Farming in North Carolina’s Heat Wave: What It Takes to Feed a Community
This June, North Carolina is in the grip of an intense, record-breaking heat wave. Heat index values have soared between 100 and 109 degrees across the state, prompting Duke Energy to ask customers to limit power usage and conserve energy. The Asheville Citizen Times didn’t mince words, calling it “Hazardous Heat.” For most of us, that means adjusting plans—staying indoors, taking cold showers, spending afternoons at the pool, finding indoor activities for the kids, or retreating to shaded spots with something icy to drink. But for the farmers who feed our communities, there's no pause button—just long, sweltering days in the field, doing the work that doesn't wait.
Farmers don’t have the luxury of staying inside or waiting out the heat. I was reminded of that on Saturday morning while chatting with Tommy Barbee at the farmers market, like I often do. As a former farmer, I enjoy “talking shop” with folks like Tommy—it helps me remember the hard days I’ve lived through and stay connected to the people still living them. Tommy’s farm, Barbee Farms, is a North Carolina Century Farm—meaning it’s been in continuous operation for over 100 years. His son, Brent, took over in 2008 and helped shape the farm into what it is today: 70 acres of vegetables and fruit trees grown with care and grit. It’s safe to say they’ve worked through more than their share of hot summers. This one, though, is pushing limits. Tommy told me that his crew usually starts around 6 a.m in the summer., but this week, they tried beginning at 3:30 a.m. just to get ahead of the heat. “It’s almost inhumane for these guys,” he said, referring to the farm hands. Adding, “Didn’t get done till 7:30—so what good did it do?” As a former farmer, I felt every word in my bones.
This is the work. It’s early mornings, long days, and few guarantees. Because on a farm, there’s no such thing as skipping a day. Not in the summer. A cucumber that’s just right today will be too big tomorrow. A tomato left on the vine too long will split or rot. A melon that’s almost ready could disappear overnight—snatched by a raccoon who knows better than any of us when it’s ripe.There are no birthday lunches out, no calling it early for a long weekend, no sleeping in on Saturday. They have crops that need to be harvested and animals that need to be fed, every single day. You throw money and labor into the field, hoping the weather cooperates. But there are always risks: a late frost, a freak storm, too much rain, not enough rain, bugs, disease. You plan and prepare and problem-solve, but you don’t get to try again until next year.
As a young farmer who didn't own a shovel when I started, I know this all too well. Harvesting in the summer heat carefully picking cherry tomatoes so they aren’t damaged for what feels like hours only to look back and see 100’s you've missed and knowing there are many more rows to pick. Hauling heavy bins of cucumbers, squash, and melons out of the field. Carefully laying a single row of heirloom tomatoes so that none get bruised or squashed. And carefully packing berries in containers so that the containers are full but not too full, potentially smashing the precious delicate fruit. You see this time of year, everything is either heavy or delicate. You’re either lifting bins of melons or trying not to bruise tomatoes. There’s no in-between.
Now, as a customer, I get to sort through bins at the market under the shade of a tent. I sort through organized bins of clean veggies to find the perfect sized cukes and okra because I hate when they are too big. When I’ve selected my small cucumbers for pickling, I know someone already walked those rows in the heat to find the right sizes leaving the large ones left on the vine to rot in the sun. I get to linger while I handle each heirloom tomato making sure they are ripe but not too ripe. I wear shorts and a tee shirt while I sip iced coffee and stroll the market because I do not need to worry about staying hydrated. Then I carefully separate my prized melons from my delicate peaches knowing that two bags wouldn’t be too much to carry on my walk home.
I am thankful for all of this because Tommy reminds me of when I was in the field, sweat rolling down my back as I picked okra in jeans and long sleeves—trying to protect my skin from the itchy plants. I am thankful for his team for picking the okra, remembering when a new farm hand unknowing picked okra flowers instead of the okra fruit ensuring that row wouldn’t bear fruit for the rest of the season. I remember going behind a farm hand to repick squash and cucumbers while pregnant because he couldn't stand the heat and left that day never to return.
When I get home from the market, I lay my haul out on the counter and begin to make lunch from all my fresh finds. I look at the clock, 12:20, the market has ended. The tents have come down and the farmers are packing up under the oppressive sun. They load up any products that didn’t sell; the ones they harvested, carried, sorted, loaded, and drove to market all while I enjoy the fruits of their labor in my air conditioned apartment. They will drive many miles back to their farms hopefully in an air conditioned truck, but maybe not. Where they continue to work; unloading trucks, cleaning bins and coolers, feeding animals, and harvesting again because there is always more to pick in the summer.
So when you pick up your Harvest Box from Freshlist Headquarters, Free Range Brewery, or straight off your porch, take a moment to pause and think about what went into that box. Think of the sweat and the strain. Think of the early mornings, the bruised knees, the sunburns, the uncelebrated holidays, and the exhaustion of the hardest working people in our community. The farmers who work tirelessly to bring us the freshest, most flavorful foods and do the purposeful work of being good stewards of the land. When you're lying by the pool, sweating in the sun and thinking it's too hot to do anything, remember—farmers are still out there. Picking, packing, hauling, hustling.
