Without fail, every one of them was struggling to get by. They grew fresh produce for local markets, hustled their butts off while loving their outdoor-centric life, and wondered (with no small measure of despair) how they would ever have a family or grow old working 80 hours a week. On the other side of the ledger, I’d amassed a long list of farms that looked the part of the small family dream farm. The Minnesota farm offered stellar biodiversity and trendy products, and it became an agritourism destination during the pandemic, but all of that was made possible by the independent wealth of the two farmer-owners. The Southwestern farm was going broke growing fruit in the desert, in part for love of farming, but mostly to retain millions in family land wealth and avoid a sizable tax burden. The Virginia farm was family-owned and -operated, but large-scale and extractive, harvesting thousands of acres of wood, corn, soybeans, and cattle for anonymous global commodity markets. But at the same time, none of them looked or acted the way the ideal small family farm is supposed to look or act. I got to know a 16th-generation conventional grain farmer in Virginia, a third-generation citrus grower in the Southwest, and a diversified produce grower-turned-cider distiller in Minnesota, just to name a few.Įach of these farms was financially stable in their own way. I set out on a quest to study as many farms as I could. With my freshly signed book contract in hand, I dove head-first into answering the question that so many small farms I knew never figured out: How does a farm achieve financial stability? But the longer I’ve watched, I’ve seen more and more of these farms struggle, pull back, and disappear. In the course of my reporting, I’ve met a lot of farmers who fit this mold: passionate work-junkies positively obsessed with food, community, climate, and social change. When I started writing about agriculture, I was confident that the most important stories would help flesh out the plan for the small family farm’s future, find the farmers who were making it work, and highlight their narratives, to spread the movement. When I decided during college to reconnect with my agricultural roots, I was just one of a vast cohort, eager to be part of the new-old world of farming. In a world dominated by technology, farming and food offer work that’s tangible, real, and comprehensible. But as foodie culture and the sustainable farming movements bloomed, suddenly having a background in agriculture didn’t make a person “backwards” or a “hick.” It was cool, even edgy. Having risen from the dead with his physical abilities enhanced but his mind on the brink of madness, Richthofen has plans for victory that give no quarter to soldiers or civilians alike.Growing up in rural Wyoming, I thought of farming as quaint and pastoral, but not a job fit for the 21st century. Pitted against them is the most deadly enemy of all: Manfred von Richthofen, the Red Baron. With the help of a highly advanced British dirigible war machine used to infiltrate enemy territory, the team will face incredible danger as it struggles to reach the prison camp and strike at the heart of the enemy. ![]() Burke assembles a team of disparate members - his right-hand man, Sergeant Moore, big-game-hunter-turned-soldier Clayton Manning, and Professor Dan Graves, one of Tesla's top men and the resident authority on all things supernatural, among them - to dare the impossible. ![]() When the American ace Major Jack Freeman - poster boy for the war against the Kaiser's undead army of shamblers - is shot down over enemy lines and taken captive, veteran Captain Michael "Madman" Burke is the only man brave and foolish enough to accept the mission to recover him.
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