Apple Blossoms on the old trees...

Up close, pink centers and fresh, sweet fragrance of spring...

A bumper crop this year!

The sixty year old apple trees got hit hard last November with an early snow and lost some limbs.

There was some discussion–should we save them? Absolutely, was my response.

They’ve proven their strength by producing MORE apple blossoms than the newer trees!

blueberries, strawberries, raspberries and one rhubarb planted, weeded and mulched

Warm day so worked with Ralph to clean up the berry patch, adding 2 new blueberries and 13 new strawberry plants.  Also planted a rhubarb, really funny looking thing.  Will get one more, I think because Landon loves rhubarb.

Found the remains of the chicken that got taken when we were in Utah.  A clean job—whatever ate it was really hungry.  That’s nature.  It took the weakest of the flock, guess that is survival of the fittest and I’m grateful for that.

Planted a few sweet peas along the fence.

The lettuce and greens patch, survived winter and should perk up with the warmer weather.

Winter Sunset behind oak tree

Going out to close in the chickens and turned to see a rich sunset painted all over the sky.

By the time I got into the house to get my camera, it had faded far to the west, behind the giant oak on the deck.

But still breathtaking.

Crisp apples at the farm

I never really planned on becoming an apple farmer. But thirteen years ago, I bought a rundown eight-acre organic apple farm in the Sierra foothills.

I had lived next door to the farm and had admired it for years-how the apple trees would change with the seasons.  Bulging with bright red and green apples in the fall, stark and bare against the winter snow.  And then glorious and abundant with pink and white blossoms in the spring.

I got to know the elderly couple that owned the farm, Willi and Maria.  They were in their 90’s and had lived there for over 50 years, planted all the trees and tended the huge organic garden.

They reminded me of my Scandinavian grandparents, who were also farmers.  I felt like I was visiting family when I’d stop by and admire all their work and the wonder of the beauty and bounty that the farm provided.  They’d send me home with a box bulging with their harvest, bright juicy tomatoes, sweet corn, crisp apples.

Then Willi and Maria died, and there was a rumor that a developer was trying to buy the farm.

I was almost as astounded as my friends and family when I stepped forward and declared:  “I want to buy this farm and carry on their legacy.”  I did and the rest, as they say, is history.

A rich history, full of blood, sweat and tears, but looking back, I can’t imagine my life any other way.

That first summer, I fluctuated between awe at my good fortune and terror that I was going to ruin it all from my ignorance.  I studied and read and called every farm consultant in the county to get help.  That first fall, I harvested a bazillion small wormy apples.  I made a lot of applesauce, apple butter and apple pies.

Since then, I’ve learned the nuances of pruning, watering and caring for organic apple trees.  I’ve discovered that it is safer to climb the trees than to trust ladders.

I’ve also broken an irrigation pipe while riding my mower in tall grass, creating a fountain of water 20 feet high.  After racing to turn off the water, hunting down a rusty wrench from a shed and unscrewing the broken pipe, I hauled it into the hardware store and, covered in mud and sweat, pronounced:  “I need one of these.”  New pipe in hand, I went back, screwed it on, turned the water back on and rejoiced in my triumph.  No more fountain.

I grow a large organic vegetable garden, filled with luscious, juicy tomatoes, beans, melons, corn and too many zucchini.  I send friends home with boxes full of our abundant crops.

Eight plump hens lay large brown eggs each day, still warm when I gather them, with a soft down feather stuck to them sometimes.

My apples taste crisp, fresh and delicious, though the worms and I are still battling it out.

I don’t belong to a gym—lifting 50 pound bags of chicken feed, raking, dragging hoses around, digging and reaching—all the movements mimicked by gym machinery, I do on a daily basis, outside in the fresh air.

I’ve learned the humbling reality that Mother Nature rules, when one night of a late spring frost can kill a whole year’s crop of fruit.  I have to scrub hard to get the dirt out from under my fingernails to go out in normal society.

What I could not have known is how much I love it all.

There’s the satisfaction of having a first hand relationship with growing food—choosing the seeds, laying out the garden, preparing the soil, watering and watching the tiny shoots emerge.

Then the wonder as a patch of rich, brown dirt turns into corn, beans, melons, tomatoes, lettuce, carrots, potatoes, beets and too many zucchini.

It’s more than the thrill of how the fresh food tastes. I have a relationship with this land now that is as real as the ones I have with my friends and family.  I feel a responsibility for the care and welfare of the small piece of earth that I have had the good fortune to own for just a little while.

The fresh food I grow nourishes more than my body.  Living close to nature feeds my soul.

Watching the seasons turn and an apple blossom turn into a crisp, tart apple.

And at the end of the day, it’s magic.

Pure magic.

Pair of Wild Geese visit Willow Valley Farm

So it felt like a ‘love blessing’ to have a pair land at my farm last week.  I snapped a few photos of them—they let me get very close, before they flapped their enormous wings, called out their throaty cry and flew away.

I was so hoping they would come back and today there they were again, in the same spot in the orchard as last week.  I tried to give them some bird food and again they let me get close, but they were more interested in all the bugs in the grass.  We had rain, snow and hail yesterday and a hard freeze last night, but it all melted off today.

Not sure what will happen with the apple trees after the freeze.  That can really kill the blossoms and a whole crop can disappear in one night like last night.  I’m hoping some of the blossoms were already pollinated and will be okay.  We will have to see in a few weeks if any tiny apples are forming where the blossoms were.

I especially love the poem of Mary Oliver called ‘Wild Geese’ which begins with the wonderful line ‘You do not have to be good’.  So here it is.  Enjoy and pray for apples!

Wild Geese
Poem by Mary Oliver

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again,
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination.
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting-
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

I have never called the fire department, but when I saw flames up my chimney and my rock wall in front of the fireplace started crackling and popping, I was afraid I’d burn the house down on the coldest day of the year.  They pulled up in a few minutes, 3 trucks and men streaming out in all directions, checking out the problem and calming me down.  It all turned out fine and gave me a real appreciation for where our tax dollars go.

Sunny day with a bright blue sky against the white snow on the trees.  Chickens still hate the snow.  Their water was frozen this morning inside the coop, so I’m grateful they weren’t frozen too.  Guess those downy feathers do a lot of good keeping them cozy. They won’t budge out of the coop and their small run and I now have a new sense of what the term ‘cooped up’ means and where it came from.  They also don’t like to lay eggs when it is too cold–only 3 today.

Three fireman make sure my chimney fire wasn't going to burn down the house

a few apples left on the tree, in the snow

Sunset over the snowy orchard

I grew up in Southern California and in the 19 years I’ve lived here in the foothills, I never get over the marvel of the changing seasons.  We just finished harvesting, sharing and selling apples and figs and putting the garden to rest for the long winter.  Now the trees are covered in white cloaks, their trunks stark gray and bare in contrast.  It looks like Christmas and I’m amazed and grateful.  Now if the pipes can just not freeze tonight when it’s supposed to get down to 19 degrees…

The chickens are not sure what to make of the fluffy white stuff...

the apple orchard wearing her white winter cloak

winter has arrived

perfect!

The crisp days and nights made for bright fall leaves. Color at every turn on the farm.

I never get over the wonder of the seasons, reminding me to slow down and notice the subtle changes day by day.

My daughter Heather and Grandson Hunter discover the chickens

My grand nephew Dylan (age 3) thinks apple picking is fun!

apples ready to be picked