Maybe it's the excitement and the
anxiety of the day. Perhaps it was those last 3 gulps of Noble Coyote Rise and Grind coffee leftover from breakfast that I made into a tepid,
cafe mocha with my late light dinner. At any rate, about 2 hours after the cat decided she was
hungry, I'm still wide awake. At 3am. Mind racing, replaying the events from
the past week, and still, more anxiety over the many tasks yet to do.
When all else fails sleep, it usually helps when I just start writing down
what's racing through my head. Today is a harvest day, though, so
that means there's no laying back down at 6am once this energy burst
wears off. Maybe, if I am fast enough in the field, I'll have time
for a quick power nap later. But for now, I empty my head out onto the
keyboard.
It's not easy for many people to reach
out and ask for help, and I'm certainly one of them. I was raised, I
suppose, to be pretty self sufficient; learning to run a household,
care for a younger sibling, myself and in essence my father, will
tend to do that to some kids. And even though you miss out on a lot
of your childhood and getting to do normal youth stuff, having that
kind of responsibility early on can certainly have its benefits. I
have not had to rely on any one other person, much of my life, other
than myself.
I never really set out to be or do
anything that I thought was all that special or spectacular in life.
Ever since I was a kid, I guess, all I wanted to do, or thought I was
supposed to do, was the “right thing” whatever that was.
I was taught to always be thoughtful of
how what I did affected others around me. I was careful not to
purposely upset anyone, or take advantage of a situation or person's
kindness. It may be why it's been so hard for me to speak up in
certain situations until things really get uncomfortable.
Somewhere along the way, life didn't
exactly turn out quite like I had always expected it would, and I
found myself here, farming some land, in a place whose demographics
reminded me quite a bit of where I grew up. Simple, hard working,
honest, thoughtful people. A bit more rustic perhaps, but quite
familiar in many other ways.
When those people who value the work of
my hands, come back to me, sometimes years later, just to tell me how
much the farm and what I do here, what I shared with them or what
they learned here, has meant to them and how it changed their lives –
well, it is very moving to me. I never imagined knowing what it would
feel like having someone I really didn't know all that well, tell me
that something I shared with them changed their lives for the better.
Helped them improve their quality of life, their health, their
children's lives. But I've been very fortunate to have learned what
that feels like. And I've
got to tell ya, it feels pretty darn cool.
got to tell ya, it feels pretty darn cool.
It often seems to help fuel the super
powers, that some seem to think I posses, when they're running low.
It certainly gives me something to think about whenever a difficult
situation arises and I have to consider the potential solutions. It
has only added to my already determined, (or, as some may call it
stubborn), nature to push on and through challenges others may chose
to call it quits over. I've been tempted on more than one occasion,
trust me. But that pull of knowing that what I am doing here day in
and day out is having such a lasting, pleasing and positive affect
on people, keeps gnawing at me to push through adversity, heartbreak,
hot or cold days, floods or droughts – to the next season. Plant
that next row of transplants. Start that next flat of seeds. Pull out
those crop plans. Mow that path down.
Build it, as they say, and they will
come. And they, many of you reading this, have, indeed come. And you have done so over and over, for the past 10 years.
Over the years, I've met and hosted many farmers who, sometimes just by
virtue of the occupation itself, too, cycled in and out. Sometimes
finding that they just couldn't commit to the time it took to produce
enough to make driving to a market worth their while. Others, faced family or health hardships that forced them to withdraw. Still a
few perhaps lost through attrition of other sorts, and were either just
not replaced, or not invited back. And some, found more traffic at new markets near where perhaps some of our original customers actually live and now could walk or ride bikes to, instead of drive the 15 or 20 minutes it took to get here.
But that's ok. Because people everywhere have to eat. And everyone deserves the opportunity to nearby access of this Real Food, Grown with Integrity. I can't be everyone at once, and neither can other farmers. So we've made due and I meet up with farmers on the road sometimes and buy a box of this or that, hang a sign with their name and town on it, and let their farm be represented here in their absence. That's as close to "re-selling" as it gets around here.
And even though when I started out, I
wasn't a farmer but simply a garden center retailer, I wanted you to
be able to shake the hand that feeds you. I wanted the farmers and
ranchers themselves to be here to meet you, to answer any questions
you may have about certain cuts of meat – because heaven knows I
sure couldn't answer most of those. I still can't. It's all I can do to
remember the variety names of the 20 some odd types of tomatoes,
squash, garlic, melons or other vegetables and fruit I grow. I used
to be able to tell you the Latin names of most of the perennials I
sold, but if you had asked me the difference between an heirloom
and an open pollinated seed, or a cantaloupe and a musk melon, I may
not have been able to give you a very good explanation. Now, I
probably couldn't order off of an ornamentals availability list to
stock a nursery store shelf without Google's help, but I can probably tell you the optimum soil temperature in which to germinate a lot of vegetable seeds.
But that's ok, too. I found somewhere along
the line, that growing, and sometimes selling, seeds and plants that people are going to eat, that are going to provide physical nutrition, in this neighborhood, was
more important than growing eye candy. I often miss growing lots of flowers, and
I've vowed to do more of it each year. But there is something
immensely satisfying about growing food that is nutrient dense, delicious beyond
the wildest imagination and that's not been doused with toxic
synthetic pesticides or fertilizers that strip the soil and pollute
the water or that can make some people sick. I can take little kids or elderly people alike, with their
fragile immune systems, and not worry about them succumbing to the
temptation to grab and eat a cherry tomato or
tasting the sweetness of snow peas straight off the vine, or popping open a fava bean sheath
and chewing on the pod till the beans squish in their mouths or pulling a carrot up out of the ground, wiping some of the dirt off it, and crunching into it, right there in the field.
And whenever, (in this business, it's not ever “if”),
I've gotten into a jam, there are always those thoughtful and capable
folks out there, that roll up their sleeves, or pull out their
checkbooks, and pitch in to help me keep this farm going. Thankfully, I've learned better how to ask for help. And this place has survived many a challenge, so you can keep coming to get what you've learned to expect here, and I can keep experiencing the high I get watching you bite into that first burst of summer tomatoes or melons, squeal with joy over a baby chick, and laugh at the antics of Tom Tom the heritage turkey.
I'm inviting new farmers who share my
growing habits, and although many are members of TOFGA, most are not certified organic either, to join us
this year at Market Day. I call us the un-conventional farmers. We
come from different backgrounds, have different reasons for doing
what we do, but in general, we share one thing in common, if nothing
else; We want to give back to the soils. That, my friends, is a true,
organic farmer's mindset.
At times I've been a bit conflicted
to find myself in a position to buy and take over the stewardship of
this hundred year old homestead. It wasn't always what I wanted to
do, and yet, now I work hard to preserve its integrity and beauty for
anyone else who wants to enjoy it. I really now feel a bit of a sense
of obligation to preserve a place I've been so very fortunate to
find.
I myself didn't realize its true value,
until I started working the land with my own two hands; restoring
topsoil that washed away decades ago. Walking through the wooded
areas, watching the life on the pond and back at the creek where
native birds and insects and plants thrive, gives you new filters
through which to see things. Seeing the children in awe of the place,
always brings a smile. And adults taking a deep breath as they
disconnect from the city, reminds me, often, to stop and take in the beauty, too.
As one of my long time CSA members just recently put it in a beautifully written letter to the city in our quest to protect the farm from a recent building development threat; creating “...a meeting place where people come to fill their baskets and bags with healthy, sustainably-grown produce and share their lives and stories with each other.”, has become an unexpected extension of a long-time past tradition of gathering at the springs just up the road from the farm, at Mr. John Balch's homestead.
Come gather with us this season,
fill up your baskets and bags, starting in April. Won't you?
We'll leave the gate open for you!
Eat Your Food - Naturally!
