Happy Thanksgiving!

Last week, Debbie and I helped our host farmer harvest his turkey crop. Over the course of four days, we processed 800 turkeys. I was a feather inspector, never got involved in the killing... killing that was necessary to get the birds to the table. I do know that no birds were mishandled, and the process used is the same as responsible farmers practice.

I learned, through this process, how polarized we have become as a consumer society. It seems few want to admit that the meat they eat came from a living animal.

Debbie's family couldn't understand how she could get involved in such a seemingly barbaric act, even though, if they had asked, she was there to place a plastic tie on the drumsticks to hold them together. In the end, nobody really understood that we simply wanted to say "Thanks" to Farmer Brown for lending me a field, exposing me to a new interest in life. We were there along with about twenty other family members and friends of his... all volunteers... who in some way have been positively affected by the farmer and his farm.

I guess it's o.k. when people want to come to a farm to pick flowers and vegetables, but when it comes to living animals, well, that's something left for the likes of Tyson or Perdue!

Well. after four days at Wychwood, it was time to go home, and Farmer Brown asked me how big a turkey I'd like.

"I'm happy to pay," I said.

"You helped a lot," he insisted.

"Fifteen or twenty pounds," I told him. This year, we're not expecting a big crowd.

Right now, I can smell the turkey, and it's at 170 degrees.... ready to come out of the oven in a little bit.

Thanks for all of the great comments.... and for following my first season. Hopefully I'll be back when I have something fun to report.

Happy Thanksgiving, Friends and Family!

Day 157, October 22, 2010

Sunset means moonrise on a late October Friday evening at UCONN. Halloween is still a little over a week away, but I feel a shiver, and I have to pull over to catch this shot. There it is: a perfectly crested hill, bare trees and a small contingent of grazing Holsteins. A band of pink sky and a full moon frames UCONN's version of Farming 101. Course completed, and this image is my diploma.

Debbie has just treated Elizabeth and me to our first visit to The UCONN Dairy Bar. This is a place that makes direct use of its dairy cattle. They collect the milk, return it to the Dairy Bar, where it is homogenized, pasteurized, and processed in various vats, kettles and mixers into 400 gallon batches of ultra-fresh ice cream mix.

At the UCONN Dairy Bar, the manufacturing side is larger in area than the selling side. Tow-headed co-eds serve an endless stream of loyal customers, while others manage flatbed roller carts loaded with dozens of half-gallon containers of honest ice cream. We're here a little before six-p.m., the Dairy Bar's closing time, and so we decide to have our desert before dinner. The product is perfect, in every way, and we leave knowing that this is not our last visit.

It seems to me that every time I visit a legendary place, like The UCONN Dairy Bar, or Clyde's Cider Factory... Or Jones Family Farm, and their winery, Christmas tree, pumpkin or berry operations that there is keen inspiration to continue the traditions of excellence and passion for product perfection. I want to do something as well as these leaders do, but I don't want to copy or follow them.

At the same time, I may be getting closer to an opportunity. I'm finally getting emails and phone calls from people with land and ideas, and that is a good Karma to take into the autumn. One thing for certain, in farm country, there is no easy gain, but there are sure some decent people.

Day 154, October 19, 2010

Weeks ago, we cut the heads from our sunflowers, left long stems, and sold them as Bird/Squirrel Feeders. Of course, the squirrels took the lion's share of the sunflower seeds, popping them, one after another, thousands of seeds, into their greedy gullets.

When all was said and done, the squirrels won, but I never forgot the wisdom of Farmer Brown... words of advice when planting:

"One for the Blackbird, two for the crow... three for the cutworm, and four to grow.

As the sunflower heads vanished into the squirrels, little diamond mouth marks began to appear on our pumpkins. I suspect, the squirrels look for seeds, pop their teeth into the tough pumpkin skin, and move onto the next. Well, Farmer Brown's principles seem to have applied to pumpkins. Looks like we have enough for our Halloween customers, enough for rodent teething, and those who don't mind imperfection get a bargain as the agricultural farming season draws to a chilly close!

Day 152, October 17, 2010

We need a new vision for saving our old farms

By BEN GREENFIELD

Publication: The Day

Published 10/17/2010 12:00 AM

Updated 10/17/2010 02:03 AM

COMMENTS ( 0 )

Last spring, as business became bleaker than a grizzly bear's stare, I learned to stare back. Seeking greener pastures, I borrowed a field from a farmer, planted crops, learned to tell time by the sun, and feel the rhythm of the field. As the plants flourished, I started a blog, and wrote about my love for this new field of farming.

I've had the good fortune to meet many farmers, folks who live in the same homes their grandparents built, who grew up working in barns with the occasional lowing of 150 milking cows. Their barns are now mostly empty, assets faded to liabilities. That grizzly bear's been staring at many farming families for a long time. For some, their only hope is to sell the farm so a developer can transform it into two-acre subdivisions.

It's now autumn and my field is anything but still. About 150 Brandywine, Beefsteak, Roma and cherry tomatoes are still producing fruit. As the days grow shorter, and the sun's angle shifts, the honey and bumblebees are frantic, impatient with barren blooms. Soon the air will be dry and cold; snow will cover the newly-harrowed field. I wonder why the people, who for generations have fed us, must sacrifice their sacred land to simply retire?

Perhaps they don't.

I propose the formation of a "Farming Community Foundation of Eastern Connecticut."

The experience that I enjoyed in my host farmer's field should not be limited to entrepreneurs and those who inherit farms. Everyone should have access to this honest life, connected to their food, environment and community.

Three essential goals should guide any foundation farming project undertaken:

• Save a farm.

• Create a farming community.

• Grow a business.

Lately, I have shared this vision with experienced farmers and scholars. Forming friendships and relationships with organizations and institutions, including the American Farmland Trust, Yale School of Forestry and Environmental Studies, and Stone Barns Center for Food & Agriculture, has provided greater insight into the problems, and opportunities, that await us in farm country.

The days of multi-generational farming families are mostly gone, with a few brilliant exceptions, such as the Jones Family Farm in Shelton, Lyman Orchards, and Bishops Orchards.

The not-for-profit foundation I propose would seek out medium-sized to large farms. Farms, or adjoining farms with 250 acres to 600 acres, provide adequate land to create a small, village-setting of about 40 acres to 60 acres.

In this manner, we can defray the cost of land acquisition and improvements, while being able to provide affordable homes for the folks who will then perform the bulk of the work on the farm. After all, over one-half of the occupations tracked by the Connecticut Department of Labor cannot afford a typical two-bedroom apartment. We'd like our professional farm workers to have the option of living where they work. Farm products would be marketed within the region.

Building should keep with the farm's historic origins, placing 85 percent to 90 percent of farmland into trust and possibly reselling the remaining development rights to ensure the land stays agricultural.

People will want to visit these farm communities, which could offer internships, volunteer, educational and social opportunities, weddings and authentic farm dinners.

This is, indeed, an ambitious agenda. For those of us who enjoy a close community, good neighbors, and fast sledding hills, farming communities could become popular options over suburban sprawl and starter castles.

Of course, this is a dream or, maybe, a genuine vision. It will not happen at once, and when it does happen, it may take a somewhat different direction.

But in the post-bailout economy, when so many who depended on the accelerating expansion of our economy are now adrift, it feels like the right approach at the right time. So I will keep talking to experts and interested supporters and doubters, hopefully learning from all of them and moving forward into a novel sense of place and community.

Feel free to get involved. As I've learned over the season, a simple seed sown can change a life.

Ben Greenfield has worked in food product development and marketing for more than 30 years. His fascination with farms sparked in 1992, while visiting potato growers during the creation and birth of the company he founded, Mystic Chips. Greenfield turned his interest to the idea of creating farming communities after he sold his potato chip brand. Contact Greenfield atBengreenfield@Mac.com or follow his progress atwww.Somecountryforoldben.blogspot.com.

Day 146, October 11, 2010

Seems like this Blog's post frequency's fading faster than the colors of our zinnias. Just yesterday, we pull all of our tomatillo plants, ending up with two Milk crates filled with around fifty pounds of fat, green tomatillos. We drive the tomatillos, along with twenty pounds of jalapenos to Martine at Milagro Mexican Restaurant in Stonington Borough. Of course, Martine is busy - families are waiting for a table out on the sidewalk - but appreciative that we'd worked so hard in our field, had chosen him for our harvest. "Well," I think, "It's Deb's birthday on Wednesday... maybe we'll come enjoy our harvest, and we can sample Martine's talents then."

It is amazing, nearly mid-October, and we're still harvesting tomatoes, and the flavors are quite good. I realize that a frost could come at any time, so we're pulling stakes, gathering hoses, and thinking about a future from all of this. Most folks seem to to be embracing the concept of "The Farming Community Foundation of Eastern Connecticut." I was asked to write an op-ed article for our local newspaper, and I'm hoping they'll run it next Sunday, October 17th.

Amazingly, I am starting to see opportunities coming from my farming experience. I have met different farmers, and an occasional opportunity comes along... like raising livestock... how can I help use my marketing background to sell it better, raise it humanely, and market it with integrity.

Of course, I always seem to get the tougher, more controversial assignments, like raising veal. That is until I learned more about the direction other farmers have taken it. Marian Burros wrote a story in The New York Times called "Veal to Love, Without the Guilt:"

( http://www.nytimes.com/2007/04/18/dining/18veal.html ). After reading this, and after studying approaches to humane raising of veal calves, I believe that the male calves should be allowed to grow humanely, that if they are to give their lives, to feed those who wish to eat meat, then it must be with dignity, and hopefully on a smaller farm where someone actually likes animals. Clearly, 45% of dairy offspring are male. A baby bull is doomed at birth, as all but a lucky few are suitable for breeding.

I have decided that every experience is a chance to do better, and that if I summarily abrogate a category, before learning about it, then I am not being objective. There is plenty of room for activism, but I do not believe in taking a whole category of food off the table, this early in the game. At the same time, I am not yet certain how I feel about raising another creature, knowing that I am planning to kill it. I have always enjoyed the warmth of a cow's sour, silage breath on my hands, the chewing on my shirttail... but I also realize that there is a right and a wrong way to raise and process all that comes from a farm, and I am not ready to let go of any possibilities, just yet.

Day 131, September 26, 2010

A simple vision - to save a farm by creating a small community and building a relevant business on a tired or struggling farm - is becoming a quest for consensus. About a week, or so, ago I call Cris Coffin, who heads The American Farmland Trust's efforts in the New England region. It is her job to promote farmland protection, farm viability and farm conservation practices. She listens, suggests that I might have a unique idea, and recommends that I talk with the Connecticut Farmland Trust, as well as Brad Gentry at the Yale School of Forestry and Environmental Studies. This past Friday, I travel to New Haven to meet with Brad at Kroon Hall, the award-winning home of the Forestry School.

Aside from learning that environmental professors at Yale do not wear neckties to work ("This is a forestry school, Ben,") I learn that I have a lot of people to meet, and a lot of naive notions to shed. Brad explains that he does not typically get directly involved with projects, but that he enjoys facilitating, pairing people, and opening doors in specialized communities, so to speak. He explains that Yale School of Forestry has talented students who are actively involved in projects both as extracurricular volunteers and sometimes as part of their coursework. New names, hastily scratched on my yellow pad, will hopefully reappear, in life. These could be the folks who will be key to interpreting and helping to promote our not-for-profit sustainable farming community concept.

Later in the day, I write Brad to thank him for the meeting, and to ask if a sustainable model for our idea exists... one that we can personally embrace and take to others. He promptly writes back with three examples, and I decide to try his first recommendation, The Jones Family Farm (http://www.jonesfamilyfarms.com/farm), in Shelton , CT

Since I can't get through to the Jones Farm on the phone, I decide to drive there, anyway. Debbie is annoyed that she has to work, cannot come. I arrive there at noon, and as I walk up

from the large, shady parking lot, I can see why Brad wants me to know these guys. This is a 150-year old farm, about twenty miles north of New Haven. It's a paradise, thoughtfully maintained, built in scale with the surrounding, rolling hills, nooks and crannies and corners, like a village... but really a multigenerational family farming compound.

I look for someone who can help me meet Terry Jones. Terry agrees to come down to the winery to meet for a brief introduction.

"Terry, I know this is a weekend. I'd love to say hello, if you have time, or maybe set a time for later."

"That's fine. I'm watching my grandchild... see you at the winery, about 1:30." There are tents set up for a cheese cake company, for sampling wine, a produce stand, a demo of a potato, squash salad, and a soup company. Jones Family Farm is the largest, most successful family farming operation I have seen. Sure, there are the Lymans and the Bishops, but there is an aesthetic sense of history and place to the farm. The fact that Terry Jones meets with me and spends nearly an hour trying to share his contacts and ideas is a simple testament to his wisdom and integrity.

"Ben, I think your idea is ambitious and very interesting." He thinks a minute, and says, "Farming is difficult, and it is a lifetime of experience. You have to respect the land, work with everything that comes your way."

"Terry, I think I know what you mean." I proceed to tell him about the 150 tomato plants I planted last

May, how there was no water available, that it had gotten dry, and how the plants were wilting. I explain how I drove to Stop & Shop to buy 47 gallons of spring water, then drove back at sunset and gave each plant a little drink.

"That's expensive," he laughs.

"Yeah, about forty cents a gallon, but we saved the plants, and next day, Farmer Brown installed a faucet in the basement of the barn so we could water the field."

As we get up to leave, we shake hands, and Terry says, "I want to see you succeed."

As I leave, I think about the contacts, the encouragement, and the model I've witnessed. I realize that there is no way I cannot succeed!

Day 125, September 20, 2010

Slowly but surely, this initiative is becoming more than just a Farmer Ben vision thing. We now have a graphic artist willing to help out and enhance our writing and Power Point presentations. Kevin is taking the time to pitch in and add stylistic and strategic improvements to our presentation piece. In fact, it seems that wherever I go, whenever I tell folks about what I'm up to, people ask great questions. They normally always end up saying, "Great idea." They often send me names of new contacts, and some offer to help out once we really need them. Although we have the beginnings of a world-class board of directors, we're not quite ready to have meetings... but soon.

Today, curiosity leads me to two interesting new friends. Every day, I drive past a bright, beautiful public garden in Stonington. Today, however, I decide to investigate, thinking that it's a community garden.

"Can we help you?" a woman asks, with her friendly voice.

"Is this a community garden?" I ask her.

Sue Bove and Alejandra Welch, who turn out to be co-chairs of the Stonington Community Center's wildly successful kids-enrichment venture explain that it's a children's garden, for kids from nursery school through grammar school. The garden is laid out in raised beds, each representing a different theme, such as urban gardening in the picture here.

I tell them about my experience on the farm this past season, about the blog, and about the Save-a-Farm, Build-a-Community initiative. They seem fascinated, then ask really good questions. Then they tell me about their own experiences. It turns out that Sue's family runs a 2,500 acre potato farm in Hatfield, Massachusetts. Alejandra and her husband, Josh own a beautiful farm on Al Harvey Road in Stonington where they are raising beef cattle. When I ask Debbie what breed they are, she says she believes they're Black Angus cattle.

After a while, both women separate. I walk around the rectangular property and find Sue working by a patch of sunflowers. "Fantastic idea! We gotta get back to basics," she exclaims.

"Thanks," I tell her. "You may get a call some day, once we're rolling." She smiles, and gives me a web address for the potato farm.

I walk over to a tiny demonstration pond where Alejandra is skimming a green, granular vegetation from the surface. A half dozen pairs of Kermit eyes peer from the pond as Alejandra stresses the need for farming education. "Many kids have never eaten a cucumber," she tells me. We talk a while about her farm, and a little more about my idea. "That's a very good idea," she says. "You should speak with my husband," she insists as she takes my pad and writes his name and number on the yellow lined paper.

As we're talking, a medium-size green frog pokes its head out of the pond and looks up at me. "When I was eight, I was the champion frog catcher at summer camp," I whisper as I scoop the smooth green and bronze jumper into my hands.

"Well, you haven't lost your touch," Alejandra offers. I fold my palm flat, low to the ground. The frog breathes a liberating breath, its yellow throat gulping, as it leaps to freedom.