Borscht and Biscuits for Dinner

 Simple vegetarian borscht, with some gluten-free "cheesy" herb biscuits.

Thoughts on The Biggest Little Farm

The Biggest Little Farm, as described on its website, "chronicles the eight-year quest of John and Molly Chester as they trade city living for 200 acres of barren farmland and a dream to harvest in harmony with nature. Through dogged perseverance and embracing the opportunity provided by nature's conflicts, the Chesters unlock and uncover a biodiverse design for living that exists far beyond their farm, its seasons, and our wildest imagination. Featuring breathtaking cinematography, captivating animals, and an urgent message to heed Mother Nature’s call, THE BIGGEST LITTLE FARM provides us all a vital blueprint for better living and a healthier planet."

This film has been brought to my attention on several occasions since its release in 2019, sometimes by social media algorithms assuming it would be up my alley, and at other times by excited explorers who are getting involved with an intentional permaculture community on a similarly sized chunk of land. At first blush the film piqued my interest. Since sustainable agriculture is a life goal for my family, and a lot of people were finding inspiration from this movie, it seemed like something we should watch and decide for ourselves. So Caera, Kate, and I gave it go.

*sigh*

You've got to believe me that I want to love movies like this. It's about living off the land, it's about intentionally moving away from the environmental harms of conventional factory farming, it features permaculture design, and there's lots of stunning cinematography. In a way it reminded me of another film I saw recently called My Octopus Teacher, in which Craig Foster, a white filmmaker in South Africa, documents his time with an octopus every day for a year. It's a breathtakingly beautiful film, and like the couple featured on The Biggest Little Farm, I imagine these folks had at least some genuinely good intentions for the movies they created. Even giving them that benefit of the doubt, I've got some major issues with them, as you've probably guessed by now. Part of my exasperation comes from my concern that so-called "documentaries" like these are becoming more popular, and they're getting overwhelmingly positive reviews.

Okay, time for a little sidebar. Take a moment to do a mental exercise the next time you watch a documentary, particularly an autobiographical documentary. Zoom out from the screen's perspective during each scene and try to visualize the cameraperson (which most likely includes a whole crew of people). You know that they're there, just as you know there's someone editing these videoclips and adding music and voiceovers. That visualization is a useful reality check on situations that are presented as real, genuine moments, but the very nature of them being filmed (including scripts, multiple takes, editing choices, etc.) undermines their authenticity. For me, this zooming out is a useful exercise in helping to distinguish between more honest documentaries and ego vanity projects.

The Biggest Little Farm has a cute (I guess?) framing device. John and Molly Chester live in an apartment in the city and have a dog whose barking allegedly necessitates their moving to the country... onto a 200-acre farm... and not knowing anything about farming. Even if we're to take them at their word, that they were going to be evicted because of a noise complaint and the dog just knew they needed to move to a better place (yes, really), that's a pretty damn big leap. Right from the beginning, there's this weak set up with the dog being the catalyst that gets them moving on their dream of living on a farm, and it comes off as contrived, overblown tension (along with the opening foreshadowing that a terrifying wildfire will come later to wreck their whole operation, but despite the big build up, nothing actually happens to them). The truth is that the Chesters already had comfortable careers and privilege, and right from the start they try to paint themselves as struggling against the odds, choosing to do the hard, righteous thing to save their poor dog and heal the planet. Again, I don't doubt these charming white folks have good intentions, but the self-congratulatory way they present themselves is suspect from the start. There are countless struggling farmers, especially BIPOC farmers, who have worked their whole lives to make ends meet by growing food, and despite that wisdom and experience and grit, they will never have the opportunity to achieve even a fraction of the stability and success the Chesters do because they lack privilege in a capitalistic system rigged against them.

From there the audience is taken on a skillfully curated version of their years-long process of rehabilitating the soil and building the farm, whose operation includes an impressive variety of livestock, fruits, and vegetables. They rely heavily on both the heartwarming images of adorable farm animals and the faux tension of the brutality of nature to pull at the audience's heartstrings. It's moving imagery, and it taps into the (what I find to be frustrating and manipulative) psychological phenomenon where people get more emotionally connected to cute animals than they do to the suffering of people, or to the actual logistics of creating a farm like this. It distracted from the increasingly urgent curiosity I had as the film went on about the people who made this farm function. The film creators give screen time to Alan York, the eccentric white permaculture consultant on their team, but otherwise barely acknowledge the tremendous amount of labor -- especially from Hispanic workers and interns -- that went into making their dream a reality. We catch a glimpse of these workers from time to time, but we do not hear their perspective, we do not know how many people work there, we do not know how their labor is compensated, and we don't actually know what their living and working conditions are like. That is massively important.

The other glaringly problematic issue that ruins the film for me is the complete absence of any financial information. Outside of the movie, people have asked the Chesters to explain how they funded such an enormous undertaking, and they refuse to give any details. I'm going to guess making a propaganda movie about the farm had something to do with it, you know, since making movies is literally what John Chester does for a living. 

Furthermore, the film is riddled with faux-suspenseful scenes and pseudo-enlightened navel gazing that grated on my nerves. These aren't candid glimpses into the pains and triumphs of livestock struggling to survive or give birth or solve the farm's problems. When you "zoom out" and see a heartfelt scene being filmed by the crew, it dampens the sincerity of the moment. All of these scenes are choices. Is an enlightened moment really that meaningful when it's being filmed like this? For instance, in the opening scene of the film, the audience is greeted with foreboding sounds and images of the wildfires that we're led to believe might endanger the farm. We see Molly Chester's worried face as she listens to the bad news on the radio, there's smoke in the air and workers scrambling around the farm, while sirens and tense music play in the background. That's why I find it useful to zoom out. If this is real footage of the actual event, isn't it a little strange to be pulling out a camera for these perfectly framed shots in the midst of an emergency? And if it's not actual footage, that means it's being completely recreated after the fact for dramatic effect. And dramatic effect is all it ends up being, because later on we're shown that the fire doesn't reach their farm, so...? I just feel like I'm being toyed with, and this kind of technique happens over and over and over again throughout the film. 

You're so negative, Jami! But what about inspiration? Doesn't that count for something? Doesn't it bring awareness to the ideals of healing the planet with better farming practices? Doesn't it show how people can get in touch with their deeper selves through an intentional connection to the earth? This couple seems to gain something celestially spiritual out of their permaculture project -- couldn't it be argued that they're teachers helping other struggling souls find meaning? 

*sigh* Yes and no. 

Here's the thing. If you're going to make an authentic documentary to teach and inspire and subvert the status quo, you need to be radically transparent about the gigantic variables that can make or break a massive undertaking like this. It's true -- people are waking up and realizing how detrimental our food systems and city/suburban ways of life are, and they're yearning for something different, more meaningful, more real. This is a good thing. However, a lot of folks are using their privilege to bypass the personal and societal analysis that should be happening when they decide to transcend convention and move to the country. I think this is partly why so many permaculture farms and intentional communities end up being heavily made up of white people. If you can't be honest and humble enough to mention your resources and luck, how can you claim that you are making the world a better place? Even though it's not immediately obvious, it continues the individualist, capitalistic, exploitation model. To me, a film like this just feels like a vanity project, and the inspiration it's supposedly trying to create is undermined by how utterly unrealistic it is. 

I like what reviewer Jared Mobarak had to say:

Nowhere in this film is a thesis of how the Chesters’ model can be used on a grander scale. All it shows is that what they accomplish is possible with the privilege to undertake what most people never could. Is it inspiring? Sure. But it’s also a flash in the pan scenario wherein the big dramatic moments of true conflict are averted. Do they ever run out of money? Not on-screen if so. Did Mother Nature swoop down and destroy everything they built for no reason other than bad luck and climate change? Nope. Chester even admits every problem faced is born from the system York taught them. They’re creative in their ways of rectifying each, but there’s always an alternative approach they reject.

So why not talk about why they have the room to think? Why not mention the bubble in which they exist that lends the morality to be holistic when others simply can’t because shooting a coyote dead could mean whether they eat that month? I blame the lens of letting John Chester control his narrative. He flippantly says at one point that a neighbor would have no issue shooting a predator as though he’s better than stooping to such villainy when the reality is more that he doesn’t have to in order to stay afloat. He’s an award-winning director and cameraman and Molly is a successful flood blogger—this is a dream rather than last chance. It’s dismissive to say, but this is their hobby.

And Joel Mayward at Cinamayward:

For all its focus on being organic and authentic, there is something distinctly artificial and performative about the film’s polished aesthetic and narrative. It’s like a Thomas Kinkade painting as brought to you by the Hallmark Channel, but with a West Coast granola vibe.

Despite the Chesters’ strong advocacy for examining and knowing one’s culture and ecosystem, the film is mostly absent of examining the larger ecosystem the Chesters are a part of, namely California and the USA. Apart from encroaching wildfires which tragically destroyed so many California homes, this is the Chesters’ wonderful self-made, self-edited world, and we’ve been given the honor of catching a glimpse of their vision. Indeed, The Biggest Little Farm is slick marketing, and the Chesters’ sell themselves well. Based on the huge amounts of renovations and equipment–not to mention people to work their farm for them–they must have found significant investors to afford such a project, and probably are hoping this film helps spread the gospel of Apricot Lane Farms.

Finally, I'll end with a great review of My Octopus Teacher, which brilliantly and entertainingly sums up why I'm getting tired of vanity projects disguised as documentaries:

Letting the CPH Go

Last month I let my Certified Professional Horticulturist certification expire. That may seem like an odd thing to announce, but since I've mentioned "CPH" as one of my credentials, it's only fair to announce I'm no longer a part of the program. 

So why did I do that? The short answer is that I'm not currently working at a retail nursery, or self-employed full-time as a landscaper, or doing other jobs where the certification would be relevant. It costs money to participate in these organizations, and right now it doesn't make sense to belong to it. I've renewed this cert for years, and even when I was working at a retail nursery that was supposed to give me a $0.50 raise once I got my CPH, it didn't happen. I'm not saying the only reason to be a member should be for personal gain, but at some point I do need to consider the practical reasons. And it's not like I can't go through the whole process again if I feel like it's worth it. Times are rough right now, so I've got to be frugal and pragmatic about this.

Digging deeper, I find myself wanting to speak about a few things that make me uncomfortable about organizations like the WSNLA (Washington State Nursery & Landscape Association), which provides the certification. It's a nuanced take, and I feel a little bad for even going here... but who am I kidding? No one actually reads this blog (who even blogs these days, right?). There's a lot that I like about this organization and certification. The individual members are friendly folks who love plants and want to help make this industry more, well, professional. They network closely with horticulture programs and offer scholarships every year, and I'm very grateful to have received a scholarship during one school quarter. It's useful for the public to have a reliable network of nursery and landscape professionals to help them with their gardening endeavors. In my experience, the general public tends to look down on people who work with plants, assuming that most are unskilled laborers, and that assumption also has a real effect on workers' paychecks. It takes education, experience, and knowledge to understand and apply horticultural principles, and there need to be ways to demonstrate this expertise. In principle, I'm in agreement.

However, how does that play out in reality? With predictably the same results as a lot of professional organizations. There are continuing education requirements every year (something that I again agree with in principle -- one always needs to keep up with their industry), and WSNLA meetings (which cost money to attend) count toward those credits. I often attended these meetings, and the uncomfortable demographic representation was always immediately obvious. Besides the current students, it was largely made up of white, heteronormative, upper-class business owners. Even though WSNLA's own events counted as continuing education, they rarely provided any educational content; it had more of an elite country club feel than anything else. I sometimes attended a meeting after a day of working at a nursery or doing landscaping, and I'd be sweaty and covered in mud, but I'd walk through the door and be surrounded by people who were dressed to the nines like they were at a business conference. Just a tad awkward. It was clear that the group, despite the principles I wish it had, was mostly for successful business owners. There's a large group of people missing from those meetings who have skills and experience, but aren't at the top of the hierarchy. And that hierarchy felt palpable. 

I'm sorry if that sounds harsh. The problems that I've outlined here are problems that exist within the whole industry, and more broadly with the entire concept of professionalism. I'm trying to look at this organization (and all groups I belong to) and see why I felt so much dissonance, and that means looking at it through a decolonization lens. I'm also distancing myself from a lot of the status quo ways of changing landscapes into ridiculous displays of conspicuous consumption, whether it's hyper-controlled beds of ornamental plants or a blanket of turf grass. These kinds of accounts inevitably become a part of one's routine, and I'm getting particular about the kinds of work I'm willing to do. My focus has turned toward sustainable agriculture, food justice, and habitat restoration, along with undoing the harm caused by colonization and hierarchical power structures. "CPH" just holds smaller and smaller relevance to those goals as the years go by. 

My associate's degree in environmental horticulture covers all the concepts that are tested in the CPH exam. I continue my own education in the books I read, the events I attend, the news I consume, and the projects I bring to fruition. When I'm ready for certifications that will help my family and community, I'll pursue them with intentionality. But for now I'm taking a more critical look at the entire concepts of hierarchies, capitalism, institutional racism, gatekeeping in academia, certifications (be it something like CPH, or even a label like "USDA certified organic"), and how they intersect. It feels best to step away from this particular cert, and if it hurts some future job prospect, I accept that consequence.

(To be clear, I don't want to make anyone feel bad for being a part of WSNLA or putting in the time and money to become a CPH. It's a difficult industry to make a living in, and these certifications do show one's expertise to the future employers and to the public. Like I said, it's a nuanced take.)

Soupy Time of Year

 Dinner tonight is a veggie lemongrass coconut soup. Turned out pretty well.

Ecological Loss

I find myself having (perhaps out-of-proportion?) feelings of sadness for a mini-forest of trees that recently got taken down on a property I pass during my daily walks. I have absolutely no idea what the intent of the destruction is, and it wouldn't be useful to speculate. The scene is just really shocking, and this part of the street feels so barren without its old Doug-firs and Western red cedars. This is a lot of habitat loss, and it happened so suddenly. I wish I had pictures of what it looked like before.

More Fall Plantings

I'm definitely leaning into the retail plant therapy right now. Garden Treasures Nursery has some great finds, including big espalier fruit trees, the 'Koto no Ito' Japanese maple I've wanted for ages, and a variegated osmanthus! The fruit trees are huge, and Kate and I both hurt our backs trying to install them. And the osmanthus just excites me because I don't normally see the variegated one at nurseries (this is the one that blooms in the fall, and has a strong fragrance).

New Activity in the Front Yard

 I'm installing a new, mostly ornamental bed on the north side of the property, just to the east of the driveway. The featured specimen tree of this bed is a Japanese maple, 'Koto no Ito' ("harp strings"), and it's surrounded by a hydrangea, a couple rhododendrons, a couple leucothoe, some blueberries, and some native huckleberries, among other things. It's a combination of purgatory plants that badly need a home and some recent acquisitions. I don't have a strict design in mind -- just going with the flow and seeing what happens.

Kate and I also did some much-needed maintenance on the existing beds.

Gorgeous Snag is a Garden Treasure

 For years I've driven west on WA-530 and admired this snag from a distance. Serendipitously, when Kate and I were checking out the Garden Treasures nursery, we found out that the snag is located on their farm! 

Bioplastic is Not the Answer

The data doesn't look good. The best solution is still reduction... in a society that makes it hopelessly difficult. Still, we can't go on believing this greenwashing bullshit.

Bioplastic Just as Toxic as Traditional Plastic, Study Finds

“Bio-based and biodegradable plastic are not any safer than other plastics,” Lisa Zimmermann, aquatic ecotoxicology PhD student at the Goethe University in Frankfurt and lead author of the study, said in a statement. 

Previous research have also shown that bioplastics marketed as compostable or biodegradable often don’t actually break down unless they’re sent to specific facilities, and bioplastics made of organic material are most often made of agricultural crops, which compete with food production for land use. Plus, agriculture is a major source of greenhouse gas emissions. 

John Hocevar, Greenpeace USA’s oceans campaign director, said the new research adds more weight to his concerns about the utility of bioplastics. 

“Bioplastics, like all plastics, commonly contain chemicals that are largely unregulated, even though many are known to cause cancer, reproductive health problems, or other serious diseases. Before introducing new materials, the chemicals involved should be disclosed, tested, and regulated,” said Hocevar, who wasn’t involved in the new study. 

(Read the full article here.)

Mandala Garden Update

Progress on the mandala garden continues. Kate and I have finished the whole outline of the rock wall, and just need to work on building up the height and filling in gaps. One wheelbarrow at a time, we're slowly filling the beds with a mixture of compost and sand and random organic matter.

Whew! We've come a long way since we first started this project. I've learned a lot through trial and error about dry-stacking rocks, and I feel like I'm finally starting to get the hang of it now that we're almost done. C'est la vie.

I Tried Amanita Muscaria for the First Time

...and they were delicious! Kate and I harvested some from a nearby schoolyard, and carefully prepared them by boiling twice (throwing out the water each time), and then sautéing. Surprisingly, these mushrooms still have a good texture and nutty flavor, even after all the boiling. 

To be clear -- because I know some folks will be concerned -- yes, Amanita muscaria, also known as the fly agaric, is classified as poisonous and/or hallucinogenic. The main psychoactive substances in this mushroom are the neurotoxins ibotenic acid and muscimol. However, paraboiling and draining out the water will break down the psychoactive and toxic components. It's worth mentioning that this method doesn't work for other, truly poisonous mushrooms, like Amanita phalloides (death cap mushroom), which contain deadly amatoxins that cannot be cooked out of the mushroom.

We successfully prepared these mushrooms and did not experience any ill or psychoactive effects (and from what I hear, the mind-altering effects are rather unpleasant anyway). If you do find these in the wild and want to give them a try, do your research and make sure you have a positive ID, which tends to be pretty easy with their red caps and white spots.

Flirting with Pawpaws

I have a weird obsession with pawpaws. I think I first heard about this plant years ago from a coworker at Gray Barn Nursery, and it's never completely left my mind. Asimina triloba is a deciduous fruit tree that seems like it would belong in the tropics, but it's actually native to eastern North America. When I was told about the flavor of this fruit -- a creamy blend of banana, mango, and pineapple -- I was hooked. That sounds (almost unbelievably) delicious. I also feel cheated because I spent the first two decades of my life in the dang Midwest and no one told me about this tree!

Years later, I still haven't tasted one, though I do still fantasize about it. It's tricky, because pawpaws are fruits that need to be eaten at the perfect ripeness, and they don't stay fresh for very long. I've always wanted to try growing them, but I haven't sought them out (yet). However, I've been thinking about it again after seeing pawpaws in the news:

The Promise of Pawpaw

Issues like climate change, economic inequity and access to food have brought more attention to this creamy fruit and its resilient tree.

The New York Times

Pawpaws are the northernmost member of the mostly tropical custard apple family, kin to soursops, cherimoyas, sugar apples and ylang-ylangs. Nutritionally these sweet, rich fruits are a lot like bananas — high in vitamins, minerals and energy-supplying calories. (They are not related to the papaya, even though papaya is sometimes called pawpaw.)

“Everybody in the botanical world, everybody in the environmental world — they’re all familiar with the pawpaw,” said Matthew Dain, 28, of the New York Restoration Project, which helps manage green spaces and gardens in New York City.

The group has recently increased its focus on pawpaws, distributing trees and spring seed-starting kits. Pawpaw trees stay small enough to fit a couple into small city plots — at least two varieties are needed for cross-pollination — and can withstand the already prevalent effects of climate change, like warmer temperatures or more pests and diseases.

(Read the full article here.)

Vote. Now. Don't Delay.

 

Apple Cinnamon Pastries

Once of my landscape maintenance accounts has two apple trees that produced so much fruit. I got to take some home, and tonight Kate and I turned them into a filling for cinnamon pastries. The leftover filling worked quite well with a scoop of vanilla ice cream.

And here's a bonus picture of Pangur Dubh sleeping in the most delightful pose:

Tree-Planting on Orca Recovery Day

This weekend the Clallam Conservation District and the Lower Elwha Klallam Tribe requested volunteers to plant 2,000 conifer trees during Orca Recovery Day in the former Lake Aldwell reservoir, and Kate and I made the trek out to the peninsula to help.

What is Orca Recovery Day?

With the population of Southern Resident Orca Whales at a 30-year low, the need for large scale restoration efforts has become crucial. Accustomed to being boots on the ground organizations, Washington conservation districts saw the need to mobilize people into action and created Orca Recovery Day, a day of action that has brought people throughout the Pacific Northwest together to restore habitat, reduce stormwater pollution, and provide education. 

On October 17, 2020 conservation districts around the state, along with dozens of non-profit and agency partners, are coming together for the third annual Orca Recovery Day to provide opportunities for people to take action on this critical issue. 

Locally, Clallam Conservation District and the Lower Elwha Klallam Tribe are teaming up to support orca recovery by focusing restoration efforts on the Elwha River. The removal of the Lower Elwha Dam in 2011 and the upper Glines Canyon Dam in 2014 gave unrestricted passage to Chinook salmon, as well as other fish species, to make their way through the Elwha River system. The removal of the dams left roughly 600 acres of former lakebeds to return to native forests for the freed up Elwha River to flow through. Harsh growing conditions, such as no top soil, have made establishing conifer trees a challenge in the old lakebeds. Restoration plantings, such as those being planned for Orca Recovery Day, are crucial to help accelerate restoration of fish habitat in the Elwha River for both salmon and orca recovery.

We checked in, picked up our two bags of trees, and hiked to the designated area, where we planted a total of 40 conifers (mix of Doug firs and Western red cedars). Here's hoping they all succeed!

Existing vegetation

New planting

I hope they make it! We plan to return in another year or so to see how they're doing.

Salmon remains -- an encouraging sight! Photo credit: Kate

Tall Silhouette

This one is huge! (And my crap photo doesn't do it justice.) I'm glad the park service has kept it. Lots of good perching spots. Observed on October 13, 2020.

Magnificent Snag on the Peninsula

 Observed on October 17, 2020.

More Potato Shenanigans for Dinner

 Tonight's menu included potatoes au gratin, creamy potato mushroom soup, and sautéed inky caps.

10/14 Harvest

 Haha, keep those volunteer potatoes coming! I love it!

A Gardening First: Sunchokes

 Earlier this year, Kate scored a few little sunchoke plants from her local buy-nothing group. We planted them in the west bed by the house, and throughout the summer we've been impressed by their vegetative growth. It was exciting to see what these plants would do, since neither of us had grown them before. We were hoping for flowers, but never got any. They just kept growing taller and taller. And I had no idea what I was going to find when it came time to harvest.

These things are wild! These oddly shaped root vegetables are in the sunflower family, and they have an earthy, nutty flavor that's reminiscent of sunflower seeds. We sliced them up and roasted them, and wow! I've got a new favorite root vegetable. I can't wait to make this a staple in my diet. Apparently they're low calorie, very nutritious, and high in fiber. Sounds like a win to me.

Autumn Is The Best Time For Wonderful, Rotting Things - Snaggy Saturdays

 From a weekend hike near Mount Rainier with Kate. Observed October 9 - 10, 2020.