Planting Potatoes

This past weekend I planted potatoes at the Bells Bend Community Farm. The resulting experience was not something I was expecting. After the planting I felt a heightened connection to my food.

Connecting to my food is a venture I have been on for some time now, and in fact, the pursuit of this connection is ultimately what led me to ENCM to work as the garden manager. No doubt, my connection to food has deepened with every seed panted and every leaf, fruit, root, or flower eaten. But, this past weekend I planting potatoes.

The scene is this:

After an eleven-hour workday of planting at the Inglewood community garden (greens, beets, flowers) and constructing a fence at Kevin and Molly Seale's newly purchased farm in Bells Bend, I called Eric Wooldridge to ask if he was still planting. After a few rings he answered, “Thank God it’s you!”. A short conversation ended with me saying I was on my way to help.

I arrived and parked at the bottom of the newly plowed field. As the field tucked between a row of wind breaking trees, a hedge of brambles, and open cow pasture came into view I saw Eric on the tractor. A handful of folks with baskets of ready-to-plant-potatoes hanging from their hips were moving barefoot in Tennessee’s iconic red soils under Eric’s direction. In no time I had a basket at my hip and was standing in the middle of a fresh furrow.

The instruction for actually planting the potatoes was not totally foreign to me; drop the potato in the furrow eye’s up, and step them into the ground--this is a traditional method of planting. This is what I, and the others, did--dropped the potato and walked it into the dirt; skin to skin.

The act of feeling the potato, the food item I will eat in 100 days, physically touching my foot, the cool soil pressing between my toes connected me to the food, the ground, the future of the food, the future of the ground, and all the familiar faces around me. The word cosmic keeps coming to mind, for this new, deeper, and overwhelming connection to all these thing around me was expected, exhilarating, refreshing, and healing.

Planting the humble potato helped heal me to the Earth we have all become broken to.

I need to further explain why this was a "new" experience, because as i have said i have had many profound openings to food. Why would this experience be any different?

Potatoes are different because of the actual connection to my feet. All other forms of connecting, or re-connectiing, to food is above the waist. When we taste fresh local strawberries for the first it is with our mouth. When I make a connection between local, sustainably grown food and hunger relief, poverty, religion, global economies, the environmental movement, or politics, it is with intellect, or my head. When I am placing a seed in a soil-block at the greenhouse it is with my hand. We rarely consider our feet, or other parts of our bodies, as mediums to connect with food. But when I was planting potatoes and felt them sink into the ground under my bare feet, I instantly felt the connection to the aforementioned ideas. I had beautiful landscape around me; a tucked away field secluded from all society, a hill in the distance between the bare early-spring tress, and a creek just below our field. I had beauty. I had potatoes, the idea of potatoes, and hope.

Connection, healing, and beauty is not something we often truly experience in our daily lives. I encourage all readers of this post to please plant potatoes somewhere--and take your shoes off!

Farm Visit: David and Kristy in a Centerville farm community

I woke up early; left early. David and Kristy’s farm community is about an hour away in near by Centerville, TN. I went with my co-workers, Julianne and Liz.

I first met David, Kristy and their children, Casey and Kindra at the East Nashville Farmers Market. I was at the market with Julianne and we all hit it off right away; Julianne and I were excited about David and Kristy’s produce, and they were excited to engage in conversation with new faces about food and cooking. They offered me a hot pepper that David said wasn’t “too hot”. I took a bite, immediately felt it in the back of my throat, the tip of my tongue and lips, and then the spent the next 3 minutes coughing and wiping my eyes clear of tears. I left happy.

Julianne had forgotten her cash, but was so excited she ran home and went back to the market to get some of their produce. They chatted a little more, and, longer story shorter, got an invite to their farm and community.

We went on Sunday. And honestly, I am still processing the experience…

I’ll try to explain what I felt. But, maybe the best I can do is just describe what I saw. Though, I feel that Sunday is an experience I will never be able to explain fully to someone who wasn’t there. For one, I am sure there is plenty of theological symbolism in their way of doing life that my eyes missed.

I left the community changed. On so many levels that Sunday is so far removed from anything I have ever lived, observed, or tried to experience.

The best I can do to explain how I felt is this: For my whole life I feel I have been guided through life. Like someone has been holding my hand to make sure I can get close enough to experiencing something, but there to make sure I stay at a safe distance. Like the rules my parents have given me, or schools have given me. Like a zoo. Like river-rafting trips with a river guide. Like the yellow and white lines of the road.

But, going to the church service (I am not sure what to call it—they are not Mennonite or Amish, but have very similar ways of life), riding in the horse and buggy all day, sharing a communal meal of homemade almost everything, visiting other community members gardens, seeing “refrigerators” cooled by natural spring water, drinking from a communal cup that is also at every natural spring, and touring three different gardens is the first time I have felt like no one was guiding me through life. Sure, David and his family guided us around their community, but that is the mystery and difficulty of explaining what I felt—I didn’t feel guided; more so free, respected; as an equal.

I know that description of what I felt is off. Anyway, here is what I saw…

David and Sarah waiting at the end of the drive with the horse and buggy as we were pulling in the drive. Their truck (they are one of the only families in the community that have a car; there are a few communal cars) had painted windows. It said, “Jesus saves”, “Fear God”, and “The punishment of sin is death”. David and his family were dressed in simple clothes that they made; like the Amish. Underneath David’s sleeves and on Kristy’s ankles were tattoos. David says they came to the community from “the outside”.

Then we rode the horse and buggy down a road built by the community to church. Outside the church were a number of other horse and buggies. The Church has two levels. The top is a one room service space. The bottom was simply the place they serve their communal meals. In the back of the church is the space for schooling, and beyond that was a kitchen. The service was divided by sexes, guys on one side, women on the other. There was no air conditioner. Two men spoke, leading the service. Then the floor was open for others to offer testimony. Then there were songs that were chosen by members of the congregation. There was no music, just vocal singing, and it was beautiful. We were late, but from what I understand the service started about 9:30 and it didn’t end till close to 12:30.

After the service David walked me outside. Most of the males of the community came by and introduced themselves—first and last name—inquired if I was “akin” to David, and because David had told his community of our coming, they inquired about Nashville, and the garden. Those same men also kissed David as a greeting—I’m guessing there is a biblical reference there.

Then we ate, and as I said it was a communal meal and most everything was homemade. It was served on styrofoam plates and in plastic solo cups.

The rest of the afternoon was spent visiting gardens. Riding in the buggy we past a number of gardens, a water-powered grain mill, and a sorghum mill. There were natural springs on the side of the road being used as “refrigerators”. Signs describing what each gardener offered (honey, tomatoes, fruit, etc) designated the entrance to each garden. People waved from their porches.

The first garden was “the sisters” garden—two sisters are responsible for the care. In the community they are known for their fruit. They had fruit trees everywhere! Figs, different types of apples, peaches, pears, cherries, mulberries. Then blackberries, raspberries, blueberries, and strawberries. In addition there were all the other typical vegetables found on organic farms and gardens. This was all done on about one and half acres.

Then we took the two-hour, one and half mile trek back to David’s house. Their house was built by the community before their move from Michigan. It is a one-room house; bunk beds for the girls, a bed divided by a curtain for David and Kristy. Between the two bed set ups was a wood burning oven, a shelf filled with canned produce, and a sink with limited counter space. Out the back door is the “summer kitchen” with a conventional oven (I was told this type of conventional gas burning oven is rare in the community, most all are wood powered) and the newly built root cellar.

David’s garden is located in the front yard because it is flat, and so its in view from the front porch. As we sat on his porch chickens and goats walked the yard around us, and there was a certain nervousness in David. He was worried I would judge his garden, simply because I am a gardener. He had sprayed a mixture of water and clay on his tomatoes to protect them from the sun and said numerous times he wished he hadn’t because it makes the tomatoes look bad. He didn’t want his garden to “look bad” for us, his first visitors hes' had since his family moved to the community about eight months ago.

The garden is essentially in four sections; bed style, not rows, a style only twice removed from the famous Elliot Colman. David explained he learned everything he knows about gardening from a man named Craig, who learned everything he knew from Colman. It is a diverse garden, and compost is the key ingredient; he works in a clay and rock soil—already he’s seen improvements. The interesting note about his garden is that his tomatoes where pruned hard. There are only two main shoots, the rest is pruned. His two daughters take care of the animals—goats, chickens, and mule—and make the goat cheese. Everyone participates in harvesting. They harvested a variety of tomatoes for us, along with eggplant and basil.

Next (and it was getting late by this point) we walked to see their neighbor’s greenhouse. Total, the greenhouse is 20X170, a little less square footage than the McCoy garden. In it where hundreds of tomatoes, and then cucumbers, both trellised with twine to the roof. It is heated by a wood-burning stove. Again, the tomatoes where pruned hard and topped at the roof.

Most of their way of life I have to agree with. Seeing the community helps me define “Agrarian”. But, some I must disagree with. Religious fundamentalism is something that has always frightened me. But, only when looking back on this experience do I see the fundamentalism. When in the middle of this day and experience I saw community, I saw a simple and agrarian way of life, and I saw a gardener in David, which I think connected us in some way different than anything else.

Reading this probably feel like information overload. If it does it is probably because that is how I felt during my visit. This post is more about processing for me.

Still processing…

Reflections on a weekend--City Farm-Chicago

This past weekend I traveled from Nashville, through Chicago, to Milwaukee. I was invited on this trip by Jason Atkins, a Nashville farmer, and traveled with Dr. Chris Farrell, a Trevecca professor, Harrison, a Trevecca student, and Kate Kiefiling, a Nashville environmental activist.

We stopped in Chicago for the purpose of seeing a particular place, City Farm in the Cabrini-Green neighborhood. City Farm is a different place, “particular” as I said. City Farm is a one acre(ish) urban farm formed on an abandoned lot that employees two full-time, year round farmers and two part-time, seasonal farmers, who grow 10,000-15,000 pounds of food a year. (They get extra hands from hundreds of volunteer groups throughout the growing season.)

They sell produce (80 different varieties this year, 120 last) to twenty(ish) restaurants, and a number of farmers markets around Chicago. Additionally, they have an on site produce stand, and because of their neighborhood, they operate it on a sliding scale—someone might get a garbage bag full of collards for .50 cents while a bunch of collards (six total) might sell for four dollars at market.

Then Tim Wilson, program director at City Farm, told us a little about urban Chicago… There are anywhere between 60,000 to 80,000 abandoned lots at any given time totally about 10,000 acres.

Take a moment. Think about this…

If City Farm can be a model, we can assume one acre can employ three full-time farmers and growing 10,000 to 15,000 pounds of food…on ONE, that’s ONE, acre. So, potentially urban farming in Chicago could employ 30,000 thousand people and grow 10 to 15 million pounds of food a year. How can we not take urban growing space seriously?

Then there is this…City Farm is mobile. Because their agreement is with the city of Chicago, they have no guarantee of their land. Often, they grow for one year and are kicked off the site so it can be developed. (They had only been growing on the site I saw for four years, and City Farm, as an organization, has been around since the 70’s). They literally pick-up all of their materials (soil included because a developer wants to start on the native clay), move it to a different abandoned lot, and construct a new farm by putting down two feet of compost for beds and two feet of wood chips for pathways.

I wasn’t prepared for the discussion with Tim. A mobile farm conflicts with every agrarian notion I have about farming: connection to a place, to the land, building the soil over many many years. And it further restricts the use of any kind of sustainable water catchments system. But, City Farm simply can’t hold those agrarian notions. (What they do is no less amazing than best agrarian farm). And yet in some ways City Farm is agrarian—they have assessed their place, have gotten to know their place, and have learned how best work with their place to grow food. City Farm is a different place, "particular" as i said.

Now, dream of this for a moment…what if the city required the new development to install rooftop gardens on all the developments that replace an urban farm or garden? The development would simple raise the growing space to the rooftop. Additionally, balconies could be used as growing space; the vertical walls could be used as growing space; window boxes; a sunny spot inside. The development could actually be used to increase the amount of growing space.

Learn more about City Farm at resourcecenterchicago.org