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.

Related posts:

1. Life on The Farm
2. 5 (and a half!) free things to do in Asheville
3. Save the World, Ride a Bike

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Intern housing at The Farm

Way out in the Tennessee hills lies a 1750-acre establishment that has been quietly affecting change for almost four decades.

The Farm, an intentional community, was formed in 1971 by Stephen Gaskin and a group of hippies who were tired of the status quo. Like so many other groups at the time, they chose a new path, dropping out of society and moving to a plot of land outside Summertown where they could start fresh. Like other groups, they were dedicated to peace and love and new age spirituality.

Unlike many other groups, The Farm survived.

39 years later, it’s not much of a farm. In fact, almost no farming goes on. It feels more like a small town with its own roads, store, school, town hall and university. The long-term population is around 150 people, with plenty of visitors who come and go. This is a huge drop from the peak population of 1500.

People used to drop their lives and come live on The Farm, but it doesn’t work that way anymore: now, they come for education and training, then take their knowledge back home.

One of The Farm’s biggest draws is its school of midwifery. Ina May Gaskin is the author of Spiritual Midwifery, a seminal book that reinvented childbirth practices in the 1980s. Ina May is now considered “the mother of authentic midwifery,” and continues to practice, teach and write. Together, the five Farm midwives have birthed over 3,000 babies in 38 years.

But that success couldn’t shield The Farm from the harsh realities of survival in America. By the mid-1980s, the group was deep in debt and, to save themselves, had to abandon some of their more radical practices. From a loose commune, they became an intentional community: a group of like-minded individuals who are responsible for their own wellbeing, while still sharing the most important resources.

Residents own the land in common and share property taxes, roads and water costs. Apart from that, they’re on their own to build their homes, create their lives, and figure out how to survive.

As a part of the community’s evolution, Farm residents began taking on individual projects that were supported by community money and chosen by a vote from all members. This led to the founding of Gaia University, Plenty International, Kids to the Country and other endeavors. The Farm had become, rather than a unidirectional commune, a diverse community united by a desire to improve the world.

From what I could tell, the key to The Farm’s success is that it has adapted over time. From a fever dream of hippie farmland to a grown-up, idyllic town, this group has clearly dedicated their lives to finding the answer to that age-old question: how can we all live together in peace, without going broke?

Not to wax overly poetic, but that’s really what it’s all about. Residents of The Farm appear to have figured out that their work here can have wider effects: they are a testing ground for a new type of community that most people only dream of.

That’s why The Farm was chosen as the host of the Bioregional Congress in 2009. And that’s how I came to visit Summertown, Tennessee.

Hilarious: a TVP silo.

Next up: uh, what’s a bioregional congress?

Related posts:

1. Welcome to the Bioregional Congress
2. Little Farm on the Subdivision
3. The Waterpod: life on a New York boat

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Related posts:

1. One Year Ago: Earthship Landing
2. Things I Learned: Can/Bottle Walls
3. R.E.A.C.H. Earthship Community, a pictorial

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Post tags: adventure, alternative, biotecture, buy nothing, earthships, ecotourism, energy-efficient, environment, featured posts, green building, lumber, New Mexico, outdoors, sustainable, Taos, travel, video, vigas, volunteer, voluntourism

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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.

Related posts:

1. 5 (and a half!) free things to do in Asheville
2. Friday Photos #2: What IS that? Should I eat it?
3. Asheville: Heaven is in North Carolina

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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.

Related posts:

1. Friday Photos #1: Asheville Botanical Gardens
2. Asheville: Heaven is in North Carolina
3. Marble Creek, Missouri: Free Camping in the Mark Twain National Forest

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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.

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.

Related posts:

1. 5 (and a half!) free things to do in Asheville
2. Friday Photos #1: Asheville Botanical Gardens
3. North Carolina: Progress and Contrast

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On Monday, I started my month-long internship at Earthship Biotecture. Earthships are self-sufficient houses that use recycled materials in their construction, and that are equipped with systems for rainwater catchment, solar and wind power, water reuse, waste control, and food production. What does that mean? It means that once you build an Earthship, you never have to pay an electricity or water bill again. Ever.

Don’t believe me? Good, because I can’t explain it all in a single blog entry. Go read the Earthship website instead, and then watch Garbage Warrior.

I’ve been working on site at the visitor’s center, which was constructed in the 90s as a demonstration building. That’s the entrance in the first photo. Earthships don’t look like much on the outside, but on the inside they’re really lovely.

 
The main room is filled with posters & diagrams of the various Earthship models and systems, plus a demonstration video and press books.

Yes, the TV runs off solar power collected from the roof panels. There are computers running in here too, and an extension cord stretching over to the building site, where it powers all the tools. With enough panels, you can have as much power as you like, even in cloudy areas.

What’s great about this design, however, is how little energy is really being used. Natural light makes it so you don’t need lightbulbs in the daytime, and even in extreme weather the building maintains an even temperature through passive solar heat and thermal mass. Today was cold and windy outdoors, but totally comfortable inside.

Bottle walls are one of the coolest features of Earthship design. They’re literally trash stuck in mud, but they create this beautiful stained-glass effect. That’s the bathroom door, and in front of it is a demonstration water cistern.

Less glamorous but much more important is the Power Organizing Module, which processes all the incoming power and sends it out as DC or AC. Normally this wall would be plastered, but the tires and cans were left exposed so visitors can see the construction technique.

All Earthships have indoor greenhouse areas, which are used for growing flowers and food. The food production techniques are still being perfected, but the ultimate goal is to make it so that you don’t need to buy groceries. It’s pretty amazing to look out over this healthy garden and see how dry and desolate the outside world is.

By the way: look at that window again. See the wooden arch at the far left? That’s part of the new construction.

This structure, and the identical one next to it, are part of Mike Reynolds‘ new additions to the visitor center. You can see that the walls are made of tires stacked like bricks; tires are filled with rammed earth (aka “dirt”) to make them incredibly solid, strong, and temperature-resistant. Non-load-bearing walls are made of cans & bottles, stuck together with cement and adobe.

This wall is just getting started, but you can see the design taking shape. The cans will be plastered over, but bottles will have their ends exposed to let in the light.

Once the wall’s thickness is determined, the bottles are cut with a tile saw and the two fat ends taped together. Then you just cement them in.

But before you can get to the fancy stuff, the tires have to be pounded! That’s what we’re doing at the big building, which will eventually become the new visitor center.

That’s my fellow intern Andrew off to the right, showing how it’s done. Yep, a shovel and a sledgehammer and lots of elbow grease. These things are seriously labor-intensive; pounding one tire takes 15-20 minutes for experienced (and acclimated) workers, so for us green kids from lower elevations, it’s taking half an hour per tire.

That’s Tim, the crew member who’s been managing us, working out the levels. Technically, this is a decorative (non-structural) bottle wall so it doesn’t have to be perfect. But sometimes it’s nice—actually, necessary—to stop hammering for a minute, so we’ve been getting everything good and even.

Tim and the other crew members have been amazingly patient and supportive while Andrew and I learn the ropes and build our strength. Working at 7500 feet can be totally exhausting, and when the winds are high it’s hard to catch a deep breath. But we’re learning and getting stronger, and benefiting from all the knowledge around us. Everyone on the crew lives in an Earthship, and many of them built their own houses. They’re professional and creative, and easy to talk to. I feel lucky to be here, even despite the sore muscles.

On that note, it’s off to bed for me. Tomorrow is a full day of tire-pounding on a new site, with all six interns. I’m gonna sleep all weekend!

Related posts:

1. Earthship Landing
2. Things I Learned: Can/Bottle Walls
3. Dirt. Rubber. Shovel. Hammer.

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Tracy L. Barnett
Photo ©2010. All rights reserved.

I arrived in Mexico three weeks ago as the first leg of my yearlong journey through Latin America documenting the environmental movement across the continent, from the perspective of its protagonists. I’ll be traveling through Latin America for this entire year, interviewing green architects and guerilla gardeners, indigenous farmers and bicycle activists, journalists and academics, even public officials engaged in the transition to a more sustainable lifestyle. I’ll be reporting on what I find – in Spanish and in English – on the Esperanza project, a new media initiative.

Inside the theater at Huehuecoyotl, an ecovillage in the mountains of Morelos, Mexico.
©2010 Tracy L. Barnett. All rights reserved.

Here’s how it all began. About 10 months ago I was working as the travel editor at the Houston Chronicle, when a round of cutbacks slashed a third of the staff, including me. It was a shock, but it ended up freeing me up to launch a project that feels meaningful and exciting to me in a way that working for a daily newspaper never could.

The roots of this project really began long ago in Columbia, Missouri, long before I became a travel writer. Back in 2000, I started the bilingual newspaper Adelante, and my student reporters and of course our readers came from all over Latin America. I accepted every invitation I could to visit friends and their families in the South. Before that, I was an environmental writer at the Columbia Daily Tribune. The Esperanza Project tries to pull all of those themes together—travel, Latin America, and the environment—using the multimedia tools I learned as a travel writer and the Spanish I learned as an immigrant affairs reporter in Missouri, California and Texas.

Community members at Teopantli Kalpulli, an intentional community near Guadalajara.
©2010 Tracy L. Barnett. All rights reserved.

Some people have asked me, why Latin America? I can give several reasons for that: First, I wanted to do it. All my life I’ve wanted to take that trip where I just keep on going. Now I’ll be headed south for a whole year, and I’m really excited about that.

But more importantly, I think we in the States get a little self-important thinking we have all the answers. But there’s a lot we can learn from other cultures, ones that aren’t quite as caught up in the consumerist, carbon-dependent model we’ve adopted in the States.

Latin Americans, in particular, bring a different perspective and a level of creativity and passion to their activism really inspires me. My hope is that it will inspire my North American compatriots, as well.

Right now a completely unexpected green revolution is going on in Mexico City. Rooftops of homes and factories are being planted in gardens to provide an alternate food supply and offset carbon emissions.

A young activist in Coyoacán.
©2010 Tracy L. Barnett. All rights reserved.

In Guadalajara, bicycle activists are taking to the streets by the thousands, demanding green spaces, bike lanes and a more people-oriented approach to transportation and city planning. In the mountains not far from here, the Huichol people are fighting a groundbreaking legal battle to take back their ancestral lands and manage them in their own integral way.

But this is just the tip of the iceberg. Everywhere you look in Latin America, local groups have formed to raise consciousness about the urgent need to shift to a more sustainable lifestyle. They don’t have a lot of resources, but what they do have is creativity, passion and spirit.

One of my first articles, though, has to do with a more personal dilemma: Whether to buy carbon offsets to help compensate for the pollution my travel will inevitably cause. Carbon offsets have become pretty controversial of late, but after a lot of thought, I decided to donate $10 a month to the Marda Permaculture Project to plant olive trees and build greenhouses in the town of Marda, Palestine.

Composting at the ecobarrios in Mexico City.
©2010 Tracy L. Barnett. All rights reserved.

I don’t claim that this is the answer to corporate pollution on a broader scale, but on a personal level, it felt like the right thing to do. It’s a wonderful project that builds community resilience using tried-and-true permaculture techniques, and you can read all about it here.

This year I’m going to be using video and photography and my best reporting skills to bring these people to life for The Esperanza Project readers. I’ll also be seeking collaborators, people to write stories from their eco-experiences in Latin America, and people to help with translations. I hope some of you will join us at theesperanzaproject.org.

Related posts:

1. 5 (and a half!) free things to do in Asheville
2. The Real Dirt on America’s Counterculture
3. SURPRISE! “Carbon Offsetting” Doesn’t Work.

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As many of you are aware, I’ve reached the end of my journey around the United States and am now back in the West. The story is far from over, however!

For the next several weeks, I’ll continue telling you about my adventures. From Virginia, the path leads south and west: through North Carolina to Tennessee, finally landing in New Orleans for three weeks of mind-blowing, frustrating, inspiring, parading, jazz-infused mudraking.

And then it’s all over, which is a sad prospect for you and me both. But never fear! There are new things on the horizon.

One question many of you have asked: where am I headed next, and when? The answer is a bit complicated. So here’s the plan, as I see it.

Uprooted International will take me around the world in 2011. I’m hoping to focus more on sustainability and travel issues, including the ethics of travel and what the tourism industry is doing to respond to environmental concerns. And as always, I’ll be talking about how to travel dirt-cheap.

As Uprooted grows, I’ll be bringing more and more outside voices: fellow travelers, explorers and gamechangers with stories to tell from all parts of the world.

At the same time, I’ll be launching a new project or two, to focus more on the green/cheap living, radical interdependence and DIY ethic that’s inspired me throughout this journey.

So, lots of irons in the fire. It’s very exciting around here—but I’m glad, too, to be home with my people, in my beloved West, watching spring break over familiar horizons.

In the immediate future, my travelogue posts will be slowing down as the inspiration for new projects picks up.

Keep reading: there’s good stuff in the pipe.

Related posts:

1. Esperanza Project spotlights Latin America’s eco-warriors
2. 5 (and a half!) free things to do in Asheville
3. RECOMMENDED: Simply Car-Free

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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.

Related posts:

1. Try This at Home: Get Yer Veggies Delivered
2. Life on The Farm
3. Joel Salatin and the Future of Food

© jessicareeder for Uprooted, an eco/travel blog, 2010. | Permalink | 2 comments | Add to del.icio.us
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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