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.

 

The cat house (that isn't finished, and hasn't been for two years):

Chickens look real funny up close.

 Ground cherries:

Farmers market!

Two days ago we spent a couple hours picking the tiny red tomatoes. Picking those is so unsatisfying, but we made it to the end of the row. The rest of the afternoon was spent watering greens, and scaring the chickens away from the ground cherries. I don’t think the chickens like me anymore. I come near them and they run away. :(

 

We packed up the truck to be ready for market. I volunteered to make dinner, and I made pesto pasta (with pesto they had made), garlic bread (with their garlic), and apple crisp (made with apples from a neighboring farm stand at the farmers market. All in all I would say the ingredients for our dinner traveled much less far than the average American meal. Plus, it was delicious!

Let me know if you want the crisp recipe. I added a twist that made it even more delicious.

Yesterday started with my alarm going off at 5:50 am. I opened my eyes thinking, “That thing can’t be right.” But sure enough when I checked it was 5:50. Time to get up. I swung my legs over the side of the bed and realized that I needed to turn the light on. It was still dark. After a splash of cold water to my face, and a cup of black tea I made my way into the truck with Rick. We watched the sun rise over the ocean as we drove through the beach towns that littered the highway. Rick sipped his coffee and me my tea as we chatted.

We pulled up to the farmer’s market, which looked like a huddle of tents scattered between old looking buildings. The buildings were part of the historical society that the farmer’s market set up shop on. We were greeted by friendly neighbors on either side, one man remarking as I got out of the car “Man, Christie you’ve changed!” Our tent was set up and we put out our goods on our two tables. It was so much fun chatting with people, explaining our produce and watching the diary farmer next door sell pints of chocolate milk to the most adorable little children. On the other side of our stand was a gluten free bakery, and across from us was this old couple who sold apples. I chatted with our neighbors. Everyone at the market was very nice and friendly.

We had two very unusual items for sale. We had the teeny tiny cherry tomatoes and ground cherries that I described earlier. It turns out the cherry tomato variety is rubenstien(?) or something like that. It’s German. I explained those to so many people. I think the most fun part of the market was seeing people’s faces when they tried the ground cherries. They are all hesitant and then the minute they bite down and feel the explosion of flavor they look almost comically surprised and pleased at the same time. It’s so much fun. We treated ourselves to a pint of the famous chocolate milk, a couple gluten-free goodies and a small basket of apples that had been deemed “seconds.” We handed out basil, some garlic and some potatoes to some of our neighbors. At noon we packed all the stuff back into the truck and headed home. We stopped by the farm and picked up two eggs from the seven hens on the farm. As we drove home we discussed our plans for quiche made with fresh eggs and maybe some mustard greens or tomatoes.

Laurel

I guess I should've started by giving my reasons for taking a gap year. There are so many reasons to take a gap year. All the books say that it'll make you more independent, that you'll learn so much, that you'll come into college a more prepared person. I think all of that is true. I honestly feel that I wasn't ready to go strait into college. I think that if I had just gone I would've done fine, but I wanted some real world experience first.

I decided to start my adventure by farming. I've always been fascinated by plants. How does a seed grow into a beautiful flower or a delicious peach? How do different environments change the outcome of a plant? Why do certain things only grow in New York, but not in California? Of course I learned the answers to these questions in science class, but I wanted to experience the answers. Some friends took a gap year two years ago, and then went farming through a program called WWOOF or Worldwide Workers On Organic Farms. They were really the ones who got me thinking about farming. I am now visiting a farm that they visited on their gap year and recommended to me.

For the rest of the year I plan on coming home to Ithaca at the end of October and finding an internship and a job (the internship to learn more, and the job to finance my travel), and then finding a way to travel somewhere in the world (where I go will depend on how much money I make).

Anyways, back to the farm.
Yesterday Christie returned from her night shift at the hospital around noon, and then took me over to the farm. I watered the plants, watching for worms, and when I was left alone I sang showtunes to the plants. Hopefully that'll help them grow. Then I dug potatoes and contemplated life. It really is meditating, pawing through dirt, feeling for potatoes. I swear I will never get the dirt out from under my fingernails though!

By the way, I wasn't lying about the number of cats. They especially like lying in the driveway.

And there's a super sweet, very old dog who guards his owner's car.

We returned to the truck to find Denise sitting on top of it. Denise is the kind of cat who stands in the middle of the driveway when you're backing up, just to prove that she can make you stop.

Then we fed the goats...

P.S. All of these pictures were taken with my iPhone 4S. I was surprised at the quality of them.

Today we picked about a million of these little tiny cherry tomatoes. I don't remember the variety, but they're about the size of your pinky nail (if you have pinkie's as small as I do). I questioned the worth of growing them, and was told that they are like a gourmet idem. Christie is the only farmer who sells them at her market, and they can sell them for $4 a half pint(?) something small. People really like the idea of having tiny cherry tomatoes to impress their guests. The other big ticket, small quantity item for them is ground cherries. These are this vegetable(?) that grows along the ground. The plant sprawls out, kind of like a un-staked tomato plant, and the fruit looks kind of like a small tomatilla. The outer shell turns brown when the fruit is ripe, and the inside of the fruit is a golden yellow. To me they taste sweet with hints of tomato, pineapple and maybe a little citrus. They are very strong flavored. We watered again, of course, and looked for the worms.

Let's play a little game called find the caterpillar:

Now imagine you're standing up and the worm isn't placed in the center of the photo...
That's our task.

We did manage to pull of a lot.

Washing potatoes was the last task of the day.

Laurel

Starting out

My journey started with saying goodbye to my mom at the Ithaca bus station, and 12 hours later being greeted by my aunt and uncle in Frederick. The next day my relatives drove me the 3 hours down to Ocean City where we met the first farmer (Christie) that I had planned to stay with. A "slow, cat crossing" sign was the first thing to greet us as we drove up the long driveway. On the left side old pieces of farm equipment rusted away. Once we got up the driveway an eclectic mix of old things greeted us. There were old metal signs, about a thousand old sunbathing chairs in neat stacks, piles of wood and unidentifiable rusty heaps of metal. We could see what the cat crossing sign was about. Wandering the property were about 20 feral cats, and there were about 15 other cats that were kept in the chicken coop. As we looked around Christie drove up in her beat up red truck. My stuff was transferred, and we drove to her house.

The next day we headed over to the farm around 10:00. We watered the plants and kept an eye out for the pesky green caterpillars that we picked off and fed to the chickens. Then I harvested mustard greens for dinner that night. Just as I was heading in to find another task the skies opened up. It poured for just long enough for Christie to declare the rest of the day a rain day, and then cleared up to become a beautiful day. We ate grilled cheese for lunch, and then I explored Ocean City. I walked up and down the boardwalk and visited the ocean briefly. I vowed to come back with a bathing suit next time.

Turns out it stays warm for longer in Maryland than it does in Ithaca. Who knew? Too bad I only brought two pairs of shorts...

On Monday I visited Christie's friend's farm. We harvested bushels of cherry tomatoes and green beans and I tasted okra for the first time. It's good, but slightly slimy. I also got drenched by a 4 year old with a hose. I swear, 4 year olds can be lethal.

And then there's today. I spent the morning on Christie's farm preparing garlic for market, and then made good on my promise to return to the beach. I jumped waves for a while. The ocean felt so nice. It's about a half an hour walk to the ocean from Christie's house. I returned home and hitched a ride to the nearby Panera where I got dinner and am now writing this (Christie doesn't have wifi at her house).

Laurel