Letters from Australia . . .

Hey guys!

Sorry it's been a while. Busy here. Am in a small town named St George in Queensland, working on a vineyard. A not organic vineyard mind you. As the owner says, "not even close". Some people seem to have gotten a rash from the chemicals. nasty stuff. But grape vines have this certain beauty to them. Living at a backpackers camp, with several trailers split into a a few rooms with bunkbeds. Finding the charm in bunkbeds again. That's what you sleep on when you're a backpacker. That or the ground.

First week I got here it rained every day after a ten year drought. Fit in several partial days of work that week. Last two weeks hvae been great, probably 80 - 90+, but it's raining today and cool. Fit most of a day in before it got too bad. I start work at five like most of the backpackers here do, working on various farms picking or packing onions, grapes, canteloupe (known here as rock melons). The kangaroos are in their hopping glory around here. Saw about twenty this morning in a troop, just grazing. Pretty neato. Huge spider in the kitchen right now. Like you hear about in Australia. Bought some vegemite to try later today. People say it's not very tasty, but I will give you the authoritative opinion on my impression after I know for sure.

Had a good time in Sydney, but the city part of Sydney is like any city, really. You have to get out of the city to see it's personality. The many beaches are nice. Met a good group of friends in Sydney. Drinking age is 18, so there are plenty of young folks taking advantage of the new found freedom of the pub.

It's nice to get out and talk with the natives! In Sydney it's all backpackers. Lots of Brits, Europeans, Canadians. But almost now Americans, which I find strange. I guess we go to Europe to travel. Shame. I'm wishing I spoke another language, being around so many different ones. Lots of Koreans at the camp I'm getting to know. I feel lame around all these people that speak multiple languages when I only speak one. Typical American. But I can't decide which I should learn. Not many Spanish speakers here. German? French? I dunno. Korean seems daunting. But I've learned hello and goodnight, maybe that's a start.
Anyways, I hope you all are doing well and bundling up for the cold air!

~ Jake the Elder

Ah, Winter . . .

Well, here comes that part of the year when my motivation slows to the pace of freezing molasses. I cozy up by the woodstove with my cat and read a good book, write one of my own, or dig out all those hobby projects I've been telling myself I'll do as soon as I have the time.

The rush is over in a sense. Wreath orders have ceased, the farm is accumulating snow that Daren has to shovel, but NOT ME! Trust me, I have my own snow to shovel. Making a path to the chicken coop is plenty to start my morning, though right now it's just four inches of snow. Everyone from Windflower is slowly creeping toward hibernation mode as well. We gathered for a Christmas party a few days ago to swap gifts, divvy out cookies and play a few games or catch up. It was good to see the crew together again, because you never know who will be back the following year or not.

Since Windflower itself is quiet right now, I'd like to try and highlight the things we are up to this wintry season. Jake the Elder is off to Australia and will report back with tales of his adventures, Aidan hits the ski slopes as a winter job, and the rest is yet to be announced.

Winter Project List:

~ spin my own yarn
~ felt the bag I knitted last year :)
~ work up courage to send query letters to agents
~ make my own marshmallows
~ eat cookies
~ write

Northern November

November takes on a harsh look here, compared to the beauty of October and the change of the season. It’s as if the leaves were taken up by flames, red, orange and yellow, and the ashen remains have settled on the land, gray and dark. It’s the time when we switch over to winter mode. For many of us, it’s the smell of woodsmoke, stacking and lugging wood in. Or trudging through mud, slush or snow to feed chickens, pigs and the like. And wreath-making. Several of Windflower’s November crew migrate to wreath-making, an intense seasonal business that helps pay the winter bills. We generally just continue the conversations that we left unfinished since the farm, which seems remarkable. How can you spend nearly seven months with the same people, and have something unsaid, unargued, undiscussed between you? But we do.

The beauty of the Northeastern winter takes a long time to arrive nowadays, until then we get wavering periods of snows, thaws, mud, and all of it gray, to the point that you almost beg for a good blanket of snow to seal you in the house. Winter means books for us, or other random indoor projects that we could not summon the energy for in the course of the farm season. There’s a feeling of unspent energy, idleness, but then happiness for the natural season of rest that winter is. They seem to be conflicting with each other, but work a season on a farm, and it makes sense.

That’s the one thing I love the most about my work. You are, for better or worse, plugged into the natural rhythms of the seasons. Spring’s awakening, summer’s frenzied work to keep up with the weeding, the growing, and the autumn’s slow fall from grace, characterized first by doing all the farmwork we were too busy to do in the summer, sloping down until we realize we have little left to do, and then, nothing. We spend a year wanting an end to the season, only to be at the end and wonder where it went. It’s a twisted contradiction that we seek the end, and by January, February, we’ll be looking forward to another year and ready to quit the woodstove, bookmark our spots in projects, and walk to the greenhouses to seed.

Reflections

Ah... the air is light again. Coming back from the city, I at once can't wait to return to the city, and at the same time am quite ready to be home. Like my aunt Mary Beth was recently telling me, I seem town by two worlds. Washington County, the farm and the home I grew up in, and the world. Cosmopolitan, multilingual, multicultural. New York City seems like the capital of the world, containing a little bit of every corner, a dash of flavor from every nation and language. Yet for today, I'm glad to step out of my car to see the rolling green hills yet again, to visit my garden in town and browse the quiet Cambridge Farmer's Market. The pace is so slow in comparison to Manhattan, and even Brooklyn, that I get self-conscious if I go any faster than a meander, or spend less than two minutes in idle conversation with a vendor. I got used to Manhattan for a moment, and now I'm coming back to country time. What's the rush? No subways to miss, no lines to beat.

My favorite part of the city had to be Chinatown. For us country folk, it's an experience quite apart. Being able to step off Brooklyn Bridge, take a turn and find ourselves in another country, seemingly. If I were to walk one hour in any direction from my home here, I'd hear nothing but English, and it'd be old farmers pulling up and asking if I needed a lift. In Chinatown, I think the language ratio was about 60% Chinese, 30% Spanish, and a knock-down slug-out fight between English, Vietnamese, French, German and the rest for the 10% remaining. And I loved it, of course.

Brooklyn was great, too. At least the small part of it I saw, which was mostly Prospect Heights and Park Slope. It's easy to lose perspective in the city, and I realize we barely even saw Brooklyn, though our legs seemed to act like they'd walked all of it. I loved seeing the old Italian mom-and-pop pizza places, Carribbean and soul-food restaurants, old-style barbershops with portraits of Martin Luther King, Jr. hanging on the wall, and the bodegas where I could practice my Spanish to heart's content. And of course there was Tom's, which seems like it's been there since before Brooklyn itself, and will survive long after Brooklyn, if that's even possible. Try the Mexican Omelet with chipotle, definitely a safe selection. Yep, I certainly took a shining to Brooklyn. It doesn't run me over flat like Manhattan can.

After all that, some of you city folks might be thinking that life just gets boring after a trip to the city, but I tell you it's good to be home. Say what you want, the air is different, and I know it the second I'm outdoors. Aaron and I were talking about this one day, while walking in Brooklyn back to our host apartment. Aaron put it this way, the city air does its job, jus tlike air should. It gets you the oxygen and that's it. The country air we missed is like the person or thing that does its job and then some. Heroic, extra-competent, as we call it in Windflowerese. It does a little healing in the process, the country air. A little mind, some soul, and yes, certainly some in the body.

Besides the air, it's good to be home for other reasons. The times I'm outside in the early morning or late night and find myself under a heaven-made chandelier of stars, thousands visible with the naked eye, or seeing the frost on the grass seemingly glow blue from the full moon's light, I can't think of another place I'd rather be. People pay hundreds to see on vacation what I see driving the tractor out at eight in the morning, the wide field of winter rye stabbing through cold October soil. Yes, for sure New York City will see me again, and gladly, but for now I sign off, there are stars to see.

Windflower Returns

Just got back from a four-day trip to New York City. Seven of the crew filed into a bus early Thursday morning and braved Manhattan to meet some of you folks on the other side. It was worth it! Many thanks to Johanna who helped me coordinate the entire trips events, found us places to stay, and made us feel like family. Our hosts were equally wonderful at making us feel at home. Thanks so much. It was good to see familiar faces and new ones, too.

The consensus was that each of got only one night's worth of sleep over the entire weekend. there was so much to do and not enough time. Thursday's highlights included unloading the truck that we work hard to pack, then sharing some country food and pictures with the shareholders as they picked up their vegetables. (Kudos to all who were brave enough to eat squirrel!) Then we had a great potluck with all our hosts.

Friday started with exploring Brooklyn and a breakfast spot. Penny House Cafe gets my vote. Really good, dark roast coffee. The guys liked Tom's just down the street. Next, we toured the Botanic Gardens where the irony of country visitors fell in the form of a giant tree branch. If not for Jake the Elder, it might have meant a broken collarbone. he yelled just in time to make Jeremy and I freeze. Otherwise, the gardens were beautiful.

Now, Brooklyn is similar to the Albany area up north, but Manhattan has NO comparison. Regardless of the fact that I, myself, had never set foot in that city, everyone followed my lead. It was a trip to Strand and The City Bakery which was rumored to have good hot cocoa. (very true by the way)

The night left Bar Sepia hopping with crew and shareholder alike. Jake, Jeremy, and Aaron entertained with guitars and song, then we made friends and toasted the trip.

Saturday was filled with canning workshops, making raspberry jam and some tomato sauce for our kitchen host, Jeff. We learned all the needed tips and tricks to craft your own canned goods, then sampled some jam on homemade bread. I loved the groups I had and would be thrilled to offer another workshop sometime over the winter season.

Finally, a fortitude testing walk from Brooklyn to China Town left us hungry and ready to sit when we got to Joe's restaurant, famous for it's soup dumplings. Best Chinese food I've ever had, seriously.

Thank you all! And please bug Daren about posting on the blog. He's about to pay for his laziness . . .

It's Been a While . . .

I know I haven't been posting much here this month, but Daren is supposed to add things once in a while, I so guess I was staging sort of a strike. Nothing personal against our wonderful one follower! Aside from all the chaos at work, like digging potatoes and gathering 900ft of accidentally plowed-up turnips, I've had a little spark of inspiration lately that's kept me occupied. In between work hours and canning any veggies I can get my hands on, (Try homemade ketchup, it's amazing) late nights and general lack of internet have made me scarce. Writing a blog is quite new to me, though I've always loved writing, and late nights make me crazy. If I get up for a drink of water at any hour between falling asleep and waking, then I have vivid, odd dreams. The last one gave me the best idea for my next novel, and therefore, no Victoria for a while. Once it all comes out, I'll fall into normal again, then go into the depressing phase of agent rejections. That's why I plan to enjoy the writing binge. Sorry faithful follower. Until next time. And see you soon! I'm sure I'll stuff to blog about after the trip.

The Odd Ones

Thought everyone might enjoy some pictures of the oddities we find in the vegetable world. maybe some make it to the city, but usually, we tug them from their bin and do a photo shoot!

Farm Formal

Tired of work and dirty clothes everyday? The farm grind goes on all season; rain, shine, cold, sweaty hot heat or wind. There comes a time to trade in those workboots for high heels, and old jeans for finer threads.

The barn loft was hoppin', with music, games, and food as everyone arrived in their finest gowns, suits, and tuxedos. It's a yearly event here on Windflower. (Look closely . . . I wore pink and you'll never see it on me again.)

Mack's flapper girl dress was super fun and crazy, and Aidan got a great drum group started. We kept everyone up past midnight, playing pool and dancing. I almost feel like we should be giving out awards or something.

Windflower is never quiet, we keep our weeks filled with work, and our weekends interesting with events and fun. To see more of what the crew is up to, be sure to checkout the up and coming calendar page.

Berries Abundant

I found this little bird nest in the raspberries while picking some the other day. It's the perfect jam season right now. Red and golden raspberries are abundant. Jan and I made swirled jam by making two batches and alternately filling the jars with each color.

Last week was elderberry week. Andrea picked some to make wine with her dad, and Daren helped me pick a fair amount on the premise that he'd get a jar of the finished product. I never mind a little barter here in the countryside, especially if I get help with the prickly, outdoor part. Unlike raspberries that can be eaten off the bush with fervor, elderberries have a funny taste that comes out best as a jelly or syrup. They are poisonous in large, raw quantities, but perfectly safe when cooked. The right-side photo is of elderberries, but the other is of pokeweed, a non-edible berry of the same color.

Also, since plums are in season, I canned them in light syrup with whole cloves and a touch of maple liqueur. They will be saved for Thanksgiving or Christmas morning. The deep purple globes floating in the jars look gorgeous!

Compost/Recycling

I just learned this weekend how important these topics are to city folk. Of course we have a huge pile of compost out behind our greenhouses, but the times I grumble and hold my breath as I pace past it hold nothing against having a dish of it sitting on my counter for a week. I'm amazed at what we take for granted here in the country when others have to go through a greater process to do the same sort of thing.

So, here it is . . . the compost talk that Johanna wanted so badly. I'm sorry, but I have to post the tale of her fascination with the cluster of plants in the hedge row. She hurried over asking what it was that grew there, because she'd never seen anything grow like that.

"You mean the pile of dead flowers?" I answered, obviously curious why she was so interested.

At that moment I knew. Composting is not a pile of crap. It is a luxury. After dinner, I can throw my corn cobs out into the bushes where something lower on the food chain will scurry over and be glad it found its next side dish.

At Windflower, all those end of the day compost runs with juicing tomatoes, rotting onions, and worst of all, potatoes or cabbage do its part to make fresh soil for next year's crops. If you wonder whether we pot or seed into that soil, the answer is no. We have the privilege of letting someone who specializes in composting make that soil mix for us. As if a great big pile of compost wasn't enough, we need our dirt pile too.

Recycling has its place too. Ask Jake the Elder who is its biggest advocate. Why else would we have a compost salad day?

Adios Oren!

OREN is leaving us for the season, so here's what the crew has to say:


Dude, bye! Drink water, not urine! (you'll need to recall our lunchtime conversation to not be confused and appalled and distasted by this) Learn lots of Wesleyan things and stay cool as a cucumber in the cooler with the coolness turned up.
- Jake

Yo, Oren, so, washing station conversations are going to be slightly more boring without you around. And I'll vaguely miss constantly being challenged on nerdy topics that I can normally fake my way through. So, enjoy acruing college debt but have fun doing it! Hasta luego-
- Daren

Dear Oren,
Good job smelling great this year, and keep up with the magic deodorant, it works wonderfuly. I'll be waiting to see your inflatable flip-flops on the market. Have fun at school. Bye bye.
-mack

Oren,
Gonna miss you here on the farm and sitting somewhat nearby the "cool table" at lunch. Have fun at college and be sure to keep wearing that sweet deodorant. Don't forget the hot peppers and tango!
- Naomi

Oren,been nice to know ya, gonna miss your geeky puns and oversized wit here on the farm. been nice to have you as both an employee and friend.
- Jacob

Oren,
We're sorry to see you go; you've been an excellent worker and supplied us with excellent conversation and insight here on the farm. You're company will be sorely missed. Hopefully you have enjoyable adventures ahead of you! We hope you come back to us some day soon.
- The Blomgrens

Bye Oren! Have fun at college studying all those majors. I'll be safe from thinking that Ted is coming every time you whistle, and I expect some Tango lessons someday.
-Victoria

Keeping the Harvest

We had so many cucumbers one week that I started making pickles. Because my husband’s favorite is dill, that batch was first in production. Some years, when hot peppers fall into the same weeks as the cucumbers, I season the jars with slices of jalapenos and garlic, but they don’t last more than a few sittings. This year, I tried a new kind of bread and butter for myself, which mixed brown sugar and ginger in the flavor. Today is testing day and I can’t wait to discover what they taste like.

I think my next projects will be salsa and ketchup since the tomato season is coming fast. But I’d really like to know what other people are doing with their excess vegetables. Post your comments and ideas, or check the recipe page of this blog to see what our favorite recipes are. You can also ask questions about pickle making or offer suggestions.

The crew and the Medina family had a long discussion about authentic Mexican salsa and so learned that different hot peppers go with different tomatoes. They personally don't preserve it in jars, maybe because of the vinegar, but I'd like to give it a shot. Black bean and corn will be my first attempt, and secondly, roasted tomato and chipolte. Testing day will be interesting.

Jake's Gig!

So, we were all at Jitter's Cafe on friday night, sipping coffee and cheering Jake on as he sang and played his guitar. The song that he wrote had great lyrics inspired by his recent reading of Walden Pond. There was a line about throwing things away jut so we could buy more, and I realized that it defined Jake really well. He's the only soul I know who can say those words without guilt. There isn't much more than what he needs stashed in his dwelling, and even that get's shared with a squirrel or two.

Someone should record this guy . . .

Early Morning Planting

I've not seen too many sunrises in years past. Not on Windflower nor from my own window. I'm not exactly a morning person, but out of necessity, 6am has been the starting time of choice. It's just been too hot for all the afternoon work.

For a few mornings Daren, Sara and I set to planting some broccoli in the back fields using the two person planter. Though Daren can drive, I got elected the job and so thoroughly enjoyed the new music on my MP3 player. Eight hours of it though . . . it's such a slow-going job doing any planting at all. The pictures show about sixty seconds of driving. Hoorah for Daren who planted all three rows at 0.2 mph by himself just we could get the shots.

I'll admit that the memory is firmly planted as something worth keeping a while. Daren grabbed some red raspberries while I was off getting a water refill in the tanks and tried to trick me into thinking that the smear all over his arm was blood. Unsuccessful. I think I know him too well. But I did have to stare for a moment before figuring it out. How else are we supposed to make memories? We could have desk jobs and miss all the misty mornings and iced coffees in our tractor cupholders. That's how we know we love what we do.

Camping Weekend

Last weekend some of the crew headed up to the neighbor's back fields and camped out for the night. No pictures can describe the view of the entire Hudson River Valley all the way to the Vermont mountains. Windflower looked so small tucked in the trees and fog. See that distant ridge? It's Vermont!

So we made our fire, cooked some dinner, laughed and told stories while we played a game. Then, the guitar came out and got passed around for finger pickin' and song. It was a late night, keeping cozy by the big rocks surrounding the fire pit. They seemed to make a safe haven in the dark field where we could watch the stars dodge the clouds or hear the thunder off to the west.

Morning dragged us from the tents or ground, where scones and honey-butter waited with strong coffee. Later some of us went crawdadin' in a local river for a midday snack.

Can't wait for the city camping weekend! See ya in August!

Just Another Day . . .

Things change from year to year on Windflower, but the scenery is priceless no matter what. I can't describe what it's like to walk in every morning and glance at the caterpillar tunnels up on the hill. A quick photo is all I can post, and the clouds scream to be noticed instead.


Its the things you least expect that catch your attention.
Seas of row cover, every pathway, tractor road; the symmetry of our lunchtime retreat to the barn.

What you can't see beyond the frames of these pictures is what make Windflower so beautiful, and this blog is only a snippet of the memories and laughs, labor and satisfaction. It doesn't show all that we do, nor the acreage that our farmland covers, but it's a taste of how good life can get.

Greetings from Daren

So, this is my first contribution to the corkboard, so I'll start with a basic introduction of myself. First I'll confirm or deny the rumors on my bio. Yes, I'm Irish, but only part, as I'm a typical American mutt. I call myself Hiberno-Gallo-Anglo-Algonquin. Yes, I love potatoes, but only because they are the toughest veggie on the planet, and the easiest to grow (i.e. the hardest to screw up), barring another occurrence of the Blight (made famous in the 1840s, and yes, 2009). I love languages, I learned some useful ones (like Spanish and Turkish), and some not so useful, like Irish. I mostly learn that one because the English used to not let us. Anything to make the Queen mad, eh?

Anyways, enough about me. In my first post I'm going to give a quick survey of the languages spoken on the farm. We of course have English, but full of jargon related to our field, and then of course inside jokes and a "groupspeak" that has arisen amongst our veteran crew. Every day an outsider could listen in and hear something that to them, would be incomprehensible. Victoria may request that the packers do the "blue letti" and put them in "Narnia" when they're done. ("Blue" refers to which CSA site they're going to. "Letti" is a hypercorrection form of the Latin 2nd Declension Masculine Plural, -us changing to -i, and "Narnia" is the affectionate term for our walk-in cooler.) See Windflower-isms.

From years of being friends, and then co-workers (mostly in that order), we have plenty of inside jokes that only require a word or two to be referenced. I won't bore you with inside jokes you're not in on, so I'd just recommend you think of yourself and your groups of friends, and those times that you need only say one word, and everyone is laughing, smiling, or maybe scowling as they each remember what the word refers to.

Besides our Windflower English, we also have Mexican Spanish on our farm. Our crew of migrant workers hail from rural southern Mexico, and it's been fun trying to decipher thick accents that one does not find in the typical American "donde esta el banyo?" kind of classroom. Spanish has had a marked effect on our English since the languages have mixed. A large part of Windflower English includes heavy word borrowing. Many times, two Americans will prefer the Spanish words for vegetables. A typical example, "should we do the papas first, or the remolachas?" Common farm items might also have a preferred Spanish term. We are more likely to talk of banyeras than tubs, we like ligas over rubber bands, and an American favorite is to talk of agua more than water. We also regularly greet each other and take leave in Spanish (yes, even American to American), making for an interesting morning of "buenos dias" and later an always-welcomed exchange of "hasta el lunes" as our weekends start.

The final language to mention is the Windflower Pidgin which has started, which is neither proper Spanish, nor proper English. In fact it's not proper anything. It's similar to our English, as it involves lots of Spanish nouns, especially for vegetables, whiles the verbs are split between using the English verb, or just using a poor ole dictionary form of the Spanish verb (a common feature of pidgins, look at Haitian Creole, or even Afrikaans). Some samples of our Pidgin- "Cosechar nabos en el campo norte," which is "Harvest turnips from the North Field." Or we might say "Las remolachas, no bueno!", our common way to express basic displeasure with something. The rule is, you can take a noun, say it, leave a pause in for a moment, and tack on "(no) bueno/bien" and express your opinion on it. Basically it's Tarzan-speak Spanish with occasional lonely English words thrown in the mix.

So, that is our basic linguistics survey. Full of jargon, idiolect, word borrowings, word coinage, and all the other fascinating features of human language.

Compost Salad Day

Yes, as odd as it sounds, we spend three days a week watching hundreds of leaves fall off the heads of lettuce in the packing area, and they wind up in the compost bins. But by Jake the Elder's mention, we rallied together and saved those good leaves for a lunchtime potluck of our own.

Toppings from chick peas to craisins
homemade croutons
salad dressing
avocado . . . cheese . . . olives and
pickled green tomatoes filled the table.


Everyone got to create their own custom salad, making lunchtime a little less boring and far more resourceful that anyone thought it could be.

Harvest Day

The Medina family is up and in the misty fields an hour or two before the packing crew comes in. They'll already have several dozens of bins of lettuce, chard, turnips, and more waiting in the cool, dark barn. Everyone of them gets a good soaking while the washing tubs fill and labels are written. It will take all day to process the harvest for 460 shareholders.

I walked in one morning and got a bow-like greeting from Daren.
"Okay . . ." I mutter.
"I don't have to cultivate. Get to be in packing today. I'm just happy about that," he explains.
I laughed a little at the good mood it put him in.
Cultivating is slow and lonely, but packing is like a knitting circle where everyone gets to chat and work together.

These are the days we wait for as we plant and weed and seed the crops all Spring. The change is welcome, like a small season of its own on Windflower. Aidan usually arrives early enough to make a pot of coffee before the rest of us pour in. Ted is busy making his list of who gets what in the new office space that Jan constructed for him. Now he's close by, ready for our volley of questions.



There were 460 bunches of nice turnips, and they all needed washing. The results are pleasing, but it's time consuming. Getting them clean is part one. They get packed and labeled, hauled into the cooler, then shipped the next day.

Horse Power

Every once in a while an old horse shoe will show up in the fields; sometimes even an oxen shoe, which proves that tractors weren't the first beats to roam the land. Something has to till up the ground and chew on rocks. Every year, the herd of tractors on Windflower seems to have multiplied. We have a couple Kabotas and Internationals, so it can get confusing to just spout the name on the paint job.
The thoroughbred of tractors is the Kabota. We all want to drive her. In the morning, we race to saddle her up for whatever task we've been assigned to.

The International. What a bronco. Imagine a small-built girl trying to control a beast that barely lets her get her feet down to the pedals, and the pedals are just the brakes and clutch not forward or reverse.
Daren has become the rider of the very old, grey mare called a FarmAll. She mostly hears what you want her to do and has something virtually non-existent: a choke. I still don't quite understand the concept of a choke, but it seems like a carrot or sugar cube that gets her started. My goal is to learn to drive her, but she doesn't have power steering, so the men are reluctant. I wonder how many of them know that my first car-a 1986 Chevy Chevette had no power steering either. Would they rather have me driving on the street or in a field of grass?The largest and most scary beast of the fields is Ted's new tractor. I don't know what it is, but it's green and big. John Deer? Jake the Elder has become its handler during our four-person planting days. We have great respect for him, because the poor man had four backseat drivers . . . all girls. Stop. Go. More water. Left. Right. Slower. Faster.

This is Ted's ride. The Ox, I suppose. It moves dirt, mows paths and fields, and all that good stuff.