I Heart Farms

NaNoBloPo: Oh No, Go Slow!

Persimmons from Van Dyke Ranch at the Santa Cruz farmers market. I've mentioned this before, but for those who don't know what to do with persimmons, my darling Bob likes to freeze them and grate them—like a granita. (I'm not a big fan of them...yet...that could change. I like them in bread and hidden in other things, not just plain. Something about the grainy texture.)

I was excited to commit to blogging every day this month about something useful, informative, and/or entertaining about farms and inspiring foods . But I did not get out to a farm today—I got as far as my mailbox, and that was all the energy I had. So getting out of the house to visit a farm was not possible, nor was it possible to pick up the phone and ask one of my farmer friends a few questions. My voice sounds like a cross between a foghorn, a chainsaw, and my cigarette-smoking great-aunt's. The bronchitis, she no fun.

My offerings today are gleaned from all over, so let's start with the farm/food stuff.

Gasping for Breath: One More Day!

This photo was taken up in Petaluma, in the Twin Rocks valley, at Canvas Ranch earlier this month. I found it on my desktop and thought it would look nice.

Since I am still laid up with bronchitis, no farm visits for me this week. So today: tidbits from all over.

FARMER CAL SOCHACKI NEEDS ABLE HANDS ON HIS FARM

Remember Haddock's post about The Farmer's Hands? And his subsequent request for me to put out a short mention that the farmer who will be healing from his surgery over the next six months, has a position available on his farm? Here is more information about that:

This is a temporary position (6-12 months) beginning in December 2006. Located in Jackson State Forest in rural Mendocino County, 10 miles east of the coast, Old Mill Farm is an off-grid small family farm.  Diversified production includes pastured pigs, 25 sheep, a year-round market garden, and a one-acre vineyard. We are seeking a replacement farm manager to begin as soon as possible, who will work closely with the business manager and garden manager, and have primary responsibility for the maintenance of all farm infrastructures and animal husbandry. Housing, partial board and salary provided.

You can download the rest of the details in this 56K PDF: OldMillFarm.pdf.

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Organizing, Re-Arranging, Envisioning: I Digress

Have I ever shown you how much like his Poppy our grandson, Logan, looks? We call him "Mini Me."

An excellent post by Adam, over at The Amateur (not "Accidental," sorry, I blame the cold medicines for making me dopey) Gourmet, has provided food for thought for those of us who produce blogs. (Read “More Blogging Advice.”)

I started to say "for those of us who write blogs," but, like a lot of bloggers,  my involvement with this work far exceeds the ability to write (and punctuate, and capitalize). I do research—both in my car and via the internet—and I have taken thousands of photographs. Additionally, I try to add lagniappes, tasty extras, for visitors—like the Thought for the Day quote that I started doing a few weeks into blogging. And like many others do, I try to swap out the photograph in the banner at the top of the page, to keep the site vibrant.

The Meaning of Food

Pictured here: a farmer’s boots.

This post will have to be brief, as I am very sick with bronchitis, and am too weak to do much right now besides breathe and try not to cough.

Yesterday I met Robin Somers, who teaches writing up at the University of Santa Cruz. She told me about a course she had just completed called “The Meaning of Food.” I Googled and found the course description:

The Meaning of Food
Food is a heated topic these days: there's a lot to write about. Writing about food lends itself to rich description, compelling personal narratives, careful analysis, and persuasion. In this course we will read and write about food and food writing. We will explore current debates regarding sustainable agriculture and industrial agriculture, "slow" food and genetically modified food, and we will examine the reasons for today's piqued interest in farmers' markets, cooking, chefs as celebrities, and more. While studying both popular and scholarly works, including such disparate giants of food writing as M. F. K. Fisher and Eric Schlosser (Fast Food Nation), we will examine how food shapes culture and how we as consumers affect this paradigm. Students will keep journals, conduct an interview, and participate in peer workshops. Writing assignments will include informal writing, reading responses, and a sampling of essay forms (and revisions) targeted at specific audiences, beginning with memoir and culminating in a research paper and an op-ed.  

Robin was talking about Slow Food and its timeline, and said a student of hers thought it predated Alice Waters and other Bay area chefs turning to organic/local/seasonal menus, but in fact Slow Food was founded in 1986, and Waters and clan were mobilizing at the end of the Seventies.

She hopes to be able to repeat the course in 2007: don't you wish every college and university would have such an offering?

Okay, maybe I will have more later, but for now, it's back to bed (where I get to sleep sitting up) for me.

THOUGHT FOR THE DAY: “It's bizarre that the produce manager is more important to my children's health than the pediatrician.“  — Meryl Streep

Thanks for visiting.

Dirty Girl Farm on an Autumn Day

A winter storm is approaching, and I had only a little time this morning to get out of the house. The plan was to hook up for another visit with Justin Severino, who is spending the entire day making sausages in downtown Santa Cruz. I thought photos of sausage-making would be fun. (And I thought I might come home with some sausages.)

But Justin wasn't there, and I had left my cell phone at home. So what the heck, I crossed over Highway One to see if I could get a photo or two of Dirty Girl Farm, which I thought would be picturesque with the cloudy skies and autumn foliage. I didn't expect to see the farmer, Joe Schirmer, there, but he surprised me. He was walking inside the new deerproof fence with Pancho and Pixie, his sweet dogs.

If you read Bay area food blogs, you will know that Joe's dry-farmed Early Girl tomatoes are arguably the most famous tomatoes in the world. They were even written up by Max Withers in the Los Angeles Times. You are looking at the end of the crop, above, but there were still thousands of tomatoes on the browning vines. “We had a lot of warm sun recently,” Joe explained. “Some of the vines have died, and those tomatoes won't ripen, but they’re still coming.” (And yes, he‘s aware of the fame of his tomatoes.)

Santa Cruz: A New Year-Round Market

Pictured here: six of the farmers who are alumni of the former Friday West Side Santa Cruz farmers market, which used to take place in front of Kelly's Bakery on Swift Street. Missing: Kirsten Roehler, who farmed with Jasmine Roohani (in the blue scarf, knitted by Betty Van Dyke in the red vest). Left to right: Jeff Caspary (Crystal Creek Farm), Betty Van Dyke (Van Dyke Orchards), Brandon Faria (Faria Family Farm), Jasmine Roohani (most recently of Everett Family Farm, Jasmine is going to work for the Ecological Farming Conference), Geoff Palla (formerly of Meder Street Farm, Geoff has moved up to be the head gardener at Copia Center for Wine & Food in Napa), and Kurt Christiansen (Oso Velloso Farm). Only Betty and Geoff are not alumni of the UCSC Farm & Garden apprentice program, which will celebrate its 40th anniversary in the upcoming summer.   

Today was a beautiful day in Santa Cruz, the kind you long for when you enter the winter months. And the kind of day you count, and ask each other, "How many more of these will we have before the rains come?"

Ugh

Pictured here: the Redman House field, farmed by Stephen Pedersen. Wintery skies are beautiful on the coastline.

Not only did I not Eat Local yesterday, but I had a Thanksgiving dinner that I hope I never have to replicate. Factory-farmed turkey with a maple syrup glaze and factory-farmed bacon strips. Russet potatoes, mashed with WATER (I am not making that up), served with butter made with garlic powder. Macaroni and cheese. (? For Thanksgiving?) Gravy from a can (I didn't touch it). Green bean casserole with fried onions on top and, I believe, chunks of peanut butter inside. The sweet potatoes were good in a nostalgic way. At least they tasted good. Non-organic cranberry sauce. Two Buck Chuck on the Table, along with Jack Daniels and two kinds of Coke.

It goes without saying that nothing, not a thing, was organic or natural or real.

I was allowed to bring deviled eggs, and I topped them with a little of the Spanish smoked paprika. I called it "bacon dust" to avert their suspicions, and they were a wild success. In fact, I left some eggs undusted, and those were untouched.

(Bob's family is very close-minded about new foods, and regard me as a complete flake or an unbearable snob. They are suspicious of people who don't eat food from boxes. Kraft is normal. You get the pictures.)

No leftovers—no turkey sandwiches, nothing. No Turkus Americanus. I am as blue as Ralphie's old man.

Sigh.

I'm sick with a hacking cough today, and am under the gun trouble-shooting not one, not two, not three, not four, but FIVE Macintosh computers while we play shuffle with stepdaughters.

Not a happy camper right now. The consolation: a vat of French onion soup with all organic ingredients on my stovetop. The house smells good. I think. (My breathing isn't working so great today, either.)

For better reports on people who were able to participate in the Eat Local 100-Mile Challenge for Thanksgiving, go read about the finalists and judges at Treehugger.

THOUGHT FOR THE DAY: “The opposite of bravery is not cowardice but conformity.” —Robert Anthony

Thanks for visiting.

A Farmer's Hands

Pictured here: the biting geese at Cole Canyon Farm.

A couple of weeks ago, blogging restaurant owner/chef Haddock wrote about an injury that befell a farmer friend of his, in “A Farmer's Hands.” He let us know that the farmer’s surgery was successful, and that he would regain the use of his hands. But for the time being, this farmer will need help with his farm. Haddock e-mailed me this morning to put out a preliminary post soliciting my help.

The farmer is seeking a farmer for the next six months or so to run his farm. I'll have more details soon—the farm is north of here in the Mendocino area (I think), and there is a nice cabin for the position.

Readers?

I will try to write more after we come home, but it might be too late—we're traveling to San Jose to spend the day with family. I am allowed to bring devilled eggs, because they're “normal” enough. Only I'm going to fancy them up with the smoked Spanish paprika that tastes like bacon dust.

Happy Thanksgiving: count your blessings.

THOUGHT FOR THE DAY: “Thankfulness is the beginning of gratitude. Gratitude is the completion of thankfulness. Thankfulness may consist merely of words. Gratitude is shown in acts.” — Henri Frederic Amiel

Thanks for visiting.

Cole Canyon Farm: Briefly

A confession: I visited Cole Canyon Farm in May. As is often the case, when I am photographing, my attention is through my eyes, and I can't keep all the verbal information straight. (I could take notes if I put the camera down, but it's a clumsy juggling act. So I go for photos first, thinking that I can get my information later.) But I never wrote about the visit, as work was plentiful (too busy!) and I just let it slip through the cracks. I owe a follow-up visit for vital information to the farm, and hopefully to photograph some of the rooms inside their house, as the colors were just striking and beautiful. Art—pure farmhouse art. I was gobsmacked.

So while this post will be sparse in farming details, hopefully you will get the gist of the farm, and visit them at the Aptos Farmers Market on Saturday morning, or the downtown Santa Cruz farmers market on Wednesdays, where they bring their seedlings and eggs from the dozens and dozens of chickens Cole Canyon Farm raise.

Thanksgiving: It Takes a Village to Raise a Child

Pictured here: brilliant red zinnias at Thomas Family Farm booth.

It occurred to me to re-introduce myself for anyone who hasn't been able to cobble together who I am or some of the circumstances surrounding me. If you see mention of “Logan” on this blog, and wonder who I am talking about, Logan is the two-year-old son of my older stepdaughter. When he was just a few months old, he began to spend time here—overnight visits that increased in frequency so that when he was barely over a year old, he lived here most of the time. The conditions under which that took place are a cliché in modern America: grandparents raising children whose parents cannot. For all the reasons you don't want to hear.

The short story is that I am Logan's Nana. I spend more time with him than anyone else on earth, and even though we have no immediate genetics, one of the ongoing delights of my life is that people constantly think I am his mother and say we look alike. Our eyes are a lot alike: the only two green-eyed people in our entire extended family. And who wouldn't want to look like family to this sweet boy?

(Most of these photos are from his earliest farm visits in 2005, which you, clever reader that you are, will be able to separate from the recent ones.)

Happily, Logan’s sunny company made doing this job easy, and we have adapted to whatever it has taken to incorporating his life into ours. When I started this blog, it dovetailed beautifully with all the extra daycare I was suddenly, and without any kind of recompense, having to provide. Solution? Take the boy to the farms with me. (He's getting a goat kiss good-bye at Claravale Farm in this photo, above.)