Welcome to Our Winter Flophouse

The rushed Jewish holidays and fall chill make this November feel much more like December.  For anyone who has missed the excitement, the first night of Chanukah is the same as thanksgiving this year. It will not happen again for about seventy thousand years, so there has been lots of hype and strange recipes floating around. Hard frosts have made instant memories out of so many plants, cosmos and basil, tomatoes, eggplants and peppers. We are still pulling off the last tomatoes (from another hoophouse), but they are mealy and sad now.

But look, hope grows in our new hoophouse (auto-correct keeps insisting I change hoophouse to flophouse so I am going to cave on this one). This morning we pulled baby radishes, sprigs of parsley and some spicy arugula from the ground.  We even found a few cabbage loopers, a nasty pest that is almost cute on this scale. They seemed drunk and slow but still found their way to the kale. On this scale we could flick them off like we used to do in our tiny front yard garden in Takoma Park and drown them in a cup of dish soap. That was before we decided to jump in with both feet and become (deep breath) “farmers”, such a small but all encompassing and intimidating word for us. It has taken a decade to own it. Or maybe a generation because our son wrote the words, “I am a Farmer” with zero irony right in the center of his first grade “about me” poster last week, awesome.

This winter our farm will shrink into what can fit into our own little hoopflophouse. Harvests will fill salad bowls instead of bushels and crates.  I am pretty excited about it! Happy first frost and near full moon. Thanks for reading!

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