Strawberries, Greens, and Fresh Bread

Guest-post and photography by Anna Goodling

You always know summer has come when the Farmer’s Markets start. Brightly-colored tents scattered around a small country common-green backed by a tall white steeple or a red brick schoolhouse attract local Vermont residents and out-of-state visitors alike. Vendors hawk their wares in good ol’ Vermont style, with a twinkle in their eye and a backwoods twang in their voice. Neighbor greets neighbor with a howdy all around and a swapping of stories in the shade of the old oak or maple trees that line the common. Seasoned Vermonters of many generations shock the visiting tourists with stories of last winter’s snows and the still-oozing mud-season ruts on the back roads. Summer is welcomed in proper, with fresh produce and zucchini in ever-increasing numbers.

The Chelsea Farmer’s Market is just such a weekly occurrence here during the summer. Every Friday, the locals gather from miles around (or at least up to the next town over) to set up their vendors and sell their goods, from pottery dishes and Adirondack chairs to handmade clothing and every type of organic produce imaginable. This week the strawberries made their first appearance, and were much lauded by the little old ladies from the Old Folks’ Home with their market baskets and their straw sunhats, hungry for strawberry shortcake.

Every Market, live entertainment is provided by a local musician. This week Luke played his fiddle, Daddy accompanying him on guitar. All the strawberry-buying ladies flocked to the music tent with their purchases, to listen, clap, and talk. One of them stopped to reminisce about the time last year when she had no money, so gave Luke half a tray of home-made brownies by way of a tip. That was a good day.

While Luke plays and the old ladies sit at the picnic tables in the sun, children run around the green or explore the pebbles below the flagpole. A little girl, blonde curls up in pigtails, dances in front of the music tent, causing the ladies to ooh and ah. Her Daddy looks up from across the Market and smiles. The usual gang of rowdy little boys races around the green, running from one produce-filled tent to the next wreaking havoc, ice cream cones clasped in dirty fists, occasionally taking a lick as they tumble. The little girl stops her dancing and stares after them as they race by.

I watch Luke play his music for a while, enjoying the sun. Then I’m off to wander the Market and make my own purchases. First to the Bread Guy with Mother, to buy two or three fresh loaves of fragrant, crusty, melt-in-your-mouth goodness. The Bread Guy is a character. He looks a typical old Vermont codger, with a slightly unruly grey beard, faded baseball cap, old tee-shirt with holes around the edges, and a jolly Saint-Nicholas belly. But the minute the Bread Guy opens his mouth? Double-take. British accent? Fantastic, and rather too cultured for his surroundings. Mother stands talking to him for a while, all about his bread oven and business from past markets. I listen, somewhat mesmerized. We leave his tent with two big loaves of bread, and two even bigger smiles.

From the Bread Guy, we move on to the produce. The strawberries haven’t been quite all bought up by the little old ladies, so we trade a handful of coin for a carton of the red juicy sweet. Nothing like a fresh, sun-ripe strawberry. I sneak one or two out of the carton and into my mouth when no one is looking. The man selling the strawberries tells us his berry plants are probably on their last year – but he’ll nurse them along as long as he possibly can anyway. He’ll probably get another year or two out of them, if he’s careful. I agree. The berries are good.

Mother and I move back across the market to listen to Luke play, stopping on the way to buy a cookie from the shy man who never says much and doesn’t have a tent, but has the best chocolate chip cookies in the Market. We eat them on a bench in the sun. The chocolate has melted inside the cookies, and drips out over my fingers. Yum.

Finally, it’s evening. At six o’clock, the Market ends. Luke packs up his fiddle and Daddy his guitar. Mother puts the bread and strawberries (minus a few) in the car. The ladies take their full market baskets back to the Old Folks’ Home. The Bread Guy packs up the few loaves he has left. The pottery man and the man with the strawberries and the woman with the sewing and the vegetables begin to pack up their wares as well. I pile into the truck with the rest of my family. We bounce out of town and away from paved roads, back to the mountain and home.

Pasta with tomatoes and good fresh bread for dinner. And for dessert? Strawberry shortcake.

Children on the Farm

Every year we correspond with two fourth grade classrooms at a local school. Throughout the year, we exchange letters, teaching the children about the animals and activities on our farm. The children write letters back to us, sharing stories of their lives, pets, and dreams.

Dear Goodling Family,

I am 10 years old. I have a barn with cows one cat in the hay shed, seven chickens in a coop at the back of the barn and one chicken outside the coop. It is my brothers and my job to take care of the animals. I like taking care of the animals but I don't like the smell of the pen in the barn.

School Bus Arrives

Dear Goodling Family,

I am 10 years old. I live in Vermont. I have a sister that lives with me. I have a dog named Dawn. I can't wait until we go on the field trip to your farm.

Dear Goodling Family,

Learning About the Sheep

My favorite baseball team is the Redsox. My favorite color is green. This is what I like about your farm. I think it is cool that you have an angora rabbit. I think it is weird that a group of sheep is called a flock because a group of birds is called a flock. It is cool that a girl sheep is called a ewe. .... That is what is cool about your farm.

A couple of weeks ago, the children rode the school bus out to the farm. Thirty-seven fourth graders unloaded from the bus, along with about 6 adults. The children divided into three different groups that all went in different directions, exploring the farm. One group went into the barn where our son, Luke, talked with them about animal husbandry. We had brought two of our ewes and one lamb into the barn so the children could get up close to them while Luke talked about shearing, parasite control, and basic care. The second group learned about the properties of wool as they made pieces of felt in the fiber studio. They laid out wisps of colorful wool filling the inside of a zip lock baggie. After adding some soap and warm water, they worked the wool between their hands, creating a piece of felt for them to take home. 

Felting Projects

Felt Drying on the Stone Wall

The last group of children went on a tour of the farm, visiting the pigs, learning about how they are used to help clear new pasture areas. They saw our meat birds and learned about the importance of using a "chicken tractor" so the chickens can rotate through the pasture, adding important nutrients to the soil. Lastly, they hiked through the woods on the hill behind the house, learning about the resident fox and maple sugaring. Their hike ended at our "grand view" overlooking the Green Mountains, and had the thrill of running down the hill through the tall grass back to the barn. 

Lunch was enjoyed under the shade of a maple tree behind the house. After eating, the children enjoyed rolling down the bank. Before loading back onto the school bus, the children all gathered to ask final questions about our farm and say farewell. 

Eating Lunch

Rolling Down the Hill

Sowing Seeds

Sowing seeds has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. In my early childhood, my family planted a garden each summer, and since establishing my own home, I have carried on this tradition of planting. This year, when I tore open the first packet of seeds, I was struck by how tiny they were. There, in my hand, lay tiny specks which would sustain us. I almost laughed out loud to think of it. With faith, I gently laid each seed on the soil, believing that with time, warmth from the sun, and care, these seeds would sprout into lush plants to feed us.

Each day, I tend to my seeds, rolling up the greenhouse sides on hot days, and snugging the sides down tightly when the winds bring cool temperatures. I keep the soil moist and pull any unwanted weeds that may try to choke out the plants that will provide us with sustenance. As the days pass, tiny pale green shoots push up through the earth. Their green, a stark contrast against the brown soil, bring a sense of hope as I leave the long winter behind and yearn for warmer days. Soon, I can pick among the tiny leaves, preparing a salad for our dinner with the tender young foliage. 

Since January, I have been recording the blessings of each day. Sometimes, it is difficult to find things to write down, as I am conditioned to think that only the grand things in life count as blessings. I must search out  the smallest of gifts, looking for them in unlikely places. As I hold a handful of seeds in my hands, I think of the similarities between these seeds and the tiniest, most improbable gifts. If I take those little gifts and blessings, and nurture them, pulling out the weeds of doubt and fear that prevent them from flourishing, in return, they will grow abundantly, and I will find much reward. 

2 Corinthians 9:6 ...whoever sows sparingly will also reap sparingly, and whoever sows bountifully, will also reap bountifully.

The Sugar Maker of VT Grand View Farm

Tonight, the smoke rises from the chimney pipe, and steam billows out the windows of our little sugar house, as the Sugar Maker boils down the remainder of the sap. With 16 gallons lining the closet shelves, we will have plenty of syrup for the year, with some extra to sell or barter with. The buckets have been taken off the trees and are waiting for a warm sunny day to be scrubbed, dried, and stacked. The wood pile has dwindled down to just a small heap. All this, signifying the end of another year of taking the clear sap of the maple tree and boiling it down to golden sweet syrup.

Buckets hang on maple trees

I dedicate this poem, by Robert Frost, and photo essay, to the Sugar Maker and the many hours he sits, tending the fire below the evaporator pan.

Evening In A Sugar Orchard

From where I lingered in a lull in march
outside the sugar-house one night for choice,
I called the fireman with a careful voice
And bade him leave the pan and stoke the arch:
'O fireman, give the fire another stoke,
And send more sparks up chimney with the smoke.'
I thought a few might tangle, as they did,
Among bare maple boughs, and in the rare
Hill atmosphere not cease to glow,
And so be added to the moon up there.
The moon, though slight, was moon enough to show
On every tree a bucket with a lid,
And on black ground a bear-skin rug of snow.
The sparks made no attempt to be the moon.
They were content to figure in the trees
As Leo, Orion, and the Pleiades.
And that was what the boughs were full of soon.

Sugar Maker Tends His Fire

 

Sap Boils in the Evaporator Pan

Testing with a Hydrometer

The Sugar Maker Draws Off the Syrup

Filtering the Syrup Before Bottling

Golden Maple Syrup

100% Pure Vermont Maple Syrup

Counting Blessings

Since January, I have been reading Ann Voskamp's book, One Thousand Gifts:A Dare to Live Fully Right Where You Are." Ann challenges us to live each day with our eyes open, counting the many blessings laid out before us. In doing so, we experience deep gratitude and a fullness in life. I have embarked on her dare, to count one thousand gifts in a year's time.

Blessing #327

Today, the wind howls, and the temperatures have hovered in the 20's. Snow still sits in our fields, and the sky and woods are nothing but gray. Today, I cling to the blessings that I counted over the weekend, while gathering sap from the buckets that hang on the maple trees lining the road. A call from the tree above me, revealed that the Robins had returned from their winter hiatus in warmer climates. A Robin sat high in the tree, calling two Robins hopping along the road in front of me. Blessing # 327-the Robins return.

Blessing #328

As I walked back toward the house, I found pale shoots poking through the cold, brown earth, reminding me that indeed, new life will soon come to our hilltop farm. The daffodils by our stone wall always pop up and bloom long before any others in our yard, as the stones warm the ground, melting the snow, and making way for the tender shoots to push through the ground. Blessing # 328-Daffodils, green and tender, poking through the hard earth.

Spring waits patiently for this winter blast of cold air to move on, while I number my blessings.

Waiting for Lambs on Grand View Farm

This weekend we readied the barn for lambing. With our first possible due dates just a week away, we needed to get our lambing area set up. We have a large horse stall in the barn that has become our laboring ward for the ewes. We keep a deep bed of hay there and only open it up when we have a ewe close to lambing. The ewes love to use this space as it is quiet and dimly lit, and they will often seek it out once labor begins in earnest.

Chloe Stands in the Doorway

Lambing Jug

I keep lambing jug panels screwed to the wall of the barn with hinges. We set two of these up in the barn over the weekend. The sheep and llama all gathered to watch as we worked. The panels can open up against the walls of the stall, or be pulled out to form a small pen when needed. Once the lambs are born, and the ewe has had a chance to clean the lamb and bond with it, we will put the ewe and lambs in the small jug. This way, I can sleep at night, knowing that the lamb can easily find mom. It also gives me a chance to observe the lamb for a couple days to be sure it is healthy and nursing well before turning it out with the rest of the flock.

Some of the ewes look quite ready to lamb, with ever bulging side saddles. With the lambing area clean and ready and the lambing kit fully stocked, all we need now are some new lambs!

In Like a Lamb and Out Like a Lion

When I taught kindergarten in the public school, the children and I kept a weather calendar each month. For the month of March, I had a pocket full of cards that either had the face of a lion or the face of a lamb on them. Each day, we would decide if the day had calm, warm, weather like a lamb, or if it had fierce, stormy weather like a lion. At the end of the month, we would decide if March had come in like a lamb or come in like a lion.

Ruts in Our Road

This year, I have decided that thus far, March entered like a lamb and will be ushered out like a lion. The first of March tricked us into thinking that spring would indeed come early this year. The day temperatures hovered over 40 degrees and the intensity of the sun melted snow. Mud season seemed to be in full swing with deep ruts along the road. The stretch of muddy road in front of our farmhouse claimed at least three cars over a 2 day period. Finally a neighbor called the town pleading for a load of gravel to fill in the horrendous holes that had swallowed his car more than once. Then he drove down with his tractor to smooth the gravel out, filling in the most offensive ruts.

We even began tapping maple trees, knowing that we usually totally miss the first week of sap run each year. This year, we felt rather smug, catching those early drops of sap. Now the buckets hang all askew on the trees, with lids blown half way down the road, and covered in snow. We should have known that if "Mr. Sweet", our neighbor who taps hundreds of trees and hauls sap to every sugar maker on the mountain, was not driving his truck up and down the road with his huge collecting tank in the back of it, then it was not time to tap the trees. (Mr. Sweet is truly not his name, but seems fitting for someone who sells sap and exclaims over how sweet it is.) We feel pretty silly having those buckets hanging out there on the trees just waiting for the temperatures to rise.

The past week, the lion has shown his force with freezing temperatures and nearly blizzard conditions. Yesterday, the snow fell so thick that I could not see the mountains that line the field. The roads have frozen up again, ruts filled in with snow, and no sign of thawing. The snow has piled so deep that the sheep have not wanted to leave their run in next to the barn, but prefer to stay snugged up tight against the end of the barn. With newly shorn coats, they do not want to venture out into the wind and blowing snow. The hope of spring seems months away though the growing bellies on my sheep indicate that lambing and spring must be soon approaching.

So today, I pull the lion face out of my pocket and tape it to the calendar.

Thank you to Luke and Anna Goodling for their amazing photography!