by Sara B. Franklin
Oh glorious fall. The leaves are changing, the mornings are crisp, and there’s a feeling of slowing down and nestling in at the farm. Our CSA distribution shed is filled to the brim with storage onions curing and piles of winter squash. We just ate the last of our watermelon yesterday, and the tomatoes don’t look like they have long to go. We’ve been working in fleece jackets and wool hats recently, as the mornings are brisk and chilly. The dew has turned to silver in the early morning light, and everything seems to be lit in a beautiful golden hue from the slanting sun.
Autumn at a New England farm is something else. You really have to experience it to understand its otherworldly beauty. And after the urgency and chaos of the summer season, the slower pace and cooler temperatures are welcome changes. A different tone from my August posting, eh? The only thing I have to complain about these days is waking up in the dark. But hey, there are worse things in life than watching the sun rise every morning.
There’s a wonderful sense of cycle right now. We’ve been finishing off patches of greens and beans, plowing them under and seeding cover crops in the freshly tilled soil. One of our young goats, Maybe, went to slaughter recently, as did our small flock of lambs. Our chickens, who seemed to be tiny and helpless only a few breaths ago, have grown into full-fledged laying hens, providing us a dozen fresh eggs each day. Soon we’ll be pulling the stakes and twine out of our tomatoes rows and putting those aggressively productive plants to rest.
Our farmers market is in full swing, and it never ceases to amaze people when we tell them that we are located “just over there”, barely out of sight from the busy downtown of Northampton. The distance from farm to plate seems to be decreasing by the day here in the Northeast, and yet, local folks are still getting all wide-eyed when they think of a farm in their neighborhood. To me, seeing such surprise and pleasure on the face of an avid vegetable eater never loses its novelty.
All of us on the farming community are getting tired, and are preparing to put our fields’ bed after a long and work-filled season. We too need a good rest, and I find myself looking towards the end of October with a sense of anticipatory nostalgia edged with relief. My body needs a good rest before gearing up for next season.
As the season winds down and work slows to a walk instead of a run, I find myself with a renewed gratitude for the work of the fields, the chance to spend these glorious, fleeting days in the rows instead of cooped up inside. There’s still much beautiful food to be harvested before the last pickup of the year, and we seem to be, once again, doing our work with high spirits and a bit of extra spring in our steps.
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