An Education

By far the most striking emotional experience of my apprenticeship thus far has revolved around the learning I am doing on a daily basis. I am constantly aware of how incompetent I am in all farm-related, practical, hands-on. It's a very vulnerable position to be in, to begin each new task from square one, especially when our teachers, the farmers here, are guys who are around my age. Fortunately, they are the most patient and humble of teachers, gently but deliberately offering us opportunities to grow and making us feel safe and comfortable to make mistakes.

Our "professors" giving a harvest training

Even more humbling was learning from our volunteer last week, Mira, a sixteen year-old who stayed with us during her spring break from an Environmental and Social Justice-themed semester program at a school nearby. Mira grew up on a homestead in North Carolina, and was homeschooled until last semester, when she decided to spend the remaining two years of high school at various semester-long programs around the country. Not only will she graduate with a fairly in-depth education in Environmental and Social Justice, Politics and Government (from last semester's program in DC), and urban history and culture (from next semester in New York City) she's also impressively skilled in all things homesteading: carpentry, animal raising, breadmaking, wool spinning, knitting, and welding, to name a few. I want to be like Mira when I grow up.

Admittedly, I was pretty intimidated at first by this sixteen year-old girl wonder. I already felt green enough, having to confront my ineptitude with power tools, plant propagation, and plant and pest identification, and wondering frequently, "What have I learned in the past twenty-eight years?" Now here was this girl, twelve years my junior, who did it all with ease; she was giving the farmers lessons on carpentry and metal working. After a few days of wide-eyed disbelief, I realized that she could teach me a lot, if I just got let go of the fact that she's a high school kid.

Mira, my sixteen year-old hero*

So I got over it. I apprenticed myself to her as she was designing pulley systems for the egg-collection doors in the mobile chicken coop we were building. She'd give me a small task, like screwing in an eye-hook, and half the time I'd still need her help, or she'd gently correct the work I'd done, explaining why it'd be better to do it this way instead of that. I spent the afternoon learning how to bang metal wire into hooks and securely attach pulleys and latches and cables. And then I learned how to whittle a handle. And then she gave me a breadmaking lesson. And then she taught me a knitting stitch I'd been trying to figure out.

Mira and me, showing off our work*

Working with Mira really drove home the fact that I am in control of my education here. I will gain a lot of skills and knowledge no matter what, but to get the most out of my time here will require me to surrender myself to the feelings of discomfort and vulnerability that go along with learning. I'm trying to be patient with myself as I fumble around awkwardly with new tools and new tasks. I'm recognizing that it's okay not to know for sure how to do something before you do it. In fact, sometimes you can only learn by just going for it, accepting that it might not work out perfectly, but when it doesn't, that just means you'll know how to do it better next time.

The other day my friend Kevin came to visit from San Francisco. He was the first visitor I'd had, and it was really great to take him on a tour of the farm. There was so much to share with him, and I realized, while describing plant propagation in the greenhouse, that I knew what I was talking about! These words--this language--was coming out of my mouth that, up until a month ago, I didn't know at all. We've only just scratched the surface, but the knowledge I've gained in just a month is truly awesome. It's so exciting to think of what's to come during the next seven months.

Learning about crop planning in our Thursday afternoon class

The launch of the chicken tractor

Another spectacular sunset

* These photos were taken by the lovely and photographically-gifted Cristina Martinez-Canton

March at the Ranch

Farm Sweet Home

A little over a week ago, I bade farewell to San Francisco and my generous friend Meg, who had hosted me for a yoga-filled four days in that great little city, and set off North for the unknown. My new home, American River Ranch, in Rancho Cordova, awaited me at the end of a journey that included three trains and a pick-up truck, but took just around three hours.

What I found at the other end of the trip is just about the best new home and job I could ask for. American River Ranch is a forty-acre farm with about five acres in vegetable production. It’s in a blue-collar suburb of Sacramento, and is nestled between a residential neighborhood, the sports fields of a local park, and a twenty-five mile-long bike path, which runs along the American River into Sacramento, fifteen miles west, and Folsom, ten miles to the East.

I live here with three other apprentices, with whom I share a common kitchen, bathroom, and living space, in an old field hand bunkhouse next to which our 10’ by 10’ canvas tents are set on platforms. Four other staff--the second-year apprentice, the Farmer/Educator (our supervisor), one of the youth job corps leaders, and the assistant farm manager--share a duplex ranch house two hundred feet away, and just between is the farm manager’s cabin. The organization’s main offices are in a house here on the property, too, so there’s a good-sized group of fifteen to twenty of us here most days.

We work from 8am-5pm (7am starting next week), with an hour break for lunch (which is cooked for us and which we eat together around a long table outside in front of the office), and every day so far, besides setting gopher traps in the morning, our work has been different. The four of us are equally excited to be learning how to graft fruit trees, dig garden beds, harvest and sort oranges and grapefruit (Oh, California!!), and build a mobile chicken coop, and spend our off-hours marveling to each other about what a great life we’ve got.

Our “teachers” are four young farmers, between one and four years older than me. They are very smart, laid back yet efficient, and very patient, humble, and kind. They explain clearly and quickly, then hand the reins over to us, making it clear they are available to clarify and correct. It is humbling to be so green and exposed before these experienced peers, yet they make it as comfortable as could be expected.

I’m still in the honeymoon period, for sure, (“for sure” is a favorite phrase of my new Californian friends) but I’m breathing it in deeply. With the sun making a moving masterpiece of the landscape each day, I can’t imagine the post-honeymoon could be so bad.