Over the Fence Urban Farm

Cooperatively farming small patches of Earth in Columbus, OH


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In Praise & Condemnation of Sunflowers

One might say we were blessed by an incredible crop of sunflowers this season. They self-seeded throughout the farm; a result of the goldfinches’ messy eating last year. The combination of rain and heat early in the summer helped them grow at least 15 feet tall. They made hundreds of beautiful blooms and seeds for the chickens, along with this year’s wild visitors.

One might also say we were overrun by sunflowers this season. The volunteers we allowed to stay shaded out other crops, hoarded water and nutrients, and are gonna take a ton of time and muscle to recycle.

Holding these two truths at once is a gardener’s version of the cognitive dissonance many of us are all feeling these days in lots of parts of our lives. A friend posted a funny/not funny stream of consciousness from a parent juggling the mundane tasks of keeping the home fires burning while absorbing the barrage of previously unfathomable news coming out of Washington. I am heartbroken over the famine in Gaza and the plight of the hostages still held there by Hamas (alive and dead). I could go on, but you came here to read about flowers, not politics.

The lesson I want to record is one about making choices.

In the spring when everything is emerging it’s exciting to find volunteers popping up. Plants born of their own design tend to be hardier than those grown from seeds. Their will to live is unstoppable. It’s hard not to see them as gifts from Mother Nature. And yet, if you have other plans for the space, you have to make some sacrifices. Literally.

Some gardeners find this really hard to do. We ask: How can I, someone who dedicates so much time and energy to helping things grow commit planticide?! How can I take the life of an innocent seedling who just happened to pop up in what I consider the “wrong” place?

I transplant volunteers when I can, and have even rescued some from off-site locations. But in the end, our space is limited. We have to make choices. This season, I made some bad choices with regard to the sunflowers. They cost us a lot of productivity, but they taught me a valuable lesson I will carry into next year.

We’re fortunate to have space beyond the farm to grow flowers and let things get a bit wild. The space we’ve dedicated to this agricultural project, however, needs to be a bit more controlled in order to operate at its best. That’s what agriculture is after all, human-assisted growing. In hindsight, and if I’m being honest, I’ve had issues with other companion planting experiments as well. It’s another beautiful concept (like letting chickens forage freely to help control pests or allowing wildlife to graze rather than fighting with nature) that just doesn’t seem to be playing out for me in practice. It’s just hard to get the combination right – both for the sake of the plants themselves, and for ease of care and harvest.

So, next year, we’ll be more aggressive in culling guests from the beds. And we’ll be back to report the results.

With thanks to Katey and Nancy (my ongoing farming companions) Celia Kahle from Firefly Garden Design, and Todd Schriver of Rock Dove Farm for talking these ideas through with me.


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Life Lessons from a Jar of Jam

I can’t remember when I first tasted black currant jam. I know I was on a very fixed income; perhaps after college while living in NYC where my rent consumed 60% of my salary and I regularly roamed the aisle of Balducci’s on the way home from work “eating with my eyeballs” before returning home for another bowl of couscous and beans. I do remember vividly the small slender bottle of St. Dalfour Conserves (from France!) felt like one of the few luxury items I could afford. I savored the rich color and taste.

Today, black currant jam retails for about three times the cost of other fruit spreads. The average consumer might balk at that price difference and grab a jar of Welch’s. They would be missing the magic. Just like maple syrup, a whole lot of berries – and time and effort – go into every bite. If you are lucky enough to have a friend grow their own and offer you some, know that person REALLY loves you. (NOTE: Everything I’m writing here goes the same for gooseberry jam; maybe more-so since those plants have the nastiest thorns I’ve ever encountered in growing food. But I moved my gooseberry bushes this year and they’re rebelling with no harvest otherwise I’d probably be dedicating this space to their bounty.)

I’ve been growing black currants for a few years now. I’ve lost count of how many. And I haven’t really done my homework to do it well. This is a common challenge (and joy!) of urban farming, and consistent with my life in general; I like too many things, try too many things, never specializing and becoming expert in anything. At any rate, I learned a bunch of new tips in writing this that I’ll be trying in the next year’s cycle and perhaps at this time next year I’ll be enjoying even more of these distinctive fruits. Who knows, you, dear reader, might even get on the list for a gift if you leave a comment below.

The black currant bush, and its berries, has a pungent smell. I’m sure it puts many people off. But for those with adventurous palettes and olfactory systems, it’s rich and inviting. I haven’t tried the berries raw, and wouldn’t recommend it for anyone who isn’t already drawn in by the smell, but for folks who like sweets without too much sweetness, do yourself a favor and find a jar of black currant jam.


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Cultivating Resilience is Our Resistance

Image of a blue eye in the middle of a green and grown labyrinth drawn by the author with markers on paper.

Protesters across the United States are regularly showing up to demonstrate opposition to the president and congressional leaders who refuse to challenge his executive overreach. I’ve stood alongside them and make regular calls to our representatives. (If you’ve never done this, please try it! It can be really cathartic. The 5 Calls app makes it super easy.) But my biggest form of resistance to the current attempts to move our country backwards was resigning from my job last month. I’m still processing this decision; digesting a rich stew of conflicting emotions including regret, grief, fear, renewal, solace, and excitement.

Before I started working in state government a year ago, my off-farm work was fully remote, mostly asynchronous, contract work. It was the ideal match for the busy life I enjoyed beyond my profession. The position with the state was hybrid – 3 days in, 2 days at home. I enjoyed the professional discourse and teamwork. I enjoyed working in support of arts education for learners of all ages across the state. I enjoyed spending time downtown and the views from the 33rd floor. I enjoyed the regular paychecks.

But I did NOT enjoy the morning rush out of the house on office days. I won’t miss 7-9 hours a day in a cubicle under fluorescent lights, mostly spent staring at screens. And I certainly won’t miss the commute and parking lot fees, which at the time I left had escalated dramatically as garage owners took advantage of higher demand following the Governor’s return to office order, the move that prompted my resignation.

In the end, I didn’t leave because I couldn’t have remade myself into someone who worked in an office five days a week. I left because I didn’t want to do that. Over the past 12 years I’ve built my life around our urban farmstead. Being away from here three days a week and keeping things going last season was barely sustainable. I was afraid five days away would have meant the end of this lifestyle – one that keeps me physically active, mentally balanced, and social engaged – and I wasn’t willing to give that up. It’s my recipe for resilience. It’s my path to a thriving life paved with healthy food and fellowship.

While I didn’t make this decision lightly, and while it will require some financial sacrifice for me and my family, I recognize that I was privileged to make this choice. I’m married to someone who doesn’t mind putting in long work weeks and supplying our family with health insurance and money to make mortgage payments.

I know my small act of protest didn’t make any waves. In the end I probably only hurt myself in acting out this way. But I’m proud to have taken a stand for things I value in life beyond money. I’m happy to set an example for my kids that a good life isn’t just built on professional advancement. And feel grateful to have passion projects to lean into as I live into my next chapter.

Stay tuned…


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Back to the Future, Farmers of America

Like nearly half of Americans who voted in the election earlier this month, I’m disappointed with the results. I’m disturbed that so many people were willing to vote for a sore loser who values TV ratings over hard work and experience. I’m sorry Kamala Harris couldn’t convince more people to follow her down a path paved in freedom, mutual aid, and joy. I’m frustrated by all the people who didn’t vote one way or another. Much of what I hear on the news makes me angry, confused, and disheartened. Thank g!d for the farm.

Research shows that having your hands in the soil and spending time with other people can help ward off depression and loneliness. Farming gets your body moving which is the first step towards better mental health. Bonus that you are getting exercise outdoors in the fresh air absorbing Vitamin D. When you grow your own food you eat better. When you eat better you feel better. And the kind of urban cooperative farming we engage in provides opportunities for social connection.

The climate is changing and the earth is literally on fire in many places, but when we come together to work with the land, we do our part to help keep her alive. Our efforts on the quarter acre we’re stewarding may not have a huge impact on its own, but imagine the impact of 1 hundred, 1 thousand, or 1 million people engaging in small scale collective farming and rewilding native habitats. Doug Tallamy is mapping the latter through Homegrown National Park. It’s beyond time we had something like that for urban farming.

If you’re angry about the election, I strongly advise you to follow the advice of Lukas Nelson & Family: “Turn off the news and build a garden.” I promise it will help you “feel a bit less hardened…a bit more free.”

There are tons of resources on this and other blogs that can help you. And I, like most every other grower I know, am happy to answer any questions sent my way. Talk to people, find your allies, check some books out from the library, start a garden journal, and start getting ready for next season. I can’t tell you it will stop He Who Shall Not Be Named* from doing dumb shit, messing stuff up, and enabling others to do the same or worse. Potentially a lot of stuff. But I’m sure it will make you, and any friends you bring along, feel better, and stronger, and ready to fight the bastards when the time is right.

This all aligns really nicely with something my friend Cheryl has been teaching in our Jewish community the past few weeks. Our tradition offers three suggestions for hard times:
1) Don’t mourn alone.
2) Express gratitude.
3) Practice tikkun olam (find, uplift, and bring light into the world through acts of loving kindness and repair).

Reflecting on how our farm has provided and will continue to provide space for all these things makes me feel some hope in the darkness. And I hope by reading this you might feel inspired to find or make space like this in your community. If you’re around Columbus, plan to join us sometime in the spring. Over winter, consider taking a class at the Columbus Garden School. Check books out from the library (see some of my early recommendations here.) It’s always the right time to start building a garden.

*I thought it would be interesting to look back and see what I’d written before about working through the 2016 election by farming. I search for his name and only found it in one post. I’m proud I kept him out of this space. He’s one of the few people whom I would never invite over for a salad.


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Farming in 4D: Opening to New Dimensions of Time

[A bloom of Passiflora or Passion Flower.
Also known as “clock plant” because its arrangement of pistil and stamen look like the center point and hands on the face of a clock.]

This week marked four months since I started my new off-farm job. 40 hours a week, somewhere between 8am and 5pm Mondays-Fridays, I’ve been fully engaged in settling into my work as an Arts Learning Coordinator at the Ohio Arts Council. This has required me to take a big step back from farmwork overall and to develop a whole new relationship to time on the farm. In keeping with that theme, I’ll break my rule against apologizing for how long it’s been since I last posted to note I started writing this just before my three month anniversary. Feels good to finally get it finished.

Back in May, I revisited the concept of farming as a creative practice. Continuing with that thread, I’ve been thinking about the concept of farming as a 4D, or time-based, artform. Again, this isn’t a totally new idea for me. My friend and colleague from the University of Florida, printmaker Patrick Grigsby has been prompting me for many years with invitations to think with him around our overlapping “slow” art practices. With this post, I’ll start to unpack that a bit and record some more recent thoughts on my changing perception of time in relation to three concepts – clock time, perceptual time, and deep time.

I. Clock Time
There were semesters, even years, during my time as an adjunct professor when I worked the equivalent of a 40 hour week. But I mostly did that job in stints and at odd hours as needed and as it suited me – 4am-7am, noon-4pm, 8pm-midnight – based on my internal clock which sometimes decided 3am would be a fine time to start the day and between other joys and responsibilities including tending the farm. So working a (mostly) desk job in long stretches, M-F, week after week is a significant change. Overall I would say I’m adapting to working “bank hours” and abiding by clock time, better than I expected but it has changed things in my life overall, particularly as a part-time farmer.

Trying to keep things going, especially in the record-breaking hot dry summer we’re having, has meant occasionally getting out in the morning before I put on my clean work clothes, or working super extra carefully because I already have them on, and again after I take them off at night. But I’m not putting in anywhere near the hours I used to and it shows. (Note to self: You MUST get a new irrigation system next season and use it!)

I have really enjoyed the few brief times I’ve been on the farm before heading downtown for work. It sounds different – it’s quiet but for the birds singing, and you I actually hear them because there are no mowers, motorcycles, or sirens blaring. The air is fresh and relatively cool and the dose of natural light before a day in the office under fluorescents is better than any vitamin you can get at a store. Heading out after work gives me a moment to catch my breath, to step out from behind the screen and re-engage with the physical world through a deeply somatic experience. All of which leads me to the next shift I’m experiencing, a change in my psychological perception of time on the farm.

II. Perceptual Time
I’ve written many times before about experiencing a state of flow while farming – losing track of time as I bounce around the space from task to task. That is a precious experience I haven’t been able to enjoy as much as I would like these past few months because it requires BIG chunks of clock time. (Note to self: Add setting aside more weekend days for that to the wish list.) For now, I’m thinking about how the ways I perceive time impact my perception of myself and my life. How are we shaped and defined by the ways we fill time? How are we shaped by what we do with our few precious hours of free time? I want farming to remain part of my identity so I need to make time for it.

In the meantime, I find I’m moving my body in different ways, more slowly, when I do get out. I’m not feeling as hurried, even though I’m well aware I have less time. I’ve adopted a “what gets done will get done” attitude that’s really new for me. It’s probably in part just a natural part of the aging process. I’ll be 50 (fifty!) this spring which is not the age I feel most of the time. But I definitely don’t have quite as much energy as I used to. This has impacted the farm’s productivity, but I guess that’s not the point of the space at this moment. – I’m not getting as much done but I’m experiencing and enjoying it in new ways.

[Bowl of berries. This summer I learned another way of telling time on the farm – “fruit time” – from Aimee Nezhukumatathil in her book
Bite by Bite: Nourishments and Jamborees]

III. Deep Time
Which links directly to my last point. My loss of clock time for the farm has caused me to let nature lead the way more so than in the past. And nature works s-l-o-w-l-y. As deep ecologist Joanna Macy wrote in the poem, “From the Council for All Beings,”

I, lichen, work slowly, very slowly.
Time is my friend.
This is what I give you:
patience for the long haul and perseverance.

In some ways it has been interesting, even exciting, to move slowly, if not as slowly as lichen.

As my Instagram followers know, I love to celebrate volunteers (#volunteerplants) that pop out of the ground, and often thrive, of their own free will. The less time I am out pulling weeds, the better chance there is for these kinds of surprises. But my lack of attention to watering and pruning has also cost me in lost productivity and led to the establishment of some less welcome guest plants and pests. This is a good reminder that agri-culture isn’t natural, it depends on us.

The weather is also a reminder to think about the land over time. It was here before us and it will be here long after we’re gone. I worry constantly about the change in climate we are experiencing in my area code. The city of Columbus has been impacted by changing temperatures and a heat island effect caused by our lack of tree coverage. I watch the storms break up just before they reach us as if impacted by an invisible force field. The city’s Urban Forestry Master Plan is designed to address this, but trees need time to grow. Future efforts to push the city and our little farm into perma-culture practices will prove beneficial for the plants and us.

In this time of deep transition, as I travel in these new modes of time, I’ll try to be patient. It doesn’t come naturally for me. It takes intentionality – an essential ingredient in both good farming and good art.


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Reconnecting to Farming as Creative Practice

As some readers know, I spent this winter on the job market. As an art educator, I was often asked to talk about my personal artwork. While some of the best art educators I know do maintain active studio practices, I also know many for whom teaching is their primary artform*. So the expectation behind the question drives me a little crazy. By this logic all science teachers should have labs in their basements and all English teachers should be writing novels.

It’s also a tough question for me because for the past 11 years the farm has been my studio. That’s not an idea that makes sense to most folks so it requires some explanation. It aligns closely with my interest in contemporary art practices that utilize non-traditional materials outside gallery spaces and forefront social engagement, which are also foreign concepts to most people. I’ve written about farming this way before but after an intense and highly rewarding early spring waking the farm up for the season and securing a job at the Ohio Arts Council, I feel compelled to revisit the idea.

Years ago, Rachel Tayse (Harmonious Homestead, Hounds in the Kitchen) – one of my early inspirations in backyard farming – honored me with inclusion in an article she wrote for Edible Columbus about farming as creative practice. Rereading that article now, renewed my commitment to the concept.

While I’m totally freaked out about how warm this past winter was, it was such a pleasure to get outside and have my hands in the soil in February. Since pausing our annual Pollinator Lover’s Plant Sale, I’ve reallocated the energy and resources I used to spend preparing for that event on rejuvenating our property and donating plants to my daughter’s school as part of a honeysuckle clearing and re-wilding effort. I can’t really describe the joy I find in dividing perennials to spread beauty and bounty around. But I want to try to articulate and share how this work relates back to my understanding of the farm as a site for creative practice, as creative placemaking, using some of Hetland, etal’s (2007) Studio Habits of Mind.

It all starts with making observations. Heightened awareness and acuity is a powerful form of mindfulness essential to all forms of visual art making. (NOTE: I’m a visual artist so I focus here on sight, but I’m sure the same is true for musicians with sound, dancers with movement, and actors with behavior.) Not a day goes by that I’m not out walking around the yard looking at what’s popping up out of the soil, how the landscape changes from season-to-season. It brings joy to my life to connect in this way. To see the natural world unfolding. It may sound obvious but the more I look, the more I see.

My best days are those when I head out back and get lost. If you’re familiar with our place you know that’s not because we sit on acres of land. But within the small plot we’re stewarding, there is so much going on, and so much to do. Once I reach a state of flow, I move between plants and spaces like a painter across a canvas – digging here, weeding there, seeding here, harvesting there. Like the abstract expressionists who inspired some of my first successful (read: interesting) independent artwork, I use an all-over approach to farming. In this way my craft develops in response to what I find in the field, in collaboration with the rain, sun, soil, time, and temperature.

Moving through the tasks that ,while important to successful production, don’t feed me creatively, provide opportunities for me to practice engaging and persisting. While people generally refer to K-12 art class as “fun,” honing an artistic craft requires repetition and trial and error that is not entirely enjoyable.

Everything I’ve written thus far pertains to my relationship with the work. But this season I’m trying to get people back to the farm after my sabbatical because I know that it’s your presence that completes the work. Having people over is the final component of farming as creative practice. It’s like a tree falling in the forest – a farm that no one visits is important, it serves its primary function of producing food but to serve the transformational function of getting people to think differently about where food comes from and how edible plants can function in a landscape, they need to stand within and see it with their own eyes. Like Walter Benjamin wrote about works of art in the age of mechanical production, an urban permaculture farm in the age of industrialized agriculture has an aura about it that can only be experienced in person.

So keep your eyes and ears open for announcements about our next open house! Coming this June.

*See: Eliot Eisner’s “The Art & Craft of Teaching” in Education Leadership (1983).


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CSA 2024!

As its collection of push pin holes suggest, this note has been pinned to the bulletin board above my desk for the past, oh, I don’t know how how many years. It’s a reference to something I learned in graduate school from Wayne Lawson, then Executive Director of the Ohio Arts Council. The idea was, arts experiences shouldn’t just be about checking boxes (transactional) – about paying to see or hear something so you could brag about it at a cocktail party. Rather, seeing an exhibition in a museum or attending a concert should transform you in some way. At the time I first heard it, this idea spoke to me as an educator interested in experiential, real-life learning. And it’s part of my vision for Over the Fence Urban Farm.

This is International CSA Sign-Up Week. As we embark on our 11th season, we’ve returning to our community-supported agriculture roots after a two-year sabbatical. Trying something new this year, we’ll be offering a series of short, six-week CSA options to encourage new folks to join us and find out what we’re all about. (Of course we’ll happily welcome old familiar faces too! Either way…) Space is limited to just 10 shares per option so act quickly! You can read more about our plans for Spring and Fall Greens & Herbs and U-Pick Flower shares on the CSA page of our website. Ready to sign-up for the spring? Click here!

I’m trying to be intentional in approaching this reboot. I’m focusing on things I love to grow and I’ve been good at co-producing with Mother Nature. (We all know how how fickle she’s been lately…) Greens have always been one of my favorite things to grow, eat, and teach people to incorporate into their diets. And while ten years ago I only planted flowers to lure pollinators around to do their job, research (and personal experience) has convinced me that gazing at them in the field, bringing them into our home, and sharing them with others boosts my mood. I’m excited to share all these things with more folks this year.

Looking back through reflections on our first season, I’m reminded of everyone who supported us and this dream. While there have been many times I feel like we could be doing more, after a decade in the Columbus urban farming community, I know we’ve made ripples that inspired other farmers in the city and those who visited our site for educational programs and tours (see Happenings). I’ll never tire of witnessing someone step into the farm for the first time. The surprise on their faces reminds me our place is special.

As we commit ourselves to a new decade, it’s also been useful to remember why we founded the farm using a CSA model. On the one hand, a CSA is always about money. It grants farmers access to funds when we need them, before we plant much of anything, when we are racking up bills for seeds, soil, compost, tools and other supplies. On the other hand, the CSA movement is rooted in principles of mutual thriving and modeling an alternative form of economy – small, local, transformative.

I hope you’ll join us this season by joining a CSA, planning a visit with a group of friends, or attending an open house. Subscribe to get updates from this blog sent to your email and follow us on Facebook or Instagram to hear about upcoming opportunities.


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July 2023 Catch-Up

It’s been seven weeks since my last post. A post in which I promised myself I would try to post more regularly to help me keep track of what’s happening on the farm and in my mind about what’s coming next out there. That hasn’t happened. So, today I’m going to record seven vignettes, one for each week I missed; reflections on what’s happened in that time. I’m feeling kind of stuck so hoping this might help move me along a bit.

1. June 9: 9:13AM

I had to go back to the weather history to remember just how fucking awful this was, and continues to be. In mid-May there was so much amazing flower set on all the perennial berries. I took a series of photos but I guess I deleted them. Trust me. The raspberries, gooseberries, currants, and blueberries were all exploding with flowers. And then it stopped raining. For weeks.

Check out the middle row below. Bear in mind, to keep plants healthy and thriving, they need an average of one inch of water EVERY week. This isn’t a cumulative thing. Imagine you were doing hard work outside for a month. You’re out shoveling, hoeing, weeding… How would you feel if you got only one, albeit tall, drink of water that month.

Things weren’t much better into early June.

Yeah. So, by the middle of June, all the berry bushes started to look like the blueberries above. Full of fruit that was desiccating before my eyes. I’m not in the habit of watering perennial bushes. That’s the beauty of them. You set them and (basically aside from pruning and harvesting) forget them. Reluctantly I brought over the hoses. I was upset and feeling hopeless as one plan I had for the future of the farm was converting more beds to perennial berries that wouldn’t demand much time and effort.

2. Jun 17 – 2:14 PM

In mid-June, The Spurgeon General and I took the young one to Colorado for a week. We did a lot of hiking in the mountains. We played disc golf on courses nothing like what you see in Ohio. And we spent a day in Boulder where we stumbled on an exhibition at the contemporary art museum – agriCULTRE, a collaboration between artists and farmers. All of a sudden, the distance between my day job as an art educator and my hobby farm work seemed a little smaller. You can find information about the show here (after you finish reading this post!). Below are a couple of my favorite moments.

Anthony Garcia Sr. with Laura Allard-Antelmi & Richard Pecocaro – “Masa Seed Foundation harvests, distributes, and archives bio-regional, climate-adapted, open-pollinated heirloom seeds, each with a unique history…This seed shelf, a small cross-section of Masa’s massive library, educates us on how plant kinship exits throughout the world.”

Esther Hz with Erin Dreistadt & Jason Griffith – “Interdisciplinary artist and former urban farmer Esther Hz revisited her research in biodynamic farming through her collaboration with Aspen Moon Farm.” She furthers Steiner’s ideas by exploring through play with image and text – “replacing ‘soul’ with ‘soil’. in famous quotes. To compound this idea, she constructed two zoetropes (a pre-film animation device) to emulate the ‘wheel of life…” (quotations here and above from text by Guest Lead Curator, Jaime Kopke)

3. June 21 – 3:35PM

Somehow they made it through. When we got back from Colorado, the berries were booming. Friends who were farm-sitting got most of the red raspberries, and I was happy to share. I never grew berries for the CSA. They were always a selfish endeavor. A few times, towards the end, folks got some raspberries, ironically from those red ones that came under the fence from the neighbor’s yard or elderberries from an abundant bush that succumbed to fusarium wilt this year. But there wasn’t really enough of the rest to share broadly.

This mid- to late-June was all about the berries. As I watched the tomatoes and marveled again about just how long it takes them to set fruit and ripen, I spent many hours carefully plucking currants (red and black), raspberries (mostly black), and gooseberries along with a few blueberries and last gasp strawberries. The gooseberries and black raspberries require long pants and sleeves to protect against thorns. It’s hot and ouchy work. But when you’re inhaling bowl of mixed berries topped with whipped cream, that all fades away. I made black raspberry jam from a bag I froze last season (yikes!) and froze tons more to eat throughout the year.

4. July 2 – 2:49PM

One day I noticed something strange looking on the poppy heads I was drying in situ to use in bouquets. Upon closer examination, I noticed something had accessed the seed chambers. A little information on the architecture of a poppy this will help it make more sense. Basically, after the flower falls, which happens maddeningly quick with poppies, the head starts to bulge. As the seeds take shape and start to dry out, the head forms vertical cavities around the center point. Something was working its way down these, one by one, gobbling up all the seeds. Who was it? Was it poisoning them? I had never seen this before.

For a few days after my discovery I noticed the poppies swaying when I’d approach the farm gate, as if something had just flown away. I was dying to catch the little opium fiends in the act! One day it finally happened. A gold finch landed in the poppy bed and had its fill. Mystery solved and thanks to Google, I now know they peel the pod open and the seeds help aid their nutrition and digestion!

Overall, the garden was a jungle at this point. The spring cool flowers were giving way to hardier summer blooms and native volunteers that joined the party. There was (and still is) Spiderwort everywhere! The paths between beds were growing over with red clover and wild sorrel. I enjoyed and was complimented on how lush things looked but I was feeling claustrophobic and annoyed with myself for letting things go all Big Anthony’s garden again. (See Strega Nona’s Harvest – an all-time favorite picturebook about gardening.)The upside, lots of gorgeous flowers to share with family and friends.

5. July 9 – 5:59PM

For the first time in ages, we have summer squash in abundance! This is largely due to diligent squash bug and egg picking work aided by our friend Katey. I’m not holding my breath that it will last, but we’ve been trying tons of new recipes while it does! A few favorites – Zucchini, Quinoa, Mint, and Pistachio salad; Zuchinni Chocolate Layer Cake; and Zucchini Szabi.

6. July 12 – 6:29 PM

The first and only peach we’ve gotten to eat from our tree. This spring, for the first in memory it was loaded with fruits. Then the June drop followed by the drought left the ground littered with immature fruits the chickens and raccoons took great pleasure in making disappear. Completely.

While I’m on the subject of raccoons… They are the worst! After a few mornings finding the work table and storage tossed like a cat burglar had come around, I set up the trail cam. Sure enough, it was a raccoon. I cleaned up as best I could including some seeds and things that were out and no doubt tempting. This helped. With the supplies. But then they moved on to a few dozen newly planted basil seedlings which they dug up and left for dead. #thisiswhatthefuckersdo

7. July 20: 7:28PM

The tomatoes are finally coming in. Sun Gold, Berkeley Tie Dye, San Marzano, Purple Cherokee, and a few more I can’t remember. Feels later and later every year but I’m happy to finally be binging on their fruit. Last year we had a lot of issues with the tomatoes and have been back to diligently watering and fertilizing. The plants, overall, look much happier and healthier. But stay tuned. I just found mosaic virus (above) which looks an awful lot like a tie dye to me…


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June 2023 – Catch Up Brain Dump

Well, it’s been six months since I wrote in this space.

I can’t remember how many times I’ve sat down and typed an opening line like this. Usually I delete them. It’s boring. Who wants to hear a writer lament about their inability to make time to write? Just write something already. But sometimes marking that time has passed you by is important.

Not because I feel guilty for not writing. Not because I think I owe anyone an apology. But because I’m sorry I haven’t been making time for it. Not because I think you, dear readers, are having trouble sleeping as you await my next offering. But because keeping this blog has been good for me.

It has given me space to document and reflect on starting and maintaining OTFUF for the past ten years.

It’s given me a place to store memories. To track the seasons. To track tasks. A space to return to when memory fails and I can’t remember what I did or how well (or poorly) something grew last season.

This blog has given me a platform to record, to share, and dare I say, to inspire.

Releasing myself from writing, from feeling self- or social media culture-imposed pressure to post, was part of my shmitah practice last year. And as a wise friend helped me realize, when you give yourself a sabbatical, when you truly take a break, you can’t expect to hit the ground running the next year. This aligns well with contemporary Jewish thought leaders advocating consideration of a shmita cycle, of a focus for each year in the seven year cycle. Something like: Dreaming and scheming, iteration, reflection, recalibration, reiteration, reflection, rest, repeat.

One thing I really let go of last year was the need to make plans. I spent time on the farm as time and energy allowed. I watched what came up from the soil on its own as much as, if not more than, I willed things to come up. And so I entered this season unsure what I was doing.

I did spend some of my leave reflecting on what I did not want to do anymore; what I was grateful to have a break from as well. as what I missed. Figuring out what comes next is slowly coming in to focus. Bit by bit.

The first decision I made was to suspend our CSA program indefinitely.

Starting the farm on a community supported agriculture model allowed OTFUF to get up and running without having to spend much of our own money for infrastructure or supplies. It would take me a minute to count how many truckloads of compost, water bills, seeds, gloves, and bags of chicken feed we’ve bought over the past 9 years. It’s been a lot, and nearly all of it was covered with funds from the CSA.

The first few years those who joined not only trusted us with their financial contributions, they gave us their time. In many ways that was more important, and more valuable, than cash. We built this place with all of you. And we grew an incredible amount of food those first few years because we did it together.

Over time, however, our original members started their own gardens and stopped coming around as often. New members didn’t have the same interest or commitment to the collective or the work. This impacted both my enthusiasm for filling CSA orders – I was always in it for the transformational potential, not the transactions – and my ability to do so. Working with fewer helping hands, the farm wasn’t as productive as it once was.

So no more CSA. At least for now. If I hear from some substantial number of people reading this far that you’d be excited to be part of something like that again, I’ll reconsider. I’ll rededicate myself to scheduling work sessions, making chore lists, and assigning tasks. For now, I’m enjoying the freedom to just watch the flowers grow and I’m thinking about investing more in perennial crops like berries that provide year-round pleasure.

The increasing unpredictability of the weather also contributed to my frustrations around the CSA. Heat at the wrong time. Never enough rain when we need it and too much when we don’t. The drought we’re experiencing now makes me grateful not to be beholden to anyone. At the same time as it makes me wish I had money in the bank to pay the water bills when they come due.

All this has me wondering whether the farm is still a farm.

Along with suspending the CSA and absolving myself of the pressure to post regularly to social media channels, I entered this season with no established plan or efforts to bring visitors to the farm. Given that, would it be better to think of myself again as a gardener, or homesteader? Is that all I want? For myself? For the space?

Rereading what I wrote in 2016 when I first embraced the title Urban Farmer, I guess most of it still fits. I’m growing more food than the average home gardener and our yard looks even less like our neighbors’ now than it did back then. But I’m not feeding others like I was back then. And I haven’t been invited to share the farm on any tours or actively recruited scouts and school groups to come visit. Then again, while it feels and looks like August, given the lack of rain over the past month and recent heat wave, the season’s just getting started.

Watch our social media streams for “flash farm sales” which we’ll host whenever we have an abundance. Sales will take place on site so folx who come by can see where the produce they purchase is being grown.

I’m also in conversation with Dr. Neraj Tayal about an Edible and Sustainable Backyards Hop here in Beechwold. If you or someone you know has a space that would make a good addition, please reach out!

Visiting Neraj’s space last season and hearing how much our work inspired his own is something I’ve been thinking about a lot. It demonstrates the power of having places like OTFUF in the community and the importance of inviting people in to see it. Over the Fence has always operated in a liminal space between community farm and private garden. We aren’t inherently public facing – not visible from the street or occupying a public space. People are always welcome, but you do need to request or have an invitation to visit.

I’m also continuing my work with the Ohio Ecological Food and Farm Association (OEFFA) on the Agriculture Resiliency Act. This marker bill for the 2023 Farm Bill draws attention to issues and efforts that can help make agriculture more sustainable, for people and the planet. This includes the promotion of soil health, increased investments in local regional food systems, addressing consolidation that is driving up prices and contributing to waste, and funding investments to support organic research and beginning and BIPOC farmers. You can learn more about OEFFA’s 2023 Farm Bill platform, hear from proud organic Ohio growers, and take action here.

So, I’ll try to get back to posting here a bit more regularly; to reflect and to share. I’m open to hearing what kind of content you’re most interested in – Reports from the Field, Tips You Can Use, Farmer Field Trips, Farming Advocacy… And I also reserve the right to post, or not post, whatever inspires me.

XO, Thanks for reading this far.
Jodi


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Phase One – City of Columbus Kitchen Composting!

While on sabbatical from farming last season, I joined in discussion with a growing group of folks launching CORC – The Central Ohio Reuse Coalition. I’ll have to write another post about that group and our mission. For now, here are our three main goals (and a logo draft by friend of the farm Melissa Freuh!):

  • Create public demand for circular policies & solutions to replace disposable
    “make-take-waste” packaging and food & drink container systems;
  • Push elected officials to enact policies/ordinances that encourage reusable
    solutions and reduce disposables;
  • Encourage and facilitate circular economy initiatives/businesses based on
    closed-loop, circular solutions that replace disposables with reusables.

Our group leader, and a good friend, Doug Calem is a citizen on a mission who has done a deep dive into reuse systems, worked hard to make connections with sustainable city groups throughout the region, and gotten a seat at the table with folks at the Mid-Ohio Regional Planning Group (MORPC) and City of Columbus.

I tagged along with him this past week for a meeting with Aryeh Alex, City of Columbus Sustainability Manager and Keep Columbus Beautiful Executive Director, about a plastic education grant we’re working on with his office. It was a great conversation – at one point Aryeh noted how unusual it is to find residents who geek out about waste management – that gave me a lot of hope for Columbus moving into the future.

Doug had to leave a few minutes early so I got to talk one-on-one with Aryeh. I asked about the possibility of city-supported food waste composting. Kitchen scraps and other organic, compostable materials are the ones that make your trash can stink. It’s also the stuff that generates methane, a powerful source of carbon emissions, into the atmosphere. According to SWACO (Solid Waste Management of Central Ohio), 15% of what goes into the landfill in our region is food waste. The more of these we can divert from the waste stream and put to new use the better. Some reading this might compost at home, but that’s not possible for everyone across the city.

I was shocked when Aryeh told me that a pilot program for food waste drop sites around the city was announced in the 2023 Columbus Budget Mayor Ginther introduced a few weeks ago. I found this recording and listened for my pet issue (jump to 15 minutes or listen to it in context of other waste management issues a few minutes earlier). I’ll admit this was the first time I listened to a city budget preview presentation. I’m sure folks have torn apart various points of it and feel some concerns are less represented or addressed differently than they might like, but I was impressed, even a little inspired, to hear more about how the city approaches its fiscal responsibilities and investments with regard to safety, affordability and vital city services.

I liked when the mayor said,”Budgets are more than just ledgers and line items – they are based on our values.” Again, I don’t know as much as I should about city initiatives but I know I’m hearing more often about our Climate Action Plan and programs linked to it. The goal is carbon neutrality by or (hopefully) before 2050.

So, here’s what we have to look forward to in Spring 2023.

Free kitchen compost drop-off sites in city parks and recreation centers! The mayor mentioned two but Aryeh said there would be five online the first year with ten more added in 2024. Sometime down the road there might be as many as 50 and/or some city-subsidized curbside pickup option. Details are still in the works but the food scraps would likely go to one or both of two sites while SWACO builds its new recycling facility that will include a bio-digester. The first, and one I heard most about, is at the London Correctional Institution that offers a job training program for inmates to work in waste management. The city is already working with the program to employee graduates of the program upon their release. How cool is that?!

Another goal Aryeh mentioned that I have heard urban farmers speak about in the past is changing city code that would allow community gardens and urban farmers to receive and compost on-site kitchen scraps from neighbors. Sounds like they are working through the red tape so stay tuned for more on that as well as when to expect the drop sites will be open, ready to receive food waste, and tips on getting your materials there.