For better visualization of this place that I work and live in, here are some pics:
4 girls on a rock in the backyard of the house
The back of the tool shed facing the forest
Friday, July 9, 2010
Thursday, July 8, 2010
I volunteered my time on the farm today. I’m not a farmer, but I felt like something was totally wrong.
Farm Girl Farm is this small place run by one lady who hires “interns” to work for a small stipend a month. The thing is that there is no organization. I worked for almost 6 hours straight in the field with no break, and when it was time for the planned lunch, she changed her mind and wanted everyone to keep working. Then she left, with assignments to be finished by the hungry overworked interns.
The weeds were horrendous, since they were neglected, and there is no equipment at all to take care of them. I was mostly upset because what would have taken me 2 hours to do (harvesting beets) took almost 6 because we had to play a game of “where’s the veggie” amidst the forest of weeds. The interns are not informed of her plans, or even of the accurate names of some of the veggies (I thought internships were for learning).
And then when I mentioned the weed situation she said “I didn’t ask you about the weeds.” Whoa farm nazi. The kids on the farm work 10 hour work days, the schedule changes at her whim, and she expects all to work overtime on top of the insane hours. The “interns” get paid about $2.50 or less an hour. Which they agree to do, to see positive results on the farm. But she doesn’t take advice from these people that have interned on other farms, took agriculture classes in college, and have had experience at home. It’s hard to stay motivated when she runs her workers to the ground and they get less kindly than her farm dog.
I hope this doesn’t continue happening to people who come from all over for a learning experience. Maybe next year she’ll be more humane?
Farm Girl Farm is this small place run by one lady who hires “interns” to work for a small stipend a month. The thing is that there is no organization. I worked for almost 6 hours straight in the field with no break, and when it was time for the planned lunch, she changed her mind and wanted everyone to keep working. Then she left, with assignments to be finished by the hungry overworked interns.
The weeds were horrendous, since they were neglected, and there is no equipment at all to take care of them. I was mostly upset because what would have taken me 2 hours to do (harvesting beets) took almost 6 because we had to play a game of “where’s the veggie” amidst the forest of weeds. The interns are not informed of her plans, or even of the accurate names of some of the veggies (I thought internships were for learning).
And then when I mentioned the weed situation she said “I didn’t ask you about the weeds.” Whoa farm nazi. The kids on the farm work 10 hour work days, the schedule changes at her whim, and she expects all to work overtime on top of the insane hours. The “interns” get paid about $2.50 or less an hour. Which they agree to do, to see positive results on the farm. But she doesn’t take advice from these people that have interned on other farms, took agriculture classes in college, and have had experience at home. It’s hard to stay motivated when she runs her workers to the ground and they get less kindly than her farm dog.
I hope this doesn’t continue happening to people who come from all over for a learning experience. Maybe next year she’ll be more humane?
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
For lunch, me and my girlfriend ate at a local cafe. We split a burger and had clam chowder soup, which was awesome! We were going to buy chocolate at this place called Chocolate Springs, but it was ridiculously expensive. The good-local-chocolate hunt will have to continue another day. We got back home and I got back to work on painting assignments (this morning I did a second layer of paint on the porch) as she went back to work at the farm.
Scraping paint feels like busy work before the actual assignment. Right before working on removing the paint from the shutters, which will get painted by me later, my host, we’ll call Jim, talked to me about how people in the past built houses intelligently. They couldn’t rely on electricity like we do, so they positioned the house and everything in to be insulated efficiently.
One of his kids and her friend came by to stay for a bit. He barbequed and we had 6 people around the table.
These blog posts are getting posted a bit earlier (I think) because my girlfriend now has to work on the farm starting at 6 am. Which means we have to go to bed even earlier. Her farm boss is a slave driver and uses outdated and inefficient farming techniques that take more effort and time for the interns to do everything. Plus a lot of crop gets wasted in the process. This is really frustrating my gf who would like to learn something from this experience and make a difference on the farm. Farm boss lady won’t listen to anyone though. And these absurd work schedules with less than minimum wage pay is frustrating to me to. She doesn’t get out until 7 at night!
Scraping paint feels like busy work before the actual assignment. Right before working on removing the paint from the shutters, which will get painted by me later, my host, we’ll call Jim, talked to me about how people in the past built houses intelligently. They couldn’t rely on electricity like we do, so they positioned the house and everything in to be insulated efficiently.
One of his kids and her friend came by to stay for a bit. He barbequed and we had 6 people around the table.
These blog posts are getting posted a bit earlier (I think) because my girlfriend now has to work on the farm starting at 6 am. Which means we have to go to bed even earlier. Her farm boss is a slave driver and uses outdated and inefficient farming techniques that take more effort and time for the interns to do everything. Plus a lot of crop gets wasted in the process. This is really frustrating my gf who would like to learn something from this experience and make a difference on the farm. Farm boss lady won’t listen to anyone though. And these absurd work schedules with less than minimum wage pay is frustrating to me to. She doesn’t get out until 7 at night!
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
I painted the porch today with my host. We scraped the old paint and bleached it in preparation for the primer. I was glad to be outside with him because the hostess had blown up at us about eating food in the house without asking for permission first. This made me feel like I was in a place where I wasn’t wanted and I was irked, but even more upset about how it hurt my girlfriend. She doesn’t take scolding very well.
We were out in the 98 degree weather painting the floorboards and he starts to tell me the story behind the house. I love these kinds of stories: the histories of places that I’ve been or lived in. He tells me that the person who built the house had a father who was an engineer and had eventually made a lot of money working on a railroad back when this was the newest mode of transportation. The son built the house with the money he inherited. And his last name was the same as my last name.
This gave the story even more of an appeal to me. I was not born in this country and I do not have a common American last name. So when he told me that he read the biography of this man and has the book above the fireplace in the living room, I became excited to read it. The house was passed down in the family until it was sold to another family. This is when my host had first seen the house. As a young man he was hired one summer to do painting around the house. The last time he had painted that very porch, in fact, was 35 summers ago.
As an older adult, and after living in Boston for years, he came back to visit his parents and noticed a picture of the house for sale in the window of a real estate office. He was curious and asked about it. The current owner, a grandson of the person he had painted for, had been lazy and the house was a wreck. It takes a lot of work to keep a big estate like this one maintained and potential buyers were scared away by the cost and effort it would take to do repairs. The entire heating system needed to be updated and there was a lot that needed to be redone.
My host knew the potential of the place. He knew the gorgeous 80-something acres it sat on. He knew the history of the place. So he bought it.
With a crew of professionals the house was brought to living standards. The interior designer loved the place, and stayed. This was the woman who would become my hostess this summer. His lady.
We were out in the 98 degree weather painting the floorboards and he starts to tell me the story behind the house. I love these kinds of stories: the histories of places that I’ve been or lived in. He tells me that the person who built the house had a father who was an engineer and had eventually made a lot of money working on a railroad back when this was the newest mode of transportation. The son built the house with the money he inherited. And his last name was the same as my last name.
This gave the story even more of an appeal to me. I was not born in this country and I do not have a common American last name. So when he told me that he read the biography of this man and has the book above the fireplace in the living room, I became excited to read it. The house was passed down in the family until it was sold to another family. This is when my host had first seen the house. As a young man he was hired one summer to do painting around the house. The last time he had painted that very porch, in fact, was 35 summers ago.
As an older adult, and after living in Boston for years, he came back to visit his parents and noticed a picture of the house for sale in the window of a real estate office. He was curious and asked about it. The current owner, a grandson of the person he had painted for, had been lazy and the house was a wreck. It takes a lot of work to keep a big estate like this one maintained and potential buyers were scared away by the cost and effort it would take to do repairs. The entire heating system needed to be updated and there was a lot that needed to be redone.
My host knew the potential of the place. He knew the gorgeous 80-something acres it sat on. He knew the history of the place. So he bought it.
With a crew of professionals the house was brought to living standards. The interior designer loved the place, and stayed. This was the woman who would become my hostess this summer. His lady.
Monday, July 5, 2010
I'm guessing it's common knowledge here that porcupines eat chairs.
Two nights ago, my gf and I were watching some stand-up comedy, specifically Russel Peter, on Youtube. The windows behind the couch look out to the front porch, and coming from outside we heard a terrifying grinding sound. We were alone in this huge house and we were warned that we had to be extra careful this weekend because a lot new people would be in town for the holiday, and if anyone wandered up our driveway it would be wise to have the doors locked.
Hearing the slow scraping of wood just outside our window set the scene for an awful horror movie, in our minds.
I turned off the lights in the living room and crept to the door's window. Peeking out, I couldn't see anything, but the noise was loud and unusual. Then a small black object on the far corner of the porch caught my eyes. It was moving, hunched over on a chair.
Squinting I could make out spikes, and the creature turned to look at the door with black beady eyes. I shuddered.
Two nights ago, my gf and I were watching some stand-up comedy, specifically Russel Peter, on Youtube. The windows behind the couch look out to the front porch, and coming from outside we heard a terrifying grinding sound. We were alone in this huge house and we were warned that we had to be extra careful this weekend because a lot new people would be in town for the holiday, and if anyone wandered up our driveway it would be wise to have the doors locked.
Hearing the slow scraping of wood just outside our window set the scene for an awful horror movie, in our minds.
I turned off the lights in the living room and crept to the door's window. Peeking out, I couldn't see anything, but the noise was loud and unusual. Then a small black object on the far corner of the porch caught my eyes. It was moving, hunched over on a chair.
Squinting I could make out spikes, and the creature turned to look at the door with black beady eyes. I shuddered.
Sunday, July 4, 2010
July 4th in the Berkshires
We had a full house today at the B&B. I cleaned rooms quickly while guest met each other over breakfast. Hungry, I hurried home after noon, having eaten only a pancake and two dried figs.
My girlfriend stir fried veggies, boiled rice and we ate pecans in nutella. We have been surviving the weekend alone (with a food-less fridge) with veggies from her farm. At this point we are feeling pretty meat deprived.
So on to an awesome party with farm girls. There is a bbq with sausages and chicken. Pie, brownies and lots of drinks. The best part of the night...
We go to Tanglewood and lie in the grass, listening to a concert by Taylor Swift. Then the fireworks. So sleepy...
We had a full house today at the B&B. I cleaned rooms quickly while guest met each other over breakfast. Hungry, I hurried home after noon, having eaten only a pancake and two dried figs.
My girlfriend stir fried veggies, boiled rice and we ate pecans in nutella. We have been surviving the weekend alone (with a food-less fridge) with veggies from her farm. At this point we are feeling pretty meat deprived.
So on to an awesome party with farm girls. There is a bbq with sausages and chicken. Pie, brownies and lots of drinks. The best part of the night...
We go to Tanglewood and lie in the grass, listening to a concert by Taylor Swift. Then the fireworks. So sleepy...
Saturday, July 3, 2010
I’m 2 weeks into my summer in the Berkshires and have been toying with the idea of creating a blog. There is a lot of beauty to report on and quirky lifestyles that I want to illustrate. My hesitations have been, as with everyone, a lack of time since there is a lot of work to be done in the countryside and everyone goes to bed so early to rise at 5 or 6 am. This is wild for a college kid like me, but I’ve been adjusting and I’m trying to steal away a few minutes a day to write this blog.
About me: I’ve escaped the Florida heat and the college town to live with my girlfriend in Massachusetts. She’s also from my college town, but she’s interning on a farm and stays with a host couple. I got a job at a bed & breakfast around the corner, and then I work around the house doing landscaping or painting. The house: 10 bedrooms, 3 floors (not including the basement), 40 something acres complete with a brook and a forest, 3 horses, cows, chickens, a guinea fowl named Uni and a dog named Burt.
This weekend, the couple went on a roadtrip and we have the house to ourselves. After taking care of the animals we have some delicious meals planned using fresh veggies from her farm. And it's the Fourth of July weekend; there'll probably be a lot of people in town. I’ll be back to post upcoming activities and commentary on life here in the Berkshires.
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