A Note from Layton at Quail Hill Farm | “the Julys”

This evening, I write to you from the deck of a rental house in Truro, Massachusetts on the outer reaches of Cape Cod where my family and I are spending a few days together. All of the early summer produce is present, plucked by yours truly from the same rows that our CSA members have perused to feed their families lately: Quail Hill silt loam sloughs off of piles of lettuce, radishes, carrots and more as toddlers tumble about our momentary home. 

I brought along a bicycle to get a closer, slower look at our surroundings: agrostemma, beach roses, Queen Anne’s lace and day lillies adorn the roadsides everywhere. Ecosystems here are young, delicate and highly contingent– 6,000 years old as a terrestrial body, Cape Cod is, geologically speaking, ephemeral. In another six millennia (and likely many fewer) the thick marshes and listless dunes of this peninsula will likely be swallowed by the rising sea. 

Of course, the Cape is analogous to our own beloved East End: scrub oaks and errant pines, sandy shoulders and pockets of marsh and harbor. The low hum of the ocean and ambient heat of summer evenings lend a languid air to high summer. One of America’s most celebrated contemporary poets, Mary Oliver, drew inspiration from this landscape for half a century and penned countless lines in praise of the natural world. (See below for my personal favorite!) 

Back home in Amagansett, we’ve just crossed the sticky threshold into “the Julys…” Weeds! Long hours! Rote fieldwork & more weeds! Even seventeen years into my farming journey, I still experience fatigue in the monotony of high summer. Despite it all, we keep cranking and get it done, so drop off some popsicles for our crew and show us some love!

Every month on a farm is one of transformation, and July is no different: soon we’ll unearth peals of new potatoes, and already the fruits of zucchini and summer squash plants double in size in a matter of hours (no joke!). By month’s end, we’ll start to reap cherry tomatoes, eggplant and (hopefully) our first heirloom and slicing tomatoes.

Take care! And see you in the fields,

Layton