Welcome to Scrap Farm, the newsletter/podcast where I discuss starting a farm, its realities, and the work towards a fairer and more just food system. I’m Magda and this one is going to be a difficult one.
I’ve had a bit of an influx of followers recently which, if anything, has made it harder to write. This is coupled with the fact that I have no news, nothing, nada. No job. For those of you unaware of the situation I need a job that pays £29k annually to get my partner into the UK. And boiii is the incentive to move to the UK more pressing than ever. We have no updates on land in the UK, where I am currently after two weeks of visiting my partner in California (yes, it was a little ablaze as I arrived). There was some movement, some jostling on the front of land in the US but that is still very much in the air. I have very little to report. And that has made me dread writing an update.
But I remind myself that I am writing this to show the difficulties with starting a farm if you aren’t landed, rich or very lucky. To show the reality of international moves. Of the food system. So after a good internal talking to, I coaxed myself into writing last week.
Then my mentor died.
It was, in all ways, unexpected. At an alarming rate, farmers are committing suicide, not just in the US but in the UK too. I may talk about this another time but for now I want to remember the man.
My partner and I had talked to him less than a month ago. He had told us, my partner and I, he was proud of us and excited for what we would do. Even typing that makes me want to hurl my computer out a window.
Casey Piscura taught me about plant breeding, seed keeping, vegetable growing and showing up for community. After an absolute shitshow of a year he and his then-partner Kirsten nurtured my world-weary 26-year-old soul back from the brink of despair. They did so with hard labour, delicious meals and the kind of grace I was lucky to be afforded. Working on their farm in Colorado I realised that farming was something that I not only could do but that I wanted to do (possibly forever).
It was a busy year, I was learning the basics of plant breeding, I was realising the dream of feeding people with real dirt work and I was falling in love. This was the farm where I met my partner nearly 4 years ago. Where we began our journey together.
Working at Wild Mountain Seeds for just one season was the foundation the rest of my farming career has been built off. The high I chase when dreaming of the future. I came to them broken and burnt out and left beautifully exhausted and solar-powered.
During my first few weeks at the farm, when I was still testing how much British sass the Americans can take (turns out quite a lot) I asked Casey about feeling bad for killing all the tomatoes he left out in frost trails. I was just making conversation. But I was also kind of being an arse.
His earnest answer took me off guard, that he felt a great responsibility towards stewarding the varieties. Finding the strongest, the most hardy, but he still thought about the sacrifice of each tomato plant. This passion, and compassion, can be tasted in the varieties he was working on. Frost-tolerant, purple-stemmed wonders, sweeter than sense, in all miraculous shades. More than the fruits of his labour was that honesty, that interwoven care, that cracked open a little bit of my brittle British self. Told kindly and sincerely.
The old proverb that Casey quoted most often was that “the best fertiliser is a farmer’s footsteps.” Bring attention to what you do and it will bloom. At all times try to bring even a fraction of the attention that he brought to farming into what I do.
Casey was kind, passionate and different. I think this is important to say. Not to disparage him, but to point out the joy in that. As the highest honour. He bred vegetables, marvellous, delicious, soil-spun varieties. Stewarded with such attention. From their glorious differences, the mutations, the ‘imperfections’, he created sweet, colour-blushed strains. From the plethora of maxima squash varieties, he made a culinary landrace that to this day I have never tasted better. From all the little differences he coaxed something so beautiful. He did that with apprentices too, though people are more complex than vegetables. Casey gave people the space to be themselves and acknowledged his own humanity at the same time. I will be forever grateful to him for that.
As I try to forge forward on the farming endeavour I have been thinking about lineage. The people we learn from. I was taught by Kim Bayer of Slow Farm, Janet Aardema and Dan Gagnon of Broadfork Farm, I was taught (through reading/podcasts) by Carol Depp, Vandana Shiva, Chris Blanchard, Rowen White, Dan Brisbois, Chris Newman, John Navazio, Owen Smith Taylor and Chris Bolden-Newsome. There are so many more.
But before that, I was taught by Casey Piscura and Kirsten Keenan.
I owe them a great debt I may never repay.
But last season, and the one before it, I got the chance to begin teaching people how to farm. My partner and I were on the other end of the training, shepherding a team as best we could. I now get to check in on the people we taught and see what they are doing. And I could not be prouder if I tried.
One is a grower for Refugee Garden Initiative which provides income for single immigrant mothers and the other started a seed swap and workshops through her library job (for which I did a couple of talks). There are more of them too and caring and nourishing wherever they go.
The flow of knowledge goes both forward and backward. It’s not something to hold but something to give freely.
And now comes the bit I am loath to do. Not because I am not excited, truly I am, but because it feels sleazy to promote something off the back of this recent news. But I remind myself, that I want to share the knowledge that has been shared with me, I want to connect with other young farmers and get a conversation going, I want to nourish connections and let people know they are not alone in this.
At 19:00 on the 20th of February, I will be hosting a Speaker’s Corner with Emergent Generation. My talk will focus on Seed Keeping and all that entails. From the basics of plant breeding to the technicalities of saving, processing and cleaning seed, to how this is useful in climate resilience. It’s free to anyone and everyone, though for people aged 18-35 interested in changing our food systems and working to restore our ecosystems, I would urge signing up with Emergent Generation.
That’s as much plug as I feel comfortable with, honestly.
And all of this has barely touched on the worsening situation across the pond. Federal funding for grants (such as for greenhouses) has been paused indefinitely, the government is being actively dismantled, and some little tech-boys have access to the treasury. Guantanamo Bay, which never closed I would like to point out, is EXPANDING. Let’s call a coup a coup. And I still can’t get my partner into the UK (something we have been talking about for years, but now feel like we’re running away, it’s complicated)!
In all this political grief, which I am trying to not let it freeze me, there is the personal grief of losing my mentor. More than that, my friend.
When I work my way through the fug of despair these days I am reminded of lineage. Of the flowing of care, attention, of passion and knowledge, that I am just a small part of. That Casey was just a small part of (though a big part for me). That we are teachers and being taught. There are good people out there fighting on all different fronts, and we each only have to fight on together.
That is not to say we should slide complacently into the bitter goodnight that the US seems intent on enforcing. Nor let despair drag us down into inaction. But if you look, you will find people doing things. Join them. Volunteer at your local food bank, protect the abortion clinics we have left, talk to your neighbours, donate to institutions you believe in, and berate your local representative. And of course, Boycott, Divest and Sanction. Support people who put their bodies on the line to protest, either with food or funds. I keep thinking about the United Farm Workers’ support for the Black Panthers, about how all our struggles are interwoven.
So here it is, grief-stricken I am carrying on. Heartbroken, I am persisting.
When I know what we are doing next, so will you all, but for now
See you on the flip side,
M
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If you missed the last update, read it here:
Ep.21- Convocation
Welcome to Scrap Farm, the newsletter/podcast where I discuss living seasonally, adapting to climate chaos and whatever else, all in the context of trying to start a farm in the UK (probably, maybe).
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