Molino Creek Farm

A Keen Balance of Heat and Cool (but then smoke)

The balance works out just right between night and day temperatures recently. The nights have windows open, cooling the house, providing fresh air and cricket chorus; the days are warm almost hot, almost warming too much, windows get closed….then the sun goes down and windows open, fresh air pouring in. Perfect comfort, naturally.

The Smoke from Prescribed Fire Makes for a Pretty Sunset

And so it was today, windows closed, an afternoon break and a glance outside reveals “OH NO!!” Smoke!!!!! The view outside was through the all-too-familiar haze that means fire somewhere: where?! Stepping outside, the characteristic smell of brush burning a ways away. Waves of denser or less dense smoke walk across the landscape, slowly – barely a breeze. Bob Brunie says he heard on the radio of a fire in Boulder Creek that had been put out, but Sylvie says it is a CAL FIRE-directed prescribed fire in the San Gregorio and Pomponio, according to the WatchDuty App on her phone. Oh good…so glad that’s what it was! And, the smoke magically changes from unwelcome and scary to welcome and thankful. So it goes. Made for an interesting sunset. Our farm will do a similar thing with the Central Coast Prescribed Burn Association soon – fuel reduction through good fire! Our smoke will cause some concern, we thinks.

What Do the Birds Think?

The smoke probably gives everyone pause, birds included. The migratory ones will recall smelling smoke and maybe even seeing flames during their journeys to our Farm this Fall: does the current smoke make them fearful? Carpets of scratching juncos and sparrows bob and hop through the churned-up dead grass, chipping and cheeping all day long, looking for food. As I approach the flocks, wrens erupt with their scratchy warning scolding alarms. Midday and coveys of quail flow from the thick patches of brush nervously crossing open spaces to sources of water, dipping and sipping, someone always keeping an eye out for danger.

Oozing holes in the orchard trees and the telltale PEENT! Gives notice that the red-breasted sapsucker(s?) have returned for the winter. Tommy Williams recently shared a photo of a burrowing owl somewhere nearby- they, too, have returned for the short-days season. As dusk dims, several poor wills flush in front of cars rolling along the very dusty road. And then, a stream of big bats sally from the barn, flapping quickly away, out of sight, a long night of foraging for bugs ahead.

The Harvest

The flip side of the hungry, fruitless beginning of summer is right now, the middle of Fall. We are mid harvest in the orchard, which started in August and will continue through February this year. Next year, the harvest will go year-round as more avocado types make fruit. The early fruit is gone: the last of the prunes in the fridge are shriveling, the final gala apples are headed to market (and press). The middle season apples are ripening: grenadine is a favorite, as is Hudson’s golden gem, Bramley, Cox’s orange pippin, golden delicious, and so many more. Thanks to Freddie Menge for tipping us off to plant two dozen Wickson crab apples: we have the Wall O’ Wicksons now- a massive conglomerate of tiny red tartness bedecking the ‘left bank’ of the orchard. This is their First Big Year. We didn’t have enough props for them, and one ripped itself apart right into the ground with the weight of the fruit.

Quince are ripening!

The mandarins, limes, and Meyer lemons are also starting to ripen on Citrus Hill. Those types of fruit will extend the harvest into February when MAYBE we get some avocados for the first time since the 2020 fire set back so many trees.

In the Fields

In the farm fields, there are peppers. Two Dog Farm has a field with row after row of tiny bushes laden with peppers from dark green to bright red. Nearby, their winter squash abundance is tantalizing. Butternut squash makes for the best ‘pumpkin’ pie, and you could walk across an acre of those beautiful fruit. A very few tomatoes hang on in their own fields, maybe perking up from the heat waves…we hope for at least a trickle of harvest for a bit longer.

Logs Out

We LOVE our neighbors who, with the help of Nadia Hamey and her crew with Hamey Woods, have made our egress route a thousand times safer. The Big Hill was Dangerous, the Douglas firs burned up in the wildfire- then, dangerously perched on either side of the road awaiting windstorm or decay to come crashing down. A month ago, the saws revved and whirred for so long, trees crashing down, cut into logs, hauled into piles by huge machinery. This past week, the piles got picked up and hauled out: a changed and safer landscape. So much dust, so much noise…such an amazing amount of energy, work, and money. The effects of the fire are still with us, but smart and kind people are still mitigating the effects to great benefit. Thank you!

Birthday Boy

One of our newest members, Bodhi Grace, will soon celebrate his birthday by having the first party in the Barn in quite some time. He drained and cleaned the Cement Pond, wetting the periphery of the barn for dust and fire. That old barn is about to rock. Happy Birthday Bodhi!!!

Welcome Fall

We woke on the Equinox, September 22, to the song of night’s arrival – golden crowned sparrows. Somehow, they know the right day and arrive the same moment each year, ending their long travel south from Alaska. With the changing world, it seems odd that some things remain constant. These pesky birds promise hours of entertainment as their pecking order is as animated as chickens and they are far more numerous. Their aggression is correlated by the brightness of gold on their heads, but they still love each other: they have tight-knit family groups and larger tribes and they are settling into the same cluster of shrubs they called home last winter. They must be pleased to have so many seeds: last winter’s bounteous precipitation made the seeds rain more than even the huge coveys of quail can keep up with. When it rains, there will still be millions of seeds to germinate and the sparrows will start grazing the lush turf.

More Typicality

Just as last year, the winter battles summer this time of year. Some of us celebrated one more Warm Night: unusual in these parts. The warm night was sandwiched between two pretty hot days and then the Fog returned: moisture rolling off rooves at sunrise, dripping from leaf tips, coloring the dust on the road beneath wetted trees. The see-sawing of temperatures was the cue the apples needed to get that much closer to ripe, but the bouts of fog enshrouded days make it difficult to keep up with the watering…solar pumps don’t produce much when there’s too few photons. It would be better to water the orchard before it gets really hot, but the hot has recently been when the sun comes out. Dynamism and daily adaption is the way of the farmer. The question now…will it be truly typical and rain an inch, our first ‘big storm’ in the middle of October? Whoah! That’s just two weeks away!!

Fields of Tomatoes

The bouts of heat and the progression of the season coalesced to create a grand glut of tomatoes. In this house, we’ve processed a hundred pounds into jars and jars of sauce to brighten the meals in seasons far from summer. Another household dried 200 pounds. The smell of tomato fruit hangs in the air on still warm evenings. The warmth and dust-loving russet mites have ravaged many plants, leaves withered and crispy: they’re time is up, but there are many more healthy plants in some patches, especially in the ‘diagonal field’ with deeper soil, upwind of the road dust. That’s where the future lies…we need tomato production through Thanksgiving for a truly prosperous year.

Flowers

This is truly the driest time of year as we’ve had no rain since April. The hillsides are crispy dry and most shrubs, flowers, and grasses are dormant. The exception is the unbelievably bright green pine-scented coyote bush…just starting to flower. Want to tell the girl from the boy coyote (bushes)? Now’s the time. I mark the coyote bush female plants and eradicate them preferentially- they are the existential threat to us folks who like to keep grasslands, grasslands and let the wildflowers have the wide open space. For now, the coyote bush is keeping the pollinator community well fed. Butterflies flock, flies buzz, and wasps hop from cluster to cluster of the pollen and nectar rich flowerheads.

In the irrigated garden, it is Dahlia time! Big poofy, luscious flowers of the most unbelievable colors pop and spangle in a scant row among cucumber, beans, and squash. Sunflowers are still going, cut for each of the 3 farmer’s markets we are going to nowadays (Aptos/Cabrillo-Saturday, Downtown Santa Cruz-Wednesday, and Palo Alto-Saturday).

Fall Color

The walnuts and garden birches have only the slightest tinge of the beginnings of yellow. Same with the maples in the wild canyons. At the edge of the forests and on steep hillsides, poison oak is further along with its remarkable streaked purple-reds. Rumor has it that the aspen leaves are turning in Eastern California where ‘leaf peepers’ are drawn to fall glory.

More Return of the Birds

Besides the golden crowned sparrows, other birds have returned from afar for their winter haunts. Cassandra and I have both seen an unusual feathered friend: Western meadowlarks visiting the Farm! Their bright yellow, black-spotted bib and dangerously long stout bills give them away. I guess our grasslands have reclaimed enough shrub ground to look like viable meadowlark habitat – that’s new!

Another bird sighting – an osprey! Around 2012 this time of year, two ospreys would fly over the farm each evening at dusk, west to east. One is flying now. Someone says that they saw it carrying a fish…a little late for fledglings, don’t you think? Still, this is an odd thing and someday someone’s going to have to follow that sea hawk and see where its going.

Hey Rick, hay rick!

Last weekend at our work party, Jen, Mike, and Roland rolled up the hay near Cherry Hill. Tons of the dry grassy stuff is cut, getting raked, and being placed in our rudimentary hay ricks. If we had pines nearby, we could put some needles in our haystacks, but as it is they are full of weeds. This is a new adaption from the bad idea of old…placing dry hay under perfectly innocent trees during fire season. Now, we stack the hay, let it molder, and wait until the end of fire season to swoosh it under the trees to suppress weeds, add nutrients and organic matter, and provide cozy homes for VOLES who do such a good job of ridding the orchards of gophers.

Perhaps we’ll rediscover the way of stacking the hayrick…a profession of years ago with expertise and methods long lost.

Equinox

Three layers of clouds moving in different ways for different reasons woof in the soon-to-be rainy season. Time to put up firewood and stuff.

Sunset peach clounds dance above the barn, fields falling into darkness. The day’s last colors.

Another cool night pinches the sweetness into the many ripening apples.

This week spells big transitions for the Farm in another way. Day by day, each morning the chainsaws got closer and finally they emerged from Above to Here this week.

Burned Tree Control along Warrenella, Thanks to San Vicente Redwoods Conservation Partnership, photo by Sylvie Childress

Changes on the Land

We have made great progress each year after the 2020 CZU Lightning Complex Fire blasted its way into our lives and across the property. The Big Leap recently was the clearing of hundreds of dead trees along the most proximate stretch of Warrenella Road. Our Good Neighbors have found the capacity to clear the trees that were killed or badly damaged by the fire…each and every tree that could have otherwise fallen across our road is now on the ground. Massive numbers of tree skeletons suddenly lying on their sides. (that particular area carpeted with a kind of yellow-flowering groundcover deer brush last spring).

Several close calls with waves of rain from the North this past week help the Fear of Fire fade, but it hasn’t yet become wet enough to allow the relaxation of winter rains’ wildfire reprieve.

Tomatoes!

The lack of rain relieves the tomato growers because wet tomato plants can undergo late season fungal and other blight disease melt down. The acres of tomatoes lie heavy with juicy red ripe fruit that we can’t really keep up with harvesting: too many tons all at once, and where would we sell them all anyhow? Pots full of sauce ladled into canning jars. Humming hot blowers from dryers, trays of tomatoes shrinking. Sweet, sweet tomatoes! Our favorite season. Comparing what each other can DO with them: a tasty half-dry/reduced chopped tomato relish brightened with Calabrian pepper oil a recent favorite from fabulous cook Mark Kuempel (thanks!).

The Deer

The Deer are (still) busy eating up apple culls. A GIANT buck proudly stands tall with excellent contrasting patches of remarkable white and black. Sylvie’s ear caught the Most Curious of Deer noises: ‘a whirly-gig’ she said. Here’s a link to the surprising noise, in the first few seconds. OH! How odd the rutting season!! We have never had so many bucks so close up; perhaps the fire made a lot of deer food and the population is headed high.

Apples

During our regular, well-attended working bee, we had an ad hoc apple tasting last weekend and found some pretty surprising results. The Cox’s Orange Pippin was almost ripe and ripe enough to cause yummy noises as well as some picking. An offspring of hybridization of that one, the Rubinette, also to a lesser degree caused some ‘oohing’ and taking of almost ripe fruit home. Areas of Fuji were getting nearly as ripe as the Galas, both at least a week away. The frightening part of this news is….there is a good chance that most of the 9,000+ pounds of fruit we have in front of us will ripen nearly simultaneously. Here comes the juice….a jolly pressing matter.

Harvest

So, yes, this is the season of harvest. Out in the fields gathering, hauling boxes and buckets back to the Barn for packaging for market, driving vehicles weighted down with food miles and miles to sell. Out early back late, hefting sore muscles balanced by glowingly thankful faces, friends, strangers all in awe of the best food on Earth. Molino Groupies. Two Dog Groupies. Unbelievable! People with Molino Creek Farm Tee shirts from years and years ago, hefting Molino Creek bags. Cheering friends welcoming the food we continue to produce from this verdant land. The harvest won’t last long. We are lucky if the food keeps coming in until Thanksgiving: just 2 more months if the weather holds! This is why we try to preserve the season’s flavorful foods by straight up canning, or roasting and then canning. Dried or canned tomatoes shifting to dried apples or canned applesauce. The prunes, however, aren’t so numerous and the competition for the best prune desserts is ON around the Farm.

Harvest Company

Whatever one does outside, one has company. Face flies and other summer flies are at their zenith. The newly born and mother cows on our drive out are covered with them, but we are just annoyed. The buzzing buggers dive over and over into your ear or make your eyes continually squint and blink as they bombard, zig-zag, or dive for a taste of you. Battling those annoying flies are the legions of dragonflies patrolling the air in patches; we could use more to vacuum up the more annoying flies.

Full Moon, Equinox Coming

This coming Sunday at about half past 5 in the morning we will cross the line where day length is equal to the hours of night. Fall Equinox marks the turn towards night, towards the long cold, onto California’s rainy season. One more month, October 15 is the date of the average commencement of rainstorms. Sometimes we can get a lot of rain just before then. Approaching this High Holiday was the Full Moon we just passed making the sky glow like day all night long.

We hope you had a Good Full Moon and will take some time on Sunday to reflect on the changing times.

Cool Breeze, Mild Summer

Most days, the gentlest breeze lightly cools my skin, carrying fresh, oxygenated air inland, moving upslope from the ocean, through the redwoods and oaks and then across the sunny, chaparral-covered ridges of Santa Cruz County’s North Coast. Triads of days are hot, and sometimes wickedly windy, but those spells have been a week or more apart this idyllic summer. Slowly fading days glow peach before starry nights take over…nights rife with meteors trailing across the Milky Way accompanied by a continuous varied melodic chorus of many cricket species, some with higher notes, others lower. Great horned owls, woo-whoooo, woo-whooo, through the night, hooting the stars across the sky, hooting through the first pale light of dawn. Sunrise is subtle, no color, and it takes a while for enough warmth to build to make the breeze start once again.

The Ghost Trees of Morning

The rising sun reveals a startling new, bright glow from the Olive Orchard. Those gorgeous trees were silver before, but now they shine stark and ghost-like, coated by bright white kaolin clay with the hope of protecting the olive fruit from pests. Momentum is building with the Olive Oil Enterprise, budding new farmers working at a new scale with a new crop…steep learning curves with dreams full of delight. The (heavy) press is here, so we must get more serious. White trees, a sign of progress.

Kaolin Clay on Various Varieties of Olives

Pepperlific

Two Dog Farm, famous organic pepper growers, are rockin’ it. The plants were slow to go with the cool and all, but now that they have started, the fruit is forming thickly. These farmer pros coddle rows upon rows of padron peppers, a frying pepper delicious as an appetizer- a seasonal treat that means late summer and is not to be missed. Molino Creek Farm has long created peppers; we even named a field “The Pepper Field” even though we grow other things there, too.

Flowers

Tamed flowers, wildflowers…we have them all. Buckets of carefully bundled sunflowers are off to market and the rows of plants create the cheerfullest sight. We are still growing some outrageous dahlias, mostly dark maroon with long slightly curved sunburst petals. In the less tame sections of the farm, native California poppies are peeking up through the mowed grass with a second spring of bright color. In the heat of midday, the bumblebees show their appreciation for the mowing-released poppy patches: big furry black bees bouncing between blossoms.

California Poppies in the Interstitial Areas we keep Mowed

Birds

The approaching Fall has suddenly created changes in the avian world. There are no more young quail- the coveys consist of robust, adult-sized birds, flowing in large groups across grassy expanses nodding, scratching, and pecking through the thatch, slurping up oceans of seed. The raven pair, Maw and Caw, are calm again, no longer chased by their obnoxious children who went somewhere, somehow, to fend for themselves. Now there is only an occasional raven caw instead of the incessant cawing of not that long ago. The barn swallows left in the last two weeks, so the wheeling in the sky is now only the smaller and squeakier tree swallows. The turkeys must have grown up, too: they all seem big, and large hens are constantly strolling through the apple orchard pecking at fallen fruit (yay!). That same orchard has seen a downturn of acorn woodpeckers devouring perfectly fine apples on the trees. The acorns got ripe on the tanoaks, a much more wholesome and longer lasting (in storage) food. You can almost hear them scolding each other: stop with that high-sugar diet! Stop Pecking Apples! We need carbs! We need to store food for the winter! Let’s get those tasty acorns!! The jays, however, did not get the memo: they are still making lots of holes in the apples.

The Apple Glut Solution

Not to worry, there are enough apples for All Beings. Thousands and thousands of apples. Estimated net production upcoming, for this season, just between 2 weeks from now and Thanksgiving: 9,000 pounds! That is the most we’ve ever produced, and this is just the beginning. It will blossom into much more (if we don’t have a wildfire) over the next 10 years. What do we do with all the apples!? That is a pressing question. The answer is, in part: Juice! Hard cider! But, I’m not sure we have enough containers…and enough cider makers…or enough cider drinkers. The Party must go on.

Native hazelnut, in our hedgerow fruiting

Mild

A wet winter, a long, cool spring, and an idyllic summer make for this dreamworld that is the setting for our lives right now. It is difficult not to notice, but we can look past it, as normal, if we aren’t careful.

Summers past, not so long ago were so hot, so dry…a knife edge between getting by and disaster, between exhaustion and anxious, worried pacing, staring at the sky, shaking our heads at the drought. Back then, all life hunkered down by day and crept slowly out only on the coolest of nights. Even the crickets were muted, the days still or roaring with unnatural dry hot winds.

This summer’s gentleness smooths our worry lines, and all creatures are at ease. Birds chatter and cheep all day, long conversations. Night ants pace in groups and in lines on trails comfortably, every night, all through the night. Rabbits and deer proliferate, gorgeous big-eyed young curiously exploring their vibrant, food-filled world. Trees grow long branches. Shrubs are lush and bees buzz everywhere.

We are thankful for this year, in this place, at this moment. And we are aware that not everyone is so lucky: we hope for better years for those roasting in Arizona heat, deluged and drowning in African and Asian floods, or backed into shrinking, suffering habitat in the depths of what is left of the Amazon. And, we are wishing you well.

Shimmering

Morning fog gives quickly to sun and the days warm rapidly to the upper 70s, perfect tomato growing weather. Those tomato plants are heavy with first fruit, mostly pale green and many blushing orange: fruit season is here and there will be many lovely boxes going to market soon.

Big Moon, Lost Friends

The full moon was bright, lighting the farm in silver deep into the night, and the coyotes went silent. Two neighbors saw lions recently, and we all see foxes. One of those predator species has been murdering domesticated animals – a good friend housecat, the two recently adopted ducks, and all of the hens near the walnut. The two remaining barn cats are huddled inside, or under equipment, in fear. The moon wanes, the night grows darker…and still…and quiet…except the pulsing cricket chorus and occasional echoes of wave sets from way down below. We miss the high-tailed aloof-friendly kitty rubbing hellos, the exuberant morning duck quacks, and the loving hens, clucking and looking you straight in the eye.

Orchards

The cherries are all gone now, any remaining abuzz with wasps carrying away the last bites of fruit. We are enjoying some citrus – navel, Valencia, a lime here and there, and honey mandarins. The citrus trees are growing madly, responding well to good fertilizing and water, and setting many fruit for harvest next winter. The avocado fruit are a bit smaller: the ones left on the trees are half a dime in diameter, and we lost some in a gap of watering…very important to keep the trees watered when fruit just sets, it seems. It looks like we will get around 10 avocados per 4-year-old tree (20+)…next February-May. After that, many, many more! Contrast that with mature apple trees- it will be another year of tons of apples. The predicted apple harvest is 9,000 pounds- the new treat being 600 pounds of Wickson crab apples, which are thickly laden for the first time since we planted them maybe 10 years ago. “What will you do with all of the apples?” you ask. “Juice and ferment into cider” we say, but there are so many other destinations and Apple Dreams for the harvest to come. Prunes, plums, hazel, pears…and much more coming into fruit. Tending the trees takes a community, and we are so thankful for ours, sweating together to get work done each Saturday (and many days in between).

Birdies

A friend visiting said he’d like to see a ‘lifer’ lazuli bunting, but missed it: they are here, though – first sighting that very day. The western bluebirds are thinking about another clutch in one of the same house boxes that raised a brood just before. A pair of screaming red tailed hawks makes for daytime drama. The obnoxious young raven pair still scream and pout, annoyingly to both humans and, I’m sure, their parents Maw and Caw. The big thing on the bird scene is the hundreds of quail babies: a big, big year. The covies are multigenerational with puffy baby babies, adolescents, young and old parents, all mixed up. The flushing of quail is disconcerting for the varied flight abilities and the angst of the parents. Wirr! Peep peep peep peep peep peep. Wirr! Chuek, chuek!! This is the sound we are getting used to hearing.

Molino Creek Farm’s famous dry farmed tomatoes

To Market

Molino Creek Farm is going to the downtown Santa Cruz farmer’s market on Wednesdays. Zucchini, flowers, and the first tomatoes were headed that way today and we’ll continue through nearly Thanksgiving. Soon, we’ll get to Palo Alto and later Aptos (both Saturday markets). We love the enthusiasm when we arrive and how people greet our tomatoes so happily.

The Slowness of Extreme Heat

Happy Interdependence Day! I’m happy not to live under the tyranny of a monarchy AND I’m glad to be part of a community that recognizes the centrality of interdependence. The Molino Creek Farm Community relies on one another, exercising our various strengths to foster healthy farm life at its center. We include teachers, woodcrafters, a midwife, farmers, orchard tenders, bookkeepers and administrators, activists, road technicians, and natural lands managers. Many others join, from near and far. Together, we make this land sing: it depends on us, we depend on it, and everyone depends on each other. Nearly 4 years after the last wildfire, we feel that interconnectedness more than ever.

Name that shrub: one of our many hedgerow plants

Evening Scents

Each evening and early in the morning, the air is filled with the “seminal” smell of the male flowers of tanoak. It hits you strongly, suddenly: the pollen must release all at once after the evening arrives. As the sun was beginning to set, before the emanation of the heavy tanoak smell, there was a more subtle, pleasant, sweet aroma: thousands of white flowers unfurled from the field bindweed, a ground-hugging invasive morning glory- like vine of the tilled fields. There’s no detectable smell from a single bindweed flower, but en masse they sure smell pretty.

Summer Fruit

There is a pinkish blush on the first dry farmed tomatoes, but other fruits are riper. The 2 trees are young yet, but the first aprium crop is coming on: it looks like we might get 20 pounds to share among our community orchardists. They are delicious and almost make up for the lack of real apricots, which we can’t seem to produce in our cool coastal clime. The star of the show is cherries, but again too few to get to market: we anticipate 300 pounds of fat, dark red sweet cherries from the 18 trees that the fire spared. The 25 other recovering cherry trees in that block, grafted onto resprouting rootstock, will make their first sizeable harvest next year…starting in 2026, we’ll be back to ‘normal’ with 3,000 pounds plus of annual production if the stars align.

Next up this season…plums and prunes! The apples are silver dollar sized, at least, and growing. And, the avocado fruit have just set – if we can keep them moist enough, we’ll have a crop starting next January.

Sweat Investment

Even the mornings are hot as we greet the dawn ready for chores. First up: fuels reduction! Clipping, raking, and hauling the dry vegetation away from the buildings, water tanks, solar arrays, and pipes. Piles grow in the fields far away from danger…5 months from now and we’ll set them ablaze in the mist and drizzle. Today’s fuel will be tomorrow’s shrub-eradicating fire, each pile moved on top of a plant we want to eradicate.

The roar of mowers, whine of weedeaters, and buzz of saws soon obliterate the extended dawn bird chorus. When our own machinery isn’t running, we can still hear the neighbors working downhill towards us, maintaining the regional shaded fuel break along Warrennella Road. This past week we thank Brion Burrell for his artistic machinery management to reduce acres of French broom and other fire dangers to nothing, making the land around us healthier and more resilient.

Neighbors and Farm partnered in clearing French Broom and fuels away from water tanks

San Vicente Redwoods cleared an ancient meadow of post-fire French broom pulse high above the Farm

Early morning still: trucks trundle and people amble towards the irrigation controls. We reach down to turn valves, starting water flowing. Then we pace the water lines, inspecting for leaks. Earlier, ravens or mice have made holes in the plastic irrigation tubes, and out pours too much water, hissing loudly, spitting into the air, creating mud and disaster. Repair kits, a thorough soaking, and a bit of work later things return to normal and the cycle of wetting has begun on one more patch, once again. We are applying 45,000 gallons of solar pumped irrigation water from our well each week to grow orchard trees and row crops. That water makes tens of thousands of dollars of income and thousands and thousands of pounds of delicious food. And it takes lots of attention, coordination, and work to manage.

Wild Life

Those dawn treks for irrigation reveal fresh snake tracks, coyote scat, and weasel footprints. Gone are the days when you could easily see snakes, but they are still active around the farm. This past week must have been the right moon phase for reptiles to shed their skin. Fence lizards are still flakey. Shed snake skins have appeared, always trailing into gopher holes.

Gopher snake skin- as typical, entering gopher burrow

The regularly yipping coyotes are feasting on a big crop of juicy blackberries, as seen in their purple, seed-filled scat. Weasels are feasting on mice, and we hope they soon eat the surprising, sudden appearance of ground squirrels.

Very late but they finally appeared: dozens of California quail fluffies. The quail babies peep like easter chicks as they tumble and run along dusty trail and road, proud parents standing guard. The first younglings can fly, but most are still too young. A mother turkey is also shepherding a second round of just 3 much larger, still flightless and fluffy babies. High on the ridge, the purple martin chicks are in the air, noisy moist-sounding deep chirp-whistles give them away. They’ve done well this year. Maw and Caw greeted a third raven…a child from the past?…this morning – sometimes that one sticks around a few weeks, we’ll see.

Noise From Below

With the heat and extreme dry, we hope that no one sets the world on fire with fireworks at the beach tonight. The week leading up to this evening has been sporadic with preparatory explosions. The King Tides have made the beaches narrower, and the signs and Sheriff shoo people away, but still we wait with trepidation. May all we hear is the continued crash of the large ocean waves, lulling us to sleep with all of the windows open on these warm summer nights.

A Bun Dance

What do you do when there’s so much fruit that you can barely hold still? A Bun Dance!

What do you do in anticipation of a Great Big Harvest? A Bun Dance!

What does Mother Nature create when you take good care of the land? A Bun Dance!

(This poem built from Brock Dolman’s original notion of A Bun Dance)

A climbing rose in the Orchard hedgerow: full of clove scent!

Abundance is what we have. Perhaps over-abundance. It is fruit thinning time. Apples, pears, and plums all make more fruit than their branches can hold or that the market can bear. People like big tasty fruit: thinning makes the few bigger. Our pollinators do such a good job, there’s too many fruit for the branch strength. The meditative stroll into the orchard to inspect, fix water lines, and bask in the beauty suddenly changes: SNAP! Oh Shoot! A quarter tree has broken off, the top tilts onto the ground, a big ugly splintery break shines bright with freshly exposed, blond wood. We don’t want to see that, and too often we DO – budding orchardists must get better at their thinning jobs, “For the Sake of the Trees,” so we can do A Bun Dance.

Apples on a new tree that has already been thinned, Schwew!

Heat and Drying

Suddenly, there was heat. The transitions between the seasons have been sporadic and forgiving. Winter faded into Spring with not a sudden cessation of rain but stops and starts of dry periods, rain storms coming farther and farther apart (“Sprinter”). Now, we have no expectation of further rain. Likewise, the transition from Spring into Summer brought us a bit of warmth and then really chilly, foggy spells (“Sumring”). This past week, we had Real Heat: up into the 80’s for the first time yet. The wind blew and blew from the East and then the North East – very unusual directions, carrying the dry Basin and Range or Desert air through to the Coast. You could almost smell the sagebrush and creosote bush (and sometimes you can). Just like that, things dried right up. The grass got straw colored, the soil got dusty, the orchard trees where the irrigation had not yet run started to wilt.

New Songs

With the onset of heat, still more migratory birds have arrived: the brilliant sky-blue lazuli buntings and red-marked black-headed grosbeaks have added their serenades to the morning air. The warmth also brightened the dawn chorus, now a melodious orchestra right at first light, nary a gap between song, bird talk filling the air, overlapping, notes complimenting and colliding, no conductor beyond Pure Joy itself. Windows open to welcome the cool night air, this chorus is made more clear and delightful.

The Struggle with Weeds

Farmers have planted the crops, weed battling commences. Some say that the great Central American civilizations collapsed because they couldn’t keep up with the weeds. A Monsanto representative who grew up in Sub-Saharan Africa argued with my opposition to Roundup herbicide, exclaiming: “What would you have us do…break our backs manually controlling weeds?!!? That’s inhumane!! That’s going BACKWARDS!!” Cheerful chatter floats up from the fields below as a crew with scuttle hoes carefully weeds between 2 Dog Farms’ just-germinating dry farmed winter squash. Organic farming shuns the synthetic chemical herbicides: not welcome, not allowed! The weeding crew here instead wields long-handled hoes with good posture and big hats, and they are full of conversation and laughter. At the same time we all get pumped to see the millions of weed seedlings quickly growing right next to the crops: time to get to work!

Suddenly Crickets

The long days have become warm. Some people were even growly about the chill, the fog, and the drizzle that have become our most frequent visitors as this long Spring crescendo slowly approaches Summer. The complaining people were particularly happy about today, and tomorrow will even be warmer. But this cool, moist spring has spread a vibrancy rarely seen across California’s central coast. The biggest grasshopper I’ve ever seen around here plopped onto the ground in front of me today and tonight the crickets have at last begun the summer’s starlight orchestra. The warmth of the day quickly fades as the night grows dark, and cricketsong wanes, replaced by a rare silent night, peculiar to the particularly cool spring. There is no wind, no echoing waves, no trilling crickets, and only a few sporadic hoots exchanged by scattered great horned owls.

Late Morning, Fog Dispersing

Sunny, bright sunrises are rare. Mostly there is the muteness of first light, glowing through dense fog. Wet grass. Puffed up quail sitting in pairs, barely moving. Slow motion rabbits tentatively beginning their daytime nibbling. The sun brightens, the fog grows thinner, and gradually bird songs escalate, becoming more diverse, varied, louder. The first bright rays carry sudden warmth, sending birds into the sky: hawks soaring, ravens patrolling, swallows chattering, swerve. The purple martins carry such huge wads of grass to line their nest cavities that they can barely fly.

As the sun takes full charge, it evaporates the dew, and a young coyote yaps and howls first from the forest edge, out of sight. She seems dissatisfied with her vantage point and trots out into the middle of a field to yowl and bark some more, glancing furtively about after each vocal session. This sets the neighborhood dogs to barking, and our coyote friend glances over her shoulder, seemingly annoyed at her domestic cousins’ primitive and unmusical repetition. Eventually, she moves on, and the morning noises go back to being dominated by bird song. Noon approaches.

Contrast of mowed, green and unmowed, brown

Drying

At every glance, there are contrasts between drying and still wet, gold versus green. Where we passed once with a mower through a grassy field, the cut area evaporated less water and is still wetly green whereas the surrounding tall grass absorbed the soil moisture and is already drying. Five foot tall tawny grass stands or falls over, crisscrossing, heavy with seed. A million things are hidden in that meadowy mess: snakes, rodents, bugs, spiders, and bird nests present a gallery of surprises as I collect native grass seed for restoring areas of the farm. The seed must dry in paper bags to be stored until first rains, to be tossed into the footprint of prescribed fire or along the tracks of mowers.

Flowers Still

Despite the drying, it remains a very floral spring. Different types of vetch have only just entered their peak bloom. Poppies are in full display, big orange patches, rabbits eating their flowers. Monkeyflower is also in peak color, whole hillsides glowing peach-orange. Nearby, the post fire chaparral giant yellow bush poppies are blossoming, creating a peculiarly sweet, cucumber scent. That chaparral air is thick with resinous blueblossom odor accentuated sometimes by the bitter-sweet yerba santa, which is displaying clusters of lilac flowers. The forest understory is bejeweled with rosey globe lilies, bobbing and lush. The last native iris flowers are fading.

Ah, the promise of Lapins cherries for late June (nets up soon!)

Fruity Promises

The orchards are producing ripe citrus while thousands of other fruit grow marble- to golf ball-sized. We compare different types of navel oranges, contrasting them with Valencia, complimented by sweet Honey mandarins. The last of the limes are coveted. In the apple orchard, the fruit has set and is rapidly growing; it is fruit thinning time! Some of our apricot relatives are thickly laden with young fruit. The bigger patch of Lapins cherry trees will soon need netting. We peer into the canopies of avocado trees, hoping to glimpse at least some fruit set; last year was grimly non fruitful…these trees are notoriously unpredictable.

Watering

To keep the fruit fattening, we have started rounds of irrigation. That routine keeps us on our toes, especially the first cycles of water flow as the need for repairs are numerous. Inadvertent mower damage, winter rodent gnawing, or just plain mysterious breaks makes for geysers, gushers, and pouring leaks that must be detected before large tanks are drained. We seek leaks by noise more than sight. This was the first week that water flowed to most orchards as well as the 2 Dog vineyard. The irrigation will run through November, tens of thousands of gallons each week…mostly pumped silently by solar power. Irrigation efficiency has us using around half of what would be considered normal, let alone that a sizeable portion of our produce is dry farmed with no irrigation at all!

We are looking forward to the summer…and hoping not to get Too Much Heat (or fire!).

Dry, tall grass – a tangle that includes Calfifornia brome grass for restoration seed

Swarm in the Air

The air is alive with bugs and the swallows are happy. I don’t notice the tiny areal insects until dusk, by the sun’s slanting rays, but the barn swallows see them all day long. I’m sure that the swallows have learned, or always knew, which form of insect is the tastiest: maybe they dive for the biggest ones, perhaps they dart into a dense swarm of bugs with the right silvery flash, or maybe a lone moth flies in the right pattern to catch their eye from far away. Sometimes when I have the patience to watch the swallows for long enough, I see that several are crisscrossing the same patch of sky, or diving above the same patch of grass. It is hard to notice the common feeding ground because they never make tight turns, only large gradual arcs, to return to the same spot. They avoid crashing into one another by leaving a lot of margin, making it less evident that they are visiting the same feeding spot. How much of their flying antics are for feeding or just for fun makes it even more difficult to understand swallow-bug interactions.

Waves of Aphids, Troops of Predators

The slow flight of a tiny lone insect ends on the tip of a newly planted medlar. This mother aphid might soon have babies, the colony grubbing on lush new growth until it wilts. Close behind her another insect flashes red. A mother lady beetle somehow senses the right place to lay eggs where her offspring will have enough herds of aphids to feast on and grow fat. Close by, a yellow jacket wasp, aka meat bee, sips nectar at a flower; she might also be eating from aphid colonies soon – either lapping up aphid ‘honeydew’ or pinching apart their bodies or the bodies of the lady beetle larvae nearby. The acceleration of warm, long days and the lushness of plant growth is spinning up this circle of life.

The Hum of Tractor Engines

It is early morning and already a tractor is running, a farmer driving it from home base to the nearby field. The noise changes from jangling and a variable hum to a continuous deeper growl as the tiller commences row-by-row to prepare the soil for planting pepper plants, winter squash seeds and more tomato seedlings. Some tomato plants have been in the ground for weeks, and these need weeding and bed care. Bodhi recently cruised down those rows with the tiller, weeding the rows while also creating the soil mulch bed that is critical to maintaining soil moisture for dry farming. Where the tiller didn’t hit, right up against the tomato babies, a sea of the first paired leaves of weeds taunting the farmer, begging for hoe.

Jungle

Where not too long ago there were pretty patches of flowers, now it is disarray. The California poppies are buried in deep disorganized grass. Flower color has become muted, overcome by clouds of light green or even drying tawny. Where mower or cow has not touched, the meadows are 5’ tall. The overstory stems of the tallest of grasses, European oatgrass, hang thick with juicy seeds pendant and ripening. Where the soil is less productive, the grasses are already brown-dry and shorter with seeds ready to ruin your socks. Walking anywhere off trail is either a soaking experience (in the morning)(up to your knees) or a tangled, tripping, itchy experience (in the drier afternoon). Best to keep to trammeled areas, out of the jungle.

Thousands of Fruit

Apple petals have mostly fallen to be replaced by clusters of fuzzy, baby fruit. Instead of being a sea of white-pink blossoms, the orchard is fresh, light spring green with new leaves emerging from rapidly elongating shoots. Waist-high weeds have regrown where a month ago we had mowed to ground the cover crop. It is past time for another mowing. The baby plum fruit are already quarter-sized and shiny, too thick and needing immediate thinning; the apple fruit are close behind. Our regular trips to the orchard to fix and run irrigation have recently begun to include a pause to thin fruit. Soon, all attention will have to turn to thinning thousands and thousands of fruit to make room for the many fewer chosen ones.

Turkeys and the End of the Era of Fog

The last little while was so very foggy that one wondered if warmth would ever settle in. It has, but only a little. For instance today will be in the upper 60’s and the morning fog lifted by 9 a.m. The predominance of fog left its marks: taller grasses, lusher weeds, and too many patches of apple scab attacking the fruit and leaves. The fog also delayed the hatching of quail eggs, but the turkey babies couldn’t wait. Papa Turkey’s gobbling has paid off: Momma Turkey is herding a big family of babies up and down the trails and roads, out of the jungle of grass. Baby turkeys are fluffy and awkward, mother quite watchful. When she pauses and pecks, pickup off grass seed for lunch, her babies do the same.

Avocados and Oranges

Last spring was wet and rainy, and we see it with the current nonexistent avocado crop, but luckily there are oranges. If we ever get heat, the oranges will sweeten but for now they are ripe and juicy. We’ll have to wait for next year with the hope that this year’s avocado flowers get pollinated. Our 100(ish) avocado trees are growing rapidly right now. They are peculiar in that they make new leaves and shoots while shedding last year’s leaves…a kind of avocado fall. That transition leaves them vulnerable to sunburned stems; for this, we have been thankful for fog.

Fog, and Fog Lifting

Tall black burned tree trunks hazily emerge into view through the thick fog. Days upon days of fog prevalence make many scenes more mysterious. That eerie scene of black tree poles joins other fog-induced memories this past week: puffs of blowing dense fog hiding and then revealing drippy, dark groves of live oaks; awakening to a wall of silver cloud obscuring everything beyond the window ledge, and one evening’s approach of fog…suddenly pouring over the farm’s western ridge and down the hillsides towards the farm like a wave of terrifying suddenly-released floodwater. Each morning every spider web is illuminated by silver moisture, every leaf and blade adorned by shiny droplets.

Us Moist Critters

The dawn bird chorus is delayed and the songs fewer because all animals are made chilled and sleepy, enveloped in low clouds. The brush rabbits shake the wetness from their pelts between bouts of meandering nibbles. Extended families of quail wander slowly along roads to avoid vegetation soaking their feathers. In the absence of bird song, there is a more peaceful constant patter of dripping. Sweaters, jackets, and long pants are in order for spending time outside. The richly humid air makes breathing feel refreshing and helps accentuate late spring farm scents.

Peak Perfume

The transition between spring and summer is the season of peak perfume. Eight foot tall bolting poison hemlock emits its telltale dusty, bitter odor, which carries far in the fog-moist air. When the clouds lift and the day warms, sweeter, resinous scents are released from the sage, coyote brush, and fir. Fresh-cut-hay smell is omnipresent across the fields and down the roads as mowers constantly challenge the burgeoning grass. Warmer days bring surprising clouds of sweetness, begging for a pause to ponder the origins of scent: madrone, French broom, lilac or lupine could be the source, but maybe there’s something new to discover. I squint to the distance, upwind for patches of flowers, then shift my gaze closer to see if there are bunches of hidden flowers. There it is! – clusters of tiny poison oak blossoms sparkling with nectar and wafting notes of clove and citrus.

Fog recently drapes the ridges surrounding Molino Creek Farm

Drying

The drippy fog does little to keep the inevitable drydown at bay. Deep soil cracks split and widen. Dust cakes vehicles and brush along the roads. This is the first week that the farm must irrigate everything or the plants will wilt and begin to die. The solar well pump runs continuously and the diesel generator will start shortly to push greater volumes of water to the grapes and storage tanks. The summer pattern of orchard watering commences: zig-zagging across acres of trees, digging 8” deep into the soil to test moisture, adjusting irrigation strategies, turning valves, recording data, monitoring storage tanks, and communicating between many farmers to assure smooth operations. For now, cool days keep this work less hectic, but one eyes the forecast and makes plans for hotter spells.

Molino Creek Farm’s amazing onions, freshly planted and regularly irrigated

Snakes, a Month Late

April is normally snake month, but the cool, wet start of this season delayed the emergence of our slithery friends. Sylvie and her brother Isaac reported a surprising night time rubber boa, crossing the road despite the drippy fog. Smooth, fresh snake tracks cross the dusty roads, always wisely perpendicular. An irate hissing baby gopher snake lunged at my leather gloves from a patch of freshly pulled weeds. We are constantly surprised by scaled creatures jetting away from disrupting orchard management: a swift yellow-bellied racer snake, head held high, escaping…giant alligator lizards making for safer ground away from hoeing. Wherever we look there are oodles of lizards and snakes, an homage to organic tilth, the diversity of plants, and the wealth of prey that result from good land management the collective respect for nature found at Molino Creek Farm.