Community Supported Agriculture

or, how we got here and what we've learned so far

Moving to the farm in 2019 felt like a culmination; a dream realized. To the outside world, and especially through the rose-colored lens of social media, our move and subsequent growth could appear to have “happened overnight.”  I assure you, it took years.  Most importantly, I’m here to tell you that we didn’t do it on our own. We had help: financial support, a community of folks materially and emotionally invested in our work, and our privilege as white people has made all the difference. 

What follows is an account of our lived experience. It must be said that none of these struggles amount to a hummingbird’s portion of hardship compared to the lifetimes of disenfranchisement endured by Black farmers, Indigenous peoples, and people of color. 

For years, we talked about owning our own piece of land. We dreamed of buying a house. We had notions to save money for essential farm equipment, like the BCS walk-behind tractor that would make Jamie’s work easier and more efficient. But we couldn’t seem to “get there”. Our best efforts never moved the needle as far as we would like. It felt like we would make just enough to buy seeds, plant them, penny pinch until harvest, and then make just enough for the next planting. We hardly made enough to cover our bills, much less save for permanence. We lived paycheck to paycheck. It wasn’t unusual for us, two people in their mid-to-late thirties, to have less than $100 in our bank accounts by month’s end. Thank goodness we grew food to eat. Farming and freelance work, a stable income does not make.

Meanwhile, we watched other farmers grow their operations with ease. They acquired land, built structures, used proper equipment, installed walk-in coolers, and erected homes on their property. We’d scroll through Instagram ogling the perfectly straight rows and beauty shots of other farms. On our plot, we wrestled amaranth weed for hours, a problem self-created because we scooped composted cow manure from the pasture instead of purchasing compost we couldn’t afford. Jamie lost entire workdays to banging a wrench against a shitty tiller borrowed from the archives of his grandfather’s shed. He dug out garden beds with a shovel and sheer will. 

After a while, we started to wonder what we were doing wrong? Maybe we needed to go to more farm conferences or workshops? Maybe we didn’t work as hard as these other farmers? They probably didn’t take an afternoon nap. I’d look through their feeds and try to figure out why our gardens didn’t look like theirs. It was true that many of them had pedigree and experience working on big name farms, so maybe that was the advantage? Jamie had never worked on another farm. After getting his GED in a youth detention facility at 17, he went to “culinary school” in restaurant kitchens. Twenty years later, trial and error in the field was his farming education. 

When visiting other farms, I began asking questions about how folks were able to build their businesses. One farmer shared that he had a family trust that allowed him to make the initial investments on his property. Another offered up that he was gifted $50,000 from an in-law. 

The truth washed over me. These people had more resources. They were significantly more privileged than us. And even though we know bootstrapping is a myth, the lie we told ourselves over and over was that if we just worked a little harder, we could have those things too. When we failed to reach those standards, we internalized that there was something wrong with us. 

I had a similar experience in my freelance writing days. I assumed I could make it as a freelancer because I saw other people “making it”. Then I’d find out that they came from extreme wealth or had trust funds to support their freelance whims. Some had spouses with a high-paying job. Others had full-time jobs that paid extremely well, and they freelanced on the side. Even then, I internalized reasons why I wasn’t succeeding––I spent my college years very drunk and full of drugs; I didn’t have a journalism degree; I never went to graduate school; or simply, I wasn’t good enough. 

The thing is, money makes a difference. Access makes a difference. Resources make a difference. If you don’t have these or proximity to them, it’s very difficult to move the needle in a meaningful way. In the circles I inhabit online and in real life, few people make it clear that they operate from a place of privilege, a sin of omission that inadvertently distorts how others perceive pathways to success. It’s easy to see someone succeeding and assume they know how to do it better than you. I don’t think this is limited to farming and freelance work. This is the story of America, too. 

The history of disenfranchisement in farming and land ownership, largely due to the foundations upon which this country was built and its entrenched institutions (the USDA being one of the most egregious offenders), that have long prioritized white people over people of color is why we can even claim generational land wealth.

Though my husband comes from humble working-class people, his lineage was able to secure land that has become part of his generational inheritance. In 1976, Jamie’s grandfather purchased the initial 54 acres of land that is now part of the 160 acres his family owns today. My father-in-law told me his father did what many people did back then–– secure a farm loan that allowed for the purchase of acreage. Having land allowed John Swofford, a welder and volunteer fireman, the opportunity to work in agriculture. He built a chicken house on the property which allowed him to generate income, build credit, acquire more land, and establish stability for his family. That land has since been passed down to his children and his children’s children. 

Land, as Malcolm X  famously said, is the basis of all independence. It “is the basis of freedom, justice, and equality.”  If you look at white, agrarian families, this story is commonplace. But not so much for people of color, who were (are!) systematically denied access, resources, and the opportunity to do what people like my husband’s grandfather did. Even as Jamie and I struggled to achieve our goals of home ownership and building our forever farm, and at times had difficulty making ends meet, we still maintained certain privileges and ultimately had built-in access to the most prized asset of all––land. 

In a previous post, I mentioned that we were helped into our home by a friend who also happened to be a mortgage lender. Figuring out how we might secure a home loan or build a house on a piece of property often felt like an exercise in futility. Homeownership felt so far away. And yet, we had access to someone willing to give us a leg up. A blessing, yes, but also a privilege that I doubt would’ve happened were we not white folks with social capital. 

When we finally moved onto the farm, we were helped yet again by a fellow community member who loaned us $10,000. He and his wonderful wife, both educators and social workers, lived modestly and had a small reserve that they offered up to us. That small interest-free loan allowed us to install underground irrigation and build our picnic shelter where we currently host on-farm events. Several grants–– the WNC AgOptions grant and two grants given by the Piedmont Culinary Guild–– afforded us the ability to finally purchase a BCS walk-behind tractor and our first structures. We work our asses off, but lasting infrastructure isn’t built without capital or access to it. 

I share our experience because that’s what I wish more folks would do. I want the pathways and obstacles to a life in agriculture to be more clear. That would’ve certainly eased our mental anguish early on. 

Still, I don’t have all the answers to a centuries-old dilemma and a system with deep structural racism and classism baked into it. What I do have is my own experience and a willingness to unlearn, reimagine, and transform. The work is ongoing. I think of the words of Diane DiPrima in Revolutionary Letter #9:

“None of us knows the answers, think about these things. The day will come when we have to know the answers.” 

Today, I read as much as I can to deepen my understanding of our privileges and the struggles faced by marginalized populations. I listen to the experiences of others and uplift organizations that promote sovereignty and care. Early in the pandemic, we joined Soul Fire Farm’s Uprooting Racism virtual workshop which offers tools for agricultural leaders to develop and implement action plans for uprooting oppression from food systems work. This is not fast work. We are still developing the larger action plan. Right now, we do our best to serve in ways that we can. We’ve cooked meals to raise funds for food justice work being done in our community and maintain an open door policy here on the farm. We share what we know. Most recently, we’ve connected with Black farmers in our neighborhood, a relationship we hope will flourish with mutual understanding. 

As we continue to grow, we actively look for ways to share the resources we have, whether that be our experience, mentorship, farm equipment, seeds, educational opportunities, and hopefully (eventually) land itself. Transparency and openness are the watchwords. Community support, both given and received, is the engine that propels us forward. 

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ON THE FARM: We’ve had our first small taste of summer with temperatures hitting the 90’s recently. The plants grow exponentially week to week, increasing the harvest load and speeding up the pace of work. Balance starts to slip from our fingers as summertime approaches. Wildness ensues.

WHAT’S GROWING: The first of the summer squash came out of the ground last week, which means daily harvests begin. Sugar snap peas continue to flood the vines and cucumbers are sizing up. We’ve got beautiful herbs and edible flowers— summer savory, dill, cilantro, basil, perilla, nasturtium, calendula. More summer crops go in the ground this week too.

WHAT WE’RE EATING: Squash, shaved raw in salads and sauteed with butter and thyme. Salads with lemon-dill vinaigrette. Strawberry salad with honey, citrus juice, and lemon balm. We’re drinking a delicious cold nettle beverage made from leftover blanching water sweetened with honey and lemon. My favorite thirst-quencher!

I hope to share my first recipe post with you all soon. There are so many moving parts on the farm and in the bakery, it’s hard to fit it all in. But soon!