As the people started to roll in at around 5 o’clock last Saturday, I suddenly felt sick to my stomach. I had just realized that I overbooked our farm-to-table dinner by about five people, which, when you only have room for 30, is a lot of extra people to try to squeeze in.
The problem was that I had accepted reservations verbally and had not gotten all of the people into the “system” (a term I use lightly). But here they were, the extra people, all smiles and excitement, ready for a delicious meal at the farm.
Oh shit.
This was the third dinner we’d held at the farm, so one would think I would have grown more adept at simple tasks like taking reservations. It is a small but essential detail to correctly track ticket sales, to know who in fact is coming to your event.
Ah detail. Not my forte, shall we say. Or at least not yet. I am more of the delegating type, ushering off those small but important details to someone else. But there is no one else to delegate to when you are getting a small business off the ground.
Agritourism—having people come out to the farm to do things like have dinner, pick pumpkins or take a cooking class—is often touted as something farms should do when they are in the direct-to-consumer game. Our customers can come out to see every part of the farm, from the old machinery in the field (or ditch) to the newborn calves in the pasture. It creates completely transparent style of agriculture, where the public can see what growing and processing food really entails, unlike so much of our food system.
But there is more to it than that for us.
John and I want to be part of a shift in the food culture here in Iowa. We want to introduce more people to great food—not fancy food or necessarily expensive food (although the dinner was more pricey)—just good food with fresh ingredients, interesting spices, and made from wholesome recipes.
We also want to make room for more up-and-coming farmers and chefs on our farm, to give them a chance to learn and hone their skills, before heading out into the “real world” of land and restaurant ownership. There has to be an in-between place, a space between owning and simply being a worker bee, where young people gain knowledge and practice.
But here’s the most important part for me: these dinners are the antithesis of the industrialization that surrounds us in Iowa. Creating a regenerative farm—a place that, at a minimum, does not harm the natural world—has to also include humans. Humans who care.
Getting together with strangers of like mind, over a great meal, creates something unique and special. It’s an act that is light-years away from sitting on the couch alone eating a frozen pizza. It is what forms a resilient community, a place where people come together to celebrate creativity and quality. It is our way to combat the generic nature of industrialized food that dominates our society.
Maybe we are just lucky in getting the mix of people right again and again—but I hope there is something more to it. I hope the farm is a magnet for such gatherings, a place to feel fellowship and inspiration.
But this night, our good friends were not so lucky, as they were the ones who I called in desperation. I ran outside and whispered into the phone.
“Are you almost here? I screwed up…and you can’t come tonight.”
They were kind about it, telling me not to worry and how it wasn’t a problem. But I felt terrible.
They missed the fun, but in the end, the event was a huge success.
The food, cooked by Chef MacKenzie Schultz of Harbinger in Des Moines, was out of this world. (You can follow her @HomestylebyMac.)
And at the end of the evening, the entire group cheered, for the food and for the camaraderie. They filed out, bellies full and smiles on their faces.
And the friends who got the boot? We invited them to dinner, where we will gather yet again, and eat great food.
You can find more about Whippoorwill Creek Farm at iowa-farm.com. Beth Hoffman is a member of the Iowa Writers Collaborative, a group of more than 80 amazing writers from around Iowa.
Ah, Beth, you certainly know how to turn a phrase, e.g., " It’s an act that is light-years away from sitting on the couch alone eating a frozen pizza." I chuckled audibly.
And I would bet that even if all had shown up, it would have worked out just fine. Personally, some of my favorite meals have been enjoyed sitting on the ground, with portions shared with others.
Keep up your good work, Beth and John; it inspires others.
Oh Beth, I am not a person of detail and have been caught off guard many times throughout my farming career. I had to laugh at how you handled your delicate situation. Glad you were able to resolve it.
Because Iowa big agri-business i.e. the Iowa Department of Ag and Land Stewardship, does not support farmers like you and John, we have to build the infrastructure ourselves from the ground up.
Thank you for this great piece. I can hear the conversations of folks around the tables as I look at your pictures.