Fields of Calendars by Meagan

Living and working on a farm has a way of making the passage of time and the changing of the seasons very, very apparent. For so many years of my life “summer” was undeniably defined by the school year, beginning and ending quite abruptly on some predetermined date. And even after being out of school the rest of the seasons seemed to arrive unnoticeably until the day I suddenly discovered myself standing knee-deep in a pile of leaves or snow. Here on the farm though, we plant seeds, they grow, they feed us, and then they die. These cycles are our livelihood. But for so many months we just plant more seeds and focus our attention on a different part of the land for a while. It is dangerously easy to not care if a certain crop is done for the spring or the season, because nowthis is ready and that is producing and there really is only so much zucchini a person should be expected to eat in a year.

There are days when it is absolutely sweltering, and has been for so long that it is beyond the scope of human capability to truly remember what winter feels like. The thought of January in Chicago is like a foggy dream or remembering a memory that isn't your own. And then the air changes. At first it is a strange and wonderful respite. But as each morning feels a bit more brisk and each evening arrives a little sooner than the last I can't help but find it bittersweet. We are planting the last of the plants and as I was sowing cover crop seed the other day it really hit me: this bed is all done 'til next year. Since we arrived in April the landscape around us has changed from barren earth to verdant green to now the sea of sandy-colored corn drying on the stalks, a sight so quintessentially autumn it tugs at the heartstrings. I know that soon enough tomato sandwiches and salads fresh from the yard will no longer be my lunch. But I also know that processing vegetables in ice-cold water outside in late October really makes a person look forward to spending time indoors for a while. Curled up with a book and a blankie, a winter squash roasting in the oven, these are things I've come to savor as well.

-meagan

Beating the Heat by Joe

Lots of heat lately, and not much rain. In the old days, such a situation might have meant massive crop failure for a farm like ours. But contrary to some folks' opinion that small, pesticide-free farms are trying to revert to some romanticized, primitive form of agriculture, most of your locally focused family farms are in on the cutting edge of vegetable production. We survive this drought because we utilize water conserving, efficient technology, like drip tape, which slowly delivers valuable moisture, drop by drop, right at the base of the plants, where they can best suck it up with their extensive root systems and thrive. Many of our veggie beds are also covered with straw, which helps maintain moist soil so plants need less irrigation. Straw also chokes out weeds, adds organic matter to the soil as it breaks down, and promotes microbial and other life activity at the soil surface. All of which help contribute to long term land health and stronger, more resilient plants here at the Plot.
Hope you all are enjoying your summer squash and tomatoes lately. Those plants are just eating up all this heat and producing fruit like you wouldn't believe. Every week we're pulling hundreds upon hundreds of pounds of these two veggies out of the field, which, as you can imagine, can be back-breaking, especially when it comes to squash. And despite a bit of a tomato horn worm infestation on some of the heirlooms, the tomatoes look like they're gonna keep coming on strong for at least the next couple weeks. Some of the squash plants look beat, but that probably won't upset too many of us.
Elsewhere, we got some beautiful lettuce coming up, including a nice romaine for the first time this year. We direct seeded some spinach, arugula, and radishes for your autumnal enjoyment. And maybe, if we're lucky, we'll get a few different kinds of peppers out of the field before it starts to cool down too much.
joe