So the ranch is great. Everybody's young and progressively minded; up for involved conversation and singing in the field. The work is outdoors, using our bodies constantly and rewarded with healthy food grown here, made by a collective of excellent self-taught cooks. We're also gratified by things like the potatoes we planted in our first week of work peeking up through the soil.
I saw my first rattlesnake last week! It was hiding in an aluminum pipe along the fence line and it's rattle sounded like water leaking out of a hose, so I didn't register it right away (also, being from a place where we never really encounter poisonous/predatory creatures, I'm still working on my snake/spider radar). We ended up picking up the pipe by it's middle so that we could ascertain which end the snake was lurking from. Then we put that end of the pipe through the fence, outside the field, and stuck a hose in the other end to rinse the snake out. Once it fell out of the pipe, it coiled itself and raised it's head--pissed that we had disturbed it's protected hiding place. I couldn't blame it! All I could do was be in total awe of it's beauty and the power inherent in an animal that is designed to warn you before it strikes.
Monday, April 6, 2009
Monday, March 30, 2009
I've started something...
Blogging is super easy to procrastinate. For the past couple weeks I've come up with infinite excuses not to write, but for whatever reason tonight I'm saying fuck it. I need a place to share and document my farm apprenticeship and I'm doing it here. (Shout out to Faris who I imagine will be one of the few to keep up with my posts.)
When I came to California it was persimmon season. Now it's spring in Sacramento County and the orange tree in the driveway is slowly thinning itself of fruit.
This evening I was assigned the random task of moving a bunch of twenty foot long aluminum pipes in the field in order to overhead water some seeds we sowed directly into the ground. It takes at least seven of these pipes to span the length of our two hundred foot rows and the ends of them lock together once the water comes up to full pressure. Welllll, one of the pipes didn't lock and instead gushed full force down the pathway between the row.
Long story short, that row became totally soupy with mud and complicated the rest of my work replacing the pipe that didn't lock. Every time I stepped into the pathway to move a pipe, I had to yank my feet out of the quicksand of water and saturated soil; my shoes became mud-loaves and my attitude went from this-is-piece-of-cake to fuck-this-shit. After nearly walking out of the mucky field in frustration, I got my fellow apprentice Antonio to help me.
Together we linked up all the pipes and turned on the water, letting it run out the end of the last pipe in the field. As we waited for it to flush the mud out, I noticed the water was running down into a ground squirrel burrow (more on ground squirrels later) and that there was something inside the hole edging its way up the slope. Looking down into the burrow I saw that two fat toads were nestled side by side enjoying the water, but not wanting to drown.
The discovery of toads (whom occasionally grace my evening rountine with their song) hiding near a source of my frustration made the whole fiasco worthwhile. And that's how life on the farm works. Small stuff means the world.
That's what I got for now. I wish I had a camera to take pictures of all the beautiful land I live on and the cool people who share it with me...soon enough I will.
When I came to California it was persimmon season. Now it's spring in Sacramento County and the orange tree in the driveway is slowly thinning itself of fruit.
This evening I was assigned the random task of moving a bunch of twenty foot long aluminum pipes in the field in order to overhead water some seeds we sowed directly into the ground. It takes at least seven of these pipes to span the length of our two hundred foot rows and the ends of them lock together once the water comes up to full pressure. Welllll, one of the pipes didn't lock and instead gushed full force down the pathway between the row.
Long story short, that row became totally soupy with mud and complicated the rest of my work replacing the pipe that didn't lock. Every time I stepped into the pathway to move a pipe, I had to yank my feet out of the quicksand of water and saturated soil; my shoes became mud-loaves and my attitude went from this-is-piece-of-cake to fuck-this-shit. After nearly walking out of the mucky field in frustration, I got my fellow apprentice Antonio to help me.
Together we linked up all the pipes and turned on the water, letting it run out the end of the last pipe in the field. As we waited for it to flush the mud out, I noticed the water was running down into a ground squirrel burrow (more on ground squirrels later) and that there was something inside the hole edging its way up the slope. Looking down into the burrow I saw that two fat toads were nestled side by side enjoying the water, but not wanting to drown.
The discovery of toads (whom occasionally grace my evening rountine with their song) hiding near a source of my frustration made the whole fiasco worthwhile. And that's how life on the farm works. Small stuff means the world.
That's what I got for now. I wish I had a camera to take pictures of all the beautiful land I live on and the cool people who share it with me...soon enough I will.
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