|
Young couple lives dream on local farm
Young couple lives dream on local farm, becomes favorite at Cherry Street market
Market research
ASHLEY PARRISH World Scene Writer
09/08/2004
Tulsa World (Final Home Edition), Page D1 of Food
Farmers aren't supposed to be afraid of bugs.
Emily Oakley knows it, even as she hops up and down in a circle, her
head bobbing frantically as a wasp dive-bombs her.
"I totally hate wasps," she squeals, then laughs at herself.
"Let's go sit down," she says, pointing the way toward a pick-up
truck parked under a big, shady tree. "You picked the hottest day to
come out here. Do you have a hat?" It's the third time she's mentioned
it.
But perched on the tailgate of a farm truck, even with the barely
moving breeze, it's not too bad. It's even pleasant, especially after
the wasp heads for better company.
Oakley plops down on the ground, cross-legged. Her long-sleeved
flannel shirt and pants seem at least one size too big, and her
baseball cap is slung so low it's hard to see her eyes. But tucked into
sensible rubber shoes are lacy white socks, and she grins the grin of a
mischievous 5-year-old playing grown-up.
"So how old are you?" she asks, as if surprised that someone so young
would be working at a newspaper. She's 26, she says. Her partner at
Three Springs Farm, Mike Appel, is 27.
They're both young enough that a lot of people think she and Appel
are the children of the farm's owners. Especially on Saturday mornings
at the Cherry Street Farmers' Market, when they're filling grocery bags
with 20 varieties of heirloom tomatoes and four kinds of eggplant.
But sitting on the farm, with the lazy swishing of the water hoses
and the smell of sun-soaked tomatoes perfuming the air, the market
seems a long way away and Oakley has time to tell their story.
"We met in agroecology class," she says, at a school called Friends
World program at Long Island University.
"It used to be Quaker . . .," she starts.
Sowing deams
Three Springs Farm is so close to U.S. 75 we can read the
billboards. There are houses on either side of their two acres and
horses along the back fence.
It's a long way from California, where they worked together on a
giant organic farm, bunking down with other employees to save money on
their $500-a-month salary. Or from Providence, R.I., where she worked
for nonprofit groups helping farmers and in cities where he helped out
in schools teaching children agriculture.
"We have had other jobs," Appel says. But neither felt they could
help farmers without having actually lived the lifestyle. "We had to
live the reality."
So since Oakley is from Tulsa -- a Booker T. grad -- and because
unlike Providence, Tulsa did need another organic farmer, they headed
back to Oklahoma.
"It took four years to save," Appel says. But Bixby bottomland is
expensive, and nothing else seemed right.
When a couple who own a pecan farm offered to lease them a pasture
near 81st Street, they took them up on it.
"Somebody gave them a hand up when they started," Appel says, "and
they wanted to do the same."
They dug into their savings, leased some equipment, put up a
greenhouse in the middle of an Oklahoma winter and started babying
some seeds.
They bought compost and started getting rid of the Bermuda grass
that covered the pasture. They spent every spare minute getting the
soil ready for planting -- all for a piece of land they're leasing,
not buying.
"We struggle with that," Appel says. "And it would be so easy to
stay here another year. We put compost down. That's long-term.
Compost is something you build for years, and you won't see all that
benefit for four years.
"We've dealt with disease. With pests. With weather."
A tornado that blew along the Turner Turnpike this spring seemed
to hover right over their farm, and Oakley had to sit back in her
mother's living room and cry over the radar images.
But, in just a few short months, on a piece of land that's not
even theirs, they've managed the unthinkable. They're producing
enough crops to have one of the largest stands at the farmers' market.
They have enough left over to supply a few of the better restaurants
in town with tomatoes.
And they're willing to do it all over again next year.
They'll pick through October. November will be spent taking care
of the tools and getting everything ready for winter. December means
wading through taxes. And in January, it will be time to put up a
greenhouse again.
It's the kind of life that made her friends at Booker T. ask
"you really want to do that?"
"A lot of people didn't believe it," Oakley says. "It sounds like
a dream."
Sustainable for all
It's not hard to be together 24 hours a day, the couple says.
They live in mid-town and drive out to the farm at daybreak. They
work in unison until it gets too dark to see, then head home to cook
together. It's the same every day.
"We don't want to get much bigger," Appel says. "We really enjoy
being together. We just want to do this with two people."
It was the thing they both agreed on, way back in agroecology
class. They share the same passionate beliefs about farming and food,
in general.
"In the United States, we're very used to cheap food," Oakley
says. That's why they're part of Sustainable Oklahoma, a group
committed to promoting sustainable agriculture.
That means food that is grown without pesticides or chemicals,
food that has a local connection and, perhaps most importantly, food
that is grown with social responsibility.
Much of the food sold in a grocery store is grown in developing
countries, they say. Americans would rather pay huge commercial farms
that may or may not treat their workers justly than pay their
neighbors just a little more to grow food locally, Oakley says.
"Sometimes you think it's cheaper than it really is," she says
of the grocery store produce. "Here's the bottom line for your
article. Local food is not too expensive. Store food is too cheap.
"And you pay for it in different ways."
With pollution -- chemicals seeping into the ground water, she
says. With health risks. With substandard wages for migrant workers.
And, really, the food just isn't as good. There is no comparison
between a home-grown tomato and a supermarket tomato.
It's why she gets so excited when she talks about her CSAs.
What's a CSA? "Oh, good," Oakley says, clapping her hands at Appel
excitedly, "something to tell her."
In addition to the farmers' market, they've come up with a sort
of co-op, or CSA -- community supported agriculture. People pay them
up-front each week and get a basket of produce.
You don't get to pick what comes in the basket, but that's part
of the fun.
"People try things they might never have, and they get to know
where their food is coming from," Oakley says. It comes with recipes
-- so that customers know how to use that eggplant, fennel or
arugula. All of the recipes are "farm-created."
They're the recipes that Oakley creates at night, with produce
from the garden.
"A lot of people are part-time farmers," Oakley says. "We like
having the time to be out here -- sweating away."
To find out more about the CSAs, Oakley and Appel can be found
every Saturday at the Cherry Street Farmers' Market, or they can be
reached by phone at 712-9571.
|
|
