Farming: “The activity or business of raising crops and growing livestock.”

I moved out here to Happy Valley in 2012 because I had a dream of being a farmer and an author. Since I cashed out my retirement and savings accounts for a downpayment, I worked the land with pick and shovel for the first few years. I was too shy to talk with neighbors, too poor to pay for gas to and from Homer, too stubborn to get a full-time job, and too closed-off to attend church and other events— so I did not meet any mentors or make any friends for the first five years. I was going solo, and my progress was microscopic. Until a neighbor, Richard Reynolds, brought over a bulldozer and cleared a 40’ x 100’ plot of land for a high-tunnel. Richard’s help was paramount for the growth of our operation for many reasons, mainly because he taught me how much can be done with help from neighbors and machinery. 

It was twelve years ago that we bought the house and land. Twelve years of observation, cultivation, thinning native species to plant fruit, removing unwanted plants like azalea for wanted native plants, expanding vegetable production a hundred fold, tending animals for eggs and meat, and fencing 2.75 acres for conservation and cultivation. I have watched new neighbors move out with machinery, money, confidence, and skills and turn a plot of forest into productive farm land within a single season. That is not my story, though, and if I compare my achievements and goals with others, I always fall short. It must be mentioned that I have come and gone over the past twelve years due to a variety of reasons, which include: working to pay off debt, taking care of a dying mother, and returning to college to finish a degree, but I always return to the land to pursue my dream of being a farmer. 

So what does it mean to be a farmer and will I ever call myself one? Is there a certain dollar amount that I must earn in order to earn the title? Is being a farmer more about ethics or economics, or both? 

Since I am a lover of words, let’s start with a few definitions. 

Farm: “An area of land and its buildings used for growing crops and rearing animals, typically under the control of one manager or owner.” “Make one’s living by growing crops or raising livestock.” “A tract of land, usually with a house, barn, silo, etc., on which crops and often livestock are raised for livelihood.” “A farm is a plot of land that is used for food crops or raising livestock.” The United States Department of Agriculture defines a farm as: “Any place from which $1,000 or more of agricultural products were produced and sold, or normally would have been sold.” 

Our family grows crops and livestock on our plot of land. We do not solely make a living in money but we do make a living by living a good life full of hard-work, community, crops, livestock, outdoor time, family time, and healthy food. We have sold over $1,000 of agricultural products in the past, and we have grown well over that amount to feed our family and friends. We are certainly utilizing a plot of land for food crops and livestock… So based on these definitions, can’t I confidently say that we are a family farm? So why do I feel like I am telling a joke if I say that we own and operate a family farm? 

Who is to blame for my diluted thinking? Is it the children’s books that I read to my kids showing farms with barns, silos, and every animal that lived on Noah’s Ark existing in perfect harmony? Is it from movies, books, and pictures of farmers beside tractors, cows, hayfields, and pumpkin patches? Or is it from my own warped idea that a person cannot call themselves a certain title, whether author, farmer, teacher, or anything— unless they earn a large sum of money as an expert in the field? I am unsure as to where the definition of farmer sprouted from in my thick head, but I know that I can use a hoe to weed out unwanted crops of self-doubt to let a desired crop of self-confidence grow. And what the hell is the difference if I call myself a farmer or a gardener anyways? Does it impact what we are doing out here or is it solely to appease my pride and ego?

If you do not know who Wendell Berry is, you should. While some of his writings are unintelligible due to my lack of intellect and his high intellectual capabilities, many of his writings strike both heart and home. He is a role model for thousands of agrarians like me who are doing their best every day to live a lifestyle that nourishes body, mind, and spirit while working the land. 

Mr. Berry believes that in our industrial society, “People live for quitting time, for weekends, for vacations, and for retirement; moreover, this ambition seems to be classless, as true in the executive sites as on the assembly lines. One works, not because the work is necessary, valuable, useful to a desirable end, or because one loves to do it, but only to be able to quit.”

How do I view my work? How do you?

Berry believes that there are two types of people who work the land, exploiters and nurturers. “The exploiter is a specialist, an expert; the nurturer is not. The standard of the exploiter is efficiency; the standard of the nurturer is care. The exploiter’s goal is money, profit; the nurturer’s goal is health — his land’s health, his own, his family’s, his community’s, his country’s.”

Which category do I fit into? What about you?

Berry continues his thoughts in another essay, titled In Defense of the Family Farm, where he says: “The small family farm is one of the last places—they are getting rarer every day—where men and women (and girls and boys, too) can answer that call to be an artist, to learn to give love to the work of their hands…

The family farm is failing because the pattern it belongs to is failing, and the principal reason for this failure is the universal adoption, by our people and our leaders alike, of industrial values, which are based on three assumptions:

1. That value equals price—that the value of the farm, for example, is whatever it would bring on sale, because both a place and its price are “assets.” There is no essential difference between farming and selling a farm. 
2. That all relations are mechanical. That a farm, for example, can be used like a factory, because there is no essential difference between a farm and a factory.
3. That the sufficient and definitive human motive is competitiveness—that a community, for example, can be treated like a resource or a market, because there is no difference between a community and a resource or a market…”

Savanna and I own and operate a family farm that base our success on the health of our family, community, country, and land rather than on efficiency and profit. We are a family farm whose children and parents work together every day as artists who love their work and love their community. When I read and re-read the writings of Wendell Berry, and I compare them with definitions from various sources, I can confidently raise my head and say, “I am a farmer.” Even when a quiet echo in my heart says, “Quit foolin’ yourself. You ain’t no farmer.” I remind myself every day that I am living my dream of farming and that I get to live that dream every day. In our family, being farmers isn’t about making a large income from the land, it is about the ethical implications of nurturing our land so future generations will reap what we have sown. If Love and Happiness were crops to be planted and sold we would be richer than the almond growers of California.

Now, it is winter time on the property, time to develop a crop plan and order next year’s seeds. We are doing things differently next year than any year prior. Savanna is taking lead on certain aspects of the farm while I am taking lead on others. We are excited to tighten up our operation, to expand production, and to feed more community members like yourselves.