Confessions of a Modern Farmer
Confessions of a Modern Farmer
farming in the age of social media and climate chaos
Farming can look deceptively idyllic. There are scores of gardeners who fancy themselves as farmers, and even more who tell me that they'd do anything to live my life, to be out in nature frolicking amongst the lambs and calves. I smile politely, sometimes a bit wryly. People are where they are and there's no point in trying to disabuse them of their fantasies. After all, I used to be one of them, with no earthly idea of the heart it took to farm. I didn't know that the land would routinely command sacrifices of blood, sweat, and tears: death always a frequent visitor, abundant frustrations, plans that never go accordingly, too much or too little rain, all the important details that can and do go wrong quite frequently. I like to tell people that the one quality you need, more than any other if you truly want to farm is an abundance of sheer force of will. Farming will test you: the heat and humidity will drain you and the uncertainty will gnaw away at you. Farming is not for everyone; I might even venture that it's not for most people and that’s okay. July and August are my least favorite months to farm, despite the fact that they produce some of my favorite crops like tomatoes, eggplant and poblanos. It is only through sheer force of will that I drag myself outside day after day through exhaustion, mosquitoes, extreme heat and humidity, sunburn. If I want my crops to thrive and survive, I have no other choice despite my disgust at being soaked in sweat and covered in bug bites, despite my overwhelm, again and again I force myself to go back outside to work.
Like most of you I am tired, frustrated and angry with the state of the world. Some days I feel like I was born this way. I have no catchy slogans or simple solutions for you. My fight is a long one. We farmers are the folks who are in the trenches fighting to heal the earth through large and small acts, day in and day out. Each person's path will look different, and often seem foolish to those around him. My path is to pour my heart and soul into good work, into healing this land and growing food for my community and in the words of my dear George Eliot: "by desiring what is perfectly good, even when we don't quite know what it is and cannot do what we would, we are part of the divine power against evil — widening the skirts of light and making the struggle with darkness narrower."
Farmers delicately balance, tiptoeing between it all, subservient always to Nature, that harsh taskmaster who forces us to acknowledge the intertwining of life and death. We plant new life in composted manure, leftover vegetables, the remains of last year. As soon as one animal gives birth another is butchered for food. Lifeless soil that was abused and stripped of all nutrients is slowly brought back from the dead to the land of the living. Cows graze the weeds, poop out manure, feeding the earthworms below and the dung beetles above. An alchemical shift begins to occur, a memory is awakened in the beating heart of the land and new life out of a tired old soul is reborn once again.
What is the social media-worthy picture-perfect version of a farmer? Weed-free beds. Lush green pastures. A cornucopia of vegetables piled high with nary a blemish on them. Young, smiling farmers, somehow free of dirt and sweat, gazing wistfully in a meadow of wildflowers while adorable baby animals frolic all around them. The skies blue and sunny because how could it ever be otherwise?
There you have it: the life of a modern farmer sure to make folks sigh in envy, contentment, or just a bit of both. Social media is an awfully strange medium and one that I hate, love and love to hate. Here's a very specific picture, showing exactly what you want, giving only so much as your audience can handle. Any more and it would just be too real, too raw and you know we can't have that.
I'm quite sorry to disappoint but my pastures are not lush at the moment because we have been experiencing a horrible drought over the past couple months that is only eclipsed by the drought of the past few years that's been plaguing our peninsula. Weed-free beds actually do not exist on an organic farm, and don't believe anyone who tells you otherwise. Though quite adept at artfully piling lush vegetables sky high, these are carefully sorted and picked through for market each week. Meanwhile, loads of imperfect, odd vegetables stock my own fridge because ugly vegetables are just as delicious as those flawless tomatoes you pick through at market:
Despite loving to get dressed up and paint my nails, most days my work uniform consists of holey pants and filthy stained t-shirts, with lots of dirt in every nook and cranny. How do you actually know you're a farmer? If at the end of each day seeds and dirt and hay come tumbling out as you peel off that sweaty bra and though you've scrubbed your hands half a dozen times, still they're a rather ruddy hue from that layer of good earth that simply refuses to leave you, then welcome to the club.
Hello, my name is Natalie and I am a farmer. Most days you will find me out in the fields, hoe in hand. Yesterday, I played the role of patient farmer, silently screaming inside because it took several hours more than it should have to load the goddamn sheep onto the trailer. Some days, my life is everything you and I both imagine it to be, but more often than not, it is far more real and raw. My task through it all? To inhabit the picture, instead of trying to curate it. A silent witness to it all as one sun turns into the next. And a woman who vows to live it all, just as fiercely as if she were experiencing it for the very first time.
Here's the picture: a bucolic setting, sunflowers, corn, dusk, a cute outfit that I'd never actually wear while farming. Honestly, it looks downright absurd and I can't help but laugh. Here's the rest of the picture with all of those lovely raw real bits that you just don't see. It's July, it's miserable out, we've been in a drought for weeks that have stressed and depleted the pastures and despite the welcome rain over the past several days, it will still take the grasses weeks if not months to recover. The heat and humidity of recent weeks have been extreme, some of the worst in my memory, stressing the plants, animals and humans. I'm feeling exhausted, burnt out, wishing for a desk job inside with cool air conditioning, but even more than my own comfort, I'm wishing that the governments and systems we have in place would wake up to the fact that our earth is overheating and the humans that dwell here are in trouble. Climate change is affecting us all, but as farmers we get a front row seat as we experience bizarre weather patterns, extreme heat and humidity, drought followed by too much rain and the dire effects all of this has on our crops, animals and the land itself. How can I learn to adapt and be more resilient through it all? I must learn to adapt and remain resilient through it all.
Growing vegetables and raising animals isn't particularly bucolic or pastoral, especially when you're covered in shit most days. Everybody loves gardening for a morning but try farming when the heat index is over 100. Nobody smiles all the time and that's okay. Oh, and for every cute picture of a goat or piglet on here, I can give you countless stories of days where nothing went according to plan. More often than not, farming is chaos. The pigs break out and eat all your beautiful beets, the neighbor dog kills your turkeys, and just dare to try and have a favorite animal that you name. That's farming, not some perfect picture of lambs and rainbows.
Farming is a microcosm of life in general. Most of farming deals with a change of plans, shifting your perspective, the unexpected, observing and listening, forcing you to confront challenges and fears. Occasionally, things are easy but even then the combination of nature and animals, growing crops and the weather, make it more than likely that a fun plot twist will be thrown your way.
How can I learn to adapt and be more resilient through it all? I must learn to adapt and remain resilient through it all.
As a woman with a Virgo sun who values security and order, I'm not going to pretend that any of this is particularly easy for me. Every day I muddle through it all. Every day a bit easier. No, not easier. But my hope is that I'm learning to take more in stride.
This isn't me whining, this also isn't a cry for help. I'm okay, I really am. This is simply how it really is behind the serene shot of sunflowers at twilight. With life and farming comes weight, sometimes heavier, sometimes lighter, hopefully never more than I can handle. Farming is hard. Often it seems like a series of emergencies and disasters, one after yet another. It's lonely and exhausting. You're dependent on so many factors that are simply outside of your control. Farming, like so much of life, is about learning to let go. To let go of expectations, plans and all those silly preconceived notions that are sure to ruin your day if you grip too fiercely. To embrace good years and bad years, crop failures and abundance. To cuddle the newborn calf and then bury the goat that didn't make it.
So here's a farmer who enjoys a beautiful fulfilling life, showing you the real side, the side that's not talked about, the side hidden behind a smile as the hundredth person tells you how lucky you are and how they'd give anything to farm. The thing is, I believe them because I still think that. Life is at once fantastically heavy and light. Slowly, I'm coming to learn just how to dance between the two. And between it all I'm more than okay, I'm making a beautiful life.
xxx Natalie
What's Growing
Tomato season is in full swing now. Here's our latest CSA box from this past week featuring Sungold cherry tomatoes, Juliet paste tomatoes, assorted heirloom tomatoes, celery, Italian Tropea onions, garlic, Cosmic purple carrots, and rainbow beets.
FAKE NEWS
We are gardeners, not farmers, and we keep a small variety of family livestock as well. All of what we raise is for our own eating...and still! I read this post the morning after spending over an hour ankle-deep in mud, working to release a pregnant goat that had inexplicably managed to wedge her head into a random corner. Two weeks before it was a family outbreak of poison ivy reactions from the necessary clearing fences after a storm (one, for the record, which brought down trees but gave no rain). We don’t spray our garden, and this is the second year in a row that I am spending near daily time in the garden to do away with the Mexican bean beetles that are in turn doing speedily away with the green beans meant to last us till the following summer. “Idyllic” is not often the word that comes to mind, at least not in terms of what fits nicely into a photo frame.