October is Riparian Forest Buffer Month! How Cool is That? I love looking up the trunk of a 30-foot-tall Willow Oak that I planted in 2004. It gives me joy that it grew so tall and fast and that it is helping to heal the earth and our farm. Jeanne...
The unnamed tributary. That little creek, or seep, or spring, or bog, or wetland without a name begins its life as surface water when it emerges from the ground. Most streams don’t have a name. In fact, about 60 percent of all streams are unnamed. I’ll bet you know of...
Walk Along Middle River in Swoope—June 4, 10 ’till noon Come walk along the Middle River with Virginia Senator Emmett Hanger and ninth-generation farmer Jeanne Trimble Hoffman on her farm in Swoope, Virginia. Middle River is a tributary of the South Fork of the Shenandoah River—headwaters of the Chesapeake Bay....
The riparian buffers on our farm on Middle River are now fifteen years old. Fifteen years ago, the “River Farm” was basically a cool-season grass pasture with a few scattered mature trees along the banks of the river. Now, in addition to excellent forage for cattle, there are hundreds of...
This blog post was modified to become an oped piece for the Bay Journal News Service. They distributed it on March 7, 2017. USA Today published it on March 17th as “Want a cleaner river? Keep cow pies out, plant trees”.
Two events were held in the Shenandoah Valley for Chesapeake Bay Awareness Week. One on David Surratt’s farm in Fishersville, VA and another on Jeanne Hoffman’s farm in Swoope. Both venues are in the Middle River watershed.
In celebration of Chesapeake Bay Awareness Week (June 4 – 12) Jeanne and I are hosting a “River Walk at the Farm” on Sunday, June 12th at 3pm. Meet at the intersection of Boy Scout Lane and Trimbles Mill Road in Augusta County, Virginia. Space is limited to the first...
Winter in Swoope. I walk along the banks of Middle River on our farm in search of treasure. Dexter, our Border Collie usually walks along with me but he passed on and I sure miss him. Cold air seeps through the opening in my collar; the brown, frozen grass crunches...
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