When I'm in need of wordless, intuitive connection, I place myself in the middle of the momma cow herd. They live in the present moment, among each other, collectively protecting their young and this land. They allow me to be with them. Their quiet acceptance like an emotional anchor, bringing me back to the earth.
Like a herd of momma cows passing down knowledge to their calves, my grandmothers, aunts, and mother surround me with wisdom. These matriarchal elders in my family have held the power over the choices affecting the land that encircles our family; a privilege I previously overlooked. The social fabric of our Biodynamic farm community is built around partnerships rather than domination, and decisions are made when all are in agreement. Even though I am the CEO of Foxhollow, top-down decision-making does not come naturally, and the traditional corporate approach is not woven into how we steward this land. The Community comes first, built on a foundation of mutual respect and integrity. That Community also includes the plants, animals, and microbial life we have spent two decades nurturing, restoring, and protecting.
Long before I started focusing on land access challenges and weak distribution systems for small and medium-sized farmers, my mother, Janey, taught me to have vision, ask for help, and believe it will come. Asking for exactly what you need is not something typically nurtured in women in our current Western world, and recently, I have become fascinated with the Minangkabau people of Indonesia (a group native to the highlands of West Sumatra). Their ancestral land, property, and names are passed down from mother to daughter. Their customary law (Adat) is built on the philosophy that “growth in nature must be a teacher.” There is no room for aggressive top-down enforcement in Minangkabau culture, where leadership relies on consensus and wealth is meant to sustain the community. Similarly, in Biodynamics, we view the farm as a living, breathing organism. We care deeply for the pastures, woodlands, and fields that gift us sustenance, just as we honor the people working alongside the land. Egotism and arrogance have no place in this formula. Individuals are celebrated for working with the greater good in mind.
I am proud to be raised by agrarian women connected to their intuition and the spiritual world. In the early stages of imagining how we would build this farm community, before I had the momma cows to consult or was familiar with the Minangkabau people, Janey had a vision, and I was writing a business plan to support that vision. In 2003, my mom moved from the city of Louisville to the farm, and I moved from Kentucky to North Carolina. I lived in the Blue Ridge Mountains for four years, studying business management and entrepreneurship alongside creative writing. I spent summer breaks working in luxury fashion boutiques and escaping into the high country, where I found myself deeply connected to the culture and landscape of those ethereal mountains. I missed my Kentucky roots; however, in Boone, North Carolina, I was surrounded by people who loved to be outside as much as I did. We loved to be surrounded by the woodlands; creekwalking and climbing amongst the outcroppings of granite plutons. Professors were just as connected to the outdoors as the students were. Anytime there was a false spring or a dump of snow, it was completely acceptable to skip class and head to the mountains. Appalachian State University has a teaching and research farm where they share in the effort to conserve the land, biodiversity, and culture of the region. Even though I was in the business school (and missing out on hands-on farm experience that would have been incredibly helpful later) I was well aware of the program and esteemed the people I met there. To be able to study and work outside rather than in the confines of four walls felt like a dream come true. I was living in a town where local farmers and a regional food economy thrived long before I understood the rarity of that treasure.
In the fall of 2006, having just finished The Omnivore’s Dilemma, I was reeling from Pollan’s disclosure of the cattle industry. Learning how the field corn and soy taking over farmland was systematically weaponizing a cow’s natural biology in CAFOs (Concentrated Animal Feeding Operations), the book left me furious yet hopeful, and radically changed how I viewed cattle. Janey had already brought 30 head of cattle to the land and was well on her way in installing the infrastructure needed to create a rotational grazing system on 700 acres of our farmland. Perimeter fencing and pop-in waterers were being erected simultaneously as we built our herd. We knew we wanted to protect the animals gracing our land, valuing how they enriched the soil with their manure while securing a steady path forward. We were providing a sanctuary for those animals that were able to escape the industrial system and come home to Foxhollow. These cattle would be honored, have a real purpose in healing the land and feeding a community of people that appreciated the food they shared.
I started fervently writing a business plan for a grassfed beef direct-to-consumer brand based on a farm in Oldham County, Kentucky, unbeknownst to my Entrepreneurship Professor and cohorts that this was my real-life plan. I could not muster the courage to divulge that, yes indeed, my family owned 1300 acres of farmland. I truly believed I could change the industrial food system by creating a DTC model that worked - one that would spread across the region and save cattle from being shipped all over the United States. It felt less complicated to simply write the plan as part of a class assignment. The reality was, Janey and I needed a plan for the animals that would be ready to be processed in the Spring of 2007.
Simultaneously, Janey was on a mission to find a market gardener to join the community. She couldn't imagine a dinner or farm that focused solely on meat; she needed the vibrant balance of vegetables. My mother wasn't the first woman in my family to champion hard-working growers; land stewardship has been passed down through our female line. From the early 1990’s through 2005, my grandmother leased out the garden plot near the Bed and Breakfast that was once operational here at Foxhollow. The garden’s bounty was utilized for the guests staying on the farm for alternative health and spiritual healing. It was a tradition passed down from her Aunt Margaret, rooted in mutual respect and shared labor - inviting gardeners to stay in the tenant houses with a plot of land to call their own, in exchange for their invaluable help on the farm. By providing the land and honoring those willing to work it, the women in my family didn't just manage acreage; they nurtured a community modeled after nature's reciprocity.
Typically, when the path forward is unclear, Janey first asks her angels and the nature spirits surrounding this land for guidance; a tradition passed down from her grandmother. I can confirm those were her first consults back in the spring of 2006. By November of that same year, she called up a local farmer with a robust internship program. Fortuitously, the farm had a recent graduate looking for land close to the city to start a vegetable garden, which would feed into the farmer’s CSA (Community Supported Agriculture) program. A CSA works like a grassroots investment; customers pay a flat fee upfront during the winter when farmers need capital to buy seeds and tools. In exchange, those members pick up a weekly box of fresh vegetables throughout the harvest season, in this case running May through November.
In May 2007, I was driving down the Blue Ridge Mountains, four years of business textbooks and creative writing journals rattling in the back of my Pathfinder. I was headed away from my academic career and towards an unknown future on my family’s farm. She had indeed found a farming couple to move to Foxhollow and bring vegetables to the plate. Janey called me on the way, rejoicing in the beauty that surrounded her. The market garden was starting to come to life. She was standing between two rows of vibrant green spring vegetables, watching as a praying mantis climbed a stalk of kale. The beneficial insects were arriving before formal leases were drafted or partner grower handbooks were bound.
What was once a lifeless remnant of a garden was beaming with life. The young farming couple was living near the garden in one of the tenant houses in exchange for supporting the “fence crew,” constructing and repairing the perimeter cattle fencing that was to cover 700 acres of our farm. I was delighted to imagine other folks in their young twenties also choosing life on the farm. The community was beginning to build, and I had not even pulled into the maple tree-lined drive of Foxhollow.
Janey and I had no idea we were building something bigger than we could imagine. I was entirely naive to the land-access crisis facing young farmers. I didn't know how unattainable it was to buy a few acres, a tractor, a barn, and a greenhouse. I didn't know about the lack of stable markets for farmers to sell good food. I didn't know that a farmer’s only choice was to be small and entrepreneurial or big and industrial.
