No Eggplant for You! - Faux Real Story Week

This week, as we approach the longest night of the year, I thought we could all gather around the virtual fire each day and I would tell you all a story.  

Well, not just a story.  A Faux Real Story!  These stories aren't fictional, but I've been told they are, nonetheless, somewhat entertaining.  So, sip on some hot chocolate, reach your hands out to warm them by the fire... and enjoy.

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Tammy's mother, Sue, is fond of growing nice, big, purple eggplants. These fruits are often the key ingredient for Eggplant Parmesan, one of her favorite dishes. But, as is so often the case, Mom's dish of choice was NOT appreciated by all members of the family.

 

Tammy likes vegetables. It was actually Rob who was deficient in that department and it was Tammy who had to encourage Rob to eat more veggies.  Cheese on the broccoli comes to mind as one of the things that needed to happen until I learned how much better broccoli from our own garden tasted.

 

So, who was sad during the years when the eggplant crop at the Genuine Faux Farm was poor? 

 

It wasn't Tammy! 

 

The mere suggestion that we grow some eggplants was enough to make her question someone's sanity (guess who?).  In fact, my winning argument for growing eggplant in the garden several years ago went something like this:

 

"Hey, we won't have to feel bad about selling all of the eggplant we grow since we won't want to eat them anyway!"

 

Even more amazing than this is the fact that Rob found out he kind of liked eggplant - much to Tammy's horror!

 

We tell you all of this as a prelude to this GFF story:
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Some years ago in the Zenk garden, Mom and Dad, with their two lovely daughters, worked to plant their vegetable garden for the year. The asparagus was already sending up spears and the mulch had been tilled in. They would plant a little bit of everything, just as they did most years. There would be beans and tomatoes, oregano and garlic, onions and ... eggplant.

When you are kid, there may be no greater injustice than to have to care for a plant that produces something you do NOT want to eat.  It is one thing to have to weed the garden, or pick the beans or dig the potatoes and yet another to have anything to do with one of the banes of your existence. 

 

In Tammy's case, that bane came in the form of the eggplant.

 

The garden grew. The plants in the garden were, in general, healthy. The crops were being harvested and consumed. The eggplants grew tall, with green, healthy foliage.  In fact, it was noted by the rest of the family that these might have been the biggest, lushest eggplants they'd ever had in the garden.

 

But, for some strange reason that year, the eggplants were not blooming. And, without a bloom, there would be no fruit.

And Tammy rejoiced.

 

What could the problem be? Too much water? Too little water? Was there some sort of disease that needed to be diagnosed? There was discussion about this, of course. And, some amount of disappointment that there would be no Eggplant Parmesan. 

 

But, in the end, the crop failure was attributed to either bad seed or just a strange year.  After all, the rest of the garden did well.  There was no shortage of fresh food for the family.

Yet - it was a year without Eggplant Parmesan.  Again, Tammy rejoiced.

It wasn't until many years later that the blight that caused the crop failure was discovered. And now that we've had a number of years experience growing crops on the farm, we can attest to a long list of possible causes for production failures.  If someone would have described this situation to me now, I might have been tempted to ask questions about how much fertilizer they had put on their garden.  Often a crop that grows bigger and greener than usual without fruit has too much nitrogen.  But, in the end, all of my answers would have been guesses and they would have been wrong.

In any event, we mentioned that the reason for the crop failure was discovered years later.  Or should we say, the culprit confessed? 

A plant that has its flowers pruned diligently will tend to continue to grow bigger and produce more leaves.  We also know if a child is aware of this - they will be a motivated child that is willing to act based on this logic:

1. flowers on an eggplant plant will turn into fruit
2. eggplant fruit will become Eggplant Parmesan
3. removing flowers will result in no Eggplant Parmesan

We also now know that a kid can be successful in making sure that every flower is picked off of an eggplant plant before they turn to fruit.  And Tammy was that successful child.

But, Tammy forgot something.  Other people grow eggplant.  And Mom can always buy an eggplant from them.  Oops. 

 

I guess there was some Eggplant Parmesan that year after all. 

 

Knee Deep - Faux Real Story Week

This week, as we approach the longest night of the year, I thought we could all gather around the virtual fire each day and I would tell you all a story.  

Well, not just a story.  A Faux Real Story!  These stories aren't fictional, but I've been told they are, nonetheless, somewhat entertaining.  So, sip on some hot chocolate, reach your hands out to warm them by the fire... and enjoy.

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The Genuine Faux Farm has beautiful, healthy soil.  But, that soil is pretty heavy and it takes quite a while for it to dry out.  That means our easiest farming years are typically those where we get average to slightly below average rainfall.  On top of that, our farm is pretty flat - so if we get excessive rain it doesn't go anywhere - it just stays until it either evaporates or seeps into the ground.

Don't get me wrong.  I feel that our soil health has improved over the years and I believe that it is a good thing to have water naturally filtering through the soil (and eventually into the ground water).  The difficulty has been that the number of exceptionally high rainfall periods have been much more numerous since we scaled up our farm in 2007 than they were for all recorded weather in our area up to that point.

If we were growing crops that grew all summer and then got harvested once in the fall, that would be one thing.  But, when you grow a wide range of vegetables and you market them on a weekly basis, you are forced to get out there - even when things are damp.

Oh, what am I saying? We have to get out there even when you might need to take out your snorkel gear to get from here to there.  It doesn't matter whether it was sort of wet or extremely wet, we still had work to do.

The good news is that we maintain permanent grass/clover paths throughout the farm, so we can get from plot to plot most of the time.  Though there have been times where we've had so much continuous rain that this is actually in question.

Several years ago we had a very heavy rainfall in August during the morning of a CSA (farm share) delivery day.  We had already harvested most of the produce, but there was more to do before we could say we were ready.  The bell peppers needed harvesting and they were on the schedule to be a featured item.  

Denis was working on the farm with us at that time, so I asked him to come out to the pepper field with me.  We grabbed some harvest totes and squelched our way to the field.  The plan was that I would harvest and Denis would remain on the grass path to catch whatever I tossed his way.  I had the foresight to take my shoes and socks off before stepping off the path and almost immediately sank up to mid-calf in the mud. 

Now, before some readers react with disapproval that I was doing bad things to my soil, let me remind you that this is MY story and not yours.  Also, I was planning on keeping the traffic to a minimum.  We had a commitment to fulfill, but I was going to meet it with the least damage possible.

Things got a little crazy as I picked each, beautiful bell pepper and tossed it to Denis, who waited patiently (and gave periodic encouragement).  We kept a careful count so we would know when to stop -and only had to subtract a pepper a couple of times when the throw and catch didn't quite happen as planned.  At one point, I sank up to my knee.  But, once I got past the first few steps, it was actually kind of fun.  I got to do my job and play in the mud.  How many of you can say that?

So... I told you that story so I could tell you this one.  

Our watermelons went into the ground late the previous year, which meant they weren't ready to harvest until September.  So, of course, two things happened.  We had an early frost AND we had a wet Fall.

Things were on the dry side when the frost came, so I used the technique of running an overhead sprinkler over the watermelon rows to keep them from freezing.  We needed a little more time to get them harvested.  But, then I didn't have time the next day, or the next day.... or...

Well, you get the idea.  For the next few days I couldn't harvest and then the rains came.  This wouldn't have been a big deal EXCEPT I had run overhead irrigation on the patch where the watermelons waited for me to harvest them.  This area was already wet - and the rainfall made it MUCH wetter.

And then the forecast called for more rain and colder temperatures which meant I had no choice.  I had to harvest in the mud.

The first task was to simply get the watermelons out of the patch and onto the pathways.  So, in I went, picking up as many watermelons as I could each time.

For those of you who have picked up one 10 to 15 pound watermelon, you might be able to picture what it might be like to pick up one and then pick up a second one.  One cradled in each arm.  After taking two out at a time, I realized how much work this was going to be.  Each step had me sinking up to my calf muscles in cold mud - and it was starting to rain some more.

There wasn't an option to toss watermelons to someone on the path, so I tried picking up three at a time.  That was sort of do-able, so I tried four.  

So, let me remind you again.  It was wet.  The watermelons were slippery.  

As soon as I would manage to get that fourth watermelon into my arms another one (or two) would slip out of my grasp.  Sometimes, they would slip out when I tried to do a third watermelon.  The word "frustrating" might not quite cover how I felt at the time.  After one particularly nice watermelon slipped, fell and split open, I resigned myself to the slow slog with two or (maybe) three watermelons each trip.

The mud and water filled my boots and my feet were cold, muddy and wet.  I was cold, muddy and wet.  The watermelons were cold, muddy and wet.  But, I kept my head down, looking for the next watermelon to harvest.  That's when I walked by an odd lump of mud that was shaped a bit like a foot.

That got my attention.

I looked down at my own feet.  They were both big globs of mud that vaguely reassured me that, even though I couldn't feel them very well any more, I still had TWO of them.  That was a relief, but one of those feet was suspiciously smaller than the other.

To this day, I do not know exactly when the boot came off my foot and I have no idea how long I was trudging around with only one boot and with the other foot clad in a sock that was now halfway off of the foot.

The good news, if there was any, is that I learned some lessons AND I got a story out of it.  

And I still have both feet.

Auto Exploits - Faux Real Story Week

This week, as we approach the longest night of the year, I thought we could all gather around the virtual fire each day and I would tell you all a story.  

Well, not just a story.  A Faux Real Story!  These stories aren't fictional, but I've been told they are, nonetheless, somewhat entertaining.  So, sip on some hot chocolate, reach your hands out to warm them by the fire... and enjoy.

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A person's first vehicle is often two things: 

1. not the most reliable or attractive vehicle on the road, and 
2. the eventual source of several stories.  

In my case, Einstein the Land Yacht rapidly developed its own mythology that I was happy to perpetuate - once I got out of whatever situation I was in with the car at the time.

Einstein was huge, with a trunk that just might have been big enough to put a sub-compact car into it as a back-up vehicle.  By the time the car entered my possession, it had seen its best days.  But, when it was new, it had some amazing (and new for the time) features.  This car actually had shoulder strap seat belts, which was not a standard feature in 1972.  It even had cruise control, which still worked....sort of...

So, about that cruise control.  I learned the hard way that it didn't quite work when I set it at the speed limit and then I got pulled over for speeding.  Why?  Well, I hadn't noticed that the speed the cruise had me running at kept inching upward as I drove.  It would reset each time I slowed down for a turn or a stop, but then it would start inching up again.  The thing about this vehicle is it actually rode better when the car went faster, so it didn't seem like we were going all that fast.  But, the objects by the side of the road did seem to pass quicker than maybe they should have.

The officer must have noticed the shocked look on my face and let me go with a warning.  Sometimes an honest reaction is the best one.

And, of course, the car had some rust.  

Okay, it had a LOT of rust.  We put a doubled up carpet into the trunk to make sure things didn't FALL OUT as I went down the road.  It wasn't as if it was a huge hole.  But, it was enough that loose objects bounce through the hole and onto the pavement below.  There were also holes in the floor of the passenger compartment that were not visible because they were covered up by carpet pieces too.

On the other hand, if you were driving on days like this...  it was a whole different story.

The resulting natural air conditioning was so effective that Einstein's heater had no shot of keeping up.  The good news, for me, was that there was more draft on the passenger side.  So, if I was alone in the car, it wasn't too bad.

Ah, who am I kidding?  There was a reason I stopped at gas stations more often during winter trips.  Yes, the car went through gas like no one's business, that's true.  But, I had to get out and run around a bit to get the feeling back into my feet.  And yes, I am exaggerating a bit... I think.

Riding in this car may be the reason Tammy has gotten into the habit of wrapping a blanket around herself when she is passenger in any car during the winter.  A couple of winter trips in Einstein was enough to scar anyone for life.

I think it would also be accurate to say that Einstein was not running about as often as it was running.  Still, that car always got me TO the destination before it decided break down.  The relatively frequent periods where it would fail to work was good for me because it got me to walk to work more often.  

During one of these periods of Einstein "not working," the issue was a dead battery, which was something I could figure out how to replace without getting it towed to a shop.

Unfortunately, the closest place to get a new battery was about two and a half miles away.  The weather was getting colder and we had a light, drizzly rain on the day the trip was made to get that battery.  At the time, my friend, Phil, shared the apartment with me, so we took a walk together to run this errand.  Okay, we walked, we did not run.

Of course, the walk there wasn't all that bad.  As I said, I was used to walking, as was Phil.  But, once the battery was purchased, it still had to be taken all the way BACK to the parking lot at the apartment complex.  Let me say this - car batteries are NOT easy to carry and they can easily weigh 40 to 50 pounds.  And, to add insult to injury, the rain was starting to pick up and the daylight hours were waning.

We took turns lugging that battery.  Sometimes trying to carry it on a shoulder, sometimes with two hands in front of our bodies, and a few times we tried to carry it like a football.  And I remember getting a bit more disgusted with the world after most everyone driving by gave us curious looks, but no one stopped to ask if we could use some help.  

I suppose we just looked like two young idiots taking their pet car battery for a constitutional.  Each person who saw us and gawked, but drove by, were probably either too astonished by what they were seeing or confused by it to make any decision to offer help.  That, and I am sure we were kind of scary looking to some folks.  I really can't judge.  But, I sure wanted to at the time.  It was simply a measure of how much of a struggle the task of carrying this thing was getting to be that I was letting myself get irritated with anyone who happened to have the misfortune to look at us.

We did, eventually, get back to the apartment.  And, after struggling up the steep drive to the parking area, I just put the battery into Einstein's spacious back seat, where it would sit until the next morning.  And, that next morning, I put the battery in and Einstein started right up!  We took a quick drive around the block to test it out and then parked the car in the lot.  I had visions of getting to drive to work on Monday dancing in my head.  Based on the weather forecast, my other option was to trudge there in the rain.

I got up the next morning and went to the car and turned key in the ignition.  

And I got no response.

The battery was dead.

That's when I learned what an alternator was for. Well, that and how problems with an electrical system can drain a battery.

Well, at least an alternator didn't weigh as much as a battery.

Big Job Little Shovel - Faux Real Story Week

This week, as we approach the longest night of the year, I thought we could all gather around the virtual fire each day and I would tell you all a story.  

Well, not just a story.  A Faux Real Story!  These stories aren't fictional, but I've been told they are, nonetheless, somewhat entertaining.  So, sip on some hot chocolate, reach your hands out to warm them by the fire... and enjoy.

--------------------------

 

Every time we have a build-up to another Iowa Winter storm, I am reminded of one of my earlier life experiences involving a significant snow.  I certainly felt the energy of the impending storm, just like every other elementary school-aged child who attended public school in the Upper Midwest. 

It was exciting!  It was different!  There was a definite tension being put out by the adults that the children certainly tuned in on too.

And, hey!  It was SNOW!  And possibly lots of it.  Probably enough for a snow day away from school, which was always fun - even if you happened to be a kid that liked school.

Maybe our family was different from yours, but we often undertook BIGGER play projects on snow days - if you know what I mean.  After all, there would be a whole day to fill.  Instead of a few crayons and a couple of pieces of paper, every possible writing and drawing utensil and REAMS of paper would come out. Instead of a batch of Matchbox and Hotwheels cars in a corner of the living room, we'd put together a track with a loop-de-loop and spend hours running cars off the edge of the kitchen table onto that obstacle course.

And, of course, we could expect a good session outdoors in the fresh snowfall.  Snowforts.  Snowmen.  Snowballs.

Prior to this particular snowfall, I had received a kid-sized snow shovel so I could help Dad with cleaning the driveway.  I seem to recall that I had a chance to use it a bit before the "big storm."  And, I am certain I had an outsized idea as to exactly how much "help" I gave Dad cleaning the drive after a couple of dustings or lighter snows.  It felt good to have the feeling that I had contributed and it was nice to be able to do something with him.

Flush with success on prior snow shoveling exploits, I was ready for the "big time!"  So, when this storm came along, I was ready.

We gathered around the kitchen, listening to the radio and waited for the pronouncement that Newton schools had closed - and there wasn't much wait this time around.  There had been a fair amount of wind and the drifting was severe - even in town.

I seem to recall that Dad still had to get to work and he said something about doing the shoveling when he got back home.  Upon hearing that I piped in with, "I'll shovel it for you Dad!"  There was a slightly amused look that passed between my parents, but I think I was given an encouraging reply.

Later that morning, I bundled myself up to perform my self-appointed task.  Our house had an attached garage that emptied in the back onto a covered patio and into the driveway in front.  My shovel was on the patio, so I went out there and pushed some of the snow off the edges of the patio and out of the way.  Then, I trotted through the garage towards the pass-through door in the front of the garage.

I opened the door.

And I looked straight into a wall of snow.  

The snow was pressed up firmly against the door and held in place when I opened the door.  As I looked up, the pile more than doubled my own height.  In fact, there was only a small sliver of light where the anemic sun shone through a tiny gap between the snow and the top of the door frame.

Now what?

Having minimal snow moving experience, I acted on the only solution that immediately came to mind.  I took one shovel-full at a time through the garage out to the patio and then threw that snow as best I could into the back yard.  If any snow fell off my shovel in the process, I would return to clean it up.  After a every couple trips I would stop and stare, with growing dismay, at the snow wall that didn't seem like it was changing all that much.

After a while, some of the snow fell into the garage (not a surprise really) and I worked on taking that snow through the garage, out to the patio and into the yard.  But, my level of dismay and consternation only grew with each trip.  Almost as if the pile of worry was trying to catch up with the pile of snow.  You, see, the image in my mind told me the snow was that deep ALL THE WAY to the end of the driveway.

How was I going to succeed at a task that big?

Eventually, my Mom suggested that I had done enough and I believe I was all too willing to accept that.  The shovel got pushed into the pile of snow near the garage door and I went inside.  Relieved to have had the responsibility taken from me.

When Dad came home that night, he was greeted by the image of a tiny shovel, poking forlornly - and maybe a bit defiantly - out of the snow pile by the garage door.  It turns out that the wind had really stacked the snow up on that side of the house and garage.  It's entirely possible if I had allowed myself to just be a kid and barrel into the pile a few times I would have found an escape through the door and pushed the snow away form the house more effectively than I had with the whole effort with a shovel.

But, it was a matter of pride.  I said I would SHOVEL that snow.  

So, I did.  No cheating.  No shortcuts.  Every bit of snow that DID get moved was moved via SHOVEL.

Sometimes we measure our success in different ways.  Today, I consider this effort a success because I gave my Dad a real laugh.  And I got a good story out of it.

We Don't Got the Beets - Faux Real Story Week

This week, as we approach the longest night of the year, I thought we could all gather around the virtual fire each day and I would tell you all a story.  

Well, not just a story.  A Faux Real Story!  These stories aren't fictional, but I've been told they are, nonetheless, somewhat entertaining.  So, sip on some hot chocolate, reach your hands out to warm them by the fire... and enjoy.

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In the world before Rob worked full-time on the farm and the Genuine Faux Farm tried to have produce for as many as 120 families every week of the growing season, Tammy and I did not think about beets.  Or, maybe more accurately, neither of us felt terribly compelled to consider growing them.

Neither of us had grown up with much affinity for this root crop.  I suspect Tammy might have been cautiously neutral as far as they were concerned, but I was decidedly ANTI-beet.  In other words, I was perfectly fine with NOT "having the beet(s)" and I was content with not growing beets as part of our crop list.  I mean... I was already growing carrots.  I was (and still am) very anti-carrot when it comes to my own diet.  So, I wasn't ready to add insult to injury.

Beets are fairly divisive - people are split about half and half when it comes to liking or disliking them.  On the other hand, most people are happy to purchase carrots or receive them as part of farm shares.  So I relented and we grew them for Tammy and our customer base.  I was, and am, most likely among a minority of people that just can't find a way to swallow them.  My aversion is enough that my college friends would ask me to get the mixed vegetables so they could watch me efficiently sort out all of those little square carrot pieces and deftly eat the rest of the veggies in the mix.

But, as we looked at our growing plan for a rapidly expanding CSA (farm share) program, we realized that we would have to add some crops that weren't our favorites so we could expand the variety and use the diversity to provide on-farm crop insurance.  So, we added beets to the grow list.  

Philosophically, I was okay with it.  After all, if I was not interested in eating them, then I would be perfectly happy to hand them over to customers with NO regrets.  Right?

We started with a nice seventy-foot long bed of your typical red beets.  I don't even remember the variety we planted that year.  True to form, the veggie that Rob was not looking forward to eating took off.  Germination was excellent.  The growth rate was good.  And, with beginner's luck, we even got the timing and spacing right for this new (to us) crop.

While I say that I was not fond of eating beets, there is another truth that goes along with it.  I like growing green things.  And, when something I plant does well, it makes me happy.  These beets were doing very well and I actually enjoyed walking by that row, anticipating the day that I would pull them and present them to our customers.  I watched as the roots swelled at the surface of the soil and I marked the harvest week in the delivery plan.  Suddenly, the experimental crop was something I was PLANNING on.  It was going to be a key part of this particular delivery.

Before I go much further with the story, there are a couple of additional things you might need to know.  First, we have grown beets successfully for many years since this Faux Real Story occurred.  The picture above illustrates both carrots and beets side by side in Eden (our smaller high tunnel).  Both are looking pretty happy.  And, if I recall, that harvest was pretty darned good.  

We also explored many different varieties of beets and discovered, much to our surprise, that both of us liked the taste of Chioggia and Golden beets.  We can even tolerate the red beets when they are roasted.  So, while I still don't like carrots, the same thing can't be said about beets.

And finally, I would like to remind you how we, as humans, can go into "auto-pilot" mode when we are in familiar territory.  Your brain picks up subtle clues about what you are doing and where you are going without really focusing on it.  You turn at the correct street corner.  You open the appropriate cupboard.  You know which side to turn to get toilet paper when you're sitting in the bathroom.

You stop right here for the beet row....

Ahem...

You stop RIGHT HERE for the beet row....

Um...

Where are the beets?

The day of harvest had arrived and I strode purposefully out to the field where I knew that beautiful row of ripe and ready beets were waiting for my attention.  I had the containers ready to go and I walked down the path without really thinking much about where I was going.

Hello cucumbers.  Hello snow peas.  Ah, the summer squash and zucchini are looking pretty good.  

After a moment, I hesitated and stumbled to a stop.  My brain recognized that I had taken too many steps and that I had walked past the beet row.

So I took several steps backward.

Then I retraced those steps forward.

Backwards again.  Forwards again.

I was absolutely certain this is WHERE I had planted those beets.  I was so dumbfounded that I actually put down the harvest containers and I walked the entire plot and looked at each row.  Everything was as I remembered it.  Except for the beets.

I trudged back to the farmhouse and found Tammy and asked her if she had harvested the beets.  Once I got a reply to the negative I walked back to the spot where I was certain beets had been present just 24 hours before.

That's when I saw it.  Regular indentations in the ground that were just the right size for each round beet root.  Next to those indentations were imprints in the soil that matched the cloven hooves of the small herd of deer that must have found our beet smorgasbord during the night-time hours.  The only other evidence that beets had been growing there was one sad and lonely bunch of wilted beet leaves.

So I had to tell all of our CSA customers that "we don't got the beets."

Now our fate was sealed.  We were doomed to grow beets again.  Because the surest way to get farmers, like ourselves, to dedicate themselves to a particular crop is to take a harvest away as close to its completion as you can get.

And, as they say, the rest is history.  Have a great remainder of your day.

Too Hyper - Postal History Sunday

Welcome again to Postal History Sunday!

For those who may be unfamiliar with Postal History Sunday, I thought it might be time to give a brief re-introduction this week.  The GFF Postal History blog started as a place where I could work on various postal history projects and perhaps, eventually, share them with others. But, when the pandemic took hold in 2020, I felt it was a way to reach out to others and share something I enjoy - perhaps helping those who read what I wrote some sense of connection or a point of interest to counter feelings of isolation.

Postal History Sunday became a regular weekly post in August of 2020.  My goal has always been to allow persons who don't have expertise in these topics a chance to see why I find these pieces of paper so interesting.  At the same time, I hope to be able to provide some tidbits of information to other postal historians that may be of interest to them.  The hobby has a wide range of sub-topics and there is always something new to learn.

If I do it right, a wide range of people should find these posts enjoyable.  If all else fails, I typically find that I learn something new - and that makes me happy.

Now, pack those troubles and worries away for a time and let's see what we have in store for us this week.

Today I am going to start with an item that was mailed on September 12, 1923, in Hanau, Germany to Saarbrucken.  It's really a bit of an ugly duckling and I am guessing some of the postal historians out there are wondering why I would give it a home.  For those of you who are not postal historians, you're probably wondering the same thing. But you wonder about that for everything I show in these blogs anyway, don't you?

Well, I won't keep you in suspense for long.  Instead, I'll just show you whats on the back.

Oooooh!  Ok.  The back of this cover has another 14 postage stamps at 5000 marks each for a total of 75,000 marks in postage. This sort of thing, where you find an intact piece of postal history that has a whole bunch of postage stamps on it, is hard for someone like me to ignore - even if it is a bit on the rough side. It's because I like items that make me ask questions.

Questions like "why?"  "Why so many stamps to mail this envelope?)

This postage on this envelope covered what was needed for a simple, internal letter in Germany.  If you've read some of these blogs before, you might recognize that a simple letter that has a origin and destination within the same country is the most common piece of mail a person can find.  

So, you might ask a new question - "Why did they use so many stamps to pay for a simple letter?"  Since that's a very good question, I thought I'd go about answering it!

The kicker is that this particular rate (75,000 marks for a letter weighing no more than 20 grams) only lasted from September 1, 1923 until September 19 of the same year. 

Mailing costs during hyper-inflation

This is an area of postal history that fascinates many people, but is not in my area of expertise.  Of course, that does not mean I can't find my way around the subject - but it does mean that I will miss subtle differences that a person who concentrates on this area will see.  If you are that person, feel free to feed me more information if you think I am missing something.

The period of time after World War I was difficult for Germany after the signing of the Treaty of Versailles in 1919.  The treaty caused Germany to forfeit their overseas colonies as well as contested areas in Europe.  Limits were placed on their military and Germany was forced to pay 132 billion gold marks in reparations to compensate for civilian losses due to the war.  The amounts that were actually paid and the timeline for that payment are another story that you can find if you are interested.

The aftermath of the war in Germany set the stage for something called hyper-inflation which was, in part, fueled by the unrestrained printing of paper money and government debt.  Of course, the situation was much more complex than that and if you would like to read a fairly easy to follow piece that explains hyper-inflation in Germany better than I will - please check it out on the PBS site.   

To give you an idea of the type of inflation were are talking about "prices that had doubled from 1914 to 1919 doubled again during just five months in 1922."  Prices continued to increase rapidly throughout the rest of 1922 and throughout 1923.  As 1923 progressed, people looked at the first five months of 1922 wistfully because merely doubling prices seemed pretty tame by October of 1923.

And here is where postal history intersects with fiscal history.  By collecting old letters from Germany in 1922 and 1923 you can get a real lesson in what hyper-inflation looks like.

A Domestic Letter in 1920

I'm going to start with a simple letter sent in November of 1920.  The cost of sending a letter that weighed no more than 20 grams to another destination within Germany's border was 40 pfennig (100 pfennig = 1 mark - not unlike our cents and dollar in the US).  This rate was effective from May 6, 1920 until March 31, 1921.  Prior to World War I, the postage rate had been 10 pfennig, so we can already see that the simple act of mailing a letter was already four times more expensive.

I suppose at this point, people might already have been a little bit disgruntled by the higher postage rates, which accurately mirrored prices of other items, such as milk, bread, paper and other common items.  

This rate would increase to 60 pfennig on April 1, 1921.  Certainly annoying, but it would be nothing like the next jump in the postage rate.

The January 1, 1922 Increase

Just like every business in Germany at the time, their post office department was finding that expenses were rapidly increasing and their employees were demanding greater pay so they could stay ahead of the cost of living trends.

The cost of a single letter, that weighed no more than 20 grams, was pushed to 2 marks (200 pfennig).  The letter below was mailed on April 12 of 1922 and shows a 2 mark postage stamp.

Let me put this in perspective. Here are the letter rates in the United States during the first part of the 1900s.

 Letter Mail Rates in the United States

Effective Date	Rate	Per
July 1, 1863	3 cents	half ounce
October 1, 1883	2 cents	half ounce
July 1, 1885	2 cents	ounce
November 2, 1917	3 cents	ounce
July 1, 1919	2 cents	ounce
July 6, 1932	3 cents	ounce

The postage rates in the United States went up one penny to help pay for the war effort, but it was then reduced after the conclusion of the conflict.  The rate did not increase to three cents again until 1932.  and let me remind you that the amount of territory covered by the post office in the United States was far greater than Germany's in the 1920s.  Our current price in the US to mail a letter is 66 cents.

This rate increase would be like jumping our 66 cent rate for one ounce to more than two dollars tomorrow.  While I know few people send much mail anymore, you can still imagine how this would be received.  Those of us who still send letters or bills via mail just might finally give up that idea.

Rapid Increases Followed

People who specifically collect and study German mail from this period have a lot to look for and plenty to enjoy.  From January, 1920 to December of 1923, there are twenty-four changes in the domestic letter rate.  And get this - the shortest rate period lasted just SIX days.   

Just like our first item, the letter below required 75,000 marks to pay for a simple domestic letter.  And again, this rate was effective for only 19 days.  At the end of that time period it jumped to... oh.... 250,000 marks.

The exceptionally short rate periods found the postal service unable to respond with new postage stamp designs for each change.  So, to cover the demand for stamps, they started overprinting existing postage stamps with values reflecting the new postage rates.  

The letter above actually has a 1000 mark stamp that was overprinted with the new 75,000 mark value.  Or, like our first item - it took a whole bunch of stamps that had the lower denominations to accurately and fully pay the new, higher postage rate.

Of course, with all of the changes, there are many covers that show an incorrect postage amount that was accepted.  Or, even if the amount paid in cash was correct, it might have been easy to make a mistake with the correct postage stamps.

As a matter of fact, in August of 1923, the German post offices allowed for cash payment without requiring the use of postage stamps simply because it was difficult to get the stamps to every post office in the country quick enough.

Be a "Millionaire" to Mail a Letter

The rate from October 1 to October 9 of 1923 was actually 2 MILLION marks for a letter weighing no more than 20 grams.  The letter shown below was mailed on October 8.

One of the things we need to remember about all of this is that "two million marks" did not represent the same value that "two million marks" once held.  In late 1923, you could have trainloads of German paper money and it would actually have very little value.  People who were able to had moved towards acquiring physical property that would retain some value.  The PBS essay mentions that many families purchased pianos, even though no one in the family played them - just so they would have something of value for their money.

I was curious if there was a good summary as to who was able to handle hyper-inflation in Germany and who might have struggled.  There is an excellent summary of the most commonly accepted stages of hyperinflation in Germany in this BBC article.  Of interest to me is the following from that page on June 12, 2021.

Hyperinflation winners:

• Borrowers, such as businessmen, landowners and those with mortgages, found they were able to pay back their loans easily with worthless money.
• People on wages were relatively safe, because they could renegotiate their wages every day. However, even their wages eventually failed to keep up with prices.
• Farmers coped well, since their products remained in demand and they received more money for them as prices spiraled.

Hyperinflation losers:

• People on fixed incomes, like students, pensioners or the sick, found their incomes did not keep up with prices.
• People with savings and those who had lent money, for example to the government, were the most badly hit as their money became worthless.

As a farmer, I might suggest that farmers may have coped well because they were in a population that is often more willing to accept barter agreements.  But, I am not an economist, so we'll not go there!

Back to "Normal"

In December of 1923, Germany issued a new currency and allowed for an exchange rate of 1 trillion marks for a SINGLE new "Renten-Mark."   The postage rate was reset at 10 pfennig (in the new currency) and the hyperinflation period was over.

But, before this blog is over, I thought I would share one more.

A favorite item in my own collection has an Iowa connection.  This letter was mailed on April 23, 1923 to Muscatine at the cost of 300 marks.  This rate was effective from March until the end of June.  I would not be horribly surprised to learn that this may have been yet another German businessperson investing in the US dollar and abandoning the German mark. 

And... there you are!  A journey to Germany in the early 1920s - all without leaving your seat (unless you like to read and walk at the same time?).

Have a great remainder of the weekend and a wonderful week to come!

Want to Learn More?

The small booklet by Gerhard Binder titled The Postal Rates in Germany from 1906 to 1923: The High Inflation 1923 is a wonderful resource that helped me to get the basic knowledge I needed for German postal history at that time.  

If you enjoy postal history and want to see what a person might do if this was a topic they wanted to focus on, you can look at Extraordinary Frankings from the German Inflation: 1919-1923 by Charles L Williams.

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Postal History Sunday is published each week at both the Genuine Faux Farm blog and the GFF Postal History blog.  If you are interested in prior entries, you can view them, starting with the most recent, at this location.

Not Smart Enough - Faux Real Story Week

Starting the end of this week and through the next, as we approach the longest night of the year, I thought we could all gather around the virtual fire each day and I would tell you all a story.  

Well, not just a story.  A Faux Real Story!  These stories aren't fictional, but I've been told they are, nonetheless, somewhat entertaining.  So, sip on some hot chocolate, reach your hands out to warm them by the fire... and enjoy.

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the scene of the crime?

I still clearly remember my second trip to the elementary school library when I was in the first grade.  I know that might seem odd that I would remember the second trip, but I think you'll get it once the story is completed.  I only vaguely recall the first trip when the entire class of 25 students went to get a tour.  The librarian (and our teacher) showed us the 'section' where the books 'for first graders' was located.  The librarian probably waved her hands around at the rest of the shelves a bit as well.  I am not sure.  I suspect I was probably looking at a book while she did that...

My second trip to the school library was with the "advanced reading group" so we could select a book to read during "reading time" in class.  One of the perks of being in this advanced group was that you could pick things from other shelves that were NOT in the first grader section.  

Looking back, I realize the sections in the elementary library were an attempt to help guide us to things we were likely to enjoy and/or have success in reading.  But, I guess I feel that if any kid saw a book in ANY part of the library that might have been of interest, they should have been allowed to check it out and at least thumb through it.  Who knows where that might lead?

Learning?!?  Oh no!  We wouldn't want that, would we?

Yep, he doesn't look all that smart.  Notice the cat has its back turned to him?

In any event, our group was actually SENT to the library while the teacher stayed in our classroom with the rest of the students.  We arrived and headed towards the section that was labeled "for advanced readers" or some such thing.

Then, for some reason that is still a mystery to me, the librarian singled me out and said, "These books aren't for you, you need to go over here."  And, she steered me back to the first grade section.  My childhood memory tells me that she was pretty harsh about it, but I really can't tell you for certain if that was just my perception that has built up over time or if it was the actual tone she used.

Those who know me probably recognize that as a kid, I would not seek out confrontation.  I would normally keep my mouth shut and do one, or both, of two things.  If I was certain that the other person was very much in the 'wrong' I'd find a way to circumvent the situation when they were no longer involved.  If I wasn't sure what just happened, I would retreat to the point where things still made sense.

In this case, I felt a combination of confusion, shame and embarrassment with a dash of 'but I've already read some of the books located in the advanced section, so there!' thrown in.  So, while my somewhat confused classmates moved on, I turned around and went back to the classroom.  I went back to my desk and started doing whatever it was we were supposed to be doing on our return.  

This was the place where things last made sense to me - so there I was.

I opted not to go back to the school library for some time, though I would go to the city public library and happily browse, read and check things out - from all sorts of sections at all kinds of reading levels.  I don't recall how word got to my teacher that I had been stopped from looking at other books, but she did go back up with me at some point and made a point to tell the librarian that I was allowed to check books out from anyplace in the library I wanted.  I DO recall that I checked something out that was a real stretch - but I am sure I read it (as best I could) just to prove the point.

That story is probably one of the first of many where someone either underestimated or overestimated what I was capable of doing.  I am sure that everyone has some of these in their own life-story too.

But, I re-tell myself this particular story to remind me of a two things:

First, it doesn't take much to hurt someone - and there doesn't have to be intent.  

I still recall feeling the burning shame and the beginnings of doubt putting cracks in my self-confidence.  Maybe I really wasn't all that smart after all?  Did I look stupid?  An adult clearly thought so, so maybe I was.

Thankfully, I had plenty of additional support from family, my teacher, and others.  And I started out with enough of my own self-confidence to heal up rapidly.  I circumvented the limited access problem by going to a 'friendlier' library, so things were mostly fine after the initial event as far as I was concerned.  

This story reminds me that not everyone has enough of a support system or sufficient self-worth to weather things that don't seem so big to the rest of us.  That's why I try to carefully consider what I say.  It is why I push myself to apologize when I err in what I say.  It gives me a good reason to work on giving specific and direct praise that tells a person exactly what I like about what they are doing.  

And, perhaps it is why I often just don't say anything!

Second, I tell this story to remind myself that I am not as smart as I might think I am - but I am also not as stupid as I think I am either.  

There is such as thing a healthy self-doubt and self-criticism.  But, this must be balanced by healthy doses of confidence and self-assurance.  Let's just say that I know enough to know that I don't know enough - but I will do my best with what I've got.

Maybe I should go to the library and check out a book on the subject.

Maybe it's in the first-grade section.

Date Night - Faux Real Story Week

Starting the end of this week and through the next, as we approach the longest night of the year, I thought we could all gather around the virtual fire each day and I would tell you all a story.  

Well, not just a story.  A Faux Real Story!  These stories aren't fictional, but I've been told they are, nonetheless, somewhat entertaining.  So, sip on some hot chocolate, reach your hands out to warm them by the fire... and enjoy.

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How we did "Date Night" at GFF

Before the Genuine Faux Farm became such a big part of our lives, Tammy and I saw Friday as the gateway to the weekend, just as so many people do.  But, once we started this vegetable and poultry farm thing, Fridays just didn't mean the same thing they used to.

One early May 'farm date night'  in 2013 began with a wild flurry to get the truck loaded with vegetables, eggs and plants for our plant sale down at Hansen's Outlet in Cedar Falls.  We were also delivering egg orders and our Spring CSA shares to our Cedar Falls members.  While we were at it, we delivered a few other orders of lettuce and asparagus to a restaurant and a retail outlet.  Nearly everyone who placed orders showed up, many plants were purchased, and we were able to converse with many wonderful people.

After the sales and deliveries, we reloaded the truck and we managed to go somewhere for dinner (Rudy's anyone?).  But, we did so with the knowledge that rain was coming *and* we still had to prepare for the Waverly Farmers' Market the next morning.  We ate fairly quickly and rolled home, keeping a wary eye towards the clouds looming in the west.

Veggie cleaning by candlelight

While days in May are long, dark clouds in the west limited the amount of workable light.  Of course, starting the cleaning process at 9:15 PM probably was asking for some problems with available natural light regardless of the weather.  So, we grabbed a trouble light and an extension cord and hung it up in the cleaning area.  

That's when Tammy told me that she thought it was romantic to be cleaning veggies by "candlelight."

Ok, maybe she didn't think it was romantic.  I suspect there was some sarcasm at play here.  But, it was still part of our Date Night.

To make a long story less long, it started to rain at about 9:30 PM - and our cleaning area was outside.  It's moments like that where we are both amused and a bit irritated by the situation.  

It's better if we emphasize the amused part. 

Always more to it than that

This is, of course, the abbreviated version of Date Night.  I didn't mention the romantic interlude that consisted of putting the hens away and checking on the chicks in the brooder to make sure the temperatures were steady.  Then there was the heavy breathing that was a result of a dash out to the high tunnel to close it down just in case there was wind in those clouds.

We even touched hands once in a while as we passed containers and unpurchased plants out of the truck so we could clean the truck bed and then start REPACKING it for the next morning.

Perspective

Over time, we changed how we did things at the Genuine Faux Farm.  We removed farmers' markets (except for Spring plant sales) from our list, which provided us with a new perspective on weekends and, of course, Date Night.  That's not to say there weren't still plenty of opportunities to gaze lovingly into each other's eyes while our hands were thrust into icy water so we could get another thirty pounds of lettuce cleaned and packed for some reason or another.

In the present time, both Tammy and I have off-farm jobs.  My job generally does not require weekend work, and we have not recently cleaned veggies for a Saturday market late on a Friday night.  Yet, we still find our opportunities to spend time together.

Maybe we could clean the hen room out this weekend?  Does that count as a date?

That's me - ever the romantic.

The Mulberry Hedge - Faux Real Story Week

Starting the end of this week and through the next, as we approach the longest night of the year, I thought we could all gather around the virtual fire each day and I would tell you all a story.  

Well, not just a story.  A Faux Real Story!  These stories aren't fictional, but I've been told they are, nonetheless, somewhat entertaining.  So, sip on some hot chocolate, reach your hands out to warm them by the fire... and enjoy.

I grew up in town and the house had a small to average-sized yard for an in-town lot. And, yet, I seem to have a fair number of stories about me and that yard. Why is that? I'll allow you to ponder that whilst I tell today's tale.

The back yard's north border was guarded by a series of mulberry trees/bushes that were trimmed into a hedge (of sorts). Now, if you know anything about mulberries in Iowa, you realize that they can grow VERY quickly and an established tree or bush could rapidly grow from 10 feet tall to 20 feet tall in a season.

 

The mulberry hedge did a fine job of providing privacy for our neighbors (hey, there were four kids at our house and none at theirs - so I suspect it went this direction more than the other).  But, I liked the mulberries in part because they attracted wildlife to our yard.

Brown Thrasher aka Chirpa Chirpa Bird

Birds loved that hedge.  I learned to appreciate Brown Thrashers, Robins, Goldfinches, Wrens, Cardinals and Waxwings by simply being in that yard.  There were all sorts of birds because of the habitat this single hedge provided.  Tiger Swallowtails liked to run the line and switch sides as they flew their route and we were periodically graced with the appearance of a another butterfly called a Mourning Cloak.  

 

I will say this, I put the bird and butterfly books that were gifted to me when I was a kid to good use.  So, folks, keep giving children those books because they might surprise you with what they learn (and what they can teach you)!

 

Now, one of the downsides to this mulberry hedge was what happened to the ripe fruit.  The birds, of course, at the berries.  I mean, it was good food for them, what else would you expect them to do?  Unfortunately, birds are also pretty indiscriminate where they let their droppings go. I am guessing a few neighbors were less fond of our natural habitat when they were scrubbing stains off of their cars.

And, as I alluded to earlier, the other downside was that it was difficult to keep that hedge tamed and the job of taming this hedge fell to me.  My tools consisted of a lopper, a hand saw, an 8-foot step ladder, and whatever wits I had about me.

 

Typically, I was trying to cut the hedge down from 16 feet to 10 feet in late July orearly August. And, since I wanted to do the job well, it was important that I not leave any straggler branches and I wanted the top of the hedge to be as level as possible.  Now, don't ask me WHY the top had to be level.  It just did.  That's how you trimmed hedges - right?

I had some additional motivation since one of our neighbors was extremely particular about everything on his property.  This person would scrape and repaint the eave on his garage every year.  He would crawl his entire lawn looking for weeds.  While I thought he was obsessive about such things, he was a great neighbor and I didn't want him thinking I couldn't do a good job.  So, I did my best to bring this wild thing into some sort of shape for the rest of the year.

Mulberry tree on the farm at left

 

This particular hedge was also 10 feet wide.  Did I mention that?  Yeah, it was pretty darned big.

 

So, do you see a problem with that?  If you consider my height of approximately 5 and half feet at that time, how was I supposed to reach the middle of that hedge?

 

Let me do some "math" for you here.  Eight foot step ladder.  Five and a half foot tall human.  The lopper might extend my reach two feet.  And, we wanted to trim the hedge at about ten feet tall and the branches in the middle of the hedge were five feet in.

 

Yeah.  It wasn't an easy project.

 

What followed were many hours of leaning into the hedge with one foot on the top rung of the ladder. My arms and legs were often fully extended. I typically could trim six to ten branches before I had to rearrange myself to take a stab at another group.  I distinctly remember the sore shins I would get because I would hook my leg (or legs) between the rungs so I could lean in further.

There were a few bruises, scratches and pulled muscles - but I usually succeeded. Until the day I fell into the hedge. 

 

Yes, you knew this was coming. I lost contact with the ladder and lost my grip on the bigger branch I was using to stay on top of the hedge. And, I fell. Well, no, I didn't fall. I just kind of slid through the bushes....slowly.  The Tiger Swallowtail floating by probably flew in a straight line for a second there as it suffered a fit of the giggles while it watched me fall in... slow.... motion.

Hey, if a human has a giggle fit while walking, they zigzag a bit.  If a butterfly, who flies in a zigzag pattern giggles, it probably results in flying a straight line.  This all makes sense as long as you allow yourself to believe that a butterfly can giggle  Once you accept that, the rest is easy.

Of course, I suffered more scratches and bruises from this unplanned tour of the hedge than I normally did during the entire process of trimming the hedge.   I suppose I could have quit for the day. But, the pruner was still up at the top of the hedge. 

 

Oh well.

Not Rudolph

 

There are harsh realities that comes with certain professions.  For example, if you work at a retail store in December, you are likely to develop an aversion to Christmas carols.  Tammy and I have our own set of realities that come with the professions we have undertaken during our careers.

For example, we still cringe when someone asks us what we are doing to enjoy our nice May (or any other growing season month) weekend.  You see, when you work a small-scale, diversified farm, you don't necessarily get weekends off.  In fact, if you do farmers' markets, Saturdays are often one of your longest days of the week.  You need Sunday off just to recover from it... except you still have to do the chores.  And there's always something else you really need to do on Sunday anyway.

I know I have mentioned this recently, but the Christmas holiday season can be difficult for those who are teachers or professors.  There typically isn't time or space in a teacher's life to prepare for it - unless it is part of their job (holiday concerts anyone?!?).

That's why the appearance of our small tree inside the house ALREADY this year is a minor miracle.  The fact that there are a couple of new strings of solar lights is a bigger deal yet.  The question is this: were the appearances of these things an attempt to ward off the impending insanity of Finals Week or signs that things are going better this year?

I'm not going to answer that question.  Instead, I'm going to take you back to 2009.  We were still relatively new to the Genuine Faux Farm and we had not reconciled ourselves to the fact that our house is adjacent to a snowmobile trail.  In 2009, the weather was pretty cold and there was plenty of snow.

And this is an account of the events that happened on Wednesday (and Thursday) of finals week that year:

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11:30 PM - The lights are still on in the house. It is finals week. The schedule is a bit topsy-turvy. It is the way of things during finals week. The humans will placate the cat and go to bed soon. Tomorrow is an early and long day. Must get some sleep.

12:15 AM - One human takes a while to wind down, but he always takes longer to fall asleep. Don't worry, he'll...zzzzzzzz

1:00 ZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

1:29 AM - Something is going on...huh? wha? Must wake up..... Why does it seem like there is a pulsing light?

1:30 AM - A clock rings the half hour. The pulsing light is still there. My brain is still confused, but becoming a bit alarmed - literally. Don' t all of our smoke detectors make loud noises if they go off? I wonder if the speaker went bad in one and it is just blinking. I'd better get up and investigate!

1:31 AM - Hmmm. That light isn't coming from inside the house. It is OUTSIDE! What's going on here?

1:32 AM - Arg! All of these older windows are covered in frost and I can't see out, but the lights are right outside on the road. And they are very bright. Was there an accident? Did Santa come early with Rudy?

1:40 AM - Here's how you know the lights are bright and annoying. Even Tammy has been awakened by them. We now have identified the source. The trail groomer for the snowmobile route is STUCK in the ditch in front of our house. It is REALLY cold out there tonight and the driver's out there shoveling away in an effort to get out. I'm not sure that I'm feeling sorry for him right now. 

We have thoughts about calling...who?... I don't know... the sheriff?  We have conflicting feelings about how difficult it must be to work in -15 degree F weather vs our own annoyance at the continued blinky lights, lost sleep and periodic loud growling as he tries to rock the vehicle to 'unstick' it.

None of this is helping me to feel sleepy either.

1:45 AM - Ok, fine. He hasn't come to the house to ask for help. It seems as though he's been on a cell phone. We don't have a big tractor to pull him out.  About all we could do is grab another shovel or two and try to dig.  But, that doesn't seem useful.  Our lights are on, so he should know he can come to our house to warm up.

We desperately need to get to sleep (if we can). So we do our best to try and drown out the light.

1:50 AM - white snow outside and really bright lights. grrrrrrr (was that me or the machine out there?)

2:00 AM - The clock rings in the hour. Tammy appears to be asleep again - at least part way.  I'm still annoyed and still alert in case there is a knock on the door. 

2:04 AM - blink blink blink grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr blink blink blink...

2:10 AM - Finally!  It sounds like the thing is moving now. 

2:11 AM - Oh no.. it still has to go all the way around our property (where the trail runs)! Ugh. Blinky lights for a while yet.

2:20 AM - The blinking is fading into the distance.  I get up and take a quick check - no presents under tree. Drat.

2:30 AM - The clock rings in the half hour.

2:40 AM - One human takes a while to wind down, but he always takes longer to fall asleep. Don't worry, he'll...zzzzzzzz  

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You can tell that this was a different time in our lives.  Yes, we would still be annoyed if this happened again.  But, I would probably get bundled up and go outside to see what is going on and offer to help.  I would also make a strong suggestion that they not groom the trail quite so late the next time they do it - especially not by our house... during Finals Week.  Ok, I might have lost my temper (after I woke up enough to do just that) - but I'd still be out there, in part because we've experienced it once and it wouldn't take so long to figure out exactly what was going on.

Because, regardless of the year, Finals Week is always difficult to be our best selves.

Yes, we've got a tractor now.  Yes, we have other tools that might help.  But at that time, we had an old truck that likely couldn't have done much (other than possibly lose a part of itself in the process of trying to help).  And the experience I had with trying to get vehicles out of (or through) ditches was minimal.  In addition to being tired and annoyed, we were out of our element and probably not thinking too clearly.

But, I still think the kicker of it all is that I was awakened by a blinking red light.

And it wasn't Rudolph.

Twelve

 

It's December.  And like so many other Decembers, those who write get tempted to review how the year has gone up to this point.  It sometimes feels as if we discount December as a month where nothing can happen in it because we're too busy looking back.

And so, in protest against our tendency to do just that, I decided to do something different and look back to years prior to 2023. 

I'm such a rebel.

Actually, my motivation has come from recent efforts to do some much needed organizing.  You see, I have reached a critical mass of unorganized files - both on the computer and in the farm office.  The symptoms are increased grumblings and rising frustration as I attempt to find something that I KNOW I have and want to locate so I can complete a project.

So, in an effort to clean out files and pictures I no longer need, I spent some time perusing pictures that were fairly well organized from over a decade ago.

Yeah, that's not terribly effective if I am truly dedicated to achieving my goal.  But, it did result in motivation to write.  So, it can't be all bad, can it?

In any event, I came across these images in June of 2011.  Our farm had (and still has) a nice granary that sits pretty close to the center of the farm.  But, like nearly every other building on the farm, the roof had not been maintained and we were needing to make the choice - fix the roof or watch the building slowly come down.

These pictures reveal so many things that I might not have fully recognized in 2011.  But, now that I have the distance time gives, I can view things from a much broader perspective.  

Upon our arrival at the farm in 2004, there were seven buildings.  Among them was a large barn with a milking parlor added on and a farrowing building.  Both of those buildings are down.  The barn still needs to be cleaned up, but the other building has been gone for some time.  Otherwise, the house, truck barn, Poultry Pavilion and the granary have all gotten new roofing.

And all of them have undergone significant changes.

The granary had a cupola that, while it looked neat, was the center of most of the degradation of the building.  If we had been "made of money" we might have done things differently.  But, as it was, we had to figure out a balance that was affordable and effective.  So, the cupola came down and the roof went on.

The granary has undergone other changes, like two new doors, one on each end.  But, we have never quite managed to gather enough resources (including motivation) to push through and do all of the things we thought we might do with it one day.

Of course, some of those dreams were products of needs and desires from twelve years ago.  Things aren't the same now, so some of those dreams are no longer relevant.  But, the granary still stands.  And that, in itself, is an accomplishment.  Things could have gone very differently than they did.  But they didn't - and that's why it can be important to take the time to look back and reflect.

In the moment in time that this work was being done, we were desperately doing our best to plant, harvest, weed and do all that we did every June for many years on the farm.  Our hands were "on the plow" and our heads were down as we worked to make the season a success.

But, twelve years later, I looked at some of the blog posts and I have a different view.

Yes, we put a new roof on the granary and that building is still up and it is still useful to us.

And....

• Our peer mentorship with Blue Gate Farm, Scattergood Friends School Farm and Grinnell Heritage Farm officially started in 2011.
• Rob played his last baseball game that year.
• We reframed both the west and east sides of the Truck Barn which, ironically is now in need of some similar attention today.
• Tammy (and I to a lesser extent) helped to bring the Waverly Community Gardens from idea to reality in 2011.
• 2011 was the year we started taking scaling up our equipment seriously (probably in part because we had some peer support - see the first item in this list).  this was the year we added a BCS walk-behind tractor the farm too!

After I wrote a post on 2010, I figured that was about as pivotal as we could get for our farm.  Then, I look at this list - knowing there was much more going on - and I see things that are every bit as important.

For example, where would we be if we had not started on our journey with our farm friends?   

Well, things would be different now, that's for certain.  And I don't think things would be better either.