Icy Rains and Blue-Sky Sunshine

Preface

I’d like to express my heartfelt gratitude to the seven people who helped Brian run the farm the week of my birthday. Without your amazing efforts, enthusiasm for the work, and passion for learning, I would in no way have been able to take that much-needed vacation.

I’d also like to update folks on the status of the hoglings. At week four they began drinking and eating directly from a pan instead of a bottle. They stayed with Grandmother Alice until around week five, when our dear, dear old girl passed away. The kids were next moved into a mobile pastured pen, and after one week of helping to clean the garden, they escaped. They’re now living with Cousin Lemon Balm, who yesterday taught them the finer points of chowing down on pumpkins. They’re being treated for roundworm and will soon go to their new homes.

Lastly, a note on Alice. Several months prior to her death, she and I recognized that her disabled hips (childhood injury and scoliosis) were going to give out long before her heart. I talked to her about it and arranged to kill her “when the pain gets too bad.” On May 7th, that is exactly what happened – her back end completely collapsed and she began to have trouble breathing. On May 8th, she was put to rest while in a deep sleep. Her body has already nourished hundreds, and we will continue to enjoy and share her meat. We thank her for her unparalleled generosity in all its forms, and think of her daily.

And now, to the official May 2025 newsletter:

Five days ago, I began this piece wrapped in four layers of warm winter clothing. I could see my breath in the kitchen, and I lit a candle for coziness following afternoon animal care. Today, I am barefoot, having just planted a row of borlotti beans for my aunt. Compared to those in Tornado Alley, or living on the coast, I’ve barely experienced the climate crisis, but what I have experienced sucks. The pastures aren’t growing properly, and we’re leaning heavily on the greenhouses for as many crops as possible.

Despite this, the month of May has felt like a fresh start. Perhaps it’s the crisp blue sky on those rare sunny days, or the fact that I can finally look around in amazement at all the green, green, green. It might be the joy I feel watching our newest calf, a white Highland heifer named Senna (pictured above), barrel around the field at top speed. The latest batch of piglets is just as fast, scampering in and out of their father’s pen when mom needs a break. My new housemate’s propensity for cooking dinner has me actually eating regularly – I’ve had so much beef lately. I’m harvesting more: tossing green onions and garlic in with picanha steaks, steeping fresh lemon balm tea, fermenting lilac honey, dehydrating nettles and gathering bee balm for jelly. And last week, our neighbor stopped by to share sweet potato starts and extra asparagus.

The farmstand is finally open, filled with herbs, transplants, eggs, artwork and the largest “little” library on our road. We’ve spruced up the signage, making it more clear how this unique little stand works. All produce and products are offered on a sliding scale that starts at ‘Gift’, meaning ‘no charge’; we then include a suggested range of prices for each item. I’m satisfied with this system so far. It’s ensuring anyone can take home what they need, regardless of financial stability, while providing folks an opportunity to support the farm in a way which with they are familiar – purchasing power.

I may have mentioned in past newsletters that there is now a Farm Committee. It took a while, but I realized I really needed a group of trusted advisors. Friends who could listen, make suggestions and help me think through decisions without preconceived notions of what the farm is “supposed” to look like. We meet once a month and keep in touch via text, so that I feel less alone in my thoughts. It’s forced me to come to terms with, and often embrace, certain truths about myself and my work. Some of those truths are:

• I will not be scaling down the animals with ease, nor do I feel comfortable doing that. I’ve personally lost so many loved ones in the past few years that to choose to send someone else away feels like pulling myself apart. Sometimes this causes logistical difficulties.

• The whole farm is…healing. Infrastructure and housing are improving, gardens are being mulched, work is being simplified. Even Benny, the petrified feral tomcat I adopted, is far more comfortable and friendly with me these days.

• I don’t really care about selling food – I want to grow food for myself, friends, family and community, but I have no passion for trying to make money from the farm. I also still have a mortgage to pay, so am making an effort with the farmstand and other revenue streams.

• It brings me greater joy to do something in service of others or the bigger picture, rather than myself. I appreciate doing things for myself and my own pleasure, but it gets boring after about a week.

• This work is long-term. So often (especially when I feel isolated), I develop a feeling of “what’s the point?” But I’m leaning into the idea of settling in – not settling, nor settling down, but settling in. Humans are not going extinct tomorrow, and if I can help it, neither are the Blandings turtles or Gold-winged warblers. So even if it means years and years of commitment, someone is benefiting from what I do.

Right now, my mind is focused on simple goals. I want to restore my mother’s gardens and protect her perennials. I want to try new recipes using farm foods. I want to keep supporting my neighbors and enjoying the rewards of that. I want to visit the library, the coffeehouse, and attend our local Pride festival.

There are so many thoughts and feelings floating around in my brain, so many connections I could discuss. But like in April, I want to exist in some of the simplicity right now. Enjoy the blue-eyed grass blossoms and the first fireflies, the teeny-weeny baby grasshoppers and the abundance of currants forming. I want that most especially because very, very soon, things are going to get really busy, in large part because I once said in a phone call, “Well if you ever need, you can just come live with me!”

As many of you know, the farm is committed to acting as a sanctuary. It’s a long-term, evolving project, involving detailed understanding of the many needs of those who arrive here, be they endangered turtles, eager children, disabled gardeners or threatened tree species. Now, even as we delight in our growing crawdad populations, we must turn towards human requirements.

My dear friends in Mississippi have spent years facing increasing discrimination, health issues, malnourishment and financial crises. After careful consideration, they’ve made the difficult decision to leave their farm and head 1,370 miles north. By October, they’ll move in here, where we’ll dig in together and build a new life for us all.

This is our biggest project since the advent of Bittersweet Farm itself. Here in New York, we need to install wood heat in my house, finish insulating the upstairs and the breezeway, and put by extra food for Winter. In Mississippi, my friends need to pay for immediate medical needs, an appropriate vehicle to drive the 1,000-plus miles, and the general costs of travel, such as gas, road food and possible sleeping accommodations.

Over the course of the summer, we’ll host several more work parties, centered around preparing the living space for our new farmers. You’ll receive invitations to help create a welcoming, accessible environment for two people not only fleeing persecution, but seeking to make the North Country their home. We’re partnering with Potsdam Pride, our local LGBTQIA+ organization, to host a farm-based fundraiser – again, you’ll get an invitation as plans solidify. And there’s a GoFundMe site set up for $10,000 to cover the travel costs. As of this writing, we’ve raised $1,336.00 in one week. The link to donate includes a lot more detail.

I know a lot of people are feeling discouraged, angry, and devastated about the state of the world and are looking to do something in response. Mortaring my chimney or donating $35 might not feel like enough. Alone, it’s not. But you’re reading this, and someone else is reading this, and someone else is reading this, and I wrote this….and we can join hands. We can say yes to creating long-distance community ties with people we’ve never met, knowing the ripple effects will change lives both for good and forever. Truthfully? My friends are terrified to even put themselves out there online like this, because the hate speech and in-person attacks they receive are abhorrent. But I’m trusting you – our greater farming network – with their lives, the life of the farm, and the life of a better future, one where no one walks in fear. We’re here to take care of each other. Let’s make sure that keeps happening.

Wishing you all the best,

Kia-Beth (zi/zir)

Senna, our newest calf, pictured with Momma Elsa and Uncle Teddy.

The Farmstand.