James Godsil Interview for Milwaukee Renaissance
I was at the park one afternoon distributing shares with my friend Ami and her son Loki (the unofficial "LotFotLer") when this man with wild hair dropped by asking about the plant sale. Ami immediately recognized him of course (Ami knows everyone) and they started talking. Shortly thereafter he engaged Loki by telling him the story of Narcissus. Telling him the story is not a fair way to account for the presentation though. He shared it, almost passionately and with very good technique. Loki was amused and I'm sure thought fondly of this wild artist of the park as he pull away in search of plants. He was the sort of person that you know you'll see again once you've met them. Sure enough, a couple of weeks later I saw him at Beans and Barley, and reminded him of the great story, thanking him for Loki in some ways to shield myself from having to admit to enjoying the presentation. Godsil, James Godsil, is his name, and he has recently interviewed me on Milwaukee Renaissance.
Godsil. I was told that you were a local farmer with a contract with Beans and Barley to sell your produce in 2008. There have been a lot of items in the news encouraging people to "buy local." How is it that you are a farmer able to enable people at Beans and Barley to buy locally grown produce? Might you share some of this great story with us?
Huth. It's intriguing to me to be asked this question at this time, this exact day and moment. Farming, like anything that requires true spiritual grit, sheer endurance and pristine attention, is not unlike a whale-watching expedition: sometimes the water's are calm, the views magnificent, and the company both terrestrial and otherwise, perfectly enchanting. At other times, your lunch flees you, as do your wits, and that sense of calm that you wagered on the shore only seems further and further away. Over the last 24 hours I've arrived back on shore from a 2 day stint of slight mania, denial, and far fewer meals for myself and those I feed than is healthy.
Three nights ago as I sat under a tent in the Beans and Barley parking lot, feeding some of the finest folks imaginable, the tides of LotFotL Community Farm were being blasted by hail, ferocious rain, and whatever else Father Sky decided to chuck at us. I returned to the farm that evening to find 6000 lettuce heads looking like unworthy targets at a buckshot range, onion plants bowed low to the east like the most devout followers of vast religions, so into prayer they had forgotten to get up, and beet greens impersonating the grasses of Lambeau Field's frozen tundra. The seedlings of months ago, once numbers on a spreadsheet, and contents in a seed packet, were as my dramatic portions decided, dead, decimated, and vanquished by the very forces that give them life. The injustice of the situation left me feeling quite incredulous and thirsty for flight and respite, so I took the weekend to heal, to center, and to find merriment.
The lettuce and onions were planted to specifications for Beans and Barley exclusively, and were to also supplement the diets of 80 households through our CSA (community supported agriculture) program. In the lettuce's case, 2000 of these were paid for by Beans in advance of their planting. Todd (General manager of lots of things at Beans, organics in particular) and I sat down several times this winter and spring and wanted to come up with a different way for us to collaborate on our shared needs. Out of that was birthed a $2000 operational loan to me, paid back to Beans in lettuce. In addition, I laid out for Beans what the soil liked to grow, and planted based on how many votes for these crops the dollars of Beans and Barley eaters usually demand in a given week. The year before, my first in business for myself, Beans went from being a place I would occasionally frequent for brunch, to my most valuable customer and one of the strongest factors I will consider in deciding where I should ultimately settle myself and my operation.
Tonight, having visited the fields and seen onions resurrecting from their prayers, broccoli freshly domed and strong, and succulent beet roots amidst the slurry of ex-leaves, I'm reminded of how far I've travelled, how much adversity I've already overcome to get here and must continue to endure in order to put food into the homes I'm charged with this year. Justice in nature is the justice of nature, as it is, on its terms. What it gives, it too must sometimes take. To Live off the Fat of the Land (L.o.t.F.o.t.L.) is nothing more than to embrace this very simple truth.
It's often the case that you can't know where you've been until you get back home. The breakneck pace of this season of growth for myself, my staff, and these wonderful plants we live with, has until now blinded me to just how much I love this lifestyle, how badly I need and yearn for it when any part of it goes away or is threatened, and how close my dreams are. so long as they are guided by the blinding clarity of loving what I do, as it is.
