A disarming place

Story by James Finch Jr.
Photography by Justin Bailie

The road leading to Full Belly Farm is gray gravel that contrasts mightily with the surrounding fields, some of which are green with spring-harvested crops, others the rich brown of fresh-tilled earth. It appears as though the road is the only ground not directly nourishing vegetation. The farm itself, from its appearance to its methodology, contrasts just as greatly with the current state of commercial agriculture.

The farm is owned by a partnership that has grown from two to four people, all of whom live on the land, over the last 18 years. Being of a relatively small size (200 acres) when juxtaposed with the 1,000+ acre behemoths spread throughout the central valley, Full Belly Farm’s very existence as a profitable enterprise is indicative of growing and marketing strategies as unique as the valley in which the farm is nestled.

Tucked between ruffles of mountains no more than a day’s walk apart, the Capay Valley, in which Full Belly Farm is situated, is purported by many to have the richest topsoil in California. The dirt tries to swallow boots walking in the loosened spring fields and the smell of humus clings hard to rubber soles.

Just before reaching the clump of buildings that make up the hub of farm activity, the road passes an orchard whose trees are skirted with knee-high foxtails—a detail indicative of land cared for without the use of herbicides. While tall weeds in an orchard may seem to be the product of laziness or ignorance, their presence is but a small weight in the tricky balance that is Fully Belly Farm’s stated goal to achieve—integration of “farm production with longer-term environmental goals.” This is an organic operation, relying heavily on nature’s system of checks and balance—as opposed to conventional agriculture’s system of keeping nature in check with the use of dubious methods—to ensure profit.

The foxtails, in addition to swaying in the spring breeze, provide habitat for beneficial insects that prey upon common orchard pests. They provide the same for valley inhabitants whose interests, in a more conventional growing scheme, would be neglected—mice, snakes and a myriad of neither harmful nor beneficial insects.

This practice, known specifically as a biologically integrated system, is a prime example of a visible difference between farms like Full Belly and the blasted, monotonous fields that are the trademark of “conventional” agriculture.

Land cared for in such a manner mirrors closely the way in which an ecosystem learns to care for itself over thousands of years of tumultuous and placid transformations free from the destructive and ignorant influence of man. Long ago our species learned how to thrive with the knowledge of these interactions. But, as a whole, we have spent the last couple hundred years attempting to supplant the cycles and interactions of nature with our own ingenuity—a lofty pursuit with too many indisputably negative effects to attempt to list.

As production methods on a farm move closer to the sensibilities employed by the cycles of wilderness, so do the products of the labor and so, one could venture, do the laborers—whether consciously or subconsciously.

As Paul Muller, one of the four partners of Full Belly Farm, said in a “Grower’s Perspective” column in the April 2002 issue of the CO-OP Reporter, “In the midst of abundance one becomes a servant to its rhythm, acting to maintain, nurture and create further abundance.”

But simply being harmonious with the wavering states of nature will not turn a profit. For a small farm to thrive, unique marketing and the community connections necessary to make the marketing a success are invaluable.

Full Belly Farm sells 50 percent of the fruits, vegetables, nuts, herbs and flowers to the end-user of their product. That is, 50 percent of their crops go directly from the hands that planted the seed to the hands that will prepare and consume the food. Another 25 percent of Full Belly’s business goes to stores and restaurants, a process bringing the food to the consumer with just one added step. Only the remaining 25 percent goes to wholesalers.

This proportion is nothing short of remarkable in comparison to the near 100 percent brokerage that occurs on the typical factory farm. The direct connection with the consumer is made at farmers’ markets and though a weekly distribution of boxes containing the farm’s seasonal fare to homes and distribution drop points throughout the bay area, Sacramento, Davis and Woodland. From the seed to the front door delivery, the hands of a Full belly employee do all the work not done by the weather and soil.

This symbiotic relationship is referred to as community supported agriculture (CSA). The term seems to be a misnomer, or at least a grace from its creators, for, ultimate truth be told, the two entities described (the community and the agriculturalists) are one and the same. Most of the reason for the success of such programs is an acknowledgement of this fact by both sides.

In a CSA arrangement as described by the Davis-based Community Alliance with Family Farmers (CAFF), of which Full Belly partner Judith Redmond is president of the board, participating members of the community, through their subscription to programs like the box delivery, help cover the farm’s production cost in exchange for a portion of the bounty.

By allowing the small operations often involved in CSA to simultaneously sidestep competing for wholesale contracts with larger farms, who are capable of undercutting prices due to their higher output, and to turn higher profit from their products by “skipping the middle man,” these marketing methods help to make the tradition of small-scale farming not non-anachronistic, but a sensible option for socially-conscious consumers.

For by supporting organic farming practices, they lend legitimacy to a gamut of inter-related causes with the most significant contribution the average citizen can make: his money. Not only is this money in the hands of organizations whose cares are not rooted solely in the bottom line, it is not in the hands of organizations who literally plow through the world mindless of the common good.

The partners of Full Belly Farms are involved in a myriad of activies that stretch beyond their property line. In addition to Judith Martin’s involvement in CAFF, partner Dru Rivers is a board member of the Ecological Farmer’s Association (EFA). Full Belly holds an annual harvest festival, The Hoes Down, which partner Andrew Brait called “one of our biggest community outreaches,” as a benefit for the EFA. The farm also holds open houses, operates a farm stand on Friday afternoons and is collectively involved in the Yolo Land Trust.

In addition to the inherent responsibilities of ownership and the aforementioned community involvements, the partners can be seen working the fields alongside their laborers—they are not visibly burdened with silly pride, but take part in tasks that might instill a worthy sense of it. The sense, as partner Paul Muller described it, of being “…at the edge of being overwhelmed by the complexity of the miracle that makes our place—or being angry and exhausted by its endless demands.” Like many description of farm life, Muller’s words seem capable of illuminating nearly every human experience.

The crew responsible for the attendance of most of these “endless demands” on the farm is made up primarily of Mexican immigrants who, much unlike most farm laborers, are employed by Full Belly year round. Given the poor treatment that migrant farm workers typically receive, the level of commitment demonstrated by this seemingly token gesture (which most any other group of people would take for granted) is but a detail in an increasingly rare example of nearly complete human decency.

Full Belly offers the opportunity for what can be best described as an internship to people interested in “…an opportunity…to come and live and work on a farm and experience the rhythms of farming and the lifestyle of farming,” says Full Belly partner Andrew Brait. These interns are exposed to “…all the facets that are involved in getting seed into the ground and into healthy plants and harvested and to market from start to finish. It varies from person to person and season to season—everybody that’s here gets a different experience,” Brait added.

Intern Valerie Gamble, who has been at the farm since August of 2001, described her experience as “…quite a bit more than she expected.” Having come to Full Belly after some time spent on a small CSA farm in Iowa, Gamble was unprepared for the magnitude of simultaneous projects going on at the farm.

“You can say we grow over a hundred vegetables; we have sheep; we have cows; but until you’re actually doing it…” Gamble trailed off, unable to describe what her days were like for reasons not attributable to lack of understanding.

Not to romanticize farm life or Full Belly in particular, but there is something about this place capable of disarming the coldest cynic. Full Belly Farm is run in a manner conducive to the jubilant survival all things, from the grass underfoot to everything pulled to the surface of this whole bloody world.