(Note: entry was written last Monday and published a week later)

The past week has been chilly with night temps in the low 20’s, during the day we barely reached 60. Every night we’ve had to cover the tender crops, and even then some plants have been slightly damaged due to the frost. The cold weather has certainly come early this year.

Sunday it rained, warming things up a bit. Another storm is expected mid weekand by the weekend temps should be in the upper 70’s (a heatwave!)

As you can tell, updates on the website have been pretty sparse lately. Making money to pay off the car repair expense comes first these days,leaving little time to update news stories, resuscitate the dead newsletter andkeep up regular diary entries.

PTF site is really too big for one person to handle and we plan downsizing our web presence which will help save us money and time. For the new year we hope to have a new site that will be easier to update – don’t want to be tied to a computer much anymore, have too many things to learn and do.

We are closing in on 6,000 lbs of harvest this year, proving that last year wasn’t some sort of fluke. Considering this year we expanded beyond “just gardening” — biodiesel, workshops, Sol Fest, GardenLAb, etc., we probably could have planted and harvested even more.

The “to do” projects to complete the self-sufficient homestead are going to require some green stuff (cost is approximate)– waterless compost toilet ($1000), wood stove ($800), solar water heater ($2000) water reclamation (rainwater catchments, cistern) and grey water system ($3000) and so forth.

Basically the situation stands right now is to find work/income (and cut back on any unnecessary expenses) these next few months to pay of the debt from the our broken car so we are able move a few more steps along the path.

Someone sent us an email, sharing some poems, one which I’d like to share with you.

The Man Born to Farming

by Wendell Berry

The grower of trees, the gardener, the man born to farming,

whose hands reach into the ground and sprout,

to him the soil is a divine drug. He enters into death

yearly, and comes back rejoicing.

He has seen the light lie down

in the dung heap, and rise again in the corn.

His thought passes along the row ends like a mole.

What miraculous seed has he swallowed

that the unending sentence of his love flows out of his mouth

like a vine clinging in the sunlight, and like water

descending in the dark?

Weather Report: Cold and wet

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