Field Notes

Summer 2026

Three and a half years into the beautiful journey that is Kind Folk Farm and I am happy to say that we have graduated from constant crisis mode. The daily dread of falling skies seems to be in the rear view. Hallelujah, hollerback.

I no longer feel like I am plugging holes in a ship that is threatening to sink. Quick fixes are being systematically replaced with long-term, quality-driven solutions. I am learning to look at the farm through a wide frame, a little more forest and a little less tree. This reprieve gives me the capacity to think about the more esoteric aspects of small-scale farming as it relates to our operation and the broader industry.

One concept that has been taking up a lot of brain space is seasonality. How much do people care about it? My suspicion is, not much. And if that is the case, what is my responsibility as a farmer to push the limits of what can be grown and when? Take lettuce for instance. I don’t really think it’s reasonable to grow lettuce in 90*+ temps. In these adverse conditions, it’s an uphill battle against disease, insects, and bolting. Also, it requires an ungodly amount of water. The end product does not compare to the sweet, crisp lettuce heads of the cool season.

But once I got wind of the cyclospora outbreak, my immediate response was to seed lettuce. In July. Not ideal, but without a clear outbreak report and remediation plan, it was a necessary move to serve the needs of my customers. First harvest of this crop will be the last week of August when temperatures are forecasted to be in the upper 90s. If it can be done, does that automatically mean it should be expected? What factors are shaping the boundaries between seasons? How is our understanding of “seasonality” being calibrated?

These are all important things to consider because as farm land continues to be consolidated and the agricultural sector continues to be whittled down into fewer but larger industrial-scale farms, food-borne illnesses will undoubtedly become a persistent threat. This is not a scare tactic. This is just an unfortunate inevitability.

And I don’t know if there is a more meaningful way to win the game of vegetable roulette, than opting for a shorter supply chain. This means knowing and trusting your farmer to grow, handle, package, and store your food in a safe manner. This shorter supply chain forces eaters to dine within the constraints of the season. No cauliflower in August and no tomatoes in January. Plain and simple.

But we’ve been conditioned to expect all things made available at all times. Myself included. We all drool over the same San Diego chef’s “local” corn and morel ravioli special on Instagram. (Note: Morels are rarely foraged in Southern California and certainly not at the peak of summer). We all save the broccoli recipe series that the San Diego cookbook author puts out in mid-July. How are average eaters supposed to know more than the trusted experts? How are we supposed to limit ourselves to the essential and regionally appropriate? How are we expected to forego when we exist in the same dimension as Amazon and the Cheesecake Factory?

All this is to say: I don’t blame anyone who cursed me, their farmer, when store-bought lettuce was deemed unsafe. Why wasn’t I growing it for y’all, my KFF family? Should I have been able to fill that vacuum in real-time as opposed to six weeks post-Apoc-lettuce? I say yes— because I am a people pleaser and the idea of customers not having what they want doesn’t sit well with me. Jac says no— she believes if our customers are signing up for a CSA then they value seasonality even if it means sometimes going without. What say you?

But as eaters in an ever-warming climate, we’ve got to re-think what our seasonal plate should include. We have to be open to trying foreign fruits, vegetables, and grains. We must be willing to cut ourselves from the tethers of our tried and true recipes. Ingredients need to be seen as suggestions as opposed to canon.

This means that we have to look at summer as two and perhaps three distinct micro seasons. Early summer vs late summer. Because what can grow out here in June certainly cannot thrive in August. We organize our seed box by season. 4 bins. Maybe it’s time to break out a fifth. Maybe next time I won’t reactionary seed the lettuce. Maybe instead, I’ll trust my customers to sub their salad with kale, top their sandwich with arugula.

In Gratitude,

Ayzsha

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