There are two reasons I grow organically at Golden Valley Farm.

The first is for human health -- using biological inputs and systems to grow food means that my crops are healthier in themselves, and therefore healthier to consume. Avoiding pesticides, fungicides and herbicides means that the produce from Golden Valley Farm is free of nasty residues.

The second reason my farm is organic is for the health of the world. Again, biological systems and inputs, and lack of ‘nasty-cides’, means that the land I’m farming is in robust health. 

Furthermore, Golden Valley Farm is mostly hand-worked, using renewable energy (that’s me eating lunch) instead of fossil fuels. I think very hard about using plastic and other non-renewables before buying. Additionally, I source inputs (fertilisers, amendments, etc.) as close to home as possible, and my produce is sold within 20 kilometres of the farm gate. 

So I’d like to think I am taking the whole of the biosphere into consideration with every decision I make, whether its choosing a more expensive Tasmanian lime over an import, or  turning my beds over with hand tools instead of the tractor. 

In contrast to this sustainable approach, organic certification pretty much stops at the farm gate. A farmer can import highly processed certified organic fertiliser from interstate (or overseas if it’s cheaper), grow crops on the farm in the conventional way, and then sell them to interstate (or overseas) markets in plastic packaging proudly bearing the certification logo.

I am not saying that all -- or even most -- organically certified farms operate this way, but as organic food becomes a larger share of food sales worldwide, agribusiness is moving into organic production, obeying the certification standards to the letter (we hope), but dismissing the wider ecological concerns of the original organic movement. 

Don’t get me wrong --  more organic food consumed worldwide is a definite good, both for the people eating it and for the land it’s grown on. 

But just growing organically fails to address the global food network’s dependence on fossil fuels. This is a double whammy: not only does all the transport, processing and packaging of global food consume non-renewable resources, it also adds to human CO2 emissions, edging our biosphere closer to catastrophic change. And as the organic proportion of the global food market expands, so does it’s petrochemical footprint.

So while the global surge in organically produced food is a great sign of awareness and discrimination amongst consumers, without the ecological side of the organic equation, we are only halfway there.

To fully realise a sustainable food supply, produce must be organic and local.

This means a move to a more regional supply/demand market, necessarily seasonal, and based on local inputs. It means changing the way we eat: less processed foods, less packaging, more fresh foods and better nutrition. Regional and seasonal specialities will be celebrated. 

We are fortunate here in the Huon that local food traditions have not been completely swallowed by global agriculture and the big two supermarkets, and that we already have an agricultural economy. As the challenges of a changing climate and scarcer fuel are felt, I hope we will be able to provide a model of local resilience.

So is Golden Valley Farm certified organic? No. Why?

Because although organic certification provides an assurance to the consumer that the food was produced with a certain range of registered inputs, it ignores the heart and soul of organics: we should be caring for the planet as well as ourselves.

Besides, if my customers want reassurance, they are free to visit the farm!

A farmer’s life is ripe with simple pleasures. 

There’s no hurrying out the door to the morning commute, no job interviews or workplace evaluations, no harried lunch hour that always seem too short, and no organisational heirarchy to be deferentially observed. The only greasy pole is on the tractor power takeoff.

Even the downsides of farming reveal simple pleasures. Getting up before a winter dawn and breakfasting by the stove as the sky slowly blushes, then clapping your hands, breath steaming as you boot up to begin harvesting for the morning’s market. 

Or finally sitting down in the last rays of a long summer day, tasks accomplished and thinking of what’s to be done tomorrow...

Or eventually fixing some troubled machinery, tired of the fiddling and grease, confident she’ll start tomorrow to do the job required. And there’s pleasure in a well hoed bed. And in taking a minute to watch a pair of wedge-tails circle slowly over the valley.

But my most cherished farming pleasure is lunch. A proper sit down lunch at the table with plates and cutlery, with home-made bread on the board and kettle on the stove for after.

Often in the cooler months I’ll pop into the house around 11 and put a pan of lentils and water to simmer on the side of the stove while I continue working.

Then when my stomach tells me it’s time to down tools, I grab a fistful of collard greens on my way to the house. 

The roughly chopped greens go in with the lentils to cook rapidly for as long as it takes to find a bowl and spoon and toast a thick slice of bread. Season the dish well with salt and pepper, and butter the toast generously.

Simple. Nourishing. Lentils, greens, bread. Pleasure.

After lunch it’s on with the boots and outside to search for the perfect stroke of the hoe, the perfect dump of the barrow, and maybe a 10-minutes chat with the neighbour as he heads down the road...