One Small Thing
July 1, 2022
Before daybreak at the farm, the woodland birds begin to sing their hearts out. Song Sparrows and Swainson’s Thrushes, Pacific-slope Flycatchers and Red-breasted Nuthatches. Lazuli Buntings and Towhees and Robins and Chickadees. This birdsong has become a touchstone for me– I wake up each morning reminded of the paradise I live in, reminded of my duty to be a good steward. I yearn for their songs to call forth well into the future. I do not want the forest and fields of this precious place to ever fall silent on my watch.
To be a steward is to care, in the deepest and broadest sense of the word. But what does it mean to be a steward in the context of an agricultural system? What I have learned is this: it’s impossible to care about one single thing, because the more you come to understand how precious and beautiful that one thing is, the more you realize how connected it is to a myriad of so much more.
You find it impossible to keep caring about only one small thing, because that one thing is dependent on and supported by one thousand other things. You realize that to be a steward you have to strengthen and expand your heart’s capacity to the point you are able to care for the plentitude of connections themselves.
This is tiresome work. This is daunting work. We farmers know this is the kind of work that will never be done; we know there is always more to care about, and always more ways we can teach ourselves to care. But for us, there is no choice. The work of stewardship is absolutely inextricable from the farming itself.
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When I began to farm, I did not have this language of stewardship on my tongue. I set to work, committing myself to this life because I felt a deep kinship with this place, this paradise.
The smell of apple blossoms and cut grass in the spring at the farm. The rough lick of a cow tongue. Corn so sweet you don’t need to cook it. The aroma of freshly harvested carrots. Dew like jewels on the leaf tips of a cucumber vine. The astounding diversity of roots, of shades of green, of clouds, of grass. Although it was a special connection to the land itself that drew me to farming, I quickly came to see that my ‘one small thing’ was actually a single strand of beautiful thread- and that thread was woven intricately with many other threads. Living, breathing ‘threads.’ Plant and animal communities. And insects. And water. And native oak trees. And barn owls. And soil. And nourishing kids. And pollinator habitat. And hedgerows. And mycorrhizal fungi.
This is what happens when you care about one small thing so deeply it ricochets around inside you without pause. You begin to see the individual threads, the intricate connections, and then you see the breathtaking woven blanket itself. Then you see the light shining on the blanket. You sense the sturdy ground beneath the blanket. And poignantly, you become aware of all the hands that hold the blanket aloft.
Of course, (and I speak from experience here), you also begin to see the hurt. The disrespect. The neglect. The ignorance.
And that’s when, in a split second, without thought, you roll up your sleeves and begin.
You become a student of, and salve for, all that which you love.
You begin the arduous journey of breathing your stewardship into manifestation.
You never look back.
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The language of agricultural stewardship came first to me from Montana, from my sister and brother-in-law. Just about the time I was planting the first seeds of April Joy Farm, Anna and Doug were beginning their farm on a scale entirely daunting to me. I remember sharing a quote I found in a small, ancient textbook called Agriculture for Beginners with Anna, which now all these years later, still graces their website. “Above all, learn of nature. At first she is a shy and silent teacher, but on better acquaintance she will talk to you in many tongues.” It was Anna and Doug who taught me to claim my identity as a steward. They named their farm Vilicus, which is Latin for steward of the land. They taught me to see that the union of stewardship and farming, in its highest form, was nothing less than the nourishment of life eternal.
Today, Anna and Doug’s certified organic operation is over 12,000 acres. In addition to farming, they host tours, they teach, they share, they keep improving and learning and adapting. And last week, the depth of their commitment to stewardship took an imaginative, trust-filled leap forward.
In a deeply honest letter, Anna and Doug outlined the immense difficulties that come with choosing stewardship over profit. They shared how tenuous the threads of agricultural stewardship are sometimes held together. And in typical fashion for these two leaders- they did not complain, but rather they showed up with an idea, a solution. They showed up with hope and resolve. They showed up with transparency and asked for the help they need to become truly sustainable.
Inspired by the incredible April Joy Farm CSA community, Vilicus Farms has launched a Community Supported Stewardship Agriculture Program. I encourage you to read about what this means- and especially all the outstanding ways they nurture the revitalization, restoration, and resiliency of an entire ecosystem on the Northern Great Plains. From their progressive apprenticeship program, to the diversity of market and cover crops they grow and the partnership with Xerces Society which has resulted in the establishment of hundreds of acres of native wildflowers and grasses, Anna and Doug are tirelessly working to transform what it means to farm with care, compassion, and deep dedication to the greater good, on a scale that most of us would find impossible to imagine.
My CSSA check to Vilicus Farms is in the mail. I hope you’ll join me. If budgets are tight, please share this opportunity with others in your network, because Anna and Doug’s success is our success. Their health and well-being is our health and well-being. Not all of us will become farmers, but it’s time we all become stewards of the farmers who are on the front lines of repairing, restoring, and reconnecting our land, our food systems, and our communities.
As a sister, a neighbor, and an agricultural steward, it is my privilege and responsibility to care about Pacific Northwest songbirds, and to care equally about Vilicus Farms. I do not want the silence in my woodlands nor on the Northern Great Plains to happen on my watch. But we must care together; this is collective work. One thread, one song, one acre, one steward at a time. ~AJ
Stewards of the Land | Crimson Clover is a cover crop we grow specifically to help replenish nutrients and build up our soil so we can keep growing vegetables. Clover flowers feed our bees, clover leaves, stems and roots feed our soil. Clovers represent stewardship at its finest- beautiful generosity!
“Wherever you go, go with all your heart.”