Books for the Small-Farm Curious

a view towards our old orchard

It is a known fact, or at least one as reported by my beloved, that I tend to buy books like an average kid buys candy bars. And over the past 30 years, it is true, that I have managed to accumulate a fair library of farming-related books. Even on that fateful day, when we first had the discussion about buying land, my response was to buy a book (or three). And it is because of this truth that I am sometimes asked to provide a list of titles that may be of use to those in pursuing a “productive” life in the country.

But before we delve into learning by reading … it should be noted that the best education comes from those who have the experience. So, try and find someone who already farms, then volunteer to help. Learn by putting your hands in the dirt, stretching barbed wire, raising animals, and most importantly, paying attention to what you are learning.

That last is particularly important. Over the years we have both benefited from a habit of critical assessment. After, say, a difficult session castrating young steers, we will sit down, usually over an afternoon coffee, and discuss what went well and what could be improved. It may be a simple modification to the infrastructure or a reminder to make sure we have everything on hand before we begin. But that active reflection on what we did is as important as the preparation for what we do.

Each wave of books on farming or homesteading has its own new jargon to describe similar methods. While the blame may lie partly with the publishers, who are tasked with putting new titles before the public each year, it can also be placed with the consumer, who is always in search of the latest and greatest, the magic bullet. For instance, the au courant buzzword is “regenerative.” A couple of years ago, the more or less same practice was called “restorative.” Four years before that it was “resilient.” “Permaculture”, “sustainable”, “self-sufficient” — each held sway for its allotted years. “Organic” is said to have been coined in 1940. Go back even further, to the 1930s, and the word du jour was “self-sufficing” (at a time when farming was simply called “farming”). Take my word for it; I have books with all those terms. Each new designation frames the question of how to farm in a slightly different way, but they all fundamentally describe a style of agriculture that is non-industrial, at least in mindset. The point here is, don’t get hung up on a term. (If you really want to go old school, Lucius Columella, AD 4-70, has something worthwhile to say on most topics … that is, if you exclude the bits on when to sacrifice a puppy before plowing.)

On to the book advice:

If you want to read only one author, then Joel Salatin is always a great choice. But you may need to grab just one title of his to get the gist of what the others preach: practice multispecies pasture rotation. Then again, he is always entertaining in how he says what he says. And I should know; I have seven of his books.

Next, two publishers to consider. A publisher is like an artist, in that each has a style even as his or her work evolves. These two, Storey Books (Garden Way) and Chelsea Green, are the best “artists” in the small-ag field. A solid, instructional farm library can easily be built on their selections alone.

www.storey.com or www.chelseagreen.com

General guides

  • Grow It! The Beginner’s Complete In-Harmony-With-Nature Small Farm Guide (Richard Langer, Noonday Press). It came out in 1972 and remains an easy-to-use reference when you get stumped.
  • Small-Scale Livestock Farming: A Grass-Based Approach for Health, Sustainability, and Profit (Carol Ekarius, Storey).
  • Successful Small-Scale Farming, An Organic Approach, a companion to the one above (Karl Schwenke, Storey).
  • The Winter Harvest Handbook, Year-Round Vegetable Production Using Deep-Organic Techniques and Unheated Greenhouses (Eliot Coleman, Chelsea Green). Coleman is the godfather of year-round gardening. That he pioneered his techniques in Maine makes his approach even more amazing and indispensable.
  • Will Bonsall’s Essential Guide to Radical, Self-Reliant Gardening (Will Bonsall, Chelsea Green). I reread this one every two years. Bonsall is an old hippie and a vegetarian who grows everything, with no animal inputs, very little fuel. This is a man who walks the walk and shows you how you can produce more with very little. It is a powerful book, with humor.

Specific guides

Focus on Storey Books publishing. They have dozens of titles like these:

  • Small-Scale Pig Raising (Dirk van Loon)
  • Storey’s Guide to Raising Dairy Goats (Jerry Belanger)

Every volume is an essential reference for raising a type of livestock. The range covers the basics of geese, beef cattle, milk cows, turkeys, ducks, and on and on. My suggestion is, pick four to buy based on your interests. You can’t go wrong. Most can be found used.

I’d also suggest one title on butchering if you plan on raising livestock:

  • Butchering: Poultry, Rabbit, Lamb, Goat, Pork — The Comprehensive Photographic Guide to Humane Slaughtering and Butchering (Adam Danforth, Chelsea Green). I attended one of his butchering workshops a few years back, and he knows his stuff. I use this book as a refresher guide multiple times a year.

And there you have it, an instant farm library … though, if these are the essential ones, then why does my library contain a few hundred other agricultural titles? Because books themselves are necessary. Sure, the internet and all those videos on YouTube can be helpful. But since farming is ultimately an analog life, books are a perfect companion on that journey. So perfect, in fact, that they can be read by solar power and never, ever require recharging. Genius!

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Reading this weekend:  A Rich Spot of Earth, Thomas Jefferson’s revolutionary garden at Monticello (J. Hatch). Feeds and Feeding (F. Morrison).

In Defense of Somewhere

I remember walkin’ ‘round the court square sidewalk
Lookin’ in windows at things I couldn’t want
There’s Johnson’s hardware and Morgan’s jewelry
And the ol’ Lee King’s apothecary

Somewhere

Somewhere — the gravel road I grew up on, the wharf I fished from, the woods at the end of the road where we roamed, the edge of the bayou where we fought off pirates to keep them from landing — is no longer. It is now an anywhere of pavement, sidewalks, Walmarts, hotels, casinos, and housing developments. Anywhere is nowhere.

I go back now, and the stores are all empty
Except for an old coke sign from 1950
Boarded up like they never existed
Or renovated and called historic districts

Anywhere is a global assault weapon, firing bullets of convenience and terminal extraction. Even without a smarter-than-you phone, you can find, around each corner, the Starbucks, the McDonald’s, the everywhere of anywhere. All the signs, hovering over expanses of concrete, flashing the conquest-driven desires of the Empire to colonize the somewhere.

Now the court square’s just a set of streets
That the people go round but they seldom think
Bout the little man that built this town
Before the big money shut em down

It always begins, thus, with the paving of roads. (For we all secretly know, the road in is a road out.) The new road comes to town and the longtime general store closes down, its population drawn by a siren’s call to the dollar store that opened in the next small town. Then, that up-and-coming town gets a check cashing store, and a rent-to-own, and a doublewide mobile home dealer. In a few years, that small town is compacted and consumed, repackaged and reissued, newly minted as a bedroom community of the anywhere. And its growing population learns the limited joys of spending its days circling the streets of plenty, like water in a drain.

He pumped your gas and he cleaned your glass
And one cold rainy night he fixed your flat
The new stores came where you do it yourself
You buy a lotto ticket and food off the shelf

A genius of this empire is that it was built in bricks of self-loathing. The new construct is a place where the food of one’s people is scorned and a quarter-pounder Thai burger sounds like a possibility, where the inhabitants wander around in such dislocation that their limbs move like invertebrates of the sea, clutching at random unneeded objects in a painful effort to perambulate down the Costco shopping aisles.

Now the bank rents the station
To a man down the road
And sells velvet Elvis and
Second-hand clothes

Until ultimately, used up and useless as a boarded-up Kmart that becomes a rock band masquerading as a non-denominational church, the Big Show leaves us, pulls out of town. In its wake a cratered post-battle landscape, a lonely fortified outpost of colonization on the edge of town that pays low wages and serves up a ghost offering to Anywhere. Pale in its incarnation, the orbiting halogen sun flickers just brightly enough to illuminate our dreams. And inside this opium den of our own making, clutching our pipe, we eagerly inhale the fumes and forget, for a while, that we once lived somewhere. That we were Somewhere. 

Now the court square’s just a set of streets
That the people go round but they seldom think
Bout the little man that built this town
Before the big money shut em down.

 (Lyrics courtesy of “Little Man” by Alan Jackson)

 

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Reading this weekend: Where the Wild Winds Are, by Nick Hunt. Will Bonsall’s Essential Guide to Radical, Self-Reliant Gardening.