Archive for the ‘Articles by Carl’ Category

Farming is a Bundle!

Thursday, April 16th, 2009

In my mind the beauty of a farming enterprise is that we can, with some cultivation and manipulation, use a natural process that accumulates organic material and energy in to a biological community that we then can access to meet our needs. The natural relationships that exist between sun, soil, plant, and biological organisms, are the basis for a sustainable farm. There is some transportation and loss of biomass and energy, but the natural process is the ultimate example of efficiency.

Problems arise for us as we tend not to see ourselves fitting into the food web that is available in a particular region, or if considering commercial endeavor the need to produce salable products for viable markets, we institute a system that breaks up the natural relationships, and is designed to deliver products to outside consumers.

There is an assumption that as farmers we should be thinking about the rest of our culture, and their needs for the items that we can produce, but I see this as a bill of goods we have been sold to get us to mine the energy and nutrients out of our ecosystems. The reality is that even when you are grazing beef to sell, you are in fact managing an ecosystem that supports the flow of energy to those beeves. Energy will flow to the animals regardless of the residual balance of productivity asset.

The challenge that we face is learning how the manage our demand on the ecosystem so that we can accumulate biomass and energy into a site in surplus of our need to harvest. This is a really huge challenge in the face of incredibly depleted soil systems, and the largest demand from human consumers that the Earth has ever had to meet.

Agriculture is a bundle of land-use and animal husbandry practices that are not limited in their validity by scale, or commercial intent. Although there is a certain efficiency with the use of large tracts, it by no means is the defining measure of effectiveness of producing food.

I’m not sure what we can do to reverse the trend to subdivide land into smaller lots, but I do know that people who find themselves trying to respond to their need for good food by farming small tracts of land are going to be a big part of any successful future. Community scale composting will be a great way for groups of people to recapture nutrients and energy and return them to the soil to support community food production systems.

I understand the drive for people to cast themselves as farmers, those hardy individuals who wake early and engage in the activities of working earth and animals all day, every day, but this image can be, and probably will be, an impediment to growing a vital food system.

We are losing parcels that can be used for large-scale production. In some areas like Vermont, our landscape doesn’t offer much opportunity for such farms. And we have a populace with varied life experiences, and career interests. So opening our definition of “farming” to include all facets of the experience is, in my mind, one of the first steps to reclaiming our farming culture.

Probably a big turning point will be when prices are more dramatic, but I also know that people are beginning to understand that food is not a widget, produced by a mindless mechanical process. People are realizing that they yearn for the relationships that real food represents, to people (family who share it, and community that desires it, or produces it), to living organisms, to Earth, and to personal satisfaction from sensory experience.

There is a lot of talk about lowering energy consumption, reducing carbon foot prints, etc., but the real sea-change will occur, in my mind, when people reclaim a human relationship to food, and realize that there is only a limited number of ways to get that. A major component to that will be a revival of the agricultural community, in other words everyone in the community realizing the role they play in our food web, from the way they use their land, to the way they manage their nutrient stream, to the food products they consume.

I don’t mean that I think it will happen any time soon. I do see seeds of hope though. There is a growing consciousness, and I think that it is the basis for a successful future.

I also think that we are at an end to the reflex application of agriculture. We have run the gambit from scratching the soil to grow a few grains to the mechanical production of food widgets. We are faced with the realization that growing food does work simply by repeating customs, but without thought, or understanding, it can turn into devastation and depletion. I really think that we are headed for a new cultural understanding of farming, not only because I think we need to, but because it is a logical adaptation of a failing system.

Not to over emphasize my own point, I really believe after years of practice, that “farming”, is a bundle of land-use and animal husbandry practices that are not dependent on scale to be validated.

If you want to use those practices to make commercial, or economic profit then so be it, but I have been farming between pasture, hay, gardens, and woodland, nearly 200 acres for twenty-two years with as much emphasis on developing a functional land-base and infrastructure as any inclination toward financial profit.

I take my profit in the early morning twilight watching the ravens tumble in the sky over my barn, in the smell and feel of soil on my hands, in the bright eyes and smiling faces of my kids and wife when they are there working with me, and in the notion that I have been accruing significant assets in material, equipment, skill, and in productivity that I can pass on to those who will need that more than any money I could have saved in the bank. I keep as much of my “surplus” as possible by rolling it back into the operation. Our farmers marketing, and milk, egg, and meat sales are really only ways for us to engage with our community.

People are always saying, “but you and Lisa both make incomes from off the farm”, and that is true. So what, we still are supported in our off farm work by the on farm work we do to feed and provide for ourselves, and it is our own decision how we want to use our land as a farm. I see no reason to off-load energy and nutrients, plus my own ingenuity and physical effort, to an unappreciative public, losing money, just to say, “I’m farming”.

Farming like the future mattered, I see my farm feeding five families. Not only will it feed them, but it will employ a good portion of them, and it will give them a safe place to live, play, and learn. Farming is not an economic process unless you chose it to be. As long as we perpetuate that concept we will limit the degree to which we reclaim an agricultural community, and we will continue to under-utilize and under-value our land and environment.

Carl

Draft Animals in Forestry

Tuesday, March 3rd, 2009

Draft Animals Can Play A Vital Role In Forestry; by Carl B. Russell

I bought my first draft horse in 1986, and I have been working horses, and oxen, in the woods ever since. One of the most common questions I get is, “Can you really make any money logging with horses?” The answer is yes, particularly if the skid is short, and there isn’t a lot of low grade. This may sound like high-grading on small lots, but it doesn’t necessarily mean that.

The most significant drawback to working with draft animals in forestry is the low rate of production. This is not a financial disadvantage as much as it is a logistical restriction on the type of work that can be legitimately considered. The time required for human physical labor and the limited power of animals make it difficult to skid long distances, or to cost-effectively harvest low-grade products.

Although high production and maximum utilization have become conventional standards, they are not necessary components of successful forest management. I believe that we have become overly dependent on forestry defined by timber harvest, and the equipment used to do it. I think that the current approach to forestry may benefit from a perspective in which draft animals can play a valuable role.

The effective distance for ground-skidding logs with a single horse is about 500 feet. With a team and a hitch-cart designed for logging, 1500 feet is a reasonable distance. In certain instances with good conditions, with a sled on snow, or with a horse-drawn forwarder, distances up to ½ mile can be considered. These may seem like short distances by comparison to machines, but whether mechanical or animal-powered, skidding distance is a cost that ultimately affects stumpage value.

A well-designed network of truck roads and landings can improve accessibility throughout a woodlot. This up-front capital investment ultimately reduces the cost of any harvesting operation, and can be amortized through an increased return from stumpage. Although this kind of investment is rarer these days because huge powerful all-terrain harvesting equipment can go nearly anywhere, there are other benefits to this strategy.

A network of all-season roads can be the foundation of a multiple-use working landscape, affording access for recreation, agro-forestry, sugaring, on-site sawmilling, and fuelwood harvest. It also provides superior erosion control, and access for fire suppression. While it would be beneficial for any type of timber harvest, this is the type of investment that makes draft animal power more practical.

Because of low overhead costs, the primary costs of skidding with draft animals are related to time. When harvesting sawtimber under reasonable conditions, horse-loggers can be competitive, and operate with logging costs between $175-$225/MBF. But when harvesting low-grade material, the cost of the operation can outweigh the value of the product.

A viable strategy to reducing low-grade growing stock without harvest, is to practice noncommercial crop tree release, ensuring future production of quality timber. When it is adopted as a regular on-going practice, average stumpage value per acre will increase through improved growth of crop trees and the elimination of poor quality stems.

Many landowners can gain the skills to fell or girdle low-value trees, which are the primary techniques of crop tree release. This reduces out of pocket expenses, increases a sense of stewardship and the rewards of multiple-use, and reduces the disturbance created by equipment traffic. Non-commercial crop tree release can occur at the most effective time for each stem, not restricted by a schedule of timber harvests. There are also numerous circumstances when the work can be done in conjunction with harvest.

In financial terms, the harvest of low-grade products returns only minimal value, as stumpage income. By eliminating harvesting costs, non-commercial thinning returns the entire value of the cut trees to the site. In ecological terms, when trees die, they eventually contribute nutrients, organic matter, and accumulated carbon to the forest soil. Ecological function and soil productivity are significant factors in sustaining a vital woodlot, so this type of contribution can have real long-term value.

This may appear that horse-logging requires costs that are not necessary with other means. However, for financial assets to accrue value, there is always investment. When done correctly, timber harvest is an investment, with the cost of the operation being offset by the value of the cut timber. By investing in timber stand improvement and access infrastructure, landowners can reduce long-term costs while increasing future returns.

Neither of these strategies are new ideas. In fact, they are “old school”, much like draft animal powered harvesting. However, they remain effective approaches to cultivating working landscapes and improving growing stock. With higher quality growing stock and improved access, frequent light harvests can be more cost effective. This will facilitate small-scale harvesting operations, and low production systems like horse-logging.

If we continue to practice forestry that is dependent on harvesting large volumes of low quality material, with access limited to all-terrain harvesting machinery, then horses, mules, and oxen will never compete. However, if we see forestry as an opportunity to develop an accessible multiple-use working landscape with a commitment to sustainable management strategies, then draft animals can play a vital role.

Food From Thought

Tuesday, March 3rd, 2009

Food From Thought
by, Carl B. Russell

When I was a teenager I participated in a group of friends who were enthusiastic about our outdoor adventures. Fishing, hunting, hiking, and camping, we immersed ourselves in natural experience. Like many of our kind, during summer we would seek deep cool water to recharge our spirits. One favorite swimming hole was in an abandoned copper mine on the side of a mountain, several miles from town. A jeep trail led there through challenging terrain, enhancing the adventure.
During mining operations copper ore had been blasted out of the bedrock, leaving long narrow ravine-like shafts. Once abandoned they had become filled with water. The steep rock ledges were burnt-orange, almost red in color. The water was bright aqua-blue, and milky with suspended sediment. The contrast between green forest, red earth, and brilliant blue water created an exotic visual effect.
Upon arrival we would race over the barren ground to the edge of the cliffs, and plunge one behind the other into the cold blue water. Once we calmed down from the initial rush, we would engage in the main purpose for our coming, cliff jumping. There was an increasing gradient along one side of the mine where we could jump from spots ranging in height from ten, to as high as sixty feet. We would freely charge out into the air from the lower cliffs, demonstrating different styles of cannon balls and dives. The approach at the highest place was more subdued. The cliff walls of the ravine were only thirty feet apart, and from a height of sixty feet an aggressive jump could end dangerously close to the opposite side.
I never found it easy to jump from the high cliff. I knew that I didn’t have to make the jump, but something inside me encouraged me to try. I would take my time ascending, and once on the rock platform, I would adjust to the challenge in front of me. From above, the chasm seemed deceptively narrow, and as I looked down I would lose my depth perception. I could not see beyond the surface of the milky-blue water, so the view took on a two-dimensional appearance. Light reflecting from ripples would shimmer hypnotically, making the water level seem to rise and fall, like ocean swells.
Finally, I would be compelled to step off into thin air. The step was my last conscious act. The decent was so rapid that there was no time to think. I was completely dependent upon my instincts to keep upright and prepared for submersion. I can still remember the sound of the air ripping past my ears, and the sensation of my body tearing through the water. Gradually slowing down, then regaining buoyancy, I had a sense of exhilaration as my mind caught up with my body, mentally absorbing the experience.
I found myself recalling these memories as I stood outside the pen where I raised my first pigs for slaughter. I had decided to move ahead with a challenge that had been rising within me for years. I felt the need to raise and slaughter animals for my own meat consumption. My parents had insisted that as a young hunter I eat everything I killed. This helped in part to shape the current motivation, but it had also tempered my desire to kill things. A bird on the wing, or a white-tail deer at fifty yards, is quite different than a pig at hand, and I needed to adjust to the challenge in front of me

As I readied myself to enter the pigs’ pen, I could see the shimmering in their eyes, too close, too far, too narrow. I was standing at the cliff’s-edge of a set of experiences, the depth and breadth of which I could not fathom. Even though I knew that I didn’t need to make the choice to kill my pigs, I was compelled to. To this day, I have no idea why I trusted myself to take that step, but I entered the pen and did what needed to be done.
I had started this endeavor because I firmly believed that if I was going to enjoy animal flesh for food, then I had to take responsibility for the killing. The act of killing became complicated when I realized how important the pigs’ lives were to me. These two distinctly different feelings were difficult for me to wrap my mind around. I faced an intellectual chasm, and I could sense the uncertainty that eddied there. After twenty years I am still in awe of the world that opened up around me as I tumbled over that precipice.
Killing animals requires skill and commitment. I started out with some skill, but more commitment. There are many aspects of slaughtering and butchering that can only be learned through experience, and after several years slaughtering chickens, cows, and pigs, I started to feel comfortable with the process. I felt myself regaining buoyancy, and I began to realize how fast my life had been changing. I had been acting more from instinct than from conscious thought, and I had become submerged in experiences that my mind was only beginning to absorb.
There are many emotional issues surrounding the care, and consumption of animals. Because they move, and breathe, and make noise, we can relate to all animals on a most basic level. Whether cat, or deer, chipmunk, draft horse, or milk-cow, we can empathize with their life experience. It is enjoyable to husband farm animals because we can create relationships with them, which enhance our own emotional lives. The recognition of the value of these relationships to my life is what compelled me to start raising a diversity of animals on my small farm.
Beyond feeding, and cleaning pens, I involve myself in the lives of my animals. I spend time with them, scratching their itches, encouraging them to play, looking into their eyes, and touching them compassionately with friendship. They respond positively, becoming enjoyable engaging creatures. When they are alive, it is important to me that they are relaxed and comfortable, and that I have taken time to have relationships with these living being.
I know many people who would rather not know the animals whose meat they may eat. It is common for them to acknowledge that they would become too emotionally attached. Often the result is that the meat they do eat comes from animals raised in confinement and ignored by humans until their meat is processed. This choice is right for a lot of families because it is convenient, and many people don’t have the space to raise animals, but I am concerned about the loss of the value of the relationship.
To me food is more than calories or culinary preference. Food is the energy of life, and life is about relationships. Life is the flow of energy from the Earth through all things. It is the relationships between all things that keep the energy flowing. Like everything else, humans gather energy, then expend it, and eventually we return in totality to the source. Along the way, it is the relationships that we make that define our participation.

Once I recognized the significance of my need to have relationships with the animals whose flesh I eat, I began to truly feel my connection to Life energy. I feel the same relationship to the trees in the forest where I work, to the soil that I cultivate, and to the plants in my garden. It is clear to me now that energy does not leave an animal when it dies, nor does it leave a bean picked from a vine. The energy is always there. By involving myself physically and emotionally in the production of my food, I can strengthen my relationship to that energy. I also believe that my involvement can help these animals to have vital lives, enhancing the value that the food, in turn, brings to my life.
The food that we raise on our small farm recharges my body, and my spirit. I am proud of the loving relationships we have with our animals. Being the person responsible for taking their lives is part of demonstrating my commitment to them. Acknowledging emotional investment substantiates the value that I place on their existence. The relationships to my family, to our community, and to the Earth are strengthened every day through this connection to food. These animals and plants that we raise fuel our efforts to deepen our involvement in the energy of Life from one season to the next.
While I write this, I am overwhelmed by emotion, and I feel exhilarated as I float in the realization of personal experiences, absorbing the meaning. There are many people who, for one reason or another, cannot engage in these experiences, but I encourage those who think that they can, to try. It is the fear of uncertainty that causes discomfort, not uncertainty itself. I have found that I can be afraid, or I can trust myself, but uncertainty will always exist. Uncertainty is what fills the gap where relationships grow. By diving into that abyss I have found a pool of significant reward, and I feel recharged as I watch the ripples form from my wake and spread across the life around me.

Here are a couple of related poems;

Respect

Conceived, born, and raised on this land,
the farm of your dam.
Where you tested your feet,
and found your first teat.
Many years had passed,
since they’d seen the last,
Jersey bull hazing,
this hillside grazing.
From you period of toil,
the wind, water and soil,
of Gilead are within you.

We are not taking this life,
or energy from you,
it will always be yours.
We merely use it now,
to feed our bodies,
and to fuel or minds,
to manifest our dreams,
and to empower our values,
to perpetuate the care of this land,
and your kin who will follow.

Through you we touch this soil,
to the very heart and spirit of the Earth.
You help us to be part of the system,
allowing us to become products of our own work.

C.B.R.

The Earth as my canvas,
Life is the easel,
My being the brush,
I paint my dreams.
C.B.R.