This is our farm column from farmer Casey O’Neill. O’Neill is the owner operator of HappyDay Farms north of Laytonville, and a long time advocate for the cannabis community in Mendocino Co; more of his writing can be found here. The opinions expressed in this column are those of the writer. If you would like to submit a letter to the editor feel free to write to [email protected].
Snow ticks off the windows in the predawn light. After I finish writing I’ll gear up and head to the ranch to feed pigs, sheep and chickens. We have two fewer pigs thanks to friends who purchased them to raise their own piglets and meat, which makes the morning chores easier. It feels good to have slimmed the herd down to one sow, one boar and five weaner pigs, 2 large and three small.
The two ewes are very large and we’re hoping for lambs any day. These will be the first ones born here, and we’re excited for new life. The grass is growing well, despite (but also perhaps because of) the near-constant rains of the last few weeks, and the sheep will be going back out this coming week. We’re going to try something new, moving them to the cannabis beds in the bottom of brother Lito’s garden, where the cover crop is lush and thick.
Using sheep to mow and fertilize the cannabis beds during the winter will pulse the cover crop into another round of vibrant growth, putting down more soil-building root mass and producing more biomass which we’ll mow and incorporate into the top inch of soil with the power harrow in the late spring. This is far and away our best year ever for cover crop, in part because of the cool, moist fall, and in part because we made extra efforts to get it sown and under row cover in September and early October.
It’s such a delight to walk around the different gardens and see the lush growth that whispers to me of soil building, nutrient retention, and carbon sequestration. It speaks in a language of love; love for the organisms in the soil, for the land, for the crops to come and the food and herb they will produce, which we will share with love. Tending to land is a ministry, a calling, and the abundant growth brings deep succor and joy to my soul.
Tomorrow we will harvest for the first of our February farmers markets as we edge into the time of year that I think of as “starvation season”, the time when the winter crops are winding down but the spring plantings haven’t yet matured enough to harvest. Each year I practice and learn new methods for stretching the winter crops and bringing the new plantings in earlier. Hoophouses have a tremendous amount to do with this effort, but they are also a gamble in terms of snow.
Right now we have great kale, collards, radishes and salad mixes coming out of the hoops. These crops were sown in the late fall and are still producing, while the earlier sown outdoor beds have mostly gone by already. There are a few lingering cabbages and brussels, and a decent amount of salad turnips, but most things have now blown out and are operating more as cover crops at this point. When the weather breaks, I’ll mow them, add compost and amendments, power harrow and then tarp them to aid decomposition and smother returning growth. Then a few weeks later, the cycle will begin again with fresh plantings.
I’ve been reflecting on the meditative aspects of farmwork, the many repetitive jobs that become a flowstate that leaves my thoughts free to move as they will. Pops always says of these types of work, “I got into it like a meditation,” and I find it rings true for me. Harvesting salad mix is crouch-work, bent over the bed with knife blade flashing in my left hand as my right gathers each handful of greens to be cut. I inspect them for funky bits that need removing and then into the harvest tub they go.
As I work my way down the row many thoughts rise to the surface of my mind and then ebb away. I try to pay attention to my breathing and to my mindstate, and I try to set aside anxieties and ruminations to quiet the monkey mind. When all goes well, I am at peace with the work, and with myself.
In the wrong mindstate, farming is terrible drudgery, labor that goes on forever with boring, repetitive tasks. In an open mind, reflecting on the connectedness of all things and the honor of tending land to grow food that will nourish family and community, farming holds a depth of experience that is spiritual in nature. As Milton says, “The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven.” I’ve never been too sure about the concepts of heaven and hell, but I know that there’s no place I’d rather be than right here. As always, much love and great success to you on your journey!
