Notes of a Wannabe Farmer

"Back in his other life, back when he was urban or suburban, it may have been sports cars that caught the newcomer's eye. Or maybe a showroom full of compacts, fresh and glittering from the factory. Now he finds himself eyeing some neighbor's sturdy green pickup with a big load of brush in the back and wondering how much one like it would cost. Welcome to the club." – Noel Perrin, from First Person Rural








There are as many bright images associated with backyard homesteading as there are likely bright images for the real farmer, out there in the real countryside, of living in the city someday. For that real farmer, let us guess that by fifty years of age, after so many thousands of hours of real work, including pre-dusk cow herding or post-dinner milking, there might not be anything more pleasant than to own a little apartment somewhere in the center of the city where a mere short stroll outside of the front doors would lead to places where other people are cooking the food, doing the dishes, staying up until one in the morning before they shut off the lights. For the urban dweller, all this is reversed, of course, because we know that the grass can only greener when finally embedded on the other side. We might not quite be capable of imaging a pig navigating a forty by forty space tied to a leash that would not allow it quite to mingle with the dogs walking along the sidewalks, but what about planting chestnuts or hackberry's where the three rose bushes used to stem? Is it possible that three stalks of true corn might be able to plant inside the widest possible pot? Wheat germ? My own hops? Seven chickens so as not to cross the municipal ordinance? One can only imagine the result of playing through each of these images like such a greedy urban farmer wannabe, and many times, as we see around town in Madison, it does.  I feel I need to cultivate my year old herb garden which was placed last year up along a planting bed stationed at the top of our courtyard fence. There, my cilantro, thyme, sage, rosemary, lavender and basil did quite well and indeed, as the good write-ups suggest, yielded a variety of product months. For my second year, however, I would like to up the ante. I feel well prepared to clip and preserve like I am supposed to. Although there will no doubt come the day when I am able to tie the stalks of my thyme and let them dry from a rack upside down, there are other things that I would like to dabble in. I want to create my tincture, made of Echinacea and ever clear alcohol if that is an option. I want to freeze my basil pesto in ice cube trays then store in freezer bags at the ready to melt and use.  Near the end of the ware season here, I would like to gather my healthiest sets of herbs and transplant to a pot and bring it on inside near a sunny window so that I can continue to snip into the fall and winter months. My own set of images have something more to do with simplifying – perhaps the warm clear glass of chamomile tea at 7 o'clock as the hundredth neighbor walks past the front of the house past Yahara Place Park looking across the street no doubt to see the progress of the farm.