April 24, 2004
I Watch Them Farm
Last night, in the pub, Rebecca and I speculated about what perfect strangers do for a living. A couple of tables over from us was a boisterous, gregarious group. I looked at Rebecca and said "sales", and she didn't dispute my hypothesis. We used a lot of the stereotype sort of things - but we turned out to be right, because they are regulars and our server knew them.
I'm fascinated by people in sales. It's a skill that takes a bigger personality than I have. And yet, sometimes I can sell, but only in those rare instances when I actually believe in what I'm trying to move. That's the story of the sunchokes today. Up until now, whenever someone asked me what to do with sunchokes, my dismissive response was "compost 'em!". Let's just say that I was not a fan. But this spring, H.P., Simon and J.P. have been digging out the overwintered sunchokes, and I've been convinced to try them. What a surprise! They really do taste like artichokes. The trick is not to overcook them, and not to hide the delicate flavour with other things. Mostly, though, I think they taste as good as they do because they're so very fresh - and because being in the ground over the winter sweetened them up. So today, I changed my "compost 'em" tune to "I think you should try these" - and of course I had a litany of reasons why you should try them in my sales pitch. After all, after I discovered that they're actually fun to eat, I researched them, and it turns out that they're very virtuous to eat too. Cool. I need to balance the pub dinners, after all.
Yeah, so I got conned into working the farmer's market today. I like living on the farm, the working part... well, I have this pesky job thing that I quite like, thank you very much. My "helping" usually consists of loading the dishwasher after dinner! But for several years, I worked the Guelph market every Saturday. I liked doing it, because I like working with Lorenz. He's one of the few people who understands that the only thing I want to hear at hellishly early hours is "what do you want in your coffee", and he's just as picky as I am (probably more so) about how the lettuces are piled and which way the money faces in the cash box. So, very infrequently, when he's stuck, he pulls some line like "want to do me a favour for old times' sake?", and then I fall for it. This week, though, he then turned around and pushed it - he decided to not even go to the market himself, and to send H.P. as his replacement. Good thing H.P. is great - he not only asked what I took in my coffee, he delivered juice and a breakfast sandwich, and then turned out to be fabulous to work with. But still...
Oh right, there was a reason Lorenz bailed on the market. It's not raining, and there are about 617 things for him to do here, on the farm. He had a full day of tractor work planned (and considerate person that I am, when I'd been up and at it for two hours already, I called him with a question about sunchokes and to ask if he was already at it. It was six a.m., it was daylight!). He's been spreading composted manure like a fiend. The fields are just dry enough to drive on, though it would be better if they dried out more. There are some wet spots, still, from the downpour we had this week. But the forecast calls for more rain tomorrow. 
As I type this, he's moving the not-yet-fully composted manure into windrows up near the fields. In between loads of manure, he's checking on the greenhouse, and he's done all the regular chores like feed the chickens and the chicks and collect the eggs and of course make the cappucino I demanded (not only do I sit in here instead of helping, I demand cappucino. What? Did you miss the part about my thinking I'm helping if I put my used coffee cup in the dishwasher?)
Now that spring is firmly here, it feels like the whole world is going "sproing". There is green grass where only a week or so it was still brown and there is a faint green fuzz on some of the trees. The garlic is up, the overwintered leeks and kale are growing, and the rhubarb is looking more and more like a snack. The transplants in the greenhouse need to be thinned. The animals are in rapid change mode as well - the chicks have started growing feathers and look like they're in an awkward stage and Ruth's mare has a foal due soon. Right now, when she walks around, her middle bulges and wobbles side to side with every step. Boris has discovered swimming in the pond to cool off, and has not yet clued in to the idea that a wet, smelly dog is not something you want to be cuddled by if you happen to fall asleep in the pile of woodchips outside your door.
