I love telling strangers that I am a farmer. It's the quickest way to mess with any number of assumptions people have about the world. First, this is not an occupation that people know anything about despite the fact that EVERYONE depends on agriculture. Second, when I say, "farmer" what gender generally comes to mind? Last week I went to buy lights for my new barn classroom at Menard's. While one of the clerks was sorting through pallets in the back to find my boxes of special order, the other guy searched around for a way to make small talk. We got onto the subject of where I lived. "I have a farm," I said. I could see his brain come to a full stop, probably taking in my leather coat, jewelery, and nicely done hair (I was headed to a date after running errands). "And do you farm for yourself, or farm for a living?" He asked carefully. "For a living," I said, hiding a smile. I could see him reassessing me completely, and trying to mask his world getting turned upside down. We then discussed the weather and the apple year. "I admire farmers," said the clerk, in the tone of someone caught being racist who says, attempting to save face, I admire _those_ people. I told him about my farm in my best business voice until the boxes of lights arrived.
Welcome to my occasional blog! I am passionate about creative place-making, teaching, sustainable food systems, open-pollinated seeds, rural innovation, and local living economies. A native of Chicago, I worked on inner city social justice and environmental issues before following my dreams north. In my spare moments I read feminist science fiction, cook really good food for friends, ferment wine, paint creatively, play on Lake Superior, and spend a lot of time in the woods.