Uncertain Embrace
December Reflection—2024
The 2024 season is about to become another notch in the belt. What will we remember? A familiar staff. A wet summer followed by a dry fall. Groundhogs. Late blight. Contract expiration and—we hope—renewal. We are closing out the year with some big items still in flux, but we are moving forward regardless. As I cast about for this season's big takeaway, I think it’s learning to live with uncertainty. After all, what choice do we have? Kids are watching, and we owe it to them to model fortitude and hope, even when the future is full of unknowns.
Dan and I were thrilled to have the entire 2023 staff back in 2024. We kicked off the New Year with a big mulching project—covering the entire garlic field in a blanket of leaves. By the end of the previous summer, our crew had spent so much time mulching together we could do it with our eyes closed. Then everyone went their own way. Dan and I, meanwhile, tackled the other big winter project—installing a new trellis in our new blackberries. By late April, Jackie, Nancy, and Mike were back in the field, transplanting onions, installing tomato posts, and setting the stage for the season ahead. Adam and Mia returned in June, just as mega spinach harvests were upending the 2024 playbook. No two seasons are alike, and as far as crop performances go, 2024 was the polar opposite of 2023. I had foolishly expected that with 100% staff retention, all the lessons and plans of 2023 would carry over to 2024. The joke was on me.
Harvesting greens is an art, and the best way to learn is on big plants with plenty of leaves. But in 2023, our spring greens were stunted, providing a poor classroom for our novice crew. So I switched gears and doubled up on easy-to-harvest fruit crops—zucchini, cukes, and beans. It kept us busy, so much so that by September, we were begging for mercy. Fast forward to 2024, and it was the greens that wouldn't quit, but the fruit crops were just piddling along. Plus, a persistent mouse took up residence in our cultivating tractor, causing it to constantly stall in the fields. With more greens, fewer fruits, and more weeds, everyone shifted to new roles. Jackie and Nancy became the greens crew, Mike, Adam, Mia, and I hoed, and hoed, and hoed, and everyone harvested fruits whenever it seemed necessary. We hoed a lot more this year, Adam observed as he prepared to head back to school in August. Indeed. No two seasons are alike.
This was our second season with the deer fence and our first season in New Pond Field. Last summer, Adam took soil samples which confirmed what we would have guessed—that the organic matter in Old Pond, which we had cultivated from 2008–2022, was 3% higher than in New Pond. So to hedge our bets against lower-than-usual yields from lower-than-usual organic matter, we planted only some of our potatoes, winter squash, and sunflowers in New Pond. As a concession to a shortage of space, we ended up planting all of our sweet potatoes there, too, but we didn’t worry it too much; sweet potatoes are pretty tough. By mid-summer, New Pond was a wild canvas of color and height—beautiful to look at, but still untested, as far as yields went. But we were hopeful.
Then, in early August, the winter squash in New Pond showed signs of distress—early ripening, and lots of rot. Was it the field’s fault? Too soon to say. By late summer, however, fruit crops all around the farm were showing similar symptoms. Tissue samples sent to Cornell Cooperative Extension in Riverhead revealed phytopthora as the culprit. Commonly known as late blight, phytopthora thrives in wet conditions, and last summer was very, very wet. The peppers, tomatoes, zucchini, and cucumbers all suffered moderate losses, but the biggest loser was the winter squash; all but a few hundred survived. Losing a popular crop is devastating, but we’ve been down this road before. In 2009, late blight decimated tomato harvests all along the East Coast, including ours. In response, we doubled the spacing between rows and started mulching the plants with leaves. Those cultural practices didn’t help our squash in 2024, but no two seasons—or encounters with disease—are alike. One recommendation we haven’t tried is planting a tillage radish cover crop ahead of susceptible cash crops. Working that into the crop plan will take some head-scratching, but that’s what winter is for.
Winter squash notwithstanding, fall harvests were spectacular. Sweet potato yields were 30% higher than in 2023. We have enough carrots in the walk-in to feed a small nation, plus more in the fields. The greens were as big and bountiful in October as they were in June. Each time I asked Jackie to sweep through the cabbage for a "final" harvest, she returned with a full truck, and a warning: There's still a LOT out there. To survey the farm stand in December, you’d hardly know what a lean summer it was.
With only two weeks left in 2024, I'm attending to usual end-of-year rituals. Final farm stands, solstice parties, and the end-of-the-year reflection. For many years, these were the only items on the December to-do list, but this year is notably different, in several aspects. Keeping up with my on-the-go teens and school board responsibilities is a Sisyphean effort that would gladly devour all of my downtime, if I allow it. Additionally, Dan and I are still awaiting Nassau County’s response to our contract proposal. As private contractors on public land, we have to re-bid on our own operation every 10 years. Proposals were due in November, and an announcement was expected by mid-December, but as of this writing, we still haven't heard back. This complicates writing the annual reflection, as any day could bring a monumental update. But here I am—embracing the uncertainty, and writing it anyway. The end of a growing season will always be a time for reflection, and in terms of lessons and memories, 2024 didn’t disappoint.
As always, we are grateful for the all the people who participated in this season's story. For Jackie, Nancy, Mike, Adam, and Mia, for pivoting on a dime through clouds of mosquitoes, and for proving that hard work is dignified and cool. For Judy, Glenn, and Maryellen, for nurturing diversity in the fields. For Papa, Ann, and Yvette, for making our CSA members and farm stand customers feel right at home. For Auggie, for all the mowing. For John Royal for the music, for John and Gail Cavallo for the new wash station tables, for John McGowan for the egg deliveries, and for John DellAquila for the bread. For the CSA volunteers who heed the call when there are onions to be cleaned and garlic to be planted. For Ada, Kobi, Arturo, and Evan, for proving that kids can work hard, too, if given a chance.
Dan and I wish you all the best this holiday season. We look forward to continuing the journey—and embracing the unknowns—together in 2025!
Thanks for reading
—Caroline
P.S.—We're Hiring!
We're looking for a machine operator (FT/PT) and 2 summer apprentices (FT/PT) to join our 2025 crew. Click here for full job descriptions.
