Why Small Organic Farms Are Radical (and Beautiful)

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From ELIOT COLEMAN
Four Season Farm

The radical idea behind by organic agriculture is a change in focus.

[This post was adapted from an address given at the recent Eco-Farm conference in California.]

When a friend told me of two of the proposed discussion topics for a major agricultural conference — “What is so radical about radical agriculture?” and “Is small the only beautiful?” — I told him that I thought both questions had the same answer. Let me see if I can explain.

The radical idea behind organic agriculture is a change in focus. The new focus is on the quality of the crops grown and their suitability for human nutrition. That is a change from the more common focus on growing as much quantity as possible and using whatever chemical techniques contribute to increasing that quantity.

None of the non-chemical techniques associated with organic farming are radical or new. Compost, crop rotations, green manures and so forth are age-old agricultural practices. What is radical is the belief that these time-proven “natural” techniques produce food that is more nourishing for people and livestock than food grown with chemicals. What is radical is successfully pursuing that “unscientific” belief against the counter-propaganda and huge commercial power of the agrochemical industry.

Hen Song

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From GENE LOGSDON

For many years I could not understand why the sound of singing hens soothed me so much. Hen song is hardly melodic, being composed of two or three notes at most. It is plaintive in fact, a far cry from the bubbling warble of a bluebird or the soaring lilt of a meadowlark. Hen song is plainsong, equivalent to the way any of us might hum our way through the humble chores of daily life. It is quite different from the excited cackles that Mrs. Hen voices to announce that she has just laid an egg or been surprised by a cat. Nor is there any hint in it of her sharp warning cry when a hawk flies over. Hen song only keeps from slipping into humdrum because if often comes pouring forth from Mrs. Hen in a burst of what sounds like pure exultation at just being alive on a warm spring day and knowing that on her very next scratching in the soil, she is going to turn up a juicy worm to eat. You never hear hen song when the temperature is near zero and the north wind is blowing.

Hen song has even influenced human song on occasion. The Cackle Sisters, Carolyn and Mary Jane DeZurick, were quite popular fifty years ago. In their singing, mostly yodeling, they often imitated the music of the barnyard, especially hen song. Hence their stage name. Strangely, or perhaps not so strangely, their music enjoyed a bit of resurgence about five years ago. Interestingly I heard them on National Public Radio, hardly a country music station.

How To Ruin Organic Farming

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From GENE LOGSDON

This is supposed to be good news. Our dear government has finally recognized that organic farmers are at least as deserving of bribery as all those sinful chemical farmers. After all, industrial agriculture gets $17.2 billion dollars in direct payments every year so surely a little bit of money ought also to go to holy, humble, horse and hoe husbandmen who also help keep the world from starvation. In fact, organic farmers now have their very own farm subsidy program under the Environmental Quality Incentive Program to the tune of $50 million bucks. Ain’t that wonderful?

I will go as far out on the end of my bucket loader as I can and bet even money that this is the beginning of the end of organic farming. Government learned a long time ago that farmers, like everyone else, can be persuaded to do what the government wants done by handing out money. The result? Since government subsidy programs got serious about 70 years ago, the number of commercial farmers has plummeted from over 12 million to something less that one million. That’s how helpful the payments have been. Then along came small organic farmers who although unsubsidized for the most part, began doubling and tripling in number with each passing year. Whoa. Can’t have that, for heaven’s sake.