Farming in Difficult Times

Farming is difficult and unfair, like life can be.

This summer has been a mixed bag, but mostly one that has been positive: the boys love having a house and helping us grow vegetables again (though recently, on a camping trip when we slept in a tent in the pouring rain, they expressed that they did miss travelling in our RV bus. Aside from having sprinkles of water annoyingly drip on our faces, they missed having our “backyard” change so often.) So it is heartbreaking for the summer to be ending on a sad note. Last week, one of the main farmers at Meadowlark Organics, Paul Bickford, died in a combine accident. He was an extremely kind man and an amazing farmer who just wanted his land to keep doing good things in the world. I know that everyone in Meadowlark’s small staff is hurting, and even though I am set apart from it, it is palpable every time Alex comes home covered in rye seed or flour or mechanical grease; peoples’ grief clinging to him, magnetized, hard to brush or shake off.

Two Fridays ago, the boys and I joined Alex and the staff for a celebratory evening, a sort of ending-of-the-harvest party. The staff of about six people were there, drinking homemade cocktails, and in between sliced conversations and clinking ice cubes, Paul started talking about how much more hay needed to be baled. “No work talk!” someone piped in, laughing, which, as a farmer, I know and everyone there knew, was really impossible to do.

As we were leaving, me getting ready to drive after Alex had one too many cocktails, Paul gave Alex a hard handshake. “I’m really glad you made it out,” he said, looking at him straight in the eyes, “we should do this more often. We work too damn hard.” Four days later, he was dead, out in the field, alone, killed by traumatic impact of a tractor part. Working too damn hard.

Since then, Alex hasn’t been sleeping well, and even I have laid awake about it. I kept thinking of stories of conversations Alex had with Paul, ones Alex would tell me about when he would get home. Alex and I both kept thinking of Halee and John, his farming partners, kept thinking of Paul’s son, who he worked with often out in the field, kept thinking of everyone at Meadowlark and the farm and business in general, and how difficult working under such dark, heavy clouds of sadness must be for everyone; I know how difficult is has been for Alex, so I can only imagine the deep pain everyone else there must be feeling, people who have known and worked with Paul for years.

I have a list of essay topics that I have written in a notebook, and there were things I wanted to tie into this essay, as it could be about many things: about overworking because farmers have too much work to do, and they don’t get paid enough, how it is a truly underappreciated job. About how when I heard he was found in the evening in the field, his tractor still running, I could envision Alex or a number of other farmers, working until dark, just trying to make some headway, just trying to get things done to make a farm function and make a sustainable living.

I keep getting articles in my inbox about kernza, the hot new grain that is all the rage. It is a perennial grain with a deep root system; ten-foot twisty threads that deliver atmospheric carbon to the soil and efficiently take up nutrients and water. A perennial that doesn’t need to be tilled keeps carbon in the ground, reducing runoff and the need for irrigation. It is the new darling of the push to fight climate change with edible crops. A major problem I can see with this new heatwave of blogposts and news pieces is that people are more interested in talking about chefs using kernza to make fancy crackers in restaurants, or the beer that is being brewed with it. Articles about how delicious it is, and how bread bakers can pat themselves on the back for using this new climate-resilient seed. Many articles on kernza are frustratingly lacking on the deep issues of farming; someone needs to grow this trendy seed, after all. Sustainable food growing is a multi-pronged subject that I felt a lot when we farmed in Illinois; it is wonderful there are organizations and non-profits that support local food and fighting climate change with farming—however, local food doesn’t just magically appear. Someone has to do the actual work to make that happen. And those people need to make a sustainable life doing so.

For the farmer, kernza is not the easiest crop to grow. The seeds are super small and challenging to harvest. A wheat seed is much fatter and yields better; organizations like the Land Institute are working on this, trying to breed for bigger seeds and better yields, helping the farmer, but I wish we had bigger conversations for the farmer as a person who needs to make a sustainable living. I believe there needs to be more extreme action for the farmer’s sake, like payments from the government for organic, holistic farming, some sort of “climate subsidies”, if you will. I am all about perennials to fight climate change, but the burden of yields in order to make a profit shouldn’t fall on the farmer’s shoulders, who is just trying to make end’s meet and steward to earth for future generations. Meadowlark has a trial area where they are doing kernza. It is a pain, someone there told me; the seeds are small. It is difficult to harvest. The yield is not as good as the wheat yields. I think farming is still a noble occupation, of course; obviously I still have the desire to do it. But I know firsthand it isn’t easy to be a farmer and rely on that income, especially when you are an organic, ecological-minded one.

It is true that even though it is so much work for such little pay, at the end of the day, at least a hard day’s work means something. But I wish it was easier. I wish the farmer could live a life where there is not so much stress to get things done, to not have to concentrate so much on making a profit, to not have to feel the pressure to just finish that one last job in the field.

We need more perennial crops for sure, and we need to think more about how farming can combat climate change. We need to think more about climate resilience. We need to try and grow crops to save the world.

But we also need to save the farmer.

From the farm table:

I have a pot of beans soaking right now to make a layered “taco dip” with refried beans, etc., to make both for us and to make for the meal train happening at Meadowlark. Feeding people is my number one thing to do in crisis, and when people are grieving or in pain, I know it is hard to cook for yourself. So I am glad someone started the meal train there. Aside from that, we just started the harvest of potatoes and carrots and making more beet kvass and freezing pesto, so more stocking up for the winter.

From the farm:

Alex is working more hours at Meadowlark right now, but on the days off we have been visiting other farms, getting ideas for next spring, whether here or elsewhere. Things are in flux right now, as usual—more on that later. I feel exhausted lately by everything, but I am coming out of it. This newsletter was hard to write, as I feel so sad for everyone, like Paul’s family and people at Meadowlark. I am hoping people can get some healing in after the harvest season is done.