An Economy of Satisfaction

Our language is shot through with sayings that originated in our agrarian past. “Don’t bet the farm” and “Don’t put all your eggs in one basket” are two. Both have resonance for a small diversified farm such as ours.

 

Hogs in the woods

Hogs in the woods

This past week we have been working on our 12-month farm plan. No surprise to anyone, fencing does make its perennial appearance. But the biggest change, a turning of the wheel, brings us back to the first years of our farm: the presence of breeding stock. In those early years, we had Milking Devons, Berkshire hogs and a flock of Border Leicester sheep. But as the years progressed and our needs and the economy changed, we sold our breeding stock and focused instead on feeding out weanlings.

Over these past 16 years, we have bought virtually no meat from the grocery. In that time our farm has supplied all the beef, pork, lamb, chicken and duck for our table and for dozens of other families’ tables as well. Sales of the first three helped us pay off the farm and house in 10 years. Making this small-farm market economy modestly successful has taken work and sacrifice.

That work produces a household economy of vegetables and fruits for the table. In spring, summer, and fall the gardens feed us, friends, and the pigs. Fruits from the orchards and honey from our bees are used to make various country wines and meads, jams and jellies, and … to feed our pigs. A household economy measured in quality and satisfaction: Only a fool would wonder about financial inputs and gains when enjoying fresh crowder peas or a ripe tomato plucked from the vine.

Alongside hard work a degree of luck factors in. We were lucky that both of us escaped the Great Recession relatively unscathed. We know from the experiences of most of our neighbors that our farm life could have gone completely off the rails. Lucky as well that Michael Pollan wrote The Omnivore’s Dilemma and that the documentary “Food Inc.” were released when they were. Both helped create a larger audience and culture that valued the work we did in producing food.

But the market wheel continues to turn and we adapt. Maintaining breeding stock, for many years, paid off. Then one day it didn’t. That’s when it became more cost effective to buy feeder pigs, weanling steers, and lambs from local farmers. Then the wheel turned again. The cost for buying lambs doubled, then tripled. Our response was to buy a few ewes and a ram and ease back into the breeding business. That small investment had quick returns both financially and in flock numbers: what started out as a flock of five or six now consists of 20 ewes, a ram, and 26 lambs.

Red Poll Cattle

Red Poll Cattle

Our return to breeding stock in pigs proceeded from the same reasons. Replacement prices have risen in recent times, if feeder pigs are available at all. Hence, the purchase of our sow, Delores. Likewise, cattle prices have exploded, while the prices paid by consumers have increased more modestly. Years ago we could get 400-pound replacement steers for about $300 a head. Last fall the price was $1300. The wheel turned with a vengeance. So this week we took receipt of two bred Red Poll cows and two heifers. We plan to phase out our existing stock of steers in the coming two years and, hopefully, replace them with steers from our new Red Poll herd.

“Don’t bet the farm” and “Don’t put all your eggs in one basket”—there is a reason those two adages are still in use. Flexibility, foresight, diversity, and a bit of luck are all important in the success of a small-farm economy and of the larger culture.

But without factoring in an economy of satisfaction, the investment would all be for naught.

Thanksgiving: from the archives

A thanksgiving note from 2004:

11-24-04

I had just settled into my office one evening, after driving back from a bookstore in Kentucky, when the phone rang. It was Cindy asking me to head on home. Art (our Milking Devon bull) had been causing trouble and our neighbor was demanding $500. I loaded up and headed home. Forty-five minutes later, I was greeted on our driveway by the sight of said neighbor, an aged farmer whose property backs up to a portion of our property.

For those of you who have been reading these notes for a few years, this neighbor is the farmer who never buys a bull. He instead waits patiently for a bull from another herd to leap fences to spend time with his cows. A few years ago Bellow (our former sire) spent most of one summer frolicking with his ladies. The neighbor was unconcerned since he was getting stud fees for free. And, I spent a lot of time bringing Bellow home only to have him head back over the fences (once he’s seen Paris….) However, this past year he finally bought a bull of his own.

This neighbor and his niece, in their battered pick-up, rumbled past with a smug look and wave of his hand. I drove on up to the house. Cindy filled me in on the particulars. Art apparently during the day had smashed through our barbed wire fence. He then tossed a gate and corner post and entered a promised land where an abundance of cows awaited. Mr. Johnson’s bull was not amused and combat commenced. When the dust settled his bull lay on the ground with his pelvis smashed and his leg broken in half. And, Mr. Johnson earned $500 for a dying mongrel bull.

Cindy and I headed up to the back -field to locate Art and try and get him home. I walked through the fields, hopped a fence and went through the Raby and Johnson fields in a vain effort to locate him. Meanwhile Cindy had located him in another of Raby’s fields. We were quickly running out of light when she went home and saddled her mare in an effort to move Art across the field and into our upper pasture.

Sometime later, as I stumbled through the late summer hay that came to my knees, the light faded. For about the fourth time Art balked halfway across the field and turned back as Cindy pushed him from the saddle. My job was to put side pressure on him as we tried to move him in a straight line. In the darkness I heard rather than saw Art thunder down a small hill in my direction. He was upset. I quit the field. We went home.

The sad part of this affair is that Art shouldn’t have been on our farm. We had made arrangements to sell him to Mulberry Gap Farm in North Carolina. The owners raise the same breed of cattle and had bought a number of heifers from us the previous year. For the past month we had missed connections to transport Art to them. Now we were out $500.

Next weekend Cindy rented a cattle trailer from the co-op. Art in the meantime leapt fences and returned to our herd. With a feed bucket I called all of our cattle into the corral. It was then a simple matter to cull them, leaving Art alone. We ran Art into the chute with the intention of him ending up in the cattle trailer. After several false starts he turned and leapt over the steel gate leaving it bowed in the middle from his heavy bulk. And he was gone. He headed up the hill and with one backwards glance jumped the fence. He was back where he could be appreciated. (Cindy had to restrain me from using the deer rifle to drop him for the vultures).

Saturday morning I called the boys in North Carolina and told them that we could not in good conscience sell them Art. After conferring with Raby we called in the “Specialist”. “The Specialist” was a good old boy who made his living collecting up rogue cattle (there is a niche for everything). After viewing Art, who had now taken up residence in some woods, he bought him for $600. He wanted to try one last effort to get him in the corral before he roped and drug Art onto a trailer. That evening we managed to get Art in the corral. We called our specialist who came out immediately with his trailer. With an embarrassingly efficient display of cattle skills he screamed and beat at Art who ran right into the trailer in seconds. And, he was gone! However, for the next few days, we half expected to see Art standing in the front yard in some sadistic parody of “That Incredible Journey”.

Things have settled down, fences have been repaired. I brought two bull calves back from Kansas in a marathon bit of driving, selling one to the boys in North Carolina. Things are peaceful on the farm. And for that I’m thankful.

Have a nice Thanksgiving.