It’s a simple truth that’s coming to a head, once again: The people of the Midwest know cold. They know what it’s like when scarves and hats and gloves and layers of coats and sweaters are not enough when winter winds waft from the Great Lakes.
Next time the wind chill shoves temperatures down to 20 degrees below, take comfort in knowing—or envying—a farmer named Jo Sleger. He has found an ideal defense. At a clement 90 degrees warmer some winter mornings, he’ll be sitting in a patio chair inside a half-acre room with translucent walls and roof—locked in a timeless summer, sipping coffee. He’ll be tucked away in a corner of his greenhouse, away from seven bays of living lettuce greens that are being constantly washed in a kind of vitamin water. The soothing sound of running water is Jo’s companion…
“I guess it could be considered soothing,” Sleger sensibly responds in question to the everyday sound of hydroponic farming, adding, “If you’re not on the get-up and go, it might seem like that.” Okay, so this caption of idyll might be a bit exaggerated. But when winter creeps up, a little paradise is appreciated.
“Oh yeah,” they appreciate the temperate work space during winter, Sleger and his eight employees, one full-time and seven part-time. Two hours east of Detroit, in Ontario, “It gets freezing beyond belief,” Sleger says.
Nineteen years ago, Sleger built his greenhouse on land that was part of his family’s tobacco farm. He had been looking for an alternative to the tobacco legacy when his interest was peaked. At a seminar he met up with another hydroponics producer who was looking for a collective of farmers whose volume could be conventionally distributed. Taking a chance, Sleger started with Boston Lettuce, living Boston Lettuce.
Living lettuces were considered innovative, as they still are today. They are packaged and sold with roots intact that continue to feed moisture and nutrients to the leaves, prolonging their shelf-life. Alive, they actually continue to grow in your refrigerator.
The method used to produce living lettuces is called hydroponics. Seeds propagate in a peatmoss medium that is directly fed—or watered—with soluble, flow-able nutrients called compost tea. The tea is rich in essential elements, brown in color, and circulates directly to the root zone. Therefore, the roots don’t have to reach far for nutrients. That’s why they stay small and take up less space. After the tea flows through 14-foot troughs, it is then recycled and re-circulated. The yield is of a premium, consistent quality that takes up less space and resources. Without the modern amenities—like electric fans and pumps—some say the Hanging Gardens of Babylon grew this way.
As the operations of the greenhouse became more familiar, Sleger diversified his Boston lettuce crop to include others like Lolla Rosa, Green leaf, and even Tat Soi, mizuna, watercress, and restaurant garnishes. Besides becoming more proficient at his new trade, part of this expansion was also due to survival.
Survival was Sleger’s primary motivation in becoming certified organic. “I don’t remember when I first heard about organics. It came in little pieces at a time,” recalls Sleger, “I started making observations about its effects and how important organics really were. I was becoming a parent and so, of course, the health consciousness of it kicked in more.” For two years now, he has been harvesting organic living lettuces—much thanks to his wife Pauline, who having grown up on a farm, pushed for certification to avoid the chemicals.
Certification was a self-taught process. An hour’s drive from his property will not find many other farmers or ranchers implementing organic production. “There’s increasing talk,” says Sleger, “But the area remains pretty isolated.” With some verification and guidance from a livestock organic producer, Sleger compiled his paperwork and passed certification standards. Now he sends out 700-800 boxes a week, all year-long, of living organics.
“The biggest difference I have noticed since going organic are the people on the supply and receiving ends,” says Sleger, “They are a nice group to deal with. The conventional market is tough and very commercialized. Lots of input restricts your business decisions.”
Important to his greenhouse’s organic production is staying off the road. Sleger sells to organic distributors like Goodness Greeness instead of trucking to restaurants and markets to keep his costs down. It also reduces his own working hours. “I have time for my family, so it’s a good thing,” he says. Though, on Saturdays, chores include the greenhouse, their three children helping pack boxes, water trays, and label the packages.
Even if considered work, it’s still not a bad way to bout the Midwest cold, out of doors without coat or gloves. This greenhouse method offers needed relief, a place where the sun can house its warmth without interruption, coaxing gentle lettuce greens from their seeds. As the days get shorter and the nights longer, calling Sleger’s Organic Greenhouse an oasis doesn’t seem so ridiculous. Sleger admits to something like it: “We call it the sunroom.”
Mercedee Renz, Goodness Greeness
