*** Less than 1% of the U.S. population claim farming as an occupation and only 2% live on a farm. The number of farms in this country peaked around 1935, topping out at 6.8 million. Today there are a little over 2 million farms. On top of the declining number of farms and farmers add the fact that over 40% of today's farmers are 55 or older. (U.S. EPA) Who will be growing our food in future generations?***
Probe any point in my childhood dreams and nowhere will you find the goal of becoming a farmer. I did dream of having forty acres with a hundred or so German Shepherds roaming free around my cabin, but farming wasn't ever a part of the dreamscape.
Sometime in my thirties or forties, in some dusty corner in the back of my subconscious, the idea of living on a farm started to take root. But living on a farm was strangely disconnected from the concept of actually farming. When we first moved to the Willamette Valley over seven years ago I contemplated a very small boutique vineyard and winery in keeping with the local pinot viticulture. That idea never evolved past the dream stage.
It wasn't until about three years ago, after a visit to Spokane, when my brother-in-law, Dan, sent me home with Pollan's The Ominvore's Dilemma, that farming moved beyond the realm of abstraction to anchor itself in my psyche, not just as an interesting avocation but as a possible vocation. The confluence of forces - my rebirth to the joys of cooking, sitting on 2.63 acres, news stories of the mysterious disappearance of bees called "Colony Collapse Disorder", Pollan's revelations about the harsh realities contained in our food chain (monoculture farming, feedlots, etc...) - sent a shock wave across my consciousness. My brain finally made the connection between quality food and local farming and I found (or rediscovered) a passion for real food.
Michael Pollan makes a distinction between food and food products. He suggests that if you want real food from a supermarket, shop around the outside aisles of the store where the dairy, meats, bakery, and produce are typically located. The inner aisles are mostly "food products" - overly processed and refined foods, often containing ingredients that you haven't a clue as to what they are or as to their purpose. Look closer at even the real food. Where did those tomatoes, apples or peaches come from? Is it really possible that they were picked at the peak of freshness and shipped halfway across the country or the world to sit unspoiled on a market shelf for a week(s)?
Unfortunately we live in an era dominated less by quality and more by convenience. I've been there; buying food products off a route truck or at the supermarket, as we ran about our jobs and shuttled our kids off to a myriad of activities.
Enter the Slow Food Movement to restore some sanity to our daily lives. SFM is not just about eating local with quality, nutritious ingredients. Its about taking time to enjoy the process of cooking and eating as a family and/or group. Can you still remember a time when people gathered together to cook and eat, and to engage in discussions; to share their stories and lives. Too often it seems that the only time people get together to talk and eat is at life's major milestones - weddings, funerals, major birthday celebrations.
Somewhere, many years ago, I read about a Native American concept of making death your friend. I believe the concept is not merely about facing death unafraid, but grasping our own personal finiteness and balancing our priorities in light of our limited time on this planet. Picture yourself, for instance, on your death bed. Can you see admonishing yourself for not having spent more time at work or wishing you had a newer car? The key is to imagine what you are likely to long for at such a moment and make those things a priority in your life now.
I've taken the death realization concept a step further and created my own death scenario (actually I have three different ones at the moment). The purpose isn't to predict the time or manner of my death; it's to give me clarity as to what I truly value now and to elevate those things of value to being the primary focus of my life rather than a sideline or hobby.
In my self written death scene: I'm laying in bed in my upstairs bedroom of a two story farm house (the house is yellow, wood frame) with friends and family sitting around talking and sipping coffee. It is a beautiful sunny day and a summer breeze brushes past the white linen curtains that frame the window. Just outside, below the window, surrounded by the abundance of the farm sit several dozen people of all ages eating and drinking at old wooden tables covered with tablecloths. The mood is light and festive. People laugh and talk; hold their kids; savor their wine and beer. I don't feel as though I'm the focus of the gathering, but a participant in the celebration that is all around me. In fact, as I picture this, I don't see myself as I lay in bed. My viewpoint is looking out at the gathering in my room, and even the festivities in the yard. There is no feeling of heaviness, no sorrow that accompanies this scene.
To some degree this scenario has been played out twice in the last four years. The first was a gathering of friends and family after my father-in-law's death in 2006 and my mother's death in 2008. Each occasion prompted the gathering of family and friends to mark not only the loss, but to celebrate life and the bonds we share. I think food and drink are integral to such gatherings as it blends the extraordinary event with the everyday need for sustenance and the common daily ritual of sharing meals.
The concept of the Lost Road Apiary and Farm extends beyond the goal of providing ourselves and others with quality food. It is, in its essence, about the quality of life that I want to live and share with family and friends. I don't want to wait for my death scenario to be played out to participate in such a celebration. I want to break bread with friends and family now and often, so that when my time comes to depart this world it will be part of just another perfect day.
Probe any point in my childhood dreams and nowhere will you find the goal of becoming a farmer. I did dream of having forty acres with a hundred or so German Shepherds roaming free around my cabin, but farming wasn't ever a part of the dreamscape.
Sometime in my thirties or forties, in some dusty corner in the back of my subconscious, the idea of living on a farm started to take root. But living on a farm was strangely disconnected from the concept of actually farming. When we first moved to the Willamette Valley over seven years ago I contemplated a very small boutique vineyard and winery in keeping with the local pinot viticulture. That idea never evolved past the dream stage.
It wasn't until about three years ago, after a visit to Spokane, when my brother-in-law, Dan, sent me home with Pollan's The Ominvore's Dilemma, that farming moved beyond the realm of abstraction to anchor itself in my psyche, not just as an interesting avocation but as a possible vocation. The confluence of forces - my rebirth to the joys of cooking, sitting on 2.63 acres, news stories of the mysterious disappearance of bees called "Colony Collapse Disorder", Pollan's revelations about the harsh realities contained in our food chain (monoculture farming, feedlots, etc...) - sent a shock wave across my consciousness. My brain finally made the connection between quality food and local farming and I found (or rediscovered) a passion for real food.Michael Pollan makes a distinction between food and food products. He suggests that if you want real food from a supermarket, shop around the outside aisles of the store where the dairy, meats, bakery, and produce are typically located. The inner aisles are mostly "food products" - overly processed and refined foods, often containing ingredients that you haven't a clue as to what they are or as to their purpose. Look closer at even the real food. Where did those tomatoes, apples or peaches come from? Is it really possible that they were picked at the peak of freshness and shipped halfway across the country or the world to sit unspoiled on a market shelf for a week(s)?
Unfortunately we live in an era dominated less by quality and more by convenience. I've been there; buying food products off a route truck or at the supermarket, as we ran about our jobs and shuttled our kids off to a myriad of activities.
Enter the Slow Food Movement to restore some sanity to our daily lives. SFM is not just about eating local with quality, nutritious ingredients. Its about taking time to enjoy the process of cooking and eating as a family and/or group. Can you still remember a time when people gathered together to cook and eat, and to engage in discussions; to share their stories and lives. Too often it seems that the only time people get together to talk and eat is at life's major milestones - weddings, funerals, major birthday celebrations.
I've taken the death realization concept a step further and created my own death scenario (actually I have three different ones at the moment). The purpose isn't to predict the time or manner of my death; it's to give me clarity as to what I truly value now and to elevate those things of value to being the primary focus of my life rather than a sideline or hobby.
In my self written death scene: I'm laying in bed in my upstairs bedroom of a two story farm house (the house is yellow, wood frame) with friends and family sitting around talking and sipping coffee. It is a beautiful sunny day and a summer breeze brushes past the white linen curtains that frame the window. Just outside, below the window, surrounded by the abundance of the farm sit several dozen people of all ages eating and drinking at old wooden tables covered with tablecloths. The mood is light and festive. People laugh and talk; hold their kids; savor their wine and beer. I don't feel as though I'm the focus of the gathering, but a participant in the celebration that is all around me. In fact, as I picture this, I don't see myself as I lay in bed. My viewpoint is looking out at the gathering in my room, and even the festivities in the yard. There is no feeling of heaviness, no sorrow that accompanies this scene.
To some degree this scenario has been played out twice in the last four years. The first was a gathering of friends and family after my father-in-law's death in 2006 and my mother's death in 2008. Each occasion prompted the gathering of family and friends to mark not only the loss, but to celebrate life and the bonds we share. I think food and drink are integral to such gatherings as it blends the extraordinary event with the everyday need for sustenance and the common daily ritual of sharing meals.
The concept of the Lost Road Apiary and Farm extends beyond the goal of providing ourselves and others with quality food. It is, in its essence, about the quality of life that I want to live and share with family and friends. I don't want to wait for my death scenario to be played out to participate in such a celebration. I want to break bread with friends and family now and often, so that when my time comes to depart this world it will be part of just another perfect day.
You continue to inspire me everyday. Thanks. :)
ReplyDeleteThough we met only briefly in Price, I feel I know you, since Linda speaks of you so often. Thank you so much for your insightful journaling and for sharing your wisdom and your adventure in farming. Your blog will become a habitual read for me. ~Jan Myhre
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