Searching for bulk meat? Find whole animals and ready-to-order bundles here.

What lessons have we learned on the farm? Here's a few of the best ones.

written by

Michelle Sroka

posted on

March 31, 2022

What do you remember from your high school biology class?

I'll start. Admittedly, not much! But I do remember a chart illustrating both photosynthesis and plant cell functions. I studied it, and studied it, and studied it, and I could not make sense of it. What was chlorophyll? What was a chloroplast? Why did any of this matter?

And then, when I started seeds a few years ago, it clicked. All of those charts and diagrams that I couldn't figure out...made sense when I learned to actually grow something. And I thought: Why couldn't they have just taught it that way?

I imagine many of you have stories like that. Maybe you can't remember why you ever found certain concepts or tasks so difficult. Or maybe you've tried to educate your children differently, so that they don't feel that same confusion.

Within my day job as a college instructor, there's lots of research discussing this idea - of learning by doing. But you probably don't need peer-reviewed research and statistics to show you the merit of this. For most of us, we figure this out through our life experiences.

It's certainly been that way on the farm. In fact, many of the things we "know", we learned by doing things wrong the first time.

How did we learn the right time to put our broiler chickens out in the pasture? Well, we learned it the hard way, by putting them outside too early. One year, we got fooled by that mid-March heat wave that always comes along, and tempts everyone to think that spring is finally here.

Of course, as many of you know, that heat wave is often followed by a severe cold front. So that particular year, we found ourselves outside, in freezing temperatures, with hail raining down and howling winds, strapping on tarps and trying to weigh down the tractors in the field. And so we learned that it's best to wait out the storms and frosts of March.

Or there was the first time our pigs got out of the fence, in the summer of 2020. Everyone had warned us - you don't want to be chasing pigs through the woods! - and so I panicked. I did chase those two pigs, round and round the outside of the fence, through the blackberry thorns, until I finally stopped to consider that chasing the pigs was going to be a losing, bloody battle.

So what did I do? I got a bucket of food. And I sat, and waited. And I learned that pigs will cautiously come back, and let you ease them right back in, if you just stay quiet and wait.

I've been thinking about this often as we start another growing season. The difficulty of learning by doing is that it often involves making mistakes. We learn by doing something wrong first.

And yet this is a difficult reality to face. Many of you, like us, have jobs where making mistakes can mean the loss of life. It's a fine line to walk. And my personality type is one where I want to shrink from the risk. Maybe, if there's a chance I'll do it wrong, it's better not to do it at all.

It's been a process to work through those feelings. I've nursed my fair share of weak chicks in the brooder, only to feel helpless at their deaths. Those of you who have grown up or been around farms know that death is constant. It's a good teacher, but it doesn't make facing it any easier.

And yet, we learn to lean in, and find out a little bit more, and try better. Because learning by doing isn't just about the disappointments or mistakes. It's also about the joy that comes from seeing animals and land thrive when you've learned to care for them well.

It's an exciting time on the farm. We've got new pigs in the woods. We've got our first batch of broiler birds in the pasture. We're looking forward to everything that we'll learn by doing this year.

What lessons have you learned? What do you know now that you had to learn by doing? I'd love to hear from you.


All the best,

Michelle

Reflections

Farm Stories

More from the blog

Can we care about animals - and still raise them for food?

I probably spend the most time with the pigs on our farm. Part of this is practical: since pigs can’t sweat, we spray them down twice a day to help them wallow in the mud and stay cool.  But part of it is emotional, too. I enjoy being around the pigs. When there’s a lot on my mind, or I’ve spent too much time on the computer and need to get outside, wandering over to that week’s pig paddock is one of the ways I can clear my mind.  Pigs are highly emotive and responsive. When I spray them down with the hose, they like to sit back on their haunches, prick back their ears, and snap playfully at the water as it showers down on them. And then joyfully roll around in the mud afterward, of course.  But they’re responsive to humans in general, too. They are naturally curious and, in the case of our heritage breed Red Wattles, gentle. They’ll come up and sniff you, rub their mud-streaked bellies over you, and let you scratch their ears.  And maybe this is the part where you start to wonder: But aren’t you raising them for food?  Why would you want an emotional connection to an animal that you are raising for food?  I understand where this question is coming from. I was a vegetarian for nearly a decade because I didn’t like the thought of killing animals, especially within the framework of our industrial food system.  But actually, it isn’t a problem or moral quandary for me. Yes, we grow fond of and attached to our animals, including our pigs.  Yes, we still send them to the butcher or process them on our farm for food. And yes, this still makes sense to me.  I would gently suggest that the idea that we shouldn’t have any emotional connection to our food - that we can only eat meat that comes from animals we withhold our emotions or affection from - is a sign of our disconnection to the way food is grown.  That is, after all, one of the premises of industrial agriculture. Designate animals with one sole purpose - “becoming food” - and then shut them away in buildings, cramped quarters, or far away from humans who might interact with them beyond the farmer.  And the farmer, too, should be as disconnected as possible. After all, this is an efficient machine.  The problem, from a regenerative perspective, is that growing food is never just about growing food. Food is the gift you receive at the end of your work, but it’s the work itself - and the consequences of the work beyond the food - that is the point.  The work, on our farm, is caring for the land. That means working alongside animals to nurture native plants, clear forest areas to make existing trees healthier, and create habitats for birds, pollinators, and wildlife.  And that means becoming attentive and thoughtful - to animals and to the land. Watching, learning, and yes, developing bonds with the habitats you’re nurturing and the animals that are helping you do so.  Is it sad to load up animals and take them to the butcher at the end of the season? Yes, it often can be. But I don’t feel guilty about it. I know that we’ve given them the best life possible, and that we’ve partnered with them to leave our farm better than we found it each year.  And if that doesn’t make sense, that’s okay. I’m not saying that everyone has to agree with me. I’d simply like to advocate for a way of farming and consuming meat that includes this experience - one of affection and bonding between animals and humans.  After all, this is one of the many ways we try to do things differently on our farm. We don’t want to just provide you with food that meets your standards - non-GMO, no vaccines, no antibiotics, grass-fed and pasture-raised.  We also want to help you reconnect with that food. And part of that is knowing the animals, hearing stories about them, and yes, maybe even having an emotional connection with them, despite the end goal of providing meat to you.