Mud season. We are almost through it. This is not some metaphorical political statement. It
directly pertains to this time of the year when our expectations of spring actually arriving
here are alternately dashed by periods of snow, rain, and blustery winds. We head outside
with our lawn rakes only to be chased inside to add a pair of gloves and extra layers of
clothing.
Still, I like mud season. I have come to appreciate the variety of all the New England
seasons here in New Hampshire, even though it often frustrates me as well. But I welcome
the time of year when there is no ice in the driveway and the footing is firm and I don’t have
to have gloves on every minute for every task.
Here on the farm the greenhouses are almost full of gardening starts: flowers, vegetables
and baskets for our home gardeners. The crew member numbers have escalated since we
opened them in February and more and more houses are coming online. In mud season
the help is either slogging around mud and snow in rubber boots drinking hot beverages or
they are outside in shirt sleeves transplanting and cleaning up perennials. These warm
50-60 degree days have us believing that spring might be here only to have our hopes
dashed by a wet day with snow. I guess my age has me finding peace with this because
there is always something that demands attention inside or outdoors.
Our Jamaican guest workers have arrived and are fired up to go, even though they would be
senior citizens retired to playing golf if they were Americans. Roy is back, resplendent in his
big shit eating grin and good humor. And looking mighty trim. Usually we have a winter
weigh off first thing, but this year it would appear I am the portly one, so I just conceded
and will buy the beer. First day in New England and he has less layers on than us natives. I
guess that makes him a very cool Jamaican?
We have been readying machinery often and on since before Thanksgiving. We have some
trucks and tractors that need professional attention as well as inspection and maintenance
by us. Once we get rolling with planting season it is critically important to limit down time.
We have a lot of specialized machinery, mainly because of the crop diversity that we are
currently maintaining. And most of it has quite a bit of age on it. We are about to start
dragging things around the field in preparation for planting, but it has been pretty damp and
cold so Ray has been working on the blueberry pruning and has uncovered the garlic and
the strawberries from their winter mulches.
Steve has been pretty much full-time maintenance with greenhouse doors and benches
that are in need of attention. Mike is putting new automatic side vents in an upgrade for
labor efficiency, as now the help will not have to spend a large portion of their day rolling
the sides up and down to regulate ventilation. Those greenhouses have a lot of life left in
them, but a few are over 40 years old and need some occasional love.
One of the seasonal chores I do (beware: rant warning...) is drive the edge of the roads
and pick up trash that has accumulated on our property over the winter. This years cache
included (but was not limited to) coffee cups, t shirt bags, fast food wrappings, beer cans.
The standard stuff. New to the mix was a bag full of electronic components from someone
whom evidently had a lot of battery operated toys to fix. The entitlement that one person
must have to jettison his waste out of his space into to the environment-much less some
one else’s personal space- it just astounds me. A friend of mine was talking about God
making man the superior animal during creation. When I pick up someone else’s litter -be
it a Dunkin cup or someone’s tires and used flat screen TVS- I fully believe the only
difference between humans and baboons is underwear. And although this habit of littering
is not totally an American thing, we seem to excel in it. I picked up more trash along short
stretch of RT 12A last night than I saw in a weeks vacation in Portugal. Italy doesn’t have
trash all along its roadways. Neither does Great Britain. But it in America? Hell, we leave
our personal oxygen bottles on the side of Mt Everest for someone else to pick up. You
would think in a state that worries about how we spend too much money on roads and
education they could connect the dots and see that the meter is running when those state
DOT employees are out picking up our garbage. That would save some money. And I
wouldn’t have to get off the tractor to pick up beer bottles.
Anyway, to offset that annoyance is the fact mud season has April vacation and the
grandchildren are here. There are bikes buzzing at high rates of speed on the hills and
driveways and it’s the only time I find I am grateful for the annoying sounding back up
alarms on machinery. This is year three of building construction. We have a lot of used
pallets on hand from fertilizer, soil and anything farm related that is heavy. The little people
repurpose them into housing, forts, shelters and containment centers. We have quite a bill
for wood screws and there are always batteries being charged for the drills and impact
drivers. But it is so good to see the camaraderie, fun, imagination , teamwork and pride in
what they build. Ray had to spend a fairly cold night in one such structure two years
ago....Gramps tries to make himself unavailable when there is talk of a campfire and full
night out there sleeping in a pallet shelter.
Pretty soon the greenhouses will open (April 25) and the wood ash and green crops will be
turned under. Carrots, spinach and beets will be seeded. Bob Chappelle is bringing down
our potato seed order tomorrow morning, so the wheels are gearing up. Already I am
behind in the greenhouses and Steve and I thought we would have the next year’s firewood
processed by now. Its farming . We will get to it sooner ....or much later.