For those of you aching for a look at the man behind the weeds, look no further than a friend's photo of yours truly.

Yesterday I weeded over 1200 row feet of vegetables. I was strong throughout and only ended up a tiny bit sore in the last half hour. The highlight of the day was when weeding green beans I saw a bright red ball on the ground. I grabbed for it and realized it was a massive volunteer radish (probably a seed dislodged from the seeder/planter), the biggest on the farm, and totally free of root worms. What a lovely spicy and savory treat.

I rode my bike down the country road like a 10 year old pretending that riding away means that you've actually left some place. The sunset illuminated a set of blooming trees on the side of the road and the fragrance was fit for a woman soaking in a bathtub of steaming water. It smelled sweet and light. Three fourths of a mile and I arrived at a small slab of lawn and a few trees in the middle of a corn field which is actually an native american cheif's burial site, 100 years past.

At market this morning a woman and her husband approached me. "Are you from North Dakota?" she said. "Hmm, yes..." (blush). Turns out she received a call from her father saying that a friend of a friend moved to Baraboo. It turns out her father is an old professor of mine. Her husband is starting a small CSA around town. More food and community and local knowledge, the merrier.

After market I took two spare bags of kale and arugula and dropped them by The Little Village Cafe. Hearing that it's the "best place in town to eat," I'm ashamed for haven't eaten there yet. But here's the catch... I'm trading a CSA share (a box of vegetables) for $20 gift certificates. My only admission is that I don't know how to steam U.S. currency.

I arrived back home and the farm was deserted. Where art thou? A load of laundry went in, hung on the line, cooked lunch, watered the dry desert of the greenhouse (poor tomatillos). While wandering a guy stopped by looking for greens. All out, I said. "Want to come pick a few bags with me?" Had to run, he said. We talked and he recommended a good restaurant for a wholesale account. "Best restaurant in the Dells." Usually these words have little weight, but coming from him, a raw foodist, they meant a bit more. He left and I picked a pound of arugula and kale.

Driving into the Wisconsin Dells is not for the faint of heart. If you hate malls and food courts and modern circuses, stay away. The area, much like most of the United States runs off pure corn syrup, MSG, artificial flavors and colors, all washed down with fake malt-flavored beverages. But the oasis is the SW corner of Oak and Broadway. Here you'll find the PAUSE and the High Rock Cafe. You'll find good people running them both. They know where they are and what market they're trying to cultivate. They were happy to see the fresh, local greens and happy to cook with as much (or more importantly, as little) vegetables as I could procure. We'll see where this relationship takes us.

I arrived with 2 pounds of greens and left with a quarter-pound of fudge and a belly full of coffee.

One last thing. Weed pressure. It's an interesting topic but I've had too much to eat and drink to write about it. Basically, coming from a culture of eradication and extermination of the unwanted puts me at odds with the concept of appropriate weed pressure. Your crop can have weeds. Weeds "steal" water and nutrients from the soil, but there is a level that is acceptable. Each crop has it's own sensitivity, with something like peas being on the least-affected side of the spectrum and the slow-growing carrots occupying the polar opposite, owing it's poor defense to it's lacy foliage that rarely shades out the weed competition.

I need to start recording my conversations with people because it seems for every hour I babble on, I can only get about 2% of it down in words. My brain multithreads my writing and I can't help but edit the previous sentence as I write the next. My train of thought derails and I spill a series of periods . . .

Ramble ramble thunder clatter boom boom boom.

The rain arrived last night. It is a good soak and will green up the garden. Not only the vegetables, but also the weeds. There are a few rows I'm nervous about. The weeds overtaking the crop. Most of the hops are up, but some will need help climbing the trellis.

We lucked out and stayed dry at yesterday's farmer's market in Madison. This week we were able to harvest spinach and arugula. Sales were pretty good. We bartered our last bag of spinach for two loaves of bread. Cinnamon raisin toast is one of my favorites.

There are a few tools of the garden that are indispensable: water bottle, wide-brimmed hat, sunscreen, and gloves (if you're using a tool). With these simple items life in the field is very enjoyable.

The rhythm of the farm and Baraboo lifestyle are starting to take shape. Tuesdays are market in Madison, Wednesdays are open-mic at Village Booksmith, Thursdays we deliver CSA boxes, Fridays I plant and transplant, Saturdays are market in Baraboo. Sunday is rest and relaxation and admiration for all that unknowable business. Monday's are dedicated to reading.

For whom the garden tolls.