Riding the Heat Wave(s)

August 13, 2025

With mid-summer in the rearview, the farm crew is breathing a sigh of relief. I lost count of how many heat waves we powered through, but there were a lot. Wednesdays always seemed to be the worst. It’s amazing that Sarah Lynas Koenig, who committed to working every Wednesday through the summer, stuck with us, but she did. Deep down, though, I’m actually not surprised. Twenty years of farming has taught me that when the stakes are high, people rise to the occasion. If you’ve worked for months to produce a crop, you don’t abandon it just because it’s hot. You dress for the heat, drink plenty of water, and pick what’s ripe—the fruits of your labor are literally on the line.

Here's a fun way to make 95° feel even hotter…bite into a jalapeño while harvesting. We grow over a dozen pepper varieties, and the beds are organized to prevent mix-ups—all the bells, specialty, and hots in their own respective sections. You certainly don’t want someone biting into a habañero thinking it’s a habanada. So imagine my disbelief when, during the first pepper harvest, I found what appeared to be jalapeños where the cubanelles should have been. I had overseen every step of the planting process, and I couldn’t believe I’d made a mistake, so to prove that the pepper in question was just a cubanelle disguised as a jalapeño, I took a big bite. Words can’t describe the explosion in my mouth. I wish there was a video. We can laugh about it now, but in the moment, I think Thomas was traumatized—one minute I’m showing him the difference between a corno di toro and a cubanelle, the next minute I’m fleeing the field in search of water. It’s a miracle he still harvests peppers. The source of the error remained a mystery until last week, when one of our seed suppliers alerted us to a mix-up on their end. It’s nice to know the mistake wasn’t mine, and it's refreshing to see people taking accountability. In the meantime, I’ve got to deal with all these jalapeños. If anyone is looking for bulk pricing, shoot me an email.

The July heat didn’t stop us, but it did slow us down. Mid-morning watermelon breaks and longer than usual lunch breaks were necessary, but they came at a cost, mostly in the pick-your-own flower beds. We attend to these beds almost as an afterthought—before lunch, at the end of the day, or whenever we find a spare hour. The heat and humidity, however, left us with little to spare. It didn’t help that the spring rains blighted the early zinnias, or that rabbits kept mowing down the statice. By the third heat wave, it was hard to summon the energy to resuscitate plants ravaged by animals and disease. Instead, we pinned our hopes on second successions of zinnias, strawflowers, snapdragons, and gomphrena. Animals are as fickle as people, and it could be that plants delectable in June are passé in August. I hope that’s the case, and I hope members will be arranging beautiful bouquets in October. Our heat-beat crew certainly laid the groundwork for it.

Last week we harvested all of the shallots and storage onions. The fact that we harvested anything at all is a victory. Last April, for the first time in years, seed maggot attacked our transplants. At the time, I wasn’t sure the crop was worth salvaging. Our first maggot rodeo was in 2017, and we’ve learned some valuable lessons since then—namely the importance of row cover, frequent cultivation, and residue-free beds, the burden of nursing compromised plants, and the importance of knowing when to cut your losses. When I discovered this year’s attack just days after transplanting, my initial assessment was a 50–70% loss—enough to push me towards surrender. But I also knew Dan would resist with every fiber of his being. So after weighing the time I would spend justifying surrender against the time it would take to save what we could, I opted for salvage. For several weeks, I still wasn’t sure the effort was worth it. By mid-June, however, the onions committed to life finally perked up. So we kept weeding, watering, and adjusting our expectations. Now, with the entire crop in storage, I estimate our losses to be around 40%. Certainly not what we hoped for in January, but better than what we braced for in May.

This week we bid farewell to Vivian Babich, our summer apprentice. Since early June, Vivian has commuted 4 days a week via public transit from Columbia University to the Farmingdale train station. Vivian embraced each task with a curiosity that kept us on our toes and reminded us of why farming is so important. A team player, she tackled any task set before her without complaint, even when it was 95°. Lunch conversations will certainly be less animated in her absence, but our crew is grateful for the time she gave to us. Best wishes for Vivian in her junior year!

Guess what's right around the corner...the annual Long Island Fair! Hosted every fall at the Old Bethpage Village Restoration, the fair has something for everyone—competitions, pony rides, circus acts, food, music, dancing, and more. We'll be there, as always. Fair dates are September 12, 13, & 14. Tickets purchased by August 31 are half off, and there is free entry for volunteers and contest participants. Click here for tickets and info.

Here's a question everyone’s been asking…what’s up with our contract? The answer is: nothing. Our most recent extension expired June 30, but we’ve been too focused on summer harvests to ask for an update. The tomatoes just keep coming! Once harvests taper off, we’ll hit up the phones again.

Final note. I resigned from the Amityville school board on July 27. I served for one year because the district was in turmoil, and because it seemed the farm could spare me. The 10-30 hour/week commitment was hard but not impossible, thanks to our experienced staff. This summer, however, new staff, challenging weather, and contract uncertainty required my full attention, leaving me unable to fulfill my duties as trustee. I didn’t want to quit—I’ve never quit anything before. Plus, my running mates and I were making slow but steady progress towards transparency and accountability, and I wanted to see that progress continue. But there are only 24 hours in a day. I remain as concerned about the district now as I was when I ran a year ago, and with two kids still enrolled, I will remain engaged. But the farm comes first.

Thanks for reading, and be sure to load up on tomatoes while they’re here. It's an absolute tomato-palooza out there!

—Caroline