The Grunting Good In Us All

Grunt grunt go go! I am stoked like cherry flame testosterone pride! I drove a tractor!!

Now, it was no monster, it was a dear John Deere, green and cute. It had a broken seat so I had to sit, ramrod butt, spine straight up and down. And a manly metallic spine at that. There were four gears which shift clunky. I was daring and even climbed to 3rd gear on the home stretch! It rumbled and puffed like the magic dragon, grunting out smokey goodness as it chugged along. I was the heroic cowgirl, minus a horse, straight backed, upright, high in the air. My noble task was to transport the household rubbish bags to the burning pile out back of the barn. It was a glamourous enterprise, especially when the bags kept falling off! oh boy were those levers fun. Big teeth UP, big mouth OPEN, big arm down, mind the bum as you turn the corner.

I am also realising how USEFUL tractors are...and am really asking how it is possible to grow organically, fertilising by hand with mulches etc, on a scale that is large enough to be economically viable. I spoke with a young farmer in BC about this tonight, and he says he has struggled with that question too - sure, if 90% of our population grew food, we could grow on small scales very efficiently. However, with 4-5% of the population trying to feed the rest of us, it seems we may NEED to use some of the methods of agribusiness -namely tractors, non-mulch fertilisers. Its all very well making your own compost for your garden, but how about for 10 acres of land? I'm beginning to see why farmers use chemical fertilisers. The farmer here has also challenged my understanding of 'organic' - organic Bat poo fertilisers may be flown half way round the world - is that good? Organic is getting old, 'carbon footprint' and food miles are in, dude. How far does your food travel?

I have also nourished my inner mother egg - THREE times I have gathered duck eggs! I am learning the round white art of tiptoeing among the offerings sprawled around the barn. The ducks bury some of them deep, and I feel their eyes watching me, hoping hoping that I will miss their latest hiding place. Of course, they get the last laugh as I have to scrape off compacted shit and woodshavings from their buried treasures. I imagine the Quack Ringleaders are the culprits for those few hidden ones. They're the ones that lead the otherwise rather contented ducks into fearful chaos at my every move. The George Bushes of ducks? She's either with us, or against us, and she's definately not a duck! I keep my arms down, walk slowly, while entertaining with mantras and singsong. They lay about one a day each.

I am also proud to report that I have winter sandpaper lips! This is a rare occurance for one with a gentrified upbringing! Not to mention woodblock hands and the immovable dirt under my nails. mmmm...yummmy. It can be as cold as -15 C at night. I have to revert to all night electric heating sucking me dry! Anyone want a kiss?

Well, you guys are all to far away, but Paws and Liam might give me one. Thats them below in the Greenhouse. (photo as you requested John!)

From winter apprenticeship 2008/9, Edmonton AB

Ladies and Gentlemen, its Farm Time!

A day goes FAST on this farm. Its probably the case on all farms, boy are these folks hard working! However, when I review what I actually did in 7 hours of physical activity, it seems scarily little! every thing is s..l o..w...e...r. I feel like I've upgraded my world view software! This time its 3D, big, and heavy! I'm a girl used to typing at brain speed and endless thinking. This change to using my body to DO STUFF in the heavy chunky relative world of large objects just seems ...slower. Slower than my usual ideas that never get done! I feel like I'm actually doing SOMETHING for the first time in my life. I feel like I've been living in my head and daydreams until now. This is solid stuff baby.

Time ticks as I lift the next heavy basket of beets or carrots or duck legs to their new positions in cars, fridges, cutting tables or shelves. Time ticks as we roll up 300metres of heavy duty irrigation piping for the winter. Tick Tock says the clock as breakfasts, lunches and dinners comes round, fuel in for energy out. It takes a couple of hours to dig up four baskets of beets or turnips.

I had breakfast with the family and the 9 birds, 3 dogs and 3 cats all in the kitchen. I had the privlege of being chosen by one parrot as a shoulder roost and feeder of sunflower seeds from my own muesli. After that, in my day of work, I did two things, neither completed, but both well attempted. I started at the picnic table, aka lowtech vege sorter. I cut the heads of the rainbow beets I'd pulled yesterday. They are so called 'heritage varieties' with all sorts of interesting colours. It makes them a mint more money, branding this family farm the superstars of the Edmonton local vege fiefdom. So I chopped beets relentlessly and left a giant mound of leaf carcasses in my wake. The dark red beet stems look particularly murderous. Along with the carnage I proudly birthed fresh baskets of clean cut mohawk beet-nicks, all looking particularly naked. They are destined for storage bins in a slightly too warm barn room (the next refrigeration project will cost $9000)...and sniff sniff...they may rot before we can sort and sell them. I'm learning there is a lot more behind farming than first appearances. $$$$ is required to do it well!

I was really windy and I'd suited up in my Salvation Army winter overalls. Bbbrrr... I was guiltily and gleefully listening to my ipodcasts about fungi mycellium saving the world when I think I hear sounds... Its around 11 and I looked up...I heard human man sounds wafting over. Whats Mr Farmer up to I wondered... I drop my scissors and am pulled like the hypnotised victim in a horror movie, to the giant...humongous...wood shavings mound!

Wood shavings used in the duck barns had been delivered in a huge truck the day before. Our very own yellow sahara sand pyramid out in the middle of Alberta. Its all fine and dandy when its calm out...but oh boy..the wind came today. So anyway I got to the woodpile and found farmer Hercules fighting a huge battle. He's trying to keep the tarp on the blowing pile. He's hurling 50kg turkey cages to hold the sheet down. He's a big guy, but his technique for super human strength is to yell like those American gladiator wrestler hunks on TV. Pretty incredible. And today he was yelling like a bear A LOT. So in this wind I run to the pile and throw my body onto the corner he gives me! It was a violent snow storm of wood dust that stuck to my eyeballs and gagged in my throat. In all the activity all I could think about was whether I would suffocate in it, or fall off the mound cos I couldn't see. I imagined my eyes full clogged with the ghastly stuff. But we kept fighting. The tarp kept coming off. We kept fighting. He even got the tractor to dump the turkey trays on as high as he could. I mean, come on, it was just WOOD DUST, but it felt like gold going down the toilet. Or a fire in the village! My body said EMERGENCY! Fight! Exhilaration! Joy too! Exhaustion too! Eventually the wind won and we threw in the towel. We let the wind make love to whatever it damn well wanted to, today it had the hots for wood shavings and plastic tarpaulins. The $1000 shavings blew and swirled gleefully away. Maybe half will be gone tomorrow. Now if we had $10,000 we could build a shed JUST FOR woodshavings.

Tonight my eyes are red, theres a few pieces of chopped up trees still hiding beneath my lids, ouch, grumble grumble. I think the forests got their revenge! My karma for using paper!

Written during a 2 month winter apprenticeship at a farm near Edmonton AB