Laurel's Gap Year: A week later...

The farm that I am on is a little wonky. Okay, pretty wonky. We aren’t living on the farm; it’s a couple miles away on a road called Sinepuxent Drive. I’ve said this before, but there are cats galore. The field that we farm is in the middle of a forest. There are also lots of little cottages sprinkled among the trees, and a small river running through the property. The second main feature to the farm (after the cats) is rust. Reggie (the owner) can’t bear to throw anything away. The property is named Mariners' Country Down.

It is a long drive up the driveway to get to the fields. There are five fields, a chicken coup, a hoop house and two big picnic tables. If you drive past the fields you come to a three story open-air shack. They call this the garlic house. It’s where all the garlic was hung to dry. The property is mainly wooded, but 40 years ago the owner had a part of it cleared, and has had it mowed ever since (nobody really knows why), but this made ideal conditions for farming.

The people of the farm:

Reggie – The property owner. His wife (who recently passed)’s family owned a couple hotels in Ocean City, so he is fairly well off. He is a quirky carpenter with a flair for the creative. He is a genius with carpentry, with big ideas and less follow-through. He is in his 70s and still working every day on various projects.

Garret – Reggie’s nephew. He’s in his 20s, tall and slightly awkward, but very sweet. He has been working on making a cottage on the property his own (including installing lights in the kitchen where there previously were none). He works for his uncle.

Harry – One of Reggie’s workers. He is of Puerto Rican decent, with a heavy accent (I thought he was Indian when I first met him). Christie and Rick were impressed that I could understand him on the first go. He has short-cropped black hair with a white beard. He rides around the property on his small tractor. He does various mainly grounds keeping tasks for Reggie (cutting the lawn, spreading dirt, etc), grows green bell peppers and always predicts rain.

Rodney – Reggie’s other worker. He carries out approximately the same tasks as Harry. He also kindly lets the ducks out for us in the morning. He is older, and always seems friendly.

Cindy – Rodney’s wife, a cat lover, well more a cat adorer. She feeds the cats (yes, all of them), and is the owner of the cats who live in the chicken coop (don’t worry, the chickens live somewhere else). She seems sweet.

None of these people actually have anything to do with the farming part. It turns out Reggie asked Christie to come farm his land because he wanted some more action around his land. The land is called Mariner’s Country Down.

The Farmers:

Christie – A peppy woman who manages the farm. She is also a nurse at a local hospital. She is very nice, and is definitely the leader. She drives a beat up red truck and loves garlic. The hens treat her like mama hen, and follow her around the farm. She is an organizer, and has lots of friends.

Rick – When I first met him I thought he was a washed-up skater dude. Turns out I was close; he’s a surfer. He struck me as one of those people who had never really grown up. He was always making us laugh. He’s full of ideas for edible forest gardens, permaculture, wild edibles and inventive ways to carry his surfboard on his bike. He was in charge of the potatoes on the farm. He loves peanut butter and eats with chopsticks whenever possible.

Betsy – Christie’s daughter. She’s a freshman in high school, a dancer, and loves iced tea. She’s friendly and loud, and brought her boyfriend over for dinner on the first night. She spends half of her time at her dad’s house. She guessed her way into the top 10% of the state in math, and now is in algebra II when she really wanted to be in algebra I. She is also taking French and loving it. I helped her with her homework for both classes one night. She doesn’t help out on the farm; she’d rather be at the mall with her friends.

Smudge – The green-eyed black-with-white-paws cat who only gets cuddly when she’s hungry. She is very playful, and chases pennies around the floor.

I guess I left off last Sunday…

Saturday night we did indeed have quiche, potatoes, arugula salad and “apple Laurels” (leftover quiche crust folded around apples and spices, aptly named by Christie). It was so rewarding to be eating so directly from the farm, and especially knowing that I cooked it. I even made the crust! It was all so delicious.

Sunday was a normal day on the farm: watering, planting, harvesting. For dinner I fried up some eggplant that was leftover from market and Christie made stuffed bell peppers (some of Harry’s that he didn’t want).

Monday was more of the same. It sounds tedious when I write about it, but it really isn’t. Each day is different and there are people to keep you company.

Tuesday we farmed in the morning, and then Rick taught me to surf in the afternoon. We went to Assateague to surf, and I thought the highlight of the trip would be the wild horses, but really surfing took the prize. Rick showed me how to carry the board, how to jump from laying to standing, and then how to catch a wave. He helped me catch a couple. The first wave that caught me and carried me into shore made me feel like I was flying. It was so exhilarating. I had never felt anything like it before. It was like I was one with the wave. Everything slowed down in that moment and I felt like I was just one big whoosh. Rick helped me catch another one, but it was over just as I was starting to think about standing. The next wave I caught held me in it’s cool embrace and I thought it’s time. I pulled my legs up under me and unbent my knees. Suddenly I was flying while standing upright. It was like my own personal Titanic moment. I knew that my feet weren’t in the right place on the board, and that my arms weren’t quite sure what to do, but I was standing! On my third wave ever! Rick was so impressed with me. He said I was a natural. High fives were exchanged, and smiles all around. I stood once more before we left, and caught a couple waves by myself. I admired the wild horses by the side of the road as we biked back.

Wednesday we farmed for a little, but it was in the 90s, so after only a couple hours we took off on the bikes to Assateague to catch some more waves. Rick pulled the boards behind his bike:

Thursday Christie had to work, so Rick gave me the day off, but I didn’t take it. Since Christie had the truck we had to bike there and back. The day was a scorcher again, so we quit after a couple hours of digging potatoes and picking ground cherries, and I had the afternoon to enjoy ice cream and Barbara Kingsolver’s Animal, Vegetable, Miracle. I also discovered purple long beans. And I mean long beans! We roasted them in the oven. They had a slightly nutty flavor. That night we decided to try dipping ground cherries in chocolate. It was delicious.

Friday I did something really crazy. We got up at 6:30 to catch the best waves of the entire summer along with dozens of other surfers. The water was 68˚, but I didn’t really notice the cold. It was just very refreshing. I didn’t realize how cold I was until I got out. I was shivering so much as I showered off. Luckily the bike ride back to the farm warmed me up. We harvested reisentraubs (the little cherry tomatoes), eggplant, hot peppers, greens, bunching onions, basil and cilantro.

Saturday we got up ridiculously early again (5:30 this time) to go to market. I was squished in the truck between Rick and Christie for the hour-long ride. Market was the same scene as last time. When market was over we said our goodbyes and then piled back into the truck. We stopped at a local creamery for some of the best ice cream I’ve ever tasted and as we drove out of there we drove right past their free-range cows. What a difference it was from the next town over where they have a huge CAFO (concentrated animal feeding operation) for chickens. It’s called “Fresh Young Chickens,” and was made up of probably 10 huge concrete buildings. Not a chicken was in sight. I imagined the unhappy birds stacked on top of each other, miserably standing in their own poop with their clipped wings and beaks and I thought of our chickens back at the farm; the birds I had to chase out of the basil after an experimental peck at my knee left a beak shaped bruise, the chickens who chattered to me whenever I came close, the birds who I thought of as my friends. I decided I would do my best to avoid eggs from CAFOs.

Sunday we headed to the farm at around 10:30. I let my friends the chickens out and gathered the three eggs from the favored nesting box. I checked the greens for worms, and then helped Rick plant baby lettuce plants. Our day was cut short by Rick’s brother coming into town. I said my goodbyes to the farm and rode in the back of the truck on the way home. I packed my bags while mentally preparing myself to travel to another farm.