Day 1 at the farm:
When I was living back in Maine, I knew I wanted to come to the South to farm. I also knew that I was going to be involved with migrant workers in a variety of different jobs.
Once while facilitating a weekly support group for homeless Latino men, the group chose the topic of the meanings of agricultural labor in their lives. One of my elderly Mexican clients described in detail the loss he felt at not being physically able to farm, because "farming is like having money in the bank". Being able to grow food and feed your family is the greatest security a person can have.
Once while facilitating a weekly support group for homeless Latino men, the group chose the topic of the meanings of agricultural labor in their lives. One of my elderly Mexican clients described in detail the loss he felt at not being physically able to farm, because "farming is like having money in the bank". Being able to grow food and feed your family is the greatest security a person can have.
Thinking about how to design this part of my trip, I was clear that I didn't want to play at being an immigrant farmworker so that I could experience something. Being a farmworker and an immigrant so often means being exploited or earning too little; doing solidarity work doesn't mean studying people or in any way excepting that behavior. Moreover, I'm committed to organic farming. I'd been working to create a local food co-op in Maine and learning more about our agricultural economy. And farmwork means a lot to me at this age, touching earth to get clarity, feeling connected to my own mother, who did all kinds of migrant labor, educating myself to perhaps work once again with permaculture and farming in Maine. And yes, to be in solidarity with farmworkers.
I found Harry LeBlanc and the Beausol Farm through a friend of a friend in Durham. I called Harry just after his chosen apprentice failed to show up. At the time, I thought there would be no way I could do it : I would need to bike 60 miles daily on sketchy roads to get there. I pondered this out loud one day with my friend Tennessee, who immediately suggested I take her car. Well, I'm not afraid of much in this world, but driving a stick is right up there with death. However, I really wanted to farm. So I relearned how to drive in rush hour on the 15-501 and it all worked out.
I spend my first day weeding in the swiss chard and other beds. It looks like the farm had been needing another person for awhile. Over lunch, the other worker, Jessica, and Harry's wife called me an "angel". What I had put out there, my desire to farm, had led me to Beausol just in time. I feel blessed to once again be creating something living with my hands.
Farmworkers in North Carolina: nearly 5 out of 10 farmworker households in NC cannot afford enough food for their families.
Farmworkers in North Carolina: nearly 5 out of 10 farmworker households in NC cannot afford enough food for their families.
Day 2: Heat in the flower bed
What images come to mind when we think of planting flowers? I imagine my mother, down on her hands and knees with her soft hands in the moist dirt, digging amidst squirming worms, sifting out the weeds with her trowel.
This land I'm working was not made for this garden, I think on my first day. The earth is dry, crumbling orange and red rocks and dirt. We are in a bit of a drought and both the soil and I are thirsty and hardened. I pick my hoe up over my head and swing it down to till....I reach rock and the hit reverberates into my elbows. I think of the arm muscles to be acquired in this task...that is, until midday when the sun is overhead and I think about how I've actually been standing in one place all day. Today is also different than yesterday because I am working alone and feel resentful at having to work in the same hot spot until the afternoon. I try to put good thoughts into the ground as i shovel and rake and hoe and till these plot to no avail; I have no use for planting flowers right now. I mean it's April for the love of God! As much as I love this labor of recreating the land, I look longingly over at the vegetable beds and yearn for their succulent greenery. I want to plant myself in their moister wanderings and be an artist of legumes, sculpting their rows. This land is not for my imagination.
This land is your land, this land is my land...from Native families to enslaved farmhands. It is quite amazing to find myself in a place that is such a compilation of my southern studies. Farmer Harry moved to this state from Lousiana, where he was raised to farm an even hotter, humid land. He moved to North Carolina to attend school and subsequently, to practice as a scientist until he found himself drawn back into farming and supporting a large family. With the death of his first wife, he stayed home to raise their daughter and farming became a full time occupation for Harry. No he works out in the heat until dusk, wearing a long sleeve linen shirt and jeans.
But long before Harry, this land produced other stories of grief and struggle, resistance and change. Harry showed me how he has found arrowheads, while tilling the soil. Based on his knowledge of Native Americans in the Carolinas, he claims that there could have been Cherokees on this land. At some point, the land was colonized and converted to a cotton farm. We do not speak of what we are sure is true...if this land was big enough , it was probably run on slave labor. Before Harry bought the land it was a tobacco farm, so it had been converted yet again for crops that would ultimately do damage to the land that would take years to repair. Now the land is still being converted into soil that has been finally been certified organic.
Tomatoes and peppers grow well now in this southern soil. We grow greensd such as spinach, but for some it is too hot to produce a good crop and the leaves wither and yellow in the heat. I am amazed to find we will be planting okra, and that the asparagus is already up in April. And my favorite...southern spring onions are sweet and ready to barbecue. There are also herbs, artichoke, broccoli, potatoes (some varieties from Maine), a small mushroom farm in the back woods, bushes of berries and grapes and kiwi, and out in the far field- a beehive. Everything is growing and harvesting has begun while the soil in Maine is probably still unfreezing. 600 tomato plants sit in the greenhouse waiting. Many of these plants have been raised from organic seed that was produced in Maine (Fedco, Seeds of Change). Again, my worlds collide as I think of friends who able hands are sorting those seeds.
In time, I will learn what can be planted here. But today, I am sweating in the flower bed and striking rock, trying to remember that flowers bring the bees to pollinate it all.
Farmworkers in North Carolina: Agricultural work has been ranked number three of the most dangerous occupations in the US. In NC, heat stress, dehydration, falls, and pesticides are frequent health hazards.
Day 3: A day for planting flowers
Today all of the flower seedlings that have been raised in the greenhouse need to be planted in their beds by 2:00 is the afternoon. This is to be my introduction to work on a biodynamic , organic farm.
Never again when I buy products that say biodynamic on the label, or eat at my brother's fancy raw food and often biodynamic restaurant in NYC, will I take it for granted that this food is hard work! Biodynamic farming means that all planting and harvesting is organized and conceptualized by the cosmos. That is, the position of the moon and the Earth dictates when we can plant certain groups of plants. There are flower days, fruit days, root days, etc. And for some reason I don't understand, flowers always seem to have to be planted by 2:00 in the afternoon. Humph.
The day starts out easy enough. We water all the thirsty seedlings, weed a little in the greens, and start to plant the flowers in the far beds while Harry does other projects. Then, as the heat begins to climb and it turns around 11:00 am, Harry and his wife get progressively more nervous about getting all these seedlings into the ground. The seedlings are a bit overgrown and if they are not planted today, they will have to be planted next week, which would definitely stunt their growth. About around 12:00 it is announced that we will not have lunch until 2:00 when all the planting is done. Around 1:00 my back hurts and we are almost throwing seedlings into their holes, trying to get everything planted. I feel the hot breath of my co-workers stream into my sweat-drenched face as we cover the same ground in a race to get it all done. I think that if I didn't have my new friend Jessica laughing and sweating with me, I wouldn't want to be doing this at all. My body becomes a sweat-oiled machine out in the dry, red field where there is no green, no oxygen. I am a human conveyer belt, dumping seedlings into holes, patting and moving on. I have no love for them now. They are on their own. At the end of the day I go home, and fall asleep on Tennessee's couch, dehydrated and aching.
Farmworkers in North Carolina: NC has the highest production of sweet potatoes in the nation. However, farmworkers in NC earn 35 cents a bucket. They have to pick and haul 125 buckets to make $50. Sweet potatoes are heavy!
Today all of the flower seedlings that have been raised in the greenhouse need to be planted in their beds by 2:00 is the afternoon. This is to be my introduction to work on a biodynamic , organic farm.
Never again when I buy products that say biodynamic on the label, or eat at my brother's fancy raw food and often biodynamic restaurant in NYC, will I take it for granted that this food is hard work! Biodynamic farming means that all planting and harvesting is organized and conceptualized by the cosmos. That is, the position of the moon and the Earth dictates when we can plant certain groups of plants. There are flower days, fruit days, root days, etc. And for some reason I don't understand, flowers always seem to have to be planted by 2:00 in the afternoon. Humph.
The day starts out easy enough. We water all the thirsty seedlings, weed a little in the greens, and start to plant the flowers in the far beds while Harry does other projects. Then, as the heat begins to climb and it turns around 11:00 am, Harry and his wife get progressively more nervous about getting all these seedlings into the ground. The seedlings are a bit overgrown and if they are not planted today, they will have to be planted next week, which would definitely stunt their growth. About around 12:00 it is announced that we will not have lunch until 2:00 when all the planting is done. Around 1:00 my back hurts and we are almost throwing seedlings into their holes, trying to get everything planted. I feel the hot breath of my co-workers stream into my sweat-drenched face as we cover the same ground in a race to get it all done. I think that if I didn't have my new friend Jessica laughing and sweating with me, I wouldn't want to be doing this at all. My body becomes a sweat-oiled machine out in the dry, red field where there is no green, no oxygen. I am a human conveyer belt, dumping seedlings into holes, patting and moving on. I have no love for them now. They are on their own. At the end of the day I go home, and fall asleep on Tennessee's couch, dehydrated and aching.
Farmworkers in North Carolina: NC has the highest production of sweet potatoes in the nation. However, farmworkers in NC earn 35 cents a bucket. They have to pick and haul 125 buckets to make $50. Sweet potatoes are heavy!
Day 4: Labor pains
I return to the farm the next day, after having tossed and turned all night on the futon couch. I have woken several times with sharp pain in my lower back. I can't believe I can get up in this southern heat with this pain in my back and work again. Today is a fruit day and we spend most of it planting peppers in rows. Thankfully, we have all day to plant them and we take frequent breaks. What makes it bearable is that I have Jessica to converse with and that I keep shifting my body to compensate for all the aches and pains. We all agree that we do not want another day like yesterday, and this day has a much nicer pace.
The pepper seedlings look good, although the ground they go into is hot and crumbly and in the middle of a drought. By the afternoon, their leaves wilt, even after watering them immediately. There are sweet peppers and hot peppers. Harry said he always plants a different variety of spicy pepper. I think about the four pepper plants I planted at my garden in Maine last summer. They blossomed in the breeze but the bugs immediately ate their stalks.
Being at the farm makes me look at motherhood differently. On a drive back from Beausol, I was pondering the implications of leaving my community at a time when many women my age are settling into families or homes of their own. I left home with much grief that this would not be my path, that I should be thrust out into the world on my own again to re-hatch myself into yet another environment. It was close to Mother's Day and I had just told my grandmother I regretted not being able to give her any great grandbabies. But had I not just given life to an acre of green goodness? Weren't they my miracle? When I feel like the cycle of life is passing me by I need only to stick my hands into the dirt and nurture the life I am creating. This cycle of life that my own momma began when she worked with her hands on someone else's land, when she got down onto her hands and knees and envisioned her own garden, when she talked softly to her child and taught me to love the green growing by the ocean's side. These are her grandchildren I tend. For now they are what I birth.
Farmworkers in NC: Although labor laws for farmwork require children to be 12 years old at least, all ages can be found in the fields. By the way, they earn 35 cents a bucket to pick peppers.
I return to the farm the next day, after having tossed and turned all night on the futon couch. I have woken several times with sharp pain in my lower back. I can't believe I can get up in this southern heat with this pain in my back and work again. Today is a fruit day and we spend most of it planting peppers in rows. Thankfully, we have all day to plant them and we take frequent breaks. What makes it bearable is that I have Jessica to converse with and that I keep shifting my body to compensate for all the aches and pains. We all agree that we do not want another day like yesterday, and this day has a much nicer pace.
The pepper seedlings look good, although the ground they go into is hot and crumbly and in the middle of a drought. By the afternoon, their leaves wilt, even after watering them immediately. There are sweet peppers and hot peppers. Harry said he always plants a different variety of spicy pepper. I think about the four pepper plants I planted at my garden in Maine last summer. They blossomed in the breeze but the bugs immediately ate their stalks.
Being at the farm makes me look at motherhood differently. On a drive back from Beausol, I was pondering the implications of leaving my community at a time when many women my age are settling into families or homes of their own. I left home with much grief that this would not be my path, that I should be thrust out into the world on my own again to re-hatch myself into yet another environment. It was close to Mother's Day and I had just told my grandmother I regretted not being able to give her any great grandbabies. But had I not just given life to an acre of green goodness? Weren't they my miracle? When I feel like the cycle of life is passing me by I need only to stick my hands into the dirt and nurture the life I am creating. This cycle of life that my own momma began when she worked with her hands on someone else's land, when she got down onto her hands and knees and envisioned her own garden, when she talked softly to her child and taught me to love the green growing by the ocean's side. These are her grandchildren I tend. For now they are what I birth.
Farmworkers in NC: Although labor laws for farmwork require children to be 12 years old at least, all ages can be found in the fields. By the way, they earn 35 cents a bucket to pick peppers.
Day 5: A day for planting 600 tomato plants
I arrive early to the farm because the cosmos have predetermined that today we will plant all of the over 600 tomato plants that sit withering in the greenhouse. It's news to me that tomatoes are actually native to this area, and NC makes a huge profit annually from the tomato, which has a pretty long season.
Because it's native to this land, the chance for blight on the crops is even more significant and we spend the first part of the morning preparing the plants for the ground by suckering them, or taking the small leaves off the bottom so they get fewer problems from the ground up.
I am amazed to hear the names of the varieties that come from this area. My favorite is the Mortgage Lifters, aptly named by a NC native that used to go around selling radiators out of his truck. He developed this tomato and was able to pay off his mortgage in one year. So goes the legend.
We plant row after row of sungolds, heirlooms, tomatillos. Jessica and I raise concerns about setting up the drip tapes because these beauties will be thirsty. But there are so many to plant! We just keep going, stopping at the end to mulch them with hay and water as much as we can. Jess, a former dairy farmer, shows me how to really handle the hay. We pray for rain. It is beautiful to plant tomatoes in their native land. Their smell tickles my nose, which is sunburned and sneezy from the hay.
I arrive early to the farm because the cosmos have predetermined that today we will plant all of the over 600 tomato plants that sit withering in the greenhouse. It's news to me that tomatoes are actually native to this area, and NC makes a huge profit annually from the tomato, which has a pretty long season.
Because it's native to this land, the chance for blight on the crops is even more significant and we spend the first part of the morning preparing the plants for the ground by suckering them, or taking the small leaves off the bottom so they get fewer problems from the ground up.
I am amazed to hear the names of the varieties that come from this area. My favorite is the Mortgage Lifters, aptly named by a NC native that used to go around selling radiators out of his truck. He developed this tomato and was able to pay off his mortgage in one year. So goes the legend.
We plant row after row of sungolds, heirlooms, tomatillos. Jessica and I raise concerns about setting up the drip tapes because these beauties will be thirsty. But there are so many to plant! We just keep going, stopping at the end to mulch them with hay and water as much as we can. Jess, a former dairy farmer, shows me how to really handle the hay. We pray for rain. It is beautiful to plant tomatoes in their native land. Their smell tickles my nose, which is sunburned and sneezy from the hay.
Farmworkers in NC: Come to the state from other migrant jobs further south for the tomato harvest.
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