Tomato Season Is Like A Blizzard
I’ve been laughed at, lectured to, berated and insulted over the price of a tomato. I sell my tomatoes by the piece and sometimes…
Cross-training
I’ve frequently noticed that farming and writing make poor bedfellows. If agriculture is my muse and occupation, then at the times when I am…
New Season, New Name
The Naming of Cats is a difficult matter, It isn’t just one of your holiday games; You may think at first I am mad…
FARMGIRL ANGST: My Own Sphere of Influence
It is rush hour. The geese come off the field of corn stubble and set back down in the adjacent pond. Two swans are…
FARMGIRL ANGST: Drinking Problem
One of the reasons I prefer local wine to anything else is that I like drinking a year I also lived. This might not…
FARMGIRL ANGST: Lost and Found
Of the sixty guinea hens my mother and I raised about fifty-five made it through last winter. This is the largest and most tame…
FARMGIRL ANGST: Control Issues
This past winter I went to a farmers’ convention and attended a few sessions on high tunnels. When a member of the audience said,…
FARMGIRL ANGST: Love, Death and Taxes
Storing the past is not a matter of nostalgia. On a farm what you keep is a form of preparedness, an arsenal for the…
