Financing Our Foodshed by Carol Peppe Hewitt

result of wealthy second-home buyers from the big city) and land-to-value ratios that are not conducive to farming, there are new small-scale farmers in the corner of Connecticut where I was raised, and there are three farmers markets where they can sell their products.
    They are part of a positive trend. The USDA reported a total of 7,175 farmers markets operating in the US in 2011, up from 2,863 inthe year 2000. This growth suggests a parallel rise in the number of small- and medium-sized farms.
    According to the report, there are 217 farmers markets in North Carolina, which put us 10th in the nation for total number of farmers markets. We have five of those markets right here, in my rural county of Chatham. With 100 counties in our state, I suspect the statewide total is well above the USDA figure. (Source: usda.gov )
    We are also seeing the emergence of mobile farmers markets. Some, like LoMo in Raleigh, are targeting food deserts with the goal of bringing fresh, local food to areas where it is not usually available. And, as consumers are willing to seek out and even pay a premium for well-prepared local food, farm-to-table restaurants are growing in number.
    Some farmers markets have now made their way through the tangle of red tape and are able to accept food stamps (now called the Supplemental Nutrition Program or “SNAP” benefits). Clever programs to supplement those benefits when they are spent on local products are starting up as well. Let’s hope this is a growing trend.
    Peace on the Farm. Credit: Bett Wilson Foley
     
    Drawing a Line to Farming
I did not grow up on a farm; I just thought I did. We had a horse named General, a large and elderly Paint who would barely walk no matter how hard you kicked him. But we loved him.
    We had a barn and I thought it was beautiful. I loved the gambrel roof and the hayloft. We spent hours up there building forts with the hay bales, carefully avoiding the massive bees and horse flies that shared the space with us.
    Then there was Beatrice, the pretty Holstein that my eldest brother, David, raised and showed at the Goshen Fair. One year, she and he did so well they made it to the Eastern States Exposition in Springfield. That was a big deal. He washed and groomed and fussed over her tail, and we were enormously excited and proud. I’m sure somewhere he still has the ribbons they won together.
    Out in a cage were a few pheasants, and we had a couple of pigs. Every so often Dad would bring home a baby goat or lamb that needed to be bottle-fed. I still remember how soft they were and how they smelled, and the way they would suck on my fingers. Once they were grown, Dad would “take them back to the farm they had come from to be with their brothers and sisters.” Sure. Turns out that was a euphemism for taking them to be slaughtered. Discovering this later in life was much more tragic than finding out there was no Santa Claus.
    The barn had a stall just for bunnies. They were my favorites. I would sit in the stall and let them climb all over me. First we had two, then six, then twelve, and...well, you know the story.
    We always had a family of guinea pigs, a cage of gerbils, a turtle or two, and some goldfish. My youngest brother, Vincent, added a new twist: iguanas. Then boa constrictors. One night, he announced his big green iguana had gotten out. I worried for a while that it might show up in my bed, but after several days, we kind of forgot about him.
    With all those animals, I was sure I lived on a farm. Years later a real farmer set me straight. “Sounds like you grew up on a game farm, or maybe a zoo,” he chuckled. Either way, I loved living with a joyful, constantly changing menagerie.
    Farm-to-school programs are being supported with local, state, and federal dollars; even hospitals are realizing that sourcing local food is worth the effort (though one might think they would have been leading this effort!).
    We need to keep finding new ways to make small- and