The USDA Loves Subsidies: Do Small Farms Deserve Help Too?

Gene Logsdon, my unspoken mentor (so unspoken that he, in fact, doesn’t know), recently posted an articlepointing to small farming as one answer to the jobs crisis in the US.  If the government would get out of the way of small farms, Logsdon says, we’d all be in a much better spot.
As of now, America’s farms leave room for few employees, and even fewer career seekers.  There is one farmer for every 155 of us, and current farm technology allows for a farmer to grow 5,000 acres of corn with one employee.  On top of that, the farmer will be subsidized heavily by the USDA for doing so.  But the way Logsdon figures it, if one 5,000 acre farm were divided into smaller farms of 300 acres, each run by a family farmer with three employees, these farms could be employing close to 100 people.  And they would be polluting less and supplying their communities with better food.  Multiply that out to the total amount of corn grown in the country this year–90 million acres–and you’re talking about a million new jobs:All government really has to do is provide a level playing field where small intensive farming can compete fairly with large, heavily-subsidized, industrial farming and then stand back. A revolution will take place in new job creation and it will be in the right direction: more good food and a more stable society at a lesser overall cost.
Logsdon’s post begged the question, what would a level playing field for large commodity farms and small farms look like?  Given current rates of subsidy, the farmer growing 5,000 acres of corn has the potential to earn hundreds of thousands of dollars from the government.  Could the USDA eliminate these subsidies and then stand back and let small farms and large farms compete in a fair market?  Given that corn and soy are the foundation of our food system, good or bad, would removing subsidies result in more loss than gain?

Regardless of subsidies, the Organic Farming Research Foundation thinks the government owes small farms more than that.  It recently released this new report for steps the federal government can take to actively support small organic farms, which include an organic farm transition program (though they fail to mention new farmer education).

So what should the government’s role in recreating the food system be?  Should it just get out of the way, or try to fix the problems it has helped create?  To me, it seems that America has deliberately been destroying its farming industry for the last half century.  And if we are serious about reconsidering how American farming does business, it will take significant effort to piece it back together.

Young Farmer Profile #2: Lorig Hawkins at Tecolote

The land east of Austin is a monochrome pallete in the off-yellows of dying plants.  Nowhere was it more stark than when I rounded the curve of pasture that separates Tecolote Farm from Highway 969.  Tecolote is east of downtown Austin, not too far from the fires ravaging Bastrop.  It was obvious; I felt that if I just scuffed my shoes on the grass it might throw off a spark.  At my apartment in the city, we got an hour of rain on Saturday.  As I approached Tecolote’s conjoined fields I called out to Lorig Hawkins, who was pushing a wheel hoe down a bed of newly-seeded beets, asking if they saw any of it.  Not a drop.

Lorig, 27, is the new farm manager at Tecolote Farm, the oldest running CSA farm in Austin.  David Pitre and Katie Kraemer have been farming there since 1994–currently about 10 acres.  Lorig came on as a seasonal employee in March of 2011 with a lot of enthusiasm, but little more than a few months of farm volunteer experience.  By April, David was ready to make her his manager.  Despite being green, Lorig is convinced she was built for farming.  And given the rate at which she’s excelling, it looks like she’s right.

Since graduating from the University of Texas with a double major in RTF and kenesiology, Lorig knew she needed to be working outdoors.  She bounced through a few random jobs–washing windows, working in a coffee shop, dog sitting–until she landed at The Expedition School, where she was charged with guiding hikes through rural Costa Rica a few times a year.  In the spring of 2010, Lorig took a permaculture class in Austin with Dick Pierce, a notable figure in Austin.  During one class they visited several farms in and around Austin, and there Lorig thought she had found her calling.  In proper millenial generation style, she decided to go back to school for agriculture.

Her first season of farm work was everything she wanted.  She sold top-quality vegetables at the downtown farmers market, she learned methods for CSA management, she felt connected to a community with food at the center, and she had work.  Lots of hard, hard work.  “Just doing the work is so rewarding for me.  I really like to push myself and get tired.  Like really, truly, slobbering and falling over kind of tired.”

Aside from physical fatigue, Lorig’s biggest priority in farming is community. She loves the CSA model and the farmers market because it provides a space for interaction around food.  She tells me that she looks forward to being “real” about situations that arise on farms, “like, we don’t have kale this week because of the freeze, or we don’t have beets because of the heat.”  It’s this honesty and personal connection that Lorig admires in her new employers. “Farms have a way of building a community,” she insists,  “I notice how much care Tecolote takes of its members, how much thought goes into their shares, and how honest and passionate they are about their work, and I want to emulate that someday on my own land.” 

Since graduating from the University of Texas with a double major in RTF and kenesiology, Lorig knew she needed to be working outdoors.  She bounced through a few random jobs–washing windows, working in a coffee shop, dog sitting–until she landed at The Expedition School, where she was charged with guiding hikes through rural Costa Rica a few times a year.  In the spring of 2010, Lorig took a permaculture class in Austin with Dick Pierce, a notable figure in Austin.  During one class they visited several farms in and around Austin, and there Lorig thought she had found her calling.  In proper millenial generation style, she decided to go back to school for agriculture.

Lorig doesn’t stop working as she relates her history to me, even though the temperature is approaching triple digits and she is struggling to cut through clay soil with a dull hoe with a wheel attached to it.  “The more I read about it the more I realized that apprenticing on a farm was probably the better way to go.  School is based in research, so I could be researching how this cover crop is better than that one, or how effective CSAs are as a business model, but then you’re not actually farming.”

So while she submitted her applications to graduate schools, she began volunteering at farms and taking some plant biology courses at The University of Texas. It didn’t take her long to realize that she was learning more outside of the classroom than in, and so she began looking for work on a farm in town. That was when she found Tecolote.

Her first season of farm work was everything she wanted.  She sold top-quality vegetables at the downtown farmers market, she learned methods for CSA management, she felt connected to a community with food at the center, and she had work.  Lots of hard, hard work.  “Just doing the work is so rewarding for me.  I really like to push myself and get tired.  Like really, truly, slobbering and falling over kind of tired.”

Aside from physical fatigue, Lorig’s biggest priority in farming is community. She loves the CSA model and the farmers market because it provides a space for interaction around food.  She tells me that she looks forward to being “real” about situations that arise on farms, “like, we don’t have kale this week because of the freeze, or we don’t have beets because of the heat.”  It’s this honesty and personal connection that Lorig admires in her new employers. “Farms have a way of building a community,” she insists,  “I notice how much care Tecolote takes of its members, how much thought goes into their shares, and how honest and passionate they are about their work, and I want to emulate that someday on my own land.” 

Finally pausing to take a drink of water and say hello to her dog, Theo, Lorig quickly picks up a stirrup hoe and begins weeding again.  Having just landed her first fulltime farming job, purchasing her own farm is still a distant dream.  Lorig tells me she’s comfortable staying with Tecalote for as long as she can.  As for where or when she might begin looking for land, she has a hard time saying.  “Farm loans are intimidating, because what if you can’t make it work?  Let’s say you got a loan and started farming this year, during the worst drought in a century!” She shrugs, smiling, “It’s like you’re either all in, or you have nothing.  There’s no one to catch you in that middle part.”  In spite of the inherent risks, though, Lorig is convinced that determination, hard work, and positive thinking will see her through.  “Okay,” she starts, “so I’m not a normal 20-something with a steady job.  And I don’t have a lot of stamina for other pursuits.  And if I ever lose a farming job, I’m not going to be super employable in the normal workforce.  But this is the life I’ve chosen, I love it, and I’m going to find a way to see it through.”

That’s not to say that Lorig would mind seeing the path made a little easier.  At the moment, her biggest challenge is the wide gap she sees between those growing food and those purchasing and consuming it.  Most people don’t know about farms, she says as she turns on water for some thirsty seedlings.  At the same time, farmers are usually too busy and tired to do a lot of education.  One frustration in particular for Lorig is the lack of proper agricultural land available for farmers, especially beginning farmers.  “There’s so much energy put into community gardens and urban green space,” she says, “which are great.  But that’s not food production, not enough to feed a city.  For food production, you need a lot of land.  Right now new farmers have to look for land far outside city limits, but close to the city is the best place for these things to start.  That’s where you really can breed a farming community.  I’d like to see Austin putting some thought into that.”

She pauses for a moment, then continues, as if summing up her feelings, “Farming is often seen as a fad for young people.  Like we’re just riding out a bad economy until we can get a real job.  But this is what I really want to do.  The systems involved in farming, the organization, the constant thinking ahead, how I work physically … there is nothing better for me than farming.” 

Lorig’s excitement as she said this was a lush contrast to the scorched and miserable pasture in which she was standing.  Fully aware of the obstacles in her future and facing a desolating Texas drought in her first year of farming, Lorig stays positively exuberant about her future.  As I walk beside her and talk, she rarely lifts her head as she responds.  She just keeps working.  Even with her physical capacity and intellectual aptitude for agriculture, it’s this determination that may prove to be Lorig’s biggest asset in her new career.

Austin Bakes for Bastrop

Wildfires have burned an area the size of Connecticut around central Texas, nearly 4 million acres.  30,000 acres have been burned in Bastrop alone, just southeast of Austin.  Thousands of people have been affected, and many have lost their homes.  Food bloggers in Austin are getting together to raise funds for the Austin Community Foundation’s Central Texas Wildfire Fund in order to provide some relief to the victims of this disaster.  They’re doing what they do best: making and sharing food.

The event will feature baked goods from local bloggers, with proceeds going to the Wildfire Fund.  It will take place next Saturday, October 1st at these locations.  If you can’t be there in person, consider making a donation online.

Ongoing information at Austin Bakes for Bastrop.  The Austin food blogging community is a great group of people, and I feel lucky to be a part of it.  

For Young Farmers: Our Next Best Step

It’s coming to the end of the summer harvest in Texas.  The time of year when you only have okra and cayenne peppers to eat. It’s earlier than normal this year because of the drought.  As far as the plants are concerned, it’s August, not July, 15th.  At Round Table Farm, Travis and I have collected our hoses, taken down our greenhouse, and stopped producing for the year.  For farmers who continue to produce through the hottest part of the summer, I think this final stretch is the hardest.  Everything, from body temperatures to electricity bills to tempers, flares up now, and fatigue sets in as you can see the light at the end of the tunnel.  The first autumn cold front is so close, yet so far away.

This month, Travis and I will both be looking for new, non-farming jobs.  It’s an awkward space we’re trying to fill–pursuing farming while deliberately not farming.  But we’ve come to the conclusion that that’s the next best step for us.  Once the lease is up on our apartment at the end of the year, we’re hoping to find a new home with a space for a large garden, so we can continue our gradual ascent (or descent, if it’s August) into farming.  Having jobs that won’t drain us physically will give us the chance to put some energy into our own farming projects.

As I help Travis tailor his resume to submit to jobs like the one he had in Boston–administration and management–I have to smile as we downplay his farm experience.  There’s some irony here.  Working on farms doesn’t necessarily provide a path to becoming a farmer.  Why not? With all the talk about creating new farmers, the best path to get there should be part of the conversation.

The farmers Travis and I have known fit into one of two categories: they had land in their families or they switched careers later in life.  Travis and I were hoping that we would find some sort of replicable path for those who wanted to farm but fit into neither of those categories.Working on farms seemed like the most logical path to take, and it has certainly provided us with lessons about running a business.  So maybe this isthe most replicable path for now–work or intern on farms to gain skills and perspective (viewing a farm’s business model as an outsider is one of the most invaluable experiences you will have), then hunt for space to start something small on your own.  While it’s unconventional, vague, and pretty dependent on chance, that’s what we have right now.

Sometimes I get criticism that my perspective on starting to farm is negative.  That if I want to farm, why don’t I just go do it?  There is nothing in my way but me.  My response in the moment is usually, “Okay, thank you for the advice,” but I can respond more thoughtfully here:

If Travis and I were to find a perfect piece of land tomorrow, and the owner offered to finance it and everything worked out perfectly, my attitude would not bloom into something like, starting to farm is easy, all you have to do is try.  Instead, I would say what I’ve always said: that a career path in farming is insecure and unclear, and the fact that I found a way does not diminish that.  New farmers have few resources or instruction at their disposal, and the personal sacrifices one must make are high–low pay, seasonal work, few legal protections, to name a few.  I won’t forget that Travis and I were essentially homeless for one year in order to pursue farming.  The fact that we had the means, the drive, and the familial support to make that kind of sacrifice does not make me feel proud, it makes me feel lucky.  And luck, when it comes to our food supply, is probably not what we should rely on.

The best recommendations I have for really making farming a viable option for young people are formalized incubator programs and more public or private land specifically allocated for new farmers.  Revisiting farm labor regulations will also encourage more young, talented people to go into and stay in farming.  Obstacles for young farmers exist.  Are they insurmountable?  No.  But they are large and looming enough that they ought to be a part of a national conversation.  Anything less, and our calls for a healthier, localized food system remain incomplete. 

Wisdom of the Radish Book Giveaway!

Several months ago, I asked for input from my readers on how to make this blog better.  One of the suggestions I got was to create a book list — what I’m reading and what I find useful.  Easy Shmeasy, I thought.  I’ll do it! And like most of my well-intentioned resolutions, it never happened …until now! 

Recently, I was given a copy of The Wisdom of the Radish by Lynda Hopkins, who co-runs Foggy River Farm in California.  Lynda and her husband Emmett, just like Travis and me, are young farmers.  They began on just a few acres given to them by Emmett’s grandfather, and in her book Lynda tells the story of her farm’s birth.  From flea beetles to foxes to pasty butt, Lynda and Emmett battle a number of foes the first year on their farm, and it was especially useful for me not only to see how they learned to work on the farm, but how to work together.

I must add that, given all the grief Travis and I are going through just to get land to farm, Lynda and Emmett cheated by having land in their family.  Still, it’s no easy task starting a farm, and I wish them the best of luck over in California.  I highly recommend people read The Wisdom of the Radish for a glimpse into the life of a young farmer.  And what’s more, this week you can win your own copy!

I thought long and hard about how to give away my copy of The Wisdom of the Radish.  I was fretting about it one morning over breakfast, flipping through a New Yorker when it came to me: a New-Yorker style caption contest!  If you’re not familiar with New Yorker cartoon caption contests, here’s how it works:

The New Yorker provides a picture like this:

The readers then submit captions that fit the picture.  Like this one’s winner, submitted by Roger Ebert:

“I’m not going to say the word I’m thinking of”

The picture posted below is one of Travis and me at the farm, and it needs a caption.  Provide a caption for it by posting in the comments or tweeting me @farmerneysa.  Make me laugh, because I’ll choose my favorite one on Friday and you’ll receive your own copy of The Wisdom of the Radish. Good luck!

Photos: Sasquatch Books, Newyorker.com, Austin Prince

Everything is Everything

I have some big news. 

After months of reflection and internal searching, weighing the options, and talking (read: arguing) with Travis, I have decided to resign from my job at Johnson’s Backyard Garden.  I gave two weeks notice on Friday.

This will probably come as a shock to most of you.  There are a lot of reasons for this decision.  Unfortunately, this is not the time to divulge the entire story of everything I’ve been going through at Johnson’s.  What I can say is that Travis and I have discussed my future there, and we both decided that my staying was no longer contributing to our goal of getting our own farm.  It makes more sense for me to find an off-farm job, begin a small farming project on the side, and try to grow our business that way.

I want everyone to know that this certainly doesn’t mean I don’t like farming anymore, and it doesn’t mean the end of Dissertation to Dirt.  This is just another chapter in my path to owning and operating my own farming business with Travis, and I’m confident that this is the best step forward. 

I wish I could tell you more, but for now let me just say that in my year and a half of working on organic farms, I have learned a lot of what I expected to learn–that broccoli and cabbage are part of the same family, that garlic is ready to harvest when half of the leaves turn brown, that tomatoes are a pain in the ass to grow, and that hot peppers are way more productive than they should be.

But I’ve also learned a lot of things I didn’t expect.  Like that farmers, organic or not, can’t pay their workers a living wage because of the demand for cheap food. That wholesaling to large food companies is a quick ticket to bankruptcy.  That there are all kinds of ways to farm and still be considered “organic.”

And that we better get our heads around just what we’re looking for as we’re trying to make a change in our food system.  As I look for land to farm on my own, I’m keeping all these things in mind so they may shape the kind of operation Travis and I have.  Farming is not just about making money to me.  Viewing food as just a commodity continues to plague our food culture. Sometimes I think it would be nice to live where the garden is a hobby and not a job, like those presented in the blogs like this one:https://gardeneaze.com/

I also want to say that since I announced my resignation to my friends, everyone has been incredibly supportive and helpful in trying to connect me to other employment.  I’m looking, predictably, in academia since that is where most of my experience is.  I expect to stay connected to the farming community in Austin through volunteer work, the Austin Grower’s Guild, community gardening, going to the farmers markets, and any other way I can think of.

On a related note, there are some exciting opportunities in front of Travis and me:

  1. My cousin Thanos put me in touch with a development company in Florida who is looking for a couple of farmers for a small organic farm within a new low-cost community.  We would be charged with developing and running our own CSA and farmers market.
  2. Our friend Jon has connections to two separate pieces of land, each under 5 acres, that we might be able to rent together and begin a small farming operation.
  3. Thanks to the Austin Grower’s Guild, I just found another 2.3 acres in Webberville.  The owner is willing to rent in exchange for a share in the vegetables.
  4. Travis’ mother has put us in touch with a couple of farmers in New York who are looking to retire and pass their land onto a young farmer.

(this is the first plant in my new windowsill garden.  I named him Chardy)

When I told Brenton I was leaving, he seemed to think it was because I wanted to do something else.  Quite the contrary.  I am more motivated now than ever to farm, and to get something started of my own.

The *&%^?# bok choy flowered on me

As I mentioned in a previous post, Travis’s new job is as the greenhouse manager.  Which means he spends most of his days in the greenhouse, secluded, with baby plants.  Every time I walk into the greenhouse I get this waft of serenity. It’s quiet, the doors are closed, and the transplants are so dense, it’s like a mini rainforest at your feet. Travis assures me that this isn’t always the case, but still, my new job is somewhat more hectic. 

03.12.10 Alberto Martínez AMERICAN-STATESMAN — Neysa King harvests broccoli rabe at Johnson’s Backyard Garden, an organic vegetable farm at the eastern edge of Austin. They grow organic vegetables and have received a grant from the state through a program that encourages young farmers to stay in the business.

I have been appointed the harvest coordinator.  That means I have 20 acres, soon to be 70, under my charge.  It means it’s up to me and the group leader, Vicente, to monitor the fields for what’s ready to harvest, decide the right combination of crops to go into the boxes for the CSA members, and note any problems like pests, disease, or excessive weeds.

Back in New York, Travis and I led the harvests 2-3 times a week.  I do have experience harvesting most vegetable types, running a CSA, and keeping harvests organized.  But Brenton’s farm is nearly 7 times as big as Betsey’s.  In New York, you could stand in one place and see the entire field.  This farm is a completely different animal, and Brenton has placed an intense amount of trust in me since I began training.  Granted, this probably has less because to do with confidence in my abilities, and more with the fact that he’s getting ready to triple the size of his farm and it makes a guy busy. 
So, the last few weeks I’ve steeled my jaw and done my best to make good decisions.  But I keep feeling like I’m one step behind the vegetables.  Today and yesterday were especially crazy.  Remember the post about the pecan and mesquite trees?  Well, apparently, when spring comes, the established plants know it, they flip out, and they start trying to spread their seed as quickly as possible.  They’re all desperately trying to shoot up flowers, which means they won’t grow anymore, so I’m desperately trying to stop them. Something tells me I shouldn’t be embroiled in an epic battle with broccoli, but that’s how it feels right now.  
Today, I woke up to rain.  I got to the farm at 7am and sat at my computer to print out the harvest list to give to Vicente.  Brenton came and said in his most chipper voice, “Man, it’s raining!” 

I said, “yes, I know.” 

“We really needed the rain.  I’m happy about it.  It’s going to make everything grow so much!”  He walked out of the office again, whistling. 

Normally, the prospect of our crops growing faster would fill me with a sense of contentment and anticipation.  But today, all I could think was, “shiiiit.”

I went out into the field ready for battle.  This morning I would be fighting an overabundance of ginormous lettuce.  Like, thousands of heads, all huge and getting huger, and I only had so many places for all of it to go.  Two weeks ago, I swear, it was tiny.  

So, Vicente and I improvised and decided not to give everyone a head or even two, but to chop it up and make a salad mix, so we could give everyone a full bag, making use of more lettuce.  Harvesting 20 bins of lettuce mix in the pouring rain is not a great time, in case you’ve thought of trying it.  But we got it done, and I think if we can keep harvesting like that, we will make it. 

On top of that, the bok choy already bit it last week.  Last friday they were fine, and by Monday two beds of it had flowered.  After I finished the lettuce, I began picking the last remnants of the flowered bok choy.  Vicente warned me against putting it in the boxes, because flowers might not look good.  So as I was cleaning off the flowers (which are edible and taste like bok choy), I began thinking about our collective expectations when it comes to the appearance of our produce. 

I think about this a lot, especially at markets.  Often (but certainly not always), I find that people will treat farmers market stands like a grocery store.  Produce is inspected closely and expected to be spotless, uniform, and abundant at all times of the year.  But I can tell you that that’s not how it works.  Farmers are just people, and they make mistakes just like anyone.  Sometimes they do everything right but the weather doesn’t cooperate, like the three months of rain we got this winter.  Or, the weather cooperates too much, like the transition to spring that made everything shoot up to godzilla size in a matter of days.  Sometimes, veggies are blemished just because, you know, they’re outside … on the ground.

Unrealistic expectations fostered by mass produced fruits and vegetables at large grocers is detrimental to small, organic farmers.  Unlike the local HEB, if some produce is blemished, we can’t just order more from California.  Instead, we have to rely on our communities to support us, through both the lean months and the harvest.

*Photos thanks to Alberto Martinez

I’m Somebody Now!

Get this: Brenton has decided he’d like to hire Travis and me. That’s right, we are employed, being trained for positions that we will fill after our internship ends in May. That’s right, we have real jobs again. In farming, too. I know I wrap up my identity too much in my work, but having a legitimate job, getting paid a decent wage, having a place of my own, being self-sufficient, and most importantly feeling like I was contributing to something–lacking all these things made me start to question my self worth. It shouldn’t have. But it did.

How did I get here? Things seem to be coming together, and I have to step back and reflect. When Travis and I first moved to New York, we wanted an introduction to farming. We wanted to see if we could hack it, number one, and if we liked it, number two. We quickly found that yes answered both of those questions, but we were still at a loss for how to progress in organic farming, where it seemed like everyone who would be doing it in the future was already doing it now… in other words, there aren’t a lot of farmers, but there are fewer would-be farming entrepreneurs.

By the time we moved to Austin back in November, we were already burnt out on the aimlessness of interning–the inherent transience, the lack of real engagement with farming, the awkward living arrangements. Young people often enter internships with the expectation to learn about the job, but usually they find themselves doing a lot of mundane tasks with little real training. Although we took on a lot of responsibility in New York, because we could never feel any ownership in the total process of farming, Travis and I often felt that we were doing the farming equivalent of stuffing envelopes.

Not that you can’t learn anything from just being on a farm. And to be fair, after I moved to Austin and began working for Brenton, I was surprised at how much I had learned in New York without even realizing it. But it’s also true I’ve learned more in the past two weeks, training for a real job with real responsibilities, than I did in the all my time as an intern up to this point.

It makes me wonder, is my path replicable? Is interning the best way for young people to get into organic farming? Or is it an only-choice in a field with a tiny pool of colleagues? Could others sort of stumble-jump into fulltime employment on an organic farm like I did? And still, Travis and I aspire not only to work on an organic farm, but to own one of our own, and that remains a giant question mark.

Brenton and I figured it out one day: if his farm is 70 acres, and there are about a million people in Austin, that means it would take over 200 farms of the same size to feed the entire city. So, the need is there, and in a city like Austin, so is the demand. But the question is, who will supply it? And how?

Organizations like the Crop Mob (thanks, Esther) I think are less an idealistic excursion or an attempt to reconnect with nature, and more a testament to how haphazard and makeshift are the paths of people who are genuinely interested in growing food.

But back to the point, Travis and I are gainfully employed, we live in a great apartment in a great city, and we are doing something we really enjoy. It’s been a long, uneven road, toward making a career of organic farming, and we’re certainly not near the end of it, but it’s good to at least see that we are making progress.

Tractor Rides

Betsey’s pride and joy at Ryder Farm are her tomatoes.

They have been growing in the greenhouse since April, and yesterday they were ready to come out to “harden off” before being planted in the field.  Around 2pm, Bestey, Rich, Travis, and I had formed an assembly line, passing tomato plants out of the greenhouse and onto Betsey’s tractor cart.

With around 100 flats of 20 plants each, the project would take several tractor rides back and forth from the front greenhouse to a large tarp laid out behind the far greenhouse, about 100 yards away.  We had just unloaded the first batch when Betsey got called away for work. Wanting this job finished today, she looked at Travis and said, “Do you want to try the tractor?”  Travis forced (I could tell) a nonchalant nod and swagger to the tractor’s metal seat.

Learning to drive the tractor had been a prospect since we came to Ryder Farm, and now Travis was about to get a first, rapid lesson.  The tractor was a stick shift, and the controls were unwieldy, but I knew Travis is such a fast learner that he wouldn’t have a problem.

It took him a few tries to get it going once Betsey left, but by the end of the afternoon, he was handling the tractor with apparent ease. As I watched him maneuver the tractor back and forth around Bestey’s gardens, I felt pride swell inside me.  I reflected on that feeling a minute.  Was it just the large grin on Travis’ face that made me happy to see him driving?  Or was it something more?

To me, watching Travis drive a tractor was an exciting moment because in it I could imagine doing this with Travis on our own.  Our own gardens and our own tractor. It signified that Travis was improving in his techniques and abilities, and that he had learned another skill would allow him to farm independently in the future.

I realized I was glad for that.  But I’m not sure yet if it’s because I categorically want to keep farming after this growing season is over, or merely because Travis and I both have a stubborn determination to be good at whatever we do.  Either way, after a month Travis and I are feeling more comfortable and capable with farm work, and our private musings about farming for ourselves one day are full and vivid.

Finding a Routine: Week 2, Day 1

Travis’ alarm went off at 6am.  We pulled our covers tighter and wrestled with the cold morning air for the next half hour or so, the alarm re-beeping at us every 10 minutes.  I conceded and got up at 6:48, threw on some clothes from an open basket Travis and I have casually titled, “farm clothes,” then shuffled up to the farm house in a fog, craving coffee and in need of a bathroom, and kicking myself for not waking up earlier and utilizing the beautiful, wild mornings in Brewster, New York.

I should be communing with nature, I thought.  Meditate or do yoga or something.  If nothing else, my aching muscles could use a good stretch.  I walked into the house—the door is never locked—and found Betsey sitting at the kitchen table watching the weather report.  About 70 degrees all week, rain on Thursday, which meant we could get away with not watering the fields today.  Betsey and I chit-chatted for a while, before she hustled off to work. 

On top of managing a farm on her own property and hosting 6-8 apprentices every summer, Betsey works full time as a nurse at the nearby hospital.  She is also active in the Brewster community, serving on several town boards and projects.  I’m not exactly sure when she sleeps, but I’ve never seen her tired or cross.  “It’s a good thing I love my job because I do it a lot,” she has a tendency to say.  A part of me thinks she would rather devote all her time to her farm, but farmers in the United States aren’t provided with health insurance, and since both Betsey and her husband are Type I diabetics, she has to keep working. After Betsey went to get dressed, I dumped some cereal in a bowl and chomped on it loudly.  Travis walked in a minute later and began making coffee.

I began reading a book of poetry another apprentice had let me borrow—Stephen Dunn’s Local Visitations.  I wasn’t really enjoying it, but I was making myself read it to be polite.  I found one poem I could say something intelligent about, made a mental note, and closed the book. Travis and I ate, a phrase here and there breaking the familiar silence.  Then Betsey’s husband, John, came downstairs, poured himself a cup of coffee and nuked two frozen egg and cheese sandwiches.  No, they weren’t organic.  Not even close.  Betsey and her husband don’t even think of eating organic.  They buy what’s cheap and what they like.  This is a surprise that I’ll have to write more on later, but I think it points to a certain disconnect between an intellectualized ‘organic movement’ and what really happens with growers.  John is an extremely good-natured, straight-forward man, who barely opens his mouth when he speaks.  He began asking Travis questions about guitars.  John owns 14 guitars of every variety, except classical, which are too “snooty.”

Travis and I finished breakfast and looked at the written list of tasks Betsey had left for us. Mostly transplanting.  Betsey had basil and several varieties of flowers that we were supposed to pluck out of large flat trays and place into pots for sale.  There were at least 100 sprouts per tray, and about 8 trays.  Travis and I got to work, just the two of us, at 8am.  At 9, Rich, the apprentice who had given me the book of poetry, joined us.  The three of us sat on buckets we makeshifted into chairs outside Betsey’s greenhouse all day, taking small flower sprouts out of large trays and placing them gently in filled pots.  We took a lunch break at noon.  By 4pm, we had gotten about four trays potted. 

Many of the jobs Betsey assigns us are big and monotonous, and I find sometimes I have a hard time doing one thing for that long.  Luckily, there are always smaller, ongoing jobs that can be done, like watering, weeding, planting, or just tidying up, and often I’ll go do one of those things for a few minutes when I find myself staring off into the distance instead of doing the task at hand.  After work, I went for a jog around the neighborhood, something I’ve been itching to do all week.  Running in a new place makes me feel like its mine.  Plus it gives me a chance to listen to my music and be in my head for a while.  But I realized quickly that I’m surrounded by country highways with small shoulders—probably not the safest place for running—so I’ll have to find another way to expend my energy at the end of the day.

When I came back Travis and Rich were in the kitchen laughing, and Travis was trying to organize Betsey’s explosion of a pantry (Betsey and John seem to have a hard time throwing things away).  Travis and Rich are becoming friends; he always wins people over by making them laugh.  Normally at this time, around 6pm, I would have begun making some dinner for Travis and me and whoever else was in the kitchen who wanted some—usually consisting of whatever veggies and protein I can scrounge from the fridge or freezer—but tonight I wasn’t hungry so I just took a shower and came to a coffee shop to write.

Tomorrow will go much the same, but Betsey will be home, and will hopefully show us some more techniques.  It’s always better when she’s there because we can ask her questions.  Every day I just try to soak up as much knowledge as I can and enjoy this beautiful place I’m in for the summer.  Tomorrow I’ll try to wake up at the first alarm.