On “hobby” farming
This is a post from the archives of the “On Butter Hill” Substack newsletter. In an effort to streamline our online presence, I will be reposting our Substack posts here on our blog while gradually dissolving our posts there.
I met an older man at the feed store last week. He was bringing home two pallets full of feed, which for my small potatoes weekly feed store pick up of a half dozen bags, perked my ears to find out who in fact would be eating all this feed. I thought perhaps he ran a bunch of beef cattle, as seems to be a retirement path of choice for many gentlemen in rural Ohio.
“Who do you feed with all that?” I hollered to him across the parking lot.
“Oh, we’ve got a little bit of everything…cows, sheep, pigs…nothing much!” he replied.
He went on to explain that he figures if worse comes to worst (a scenario many a conservative American reflects upon in today’s world) his family can keep themselves going for a while. It reminded me much of myself, not necessarily in motivation, but in practice, to keep a little bit of this and that. This is coming off the heels of having considered bringing on some Shetland sheep earlier in the week. Why? I don’t honestly know. They could give us wool? Because I like them? Must it be such a utilitarian decision?
Another part of our conversation that struck me was the nearly apologetic approach to his answer. And I’ve been there too, many times. Those of us that boast a more traditional looking barnyard feel inadequate and illegitimate when stacked up next to the big boys running millions of dollars worth of product. While there is an aspect of the small farm that is truly idyllic in nature, I am digging my heels in that, in essence, it is the realest form of farming there is.
The feedlot manager down the road may have more business sense than I, but does he keep chicks in his laundry room every February? Of course, this is ultimately a silly argument, as our goals are different entirely. But, please do keep in mind, the “real” farmers of today are shopping at Walmart for their groceries, too.
The entire interaction with the old man at the feed store reminded me of a podcast I enjoyed just a few weeks ago, so much so was my enjoyment that I’ve listened to it no less than three times since. I’ll share it here.
What burdens me most of all is balancing the scales of hobby and business in what I will call the “traditional farming” realm. We live in a day and age where convenience has hobby-fied the keeping of a milk cow, some sheep, even chickens. I would love nothing more than to make an honest living running this farm. I’m doing the hard work of finding contentment with what is: that we live in a modern day world where things of relative difficulty are cast to the side in lieu of ease, stripping them of their value except for those of us “hobbyists” who pick it up just for passion’s sake. The price to break even on a dozen of my eggs, let alone make a profit, is laughable to most. Don’t even get me started on the milk. Who could begin to price it when the milkmaid herself scrounges around in the couch cushions and empties the spare change in the car to pay for one more bag of feed to last through the weekend?
I guess the point is: I don’t do it for the money. But I don’t do it for the hobby either. It’s this strange middle place where to “make it” would go against my morals, because it would mean scaling beyond what’s within my personal ethic. I remain optimistic that there is a happy middle place, where the right customers in the right quantities can pay me the right price for what I am able to provide. And until then, I’ll keep doing this and that, for the joy of it, until it just gets to be too much.
As noted in the podcast I shared, truly I’m just yearning for the Shire. That’s a whole sermon there.
As ever,
