To be a farmer in August is to be exhausted yet expectant. This month and the work that fills it can make or break the season. This is when we make our last ditch assault against the weeds, and when we strive against repeated waves of pests and diseases. It is when we make our final plantings for fall, and when we begin our larger scale harvests of onions, potatoes, and shallots. Indeed, as the month progresses and the crops in the field begin their peak-of-season crescendo, more and more of our days will be filled with harvesting. And then we enter glorious fall, and the downward slope of the season, and the abundance it brings.

Today I confronted, as I do at some point every year, the fact that this season will not be perfect. I can typically maintain the aspiration to perfection at least until May, sometimes into June. This season I’ve held on to this illusion far longer than usual. It’s the crew that’s made the difference this year—they are working so well and so hard that I talked myself into believing that maybe this time we can pull off the perfect season.

This morning’s field walk disabused me of this fantasy. Despite our best efforts, in some places the weeds are still getting out ahead of us. We’re at least a week behind driving tomato stakes, which means we’re that far behind again getting them strung. A good deal of the fall transplanting still lies ahead of us, not necessarily urgent yet, but about to become so. And the garlic will be ready to harvest in about a week, a big job that will require much time and more care.

All of which is to say, typical for July. There’s just not enough time for everything. So I will have to make choices, sometimes hard choices, about where we apply our energy and attention. Some things will get done. Others will fall by the wayside. And the perfect season will remain tantalizingly out of reach.

The good news: A perfect season is not the same as an abundant season. I don’t need the fields to look textbook pristine. I need them to produce fruitfully. And I’ve learned that fruitfulness and imperfection (and even chaos, to a certain degree) can coexist quite nicely, thank you very much. So we’ll work hard and make the wisest choices we can, and rejoice in the imperfect fruitfulness we hope to receive on down the line.

No question, it’s crunch time. What happens in July and August makes or breaks the season. And the reality: there’s more to do than there are hours in the day.

Keeping the weeds at bay is toward the top of that list. If we are diligent about cultivating early and often (and so far this season, we have been), we can be in a decent position at this point in the season. But there is always a awful lot of weeding that needs to be done, especially on hot days after good rains, when the weeds grow like, well, weeds.

Responding to pests, too, is important right now. I’ve already sprayed an organic remedy for the Colorado potato beetle twice in the potatoes (and once in the eggplant). I need to spray for the imported cabbage worm soon or risk some pretty holey cabbages and kale. And very shortly the tomato hornworms will arrive, and they, too, will need to be dealt with.

And July also sees the final big seeding and transplanting push for all the crops we need for the shares this fall: broccoli, kale, collard greens, cauliflower, and more. The recent rains have delayed these plantings a little bit, so as soon as the soil is dry enough, those need to get in the ground.

All of which is to say, there is lots to keep us moving with purpose and urgency, as I like to remind the crew (and myself). But in the midst of all the furious activity, there are still satisfactions to be kept in view: Cool, fresh mornings, the grass wet with dew and light mist drifting through the trees at the farm’s edge. Orderly rows of green, healthy crops unfurling across the field in the bright sunshine. Nights full of the trill of the tree frogs, and fireflies winking on and off above the meadow. And, above all, the satisfaction of putting together the shares, boxing up all that goodness, all the fruits of sun and rain and soil and labor and love, and sending it into our members’ homes and on to their tables week after week.

It was during our lunch break last Thursday when the rain started to fall. At first slow and intermittent, then stronger and more insistent. By mid-afternoon it was clear we were in for a steady downpour for the balance of the day. I couldn’t have been happier.

Then it kept on raining through the weekend. By the time the skies cleared on Sunday, we had been given over six inches of rain. (I can’t say how much for sure because my rain gauges kept overflowing.) In the big picture, that’s all to the good. I’ll wager all this rain pulled us out of our regional drought—great news for the trees and shrubs and perennials and such, which were all becoming more than a little drought stressed.

On the smaller scale of our field, I was slightly more concerned. Will the fields flood? Will the soil become waterlogged and the crops suffocate? Will the seeds I just sowed wash out of the soil? And how long will the mud keep us out of the fields, and how far behind might we fall? But I needn’t have worried. Any standing water drained away by Sunday evening. All the crops are growing strong. And the soil isn’t overly muddy, so we ought to be able to get at least a little field work done this week.

I’d like to take credit for all that, of course, citing the organic farming practices that elevate the soil’s water handling capacity by increasing organic matter and microbial life, etcetera, etcetera. And that’s probably at least partly true. But it’s also true that the season gives us what it gives us, by grace or good fortune, and our job is to receive it all with gratitude.

Everything in the field is coming along nicely, I’m happy to report. Last week we were given over an inch of rain, for which we are deeply grateful, and the plants are responding positively to all that needed moisture—weeds included, alas. So this week the crew and I will be focusing on cultivating and weeding, to make sure that conditions don’t get too far out of hand.

We should have ample time for that work. Things in the greenhouse are winding down, with most of the fall crops seeded and waiting to be transplanted in a few weeks. We’ve also finished with the big spring transplanting push, and all of the summer’s crops are in the field and (mostly) growing well.

So now our attention turns to caring for all those plants. The weeding I’ve mentioned. And we’ve already been irrigating during the dry times. I do need to keep an eye out for pests and diseases. A couple of weeks ago I noticed Colorado potato beetle larvae in the potato patch and made sure to spray them with a certified organic pesticide. And I’ve seen the white butterflies that signal the presence of the imported cabbage worm, so I’ll need to pay attention to those as well. There’s no sign of the tomato hornworm yet, but it’s only a matter of time.

It’s a big complicated machine, this diversified vegetable farm of ours, and it takes keen eyes and steady hands to keep it running smoothly. Fortunately we have an outstanding crew this year, as well as all of our members, who make this bounty possible—thank you!

We’ve decided to get out of the chicken business for a spell. Our last batch of hens had proven to be so troublesome, I decided it was best to pass them along to a friend and take a break from chickens this season.

The main problem was that these hens refused to stay put. My practice had been to keep the chickens on pasture, where they can scratch and peck and eat bugs and worms, while adding fertility to the soil. To do this, I housed them in a mobile pasture pen fenced in with electrified netting. This typically had been enough to keep the chickens in the pasture and (mostly) out of trouble.

Not so with this latest flock. Almost immediately after letting them out of the pen in the morning, each and every one of them would fly over the fence and roam all about the farm causing trouble. One of their favorite things was to scratch all through the wood chip mulch in my perennial beds, making a huge mess and driving me batty. Then they started going into the greenhouse and hopping on the tables to snack on the seedlings. The last straw was the day they got into the summer squash patch in the field and pecked away at the zucchini.

After spending the better part of last season chasing the hens all around the farm, I hoped after the winter they would calm down and start cooperating. No such luck—this spring they went right back to their wayward habits. Enough was enough. I packed up the flock and took them to a farmer friend with more room for them to roam.

We’ll miss the eggs for sure, but one dividend from downsizing the flock is that it made room for something I’ve wanted to try for I while now: ducks. A couple of weeks ago, I picked up half a dozen little ducklings from Family Farm and Home, and they’re just the cutest. Hopefully they will be more well behaved than the chickens. (So far, they are!)

Over the past couple of months, I have been watching the farm wake from its long winter’s sleep: red-winged blackbirds chattering from their perches in the bare trees, spring peepers chorusing in the farm’s vernal pond, migrating sandhill cranes drifting above the fields, daffodils pushing through the soil and bursting into bloom, and on and on, a myriad of signs and wonders announcing the arrival of the new farming season.

The farm work has been accelerating accordingly. Right now my attention is mainly in the greenhouse, seeding and potting up the plants both for the CSA harvest as well as for our spring vegetable and herb plant sales. Very soon, I will be out in the field preparing the soil for planting in May, when the velocity of the work rises exponentially. And then, come June, our weekly CSA pick-ups begin.

After a season away from the CSA, I am eager to come back to it, to reconnect with our returning members and to welcome our new ones. And after the long, dark winter, I am hungry for another season of deliciousness and delight. I hope our members are too.