Good Life Project - Natalie Baszile | We Are Each Other’s Harvest

Episode Date: August 9, 2021

Farming has been a huge part of our history and culture for generations. But, there’s a part of the story that’s so often left out of the popular lore: the history, stories, and contribution of Black farmers. It’s so important to understand this part of our heritage, not only to acknowledge the challenges and contribution, but also because it’s had a profound effect on our food systems to health, education, economics, and beyond. In today’s conversation with Natalie Baszile, we dive into the history and stories, not just of the past, but of present and returning farmers. Natalie holds a M.A. in Afro-American Studies from UCLA and is a graduate of Warren Wilson College’s MFA Program for Writers. She is the author of the novel Queen Sugar, which was adapted for television by writer/director Ava DuVernay and co-produced by Oprah Winfrey for OWN. Natalie’s stunning new anthology, We Are Each Other’s Harvest, is filled with essays, poems, quotes, conversations, and first-person stories that examine Black people’s connection to the American land from Emancipation to today, with a strong focus on what she calls the Returning Generation. It elevates the voices and stories of Black farmers and people of color, celebrating their perseverance and resilience, while spotlighting the challenges they continue to face. This collection helps all of us better understand the rich history and contribution of Black farmers. Plus, the book, itself, filled with imagery, is visually gorgeous as well.You can find Natalie at: Website | InstagramIf you LOVED this episode:You’ll also love the conversations we had with Michele Harper, the author of New York Times bestseller, The Beauty of Breaking.-------------Have you discovered your Sparketype yet? Take the Sparketype Assessment™ now. IT’S FREE (https://sparketype.com/) and takes about 7-minutes to complete. At a minimum, it’ll open your eyes in a big way. It also just might change your life.If you enjoyed the show, please share it with a friend. Thank you to our super cool brand partners. If you like the show, please support them - they help make the podcast possible.My new book, Sparked: Discover Your Unique Imprint for Work that Makes You Come Alive is now available for order at https://sparketype.com/book/ Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

So farming has been a huge part of our history and culture for generations, but there's a part of the story that is so often left out of the popular lore, the history, the stories, and the contribution of black farmers. It is so important to understand this part of our heritage, not only to acknowledge the challenges and contribution, but also because it's had a profound effect on all of us, on our food systems, our health, our education, economics, and beyond. In today's conversation with Natalie Bazile, we dive into the history and stories, not just of the past, but of the present and returning farmers. Natalie holds an MA in Afro-American Studies from UCLA, is a graduate of Warren Wilson College's MFA program

for writers. She's the author of the novel Queen Sugar, which by the way, was adapted for television by writer-director Ava DuVernay and co-produced by Oprah Winfrey for OWN and Natalie's stunning new anthology, We Are Each Other's Harvest, is filled with essays and poems and quotes and conversations and first-person stories that examine Black people's connection to the American land from emancipation to today with a strong focus on what she calls the returning generation. It elevates the voices and stories of Black farmers and people of color, celebrating their perseverance and resilience, while spotlighting the challenges they continue to face. This collection really helps all of us better understand

the rich history and contribution of Black farmers. Plus, the book itself as a physical object is gorgeous. It's filled with these incredible images. I spent hours just soaking it all in, even beyond diving into all the poems and stories and essays that were so insightful. So excited to share this conversation with you. I'm Jonathan Fields, and this is Good Life Project. Mark Wahlberg. You know what the difference between me and you is? You're going to die. Don't shoot if we need him. Y'all need a pilot. Flight risk.

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Compared to previous generations, iPhone XS or later required, charge time and actual results will vary. Your work is fascinating to me. The fundamental idea that farming in the United States has been such a rich and profound part of the tradition of Black people in this country, but it is woe. It's eye-opening. But can you share a bit about what brought you to want to dive a lot deeper into this question? Sure. Well, I think it really goes back to my own experience of the narrative, right? The narrative that I grew up with. This idea that, you know, when I was a kid and I would watch television, you know, I was kind of aware of this idea of farming and the American farmer. And it was this very heroic, romantic story. And I can't say that as a kid, I was aware of the absence of Black people. but I remember kind of being swept up in that idea, right, about that this is something, this is a noble endeavor.

This is something that's kind of part of the American identity. For whatever reason, I have always enjoyed, you know, my own kind of personal fantasy about farming and having land and being on the land. And so as I kind of held that appreciation for just the story of farmers in general, what I started to notice, especially as I was working on my first novel, Queen Sugar, and would go to Louisiana and look around at who was farming sugarcane, I was struck by how few Black farmers there were. And I thought, how can this be? You know, how can this be in a nation where farming is an integral part of the narrative, right?

It's this integral part of how Americans think about themselves, this connection to the land. And yet, Black people are not part of that picture. And so I start, that was part of the reason I explored, you know, in Queen Sugar. It was just to say, this is not right. And I think at the same time, I started to learn about my family's connection to the land. And that had always kind of been part of our personal experience. I hadn't necessarily connected it to the larger question of farming, but I knew that especially on my mother's side, there was this deep appreciation for land and what that can mean for a family. And so all of those things, all of those questions and issues started to come together. And when I wrote Queen Sugar,

and it was my chance to explore these ideas in fictional form, that's really when I could see that there was a story there that was important to tell. And then when I was given the opportunity to revisit those ideas for We Are Each Other's Harvest, I thought, you know, this time I want to speak to the real people. I don't need to make up a story, right? And I want to try to capture this moment where African-American farmers, their presence on the landscape has been erased. It continues to be erased. And if we don't do something about that now, we will be erased from the history books and people won't have this understanding that Black people have this deep connection to the land. So it was,

it's a long arc, but I feel like all of these smaller moments were pointing me in the direction of writing this book and thinking about these ideas. Yeah. I mean, I mean, it's so powerful, you know, for, for you, it sounds like part of it is personal. Part of it is just a, a deep fascination and almost call to explore the broader narrative and the history around it. You know, the notion that I think the numbers you shared were something like a million. At one point, something like a million black people were farmers, owned the land and worked the land that they were on. And now that number has dropped down to around 45, 50, 50,000 people, and something like 14 million acres of land have been lost. I'm curious what's behind that. I know you write about this and

you've done so much research, and I know it's not an easy answer. I know it's not just one thing, but this is something that's been going on for, it has been a process that has been evolving over generations. Absolutely. Well, there are really two major factors that contribute to this dramatic land loss for African American people, black people in this country. The first and probably the most insidious is the role that the USDA has played in disenfranchising black people since the early 1900s. You're right. By 1920, they say, there were about 925,000 Black farmers in this country, almost a million farmers. Not all owned the land, but many did. But there were Black people who were engaged in agriculture, either owning land or renting land. And that accounted for, on the ownership side,

about 14% of all the arable farmland in this country was owned by Black people. The USDA, which is a government agency designed and created to assist the American farmer, that agency has had everything to do with the reason why Black people have lost land and have lost farms. And I guess the shortest way to explain it is that federal agency really operates on the local level. So in all of these small rural communities, primarily across the South, but also in the Midwest and the West, there are these local USDA offices run by local people. Most of the time, those people have been white. Many times, those people have also been farmers themselves. As they have received these federal funds that are distributed so that they can educate farmers about the newest

innovations and the newest technologies and offer support, but also loan them money. These local agents in all of these rural communities have really used those federal funds as their own private funds. And they have been the people to determine who gets loans, whose farms are, you know, who's able to buy land. And so starting in about 1920 on through today, when a black farmer walks into his local USDA office and applies for an operating loan, right? And that's just part of farming. I think that's important to say too. There's no stigma attached to having to take out a loan. That's just the way farming operates. You take out a loan at the beginning of the season,

you use it to buy your seed and your fertilizer and all these kinds of things. And then when your crop comes in in the fall, hopefully you've made enough money and you pay the loan back and then you start again. That's just the cycle. But for black farmers, when they went to their local agencies, the local farm USDA agent would tear up their loan applications. Or if they were processed, they would often deny their loan applications or they would delay their loan applications. And what this means is that when the new year rolls around and it's January and February and people are getting back out into their fields and getting their fields ready for

planting, they're buying seed, they're buying fertilizer. Well, if you don't have the operating funds to do that, because you're still waiting for your local USDA officer to approve your loan or distribute the funds, you cannot engage in the practice of farming. And this is what happened to Black people year after year, generation after generation. When that happens to a farmer and he doesn't, for example, get his money that he's applied for, not in February, but he gets it in June. Well, in June, he's supposed to have planted his crop, right? And so that almost ensures that he will eventually fail. And not only his crop will fail, but he won't be able to repay the loan. And these local USDA agents understood what this cycle meant for these Black farmers.

And so when that would happen and the Black farmer was unable to pay back the loan and couldn't restructure it year after year after year, these local USDA agents would then go in and they would seize that farmer's land because of course they had to put up collateral in the first place, right? To guarantee the loan. So when the crop failed, they couldn't pay the loan back. Then the USDA goes in and they seize that farmer's house, his car, all of his assets, and his land. This was a systematic practice that happened to Black farmers since the 1920s. And this is the main reason why there has been this dramatic decline in Black land ownership.

The second issue has everything to do with heirs property, but that's a different issue. But the main reason is because of the USDA and the role that they have played. Yeah. And I know you write a bit about that second issue also, and it gets pretty complicated, but it also, it's, yeah, it's also really eye-opening. I wonder when you have a system that works in a way that disfavors some and favors others, at some point, I've got to imagine people just start to say, throw my hands up. There are other ways that I can go into the world, that I can make a contribution, that I can make a living and support my family. And at some point, it's just going to lead to a mass exodus. Well, and I do think that that happened. I think when you talk about the Great Migration, that period from, I think it was 1914 all the way up to the early 70s when people, black people, left the South in droves, right?

They were leaving because of violence and terror and theft, but they were also leaving because in many cases they were driven off of their farms, right? Or because they decided, you know what, this isn't worth it. It's not worth risking my family's life. And so they moved to metropolitan centers in the Northeast or the Midwest, or they came out West like my dad did. Yeah, people do give up, but you have to think about what they're leaving behind, right? And that is really, I think, when I think about what these projects have meant to me and why I wanted to write about this and explore these issues, it's because I started to think about what have Black people lost that we actually had? What have we left behind? What have we been forced to turn our backs on in order to move forward and to progress. And in the case of farms and land ownership and land stewardship, there are all of these cascading issues about

intergenerational wealth and black people, because they don't own land, they don't have that asset to pass on to future generations, right? So it just becomes this very, it's just an interesting and complicated constellation of questions and issues that tie into why, you know, why black people, you know, why our community is the way it is today, right? It's very complicated, but it's rich and frustrating, you know, but interesting as a storyteller. Right. And also, you know, like the notion that, yes, it affects individuals, it affects the families, and it's really the, you know, the familial history of so many people on an individual way. But then, like you said,

when you zoom the lens out and look at the structure of society, when you look at issues of justice, of food systems, then you start to realize that, okay, inequity is at the level of individual farmers and families. They're not isolated. There's a measurable, trackable effect when you look at the way that we've landed in the broader food system and inequity is sort of like that on a more systemic basis now. That's exactly right. That's exactly right. It's an exponential question, right? It starts with the individual. It starts with one farmer, one farmer's family. But if you multiply that over generations, if you think about whole communities of people, if you start to ask these other questions and make these connections between farming and knowing where your food comes from and food justice and food sovereignty, all of a sudden, all of these questions are interconnected. All of these questions are connected. And, you know, to see the way people are finally beginning to

address these questions is what gives me hope. You know, people are finally, I think, beginning, and I don't say this like I'm the first person who discovered this. I'm not. But I think that finally there is momentum behind these issues and people who have been working in isolation in a relative sense are now, have now started to find each other and, and build these coalitions and collaborate together. And it's, it's exciting to see. Yeah. I mean, it's really powerful. You know, the notion that these things that have happened on a local level affect the existence of food deserts, you know, like in major cities, and to see that people are sort of like are returning to the conversation and revisiting it is I think it's powerful. I think I feel like, you know, we're stepping into a moment, you know, in this context and also in a lot of broader contexts of inequity. But to see that there's attention being given to this, I think is really, it's fascinating and, and, and hopefully hopeful. Yeah.

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will vary. Mayday, mayday. We've been compromised. The pilot's a hitman. I knew you were gonna be funny. On January 24th. Tell me how to fly this thing. Mark Wahlberg. You know what the difference between me and you is? You're going to die. Don't shoot him. We need him. Y'all need a pilot. Flight risk. You also speak to a phenomenon that I think is really interesting, which is the phenomenon of people returning.

Yes. You know, people where the families have left. Maybe there's no land left in the family anymore. And yet there's still something in a younger and sort of like a rising generation that's saying, there's something here. I'm being called to do this at this point in life, which to me is deeply fascinating on a lot of levels, but not the least of which is the fact that we're in a culture now that tends to exalt knowledge work. Yes. culture now that tends to exalt knowledge work and then really kind of put down, look down on

manual labor, working with your hands, working the land, working materials. Yeah. So it's fascinating to me to see this shift happening in the context of that larger set of assumptions. Definitely. That is really what I think is in many ways the most exciting because we have young people, young, Black, Indigenous, Latinx farmers who, number one, I think, see their relationship to capitalism differently and already are thinking about better ways to live and better ways to try to engage in the world. They're really looking to build something new and different, which I appreciate. On top of that, like you said, I think there is such a push for, what did you call it? Knowledge work? Yeah. And this is what I've seen so much. People are just looking and saying,

if it's not something that comes purely from your brain, if you're not a writer or a coder or technology or a consultant, then the only reason you wouldn't do that is because you're not good enough or not smart enough, which is, to me, it's tragic. It's ridiculous. And I really see that a lot in San Francisco. I mean, we're at ground zero for, you know, technology and innovation and everybody has their app that, well, this was pre-COVID. Everybody had their app that they were developing and, you know, everything was about disruption, right?

And what I'm so encouraged by with these young people is they've all been to college. They all have degrees, right? They are applying their intellect and their expertise and their passion to create something new. And they do appreciate getting out there in the fresh air and being able to work the soil and be in community with each other and be entrepreneurial, right? So it's not even that it is some pie in the sky, you know, abstract vision that they have. They are bringing, they are harnessing all of their intellectual resources,

but they are determined to do things differently. And they are not waiting for anybody to grant them permission, right? That's what I appreciate. I appreciate their vision and their their passion. I just I just find them to be remarkable, you know, and I'm very inspired by the these young folks in their 20s and 30s who are, you know, they're saying, I don't need to have a certain kind of life, right? There is value in doing it another way. That's what I love. Yeah. It is so fascinating to see that. And the notion that there is value in physically working something, whether it's land, whether it's creative objects, whether it's building something, I think it's fascinating. And in

this particular context, they're also, I'm curious whether you feel this way, but from the outside looking in, it feels like, yes, this is a return to ownership, to working. But at the same time, it feels like there's also, there is a resistance and activist element to it, even though that may not be overtly, you know, like what is, what, what is the quote, the mission? It feels like that is a, that's a part of the energy of it. Definitely. They are approaching agriculture and farming often through the lens of activism. They're asking themselves, how can I have agency, right? In ways that are significant, that will impact not just me, not just my family, but my whole community.

How can I change things up? Right. And again, that is what I just so appreciate and am inspired by. And, you know, I think about the conversation that I had with my editor at HarperCollins, Tracy Sherrod and her team, when we were deciding about book covers, for example, and it really came down to two. They either wanted to have an archival photo that I had supplied them, right? It was a beautiful black and white photo, and it's in the book. It's a beautiful black and white kind of sepia tone photo of a younger black man standing on a platform being pulled by a mule. Right.

And it's a massive sky. And he's kind of, you know, this smaller figure. You can make out what it is, but he's a smaller figure. The photograph is visually stunning. but it tells a different story. And the other alternative was the photo that they chose, the photo of Leah and Naima Pennyman of Soul Fire Farm. two black women in their, you know, mid thirties with their farm implements on their shoulders, looking fierce and dynamic, but they're young and unapologetic. And when I had the choice between those two photographs, I told my editor, I want to go with the Peniman sisters. I want to go with Soul Fire Farm because that says to anybody who's going to walk past this book, you don't know what

this story is, right? The other photo, people could walk past it and say, oh, I know what that book is going to be about. This story said, maybe you don't know. It also said, this is today and this is looking forward. And that's what I wanted to convey in this book is we are going to explore the history. We are going to be looking over our shoulders at the past, but we are also going to be looking at where we are rooted now, and we are also going to be looking forward. And so I think that that cover suggests all of that. Yeah, I completely agree. And it's because I was inspired.

Yeah. And I'm looking at the image right now. It's a fantastic image. And so you tell the story in the book. Share a bit more about their story because it's really powerful. So when I was thinking about this book and kind of what I thought it might be, the very first people I reached out to were Leah and Naeem of Petiman. I found Leah's book, Farming While Black, which is really a gorgeous but very practical how-to manual on farming. Everything from, this is what you have to think about when you're looking for land. This is what you have to think about when you're looking for soil. I mean, it is a real practical guide in addition to its own kind of celebration of

ancestors and being connected to this larger story. So I wrote to Leah and I asked, I told her what I thought the book was going to be about. And I asked if I could come and interview her. And so I ended up spending a day on a day at Soul Fire Farm there in Petersburg, New York, and right outside of Albany. And it was transformative for me because here were Leah and her husband, Jonah Vitale-Wolf, and they raised their kids on this. They had cleared the land themselves, their 80 acres. They built their own house from straw and hay bales and plaster. It's beautiful. Jonah, Leah's husband, is an architect. But they were pursuing a vision for what could be. And they founded Soul Fire Farm with the idea of this being a place for BIPOC farmers to come to be in community,

but also to learn about farming with these traditional indigenous agriculture practices, because their farm is all organic. And they really were practicing all of these methods that, you know, now when you think about when you hear words like sustainable agriculture and carbon sequestration and regenerative agriculture, right? Those are new terms for old practices. And that is what Leah and Naima and Jonah and the rest of the Soul Fire Farm family, that's what they were doing on this land. And I was so blown away by my visit that that really sent me down the rabbit hole of talking to more and more farmers all around the country, young people and old, older about their experiences, but they were the very first farmers I reached out to. And it's just been a joy to see them, you know, explode.

They are really the, in many ways, the poster kids, young men, young people for this new movement, this of the returning generation. Yeah. I mean, it's really powerful to see what they've built and like you described, you know, they're building this incredible actual farming operation, you know, that, that is biodynamic and sustainably oriented and, and all the buzzwords from today. And I love the frame that you brought to this, which is like, this is also known as what farmers had been doing for generations. Exactly. You know, but now there's like sexy terms attached to them. And, you know, and granted,

yes, there's a whole part of farming that operates in a very different way, but it's really small, local, like, you know, reverent of the land, reverend of the farm in very similar ways to indigenous people in this country had been for, for generations and generations, generations too. And the other thing that really struck me about what they've created is it's also, it feels like, you know, it's this powerful educational experience where they work with the community. They work with young farmers in the BIPOC community. And there's this notion that they describe as programs that helped contribute to reparations and uprooting racism within the context of farming. So it's bringing people into community, but also having the bigger conversations, but under the context of this sort of like one particular domain, which I would imagine

really changes the way that you step into the conversation. Absolutely. Absolutely. The framework that they have built, again, all through the lens of activism, right? And I think I was talking to them, they have trained something like, I think 10,000 people have been through their, have, you know, in some form or fashion, have passed through the doors of Soul Fire Farms since they began. They have trained something like 600 new farmers. I mean, it's amazing, right? But they're bringing in the community. And what I so appreciate, Jonathan,

is it's, you're right, it is a way to actually put these ideas into practice, right? And once you kind of have that experience for yourself, kind of in your body, then you can go out and replicate that time and time and time again, and pass that knowledge on. And that's what they're doing. Yeah. So powerful. You mentioned earlier also, there's a sense of lineage and while some people ended up absolutely leaving the land behind, moving to major cities completely, and now there are generations that are disconnected from it. You also share stories of certain instances where people have stayed with it. People have, they've really, they've fought a lot of battles and they have been able to keep their land, they've really, they've fought a lot of battles. And they have, they have been

able to keep their land, to keep farming. And then there's a younger generation, there's a generation of kids or young adults in their 20s and 30s who may well have thought, you know, like, I'm kind of like, I'm tapping out as soon as I can. This is not my future. And then interestingly are starting to realize, well, maybe it is. Yeah, that's absolutely true. I think about so many of the farmers who I talk to who, you're right, have managed to hold on, right? Who are second, third, fourth, fifth generation farmers and are on the same land that their great grandfather was on and are farming that land and really bring to it an awareness of their role in a larger story, right? So I think about the Nelsons in Sondheimer, Louisiana. I think about the Blufurts in Neesmith, North Carolina.

These are two farming families where the sons in both cases, four sons in one case and three sons in another case, they farm with their dad. And they are out there passing along. Now, they are larger farmers. They are farming more commodity crops, but again, they have that awareness that they are part of a bigger conversation and they have the expertise and they have the passion, you know, and they are determined to hold on in the face of often insurmountable odds. But they're making it work. And again, I just so appreciate all of these people and the commitment that they all have.

It's very inspiring. Yeah. One of the other families that you write about in the story that you share is the Armstrongs. Oh, yeah. Harper and Ashley Armstrong, which I thought was a really powerful story also. And part of it is that I think so often we also have, like there's this longstanding narrative of who a farmer is and isn't. And yes, a lot of that narrative is, well, they're white, but a lot of that narrative is also, and they're male. And so it's really interesting to see that

there is this heritage, there's a lineage being passed on in that family. And that's actually not where the land is going or where the future of the farm is. I'd love you to share a bit more about their story. Sure. So Ashley and Harper Armstrong are a father-daughter farming team in Louisiana. And their story was interesting to me because Harper Armstrong, the dad, he himself is a, I think a third generation farmer. So Ashley is generation number four. And they almost lost their farm, actually, because of some of the practices that we talked about earlier. But they managed to

hold on to their land. And Ashley, being a millennial, I think Ashley is probably now 30. I think she's about 30 now. They totally reinvented themselves and went from, you know, large scale commodity farming to organic farming of produce. And Ashley knows how to drive every single piece of equipment on that farm. She's an only child. She and her dad pal around together. And it's just a beautiful story of a daughter, a woman recognizing her agency and the role that she could play in her family's lineage and carrying on that tradition. reconfiguring their farm and thinking about what they wanted to do. It was Ashley who actually introduced technology. And, you know, she advertises on Facebook and that's how they get their customers. And, you know, she lets people know where she's going to be and people drive in from as far as Texas, I think she told me, to get their produce. And it's all because she was of a younger generation and was able to use technology in this case to advertise what she and her dad were growing.

And they're both just wonderful, welcoming, genuine people on top of it. So it was lovely to tell their story. Yeah. It sounds like also, I guess Ashley originally didn't think that this would be what she would do. She kind of felt like I want to go out into the world and there's something bigger out there that's calling me. And in fact, started to do that and then came back. And I thought it was really touching, you know, like sort of this realization that within the experience of farming and like and like working with her dad and in small community, that all of these big things that she thought that she would have to go out into the world and find an experience, you know,

she was actually able to really find in this sort of like, I don't want to say simpler life of farming because I really don't think farming is simple, but in, in, she was able to find in, in the life of farming, because I really don't think farming is simple. But she was able to find in the life of farming. And it sounded like that was almost surprising to her, but also deeply fulfilling. I think so. I mean, and I can relate to that. I think when you grow up in a place. You often don't appreciate what that place can mean, right? Until you go out into the world or have the kind of realization that Ashley had that, you know, she could experience so much of the world and live her life and answer these questions and, but she could do it right there

with her dad. And, you know, I also think Ashley feels a tremendous sense of loyalty as an only child, you know, to help out her family. But it was interesting being with them because Harper, Mr. Armstrong is so proud of her and really is as, you know, as a father, someone who could easily retire, you know, he really derives so much pleasure from working with his daughter every day. They're a really great team. And again, just such a pleasure and an honor to talk to them and hear their story and have them drive us out, you know, to their fields. And Ashley knows as much, if not more than her dad does and just great stuff. Yeah. I mean, to do that with your kid and as a kid to do that with your dad and to be able to do it for years and years, I have to imagine it's got to be not just rewarding work, but also just

to have that quality, that level of relationship that you're both so invested in co-creating something and navigating it together and fully capable of doing every part of it. It's got to thinnest Apple Watch ever, making it even more comfortable on your wrist, whether you're running, swimming, or sleeping. And it's the fastest-charging Apple Watch, getting you eight hours of charge in just 15 minutes. The Apple Watch Series X.

Available for the first time in glossy jet black aluminum. Compared to previous generations, iPhone XS or later required. Charge time and actual results will vary. Mayday, mayday. We've been compromised. The pilot's a hitman. I knew you were going to be fun. On January 24th.

Tell me how to fly this thing. Mark Wahlberg. You know what the difference between me and you is? You're going to die. Don't shoot him, we need him. Y'all need a pilot. Flight risk.

You know, one of the other things that occurs to me is that, as you mentioned, there are farms of all different sizes and all different levels, and some are much more oriented around these massive consumer or commercial crops. And then some of them are more produce focused or smaller. And you share another story, Stanley Hughes, who I guess is in his early 70s at this point, has a century farm, which means it's been going for literally over 100 years at this point, and has had all the struggles that you've described and sustained. But also made this really fascinating shift that I was curious about from being more of a commodity based farm tobacco. And then over the generations, you know,

becoming a certified farm and then focusing more on produce and serving the local community in a way where you can see the faces of the people who are enjoying what you created. And that really struck me because I feel like that is not the case in so many of the ways that people choose to work these days. And making that choice had to have been like a really interesting process for them and also to land in a place where you have that level of conversation and contribution and you can see the impact in people's eyes. It's got to be so powerful. Yeah. Yeah. Well, Stanley and his wife, Linda Leach are just, Linda is a dynamo. I mean, she is vibrant and vivacious and a real fighter and was so enraged by witnessing what had happened with Stanley, I think probably in the early years of their marriage, and just watching him lose some of his land because he did lose

part of his mother's land that had been passed on to him. But you're right. With Linda's help, Stanley, they have completely pivoted and are now really well known in North Carolina for a lot of their organic vegetables. Their land has always been organic, which I also thought was amazing. For over 100 years, they have always been organic. What does that mean, really? It means that they've never used chemicals, probably, you know, in the early days because they couldn't afford them, right? When that was the latest technological innovation, Stanley, part of his story was about how his father would farm and fertilize the ground with fish because that's the way the Native American, the indigenous people, that's the way the Native American, the indigenous people, that's where he learned that practice, right? Nobody thought of that in the 1920s. Nobody thought of that as a new technology. That's an old practice, right? That has become

new again. And just thinking about the reputation that they have now in their community and so highly regarded and well-respected and are known for their sweet potatoes in particular. And I mean, that's what, you know, again, that's what I find so inspiring about so many of these stories is these farmers' resilience and their perseverance and their deep, deep and abiding connection to the land and understanding kind of the role that they play. And I'm just inspired by these stories. Yeah. It's really powerful. I mean, a lot of what we've been talking about has, has been like around this deep connection to the land and, um, on, on a, on, on an equity and justice side, you know, the word ownership comes up often, um, you know, in no small part because ownership

has been stripped by all sorts of means. Um, but there's also this one other word that came up in an interesting way when, when you shared the story of Melanie Edwards. And the word is stewardship. Yeah. And it feels like that is, it's something, it's a notion that comes more out of indigenous communities here, where the idea of a human being or a community actually claiming ownership to a land is almost this bizarre foreign notion. Yeah, that's right. And, you know, that was an interesting, because there's a tension there,

right? I mean, when we talk about black farmers and we talk about, you know, being dispossessed for generations and understanding what land ownership means for a family, if you're able to pass that down, but also having to acknowledge that we're all on stolen land, right? If we really are honest about who were the original people here and the fact that they did have the indigenous people, Native Americans in this country had a different way of thinking about the land. And it was not about ownership at all. It was about we are here on this earth to take care of and protect and honor these spaces. And there's no way we can own it. But our job is to be stewards of this land and to take care of it. And I think what is interesting and encouraging to me now is we are seeing ways that both of these things can be true, right? We're seeing African-American black farmers talking about land ownership, but they're also talking about land stewardship. And people are thinking about different ways even to hold land, right? And kind of reframing this idea of what it means to own it, right? And be able to pass that along, but also look out for communities and understand that none of us are going to be here forever. And at the end of the day, our obligation is to take care of

the soil and to take care of this land so that we can preserve it for the next generation. That's the most important thing. Yeah. And it is a really interesting tension, right? Because on the one hand, you see and acknowledge so much injustice and so much loss in the past and any sense for like, there's got to be a way to make this quote right. And one of the things that comes to mind is, well, let's talk about ownership. Let's talk about giving back. Let's talk about how can we actually right the wrong. And at the same time, the larger notion that in the broader context, when we go back many generations before, there were people here before all of us and their notion of what it meant to be on the land was actually very, very different than any of our notions. So yeah, I would imagine that sort of trying to navigate

that. There's a lot of tension, but also it feels like there's a certain amount of relatability and grace that enters that conversation as well. And it sounds like what you're sharing is that people are having these conversations in a way where it's sort of like, not necessarily a this or conversation and especially with, again, this returning generation and these young people who are just they're engaging with these questions differently. Right. They're trying to build they're just trying to build a better model, something that's going to be sustainable, something that's going to work for more people, you know, and, and, and that is, uh, what I'm so encouraged by, uh, is their willingness to not just duplicate the same old systems, right. But to be entrepreneurial and to, but also to think about their communities and, and how to have everybody participate and benefit, but in concrete and tangible ways. I don't want to make it seem like this is so abstract that it's not practical. They're being very pragmatic and very practical about it,

but they're just somehow doing it differently. Yeah. It's interesting. As I was reading some of the history and some of the stories, something popped into my head, and that was a recent piece that I read, I think it was a couple of weeks ago. I don't remember where I saw it, but it was a deep dive into the sort of the highly disruptive side of farming right now, apparently, is this notion of super high-tech hydroponic,

building these massive, several football fields large of enclosed, completely climate-controlled environments where you can literally grow crop in water, like minerally enhanced water under ideal conditions, 24 hours a day and 12 months a year. And as I was thinking about that, as I was reading these stories of black people returning to the farming life, and I was wondering, this weird analogy popped into my head. I'm curious how it lands with you, which is as we see the legalization of cannabis in this country and so much injustice, and as people are trying to reimagine, how do we actually create

laws to reintroduce this crop in a way that actually helps create more equity, that helps actually speak to some of the injustices in the past. I had this weird association, which is, as this sort of like high speed, high tech, fully controlled, quote, future of farming is coming in, and as black people are returning to farming, like, is there going to be a similar conversation around involvement there in this next generation of farming? And I wonder if that's already happening. Well, I mean, the honest answer is I don't personally know, but I would think so. These young folks are really savvy, right? Because I was thinking the same thing too, to be honest. I was thinking of it in a slightly different way. I was thinking of it in terms of like, okay, there are real issues around climate change, right?

Yeah. be farmland, right? What's going to be viable farmland 50 years from now? Is it going to be in the South? Will the South? I don't know, right? I sense that there is an awareness, right, of all of these issues and questions. And so while Black farmers are focused on the physical land, right, and many are leaving urban centers and they're going back to places like North Carolina and, you know, Louisiana and everything. I would have to think that these same people are also looking ahead to what is next and how are they going to continue to participate in this larger, you know, thing we call agriculture, right? I can't think of an example offhand, so I don't have any anecdotal evidence, but I know the way these conversations are happening and when people are talking about

food sovereignty and food justice and all of these questions, and they're looking at ways to make sure that people of color are involved and engaged, I would have to think that somewhere in that conversation is people are thinking about what is the next iteration of farming, right? And how can we continue to ensure that there is equity and that black and brown people do continue to participate? Now, what I also thought when I saw that article was, wow, this looks a lot like Amazon. And wouldn't that be scary, you know, if they're employing farmers 24 hours a day to work in these kind of artificial farms? people are looking to the future and some young folks someplace are going to make sure that black and brown people continue to be involved in this whatever comes next i have to think yeah i mean um i would certainly hope so um and it makes sense because so much of what you describe is already

happening in this space is so progressive and so future oriented, so future minded that I would imagine like if this is part of the future, then thinking about how you participate at it's got to be at least somewhere in the conversation. You know, in this recent book, so in We Are Each Other's Harvest, you tell so many incredible stories. There's really powerful history. I learned so much. It was really moving and eye-opening. You also made an interesting decision as a writer, and that was woven throughout all of these stories. There are some excerpts from your fictional work, which originally led to this from Queen Sugar, and then also some conversations, like a chapter where there's this really deep dive conversation with, uh, uh, Lolita Tademi and, uh, Margaret

Wilkerson Sexton. Um, and then another really interesting conversation, um, about what the writer's room for Queen Sugar looked and felt like, um, which, which eventually, you know, became this, uh, you know, a TV show with, uh, Ava DuVernay. And I was curious zooming the lens out, um, as a writer, as a writer, when you're thinking how I'm putting together this book, and this is kind of like, these are the stories that I want to tell, and these are the ideas that I want to be in here. I was curious what your thoughts were as a writer about bringing those specific conversations into the bigger narrative. Well, you know, I really want, because this whole issue of farming and Black people's connection to the land, and both historically and also looking forward, it's so large. And I knew that I'm not a historian, right? That is not my role.

I appreciate history, but I am not the person who is going to be in, you know, combing through the archives, looking for that, those, you know, original documents, and then telling a nonfiction story out of those documents. So I really wanted to situate myself as a curator. I think of this book almost like a kaleidoscope, right? And it is all or a chorus of voices telling this big story. And so I also knew what inspired me. As a writer, I'm not only, I am inspired by other novels, absolutely, but I'm also inspired by poetry. I'm also inspired by photography. I'm also inspired by film and music. And just as a creative person, I draw inspiration from all of these other disciplines. And so I thought that in order for this to be a dynamic reading experience for a reader who happens to pick up this book, I, again, wanted to give them

something that they didn't necessarily expect, right? As they sat down to learn this story about Black people and their connection to the land. And so I wanted there to be all of these other elements. So there is poetry in this book from some of, you know, the best Black American poets, Elizabeth Alexander and Ross Gay and Kevin Young and Robin Cost Lewis or Lucille Clifton or Robert Hayden. People who aren't necessarily writing about farming somewhere, but who are writing about the land or of Black people and food and the seeds that came across on those slave ships and what that means to Black people, because that's all part of this larger question. I wanted there to be photographs and portraits in the book so that you can see these farmers for yourself. Right? I wanted there to be articles that I came across, like the one about the heirs property, right? So that people could have this kind of multidisciplinary experience of this story I was trying to tell. And I knew that if I was inspired by so many different disciplines, I just hoped

that I could somehow pull all of these kinds of things into the book and have this be a dynamic experience for the reader. And really, that's just what I was trying to do was kind of follow my gut. You know? Yeah. And it landed, at least for me, I was so drawn in. And I think as you mentioned, it was unexpected, you know, to sort of like have these moments of poetry and then like these deep dives into history and then these like really rich conversations from writers. And yeah, it made um, I didn't necessarily see what was coming in the best of ways. Yeah. Yeah. That's good. Yeah. Yeah. I really loved it. Um, feels like a good place for us to come full circle in our conversation as well. So

sitting here in this, uh, container of the good life project, if I offer up the phrase to live a good life, what comes up? Oh, boy. Oh, to live a good life. First of all, to be healthy. To be at peace. a new appreciation for, you know, to be able to just move through your days with a sense of wonder and curiosity. That to me is a good life, you know, to have somehow, some way, an opportunity to be a student of life and to be able to ask questions and seek answers and to always be learning. So yeah, that's what a good life is for me.

Thank you. Yeah. Thank you. Hey, before you leave, if you love this episode, safe bet you'll also love the conversation we had with Michelle Harper, the author of New York Times bestseller, The Beauty of Breaking. You'll find a link to Michelle's episode in the show notes. Even if you don't listen now, be sure to click and download it so it's ready to play when you're on the go. And of course, if you haven't already done so, go ahead and follow Good Life

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On January 24th. Tell me how to fly this thing. Mark Wahlberg. You know what the difference between me and you is? You're going to die. Don't shoot him, we need him. Y'all need a pilot. Flight Risk.