Dirt farming

Dirt. It’s not a thing you might use words such as magnificent, eye-catching, or even beautiful to describe. In fact, dirt, when used in metaphor, is often pejorative: someone is as plain as dirt, as dumb as dirt, as dull as dirt, or as old as dirt. We can dress up dirt by calling it soil, or loam, or earth, but a rose by any other name is still … dirt.

It’s taken exactly one year for us to convert an overgrown, weed and manure-filled horse pasture into a plot of ground that is flat, smooth, rich, and clear of plant life. It’s all just dirt out there now; black, smooth, beautiful dirt!

Our first step toward vineyard establishment occurred last September when a local farmer rolled in with a tractor and mold-board plow to flip the sod. When the farmer left, the field was a bumpy mess. We let the freeze-thaw cycles that occur during a Minnesota winter break up the sod clumps and beginning late spring, we tilled, ripped, disked, and dragged the ground every few weeks. In other words, we kicked up a heck of a lot of dirt. Weeds that emerged were sprayed with a systemic, non-residual herbicide; some weeds seemed to come out of nowhere and go from green stubble to small tree in several days.

The weeds didn't come from nowhere, though; they grew from our rich beautiful dirt. You’ve no doubt heard of someone who “grew like a weed.” An apt metaphor from this perspective.

Yesterday was our last day of dirt farming. Jim dragged a disk harrow up and down the field behind the ATV until the dirt was so smooth a Michigan-based pilot we know might think it's asphalt and be tempted to land his airplane on it. Jim spent so much time on the soil, in fact, that he added more than one hundred miles to the ATV odometer without leaving the vineyard!

Tomorrow, our schedule has us broadcasting five hundred pounds of grass seed on the dirt, which will become the floor of the new vineyard. Grass will choke out next year’s weed crop (much of it anyway) and allow us to get into the vineyard much more quickly after a rain. Once our new grass is sturdy enough to walk on, which should be the end of September, we’ll begin to measure and mark rows. By marking the positions of rows, end posts, line posts and turning lanes, the vineyard we’ve only been able to see with our mind’s eye will be visibly evidenced to all who regularly drive past Four Cedars Farms and may be wondering, “are they ever going to do something with all that dirt?”

The value of the 'printed' word

The problem with being a writer in the modern world is it’s too easy to rely on technology in the application of the craft. Sure, micro-processors give us the ability to quickly pound out our thoughts for the world’s consideration, then email them or post them online such as on a site like this. Technology applied in this way is a good thing.

But computers will fail and systems and software quickly become obsolete; if we’re not careful about preserving our work while we race to keep up with the latest advances in software and hardware – while we transition – we can lose precious stories we’d set aside for some other day.

This is the case with an essay I wrote in the summer of 2001 which I intended to post today. A few years back, I printed a copy of this essay, titled “Tears for Nadine” and filed it away behind my W2s, insurance papers and passport. It was a wise move. The computer on which I composed this essay has been replaced four times over. I’m fairly confident that if I want to share the story here, I will have to retype it. I promise soon I’ll do this; first, I must locate the photos I took, which complement the theme.

Thus, this morning I’m viewing a body of work reliant on technology alone as highly vulnerable. Even the thoughts assembled here are at risk. After all, what if Blogger disappears from the internet without notice? Will I have backed up the site on a daily basis to insure not losing a single thought? (Not likely!) Certainly, among internet companies, Google appears to be as solid as they come. But Enron was once considered a sound investment. And who expected Rome to fall?

I have a business colleague, who I lovingly referred to as “old school.” He prints every single piece of electronic communication he receives; clearly, my friend doesn’t subscribe to the concept of a “paperless office.” At first I used to think his habit of printing everything was a bit obsessive, but recent hard-drive failures of my own have changed my opinion. Old school is just being prudent.

This morning, I’m grateful that for at least one moment between the summer of 2001 and today, I had acted prudently too. For I printed one copy of “Tears for Nadine” and stuck it in a drawer. Perhaps today I should apply a lesson learned and back up this blog too.

Memorable comments from city boys' first week of ag school

"It's a lot like high school, except without all the d#%* rules."

"I'm from the third most populous city in Minnesota. When I told the class I was from Bloomington, one kid asked: 'where's that?'"

"In the span of six hours, I watched a kid chew his way through an entire tin of tobacco."

"It takes 500 years to create one inch of soil."

"Mankato is No. 2 in the world for crushing soybeans."

"I'll be home Friday by noon."

The rituals of Autumn

By all estimates, area soybeans will be ready for harvest the third week of September, two weeks earlier than normal. The corn crop, however, is toast. The 8-to-10-inch rainfall we received a week ago came too late to help corn growers. It did restore moisture to the top soil, however, which bodes well for growers next summer.

Since we at Four Cedars Farms grow neither corn nor soybeans, harvest affects us in other ways. For one thing, it leads us up to hunting season. Already, hunters are stopping by to ask permission to access the property. One man approached me Monday while I was sitting at the edge of the lake, deep in contemplation. His sudden appearance in my peripheral vision scared the daylights out of me; I wanted to tell him he just took two years off my life! I also wanted to send him packing! But he seemed like a decent enough fellow once I got back into my skin, so I gave permission. Some advice to men: never, ever sneak up on a woman. Some of us own guns, too.

Another consequence of harvest is that those millions of bugs living among the corn and soybeans will soon be homeless. Unfortunately for us, many of them will fly our way looking for a warm place to winter. Last year we had so many Box Elders bugs and Multi-colored Asian Lady Beetles inside, I felt like I was living in a terrarium. The vacuum cleaner hose became my new appendage.

The whole indoor migration of local bugs caught us off guard. By the time we figured out what we should have done to keep them out, it was too late. Hundreds of them were warm, cozy, and foolishly crawling on the windows looking for a way out. (Bugs are not bright.) That’s where most of them ended their lives, in the space between window glass and the end of the vacuum hose.

This year will be different. We’ve caulked around the foundation, filled cracks and holes in the siding, and replaced rotted storm windows where most of the creatures got in. And since shrink-wrapping the house seems impractical, we’ve stocked up on lethal bug chemicals; we’re thinking about dousing the whole house.

So farmers, go ahead and fuel up those tractors and combines. Get that crop in. Send those bugs packing. We’re ready.

P.S. Jim does own two extension ladders that will reach the second floor. But doesn’t the arrangement pictured here look like alot more fun?