Uprooted, an eco/travel blog » things to do

Friday Photos: Madrid, New Mexico

Jessica Reeder — Fri, 16 Apr 2010 20:55:53 +0000

Last April, I explored the bizarre ghost town of Madrid. This is where I started to really get into my journey: I was out on my own, with interesting people, seeing beautiful new things. My camera loved it in Madrid, and so did I: someday, I might just try to spend some time there.

For now, I’ve got a ton of photos. Enjoy!

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Welcome to the Bioregional Congress

Jessica Reeder — Thu, 15 Apr 2010 20:10:08 +0000

A congress member speaks at the morning fire ritual

In October, I traveled to The Farm in Tennessee, where the 10th Annual Bioregional Congress was taking place. I was excited to be there, though I couldn’t help but wonder…

What’s a bioregional congress?

Good question. To understand it, you need to understand “bioregionalism”. From biocongress.org:

[Bioregionalism] is taking the time to learn the possibilities of place. It is a mindfulness of local environment, history, and community aspirations that leads to a sustainable future. It relies on safe and renewable sources of food and energy. It ensures employment by supplying a rich diversity of services within the community, by recycling our resources, and by exchanging prudent surpluses with other regions. Bioregionalism is working to satisfy basic needs locally, such as education, health care and self-governance.

Essentially, bioregionalism boils down to getting more out of what you have, instead of importing what you don’t. Many new organizations and communities are working in this way, with an eye toward resource (and human-resource) management.

Shared meals in the common center, prepared and paid for by attendees

The Congress started in 1984, at which age your humble author was just learning to sing to trees. Since then, it’s continued to grow into a vibrant semiannual gathering of people from throughout the Americas who are actively experimenting with new forms of community and environmental awareness.

For example:

a group called Ecobarrios who are working with residents in Mexico City’s housing developments to institute sustainable practices, composting and gardening (more on Ecobarrios);
a housewife from Nashville who just got involved in nonprofits and wants to find out what the challenges are from a marketing perspective;
a self-described eco-punk from LA who organizes traveling shows to teach underprivileged communities around the world about sustainability;
several members of intentional communities from North to South America, here to discuss what works, what doesn’t, and where they are headed.

There is a fair share of outré hippie yahooism here as well. Tie-dye, massage, singing with the earth, singing Woody Guthrie songs: it all happened. But that hippie veneer was only skin-deep: beneath the surface, every person here is honestly, fully dedicated to working for change.

These guys talked animatedly for a long, long time.

Hippie Soup to Nuts

Each morning, the entire group met to discuss the day’s topics. Nothing was predetermined; it all had to be hashed out by discussion and vote. Laborious, yes—but it meant that everyone present had a voice.

These folks have their system down TIGHT. I’ve never seen anything like it. They conducted a huge meeting, circle-style, in a format where everybody got a chance to talk, with minimal interruption, almost no off-topic ranting, and not a single insult. You try that sometime with a group of 100 people.

That was my first sign that the people here were not just trying to share, give and change, but making it happen.

Proposed lecture topics for a single afternoon

The next sign was the depth, breadth and complexity of the discussion topics. People here were not speaking in generalities, but addressing topics that had direct effects on their work.

One woman wanted to discuss GMO seeds, and how we can keep them out of gardens. A small group proposed a new community and asked for potential members. A man offered dowsing lessons. A Venezuelan woman offered to share stories from the revolution. A short film on Cuba’s survival without petroleum drew a crowd.

Throughout the day, people gathered in various groups and addressed various questions and topics. The level of intellect was high, and the work accomplished was impressive.

In the evening, there was food, music and dancing.

I could only stay one day at the Bioregional Congress, but I left completely inspired. I fully intend to take part in future Congresses: as the environmental movement ramps up, these are the people who are leading the way to the future. I have faith they’ll get us there.

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Noshin’ at the Tupelo Honey Cafe

Jessica Reeder — Tue, 23 Mar 2010 21:06:25 +0000

By the time I got to Asheville, I was nearing the end of my journey and the bottom of my wallet. The last thing on my mind was spending money: it was beautiful outside, and there were free things to do everywhere.

But. When I’d posted on Facebook that I was coming to town, no fewer than three people told me I just had to visit the Tupelo Honey Cafe. So I checked their website, and instantly fell in love:

“Tupelo Honey Café opened in downtown Asheville in 2000, an early pioneer in the farm to fork movement and an active advocate for the independent restaurant landscape that pervades the city. Our food is fresh, made from scratch, sassy and scrumptious. Our cuisine salutes our love of Southern traditions at the table, but like the good people of Asheville, marches to its own drum. The result is a unique riff on Southern favorites.” – tupelohoneycafe.com

I was convinced—but I wasn’t alone. On a sunny Sunday afternoon, the waiting list was an hour long. After hemming and hawing and assessing my food stash (contents: 10 saltines), I decided to go for it anyway.

By the time I finally got a seat at the counter, I was starved. It took me about thirty seconds to pick out the Charleston Chicken Sandwich: “grilled marinated free-range chicken breast on sourdough with melted havarti, romaine lettuce and cranberry mayonnaise”. Free range? Cranberry? Havarti? Yes, I could dig it.

While I waited for the food, I checked out the back of the store where Tupelo Honey Cafe hawks their homestyle wares: preserves, pickles, salsa, honey, t-shirts, aprons and all sorts of mini-advertisements for the restaurant.

I’ve visited plenty of farm-to-fork restaurants, and this one may be the best I’ve seen at self-marketing. There’s nothing wrong with it: the food in those jars is probably delicious, though I question whether the $10 tupelo honey had to come from Florida or if it’s produced locally.

Either way, it’s nice to see a restaurant built on ethics that also happens to be incredibly busy. Some of that is surely due to good marketing, but the real reason for its popularity is this:

That sandwich was so good, I found myself eating slower and slower with each bite to savor it more completely. The potatoes were light and un-greasy; the flavors were perfectly balanced; the chicken was juicy and rich; and let’s be honest here, I’m always happier eating dead animals when I know they’ve lived a good life. I found myself silently thanking the chicken for its delicious contribution. Thank you, chicken. I will never forget you.

I stopped eating halfway through, not because I was full. I stopped so I could take the rest home and taste it again later.

On another topic, I made a discovery there in the Tupelo Honey Cafe, one which I’d like to share with you now.

If you’re going to a busy restaurant and want great service, bring a camera. Take a few photos of the menu, the kitchen, the food.

No sooner had I taken the above photo, when a server (not even my server) appeared at my elbow. Later when I stopped eating and lifted my napkin from my lap, it took approximately three seconds for someone to take my food away to be boxed up.

Now, I’m not saying the service before my camera-flash was bad, because it was awesome. But wow, it sure improved once I appeared to be some sort of food critic or travel writer.

Which, it just so happens, I am. But even if you’re not, try this out sometime. I can’t guarantee it’ll work, but I personally will do it again—and probably back it up with a stellar review, just like the one I’ve given the Tupelo Honey Cafe.

Everybody wins.

Okay, that’s it! I could talk about Asheville for weeks, but it’s time to move on. Next stop: sunny Tennessee, where I get down on The Farm.

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Post tags: Asheville, chickens, dining, featured posts, food, free-range, green living, North Carolina, organic, restaurants, tourism, travel

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Friday Photos #1: Asheville Botanical Gardens

Jessica Reeder — Fri, 19 Mar 2010 17:16:15 +0000

While in Asheville, I spent a few hours wandering the trails at the Botanical Gardens. According to a sign posted there, the Southern Appalachians have the richest diversity of native plants anywhere outside of the tropics. Who knew?

The Botanical Gardens, which abut the UNC campus, were filled with people enjoying the shaded glens and free admission. Students played frisbee on the grass; young girls scampered along the creekbed; a flock of tourists followed a guide along the trails. Me, I just walked and looked. Here’s some of what I saw.

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5 (and a half!) free things to do in Asheville

Jessica Reeder — Wed, 17 Mar 2010 21:26:43 +0000

When I visited Asheville, I was broke and traveling on foot—but I still managed to have a gay old time. Here are some recommendations for you, my fellow cheap traveler:

1. Hear live music on a streetcorner.

On a sunny day, the downtown area is always populated with buskers. Sometimes it’s your basic guy-with-a-guitar setup; sometimes there are a few dudes in overalls or tweed; sometimes it’s a full band with amplification. One sure thing is that you won’t have to walk far to find a street performer to tickle your ears for free (donations appreciated).

2. Feed your head at Malaprop’s Bookstore.

Granted, Malaprop’s is a business, so they also appreciate monetary contributions. But if you’re broke, spend a buck on coffee and peruse their incredible selection of literature.

This store is one of the places that convinced me so utterly of Asheville’s uniqueness. In fact, Malaprop’s seems to assume that its clientele is highly intelligent, educated in self-sufficiency, and actively committed to social/environmental change.

And there’s the proof: a book on Cattle Health in the Green Living section? We’re not in San Francisco any more.

3. Take a nature walk.

While exploring downtown, I picked up a map that indicated there was a botanical garden next to the UNC campus. Heading out that way, I stumbled across the Reed Creek “interpretive trail”, which was a hugely educational resource. It guides you through an area that was once occupied by buildings; along the trail, a series of signs informs you of what was here, what’s here now and why. In the space of a city block or two, I learned a ton about local history and botany.

The Reed Creek trail lets out near the Asheville Botanical Gardens, a huge and beautifully-managed set of trails, greens and buildings. It’s an easy walk, and just like at Reed Creek, the Botanical Gardens are full of information on native species. Make sure you stop at the creek, an excellent spot for a wee nosh and/or nap in the dappled sunlight.

Click for more photos of Reed Creek and the Botanical Gardens.

4. Go on a self-guided art tour.

As I mentioned recently, Asheville is full of art both strange and beautiful. From the underpass mural, to political graffiti, to statuary both commissioned and independent, there’s art all over the place. And that’s just on the sidewalk—but there are also tons of art galleries for your browsing pleasure.

Don’t miss Chicken Alley, a strange little street that looks straight out of New Orleans or Oakland. It’s haunted by living artists and one dead doctor: Dr. Jamie Smith was killed in a 1902 barfight and still hangs around the place.

If you’re more into modern-age ephemera, guess what? Chicken Alley’s got free wifi. Yippee!

5a. (for hippies) Hippie out at the Drum Circle.

photo by BillRhodesPhoto

Apparently this is a big deal, but I am somewhat opposed to drum circles. If they’re your thing, that’s super! There’s a giant one here every Friday night, on Patton Avenue. Just follow the smell of patchouli and sounds of wild djembe.

5b. (for nerds and queers) Get your summer Shakespeare fix.

photo by Zen

What self-respecting town doesn’t have a free Shakespeare-in-the-park series these days? Asheville is right on point, offering free performances all summer (Friday, Saturday & Sunday nights only). The address is #1 Gay Street, so you ought to feel right at home.

Want more, more, more free stuff? I know right? Cheapskate your heart out at Asheville’s official Free Things to Do page.

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Asheville: Heaven is in North Carolina

Jessica Reeder — Mon, 15 Mar 2010 23:12:46 +0000

The word “Asheville” followed me across America. I first heard it uttered while picking dandelions in Paonia; after that, I heard it spoken of in nearly every city I visited. “Asheville,” people would say. “You gotta go to Asheville.”

So I went. They were right.

How to describe it? Well, it’s like taking all the best parts of Nevada City, Portland and Berkeley, and sticking the whole thing in the middle of beautiful mountains with gorgeous weather.

I almost feel like I shouldn’t tell you about it, because it’s a secret that wants to be kept. Locals and tourists alike recognize the yuppie wolf at Asheville’s door: moneyed do-gooders in Priuses and SUVs, ready to move in and pour their Starbucks all over this fiercely independent town.

But to be honest, I don’t see how a bunch of yuppies could possibly change a town this strong in spirit.

And anyway, rich folks discovered Asheville hundreds of years ago.

photo by Exothermic

This used to be Cherokee land, but the natives were unceremoniously exterminated and Asheville slowly grew into a hillbilly township. After the Civil War, one George Washington Vanderbilt decided to construct a “little mountain escape” just outside of town: that property became the Biltmore Estate (largest house in America).

Funny thing about the Biltmore Estate, however: unlike many gilded mansions, this one was intended to be self-supporting. The United States’ first forestry school was founded here; there were farms, gardens, a dairy, and scientific programs for managing all sorts of resources.

Everybody Loves Asheville!

That’s one trend that held true throughout my visit to Asheville: people here seem to be united by a true love for the land, and an active interest in understanding and managing it.

That may be due to the fact that there are mountains everywhere you look. Beautiful, rolling blue hills encircle the city, omnipresent in the background, patient, serene and enticing. It would be hard to live here and not be enchanted by the landscape—and certainly, the town attracts a very specific type of person for just that reason.

In the middle of town, there’s an underpass mural that is far and away the best I’ve ever seen. Created by the Asheville Mural Project, it features portraits of locals, chosen by nomination. There’s a woman spinning wool; a man with a shovel; a cyclist; a city planner; a gardener; musicians; dancers; and a snake-haired tattoo artist. The message is clear: this town loves the alternative, the artistic, and the sustainable.

It rained the first two days I was in Asheville, and when the sun re-emerged, so did the entire town. The streets were crawling with buskers: young dudes in old-timey clothes playing old-timey music. Sort of like a bumpkin Nashville… and in every corner without live music, there was a piece of weird art. The place was bursting with creativity, and the Carolina sun graced it all with glorious color.

Over the next couple of days, I’ll tell you about some of the specifics of my time in Asheville. If you can’t wait, check out my photos.

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Little Farm on the Subdivision

Jessica Reeder — Wed, 10 Feb 2010 21:28:15 +0000

On our way out to Polyface Farm, Margie and I decided to stop off at Potomac Vegetable Farms‘ roadside stand, where Margie buys squash and ‘maters in summer months. We thought it would just be a brief visit, but we were wrong: this farm had a story to tell.

Northern Virginia is a world all to itself. It’s beautiful, in a Monticello sort of way: rolling hills, lush maples, immaculate lawns, stately houses with shaded driveways…

Yes, there’s plenty of money out here, flowing out of Washington along the freeways and metro lines. Wherever it goes, up spring crops of “McMansions“: sprawling, elegant-looking but cheaply-made homes with columns and fountains and circular asphalt drives. They’re designed to make the neighbors jealous—and even as the economy faltered, more McMansions were being erected on every available piece of land.

Including, as it turns out, smack in the middle of Potomac Vegetable Farms.

Hiu Newcomb and grandson Stephen Bradford

Hiu Newcomb and her husband Tony moved out here to Vienna, VA in 1970. In their words, this land was “rustic” and “wooded”; the turnpike was a two-lane road. They cleared a small field and began running what would become a very successful ecoganic farm. Before long, it expanded: by the late 1970s, the Newcombs were farming hundreds of acres in three separate counties.

Three decades later, Potomac Vegetable Farm has shrunk quite a bit. Part of that was intentional: the big farm was too much work, so they downsized and kept only the original Vienna plot and a bigger production farm in Loudoun County.

But as suburbia encroached, land values rose and even this little plot became threatened. Developers started poking around, making offers—but the Newcombs always said no.

In an effort to protect their land, Hiu and Tony’s daughter Anna created the Blueberry Hill Cohousing project. A small pocket of modest houses bordered on all sides by greenery, Blueberry Hill was designed to use up the farm’s development rights, thus protecting the land from the suburban zombie invasion.

But manifest destiny will not be denied, and the Newcombs could only hoard so much land. In the late 2000s, a field behind the farm (one of the last undeveloped pieces of land around) was sold to developers.

The piece in front went too, and Potomac Vegetable Farm was divided in two: their new neighbors paved an asphalt road right through the middle of the farm.

Now, Potomac Vegetable Farm has an easement to drive their tractors across that asphalt, so they can access their crops.

Hiu and Tony’s grandson Stephen drove us out to see it: we followed the farm road up past the cohousing circle, blowing through a newly-placed stop sign. There were mud tracks across the blacktop, and workers planting landscaping shrubs scarcely looked up as we trundled through the middle of their worksite.

And there it was, a brave little plot of land where the buzzing of insects was occasionally audible between the construction and highway sounds. In the background, Tyvek-swaddled behemoths loomed—but here in the sunshine, we talked cover crops and irrigation.

There’s a perverse satisfaction in the idea that these McMillionaires might have to stop their Lexuses to let a tractor cross the road. It’s a small comfort, I wondered aloud, but it must feel good nonetheless? Stephen smiled slyly and admitted nothing. He didn’t have to: it was obvious. In the face of all this sprawl, the Newcomb family’s staunch refusal to move is nothing short of a rebellious act.

Still, I wonder how long Potomac Vegetable Farm will be able to hold up “progress”. Their other property has similar problems: several farms in the Loudoun County recently fought construction of a new “megaschool” in the middle of their agricultural enclave.

And so it goes… but for now, Potomac Vegetable Farm continues its mission of good food, land stewardship and education. They can be found throughout the summer selling ecoganic produce in Washington DC, and their CSA delivers throughout the area. Three generations of Newcombs work the farm together, and their wares continue to make a difference in the hearts, minds and stomachs of suburbanites.

Including the residents of that new development, who might even pause to think about where their property came from—while they’re stuck behind a tractor in their driveways.

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Post tags: agritourism, alternative, ecoganic, ecotourism, environment, farm, featured posts, gardening, green living, organic, potomac vegetable farm, potomac vegetable farms, sustainable, Virginia

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How Polyface brought my oomph back

Jessica Reeder — Thu, 28 Jan 2010 22:23:50 +0000

It was September, and fall was falling: leaves beginning to turn, rains getting cooler, fresh breezes brushing lightly at the corners of the day.

After a long summer in the Northeast, I was ready to head South again. But first, I stopped off in Virginia to see Aunt Margie, her husband Larry, and my dear darling grandmother Helen Lee.

I needed family just now: I’d worn myself out from months of traveling, and wanted desperately to slow down, be around familiar faces, and do some laundry. I wasn’t just physically tired, but soul-weary: could hardly convince myself to get up and write, let alone go out and have more adventures. I’d lost a little oomph.

As it happened, I’d come to exactly the right spot.

Margie and Larry are passionate environmentalists, and Margie told me she’d always wanted to visit Polyface Farm out in the western part of the state. I didn’t know a whole lot about the place, but its name had kept popping up during my travels. In my current state of mind, it seemed more like a chore than an adventure: great, let’s drop in on another random farmer and inspect their blighted tomatoes. I just didn’t have the adventure in me. But Margie did, and for her sake I thought I’d go along.

Turns out, you can visit Polyface Farm any time you like—but you can’t just walk in and take a tour. It’s a working farm, after all. They’re busy.

Guided tours cost a mint, and if you want to talk to Joel himself you’ve got to hire him for a lecture—or as a supplier for your restaurant. But if you’ve got gumption, you can always drive down to Polyface and show yourself around for free. We had gumption, or Margie did. She wrote a note to let them know we’d be coming, added her cell number just-in-case, and faxed it in to Polyface’s office.

Monday morning we hopped in the car and sped off toward Staunton. Once we got on the road, I started feeling more eager. I’d researched Polyface over the weekend, and discovered just how special it was. So this was the place that started everybody using chicken tractors! This was the guy that Michael Pollan had written about in The Omnivore’s Dilemma. This visit might turn out to be a pretty good idea after all.

Nerds that we are, Margie and I chose to read passages from The Omnivore’s Dilemma while we drove. That’s what we were doing: Margie driving, and me reading aloud about pigs, when the phone rang.

That’s Margie, a little later, being attacked by pigs.

Margie answered.

“Hello?

“–oh Joel! We were just reading about you! We–

“–well, okay! We’re on our way!”

That had been Joel Salatin on the phone. “Come on down,” he’d told Margie, “We’re dressing chickens.”

This is where I started to get real excited. Joel Salatin had called us personally! And invited us to watch him kill chickens! Margie seemed a bit less enthusiastic about the slaughtering aspect, but I couldn’t help imagining the photographs.

Someday I’ll tell you about my “thing” for dead chickens.

An hour later, we pulled into the gravel driveway and parked. It was quiet, so we poked our heads around the main building—and there was a big metal contraption covered in chicken blood and feathers. Chickens had been slaughtered here, but we seemed to have missed the show. I thought maybe we should just wander away and avoid bothering anybody. But there was another car just pulling up, and at Margie’s urging we followed its three occupants into the empty office.

The three turned out to be young restauranteurs, here to see the farm and buy some meat. As we were talking, a documentarian from New York walked up with her big camera. Then Joel Salatin himself strolled through the door. He’d just washed the blood off his arms, and was ready to take them all on a tour of the farm. Margie and I, grinning eagerly and trying desperately to look like we belonged, were invited to join the parade.

What ensued was an hour or two of mind-stretching commentary on agriculture, food politics, animal character (“the pigness of the pig”) and grass management. I photographed turkeys, pet bunnies and got hog slobber on my boots. And in the process, I started to feel inspired again.

It wasn’t just Salatin’s joy and enthusiasm for his work that inspired me: it was also the sense of hope I felt from seeing real, positive, and effective change taking place. My inspiration had been stymied by the citified consumerists of the Northeast’s urban centers, but here in the grass I could see my path again. And not just mine: humanity’s. I started to remember why I was on this path in the first place: to learn from people just liek Salatin, and to spread the word.

Oh god this photo is so dorky but I’m posting it anyway, as proof

Margie’s husband Larry hadn’t come with us, but he’d prepped me beforehand. “You ask the farmer,” he said, “if his methods can actually feed all the humans on the planet.”

The answer turned out to be “yes”. Margie and I left Polyface with several pounds of meat, ear-splitting smiles, and a brand-new understanding of sustainability.

And that’s how I got to visit Polyface Farm and talk to Joel Salatin.

Want to know more? Read yesterday’s post, Joel Salatin and the Future of Food.

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Post tags: agritourism, ecotourism, ecotravel, environment, farm, green living, joel salatin, organic, polyface, Polyface Farm, sustainable, tourism, travel, Virginia

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Joel Salatin and the Future of Food

Jessica Reeder — Tue, 26 Jan 2010 22:46:27 +0000

Joel Salatin has been called “America’s Most Influential Farmer” (Treehugger) and “High Priest of the Pasture” (New York Times). A fascinating mix of farmer and preacher, Salatin didn’t just revolutionize contemporary farming methods—he also used his tremendous gift of gab to spread the word far and wide.

While passing through Virginia, I got to hear that gab firsthand at Polyface Farm, where Salatin works his agricultural magic.

Touring Polyface was inspiring enough, but when Salatin himself turned up as tour guide, things started getting really interesting (more on this fabulous bit of serendipity tomorrow). Salatin possesses a rare combination of intellectual agrarianism, down-home humor, vast insight into the relationship between sustainability and production… and once he starts talking, you can’t think of any reason he should stop.

Neither can he.

According to the website, Polyface, Inc. is a “family owned, multi-generational, pasture-based, beyond organic, local-market farm and informational outreach in Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley.” Salatin goes onto explain: what sets Polyface apart is its “ethic of collaborative interdependence”.

“Some farmers see animals as inanimate piles of protoplasmic structure to be manipulated,” he expounds. “If we treat animals like this, we disrespect humans too.

“There’s an ethic that runs from field to fork… Instead of seeing pigs as porkchops, see them as members of the team and they will then express themselves best on the plate.”

He’s got a point—and though his ideals are poetic, this isn’t just some hippie experimenting with manure. Salatin comes from a line of farmers, and his innovations are so effective that he’s become an agriculture rockstar.

Note: Rockstar or no, eloquent or no, a farmer is liable to be upstaged by his own flock.

These are the happiest, healthiest (and noisiest) farm animals I’ve ever seen. But surprisingly, they’re not roaming free across the land. Instead, they’re kept in controlled areas where they graze for a very specific amount of time before being herded on to the next spot.

unretouched, actual photo:
ungrazed on the left, grazed on the right

As it turns out, free-roaming grazers destroy their own food sources by overgrazing the good spots. Salatin points to the next farm over, where a herd of cows roam over brown hills. Several of them lurk by the fence, stealing bits of food from Salatin’s pasture. His land stays green, even in the current drought, because he lets grass grow undisturbed for weeks between grazing sessions.

“This cycle of disturbance and rest, disturbance and rest, is what I call ecological exercise: stretching and moving the ecology to a new level of expression.”

When Salatin says “expression”, he’s ultimately talking about production. His land produces 5 times as much as the regional average, measured in “cow days” or how much grass a cow can eat in a day. Most farms get about 80 cow days per acre; he gets 400.

Another benefit of Polyface’s methods: no pests, no disease, and no antibiotics. The animals here are healthy and “beyond organic”. How? By relying on the “team” ethic. Here, chickens are not just egg and breast machines: they are pest control technicians, keeping the rest of the farm healthy by eating all the nasty bugs.

Systems like this abound at Polyface. A pair of ducks flock with the turkeys: why? Because when turkeys are young, ducks will automatically protect them from predators. Birds and dogs, rabbits, cows and pigs all work together to keep this farm going, and “when animals do the work, you don’t have to replace things that rust, rot, and depreciate.” Here, the flock takes care of itself, and renews the land in the process. (More on Polyface’s innovative systems in an upcoming post)

“Twenty years ago, I never would’ve thought we’d be here… The exponential increase in fertility has been beyond my wildest expectations.”

that’s a lot of eggs.

So much so, that farmers everywhere are adopting Salatin’s methods. And according to him, every farm that converts doubles its production.

Joel Salatin was profiled extensively in Michael Pollan’s game-changing book The Omnivore’s Dilemma, and has been interviewed in just about every major publication. But by far the most inspiring thing about touring Polyface Farm is Salatin himself. In this time of confusion and strife, it’s nice to hear from someone who’s got a real solution to some of our societal ills—and even better to see that he truly loves his work.

When we get back to the bottom of the hill, I ask him my prepared question: “Can humanity feed itself sustainably using these methods?”

His face lights up. “That’s my favorite question,” he replies, “because it’s so fun to answer. Yes we can. It’s gonna mean a lot of people getting out of their cubicles and back into the fields, but we can do it.”

Amen, hallelujah. Thank you, High Priest of the Pasture.

Come back soon for the semi-incredible story of how I got this personal tour, plus more details on how Polyface Farm’s systems work.

fangrl 4 lyfe!

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Sunday Photos: Thoreau Falls, New Hampshire

Jessica Reeder — Mon, 25 Jan 2010 00:07:57 +0000

An extra photo post for y’alls: I’d been in New Hampshire for a few weeks, and had descended into a mild state of computer addiction. Jamie called one day to invite me on a hike, and it turned out to be one of the best days of my entire journey.

We hiked ten miles that day through the White Mountains, on a beautiful trail past marshes, through forests, along the banks of empty ravines. The mountains out here are old and empty, decaying gradually in landslides. The woods are dark and deep. It was unlike any landscape I knew, but my guides had been hiking here for a decade. They knew exactly where to go.

When we reached Thoreau Falls, we had to go off-trail, scrambling down an almost-vertical slope through rotting, mossy branches. The falls landed in a series of pools, and the water was a deep reddish-orange. High iron content? Iron bacteria? Maybe, but we swam anyway, and basked, and then hot-footed it back through the fading light. A beautiful hike, and one I almost missed.

Thank you, New Hampshire.

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Post tags: adventure, ecotourism, hiking, nature, New Hampshire, outdoors, photography, thoreau falls, travel, water, white mountains

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