Livestock tanks double as a swimming pool

One of my nephews is in the process of buying a farm. This is the same somewhat directionally challenged nephew I wrote about in The Path We Take, so I figure any pearls of wisdom I can scatter along his chosen trail might be of use in marking his way.

Dear Nephew,
• Farming attracts fads like bare legs attract chiggers. There is No Magic Next New Thing to succeed. Go old school and care for your land, animals, and family, work hard, and be frugal.
• Ground yourself. Read anything by Wendell Berry, Gene Logsdon, and Joel Salatin.
• Arm yourself, reasonably. Shotgun, hunting rifle, .22 caliber — all have a place on the farm. You don’t need anything else unless you are preparing for your own Ruby Ridge. In which case, you should rethink your reasons for wanting to farm.
• Move to the country not to get away from people but to get closer to them. Prepare to have neighbors on whom you can rely, not just wave at.
• In that vein, start by helping others: Notify the nearby farmer when his cattle are heading down the road; better still, assist in putting them back in the field. Volunteer to lend a hand in butchering the neighbor’s deer or chickens. Join the old man across the lane when he’s picking up square bales.
• If you attend church, pick one that is part of the community.
• Buy a pickup truck, preferably a four-wheel drive. There’s no need to get a farm truck duded out with heated seats and sunroof. There’s also no need for a livestock trailer at first; just rent one at your nearest farmers co-op.
• Get an older tractor that you can repair and that has the power you need. You have the mechanical skills to keep it in good condition. An American-made 35-45 hp from the 1960s or ‘70s should serve you well.
• Raise what you like to eat. That applies to vegetables, fruit, and livestock. If celeriac, aronia berries, and emu meat are your go-to ingredients for a romantic dinner, then dive right in and raise them. If not, then make a new list.
• That said … one of the great joys of having a farm is to experiment with what you grow. Just cover the basics first, and consider these variables in your decisions: What do others in your area grow or raise? What does the land support? You wouldn’t invest in an olive grove in Minnesota, and you wouldn’t farm salmon in Louisiana.
• Plant fruit, nut, and shade trees as soon as you can afford it. Sow cover crops or oversow grass seed in your pastures, then fence, fence, and fence some more.
• Share your overabundant harvest. If you’re wanting to sell your bounty to others, think about this: Where is your market? It’s liberating to live three hours from the nearest large city, but who will buy what you produce? Begin putting together a list of outlets for possible customers.
• Treat what you raise with respect, and cook it with love. I know you are of sound Louisiana stock, but you also have been culinarily disadvantaged from a life spent in Texas. That is just a plain, undisputed fact. Which is to say, make gumbo every cold Saturday night and red beans and rice every Monday.
• Do not under any circumstances add miniature livestock. At best, minis are a fad; at worst, they will leave you starving when the shit hits the fan. A full-size pig provides a large amount of meat in an astonishingly short amount of time. Not so with pot-bellies. A farm is not a petting zoo. If you want an animal friend, get a dog.
• Learn to sketch. Start drawing site plans for fencing, outbuildings, orchards, gardens, treehouses. (Okay, maybe not treehouses, although you do need to allow for a little whimsy in your life.)
• Take pictures. Your farm will change daily.
• Farm tools are essential. Acquire these sooner rather than later: come-along, logging chain, post-hole digger, post setter, two pairs of fence pliers, chainsaw (or two or three), rock bar, gardening hoes, mattocks, sledgehammer, knives (pocket knives, boning knife, pruning knife, machete), pitchforks (five-tine, four-tine, and the precious, scarce, and most used, the three-tine).
• Buy a gas-powered generator or two. Living in a remote valley at the end of the utility line, you’ll need it sooner or later. A freezer full of meat without electricity is a sad, smelly business.
• Get very familiar with these terms: rotational grazing, green manure, grassfed, free range, organic food (or, as your great-grandparents called it, food), sheet mulching, fallow, hard work, Aspercreme.
• Contact your county extension agent. He can and will help. You don’t have to know everything.
• Work with the Natural Resources Conservation Service to learn and execute smart resource management practices. From erecting a hoop-house to choosing which trees to cut in a woodlot, NRCS is one of the few federal agencies that help the small farm make improvements. Its services are not a handout — you do the work, and in return you get expert guidance and financial assistance.
• Go to any and all estate sales. Well-cared-for farm tools last forever.
• Finally, set up a hammock. You won’t ever have time to relax in it, but it will serve as comic relief when you pass it a dozen times a day drenched in sweat.

Good luck, nephew, you will do fine and find your own way. Although, your uncle does respectfully suggest that a compass would be especially handy to keep in a back pocket.
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Reading this weekend: The Silver Ley (Adrian Bell), the second in a trilogy of autobiographical novels on farming in England during the interwar years.

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