We Were Ostracized On a Farm

For people with romantic notions of working alongside farmers, the organization, Worldwide Opportunities on Organic Farms or Willing Workers on Organic Farms (both effectively consolidated to the more widely recognizable acronym: WWOOF), allows that dream to be actualized. Phil and I had talked to friends who had participated in the farming network and had raved about their experiences all over the world. In fact, a friend quite literally did rave in South America when her WWOOFing experience landed her in a cooperative living space in need of laborers for a transcendental music event. Right on!

Though most WWOOFers (the folks seeking volunteer opportunities) must rely on e-mail correspondence with a prospective farm, we were already in Arcata and had the chance to meet with our host face-to-face. As we heard about the location, history with WWOOFers, emphasis on education, and the hope of involving the community with their subsistence farming initiatives, we were totally enthused. The farm had great reviews and the farmer, who was to host us, seemed very likable and laid back. However, a few days later when we arrived at the farm, the demeanor had completely changed and we began to wonder what WWOOFing was really like. 

Week one: enter farm host part deux. Let's call our host's partner/other half/wife, Fake-Smile-Foodie. Fake-Smile-Foodie is one of those new age moms who loves the fact that around her there is a farm with animals and vegetables that she can eat and feel like she is self-sustaining/better than everyone else who doesn't do that. Fake-Smile-Foodie made it very clear, through condescending and snappy communication with the two of us, that we were "the help". There was no warm and fuzzy Couchsurfing.org feeling of "what's mine is yours". It was very much like, "Over there is your space...outdoor toilet, hose to use as a shower, and teepee...and this is ours. We will text message you if we need anything." They spoke about us, in front of us, as though we weren't there and then forced us to sit ringside for marital passive aggressive conversations. As it can be inferred, it was bristly and awkward, but despite the tension, we brushed it off, presuming that the family had had a hard time with previous WWOOFers. 

That was week one. Though uncertain about the situation we had walked into, we were thankful to have accommodation for the month. So, we decided we would stick it out and just keep being our positive, hard working selves.

Week two: the energy shifted. To our pleasant surprise, we didn't have to interact with Fake-Smile-Foodie who was off being a good new age hippie and attending Amma's visit to San Francisco*; instead, we were spoken to in a more cordial way, praised for all of our hard work, and even encouraged to stay for the whole season or longer. 

Week three: the grandmother explains the steps for feeding the animals and then leaves the farm. The farmer, who works in Arcata, is faced with a gigantic work obligation and leaves the farm as well. All the kids are with their other parents (due to the business of divorces and new marriages)...also not on the farm. Fake-Smile-Foodie may have still been with Amma or may not have ever gone, either way, she's also not on the farm. Who is left on the farm? Phil and I...and a whole mess of animals.

Week four: Phil and I are still the only ones on the farm. 

Despite being abandoned at the homestead, we did continue to get text messages from the farmer, giving us daily tasks and maintaining communication, but we didn't know where anyone else really was or when they would be coming back. Happy with the solace, however, we did everything on our own schedule: lounging around every morning, cooking elaborate meals (Phil makes incredible Eggs Benedict), working leisurely (yet productively) for five hours, and then ending the day by building a fire in the teepee, playing cards, reading, and enjoying the beautiful location we were in. We even hosted another WWOOFer! Hah!

Salmon Cake Eggs Benedict. With hollandaise sauce. Amazing.

With the farmer stuck at a desk in Arcata, the duty of picking up weekly groceries fell on Fake-Smile-Foodie who, though stopping back at the farm periodically, neglected to complete the task. Finally, after "spending time with friends" and a week and a half late with food, Fake-Smile-Foodie returned with three out of seven of our necessary groceries (I do not include a partially consumed carton of milk as a full grocery item.), and some requests of her own: Phil and I were to clean, organize, and set up for a party she was hosting on Thanksgiving. What's more, Fake-Smile-Foodie requested that we not have fires in the teepee for the next two nights since she really needed firewood for the sweat lodge at the party. 

Frustration bubbled. We took our loaf of bread, carton of eggs, peanut butter, and almost empty milk jug back to our modest kitchen space, still lacking in dish soap and compensation. Recognizing that the sunset comes with the promise of freezing temperatures, we headed to the river to collect our own firewood to heat our canvass house, and to discuss our plans for leaving. 

It was such a bummer being a "hippie slave" and we couldn't understand why our experience had been so isolating and unwelcoming. The following day, as we packed our belongings, feeling cheated, I began looking through their guestbook, curious to read about the experiences of previous WWOOFers. To my surprise, the book was filled with incredible stories of collective family meals, collaborative work efforts, inclusive trips, and activities that made travelers feel as if they were part of the family. However, the family we had joined was not the family being addressed. The family we were hosted by was family part deux - an almost completely different set up, with new family members (Fake-Smile-Foodie), beliefs, and ideals for the homestead. At one time, it seems that the farm operated with collective involvement and really was a place where people were taken in like family; people had incredible experiences there and stayed for months. Unfortunately, the situation we entered was disjointed and unsupportive. 

The farmer came back from town, after almost two weeks, looking disheveled and exhausted. Though we tried to sympathize with his situation (running a subsistence farm, working to develop educational programs in the community, being employed as a "fish doctor", and balancing being a family man), it was an awkward reunion. We were ostracized on a farm! We had learned a fair amount about plants and animal husbandry, but we spent the majority of time by ourselves, therefore altering the "educational foundation" of the experience. We learned more about supporting each other than what makes optimal soil conditions; love and communication instead of pruning strategies. In a family without collective support, Phil and I filled the gap. We were the ones planting the cover crop before the rain and picking vegetables before they rotted in the garden, but we were the only ones. With the farmer juggling various commitments, including a time sensitive agricultural lifestyle, without our help during this last month, well, I don't know what they would have done - perhaps they would have had to support each other. 

I struggled to write this post, because it was such a conflicting experience. Though beautiful, the farm was neglected; though inspiring, equally discouraging. Phil and I had respect for the farmer and were motivated by his vision for the land, but were met with curt, ungracious treatment from the whole family. Though we observed good and honest values stemming from a seemingly like-minded ideology, we interacted with very difficult people (made evident by my unkind introduction of "Fake-Smile-Foodie"). I struggled with the post, because I want to be angry, but compassionate; empathetic, but self-respecting. There was definitely a lot going on beneath the surface and we just happened to be caught in the middle of it. Perhaps, we were the outlet. Driving through the mountain valley, away from the farm we had called home for a month, feeling saddened by their situation, we were hopeful that they might find a method to navigate the chaos of their lives and restore the experience that was once a reality. Maybe they will find a way to evolve their new family dynamics into something that is beneficial for the farm and WWOOFers alike. Phil and I still believe that WWOOFing is an incredible opportunity for people to get a unique introduction to organic farming, but for our first time WWOOFing, Phil quipped that the acronym more correctly stands for the time when "We Were Ostracized On a Farm". We arrived with almost no preconceptions, eager to learn the requirements of subsistence agriculture, yet, the lessons we walked away from the experience with had less to do with plants and more to do with people. We may not have had the farming experience that we planned on (South American rave, please?), but we did learn something. None of it is possible without support. 



*Amma is widely known guru, often referred to as the "Hugging Saint".