A View from the Tractor Seat

All Photos: ©Ellen Harasimowicz

Flower buds are opening on the orchard trees. A few days ago, I put my first organic spray on the blossoms to support them and help manage fireblight, a bacterial infection that can spread like wildfire throughout an orchard during pollination. I’m focused on what I can do to control fireblight because this year I did not spray the legendary dormant spray of copper on our fruit trees. Even though copper is an approved organic material, it can be toxic to earth worms and other microorganisms, especially as it accumulates in the soil. Farmers and orchardists assess this buildup by taking soil samples, and our copper level is right where I want it to be, so I’ve removed it from my spray regime this year.

Since I first started bringing the orchard back to life at Old Frog Pond Farm in 2001, I’ve been reading The Natural Way of Farming by Masanobu Fukuoka (1913–2008.) He has been an inspiration. A revolutionary farmer, Fukuoka’s book, One Straw Revolution, became the ‘carry-in-your-back-pocket’ bible for a generation of farmers who wanted to move away from corporate farming directives of multi-national companies that entered the pesticide industry after World War II. Fukuoka’s tenets include no chemical pesticides or chemical fertilizers; only attentive care to discover natural solutions.

Back then, the options for organic products were limited. Today, many more natural and organically certified materials are available. Regalia is one of my favorites, a bio-fungicide, with the primary ingredient being an extract derived from the despised giant knotweed. This vigorous plant grows anywhere, is hellish to eradicate, can destroy walls and driveways. I’ve read that, if you have knotweed growing on your property in England, you can’t get insurance. But I know from experience, it is helpful for treating Lyme disease caused by tick bites as well as being an all-around good spray for the orchard. It is called a bio-protectant. Regalia stimulates plant defense mechanisms against both fungal and bacterial diseases — exactly what I aspire to do as an orchardist — encourage the trees to use their own defenses.

A few days ago, I filled my 300-gallon spray tank with Regalia, fish, seaweed and two micronutrients, boron and manganese. Isa, our farm manager, helped me load the tank. Then I put the tractor into low gear, set the rpm’s to 1700, and set off at a turtle’s pace — 1 ½ mph pulling the spray tank behind.

With the loud noise of the tractor dulled by headphones, I crawl along between two rows of apple trees. My eyes are wide open, observing the buds, blossoms, and insects. It is refreshing to see into the trees as if I were seven feet tall, not my actual five-foot height. At the end of every row, I turn off the sprayer’s nozzles, and make a tight turn into the next row before I turn them on again. I stop a few times to check the liquid levels, and once, to admire a robin’s nest where I find two perfect blue eggs.

In Overheard in the Orchard, a collaborative book with my text and Ellen Harasimowicz’s photographs set for release in early summer — a Golden Delicious tree converses (preceded with ellipses) with an orchardist (in quotes).

. . . Apple trees originated in the foothills of a heavenly mountain range, the tallest peaks always cloud-covered. Foxes, snow leopards, wolves, and mountain sheep roamed freely. In the fall these animals feasted on our apples.

“My ancestors grew fruit trees. They felt the presence of the divine when they gathered in apple orchards. They called apple orchards shekinah. It means dwelling. They considered the orchard to be the dwelling place of the creative force of the universe.”

. . . I tell her, “Your ancestors understood an orchard is sacred, a place to gather, a place to taste truth.”

The earth is sacred. I am grateful that I don’t have to harm the orchard creatures in order to care for the apple trees. If I would have had to spray chemical pesticides, I would never have decided to bring back this abandoned orchard. And I would never have learned all I have from these wise trees — lessons on how trees care for each other and how we can do more to care for the earth and all its creatures.

Happy Mother’s Day!

Dig

A lower branch…
Mistakenly damaged with a spade–
A wild plum tree in bloom.

—Takai Kito

Spring is definitely here, and it is time to disappear the snow shovel, and grab the garden spade. The spade on this Japanese scroll was painted by Takai Kito (1741-1789), disciple of the great haiku master, Yosa Buson (1716-1783). The shovel is strong, compact, and simple; it appears to have a wooden handle, and the bottom is caked with soil. It is likely well-used, and easy to carry. 

However, I am curious about this mistakenly damaged branch referred to in the poem. Did the poet dig up a wild plum from the mountainside to bring back to his garden? I’ve mistakenly broken small branches when transplanting a sapling from once place to another. Yet, no matter — the poet writes, the wild plum tree continues to bloom.

How wonderful! Plum trees in Japan are one of the first signs of spring, often the first blossoms in a garden. Like the old shovel, plum blossoms are hardy and strong. White-petaled blossoms open even among swirling snowflakes. Winter meeting spring.

We need to be resilient. We live in a world of great suffering. Many of us are suffering. But like the poet writes, even with a broken branch, the plum tree grows and blossoms. We, too, can blossom. We can find something to be grateful for — bird calls, snowdrops, daffodils, a recollection of a kindness received, the intention of a gift to offer. 

Takai Kito not only painted the spade, but wrote the poem. However it was his teacher, Buson, who brushed the inscription as well as the poem around the handle of the spade, a clear sign of affection for his student.  Let us show signs of affection for those around us. Be resilient, and strong, like this simple garden spade doing its work, digging deeply into hard-packed soil. And be resolute, like the hardy plum blossoming in the snow.

The poet, Buson, nearing his death, gathered his disciples around his bed, recited his last haiku poem, and died in his sleep. 

Amid white
plum blossoms, dawn
breaking now

—Yosa Buson

Apple Blossoms at Old Frog Pond Farm

Winter Wassail

Dear Friends,

With this morning’s blanket of snow, winter has arrived at Old Frog Pond Farm. The apple trees, who gave and gave this fall, are finally slipping into their chill time. Apple buds need a certain number of chill hours in order to bear fruit. I imagine them settling into the expansive softness and quiet of this snowy day, grateful and at peace.

We are grateful for the trees and on Sunday, January 21 at 2pm we will celebrate with a wassail, an old English tradition when farmers gather around one of the largest trees and pour libations of cider onto the roots. They also hang bits of bread dipped in cider on the branches for the robins, spirits who protect the trees. The farmers, of course, drink the cider too, likely hard cider, and then, circling around the tree they sing:

Here's to thee, old apple-tree,
Whence thou mayst bud, and whence thou mayst blow,
And whence thou mayst bear apples enow!
Hats-full! caps-full!
Bushel, bushel, sacks-full!
And my pockets full, too! Hurra!

Wassailing celebrates the gifts we have received from the trees by returning some of what they offered. The ritual acknowledges our gratitude for nature’s generosity. Bread and cider are the pagan sacraments for this orchard communion. Bread is a symbol for well-being, physical sustenance, and community. Cider quenches thirst, physical as well as spiritual—this golden juice is sun, rain, and soil.

For our Wassailing celebration at the farm, we’ll toast with hot cider and listen to original poems written for the trees by the farm’s Plein Air Poets. We’ll sing and send out prayers that all beings will have food, shelter, and a fruitful 2024.

The wassailing will begin at 2pm. If the weather is stormy, we’ll post cancellation by 10am at oldfrogpondfarm.com.

Please join us! RSVP is not necessary, but if you let us know at fruit@oldfrogpondfarm.com we will be sure to have cider for all.

Let there be peace everywhere in 2024!

Let there be Peace, On the Common in Harvard, Massacusetts, October 22, 2023

Keeping Time

Dear Friends,

The farming season is officially over! Whew! I haven’t written a blog for months. Not because I didn’t have time, but because the swirling activity was all geared towards outside, external, farm business, and necessary haste. I’ve written newsletters for Old Frog Pond Farm, but they promote the farm and encourage visitors. For blog writing, I like to travel on back roads, interior paths, to keep my finger on the pause button, to listen for thoughts that arrive in quiet moments and wend my way. A little like how I sometimes begin a sculpture. This morning I stayed in bed with my eyes closed and let the dreaming continue until seven! Instead of the darkness I was greeted with this view.

Sunrise Colors in the Pond

 I share this poem by the great 13th century Chinese Zen Master Wumen, the compiler of The Gateless Gate koan collection.

Ten thousand flowers in spring, the moon in autumn,
a cool breeze in summer, snow in winter.
If your mind isn’t clouded by unnecessary things,
this is the best season of your life.

The great Zen master, Dogen Zenji, a 14th century philosopher, linguist, and poet, wrote in the fascicle, Uji, “The Time-Being.”

Since there is nothing but just this moment, the time-being is all the time there is. . . . Each moment is all being, is the entire world. Reflect now whether any being or any world is left out of the present moment.

 Translated by Dan Welch and Kazuaki Tanahashi from The Moon in a Dewdrop, writings of Zen Master Dogen

Dogen’s Uji text is only a few pages long, but he completely twists and turns and challenges our view of time. As a teacher he wants us to realize the wonder and completeness of each moment and not be caught by the conventional view of time as a continuum. These and other writings about time are inspiring a new sculpture, The Keepers of Time, though the title is always provisional until it is complete.

It begins with a wheel, one of two old cart wheels leaning against the chicken coop. This wheel has eighteen spokes, six more than hours on a clock. The Timekeepers are women who will inhabit the wheel. I envision them placing the numerals for the clock in position around the perimeter of the wheel.

I'm not sure if the Timekeepers recognize that time is not an abstraction, but something they are creating. Do they know there is no time apart from their creating time? How will they each play with their hours, days, and weeks ahead?

How do I have more time to read and write? This thought arrived in my mind this morning? I held it as if it was lightly filled with helium. It had form. But as I stayed with my attention on this thought, it squirmed away. For a moment I couldn’t find it. Then as if it could slither like a ghost under a door, it appeared again. It wasn’t a shape any longer. It was detaching, losing meaning.

In mid-November I gave a Dharma talk, Time Present, at Zen Mountain Monastery. Writing this talk is what started me on this investigation of Time. If you’d like to listen click here.                                             

Another new project is Two Chairs—Conversations with my friend, Lyedie Geer. Posted on the farm’s youtube channel are the first two videos of this new collaboration. In the winter of 2022, inspired by a purple velvet chair I inherited from my mother, and Lyedie’s blue chair, we decided to get together for conversation. We didn’t know where or what we were doing, but it was a treat to be together in person and talk as the pandemic was losing its grip First, I went to Putney, Vermont, with my mother’s chair in tow, then Lyedie traveled down to the farm and we sat in two chairs outside my studio near the pond.

In the first Two Chairs—Conversations, we explore Pruning—daring to make those difficult cuts—in the orchard and in one’s own life. In the second, Splash, we dig into the creative process as we talk about one of my new sculptures. We’re grateful to be working with David Shapiro, who also made our farm’s video.

Finally, I want to let you know Lyedie is an amazing coach of creative women. Until December 21st, she is accepting applications for the Bluebird award! I suggest if you have any desire to be encouraged and inspired in your creative life, click here to learn about the three-month pro-bono coaching program she is offering.

That’s it for now!

With love, Linda