Mr.
Ableman climbed out the window of his parents’ house when he was 16 and
ran away. He was soon managing a 100-acre orchard, and then a 12-acre
farm in Southern California, which grossed close to a million dollars.
He now farms on Salt Spring Island, British Columbia, and travels to
Vancouver to oversee urban farms he developed for people coping with
addiction and mental illness. They are paid to work the land, and they
sell their food to 30 restaurants and at six farmers’ markets.
Amigo
Bob Cantisano’s dreadlocks dangle below his knees; he is tie-dyed down
to his socks. Mr. Cantisano, 63, is the only one of the group at Esalen
who has regular contact with industrial organic farmers. Some of them
are Republicans in cowboy hats, he said, but they overlook his
nonconformist appearance. He consults with companies like Sun-Maid,
Sunkist and Earthbound Farm on how to improve yields and practice better
sustainable agriculture.
Mr.
Morton, who sells seeds through his Wild Garden Seed catalog,
discovered at age 6 that food could be free but digging was hard. As a
teenager, he said he “came to the realization that seed was the key to
wealth and independence.”
Some
related their marketing tips. Mr. Coleman, who sells his produce to 10
restaurants, said the endive variety called Bianca Riccia da Taglio
would not sell until he renamed it. “Within two weeks, every lobster
salad was sitting on a bed of golden frisée,” he said.
When
farmers changed the name of Mandarin Cross tomatoes to tangerine
tomatoes, sales soared. A farmer who had trouble selling her misshapen
potatoes labeled them “Ugly Potatoes” and cut the price. They sold.
And
many came looking for answers to the conundrum of retirement. Some have
put their farms in land trusts; others said they tried to negotiate
similar deals but failed. Like other family farmers around the country,
some are finding that their children do not want to carry on their work.
Dru
Rivers of Full Belly Farms in the Capay Valley in California was one of
the few farmers whose children had returned to the farm, with their own
ideas. A son is doing farm weddings and dinners. A daughter is
operating a summer camp and running farm tours. In true hippie style,
Ms. Rivers said: “I don’t want to die with one thing to my name. I want
to give it all away. We have to do that to regenerate.” So she will give
the farm to her children.
Norbert
Kungl, 58, who farms in Nova Scotia, is concerned about the future of
his land, which he says produces enough income for only one family. “I
can’t find a cushion,” he said. “What options do I have other than
selling to the highest bidder, which I do not want to do? These are
questions that I have no answer for.”
Mr.
Willey, 65, said he called a family meeting with his three children.
“We made clear to them we have a very profitable business,” he said, but
none were interested in carrying it on.
He
understands why. “Farmers often work seven days a week and as many
hours a day as the sun is up,” he said. “Young people looking into
agriculture are not willing to make that drastic a sacrifice.”
Mr.
Huber, who owns 25 acres and farms more than 600 acres on the north
Olympic Peninsula in Washington State, said, “I think we’re looking at
models that don’t work anymore.”
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