As the melons sweeten, as the tomatoes ripen, as the roads stay dusty and the dictatorial California sun lingers high in the sky, the winter rains and leek harvest seem like a distant dream. This monumental change seems part human, part nature, and part magic. And as an intern trying to assemble the grand puzzle of farming, the main question at hand appears to be: How does bare ground turn into bountiful ground?

This past spring, one of my roles in that process was cultivating the spring and summer plantings. Cultivation is the mechanical act of removing undesirable plants (weeds) from areas of desirable plants (crops). A wise person once said, “Organic farming is weed control,” and in lieu of herbicides, weed management is often an organic farmer’s most time consuming task. So, in an epic battle requiring nerves of steel, knives of steel, and a fine Kubota L245H offset cultivating tractor, I set to rid the farm of weeds. Beneath the tractor, knives and discs are mounted to disturb the soil and behead small weed seedlings. These metal attachments pass dangerously close to bean, corn, melon, and spinach plants, throwing dirt around them. Attached to a bar in the back of the tractor are shovels and cylindrical, slotted steel rollers to reshape the bed and repack the soil to conserve moisture.

In its essence, cultivation is a multi-variable balancing act. If one travels too close, profitable crops are destroyed, sliced to smithereens. Too far away, and the bed must be laboriously hand weeded and hoed. If the knives and discs pass too shallow, weeds will be rumpled but not uprooted, disturbed but not destroyed. Too deep, and large clods of dirt bury young plants and damage the desirable, porous soil structure. New to the tractor, cultivating seemed a daunting juggling act. During my first days cultivating, I spent hours crawling in the dirt beneath the tractor, inhaling diesel fumes and banging my knuckles against the metal knives as I tried to adjust their depths and widths with a socket wrench. After emerging from beneath the tractor, sweaty and dirty after making minute adjustments, I would travel ten feet, only to repeat the process.

Yet, after weeks and weeks upon the tractor’s throne, I began to improve. I drove straighter and faster, adjusted the tractor more efficiently, and calmed my nerves. Weed killing became less daunting and more manageable. One afternoon, a few weeks ago, I cultivated a field of basil, leek, and pepper transplants. My knives sliced beautifully, the rollers neatly compacted the soil, and my shovels threw not a single clod of dirt. Bed after bed, I grew more confident, slowly increasing my speed. After twenty beds, as the sun lowered in the sky, I stood up, steering my tractor like an expert sea captain on the calm, open seas. A feeling of inexplicable bliss descended upon me, dust whirled and weeds fled the field in anticipation of their imminent deaths. I had finally reached cultivation nirvana. So, as I begin to devour juicy tomatoes or succulent melons, I can’t help but reflect upon our shared histories involving the noble act of cultivation.

By Alex Liebman, Intern, Full Belly Farm

No related posts.