The Depths of the Tomato Forest - Faux Real Story Week

Our story week has been extended to the end of the year!  It turns out I had more of them to share than I thought and the time during the holiday season is a perfect time to gather everyone around a fire and tell them.  Enjoy!

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Once upon a time, there was a farm.  And, on this farm, there was a tomato forest.  If you left the old farmhouse with its Guardian Dragons, took the path around the Mighty Oaks and through the clover patch, you could see the garden.

A wall of zinnias bordered that garden and just behind that wall was the Tomato Forest.  If you believed the story the farmers told, the tangled green vines were supported by wire cages fashioned out of old woven-wire fences.  But, to look at it, the Tomato Forest sure looked like it held itself up with its own magic.

Inga had been to the farm before with her parents, but this was the first time she was going to stay for more than a single day's visit.  Turi and Torger held her hand as her parents drove away.  "It's going to be fun staying at the farm for a couple of days," said Torger, "It will be fine.  Turi and I are here with you."

Inga wasn't entirely sure about that and a tear rolled down her face to her chin.  Things can get pretty scary when you are small and things are different from what you are used to.

Farmer Tammy looked at Farmer Rob and said, "Well, I suppose we'd better introduce you to some of the inhabitants of our farm!  I know you've already met our friendly Farm Supervisors!"

Turi, Torger, and Inga walked with the farmers to the pasture and when they got there, the hens rushed to the fence.  They clucked and squawked, trying to get the kids' attention.  The rooster even fluffed out his feathers and crowed a couple of times.  It was time to show off and impress the visitors.

If they did this right maybe the next visit would include some treats - like some bread or vegetable scraps!

The hens were very interesting and Inga almost forgot that she wasn't going to go home and sleep in her own bed that night.

And, the cats WERE very friendly, and they almost made her feel that everything would be all right even though her Mom and Dad weren't going to be in the same house at the end of the day.  

And, the farmers were actually pretty nice so maybe... just maybe... this would be ok?

In the afternoon, the children helped give the chickens some kitchen scraps and the birds were very excited.  They were pleased that their earlier efforts to impress everyone had paid off.  

After they watched the birds eat their treats, the children played under the Mighty Oaks and they went and looked UP at the blue silo that stood sentinel at one corner of the farm.

They visited the barn and Turi wanted to climb up and see the hay mow.  Farmer Rob followed her up.  "I won't let you fall," he said.  And he didn't, even though it seemed like they were very far off of the ground!

At the end of the day, Inga helped the farmers make certain all of the hens were in their room.  Before the farmers closed the door, Turi and Torger went in to see if there were any more eggs to put in the basket.  They all said good night to the Farm Supervisor cats and went into the old farmhouse.

And it was not the same as home.  Inga wanted her Mom and Dad.  She wanted her room.  And she wanted her bed where she would be safe and warm.

Farmer Rob tried to help by pointing to a little green dragon that sat by the stairway.  "Do you see that dragon?  And have you noticed the other dragons in each room of the house?  They're here to protect us.  They are our Guardian Dragons.  If anything bad comes into the house, they'll burn it up before it can get close to us."

Inga wasn't sure that the little stuffed dragon would do much of anything to protect her, but she smiled bravely anyway.  

But when she got up the next morning, the farmers pointed out a ring of dark dust at the foot of the stairs.  "See?" they said, "Our Guardian Dragons must have prevented something from getting upstairs to you!"

Inga still wasn't so sure that the Guardian Dragons had done anything since they looked exactly the same as they had the night before.  But, nothing bad had happened and she had been safe.  Maybe she was still missing her parents and her home, but she was ok... and the sun was shining.

And today, they were going to visit the Tomato Forest!

They left the old farmhouse.  They walked under the Mighty Oaks.  They made their way past the clover and they came to the wall of zinnias.  

They were greeted by a monarch butterfly that sat on one of the flowers.  It opened and closed its wings slowly as its probed for nectar.  It didn't seem bothered by the children's approach and it eventually lifted off from that flower and lazily floated above the wall, looking for another likely candidate for its next landing spot. 

They walked through the opening in the zinnias and found a row of basil.  There were bees buzzing on the flowers there and when they brushed against the leaves they noticed the pungent, sweet fragrance of the plants. 

And then they came to the edge of the Tomato Forest.

The plants were huge!  They were so much taller than the children and the vines and leaves created what looked like an impenetrable mass of green.

"So, how will we get the tomatoes out of the Tomato Forest?" asked Farmer Tammy.  "I know there are some ripe tomatoes in there somewhere, but I can't figure out how to get to them."

They looked a little more and the children noticed something the farmers hadn't.  There were tunnels in the vines!  Areas where someone who was their size could go, but the farmers could not!

"I'll go see if there are tomatoes in there," said Turi.

Turi crawled into the Tomato Forest and the other four waited until she finally cried out, "I found one!"

And then she said, "I found a bunch of little ones too!"

Turi, Torger and Inga helped the farmers find the ripe tomatoes in the Tomato Forest, bringing them out so the red and yellow fruits could be put into harvest trays.

"We will take some of these to the farmers' market," said Farmer Tammy. "But first, we'll need to taste some of them to make sure they are good enough!"

A round of taste-testing found the tomatoes to be quite good and encouraged everyone to look for more ripe tomatoes for the market.  Once they were pretty sure they had found all of the ripe fruit, they picked up the harvest trays...

and carried them past the basil with its buzzing bees and fragrant leaves...

took them through the opening in the wall of zinnias where the Monarch floated lazily along its length...

walked past the clover and under the Mighty Oaks...

and returned to the old farmhouse where the Guardian Dragons patiently waited, always watching for things that might threaten the inhabitants of the old farmhouse.

When Inga's parents returned to take the children home, she was very happy to see them and she knew she would sleep in her own, safe bed that night.  But, she wasn't afraid of the farm anymore.  While it wasn't home, it wasn't at all bad.

It was just different.  And different is ok.

The Bunny Trap - Faux Real Story Week

We're getting closer to the end of the year, but we're still not done with Faux Real Story Week.  Ok, it's been two weeks.  But, I suspect very few are upset about that.

Fill up the hot chocolate mug and gather around the fire - here comes another one!

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Our biggest nemesis in our early gardens was the rabbit. And we tried several approaches to exclude them from our vegetable crops.

 

We even tried reasoning with them - after all, rabbits have this nasty habit of taking out very young plants - even if more established options were available. You would think they would understand that there would be MORE, not less, to eat if they let things get a bit bigger.  Heck, I would have gladly given them some of our bounty if they would just leave the little, baby plants alone!

 

Unfortunately, the average education level for members of Rodentia is fairly low, so we resorted to fencing.

 

Rabbit fencing has smaller holes closer to the ground to keep rabbits and other critters from crawling/hopping/walking through. And, we had carefully placed timbers around the perimeter of the garden and then erected a fence that tied into those timbers. We reasoned (and correctly so) that this would make it difficult for critters to make a quick burrow under the fence.

 

We entered the gardening season feeling as if we had prepared well for the inevitable rabbit population explosion in our neighborhood. And, we might have been....UNTIL....

 

One day, the neighbors noticed the cute little bunnies in the bunny nest. 

 

"Aren't they cute? Would you like to pet them?"

 

" No. No, thank you."

 

Even then, they had beady eyes.  Never trust a critter with beady eyes.  Especially when vegetables are on the line.

 

The neighbor's dog noticed the cute little bunnies just outside their bunny nest a week later.

 

"Aren't they cute? Would you like to taste them?"

"Yes, I would," said the dog.

 

Run bunnies! Run! Run dog! Run! 

 

Look out!  There's a fence! 

 

I bet we can get through it because we are still small. Squeeeeeze... pop! Two baby bunnies, complete with beady eyes, in the garden.  One dog - crashing into said fence.  The fence stood up to the collision and the dog bounced back up to chase the third bunny in another direction.

Meanwhile the two bunnies in the garden looked around.

Utopia! Baby veggies everywhere! 

 

See the bunnies. See the bunnies see the veggies with their beady eyes. See them get fat. Now they cannot not get back out of the garden because their baby bunny tummies are full.

 

They are safe because the puppy dog cannot get in. The humans cannot chase them out. The humans cannot catch them. The humans can't even throw rocks at them for fear of destroying the very vegetables they seek to protect.  

 

Sigh. Anyone for organically raised rabbit?

 

Eventually, we removed the fence, chased the rabbits out and replaced the fence. We really outsmarted those critters that time, didn't we?

Cold Front - Faux Real Story Week

I hope you aren't tired of our Faux Real Stories, because I've got another one for you today!

Gather 'round the fire and keep sipping the hot chocolate.  Have a great day and enjoy the read!

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I remember several years ago at the farm when we had a stubborn cold-weather system that came with a fair amount of snow.  We were in the habit then of listening to the weather radio early in the evening to get a feel for the next day's weather.  The synthesized weather voice said, yet again, the words "bitt er lee cold."  We'd been hearing that more than normal that particular winter, so we had multiple opportunities to hear the automated voice butcher that same phrase over and over again.  Bitt er lee cold... indeed.

On the other hand, I think we handled "bitt er lee cold' better than we have handled "except higher amounts in thunderstorms."  There have been many seasons where our farm WAS where the exception occurred - over and over again.  

I KNOW we handled "bitt er lee cold" better than the continuous list of warnings and hydrological reports we heard in the flood years of 2008 and 2010.  Ok, you get the point.  Except that wasn't where I wanted to go with this story.  I suspect you are noticing that this happens a lot with me and my stories.  

Now, where was I?

I have it on record that we've had lows at the farm of -21 degrees Fahrenheit over the past few winters and we've gotten below -30 (2009, I think).  We'll grant you that this is cold.  But, Tammy and I had an experience in one of our former homes that provide us with a fallback whenever we start to feel put upon by cold weather.  All we need to do is look at each other and say - "Duluth."

Now, before you think we are about to bash Duluth, Minnesota, you should know something.  People who live in Duluth are proud of their ability to handle the weather up there.  We learned that if you think it's too cold when you live there, you just keep it to yourself.  

Why?  Because, those who live there will tell you why what you are experiencing isn't so bad.  In short, they'll make you feel like a wimp.  Besides, it isn't as cold by the lake as it is by Embarrass, or maybe Tower (-60 in 1996).  If you want cold, you go there.  Or maybe Hudson Bay.

We lived in Duluth for just about one year.  And, of course, our time there included a Winter that started with snow in September (not a rarity I was assured) and one of the coldest Winters they had experienced for a very long time.  It was the first time in 25 years that Lake Superior froze over.... completely.  

Yes, we can pick them, can't we?  It even made the news in Duluth.  So, if the natives said it was something special, we have a right to pull out the story I think.

It seemed like the sun in Duluth was never much higher over the horizon than this.

Of course, for the sake of a good story, I can exaggerate a little bit (like I did with the caption above).  But, thus far I have not stretched the truth in anything other than this caption.  And, what makes this even more enjoyable is the fact that I don't need to do anything other than report what happened for the desired effect.

It was January and Rob needed to get to the University of Minnesota - Duluth for classes.  We lived in a drafty old house that was just a block from the lake.  UMD was on the hill and over the hill (so to speak).  This is important to know because weather by the lake could be very different than weather "on the hill" which was different from the weather "over the hill" (some might say "on top of the hill"). 

However, this Winter, it didn't matter much where you were, the temps were pretty cold. 

In any event, Tammy would take Rob up to UMD most mornings and we would drive by one of the bank signs that would display the temperature.   This, in and of itself, speaks to both the toughness and/or dementia that people who live in Duluth exhibit.  Only someone who wants to wallow in their own misery wishes to see temperatures that always exhibit a negative sign in front of the numerical reading every single day, all day long.

During this particular week, we would go out and start our car and make sure not to make mention to each other about how cold it was.  But, as we drove by that infernal sign, we could not help but read the bad news OUT LOUD to each other.  

Well, what would you do if you saw -35 on one of these signs? 

Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday.  Each day we would drive by and see that same temperature on the sign.  We thought at one point it might be broken.  But, Tammy would see different numbers with that stupid "-" in front of them at different times of the day as she ran Meals On Wheels.  So, that wasn't it.  Though it is possible it couldn't read a temperature COLDER than that.

And, of course, it was a bank sign.  They aren't noted as being the paragons of accuracy.  Actually, don't bank signs usually run a bit warm?  Nonetheless, it was cold.  And, a check with historical records that year does show the lowest temp for that month at -39.

We went outside on Friday and we both looked at each other with a bit of surprise.  It felt warmer.  In fact, we both said something about how much nicer it seemed.  I don't think either of us was about to suggest a hike up Seven Bridges Road at that moment, but we were both convinced that it was warmer.

So, this time as we headed up the hill towards the sign, we were anxious to see if we were right.  And we were.

-25

Yep, that's what the sign said.  And now you know.  A human being can feel the difference between really cold and really really cold.

Stuck on You - Faux Real Story Week(s)

 

We had actually been growing produce and raising poultry on the Genuine Faux Farm for six seasons before we added a building, called a high tunnel, to the farm during our seventh season (2010).  A high tunnel is a hoop building that uses the solar gain provided by a plastic covering to extend the in-soil growing season both at the beginning and the end of the year.

The first high tunnel was put up in July of that year, too late for an early Spring crop - but plenty of time for us to go 'all in' for our late Fall and early Winter crops.  The picture you see above is what the building looked like on November 5 of that year.  The building was full of lettuce, kale, spinach, collards, mustard greens and a few other things.  And it was about this time (early November) that we started harvesting from the building for our extended Fall season CSA shares.  

The field crops were done - so this was it.  We had to make these things, along with any storage crops we had, work for the rest of the year's farm income.

This high tunnel has a metal frame for both the hoops and the end walls and a single layer of plastic for the cover.  On a sunny day, temperatures can get quite warm despite outside temperatures well below freezing.  However, once the sun sank below the horizon, the thin covering did not hold the heat for long.  And, yes, the walls themselves were often be at temperatures near and below freezing while the area near the soil was well above freezing during the day.

All in all, the high tunnel, which we dubbed "Eden" worked pretty well - allowing us to harvest up to the week before Christmas.  But, harvest was not without its perils. 

The Scenario
Temperatures during the first week of December were in the low single digits (Fahrenheit).  The sun was out and there was not much wind - both of which I considered a blessing.  I had to pick for the extended season CSA shares and the crops were in the unheated high tunnel.

In order to harvest all of this leafy green goodness, the temperatures needed to get warm enough so that I wasn't picking frozen greens.  With the sun out, temperatures had reached 40 degrees inside the building by 11:00 AM and it made it to 58 degrees for a brief time at the peak of the day.  After my check of the temperature at 11, I figured I could start harvest at noon.

So, I worked outside the high tunnel for awhile.  Just because there is snow on the ground and it is cold, that doesn't mean there aren't things the farmer has to do.  There are chickens that need food and water.  Eggs need to be collected.  Some things needed to be moved.  It's just the way it is.  

In the process of doing all that work, I got some snow on my black coat.  That's normal too.  No big deal.  So, I went to the Truck Barn and collected the harvest equipment - then I trudged through the snow toward Eden.

Some of the crops had an extra cover on them, which I had to remove.  There was a little moisture there as well and that landed on me and my coat.  Once again - not a big deal.  It happens all the time.

I proceeded to do the harvest, picking the various greens into each of their designated tubs, being careful to pick enough so each person would get their fair share of the produce.  After about an hour of harvest, I decided to stand up at the end of a row, next to one of the end walls.  I needed to stretch out my back - so I lifted my arms to the sky, arched my back and.....

Review of the Facts

Let's remind you of a few things before we continue with the story.  Rob wears a black coat.  Black tends to collect heat from the sun.  Rob's coat had moisture from melted snow and water from the row covers.  The end walls of the high tunnel have metal.  The walls are much cooler than the air in the high tunnel - often below freezing.

Back to the Story
Ahem.... as I was saying...

I needed to stretch my back - so I lifted my arms to the sky, arched my back and... the back of my damp coat touched the metal supports on the end wall.  The end wall's temperature was below freezing, the coat was wet and.... the coat adhered to the metal.

The Thought Process
Hmmmmm.  I appear to be stuck to the metal on the end wall.   I'm glad that wasn't my tongue....or my hand.  You know what?  I appear to be really stuck to this wall.  Why was my back so wet?  

You know, I should give it a bit more of a tug, so I can get loose.  

Oy, that's on there good.  I hope I don't rip the coat.  Maybe I should just unzip the coat and worm out of it?  You know, it might be a bit silly if my coat has to stay on this wall until warmer weather.  But, it could be sillier still if I just stayed here....

And It Got Even Sillier

Now, you need to get a little bit better picture of what this must have looked like.  I was standing up against the wall and my hands were up just a bit over my head level and my elbows were bent.  Almost as if this was a 'hold-up' and I was the victim.  Oh - wait.  That's exactly what this was.  I was being held up and at the mercy of our new high tunnel.

The coat was a zip-up coat, so there was no way I was going to reach down with my hands to unzip the coat and step out of it.  My cell phone was in a side pocket of my jeans that resided just above my knee.  Once again, there was no way I was going to be able to reach that.  And, if I did... who do you call?  And once you do call someone... what do you say?

"Hello.  I'm stuck to the wall of our high tunnel and I can't get out?"  After the giggle fit the recipient of the call was bound to have, I am sure they would suggest that I figure it out on my own.

I tried to ask Doughboy, the farm supervisor cat at the time, for a little help.  He just yawned and proceeded to sit down to watch what I would do next.  Some help.

So, I figured I had two choices.  I could try to worm out of the coat by bending my knees and wriggling out the bottom of the coat.  Then, I would leave my coat there until the Spring thaw.  Or, I could just leave the coat on and use a bit more force to pull myself free.  I supposed it might rip the coat - but that's better than waiting until our customers called Tammy to tell her I was absent from the delivery four hours later.

So, I lifted one leg up to help get some momentum and tore myself free.  There was some pilling from the back of the coat still attached to the end wall, but otherwise the coat seemed fine and continued to serve me well after that point.

And, since that time, I always stretch my back when I'm in the middle of the building.

Box of Maple - Faux Real Story Week

People seemed to be having fun sipping hot chocolate and enjoying stories.  So, since I have a few more ready to go - let's just keep sharing the Faux Real Stories.  Enjoy!

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Once upon a time there lived a family who had a backyard that was filled with one too many trees. The mighty pin oak and the sprawling locust had left very little sky for the maple tree to reach into with its sparsely covered branches. While the tree had, in fact, grown to a respectable 20 feet in height and had a 3 inch diameter trunk, it was a bit sickly and was judged to be entirely too close to the humans' abode anyway.

The decree came down from the parents of the household that the tree should be removed. And this task fell to their first child on a fine June day. Out he marched, with a saw and a branch pruner, determined to reward the trust placed in him to do the task efficiently and thoroughly. 

 

Taking the tree down in manageable portions, it was soon reduced to a pile of brush. But, what should he do to prepare its transport to the city brush pile? The solution came in the form of one cardboard box that was slated for disposal. This box had once held an artificial Christmas tree. 

 

What better container to use for a downed maple?

In a careful and well thought out manner, the tree was cut into lengths that were very nearly a perfect fit for the length of the box. Any side branches were cut off of each limb. As a result, all of the larger branches and the trunk were placed lengthwise in the box. And, happily, there was still plenty of room!

In went the small branches, covered with leaves. Anything that didn't fit well was trimmed down until it did. By mid-afternoon, there was no pile in the yard and probably no air pockets in the box.  

 

No tree and just one box - complete with a lid that barely fit over the contents - sat waiting in the back yard for parental approval.

Upon the father's return from work, he went to the backyard and wondered out loud where the brush from the tree had gone. His son, of course, proudly pointed to the box.

"Son," he said evenly, "have you tried to move that box yet?"

To make a long story less long - it took a makeshift ramp and both of us to wrangle the box into the vehicle. Getting it out again was only a little less difficult. To this day, I wonder if Dad didn't force the transfer of brush to other boxes just to temper the disappointment I might have felt if we had done so.

 

Or maybe he was just as stubborn as I was.

Drive-by Vegetabling - Faux Real Story Week

 

I would occasionally work for Grandpa Faux for week-long stints during the summer, painting, cutting down weeds, and being an accomplice in semi-frequent "drive-by vegetabling" trips. 

But, I think I've gotten ahead of myself.  Let me provide you with a little bit of background to help the story go down easier.  And, you've got your hot chocolate too, right?  Take a sip and settle in.

 

Grandpa was a contractor (cement and other general contracting) who had a workshop near the edge of town. He also grew up on a farm. Needless to say, some of the land around the shop was pressed into service as a place to grow some peppers, squash and other vegetables. 

 

Most of the plants he chose to grow were things that were easy to pick quickly, but were likely to produce more than he could, or would, eat.  In fact, I remember a time that we brought some veggies to a restaurant he frequented and he gave it to them and asked if they would prepare a specific meal for him - and they did it.  On the flip side, I also remember he did some work for them when they needed it too, so I'm sure the trade was a good one from their perspective.

If I could ask him, I bet he'd confirm that he grew Black Beauty zucchini!

So, what did he do with extra zucchini, peppers and other veggies?  He certainly was not the sort of person who would let perfectly good produce go to waste.

 

Well, my grandparents lived in a trailer court at the time, and these places often become a community of their own.  This particular court had a significant number of retirees who lived on fixed incomes.  Surely those people would appreciate and enjoy fresh produce!

 

Of course, Grandpa was happy to share the excess freely with those he knew. So, what exactly, is the problem with this situation? Person with extra produce meets those wanting some produce. Sounds good, right?

Ok, you've forgotten something.  Remember Aunt <fill in the name here>?  You know, the one who would try to give you money for everything and anything - especially when you were trying to be nice and provide a gift?

Is this an Iowa thing?  I'm not sure, but I do remember the struggle to do the right thing with another relative.  She would always want to give a dollar or two to each of the kids for whatever reason when we visited.  A seven-year old kid is going to have a difficult time looking at money being offered and not be happy to take it.  But we absolutely KNEW that we were expected to decline.

In fact, we knew that part of the game was to protest - sometimes vigorously - that you would NOT take the money.  So we did that.

 

Manners, and maybe tradition, dictated that we should not accept the money.  Just as it appeared to be a tradition to try to foist the money off on the children.  The resulting tumult of repeated offers to pay/give cash and refusals to accept payment/said gift could become tedious, frustrating, uncomfortable and...well... you get the idea.

 

So.... back to the story at hand.  My Grandfather did NOT want to deal with that scenario because there most certainly were a number of Aunt <fill in your name heres> in the trailer court!  They were going to want to play the game of "I want to pay you/no I don't want any money" for however long it was going to take.  And these people played for keeps!  Or... um... gives?  I don't know.  Grandpa knew they wouldn't give up easily, we'll just leave it at that.
 

I entered the picture as a grandchild who was capable of dashing from the cab of the truck, to the front door with a bag of produce and back to the truck in a few seconds. After all, I did need to stay in shape for baseball.  

 

So, Grandpa Faux would look at me and say, "Let's go to the shop."  

 

Hey, he's my ride, I couldn't exactly say no.  So, we went to the shop.  We trudged out to the (very) long single row of plants and he gave instructions on what to pick.  Once we'd picked it all, we went back to the trailer and put the excess into paper bags because we had some 'errands' to run before we went to dinner ourselves.

I am positive Grandpa enjoyed this game more than he let on.  But, I'll tell you this, I took it as serious business.  I was NOT going to get caught and I was going to make each delivery without squashing any squish (yes, you read that right)!  

 

He'd stop in front of a place and tell me where to put the bag.  I'd run up to the target home, rap quickly on the front door or ring the doorbell and dash back to the truck.  This was followed by burning rubber (ok, I exaggerate a bit there) as we zipped away. 

 

There it is, the anatomy of a drive-by vegetabling.

As I look back on it, I am not sure who was having more fun - me, Grandpa...or the people who began trying to anticipate when we would arrive so they could find some way to catch us.  In one case, we noticed someone peaking out through the blinds of their window as we pulled up.  So, Grandpa sped back up and we went on.  We drove up on the road that was a block away and he gave me instructions to run through the backyard and then slip it onto the front porch.  Then, once the delivery was dropped off, we drove around the front so we could wave as they picked up the bag from their porch.

I realize now that I only did this a few times since I only stayed with him for a week at a time twice a summer while I was in high school and early college years.  But, I still remember the joy of giving - with a little bit of "daring do" to put an edge on it.

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.

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

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.

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

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.

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

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.

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.

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

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.