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.