A quick word about “Farming the Universe”: Farming the Universe is about being in exposed to a bigger environment as a learning tool. I felt it when I went from 5 acres to forty; from growing alfalfa on 10,000 square feet to 6 acres. I believe in a wholistic system- where everything is interconnected and part of one big thing. I believe that when I am learning about soil I am learning about God, and as I learn about the Universe I learn about the life in the soil and everything in between. It is a vast journey of exploration and stewardship; farming the Universe. “Whatever you think, it’s more than that.” -Incredible String Band
On our farm are three arable fields, making up about 20 acres in total. According to NRCS data, the soil classification is primarily what is known as “Irwin silty clay loam”, with a smaller portion being “Ladysmith silty clay loam”. Both soils are over 80″ deep formed over shale beds, and are classified as prime farmland. These fields have been in cultivation for over 150 years. That’s not very long compared to much of the worlds ancient farmland, but American farming has, often been more exploitative of native fertility rather than of maintaining it, let alone building it up.
When we began farming, our desire was to both use the land and make it “better” or move it towards “wholeness”. This is the classic model of stewardship. This account concerns our early efforts on the southernmost and smallest of the fields, 4 acres that we rent on trust from our neighbor. I’ve named this field “Obed”.
Obed, had a fallow period of two or three years before we began farming it. I started in 2016 by discing in the 7 foot tall ragweed, Johnson grass and sunflowers that dominated the field. I did not spray herbicides- which I do not wish to use on our farm. It was slow work and took a number of passes to chop and work the organic material into the soil. After this I planted a cover crop of triticale, together with a modest amount of crushed limestone I had available and some 13-13-13 fertilizer as a starter.
The following spring of 2017 I put on 180 pounds of Urea Nitrogen on the tritcale and in May I mowed it and disced it into the field. Into this I planted a crop of sorghum, millet, cowpeas, and soybeans, and also began to establish a waterway through the field- which saw a great deal of drainage- from Northeast to Southwest.
We put a group of 10 feeder pigs on the planting of sorghum, millet, cowpeas and soybeans in July in portable electric fence. We moved them around the field all summer and pulled them out in October. We were also bringing in feed for the pigs, which in my mind also means bringing in nutrients. That fall we planted triticale, Austrian winter peas, hairy vetch, daikon radish and purple top turnip.
In March of 2018 we put 200 lbs an acre of 7-16-12, a biologically balanced fertilizer blend from Midwestern BioAg. Then in mid April we turned out the ewes and their young lambs to graze the triticale and peas. Unfortunately the spring was exceedingly dry and the crop poor. After grazing we managed to harvest 15 bushels of triticale to use as feed.
We let the Bermuda grass and Johnson grass grow and grazed that twice during the summer and fall in two day paddocks. During the winter we camped out the whole herd feeding hay on the ground letting them trample in any wasted hay with their manure as we moved them slowly across the whole field.
The field was left fallow during the summer of 2019. Resources were at a minimum and I was also caught in indecision about what I should do as a next step for the field. After three years of clumsily trying to “build biology” and put into the soil more than we were taking off, I felt I needed it to start producing more than a few mouthfuls of forage. Of course, the field would not be bare- it had all that hay on top, plus a good sod of weeds that I would mow or graze. One of our long term goals is to grow all of the feed that our livestock consume on our far. Buying in organic and non GMO feed is very expensive. I have always felt that we could offer better and more responsible nutrition to our livestock if we grow it ourselves on healthy living soil that is free of harmful chemicals, also while reducing our operating costs in the long term. Additionally we would be growing bedding in the form of straw, which will contain and absorb manure, urine, and enzymes in the barn and then composted to become a rich form of microbial fertility to be returned back to the soil. I decided to grow Austrian winter peas and Triticale, an old hybrid of wheat and rye, as our first feed crop. The peas would provide a significant protein source for our layers and hogs. I felt confident that both crops would ripen around the same time and that they could be harvested together with our Allis Chalmers All-Crop Harvester. I hoped also that the intervening fallow year would be enough of a rotation to prevent trouble resulting from the return to a previously grown crop so soon.
I planted the Peas and Triticale in September with a starter fertilizer of 150 lbs of Nitrogen and 100 lbs of Phosphorous. The Fall was dry and the germination from the planting was poor enough in places that I actually replanted parts of the field in October. During the winter I would often visit the field, wondering what would come of it, and worrying at the open spots. The triticale hadn’t sent out tillers very well in the dry fall and winter, but as spring neared and the rains returned, my heart rejoiced to see the overwintered plants begin to grow.
The peas came through the cold remarkably well. In the March I put on another 100 lbs of Nitrogen. With more spring rains the crop began to grow in earnest. I was unprepared for how lush and tall the two plants would grow together. The triticale was 6 feet high when it began to head and the peas climbed up the stems, eventually reaching even higher than the grain heads.
It was beautiful seeing the pea blossoms in amongst the grain. I began to feel that a good crop was growing in spite of the obvious thin spots and weedy places. Places that had grown poorly before were thick and lush and deep green. My friend Justin Knopf came down from Gypsum with his family over Memorial Day and I showed the field to him. Justin’s family has been farming in Kansas for many generations. He is deeply invested in the conservation and stewardship of his land and farms it with great intentionality. He said that he had not seen peas grow like that in Kansas, and marveled at the growth in the field. Jack Armstrong, my neighbor and the land owner, said the field had never grown like that in his memory. I was relieved to have confirmation that my crop looked strong, and that the ground was beginning to show signs of returning health and productivity under my stewardship, but the actual harvest hadn’t yet come.
We enjoyed eating the young pods as the peas began to produce them in abundance. As we approached harvest I began to worry about the timing of the two different crops ripening close enough together. Also I began to notice the peas starting to pull down the triticale in places where they grew thickly. Then the rain stopped just as the peas were filling their pods. I continued to remind myself that this was an experiment. It may be a failure- but even so, I would at least get something harvested.
As the crop ripened and began drying down, we started the process of preparing the harvester, an Allis Chalmers model 66 All Crop Harvester built in the middle of the last century. There is a lot of greasing and adjusting to do on this versatile piece of equipment, and I needed to build a new finishing sieve that would accommodate both the peas and the triticale.
Harvest finally came and I fought through a long week of starts and stops. I had bought the All Crop in 2018 from a farmer near Potwin for $2500. His father had bought it new in the 1950’s and they had taken great care in their maintenance of it. When I drove out to look it over, I didn’t need to be told that never in its life had it been left to sit outside. It was in remarkable condition for a 60 year old implement. Most of its contemporaries are rotting away in fence rows or behind barns with trees growing through the rusted out framework. He only sold it to me because he seemed confident that I would use it and on the promise that it would be stored in the barn. I have used it, but only in small 1/4 acre grain plots. This was its first real test, and I spent the week discovering all the worn out parts and replacing them as they broke. In between break downs I made adjustments as I tried to learn how to properly adjust the machine to cut, thresh and clean the heavy crop without bogging. It was exhausting and frustrating. At the same time it somehow felt an important process to be going through; almost a rite of passage as I incrementally gained the authority to use the old combine. The worst came when the grain drag came free of its cogs on one side and half the bars bent in half and the drive chain broke in multiple spots. I had to take the whole thing apart and rebuild it over the course of a day.
As I took it back out to the field on Friday, my father began to question wether I ought to try some other method, but I held out faith that it would work. Finally, it did. My son and I harvested all day, stopping only to replace a broken shear-pin and to grease the fittings at midday. Emptying the 25 bushel hopper for the first time into the trailer was a real celebration and point of demarcation. My son stayed out with me until we finished at about 10:30 pm. I was so exhausted that he was running the show at that point, telling me what to do while helping me to get everything put up and finished. My pride in him was greater than in the harvest.
We averaged about 31 bushels to an acre, but there was a significant amount of cheat grass hulls that didn’t get cleaned out, not to mention the dead bodies of many hundreds of grasshoppers – fiber and protein, respectively, by my reckoning.
Unloading the trailer into the big grain bin was another day of celebration for us. My son, Obediah, Jim (my good friend, and partner in a lot of what we do on the farm), and I all took turns shoveling the grain into the auger’s inlet, and my wife Amy pushed it in with her hands. Thousands of farmers do better at it year after year, but for me, I was farming the Universe. I was aware of the failures in the process- but for us, it was still an achievement and an opportunity to be grateful, and we were many steps closer to doing it better over the next years.
The Peas and Triticale were an experiment that I put together in my head, blindly in many regards. I’ve since noticed men like Gary Zimmer and Klaas Martens (an organic farmer in NY) speak about the benefits of the winter peas grown with rye or triticale. Klaas mentioned Austrian winter peas being of great benefit as a hog feed, due to the high levels of tannins, which have evidence of having an effect on internal parasites. As many old farmers knew and as many are now rediscovering, certain species of crops perform measurably better when growing in association in the same field. I remember coming across a passage in Louis Bromfield’s Pleasant Valley, where he observes his corn plants growing better when giant ragweed was present. He also goes into great detail about the soil building potential of alfalfa and clover grown together with brome grass. There are many reasons (think root culture, microbes and fungus) why this could be, and I am still learning. The nuances of the life in the soil are infinite.
It’s been months since the harvest and we’ve been feeding the grain to our hogs and chickens, ground and mixed with molasses and minerals. We also baled 237 bales of straw of which we sold 60 and covered our fertilizer costs. The rest will be used as bedding in the barn to catch and hold urine and manure, then composted down and be spread back on the fields. We ran the combine high, leaving still some straw-stubble and pea-vines in the field. The ratio of triticale to peas in my seed mix was exactly 50:50. I will try 60% triticale to 40% peas this fall to see if the extra grain stems can help to carry the load of the peas. I will be planting into the Northern most field of the three, “Ruth”, which has been in alfalfa for four years, and whose culture may yield different results.
Obed was meant to get a planting of Buckwheat then alfalfa, that didn’t come together, so I let the weeds grow, then, before they went to seed I cultivated them into the soil with the disc and planted turnips, daikon radish, rape, red and white clover, alfalfa, oats, rye and wheat. Now we are waiting for rain.
This is the account of the beginnings of our work in the field I call, Obed. There is much more to say and do- about and on the land, but this is a start.
Father, receive my worship.
The Spiritual Mechanics of Labor and Rest is a relief print edition carved and printed by hand from a block of linoleum. It is available for pre-order in the Baumwerk Shop. It will be an edition of 100 prints. Numbers 1-75 will be black ink on white paper, while numbers 76-100 will be sepia ink on cream paper. There will be a separate listing for each color option. The black and white prints will be ready for shipping sooner on March 23rd, while the sepia and cream prints will be available a few weeks later.
The Spiritual Mechanics… began as a way of building a repository or archive for many of the symbols that help me to understand my place and function in the world and the Kingdom of Heaven. It is, after a fashion, an info-graphic which serves a developing theology around the ancient kinship of labor to worship.
At the heart is a worldview which sees an holistic unity between what is spiritual and what is natural. These are crude words and a crude image which is looking towards something that is deep and nuanced in its beauty and inherent goodness within the mind of God. My hope is that in here is an echo of God saying of the earth and creation, “It is good”. Also the echo of the Words of the Creator resident in every atom and particle. May it be an echo of John the Baptist saying “change your hearts and minds, because the Kingdom of Heaven is at hand!” May it be an echo of Jesus saying “it is finished” on the cross. Heaven is coming to earth and our labor here is not in vain.
The Spiritual Mechanics of Labor and Rest is also a prayer and an offering. It is the noise my heart makes towards God, offering the smallest and most mundane moments of my days as He simultaneously offers them to me. It both seeks to say and asks if it’s really true that labor spent shoveling dirt in a garden , roofing a house, or cutting a stone before God can be as significant a spiritual lever as the most noble words of the priest in the cathedral, or the pastor behind a pulpit, or the hands of a healer in a tent.
I have more openly exposed my heart in this image than in my previous work, where it is shielded by narrative. In following posts I will seek to lay out the symbolism and stories behind the details depicted here, but it should be understood that I have sought to use images like these because for me the words are fundamentally insufficient to describe what it is that I see and seek.
I also hope that you will consider purchasing this print. Many of you know my ambivalence towards the marketing. However, I believe I am called to engage the “marketplace” with my work in a way that settles with my conscience and ethics. Here is a link to pre-order The Spiritual Mechanics of Labor and Rest.
The month of May was wet for nearly the whole of Kansas, and we happened to be one of the wettest spots in the state with over 30 inches for the month. Spring rains make grass grow and the lambs are good and growing. Photography and blogging has taken a back seat in a year of heavy labor on every front, but I managed to take my camera with me a few times while I did my rounds on the farm.
(And the Kingdom of God?)
When drawing becomes a prayer, the image becomes a repository for the questions and thoughts offered to God, which then settle on the page. At first like a fine dust. Then into ridges and furrows. Then into fields and gardens.
I thought I had some language to accompany these developing drawings, but they are dissolving into new perspectives without words.
What does it mean to be a steward of life? It is an unspoken question threaded through my days. Each winter we carry more lives through to the hope of spring. It is the nature of a farm and a family grow, a response to a holy invitation. In our stewardship, we learn to leverage the outward death of winter to build the inner life. Roots and bones. Back to the earth in the compost of the old year, manure and trampled hay, sawdust and wood shavings, in cover crops and dormant roots, even the bones of the dead under the heap or in the earth. Those failures of the past year kindle study and deeper investigations into the principles of agriculture and life. The wheel of life rolls away as a witness to the nature of God, always redeeming death and turning it into the living.
The oblique light comes with a more subtle potency not felt in the haste of summer, illuminating details made bare by the dearth and otherwise overlooked. It is not all romance of slanting light. There is the mud and the death and sickness. There are the broken systems and the unfinished jobs, and the detritus of unclean life scattered everywhere. The butcher sighed and smiled and cried “Ahh, life!” and thanked God as he cut the throat of the lamb. It seems that to live is to accept and know death, and to die is to understand and accept life. It is a mystery that I don’t claim to understand.
“For I know that this shall turn out to my salvation through your prayer and the support of the Spirit of Jesus Christ, according to my earnest expectation and my hope that in nothing shall I be ashamed, but that with all boldness, as always so now also, Christ shall be Magnified in my body, whether it be by life or by death. For to me to live is Christ, and to die is gain.” Philippians 1:19-21
A Drawing Exploring the Holy Invitation to Labor and Rest With God, a Cry of my Heart.
This drawing, a work in progress, represents an effort to illustrate and pray into the swirling cloud of thoughts, feelings and impressions I have surrounding the deep nature of work. It is something continually at the front of my consciousness. I think about the invitation to Adam and Eve on the eighth day- to enter into creation and labor as an act of cooperation with the Divine Creator. I often think that work is more than just earning provision. I wonder even if labor could be a sacrament. Could the labor we undertake from day to day be like Archimedes’ Lever, positioned to move something really big? Is it doing more than our perspective allows us to see? My questions are shaped by a belief that the spiritual reality of the Universe is more vast and more real than the realm of our physical perceptions and measurements. More specifically, is my conviction of a deeply interconnected relationship between everything we see and do in a physical sense with the unimagined unseen vastness of God’s goodness. I believe creation and our place in it is, in a manner of speaking, a technology God gave us to engage the invitation to know and worship Him. It was shattered almost immediately, it would seem, but through the finished work of the Cross, Christ established reconciliation. (This is not a sermon, nor am I trying to prove anything, its just about a drawing and I’m leaving so much out!)
So, I think about that original invitation: to labor in creation before “the Fall”, but there is more in that idea than my hopeless facility with language is up for. Because it means tinkering intimately with the voice and breath of the King of the Universe, His output, His design. It is like Thomas putting his finger in the side of Jesus, exploring.
Everything is Spiritual
Everything is spiritual, because it was created by Him. What am I really doing when I plant a tree, work in the soil, plane a board, move sheep, or make a drawing? I adopted a monastic prayer decades ago: “Jesus make the work of my hands into a prayer.” It has evolved at times to, “Jesus make the work of my hands into worship.” I know that I cannot. I may be moving into the realms of heresy with that prayer- among other things. At least may it be for His kingdom. At least may it be for His glory. How can I not worship Him when everything I touch and see was made by Him, and becomes part of our relationship? If it is true, than the earth and everything that is in it is more sacred that we can possibly imagine, and it is laced with the fear of the Lord, in spite of everything that we have done to corrupt it, and in spite of everything God’s ancient enemy has done to corrupt it. For the love of God!, all creation groans! How long, Lord? (ok, that felt a bit like a sermon.)
Sonship & Apprenticeship
Work is a teacher. The dynamic in this drawing that could sum up what the School of the Transfer of Energy is all about (though it is essentially about everything) is the sonship/apprenticeship of man to God in the field of the Earth. The son/apprentice has the dignity of his learning being a part of something real, something bigger than his own mind and sphere. He labors with discipline beside a father and master, absorbing more than can be said or written. He sees the care and the purpose unfold on a daily basis. He moves from confusion to understanding as more of the process is revealed to him through practice and living. In a whole system, work is the technology of the teacher, the school and the relationship. To work is being a daughter and a son. It is also being a mother and a father.
I can’t stop. Sometimes I feel that I am made to work to such a degree that I cant stop until I’ve used myself up. I admit it’s not the most balanced perspective, and it often surfaces when I’m neck deep in lambs or hay, or stacked up projects. I’ve been accused of working too hard, never sitting still, never resting. There is the burden of my wealth of gifts and resources, the annual flood of ideas and inspiration, and the endless need of the world. There is so much I desire to make and build and accomplish, which has resulted in a life-long struggle with the concept of “rest” in the sabbatical sense. I am not good at it. That is one perspective. On the other hand, it could be that rest is inherent to labor. The sleep of the labourer is sweet, whether he have eaten little or much. Ecyclesiastes 5:12.
The rest, then, is intertwined with labor. Holistically speaking, it is “natural”. It is woven in the fabric in the same way that the spiritual is with the physical (picture a well marbled steak or a vein of silver in a rock face). The sabbath is part of the weave of the week., and also of the agricultural “week of years”. In this way rest starts to become something that measures and punctuates, more about a pace or a cadence, a governor for the laborer’s engine.
I wish I had language to talk about the sacredness of “body mechanics”: how to dig a hole, how to bend properly, posture, etc., and how doing them properly integrates rest into the system. How it isn’t just mundane, but part of our design and thus beautiful and “sacred”.
By being about so much, this image is sort of a repository for many symbols I think about and use. Tools themselves become symbols and can’t help but transform into speaking objects. Saying their words and singing their songs about the work they do, and how they do it with grace and beauty, or lamenting how they must do it with heaviness and sadness. The axe, the shovel, the pen… every symbol unlocks a door to another world.
Then are the endless books of the trees and roots. How growing trees lead me into appreciation of the seeming contentment of God to develop and grow things slowly (from my perspective). Trees remind me that it is not about me, but about my children and their children, and the people I can’t foresee. The 100 year or 200 year farm plan. And there is more, there is so much more- but language can’t say it. Only trees can say it.
There are more symbols, so many more it is mind numbing and I just can’t go on. Another time, perhaps.
At first this little building was something I wanted to build on my dad’s land, when I was attempting the hermit’s life there. I made drawings of it and multiple block prints functioning as prayers, asking God if it was something I could make. I was truly desperate to build something that mattered, that could bring Him a tangible expression of glory. It has yet to manifest, though I’ve always wondered about the sanctuary as I’ve aged. Was it only a spiritual building? Is it something that He is building me into? Is it my cumulative life’s work? Is it a foolish dream? Idolatry, even? Maybe I need to be older and more experienced to build it? Can I build it now, on my own land?
I was intrigued to see it resurface in this new drawing. I can’t say I know why, but i’m asking. As a symbol it represents much, but perhaps most significantly, of my desperate struggle to make my work into a prayer: to tangibly engage with God on the physical space, my world, of paper, wood, soil, and pigments about what is in my heart – the relationship and the meeting place. I’m on the earth grappling with heaven, or am I from heaven grappling with the earth? I don’t know, but I am not among those who say we are just sojourner’s here, that we are just “passing through”. I get it, and it is probably true, but I just can’t say it. I live here, and I can’t ignore that it is part of His design.
Perhaps this weaving of work and rest is the sanctuary? I have more questions than answers. Which is why I am on my knees. Which is why I am making this drawing. And which is why I work. I do not know where else to go.
I have been doing this weblog for twelve years, which may be a pretty long time. I haven’t offered much in the way of words in that time. I’ve felt lately that I need to begin to venture into that territory. Words tend to terrify me a bit. I don’t always like them, because they never do what I want them to do. They always leave me short, and feeling a little cheap or fraudulent. I write one thing, then immediately see it from another perspective, so I write that, then it moves on me again, and it never ends. Eventually I have to settle, knowing that I’ve said one thing that may or may not be true, but I’ve left greater multitudes unsaid. I have failed. That is what writing is to me, a perpetual string of failures, which is really unsatisfying. So I have avoided taking that risk. Until now.
Elie Wiesel wrote down this quote of the Kotzker speaking to a disciple:
Certain experiences may be transmitted by language, others- more profound- by silence; and then there are those that cannot be transmitted, not even by silence. Never mind. Who says that experiences are made to be shared? They must be lived. That’s all. And who says that the truth is made to be revealed? It must be sought. That is all…
Thanks for reading, friends. Thank you for your mercy and your grace and your acceptance. Be at peace.
My family and our work were humbled to be featured in the most recent edition of Plough Quarterly. There is a profile by Susannah Black, and a feature on Go On: Inner Man Version, an altarpiece I made back in 2003, and also an excerpt of my responses to some questions about our lifestyle, called Farming the Universe. If you choose to take the time to read some or all of them, I sincerely hope that you enjoy them.