Foodtopia Dreaming Episode 11 WOOFing - Workers On Organic Farms

I was relying on the sun to wake me. But it was my internal work clock that pushed me out of my sleeping bag for my first day of WOOFing.  I’d packed my bike the night before with water bottles and snacks, sun hat and gardening gloves. Some gaiters and strong work boots. 

Things go to plan.  The short cycle via the back roads loosen my body and prepare my aging muscles for the work ahead. Riding to the organic farm got me thinking. Really it is not a farm as such, calling it a farm is a simplification of what is going on.

Reading the definition of a farm last night as “an area of land and its buildings, used for growing crops and rearing animals” just didn’t help define where I was working for the next four weeks.  I had a go at dreaming up what you could call this place I was going to.  Yes it was organic, but not registered, yes they practice permaculture, yes they grew crops and reared animals, they produced milk, and made cheese, preserved produce, recycled organic matter, built soil, harvested rainwater, cared for wildlife, taught people, ran workshops and farm shops and social events in town.

Instead of the farm, you could call it the capacity builder or regenerative hub or maybe just regenerator.  Because that is the effect it is having on people and the landscape, on the animals and the wildlife.  The tentacles of what people are learning here are reaching out across the country and across the world in fact.

I make it to the farm as breakfast is being served. Porridge, nuts, and fresh fruit.  Who knocks back breakfast number two?  I sit down, eat, and get to know my hosts and fellow WOOFers.

The international willing workers dried up a few years ago as travel restrictions tightend.  They were more than replaced by the army of young (and old) wanting to experience life on an organic farm. To give of their time or to gain resilience skills.  Either way, it’s a win-win.

Our host Barry is a bit of a shocker.  Dry Aussie humor curated through years of farming and teaching newbies the art of organic farming.  He runs through the rules of the farm.. The composting loos are obvious, they are those color cubicles dotted around so you never have to walk far.  If the loos full you empty it.  Barry supplies morning tea, lunch, and afternoon tea to all workers.  But if you want to bring something, great.  We all get a go on kitchen duties.  I’m happy, but a few others look scared to be going in the kitchen.

"Try and wear the same pair of boots on the farm for your stay." Barry requests, following up with the reason, "there a few invasive species that he has managed to get rid of and I don’t want to see them return". 

"Now speaking of boats" continues Barry, "they are optional.  I promise that if you go shoe free early on, you will end up with strong souls in more wasy than one"  Pointing to his tanned feet, gnarly toes poke out from frayed jeans. Crusty skin around the edges tell of years feeling the land around his block.

"I know simply by walking bearfoot across my land whether it needs water, it's temperature and what seeds will germinate."  We are in awe of this farming diety.   Several people bravely take off their boots.  Me included.  I do resolve to put them on if any blood appears.

Breakfast dishes are cleaned up and we head past the packaging area, seeing the coolroom, washing machine - for spinning salad mix dry of course, and the washing racks.  And a wall of flip boards, moon charts, and a calendar.

Barry explains to us that although he is organic, it doesn’t mean disorganized.  These charts and this calendar are the drivers for all he does on the production side of the farm. We plan our planting  6 months out, ensure we have seeds and seedlings and the compost for the beds.  Planting based on moon phases gives the seedlings vigor, a rotation plan, and clear succession planting help guide us through the year.  For each product, there is a planting sheet.  Clearly detailing what to do, how to germinate the seeds, direct sow, or in seed trays or individual punnets.

He already knows which customer or market will buy his produce before it goes in the ground.  Listing some of his customers give us an idea of the diversity in his business and how you can dig deep roots into such a small community.

Before heading out into the field we gather up barrows, planting trolleys, and seeders for later on in the day.  But as it’s early and cool we are harvesting.  A purpose-made trolley is wheeled around the corner with white plastic boxes and wooden crates, wooden-handled knives are handed out and we head to the first row.

Demonstrating the harvesting techniques is Barry’s first lesson.  We set up the boxes for the arugula and salad mix, and the beetroots and swiss chard.  We team up in pairs to work the row from either side, following the harvesting instructions to the letter, grasping bunches of produce, slicing through the stems using the hand scythe. Chatting while cutting builds rhythm and before we know it our section is done.

Back to the packaging area and we are shown how to wash the produce, spin it then air dry.  By the time it is packaged up in compostable retain bags, boxed and placed in the coolroom people are gathering for morning tea.  The goat’s milk chai has been brewing in a big pot.  The muslin teabag keeping the spices contained is lifted out and ladles of aromatic chai are dished out.  A rustic farmhouse apple cake is slowly being devoured.  Fruits and nuts are there for the ones who are still hungry.

A pitstop on the way back to the veggie rows ensures we’re able to push out the rest of the morning's work. Rows are prepared for seeds.  Compost is scattered, broad forks gently crack open the soil but not turn it over then the tilther comes along to break up the clumps of soil in the first three cm of soil while mixing in the compost.  The perfect mixture to receive seeds.

Seed rows are marked using a broad rake with short lengths of poly stuck on every third tine.  A Jang Seeder comes along and evenly lays seed down onto the fresh soil.  The compost is sprinkled over the seeds and pressed down with a roller.  The seeds are given their first water and we get to go into lunch.

On the way into lunch, I get distracted by the two-wheeled tractors.  It reminds me of something you’d see going along the edges of paddy fields or rural Asian back lanes with a tray attached.  Instead, here I see a rotary hoe attachment, the power harrow or tilther, and the flail mower or slasher.  I hear the cooks explaining lunch and rush over to hear the last of the dishes that are on the shared table.

We grab plates and start the procession walking around the share table loading our plates.  The diversity of food blows me away.  Some fresh salads, of course, roasted sweet potato, the last of the fresh zucchinis and pickled cucumber, fermented Jerusalem artichoke, grains - barley I think, and a curry.  I missed the name, but it looks like chicken so I dig in.  I add a piece of sourdough and some fresh  goats cheese.

Sitting around on the ground in the shade eating after a good morning's work relaxes us all.   We learn more about each other.  Where we are from and why we are here.  My respect grows for young people coming onto farms and learning these life skills.  Fresh loquats and some figs are passed around.  The figs busting with honey syrup.  I comment on the figs and ask for the recipe for the delicious chicken curry we just had.

Silence.  People turn and look at me.  I wonder what I said.  Eyes sparkle in my direction.  Smiles spread.  What just happened?
“What did I say?” I ask
“Chicken?” Questions my harvesting mate.
Did I miss something?
“Eric you missed the start of the lunch menu” Barry smirks.
“You just ate cockatoo stew!”
“I just thought you overcooked the chicken” I joke.
“Why kill a cockatoo? I want to know while thinking, I want the recipe for that dish.
Barry explains, “Cockatoos are in plague conditions right now, they are moving through the fields of the grain farmer opposite.  Making the way to our garden.  We find we have to scare the cockies off.  It only takes a single shot every few days to move the cockies on.  An accurate shot harvests lunch or dinner.  One cocky feeds one person.  The breasts are cut out and the remains are composted in the mulch pile.  In true permaculture principles, nothing is wasted.”

Barry’s explanation is readily accepted, even by the hardcore environmentalists in the group.

We lift our full bellies off the ground, stretch and ready ourselves for the afternoon activity.  Slashing.  With the two-wheeled tractor, I am hoping.  That is such a cool piece of equipment.

Barry brings out a large metal blade and long round stone to demonstrate how it can be sharpened. The blade is attached to its handle. Holding it up in combination with an evil smile ensures Barry carries out the grim reaper effect.

Luckily the scythe demonstration is not as dramatic.  We’re given individual pointers to ensure muscles are not pulled or backs put out, then teamed up in twos and sent down the olive tree rows.  Caressing the tall grasses at the end of summer into rows to be rolled, secured, and stored for winter fodder or summer mulch.

Riding home is a chance to marvel at the increased energy and zest for life I have after spending a day in manual labor.

Here’s to the highs of the next four weeks.