Brier Hill Permaculture

1 02 2012

We are official. I picked a name for our little gem of a farm, and I’m sticking to it.

I finally gave in and started calling myself a farmer. I have wanted to be a farmer since I was about 10 years old and living next to a horse pasture. I remember looking out the window at the neighbor’s horses and thinking “Yes, that is what I want; a horse farm is in my future.” As I grew, my dream evolved and changed with my growing knowledge. I wanted a permaculture farm before I even knew what permaculture was. In my young mind’s eye, every farm should be permaculture, with all the different systems supporting each other. I thought real farms were living, breathing organisms, with a life and pulse all their own.

It turns out I was more or less right. I don’t think of industrial agriculture as farming anymore. I think I only ever did because that is what children’s stories and books depict modern farming as: some man of ambiguous age riding a tractor through a monoculture crop of some type of grain. Either that or an idealized version of Old MacDonald’s farm.

In reality, the truth is so much better. I wake up more or less around 5am every day, shortly before the rooster starts crowing. I toss and turn until the urge to relieve myself gets to be too much to ignore. Check the baby one more time before I get up. Starting the day with dawn is just lovely. I step out while the water is boiling for my first cup of tea, breath in the new day’s air, get a feel for what today’s weather might bring. Check the goat’s water and hay, feed the chickens and check for eggs in their new nest buckets. Come back inside, grab my now-cool-enough-to-drink tea and head back into the bedroom so I can wake the baby for another snack, if I keep her full she sleeps later.

As I drink my tea and nurse the baby I think about what I want to get done for the day. Since the snowstorm mid-January, the weather has been nice enough that the house is making a lot of progress on the garden and animal housing. Echo, Bean and I recently spent an afternoon clearing old stubby blackberry canes into a pile for our new hugelkultr bed in the garden while Tricks made some sweet new underground chicken nests since our hens FINALLY started laying eggs. We got 5 the first day!!

Last week I put in my seed order with Sustainable Seed Co, arguably one of the best seed companies I’ve had the pleasure of doing business with. Everything they sell is heirloom and open-pollinated.

So, going back to my original point, I finally gave in and decided to start calling myself a farmer. I feel like I finally got to join some secret club. Like, now that I call myself a farmer, do I get a badge, or an id card? “It’s okay folks, I’m a farmer!”

I have always wanted to be a farmer. My success with growing things it hit or miss, but I keep trying and I keep getting better. I am giving some serious thought to trying to join the local farmer’s market this summer. It runs from mid-May to mid-October, and would be cheaper and easier to start doing than a CSA, at least until I have an established clientel. But I am already about to start hardening off my first seedlings of the year, a mixture of salad greens and radishes. I think I should be able to get the hang of succession planting between now and May, and with all these blackberry vines and manure sitting around, I have an endless supply of materials for more hugelkultr beds.

Once I embraced the woman I have always wanted to be, and I mean I grabbed her by the dirty pigtail braids and gave her a damn good shake to make sure we were all on the same page, everything sort of started falling into place. I don’t feel like I am fighting myself anymore. I am happy more. And I’ve found a way to combine my passions – good food, animals, and gardening, with some more recent needs – working from home so I can also raise our daughter in a way that lines up with my morals and views, with a long time need of making money.

Bean will never have to fight it. She has been born into farming. She’s known goats and chickens since before she was born. She knows goats and chicks now. She has been strapped to my back while I chop wood, cut down trees, clear blackberry vines, build garden beds, herd goats and more. Her first taste of food will be of real food, grown and raised right here on this property. We aren’t that far from the city. We could just let the land keep sitting and it will just do what it does. We could keep trying to find a way to make a living in the corporate rat race, we could struggle trying to make ends meet while living on welfare and food stamps. Or we could use some of those food stamps to buy vegetable seeds (yes, it’s true, you can!) and start a garden. We choose to make a life rather than live one doled out to us one unsatisfying portion at a time.

I’m happy with my choice. I am happy there is dirt under my nails at the end of the day, and that my muscles are so sore that sitting up straight hurts. I think this is a good life we are creating here and I can’t wait to share it with others.

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Things That Scare Me

23 01 2012

24 Stats To Crush Anyone Who Thinks America Has A Bright Economic Future

Americans Keep Cars Longer Than Ever

It’s happening people. It’s the beginning of the end. It has been for quite some time. But the collapse is like a tumor. First it’s just one mutated cell. But then it divides and grows, next thing you know it’s a lump the size of a pea. Now, if you are observant or lucky, you notice the pea-sized lump and do something to get rid of it. Less observant people won’t notice the tumor until it is much larger, and a few unlucky ones will never notice it, and live on in denial as it grows and consumes them.

The collapse is just like that.

It’s funny. I can remember being a kid, maybe 10 years old and thinking of my future. I never once believed I would grow up in the same world as my parents. I always felt so sad about my future. It felt bleak even when I was young. Sometimes I would just start crying for no reason. I learned to do that in private after it freaked my mom out. She thought something was wrong with me, or I had some bad secret I wasn’t sharing. I just felt sad because my world didn’t feel rosy and full of promise. It felt tired, and used up and short on time.

It turns out I was right. We are finally short on time and we are also short on resources. Welcome to a new, peak world, kids. Our predecessors raped and pillaged this planet, and left us with so many messes to clean up, where do we even start? And how do we stop it from getting any worse? You think because you are 40, 50, 60 or 80 you’ve lived, and you have rights to keep doing things the way you’ve always done them, because that’s the way you’ve always done them. Guess what, your refusal to change, grow and learn is what got us into this mess in the first place.

I will never be a rich woman, and I am okay with that. But what if I can’t afford to buy land in the next 5 years? What if 5 years is too late? I’ll be lucky if I can ever consider myself “middle class.” I am a farmer at heart, and I am trying to be a farmer in real life. That means I will probably work very hard for very little money for most of my life.

I don’t want much, nothing fancy, just a good life for my daughter and future generations. We all deserve to live in a good, healthy, clean world, to hear birds chirp in the morning, breathe fresh, crisp air and drink clean water.

I’m scared that I am out of time. What if I can’t learn enough skills and get the right tools to keep my family alive and healthy? What about my livestock? I don’t know how to grow, cut, dry and store my own hay. I saw a youtube video once, but that in no way makes me qualified to go out and try. But I have to try, and hope that I get it right.

I have to believe I have enough time to learn what I need to. Otherwise the fear will immobilize me.








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