Author: Tom Stock Page 27 of 30

Homecoming Farm is a three acre organic farm located on the grounds of the Dominican Sisters Motherhouse in North Amityville. My wife Nancy and I have a work-share. We work four hours a week and take home our weekly share of fresh vegetables. Starting in May and ending in Mid November, the farm is abuzz with activity.

Don, the farmer, asked for help planting Kale on our first day back. Don prepared a bed with the tractor. There are fifty 200 foot long beds that have to be tilled to prepared he soil for planting. The beds are put to rest in late November. Don adds compost to the beds and they lie fallow over the winter.

Don had planted Siberian Kale seeds over a month ago in flats with 128 cells. The flats are set up in the hoop house tunnel to germinate. The tight, white roots made it necessary to push them out of each cell. Many of the cells had two plants which had to be separated. Don set up three strings the length of the beds and laid a 100 foot measuring tape along the edge. “Plant the kale plugs a foot apart.”

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There are several smaller steps to be taken before the first step. When I planned a backpacking trip, thinking was the first step. That process included where, when, how, why, and what. After all the preparation, the expectation of shouldering pack and taking the first step finally happens. It’s a step of intention, will power, and hope. There is built-in insurance but still the possibility that anything could happen to spoil the planning and preparation.

Why all the fuss? Many of the hikes are only going to take a few hours. Yet, after the first step, there’s a sense of relief. Just follow the blazes and enjoy nature. It takes a lot of effort to escape the hustle-bustle, the noise, the chaos of daily routines. A sense of satisfaction results with the first step and a sigh of relief. The first step is medicine. Once I step out, a holistic feeling of “this is good for me.” kicks in. I’m on my way to sanity and better health.

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A heavy downpour forces the harvest to pause. A few remain in the fields but from my point of view, I only see green rows of leafy vegetables. I have moved into the garlic shed to continue work with the Sicilian Red soft neck garlic. Farmer Don asked me to cut the stalks, brush off excess soil, and trim the roots. I had 8 trays to process.

I heard thunder with raindrops pelting on the new metal roof. A sense of isolation felt good. I was alone with my favorite job on the farm in the garlic shed, almost a shrine to me. One clap of thunder that seemed to be right overhead caught my attention. I looked out and saw a yellow jacket at the far end of a row. It was Don bending over, checking the progress of one of the crops. I taste a clove and instantly feel the burn of fresh garlic.

My hands have developed their own intelligence as I handle the bulbs. After a few years of working with garlic, I can process a bulb with hardly a glance. As a result, my hands have become stronger. Overhead, bunches of garlic hang on wires to cover the entire ceiling. What could be worse than having a cloak of garlic surrounding me. It’s a slow process and the 8 trays I have been assigned takes a few hours. And when I look up, I see job security. There’s plenty more bulbs to hold and peel and trim.

At the end of the season in mid November, Don gifted me with a bunch of garlic bulbs that had been scarred when they were dug. This is like getting free medicine. Back home, I skinned all the cloves, put then in olive oil in a jar. I was able to use this garlic until February. Once it was gone, I felt empty.