Apologia and Preamble: A Land Acknowledgement (of sorts) and Some Thoughts On the Direction of Modern Homesteading

In which our entrenched author trips and stumbles over a subject that needs a bit of consideration and offers some musings on the selfish nature of self-sufficiency, ending up in the weeds.

Sweet, gullible me over here, upon the fog-shrouded and manure laden rolling hills of Fox Holler Farmstead, Dancing Rabbit Ecovillage, Sandhill Township, Rutledge, MO,63563. USA. This would be the appropriate place to offer a land acknowledgement, and yet I'm finding it difficult.

It's difficult because these things often ring so hollow... words, which sometimes can carry so much weight and power fail to really address the land dispossession, betrayal, and genocide that lead to white settlement here in North America. It's difficult because very little indigenous history and knowledge of this particular region remains in a way that my white eyes can see, and I'm certain that this erasure of knowledge is purposeful. It's difficult because I myself lease this land and am unable to return it to its orginal stewards, who were most likely occasional groups of hunters and gatherers. It's difficult, because this last statement was an excuse that white people often express, all the while I do have land access that benefits me and perpetuates people like me.

The homesteading movement has always had a colonial settlement problem. We are largely white and living on stolen land. We derive our livelihood from soil that was purposely looted by way of murder, broken treaties, and treaties made in bad faith. I don't think most homesteaders have reckoned with this in a meaningful way, and I'm not sure what would be more meaningful than returning land to indigenous people and doing the real work of creating and supporting policies that recognize tribal sovereignty, directing resources to tribal people and governments, refusing to appropriate indigenous culture while simultaneously learning from and valuing it, and undoing the harm that white people have caused in this environment. If it were meaningful to indigenous readers, I would accept feedback graciously, and it is meaningful, because I generally care very little about feedback from most people.

So, some homesteaders will offer in various ways to acknowledge the history of the stolen ground upon which they derive their existence. Perhaps it creates a bit of ease (for them), perhaps it rings true to do so, perhaps it falls short. Others do not do this. Some of them I suspect, hot take here, are actively racists. Like when there's a civil war reenactment and somebody's a little too excited to be a confederate. Look folks, I enjoy Conestoga wagons and floppy hats. I like fresh air and quiet. And I believe that the subsequent waves of settlers that swept through North America after the extirpation and subjugation of indigenous peoples were mostly motivated by ignorance, fear, and the human need to survive and provide rather than the calculated hatred perpetrated by the U.S. government and associated religious and economic interests. We can take an oversimplified view of how we got here, or we can take a complex and nuanced view, but I'm pretty sure it doesn't change anything if all we ever do is take views.

Modern homesteaders are an interesting cross-section of humanity. They are mostly white, mostly financially privileged enough to engage in what is one of the quickest ways to lose money, and if they make it longer than five years in their activities, they are very stubborn people to boot, and probably very very privileged. But the similarities soon diverge after that. We have the remnants of the hippie back-to-the-land movement on one hand, and they come in many different flavors of crunchy, from nature-worshiping peace and love types to your standard psychedelic-enhanced weirdos to resource-conscious self-hating aesthetes like myself. Then there's the right wing of the homesteading movement which covers everything from the Christian homeschool types that sell essential oils and meal plans, folks who can not stop having children, standard libertarian firearm collectors that enjoy good, clean living, right on up to your dyed-in-the-wool end-times preppers. Not a Helen or Scott Nearing among them, these people all sorta bore me in concept.

If they're on social media they generally don't explain where their US dollars come from. Sometimes it's from a spouse or partner. Sometimes it's from a trust fund. I'll be honest with you, mine comes from wherever I can possibly get it, and if I can continue doing an honest and engaged job with writing this year I will not hesitate to shake you down, gentle reader.

As a lifestyle, homesteading has been very inspiring to me, I'll sheepishly admit. I do not generally engage in things that I don't like doing, and I've been doing this longer than about anything else. Still, even the word, the hashtag if you will, #homesteading, makes me cringe. Like deep in the gut of my soul. In essence, what we're doing here at Fox Holler looks a bit like homesteading, however you interpret that word. There are stacks of firewood, barns full of goats, fields full of cows, a sty full of pigs. We lead a spartan existence, and not only do I have dirt under my nails, but I am excessively filthy a high majority of the time. But as the saying goes, you can only polish a turd so much, and the reality of homesteading, beyond the veneer of photo-edit filters and damn near scripted captions is if not a bit unsavory, just as bleak an existence as any here in this great extinction event. We hear so much about the value of fresh produce, not as much about all who can't access it. We hear about the peace of mind that comes with leading a land-based lifestyle, but not much about those who haven't been afforded it. Even the difficult days on the farm pale in comparison with the very real trauma being inflicted on the majority of people who are trapped in the more conventional, capitalist economy. Some homesteaders even hold those seething masses in disdain, championing a self-determinism that few can access. And its understandable to look at the mainstream, rat-race world with contempt. That's whay I ran away from. I knew I couldn't do it, that a 9-5 would do more than just kill my soul, it would kill me, physically. Or, more likely, I'd do it myself. I've always dreamt of some return to the mythic, simpler times, even as a little boy. A lot of us "homesteaders" are here because we want to go back.

Back to what?

I do not wish to romanticize or go back to pioneer days, though I admit I think the technology was cool and the manner of dress aesthetically pleasing. The only way forward is through it. A part of that is reckoning with our past. Not coming to terms with it, necessarily, but vowing to build a better world, corny as that sounds. Or we could disassemble a worse world, I'm ok with that too. But either way, if the homesteading movement wants to be anything more than selfish and privileged, we have to be looking forward. This is, I contend, an age of resource depletion, exacerbated by climate change, a political turn towards fascism, and complete and utter degradation of the planet and its inhabitants by corporate interests. We can't hide from it, or go back to simpler times. No more than the people native to this place can.

If you are among the privileged few with access to arable land, and are providing very little food to very few people using inefficient techniques (I'll be discussing this further throughout the year) is an abuse of that privilege, and irresponsible at this time in history. If you're stockpiling more than you need to the point that it goes to waste, or if you're somehow making a living selling the dream of this to others, well you may be short-sighted at the very least. There's even a good chance that you're kind of a jackoff.

I try not to view progress in terms of the mythic, manifest destiny style Conestoga wagon lurching into the sunset version, but I do see a potential future where people feed and house each other, work together, treat land access as a human right, and somehow cobble together the makings of a functioning culture, both materially and of the heart. I'll admit to being a bit of an isolationist, maybe a little misanthropic even, but that has more to do with my upbringing and my difficulties with attention than anything else. Poor me.

Poor old gullible me, thought I could carve off a chunk of stolen land and live a righteous life fertilized by the sweat of my brow. Turns out that the missing element in all this was cooperation with other humans. I don't like it a bit, but alright, I'll try it.

Over this next year, I hope to explore this theme a bit more, this interplay inside of me between the rugged individualist and the floundering soul grasping for a handhold in a seething mass of humanity. I will also talk a lot about the weather, and about manure. I can't promise to lay a blueprint out for how to liberate our culture through land-based activities, but I promise I'll be honest. I probably won't always use the right words, or have enough context to truly understand the words I'm using, but I will remain well-intentioned, and do my best to remain open to education. Hopefully more educated and well-intentioned than, say, white settlers in the 1840's.

Outside, the wind is wailing. A chickadee vigorously hones its beak upon the leafless limbs of osage orange. From my window at my desk I can see five cows standing in the half-thawed muck, grunting and tearing at hay. We all have more work to do in this world than we imagine, or want to do. I'm starting with hauling water.

Ultimately, I am trying to stick to my intentions here, to record an almanac of the homestead year. But I will veer into rant mode on occasion, whenever I’m struck to do so. Because after all, what is useful information without passion? If I can stick to it, I hope that you, gentle reader, will be left with some honest expectations of the work that needs done. Some of you, no doubt, are growing food, or would like to be. And some of you have other important roles in the creation of a viable life on earth. Like it or not folks, we are determining our future together, and there’s precious little time to look back at the good old days.

Hastily and truly yours,

BB