The Hard Things

It is a hard thing to be a person of hopes and dreams for the things you imagine, as I am, though I wouldn't change that part of myself for anything.

To put it frankly, Bee Heaven has been a disappointment to me, and I've been wrestling with the angel of that disappointment for a few months now. I've finished like Jacob, and have received my blessing, which is clear-sightedness and more hope.

Bee Heaven is not the model for my future garden or ideal small farm. The distribution business is where the money is, the garden is what attracts the work force. The laborers in the garden are idealistic young people, such as myself, who find the place on the internet and risk flying down to Miami to learn about organic farming. Of course, half the week is spent packing share boxes, organizing for market, and assisting neighbor farmers bringing in their products to be distributed. The main customers are the wealthy citizens of the area, who can afford fresh and organic produce, who are educated enough to know the health and happiness benefits of such foods. Now, this is all well and good, in its way. It is good to get organic stuff to at least some people. The problem is that it is unbalanced, and I am, as I often am in life, on the wrong end of the scale.

I expected more education and hands-on teaching from Margie, the farm owner/manager, on how to grow things. I'm fine with hauling other farmer's stuff . . . most growing happens without me anyway. What grinds against my ideals is the lack of organization and the fact that the garden here is a false front. I've also been here long enough to be pushed into the position of "mother" to all the young idealists who show up and don't know what's happening. I tell them how the food, schedule, and living space must be managed. Then, people leave, because they are unhappy, can't work with Margie, or were just passing through anyway. I am in constant shifting mode to other people's desires and needs. I explain again and again what is expected on the farm. I am always responsible, yet not with "power." I give, give, and give, of my time, talents, and work, but am not receiving considerate and nurturing education in what I am here for: small-scale farming. This is simply the way of it. The farm is not a farm . . . we sell other people's stuff and keep a garden to be considered a farm.

It could be a more productive garden, if somebody was considering it and tending it, who knew it. But, we do not know it, we transient young people flying about the modern world. Margie is the one who knows it, but she has become so caught up in the CSA and distributing business, she has no time to put her hands in the dirt. And, without her hands in the dirt along with ours, our hands remain unable to get the hang of things that would be best for the place. We fumble along, and harvest what has managed to survive our tending, which has for the most part been volunteer mustard greens.

The garden is also run on a few principles of industrial agribusiness, like killing pests with substances other than natural ones. These are substances that are natural, safe, and organically certified, which is better than most industrial food products. However, it follows that line of thought that believes nature must be fought to produce anything for humans, which on this scale, it perhaps does. But, what about using compost instead of our pallet of organic Howard fertilizer? And attracting natural predators instead of using BT (a bacteria that is safe for everything except the stomach lining of caterpillars)? And using mulch to fight weeds more effectively? These are the things I came looking for, and have not found.

This situation is a result of the way of the world, and Margie's choices in growth. She may have been a farmer once, but she is no longer, as the land is tended by a bunch of confused kids, coming and going so quickly, while she answers e-mails and phone calls about the 400+ member CSA and restaurant orders, and partner organic growers, deals with organic certification, and farmer's market arrangements, and payroll for her staff and interns, and ordering stuff to keep the farm going, and neighbor's needs, and community goings on, and her family. And she believes that she is doing exactly the right thing. And maybe she is, in the large scheme of things.

Unfortunately, in the large scheme of things, I am being walked on. I am not learning what I came to learn, and am being overworked and underpaid. This is perhaps okay . . . maybe I don't need to be properly compensated for the things I do . . . I never have been, and neither have the talented people I know. After all, I am young and single and have no responsibilities, and everything I need. What is wrong with being walked on by a person of such strong belief in what she does? Maybe I'll pick up more things here. Maybe Margie will come out from the office and I will learn more under her care.

This will probably not happen . . . she's caught in a cycle she began years ago, and the world began when it no longer bore fruits without toil and many humans found they did not like that toil. Yet, I have hope, if not for receiving the education I came for, but for character development and clear-sightedness for what I am worth. That is the blessing I refer to. I can feel a whole community out there . . . a cloud of witnesses to my cause sort of crackling in the South Florida air. A call from a friend, a suggestion of a good book, and word of encouragement, an appreciation for who I am, and a conversation about the things that matter most. Parents who raised and love me. A potentially great summer learning about salmon fishing in Alaska. Friends who are willing to join me in these things, friends who invite me into these worlds. God's small voice speaking to me about faith, and patience, and love, through the words of scripture, through the pushing up of plant sprouts, and the ripening of tomatoes. The world is not fair, and that I can always count on, until it all changes in the twinkling of an eye.

One of the first things I learned about Margie's sales philosophy is that it is wrong to undervalue your products. This means there are no discounts and sales, just to get things to move off the shelves. This works to her advantage. However, if I confronted her about the value of her labor force, she would perhaps see the squew. She might see where she is held up not by the value of her product, but by the mercy of a bunch of suckers. In the next few weeks I will be making the decision whether or not to let Margie know that I have undervalued my greatest product: my labor. I may be letting her know that I have long since completed everything and anything valuable in her "internship program" and I am willing to stay the season and work, but the farm will have to compensate me fairly with an hourly minimum wage. Or, I will leave things as they are, for the ease of not changing anything, like getting my room and board. This would perpetuate the current situation, but would it make a difference, one way or another, in the large scheme of things? Pray for wisdom.