A Whole New Realm of the Farming World

by Chandler Briggs of Island Meadow Farm, Vashon Island, WA

Leaving the farm for four days in April—what feels like the most rapidly growing time all year, after a winter of stalled plants—magnifies the tremendous growth & power of nature’s combination of rain & sunshine. Not only did the tomatoes gain inches, the mustard greens swelled past salad size & the pigs fattened up (seriously), but so did the weeds & the grass grow tall. I haven’t yet mowed like all the good neighbors & the dandelions responded in full effect. Too late to beat the seed heads, I will have to mow & leave the grass where it lies for now, rather than use it for mulch.

But while falling further behind in my work, I made a journey well worth the drive & loss of work days, into a land previously unseen by my eyes still new to the Northwest—the high desert of central Oregon. It was a place of tremendous beauty—scattered buttes & mountaintops capped with snow surrounding the land of sagebrush & junipers, cut deep with gorges showing power of water & the geological history of consistent lava flows, millions of years ago. The train ran through often, making the weekend seem even a bit more of a time warp.

The opening day at the Small Farmer’s Journal Annual Draft Horse Auction in Madras, Oregon was a bit like what Lynn Miller described as a circus. Like annual gatherings of rural communities, historically a place of mass communication & socialization for those separated by miles & miles of desert, forest or mountains, we descended onto the small town with excitement & flair. I say circus in an intentionally positive way—we are all here for show, dressed up in our farming best of rust-flavored denim & Carhartt red. The carriages & carts for sale jangle with bells, or shimmer in the sun peaking out behind the dramatic skies. The horses are clean & heavily muscled, ready for show in the arena.

The auction is exactly what you think it is. Intense, fun, nerve-wrecking, mesmerizing. If you’re bidding, the auctioneers know it. The slightest gestures can mean hundreds of dollars & a new horse or cultivator. Scattered among the Jefferson County Fairgrounds were the categories of auctioned items: horse-drawn farm equipment like potato diggers, cultivators, plows plows plows, seeders, manure spreaders; horses, mules, ponies; carriages & carts of every shape, size & purpose; blacksmithing tools, grinders & non-electric shop necessities; household items; harnesses, collars, straps, leather. It was all there for the three full days of bidding.

The first morning, following the dramatic thunderstorm that started the auction out with a bang on Wednesday night, I attended an “Ask a Teamster” clinic on all things draft horses. Hosted by John Erskine & Doc Hammill, we had all our questions answered, and in by far the most intriguing part of the day, we watched John & Doc interact with & show us a semi-broke horse they had just met. What struck most was the calmness they displayed around the gigantic animal they didn’t even know. How through repetition & consistency, not force, they slowly break & train a horse. The love & energy connecting these two different species is powerful & straight out of a Cormac McCarthy novel. So much being said in body language, it calls for acute intention in all movements.

All weekend, Lynn Miller has his hands all over the place & he seems to pop up no matter where you turn. Hard to miss in his style of dress (yes, that was a Tabasco sauce tie) & voice (no, the auctioneers couldn’t keep him quiet all day long). Originally, I was introduced to the Journal when I saw him speak years ago at the Tilth Conference in Yakima. The best part of the whole auction was his enthusiasm when the bidding would escalate and everyone’s attention was drawn into the struggle. He’d run back and forth between bidders, screaming “YEAH YEAH YEAH YEAH” at the top of his lungs each time a hat nodded or a hand gestured. Everyone seemed to stay just for the antics down on the arena floor. Or it could have been for all the sass the auctioneers gave him for talking too much.

The trip was an incredible experience into a whole new realm of the farming world. My previous experiences have been solely with diesel & human powered small-scale diverse farms, in progressive-minded communities. Among the crowd at the auction were lots of old-timey folks. Lots of mustaches, cowboy hats & vests. Lots of horse folks, & a few mule folks. Also prevalent was what seemed to be the Fox News constituency. In the bathroom I overheard comments about the “communist” in the White House. Organic farming still a fringe practice. Traditional gender roles encouraged. It was a wake up call to the bubble I live in here on Vashon. In the country, the mood still seems supportive of the status quo.

But there is hope & I witnessed that as well. Young, radical farmers showed themselves beautifully—many of them draft horse farmers in the Northwest, bidding alongside everyone else. Asking for advice on plows, harnesses, potato diggers, & horses, we are inheriting not only the equipment from the elder generations, but also the knowledge. And so many people are willing to share that knowledge at the auction. The young farmer movement is bustling & full of energy, & every year it grows—but without the input & support of those hanging up the saddles for good, we face a tough road ahead. We have our idealism, our fresh muscles & a national growing interest in supporting small farmers. But we have to recognize the gap created with our parents’ generation—the baby boomers who fled the country & left behind a wealth of information.

Dramatic times call for drastic measures. We, the young farmers & eaters of this country, are faced with a most ultimate dilemma. We have a peak farmer crisis on our hands; it is time to show some enthusiasm! Farming is still looked down upon as a profession in our country. A hobby, at best. At the young farmer panel discussion, when posed with the question, “How do we change the negative image of the poor redneck backwoods farmer?,” we embraced The Greenhorns’ Severine’s answer, (I’m paraphrasing here) “Celebrate! Have fun! Throw a party!” So on the dance floor Friday night, we cut a rug with Ryan Foxley & his cohorts & showed all city folks we know how to get down & have a good time. When faced with the questions, “Who is going to grow the nation’s food in 10 years, when the average farmer retires?,” and more importantly “What will we do to fix the broken system we have now? The road ahead feels even tougher than we can imagine. But if the auction was any indication, the tide is turning with my generation. We’re looking to get dirt rich & we know how to get down while we’re at it.

Join the young farmer movement!
www.thegreenhorns.org
www.youngfarmers.org