It is official: we crown 2024 The Year of Mediocrity. Six years into our farming journey, it is expected that we might hit a slump – and so here we are. Numerous farming challenges large (hay delivery canceled, annual shearing rescheduled again and again, a goathead invasion, an apocalyptic plague of grasshoppers, rampaging rodents, hail) and small (late planting, poor germination, ricocheting temperatures) mean that this season, we’re going to be happy with anything we get. Anything! I’m not even weighing our harvests, because I’m not going to judge this year’s output against previous years – it’s not a fair fight. The brassicas were mowed down by hungry grasshoppers. The beets and carrots got too hot and never germinated. The strawberries were devoured by ravenous baby squirrels (a terrific band name!). The tomatoes and cucumbers and peppers and squash are all still so tiny and fragile and battered that the prospect of harvesting anything before Christmas seems laughable at the moment, but perhaps the tide will turn in our favor as we move into high summer. We do have plenty of irrigation water this year, which is something we never take for granted.

Much happier after taking off their winter sweaters.

Despite an unplanned six-week delay that was entirely out of our control, our four rescue alpacas were successfully sheared a few days ago. They had really started to suffer in June’s abnormally high temperatures, constantly seeking out shade in the pasture and the cooling waters whenever we irrigated, and we were very glad to get their winter coats removed. I am in the process of learning how to spin their fleece into yarn and have attended a local spinning and weaving guild to observe and practice this ancient art. Like all handcraft there is a meditative aspect to spinning that soothes my constantly anxious mind, and this winter I hope to make some real headway on the bags of fleece we’ve accumulated over the years.

Our local fruit is truly incomparable, and we are so grateful for the orchardists here.

Local fruit orchards were again walloped this year, with a hard freeze on May 8 that damaged a significant portion of the peach and apple crops. We still got up to our favorite local orchard to harvest cherries, both Bing and Rainier. The Rainiers were eaten fresh, since they are delicate and don’t preserve well, but the Bings get pitted and go straight into the dehydrator. Cherry season here is finished now, and we’re eagerly awaiting peaches in early August.

This is a great headshot for my (non-existent) LinkedIn profile.

I have been reading even more than usual lately (extensive book review post coming soon) and one of my recent favorites is this slim volume, The Shepherdess of Elk River Valley. I came across this obscure, out-of-print title through a local conservation newsletter and was thrilled to find that our library system had a copy (albeit badly water-damaged). The book is a compilation of the journals of Margaret Duncan Brown, who homesteaded in Colorado’s Routt County in the early part of the twentieth century. Young Mrs. Brown and her husband started a sheep ranch in 1915 but she was widowed only a few years in, and she ran the ranch operation entirely on her own (!) for forty-seven years, facing every possible challenge and hardship – not the least of which was being a woman in very much a man’s world. I am an absolute sucker for any homesteading book, especially those of my home state and written by women, and this book is proving a remarkable read. It’s also a good reminder that even when our farming challenges seem insurmountable, people have gotten through far worse and survived. Highly recommended, if you can find a copy!

I love plants – but these are so awful.

We had a few massive rainstorms in June, coupled with our typical high winds and even some hail, which isn’t at all common here. One of our dead aspens came down hard, thankfully without damage to people or animals or property, and the crops have all taken repeated beatings from insects and weather over the past six weeks. While we were of course grateful for the moisture, that rain brought a reemergence of our sworn mortal enemy, puncturevine (also known as goatheads). The last time we fought this battle was in 2021, when we spent hours and hours eradicating the plants by hand, and it looks as though we might have another particularly rough season warring with this hateful weed. Goatheads love undisturbed areas with no competition, so while they don’t infiltrate the pasture (thankfully), we have a lot of uncultivated space on the farm where they’re happy to take root. We’ve affixed the gravel rake to the tractor and dragged it to remove the shallow-rooted plants, but we have plenty of spaces we can’t get the tractor into so it will be tedious hand-weeding there. It has turned hot and dry and windy again, so we are hopeful that the newly-emergent puncturevines will die quickly with no further irrigation.

And finally, we again participated in our local arts center’s trash-to-treasure festival. I made a quilt entirely from thrifted textiles, plus I refinished an old dresser in bright, vibrant green and decoupaged it with vintage seed packets. N crafted Colorado flags from scrap beetle-kill pine and pallets. It’s so essential to our mental and physical health to leave the fields for a bit and make something by hand, and we love supporting this fundraising event. It’s our favorite community gathering of the year!

And with that, we are off to weed the bean rows. Here’s hoping your growing season is abundant and productive, dear friends!