Financing Our Foodshed (16 page)

As they talked, they found that their lives already intersected through numerous mutual friends, common interests, and common goals. And then they got down to business. They worked out the terms of an affordable, short-term loan to help cover some of Homegrown City Farms’ start-up costs. It was enough to help buy some much-needed equipment, seeds, and supplies. So, Maryah and Collier were able to get back to farming.

At least for now, Collier and Maryah are keeping their part-time jobs, which provide not only paychecks, but customers.

Collier works as a server at Panciuto restaurant in Hillsborough. Aaron Vandermark, the owner and executive chef, now purchases vegetables from her farm.

Maryah works part-time for the Scrap Exchange, a re-use center that receives donations of useful items that would otherwise have headed to the landfill. The Exchange sells the donated material at discounted prices. (I know the place well. When my daughters were young, we spent happy days digging through boxes, barrels, and bins to find all sorts of bits and parts that they could “make something out of.”) Throughout the creation of their farm, the Scrap Exchange has been an excellent resource for Collier and Maryah — for buckets, reclaimed wood, harvesting vessels, etc. Another side benefit has been the support from Maryah’s co-workers, several of whom joined the farm’s CSA.

By early summer, the farm was brimming with sugar snap peas, chard, beets, radishes, spinach, arugula, and carrots — easily enough produce to fill those 15 CSA bags each week and still meet their restaurant commitments. They were managing to juggle all their various commitments, and, although Homegrown City Farms was not supporting them entirely yet, they could see to a time in 18 months to 2 years when it just might.

In addition to sending off loan payment checks to Seth, they also
kept in touch with him by handwritten letters. Seth also receives fresh produce as a side benefit to making a Slow Money loan.

Collier told me recently:

Echoing that sentiment, Maryah added:

Collier and Maryah are artists, musicians, and now farmers. They moved to Durham for the overlapping social justice, farm-to-fork, music, and art scenes. They are a great gift to our local foodshed. Hopefully, their Slow Money NC loan pays them back in a small way for the many gifts they have given to our community.

Patrick’s customers at the Carrboro Farmers Market liked everything about his free-range chickens except one thing: They play hard to get. With a production of 1,000 broilers a year, Patrick routinely sold all his chickens long before many of his customers arrived, asking for them.

When he saw an article in the local paper about Slow Money, he thought there might be a way he could change that. He had worked
out a detailed plan to increase his production, which would result in many more happy customers. He wanted to put his three acres into cultivation. By doing that, he would not only be able to produce more chickens, he’d be able to bring to market vegetables, fruit, and (in the fall) a couple of hogs. He wondered how he could structure a loan from a friend or two to support his expansion.

I took a long-time friend of our Slow Money project with me the day I visited Patrick at his farm in Silk Hope. It was a sunny February day, and fluffy white Cornish Crosses pecked happily at the ground-cover. They would be ready for market in about two weeks. About 150 week-old chicks huddled under lights in their mobile chicken coop. In a few more days, they would be moved to a fenced-in corner of the farmyard and start filling up on sunshine, bugs, and whatever they could forage.

As we toured the farm, Patrick explained how he uses crop rotations and farm-generated fertility. In the eight years he’d been at it, he’d built a solid customer base at the Carrboro Farmers Market, one of the most established markets in the area. He was also delivering to several restaurants in the Chapel Hill area.

He explained, as we toured his farm:

After our tour, we settled into lawn chairs to enjoy the barbecued chicken wings Patrick had cooked on the grill. He talked about the
friends who had helped him build up his farm over the years. And we looked in detail at Patrick’s proposed budget.

He had a solid plan. The friend who had come with me to meet Patrick wanted to loan him some of the money he needed, and Patrick had a customer-turned-friend who was also interested in making him a Slow Money loan. So, they each offered to loan Patrick half of the amount he thought he needed.

The summer that followed was the hottest one in decades. Chicken feed prices rose by 30%, which was three times more than the 10% cushion that Patrick had figured in his budget. The processor he had been using increased the processing fee per chicken, and, even then, was not always reliable about getting the birds processed on time. The record heat took a large number of birds before they were big enough to eat.

With all these added costs, Patrick’s loan payments stopped coming. The phone numbers I had for him no longer worked; the emails I sent bounced back. As time went on, it looked like this might be the first Slow Money loan to default.

This young farmer — with a wonderful vision for raising 4,000 free-range broiler chickens and sustainable produce, who had ample spreadsheets and a flock of adorable baby chicks, and who was writing a new story of hope and promise to replace an old one of personal tragedy and loss — had stopped making loan payments to the two caring friends who had taken a chance and loaned him the money he needed for his expansion.

I decided go see what was up. I chose a bright and sunny early fall day to do what I hoped would not be a gloomy task. For the first time in the eight months since June of 2010, when we closed our eyes and dove head first into the rising tide of Slow Money, we had hit a rock.

On this visit, it wasn’t easy to even find his driveway; a patch of high grass in the middle of his gravel lane made me wish I drove something higher off the ground than my bright red, energy-efficient, diesel Jetta.

As I made my way down the winding drive, I came upon overgrown fields, abandoned tube houses, and empty chicken coops. Not a single baby chick.

But there were some hopeful signs. I heard a rooster. A few hogs seemed quite happy. There were several goats, and a cat came out from under the house to greet me. The tractor, the coolers, and the SUV all seemed ready to be re-enlisted to bring the farm back into productivity.

I wrote a note and left it on the kitchen table, where it wouldn’t be missed. It was the letter no one wants to get. The one that reminds us that that our debts and our obligations haven’t miraculously disappeared just because they’ve become too much for us.

Driving back into town, I passed two huge commercial chicken houses. They had been full of chickens the day of my first visit (though sealed up tight, so you couldn’t get even a glimpse of the way industrially raised poultry are treated), but now they were empty, their doors wide open; there was nothing to hide because the last surviving local chicken plant had recently closed down.

Trying to make a living at small-scale sustainable agriculture is difficult, complicated, and demanding. Even the big guy in town, Townsend, had sold out to a Ukrainian firm. Given the rising costs of chicken operations in North Carolina, that buyer then chose to close the huge processing plant, putting 200 growers out of business. So Patrick wasn’t the only chicken farmer in the area strapped with debt.

Yet somehow I hoped he could find a way to make good on his Slow Money loans.

I’d left my phone number on the note. I was hoping he’d call soon.

Several weeks passed, but an email finally arrived:

One of Patrick’s lenders tried to resolve the problem by working out a barter arrangement, and sent me this email.

These lenders are good people, and they were bending over backward to be accommodating as Patrick attempts to rejuvenate his farm.

But about a month later, the news was still not so good:

And from his other lender, a similar story:

There is no happy ending to this story, at least not yet. We all see each other occasionally at the market. Although his payments are very sporadic and communication is spotty, we all hope Patrick can find a way to generate a living wage from his farm and make good on his word to his lenders.

Getting oopsy Word Out and Building Our Network Part of our search was for local food entrepreneurs who had viable needs for capital. org required creative networking and marketing to get oopsy message to potential borrowers that Slow Money might be able to help oopsym access oopsy capital oopsyy needed. In oopsy process, we found lenders as well, and oopsyy found each ooopsyr.

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