“Why would anyone want to grow food on a small scale for a living!?” Jamie asked, defeated, as he struggled to relieve a row of fairytale eggplant from a piece of collapsed rainwater-laden plastic. I straddled the muddy clay row, hands gripped around another section of plastic, and pulled. Water ran all over my feet.
In less than 30 minutes, a weather event called a microburst dumped two inches of rain onto the garden beds, and violent winds, upwards of 65 miles per hour, tore through our caterpillar tunnels. The wind twisted the rounded metal supports, wrinkling them like cloth, and bent them to something more like a scarecrow’s arm, all harsh angles and wonky incongruity. It toppled the 200 tomato plants trellised to them. A section of our backyard fence was flattened after a 1500-gallon rain barrel blew off its base and steamrolled the chainlink barrier.
“Don’t let the dogs out,” Jamie shouted.
We walked the property and found a plum tree split like a piece of firewood. A 100-year old oak tree laid on the ground with its root system exposed, dethroned from its rightful place at the edge of the hay field. Thirty minutes.
When we talk about climate events here on the ridge, we talk about wind the most. Our farm is situated at a high point in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains. Folks who’ve come to a farm event can attest to the blustery winds that knock over flower vases and cause one to batten down the napkin stack, or hang onto one’s compostable plate. Earlier this year, a tornado touched down just a few miles from us in Kingstown, the neighboring township. The sirens blared from fire stations east and west of us. Clouds loomed eerily low. This is what we expect more of in the coming years. We’ve had serious talks of building an underground shelter. We know we’d hole up in the walk-in closet if a tornado threatened us tomorrow.
Last week, devastating floods ravaged Eastern Kentucky and the McKinney Fire blazed across 55,000 acres of Northern California. Heat waves make headlines. Every year, the number of significant and extreme climate events increase. What used to be a freak occurrence has become the new normal, and farmers are especially tied to these changing weather patterns. Their livelihoods depend on it. From drought to extreme precipitation, farmers must mitigate climate factors daily; the unpredictability, a roulette.
Here at home, we pick up the pieces and keep going. The day after the storm, a small group of beloveds showed up and helped us disassemble the tunnels. We had hoped to salvage a portion of them, but the damage demands a total rebuild which will hopefully be covered by insurance. Fingers crossed.
As always, we made a game plan at the coffee table. I ran deliveries for Jamie while he managed cleanup in the field. A chef friend sent meals to allay the stress of cooking after an exhausting couple of days. People sent messages of encouragement and condolence. A few dear people Venmo’d money.
At the farmers market on Saturday, customers expressed their care and sympathy. Some hugged our necks. Others walked up with checks, or shoved $100 into our hands, bringing tears to our eyes. Despite the most devastating loss to date on our farm, which just surpassed its first year in existence, we feel held by the people around us and we’re in good spirits considering the circumstances. Work continues (it has to), and we move through this setback a day at a time, which seems the only way to move through any kind of loss. Or life, for that matter.
It’s hard to say what the future holds for us in a place vulnerable to extreme wind and precipitation, in a rural community with limited resources, but it has reinforced how we practice resilience in a changing climate. It begins with others, in community. People helping people.
With all the heartbreaks and losses experienced from the ground up (Covid, Economy, hate crimes, environmental/weather just to mention a few), it is extremely difficult to process the impact , coming from anywhere, everywhere, including the sky's. There is no hiding. Appreciate who you have and what you have, without comparison. At the end of the day, tomorrow is not guaranteed as we are reminded daily. I pray every nite to thank God for my (our) blessings and for sending me a child with a heart that is open, giving and forgiving. You never cease to amaze me. God has partnered you and Jaime together to share your journey in life which is purposeful, meaningful and serving. We are all blessed that you share it with us, in good and in challenging times. Stay strong, stay you. I love you both.