Going Soil-Friendly

Posted on July 25, 2014 by Shawndra Miller

Do you ever think about the importance of the innumerable tiny creatures living underground, right under your feet? In just one tablespoon of soil, according to North Carolina State University’s Cooperative Extension Service, some 50 billion microbes are working away.

That’s if the soil is healthy.

By NoNomme (Own work) [CC0], via Wikimedia Commons

I remember a conversation with an Ohio woman active in the environmental movement. She told me a story about a farmer who decided to switch his (conventionally farmed) cornfields to chemical-free produce. His seeds sprouted, but grew stunted and deformed.

The land had been blasted with petrochemicals year after year. Now there was nothing left to support a plant. No microbes. No nutrients.

But it doesn’t have to be that way.

My most recent Farm Indiana piece concerns a small agricultural fertilizer business called Sterling Formulations, led by a young man aptly named Vince Plowman.

Sterling Formulations’ team assesses farm fields and recommends soil-friendly additives depending on the particular needs of each field. They apply microbes and micronutrients to balance and nourish the soil that nourishes us.

Filling a container with earth-friendly fertilizer concentrate at Sterling Formulations’ Shelbyville, IN plant.

The team includes an Amish farmer who offers knowledge based on generations of experience. (My people!)

“The Amish have been farming organically for centuries, and quite successfully,” Vince told me. “They treat their soil right, and guess what, they’re getting yields comparable to conventional.”

He was surprised to learn that conventional farmers are as receptive to this message as organic growers. He said, “We found, in talking to a lot of conventional farmers, that so many of them are curious.”

Though he half-expected a derisive response from the conventional agribusiness side, so far that has not been the case. “What we found is they’re absolutely afraid…They don’t know how to do it (transition off chemicals), and they don’t have anyone to step them through the process of going to organics without absolutely killing themselves. They’re used to getting 200 bushels an acre, and they’re afraid they’re going to get 50 next year” if they stop using chemicals.

What comes next in that scenario isn’t pretty: they’d likely lose their farm. And many in that arena are supporting multiple families on the farm.

But Sterling Formulations is stepping into the gap. The goal is to help heal beleaguered soil through tailored applications of microbes and kelp-based fertilizers. Instead of petrochemicals that artificially prop up crops, these nutrients and tiny creatures create a living medium for plants.

This is one of the most exciting developments I’ve heard about in a long time. Farmers who want to stop using chemicals can get support in the switch—and stay profitable during the transition.

Tearing Up an Ancestral Contract

Posted on April 27, 2014 by Shawndra Miller

I woke up thinking about that beloved quote we see so many different places: “Your playing small doesn’t serve the world.” Attributed falsely to Nelson Mandela, the words are part of a beautiful passage by Marianne Williamson.

I realize now that I took that quote to heart, but not really into my being. I thought I understood it. I aspired to it. But recently I’ve been reviewing my ancestral contracts and commitments. I see more clearly now the ways I’ve limited myself.

I was raised Mennonite. Few would think it to look at me (and no one would guess it from my Sunday morning routine). But Mennonite-ness is a key part of my identity.

In many ways I don’t feel very far removed from that heritage—nor from my Amish forebears. Recently my spouse and I watched a PBS show about the Amish. We kept nudging each other: Yep. That’s us! (She descends from the same “plain people.”)

By Gadjoboy, via Wikimedia Commons

But what about these contracts I’m reviewing? Well, we Anabaptists are a humble people; that’s one of our main things. (Sometimes I think we’re pretty darn proud of our humility!)

And there is something to be said for taking a self-effacing approach to life. The world is full of braggadocio. Who needs it? Why not modestly go about our work? Actions speak louder than words, and all that.

I embrace many agreements stemming from my heritage. I value simplicity, stewardship, and nonconformity: carving a path that’s different from the mainstream.

But in our purported humility’s case, it seems that something unhelpful hitched a ride on that value. It’s a habit of self-effacement so extreme that it abnegates many of our gifts.

What do we have to offer, who are we to say, why would anyone care what we think?

Quick story: On more than one occasion, I heard my dad refer to himself as a “dumb Amishman.” (He said this jokingly—he was never really Amish, though his father had been.)

Related story: Sometimes I assist my spouse in whapping something together—perhaps reusing some wire and twine to make a garden trellis or the like. And one of us will quip, while surveying our finished product: “Not bad for a couple of Amish girls.”

Raised beds Judy and Dad made from reclaimed materials.

It’s funny, and it speaks to the beautiful ingenuity that our forebears cultivated. But it also smacks of a self-doubt passed down for generations.

Our gifts have been buried under an avalanche of inherited beliefs about who we are and who we can never be. We run from the limelight. We say yes to too many tasks, making it impossible to complete our real assignment on earth. We keep our dreams under wraps.

At some point this unspoken agreement with our ancestors simply no longer serves.

I’m sure most people face ancestral contracts rooted in our ethnicity, religion, or nationality. Perhaps it’s time to bring these agreements to light. We can decide for ourselves whether to sign on the dotted line—or whether to tear the contracts up.

The Quiet in the Land Gets Loud

Posted on March 26, 2013 by Shawndra Miller

Mom had a dream in which I was kidnapped in South America and she spent her retirement money to find me. When found, I had grown so accustomed to living among the jungle people, I didn’t understand why I should keep my breasts covered.

I asked her, are you worried about me exposing myself, perhaps through this new blog? She didn’t think so.

But it’s a perfectly legitimate concern, one I deal with all the time in my own head as I try to rise to the occasion here. My cultural background is Mennonite, and there are a lot of prohibitions against standing out. My Amish forebears were “the quiet in the land,” the “plain people.”

And though less strict than the Amish, Mennonites are still big on humility. We aren’t supposed to shine too much, or get too high on ourselves, or in general stick our necks out too much. There’s safety in the tribe, in being like everyone else.

By it:Utente:TheCadExpert (GFDL or CC-BY-SA-3.0), via Wikimedia Commons

Of course, being “plain” in the Amish sense means that even while everyone looks the same within the tribe, you stand out against the larger culture in a big way. Your dress, your home, your whole way of life is a rebuke of the world’s fancy-yet-empty ways.

Nonconformism is in fact one of the central tenets of the Anabaptist faith, and I absorbed that ethic as a Mennonite child. To be in the world but not of the world—that was the ideal.

Which may be why I naturally view the dominant culture with a critical eye.

Recently I read Seth Godin’s Tribes: We Need You to Lead Us, and it showed me that we all need to be leaders now. It helped me to take my place as such, to step into this somewhat uncomfortable role. Writing is the gift I have to offer, so I write in service of the world I want to manifest–even if it means going against the ancestral voices that tell me to keep my head down.

Over the last several years I’ve led groups in various successful community endeavors, such as the Irvington SkillShare. So claiming “leadership” shouldn’t be such a stretch, but somehow it still is. (As a teen I heard my peers talk about attending “leadership camp,” and I knew I’d sooner tear my toenails out one by one than do such a thing. Leadership was for kids with confidence. Kids who didn’t mind speechifying. Kids who didn’t need to be humble.)

But there’s an urgency about this time, a sense that we need all hands on deck. We can’t afford to shirk that responsibility out of an ingrained belief that it’s dangerous to stick our necks out. We can’t afford “I’m not enough, I’m just a dumb /fill in the blank/.”

Enough of that. It’s time to get in the game. Let the “quiet in the land” get loud.

What’s your gift, and how are you becoming the leader we need today?