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October 06, 2010 what do ya know

ever since i left brooklyn, and my life got flipped, turned upside down, my sense of awareness has changed in previously unthinkable ways. farming, which relies heavily on a sense of perception, has given me an appreciation for the tiniest minutiae of every day life. small, in between moments. blink moments. background sounds. and breaths. in fact, in this way farming is similar to stock trading. both require the ability to absorb a swarm of fleeting information which is to be processed through intuition. respond to without hesitation. immediate, real time, problem solving. always trying to be right more than wrong.

down in georgia, my favorite examples of these moments are those that affirm to me that—yes, holy shit, i’m really farming. there are obvious signs too, of course. you know, like when i ride a tractor, have a fridge that looks like this, or walk out onto my deck at home to water hundreds of feet of future delicious organic vegetables. current status: be-be.

but like i said, i find the sweetest moments to be the one’s in between. when you water the vegetable starts, it produces a sound i’ve never heard before, but now love. the trays of starts, laying side by side, with holes in their bottoms, get watered for a solid few minutes. some of the water falls in between the trays, some on the plants. some pools in the tiny soil cups, some drizzles through. as the drips drop, and splat into nothing, the sound it makes is the quietest waterfall you’ll ever hear. a cascade—not of heavy flow—but of drops. a cascading of pit-pit-pit’s to the ground in the most soothing of displays.

at that moment, i know i’m farming.

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September 27, 2010 georgia skies

one second i was stopping to admire all the good last night and today’s rain was accomplishing…

…and the next second, i was drowning in it. me, the dog, and the cows—us three just got annihilated by the georgia skies.

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September 25, 2010 ecofocus film fest at cine, athens ga

last night her and i drove into town to catch opening night at the ecofocus film fest taking place for the next ten (nine) days at cine. we saw the very interesting documentary, houston, we have a problem, which gives an inside look at the texas and us oil industry from the eyes of the oil men themselves.

the film makers were in attendance, as are most makers at most screenings at the festival, and q & a sessions are held after the movie.

the curator of the festival gave a very informative opening speech, adding that “although it is important to expand the choir, and not just preach to it, [she] also sees value in creating community amongst the choir.”

here is the festival’s info. if you live in athens, definitely check it out

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September 15, 2010

i landed at laguardia and immediately doubled the hop in my step. new york. the concrete jungle. metal and glass shoot out of concrete to neck wrenching peaks. every skin color under the rainbow speed walking to and fro.

women in dark suits and men with links on their cuffs weave through the sea of pedestrians—the extra thick wheeled strollers, the men in uniforms, the school children, the homeless and the fashionistas—each on their way to somewhere more important.

as i stand on this unlit corner i see more people in my periphery than i can catch in an entire day in georgia. i see thousands and thousands of tiny glass portals into tiny ant lives. the flickering glow of their flat screen tvs billows out of their lofts and casts a muted light on my face that somehow resembles the moon.

a lady with leather pants and a leather face sprints in front of my taxi, her boy toy in tote behind, shirt unbuttoned, cigarette burning. it’s six am this morning, and its obvious they’re venturing home for the first time since tuesday. just one story of millions that took place on this random week night in the jungle.

when i left brooklyn i considered it an epicenter—a hotbed—of local and sustainable food. the meat hook, and marlow, with their always stuffed cases of perfectly cut meat—never even frozen—the green markets, the private chefs, and the cooking classes. hogs raised in queens and honey bees on the roof. leaving the city and heading south, however, there is one shining piece of the puzzle of which new york cannot attain.

the dirt.

a people separated from dirt is a people separated from earth—from the mother, from the creator, from g-d and the holy spirit, and from jah. for dirt is from whence we came. if the dirt is alive, and if from dirt we came and shall one day return, what can one say of a place with no dirt? is this place a façade? can it really exist? a place with no dirt is a place dependant, and can a place as such truly be free?

“the great cities rest upon our broad and fertile prairies. burn down your cities and leave our farms, and your cities will spring up again as if by magic; but destroy our farms, and grass will grow in the streets of every city in the country.” –william jennings bryan, speaking at the dnc eighteen ninety six.

nyc with all its freedom, all its accomplishment, all the modern marvels of man. the sports teams and the fashion lines. madison ave and the bowery. secret freight entrances on not secret streets leading to back room card games, and all night benders. the subway and the high line. pizza, hipsters, delis, wall street —none of it exists without the dirt.

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August 26, 2010 meat-o-mania

the invitation reads:

wednesday, august twenty fifth

we are so pleased to extend an invitation to a first-time farm255 happening…a culmination of blood, sweat, mud, hides, hair, and muscle. a paradise of sorts for the admirer of our farm toil, kitchen fire and fat. we’re bringing our good friend brent j. young { chef, butcher & steeler } down from his shop up in brooklyn, new york { the meat hook } to seek together with our chef, matthew palmerlee, and our sous chef, jake o. francis, the off & over & insides of our various animals and make them into a six-course tasting supper during the hot, dead middle of august.

through the door, and on the bar, we are greeted with a simple bouquet in a mason jar, an icy trough of beers, and a whole cow’s head, simply roasted. scattered amongst the bar, the tables, and hanging in the kitchen, lay a handful of copies of tonight’s menu—sharpie on butcher paper. the prix fixe, five course feast of a menu is presented through the eyes of the butcher—the animal’s name, and the cut of meat— no other description. with items such as lamb:testicle, pig:brain, and chicken:heart scribbled around the room, we took seats at communal farm tables and waited for the three hour onslaught of beast to attack.

it came, and it came, and it came. a roller coaster journey across the butcher’s cut sheet—foot, head, face, tongue, liver, heart, skin, belly, testicle, brain, oh my. the inspired menu was narrated in-between courses with explanations of flavors, stories of late night chicken wing benders, and various other antics by the chefs. by the end of the night the crowd waddled home, jeans unbuttoned, with a new car shine glistening from within their bodies. enough grassfed, pasture raised, pure animal fat was involved in the night to fuel our farm for a month. the finale, for dessert, these sick fucks served figs with toast, and whipped lardo. and that, ladies and gents, is when a room full of grown ass people willingly spread pure pig fat onto toast and called it dessert.

here are some other highlights:

welcoming

prepatory

sausage party

brent holds fire

chef’s eye view, cow’s heart on knife

a round of honey mead for everyone

lamb and cow testicles

homemade sausage, pretzels, and kraut. mustard two ways.

dessert: figs with thyme and honey. whipped pig’s fat on toast.

three chefs serving shots for the road. rye whiskey with a drunk crisp of big pink (a storied sow in our herd’s history, and truffle’s mom)

a kiss good night

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a fantastic evening, and a fantastic performance by the farm255 crew. general delight aside, the night was personally meaningful in my journey from brooklyn to farmer. brent, the guest butcher and chef who was brought down here for this event, was my butcher for the last couple years living up in new york. when i was looking to find a farm, i asked the guy’s at the meat hook, amongst many others, and brent’s recommendation to check out the farm in athens is what brought me here today. so, that worked out.

furthermore, my company at the dinner table—a collection of local farmers, their loved ones, and some good friends from farm burger—truly made the evening a rewarding experience.

more selfishly, a thirty minute pig montage i put together played over a movie screen for about half of the evening, my efforts as farm apprentice were cheered by the guests enjoying their feast, and a take home door prize of pickled chicken feet was the cherry on top.

this morning, when i awoke from the protein induced coma, i decided to go on a three day raw vegetable binge to clear out the ol’ blood stream and give my liver a break. no bread, no cheese, no meat—just veggies.

a couple hours later, however, jake called me and told me he just picked up truffles from the slaughter house and asked me if i wanted any. long story short, i’ve been boiling truff’s backbones all day, along with a chicken we slaughtered last week and some vegetables, in order to prepare a dank stock for the truff ribs i’m going to make tomorrow. after that, i took some herbs from my patio, some garlic from our farm, some honey my friend’s bees made, and some kosher salt, rubbed it all over truff’s belly, and started the process of making bacon.

looks like the cleanse will just have to wait a few days.

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no drugs were harmed in the making of this blog.

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