The plan was to launch Old North Farm in January 2022, with a solid crop plan and months of kitchen table strategy at our backs, secured by a cushion of steady income provided by a farm management position Jamie held for the previous two years. Beginning in February 2019, Jamie worked on a farm about 45 minutes from our home in Shelby. Initially hired as a consultant, he ultimately hand-carved a farm out of an old pasture for two well-intentioned, but sadly clueless, people before taking on a salaried farm management position for them. This was the first time he ever received a salary for farm work, and it was a gig that allowed us some semblance of financial stability.
Once we moved onto our property in November 2019, conversations leaned toward a plan to farm our own fields. Every morning, Jamie left for his 45-minute commute, looking at the blank field living right outside our door, our farm in waiting. Tension under capitalism lies between the desire for autonomy and the necessary paycheck so we took a measured approach, aiming for a three-year exit strategy.
Jamie’s contract was set to end December 2021, but in the spring of that year, the often exasperated and perplexingly harried owner of the farm notified him that the farm would shut down at the end of June. He had three months to wrap it up. I still don’t know who shuts down a farm on the cusp of summer, with crops in the ground and fruit on the vines, but that’s how we found ourselves on the fast track to building Old North Farm. In hindsight, this was the best thing that could’ve happened to us. We got thrown into the deep end of the pool and life shouted, “Swim!”
Turns out, the backbreaking work Jamie did at that farm, like carving fifty beds out of an old pasture with a single shovel, sharpened his resolve to work better for himself. What he endured in that gig– creating a farm from scratch, managing a business with zero top down leadership, and developing income channels from thin air with no business plan to guide his decisions––created more efficient systems for the project that would become Old North Farm. Essentially, it taught Jamie that he was more than capable of growing a business of his own. And we both learned what kind of leaders we don’t want be.
Journal Entry, July, 5, 2021:
Last week, Jamie made the transition to our farm full-time. We moved onto this property November 2019, and 19 months later we are fully here, invested, ready to build out our dreams. I recognize that, up until this point, change has unfolded at the right time and we have learned what we needed to learn at the exact moment meant for us. I’m going to trust in that continuous unfolding now that we have arrived here. This is where our story begins.
There will be an abundance of food that will be sold to chefs and restaurants through Freshlist, and to our immediate community at the farmers market and through CSA shares. We will host events– dinners, work parties, community gatherings, workshops, teach-ins. We will learn the skills we need and build important relationships to build our barn. We will build a team of people who are invested in the work we do. They will feel valued, supported in their own learnings, and we will uplift their best qualities. We will document and share our story, skills, and resources.
A farm is a living, breathing entity. What was a former hay field and hopeful patch of possibility became a grid of beds with names– G1, G2, G3, G4, G5, G6. Underground irrigation runs beneath the Carolina red clay like veins, and green rows sprout from the soil. Life!
Just after Labor Day 2021, Old North Farm made its debut at the Foothills Farmers Market. Transplants that never made it into the ground at the previous farm found a home on Old North Farm. Seeds started when Jamie first received notice were enough to provide a first harvest. The farm has been in motion ever since.
Nearly one year later, a row of cars line the grass between our home and the farm plots. Our property is abuzz with activity. Our home, a hub. A team of people–– two in the field and two inside the bakery space–– show up Tuesday through Friday to work alongside us. Structures exist where there were none. A picnic pavilion, built by members of our local Amish community, is where we gather folks for on-farm events. We’ve had two so far and have another planned for the end of June. In the field, cucumbers hang heavy on the vines and the squash rows demand a daily picking. We just started our summer season CSA (our second 10-week installment), and market Saturdays are the capstone to every week. The bakery added a second market too, and this Wednesday, we welcome another person to the team.
Like seeds reaching down deep into the soil, the energy and personality of our farm takes root. Our life is enriched by the people we create with week to week. Hopeful theory is now daily practice and we sit squarely in the middle of our dreams, all the while building the plane as we fly.
Outside, the mimosa tree blooms. Its delicate fan-tailed blossoms wave hot pink in the breeze, letting me know that summer is here. This is the third year I’ve watched the mimosa tree come alive with its calming, mood boosting medicine. I wonder what it thinks of all that has happened since last year. Had it wished to do life with others too?
I’m taking a break from the almanac portion of this newsletter because, well, I ran out of time. I’ll back in two weeks with more updates.
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Thank you for sharing your journey with all of us.