In the past 18 months, we have only posted 20 times on this blog. In context, there are 177 total posts, which means we have been very quiet. There are some reasons. For starters, we found out in January 2012 that we would be moving from the Bennington farm because our lease was not being renewed. At the end of July, we made the public announcement in a post, Moving the Farm. In between, we tried desperately to find a new location and funding, and that took up a lot of mental space. In October, we made the move back into Omaha and immediately started building out our urban farm. Then, in November, Molly died.

There were a lot of things happening, but that is no excuse. While on the farm, we wrote plenty of articles, took beautiful photographs, and lived a busy life. The truth is I didn’t know what to say. With so much uncertainty and transition, I gave up talking about the farm because I was afraid that we didn’t have a future.

Well, we do.

Black Sheep Farms is an urban farm. We help people learn how to grow plants, how to start their own farms, how to keep chickens in the city, and how to live life closer to the earth. We grow food. And flowers. We consult. We write. We have a new dog.

Say hello to Peach.

Our life is different than it was on the big farm. I needed to come to terms that it is as important and as valid. This last year was a mourning period for me. I let things slip away. I stopped showing our journey and helping people find the joy in their own discoveries.

No matter where we live, Kelly and I can always have Black Sheep Farms. I am ready to share it with you again.

Love, Brian

I thought we would share our first bouquet of the season. Enjoy.
-Brian

It may surprise you to hear this, but one of my most valuable gardening tools is my paper shredder. Yup, a good ol’ paper shredder that everyone has to shred their sensitive documents. How is that a gardening tool you ask? Well, from the shredder comes valuable material that can be used several different ways in the garden.

The two ways I use it most are for adding dry, or brown, materials to the compost pile and for worm bedding. I keep several worm bins going at a time, so I need lots of bedding. In addition to sensitive documents, I shred old school papers, newsprint or any other old papers I have lying around (and I usually have PLENTY).

After a few short weeks, the paper bedding is broken down and the worms are ready for a new bed. How is that for protecting your identity?

*Sometimes I forget to take the plastic windows off envelopes before I shred them and I find them later like this:  It is a pain to dig through and find those pieces, so do remember to pull those off!

Today, Kelly snapped a photo of the snow on our raised beds. Enjoy!

As we prepare to leave the Bennington farm, we are busy making lists. There are things to do, calls to make, and people to see. But, the lists that are most poignant are the things we will miss and the things we won’t.

Miss: the privacy, the brightness of the stars, the sense of space, watching Molly run full speed, the bird opera, the late night echoey owl hoots, the endless stimulation for our young Nature Scientist, our guests and visitors, and the direct relationship with the seasons.

Won’t miss: the gravel dust, skunk season, watching for deer on the highway, the long drives into town, acres of weeds constantly challenging us, forgetting to turn off the water hydrant, and managing a house without central air conditioning.

Of course, the lists go on. I am sure that the coming months will remind us often of these past years. Moving to Omaha and urbanizing our farm will be a huge adjustment and opportunity, and we are ready for what lies ahead.

After five seasons, we are losing our lease on the farm.

We knew we weren’t going to live here forever, but we thought that we would move when we bought a farm of our own. In January, our landlord told us that he wasn’t renewing our contract at the end of the season. We have spent the last six months trying to make arrangements, but it just didn’t work. Omaha has swallowed up its surrounding farming communities, and development has inflated the price of land. For all the farmland surrounding the city, very little is appropriate for a small farm.

This has been an incredibly difficult experience. Farming is an integral part of our lives, and it hurts to have a change forced on us. Our financial standing just doesn’t allow us to buy a property now.

After this growing season, our family will return to our former home in Omaha.

We’re not quitting. Black Sheep Farms will continue to exist in a much different form. We’re not sure what that looks like yet, but we are determined to farm, no matter how much land we have. Our little lot of 0.17 acres will feed us, provide us with beauty, and make us be more resourceful with our space. It will still be our farm.

We are grateful to everyone who had a hand in our success. Thank you to all of our customers. Thank you to all of our friends and family. Thank you to everyone who helped give a little bit of reality to our dreams. It takes many people to support a farm, and we feel honored that you support us.

America’s small farms face many challenges. Our story is part of that. We were inspired to start by our friend, Victor, who told us, “Farming is a great life.” He gave us the push that we needed to realize that we could make this happen. No experience. No land. Just a desire to produce something for our community and ourselves.

Since we started, we have truly learned to work. We have learned how to figure things out for ourselves, how to cope with adversity, and how to admire Nature for all that it is. We are a part of this system, and it gives more than it takes. Every time our youngest son reminds us that he is a Nature Scientist, I know that we made the right move. Growing up on the farm has given him the opportunity to pursue his passions firsthand. He may not clean up after himself very well, but he knows how to plant flowers, how to catch toads, and where the chickens hide their eggs.

So our move is a boomerang. We are returning to the place we started our life as a family. As soon as we can afford a farm, we will move again. And grow.

This is how food gets to your plate.

Kelly texts me that we have cucumbers ready. She discovered them while checking for cucumber beetles. I text Clayton at The Grey Plume. Does he want them? “Yes! Absolutely!” Tonight, we will harvest them, and they will likely be on the menu tomorrow night, less than 24 hours old. Maybe he’ll pickle them instead.

But let me rephrase something. This is how food should get to your plate. Most cucumbers are grown in a heated greenhouse in Canada or Texas or California and shipped to a distribution center before they are shipped to your grocery store. They travel more than you do.

Seasonal eating means that we will have FRESH cucumbers today, not January. But, we can truly enjoy their cucumbery goodness for what they represent. Plants tended by people you can see, nurtured by the rain, and finished by the scorching heat of summer. We can’t expect food like this all year, but it reminds us of our connection to the planet, both immediate and long-term.

Our farm doesn’t run on any schedule but its own. When we prepare for our Saturday CSA delivery on Tuesday and Wednesday, we check the fields for ripening and maturing plants. Kelly inspects the plans and discovers newly developed things like peas, raspberries, mulberries. We let everyone know about the delicious, sweet new fruits and vegetables they are going to receive.

Then, they ripen on the following Monday or Tuesday. Instead of being ready on Friday when we harvest, the plants take their own, precious time. I guess the anticipation is part of the game.

My first act as a gardener involved murder.  Thirteen years ago, Brian and I purchased our first home in Benson, one month before having our first son.  It was torture moving into our very own place, and being so hugely pregnant, I was unable to take part in any renovations.  I had never had a garden before, but I was so eager to create one.  Forget planning and prepping, I was ready to buy and plant!  When we moved in, there was a huge peony bush right next to the driveway.  I hated it.  In my mind, peonies were “grandma” flowers, and when I saw the ants, I was convinced that this thing HAD to go.  I’m not sure what I was thinking; I mean, peonies are gorgeous!  (I blame pregnancy hormones.) I’m not the type to be patient and wait until I can actually see my feet before I jump into digging up a giant bush.  Nope, those buds would not open in my yard if I had anything to say about it.  So, I did what any other very pregnant and slightly unreasonable girl would do and begged my husband to please dig it up.  Being the great guy he is, he pulled it from the ground and we promptly threw it away.  Can you believe that?  No freecycle, no craigslist, no asking the neighbors if they would like to give it a home.  Heck, we didn’t even compost it; we chucked it in the garbage can.  I still shudder when I think of how wasteful we were back then.

Over the years, we’ve evolved quite a bit in our gardening ways.  When we moved to this farm, there were two peonies in an overgrown area surrounded by stinging nettle.  I could have mowed them down.  I didn’t.  I braved the nettle and dug them up, dividing them and moving them to a better location.  Then a friend of mine offered me even more plants from her garden.  I was delighted when she showed up with 10 or more beautiful bushes.

This year, all of my peonies bloomed into incredible shades of magenta, white and pale pink.

I made sure to send some to my sister, who appreciated peonies long before I ever did, then I placed them all over my house. I smile every time I walk by the bouquets in my house.  They are an exquisite reminder of just how far I’ve come.