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Biodynamic Farm Story: Where Anna Dreams About Taking Summers Off

in 2024/Crop Production/Current Issue/Grow Organic/Land Stewardship/Organic Community/Organic Standards/Tools & Techniques/Winter 2024

By Anna Helmer

I have hauled out my Biodynamic books to perform my annual winter Biodynamic brush-up. Brush-up isn’t the right term to use because it implies that I once understood it all, and now just need to remind myself of a few things. If only that were the case. No, it’s more of an annual hopeful attempt to comprehend the material. I keep at it because occasionally the penny drops, and I take a satisfying stride up the learning curve. Stride is also too strong a word. Step. Shuffle. Tip toe.
It’s very incremental.

The eight lectures delivered by Rudolph Steiner that form the basis for Biodynamic agriculture were delivered 100 years ago, over the course of 10 days, to a diverse (there were women there) group of (mostly) farmers. They had asked him to help figure out why their farms were struggling. The food didn’t taste as good as before, the animals were not as healthy, and there was an overall dissatisfaction with farm performance. The only thing that had changed was the arrival of commercial chemical fertilizers which made some things (the cash crops) grow like stink.

And what a quality conference Steiner delivered. Drawing on his extensive research into long tradition, modern science, and esoteric spirituality, he presented the idea that a farm can provide its own fertility. The content was both deeply theoretical and intensely practical, and a new way of thinking about soil, plants, and the forces at play between them, took hold.

Back at their farms, the farmers used what they learned, and the results were positive. Yields were strong, the food tasted better, the animals became healthier, and, if Steiner was right about the impact of nutrition on people’s ability to make cogent decisions about the future, everyone got smarter.

Interesting additional fact to consider and one that has totally side-tracked me: this conference happened in June. Over 100 farmers took 10 days off their farms in June to attend a farming conference. This is a preposterous notion for us modern day growers. However, given the results, it could be argued that taking 10 days off in June was a good farming decision that helped build farming businesses.

As a growth move, a farming conference in June would not make anyone’s list. Today’s growth moves involve planting more acreage, hiring more people, diversifying sales channels, and making capital investments. Sales are indeed boosted but the likelihood of time off in June diminishes with every new foot of planting.

Get to the point, Helmer. I am using the fact that once upon a time, tons of farmers took time off in June to learn about Biodynamic farming—arguably the most revolutionary, farmer-empowering, and potentially world-saving farming method ever seen. I am using this fact as a bludgeon to hammer home the point that we have our priorities all wrong and don’t recognize a growth move when we see it.

But I digress. This June rant is tangential to the actual reason I went back to the books: I wanted to brush up on why winter is a biodynamically important time of year for our soil. In the lectures, Steiner suggests that there is very important energetic action taking place down there while all is frozen and snow covered above. Very importantly in winter, the soil is sealed off and protected from the rigorous treatment we farmers mete out during the growing season. Left alone and protected in this way, the earthly energy accumulates and strengthens, balancing with the captured cosmic forces. Evidence of something powerful happening below comes in the first strong greenery of spring: garlic, rye, and nettle pushing up from roots that developed somehow in that outwardly inert ground of winter.

So, what then, are the consequences of a winter like the one we are experiencing right now: no snow, well above zero, and the ground not frozen. At least all the plants are dead. That’s something normal. I am assuming that winter will eventually turn up, but you have to wonder.

We may have to intervene and throw around a little BD500 and BD501. These are preparations used to help to balance the energies in the soil, and I always assumed their use in winter was superfluous to what was happening below. However, if normal winter isn’t going to show up, it may be necessary to rouse ourselves from our own energy balancing activities and do something, biodynamically, in support of soil.

Anna Helmer farms in Pemberton with her family and friends and hastens to add caveats. helmersorganic.com

Featured image: Detail from “Labour and Leisure,” 1938. Credit: Public Domain

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Biodynamic Farm Story: Where Anna Anticipates Some Free Time (Questionably)

in 2023/Fall 2023/Land Stewardship/Organic Community/Standards Updates

Anna Helmer

Well, on the other hand, when a major crop flops, the harvest isn’t going to amount to much and that frees up a certain amount of time…

Welcome to my head space right now: consumed with our carrot crop catastrophe. You’ve joined me at a positive moment in the endless cycle of despair and future free time optimism. Stick around and we’ll get right back to wallowing in the carrot field of broken dreams, where I am often to be found pacing through the sparse carrot stand feeling bewildered and disappointed, trying to unravel the mystery. Eventually I wander far enough towards the east end of the field where things are not nearly so bad, and the mood improves. Not to the point of giddy elation, mind you—just a sort of contented, if somewhat resigned, reflection on all the free time coming my way.

It won’t be free time, in the strictest sense. I won’t be wandering around with nothing to do all fall. The time will be filled, allocated to something other than carrot harvesting and washing—perhaps directed at a variety of farm projects. I also may binge-watch a season of something instead of just watching the first episode and then googling the outcome, for lack of time. Oops. That was meant to be kept private, but here you are still following along my inner journey.

Sounds quite fun, doesn’t it, puttering about? I hope I don’t start a rush to declare crop flops to generate free time. There must be another way, but it hasn’t presented itself. Feel free to try it out on your own farm. Results may vary.

And it’s not like there are no carrots at all in the field. I think half the crop will make it to harvest. That is still quite a bit as we connived to plant a larger area this year, without admitting to it. Plenty of carrots to harvest, which happens to be my favourite farm job of fall. As I mentioned earlier, I haven’t figured out what happened to the other half. The possibilities are myriad, and I won’t go into all the details here unless I need to boost my word count.

I think this column is still called Biodynamic Farm Story and I really ought to stick to the mission. I am having trouble getting to the Biodynamic bits because biodynamics always gets kicked to the curb when the farm is particularly extremely busy, as has been the case this summer.

Most of the summer was spent with me making a strong case for auntie of the year honours: nieces and nephews galore on the farm. Most of them teenagers. Not much intrinsically biodynamic about teenagers. They were eager to work, though, so I helped with that. And they added a lot of youthful energy to the farm, compelling me to contribute a fair amount of middle-aged lady energy to balance it all out. Draining.

That effort was nothing, however, compared to wallowing through the process of achieving our CanadaGAP certification. This was a very distinctly non-Biodynamic effort. We are now awash in hand-sanitizing wipes, spotless harvest bins, and signs, including a “No Smoking” sign on the inside of the cooler door. And we now have over 30 active forms. Rudolph Steiner never mentioned anything about forms.

I am burying the following comment deep in the article as it is still quite an incomplete private thought: we are a better farm for having gone through the CanadaGAP certification process. I still think it’s a travesty of food safety justice that an essentially harmless little farm like ours is required to slog through the same process as a massive producer who needs help keeping the listeria and E.coli off the leafy greens, not to mention actually requiring a no-smoking-in-the-cooler sign.

However, there have been many unanticipated side benefits, coming because of the hours we spent striving to comply. We did a major clean-up, and that has helped considerably with not only airflow, but also freeing up all kinds of space in which to put things. We have better lighting now, the importance of which, for those possessing deteriorating eyesight, cannot be overstated. Our handwashing and toilet facilities are dialled, and I think our crew really appreciates this effort.

It must be said, however, that it all came at the expense of farming, especially the carrot farming. Instead of irrigating the heck out of them to get the pelleting to dissolve, I was going to the dump and reading the CanadaGAP manual. Instead of spending hours setting up the mechanical weeder to do the best job possible, I was going to the dump again, stencilling pallet numbers on the cooler floor, or printing and laminating signs. Instead of doing the one pivotal hand weeding that became necessary, I was carefully accumulating and sorting forms and checklists into piles called Ongoing, Weekly, Monthly, and Annual.

And instead of diligently and regularly applying BD 500 and BD 501, which I should have realized early in the season were going to be required to help the crop contend with heat, smoke, drought, and inattentive farming practices, I was just plain otherwise occupied. I found it very hard to tear my mind away from what seemed like daily new CanadaGAP compliance conundrums, discovered as we deciphered the manual or performed the latest self-audit.

So, it all boils down to this: I am not too disappointed over the reduced carrot yield. We’ll sort it out financially, and the crop we have will still allow me to enjoy my favourite job of fall. Sometimes it doesn’t even feel like work.

I’m being positive again. How annoying.

helmersorganic.com

Anna Helmer farms in Pemberton and is not sure she would have been able to handle this summer in her 30s.

Featured image: Some acceptable carrots. Credit: Moss Dance

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Biodynamic Farm Story: a Big Biodynamic Issue

in 2023/Grow Organic/Land Stewardship/Preparation/Spring/Summer 2023/Tools & Techniques

By Anna Helmer

I am under more pressure than you might realize to produce another one of these articles called “Biodynamic Farm Story.” The problem is that my understanding of the concepts of Biodynamic farming is limited, and by now everyone must know that. I cope by dropping disclaimers to remind people to keep their expectations low (as I am doing now) and buying myself time to learn more. I keep writing about it because I think it is an important piece of the future of farming, and at my age you learn to take the soapbox when offered.

Ok. That’s done. Next, I am obliged to admit I have come out of winter having done minimal biodynamic professional development. In previous years, I have at least re-read the lectures or even attended some sort of learning opportunity. This year, the year we re-enter the certification process, I have done little more than the odd google search, focussing lately on this topic: “balancing earthly and cosmic forces in a long-rotation potato field.”

I can claim that I have been engaging in a more observational phase of learning, and that might be true, even if it isn’t solidly developmental. Happily, my observations have led to a flash of intuition, which is where I wallow now. In fact, I think I detect a Big Biodynamic Issue on our farm. It is my belief, and I must somehow turn this into cogent reasoning, that because we have been applying BD500 regularly, but not BD501, that something has gone out of whack, energetically. My main evidence is the recent struggles of the Sieglinde potato variety: the yield last year was not great, and the potatoes were overall smaller, although they maintained flavour.

I should have been expecting something big to happen. Every five years we plant potatoes in this field, and each time something pivotal and dramatic happens. One year, we had a huge wireworm problem, which led to the introduction of mustard into our rotation, and the subsequent death or disappearance of most wireworms. Another time, after spending a fortune on labour—the 1950’s Farmall 300 harvester fairly dripping with people in a desperate attempt to separate potatoes from dirt and haulm, half the crop falling off the back—we invested in the Grimme SE 75-30, the harvester of the century.

So, it should be no surprise that something thought-provoking would happen and that it would result in a change in farming practice. The big thing? The Sieglinde struggled. They never struggle. They have been reliable through thick and thin. But not last season. What happened?

What’s happened is cold springs transitioning suddenly to deliriously hot summers which meld into improbably hot autumns and precious little rain along the way. It’s been two years of this and although at any time the circumstances could change, I think the damage has been done. The soil is shocked. The Sieglinde are struggling. We’ve gotten the message, but we are not clear how to proceed.

Ponder, ponder. Reflect and ponder.

BD501 has been lurking around in the back of my mind all winter, ever since a Biodynamic farmer friend slightly raised an eloquent eyebrow when I admitted to never using 501. Not wishing to seem singular, and generally quite vulnerable to peer pressure, I saw fit to question 25 years of our farming practice. Why don’t we use BD501 again? BD500 has always been the preparation of choice, and I think it has done the job beautifully. Just the right amount of earthly energy to maintain vigour through the normally reasonably hot days of the July and August growing season. BD501, the bringer of light energy, has always seemed unnecessary. The sun seemed well able to provide the necessaries.

However, by not using BD501, we have perhaps failed to meet the challenge of the recent weather conditions: now we want more light in the cold springs, and incidentally a lot more grounding in the hot summers. I think when it’s this cold around planting time, the forces of cosmic energy that will draw the plant from the seed piece are stymied by the cold conditions. In the summer the more earthly, cool energy that draws the roots down may be weakened, dispersed, or disrupted by the shocking heat above. As Steiner talks about in the lectures, the plant lives between light and dark, cool and warm, the downward forces of gravity and the uplifting force of the cosmos: the soil mediates between the polarities. The tubers, living there in the soil, seem likely to be affected if the balance is off.

I really haven’t got this sorted out yet and there are some glaring issues with my theory: number 1 being that BD501 is meant to be misted onto the leaves of the plant and I think we need its power long before there are potato leaves upon which to mist; and interestingly, as a little aside, certain varieties are having no trouble whatsoever—the Red La Soda and Huckleberry Gold have been steadily stellar through all conditions.

I am sure I can do better than this, but in the meantime, as these cool, spring days lead inexorably to the first heat wave, we’re getting some BD500 on the potato and carrot fields, and for the first time ever following it with the BD501 before the potatoes are even up. There are lots of weed leaves available—perhaps they may suffice.

Anna Helmer farms in Pemberton and tries not to make too much up as she goes along.

Featured image: Curious cow at Bridge Creek Ranch. Credit: Maylies Lang.

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Biodynamic Farm Story: The Grass is Not Greener

in 2023/Grow Organic/Organic Standards/Preparation/Soil/Tools & Techniques/Winter 2023

By Anna Helmer

Misty rain on wet snow. This is the image I conjured for myself last summer every time it went to 40 degrees, which was many times. As a cooling vision, it is recommended. Mind you, now that I seem to encounter it every day, I find it a less enchanting experience. I am not actually complaining, though. Nothing like blue sunny skies to ruin a good day off inside.

Biodynamically, the higher latitude northern hemisphere winter is an important time for our soil as it is sealed off from the activity of the growing season. The plants are dead and decaying and no longer syphoning energy from the soil and the sun’s rays take a less direct path to earth. Cultivation plans are theoretical to the max. It’s a relaxing time for us as we really aren’t needed.

The winter soil is far from inert, however. Different types of energy (I am still in the process of sorting this out) are accumulating, perhaps balancing (the preparations 500 and 501 help with this), and certainly strengthening. We see ample evidence of this important activity, even if I’m unable to explain it completely.

Think of plants like garlic, nettles, and fall rye. The development of their robust, healthy roots takes place all winter: strong indication of life in the soil. In spring, the overwintered rye plant, supported by its roots, will enjoy some immediate riotous growth as soon as the snow melts. Anyone who has fought to knock down fall rye before crop planting can attest to its early-season vigour. And just look at that garlic greenery shooting up like a strong pillar, almost like a crystal.

Nettles, sometimes up even before the garlic, are imbued with fresh and strong wintery energy and here’s a bonus: we can get at it! The young plants are edible, and they make a powerful tonic for young seedlings. Gathering nettles for both eating and making compost tea has been on the spring to-do list for yonks—and by that, I mean for as long as there have been growers. Rudolph Steiner bemoaned the near-universal loss of folk wisdom in agriculture, but this gem seems to have survived, likely because it was so demonstratively helpful.

It is common practice on all sorts of operations to make a pass with the rotavator just before the snow falls—just enough to kill the forage and expose it slightly to soil. The result we see in the spring is a field almost ready for potato planting, so much of the cover crop has been incorporated. If that fall cultivation isn’t done, we must expect to have a very busy spring on the tractor making several passes with rotavator, spader, disc and harrow to prepare a seed bed that will likely be of lesser quality. The winter soil is more powerful than all that equipment.

So, while all those forces are wanging around down there, and we are welcoming excuses to stay inside, our farm application for proper Biodynamic certification is being initiated. We have been in and out of certification over the years. I hate to say it, but we are biodynamically-certified fickle. Very touchy. Historically, if we get our knickers in a knot, we are out. O.U.T. Out.

The last time we threw in the towel on certification was several years ago, when tractor use came up as an issue. The main theme of Biodynamics is that the farm is striving to become a complete entity, capable of providing for all its needs from within the property. Tractors, and their accoutrements, are obviously off-farm inputs, and there are schools of Biodynamic thought and practice that reject their use. We are not one of them. I don’t want to farm without at least two.

By way of comparison, organic certification is a more straightforward defense of our farming practices. Get the field numbers and acreages sorted out and keep a printed copy of the CGSB standards and permitted substances at the ready, alongside a binder containing the complaint log and compost records. Do a reasonable job of talking about cover cropping, be diligent in seed sourcing, keep the invoices organized, and that’s it. Mostly.

Biodynamic certification is a different story. I feel like I am back at university walking into an exam for a class I skipped too much. I can tell I am going to have to stammer my way through some very uncomfortable question and answer sessions. I feel challenged, intellectually.

The main opposition to our successful application will likely be our lack of livestock. Biodynamics come out strong on livestock, particularly cattle, as domesticated ruminants are exquisitely unique in their ability to consume the plants that have been enlivened by Biodynamic practice. They deliver the subsequently energized manure necessary to not only grow more plants but improve their quality and quantity. It is in this way that Biodynamic farms eschew the use of any sort of purchased soil amendment or plant fertilizer. The yields are robust and increasing because the non-physical forces emanating from the universe are contained in the soil, then focused on the growth of the crops. Cattle cause the cycle to perpetuate.

Which is fine if you want to keep cattle. We do not. Instead, we are using extensive cover cropping and turning the cull potatoes into useful compost for the non-potato crops. It is this conversation that makes me tremble the most. Am I going to be able to convince a Biodynamic inspector that potatoes too, are vessels for the energy of the universe which can be returned to and multiplied in the soil?

I foresee a long period of transition.

Anna Helmer farms with her family and friends in the Pemberton Valley. helmersorganic.com

Featured image: Garlic roots develop in cold winter soil. Credit: Fir0002/Flagstaffotos.

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Biodynamic Farm Story?

in 2022/Climate Change/Crop Production/Fall 2022/Grow Organic/Land Stewardship

Anna Helmer

The title of this column is borderline pretentious and potentially misleading. We are not a certified biodynamic farm. I am certain we do not meet the requirements and have faint hope of doing so because we fall well short of the ideal farm Rudolph Steiner describes in his lectures: we have no cattle, we purchase cover crop seed and cow manure, and we don’t make our own preparations. We’re working on it though. It could be called Aspiring Biodynamic Farm Story, or In-Transition to Biodynamic Farm Story.

For the sole sake of accuracy, it should be called: Biodynamically-Challenged Farm Story. This is more on point because I do believe that most farms and gardens where the growers believe in the availability of fertility forces greater than what comes in a bag or bucket are on the biodynamic path. Probably, like us, they just aren’t doing enough.

That’s where we are at. We just aren’t doing enough, but being a sensible middle-aged lady, I have no trouble decreeing that this is good enough. In fact, rather than risk failure, I work to lower standards until I meet them. That should explain the pretentious nature of the title.

Removing the word biodynamic entirely from the title would entirely remove the challenge of writing this article. Every time I go through the process, I learn a little bit more about both our practice, and the practice of biodynamic farming in general.

Skirting pretentiousness then, and hoping to have prevented any misleading impressions, I’ll leave it at that and continue my mission to convince everyone to run a biodynamically-challenged operation.

I have an earnest belief in two practical and effective biodynamic practices: firstly, the application of the compost and field preparations, and secondly, striving to make the farm its own source of fertility. That my conviction is endlessly undermined by difficulties explaining the wilder flights of biodynamic fancy is the challenge to be borne. I really can’t blame people for questioning all that—I just wish I could do a better job of explaining the useful bits.

To that end, I’ve started reading the Rudolph Steiner lectures again. I wouldn’t say it’s a punishment, exactly, because that would give the wrong impression. Penance would also be a poor choice of words, because I am not atoning for a mistake. It’s remedial. I need remedial reading.

Unfortunately, what happened is that someone recently asked me the old chestnut: so, what is biodynamic farming exactly—planting by the moon? My response was jumbled and garbled, confusing and unclear.

I can do better—and to do so, I am sending myself back to the beginning. The goal this time is to confidently deliver a concise and accurate biodynamic pitch: one that would convince a curious farmer to delve a little deeper, one that would indicate to a consumer that there is more to organic farming than they might imagine.

In the meantime, I am basking in the glory of my successful biodynamic cull potato compost pile. It has been completely transformed into very useful dirt. I can barely believe it. The greenhouse and the tissue culture seed potatoes were the initial beneficiaries and there has been much plant revelry.

Not so glorious has been the use of the other preparations this year. Such a cold wet spring would surely have called for the liberal and frequent application of BD501 (horn silica) but we are very reluctant to give the plants any extra warmth and light. It seems risky when at any moment a heat dome, or at the very least a heat wave, could descend, rendering it unnecessary and perhaps even detrimental.

I also held back on the BD500 (horn manure) because it did not even occur to me to use it. A rather bold admission, and perhaps penance was a good word choice after all. We were fairly consumed with trying to coax cold Pemberton mud into something more likely to grow potatoes. It was extraordinary. I am not sure Steiner really could relate.

I am never going to forget the compost preparations. I have a lot of cull potatoes coming online, a pressing need for good compost, and I know just what to do.

If only I understood why.

P.S. The Biodynamic Agriculture Association of BC will be hosting a preparation workshop this fall, likely at Helmers Organic Farm in Pemberton. Please email info@bcbiodynamics.ca to get on the mailing list.

Anna Helmer farms in Pemberton and realizes she had middle age all wrong. helmersorganic.com

Feature image: Cleaning potatoes. Credit: Helmers Organic Farm.

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Biodynamic Farm Story: (Still) Waiting for Spring

in 2022/Climate Change/Crop Production/Grow Organic/Land Stewardship/Summer 2022/Tools & Techniques

Anna Helmer

I have found it too cold to even consider applying Biodynamic Preparations so far this year. There’s no rule about it being too cold—it’s just a feeling I have. A shivery one. Instead, I have been contenting myself Biodynamically with further fiddling in our forested areas. The idea is to open things up so that there is a little more airflow. It’s hugely symbolic work, although there is an argument to be made around reducing flammable brush. Optional Biodynamic forestry work will be dropped in a hot minute as soon as the fields are dry enough for cultivating and planting.

I am sure that will be any day. Usually by now the potatoes are all in, but not this year. Today we started with some tentative cultivating—just enough to mix the cover crop into the very top layer of clammy soil. Of course, now it is pouring rain so back to square one. This is unheard-of lateness. Theoretically, everything will catch up. I’ve also been reading, and just finished, Finding the Mother Tree by Suzanne Simard. In it, the author describes a lifetime of study that began with the realization that a forest is more than sum of its parts. It culminates in a deep scientific understanding of the complexity of connection and symbiosis that must be established to allow re-planted forests to thrive.

Obviously, these conclusions have been drawn before. In agriculture, Rudolph Steiner and his Biodynamic lectures are the case in point. He died before fleshing out his arguments to the same extent, unfortunately. They follow a similar theme: when you are trying to grow things in nature, you had better consider nature.

When I wasn’t busy being enthralled by her narrative and picking up interesting little forestry tidbits (did you know that birch mulch tastes sweet?), I was busy being despairing. All these things matter so much. And yet.

I fear the weather this spring is causing me to get in touch with my inner pessimist, and  lately, it has unfortunately been coupled with a holier-than-thou mindset. This charming self-righteousness stems from the high price of fertilizer and the fact that we don’t use it. Just cover crops and the power of the universe here.

My moodiness won’t settle in for long because there is exactly zero basis for superiority, and I am sure the next fuel bill will provide an effective attitude adjustment lever. We are not at all a proper Biodynamic Farm—one that provides everything needed from within the farm. Those farmers may legitimately gloat. I, meanwhile, am a farmer with virtually no cash crop in the ground in May. I should have no trouble feeling humble.

There. Humbled. Moving on.

My big excitement today was realizing that I have a lot of juicy potato sprouts to add to my compost. This is the upside of waiting so long to get planting—the potatoes have sprouted and they get knocked off when we run them over the sorting table. They are accumulating quickly and making a solid layer on the compost pile. I don’t know what sort of a compost feed stock they will be, but it’s what I got.

Tomorrow, my favourite spring job: cutting seed potatoes. I am hoping for company. It’s an excellent talking task, and the very epitome of many hands making light work. This year, we’ll huddle under cover as the wintery spring deluges pass though the valley. In the sunny breaks, we’ll admire the fresh snow on the mountains.

The bad mood will be gone.

Anna Helmer farms in the Pemberton Valley and discovered there’s morels under the Cottonwoods. helmersorganic.com

Feature Image: Fawn Lily. Credit: Dean Diamond

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Biodynamic Farm Story: Cold Comforts

in Crop Production/Grow Organic/Land Stewardship/Soil/Spring 2022

By Anna Helmer

Alas, alak. Which is to say, phew. My self-celebrated cull potato Biodynamic compost pile is not available to evaluate in time for this article deadline: the snowpack beneath which it languishes lingers still. Truth be told, I am relieved. I have not been shy about leading us all to believe I am a composting genius, capable of turning old potatoes into a priceless pile of loamy soil teeming with life, energy, and spiritual sensitivity. On the other hand, it might be a pile of mucky old potatoes. I am saved, for now, from the big reveal.

This winter’s snowpack has had a more notable affect on life this winter than just preserving my pride. Most of it is from December’s excesses, when several feet accumulated in just a few days. The temperature plunged and the farm was in the proverbial grip of winter. The work focus narrowed: clear greenhouse, shovel path to chicken house, monitor the cooler temperatures, keep water pumps from freezing. As always, the first few days of minus twenty were fine, but then things started to freeze. It’s amazing how much work this becomes.

Rain is inevitable of course, which adds crushing weight to snow that was this year extra sticky, clinging even to the metal roofs of barns and homes. This became a grave concern. Not only is there the potential collapsing problem, but a very real danger to anyone or anything in the line of the sliding snow when it finally does let go.

Our farm escaped the situation with little more than one blown apart railing, one bent greenhouse rib (from a tractor-mounted snow blower injury), and a day or two of frozen water pump. It’s not hard to spot other winter casualties in the area and it is considered polite to avert your eyes and not mention it.

Meanwhile, under the snow, the soil has been hard at work. It’s hard to believe, as the landscape seems so inert in the depths of winter, but Rudolph Steiner says it’s so. This year in particular the soil seemed so remote, buried under four feet of concrete snow. A lot of the time it was a walkable snowpack and striding about the farm on an elevated even surface felt like freedom. Anyway, it was easy to assume there wasn’t much going on down there.

Biodynamically-speaking, however, winter is a time of dynamic change in the soil. I really don’t pretend to understand the technical aspects of many of Steiner’s arguments, and this one has really confused me. Something to do with the formation of crystals deep down which will collect the forces emanating from the further reaches of the universe and stream them upwards into the plants. Don’t quote me.

Obviously, there is activity. We habitually try to rotavate the next year’s potato field last thing in the fall before winter. Just a shallow rotavate, and perhaps a slightly deeper spading. It breaks up the sod that has formed over the previous five years of cover-cropping. It’s pretty rough, but in the spring, this field will dry a little quicker and much of the organic matter will have broken down. This is a sign of winter activity, isn’t it?

It’s more than that, though I am struggling to put my finger on it. My understanding was nudged along when we went to dig the equipment trailer out of the snow. We had parked it under a barn roof line. Oops. See above. It was buried early and often this winter. The extraction project took place over a two-day period and involved heavy equipment. When done, a churned-up mess of soil, snow, ice, and mud was left in its place. The ground won’t recover from that this year.

We would never do this to a field, but the message remains the same: we farmers ruin soil. The soil needs winter so it can get away from us and do its thing. If you haven’t slapped your head with understanding then I haven’t done a good job of writing, for this is very profound.

Think about the fall-rotavated potato field. It will emerge from the winter ready for an (almost) single tractor pass for final seed bed preparation. When we don’t do the fall rotavating and spading it takes several passes with disc, cultivator, spader, rotavator, and harrow to do the same job, with likely a substandard result.

The field, left alone in the grip of winter, was busy, busy, busy and did a better job of it than we could have done.

The BD500 preparation, which some call the gateway drug of Biodynamics, is buried over winter. I won’t get into the details, but it transforms from a muck of fresh manure into a dryish plug of pure power. I wouldn’t go so far as to say it makes sense, but I admit to a slight glimmer of understanding.

Now I am kind of excited to see the compost pile. I think it was always out of my hands.

Anna Helmer farms in Pemberton and is grateful for the opportunity. helmersorganic.com

Featured image: Credit: Hemler’s Organic Farm

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Biodynamic Farm Story: Convergence & Composting Chaos

in 2022/Climate Change/Crop Production/Grow Organic/Land Stewardship/Soil/Winter 2022

By Anna Helmer

Well, I am thrilled to discover that the likely theme for this edition of BC Organic Grower magazine is: Composting Chaos. The suggestion that chaos may be composted is encouraging and practical…and it is always a treat to find something compostable that is in such good supply. Further thrills at the possibility of extending the concept to include the composting of lived experiences, especially those whose silver lining is perceived to be absent, invisible, or inadequate. The composting metaphor is very supportive: just stash it all in a heap until a more palatable, useful, and frankly understandable state is revealed.

I am obviously over-thrilled, and I will now tone it down. Composting takes ages, of course. These things don’t happen overnight.

I am certainly not over-thrilled at what I feel was a weak performance this year on the farm, biodynamically speaking. I didn’t accomplish very much of what I set out to do. I had grand plans to make some preparations, attend more zoom lectures, plant the garden according to the Celestial Planting Calendar, and generally advance myself towards being thought of as a wise, middle-aged, biodynamic farmer.

In fact, I didn’t do any of that, and I even took steps backwards. Not in ageing, unfortunately. Still relentlessly marching along that path, sorry to say.

The season started with a good old case of undermining myself: I did not apply BD 500 to the carrot field even though I have always known that a good carrot crop is conditional upon a spring application of BD 500. Other factors contribute of course: a June 1 planting date, into moist soil prepared just so; the crop to be hand-weeded twice, mechanically weeded thrice; judiciously watered but not wantonly; and harvest commencing no earlier than the third Monday in August. All that and very little more often guarantees a successful carrot crop in terms of yield, storability, and most importantly taste.

Early in the spring I improperly mixed BD 500 using assorted batches of stale-dated preparation—just to get rid of the clutter, really. I applied it within flinging distance of the barrel in a non-intentional manner. I didn’t go anywhere near the carrot-field-to-be, assuming I could be relied upon to complete the task closer to the planting date, at a more propitious time indicated by the calendar, and with something a little fresher and properly prepared. I did not do that.

I thought for sure the carrot crop was doomed but that was just the beginning. We proceeded to somehow insert change into just about every other aspect of successful Helmer carrot cropping procedure. Planting dates, seeder set-up, spacing, cultivation plan, mechanical weeding plan, and watering schedule: it was carrot chaos, really.

Jumping to the end of what has become a boring carrot story, we got a big crop of great-tasting carrots that seems to be storing well. It is an absolute mystery of variables, and I must kick myself for failing to properly apply BD 500 because now that doesn’t get to be part of the success calculus.

Hence, I am extra keen to flatter myself that the cull potato compost pile, carefully finished with some lovely compost preparations from our friends at the Biodynamic Association of BC, is quite gloriously successful. In terms of structure and appearance it does indeed look promising: it looks like a heap of rich dark soil and there are no longer potatoes visible.

It did not look at all promising to begin with, and although it reached temperature twice, I think that just encouraged the potatoes to grow more, seeing as they were nice and warm. With great gobs of them merrily sprouting and creating new potatoes it all seemed a bit futile.

My final move was to mix it, pile it nicely, cover it with hay, and apply the compost preparations. Since then, it has been through a heat dome and three heat waves, then three months of solid rain. It sits perched on a bit of high ground in a flooded field. It has basically been abandoned.   

The current plan, then, is to ignore it till next spring. I’ll open it up for a look and decide if it is ready for that most stern test of quality: application to soil. Expectations are managed.

In the meantime, I am building the next cull potato compost pile, adding a few hundred pounds every other week or so as we wash and sort the crop. It looks like more culls than last year. There are whacks of maple and birch leaves layered in, and hay. I’d like to get some seaweed, next time I am at the seashore, and I am considering drenching it from time to time with BD 500, the Biodynamic gateway drug of which I’ve got extra.

My biodynamic journey chugs along, I suppose, although I am refraining from setting biodynamic goals for next season. I am still far too busy composting the last one.

Anna Helmer farms with her family in Pemberton, BC where the current mission is finding the right winter work gloves.

Feature image: Compost in hand. Credit: Thomas Buchan.

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Biodynamic (It’s Mentioned) Farm Story

in 2021/Climate Change/Fall 2021/Grow Organic/Land Stewardship/Organic Community/Tools & Techniques

Dear Autumn Anna,

I am writing to you from the depths of a “do the best you can” sort of summer season, where the word “pleasant” is never used to describe the weather and the most relaxed you felt was at the 15-minute waiting period after the Moderna.

I, a very wilted version of yourself, am writing to you because I am yearning for your life, but I don’t want you to forget about me. I am dreaming of a cool breeze and rain gear. I want to be at the other end of harvest. I can’t wait for all the fires to be out, the heat waves to be over, the water restrictions lifted, and the flies dead.

I want to feel pleased with farming again. I want to be excited about a pending winter of farm study, potato selling, and project completion.

That’s you, Autumn Anna. You are cool and accomplished. You are jazzed about winter markets and you might even have the garlic planted. You’ve probably taken care of all kinds of neglected odd-jobs and repairs. The sight (giddy at the thought) of rain falling on snow is close. Very close.

There is some work to be done, however, because of this summer’s experiences. I am concerned that once comfortably bundled in long johns, you will saunter off into winter without sparing a further thought about what has transpired. While understandable, it would be a waste of a difficult experience.

Remember the heat dome and subsequent heat waves? No longer theoretical, this place is getting hotter. I don’t for a second think it will be a steady, regular progression—next summer might be as cool and wet as last summer certainly was. However, now that the summer temperatures on the farm have hit 47 degrees, the door is open to do it again and now you know what to expect. You had better put some thought into it.

Your office and tool area in the new shed are in the path of the afternoon sun and unbearably hot: this needs to be remedied for next summer. Please don’t forget. Additionally, seasonal workflow and productivity expectations could be heavily modified to make it possible to opt out entirely from work all afternoon, all summer. This is profound, obviously.

Here is the deal, girlfriend: you don’t handle the heat very well. You get cranky, easily tired, and take a disappointingly pessimistic view of farming life. You keep going, as you are able to work while uncomfortable, but I thought I should flag it here for future consideration. I am confident that Autumn Anna can be brought to love farming again and we both know that Late Winter Anna just can’t wait to see those fields, but we need to be thoughtful. It might help to be specific: I suspect it’s selling carrots and potatoes at afternoon markets with temperatures in the high 30s that causes problems. Here’s a hot tip: don’t do it. Further profundity.

Autumn Anna, you have made it through this summer because I did a few things right. I shed a limiting reluctance to swim with tadpoles, newts, frogs, and a surely remarkable array of water beetle species so that I could submerge in cool water. Luckily for us, the ducks didn’t discover the location of the pond until the last heat wave broke.

I really stuck to my guns and curtailed the planting plan. I got carried away with the personal tomato greenhouse but callously and admirably plowed in the parsnips when they failed to germinate properly and didn’t even attempt a celeriac crop. Practical decisions like this, the result of the previous winter’s sober thought, made the watering program more manageable in a year when irrigation requirements were higher than ever before.

Very early one morning during the heat dome, I completed the biodynamic compost heap of cull potatoes by adding the six preparations of yarrow, chamomile, nettle, oakbark, dandelion, and valerian. The hay- and manure-covered mound has been sitting there in the hot sun for six weeks, and in a biodynamically-ironic twist, it is cool inside, not hot. It is well beyond our understanding of biodynamics to explain this.

Autumn Anna, I hope you are hearing rain as you read. I hope the carrot crop was satisfactory. I hope you are readying the seed potato catalogue and that you find an up-to-date email list in the excel file.

You have done your best, and it was good enough. Enjoy the process of falling in love with farming again.

Anna Helmer farms with her family in Pemberton, where her rudimentary biodynamic practices continue to inspire further study, wonder, and ironic ambition.

  

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Regenerative Agriculture is the Way of the Future

in 2021/Grow Organic/Organic Community/Organic Standards/Spring 2021

Certification is Helping Define Best Practices

Travis Forstbauer

This article first appeared in Country Life in BC and is reprinted here with gratitude.

Soil health is the foundation of any healthy organic farm. While modern agriculture has primarily focused on nitrogen, phosphorus, and potassium, soil health from an organic perspective focuses on the health and diversity of microscopic and macroscopic life in the soil.

The foundation of all life is carbon, so on an organic farm, soil health can often be directly related to soil organic matter (soil carbon). So, it is with cautious optimism that the BC Association for Regenerative Agriculture (BCARA) welcomes the renewed focus on regenerative agriculture.

Use of the term “regenerative agriculture” has exploded over the past few years. However, this is not a new philosophy. In North America, Indigenous peoples had been practicing forms of regenerative agriculture for thousands of years before the Europeans came and settled. In more recent times, during the early 20th century after the industrialization of agriculture, European farmers were noticing significant decreasing crop yields. Rudolf Steiner attributed this in part to depleted soil health and gave instruction that laid the foundation for biodynamic agriculture, a regenerative system of agriculture dedicated to building soil life.

Then through the mid to late 20th century, pioneers like J.I. Rodale, Lady Balfour, Robert Rodale, and the lesser-known Ehrenfried Pfeiffer championed organic agriculture practices that, at their heart, were regenerative. Through the 1980s and 1990s this movement blossomed to what is known as organic agriculture.

In 1986, as part of the early organic agriculture movement, a group of farmers in the Fraser Valley organized themselves to create the BCARA. An early definition of regenerative agriculture that they settled on was:

BCARA went on to become a leader in the early organic movement in BC, where, at the grassroots of organic agriculture, was the belief that every organic farm should strive to be regenerative in its practices. Soil health expressed as life in the soil, has always been the foundation of organic agriculture.

“Regenerative Agriculture is both a philosophy and a farm management system. Philosophically, it says that there is within people, plants, animals and the world itself a way of recovery that both comes from within and carries the recovery process beyond previous levels of well-being. Robert Rodale says, “Regeneration begins with the realization that the natural world around us is continually trying to get better and better.

Over the past 30 years much has changed in both organic and conventional agriculture and over the past few years the term “regenerative agriculture” has been loosely used for a variety of farming systems. There is a general understanding that a regenerative farming system captures carbon and helps to mitigate climate change. There are many organizations that have jumped onto this wave of regenerative agriculture. But the term “regenerative agriculture” is not regulated like the term organic. There is no governing body overseeing the use of this term and as a result it has been loosely used and often misused and this is of concern to BCARA.”

Travis Forstbauer on the farm. Credit: Forstbauer Farm

There are some that believe that no-till agriculture systems are more regenerative than organic systems that perform some tillage. However, we fundamentally disagree with this assertion. Many of these no-till systems still rely on toxic herbicides such as glyphosate, and while we applaud agriculture producers’ actions to build soil life, capture carbon, and mitigate climate change, BCARA holds the position that any form of agriculture with the goal to be regenerative should have a foundation of organic practices.

BCARA believes that the healthiest, cleanest food is produced in a regenerative agricultural system, without the use of herbicides, pesticides, and agrochemicals. Regenerative agriculture strives to be a closed loop system whereas the production of these agrochemicals is CO2 intensive and are often produced long distances from the farm.

In the US, a regenerative agriculture standard has been developed called Regenerative Organic Certification (ROC). This certification requires the operation to be certified organic to be designated as regenerative. Certification is on a tiered system of bronze, silver, and gold. The farm is granted certification based on how many regenerative practices they use on their farm as defined in the ROC standard. It is our view that this is the gold standard of regenerative certification.

Currently, there are countless researchers, soil advocates, and organizations doing the much-needed work to shift the collective focus of agriculture towards regenerative practices. These people and organizations include Gabe Brown, Elaine Ingham, Matt Powers, Zach Bush of Farmers Footprint, Maria Rodale and the Rodale Institute, Ryland Engelhart and Finnian Makepeace from the film Kiss the Ground, the Regenerative Organic Alliance, the Canadian Organic Trade Association, and the list goes on and on.

Much like organic agriculture has evolved, the understanding of regenerative agriculture will continue to evolve and BCARA looks forward to being a leading voice for regenerative agriculture in BC.

Travis Forstbauer is president of BCARA, an organic certification body that certifies farms and businesses across the province of BC. He farms alongside his wife and children, his father Hans, his brother Niklaus and his family, sister Rosanna and many other family members throughout the growing season. Together they steward Forstbauer Farm, a multigenerational, certified organic, biodynamic farm located in Chilliwack.

Feature image: Cows in field. Credit: Forstbauer Farm

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