I planned for a slow methodical start. I’d be home for a few hours before my first class. But what was I thinking? It’s me and my life, so we started with a bang on the busiest day of the busiest week of my school year (I work in public ed, for those of you who don’t know.) An anxiety-riddled weekend led up to this. Maybe I was nervous about the apprenticeship. Maybe a touch of PMS. Maybe drowning in the to-do’s Maybe a shoe was going to drop. I have that dreadful feeling whenever I’m about to start something or go somewhere: what if something happens and I can’t? I don’t think it’s ever happened that way, so I would love to know where that comes from, this fear of being held back.

My dad had a toothache all weekend and his cheek looked a little swollen when I went over there, so early Monday morning I made an appointment with the dentist for later in the day. They squeezed him in, and he did indeed need to get that sucker extracted. We bickered about it of course and he didn’t want to go through with it. That took about 15 minutes. I accused him of not believing in science. He didn’t like that. Finally, he came around because he could see I was getting upset. I had to be in class at 7 pm. I had thirty minutes to wolf down dinner after picking up his prescriptions and dropping my parents off at their house. I settled for Taco Bell. TACO BELL. Right before my class on regenerative small farm agriculture. We contain multitudes.

I wrote a whole dealio about being in the hospital that I was supposed to send out before this as a “welcome to the newsletter” of sorts. Stupid idea in hindsight. It was long, painfully reflective, and downright depressing and I’m going to trash it. I realized the other night that I needed to write it for myself to revisit that low point when my desire to get back into farming was sowed, but that was it. I’ll talk about that saga in bits during this learning experience for sure, but I don’t need to completely relive it. I want this newsletter to be “in the moment” as opposed to reside in that past. Be here now.

Within seconds of class starting, Patrick, our lead instructor, clapped his hands together and said, “You’re all farmers.” I started crying of course. In that draft newsletter about being in the hospital, I talked about how that felt like the worst kind of culminating event. Ram Dass said of all moments in our lives — “This is it. Your whole life led to this moment. This is it! If this isn’t it, there isn’t any." That’s true of the joyous moments as well, and the feeling builds as you get older, which is why I think it’s important to do more and more of what we want to do as we get older, rather than what we think we should do. Want and should must converge so we don’t constantly feel like our lives are culminating in failure. Years of hoping and trying to redesign my working life, even being seriously ill that time, willed me into that room Monday night. It was a great culmination, my soul was jubilant, and so I cried.

I hope my new friend sitting next to me didn’t notice, and if she did, she doesn’t already think I’m totally nuts. I doubt it. She seems so nice. Guys! I made a new friend with a fellow front row dork! She drove in all the way from LA. That’s an hour and twenty minutes. Bless her heart. When people show up to stuff in Southern California, it truly shows extreme commitment. I’m about 10 minutes away from the old North Corona Land Company Office, which is where our classes are held on Monday and Wednesday nights.

I didn’t share this before, but my family owns a small farm property up the street from where I live. My dad bought it for a song during the recession, and we did a good job for a while maintaining the avocado, citrus, and moringa trees my dad and a ragtag crew of guys planted. But the pandemic threw a wrench into things. My dad’s ranch hand Felipe moved out of state to be closer to his daughter. The guys all dispersed for various reasons, and I have been in my own dumb little world these past few years and have failed to make it a priority. I’ve hated myself for this for years and Monday night brought that self-loathing all back.

I try to remind myself that a lot happened between 2018 and now that kept me from the farm, that would be hard for anyone to dive right in. The family dynamics that partly motivated the sale of the business being one example. I needed to find an identity outside of working for the family. I also needed to heal and recover. I thought about all of this on my short drive home and how I need to forgive myself for waiting. Also, I’m here now, and if lthe other night felt rather perfect, then that means it needed to happen this way.

Our first class was an introduction to the program, its people, and core tenets. Patrick is one of those effortlessly profound teachers. He just runs through the material, but then drops these gems like — “Every farmer is your ally, and this is your place.” He’s like that teacher who knows how terrified you are on the first day of 9th grade, and he shows up for you with the right energy and words that get you through every other class period. Something Patrick said over and over again was — “We will do anything to make sure you succeed.” Said it with great conviction and sincerity in a way you just don’t hear often. There were about 50 people in the room from all walks of life and regions of SoCal — The IE, OC, LA, and SD. The program is entirely free and anyone can sign up at any time. I’ve never done anything with zero barriers to entry like this. EAT! even offers graduates a plot of land to farm free of charge. What!!! If you have any interest in learning about small-scale farming and are in the area, please join! It’s not too late.

Here’s some of what we went over and my main takeaways:

• The focus of this program is Soil, Seeds, and Sunshine. We’ll take a look at other popular growing systems like aquaponics and hydroponics, but we live in a part of the world where we have the “three Ss” in abundance and small farming does not have to complicated.

• Out of the three Ss, we’ll spend a huge amount of time on SOIL. I’m very excited about this because I love dirt and I learned a lot about dark, wet, loamy soil from my dad. In the 90s we would drive out to a dairy farm in Ontario with one of his guys and they’d fill up his Ford truck bed with the stinkiest most delightful manure that they’d dig into with six gallon buckets and spread all over the backyard. It stank for days, but eventually it would settle into this deep ammonia-like earthy smell that I love. Mom would complain for a couple of days, but was ultimately game because she knew it meant a bounty for her to cook up. I have a vintage Soil Science book I’m excited to share photocopies of with my classmates. Many vintage small farming books in our possession via Dad. I’ll devote a newsletter to leafing through these treasures.

• I panicked when I saw “Animal Integrated” because I don’t want to raise serious animals or kill anything on my future small farm. At least I don’t think I do. We’re leaving room for Swati to evolve and grow, okay? But I was relieved when Patrick said that Animal Integration pertains to three things: livestock, beneficial wildlife, and manure. If you have 2/3 on your farm, you’re good to go and it’ll be a healthy operation. I can do that!

• I need to research and learn more about “On the Urban Edge.” Patrick said it was a land management concept that he had trouble wrapping his head around at first. He thought it was just what it sounded like — small farming near cities. But it’s a much more dynamic consideration. How is poor urban planning and urban sprawl encroaching upon farmland, but also making local markets more accessible to small growers? How do you think creatively and find farm-friendly microclimates wherever you are, whether you’re nestled in skyscrapers or working sidewalk strips in DTLA. What trees are around you, what is the landscape or weather like, and how is it changing with more concrete? How can small farms and development thoughtfully coexist? Here’s a resource I’m exploring to learn more: The Peri-Urban Agriculture Network: Farming on the Urban Edge Docuseries

• Some numbers that made me rethink my life choices in favor of farming: the direct-to-consumer small farmer makes 80 cents on the dollar in Southern California. If you’re on a half-acre, that’s $70K per year. 🤯

• We’ll devote roughly a month to each of these core components of the program. Something Patrick said verbatim: “We really want you to succeed with as little financial investment as necessary. That is where the small farm business incubator program comes in. We place you on a quarter acre somewhere to start and operate your own small farm.” Again, 🤯.

• We also spent some time talking about Direct Marketing and farmers markets. The EAT! center is actually setting up a mercantile shop for us to sell what we’re going to grow later in the program, but in order to graduate from the program, we have to sell at the weekly market occasionally and connect with customers. I’m super excited about this because I love customer-facing stuff and chatting it up with people about food. I already have a ton of ideas for recipe cards and other side-projects.

• EAT! also has various tool and resource libraries connected to all of these modules. They even have a free tractor service to come till your property, you just have to schedule it.

The most uplifting part of the lesson on Monday night was our talk about Southern California and how it really is the best place in the country for small farmers because you can grow 12 months out of the year and there are great markets pretty much everywhere you go. It’s a complicated state with problems to be sure, but the state’s leadership is doing more to support small farmers, especially after the Trump administration defunded several sustainable ag grant programs.

“There is no better time, and no better place.”

I’m just where I need to be, and I’m not going anywhere.

Stuff I’m thinking about…

• What does one wear on the farm? I need to reconsider my wardrobe, get some manure-forward shoes, and demote some jeans.

• I need to write these in one sitting. Class meets twice a week, so I’m thinking I get my thoughts out on Mon/Wed nights right after and then polish up and send out on Sundays. Give me grace as I figure this out. 🙏🏽

• It’s so much easier to write when it’s about something and not yourself.