The Big Freeze

I remember one Christmas, when my uncle received a 3-D topographical map of Wisconsin. We all peered closely at the relief-formed plastic sheet, instantly looking for the location of our farm. With this type of map, it becomes clearly visible the lumpy rise of the Penokee Range (considered the oldest mountains of the world), stretching across the northern part of the state.
By studying the map, we found that the farm is nestled within the foothills of what remains of those ancient mountains, worn by scores of glaciers and time. Because of these “mountains,” we are walled off from the tempering nature of Lake Superior, too high to be sheltered by the Namakagon river valley, and too far from regional lakes for their warming effect, it is no wonder that we always seem to see frosts first and last each season. We may have been ever so lucky as to have landed one of the coldest spots in the state. Goody.
So, when the predictions for Hayward start calling for night-time temperatures like 38 degrees, we start pulling out the 100-foot-long Agribon frost covers. We’ve learned over the years that our farm always runs cold. With that in mind, hearing a forecast for this last Friday at 26 degrees, we knew that the gardens were in trouble.
I planned it out a few days in advance, knowing the work load would be steep on top of all our other farm and Farmstead Creamery duties. Bundling up in the face of chilly, rainy afternoons, I pecked away at both of our high tunnel greenhouses, which are passive solar only. Peppers (both hot and sweet) and English cucumbers were first on the list. The cucumbers on their trellis strings (repurposed baling twine) had vined way up to the top of the greenhouse, with cucumbers of all sizes dangling down and sprawling about. They all had to go—even when the cucumbers were quite small and would have been otherwise “left to grow.”
The time had come. There wasn’t going to be any growing anymore. Not after the big freeze.
In the other high tunnel, three 50-foot rows of tomatoes awaited. Every stray empty box was scrounged for the purpose, packing both ripe and green orbs to be stored away on our heated basement floor—far from the oncoming frigid temps. As the days pass, I keep them sorted, tossing any that slump instead of ripen to the pigs. Most of them will color, so you have to save them all, just in case.
The zucchinis were also on the list, along with the classic American slicing cucumbers growing outside. No frost cover would keep them safe if the high tunnels were hopeless. Bins and buckets filled with green and yellow vegetable treasure—stored away in fridges and the garage.
But it was a full-on crew for the winter squash picking.
“Just pile them up and throw all the vines on top!” Russ rang the farm Wednesday evening to offer his advice. “They should be just fine.”
“But they’re expecting 26 degrees!” I worried, knowing that frost damage would shorten the squash’s storage lifetime.
“They’ll be fine. Just pile them up good. But check with your mother first. She knows best. That’s just my advice.”
Yes, well, that’s 26 in town….but on the farm? We pulled the squash.
A light frost is good for winter squash. It shocks the plants into ripening their fruits, setting the sugars. But we’d already had two light frosts, so the vines had received their signals. And we had another reason to pull the fruits—the feed value of the vines.
As we harvested the squashes or cucumbers, we’d mound up those spiny vines with all the leaves and stems. Either Kara or Steve would then pick up the piles with the Skid-steer and dump them into the pig pens. Goodness, did the pigs love that operation! They’d even stand right underneath, waiting for the vines to fall onto their backs. Chomp, chomp, and they were all eaten up in surprisingly short order.
Mom and I literally grabbed the last of the cucumbers (after finishing the winter squash), mounded up the vines, and dashed inside to clean up for that evening’s Farm-to-Table Dinner. By morning, everything was doused in crispy white. The only piece of the pre-freeze workload we hadn’t been able to manage was feeding out the zucchini plants.
So, Kara and I met that morning, working hard to beat the sun as is came up over the pines. The plants were frozen solid, but once warmed by the sun, they were turn into limp piles of goo. We had to get the plants to the pigs while they were still zucchini-sickles! I worked with the long-handled pruners while Kara grabbed the piles in great bear hugs, as we dashed back and forth as the bright sun slowly crept along the ground to the garden. We kept ahead of it, and the zucchini plants didn’t go to waste.
Now, the colors on our driveway are glowing spectacular, but the garden looks like carnage. Such is the way when the big freeze comes at last. I’ll be looking forward to eating some of those winter squashes we saved! See you down on the farm sometime.