I'll be baaaack

I can't help but marvel at the fortuitous encounters and conversations that pepper my life these days. I mean, I just *happen* to be patching a tire on the side of the road and suffering from a desperate hankering for pork barbecue when the owner of Winfield, AL's only BBQ shack, and seemingly the town's only avid bicyclist out for a ride, stops to ask if I need anything? (Four sandwiches on the spot and three for the road later, Aaron and I were sated and on our way. Thanks again, Kyle!) And about a week ago, on my way through Lenoir, NC, when none of the town's eight campgrounds have space for me I *happen* to bump into and befriend the head of the Chamber of Commerce who invites me to dinner, offers me a comfy guest room, and puts me in touch with amazing artisanal cheese makers down the road from her home? Deborah, you may well see me back in your neck of the woods: the ladies and the cheeses at Ripshin were nothing short of stellar. In fact, I'm still daydreaming about that Camembert....

A trip to the Sandburg Farm a few years ago and follow-up visits to dairies in France -- my kind of research -- convinced Liza that her calling was of the heritage dairy goat raising variety. She set about remodeling the family farm accordingly, with state-of-the-art (but not ostentatious) equipment and started Ripshin Goat Dairy. Here's the matron herself with a retinue of affectionate milk does. (Seriously, they were perhaps the friendliest goats I've ever met, nuzzling right up to me and waiting for a scratch behind the ears.) Liza convinced her daughter Rachel to move back from Istanbul and take on the task of making the amazingly delicious cheeses. Yep, it's a family affair. After meeting the milkgoats, I had the pleasure of sitting in with Rachel and Meredith (the other cheesemaker) for a couple of hours while they worked. As I perched on a stool in the cheese room listening and grinding black pepper for future chevre log rolling (and periodic tasting...quality control, you know), I found myself falling in love with this small family operation. Not just because the chevre they make is outstanding. That's only part of it. (For those wondering about hygiene, fear not: I washed my hands, changed shoes, and donned a headscarf and apron after the goat petting -- standard procedure here at Ripshin.)

Much like the famed Joel Salatin refuses to ship Polyface meats off-farm, the gals at Ripshin are determined to keep their creamy vittles local, only selling them at nearby farmers' markets and shops. I won't, for example, be able to buy their wares at Cowgirl Creamery's DC location. (I know this because I asked very specifically. I must have more of that feta some day!) I respect this desire to build a network of skilled producers, and to keep the special foods and talents within the community. Kind of makes one want to move there, or at least visit. This desire to keep things quite literally "local" flies in the face of our culture's fast-cheap-anytime-anywhere mentality...and I like it. Rather than being exclusionary, I think of it as developing a unique regional food system. And celebrating it, much like we used to celebrate seasonal eating.

Lenoir and Happy Valley are often overshadowed by nearby tourist destinations like Blowing Rock and Lake Lure, but with producers like Ripshin Goat Dairy in the neighborhood, it may, quite soon, become a food destination. I know I'm hoping to revisit the town, and particularly the dairy. Maybe even look into an internship at some point. Goats. Cheesemaking. Thoughtful people and conversation. Yep, I'll be baaaack....

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A way of life

Some folks seem destined for farming, though they may take many years and somewhat circuitous routes to get there....

As she flipped blueberry pancakes and waited for the breakfast tea to steep last weekend in her farmhouse kitchen in Sunshine, NC, Sara Jane spoke almost wistfully of her first encounters with gardening. When she was still quite young, I learned, her grandfather solicited her help for some of the work in his substantial vegetable garden in upstate New York. These early memories -- particularly their association with her grandfather, whom she still refers to as "my favorite person in the world" -- formed the seedbank from which later farming experiences would emerge. (At least that's my read on it.) Later, in high school, a friend suggested that she work on a farm in California over the summer, and she did. (In high school! See, mom and dad, you were worried about me venturing off on my own to work on farms when I'm in my 30s? What spunk!) She enjoyed the work, but it was still just a summer job. Then the Louisiana native attended college in Ohio, focusing on environmental studies and putting in some time at the newly-formed organic farm on Oberlin's campus. (Incidentally, it was here that she met her now-husband and fellow farmer, Jamie, who was studying music.) Still, food and farming weren't on her radar as a life pursuit. Then Hurricane Katrina happened and shook up everything.

With her hometown in shambles, Sara Jane began to reflect very intently on what her role in the larger scheme of things might be, how she might best be able to cultivate a better world, to help people overcome social inequities and heal an ever more polluted planet. After much deliberation she concluded that what she could do, and was determined to learn to do well, was grow healthy food. She traveled to Ireland and worked on organic farms there. She moved to Mississippi and farmed a piece of land for awhile, learning by trial and error and reading and listening to other farmers how to grow food in the small market garden she had built. She moved back to Ohio, reunited with Jamie, and took over management of Oberlin's farm. Her enthusiasm was (and still is) infectious enough to convince Jamie that they could start their own small farm. After months of searching, the couple came across the perfect 40+ acre plot of land not far from where Jamie grew up in western North Carolina and started their own biodynamic permaculture operation. And for a few days last week, they were gracious enough to let me work alongside as they harvested, cooked, and sold their wares at local farmers' markets.

It was not easy work, but aside from getting mauled by prickly blackberry bushes, the tasks were manageable and fulfilling. The shared labor and efficient (but not frantic) pace seemed natural. "You can probably lug that yourself," I recall Jamie smiling as I crouched to heft a crate of rainbow carrots to the washing station, "but it's easier if we share the load." So we did. (Not just trying to muscle through everything: what a concept!) Whether digging up carrots with Jamie, picking beans with Sara Jane, or feeding the pigs with their friend Kristen (Sara's high school friend from New Orleans who has been living and working with them for a few months), I found these young activist farmers to be open, curious, thoughtful, and joyful as they went about their daily work. Sure, it was hot, and there was much to be done, and maybe the sweet potato transplants were a few weeks behind schedule, but all the while I got the sense that they were content to be exactly where they are, doing what they are meant to be doing, their lives perfectly in tune with their beliefs. How apt that they named their place A Way of Life Farm.

It wasn't all work all the time. Mealtimes (and midday group snack breaks) offered opportunities to celebrate the farm's bounty while discussing political philosophies and agricultural policies. And on Sunday -- after morning chores, a load of laundry, and a flurry of cooking and cleaning -- a number of local farmers made their way to Sara Jane and Jamie's farm for a back porch potluck. Here was not only a mess of delicious food but a thoughtful and supportive community of growers: free-range chicken and egg farmers, organic veggie growers, pastured meat producers (including Christy and Michael and the boys from Underwood Family Farms, where I'd helped out a few days prior). As we enjoyed food and drink, and Jamie got a fire going for marshmallow roasting, conversations wandered from crop productivity to market trends to recipes. Here, I thought to myself, is the next generation of farmers. And I'm honored to have been accepted into their midst for even a brief time on my way through North Carolina.

I hope to make my way back to this farm some day. Not to partake of the lavender roasted carrots or the grilled pizzas or homemade mead, but to be a part of the community of passionate, thoughtful growers once again. (And, okay, maybe partly for more of those carrots.)

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Born and grazed right here in North Carolina

I've met a number of farmers now who have come from non-farming backgrounds, folks who have chosen to embrace humble but fulfilling lives as organic produce and pastured meat farmers for all kinds of reasons. For some it's a sense of food injustice and a determination to make healthy food available where they live. For others, it's a distrust of the mainstream food industry practices (or the American consumer culture in general) that sets them on a path to sustainable farming. And for others, it's something they read that lights a fire under them: for Michael and Christy Underwood, it was an article in Gourmet Magazine (R.I.P.) on farmer Joel Salatin written back in 2002. To my former students who argued that something you read can't change your life, here's another example to the contrary.

Michael was finishing up a degree in History about seven years ago when he came across a feature in the now defunct food magazine. He was all worked up about what Salatin -- who has since been catapulted into farmer rockstardom when he was featured in "The Omnivore's Dilemma" (aka Ibti's Food Bible) as well as the documentaries "Food, Inc." and "Fresh" -- was doing in western Virginia. Michael wanted to be a part of this new, whole-ecosystem style of grass-based animal farming and broached the topic with his wife Christy, who was working on her own degree in English at UNC at the time, and she agreed it was a worthy pursuit. A farm internship at Polyface Farm (Salatin's operation) didn't materialize, but instead they worked with a farmer in Fairview, NC to learn how to raise pastured meat animals in their home state. A few years ago they began renting a plot of land and a house in Lawndale, NC and started raising pastured pork, lamb, and beef. And after I met Christy at the Charlotte Regional Farmers' Market last Saturday, they kindly agreed to let me work at their farm for a day or two as I made my way through western North Carolina (toward my impending third date with the Appalacian Mountains).

It's some intense work, especially in the southern summer climate, but Christy and I, and her two boys, Isaiah and Jeremiah, managed to water and feed the pigs before the real heat started. (Here's a pic I snapped of their boar as we went about our morning routine. He looked rather menacing at first, but then I sprayed a little cool water in the mud and I daresay he started smiling as he flopped over to wallow.) Then it was time to move portable electric fencing and herd the sheep and cattle to a new pasture. I tell you, anyone who complains about the higher price of pastured meat (vs. conventional feedlot fare) would sing a different tune if he had to trudge through tall grass and thorny blackberry patches in a pool of his own sweat to pull up and refence new paddocks every few days. (Yes, in case you're wondering, we did periodically stop to sample some wild blackberries as we fenced. It is *me* we're talking about here.) I was excited to at last see and help with a rotational grazing system that I'd heard and read so much about, and hot and tired as I was I felt rather proud when the ruminants calmly sidled into their new grassy salad bar. Our animal chores were, thankfully, completed by lunchtime, and after a lovely, veggie-filled meal the boys invited me to join them next door for a swim in the pool. Ahhhh.

Did I mention how HOT it was? I wimped out of helping Michael with tilling and weeding some of the vegetable patches in the stifling heat when he returned from working at his construction job midafternoon. I mean, how often am I around a swimming pool? But I did help Christy with dinner, which included a scrumptious, slow-cooked, herb-rubbed Underwood pork roast. It might have been even tastier than the stew I made with some Underwood beef last weekend at Laura's, but it's tough to tell. I think I was a bit biased by the lavendar-and-honey roasted carrots and homemade mead that their friends Jamie and Sara Jane -- the charming farming couple of nearby A Way of Life Farm -- brought to the meal. (More about my work with Jamie and Sara Jane coming soon.)

I can't help but marvel at the devotion and slow (but growing) success of these passionate entrepreneurs. They clearly love the land, the animals, and each other. Each day brings new trials but also new joys. And though it is not a glamorous or easy life, they seem happy. "At the very least, we eat well," Christy smiled during dinner. "It's one of the perks of the job." No kidding... Yum!

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Helping hands

During my time in Charlotte, NC I was lucky enough to stumble across one of the most successful -- and inspiring -- collaborative models for food outreach I have ever come across. It all started with an offhand suggestion in an e mail from my college friend Mark (whose hectic work schedule prevented us, alas, from meeting up in person while I was in town, but whose local food and farm recommendations have for the most part been stellar)....

Okay, I know I've gushed about a few programs over the past 16 months since I started the blog, but seriously the innovative partnership between Friendship Trays (a meals on wheels-style nonprofit based in Charlotte), The Community Culinary School of Charlotte (CCSC), and the local Slow Food chapter is something I simply have not come across before. I taught in the public education system and have worked in a few nonprofits that paid lip service to (and in a few instances actually worked toward) "collaboration," and I am telling you that it can be quite a challenge to pull off a true collaboration successfully, to be able to tap into each person's (or organization's) interests and talents and networks. Here, friends, is a model for how to bring food to those without access (physically and/or financially), empower and employ those without jobs, and educate folks about how to grow healthy food and communities in an urban setting.

I spent last Thursday afternoon -- no, not two days ago, I mean last week, and, yes, this blog post is more belated than intended, but there's been a lot to process in the ibtibrain -- at the weekly Friendship Garden open volunteer day. My friend Laura tagged along and we helped harvest beans and squash, added compost and water to some of the beds, snipped the buds off of the basil, and chatted with other volunteers. As we were finishing up, Lani -- the volunteer coordinator at nearby Friendship Trays -- stopped by and gave us a tour and a bit of history on the green space. The garden, we learned, was made possible with the hard labor of (and some funding from) folks over at Slow Food Charlotte. It was meant as a demonstration garden, so that people from around the city could come and learn how to create similar community gardens in their area. And Lani told us that funding has been secured to build 4 more gardens within the next year.

Oh, but there's more. The produce from the garden -- including beans, potatoes, tomatoes, peppers, and a whole mess of fresh herbs -- is often harvested and used by students at the Community Culinary School of Charlotte right next door. Well, a culinary school that is connected to seasonal produce sounds right up my alley. Lani apparently thought so, too, and promptly introduced me to CCSC's gregarious director, Chef Ron, who gave me an overview of his program that trains and helps place unemployed community members in the food industry. There are some income-generating aspects to the 12-15 week program, including corporate cooking classes and the student-and-alumni-run catering business, but the general idea is to help empower folks (who for one reason or another have a hard time finding work) with the skills and experience necessary to find decent, gainful employment in food.

Wait, wait, you're probably wondering what the connection to Friendship Trays is beyond simply being next door. Get this: instead of paying tuition, students in the culinary school are required to log a certain number of hours cooking with Friendship Trays, which cranks out roughly 700 meals each day for delivery in the Charlotte metro area. So along with the 85 volunteers who help pack and deliver these meals, there are real chefs (and chefs-in-training) feeding their communities. I was so intrigued that I made my way back over to Friendship Trays the following morning for the 8-11am food packing shift. It's all true. And apparently the webmaster happened to stop in with his camera while I was adorned in hairnet and plastic apron. I chatted with him a bit afterwards and was tickled to find a piece on my little project on the website a few days later. (For the record, I had *no* idea he was using the mega-zoom feature. Tell me, is my nose *really* that enormous? Actually, don't answer that.)

Interestingly, I learned from Amy (one of CCSC's administrators) that the program is closely modeled on the DC Central Kitchen in my very own beloved Washington, DC. (You'd better believe I mean to check out the work going on there when I get back. Oooh, I'm getting excited just *thinking* about it!) I would love to be involved with a similar food justice collaboration back home.

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