Week 49 | 2023

Harvesting for the market becomes more difficult as we approach the winter solstice. On dark, rainy mornings a solemn reluctance spreads like a grey fog across the faces of the farmers as they pull on their raingear, gloves, and boots.

Even the tractor needs an extra crank and sends forth an exaggerated plume of black exhaust before hesitantly sputtering to life. Loaded with crates it unwillingly meanders its way to the field making its first stop by the long beds of celery.

Working the stiffness from our joints, we begin severing tall bunches of stalks from their roots and fill crate after crate with fragrant, crunchy celery ready for market.

We move next to the cabbage patch and a delightful cracking sound fills the morning air when sharpened knives only touch the necks of the dense purple heads. There is no reluctance here. The only other sound is the patter of rain on the large rubbery leaves, the rubbing of rain pants together and the squishing of boots in mud as we strain under the weight of the cabbage. These are often the moments I reflect on why we do what we do.

Local Harvest is a four-season market garden attempting to bring food from our farm to the community year-round. We strive to give people greater appreciation for local food and a deeper understanding of how regenerative agriculture can restore health to our sensitive ecosystem and fragmented community.

We try to model what a mixed vegetable, fruit, nut, and flower farm could look like and how it can best serve the community while remaining financially viable.

We also look to gain full independence from off-farm inputs. We shun the use of chemical fertilizer and sprays of all kinds and instead use mulching and cover crops to build fertility. I wouldn’t want to do without a tractor, but even this tool is not indispensable to our operation. No-till practices allow us to transition with ease from one crop to the next without cultivation that requires significant horsepower.

But still we’re left with the burning questions: Can the ideals we strive for in agriculture and in our market be practically lived out? Will customers, coddled by the conveniences of the supermarket, still support us through the winters when product availability lessens? Can we remain financially sustainable and at the same time remain faithful to our mission and vision? I believe we can.

By now we’re coaxing sunchoke tubers from the cold ground. It’s painstaking work, but warmed by the activity, and with renewed purpose, the work is pleasurable and rewarding. Though our overburdened tractor grunts with disapproval as we return to the warehouse, our hearts are warm and full, as the rain pours down from the skies.

Sunchokes

Sunchokes belong in the sunflower family and can grow over twelve feet tall in a single season. But it’s not their yellow flower we’re after. In late fall, sunchokes pump all their energy into the production of edible tubers that form below the surface.

I like to grow sunchokes along the fence line that separates our pasture from the market garden. They choke out weeds and block light preventing the spread of clover and buttercup that tends to creep in from the pasture. I can use the fence to tie up the sunchokes to prevent them from falling over in the fall when it’s windy.

Sunchokes demand rich, well-draining, loose soil and enough moisture through the growing season. At planting time tubers should be spaced around one foot apart. If they’re too crowded, you’ll end up with lots of small tubers instead of large clumps of plump ones. You can use the tubers we sell as starter plants for your garden and they can be planted four inches deep between the months of November and April.

They have a nutty, potato-like, earthy flavour and they’re great roasted. Add this great winter food to your diet.