Greetings CSA Members,

Farmers always have something to complain or fuss about. However, this season truly gives us pause. We have received an abundance of rain, some of which would have brought tears of joy to our eyes in a droughty summer. This amount of rain, however, has hurt us and I am very sorry to say that now we do have Late Blight – the plague of the Irish potato famine. We are diligently doing all we can to prevent the rapid spread of this disease, but with each passing shower, we know that the blight is taking hold in new places on the farm. The potatoes seem to be hurt more at this point than the tomatoes. We shall see and I will of course keep you updated with any new developments and how they may impact your weekly share. Here is a link to find out more information about Late Blight:
http://www.nysipm.cornell.edu/publications/blight/

And as I promised last week, here is an excerpt about potato planting from Jeannine. I hope you enjoy it along with two recipes that honor the potato.

This week in your share, you will most likely receive: Mesclun, Onions, Green Beans, Lettuce, Kale, Potatoes, Tomato or Eggplant or Green Peppers or Cucumbers, and Basil

All The Best – Justine

Mashed-Potato Cakes with Onions and Kale

12 cups water
1 bunch kale, trimmed (about 4 ounces)
3 cups cubed red potatoes (about 1 pound)
3/4 teaspoon salt, divided
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 tablespoon butter
3 cups diced onion
2 tablespoons chopped Basil or Sage
1/4 cup sliced green onions
1/4 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

Bring water to a boil in a large pot; add kale. Cover and cook over medium heat 5 minutes or until tender. Remove kale with a slotted spoon, reserving cooking liquid. Chop kale and set aside.

Add potato to reserved cooking liquid in pan; bring to a boil. Reduce heat, and simmer 10 minutes or until tender. Drain; partially mash potatoes. Stir in kale and 1/4 teaspoon salt.

Preheat oven to 400°.

Heat oil and butter in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Add 1/2 teaspoon salt, diced onion, and chopped sage/basil. Cook 12 minutes or until browned. Combine potato mixture, onion mixture, green onions, and pepper. Remove from heat; cool slightly. Divide potato mixture into 8 equal portions, shaping each into a 1/2-inch-thick patty. Place patties on a lightly oiled baking sheet.
Bake at 400° for 20 minutes.

Preheat broiler.
Broil patties for 5 minutes or until browned. Garnish with additional basil or sage, if desired.

Kale and Olive Oil Mashed Potato Recipe
(Serves 6)
3 pounds potatoes, peeled and cut into large chunks
Sea salt
4 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
4 cloves garlic, minced
1 bunch kale, large stems stripped and discarded, leaves chopped
1/2+ cup warm milk or cream
Freshly ground black pepper
5 scallions, white and tender green parts, chopped
1/4 cup freshly grated Parmesan, for garnish

Put the potatoes in a large pot and cover with water. Add a pinch of salt. Bring the water to a boil and continue boiling for 20 minutes, or until the potatoes are tender.

Heat two tablespoons of olive oil in a large pan or skillet over medium-high heat. Add the garlic, chopped kale, a big pinch of salt, and sauté just until tender - about a minute. Set aside.

Mash the potatoes with a potato masher or fork. Slowly stir in the milk a few big splashes at a time. You are after a thick, creamy texture; so if your potatoes are on the dry side, keep adding milk until the texture is right. Season with salt and pepper.

Dump the kale on top of the potatoes and give a quick stir. Transfer to a serving bowl, make a well in the center of the potatoes and pour the remaining olive oil. Sprinkle with the scallions and Parmesan cheese.

The Potato Giant at Work, Almost May 2009

Imagine yourself an employed giant sitting in cramped conditions. One leg doubled nearly under your chin, the other stretched around obstructions, you are looking down on a Ferris wheel not much bigger than your head. You’re not much smarter than the Cyclops that challenged Odysseus but you do notice the special design of this apparently well-worn ride. Instead of one wheel, two turn creakily, their green paint dulled and partly peeled away. Two wheels, yes, but not just a double Ferris wheel like those the humans like at their fairs. These two wheels are set at an angle to one another so that the five small red seats—they look like tiny tabs to your weak giant eyes--on each wheel mesh perfectly just once during each revolution. It’s at the moment of meshing that you must drop a boulder. You don’t hurl it, lacking the ancient giant’s hatred. You’re not really trying to hurt the riders or destroy their seats, your job is just to heighten the thrill of the riders’ turning. You have been instructed to provide something for them to dread or look forward to during the downward part of the passage when their airy view is giving way to darkness.
Your aim is not any better than most giants’ either. It’s not just your eyes. Sometimes you let go too soon, sometimes too late. Sometimes your toss is weak, causing the boulder to hit the wheel’s foundation and roll harmlessly too late into the pit below it. Sometimes the smallness of your giant’s brain causes you to forget to feel the shape of the boulder so that you neglect to turn it properly in your hand and it gets caught before the occupants of the seats even see it coming. Practice. Breathe. Enjoy the game but don’t waste any boulders. Get ’em all in the ground, all in the row.
In case you’re wondering what this is about, I’ll tell you in my human voice. I always ride the Ferris wheel at the Washington County Fair. I have told stories about the invention of the Great Wheel as the technological centerpiece of the 1893 Chicago World’s Fair and about Polyphemous’s trying to swamp Odysseus’s ship, but I had perched, legs crinkled to avoid machine or compañera entanglement, on the left seat of the potato planter for probably twenty of the thirty-one 300-ft. rows of potatoes being planted on the Denison Farm before the giant’s image hurled itself into my mind. Only then did my mind have spare time to turn from the task of getting those potatoes in the ground properly.
Three of us had spent two days cutting up the potatoes into the right size pieces for planting and making sure each piece had at least one eye. Each variety--Dark Red Norland, Rose Gold, Desiree, Romanze, Satina, Red Cloud, Adirondack Blue. LaRatte—has a different configuration and number of eyes per potato, and some are denser, juicier, more prone even now to rot. Such characteristics alter the cutting task, slowing it or speeding it up and requiring continued vigilance from a cutter. So even before leaving the barn, we’d given 48 hours of intense-focused work to the potatoes that would, with grace, feed customers at two farmers’ markets, diners at five corporate restaurants, and 470-plus CSA families. Two days of planting would finish the potatoes.
“Finish!” Brian Denison responds, when we anticipate pouring the last totes into the pods in front of our seats on the planter. “We’ve hardly begun! Then there’s the cultivating and the hilling and the digging and the washing…” We’ve all chimed in by this time. “And the driving of them to storage in Vermont, and the driving of them back.” “And carrying them into market, and carrying them out again.” We’re all laughing.
Right now, in the early spring, only three of us are working for Brian and Justine at the farm, all returnees. We’ve been through the year’s growing cycle several times, and we come back because we are nurtured by it, but lugging bags of potatoes is unforgettably heavy work, even in playful memory. Brian has told us all that we shouldn’t farm unless we absolutely can’t stand to do anything else. (I had a fine pastor who gave the same advice to those considering going into the ministry.) “We could have saved ourselves a lot of work by not even starting with these potatoes,” he says as he climbs back on the tractor. We head for the trailer to pick up those last totes. Three workers, three pods holding on the planter the potatoes we giants reach for, six totes of potatoes: one into each pod, and three to wait and ride on tractor fenders and top until we need to refill for the journey back to the starting end of the field.
By the time we head back to the barn, the field flutters with small white plastic flags marking where each variety begins and ends, centered and plunged low enough keep them from being torn out by the iron shoes of the next visitor— the cultivator.

Postscript: On July 17, after Brian had completed the cultivating and the hilling, and the rains had kept them under water almost too long, our now-full size crew dug the first of the Dark Red Norlands, washed their tender skins carefully and carried them into the next day’s market in Troy and Saratoga Springs. We didn’t carry them home again, though!