Armed to Farm

 Two weeks ago, I had the privilege of attending a five day workshop to assist military Veterans who are aspiring or beginning farmers called Armed to Farm. I'm having difficulty condensing this experience into a single post, or even deciding from what angle to tell you about it. From an educational perspective, we were given a great deal of useful knowledge, from a seminar on land access opportunities, to classes on farm planning, a marketing panel, livestock and pasture management lectures, equipment recommendations and resources, and so much more.

Sarah capturing us with her
animated enthusiasm.

Then there were the farm field trips. We visited various farms in the Monadnock region of New Hampshire, learning about mechanized planting techniques, irrigation configurations, crop selection, mushroom growing, organic dairy production, poultry and pigs, Integrated Pest Management, beekeeping, and yes, loving on lambs. We participated in hands-on activities at several these farms, inoculating logs for mushroom production, replacing and repairing fence lines, and participating in truly hands-on pest control crushing insects on vegetable crops. The owners themselves took us on the tours, answering questions, and walking us through their journeys into farming. Our accommodations were amazing, and a farm experience in itself, for we stayed at The Inn at East Hill Farm, a working farm that provided a relaxing, farm-centered experience with farm to table meals, and an education on the agro-tourism industry.

JP and Alicia in the awesome herb
picking beds at Picadilly Farms

Our instructors were truly inspirational as well, having personal experience and education in various aspects of farming as well as a great knowledge of the region, giving us a great perspective on a successful farming community network.  I cannot say that one part of this experience was more important than the other- but the most gratifying, and the part that still brings me right back to that time, were the stories shared and fellowship we created in sharing our unique, yet often paralleling journeys.

When I filled out my application for Armed to Farm, I wrote that my goals for the workshop were to learn about land access opportunities and to gain hands-on farm experience to solidify my plans for a small-scale berry and cut-flower farm and homestead. I have a rough idea of what I want to produce on my farm, but I have had difficulty writing the business plan for it without knowing where I would farm, and what size operation I could manage that would be productive. The last workshop I attended for Veteran Farmers left me feeling alone and on the other side of an overwhelming chasm from a group of farmers who were all successfully engaged in farming on their land. Their main concern was how to reach Veterans and get them into farming, not how to cross the hurdles themselves. This group, however, was a mix of Veterans; some were just beginning the journey, others still deciding if farming was the path for them, and a few with successful operations who were looking to grow and expand. Our instructors were farmers, and they used their successes- and failures- to demonstrate how we could find our place in the farming community.

Irrigation for vegetable prodution
Green Wagon Farms

Although all in different stages of the journey, we all shared a passion and joy for this lifestyle we were pursuing, and that atmosphere alone was enough to make my plans feel more solid and attainable. Some shared how farming was their therapy, how they had found farming looking for natural alternatives to remedy physical, mental, and spiritual conditions. We all agreed that whatever aspect of farming we were pursuing, it was more about the fulfillment of the lifestyle that we sought rather than viewing farming as a "career" choice. For us, this was a life path: growing, raising and caring for the earth gave us a purpose and energy that could not be found anywhere else. It was refreshing, and I believe gave each of us a certain validation in our pursuits to hear similar stories of others' journeys into farming. There was an over-arching belief in each other, and mutual encouragement that I believe left us all with the positive result of growth.

Holding a lamb at
Mayfair Farms

Before the trip, I could not see myself having any animals on my farm. I've often expressed that I am not a very big animal person, and other than chickens I did not feel I could handle raising any type of livestock. I did not grow up around animals and have always stuck to my love for plants as my main farm focus. But then I had a lamb placed in my arms at Mayfair Farms, and my whole perspective changed. I've often felt my dream of having my own greenhouse for a seedling production was too large for me, and had put that dream on pause for more "practical" pursuits; then I was given scale drawings and a lumber list for a small hoop house by one of the other attendees that transformed an overwhelming task into an affordable weekend project. Hours were spent discussing plans- past, present, and future- and sorting through similar goals of growing in and with the land. Our short time together, well spent sharing life stories: successes, failures, uncertainties, and inspirations.

More lamb love 

And the laughter- oh, but what would a gathering of Veterans be if it wasn't filled with the hilarity that ensues when we find ourselves among those that "get" us. My heart swelled to sit among all that fellowship and joy. Tearful moments- tears of realization, of being free to be where we are on this journey and to know that those that surround us do so with love, understanding, and a similar appreciation for the paths traveled to get here.  In those five days, I felt growth spurts within myself, as well as seeds of kinship that I know will last a lifetime. To call this journey life-changing would be remiss, for it did not change anything in my life, but rather helped bring my path into sharp, attainable focus. I am truly grateful for this experience; for the chance to learn about farming, community, and most importantly, for the shared journeys on our path to growth: in soil, logs, pastures, and life.

Walking Barefoot

'Tis the season for walking barefoot again. I started a few months back: as soon as I could hear the

spring peepers and little bits of green were appearing on the trees, my toes were in the dirt. It's a common point of discussion regarding my business name- and no, I don't walk barefoot in my client's gardens. The name speaks more to my philosophy of gardening as close to nature as possible, and so my touch to their gardens is as if I merely walked through barefoot, leaving barely a trace.

But at home, my feet are bare pretty much April through November. They are ugly things to behold in these months. Myself, I find feet ugly things to behold in any month, but in gardening season mine are dirty, cracked, hard, and happy. The last is all that matters, really. It's far from romantic walks on the beach either. I traipse through mud and puddles, deftly walk through gravel, and sink into warm prepared soil beds. 

Being barefoot makes me feel connected to whatever task I'm doing; it helps me fully absorb the day and all the elements I touch. While it may hurt at times, it helps me feel my way and know the ground I'm dealing with. My feet become accustomed to some degree, but there's always an element of pain that reminds me where I am. To walk carefully. To walk with purpose. To walk with intention and be sensitive to all that I can harm with my weight and to what could be of harm to me. Sometimes, I misjudge on both counts, crushing a tender plant or catching my toes on sharp rocks. It's all a part of walking barefoot. 

If you've been reading this blog for any length of time, you've seen my tendencies to take the gardens and apply them to my life. I'd like to think that in my walk on this earth, I tread barefoot as much as I can with no damage inflicted or received. It is my aim to be as open to all the elements I touch in life- be they harmful or helpful- and while this may seem risky without an element of protection, I am forced to be more aware of everything I touch. It can make interactions more painful, and at times I find I need to walk alone, on soft ground, to regain feeling after stumbling over rocky ground. It's painful, yet it's telling, and for me, a necessary way to travel this time on earth. I make connections faster, I sense danger sooner, and I can know when to turn my feet to a more sure path. 

There was a time I would continue walking barefoot through the warning pricks, telling myself that the contact was necessary, I was helping another whose path was rough, yet I have found that sometimes when I joined someone on these journeys, I fell victim to the same sharp rocks, and rather than guiding us both to softer paths, I aided their walk onto harsher roads and only caused more suffering for us both. I learned that I needed to take care to my feet, and the path on which I chose to set them. I could provide company, solace, and thoughts for a time, but in the end, he path I chose had to be all mine. 

We choose our paths, and while we do not necessarily choose the pain that crosses them at times, we can choose to continue to inflict ourselves or strike a new path. The way to the new path might be caught with brambles, but what seems to be a more difficult course is but a swift break through the scrub onto softer ground. 

I must choose my paths carefully, with care to what my feet might strike and what might also wound me in turn. I can for a time walk with others and partake the roads they travel, and they also, mine- but just for a time. We can share in the learning, encourage each others' journeys, and warn of hazards that cross our path. However, each step taken is a commitment to the path on which I chose to set my feet. Some paths are pleasant, some paths are treacherous. Some necessary, for a time; but there are a few that once trod I will take utmost care to keep my feet from at all costs. Yet I will always choose to walk these paths barefoot.