October greetings from the farm,

Our wall clock reads 6:25am, and I am tapping out this virtual letter to you, sweet reader, from my favorite spot on the couch. There’s a mug of lukewarm black coffee at a table within arm’s reach, which is beautifully illuminated by the soft, orange glow of my favorite lamp. It’s dark outside, only a dusky blanket of fog visible through our front window. My mildly febrile ten-year-old is cozied up next to me with a book and a blanket.

With the exception of a few very fleeting and extremely unexciting ideas, I have largely come up empty as I’ve waited for inspiration to finally strike so I could sit down and write this seasonal essay. My much more academic husband says these aren’t actually “essays,” rather “reflections,” so I guess I’ll go with that terminology from here on out.

Back to inspiration – or lack, thereof. My photography mentor, Anthony, came out this week to show me some indoor lighting stuff. Photographic Lighting 101, if you will. I scribbled this on the whiteboard that I have hanging in our flower shed:

“Inspiration is for amateurs.” – Chuck Close

Anthony always has these amazing quotes in his back pocket, which he pulls out at the perfect moment to drive a point home. They’re usually accompanied by a very, very long backstory. Chuck Close was an incredible American photographer, painter, and visual artist who persisted at making art even after suffering great loss. When I looked it up, the rest of that quote from his memoir, Chuck Close, reads: 

“Inspiration is for amateurs. The rest of us just show up and get to work. If you wait around for the clouds to part and a bolt of lightning to strike you in the brain, you are not going to make an awful lot of work. All the best ideas come out of the process; they come out of the work itself.” 

Anyway, here I am a few days later, firmly in my spot, writing this to you. I have a very strict and very serious self-imposed writing deadline looming, inspiration be damned. Let’s see where this goes . . . 

I ended my 2024 growing season on the 1st of October. Honestly, physically exhausted, a little angry, and very burnt out. It’s difficult to make a living farming on a small, human scale. And without inheriting land or having an angel investor or starting with a lot of capital, almost impossible. Almost. The grind of it had really gotten to me, and our off-season arrived at just the right time. 

As I’ve gotten more tapped into the farming community, it is becoming increasingly apparent that few small farms are operating in a financially sustainable way, or able to compensate farmers fairly for the time they spend doing farm work. The prices of farm products are too low, and the labor it takes to produce them on a small, human scale is too great. The ones I’ve encountered so far that are “making it” seem to be dependent on rich and influential donors via grants, or funding the farm via a “day job,” or are reinvesting all of the money made back into the farm because the owner is independently wealthy. There is no rubric, then, to make the numbers work for building and running a sustainable farm solely from the sales of farm products produced and sold in the 21st century, which is what we set out to do. We seem to be blazing our own trail in this, and it isn’t an easy path to travel. 

On October 7th, with my season ended, I left the farm. This year I flew to Durham, North Carolina to be with friends. My only rule for the time away was that I’d do no work at all. No to-do listing, or brainstorming, or thinking about work, either. NO WORK. 

I ran, walked, slept, ate, socialized, and read. I had an amazing trip. 

Now that the dust has finally settled from the growing season, and I’ve gotten some space, it’s much more evident to me that by “farming standards” we really did have a good year. We have a lot we can be proud of. We are doing great and making small-scale farming work for us. And we will farm another year. 

These photos are from a memorable afternoon that I spent walking in Winston-Salem, North Carolina. After nursing a delicious drink in a cafe window seat with my feet up, and doing literally nothing for a good long while, I realized that I had my Canon A-1 in my bag and a roll of film. 

Here’s my question for you in conclusion: 

What is one project that began uninspired, where you made something you love? 

Thank you for reading, and being an important part of the work and story of our farm.

Yours,

Rachel Nafis

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