Lessons from the Country

Posted on 03/25/2012 by Melissa

There’s no doubt about it. We’re living in the country now. Don’t believe me? Check out our latest acquisition.

Okay, I know buying a book about living in the country doesn’t necessarily mean you live in the country, just like we weren’t actually homesteading just because we used to read books about homesteading (from the comfort of our suburban Burlington house.) But this time I mean it: we’re living in the country now, and boy do we have a bit of learnin’ to do.

I’ve already mentioned some of the things I love about country life (like stargazing, waking up to the birds, and beautiful landscapes). Of course there’s also the fresh air, wide open spaces, quiet solitude, and amazing wildlife. But there are also some challenging things about country living, as we’ve been learning these past few weeks. Here are two of the most recent lessons I’ve learned:

#1 Making Friends in the Country is Hard

Not only are we living on a farm so far from the neighboring properties that you can’t see them from our cottage, but we haven’t yet had many opportunities for meeting new people in the area (other than the awesome Local Food Hub staff). All that will change in about two weeks when the local farmers’ market starts up and we get to interact with more people on a more regular basis. Given that I am occasionally a social butterfly, I’ll admit that I’m chomping at the bit for this day to come!

In the meantime, here are some of our recent ~~friends~~ wary acquaintances:

Though I don’t have good photos of them to include, it’s worth a mention that there are also plenty of spiders, wasps, and mice in our everyday lives. It’s hard to accept them as friends, but I know I do need to accept them as part of country life.

On the cute and cuddly end of the friend spectrum, last month we met one-week-old goats. This is me feeding baby Lucy:

Unfortunately the goats aren’t on our farm so there’s no long-term friend potential there. But we do get to spend a good portion of time each day playing with (and getting jumped on/knocked over/licked by) Sully, the resident farm dog and my new best friend in the making.

(You can learn more about Sully and see more fun photos of him over here on the farm blog.)

#2 We have to Drive Everywhere

Every grocery trip, pizza dinner, farm purchase, plant sale, or night out on the town means a minimum of 6 miles of driving if we’re going to the small town nearby. Most of the time it’s more like 32+ miles because Charlottesville is usually our destination of choice for shops and where we will deliver plants/produce throughout the season.

In Burlington we would often go a week or two without using a car. We walked to the shopping center nearby, biked downtown, and took the bus to work or school. When we did need the car (for a shopping trip to Lowes, for instance, for one of our many home renovation projects), we always made sure to combine errands to save on gas and time. Thankfully this means we’re no strangers to strategically planning our car trips to be as efficient as possible. But it is still strange to me that if I want to go anywhere off-farm, I have no transportation options other than my fuel-inefficient truck, Jenny. My poor (unnamed?) bike is sitting in the corner of our kitchen, quietly weeping. (While I would love to get out for a bike ride for fun one of these days, not only will it will necessitate some advanced planning to find a trail or country roads that are safe for cycling, it will mean leaving behind long farm to-do lists: seedlings that need watering, rows that need weeding, crops that need harvesting. AKA not gonna happen.)

I could have called this lesson “it takes a lot of fuel to get food from farm to table“, because really, that’s one of the bigger lessons we’re learning – not jut about country living, but about agriculture specifically. The fuel use in agriculture is not just on the transportation end – like when I deliver vegetable plants to a natural food store in Charlottesville in the back of Jenny’s cab (above) – but the farm production end as well.

We’ve both logged a lot of time on the farm tractors recently – tilling fields to prepare for planting, transporting things around the farm, random joyrides. Okay, I’m only kidding with that last one. Tractor business is serious business. We’re not super comfortable using all this fuel in the name of food production – something we’re going to continue to question this season as we challenge ourselves to grow with minimal negative impact on the environment. But the one thing I know right now is that the tractors sure provide for some great farm photos:

These two lessons only scratch the surface of what we’ve learned already in our ~6 weeks living in the country, and I have no doubt that there’s plenty more to learn… If only I could find time to write about it all!

I’m a Junkie

Posted on 09/21/2011 by Melissa

I’m a junkie. An event junkie.

Last weekend we went to the Monticello Harvest Festival in Charlottesville, VA. This festival was part hippie fest (think: barefoot children in dreads & drum circles), part ag fair (think: farm animals on display) and part educational workshops and presentations (think: conference breakout sessions).

No, these are not our gardens. These are the gardens at Thomas Jefferson's Monticello.

I’ve been a junkie for events like this for as long as I can remember. In college I used to attend conferences, lectures, and festivals like it was my job (I was a campus sustainability education intern, so I guess attending environmental conferences was my job, sort of). When I traveled solo for 3 months in 2006, my itinerary was based on where and when the best conferences were happening. Even when I was a kid I remember going to Health Expos with my mom at Nassau Coliseum, listening to lectures about detoxing and nutrition. I’m not sure whether I enjoyed the free schwag (think: pens, stickers and the occasional cool bag) more back then or now. (Probably now. When you’re a kid you’re always getting free stuff. As an adult who actually pays for things, it’s a treat to get a free keychain or stress ball even if it does have the name of some business on it.)

We had been looking forward to the Harvest Festival for months, despite the fact that it meant leaving ~~our~~ my beloved Vermont during the height of the harvest season. (It pains me to not know the state of our home gardens, to be missing the beginning of the fall foliage season up there.) You see, we’re on a bit of a knowledge kick right now. As aspiring farmers, we know that now is the time to learn skills that we’ll need to be successful food producers in the future. And with VA on a short list of locations for our agricultural adventures, we really wanted to come to this event to connect with this community.

And we’re so glad we did! With names like Pursuing the Small Farm Dream, The Joy of Hobby Farming, and Backyard Fruit Growing, it’s as though they created the conference just for us.

Take a look at this partial list of workshops. Just like every good conference I’ve ever been to, I wished I could have cloned myself so I could attend all of the workshops at the same time!

I took pages and pages of notes about how to graft fruit trees, how to create a business plan for a small farm, lists of resources and contacts. We learned about businesses and organizations that exist to help new farmers succeed – like the Food Hub in Charlottesville, which connects farmers to institutions and restaurants through a wholesale distribution market. We tried samples of heirloom tomatoes and various fermented foods and other products created – mostly – by young, passionate entrepreneurs. At the vendor and exhibitor tables we networked and gathered information (and schwag, of course). We listened to inspirational, engaging people talk about the challenges and successes they’ve had, humbly offering up their advice for others to learn from their experiences. We spread the word that we were looking for ideas for our new farm project, and the positive responses we received were overwhelming.

Of course, I’ve learned that friendly people aren’t hard to find in Virginia, but this was more than just friendly. Oh, you want to start a farm. How lovely. This was an enthusiastic, passionate, whole-hearted Yes, you should do this! If I were looking for affirmation from the universe that starting a farm business in Virginia was what I wanted to do, I found it at that festival.

(Ahem. Dear Vermont, this is hypothetically speaking, of course.)

We made new friends and re-connected with folks we already knew. Wait. You already know people in Charlottesville? We apparently did a good job of meeting the right folks during our visit in the spring – at this festival we saw not one, not two, but three people we met six months ago. As Oprah Winfrey once said, “Surround yourself only with people who are going to take you higher.” I’d like to think we’re doing well by Oprah.

My Our love of events is about all of these things. The networking, the sharing, the people, the excited energy. As we left the harvest festival on Saturday, driving away from Monticello amidst breathtaking mountain views, we were filled to the brim with three I’s: information, inspiration, and ideas.

We’re not even done processing all those I’s from this past weekend, but it’s already time to plan for more: the upcoming three-day Mother Earth News Fair in Seven Springs, PA. With two weekends in a row chock-full of workshops, we’re bound to have a fourth I to consider: the implications for our future as farmers.

Farewell to a Friend

Posted on 05/04/2011 by Melissa

We set out before 9am, a three-person parade. Whistles and bells would not have been out of place, in fact, I wish I had brought a stereo and flags to wave, as well. We were having a goodbye, good luck, farewell celebration procession as we rode along the bike path yesterday morning.

With his red bike, orange panniers, and yellow trailer he undoubtedly looked like a flame of fire as he sped past onlookers … And it’s true, the fireball named Ross Guberman was leaving Burlington.

Some might say it was not the nicest weather for starting a journey on bike: cloudy and drizzling. But I think it’s probably easier to leave a place in the rain; a beautiful sunny day beckons you to stay.

Mark had to break from the group in Burlington. The two guys who had been housemates and friends for the past year and a half parted ways with a handshake and some moisture (from the rain, I’m sure).

I expected to keep riding another few miles, but not very far. Like Ross, I had not mentally prepared myself for a long bike journey. Unlike Ross, I didn’t have all of my belongings following along two feet behind me. I had a small drink of water, but no food. I was wearing a rain jacket, but my shoes were unprepared to be wet, and my feet even less so.

And yet, I was having fun, and you know what that means for the crazy concept of time.

I used to enjoy biking mostly for the utilitarian purpose it provided – getting from here to there – with a low-environmental impact. I enjoy staying in shape, but my old Peugeot and Ross brand bikes provided for too intense a workout since they were so big and heavy, along with unwelcome backaches from riding a frame that wasn’t perfectly fitted to me.

Last fall I bought a new Giant TCR that fits me perfectly and since then I have enjoyed the physical, mental, and emotional pleasures of biking in ways I never knew possible. I had never ridden the route I was on with Ross – though I had driven it many times. It’s a whole new world when you’re moving at a speed of 10-20 mph instead of 35-60. The rolling hills make themselves known to your legs in a way that can’t be experienced from a car. As a cyclist your whole body engages with the topography. Being on two wheels also affords other opportunities to see the landscape in a new way. Instead of being in traffic, being part of traffic, the traffic just passes to the left of you, sometimes in spurts, sometimes in a steady stream, but it never becomes your entire journey. Sometimes the road narrows, sometimes it widens. Riding together we were able to find the openings between the passing cars and trucks to ride side-by-side and share words of encouragement and thoughts about the future.

Ross and I have talked about biking together for years, but we had never actually done more than short trips around town and along the Burlington bike path. I hope he realizes it’s nothing personal: I’ve never done any distance cycling, period. It seems I always had an excuse for why it wouldn’t work for me whenever he tried to make plans. And try he did. Ross frequently sent emails to his growing group of friends in Burlington about bike adventures. There was the “Circumvent the Lake” three day ride that never happened. A week-long ride through Vermont that he went on with a friend: I was invited, but couldn’t make the time to join. There was also a recent trip to Montreal that was cancelled at the last minute, but I couldn’t make it anyway…

Ross was always up for the adventure, especially any adventure that involved two wheels and the wind in your face. He is passionate about promoting biking for everyone. He was a founding member of the Burlington Bicycle Coalition, worked at the bike advocacy organization Local Motion, offered free bike repairs to community members out of our garage, and attended public meetings to discuss transportation and biking issues. And, he was endlessly encouraging (though sometimes through biting sarcasm) to those of us who expressed hesitation about biking too far, up a steep hill, in the rain, etc. He is a true advocate for cyclists everywhere.

Ross’s biking adventure will take him cross-country to Seattle, then down the west coast and across the south to Florida. He will be solo for the first few months and then meet up with a friend to tour together (bringing the Burlington Bicycle Coalition nationwide?). Other friends – old and new – will undoubtedly join for parts of the trip. There are no rules, no deadlines, no constraints. He is at nature’s mercy, and can go as far as his legs can take him. He is resourceful, determined, and confident. And he’s on the adventure of a lifetime: his own life being lived fully.

I told him that Mark and I are also considering joining him in the south next winter, and we talked about some logistics of such an adventure (shipping a bike on an airplane is a new idea to me). We talked about fear of the unknown, living with heart, and how the first step is always the hardest.

The drizzle petered out by about mile 14. Asking if I wanted to keep going I kept surprising myself and Ross by saying I would. I wasn’t yet at the point of jelly legs (though I would be by the end of the journey) and I knew of a great little bakery to stop at in Ferrisburgh, the “Love Shack”.

The Love Shack is the headquarters of a local cookie company, Vermont Cookie Love, and it was the perfect place to stop and sit for a few minutes, eating cookies at 10:45am. It seemed ironic to me that the Love Shack is next to a gas station. We were refueling ourselves on sugar and chocolate while cars were driving up to get their fill of petroleum. Had we driven from Burlington to Ferrisburgh in an average American car getting 22.6 mpg, we would have spent nearly $4 and burned enough gasoline to produce nearly 20 pounds of carbon dioxide (the greenhouse gas largely responsible for climate change).

Ross talked with the owner of Cookie Love, Paul, about biking, traveling cross-country, and the natural beauties of the American landscape. Newly animated and ever excited about his journey, Ross and I prepared to part ways. Earlier in the morning we had already had a few emotional goodbye hugs, and taken a photo of the two of us when we stopped for a water break. This time: one more hug, well wishes for safe cycling, and a “see you soon.”

Sixteen or so miles further than I had set out to ride that morning, I now had to turn around and head twenty miles back home.

My bike commute to one of the offices where I work is about 15 miles round trip, which I can do no problem. Of course, the 7.5 miles there and the 7.5 miles on the way home are usually separated by a few hours of sitting in place at a computer, legs at rest. Biking for four hours straight (with the few stops along the way for water, hugs, and cookies), is something I’ve never done before. I took a slightly different route home – less truck traffic but more hills. My legs were pumping and so was my heart. I thought of Ross and our friendship over the past seven years. I thought of Mark and our house. Mark and I held off on agreeing to buy it until Ross had a chance to check it out. The garage space worked well for his bikes, bike tools and ping pong needs. He agreed to live with us. We bought the house, knowing all else would fall into place. It always does.

On my way home it started pouring again. Or maybe it had been raining in Burlington all that time and we just slipped out from under the rain cloud at a certain point. In any case, I’m convinced the city was crying for the guy who left it better than when he found it. We’ll all miss you, Ross.