Memorial Day, a Garden of Memories

We spent Memorial Day 2016 with our son Avery who was visiting on leave from the Navy.  You could almost hang your hat on his nostalgia. We ended the day at a family dinner where we honored the memory of recently departed family member and veteran, John Mallien. The day also marked the completion of a huge garden renovation project.

Days earlier I thought about all the hands that tended this land before me. The previous owner, Helen harvested berries here, probably sharing some with the neighbor on the hill above - Paul's mother, Joyce. Fifty years ago Helen and Ralph Wilson produced enough food for five children and a dairy herd on what was then known as Riverbend Farm. If Ralph and Helen were watching this project from above, they were probably scratching their heads. Instead of clearing or suppressing the forest, we were creating one.






Imitating nature's pattern of succession (see illustration), we selectively substituted the customary succession plants with edible, medical and culinary plants. Annual vegetable beds excused themselves into the rightful place of annual weeds. Sorrel, asparagus, rhubarb, culinary herbs and medicinals relieved the perennial weeds and grasses from their posts. If all goes well, the shrubs and ground covers will bear currants, gooseberries, blueberries, raspberries, blackberries, cranberries, strawberries, serviceberries, buffaloberries, honeyberries and elderberries. And our newly planted vines and trees will yield kiwis, grapes, apricots and paw paws. This is sometimes called "forest gardening", not that we are gardening in the forest but rather gardening like the forest.

As much as possible,  resources were gathered from our own land (compost) or community (wood chips), including the resources of a young couple new to our area. We hired Eran Rhodes and Steph Consani of Sacred Earth Edible Landscaping to help us realize our vision in only 3 days.

I'll be posting photos as time goes on to show and tell about the progress. For now I will just close with sharing how good it felt to use my 'ripe' IRA holdings to invest in this project.  I have confidence this will produce the highest yields over the short and long term.



A blackberry, blueberry, raspberry and honey berry bush in the foreground wait for the annual garden veggies to arrive. 

Mother's Day on the Farm

Reconciling a deep south upbringing with the 'up-north lifestyle' took some adjusting. [Imagine an alternate ending where Scarlet O'Hara marries a Norwegian bachelor farmer instead of Rhett Butler. But that's another blog post. 

I wasn't planning to be initiated as a goat midwife for Mother's Day. But when I walked up to the barn I found Emmily Sheffield, pregnant herself, up to her elbows in a momma goat. Her husband, Jason, was relaying instructions via cell phone from a justifiably surly veterinarian. Neighbor Dave was in mid-text trying to relay all of this in a text to Paul in Wisconsin. I walked into the midst of this drama. 

I do know something about birthin' babies. I've birthed one of my own. I too have been up to MY elbows in a momma goat (the curse of having the least manly hands in the household). The only reason I wasn't squeamish about it the first time was because this wasn't my first rodeo with the justifiably surly vet. I'd survived her verbal pelting during quadruple C-section surgeries from midnight to 4 a.m. on the kitchen floor of another farm during a snowstorm. We lost all 4 does and 8 kids that night. So when Paul woke me up two days later and merely wanted to borrow my forearm, it was a relief. He still teases me about bringing my salon hair coloring gloves salon up to the barn [end of flashback]. 

Paul would not have normally taken a trip at kidding time. In there-but-for-the-grace-of God style he went off to attend to another kind of midwifery. His cancer-battling cousin had just been formally sentenced by his doctor. 

All of this brought me back to the ordeal and fate we were somehow spared. It also brought back the shame of how much we relied on other people's sacrifice, time and energy to keep our farm and our sanity intact. The truth is that I, we, cannot do this alone. And we're blessed that we don't have to. 

Way back when Paul first told me he wanted to farm,  I only had one question. 

"What do you expect from ME?"

"Nothing". 

"Alrighty then". 

It was a nice but unrealistic thought.  Since then I have milked a goat and fed and herded a few chickens, beef and sheep more than once. But not much more. The truth is it's 'not my thing'.  So for the most part, Paul has tried very hard to honor his agreement by leaning on others who's thing it is. Or in the case of his cancer, good-hearted folks who just wanted to help. This freed me up to be primary breadwinner, care-giver and whatever elser . Or when the next 15 minutes was all I could manage thinking about (a keeper).  

My "thing" is all the equally important stuff that most farmers don't like or care to do.  So, while I might shine a light to see if there's anything lurking in the corners of this shame thing, I might also consider paying more attention to the gifts vs. the lack in myself and others.

What has come to me with the wisdom of age (and paradoxical the starting point of today's youth) is letting go of the pretense. And yeah, the meter goes a little wonky in the process. But let's get bone-crushing honest about what we really have in common: the mutual capacity to be total angels and total jerks. And like a midnight rider vet, both at the same time.

The Garden as Metaphor

My husband and son are sleeping, bellies full of braised beef and cabbage from our farm. Tomorrow’s pot of beans sits next to a rattling teakettle on the wood stove. As my favorite cup gets filled with Light of Day tea, I look forward to my writing assignment: How do we apply permaculture to our lives? I sense that my first two sentences have already begun to answer that question. (See article and more at https://healingtreefarm.files.wordpress.com/2015/02/permprogress2.pdf).

                                            Exactly a year ago my husband was recovering from cancer surgery. (He's
cancer-free now).

During that time we met "the look" with a practiced response.

"No, you're thinking of somebody else. That's not our story." 

Cancer wasn't the story. It was just a backdrop to the real story, a story about community.

I feel the same way about Permaculture. It's the backdrop to the story, not the story itself.  The real story is about the people, the work, the projects, the yields. It too is a story about communities.

I attended a Permaculture Design Course (PDC ) in February of 2010 because I wanted to learn how to be a better steward of our land.  It became apparent that the land was a metaphor in the framework I was learning. This was about whole systems thinking and decision-making. It was about designing solutions that could be applied liberally and universally. The take-away was a neural App, of sorts. The PDC training was the installation and initial tutorial of this App. It was up to me to learn and master how to apply it.

    

   What does the land want to be? 

The very first place this new application showed up was in a farm business planning class. After 10-weeks I proudly presented a blank sheet of paper.

It represented the realization that we should immediately stop trying to impose our business ideas upon this land. That maybe the best thing we could do was step outside, observe and ask the land what it wanted to be. What would happen if we allowed the land to make all the decisions about the size, the species, the carrying capacity and the type of farming we would do?

Yes, I drank the Kombucha.

Mistakes and an interview with PDC teacher,  Larry Santoyo helped keep it real. When pressed to define permaculture in an elevator speech lasting three floors, Larry flatly stated  “ I would get out on the next floor; I’d get the hell out of the elevator.” Later in the interview he defines Permaculture by what it is not. "So what, if it's a platinum LEED certified building [if] it's in the wrong place?!"  http://www.thepermaculturepodcast.com/2013/larry-santoyo/.

That's when I made the decision to let the work do the talking. By work, I mean the internal as much as external.

What happens when we read the patterns of our inner landscape? For me this has led to increasing clarity about the particular niche I occupy in this oddball polyculture I find myself. My default activity is holistic designing. Whether it's an image for a salon client, a master plan for a planning commission, a garden or any other desired outcome, that's what I do.  Whether interpreting the pattern in a cloud formation, the land or the bass line in a Motown R&B tune. 

Paul's default activity is playing in the background. He's always laying down the bottom, looking for the pocket.  

And at 17, it would be easy to say that Avery's default activity is texting! Raising a child is like reading a great novel. Only in retrospect do you see the foreshadowing. 

In the current chapter, my hero has had a powerful shift in his inner landscape. His heart broke open by a classmate's death, in the aftermath rose a clear decision to become a Navy Air Rescue Swimmer, "So Others May Live".  After the initial shock came the unmistakable recognition of that foreshadowing and existing pattern all along.

And so I pick up all these contrasting threads,  the warp and weft of all these roles and connections,  and
try to weave them into a tapestry.

The strongest thread is agricultural and connected to this land, this place. lt weaves over our family dinner table and under other tables, over the health of the land and under the health of the community; over  our livelihoods and under a local economy, over a master plan and under a zoning ordinance, over farm and food system projects and under a viable rural economy. This is social and financial permaculture letting the work do the talking. 

Brush removal

Some practical examples of the letting the work do the talking on our farm can be seen in the techniques used to establish a new garden area. After a site and sector analysis, we chose a spot that was overgrown with brambles and saplings. Our goats were more than happy to provide brush removal services while we did other things. 

Rototillers

The next crew had a blast digging up roots and rototilling the manure, bedding and fall leaves, making compost onsite. Unlike a rototiller, they are a renewable resource. Unlike a rototiller they gifted us with bacon. Among the ways I am able reconcile this as a recovering vegetarian is by remembering that none of us gets out alive. I honor their lives so full of joy and purpose, in service to others. Living this close and connected to a place and the circle of life within it has a moral and spiritual value inexplicable to the disconnected. 

Another technique successfully implemented was using water harvesting swales to solve long standing flooding issue while passively watering a productive array of edible perennials.

The garden and the landscape are fitting metaphors for life.

Day after day we strive to remove the 'brambles' to create something intentional. As humans in succession on this landscape, we have slipped past the pioneering phase and are looking toward the next stage of succession. 

What will it bring?


I think we know the drill:


observe...


interact...


watch for the pattern


to emerge. 

Springy Things & Upswings

Today I went foraging for breakfast. Inspired by a recipe in Edible Grand Traverse magazine for poached eggs over wilted greens, I began in the garden where I found overwintered gifts of spinach, kale, parsley, onion tops and lettuce. 

As I snipped the bright green spinach leaves, they were as buoyant as the mood overtaking us overwintered humans at this time of year.

Grocery store produce does not have that same quality, that same feeling between my fingers of ... what's the right word?

“Springy-ness” comes to mind. 

"Life force” jumps in next. These freshly-picked greens have a spirit that has long left the body of standard grocery store fare. 

It feels so good to be in the garden, I regret that my first cup of coffee wasn't enjoyed here.  Alas, table and chairs are still hibernating in the barn.  I mentally add this to the task list I’m preparing for my brief reign on Mother’s Day. 

Scanning the other beds I snip only the green tops of onions. The sight of soggy bulbs would spoil this reverie and I have already had to block the image of the cat's gift on the pathway. 

Today's remains were a robin's in the exact location as yesterday's field mouse. I'm am struck by a mulitple gratitudes: for the cat's gesture and ingenuity, the absence of house mice and the wheel of life that spins this little farmstead. 

A quick lap around the yard yields a fistful of dandelion greens and daffodils.

Back at the kitchen I run icy cold water over my bounty, quickly sealing some for a vase and a pot. I amuse myself over the thought that I just poached some water to poach an egg poached from the chickens.

In the time it takes for the pot to boil on our old electric stove, I can journal in front of an audience of approving daffodils. 

I couldn't ask for a better start to the day. 

And I couldn't ask for a better life than living year-round in Benzie County. 

Don't tell anyone. 

I am not a proponent of a year round economy. 

I love the seasonal swings; 

the abundance and the dormancy;

the wittling down of non-essentials

to the essentials. 

I glance out the window 

to see if the emerging green has begun to block my view of the Betsie River

One of winter’s many gifts. 

It’s hard to tell without the contrast of white snow, 

and for a nano-second I miss it.

Let The Great World Spin

Deja vu at the Cabbage Shed. Bodies crammed on the dance floor shaking the joint.  The two of us on stage together.

http://youtu.be/ngfqIHJlI1A



My biggest concern wasn't screwing up the chords or the lyrics (I already knew I was going to do that.) I was just hoping to grope my way back into 'the zone'.

All of this was happening in a fundraiser on our behalf.  Soon after Paul's cancer diagnosis,  I received a call from our dear friend Kelly Luedtke. She wanted to cash in a 'credit' she had with musician Jake Allen to host a fundraiser for Paul. The Luedtke and May families have a deep, multi-generational connection. And Kelly's brother, Kim Fairchild, was itching to make Cincinatti Chili for a crowd.  So Kelly was joined by Anna Mallien,  Monica Evans and DeAnne Loll and a wonderful name emerged: Let the Great World Spin!

Here's what Paul had to say about the Jake Allen Band: "They're as fearless as they are talented - and familiar with their parents' record collections!"

Jake Allen https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SO4PPGzX_ns    

Their set was followed by an Open Mic where Paul got to play a few songs with former musician friends. For us, it didn't feel like a fundraiser.  It felt like the good old days when we used to rock this place!

350 Dependents

U. of M. Hospital doctors and nurses are a tough crowd. Our jokes about needing to leave so we could tend to our 350 dependents totally bombed. While Paul was hospitalized and over the next few months we knew we would need to rely on the kindness of friends and family to run the farm.

We cut down on the work load by downsizing the homestead livestock populations. The kid goats were shipped off to Carl Zupin's farm, reducing the herd to a manageable two milking does. And the Weed Quackers (ducks in the garden) were ecstatic about the upgrade to Neighbor Dave's pond. 

Fencing Work Bee

Reward: May Farm O-Mega Dogs

The next task was to recruit many hands to make light work of running the farm through the end of the 2013 pasture season (October).

May Farm Help Wanted emails and posts went viral. Volunteers were solicited for 1-2 shifts per week. Fencing and barn cleaning work bees were organized. Sign-up sheets were brought to church. A weekly schedule was posted.

In no time the slots were filled.

Homestead chores commence at 6:30 a.m. and 4:30 p.m. with feeding, watering and milking dairy goats. This is when the barn kitties line up for their freshly squeezed paychecks. 

The milk is either brought into the house to be strained and bottled or put aside to "culture". This  probiotic-infused mixture is added to non-GMO, local chicken feed for extra nutrition. 

A periodic homestead job is feeding and watering 50-75 baby broiler chicks. Multiple times throughout the season we receive a phone call from the post office notifying us when the peeping package has arrived. Like seedlings, the chicks must be "hardened off" for a few weeks before being put on pasture. During that time neighbor Dave Sorensen was the baby chick nursery attendant 7 days a week, twice a day.

Pasture chores include feeding, watering and moving chicken tractors with 50 broiler chckens each. This was 13 year old, Gabe Johnson's summer job. He also fed, watered and collected eggs from 100 laying hens. Gabe lives within biking distance and worked 5 days and 3 evenings each week. However, while Paul was stuck in Ann Arbor he covered every shift, enlisting the help of the Oberski family.


When it comes to the bigger feat of "haying" , watering and moving beef and lambs to a fresh paddock each day, we relied on three "Head Honchos". Charlie McDaniel of Charlie's Natural Food Market had prior experience running his own grass-fed cattle ranch in Africa. Custer Carland would like his own farm someday. Finally our son Avery could usually hoodwink a few of his friends to help out.

The biggest windfall was the arrival of interns Frederik Stig-Nielsen and Betsy Mas sent our way via local artist Mike Farmer. After graduating from law school and signing up for the Peace Corps, they wanted to gain farm experience. They turned to relative Mike Farmer for ideas and joined the ranks of interns who showed up on our doorstep before them, including an Interlochen Arts Academy Creative Writing grad, Ann Richardson, yogini-farmer, Karen Storms-Rohn, a horticulture student/musician, and more. 

All in all, 15 people shared the chores that Paul did 7 days a week, twice a day before and after his supplemental job helping at the small plant where we process our meats. 

I will close with a big Thank You to our farm hands: Custer Carland, Charlie and Wendy McDaniel, Neighbor Dave (Sorensen), Gabe Johnson, John Manrow, Lisa Richter, Renee Herman, Ireland Sutter, Meg Louwsma, Kimm Jayne,  Monica Schultz, Al Flory, Joe Frederick, Ann and Norm Holm, Peg and Wayne Dunn, Lorna Mason,  Judy Bosma, Jim Olsen, Karen Roberts,  Emily Votruba, Anna Sangemino, Avery May, Levi Hubbard, Shayla Soto and other Frankfort youth, Frederik Stig-Nielsen and Betsy Mas families,  Penny Nelson, Alan and Gerry Chinavere, Anne Rogers, Leslie Hamp, Julie Laporte, Erik Kinzinger, Dennis Pace, Thomas Hirsch, Jenn Ryan,  Kimm and Thom Jayne, Rob Burtch, Robin Willband-Snow, Kelly Luedtke, John and Karen Storms-Rohn, John Vinkemulder, Rob Burch, the Gergosians, Kathy Zalar and and uncountable others.

The May Farm Pilot Pasture Video

The May Farm Pilot Pasture Video

Isaac Ryan McKinnon's mother shared this story with me.

Isaac was complaining.

"Why can't we be normal like other families and have Doritos in the cupboard? 

No one else's parents care about eating healthy food 

or the planet."

"That can't be true," Christina challenged.


"There must be ONE other parent who cares about healthy food and the planet!


"Alright," Isaac conceded, "Avery's mom," adding after further consideration "and Olivia's mom".

Olivia Buzzell and Isaac Ryan McKinnon and Avery May went to the Waldorf-inspired pre-school and early grades program together. 

They all eventually landed at Frankfort schools, lucky to have each other to commiserate with over the shame of Dorito-less cupboards 

and Waldork parents 

who cared too much about healthy food and the planet.

Miraculously, they survived. 

And Olivia, now 16,  made this video about The May Farm.

OB a n d C o . 

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