More about the WHY? Love, mud, and FARM JAM 2020!!!

In this edition of The Savvy Savage we dip back into the discussion about why we farm the way we do – this time focusing on how where our food comes from effects our bodies. We talk nights and mornings with kiddos, wrap our minds around the up and down weather, riff about good fortune and paying it forward, and we’ll spill the beans on Farm Jam 2020 including lineup reveal and start the brainstorm on what kind of food you can expect as we continually strive to provide an exciting and well-rounded annual summer event. Thanks for stopping by, and thanks for supporting small family farms!

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Last time we talked about the lower overall impact of grass-based farming and the advantages of properly managed pastures and sustained growth operations. This time I’ll dip into some of the nutritional advantages of grass-fed meats, all of which also pertains to eggs and dairy products of grass-fed animals. The higher nutrient density of grass-fed meat makes the difference pretty simple; you can get more valuable nutrition even while eating less. Overconsumption, we believe, is the leading cause of American health and environmental problems. Rather than encourage a healthy, modest, and local food supply, our federal government has essentially subsidized the dollar menu and other highly processed and detrimental types of food. With that said let’s dive into some of the starkest differences between grass fed and conventional. Some headliners include:

*less total fat

*50% more omega 3 fatty acids

*3x the amount of Vitamin E than conventional meat (an antioxidant that slows cell damaging processes)

*more than 2x the amount of vitamin K2 (promotes calcification of bones and prevents it in blood vessels and kidneys)

*2x the amount of lutein (an antioxidant important for eye health)

*2x the amount of vitamin A (critical for vision, organ, and immune maintenance)

*more than 2x the amount of beta carotene (our bodies convert this into vitamin A)

*3x the amount of conjugated linoleic acid (contributes to healthy weight loss and lean muscle mass)

All these factors contribute to improved metabolic health which helps in fighting diseases such as type 2 diabetes, cancers and heart disease. Getting vitamins, fats, and minerals in natural form is also important. In the case of CLA, supplements are generally chemically altered vegetable oils and contribute to increased levels of fat in the liver, metabolic syndrome, and diabetes.

The benefits of grass fed in this realm go beyond nutrient amounts. Perhaps the greatest nutritional difference for grass fed meats are what they do not contribute to the environment, and specifically our water supply. In 2014 we began testing our well specifically for nitrates, high levels of which can cause serious detriment to pregnant women and babies. The federal standard for nitrates is 10 milligrams per liter. In 2014 our levels were at 5.3 ml/l. When we tested in 2018 for our second pregnancy, although still safe, the nitrate levels had risen to 8.4 ml/l. At that rate of increase, the math is simple, in 2022 we’ll be well over the federal standard.

The timeline on this is pretty simple, and being that my kids will be generation six on this farm one has to wonder how these levels remained so low for so long? Well the big farm boom is relatively new. In the mid 90’s small farms of 100 cows or less dotted our landscape, and now those farms are all but gone; the land rented or sold to the highest bidding mega farm further pushing the small farm dream for folks out of financial reach. I remember being a teen watching the For-Sale signs go up. I remember being so proud of my dad for sticking it out, but milk prices plummeted past 1970’s levels while everything else went up and he hit that brick wall with his Oliver 1650 in highway gear and never was able to recover.

The fact is that a farm with 100 cows or less creates a relatively simple solid manure management system and when you start talking 1000 cows this becomes impossible. The manure is no longer solid, no longer composting and creating beneficial soil building microbes, but rotting. It needs to be trucked for miles to fields far away from the farm’s base or pumped through tubes to be cast at all times of the year regardless of the current level of consequence to the water table or downstream. This results not only in pollution of the water we drink but is directly responsible for tragedies such as The Gulf of Mexico Dead Zone. This phenomenon results when the spring melt washes manure and fertilizers into the Mississippi River. When this fresh water, which is less dense than ocean water, hits the gulf it sits on top preventing oxygen from mixing through the water column. Furthermore, these nutrients eventually kick off an explosion of algae growth which consumes more available oxygen causing an aquatic condition called hypoxia leading to either migration or death for local animals. Some will argue that this is the only way to feed a growing world. I’ll say very simply and as abrupt and bold as a kick in the teeth and to avoid writing an entire book today, that is only true if you insist on over feeding a growing population subsidized heat lamp and dollar menu shit burgers and over sugared, over processed pie hole garbage.

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I was up the night before with my four-year-old son Milo, and he seemed to be having strange dreams. With 40 years of age out there on next year’s horizon, this ol’ motor of mine shuts down to an idle pretty nicely; I rarely have trouble falling asleep. It’s falling back asleep where that idling vibrates my throttle and gets things moving. Calendars and dates and question marks begin to swirl through my head and the sheep and sugar plum fairies hit the bricks. I read a bit, drank water, let our big dog out to chase rabbits, and watched my boy sleep pondering all my duties as a dad. He chattered, flopped, and rolled saying mostly things I couldn’t make out aside from an occasional self-assuring “I got this,” maybe giving it a subconscious go on an especially tough Mario Kart track on the Wii we’ve recently dusted off or revisiting a race he lost in the gym during recess on a blisteringly cold day at school.

It wasn’t long before I heard the quick, successive foot beats of our stocky little 18 month old Bodhi and smelled coffee brewing, and at that point you might as well go see what’s new in the life of your toddler rather than lie awake in bed. I appreciate these winter moments because in summertime, I’m typically gone, and early mornings like childhoods, go so fast. That was certainly the case with this one. The time between the first cup of coffee and the one for the road was a blur and the next thing I knew we were scrambling for hats, mittens, and boots getting ready for school.

“Don’t forget your new shoes buddy. You been practicing tying them?” I asked Milo while mom packed his school bag.

“I am not wearing those dad,” he said emphatically. “Dakotah beat me in the gym and those shoes didn’t help me at all.” His brow was wrinkled and the awe and hopes of his first real athletic shoe had completely vanished, replaced entirely by disappointment and a sudden and desperate need to understand.

“Who’s Dakotah?” I asked, looking around for where I’d set down my coffee. “How close was it?”

“How close was what dad?” He dug through the drawer having real trouble deciding on a hat to wear.

“The race, how far behind him were you?” I asked, more than interested at this point.

He held his little hands apart, his brow still wrinkled. By his estimate he was about 4 inches behind. I laughed a little, amused at how much this bothered him.

“Dakotah is five buddy,” Mom chimed in with little Bro chasing her into the kitchen. “His legs are longer, and you don’t turn five until June.”

“There you go bud. Your mother is right. You have six months to catch up to Dakotah and a lot of room for improvement on your form.”

“What’s form dad?”

“You look like you’re running out of a house fire bud. Ask aunt Dee Dee about it,” I said. “Let’s go.” I gathered whatever he couldn’t carry and stole a kiss from mom. “She was an All American,” I added. I had looked at the time at this point and we had to leave. No one has ever crowned me Mr. Punctuality, but my first-born son has definitely developed a disdain for being late or missing out.

“What’s All American dad?” He stood at the door.

“Aunt Dee Dee can tell you about that too. We gotta go bud. Love you mom.”

“Love you mom,” he said. She gave him one of those mom kisses with both hands on his cheeks.

“Bye guys. Drive safe. Love you!”

It’s been almost two weeks and he has yet to wear the fast-looking new shoes again, opting for loose and worn Chuck Taylor’s with bottoms as worn as a slick old playground basketball. We cruised to school listening to music and playing games of our own construction. Announcements were already being read, the halls were empty, and Milo shed his backpack, hat, and coat and ran towards his class sometimes looking down at his striding feet, sometimes back at me. I just smile and do my best to keep up, reminding him to be careful on the corners.

He kicks off his boots and sits on the classroom bench to put on those old hand me down Chuck Taylor kicks. He turns in his folder, puts his lunch box with the others and his library books go into the bin and he just folds right into the buzz of his classroom as if I’m not even there. It’s a strange thing, watching kids grow; just as amazing as it is hard, you just have to believe in yourself as a parent and do your best to keep up while letting them run wild and hope like hell they remember to be careful on the corners because you won’t always be there to remind them.

I step out to face the day and all remnants of anything you’d call brisk had been dashed by the sunshine and the melt was on, again. In two days, a dip back into the 30’s would seem suddenly cruel and less tolerable after just a taste of t-shirt weather. It would approach 60 degrees this day and signal the time of year that you tuck your pants into your boots and trod around the farm dodging puddles and deep muck. I’ve been framing windows in our old granary as we ready to launch our farm store in 2020 and every time I walk out the door to have a look from the outdoor perspective I half expect to be met with the traffic you’d find in a temporary western railroad town; ornery drunks and women dragging their stained dress bottoms through the gloppy and wagon rutted streets, like something out of Hell on Wheels. It was one such day that a fella named Randy Fenwick stopped by. He wanted to see our Highlands and our pigs and as we walked though the barnyard, him with his white sneakers and new knee and his eyes on the ground with every step, he wondered aloud, “How many pigs you have? Where the hell are they?”

“Another ten yards and you can count em buddy.”

“Really? I don’t smell them.” He started to look ahead.

“They don’t eat much grain. Been eating wrapped hay bales and typically a touch of oats day to day.” We made it to the gate and there they were, all of them long haired and wild looking, a mix of Tamworth, Magalitsa, Red Wattle, and Hereford, a superior foraging blend of genetics.

“Wow,” said Randy as he dipped into his can of Copenhagen. “Those are some fucking neat looking pigs!” And they really are. Their long hair that seems to spike down the middle upon excitement like something you’d encounter deep in the woods. We chatted for a while about Las Vegas, farming, and my old man and then he handed me a pile of banded one hundred-dollar bills.

“What’s this?” I smiled. It wasn’t the first time in our 22-year relationship that the man has handed me banded hundreds.

“Paying it forward brother,” he grinned. “Now you just need to find some people in need of good meat.”

“Can do,” I said, immediately thinking of several benefits that could put it to good use. I’d soon find so many good people working hard to help others that it was easy to find places for over 300 pounds. We found several cancer benefits, a fundraiser for local veterans, music programs, helped a couple raise money for a shot at IVF, and helped a true saint who is cooking and caring for 4 sick and elderly family members and neighbors out of her own pocket. It has been an incredible experience to meet the hard working and caring folks and see firsthand a glimpse of the good going on around us.

Amid all this I made a delivery to a customer who paid in cash and I did a quick count. “There’s too much here,” I said peeling of several twenties to hand back.

“No, no,” she said. “Keep finding people who need it. And thank you!” What do you even say? We’ve since added our own donations and will have provided over 400 lbs. before this is over, so if you know of anyone in need, or a benefit of a friend or family member that could use another raffle or auction item, please reach out. We’d love to help, and we’d love to meet you!

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Farm Jam 2020 has been on our minds as we plan ahead and think back on the success that was Farm Jam 2019. Our first go round in 2018 was kissed by an early October snowfall and we brought in just enough free will donations to cover the cost of porta potties. Last year the weather was almost as great as the music and we brought in enough to cover the shitters and the four bands we hired!

August 1st is the date to emphatically circle in red on your calendar! Gracing our stage this year will be Rollick & Roam, Jake O, Derek Ramnarace, & Charlie Boy along with a fantastic array of folks for our open mic Jam. It’s a noon to ? event with not a moment to miss so come for lunch, play some corn hole, find our pasturing pigs while wandering our trails and toss ‘em an apple, take a nap in the grass, have a beer, find all of our selfie stations & enter our giveaways, EAT AGAIN, all the while treating your ears and mind to some of the best music our area has to offer!

In addition to our classic offerings of both smoked BBQ & garlic, black pepper & sea salt pulled pork, Italian Beef, and wide array of sides & desserts including candied carrots from Orange Cat, Grandma Ihde’s coleslaw and Currant cheesecake bites featuring those little gems from Hilltop Community Farm; we will be unveiling our new food trailer! The Happy Camper will be set up in our park serving tacos, steak bites and other surprises. A suggested free will donation of $20 gets you in for the day, 10% off anything in the farm store, and access to our farm and all its trails. The music sounds great from every corner of the farm so bring a chair or blanket, dance with the crowd or find your own spot and make the day yours! Stay tuned for further updates here on the website or follow The Greener Grass Collective at Idaho Valley Farm on facebook.