Family Farm

When I hit the road and started west (a counter-intuitive choice for an eventual Illinois destination), the sun was still shining in St. Louis. It was only 3:30 p.m. by the time I was fifty miles outside of the city, but the day had already begun its retirement into dusk. The sky was covered in small bubbles of winter clouds that looked like fire trapped against the ceiling of a room – only blue, not orange, of course. I realized that I had entirely missed my chance to take photos of fall’s brilliant colors, but I wasn’t too disappointed. When I was living in San Francisco, one of the things I missed most about the Midwest was the unsettling sight of bare black tree silhouettes against an evening sky.

I love the three-hour drive from St. Louis to my Uncle’s farm outside of Monroe City, Missouri. I would stay on the farm that night, and then proceed the following morning to the Tri-State (Missouri, Illinois, and Iowa) Locally Grown Conference a few towns away in Quincy, Illinois. The drive to the farm is full of gently rolling farm land, provincial white farmhouses with black trim, grain silos set against colorful skies, and clusters of strong looking black cattle spread across the wilting grass - which is emitting the very last of its subtle sweet fragrance before our first freeze. When St. Charles’ local radio station, The Wood, faded to white noise I knew I was getting close.

I arrived at the familiar house on a hill to a chorus of my Uncle's three dogs, Ginger, Bobby, and Awesome panting and whimpering outside my car door.

Aunt Connie already had piping hot vegetable beef soup, homemade rolls, and ice tea on the table. They’re the only people I know who consistently drink ice tea with every meal throughout the year.

Uncle Tom told me proudly that the soup I was eating was as local as it gets: tomatoes, peppers, onions, carrots, and celery all from his garden, and the beef was from his own stock. He raises beef for châteaubriand steaks, so it was very yummy.

Officially, my Uncle is retired from farming. He now rents his many acres of corn and soy to his neighbors who plant, care for, and harvest the land. Most of his time is spent raising a smallish herd of well-bred cattle, so I was shocked when he told me he had sold all of his cows!

“Oh no!” I said, “I should have taken more pictures.”
“Yup,” Uncle Tom said, “All that’s left now are the bulls, calves, and heifers.”
“Wait, I’m confused.”
“You know what a heifer is don’t you?”
“A female cow?”
“A female bovine that hasn’t yet had any calves.” Uncle Tom gently corrected me.
To my relief he had only been telling me that he sold his childbearing cows. Whew. I don’t like change.

The other farming activity my Uncle still pursues is planting wildlife cover for quail and other small animals. Modern intensive row farming has severely damaged the quail population since the 1970s. There is less untouched land, and less diversity on a farm today. It’s very rare that any corner of a modern farm is left untilled, and the rows are planted very closely together compared to how they were before current farm equipment. Furthermore, many areas that were previously left wild on a farm, like edges next to a fence, are now mowed and kept “neat.” I think this has something to do with keeping up with the Jones'. Wildlife cover is meant to offset these trends. It’s land set aside for the specific purpose of providing feeding, nesting, and cover to a targeted population. My Uncle had met with the Missouri Department of Conservation on the day that I arrived - planning his wildlife plots through 2009. He plants millet, trefoil, clover, and shrubs.

After dinner we talked a bit about my expectations of the Locally Grown conference. Though Uncle Tom wishes there were a future for local food systems, he expressed skepticism that it can be done. He has watched agribusiness and globalization of the market change the attitudes of farmers over the last half-century. Consolidation of small farms, as well as crop consolidation, has completely changed the lifestyle of the farmer. The ones who are still doing it have so many acres that they work from before light until after dark year-round. If they’re not planting or harvesting, they’re hauling and storing. "If a farmer’s not prepared to do that, they’ve probably already left for the towns."

He also told me that he had thought about taking the tomatoes and popcorn from his garden to the Monroe City or Hannibal farmers markets, but he would have to produce them in such large quantities in order to turn a profit that he couldn’t justify it. But the following day at the conference, the folks from the Chicago based nonprofit, The Land Connection, told me that they knew happy hardworking farmers who were making six figures at the farmers markets, and still managed to have a few months off in the winter. It can be done.

Coming soon: Part Two – The Conference