Don't Believe the Hype

We still love our birds -- don't get me wrong -- but they haven't exactly been living up to the accolades I posted late last week. Temperatures plummeted to the single digits over the last two nights and even daytime conditions haven't risen above freezing since sometime early Friday morning. The hens have been cranky the entire time -- it's a toss-up as to whose complaints about the weather have been more intense, but it looks like they're kvetching more than us.

They also seem intent on laying eggs and returning to their collective huddle around the feed trough as quickly as possible. Instead of sharing a single nest and leaving one of their broody sisters to keep things warm as they do when weather is a bit milder, they've taken to dropping the eggs helter-skelter throughout the coop. Despite reasonably robust insulation, a great big window aimed at the sun to increase passive heating, a 100-watt red heat bulb, and a deep-bedding system that generates heat as it composts, their house is still a rather chilly place to just leave eggs lying around.

But we're not complaining -- regular visits to check on the hens insures that we farmers bundle up and venture out into the wintry wonderland, despite the occasional flash of wintertime blues that make it tough to climb out of bed and tackle a daunting to-do list. I've long appreciated the declaration of a friend who now has young children to stave off her own inclination toward seasonal torpor. Several years ago, she culled most of her aging flock, but kept a few through the winter: My hens, she declared by way of explanation, are the reason I get out of bed in the winter.

Eggsellent news

Back when we were investigating which breed of chicken would suit Tree Gate Farm, wintry weather was a significant consideration. Lightweight bantam breeds may be significantly cheaper to feed, but they require some serious pampering to survive a Finger Lakes blizzard. By contrast, our hearty Black Australorps willingly wander through several inches of snow and don't complain any more than we do.

A bonus: their glossy black plumage and red combs look gorgeous against a white backdrop. This morning, as fat white flakes drifted downward, they looked especially glamorous. In the absence of the snow cover typical for this time of year, the hens have reveled in easy access to fresh pasture and big, fat grubs in the orchard for two months longer than usual. Not only have they reduced the population of pests likely to wreak havoc come spring, the birds have made our customers very happy. "It tastes like there's cream in the scrambled eggs," said one. "It's like I put butter on the ones I soft boiled," said another. Having already sold out of meat and potatoes, it's a delight to offer up a carton filled by the Tree Gate hens.

When temperatures plummet, we have yet another reason to appreciate our beautiful birds: They go broody -- just like the farmers. While the notion to nest could vex a larger producer, our hens' inclination to keep their eggs warm until we come collecting makes winter farming a little easier. On days when eggs left unattended might freeze, a hen keeps them cozy til we arrive, sparing us multiple trips to the nesting boxes.

Recently, we've invested that extra time researching better record-keeping systems, working with an illustrator to develop a graphic identity for the farm, crunching numbers to calculate the number of seeds we should plant in the year ahead, and spending time with friends. Perhaps most exciting, we've been scheming about a few new ventures slated for launch late in 2012. Stay tuned . . .

Farming in winter

While attending a dinner party with friends and new acquaintances, someone asked us what farmers do in winter. My first thought was, "We get to eat what we've grown the rest of the year." Our flock of hens is still laying (12–16 eggs daily), we have horseradish yet to dig, and -- due to the mild weather so far -- we're still harvesting chard, kale, leeks, and fresh herbs. We have winter squash, onions, garlic, and potatoes stored all about the house and in the basement. We froze corn, edamame, plums, tomatoes, peppers, and more. The pantry is crammed full of stewed and juiced tomatoes, elderberry syrup, apple sauce, pickles, and hot pepper jam. We butchered our 24 roosters in October and put a half from one of our pigs in the freezer the next month. In December, a good friend shot a young buck on our land and on top of giving it to us, he provided a a full lesson in butchering and packaging, plus sausage making, to us and a kitchen full of friends. As if that weren’t enough in the counting blessings department, we have a terrific local resource here in Regional Access, through which we get great prices on bulk items like flour (from our friends at Farmer Ground Flour), oats, raisins, and other pantry fare. With such a full larder, we're enjoying sharing the bounty with our wonderful friends and planning for next year's adventures on the farm.

Getting back to the question at hand, I'm curious what kind of assumptions yield the question of what farmers do in winter -- besides eating well. I’ve often assumed people have some basic understanding of things that I take for granted: plant physiology, impacts of weather patterns, the business of farming, the effect of cheap food on farmers . . . But then some question or blank response reminds me that the particulars of farming are so foreign to so many people and I struggle with where to start in explaining something like what we do in winter.

To me, it seems fairly obvious that all of the tractor maintenance, repairs to the shed roof, tool sharpening, all of the deferred housekeeping and maintenance we put off during the growing season, and the myriad other chores we couldn't tackle during the busy days of summer now patiently await our attention. At least I assume they are waiting patiently, since they don't seem to fix themselves or go away... There's also the little issue of planning next year's farming effort. There are spreadsheets with varieties, planting dates, seed price, quantity, and row feet to be planted , as well as lists of which beds to plant, mulch, manure, compost, and cover crop, on what schedule. On Christmas Eve, we ordered 150 pounds of seed potatoes; the rest of our seed orders will have been placed by mid-January. There are still lots of decisions to make, but we have our major crops selected and we know where each will be planted in the field. We’ll start some early seeds indoors in mid- to late-January and since we'll install new high tunnels sometime in February, this winter will be especially full with farm chores. Our work days may be shorter than the 14-plus hour dog days of summer, but there is still plenty to be done -- most important, the dreaming and planning for next year.

Thinking about how next year's farm enterprises will play out, it's impossible not to reflect with tremendous gratitude on how we survived this year's crazy weather and busy days due to the mentorship of the many farmers who have generously taken us under their wings, our family and friends, and of course the incredible support of our loyal customers.

Happy New Year and best wishes from Tree Gate Farm.

Sharon and Dean

Special thanks to:
Groundswell Center for Local Food & Farming; Cooperative Extension of Tompkins County; Motherplants, Andy Leed of Starflower Farm; Michael, Karma, and Rosie of Kingbird Farm; Brent and Teresa of Red Tail Farm; Matthew and Liz of Muddy Fingers Farm; our migrant laborers (mom & dad); West Haven Farm; Felicia's Atomic Lounge; Rose's Home Dish; Garden Gate Delivery; The Piggery; the TGF acquisition team Kat and Mark; the world’s best neighbors, Mark and Julia; and of course, Scott: every day we appreciate some token of your generosity and sorely miss both your wisdom, counsel, and good cheer.

A little snow to kick off the season

The farm looks and feels a bit different this morning. We have about an inch of snow/ice/crud on everything, and yesterday our friends at Snug Planet wrapped up a two-day blitz of insulating our attic and basement. As they were starting to clean up the rain/snow/ithacation mix switched to straight up snow. We woke up to a lovely scene this morning.

Yesterday, before there was too much slush on the low tunnels, I picked the few ripe and nearly-ripe hot peppers and tomatoes that were left on the vines. We drained all the rainwater capture tanks for the season and rushed around putting things undercover before dark. Then we cleaned up and gave ourselves a nice treat and went out to dinner (on a gift card we've been forgetting about for nearly two years) with our good friend Kat. Sorry, Kat, no more bouquets for a while.

We didn't get all of the trees we've been propagating in their final spots yet. But there should be a few warm days next week to at least hill them in temporary spots. Our pork is all sold and the last three pigs leave the farm early next week. We'll share more about our ideas for next year's farm enterprises...as soon as we figure out the plan.

Pigs in the Woods

When we brought our six Duroc-Berkshire-Mulefoot cross pigs to Tree Gate in May, they were six-week-old weanlings, weighing in at just 40 pounds each, and extremely wriggly. Since our pigs live outdoors, we chose those with the darkest coloring to reduce the risk of sunburn—and ended up with five males, despite a general preference here for females of all species.

Initially, we housed the piglets in a straw-filled nest in the tractor shed with access to a pen shaded by saplings. There we trained them in the way of Tree Gate Pigs. They learned the whistles we use to call them, discovered that a good belly rub can be quite a treat, and decided that since the electric fence bites, it's best to avoid touching it. Those lessons mastered, we introduced them to pasture in late June. Ever since, they've moved to fresh grass every 10 to 14 days. Initially, it took several people to manage the process, because untangling electric netting and keeping six exuberant pigs from running amuck can get a little hairy.

This last move was our most ambitious -- we've been anticipating it for weeks, and despite our fear that it might end with loose pigs roaming the gorge at our property line and wandering downtown, it went like a charm. Once we dragged the pigs' house and feeder a couple hundred yards from the pasture and into the woods, we opened an alley of electric nets to guide the pigs to their new home. Dean had a bucket of apples (their current favorite treat) to lead the way, but they were so energized by the adventure, they quickly outpaced him in their rush to explore. Already, they've discovered all sorts of new tastes and textures in the soft soil beneath the trees and they seem more alert and energetic in this new setting.

In a few weeks, we'll introduce a trailer and start feeding them inside it. Getting used to going up and down the ramp ahead of time makes loading them for their trip to the butcher much less stressful for everyone. In the meantime, we're marketing the meat, which will be available around Thanksgiving, to people intent on filling their freezers with all of the bacon, sausage, chops, roasts, and hams associated with one side (half) of a pig. Our customers get to specify such butchering details as seasoning for their sausage, how thick their steaks and chops are cut, which pieces get cured or smoked, and how it's all wrapped.

Here's the FAQ we wrote for prospective customers:

about the pigs: Piglets on large farms are often prophylactically treated for worms or with antibiotics to compensate for unnatural living conditions and diets. Instead, we keep ours on fresh pasture and make every effort to eliminate health-compromising stressors.

your cost involves two factors: the hanging weight of your pig and the cost of butchering.

hanging weight: This is the weight of the carcass before it is trimmed into individual cuts, the lard and gristle removed, and so on. We aim to send our pigs to butcher at between 250 and 300 pounds' live weight. The number is variable because while our butcher date is fixed, the growth of each pig depends on everything from the weather (weight gain slows as the temperatures drop) to each pig's personal appetites. The actual weight of what goes in your freezer also depends on your instructions to the butcher. If you want bone-in roasts, for example, you'll put slightly more in your freezer than if you have the bone removed. Smoking reduces weight through moisture reduction. Last year, our fall pigs had hanging weights of 128–130 pounds/half (at $3.50/pound, same as last year, that works out to about $450/half). For freezer planning purposes, the volume of meat in a half fills roughly 2 office paper boxes.

butchering cost: this depends on your pig's hanging weight and your instructions to the butcher -- paper or plastic wrap? what gets smoked? do you want the lard rendered? Last fall, the fees at our butcher (USDA-certified Shirk's in Dundee) ran about $100–$125/half; plastic wrap and smoking are pricier options than paper wrap and uncured cuts.

what you'll get (results will vary! In this example from 2010, hanging weight per half was low -- just 80 lb. We anticipate hanging weights closer to 110 lb this year. Cuts were bone in with ham, bacon, and shoulder

smoked):

bacon: 7-8 lb

sausage: 6 lb

ham: 12 lb (roasts &/or steaks)

chops: 10 lb

butt: 6 lb (roasts &/or steaks)

shoulder: 4 lb (roasts &/or steaks)

ribs: 6 lb

hocks: 3 lb

bones: 1 lb

lard: about 3 pounds, rendered (good for biscuits, soap, salves, or decline your share and TGF will pay for rendering, then make soap)

cut sheet: your instructions to the butcher. We will walk you through this form, but first you'll have to make some choices:

• wrapping: butcher's paper ($.50/lb) or vacuum-sealed plastic (.65/lb)?. We recommend paper; cheaper and very effective for up to a year.

• smoking ($.80/lb): nitrate free or conventional? ham fresh or smoked? additional cuts smoked?

• how many pounds/cuts per package? (ex: 1 ham steak/pkg, 2 chops/pkg, 1 pound sausage/pkg)

• sausage seasoning (pick one or two): none, regular, hot italian, mild italian, breakfast, scrapple (we found these all a bit salty and half-seasoning quite tasty)

• sausage casing (pick one per seasoning): loose, rope, or links

• ham, shoulder, butt: roasts or steaks? for those sharing an order among several freezers, steaks are MUCH easier to divvy up

• thickness: of steaks and chops: 1 inch thick? 2 inches?

hand-off: Because we have two butcher dates, half of the meat will be available just prior to Thanksgiving and the rest just after. Please let us know which date you prefer. We'll give you at least a month's notice and make an appointment for a mutually convenient hand-off to insure that your meat remains frozen during transfer.

The Rose Wars

When we established Tree Gate Farm, Dean and I unknowingly stepped into a family tradition stretching back three generations in which food and flowers grapple for space, time, and attention. Mom filches compost for her blooms from dad's vegetable garden and in late fall, sneaks delicate potted perennials behind the garden fence for added deer protection. He grumbles, then winks. Grandma shared sunny yellow primroses with neighbors far and wide while Grandpa tended vegetables; the only bickering between them that family members ever recall was due to the clandestine transplantation of certain landscaping elements.

In 2008, Dean's mom delivered a wedding gift -- delayed several years by our search for land -- of divisions from her own perennial flower garden, many of which had been gifts from relatives and neighbors decades ago. Mom's vision and the legacy of relationships it represented created a garden that brightens the entrance to the orchard from last frost until the snow flies. That same spring, we rototilled a spot in view of the kitchen window and planted a plot of sunflowers. In 2009, family friends shared a handful of dahlia tubers that lend their exuberant forms and colors to the mix.

As the farm grew into its own as a business, I began selling cut flowers -- including salmony phlox from mom's garden and those dahlias -- to Business is Blooming. Under the tutelage of a talented neighbor, I learned to craft pleasing bouquets as gifts for friends, family, and favorite farm customers. This summer, when TGF angels Amelia and Leah invited us to set up a Friday afternoon mini market at Felicia's Atomic Lounge, where they feature our fruit and horseradish in their specialty cocktails. As a thank you for their hospitality, we crafted a weekly bouquet for the bar; as our summer vegetable inventory diminished, we started including cut flowers to round out the offerings. At our final market, the bouquets sold out.

Like every farm enterprise, flowers demand a rigor the hobbyist can forego -- planting on a staggered schedule, pest management, detailed recordkeeping, proper care throughout the season to optimize yields, thoughtful process to streamline the harvest for maximum efficiency. Ambivalent about the tension between function and fancy, I've been haphazard in my attentions to the blooms. This past spring I divided and planted several hundred feet of dahlia tubers, sunflowers, and a few other random ornamentals, all scattered across several acres, wherever I could find space amidst the higher priority vegetables. Then I abandoned them to the weeds as food crops -- potatoes, leeks, onions, plums, berries, chickens, and pigs -- clamored for attention. Amidst July's drought, the flowers languished, but with the deluges of late August and early September, they bounced back, setting buds and rejuvenating my enthusiasm. A week ago, having determined that even admidst such distracted management, the flowers might have something to contribute to the bottom line, we decided it's time to put the flower question on the table for our winter planning sessions: In 2012, will we devote a portion of our attention to their cultivation and marketing, or relegate them to the sidelines?

Forecasters are calling for a killing frost tonight and while the red sedums will retain their grace and the calendula blooms will weather the chill, the dahlias won't take it well. By morning, their distinctive forms and flashy colors will be reduced to a universal black slime. The cheery yellow petals of the sunchokes will likewise blacken and send sugars hurtling down to the tubers that already hold the promise of next summer's blooms. Since unlike the sunchokes, dahlias generally don't survive the winter in our climate, the tubers must be dug, labeled, and stored in a root cellar, then planted out late next spring.

Each fall, they present a choice: check that each plant is labeled and prepare to dig them for storage, or abandon the enterprise. Yesterday, I checked the labels. I a few weeks left to decide whether -- and how many -- to dig. This year, we'll take the decision seriously -- on a farm founded with a dedication to supporting the local food movement and preparing for energy descent, what place do cut flowers have in the mix? The neighborhood pollinators will have plenty to eat here, even if we never tend another cut flower. But there's something to be said for the joy of an extravagant bouquet, the visual appeal of shape and structure, the creative outlet of crafting an arrangement. Perhaps, like Dean's parents and their parents before them, we're destined to struggle with these questions not just this fall, but every fall. . . .

At least someone is enjoying all this mud

The pigs are thoroughly enjoying all the rain we've had this week. (7.81 inches for the week measured at the weather station at nearby Ecovillage at Ithaca).

They usually spend about 2 weeks on a given area of the field, and then we move their electric fencing. But they're doing such a good job at digging, and eating all the weeds, that we'll have to move them this weekend after 4 days on one spot. And they're so playful in the mud that they're almost dangerous to get in the pen with. Not that they're aggressive. Just that they're getting heavy enough that a good sideswipe from one spinning around in play (at knee level) that you have to watch yourself in the pen. I've been tossing apples to them to just to watch all 6 of them run after the apple all at once. Imagine a four-legged rugby scrum and you get the picture. We'll be selling them around Thanksgiving, so they'll be really big by then. You can buy 1/2 a pig at $3.50/lb plus the processing cost which varies by smoking, cuts, and packaging options. Just ask for details.

Leeks surrounded by their own moat

As you can see, the crops are mostly surrounded by water so no mechanical harvesting for a few days. We harvested and lugged by hand crates of tomatoes, potatoes, corn, soybeans (for edamame), leeks, onions, tomatillos and some flowers for our "market" at Felicia's Atomic Lounge this evening for happy hour (5-7). Since we're delivering produce to them anyway (for some of their locavore drinks and toppings for their pizzas) we get to hang out with our friends and sell a little bit of our produce along the way.