SEASON II: Introduction

SEASON II: INTRODUCTION

“We may be the breadbasket of the nation someday...I’d like to be on the forefront of that.”

— Scott Mugrage, Mugrage Hay & Cattle, Delta Junction, Alaska

EPISODE NOTES

It’s a grey morning in early March. I’m curled up by the window inside my cabin in McCarthy, Alaska, miles and miles from a grocery store or a restaurant or many other markers of modern American life. Across the room, the wood stove pumps.

We’ve had the coldest winter since I first moved here five years ago. Some community members who’ve been here far longer said they hadn’t seen those kinds of sustained cold temperatures in a long time.

It’s been refreshing, in a way. Especially after a particularly hot summer that felt a lot like climate change in action. It was scary. Wildfires hit places that are usually soaked in rain. Things felt on edge here, like they might explode at any moment.

Outside the cabin, tiny snow flurries dot the air. A couple feet of packed snow covers the forest floor, but the spruce trees stand naked, a reminder that things aren’t exactly back to normal. The trees shed the snow from their branches a few weeks ago after a warm spell. The river broke too.

The glacially-fed Kennicott River has been breaking mid-winter for the last few years. (Erin McKinstry / February 2020)

The glacier’s been doing that the last few years, letting go of a rush of water in the middle of winter. The frozen rivers are no longer reliable highways, which can spell trouble for subsistence activities. Things are changing all over Alaska. And that means good and bad things for all kinds of industries, including agriculture.

Mike Emers has been farming outside Fairbanks since 1997.

“Yeah, it's a big gamble farming,” Emers said. “but it’s gotten less so with the changing climate.”

Mike Emers stands in a field of marijuana at his farm outside Fairbanks, Alaska. He transitioned from growing vegetables to growing pot following legalization in the state. (Erin McKinstry / July 2019)

On season two of Out Here: Alaska agriculture and what climate change could mean for its future. Maybe, you didn’t even know you could grow things in Alaska. Here you’ll meet some of the innovative people giving it a go.

Growing here is no easy task. To make space for gardening, most people have to clear their own land and mix their own soil. I have no earthworms, no garden supply store, no tap to turn to water the garden in a mercilessly hot and dry July. 

And I’m just doing it for myself. What if you’re chasing a farming dream here, that somewhat romantic notion that we can work the land locally and provide for our community instead of using massive amounts of energy acquiring food from far away places? In Alaska, that means investing time and money into a business venture that’s risky in places with better infrastructure and a more hospitable climate. Starting out can be a bit nerve-racking, said Sally Boisvert, who farms outside the southeast Alaska town of Haines.

 “It was a challenge at first thinking, oh my gosh, I’ve done all this work clearing this land, will anyone want any vegetables?” Boisvert said.

Sally Boisvert and her two young children enter one of several high tunnels on her farm outside of Haines, Alaska. During the summer months, Boisvert runs the farm alone while her husband fishes. (Erin McKinstry / August 2019)

And then there’s the knowledge. I didn’t grow up with a big vegetable patch in the backyard, and I didn’t grow up in Alaska. Neither did Boisvert, although she did come to the state with agricultural experience. Still, it was a challenge.

“Then the challenge became, okay, let’s figure out how to grow things at 60 degrees North latitude, which is very different from 45 degrees North, which is where I’d been farming previously in Maine,” she said.

Yes, the long summer days can mean giant heads of cabbage and a fast turnover for certain vegetables. But Alaska’s growing season is also short and full of unpredictable and extreme weather patterns. That’s something that only seems to have gotten worse in recent years, says farmer Tenley Nelson, who lives about 50 miles down the road from me.

 “I think it’s the unstableness of the weather that’s the most frustrating. Too much rain, then no rain at all. Too hot,” Nelson said.

Tenley Nelson feeds her chickens at her farm in Strelna, Alaska. Nelson began advertising her produce for the first time last year. (Erin McKinstry / September 2019)

But despite the challenges—known and unknown--I’m not alone in my gardening adventures here. It’s almost a given that you have some sort of garden in and around McCarthy, even if it’s just full of greens. There’s no big grocery store, and no local farmer’s market either.

“You can't buy organic garlic anywhere. You can't drive anywhere within five hours and get that product,” Nelson said. “But I can grow it and share it a little bit.”

Some of Tenley Nelson’s garlic harvest for the summer of 2019. (Erin McKinstry / September 2019)

Some places in Alaska aren’t as removed from food supply chains, but most food is still coming up on a barge from faraway places. And that leads to something that gets talked about quite a bit in Alaska: food security. It’s something many of the farmers I talked to brought up.

Alaskans are an independent bunch. Many provide for themselves whenever they can. The Alaska Native tradition of subsistence is strong: hunting, fishing, foraging, berry picking. The homesteading tradition is strong too: raising chickens, growing and canning food, making a weekly loaf of sourdough, that kind of stuff.

And then there’s the tradition of farming, where people feed themselves and their neighbors. It’s never been huge compared to regions like the Midwest, but it has been persistent. Some farmers even dream of feeding the rest of the country someday, like Scott Mugrage, a cattle rancher in Delta Junction, the once planned hub of a barley export industry.

 “We may be the breadbasket of nation someday,” Mugrage said. “With the storm challenges and things going on in the lower 48 anymore, you know, and we very well have the potential to do that here, I think. And so, I’d like to be on the forefront of that.”

Scott Mugrage looks out on a field at his cattle ranch and farm near Delta Junction, Alaska. Mugrage and his son moved up from the Midwest after finding their land on the internet. (Erin McKinstry / July 2019)

Welcome to Season Two of Out Here, a podcast about life in rural Alaska. Here you’ll get some of the complicated story of Alaska agriculture from the perspective of Alaska farmers. It’s a story full of failure and innovation, one that defies stereotypes and looks quite a bit different from the mono-crop agriculture that dominates the lower 48.

We’ll fly to the Arctic to meet an Iñupiat woman who’s mixing Western agriculture with Native traditions. We’ll meet an apple grower, a cattle rancher and a seed grower. And we’ll talk about where we’ve been, where we’re going and what climate change could mean for farming here. 

 Maybe, by the end of it, you’ll want to plant something too.

Stay tuned and stay persistent. 

Music from Blue Dot Sessions: Vibrant Canopy, Moon Bicycle Theme, Vela-Vela, Wistful / Featuring Mike Emers of Rosie Creek Farm, Kevin Irvin of Sundog Orchard, Rainey Nasuġraq Hopson of Gardens in the Arctic, Leah Wagner of Foundroot, Ina Jones of Alaska Homestead Peonies, Sally Boisvert of Four Winds Farm, Tenley Nelson of Wood Frog Farm, Scott & Justin Mugrage of Mugrage Cattle & Hay, Brian Olson of Alaska Berries, Pete & Lynn Mayo of Spinach Creek Farm and Rita Jo Shoultz of Alaska Perfect Peony / Financial Assistance from the Rasmuson Foundation

II.I CLEARING LAND

EPISODE I: CLEARING LAND

“It was a challenge at first thinking, I’ve done all this work clearing this land. Will anyone want any vegetables?”

— Sally Boisvert, Four Winds Farm, Mosquito Lake, AK

EPISODE NOTES

Last summer, I had a pretty difficult gardening moment. It was just before summer solstice, so my plants had been in the ground for a few weeks already.  I got home from work after an 11-hour shift. It was dark, and I was exhausted. All I wanted to do was make dinner and go to bed. But, the responsible voice in the back of my head was like: you need to go water your garden. 

So, down to the garden I went, and at first, I didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary.  Probably because it was dark. But when I got to the cabbage and broccoli, I stopped because the tops were missing, the soil was disturbed and several of the tender transplants had been uprooted from their homes and discarded like unwanted toys. I started crying. I couldn’t help it. 

I’d nursed the plants from seed since April, helping them overcome a mysterious illness and dancing them around the room for maximum sunlight. And now, all of that time and energy was for nothing. Most of them were damaged beyond repair. I built a fence in the spring to prevent this exact scenario. But what I didn’t think about is that a moose, with all of its gangly grace, could hop right over the top. 

The sinking feeling lasted through the night, but I realized pretty quickly there wasn’t much I could do but keep trying. All of this to say that carving cultivation space out here in the wilderness takes persistence and will inevitably break your heart at some point.

“If you're a farmer, you’re a continual optimist or you wouldn't be in it,” says lifelong homesteader and farmer Ina Jones. “Nobody goes into the winter thinking, oh, next year's gonna be worse. Otherwise, you're just gonna discourage yourself, and you’re just gonna throw your hands up and go bury your head in the sand.”

Ina Jones at her peony farm outside of Homer, Alaska. (Erin McKinstry / July 2020)

On episode one, Clearing Land, we’ll meet two beginning farmers using all of the persistence and optimism they can muster to clear their own space and nudge a budding local food movement.

Where I grew up in the Midwest, farmers laid the foundation for an agricultural industry centuries ago. Nowadays, most beginning farmers just have to find farmland rather than doing the tedious work of turning forest to field.

But not so in the southeast Alaska town of Haines, where we’ll travel on this episode. The remote, end-of-the-road town is nestled between the ocean and dramatic, snow-capped peaks. It’s really beautiful, but that also means there’s a limited amount of land there. Most of what is available has to be cleared and turned into fertile ground.

There is a small history of farming in Haines that dates back to the homesteading days. It was once the strawberry capital of Alaska. But things have changed since then. Our globally-connected food system no longer has to rely on local production.

When farmer Sally Boisvert moved to Haines in 2004, she didn’t find much of agricultural scene at all.

“When originally, you know, I wanted to become a farmer someday, I thought I’d be in a place with a tradition of farming and other farmers to collaborate with,” Boisvert said. “It’s kind of like, just, figure it out.”

Sally Boisvert shows off one of the high tunnels on her farm near Haines, Alaska. When Sally and her husband bought the land for Four Winds Farm, it was covered in second-growth spruce and cottonwood. They had to clear the land themselves. “it did start as a little hole in the forest,” she said. (Erin McKinstry / August 2020)

On this episode, we’ll talk with Sally and farmer Leah Wagner about starting from scratch, like really from scratch. We’ll hear the lessons farming teaches about the natural world—for children and adults. And we’ll learn about the challenges of farming in a place without a strong agricultural tradition.

“One of the biggest problems is that there’s a lack of infrastructure and a lack of access,” Wagner said.

Listen to the episode to hear more. For more photos, head here.

Leah Wagner and her husband Nick Schlosstein own Foundroot, a seed company and market garden in Haines, Alaska. She and her husband moved to Haines to start growing seeds for the company. (Erin McKinstry / August 2020)

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Music from Blue Dot Sessions: Moon Bicycle Theme, Jog to the Water, Bedroll, Feathersoft / Featuring Ina Jones of Alaska Homestead Peonies, Sally Boisvert of Four Winds Farm and Leah Wagner of Foundroot / Financial Assistance from the Rasmuson Foundation / Episode Artwork from Ian Gyori

II.IV A GREEN EVOLUTION

EPISODE IV: A GREEN EVOLUTION

“It’s a big gamble, farming, but it’s gotten less so with the changing climate. It’s definitely a boon to agriculture up here. ”

— Mike Emers, Rosie Creek Farm, near Fairbanks, Alaska

EPISODE NOTES

I’m driving down a bumpy dirt road without a sure sign that I’m headed in the right direction. When I turned off the main road, there was no street name and no GPS directions. And now, I’m a little lost and running late.

The road narrows as I head deeper into a spruce forest. Finally, I reach its end and pull into a narrow parking spot. A small sign for Rosie Creek Farm assures me I am in the right place. It’s decorated with friendly lettering, a dragonfly and sunflowers. It feels pretty welcoming, except there’s also a tall metal fence, a security camera and a posted warning in red lettering: “Restricted Access Area. All visitors must be accompanied by authorized personnel.” 

The entrance to Rosie Creek Farm. The security camera and gate are just two of the investments Mike Emers had to make when he switched from vegetables to pot. (Erin McKinstry / July 2019)

Then, a tiny Australian Shepherd bounds toward the fence accompanied by his owner, Mike Emers. Mike is the authorized personnel I need to enter this highly-secured space. 

He opens the gate and gestures me inside a small building. I sign a guest book and put on a visitor’s pass. It feels a little more like visiting a prison than a farm. But that’s because Mike’s not growing food. 

He’s growing marijuana. 

All of the weed at Rosie Creek Farm is grown outdoors. Mike Emers grows everything from seed and is developing strains specifically suited for his climate. (Erin McKinstry / July 2019)

“You can see all the cameras around here, that’s just a little piece of the puzzle. Every single plant has a tag on it with a barcode,” Mike says. “Every single gram of plant material has to be accounted for.”

On episode four, A Green Evolution, we’re heading in a different direction toward one of Alaska’s niche markets. We’ll look inside a commercial outdoor marijuana operation.

“I tell people if people valued food as much as they value this crop, we’d still be growing food,” Mike said.

We’ll hear about Mike’s evolution from ecologist to vegetable farmer to pot grower. Then, we’ll talk about how he’s seen Alaska’s agricultural scene evolve in the 22-ish years since he started farming. And, of course, we’ll hear his thoughts on how climate change is influencing his work.

“It’s a big gamble, farming, but it’s gotten less so with a changing climate,” Mike said. “It’s definitely a boon to agriculture up here.”

Mike Emers stands in a field of marijuana at his farm outside Fairbanks, Alaska. He transitioned from growing vegetables to pot following legalization in the state. (Erin McKinstry / July 2019)

Listen to the episode to hear more and check out this bonus post about Pete & Lynn Mayo of Spinach Creek Farm. They helped inspire Mike to make the jump to farming full-time back in 1997.

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Music from Sam McKinstry: All the World is All of Us / Music from Blue Dot Sessions: Convoy Lines, Gondola Blue, Basecamp, Rapids, Kirkus Interlude / Artwork from Ian Gyori / Funding from a Rasmuson Foundation Individual Artist Grant / Featured in this episode: Mike Emers of Rosie Creek Farm

II.V HOMESTEADING

EPISODE V: HOMESTEADING

“Try everything and keep trying everything, even when people tell you you can’t do that here.”

— Tenley Nelson, Wood Frog Farm, Strelna, Alaska

EPISODE NOTES

I never met my Grandma Rosemary, but I think about her often. Over the years, I’ve learned some simple facts about this woman from another era.

She was a mother to my mom and eight others. She tended an orchard and a commercial chicken operation. She was funny, smart and deeply religious. She grew up without running water or indoor plumbing, and she didn’t make it past the eighth grade. And she worked really, really hard. My grandfather tended the fields while she raised kids, baked, mended, quilted, milked the cows, fixed things that were broken.  

My own mother didn’t want much to do with that life once she left it. But I’ve always been intrigued by it. There’s a romanticism in the idea of homesteading, doing without, providing for yourself. Of building a little cabin in the woods and having a garden and maybe some animals. But the reality isn’t quite so rosy. It’s downright difficult and clumsy, especially when you have no idea what you’re doing.

When I moved to McCarthy, my mom wondered what Grandma Rosemary would’ve thought. I think she either would’ve been proud or thought I was crazy or likely a little bit of both actually. She certainly didn’t shun technology. She was ecstatic when she got her first microwave, for example. And she didn’t exactly choose her lifestyle, but it did seem to come naturally to her. I try to channel her skill and work ethic. But most of the time, I just flounder.

My grandma Rosemary Siebert and grandpa Joseph Siebert dancing in their kitchen in Ste. Genevieve, Missouri.

In the mid-1900s, there was a surge of people heading north to claim land through the federal Homestead Act. If people built a habitable dwelling and lived on their property year-round for three years, they got the land for free. 

Here’s Ina Jones, who homesteads with her husband Speck outside of Homer, Alaska.

“So, it provided people moving to Alaska at that time a way to acquire a piece of property through the work of their hands,” lifelong homesteader Ina Jones said. She and her husband Speck run a peony and hay farm outside of Homer, Alaska.

Ina Jones in front of a peony field at Alaska Homestead Peonies, outside of Homer, Alaska. Ina and her husband Speck inherited the property from Speck’s parents, who staked a homestead claim there in 1956. (Erin McKinstry/July 2019).

“And it also kind of taught a stewardship, because you couldn't just come in and hang out for the summer in a tent and then go back to Seattle for the winter,” Jones said. “That way they knew that the people that settled Alaska in the early days had a desire to be here long term.”

McCarthy and the surrounding area has its own history of homesteading and small-scale farming. When the miners poured in in the early 1900s, homesteaders came too. I try to imagine the small farms that once operated in my neighborhood when I’m driving down our road surrounded by forested lots. Some of those used to be fields. 

But nowadays, there’s a lot less of that going on. It’s easier to get in and out for supplies, and Costco’s often a more affordable and less time-consuming option. You can spend your time homesteading, so you don’t have to buy as much stuff from the outside. Or you can spend your time working, so you have more money to buy stuff from the outside. Most people choose the latter.

Still, there are a few people making a go of it. Like Tenley Nelson, who homesteads in the neighboring community of Strelna, about 50 miles away. 

“We were super, super poor when I moved here—we had no money. But we could grow fresh really good food,” Nelson said.

Tenley Nelson carries a watering can to feed her chickens at Wood Frog Farm in Strelna, Alaska. (Erin McKinstry/October 2019)

The last homesteading claim in the United States was processed in 1986, and things have changed a lot since then, Tenley said. She and her husband live a different lifestyle than his grandparents, who they inherited the land from.

“That generation has started to die out and those homesteads have been subdivided and there's a lot more of people with little cabins instead of that homesteading mentality of growing your own stuff, so it’s opened up a market,” Nelson said. “There’s a lot of people that aren’t providing for themselves, but because of all the media about organic foods and stuff, there’s an interest and a demand for it now.”

So, Tenley isn’t just growing food for her family. She’s also selling some of her produce to cover her operating costs. 

Wood Frog Farm in August 2019. The hot, dry summer meant certain things did really well and others that normally thrive, suffered. (Erin McKinstry)

On this episode, we’ll touch on an important piece of agriculture in Alaska: the legacy of homesteading and how it’s changed with the times. The harsh climate, extra expenses and nutrient-lacking soils mean some of that is a lot harder than it was for my Grandma Rosemary back in the Midwest. On episode five, we’ll meet two women who’ve proved up for the challenge. We’ll talk about climate change, subsistence, peonies, land access and so much more.

Listen to the episode to hear that story. Also, watch for a bonus photo essay of Rita Jo Shoultz, who started the first commercial peony farm in the state of Alaska.

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Music from Sam McKinstry: All the World is All of Us / Music from Blue Dot Sessions: Closer, Greyleaf Willow, Home Home at Last, Luper, Lakeside Path, Sage the Hunter / Podington Bear: Dry Air Artwork from Ian Gyori / Funding from a Rasmuson Foundation Individual Artist Grant / Featured in this episode: Ina & Speck Jones, Alaska Homestead Peony, and Tenley Nelson, Wood Frog Farm