Yesterday, Veteran’s Day, came in windy and cold in Kansas.  As I hurried toward the church door the wind caught me by the legs, scooting me along with my cape as a sail.  Although a bit bitter for a walk I couldn’t resist a few minutes out by the windrow to check on the birds and varmints that can always  be found there.

I have few memories of my childhood or stories that were told by a parent, but the story surrounding the planting of the windbreak trees is all mine.  The farm stands on a rise that just dares a gust to come along, and since many did, the only way to protect the barnyard and cattle was to plant a windrow.  My penny-pinching father went to the agriculture service office and bought some affordable cedar starts, I am sure no larger than a foot tall and in a hundred-bundle.  When they arrived on the bitter March winter day they had to be planted or die.  Since Dad had a job at the aircraft plant, it was left to Mom to dig a hundred holes, plant the trees in frozen ground, and water them in.

I am told I was a fussy baby and had a tendency to be croupy, so my mother nursed me for a few months after birth, thinking it would make me a little healthier.  The day the trees arrived, I was a few months old and am told I had a bad cold and cried constantly.  Any other woman would probably have told the trees to forget it, but Mom was a “get-er-done” gal so she spent the day digging two holes and then returning to the house to check on me.  Dig another two, check on me.  Every dozen holes she would pause to nurse me and try to get me to sleep, which was summarily unsuccessful.  Laughter bubbles up in me every time I think of the situation, although it had to have been a miserable memory for my mother.

The windrow served its purpose for many years and continues to be a luxury I allow myself as owner of that farm.  The barnyard still sits atop a rise and winds still rattle the doors of the barn, so its original value remains.  Over the years, many of the cedars have died and have been replaced by a good variety of smaller trees.  The fifty+ yard row now contains native hackberry, Osage orange, and new cedar starts.  It makes an ideal environment for birds and deer and I frequently see my old owl, hundreds of goldfinch, hummers and bluebirds there.   Today, I see the feathers from turkey, so I know they are close.  Just as I turn to leave, I see a movement and turn to see a deer moving quietly.  I smile and stand frozen and enjoy its shyness.

Many land owners have removed windbreaks and hedge rows as a tradeoff for increased production, but I have resisted that.  In the fifteen years I have owned the farm, there have been two dust seasons where the earth was dry from drought and the wind carried the top soil for miles.  Had my farm not been anchored by the trees, it would have been in another county as well. 

As habitat and as land anchor, my windbreak has value.  What makes it even better is that I know its history.  It only takes a bitterly cold and windy day for the memory to surface.  The rich animal and bird life overlays and adds to the habitat story.  I want to start a hedgerow of miscellaneous shrubs and trees at my town-house this year too.  I may not see the benefits for a few years, but I think it is worth waiting for.  I’d recommend one to anyone.

This week I was reading through my old GRIT magazines one last time before passing them on to a friend.  An article on the Homestead Act of 1863 caught my eye with some interesting statistics.

According to this author, “most of the 33 million schoolchildren today have never set foot on a farm; only two of every 100 Americans now live on a farm, and less than 1% of the 300 million people in our country claim farming as their occupation.”

“For heaven’s sake,” I thought in response. “Why is it that hundreds of families in this area are buying rural lots and building ranchettes?”  I reflected that this and surrounding counties are covered with rural homes. “What, then, are these folks seeking?  Privacy?  Freedom from regulation? More room? Perceived quiet?”  

The reasons are endless, I’m sure.  Many I personally know like animals, especially horses, chickens and dogs.  Others like to garden.  One guy I know likes to drive his tractor and “work.”

Whatever the reason, rural living seems to fit, in some way, each person’s definition of “the good life” – just like our homesteading ancestors.

It seems to me the rural quest revolves around “Work” and what we believe is meaningful work.  Our ancestors knew farming occupations, weather it was growing wine grapes or pigs.  Another generation combined industrial work with continued rural or small town self-sufficient practices.  Even today in France and England, families continue to be largely self-sufficient and in America self-sufficiency has been re-discovered with enthusiasm.  Some view it as economic survival.

The statistics given in the article covering the anniversary of the Homestead Act may well represent modern living that swung too far from the earth.  None of us want our children clueless about what a cow looks or smells like any more than we would want them clueless about whales or bears.  We certainly don’t want our children to think of ducks as animated cartoon or computer characters.

People who are seeking rural lives want meaningful lives, however that is defined.  Others do their best to get themselves and families to parks or zoos.  The difference is that a rural home affords an opportunity to “grow things,” which is a way to practice daily the care and feeding not only of self, but others, be it a bean or a dog.

 I have a great respect for families who have found a way to connect with “growing things” even though they are city bound.  Even if it is a bean plant on the patio or a rabbit in the backyard, there is hope that we could feed ourselves if we had to.

There will never be another time when the government gives land to us to homestead (pity), but perhaps there is hope as we swing back toward self-sufficient living practices, I hope that a few more children will have set feet upon a farm, will experience some aspect of life that recalls that food comes from “growing things,” that our land is one of abundance, and that each of us has a place in the process.

Schleicher, Jerry.  “Birth of America’s Breadbasket,” GRIT, July/August, 2010.

While I utilize many of the Kansas agriculture resources in my urban farming efforts, I also utilize the rich resources of the state of Missouri, a state that uses much money to supports a state-wide conservation plan to preserve and protect land for agricultural use, as well as for hunting, fishing and recreational pursuit.  

A recent Missouri publication contained a theme that has stuck with me – “I Am Conservation.”  This idea seems to strike at the very heart of what we are all trying to do.  Years ago, “conservation” was an idea linked to prevent land from blowing or washing away in the agricultural process.  The much admired Aldo Leopold is credited with changing farming practices, but even today the foundation continues its influence to develop land ethics nationwide.

The “I Am Conservation” theme addresses the conviction that as an individual, I am an actor in the process of protecting and preserving resources.  No longer can we view the responsibility for conservation as belonging to agriculture, for as we stretch to feed the world, we find agriculture has now extended to the provision of food from all sorts of sources.  We farm fish, seaweed, lichens, trees and fungus.  The control of seed and genetic modification is a hot political topic.  Every individual, regardless of rural or urban, young or old, is a steward of this earth.  How can we view it in any other way?

I think the importance of our individual actions is far underrated.  Even if we each would take a step each day to preserve by recycling, growing a vegetable or chicken, or by NOT poisoning our water supply with chemicals, it is still an important action.

My thoughts today lead me to become more involved in some local actions that I think can make an impact.  I can add just one more action, be it to plant a tree or to become involved in city planning.  Our future may well be in the learning of urban agriculture – be it roof-top and community gardens, or the making of compost.

What I do makes a difference.  I believe that.  I AM conservation. 

On August 4, 2012, a Saturday evening, my beloved farmhouse caught fire and burned.  I am still in shock and grieving as though it had been a family member.  There is almost nothing to salvage, as the wind was high and the fire made quick work of the old lumber.  I am digging through it this week and after the inspections are finished, I will need to have it demolished.

People have been loving, kind, and helpful and many others have suffered such a loss – some more serious than this in storms that have taken lives.  All the stories shared with me include the same inexpressible sadness and feeling of loss.  It is just heart wrenching to lose your home to any cause. 

As you might expect, I’m trying to analyze the loss, but I guess I have matured, as I’m sure not questioning why God would allow this to happen or thinking it was all part of the great cosmic plan.  Maybe the Mars landing by Curiosity this morning would fall in that arena, but not this.  It was just one of those accidents that occur in life that hurts like hell and changes a person forever.

I don’t know if I will rebuild, but I will keep the farm.  All the memories are still there with or without a house.  If I should rebuild, the new house will still be loved just as much as this one was. The sun will continue to rise over the pasture, the garden will still be eaten by grasshoppers in bad years, and I’ll complain about the deer thrashing my trees.  New memories will be made and hopefully, my sons will continue to say they own a Kansas farm that has been in the family for five generations.

Like all changes in life, some are difficult.  But they will take place whether we like it or not, so I am determined to get through this and adapt to the necessary changes.  I will treasure my memories, continue to farm, and yes, although I live in the city, I will always have one foot on the farm.

If heaven has a setting, Lancaster County came close this week as I enjoyed a few warm and beautiful early spring days there.  An international quilt show drew me to the welcoming and friendly city of Lancaster.  The historical downtown area was unique in that it had been well preserved and in continuous use.  I was equally drawn to the small surrounding towns which promised not only another view of quilting, but farming as well.

The local community expresses a high value of farming and fresh food, and many restaurants framed their menu with “farm fresh” or “farm to you” phrasing.  The Lancaster Central Market, a beautiful historical building, was a joy to visit, featuring fresh and organic meat, nuts, produce and herbs.  One of the best lunches that week came from the Turkey’s, Inc. stall.

The rolling hills around Lancaster are home to exquisitely tended farms.  The large white and stone barns would dwarf the flatland farm buildings of Kansas.  Of course the Amish and Mennonite communities are a regional draw for both craft and farming.  During this mid-March week we saw some horse-drawn tilling as fields were prepared for planting and plastic mulch applied.

I was especially impressed with the disciplined horses that pulled the Amish buggies.  I held my breath as a semi-truck pulled alongside a buggy with motor roaring.  The driver was going to make a left hand turn and although the horse danced a bit and frothed at the bit, it was under control.  I was in awe of the skill of both driver and horse as they turned and went their way.

Although Kansas has Amish and Mennonite communities which are equally as creative as entrepreneurs, I was impressed by the sheer number of business connections and the organization of the communities.  Tour buses pulled into the planned commercial areas which provide tremendous outlet for local food and crafts.  Buggy rides and petting zoos give children a taste of the farm experience.  Despite the shopping opportunities, the Amish have retained their privacy off the strip and carry on with daily life.  The 

For the many people who desire a farm or to live the simple life, Amish and Mennonite folks are good examples to emulate.  A people who live in the world, but are not of it, they have found abundance outside of a materialistic way of life – an example of the simple life we are trying to relearn.

As we know, consuming is compelling and hard to resist.  It was a joy to visit these communities of people who are content in their simplicity.