More than 20 years ago, Crawford ( Mayordomo ) and his wife Rosemary settled in a mountain valley an hour outside of Santa Fe. They made the adobe bricks with which they built a house and started both to raise a family and to work what is now a four-acre farm. While the author writes that they ``were a little too old to be hippies, though we tried,'' the couple's turning to the land was a thoughtful, considered move. This elegant and unsentimental account of how Crawford learned to grow his principal crop, garlic, and what that process has revealed about himself and his place in the world is probing. An eloquent paean to physical effort and to the land he cares for and depends on, his chronicle is a treasure trove of planting lore, from the autumn planting of garlic cloves to the winter-long ``hibernation,'' the sighting of first shoots in spring, the formation of seed stalks in early summer, the harvesting soon after, and the less satisfying process, to him, of selling his produce, including statice and squash, at farmers' markets in Santa Fe and Los Alamos. Crawford's keen observations, penned in well-hewn prose, are as reflectively nurtured and pungently powerful as his crop of choice. (Mar.)
Crawford tells us whats right with American agriculture by telling
us whats right in the life of one farmer whos found his place in
Rich with respect for human toil. . . . detailing the healing and annealing aspect of the repetitive tasks that bring his crop to market in clearsighted, eloquent prose.
Superb, quiet. . . . a plainspoken wisdom.
"Rich with respect for human toil. . . . detailing the healing and annealing aspect of the repetitive tasks that bring his crop to market in clearsighted, eloquent prose."