“Remember when Saoirse got stuck in that tree?”  Ula’s side nearly splits with laughter recalling that day: her big sister’s hubris as she scaled the giant ash, her embarrassment when she had to call for help.

We are alone at the home, standing in front of the mighty ash, the tree that wrapped my daughters’ childhood in her branches.  It taught them to climb, solve problems, face failure, take risks, and keep trying.

The ash is now dead.  It has been dead for a few years, dropping limbs on our car, in the compost, in the yard…threatening to drop limbs on us.  

I didn’t want to make the call to have it taken down.  I argued to Bob that the children weren’t ready to let go of her.  

I wasn’t ready to let go of her.  

“When’re you gonna let me take down that tree?”  Will asked from the espresso bar the last Saturday in February.  I only gave him a shrug then.

That ash was resplendent when we moved here.  Bob and I would sit in front of our house and gaze up at her as we dreamed our big dreams…

That our family farm would make a comeback … 

That humans would learn to live peaceably on this earth …

That we would some day earn a fair wage for the food we produced.

Through countless summers and falls, I’d come out to my front step in the pre-dawn hours, bundled in sweaters and blankets to gaze at the stars beyond her leaves, and catching glimpses of fairies in her branches.  And there I’d whisper my daily prayer: That all of humanity would come to understand that the soil, the water, the sunlight and the air are sacred, and do everything in our power to ensure their vitality in perpetuity.

Will was supposed to leave for the National Guard last month.  Four hours before his flight they postponed his deployment due to Covid-19.  Now he might be leaving in two weeks.  Or two months.  Hard to say.  He’s got some time to take that tree down.  And he doesn’t know when he’ll be able to get back to it.  So today is the day I say goodbye to our Mighty Ash.

I touch my lips to my fingers, and my fingers to it’s trunk. 

And I go inside to pay bills  while Ula prepares for her online class.  Chainsaws scream outside my window as Will and his helper start removing her limbs.

That’s when a friend forwards the article to me…Another story about the closing of the slaughterhouses out west, about farmers euthanizing pigs, about the ironic twist of fate of wasted food and hunger.  The industrial food system is failing.

Should I be excited?  This is the big brother that has overshadowed my family’s livelihood since before I was born.  This is that behemoth that Bob and I dreamed of toppling with our ideals when that Ash tree was still vibrant and sturdy.

I can’t remain at my desk.  I go to my window and watch as each limb falls to the ground.  

I think about all those dreams and prayers whispered beside her trunk.

And I realize that, in the calamity of this pandemic, we are closer to those dreams than ever before.

Carbon emissions are down.

We small farmers are moving the food to the people.

For the first time in my life, no one questions the prices we charge.

Letters of gratitude for our food arrive in my email each morning. 

But in all that praying, I didn’t ask for this human suffering.  I didn’t ask for these sacred animals, these bearers of sustenance, to be euthanized and laid to waste.

I didn’t understand there would be a ripple effect….That the closure of the slaughter houses out west would result on pressure being put on our own local small-scale butchers, who are suddenly completely booked up and no longer able to provide services to us small farmers who have been their bread and butter.  And in the absence of their services we face down our own season’s production:  six head of cattle, 18 pigs, 40 lambs — The cattle still grazing, the lambs newly born, the piglets not yet born…And we are told already that there will be no one to process them.  And if we process them ourselves, we are in violation of codes and laws we’ve ardently adhered to, but which do little more than guarantee the dominance of an industrial food system that is failing the people: 

An animal must be killed under federal inspection, but may be cut under state inspection if it is to be sold by the farmer by retail cuts to the consumer; An animal must be killed under federal inspection and cut into retail cuts under federal inspection, if it is to be sold by a third party to the consumer, even if the farm’s name is on the label…Under no circumstances can an animal be killed under state inspection and cut under state inspection and then sold as retail cuts to the consumer. It’s as if the feds are the only governing body capable of ensuring proper handling of livestock and processing facilities.  (And if that’s the case, how did those plants get into so much trouble out west?)

These laws make it hard for small farmers to find processors for their meat.  They make the processing extremely expensive.  An industrial slaughterhouse could process 20,000 pigs in a day and meet all the federal requirements.  My local butcher could process six, and has to pay for all the same oversight.  

I hated that industrial system.  I hated what it did to the people who worked in it.  I hated how it treated the animals.  I hated what it did to the land.  I hated how it misled the public into believing their food was cheap, safe and secure.

These are the last thoughts in my mind as Will stands back on the far side of the field with the straps attached to the tree wound around his fingers.  The trunk of the mighty ash has been nearly sawed through.  With a tug, this single man pulls down an enormous tree.  It crashes to the ground and my breath catches and my eyes fill with tears.

The tree has fallen.  

And with it, my childish innocence about my own wishes and dreams.  

I wait until Will and his helper go home, then go stand in the yard.  

Sunlight beams down everywhere.  

And in this new light, I am forced to re-examine the prayers I made in the tree’s shadow.

I wanted this.

But I didn’t want it this way.  I wanted a slow dawning of the need for change.  I wanted for our government to recognize the unfairness of its laws and the fragility of it’s food system, and to then unleash the small farmers of the nation to grow food and serve the people unfettered by bureaucratic restrictions.  I wanted the people to embrace the small farmer out of choice.  I wanted the industrial food system to whither into obsolescence as the workers peacefully migrated to healthier, happier vocations.  

In the words of John F. Kennedy, “Those who make peaceful revolution impossible will make violent revolution inevitable.”  

The violence may not look like war, but the senseless killing, the waste and the human suffering are still there.

We are faced now with a problem that the relentless quest for money has wrought, but that the power of money cannot solve. The industrial food system was about maximizing profit: economies of scale that disregard the soil, the animals, the workers, all in service to the dollar.

But the small farm is about quality of life: nourishing family, land and community so that the system may abundantly provide.

This is why the workers in the slaughterhouses are falling sick.

This is why the small farmers are still getting food to the people.

The new light in the wake of this falling tree is glaring.  It’s frightening.  

I don’t know how we’re going to process those six head of cattle and 18 pigs and 40 lambs.  But we will find a way.

And whether I understood it or not, this is the reality of my whispered prayers.  It’s time to bravely face this new light and grow.

 

QUICK NOTE:

I need to schedule a short break from this podcast.  My newest book, Give Hope, Feed Love was purchased by BenBella books last month, and I need to whip the manuscript into shape before I turn it over to my editor.  It’s very hard for me to maintain my creative focus on these weekly writings while also working on a manuscript, so this will be the last episode/blog post for a few weeks until I’m caught up.  I don’t like taking time away while we’re working through this pandemic together, but I know this book is going to be important as we work toward our recovery on the other side.  It talks about healing the world through community-centered entrepreneurship, living independently, working with family, understanding finances and wealth in harmony with the planet, and maintaining balance while juggling multiple businesses, kids, parents and a passion for the good life (and being lazy).   I deeply believe these are the things we need to learn if we’re going to rebuild a sustainable world during our recovery phase, so I want to get these pages finished, and then send them as far as possible into the wide world.  So thanks for holding tight ’til I get back.  I know some of you have written with questions for me to explore here.  Feel free to send more.  I’ll be tackling them upon my return.   See you in a few weeks! — sh