Gimme the Dirt…On Community

The customers of Hilltop Farm are a diverse group – locals, newcomers, family, long-time friends and new acquaintances. But one thing they all have in common is this: every person who sets foot on this property becomes a part of it, whether they know it or not. We raise Wagyu beef, known to be “fancy,” pricey (both to raise and to eat) and unique. But what some may not know is this: we also raise non-Wagyu steers for those who can’t quite reach the price point of Wagyu. These animals, we feel, have a noble purpose because some of them go to the local food pantry as ground beef to feed people in our community who would otherwise be unable to obtain it. There’s that word: community. Our farm occupies an essential position in so many ways – environmentally, economically, and geographically – but the most important one for us is our place within the social structure: with the people who visit us and support us. Our community.

Small farms used to be the main industry in the Rondout Valley. Notably, they were mostly dairy farms, from which creamy, rich milk was hauled in ten-gallon cans to the local creamery just down the road from where this farm sits. In fact, once upon a time, Hilltop Farm was part of my husband’s grandfather’s farm just across the road. Grandpa Sheeley’s legacy can be seen scattered through the neighborhood, right here in tiny Kyserike. Our farm occupies a parcel that includes a high knob of hayfields – hence the name Hilltop Farm. From that knoll, we can see all of the eastern Catskill range, including the Burroughs Range way off beyond High Point, three little mounds that bely their actual height and which Bart affectionately calls his “humps.” Across the road is Grandpa’s former farm: a recently gentrified place with a boating lake, the stately Dutch barns where Bart helped to milk cows, and the stone house where his mom grew up. There’s more farmland across the road that has been divvied up amongst the family, some of it with beautiful soil where, after retiring from dairying, Grandpa Sheeley grew spectacular vegetables. Now, Sheeley’s Farmstand is owned and operated by Bart’s uncle and aunt, Jim and Dee Sheeley, who raise gorgeous vegetables of their own and hold court in the sharp green farmstand on hot summer days. The transfer of food from hands that grew it to those that will prepare and eat it is an intimate transaction, and it seems only fitting to honor that process by getting to know each other. It’s this aspect of farming that is often overlooked: the chatting, the camaraderie, the relationship-building. It’s the people.

Not long ago, I received a phone call from a friend asking me about “third places.” She needed help identifying them as a part of a project she was working on. What are “third places,” you ask? It’s a term coined by sociologist Ray Oldenburg, referring to where we spend our time. We humans live out our lives in buildings that define us: where we live and work. According to Oldenburg, our houses are considered “first places” and our offices “second places” – they’re the places we spend the most amount of our time. But “third places”: those are where community is built. In times gone by, an example of an important third place was church, where fundraising suppers, town meetings, and musical concerts were held. But the slow, painful death of many churches has rendered them less useful as community hubs. Schools can serve as third places – community gathering places where sports, the arts, and learning converge for young people and the adults who support them. And, of course, there are virtual “third places” – social media platforms that give the impression of human connection – NextDoor, or Facebook “friends.” Those are obvious, but what about other places? I had a few thoughts for my friend, but as I mulled this concept, I returned again and again to farms. Farms are critically important “third places” for the communities that surround them, and it’s time to remind the world of that fact.

Our first, second, and third places are located in one spot: Hilltop Farm. This is where we live, work, and socialize. We welcome customers to our farm store to sell the products we raise – beef, eggs, and roaster chickens. But when customers visit, we don’t just sell them things: we offer them time to meet the cows, see the chicken coop, and visit the calves. This isn’t a petting zoo: our animals are classified as livestock, and we make sure people understand the difference. If the weather is nice, we make the time to walk up on the hill to show them the views but also to let them connect with the land that grows such delicious food. We feed our community, and we take that responsibility seriously. So does our insurance agent, who sells us coverage for every eventuality – something not many people think about but ends up wrapped into every package of meat we sell. But I digress. Back to our community.

We have met such interesting people through this farm – people who’ve enriched our lives unquantifiably – but deciding to open it up to the public was not an easy decision for many reasons. The health and safety of all concerned – our animals, our visitors, us – is of primary importance (especially to our insurance agent). We are both introverts who value time alone, and since farming can be solitary work, we are well-suited to it. But we saw that the only way for the farm to survive development pressure, convoluted government policies, and exorbitant input costs (among other things) was to open this place to on-farm retail sales. What we got in return has been nothing short of astounding.

The cross-section of humanity we call our friends enriches our lives beyond measure. Everyone needs to eat: every single human body needs food to survive, which means farms are hubs of survival, including Hilltop Farm. To illustrate how diverse and interesting our personal community is, here are two anecdotes. Once, the phone rang, and an elderly woman’s voice came over the line: “Can you tell me how this beef was raised,” she asked. “I picked up a package at the local food pantry, and it’s the best hamburger I’ve ever tasted, but I have questions.” Our contact information is on every package of beef, and it was touching that she took the time to call. I answered her questions and invited her to visit the farm sometime if she was out and about. She was intelligent, housebound, and hoping to meet us someday. We still haven’t met her, but the thought that the food we raised was feeding someone who really needed good nutrition has stuck with us. Just one package of ground beef made an impact. And that makes us proud. The other story is from this past winter when we were invited to a birthday party. Not just any party, mind you, but a glamorous party at a high-end venue. I glanced at Bart as he drove us to town that night, and he looked pensive. “Are you alright?” I asked. “I’m just really nervous,” he answered. I didn’t like to admit it, but I was, too. We don’t go out much, but this was a special occasion for a lovely person, and we didn’t want to miss celebrating with her. Upon arrival, we connected with two dear friends who kept us company and eased our discomfort. We were met with hugs from the hostess and her husband as the DJ warmed up the dance floor. From our vantage point at a cocktail table, we watched the room flood with people. To our astonishment, we knew nearly all of them. Interestingly, our connection was this farm. At the heart of the party, standing ironically near the groaning board piled with deliciousness was their farmer – the one who raises their food. I won’t say Bart’s comfort level rose much because crowds are definitely not his thing, but when we got in the truck to drive home again, he no longer looked worried. He was smiling broadly.

So, what IS community, exactly? Is it a building, like the “third place” my friend was asking about, or is it the people who fill that space with their energy? For us, as third places go, this farm is the most important one – an uncommon combination of place and people with an alchemy not able to be replicated anywhere else. Luckily for us, everyone has a common interest in the necessity of food, and food is our business. Opening this farm to the public has suffused our lives with a vibrancy we could never have anticipated when we were struggling with “going public.” The customers who’ve become friends are just too numerous to count. And those friends tell their friends, who come to visit and meet the cows (and us) and take a walk on our hill. This farm is a community builder for us, for those who come here to visit, and even those reading these words right now. In all the arguments about the viability and purpose of small farms, community strength is, to us, the most critically important one.

In the coming months, we have a packed calendar of meat harvests and sales, events, and apprentices arriving for the summer. We cherish our alone time, especially our morning coffee after the cows are cared for and the milking equipment has been cleaned and put away. For the last few morning coffee breaks, for whatever reason, nostalgia has crept into our time together. Our community looks vastly different now than it did even 10 years ago. Once, long ago, community was found in the line waiting to drop off the milk cans at the creamery or in the aisles of Agway, where farmers congregated to chat. Once, community was found with friends we grew up with over a Saturday night game of dominoes (and perhaps a little too much wine). Now, the creamery and Agway are gone, and old friends have moved away to places more affordable as they enter retirement age. It’s wistful to think about those good, bygone times. But we don’t allow ourselves to languish in that mindset for long. The cows beckon us back outside again, where new old friends might come to call.

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Rebecca Collins Brooks is a writer and farmstead cheesemaker on Hilltop Farm in Accord, NY. She is the creator and founder of The Meeting of the Milkmaids, a gathering of women working in the cheese and dairy industry. In addition to a small herd of dairy cows, she and her husband Barton raise Wagyu beef, selling meat to customers directly off the farm. Her best friends are two terriers, Winston and Molly; and Sylvie, a truly brilliant barn cat. You can visit the farm by appointment to see where truly good food is grown.

Connect with Rebecca via Instagram @catskillwagyu, on Facebook CatskillWagyu

And check out > INSIDE+OUT Spotlight on Catskill Wagyu at Hilltop Farm