Friday I hopped on a train to the City. 60 hours later I was sleep deprived. I wish I could say it was from a raging good time in the Big Apple. But I think that only applies if a raging good time is defined by workshops on CSA model pricing and long conversations on crop layout.
In that case, this weekend, I tore it up.
I successfully packed in meeting with: one of our farm partners in Brooklyn – someone I consider a mentor in the work of food justice and black community health and empowerment; the market manager for Wassaic Community Farm’s long-standing farmers’ market in the south Bronx; more farm partners from the Malcolm X Grassroots Movement who we will be providing land and farming guidance to this season; a few old friends for dinners and catching up; the rest of my farm crew for a looong season planning meeting…aaaand, attended a 10-hour conference day on Community Supported Agriculture (CSA) hosted by Just Food.
I was feeling so hyped about all the potential for the season that I couldn’t even sleep on the train back – or maybe it was the 4 cups of coffee I’d downed all day to keep the last meetings going (my Chai indulged veins are not used to caffeine overload). But when my farm partners and I got back to our beloved little hamlet in the bottom of the Harlem Valley (note the word bottom), the caffeine wore off and I was ready to crawl into bed and dream about farm workdays, feeding Bronx families, and driving veggie-oil buses….or so I thought.
Back at the farm, I was happy to see a lot of the snow had melted over the rainy, warm weekend. What wasn’t cool, however, was that all that melted snow had ended up in our house. It came into our basement farm office/living room…along with the town’s creek, the hilltop’s ice and every drop of rain that fell to the bottom of the valley over the course of the day. Our couch was floating around trying to win at water-bumper-cars with our herb drying rack, and our books on “Sharing the Harvest” and “Soil and Seeds” were acting as lily pads to the 4 ft deep pond now growing in our basement.
I’d been looking forward all winter to wearing big fancy rubber farm boots, but I didn’t know my first pair of waders would be dawned indoors.
Sleep, I realized, was not in the cards.
Next >> getting evacuated to avoid the dam breaking, how to cope with farming setbacks ’cause Mother Nature said so, and reminding ourselves that this is nothin’ compared to real disasters around the world. Look out for the next post, right now it’s time for me to get some sleep.