Planting Day 2020: Marston Victory Garden

Muktuk Marston Advances on the Field (Photo courtesy Ken Anderson)

“Remember how Mr. Anderson used to make all of this easier and fun?” I overheard someone say as he inserted his spade into the earth.

            Twenty or so of us had gathered to put in the half acre that had been tilled as we worked toward the full acre that was the goal.  We were reclaiming a field that had been left fallow for nobody could remember how long.  I didn’t take the comment as a barb, but more as a challenge.

            “This field used to produce so many potatoes and carrots,” was what was voiced with each shovel full of clay-heavy earth that was moved.

            Our spades hit willow roots and sod as we fought back the forest overtaking the field.  The little Kubota that was used to till the ground was no match for the years nature had been working on it, and the old John Deere A disappearing into the trees overrunning the field acted as yet another stark reminder of what had been.

            “I had an older guy teach me how to use a shovel correctly,” another man spoke up.  “Did you know the back of the shovel is designed for your foot to put weight on?” he asked his shoveling partner to the right.

            Evidently time had not only been taking back the field, but had begun erasing the knowledge of how to put one in.  We were catching it just in time for more reasons than one.

            It was not really doom and gloom though.  Even as people wore blisters onto their palms and sweat ran down their backs, smiles were on their faces.  They were waging the battle happily.

            “We used to have potato holidays,” Ike smiled as the spade went back through sod and clay.

            “Potato holiday,” Jeff educated me, “was what the school called it in order to con the kids into thinking they were getting the day off while they were actually getting free labor out of us.”

            “We would get prizes for biggest potato, smallest potato, ugliest potato,” Doris smiled as the memories turned over in her mind as she turned the soil over in front of her.

Ken Anderson displays a little of the harvest with his apprentices at his sides. (Photo Courtesy Ken Anderson)

            A slew of kids showed up as the first cut potato seeds were brought to the field, and they ran through the rows dropping seed a little more liberal than the adults intended.  They laughed and bounded, their energy both contagious and enviable.  Adults went and thinned and covered seed.

            “I’m glad our kids are seeing this,” a mom voiced, “it is important to know where our food comes from.” 

            “Potato plants come from potatoes?” her young daughter asked incredulously as she and her brothers ran about putting in seed, covering it up, and hauling compost.

            To them, this was the potato holiday revived.  They were loving the free labor they were giving.  Dirt coated their hands and decorated their cheeks.  The sun was warm, and a light breeze kept off the mosquitos. 

Kristin Follet with some eager assistants

            A group of adults cut seed at the picnic tables, a group of kids ran them to the field to plant, and another group of adults formed the rows and covered the seed.  It was labor intensive, but progress was being made.

            The original plan was to eat a potluck meal together after getting the field done, but the field had done us in.  Families packed up and went home having completed just a quarter acre, but it was a quarter acre in production that had been willows and tall grass before we had gotten there.

            Another quarter acre was put in by small groups throughout the rest of the week.  A couple people here and there would head up to the field.  An unknowing group of Alaska Airlines workers on a walk around town were roped into the project.

            “Hey,” they said as we drove by, “where you guys headed.”

            “Up the road to the potato field, want to come?”

            “Yeah, why not?” and they put in ten rows over two days.

            Though they would probably shake their heads at how we got it done, I am hoping Marston and Anderson would be proud of what we had accomplished.  We’re taking back their field one potato seed at a time and reestablishing our self-sustaining lifestyle.  Nobody said it would be easy.

 

Special Thanks to our volunteers:

 

Alaska Airlines Crew (Shawn, Mike, Brian, Feletti)

Brad and Kamy Webster Family

Doris Ivanoff

Ike Towarak

Jeff and Talon Erickson

Jeff and Kristin Follet Family

Luke and Kristen McDonald

Nick Bruckner

Marty and Jessie Towarak Family

Reid and Angie Tulloch Family

The first row of 2020 (from left to right: Luke McDonald, Nick Bruckner, Jason Harris, Marty Towarak)  

Another row with Jeff Erickson and Ike Towarak in the foreground- our memory banks of what the field was.

Stuck in the middle (of the field) with you: Getting a slow start on the Marston Victory Garden

Brad and Elwood working with the camp's Kubota

“Be careful about how much fertilizer you use,” a conversation about the victory garden started.  “The soil up there was always very nutrient rich, and produced potatoes without adding much.”

            “The fertilizer we ordered is actually compost,” I answered.  “It will help build the soil and will aid in water retention.”

            “Oh, that soil holds water,” the person continued.  “In fact, it will sometimes hold so much that it pools on top.”

            “That sounds like clay to me.”

            When the road was finally clear enough to drive, Brad headed up to the camp to fire up the tractor and start turning over the soil.  We went up with him to get an idea of what kind of shape the field was in.

            “There’s Brad now,” Myra pointed out when we pulled into the road running through the field with our car.  “Better get out and take some before pictures.  He is getting it tilled up right now.”

            The camp’s cute little Kubota was driving toward us cutting into the grass and soil with its PTO driven tiller.  In standard farm kid style, Brad’s son Elwood was riding in his dad’s lap.

Bub saw her friend, and bailed from the car as soon as we were stopped.  I pulled my phone out and snapped some quick shots wanting to get a good batch of before pictures to include with the beautifully tilled after pictures.

Cottonwoods, willows, and grass are starting to reclaim the field.

            Brad shut down the tractor and clambered down with Elwood to give us a tour of the out buildings and help us take stock of what we had on hand and what we would need to work the field that summer.

            A log “barn” held some ancient equipment and what we hoped were vacated yellow jacket nests.  There was a raft frame, an old air force generator, some machine made from a steel frame and chicken wire, and enough dust to plant another field right inside.

            The plywood shed held spades and hose that looked like it would add nicely to that which we had ordered.  The building itself showed the signs of years of being left vacant on the side of a field.

            Brad climbed back on the tractor and Myra, Bub, and I continued to look around the field and the equipment we hoped we could get operable again to be put into service in the potato field.  The next time we turned around to take a look at Brad’s progress, he had the tractor wedged cross ways between two large tire ruts dug into the earth.  The tractor wheels were coated in clay the consistency of Crisco.

            No amount of shoveling, wedging willows under the wheels, or rocking back and forth was going to budge it.

            “I’ll go get the camp’s Kubota side by side,” Brad explained, “a little tug should get me out.”

            And, it did.

            “Can you drive this over to the other side of the field and park it on the road?” Brad asked as he climbed back onto the tractor.

            “Sure,” I smiled, excited to operate a little equipment myself.

            I pointed for the other end of the field and where a trail had been worn through the grasses.  I figured if others had driven there, that I should have no problems with a little side by side.

            Brad was shaking his head as he walked up to where I was sitting… up to the frame of the side by side in mud.

            “I didn’t want you to feel like you were the only one,” I sheepishly explained.

            We hooked the tractor to the side by side and Brad attempted to pull me out.  The field was the consistency of a wet sponge albeit less supportive. 

            Our car was sitting on firm gravel and so we hooked a rope between it and the stuck Kubota to give a kind of tandem pull.  Myra got behind the wheel of the side by side, Brad pulled with the tractor, I pulled with the car, and the little Kubota crawled out of its mudhole.

            “Well, I think that is enough progress for the day,” I said looking at a field with almost no tilling done to it.

            “It’ll need to dry out a little anyway,” Brad agreed.

            Day one of our farming work and we had managed to get both pieces of equipment stuck and the most soil we turned over was due to the tires digging into the ground.  Clay, clay, clay.

            With some time, the field would dry out, but my wheels started spinning on how to get a bigger tractor to work the field of heavy wet clay.  Like with anything, the start is the hardest part.  If getting stuck counts as getting started, we were on our way.

Maybe the boat parked on the side of the field should have been a clue to how much water it held.  This is the trail I buried the side by side in.

Fish and Chips are Great: Reviving the Muktuk Marston Victory Garden in Unalakleet

Eunice Ryan with a giant Unalakleet grown turnip (Photo Courtesy Jeff Erickson)

I looked out the window at our garden beds after reading the headlines from The Wallstreet Journal and New York Times.  Both sources warned of possible food shortages.

            “If this thing truly does go sideways,” I said to Myra without taking my eyes from the small beds, “these gardens aren’t going to be enough to feed us and our neighbors.”

            “We need to plant more food,” was her response.

            Unalakleet, once the self-proclaimed garden capital of the state, is not covered with the crops that used to be seen in every yard anymore.  Granted, we are blessed by what the country gives us-- berries, fish, birds, moose, wild greens, sea mammals, but we import pretty much all of the vegetables we eat.  We pride ourselves on our subsistence lifestyle, but even with that bounty, there are many homes that don’t have food to last more than a couple of weeks.

            People used to have root cellars filled with potatoes and carrots and shelves filled with home-canned vegetables, but the steady supply of fresh produce in the stores has made life easy, and perhaps arguably not as healthy.

            “There is the potato farm,” Myra voiced.  “We could replant the potato farm with enough food to feed the whole community.  Potatoes are pretty easy to plant, easy to maintain, and give a good yield.”

            We began an online chat with some people in town that we thought would be interested in this kind of project.  The Marston Foundation was mentioned due their involvement in agriculture in Unalakleet in the past.

            The Marston Foundation is online (see resource section on the right side of this blog) and I shot off a quick note through their contact page expressing what we were looking at doing and how great it would be to continue Marston’s legacy on his homestead in Unalakleet.  I left my contact information and figured that was that.  According to their website, we were way past the deadline for any grant help.

            A couple hours later and my cell phone rang with an unknown number.

            “This is Blythe Marston with the Marston foundation…”

            I am not really sure how long it took for me to respond.  In all honesty, since reading Muktuk Marston’s book, Men of the Tundra, I’ve been a little bit of a fan.

            “Blythe Marston you said?”

            “Yes, I got your message about planting at my grandfather’s old homestead.  My dad and I are pretty excited about the idea.”

            “Blythe, I have to admit, I am kind of geeking out right now,” I laughed, “your grandfather is a kind of hero of mine.”

            The Marston foundation is named after Major Marvin “Muktuk” Marston, the founder of the Alaska Territorial Guard.  He was a lot of things: driven military leader, pioneer, advocate for native rights, and a strong proponent for agriculture in bush Alaska to name a few.

            One of the chapters in his book is entitled “Fish and Chips is Great,” and it outlined his plan for agriculture as the future of a self-sufficient bush Alaska with Unalakleet being his proving grounds.

            “Well, my dad and I think it is neat idea, and we would like to help you out.  Put together an informal proposal with what you think you will need to make it work, and we’ll bring it to the board.”

Potato field in front of a cache and fish rack full of fish.  Proof that we can truly feed ourselves with effort. (Photo Courtesy of Jeff Erickson)

             And so, the wheels began turning and a meeting of like-minded Unalakletians was called (social distancing was of course observed).

            “I’ve been meaning to till up that field anyway,” Brad voiced.  “I want to level it, and that seemed the best way to do it.  It would be good to put some hours on the camp tractor this summer.”

            Brad is the Bible Camp caretaker with the field that everyone in town refers to as the potato farm.

            “So how big do we go?” I voiced.

            Jeff who remembers working the old potato field piped up, “Do a whole acre.  We can till up enough for an entire acre and if we can find enough seeds to do that much, we plant the whole thing.”

            “I’ll start calling around for seed potatoes and fertilizer,” I offered.  “Would be nice to go an organic route with fertilizer to start rebuilding the soil.  Do I ask for tools?”

            “Go big- tools, water pump, seeds, fertilizer, worst they can do is say no,” Jeff said.

            Jeff’s wife Donna walked in on the already going conversation.

            “What are you guys talking about?” she asked.

            “Planting the potato field with the Marston’s help,” Jeff quickly summarized.

            “Oh, they are such nice people,” Donna said sweetly, “Muktuk’s grand-daughter stayed with us last year.  She is such a nice lady… what was her name again?  Blythe?”

            I sat and listened to Jeff and Donna’s memories of what the field had been when they were kids. 

            “We had to go and work that field as dorm kids at Covenant High,” Donna explained with a grin.  “We dug potatoes, carrots… we would race into the field and down to where the carrots were planted, pulling a handful out,” Donna’s eyes disappeared in her huge smile.  “Dunk them in the river to wash them and bite right in.  Sweetest carrots ever.”

            “This whole town was full of gardens,” Jeff added.

            “We would dig the potatoes,” Donna continued and pack them in sawdust in the basement of the dorms and eat potatoes all winter.  I worked at Brown’s lodge, and he got potatoes from the farm too.  I’d go down in the cellar and dig them out of the saw dust, come up wash them, run them through the French fry cutter… kerchunk,” she made the motion of operating the arm on the cutter, “made the best fries.”

            We adjourned our meeting and I typed up the proposal based off of the prices I was finding for seed and fertilizer online.

            Ms. Marston contacted me with a tentative $5500 for the project dependent upon board approval.  I scrounged around for seed potatoes.

            “I have some,” the voice on the other end of the phone replied, “how many do you need.”

            “1600 pounds,” I answered.

            “Oh boy, I can maybe get you 300.”

            Seems that in light of Covid-19 that our group was not the only one planting potatoes.  Pretty much all of the seed in the state was flying off the shelf.

            I called around finding seed suppliers that could fill part of my order, and it was beginning to look like we were going to have a collection of seed from every potato dealer in the state.

            “I don’t have a lot of variety,” Jeff at Alaska Specialty Crops told me over the phone, “but I can maybe help you… how much do you need?”

            I went through my spiel explaining the project and that we were partnering with the Marstons.  I expected the same answer I had gotten on every other call concerning the ability to fill part of the order.

            “Yeah, as long as you are okay with Yukon Gold and Cal White, I think I can do that,” Jeff responded. 

            “I don’t have the money yet, but Marstons said I could probably get it,” I explained.

            “I’ll put the seed on hold for you for a couple of days.  I respect the Marstons, and their name is good with me. I have done some work with them going out to bush communities for garden consulting and I have talked back and forth with them about bush food access issues.  I get them for a buck a pound… I can deliver them to the airport for you for a buck and a quarter.”

            Calling around for organic fertilizer was a similar experience until reaching a person at Susitna Organics.

            “Yeah, I can deliver a full pallet of bags (60x 20 pound bags) for a little over seven dollars per twenty pounds, but I can sell you a super sack (900 pounds) for $3.33 per twenty pounds delivered to the airport.”

            Blythe wrote me with an update saying we got the go ahead for the $5500 and that I should check with the air carriers to see if they would be willing to donate freight.

            It was a couple day process, but Everts Air Cargo agreed to haul the first 1000 pounds of potato seeds for free and charge us 83 cents a pound for the remaining 600.  Northern Air Cargo agreed to hauling the 900 pounds of compost for free.

            And now, word is getting around town.  People are excited to see the field planted and growing again.  They are excited to work it, learn the skill, teach their kids, be outside, growing food for themselves and their community.

            The goal, when the harvest comes in, is to sell the potatoes at a low price to the consumer… basically just enough to build a little fund to supply seeds, fertilizer, and increase our variety of crops next season.

            Marston dreamed of a self-sufficient, locally grown Unalakleet.  That vision took a short vacation, but with the help of some very generous sponsors seems to be back on course.

           

Beautiful Unalakleet Garden where the church and parsonage stand today (Photo Courtesy Jeff Erickson)