Tag Archives: flowers

Another New Year

Spring has sprung,

The grass has riz,

I wonder where

The flowers is.

                              –Kayann’s 4th grade poem

January 1st is the beginning of a new year when we make promises for the twelve months to come. But spring brings its own sense of renewal. After winter’s chill, I’m always cheered to find the daffodils naturalizing along the ditch bank in bloom again.



March was warmer this year than usual, with NO SNOW. I’m capitalizing it because I can’t remember a March without snow here on the Front Range. We’ve always had snow in March, and not just snow but BIG snow, with many wet inches blanketing the ground. Sometimes, March snowstorms close schools and airports. On my 50th birthday three years ago, the snow was so wet and deep, everything shut down. I even had to cancel my birthday plans for chocolate soufflé at Le Central in Denver.

With no snow in March this year, we were a little worried about getting the season off to a good start, so snow two nights ago and a few stray flakes and misty rain yesterday were welcome. Even better, the temperatures didn’t fall low enough to hurt the fruit trees that have already started blossoming. Trees in bloom this time of year hold promises for the season. If we don’t still get a hard frost (entirely likely in April or even early May), we’ll have apples for cider pressing this fall.

The old apple in front of the house

This week’s moisture encouraged the seeds John planted last week to emerge in the spring garden. The sugar, snap, and snow peas have germinated well, pledging many pleasant hours of picking in the pea patch to come (try saying that three times). This Saturday we’ll transplant thousands of alliums—onions and leeks—into the moistened beds. Maturing from stout, grass-like blades to round, juicy globes, alliums spend the longest time of any crop in the ground. Once they’re planted, they ground the season with an assurance of dinners to come.

All this generative growth holds another kind of promise, one transacted between farmers and the earth. If we do our part—planting, watering, weeding, thinning, and harvesting–the soil, water, wind, and sun will do the rest. I think we get the better end of the deal. As we start a new season of renewal, let’s work with spring’s optimism toward potent dreams, garden fresh and ours for the growing.


Filed under ecobiography, sustainable agriculture

20 Years Later, We Still Have Rain

Today ended three days of hard rain in the midst of a week of showers—and it’s not quite over yet. But at least this afternoon the sun came out for a while and we were able to work in the garden for a little bit. With such nice, moist soil, I dug annual grass out of the rose bed and transplanted some rudbeckia that I’d started in the greenhouse. Weeding annual grass is a treat because the roots are so shallow, unlike the rhizome grass I’m usually digging.

I love my perennial garden in the spring because I’m always surprised at what comes back and what doesn’t. I lost a couple of roses to the harsh winter but the rudbeckia seeded itself so prolifically, I wouldn’t have needed to start any transplants this year. New veronica too are coming in all over the garden so I’ll dig up some of those to give away. The heliopsis—false sunflower—have even spread into the upper flowers, so I spent quite a bit of time removing as many as I could. They’re a thick, bushy plant and I want to contain them in just one corner of the garden and along the northern fence.

With all the rain, the wild golden peas—thermopsis montana pea–are blooming brightly on the bank of our upper ditch. I’ll pair them with dark purple lilacs tomorrow for a bouquet. My favorite Rocky Mountain wildflower book, Kinnikinnick, calls this flower “a golden banner that announces spring.” I see it blooming along the river as well; I should try to transplant some onto other untended areas of the farm.

Last Saturday was our CSA’s opening day for the members and we had a wonderful morning, despite some drizzle as we picked. We gave spinach, lettuce, mizuna, arugula, walking onions, green garlic, radishes, spicy greens, and baby turnips, whose greens were, according to some members, absolutely delicious. That’s a pretty good haul for the second Saturday in May. Tomorrow’s pick may not be as extensive because the soil is so wet and therefore more fragile, but we will have lots of dark green, crinkly-leafed spinach again and beautiful lettuces from the plastic-covered “blue house” (so-called because it’s not the green house).

This season is Stonebridge’s 20th as a CSA, which leaves us incredulous at how quickly time has passed. The CSA was founded in 1992 when owners Lowell and Arvilla Fey and neighbor Jennifer Ellen heard about community farming at Indian Line Farm in Massachusetts and asked John, who was renting the farmhouse, to join them in establishing this new kind of small-scale farm. John remembers, “In those first years, no one knew what CSA meant and they’d look at us funny when we said it.” After a few years, the Feys retired to their family farm in Nebraska, Jennifer established Jen-Lo Farms with her mother Lois, and I joined John in running Stonebridge.

In the last 20 years, John and I have seen growing support for new food systems that emphasize environmental sustainability. We were both influenced by the back-to-the-land movement of the 1970s that promoted natural, healthy foods grown organically in ways that didn’t harm the earth. Since then, stopping the ecological devastation of the planet has only become more urgent, so those ideas are finally moving toward the mainstream—but not quickly enough for us.

As farmers, John and I are committed to keeping our land in agricultural production by remaining rural. This land is special: we have irrigation ditches that provide homes for great-horned owls, bald eagles, herons, bears, and raccoons, not to mention all the families who take home fresh, organic vegetables each week.

For the last several years, we have mentored new farmers through the county’s Building Farmers program and we hope more communities will follow Boulder County’s lead in helping small farmers and urban gardeners. Each farm has its own personality and it will take many kinds of farms to grow the food we need here. After 20 years of sharing the bounty from this land, we’re grateful for the community support that keeps us going out to the field each day. And we’re grateful, too, for the rain that nourishes our land, even when it all seems to come at once.


Filed under ecobiography, sustainable agriculture