Upon returning to Georgia, I applied to a nine-month apprenticeship at Serenbe Farms in Palmetto, GA. After working at Serenbe for a season I had built a solid understanding of sustainable agriculture and how to make a living, essentially growing food. My apprenticeship covered everything there is to know about organic farming, from starting seeds in the greenhouse to growing, marketing, and delivering vegetables to local restaurants and families. By the end of it farming just made sense. I get to wake up with the sun, watch the day go by in the garden, experience natures’ rhythms, and witness them completely transform with the seasons. I get to watch plants grow from a seed into a thriving plant that can nourish my community and myself. I get to get dirty, and harvest, wash, and deliver sparkling produce to happy chefs, grateful families, and smiling community members! I get to participate in this huge juggling act that I have come to know as farming! What a life!

Confident that farming was the career I had been looking for all along, I began applying to opportunities to manage a farm or garden in the Southeast. That’s when I contacted Donn at Greyfield Inn about a gardener position on Cumberland Island! The Greyfield Garden is completely different than what I experienced while working at Serenbe. The scale, climate, soil, and environment are all very different but also great for growing delicious organic food. I look forward to a wonderful and productive season and watching the ebb and flow of this beautiful place while growing delicious food for our guests and staff!

For the past month I have been wrapping my head around the whole space and coming up with a solid idea of how I want the space to feel and function. I spent time weeding and shaping beds. I took an inventory of how much bed space was available, and got an idea of what crops I wanted to grow. I observed how the sun moved over the garden…where my shade was and where the best sun was. I also observed the wind patterns off of the marsh and the daily routine of marsh insects. I spent time figuring out how I wanted to lay out the drip irrigation system, where I wanted to situate the compost piles, and organized, sorted and inventoried seeds and other materials. I sent off a soil test, started transplants in a makeshift greenhouse, direct seeded some crops, spent time weeding, coordinated harvesting with the Greyfield Inn chefs, and am already seeing my hard work pay off.

Things are germinating in the field and the greenhouse quite well. I hope to be harvesting kale, Swiss chard, radishes, lettuce, carrots and other cool season crops in about a month or so. The plants seem to love this unusually warm December weather. The crop of dill, rosemary, green onions, arugula, turnips, beets, lettuce, radishes, peppers, and tomatoes (In December!) continue to make an appearance on the dining room table at the Greyfield Inn. I hope to blog more in the near future and share what’s going on in the Greyfield Garden.

As farewells go, this one is incredibly difficult.

My time at Greyfield is over.

In the past year I have grown professionally and personally beyond my wildest expectations. And I leave with the full and heartbreaking knowledge that even the most enchanted of times must finally come to an end. But this is a movement onward and upward–a conscious embrace of new adventures and different challenges. On Cumberland, goals had been met, theories proven, more cucumbers produced than could possibly be eaten. These roots are ready for new soil. In a word, it’s time to go.

Still, as I search through pictures today, I palpably miss the garden, the daily thrill of watching life ebb and flow around me and at my fingertips. Every hurdle, every disappointment I encountered trying to implement a thriving natural system in the garden was balanced daily by an experience straight from the pages of National Geographic. Even as the Fall crops struggled to the point of failure due to diminishing light, owls began to swoop from oak to oak, a host of unnamed birds organized flying south beneath the night’s first stars, a stray white deer could be seen radiant beneath the full moon during the brief drive home from work.

Even more, I miss the people and the faces I wish I could still see everyday. They were my true sustenance, and I could do nothing better than shine upon each an infinitesimal portion of the light he or she deserves. There’s no way to do this with due justice. So, I’m simply going to list the people whom I’ve come to cherish over this past miraculous year of my life, which, easy for me, is everyone at Greyfield. Excuse me as I clear my throat. These, ahem, are my friends:

The Dipsters, residents of Serendipity, citizens of Dipadelphia–

Top Chef Texas Casting Video Player – Bravo TV Official Site | Bravo TV Official Site.

I hope I’m not the “thoughtful composter” of Jen’s post title. I wish I could put more thought and energy into our compost program here on the island. Without a doubt, it’s the easiest way to address our fertility issues. But our extreme environment doesn’t make achieving a rich humus-like product easy, especially in the summer months. I’ve heard the garden on Little St. Simon’s does an excellent job in this respect, and I plan to study their system and bring it back to Greyfield. To be honest, I just don’t feel that we’re composting as successfully as we should be.

Regardless, Jen is far too generous with her praise. I’m not half as articulate as I wish. And, honestly, I could sit down and talk about Greyfield’s compost or any other aspect of the garden for days. I am a Greyfield Garden nerd, proudly. Get ready. With a little more time and determination (and a new camera), I hope that means a lot more blogging in the near future.

Until then, please check out the inside scoop on wild horse poop:

on sustainability, part 2: the thoughtful composter

P.S. That’s super-Wwoofer Wynne in the compost pit. More on Wynne and the other pea in her pod, Jake, to come soon.

UNTITLED: Donn Cooper + Greyfield Garden

Three cheers to Dodge ‘n’ Batty, our latest Wwoofing volunteers and the linchpins to a successful year in the Greyfield Garden. Let no man ever say a couple girls (and city-slickers at that) can’t work a shovel. As temperatures went prematurely balmy, our cultured Atlantans took to the dirt, turning under old crops and furiously hoeing rows for our spring and summer harvests. I don’t know where we’d be without their unrelenting elbow grease, smiles, and buoyant humor.

Cumberland Island was just their first stop in a six-month “farmhand” tour across the U.S. Call them ambassadors of agriculture goodwill and Southern gregariousness. Whatever the case, follow their ever-winsome adventures at their irrepressible blog (Cumberland and Fernandina Beach make half a dozen entries).

Godspeed, ladies. May your journey be constantly serendipitous.

P.S. Yes, “Untitled” is actually part of their blog’s title. That is, until providence offers the right name, or a really good suggestion comes along. Any ideas, Greyfield fans?

What is catfacing? Well, it’s not a five-alarm fire. It’s neither caused by disease or pests, so you can take a deep breath. Catfacing is, however, a rough, black, misshapen appearance on the bottom of tomato fruits, most often large tomatoes. It occurs when the tomato blossom sticks to the tiny developing fruit, leaving an open cavity that “scars” over.  In the Greyfield garden we had catfacing due to low nighttime temperatures, as we were trying to sneak in a late crop of tomatoes after the bugs and before the first freeze.

The good news is that catfacing, although extremely ugly, does not impair the ripening or taste of tomatoes. In most cases the catface is neither large nor deep, and you can simply slice off the affected end from the ripened fruit. Ways to avoid it include growing tomatoes in temperatures that remain above 58 degrees and planting more cold-resistant varieties. We had large heirlooms in the ground, and like most heirlooms, they were highly susceptible to problems of this sort. In light of the unpredictability of subtropical weather, our late tomato crop this year will focus on hybrid varieties of medium size and smaller.

It’s thought that high nitrogen content and herbicide damage also can cause catfacing, but those are certain not problems on Cumberland.

Photo by Sarah Love

We at Greyfield hope the honor’s a little bit premature. There’s no doubt that Whitney’s  a fantastic chef with an incredible future–we’d just like to keep her on Cumberland. Read the full text of the article, and while you’re at it, read the Creative Loafing review of an exquisite dinner at Greyfield.

Happy New Year’s!

First the bad: Raccoons in the Greyfield Garden! The danged banded bandits came for the persimmons and stayed for the palm berries…the compost pile…elusive grubs and whatnot to be dug from the side of our furrows. (Good luck with that; there are no bugs in our sandy soil). They pose grave danger to my precious tomatoes, which I have been doting on for most of the year (example below but more on that story later).

Since the raccoons have outfoxed and out-toughed our electric fence, we’ve resorted to extreme measures.  Razor wire, a high-powered rifle, a rain-catchment tank turned guard tower with a .223 rifle and night scope….  Sometimes I wish. How about a have-a-heart trap, instead, baited with persimmons, pears, or winter squash?

Pictured above are captives three, four, and five (plus one possum). As you can see, two were caught at one time, which was quite a surprise and a thing of pride. All were removed to distant parts of the island to make new homes or slowly wend their way back to Greyfield.

Placing, setting, and baiting the traps has been a real test of cunning.  The trap has to be accessible but not too obvious, the edge of the trigger-latch holding the door open by a near defiance of physics, the persimmon located strategically close to the release but not so close that the raccoon might dexterously pluck it out. Then there’s the matter of proper camouflage for both the entire trap and the release. To this point, dead palmetto fronds and Spanish moss have worked well. That is, of course, as long as you scotch each side of the cage because the raccoons would just as soon roll the cage over as go in it.

Each new intruder seems to be more clever than the last. If it weren’t so preposterous, I’d almost believe that the raccoons were sharing intelligence–as if they were huddling together in a war room, poring over maps of the garden fence and reporting on their most recent sorties. These suckers are smart. They quickly wise up to all my tricks. Although my respect for their wiliness has increased significantly, that feeling in no way lessens my desire to see them exterminated. In a garden they are the embodiment of destruction, and I knew there would be no easy detente between us when I saw their tracks running over the crest of one of the vegetable rows, each footprint smashing in a tiny seedling.

As someone famous once said, cry havoc and let slip the dogs of war.

Now for the good, which is much less detailed. The garden has become the home of a darling little toad, which might also be the savory reason for the raccoons’ incursions. I know nothing about this creature, except that it prefers to be covered in the cool, dark soil. And each time I’ve happened upon it, while weeding or cutting down spent marigolds, the toad just as soon begins to bury itself and throw dirt over its shoulder, looking rather inconvenienced and bored.

Without further delay or slim facts to prattle over, I give you said toad in all of his cute, stoic glory:

Look at that warty back:

Whitney Otawka—Executive Chef

Hometown: Hesperia, California

Whitney’s love for all things French sent her headlong into the culinary world. While taking French classes at the University of California-Berkeley, she responded to an advertisement for a waitress position at a local French bakery. With absolutely zip waitressing experience, she didn’t get the job. Instead, she was hired as the second part of a two-person kitchen, where she began her career as a budding chef and learned to manage the brain-frying multitasking of the restaurant business. At night the owner, who cooked his mother’s Brittany-based recipes, would give informal lessons on the art of food and introduce Whitney to whatever wine caught her fancy. It was a remarkable experience, and her boss at the time was one of the most generous people she’s ever known. Whitney came to Greyfield after working simultaneously for 5&10 and Restaurant Eugene, the better dining establishments in Athens and Atlanta, Georgia, respectively—much less the country. Although invitations to work permanently in Atlanta came knocking, she didn’t want to fight the grind of the big city. The opportunity as executive chef at the Greyfield Inn, where her first experience had been as a guest, was a captivating way to stay in the South and a unique chance to put culinary creativity into practice and enlarge upon her talents.

Staff’s Favorite Dish—Whitney’s responsible for so much, it’s nearly impossible to winnow it down. I’ll say this, since I’ve been here, I’ve never eaten so well in my life.  I often have extra helpings of gnocchi, butternut squash, and pheasant. And, oooh, the lemonade bubbles….

Alberto “The Rock” Gonzalez—Sous Chef

Hometown: Miami, Florida

We are so much a product of our parents’ jobs and life-decisions. Al’s story is a simple one, which as the son of a farmer I can certainly understand. His father was a restaurateur in Miami. After resisting the family business throughout much of his youth, Al eventually discovered he could stay out of it no longer. These things get into your blood, and their lives become part of your own.

Al came to Greyfield after running a hip and happening bar in the sparkling seaside hamlet of Fernandina Beach, Florida (which really has more enticing bars and decent eateries than a place its size should). While job-hunting there, he made friends with Greyfield’s head chef at the time. It’s all about connections.

(Something I learned in the course of this “interview”: Al can play the bassoon.)

Staff’s Favorite Dish—Lemon cottage cheese pancakes. A fabulous treat in your workday: They make plain pancakes seem completely lazy and insufficient. Al also makes a flavorful hot sauce with just the right amount of heat. The guests were recently overhead raving about his garbanzo bean salad.

Georgia Kelly—Pastry Chef

Hometown: Chicago, Illinois

Georgia says she is not a spontaneous person. She likes plans, preparations, and insurance for her insurance. Yet, after 20 years as an X-ray tech—a temporary job that had forgotten to be just that—Georgia gave it up with nothing certain to fall back on and nothing definite to come. At the age of 40, she enrolled in culinary school in Charleston, throwing herself bravely into a new life. Of course, Georgia had grown up cooking and always loved it (although she says the same could not be said for her mother).

Initially, Georgia completed a 12-week externship at Greyfield as part of her schooling. She chose us over The Ritz on Amelia Island because of the comfort and attention to detail of the small kitchen here (besides the fact that Greyfield and Cumberland are together just a special place). Eventually a full-time position opened up and Georgia jumped on board.

Staff’s Favorite Dish—Rice Crispy Bar with Bavarian Cream. The Mount Olympus of sweet desserts. As the names says, this is a rapturous combination of rich chocolate cream and a chocolate rice-bar base like the most heavenly Nestle Crunch you can imagine. It’s decadence plus debauchery plus a little moral turpitude thrown in for good measure. Her carrot cake is a close second, soft and moist yet the perfect amount of nutty crunch. And everyone loves to talk about the French toast encrusted in bran flakes.

Ben Wheatley—Sous Chef

Hometown: Washington, Georgia

From childhood Ben has loved cooking. He cooked alongside his mother growing up. He cooked in and around the town of Clayton, Georgia during high school. And, remarkably, he cooked in the esteemed kitchens of both Blackberry Farm and 5&10 shortly thereafter. Now, Greyfield is fortunate to have him cooking for us.

Staff’s Favorite Dish—Personally, the steak, cooked slowly over a cedar and oak fire, producing the perfect internal color. I also think he makes some great cornbread.

What is your favorite food?

Whitney—“My mom’s cabbage rolls.” If she’s paying, Mexican food.

Al—Bistec Empanizado con tostones y frijoles negros. Breaded steak with black beans and rice and fried plantains. Followed by tiramisu. Al loves tiramisu.

Georgia—Comfort foods like soup and chicken and dumplings. “I would go all the way to Colorado Springs for avocado pork burritos.”

Ben—”My grandma’s potato soup with cornbread cracklin.”

What music are you most likely to listen to in the kitchen while you work?

Whitney—Jack Johnson. The Black Keys. She says, “I also really like Dwight Yoakam.”

Al—Pearl Jam. Latin music.

Georgia—Anything light and fun, especially music with brass. The Gypsy Kings.

Ben—Classic Country, Bob Marley, Neil Young. Also: Drive-By Truckers, The Black Keys.

If you could come back as an animal, what would it be?

Whitney—A Tahitian dolphin.

Al—Great White.

Georgia—A peregrine falcon or a gibbon.

Ben—duck.

What is it that you dislike?

Whitney—Spitting.

Al—Saying “um” over and over again.

Georgia—Chewing and snapping gum.

Ben—People who complain openly, also people who constantly talk without saying anything.

What word or phrase do you most overuse?

Whitney—“Just so you know”

Al—“No worry”

Georgia—“Shit!”

Ben—”Huh?” (However, Ben’s really not one to overuse words.)

What talent would you most like to have?

Whitney—Spanish guitar or violin.

Al—Piano.

Georgia—Singing.

Ben—”Badass on the guitar.”

What are your favorite names?

Whitney—Violet. Phineas.

Al—Xavier.

Georgia—Seamus.

Ben—Jezebel.

Greyfield’s October/November Menu…

October/November Menu

Monday

Ap: Butternut squash soup with chorizo and cinnamon

Entrée: Beer-Braised pork shoulder with Sea Island red peas and rice and roasted tomatoes and toasted garlic with braising jus

Tuesday

Ap: Salad of Bosc pears, spinach, toasted walnuts, salami, manchego cheese, and aged balsamic

Entrée: Benton’s Bacon wrapped fish with roasted kale, whipped sweet potatoes, and lemon fennel relish

Wednesday

Ap: Georgia shrimp gumbo with scallions

Entrée: Roasted fish with honey glazed baby carrots, buttermilk mashed potatoes, pistachio gremolata, and sweet onion sauce

Thursday

Ap: Lettuces (frisee and baby arugula) with roasted pumpkin, Wabash cannonball, molasses vinaigrette, pumpkin seed crackers

Entrée: Caraway-encrusted duck breast with caramelized onions and farro, sautéed savoy cabbage, eggplant puree with rye whiskey jus

Friday

Ap: Braised pork belly with roasted apple sauce and fennel, buttered brioche, sage oil, and apple jus (maiche)

Entrée: Roasted fish with braised white beans, asparagus, basil pistu, lemon confit, and olive oil poached tomatoes

Saturday

Ap: French lentil soup with Benton’s country bacon and carrot confit

Entrée: Pan-seared New York strip steak with blue cheese butter, new potato hash, sautéed rapini, and thyme jus

Sunday

Ap: Ricotta gnocchi with butternut squash, shaved kale and pecan brown butter

Entrée: Roasted pheasant with black truffles, wild mushrooms, and whipped celery root and chervil

Update: Read the glowing review of Whitney Otawka and the Greyfield Inn in Creative Loafing.

Several weeks past, two unstoppable forces of nature landed in the Greyfield Garden. Melanie and Sophie—or Milleniama and Arrow, depending upon your personal feelings about rainbows and stardust—took a southbound Greyhound out of Seattle with Cumberland on their minds. Now, there were some stops and detours along the way—and the girls may have worn out their thumbs between Chattanooga and Fernandina Beach. But by hook or crook, they made it here, arriving to toil and till in the garden as the first Wwoofers on my watch.

Admittedly, I was anxious about their coming. New people in  your work environment can be a disruptive force. What if they didn’t like to sweat? Didn’t know which was the business end of the shovel? Or had a congenital aversion to any of the myriad, big-toothed buzzing things that often come out for breakfast and dinner?

Thank goodness, all of my fears were completely unwarranted. These girls knew how to work. They loved simply being outdoors, taking in the infinite rare experiences that Cumberland Island can give. It’s actually a wonder that I ever had my doubts or suspicions, as anyone adventurous enough to ride a Greyhound 2000 miles would certainly be up for shoveling a cart full of wild horse manure.

I am immeasurably grateful for their help. We got a lot done. We pulled cosmos, with stems like trunks, plantsthat were too happy to flower, instead content to go on growing like Jack’s beanstalk. We dug up rotten beds, with infernal metal roofing tacked to their sides plunging four feet or more into the soft sand (a putative defense agains

t dollar weed, but nothing can stop dollar weed). We consolidated clumps of odoriferous lemon grass to make room for a trellis of blackberries and hardy, grape-sized kiwi. We hoed up furrows for ridges that would house potatoes and Early Wonder Tall-Top beets and sang “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot.” We planted countless collards seeds in homemade starting mix (pond much and vermiculite), preparing for the fall and winter garden.

Although I say “we,” it was really a lot of “they.” I normally mumbled some directions twice too long and went about other chores with total confidence in their intelligence and industry. That kind of trust in a work relationship, no matter how brief, is rare; and it is a total luxury. Three bodies working smartly meant the garden underwent almost a complete transformation in about ten days.

For all of this I’m grateful. But more than anything, I’m grateful that these two luminous girls somehow passed by Cumberland in their wild orbit. I can think of few other people who might enjoy the full moon here as much or whose presence would be a constant melody of laughing. I knew they were keepers when walking to the inn, I heard them singing Madonna in the garden behind me.

Greyfield will miss you girls, you vagabond mermaids. We hope to see you soon. And as you make your way through this world, should you need them, we’re happy to write any professional references.

Be part of the answer.