When I arrived in Port Townsend in December 2022, I planned to spend five weeks here before moving to Oregon. In a serendipitous exchange at the Madrona dance on New Year’s Day, a community member told me, verbatim, “Oh, you’re a farmer? You should apply for a job at Red Dog Farm.” And I thought, “Okay Universe, I know how to listen.” The very next day I applied for a job here, then interviewed later that week, and I’ve been working as the greenhouse manager and on field crew ever since. But as I write this, my last day at Red Dog is just around the corner on August 5. I thought this would be a sweet time to take some moments to reflect on what I’ve learned, remembered and realized in my time here.

I love farmers. The people drawn to this work astonish me. When I was teaching, I always felt like that profession drew such a caring, interested, and interesting mix of people together. I would say the same about this setting. It’s truly a privilege to work with such a quirky, committed, funny, wholesome group of people day in and day out. We talk about the most random things, play silly games and laugh our bibs off, and continue the party after work when we craft together or jump in the water on a hot day. Incredible, lasting friendships are made and it’s not uncommon to see a cluster of “Red Doggers” out at events. What a lucky place to be!

The right playlist at the right time makes work feel like a party. Folksy blues and Chappell Roan get a lot of playtime around here. So do musical soundtracks and “classic” 90s-00s sing-a-long tracks. We love a range of decades and styles, and it’s mostly about reading the vibe of the moment. Is it a cool March morning with hours of hand-seeding ahead of you? Or are we deep into July in hour 3 on the transplant tractor? Choosing what’s on aux in Club Packshed is a coveted role. And yes, sometimes we choose to tune into the ambient sounds of planes overhead, cars gaining speed as they head south on Center Road, and many, many birds chirping away in the trees. 

Red Dog Lingo. Like many workplaces, we have a language that’s all our own. For example, did you know these are all distinct and important-to-keep-apart? Crates, totes, CSA totes, bins, buckets, harvest buckets, tubs, containers, to-go containers, baskets, flats, boxes, pallets, macros – and many come in various sizes and colors. Newcomers might be understandably confused when they hear what’s happening over the radios (walkie-talkies) at work: “Zinc to Boo Berry, can you bring a donkey with a baby and a hose to Loretta 3 when you come out?” “Hey Cheerios, Birkenstock is back from delivery and unloading Moose.” “Cap’n Crunch to Hey Dude, could you troll the coolers at the end of the day?” “Xenon to Jambalaya, where should I meet you with Romeo for XP?”  (Hint: our radio handles are themed so you can tell which season someone started working here.) Since it’s become second-nature to talk in codewords, it’s good to remember how silly some of them are. My favorite? Denise (as in the Nissan, our smallest pickup truck).

We don’t grow plants. Plants burst through the soil with a life force all their own. That’s easy to see whether you’re looking at a cultivated crop of massive fennel bulbs or the 4-foot-high thistle poking through the rainbow chard. Mostly, we plant seeds and do our best to get out of the way. We try to create ideal conditions, and sure, heat-germinating tables help a lot, but there’s a lot more happening than I would ever hope to understand. I love contemplating the seemingly magical improbability of all the elements that combine to make those first seedlings poke through the soil in mid-February and turn into giant onions in late July. It’s good to be pragmatic about what we can control, and it’s wonderful to be astonished by all we can’t.

This community loves Red Dog (and it’s mutual). Every time I tell someone I work here, their eyes light up. So many people have a connection to this place and the food we grow, whether it’s buying tulips at the farmers’ market in May, eating our salad mix at Owl Sprit, picking up their CSA share at the farmstand, or taking home veggies from the food bank. For me personally, it’s been a joy to help prepare donated produce for the free community meals at the Chimacum Grange. Fairly often, someone responds, “Oh, I worked there a few seasons back!” and it’s cool to know this place has been a landing pad for many people who have gone on to live here for many seasons. It’s been so sweet to feel the interconnectedness of people, land, and food through working here. I’m already looking forward to when I meet someone who works here in the future and can tell them I’ve spray-washed my fair share of carrots here, too.

All I’ll miss. I’ll miss the misty mornings that burn off into beautiful 70° days. I’ll miss crossing things off the packlist and updating the clipboards. I’ll miss group lunches and the crew flower patch. I’ll miss trellising tomatoes, and I’ll miss the satisfaction of packing 24 lettuces to perfectly fit in a large wax box. I’ll miss the immersion into the swirly, upbeat, organized-and-also-chaotic world of farming. Mostly I’ll just miss being here with dirt on my hands (and probably my face), opening my heart to another day in the Chimacum Valley.

~Eddy