Teatime in the Desert

Tonight the sky is black, the wind whistling, and the clouds motionless here in Tucson.  I've seen over the past twelve hours an entirely different side of Arizona -- a side that speaks more closely to what I see Januaries as being in my mind.  The rain is ominous and dark and (maybe?) imminent, and it is the perfect time to be doing what all the farmhands are doing -- not much.  It's been too cold to handle most of the crops, so our morning was spent re-organizing the toolshed (a perfectionist's wonderland of a task), securing loose frost covers, and drinking lots of tea.

Speaking of tea, I haven't even mentioned the farmers' market!  A handful of us went to market on Sunday, selling bunches of arugula, kale, and gorgeous frisee lettuce heads (I picked them myself!) from 9-1.  The market is a pretty hectic time; from when we arrive at 8:45, people are already waiting for us to start selling, asking if we have eggs this week and if the spinach is sold out and what were those delicious stir-frying greens we had last week? It's an utter misnomer to call the market a farmers' market; other than Sleeping Frog, only two or three other vendors offer fresh food. Instead, you get a real taste of the southwest -- tamales and empanadas and chipotle fruit preserves, cactus jelly and desert honey.  Our stand is usually full to the brim with customers until 11:30 or so, and then we've died down for the remainder of the market (read: we sold all of our food for the day).  During these quieter moments I like to take a look around and see what the market has to offer.  Little did I know I would run into Joe, the man who is living one of my dreams.

Joe and his wife were manning a two-person operation at the market, busily selling and answering questions for their goods.  Joe is a man obsessed with tea -- he filled half of his kitchen with the stuff until his wife exploded with frustration about it.  She was soon laid off her job (unrelated), and in a half-joking, half-serious attempt to remedy the situation, they began selling it. Now the company exclusively caters to the Tohono Chul Tearoom, and they presented a myriad of tea varieties to sell at market.

Basically I died and went to heaven.  Upon discovering their tent I literally grew weak in the knees, my olfactories peaked in sensitivity, and my tiny hands itched to hold the sample cup Joe held out to me across the table.  Alison and I picked up one bag of Market Spice Red Rooibos -- by far one of the most comforting things to have sitting hotly in your hands as the desert winds blow.  Boy oh boy, am I excited about that.

Sleeping Frog has been host to a few changes in its roster.  Sadly, Eric took off today, riding his motorcycle out to a new life in San Francisco.  On Friday, though, we had two new faces to see -- Abby and Liv, hailing from Bloomington, IN.  The transient existence of the typical wwoofer is not yet something to which I've adjusted, but I'm getting there.  In general, I've felt a little discouraged by my unfitting-ness into society here:  I'm highly introverted, and my farming skills are mediocre at best.  Still, I'm trying to stay optimistic and see how my adjustment will change how I perceive my surroundings.

As far as farming goes here are some of the highlights of the past week:

• reinforcing the chicken coop (a feat, to say the least)
• harvesting enough spinach to drown me
• going on a bakery run with Adam to finish his raw fudge
  
• transplanting lettuce in the greenhouse
• blasting the hell out of some aphids on the kale
• falling deeper in love with the goats

And that, my friends, is about it for now.  I will keep you posted on further developments in the farming world.