We are honored to present the following members of The Collective:

Kathleen Bauer, Good Stuff NW

Anthony and Carol Boutard, Hillsdale Farmers Market, Portland, Oregon

Anthony and Carol Boutard, co-owners of Ayers Creek Farm, an Oregon Tilth, certified organic farm, located just outside Portland, grow a variety of specialty grains, fresh shell and dry beans, orchard fruits and berries, and winter vegetables, that not only taste better, they are less likely to be commercially available in the supermarket. They also sell their food directly to select restaurants, and to eaters who shop at the local Hillsdale Farmers Market. Disclosure: we purchase their food at the farmers market, and can personally attest to their freshness, and taste.

Liz Crain, Author of Food Lover's Guide to Portland

Liz Crain, author of the popular book, The Food Lover’s Guide to Portland writes about Pacific Northwest food and drink for online and print publications. In a town bursting at the seams with artisan bake shops, micro-breweries and micro-distilleries, food carts, neighborhood restaurants, and cheese shops, Crain’s guide is an indispensable tool for quickly navigating the local food culture.

Harriet Fasenfest, author of A Householders Guide to the Universe

Harriet Fasenfest is fiercely loyal to discovering the deeper truths about life, and to growing, cooking, and preserving fresh food. In her lifetime she has owned small restaurants, continues to teach on a wide variety of food subjects, especially relating to food preservation, and householding, and her recent book, A Householders Guide to the Universe, and her DVD, Preserving With Friends are both required resources in any serious food enthusiast’s library collection.

Michele Knaus, Friends of Family Farmers

Michele Knaus, executive director with the nonprofit organization Friends of Family Farmers (FOFF), meets with small farmers across the state, and understands the challenges that they face. Her organization is involved in supporting food policy initiatives to help Oregon farmers maintain their profitability, and to thrive. A graduate of Portland State University Master’s Degree Program Leadership for Sustainability Education, she is also involved in educating eaters about our food system at their monthly Friends of Family Farmers InFARMation (and Beer!) event.

Don Wachlin, Fourth Generation Farmer; Schlichting Century Farms

Strawberry Picking at Schlichting Century Farms

Over the past several years, Rebecca and I have been touched by his warmth and generosity, and have benefited from his help on projects for CUPS. As a fourth generation farmer, he had a passion for farming, and an intimate knowledge of his community. In a written tribute to her dad after his passing, Mary writes:

“Dad would help anyone—as long as they could get through to him on his dang cell phone, or find him—fitting in favors between the thirty odd jobs he juggled along with the full time job of being a farmer, store owner, and family man.”

That was the kind of man that he was. Perhaps his daughter Mary summed it up most succinctly, describing him as: “a hardworking farmer who lived a good life.”

The average farmer in this country is 57 years old, and aging upward. Farmers, like Don Wachlin, who work tirelessly in the field to produce good food, and are solid members of their community, represent our unsung heroes.

Don Wachlin: 1948-2011

And for that reason, flu experts like Robert Webster worry that A(H5N1) virus could mutate and become the next great flu pandemic killing massive numbers of people. The last big one to occur, in fact the biggest epidemic in human history, the 1918 “Spanish Flu”, resulted in upwards of 100 million deaths worldwide (some credible sources peg this number closer to between 20-40 million), killing 2% of those who became infected with the virus. As World War 1 was ending, in less than a year’s time, the global flu pandemic killed more people than those who died from the war itself. Although the A(H5N1) virus has infected only a comparatively small number of people (in the hundreds since 1997), the virus is significantly more lethal than the 1918 flu virus subtype H1N1, killing 50% of those who become infected, though fortunately not known to be transmissible from person to person.

In order for a pandemic outbreak to occur, a virus must mutate in just the right fashion to allow for human to human transmission to easily occur, be highly pathogenic, and target a largely virgin population, those not possessing protective immunity from prior exposure. The H1N1 variant met all three conditions in 1918, though scientists still are not sure exactly why. The normal flu virus in many ways represents an ideal candidate for widespread disease transmission because the virus mutates rapidly, at least partially evading the bodies native immune response, and can be readily spread from person to person through air, and casual human contact. Characteristically, although tens of thousand may die each year from the (common) flu strains, because we have built up a fair degree of immunity from previous exposure, it poses the greatest danger to the elderly, and those with weakened immune systems.

Not true with the A(H5N1) virus and the 1918 H1N1, they mainly target those whose immune systems are the strongest; it is the infected person’s heightened immune response that causes much of the internal damage that results from the virus infection. Although this virus has shown signs of attacking organs throughout the body, including the brain in other species, in humans, like other influenza viruses, it targets mostly the lungs.

Recently, the Hong Kong government ordered a large population of chickens from their live poultry markets destroyed because the virus turned up in dead chickens that were tested.

A rift may have developed between infection disease researchers, and The National Science Advisory Board for Biosecurity, created in 2004 to ensure that published information does not contain secrets that could help rogue states, or terrorist groups develop their own biological weapons. This has become a more urgent concern when two separate teams of researchers successfully modified the H5N1 strain into a highly infectious, human transmissible strain, and in their (as yet) unpublished report submitted for review, detail how they accomplished this feat.

From the researchers perspective, there is strong resistance to even a hint of censorship; the goal of science is to solve problems, and the ability to freely share timely information amongst colleagues is its lifeblood. By understanding how the virus can become more virulent, the hope is that this information will lead to development of an effective vaccine, better treatments, and to sound an early warning when naturally occurring mutations evolve in nature toward a recognized, more dangerous state.

Understandably, at least on the surface, the advisory panel wants to limit the type of information that gets published, and shared with other experts, for fear that information could provide a recipe for terrorists to develop their own weaponized avian flu virus. For an interesting interview with the lead author of this report, read this New York Times article: Security in Flu Study Was Paramount, Scientist Says. In addition, this NYT article Debate Persists on Deadly Flu Made Airborne talks about the A(H5N1) virus experiments at the Erasmus Medical Center in Rotterdam, and with Ron Fouchier, their lead virologist whose team successfully altered the already lethal virus into the capability of a deadly pandemic strain.

Infectious disease experts expect another pandemic disease will kill millions of people—if not from an A(H5N1) avian flu virus— other viruses that exist in nature, as they mutate or suddenly come into contact with human populations, are a constantly evolving threat.

Lest one not forget, Mother Nature possesses her own weapons of mass destruction, and she knows how to deliver them.

Additional Background Information:

A Public Policy Expert Looks at the Bird Flu Threat

The Coming Plague by Laurie Garrett

Recently, as harvest peaked with beauty and bounty, I have been putting a lot of thought into what will essentially be my final post of this amazing journey via CUpS. And while I am excited to share the final sequences of my personal transformation and discovery of our nation’s food system and communities, I wanted to share with you some of the most meaningful and inspirational words spoken by the tremendous people I encountered on this trip. Here are just a few. Enjoy.

- Greg David, Activist and farmer, Jefferson Wisconsin

The Smith Family, Grassland Farm, Skowhegan Maine

Dick Hall, Dairy Farmer, and his wife, East Dixfield Maine

“When I was farming with my grandfather he made all of the decisions. Right down to the littlest of details. I vowed I would never be that way. When I bought this farm from my father he said ‘Son, you will never make a go of it.’ But somehow I did.” - Dick Hall

Mimi Arnstein, Wellspring CSA, Marshfield, VT

George Schenk, Founder of American Flatbread, Waitsfield, VT

Meghan Sheridan, Executive Director, Vermont Fresh Network

Gene Baur, Founder, Farm Sanctuary, Watkins Glen, NY

Meagen Kresge, Gather Round Farm, Cleveland, OH

Gretchen Mead, Founder of the Victory Garden Initiative, Milwaukee, Wisconsin

Mark Shepard, New Forest Farms, Viola, Wisconsin

Ari Rosenberg, Lots to Gardens, Lewiston, Maine

Art Thelin, Dairy Farmer, La Farge, Wisconsin

Reed Doyle, Seventh Generation, Burlington, VT

Catherine Bagley and Gerry Smith University of Michigan - Chelsea, Michigan

Dolores Watson, Environmental Activist, Cleveland, Ohio

Next come the raspberries!

Because of our unusually cool weather this year (yes, ironic, we in the Northwest were chilling out while the majority of the country faced a severe heat wave), the berry picking season didn’t open until July 1st in my area. That’s late. But it made the wait all that much more sweet with anticipation. The first day of July fell on a Friday this year, but no concern – there’s always time for berry picking! I’m lucky to live less than 10 miles from several berry farms, and I like visiting them all, for each has their special varieties on the vine.

First stop was Rowell Ranch which has been growing berries for over a century. Upon arrival there is a small stand which lists the varieties that are currently ripe for picking, and also the ones that will be ready in a week or two. They offer picking buckets, or you can bring your own. I find out that the Willamette red raspberries are ready, and I head off for the marked rows.

I find an empty row – not empty of raspberries, of course, but of pickers – and begin. I work the row back and forth, in a melodic fashion, no staccato movements, just slow and thoughtful. Raspberries are a tender fruit and due diligence will pay off. Though it is relatively early, around 9am, the sun begins to beat down and the heat waves slowly make their way up from the dirt rows in the distance. Looking at the 6-7 foot bushes, many raspberries are hiding under the many leaves of the vine. I gently lift several limbs of vine with the backside of my left arm and discover oodles of ripe jewels the color of rubies! As I gently collect them and let them fall into my bucket, I hear the running of feet and excited voices as young pickers just feet away, but hidden from sight by the thickness of the bush. They exclaim excitedly about what they have found. Mommy, here’s one! Here’s one! Can I pick it? Can I eat it?!

Berry picking is a special time to get away from the day to day rush. Being out amongst the rows becomes a meditative state, it’s just walk, lift, pluck, and place into the bucket. It’s a great way to be in touch with your food, learn about the seasonality (and wonder) of berries, support your local farmer, and friends and family (and other eaters) will be ever grateful, too.

There’s no time like berry time.

Route 12 near Melstone, Montana

In the triple digit heat, I made the decision to remove my protective biking attire. My cargo shorts, helmet, gloves, socks and shirt were now stowed away in my bags. I was now riding my bicycle in nothing more than padded spandex underwear (which I had rolled up tightly and resembled a Speedo), sandals and a pair of cheap sunglasses. In a land where people wore jeans, boots, and rancher hats all year round – I stuck out like a sore thumb. And I didn’t give a damn.

10 miles east of Melstone, Montana, a stiff wind barreled into my path. The air was hot – yet it felt fantastic. I belted long fits of loud and insane laughter into the abandoned countryside where nobody could possibly hear me. In late August my psyche had started to take pleasure in the pain and agony of loneliness and physical torture. Come September, anything less than a gruesome day of biking, had become boring and left me thirsty for something dangerous.

According to Wikipedia, Melstone, Montana is a town along U.S. Route 12 with a population of 136. The town was established in 1908 as a base for operating crews on the Chicago, Milwaukee, St. Paul and Pacific Railroad, then under construction in Montana. Although the railroad was abandoned in 1980, Melstone survives as a community center for farmers and ranchers in the lower Musselshell River valley.

To my naked eye, Melstone, resembled a trailer park, slowly rotting into barren soils. Mobile homes were faded and stood cockeyed and ready to fall. Dilapidated wooden structures in which I couldn’t identify were abandoned and had been left to rot for what must have been decades. Finding a place to sleep felt nearly impossible and coming across a good food story was no longer on my radar. In eastern Montana, finding shelter was my only priority.

A handful of washed out pickup trucks with peppered tailgates were parked in a gravel parking lot outside the Melstone Café and Bar. I parked my bike against the side of the building. Thinking wisely, I knew that if I had planned on making it out of Melstone alive, I had better get dressed before I announced my presence. Something told me that the people inside the bar would not welcome a young man wearing nothing more than a Speedo and a suntan.

Anxiety shot up from gut and out through my arms as I pushed the door open. Without a sound to be heard, a hard light was casted into the dark and smoky barroom and onto three rugged looking men. The sun beating on their leather like skin, each of them turned and stared directly at me in a synchronized fashion. The awkwardness of my presence lingered in the air. It was so thick you could have cut it with a knife and served it for lunch. My entrance felt like a lifetime, but it was merely a few seconds. The men looked away quietly and went back to their booze. Ready or not I knew this was my opportunity to talk with one of our nation’s most stoic and proudest contributors to our food system. The American cattle rancher. Once again, and in the loneliest place imaginable, I had found my story.

Without a word spoken between us, how did I know these men were ranchers and responsible for producing a small fraction of the 25 billion pounds of beef produced in the U.S annually? All it takes is a bit of basic math to understand the equation. Montana is ranked 4th in the United States in terms of landmass with a staggering 147,042 square miles. When it comes to human population, 46 out of Montana’s 56 counties are considered “frontier counties” with an average population of 6 or fewer people per square mile. During my visit in 2009, Montana had more than 2.6 Million beef cattle grazing the countryside. I didn’t need to be a genius to figure it out.

Feeling nervous I sat down, ordered a Bud Light bottle and a glass of ice water. Wrapping my hands around the frosty bottle of beer, I could feel my body temperature drop. I drank them both to the very bottom in less than two minutes. In silence the men tapped their beer bottles on the counter. The reflection in a mirror behind the bar allowed me to observe the men inconspicuously. My intuition told me that everyone was eager to know who in the hell I was and what I was doing in Melstone. I ordered another beer.

“You the kid out there on route 12 riding a bike in his underwear?” asked the man next to me. I could smell the whiskey on his breath 4 bar stools down. His voice deep, speech slurred and eyes glazed over from drinking more than his share.

Sometimes you just have to take chances. In the dark and smoky bar I made a risky attempt at fitting in with a little barroom humor. “Well sir, I highly doubt anyone else is dumb enough to ride a bicycle through this part of the country. So I guess that would be me.”

I held my breath and waited for a beer bottle to come crashing over my head. Instead, I heard a small bit of laughter coming from the two other men at the end of the bar. I finished my beer, tapped my empty bottle on the bar, indicating that I was thirsty for another round. And I was.

Well I’m Bill and these men over here are Tim and Greg. “I passed ya about a few miles back in my truck. Around here, a guy on a bike is worth 60 points. But with all that gear you got tied down on that rig, I’d say you’re worth at least 100.”

Tucking away a smart ass response, I decided I had better not bite off more than I could chew and thanked Bill for not turning me into road kill. Seconds later, the phone rang and the bartender answered.

“Nope, I haven’t seen him. If he comes in I’ll tell him to get home right away”

With a proud smile, the bartender hung up the phone, looked at Tim and said:
“Your wife just called looking for ya. I covered your ass, now you owe us all a drink.”

Tim took a long swig from his Budweiser and said “Well then I guess you better get the us all a shot”.

While performing a small victory dance, the bartender turned around, grabbed a handful of shot glasses, and poured 3 shots for his regular customers and one for himself. Uncertain, he walked back over to Tim and quietly said “what about the guy on the bike?” All eyes were now on me.

“Yeah go ahead, get him one too!”

I gave a small head nod and took the stiff shot of Crown Royal down to the pit of my stomach. It burnt like the dickens and seconds later my nerves were at ease.

“So what brings you and your bike out here anyway?” Asked Greg.

“I am biking across America visiting farms and learning more about our food system.”
Deep and weary breaths were passed down from rancher to rancher.

“So are you one of those whacky environmentalists?” Bill asked.

Bill’s question did not catch me off guard. Things in eastern Montana were now far different than my stops in progressive-thinking towns across the Northeast. To say the least, eastern Montana was a very conservative state and outsiders were not widely accepted. I brought with my bicycle a different point of view and that seemed to scare the shit out of people. Because I wasn’t visiting the frontier state on an all inclusive hunting expedition– locals had often assumed that I was in town to stir up some dust and preach my “whacky environmentalism”. In Roundup, Montana I had an intimidating encounter with a man who looked me dead in the eye and called me a “nigger loving, tree hugging, hippie”. I had simply made the mistake of announcing that I voted for President Barack Obama in the 2008 election and that I had raised money for The Nature Conservancy.

There was only one road in and out of Melstone, Montana. My body could have easily disappeared in the Montana desert. I answered Bill’s inquiries with caution.

“I am just a guy riding a bicycle across America interested in agriculture and local food.”
The bar became silent. I figured that before I get into any more trouble I had better start working on my sleeping arrangements. Do you know a good place for me to pitch my tent? I asked the bartender. Out of nowhere a woman who had been sitting quietly and unnoticeably in the corner of the café raised her voice and declared “I’ll go get a room ready. I’ll be back in 30 minutes.” The bartender looked at me and said “According to my wife you’re staying with us.” I ordered the men at the bar another round of whiskey and lightened the mood.

“You’re not going to find a whole lot of local food out here in Montana.” Bill shouted with a smirk on his face.

“You see, here in Montana you can buy a hat made in China but you can’t buy a steak from a cow that was raised right down the road. The USDA has this whole system bent to hell.” Bill was right. In America, regulations are a major bottleneck to the meat producer hoping to earn a living by way of direct sales. Montana laws mandate that all livestock, poultry and meat and/or meat products be inspected under state and/or federal law before being sold for human consumption. After you shake out the cost of this inspection which requires hefty fees, packaging, labeling, marketing and often times requires a producer to travel several hours to the nearest slaughter facility; there is little opportunity for a rancher in Montana to make a whole lot of money in the deal. Never mind the impossible task of finding a customer base in a region as scarcely populated as Montana. This equation is partly why Cargill (Our nation’s largest private corporation) supplies about 22% of the US domestic meat market and rakes in over 100 billion dollars of revenue each year.

Strict regulations put on by the USDA that interrupt the logical workings of our food system was nothing more than a common cry shared by the most of farmers I had met nationwide. But when it came to beef, I was looking at an entirely different machine. Before I continue, take a moment to chew on a few facts in which Bill had hinted towards during our conversation.

In 2009, the year I had stumbled upon Melstone:

• U.S. commercial slaughter accounted for 33.3 million head (26.5 million steers and heifers and 6.2 million cull beef and dairy cows).
• The retail equivalent value of U.S. beef industry was valued at more than 73 billion dollars.
• The total U.S. beef consumption weighed in at 26.8 billion pounds.
• U.S. beef exports (commercial carcass weight and value) registered at 1.935 billion pounds and 2.9 billion dollars.
• U.S. beef exports 7.4 percent of its total production to foreign countries.

That’s a lot of meat and money moving around now isn’t it? It wasn’t until I shared a few cold brews with Bill that I truly understood how industrialized our food (specifically meat) chain had become. The wee hours of 2 AM had arrived before Bill was done bestowing his rancher wisdom onto me. One comment resonated with me far more than the others. “What I would like to know is why we are importing meat from Australia? We don’t need all that kangaroo shit coming into our country when we have plenty of the good meat right here in Montana. We shouldn’t be eating any food from any other damn country – especially meat. We have more damn hamburger here in America than we know what to do with.”

Bill had me thinking. And once again he was speaking the truth. After I had left Melstone and started on an endless trail of research regarding beef imports and exports did I started to see the writing on the wall. Or should I say printed on the label? For me, trying to make sense of our food system in 5 months time was a full blown chore in of itself. Understanding the inner workings of the food industry… was impossible. Because it just don’t make sense. Per Bill’s gripe with beef imports, I came to learn that in the year 2005 the United States imported a staggering 260,000 metric tons of Australian beef (PDF). That’s more than 570 million pounds. If you think that is a sizeable portion of meat – Wrap your head around this: According to the U.S. Meat Export Federation (USMEF) U.S. imports are projected to grow to 1,748,000 metric tons (3.85 billion pounds), an increase of 277,000 metric tons (610.6 million pounds) or 19 percent over the next 10 years.

So… where’s the beef? One needs to look no further than America’s fast food industry. Namely, the golden arches of McDonald’s (one of Cargill’s largest clients). In 2002 McDonald’s starting rolling out Australian beef to over 400 restaurants in the southeastern portion of the U.S.- McDonald’s senior director of U.S. food and packaging, John Hayes told Beef Magazine that the multi-billion dollar fast food joint was “supplementing the domestic lean beef supply for those restaurants at a 25% rate” – Anyone who has stepped foot in the corporate arena knows that Hayes’s response was an elusive way of admitting that it was cheaper to buy lean beef in Australia rather than the United States. To a business executive at McDonald’s – shipping cheaper beef into America is a wise decision and protects the corporation’s bottom line. To a hard working cattle rancher in Montana: It’s just a bunch of kangaroo shit.

4,300 miles and 5 months on a bike had me asking countless food producers one question. What is wrong with our food system? Farmers of all scales and practices seemed to have their own personal opinion. Organic dairy farmers, Garin Smith back in Skowhegan believed that a major part of the problem is USDA regulations that make access to local food a challenge. Mimi Arnstein at Wellspring CSA claimed a disconnection between humans and Mother Nature was to blame. And conventional dairy farmer Art Thelen felt that there was nothing wrong with our food system at all. With brute force Bill had woven his relentless voice into the fabric of my story. “America needs to get hungry! That’s the only way to fix our food system.” Bill shouted with anger.

Get hungry? “Huh!” I thought to myself. I had witnessed young children in Cleveland, Ohio eating value meals. Overweight and piling on the pounds like cordwood. And even in the challenging economic climate of 2008, people were still spending their nickels and dimes on steaks and burgers nationwide. In fact, more than 5 billion pounds of beef were purchased by commercial restaurant operators. Here comes a good old fashioned mind boggler… In 2009, there were roughly 300 million people living in the United States. That same year, the meat industry slaughtered more than 26 billion pounds of beef. That’s 86 pounds a meat for every American. That’s nearly a quarter of a pound of beef a day. I don’t know about you, but that sounds like plenty of food to go around. According to Feeding America.org 1 in 6 Americans face hunger (50 million or more). And they provide emergency food assistance to approximately 5.7 million people per week. And if that doesn’t leave you scratching your head, I suppose I should remind you that somewhere between those who have plenty and those who have none, America is wasting nearly 100 billion pounds of food each and every year. At this point in the game, learning the truth about our food system was nothing short of painful.

What’ll be? Asked the bartender – I was caught in a battle between severe hunger and my moral values as I scoured the food menu. Meanwhile, Bill’s words had been going round and round in my brain — making my decision impossible. From that barstool in Melstone, Montana the homemade menu looked less like sandwiches and dinner meals and more like a strategic poker match. The pot set at 73 billion dollars in beef sales as the government dealt the cards. The corporate food glitterati sat pretty smiled and went all in with their multibillion dollar revenue streams and pocket aces. Meanwhile, the American rancher was forced to quietly fold his cards and get back to work. The games is played and wagered not by plastic chips, but rather, 26.5 million steers and heifers and 6.2 million cull beef and dairy cows about to meet their fate – each with their own denomination and predetermined value. The game looked and felt unfair. But it didn’t matter. I knew that in the end nobody wins. Common sense told me that if we continue to gamble away our food system and treat our food like a game without pride or compassion — We will all be standing in line, waiting to be led to the slaughter.

I think I’ll just have another beer.

Nathan Winters rode a bicycle across America to discover first-hand why our food system had grown to be unsustainable, and to find alternative solutions. He traveled into the homes and communities of organic, conventional, urban and Amish farmers and community organizers. This ongoing series—to be posted every other Wednesday— represents select material from The Unconventional Harvest, a work in progress, by Nathan A. Winters. If you are a book publisher interested in working with Mr. Winters, you may contact him directly though his website or on twitter.

Emily Stiegelmeier, Blue Blanket Organics. Selby, South Dakota

Sheryl had the gift of gab and took a shine to my ambition by way of bicycle. Over a fresh catfish dinner and a few cold Hamm’s lagers I mentioned two things: I was in need of a good food and farming story for my research and I wanted to ride in a massive combine. All through South Dakota, large combines roared through the endless crop fields and extracted only what was needed for harvest: wheat for flour, sunflowers for seed, and corn for grain or ethanol, just to name a few. The word “harvest” sounds so pure and natural (just ask any food marketing team) but the picture painted in my mind seemed complex and more like an engineering marvel.

A combine harvester is poles apart from picking berries from the bush. In most cases these machines run a farmer nearly a quarter of a million dollars. They are filled with advanced technology and GPS systems to ensure quality yields and efficiency. If you want to get a solid understanding of the direction agriculture has taken in the past 100 years, go online and take a closer look at the evolution of the combine. I wanted to play with this mammoth toy.

Sheryl’s response was music to my ears, “I know someone you need to meet.” The next morning Sheryl called Emily Stiegelmeier and arranged a visit.

Emily is among the scant 7.7 % female farmers growing crops in the moonlike landscape that is South Dakota. Of that small percentage my guess is that she was probably one of the very few female farmers who were growing grains on a large scale. The story got a few degrees hotter when I learned that her 4,000 plus acres were farmed with no-till practices and certified organic. If you ever find yourself on a long stretch of remote highway in South Dakota, stop and take a look around. More than likely you are surrounded by farmland that is growing a genetically modified crop. Of the 31,300 farms in South Dakota, only 103 of them were certified organic. My encounter with Emily was the equivalent of finding the needle in the South Dakota haystack.

For most of you reading this: 4,000 acres is more farmland than you have ever seen.

In the Great Plains, 4,000 acres is a drop in the bucket. Ranchers and farmers across the prairie regularly own 10,000 acres or more. During my visit to South Dakota in 2009, the state had lofty production yields and was responsible for roughly:

4.6 million acres of corn
4.2 million acres of soybeans
3.8 million acres of hay
3.0 million acres of wheat
2.5 million acres of alfalfa
510,000 acres of sunflowers
90,000 acres of oats
65,000 acres of millet

Anyone who grows vegetables (or any crop for that matter) with organic practices knows and understands how difficult it can be to achieve high quality yields and avoid failure. Pests, blight, diseases, and drought count for just a fraction of the obstacles and complications organic farmers are desperately trying to mitigate. Now close your eyes and multiply that by a few thousand. Blue Blanket was no organic veggie plot with a few interns trying to get ahead of the potato beetles. This was large-scale crop production without the use of synthetic pesticides, herbicides, and other toxic sprays.

Emily and I jumped into her large V8 pickup and zoomed away in search of her daughter, Rachel, who was out in a distant field stacking large round bales of alfalfa. En route, I looked into the sideview mirror of Emily’s truck and for the first time in weeks, I took a good hard look at myself. My skin was a deep shade of brown and the end of my nose was pink with sunburn. For the first time on this journey, and after 3,000 miles of biking, I realized that I was skinny. The few extra pounds I had accrued in my year-long schmooze-fest in Los Angeles the year before were gone without a trace. Knowing that I was in the best shape of my life, I smiled as tiny particles of gravel kicked up into the wheel wells and disappeared into the cloud of dust in our trail.

Emily was a tough nut to crack. She wasn’t the type to volunteer information to a total stranger. And with what seemed to be a sense of wisdom, she stayed reticent when answering my questions. But soon enough she gave me a bit of insight to her background. She was a graduate of Cornell University, where she received an agriculture degree in plant sciences. “How could someone attend college in the bohemian and free-spirited atmosphere of Ithaca, New York, and move to the conservative and remote, middle of nowhere, South Dakota?” I thought to myself. When Emily was finished with her formal education, she was convinced that there was a more meaningful way of life that didn’t include running off and finding a high paying job. She wanted to make a difference in the world. And so she enrolled in the Peace Corps. It was there and through her selfless volunteer efforts where she met her husband, Tim. “I came to South Dakota as an imported bride.” Emily said with a large smile. I smiled back and thought, “Wow. People do some crazy things for love.” For a split second I thought about what it would be like if I were to move to South Dakota…and then the thought passed.

For years, the Stieglemeirs grew their crops in a conventional fashion. Using sprays and toxic chemicals to combat unwanted obstacles in production seemed to be a logical way to farm. In 1984, however, they transitioned to organic practices. Why did the Stiegelmeier’s decide to transition to organic methods and become part of a miniscule group of organic South Dakota farmers? Many farmers, like Organic Valley dairy farmer Dick Hall (whom I met back in Maine) transitioned in hopes of finding financial salvation. For the Stiegelmiers, the decision was driven by a different motive, one that was in line with a trend among a large group of educated and compassionate people I had met on my journey: parenthood.

“When my husband started reading the labels on the chemicals we were using, we were bothered by all of the safety protocols that came along with working with the sprays. They told you to wash your hands over and over and they instructed you to wash your clothing separately along with all kinds of other nonsense. I was pregnant at the time and it just felt wrong. My husband looked at me and said, ‘We should not be handling these chemicals on our farm’.” Emily paused and added, “I lost my husband not long ago in a farming accident.” We shared a few seconds of silence and I expressed my sympathy.

We met Rachel driving in an older tractor carefully stacking 1,200 pound round bales of hay. “How many people can we fit in this tractor” Emily asked her daughter. With a big smile, Rachel replied, “We’ve had five people in here before. Climb on in.” Rachel, in her early 20s was the third of Emily’s seven children. She spoke with a very matter-of-fact tone and was nothing short of talented when it came to her task at hand: stacking 180 bales into 28 uniform piles with a huge claw-like device. Ultimately, these bales will be winter food for her 170 cows and 150 calves. (Grass-fed beef is a value-added income to the Stieglemeier homestead.)

With the tractor humming with both deep vibration and deafening noise, I admired the vast landscape and enchanting view of the land. I tapped Rachel on the shoulder and asked, “Do you find this to be therapeutic?” She quickly repeated my words with slight mockery. “Therapeutic? Ha! Yeah, I think about a lot of things while I am up in the tractor. Like that rain cloud over there. You know how they say that every time you take the time to wash your car it always rains?” Yes, I replied. “Well, every time we cut hay on this field, I swear it always finds a way to rain”.

To offset her frustration, I paid her a compliment. “You’re pretty good at this!” She looked back over her shoulder, smiled at me and said, “That’s because I have had 10 years of practice. But you know, all of these questions are really hurting my average of 1 bale for every 90 seconds.” Point taken.

Emily and I hopped back into her diesel rig and made our way to another 160 acre “quarter section” of her property, where John (the hired man) had been harvesting wheat in their prized combine. As we made our way, I kept my eyes acutely aware of the endless fence posts that defined property lines and separated fields. Every few hundred yards, I would catch a quick glimpse of an old car tire hanging from a post that read “NO TOXIC SPRAYS”.

The setting was idyllic. Mother Nature was drenching fields of wheat with a hard sun that beamed through Emily’s windshield and heated the dashboard until it was too hot to touch. The trail of dust increased and my smile felt permanent.

When we arrived at the combine, John hopped down from the cab of the massive piece of machinery with grace and walked over to greet me with a firm handshake. He was nothing like what I had expected. He was young and vibrant. He didn’t wear a farmers’ cap. He had light blonde hair and blue eyes. Rather than looking like an old-school South Dakota farmer, he resembled a young Steve McQueen. Given his days of long field work, his attire consisted of a sturdy pair of blue jeans, a good pair of boots, and a plain white T-shirt, which he claimed kept him cool in the hot summer sun.

Smitten as a kitten, I hopped into the massive combine and John yelled, “Let me give you a quick walk through on this bad boy before you start touching anything.” Looking around the cab I felt like I was sitting inside of a pinball machine. There were endless switches, gauges, and buttons of all shapes and colors. It had an air conditioning unit and a decent stereo system to help pass the time. All that was missing was a flat-screen TV and high-speed internet. And this was an older model. When it was confirmed that I could behave rationally and not flip any switches without John’s consent we began slicing our way through windrows [long lines of raked hay or sheaves of grain laid out to dry in the wind] of wheat that had been drying on the ground. Directly behind our heads sat the large bin, the hopper, that stores the harvested wheat. It holds nearly 300 bushels of wheat before it is dumped into a truck and taken to the local grain elevator. Each acre was rendering roughly 35 bushels. Basic math told me that each hopper could yield roughly 8.5 acres of harvest. The pile of wheat behind my head was worth about $2,400. Looking around at the seemingly infinite acreage to be harvested that summer I saw dollar signs. I also saw a lot of work.

I asked John how many hours he planned to work each week. “I have been averaging over 70 hours a week. Of course with the rainy days you scale back, but on a good harvest day I might put in a good 20 hour work day.” John said. For a farm kid from South Dakota like John, a 20-hour shift in a combine was hardly unusual. For me, this was a culture that I had never dreamt that I would come to know and understand. I chuckled and said a silent prayer that John relaxes in winter months. Something told me that he finds something to keep himself occupied. Something also told me that 70 hours a week of work in the hot sun is a good reason newbie farmers in South Dakota are an endangered species.

“When did you decide you wanted to be a farmer?” I asked. “I was just born into it I guess. Growing up, my dad was a dairy farmer and he did that until I was about 9 years old. These days he works for another farmer about 60 miles outside Selby. I used to work for that farmer too, but I couldn’t stand the chemicals they used on their fields. Those chemicals affect their minds and the way they think. They don’t know it and they don’t believe it, but I can see it when I talk to them. I like organic farming because it eliminates the harmful chemicals.”

At this point I could hardly believe my ears. I was starting to put things into perspective. Looking at John and his rugged hands that maneuvered the combine, it dawned on me that I was seeing a young, large-scale farmer who was roughly half the average age of the American farmer–age 57–willing to admit that he felt agribusiness was allowing farmers to use chemicals that were harmful to not only their bodies but their minds as well. In the cab of a John Deere combine, I saw that we don’t need cerebral food journalists and documentaries to educate young and future farmers about the health risks attached to chemical-based agriculture. We need more young farmers like John, with their boots, dirty hands, and sunburnt necks, to stand up and speak from the heart.

A pseudo-date of fishing and cheap beer on the Missouri River with Sheryl had been arranged for later in the afternoon and I needed to part ways with the folks at Blue Blanket. John and I met Emily at the end of the long field. I knew that my time with Emily was now short and I wanted to ask her one last question. “How would you define sustainability?” She paused, sighed deeply, and said, “There are a lot of people out there who are trying to define sustainability. ConAgra and similar outfits are defining sustainability to suit their needs. They try and paint this picture that says organic agriculture is not sustainable because you cannot be economically successful. I would say that not only have we maintained the farm here at Blue Blanket but we have also grown. We have done a lot of hard work and there have been some long days, but we have also had quite a bit of fun doing it. Anyway, our definition of sustainability includes keeping people on the land-including our children.”

There are more than 2.1 million farms in America. The large agribusiness entities such as Cargill, Monsanto, and ConAgra have convinced many of these farmers that we need genetically modified crops in order to feed the world. These corporations do not care about the American farmer. They only profit from their exploitation. But in the small town of Selby, South Dakota, population 642, it was clear that our country was experiencing a new paradigm shift within our rural communities, where farmers like Emily didn’t give a damn about the industrial food cartel. Pardon the mixed metaphors, but Emily is not only the needle in the haystack, but she is a diamond in the rough.

Nathan Winters rode a bicycle across America to discover first-hand why our food system had grown to be unsustainable, and to find alternative solutions. He traveled into the homes and communities of organic, conventional, urban and Amish farmers and community organizers. This ongoing series—to be posted every other Wednesday— represents select material from The Unconventional Harvest, a work in progress, by Nathan A. Winters. If you are a book publisher interested in working with Mr. Winters, you may contact him directly though his website or on twitter.

I stood waiting in front of the New Forest Farm cider making facility and tasting room. With a big smile on his face, Mark Shepard rolled towards me in an older model Subaru. Before I could even introduce myself and shake Mark’s hand, he reminded me that I was late. It was true. I was late. However, Mark wasn’t the one who had to climb the hills of Vernon County on a bicycle. I took Mark’s reminder with a grain of salt.

Mark Shepard owns and runs New Forest Farm and its 140 acres of trees, shrubs, vines, canes, perennial plants, fungi, hazelnuts, chestnuts, walnuts, various fruits and other woody crops scattered throughout the landscape. Mark and his family had transformed what was once a typical row-crop farm into a commercial-scale permaculture mecca.

What exactly is permaculture? This lingering question led me to Viola, Wisconsin to stay with Mark Shepard. One of the most ambitious and passionate permaculture designers in the country. According to Wikipedia, permaculture is “the development of agricultural ecosystems intended to be sustainable and self-sufficient.” According to Mark Shepard, it is merely common sense and the future of food and fuel production. At first glance New Forest looks more like a wild jungle of brush, tall grasses, and weeds rather than any type of productive farm. I would soon understand how harmonious and productive Mark’s wild and abundant landscape could be. Understanding the design behind symbiotic relationships were the key.

Mark and I climbed into his car and drove around the property for preliminary tour. Weeds and grasses made loud scratching noises as they scraped the bottom of the floorboards. As the old Subie bounced up and down, Mark got me up to speed on his impressive background and diverse repertoire of skills that included extensive training in both mechanical engineering and ecology, coupled with a certification in permaculture design from Bill Mollison, the founder of the international Permaculture movement. Mark has also developed and patented various pieces of equipment used in the process of cultivation and harvesting vegetables, fruit, and nut trees.

Just a stone’s throw away from Mark’s off-grid house, I was introduced to a young couple who were living on the farm. The young girl had a shaved head, wore zebra striped socks and pink tennis shoes. The young man had more hair in his beard than he did on his head. They were building a small structure that would be their summer housing. “I hope the summer winds are calm in Wisconsin,” I thought to myself as I evaluated the young couple’s carpentry skills. To make matters more interesting, the young girl had recently learned she was pregnant. A small glimmer of fear was evident in their eyes; leaving me intrigued and slightly concerned for them both. Two young people building a makeshift structure with no “job” or health insurance during a pregnancy. It felt dangerous, real, and wild.

Mark offered the young couple a snippet of building instructions and we quickly drove off. “I guess those are your interns?” I asked. “We don’t call them interns here. We do things a little bit differently. We didn’t want to run a farm that was based on slave labor in the way of interns. We also don’t want to pay employees, who will ultimately, hurry up to get the job done because they are underpaid. We allow people to come here and work on their own enterprises. As long as their goals fit in within our overall design they are welcome to show up and make a go of it.”

As a young man with no destination or concrete plan in mind, I found my curiousity piqued by Mark’s vision. In the passenger seat of Mark’s car, my imagination travelled ahead to the end of summer. What if I had stayed on Mark’s farm, learning more about permaculture and finding out if I really had the moxie to pursue farming?

I snapped out of my daydream to Mark bellowing in my left ear, “Learning how to farm isn’t about pulling weeds in some farmer’s field for free and having a wonderful summer experience. It’s about knowing how to work the system and how to manage your cash flow.” I nodded and agreed with Mark.“You need to learn what to do when you get a ton of money from asparagus in the spring and don’t make a dime until winter squash is harvested in the fall. We encourage the people who come here to learn both how to grow food sustainably and earn an income on their own.”

Garin Smith on Grassland Organic Farm, Mimi Arnstein back at Wellspring CSA and other farmers I had met along the way had also proven to me that being a farmer went hand in hand with entrepreneurship. Whether you farm with organic or conventional practices and no matter how large or small of a scale in which you operate – any new farmer must be prepared to take on the role of a business owner and manage cash flow. Those who do not… will fail.

Mark’s philosophy was rejuvenating. It gave new and potential farmers a real chance to experience and understand farming. Without the romantic notions of a summer internship on the farm.

Brilliant shades of blue and purple filled the Midwestern sky as the sun gently sank beneath the Wisconsin hilltops. I thanked Mark for his hospitality and wandered off to a grassy field where I pitched my tent for a good night’s sleep.

The next morning I found my typical routine; involving coffee and a lollygag stroll with camera in hand. The discovery of random patches of asparagus, heritage pigs and Mark’s children working in the garden kept me occupied until a large bus pulled up and dropped off a group of tourists who had come for a tour of New Forest Farm. Farm tours are one of Mark’s value-added income sources and one of his many special talents. The crowd was a made up mostly of middle-aged men and women wearing khaki’s and sunscreen. Before the tour began I couldn’t help but eavesdrop just a little bit. Michael Pollan, factory farms, Organic Valley, and genetically modified crops were all topics that were tossed around. Back at Tantre Farm in Michigan, farmer Richard Andres described groups of people such as this as the “tip of the real food antenna” educated and looking to break free from the industrial food model. Suddenly, with his distinct and assertive voice, Mark demanded attention from the crowd. He was able to herd the cats in just a few seconds.

Mark began his tour describing shelter belts, chestnut blight, and saving seed. Within just a few minutes the inevitable happened. One of the tourists asked if the biotech behemoth Monsanto was interested in permaculture. Mark didn’t feel the need to badmouth Monsanto (at least not during this tour) but he did make an interesting point about the seed industry itself. Why is it that crop farmers have abdicated their responsibility for breeding their own stock? “Livestock farmers still do their own breeding. They take care of their herd and make sure that only the prize bulls are implemented. The cows that don’t perform are pulled out and the cows that aren’t prized get castrated and turned into beef. Why should plants and seeds be any different?” Mark then pulled out what appeared to be rehearsed joke. “One thing that is really interesting about sexual reproduction is that most species really enjoy it. So it’s not all that difficult to become successful at reproduction.”

Mark changed the subject and kept the tour moving, as he pointed over to a field in the distance and said “If you look over there you will see a field with barley and yellow sweet clover. We give that field an entire year off. Our two main annual crops are squash and peppers, which we have in rotation. We are growing that field of barley not for food or feed but for the sole purpose of soil building.” Mark began to reference the conventional method of composting where many farmers would harvest the barley, chop it up, put it into big piles and call it compost. Stir the compost a few times, put it in a front end loader and spread it on the field. “That makes no sense to me. What we do is mull it in place and let it rot on the field and eliminate all of those steps. For one year all we do is produce organic matter, creating a nice thick layer of compost ready for our squash”. Mark Yelped.

Mark’s ingenuity had the crowd going. His jokes drew full-size bouts of laughter and as the tour continued, the tourists would often look at each other with amazement as “This is amazing!” and “Wow! This is absolutely brilliant” “Do you have a model that you are using or do you just make this stuff up like a genius as you go along?” asked a woman from the crowd with highlighted hair and painted nails. Mark answered without hesitation, “In this country there is no traditional model for all of this stuff. In fact, when it comes to producing some of the many crops that we have growing here I tend to annoy the top researchers of each crop. The asparagus and the chestnut people know that I am doing this all wrong.” Mark uses the word “wrong” followed by a long pause – waiting to hear if anyone has picked up on his condescending remark. A few chuckles are drawn and he continued on. “They think I am just some crackpot in Southwest Wisconsin. In other places of the world this is and has been the traditional way of doing semi-nomadic agriculture. What we have now in modern agriculture is the ability to plant in a linear design and the luxury of mechanical harvesting. But that will not sustain us and the model that we use should always be modeled around nature.” Mark’s rhetoric and the natural landscape of New Forest Farm had rattled my emotions and had sent my brain to a faraway place where the smell of the natural world was untouched and in its original and natural state.

I looked around at the mosaic of species, plants and food growing in abundance,a cool breeze passed through. I saw that the natural world is made up of an infinite labyrinth of sizes, shapes, and vast ecosystems. And straight lines are not native to planet Earth. Everything at New Forest started to make perfect sense. And while most farmers were busy planting crops in a linear fashion and compartmentalizing production, Mark Shepard was bypassing all of the nonsense that comes with modern food production.

Mark whisked the group over to the next ecological attraction and broke into one of his interesting storytelling sessions. “Does anybody know what this is?” Nobody (including me) able to identify the plant Mark pointed out. “This is a Siberian Peashrub” (Which I later learned is a small perennial shrub generally used for medicinal purposes.) “I was up in Saskatchewan at a series of conferences where they brought me in as the crazy agro forester from the states.” I could see why they would feel that way. When Mark got on a roll and started in on one of his discoveries, he appeared to be a bit of a madcap. “The Canadians were having a problem with Siberian pea shrub that had been invading all of their canola fields.

Canola is big business in Canada as most of our bio diesel comes from their crops. They were all trying to figure out how to eradicate this Siberian Pea shrub and I was trying to figure out how to harvest it. I said to them, ‘Here is a plant that is kicking your butt and invading your canola fields. Why not plant it on purpose?!’ It grows its own nitrogen, has a wood property, which you can burn as biomass and has more oil, nutrition, protein, vitamins and minerals than canola. What’s the problem? They were just absolutely stunned that I would actually say such things.” The message that Mark was trying to deliver at both the Canadian conference and to the farm tourists, was that permaculture is not about a bunch of happy little hippies in the backyard growing a few potatoes. Mark was talking about production agriculture for our essential resources. “Once all of the mega corporations realize that perennials are the most economical way to grow carbohydrates, protein and oil they will be on it quick.” Making a sly joke, Mark added “Especially when oil prices go through the roof.” That comment drew quite a few mm’s from the crowd.

Mark seemed to have everyone’s tail over a teakettle just waiting to see and hear what was next in queue. Leaving nobody disappointed, Mark began explaining the beauty of his apple trees. Anyone who has eaten an apple from both the supermarket and the backyard knows and understands the difference in appearance. The grocery store fruit will be perfect in shape, waxy, and without blemish… or flavor for that matter. The fruit from the backyard often come with scars, scabs, and mushy bruises, and are filled with a zesty of flavor. What most consumers do not consider is the cost of production and inputs for a fruit producer, especially the organic fruit producer. Non-synthetic sprays, time, and labor do not come cheap to the fruit farmer. Trying to convince consumers to buy apples with a blemish or two was child’s play to Mark. The real challenge was to try and convince farmers themselves to change their practices by minimizing time and money spent on production and maximizing their profits via the work done by Mother Nature. “Why is it that organic apple growers are spending forty bucks on inputs to produce a twenty dollar box of fruit?” Mark asked. With the crowd captivated and silent he shouted, “It doesn’t make any sense. That doesn’t work. The answer is because they are striving for the ‘Grade A’ fruit. I ask, Why?!’ Why would a farmer want to lose $10,000 an acre to produce all of that fruit? What I do is spend nothing on sprays and the only costs I incur is the cost of harvest; which is minuscule. I can still get Grade A fruit. Sure, I won’t get as much Grade A fruit as the person who spends thousands on sprays; but I can take the apples that drop to the ground and feed them to my pigs.

The apples that are still on the tree but look too ugly for the super market can get pressed into cider, which then gets fermented into alcohol.” Cider making dates back to 1300 BC. On New Forest Farm it was Mark’s new and cherished enterprise. Using blemished apples to produce hard cider and pig food was logical, but didn’t strike me as all that brilliant. What did impress me was Mark’s vision to turn apples into bio-fuel. “We know that Brazil gets a ton of alcohol and is fueling their cars from their sugar cane industry. Why can’t we do the same with apples?” Mark exclaimed. “Think about it! Unlike corn where we need to take starch and convert it into sugar, an apple is jam packed with sugar. Yes, you will get less ethanol per acre from apples than you would from corn, but the energy that it takes to accomplish the end result is far more efficient, profitable and sustainable.” Mark then yells “Apples are just one example.” Mark continued to rant.

Amish farmer Daniel Kline impressed me with his rotationally grazed livestock. Meagan Kresge inspired me by way of turning an abandoned parking lot into a small farm. But Mark Shepard’s vision was on a completely different level. A level that seemed unreachable to most individuals and inconvenient to many farmers. Mark Shepard was not preaching the gospel of sustainable agriculture. He was trailblazing a path for a new paradigm of food and fuel production. What he said made both dollars and sense.

With a few odd looks from the crowd, Mark began to extrapolate the meaning of his passions and hammered home his point by making a valuable observation. “There is a market for anything that you could possibly grow in a diverse ecosystem. Don’t believe me? Walk into Wal-Mart, go to the pill section and read the labels on back of the bottles. You will find things like burdock root and thistle flower. If Wal-Mart is carrying these products I can assure you that it is not a niche product and that it is in fact a huge industrial product.”

My neighbor across the way is selling corn for $2 a bushel and I am selling thistle flower for $13.50 a bushel. I don’t have to spend any money on planting or fertilizing thistle! The point is not to get stuck spending time, money and resources trying to save something that wants to die. The only two things that are always asked in agriculture are 1. How do I kill this thing that wants to live? And 2. How do I keep this thing alive that wants to die? We waste so much time trying to figure out the answer to those two simple questions.”

Smiles showing and energy flowing, the crowd of tourist got back on the bus and returned to their lives somewhere else. Most likely, places that were nothing like New Forest Farm.

Mark, his wife, their two children and the two eccentric “non-interns” and I made our way inside for dinner where the pros and cons of taking a personal journey came rushing up to greet me. Just before my mind had dipped into a betwixt spiral and before we dug our forks into a plate full of food, everyone, but me, joined hands and began singing the popular Shaker song ‘Tis the Gift to be Simple’ written by Elder Joseph Brackett. It goes like this:
‘Tis the gift to be simple, ’tis the gift to be free,
‘Tis the gift to come down where we ought to be,
And when we find ourselves in the place just right,
‘Twill be in the valley of love and delight.
When true simplicity is gain’d,
To bow and to bend we shan’t be asham’d,
To turn, turn will be our delight,
Till by turning, turning we come round right.

I had never heard that song. For all I had known these people sitting around me were the only ones who could possibly have known the words and for a moment I was convinced that they had made the song and it’s lyrics up entirely on their own. For a nanosecond I was starting to wonder if I was visiting a sustainable farm or if I had made my way onto some bizarre permaculture cult.

I was feeling torn and uncomfortable. On one hand, the information that I had been absorbing during my time at New Forest was invaluable. On the other, knowing that I knew so little about permaculture in comparison to Mark was testing the waters of my emotional comfort zone. Here I was – a touted “food hero on a bike” discovering and sharing information surrounding our nation’s farmers and food system. I had major press articles written about my journey and had thousands of people following me online. I had even started writing this book. Everywhere I had gone people were asking me to share my experiences and tell enlightening stories about what I had come to learn and know. At New Forest Farm I was nothing special. At least that is how I felt. In fact, I was feeling as though I had little value to add to the conversation. Hell, I was raised in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania; a state founded by famous Quaker, William Penn and had never even heard the Quaker hymn we all shared before dinner.

Admitting to myself that I was feeling insecure and out of place was not an easy task. But I did it. And I was humbled. New Forest Farm was a brilliant place. I struggled to find more than one good reason to leave. However, I had just arrived to a brand new place psychologically that left me with a lingering sense of confusion and doubt. I needed to be alone. I returned to my campsite and the next morning I got back on my bicycle and set out on another back country road- a familiar and safe place that had become my sanctuary for personal exploration.

Nathan Winters rode a bicycle across America to discover first-hand why our food system had grown to be unsustainable, and to find alternative solutions. He traveled into the homes and communities of organic, conventional, urban and Amish farmers and community organizers. This ongoing series—to be posted every other Wednesday— represents select material from The Unconventional Harvest, a work in progress, by Nathan A. Winters. If you are a book publisher interested in working with Mr. Winters, you may contact him directly though his website or on twitter.

New Orleans may not be known for its healthy food habits, but thats about to change. As we travel across the country, we’re seeing a global food movement towards creating healthy food with the space that we have. NOLA is full of culture and full of people doing great things, that’s no exception in the farming world.

We couldnt imagine focusing on just one urban gardner in the Big Easy, so we didnt. Here is the story of many New Orleans residents who came back after the storm to start growing food in the city’s abandoned lots. The diversity of people and ideas made for one of our most inspiring (and favorite) episodes yet.

Faith comes about for many reasons, but especially where there is big struggle and great loss. There is something very spiritual about rebuilding. Add that to some amazing music and delicious food… and that, to me, is Religion.

After learning to cook at his mother’s bed and breakfast, Daniel Klein (The Perennial Plate) went on to work and train at many of the world’s top restaurants. His culinary education brought him to Spain, France, England, India and New York, where he has worked and trained at top Michelin starred restaurants. After graduating from NYU, Daniel also pursued a career in film. Daniel’s most recent film “What are we doing here?” has aired on TV, in theaters and at numerous festivals around the world.

“Milk is milk! I don’t care if you are payin’ 3 dollars a gallon for regular milk or if you’re payin’ 6 dollars for organic milk. Milk is milk!”

—Art Thelen

Art Thelin has worked on a Wisconsin dairy farm just outside the town of LaFarge since before he could read or write. Dairy farming is in his blood. Thelen family lore says Art’s mother gave birth, clipped the umbilical cord, and demanded he go feed the cows. For many farmers across the American heartland, farming is a job. For Art Thelen, dairy farming is an around the clock job as well as a treasured hobby.

Art Thelen, Dairy Farmer; LaFarge, Wisconsin.
Photo: Nathan Winters

Art Thelen owns Wild Rose Dairy, which sits prominently in the lush green and steep hills of the popular Plum Run in Vernon County. He operates what many people refer to as a “CAFO” or a “Factory farm”. Call it what you will, Art Thelen is a proud man and has no shame or guilt about his 1,000 acre labyrinth of well-defined rows of GMO (genetically modified organism) corn. He will proudly show off his prized herd of dairy cattle eating silage from a cement floor in a climate controlled barn.

With the help of immigrant labor and a state-of-the-art, mostly automated milking parlor, the Wild Rose Dairy milks those 1,100 cows three times a day, around the clock, without fail. There are no morning and evening milking chores, just one relentless cycle of milk production.

Art greeted me in front of the Wild Rose Dairy farm during a torrential downpour. With a wide grin and a gleam in his big blue eyes, he chuckled and marveled that I had just climbed Plum Run in the rain on a bicycle to visit his farm. “Plum Run is a helluva butt kicker. Even in my pickup truck,” he said. Art’s neck was like a rugged tree trunk. His wrists were thick like tree branches and his strong hands were hewn from years of hard farm work. Art worked in overalls; he looked just like the quintessential Wisconsin dairy farmer.

Art and I escaped from the rain and sat down for a cup of coffee in an employee break room. My attention was diverted by a man walking by with a shotgun — clearly not a tool needed for milking cows. With a composed tone, Art quickly explained that it was “no big deal.” Earlier in the day a cow had fallen, broken a leg, and was no longer productive to the dairy herd. It was now going to become productive again: it would be shot and butchered for meat. “An injury like this happens about a half a dozen times a year. We’ll shoot her, hang her from the front loader, and butcher her here on the farm. Then everybody eats hamburgers.”

Art was so nonchalant and straightforward I had forgotten about the sad reality: an animal had been discarded simply because of an injury. Suddenly the food chain became starkly apparent.

After the diversion, Art was eager to get his tour going. He walked me into the milking parlor and began explaining the technical details of his fancy machinery. Mostly, I rubbernecked at his cows’ enormous udders. They looked like punching balloons. The overall body mass and size of Art’s cows was enormous (especially compared to the cows I’d seen on Garin Smith’s Grassland Organic Farm). When I mentioned this to Art, he nodded his head. “Through our genetic breeding system we are trying to reduce the overall size of our cows to reduce injuries due to clumsiness as they get older.” This sounded great in Art’s reassuring, confident voice, but it felt odd to know that we were creating an animal so massive that it could barely stand on its own, just for the sake of producing more milk. And then, we turn it around and re-modify its body to avoid injury.

Somewhere, in search of production and profits, the industrial food system had turned cows into guinea pigs.

Wild Rose Dairy Milking Parlor

I knew Art was speaking from the heart, and on behalf of the conventional farmer. It was his direct eye contact and raised voice that left me with no doubt. My arrival at Wild Rose Dairy followed the recent release of Food, Inc., the 2008 film that examines corporate farming. The director’s conclusion, that agribusiness produces food that is unhealthy, environmentally harmful, and abusive to both animals and employees, was controversial. In the film’s wake, the entire conventional and industrial food system was under attack by the mainstream media. Including farmers like Art Thelen.

Art escorted me to a very long, modern-looking barn and he said with pride, “This is where my girls live. These pens get cleaned three times a day and their stalls have soft rubber mats on top of the concrete floor that keep the cows comfortable.” Surprised, I said, “This barn is pretty darn clean.” Art gave me a crooked smile and said, “If you don’t keep your cows clean, you won’t be in the dairy business very long.”

“When someone comes here looking for a job I say, ‘Let me see your car.’” Art said, earnestly. “If I find a bunch of empty pop bottles, dirty diapers, and other trash laying around in the floors or the back seat, I know right then and there that they aren’t going to be working for me.” Art laughed and said, “You could say we are big on clean here.”

Trying to avoid being drenched by a downpour, Art used his massive arms for an umbrella and walked me over to another barn identical to the previous. “This here is where we keep all of our pregnant cows,” Art said with enthusiasm. “You have a lot of pregnant cows, don’t you?” I asked in a rhetorical manner. Art smiled and with a brilliant Wisconsin accent he replied, “You betcha!”

He continued, “What blows me away is that we can take these cows from the time they weigh 75 pounds to something like that in just two years’ time.” Art pointed at one of the mammoth, pregnant cows as though it was a championship trophy. “How long do you typically keep these cows here on your farm?” I asked.

“On average we sell them at about 54 months. The state average is a little over 48 months.” “What exactly do you mean by ‘sell them’?” I asked. Art took his hands and replicated the gesture of flattening a hamburger patty down on a grill and said, “They go to hamburger. We will never go hungry here.”

I had never heard anyone be so matter of fact about to death as Art. That is, of course, except Gene Baur and his conflicting mission back at the Farm Sanctuary in Watkins Glen.

The cold rain continued and hopping back on my bike sounded far less desirable than spending time with Art, getting a closer look at the industrial side of dairy farming. With a tone of desperation, I floated the idea of staying in LaFarge for the night, followed by the fact that I had no other place to go in Art’s direction. Art graciously offered me a place to stay at his house. With my extended stay agreed upon, Art picked up my bicycle with one arm and plopped it into the bed of his old white and blue pickup truck. Making our way to the Thelen household, I caught a glimpse of Art’s employees butchering the massive cow as it hung from the tractor like enormous tomato dangling from the vine.

Driving down a long and rocky driveway, zig-zagging through endless fields of GMO corn and alfalfa, the sun poked out from beneath the clouds and the two of us had arrived. Art gave a soft smile and with great kindness said, “I can’t wait to introduce you to my wife. She is my better half, that’s for sure. You know she must have a lot of patience if she can put up with me. We have been married 25 years on June 25th.” You can line up 100 of the most beautiful and intelligent women in the entire world and I’ll still take my wife over any of them. I would die for my wife in a half a heartbeat.” I was speechless. In less than 20 minutes of entering the Thelin home, Art found the words to describe and share the authentic love he had for his wife. The way he described it, it was a love that most men spend a lifetime searching for.

Moments later, Art’s wife, Ellen, returned home from teaching Bible school. Just as gentle and beautiful as Art described. The Thelen house was built in 1919 and was warm, beautifully decorated with ornate detail embedded into the wood work and full of family photos from many generations. Ellen spoke gently and with a strong Wisconsin accent as she gave me the grand tour. While I had her undivided attention I asked Ellen if she found it difficult to be married to a Wisconsin dairy farmer. “Oh, goodness, yes! There are days when…”Ellen paused, reconsidered. “There was a time when Art felt like the farm might not survive unless he was working all of the time. It was then that I realized he was working for our livelihood and that I just needed to give that part of him up. He loved farming.” Ellen allowed a deep sigh to escape, then smiled, “As much time and energy farming has demanded from our family, I can honestly say that there was no better place for us to raise our children. They know about life. They know about death and they certainly know how to work, and make decisions.”

Ellen and I walked into the kitchen where Art had been drinking a tall glass of milk, fixated on the television, waiting for following day’s weather report.

Ellen politely offered me a drink, and standing in front of the wide open refrigerator door she slowly listed a range of options including, orange juice, water, beer, and milk. She added sharply, “Our milk is not organic. I don’t know if you are one of those organic people or not.” My tongue became tied and I fumbled over my words, explaining my advocacy for organic agriculture as well as my distaste for upscale marketing propaganda put out by the organic food industry. Out of nowhere Art yelled, “Milk is milk! I don’t care if you are payin’ 3 dollars a gallon for regular milk or if you’re payin’ 6 dollars for organic milk. Milk is milk!”

Ellen’s voice suddenly flared up, “I am a good mother. Do you think that I would let my kids drink milk if it wasn’t healthy?” Throwing me a curveball, Ellen looked directly at me and asked, “Are you a spiritual person?” Without a moment for me to respond she gave me her two cents on the matter. “I am firm believer that God has given us this technology. He has given us the tools to grow these crops so we are able to feed our animals and ultimately feed the world. When you are a farmer you are very close to God. He looks over the production of our food and he looks over us.” My beer went down faster; I requested another, reducing the heat of the conversation to a simmer. Gentle tones, bouts of laughter, and a few extended yawns were exchanged before Ellen showed me to a small and tidy guest room.

Perhaps it was the booze that had me feeling emotional, lying motionless and staring at the dark ceiling perplexed by my own thoughts. My journey had now started to come full circle. I had entered the Midwest where agribusiness and conventional farming was celebrated. To many, Art Thelen was a hero. A producer of food, family man, successful businessperson, and a proud father. To others (many of whom are a lot like me), Art is a polluter, factory foreman, and just a conventional farmer serving as a slave in the industrial food system. I began to feel a great deal of compassion for Art and his wife. After all of their sacrifice – hard work and dedication to the farm and family – Art Thelen still found himself under a great deal of scrutiny. As my mind swirled, I started to connect the dots surrounding the issue and realized that it was not because Art Thelin ran a farm that pollutes or because he treated his animals inhumane, which is untrue. Art Thelin is chastised because the government and large food corporations have pushed farmers, like Art, into consolidation and growth to generate inexpensive food and more profit. Anyone who has watched Food, Inc. or read The Omnivore’s Dilemma knows this.

Just before my conscious allowed me to fall into a sullen sleep, I felt more connected to Art Thelen than I was to my fellow food activists, who were busy pointing their fingers at the industrial food system. Art Thelen, was a good farmer who was doing his job and doing it well. While many other farmers were either selling out or failing miserably, he had beat the odds and flourished. Art Thelin was simply doing what he loved and what was best for his family. Most of all, he was doing what he felt God had wanted him to do. Can anyone argue with that?

Nathan Winters rode a bicycle across America to discover first-hand why our food system had grown to be unsustainable, and to find alternative solutions. He traveled into the homes and communities of organic, conventional, urban and Amish farmers and community organizers. This ongoing series—to be posted every other Wednesday— represents select material from The Unconventional Harvest, a work in progress, by Nathan A. Winters. If you are a book publisher interested in working with Mr. Winters, you may contact him directly though his website or on twitter.

Farm Intern, Tantré Farm;
photo- Nathan Winters

I had first met Richard Andres a few days before at the Ann Arbor Farmers’ Market, and he summed up his work routine: “We get up at 3:30 a.m. and load the truck. We are at the Ann Arbor Farmers’ Market ’til about 2 p.m. and then we go back to the farm, unload the truck, and get back to work.”

Tantré Farm is located about 20 miles west of Ann Arbor, outside the rural town of Chelsea, Michigan. As you come into town you can’t miss the painting of a giant box of the iconic Jiffy Corn Muffin Mix emblazoned on the wall of the Chelsea milling elevator.

Richard and his wife Deb manage and own Tantré Farm with a team of young interns and part-time workers who are housed on site. The men share a furnished guest house and the women share a newly renovated barn. All together they have built a well-organized and profitable CSA with over 300 members. Everyone on the farm pulls his or her own weight by sharing the farm work, cooking, cleaning, and whatever else needs to be done. All the farming is done organically (and has been since 1993) on rich, sandy, loamy Michigan soil.

Of the 50 acres on Tantré Farm, 26 of them produce nearly 100 different varieties of vegetables, fruits, and herbs. How’s that for an omnivore’s dilemma? When I arrived, the farm interns were harvesting vegetables. Scotty, the farm’s Jack of all trades, seemed to be working on a list of never-ending projects. Richard was trying to fix a pump that could throw gray water onto his crops from a nearby marsh. All the activity had me feeling overwhelmed and anxious. What do I do? What don’t I do? I wanted it all: to participate in the harvest, conduct interviews, and collect research. In the end, walking through fields of vegetables with my camera in hand suited me best. And so I moseyed.

As I walked around the farm I found the design and productivity of the garden space was charted on the wall of a small utility shed. In the barn, near a washing station and a commercial-sized walk-in cooler, I found a white board on which everything about the farm was mapped out and documented, allowing everyone to view a schematic of growing cycles, succession planning, and harvest production. Wagons full of basil, boxes full of leeks, and collards the size of tennis rackets were all being gathered, cleaned, boxed, and placed in the large walk-in cooler, ready for the retail market.

Richard stood near the chicken coop, eating blueberries against a tree. I asked him what he does with 26 acres of vegetables. When I hinted at my idea that large restaurants in Ann Arbor and Detroit would be ideal customers, Richard replied nonchalantly, “Nah. Chefs work odd hours, are inconsistent, and some of them tend to be prima donnas.”

With Whole Foods just 70 miles away in nearby Troy, I also assumed Richard had created a seamless farm-to-shelf relationship with the mega-retailer. Again, Richard was straightforward. “Whole Foods represents ‘organic’ for the mainstream.

What we need is a different paradigm all together. We are going to hit peak oil, have chaos, war, and social instability. We are just seeing the beginning and it’s looking kind of bleak to me.” Richard reached into his small carton of blueberries, tilted his head back, lifted a large handful of berries to his mouth, and swallowed them in one gulp. Out of the side of his mouth he said. “Our options are going to be poverty, chastity, and humility and we are going to have to live like saints.” After a long pause Richard said, “Which isn’t such a bad thing.” And I thought I was just asking him about groceries.

Before the evening alighted and I made my way to the guest house, I was invited to a large communal dinner where everyone on the farm came together to enjoy a homemade pizza, and to share ideas, philosophies, and opinions on agriculture, and whatever else came to mind.

This meal was much more than the fresh ingredients straight from the garden, their juices soaking the homemade cheese. It illustrated that Richard and Deb were providing more than just healthy, noble job opportunities (which in Michigan at the time were not easy to come by). They were incubating aspiring organic farmers looking for a meaningful life, knowledge base, and income source. Though I knew I would not stay on Richard’s farm as an intern or employee, I did know that I was finding my own inspiration and ready to get my hands dirty.

Co-owner Richard Andres Milking his Cow;
photo- Nathan Winters

The small milking stall was thick with hay used for bedding. “I kneel down because it allows me to get more upright. You can use a stool but that hurts my back,” Richard explained.

Richard took a swig of his coffee and began his lesson. “The idea is to grab the top of the teat and pull down while you slightly curl it in.” I had only had about half a cup of coffee. Without a few cups of coffee in the morning, I can barely tie my shoes, let alone tug milk from a pair of warm, soft teats. I felt vulnerable beneath the massive animal. I had a vision of my entire top row of teeth getting kicked down my throat in a split second. Richard saw my nervousness. He offered a few words that gave me enough confidence to continue. “You are a new person with new smells, so you might throw her out of the routine. She might try to have a little fun and throw a kick in your direction. She can be a tricky one, but don’t worry—I know all of her tricks. If she tries to bring that back leg forward and kick you, just block it with your forearm.”

I could tell she was getting frustrated with me. Richard was rhythmic and productive as he worked two teats on the opposite side. I was awkward and shortcoming as I worked my half of the udder. Defeated I announced, “I am not getting anything.”

Richard replied half-jokingly, “Yeah, that doesn’t surprise me. Don’t worry about it.”

It took about 15 minutes but I finally started to get the hang of it. She was giving me milk! I looked over at Richard and saw him milking about four times as productively. My enthusiasm evaporated.

As I milked this beautiful dairy cow, I watched Richard’s strong arms and shoulders, and I listened to the milk splash-splash as it hit the bottom of the bucket in perfect rhythm. After a few minutes my wrists and forearms started to get tired. Meanwhile, Richard was just getting warmed up and was now in the mood to talk. I knew the best thing was to allow Richard to do most of the milking and all the talking.

Richard knew that I wanted more than just the experience of milking cows. He knew that I was there to hear his take on our food system. If he was going to oblige, I didn’t know. But once Richard began talking it was like a long, emotional ball of string unspooling, one stroke of the teat at a time. “In reality, our food system is out of balance, which is pretty evident. It has probably been out of balance for hundreds of years. Right now we are at the extreme point. Sure, we might have all of this technology and brains behind everything, but we are destroying our earth in the process. If I have to work for little or nothing to do this job then maybe I need to be a little imbalanced to rectify the other imbalance. But what else are you going to do?”

Rectify the imbalance? “What do you mean?” I asked.
“Nathan, it’s just like your bike trip. You are not getting paid to pedal and you are investing a lot of your time and your effort. Sometimes it is unpleasant and sometimes it is rewarding and even spiritual. Our food system is a heaven and hell cycle and it depends on what your preferences and expectations are.”

I asked Richard how he felt about his earnings in comparison to other, higher-paying industries.

“I am earning pretty good money for what I do. I am growing on 20 to 25 acres here and my income is most likely equivalent to someone out there who is growing 1,000 acres of corn or soy. The difference is that their margins are so thin that they are often looking at 1% profit.”

So why would a farmer want to work long, hard days in the sun while the corporate food giants get rich? What is the conventional farmer working for? More importantly, who is the conventional farmer working for? Richard added, “They are serving a system, and if you are selling to Cargill and ConAgra and those people, guess what? Their aim is to make money and control the grain exports and prices. The food corporations are going to make their profit, whatever it is, between 10 and 20%. As a conventional farmer all you have to do is take 1 to 2% and then you must ask the government for money to survive. From Richard’s perspective, the government was ultimately subsidizing the corporations.”

From what I gathered from Richard, the typical conventional farmer no longer works for him or herself. They work for the government that is controlled by the corporations. Richard was on a roll. Without raising his voice and always keeping his cow calm, he said, “What most people do in a business paradigm is buy wholesale and sell at retail. Most farmers are buying retail and selling wholesale…especially the conventional grain farmers. Go ahead and look up ConAgra and you will see that they are the largest grain traders in the world. There was a time in the ’90s when their profits were increasing every year, so in about four years they were doubling their money. In the meantime there were tons of co-ops, grain elevators, and small farmers going out of business all over the Midwest. I don’t know the exact numbers but the corporations came in and bought hundreds of thousands of them across the country.”

I asked Richard, “As a mid-sized organic farmer, are you able to be successful in this recession?” He said, “While most people don’t place a value on their food, there is a group of educated people who do. There is a bunch of people out there right now who are reading Michael Pollan and others like him. Those people are right on the ‘tip of the antenna’ as the intelligentsia.

For us, those people are in Ann Arbor and some of the communities around Detroit. This group has money to spend.”

The rhythm of the raw milk hitting the metal bucket intensified, as did Richard’s voice.

“Now that the big-ag boom is over we need to create a shift in our agriculture economy. These people like Michael Pollan have risen and are full of insights and they are guiding us as a culture. In my formative years it was Wendell Berry and Elizabeth Henderson. In some ways, it’s like we are revisiting all the things that we already know. We know what the imbalances of the food system are and how they are relative to the economy. The question is, now what do we do?”

I considered Richard’s insight for as long as my throbbing forearms would allow. Suddenly, my entire upper body was on fire. I needed to stop. Richard was too kind to pass judgment. He just smiled and said, “This really brings a new definition of working your fingers to the bone, now doesn’t it?”

Nathan Winters rode a bicycle across America to discover first-hand why our food system had grown to be unsustainable, and to find alternative solutions. He traveled into the homes and communities of organic, conventional, urban and Amish farmers and community organizers. This ongoing series—to be posted every other Wednesday— represents select material from The Unconventional Harvest, a work in progress, by Nathan A. Winters. If you are a book publisher interested in working with Mr. Winters, you may contact him directly though his website or on twitter.

Slash-and-burn subsistence agriculture has fed millions of families over past centuries; today it maintains their descendants in poverty; and its widespread failure is an underlying cause of rural-urban migration in the tropics. The consumptive process by which forest cover is converted to invasive grassland, over vast swathes of former tropical forest, is estimated to be contributing around 1 billion tonnes of carbon annually to the atmosphere; more than half of all global transport combined. Neither this process, nor the families’ attempts to feed themselves, is sustainable today.

About 25 years ago I began working on a new system of agroforestry which depends upon the soil-restorative qualities of fast-growing, nitrogen-fixing trees from the Amazon basin. The system has emerged from many years’ research, development and trial which was begun in the mid 1980′s by me and my colleagues in the University of Cambridge, the Royal Botanic Gardens, Kew, and others in the region. Together we founded an organization called The Inga Foundation to extend and promote the ground-breaking discoveries of those R&D phases.

Inga Alley-cropping is a system of mulching using pruned green leaves from the trees which are contour-planted in hedgerows; it has proved itself capable of achieving food-security in basic-grains for the family, upon one permanent plot near their dwelling. It produces firewood for the kitchen; it virtually eliminates the need for weed-control. Additional plots enable the whole family to be involved in their own cash-crop economy; located, for the first time, on their own doorstep.

Food security in basic grains is the indispensible pre-condition for a complete and sustainable rural livelihood. Many cash-crop cultivars have been trialled successfully in the Inga Alley system. Once the inexorable and debilitating pressure of slash-and-burn has been removed from the equation, degraded land, which would have been slash/burned every second or third year, can now be restored to permanent tree-cover. Some combination of fruit and timber trees is likely to be the family’s choice.

The system is by no means a “quick fix” to such a deep-rooted problem; it requires effort from the family and their patience while the developing Inga trees gain dominance over the weed-infested site. The process can take over two years. Once it achieves site-recapture, the system requires minimal inputs of soil supplements or labor to maintain it.

We now have many case histories of farmers taking their first maize crops for many years from plots declared by them to have been “sterile” before recapture by the Inga trees.

Still, despite these successful outcomes of this approach, convincing farmers who have relied on slash and burn for generations, and whose very survival depends on the process, is no easy feat. Transitioning to a new way of farming requires not only the gain of their trust that the new method will indeed work, but it also requires an infusion of money that these farmers do not have. So we turn to governments and NGOs for the economic support that will be needed to make Inga-Alley cropping the norm. We’ve achieved some success in this area, but the fight continues.

You can see the challenges—and successes—we’ve faced in bringing Inga Alley-cropping to farmers in Honduras in Up in Smoke, a new documentary that was shot over the past four years by a filmmaker named Adam Wakeling. It was recently selected for inclusion in The Economist Film Project, which will present a clip of the film tonight on PBS NewsHour.

Hopefully, as more people become aware of the promise that exists in bringing an end to slash and burn agriculture, and the urgency with which we must make this transition, the more support we will receive from the agencies who have the power and means to invest in a more sustainable future.

Mike Hands is a tropical ecologist specializing in the ecology of Tropical Rain Forest, and especially in the ecology of slash-and-burn subsistence agriculture. Hands began the studies that have led to the making of Up In Smoke in the mid 1980′s. He worked for 14 years as Senior Research Associate in the University of Cambridge; working almost entirely in Central America. Hands directed a series of four research projects in Costa Rica and Honduras. He is currently the secretary and Founder-Trustee of Inga Foundation which has been established to continue and expand this pioneering work in the world’s rain forests. He is a lifelong naturalist.

Carole Anne and Curly are Arkansas transplants (they both hail from the east coast), brilliant musicians and amazing mushroom farmers. Their hippie roots brought them “back to the land” and to the magnificent Ozarks. They’ve been farming now for over 20 years, and know the shiitake like they know their three children. Their farm is very far from anywhere (honestly, our car’s GPS system showed a blank screen with a blinking dot ), and they grow gorgeous shiitake mushrooms on thousands of logs throughout their property. Lots of people grow mushrooms on logs, but they are the only ones who grow on logs at such a scale.

Image by Daniel Klein

After learning to cook at his mother’s bed and breakfast, Daniel Klein (The Perennial Plate) went on to work and train at many of the world’s top restaurants. His culinary education brought him to Spain, France, England, India and New York, where he has worked and trained at top Michelin starred restaurants. After graduating from NYU, Daniel also pursued a career in film. Daniel’s most recent film “What are we doing here?” has aired on TV, in theaters and at numerous festivals around the world.

Entering Cleveland, Ohio

Why would I choose to ride my bicycle into the concrete jungle? I wanted to get a close look at food production within the city limits. Urban- and community-based farming is growing in popularity at an exceptional rate. According to the National Gardening Association, the number of households with gardens jumped from 36 million in 2007 to 43 million in 2009 in the U.S. alone. The core tenet of backyard gardening: Whether you’re on a rural hillside in Vermont or an abandoned parking lot in Ohio, you can grow food on just about any square foot you can find. My curiosity piqued, I found myself at Gather ’Round Farm in downtown Cleveland, speaking with Meagen Kresge.

Gather ‘Round is so close to a Wendy’s you can almost hear the French fries squealing in the deep fryer. “I consider myself a world citizen and not an American citizen. Some people might get mad about that, but I stick to it,” said Meagen, urban farmer and founder of Gather ’Round Farm on Lorain Avenue on Cleveland’s west side. How does one woman turn an abandoned parking lot into a small farm? The first thing she did was build raised beds and establish fertility in the transplanted top soil. Her next step was gaining support from her local community. Soon the Cleveland Forestry Department donated surplus wood chips and the nearby Westside Market donated compost in the form of unsold produce.

Meagen Kresge-city farmer and activist

“What are you trying to accomplish with all of this?” I asked.

“We would like to move towards a permaculture model with the planting of perennials and small fruit trees. Long term, we would like to build a canopy layer, climbing layer, an herb layer, and a root layer,” Meagen said. That’s a lot of layers, I thought. “Before all of that we still have to get our soil base established.” Meagen flashed a big smile, then walked me over to a makeshift chicken coop. “We got these chickens to work as part of the system. Their manure is an excellent fertilizer and we sell the eggs based on an honor system right here on the street. In the city there are ongoing regulations in relation to raising chickens that have been challenging. Getting permits for building the chicken coops and just having the chickens here in general was quite a challenge.”

Permaculture, chickens, and an honor box full of eggs. This was not what I was expecting from an urban farm. I had envisioned a community garden with small plots assigned to registered members . Gather ’Round Farm was no run-of-the-mill community garden. It was a fully functional small-scale farm. It just happened to be on a downtown parking lot.

Admiring all of the work and the accomplishments that Meagen had under her belt I asked, “What was your biggest challenge when you decided to build this farm?” Meagen smiled, rolled her eyes a bit, and said, “Besides getting permits and complying with countless regulations, the other challenge is the work. It is work that we like to do, but we also have to survive financially and pay rent. The goal is to figure out how to sustain ourselves and sustain the farm. Ultimately, we would really like to move towards an educational program for children and adults with a garden space where anyone in the neighborhood can visit and learn something about growing food.”

Gather Round Farm

As I watched those two kids eat what I consider dog food for humans, it occurred to me that not only is there a generation of Americans who do not know where their food comes from, but many in that generation don’t even know what real food is. Somehow as a society we have allowed the free market to undermine the well-being of our children with cheap food and clever, pervasive marketing.

According to a Centers for Disease Control and Prevention 2009 report, “1 in 3 Americans born in the United States in the year 2000 will develop diabetes during their lifetime”. “Among 12- to 19-year-old boys, the prevalence of obesity is higher among adolescent non-Hispanic African Americans (19%)”; girls from this same demographic group represent a 28% greater risk of obesity. In addition to the billions of dollars the fast food industry spends on marketing campaigns—inner-city environments, in particular—with the limited access to fresh and nutritious food, high poverty rates, and cheap abundance of fast food outlets, are left with a broken food system that is an incubator for developing chronic health disease afflicting millions of Americans.

When I made a comment to Meagen about the two young girls she reacted without emotion. “It bothers me to know that people in our society are used to eating food from fast-food restaurants,” she said. “As we work towards [the goal of] local food again, it makes it much more difficult for those of us who are growing food to get past the hurdles of ignorance. Knowing that people are malnourished because of the food that they are eating is sad.” Based on standards of living, and according to many economists, the United States ranks as one of the most affluent and educated countries. So why have we allowed something as simple as food to get so complicated? And what is the solution?

“We need to educate people so they know that an apple with a couple of spots is just as good to eat as a waxed and manicured apple from the supermarket. When people start to adjust to local food and farmers’ markets they are also going to have to adjust to the simple fact that food isn’t supposed to look like it does in the aisles at the store,” Meagen offered.

Meagen was honest but she was also unwilling to entertain the doom and gloom that surrounds our current industrial and decentralized food system. She was quick to avoid demonizing or ridiculing those on the “other side”. As much as I hated to admit it, the rhetoric from Gene Baur [at Farm Sanctuary] had inspired me to push buttons and create more sound bites from other real-food advocates. Meagen thought in sound bites, but she was not going to let them be recorded by my video camera or in my journal. Her approach to activism was simple. She was growing food for her community. Actions always speak louder than words.

Before I left Gather ’Round Farm, I asked Meagen, “Are you concerned for our future?”

Her voice was nearly mute when she responded. “I have concerns for future generations of children, animals, plants, and bugs. All of these things are valuable. We should ask people, ‘Have you ever felt any kind of care or concern for any child whatsoever?’ It is pretty simple to think about. The environment affects agriculture and agriculture affects food and food affects people’s well-being. We should try and think about what we can do to make things better and actions that would help assure that our future generations of children will be able to eat and have nutrition.”

As my conversation with Meagen neared its end, her connection to and warm compassion for something greater than the veggies growing in her raised beds was clear. Coincidentally, during my bike ride across the country, I was learning about and understanding what she meant when she said,

“I personally enjoy being connected to nature and in the woods and watching how a tree will lose its leaves and enrich the soil, allowing the natural environment to renew itself. Because I get so much joy out that, I think that our children could get that type of joy and satisfaction and be able to observe those natural environments. A lot of people are afraid of nature as opposed to being enriched by it; but nature and food go hand in hand.”

Nathan Winters rode a bicycle across America to discover first-hand why our food system had grown to be unsustainable, and to find alternative solutions. He traveled into the homes and communities of organic, conventional, urban and Amish farmers and community organizers. This ongoing series—to be posted every other Wednesday— represents select material from The Unconventional Harvest, a work in progress, by Nathan A. Winters. If you are an editor or book publisher interested in working with Mr. Winters, you may contact him directly though his website or on twitter.

There are thousands of dairy farms out there. And most treat their cows on par with industry standards: Milk them until they no longer produce at large quantities and then “retire” them…usually to a feed lot. But Radiance Dairy is different. And that’s why we chose it as our first stop on the Real Food Road Trip.  This first episode of the cross country tour follows our departure from Minneapolis and our travels across Iowa to meet Francis Thicke – a Dairy Farmer, Ph.D, and all around great guy who truly cares about the lives of his cows… He even offers semi-retirement for his older cows.

He does this by selling the cows to people looking for a family cow. After all, once most cows retire, they still make enough milk to sustain a family or two. So, the farm is able to continue making money, families get a wonderful new friend, and the cows get to live to be old ladies. Thicke treats his animals with respect while still making a decent living.

After learning to cook at his mother’s bed and breakfast, Daniel Klein (The Perennial Plate) went on to work and train at many of the world’s top restaurants. His culinary education brought him to Spain, France, England, India and New York, where he has worked and trained at top Michelin starred restaurants. After graduating from NYU, Daniel also pursued a career in film. Daniel’s most recent film “What are we doing here?” has aired on TV, in theaters and at numerous festivals around the world.

Gene Baur, President, Farm Sanctuary

For me, getting to the Farm Sanctuary was no easy task. My sushi and sake–fueled escapades the night before in Ithaca had rewarded me with a massive headache, dehydration, and nausea. The humidity and wind was relentless and for several hours and only 24 miles I struggled on my bike across the peaks and valleys of the Finger Lakes region.

Before I’d started this journey, countless people asked if I was scared to climb the Rocky and North Cascade Mountain Ranges. I simply told them no, because I imagined by the time I would reach the western half of the country, I’d be in stellar condition both physically and mentally. But nobody, not one person had ever mentioned the Finger Lakes. (I would later find myself slowly crawling up steep hills for 40 minutes only to zoom down the other side in 40 seconds the entire stretch between Ithaca, New York, and Erie, Pennsylvania.)

I caught a break when my Twitter friends in Ithaca put me in touch with Sarah Freeman (@SarahAFreeman). Sarah’s parents own a beautiful, quaint cottage on Seneca Lake just a few miles north of Watkins Glen, and she offered me the cottage for two nights. To celebrate arriving in downtown Watkins Glen (and to taste the hair of the dog that bit me) I made a pit stop at the Rooster Fish Brewery.

I sat at the bar and over small talk I told the young and skinny bartender that I was staying just 6 miles north of town. When I mentioned I was looking for Hunt Road he looked at me askance and said, “Dude, you know you have to climb for 6 miles right?” Thinking back on the day of brutal hills and relentless weather I replied, “I don’t think it matters at this point.” He just smirked and continued talking about the big race that weekend; NASCAR is an informal religion in Watkins Glen.

After I finished my cold brew, I climbed back on my bike. Just as I started pedaling uphill, a thunderstorm descended and pounded me with heavy rain. I had had enough. Of everything. I found the nearest shelter under the awning of a large building. I was soaking wet and feeling defeated when a man opened a door and asked, “Can I help you with something?” I explained my predicament, and he ducked back inside. When he returned, he was carrying a glass of red wine. Moments later the rain subsided and I took a look at my surroundings. I had found shelter at one of the Finger Lakes trademark vineyards.

As serendipity would have it, a rainbow appeared over the grape vines perfectly aligned on a hillside. It’s funny how things can change in life…and sometimes all you need is fifteen minutes.

Now back to the Farm Sanctuary.

Coincidentally, the Farm Sanctuary’s roots lie deep in my hometown, Lancaster, Pennsylvania. In 1986, during a visit to the Lancaster Stockyards to document the conditions of the facility and the treatment of animals, Gene Baur discovered his passion for rescuing animals and the Farm Sanctuary was born.

During a conversation with Gene about his visit to my hometown, he described what he found as “appalling”. Animals were lying around the stockyards, left for dead. One animal in particular, later named Hilda, a sheep still alive and lying helpless on a pile of rotting animal carcasses was rescued.

Since 1986, the Farm Sanctuary has rescued thousands of animals like Hilda, where they are brought to one of two Farm Sanctuary locations: A 175-acre shelter in upstate New York, near Watkins Glen, or a 300-acre shelter in Northern California. The rescued animals are given an opportunity to live a carefree life with spacious living and expert medical attention. Later the animals are either adopted through the Farm Sanctuary’s strict Farm Animal Adoption Network or they will live out their days on the sanctuary.

When Farm Sanctuary started, it was a fledgling, all-volunteer organization that was funded by sales of veggie hot dogs from a Volkswagen van. Today, Farm Sanctuary has grown into the nation’s leading farm animal protection organization, with hundreds of thousands of supporters.

As I pedaled away from the cozy cottage and 16 miles to the farm, I thought of the irony of me rolling into an animal rights organization seated on my genuine leather bike saddle. Whether anyone noticed, I am not sure.

In the Farm Sanctuary lobby, endless facts about the so called “factory farming” industry are posted on the walls. On display are crates and cages commonly used in confined animal farming operations (CAFOs). There are gestation crates, which are used to prevent breeding pigs from roaming, spending years boxed up with minor breaks for pregnancy and birth. Battery cages in which chickens are crammed so tightly that they cannot even spread their wings are mounted on the wall. These same cages are used in 90% of our nation’s egg production. The Farm Sanctuary lobby is full of big fat reminders the general public has simply learned to forget while browsing the aisles at the supermarket.

I got lucky during my visit to the Farm Sanctuary. In a slim window between promoting his new book titled Farm Sanctuary: Changing Hearts and Minds About Animals and Food and his advocacy work, Gene Baur happened to be in Watkins Glen. When staff member Michelle King of nearby Trumansburg informed Gene of my interview request, he gladly accepted.

Gene and I exchanged small talk and walked outside to find the perfect spot for my video camera to capture a picturesque backdrop. As I admired the lush green pasture, red barn, and round hay bales, Gene Baur began delivering an endless flow of powerful commentary.

When I asked him about the mission of the Farm Sanctuary he dove in without pausing,

“We encourage people to make food choices that are consistent with their own values and consistent with their own interest. I think that for most people that means not buying factory-farmed meat, milk, and eggs and for many people I think that would mean not eating animals altogether. Killing animals is an inherently violent act and most people are not comfortable looking at it. If most people are not comfortable looking at it then I think they should reevaluate whether or not they want to support it.”

There is no question that the realities of slaughtering animals are painful to acknowledge, much less witness. For millions of people those facts are reason enough to stop eating meat. But dedicating your life to running an animal rights organization is taking it to a whole new level. What was the incredible driving force that steered Gene to start the Farm Sanctuary? “When I grew up I always wanted to do something good. I didn’t want to just get a job and make a lot of money, which is what I was encouraged to do, just like most people are encouraged to do growing up in America. As time went I got involved in children, environmental, and animal organizations. I started recognizing that the industrial animal farming industry was creating negative consequences for every group that I was concerned about.” Gene said with perfect delivery.

So, I wondered, how exactly does an activist on a mission create a nonprofit entity with two locations with nearly 500 acres of land and more than 200,000 members?

“When you do this work you will come across some of the most dedicated people you will ever imagine,” said Gene. “Ultimately, the people who really care are the ones who lead us to make a difference. Sometimes people get very apathetic and come to accept bad things as normal. Those people who support the Farm Sanctuary are those who believe that things can be different and that things can be better. They are willing to put their time and their resources behind this effort and for that we are very thankful for them.”

Gene continued. “Agribusiness is very influential and we face tremendous challenges when we are trying to pass laws through the legislative process. What we have done instead is started going through the initiative process where voters get a chance to decide these issues. Thankfully when people have a chance to vote and to decide whether or not it is okay for animals to be treated the way that they are in today’s farms, most citizens think there needs to be change and these animals need to be treated better. Right now farm animals are being treated very badly and in a way that most people would be appalled by.”

Makes you want go out and grab a burger, doesn’t it?

Gene’s words were brash and assertive, and they nearly had me ready to give up my favorite ham and eggs for breakfast. Staring at the rain clouds moving in, I indicated that I was ready to wrap up the interview. Gene, however, had a good sound bite locked and loaded. Before I could reach over and turn my camera off he blurted,

“Our food choices have profound consequences, but most people don’t think very much about their food choices and are eating in a way that is harmful to themselves, harmful to the animals, and harmful to the planet and is inconsistent with their own values and inconsistent with their own interest.”

I could tell Gene sensed that his message was getting dark, and he quickly changed his tone before adding,

“With the internet there are great opportunities for people to learn and share information. There is currently a movement where people are learning more and are concerned about the inhumane treatment of animals and the health and environmental issues that are resulting from factory farming Thankfully, right now there is a movement towards farmers’ markets and community supported agriculture [CSA] and people getting connected with their food.”

Gene and millions of other Americans know that we have turned food production into one large assembly line. As I thought about our interview, I reflected on the real reason I busted my hump in the pouring rain to visit the Farm Sanctuary. I wanted to hear Gene Baur offer me a solution to this current epidemic. Sure, I had seen Food, Inc. and read The Omnivore’s Dilemma. But I was talking to a foot soldier in the war on food. This face time was something I couldn’t find in a book or on a DVD,

Gene gave me a good, hard stare and said,

“Just like bad things that spread, good things can spread. Human beings are very social animals and we tend to do what those around us do. When bad and cruelty is the norm, somehow it becomes accepted and it is often unjust and people of consciousness need to speak up.”

And with that, Gene Baur shook my hand and walked away.

That night I returned to the lakeside cottage where there rhetoric of Gene Baur ran through my mind. I realized his words and passion had touched me in a way that would change how I value my consumption of food from animals altogether. I felt sadness thinking how as a species we have clinically removed millions of other animals from their natural environments where they were meant to connect, learn from, and share with Mother Nature.

It hurt to realize that much of our food production involves little to no dignity to the innocent animals being killed in facilities, and that we no longer celebrate nor are we grateful for the animals that fuel us. We allow corporate food giants to get rich creating enough triple bacon cheeseburgers to feed the world while the human species slowly amuses itself to death.

I had no intention of becoming a vegetarian, vegan, or any other type of labeled eater. What I found in Watkins Glen was a belief that we can all find more common ground in this world if we stop labeling ourselves and begin to educate ourselves collectively through an honest and transparent approach to the production of food.

As the sun set over the sparkling waters of Seneca Lake and spun a gradient of deep blues, purples, and red into the darkening sky, I sat back, elevated my feet, took a long draw from my glass of red wine and smiled knowing that I had no reason to be sad. I had made a choice: to become part of the industrial food solution and not the problem.

Nathan Winters rode a bicycle across America to discover first-hand why our food system had grown to be unsustainable, and to find alternative solutions. He traveled into the homes and communities of organic, conventional, urban and Amish farmers and community organizers. This ongoing series—to be posted every other Wednesday— represents select material from The Unconventional Harvest, a work in progress, by Nathan A. Winters. If you are an editor or book publisher interested in working with Mr. Winters, you may contact him directly though his website or on twitter.

As we set off on our Real Food Road Trip last Monday, we were excited to say the least. Within our first two days we had filming planned with Seed Savers, a forager in Northern Iowa and plans to stop for a moment to meet Francis Thicke of Radiance Dairy.

We were going full speed: filming, uploading, editing in the car… I was trying to find a story thread that would capture the feeling of our journey and start the Real Food Road Trip off with some punch. We kept pushing our visit to Radiance Dairy off as more things came up. When we finally arrived, it was right during the evening milking. After a few words from Francis Thicke, we knew we had the centre piece to our first episode. It wasn’t his multiple degrees or his run for Secretary of Agriculture in Iowa that had us, it was the kindness and humility in which he treated his cows. The thing is there are a lot of great farmers out there, and not to say what Francis is doing is perfect, or even replicable, but the fact that he makes an effort to let his cows live out there lives is moving to say the least.

After learning to cook at his mother’s bed and breakfast, Daniel Klein (The Perennial Plate) went on to work and train at many of the world’s top restaurants. His culinary education brought him to Spain, France, England, India and New York, where he has worked and trained at top Michelin starred restaurants. After graduating from NYU, Daniel also pursued a career in film. Daniel’s most recent film “What are we doing here?” has aired on TV, in theaters and at numerous festivals around the world.

Farmer Daniel Kline's Daughter

“Have you ever ridden in a car that runs on vegetable oil?”

“No. I have not,” I replied.

Eric Woodworth, the owner of Circa Restaurant in Cazenovia, New York, walked into the kitchen, grabbed a large pot of hot vegetable oil, walked out through the back door, and poured the oil into the gas tank of his 1984 Mercedes Benz.

Before I jumped into Eric’s front seat I asked, “Why do you do this?”

“Do what?” he said.

“Why do you want to run your car on vegetable oil?”

Eric looked at me as though I had just asked him an annoying rhetorical question and with a condescending tone he said, “We are at war over foreign oil right now and I think we should at least experiment with other ways to be more self-sufficient and growing corn is not the solution.”

Eric was my tour guide of his native New York countryside. By chance, I had met his wife Alicyn and the chef at Circa Restaurant on the street just 5 minutes after I had arrived in town. Alicyn invited me to check out their locally sourced menu and talk to her and Eric about the local farming community. As Eric and I enjoyed a beer, I mentioned I was interested in meeting one of the farmers who provides Eric’s restaurant with fresh grass-fed meat. He informed me that he had the perfect farmer in mind.

As Eric and I drove up and over the soft and green rolling hills of rural central New York, just 20 miles south of Syracuse, I marveled at the dilapidated barns and broken-down tractors decaying on farmers’ fields. Eric’s lofty but casual comments painted a careful picture of his hometown and the economic woes farmers are facing in the region. “This guy over here is conventional, most are around here,” and, “This guy over here just inherited his parents’ farm. You can’t buy a farm and make any money in this part of the state. It’s got to be inherited, otherwise it’s just impossible.”

Suddenly, we made a sharp right turn onto a short, rocky driveway leading to a farm. I noticed two young children wearing dark and simple clothing, jumping on a trampoline and a woman wearing a long dress and bonnet hard at work, weeding and harvesting vegetables in the garden. Eric slowly parked the car in front of the Amish farmhouse and I snapped a few photographs of the children as they continued to play in this idyllic place.

Leisurely walking towards our car to greet us was a man with a light-colored beard and wearing a white shirt with thin suspenders. “This guy is really cool and practices some sweet farming methods. A lot of women around here think this guy is really hot,” Eric noted.

Daniel Kline and Son

Juxtaposed with the conservative work-ready attire of our hosts, I felt like an idiot with my Birkenstocks, cargo shorts, and chunky SLR camera dangling free and ornate around my neck. I wanted to make a strong first impression so I added a little elbow grease and direct eye contact to my hand-to-hand greeting. He introduced himself as Daniel Kline. Right away I understood why the ladies of rural New York took a shine to him. His eyes were a brilliant shade of blue; his skin was tanned and his brown hair was lightened to a golden blonde from his time spent working outdoors. He had rolled up his shirtsleeves to his elbows, revealing strong forearms. His black suspenders complemented his fit waistline and dark work pants.

I began to ramble about why I was here: my quest for knowledge surrounding sustainability, the American food system, and other facets of modern life that the Amish have very little need to worry about, given their creed of self-sufficiency.

In an effort to gain credibility with Daniel, I mentioned that I was from Lancaster County, Pennsylvania. With his strong Pennsylvania Dutch dialect Daniel said “Oh! You are from Lancaster, are ya, huh? I have been there a few times. It is a nice place.” Secretly, I wanted to tell Daniel that I felt Lancaster County and its urban sprawl is going to hell in a handbasket. I decided to just let it go. But a moment later Daniel confirmed my feelings on the county by stating, “Lancaster sure is filling up fast. You can’t buy a farm for less than one or two million dollars down there and we can’t farm for that. So we moved up here.” His words were gentle, yet brutally clear, and they left me with little more to say than a soft, saddened, “I know exactly what you mean.”

When we arrived on Daniel’s farm, he had been shoveling chicken grain into a large storage bin. Both Eric and I expressed our wish to let Daniel continue his work, yet Daniel insisted on giving me a tour of his farm. “If we have a visitor on the farm I usually take time off. That is what farming is all about.”

Daniel’s words were nothing short of honest and carefree. I began to notice a pattern in his nonchalant behavior. Looking around the farm, there was a sense of ease and simplicity. There seemed to be no pressure or competition creating unwanted work without peace of mind. Everything felt so simple, permissible, and charming. There was no stress over the struggling economy, no worries about the rising cost of oil. Daniel and his family were living what appeared to be an ideal life of earthly contentment and satisfaction.

“This is some beautiful land you have here. How many acres do you own?” I asked Daniel as we took a slow walkabout.

“We have about ninety-seven acres to the farm,” he replied. Pointing at a large tilled plot he said, “This is our big garden. Sometimes the children disappear for long periods at a time. When they return we always know where they have been because the fresh strawberries leave red stains on their faces.” We shared a laugh and I crouched down to pick one of Daniel’s strawberries. As its flavors danced across my taste buds I understood why Daniel’s children disappeared into the garden.

“Over there is our milk cow. She is dry right now, but she gives us our milk, butter, and cream,” Daniel said proudly. Daniel then pointed out a handful of steers he raises for grass-fed beef-how Daniel and Eric came to know each other through Circa Restaurant in the first place. Each day these cows are led to fresh paddocks of lush grass as part of a rotational grazing system. In essence this method imitates the natural grazing habits of bison across the Great Plains and was used until the 1950s when large corporations began to industrialize the production of meat through grain, pens and feedlots.

Very recently, the grass-fed feeding strategy has been resurrected and made popular by charismatic celebrity farmer and author of Salad Bar Beef, Joel Salatin, who reminds us whenever he can of the environmental impacts and safety risks that come with the production of industrial meat. With the increasing popularity of both farmers’ markets and the local food movement, small grass-fed beef producers are finding more avenues for consumers who are looking for an alternative to “factory farmed” meat to find their products.

As I sat and watched Daniel’s cows graze on their fresh pasture, Eric walked over to stand next to me. “The whole town is pissed off because we charge ten bucks for a grass-fed hamburger, which reduces the amount of resources it takes to produce a meal and creates less impact on our planet. Meanwhile they all pay three dollars for a gallon of gas and drive around in oversized trucks.” He shrugged his shoulders, shook his head, and walked away.

Without the hum of diesel engines or heavy machinery on Daniel’s farm, the world seemed dead silent. When I listened closely, I could hear the tongues of grazing cows tearing off fresh blades of grass.

Daniel and I walked leisurely to a distant pasture to get a closer look at Daniel’s chicken tractor. This impressive hen house was built on the base of an old wagon with four wheels and a hitch up front. I envisioned Daniel’s draft horses moving the chicken “motel” to fresh pasture daily. The chickens’ forage had been grazed by Daniel’s beef cows just a few days earlier. Essentially, this was a working model of young organic farmer Garin Smith and his symbiotic roadmap to sustainability I had encountered back in Skowhegan, Maine on Grassland Organic Farm.

Inside the henhouse, feeders and water buckets dangled from the ceiling and nesting boxes were built intuitively around the outside of the entire structure, allowing anyone to collect the eggs without actually going inside the building. Daniel reached down, grabbed an egg from a nesting box, and cracked it open onto his hand. Pointing out the rich yolk he said, “Our chickens feast on clover which is high in protein. That is what gives the yolk that dark orange color.”

As my farm tour continued I expressed an interest in seeing the pigs that Daniel had mentioned earlier. Growing up, my late father’s best friend was somewhat of a conventional pig farmer. I say “somewhat” because he didn’t actually own the pigs and many (including corporate farmers) considered him just another hired hand. Essentially, in exchange for doing the feeding chores he was given a private mobile trailer so he and his family could live peacefully in the Lancaster County countryside. These pigs were raised in confinement and in all the years my dad and I visited (to enjoy fishing and a few cold beers) I never did get to see any of those hogs.

That day, like most days, Daniel’s pigs rooted through the rich soil with their strong noses, slept, and built wallows. All summer they feast on brush, plants, berries, and apples that fall into their pens from the trees and brush around them. As if this gourmand diet isn’t impressive enough, Daniel has a connection in New York City, the owner of a small market with a plethora of gourmet cheeses that often don’t get sold before their sell by date. He brings the spoiled cheese to Daniel and his pigs. This arrangement saves the store owner the cost of disposing the spoiled goods and provides Daniel’s pigs with a luxurious snack, which fattens them up well before they make it to market. As the mob of pigs grazed the overgrowth and fertilized the soil, I laughed, seeing that these pigs were some of the most productive workers on the farm. And in this respect they were just like Daniel Kline himself, happy to do the work, whether or not anyone was watching.

When my tour of Daniel’s slice of heaven was complete he walked me to his barn where he had converted one section into a small guest room. He lit a gas lamp and kindly offered me an overnight stay. As my mind swirled, I watched Daniel’s young daughter run barefoot through the pasture as the early evening sun cast hard light over her long blonde hair. My heart told me to politely decline Daniel’s offer and get back in Eric’s Mercedes. Daniel’s living arrangement with Mother Nature felt so distant from the life that I had somehow created–filled with the conformity, greed, and confusion that comes with a “conventional” world.

And, for me, there are times when witnessing the happiness of another person can be just as painful as dealing with my own sadness. Daniel Kline had more than just a sustainable farm. He had a genuine life and a satisfied mind about his relationship to the land and the universe. I had neither of the two.

And so I left.

Nathan Winters rode a bicycle across America to discover first-hand why our food system had grown to be unsustainable, and to find alternative solutions. He traveled into the homes and communities of organic, conventional, urban and Amish farmers and community organizers. This ongoing series—to be posted every other Wednesday— represents select material from The Unconventional Harvest, a work in progress, by Nathan A. Winters. If you are an editor or book publisher interested in working with Mr. Winters, you may contact him directly though his website or on twitter.

Daniel Klein Foraging for Wild Supper

Of all the topics I covered in Minnesota over the last year, foraging may have sparked my interest the most. It turns a simple walk into a treasure hunt and a free for all shopping trip. Well not a complete free for all as you have to be careful not to over harvest some plants. Other varieties you can harvest to your hearts content – particularly the invasive species. Two ubiquitous and invasive plants that love my backyard are garlic mustard and pig weed (a form of Amaranth).

In this video I create a dish out of the good food that you might be weeding from your garden. After watching, I encourage you to go out and look for some of the plants (if you haven’t already). Just make sure you check a guide before eating, many poisonous and edible plants look very similar, so its always best to stay on the safe side.

After learning to cook at his mother’s bed and breakfast, Daniel Klein (The Perennial Plate) went on to work and train at many of the world’s top restaurants. His culinary education brought him to Spain, France, England, India and New York, where he has worked and trained at top Michelin starred restaurants. After graduating from NYU, Daniel also pursued a career in film. Daniel’s most recent film “What are we doing here?” has aired on TV, in theaters and at numerous festivals around the world.

Wellspring Farm

The old man behind the counter asked where I was biking to and from and I gave him the short story behind my cross-country excursion. Suddenly, the aspiring lumberjacks worked their way into the conversation and fired off a litany of questions.
“Do you carry a laptop?”
“Is that an iPhone?”
“How do you check your email?”
“Are you keeping a blog online?”

They were more interested in gadgets and modern conveniences than my motivations for riding my bike across the country.

After my coffee kicked in I began volunteering information about my grassroots research project on sustainable agriculture and my use of social media to share my discoveries. What started as a brief Q-and-A turned into a passionate conversation where we tossed around ideas about composting, building with recycled materials, sustainable forestry, and buying local products. But it was the oldest man of the group who had me interested in more than just a cup of hot coffee. His name was Gary, roughly 40 years old and from Montpelier, the nearby state capital.

Like many native Vermonters, Gary had sugared in the Green Mountains for more than 25 years. Historically, the sugaring season has begun in mid- to late April. However, over the years, the sugaring season has moved up an entire month to March, as late winter and early spring have become warmer. Gary claimed that the best sugaring had now traveled further north and into Canada, based on the change in climate. With sadness in his voice, Gary looked off toward a corner of the café and reminisced about when he was young and the best sugaring was found right there in Vermont. Gary turned to me and said, “It is happening. The calendar is changing.”

With Gary’s snippet of Vermonter wisdom tucked away in my back pocket, I climbed back on my bike and made my way to Wellspring Farm.

Mimi Arnstein, Wellspring Farm

Mimi is part of the new generation of young and college-educated farmers who are opting out of the corporate world and opting in to growing food in a way that is meaningful and sustainable. After earning her BA in Sociology from the University of Michigan in 1994, Mimi went to work on Waltham Community Farm in Massachusetts where she got hooked on growing organic vegetables. She has been farming at Wellspring Farm since 2003.

This crop of new, young organic farmers—which includes Mimi—is growing at an exponential rate. Naturally, this is good news. The bad news is that America is still losing its second- and third-generation family farms at an alarming rate. So why is this happening? Mimi had a simple answer to what I felt was a complicated question. “Until we place a value on the food we eat, we will continue to lose family farms. Unfortunately, Americans have gotten accustomed to cheap food”.

There is no question that many Americans have lost touch with where the food on their dinner plate comes from. We have an entire segment of the population who has never set foot on a farm and will look you in the eye and tell you that food comes from the grocery store.

Mimi Arnstein

The CSA model is in demand and readily available in Vermont, however, across America, the concept is still new. Data collected in 2007 by the U.S. Department of Agriculture indicates that 12,549 farms in the United States reported marketing products through a CSA and that number continues to rise. Families can log on the popular website www.localharvest.org and search a database that lists more than 4,000 CSA farms nationwide. This movement has a profound impact on our food system and natural environment and farmers such as Mimi are celebrating this innovative partnership.

“One of the biggest impacts we make here as a CSA is keeping the land active and keeping people informed as to where their food comes from, while caring about the environment and one another. The way we farm is an act of supporting people that are growing their food and it truly builds a healthy community around something positive,” Mimi said with a big smile.

As the sun dipped below the serrated edge of the distant mountain tops I swatted at the black flies feasting on my flesh and asked Mimi one more question, “Are you concerned about climate change?”
She answered without hesitation, “Absolutely. The impact we humans have had on this earth has been enormous. I don’t think we can turn back the clock, but moving forward, I would like to think that we could do a better job protecting our planet. One of the essential philosophies in organic agriculture states that you must return what you take. Now it is time to pay the piper”.

Here in Vermont, I had just dipped my toes into a hotbed—or wellspring—of progressive farmers and their real-food disciples. And it felt fantastic.

Nathan Winters rode a bicycle across America to discover first-hand why our food system had grown to be unsustainable, and to find alternative solutions. He traveled into the homes and communities of organic, conventional, urban and Amish farmers and community organizers. This ongoing series—to be posted every other Wednesday— represents select material from The Unconventional Harvest, a work in progress, by Nathan A. Winters. If you are an editor or book publisher interested in working with Mr. Winters, you may contact him directly though his website or on twitter.

Duskwind Farm is a very special place. A farm where chickens and cows, donkeys, sheep, guinea fowl and dogs live in blissful harmony: or at least that’s my memory of it. Mirra and I went to Duskwind (in the heart of Meth country – Pine City, Minnesota) for a weekend. Jennifer Peterson had written to me a passionate e-mail about her farm, and I had decided to investigate. Only an hours drive from the city we discovered something special in the heart of this little town. Along with delicious raw milk, crock pot pork (from recently slaughtered pigs) and the zoo like quantity of animals… we found friends.

Creating The Perennial Plate has been good for making friends, but the folks from Duskwind Farm have been there since the first episodes. There is something about the farming lifestyle that changes the way people give. So much more is up in the air when you farm, you realize that you aren’t in control and so somehow it makes you more generous. At least that is the case with Jen and Chuck Peterson. They recently had to leave this lovely farm they called home, and are looking to be farming again this summer. But their times of difficulty (and their recent addition of little baby Elan) hasn’t stopped them from giving us jars and jars of tomatoes, a freezer full of meat, the beer at our recent fundraiser and hours spent finding story ideas for our road trip.

This video is about the aformentioned lovely family. It’s one of my favorite episodes over the last year. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do, and find it in you to embrace life, friendship and generosity as much as this farm family.

After learning to cook at his mother’s bed and breakfast, Daniel Klein (The Perennial Plate) went on to work and train at many of the world’s top restaurants. His culinary education brought him to Spain, France, England, India and New York, where he has worked and trained at top Michelin starred restaurants. After graduating from NYU, Daniel also pursued a career in film. Daniel’s most recent film “What are we doing here?” has aired on TV, in theaters and at numerous festivals around the world.

I had just finished biking 30 miles in the hot summer sun and so I decided it was appropriate to take a quick rest on the dilapidated porch and admire the lush pastures speckled with beautiful dandelions that swayed gently in the cool breeze. Moments later a pickup truck zoomed up the steep and rocky drive, leaving a cloud of dust in its trail. Out stepped a tall, rugged and younger man who wore the farmers’ requisite dirty and beat up baseball cap. With a firm handshake and a direct look into the eye, the young man introduced himself as Garin Smith.

Initially it was awkward greeting and I found Garin to be weary of my presence and borderline standoffish. When I mentioned the possibility of an overnight stay he replied “We might be able to figure something out” quickly followed by “Did you bring a tent?” I couldn’t blame Garin for his cynical status. After all, I was a complete stranger who had contacted his wife Sarah through the Eat Well Guide (a free, online directory of family farms, restaurants, food co –ops and farmers markets) and asked if I could come to their farm via bicycle, snap photos and ask questions.

Grassland Farm is owned and operated by Garin and Sarah Smith, a young farming family in their mid-20’s. The farm functions primarily as an organic dairy farm where they milk 45 cows from a variety of breeds. They sell certified organic, grass-fed beef, pastured poultry and grow a wide variety of fresh vegetables from a well-established garden in order to combat the economic woes of the dairy industry and build biodiversity within their soils. In addition, Garin and Sarah have singlehandedly transitioned the Skowhegan Farmers Market from what was once consisted of just a handful of farmers and hardly any customers to a thriving and vibrant New England farmers market chalk full of small farmers and a steady flow of happy customers.

When Garin and Sarah assumed the risk of taking over Sarah’s father’s farm it was a far cry from a romantic farming novel. The dairy wasn’t making any money, tractors and the equipment were in bad shape and the herd was faced with health issues that stood in the way of productivity. Garin intensely recalled handling the death of cows early on as a result of poor health: “When I first came here the cows were not in very good shape. I had a situation where I would ask myself: ‘What would my customer want me to do with this cow?’ She is going to lay here, suffer and die or I can shoot her right now and it will be over with. Those were not pleasant decisions to make”.

This challenging environment forced Garin and Sarah to find a creative spark and in order to survive on the farm they decided to transition the farm to organic production and diversify. With a big smile Garin reminisced about one of his neighbors told him he wouldn’t make it more than a year or two. “We are still here”. – Garin said with a big smile. He attributes healthy cows, diversification, controlling their input costs and loyal customers to their recent success.

It didn’t take me long until I realized that things were busy on Grassland Farm. I had arrived in early May, so there was no livestock on the fields, but the preparations for their 2 acres of vegetables, a full production dairy and caring for the two young children kept Garin and Sarah busy. Garin made it politely clear that there was work to be done all the way around and that he would soon be bringing the cows into the barn for the evening milking session. Loosely translated: “Look buddy, if you are here to ask me a bunch of questions, that is as a good a time as any”. I nodded and watched Garin as he slowly walked out onto the pasture, positioned himself to the rear of his herd and with no physical effort whatsoever, he marched his cows into an old barn.

I spent the next two hours watching Garin move from cow to cow as he knelt down on the hard and dirty concrete floor of his tie stall barn. His obvious task was to extract milk from the udders of his cows using a suction device leading to a stainless steel bulk tank. The bulk tank is kept in the milk house where the milk is then cooled to roughly 35 degrees. Every other day a large milk truck arrives to pick up milk from a handful of farmers within the region. In the case of Grassland Organic Farm, the lucky recipient of this fresh milk is the farmer owned cooperative Organic Valley, based in LaFarge, Wisconsin, where I would find myself a few months later.

Garin had a knack for talking and milking at the same time. As he continued on with his milking session his voice softened and he suddenly became eager to share personal stories and engage in conversation. When it came to farming Garin had far more to offer in terms of noteworthy dialogue than I. However, he never made me feel out of place or naive when I began asking mundane questions about the dairy production. For example; during my wandering around the barn full of cobwebs and cow crap I noticed that every single one of Garin’s cows had a name on an ear tag. When I mentioned of this to Garin, he gave me a smile filled with endearment. Garin explained that he uses the first letter of the mother cow’s name to create a name for her calves. For example, if Mandy gave birth to a female calf it would be entered into the system as Mallory or Michelle.

Garin made no bones about his pride when it came to the health of his dairy herd. When I asked how he was able to keep his cows clean and healthy he said “We don’t like to push our cows too hard. Some of the larger farms push their cows a bit too hard early on. After about 4 lactations the cows are considered nonproductive and they get turned into burgers at McDonald’s” – “I don’t like to talk down on conventional farmers. They are good people and they have good values. It’s not that they don’t care about people’s health or the health of their animals; it’s just that they have been marketed to by the food corporations and many of them have bought in. So now they have tremendous overhead, a ton of debt and are forced to produce more and more of their products”.

Garin’s goals for the farm were clear and concise. Grassland was not to function as a stand-alone dairy farm. The plan was to utilize the dairy to supplement and support the other enterprises on the farm financially and bio dynamically. In simple terms; the manure from the cows would be used to enhance fertilization in the garden and build healthier soils for the pasture-raised beef and poultry. The laying hens would reside in a chicken tractor and follow the dairy herd around the fields and used intensively for pest control, in return keeping the cows healthier and more productive. When I marveled at Garin’s symbiotic and sustainable farming vision Garin said “I believe that we are on the verge of watching 25% of the dairy industry disappear and the more this economy becomes unstable, the more this method of organic farming will be more viable. If people aren’t paying anything for milk then we will add more chickens and put in some extra vegetables.

Out of nowhere and into the barn walked young Cedar Smith: She was maybe 4 or 5 years old and displayed a brilliant head of blonde hair with an enormous childlike smile. To my surprise she was extremely confident in her surroundings which consisted of large livestock, projectile urine and cow pies. In a very cute, yet stern voice, she informed Garin and I that it was time for dinner. Garin gently nodded and told the young girl that we would be in to join them shortly. In a roundabout way, I felt bad, because more than likely, Garin would have been done milking the cows much earlier and could have been on time for his meal with his family if it hadn’t been for me asking so many questions. When I made mention of my interruption he pulled the suction hose away from the udders of a cow and calmly said, “Don’t worry about it. If it’s not one thing it’s another. I don’t eat until these cows eat”. With that comment I no longer envisioned Garin’s herd as a unit that produced milk. I quickly came full circle with the notion that Garin’s cows were undoubtedly an extension of his immediate family.

The milking chores done, it was now time for dinner. Garin and I walked into the house where Sarah ran a tight ship getting the children fed and ready for bed. I was impressed with her immediately as she managed to answer several phone calls, keep young Cedar calm and prevent their new born baby from crying. All of this was done while preparing for the next big day of farming. Garin sat across from me in the kitchen and ate quickly, proving that he had worked up a large appetite from his nonstop work in the barn. I joined Garin and we commenced our hunger attack. After dinner we shared a few laughs in between fits of yawning before we mutually expressed the desire for sleep. I proceeded to a dusty and dark spare bedroom above the workshop where a window above my head would provide access to an evening sky full of stars that put me to rest.

The next morning I was the last one awake. Normally, I would have felt a bit like a slacker, but given the fact that I was in competition with a dairy farmer and the mother of a new born child, the odds that I was going to be the first one “up and at `em” were certainly stacked against me. I walked into the kitchen where I found Sarah breastfeeding their baby as she gave instructions to Jo (the farming apprentice) – Jo had natural blonde hair, a stocky build and when she smiled her mouth revealed a tooth that was peculiar and resembled a fang. She wore a black tank top covered by a tattered flannel shirt, a pair of pants you would find on an elderly woman cut with scissors about mid-calf and walked mostly in bare feet. Sarah gave her a specific list of chores that included, planting, tilling and hoeing.

I decided to join both Sarah and Jo in the garden and gather a few photographs. I was in awe when I witnessed Sarah working away in the hot sun, knowing that she had given birth less than two weeks prior to my arrival. Like my Grandmother, who gave birth to 11 children and claims more than 30 grandchildren, Sarah showed no signs of slowing down and maternity leave was not an option. I realized quickly that family farming was a far different commitment and occupation from those I knew back in Southern California. There were no two weeks of paid vacation and obviously there was no maternity leave either. This was farming.

Before the evening chores were ready to begin I asked Garin and Sarah if they could make time to sit down with me as a family and answer a few questions. Sarah welcomed the possibility with great enthusiasm and Garin glanced over a long mental list of to-do’s and said “If we are going to do it, we better do it now”.

The interview decided, the entire Smith family and I walked to the front of the old farm house where I had first arrived. As I sat facing the entire Smith family, I was struck by the beauty and the authenticity of my surroundings: it was the weathered farm house in the background, Garin’s dirty cap displaying countless hours of hard work and Sarah gently rocking her newborn to sleep that made everything feel so real and so perfect.

As the interview started I asked the Smith’s how the recent economic collapse was affecting their farm. “The Recession has impacted a lot of farmers. For us, we are lucky. It has impacted our milk prices, but we are still growing. As far as I can tell, people are still willing to support farmers in these tight times”. To underscore the power of buying local and buying organic, Garin continued by saying, “That is the value that comes with establishing a relationship with your customers. They will still support you even when they themselves do not have a lot of money”.

I followed up by asking Garin a question that I would ask a countless people on this journey. “What is your message to America?” He replied “These days we are talking about reforming the health care system here in America. How about we start with making healthy food available for people? We should take a preventive approach to medicine. If we give people healthy food we will see fewer health issues. I have seen it work on a small scale, so I don’t see any reason as to why it couldn’t work on a large scale”. “Conventional agriculture isn’t oblivious to this. They just have a different way of doing things”. “I think people should value a farmer in the same way they would value a doctor and consider us to be providers of health”. “We’re not over here investing in the stock market or downstairs throwing money in a hidden box. If people looked at how much we work and how much money we actually made, they would say ‘Gosh, why would you do that’?’”

As the conversation came to an end, Sarah made a comment that would resonate with me throughout this entire journey. With great conviction she said “The reality of the situation is this: If everyone here in Skowhegan wanted to buy from us at the farmer’s market there wouldn’t be enough food to go around. We need to get more people to farm because farming is extremely empowering and in order to change our food system, we need to move towards a point where 1 in 3 people are growing food. Not 1 in a 1000. If people are concerned with where their food comes from, they should not only support their local farmers but they should simply grow their own food”.

Nathan Winters rode a bicycle across America to discover first-hand why our food system had grown to be unsustainable, and to find alternative solutions. He traveled into the homes and communities of organic, conventional, urban and Amish farmers and community organizers. This ongoing series—to be posted every other Wednesday— represents select material from The Unconventional Harvest, a work in progress, by Nathan A. Winters. If you are an editor or book publisher interested in working with Mr. Winters, you may contact him directly though his website or on twitter.

I took the drive down to Hope last spring. It’s a tiny town with not much more than a post office and a bar (or two). Owner Victor Mrotz walked me through the churning process. As the hundreds of pounds of butter came plummeting out, I had to hold myself back from jumping in. Their efficient little system then packaged the butter into 1lb blocks and got it ready for shipping. They never have more than a small walk in refrigerator of butter, ready to be shipped to Minneapolis or the local grocer.

After learning to cook at his mother’s bed and breakfast, Daniel Klein (The Perennial Plate) went on to work and train at many of the world’s top restaurants. His culinary education brought him to Spain, France, England, India and New York, where he has worked and trained at top Michelin starred restaurants. After graduating from NYU, Daniel also pursued a career in film. Daniel’s most recent film “What are we doing here?” has aired on TV, in theaters and at numerous festivals around the world.

1. The economic collapse of 2008 reared its ugly head. While our newly elected President, Barack Obama was busy bailing out big bankers on Wall Street – the middle class working on Main Street were struggling to get by. No one felt the shattering impact more than our nation’s farmers and rural communities.
2. Our food system had become a hot topic. 2 months after my departure the controversial documentary Food Inc. was released claiming that agribusiness produces food that is unhealthy, environmentally harmful and abusive of both animals and its employees.
3. The social media phenomenon was in full swing. Web based services such as YouTube, Twitter, Facebook were growing their user base at an exponential rate. Suddenly, sharing user generated content with the masses was as easy as two taps on an iPhone.

It was the perfect recipe for an interactive journey into our food system. Before this nomadic excursion came to me I was busy working for a software development company specializing in the delivery of data driven fantasy sports applications. I was competing in the rat race of Los Angeles, working nearly 80 hours a week and trying hard to grab the attention of my peers. One morning it was business as usual until I got called into a meeting and informed that the company I had faithfully served was no longer in need of my services. Like millions of other hard working Americans, I had gotten laid off and was now in the unemployment line.

With a plethora of much needed free time on my hands I made a typical visit to the dog park with my beautiful dog Chaya. As she wrestled with her canine friends, I soaked up the sun and overheard a man rambling on and on about his wonderful getaway in Thailand filled with pristine beaches, cheap lodging and 2 hour Thai massages. His enthusiasm undoubtedly resonated with me and two hours later I returned home and booked a ticket to Bangkok. What can I say? I was feeling spontaneous.

For the last 2 weeks of what turned out to be a 2 month soul searching quest through South East Asia I drank cocktails and spent countless hours drifting aimlessly on a raft off the Island of Ko Chang. As the days slipped by and I carelessly squandered the hours bobbing up and down on the crystal clear waters, I started to reminisce about one of my favorite books written by Peter Jenkins called A Walk Across America. Ultimately, Jenkins’ disillusionment with society in the 1970’s drove him out onto the road on a walk across America to find himself. It was an amazing story full of personal growth, adventure and American culture. Needless to say I was in a place in my life where I could genuinely relate to Jenkins, his wanderlust and his state of confusion.

Don’t get me wrong, before this trek I had done my share of American travel. In fact, I accrued well over 50,000 road trip miles via automobile. As my gas powered engine whipped me across the heartland in pursuit of national parks and the next tourist attraction, I had never taken the time to get to know my fellow Americans. More importantly I had never taken the time to get to know the people in small towns across America. Suddenly, I was consumed by an overwhelming sense of discontentment and as far as I was concerned there were too many stones I had left unturned. This is when I decided to embark upon my slow journey across America.

It took Jenkins 3 years to walk from Connecticut to New Orleans. I decided a bike ride would suit me better.

With my new found mission and in preparation for my upcoming journey I returned to my hometown in central Pennsylvania where I witnessed a huge transition in both the landscape and the local economy. I hadn’t been home in well over a year and I was quick to notice that Pennsylvania no longer felt like the rural and scenic hometown I had remembered growing up. Instead, I observed so much farmland lost to commercial and residential development that I could barely recognize the place. And sure enough, according to the American Farmland Trust, Pennsylvania had lost 1.6 million acres of rural land due to development between the years of 1982 and 2007. It seemed as though everyone back home was now living in some housing development called “Cedar Meadows” or “Pine Trail Estates”, but without the meadows or pine trails.

In such difficult economic times I grew frustrated to know that the only “local” businesses that seemed to be thriving were the corporate giant Wal-Mart and its nearby fast food establishments. It just seemed odd to me that people were willing to give their money to multi-billion dollar corporations before they would invest in their own community. Granted, I had just come back from Southern California, one might anticipate a good bit of culture shock when returning home to a small blue collar town. But still, why weren’t the local establishments thriving? What had happened to much of the pristine farmland I remembered from my youth? Was this happening elsewhere? There was only one way to find out.

My journey now had a purpose and I was in search of the true answers. It was time to hit the road.

Nathan Winters rode a bicycle across America to discover first-hand why our food system had grown to be unsustainable, and to find alternative solutions. He traveled into the homes and communities of organic, conventional, urban and Amish farmers and community organizers. This ongoing series—to be posted every other Wednesday— represents select material from The Unconventional Harvest, a work in progress, by Nathan A. Winters. If you are an editor or book publisher interested in working with Mr. Winters, you may contact him directly though his website or on twitter.

Lisa Weasel, author of Food Fray

When I was in Zambia I learned that a lot of the food aid issues there are really just transportation issues. The country has enough food but they can’t get it to the people who need it. Issues in India are economic in many cases. The country has enough food but people can’t afford to buy it even if it’s heavily subsidized. There are so many factors. Even at the biological and agricultural level, people who are really suffering from food insecurity have not had access to the same kind of inputs. It’s an issue of providing enough inputs.

Irrigation is a big one. So is soil fertility however you accomplish that — through heavy chemical input or organic approaches. Poor soil fertility, lack of irrigation, lack of even hybrid seeds that have what we consider modern traits that are not genetically modified. A genetically modified seed is never going to grow if you can’t water it, even if it has a gene that helps it tolerate drought stress. If there’s no irrigation and periods of really significant drought those seeds are never going to sprout and grow.

It’s very oversimplified to suggest that GM foods can solve these complicated issues. At the same time there may be isolated cases where disease resistance, genetic modification, transgenic technology may be able to assist there. I don’t think we should rule it out but at the same time there’s such a focus on this issue of genetic modification being the tool that’s going to solve world hunger. I think we really need to put it on the shelf for a while and look at the basics that are on the ground – look at what the real root causes of world hunger are. You can introduce as many new genes into plants as you want but if farmers don’t have access to get the basic inputs they need just to get any kind of plant to grow it’s not going to help at all.

The most popular biotech genetically modified argument at the moment seems to be that GM food is capable of solving the agricultural crisis brought on by climate change – what do you think of this argument?
I think that you need to start off addressing this question by looking at the huge contribution that agriculture, especially industrial agriculture, makes to climate change. Twenty percent of emissions are coming from agriculture so I think we really have to ask the question, “What kind of agriculture?” If we’re taking this industrial agriculture that’s having a huge detrimental impact on climate change issues and saying, “Oh now we’re going to put in genes that help to alleviate some of these problems,” well there are other much more effective approaches.

I think we really need to deconstruct agriculture as a whole and ask where those emissions are coming from and what kind of practices are leading to those emissions and ask whether single genes are really going to provide even the best Band-Aid.

I also don’t think we should just throw this kind of technology out the window and say we should never use it because there may be ways in a more integrated and sustainable model that some genetic modification can contribute.

It’s just like the hunger issue – the contribution that agriculture makes to climate change goes far beyond just the varieties of plants that are grown and the problem is so much greater than single genes can impact. It’s a much bigger question.

In your travels researching the GM food issue you spent a lot of time with industry officials but you’ve also spent time with farmers in developing countries. How has experiencing the controversy over genetically modified food, hunger and sustainability from the vantage point of people’s lives changed your perspective as a scientist?
I think it’s really humbling as a scientist to go and see people who are struggling on the ground with these issues. As a scientist we’re taught that we have all this knowledge, that we have the solutions, but then you go and see what the real challenges are and it’s humbling to see that what might be a great solution in a laboratory, or theoretically, or even for US agriculture is probably not going to help and could even harm farmers who are facing drought and soil fertility issues.

Also, recognizing how much knowledge some of these small farmers do have that’s genetic knowledge is very powerful – I write about this in my book. These women farmers in India – they don’t read or write but they know a lot about even the genetics of their seeds. They say, “Our seeds know our soil.” They select those seeds.

In a much more complex model of agriculture you think of American industrial agriculture as sort of the pinnacle of agricultural success but it’s a very simplistic model. Yes, it’s complex in terms of the inputs – accounting, GPS, all of those kinds of technologies, but from a biological level it’s oversimplified. Huge chemical intensive inputs pumping out monocultures.

Then there are these women farmers have to know a lot about different seeds and how they grow together, how they adapt to different climatic conditions. It’s also humbling to see that it’s not just scientists that have the knowledge that can be applied to help these farmers. It’s good to see that maybe the best way to promote food security is to change your own eating or consumption habits. It had a big impact in that regard.

Chickens at Ecovillage in Portland, Oregon

That kind of approach where we’re just sharing information about our lives was another important aspect of doing that kind of research. It’s a way to find out more about the ways in which people live and not just the differences – vast differences – between myself and these women.

They have bags and baskets of seeds in their house where I have furniture. When you need to use the bathroom you go out in the stall with the cow in their front vestibule. It’s a very, very different life but finding out the commonalities and similarities is really comforting. We care about the same issues. The material bases of our lives – preparing food, taking care of ourselves, health issues, children – there are some similarities there. Bottom line, these farmers are able to talk about the genetically modified food issue from their vantage point with a lot of credibility.

Why is Europe seemingly so hostile toward GM foods in contrast to the US?
Surveys have shown that Europeans — mostly because of the mad cow epidemic — don’t trust the government as much. They’ve had these bad experiences but we’ve had some pretty significant food outbreaks here too — peanut butter and salmonella, and ecoli in hamburgers. So I think that it’s much deeper.

In my research it was interesting talking to scientists and anti-GM foods activisits, particularly Greenpeace in Europe. In Europe there’s a much deeper tension that we don’t have here in terms of the relationship to science and technology. The whole scientific revolution in Europe — people never really made the full conversion in letting go of the more organic worldview with transition into a mechanistic model. Culturally I think that tension around science is still much more alive in Europe than it is here where science equals progress. We don’t have that history based on our land and in our farms and culture.

It was interesting learning while interviewing some of the Swiss scientists that they have all kinds of rituals there — to burn the snowman for an early onset of spring, marching through the streets farmers and scientists together. Farmers and scientists participate together in these rituals and rites and we don’t have so much of that here. Our relationship to science and technology is a little bit different. It’s particularly relevant to the issue of genetically modified food where you’re crossing these species boundaries. Is that seen as unnatural or is that seen as progress? Americans don’t have that baggage.

The big issue is our relationship to food – knowing where our food is grown, how it’s grown, what kinds of foods we eat. We’re very happy to take all kinds of hybrid foods – trans fats. Food technology has made huge advances here and we seem to be very eager to eat that up.

One of the people that I interviewed in Europe said, “If Americans are willing to eat McDonald’s special sauce then of course they don’t care if it’s genetically modified.” If you look at the kinds of foods that we consume here a little genetic modification is minor in comparison to some of the bigger issues.

Since Food Fray’s publication what major changes have taken place worldwide in regard to GM food?
The advent of genetically modified sugar is a big new entrant into GM food. Sugar is heavily marketed to children in candies and cereals and things like that so initially some of the candy companies had concerns about accepting sugar from genetically modified sugar beets but they’ve largely pulled back.

The litigation on the sugar beets and the need to look at the environmental impact statement has been a big issue for organic farmers because of the seed contamination.

There’s been a lot of discussion and there was initially a lot of enthusiasm about biofuels and using genetic modification for biofuel crops but then the political fallout of using food crops for biofuel or even switch grass for biofuel, the applicability of that seems to have dampened that big argument.

Biopharmaceuticals — Oregon just finally last week got the rules. We spent a year as a biopharm task force in the state of Oregon coming up with policy recommendations for the regulation of food crops that have genes with pharmaceutical compounds expressed. I think that biopharmaceuticals have lowered their profile on the radar in the past year.

A year ago there was a lot of hype about the first biopharm products coming out. There are clinical trials going on in the UK with biopharm insulin — insulin produced in safflower – but there are some issues in the delivery of that drug and how effective delivery mechanisms can be developed. I think that a lot of the hopes for biopharmaceutical products have failed to reach the market.

As with any technology there’s a lot of hype as well as failures but I think the big issues are around increased attention to environmental impact statements with sugar beets and alfalfa. Now the BT eggplant case in India is really putting India on the map.

Are there other countries such as India that have recently undergone major changes in terms of their relationship to genetically modified food?

The European Union continues to struggle with member countries that do not want genetically modified crops grown since the WTO case saying that Europe has to accept genetically modified crops. Consumers don’t have to accept them but countries can’t reject growing them. The European Union has struggled with what to do with individual member nations that don’t want them and that’s a source of ongoing tension.

In Brazil genetically modified crops have really dramatically expanded since they’ve been accepted there. Proponents of biotech – the industry association would say, “More countries than ever are growing genetically modified crops and more and more acreage is consumed by them.”

How would you like to see genetically modified crops evolve?
I think that we need to expand our definition of agricultural biotechnology to use tools that are helpful and diagnostic as well as product driven tools. I think that more public funding and research into appropriate regulation of genetically modified food, into safety not just in regard to human health but also impacts on soil and microorganisms, into a lot of the more long term ecological studies is crucial.

These crops are out there and they’re obviously not going to disappear from the environment even if we want them to. The majority of soy and corn grown in this country are genetically modified varieties and I think that there’s a huge gap in our understanding of what the bigger term ecological impacts are that may not seem important, that may not seem to be causing us to keel over and die, may not be causing the disappearance of every plant on earth. Subtle shifts in ecosystems can have huge dramatic impacts.

There was a study that came out last year suggesting that the stover – the stems and leaves from the BT corn – when washed into streams could impact the populations of caddisfly larvae. And of course caddisfly are a very important food for freshwater fish. That could have huge impacts. That led to a huge polarized debate and this tends to drive researchers out of field as bad science, not well controlled etc. It’s a very important question to look at. In ecological studies answers do not come out of single experiments. They come out of longer term research, and by looking at many different variables.

I’d like to see much more publically funded research focused on these kinds of issues dealing with existing GM crops that are out there. That would push things in a different direction and balance out our view of what are appropriate biotechnologies — rather than just this focus on transgenes that can lead to patenting and good income.

Liz Crain writes about Pacific Northwest food and drink for various print and online publications. Her book Food Lover’s Guide to Portland was published by Sasquatch Books in July 2010. She is also a fiction writer and editor at Hawthorne Books.

Going against the agricultural grain, this blip in a sea of corn boasts CSAs, organic cattle and pigs as well as beer made from homegrown hops. The episode is a bit longer than others, but I think it gives you time to understand why people are returning to small scale farming.

With the young farmers of Kicking Mule as our guide (as well as their adorable daughter Francis), we spent a couple days in the area. Francis tells us the story of where the farm got its name (she was kicked in the face by a mule) and also shows off the pigs she helped birth. Beyond the cuteness factor, these are stories about real food, not just the perfect little farm, but the balancing act that is inevitable in farming.

After watching, please check out the farmers: Kicking Mule Farm, Miles of Pork, Batalden Farm and Brau Brothers Brewing Company.

Daniel Klein, and The Perennial Plate Going On the Road!

52 weeks ago we released our first episode to a few friends and family in Minnesota and England. Now, a year later we have over 12,000 weekly views, and I’ve been able to meet so many local and national people who are doing great, important things with food. Needless to say, it has been a very good year: full of learning, new friendships and a lot of hard (and fun) work.

So, what do you do now? The opening sequence of the series says “A year in Minnesota” and that year is OVER. So, staying true to my word, we are stopping episodes in Minnesota, but rest assured we will not be silent for long…

This May, The Perennial Plate will continue, but this time it will be across the country. We will be traveling from Minnesota to Texas to Oregon to New York to Florida and back home. Six months on the road — releasing a new episode every week. This will be a real food road trip, where we get to know the local food heroes in the far flung corners of the USA.

And of course WE NEED YOUR HELP. Here is a list:

1. Share your stories. We are looking to have this journey across the country be guided by the viewership, by you and your friends. So go on the site and submit the best stories about food in your town or state. You can also tell us good places to stay (like on your couch) or eat (your kitchen table?).
2. Donations. We are doing another Kickstarter campaign.
We are raising $20,000 and could really use your help. Even if it is just $5, every little bit counts. If we got $5 from everyone who visited the website this week, we would reach our goal right away.
3. Tell everyone you know. I realize that you have already done this, but remember that friend from 3rd grade that hated peanut butter, tell him too.

After learning to cook at his mother’s bed and breakfast, Daniel Klein (The Perennial Plate) went on to work and train at many of the world’s top restaurants. His culinary education brought him to Spain, France, England, India and New York, where he has worked and trained at top Michelin starred restaurants. After graduating from NYU, Daniel also pursued a career in film. Daniel’s most recent film “What are we doing here?” has aired on TV, in theaters and at numerous festivals around the world.

Part 4; What is your relationship to food?
 I have a very close relationship to food and that’s where this question of bias in science comes in – is it better to have someone doing research on food who isn’t very aware of food choices and comes in and is a total blank state or someone like myself who is very connected to their food supply? Food is a great example because we all have to make choices about what we eat so who can really be a blank slate on food? Every time you go to the grocery store, every time you sit down for a meal your making choices about the kind of food you eat.
 
I live here at the ecovillage. I grow a lot of the food that I eat myself. I find the biology and genetics behind food crops very exciting and interesting because agriculture is a wonderful example of where nature and culture come together. Our cultural values, our social values, our values around the kinds of agricultural technologies that we want to use, how food is harvested, and how it’s grown, that all goes through to our selection of seeds, whether we do it in the laboratory, or through conventional agricultural…all of those culture values get embedded in the genes of the seeds that we select. To me it’s really this great area where nature and culture come together. It’s a fascinating area for research and it also has a practical impact on my life as well.
 
We are what we eat so it’s nice to see that whole pathway following through from the more abstract nature culture connections and the values that get embedded in the biology of the seed and then seeing how that plays out in your own health and daily life and well being.

I’m really interested in the feelings that surround food as well. How do you feel when you sit down at the table? Do you feel connected to your food, do you feel like your eating something that makes you feel good? Do you have a negative relationship to food and always worry about how many calories it has, what it’s doing to your heart? — these kinds of questions.
 
You have 40 chickens at the ecovillage – how big is the community garden? Do you have your own personal garden as well?

Chickens at Ecovillage, Portland, Oregon

It’s a permaculture model so we’re looking at integrating all the fruit trees and nut trees and food and fodder for our chickens. We have chicken tractors for the chickens to move around in. We have cover crops that we also use in the residential areas. I participate in and take care of the bees here along with a team of other people.
 
Where are the personal unit gardens?
 This is our second year here so we’re moving some of the garden plots around. We have a new communal garden space that’s actually closer to the households and then up on the hill here, which is a lot of the original farm space, those are the individual gardens. I also have a community garden in Portland Community Gardens area down the street where I grow more food.
 
What do grow in your personal garden?
 I like to grow as much as I can year round so in this climate that means a lot of kale, broccoli, winter crops — greens do really well. In the summer I grow a lot of tomatoes and can them so I can have access to them over the course of the year. Beans – both for drying and shelling. Just a whole range of food crops including a lot of winter squash. I think the challenge here is really extending the season – both crops that you can grow in the summer and save and crops that you can grow in the winter. We have fairly mild winter conditions here.
 
What do you have that you’re still harvesting at the moment?
 Right now this is the low point – especially since we had that very deep freeze in December. I’ve got some kale that I’m growing and mustard greens, it’s really just greens at this point.

How is the ecovillage cohousing working for the three of you?
 This is a wonderful place to raise children because it’s urban but at the same time there’s the farm and children have a lot of contact with nature. My kids can run around relatively freely here because there’s a greater sense of community. There are 36 other households and if people are outside I feel totally comfortable that my children are looked after and I don’t have to always be right there with them.

What does cohousing mean?
 Cohousing is a model that originated in Europe. The basic commonalities of cohousing communities are that every individual family or housing unit is dramatically scaled down. People have their own home with their own kitchen, bathroom etc. so it’s not communal living in that sense but your personal living space is scaled down a lot. On the flip side there are a lot of common shared spaces like this common house.
 

Gardens at Ecovillage

How big is the ecovillage?
 It’s 3.75 acres. There are 37 households but the housing is concentrated here at the front while the back part is the farm. If the weather is better at the end then I’ll give you a little tour around. We have 40 chickens and we have our gardens where we grow a lot of food for the community meals.

How big are the units?
 The average unit size is around 700 square feet. The one-bedrooms are around 560 square feet and then there are two bedrooms that are 600 or 700; and three bedrooms are 900 and 1,200 square feet. So there’s a range but it’s all downsized. You know 1,200 square feet is sort of the luxury mansion here with three bedrooms and two baths. Most people are really downscaling their living situation because we have this common space. And if I want to have a dinner party, since I don’t have a big dining room in my house, I can just reserve this beautiful dining room and cook here.

How did you first hear about cohousing?
 I went to graduate school in Europe – in England – and I was exposed to the cohousing model there which I found very appealing. Then I did a post-doc in Berkley after England. Chuck Durrett who’s a leader in cohousing consulting and planning – he’s an architect – had an office there and I continued my investigation of cohousing.
 
I’ve always been interested and I followed cohousing communities in Ithaca, in Emeryville when I lived in Berkley, and in Davis when I lived in California. This was just the right fit at the right time. The ecovillage aspect where we have the farm is a big draw and of course the people are as well. Finding the right fit in terms of a community – the people – is really what makes it work. This turned out to be a great match for me.
 
Are there any parts of cohousing that are difficult for you to adapt to after having your own dwelling for so long?
 I love it. I love the fact that I don’t have to worry about exterior maintenance, and that we can work together. If you go away on a trip somebody else can always water your garden. Living in a smaller space has also been really wonderful because I had to make decisions about what’s really important. There’s just less clutter in my life. My kids have fewer toys and they want to be outside more.

I think that around issues of climate change and changing our lifestyle and these changes that we have to make — it’s so often presented as a negative change and that you have to give things up. I think that there’s a lot to be gained by downsizing and cutting down material consumption. It makes more space to go out skiing, to go out on hikes. We have really satisfying deep relationships with people here because we’re outside a lot, we’re working together on things. So it’s really just trading in a lot of stuff for more quality of life.
 
Even biking in the rain. We have this great bike that I love riding. My two kids sit on the back and we have a great time. It’s a much better relationship than having the kids sit in the car while I’m focusing on the radio going or whatever. We’re outside.

March 21, 2011: part 5; The discussion with Lisa Weasel wraps up with her views on the future of agricultural biotechnology, and the ecological complexities of industrial agriculture upon the environment, and its role in the climate change debate.

Liz Crain writes about Pacific Northwest food and drink for various print and online publications. Her book Food Lover’s Guide to Portland was published by Sasquatch Books in July 2010. She is also a fiction writer and editor at Hawthorne Books.

As he applies the finishing touches to his new book, The Unconventional Harvest, chronicling his uncommon journey—beginning on March 30, 2011, Winters (aka @follownathan) will be sharing excerpts from the book on CUpS. In the meantime, this video from a sampling of Winter’s images, provides a sneak peek at some of the characters, and places that appear in his upcoming stories.

Lisa H. Weasel is a molecular biologist, an associate professor of biology at Portland State University, and the author of Food Fray: Inside the Controversy over Genetically Modified Food. This 5-part interview was conducted in February of 2010, and predates last month’s decision by the USDA to deregulate the production of roundup ready alfalfa; the recent lifting of the restriction on GM sugar beets; and now, the approval of an industrial GM corn for bioethanol production.

Can you explain the basic science at play behind GM food?

Lisa Weasel, Author of Food Fray

Part 3;

The ability to isolate genes using restriction enzymes from bacteria was very important – that’s the recombinant DNA technology from the ’70s. Then the use of agrobacterium to transform plants (a naturally occurring infective agent to get DNA into the plants) and biobalistics are important as well.

The basic biology is to identify the gene of interest with the genetically modified crops that are out there now. Genes in bacteria that allow that bacteria to resist the affects of an herbicide are what we’ve used and what we’ve found in the waste pools from Monsanto’s manufacturing facility. Evolutionally speaking those bacteria developed a mutation that allowed them to survive so they then studied those bacteria. They took the gene out of those bacteria that had that particular mutation and put it into the crop plant.

It takes quite a lot of fine tuning, including determining where that gene is integrated into the genome, how many copies are necessary, what kind of on and off switches there are, and then all of the regulatory regions that accompany it. All of that has to be fine tuned to get the plants to actually express this foreign protein because the plant is not naturally going to want to make this protein that doesn’t relate to its own life cycle. We have to apply the selective pressure.

With the BT traits that was the soil bacteria. The BT spores of those bacteria have been used in organic agriculture for a long time. The biotech step was taking those bacteria that had been used in organic agriculture – looking at their DNA -finding the specific gene that is the toxin gene, cutting it out, and putting it into the crop plant.

So it’s two main traits – herbicide tolerance and resistance of weed killers, and then insecticide traits.

Have you used all of these techniques personally?

Yes. My whole training is in recombinant DNA technology – cutting out genes and gluing them back together in bacteria, fruit flies, human cells.

Are there any techniques that are on the horizon that are close to being used commercially?

An important technique that’s being used is marker assisted breeding, sometimes called marker assisted selection or molecular breeding where you’re able to use the techniques of molecular biology to identify genes or regions of the DNA that are associated with the traits that you like in a plant. By using these molecular tools early on you can select which seeds, and which seedlings, are likely to have those traits. It speeds up the conventional breeding process by providing that molecular window into what’s going on at the DNA level and connecting that with the kind of traits you want.

I think that that’s a really useful and important technology because it allows farmers to identify plants that are better adapted to their local conditions. This conventional GM technology that’s out there right now is not really adapted to local conditions. It’s usually one gene in a proprietary context with a patent on it. The varieties that are genetically modified and patented are usually not adapted to local conditions.

And then you’ve got the flip side with the eggplant situation in India where they’re providing BT open pollinated varieties with the BT gene. Well, then you’ve got farmers managing the BT trait. The consistency of that trait and the spread of that trait is going to be hard to contain.

Marker assisted breeding is a tool — it doesn’t necessarily lead to singular products — that can be used to speed up conventional breeding and better identify seeds that are adapted to local conditions. It is a part of biotechnology that gets neglected because there’s so much focus on these single gene GM traits.

Marker assisted breeding technology is being used on products that are on shelves in supermarkets?

It’s less individual products and more of a tool that can be used to identify better adapted traits and strains. And yes, it is being used commercially. Monsanto uses marker assisted breeding in a lot of their research. It’s more of a research tool but it has a heavy application whereas transgenic technology because of the context it’s been developed in this proprietary context by large for-profit multi-national corporations. That technology is more applicable to producing products that can then be patented whereas marker assisted breeding can be used to identify and develop those products as well but it has a much broader application.

Last spring [2009] you were working on a grant submission for the National Science Foundation to do more research into consensus policies surrounding sustainable agriculture, are you still working on that?

I’ve had another project kind of supersede that one. I submitted a grant to look at ethics and values in scientific literacy – how they intersect in the youth climate change movement. There are a lot of parallels in the debates surrounding genetically modified food and climate change. Right now there’s this huge focus on what constitutes good science and is climate change science biased. Today the issue is that there’s this error about the Himalayan glaciers and is that bad science? Was that manipulation? There’s this idea that there is this pool of scientists out there who are completely unbiased.

An issue like climate change — well, it impacts us. Who is out there that doesn’t have a view especially if you’re spending your whole life doing research on it? I think that there are some similar questions in terms of genetically modified food. Is this biased science because it’s done by Monsanto? It seems very hard to believe that we accept experiments done by Monsanto whose marketing genetically modified food as safety data. Yet we say this IPCC is biased because someone is receiving consulting money that they’re giving to a non-profit for research.

I’m really interested in identifying the factors that motivate young people to take action on climate change and how that intersects with their scientific literacy. There’s this knowledge deficit model of scientific literacy that says that people make bad decisions if they’re uninformed about the science and that if we can get people’s knowledge of the science up to a certain level then they will make good decisions.

And that’s not the case?

Not always, no. The knowledge deficit model has been critiqued in terms of genetically modified foods and climate change. At some point more knowledge doesn’t lead to acceptance — it leads to more critical stances. It’s not just a matter of knowing the science in order to change your actions it’s that intersection of your ethics and values and how you view it. It may be that people are willing to take action on climate change even if they’re not scientifically informed and if they get more science at some point that may not lead to more action.

With the consensus policies in sustainable agriculture it’s a really thorny problem to tackle and in some ways writing this book makes it challenging to get objective stakeholder involvement. I’m very interested in achieving some kind of consensus in using this delphi tool which is an interesting methodological tool to gain consensus but I think that I need to rethink who that target audience is.

The terminology of sustainable agriculture has been diluted in my view over the past couple of years. It’s been susceptible to marketing and now you have Silk soymilk that used to use organic soybeans and now they’ve changed their label to “natural soybeans,” which means they don’t have to be organic. There’s this diluting of the term “sustainability” and it’s always been difficult to define but we have more companies that are confusing the term — even Monsanto is marketing itself and its GM seeds as “sustainable technology.”

Liz Crain writes about Pacific Northwest food and drink for various print and online publications. Her book Food Lover’s Guide to Portland was published by Sasquatch Books in July 2010. She is also a fiction writer and editor at Hawthorne Books.

Watch the video to learn how easy it is:

After learning to cook at his mother’s bed and breakfast, Daniel Klein (The Perennial Plate) went on to work and train at many of the world’s top restaurants. His culinary education brought him to Spain, France, England, India and New York, where he has worked and trained at top Michelin starred restaurants. After graduating from NYU, Daniel also pursued a career in film. Daniel’s most recent film “What are we doing here?” has aired on TV, in theaters and at numerous festivals around the world.