Of Land and Legacy

BY JESS JAGER

Out here on the plains, right in the middle of somewhere, we are trying our best to make our way as first-generation farmers. This landscape has long been used for this same thing that we are working so hard to do now.

To cultivate.
To nurture.
To farm.

One question we hear often is about what will happen to the farm when Brian and I are no longer here. People want to know if we are raising the next generation of farmers. They ask if our kids will come back home someday to run the farm themselves.

The answer we often give comes as a shock to some and a disappointment to others, but we didn't buy the farm with the legacy of our own family in mind.

We haven’t dwelled on what happens next because we’ve never believed that the farm “belongs” to us. It's not ours. It belongs to our community at large, to those that we feed and to those that will farm it after us.

We don’t worry about what comes after us from the perspective of ownership or estate planning; instead, we think about the farm’s future from the standpoint of empowerment and stewardship.

Legacy as a term is often used to document a family history or define an individual achievement. It is usually described in generations and determined by long-term impact. Yes, it takes history into account and considers the future, but what is a legacy if it can’t be shared in the present, too?

Your Friends Farm was established with the community in mind and with hopes that this generation would see the farm as their own and us as their farmers. As a small farm that sells directly to consumers here in Spokane, it was important to us that in addition to producing food, we would strive to make a difference in the hearts of those we are given the opportunity to feed. Brian and I dreamed of finding a community that would be a part of our story here but also a part of our lives and the vitality of this place.

I often talk about the elements of life. I believe all of us need a source of nourishment for our bodies and a source of joy for our souls. We knew that to build this community, we needed to know the bodies and souls we would be feeding; that would involve having the opportunity to see their faces, get to know their families, and learn what really mattered in their lives presently. Our drive is fueled by a desire to serve a community of people we can interact with and empower them to help us make decisions about what we should produce. You can’t create something for someone else without knowing what they truly need, and you can’t know what people truly need without asking.

We are choosing to define legacy as something rooted in what comes next for all of us, not just for those who share our name but those who share our heart. It has been our hope to always give back more than we take, and that applies to our soil, our animals, our community and ourselves. This is a matter that extends beyond economic gain.

For us, the legacy of Your Friends Farm encompasses cultural, environmental, educational and community contributions that will last for generations to come, leaving a strong mark on both our family and the community at large.

Early on in this farming journey, I was connected with Tess Hahn, a shepherdess in North Idaho, who has now become my friend. On her farm located between Careywood and Lake Pend Oreille, she has poured her life into curating the most beautiful flock of Katahdin sheep. Tess has notebooks and whiteboards chronicling the results of decades of breeding her herd, sifting through data and matchups to help her plan for future breedings. Next to all of her charts and graphs hangs a board with the cycle of the sun and maps of where to graze her sheep and for how long. Through all of her experience, Tess places great importance on the health of her soil. The sun feeds the grass. The grass feeds her sheep. Her sheep feed us. But all the nutrients begin in the dirt.

Tess has a background in eastern medicine and notes that the term for doctor in Chinese is yī shēng, which roughly translates to “nourisher of life.” On my first visit to Baa Baa Blacktail Farm, Tess took the time to explain each piece of what I learned was a beautiful puzzle of complete nourishment for every single organism that would partake in the growing of these gentle beasts. Building on this philosophy, Tess’s system goes beyond what we call regenerative agriculture; she maintains a commitment to true life, wellness and being. That initial trip was made with the intent of curating a herd for our new farm, but in addition to sourcing our founding flock, Tess triggered something that now defines what legacy means to me.

But for the first time, I recognized how our animals could genuinely write a legacy of their own. From that point on, my role as a farmer has changed. I realized this place that we call home could never be solely about what we produced; it also needed to include how we would remain present. Taking Tess’s experiences and outlook into account, we now have a new way of looking at how we live on and leave this land.

As a regenerative farmer, I was no stranger to the importance of soil and sunshine or the idea of an interconnected system that works to benefit each piece. We are all rooted in the health and wellness of the soil. With more living organisms living below ground than above it, our soil is very much alive. The health and wellness of those underground organisms directly relate to the health and wellness of the plants that feed those who walk the earth.

We now believe that the soil here is the most significant component in our legacy.

That legacy will be determined by all the living things surrounding us here. Soil is not just some personal benchmark by which to measure our success; it is the life source of our plants, our animals and our lives as well. It is the foundation of the interconnectedness of all we work so hard to feed–plants or animals or people.

This soil will tell the story of what was grown, how many we fed, and how well we did at all of it. This soil can remember what lived and what died, what thrived and what struggled to survive.

I now have a herd of my own, with this spring marking my 3rd lambing season. I have kept my own set of records, too, tracking the results of my pairings, the names of each and every lamb, ewe, and ram that represents the joy of the season and the nourishment that will be grown over the months to come, just like Tess showed me. I’ve kept track of the grass, too, including what grows from our own soil as well as what we feed our animals in the months when the ground is covered by snow. I can tell you at what point in the season we graze a specific portion of pasture and for how long. I know the number of days we can graze, and I can tell you that even through three seasons of drought, the amount of grass now growing here on the farm has increased. This is directly connected to how we have treated the soil, the grass and the animals that grow from it. Our community empowers us to do so by continually showing up, intentionally choosing this as their farm and us as their farmers.

So who is building this legacy? Is it the soil or the sheep? Is it the farmer or the community that surrounds us? Or is it the ag community and those who have been generous with their knowledge and investment?

Here, present in this moment, I say that it is all of the above. We are building a legacy together, and it belongs to all of us.