So how did I get here?

So how did I get here? One does not simply go from being an honors student at Eagle High School to waking up at 6:00AM for a morning of spinach harvesting. I grew up in a suburban neighborhood in Idaho. If you could identify a cul-de-sac, a quarter-acre plot, the sound of two dogs on the other side of a fence, and a garage door opener, I image you know exactly where I grew up because you probably grew up in the same place.

I call it Suburbia, USA. It is a magical neighborhood that exists in almost any town over population 10,000 in the United States. It might have a stone or metal welcome sign at each of its three entrances, identifying the clever name that separates it from the other cleverly (but similarly) named cloned neighborhood next door. There are probably sidewalks and storm drains and mailboxes. Each house lining the maze of streets is one of five approved colors and has at least one tree in its front yard. There are always children on bikes riding around in packs during the summer months and ridiculous displays of lawn art during the winter months. There is an elementary school within walking distance – and if you live in one of the nicer versions of Suburbia, there might be a special walking path to get you there. From Idaho to California to Oklahoma to New York, Suburbia exists (this has been verified by multiple friends who grew up all over the country).

Some amenities that might come with Suburbia include: PAL soccer leagues, YMCA basketball teams and swim lessons, summer camps upon summer camps, pick-up roller hockey, sprinkler games, play-dates, sidewalk chalk, and Little League.

Growing up in Suburbia is a charmed (privileged) life, full of opportunity and friends and safety. I could not have scripted a better childhood for myself. Through high school, and even college, I had every whim answered at any moment – not say I was a spoiled brat who never heard the word “no,” but compared to many other people on this planet I was a spoiled brat who never heard the word “no.” I could be part of any activity I wanted, go to whatever school I wanted, talk to whomever I wanted, work wherever I wanted, and excel at whatever I put my mind to. And not only did I have all these opportunities – but I was good at taking advantage of them. I played varsity sports, sang in the top choirs, was awarded many honors, earned excellent grades. I was encouraged in every way and was expected to be great at everything.

Sound limitless! But the limits lie in the structure. My version of Suburbia and my experience living in this world are not radically different from anyone else who grew up in the same neighborhood. There are thousands of kids just like me. And we all grew up believing we needed to perpetuate this glittering vision of Suburbia – a vision our parents and grandparents worked very hard to create. And to their credit, they succeeded beyond all imagination. After the hard-knock atmosphere of the depression and the rationed lifestyle during WWII, Suburbia seemed like a new kind of hope – one where every home could fit a family of five comfortably, neighborhoods would be safe, there would be space to fit the family car, land was cheap, and homes could be built inexpensively. There was the opportunity for every child to get an education and find a readily-available, high-paying entry level job, then find a spouse, move to a new glittery neighborhood, have two children and repeat the cycle.

But where do the kids go that want something different? Where are their dreams fostered and whom can they talk to about alternate lifestyles or ways of living? The tricky thing about Suburbia is that everyone who lives there thinks it’s the highest level of civilization – the best way to create a successful and fulfilling life – so it is hard to convince them that there may be reason to look for alternates. As a kid, I wasn’t exposed to many other possible lifestyles for myself. There was the expectation that I would live in a cute apartment for a few years after college, maybe in a city or another country while getting a graduate degree. But when I was ready and had a suitable mate, it was expected that I would move back to Suburbia. I’m sure the expectation was that my Suburbia would be a little bigger, a little classier, and a little more convenient than my parents’ – as most parents want more for their children then they had for themselves. But the vision was basically to live the same life my grandparents lived and my parents are living with no room for anything else.

I’m rambling a little bit…but I do this to lay out the expectations, the “pre-destined” path, built into my mind – literally since birth. Expectations that I never dreamed could be challenged or changed. I knew my path from a very early age and did everything in school to prepare for and accelerate my pace along it. I played sports, I volunteered at church, I was president of a school club, I took nearly every AP class available, I participated in tons of extra-curricular events, and learned how to speak well in front of others, write comprehensible sentences (hopefully), and complete research projects. I was winning the Suburbia Olympics and feeling good about all my achievements! However, there was always the underlying currant of “college applications” and “resume building.” I don’t know that I would have worked any less hard had these notions not been constantly talked about by teachers, parents, and friends alike, but I think they were so engrained into the psyche of the suburban child that there was no other imaginable path. This is limiting.

I have always felt uneasy on this path. I have always felt I was meant for something different. But talking about that as a kid or a teenager, I was met with half-hearted encouragement.  I have been told that parents always want their children to do what makes them happy, be successful and live up to their fullest potential – there are no doubts about this! I know my parents and supporters only want me to be happy. But there is language that crept into every conversation from womb to graduation depicting a vague vision for my future – a future ending in some version of Suburbia with a high-powered career and a happy family. I don’t blame anyone for this and I certainly wouldn’t have had the amazing opportunities I’ve had or be who I am today without this initial vision. Nevertheless, I grew up believing I needed to follow a path – the only path – and so I fit my mind into this mold and set my sights on college.

 I started my college search during Spring Break of my sophomore year of high school. Most of the tour guides even thought this was a bit early – but there was simply no time to look at all the schools I was interested in if I didn’t start as soon as possible. The ironic thing about this early start was that I only applied to one school. It was my father’s alma mater and I applied early in addition to applying for a very healthy scholarship. I found out early that I was accepted to Pacific Lutheran University and received the scholarship. It was a school I was sincerely interested – so the choice was easy: accept the acceptance and don’t waste time filling out other applications.

 With my choice in school, I made everyone around me proud: parents, teachers, friends. I was going to receive a wonderfully academic and challenging liberal arts degree – one that fit my bright mind and my socio-economic status. I would dive into the deepest of philosophical discussions and headiest of debates. I would have the opportunity to take an array of classes and research a variety of topics. How wonderful! How great that my degree from PLU would one days serve me well on the job market and put me heads and shoulders above the rest! I was following my pre-destined path on the most accelerated and highest-achieving track.

I was excited for school and ready for the “college experience.” I was pumped to live in the dorms, register for interesting classes, be involved the hippest clubs, and find my true passion – because that is the point of going to college. At my high school graduation party, however, I received advice from a respected female role model. She told me to do things that I was interested, do things that made me happy, and chase the dreams I had – not to do the things everyone expected me to do, not to do things because it would make my parents happy. The notion that I could do things without the pressure to make everyone around me happy rocked my world. Sure, I had been told to follow my bliss and find my passion, but I had no real example of this in my life and was never shown the tools to make this happen. It took me a while to figure out, truly, what this advice meant but I finally feel like I’m on the right path.

I started college with good intentions. I didn’t join too many clubs or become over involved in student government. But over the four years I was at PLU, I stretched myself thin. There were students who were much more involved than I was (I don’t know how they managed) but I slowly added club after club to my list. I became the head of this committee and the TA for this teacher and the leader for that class project. I spoke at a symposium and applied for a Fulbright scholarship grant and spent countless hours in the library. I had fun and made lifelong friends and stuffed more information into my skull than I knew existed – and I did all of this to build the perfect resume for the perfect internship and the perfect entry-level career. I did this to appease the wishes and visions of everyone back home. I was terrified of letting down the countless people who had supported me, tirelessly, through my youth. I was terrified of not being good enough, not having enough on my resume, not living up to the success I built during my reign as Suburbia’s gold medalist in the Renaissance-woman competition.

My senior year, during my second capstone project (senior project for one’s major), I experienced something akin to being trapped in a hole about three feet deeper than one is tall while people constantly throw rocks at one’s face, making escape – and survival – much more difficult. Or at least this is how I imagined it. I know a lot of people who were in similar holes all around me and I think they would have a comparable description of the experience. Countless papers to finish and assignments to complete, credits and graduation requirements to keep track of, work to go to so there is money to pay for food, the desperate attempt to make time for old and new friends who will soon be scattered about the globe, presentations to prepare for, social and personal drama to emotionally process – oh! And the big black monster called “post-college life.” who knocks at the door every night to remind you that life as you have always known it is about to end: no more structure, no more first days of school, no more friends next door, tremendous amounts of debt and responsibility you’re not prepared for, and, by the way, have you found your passion yet? Have you applied for those jobs or gone to those interviews? Are you going to be worth anything? Are you going to use your expensive college degrees in a way that is responsible and in line with your predestined path?

MAKE IT STOP!!!

Now, I was lucky enough to find a subject in college I was truly passionate and excited about: food. It all began in Italy in January 2011. In my next blog post, I’ll go into more detail about my journey to food, so for now I will leave it at this. I love food. I love food systems and food culture and food communities. I knew when I graduated I wanted to do something related to food. I also knew that my passion for food had to fit into the predestined Suburbia model – so I went looking into non-profits, organized movements, and policy offices. I didn’t want to be sitting at a desk, but it seemed that any job I applied for had a large portion of desk-related responsibilities. I knew through my degrees and experiences in college I would be great at any non-profit or policy writing career. These weren’t the types of things I really wanted to be doing, but it seemed like the only place I could start until I had put in enough hours and made enough money to fulfill my true dream of starting my own community food center and/or organization.

In a desperate attempt for potential employer contacts, I reached out to a local organic farmer in Tacoma, who I had volunteered for through one of my classes at PLU. I asked her if I could do an informational interview with her, picking her brain for any Puget Sound food movements, groups, or people I could connect with on the job front. She emailed me back saying that she would love to talk but was more interested in giving me information about the internship available on her farm starting in June. Long story short, I met with the farmer and accepted the internship position – partly out of interest, but mostly to say I had something to do after graduation and give myself time to look for a “real” job. I justified it to myself and my group of supporters by saying that a farm internship would give me the valuable perspective of one aspect of the food chain, allowing me to better connect with farmers I would meet in the future while I worked for some successful non-profit organization post-October 2013. I would have the time, finally, to sink into the job search while being involved in something food-related – how ‘bout those for some liberal arts bullshit justifications?

I started work on the farm, living in a singlewide trailer in the middle of a field and surrounded by greenhouses. The first week was rough. My hands swelled from hoeing for hours, I got sunburns in the most unfortunate places, and my whole body ached from 50 hours of physical labor. I was tired and dirty despite the scrubbing – but I loved it. I felt connected to a primal presence inside of me that I hadn’t shared a mind with since running through the woods at summer camp. Even in the first weeks I could see the fruits of my labor and sold precious produce I had pulled out of the earth to smiling customers. The work was real. It was incredibly rewarding. And it resonated with every part of my soul.

But I still told people I wasn’t planning on being a farmer. I told my employers and my family that I was on the lookout for other, more suitable, employment opportunities to begin immediately following the internship. I didn’t ever allow myself to wonder what a farming life would be like – what it would look like or feel like or how it could even be possible. I was bombarded with questions like, “how is this using your education?” “How could you ever make a living doing this?” “What other paths are you looking into?” I thought I was letting everyone down, failing in my pursuit to be an excellent citizen of the earth. I was the bright girl-next-door who was worth more than a life of physical labor and long days in the dirt. I now realize these questions weren’t asked out of fear for my financial or academic future, but out of insecurity in the fact that a lifestyle outside of Suburbia could be full of life and success and happiness. I don’t know much about psychology and I’m not sure this motive of insecurity was ever in the conscious mind of the asker, but this is my explanation for the doubt surrounding my decisions to live and work on an organic farm.

Over the summer and through conversations with my now-partner (Brian), I realized that working on a farm was the least stressed I had ever been in the last decade of my life. I was working hard and thinking in ways I had never thought, I was contributing to a movement and lifestyle I believed in, I was part of a community, I was in love, and I felt accomplished at the end of every day with promise of an even bigger to-do list tomorrow. I had the physical and mental space to process all my thoughts completely and bravely asked myself, why is this not what you want to do for the rest of your life? I could see that farming could be financially supportive and I knew that I would be using my education in a more inter-disciplinary way than I could have ever expected. The hard part was, and still is, accepting my passion and my life as my own – as no one else’s. I have the opportunity to be happy and live abundantly as a recovering Suburbanite. Why would I not choose this? Why would I not pursue this? Because it is straying from my predestined path? Because it doesn’t end in a safe and sure-fire suburban landscape? Because it is risky? I am learning to shed all of these doubts and insecurities that are packed neatly and deeply inside of me. I am learning to follow my bliss to the best of my ability with no regrets. I know it will be bumpy and hard and treacherous at times, but I am in love with it and I’m not looking back.  

Why do I want to be a Farmer?

A stereotype exists for farmers: hard-working, leathery-skinned, broad-shouldered men who most likely don’t have a formal education higher outside of a small-town high school diploma. While this may describe some farmers, I will venture to say that it does not describe most. There is also a stereotype about farms: Large swaths of land covered in a single crop, crawling with enormous tractors and under-paid migrant workers. Again, this does describe some farms (generally corn or soy operations in the Midwest and Western states), but I will venture, again, to say that it does not describe most.

As a woman from Suburbia, United States with a very expensive liberal arts education and any opportunity to make serious money at each finger tip, I have faced a lot of questioning, doubt, and confusion in the past 6 months since I’ve decided to devote my life to farming. People don’t understand how an economics degree plus an honor-laden diploma plus a girl of two successful parents equals an aspiring farmer. People, particularly of older generations, are skeptical, doubtful, and seem disappointed. If my 20-year-old self were to hear my current self express the desire to be a farmer, she probably would have reacted to the same way – thinking that an educated woman could think of better ways to join the food movement. So what is my current self’s response? I want to be a farmer because I believe it is one of the most challenging and exciting careers that exists today. Moreover, it is much more than a career – it is a lifestyle. A lifestyle that teaches one the true connection between one’s body and the earth, opens up opportunities to forge meaningful relationships with one’s neighbors, and keeps one brutally honest in every way – there are no days off, there are no loopholes around Mother Nature, there are few things more necessary than food and physical activity, and there are lasting consequences to every action. 6 months in the dirt have taught me that this is a lifestyle worth seeking.

Maybe I’m getting ahead of myself if this explanation. First, I should explain my values and what the honest vision of my life is as I see it today. I want to live a “real” life. I want to be intimately involved in something that is necessary and vital to my soul, my body, my community, and the earth. I see thousands of “made-up” lives around me, based on things that humans have made up to keep themselves occupied and interested in the made up world around them. With no disrespect or offense intended, I don’t believe jobs in computer technology or money management or real estate affairs could be affirming or satisfying for the human soul. We have made up the computer, money, property, knick-knacks etc. to organize our world and then we made up jobs to manage and sell and allocate these made up things, and then we created even more jobs to hire people for these made up jobs and designed even more complicated titles for these made up jobs, and are forced to create more things to keep up with all this advanced technology– I am not interested in this. I see that these things are meaningful to a lot of people around me, but I am not choosing to make these things a priority for my one life. I want to live as close to what is real and earthly as possible. So this is the framework for my intended future.

Without so much complication, I believe in being a good person for the sake of humanity – for the sake of “we are all here together for some divine and incomprehensible reason so why not make the most of it.” I believe in community and mutually benefiting relationships. I believe in putting quality, real things in my body because it is the only one I have. I believe in living one’s personal truth because there is only one opportunity to do this. I believe in doing things that make one happy and bring depth to one’s life. I believe in YOLO! I believe in being part of the matrix of life and of history. I believe I should find where my skills and passions fit best into this matrix and best serve my neighbors, human and otherwise. These are the beliefs and values that motivate my love for the earth and my subsequent love of farming.

Farming is a real lifestyle. It is necessary and creative. It allows for the expression of personal truth while being part of a diverse community. It fosters ultimate respect for the earth and the climate, total reliance on one’s community of supporters, and satisfaction at the end of every day.

In less abstract terms, farming on a small, organic scale allows for the best interdisciplinary practice (an adjective used profusely in the liberal arts world), calling upon biology, chemistry, business, sociology, marketing, communication, microeconomics, physical education, and faith in a larger force. Small-scale organic farming is not glamorous – it is dirty and requires immense physical labor – but it is thoughtful and must constantly be adapting. To be a small-scale organic farmer, one must be full of knowledge, creativity, adaptability, efficiency, and always thinking two steps ahead. Not only are there over 35 different crops to know by variety type, but one has to know how to rotate them to avoid certain pests (for 10 years in advance), one has to prioritize the endless to-do list with a relatively small crew, one has to be ready for a loose wheel or failing crop, one has to create a business plan to market and sell the beautiful produce, and one has to build a community centered around quality food and high expectations for integrity.

And believe it or not, small organic farmers do make a livable and satisfying profit – a monetary profit! If it didn’t, organic farming would not be one of the fastest growing sectors in our economy. The nice thing about money and farming is that a farmer is not making money in a job to support a separate lifestyle. A farmer is making money in a job that is her/his lifestyle. There are limited outside expenses or ventures that require a large disposable income. One’s social circle, physical activity, food, and recreation are all wrapped up in the job description. There is no lavish home, no gym membership, no daily grocery store visit, no long commute to work. Farmers are some of the most brilliant and satisfied people I’ve every met. Go meet yours!

Quickly entering into the agriculture conversation of our day, this world and this country need young, educated, motivated, and creative organic farmers. While homesteading and diversified organic farming may have been the “law of the land” 100 years ago, massive monoculture operations have overtaken the agricultural landscape and changed the way food is eaten and respected in the United States. We can no longer rely on the advice of our parents to grow our own food. Food is bought at the grocery store, heated in the microwave, and thrown in the trash with no thought about where it was grown, what was used to grow it, who grew it, or where it will go when it is thrown away. Today’s mainstream food system is not sustainable in the long run: killing soil health, causing serious human health problems, and ruining the earthly and atmospheric environment. Because it is so engrained in the fabric of modern society, it will take thousands of positive young farmers to recreate a system that is rooted in sustainable and natural practices, local production and distribution, and evolving education. If you want to be part of this conversation, I urge you to educate yourself. Take action for your health and your community. Research Michael Pollan or Joel Salatin or the Slow Food Movement – become aware and take steps in your life as you see fit. We lack a healthy and enriching food culture – but it is not impossible to reclaim!

Then there is the magic! There is the pure wonder in planting a seed and watching it somehow take in nutrients laced in the brown soil, miraculously growing into something beautiful, green, and interesting. And sometimes it’s not green! Sometimes it’s a deep red or a vibrant purple or orange and spotted. And each plants tastes different, grows at a different rate, and requires unique attention. That is magical to me and I couldn’t think of a better way to spend my time than be in complete awe and wonder every day.

This blog will be used to further the expression my evolving identity as a young farmer. I will be joining the agricultural discussion of our age and recording my adventure as a suburban girl who found her roots in the soil.