The Anti-Corporate Farm

Welcome to the anti-corporate farm. It’s more of a throwback to the past than a rally against the establishment. Small farms have gone the way of the general store. What was normal 50 years ago is now a rarity. Agriculture has gone industrial. Families no longer run farms, corporations do. My friend Aron is attempting to buck that trend. There are no migrant workers, $500,000 combines or Monsanto seeds on his farm. Instead, Aron melds the wisdom of the past with the demands of the modern consumer. Organic produce has now gone industrial as well. The new buzz words are “local” and “sustainable.” Aron can provide that. He has lived on this farm since he was boy, learning first hand what it takes to work the land and keep it fertile. He knows every rock, every field, every tree and he has a vision. He hopes to bring the farm back to life. He already provides himself and his family with a plethora of healthy food, but he wants to make a living from this piece of earth. It’s a noble dream.

I came here to see Aron’s world, reconnect and lend him a hand. We met working on a small, adventure cruise ship in Southeast Alaska back in 2011. Aron was the Bosun onboard, in charge of the small boats we used to access the treasured coves, bays and temperate rainforests. He is a self taught naturalist and was dubbed the “Bear Whisperer” by many a guest for his ability to find Coastal Brown Bears on almost every outing. Aron loves bears and he loves Alaska, but he always felt the pull of the farm. After ten years working on ships, he returned to pick up where he left off and get the farm going again.

Breakfast is duck eggs with venison, coffee and homemade kombucha. The majority of what I eat and drink for the next five days was raised or grown on the farm. It is mid-morning in Deep Creek, Washington when our workday starts. The goal for the day is to thin out a group of pines on the backside of the property. We go outside to the shop to collect the tools we will need. Three chainsaws, an axe, a splitter, a shovel, fuel, a propane torch; it all feels so manly. Enough projects fill the workshop and barn to occupy several lifetimes; a flatbed farm truck here, an old tractor there. Slowly the elements destroy the equipment and slowly it is rebuilt. Only those with the most practical application are prioritized.

We load the tools into the back of a trustworthy Ford pickup that is older than me. Before we can head off to our project for the day, Aron tends to the animals. The scene behind the house reminds me of Charlotte’s Web. Spider webs hang in the corners, black eyes watching from the darkness. Chickens peck around the barn yard, protected by an ever-vigilant rooster. I learn to distinguish one of the calls he makes to his hens, warning them that my dog has been spotted. Hearing this, they all come darting back to him from all corners of the yard. Ducks waddle around a pen shaded by a reclaimed satellite dish. An independent Highland Cow named Gloria stands at the fence and stares at us through her shaggy mop of hair. Aron hopes that she is pregnant, but he won’t be sure for another few weeks. A prideful goose patrols the fence line, looking for a way through. Two goats with wild eyes wait for their morning feed, taking second and third in line behind Gloria.

The back grove, as I call it, has been in need of thinning for as long as Aron remembers. It’s a fireball waiting to happen. If a wildfire were to come across the fields to this small stand of trees, there would be nothing left but blackened toothpicks. Aron preps the chainsaws for action. He puts cigarette butts in his ears instead of foam plugs. Having only limited experience, I learn to use the chainsaw on the job. That comes with mistakes. He fixes the two-stroke cutting machines without complaint when I repeatedly find ways to break them.

The next few days are a mix of falling trees, oily exhaust, the whine of two stroke engines, the smell of freshly cut wood, blazing bonfires, big sky sunsets and cheap beer. They are pure, golden, productive days where I fall asleep exhausted. I dream of an anti-corporate farm of my own, growing and raising my own food. It has a romance to it. When it comes time to leave, Aron sends me away with a box loaded with goodies from the farm. They are delicious momentos from a special place that pays homage to the past and looks to the sustainable future.

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