Monday, March 23, 2020

 

Blessing the Farmers


Last week a group of us, mostly septuagenarians, got together to make compost for a community perennial garden. It was billed as a demonstration by Patryk, who is a master of soil chemistry, experienced organic gardener and a veteran tinkerer with biochar. Joe from Mountain Gardens was there with his new apprentice Josh, as well as Jim, another longtime organic grower, Gred, everyone's favorite foreman, and myself. I'm an adequate organic gardener, and founder with some neighbors of the first garden at Arthur Morgan School, back in 1975. I didn't have a very good sense of what I was doing, but now the garden is an integrated part of the curriculum at the school.


I've made compost ever since I started gardening. In the old days, I turned it often, and put cottonseed meal (non-organic!) in the pile with the horse manure, food waste, and leaves to hasten the heating process. It worked well. These past few years, I've done a passive pile, turning out deep brown soil every spring for my home garden. I decided it was time to learn from a master.

We alternated horse manure, and occasionally fresh cow manure, with carboniferous material - food waste and sawdust - layering in thin crusts of biochar for structure. None of this was new. What was new was the layers of chopped up corn stalks, which will allow air to get deep into the pile to help drive the process faster. It was fun working with the team. Since we added water from the creek as we went along, we covered it with a tarp to prevent this week's rain messing up our careful hydration. We'll see how it heats up.

In the midst of building the pile, Jim yelled over to Patryk, "Bet you never thought we'd farm together here again." Indeed, they had been partners at Creekside Farm years ago, a partnership that did not go well. The final episode featured Patryk's piling materials in his truck from their joint building project, and attempting to drive away. Jim jumped in the pick-up, grabbing building materials he considered his, strewing them along the route as Patryk drove away. It was like a marriage break-up. 

Now, Patryk was quiet for a second, then looked over at Jim with a smile. "Everything comes around." Indeed it does. As we worked, we talked about the increased necessity with a pandemic underway for growing local food. Patryk said, "We've known this was coming for a long time. And we've also known there would be no warning." This is the one we've been waiting for, in fear and trembling. And we are the ones we've been waiting for. The time to respond, not just emergency public health crisis style, but systemic rebuilding, is now.

Folks are stocking up on materials to make tinctures for boosting the immune system, Chinese medicine style. Our recently created South Toe Mutual Aid Society is excited about the mutual aid we can provide each other from this kind of collaboration. Over in the hoop greenhouse, covered with shade cloth, a much younger man, Nick, cut stem sections for rooting from four varieties of elderberry that Patryk procured. Elderberry juice will be part of the tinctures that are in the works. The hoophouse is for propagating nursery stock to plant in the Miles Food Forest across the river. In addition to the elderberries, we have paw paws, mulberries, and persimmon. These will be added to the collection of pecans, walnuts, and chestnuts, along with blueberries and raspberries, already planted in the Miles Food Forest.

Before I left, I had the occasion to personally bless Jim Stockwell (I wanted to bless everyone there, but he presented his face at the right moment). I blessed him for all the gifts he has given this community, his skill as a gardener, and his willingness to work on community projects. He gave me a smile, shrugged, and said, "Bob, you're always giving me your blessing." I suppose I should go back and bless the others, who may find it more of a novel experience.



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