I want to begin by making one thing clear: I want this terrible pandemic over. I feel sorry for those whose lives and livelihoods have been hurting. No snark forthcoming. It will be a blessing to us all to have a vaccine widely available.
This post will discuss, briefly, my enjoyment in solitary pursuits, and give some tips about field management from a decidedly novice point of view.
In the relative silence of these months, I realized that I do not miss the pre-pandemic world; even my desire to eat an artisanal meal at a locally owned restaurant has been blunted. Part of my feelings are old habits of solitude, as compared to the more social people I know. As I get older, other people seem to wear me out with their constant neediness and lack of resilience in the face of adversity.
My wife and I have been inordinately blessed to have farm work, and lots of it, to keep us occupied and outdoors during the pandemic. We built two structures, improved our raised beds in the garden, expanded the dog run and chicken run, laid in a winter's worth of firewood, and more. Next up, replacing an elderly tractor's wiring harness and working a young livestock dog into our pack of pups, to watch the perimeter.
One huge project, that I've only noted in passing because other projects leave me little time to post more here, involves cultivating six acres of ten across the road from us that belong to my wife's brother. It's a former farm field where dad, aka Big Ed, used to grow tobacco, then soybeans. It went to weeds and saplings years ago, getting only an occasional bush hogging. Over time any ground-nesting birds vanished because fescue (shame on you, Blogger, for not recognizing that word) crept in and it mats too thickly to permit nesting.
My wife's family wanted to hear whippoorwills again and attract coveys of quail. To that end, I've spend about 80 hours in the past two years running heavy machinery and smoking cigars from the tractor seat (okay, about 4 hours of smoking, I'd estimate). The rhythm of the work is really satisfying in a Marie-Kondo sort of way.
Last year, a landscape biologist from our Extension Agency walked the property and gave us lots of advice, mostly good. I say "mostly" because even the "organic" method of controlling fescue would still involve several thousand dollars for spraying Roundup or similar around the perimeter. That is a DIY cost, mind you, which meant buying a tank and sprayer, too, in order to block fescue creeping in and to leave an ATV/tractor road at the edge.
The non-organic method involves spraying the entire field. This would kill all the pollinators, including our honeybees.
"No. Hell no," was my response. "I want that crap banned." That's usually my reply to folks who advocate spraying. Granted, the little bottle of Roundup concentrate I apply with a paint brush to Tree of Paradise is still dangerous, but it's hardly the hundred gallons or so we would need to spray a perimeter.
If we want our ecosystem to endure, we need to get beyond our species' suicidal habit of automatically reaching for dangerous chemicals. Period. So our management plan involved mowing the perimeter very short, then plowing, discing, and sowing the ground with plants that suppress weeds and build up the soil.
During the course of the hours on and off the tractors, I learned about managing for wildlife. The first principle involves contacting your extension agent and getting advice. We got a full management plan, free of charge.
Even if I don't agree with 10% of it, the other 90% is worth its weight in...wild birds. I also highly recommend, for those in my region at least, a PDF guide, Managing Land in the Piedmont of Virginia, authored by the American Bird Conservancy, Piedmont Environmental Council, and the Virginia Department of Game & Inland Fisheries. Check with your state agency to see what they may offer for your bioregion.
Beyond that:
- Think long-term: What are the goals for the property in 5, 10, 20 years? 100? I wished we thought more like that about all our land. But it's good to make a plan that can adapt to a drought, flood, or in these parts an actually cold winter. And farmers should make provisions for keeping the land in family hands and in production. That's another issue for another post.
- Know when and if to mow: We had to mow the fescue before tilling it under, to suppress what we did not want. Weeds were up to my shoulders and that meant mowing. Sadly, I had to do so at a time when fauns might be in the grass. I didn't see any, but I began from midfield and mowed outward, rather than starting from an edge; this let wildlife escape.
- Not everyone can burn a field: Controlled burns sound great! They mimic what happens in meadow ecosystems, naturally. But good luck finding a crew that wants to take on smaller fields. We were told that below 40 acres, you won't get many offers. So we chose the mow, till, plant method. And for the love of God, don't try a controlled burn if you've never done it. It's a job for pros.
- Don't make things worse by cultivating: Soil too wet? You will make a mud field and likely get the tractor stuck. I did that once in a low spot. Too dry? It's Grapes of Wrath time, with a mini Dustbowl of your own making on a windy day. I found that following my two-share plow with a disc harrow as soon as possible, then discing across the furrows really worked well. The second time I put down seed right after, and we had rain. The cover crop / green manure sprouted within a week.
- Plant right to improve the soil while attracting game: Ask the extension agent about a soil test if you are unsure. With our heavy clay soil, we opted for adding nitrogen and breaking up the clay. We planted about 700 pounds of seed in 2 plantings: buckwheat, Peredovik sunflower, and iron-clay peas (excellent in clay, as the name suggests) to suppress weeds, followed by a winter crop of rye. This all gets disced in the next year as a green manure, before replanting. The next spring, I had a tough time finding the peas so I went with buckwheat and the sunflowers. For this winter, I just cut the field but let the weeds and seeds persist, as I see very little fescue. Next year, I'll disc and sow selectively (1 strip disced 6' wide, skip 12', disc again) to begin attracting birds that require some bare spots of soil to build nests. With foxes vanishing around here as coyotes arrive, we may get lucky soon.
- Be humble about it all: a neighbor looked out one day and saw a tractor mired, hub-deep, in a furrow. That's because I'd tried to hurry, discing when the ground was too wet. He's an experienced farmer and said nothing, though had the tractor stayed there long enough, I'm sure he'd have offered to pull it out. I should have done it right after plowing...or waited, but no. I learned something about weather and patience. Nature does not work on our schedule. Now I watch the weather, the frost forecast, and the advice of those who know more than I ever will.
By bringing tidiness to the field, what remains sparks joy, as Marie Kondo would say. It also, as practiced, builds habitat for the sorts of animals getting ever scarcer as old fields grow back to forest and active ones are managed with a relentless application of metal blades and poisons. There's personal as well as environmental mindfulness at play. You get you know your inner self when you spend that much time alone without a screen.
You don't need six acres, or 6000, to practice some of these ideas. Spend some time alone on your property without distractions. Then ask:
What would my yard/field/farm/woodland look like if I planted and managed it with the next 100 years in mind? Sounds subversive, doesn't it?
Good.
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