I don't only need dollars

Spring is often a time of new beginnings. For the last five years, it’s always been the time when school ends and a new summer job starts.  It is usually a time riddled with the anxiety and anticipation of living in a new place, working a new job, and making new friends.  But this spring has an additional element of anxiety.   I am still moving to a new place, but instead of working for someone, I am starting my own business with three friends.  We are leasing a four acre parcel on an organic farm to grow chickens, vegetables and staple crops (dry beans and grains) on Vancouver Island.  This is essentially my ideal job: a wee bit of office work, but mostly building fences, shoveling manure, planting seeds, hoeing rows, hauling bins of zucchini, selling at markets, and the like. 

I am nervous and excited to be self-employed as a farmer.  

I am nervous because when you’re on someone’s payroll, you get paid after you put in your hours and get to go home when your shift is over.  But this year, making a net profit is not dependent on the hours of work I do, but the result of the hours of work I do.  This is scary because the result of my work is at the mercy of the weather, soil fertility, pests, available infrastructure, marketing opportunities, and many other variables. 

I am excited to be self-employed in this manner, because my work will largely provide my basic needs.  We are exchanging labour for rent at the farm house, we are getting paid in firewood to work for the neighbours, we are growing food we can preserve, and we are brewing our own beer.   It feels good to push away from our economic system that is based on money—to acquire our basic needs from soil and work, and to rely on neighbours and be able to return the favour.  

It is odd that I feel more secure being on a pay-roll rather than working directly for my own food and shelter.  But it is a bold, and perhaps false, assumption to say that our economic system is more stable or secure than the weather and agreements made with people. 

Don’t get me wrong, our goal is not to be self-sufficient or stop using money; we aim to have an economically profitable business so we can expand the business, put savings away, and go on adventures.  But it is nice to be able to “stick it to the man” a bit, and feel more connected to the people and place we live with and depend upon.   

Oatmeal-like love

I started eating oatmeal for breakfast when I was a teenager.  I still have oatmeal for breakfast every day.  Well maybe not every day, but the rare day that I don't have oatmeal, part of me is always a little bit disappointed. I like it so much that I even started bringing it for lunch at school and work.

You know that feeling in the morning when your alarm is going off, and you're thinking of hitting snooze for the fourth time?  The thing that motivates me to throw back the covers and heave my heavy body from bed is usually the thought of getting to eat oatmeal. Every morning I wake up excited about breakfast, even though I’ve been having the same thing for nearly eight years.

Oatmeal is a simple food; it’s not pretentious; it’s an everyday food. It can be made with many combinations of flavours. It will come with you anywhere.  It is good any time of day. It’s filling and wholesome. It warms you to the bones. It can't be hurried.  It takes a long time to eat, long enough to read.

I want to have friends (and if I'm lucky a spouse) that I love like oatmeal. I want to have people in my life that I get excited to get out of bed, because I get to have another day with them. I want friends that won’t get sick of me, nor I of them, even though we’ve been together for a long time. I want to have people that will come along with me on trips, big or small, mundane or exciting.  I want people that warm my bones and nourish my soul, and I for them.  I want friends that have time enough to sit down and read together. 

Thank you if you are already an oatmeal-like-loved friend in my life. You make my every day better.  

Back to School, and Back to the Land

For the first time since kindergarten, I did not go back to school this September.  

It feels odd, but I think I like it.  It’s time for me to use the knowledge I acquired in university for something other than doing more university.   

Recently, I’ve come across the opportunity to lease farmland on Vancouver Island.  Three friends and I intend to farm it next year.  

Talk about an overwhelming launch into the real world!  It will be one of the biggest learning curves I have experienced in my life thus far.  I don’t feel like I learned nearly enough in school to go out and start my own farm!  But I think that’s what my professors meant when they told me that it wasn’t necessarily what we learn in class that is important, but learning how to learn.  So here I go: not enrolling in any university classes, but leasing some land, growing some food, and finding people to buy it.  That’s the plan, anyway.  

My favourite part of school was spending time with friends.  That’s why I feel capable of starting a farm, because I have three friends to work with.  My least favourite part of school was having to sit still for long periods of time.

So as far as I can tell, it will be the best educational experience I could ask for: learning heaps about plants and soil and ecological farm management with three friends and working outside.  Best school I could ever ask for.   

Farming can be beautiful, too

When the subject of art was suggested as our theme, I drew a blank.  I don’t consider myself to be a particularly artsy person.  I like things that are practical, tangible, down to earth.  I like climbing mountains, not trying to paint them or put them into words.  I associate art with being ambiguous, superfluous, or I just don’t get it.  But farming can be considered an art, and it is none of these things.  I like farm-art because it’s such physical work to provide a tangible and necessary, yet beautiful product.  Farming has purpose and meaning, because people need good food.  There are so many variables and challenges, and so many ways to creatively navigate around them. 

Farming is an art on many levels.  Throughout the season, my boss carefully plans the crop choices and planting dates to make sure we have produce to sell consistently throughout the seasons.  Weekly, she coordinates each harvest day (Tuesdays for Wednesday night market, and Friday for weekend markets) for what to harvest depending on what is ripe.  This is challenging because sometimes there's too much ready at once, or sometimes it goes to seed too soon, or gets hit with mould or eaten by rabbits and voles.  And for each harvest day, she has to account for the limited hours in a day and space in the cooler. 

Presentation at farmer's markets is also an important part of how we farm.  The way we harvest, pack, store, and present the produce influences the success of our sales more than I ever thought.  People like to buy beautiful produce, so we add edible flowers to the salad mix for vibrant colour, we keep the carrot tops on the carrots because they look fresher, and we put lots of effort into the display of the whole stall. 

My job is in the field, to make sure the beet bunches aren’t too big or too small, and that no wilted lettuce gets in the salad mix. 

Here is the art of what I do: a cart load o' carrots, just hauled in from the field waiting to be washed and packed.   

Doubt Monster

A few weeks ago, I posted a podcast about how I want to be a farmer.  It discussed the validity and value of farming, both personally and communally.  It also discussed some of the seemingly insurmountable barriers in the industry, and why it's still worth working around them.   

I have to consciously work up the courage to share this podcast with people.  I feel exposed and vulnerable when I tell people I want to farm.  I feel like there is a high probability I won't make it; that I'll give up, change my mind, or flat out fail.  Who am I to think I can farm better (that is, run an economically viable and ecologically sustainable operation) than those who have given it their best shot and failed?  What is it that makes a new farmer successful, versus one that burns out or can’t pay the bills?

I’ve been interning on a small vegetable farm, owned by a young gal who started the farm four years ago.  She works incredibly hard at what she does, and the farm is thriving.  I look at how hard she works and how much she loves farming-- it's truly amazing.  I wonder if I have enough of that drive and willpower to be out from dawn ‘til dusk, to be out harvesting brussel sprouts in the November rain, to give up summer vacations.  Do I have the character to make it happen?  And not only character, but assets?  She’s had some unique opportunities with access to land and mentors. I don't come from an agricultural background, which will make things more difficult. 

My boss gave me advice about this.  She said, “You know Kelsey, you just have to decide you’re going to do it.  Stop second-guessing yourself and don’t worry about other people’s doubts.  When you remove the option of copping out, the chance of success are much higher.”

The tricky thing about the Doubt Monster is that my brain rationalizes the doubts and fears I hear from myself and other people, and I become convinced they are true.  I struggle with finding a healthy realism among all the doubt, fear, and encouragement. 

But when all is said and done, what does it matter if I do or do not end up farming?  I don’t regret how I’m spending my time at the moment; I'm highly satisfied with my work.  There is nothing like straightening your back and looking at a freshly weeded bean field, or hauling two carts full of zucchini back to the cooler.  

So maybe one day I’ll have my own farm, or maybe I’ll work on someone else’s farm, or maybe I won’t.  But I can’t let the Doubt Monster get my goat before I’ve even tried. 

What do you want to be when you grow up?

Now that I've arrived at the end of an undergrad degree from UBC, I think I want to be a farmer.

I put together this 10-minute podcast for a final project in my last semester of university, explaining a bit about why I think being a farmer would be a good way to spend my time.

I hope you enjoy the story.