Everything in June

June 14, 2026

Holy moly, June has arrived. June is an all-out race to get the last fields planted, to cultivate early and often, and to fit harvesting and markets into a jam-packed schedule. June is everything, all at once. If June were the eighth month of the year, few farmers would survive it. But powered by the sleep of winter and the hope of spring, we stand a fighting chance in this wild sixth month. The wave always breaks in July, but if we play our cards right in June, we can ride the breakers to the fall.

 

Here’s just a smattering of the June action around the farm…

 

Potatoes—Planted Again

When Dan started commenting on irregular results from our first potato planting, I leaned into my favorite Atticus Finch quote—It’s not time to worry yet. It’s my standard reply when it’s just not time, or when I don’t have time. By late May, however, it was time. The few plants that had sprouted were ready to be hilled, but 90% of the field was still empty. When we dug into the trenches, we found rotted seed pieces, casualties of a cold spring. Fortunately, there was still time to start over, and still leftover seed, so we planted almost the entire field again. Three weeks later, new sprouts are popping up. Looks like there will be a 2026 potato harvest after all.

 

Sweet Potatoes—Half Planted

It wouldn’t be June without a curveball in the sweet potato order. When we opened the box last week, someone else’s name was on the invoice, and only half the slips were in the box. We planted what was there in less than a hour, leaving me to find a new assignment for Judy and Emily, intrepid volunteers who’d signed on for full morning of "ground work." Handweeding the summer squash turned out to be a good substitute. At lunch I called the sweet potato supplier, who assured me they’d rush a replacement order. We haven’t received it yet, but in the meantime, we’re flushing out as many weeds from the empty beds as possible. Getting the stale seed beds extra stale, so to speak.

 

Winter Squash—Planted

Dan, Soph, and I planted a quarter acre of winter squash this week. It went fast for just three people, and I give most of the credit to Dan for skilled bed prep. He’s got it down to such a science that our seasoned crew can take a quick look at a field and instantly know where to plant. But this was Soph’s second day, and as a beginner, she was likely to need help maintaining the center of the beds. So I marked the centers with orange flags, pointedly ignoring Dan’s protest that the flags eventually become litter. By early afternoon, the squash was in, the flags were out, and we were moving on. (Credit also goes to all the kids who hauled rocks during last May's rock hunt. You kids rocked!)

 

Welcome Sophia

Whoops, I forgot about introductions (typical in June). Two weeks ago we were joined by Sophia Marchioli, the only newcomer to the 2026 crew. Soph is a fellow Long Islander majoring in international and environmental studies at Vassar. Go Brewers! She also interned at the Poughkeepsie Farm Project, the farm where Dan and I met. Go PFP! It’s been a real treat to trip down memory lane, and compare notes from the farm’s fledgling days. Hopefully Soph will have a boatload of tips and folklore to take with her back to Poughkeepsie in the fall. 

 

Lettuce Bonanza

This year I’m trialing a new insect netting in the hopes of excluding groundhogs from the lettuce. Initially I agonized over the price, worried the netting would be short-lived, but it’s turned out to be surprisingly durable. And well-behaved. Unlike row rover, it stays put in windy conditions. It doesn’t get snagged on rebar. One person can pull it on and off the beds easily enough. And it allows for plenty of air circulation. The true test will come in the sustained heat and humidity of July, but until then, we’re fist-pumping the most perfect heads of lettuce we’ve had since the groundhogs decided to pick up where the deer left off.

 

Strawberry Bonanza

Does it get any better than watching CSA members return from the field with overflowing quarts and juice dripping from their chins? It does! It’s when your new teenage driver needs an excuse to take a ride, and you send her off to pick a winter’s worth of strawberries. It doesn’t make up for years of being too busy to pick more than a handful here and there myself, but it does come close.

 

Changes

Two notable changes this season are a streamlined schedule and streamlined staff. I now supervise people four days a week instead of six, allowing greater flexibility to work around weather, family commitments, and other endeavors. Jackie and Nancy are working in a very productive part-time capacity; after six seasons together, we can communicate and accomplish volumes without saying a word. These subtle changes in schedule and staff are part of a larger change that's been in the works for at least a year. As I recently announced to CSA members, this will be my final season running the CSA. Most likely, this will be my final season running Restoration Farm. Rather than repeat what many readers already know, I’ll simply invite the uninitiated to read about it here.

 

Not surprisingly, it's been a bittersweet season thus far. As Dan and I were installing the tomato posts last month, I found myself laughing-crying at our ridiculous attachment to a system that is flat-out masochistic. We use an auger to install split rails salvaged from the fences that previously bordered our fields. It's a grueling job that takes hours, and T-posts would be just as effective with a fraction of the effort, but because the rails were free, we stuck with them. Even after I split my head during one steaming hot installation in 2015, we didn't waver. By that point, the rails had simply become a part of the farm’s identity. Five years later, however, when I joined Instagram and saw farmers everywhere having a much easier time, I began to question the rails. Then came last summer's unrelenting heat and humidity, which pushed me to the brink and left me seeking relief wherever I could find it. I warned Dan that’s it, next year, I’m switching to T-posts. Well, next year has arrived, but am I going to abandon our iconic rails in our final season? Absolutely not. One more masochistic installation won't kill me. Hence the laughter that almost led to tears.

 

I imagine there will be more scenarios like that in the months ahead. Jumping into a task, imagining ways to improve it, and knowing it won’t be mine to improve. But hoping, nevertheless, that it will be someone’s. Someday.

 

June is everything all at once. And if this is the last June, I’m going to soak up as much as I can. I hope you do, too.

 

Thanks for reading.

—Caroline

 

One More Thing…

I began this newsletter in 2016, and except for a brief pause last year, I have written faithfully every month. Writing is how I understand myself and the world around me, and it has been an absolute joy to share my understanding of the farm with others. The next few months will be difficult, but the only way I can work through that difficulty is by writing. So I will continue this newsletter until the end of the year. What comes after that is a blank page.