Author Archives: Sylvia Burgos Toftness

About Sylvia Burgos Toftness

A Latina baby boomer from the tenements of the South Bronx, I now raise 100% grass-fed beef in west-central Wisconsin with my husband Dave. We believe more people will choose to farm and eat healthful foods if they know the connections between what we eat and how it's grown. That's why we invite you to walk the fields with us; hear from experts on my Saturday morning show, Deep Roots Radio; share our adventures on my blog, From the Bronx to the Barn; and buy our sustainably-grown beef. We farm with a tiny carbon hoofprint (R) so that you can enjoy great-tasting grass-fed beef that's high in nutrition while helping to restore our environment.

In time of need: delish, nutritious pastured meats and veg from local sustainable farmers

Looking for nutritious foods? Meats and veggies that will boost your health – and just when we need it the most? Look to your local, sustainable farmers.

We’re here to help as we face today’s challenges, and as we prepare for a better future. Today, we can offer healthful, delicious foods – as supplies last.

If you’re in the Minneapolis/St. Paul metro area, and in Wisconsin’s Polk and St. Croix counties, here are farmers ready to help with foods grown for health: of the land, of the livestock, and of the meats and vegetables themselves. Contact farmers directly. We deliver, or you can pick up at the farm. Our farms are clustered closely – you can visit two or more in a single trip. We’re an easy drive through beautiful countryside.

We’re the sustainable farmers of the St. Croix Watershed Midlands. We’re committed to great taste, quality and high nutrition. We use organic practice, livestock is pastured, and meats processed at nearby custom USDA facility.

BueLingo cattle graze lush pastures

Bull Brook Keep: grass-fed-grass-finished beef grown without grain, subclinical antibiotics or hormones. Available now —  #1 ground beef packages, soup bones, summer sausage (without artificial nitrates or nitrites), and variety packages of ground beef, cuts and roasts. Variety packages start at just 15 lbs. See my order page here. Call or text with questions, Sylvia@bullbrookkeep.com, 651-238-8525.

Blackbrook Farmstead: pastured pork and fresh spring spinach. Other products may also be available. Contact Ayla or James, 651-343-2595, blackbrook.farm.llc@gmail.com 

Whetstone Farm: pastured lamb and mutton, stored root vegetables, fleeces. Other products may be available. You can also sign up for their organic vegetable CSA. Contact Emily or Klauss: cell 612-354-6282, home 715-268-8454, whetstonefarmers@gmail.com

Turnip Rock Farm: pastured pork, and to sign up for their organically grown CSA. This farm also raises and milks a grass-fed herd that supplies the wonderful milk for Cosmic Wheel Creamery for fresh and aged artisan cheeses that are out of this world. Contact Josh or Rama, 715-268-9311, turniprock@gmail.com.

Additional farms and resources will be added. Check back often. Thanks.

Sylvia

Where to go for healthful beef? Read on

In light of emerging scarcities, and a desire to provide a healthful alternative, Dave and I are offering a smaller variety pack of our grass-fed-grass-finished beef. This 15-lb. pack is called “To Your Health!” and includes ground beef, roast and steaks.  You can pick up at farm, or at a drop site (+$5) in Mpls/St.Paul metro, and Wisconsin Polk and St. Croix counties.

Suppy is limited. Find out more and to order, click here.

Wishing you health and calm.

Sylvia – your local, sustainable farmer

Larger packs, ground beef, soup bones and summer sausage also available.

Questions? Email (sylvia@bullbrookkeep.com) or call, 651-238-8525.

Saturday mornings at Jewelltown Roastery jams.

Coffee, food, conversation, music…Star Prairie, WI

I couldn’t get this audio file to upload on Facebook, so here it is on my blog. It’s a one minute bite of this morning’s regular jam session at Jewelltown Roastery, in nearby Star Prairie, WI.

In addition to my cappuccino fix, I chatted with several new acquaintances as tunes flowed across several decades. What a great group of musicians!

Hope to see you there.

Sylvia

Bringing it on at Jewelltown Roastery

Sat., Dec. 14, 9-9:30AM CT – Deep Roots Radio – getting spiced

Whole & ground spices

It was time: This morning, I hopped onto a stool and reached into the back recesses of my highest spice cupboard. I pulled out several dusty bags and jars, spices I hadn’t visited in ages. (The big downside of keeping things in out-of-easy-reach spaces.)

Out went a jar of 2016 sage.I tossed a quarter cup of dusty oregano, half a jar of tasteless ground turmeric, some fennel from I don’t know when, and star anise that looked good but didn’t have a hint of fragrance. They were old and tired out. Their fragrances, and, therefore, their flavoring power was gone, gone gone.

Out went that big jar of ground ginger. It had seemed like such a bargain three years ago, but today it would pack just a fraction of its original punch. It’s essence had evaporated. An initial reaction to faded spices is to double or triple the amount used in any recipe. Guess what, it usually doesn’t work!

Favorite spice tools

So how do we keep spices in fighting shape for great flavor and good value? I mean, why buy terrific vegetables and fruit, or pasture-raised beef, lamb, pork or poultry and then diminish them with dusty pepper, paprika, cumin or allspice?  Fresh spices will enhance the work you’re doing to put great and sustainably-raised food on your table. Spices also bring a wide world of flavor to local food, no matter where you live. (Our own grass-fed-grass-finished beef can be infused with the tastes of Korea on day, Mexico the next, or carry the fragrances of India next week. And what about the great Upper Midwest aroma or cadamom in cookies and coffee cake.

Here are a few spice blends (PDF) that can bring a world of flavor and wonderful aromas. SpiceBlends

 

Tune in to Deep Roots Radio Saturday, Dec. 14, 9-9:30AM Central Time.

Tune in!

If you’re in and around Amery, Wisconsin, you can tune your dial to WPCA Radio 93.1FM. Everybody else in the world can listen live at www.wpcaradio.org.

See you on the radio!

Sylvia

 

Downton Abbey and my small Wisconsin farm

 (My morning soundtrack – just 30 seconds)

I tucked my curls into my wool beret, pulled on my Wellies, and headed out, the hounds scrabbling around my knees. The mist felt good against my face.

“Oh dear,” I said as I turned a blistered grape leaf over in my hand. I held it up for Dave to examine: it was twisted, covered with galls and browning to brittleness.
Quick examination revealed all the vines were similarly affected.

“I’m afraid the grapes haven’t performed as we’d hoped,” I said to my husband, who frowned as he reviewed the long rows. “It’s so disappointing,” he huffed. “I’ll ask Tom to get the gardener out to take a look. Maybe he can tell us what’s going on and if there’s a remedy.” He gave me a rueful grin. “We just never know what a season will bring, do we, my dear?” With that, he shook his head, whistled for the dogs and headed off to the southern-most acres.

“I won’t be long,” he called back. “I’m just going to check on that covey.”  As he strode off, I couldn’t help but smile: he cut a fine figure in his casual hunting jacket.

The wind was out of the East and laying the grass flat. The air was wet, and the change of season evident in the fading roses and orange hawthorn berries. I pulled the collar of my barn coat up to my chin and began a brisk walk back to the house. I waved a hello to Mr. Grange as I passed the orchard. The apples were heavy and quickly ripening. Good.

I’ll ask Mrs. Hanes to set a tray of hot tea and scones, I thought to myself as I pushed through the tall grass. Then I’ve got to get to the letters. Recently married, cousin Lisle was motoring across Wales with her new husband Archie and stopping at every hint of a top-notch brood mare for their stables. She had posted a short note after a particularly disappointing inspection. She’s fanatical about her horses, but a sweet girl all the same. I needed to let her know she could stop here before heading back home.

I wonder if she can join us for a nice long stay over Christmas? I asked myself, as I crossed the threshold into the front hall. I could get my dear husband to entice Archie with a late-season hunt: a plan.

“Thank you,” I said to the the young footman as he closed the door behind me and took my coat. I headed to the back of the house, rubbing the chill from my hands and anticipating the warmth of the sitting room fire.

—–

Believe it or not, that scene played in my head while walking my rural Wisconsin cattle farm, Bull Brook Keep, this morning. Although I grew up in the tenements of the South Bronx, and now farm in rough jeans and thick Muck boots, lift 50-lb. packages of alfalfa, and manage a small herd of beef cattle, my mind superimposes other worlds. I see patrician wardrobes, hear British accents, and enjoy the company of not-really-there friends, family, and servants.

And yes, I did come in out of the drizzle for a cup of milky sweet tea and small apple hand-pie (home-grown, no less).

Sometimes it’s the weather that triggers it. When it’s cool and the clouds are skidding low, I’m on a Scottish coast with the cast of Outlander. I drive carts with The Poldarks. Why? Too much PBS? Should I blame my mother? She put a book of Shakespeare into my 12-year old hands and that was the end of that. Then again, Leon Uris’s Trinity hit me like a ton of bricks.

Or maybe all this was brought on by my cousin’s husband. I was just 10-years old when Kevin boisterously joined the family, fresh out of the military and newly engaged to cousin Betty. He was tall and ruddy, as strong and broad as the college football player he’d once been, and one of the warmest, most gregarious adults I’d ever met. We called him Red, and I’ve been in love with red hair, and Ireland, ever since.

Hmmm. Not sure, because I’m attracted to the Scots and Welsh as well.

The imaginary scenes have refused to remain cerebral musings. Two years ago, I began offering Cowgirl High Teas in our modern farmhouse. From the comfort of a table decked in linens, china and crystal, guests sip oolong, green and black teas with a clear view of the cows. I make and serve everything – cook and buttler, a meld of Downton’s Mrs. Patmore and Mr. Carson every time. I shape-shift from “upstairs” to “downstairs” and back again.

Why? Is this the cumulative impact of annual re-reads of Pride and Prejudice?  Maybe. Maybe it’s a yearning for the civility of another time, and to be part of a smaller, more easily comprehensible villege.

No, this is not about reaching back to the “good old days.” I fully understand that I would have been a scullery maid or slave 200 years ago. I also realize that the “upper crust” was usually blind to anything outside its close circle and immediate needs. They were motivated by greed and self-interest. So what else is new?

Still, I don’t want to live in just one place, in only one time, or bound to one social class. I like borrowing from the best around us now and the past, making it familiar and my own. I think we can permit ourselves the time to enjoy the company of new acquaintances around a table. We can give and accept service gladly provided.

It’s raining steadily now, and the forecast is for more of the same throughout the day. My smartphone app predicts sun tomorrow, which is a good thing because we have bales of hay to move to the farm. Yes, we will haul them. Dave and I won’t call on an imaginary groundskeeper, or wait for ghostly footmen to deliver us into our carriage. It’s our work to do.

All the same, I can’t guarantee there won’t be a Scots dialogue running through my head.

Miniature Boston Cream Pie

 

And yes, you’re invited to tea.

Sylvia

 

New pencils, windswept, and drenched

As a kid in the South Bronx, I loved this time of year because it meant new: yellow #2 pencils, notebooks with crisp clean pages, maybe a fresh book bag (this was way before backpacks), and spanking new clothes to start the school year. There would be one or two bright white shirts, a couple of new skirts (no pants or shorts back then), and fancy dresses for special ocassions.

The first couple of weeks might be a bit warm, but then the winds would start as the East Coast shifted into hurrican season. There were days when I’d walk to school at a 45-degree angle into the wind just to stay on my feet. It was pretty common to see an umbrellas tumbling down the street, spokes twisted and fabric turned inside-out by the gale.

 *   *  *

It was pretty calm this morning at Bull Brook Keep. The hydrant that feeds the line to the cow’s water trough is just 50 yards from the back door, but by the time I reached it this morning, my boots were drenched and my jean cuffs were begining to soak through. Late August-early September in the Upper Midwest usually means heavy dews on the grass and fogs that hang above the pastures and hay fields. The mists take longer and longer to burn off as we move through fall, until one day we’re closer to winter and the air dries again.

Parker greets the sun

Russian kale

Every surface was dripping this morning and it took just five seconds for the dogs to look as if they’d jumped into a stream. Ah, nothing like a wet corgi jumping on your jeans for a pat on the head.

Sourdough loaves are baking and it’s time for morning tea. Lots of calls to make this morning, and notes to take as I schedule this year’s harvest and upcoming deliveries of our grass-fed-grass-finished beef. Fortunately, I’ve got a new pen and a spiral notebook at hand.

Enjoy the changing seasons!

Sylvia

Saturday, July 13 – we’re part of the Co-op Farm Tour!!

Yup, it’s that time of year again. Time to pack up the car, smear on sun screen, pull on a sun hat, and lace up comfy shoes for some terrific visits to sustainable farms this Saturday, 10AM to 4PM. We’re part of Twin Cities Co-op Farm Tour.

There are 25 farms on this year’s self-guided map, and Bull Brook Keep is one of five closely clustered on the eastern edge. We’re an easy and scenic drive from the Twin Cities metro, or from any points in Wisconsin. Our farm features

  • Our beautiful Buelingo beef cattle (locally known as the “oreo cows”,
  • food sampling,
  • pasture walks, and
  • watching as we move our moos to fresh pastures at 10AM, 1PM and 3PM. Be prepared to catch the action on your smart phone or camera.

Come visit. We’d love to hear about your food journey, and describe why we (Dave and I) are committed to sustainable, organic 100% grass-fed beef farming.

24/7 of fresh air and sunshine

Our cows and calves look forward to meeting you!

Need a map? Click here.

Sylvia

Easter and the fence

Prologue

Our 72 acre farm is surrounded by fence, lots of it old barbwire that was fastened to white oak posts 50+ years ago.  Most of the wooden posts have split or leaned, and the wires have drooped right to the ground. 

It’s time to build new fence, but first we’ve got to clear the 40-foot trees and hundreds of bushes that have grown into a tangle around the very rusted wires.

—————-

The Easter service was over and Dave and I were driving back to the farm. It wasn’t even noon, a full afternoon loomed ahead of us, and I wasn’t happy. Not at all.

Here it was Easter Sunday, and it would be just the two of us. Our grown kids and their families were all over the country. A couple were vacationing in Mexico, some were in on the East Coast, and others were out West. I, who grew up with at least 20 relatives at the table for every family event, would be without kids and grandkids for Easter. I was sad, and I was really upset. How could I enjoy Easter without the sound of family conversation, and jokes at the dinnertable.  Grrr.

Dave said, “I’m going to finish brushing out a section of the south fence and I could use your help.”

“What?!” I thought to myself. It’s Easter Sunday, and the last thing I want to do is work on the fence. I was, to put it lightly, in a funk.

I knocked about the kitchen for about five minutes and decided I’d better get outside and do something, anything. My kids weren’t going to materialize and, anyway, it was too early to start dinner.

I checked to make sure I had the tools I needed, climbed into the Ranger, and made the really short drive to the south fence. Dave followed in the skid steer, his speed seriously slowed by the brush hog attachment at the front of the vehicle. [A brush hog is a powerful implement that can cut through heavy brush and saplings like a hot knife through butter.]

Dave and I peered down the old fence line and saw the job ahead of us. A wall of trees, saplings, brush, and weeds told us where the fence line stretched to the brook. Thing was, we couldn’t see the posts and wires because they’d been swallowed by decades of vegetation.  

While Dave manned the chainsaw and the brush saw (another wickedly effective tool), I began to work the wire. At Dave’s suggestion, I focused on just one wire at a time, using fence tools to pry rusted support staples out of the wood, and bend clip supports away from the steel posts. 

Barbwire

Once a length was free, I began to coil it. Formed by a pair of twined wires punctuated by a knot of rigid barbs every few inches. the barbwire was stiff and stubborn. It snagged at my jeans, and poked through my leather gloves. It grabbed at my work shirt and scratched my wrists. If I didn’t hang on tight, the loops would spring apart and lash at arm and face and eyes.

Working slowly and carefully, I eventually coaxed several yards into layered circles of rust and thorn. 

I couldn’t help but remember the Easter sermon, and the crown of thorns that had been nailed into Jesus’ head before he was beaten, flailed and crucified.

Jesus had no leather gloves to protect his hands. He had no tough denim to protect his legs, or heavy shirt to cushion his back. He suffered it all, and died for us. And on the third day, he vanquished pain and death by rising again.

He did this so that we might be saved. And He did it voluntarily!! 

The sun lowered in the sky. Our work was done for the day. Bound coils of barb wire rested on the ground. The sagging fence is coming down wire by wire. My leather gloves were lots worse for the wear, and my jeans frayed a bit, but no matter. It was time to get dinner started.

As I climbed into the Ranger, I noticed a low tire. I’ll need to get that fixed.  

Making the short hop back to the house, my mind slipped to everyday concerns, those tasks that need attention again and again: the meals, shopping, laundry, the phone calls. 

It’s Easter Sunday. It’ll be just Dave and me, and that’s a gift. We worked on the fence together and now we’d have brisket for dinner, and maybe watch a movie. Ordinary activities.

We’ll relax in these little things because He took care of the big thing – our salvation – once and for all – on that first Easter morning. 

Sylvia

A Day in the Life (of a NYC baby boomer turned WI cattlewoman)

Wednesday, April 10, Bull Brook Keep

6:30 AM – dragged myself out of bed – yeah, I slept in. Slipped my feet into house shoes while Cathy Wurzer gave me an earful on the state-of-the-world according to MPR.
Usual morning ablutions followed by routine stretches and crunches.
Hefted a basket of laundry to the utility room, started up a load, and picked up a set of clean sheets from the linen closet as I made my way back to the bedroom.
      Note to self: sheets are getting really threadbare. Need a couple of new sets. Boy, that’s going to set me back.

2018-2019 winter fog

Thick fog blankets the farm, can’t even make out the cattle.
     Note to self: gotta wash the windows.
     Recollection — I’d never really seen thick fog before I got to the Upper Midwest; It’s just not something you notice much in the middle of New York City. It was in Duluth, Minnesota, the San Francisco of the North, that I fell in love with fog. I was a young TV/radio reporter, and this ground cloud felt miraculous. I remember driving my VW Bug into walls of pale gray as I snaked down from the hillsides above the city to the roads along the Lake Superior shore. Was it dangerous? I guess, but I loved being wrapped in it just the same. Still do.

Brewed a pot of tea. Sweetened and creamed it.
Note to self: need more half-and-half. Oh, and I need organic brown rice. Totally out — unacceptable. Also, out of carrots — unthinkable.

8:30 AM — Set the hot mug by my computer and opened up a couple of new documents. Dave and I are coordinating a staff evaluation effort for a nonprofit. Time to move the process to its next step. That’ll mean about 90 minutes generating and discussing the latest phase in the process.
      Note to self: It took 4 hours. Sigh.
     Put one load in the dryer and started another in the washer. Made Dave and myself a     quick breakfast of eggs and toast.

11:00 AM – For the second day in a row, Dave heads to the south fence line to brush out bushes and saplings while the weather’s cool and before leaves appear. A huge, physical job.

2:00 PM — My seat is killing me and my eyes are squinty from staring at the computer screen. Time to get outside and count up how many wood posts and how many metal t-posts I’ll need over the next several weeks, aka fencing season.
It always takes longer than I think it will. I restrung low-tensile fence while I was walking the lines. I need 50 or more t-posts, a good dozen wooden posts. Maybe another half-mile of wire.

I join Dave along the south fence line to help him pull together piles of the branches he’d cut down the last couple of days. Mine was a very small contribution.
Dave used the skid steer, equipped with the grapple (massive metal claws), to lift the branches off the road and onto our farm property.

Siggy kept me company, digging through hay piles and nosing holes. He’d wander off every once in a while but always stayed within view.
Although the temp wasn’t too bad, a couple of hours in the stiff wind made me very happy I’d worn a hat, wrapped a scarf, and pulled on long johns.

5:00 PM —Now to move some hay before the storm hits.
Thank you, God, again, for the warm clothes, house, and equipment.

8:00 PM – Made dinner (oven-fried chicken and steamed broccoli), and the snow started. Dave and I watched some Netflix.
Note to self: I need to quit slouching in the armchair; I’m giving myself a chronic backache. New chair?

10:35 PM — I finish up the few dishes left in the sink and wash off kitchen counters. I lock the doors.
 Note to self: Before hitting the sack, write down all the things that need to be done tomorrow. Trying to keep everything in my brain is exhausting and risky.

11:05 PM — I flipped off the lights. To bed.

Growing past our tomorrows in organic farming and eating

It was a nail biter: whiteouts every few minutes, ice building on the roadbed, semi’s and cars in the ditch. It was late February in northern Wisconsin, so it wasn’t like this weather was rare. It was treacherous, but there wasn’t any way I wasn’t going to get to La Crosse, WI. The 30thAnnual Organic Farming Conference was due to start in a couple of days and I was going to get there.

Put on by the Midwest Organic & Sustainable Education Service (MOSES), I’ve attended the event many times, watching it grow from a gathering of fewer than 100 to the biggest organic farming gathering in the United State, if not the world. Now, as a member of the MOSES board of directors, I worried bad weather would cut attendance and dampen spirits.

I stewed as we rolled through the miles: MOSES staff had – with its signature professionalism and efficiency – developed an exciting program of 60 breakout sessions, nine full-day Organic University classes, and numbers of roundtable discussions, film screenings, and more. Presenters and keynote speakers were en route (I hoped) from all across the country. Exhibitors were due to spotlight the latest in equipment, ideas for cultivation, seed, consultation services, grant opportunities, and technical assistance.

Then there were the researchers, policy makers, financial and communications experts, and educators making their way on ice-crusted roads.

Would all the farmers make it? Pre-registration indicated we could expect at least 2,000+ from rural communities in 40+ states and points beyond, including China. Many were producing from certified organic acres. Others were transitioning, and still other contemplating this shift to organic practice.

From past experience, I knew attendees would include scores of pioneers – the men and women who laid the foundations of the organic sector and pushed for the passage of the Organic Foods Act of 1990.  They’d get to the conference come hell or high water (or six-foot snow drifts).

The snow began to lighten through the evening. By Friday, 2,900 attendees packed the La Crosse Convention Center and filled area hotels.

As with any good event, no sooner does it begin than it’s over, and you’re stopping for last hugs and coordinating calendars for pastures walks or FaceTime. Ultimately, this year’s event did for me what it’s done before: it lifted my thinking above the weather and into a place where I would not only welcome the coming growing season, but think into the future – our future.

Well, Spring begins tomorrow. As the drifts melt, I can see fences to mend and calves to prepare for at my farm, Bull Brook Keep. Possibilities swirl for this and next year: Should my husband Dave and I get into hazelnuts? How might that work in combination with Icelandic chickens for insect control in my BueLingo beef herd? Should I get on the bus and lobby at the state capital? How will I find young farmers who’d like to build their skills and income on my land?

Two conference take-aways are helping me explore these ideas: Thursday’s day-long “Organics 2051” session, and Friday’s keynote panel.

“Organic 2051” was emblematic of what MOSES does every year, at every event and conversation – tap the wisdom of the crowd. It was a full day of intensive conversation about the organic sector 30 years from now. Audrey Arner (organic farmer/organics pioneer/past president of MOSES Board of Directors) facilitated the gathering of over 100 thought leaders as they envisioned the growth and strength, challenges and obstacles faced by the organic sector nationwide.

The participants self-selected to spend the day focused on one of 15 issue areas, including market infrastructure, climate change, rural community revitalization, and livestock. I was a fly on the wall, moving from group to group.  I listened as farmers and ranchers, financiers and policy makers, economists, marketers, and consumer advocates put their heads together over thorny and complex challenges. They identified key opportunities, drilled down to major obstacles, and worked to synthesize possible strategies.

 

I was struck by their will to hear every voice.  There was so much experience, youthful energy, creativity and hope at each table. Their conversations were pooled into written proceedings as well as artistic renderings. At the end of the day, their ideas and suggestions live on the MOSES website so that hundreds more can help shape direction and action.

The other big impression came from Friday’s keynote panel.

I’d been given the honor to moderate this exchange among six champions, men and women who helped shape the philosophy and practice of the sector, and were instrumental in the passage of the Organic Foods Act of 1990. The panel included Audrey Arner, organic farmer and former MOSES board member and board president; Atina Diffley, organic farmer, educator and author of Turn Here Sweet Corn; Faye Jones, helped establish the Organic Farming Conference, and first director of MOSES; Jim Riddle, helped develop the organic standards, inspector training, with wife Joyce Ford the 2019 MOSES Organic Farmer of the Year; George Siemon, CEO and early organizer of Organic Valley, served on National Organic Standards Board; and Francis Thicke, organic dairy farmer, served on NOSB, on first MOSES Board of Directors.

Each explained how the organic standards they worked to develop in the 1970s, 80s and 90s must be vigorously defended and expanded. They stressed that it is our responsibility to protect organic regulations from well-financed pressures to dilute them. The panel emphasized that the bar must be pushed ever higher.

It was humbling to sit on the stage with these leaders. I got to know most of them while serving as a public relations consultant in the late 1980s. They showed me organic farming could be done well. As they spoke, I looked out beyond the stage lights to the large crowd of students, 20-somethings and 30-somethings, clusters of 40-somethings and 50-somethings with children. They were listening.

Winter’s done, and, hopefully, the deepest freezes are behind us. Once we get through the thaw, we’ll start our growing season. We’ll get super busy; we always do.

Before the long days begin, I’ll need to schedule time to do what I can to protect and improve our standards, to think forward to those young men and women who’ll grow organic foods in 2051 and beyond.

I hope you’ll join me, our nation’s organic and sustainable farmers, and MOSES in this movement.

Sylvia