Support DC's urban growers!

Hello, dear readers. I'm writing to you today with a call for help on behalf of my urban farming and community gardening friends here in the District. The Field to Fork Network is trying to raise some funds to get a collaborative market stand up and running this growing season. The goal: promoting healthy eating and community engagement at a number of markets around the city. (It's a project after my own heart, to be sure.) A number of groups we visited along the DC urban farms bike tour are involved, and a few that were not able to be included this time around. (As it was we had five stops!) Some of my favorites from around the city, many of whom have been working on food access and education for years, are coming together to make this project happen: the Neighborhood Farm Initiative, Beet Street, Washington Youth Garden, City Blossoms, Bread for the City.

Yes, it's a Kickstarter campaign... something with which I am intimately familiar. In this case, the funds will kickstart the project with funds to purchase needed supplies and materials, which will in turn allow the Field to Fork urban food educators and growers to operate small market booths. It also includes a modest stipend to fund a market coordinator to keep all of the necessary ducks in a row and get the systems in place for future -- hopefully expanded -- market seasons. They're looking to raise funds for the following, but if you (or someone you know) can donate any of these items, it'll help the group out immensely: tables, tents, scales, banners, chairs, calculators, camping stoves (probably my weathered beercan stove will not suffice, alas), cooking supplies. There's a bit set aside for educational materials and transportation as well, but $4,000 is a drop in the bucket when you consider all of the public good coming out of this. Actually, here's the video so you can see for yourself what they have in mind:



Now, people, they only have 30 hours left to raise the remaining $820 of their $4,000 goal to get things off the ground. Help an urban farmer out, eh?

Perspire under the elms

Due to some recent changes to my employment status, I have significantly more time on my hands of late. As such, I have spent the past couple of weeks catching up with those people and activities I was forced to neglect during my 4-month tenure with Arcadia: friends, family, writing, gardening, dancing, and going on bicycle adventures. Most of this has taken place around The District, but I had the good fortune to spend the past week visiting my friend Nathan on his family's farm -- the only organic plot for hundreds of miles -- tucked away below stands of cottonwood and elm in the windy southwestern corner of Nebraska.

While farm laboring wasn't my primary reason for visiting -- among his many fine qualities, my gentleman friend is a fantastic cook and salsa dancer and it was high time we spent some time together tackling the NY Times crossword puzzles (and it *was* the tail end of morel season) -- I couldn't help myself when the inevitable outdoor activities got underway each day. Planting, weeding, laying irrigation line, mulching, watering, and, my favorite, harvesting. ("One asparagus spear for me, one for the soup....") Needless to say, we spent quite a bit of time in the kitchen, and the culinary highlight of the trip was a fairly authentic Coq au Vin made from scratch. While the dish did not feature the usual french wine, we made up for the omission with the inclusion of multiple bottles of a tasty red zinfandel, a hefty handful of morels, and two rather bothersome roosters that Nathan and his brother Brian butchered themselves on Wednesday night. True, the two-year-old birds were a bit tough, but, oh, that sauce! Such flavor! And you'd better believe I made a giant pot of stock with the leftover carcasses. You know, for the creamy asparagus soup. And some chicken soup. And a big pot of risotto. (Well, I couldn't let it go to waste.) I had a chance to sleep in the following morning without that 5am cockadoodledoing, which was another side perk....



I've never been to Nebraska before. I was equally alarmed by the lack of food options in local grocery stores as by the bounty and variety of food grown on the windblown farm where I was staying. [No, seriously, that wind is like nothing I've ever seen. The gales were so intense I half expected a tornado to form during the latter part of Monday's barbecue. I don't know how the little bitty baby bok choy that we'd planted the day before were still in the ground.] Nathan's mom has quite the green thumb and was definitely in the lead during much of my time at the homestead -- planting and weeding and directing various menfolk on where to rototill -- but it was her son who decided last year to start a small CSA on the property. The brother who started the project left town, disgruntled, near the end of the first growing season, but there was enough demand among their neighbors that Rylan and a few other members of the family decided to continue, even expanding a bit. In its second year, Green Elms Community Farm is offering 10 shares of tasty, organic produce plus pastured eggs from their hens, if folks want, and potentially mushrooms as well, if Brian's winecap growing scheme proves fruitful. (Personally, I think Nathan should offer beer shares -- his homebrews are darn tasty, and they are growing hops -- but for now production is limited to family-only consumption levels. But imagine: a beer CSA! I'd sign up.) Yep, community supported agriculture is growing in some of the most unexpected places. I mean, rural Nebraska??

Okay, well, I'm just now back in DC. Guess it's time to get unpacked and do some laundry (after a *very* thorough check of all clothing and body parts following my week in Tickland). Stay tuned for posts on other small organic produce operations starting up, including a collaborative market stand with offerings from DC's urban growing spaces....

Farmerettes

It was over a couple of beers with my friend Maureen (aka Farmer Mo) that I first heard of The Farmerettes a few months ago. These were young American wives and daughters and mothers who, as their men went off to fight in World War I, stepped up to grow food to support their families and the country. Theirs was a different kind of farming -- often on a smaller scale, generally using less machinery, and incorporating a greater variety of crops -- than that which their husbands and sons and fathers had undertaken. Part of this was due to their smaller physical stature and an unfamiliarity with operating large combines, but it's more complex than that. Women go about things differently.

From what I've been able to tell, these patriotic foremothers were very much like the young women farmers I've worked with around the country along my bikeable feast, those who have chosen to pick up shovels and trowels and orchard crates to offer their communities smaller-scale, sustainable alternatives to massive-scale, chemical-laden food products. Because it was needed.

Talk about a catchy slogan: "Joan of Arc Left the Soil to Save France. We're Going Back to the Soil to Save America." Love it. But when the war ended and the menfolk returned home, the Women's Land Army, as they were officially known, relinquished their overalls for aprons and the farmerettes faded into history.

And yet.... Why is it that so many small, sustainable farmers these days seem to be women? I've done lots of thinking and a little bit of reading up on this. (Still need to get my hands on a copy of Farmer Jane, though.) At the risk of making a gross generalization, and idealizing an entire gender, I offer this: women are natural caretakers and nurturers (consider their predominance in the fields of nursing and early childhood education), on the whole they value different things than men (community over personal success; diversity and resilience over profit), and they are naturally collaborative problem solvers and knowledge sharers (rather than stiff competitors). There is also the fact that organic and biodynamic farming -- even more so than large-scale, conventional growing -- takes patience, vigilance, and an acceptance that invariably some things will be lost. I think of it like motherhood. Not that I am a mother, but I am close enough to a lot of them to sense the truth in this: encourage, love, heal, forgive, and accept losses with grace. Like the loss of lettuce to deer, or groundhogs, or beetles, or drought. The acceptance of this loss before subsequently turning to celebrate the flourishing of the potatoes, or carrots, or kale, and making sure friends, family, and neighbors share in the bounty.

(This is not to say that many of the organic, women farmers I have worked with have not considered shooting a deer or a groundhog at one time or another, but it's rarely the first, or even the second, option. Neither do I mean to imply that male and/or conventional farmers are not hard working or generous.)

I got to thinking about the farmerettes (and their modern sisters) again last Wednesday as I helped Farmer Mo with weeding and transplanting and harvesting at her farm in Alexandria, VA, and again as we worked together with her mentor farmer, Kristin, at her own farm in Upper Marlboro, MD two days later. I was heartened by the way Kristin offered ideas and answers to Mo's many questions as we worked, and the way, I learned, that Mo in turn mentored another, newer urban grower, Sarah. It is this spirit of helping each other, the sharing of experience and equipment and fears and encouragement, that is the key to the reformation of our collective food system.

I am not saying that men are not -- that they cannot be -- a part of the Good Food movement. But if a truly healthy, sustainable network of small-scale growers is going to feed us, and not destroy the planet in the process, I have a hunch that it's going to be led by women.

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In search of a 12-step program

Seriously, I think I may have a problem.

Prior to this Saturday's urban farm bike tour, I stopped by the Columbia Heights farmers market for the sole purpose of picking up a dozen eggs. Just eggs, nothing else. It was a task that should have taken no more than $4 and about 5 minutes. I left 45 minutes later with the dozen pastured eggs (mission accomplished)... along with a pint of strawberries, a small tub of vanilla yoghurt from a new local dairy, and three seedlings (doh!).

I can't help myself: food plant acquisition is becoming an addiction. In early spring, I started a bunch of seeds, many of which have since been transplanted as baby tomatoes and flowers out back. But then I found myself accepting little basil seedlings when I helped out at Walker Jones a few weeks ago. And I picked up little parsley and cilantro transplants at the Dupont market. Mike recently gave me a few sunflower sprouts to add some height to the little green space behind my apartment and we've started some marigolds that I'll be integrating soon to help protect my tomatoes.

It's not like I have an enormous garden patch to work with, and I recognize that I am quickly approaching something beyond acceptable levels of "intensive" growing. But how am I expected to resist when a farmer gets so excited that I'm asking about growing artichokes that he gives me -- I mean he actually refuses payment -- two artichoke seedlings? Well, I couldn't walk away and not buy anything, and my eye fell on a purple-and-white striped fairytale eggplant. See? I was socially obligated to purchase that one! And it fit right into a little spot that I'd cleared when I pulled a few volunteer squash seedlings out back. (Seriously, if anyone wants healthy, mystery squash seedlings, call me. I've got a number that I am growing out myself, but there are plenty to go around. They apparently flourish in my compost, but the only detail I know about them is that they are organic. The rest will be a surprise.) And the artichoke will add some nice, decorative height to my garden come autumn....

Acknowledgment is the first step toward recovery, I am told.

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If you plan it, they will come

I have to admit I got misty eyed a few times yesterday while leading the (rescheduled) DC urban farms bike tour. I think it really hit me when we arrived at the Washington Youth Garden, part of the National Arboretum, which was the second stop along the route to five urban food growing spaces around town. The near-tears state was no doubt partly due to the near loss of 15 cyclists en route -- a few folks had stopped to help a fellow biker change a flat and had only my less-than-stellar, turn-by-(mis)turn cue sheet to lead them to the next site -- and relief when they showed up about 20 minutes later. God bless smartphones. (Note to self: do not type up cue sheets after wine-filled dinner party the night before the bike tour. It was a lovely meal, even so, Sheffy.) However, I suspect that part of the emotion as I rolled onto the Arboretum grounds with 50-some cyclists in tow surely came from the realization that it was here, just over 2 years ago, that my friend Tom helped me practice shifting gears on my first real bicycle. I know! Ollie and I are all grown up and leading tours now. Well, one so far.

It was perhaps one of the most gorgeous days I can recall experiencing in the District: 78 and sunny with a light breeze. What perfect weather to introduce a whole new group of bicycling food lovers to some of the more amazing farms and community gardens around town. Things kicked off with seed packet spoke card making and a tour of the Neighborhood Farm Initiative's main garden in Fort Totten. Then the group proceeded to get an introduction to youth gardening and environmental programming at the aforementioned Washington Youth Garden (sweetened by some trail mix goodies, courtesy of a store credit from GLUT), a primer on composting and bee keeping at the Farm at Walker Jones (with fresh fruit and granola bars donated by Whole Foods), a look into intergenerational gardening and youth enterprise at City Blossoms' Marion Street garden (featuring lovely fresh herbal teas and lemonade for thirsty riders), and, only slightly behind schedule in spite of everything, an overview of permaculture, rain collection, and community programming at Common Good City Farm. The excitement and enthusiasm of farmers and cyclists was positively infectious, and I found myself grinning uncontrollably. Yes, even before a couple of beers at the closing happy hour at Big Bear Cafe. (Love that place.)

As things wound down, one person after another came up to thank me for organizing things and ask me when the next ride would be. Well, avid cyclists, future urban farming volunteers, and potential supporters, I hope this is the beginning of a tradition of local food-focused bicycle adventures around my favorite city. We shall see. (I will be sure to get a second opinion -- and a little less wine in me -- before printing out the cue sheet for round two.)

Thank you to The Greenhorns for providing the impetus for this bike tour, to the nearly 60 cyclists who attended the event, to the organizations that donated snacks. But most of all, thank you to my urban farming friends who are teaching us how to grow food, build community, and live more sustainably in the nation's capital.

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A strict morel code

As much as I seek a partner with good moral fiber, it may be just as important -- perhaps moreso -- to locate a lover with a good lead on morels.

What? Don't give me that stern look. Morel season is only, like, two weeks long here in the DC area. I just picked up a handful of the elusive little guys for $10 at the Columbia Heights farmers' market two weekends ago. I was literally skipping on my way home with them in my tote bag.



The next morning I tried a couple of them sauteed with butter and some wild leeks I'd picked up at the Glover Park farmers' market. Served on homemade sourdough: yum. (Yes, for those of you keeping track, that was two farmers' market visits in one day. I like to make the rounds.)



Okay, actually, I had that for breakfast a few mornings in a row. A few made their way into a vegetable chowder that my friend Ben was privy to midweek. Near the end of the week, my friend Joe stopped by and since we were both hungry we played my favorite game -- "what can I make with the random stuff in my fridge" -- with some fresh ginger, a pot of brown rice, some scallions, mustard greens, walnuts, the tiniest splash of soy sauce, and the last few morels. It was heavenly. Quite possibly the BEST fried rice I have ever tasted. Good lord, I love morels.

I need to eat as many of these little guys as I can get my hands on during the small window of time they are available. A friend in Nebraska recently sent me this photo:



Yep, their season is a little behind ours on the East Coast this year, due to a general lack of rainfall. Not that I am wishing drought on anyone, especially such an agriculturally focused state, but I do believe it has slightly delayed their morel season.... Conveniently. In less than a week, I will be heading to one of the very few states in this big, beautiful country of ours that I have yet to visit. True, I will not have Ollie with me -- I'm flying this time -- but, really, that just means more morels for me. Oh. Er. I mean, I will miss her dearly. And we'll go for a nice long ride when I return. But let there be no mistake: I do mean to eat as many non-poisonous shrooms as I can find while I am in Johnny Carson's birth state.

How does your garden grow?

Spring is in the air. Along with an uptick in twittering birds, rampant pollen, and raging hormones, spring also brings on the gardening itch. You know what I'm talking about, readers: the irresistible desire to pick up entirely too many tomato seedlings at the farmers' market, the aimless wandering around hardware stores, the fantasizing about harvesting fresh herbs from your yard as you begin making dinner. "Ah, a little fresh thyme is just what this sauce needs." There is nothing quite like scampering out back to harvest something that you grew with your own two hands, that you'll be eating moments later. Ahhh.

My own backyard plot is quite small, and the soil is -- how shall I say it? -- not the greatest. Okay, fine, it's basically a pile of clay with hard rock about a foot down. At least there's no lead contamination. I had some success with green beans, an endless supply of green tomatoes, and a softball-sized watermelon last summer. Not bad for a little space started in mid-July.



Somehow -- maybe the lush foliage of my overwintered carrots, or the tall greenery of my heirloom garlic taking over out back -- I have managed to become something of an informal garden consultant these days. How did that happen? Well, it all started last summer when my friend Mike asked me to help him plan out his first garden out back. I insisted that I had worked with a lot of organic farmers, but I was far from one myself. Even so, we compiled our seed collection, mapped out the sunny and shaded areas and where we thought each crop would flourish, dug up the grass and weeds along the fenceline, tilled in sand and compost, and got planting. I should say that the first season didn't yield a ton of food, but the lettuce, kale, and chard that overwintered have been lovely. The garlic should be ready by late summer. (The beets and fennel were no-shows.) This spring we've expanded into a fenced-in area and planted a few varieties of tomatoes, more fennel and beets (eternal optimists, we are), spring onions, broccoli, beans, sunflowers, nasturtiums, melons, and corn. Mike's also recruited two garden assistants, so we've got help with the compost system and the endless watering and weeding that organic gardening demands. An impromptu community garden, why not?

One day, not too long ago, mom and dad started asking me about building a few raised beds at their place. As per his assignment, dad picked up the untreated planks and hardware and some bags of soil, and a few days later we got cracking. Bam! Within two hours -- an hour of which involved my brother and I digging up grass, leveling the ground, and hauling wheelbarrowfuls of compost up the steep backyard slope -- mom had two brand new 4'x4' beds. (Dad and I are determined to make a third, smaller planter out of the red wheelbarrow, which kid brother and I deemed "otherwise pretty useless." I just hope good ol' dad doesn't hurt anyone when he attempts to drill through the 1/4"-thick solid steel.) Not long afterwards, I showed dad how to plant garlic, which had already sprouted by the time, a few weeks later, we brought mom some tomato seedlings and marigolds for Mother's Day.



Next thing I know, my next-door neighbor Henry is asking me to help him build a raised bed. Yeah, I've built one of those. Henry and I decided on a sunny spot for it and got working on a frame:



An hour later, Henry had his work cut out for him. Yep, digging up the grass. (Hey, I'm a consultant, he's doing the digging.)



Now, I don't want you all thinking I'm some kind of one-trick pony here. I can do other things. Like, you know, potted vegetable gardens. When my friend Joe met me at the farmers' market last weekend, he left with a tray of tomatoes, herbs, peppers, and cucumbers after I told him I would help him start a container garden on his front steps. (I can't help myself these days when people ask for garden help. All this unused urban space just asking for things to be grown in it!) Well, we wound up using the back deck, which had much better sun and, conveniently located near the hammock, was a place significantly less likely for plants to be neglected.



I had planned to only stay for half an hour, but... Two hours later, Joe was set up with a full-fledged garden lining the perimeter of the deck.



Oooh, I can't wait to see those vines climbing up the trellis out back. I'll be sure to keep an eye out when I stop by for a snooze in the hammock.