New crop of farming methods

Sunday, Aug. 5, dawned. It was a "fruit day," according to the 2007 Stella Natura calendar, because the moon was passing in front of Aries, a fire sign. And so K.K. Haspel prepared to attend to her farm's fruits.

After two days of haze and humidity, this early August morning promised a clear, dry day, and all looked right with the world at the five-acre farm in Southold known, simply, as The Farm.

To the east of the Haspel house, a field of zinnias in brilliant pinks, oranges, yellows and reds was abuzz and atwitter with bees and birds. Behind the two barns were greenhouses and two larger fields whose raised beds gave forth a profusion of edible crops in various stages of ripeness: lettuces that grew like pink and green jewels, brilliant red radishes, turnips, beets (red and gold), Swiss chard (red and white), kale, beans, peas, edamame, eggplants, cucumbers, squash, leeks, garlic, onions, potatoes, carrots, melons, blackberries, strawberries, dill, arugula, basil, mint and dozens of varieties of heirloom tomatoes as well as rows of towering sunflowers.

Making the magic

Dressed in a pair of white overalls and a sun-protective turtleneck, K.K. (short for her maiden name, Kathy Kelly) filled a 5-gallon bucket with well water and added a small packet of finely powdered quartz. She sat down on an old wood chair and, with a stick, stirred clockwise until the water formed a deep vortex. Then she halted the flow and stirred the other way. After 20 minutes, she poured the solution into a rigid plastic backpack equipped with a hose. Ira, her husband, strapped it on and headed into the fields to spray a fine mist of the "silica prep" over the fruits. The microscopic layer of crystal would magnify and concentrate the light and heat of the sun in the same way that a magnifying glass can be used to set a piece of paper on fire.

Had this been a leaf day, Ira would have sprayed the lettuces, herbs and chard; had it been a root day, the garlic, potatoes, beets, carrots and radishes; a flower day, the zinnias and sunflowers. But on this fruit day, Ira focused not only on berries but on all the plants whose seed pods we eat and, thus, botanically speaking, are fruits: tomatoes, peppers, squash, cucumbers, melons and edamame.

K.K., 57, and Ira, 61, are educated, worldly people. They came to farming after successful careers in, respectively, custom house-building and architecture. What kind of arcane rites were they enacting? Nothing more nor less than two of the key elements of biodynamic farming: following the astrological calendar and using homeopathic "preparations" to treat the soil and crops.

Biodynamics, whose principles were set forth by the Austrian philosopher-educator Rudolf Steiner in 1924, is a holistic system of agriculture whose practices are designed to harness the forces of the sun, moon, planets and stars and focus them on the earth and its plants. It is considered fairly unorthodox in U.S. farming circles, though in Europe it is much more mainstream.

The Farm is also organic, but the refusal to use chemical fertilizers and pesticides can only take you so far. "Organic is just material inputs," K.K. says, "physical stuff. But biodynamics has the ability to heal the earth."

The Farm's crops are bountiful, delicious and healthy. Last summer, when overabundant rains compromised many other farmers' tomatoes, The Farm had a great crop. The produce also holds up preternaturally well after being picked; many customers have stories about forgetting about a bag of greens or beets in the back of the refrigerator and being stunned, weeks later, to find them fresh.

K.K. attributes the quality of her plants and the health of her soil to biodynamics. She doesn't fully understand why it works, but she is convinced it does. (It took a bit longer for Ira, with his more empirical nature, to come on board, but he has.)

The Haspels never set out to be farmers, let alone biodynamic farmers. In 1999, they visited the North Fork to look for a weekend home that would afford them an escape from the frenetic pace of their lives in Oak Beach. After seeing a few lackluster properties, they pulled into the driveway of a dilapidated farm on the main road just east of Southold village. Before she was even out of the car, K.K. had a vision. "I saw a field of zinnias - zinnias, wildflowers and sunflowers. I knew we had to have this place."

She didn't need to look inside the house. (What did it matter the shape it was in? The Haspels renovated houses for a living.) She didn't need to look at the barn or other outbuildings. What she needed to figure out was how to convince Ira this was their destiny.

But Ira was already telling the real estate agent that they might as well all go back to her office to sign the contracts.

Initially, Ira continued to run his architectural firm full-time, but K.K. moved into the old farm house immediately, sleeping on a mattress on the floor. She began sowing flowers even before the deal was closed. (The farmer from whom they bought the property had told her "don't let lawyers stop you from planting.")

The early years

For the first few years, it was just flowers, plus some vegetables for their own table. Almost as an afterthought, K.K. displayed a few bouquets on the side of the road, "and if I sold 10, it was the cat's meow."

One night during that first summer, deer came and ate virtually everything. The next morning, K.K. told Ira that they would have to build a fence. This decision, to protect what they grew, was a turning point. The Farm now takes all sorts of gentle measures to guard the crops. The zinnias are protected by a solar-powered electronic fence; blackberries are shielded from the birds by netting. Shoots just starting out are covered with cloth "row covers" so the rabbits don't get to them.

The Haspels had started taking classes at the Nature Lyceum, the Westhampton "school for environmental horticulture." K.K. had always followed organic practices, but in 2001, she attended a two-day course in organic agriculture taught by Jeff Frank, the school's founder, as well as guest lecturers, one of whom, Steve Storch, gave a brief introduction to biodynamics.

'Biodynamics' clicked

K.K. was galvanized. "When I heard the word 'biodynamics,'" she recalled, "I felt it in my soul. That was it. I had to do this. It was love at first sight."

Her other instincts had panned out. In 1967, when at 16 she first saw Ira at her brother's graduation from Colgate, she knew she would marry him. Three years later, she did. The couple has a grown son and two grandchildren. After 38 years of marriage, they are as gentle and affectionate with one another as newlyweds.

And, of course, there had been the decision to buy The Farm after driving a few yards up its driveway.

At the Lyceum, K.K. learned to interpret the biodynamic calendar, which advises farmers on when to sow and reap, as well as how to work with the various preparations ("preps") that are finely dispersed among the plants and soil to enhance their growth. Shortly after that first class, Frank came over to start The Farm's transformation from organic to biodynamic.

"We stirred up the preps, and started flinging it out over the plants," she recalled. "The next day, the whole place looked different, greener, more alive. It was like a baptism."

K.K. became a student of biodynamics, reading widely and enrolling in a yearlong part-time course at the Pfeiffer Center in Chestnut Ridge, in Rockland County. At the same time, she and Ira began paying more attention to the food they grew. Initially they grew vegetables for their own consumption and sold whatever they couldn't eat. But now, with a burgeoning understanding of the relationships of plants, people and the cosmos, they sought out food "that was nourishing to both the stomach and the soul."

Also, their son, Max, had started a family, and they thought a great deal about the food that their new grandchildren would be consuming. Where did it come from? Who had grown it? What was in it?

Thus started in earnest the raising of edible crops as well as the Haspels' nascent careers as retailers. In the summer, and especially on weekends, work in the fields gives way to work at the roadside stand, where tables are laid with boxes and baskets of whatever fruits and vegetables are being harvested -plus, depending on the season, vases of zinnias, sunflowers or wildflowers. The signage is done in Ira's distinctive, old-fashioned hand.

Customers who want greens or herbs or other perishables must wait while K.K. retrieves them from the refrigerator in the barn. Some customers prefer to head back into the fields with K.K. to see what looks good right now. Armed with her secateurs, K.K. snips to order.

Last summer, The Farm's produce started showing up on the menu at Southold's North Fork Table. Gerry Hayden and his wife, Claudia Fleming, had left lofty culinary careers in Manhattan to open this country-style restaurant.

One day Gerry, the chef, wandered over and bought some beans and tomatoes. The next day, he bought more, some beets and garlic. Soon, he was a steady buyer of K.K.'s vegetables and herbs. Pastry chef Claudia could always be counted on to do something spectacular with the berries and other fruits.

Being listed by name on the menu of one of the area's finest restaurants gave The Farm's already good word-of-mouth a boost. Other restaurants, including Fifth Season in Greenport, Mirabelle in St. James and the Old Mill Inn in Mattituck, are also regular customers.

'Better than in Italy'

Another of K.K.'s regulars is Rosetta Sestito, born in Calabria, Italy, and now a resident of Ridgewood. A fervent admirer of The Farm's tomatoes, she has been calling since February to confirm her order for the plum tomatoes when they come in, in late August; this is what she will use to put up her sauce for the year. K.K. has every intention of selling her as many tomatoes as she can buy, but Sestito insisted on paying months in advance - "Tomato futures," says K.K. - to assuage her fears.

One day in early August, Sestito pulled up with her husband. They had driven out that morning from Queens and would return that afternoon. Sestito solemnly handled the tomatoes for sale; she would take some home. But what about the plum tomatoes. How were they doing? K.K. took her back into the field to show her the green plums on the vine. "The best," Sestito exclaimed in heavily accented English, "better than in Italy."

Being in the field seemed to calm Sestito. For good measure, K.K. showed her a few varieties of peppers that would reach maturity around the same time as the plum tomatoes. Sestito appraised the farm. "Oh my God, if I could have this.... "

K.K. smiled. She knew the feeling.