In the organic movement today there
exists a pervasive disdain for things of the past. At every turn, farmers
and growers are encouraged to get modern: to use the latest technical advances
and scientific methods to obtain maximum results from the land. The idea of
cultivating a field with horses or oxen immediately conjures up images of
back-breaking toil and endless struggle against the elements. Witness the
introductory paragraph of the Organic Field Crop Handbook (Canadian Organic
Growers, first ed.): “There is nothing old-fashioned about organic agriculture.”
Yet in the face of an incessant compulsion to reach some future state, we
often overlook the oldest technique in farming: the simple act of observation.
Couple this with the art of experimentation and you have, perhaps, the twin
pillars of agriculture.
In addition to the fundamental activities of cultivating, planting and harvesting,
the organic farmer today is faced with the added challenge of marketing the
crop. But there is no reason why observation and experimentation cannot be
applied to the marketing side of agriculture as the following examples will
illustrate.
In 2002 I was given a handful of fingerling potatoes to experiment with. The
designated planting site was a hilly patch of sandy loam. I was vaguely familiar
with this odd-shaped variety; the small tube-like spuds hold moisture well,
and they are excellent steamed or in salads. Along with a larger supply of
standard white potatoes, I planted the fingerlings in mid April during a blizzard
of wet snow that melted as soon as the flakes touched the ground. It was one
of those early spring days when light and rain seem to emerge directly from
the air itself.
May continued wet and by late June the potatoes were growing fast and luxuriant;
as were the potato beetles. Anxious not to lose a single leaf to these voracious
pests, a friend and I inspected every potato plant in the garden, every day,
removing by hand every beetle and egg cluster in sight. Always the ingenious
inventor, my friend attached a small mirror to the end of a stick so he could
examine the underside of the leaves without crawling on his knees. For several
weeks we killed endless beetles and eggs. The rest of the summer was very
dry, but the potatoes grew exceptionally well, and I harvested half a bushel
of fingerlings that first year.
The following spring I planted the potatoes, as before, in approximately the
same location. The plants grew well again but the beetles were only half as
numerous as the year before. Again I picked them from the leaves every day.
That fall I got two bushels of fingerlings. In view of the protracted duration
of my potato project Carrot Cache granted me funds to continue this experiment.
2004 was much the same, and the beetles were few and far between.The yield
was greater than expected, and I sold half the crop at the Peterborough Farmers’
Market on Saturday mornings. It seemed people were ready for unusual potatoes;
the fingerlings sold like proverbial hotcakes.
At $2 a quart (about $1.50 per lb.)
no one complained about the price and one customer said I should charge more;
which I did. Again, nothing but compliments on the potatoes.
In 2005 we had a dry spring. I was busy with plumbing in April and didn’t
get the potatoes planted until late in the month. They missed the April rains
and didn’t do well. The beetles came and went in June, fewer than ever.
I sold a few bushels but decided to save most of them for 2006. The drought
that summer had a negative impact on the whole garden but I was experimenting
with a large variety of plants hoping some of them would survive the weather.
One crop, in particular, spinach, looked pathetic.
The weeds weren’t bothered by the heat, though, and the lamb’s-quarters
grew abundantly. This common garden weed makes a nice plate of summer greens,
not unlike spinach. Desperate for something to take to market, I picked a
dozen little bunches of lamb’s-quarters and put them on my table on
Saturday morning. A few customers recognized them, but there were few buyers.
Most of the lamb’s-quarters ended up on the compost pile.
Undeterred by the lack of interest I repeated the experiment the following
Saturday but labeled my lamb’s-quarters “wild spinach.”
This time they were the hottest item on the table. My dozen bunches at 7am
were all sold by 8am. Ditto the following week when people came to tell me
how much they enjoyed the wild spinach and to buy more.
Observation and experimentation: they may be the old-fashioned basis of agriculture,
but they can work as well for organic farmers today as they did for farmers
who cultivated their fields with oxen hundreds of years ago.
Les Bowser has been farming organically
at Cedar Grove Farm near Peterborough since 2002.
