Simple Living Archive


Shannon Hayes: Leaving it Up to Them

Thursday, July 29th, 2010

This article was originally published by Yes! Magazine.

Shortly after her second birthday, we noticed that Ula (now three) was developing a wandering eye. She had difficulty seeing the pictures in her books, and flatly refused to eat with a fork. We took her to a developmental optometrist, and spent an hour in an examination. She needed glasses.Ula disagreed. The first pair, made extra-durable to survive a child’s play, had various pieces snapped off of them in less than a week. The second pair was thrown off during a hike up a dirt road. We went back and found they’d been crushed by a passing car. Subsequent pairs were snapped in half, had the ear pieces broken off, or the lenses removed. Ula then took to hiding her glasses. We found them in the perennial beds, in potted plants, tucked in my underwear drawer, dangling from a screw underneath a picnic table. Since we try not to be wasteful consumers, I’m too embarrassed to divulge the number of glasses we’ve lost or destroyed in a single year. Our optometrist has grown annoyed with us. He pronounced Ula the most non-compliant patient he’s had in a very long career working with children (We always knew she was destined to be exceptional).

I am often asked how I plan to keep my children on the farm, or at least out of the fray of our consumer culture. My answer is simple. I can’t.

It isn’t as though Ula doesn’t need the glasses. With them, she can find food with her fork, enjoy detailed illustrations, put together puzzles, and investigate garden bugs. We have spent countless hours attempting to get her to wear them, trying everything from coercion to bribery. It doesn’t matter. I am convinced Ula came into our family with the singular purpose of teaching us the meaning of free will.

That lesson has gone a long way. Because our lifestyle is deeply variant from the mainstream, I am often asked about how it will affect my children as they enter adulthood, how I plan to keep them on the farm, or at least out of the fray of our consumer culture. My answer is simple. I can’t. If I can’t make my kid wear her glasses, even when I know they are good for her, how the heck can I expect to control her choices in adulthood?

I received a beautiful letter from a veteran Radical Homemaker recently that really drives this point home. Marie (not her real name) and her husband both chose to forgo conventional careers, raising their daughters with no electrical appliances except a fridge, washing machine, lights and a radio. They’ve managed to raise their family on an almost non-existent income, making ends meet through part-time freelance work, skilled crafts, and music. Both daughters were homeschooled, and completed college through distance learning programs. Now ready to forge her own path in life, the eldest, Angelica (also not her real name) is armed with a boatload of resources. She is an accomplished musician, dancer, and craftsperson, and positively rich in her ability to live on very little. Then girl meets boy. And, much to her mother’s despair, discussions about big incomes, mortgages, and flat screen televisions ensue. The relationship progressed, and the young couple decided to move in together. Angelica began questioning the value of her unique lifestyle, and the young man urged her to “get a real job.”

balloons photo by Scarleth White
The Birthday Balloon
Somewhere in our consumer culture, we have confused material items with expressions of love: Shannon Hayes on taking back birthdays.

Fully aware that similar struggles might lie in my own children’s future, I hung on every word in Marie’s correspondence. I shared her angst in wondering what her daughter would do. One would think, from our level of concern, that Angelica was shooting heroine or breaking into houses. How funny, as Radical Homemaking parents, that the fears we hold for our children are that they should opt for the straight and narrow! But it is a genuine worry. We try to raise our children with the skills to require little from the Earth, to honor their hearts, relationships, and personal creativity. We hope that they will be able to move forward with freedom from our consumer culture, equipped with the resources to enjoy a lifestyle that honors social justice, family, community and the planet.

But as Ula has taught me, there is little we can do if our kids refuse our guidance, even if we think it is for the best. We must know in our hearts that we have lived our ideals, that we have demonstrated it is possible to live in a way that is true to our souls. The rest is up to them.

That seems to be working in Marie’s case. Just before moving in with her boyfriend, Angelica spent two weeks wrestling with his “get a real job” suggestion. Then she dumped him.

Now, if only I could get Ula to wear her glasses …


Shannon Hayes wrote this article for YES! Magazine, a national, nonprofit media organization that fuses powerful ideas with practical actions. Shannon is the author of Radical Homemakers: Reclaiming Domesticity from a Consumer Culture, The Grassfed Gourmet and The Farmer and the Grill. She is the host of grassfedcooking.com and radicalhomemakers.com. Hayes works with her family on Sap Bush Hollow Farm in Upstate New York.

A Professor Travels a Rocky Road to Find a Sustainable Life

Wednesday, July 21st, 2010

Scott Carlson is a senior reporter at The Chronicle of Higher Education, covering architecture, sustainability, and energy.

Tinmouth, Vt.—During my recent travels in the Northeast, I stopped at Solarfest, a festival where environmentally oriented people could attend seminars on sustainable farming and alternative energy, hear some famous speakers, buy hippie clothes and confrontational bumper stickers, and eat bean burgers.

I was here to meet Philip Ackerman-Leist, a professor at Green Mountain College who was giving a talk based on the subject of his new book, Up Tunket Road: The Education of a Modern Homesteader (Chelsea Green Publishing). The book, which recently got a glowing review in the Los Angeles Times, documents Mr. Ackerman-Leist’s views on the homesteading movement, along with stories about his own sometimes-difficult journey back to the land. (He and his wife lived in an old Vermont cabin without electricity or running water for seven years before he built a small, off-grid house on their acreage.)

I haven’t read the whole book, but I have read chunks of it, and they are outstanding—well-written and contemplative, with dashes of humor. In telling his story, Mr. Ackerman-Leist, who has a background both in sustainable farming and in philosophy, not only gives people a guide to homesteading but also grapples with some very big questions: What are the promises and perils of seeking a sustainable life? What is the true meaning of efficiency? What is the role of higher education in teaching sustainability and practical skills?

This is not a self-righteous book, and there seem to be no easy answers.

The following is one of the passages that Mr. Ackerman-Leist read at Solarfest—a passage that represents some of the qualities described above. It describes the day he and his wife, Erin, arrived at Green Mountain College. There, the young professor encountered an unlikely teacher, dressed in a campus-security uniform, to guide him on his quest to get back to the land. Enjoy …

Every homesteader needs a Virgil—a rooted local who can help one navigate the probability of purgatory, avoid a self-inflicted inferno (woodstove-related or not), and find the simple pleasures of the local paradise. These Virgils, guides into the geography and chronology of a place, can be found everywhere—in cities, suburbs, and small country towns, although they may be more anonymous and harder to find in well-populated areas. However, the best Virgils have a hard time remaining anonymous in smaller communities—places like Poultney, Vermont.

The Commons

Carl was the first person we had met when we pulled up to the college’s main entrance, towing a U-Haul trailer behind our pickup in May 1996. With his cigarette, slight speech impediment, and bearish belly, it was easy to wonder if we hadn’t run into a backwoods vestige of old New England, poorly disguised in an ill-fitting uniform of a college security officer—the result of questionable casting on the part of a director who had no choice but to work with the locals provided him. But anyone who thought Carl fit into any ready-made role suggesting ignorance or backwoods obliviousness was quickly disabused of that notion.

He would amble into most any social situation and usually interject just the right verbal wedge to work his way into the grain of the conversation. Sometimes he made sure folks felt the force of the wedge, but more often than not they barely noticed how he inserted himself into the dialogue. His wit and charm would soon hang in the air as thick as his ever-present trail of cigarette smoke. The occasional Korean student at the college would be particularly rattled on first encountering him, as he would shift abruptly from an American welcome to a casual greeting in Korean.

An astute observer of human character, Carl had a full repertoire of approaches—and reproaches—that he could use to deal with a spectrum of personalities and situations. Within just a few minutes of meeting him upon our initial arrival at the college, he had us divulging our hopes of homesteading, as well as of establishing a college farm on the campus.

“What do you know about this area?” The question was delivered with what I soon learned was his trademark skeptical glance, replete with a downward tilt of his head and a tightened brow.

“Not much,” I replied.

“Would you go to Wall Street and start investing with pesos?”

I must have responded with a blank look: It was my first encounter with Carl’s pedagogy, full of aphorisms and momentarily perplexing parables.

Carl courteously filled in the blank for me since it was apparently a sample question on my first test—something he would soon refuse to do. “Well, if you don’t know much about the people or the place, then how are you going to figure out what to grow in the garden, much less survive on your new homestead? You’re not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy.” His eyes sparkled, and he let out a reassuring laugh. But then he looked at me, ready for something resembling an intelligent response on my part.

“Well, I guess I’ll have to start asking questions.” I’m sure my tone exuded more naive optimism than confidence.

“Yeah, but you’ll save yourself a helluva lot of time and maybe even money by asking the right questions to the right people. In my experience, you academic types spend too much time standing in front of the mirror and asking questions of the only person you see.”

He looked at me with constricted eyebrows. “There aren’t many people around anymore who’ve got the answers to the questions you don’t even know you have yet.” His face softened a bit. “I guess I better help you find them before they all die off. Otherwise you might not survive very long in these parts.”

He looked straight at me and took a long draw on his cigarette. “I don’t know if you’re worth keeping around,” and then he smiled and pointed to Erin with the dying red tip of the cigarette. “But I like her already.” Erin blushed, but not before grinning.

This article was originally published in the Chronicle of Higher Education.

Up Tunket Road, The Education of a Modern Homesteader is available in our bookstore.

Shannon Hayes: The Real Battle is Elsewhere

Tuesday, July 6th, 2010

To author Shannon Hayes, “radical homemakers are men and women who have chosen to make family, community, social justice and the health of the planet the governing principles of their lives.”

Her book Radical Homemakers articulated this concept for the 21st century, and lately the notion has been the ground for some healthy debate. The Boston Review published an issue entitled “Mothers Who Care too Much”, centered around a piece by Nancy Hirschmann who brings up some interesting thoughts about the future of feminism in relation to the renewed popularity of mothering.

A piece by Shannon Hayes in the same issue is a response to Hirschmann:

When my daughters wake up this morning, they will make themselves a fresh breakfast of homemade yogurt, topped with blueberries we froze last summer, and drizzled with honey from their Dad’s bees. My oldest is six, and we will probably spend a few minutes reviewing her math while my three-year-old plays with the dog. If anyone rushes out the door, it will be them, chasing after each other on a quest to find the most interesting bug in the garden.

I might be one of Hirschmann’s worst-case scenarios—women who seemingly have “turned their backs on the social resources invested in them” (I hold a PhD from Cornell). And perhaps even more distressing, I am an uncertified teacher, homeschooling my children. According to Hirschmann’s argument, I am failing in my responsibility to myself and my community in my refusal to join the conventional workforce. I would argue that I am fulfilling it to the greatest extent possible.

I’m part of a growing movement across the United States, Canada, and many other industrialized countries. We are the Radical Homemakers, and we work to promote four ends: ecological sustainability, social justice, and family and community well-being. We see ourselves as building a great bridge away from our existing extractive economy—in which corporate wealth is the foundation of economic health and ravaging our earth’s resources and exploiting our international neighbors are accepted as simply the costs of doing business—and toward a life-serving economy. In a life-serving economy, the goal, as the activist economist David Korten says, is to generate a living for all, rather than a killing for a few. Our resources are sustained, our waters are kept clean, our air remains pure, and families can lead meaningful and joyful lives.

We build this bridge by resisting—as much as we can—involvement with the extractive economy (including many forms of conventional employment) and by making up for the personal financial shortfall by turning our homes from units of consumption into units of production on a local scale.

Read the whole article.

Other articles continuing the discussion:

This one is funny: Holler on Salon.com “I am a Radical Homemaking Failure”

This is a response by someone who started off amused, and ended up angry: Astyk response to Holler on ScienceBlogs: Myths of Incompetance or Just Not Made that Way”

The article by Nancy Hirschmann in the Boston Review, to which Shannon’s piece was a response:  “Mothers Who Care too Much”

Radical Homemakers is available in our bookstore.

Live Dangerously: Ten Easy Steps

Friday, July 2nd, 2010

This originally appeared in Yes! Magazine.

by Shannon Hayes

When I first released Radical Homemakers: Reclaiming Domesticity from a Consumer Culture, I was advised to make a list of “easy steps for becoming a radical homemaker” as part of my publicity outreach materials. My shoulders slumped at the very thought: Three years of research about the social, economic, and ecological significance of homemaking, and I had to reduce it to 10 easy tips? I didn’t see a to-do list as a viable route to a dramatic shift in thinking, beliefs, and behaviors. But since the objective of such a list was smoother discussion and communication of Radical Homemaking ideas with the public, I did it.

I came up with the simplest things I could imagine—like committing to hanging laundry out to dry, dedicating a portion of the lawn to a vegetable garden, making an effort to get to know neighbors to enable greater cooperation and reduce resource consumption. I would perfunctorily refer back to them when radio dialogues flagged, when interviews seemed to be getting off track, or to distract myself when an occasional wave of personal sarcasm (I do have them on occasion) threatened to jeopardize an otherwise polite discourse about the book. After about 40 media interviews, I was pretty good at rattling them off, and I began to see their power and significance beyond helping me to be polite.

Every time a person sticks a clothespin on a pair of undies, he or she is saying, “I want a better world. And I’m willing to do what it takes.”

Take hanging out the laundry as an example. At the outset, it is deceptively simple: It saves money and resources, and it’s easy. As I spoke about line-drying laundry more, however, the suggestion took on more meaning. Of course everyone would like to hang out the laundry. But many people don’t do it. They’re too busy. Thus, the commitment to hanging out the laundry represents a commitment to slowing down—it means starting to align one’s daily household activity with the rhythms of nature. In my mind, hanging out the laundry moved from being a simple chore to being an act of meditation and reflection on a deeper, more profound commitment that a person wanted to make. Thus, draping shirts and socks on a clothesline wasn’t just about getting a chore done; it represented the new, sane world so many of us are working to create. Every time a person sticks a clothespin on a pair of undies, he or she is saying, “I want a better world. And I’m willing to do what it takes.” Laundry may be a simple first step, but it ultimately leads to something bigger.

Laundry became the central theme of a talk I gave recently in an affluent community, where golf course-quality lawns are ready at a moment’s notice as the backdrop for the season’s latest fad: large screen outdoor television sets. I was speaking at a community eco-festival, where volunteers were teaching residents about the importance of composting, solar panels, buying locally, and changing light bulbs. In my session, I talked about the power of living by one’s values, the misery of excessive consumption, the importance of social change, the deep fulfillment and happiness that results from living with less and having more.

To help me drive my point home, my husband Bob armed me with a seemingly endless collection of images of fellow radical homemaker’s lives: pictures of happy kids showing off their homemade toys, families gathering for feasts, piles of tomatoes on a kitchen counter following an early fall harvest, a sink full of grapes ready for juicing, friends in their backyard gardens, smiling bike riders. At the end of my talk, I was presented with a single question from a man wearing an expensive watch: “Americans fall on a spectrum with money,” he explained, holding his hands about a foot apart from each other. “Most of the people you’re talking about fall on this end,” he said, waving one hand. “And what you’re talking about may work for them. But what about those of us on this end?” With that, he waved his other hand. “What are we supposed to do to be able to live like that?”

There were a number of snarky remarks on the end of my tongue. But this man’s eyes were earnest. Perhaps he saw something in those slides that his affluence could not buy.  Nevertheless, my sarcasm propensity meter was no longer registering on the dial. It was time to switch to the safety zone and draw from my 10 easy tips: “Grow some vegetables in your backyard. Try learning how to can,” I chirped at him. Once I re-gained my bearings, I talked about changing the world by moving toward what we love, not running away from what we fear. I talked about the power of small changes to result in a deep personal shift. I suggested he hang out the laundry.

There were no further questions. People politely thanked me for my time and left the room. One other man, who sat in the back corner, lingered. A longtime activist, he expressed his despair at the lifestyles of his neighbors. The social pressure to have a perfect lawn is huge, he explained.  For years, he’d been doing programs to encourage residents to allow parts of their lawn to go wild for habitat—an even simpler step than gardening. The majority of his efforts were unsuccessful. There was too much shame. “It’s so much easier for you,” he lamented. “You can hang out the laundry.” I gave him a quizzical look. He went on to explain local zoning codes. By law, people in his community weren’t allowed to hang clothes outside. It was trashy. It would diminish property values.

But what about home values? I felt deeply sad for his neighbors. They’d devoted their life energy in pursuit of the material affluence required to live in this particular community. At the same time, the number of people in attendance at this eco-festival suggested they truly wanted to play a role in healing the planet. Ironically, the very laws of their community—both social and written—compelled them to turn their backs on their personal values. Henry David Thoreau’s observations about the imprisonment of wealth were spot on: “The opportunities for living are diminished in proportion as what are called the ‘means’ are increased,” he wrote. That day, I saw people who cared about the Earth, who wanted a better world. But their power to act according to these concerns was limited to their purchases alone—to buying solar panels, buy local campaigns, buying new light bulbs. They could try to buy some of their beliefs. But they couldn’t live them.I suppose that is the deepest wealth in the radical homemaking lifestyle. By needing less, we are free to live our beliefs. To us, this seems ordinary. To someone else, a values-driven lifestyle might seem an extraordinary act of bravery.

We need that bravery. Now. Worrying about our planet while adhering to local zoning codes or social norms forbidding ecologically sensible behavior is a recipe for disaster. Such laws require citizens to commit an ecological injustice by using a disproportionate share of our Earth’s resources. They scream out for civil disobedience. As Thoreau reminds us, “break the law. Let your life be a counter friction to stop the machine.” Go on and live dangerously. Hang out the wash.

For those who might be curious:

10 Easy Steps for Becoming a Radical Homemaker

  • Commit to hanging your laundry out to dry.
  • Dedicate a portion of your lawn to a vegetable garden.
  • Get to know your neighbors. Cooperate to save money and resources.
  • Go to your local farmers’ market each week before you head to the
    grocery store.
  • Do some spring cleaning to identify everything in your home that you absolutely don’t need. Donate to help others save money and resources.
  • Make a commitment to start carrying your own reusable bags and use them on all your shopping trips.
  • Choose one local food item to learn how to preserve for yourself for the winter.
  • Get your family to spend more evenings at home, preferably with the TV off.
  • Cook for your family.
  • Focus on enjoying what you have and who are with. Stop fixating on what you think you may need, or how things could be better “if only.”

Shannon Hayes wrote this article for YES! Magazine, a national, nonprofit media organization that fuses powerful ideas with practical actions. Shannon is the author of Radical Homemakers: Reclaiming Domesticity from a Consumer Culture, The Grassfed Gourmet and The Farmer and the Grill. She is the host of grassfedcooking.com and radicalhomemakers.com. Hayes works with her family on Sap Bush Hollow Farm in Upstate New York.

Up Tunket Road, The Education of a Modern Homesteader

Friday, July 2nd, 2010

The image of the homesteader has long been one of stalwart self-reliance, but this is the stuff of rural legend. In fact, the freedom found by many back-to-the-landers involves intricate interdependence, and strong relationships, both human and animal.

Up Tunket Road, The Education of a Modern Homesteader, by Philip Ackerman-Leist, re-tells the story of the simple life, showing us the essential benefits of community, and sharing the foibles as well as the joys of a life off-the-grid.

In this excerpt we discover that an itchy ox can pose an interesting hazard, and learn that homesteading is a job that can endanger the fragile ego.

Chapter Six

The Simple Life: An Ecological Misnomert

Education of a Homesteader: The Rutland Herald Reviews Up Tunket Road

Monday, June 14th, 2010

Up Tunket Road was recently reviewed in the Rutland Herald:

It’s a tale that captures the unpredictable nature of life as a Vermont homesteader, but it is also part of a serious narrative about a family’s quest for a self-sufficient lifestyle and a reflection on what homesteading means in an age that is coming to grips with climate change and increasing human demands on the land.

Read the whole article here.

About the book: Up Tunket Road is the inspiring true story of a young couple who embraced the joys of simple living while also acknowledging its frustrations and complexities. Ackerman-Leist writes with humor about the inevitable foibles of setting up life off the grid—from hauling frozen laundry uphill to getting locked in the henhouse by their ox. But he also weaves an instructive narrative that contemplates the future of simple living. His is not a how-to guide, but something much richer and more important—a tale of discovery that will resonate with readers who yearn for a better, more meaningful life, whether they live in the city, country, or somewhere in between.

Learn more about Up Tunket Road in our bookstore.

Buy it on Amazon.com.

Find a Green Partner store near you.

Radical Homemaker: An Interview with Shannon Hayes

Wednesday, June 9th, 2010

Christine Escobar, founder and editor of GreenParentChicago.com, reviews Radical Homemakers: Reclaiming Domesticity from a Consumer Culture and interviews author Shannon Hayes in this article for The Huffington Post.

When you talk to people about Radical Homemaking, are they skeptical about the egalitarian nature of it? You write about an egalitarian dynamic between men and women that is one of the cornerstones of Radical Homemaking. What are your thoughts on naysayers that believe this is unrealistic given society’s entrenched views of gender roles?

Generally the naysayers aren’t directly in front of me. So far, they seem to be far removed, hapless internet bloggers who’ve read some article about the book, written by someone who hasn’t actually read the book, and are coming to conclusions about the book based on, well, as best as I can surmise, e-gossip. I think that people who come into contact with Bob and myself, or who have contact with any other true radical homemakers, or who have read the stories of the folks profiled in the book, understand that egalitarian relationships are possible. For certain, we all know of families where the balance of power is out of whack. But, I think that most American couples have come to see this as the exception, rather than the norm, unless they are committed for some reason to not believing it.

About the book:

Radical Homemakers nationwide speak about empowerment, transformation, happiness, and casting aside the pressures of a consumer culture to live in a world where money loses its power to relationships, independent thought, and creativity. If you ever considered quitting a job to plant tomatoes, read to a child, pursue creative work, can green beans and heal the planet, this is your book.

Learn more about Radical Homemakers in our bookstore.

Buy it on Amazon.com.

Find a Green Partner store near you.

Sustainable Living in the Postmodern Homestead: Up Tunket Road

Monday, May 31st, 2010

For seven years Philip Ackerman-Leist and his wife, Erin, lived without electricity or running water in an old cabin in the beautiful but remote hills of western New England. Slowly forging their own farm and homestead, they took inspiration from their experiences among the mountain farmers of the Tirolean Alps and were guided by their Vermont neighbors, who taught them about what it truly means to live sustainably in the postmodern homestead—not only to survive, but to thrive in a fragmented landscape and a fractured economy.

Read an excerpt on Scribd.

Learn more about Up Tunket Road: The Education of a Modern Homesteader in our bookstore.

Buy it on Amazon.com.

Find a Green Partner store near you.

Humans and Livestock: Is It Possible for Animals and People to Live Together Sustainably?

Wednesday, May 12th, 2010

Is it possible for them not to?

By Shannon Hayes

In February, I released a new book, Radical Homemakers: Reclaiming Domesticity from a Consumer Culture The result of three years of obsessive research, the book is something of a manifesto for a movement of Americans who believe that a household can survive - thrive, in fact - on a single income or less; they can live happily and equitably, influence social and ecological change, and minimize their reliance on a consumer culture by reviving their domestic skills and redefining what constitutes “having enough.” The people profiled in the book were single and married; with children and without; rural, urban and suburban; vegetarians and omnivores.

While the book has received a delightfully warm reception, that last description—omnivore - has raised the eyebrows of a few folks, particularly when they consider my personal and professional background. It involves a lot of meat. My family raises and processes our livestock. I have written two books about cooking sustainable meats. I maintain grassfedcooking.com to answer people’s questions about working with local livestock farms and purveyors of local meats. I’ve achieved some regional notoriety, if not for my writing, then for my artisanal sausages. Every Saturday from Mid-May through Mid-October, I can be found at a farmers’ market in the Catskill Mountains, standing beside my husband, selling my family’s meats.

Not surprising, then, that since the book’s release, a common question I have been asked regarding sustainable living is, to paraphrase: I agree with your premise that Radical Homemaking is possible and important. But, really, do you honestly think animals and people can live together sustainably?

Anyone who has ever leaned their cheek against the side of a dairy cow, breathing in her sweet scent while squeezing her milk into a pail; who has watched a crowd of spring lambs prance across pasture, punctuating their dance with spontaneous four-footed leaps; who has witnessed the amazing fertility of a manure-nourished garden, who has wiped grease off her chin after secretly feasting on cracklings before presenting a fresh roasted leg of pork to the family at Easter dinner; who has reached under a hen and found a warm fresh egg after delivering a bowl of kitchen scraps to the flock — might ask a different question: Is there any sustainable way that humans and animals could not live together?

Meat as a Community Affair

Historically, in my community, humans and livestock have been nearly inseparable. West Fulton, NY is a series of frosty hollows surrounded by forested hills and rocky, steep pasture lands. When agricultural industrialization swept through the country, our small fields and pitched slopes made machine cultivation not only problematic, but treacherous. A previous owner of our own farm was killed by a tractor rollover decades ago—a not uncommon death for earlier generations around here. But even when local farms were deemed “non-viable” decades ago by agricultural officials who saw the ground couldn’t be adapted to big technology (the eleven months of frost didn’t help), many of them stayed in production. And although most incomes were well below the poverty line, people in West Fulton could feed themselves by maintaining hand-cultivated vegetable patches and small herds of livestock. Cattle, sheep, chickens, goats and pigs were well adapted to our landscape and trying climate. And they could produce food on fields that never saw a plow.

In an era that faces fossil fuel shortages, climate change concerns, swelling population, food security problems and economic hardships, the symbiosis between animals and humans becomes even more important to understand.

Ruminants and the Environment

The consumption of meat has come under ecological scrutiny on a variety of fronts, from resource efficiency to water pollution to global warming. Livestock, particularly ruminant animals, like cattle and sheep, play a critical role in all of these current global problems. Managed improperly, as we’ve seen, they are a big part of the problem; but stewarded properly, they can be a big part of the solution.

For at least three decades, the use of these animals as a food source has been criticized by some as a ruinous misuse of cropland, because ruminants are not efficient animals to raise on grain. In animal science, the calculated ratio of the amount of grain an animal requires to gain a pound of weight is called the conversion factor. When grain is fed to fish, the conversion ratio is about 1.25 to 1; for every 1 ¼ pounds of grain product fed to a fish, there is a pound of weight gain. The conversion ratio for chicken is 2 pounds of feed per pound of gain on the bird. Pork requires 4 pounds per pound of gain. And when ruminants enter the equation, it skyrockets: estimates may vary, but generally lambs require 8 pounds of feed for a pound of weight gain, and beef requires 9 pounds of feed per pound of gain.

When assessed by this principle alone, red meat does presenta serious ecological problem. Grain production is extremely taxing on the environment, particularly when considering use of the chemical fertilizers and pesticides, soil degradation, nitrous oxide emissions, and the fossil fuel-intensive mechanized farming and transport. In this paradigm, a lot more people could be nourished with that grain if it weren’t being dumped into livestock first.

But there is a problem with relying solely on this equation to evaluate the efficacy of meat production: ruminants are not designed to eat grain. By the nature of their digestive systems, sheep and cattle thrive best on lands suited to grow only pasture. They can even convert crop waste, such as corn stalks, into food. Industrialized agriculture relies on grain-feeding, not because the animals require it (in fact, it is harmful to their health), but only because it makes cattle gain weight uniformly faster. In short, raised on properly managed pastures, ruminants don’t compete with humans for grain-producing acreage, and in turn, they supply us with bountiful nutrients, and leave the earth better for having walked upon it. Out on intensively-managed pasture, they have been shown to restore vegetative cover, increase biodiversity, and to improve soil fertility, thereby making our fields more resistant to both drought and flood. Seen from this viewpoint, grassfed ruminants are arguably the most efficient way to convert sunlight and water to quality protein.

Interestingly, one of the latest concerns about ruminant livestock production has been methane emissions. Enteric fermentation, the fermentation of forage in the rumen, is a natural part of the digestion process for ruminant animals. Because their diet is naturally high in roughage, grassfed animals will belch more than their factory-farmed counterparts (the process is unnaturally suppressed in factory farming due to a coating of slime that grain-feeding causes in the rumen). This belching has generated some negative publicity for ruminants, which is unfortunate (and incredible!), since they and their ancestors have been roaming the earth for tens of thousands of years, long before there was a methane problem. Undoubtedly, there are other sources of methane that are more serious culprits to contend with: oil, coal and gas consumption and landfills being some of the more salient. On her website eatwild.com , Jo Robinson reports on research that was conducted by Dr. Rita Schenck at the Institute for Environmental Research and Education which shows that, when we account for the carbon sequestration resulting from grazing animals (where well-managed pastures pull excess carbon from the atmosphere), even with increased enteric fermentation, there is still a net reduction in greenhouse gases. Interestingly, researchers also now suspect that the great spike in atmospheric methane concentrations in 2007 is a result of thawing permafrost in the artic . These scientists speculate that one way to slow the melting of permafrost is to re-introduce herds of herbivorous animals to the region. “Snow is like a down jacket that keeps the ground warm,” says University of Alaska-Fairbanks researcher Katey Walter, in an interview with Scientific American, “As the activity of animals compresses the snow or removes it through their foraging, the cold winter temperatures can penetrate deeper into the ground and keep the permafrost frozen.”

Pigs and Chickens: Omnivores and the Sustainable Household

While they don’t forage the same way as ruminants, omnivorous animals, like pigs and chickens, can also play a part in regaining global sustainability. Raised in concentrated factory farm settings, these animals require large amounts of grain to be processed and trucked in, that could be more efficiently fed directly to people. Kept in these horrific densities, their accumulated wastes are also a potent source of pollution. But dispersed on small farms and backyard or urban farm settings, these animals have a greater purpose. Their grain requirements are minimized because they forage and recycle human food waste and turn it into more food. The backyard pig is a common phenomenon in rural communities all over the world. Allowed controlled foraging, the pig will eat mast like fallen nuts and acorns, dropped apples, insects, tuberous weedy plants and household food scraps. In exchange, they yield meat, skin for cracklings, bones for stocks, and lard for cooking and soap making. Chickens perform similarly, if on a smaller scale. The backyard hen magically converts household food scraps into eggs. Later, when her egg-laying begins to fail, she adds sustenance to the soup pot. Both animals produce nutrient-rich manure, which then invigorate household gardens, the surplus of which (along with some protein) then goes back into the livestock. These animals help us to round out our household and local ecosystems, enabling us to constantly regenerate nutrition on a local scale without having to draw excessively on fossil fuels to provide commodity grain.

The Union of Life and Death

While I hope the above points will reassure the human omnivore eager for a pasture-raised pork chop or some free-range eggs and hash, I suspect they might ring hollow to those who are averse to the killing of animals for meat—period.

Any vegetarian who has ever challenged face to face the morality of a livestock farmer (especially one in the sustainability movement) can probably report receiving a touchy and defensive retort. This is because—contradictory as it might seem—we choose this because we like animals - not because we enjoy killing them or see slaughter as a means to a profitable end.

Sadly, those of us who make our lives farming have become a national cultural anomaly. From my own view from my family’s land, it seems that mainstream American Culture harbors incongruous ideas about life and death. The culture has a quirky tendency toward adulation of life, and abhorrence of death. When daily life is directly tied to the ebbs and flows of nature, as they are in agriculture, one cannot help but observe that life and death are forever in service to one another. We cannot have one without the other. We nurture the newborn livestock, and we process the ones that are ready for market. We harvest one crop, we plant seeds for another.

All beings, whether human or other-than-human, have an inherent right to a natural existence in the world, and each has a way to contribute to the welfare of the greater whole. Inevitably, a time will come when every life must give way to sustain balance on the earth. On the farm, there is an understanding that nothing we eat to sustain ourselves comes without the sacrifice from another living being, be it animal, plant or microorganism. Thus, we take all food, whether it is a hamburger, a pork chop, a carrot, a spoonful of yogurt or a slice of an apple, in moderation and gratitude. Nothing is eaten without an understanding of the sacred life and spirit that created the nourishment, and the ecosystem that was required to sustain it.

I understand that there are many vegetarians out there who will disagree with me. Our divergences are a necessary, important tension. Conscientious eaters long before the locavore movement, vegetarians can be thanked for helping draw attention to the ecological havoc and travesties to animal welfare that have come to define our conventional livestock production system. Their criticisms and questions have also assisted small family farms, like my own, to devise ways to improve our practices and to reflect deeply upon the nature of our work. When it comes to the livelihood professed in Radical Homemakers, the lessons taught by vegetarians have entered my own kitchen. Meat will always be a part of my life, but I believe that it should not be taken in the extreme and wasteful way our culture has defined as acceptable. We cannot produce such tremendous volumes of meat sustainably, and wasteful and nonchalant consumer habits fail to honor the sacrifice of the animals’ lives.

I understand that no amount of explanation of the hows and whys of grassfed livestock production will convince the person who is opposed to killing animals that eating meat is okay. Unless they or someone they love manifests a nutritional need that can only be met by animal proteins, they may never cross that philosophical divide. Life on my family’s farm and in my own household is informed by and is reflective of the concerns of such folks; I remain thankful that those perspectives and questions continue to come forward. But to answer the question: Can animals and humans sustainably live together? My personal vote is “yes.”

 
Shannon Hayes wrote this article for YES! Magazine, a national, nonprofit media organization that fuses powerful ideas with practical actions.

Shannon Hayes is the author of Radical Homemakers, The Grassfed Gourmet, and The Farmer and the Grill. She is the host of grassfedcooking.com, and radicalhomemakers.com. Hayes works with her family on Sap Bush Hollow Farm in Upstate New York.

Get to Know Your Neighbors. (No, Seriously.): Shannon Hayes on Edible Radio

Saturday, May 8th, 2010

Our media, our TV shows, our fiction—they all talk a big game about neighborliness and community. At the same time, as Americans the thing we value most, it seems, is our independence. We’re taught that we shouldn’t rely on others. That if we make the effort to reach out to those around us, we’re nosy. We’re meddlers. But when you’re trying to build a community, reaching out to those around you is the first crucial step.

In this audio clip, Kate Manchester of Edible Communities Radio talks to Radical Homemakers author Shannon Hayes about family, community, progressive values, and the new face of feminism.

Edible Radio host and publisher of Edible Santa Fe, Kate Manchester talks to Shannon Hayes about her latest book, Radical Homemakers.

Read the whole article here.

 
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