Because I’m a livestock farmer, people love to share their opinions about animal intelligence with me. Some folks think cows are the dumbest farm animal, while others insist it’s chickens. A vocal minority would have you believe that—when it comes to smarts—turkeys are the foulest fowl. Over the years, I’ve heard every opinion under the sun.

“My grandfather used to raise chickens. You know, they were the dumbest birds…”

“Everyone says sheep are stupid, but have you ever watched a cow drooling and slobbering? I mean, dumb as bricks…”

“I raised goats for a few years, and they’d always get their horns stuck in the fence. You’d think that after a few times they’d figure it out…”

In my line of work, I interact with animals daily. I’m just as likely to be feeding a fluffy baby chick as I am loading a thousand pound steer on the trailer, or trimming the hooves of a thoroughly uncooperative two hundred pound ram. And when things don’t go right—when the pigs tip over the new feeder and ruin their grain, or the turkeys roost on top of their hutch instead of sheltering inside—it’s tempting to throw my hands in the air and shout “Come on… why are you guys so stupid?!” Take my word for it: when a goat climbs onto your car and takes multiple craps on your roof, it can be truly exasperating.

Don’t let his sweet looks fool you: this guy really wants to poop on your car.

But it wasn’t until years later, as I was out checking on my cattle, that I finally realized what the dumbest animal on the farm is. Everyone’s heard the phrase “the grass is always greener on the other side,” right? Well, on this day, the cows hadn’t finished eating the grass in their field. But there they stood, crowded around the gate, mooing incessantly for ‘greener grass’ just on the other side of the fence.

“What’s the matter with them?” I asked myself, just like I had done for years. “Can’t they just eat what’s right in front of them? They’re so spoiled. Why can’t they be patient?”

In the distance, I could see that there was still plenty of grass in their field. But as I walked closer, I began to notice something else. Although there was still lots of grass, it had been trampled, pooped and peed on. Flies were now buzzing over top of the copious cow patties. To top it all off, there were scores of flattened impressions where the cattle had slept the night before. The pasture reminded me of a huge, all-night college party: replace the cow pies with beer cans, and you get the picture. Who in their right mind would want to hang out here once the party was over?

Why is it we think our pets are so smart, yet are inclined to dismiss the intellect of farm animals?

And that’s when it occurred to me. The dumbest farm animal wasn’t a cow, a pig or a chicken. As it turns out, the dumbest animal on the farm was me.

The cows knew they were ready to move, even if I—the farmer—didn’t. In the past, I would have forced them to remain in the field an extra day or two, making them eat around their own manure, grazing the grass down to its roots. But on this morning, by opening a gate, I also opened up my mind. I gave the cattle a fresh block of pasture and left the ‘soiled’ grass behind, giving it time to turn the poop and urine into useful fertilizer in the future.

Imagine: allowing a cow think like a cow, instead of trying to make her think like a human. What a concept!

This shift in philosophy was easily transferred to my chickens, pigs turkeys and sheep. I designed coops, fences and shelters based on my observations of how the animals naturally behaved. How would I act if I were a chicken out on pasture? Where would I find water if I were a lamb? Where would I sleep on a hot day if I were a pig? By changing my point of view, my job as a farmer became easier almost overnight. All it took was walking a mile in my cow’s shoes… I mean, err… hooves.

Observing the cattle and sheep on a wintry January morning.

Einstein once wrote, “If you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it will live its whole life believing that it is stupid.” I had spent years of my farming career insisting animals do what I wanted, instead of letting them be themselves. In essence, I was telling cows to climb trees.

Don’t get me wrong though… I don’t think I’ll ever be able to keep goats from pooping on my car. No matter how enlightened we become, some battles just can’t be won. But to be a good farmer, I need to pay attention to what my animals are trying to tell me. Most importantly, if I’m ever going to be a great farmer, I need the wisdom to listen to what they’re saying.

Check out my book, just named a “Best Read for Summer 2013″ by Publishers Weekly!

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Your author, the music loving grass farmer.

“Pig Time! I’m on my way I’m taking them… Pig Time! You know I’ve watched them growing…”

Other songs soon followed. When one of our cows needed to be wormed, Coldplay’s “Paradise” entered my mind.

“This cow has para-para-parasites… whooooooaaaaa…”

Once I started, I couldn’t seem to stop. At farmers market, each time a customer bought a package of sweet italian sausage, I hummed Paul Young’s song: “Every time you go away… you take a piece of meeeeat with you.”

Tom Petty’s “Free Fallin’” became a chorus of chickens swaying side to side, wings on one another’s shoulders. “Now we’re freeeeeee… free ranging…. I imagined a rooster in leather pants grabbing the mic: “Yeah I’m freeeeeeee… free ranging!

So a few weeks ago, when an old Beatles song floated across the radio, my farming ears were tuned in. Ever since I had returned to the farm fifteen years earlier, I had focused on rebuilding our soil’s fertility, rejuvenating the earth after centuries of rough farming practices. Generations of plowing, harvesting and erosion had depleted our land to such a sorry state that weeds were more common in our pastures than bluegrass or clover. When I arrived back home from college, our farm needed help and needed it fast.

Black raspberries, a lovely byproduct of just ‘letting it be.’

But a hundred years of damage can’t be corrected in a season, or even a decade. Early in my farming career, I realized that if our land would ever return to its true potential, then I’d have to be very, very patient. The words on the radio spoke to me:

“When I find myself in times of trouble, Mother Mary comes to me… speaking words of wisdom, let it be.”

I was struck by the power of these familiar lyrics, especially as they apply to farming. As a child growing up in a rural community, old farmers often sat around the local feed store, discussing the season. They complained that the soil wasn’t as fertile as it used to be, and worried over diminishing crop yields. Their land was ‘worn out’ they said. What could a farmer do?

What could a farmer do? It was a question I must have heard a hundred times in my childhood, something that offered little hope for the future, and carried a note of resignation. After all, if a farmer doesn’t have fertile soil, then what does he have?

I thought back to my first days as an organic farmer, fresh out of college. The same old farmers rolled their eyes as I told them about my plans.

Neglected for years along the edge of a hayfield, this crown vetch is so thick it’s nearly growing over the fence post!

“Without herbicide sprays, your fields will be overrun with weeds,” they said.

But my fields were already full of weeds, I shrugged, so I can’t do much worse.

“You can’t grow crops without fertilizer,” they said.

That’s why my cows will eat grass, I replied. They’ll fertilize the soil with their manure.

“You can’t feed the world on organics,” they said.

But I’m not trying to feed the world. I just want to feed my local community.

Years later, I listened to Paul McCartney’s gentle voice, the simple piano accompaniment, and noticed something for the first time. For thirty seconds or so, it’s just him and the keyboard, a single voice and a simple melody, speaking from the heart.

Then, something magical begins to happen. At the end of the first verse—so subtle that it’s easy to miss—a soft chorus responds. “Yes,” the voices seem to say. “Yes, we hear you. There will be an answer.”

I had heard this song a thousand times before, but had never noticed these voices. Suddenly, I had goosebumps.

A foraged feast of morel mushrooms and wild onions, volunteering in our organic pastures.

Ringo’s drum falls in next. Tap tap tap tap, tap tap tap tap. A verse later, out of nowhere, an organ volunteers itself in the background. It’s not until the song is nearly halfway over that we hear George’s guitar, a roaring electric endorsement. A guitar playing second fiddle to a piano? How often does that happen?

I closed my eyes, letting the music wash over me. As was my habit, I found myself tweaking the words, transforming it into a farming song.

“When I find myself in times of trouble, Mother Mary Nature comes to me… speaking words of wisdom, let it be.”

When our own farm was in dire straights in the mid 1990s, when the crop yields weren’t enough to cover our costs and chemical-fertilizer bills nearly sank our operation, the philosophy of ‘letting it be’ was what finally got us back on track. Building soil through organic practices and discovering long term sustainable solutions is what lifted us out of debt. Fifteen years later, our farm is back on track. Mother Nature knows how to take care of herself, if only we have the sense to listen.

Let it be. This is how farms will succeed in the future, with balance and harmony. A growing chorus of voices is lending strength to the melody, speaking words of wisdom. It’s what sustainable agriculture was always intended to be.

Check out my book, just named a “Best Read for Summer 2013″ by Publishers Weekly!

 Please ‘like’ our family farm, and we’ll keep the stories coming! Smith Meadows Facebook

The truth is, we couldn’t get it done without the help of our two outstanding local butcher shops. Small scale butchers play an indispensable role for local farmers; without them, getting free-range meat into stores, restaurants and markets would be nearly impossible.

But now more than ever, small-scale family-owned butcher shops are an endangered species. If we truly want to “eat local,” then these shops must remain open and prosperous. As Jedediah Purdy suggests in this recent OpEd in the New York Times, it’s time to make slaughterhouse operations transparent. I agree. Come along as I take you behind the scenes at Blue Ridge Meats, a small USDA inspected butcher shop in Front Royal, Virginia.

***Spoiler alert: Farming celebrates the circle of life, and death is a part of this cycle. If you are sensitive to images of traditional butchering practices, then this might not be your blog. However, if you are genuinely interested in knowing how small farms and local butcher shops interact, then in the name of transparency and integrity, please read on. Knowledge is power.***

Of course, it all starts on our farm, Smith Meadows. We select three or four grass-finished cattle every Wednesday morning, and personally haul them to the butcher shop on our trailer.

About 40 minutes later we’re at the butcher shop, backed up and ready to unload.

Unlike most slaughterhouses, our animals are quickly dispatched without hours of waiting. After humanely killing a steer with a point-blank shot to the head, it is quickly skinned by a skillful butcher.

Two carcasses ready to dry age. “Dry aging” is an old fashioned technique whereby beef is hung for several weeks in a frigid (but not freezing) room. Cold air circulates around the carcass as it ‘ages,’ imparting tenderness and flavor to the meat. This is an increasingly rare technique in modern times, and nearly all beef in the United States is ‘wet aged’ instead. ‘Wet aging’ means placing beef into plastic sacks, and letting it ferment in its own juices. Clearly, we prefer dry aging! (As a side note, the yellow fat on these animals is giveaway that they were grass-fed. Corn fed animals have snow-white fat).

After weeks of dry aging, a beef is ready to be ‘broken down.’ Here, a butcher slices apart an entire side of beef in a few moments as I watch.

Have you ever seen a circular shaped bone in a sirloin steak or leg of lamb? That’s a result of the bone saw, seen here slicing the beef into slabs while cutting straight through the bone.

Three part harmony.

Inside the chill room, with beef dry aging in the background. If you look closely, you will notice that these pigs have been prepared in different ways, some with their heads left on, other removed, and the one in the foreground with the head removed but saved. Different customers have different preferences when it comes to pig roasts, and small scale butcher shops are able to cater to individual needs.

The Valley Proteins truck, hauling away offal to a rendering plant.

Operating a small butcher shop is extraordinarily expensive. Besides the normal types of overhead (payroll, utilities, mortgage, etc.), a butcher shop files significant amounts of regulatory paperwork each week. With appointments scheduled months in advance, a missed butchering appointment means a serious loss of revenue for a small shop. Hence, this notice!

The end result: delicious sausages, chops and roasts. As you’ve seen by now, the working conditions are clean, the process is transparent, and the artistry is unparalleled. Quality is maintained when only small numbers of animals pass through the doors each week. Conditions like these are harder to find in the mega-slaughterhouses, where thousands of animals per day are the norm.

Every butcher shop is unique, and Blue Ridge Meats is no exception. Here, owner Lois Aylestock smiles from her office through a hole in the ceiling, where she can see customers as they enter the deli. It’s eccentricities like these that make small butcher shops a vital thread running through our American tapestry.

Check out my book, just named a “Best Read for Summer 2013″ by Publishers Weekly!

Stacey Carlberg of Potomac Vegetable Farms helps a customer at market.

I’ve spent over 1,000 Saturdays and Sundays selling at farmers markets, and even after all this time I still love to answer questions. Farmers markets are one of the few places where customers can directly connect with their food, meeting face-to-face with the people who grew it. Questions are expected at market, and even encouraged. From livestock breeds to production practices, organic certification to chemical usage, I’ve been asked just about every food-related question under the sun.

Though most farmers will happily answer all inquiries, there are a handful of questions that make even the friendliest farmers want to choke a carrot. If you don’t want your farmer to turn three shades of beet red, here’s the reasoning behind 4 questions every customer should avoid.

1) Was this picked fresh this morning?

So what’s wrong with this question… you just want to know if it’s fresh, right? That’s totally understandable. But let’s take a moment to think about how a farm really works.

Imagine market has just opened, and it’s 8 a.m. For the last hour and a half, the farmer has been setting up his booth. Before that, he drove two hours to get to market. Sometime earlier he brushed his teeth, make a pot of coffee, and—with any luck at all—put on his pants. At what point this morning would he have had time to pick 20 bushels of tomatoes, 100 pints of blueberries, or gather 50 dozen eggs?

Truckloads of fresh food don’t magically load themselves in fifteen minutes. It takes many hands many hours to pick basketfuls of green beans or apples. This doesn’t even count moving the harvest from the field to the packing shed, or loading it onto the truck itself.

Eggs are laid fresh each morning (see the sunshine in the background?), but these hens are still asleep by the time I roll out for market in the morning.

So when should the harvesting happen… at 2 a.m.? I’m picturing a bleary-eyed farmer with a headlamp, picking corn with one hand and drinking coffee with the other. As Rachel Bynum of Waterpenny Vegetable Farm explained to me, most market produce is picked a day or so before (depending on the fruit or vegetable), then loaded onto the truck in the cool of the evening before market day.

If you want it any fresher than that, you’re probably going have to grow it yourself. In the meantime, let those farmers get a good night’s sleep! Which leads me to my next question…

2) What time do you get up?

This one’s a classic, something I’ve been asked hundreds of times. Farmers are famous for being early risers, so it’s understandable if people are curious about a specific hour. So why add this question to my list? Because—as I’ve learned from years of experience—there’s never a satisfactory answer.

For instance, if I say, “Oh, about 6 o’clock,” the questioner’s face turns thoughtful for a moment. “That seems kind of late, doesn’t it? I mean, I get up at 5:45 myself.” If I say “A little before 3,” their eyes go suddenly wide. “Why do you have to get up so early? To milk the cows or something?”

Yes, that’s my Kermit the Frog pillow.

One day, I realized there’s only one correct answer for this question: 4:30 on the dot. Not too late, and not too early. Not too lazy, and not too crazy. 4:30 a.m. is the Goldilocks of responses.

So in case you were wondering, all farmers—everywhere—get up at precisely 4:30 (although I sometimes hit the snooze button on my rooster). Any more questions?

3) I know you’re not open yet, but I’m in a hurry… could you sell me something before the bell?

Hello, Starbucks? Sorry to call so early, but your door is locked and I really need a latte. Could you open up early just for me? I’m in such a rush, and it’ll only take a second!

Where else in the world could someone get away with this question? Despite how it might appear at first glance, it takes farmers a long time to set up their booth each morning. Trucks must be unloaded, tents erected and produce arranged. If farmers opened early for even one person (and I’m talking to you, Latte Lady), they’d never be ready for the opening bell of market. Which is a perfect segue to my last question…

4) Since it’s the end of market, can I get a special deal on what you’ve got left?

This one’s a little trickier. I once asked my friend John Hyde, a baker for 25 years, what he thought about discounting leftovers at the end of market. His face lost all expression as he gave me this advice: “Forrest, that path leads to madness.”

Farmer Rachel told me she picks squash one, two or even three days in advance, and staggers the different pickings across the course of a market. Looks fresh to me!

He elaborated. “If we gave discounts at the end, then people would simply wait till the last ten minutes of market to shop. And what about the loyal customers who paid the normal price? They’d be insulted to learn they got charged more for showing up on time. It’s always better to donate it to a food bank than to discount things at the closing bell.”

Markets must never become Priceline.com or GroupOn, where last-minute deals and discounts are the norm. In order to stay in business year after year, farmers must get the price they ask for. Discounting at the end of market might seem harmless and even logical, but it’s an unsustainable practice for the farmers themselves.

◊   ◊   ◊   ◊   ◊

Farmers markets are a place where customers should expect to have all of their food questions answered. But just like anyone else, we farmers get a little grouchy from time to time (it’s probably because we get up at 4:30). So bring your shopping list, your cloth bag and your farming questions, but leave these four at home. You’ll be a ‘market insider,’ and your local producer will love you for it.

Check out my book, just named a “Best Read for Summer 2013″ by Publishers Weekly!

 Please ‘like’ our family farm, and we’ll keep the stories coming! Smith Meadows Facebook

Robert Frost saw 88 winters and 87 springs. The man knew what he was talking about.

Unharvested

A scent of ripeness from over a wall.
And come to leave the routine road
And look for what had made me stall,
There sure enough was an apple tree
That had eased itself of its summer load,
And of all but its trivial foliage free,
Now breathed as light as a lady’s fan.
For there had been an apple fall
As complete as the apple had given man.
The ground was one circle of solid red.

May something go always unharvested!
May much stay out of our stated plan,
Apples or something forgotten and left,
So smelling their sweetness would be no theft.

—Robert Frost

There’s so much in this poem for gardeners and farmers to appreciate, especially now that spring is on our doorstep. This time of year, our focus falls entirely on production: tilling and toiling, seeding and sowing. As the soil awakens so do we, our winter longing for lush gardens and green pastures no longer a dream but reality at last. For the next several months, our harvest will appear right before our eyes.

April showers and May flowers.

Yet here is Frost, offering greater insight. He implores us to ‘unharvest’: that as we reap our summer bounty, we remember to leave something behind. The poem encourages us to intentionally break from our ‘stated plan’ and participate in the natural circle of life (symbolized by the ring of red apples). Emphasizing his point, he uses the word ‘unharvested’ only once, but places an exclamation point after it.

As a farmer myself, I couldn’t agree with him more. On our farm, we graze our pastures to maximize the amount of trampled grass and manure that will be left behind. The animals get all the nutrition they need, but in their wake the soil is nourished by the leftover grass and litter. It’s by intentionally ‘unharvesting’ the pasture that we can accelerate fertility, retain greater soil moisture and vastly increase bio-diversity. (For more on this point, Alan Savory recently delivered this amazing TedTalk, and Ruth Stout offers these inspiring gardening lessons). As Frost suggests in the final line, this is the sweet smell of success.

Kids, clover and hayseeds, a sure sign that spring has sprung!

Ironic, isn’t it, that by not taking everything that nature has to offer, we end up creating more? To quote Frost, “May something always go unharvested!”

As winter melts into spring, we have so much to be grateful for. Beyond seeds and sunshine, let’s give thanks—For thoughtful gardeners, the wisdom of poets, and contemplative spring breakfasts with an open book on the kitchen table.

Check out my book, just named a “Best Read for Summer 2013″ by Publishers Weekly!

Do you have a favorite spring poem? Please share in the comments section below!

Thanks to Janet Reid for sharing this image…

If you answered ‘yes’ to any of these questions, and you live anywhere close to the East Coast, then chances are your mushrooms were grown at Phillips Mushroom Farms in Kennet Square, Pennsylvania. The vast, nondescript warehouse-style buildings of Phillips Organic Mushrooms produce over 1 million pounds of mushrooms a day. Now that, ladies and gentlemen, is a big load of shitakes!

I recently had a behind-the-scenes tour of this farm, seeing for myself how mega-scale organic mushrooms are grown. Join me as I walk down a path of manure and fungus, exploring the fascinating, funky world of mushrooms.

Your author, complete with hair and beard net. Mushrooms are susceptible to all sorts of competing fungi and viruses, so this free-range farmer had to wear a biosuit.

Fresh mushrooms being picked. These mushrooms double in size every 24 hours, making harvesting a daily, year-round chore.

A Portabella cap, with healthy pink gills (difficult to see in this light) that indicate freshness. Younger Portabellas are harvested alongside the slightly older fruits, and dubbed ‘Baby Bellas’. Wook at dose wittle mushrooms in the background… d’awwwww!

How do mushrooms grow? In nutrient-rich compost, mostly. The white strands are the mycelium, the living fungus. The mushroom itself is simply a ‘fruit’ of the mycelium that releases spores. The mycelium grows in a black compost of straw and horse manure.

A shitake mushroom, growing out of a homemade ‘log’. These logs, which resemble loaves of artisinal bread, are primarily made of red oak sawdust.

Row upon row, stack after stack, vast rooms containing thousands of shitake logs wait in the semi-darkness. Each log is hand placed and hand picked, and yields several pounds of mushrooms across the course of a few weeks.

Mushrooms love moisture, and here the ‘logs’ are stacked into crates, waiting to be dunked into large soaking pools.

Ferial Welsh, the Mushroom Lady. If you’ve shopped at Baltimore or Washington, D.C. farmers’ markets, you can’t help but have seen Ferial; she has been selling mushrooms for Phillips and Mother Earth Organics for over 15 years. Find her stand at Arlington Courthouse, Dupont Circle and Falls Church. Her smile says it all…she loves mushrooms!

Shitakes waiting to go on a refrigerated truck. Much like shell fish, mushrooms remain alive and breathing long after they are harvested. I was told that, in most cases, mushrooms remain alive until they are cooked.

Each type of mushroom grows in a different environment. Here, black plastic is stuffed with compost and shaped into vertical logs to allow yellow oyster mushrooms to flourish.

A glimpse inside the bag. Straw and cocoa shells (gleaned from Hershey’s Cocoa, just up the road in nearby Hershey Pa.) are inoculated with mushroom spores, providing the white mycelium with nutrients.

Grey oysters…

…and yellow oysters.

‘Oyster poles’, where the vertical logs are placed.

The Maitake. Each plastic-encased maitake log can only grow one or two mushrooms per cycle. Generations of trial and error have gone into getting these finicky mushrooms to perform with consistency.

Phillips provides over 200 different private labels, including to Whole Foods and Wegmans. If you’ve purchased mushrooms from any grocery store on the Eastern seaboard, they probably originated here.

This mushroom farm employs over 400 people, and supports another 50 through ancillary jobs such as compost production. Here, dozens of people pack and label mushrooms.

Of course, every production facility must have a conveyor belt! In this picture, freshly sliced mushrooms wend their way towards containers and shrink wrap.

Kennett Square, Pennsylvania is officially mushroom crazy. On Main Street, a fungus-themed gift store sits opposite a restaurant dubbed Portabella’s.

The Mushroom Lady’s display at farmers’ market. Ferial travels to Pennsylvania several times a week for fresh-picked mushrooms, ensuring that they are even fresher than the ones available at high-end supermarkets.

Ready to doff my beard-net! Hope you enjoyed the tour :^)

Check out my book, just named a “Best Read for Summer 2013″ by Publishers Weekly!

Turkeys on pasture at our farm.

I’ve been an organic farmer for 17 years. During my lifetime, I’ve watched as world population has come close to doubling, from 4 to 7 billion. Lately, I’ve been wondering if we shouldn’t tweak the question just a bit: “How did we get to a point where organics can’t feed the world?”

Organic farming has always emphasized innovation, dating back thousands of years. At one time in human history, wild-strain domestication, selective breeding and seed-storage were cutting edge technologies. Steady improvements in organic farming carried us well into the 20th century.

Fast forward to today, however, and you’ll hear a competing story, voices insisting that modern times require modern solutions. Genetically modified crops, micro-chipped animals, and tractors guided by satellite might sound like science fiction, but they’re utterly mainstream. Somewhere in the clouds, George Orwell is doing a “I told you so!” happy dance.

Every time Orwell got happy feet, he wrote an apocalyptic masterpiece.

But take some time to speak with farmers themselves—especially the ones who keep family vegetable gardens and fill their freezers each year with meat they have raised—and you’ll hear a different story. They’ll tell you there’s plenty of opportunity for organic vegetable, fruit and pastured animal production. It doesn’t have to be a battle between organic and conventional farming, with  the specter of global starvation hovering nearby. The root of the problem, they’ll say, is that so few people grow food for a living.

And there’s the rub. With less than one percent of the country identifying themselves as farmers, large scale industrial agriculture has become a self-fulfilling prophecy. Could it be that, by dismissing farming as a viable career choice, that we’ve created a winner-take-all food scenario? If you’ve been been following the case of Monsanto versus Bowman, then you’re forgiven for wondering this question out loud.

Fear is a powerful marketing tool, especially when properly financed. But so is hope. In that spirit, here are three ways that the world can sustainably expand organic food production.

Open Source Information

Want to have a little fun in your hometown? Walk into a KFC, and politely ask them for their secret herbs and spices recipe. Be sure to tell them you’re planning to start your own fried chicken restaurant. By the way, could you get a pint of gravy to go? You’ve got some tests you’d like to run, back at your food lab.

If this sounds like crazy talk, then that’s exactly my point. Where else besides farming are people so willing to share their knowledge, wisdom and information? Most farmers I know are eager to teach young people, freely sharing hard-won lessons that only come with decades of experience. Professional farmers are treasure-troves of practical information, and possess the knowledge we need to feed the world.

Do you know how to clean a chicken? Our apprentices do!

With organizations such as MOFGA and Acres USA leading the way, the divide between farmer and pupil is being bridged like never before. For students who seek successful, time-tested organic techniques, free information is now almost ubiquitous. Open source information is a true game-changer for organic farmers who are just starting out.

Apprenticeships

Sure, it’s great to have all this free information. But it’s one thing to read a book about ballroom dancing, and another to take dance lessons from a professional. Farming is certainly no different. As anyone who’s ever planted a back yard garden can tell you, growing food is harder than simply planting a few seeds and crossing your fingers. It becomes even more complicated when trying to grow food for an entire community.

Apprenticeships are a perfect opportunity for new farmers to learn the complex nuances of organic production. Just as importantly, it’s also a way for experienced farmers to get much needed help as they grow older. Combining the two, it allows older farmers to funnel their knowledge into youthful energy, and helps farms grow more organic food than ever before. Win-win.

Investing in Youth

But how do we get more young people interested in farming? Maybe we could get Willie Nelson to change the lyrics to his famous song: “Mommas, do let your babies grow up to be cowboys…”

Parents might try to instill food values around the dinner table each night, but lessons unravel in the face of 5th grade peer pressure. At lunchtime, who wants to be the kid eating sliced carrots and homemade hummus when everyone else is eating bologna sandwiches, Fruit Roll-Ups and Capri Suns?

Increasingly, farm-to-table educational programs are making inroads into schools. These outreach programs teach students about fresh fruits and vegetables, as well as fun ways to prepare them (Dinosaur Kale Burrito, anyone?). Best of all, many of these programs bring in guest farmers for the children to meet, producers who explain how food is really grown.

‘Cooking Campers’ at our farm heading out to gather free-range eggs.

Farmers as positive role models? You better believe it. An entire new generation will consider agriculture to be a viable career opportunity.

So, what’s the secret to increased organic food production? Educated, experienced farmers… and lots of them. The world has always been capable of feeding itself, and it can continue to do so organically. If we really crave sustainable, organic farming success, the puzzle pieces are already scattered on the table. Now, we just need a few more helping hands, working to solve the bigger picture.

Check out my book, just named a “Best Read for Summer 2013″ by Publishers Weekly!

What did I miss? Are there other sensible ways the world can grow more organic food? Please leave a comment below.

I’m pleased to report our move to the new house has gone well. We arrived almost a month ago, and we couldn’t be happier. The bedrooms are spacious, with long perches so there’s no need to fuss at bedtime. As Mother always said, tranquility is of utmost importance for proper circadian rhythms. Although my spot is several flights up, the ramps make the climb easy. Eugenia has complained some, but she is so hard to please.

The mornings are my favorite. I like to sleep in while everyone else gets to the dining room early. It’s not too crowded, but some of the others get pushy when breakfast is being served. It’s best to start the day with some stretches and a cool drink of water for proper digestion. The plumbing is great. I prefer the taste of spring fed well water. My allergies have calmed down considerably with the new carpeting. The landlord is very good about scheduled maintenance.

The roof has had some leaks that are under repair, but the sunlight is so pretty. I prefer to get outside as often as possible. Violet and I go out for a walk around the neighborhood after breakfast. The new security system has made me sleep well. I don’t get nearly as nervous about owls or weasels, and the hawks have no chance with the long yard here. I haven’t shed a feather since the beginning of February.

There will be more to report once the grass turns green. The taste of winter roughage does start to get monotonous in March. Thanks for the beak warmers, I will pass the extras out to my roommates.

Give my best to Mother.

Love,

Francesca

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The hen that laid the golden egg?

There’s an old joke in agricultural communities:

 Want to make a million dollars from farming? Start with two million.

Like many punchlines, there’s a kernel of truth to this humor. Farms are famously known for being money pits. It’s as if there’s a black hole in the center of the barnyard that sucks twenty dollar bills straight out of a farmer’s wallet. Personally, I’ve experienced this sensation on more than one occasion.

In fact, at a recent staff meeting, my crew and I spent an entire hour listing the supplies we needed for the upcoming spring season (nails, water troughs, gravel, fence boards, truck tires and market tents, to name a partial list). After we had finished, I asked, “now that we know what we need to spend, can we please talk about making some money?”

Rotating the sheep to fresh winter pasture. They’re excited to get hay!

Winter is a challenging time for all farmers, but it’s especially onerous for a direct marketer like myself. Unlike most large-scale grain and livestock farms, there’s no off-season on my farm. Whereas grain farms can more or less ‘shut down’ between fall harvest and spring planting, and most big livestock farms can slow down to a hay-feeding routine, a farm like ours depends on year-round, weekly farmers markets to stay in business.

Because our farm maintains a never-ending schedule, we have year-round employees. Naturally, these folks must be paid. This requires us to maintain a constant—albeit reliably uneven—cash flow. But if food can’t grow in the winter, then how can a farm continue to create products, much less pay its bills and turn a profit?

The short answer is, it’s not easy. Historically, from January to March, our farm barely breaks even. Throw in a winter snow storm, or a couple of rainy 35 degree Saturdays at farmers markets, and our checkbook starts looking pretty scary. Regardless of how carefully I manage our finances, on days like these, I often wish I had two million dollars laying around just like in the joke.

Still, we’re able to raise amazingly high-quality food in the winter. Even though the pastures are short, the chickens and pigs grow well on corn and barley, and remain free-range even during the bleakest winter months. Our cattle and lambs eat hay during this period (they are 100% grass-fed), as they fertilize the pastures that will turn green again come April.

Preparing our mobile laying nests for a new spring season.

But hay and grain cost money. Lots of money. And it takes employees to feed the animals, as well as to staff our market booths. Compared to the ‘free’ grass of spring through autumn (and the farmers markets filled with four times as many customers during this same period), the winter months are a reliably stressful time on our bank account.

So why do we stamp our frozen feet on an icy Washington, D.C. street corner each weekend? Why not just shut the farm down in January, and read books in front of the fire?

The reason is because, on a farm like ours, seasonality is an inextricable part of our identity. The food we raise takes a long time to grow. Grass-finished steers take two full years to mature, and pasture-raised lambs take nearly a year. We keep our flock of laying hens for at least three years, and we stock our pastures with hogs monthly to make sure they grow at an even rate.

For a small farm such as ours, shutting down for the winter is almost impossible. It would require logistics of storage, timing, transportation and processing that defy small-scale capabilities. Besides, what would we do with all the fresh eggs? Seasonal challenges like these are precisely why supermarkets are so popular. It’s also the reason why most supermarket food comes from a cardboard box.

Even a small amount of savings at the end of a long winter is a genuine accomplishment on a farm. Sometimes, it’s all that gets us through.

But back to the title. As the punchline suggests, for most small farms, making a million dollars is probably unrealistic. After 17 years of farming, I haven’t come close to netting a million. But growing food that I believe in—honest, nutritious, wholesome food—and interacting with grateful, appreciative customers, is the true reward in this business.

The old saying goes, “Do what you love, and the money will follow.” Each winter, we somehow manage to scrape by, and before we know it, we find ourselves wading waist-deep through spring pastures. From the top of a hillside, looking out over the fields, the view is greener than a million dollar bills.

Check out my book, just named a “Best Read for Summer 2013″ by Publishers Weekly!

Have you netted a million dollars in farming? Have any winter tips for financial productivity and cash flow? Please comment below…

“And on the eighth day, God looked down on his planned paradise and said, ‘I need a caretaker.’ So God made a farmer.”

Holy Smokes! An ad about farming? Whatever this commercial was about, it now had my full attention. (See the video here: Farmer)

Snacks before the big game.

I listened, and watched. Images of beautiful farms and careworn faces flowed across the screen. Paul Harvey delivered a prose poem monologue, extolling the faith and sacrifice of the professional farmer. I could hardly believe my ears. Was this really a Super Bowl commercial?

I leaned closer to the television set, inspired by the words and beautiful images. I felt so proud that here, on the world’s biggest stage, someone was speaking so eloquently about my chosen profession, farming.

And it was precisely at that moment, when I was thoroughly entranced by the ad, that I first noticed the Dodge Truck. It was subtle, to be sure, unassumingly blended into the photo montage. Yet there it was. Big and shiny and utterly ostentatious.

Like the rest of the world, I’ve been conditioned to identify product placements in commercials. After all, that’s what commercials are for, right? And the instant I saw the truck, that’s the moment the magic disappeared.

Oh, corporate America, you were so close! You had me rapt, and emotionally invested. And then—just like you always do, you silly boots—you simply blew it.

What were you thinking? Did you really believe you could take something as noble and spiritual as farming, sneakily attempt to put your brand on it, and we wouldn’t notice?

My beat-up farm truck, bought in 2001. Still gets the job done.

Let me get this straight. You weave a story of hard working, self-sacrificing farmers, reaching out to the pure humanity in all of us, then wheel a big fat pickup onto the screen. Ugh. It’s enough to make a farmer want to drive a Volvo in protest.

But you didn’t stop there. You had to dilute it, making it more widely marketable. “To the farmer in all of us,” the ad concludes. Seriously, corporate America? You’ve just convinced us what a unique and amazing person the farmer is, then turn around and make the statement utterly generic. Why not just say, “To the suit-wearing Wall Street billionaire in all of us”? Frankly, it would have been more sincere.

Since this was a Super Bowl ad, let’s borrow a football analogy. Your commercial was like an 80 yard Hail Mary to a wide-open receiver, with the ball grazing outstretched fingertips before falling incomplete. The whole stadium rises to its feet, breathlessly leans forward, then moans, “Nooooooooooooooo!”

But don’t take this constructive criticism the wrong way. When I said the ad was ‘close’, I really meant it. Next time, here’s what could be done differently:

Imagine the same commercial, but with NO corporate logos or product placements. Just let Paul Harvey talk (the overdub, by the way, was an address to the Future Farmers of America, recorded in 1978), and allow the images to work their magic. So far, so good. Then, at the very end, leave us with this simple sentence:

Dodge Says ‘Thank You’ to America’s Farmers

No logo. No images of glittering trucks. Just a dignified, respectful shout-out to the farmers in your ad. After all, isn’t that what your commercial was really supposed to be about? An ending like this would have been so elegant, and so noteworthy.

If you had done this, I GUARANTEE that the next truck I bought would have been a Dodge. You could have had me, and thousands of other farmers, as customers for the rest of our lives.

Instead, you took something sacred and cheapened it. It’s only when you get the message of your own ad—that some people are motivated by a higher calling than simply making money—that you’ll suddenly find yourself with more customers than you can shake a stick at.

Check out my book, just named a “Best Read for Summer 2013″ by Publishers Weekly!