We’ve passed through the heart of winter, the vernal equinox is just three weeks away, and the last moon of the winter will start its rise next weekend. It’s a good time to start a farm blog.
Despite the absurd harshness of the weather, we’ve been busy here at Riverbound Farm. It’s probably not what folks think of when they think of farming, but we’ve been busy farming our whole season on paper, or on the computer as it happens. Yes, we do spend our fair share of quality time with excel spreadsheets. But we got the organic certification paperwork submitted, educational sessions delivered, research researched, seeds ordered and plots mapped. Now we’re working on the timing of the approximately 200,000 vegetable plants we’ll be growing this season, along with a couple of hay field plantings, some grains, a couple of acres of pollinator habitat and some cover crops. It gets complicated.
Thankfully, when the glare of the laptop I can take no more, we’ve got our team of eager Belgian draft horses to harness up and take for a drive. Woo-wee! How about taking a little jog on a crisp (understatement) winter day behind a three thousand pound team of prancing beauty and power?
…You trot and they listen to the rhythm of your steps and the pulse of your hands on the lines as you set the tempo. Their ears trained on your sounds, “Let’s step it up a little, team…” A subtle pulse with your fingers, with no more force than you might use to bob a fishing lure or swoop a kite or pluck the strings of a guitar, even less, and they understand and follow. A little pulse on the left, another and now their heads have turned left and they’ve begun to turn, gradual. Another pulse, but this one held in, and they’re turning more sharply. Now you’ve let that pulse out and give just a slight pulse on the right and they straighten out. And so it goes. So it goes until you flush a pheasant in the draw. Now the mare wants to run, wild, and so the other must follow. She steps up, high, full alert, taking leaps forward, he trots to keep up. You need her to stop running. But you also need her to trust you. She needs to know you won’t panic. You’ve got to acknowledge to her that she’s been startled without being startled yourself. So you maintain pressure on the lines, but without force, not yanking, not subtle anymore either, just very assertive communication. “Whoa. Rosie, Whoa.” And she understands and agrees to stop her running and trust you for now. You take her past that spot a couple of times and she is still edgy, but begins to accept. You talk to her. “Pheasants, huh, Rosie?” She trusts, but not completely. You’re still new to her. Unproven. Later, when you’ve un-harnessed and unbridled her, she looks at you more intently, and you feel good…
And then it’s back to the books…
Despite the absurd harshness of the weather, we’ve been busy here at Riverbound Farm. It’s probably not what folks think of when they think of farming, but we’ve been busy farming our whole season on paper, or on the computer as it happens. Yes, we do spend our fair share of quality time with excel spreadsheets. But we got the organic certification paperwork submitted, educational sessions delivered, research researched, seeds ordered and plots mapped. Now we’re working on the timing of the approximately 200,000 vegetable plants we’ll be growing this season, along with a couple of hay field plantings, some grains, a couple of acres of pollinator habitat and some cover crops. It gets complicated.
Thankfully, when the glare of the laptop I can take no more, we’ve got our team of eager Belgian draft horses to harness up and take for a drive. Woo-wee! How about taking a little jog on a crisp (understatement) winter day behind a three thousand pound team of prancing beauty and power?
…You trot and they listen to the rhythm of your steps and the pulse of your hands on the lines as you set the tempo. Their ears trained on your sounds, “Let’s step it up a little, team…” A subtle pulse with your fingers, with no more force than you might use to bob a fishing lure or swoop a kite or pluck the strings of a guitar, even less, and they understand and follow. A little pulse on the left, another and now their heads have turned left and they’ve begun to turn, gradual. Another pulse, but this one held in, and they’re turning more sharply. Now you’ve let that pulse out and give just a slight pulse on the right and they straighten out. And so it goes. So it goes until you flush a pheasant in the draw. Now the mare wants to run, wild, and so the other must follow. She steps up, high, full alert, taking leaps forward, he trots to keep up. You need her to stop running. But you also need her to trust you. She needs to know you won’t panic. You’ve got to acknowledge to her that she’s been startled without being startled yourself. So you maintain pressure on the lines, but without force, not yanking, not subtle anymore either, just very assertive communication. “Whoa. Rosie, Whoa.” And she understands and agrees to stop her running and trust you for now. You take her past that spot a couple of times and she is still edgy, but begins to accept. You talk to her. “Pheasants, huh, Rosie?” She trusts, but not completely. You’re still new to her. Unproven. Later, when you’ve un-harnessed and unbridled her, she looks at you more intently, and you feel good…
And then it’s back to the books…
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