Channelling the farmer within.

I often wondered why farmers stood around and talked about the weather. It was not until I branched out on my own small farming venture that I realised the importance of having conversations with like minds. Fellow battlers to share the burden of raising crops. Well may Hanrahan bemoan the lack of rain, then, perversely, complain of too much. Farmers are held captive by the elements.  Prisoners of precipitation, too much, too little, too soon, too late. Farmers, bound to the whim of nature. I know, for I share the pain. So they gather and talk over the unfairness of it all. Conversations also pass on the wisdom of the ages, a collective wisdom, whereby new farmers find out the "way of the farmer".

The Zen of farming is learned by osmosis, not for us the reading of manuals. Sure, we may read the odd magazine, religiously tune in to Landline; we learn by doing and commiserating on our failures and the meanness of banks.

I have fond memories of childhood holidays at my Auntie's farm, "Lightbrook" near Kapunda in South Australia. Auntie had her own kitchen garden and orchard. She made her own preserves, cured her own hams, and killed the fatted calf. She made her own butter, milked her own cows. She raised 7 children and made a motza selling cream. Long before reality TV programs she was already stocking up from field to pantry. Her kitchen was always filled with the aroma of the next roast, and the butter from her cows was the best in the world. Scones and cream by the bucket load. No wonder she was such a big woman.

Yet it was here that, straight from the farmer's mouth, I learned that the sheep at the gate earned the farmer a few shekels. The same lamb ended up at the supermarket with a price tag of  100's of shillings per pound (it was a long time ago). The "Bastard Middle Man" was to blame according to my Uncle, who, defying tradition, was a staunch Labor supporter.  He would have stood for parliament in S.A. had he been able to string two words together without an expletive in between them. To say his was a colourful language is to limit the palette at his command. When we visited, Mum's face was set all day to the look. Uncle's normal full throttle conversation, stuttered and spluttered a continual  "sorry Dorothy",  as he attempted to control his swearing in front of her and her children. We learned so much when we visited the farm. Some of which I am still in therapy for.

Sharecropping

Rounding up and branding

My first farm was a partnership with my sister, Woo. She had purchased a small property and asked me if I would join her in the venture. Neither of us were experienced yet we were committed.

Woo had invested in a worm farm. The worm farm deserves its own story so I will not expand on it here. However, I will say that worm farming is not as easy as you might think. A lot of work, herding, branding and keeping rustlers at bay.

Land of my own.

My small holding  has failed to live up to my expectations. I began my enterprise full of hope and the promise of fresh vegetables. Fruit of my labour, evidence of the greenness of my thumbs. Self reliance and sustainability. Some may call my allotment just another sad garden, yet to me it is the means by which I will, like my father and generations before me , supplement the household and provide for my family. It is a back to basics, a return to nature.

I have not had the opportunity to share my experiences with like minds. I have watched the ABC and each episode of Landline. My uncle is long dead, and I don't know where he is. So I have soldiered on, working the land myself, learning by trial and error. The results so far are

• Trial 1
• Error 665.

I have prepared the soil, purchasing first class soil for vegetables from Bunnings. Fenced it in and planted my crops.

Financially, not a great success, soil and fencing $500, another $100 for plants, trellis and soil additives. I have all the necessary equipment, lovely orange wheel barrow (Bunnings $49) a lovely garden wheelie thing from Online ($39) and a really snazzy five in one tool from Aldi. Best of all I have garden gloves, three pairs, two leather, and one cotton.  No job too big.

Planted, labelled and watered, fertilised and sang to, I waited impatiently for the first crop to arrive. The snow peas have proven to be the most prolific thus far. 28 have been harvested in two rotations. The carrots were removed early, sad, gnarled ,spindly roots. The Asian greens went from seeding to seeded in a week. The corn may or may not be ready. My beans are definitely has-beans. Only one struggles to survive. No idea where the capsicums went. Tomatoes are still hanging in there. My only success so far have been the 28 snow peas, two Lebanese cucumbers and a single Cos lettuce. 



Worlds most expensive (almost a) salad..

 I have no doubt  the Bastard Middle Man would have figured that it was not worth stopping at my gate to bargain over the purchase of my produce. I would need to sell the  Lebanese cucumbers at $250 per kilo and the snow peas at $20 each to even begin to break even.

The lettuce is not for sale.