of course!
The land we bought comes with an old house, a horse barn, an office/workshop/garage and a requisite crappy shack. There are a few trees already there, but otherwise, it’s just acres of dirt. Very rich dirt, I should add, and some of the best in the country according to local lore.
For a few months now, Jason and I have been reading every book about gardening and farming we can get our hands on, and collecting list of what we want to grow. Now that our offer on the property has been accepted, Jason drew some really neat before and after diagrams of what is already there, what we want to add and where it all will go.
This is what is on the property now:
And this is our dream for the future (so far):
You did what???
Yes, we bought a farm, an eight acre farm in Watsonville (south Santa Cruz county, CA), to be precise.
Now for the past 15 years or so, my husband and I have been gainfully employed by Silicon Valley. We are software designers. We run our own little agency, which has been moderately successful. We have great clients, an interesting variety of projects and a fairly dependable income. So why the radical change? Or, as I know some members of our families are thinking, “Are you completely out of your frickin’ minds?”
And here is the real truth. The past few years, our enthusiasm for our profession has been waning. It’s not anything in particular, not a job gone wrong or a client who didn’t pay or a project that proved difficult. It’s just, I wake up in the morning, get in front of my computer, and I just can’t always find my “give a shit” anymore. Now don’t get me wrong. I am *extremely* grateful to our clients, and I am not going to chomp down hard on the hand that feeds us. I hope we can continue to do some tech work for a long time to come. But it can’t be the only thing we do anymore. I feel a deep need for something more.
Perhaps more to the point, I feel that sitting on my butt all day is slowly killing me. My back hurts, and I see many of my colleagues going down for back surgery and worse. I miss the sunlight. I want to move and use my muscles. Working for eight hours in a totally stagnant position, and then going to the gym for an hour to try to make up for it seems so futile. I know that recent history has fought hard to develop the privileges of white collar workers that I enjoy today, but honestly, I like me some physical labor.
And most important of all, I believe that providing great organic food to the people in my community is meaningful beyond anything captured by the pure laws of capitalism. I love food, and like many, I am quite suspicious of agribusiness and food manufacturing companies. Don’t even get me started on the horrors fast food. I know of no better way to nurture my own health and other peoples’ than growing great organic produce.
Now, I do feel like a bad remake of “Honey, I Bought a Zoo.” And I am sure we are going to make all sorts of newbie farming mistakes. I will admit that there is a ton I just don’t have a clue about. Jason and I are currently on a self-imposed farming crash course. Our living room is full of books on permaculture, integrated pest management, organic orchards and my bookmarks are exploding with new links about how to build a chicken tractor, making solar dehydrators, the best winter cover crops and how to get certified organic.
(PS: we bulldozed it down. Crappy shacks aren’t very useful)
I think that is why I am just so incredibly excited! There is so much new to learn, and I find it all so fascinating, because ultimately, everything we plan to do is about nurturing and creating life. How cool is that?
This blog is intended to track our adventures moving from silicon valley techies to California coast farmers and every triumph and silly mistake we make along the way.