Day 73, July 30, 2010

Had no time yesterday to reflect and write about farming. Besides, I was still digesting my previous post, which my son, Jay, took to be a bout of embarrassing diarrhea of the pen.

On Day 71, I dedicated this space to the awkward reality of human waste management in the farming field. Jay, in fact, is the only one of my three kids who has not visited and helped out in the garden. Even so, my social media-savvy eighteen-year-old wants to know where the treasure-turds are buried in the field... just in

case he should pay a visit. He makes his request, likely, in the belief that the daddy droppings have been laid out, in crop rows, like achievement prizes in FarmVille.

Meanwhile, Lilly Hinckley, Elizabeth's decidedly feral cat, inspects the crates of produce in back of my delivery truck, as Jay and I chat briefly.

"Friends giving you a ration of crap about my post, Jay?"

"No. Nobody's said anything."

"There you have it."

"Huh?" Jay looks at me like I have two heads.

"Exactly. Nobody gives a shit about this blog... except me."

"Jay shakes his head and moves on." He and his friend, Scott have decided to stay for dinner. Debbie and I have invited her friend, Lisa, to join us. This is an impromptu gathering, as Lisa has come to Noank, of all places, to buy two saddles for her family's equestrian business, White Birch Farm in East Hampton, CT (http://www.white-birch-farm.com/). I decide to serve hamburgers, with garden-grown early onion mixed into the ground chuck.

As the menu comes together, the events of the day play significance. For example. just as Deb and I are confronting the reality that this garden has totally overwhelmed our agricultural capabilities, Farmer Brown and his farmhand, Jimmy, come puttering down the path, in his utility cart, for a visit.

"Hey! Anyone want some sweet corn?"

"We'd love some." It's the first time Farmer Brown has come to visit in over a month, and it's good to hear him remark at the lushness of our plants and the advanced state of fruit set, especially on the tomato vines.

As we banter, Jimmy sets off into my tomato jungle.

"How much corn you want?" Farmer Brown asks.

"We'll take a dozen ears, thanks"

"They're a little small. Sure you don't want more?"

"No, thanks, we're good. You think the drought dwarfed them?" I ask, like I think I seem to know what I'm talking about.

"Probably... we got hit bad for a while."

"Would you like a few beefsteaks, George?"

"No thanks, we got some."

"Cukes?"

"Have more than we know what to do with!"

"How about a few jalapeno peppers?"

"Love a few."

I'm liking this agrarian exchange. This bucolic banter. In a short time, I have learned that farmers are very self-sufficient. The best never waste. I'm realizing that I am learning simple, but valuable lessons to take back into life, and into my future business dealings. Standing tall with a smile. Partly tanned and partly dirty. I'm sweaty, humble and able to offer a simple fruit, like a Jalapeno pepper to my host farmer. This is big. In spite of the season's fits and starts, Farmer Brown has been a friend. Generous with his land and well water. Magnificent in his pragmatic candor.

As we wind up our discussion, Jimmy appears between a stand of immature Brandywines and the transformational Beefsteaks. He has two ripe beauties in his hands. As he catches my eye, he tosses one tomato, which I gently grab, in slow motion, on its way down. This one-sided game of field fruit catch continues for about eight tomatoes. In my mind, I'm thinking that I have enough to bring Frankie, at Universal, his first local tomatoes. I learn that I'm right, about an hour later, when the Noank grocer buys all that I have from the back of my truck.

"Gotta look low, Ben," Jimmy calls. "You have a whole bunch coming in."

"Thank you," I answer, meaning it.

Dinner is delicious. We boil the corn, slice the tomatoes, and Debbie prepares a delicious cucumber salad, topped with dill from the garden. Jay trims a pound of bush beans,

and we steam them in a pot. "You know why these bush beans are so big?" I want to joke with Jay, but think better because he's taking an interest in them. I suspect his enjoyment of fresh beans is in better taste than a cheap scatalogical quip.

For an appetizer, we broil a bunch tomatillos and add them to our guacamole. But when it comes time for the main course, I realize how deliciously fresh everything is. Even the frozen lemonade feels homemade because Debby has added lavender, which gives it an earthy, special flavor.

The day has gone so well, and when I fall asleep trying to catch up on "The Fabulous Beekman Boys," I realize that my life's reality is so much more fabulous!