This week I’ll begin with a parable from my favorite set of wise weirdos, the desert fathers, forerunners of Christian monasticism.

A brother said to Abba Poimen, “If I give my brother a little bread or something else, the demons tarnish these gifts, saying it was only done out of a desire for praise.” The old man said to him, “Even if it is out of a desire for praise, we must give the brother what he needs.” He told the following parable: “Two farmers lived in the same town; one of them sowed and reaped a small and poor crop, while the other, who did not even trouble to sow, reaped absolutely nothing. If a famine comes upon them, which of the two will find something to live on?” The brother replied, “The one who reaped the small, poor crop.” The old man said to him, “So it is with us. We sow a little poor grain, so that we will not die of hunger.”

In the life that sought to be perfect in the love of God, neighbor, and self, the seeker had to give up the need to be beyond reproach and simply do the best he or she could. Early church scholar Roberta Bondi, an Episcopal priest, has written of this eccentric collection of early Christians whose baffling exodus into the Egyptian desert began in the fourth century. She says, “It must have been a great temptation to the early Christian monastic to try to codify the moral law for himself or herself in such a way that there would be no ambiguity left, that one could always know what to do without having to take responsibility for the suffering of others that might result from one’s moral action. Unfortunately, there was no way to avoid having to use one’s own judgment then, just as there is no way now, once it is granted that the goal is love rather than fulfilling a legal code.” Virtuous actions could even be roadblocks on The Way if the actor’s motive was simply to feel pure or, worse, look down his Roman nose at his apparently less virtuous brother.

With all that said, I’d like to make a narrative- and logic-defying leap to John Tierney’s column in last Tuesday’s New York Times. In it, he approvingly reviews a new book by Stewart Brand, the compiler of the Whole Earth Catalog, which came out in 1968 and helped inspire the original Earth Day. In his new book, titled Whole Earth Discipline, Brand urges the environmentally minded to “question convenient fables” and offers up seven lessons, updating what he sees as myths to be discarded. Among them are several that immediately got my back up, including (as summarized by Tierney) “‘Let them eat organic’ is not a global option”; “Frankenfood, like Frankenstein, is fiction”; and “‘New Nukes’ is the new ‘No Nukes.’”

Heresy, right?

On Wednesday, Martin and I attended a conference at City Hall on the Slow Money movement in Austin. The keynote speaker was Woody Tasch, author of Inquiries into the Nature of Slow Money: Investing as if Food, Farms, and Fertility Mattered. Tasch, a venture capitalist, foundation treasurer, and entrepreneur, hopes to update nineteenth- and twentieth-century notions of fiduciary responsibility to reflect the economic, social, and environmental realities of the twenty-first century, largely by devising ways to invest in local food economies. Although he is idealistic, Tasch offers some trenchant assessments of the nature of risk in conventional bottom-line investment strategies. The conference also featured several panel discussions with various local organic food entrepreneurs, expounding on the possibilities for investment opportunities based on local businesses. At one point, one of the panelists—who sells beautiful eggs and organic chicken feed—exclaimed to the audience: We can feed the world with organic principles, and we don’t need genetically engineered foods to do it, either! Raise your hand if you agree! And many in the standing-room audience raised their hands and cheered.

Orthodoxy, right?

One of the things I like about Tasch is his pragmatism, despite his utopian goals. As someone who has been lost in the fog of literature, religion, and family for many years, I was glad to hear his analysis of the market as neither good nor bad, but simply an elemental force that, like water or fire, can work for good or ill. He doesn’t believe that any single scheme (even his own) will save the world, but rather calls for an economic polyculture that includes various ways of and goals for investing, not just the usual American emphasis on maximum monetary return on investment without regard for the consequences.

A question from the audience arose: I want to invest in strictly local businesses. How do I find the ones that won’t sell out to national or international companies later? How do I stay pure? His response: you can’t. And why would you? Some companies will, and some won’t. The market has its seasons and needs multiple species of business in order to flourish in times of plenty and times of drought. There is no one “right” way to participate that is beyond reproach. If your goal is to invest in your community with a moderate rate of return, you can’t worry too much about purity. “Don’t let the perfect be the enemy of the good,” Tasch admonished, hearkening back to the high-minded pragmatism of Voltaire.

As a recovering perfectionist and helpless idealist, I find this to be good news: that the ideal of purity in the world of investment—and elsewhere—can work against good and genuine change. To be honest, I have no idea whether organics are the only way, whether genetically modified crops are required in the global battle against hunger; whether the benefits of nuclear power outweigh the risks. Nor do I have a very clear idea of how I’ve arrived at a conception of purity that rejects these possibilities. I have always found John Tierney—the New York Times reporter—to be a lively and reliable source of information. In my local food community, I’ve found a fount of practical wisdom about the world in which small, independent producers must run three times as fast over rougher regulatory terrain than larger (and largest) producers to keep their place in the economic culture, even as it becomes clear that a flourishing economic ecosystem requires the presence of small farmers. How do I choose between these divergent views, when I find each of their expounders to be trustworthy guides?

American culture currently encourages, even celebrates, the immediate rejection of ideas that aren’t genetically identical to the ones commonly held. In this harsh monoculture, I find relief in the generosity of the desert fathers. Do the best you can, even if you don’t always meet your own—or your peers’—standards. Question those standards regularly to see why you have them, especially when they become shining purity badges that encourage you to condemn others. As soon as you condemn your fellow traveler, you’ve wandered off the road. Remember that there’s no way to produce any kind of crop without getting dirty.

What we’re reading
Heather: the Dalai Lama, The Universe in a Single Atom: The Convergence of Science and Spirituality
Martin: Janna Levin, A Madman Dreams of Turing Machines

As we approach the end of the year (and decade), we thought a look back at what we’ve accomplished and a look at what lies ahead for Madroño Ranch: A Center for Writing and the Environment might be of interest.

This year was a significant one for us. In 2009 we both turned fifty (or, as Heather put it, celebrated our joint centennial); in addition, we experienced both great personal loss and also tremendous excitement and optimism about Madroño Ranch.

We spent much of the year networking—sort of a new thing for a couple of reclusive nerds like us. In February, we attended the Alliance for Artists Communities’ conference for emerging programs in Charlotte NC. Meeting and talking to Caitlin Strokosch and Russ Smith of the Alliance, and the other attendees, was a galvanizing experience—so many bright, creative people! So many great ideas! So many things to think about!

The Alliance’s annual conference in New Orleans in November was perhaps even more inspiring. Not only did we reconnect with some of the friends we’d made at the Charlotte gathering, we met many more fascinating and brilliant people, some of whose ideas we plan to rip off shamelessly.

But so many questions remain to be answered…. For example, while we highly esteem the visual arts and those who work in them, we’ve been assuming we’d only accept writers as residents at Madroño, on the theory that they require less in the way of infrastructure (i.e., kilns, darkrooms, printing presses, etc.). Now, however, we wonder if we shouldn’t rethink that decision. What if we were to invite, say, sculptors and environmental artists to come out and create place-specific, perhaps ephemeral, works?

And what about size? We’ve agreed that, at least initially, we should restrict ourselves to two or three residents at a time. But should we aspire to more? If so, how many more? Six? Eight? Ten? And how long should they stay? Two weeks? Four weeks? Longer?

The answers to these questions will obviously drive many other basic decisions, such as the center’s physical layout. Our working idea is to provide a central facility with sleeping, cooking/dining, and library facilities, etc., and smaller “satellite” structures (sheds, cabins, pods, whatever) which would serve as secluded places for the residents to work in solitude and quiet.

At first, we assumed we’d build this central facility from scratch, tricking it out with all kinds of cutting-edge off-the-grid technology. Now, however, we’re wondering if, at least initially, we can repurpose the ranch’s existing main house, which is, alas, very much on the grid; doing so would require some structural modifications but would still be significantly cheaper than building from scratch. (Presumably we’d still need to build the satellite workplaces.)

Another fundamental issue to be resolved is what the center’s governance structure should be. A nonprofit? LLC? Foundation? We’ve been talking to various leaders in the nonprofit and small business sectors, in hopes of figuring this out, but at this point it’s still an open question.

And then there’s the whole food thing. (Those of you who know us know that food is never far from our thoughts.) Madroño Ranch is teeming with sources of protein—our herd of twenty-seven bison, our trusty chickens, uncounted feral hogs and deer—and we hope to begin distributing some of it in some fashion. Our first bison harvest will take place in the spring, though we haven’t yet figured out what to do with the meat: give it away? Sell it to restaurants in Kerrville, Fredericksburg, and Bandera? And the meat is only one part of a larger scheme. What if we go into small-scale farming—say, pears, peaches, and apples—and set up a CSA to distribute the produce, with the proceeds (if any) helping support the residency program?

And—here’s an idea we heard in New Orleans and really liked—what if we set up a culinary residency as well, whereby a chef who wants some non-restaurant experience comes out to the ranch and helps develop a truly local cuisine, using only foods grown on the ranch or nearby, while cooking for the other residents?

And how about engaging the local community in some meaningful fashion? Could we offer classes or workshops on the ranch? Invite the ag students at the local high school out to gain experience in organic farming?

Last month we met with a couple of graphic designers to talk about getting a logo to use on business cards, a website, brochures, and letterhead—and (why not?) also on T-shirts, coffee mugs, water bottles, etc. But even that turns out to be more complicated than we’d thought. For one thing, do we need a logo, or two (one for the residency and one for the farming operation)? Or more? Until we figure out how all these ideas and moving parts fit together, coming up with a visual “brand” will have to wait.

Sigh. Sometimes the tasks still facing us seem overwhelming. But we hope to keep forging ahead, slowly if not always surely. Perhaps our first and most tangible accomplishment to date was starting this blog, which we conceived as a way to spread the word about Madroño Ranch and keep our friends and other interested parties abreast of our progress. The fact that you’re reading it now suggests that—what do you know!—it’s working.

Obviously, we still have to do a lot more thinking about all of this. But on the theory that many heads are more likely to produce wisdom than one or two, we’d love to hear your thoughts and suggestions on these and other issues.

What we’re reading
Heather: Elizabeth Strout, Olive Kitteridge
Martin: Dylan Thomas, A Child’s Christmas in Wales

This summer we attended a screening of Fresh, a documentary that highlights the efficiency and productivity of organic farming and the casual cruelty and hidden costs of industrial agriculture. Along with about a hundred others, we watched the film under the pecan trees at Boggy Creek Farm while eating locally sourced vegetarian picnic dinners provided by the Alamo Drafthouse, one of the screening’s cosponsors. (The others were Edible Austin and our friend Steve Kinney’s Front Porch Project.)

This kind of setting induces feelings of satisfaction that can all too easily morph into self-righteousness, and there’s no question that this event was a classic case of preaching to the choir. One of Boggy Creek’s neighbors’ front yards frequently sports a sign demanding housing for the homeless, not food for the rich. There’s no question that the momentum behind the local/sustainable food movement has been slowed by the argument that it’s a movement for the dainty tastes of the economic elite.

Fresh delivers a powerful counterpunch—maybe even a KO—in the person and work of Will Allen, whose nonprofit Growing Power Inc. operates two acres of greenhouses in working-class Milwaukee, producing mountains of affordable, healthy food, and trains countless inner-city residents to convert empty lots into thriving organic food centers.

The son of a sharecropper, Allen believes with every fiber of his 6’7″ body that healthy food is primarily a social justice issue: income should have no bearing on access to quality food. He himself is a happy consumer of doughnuts and doesn’t condemn those who have no alternative to KFC, but his passion for fresh food is altering the urban landscape and the food choices of thousands of people who might otherwise face a future of obesity and diabetes.

We’re no experts on food pricing, but we would guess that Growing Power enjoys a pricing “advantage” over other organic farmers because of grant money and a sizable volunteer labor pool. Agribusiness is able to control costs through government subsidies. What if the playing field on which organic and industrial agriculture compete were level? If organics were subsidized? If the costs of the ecological devastation caused by agribusiness monocultures, manure cesspools, and the health issues resulting from fast foods were factored into the cost of “cheap” food?

Before the 1962 publication of Rachel Carson’s Silent Spring, many considered conservation a hobby for the wealthy. Carson made clear the connection between environmental issues and civil rights. We hope that people like Will Allen and movies like Fresh will do the same for the local/sustainable food movement.

After the screening at Boggy Creek, Edible Austin sold copies of the movie on DVD, along with licensing agreements allowing purchasers to show it to groups of up to twenty people—neighborhood gatherings, church groups, book clubs, etc. Through this bottom-up, grass-roots, guerilla marketing campaign, the producers hope to spread the word far beyond those hundred or so predominantly white, relatively wealthy faces under the trees. We bought two copies, one for Robert and one for us.

What we’re reading
Heather: Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall, The River Cottage Meat Book
Martin: Dennis McNally, A Long Strange Trip: The Inside History of the Grateful Dead