Reflecting on TN, CA, and a little bit of in between

I just had my last day working on Williams Island Farm, and as I sit here in the humid air with billowy clouds above me sad to leave the farm and people I love yet anticipating what’s ahead of me back in California, I’m comforted and restored by what I’ve seen and been a part of this summer. You might expect that after working on a farm for two months in the middle of the summer I would be burnt, sore, itchy, and just plain tired. But, in fact, that is not the case at all- I’m hopeful, energetic, and ready to progress (and well, still a little itchy). I’ve learned a lot, done a lot, seen a lot, thought a lot, and guess what? so to have many others- all over the country. It’s like I’m this microcosm of a greater thing- that thing being the Food Movement and a resurgence of young new farmers. I’m now convinced it’s a movement. For a while I was unsure, but now I’ve been from one coast to the other and seen it for myself. People are learning and caring about food and change is happening. When I left for college in 2007, I knew of two organic farms serving the Chattanooga area and now I can easily name seven, though I know there are more. Community gardens are popping up left and right; just a few weekends ago there was an open-house community garden tour including churches, schools, food banks, and neighborhoods. This isn’t just a boogie, white, upper-middle class fad. Issues such as food deserts, food insecurity, and farmland preservation are being addressed. I read the statistics all the time- farmers markets, CSA’s, farm internships are higher than ever but now I’ve seen it for myself.

This doesn’t mean, however, that I can just sit back and watch the change happen. I’m definitely aware that this movement has long strides to make. It’s easy to get caught up in a bubble of the reality that I want to see, yet it doesn’t take much to realize how the majority is living. Just the other day I took a little visit to a Wal-Mart grocery store with a friend who shops there. I went in with a fresh and observant eye and was quickly reminded of the food that most Americans have access to and choose to buy. My Wall-Mart reality check got me thinking: just as I can go about anywhere in the US and find a Wal-Mart with buggies full of sugared cereals, frozen entrees, and fat-free everything, I too can find farmers markets with cloth bags full of summer’s bounty, artisan cheese, and fresh baked bread. But while Wal-Marts (or whatever corporate food chain there is) are the same everywhere, farmers markets are anything but the same. Yeah maybe you can find squash, tomatoes, and melons anywhere this time of year, but they aren’t the same. Each place, each farm, each product has a different story.

For this reason, I love to change where I’m living. By periodically migrating, I’m able to appreciate each place more while at the same time thinking of ways to improve them. At the first glance, two places seem fairly different, but over time similarities start popping out. I love both Davis and Chattanooga- the landscapes, markets, people, and food- for they each have their own unique flavor yet share similar values and hopes for their communities. There’s a connection, an unknown relationship, and it’s not just between these two communities- like I said earlier, it’s happening all over the country. Sometimes it just takes getting out a little bit to realize.

In honor of my love for both these places, I invited the Island women farmers, Beth and Ashley, over to share with them a taste of my experience working with Annie. We prepared a delicious Mediterranean meal of homemade falafels, dolmas, sauces, and Island veggies. The highlight of the evening, however, was teaching them how to make dried flower wreaths like Annie’s. I had been talking these wreaths up all summer long. Though we certainly don’t have the variety that Annie does, we did our best collecting what we had throughout the summer- straw flowers, yarrow, wheat, dogwood buds, and laurel branches. Since I had attended one of Annie’s wreath workshops (which luckily I sent my wreath home so we could have it as an example), I had an idea of what we were doing. At first they were doubtful, but as their wreaths slowly filled out the women were amazed with their efforts. As we continued making our wreaths, I showed them pictures from the Davis Farmers Market- in particular Annie’s flower bouquets, wreaths, and vegetable displays. They were both shocked and inspired by the variety, the bounty, and the beauty. They kept asking, “And Jeff and Annie do all this?” They have help, but yes, they are renaissance farmers. The evening ended in the best way possible. We had apricot tart (with the Good Humus apricots that I brought home and froze) and watched the latest cut of The Last Crop. For them to see the Mains in all their hard work and to hear their words was indescribable; it brought out emotions in me I didn’t even know I had. I think they were not only inspired as farmers but also assured that I was returning to good people in California. In sight, sound, taste, and touch I was able to share my California farmers with my Tennessee farmers. I can’t imagine a better way to end my summer.

With that said, I’m headed back to Davis in just a few days and will be working at the market and going to classes soon. I’m grateful for what I’ve learned and gained from being in Chattanooga but excited for what lies ahead. There’s a lot happening in this country with food issues and I’m ready to jump on. I hope that wherever you are you can appreciate the community you have and then take a step back and see your place and effort as a piece of this greater network. I think you will be amazed- but don’t get caught just watching.

Farm Life in Tennessee- Island Style

Hello all!It’s been awhile since I last wrote, so I have lots to catch you up on. I’ve been working on the Williams Island Farm back home in Chattanooga, Tennessee for about a month now. I’m absolutely loving it and learning more than I ever imagined. I’m learning not only about what it takes to grow great vegetables and raise healthy animals but also what it takes to do all of that on an island, the challenges and joys all included. The farm consists of twenty acres, of which five are cultivated, one-hundred chickens, twenty sheep, four farmers, three interns, and five to eight volunteers a week.
One of the best things about working out here is that all of us come together bringing our various experiences to make this farm what it is, and my experience working with the Mains seems to continually be of use- everything from making dried-flower wreaths to organizing the cash box at market. I think of Annie all the time, especially on Wednesdays when we go to market; I now know that getting to market- the planning, harvesting, washing, packing, driving- is more work than most people are cut out for. My appreciation for and amazement of Annie continues to grow even when I’m 2,500 miles away. Just about everything I do, I think to myself: I wonder how Jeff and Annie do this?
Though it is hard to describe exactly what I’ve been experiencing, here’s a recollection of one of my days (actually just half a day). I hope it gives you a taste of Tennessee island farming. 

It’s 7:15 Tuesday morning. The others have just crossed the river, and there are no more canoes left. I make a call and then wait to be picked up. With my few minutes to spare, I sit on the concrete boat ramp and soak in the beauty around me. In front of me is the calm water of the Tennessee River and beyond in all directions are giant green hills (often called mountains) completely covered in forest of all shades. Coming down the river gorge is a light fog from the humid summer night. The sky is not yet clear and the sun is only beginning to crack through and heat the damp air. There’s a stillness around me, yet I know it’s about to all break loose. A fish leaps into the air, the birds chirp loader, and a cluster of ants pace by my feet. The canoe arrives, and I know it’s time to start my day.We paddle across the 200-yard stretch, pull the boat out of the water, and set it on its side under some trees. We make our way through the cleared path, over roots, under weeping trees, and pass the “Williams Island Farm” sign hand painted in white letters against a royal blue background. Continuing through another path knocking down spider webs from the night, we finally make it to the kitchen. The kitchen has many functions- it’s not just where we cook and eat, it’s where we rest, talk, read, and just gather together. Once at the front, I slip my dusty Chacos off my feet and walk through the kitchen to the other side where I hang my backpack on a bent nail. Just above the row of nails is the almighty white board- it’s the never-ending list of things to do. Most mornings I take a few minutes to study it, talk priorities over with everyone, and then plan out our day’s work, but today is a harvest day and I’m already late, so I pass the board without a glance. I run out to the field to meet the others.They are just beginning to gather boxes and containers to collect the harvest in. We walk over to the spring garden. Though it’s early July, the spring vegetables are still hanging on. Most mornings there’s about six or seven of us on the farm, but today we have some volunteers. We divide up, some in pairs, each taking a vegetable. I take chard. I count out twenty-five rubber bands stretching them over my wrist, still red and swollen from yesterday’s ant bites. I start on one end of the row, pick a few leaves, and estimate how many bunches I think I can get. The plants are looking rough; this will probably be the last week to harvest it. I think I can stretch it and get twenty-five bunches. That will be enough for the fourteen CSA shares that pick up on Wednesday and some to sell at market. It’s always difficult to estimate what will sell - one week chard flies and the next it sits and wilts. Eleven bunches should surely sell. At first I notice bumps on the stems and holes in the leaves, but before long my mind drifts and I make my way down the row- sorting, picking, bunching- all in a sort of rhythm. I make it to the end and use the last rubber band; my estimate was right. I pack the box of chard in the mule making sure it’s still in the shade. There’s a crew pulling out the carrots and then a few finishing up on kale, arugula, cabbage, and beets. I check in with the others first before heading over to the Elder garden, where our summer crops are planted. Someone else has already started on the sungold tomatoes. I grab a basket and head to the peppers. They are just beginning to turn red, so I get what I can not wanting to reap those that still have potential to sweeten. With room left in the basket, I gather what I can find from the sickened cucumber and squash plants. My basket is full.We reconvene in the kitchen. I fill a mug with water and take a seat. It’s mid morning, and we are doing well. As others return to harvest, I man the washing station. First, I turn the generator on, ceasing the quiet serenity, and then proceed with the hose. The chilled well water, splashing my hand, makes me shiver as mud runs off my fingers. I dump the box of chard in, give it a good soaking, shake each bunch, and place them back in the box. As I proceed with the rest of the greens, two others are washing and bunching the carrots. How quickly they change from long brown sticks to shiny orange deliciousness. I scamper over and bite into a fallen carrot. Yum! Still crunchy and sweet, but I can tell the summer heat is starting to take the best of them.
By noon, we have finished with harvest. Of course, there will still be some things to get last minute tomorrow before market but for now this will do. We pack the mule high with boxes, buckets, and crates full of fresh produce. Noah turns the key. The starter’s shot. He tries again. Third time’s the charm. I find a spot and squeeze in. We drive down the path going over roots and big holes slowly and with ease. Once at the dock, we unload everything out of the mule to the dock then from the dock to the motor boat. Everything fits and I find a spot to sit. We try the motor but somehow water has leaked into the gas. So we row. As an unexperienced rower, I get a short lesson from Noah and then give it a go. For his every one stroke, it takes me two or three- so much for unison. Twenty minutes and many zig-zags later, we make it to the other shore. We jump out and begin unloading onto the dock. Noah brings the truck down, and we load from the dock to the truck. I climb aboard the old Ford and close the passenger door with a rickety bang. Noah chain locks the boat to a post, but the lock is rusted, so he ties it tight and hopes it’s still there when we return.
We drive down the gravel road, as rabbits and squirrels dodge the tires, and then approach the paved road- the smooth roll of the tires contrasts the roaring diesel engine. It’s a different world on the “other” side. Stop lights, fast cars, people with places to be. After about an eight minute drive we pull into an industrial site. Down by the river in an abandoned lot there sits an old ice cream truck- that’s our walk in refrigerator. We back the truck up to the fridge door. I climb in the back and hand off each box to Noah as he packs them into the cold fridge. With the last box, I step in to get a cold shock and see how much space is left. Just enough to take a nap, I think to myself. Before anymore cold air is lost, we lock it up, get in the truck, and journey back to the island. When we arrive, the table is set, everyone is gathered, and lunch is ready. Ah, a moment to restore and relax!

Unofficially, today concludes the second year of my working with the Mains. I’m leaving now to go back home to Tennessee- but just for the summer. As I reflect on my experience in Davis the past two years, I can’t imagine what it would have been like with out working at the market with the Mains. In fact, I think many people in the community would say the same- that is the Mains mean a lot to many. Just the other day, I was at a retirement party, and Jeff and Annie, who were there, were honored for the work they do to provide us with food. Just recently, there was a program on NPR called “Five Farms” which Good Humus was featured as one of the five American farms. It is absolutely incredible to listen to (www.fivefarms.org). Being aired on national radio has now spread the Mains magic beyond the Northern California region.
Being on the radio is certainly not the only exciting thing happening these days. It’s June now and that means apricots! Jeff and Annie are known for their Royal Blenheim Apricots. It’s an heirloom variety that is hardly grown anymore because of it’s delicate shelf life, but just taste one of these little guys and you’ll never want to eat another kind of apricot again. Being from Tennessee, I didn’t grow up eating apricots, but once I tasted these they quickly my favorite summer fruit (well, that is second to melons). I have a developed a particular method to eat them: I hold it with one thumb on each side of the rib and then slowly pull it apart. If it’s good and ripe the top will break apart easily and even but the bottom will be lush and juicy and will ooze as I pull it apart. I first eat the half without the pit and then follow it with the other half. There’s a rich complexity to the fruit: the top has a slightly sour flavor and crunchy texture while the bottom is smooth and creamy with the taste of floral honey lingering on your tongue that only makes you want to eat another (and another and so one until it’s too late- oh, the dangers of standing with fresh fruit at hands reach for seven hours).
When we were packing up after market on Wednesday, it suddenly hit me that my apricot season was going to be cut short this year- I was going to have to say goodbye that night. But then there was a flat leftover and the thought came to me: why don’t I just take these home to Tennessee with me? So, I did it- I carried them on the flight, ate a few as a snack, gave a few away (great conversation starter), and greeted my parents with my arms full of California goodness! Now, I get to share the Main’s magic with my own family and friends at home. In some ways having the apricots and sharing them with others eases the pain of having to leave the Good Humus stand for two months, but only as long as I still have the apricots, which won’t be long.
Fortunately, I don’t have to wait a year, like I do for the Royal Blenheims, before I’ll be back with the Mains. Until September, I’ll be staying in Chattanooga working on a small farm learning as much as I can. I look forward to comparing agriculture in TN and CA and getting a better hands-on feel for what’s happening in the food movement across the country. I’ll be sure to document it along the way and let you know how it goes.
Until then, be sure to get an apricot before it’s too late (and eat an extra for all of those who can’t get them)! And no worries cause peaches and nectarines are just around the corner…

Roots of Change screens new cut of The Last Crop

Our new 20 minute work-in-progress currently being edited by Adam Barton (HBO's CHINA's UNNATURAL DISASTER - The Tears of Sichuan Province) http://www.hbo.com/docs/programs/chinadisaster/synopsis.html) will have its first public screening to close the second day of events at the sold out Direct Farm Marketing Summit "Developing Sustainable Foodsheds to Enhance Food Access and Nutrition hosted by Roots of Change and the USDA's Agricultural Marketing Service.

The goal of the summit is to improve direct markets for producers and to increase access to culturally appropriate and nutritious food to consumers, particularly those in low-income communities, urban and rural.

In a recent interview with Michael Dimock of Roots of Change he had this to say about Annie and Jeff Main. Jeff and Annie are important in the story of the transformation of Agriculture in California towards sustainability and the nation because they represent a new type of farmer. A farmer that is willing to embrace the public and not fear change...One of the underlying problems that is effecting any possibility of sustaining food and agriculture is that most people still have a great deal to learn about what it takes to be a farmer. What it takes to feed a nation. Annie and Jeff are great representatives of one of the most important jobs in civilization which is to produce food.

Stay tuned for more updates on the conference and our new cut

A look at Yolo County during my favorite time of year

Somehow (so quick!) we have come to my favorite time of year. It’s hot in the day, cool at night. The sun rests high in the sky and sets late in the day. My sleep habits slowly change to the new rhythms of the day, and I’m once again reminded of what triple digit weather feels like. Despite the heat, there is still enough green in the land left from the winter rains to not yet feel dried out myself. Of course, the first fruits of the season are the highlight for each new week. First came strawberries, now cherries, and soon apricots will be rolling in. The other day as I planted a tomato start, I got my first whiff of summer- there’s nothing that shouts summer more than the scent of a tomato vine. But it’s not summer yet until the first tomato is picked. That’s why I love this time of year- it’s a transition from a diet of greens and roots to one of fruits (both sweet and savory). It makes we wait for the summer goodies that are ahead, and only then can I fully appreciate them.

To soak up this late spring bliss as I try patiently waiting for summer, I enjoy biking around the expansive lands of Yolo County. Going from one county road to the next and from one hay field to a newly planted tomato field, I’m reminded of where it is I am: the California Central Valley. It is so easy to get trapped in the college bubble of Davis and never see what’s going on just miles away. Yolo County is known for processing tomatoes, and this time of year it seems as if half the county is planted with them. Standing on the edge of a field looking out, I see tomato rows, straight as a ruler, run all the way to the hills. Being here now for my second year, I can recall that many of these same fields were planted in tomatoes the year before (and probably consecutive years before that). I can’t help but wonder what’s happening to the soil- are erosion rates and nutrient runoff increasing or are farmers adopting conservation practices? What about yields and profit? Will Yolo County be able to continue tomatoes this way and forever be the tomato kingdom that it prides itself on? I also wonder what has happened to the community here in rural Yolo. One day I passed about half a dozen farm homes, but at least half of them were for sale. Are families not able to survive as farmers or are they just opting out for the urbanized life? And do the people who run these farms even live here? While I’ve studied the social reconstruction of rural America and know the trends on a national scale, I’ve never put it in the context of where I am now.

When I go out to Jeff and Annie’s farm, I’m fascinated by how unique they are- or rather how they are surrounded by big ag. From an aerial view, I imagine the borders of their farm to be a halo in the valley. I often wonder what it was like when they first moved out there off of County Road 85? Were there more farms of smaller size? More families living out there? Same big cash crops? Or has it changed much at all? Are they more accepted as organic farmers now then twenty-five years ago? Are there more farmers like them? I started thinking about this a few weeks ago when I went out to the farm to help Annie with a school tour. I asked her about their neighbors. While she could name most of them, she said, “They just aren’t our community.” Honestly, I don’t know what to think of it all- whether it’s bad, good, or what should be done differently. But I do think it’s important to think about when trying to understand our complex food system. As I talked about last time, it’s all connected: the people, the places, and the food. You can’t have one without the other. So, when I eat an apricot from Good Humus, I’m not just consuming the fruit of the Main’s labor but a bite of the greater system. Who knows, maybe the bee that pollinated the apricot flower is now pollinating the tomatoes down the road…


So for now as we all long for those tasty gifts of summer, just try reveling in the wait, soaking up the new growth around, and appreciating the transition that both you and the farmers go through. Trust me, that first tomato will taste 100 times better!

5 Days in July

We are pleased to announce that "5 Days in July" received the Jury Award for Best Short at this year's Langston Hughes African American Film Festival.


You can check out the entire piece on-line at http://5daysinjulyinstallation.com/index.php

The Power of Food, Family, and Place

This weekend I experienced a sort of an epiphany. I took a trip with my mom, who’s visiting from Tennessee, down to Big Sur where we gathered with the “long lost cousins of California”. They were hosting the 60th anniversary party for their family’s restaurant. It was a day full of meeting new people, partaking in festivities, eating with another, and simply taking in the surroundings. So, here I was a distant relative completely taken in by almost strangers and having a blast. As I watched the crowd of people grow and the music, dance, and food enliven, I thought to myself, “Wow, this is a special place- it brings people from near and far to gather over food and company.”

And that’s when I immediately thought of Jeff and Annie. While they certainly are no restaurant hosting masses of people on a daily basis, their farm is a gathering place for people. Just recently for Easter Sunday about twenty or so of their relatives came out to the farm. They enjoyed a potluck feast and then had an Easter “gift” hunt in the garden. Easter, of course, is a special occasion, but the farm pulls family in throughout the year. It may just be for Sunday waffle breakfast or a Wednesday work party, but there’s no keeping family away from the farm.
The farm also extends its welcome beyond family and close friends. For instance, in August they host the Peach Party- a celebration of one of nature’s sweetest gifts. The event is open to the surrounding community bringing in a number of locals as well as an assortment of peach concoctions. In the spring and summer months, Annie leads farm tours and over night visits for local school groups. Kids not only learn the lay of the land but also get to cook and eat food straight out of the ground.

There is power in a place that brings people together over food- whether it be to cultivate, harvest, prepare, or eat the food. What makes a farm unique is that it does all of these (and more). At the core of the farm and its provisions is the family-the ones that keep it running and keep running back.

The beauty of the Main’s farm is that it’s committed to being farmed for generations to come- that is they have extended the invitation for people to gather and be part of their family. Their farm trust requires that the farmers live on the land. No other land trusts in California include such stipulations; the Mains know that you can’t separate the farmers from the farm. Above all, they know the power of their farm, its history, and its potential future, and there’s no letting go of that.

So, while I was mingling this weekend with my new found relatives, I kept thinking that this is what people are meant to do- gather over good food and good company; in essence, to feed the body and the soul. I think everyone and every family needs a place that they can do this, and in most cases I think families do. It may not be a formal, organized gathering, maybe just the dinner table, but such gatherings are what make family, not necessarily blood lines. Sadly though, in our culture farms are losing this role as the gathering place. Fortunately, the Mains are doing their part to challenge and reverse this cultural phenomena. As Annie told me, “This farm is opening its doors to a bigger family than relations- the family of community. Farms should not be places only a few privileged get to experience; our communities need a place of refuge right in their own neighborhood, at the farm that grows their food. Our project is replacing the family farm being passed to family; it is trying to hold onto the family values but enlarge the family to those that want to farm.”

As we all know, it takes work to keep a family and even more so to keep a family and community farming. Though not an easy task, we can start, as Jeff and Annie assert, by “standing our ground in the places we love.” (http://www.goodhumus.com/pages/video/adobe-ghp1.html)

So with that, I bid you happy gatherings and happy eating with the people and at the places you love!