History may not repeat itself, but it does rhyme. — Mr. Twain
Light on the farm from the setting sun, after a storm.
Our phone has been ringing off the hook, again, and we are glad. But now I have some questions without ready answers.
In the wake of the 2008 Great Recession, small farms did, if not actually thrive, at least fare better than they had for some years before. The population, already primed by Michael Pollan and Food, Inc., deluged us with requests for sides of pork, quarters of beef, whole lamb, chicken, eggs, and produce. We held workshops on foraging mushrooms and raising hogs. We conducted classes on butchering chickens that had real estate agents lined up next to home-school moms, waiting to wield a knife on a live chicken. The job loss, the foreclosures, the crash of the banks — the societal disruption was such that virtually everyone feared being relegated to living a quasi-medieval life before that year or the next was out. For the first time in a long time people thought and acted local. That lasted for a few years.
I have been thinking about that time in this current crisis: What does the future post-COVID-19 hold for small farms? Where will the small farm fit into the economy, or, more to the point, which economy will the small farm fit into? Because, like history, an economy ain’t static.
A recent NYT article mentioned offhandedly that Americans eat 75 percent of their vegetables at restaurants. That stat shows the outsized impact of our consumer economy on what used to be a family or communal experience, that is, whether it be sitting down to shell beans or break bread. We have, in one generation or two, outsourced the love and care of food preparation and delivery to businesses. (Which begs the question of what the heck is in those veggieless home-cooked meals.)
Dan Barber, in his 2014 book The Third Plate, spent several hundred pages eloquently reimagining the dinner plate of the future at his elegant Blue Hill restaurant. One of the questions that still rattles around in my brain is, Does a future knocked from its pedestal by global catastrophe —pandemic, climate change, collapsing resources — really allow for high-end restaurants? Or, indeed, for restaurants at the scale we have today?
A local producer’s economy (or as it is now fashionable to say, the maker’s economy) remains only a twee option in the global consumer economy. I’ve written too many times about the customer seeing “local” as a consumer’s choice: “I bought some lovely pork chops from Winged Elm Farm, honey. Run to Costco and pick up the rest of the meal’s ingredients.” While that “choice” continues, most small farms will be but a rhetorical flourish for the politician, the food writer, and the conversationalist at the restaurant dinner table, a footnote on the farm-to-table menu that proudly announces sourcing local ingredients “when available.”
Small farm culture simply is not relevant in large-scale capitalist or command economies. Indeed, it exists in the margins of most economic models; it endures, in moments of time, as a particular cycle of history expands or contracts. The census used to have a category for the “self-sufficing farm,” an entity that produced the majority of a family’s needs and bartered in a primarily cashless economy for the remainder. That model, while not so sexy to policy planners, politicians, or, frankly, you and me, is closer to how most small farms have existed across the centuries, across the continents. Perhaps the small farm thrives when there is minimal choice?
One day next month or next year, this particular crisis will pass, no doubt. But it has left exposed the limits of global supply chains. It is encouraging that those limits are now being questioned. Yet, I do not hold my breath that good questions or good answers will change our trajectory as a species. Just as likely is that the planet will make the choices for us. Then the question becomes not Where does the small farm fit into the economy? but instead, How does the larger population learn to live a life of reduced choices?
Older farmers in this valley recall that growing up, an egg man used to come around twice a week to collect eggs. He would take them to sell to the family-owned grocery store in the nearest town. He provided some much-needed cash for the farms to buy what they did not themselves produce.
Maybe that is the best outcome we might hope for. When the clearest sign that we have launched ourselves on a new and better course is that one fine spring day, as we are hoeing in our gardens, we hear the sound of the egg man coming up the drive, once again.
I’m glad to hear to say you have questions without ready answers. That condition fits a lot of us right now, even those of us without a small farm perspective.
I read with great interest Joe Bageant’s memoir Rainbow Pie about growing up on a subsistence farm in the 1950s and how that lifestyle, having served many generations, was driven out of existence as relatively self-sufficient people were gradually brought into the money economy. The story could be interpreted as either a grievous loss of tradition or about damn time those folks adapted to the modern world. I’m adapted to the modern world, but sometimes I wish I weren’t.
I’ve been meaning to read Rainbow Pie (read Deer Hunting With Jesus). Thanks for the reminder.
<i<proudly announces sourcing local ingredients “when available.”
Ahhh…. when available. Therein the crux. One needs to eat on a timetable that isn’t always served by “when available”. I fall into a group that presumes we can go a long way to making a small farm perspective push availability close to needed levels… but I fall out of membership once guarantees are asked for. Boom and bust might suit an Ivy Tower economist reflecting on human foible. But real hunger is a dangerous thing.
I hope you are not saying I’ve implied hunger is a good thing, Clem? Hopefully, it comes across that I’ve said a reduction in choice from a global larder might benefit the planet and our species. Otherwise I need to go back to blog writing school.
Cheers,
Perhaps I’ll need to go back for comment writing (or closer blog reading) school. Seeing I messed up the italics formatting it’s likely some of both.
First I might define more closely what ‘hunger’ means to me. A growling belly that is an hour past meal time is one thing. Going a day without a meal is a fast. Having little prospect of a nutritious meal… facing starvation or malnutrition – this is a bridge too far. The first two senses of hunger can be a good thing. I think we both feel the third is to be avoided.
In the paragraph that ends with the quoted clause I may have missed your intention. “when available” as if ‘local’ is a delicacy or a fashion statement… something to choose if convenient – this is your meaning?
For me, local sourcing will remain just that – a trick pony if you will – until there is one of a few developments. First would be the arrival of a sufficiently robust local food shed that will provide the
local marketplace with sufficient calories to reliably stand on its own. When accounting for boom and bust scenarios, this can become a difficult, perhaps even dangerous proposition. Supply chains are getting their due attention right now. The ‘guarantee’ piece of my comment was meant to hint toward this. [So long as I’m at this I would also draw a distinction between commodity and specialty. In most of the modern US marketplace ‘local’ is a specialty product, even if we wish it weren’t so. But food, no
matter what form it takes (fresh v. frozen, local vs. not local, organic vs. not organic, heritage vs. ‘modern’, etc. etc.) will always find a commodity competitor. Substitution, “day old” what have you – until famine and starvation are front and center, the inelastic demand for ‘calories’ posits there will be ‘other’ sources of something to eat].
A second development, and far more onerous to my thinking, is further collapse of larger scale markets forcing local reliance – not as a choice but as the only path. There are some localities with much more limited resources. These localities may suffer significantly through no fault of human intentions and
efforts. The third sense of hunger arrives there too soon.
“Local” as a feel good choice in a vast marketplace isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Developing more robust local food sheds can get a nudge from this sort of attention. To get to a point where “local” is no longer special but assumed to be the norm – then some sort of guarantee may be warranted. And I’m not convinced we’re ready for that yet. By some sort of guarantee I’m pointing toward overproduction in order to assure a minimum level provision regardless of conditions on the ground. But overages are not free when normal environments allow typical levels of production. Sure, pigs will scarf extra tomatoes… but what to do with extra pigs?
I can’t recall if I’ve shared the tomato story from my youth in these pages. A major lesson learned was how a mainstream commercial grocer viewed a local vegetable grower (my family). It was eye opening for me. If anyone’s curious I could lay it out.
Nether my post nor myself have a quibble, sir. And it sounds like you have a topic for the GP to share. Hope all is well in C-bus.
Another home run, Brian.
Watching my neighbors running their $200,000 tractors and $350,000 combines and they are wondering how in Hell are they going to make the payments. But, they have no other choice, keep running ever faster or let the agribusiness treadmill run over you.
I’m afraid most farmers (and many ex-farmers) were sold a bill of goods: Borrow money at interest to produce more of any particular un-needed commodity. A race to the bottom, to be certain. This allows commodities to be produced at less than cost for quite awhile and this is what you and I are competing against. When faced with unprofitability these big boys most often double down and borrow even more money to produce even more supplies of surplus staples. Everyone benefits from the cheaply produced commodities, except the poor, dumb farmer who has become a debt slave, and the small farm trying to compete.
How many high end restaurants will survive? Good Question. Maybe an even better question is how many fast food outlets will survive.
My son Dave and I were driving down the nearly deserted streets of our tourist town and he made a profound statement. “You know, 75% of these businesses don’t need to exist, if times get tough..” And he was right. Coffee shops, breadboards, rubber stamps, doodads, teddy bears, collectibles, antiques, expensive candy, etc, etc, etc. and more restaurants and fast food joints than you can shake a stick at. All unnecessary. And all competing for your food dollar.
Will it ever change? I don’t think so. Our society rewards people who shift paper instruments and garner a percentage, skimming and scamming, I call it.
On the other hand, our society looks down on what we now call “the essential workers”, people who get dirty. Until there is a financial meltdown, or a food disruption, looking to be financially rewarded for doing farming well will be disappointing.
Sorry to be so negative. But, I’m 65-and tired.
Don,
Good to hear from you. Your son’s comments remind me of a book I’ve been meaning to read, The Bullshit Economy. It is an examination of how many jobs are essentially useless. The equivalent of digging a ditch and filling it in, again and again.
And I hear you loud and clear on the debt load. Always grateful that we don’t carry any.
Thanks,
Really enjoyed this one Brian. I long for the egg man!
Thanks, Melanie. Hope all is well down towards the river.
Cheers,
Brian
Today I got a nice visit from an egg man, dropping off his duck eggs to my city home. If only, if only, if only I could get signed up with a goat milk man! I love the local small farmers.
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