Back then every turnip counted. Every individual carrot was precious, and heartbreak was only an insect attack or a slipped harvesting knife away. It tore me up when crops bolted. Pulling up a whole planting of fennel that was reaching for the sky — all that work, and more work just to put it on the compost
And then as the years passed there were many carrots and mountains of turnips and it didn’t matter so much. A bed of turnips unsold, a couple of rows of carrots too weedy to bother with, no dramas. Need some fencing wire? A new pump? Pea trellising or irrigation or a toolbar for the tractor? Just buy it. Too busy. No time for mucking around.
Thing is, I like mucking around. And having time to muck around. And it turns out I like it more than being super-busy with lots of money. So this season is going to be smaller, slower; every carrot and turnip will be precious. And I’ll excavate the guts of the shed for the things I need and string stuff together from whatever’s there. Gotta watch the dollars on Shoestring Farm.