Yesterday was till the garden day at the Munger Farm. The past two summers, I’ve been laid up for at least part of the summers with rotator cuff (last year) and knee replacement (this year) surgeries. Meaning, my beloved Better Half has drawn the brunt of the labor needed to plant, weed, and harvest our vegetable garden. But now that I’m mostly healed from the Titanium and plastic thingy shoved into my left knee, I’m able to get back behind the tiller to put the garden to rest.
The process took parts of two days. First, I needed to pull the remainder of our carrot crop. This year was exceptional in terms of carrots. I think our collective family eyesights will be much improved by future meals featuring home-grown carrots. Same thing for our potato crop, which was also outstanding. And while the tomatoes didn’t do as well as past years, ‘Nay pulled out enough of the big juicy, red fruits to can dozens of jars of pasta sauce, stewed tomatoes, and salsa to keep us sated. We also gathered quite a few onions, zuccini, pumpkins, squash, and assorted other veggies to sustain us through the cold months. But back to the past two days.
I had to get down on my hands and knees to pull the remaining carrots. Then, I had to yank out the staples holding our garden mats (to keep the weeds out) and roll up the mats; another ugly chore that requires one to be on the ground to get ‘er done.
We also had an overly abundant crop of apples and grapes. Given we have jars of grape jelly left in the larder, and given we have a dozen bottles of apple wine still awaiting consumption from last fall, the grapes and many of the apples were left as deer food. Too bad but sometimes, you gotta make choices. We had hundreds upon hundreds of small, sour crab apples that fell to the ground inside the garden fence, which needed to be raked up and tossed outside for the deer. And as I raked and shoveled apples into the wheelbarrow, I thought about how lucky we are regarding food security: we are blessed and don’t have to use every ounce of produce that grows on the Munger Farm. The old adage we all heard as children while eating our peas or cauliflower, “there are kids starving in Africa so eat your vegetables”, still resonates.
Thursday, I got up, put on my work duds after my morning Bible study, FB and email time, and reading the DNT to head back out to the garden. It was again cool, a typical fall day in the Northland. But it was also overcast and raining. Before firing up the Troy Built tiller (the thing is nearly 40 years old and runs like a top!), I folded the garden mats and lugged wheelbarrows of weeds to the compost pile. As I worked, I thought back to the Finns who came to northern Minnesota in the early 1900s, were blacklisted by the mine owners, and tried to feed their families from this inhospitable land. “What were they thinking?”
I also reflected upon my own roots, specifically my paternal grandfather Harry Munger, who farmed in Otter Tail County, and my maternal great uncle, Steven “Stutz” Kobe, who had an impressive vegetable garden next to his home in Aurora, and their respective attributes and connections to the land. Grandpa Harry was a poor farmer; he ended up leaving that occupation to work as a game warden and later, in Duluth’s WW2 shipyards. But Stutz, a Slovenian track worker for the railroad, was meticulous in terms of his small veggie and flower plot on Minnesota’s Iron Range. I like to think our efforts at growing food are more in keeping with my Slovenian roots than those of my English grandfather.
The rain increased. I trudged behind the tiller, plowing under residual weeds, stems, and stalks. Mud clung to my boots but in the end, despite the wet day, I finished putting the garden to bed.
Last night before dinner, I washed and cut the carrots, readying them for blanching and bagging: tasks René is far better suited for than me. Fall is here. The Munger Farm is asleep. Until next spring.
(c) 2026 Mark Munger
