The Open Gate Farm On Camano Island, Washington

Dear Friends:

Good news can be hard to believe.  Tomorrow is February 1^st and according to the sign hanging on our fence by the road, we are re-opening!  The vacation was great but the return is greater.  We left, we saw, we returned changed forever, but not so much we are throwing the horse out with the saddle, so to speak.  And we return excited about our future together.

In honor of the month of love and hearts and red roses and promises of eternal affection, we are planning some special treats at the stand.  Stay tuned as we pull them from the oven and slide them into the case up in the little yellow house by the side of the road.

But now, here are a few of the first changes…

Cookie sales – all the proceeds from them during the month of February will go to our new friends at Agua de Vida (Water of Life) Orphanage in Ciudad Morelos, Mexico.  Come by and we’ll tell you the story.  “Cookies for Kids” – a way we all can help!

Cinnamon Rolls – the most lost day of our lives is the day we don’t get an Open Gate Farm Classic Cinnamon Roll.  Yes, folks, they will be back and at the same price.

Breads – we have toured some classy bakeries in our travels and are filled with more ideas than shelf space.  So be ready for some nutty breads, some forms and shapes not seen on the island ever before, and maybe even some new sweet breads!  Recipes are in beta testing so stand ready with your tables set.  Until then, our favorites will still be marching out there…White on Wednesdays, Oatmeal Molasses on Thursdays, Braided Challah on Fridays (and some whole wheat too), and Whole Wheat on Saturdays.  And yes, Virginia, there will be olive cheese boats on Saturdays too and special orders happily baked.

Once the growing season is going well, we are planning to open up our produce market on Saturdays to backyard gardeners in the Triangle Cove area…if you can see or smell the cove you’re probably qualified.  We are going to call it, “The Triangle Cove Farmer’s Market” and neighbors may be here with their specialities and fun.  No one is good at growing everything.  We struggle with potatoes for some reason.  But our friend up the street can grow them by the bushel, so Tim, bring on the spuds!  And don’t forget your raspberries!

We’ll start next week with the chart of what is available when, but now…it’s off to the kitchen to check on Maxine’s cookies.  Do we need to get more butter?  They’ll be out there tomorrow!

Good news can be hard to believe.  Take our poultry for example.  The fence around the big garden has been pulled open for three weeks and only now do we see them in there gobbling slugs and cleaning up pest nests.  We saw footprints of an occasional foray taken into what they thought was forbidden land when they knew we were not home.  But this morning at last they are starting in one corner and working their way through it all.  Ben, the red rooster, tells us they hope to be done in about 2 weeks.  That’s good news because that is when we need to close the fence and start transplanting the lettuce we seeded in the hotbeds back in the middle of November.

It is odd how news is always about change.  There is the good news of a raise or the bad news of a job loss.  We’ve all known people who are news junkies, up on the latest implication which a hangnail in Havana has for us.  They feed upon change.  So long as it is in the lives of others.  The change they cherish in others is what gives meaning and direction to their lives.  Isn’t it odd that they embrace changes in the lives of others without making any in their own?  It seems they grab onto the changes they see around the world as hard as they reject the smallest change in their own lives.

And yet, when we look at the world around us, “static” is a passing thought.  Permanence in this world appears an illusion.  Oh the mountains may last my lifetime but they do erode into the plains that feed us.  Leaves bud out, break the case, grow cell by complex cell, and eventually die and fall.  We too are born, we live, we die.  To say, “That’s life” really means, “That’s life and death.”  Death is the child of life and like the old song said about romance…”Love and marriage go together like a horse and carriage.  You can’t have one without the other.”

And now, in this February, the month of forever promises, we discover that which looks like a forever thing really is only temporary when we pull back to a longer perspective in time.  For some, to take the longer view is frightening, so we hug our TV’s close and cling to the moment and avoid our own mortality, lost in the stories of the short lives of others.  The pain of parting, of seeing the green leaves of our own lives become the brown of autumn to land on life’s forest floor is an experience we spend great effort to avoid.  And yet, it happens.

The chickens and ducks are loving their time in the big garden, digging where they’ve only dreamed of scratching for long months.  But soon, we who know more and limit the activities of their lives, we will reinstall the fence and these special friends will once again be reduced to racing for worms in the acre available to them.  It is for the better for the grand scheme of things around here.  However, for them it will be a tragedy to talk about in the shade of the grape vine when the hot sun bakes the soil and the worms head down deep, burrowing for China.

We know that we are not unlike the chickens and that for us in a larger plan than we can see now, we will someday be kept out of our gardens of delight where the digging is easy, the worms fat, and the slugs delicious.  We can dwell on that far away moment when the fence in our lives will go back up and our future is sadly changed.  Or we can, like the chickens and ducks, not worry about what we cannot control and instead celebrate with each other the great life we have here now; we can try synchronized scratching (team projects), group gobbling (potlucks), slug slurping (coffee and cookies around the kitchen tables), and realize that those memorable experiences in the moment, in the here and now, are what give the best meaning to life.  Fear of the future never brought a smile, a rose, a promise of forever love.  Fear does not bring healthy living.

So when someone comes at you with the latest book filled with dire predictions of destruction and disaster, let’s invite them into our gardens, into our lives and show them how we keep the future in its proper place by filling our lives now with joy.  The place of the future is in the future, not in the present. The future can gum up the now to the point we lose our perspective and sitting too close to the TV we can get poisoned by the breathless concerns of some newscaster over the liposuction and nail polish of the stars.  Let’s remember the real stars, the ones worth watching, are those who will join us in our now, in our present, in living together the lives of love we are capable of living.  And those you won’t find on any television or computer in the country.  Look up.  Look around.  Look with love in your eyes and you will see them clearly.

It can be summed up by suggesting we all eat slowly, eat well, eat together.  When we do, we will break a chain of fear, a fear of change.

Happy Hoeing,

Jon and Elaine, the ever changing farmers, Snickers the coat changing dog, Mystery the chair changing cat, Ben and his flock of unchained chickens, and the Parson Dudley Brown and his flock of change challenging ducks, all of whom live joyfully at The Open Gate Farm.

Dear Friends:

The chickens are chuckling.  Grandma Betty’s bunions got it right again.  Right as rain.  She called it…when would the snow stop and the rain start?  And the girls are solvent once more.

The ducks have been milling around the coop, cluttering the place up with their idleness, desperately tired and bored with the 10 inches of white snow that has been challenging them for days.  There is no sadder sight than a bored duck.  When we have gone to feed and water them morning and evenings, they would turn a sad face our way and with quiet quacks ask what did they do wrong to merit this snowstorm?  They promised to repent and be good if we would just make it go away so they could get some green grass in their gizzards and slugs in the stomachs once again.  “How long?” is not a question reserved to kids in the back seat of the car.

However a quick look from Ben the rooster and Grandma Betty, our huge hen, made us hold our peace.  They apparently had a plan.  Today we learned it worked.

Grandma Betty told the ducks she would bring back the rain and make the snow leave if they would bet her all their winnings from the pinochle games the ducks have been cheating at for the last year if she were right.  If she was wrong then the chickens would all dig up and give the ducks worms for a month.  All they could find.  The ducks looked at each other, at the sky in innocence, and said that was a no brainer because she was only a chicken while they are ducks and everyone knows ducks are smarter.  Witness their bank accounts.

So last night she had us witness the bet to keep the ducks honest and, sure as her bunions had told her, this morning rain began to fall.  Gently at first, but enough the ducks shot out of the coop into the yard, passing up cracked corn and dried bread crumbs.  Cheese was in the lead and we watched as she plodded across the soggy snow, carefully lifting each webbed foot high to clear the snow, creating a wake behind her like a snowplow.  She circled about 5 feet out and came back to report it was definitely lower.  So back into the run they went where the snow was shallower, poking their bills into the snow to discover they could finally reach the grass and get some green blades of salad.

Payoff is tonight.  We are to witness that as well.  It could be interesting to see the ducks sign over their winnings to the chickens.  The girls are talking about investing it in an orchard or vineyard of their own, so they can have the fruit without guilt.  It could put in quite a nice one. Or they could buy those snow shoes they’ve always wanted.

Meanwhile we are having a lovely vacation here at the farm.  It’s been a time with no pressures, a time to taste what retirement might be like some day, a time to sit and think and sometimes fall asleep doing so.  Sleep patterns are returning to healthy and bodies are healing after the crushing load of running 3 businesses…a produce farm, a bakery, and a nursery.  Taking off the month of January has let us visit family and friends and make new friends from here to Mexico.  Be careful if you ask about the orphanage!  It could trigger a long monologue!

There is, on the horizon, the dream of coming alongside the children in orphanages and teaching them how to raise food.  Our visit a few weeks back to Agua de Vida Orphanage in Ciudad Morelos, Mexico was to see if this is practical.  They live in a desert, have limited resources, and temperatures of 120 F in the summer.  But the answer we came home with is “Yes!”  This is not only doable.  It really needs to be done.

So now we begin the hard work of preparation.  By the way, here at The Open Gate Farm we choose a word for the year every year.  The word for 2012 is “Preparation”.  Last year it was, “Action!”  Probably got those backwards, should have prepared and then done it…but anyhow now we are going to spend spare time preparing to go down there next January and spend a month putting in a garden and teaching the tads to handle a hoe.

It is hard though.  As we work at preparing for the season here, as we lay in the supplies of flour and sugar and yeast and seeds and manure and pots and plants, our minds keep drifting back to the sunny smiles of the small people who are waiting.  Like the ducks, they are waiting for the snow in their lives to melt so they can enjoy the fruits of the soil.

Stay tuned.  While we make plans to “drain the swamp”, we know there are alligators down there needing attention.  We’ll keep you posted.  This is going to be one of the most interesting years of our lives we think.  So far.

Happy Hoeing,

Jon and Elaine, the relaxing farmers, Snickers the snowy dog, Mystery the fireplace hugging cat, Ben and his flock of wealthy hens, and the good Parson Dudley Brown and his flock of fleeced ducks, all of whom live joyfully at The Open Gate Farm.

PS  You can see the orphanage at www.aguadevidaorphanage.org if you like!

Dear Friends:

The other day we drove for miles on a flat, straight road.  Orange groves filled with ripe fruit hanging like bright Christmas balls from their trees lined our travels.  Vineyards with huge bunches of ripe blue grapes drooping, waiting for the harvest flew past.  Surrounded by tidy farms, with clear sunlight overhead and a full tank of gas in the car, life seemed perfect.

But suddenly we saw the bird.  Small, brown, it flew from an orange tree across the road to a small field of alfalfa and we knew the problem immediately.  In 30 miles, it was the first bird we had seen.  And that meant these were not organic fields full of life and fecund soil but rather they were fields full of death by design.  If the farmer felt it got in the way of maximum profit, it was killed.  No grass to hold the soil in and prevent erosion.  No birds to eat the insects and fertilize the ground with their droppings.  No insects to process the biomass that could fall from the trees and turn it into food for those same trees.  And the fruit hung there, perfect as the display at the grocery, ready to be picked by men who should be wearing face masks and gloves for protection from chemicals that kill.

We were glad to leave that behind us as we headed up into the foothills to see where a grandparent once lived, where one of our families came from and which then spread out across America.  But it made us realize the price of perfection.  Folks, perfection leads to death.  Death of many things.  Death of small lives, death of hopes, death of growth, death of the soil we need to survive.  The price of perfection is death to everything else but a product.

We want a perfect world.  We want a world where our ducks are all in a row and marching towards the bank with money in their beaks.  But have you ever seen our ducks?  They wander around the yard, sticking their beaks into the lawn or sipping at a puddle of water.  They drop a feather here and an occasional egg over there.  They yell at us for more water in their pool.  They hang out by the fence and hint they would like some lettuce, even that imperfect stuff.  You know.  The bolted ones.  The ones too bitter for us humans to eat.

We want a perfect world.  We want a world where the rows of beets are straight and the carrots line up for an easy harvest.  We want the lettuce to all be the same size so we don’t have to pick and choose over the whole bed to harvest a cartload for the stand.   But while an attorney can appeal their mistakes and a doctor bury theirs, when we don’t sow the seeds straight our error will stand out for months and months and visitors will know we’re not perfect.  Horrors!

We want a perfect world where our relationships all go smoothly and we all love one another.  Where forgiveness and gentleness are the norm, not the exception.  Where our acts of kindness ripple out and never hit the rocky shore of self-centered response.  Where children never cry and adults never need be bossy.  Where ideals are reality and hope is hardly needed since life is so good.  But have we pleased every person who has come to the stand or wandered our grounds?  Have we found the perfect path to a peaceful life?  Have we always been so happy?  No.  It’s a good life, in fact ours is a blessed and great life.  But it’s not perfect.

Sometimes it seems in the search for perfection we become like those California farmers.  We spread emotional and relational insecticides and pesticides on those around us as we try to make them perfect, as we try to grow perfect children or become perfect parents or grandparents.  We leave the ground of our being sterile and devoid of life.  We leave the lives of those we meet unable to sustain life, unable to sustain love, unable to be around us and so, like that little brown bird in the orange grove, they leave.  And we stand in the sunlight, thinking we are content in our sterility, content with our perfect fruit, not realizing all we are missing.

So as we rolled along past the perfect oranges and grapes, as we sped down that particular highway of life, we realized how much we missed real life, real fields and orchards where birds may taste an occasional apple but only to wash down the bugs they’ve bagged.  Where grass grows and insects eat it and worms turn decaying matter into soil filled with minerals and health for the plants.  And where the plants so fed are then able to share their abundance with us in the form of culturally imperfect but divinely perfect food.  We missed our family and friends and all the confusion and joy they bring into our lives.  And while this journey, this vacation will be fun, it will also be fun to get home and reconnect with all those we know and love.

Though our relationships will not be perfect, we realized how much we prefer to be a part of a community.  Oh there is pain and struggle in community, but it is as we talk and think and change ourselves a bit we become engaged in life giving activities.  We become part of the soil that feeds the trees that feeds the people.

It may be a few things in your world are not perfect.  Maybe a relationship or two is a bit bumpy.  But would you really prefer a sterile, perfect life?  Not us!  We’ll take the life that leads out of that valley of the shadow of death, the valley full of chemical laden orange groves and herbicide laden grapes, into the foothills of life where our lives can be fully lived with the web of love around us.  We’ll take the path of life that leads to a water hose to fill a duck pond where some imperfect friends are gathered and ready for a bath.   Perhaps you will too.  But pay attention.  The water may overflow if we get distracted by a little brown bird and the pond will overflow.  But if it does, that will be o.k.  It won’t kill anything.

Happy Hoeing,