Gimme the Dirt… On Farm Heroes

July 4th feels like the gateway to summer. If your plans look anything like ours, you’re planning a picnic, excited about evening fireworks, or hanging a flag from the porch. As we do every year at this time, we’ve also been thinking about the people who make up this vast, dynamic country of ours. The thing we always come back to is the fact that we are a country of immigrants. With the exception of those who were marched onto reservations, almost all of us are descended from immigrants. Both my husband and I have interesting genealogies that involve immigration on creaky wooden ships (one that’s extremely well-known). My own history also contains hearty folks who took covered wagons out west to settle on land granted to them by President Theodore Roosevelt, where they farmed hogs and grew corn. Immigration is literally in our blood, just like farming. On a farm, the conversation about immigration is an important one. Immigrants play a critical role in our food system, performing work that most Americans turn their noses up at – things like fieldwork in the brutally hot summer sun, shepherding cattle or sheep in high-altitude federal grazing lands, milking cows in milking parlors battling flies or painful cows’ tails, and emotionally challenging labor in slaughterhouses breaking apart carcasses. None of these jobs is easy or fun, but they’re necessary. If you ate today, you owe a debt of gratitude to these unseen human beings, and it doesn’t matter how they got here, whether they swam across a river in the dead of night or went through the many-years-long immigration process our government refuses to streamline. They’re performing these tasks so you can eat. It’s hard to talk about farming and food without wandering into a diatribe about politics because they are hugely politically charged subjects. So I won’t. Instead, I want to introduce you to someone important to us on this small farm.

Not that long ago, I found myself in a car with three friends headed south to the “big city” – specifically, New York. The four of us are as different as can be, but we “click,” which is far different than a “clique.” Our trip would result in our texting group label: “The Fab Female Farmers,” a tongue-in-cheek name that makes me chuckle every time my phone lights up with a text. We commiserate, support, and share information with each other. It’s a rare thing to find a group of women so good to each other without a drop of competition, like what existed in that car. Beautiful Chrissy was behind the wheel, confidently spiriting us away from the country to spend time with people she knows from her former life working for a world-renowned chef. In her new life in the country, she’s a chicken farmer (Good Seouls Farm), raising glorious pastured eggs she sells to restaurants in the city. Next to her was Tish, a long-time friend with a gorgeous farm nearby (The Healing Acres), a mental health nurse practitioner turned flower, alpaca and poultry farmer whose customer base turns heads. And next to me, in the back, sat tiny Nim, quiet and reserved but by no means shy. Nim is a farmer, too – her small farm neighboring Chrissy’s produces chicken, eggs, pork, and some of the most beautiful vegetables around. I would learn that her diminutive stature belies someone of enormous character, strength and courage. As we drove, I realized that all three of my friends were naturalized citizens, Nim most recently. To entertain ourselves, they asked questions from the Citizenship exam, which I loved since history is a favorite subject in our house. It was interesting to realize my whiteness made me the minority in that car – not the first time I’ve experienced this phenomenon, but certainly the closest quarters, and definitely the most interesting people to experience it with. Chris is from South Korea, Tish from India, Nim from Nepal. And me? I grew up only 3 miles from where I live now. And even though I’ve been “out in the world,” it was honestly a bit intimidating to be amongst these highly intelligent, independent and creative women.

Because I’m a lover of books, and my writing is fed by my experiences, the stories I hear are as much food for me as the meat, eggs and dairy we produce on our farm. Some of the food we raise is solely for our own consumption, but most of it we share with our community. This parallels my feelings about stories: some I hold close in order to help me navigate the world or to protect the privacy of others. But some are meant to be consumed by everyone because they’re just too good not to share. Nim’s story is one of the latter. If I hadn’t swallowed my own storytelling that day in the car, I’d never have learned about her. Nim is not one to boast, but in spite of her modesty, I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone with bragging rights like hers. Nim’s life is one of firsts. She is the first person in her family to graduate from high school, and she is the first to become a US citizen. And she holds a world record “first” in the sport of mountaineering, but that title isn’t what makes her special or defines her. Who she is has enabled her to accomplish great things. You can do an internet search for the name “Nimdoma Sherpa” to read and listen to stories on platforms like ESPN, PBS, NPR and even Wikipedia. But they don’t fully capture the Nim I know.

Nim started her life as a small girl in a remote Nepalese village. Food was scarce, and much of the food for her family was grown by her mother in the thin topsoil of the Nepalese highlands. I like to think this is where her love of growing things started, in this place where scarcity inspired rather than discouraged her. Trekking was not a hobby; it was a necessary means of connection – for food, for friendship, and for education. School was something Nim looked forward to because school was where she got food-balanced meals that provided essential nutrition to her growing mind and body, so the long walk there and home again was worth it. Young Nim was also bright, and as essential as those meals were, the classroom fed that other part of her: her intellect. The meals served at school were carried on foot through the rough paths and rudimentary roads by the World Food Program (WFP), the world’s largest food distribution program. It was through the WFP that Nim learned about a group of young women training to summit the “roof of the world” – Mount Everest. Nim shared her desire to join the group with her brother, who didn’t believe she’d do it. But Nim persisted. She trained with the team, and soon, she was told, “It’s time to leave!” It was only when she announced her departure to her family that they finally accepted that she meant business. Nim’s town was across the country from Lukla, where Mt. Everest treks begin. The team’s flight into Tenzing-Hillary Airport was rough, the landing more so. Then, there was a 26-mile hike to the base camp, where they would allow their bodies to acclimate to the altitude for long, shivering weeks. No amount of training can fully prepare one for something that only exists in a single place on Earth. And at 17 years old, Nim was the youngest member of the team. With grit and perseverance, the team, including Nim, reached the summit in May 2008. Her accomplishment meant she was the youngest female climber in the world at the time to do so. But Nim considered herself a part of a team of climbers, and the team itself had set a record as well: they became the first all-female team to summit Everest.

I’ll pause the story for a moment to return to my day trip to New York City. We were now parking in a lot and embarking on the day Chris had arranged for us: a visit to The Tin Building, where we would dine and shop and where I would meet cheesemonger Clair, who has since become a friend. It’s a lovely place, and with Christmas just around the corner, the visit felt special and festive. I purchased lush pastries and glutinous bread for my husband at the bakery, cheeses for myself at the perfectly curated cheese counter and savored the desserts presented at our table after our heavenly meal. The day ended up being what I consider a core memory with beautiful friends, but I couldn’t wait to get back in the car to hear more of Nim’s story. When I say “she’s tiny,” I mean she is TINY – 4’10” and slight. I watched her savoring her meal as we dined together and marveled at the thought of this delicate creature hauling her pack through the Himalayas. There was something awe-inspiring about being with Nim in a place like The Tin Building, where opulence and abundance were around every corner, and comparing it to her roots in that tiny village in Nepal, where school was the one place she could get proper nutrition.

Back in the car, I asked Nim to continue her story. I learned that she and her team were bitten by the climbing bug. As a team, they decided to attempt the summits of all the highest peaks on the seven continents. In climbing circles, it’s known as “The Seven Summits,” and the all-female team (now called The Seven Summits Women Team) wanted to be a part of the exclusive club of men who’d performed the feat. The list of climbs is intimidating for even the most experienced climbers, and Mt. Everest (29,031 feet) is typically saved for last. The Seven Summits Team, as they called themselves, now had six mountains left to climb: Mt. Kosciuszko in Australia (7,310 feet); Mt. Elbrus in Russia (18,510 feet); Mt. Kilimanjaro in Tanzania (19,341 feet); Mt. Aconcagua in Argentina (22,822 feet); Denali in the United States (20, 237 feet);  and Vinson Massif in Antarctica (16,050 feet). So they set to work raising the money it would cost to finish what they started on Everest. The fundraising almost felt more daunting than the climbing, but much like their training, once they set their minds to it, any obstacles in their way simply became goals. Each mountain had its own challenges, and training together was essential to their success. It wouldn’t be until the end of 2014 that they’d complete the last of all seven peaks – Vinson Massif – to claim the Seven Summits honor. Nim is the embodiment of a favorite quote from Shakespeare:  “Though she be but little, she is fierce.” While the climbing is exciting, it’s what Nim did next that, for me, is the most inspiring. She embarked on a speaking tour, giving lectures in schools across Nepal, instilling in schoolchildren the value of education. She became an ambassador for the World Food Program, the organization that had fed her and enabled her to climb both literal and metaphorical mountains. When a tragic earthquake struck the region of Nepal where she grew up, she, along with her climbing team, spearheaded recovery projects that included a massive, global fundraising effort, as well as the physical work of “boots on the ground”- cleanup and rebuilding in the immediate aftermath.

Nim’s climbing and speaking careers would take her around the world and place her tiny self in the presence of giants, including being honored at the White House. But it’s in the Hudson Valley that Nim has permanently settled and where she calls home. Her name is Nim Sanders now, and she’s the mother to two adorable little girls who are already showing themselves to be as strong and smart as their mom. With her husband, Rob, she has built The Himalayan Hillside, their beautiful small farm nestled into a sloping piece of land in Bloomingburg. Their pigs roam a wooded corner near a pond filled with fish, frogs, and turtles—the perfect place for little girls’ imaginations to soar. Vegetables grow in tidy rows, and high tunnels hint at more plantings to come. The chickens run free near the rambling farmhouse Rob is restoring room by room. And inside is my favorite space in their house: the pantry. This is the place where one can see exactly who Nim is. The hard work, tenacity, love for her family, and generosity to visitors literally spill off the shelves. The pantry shelves hold the preserved foods Nim has saved from her farm—enough to feed an army! There is a special hot sauce she creates from unique Nepalese peppers she grows; there are canned tomatoes and pickled things, and all the food Nim didn’t have as a child. In a nearby room, baskets upon baskets are filled with eggs to be washed and set out in the farm stand, while other rooms are filled with shelves where seedlings for her plantings are started from seed. Nim shares generously and with a huge, dimpled smile that lights up the room. Dinners with her as the chef are opulent affairs involving so much food that doggie bags are a necessity (and insisted upon). To know Nim is to love her, but when Nim loves you back, you’re definitely going to overeat.

On our farm, one never knows what might happen or who might show up. But one thing is guaranteed: this farm has brought more interesting and amazing people into our lives than we can count. The friendships in the car on that girls’ day in the city began on our farm with those women as our customers. My husband and I don’t travel or go to urban places for dinner and a show. Some might say that makes us unworldly, ignorant, or close-minded. But the truth of it is this: the world comes to our farm. We sell beautifully raised food to people from all walks of life – all colors, nationalities, political leanings (yes, all political leanings), career paths and socioeconomic brackets. We sell food to a community that looks like a cross-section of the global community. And we welcome them, talk to them, learn about them, and listen to their stories because selling the food we’ve raised is, for us, a deeply personal transaction that builds deep, personal connections. Their stories tell us who they are, and opening our farm and our lives to them has opened the world to us in return. Our nation is nearly 250 years old. If we haven’t learned by now, I’m worried we might never learn it: we are a nation of immigrants who need each other now more than ever. Our food system is currently nearly entirely dependent upon immigrants, especially in the farming sector. It took my friends in that car – Chris, Tish and Nim – far too long to become citizens. These are people who contribute, inspire and share generously, and that’s only three people. Just think of the nation we could be if we opened ourselves to more just like them.

Photos courtesy of Nim Sanders + Rebecca Collins Brooks 

Rebecca Collins Brooks is a farmer, writer and farmstead cheesemaker at 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

Check out > INSIDE+OUT’s Spotlight on Catskill Wagyu at Hilltop Farm