The Routine

One week into my new adventure, life on the farm has settled into a routine. Most weekdays we work from 7:30 to noon and from 2 to 6 pm. And depending on the day we may plant lettuce, pick squash, weed spinach, bunch basil, wash turnip greens, fertilize tomatoes, trim chard, or sort eggplant, among other tasks. On weekends, our long days, we wake up around 5 am, drive to farmers markets near DC, hock our veggies until early afternoon, and return to the farm for late afternoon harvesting.

As for the most important non-work routine - meals - we eat in a communal screened-in worker kitchen, equipped with two couches, a large wooden dining table, two stoves, two fridges, a sink, and a smattering of haphazardly-placed and not particularly-washed dishes, pots, and pans. Each person makes their own breakfast and lunch, while dinner is cooked by a different farm worker each night. Staple foods we eat include the produce we grow as well as products we trade to other vendors at farmers markets, like bread and apples. A communal kitty is used to supplement our pantry with other key items, from nuts to milk.

As for bathroom arrangements (I'm sure you've wondered), we make due with a rustic outhouse tucked among strawberry bushes behind the barn and a wood-framed shower adjacent to the workers kitchen with two sinks and a mirror. When I asked another worker if she tends to shower in the mornings or evenings, she responded - "on Tuesdays." I confess I'm adjusting to that weekly tradition more readily than I would like to admit.

And, finally, we sleep in the unheated barn clustered in two rows of modest rooms, with a mattress, outlet, and window in each. Most nights, we hit the hay (sleeping bags actually) around 9:30 pm, after an hour or so of post-dinner chit chat.

Farming begins

Yesterday I was in synagogue surrounded by hundreds of families celebrating the Jewish new year. Today I was standing in a barn with 3 cooing chickens, Karen and my Mom having just left to return to DC in the Zipcar they rented to drop me off for my new adventure.

The entire crew was still at the Takoma Park farmers market so I meandered between the tomato rows to pass time. What was I possibly thinking, a lifelong city boy, coming to work on a farm? The chickens, wandering with me, nodded sympathetically. Its true, they seemed to say, farm life can be isolating. But remarkably, reception here in Wheatland, Virginia is better than at home, so I called Karen and then a few friends, which soothed my nerves.

As the sun started descending my nesting instinct kicked in, and I swept out the 10-by-15 foot storage room, now my bedroom, in the barn where the farm workers sleep. Using a crate as a dustbin, I threw out the dust, dead beetles, glass shards, and snake skin, and wondered if I'm ready for this journey. At 6:30, still alone, I really began to question my judgment. Instead, I focused on being hungry, wandered back through the fields and picked an orange pepper, a purple and white streaked eggplant, and green basil and returned to the workers kitchen where I sautéd them. Chomping on my first freshly-picked farm meal, crickets chirping outside, I did feel a sense of satisfaction, and certainty that whatever happens in the next 7 weeks, I won't go hungry.

I'm doing what?

Dear friends,

On Monday I'm heading to work on a farm for 7 weeks. Yes, a farm. Specifically, Chip and Susan Planck's Wheatland Vegetable Farm, 45 miles north of Washington DC in Loudoun County, Virginia. Putting my advanced degree to use, your blogger will pick vegetables during the week and help sell them at DC-area farmers markets on the weekends. And, lest you think otherwise, Karen has endorsed this plan in exchange for inside access to a beet-squash-kale-arugula-pepper supplier.

So, how will this lawyer fare on the farm? Will he resort to flash cards to memorize tomato varieties? After ten years of office jobs can he manage manual labor? Will he somehow avoid exhaustion, boredom, and the dreaded Okra itch?

Until my final day on the farm on November 8th, I'll write here about my routine, surroundings, companions, and diversions. And, I'll answer as many of the questions you post or ask as I can. As for my favorites so far - will I be handling the farm's legal affairs and do I need to speak Spanish to be a farmhand - thankfully not and creo que no.

Off to produce,
Dan on the Farm