In the latest addition to my Yankee Farmlands project, wrinkled plumes of kale climb over encroaching weeds on a swath of sunny cropland in the hills of West Granby. Warm, summertime air drifts lazily through the field, the breeze too faint to stir the still forests along the farm edge.
Vegetables such as kale, collards, cabbage, broccoli, cauliflower, kohlrabi and brussel sprouts are popular greens that occasionally even share the same field. But would you believe that every one of those vegetables represents the same species? That’s right… even though they may look dramatically different, they all possess genes which are virtually identical to those of a weed known as “wild lettuce”.
How was such a diverse array of vegetables derived from a single species? Thousands of years ago, early farmers carefully selected generation after generation of cultivated wild lettuce to promote certain desired traits: long stems for kohlrabi, enlarged flower buds for broccoli, broad leaves for kale and so on.
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“Yankee Farmlands № 31” is the latest installment in an on-going project of mine in which I celebrate the agricultural heritage of New England through the scenic farmlands of Connecticut. This time around, we find ourselves in the small town of Bolton, peering at a barn and forest-bound meadow over the lichen-encrusted rocks of an iconic fieldstone wall.
Most of New England’s fieldstone walls were built 150 to 200 years ago during an era in which an ever-growing population was feverishly clearing new farmland. Exhausting labor went into constructing these walls as untold tons of stone were plucked from the upper layers of soil, hauled off to the outskirts of the pasture or field and loosely stacked by hand.
These relict stone walls are celebrated for their rustic aesthetic these days, but we might be surprised to discover that they were considered rather mundane at the time of their construction. For the Yankee farmers that built them, fieldstone walls merely represented a practical way to dispose of agricultural refuse. It wasn’t until the 20th-century, when much of New England’s age-old agrarian ways had faded, that rustic stone walls became romantic relics of a simpler, unhurried era in the region’s history.
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My latest addition to the Yankee Farmlands collection brings us to the town of Bloomfield in Northern Connecticut, where the broken stalks from last year’s corn crop stand in a field which has nearly flooded as warm spells melt away the thick snow pack.
“Mud Season” is the not-too-affectionate term for this time of year in New England. It’s that month-long stretch beginning in late March when the snows are melting away even though the soil below the surface of the ground remains frozen. Meltwater can’t drain through the icy underlayer, so it becomes trapped at the surface and produces a thick slurry of mud.
This was a major source of difficulty in the old days before most of Connecticut’s roads were paved. Horses, wagon wheels and even early cars would get swallowed up in the deep, rutted mud of dirt roads. The resulting mess perennially had a significant impact upon travel in the early springtime. Even still, we here in Southern New England have always had it easier than our neighbors further north. Mud season is far worse in Northern New England, where lower temperatures can freeze the ground much more deeply and springtime mud can hang around well into June!
On a different note, the particular swath of cropland shown here in “Yankee Farmlands № 26” may look like a rather ordinary corn field. But you won’t find any barns or a family farmhouse on this property, because the land is actually owned by the State of Connecticut. This stretch of flatland is a large, designated flood control area nestled amidst the mostly suburban landscape of Bloomfield. Although full-blown floods don’t occur here very often, setting aside this low-lying, poorly-drained area helps protect against unwise development and comes with accompanying benefit of preserving open space. Although I suppose that the state government might grow its own corn here for one reason or another, it seems much more likely that the land is leased to a local farmer who lives off-site and works it as remote field in addition to his or her other land.
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