I Watch Them Farm

Last night, in the pub, Rebecca and I speculated about what perfect strangers do for a living. A couple of tables over from us was a boisterous, gregarious group. I looked at Rebecca and said "sales", and she didn't dispute my hypothesis. We used a lot of the stereotype sort of things - but we turned out to be right, because they are regulars and our server knew them.

I'm fascinated by people in sales. It's a skill that takes a bigger personality than I have. And yet, sometimes I can sell, but only in those rare instances when I actually believe in what I'm trying to move. That's the story of the sunchokes today. Up until now, whenever someone asked me what to do with sunchokes, my dismissive response was "compost 'em!". Let's just say that I was not a fan. But this spring, H.P., Simon and J.P. have been digging out the overwintered sunchokes, and I've been convinced to try them. What a surprise! They really do taste like artichokes. The trick is not to overcook them, and not to hide the delicate flavour with other things. Mostly, though, I think they taste as good as they do because they're so very fresh - and because being in the ground over the winter sweetened them up. So today, I changed my "compost 'em" tune to "I think you should try these" - and of course I had a litany of reasons why you should try them in my sales pitch. After all, after I discovered that they're actually fun to eat, I researched them, and it turns out that they're very virtuous to eat too. Cool. I need to balance the pub dinners, after all.

Yeah, so I got conned into working the farmer's market today. I like living on the farm, the working part... well, I have this pesky job thing that I quite like, thank you very much. My "helping" usually consists of loading the dishwasher after dinner! But for several years, I worked the Guelph market every Saturday. I liked doing it, because I like working with Lorenz. He's one of the few people who understands that the only thing I want to hear at hellishly early hours is "what do you want in your coffee", and he's just as picky as I am (probably more so) about how the lettuces are piled and which way the money faces in the cash box. So, very infrequently, when he's stuck, he pulls some line like "want to do me a favour for old times' sake?", and then I fall for it. This week, though, he then turned around and pushed it - he decided to not even go to the market himself, and to send H.P. as his replacement. Good thing H.P. is great - he not only asked what I took in my coffee, he delivered juice and a breakfast sandwich, and then turned out to be fabulous to work with. But still...

Oh right, there was a reason Lorenz bailed on the market. It's not raining, and there are about 617 things for him to do here, on the farm. He had a full day of tractor work planned (and considerate person that I am, when I'd been up and at it for two hours already, I called him with a question about sunchokes and to ask if he was already at it. It was six a.m., it was daylight!). He's been spreading composted manure like a fiend. The fields are just dry enough to drive on, though it would be better if they dried out more. There are some wet spots, still, from the downpour we had this week. But the forecast calls for more rain tomorrow.
As I type this, he's moving the not-yet-fully composted manure into windrows up near the fields. In between loads of manure, he's checking on the greenhouse, and he's done all the regular chores like feed the chickens and the chicks and collect the eggs and of course make the cappucino I demanded (not only do I sit in here instead of helping, I demand cappucino. What? Did you miss the part about my thinking I'm helping if I put my used coffee cup in the dishwasher?)

Now that spring is firmly here, it feels like the whole world is going "sproing". There is green grass where only a week or so it was still brown and there is a faint green fuzz on some of the trees. The garlic is up, the overwintered leeks and kale are growing, and the rhubarb is looking more and more like a snack. The transplants in the greenhouse need to be thinned. The animals are in rapid change mode as well - the chicks have started growing feathers and look like they're in an awkward stage and Ruth's mare has a foal due soon. Right now, when she walks around, her middle bulges and wobbles side to side with every step. Boris has discovered swimming in the pond to cool off, and has not yet clued in to the idea that a wet, smelly dog is not something you want to be cuddled by if you happen to fall asleep in the pile of woodchips outside your door.

Chick Talk

A few years ago, Lorenz said, out of the blue: "I'm going to Fergus to pick up chicks". I remember doing a double-take there. Mostly, I was astounded by, well, Fergus as the target for said chick picking up. That, and hearing Lorenz proclaim he was going to pick up chicks.

Yeah, well, you probably figured it out long before I did. If a farmer tells you he's going to pick up chicks, chances are he's talking about some fuzzy things that fit into the palm of your hand. Me, I actually had to ask for clarification. But I'd never really thought of where chicks - as in, the things that make chickens, otherwise known as pullets and cockerels - come from. I know they hatch from eggs. But I'd never thought of how I get from an egg with a dark spot in it (ie. a fertilized egg) to a fluffy little thing that says cheep. Somehow, in my mind, a momma hen would sit on it for a long time, and... I don't know. I'd just never considered hatcheries.

Well, I know better now! Because today, Lorenz sent HP to St. Jacobs to pick up lots of chicks. And then I went to the barn to look at the chicks, and I indulged in some chick photography. And then I asked Lorenz a million questions about chickens and learned a whole lot. And now you, because you're reading this, will get my secondhand knowledge of poultry raising. You can call it "chicken lit" if you like.

So here's what I know. I know that girl chicks are "pullets" and boy chicks (shaddup) are called "cockerels". I know that you buy chickens "sexed" (but I knew that already, because I read The Electrical Field a few years ago). I know that depending on breed, pullets may be more or less expensive than cockerels (breeds that are primarily layers, the pullets are more expensive, breeds that are meat birds, the cockerels will get a better price because they gain weight better). I know that there aren't just layers and meat birds, there are "dual-purpose" chickens, which are suitable for both but don't meet industrial standards for either.

Today's chicks are not a uniform bunch. 70 of them are "layer variety" - meaning pullets (girl chicks!) that are bred primarily to, obviously, lay eggs. They start to do so at 5 months or so. The older they get, the bigger their eggs get - the really old laying hens will often have double-yolkers (I don't know why that is), but they won't lay as frequently. They're "variety" because the hatchery jumbled up a bunch of laying breeds - there are black ones and yellow ones and brown ones, which may or may not correspond to breeds such as Rhode Island Red, Columbian Rock, Buff, Harco, New Hampshire or Barred Plymouth Rock (or crosses of these) . I'll have to wait and see what they look like when they're a bit bigger before I can figure out something more specific.

But there are also 60 cockerels (boy chicks! heh. I love that.) They are called Frey's Special Dual Purpose, though I am just as likely to call them dinner (what? that's not callous. Malcolm called his pig last year "Bacon". And we ate him. How can eyeing the chicks and thinking of dinner be callous compared to that?). The dual purpose chickens lay eggs (not the cockerels, of course), but not as prolifically as laying hens. Lorenz got them as meat birds, and he got males because they gain weight faster and reach a higher weight - these chickens will grow to about 8 lbs by 15 weeks (compared to only 6 lbs for the females).

The cockerels are all buttery yellow now. When they grow up, because they're males, they'll be white (the females would be brown). They don't, however, look much like that other white meat bird, the White Rock meat chicken. These suckers will reach maturity and more than 7 lbs at 8 to 10 weeks. However, because they gain weight so quickly, their poor little cardiovascular systems can't keep up, which means that they are much more likely to die of flip-over disease and acities (respectively, heart attacks and fluid in the body cavity). The hatchery points out that these sorts of birds are "much more susceptible to environmental stresses than other breeds" and, while they guarantee delivery of live, healthy chicks, they don't take any responsibility as to what happens to them after that. Want to guess which birds are more common in conventional meat production, White Rocks or Dual Purpose? Yeah, not much of a challenge, is it. They fit the general trend of post-World War II food production to a tee - in 1957, at seven weeks, a White Rock tipped the scales at 2 lbs. By 1986, the same breed at the same age averaged 4.5 lbs, and by 1999, 6.3 lbs. No wonder their little bird organs are stressed!

And all those cute little birds? They're only 24 hours old! No wonder they're so tiny. Lorenz says that chicks have a window of about 48 hours after birth when they can handle not being fed, and that it is common to ship just-hatched chicks by air mail all over the place! After that, though, you have to be very nice to them. They have to be within three feet of food and water for the first 72 hours, the water hast to be lukewarm and fresh every day, and they're fussy about light - too much light and their immune systems don't develop properly and they'll reach sexual maturity too early (and this means poor egg quality and health problems because they'll grow too fast). Fussiest of all is of course temperature, they like 32-33 degrees, which the hatchery recommends they get from a 250W heat lamp per 50-100 chicks. They're all jumbled up now, the pullets and cockerels, but when they get older they'll need to be separated since the dual purpose males will get bigger faster and thus be more aggressive.

That's a whole lot of chicken information I absorbed today. The cat, however, would much rather have absorbed some chickens. She snuck into the chicken coop twice while I was in there taking pictures of the little balls of fluff, and looked fairly outraged when I ejected her both times. She tried a third time, but I cut her off at the door. She gave me a rather dirty look when I walked past her and her mountain of dry cat food - much like I would react if there were piles of chocolate and you forced me to be content with boiled cauliflower.

--

In Ontario, certain commodities are under the control of the so-called "single-desk sellers", also known as "supply management". Now, in theory, I like supply management (despite its euphemistic name). It means that farmers know exactly how much they can produce with a guaranteed market, and what price they'll get. This allows more effective planning at the farm level, and takes some of the risk out of the operation.

In practice, though, supply management also means that you need tremendous capital outlay to buy quota. Since we don't tie our quota to land, it can become your retirement fund - you can realize enough to live on the rest of your life if you sell it. Sometimes, it's your biggest asset. Now, the farmer just starting out isn't going to have the capital to buy quota in addition to land, buildings and equipment. The ones who can afford to buy quota are usually the ones who are already set up for it - because they already have quota. So supply management can directly contribute to intensification and concentration in the sector.

Poultry is no different - in order to raise chickens on a commercial scale in Ontario, you need to be part of the club, in this case the Chicken Farmers of Ontario (formerly the Ontario Broiler Products Marketing Board). Guess what breed the CFO/OPBMB was originally created to "manage". Oh, right, you already did, up there in that discussion on meat birds. So, the club produces over 200 million chickens per year (the quota, by the way, has a cash value of $2 billion). If you don't want to play or they don't let you play, you can't have more than 100 hens. It used to be 500, but the OEPBMB (Ontario Egg Producers Marketing Board) lobbied to have it reduced to the lower number in 1983 (the 1% of Ontario poultry production that falls outside the quota guidelines was a threat, apparently).

So, single-desk selling means, in effect, that stability and profitability is guaranteed for the big boys, which can get bigger if the demand for poultry goes up. It also means that the small farms are forced to stay at sizes so small that you can't actually make real money from the chickens. 100 organic hens aren't going to lay more than 100 eggs a day, either (considerably less, actually), they need more space, and their feed is that much more expensive. Interestingly enough, though, in Ontario you can still buy a day-old chick from a conventional hatchery and, as long as it's not started on feed at the hatchery, raise it as certified organic. I'd think, though, that you'd get much healthier genetic stock if the chicken parents were raised organically as well. According to Lorenz, Europe has already moved that way.

Waking Up

One of the earliest books I loved was The Secret Garden. It wasn't the story so much that I cared about, but the idea of a hidden, well, garden. I think I especially liked the idea of walls defining its boundary.

Since then, I've had some gardens, and loved them. But more than that, I loved living alone - and it wasn't possible to both live alone and have a back yard, not if I wanted to be able to afford the rent. Besides, my summers were taken up by doing stuff outside, like hanging out at the rowing club or paddling or biking...

Now that I live on a 100 acre farm, you'd think it would be possible to find a spot for a garden again. But I hadn't even considered it, for two reasons: it's pretty lame to put in a little kitchen garden when, just up the hill, there are entire fields of vegetables, and even if I did, the blind donkey has a keen sense of where anything tasty might be and she roams all over the farmyard and would in all likelihood have a little garden for a tasty little snack. That's what she's done with all that has tried to grow so far, anyway.

And then, on Saturday, I sat in the sun in front of the barn, talking to Lorenz. The dog noticed a raccoon at the end of the paddock closest to the vegetable barn, and took off. Lorenz walked down to investigate. I walked with him about half way, and then I noticed that the top rail of the fence at the south edge of the paddock was broken, and I wandered off that way. I was completely astounded to realize that, on the other side of that fence, there is a little plot of land that is completely overgrown and hidden away. On the north side is this paddock, on the east is the heritage building, on the south another fence near the greenhouse, and on the west a row of cedars dividing it from the pool. I'd never noticed this spot before, even though I live only about 20 meters from it!

It was full of brambles and vines and matted weeds, but I was absolutely fascinated by this version of the secret garden. When Lorenz came back from the bottom of the paddock, I pestered him to let me clean it out and turn it into something. Given that he's as tolerant as they come, he said something along the lines of, he didn't really care what I did, and the snips are in the garage.

By Sunday, I'd made good use of the snips - not to mention the rake, and finally a saw. I still have a lot of work to do, but I feel like I have my own back yard again.

--

Things are starting to happen at the farm. Up in the fields, the chives are growing and the garlic is coming up in its spelt straw mulch (the spelt is sprouting too). Soon, there will be rhubarb, and after that, asparagus. Down in the greenhouse, the plugs are sprouting away like mad. I never realized that a greenhouse at this time of year takes more supervision than a toddler does - every time the sun comes out or disappears behind clouds, things change in there. Doors are opened and closed to ventilate (soon the sides will roll up when necessary), there is a heater and heat pads, and most importantly, there is watering to be done. Lorenz explained that things like peppers and eggplant like it very warm at night, others like lettuces don't like the heat so much. If some plants get too cold even in the transplant stage, they won't set fruit properly months later. So he is constantly in the greenhouse (though the first of the apprentices starts today, so I suspect that job will be shared soon).
Sometime this week, maybe some day-old chicks will come (they like it really warm, they get a heat lamp), and then later in the spring, some piglets. Lorenz plowed the field to the west of the house today. I don't think he's plowed it before. This will then be turned into a pick-your-own flowers field (I suspect my picking may prevent a decent profit from happening there!).

--

Things are waking up in the woods, too. On Friday, Sarka and I went for a long walk in Hilton Falls Conservation Area. We mostly concentrated on trails far removed from access points - it was a holiday, and the falls area itself was overrun with people. The first of the wildflowers are out, Sarka says they're hepatica. There are big clumps of what will be trilliums everywhere, too, and the frogs were singing their heads off. Sarka has a keen eye - she spotted both the skeleton of some critter that didn't make it (I think maybe it's a raccoon, but I'm not sure) and the clumps of wild garlic. We used some empty baggies Sarka had to pick the wild garlic greens, they're better than chives as far as I'm concerned.

Magic and Science

Maybe it's human nature to dismiss (or fear) that which we don't understand. I know I've certainly changed my entire attitude on a few key issues over the years. Part of that is an inevitable part of growing up and maturing - and I'd say I easily grew up as much from 22 to 32 as I did from 12 to 22 - and part of it is simply being exposed to that which was previously a mystery.

When I was 20, I got a ride from Freiburg to Wangen with a woman who was also studying at Freiburg. She asked me the state of organic agriculture in Canada. At the time, I didn't know anything about it - but that didn't stop me from voicing the opinion that I'd heard my father deliver during the 70s. Essentially, I had no time for something I perceived as implicitly critical of the farmers I knew, who were working so hard and living so well within the environment. I should have shut up, and asked her questions - undoubtedly, she would have given me some valuable insights that might have contributed to a process of getting beyond my father's opinions and making my own critical choices. Maybe I wasn't ready for it then.

By 23, I'd started questioning my food choices - I was moving beyond what I was eating to include questions about where it was grown or produced and under what production system. I'd started considering food additives, seasonality, excess processing and labour conditions. By 25, I was curious about organics - why would some people work so hard, for so little money? Why were young people willing to farm themselves into the ground?

Soon after that, I started talking to the organic farmer that didn't fit that profile - Lorenz seemed much more... professional, perhaps. Less willing to exploit himself, maybe. Or maybe it was that he was more critical, or maybe because he wasn't defensive. Whatever it was, I started reading more, and before you knew it, I'd changed my ph.d. topic...

Thing is, I can explain the why of organics in a way that makes sense to me, perfectly. It doesn't require a leap of faith for me, because my decision to go that route does not hinge on a belief that it will make me live longer. I don't just see it as better quality of food, but a less damaging way to grow it for both the land and the people doing it. By no means am I uncritical of what I see going on in the organic sector, but I've got a whole thesis to explore some of that in.

--

So, given that I'm a firm believer in something I readily dismissed based on what I'd heard as a child and what I just hadn't bothered to think my way through - I treat the temptation to brush off concepts with caution. I'm very tempted to think of biodynamics as a bunch of hocus-pocus - because it's not based on "science"? Here I am, incredibly critical of the notion that the scientific method is the only true way of producing knowledge. Beyond that, I've even argued that in some cases it prevents us from reaching further knowledge. And yet...

Biodynamics, according to Steiner, is "a science of life-forces". We must broaden our understanding of what is relevant - and apparently, that includes forces deep within the earth and beyond the earth. Now, me, I'm inclined to be the doubting Thomas here - but I can't see these forces! why would one day be better for planting leavy crops, another better for root crops? It doesn't make any sense!

And yet... I accept all sorts of things that wouldn't make sense if science hadn't explored them. I accept that my magnetic compass works, and I can even point to the scientific explanations for this. Same thing with tides, rainbows, northern lights... all of these would be mysteries of nature if somehow we hadn't turned the lens of science onto them and turned them from a mystery to "fact". But deeper forces? Medicine for the earth? There I balk.

I shouldn't. I don't understand how dousing works, yet I accept that. I accept biorhythms as they relate to my own body - if anything, I'm keenly aware of the cycles it goes through and how sensitive that is to perturbation. So why do I want to say bunch of baloney to biodynamics?

I'm not saying it. I just don't understand it. I have, over the years, gotten beyond my father's dismissive attitude on Steiner, and while I have many reservations with all school systems, the Waldorf principles have not been dismissed by me. I should embrace it - after all, the argument that you have to move your field of consideration to include things that you did not previously consider relevant dovetails nicely with much of what I say in other areas. I should be far more open to it.

I think the chief cause of the balking is not the philosophy here, but the prescriptive nature of it. I don't dismiss that there are all sorts of rhythms and forces that we don't understand - but by making medicine for these through BD preps and following a prescribed calendar, we're assuming that we do understand them? And how much is this influenced by our own "forces" - if some of us are more susceptible to them than others (and I'll tentatively accept that one too), does that mean that if I'm not influenced by them, or convinced of them, that biodynamic preparations stirred together by me are less effective than those of a committed Demeter-certified farmer? I wonder.

It really wouldn't be that much of a leap. I'm firmly convinced that my mental attitude has much to do with my extraordinary good health. It doesn't extend to, sick people are to blame for their own illnesses - but I think there's a lot to be said for being very conscious of not disrupting natural balances. I've never taken antibiotics - and I've never had a yeast problem. I took the birth control pill for a few years - and the recovery from that, in terms of rhythms and cycles, took years. Beyond that, though, I think that the fact that I think of myself as a very healthy person is a self-fulfilling prophecy - and by not seeing limitations as to what I can do, I'm more likely to do things which avoid developing limitations (like running. I'm not a natural runner. For me, being able to run 20km is a huge accomplishment - but I wouldn't have that accomplishment if I had started off with the attitude, I'm not a runner).

Maybe it's time I applied that attitude in other areas of my life!

10x24

I think the best impulse gifts are either ephemeral or consumable - if you give flowers or a bottle of wine, you're not presuming on space in someone's home the way you would with a long-lasting houseplant or something even more permanent.

Of course, I don't have enough people in my life to give me flowers, so I give them to myself! At this time of year, I almost always have flowers in my apartment.


Ah, my apartment. You didn't really think I'd stopped loving it, just because I don't talk about it non-stop anymore. So tonight, I took the camera and took pictures of it. This is coming in from the barn. My front door does not go directly outside.


The whole apartment is 10 by 24 feet. So I needed the loft to give myself more space. One of the really cool things is the light in this place - on sunny mornings, it just pours into the window. I took the sunshine pictures before I got all the plants I have now.


I sleep up on the loft. The only tricky part is getting up there - the ladder is very steep. But I can sit up in bed without bumping my head, and with the exception of nocturnal bathroom visits, it's perfect.


Under the loft is my kitchen. It's not very big - the size of the loft, which is 8 by 10 feet. But it's got all that I need - a bar-size fridge, the same size freezer, a sink, an apartment-size stove, and a microwave.


At the end of the apartment, a bathroom. It's not particularly exciting, it's just a bathroom. I have a great shower, but no bathtub. I've missed having that a few times, but in the grand scheme, it's not a big deal.

So that's my home. Do you like it?