Musings of a Farm Dreamer

How many times have you passed by a picturesque farm house with a majestic red barn surrounded by lush green pasture and dreamed of knowing that life?  I used to fall asleep at night imagining what it would be like

to immerse myself and my family in the agriculture heritage of our past.

A time when the dinner on the table represented an entire families’ labor and the bounty of a harvest was truly a joyful celebration of survival and fellowship. I longed to have the seasons represent a true and meaningful connection with my life, not simply a change in weather.

The nostalgic fantasy of the farm filled my imagination for many years, as I know it does for many. Why would any sound of mind suburbanite dream of adding the responsibility of 24/7 farm animals and food production to an all ready overfilled schedule? Most dismiss the idea and let the dream pass as the barn and farmhouse fade from view. But for some, myself included, the desire to participate in “the life” becomes too great, so we find ourselves knee deep in the realities of small scale farming and animal husbandry.

For me, it started with chickens. First came the chicken palace, a charming structure sided with cedar shakes, roofed appropriately with architectural shingles, insulated and then wired for the birds’ winter comfort. I then promptly planted the entire perimeter with an impressive array of perennials, the perfect finishing touch for my feathered friends abode.

I then promptly placed my order for 25 pullets and hoped I would be a worthy caretaker for my day old chicks, which would arrive via the United States Postal Service.

A year later I had happy, laying hens who all heartedly enjoyed eating the perennial garden.  Contentedly unaware of my human aesthetical preference for their yard, the chickens then continued their satisfaction by digging up all the roots during their dust baths in the skeletal remains of the once stunning perennial bed.

Despite the blow to my beautiful chicken yard, my girls did present me, as appreciation for my efforts, a colorful basket of eggs in which I know even Martha Stewart would have been proud! I also enjoyed hours of entertainment as I watched my flock peck around my yard clucking and squawking as they went about their predictable routine.

Since those early days with the chickens, my farm life has become increasing more complex. However, if I am overwhelmed with all that life is presenting me, I still to this day can just take a deep breath and go watch the chickens. It never fails to ground me and fill me with an overwhelming sense of peace.

For those that are still just dreaming the farm dream, I am hear to tell you suburbanites’ can enjoy, if only a very small piece, the nostalgic farm dream. Even just a few hens, offering your family their fresh eggs, in exchange for a few moments of your time in the morning- to let them into the sun, give them food and water, and in evening to close them back into the coop ensuring their safety at night can share the circle of life in a real and meaningful way. Even just a few hens are enough to help remind us of the complex cycle nature requires for something a simple as an egg.

Over the last few years, although I love my animals and the lessons they have taught me and my family, I have felt frustrated by the small difference my farm can make in the context of larger issues which weigh heavy on my heart. For example, I would love it if as a society we did not rely of factory farms. I wish more country homes had a few chickens in the yard and I wish my experiences could help move us toward a future filled with more of my neighbors able to share the joy in the agricultural practices of our past.

 My family and friends, who listen tirelessly to my rants about the challenges of small scale food production and our society’s diminishing first hand knowledge of even the most basic farm activities, are amused by my crazy animal stories.  They are sometimes in awe of how my stories make them realize just how far removed they are from the realities of food production. Upon reflecting on this interest in hearing the farm adventures, I felt a glimmer of hope in my ability to further my causes beyond the boundaries of my small farm.

I could share with you, the suburban farm dreamers, my journey. My bumbling, error filled misguided, yet hugely rewarding journey in re-connecting with our agrarian heritage. Unlike our farming ancestors who learned their skills from parents, grandparents, uncles and aunts, many new to farmers have to learn from the Internet, YouTube and books. I feel a voice of encouragement from another “farming newbie” might be helpful, or at least entertaining.

For some my tales might provide the confidence to make the dream of owning goats and making cheese or raising chickens for meat or eggs a reality. For others, living the tale vicariously might raise awareness on what it really takes to bring the food you eat to the table. This knowledge is valuable, whether you are the one mucking the pig pen or not because change only happens when we collectively care and we can only care about that which we know. In writing this column, it is my goal through the simple stories of my farm life to help you know just a bit more about what our great grandparents and grandparents knew as a course of life, that it doesn’t take a rooster for a chicken to lay an egg, but it does if you want a chick!