Category farmers market

An introduction to gardens, weeds and groundhogs

gotofarms 5 Comments

I confess, I am not a farmer. Until now, I had not grown much more than a bunch of kale.

The mighty groundhog poses for a picture after feasting on the community gardens in Druid Hill Park. I was looking for a just ripened tomato for a sandwich when I encountered him.

Maybe you can tell, by Farm-finds, that I am in awe of farmers who nourish the earth, using the least harmful methods, those tough men and women who dig and seed and nourish the earth with their smart ways. And bottom line, I love to eat local food– like the luscious white peaches, heirloom tomatoes and plump blackberries, whose tastes that defy poetry. The closer I get to the source of the food, the more local, down to the dirt, the better it is. All thanks to the farmers whom I know.

I have been into the beauty of the cultivated land, not the hands-on, dirt-digging, chicken shit spreading, weed pulling gardening. That is, until this spring, when my friend Rob, renowned for his heirloom tomato crops, recruited me to help in his garden. Rob’s book, Raising Kids and Tomatoes, is full of wonderful anecdotes that made it all sound fun and delicious. Plus I am a recent convert to tomatoes, owing to a tomato sandwich, made with a Cherokee Purple from his garden last year.

Since he had back surgery, he needed someone to help plant and weed. I took the challenge and the chance to learn in depth about gardening, from the ground up. Was this a Tom Sawyer scheme?

Trying to support the overbearing tomato plant

Rob had a plot that he had heard about from our mutual friend Stephanie a few years ago–a space about the size of a pickleball court in the Druid Hill City Farm that he rents for $35 a year from the city in Druid Hill Park. You won’t find a more dedicated, ethical group than these urban farmers.

One of 80 in the park, each plot has access to water, wood chips, pathways–and weeds.

A view of the community garden at Druid Hill

I helped out with planting the seeds under a grow light and nurturing them to hardy plants to put into the soil, with a dollop of fertilizer and compost. The seeds of Heirloom Brandywine, Glacier and Cherokee Purple were dropped in holes.

May: tomatoes are growing furiously

By May, the plants were robust and healthy. To support the unwieldy growth, we placed the bushy plants in cages and staked the bold branches that were growing overburdened with little green globes. In exchange for my help, I got to plant flowers-- columbine, bells of Ireland, marigolds and beebalm along with the old standby--zinnia.

A week ago, the garden was looking good. Clusters of tomatoes had popped out, a smudge of pink on the curve, ready to redden with a bit more sun. Cucumbers, as big as baby baseball bats, lay in pleasant slumber growing under the vines. Basil was high as my thumb.

July: Weeds and groundhogs invade

But like a bad omen on the flower front, my flowers were struggling in a mass of weeds to survive. Cosmos, which I thought, would almost grow automatically if you put the seeds in the ground, were overwhelmed. The last of the marigolds which sported big yellow pompoms like corsages on stems were nibbled to the ground. And only one columbine out of the 40 seeds planted survived. Not a great record, one out of 40. The tomatoes, however, were low hanging fruit, ready to pluck in a few days.

Upon return from a 4th of July vacation, I was craving that tomato sandwich. I thought the tomatoes would be ready.

OMG! the tomatoes that were hanging in those inviting clusters had disappeared. A few shards of tomatoes were at the bottom with bites taken out.

I was furious at who and what could have stolen these gems. How how could a critter have gotten to the top of the plant? Had a human being stolen them?

Vanishing plants

According to Rob, there is a powerful ethic at the gardens. The urban gardeners don’t take any fruit or vegetables from one another, not even a strawberry. Everyone appreciates the sweat and muscle ache of gardening to harvest. More likely, judging from the size of the bites and the numbers of bitten green tomatoes on the ground, a ground hog was on the loose, as was the case last year.

It is so discouraging! What is the point if we are just feeding the ground hog?

Word of the invasion soon spread that day, and fellow gardeners sprang into action. A burrow, probably home to a whole family of the critters, was located and a strategy was hatched to set a trap. True to their strong sense of ethics, someone would be checking the trap every day so the culprit could be freed in woods far away from our tomatoes and other inviting delicacies. I wasn’t feeling so kind; I could have kicked it to the moon. Striding through the plots and observing other bitten fruits, Julia, the director, in well-worn overalls, suggested other ideas; bright whirley gigs can scare them off, she said. Also she may bring in some used kitty litter to line along the borders; groundhogs don’t like its smell.

Did we mind the kitty litter? she asked.

Not at all. Anything to stop the rampage.

All this action was encouraging but it didn’t bring back the tomatoes.

Taking action to defeat the groundhog

Looking over the garden-jungle, I was so depressed. i sat on a weed-covered mound and stared at the jungular grass mass, tight as a rug, that had replaced the cosmos. Weeds were now up to my knees. They could cover the world!

Are you discouraged? I asked Rob. He was glum, sitting on a stool pulling up weeds around the ravaged tomato plants. In vengeance, I attacked the stubborn things with a hoe and piled them into the wheelbarrow. The sweat poured down my face, the dirt lodged under my nubbed down fingernails as I dug out the roots and shook out the soil and dropped weeds in the wheelbarrow to cart to the compost pile.

Within the hour, I sowed 25 Cosmos seeds in the bare square of soil. Hope springs eternal.

In that action, replanting, I built my hopes back up, that this time the seeds would survive and we would rescue the seedlings before they could succumb to any critters, drought or weeds. The marigolds were gone, cosmos mowed down, but — the zinnia were flourishing in such a undaunted display of bright pink, orange and yellow it renewed my spirit.

The zinnia are flourishing

There were still some green tomatoes left to ripen. I collected enough basil for pesto, and four cucumbers, for a sandwich or cold soup.

Mayo, plus onion and thinly sliced cuke is good, but not as good as the tomato version!~

Three days later. . . I went out to the garden to cut some zinnias for a friend. The tomato plants, bending with the weight of green fruit, were towering over the trap, set up by a neighboring gardener. There was the culprit groundhog, round as a basketball, appearing to lick his mouth after his feast, in the cage. He looked up at me, as if to say, thanks for all the great tomatoes. Around him, I assessed more damage:tomatoes with tiny bites taken out. He must have had a feast before the cage door shut.

I called Rob, who then notified Julia, who will make sure he finds a happy home away from the garden before the day is over.

It's  only a matter of a few days before those green gems ripen and I have my tomato sandwich; the Cherokee Purple, on textured white bread slathered with Duke's.

Groundhog trapped, at least for a day

On my way out, I announce triumphantly to a toiling neighbor-gardener that we had caught the groundhog. In his plot, he was surveying cabbage which the groundhog had dined on earlier, maybe as an appetizer. I thought he’d be happier about the news. He’s experienced, persistent as the critters and the weeds, as you have to be in this business.

He said he had a garden in the Shenandoah Valley a few years ago. He trapped two groundhogs and took them five miles away to another place way up in the mountains in the woods.

“The next day both were back,” he said, turning back to weeding.

Tomatoes ready to ripen–without the groundhog

Featured

Cole Brothers: from fish to blackberries

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They have raised bumper crops of blackberries, but this year might be their last

The Cole boys had been out at sea, living and fishing for a living on their boats, when they decided to cast their fate back home in the red clay of Halifax County in a blackberry patch–a huge, cultivated blackberry patch with berries the size of golf balls. Their father was getting ready to retire from his apple orchard business. “He told us he heard from the grocery stores that blackberries could bring a pretty high dollar,” say Jeff Cole, taking a brief break from bringing berries in from the fields, established now for over 30 years.

Jeff and Joey Cole with Bailey, taking a brief break in the middle of blackberry harvest

“We could see the fishing industry was getting crowded. Instead of buying boats, we took the proceeds and invested it in berries. We had lived on the boats. We didn’t have homes. . . And now we were home,” Jeff explains.

They began in 1986 with an acre of blackberries and an acre of raspberries in the farming community of Vernon Hill. Demand for fresh local produce was growing.  They struck deals with grocery giants, Richfood and Ukrops, bringing in the berries as they ripened. Local. Local. was their calling card. Dealing with some other chain grocery stores posed some problems because they could not always predict when the berries would ripen. “They want to know way in advance, and we couldn’t always make that call,” says Jeff.

The fresh berries sold themselves: Three times as big as the little wild ones, and twice as sweet, without the occasional hard bits. Pretty soon the Cole brothers one acre grew to 15 acres, mostly blackberries.

From our house in Halifax, we would drive up three miles to their farm, a simple white building where they kept produce refrigerated until they could deliver it to a market, at a cool 31 to 34 degrees. My mother made blackberry dumplings, which remains my favorite dessert. Bunched and baked in a packet of dough, the juices would bubble out in sweet little rivulets running in the cracks and cervices of the pastry (See my mother’s recipe at the bottom.) Or you could just mush them up in cream, which turned the most beautiful deep blue purple. Or you could eat them fresh from the basket.

Pretty soon, as the word spread of these luscious giant berries, the Cole brothers were growing trillions of blackberries on 15 acres and selling them to grocery stores and farmers markets directly and through a middleman.

As the Cole brothers moved from fish to berries, they confronted a plethora of issues. They fought all varieties of insects, recruited pickers in a region that is losing population, and coped with devastating weather. In 2016, the temperature in April dropped to 25-26 degrees. They lost the whole crop, $300,000 without insurance to cushion the blow. And now they are thinking they are ready to retire.

The brothers pride themselves on their service, carrying the berries to market on the same day that they are picked and keeping them at a cool 32 degrees. They are transported from the field to the refrigerated house where workers sort and put them in plastic containers until Joey moves them. Some go to a Richmond marketer who delivers them to five different farmers markets in Virginia. Most end up in Jessup or Northern Virginia.

“We are trying to provide our customers with a service. Say they order 750 count. We can get the order through that day. That’s a service. That California can’t do,” explains Joey. Competing with Mexico prices adds to the competition. “When they aren’t there, the market is red hot.”

The pests are a worry at every stage. Going without any pesticide at all would result in massive rotting or failure, Jeff says. The fruit fly, for example, hatches in the berry. Gray mold infects the blossom, June bugs and Japanese beetles add to the enemy list, not to mention gray rust and leaf rust.

They use a modified shift trellis system for support that keeps the berries off the ground and allows them to ripen layer by layer for more precise picking and avoid pests that devour the ripe berries.

The berries ripen in stages on the trellis system.

The brothers have figured out pest control but seasonal labor is more unpredictable. They have some faithful skilled pickers like Vanessa Venable, who has worked at the Cole Brothers for 32 years. But half the labor pool they relied on has died and the younger generation which relied on farming has moved away. The brothers would like to use migrant labor, but they do not have housing.

The crew of pickers today will work from 6:30-11:30 a.m. They will receive from $12 an hour or $5 a flat. Once a girl picked 54 flats in one day, which netted her over $200 for a morning’s work. The average is 30 trays or $150.   Vanessa gently tugs the berry which drops into her palm and then into a flat. Without a nod to the heat, she glides from bush to bush, selecting the black berries and leaving the red to ripen.

Vanessa has the knack of berry picking

“You’ve got to go fast without damaging the fruit,” explains Jeff.

It has become more difficult to deliver the freshest and best quality to the markets. Joey will return from an overnight run to Richmond for farmers markets, while Jeff tends to the fields. Up since 4 a.m., he has rounded up about 20 pickers who will pull the berries in the morning.  About 80 percent show up. The unpredictability of the workers, coupled with the decrease in laborers, makes for stress.

 “We’re too small to be big and too big to be small,” says Joey.

They have scaled back from 15 acres down to four and say this is their last harvest. They are ready to sell the farm.

The price of berries fails to keep up with the increases in inflation. “We can’t continue to do at the highest level.We’re burning the candle at both ends,” explains Jeff. “I tell you, the world is pushing the small guy out.

“I’m grateful for what’s taken place,” he says. It’s a good life being self-employed, We’d like a few more dollars per flat. . .  But our season’s over.”

Bailey greets drive-up customers who make up a small fraction of the business

RECIPE for Blackberry Dumplings (makes 6)

From my mother Vin Edmunds (Lavinia)

For the pastry:

2 cups flour

1 tsp salt

1/2 cup butter or lard (1 stick)

4 TB water

1 TB sugar

1/2 cup blackberries per dumpling

(Shortcut–use Pepperidge Farms puff pastry for the dough)

Mix flour, sugar, salt, butter, then add water gradually. Make pastry. Gather dough into one ball. Roll out to about 1/4 inch thick. Divide into about six sections. In the middle of each section, add 1/2 to 3/4 cup berries, 1/2 pat butter, 3/4 TB sugar. Gather the dough at the top and twist together at the top. Place in greased cookie sheet or pan. Bake at 450 for ten minutes. Reduce heat and bake another 30 minutes until brown. Serve with ice cream or whipped cream.