A Farmer Afield

Let’s face it, getting time away from a working farm isn’t easy. There’s chores in the morning, chores in the evening, crops to plant and harvest, barn and coops to muck, and a farm store to run. This is further complicated by the variety of critters that need tending here at North Star Homestead—from dairy sheep to Kunekune pigs (including sows with litters), chickens and turkeys and ducks, honeybees, guard donkeys, and an aquaponics greenhouse that requires someone be within 15 minutes of the premises at all times should something malfunction.

But as the crazy season of summer waned, it was time for a getaway! It had been 14 years since the last family vacation (two years into our agrarian adventures) and the first break since we opened Farmstead Creamery in 2012. Booking the airline tickets back in August, promise of a mid-October change of scenery was a real motivation through Friday-night farmer’s market prepping until two in the morning or the endless lists of chores that had to be done as summer waned. After a season of 800 wood-fired pizzas and tons of yummy gelato, everyone was ready for some recharge time!

At the same time, it felt a bit unreal, like “what, taking a vacation is never going to happen. You guys never go anywhere.” But we forced ourselves to suspend disbelief and press forward, researching places to stay, things to visit, the best route to take. Our target was New England, where Kara and I had finished college and my graduate studies, with stops in Vermont, New Hampshire, Maine and Massachusetts.

It still didn’t feel real until we were in the car on the way to the Minneapolis airport, weaving about the city to find the car park, checking in with our tickets at the desk, and navigating security. It felt like a completely different planet from the farm—people hurrying, escalators rotating, announcements chiming, people hustling their wares. There was the smell of coffee, fried foods, the myriad of scented products people were wearing, and stale air. Soon, we were shuffling down the slanting terminal corridor and onto the plane, stowing our luggage and folding ourselves in the blue upholstered seats.

“Well, it’s real now Laura,” Mom smiled from the next seat over as we taxied down to the end of the runway. “Can’t back out of the vacation now!”

Ha ha, like I wanted to. Flying wasn’t my favorite part (motion sickness runs in the family), though it was interesting to watch the city disappear below as we crossed back over Wisconsin and all the green and golden contoured fields, across blue Lake Michigan and Lake Earie, until we changed planes in Philadelphia heading to Manchester, New Hampshire. By the time we finally made it to the hotel in Vermont, it was dark and late, and we were weary with travel, calling it a day.

But it seems that even when you do get off the farm, being an agrarian stays with you—like waking up in the morning and feeling that surely there must be some feed and water that needs lugging about somewhere! Shouldn’t there be a chicken to hug?

There were also intersections with many of the events and places we engaged as well, from taking a punch rug hooking class (I have all this wool from our sheep, what else can I do to value add this farm product?), to visiting the local farmer’s market (how do folks in New England showcase their farms at this venue?). Doing our best to navigate my food allergy, we booked places with kitchen and sourced our supplies from local food co-ops, choosing regionally made or grown products as much as possible.

In Massachusetts, there was the spacious Atkins market, which had started as a humble farm store like our own. In Vermont, we visited a millinery shop where one lady with sheep makes her own felt that her friend turns into fun and fanciful hats. We even spent time at a weaving school founded by an elderly man from Scotland, who was dedicated to keeping the old traditions alive. He was interested to learn about our farm and flock.

“My, you know, that’s a lot of work there,” he said, looking up at the tops of the turning trees from his hilltop view. “There’s not too many folks doing that anymore.”

The farm also came up at what on the surface might seem the most random of times. I’d be working on my rug hooking project in the lounge of the Bed and Breakfast in New Hampshire, while a couple from India was chatting and checking their email on their phone. I asked them how they were enjoying their vacation in the Franconian Notch area, which led them to be curious about my fiber arts project, which led to talking about the farm—everything from sheep’s milk gelato to guard donkeys.

Picking Macoun apples at an old growth orchard west of Boston, we couldn’t help but feel tugged by the sight of all the downed apples below the trees. “Kara needs to have her pigs in here!” Mom chuckled. “They’d have an absolute heyday, just fence off a few trees at a time so they won’t eat themselves sick.”

There were museums to explore filled with art old and new, mountainous hikes to climb with gorgeous vistas of the fall colors, and theater and concerts to attend. Each day was packed with new experiences—beach walking on the Atlantic, fresh boiled lobster, and all kinds of yummy cheeses. The trip was filled with tastes, sights, sounds and smells to think about all winter long, beyond the usual experiences of the farm.

And then there was coming home, which wasn’t easy at first. When you go away for a while, no matter what your occupation, all those thing you might have done if you had stayed home are waiting in a great big pile (literally or figuratively) for your return. With winter coming, there are all kinds of projects that need attention before snow flies: butchering turkeys, putting all the machinery away, cleaning out the garage so the cars can fit, harvesting the last of the garden produce, mulching perennial crops, etc. It’s been a daunting list to tackle indeed!

But worth the workload for a chance to experience new things and fill the cup in an area with a reputation for embracing the local foods and artisans movements. Not your usual leaf-peeping tourists, we were farmers afield, soaking up ideas that may continue to color our own journey back here down on the farm.