Buying The Farm

I found my copy of Gene Logsdon’s The Contrary Farmer while in line at my local library. A quick flip through, plus a glance at the $1 withdrawn price made it a no-brainer to add to my small collection of farming books, most of which I’m getting around to slowly. Laid up earlier this week due to illness, I decided to try the first chapter or so, and wound up finishing the book in a few hours.

Logsdon highlights his contrariness in the title, so I shouldn’t have been surprised at his occasional, unpleasant asides about abortion, complaints of institutional interference, or rant on American politics, but to his credit, he offers more substance than snarl, and even manages a few moments of real beauty. His descriptive essay on meadows, in particular, was enough to transport me away from my sickbed and into a world of butterflies, tall grass and whispering winds.

Mainly, though, Logsdon offers helpful information on basic animal husbandry (the emphasis is on chickens and sheep) with tried-and-true advice from someone who has actually tackled the topics he discusses. His “contrary” suggestions are helpful to those of us starting out with little in the way of resources: He shuns expensive equipment and repeatedly warns about biting off only that which you can chew.

The writing ebbs and flows between dull and factual (the chapter on corn is particularly flat) and charmingly anecdotal. In some cases, we’re flooded with information and tips, and in others, left wanting more. I’ll forgive the inconsistency, though, as the experience was very much as if I’d accompanied the hardbitten farmer on a tour of his land. Logsdon’s realism and pragmatism are two qualities that every putative farmer needs.

One of the few things I will sorely miss when I finally leave Toronto is the marvellous Toronto Public Library. The holdings are huge, and items can be ordered online and delivered to local branches for free. Its a rare thing when the catalogue lets me down, but I went into my search for Superbia! with little hope of its availability. Imagine my surprise to have a copy delivered to me within a few days. And imagine my joy to find the book was even more inspiring than I’d anticipated.

Be careful with this book: Its enthusiasm is contagious! The authors approach a topic that is the bane of eco-warriors with a pragmatism that is sadly lacking in much of the environmental movement: While new development can be done with an eye to green building, existing suburbs are entrenched, so we might as well work with what we’ve got.

And what work can be done if we put our minds to it! The authors lay out a series of steps undertaken by a fictional neighbourhood that start with small efforts and eventually lead to an actual community. The fictional aspect does gloss over some of the real-life problems (e.g. legalities, problem neighbours, and plain old human stubbornness) that would probably add friction to a path mainly depicted here as self-lubricating, but there’s no denying it helps build excitement in the reader, and show that even small steps can lead to big strides.

The idea of community-building is intoxicating to a pragmatist such as myself. Being able to pool resources such as cars, lawnmowers, toys and tools opens up space both in one’s home and one’s wallet. Being able to pool talent opens up possibilities and creativity in one’s neighbourhood. The Utopian community depicted in the book features a fenceless backyards transformed into gardens, a shared house where rooms are let out as home offices and weekly potlucks keep the residents close, and a labour exchange so an hour of babysitting can be traded for some renovation work, web design, or whatever other goods and services can be offered.

North American suburbs have a reputation – not unfounded – for being airless, unfriendly and sterile, but the colourful, vivacious and open community depicted in the book makes me feel right at home.