Urban Myth # 1: Farmers, like bears, hibernate in the winter.
Maybe in the far north where it freezes solid in October and does not thaw out until late May. Down south, change of seasons simply means change of crops. While our Yankee counterparts are sitting in front of warm fires, sipping wine and perusing the seed catalogs dreaming of the season to come, the southern cousins are hard at work. We are busy harvesting the crops planted in the heat of summer and we continue to start subsequent batches of cool loving vegetables and greens. Potatoes are finally in the ground and the real work of starting the flats of summer vegetables must begin. Did we mention the fruit trees and grapes and berries that must be pruned and trained while dormant? Also the new vines, canes and trees that must be planted? And the 100 asparagus crowns that need setting out in new beds that had to be dug? Of course, we must not let the 3000 leek sets fall off the list of planting chores. While the seasonal jobs somehow get accomplished there is the regular business of leaf collecting and compost making to continue in preparation of the next seasons’ soil needs. The closest the deep south comes to dormancy is August, when it is just to hot to move.

Urban Myth # 2: Southern Farmers spend the month of August, lolling on the beach, sipping margaritas while perusing seed catalogs and dreaming of the season to come.

The source of this fairytale was traced to a northern farmer, returning home in a stupor after an 18 hour day in the fields when the sun finally set.

Urban Myth # 3: Visitors are not welcome at working farms. They interfere with work in progress.
Visitors are very welcome at Knopp Branch Farm. Mostly because we shamelessly put them to work or better yet, use them as an excuse to take a break and have a walk-about.

Country Myth # 1: City dwellers do not have the foggiest idea of what life on a farm entails.
Urbanites think we swan around in pristine ironed white shirts and starched coveralls and sip lemonade under shade trees and chew straw. We strongly urge you to become a mythbuster and pay us a visit. Directions to the farm are on our web site. Call and let us know you are coming so you won’t catch us napping.федерация футбола украины Павелкоtrans siberian train runs between which two placesвоспаление полости рта лечение народными средствами

So many friends ask why we are doing what we do. Where did this strange urge come from? Is it contagious or just a phase of some sort? What does your family think of all this agriculture? What started out as a simple retirement weekend place in the country has turned into a farm. How?

When we were dreaming of a place in the country, Ernest wanted some kind of water (stream, lake or pond) and I wanted an alley of trees and a place to have a vegetable garden again. We happened on to this small place north of Edna on the Lavaca River on the first day of our 5 year plan to locate and acquire rural property. We recognized it immediately as our place, is the best way I can describe the decision making process to buy it.

That first year we didn’t do much but visit and meet with well diggers and barn contractors and road makers and fence builders and got acquainted with our good neighbors. We test drove a lot of tractors and had a lot of picnics. The second year we got more serious and started planting trees and staking out home sites, and we tilled up a patch with the tractor to get ready for a garden.

We had sent away a soil sample for analysis and were somewhat daunted to find out the dismal news with the results. No life in our soil to speak of but at least there was nothing there to kill. And, we learned how to deal with sandy soil (our only experience had been with the heavy clays of Houston). I carted many pick-up truck loads of leaves and mulch to our small patch of garden and dreamt of fruit trees. When I told my husband and children over dinner one night that I was going to grow enough to feed us and then sell the surplus at a farmer’s market, they all laughed. They laughed a lot. It was discouraging.

I made a visit to see parents in New Orleans and told the family about our new place and what our plans were. They thought it was funny too, but didn’t laugh as much as my children did. And my brother, the merchant seaman, didn’t laugh at all.

I always thought of Tom, the world traveler, as a modern day Ulysses. When Ulysses left the sea he carried an oar. He walked inland until he found a place where people didn’t recognize what an oar was and there he called home. Tom became a licensed grower and started a nursery when he left the sea. He was always puttering around and trying new things. His cultivated mushroom spore ended up on a Space Shuttle mission and at one point he was testing a variety of sweet corn for the State of Hawaii Agriculture Department. All this on a plot of land in the middle of the New Orleans warehouse district. Tom took me seriously and presented me with a 20 lb. bag of seed potatoes. Red ones. Talk to the locals and plant when they plant, was his very simple advice. He made it seem possible. And so I did. And they grew. A chance meeting at a mutual friends’ daughters’ wedding informed us of Urban Harvest. And that April we dug potatoes, lots and lots of potatoes. In fact, enough for family and friends and enough to take to market. And after that first day of market with cash in hand, my husband and sons said “Grow more.” And that is what we do. This is our third potato harvest and this year we have seven different varieties. This year we know their names: Rose Gold, Red Dale, All Blue, King Harry, Elba, Russian Fingerlings and Caribe.

The urge just gets stronger.
Donna – May, 2008Чехунов прокурормонетизация wordpress сайтанасос dab euro

It is said that because the apple was unknown in the Middle East, there was a mistake in a translation and the real forbidden fruit of the bible was the tomato. This I can believe. Adam and Eve didn’t stand a chance when faced with a perfectly ripe tomato. God’s subsequent curse was not “Get out of paradise!”, it was “Thou shalt work!” and that is what we have been doing ever since, in the pursuit of the tomato.

To most people, December is the time of mistletoe and shopping for presents. To us farmers, the seed catalogs have arrived and it is the time of deciding. Seed saved from previous harvests must be evaluated and the choices must be made because tomato seeds must be in the dirt by January. As if the holidays are not enough to deal with.

Without a greenhouse, seed trays are set up in our kitchen and the soil is gently warmed over the pilot light on the stove. If all goes well, 7-10 days of watering and watching will reveal the sprouting seeds. Did I mention that the stove still has to function as a stove and the kitchen is still a place to prepare food? It could be worse I tell my husband and yes, that very night there is an ice storm and the power goes out. First batch of tomato sprouts die. We don’t panic, there is still time. We have a second chance to pick the varieties we discovered in a catalog we had overlooked. This is not a disaster, it is an opportunity.

The seed trays are restarted and resprouted and are tended lovingly. Having to stay inside, the risk of drying out is very real and so leaving them overnight is out of the question. They travel back and forth from city to farm, over to New Orleans to visit parents and out of town for a getaway weekend. Ernest and me and tomato seedlings make 252. By the end of February it is time to step up the little darlings into bigger pots. Oops, we are down to 202 vigorous plants. Since we had planned on only 70 plants, 4 varieties, we frantically prepare more bedding space and take daily soil temperature readings. That we have 200 plants and 7 varieties is a testament to our enthusiasm for tomatoes.

As the pace of spring preparation starts to really pick up, the tomatoes and I are at the farm full time. And of course during all this the winter crops are coming in and must be gotten to market. The tomatoes are old enough and large enough to be left on their own overnight in the barn. I go into town late Friday afternoon, market on Saturday morning and then back to the farm by 3pm. Not even 24 hours, everything will be fine. Right? Wrong. Temperatures dipped unexpectedly to 27 degrees. Seedlings in the barn don’t freeze but have come too close and cease to thrive. All 186 plants perish.

Now it is almost the middle of March and too late to start more seeds and so the frantic phone calls trying to locate already started heirlooms begin. Thank goodness for the internet. A trip up to Halletsville, down to Houston and back to the farm gathers up 200 plants, 6 varieties. Not our first or even second choices, but some we have read about and are curious to try. Not a disaster, an opportunity.

Finally the soil is warm enough and we get the plants in the ground, deeply mulched and loving it. Frost cover goes on and off, the new drip irrigation is working well and the plants shoot up two feet and bloom and set fruit. The days are starting to get longer and you can see the tomatoes flourishing. In early April you see the first red globe!

Wrong. April Fool! Cut worms have attacked and the fruit have been tricked into turning red as they rot from the inside out. War is declared and a second front is soon opened when the tomato hornworms attack. These 3 inch long guys are truly monstrous in their ability to strip a plant almost overnight. When caught, they will rear up and almost seem to try and swat back. We try and train the dogs to eat and hunt them, but have no luck. But this is not a disaster. It is an opportunity to patrol the plants and give them encouragement. Unlike my family, I believe they like it when I sing to them.

By mid May, the plants have created a jungle. Yes, we planted them too close together, we should have used two more 25 foot beds. But where were the peppers supposed to go? We are down to 92 plants between the bugs and the windstorms that have broken some of our sturdiest tomato cages. The little cherry tomatoes start to turn red and we watch the big green globes turn pale, then pink and then that perfect orange-red. When we pick the first ripe tomato and bite into its’ warm skin, juice running every which way, we realize that unlike Adam and Eve, we have our forbidden fruit and our paradise. And as for the curse of having to work? On our hard scrabble farm that’s not a disaster. It is a wonderful opportunity.Чехунов Денис Николаевична сковороде грильмужские ботинки зима 2017