Sharing the Joy of Agriculture
Sharing the joy of agriculture is an important quest for me.
At my farm, I find myself more and more attached to the land I serve and constantly marveling at how all living things grow. There is something beautiful and deeply meaningful about raising food for people, then watching them head home with a bag full of what we have grown here, already thinking about what they are going to cook for the people they love. That joy never gets old to me.
If someone had told me when I was in my 20s that I would be stepping around cow manure, birthing baby goats, gathering eggs, or raising chickens for meat, I would have looked shocked, turned, and sprinted to my music lessons to get ready for the next performance, then pressed on to my education classes so I could launch my teaching career and pay my own bills. I saw myself as an artist. I belonged on the stage!
Yes, I admit, I should never say never. God has a way of working miracles in us. Like the seasons he expects us to grow and change. We can either go willingly, or run until we find ourselves coming right back to what He wanted us to do all along.
One thing I know for sure is that I am hard-wired to teach. And music is woven into my soul. So it really should not surprise me that when my life took a turn toward raising food for people, something in me kept searching for the music in it all. I was compelled to find the beauty, the rhythm, and the meaning in this work, and to connect with the customers and visitors who kept asking me, “How do you do this?”
The journey of learning how to bring something from seed to plate has felt like a miracle to me. It is work, yes, but it is also an art. I see it in the patterns in the leaves, in the protective hides and feathers that adorn the livestock, and in that beautiful green that peeks up out of the soil after a controlled burn helps restore the health of the pasture.
And just like music, it takes practice to get to the grand performance.
How do we do this?
We pay attention to the rhythm of nature. We listen for the pitch of the wind and the sound of the rain so we know what the plants and livestock need in order to thrive. We learn to hear the sound a cow makes and know whether she is in distress, looking for her calf, or calling the herd toward the next paddock. Even the fullness of the cackles in the hen house can tell me my laying hens are doing their job.
The farm is always singing. Over time, you learn how to listen.
And maybe that is one of the sweetest surprises of this life for me: I never stopped being an artist, and I never stopped being a teacher. I just found a new stage, and a new classroom.
Every song has a meaning and a purpose, and my farm does too. I love to feed people. I love hearing the joy in their voices when they tell me they love what I am growing and what they are going to make with it. I love the giggles and energy of the toddler farm camp children when they try to bleat like the baby goats.. And those of you who have been out with me to see the cattle know that we often have a little call-and-response thing going on out there too! It’s my fave!
Spring has now fully arrived, and I am heading outside to begin practice for the 2026 Spring Production. Hmm... I wonder what I should name it?
Thank you for your support of our farm through this past year, and for your commitment to locally grown food. It means more than you know. And when you come to the farm, bring a song with you for the hayride!
Blessings,
Mama Dake