Late July

In late July, throughout the countryside, the sweet smell of corn pollen fills the air with the promise of the harvest, foretelling the eventual fruition of the summer’s labor and the relentless work of sun, soil, water, and air. And with it, the browning of autumn, the pulling in and the loss that comes with the winter, the dying of the corn, the disappearance of the birds, the bare limbs of the trees. But in this moment, standing at the edge of a corn field in the middle of the day, a breeze lilts through the leaves, and I hear their susurration while green pulses everywhere.

The sun warms my back through my shirt. I am here, it says, I am real. Humidity clings to everything, the dew soaking the grass until the afternoon, sweat soaking my shirt in just a few minutes outdoors. Heat boils off the hood of the slow-moving tractor as I steer the cultivators down the rows of crops, shirt open to catch any slight breeze, straw hat perched to maximize the flow of air past the crown of my head. Moving the tractor around the farm comes as a relief, and I occasionally stand up as I drive from field to field to take full advantage of the breeze.

The distant songs of birds in the woods carry through the moisture-laden air like calls from some far-away exotic land, while the croak of a bullfrog provides a bass note that would be easy to miss if I were paying less attention. I find it hard to believe that in just a few months, even the songs of birds will sound different. For now, though, flocks of birds are everywhere. I drive by fields of swathed oats filled with lanky black grackles. On the farm and beside the road, hundreds of swallows load down the electrical wires, their breasts flashing white in the sunlight as I drive by.

Thunderstorms roll through regularly, illuminating streaks and flashes of light bringing beauty to the night. Yet in that beauty lies their terror, that those streaks and flashes, along with their accompanying wind and rain and hail, will tear apart, subsume, and carry away that which we think we know, and that which we hold dear.

In the prairie plantings that dot the neighborhood, and in the ditches beside the road, a riot of white carrot flowers, lavender bergamot, yellow black-eyed Susans and prairie sunflowers, and pale blue wild chicories combine to capture the colors of the sky just before the dawn. Even as the buds of late July celebrate life and beauty and fertility, the flowers from just two weeks ago have begun to fold into themselves, to drop their petals and begin turning sunlight into small brown seeds to carry them through the winter.

In late July, my heart swells each day with grief for the loss foretold by the headiness of summer, yet fills with gratitude for the beauty the year has already brought, the daily accumulation of the crops, the continued miracle of breath and water.

Goings on on the Farm

Most of the crew took last Friday off, the fields too wet for work until the late afternoon. Ben and Sarah took advantage of the time to do some Quadrant Two activities (from Stephen Covey, that important-but-not-urgent stuff), organizing old packing records and fixing the sorts of small irritants that can ruin day. In the afternoon, the soil had dried out enough to do a limited amount of work, and Ben seeded more lettuce and dill while Chris got the cultivating tractor out to try to get caught up on the weeds until it was too dark to see (and he was too hungry to drive straight).

Saturday was devoted to killing more weeds in the intense sunlight and steady breeze that encourages even the fleshy weeds like purslane to give up the ghost. An inch of rain on Saturday night gave Chris permission to rest on Sunday, which was much-appreciated.

More rain fell on Monday night, in a narrow band that spared Highlandville, three miles south, but left a half-inch in the farm’s rain gauge. Spring Grove, just a few miles north, got an inch-and-a-half, so we felt pretty lucky. By Wednesday, we were able to do handwork in the field, and mow down the remains from the lettuce and escarole harvests, and handweed the parsley and celeriac, but it was still too wet to do any tillage or mechanical weeding.

The garlic continues to dry down in the fancy onion setup we described last week, and we expect to take it out for storage in the next day or two. Especially given the humid weather and the rain, this whole forced-warm-air business seems well worth the trouble and the energy expenditure. In the greenhouses, tomatoes continue their rampant growth.

Thursday has dawned with the sort of heavy rain that provides a sickening reminder of the opening salvos of the floods of 2007 and 2008, although the forecast doesn’t look like we are heading in that direction. The weather radar shows an ugly, swirling signature taking the rain in Northeast Iowa and sending it up the Mississippi, coming in from the southwest and turning back to the northwest. Never a good sign. Before eight, we’ve got over an inch-and-a-half in the rain gauge, and we are looking at more rain throughout the day. Kudos to the harvest crew for staying on top of things this week, and finishing the harvest before the rains set in.

In this Week's Box

When you get this box home, everything goes in plastic bags in the crisper drawer except the tomatoes.

Italian Parsley - Flat-leaved Italian Parsley has been a mainstay of European cooking for two thousand years – in ancient Rome, it was synonymous with celery, and used as a vegetable. A little parsley lightens up almost any dish, and is almost guaranteed to turn you into a good cook!

Red Russian Kale

Lettuce Mix

Fresh Shallots – as we wait for the onions to continue sizing up, we decided to harvest some fresh shallots this week. I’m using these anywhere a recipe calls for garlic or onions. On Saturday, I dressed some with olive oil and threw them on the grill for about ten minutes to soften and char the outsides, then extracted the flesh for a delicious side dish. (By the way, shallots aren’t really a middle-point between garlic and onions as some people claim. They have a more delicate texture and a more subtle flavor than onions, and will dissolve away more than an onion will.)

Sungold Cherry Tomatoes

Round Red Tomatoes – the round reds are coming on strong now, and they have been delicious so far. I really like these best just sliced (I use a sharp bread knife) and lightly salted. Dad likes them without salt, and ate one a day like an apple throughout his entire competitive triathlete period.

Broccoli

Golden Zucchini

Carrots

Cucumbers – we got these into most, but not all, of the boxes this week. We tried to pump you up with some more tomatoes if you didn’t get a cucumber.

Recipes You Can Use

Broccoli with Oil and Lemon

1 Large bunch broccoli, separated into florets, stems trimmed, peeled, and cut into 1/8 inch –thick disks
3 cloves garlic, minced
1 tablespoon balsamic vinegar
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
2 teaspoons olive oil
1/3 teaspoon kosher salt
1/2 teaspoon pepper

Steam the stem pieces over boiling water in a covered pot for 3 minutes. Add the florets and steam for 5 to 7 minutes more, until broccoli is tender. Prepare the dressing by combining all the remaining ingredients in a small dish and whisk until blended. When the broccoli is cooked, place in a serving bowl, and toss with the dressing. Serve immediately

Lemon-Shallot Vinaigrette

2 smallish shallots
2 Tablespoons white wine vinegar
2 Tablespoons lemon juice
1/2 Teaspoon salt
1/3 cup olive oil

Peel and dice the shallots very fine. Put them in a small bowl with the vinegar, lemon juice, and salt. Stir and let the mixture sit for 10 to 30 Minutes. Whisk in the olive oil. Serve over Rock Spring salad mix.

Slow-baked Sungolds

1 pint Sungold cherry tomatoes
3 Tbsp olive oil
2 tsp finely chopped fresh thyme or oregano or parsley
2 Tbsp grated Parmesan
Salt

Preheat the oven to 300. Cut cherry tomatoes in half along their equator. Brush a baking dish large enough to hold the tomatoes in a single layer with a thin coating of olive oil. Arrange tomatoes in the dish, flat side up. Drizzle olive oil on the tomatoes, then sprinkle on the herbs and Parmesan. Sprinkle with salt and bake for 2 hours; the tomatoes should be shriveled and lightly browned around the edges.