Posts

Seth Stinson

One thing that I whole-heartedly love about the Farmers’ Market is the wide variety of personalities that it brings together. You’d think that it would attract the same type of people, but everyone is different, quirky, and fun in their own way. I think Seth Stinson is probably the embodiment of that. He is always bright eyed and bushy tailed, quick with a joke, and light hearted to the extreme. His unique range of products exemplifies his individuality. Who else sells duck eggs and live fermented foods like pickles and Kim-chi? So, I was absolutely delighted when given the opportunity to go spend a morning with Seth up in Central, Utah.  As I pulled into the cabin studded subdivision, it was hard to imagine a farm out here. The rugged, dry landscape seemed only conducive to the gnarly junipers and Pinyon pines that dominated the scenery. As I rounded a corner dense with trees, I veered sharply into Seth’s concealed driveway. As I pulled up to the three story, A-frame house, Seth was standing outside wearing his signature smile and farmers’ market t-shirt. That’s so awesome, I thought as I hurriedly unbuckled to get out of the car. “Hello!” Seth called. “Now, where would you like to start?” he said, wasting no time. “Wherever you think is best. This is your show!” I answered. “Alright, let’s go.” Seth pointed to the right side of the house and we were off.

Immediately to the right of the driveway the terraced gardens began. The retaining walls are compiled out of all kinds of

Roof top sprinkler

bricks, cinderblocks, and huge pieces of wood. Each section contains a variety of plants. By the time we had reached the edge of the house, the rugged natural landscape was replaced with the dreamy, green wilderness Seth has created. “You want to see something neat?” Seth started fiddling with the hose spigot. I looked at him inquisitively. Surely, he knows I’ve seen a hose before, I thought. “Look!” Seth then pointed to the hose that was running up his roof. I traced it to the top with my eyes and by the time they reached the sprinkler mounted to the roof, water began shooting out of it. “It has a 60 foot watering circumference. It’s also completely efficient: water lands on the roof cooling the house, then runs down the roof into the beds below, no water is wasted.” I stood there laughing in the early morning shower. “Okay, that’s enough.” Seth turned the water off. “Let’s go over here.”  He began walking down the garden-lined path that leads around the house. If it’s possible to have a Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory moment about gardening, I was having it. Each bed had its own unique piece of art and complimentary variety of plants. More and more levels of the terraced gardens came into view, making the garden visually appear to be 7 feet tall. There was so much to take in I had to stop and start laughing in overwhelm, “Seth!” I exclaimed. He turned around quickly, probably thinking something was wrong with me because I had cut him off midsentence. “This is amazing!” I sputtered, “I mean… How long have you been out here? How did you start all this?” He smiled. Seth calmly explained to me that he had been out in Central for 20 years (which looks like the right amount of time to get a garden like that) and that his parents had always gardened but it wasn’t until he took a Botany class in college that his curiosity and passion for gardening was sparked.

Magnificent Garlic Chives

By this time, we reached the back corner of the walkway where we stood in front of a bed full of Garlic flowers and a wall of herbs.  Breaking off a few Garlic Chive flowers, Seth handed them to me. “Here, dry these then plant them and you’ll have your own Garlic Chives. You’ll actually probably need a bag by the time we’re done.” I smiled as I looked down at my flowers thankfully. This is one of my favorite things about gardening: It’s so easy to share and feel connected to each other and history. Now, when I have Garlic Chives in my garden I will always refer to it as Seth’s chives, and I’ll know where it came from. Sentimental and dumb I know. I looked up and realized Seth was up the path a ways. I hustled to catch up. The small, side path came to a huge wall of grapes and opened to a gigantic yard of terraced gardens. “Holy cow!” I said, holding my hand to my brow to shade my eyes. Bed after bed of beautiful tomatoes, fruit trees, and vegetables sprawled out in front of me. “Yep I do what I can,” Seth said casually. I was completely stunned as Seth started telling me the different varieties and ages of the plants. “See those two pear trees there? Through grafting, I’ve made it so I get 5 different types of pears from each.” He said matter-of-factly. “No way! That actually works?” Seth nodded. It was hear that Seth pointed out that he had 27 different types of trees on the property, including a very extensive collection of Utah native plants. “Here let me show you the Jujube tree.” Seth excitedly walked down a side path. “This is the only tree I get fruit from every year because it waits so long to bloom. The other trees are idiots and bloom in March then freeze, but not this one.” I couldn’t help but laugh. It wasn’t hard to spot because the tree was chalk full of exotic looking green fruit. “So, the fruit comes on, I leave it on the tree to dry and then I pick it.” Seth said, while pointing out the male and female Jujube trees he was cultivating. “Wait, you leave the fruit on there?” I repeated. “Yep. The birds don’t know what it is, so I don’t have to worry about them.” I chuckled. Of course, Seth would have a tree that confused birds, of course! Why wouldn’t he?

terraced gardens and the grape wall

This put us down the path that led to the duck pen which is encircled by gardens of leafy greens. “Ok, you see these greens?” Seth said. “They feed me and the ducks.” He grabbed a quick bunch and took them over to a table that already had a chopping board and a knife. Seth quickly chopped up a gigantic salad, took a mouthful and threw the rest over the fence. “I feed them good duck food and organic greens.” He said as he munched. I was mesmerized by the chocolate-golden colored ducks swarming in front of me. “So, you don’t spray?” I asked. “Nope. I don’t. I think the chemicals they put in our food is what’s killing us.” Seth answered. I nodded in agreement as I looked back at the ducks. “What kind of ducks are these? I’ve never seen them before.” I asked. “They are Golden 300’s. They’re called that because they are supposed to lay 300 eggs a year. Each egg can be 3-4 times the size of a chicken egg too.” Seth answered, I asked if they slow down in the winter and Seth shook his head. “As long as they get 18% protein they’ll lay all year long. Want to collect some eggs?” Seth asked unhinging the gate. I nodded an emphatic yes. Seth showed me around the coop and then to some of the hidden nests throughout the pen to collect the gigantic, fake-looking, white eggs. “This is a really clean pen, Seth. I was always told that ducks were super messy.” Seth chuckled a bit, “Ducks are only messy if you leave open water around them. It’s all about how you keep them.” We stood and watched them run around for a bit before Seth told me he had twelve new ducklings up on the porch. He must have read the sheer excitement on my face because he immediately began to lead me to the back porch. When I climbed the staircase onto the back porch, the view opened up to a beautiful panoramic view of the mountains. “Well, that’s beautiful.” I said pointing out. “Yes, it’s really nice. I sleep outside on the top balcony most nights. Until the wind wakes me up.”

Left to right: Golden 300 ducks, Seth making a salad, and DUCKLINGS!!!

Seth led me over to a big blue container and pointed inside. There were twelve of the cutest fuzzy little ducklings I’ve ever

natural fermented goodness

seen all snuggled together. “AWWWW.” I melted as I reached in to touch one. “One of them almost died. It had a really rough journey,” Seth interjected. He then described the painstaking lengths he went to to revive the little girl. In the corner of the deck, over his shoulder, I saw a smoker. I pointed to it, “So do you smoke the ducks?” “What?” He asked. He turned and saw that I was pointing at the smoker. “Oh no. I’m vegan.” He quickly answered. My expression quickly changed. I don’t know why I’m surprised anymore when people say that, but for some reason Seth completely blindsided me. Seth disappeared inside and came out with a bowl of dried apricots, dates, and pine nuts. “This is what I snack on. The pine nuts I harvest from this property, I get about 25 pounds a year.” He stated. “You collect them and roast them yourself?” I asked. “Oh no. I don’t cook anything.” Seth answered. “Wait…” I interjected. Seth watched me patiently as I added everything up in my head, “So you’re not just vegan you’re a raw foodist.” He nodded. “That’s incredible. Why?” I asked. Seth smiled, quoted Hippocrates, and said in a somber tone, “Let thy food be thy medicine.” Seth then ran me through his long list of medical problems that started with him almost dying at 30. He talked about how one doctor took a huge risk and, off the record, told him to cut out dairy. “I’ve been on a journey since then to heal myself. That’s why I eat raw. That’s why I have my Master Gardener and Master Preserver certifications. That’s why I sell my fermented products at the market. My mission is to educate. You’ve got to continually put something in your stomach every meal to heal yourself.” It turns out, your stomach acid kills most of the natural probiotic so you have to up your intake to gradually replace it. “I only use organic vegetables and pink Himalayan sea salt. No vinegar. If there is vinegar in something it’s dead, not living.”

The view from the back porch and Seth’s stainless steel mason jar handles.

We talked for a long time on the back porch. We discussed living off the land, being self-sufficient, his time in the Army, and life in general. We talked about how our food supply system currently isn’t sustainable and the major changes we see coming. All the while, stopping every so often to look out and drink in the incredible scenery at a mile-high elevation. Sitting there on that porch, I felt incredibly grateful and thankful for all the decisions that lead to me getting involved with the farmers market. I have long been looking for answers to my own health issues and it seems that this job continually puts me in the path of awesome, inspirational, community members that gently lead me to a simpler way of living. Even though I’m slow and still teetering about going full vegan, I think it’s essential to always have conversations which make you evaluate your beliefs. Trust me when I tell you that if anyone can make you question everything, it’s Seth Stinson. I thankfully picked up my bag full of grapes, garlic flowers, and goodies and headed down towards the car. I made Seth take one more picture and then loaded up. As I backed out of the driveway, I kept repeating to myself, “That was so awesome!” and smiled the whole way home. You can support Seth every Saturday at the Downtown Farmers Market at Ancestor Square.

/0 Comments/by

Donny Terpstra

The first time I saw Donny Terpstra unloading his booth at the Farmers’ Market I was in shock, then immediately became suspicious. I thought, there is no way he is growing all of this. The mounds and mounds of fresh, organic, leafy greens and vegetables make Donny’s table look like a set-up from Whole Foods. It’s impressive and delicious. Because of this completely unfounded suspicion, I was relieved by Donny’s cool acceptance to be interviewed. Finally, I was going to get to the bottom of things. The hour drive to Enterprise on Hwy 18 is a slow climb in elevation where the scenery ranges from dramatic red sand to wild green mountain-scapes. After making a few twists and turns through the town I saw a Shoal Creek Berries sign popping out of a wall of trees. I quickly turned right and got about 5 ft into the driveway when I stopped and audibly gasped, “Holy crap”. Shoal Creek Farm is the homestead I’ve dreamed of since a child. Overwhelming amounts of greenery and color protruded from every patch of earth. Beautifully manicured rows of berry bushes wrapped around the house and the flower beds looked like they belonged in a Martha Stewart catalog.

Donny greeted me as I hopped out of my car. “Wow this is beautiful! Is this your place?” I blurted out, ready to dump a thousand questions that were forming in my mind. “Oh no. It’s Darrell’s. Let me get him.” Donny sent his son, who works with him, to go find Darrell Humphrey. Minutes later, he pulled up on a 4-wheeler. I immediately understood why Shoal Creek Berries was the stuff of children’s books. Darrell is the quintessential grandpa figure. A tall, sweet faced, elderly man that welcomed me profusely and launched into stories of the good old days. He told me how the 5-acre farm had been organic since before organic was even a thing. For 10 years he and his wife Karen have worked their land naturally for no other reason than because it was the right thing to do. Darrell apologized for how the farm looked, explaining that this season has been particularly hard because of the heat and the terrifyingly low amount of water. I chortled, which received confused looks. I was struggling to make sense of the statement that the green paradise in front of me was not having a good year. It was here Donny pointed out random, empty garden plots and naming the crops they had lost due to drought. Darrell again reiterated my welcome and left with a statement of full confidence in Donny’s ability to show me around. “He’s the brain child behind the greens anyway,” Darrell stated as he started his 4-wheeler and rode away smiling and waving.

Left to right: Blackberry cuttings, Donny with the seedlings, and ‘the pit’

“Let’s start in the pit.” Donny pointed to the sunken structure to the left of me and I trailed behind him like an excited golden retriever. As I walked down the steps, Donny walked me through the construction of the pit, which made zero sense until I got to the bottom step and looked inside. I started freaking out. The pit is 5 ft deep and the retaining wall around the perimeter, keeping it all from caving in, is made out of old tires. In front of the tires are huge, black barrels of water. The water is heated by solar energy, which keeps the pit warm enough to grow year around. Having the structure half buried makes use of the thermal energy from the Earth, keeping it cool in Summer and warm in Winter. I’d like to say I was a professional and kept it together, but that would be a lie. I was pointing at everything and repeating, “Dude, this is AWESOME.” Donny calmly nodded and agreed, saying it turned out pretty cool. He wasted no time as he guided me through the diverse variety of seedlings and greenery contained in the pit. He pointed to a thick, well used, binder on the table. “This is my planting journal. I’ve had it for the past 5 years. I keep track of everything I ever plant, when they get transplanted, what area they’re in, and how well they do.” My face turned red with embarrassment over the fact that I can’t even keep my mail sorted. I followed him down the rows in awe.

 

I asked Donny why he decided to start an Organic Greens business. “Well I got sick.” Donny shrugged. Looking at me and seeing this answer wasn’t going to stop me from prying, he elaborated. Donny grew up around farming but found his way into concrete work and construction. In his early 30’s he had an accident and when he wasn’t healing right, his normal life got turned upside down. Donny described years of tests, the frustration of not knowing, and mostly the crippling pain. “I was finally diagnosed with a degenerative disease. I moved my family back here to be near my parents while we figured it out. Darrell first hired me as a berry picker but over the years he’s let me take on more and more. Because he knows if I sit still, the disease will put me in a wheel chair.” We stood there quiet for a moment. I was lost in the enormity of the situation, the kindness of strangers, and the literal life that was busting forth out of the ground from such a derailing experience. While I was having an existential crisis, Donny was listing other things to show me, “Let’s go to the greenhouses.” Donny turned on his heals and headed up out of the pit.

clockwise left to right: inside the greenhouses, squash leaves, back lot, and rows of blackberries.

Donny walked me through the next two greenhouses with the same matter-of-fact attitude, while I struggled to keep up. He described building the greenhouses out of electrical conduit and recycled cedar posts. “The first one was a little confusing, but we figured it out. It’s easy once you get it, so you can tell people to come out here and I’ll show them how to do it.” The first greenhouse had rows of chard and huge bunches of kale. Donny explained that they had already cycled through a spinach crop and when they planted a second batch, all the crops would rotate their placement. It was stunning. In the second greenhouse, they were using a method called companion planting. There were long, green rows of tomato plants and each plant was encircled with Romaine, Basil, and Cilantro. Donny mentioned that he sells the Basil to local restaurants and would soon be able to produce 30 lbs a week. To put that in perspective, Basil leaves are as light as a feather. That’s a whole lot of Basil.

 

As we circled the property, every few steps there was another project that solidified Donny’s farming superhero status. We came upon the compost heap. He led me through the huge vermiculture compost tea operation they had. “If I have a plant that is struggling, a few sprays of this on the leaves and boom! It’s fixed.” He described each layer inside the compost bin and how it filters the compost into the most nutrient-dense plant fertilizer known to man. Then he uncovered the top and dug down to show me the worms and their rich, dark castings. Even I knew I was looking at black gold. We rounded the last corner bringing me back to my car. I was about to leave when Donny said, “Want to see the wood fire ovens.” My eyebrows lifted and my head started involuntarily nodding.
I shut my car door, and again hurried to keep up with Donny and his unstoppable go-go pace. A short distance away, we came upon 3 huge, free-standing wood fire ovens. They were built with broken bits of concrete, insulating layers of sand, and layers of handmade adobe. He then started describing all of his favorite recipes and I stood in complete disbelief at the amount of things this guy gets done. I asked if he gets his ideas off of Pinterest. Donny looked at me confused as if I was talking in tongues. I was flushed with the realization that people like Donny didn’t use Pinterest, people like Donny is who Pinterest is based on. After that, looking around the farm, I saw every project I had ever pinned brought to life and I felt a pang of jealousy.

Donny and the wood fire ovens. One has a face because he was bored.

We said goodbye and as I began my journey home I stopped in the driveway, taking in my final breathes on the property and absorbing its beauty one last time. As I drove home I ran through every twist and turn we had taken on the farm; recognizing that every bunch of kale and Swiss Chard was the product of a life’s work, not just an afternoon here and there, but every moment from sun up to sun down. The piles of food on the market table suddenly transformed into bundles of hours and devotion. I understood now why Donny’s displays look outrageous to a normal person, because Donny is not your average farmer. He’s Super Farmer and we are so crazy grateful to have him in our community. Donny Terpstra and Shoal Creek Berries is a corner stone vendor of the Downtown Farers’ Market and can be found there every Saturday 9 am- noon. They also host u-pick berry events in the fall.  You can follow Shoal Creek Berries on Facebook HERE or if you need to place an order you can head over to their website HERE

/2 Comments/by

Katie Beacham

Katie Beacham and her gigantic Fig

For the past 3 weeks I have had a nasty upper respiratory infection. I know, SUPER glamorous and exactly the correct way to start an article, right? Last week as I walked around the Farmer’s Market, my awesome community of vendors all checked in on me, wished me well, and sent healing vibes. It was great. When I stopped and talked to our local herb lady, Katie Beacham she said, “You know I have something that’ll help you. Let’s meet up this week and I’ll get you some.” Since my antibiotics had failed, I was excited at any prospect of relief and jumped on the offer. I also knew that if I was going out to Katie’s, that she would be my farmer for the week (even though I didn’t tell her that until Tuesday, a few hours before I showed up to interview her). As I was driving out to Katie’s place I was getting more and more excited. Herbalism has been a long-time interest of mine, but I always find it so intimidating. Probably because I assumed it required a 10-year long apprenticeship with a shaman on top of a mountain somewhere. I mean we grow our own cilantro, put lemon balm in our tea, and I never make potatoes without Rosemary but beyond that? Forget it. I pulled up and hoped out of my car.

 

Katie walked out to greet me. Giving into my anticipation, I said “Alright! Show me what you got.” Katie immediately started pointing at little patches of greenery all around me and telling me their names, common uses, and funny folklore. To the left of her front door she pointed out this column of fuzzy, sea foam colored, broad leaves and told me its name (which I wasn’t quick enough to write down). Katie then told me it was more commonly referred to as Cowboy Toilet Paper and laughed. A google search would later reveal it to be Mullein and it has many uses outside of emergency toiletries. I hurried to keep up with her. Plants I wouldn’t have even noticed, Katie pulled leaves off of and would hand it to me to munch. As I ate my deconstructed salad, Katie would tell me the nutritional values and health benefits. One such plant was Purslane, which looks like a weed but has an amazingly high level of Omega 3 fatty acids and a delightful peppery taste. At this point I think she could tell my head was spinning, so she walked me over to the more common culinary herbs. I’ve never been so happy to see Mint in my life. I finally realized that all my basic knowledge was woefully inadequate for the desert shaman Katie Beacham’s beginning field course.

Left to right: A wild paradise on one side of the yard, Katie explaining the plants, and a 4 ft tall Artichoke

 

Throughout our walk, she referenced several times the way her mother and father had the landscape when they were alive. Through a convoluted path of questioning I found out that the property had been acquired by her father long before she could remember. “If you had to guess, would you say the 50s?” I asked. “Oh no, way before that.” Katie answered. She then described her father Don Beacham, who worked for the city of Santa Clara, as a quiet man who believed in conservation. He kept his head down and worked hard. Over time he and his wife Ellen bought patches of land throughout the city to grow on. “They were so wonderful. They kept everything beautiful. I don’t have their green thumb.” Katie said. I laughed thinking it was obviously a joke. Katie also expressed how she thought the goodness of her father had kept the property safe. “There has been times where everything around us has flooded out, but the water never comes near this house,” she said. What a great feeling to have. Since gardening was a family activity, I asked if she had learned about herbs from her mother. “My mother was a great gardener, but I learned a lot on my own. I was really sick a while back and all of the prescription medication they gave me made me sicker. I had to find another way, so I started reading about herbs.” A sentiment I related to so well because that was the exact reason I was even at Katie’s to begin with.

 

Big luscious Rosemary.

After touring her amazing yard, Katie explained she also had a partner she worked with in the neighborhood and that there were a lot more herbs over at Janice Chandler house. The house was only a few blocks away, so we decided to hop in my car and head over. As we drove, Katie pointed out local landmarks and gave me some background information on the town. She walked me through the intricacies of her part of the community like only a true local could. We pulled up to Janice’s and were greeted with amazing beds of herbs in full bloom. It was awesome to see this little industry of herbs was blossoming throughout the community. She walked me through the clusters of plants and patiently answered all my questions. Holy Basil, Curry, Rosemary bushes the size of baby bears. I felt like I was rushing through my 10 year apprenticeship. I fumbled trying to take notes and pictures at the same time. Still struggling not to miss any of the wisdom that Katie was sharing. When we got back to her place, Katie walked me over to a gigantic Fig tree on the edge of an open field. She started pointing out the ripening fruit and told me she was toying with the idea of bringing them to the market. I salivated at the prospect.

 

We turned and looked out at the huge empty side lot and our conversation began to wander. We covered city happenings to corporate mergers. This is how I found out that Katie had refused to sell her lot to a developer who wanted to build condos. When I asked her what her dream for the property was, she said that for years she’s wanted to turn it into a community garden. We walked over to where the neatly tilled rows started, and she pointed out the water line she had running from the irrigation ditch. Katie looked at me, “I just really want people who don’t have the space or access to a garden to have a place to grow. I’d only charge them for the water.” Chills ran down my arms and I immediately envisioned the bustling community garden of the future. It wasn’t hard to get completely swept up in the idea and we began spit balling ideas. Katie talked about dividing the lot into plots. I started listing off people who could help her get it off the ground. Katie pointed out where fruit trees could go. I started listing off the year round activities that could be held there. We sat there for a few magical moments totally entrenched in her dream.

Katie in front of the plot she wants to turn into the community garden and a blooming batch of Curry.

We kept talking it through and the more we did, the more I realized that maybe Katie was the magic and not the idea. I began to see that Katie didn’t just sell at the Farmer’s Market because it was fun. She sells there because it’s what she believes in. Her dream is to stay small, local, and give back. What’s more shaman-esque than that? We walked back up to the car and I was trying to find the words to thank her for all the things she has done for the community and all the things she’s going to do. Instead, I promised I would try to help her figure out how to get her community garden up and running. A promise I intend to keep. If you have any interest in starting a plot out at Katie’s or helping it get off the ground, feel free to email her at kbeacham@q.com or email us at downtownfarmersmarket@yahoo.com and as always, if you need good local herbs you can find her every Saturday at the Downtown Farmer’s Market 9 am- noon.

/1 Comment/by

Nicole’s Honey

Steve and Nicole Simmons, the power couple behind Nicole’s Honey

One of the things I’ve truly loved about working with the Farmer’s Market has been the cultivation of community. I get to meet all these wonderful farmers and artisans carving out a life in our neighborhoods and all the families who come out to support them.  I love to hear their stories. It’s a beautiful feeling to have in this day and age, where so many people feel disconnected from each other. It gives me hope. Our farmers this week embody this community spirit. This product is truly a community effort and is bringing people together for the sweet, sometimes savory, magical goodness that is Nicole’s Honey. Nestled in a beautiful little neighborhood in Hurricane is Nicole’s Honey headquarters, which is the beautiful home of Steve and Nicole Simmons. They welcomed me in and we sat down.

 

We started talking about the market, honey, and how it all started back in 2012. Nicole was a school teacher and a janitor at the school was offering beekeeping classes. He convinced Nicole and Steve to take the course. “After the first class I was hooked. I thought they were the coolest, most interesting creatures ever. I mean save the bees and all that,” Steve said laughing. That’s another thing you’ll notice about Steve and Nicole, they’re hilarious and always joking. They got their first hive that season and over the past 6 years have built up to their delicious 80 hive empire. When I asked where all the hives were, Steve replied “Everywhere.” To which Nicole promptly added, “Yes, if we’re driving around and we see a good spot, Steve will knock on their door. He’s not afraid to ask. We mainly trade honey for land use.” A pang of jealousy shot through my stomach. 80 familes are getting a sweet honey deal for helping with this local business. “We’ll do hive splits this year and next and hopefully have 300 hives.” At the mere mention of this, I could no longer hide my excitement. 300 hives!!!

A teaching comb that Steve brought out to show me when I first arrived.

I began asking about breeds. “We have Italians, Cordovan’s, and we’ve started using a Canadian breed Saskatraz. They are all super gentle breeds. Not aggressive at all. You want to go out and work the hive?” Steve threw in casually. Trying to judge if he was serious or teasing, I of course, said yes. Within minutes, we were all suited up and I was getting the run down of all the equipment. I was put in charge of the smoker (well… I held the smoker until Steve needed it). I followed him to their hive and he started explaining to me the basic set up. The bottom chambers are for the queen to lay in and build the hive. There is a little screen called a ‘queen excluder’ to keep her out of the top boxes that are reserved for honey collection. I was overwhelmed with how many working parts there are in a hive. We walked over to a ‘nuke’ hive which means they are just getting established and not yet producing honey. Steve coached me through cracking the lid. I have to say, it made me feel pretty rad. Suddenly, this golden sea of moving insects was exposed, which should have been terrifying, but instead was hypnotizing.  Steve started pulling out the frames and explaining the patterns that were appearing before me.

From left to right: Smoking the hive, bringing out the first frame, and examining the second frame

“See right here? They are just filling this in with the wax for the comb. It takes 7 pounds of nectar to create 1 pound of drawn out wax.” I don’t think Steve could read my shocked expression through my veil. He carefully set the frame aside. “We’ll keep going until we find the queen.” He pulled out the next frame and showed me completely different stages that were happening in front of my face. It was unreal. Every single frame was unique and had a whole different part of the bee’s journey unfolding in front of me. Steve and Nicole walked me through what happens in each stage of the comb cycle and how it effects the health and prosperity of the hive; again, reiterating how much love and attention goes into keeping these high maintenance fuzzy little girls happy and thriving. That’s another thing I learned: hives are not just ruled by a queen, but almost all the inhabitants are female. There are very few male/drone bees. As we were getting deeper into the hive, Steve pointed out the laying patterns of the queen and how productive she was. “This is a good queen. She’s doing everything right.” As we were examining the middle frame, I spotted a huge red dot on the back of a bee. Nicole congratulated me for spotting her first, and I felt like a bee rock star. Steve then explained how they mark the queens to keep track of them. A different color is used each year.  We watched her for a few amazing minutes. Steve was right, she was a good queen.

Try and spot the queen with her big dot.

We reassembled the hive and took off our gear. Steve, Nicole, and I went into their garage where all the processing happens. They have a radial extractor that does 400 revolutions per minute. “Before we had this electric one, I had one that was a hand crank. It sucked.” I laughed, and as they explained the process of hot knifing the comb and spinning out the honey, it didn’t take long to understand how grueling the work would be by hand. “What we’re known for is our creamed honey. No one does it to the extent and quality that we do. It’s a 14-day process of adding crystallized honey and liquid honey at certain temperatures and letting it evolve.” They walked me through the process of achieving there many different flavors. It was mind boggling to think that every jar represented months of bee collecting and weeks of processing. “Oh this is something else we do. Pure comb straight in the jar. We built these custom frames so we can just cut the comb out and drop it in the jar. Completely unprocessed, untouched by human hands.” He handed me a jar and as I examined it I realized that this was probably the closest I’d ever come to holding liquid gold.

from left to right: the radial extractor, the working hive, and raw comb honey.

It was getting late in the evening, so we said our goodbyes and I started my drive back. The whole night kept replaying through my head and it wasn’t hard to see the similarities between the hive of bees and the Farmer’s Market. We are all these individuals going out and harvesting little patches of earth or creating wonderful products, then we bring it to the heart of the city to spread out and share and build our hive. It’s so perfect. It’s almost as perfect as having an amazing evening learning about bees and looking over at the passenger seat and seeing a jar of fresh, sweet, local honey that was gifted to you by an amazing couple. You can grab yourself a jar of the same honey this Saturday at the market. You can also follow Nicole’s Honey on Facebook , or if you’d like to learn more about bees, get your own hive, or order honey during non-market season you can visit Nicole’s Honey here.

/0 Comments/by

Baker Creek Lavender Farm

 

Scott Sproul and Mary Matera-Sproul owners, founders, and the farmers of Baker Creek Lavender Farm

  • 4o minutes north bound from St. George on hwy 18 is Baker Reservoir. It’s beautiful and charming. The temperatures are a bit cooler and deciduous trees become more frequently scattered amongst the prickly pear and sage brush.  The reservoir is a gem that boasts no sandy beaches or cliff jumping but is perfect for a quiet getaway. This visit however, I felt a little crazy as we drove around on the winding back roads. Maybe we’re lost, I thought. My GPS had definitely lied to me before. There’s no way we were headed the right way; a sentiment echoed by my husband, who kept saying out loud, “We’re lost.” Finally, we turned up a driveway at Google’s insistence. I picked up the phone to call Scott Sproul, my husband mouthed the word “Lost” again at me. Scott answered upbeat and ready. I described where we were. He coached us down the driveway to the gate. There was Scott, waiting patiently. We had found it. Scott is one half of the incredible couple that has started Baker Creek Lavender Farm.

 

He invited us to ride with him back to the new fields. Excitedly, we piled in and took off. Scott immediately launched in to telling us about the property and what they were doing, stopping every now and then to point out his favorite hiking spots or where the wildlife liked to congregate. The 250+ acre ranch was originally purchased by his grandfather and had been in the family for over 50 years. He described the love and the memories that the whole family had for the land. This is how the agreement was made that each child got 5-6 acres for personal use. While some have built cabins, Mary and Scott went a delightfully different direction. When I asked him why they chose lavender, he credited Mary with the idea. About 5 years ago they stumbled upon a working lavender farm in California while on vacation and the seed was planted. Slowly the research started and a plan was put into place. It was decided that on weekends, when they have a break from their full-time jobs in Vegas, they would head up to the property and build it up piece by piece.

 

The beautiful walkway lined by trees leading to the new rows of lavender. This is one of the 5 varieties the farm is cultivating currently.

We drove along a seemingly endless wall of trees until finally it opened up on a sweet meadow that had been cleared to make way for the budding Lavender farm. We parked and hopped out. The farm is in the very beginning stages right now, but the magic is there already. The goosebumps began to run down my arms.  Scott explained the meticulous and painstaking process of clearing the fields, building the rock walls, measuring the rows, making the drip systems, and dealing with all the many natural occurring nuisances. He talked about how once, after 5 days and some unfortunate drip line clogs they had lost several plants. This can be a hard pill to swallow when Lavender takes 3 years to mature. We started to walk down the beautiful rows containing around 700 plants. They have 5 varietals planted right now. All of them sourced from an organic lavender farm in Palisades, Colorado. They plan on adding 3 more fields and topping out at 15 varieties of Lavender within the next year. Each has their own purpose: one for cooking, one for bouquets, one for oils, and much more.

When I asked about processing all of the different types of Lavender, Scott explained how they plan to do everything right there on the farm giving them complete control of the quality of the product. He also mentioned that they had plans to harvest the other plants on the land too. Offering such oils as Juniper, Snake Weed, and Sage. They are so committed to doing it right, they will be taking

One of the 5 varieties currently out at the farm. Happy and healthy in it’s lovely new home.

several classes in Boulder, Utah on how to sustainably harvest the plants on the property. He kept repeating gently that, “If you do it right, if you take care of the land, it’ll last forever.” It was inspiring to catch this sentiment in the early morning light of late spring.  It was all I could do to stifle giggling with excitement as we followed Scott to a shady spot at the edge of the field. “We call this the tree of life. It’s in our logo. We plan on building a huge deck around it so you can look out on the stream and the fields. Eventually there will be a labyrinth above it.”  We craned our heads upward trying to see the top of the tree. We kept stepping back, I quickly gave up on trying to get it in a single picture frame. My mind wandered to all the dreamy earthy weddings that were bound to take place here.

 

Our time was quickly approaching an end. I had promised when I first contacted them, to take up no more than an hour of Scott and Mary’s precious time in their paradise. I wanted to keep that promise, especially after seeing all the work they had to do. As we started to load back into the side-by-side I was trying to think of a way to stay. It felt refreshing to be in a place that was so well loved. As we rode back, I made a promise I would have to come back when Mary was able to get away from work. As we said goodbye and loaded up the car, I realized how lucky I am to be able to work with these kind of people and bring their stories to the Farmer’s Market. We are so excited to be just a small part in this farm’s story and to be able to watch it from the very beginning. This will be Baker Creek Lavender Farm’s first season at the market, so make sure you stop by and meet them. Also, be sure to follow them on Facebook at Baker Creek Lavender Farm to keep up to date on all the happenings and to schedule your own visit.

Scott with the fields and the lovely ride out.

/6 Comments/by