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so, apparently, we’re living the dream

At least according to the Huffington Post:

Is Becoming a Farmer the New American Dream?
by Makenna Goodman

In the post-Omnivore’s Dilemma reality, where farmer Joel Salatin is known far outside his county, it doesn’t take a genius to say it: farming has totally blown up.
What I mean is, alongside the cultural idolization of growing your own, there has been a notable increase in college graduates who opt to spend their first year out of college on a farm. These, mind you, tend to include (but are not limited to) folks who could otherwise get jobs in the film, art, banking, engineering, psychology, academic, etc. worlds–if they need a job at all. But more than just recent graduates; there is a growing number of young people opting out of school altogether, or on the flip side, actually up and leaving the corporate world after years to start farms, collectives, co-operatives, and even communes. There are kids quitting their high-level jobs in the city, moving to small-scale farms or homesteads in Vermont, and haying their butts off for no pay other than a roof and food (like my friend who worked at the #1 restaurant in NYC, and now picks squash blossoms in South Royalton, VT). And there are a number of flush youths who are cashing in their trust funds–in some cases–for cows. But why? Because unless you invest in a big-organic company that sells to WalMart, there’s not much money in farming. It’s a touch-and-go kind of life, incumbent on the weather, commitment, responsibility, and hard work. In this economic climate, especially–look at all the dairy farms going under–why is farming becoming a desirable life for young people who have the luxury of choice?
Some might say it’s a passing trend, like flannel shirts in Williamsburg. Some might say it’s because there’s a dearth of “real” jobs, and farming is a good interim experience until the economy perks up. But perhaps it’s something more profound: you know, a deeper desire to get back to the agrarian life. Or, a more emotional reaction–a re-establishment of home values, a switch in the long-term goals of the entitled, and a deepening need for connection to one’s food, and work ethic. Perhaps we’re looking at a new world of homesteading, manual labor, and life on the land. A life of farming, in other words.
But are these kids real farmers? Because alongside manual labor, some of them might also be writers. Or painters. Or teachers. Some of them might not even sell their food; they’re just into living off the earth’s bounty.
According to Gene Logsdon–to whom Wendell Berry refers as “the most experienced and best observer of agriculture we have”–the answer is yes, they’re real farmers. If they’re serious about it. If they love it. If they work hard. In his book Living at Nature’s Pace: Farming and the American Dream, he talks about this very issue:
It seems to me that, living at nature’s pace on our little farm, I come closer to making my living from farming in a literal sense than “real” farmers. Carol and I raise most of our food including our meat, and some for other family members, keep a garden almost an acre in size, produce half of our home heating fuel from our own wood, derive most of our recreation and satisfaction from our farm, grow corn, oats, hay, and pasture, keep a cow and calf, two hogs, twenty ewes and their lambs, a flock of hens and broilers, and sell a few lambs and eggs. I’m sure I spend more time living on our farm than any industrial farmer in our county does. When they are not golfing in Florida or fishing in Canada, they spend a lot of time in the coffee shop or in my office telling me how farming is going down the drain….But urban people are also bringing agrarianism back to the cities. Developers build subdivisions that look and function like yesterday’s villages or neighborhoods. Gardens and home businesses are planned into the landscape, as are nearby retail and service shops. Some communities even utter the almost forbidden words, “neighborhood schools” again. New neighborhood houses of worship in the ghettoes, small and humble and unassuming, return in the shadow of the abandoned cathedral-like churches. A surge of market gardening and farmers’ markets recalls those years not so long ago when thousands of tiny truck farms, using horse manure for compost in their hotbeds and coldframes, supplied their cities with vegetables and fruits nearly year-round. The term “urban farming” turns out not to be an oxymoron. Chicago is even encouraging animal husbandry as part of its urban farming projects. In the heart of Cleveland, in the shadow of skyscrapers, horses plow garden plots. And with the returning agrarian spirit comes its wonderful offspring, agrarian ingenuity
[....]
I think I hear a faint rustle under the blacktop of shopping center parking lots, under the abandoned animal factories of yesterday and those yet to be abandoned tomorrow. Not only are the weeds pushing up through the cracking pavements, making way for the trees, but the irrepressible agrarian impulse is pushing through too. As long as humans are free to follow their hearts, there is hope.

I’ve already spoken at length about my feelings about this trend-cum-movement among the young, educated, and well-resourced. Yes, there are some who aren’t cut out for farming and who are in it for the “romance” or the desire for a meaningful, post-college “experience.” These folks will either become disappointed and move on to other things, or they will fall in love and spend their lives in the service of that love, no matter the hardness of the work. I’ll say it again, current farmers must be willing to teach their craft and engage the young and talented. To quote Joel Salatin, “if we don’t romance the next generation into farming, no one is going to do it.” We as farmers must be receptive to the wooing of our many suiters.


awash in a sea of tomatoes


Last week I canned and I canned and I canned. I traded a gallon of milk with Farmer Paige for about 40 pounds of tomato seconds from the farm. So many tomatoes. I put up a total of 10 and a half quarts of plain tomatoes, and another 10 quarts of tomato sauce. By the time I got to the last of them, they had started to ooze and mould beyond the point of salvation, so the compost got a little bit extra fermented goodness this week. The photos really speak for themselves:

what cheese am I eating now No. 2


A couple of weeks ago, one of my favorite splurges arrived in the mail. Culture Magazine enticed me with a sexy, sexy photo of Jasper Hill’s Winnimere and I was won over. I joined their Centerfold Club (a.k.a. the cheese porn club). So now, every few months, a beautiful and often hard-to-find cheese arrives at my doorstep. The last go-round was Dafne, a superb goat’s milk cheese from Goat’s Leap creamery in sunny California. It is a seriously pretty cheese. Packaging had done some damage to it, however: the bottom of the cheese had some blue mould spore contamination and some of the downy coating of penicillium camemberti had died off, either as a result of improper packaging, or just an imperfect balance of geotrichum to penicillium ratios. Regardless, it was a stately cheese, decorated by a simple olive leaf (I think it was olive), broken in half and crossed over the surface of the round. As a bloomy-rind cheese, I expected the typical oooey-gooey center. Instead, I was surprised to see a dense, moist, friable paste; velvety really is the word for it. It was consistient throughout, as opposed to having several layers of maturation within, typical of many bloomy-rinds. It was very, very pretty.


I cut a wedge out and smelled it, expecting to detect at least some of that musky, super-earthy goatiness, but there was hardly any. When I first tasted it it was disappointingly neutral, too “clean” as some cheesemakers call it, referring to the extreme hygiene in dairies and especially problematic in pasteurized cheeses. Of course, it could also have been a bit too young, since as I enjoyed it over the next week or so, the flavors continued to develop and increase in complexity, but subtly. This cheese is subtly complex. Controlled, might be a good word. As I continued to taste it, it was clear that the rind was doing its job, as that’s where all the flavor was coming from. It was lovely: floral with only the mildest hint of earthy goatiness; mildly sour and sweetly lactic. There is complexity in this cheese, but you have to wait for it. As it got a bit older, I sprinkled some over a plate of sliced tomatoes with basil and my best balsamic vinegar. It was fantastic this way. The cheese had strengthened in flavor, but was subtle enough to compliment the tomatoes and vinegar without being either overpowering or absent, as is the case with most goat cheeses. Overall, I give it a 4.


Harvest.

So, I haven’t had a garden since I left my parents’ home some eight years ago. D’avignon radishes were my first harvest from my new garden, my new house, my new life. Small, delicate, sweet, crisp, spicy, just wonderful. I put a jar up to savour this ephemeral and long-awaited moment.

For those who want to know how to put up radishes: just slice the radishes however you like, heat enough vinegar to fill the jar (I used white distilled, but you could use apple cider or rice vinegar) and about 1/4 cup of sugar, or until you just begin to taste it. I also dropped in a bay leaf, just because it seemed like a good idea. Heat the vinegar until the sugar dissolves and pour into a hot, sterilized jar. Seal according to the manufacturer’s instructions. The vinegar-sugar solution should turn this gorgeous pale pink. Let sit in a cool, dry place until you feel like eating them (at least 2 weeks).

I’ll let you know how they are. . .


The Veggies Are Here!


Tonight I made a pile of veggies from my CSA share that was spectacular. It’s not an all-local meal by any means, but it was a good use of the new bounty that late spring puts in my fridge. Check it out:

Veggies:
A few ample handfuls of sugar snap peas
One head Chinese cabbage
As many shiitake mushrooms as you like
about half a stalk of an onion flower
1 head broccoli
a little peanut oil and rice vinegar for sautéing

Simple peanut-ginger sauce:
1/3 cup good-quality peanut butter (none of this sugary stuff, but plain, ground peanuts)
2 tbs rice vinegar
2 tbs tamari or soy sauce of choice
1/8 cup peanut oil
2 fat cloves of garlic
a one-inch piece of ginger, peeled

One bundle Soba noodles

Here’s what you do:

Cook the soba noodles as directed on the package and set aside.

Cut up all the veggies into little slivers. Be sure to take the stems off the mushrooms and the snap peas. Toss into a pan with a dash of peanut oil and rice vinegar, maybe some tamari if you like. Sauté over medium heat, stirring occasionally, until the cabbage is wilted and the snap peas are a bright, vivid green (about 10 minutes)

While the veggies are cooking, make the sauce: toss all the ingredients into a food processor and add a little water (about 3 tbs or so). Whizz together and add water as needed to reach the desired consistency (you want it thick, but more liquid-like than paste-like).

Once the veggies are done, turn the heat to low and toss the noodles and the sauce into the pan. Stir everything together until the sauce has been incorporated fully.

Garnish with a few slices of onion flower stalk or garlic scapes if you like and serve hot. Makes enough for two.


Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 United States
This work by Rebecca and Ross Williams is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 United States.