With Whispers: Talking Scythes

Thursday, January 28, 2010

Small patches of sunlight intersperse a field of snow and balsam tree shadows below my office window. 14 mourning doves quietly peck cracked corn and eat millet from beneath the platform feeder. A lone red squirrel offers personal neglect for raptors as it runs across the meadow by the John Deere tractor. The squirrel is carrying--borrowing--stealing yet another cone from a bucket of Norwegian Fir cones that Gail left by the back door.

January is fleeting but the next couple evenings will be reminder to what typical Vermont winter nights can offer. Tonight we expect zero readings but tomorrow night the fire will have to work a tad harder in the wood stove as temperatures will be in the minus numbers.

January is the month when the Vermont Farm Show arrives for a midweek display in Barre, Vermont. I have been just about every year since we moved here in 1989. I work with small businesses and sometimes with farmers in my real world job so the show is a time to see lots of new ideas in a few hours. This year the old time farmers are more absent and if one hadn't bumped into me as his cane went thumping to the floor, I might have completed my first ever year without a good "farmer" discussion.

As I toured the show, back and forth, up and down the aisles, trying to squeeze into what displays I wanted to see, I came upon Carol Bryan and Richard Scott and their display for Carol's business, Scythe Supply. They are from Perry, Maine which is a town about as far north in the US as you can get. It's past Lubec and Eastport and I imagine it shakes hands with Canadian friends every day.

Bear with me a minute. When my dad moved us to Vermont in the early 50's he was intent on being some kind of farmer. Made no sense to the rest of us but as time went on, we had opportunity to see what old time farming was all about. Dad was 6 feet 6 inches tall before he started to shrink and he seemed to enjoy cutting hay for the goats and cows with a scythe he found hanging in the barn when we arrived. It was at that early age that I learned the words scythe and snath and began to assimilate the rhythm of swinging a scythe and hand mowing grasses.

As some of you know, I enjoy the poetry of Robert Frost and I maintain a few of his books in my library as well as a hosta in my garden named after him by his good friends and neighbors, the Lachmans, in 1988. Frost wrote a poem entitled Mowing in 1913, and he used the sounds conjured by swinging a scythe as he explained to readers that work is not a bad thing. I really like what Frost wrote and I like scythes too.....and I'm not afraid of work.

So I came upon Carol at the Vermont Farm Show and was immediately impressed by her as a fine business woman and by the products she sells. That's why I invite you to check out her website, and if you need a scythe, give her a call or visit her website.

Carol told me about The Scythe Book and I'll leave it to you to check out what's behind it by reading about it on her site Scythe Supply. It represents many old books that should be brought back for the latest generation to learn by.


Carol has a relationship with an Austrian manufacturer who does a fine job making blades for her scythes. She offers two snath types and about ten blades made especially for cutting grass, mowing ditches or cutting bushes. The blades are for right or left handed mowers and this is important when ordering or using.


I liked the European design on the snaths because the handles make it much easy to grip and exert pressure. Sorry the picture of the handles isn't bettter but you'll get the idea. These are quite different than the American scythe I trained on where the handles needed tightening and and always needed repositioning after dad finished and before I started with the same piece.

Carol is a small business person just like Gail and me. It's tough work and there are days when you keep asking Why? But when you have a fine product and you are rewarded by the compliments others share, you keep moving on. If I think about it for a minute, I can almost hear the whisper of the scythe in Frost's Mowing. Maybe you can to. If you didn't make the farm show, get over to http://scythesupply.com and see the full selection. There's a lot of learn about a tool from the past that continues today....especially when it whispers to you!

Writing from the mountain above Peacham Pond where winter garden thoughts always include good gardening friends.

George Africa
The Vermont Gardener
Vermont Flower Farm

Fall Leaves Leave

Tuesday, October 13, 2009

Returned home from Burlington this afternoon to find Karl the Wonder Dog laying on a pile of "clean" laundry. Note on the counter simply said "Alex to art at Cutler". The new wood stove had not been touched since last night although the soapstone still had some warmth left. It was quiet.

As I looked though the mail laying on the table, Karl came into the kitchen and gave me a nudge suggesting he wanted to do what I was doing; really I just wanted to sit still for a while and not move. He put two paws on my knees and leaned forward with a kiss. I could have questioned his affection as there was no one else there to kiss but I know better--the dog really does love me. "But why?" Gail often asks.

In a couple minutes I was looking more like a Carhartt ad than a regular me but Karl didn't mind and away we went for a walk along the woods trail. Last night's snow was still heavy in places and the leaves that remained on the maples could be heard drip-drip-dripping from heavily bent limbs. It was calm as we made a circle with Karl's sniffer being our guide.

We crossed the road and walked through the maple border and looked off towards Hooker Mountain. Fog swirled around the peak. It came to me that I never made it up there this summer and had I climbed even a couple days ago I could have taken some beautiful shots of Peacham Pond and Groton Forest. More "could'uves". When we first moved here in 1989, you could hear bears talking up there on Hooker but in recent years they have moved closer to humanville around the roads and ponds where houses offer easy pickin's to chow down on. It's still a very nice mountain.


Karl pulled me into the field and as we looked west, the valley reminded me of previous flashbacks about life 200 years ago traveling the valley with horses and buggies. It's a great view!

The edge of the pasture was blanketed with spent leaves from the sugar bush. They fanned out into the pasture but as we retreated into the woods, the leaves piled thicker and the walk, even
with the snow, became quieter.

We stopped for a bit as Karl smelled something. I enjoyed the mountain views and then noticed a row of marigolds and then a row of ......pulmonarias???? I was standing in my neighbor's garden except that I didn't see it, didn't know about it before. I hadn't been there since spring and it wasn't there back then. I pulled Karl in the direction of fewer leaves until we were safely out of the garden. Our tracks were obvious. It made me think of a Robert Frost poem.

A Leaf-Treader.

I have been treading on leaves all day until I am autumn-
tired.
God knows all the color and form of leaves I have trodden
on and mired.
Perhaps I have put forth too much strength and been too
fierce from fear.
I have safely trodden underfoot the leaves of another year.

All summer long they were overhead, more lifted up than I.
To come to their final place on earth they had to pass me by.
All summer long I thought I heard them threatening under
their breath.
And when they came it seemed with a will to carry me with
them to death.

They spoke to the fugitive in my heart as if it were leaf to
leaf.
They tapped at my eyelids and touched my lips with an
invitation to grief.
But it was no reason I had to go because they had to go.
Now up, my knee, to keep on top of another year of snow.



Writing from the mountain above Peacham Pond where Gail just returned from a neighbors. She delivered a carrot cake and two bushels of Norwegian Fir cones for a birthday present. Our neighbor will soon be making Christmas wreaths and the cones are like gold. For Gail, it was just a neighborly way to say Happy Birthday and thanks for being next door.


As for me, I think I am autumn- tired.

Night!

George Africa
The Vermont Gardener
Vermont Flower Farm

Future Fences

January 1, 2009

Just after 4 PM and the wind has finally begun to tire. The Christmas wreaths on the west side of the house have finally stopped pounding the clapboards and the damper on the Vermont Castings stove has calmed its clink-clink-clink. The damper is tickled by chimney downdrafts that started yesterday as high pressure advanced here. This morning's -12 degrees was really three times as cold with winds above 25 mph. This morning, Karl the Wonder Dog set a world record for the least time outside in 2009, and I came in second.

Almost a month ago now we received a letter in the mail. It was postmarked from New Jersey and was a letter of introduction from Bob. He and his wife had just purchased a piece of land adjacent to ours and he was writing to let us know who he was and what their plans were. It was a friendly letter and not something you would expect any more. It was the kind of letter that Gail and I might write.

For some reason, Bob's letter triggered my fondness for Robert Frost poetry and my mind caught on the line from Mending Wall that I like "Good fences make good neighbors." This whole fence thing has always bothered me because our world has always had so many fences, literal and figurative fences, maybe too many fences, maybe not enough fences.

I have always liked looking at fences, especially when they are constructed of stone. I'm not alone in my favor. In New England each town still has a "fence viewer" position that is voted on at town meeting. I guess I haven't made it known that I like fences as I've never been considered for the position here in Marshfield. Any ho-o-o-w........


I spent earlier years with an old farmer named Warner who liked straight fences. To me at age six, a fence that kept the cows and horses in the pasture was a good fence but to him a fence should be straight and the wires should be taut . Frost's review and mine were more pragmatic. He asked: "Before I built a wall I'd ask to know what I was walling in or walling out, and to whom I was like to give offense." As a kid, keeping in animals was the concern, not keeping out neighbors, who I assumed were just that....neighborly.



Times have changed and I almost think there are fewer "good fences" than there used to be. It need not be that way but it is. The actual fence is a structural relationship with the people who live on either side. The "good fence" part doesn't necessarily mean that it's structural like Warner the farmer intended, but more that people have an understanding of each other and a respect for what each is doing. When expectations are clear, the fence serves better.



As we begin a new year, I hope all good gardeners will make like New England fence viewers and inspect their fences. Begin with the structural fences if you have them and insure they meet their intended purpose. Sometimes a coat of paint, the color of the paint on the fence you do not "see", a new strand of wire, a new board, three new nails, make all the difference. Then inspect the personal part of "good fences". If you don't know your neighbor yet, go meet them. If you know them but haven't seen them in a while, say hello. If you don't know what you're walling in or walling out, have that discussion. You might be surprised! The fences we build and maintain today are often carried on for generations. It's those good fences that really make good neighbors!


Writing from the mountain above Peacham Pond where Gail undecorated the tree and Alex and I just pulled it outside. 9 feet of new bird feeder for the balance of the winter.

Happy New Year To All!

George Africa
The Vermont Gardener
Vermont Gardens
Vermont Flower Farm

November Chill

Saturday, November 3, 2007

I woke early this morning after hoping for over an hour that the arthritis in my right hip would fade. It didn't, so I got up and began my Saturday ritual. The house had cooled off last night as the fire in the Vermont Castings Vigilant wood stove was less than vigilant through the wee hours. Two trips to the wood pile, crumpled newspaper and two matches later things have begun to come around.

It was 23 degrees last night, absent of wind, with skies dotted with clouds and stars. The hurricane off the East coast may change things today. This morning things are calm and no amount of coaxing got Karl the wonder dog to think about joining me for a quick walk. I went down the road and into the lower hosta garden where the wooden bench was solitary reminder to the crowds who visited that garden this summer. I was embarrassed by the presentation this year with weeds and a multitude of maple seedlings everywhere but there was little I could do. My energy was diverted to a new piece of property and brighter beginnings for next spring.

The leaves of the birches, poplars and beeches hold firm and offer color. My eyes glanced towards the corner of the foundation wall where 'Hadspen Blue' Tokudama flavocircinalis', nigrescens and 'Striptease' hostas usually provide color. The wall was strong and firm but the colored plantings lay flat from several hard frosts. It's a nice granite wall and it looks fine to me at any time of year. If Robert Frost could join me, I'm sure he'd have some words to share. Gail just gave me a copy of a compilation of his works dating from 1916--more winter's work--perhaps I can find some words about foundations.


I wandered towards the standing stones which have reminded several visitors of the Seven Sisters. They are still just nice stones to me and I have encircled them with epimediums which have really grown this past season. This is a flower which will continue to gain popularity and probably price. It's still worth the expense. You should consider it in your garden if you haven't yet.


The deer have topped off about every hosta but for some reason have left Summer Music, Daybreak, City Lights and August Moon. Some nice seed pods remain on some sports of Summer Music which came in a tray of tissue cultured plants a couple years back. Obviously the person doing the culling wasn't perceptive enough that day. Actually I'm pleased with the find as these are big plants, rapid growers and I think they have some potential. I may name them 'Off Key' at some point in the future. Time always permits lots of fun thoughts but fewer completions.




As I headed up the back path to the house, the blue jays began scolding me for not filling the feeder yet. All that remained was a block of suet, enclosed in an onion sack and tied to the flat of the platform feeder. The ravens, Vermont's stealth bombers of the woods and fields, coast in and try to grab the suet but so far it has held firm and provided caloric warmth for our smaller feathered buddies.

It will be a cold morning but I have more leaves to rake, more wood to cut.


From the mountain above Peacham Pond where early morning car traffic results from Youth Day when young hunters get a crack at deer before the competition of the regular season. Some parents have forgotten the fact that good hunting starts when you get out of the truck or car.


Fall gardening encouragement,

George Africa
http://vermontflowerfarm.com
http://vermontgardens.blogspot.com