I've officially lived in Yamhill County for six continuous months now, and while I'm not jumping for joy to be out of the city, I can picture things working out for me here. In some ways it has been like outer space--I experience familiar things in little spurts or via long-distance communication and hardly ever in a relaxed setting. There are new friends to be discovered here though, and I may have found a few already! (Stay tuned....)
Over this six month period, my heart has become more and more affected by and curious about the land that I drive through every week, and the people who farm it. I've been so interested to know if many of them are eating well and getting access to whole, fresh foods as my gramdpa Bill and grandma Eva did when they were farmerfolk.
One of my favorite memories in all of my life was when my uncle took me to the sweet old general store where my grandpa, who I never met, took him when he was little. The store was far from home, but it had the best quality seeds, so they made the trip once a year for seed. Grandpa died just before I was born, but his legacy of valuing quality food is still strong in our family now.
As I drive through the valley, I see that each giant piece of land seems to be dedicated to just one big crop--mostly nuts, grass, landscape trees, or grapes, and once in a while, corn or pumpkins... this is the way it has been back to the day of my grandparents' parents' farms--I know. It is the way that farming works now that industrial tools are used and big yields are expected. But I wonder how that affects the farmers. Without the basic biodiversity of multiple crop farming, habitats for beneficial insects and essential farming practices like crop rotation aren't able to thrive, and the land is stripped of its rich nutrients. Earth-scientists know this, and yet we continue to farm for the sake of immediate yields and not for the health of the farmland.
I've shown some of the beautiful things that I've witnessed on my country drives, but some of the uglier things have been too shameful to photograph. The cattle farm just between Salem and Rickreall has no visible cows on it. They are hidden in a huge warehouse, and yet their manure pours down the hill in liquid form and floods the trenches that line the expressway. At least a mile of that stretch fills ones nose with pure sulfur, unlike the earthy manure scent I get from the grass-fed cattle farm near to where I turn when I drive from I-5 through French Prairie Farm Country, into the Newberg area.
The white dust that covered much of the farmland near to Taj's school last fall was also disturbing to me. I knew that my great grandfathers, Nils and Robert would not have had such amendments, nor would they have wanted to cover their fields with powdery chemicals, and they certainly would never have sprayed the toxic round-up that is used on all non-organic corn crops these days.
I often cringe when I see Latino workers in the fields, wondering what chemicals they are being subjected to, just because their lives are seen as less valuable in our society. If they weren't seen that way, I'm sure there would be an outcry against the effects that modern farming has on the health of these individuals, as there seems to be in Europe, where migrants don't work on farms as much.
As with all of my heart's social burdens, I have to say "I can't fix this," and move on to do what I can do. Part of what I can do is work with the Sustainability Club at the University, to bring in engaging educators who know more than we do about farming and our land. Part of what I can do is to write this here. But a really satisfying part that I really long to do is to work on my own little bit of land and make it bio-diverse.
I planted some trees and flowers this week, and I can tell you--my little bit of land is pretty much solid clay and rock. Digging a small hole is a major undertaking. There is no way that I could grow tomatoes or potatoes in that soil as it is now. It would be better used for making bricks than growing things. But as part of my weed-management plan (Jimmy is more concerned about killing weeds than growing good things, generally), I've initiated a form of permaculture that is already having wonderful effects. In our ungrassy areas, we laid down newspaper in sheets, five or six sheets thick, and then laid composted mulch on top, with sand mixed in to give it weight. This kills weeds, but it does something else too. After a few years of doing this sandwiching of carbon and nitrogen, there will be a good depth of fertile soil to use for whatever we need to grow. In the meantime, I have a choice....
I stand at the crossroad now of a consequential decision--to plant in raised beds here, on my land where I can watch things grow every day and work alone to fend off weeds and pests, or to join in a communal workforce at the university or at a church nearby, where there are community gardens.
I shared a community garden plot once in Portland. It was really hard, because it was out of sight, and during the summer, completely out of mind. Even with sharing duties with my many co-workers who had been in a very committed group which shared passion for this stuff, it was really hard to pull my part of the weight. The only reason I'm even considering doing it again now is for the sake of my own need for community and for the social power that comes out of a shared vision.
We need so many more community gardens on this planet! Mostly for those people who don't own any land of their own. I believe that we all have a basic need to grow things, even though so many people are out of touch with that need. I feel like it's a human right to be able to grow our own food, for a sense of power over our survival, if nothing else. Having lived in apartments for the past few years, I really appreciate that so few people have access to land. I was fortunate to have spots to plant berry bushes and rhubarb in my last apartment. Most apartment dwellers don't get that.
So I think I'm going to join the garden. I have my own greens here, planted in pots on my porch. Greens are the kind of thing you harvest continually, so that works best on the porch. Rhubarb and berries are perennials--they grow back every year, so they will go in the ground here too, but for my carrots and parsnips and tomatoes and squash, I think I'll join the garden. Hold me to it!
