Planters and such...

I'd like to give the whole thing up. I would. The fields. The tractors. The planters. The weeds. The woodchucks. The garlic. Well, not that. I love the garlic. And I love the fields. I love the views of High Point. I love the expansive views, the sunsets. When I'm standing in the fields, it feels like I am standing by the ocean. And this year I have been. Standing by the ocean. The abyss. It's so massive. How can I possibly compete? I can't. But I keep remembering that little bit of science that I learned in high school, that the number of molecules in one vial of liquid when spread in all the ocean water would still be a lot. (You can see why I never majored in science, the science of it escapes me entirely). But I understand it intuitively. And even though I have had to plug my nose while cleaning up the barn and cabin and while driving to and from the farm, I am thinking about planters. It's time to graduate. To a precision planter. A vacuum planter. A planter that plants precisely. A planter that wastes no seeds. A planter that costs $10,000. Gasp! And $40 per seed plate. I talked to Dave from marketfarm.com. He was one of the first people that I talked to when I first started this venture. When I had nothing but a dream and some money from selling the laundro-mat and a very supportive husband. Dave spent hours on the phone with me discussing equipment and various options of various equipment, the combinations are countless. It was Dave who gave me the idea of breaking down each of the fields into smaller fields, like my garden, with multiple raised beds to plant and rotate crops; with strips of grass to drive on. So, here I am, four years later. Talking to Dave once again. About singulation. About air pressure and double disk openers. About double lines and shoe openers and needle-end lettuce seed. About still being in this business. "So, you're still doing this?" he asked incredulously. (Yeah, I had my doubts about me too). "Yes," I replied. "But I had to end the CSA early this year. We were massively flooded." "Ah, yes, but you had the support of the CSA," he said wistfully. And I knew that he wished he had had this support when farming. If so, he would probably still be loading up his 12MX, his pumpkin planter, of which we bought one and finally figured the thing out this year, and he'd be out there planting something, anything, for that is what he is, what he does. He grows (he grew, now, he sells to those who grow but it's not the same). And I am not yet ready to let it go. The growing. Because I know that once I do, it'll be gone. For good. At least for me. And I have worked really hard for this. This CSA. I have spent a lot of time on my hands and knees planting and weeding; and no, I am not complaining, this has been my choice (and I love this part of it) the planting and weeding. The picking. The washing. Not so much. But the CSA. I love. And so, even though sometimes I would like to give it up, I can't. I won't. So, even though this year has been a wash (both financially and spiritually and sometimes a wash is good!), I will be here next year. With the first greens of garlic (it avoids the rush of farming). And the full harvest of butternut squash (it still needs curing). And so do I!