Ever since my road trip last summer, I've been daydreaming about living on a farm. After spending a few days on a 3-acre organic farm in Ithaca owned by Miles' best friend, and now my friends Aaron & his wife, Megan, I had a new mission in life: to find me a farm boy & to live on a farm since it would be too hard to do on my own. It was awesome to watch Aaron and his family work the land & to live off the land. (Well, kinda...Megan is a PhD student at Cornell & gets a stipend... but not a whole lot.) Our meals consisted of everything they were growing & we even had duck eggs for breakfast. It was amazing.So for a while I researched small farms all over the country and was even thinking about moving to Oregon, specifically Corvallis, where there's a strong Agricultural Science Department at the State University & quaint farms all around. When Aaron & Megan came to SLC in January with their farm grown strawberry jam, I knew we had met for a reason. They were my catalyst for living the life of my childhood dreams, just as I had imagined when I was small watching Little House on the Prairie in the house my parents bought because I begged and begged. (It had a huge vegetable garden in the back and a half-pipe on the side for skateboarding... Sadly, both were taken out & grass put in b/c the garden went to sh*ts since none of us were farmers & too many boys came over distracting me from my studies.)
Reading Animals, Vegetables, Miracles by Barbara Kingsolver also fueled my desire; and the fact that she wrote this book while working on the farm made it even more enticing since my other childhood dream was writing a book on an old typewriter in a barn. But when the snow finally melted and I started working the land (the little patch of dirt in my backyard I set aside for my veggie garden) I realized I was in over my head. There was all this crap that took over my nice dirt area, which I subsequently found out was weed- not the kind I would've liked but the kind you have to dig out from the ground & chuck into the trash bin. So as you might recall from my earlier post, It's not who you are...but what you see, I had to bring in help from California. (No, not the Mexicans, gees... The Koreans.)
When the weeds were gone and my landscaper put in a nice, fresh new top layer of dirt called mulch, I was ready to start my little farm which was going to be a practicing ground for my real future farm out on the West Coast. The only problem was that it had been over twenty years since I'd touched dirt, and I had no idea where to begin. But not to fear. I knew a few Utah farmers who owned their own backyard farm and enlisted their help. Of course they were all busy with their own spring planting, but one was willing to lend a hand. We, meaning Shane, put up some trellises for my climbing veggies, and planted tomatoes, yellow squash, eggplant, red & green peppers, corn, watermelon, basil, rosemary, strawberries, parsley, and other cool stuff I can't remember.
I was going to be part of the new growing sector in America, the Back-to-the-Land, Slow Cookers, who not only back local foods, but grow their own organic stuff. I was ecstatic, and with my state of the art irrigation drip line, all I had to do was look forward to the gathering season when all my fruits & vegetables would be ready for my tummy.
Then as I attempted to be my own gardener mowing the lawn once every week or so (since my whining didn't bring anyone over to help), I noticed this white flaky stuff that landed all over my yard, including my little patch of farm. I ignored it thinking they were just flower petals from the neighboring trees and because they actually looked quite pretty like snowflakes on the ground. I also noticed that nothing much was happening to my newly planted crops, except for the diseased parsley that had fried in the sun. Why else would it just keel over and die since it was getting the same water & sun the other crops were getting. Then a week or two passed & I started to notice these little sprouts sprouting all over the yard, including my organic vegetable patch. I don't remember planting any bean sprouts, I thought. Then Gaby & her mom came to visit one day and told me the bad news. They were not bean sprouts but baby trees from that white flakes that fell.
Since that revelation, I've been dreading my backyard. In my excitement over living on a farm, I had glossed over Megan's complaint about having to weed all the time. I thought all I had to do was plant, water, and voila! Beautiful fruits & vegetables in the fall and late summer. Every night I'd go to sleep promising to weed the following morning before it got too hot. But no, I'd find excuses after excuses not to. I had gone underground. I started to hate the little patch of farm I started and even tried to get the Californians to come back, but my mother said, "We're not spending $500 to fly out there to weed your yard again. Sorry hon, but your father and I are going to Cancun." I always knew I was adopted! So much for the unconditional, parental love & support. I cursed my parents and I cursed Little House on the Prairie.
After hiding out & only venturing out as far as my deck for the last few weeks, I finally made myself pull out the sprouts Monday morning under the shade of my farmer's hat since I had nothing to do & was deathly bored. (I had burnt myself out entertaining way too much last week in my excitement of having the summer off.) And this morning, I went to get some cages for my tomatoes & bought some more herbs so I could start a boxed herb garden on my deck so I don't have to walk all the way out to the farm for the little basil and cilantro I seem to need on a daily basis. (Never knew how lazy I was until this stupid Back-to-the-Land fantasy began...)
Well, what d'ya know... my little patch of farm has grown in the last few days since I pulled out the weeds and cut back some of the branches from my neighbor's tree. My corn plant has grown tall (and that Miles told me it would never work!), my tomato plants are tremendous, I already have some cute little serrano peppers growing, and everything else looks robust and healthy. I could feel myself grinning ear to ear, and for a second, thought about that beautiful farm in Oregon... Not.
As much as I adore seeing my veggies grow, I've realized, I'm not a farmer. And as much as I love the idea of living on a farm, writing my memoir sitting on a hayloft in my beautiful, rundown red barn, and having mind-blowing sex with a tanned, lean, farm boy/husband, I think I've come to terms with the fact that I much rather shop local foods than grow local foods. So much for the city girl living & working on a farm.
