Fear for the Future

It, as in the Farm, began as just talk. No commitments, no expectations for the future, no solid outcome. Did we yearn to garden and save money by growing our own food? You bet! We wished Trump wasn’t president, that we didn’t feel hopeless and despair, and as the panic gave way to reality, we realized we were in really bad times and all the worse predictions were tumbling down after us. Discussions, what happened, who did this, who voted how, conversations around strategy. How do we undermine this new administration and the sharp visibility of what is normal in this country? How do we survive the fall out? We felt the lull at work for weeks, people were sad, afraid, nervous and shopping for new camping gear wasn’t on the priority list. Was selling camping gear, was retail, even a contributing factor to this elections outcome? Was capitalism partly at fault for this extremely embarrassing historical event? How do we keep our money local, in our pockets, in our home? Those questions and so much more happened in the first 100 days. One thing became clear, we had all become complacent.

So we talked, and occasionally the farm came up. It seemed like a solid next step to the quest of a sustainable lifestyle, one that loved the earth, sacrificed for the earth and all the beings that existed on the earth. We already ate local, organic, bulk, low waste foods. Growing and feeding and nurturing various fermentations, my sourdough being my most loved and longest lasting. I bought a bidet and bamboo terry cloth toilets and went toilet paper less, a success thus far into month 4. I haven’t had a car at my disposal for a solid 8 years, having occasionally borrowed or rented when I needed one and biking, walking and public transiting as far as Glacier National Park. What more can a person do beyond making their own home cleaners and ‘yellow let it mellow, brown flush it down’ bathroom policies? Having grown up in the Northwest, compost, recycling, the three R’s (Reduce, reuse, recycle) are common words by age 6. How does one resist? I already joined a Credit Union during the housing bust and Great Recession of 2006. I already shopped at my food co-op.

As my friend and co-farmer Stephanie kept bringing up the farm idea, I slipped deeper into her enthusiasm. Farming seemed like the next big leap in my quest and path of least harm. So it came, I asked, Are you sure? Are you fully committed? And Stephanie said yes. In the damp cold of January we visited my mothers 12 acres outside of Camas, Wa. and dug up the front lawn. I remained ever hesitant, ever worried, but the vision never wavered, it grew of it’s own accord.


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