“As far back as anyone can remember there were always farmer-fishermen in Sagaponack.”
Preparing for the end of fall.
Surviving the season might bring you to your hands and knees.
One of the first things I had to sacrifice to become a farmer was a wardrobe.
The seed sprung up, shot out of the dirt with the slow-motion version of a coil, the radicle breaks from its sleepy core.
Drakes don’t lay eggs any better than roosters, and like the roosters it’s probably best to butcher them when they are young and not yet rank with sex and fighting.
Using the word “trespasser” gets people’s attention. It is a word that implies menace if not malice.
We go because it is still fairly agricultural and we visit tractor dealers, repair shops and suppliers of farm sundries. Our favorite hardware stores sell plow points and hydraulic lines, parts for the welder and sprayer; look up and you see they have every fan belt ever made—or its replacement
I find selling to restaurants the most daunting part of the market. Restaurants often require a level of consistency and abundance, on Thursday or…
The industry of farming produces abundance, and with those offerings should come the awareness that you’re putting out the welcome mat for friends and foes.
This scene between us, drinking high-end stuff out of Styrofoam cups, might seem sordid or sinful for more than one reason. I know we should have had glasses. But worse, I know of many farms that were lost to alcohol.
I once read a food column about true love, or maybe it was a love column about food: while passing through the rural Midwest…