Staying On The Farm

Reflections on the isolated nature of farming and the virtues of farm stays.

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I have been away in South Africa for a few weeks, hence the lack of posts. But here is a brief essay that came to mind from an experience I had on this trip. It is far, far from my best!, but its message is one close to my heart that I want to share.

Back to my normal schedule (and the long overdue Old Towns Poetry anthology and the scheduling of the next Wendell Berry Reading Group) next week.

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As I write this essay, I am sitting on the veranda of an old farm cottage enjoying this rather lush view — an idyllic place for a writer. For someone who predominantly writes about the lives and habits of our good farmers, and the beauty and complexity of their fields, it may come as a surprise that being on a farm is, for me, a rare event; rarer than it ought to be I must admit. For the most part, the urban streets of the small city of Chelmsford are my native habitat with the farmed landscapes that surround my home city being relatively inaccessible places, save for the network of footpaths that criss-cross the British rural landscape. Though welcome, these footpaths only give a tantalising glimpse of the goings on of a farm and the beauty contained therein. The majority of the farm (including its fascinating inner workings) is shielded by prohibitive signs shouting “KEEP OUT” — signs that an English, rule-abiding citizen such as myself, feels obliged to obey.¹ So, I shall make the most of being able to stay a few nights on this farm, and relish feeling in my element.

This is the third farm I have stayed on during my two-week trip round the Cape regions of South Africa. It is a trip that has taken me from the stupendously floral diverse Fynbos of Knysna, to the harsh and dusty plains of the desolate Great Karoo, and now to the lush river valley of East Somerset: an oasis of verdant greenery nestled in between thorny Karoo scrub mountains. The perennial Little Fish River meanders through this valley providing life-giving water to the farms and woodlands. Beyond it and its neighbour’s (the Great Fish) reach, the rest of the region remains desperately thirsty. It is a peculiar, unexpected landscape — an anomalous patch of green on the satellite map — but a refreshing one nevertheless to the weary traveller traipsing through the seemingly infinite barrenness of the Great Karoo.

It is worth mentioning that in accordance with the anomalous nature of this landscape, the farm I am staying on is no ordinary farm. History was made within these walls and upon these fields (for good or for ill²). For Glen River Farm was founded in 1825 by the first English-speaking settler in South Africa, Robert Hart: a man regarded to be the “Father of the 1820 Settlers”. Eight generations later, I am conversing with his descendants and have traipsed through brush to visit his grave.

Farmers love to tell stories. Stories of the uniqueness of their land and the wild creatures that they share it with; stories of tempestuous bulls, lavish harvests, and endangered breeds brought back from the dead; and stories that go back generations telling of the faithful stewardship of the land that they and their forebears have been entrusted with. The now retired (but, as with all good farmers, never fully retired) farmer’s wife of Glen River is no exception. The unusual and poodle-like Angora goats, the incredibly well-preserved mill from 1827, and the eagles and owls that live on the farm are facts and stories that flow easily and readily from her lips as we listen to the ethereal calls of two African Scops Owls in the rapidly descending evening darkness.

I delight to listen to what I am aware I am privileged to hear; unwritten stories that are known only by a few and will only be heard by those who take the time to seek them and listen attentively along with a curious disposition that asks perceptive questions. Moments like these are precious for both farmers and their guests alike, for the barriers and obstacles of everyday life are wholly unconducive to such rich exchanges of cultural and ecological heritage between farmer and observer.

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As a brief side note, it is worth exploring what these barriers are. The farmers vocation can be characterised by two interlinked attributes: relentlessness and isolation. Relentless by virtue of working with living things whose needs and demands never abate, whose daily growth must be nurtured and vigorously guarded, and who present challenges on a near-constant basis that must be overcome otherwise the spectre of ‘untimely death’ may pay an unwelcome visit. The dairy farmer epitomises this perhaps more than any other. His cows must be milked twice a day without fail. Livestock take no holiday; likewise their keeper.

Isolation follows on from the relentless nature of the vocation as sure as night follows day. As the needs, duties, and challenges of their stock and crops come thick and fast every single day, farmers must be constantly at the beck and call of the creatures and crops under their care. This, of course, means they rarely venture beyond the boundary markers of their land. When opportunities to come away briefly from the farm do arise, they will almost always be tied to the job: farmers markets, cattle auctions, and country shows. All this affords the farmer precious little communication with the outside non-farming world. Farmers can all to easily (but through little fault of their own) become stuck in their isolated bubble, surrounded by complex and ever-demanding problems and surviving in a work-life imbalance that would drive most of us delusional. All this is exacerbated by the isolated locality of many farms. It is not unusual for a farm to be a good few miles away from any main road or habitation which is distance enough to keep many of our farmers hidden away from the rest of society.

Solitary relentlessness — the farmers life can be a hard and hidden life indeed.

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This background helps to explain why I want to advocate in this brief essay for staying on farms when on vacation: it gives you privileged access to the otherwise hidden lives of the faithful farmers around us all and can give them a respite from the lonely nature of their vocation. Offering a listening ear and taking an interest in the tales of the land from the hands who have stewarded and worked it is one of the best gifts we can give them,³ and is an experience which will greatly enrich our own lives. There will always be farmers who relish their own company and enjoy the isolation — and that is fine. But for others, the chance to share their love of their land with curious visitors, and perhaps to converse about non-farming topics, is a joy that brightens what can be a monotonous and desperately lonely existence. And it is worth mentioning that an added bonus of a farm stay for vacationing guests is that on some farms (like the ones I have stayed on), the farmland with all its beauty and diversity is available for you to explore to your hearts content — which for a birdwatcher like me is akin to being a child in a gigantic toy store.

Farm stays greatly benefit our farmers too. Increasingly exposed to the ravages of volatile markets, the complexities of changing climates, and intense downward price pressures from supermarkets, farmers the world over are under a dual economic and ecological siege. Few farmers, especially those who I term good farmers⁴, are able to make a living solely by producing food from their land in this modern, industrial age. Many are turning to ‘farm diversification’ as precious lifeline to guide and support them through the intense economic and ecological storms. Opening up their farms to paying overnight guests is one of the most profitable diversification strategies farmers have come up with — and keeps many a struggling farmer’s head above water.

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So, next time you travel or take a vacation, take the time to consider staying on a farm — be that a cottage, holiday pod, or campsite. It may well be more expensive (and probably more rustic!) than staying in a holiday let or hotel, but it is absolutely worth it. The stories and history on offer, the landscapes to wander and enjoy, and the opportunity to witness our hidden but faithful farmers at work doing what they love are perks worth paying extra for. And you can be sure that the money you spend will go straight into the pockets of those best placed to steward the landscapes we cherish, enabling them to continue to make a living in these uncertain times and giving them that extra bit of income that they can plough back into improving and conserving their own lands.

Make a stay on a farm. Our good farmers, and their land, will thank you.

1. It must be said, there are often very good reasons for such signs: such as dangerous bulls or farm machinery that one does not want to be caught unawares by.

2. See the history of Robert Hart, which is a complex history I do not feel qualified to pass judgement on =, but there are some troubling things in it. (also see Laura’s comment below) https://www.1820settlers.com/genealogy/getperson.php?personID=I540&tree=master

3. Provided we do not take up too much time from their endless schedules!

4. These farmers provide convivially for the whole community who have an interest in their farm: their family, local community, and wildlife. Thus they are not purely profit driven and are therefore less competitive from a business perspective, but more sustainable ecologicaly and socially.