Our bale count yesterday was 661; the temperature held steady at 95 degrees Fahrenheit.
Farmer Jeremy attests that the hottest part of the day is 5 p.m., as by this time the sun has had all afternoon to bake the earth. My own experience had not convinced me that 5 p.m. is in fact the hottest part of the day, but under this premise we started baling at about 1:30, so as to avoid the worst of the heat.
Farmer Jim drove the tractor and baler; Farmer Jeremy ferried wagons; Kyle (a Penn State ag student off for the summer who is the farm's go-to-guy for hard work at 7 feet tall and 300 pounds of muscle) stacked the bales; and I hooked the bales and passed them back to him.
The best thing about working in the heat is that it supercharges your appreciation of the basic. Water never tasted so sweet as yesterday at 3 p.m. The bag of salty potato chips I dumped down my throat at 4:3o was the most nourishing I've met.
After four hours out on the wagon, I was glad when it was over.
In other news, Farmer Gary is on vacation in Tennessee. He reports this about the trip: "This is more fun than baling hay on a hot day."
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Thursday, June 5, 2008
PHOTOS: PUTTING AWAY HAY THE OLD-FASHIONED WAY
Photo 1: Intern Matt setting the jaws.
Photo 2: The hay on its way up.
Photo 3: Kid power on the rope.
PHOTOS: PUTTING AWAY HAY THE MODERN WAY
Photo 1: Intern Ramchandra dropping bales onto the hay conveyer.
Photo 2: The view from up in the hayloft.
Photo 2: The view from up in the hayloft.
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
LOADING HAY WITH 'THE MAN KILLER'
"The Man Killer" earned its nickname not because it is a particularly dangerous machine (that distinction belongs to "The Death Tedder"), but because it is known for wearing down hardened farm workers.
Yesterday provided a chance to test my mettle. I spent a good hour up on the wagon, spreading and packing the oceans of hay The Killer tried to bury me with. It was strenuous, tiring work, and in fairness to The Killer I know I didn't receive a full dose of her fury. Farmer Rob, who was driving the oxen who were pulling the wagon, stopped often to let me catch up when the hay came faster than I could sort it.
Based on my limited experience, however, I think that this machine is not as mortality challenging as its name suggests – at least not if you take it in the limited shift I did. In fact, I think stacking hay was the harder work of the two. The day after I stacked for a few hours my hands still burned and my muscles ached. Today, though, I'm feeling pretty good.
Watch the video below to see some of the action:
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
MORE HAY
The cutting, baling, and bringing in of hay continues at Howell Farm this week.
On Saturday, we raised a wagonload of loose hay up into the ox barn using rope, pulley, and a big claw. We hoisted in the last load just a minute before a cell of torrential rain came rumbling through and soaked everything. Our timing was good.
I learned something about the phrase, "Like finding a needle in a hay stack." My youthful imagining of this adage was of distraught ladies of the sewing profession sifting through mounds of hay in search of a needle they had carelessly dropped. On Saturday, however, I was introduced to a real hay needle, a long, slender, solid piece of steel shoved down into a pile of loose hay to help keep it from falling off the wagon.
In truth, I was a little disappointed. The hay needle was three feet long, and weighed a few pounds. Finding it in a haystack might provide a moderate challenge, but not the hopeless labor of futility I had previously associated with the task.
I was also questioned at the farm last week on the origin of the phrase, "Waiting for the other shoe to drop." This has nothing to do with hay, but I thought Farmbedded readers might like to know. Here's what Google told me:
"Its source would seem to be the following story. A man comes in late at night to a lodging house, rather the worse for wear. He sits on his bed, drags one shoe off and drops it on the floor. Guiltily remembering everyone around him trying to sleep, he takes the other one off much more carefully and quietly puts it on the floor. He then finishes undressing and gets into bed. Just as he is drifting off to sleep, a shout comes from the man in the room below: 'Well, drop the other one then! I can’t sleep, waiting for you to drop the other shoe!'"
Such etymologic distractions are a good break from throwing around hay bales, which is tough work. This morning we unloaded three wagons into the barn using a hay conveyer, and this afternoon I'm told the fabled "Man Killer" horse-drawn hay-loading machine will finally make an appearance. I've been bragging to the guys at work that the machine will henceforth be known as the "Man Pleasant Afternoon on the Farm" machine after I'm finished demonstrating my prowess on it, but that was last week when I was still feeling the best of my strength. Now I'm feeling like I could use a few steak dinners and another weekend off before saddling up.
On Saturday, we raised a wagonload of loose hay up into the ox barn using rope, pulley, and a big claw. We hoisted in the last load just a minute before a cell of torrential rain came rumbling through and soaked everything. Our timing was good.
I learned something about the phrase, "Like finding a needle in a hay stack." My youthful imagining of this adage was of distraught ladies of the sewing profession sifting through mounds of hay in search of a needle they had carelessly dropped. On Saturday, however, I was introduced to a real hay needle, a long, slender, solid piece of steel shoved down into a pile of loose hay to help keep it from falling off the wagon.
In truth, I was a little disappointed. The hay needle was three feet long, and weighed a few pounds. Finding it in a haystack might provide a moderate challenge, but not the hopeless labor of futility I had previously associated with the task.
I was also questioned at the farm last week on the origin of the phrase, "Waiting for the other shoe to drop." This has nothing to do with hay, but I thought Farmbedded readers might like to know. Here's what Google told me:
"Its source would seem to be the following story. A man comes in late at night to a lodging house, rather the worse for wear. He sits on his bed, drags one shoe off and drops it on the floor. Guiltily remembering everyone around him trying to sleep, he takes the other one off much more carefully and quietly puts it on the floor. He then finishes undressing and gets into bed. Just as he is drifting off to sleep, a shout comes from the man in the room below: 'Well, drop the other one then! I can’t sleep, waiting for you to drop the other shoe!'"
Such etymologic distractions are a good break from throwing around hay bales, which is tough work. This morning we unloaded three wagons into the barn using a hay conveyer, and this afternoon I'm told the fabled "Man Killer" horse-drawn hay-loading machine will finally make an appearance. I've been bragging to the guys at work that the machine will henceforth be known as the "Man Pleasant Afternoon on the Farm" machine after I'm finished demonstrating my prowess on it, but that was last week when I was still feeling the best of my strength. Now I'm feeling like I could use a few steak dinners and another weekend off before saddling up.
Sunday, June 1, 2008
MAKING HAY
We brought in more than 400 bales of hay Friday afternoon, plus another wagon filled with loose hay.
I don't know if 400 bales is good, bad, or average, as this was my first experience working on a hay wagon. But it sure felt like a lot the next day.
There will be chances in the next few weeks to collect hay the old-fashioned way – with horses and a machine dubbed "The Man Killer." On Friday, however, the modern tractors and baler were humming. (Rain was in the forecast for late Friday night.) The hay that was cut and drying out in the field might have been ruined if we didn't get it all into the barn.
I enjoyed the hint of urgency that accompanied the work. I jumped on my first wagon not long after 3 and jumped off my last wagon sometime approaching 8 as the sun was beginning to decline.
Most of the work I accomplished was in the role of "stacker." Farmer Jim drove the tractor, which was pulling a baler. The baler scooped up the loose hay, processed it in its belly, and pushed it out the back in the form of heavy rectangular hay blocks tied up with baler twine. Intern Ramchandra, my "hooker," pulled the bales off the baler with a hay hook and passed them back onto the floor of the wagon. That's where I picked them up and stacked them as tall as eight layers high, arranging them in alternating patterns designed to keep the heap from toppling over.
I felt a certain pride in my first wagon, which I stacked from start to finish. The trick is to stack the hay tight and even, which makes for a stable, aesthetically pleasing hay castle that won't shed its building blocks when you pull it down the road and hit a bump. I think I accomplished my task very well, and I also think it was beginner's luck, because my second hay castle was lopsided and kind of sucked.
I tried to follow all of Farmer Jim's advice, as he's a man who looks like he's made hay a time or two. My one regret is that he mentioned he didn't like to wear gloves when he stacks, so I said to myself, "Then I won't be wearing gloves either."
This worked out well for my first two wagons, but by the time I got going on my third, this time working to pass bales back to Intern Matt, my hands were red, cut, and burning. Picking up each bale was reminiscent of touching an electric fence. I had to reset my resolve every 10 seconds before clamping down again. Things got so unpleasant that I finally made the driver stop midfield so I could jump off and slip on some work gloves.
So, youngsters, here's my advice: Don't try to be as tough as old, callused Farmer Jim.
I don't know if 400 bales is good, bad, or average, as this was my first experience working on a hay wagon. But it sure felt like a lot the next day.
There will be chances in the next few weeks to collect hay the old-fashioned way – with horses and a machine dubbed "The Man Killer." On Friday, however, the modern tractors and baler were humming. (Rain was in the forecast for late Friday night.) The hay that was cut and drying out in the field might have been ruined if we didn't get it all into the barn.
I enjoyed the hint of urgency that accompanied the work. I jumped on my first wagon not long after 3 and jumped off my last wagon sometime approaching 8 as the sun was beginning to decline.
Most of the work I accomplished was in the role of "stacker." Farmer Jim drove the tractor, which was pulling a baler. The baler scooped up the loose hay, processed it in its belly, and pushed it out the back in the form of heavy rectangular hay blocks tied up with baler twine. Intern Ramchandra, my "hooker," pulled the bales off the baler with a hay hook and passed them back onto the floor of the wagon. That's where I picked them up and stacked them as tall as eight layers high, arranging them in alternating patterns designed to keep the heap from toppling over.
I felt a certain pride in my first wagon, which I stacked from start to finish. The trick is to stack the hay tight and even, which makes for a stable, aesthetically pleasing hay castle that won't shed its building blocks when you pull it down the road and hit a bump. I think I accomplished my task very well, and I also think it was beginner's luck, because my second hay castle was lopsided and kind of sucked.
I tried to follow all of Farmer Jim's advice, as he's a man who looks like he's made hay a time or two. My one regret is that he mentioned he didn't like to wear gloves when he stacks, so I said to myself, "Then I won't be wearing gloves either."
This worked out well for my first two wagons, but by the time I got going on my third, this time working to pass bales back to Intern Matt, my hands were red, cut, and burning. Picking up each bale was reminiscent of touching an electric fence. I had to reset my resolve every 10 seconds before clamping down again. Things got so unpleasant that I finally made the driver stop midfield so I could jump off and slip on some work gloves.
So, youngsters, here's my advice: Don't try to be as tough as old, callused Farmer Jim.
Thursday, May 29, 2008
THE DEPARTURE OF INTERN TOM
The final day of Intern Tom's internship was yesterday. He departed in his Geo Metro early this morning. His immediate future holds a road trip to Tennessee with friends and a few weeks off. Then, for the next year or so, he will be farm manager at Kimberton CSA, a 10-acre biodynamic vegetable garden near Phoenixville, PA.
Here's the link to Kimberton's website if you're interested in learning more about it:
http://www.kimbertoncsa.org/index.html
During his time here, Tom spoke of his goal to one day own his own small farm, grow organic vegetables, and use draft horses to accomplish the work. I bet he'll succeed. In fact, he's the recipient of a coveted Farmbedded Endorsement, a very prestigious award in the world of farm blogging. He deserves it. Not only has he already devoted years to learning about organic vegetable production, he's also a natural horseman, a philosopher of sustainability, he plays the guitar, is a good cook, and he can fix your computer, too.
If you own more tillable acres in New Jersey than you need and like the idea of helping out a young farmer trying to make the world a healthier place, you should send your contact information to me at jtflesher@gmail.com, at which point I will pass it on to Tom.
Here's the link to Kimberton's website if you're interested in learning more about it:
http://www.kimbertoncsa.org/index.html
During his time here, Tom spoke of his goal to one day own his own small farm, grow organic vegetables, and use draft horses to accomplish the work. I bet he'll succeed. In fact, he's the recipient of a coveted Farmbedded Endorsement, a very prestigious award in the world of farm blogging. He deserves it. Not only has he already devoted years to learning about organic vegetable production, he's also a natural horseman, a philosopher of sustainability, he plays the guitar, is a good cook, and he can fix your computer, too.
If you own more tillable acres in New Jersey than you need and like the idea of helping out a young farmer trying to make the world a healthier place, you should send your contact information to me at jtflesher@gmail.com, at which point I will pass it on to Tom.
Saturday, May 24, 2008
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
WENDELL BERRY
On Farmer Pete's recommendation, I've begun reading "The Gift of Good Land," a collection of essays by writer Wendell Berry. I had never heard of Berry before I got to Howell, but many of the other farmers and interns here are familiar with his work, which includes essays, poetry, and novels. He has built a reputation for himself as a proponent of small farms and healthy communities, and as a critic of unfettered industrial progress.
In what I've read so far, many of Berry's musings on what constitutes "progress," and what it's good for, match some of the same thoughts and questions that have risen in my mind recently. Berry writes:
"The coming of a tool, then, is not just a cultural event; it is also an historical crossroad – a point at which people must choose between two possibilities: to become more intensive or more extensive; to use the tool for quality or for quantity, for care or for speed."
In a separate essay, Berry describes a small farm on which the farmer makes decisions based not on what plantings and practices will be most profitable, but based instead on what makes him happy:
"His aim, it seems, is not that the place should be put to the fullest use, but that it should have the most abundant life. … One finally realizes that on the Lapp farm one is surrounded by an abounding variety of lives that are there, and are thriving there, because Elmer Lapp likes them. And from that it is only a step to the realization that the commercial enterprises of the farm are likewise there, and thriving, because he likes them too."
In Berry's foreword to the collection, which reads like his summation, he writes this about the small farm:
"Its justification is not only agricultural, but is a part of an ancient pattern of values, ideas, aspirations, attitudes, faiths, knowledges, and skills that propose and support the sound establishment of a people on the land. To defend the small farm is to defend a large part, and the best part, of our cultural inheritance."
I haven't read enough yet, or thought on what I have read long enough yet, to decide which of Berry's philosophies coincide with my own. Today, however, I drove two horses around the farm, pulling a manure spreader, and as I looked around at the green fields and blue sky, and at the animals, and at the people here working and visiting, I couldn't help thinking that there is something very satisfying about being here, and in doing the work I have been doing. It is that birthright, I think, that Berry is urging us to hold on to.
In what I've read so far, many of Berry's musings on what constitutes "progress," and what it's good for, match some of the same thoughts and questions that have risen in my mind recently. Berry writes:
"The coming of a tool, then, is not just a cultural event; it is also an historical crossroad – a point at which people must choose between two possibilities: to become more intensive or more extensive; to use the tool for quality or for quantity, for care or for speed."
In a separate essay, Berry describes a small farm on which the farmer makes decisions based not on what plantings and practices will be most profitable, but based instead on what makes him happy:
"His aim, it seems, is not that the place should be put to the fullest use, but that it should have the most abundant life. … One finally realizes that on the Lapp farm one is surrounded by an abounding variety of lives that are there, and are thriving there, because Elmer Lapp likes them. And from that it is only a step to the realization that the commercial enterprises of the farm are likewise there, and thriving, because he likes them too."
In Berry's foreword to the collection, which reads like his summation, he writes this about the small farm:
"Its justification is not only agricultural, but is a part of an ancient pattern of values, ideas, aspirations, attitudes, faiths, knowledges, and skills that propose and support the sound establishment of a people on the land. To defend the small farm is to defend a large part, and the best part, of our cultural inheritance."
I haven't read enough yet, or thought on what I have read long enough yet, to decide which of Berry's philosophies coincide with my own. Today, however, I drove two horses around the farm, pulling a manure spreader, and as I looked around at the green fields and blue sky, and at the animals, and at the people here working and visiting, I couldn't help thinking that there is something very satisfying about being here, and in doing the work I have been doing. It is that birthright, I think, that Berry is urging us to hold on to.
Sunday, May 18, 2008
NO-TILL FARMING PART II
"What do you think about no-till farming?"
Farmer Rob's opinion coincided with much of what I've read. He agrees that no-till is a good method to prevent soil from eroding, but the downside is that conventional no-till requires the use of large quantities of chemicals. So there's a tradeoff.
In any case, no-till farming is nothing new. Many farmers across the country have been spraying and planting for a long time. The chemicals and crops used in no-till are often specialized product systems sold by huge agribusiness companies. (If you've heard the term "Roundup Ready," that refers to crops that have been genetically modified to withstand the spraying of Roundup, which is often used on no-till fields to kill unwanted growth.)
The reason I say "conventional no-till" in a previous paragraph is because there is another method of no-till farming being experimented with more in recent years – "Organic no-till."
Organic no-till farming doesn't use chemicals. Instead, it relies on crop rotation and mechanical means (like big rollers with teeth that get pushed or pulled through a field) to clear cover crop growth and keep weeds at bay.
Other sustainability minded farmers continue to use some pesticides on their no-till fields, but far less than they would using only conventional no-till practices.
Here are a few websites that show some of the experiments and progress that have been made in this area:
http://www.newfarm.org/depts/notill/index.shtml
>http://www.cedarmeadowfarm.com/
>http://attra.ncat.org/attra-pub/organicmatters/conservationtillage.html
Though promising, the general sense I get from my reading and conversations is that totally organic no-till farming is still very much a work in progress. Intern Tom worked for a time on a farm in Pennsylvania that experimented with organic no-till. He said the results were "weedy."
Farmer Rob's opinion coincided with much of what I've read. He agrees that no-till is a good method to prevent soil from eroding, but the downside is that conventional no-till requires the use of large quantities of chemicals. So there's a tradeoff.
In any case, no-till farming is nothing new. Many farmers across the country have been spraying and planting for a long time. The chemicals and crops used in no-till are often specialized product systems sold by huge agribusiness companies. (If you've heard the term "Roundup Ready," that refers to crops that have been genetically modified to withstand the spraying of Roundup, which is often used on no-till fields to kill unwanted growth.)
The reason I say "conventional no-till" in a previous paragraph is because there is another method of no-till farming being experimented with more in recent years – "Organic no-till."
Organic no-till farming doesn't use chemicals. Instead, it relies on crop rotation and mechanical means (like big rollers with teeth that get pushed or pulled through a field) to clear cover crop growth and keep weeds at bay.
Other sustainability minded farmers continue to use some pesticides on their no-till fields, but far less than they would using only conventional no-till practices.
Here are a few websites that show some of the experiments and progress that have been made in this area:
http://www.newfarm.org/depts/notill/index.shtml
>http://www.cedarmeadowfarm.com/
>http://attra.ncat.org/attra-pub/organicmatters/conservationtillage.html
Though promising, the general sense I get from my reading and conversations is that totally organic no-till farming is still very much a work in progress. Intern Tom worked for a time on a farm in Pennsylvania that experimented with organic no-till. He said the results were "weedy."
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