MORE PLOWING

I enjoyed my second crack at plowing today, although it was a limited engagement – just up and down the field a couple times. It was the ox teams' first experience walking a furrow together. Rob's assessment afterward was that Chris needs some strength conditioning.

A good way to test your soil to tell if it's dry enough for plowing: Pick up a lump, ball it together in your hands, and then squeeze it between your thumb and forefinger. If it breaks apart into many pieces like the Death Star exploding, it's ready. If it remains a pasty ball that simply goes misshapen, it's probably still too damp. If you plow when it's too damp, you can damage your soil structure. (Note to Reader: When I learn what soil structure is all about, I will keep you in the loop.)

You can see in the picture below what plowing looks like from behind the team. Those two handles I'm holding are joined to the plow blade, and if you look closely you can see the dirt turning over in front of the plow.

THE NEW GUY

I'm no longer the new guy at Howell. Tom arrived today and moved into the Intern House.

He seems like a good dude, and in just a few conversations it's easy to glean he's passionate about farming. He left a job in computer programming a few years ago to start learning about farming, and his goal now is to own his own land and farm it.

PLOWING

I got my first taste of plowing today. It was good. The soil I helped turn will be the future home of oats.

Our plowing operation included:

- The animals. We used two different teams of horses, including one team that had never been used at Howell to plow before. They worked so well that Rob and Jeremy started making allusions to plowing heaven.

- The plow. A heavy blade with handles that gets steered through the earth as the horses pull it.

- The guy steering the horses. Holds the lines on the horses, helping to keep everyone going in a straight line across the field at a happy pace.

- The guy steering the plow. (This can be the same guy who steers the horses, but today the jobs were separate). Walks behind the horses as they pull, trying to keep the plow blade straight.


Based on what Jeremy said (I'm not sure if I identified him previously, but Jeremy is the horse guy around here), the stars were aligned this morning for prime plowing. The baseline requirements to go out and plow are that the ground can't be frozen, nor can it be too muddy for the animals to get traction. In addition, the weather was cool for the horses today, the ground was especially soft, and the plow blade and all the straps on the horses turned out to be ideally adjusted on the first try.

So there I was, out in the field on my first beautiful day at Howell. Yes, my new boots where chaffing a bit, but my resolve was strong. I took the plow handles in my hands and the horses started to pull. It's not so easy to steer, I discovered. I was told it's like sailing, but I've never sailed before. I weaved like a drunken driver. If the blade starts to swing too far left, lean left to adjust. Too far right, lean right. The concept is simple, but the trick is in not over-adjusting in the heat of the moment. I'd say I did respectable enough for a maiden voyage, but don't drive by Howell today and hope to see any straight furrow lines out in the field.

I was surprised to find my heart pumping after a few laps up and down the field. The horses do all the heavy lifting, but just walking behind them and keeping the heavy plow upright is hard work. The horses will get stronger as the season goes on, and I'm counting on the same for myself.

OXEN

The largest animals at Howell are the oxen -- Chris and Jake. I weighed them a few days ago. (By weigh I mean I worked the slider on the scale. Rob and Jeremy did the hard work of coaxing them onto a heavy platform in the barn.)

Chris, who is seven, weighs 2200 pounds. Jake, age 12, weighs 2140 pounds.

Rob is the primary ox handler around here. He is starting to teach me the basics of caring for these huge, powerful pullers. Slowly, I'm beginning to feel more comfortable around them, although I still scurry away like a frightened mouse when one of them make a sudden movement of hoof or horn I wasn't expecting. My new steel-toed boots came in on Wednesday, and that's helped my confidence some.

A little of what I've learned, starting with the basics:

- "Oxen" are trained cattle. Jake and Chris are both steers -- castrated males. If they weren't castrated, they would be bulls. I asked Rob if anyone ever uses bulls to pull loads, as I figured they might have some extra spunk. Apparently this is not something a smart farmer would attempt.

- Every morning and night Chris and Jake each receive half a coffee can of grain and a big hug of hay. Rob tells me that an oxen's stomach is different than a horse's, so they eat less than horses do but gain weight more easily.

- When you have two oxen together, as you do in a team of pullers, one will try to assert dominance over the other. This includes them trying to mount one another, and also using their horns against one another. But grooming also plays a part. Apparently, the dominant ox will lick the less dominant ox into submission. So when Rob and I groom Chris and Jake with brushes, we're keeping them clean and asserting our dominance.

- The biggest practical difference between oxen and draft horses in a work sense is that one rides behind draft horses, steering with verbal commands and by pulling on their lines. With the oxen, one walks in front, steering them with verbal commands and taps from an ox whip.


On Friday, I observed the ox team in action for the first time, pulling a heavy manure spreader through a field. This was also a first for the oxen, of a sort, because Rob switched Jake from his usual position on the right side of the team to the left. The reasons behind the switch exceed my knowledge to explain them, but you can read all about it here, where Rob writes in detail about the experiment:

http://www.draftanimalpower.com/showthread.php?t=224

The oxen pulled with more speed and vigor then I expected. I had to walk briskly to keep up, and run to get ahead. Several times I crouched down well in front of them to try to snap a photo, only to look up from my lens a moment later to find them bearing down upon me. I imagine they move even faster without hundreds of pounds of machinery holding them back.

THE NEWS

I was out on the farm by 6 a.m. this morning. The wind-tipped cold was brutal; the temperature throbbing at 18 degrees. My reason for starting this icy morn' pre-sunrise: The television crew was coming.

Apparently, the CW 11 morning news show out of New York City has done some shoots at Howell Farm in the past, and today they wanted to do a segment on cutting your own firewood the old-fashioned way. So, along with four other farm workers, I was there to assist Larry the reporter in his effort to educate his audience on the finer points of felling a tree with a two-man saw and then dragging away the logs with a draft horse.

If not for the frigid temperature I would have found the experience enjoyably bizarre. As far as I know, I ended up on TV in one of the later shots, manning the saw, down on my knees in the dirt, snot running down my nose, wearing a funny-looking hat, shivering, thinking to myself, "Hell am I doing?"

A lot happens at the farm everyday. It's Day Three and I'm starting to learn my way around the morning chores – feed the horses, feed the oxen, feed the sheep, feed the chickens, light the woodstove. I received my first instruction on draft animal commands – "Haw," "Gee," "Git up," and "Whoa." I was cautioned on leading horses on a windy day, because it "Puts the Devil in 'em." I saw firsthand that the cornstalks I grinded up a few weeks ago are indeed excellent for soaking up urine.

More on all that to come soon. And pictures, too.

Corrections:

-I mentioned in my previous post that on the large mirror in my bedroom are written the words, "Scream Vodooo!!" I've been studying the unruly, double-lined penmanship of the message further, and I'm now less certain about the content of the second word. The message may in fact read, "Scream Wooooo!!" which strikes me as an entirely less ominous incantation to have written on one's bedroom mirror.

-I also mentioned the interns scheduled to join me in weeks to come. They're still coming, but I heard today they may actually be living in another house across the street from the farm, which means I'd have the farmhouse to myself the next three months. Either way, I'm eager to meet them.

MOVED

I moved into the farmhouse today.

I sit now at the kitchen table, writing in my journal, which I'll transfer to my laptop computer and the Internet later.

This house has been lived in by generations of interns before me. I'll have it to myself for the next seven days. In one week another intern starts – a former computer programmer from New Jersey, I'm told – and a few weeks after that a farmer from Nepal is to join us.

I am glad to be here first. It gives me a chance to snoop without boundary, and I'm also happy to observe that I have landed in the best bedroom (and by best I mean warmest.) The second bedroom in the house is both smaller and colder, and the third bedroom, while larger, is a floor higher and coldest of all. I'll take the heat.

My room and the rest of the upstairs is strewn debris, as if this were a grungy frat house at a farming college – with layers of relics left behind by past inhabitants. I plan to push back against the mess, but first I thought I'd document some of it:

-Two exciting posters on my wall: "The Evolution of Agriculture," and "The History of Farm Implements."

-On a large mirror, a message written in permanent marker: "Scream Vodooo!!"

-On top of some drawers: A camouflaged bag with a long zipper, perfectly sized to hold a rifle, and a large piece of black cloth on which is printed a colorful scene of four karate masters jumping and kicking one another.

-On the floor: A well-worn soccer ball.

The room attached to my room is a common area with a couch and a TV and bookshelves. On inspection, the shelves are dominated by classic tomes of agricultural wisdom, such as "Genetics of Livestock Improvement," "The Finest Fowl," and "Leather as Art and Craft." There are old CDs scattered everywhere, and old VHS cassettes tapes, too. Judging by its proximity to the VCR, the last tape watched was, "Scooby Doo and the Alien Invaders."

I'm hungry and tired, so that's all for today. But first one more list. Concerning free food, I was told this morning that I have access to all of the following:

-A practically unlimited supply of fresh farm eggs.

-A practically unlimited supply of potatoes, as long as I eat them within a month, after which they will start to get soft and disgusting.

-A large cabinet full of jarred tomatoes and tomato sauce, canned sometime last year.

-A large bag of frozen pesto.

-A heaping sack of dried black beans.

So far, I'm most excited about the sauce, with the eggs a close second.

JUNK MAIL AND OIL CHANGES

Two summers ago, I drove across the country and back—the American road trip. After some 5,000 miles, I found myself in Grand Forks, North Dakota, and decided it would be prudent to get the oil changed in my Camry. So I stopped by the local Grease Monkey. I remember the oil change as unremarkable, except that it took them longer to complete than promised.

Today, nearly two years later, I received a coupon in the mail from Grease Monkey of North Dakota, addressed to my New Jersey place of residence. "$5 Off Full Service Oil Change," only valid at their Grand Forks location.

Hey, thanks, I'll swing by after work.

Sustainability Tie-In:

If you haven't heard, the common knowledge that you should change the oil in your car every 3,000 miles no longer applies to the modern vehicle. Depending on the model, manufacturers recommend 5,000, 7,000 or even 10,000 miles between oil changes. According to the California Integrated Waste Management Board, which did a study, three-quarters of Californian drivers change their motor oil more often than needed, generating millions of gallons of waste oil every year in California alone.

Check it: http://www.3000milemyth.org/

I start fulltime at Howell on Tuesday, at which time my intention will be to post here faster and more furiously. See you then.

LARGEST BEEF RECALL IN U.S. HISTORY

In apparent close coordination with my previous blog posting, the USDA today issued the largest beef recall in American history -- some 143 million pounds from a California slaughterhouse:

http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20080217/ap_on_bi_ge/slaughterhouse_abuse

The article says the slaughterhouse is the subject of an animal abuse investigation. Where did most of the meat end up? School lunch programs.

A quote from the article: "Federal officials suspended operations at Westland/Hallmark after an undercover Humane Society video surfaced showing crippled and sick animals being shoved with forklifts."

FAST FOOD NATION

I watched the movie "Fast Food Nation" last night.

I can't speak to its accuracy, but it definitely paints the act of stopping into McDonald's to grab a burger as something to feel guilty about. The film is a work of fiction – not a documentary – but it uses realistic and graphic footage of a meatpacking factory where the cattle are crammed in, electrocuted to death, and then sliced, diced, and shredded into burger patties as rapidly as possible by wage-desperate illegal immigrants.

I wouldn't say I enjoyed the movie, but it definitely gave me something to think about.

In contrast, I spent the greater part of yesterday afternoon at Howell helping to saw down a dead tree among a grove of Sugar Maples. When it wouldn't come down despite being cut almost all the way through (the top of the tree was tangled up and held aloft by other neighboring trees), I helped yoke a team of oxen – Chris and Jake – who were employed to pull down the tree by means of a long rope. When it finally came crashing down, the oxen then dragged the trunk back to the farmyard, where I trust it will serve its last purpose as firewood.

At the risk of sounding sentimental:

One of the things I've enjoyed most about my visits to Howell Farm so far is that every act is intimate. Need breakfast? Fry an egg from the henhouse. Need firewood? Harvest a dead tree and then get to work sawing. Fertilizer for the fields? Put on your boots and start shoveling. I don't think any animals get slaughtered for meat at Howell, but if they did, it would be an intimate affair, and the people who ate that animal would know where their burger came from. Somehow I think that makes a big difference between it feeling right and it feeling wrong.

MAPLE SYRUP SEASON

If you should one day happen to receive a jar of Maple Syrup harvested from the sugars of Howell Living History Farm (and you're a hypochondriac), you may ask yourself, "I wonder if the equipment used to boil down all this syrup was thoroughly cleaned and disinfected beforehand?"

Rest easy. I spent several hours yesterday scrubbing down the metal and aluminum parts of the evaporator in which every 40 gallons of sap will burn to a single gallon of syrup. I used a mixture of warm water and white vinegar, and those scruffy, scratchy green pads I associate with doing dishes in the kitchen sink. During most of my labors I was all alone in an old barn, just me and the metal and my thoughts. It was very Zen.

Jim, one of the expert farmers around here, explained to me there's a window of about 8 to 10 weeks -- starting about now -- in which the trees can be harvested for sap. It depends on the weather. I'm not certain I understand all this precisely, but here's what I think I know:

Sugar-laced sap will start pumping up from the roots of the maple trees to the limbs and branches and finally the new buds at the first signs of spring warmth and sunshine. But if the sap were to stay in the new buds all night when the temperature drops back below 32 degrees, the buds will freeze and burst. So on cold nights trees pump their sap back down their trunks. It's this pumping -- up during the day's warmth and down during the night's cool -- that enables farmers to siphon the sap from the outer layers of the tree for use in making syrup.

And what can happen during an unseasonably warm winter such as the one we are now experiencing in New Jersey?

If spring comes early and fast and the temperatures rise and stay high even at night, the trees will pump all their sap from roots to bud early on. The buds will hold the sap and mature quickly. At that point, the trees will shut down their sap pumps, and the year's tapping will be over prematurely, resulting in a poor harvest and less syrup.

In the next few days, however, according to weather.com, the temperature is supposed to drop back down again, to the lows 20s at night, and then up to the 40s during the days. Could be good news for all the syrupheads out there.

BILL GATES AND FARMING

In other farming news, Bill Gates announced last week at the World Economic Forum that he is donating $306 million to help farmers in poor countries. The link:

http://www.cnn.com/2008/WORLD/europe/01/25/davos.main/index.html