Finding the farm a little busy when you arrive?  We have more shareholders pick up Saturdays between 11 AM and noon than we do during the entire four-hour Tuesday distribution!  We know that for some people, that hour may be the only time they can make it to the farm; and some people enjoy the bustling atmosphere of that busiest hour of the week.  However, if you'd like a more serene farm experience and you are able to, consider an alternative pickup time:  Tuesdays from 3-7 PM, Thursdays from 3-7 PM, or Saturdays from 8-11 AM are lovely times to be on the farm! 

 

Please also keep in mind that  while PYO stays open all day Saturday, our distribution shelter closes at noon, so we don't restock any of the vegetables after 12 noon on Saturdays in order to get our farm staff home after a long week's work.  Please plan to arrive with plenty of time to pick up your veggies from the shelter before noon.  Thank you! 

As always, no matter when you arrive, we look forward to seeing you on the farm.

On October 1, we sent out an email letter to all 2009 primary CSA shareholders with information about how to renew your share for 2010.  You'll have two weeks to return the letter with a $50 non-refundable deposit to hold your place for next season.  If space allows and there is interest, we will offer shares to secondary shareholders (split share partners) who might want their own shares in 2010 beginning on October 15. 

In January of 2010, we will offer remaining CSA shares to all members of our nonprofit organization by lottery. 

For more information and directions, see the Chestnut Farms website.

 

 

Autumn's Clarity

I hope that all of you enjoy fall as much as we do on the farm.  The cool weather, the flaming trees, the shifting light, the migrations of birds over the fields, and the annual miracle of the harvest -- all of these things, plus the promise of winter's deep rest, make autumn a time that seems to clarify the bigger things while celebrating summer's last fling.  This has certainly been a season of considering the bigger things for me personally.  In April, we found out that, if all goes well, we will be adding a second child to our small family in December.  

My first child, now six, despite being born in a mile-high hospital in Denver, has essentially grown up at Waltham Fields.  He has spent many long days running through the fields, discovering voles, moles, snakes and turtles, eating carrots and raspberries, building lasting relationships with our farm staff, thinking that everyone gets their tomatoes and their Thanksgiving turkey from someone they love.  The challenges of working and parenting have been eased a little by a workplace that, while it has its share of dangers and boredom, still holds a little mystery and interest for a child, and by a set of colleagues who have been as understanding and supportive as can be.  Still, it has been a steep learning curve to be a mother to a growing boy while managing a growing farm.  Both things pull at my heart in ways that I will never be able to reconcile fully; both constantly wake me in the night, and the combination has narrowed my life down to its bare essentials --  farm, family -- with not much room for extras.  This may be part of why it took me six years to consider the possibility of having a second child. 

This has been a humbling growing season.  Our tomatoes, like many others' in the region, were decimated by late blight; we are still reaping the whirlwind of the early season rains in late crops and limited yields.  The work of farming, particularly organic farming, is physically challenging; it takes years to build up the conditioning and the stamina to get through a season healthy, and then additional years to get smart about how we use our bodies in order to stay healthy.  Generally, over the course of a growing season, after a winter's rest, our muscles re-find their accustomed strength to throw watermelons, attach implements to tractors, carry bins of potatoes and squash.  This season, I've watched the rest of our farm crew get strong and wiry, more skilled each day at all of our many tasks, while for me the evolution has been the opposite.  I have grown rounder and more awkward as the season has progressed.  When I bend over to harvest peppers and eggplant, someone sticks their feet up under my ribs, indignant at the loss of space and bracing themself against further squishing.  When I sit down for a farm staff meeting, someone awakens inside and kicks and rolls and somersaults through all the discussion of field planting and preparation.  Climbing into the tractor seat or the truck bed has become more challenging, and it is definitely harder to fit four across the front of the farm truck these days.  About a month ago, I realized I could no longer lift a crate of vegetables above my head to stack it in the cooler.  A few days later, I was struggling to attach the PTO on the mower to one of our tractors when it suddenly became very clear that my abdominal muscles were doing something else right now, thank you very much. 

And that's the real issue -- as much as I would love it if my body could do both hard-core farming and baby-growing, it has ever so gradually shifted its priorities -- not to mention its center of balance -- over the course of the season.  The rest of the farm crew has been very subtle in their efforts to help without making it completely obvious what they are doing.  Every so often someone will appear out of nowhere to help me load the truck for a CSA distribution.  The aisles between stacks of vegetable crates in the cooler have been slowly widened, and Andy just laughs and shakes his head when I try to squeeze somewhere that is just not going to happen.  They tolerate my slow harvesting and washing as I try to re-learn the rhythms of the work with each shift in my shape.  As frustrated and embarassed as I sometimes am with my newly acquired physical limitations, their understanding, gentleness, and support make it possible to keep going and to accept the changes that are slowly making their way into my life for good.

Farming and parenting constantly remind me that things rarely go according to plan.  If this adventure even comes close, however, this little one will be born a couple of weeks after our last winter share distribution of 2009.  I am hopeful that this fall, with its brilliance, abundance, and clarity, will leave me ready for this next big step, this sudden expansion of my narrowly focused life.  Until then, I hope that our best efforts will bring you a good harvest and a chance to stop and dream of your own clarity, humility, or just joy in the season over a good meal. Enjoy.

-- Amanda

Claire Kozower, Executive Director

Blake Roberts, Outreach Market Intern

Dan Roberts, Assistant Grower
Erinn Roberts, Assistant Grower
Nina Rogowsky, Children's Learning Garden Teacher
Andy Scherer, Assistant Farm Manager