Our service on April 17, 2016 was entitled “Roots Hold Me Close: Honoring the Land and its Riches” celebrating Earth Day, and led by Chuck Fenton, Becca White, and Dave and Sue Taylor, with special guest speakers Stephen Leslie and Kerry Gewalt from Cedar Mountain Farm at Cobb Hill.

The Patience of the Heron, by Stephen Leslie

This past summer as the growing season began to wind down and I made my daily walk out onto the pastures to move temporary fence for our herd of milking cows, I noted a great blue heron frequenting the grazing paddocks. I had often observed herons flying overhead with their long stick legs dangling down, a bird as big as pterodactyl, at once impossibly ungainly and graceful as the Wright Brother’s first bi-plane. Presumably they were winging their way from one wetland to another. This was the first time I had observed one stalking through the fields. I had always thought herons were wading birds and made their living hunting in the shallows for arthropods, minnows and amphibians. Yet here was this majestic bird working the fields of the upland pastures, stately in its fine slate blue plumage, slow to the point of motionless, yet possessing lightning-quick reflexes for a sudden stab of the beak at prey. Every time I saw the heron I would stand transfixed—the trance dance of the great bird was like watching a ballet dancer, a martial artist, and a dinosaur with feathers—all rolled into one. What came to mind as I meditated on the ways of the heron was one word; “Patience”.

At home I looked up the great blue heron and discovered that this voracious bird does not limit its diet to aquatic species. While it eats mostly fish, and other river, pond and lake creatures (such as frogs, crayfish, salamanders, turtles, and snakes), it also eats insects, small mammals, and even other birds. It has been known to stalk voles and gophers in fields, and to capture small water birds at edges of wetlands. What I learned is that the great blue heron is not only an adept hunter but because of its variable diet it is also a highly adaptable bird.

As farmers contending with the erratic weather patterns of the Northeastern part of the country—exacerbated now by the wild swings of climate change—we see how in each season some crops do well and others suffer according to the year to year variables in the weather. We also note how certain weeds, pests and diseases flourish or are diminished according to whether it is a predominantly wet, dry, warm or cold growing season. Because of the breadth of its hunting skills and varied diet the great blue heron is able to make short term adaptations to these variables in the weather. As farmers we would do well to observe the patient and skillful means of this amazing bird.

Whether it be the practice of primitive survival skills or the most advanced arts and sciences of the modern era, the mastery of any serious human endeavor requires patience. Farm life also demands great patience and an ability to adapt to variable circumstances, from changes in the weather to ups and downs in the market place. There is seldom any instant gratification on the farm. We plant seeds in a heated propagation tunnel in March. Weeks later we pot the plants on to larger containers. When the soil warms up enough we transplant them out to the field. Next we hoe, cultivate, weed, water, and fend off pests. Until finally at the end of the growing season the leaf, stalk, fruit or flower is ready for harvest—and the cycle begins again. When one of our cows has a calf, we milk her, feed her, care for her every need. After a couple of months she is bred back—and the cycle begins again. Our mare has a foal. We raise the foal and treat it with kind authority. Step by step we introduce it to training over the course of four or five years, until at last the foal is full grown and ready to take its place as a work horse on the farm—and the cycle begins again.

This way of life helps us tap into the long view and gain some perspective on the expanded time frame in which the perpetual dance of evolutionary forces unfold. Consider for a moment the rock cycle. Geophysicists estimate that it takes 600 million years for a particle of rock to go full cycle from red hot lave spewed out of the guts of the planet, through all the permutations of rock; from the highest mountain top to sediment in the deepest channels of the sea—all the while exposed to the relentless grinding, freezing, thawing work of the elements—before that particle is “eaten” again at one of the major rifts where the living earth subsumes its own matter back into its incandescent core.

The interesting thing about participating in these cycles, and perhaps the most important, is that the farmer is also carved and shaped in body, mind, and spirit by the very act of farming. At its best, the practice of natural farming is a pathway to the heart. In our daily attention to all the little details of the mini-ecosystem we call “the farm” there is engendered within us a nurturing spirit. Gradually there awakens within us a certain knowledge that our highest calling as human beings is to do our best to try and treat all beings with loving kindness. It is easy to think that the opposite of love is hate. But in practice the opposite of love is war. The opposite of good farming is also war—war on nature. We need to recognize that at a fundamental level any war between humans is also war upon the living earth. When viewed in this light, it is unconscionable that the mainstream media outlets do not devote equal time reporting on the environmental destruction wreaked by war as they do to the terrible cost in human lives and property. In the 21st century practicing good farming is a way to find peace within ourselves and to bring peace into this world.

It has been estimated that industrial agriculture contributes at least 40% of the greenhouse gases triggering climate change. Industrial agriculture can be understood as a kind of warfare against nature because it requires a toxic armory of synthetic pesticides, herbicides, chemical fertilizers, and it indulges in intensive water use, builds inhumane animal factories, exploits cheap immigrant labor, and promotes large-scale transport, storage and distribution of its “goods”. The principle objective of factory farming is to maximize production to maximize profits. The true costs of this extractive production system are not internalized or reflected in the price of the abundant cheap food available in First World supermarkets. Industrial agriculture transforms biodiverse landscapes into mono-cultural plantations and displaces the small-scale regenerative agricultural practices that have sustained rural communities and healthy ecosystems for thousands of years. The social, ecological and climate debt accruing to this agricultural system of mass-destruction is deferred to future generations, who will be left with a planet stripped of its regenerative capacity and resilience. Yet its advocates and lobbyists call for ever more land, technology and investment to feed the growing population, in spite of the fact that the industrial world currently wastes enough food to feed all the hungry.

There is extensive evidence that a small-scale agriculture which regenerates healthy soils and ecosystems is more resilient to climate instability and can produce more food now and for generations to come. Right now, small farmers are still providing 70% of the world’s food. The majority of these small farmers still rely on draft animal power to till their fields and to generate home-grown fertilizer. Locally produced food is not only healthier for people and the planet, it also provides meaningful livelihoods and decentralizes control of the food system, thus contributing to authentic food security that is not dependent on the “development strategies and initiatives” of multi-national corporations.

The International Panel on Climate Change (IPCC—operating under the auspices of the United Nations) has estimated that for every 220 lbs. (100 kg) of nitrogen fertilizer applied to the soil, 2 lbs. (one kg) ends up in the atmosphere as nitrous oxide (N2O), a gas that is 300 times more potent than CO2 as a greenhouse gas and is the world’s most significant ozone-depleting substance. In 2014, this was equivalent to the average annual emissions of 72 million cars driven in the United States—about a third of current the US fleet of cars and trucks.(-) The wholesale use of chemical fertilizers impoverishes our soils, depleting them of organic matter and of resilience in the face of flood or drought.

How do we inspire one another to greater participation in cycles of life that lead to health, peace, and true progress? In the parlance of paleoarcheology our human capacity for cooperation is referred to as “shared intentionality”. This is the defining trait that allowed our particular brand of early hominid emergent on the plains of East Africa to endure and succeed through periods of rapid climate change while our less “hyper-social” relatives faltered. Somehow we must build the momentum for a shared intentionality that places all our collaborative creativity, innovations, and technical adaptations at the service of a new ecological metric where our actions are measured by whether or not they foster all of the life on this miraculous planet we call home. One of the ways we can do this is by restoring sustainable farming to a central place of importance as the fundamental building block of any successful human society.

The woman and men who manage family farms to gain their livelihood have to be good managers—smart business people. Government subsidies to agriculture rarely reach the pockets of those farming 100 acres or less—in the US the top 10 percent of farms collect 75 percent of farm subsidies, while the bottom 62 percent do not receive any.(-) Yet in their hearts these small farmers understand that their land is something sacred and alive. The poetry of place and the universality of the particular infuse their daily vision. Where others see the common their eyes behold an ever changing tapestry of wonder and beauty. They understand that transitioning from industrial agriculture, a huge contributor to global warming, to organic and regenerative practices offers the best, and perhaps our only, hope for averting a global warming disaster. By their very vocation they embody a message of hope.

Those who spend a lifetime working with horses can tell you that relying on horses to earn your daily bread will change you—forever. If there is one single trait the successful teamster develops it is patience.  Farming with horses is not just about designing the most efficient food production systems. Those who farm this way are engaged in relationship. At its best, this relational quality can further enhance the qualities that have made us most human; qualities such as trust, loyalty, and empathy. When you see draft horses worked on farms that honor ecological principles you are giving witness to a living sign of hope—hope for a future where agriculture once again becomes the central endeavor of human civilization—an agriculture that goes beyond principles of sustainability that merely try to preserve resources and embraces an approach that seeks to restore and rebuild diverse habitats while growing food for humans and livestock—an agriculture that burns less carbon and builds more soil. With the help of draft animals we can create a truly regenerative agriculture and reclaim our place within the fabric of life.

As I meditate on the message of the great blue heron it occurs to me that, even in a time of global environmental crisis, we need the patience of the heron—and we all need to think and act more like farmers. The very best way to sequester carbon and establish food security is to promote agro-ecological farming practices among every society around the globe. If every individual human being, and every village, town, municipality and city on this planet were dedicated to creating more topsoil through the promotion of sustainable agriculture we could sequester all the carbon we need to heal the environment, provide meaningful employment and feed all the earth’s people.

Stephen Leslie,
Cedar Mountain Farm
April 17, 2016