A dairy farmer friend, Vin Malnati of Walpole, said it: “It was an old-time summer rain.” He was referring to a rain event we had earlier this month, in which we got half an inch of rain over the course of a day from a weather system that generated a gentle soaker. And I knew what he meant: the kind of weather we grew up with, that dominated the summer weather of our youths. Yes, back then we still got the occasional thunderbuster, but not of the alarming frequency and violence that has predominated summer weather in this era. And it was not an “old time rain” that rolled through here on June 30th. Neighborhood trees came down, power went out, and the storm dumped an inch of rain on us in 20 minutes.
That June 30th storm effectively put an end to our 2021 strawberry crop, which had been a pretty good one up to that point. Yes, we picked a few berries for the stand through the 5th of July, but the storm forced the end of wholesaling and put an early finish to PYO. The good news is that the bulk of the crop comes off on the earlier side of things. Still, it would have been nice to have the berries and money that were washed away.
It is demonstrably difficult to farm in an era of climate change. My farmer friends around New England agree that it it’s not just old age that makes us long for the weather of our youth, but also that farming has become dramatically harder in the last 10 years. There is no true “normal,” because polar extremes in weather systems are assured, but unpredictable. Michael Smith, a neighbor who farmed next door in town for a while, spoke to the creativity and resiliency of farmers when he said “ Farmers are are a pretty clever lot. We can farm in deserts, and we can farm in swamps. But it would be really helpful to know in April which one it’s going to be…” This year we started out as a desert: in April, May and June, a constant 10-15 mile-an-hour breeze; hot, arid weather; drought; threateningly low water levels. We were trying to do spring planting in 90-degree heat. Plants and crops were struggling, and despite our efforts some crops suffered, and a couple were lost.
Even the weeds struggled.
And yet…July 27. It looks like a lush Pacific Northwest rain forest around here, or rather like the Pacific rain forest of my youth. My childhood friend and college roommate David Murdough, who lives in Oregon, is spending his Golden Years running fire camps out there, because the Oregon forests have dried out and are burning up. Here in the Northeast, the downside of this lush dampness is disease in vegetable plants. In order to keep plants healthy we have to apply fungicides to protect them. (That is why your tomato plants are dying from the bottom leaves upward….it’s called “Early Blight.”) I don’t like spraying, but down in the Pioneer Valley of Connecticut and Massachusetts, farmers can’t even get into their fields to spray because of standing water. Should I count my dubious blessings?
Labor has been a big topic for farmers. We have a great crew, but like many farmers, have been mostly short on help this summer. The farmstand crew is predominantly a group of young women, with a couple of guys who work in the kitchen. And we have no women working in the fields, save my daughter-in-law Jenny and an assistant, who manage the CSA enterprise.
We have operated most of the season short handed. A couple of regular local collegians from recent years moved on to experience other opportunities. It was tough for us to lose them, but I understand. It was great for me during college to experience and see Colorado and Oregon through the lens of summer employment. But we lost a lot of experience when they left, and we thought we would be able to pick up a couple of locals, but no one applied. So Ray has been short handed until recently, when we got two additional H2A workers from Jamaica. Already we can see the impact a couple extra sets of boots on the ground are making, as we struggle to get fall crops planted and caught up on the weeding.
I was talking with our new crew members on the way back from the airport, and that led me to thinking about the average age of the Edgewater crew. My calculator puts the average crew age at 55 years of age. Most Americans are looking at their Golden Parachute at 55 , not about how many flats of strawberries or tomatoes that are needed for the daily pick. They are from interesting demographics and backgrounds. Some of us are collegians. Some of us have farmed sugar cane. George (who is 90 this year) milked cows most of his life. Russ is a retired corporate lawyer who specialized in international contracts.
We are very grateful for such an affable and hard working bunch. Pizza parties and takeout Chinese luncheons wouldn’t be the same without them.