A Snohomish County Almanac begins again...

Back in December of 2017, Nick started writing a monthly reflection about the farm, charting the seasonal changes, the mundane chores, every day farm life, and his ponderings. His last entry was January 2020....and then there was COVID....and then we got busy. He's come back to it, and we're going to send it out through our farm email. It's a way for you all to stay connected to us, especially in the off-season. The full blog can be found at the link below (or on the Conservation page of our website).

A SNOHOMISH COUNTY ALMANAC

A Place to Share What We Know of Where We Live

Back in the desk chair again

Eroding of language and speech through texts and tweets. Attention mirrors the loss. Will anyone read this?

This was a note I took this past summer. As I thought and debated with myself as to whether it was worth it to continue writing a blog, a book, whatever. To be honest, I hardly read anymore. It’s not entirely a symptom of looking at my phone. Sure, I pick it up habitually and check the weather, news, email, etc, yet I’m not much of a scroller. I prefer to dig in on a big meal; sink my teeth into some meat and potatoes. Not go through a bag of chips.

Will anyone read this? I’m not sure. I don’t care. (I wish I meant that. You know, stick my nose in the air and walk off in a huff. I don’t care!). But I do. I care enough to stop working around the farm and instead sit here at the computer.

By the way, it’s a decent day outside. The atmospheric river stopped flowing. I need to finish electrifying a fence, which is meant to keep the cows out of a Douglas fir and Lombardy poplar windbreak. The cows, now only Cinnamon and Cayenne, need to move up for the winter. Their summer pastures are spent, and at only 5-10 feet above sea level, it’s not a great ground for hooves, yet ideal for migrating waterfowl.

There’s also the fig cider I need to deal with. It is an experimental batch that didn’t work too well. Kind of has a green grass taste. I’m hoping to salvage it by adding cinnamon, clove, and nutmeg, and then adding it to a bourbon barrel. The recipe is based on figgy pudding and a beverage from Noble Cider.

And I have to rack off the fermented cider. This year’s apples, harvested over the last few months, were juiced and left to ferment. Now some of the cider is finished, and needs to be moved to a new tank or wood barrel where it can age.

The Himalayan blackberry needs attending to also, and now is a good time to cut it out. The native plant leaves have fallen, yet the blackberry maintains a dark green. Like a mythical hydra, the nasty, thorn-infested tendrils creep out over the rose, dogwood, spirea, and willow. The leading shoots striving for new ground to purchase or rather, rob. Our farm would look terribly different if we didn’t continue to fight back these little beasties.

Another little beastie: shadow of civilization, plague carrier, benefactor of human excess, and home wrecker: aka the rat, is on my to do list. These little buggers have literally haunted my sleep. Scratchings and squealings in the night as they bite and squeeze to get into my house. Take heed, fellow habitat makers. Birds are one thing, they’re cute when they sing and fly outside your window, but rats are wildlife too. Be mindful how close you put the native hedge to your abode. They’re not content with living on the streets. They want the comforts of home.

I’m hoping to get one last mowing in this weekend. Get things tidy for all of winter’s work. Planting, pruning, and of course, walking are easier when the grass is short. Seems obvious, but I left grass in the past as a saver on time, gas, and the land. These savings go bust when it’s freezing out and you’re trudging through frost or snow in tall grass. The toes get wet and chilly quick. It also gives tree-loving rodents some cover to creep and nibble your trees.

Plus, mowed grass can look good. I’m not talking about lawn, or an endless (I dare say mindless) expanse of turf. What I mean is sometimes wildness or a pastoral scene needs the order and tidiness of mown path or field for contrast.

Alas, lunch time is approaching. I had intended to continue listing off my to-dos in an effort to bring home the idea that we get bored easily, our attention spans have lessened, and we don’t read anymore. I guess I lost mine.

If you’re still with me, thanks.