Part of our north garden, just before all the row cover came off this week.
About 10 years ago, I was striding through farm roads in the Ivory Coast. It was the end of a long day. I had one foot in the ground, traveling with farmers there, and one foot already back in the US, with Mary. Not yet farming, but growing and making and thinking about food, sustainability, community and how we fit into it all. Our road to farming is long, but we believed in making a difference, in rooting ourselves, growing food, love, and community. Had I known how much I'd struggle to impact to our food system and culture, would I have started farming? Probably, but I'm not sure.
With our farmer friends, we are always talking about what makes a good healthy farming community. One challenge is that what works for farmers doesn't always work for everyone else. What makes a good market for farms, or for customers? What makes a good farm for everyone involved? A good store? A good community? It depends who you ask.
Despite all of our disagreements, religions, and politics, there are things that are clear. The challenges of running a small scale farm in Montana are real. There are just 6 months of market, 3 months of of frost-free time to make the bulk of our income. We constantly push those boundaries (as those in our winter CSA can attest) with row cover, cold hardy varities, nursery improvements, and various tunnels for season extension. Speaking of which, those carrots you will see piled up tomorrow, or in the farmstore, were planted in one of those tunnels back in March. It can be easy to forget, as many of us work to extend the season, that carrots in May and early June in Montana is no small feat. Those turnips? Seeded under row cover in early April, where they weathered snow, and a few nights in the teens. There were some late night texts about them between farmers, pest management mistakes, and lessons learned. There are stories everywhere, about our food. Each year most of the farmers we keep up with make wild, daring improvements. I was hoping that the pandemic would help us all slow down, and take time to ponder those stories, about our food and our lives but I worry lately, whether we will get time for that reflection at all.
During Tuesday visiting hours this week one farm member asked us how we were. I think she was surprised when I said exhausted, and tired of managing. While the gardens this year look pretty awesome so far, and most plantings are getting in on time (we just did a late evening shift to get the pie pumpkins and melons squared away), behind the scenes we've been pretty worn down. One lesson we are continually learning and re-learning is how hard it is to be good leaders, good trainers of crew and good communicators with everyone, when we are stressed and exhausted. Like covering the salad turnips *as soon as they come up* to prevent insect damage, it seems to be a lesson we need to take multiple runs at. We're working on solutions; this year we raised wages for crew, and also hired on more people in an effort to make the work easier for everyone.
It seems that that good communication is more critical than ever. Part of running a farm is being able to explain what we need. This week we were literally trying to talk about how our farm works to a new chef at one of our long-term restaurant accounts, while sumultaneously loading up a pallet for the grower's co-op. It did not go well, but the tractor running in the background wasn't really the problem. It's complicated, what all it takes to run a farm well, and be a good contributor to our community. When people lose connection with their food, or their farms, for whatever reasons, it feels like a loss. It's a pattern we worry about, as we watch a new storage unit, a new housing development, go up every year on potential farmland within sight of the farm. We want our work to be, in part, helping to tell the stories, helping people understand the full picture of their food. Doing it well requites a bit more re-charge of personal energy reserves than we've been able to muster this year.
I expected, as we hopefully start to emerge from this pandemic, there'd be a lot more conversation about health, happiness, and slowing down. As my friend Todd, a farmer in Whitefish writes, those that died from COVID had many underlying health issues. A CDC study found that people who suffered catastrophically from covid has 3.8 other health systems. A lot of this can be linked to diet and stress. We like to think we can be part of the solution, growing good healthy food, but we are guilty ourselves of working 16 or 17 hour days, of worrying too much, of wearing ourselves out. The irony of the physical and emotional toll of a job promoting a healthy lifestyle is not lost on me.
Why do we do this? I think the why is because, we believe we can still help make this community better. I think we want to see that it's possible to make a living on a small farm. Despite hundreds of hours of planning this winter on our new project (packshed, farmstore, enough cooler and nursery space), I don't know how we are going to get it finished in time for fall storage crops. By some accounts fifteen thousand people have moved to our valley. I want to say that this is good for our local food economy, but I'm not sure. More agricultural land, and even some of our neighboring land we've had our eye on for crops and protein, is getting swallowed up. Contractors are booked up, and generally out of our price range. We are pretty resourceful, but even with our piles of our reclaimed lumber, I worry that we may have started a project we don't quite know how to finish. Honestly, it wouldn't be the first time.
Building a local food system, and coordinating between our fields, walkin cooler space, our markets, and figuring out how to run a sustainable business can feel like bailing water at times. Our walkin cooler got so full last week, I took a drive. I loaded up eggs that were starting to impede the vegetable harvests, and drove them several hours north to The Farmer's Stand. This is a retail outlet, made and designed by farmers to bolster the local food system in the Flathead Valley. They choose a strip mall for the location, easy and accessible to customers, and when I burst through the temporary paper-covered door in the mall, I was greeted by smiles. People busy putting a new venture to life. I gratefully carried in all 18 cases of eggs out of the farm minivan and then began my real unloading, as I do: talking it out.
I spoke about previous attempts we've had coordinating our own food system down here in the Bitterroot. I spoke for love about my fellow farmers, and the growers cooperative. I joked about one food leader here that offered me some walkin space, when what we really needed was a real home for our food (that's our packshed, with cooler space). I talked about my hope for showing films in our space in the winter, and coordinating more closely with farmers. And to strangers that I barely knew, just like on that road in the Ivory Coast road, I nearly broke down from the weight of it all. I talked about our dream of supporting SweetRooters past and present, those who want and crave their own farms, because we all imagine our stories growing delicately with plants and dreams of spring, and all the future harvests we collectively have yet to have.
I crave that conversation, that sharing of stories. I don't know that I coudl farm, or do anything else well, for that matter, without it.
Now, if you thought this email was a boatload, there's more. There's a ton at market. There's our first ever Spinach Challenge (see below, there are prizes). There's turnips (the last of them from our farm till fall), green onions, carrots, beets, even peas and I can't believe it, but some brocolli too. Without a single piece of lumber yet raised to our new packshed yet (but we did order one new walkin cooler this week), I am literally terrified of the harvest yet to come. You should be a bit terrified for us as well, but you can help share the load by picking up bulk bags of spinach, telling your friends, your continued love, emails, and all that you do. We couldn't do this food community without you.
The Great Spinach Challenge
Here’s how it works. In the combined interest of bringing a little fun and cameraderie to the market, and also helping all of us sell the mountains of spinach that were in danger of bolting in this surprising June heat, we are throwing out a challenge to you, market customers. Dust off your recipes for Saag Paneer, Spanikopita, creamed spinach, green power juices, or whatever you do to cook down a mountain of healthy green. Here's the challenge: 1) cruise the market on Saturday morning and buy one bag of spinach from at least three *different* farms. 2) Stop by the SweetRoot Farm booth on your way out, and leave your name and email to enter the challenge.....if you've used up all your spinach by the time we contact a few randomly chosen winners at the end of the week, you get your choice of a dozen eggs, a pound of coffee, or a bouquet!
The Week In Photos
The crew plants tomatillos, eggplant and peppers in one of our moveable caterpillar tunnels.
This walkin cooler is just way too full. This photo is after we removed some boxes. It’s why we bought another cooler this week.
Two of our chicken barns. Can you spot the coyote cutout that prevents aerial predation?
Noah wraps a pallet, outside, with a big hustle for Monday’s Western Montana Grower’s Coop harvest. We couldn’t have done it without Alexis (left).
Our winter rye is mowed to make way for the next move of our laying hens. Cover crops like this winter rye is one of our primary soil building strategies. It also makes great chicken forage!