Oh boy, it’s October
The first frost came a few days early this October, pushing out an explosion of fall color and setting the mountains around the farm on fire. With a layer of fleece covering the newly transplanted crops, we were ready. But that slight dip into coolness was very short lived, and in a few days the warm sunny afternoons were back on the regular.
And with the return of warmth came the return of activity, of plants working at warp speed to take advantage of the sun’s last few moments at the top edge of the sky.
By the end of the month we harvested the peanuts that had been planted way back at the very beginning of the season. I knew it they were close to being ready because I noticed the voles moving in. I quickly lined up a defense by sprinkling castor oil pellets on the beds to buy the peanuts a little more time to fatten up. The initially chubby looking pods were mostly full of nutty goodness, but quite a few of the peanuts in the shells were on the small side. Their days to maturity almost match my season length exactly so it was a quite tight timeline. Still, a fun process and am excited to try different ways to enjoy the harvest.
With the return of warm weather, the spicy peppers perked back into action and started coming in strong. My plan was to sow mustard under the canopy of the pepper plants, but I found this to be difficult because my rows were staggered and the plants were never staked making it difficult to get the seeds under the wily canopy to make good contact with the soil. In the end I decided to push this project off until later in the month when I could remove the remaining pepper plants and plant the mustard on a clean bed. A little better organization will hopefully make this process more successful as I think this is a good system for long season crops.
There is not a moment to rest just yet. My bones are growing increasingly tired. My knees are sore, and in fact one has a persistent injury that’s been difficult to diagnose or resolve. My mind is full of swimming details that I don’t fully understand. But instead of worry I take a moment and observe the forest and watch the leaves twirl downward while the trees shift their efforts into their roots.
I set my sights on sharpening my tools over the winter months. I dream of cooler air to relieve the burdens of my body and shift my attention to my mind, to dig through the sea of information I have collected this season.
A big question, one that seems to persist, and one that may come as a surprise is will I continue to farm on this land?
Over the past few months I have considered returning to Hawaii where I was born. Over the course of my life I’ve certainly lived in many diverse environments: Northern California, San Francisco, Seattle, and now in the mountains of North Carolina. There were two years where I lived nowhere in particular, in the perpetual moving residence of a traveling trailer.
Farming needs consistency. Farming needs time. Am I giving up too early?
For sure, I am new to the mountains, and full immersion in the community has been hampered substantially by the pandemic. So it makes sense to want to look back, way back, to consider where I came from: a warm, mostly happy place. There’s a chance that I fear the freeze of the coming winter months, and I consider that farming in Hawaii would have no threat of frost. I think about the tropical fruits I could grow. Then I think about the bugs that would never die without winter. But these divergent thoughts are surely a reminder for me to appreciate where I am right now, and I know that the spirit of Aloha will always be in my heart.
As the month of October comes to a close, I find my time in the garden is less and less each day, and there are even days where I don’t visit the field at all. It’s strange to compare the whirlwind of activity in summer to what little I can pull off these days before getting exhausted.
The seeds that will continue through the cold winter months are in the ground. The leaves from the forest are collected and held in large fenced areas to be used to make compost next spring and summer. The fast paced activity finally shifts to slowness. I cover the soil with mulch and allow the microscopic creatures below to take over the next workload. And I take a slight moment of rest after so much work.
