Earl Warren has a fine appreciation for the well-drained soil he farms west of Rehoboth.
Earl Warren sat on his four-wheeled ATV, considering the irrigation system, watching bicyclists and walkers going by on the Junction and Breakwater Trail, sweating in the hot sun of a Sunday afternoon.
I got off my bike and walked through a band of tall grass at the edge of his field. He motored over to meet me.
“Dry isn’t it?”
“Real dry. We need rain.”
“This is good ground isn’t it?”
“Too good for houses,” he told me. “Like across the street. That Futcher farm. One of the nicest pieces of ground around. Now it’s houses and condos. We’re losing lots of great farmland. That piece where Kmart is now, I used to get 220, 230 bushels of corn a year off that. And that’s dry ground. No irrigation.” In the world of farming, anything over 200 bushels per acre on non-irrigated ground is considered exceptional.
The farm we stood on borders the Junction and Breakwater Trail and Glade Road. Riders and walkers can watch the flow of the seasons as they pass the fields. They can watch tilling in the spring, planting and cultivating in the summer, harvesting in the fall. In between, day by day, they can watch the plants grow. Sometimes corn, sometimes soybeans, sometimes wheat or alfalfa. “This is alfalfa here,” said Warren. “Just cut it. Should get five or six more cuttings this year.”
Alfalfa is cut and stored in long, white plastic skins that stretch along edges of Warren’s fields like caterpillars awaiting transformation to a next life. In the case of alfalfa, it will be fed to Warren’s dairy cows to become milk and, eventually, beef.
“All natural,” he said. “And I’ve never used any growth hormones ever. What they eat is what I grow, and, sometimes over the years, some mixed grains feed I’ve bought. None of it had hormones in it either.”
Warren’s looking into establishing a farm market on his home farm along the Glade Road. He would like to sell dairy products and produce grown on one of the last farms in the Rehoboth area.
In another nearby field, large round bales of straw stretch across the gentle roll like big checkers or some other kind of game pieces for the gods. Bob Raley told me Warren does a lot of the baling for farmers on the east side of Sussex. Everyone finds their niche.
We watched the irrigation system, and its cool, pulsing spurts of water, make its way toward us while we talked. When the first drops approached, Earl said he had to go reverse the direction of the system. He fired up his ATV and dusted across the short alfalfa stubble as I started pedaling again toward Lewes. What he said kept playing through my mind. “This ground’s too good for houses.”
Nature will provide if we allow it.
Bales of straw dot a field along the Junction and Breakwater Trail.
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