The amount of food a little place like this produces is ridiculous —
What does one do with twelve or so gallons of milk a day? Three go to the bucket calves, others to herd share co-owners and to the monastery, our household drinks at least two gallons a day, and there is always buttermilk, and whey, for the pig pen. When the calves wean we will start making cheese again; if we start some parm-type Appalachias next months, we should have some ready to eat by January or so . . . the Paysanos we made in May should be ready to cut in just a couple more weeks, thank goodness.
Wheelbarrow loads of weeds go to the feeder hogs and Porca, and all the corn thinnings that should have been pulled or cut weeks ago, but how are we to get into the garden while the ground is sopping? The spring-planted greens have bolted, but now there are beets and beet greens, and carrots, and the first planting of beans will soon be ready. There are golf-ball sized green tomatoes on the vines, and little peppers like fat lanterns hanging on the bushes, and the outer leaves of the garlic are beginning to turn brown. In the oat patch, the oats are in the milk but the field peas are just now making pods. It is too wet to cut these, as we want to dry them as hay and put them up loose for the hogs and chickens, so we take gratification from the fact that if it stays wet and the oats get too mature and shatter out of the hulls, the peas will have that much more time to fill out and make seed. The chickens are laying well, but something has been picking them off during the day. We don’t just raise people food, see, we raise fox food as well . . .