California Dirt-Poor Farmer: I’m Not Fazed by Poverty
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Novella Carpenter is from Oakland, CA and is doing what many people dream of (and many other people fear)—she’s an urban farmer with hardly any money, struggling to stay financially afloat. She’s got pigs that eat only leftover food scraps, goats that cost her a bundle at the vet, bees, chickens, rabbits, and enough vegetables to sustain her and some underground restaurants that buy her stuff under the table. At times, she has no more than six bucks in her bank account. Talk about a financial nightmare. So why do some people dream of a life like this, while they’re safe in cubicles staring at their beachscape computer desktop wallpaper? Because it’s about following a dream and working the land. Oh, and being happy. What a concept, huh?
Carpenter writes on urban farming, and weathering the financial storm:
If it’s such a money pit, why do I try to be a farmer at all? I suppose it runs in my blood, as does poverty. I grew up poor with my back-to-the-land parents in Idaho. On my birth certificate, my father listed “rancher” as his profession, though we never had more than 20 head of cattle. We lived in a trailer and I remember many meals of Spam. But after the ranch got going, we ended up eating very well on the farm’s bounty: wild venison, freshly picked strawberries and milk straight from the cow. After my parents divorced, my sister and I went to live with my mom in rural Washington State. A single mom raising us on the low income of a schoolteacher meant times were tough — we had enough to eat but couldn’t afford name brand clothing or any extras. My sister and I both got jobs before we were 14. When I was in high school, I always wanted to be a doctor: it meant money and status. Later, on scholarship at the University of Washington, I realized that I wanted to be a writer instead. My mom took it with grim humor: “What pays worse than a teacher?” she laughed. “A journalist.”
She was right, I’ve never made over $25,000 a year working in publishing and then doing free-lance writing. Then I started farming and any extra money has gone toward that. It’s like I’m drawn to poverty because it’s a comfortable place for me. I’ll admit to feeling a strange glee when I look at my bank balance and it’s at $6. There’s a tightrope-walking feeling about it. Something awful but thrilling at the same time. I would never know what to do if I actually had money. I don’t save well, and spend money frivolously. When I got my first advance for my book, I bought two goats. Maybe I knew that they would literally eat up my income, that they would become like dependent children, always needing something. The rest of the money, I put in the stock market — at the highest point it had been in the Dow’s history. You all know how that’s going.
I’ve never been a poor person who is able to hide the fact of my poverty, either. I somehow always manage to stain my clothes, have a bad haircut, and drive cars that get more and more dilapidated. I never learned how to take care of things because I’m used to them disappearing. The material world escapes me. I’m hopeful, though, like so many Americans. Hopeful that this next month is going to be much better. I even keep a running tally of things I will buy once I finally make some money (in no particular order). […]
Read more of Novella Carpenter’s piece on urban farming, from SFGate.
