On red maples and goals…
For about 50 weeks of each year, I don’t really notice red maple trees. They’re pretty ubiquitous in northern Vermont, and they’re often considered just second-place in relation to Acer saccharum, our beloved and valuable sugar maple. But for these two weeks of early spring, the red maples on our hillsides are the stars of the show. My favorite tree? Maybe. I’m known to have “too many” (or perhaps just a rotating cast of) favorites and bests. The ruby colors of red maples lead the way and provide some hope for growth. I recently learned, should have known, that red maples are dioecious, meaning each tree either produces male or female flowers — this time of year, you can inspect carefully and note the difference. Soon, before we know it, really, the trees will leaf out and our hills will be green and lush again. It will happen so quickly that we’ll swear if we sit still long enough, we can watch it. This kind of vibrant spring foliage happening right now— the red of the hillsides and the neon green of new grass growth— rivals fall foliage in my mind, if only because of the opportunities it promises. Every spring we get another chance to try again. As a farmer, I feel this shift and growth deeply and viscerally, in my body and heart. I am waking up and budding, too.
But this spring I feel a little bit of trepidation, if I’m being honest. 2023 was a very hard growing season and a hard year for our business and our family. We ended our retail vegetable season early. We needed, and received, disaster relief funding, which came with all sorts of emotion. Then, the wet mild winter was a weird one. Our vegetable field is still saturated, still unworkable… barnyards and pastures are muddy and we are all in need of a long stretch of sun and warm breeze. It’s hard to feel great about things when you’re schlopping through a few feet of mud, and the land looks pretty ragged from a long winter of animals in one place and freeze/thaw cycles and the general monochrome nature of winter. But we’ve been doing a lot of spring cleaning and a lot of scheming about what’s to come. Every sunny day and thriving seedling brings me a little closer to feeling ready to tackle another season. And on we go, one foot in front of the other, stewarding the land as best we can and trying to refine and improve our farm business. Today we will begin planting trees along another riparian buffer between pastures, restoring and improving a native stream habitat. Tomorrow, we’ll go pick up 100 new laying hen pullets. In a few weeks, lambs will be born.
I learned this winter that we are 42% more likely to achieve our goals if we write them down. (I wrote that statistic down, but I didn’t fact-check it.) So, though it feels a little scary to do so publicly, I am going to write down my goals for the 2024 farm season, and I’m going to share them right here.
Build and outfit a three-season pole barn to wash and process vegetables.
Build a walk-in cooler.
Learn how to maintain and operate chainsaws. Set up a workbench for that.
Hire (and do a good job leading) one part-time employee. (Hi Kate!)
Increase traffic to our self-serve farmstand.
Document grazing rotations. Map and soil test all pastures on the west side of the road.
This one is maybe scariest: Make enough money to buy a used tractor, or feel safe to finance a new one.
And then, of course, there’s our big ever-present goals: tend the land, do our best for our animals, build community, take care of our family, find joy in the everyday work.
We’re glad you’re here to bear witness to it, whether or not we hit all those goals. The leaves will unfurl either way.
Badger and I walk the newly-fenced upper pasture, one April morning.