these are stories

This is a lizard on our beautiful, sweet fall beets.  This is dirt under the fingernails; this is one of the tiny joys of the farm. The tendency of farm tasks to become mundane and repetitive belies the dashes of wonder that spring up alongside the vegetables. There are five short weeks left of the season, just two before the first frost. Our CSA is wrapping up this week, except for some lucky few who've extended their share. Every time I look around the farm now, I see stories of how the season has progressed. "Did you know how these beets began?" I want to quiz customers at market. Not to proclaim the work that's gone into them, but just to remind them, and myself, of the simple joys a farm can bring. These beets we grew from seed, spending August afternoons in the shade of the tree outside our hoophouse, pressing the soil into trays, shaking out the seeds, covering and watering. We waited and watered and in a period of a few weeks, quicker than blinking, we transplanted the tiny maroon and green shoots out into the field. We waited again, and weeded on hands and knees. Clouds passed overhead. Some days were sunny, some days rain and fog and wind blew across our valley. Water pumped from the mountain creek strengthened the greens.  Cooler nights sweetened the juices. And this past Thursday, we made friends with a lizard as we bunched them.