June on the farm

It’s almost officially summer, and I wanted to share a few farm photos. That’s sage in bloom. Isn’t it pretty? Behind the sage, is the Little Tunnel. We spent today composting the tunnel and laying fabric. Later this week, we’ll fill it with cucumbers, peppers, and eggplant.

This is the Big Tunnel. It has several kale varieties, Swiss chard, collards, tomatoes, and peppers (although most of those were eaten by some insect).

Here’s the other side of the Big Tunnel, where the tomatoes are planted.

The outdoor tomatoes are still small, but they’re doing well.

We planted fewer onions than last year, and it’s been much easier to care for them.

We should have a lot of beans this year.

A reminder before Season 8 begins

While we sat drinking tea and coffee after breakfast, Jason shared a memory that came up on his phone for today from 2019. It was the day we put up the plastic on the Big Tunnel.

As Silas and I scrolled through the photos, we chimed, “There’s Angelica! There’s Garrett! There’s grandpa!”

On that March day, Angelica returned to the farm early to pitch in with the plastic. And Garrett, of Fat Hawk Farm, is community-minded, and well known to set aside time to help when he’s needed. Another person who has always been the first to volunteer a helping hand is Gene. He spent a long, frigid December day with us in 2018 putting up the trusses for the Big Tunnel. My dad, Gary, spent many cold days working with us on that project, too. And we couldn’t have done it without my mother, Darlene, caring for Silas. Friends of ours from Bradford, Fawn and Greg, drove down one day to help dig holes in the cold and snow before we realized we really needed to rent an auger! It is a credit to all of their natures that they lent us their time and labor.

Seeing the photos this morning whipped up feelings of gratefulness. They were a good reminder as we embark on Season 8. Few people reach their goals by sheer will alone, even when it may seem that way. The kindness of others helps lift trusses along the way.

~ Stella

That’s Garrett, of Fat Hawk Farm, in the air in March 2019.

There’s Angelica! Spring 2019.

Grandpa Gary and Jason drilling the post holes in November 2018.

Grandpa Gary, left, and Gene working on the frame in December 2018.

Jason giving his father-in-law a much-deserved coffee and doughnut.

From the time he could help, he often has. But on those days when it’s just too cold, or the work will be too dangerous or long, we’re lucky to have the support of his grandmothers.

Spring gifts

Stock image

I was about to call it a night when Jason turned to me on the couch and said, “Want to see the baby lettuces?” Tired as I was, he looked and sounded too sweet to refuse.

He has them in the basement under grow lights. Poking out of the potting soil, reaching for the light, are the tiniest lettuces possible. Just wee green slips. Baby broccoli and lots of herbs, too. The oregano is so small you have to squint to see it. And lots of kale. Seed trays are the first sign of spring for us. Here are a few more favorites:

BIRDS SINGING

Everywhere and all the time. Isn’t it a relief to hear them again?

MOSS SEASON

The moss is never more brilliantly green than this time of year. Any place it grows takes on a mysterious and enchanted appearance. Unless it’s your roof.

HOME IMPROVEMENT PROJECTS IN HIGH GEAR

We had all winter to make home interior tweaks but as usual we waited until now. Maybe it’s because the clock is about to run out on such projects, when farming takes over in early spring. Or maybe the promise of good weather has us motivated to tackle all that needs tackling. Right now, we’re making a few inexpensive but big impact changes to my office, including green paint. And Jason taught me how to refinish my desk.

EGGS

Hurray! The chickens are laying again. This is a big deal since we go through about four dozen eggs a week. The ladies are relishing rolls in the dust on sunny afternoons. It’s nice to see them in the yard giving their feathers good shakes.

SYRUP MAKING

We put in about 10 taps. When conditions are right, we’re getting about 10 gallons of clear sap a day. It takes about 40 gallons of sap to make a gallon of maple syrup. Our goal is two gallons of syrup for the year.

TUNNEL WORK

Jason mowed inside the Big Tunnel the other day and worked up the rows. He seeded carrots, cilantro, radishes, and spinach.

BACKYARD BASEBALL

The weekend was extra warm. After an all-around great day, I was doing a few things in the house when I spied Silas and Jason playing catch in the back yard. Silas will be a minor leaguer this spring. He missed out on T-ball altogether thanks to the pandemic so Jason’s been working with him on the basics.

On this particular evening, the sun was setting behind them, and with no leaves to block the glow, they were both outlined in gold. I watched them as a warm breeze blew through the screen. Thank you, Spring, for so many gifts.

~ Stella

Enjoying the winter storm, heating with wood & adjusting to self-employed finances

From my pillow, the woods behind the house is visible. In winter, my gaze threads the spaces between branches, able to dart a short distance until the lattice of limbs becomes a gray wall. But when I woke on Monday, the snow had stacked thick on the branches, halting my view at the first row of treetops, much like in summer.

About a foot of snow had piled on overnight. Just a day before the storm, the ground and air were bone dry. On a walk up to the farm, the wind sent leaves clattering across the road and rushing through the woods. It felt like a late-autumn day. Now, the woods was heavy. The snow weighed everything down. The branches of the thorn apple looked like fat, white, spiked dinosaur tails.

Before the storm, Jason hauled firewood from the backyard stacks to our basement. In a less chaotic year, we would have stored wood under our porch, just a few steps from the house. But this year, we’re stuck playing catch up all winter. Jason cut and hauled enough wood in from the forest, but he has to split it every few weeks, and then we take turns dragging it to the house in either a cart or sled. One of Jason’s oft-quoted sayings is, “Firewood is so nice, it warms you twice.” First, the chopping warms you, then the flames. This year, we could say it warms us thrice, or four times, or more. Chop it. Haul it. Stack it. Split it. Drag it to the house. Stack it in the basement. Carry it up the darned stairs!

If you’ve never experienced wood stove heat, this may not sound worth it. But wood heat is a different kind of warm. There’s something about having those orange flames glowing in the Buck Stove in the middle of our humble dwelling. For more than a million years, we’ve fed the flames and they’ve nourished us with heat. That bond is alive and well as I sit in my chair and type, listening to clicks and crackles and pops coming from the stove. In winter, the low grumble of the fire is always in the background here. The peak of luxury is crossing my legs at the ankles, and feeling waves of heat wash against the bottoms of my feet.

Before bed, we load up the stove, but it usually burns out at some point in the early morning. This makes for a chilly house before breakfast. With a mild winter thus far, the lowest temperature in the house was 53 degrees in the main living area. Back in the bedrooms, it’s cooler. If I wake up, and my sinuses feel near froze, the only relief is to tuck my forehead in the warm bowl Jason’s shoulder blades make when he sleeps on his side.

The chill is temporary. We dress in layers, and there are enough morning chores to warm us up. Layers and movement, the two best remedies for cold. Within a few hours, the temperature rises to the mid 60s. By evening, it’s in the 70s, thanks to old Buck.

Working full time and farming made finding time to tend to firewood difficult for Jason. Now that he’s home, one of his goals is to get a year or two ahead with firewood gathering. Time, we trust, will be our greatest asset in this new life.

Not a bad way to get some exercise.

After the big snowfall, Silas and I went sled riding with Luna. Our house sits on a knoll that’s steep enough to cut a decent track. Earlier this month, Jason and Silas managed to sled ride with just a dusting on this knoll as I watched from the window. When you’re a wife, but also a mother to a young son, there’s usually at least one person trying to show off for you much of the time. Silas would look over his shoulder and smile at me on his way down the hill. Jason would at least wait until he reached the bottom to catch my eye and grin. Admittedly, there is something still quite thrilling about having him show off for me after more than 20 years together.

While Silas and I zipped down this same hill, Jason used a shop broom to sweep snow off the little propagation high tunnel, which crumples like a squashed bug under heavy snow. After brushing it off, he gets underneath and pushes up from inside until it pops back up.

Afterward, Jason strapped on snowshoes and trudged uphill to the farm to sweep off the kale tunnel.

Just in from sweeping snow from the tunnels. Lots of snow, lots of sweat.

After lunch, we trekked up the road to sled ride at Grandma and Grandpa’s cabin, which sits atop a long slope. At times, we were playing in the middle of a blizzard, with snow tumbling down and blowing all around.

While Jason and Silas kept sledding, I enjoyed the rare opportunity to swing on a swing and leap off without shooting thunderbolts up both my ankles, thanks to foot-deep white padding.

We’re making the most of all this snow, Silas especially, of course. Is there any greater test of woman’s endurance than the repeated bundling and unbundling of a child in snow clothes?

One year, we made a family pact to sled ride every day that we could. The rule was, a Ruggiero had to go down a hill at least once, provided there was enough snow. We set impressive streaks, going weeks at at a time without missing a day. With Jason at work, it was mostly Silas and I who carried out the pact. Watching them both from my snowy swing made this a merry blizzard.

Friends who know about trees: What is this lavender stripe?

ADJUSTING TO SELF-EMPLOYMENT

We’re in our first month as self-employed people. In the weeks leading up to Jason’s final day with his old employer (and his final paycheck), I spent a lot of time thinking about how to best handle the money flow in our house now.

Ever since starting (and completing) our debt-free journey, I’ve had my consistent system, which was based on the arrival of regular earnings. Now, our income comes from two primary sources (Spark Community Capital and the farm), and we’re no longer on the standard twice-a-month paycheck schedule that we’ve known our entire adult lives.

I needed to come up with a new system to ensure we always had enough money in the hopper. The last thing I want is to have to sound the alarm each month. We do not want to scramble. The whole point of our low cost of living is to enjoy a life free from money struggle.

As part of our new system, we opened another checking account. This account serves as a holding pen for the next month’s bills, so we’re always a month ahead no matter what. With our new system, we should always have enough funds for the current month’s bills, and the upcoming month. This lets us divert “extra” money to savings, family fun, and charity, etc. The idea is that we’ll always have time to replenish the family coffers and avoid lean times.

We also brought back our sinking funds account. Sinking funds are money that we set aside every month to pay for upcoming (usually large expenses), such as car and home insurance (paid in full, not monthly), and spring and fall property taxes. That fund was key to helping us get out of debt. It kept us from dealing with any expensive “surprises” throughout the year. (They weren’t really surprises, of course, but sometimes those larger bills sneak up on you.)

I’m convinced that the key to making our self-employment work is laying out a monthly budget, and sticking to it. We don’t see budgets as restrictive. For us, they’re a way of maintaining peace of mind in our home.

Our current monthly personal budget generally looks like this. (Note: Spark pays its own bills, and the farm pays for itself, as well. The list below is for our household, and doesn’t contain costs such as taxes.)

FEBRUARY 2022

— House-related payments: $620

— Internet: $100 … Our internet out here in the sticks is so lousy, that we started tracking every day it’s patchy, and our internet speed. Our line is likely cracked somewhere, and Verizon has apparently no intention of ever digging it up and fixing it. I requested a sort of peace agreement with the company: they’ll keep providing sub par internet, and we’ll only pay for sub par internet. They offered to give me a monthly discount for a year, and a one-time $65 discount for lost service in January. I’m going to keep tracking, and keep calling, so we’ll see what happens. We’re also exploring other internet options because it is a hinderance to our businesses. Normally, our bill for a landline and internet is about $100 a month. With the discounts, our February bill should actually be about $28.)

— Electric: $200 … This varies, depending on the time of year. During the farm season, we power grow lights and the walk-in cooler, and our bill tops out around $200. This time of year, our bill is around $130, but I typically budget $200 anyway out of habit.

— Groceries: $400 per month … During the winter, we go to the grocery store twice a month.

— Gasoline: $90 … We budgeted for three tanks of gas, given that Jason no longer has a commute.

TOTAL FOR BILLS, GROCERIES, AND GAS: $1,410

Note: We’re being extremely cautious with spending in this first year, as we figure out how to navigate self-employment. With January going smoothly thus far, I did build some spending money in our February budget for things like birthday gifts and family fun (about $150 total).

Game for 2022 - Our holiday recap

Hairy vetch still blooming in the Big Tunnel in January.

Jason’s final day of work was before Christmas. Since he normally takes vacation days between Christmas and New Years, it didn’t feel odd to have him home these last few days.

We watched out the window for him on his last day. When the headlights cut through the December dark, Silas and I started waving like high-speed windshield wipers.

We didn’t have anything special planned. We’re the worst at celebrating things sometimes. We did, however, have a bottle of champagne Jason bought last summer to mark the end of the CSA season. That we finally got around to drinking it several months late is evidence of our weakness for celebration. Jason did have an extra-special Christmas gift for me that he and Silas managed to keep secret for weeks and they opted to give it to me then.

After putting Silas to bed, I curled up with my champagne refill beside Jason, and we enjoyed the Christmas tree lights. The couch in our living room could have just as easily been the edge of a skyscraper. This night felt exhilarating and frightening. Don’t look down. Just look out. Our new life officially started.

A few days later, it was Christmas. Since we’re vaccinated, we hosted a few small holiday gatherings with family and friends. For one night, my best friend and her family stayed with us. They have two boys about Silas’s age. Silas’s Christmas wish from Santa was that everybody stay healthy so the boys could be together. Even though it was damp and dreary, they played outside for hours, then huddled around to play Minecraft at night.

The grownups played board and card games. I’ve never been one for games. Actually, for most of my 36 years, I didn’t like playing games at all. (Aren’t I fun on paper? A frugal, caffeine-free, vegetarian, minimalist who hates games.) Maybe it’s the social isolation of the pandemic, but it felt incredible to have fun and joke together. I laughed harder than I have all year. My mother, who loves games (she made an Arcade Day for Silas once in her living room), seized on my newfound mirth and immediately scheduled a family game night.

A few days later, I had the chance to visit with a good friend who was in town. We made a moms-only trip to French Creek Coffee and Tea, and it was so nice to sip and chat in peace.

For New Year’s Eve, the weather was warm, so we spent most of the day working on the farm. Everything was frozen in time up there after an autumn that went completely haywire. Cleaning old messes and putting things away was a proper end to the year. Later that night, we put on, “It’s a Wonderful Life.” As much as I love the end of that movie, I couldn’t stop my eyes from closing about two-thirds through. Jason and Silas watched the ball drop while I snoozed. Tucked snug in my bed felt like a good way to ease into 2022.

With cool, rainy weather for New Year’s Day, we worked in the Big Tunnel, unclipping the dead tomato vines and taking down the hooks. It’s a peculiar feeling to walk along the tomato rows this time of year. The sungolds have dehydrated into orange paper lanterns. Many of the bigger red cherry tomatoes are still plump, but pinched at the top like tiny coin purses. As we unclipped the vines, we breathed in sun-dried tomatoes with an occasional whiff of rot. Mother Nature, after giving birth to another growing season, is in her postpartum again.

Jason had what felt like his “first” day today. I’ll write more about our new hybrid schedule soon. I’m honestly still wrapping my head around it, and so is he.

With such a dramatic shift in our lives, I wanted a fitting resolution for the new year. For most of my life, I’ve been someone who checks off her to-do list with an almost self-righteous vigor. In my defense, it was often necessary to keep our farm and family running. But I want to put my checklist approach away. Try something new. In short, lighten up. Maybe I’ll despise it. Maybe I’ll love it. I’m game.

~ Stella

The plan for Season 8 - continue to be frugal, start setting limits on work hours

We’re now eight work days out from Jason leaving his full-time job. It might seem like a time for radical rethinking of farm revenue, but for two reasons this December isn’t much different than past years.

For one, the farm’s functioned for seven years now, and Jason’s meticulously tracked our yearly progress. Because of this, the adjustments we need to make on paper to prepare for the season are predictable. We’ll fill in details over the next few weeks, then it’s time to order seeds and start indoor seeding by late January.

The second reason we aren’t in a frenzied restructuring mode is that the farm will not be our sole source of income. Initially, our plan was to ramp the CSA back up to 75 members, as it was in Season 5, and attend three farmers markets a week. We also laid the groundwork with another regional retailer and planned to stock our produce there.

Over the summer, our plans for Season 8 shifted significantly when Jason started his grant-writing/project managing business, Spark Community Capital. This venture uses his decade of knowledge in this field, and lets him control his own schedule. It also provides a new income stream for our family and shifts pressure off the farm.

With this change, we decided to continue with an approximately 50-member CSA (this will once again include several free shares in our Give & Grown program). We’ll also be applying to attend one farmers market this year - the Meadville Market House on Saturdays.

Prior to the pandemic, we attended three farmers markets a week with the help of a part-time employee. In those days, we set up two days a week at the Titusville Open Air Market, and one day at the Market House. The Titusville market is wonderful, and helped us tremendously in our earliest years. But for the time being, we’re cutting back to the one market for two reasons.

The first reason is time. The day before any farmers market is spent harvesting, washing, and packing everything we plan to sell. In order to harvest enough to make the market worth our while, this process takes a whole day. Our goal is a table with a minimum of $300 of produce. A table with $400 of produce that we sell in about four hours would be a good day. More than that would be a great day. Then, of course, we spend a good portion of the following day actually at the market, setting up, selling, and closing down.

So a trip to the farmers market is about a day and a half of labor. The more markets we attend, the less time we have in the field or doing something entirely different, which brings me to the second reason.

We’ve decided that we no longer want our family going in different directions on Saturdays. We want to enjoy Saturdays during the growing season together. To make this happen, we’ll make all CSA deliveries on Thursdays (in the late afternoon/early evening), and then we can all be at the farmers market together.

We’re excited about this because the farmers market is a lot of fun, and so is downtown Meadville on a Saturday morning. Visiting with people who value local, no-spray produce, and the rainbow of foods NW Pa. provides, is rewarding for a farmer. It’s also good for a gardener’s soul to chat with fellow farmers. When much of your weekly conversation is the overheard humming of bees, the social connection is much appreciated.

Jason’s looking forward to it because he hasn’t had the opportunity to work a market regularly in all his years farming. He and Silas used to pop in to visit me as they passed through on CSA deliveries, and I know neither one of them ever wanted to get back on the road again.

There’s something special in the air at a farmers market. The ones in this area are small, not the endless stretches that sprout in larger cities. While I’m sure big markets are wonders to behold, little markets are cozy. Everyone knows everyone, and they’re easy to navigate. You’re doing right by your health and your community when you visit a market, big or small.

In 2022, we plan to continue selling to Core Goods, in Oil City, and Edinboro Market. These unique shops fill their shelves with local products and are important to small farms like ours.

We also plan to continue selling online via our website.

While our circumstances will change dramatically in 2022, our goal is not to push ourselves to our limits. We’ve done that for seven years. We also spent the last few years paying off our debts and developing a frugal lifestyle anchored by minimalist tenets. We did all this to essentially gain our freedom from the traditional work model, which structures a life around working for someone else and often leaves only crumbs of time (if that, even) for your family, your life, and your community.*

While this year feels experimental, it does not feel scary. Like any experiment, it could fail. But we believe in our hypothesis and we’ll tinker with it as needed. Our method includes living debt free and on a budget; cherishing people and experiences over material things; and working hard, but smart, as needed. We hope the conclusion to this experiment is a life with our loved ones and our own well-being at its core.

~ Stella

* If you’re new to this idea and it intrigues you, may I suggest, “Your Money or Your Life,” by Vicki Robin and Joe Dominguez, and “The Year of Less: How I Stopped Shopping, Gave Away My Belongings, and Discovered Life Is Worth More Than Anything You Can Buy,” by Cait Flanders. You may also be interested in the excellent blog, “Frugalwoods.com.”

From burnout to feeling awe again

My self-assigned project this month was to write a preview for Season 8. Even with so much to share, I couldn’t find the motivation. I think, perhaps, it’s because I needed to write this post first, and square up about the past year.

From memes to movies, there’s a tendency to romanticize farm life. There are those who believe a homestead in the country solves all your problems. While there may be slivers of truth in the idea, I don’t want to perpetuate the notion that a farm life equals a perfect life.

While I usually bear no ill will toward the year about to pass, come the 31st of December, I will look over my shoulder and give an insolent sniff at the preceding months.

For much of 2021, I was trapped in a grind; burned out. Given how others have suffered through the pandemic, I’m hesitant to admit as much, even embarrassed. Unfortunately, perspective on what I was feeling didn’t help me jump the negative track I was on, in fact, it made me feel worse.

The last time I felt this way was senior year of college. At that time, I worked full time for a local newspaper and part time for my college paper (although that job felt more like full time). A full course load felt like an afterthought every day. The nonstop combination of work and school led to sleep deprivation and a period of depression.

What I remember from that time was living in an emotionally-flatlined state. I was so overwhelmed I didn’t care about anything. My wedding was coming up that summer, and I couldn’t even find the energy to pick out a color for the bridesmaids’ dresses. Since I needed to choose something, I settled on black. Elegant for an evening wedding, perhaps, but not an afternoon ceremony in a sunny, summer garden. I remember asking my mother to take on all wedding-related decisions and she did so, happy to help, but probably perplexed at my willingness to turn over all control of the special day. The color had drained out of life, and joy washed away with it.

For awhile, I was in such a rut I couldn’t see a way out of it. I needed to finish school. I took pride in my campus job and walking out on it seemed irresponsible. And I was on the cusp of graduating, on the eve of the Great Recession. Quitting my full-time employment seemed foolish. In all of this, ego factored in, too, I’ll sheepishly admit. When a coworker at the full-time job inadvertently revealed that I was being paid half of what he was to do the same job, anger made the decision for me, and I left.

On the morning after my last night, I woke up to the sun beaming in. I remember stepping to the window and thinking, “What a beautiful morning.” It was the first grateful, happy thought I’d had in months. And I had an urgent wedding message for my mother. “Pink! Pink dresses! Pink flowers!”

The world was in color again.

Back then, I was fortunate to have the social safety net of my family. I could quit the full-time job and not end up in a financial nightmare. I had the choice of lessening my load. Hope and good health were statuses I could restore.

Years passed, and the experience drifted from my memory. Until this past year, when I slipped once more into that colorless world.

While I’m normally a happy bystander to awe in forms big and small, from the beauty of white clouds over green Pennsylvania hills, to the aroma of an apple in my hand, I ceased having these regular infusions of wonder and delight in the world. Just like in college, overload was the culprit, not the nature of the different forms of work (chiefly, motherhood and farming). While the grindstone sharpens metal, it dulls the sheen of an ordinary day.

Even though I knew we were in the final stretch before our new life, with Jason preparing to join the farm full time, I couldn’t change how I felt as the hard, often lonely work unfolded in real-time this year. (I recently read, “Can’t Even: How Millennials Became the Burnout Generation,” by Anne Helen Peterson, and connected with the personal accounts of burnout.)

Finally, late autumn brought with it time for rest, and with rest came time and energy to think and feel like a human being again. As I write this, we’re nine days out from Jason leaving his off-farm job. There is so much excitement in our house, and we’ve jumped into the holidays joyfully with both feet.

Again, I am struck by how my turn on the grindstone came to an abrupt end. This time with the close of the farm season. And how my partner in life will be joining me next year, and we’re basically hitting a re-boot button on the farm and for our family. My privilege is twofold here: I have an opportunity to rest, and I see a hopeful future in front of me.

The other night, the three of us enjoyed some fun. We went to our small town’s tree-lighting ceremony. Wary of the large crowd gathered around the gazebo, we hung back in our masks (our Covid hospitalizations are high in this area). From where we stood, it was a bit hard to hear the ceremony.

When Silas asked to be lifted up for a better view, Jason was happy for a rare chance to hold his always-moving son. The emcee announced that before Santa did the honors of lighting the tree, local pageant winners would join him on stage. This was partially inaudible from our position, and basically meaningless to Silas, who doesn’t even know pageants exist. What he saw, was a gaggle of tiny people in crowns and fancy clothes, gathered in preparation to introduce Old St. Nick. He whispered, breathlessly, “Elves.”

I almost chuckled, thinking he was joking, but then I saw his blue eyes wide with wonder. “Elves, honey, yes, well sure, they’d be here.”

When the Christmas lights clicked on, they reflected in his eyes, and the apples of his cheeks peeked over his mask as he smiled. To see his awe, and to feel it in myself again, what a gift this Christmas.

~ Stella

Hello from autumn!

The world takes on a metallic shine in November. There’s a fair amount of brown, yes, but as I write this, the sun is behind big clouds, and they’re ablaze silver-white by its power. The leaves that remain are gold and bronze, and the wind makes them wink like coins in the sunlight. In fields and along roads, many of the deceased wildflowers and grasses are flaxen. Have you ever noticed how dry cornstalks shimmer in autumn rays? No matter the daylight hour, the slant of the sun makes it feel like either mid morning or early evening. These are gilded days.

With a steep reduction in farm work, gorgeous weather, AND the addition of a four-legged family member (see photos below!), I’ve been lucky enough to take a few pleasant strolls this month. What a joy to walk under falling leaves! And have you ever attempted to catch a leaf as it falls? It’s physically impossible to try without smiling.

I have a memory from last October that still makes me smile. I was standing on a little hill beside the road, waiting for a truck full of compost to rumble up so I could point the driver toward the farm. It was one of those golden autumn afternoons, with blue skies and bright sun. Warm gusts swept leaves off the ground and scattered them all around. All the sudden, a surge of wind came up the road, a few hundred feet away. It lifted thousands of leaves from the packed dirt and rushed them up the hill. It was like a marathon, with the tiny dry runners turning end over end, racing my way. Are they really going to make it all the way up the hill? I wondered. Yes! It looked like they would! I watched with delight as they clattered up the hill, and raced right in front of me, tumbling another hundred feet before coming to rest or scattering into the ditch. I’d never seen anything quite like it. I’ve seen leaves tumble about, of course, but never in such a synchronized way. The Running of the Leaves. The Leaf Marathon. Those leaves will run for a long time in my memory.

In November, when most of the trees are bare, and the gusts tear through the woods, the last brown leaves are pulled stories high into the air. Our kitchen has a good view of the sky, and we can watch the leaves swirl like confetti, far into the distance.

On my walk the other day, such a gust carried leaves in a current above my head. They sailed parallel to the road, and it was like I was on the bottom of a river, watching swift-swimming fish above me.

November is holding on to the very last leaves now. Around the same time she lets them go, we’ll have to let all of our unfinished farm tasks go, too. I don’t mind watching the final leaves rock to the ground. I am ready to let go for the season, too.

~ Stella

Now, a few photos - and meet LUNA!!!

Here she is! We adopted her from Because You Care, in McKean, and she’s been such a gentle sweetheart. We hope her charm does not extend to the farm’s voles.

She LOVES to dig, which is great because we dig and we dig and we dig in this family.

It’s been awhile since we’ve had a doggie pal around, and I forgot how nice it can be.

Planting garlic was our main concern this month. When the weather was finally dry enough, Jason planted five rows (each 125 feet long) of garlic, and we worked together to cover them with compost and straw. The kinds are: German White, Deerfield, Early Portuguese, Redneck Wild, Godfather Italian, and Romanian Red. All of the seed garlic was grown by us last season. We saved the biggest heads for replanting, and we’ve been selling the smaller ones.

Garlic, all tucked in nice and cozy for winter.

And here are a few late pics from our Halloween fun.

We love our bunny, but sometimes he can be rather scary! (Seriously - he bites when he’s not in the mood to be handled, and he lunged at Luna the first time he met her! At all other times, he’s quite adorable.)

Me and our little Harry Potter fan. Trick-or-treat night is one of my favorite nights of the year. We sat out last year because of Covid concerns. We decided to partake this year with precautions. Harry masked, we hung back on the sidewalk. The evening was wonderful - warm with a breeze rattling the leaves. Spooky perfection!

The farm will be on TV Oct. 24!

Hello, friends! Fun news to share. Over the summer, PCN spent a day on the farm with us, and now it’s time for our show to air!

Here are the details sent out by PCN:

Get An Insider’s Look Into Plot Twist Farm with PCN Tours

One of our most popular weekly series, PCN Tours has brought viewers into more than 500

Pennsylvania museums and manufacturing facilities. Sunday, Oct. 24, at 6 p.m. we are giving

you an insider’s look into Plot Twist Farm in Guys Mill, Pa.

In this episode, you’ll learn about this no-spray, pesticide free vegetable farm. The farm sells to

local markets and offers a Community Supported Agriculture (CSA) program, where consumers

can become CSA members by purchasing a “share” before the farm season and in return receive

fresh, seasonal produce.

Watch PCN Tours to learn more about what makes this Commonwealth a great place to live and

work. New episodes are shown on Sundays at 6 p.m. with previous tours airing weekdays at 7

a.m. and 6 p.m.

ABOUT PCN: PCN is a 501(c)(3) nonprofit television network dedicated to educating,

connecting, and celebrating Pennsylvania's past, present, and future through cable television and

streaming platforms. To make a tax-deductible donation to support PCN’s mission or to get the

PCN Select App, visit pcntv.com.

HOW TO WATCH: Have cable? You have PCN. No cable? Stream with PCN Select on your

favorite device. Learn more at pcntv.com/how-to-watch

WEBSITE: pcntv.com/tours

DVDS, BLU-RAYS & DOWNLOADS: pcntv.com/shop

SOCIAL MEDIA: Twitter, Facebook, YouTube - @pcntv, Instagram - @pennsylvaniacablenetwork

1,008 CSA shares packed - time to turn the page to Season 8!

1,008 CSA shares grown on about 3 acres by 2 1/2 farmers (counting Silas). That was Season No. 7 at Plot Twist Farm!

The end of the year was an unusual one. We had someone in our care, and this, added to the fact that Silas and I have shifted our focus to cyber school, halted my farm work almost entirely, leaving Jason to finish out the CSA season pretty much on his own.

On Saturday, Jason and Silas delivered the last shares of the year. Afterward, we hopped in the car and returned the person in our care to their home. Party animals that we are, we celebrated the end of the season by collapsing in the living room.

But, Jason did have a little surprise up his sleeve, or I should say, hidden away among the farm’s seed stash. After briefly disappearing downstairs, he came back up with a small gray box. The appearance of this little parcel, even for a minimalist such as myself, was quite thrilling. What could it be?! When I lifted the lid, my usual disdain of earthly trinkets was replaced by delight at the sight of a delicate, gold-dipped birch leaf pendant.

He settled on birch after reading it was a symbol of new beginnings. It’s one of the first trees to come to leaf in the spring, and there’s all manner of interesting Celtic mythology surrounding birch. During the Celtic celebration of Samhain (what’s considered Halloween in the U.K. nowadays), bundles of birch twigs were used to usher out the spirits of the past year. As you know from what I shared last week, our minds are all about a new beginning now.

When a season draws to a close, I usually have a sense of relief. Then, a few weeks later, as we pull out the brown tomato vines and put away water sprinklers, I get the itch to start all over again.

But this year, the feeling of relief that ushered out the season has swirled with excitement for next spring like an internal cyclone. I’m not wishing away autumn and winter, because I love all the seasons and don’t generally hurry away any time in my life, but when I picture next year, with all three of us going about our farm work, happily tucked inside the fence, my heart beats fast.

The conclusion of this season was supposed to bring a close to this blog, as well. After writing sporadically about the farm for the past few years, last winter I committed to weekly posts to document the season. Now here we are. We’ve gone through a whole season together. But next year is a new beginning. It will be uncharted territory for us. There’s so much potential. So much to be gained and learned. And as long as I find writing about it enjoyable, I’d like to keep going.

As I finish this, I hear Jason’s chainsaw in the woods. It’s time to think about firewood and kindling and other cold weather preparations. The propagation tunnel is full of seedlings in bad need of transplanting in our winter gardens. When life is all about growing and creating, there’s always a new beginning just around the corner.

~ Stella