Indian Creek Farm

HELLOOO, FARM FANS — Hope you are having a fruitful summer, and hope you are doing what you gotta do. We’re doing pretty well over here.

You guys have picked most of the low-hanging pears, and we picked the rest for cider. But there is one tree — one! — with pears left to pick. It’s the tree at the crossroads, over the “Tomato, Eggplant, Peppers” sign.

Starting now, you can also pick crisp and delicious Sansa apples in the Dwarf Orchard. Go to Row 7, about 15 trees into the row, where you’ll find sweet Sansas right at eye-level. Ask for directions at the Stand.

You probably won’t need a ladder or apple basket in the Dwarf Orchard — the trees would fit in your living room! It’s going to be a huge autumn in the Dwarf Orchard, with 1600 trees and 60 varieties of apple. Stay tuned for the big announcement, and get your sneak preview by picking Sansas now.

You can also grab a bag of pre-picked apples at the stand. Get a 5-pound sack and take them home.

But don’t take Jasper home, he lives here!

Don’t take the bees home, they live here, too! You can cut your own flowers for 3 bucks a handful. Makes an el cheapo gift for your teacher, mom, friend, or boss. Especially if those are all the same person!

Follow the yellow-petaled road to the tomato, pepper, and eggplant field.

Or buy a box of “field run” tomatoes at the Stand. Those are the tomatoes that come running across the field when we blow the whistle each morning. They jump right into the truck and we pack them up.

How about fresh cucumbers — Gourmet Armenian or Traditional English. What, no Gourmet English? That’s an oxymoron! Ouch! Low blow! Okay, let’s all be friends. The English have tons of gourmet food, like bangers and mash, kippers and kedgeree, and… fish and chips. Yum, yum, and yum!

Cider alert! We’ll have fresh-pressed Orchard Ambrosia on Sunday — and hopefully for the rest of the year!

So come out to the farm this weekend. Pick some food and kick around, but please pardon our construction — something very cool is about to be built!

COMING SOON TO A SCREEN NEAR YOU!

Tune in next week for the thrilling conclusion to the series that began with Eggplantapalooza and Pepperoo! What will Peppa, Tom, and Eggder decide to do?

A BAKER’S DOZEN is a dozen plus one.  A farmer’s dozen is a baker’s dozen—minus 9 that got chewed by rabbits, plus 14 you stacked by the wheelbarrow, minus 7 that got brown rot, plus 12 that escaped the frost, minus… See?  See where our heads are at?  All over the place.  There are so many moving parts on the farm, sometimes we have to ask, Is anything certain?  What do we know for sure?

We know that many seek beacons in the dark night of the soul; others, like canteloupe, are quite heady and prefer to dim the stimuli.

We know that plums inspire confession.  William Carlos Williams:  “I have eaten / the plums / that were in / the icebox / and which / you were probably / saving / for breakfast / Forgive me / they were delicious / so sweet / and so cold.”

When you first encounter a tree-ripened tomato, you might think, “Hmm.”  And then, “Yum.”  If your next thought is to enhance that local tomato with a sprinkle of black pepper from the global spice trade, and it is not even fair-trade organic pepper, don’t beat yourself up too much.  It takes a while to think perfect thoughts.

A five-tipped leaf atop a tomato.  Doesn’t it just want to float off the screen and land on your homework and turn into a golden star?  Maybe you got a few of those along the way.  If not, be your own sticker, and give many out.

Fold an onion skin in half 100 times.  How tall is it?  Six or seven inches?  How about 800 trillion times the distance from Earth to Sun?  That’s right, it is deep space tall.  You multiply the thickness of the skin, a snippet of an inch, by 2 to the 100th power.  You can fight us all day on this one, but we learned it in Farm School.

Mathematics is a tool of great power, second only to corn, which can be made into fuel,  Twinkies, and a kind of dog.  Oh, sure, you can rattle the cage about transgenic high-fructose corn slag.  But lend me your ears and I’ll sing you a tune and I will try to sing out of key if you are being an insufferable battle axe at the dinner table.  We’ll fix the world, but first, dessert.

Love is the same forever and always.  H. L. Mencken said:  “To the average man, doomed to some banal drudgery all his life long, women offer the only grand hazard that he ever encounters.  Take them away and his existence would be as flat and secure as that of a moocow.”  For these old cucumbers, paramours since early Spring, the notion is true and the feeling is mutual.

These zucchinis were having quite the vigorous chinwag before the photo.  But the Feds don’t want you to know about it.  The “Brookings Report,” submitted by NASA to Congress, warned that the mere knowledge of contact with intelligent life could destroy the fabric of human civilization.  So who else — or what else — is out there talking, and who is listening, and who is not privy?

“Once upon a time and a very good time it was there was a moocow coming down along the road and this moocow that was coming down along the road met a nicens little boy named baby tuckoo…”  That is the second moocow in this crop alert.  It is the most famous moocow of all, from A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man.

Our friend, who shall go unnamed (Joanna!), brought a striped tomato to dinner last night.  It came from her garden.  We gave her the business because, first of all, the tomato was not even local:  it had traveled all the way from downtown Ithaca at great cost to the environment.  Secondly, what you need to understand is that home gardeners are subverting the small farm economy.  We are trying to sell you tomatoes while you are getting them in the black market of your yard. Ithaca is full of smart people but sometimes we are like, Hello?  Anybody home?

Do you lead by eggplantxample?

E. B. White, who brought an imaginary farm to life in Charlotte’s Web, left Cornell in 1923, perhaps a few years too early to taste the fruit from our Vintage Orchard.  But when you wander around and pluck apples, you are part of almost a century of picking from these trees.  Wander, wonder.

A donut peach is no plain peach.  Hints of guava, coconut and pineapple inside.

Is man above peppers on the ladder?  In this case, yes.  But through the eons, no.

Garlic, breathe.  Garlic breath.  Not the same.

It is so Pocono.  These rowdy Pennsylvania peaches have turned Marigold Mountain into their own personal paintball field.  Takes all kinds.  Fact.

Did you know we have a beehive out back?  They are the hardest workers on the farm.  They work as hard as the dogs don’t.  Now that’s a biscuit.

IS THIS A FRESH CROP ALERT OR WHAT?

Yes, it is. Everything in this whole phantasmagoria can be found at the farm stand. And if you act now, you can pick your own PEARS and CANTELOUPES and TOMATOES and EGGPLANT and PEPPERS and more.

Party in Astoria? Eva Longoria? No, phantasmagoria. Good word for a cocktail party. Means a sequence of images like seen in a dream. Kind of like the days of our lives on the farm. And much like the “ghostly herd of dust bunnies” in The Locusts Have No King. But enough about books… School hasn’t started… Come outside and play!

YOU WON’T HEAR them say it, but the peppers were humiliated.  It really hurt when they were turned away from Eggplantapalooza.

The memory of that bad scene drove them to plan their own shindig.  No eggplant allowed! No scabby apples!  Peppers and only peppers.  They would call it…

PEPPEROO!  Starring the Red Hot Chili Peppers, with their frontman swinging from the rafters and pyrotechnics hotter than a Habanero in Hades!

Singing all the scorching hits from the Scoville Scale…

And a hot mess of fans bumrushing the stage!

The hip-hop artist Nuff Hott, festival impresario, watches from his sky box…

While the indie duet Jalapeño Popper naps backstage before their turn.

Pretty hard to sleep with all that racket, plus she keeps pulling the covers and he keeps kicking her shins. Anyway, the Chilis will be a hard act to follow…

With their famous triple stage dive that followers call the “Stir Fry.”

All in all, a perfectly piquant day for peppers. But who is this? Nuff Hott’s daughter Peppa? With Tom Tomato and Eggder Eggplant? Sneaking and peaking?

Will their friendship transcend the squabbles of their elders? Will the youngsters build a bridge between vegetables, as clever as their lean-to at Pepperoo?

Do they have a dream? An awesome dream?

Will they have a vision tonight by firelight?

STAY TUNED FOR THE NEXT EXCITING EPISODE!

Hey, Farm Fans! There are peppers, tomatoes, and eggplant to pick, plus tons of fresh produce at the stand. Come out to the farm or ring the stand at (607) 227-8248 with your delightfully nitpicky questions about what there is to find and how much it costs and whether it can be pickled in vinegar.

Hope to see you at The ‘Creek!

THE LOCAVORES IN OUR MIDST greet the month of August with a collective awareness that the mission intensifies now. Unlike giggling through the strawberries of June or noshing on the peaches of July — we begin genuine farm-to-kitchen work when the peppers, eggplants, and tomatoes ripen. These culinary staples of the Nightshade family inspire cooking, canning, pickling, and preserving. They will help feed our families through the seasons ahead.

The Indian Creek news desk is pushing Nightshades this week, so that is the story we’re running. But you can still get the whole rainbow of goodies here on the farm; and, if you are obsessing about one particular item, you can get real-time advice by ringing the stand at (607) 273-9544.

They are a nomadic lot, the Nightshades, and they have migrated up the hill from last year’s plot. Growing on our tippy-toppest plateau, they await you at the end of your hike or drive, a third of a mile from the stand. Why did they move?

It is just the way of things. Certain crops “rotate,” a key practice in polyculture, which can minimize plant disease and benefit the soil. Of course you can be forgiven for not knowing many farm-geek facts; but, this one is not to be ignored.

Yes, the Nightshades keep moving. They migrate year after year on the long journey toward their ultimate destination — your belly. The final, pivotal stage is now, when they must get picked. What happens to a tomato when it dangles too long, idling on the vine with no hope of an eater?

We might ask the brilliant minds of the past who have cogitated on idleness. The Renaissance essayist Michel de Montaigne, inspiration to Emerson, Asimov, and Shakespeare, cautioned stridently:

As we see some grounds that have long lain idle and untilled, when grown rich and fertile by rest, to abound with and spend their virtue in the product of innumerable sorts of weeds and wild herbs that are unprofitable, and that to make them perform their true office, we are to cultivate and prepare them for such seeds as are proper for our service…

…so it is with minds, which if not applied to some certain study that may fix and restrain them, run into a thousand extravagances, eternally roving here and there in the vague expanse of the imagination… The soul that has no established aim loses itself, for, as it is said, ‘He who lives everywhere, lives nowhere.’

Was there ever a more dreary thought than a tomato with no soul who lives nowhere? Maybe you have met one at the supermarket.

It gets worse. In the 18th-century, Mary Wollstonecraft railed against idleness with the same poignancy that she pioneered women’s rights. Quite incidentally, she was the maternal grandmother of Frankenstein — did you know that we have a machine called ‘Frankenmower’ right here on the farm? But we digress, as idle minds will do. Back to business:

Idleness, rather than ill-nature, gives birth to scandal… and that puerile scrupulosity about trifles incompatible with an enlarged plan of usefulness, and with the basis of all moral principles — respect for the virtues which are not merely the virtues of convention.

Puerile scrupulosity?! Not THAT! It is the very antithesis of our work here. We are endeavoring to raise scandal-free eggplants and big-minded peppers who see the “enlarged plan” — becoming yummy in your tummy.

All you have to do is pick them. But wait, do you require one final nudge? Perhaps a message of inspiration? Here is a nice one from the Dead White Men of Letters, in this case the Roman Emperor Marcus Aurelius (121-180 AD):

For we are made for cooperation, like feet, like hands, like eyelids, like the rows of the upper and lower teeth. To act against one another then is contrary to nature; and it is acting against one another to be vexed and to turn away.

Don’t turn away, Dear Pickers! For the Nightshades have done their part, striving for months to size and sugar and spice. And don’t be vexed with us farmers, who stuck the plants in the ground and idly waited for something to happen. It is happening! Your moment has arrived… Pick! Eat! Repeat!

Well, if you are still with us after that snore of a sermon, you deserve a bonus. The first cider of the season is here! Obscure early bloomers have survived both the frost and the drought to produce the earliest cider EVER in these parts. We just pressed 25 gallons of tart crisp “Orchard Ambrosia.” Every mouthful is showing surprisingly sweet tones for the time of year. It’s truly good.

THE WINNER-TAKE-ALL SOCIETY affords no time to dillydally, so we’ll open this week’s crop alert with an executive summary:  “Roy G. Biv.”  That means the farm is a veritable rainbow of fruits and vegetables, and all fields are ready to be picked.  Now, dear overachiever, you are in position to formulate your world-beating game plan.  Godspeed.

For the rest of us — slackers, dreamers, wanderers, chumps and ersatz bohemians — it is the perfect moment to adopt the triumphal posture of the also-ran. Are your slippered feet upon your desk? Do you “lean and loaf at your ease” like Whitman? Bravo. Now scroll through the photographs below, allowing each piece of produce to signify a long-cherished personal ambition that you will kiss goodbye as it floats off to infinity and frees you of its psychic weight.

Our rainbow gathering starts with red. Think of all the red things in your life. Can you name 5 or 10 or 20? In Krzysztof Kieslowski’s Three Colors film trilogy, red stands for fraternity, in the French revolutionary sense rather than the Animal House sense. The movie Red had many of us wanting to be French, if only for a couple days after that first screening back in the 1990s.

As we stroll toward orange, we encounter a little commingling. It is to be expected. Reds and oranges and russets all jumble together. It is the spirit of the times, the Zeitgeist; it inheres in the tomatoes’ Weltanschauung, their organismal Umwelt. Some have suggested that a shared Weltschmertz draws the tomatoes closer.

Orange is our teacher, for every orange thing ever made is blemished. The sun has its sunspots, spray tans have their Snookis — so perfectly imperfect. And what a specimen, this tomato! Do you see scars and cracks? The teacher sees wabi-sabi, a humble acceptance of transience and imperfection. “There is a crack in everything… that’s how the light gets in,” counsels Leonard Cohen.

Did you ever eat an unripe apricot that tasted like a shoe? The two have been associated for eons. In 2008, an Armenian cave coughed up a trove of Copper Age artifacts — including a leather shoe and intentionally preserved apricots dating from 5,500 years ago. The shoe is believed to be older than the one found on Otzi the Iceman, making it the oldest known piece of leather footwear. Archaeologists are mum on which tasted better, the boot or the fruit.

The plum tree made its mid-century underground debut in Charles Bukowski’s Burning in Water, Drowning in Flame: “…in grievous deity my cat / walks around / he walks around and around / with electric tail and push-button eyes / he is alive and plush and / final as a plum tree…”

And here we are at green. Mr. Biv’s mysterious middle initial “G.” The whole rainbow pivots on this point. If you are viewing on an iPad or iPhone, try balancing it on the tip of that pepper, then spin. That’s our premium virtual reality show.

Say, “Splish, splash.” Now say, “Squish, squash.” See? One of the many vegetables that will flummox your life coach when she learns English as a second language.

Greek texts dating from the 4th century C.E. mention chard, which was held in high esteem by Greeks and Romans for its reputed medicinal properties. Cultivation of chard reached a high point on January 22, 1506, when Pope Julius II commissioned the Swiss Chards as his personal bodyguards and defenders of the Vatican.

Ahh, blue, the beginning of “Biv.” We will have to bivouac here a little while until the scientists get their story straight about indigo. It was supposed to be our next stop but apparently they aren’t calling it a color any more; indigo is getting subsumed into violet. As if we care about their silly little nanometers and whatever. Long Live Biv! Free baptisms in the River Bivver!

A little sibling rivalry can be healthy and that’s why peppers and eggplants are vying to be named the purplest members of the Solanaceae, or Nightshade, family. It’s not a fair fight, however, because the same “scientists” who stole indigo and created the dinosaur hoax have their pipettes in the petri dish and are tweaking things left and right in ways that we normal people can’t imagine.

We’re rooting for these guys, dreamy aubergines. The eggplant is a berry that is consumed like a vegetable. Perhaps that confusion is what led 15th-century Europeans to believe that eating eggplant could cause insanity. A nutty notion — but maybe not so irrational, after all. The eggplants of our very own region inspired a weeklong music festival marked by stampeding crowds and stage dives.

That completes Roy G. Biv, but we’ve blown past violet into the ultraviolet realm. Technically these berries are invisible, because people can’t see such high frequencies in the electromagnetic spectrum. It’s where most of the burning happens. You know, UV-A and UV-B.

People can’t see up there, but farm cats can. They can also shoot rainbow-colored laser beams out of their eyes. Natasha does it all the time. And good thing, too. Nothing like a laser snap in the ass to get a bone-tired old farmer moving. She stings you and then she’s all like, “Meow,” just hoping to pull you in close enough for a couple European air kisses.

A sparkling, rambling farm blessing to you all.

NEWSFLASH FOR FARM FANS — The first wave of Indian Creek peaches has been picked and devoured! But there are plenty of Pennsylvania peaches waiting for you at the farm stand, as well as baskets of blueberries, blackberries, tomatoes, peppers, onions, garlic, zucchini, cucumbers, eggplant, flowers, and more.

The New York peach shortage has Preacher Peachins a bit googly-eyed. He was up through the night praying for a decent batch to ripen in the next week or so. Til then, let’s all chant, “peach peach peach…”

And now back to our regularly scheduled coverage. Over on Eggplant Avenue, the townsfolk were just talking about the upcoming elections.

“President Obaba Ghanouj won’t get reelected unless he can really stimulate the rain over our parched farmlands.”

“As a hardworking member of the yamster minority, I couldn’t agree more.”

The know-it-all Pepper Pundits are bickering as usual: “Ghanouj is a scrooge!” “Au contraire, mon frere!”

Meanwhile, Ms. Allie Gator from around the corner looks down her nose at the whole idea of politics. “Get your laws off my schnozz!”

Tino Tomato hasn’t been feeling very political lately. Can’t shake the sensation of a skulking presence, a shadow hanging over him.

But sometimes the very thing hanging over you can become your shelter from the storm. You just own it and duck the rain.

And you keep looking for good signs, even when things seem blah. Like this surprising news from the biosphere. The Peg Leg Eggbird — once thought to be extinct — is laying golden eggs again. She thrives in a drought. Who knew?

And for all the news we hear about species being lost forever, new ones are popping up right here on the farm. We found a Blue-Wheeled Spud Bug, the first of its kind ever documented. Squishy tires handle the toughest terrain.

Those of you who venture off to pick Yellow Transparent apples could be lucky enough to see the Dreaded Rhinopeño Beetle in its native habitat. Pretty exciting for lovers of a vibrant ecosystem. Go, world.

And finally under the wood pile you might spot these Cycloptic Starchballs. They kind of hang back, out of the fray. They’re not haters, just hesi-taters.

We hope you’ve enjoyed this edition of “Creek Week,” produced with goodies from the farm stand and a jar of beans from mom’s cupboard. Special thanks to Mike Chen, contributing creature creator. Also check out the nifty little book, Play With Your Food, by Joost Elffers, where we got some inspiration for this crop alert.

Won’t you come pick food to play with? See you at The ‘Creek!

HEY, FARMSTERS. Hope this crop alert finds you well and good.

Let this peach symbolize our love for the people who love our peaches.

And let this headline break their hearts. Historically hot weather coaxed out the peach buds way too early. The usual frosts followed and froze those poor buds dead. There was massive crop loss throughout the region. Instead of a tree having 300 peaches, it might have 3. That’s around 1%. So as usual the 99% get screwed. We have opened the peach orchard for picking, but we are asking you to limit your haul to 4 quarts, so everyone might get a shot this year. And take every peach you pick, don’t toss them on the ground — they’ll ripen fast if they aren’t already.

If you don’t find enough to pick, come down to the stand, where we have beautiful peaches from the farmers of Pennsylvania. They escaped the worst frost and got a good yield. They’re our neighbors to the south, so it’s good to help them out with a peach purchase. They are local in the grand scheme of things.

What else is picking? Surprise! You could pick these early apples! Yellow Transparent is the name. There are just a few trees near the theoretical physics shack.

Best apple sauce apples ever made. You can read about Yellow Transparents here on the nursery web site — stories about dad and those apples and Butch and Uncle Burl and Little Pearl and Montie from way back in the old time days.

Bringing us back to 2012, you can pick delicious strawberries in our brand new field. Just about 40 quarts left to pick here, so get them while you can. That will be it for this year. Next year this hilltop field will give a big full crop.

While you are up there in strawberry land, enjoy our complimentary opera broadcast. There’s plenty of drama in the production, and honestly the vocals are better than a lot of screechy stuff you hear at The Met.

Of course, raspberries are still going strong. You pick and you eat.

Zucchini time! There’s just one row right now.

But it’s a nice row. Lovely, in fact.

And perhaps the big news of the day is that the farm stand is open! We’re under the porch in the shade. A real person will be working most of each day, and if nobody is physically or mentally present, you can still do the old self-serve thing.

The display will get fuller and fuller as veggies get ripe. For starters we have eggplant.

And monster squash.

And monster onions.

And, if you time it right, secret little tomatoes.

If none of that gets you out here, what’s it gonna take? How about blueberries in fishnet stockings? Oh so alluring. See you at The ‘Creek!

Farmies, won’t you help us celebrate the USA’s 236th?

We have gathered 236 of her finest strawberries, raspberries, and blueberries for the party. It’s a free country, so you are free to count them for yourself.

Alas, Lady Liberty could not be here; she is stuck in New York Harbor. But “Laddy Liberty” is attending in her honor, hoisting high the Strawberry of the States.

He insists that you dive right into The Melting Pot — berries of all shapes, sizes, and colors. No berry left behind, no second-class fruitizens.

And we are loading the bestest berries onto the wagon in the farm parking lot. Everything is pre-picked and ready to roll to your extended weekend soirees.

Uncle Sam wants U! As in U-pick. The raspberry field is the only picking spot open right now — so help us out by picking a nice haul.

Plus, a nice little surprise — PEACHES on the wagon!

These early peaches aren’t for U-pick. They’ll be packaged on the wagon for you. Remember, everything is self-serve til the farm stand opens later in the season, so you can be pay-triotic and use the cash box for now.

Oh, and one other thing. Found this cool rock in the tomato field. Stay tuned for veggies, won’t be long now! Happy holidays and see you at The ‘Creek!

Howdy, Farm Fans. Happy almost July.

It’s wonderful that everyone got so giddy picking strawberries this year.

We are doing everything we can to keep them around a little longer — like piping in soft music at spa time.

Nonetheless, they have mostly skipped town til next summer. We now direct your attention to the raspberry field, right next to the parking lot.

They are in full production and we are seeing pickers get several quarts at a time.

It’s a modest field, so get here early each day to beat your neighbors to the ripe ones. Up to you if you want to share. (Come on, share!)

So things will be a little quiet for a couple weeks while the next wave of produce ripens. But you are welcome to come out and enjoy the day, have a picnic, do yoga, read banned books, whatever.

Stay tuned and hope to see you at The ‘Creek. Woof.