I posted my last entry on Friday the 17th on here as well as our personal blog and broadcast it through many of my networks to raise awareness of Vernon Hershberger's trial and I definitely got a response. We have been blogging for six years this June and of all our posts, The Quiet War on Our Farmers has the most hits by far. 

That's good. Really good. Most of the hits came the day I posted it. 

Now here's the interesting part. Saturday night, we got a call from the Wisconsin Department of Justice and suddenly, after months of knowing about us and our story, they won't need our testimony. Our subpeonas had officially been released and we would not be needed as witnesses for the state. 

I've been around this arena far too long for me to consider this coincidence. 

I held off blogging publicly about our involvement in the trial in the best interest of the defense and our friends who are deeply involved in Vernon's case. Then, within 24 hours of posting a tell-all blog (not really telling it all, though...trust me), we get contacted to let us know we are no longer needed.    

I admit, Andy and I are relieved only for the simple reason that we are about to move and close on a house in the country. This week is needed for packing, prepping and cleaning. Having to be "on call" for the state all week was a huge pressure for us. However, now that we won't be physically traveling to the court room, we'll be watching the headlines all week to see how it goes. And really, our problem of moving during this time is nothing compared to what Vernon and his family have been going through. I almost feel ashamed to compare our situation to his dire one. 

The case remains pivotal and the deck is stacked against Vernon, from the jury selection to the limits the judge is holding on who the defense can call to speak. It's already much in favor of the state, but we shall have to see. The small town of Baraboo is reportedly opening its arms to the influx of media, supporters and VIPs in the food movement. I'm happy about that. Maybe there's hope yet in the arms of small town America. Grassroots, right?   

Vernon's Trial Begins Monday 

The Far Reaching Implications of Vernon's Trial 

Trial Updates 

You please stay tuned, too. This is important and even if you don't know the people involved, Andy and I do. They are good people. God's will be with them...

In December, I was going to write about something that happened to us, but I was concerned that it might be in poor choice due to the circumstances. I feel liberated now to tell you the whole story, and ask that if you read this post, pass it on. People need to know what is happening to our independent farmers.

And above all else, the story I'm about to tell is not about us. Not at all. It's about a breach of people's personal freedoms.

About three years ago, June to be exact, Andy and I drove across the state of Wisconsin to support a farmer friend of ours. Truth be told, we didn't know him that well; had only met him once or twice since the inception of our own farm. However, we had a common bond with him: he sold farm fresh products directly to his farm members and so did we. So why, might you ask, did we take off a whole day of farm work to visit him?

We went because his farm had been raided the previous day by Department of Trade and Consumer Protection (DTCAP) officials and his farm store shut down. They claimed they were coming back the next day to confiscate all his food products, thousands of dollars worth of food, to dump them. All of this in the name of public safety and the fact that he had no applied for a few licenses from the state. Let me be clear: he was selling raw milk, but no one had been sick from his farm, ever.

In order to save his business and his farm, let alone his family of ten, this farmer did the only thing he felt right in his conscious to do: he called for support and opened the store up again the next day. In his mind, the consumers who depended on his whole, fresh food were more important than any licensing he might have to acquire. Besides that, because he was selling privately and not to the public...and did not have the licenses that most farmers have, he was not in the jurisdiction of the DTCAP to even come onto his property to shut him down.

We dropped our things, grabbed our [then] two children and drove. By the time we reached his farm and farm store, most of the initial supporters had left. But there were a few there left, to make sure any follow up by the DTCAP would be seen and recorded by the public.

They didn't come back...that day.

We spent the afternoon talking with our friend and enjoying watching our kids play with his. We left a few hours later wishing him well and promising to keep up to date with all that might play out. Then we drove home.

It turns out that a lot would happen between then and now. A lot.

We came home to a farm that wasn't really ours anymore. In a month, we made the connection with St. Brigid's Meadows and a short four weeks after that, left Foxwood Farm completely. We moved to La Crosse. In less than a year, we moved back to the Fox Valley, but lived in Winneconne. Just last March, we moved into Oshkosh to be closer to business with Gourmet Grassfed. In three years, we lived four places. I tell you this because last December, we were found.

We had been hearing about this impending trial for Vernon Hershberger, our friend whom we had supported that day. While we lost touch with him over the years, we stayed relatively abreast of his situation and his farm. Despite the fact he cut the yellow tape on his coolers and freezers, he remained in business for his large customer base. They are a very supportive group, demanding the right to purchase food directly from the farmer of their [well-researched] choice.

The trial had seen setbacks and postponements over the last couple years but a date seemed solid for Vernon: January 6th, 2013. About a month before, I was at my mother's house sewing diligently on a suede coat for Elly for Christmas. I got a call from Andy who was at home alone in the early afternoon. He said that two female field agents for the Wisconsin Department of Justice (DOJ) had visited looking for me. They were in town on other obligations and wanted to follow up with me on the day I had been at Vernon's farm with my kids. They wanted to know why I was there and what my relationship with Vernon was.

Andy told them to come back next week as I wouldn't be home until supper time. I couldn't imagine what they wanted or how I was involved. It would soon be revealed.

I came home that night and we talked some more about the odd incident and ate our meal. Shortly afterwards as we cleaned up from supper and the kids played, there came a knock on our front door. It was the two agents. They just happened to still be in town...a full six hours later. We knew this not to be simple coincidence. We had seen a police car parked in the next alley all day, something we had never seen before (or since). We ate with our window blinds up, so anyone from the street could see exactly when we sat down and when we finished our meal.

We got shivers as we realized our home had been under surveillance all day.

Thankfully we aren't the deceitful type. I came home just as Andy said I would. And they politely waited until we finished our meal to come in to question me.

A few weeks prior, a judge had ruled that lawyers seeking information could not subpoena reporters who might have knowledge about their interviewees. I don't really read a lot of extra news outside my interests, but this one caught my eye for some reason. The reason because glaringly clear that night. When the DOJ couldn't tap the reporter's resources for info about who was at Vernon's farm and when, they decided to go straight to the source.

Did I forget to mention that the day we traveled to Vernon's farm it was heavily covered by Madison papers and news crews? Maybe because I didn't think it was that big of a deal. As I said, he has support networks far and wide who are very passionate about food rights.

During our scant afternoon there, a man took a picture of my children and I walking down one of Vernon's grocery isles in the on-farm store. The journalist asked my permission and got our names. I never even knew the photo existed as I don't subscribe to any of the Madison papers. I never thought about it again.

But apparently the photo did run. And apparently I was one of three or four people the DOJ was trying to get to when they pressed the journalists present at the farm that day. They were the ones that went to the courts and found a ruling in their favor that they did not have to talk to the DOJ. And then the Department of Justice tracked us down, four houses and three years later.

We sat down, me nine months pregnant and Andy with his notepad. If they were taking notes, so you better believe was he! They questioned us for an hour, asking us all about that day, what we remembered and what our relationship was to Vernon. They asked us really subjective questions and pushed us to remember details about our farming that we didn't think were even relevant. You see, we had nothing to lose; yes, DOJ, we did sell raw milk. What does that matter in this case? It didn't, we were assured. Why then, we wondered, did they need to ask?

When they left, we talked to one of our lawyer friends who was intimate with the case being tried. She let us know that we were actually considered persons of great interest to the prosecution because we might aid in proving Vernon was selling food that day.

We didn't buy anything from him, though they asked us several different ways and repeatedly if we did, in any shape or form. We did not. Thank God.

A few weeks later, we got our subpoenas in the mail. We were going to trial. Thankfully for me (and Finn), the trial was postponed one more time to the end of May. I was concerned I would take the stand with a newborn or worse, in the midst of labor (I was due January 5th)!

So now it comes to it. We are scheduled to speak against one of our compatriots in the farming world because the state and even federal government are at odds with farmers who dare to make a living without them. If I sound jaded, it's because I am. I've seen a lot and experienced a lot to make this attitude a reality for me. However, I am hoping that a jury of right minded citizens, not politically minded officials, will see the folly in all of this.

If you are interested in learning more or even want to show support for Vernon and his family, this case will be a landmark case in the fight for food rights. Think you don't have to worry about it because you don't consume raw milk? Think again. They attempted to squelch all of his on-farm goods including grass-fed beef, pastured chicken and free-range eggs. And this is not an isolated case.

Follow the rabbit trail friends. Follow it and plead ignorance no longer. It's time to do something about the over-reach of our government and the quiet war they've waged against our rights and the rights of small farms.

Links to start the journey:

Farm Food Freedom Coalition: http://farmfoodfreedom.org/event/vernon-hershberger-trial 

Farmers on Trial: http://www.farmersontrial.com/why-should-i-care/ 

Farm to Consumer Legal Defense Fund: http://www.farmtoconsumer.org 

This link is the one that started it all. Please notice the photo on the left side. But most importantly, read the article: http://host.madison.com/ct/news/local/govt_and_politics/blog/capitol-report-deputies-inspectors-make-early-morning-visit-to-raw/article_4f5d084e-74ac-11df-9b16-001cc4c002e0.html 

As I said at the beginning, this post is not about Andy and I. It's a small facet of a large story that supersedes even Vernon's case. Use the links above as a launch pad. And take the blue pill.

Sam, my cowardly standard-poodle puppy. 

Sam sat his furry bottom down by my unsmiling face as I lay sprawled on the blanket.

“You’re blocking my view of the poplars, Sam.”

Sam is my cowardly, black, standard-poodle puppy who weighs about 60 pounds. The reason for his cuddling—he was terrified. Terrified of falling leaves. Terrified of bleating donkeys. Terrified of working tractors.

But this will be his life and I think he likes it.

I am like Sam.

Terrified.

Terrified of making new friends. Terrified of failing as a farmer’s wife. Terrified of having to drive 45 minutes to reach the nearest Starbucks.

But I think I'm gonna like it.

I like seeing my husband drive the orange tractor across red clay. I like tilting my head all the way back and marveling at towering poplars with bright yellow leaves against a clear blue backdrop.

Me on my anniversary present tractor.

Tom and I have a dream. We’re over 50 years old, live in a tropical paradise of several million people, and run a charter fishing boat.

But we want to be farmers.

I didn’t always want to be a farmer. In fact, when I first traveled to Mt. Airy, North Carolina (aka Mayberry) to visit Tom’s mother on her family homestead, I couldn’t think of any reason why anyone would want to live there.

Quiet wouldn’t describe it. It took fifteen minutes of a nail-biting drive down twisty roads to reach the small town. The Main Street was adorned with old-fashioned storefronts, advertising The Andy Griffith Show. No chic stores with expensive brand names I couldn’t afford. Pity.

When Tom’s mother died quite suddenly five years ago, we stopped our yearly trek to the farm and I missed it. So when we visited a few years ago, I fell in love. With the people, with the town (which now boasts a Ruby Tuesday’s, a Chili’s, and a great Thai restaurant) and especially with the land. A collage of my Creator.

I love the smell of it. The feel of it.

We’re cultivating a dream. In fact, we’re learning to cultivate.

I’d like to take you along with me and tell you about it. Maybe you’re living the dream, or maybe it’s become a nightmare.

There have been a lot of funny things, and even some hard things. I’d like to tell you about them.

Probably you have a lot to teach me. We need all the help we can get.

It’s making me smile just thinking about it.

Question of the week:
What is one piece of advice you could give us besides DON’T DO IT?

(We’ve already been told that.)

A view from the yet non-existent porch.

Fall has come to the Shenandoah Valley in full force. We seem to have bypassed any type of Indian Summer and temperatures have settled in at around 45 degrees by day and down to 30 at night. Delicate plants such as basil and green peppers have turned black and limp from frost while the more hearty herbs like rosemary and thyme are still thriving. I think the Last Rose of Summer fell apart into brown-edged petals yesterday. It was still clinging bravely to the vine when I left to go grocery shopping. By the time I returned home, the wind had dislodged it and all that was left on the vine was the center of the flower, looking frail and rather pathetic in the watery su

I love the change of seasons, and it suits me just fine that summer chose to exit without lingering goodbyes. Still, I still feel the need to play in the dirt a bit. I’m not quite ready to give up gardening yet. I talked to a seasoned farmer at church this morning and asked him if I could grow anything now. He was rather cryptic in his answer. “Yeah, there are lots of things you can grow now.” I waited for him to continue but he had stopped talking and was obviously not going to enlighten me on the bounty of late fall growing. I prodded a bit further and asked if I could plant onions. “No,” he said, shaking his head solemnly, “you don’t want to plant onions now. They will freeze in the ground.” What about carrots, I continued. “Not so sure. Maybe.” Such was the extent of my interview. Perhaps I shall just resort to Google.

Or more likely I will create a lush winter garden inside my head. After all, I am a theoretical farmer still and there is no pressure to  have anything to show for my intensive labors of the mind!

As I write this, Andy and I are getting all of our half gallon jars together and seeing what quantity we have. So far, we're good for 4.5 gallons and could possibly acquire three more bottles for a total of 6 whole gallons. We're putting together our bottle stock in preparation for a milk run tomorrow.

Since we began milking cows in May of 2009, and then worked for the farm in La Crosse, we have always had access to free, wholesome, fresh-from-the-cow milk. Since we moved away from the farm three weeks ago, we have officially stepped out of the role of producer and been ushered into the realm of consumer once again.

It's a bittersweet time in our lives. Being a consumer is by far the easier path to follow, at least physically. As I watch the thermometer outside push beyond 100˚ today, I'm secretly thankful to not have any animals to check or fences to repair. Likewise, I think of the bitter winter winds dropping the degrees below zero and count my blessings to be able to stay in warm socks and a sweater indoors. Farming, or gardening, isn't an easy route to travel and the reason you see the majority of folks in this country opting out. But not producing is bitter for us as well. Being able to make a meal from meats and veggies and fruits that you worked hard for, managed and harvested is an incredible reward that no sauna-like day can take away.

Part of Andy and Ben's business involves taking part in several local farmers' markets, trying to spread the word about Gourmet Grass-fed and just get the local public educated about grass-fed meats. I have taken the kids to visit them at three of the five markets they do in a given week and we have fun seeing all the different farm vendors and crafters in each city. It sure is a lot easier to walk the aisles of breads and vegetables and meats, picking what you'd like for the following week's meals, than to have planted and weeded and sweated and harvested all those good things. The folks behind the tables busily tend to the customers or replenish their stock, making it look beautiful for me, the consumer. I appreciate the effort and smile as I see some have gone to more effort than others.

Last week, I bought a pasture-raised chicken from one of our old farmer friends, Ralph Polasky. $8.25 was a steal in my opinion, considering I know the amount of work it takes to raise a pastured bird to market weight and get it ready for sale. I wanted to give his newest product, Cornish Game Hens a try, but I had run out of cash for the day (I budget $20 per week at the markets). Maybe this week will be Game Hen week.

At the Neenah Farm Market, I saw our old friends from Hample Haven Farm. This family was just getting into grass-fed lamb as Andy and I were setting up the Omro Friday Night Market last summer. They wanted to be a vendor in the fledgling market and we welcomed the diversity. Ultimately, the drive was too long for their return on sales, so they stopped vending in Omro. We didn't hear from them again. Therefore, seeing the family last week, selling out of their healthy and sustainable lamb cuts in Neenah was very encouraging for me. Knowing what I do about the unique challenges raising grass-fed lamb, I spent $11.64 of our $20 on some meaty lamb shanks from Hample Haven Farm and wished that I could have spent more. I know that this Saturday, we'll probably get some more "poor man cuts" from them as braising hocks and necks and tails are our favorite dish! (And even something I feel comfortable doing in the kitchen).

It feels good to patronize farmers we know. Our eggs are coming directly from a farmer just outside the county line. He raises free-range hens, pastured poultry and bison. We are happy to drive out once every few weeks to stock up on $2.50 orange yolked eggs from this man. Lennie and his wife Julie were one of the few established farmers that took us under their wing when we first began our adventure at Foxwood Farm. They even gave us twin Jersey calves in exchange for fencing labor back in 2008. Even though our situation is completely different now, I feel no shame stepping into their thriving on-farm store for 6 dozen eggs at a time. Soon, we'll be purchasing some bison cuts on one of our trips. We're happy to have the good food so close to home and want Lennie and Julie to stay in business.

Or course, buying local and not producing much of your own food does cost money. We are on a tight - super tight - budget now that we are helping grow a company from the ground up. We've been on super tight budgets before (remember, we were the farmer once)! But the difference now is our priorities.

Let me elaborate. $20 at a farm market once a week isn't going to feed a family of five, no matter how well you plan. We decided that in order to keep eating like a sustainable farmer without actually being a sustainable farmer, we were going to have to give up some of our "consumerist pleasures."

• No paid TV. What the antenna gets is what we get. Some days we get nothing. We're better off for it. Saved: $45/month 

• Goodbye Smartphone. While a necessity when working at St. Brigid's Meadows, this is now a luxury we can do without. Including the internet plan. Saved: $100/month 

• Combining errand running/other trips. Gas isn't cheap and until we are blessed with an alt. energy vehicle, it's going to continue to tax us. Saved: $75/month (one tank of gas)

• No more going out to eat. Going out to eat became quite the bad habit of ours at St. Brigid's. When Andy would deliver products or we would be in town on errands, inevitably, some mealtime would show up and we'd be unprepared with food for the kids and just have to stop somewhere for grub. Better planning and fewer trips into town = no excess restaurants. Saved: $60/month 

This is just the beginning. If you add up everything that we are cutting out and the accompanying cash, we have a total of at least $280 that is not being tied up in luxury items. $280! Now, some of that money will just never get spent as we are reducing what we spend each month overall. But you can bet that at least $100 will go right back into our monthly grocery bill. And we'll eat like kings for it!

So we don't have GPS on Andy's "dumb" phone and can't look up a business's address on the fly. Really don't care because I've got a couple green bags full of lamb, chicken and eggs, direct from the farmers who produced them. $100 out of the pockets of Olive Garden and Kwik Trip. $100 into our local farmers' hands. $100 making our family healthier, happier and better overall consumers.

Pretty simple math if you think about it. As a full time consumer, I am happy to be so intentional about how I am voting with my very limited Dollar. Never again will I compromise food because of income. That's just our family credo and I don't want to push it on anyone else. Everyone has different needs and wants. I don't presume to place everyone into our box of existence.

Food makes us happy, though. So I want the best possible food on our table. Top of the line, straight from the farmer whenever possible. Which brings me back to the start of my post: gathering bottles for fresh milk.

Tomorrow, I'll be driving with a former Foxwood Farm customer and good friend of mine in order to gather up milk for our families. She will also pick up milk for two other families in the area who also used to buy fresh milk from us. In total, we'll present this new farmer with enough bottles to fill 24 gallons! At $4/gallon, he will bring in just shy of $100. Imagine, a farmer being paid a fair price for his grass-fed, Jersey milk. I was told that he is selling nearly enough milk direct to sustain his dairy on direct sales alone. What a wonderful thing! I am happy to be getting fresh milk again and more than happy to help him reach his goal of complete independence from the creamery he ships to. After all, I can relate.

But here's something I won't be doing for this farmer. You see above whenever I mentioned a farm producer, I included their website (if they had one) in order to possibly give them more business. For our dairy farmer here, I won't even tell you his first name. As you well know, in the state of Wisconsin looks fondly on people making a living off of vegetables and fruit grown in their yard. They encourage families to raise chickens and sell the eggs or meat. They have programs to help farmers convert ailing cropland into managed pastureland so that more grass-fed beef and bison is produced sustainably. It's the smiling face of the Department of Ag, saying "Buy Local, Buy Wisconsin." Keep our farms in business!

But as soon as a grass-fed dairy operator says, "Hey, my product can sustain this family farm as well! People are demanding fresh milk at an exponential rate. I'd be a silly businessman if I didn't provide product for this burgeoning market," the same Department says "You need to sell your milk to a distributor at historically low prices and figure out for yourself how to stay afloat. Get big or get out. Your product is not safe for human consumption no matter how you produce it and we will spend our last tax dollar making sure you go under if you sell one drop to the hapless public."

Ok, ok. The last paragraph is admittedly dripping with a bit of experiential anger. That department began the downward spiral which caused us to lose our farm. I will not allow that to happen to another farmer on my watch. This man is helping over 40 families get the product they desire or need at the risk to his entire operation. How sad a state that I have to keep it quiet. He will be getting a sizable percentage of our monthly food dollar and I can't whisper a word about him.

But I'm so glad he's here for a consumer like me. Andy and I ran out of milk from St. Brigid's over a week ago and we've simply done without. Andy is close to flipping a table for lack of milk, so I arranged to join a rotation of families to keep us all in supply of milk. Each week, one mother will gather jars from the others and go to the farm for fill up. Tomorrow, I'll learn the ropes and start pulling my weight. Waiting two weeks for milk is nothing. The families I'm buying with waited well over 6 months to find this producer in the void left by Foxwood Farm.

For those of you not really into the fresh milk scene, this probably seems like a lot of hassle. I'm not denying it's a bit extraneous. But having had the BEST for our family, we won't compromise and go back. Having fresh milk as close to home as we do, we consider it pure joy to drive "out of our way" to get what we need and support this farmer as well.

Andy and I are not producers anymore; of milk, of beef, of lamb, of eggs, of pork. It's bittersweet to be a consumer again. But I now know how we can embrace our new life: We will do whatever we can to support our local farmers. We've got a revised food budget that we can pour into their income streams and possibly help them do what we could not: stay producing and survive.

Honestly, it's the very least I can do for them. I mean, on days like today with a heat index of 110˚, I know my friend and fellow mother Dani is out harvesting and watering her produce with her 8 month old babe strapped to her back. I know that Ralph is keeping his poultry and turkeys fully watered and under shade at the expense of his own comfort. And I know that the dairy farmer I'll meet tomorrow won't miss a milking in this heat. Can you imagine sidling up to a sweltering cow in a stifling barn just to collect milk for the likes of me?

Dedication and tenacity like that deserves to be rewarded and if I can humbly present them with a few more food dollars each week, I will be the one amply blessed to be the consumer of their fine products.

I truly hope that you, too, can experience that sort of blessing in your weekly consuming as well. Revisit your priorities and choose with your heart, friends. It will make all the difference in your daily consuming.

My husband, Doug, had to leave on a two week business trip this week that was planned long ago. He grieved and begrudgingly left with our small farm crops, about 20 acres, still in the field to await his return. His heart is ready for the harvest process to begin. The combine sits greased, tuned and standing by in the shed. The truck has its battery all charged, the license plates on and all set to haul a bountiful harvest to the elevator in town. Our grandsons are chomping at the bit to ride along, but the moisture content of both the corn and the ground made it impossible to gather the crops before he had to leave.

To add insult to injury, the weather forecast is, of course, the perfect weather to bring in the crops.

My greatest efforts to assure him that the corn will still be here when he gets home were of no comfort to him in the least. I have learned that the acts of the harvest itself have the utmost importance to a true farmer’s heart. It is like that of air to breath, it is that significant.

The harvest is about the gathering of the abundance of God’s blessings from tiny seeds painstakingly planned, planted, fertilized and cultivated. It is about the purring rumble of a well-tuned, albeit very old, six-row combine. It is about sliding the lever that engages the gears that run the chains that put the entire process in action. It is about our four- and two-year-old grandsons sitting on buckets in the cab with their faces pressed to the glass fascinated with the entire course of action. It is about the rhythmic rumba beat motion of the straw walkers smoothly doing their job. It is about the sun shining through the dust of the chaff as it is scattered in waving patterns behind the machine. It is about the sound of the grain pouring like spun gold out of the combine’s auger and into the back of the truck that sits unused in the shed all year just waiting for gathering time. It is about waving to each neighbor on the trip into town to unload. It is about comparing yields and moisture content. It is about the wait at the elevator and the chatting with the fellow harvesters who have hearts similar to yours. It is about a steaming cup of coffee in a Styrofoam cup held in gloved hands as the corn unloads. And, perhaps most importantly, it is about acknowledging the hand of God in every step of the process.

My days are busy as usual. The daycare children are winding down from Halloween and gearing up for the coming Thanksgiving and Christmas holidays. We are making the transition from the out of doors to more inside time. There are more groceries to buy, as with the cooler weather, there are many new recipes to try. All the children appreciate cooking but one of the four-year-old boys I am privileged to have in my care has a baker’s heart and truly appreciates every step of the process. Next week we are going to bake bread and I cannot wait to share the experience with them. And I instill in them with every step that it takes a farmer somewhere for us to be able to get flour from the container, eggs and milk from the refrigerator and the rest. God willing, they will absorb and come to appreciate a bit of what I have learned from living the past decade with a farmer’s heart at my side.

So, I anxiously await his return so the harvest can begin. It is unfortunate that life sometimes gets in the way and delays our plans but that is just the way it is and so we are obliged to become the way we are.

Doug will get to complete the harvest; the whole gathering process will take place; a true farmer’s heart will beat at peace once again; and I’ll close the gate with grace.