Food for Thought: The Old Man and the Soil

 The Old Man and the Soil

The old man sat on his porch, looking out over the lush hills of his Virginia farm. Joel Salatin had seen many summers pass, watching the land change under his careful stewardship. The sun beat down, but he didn't mind. There was wisdom to be shared.

I sat with him, a young writer eager to learn. He spoke of the future of food, his words painting a picture of hope amidst the challenges.

"The truth is that we are not even scratching the surface on productive capacity," Joel said, his eyes narrowing against the bright light. "America has 35 million acres of lawn and 36 million acres housing and feeding recreational horses. That's 71 million acres. That's enough to feed the entire country without a single farm."

I let that sink in. The numbers were staggering. The potential, immense.

Joel continued, his voice steady. "Right now the world is throwing away almost 50 percent of human edible food. It's past the sell by date. It's blemished. It's got a little rust on it. It's not perfect."

The waste. The sheer waste of it all. I shook my head.

"But it's not just about quantity," the old farmer said, leaning forward. "It's about quality. Nutrition. Our eggs average 1,038 micrograms of folic acid per egg. We're not talking about little percentage deviations. Riboflavin in grass finished beef is 300 percent more than in corn fed beef."

The sun dipped behind a cloud, casting shadows across the porch. Joel's eyes sparkled with intensity.

"It's all in how you raise them. Putting the animals back on pasture. Mimicking nature's cycles. That's the key."

He stood, pointing to the vibrant green hills. "Look there. That's what soil should look like. When we came here in 1961, it was nothing but clay clods. The first soil test we took, we averaged less than 1 percent organic matter."

I stood too, following his gaze. The land looked healthy. Alive.

"Today we average over 8 percent organic matter," Joel continued. "We've probably increased the productive capacity about tenfold. And it has not come because we plowed or bought fertilizer. It has come as we have stimulated and leveraged the resources on site."

The breeze picked up, rustling through the trees. A symphony of crickets and birdsong filled the air.

"Nature has the template," the old man said, his voice softening. "Animals moving across the land, leaving their droppings, trampling plants into the soil. That's how soil is built. That's how it's always been done."

He turned to me, his eyes piercing. "But now we've got a chance to take it further. To bring the food production back to the communities. To the people."

"Imagine it," Joel said, his arms sweeping wide. "Instead of 155,000 employee processing plants in 2020, what if we had 150,000 20 employee processing plants all over the U.S. in all the little communities? It would have been a whole different story during COVID."

The idea hung in the air, powerful in its simplicity. Decentralize. Localize. Cooperate.

"Let's uber-ize the food system," he continued, a grin spreading across his face. "Just like we've uber-ized the hospitality industry with Airbnb and the transportation system with Uber. Let's let people be able to come to a farm, look around, and as a consenting adult, exercise freedom of choice for their own health."

The sun was sinking lower, bathing the farm in a golden glow. Joel's words painted pictures in my mind - neighborhood abattoirs, local food hubs, farmers markets on every corner.

"You know, the big players are getting worried," he said with a chuckle. "They're spending all their time on human resources, fretting about regulations and bureaucrats. Meanwhile, us little guys? We're running circles around them."

He shook his head, smiling. "It's not the big that eats the small. It's the fast that eats the slow. And let me tell you, we're fast."

The light was fading, but Joel's energy only seemed to grow. He had a lifetime of knowledge to impart, and the urgency of a man who knows his time is precious.

"The regenerative movement is here," he said, his voice ringing with conviction. "It's growing every day. People are hungry for real food, for connection to the land. They're leaving the cities, starting homesteads, building communities."

I thought of the people I knew, the ones yearning for something more. For soil under their fingernails and sun on their faces. For food that nourished their bodies and their souls.

"It's the most exciting time to be alive," Joel continued, his eyes shining. "We're on the cusp of a revolution. A chance to rebuild the food system from the ground up. To make it resilient, sustainable, and nutrient-dense."

The crickets grew louder as the sun disappeared behind the hills. The old farmer sank back into his chair, his message delivered.

"So that's the future of food, as I see it," he said, his voice softening. "It's in the hands of the people. The ones willing to get dirt under their nails and sweat on their brows. The ones who know that health comes from the soil, not from a pill bottle."

I nodded, scribbling furiously in my notebook. There was so much to digest, so much to ponder.

"And what about the naysayers?" I asked, looking up. "The ones who say it can't be done? That we can't feed the world this way?"

Joel leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "I've got a message for them," he said, his voice low and steady. "If we had had a Manhattan Project for compost, not only would we have fed the world, we would have done it without three legged salamanders, infertile frogs, and a dead zone the size of Rhode Island in the Gulf of Mexico. That's the truth."

I let those words hang in the air, the weight of them settling on my shoulders. The responsibility. The opportunity.

"So what do we do now?" I asked, my pen poised above the page.

The old man smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "We get to work," he said simply. "We build the world we want to live in. One farm, one meal, one community at a time."

The porch light flickered on, illuminating Joel's weathered face. He looked out over his land once more, a kingdom of green growing things and contented animals.

"The future of food is bright," he said, his voice ringing with conviction. "But it won't happen on its own. It's up to us to make it a reality. To build the resilient, regenerative, nutrient-dense food system we know is possible."

I closed my notebook, my mind buzzing with ideas. The old farmer had given me a gift, a vision of a better way forward. It was up to me, up to all of us, to make it happen.

As I drove away from Polyface Farm that night, the stars blanketing the sky, I felt a sense of hope and purpose wash over me. The road ahead would be long and winding, but with leaders like Joel Salatin lighting the way, I knew we would get there.

One farm at a time. One meal at a time. One community at a time. The future of food was ours to build, and build it we will.

Joel Salatin's Regenerative Farming Wisdom: A Must-Listen Meat Mafia Moment

Listen to the MAFIA MOMENT with Joel Salatin

In a captivating Meat Mafia Podcast "Mafia Moment," regenerative farming pioneer Joel Salatin shares profound insights that will make you rethink everything you thought you knew about food production.

Salatin recounts his childhood memories of his grandfather's abundant, biodiverse farm, contrasting it with his family's own barren land. "Our farm was struggling," he recalls. "It was weedy. It was thistles. You'd have thought we were growing thistles as a crop." This stark difference ignited a lifelong passion for regenerative agriculture.

He goes on to explain how his family restored their depleted soil by working with nature's principles. "The deepest, richest soils on the planet are actually under grasslands," Salatin points out. By mimicking natural grazing patterns and utilizing compost, they increased organic matter from 1% to 8%, resulting in a tenfold increase in productivity.

Salatin also delves into the incredible nutrient density of pasture-raised animal products, citing eggs with 1,038 micrograms of folate compared to the USDA standard of just 48. "There are dramatic differences in quality, nutrition, taste, and handling," he emphasizes.

This eye-opening Mafia Moment is a must-listen for anyone who cares about the future of food, health, and our planet. Tune in now to hear Joel Salatin's wisdom firsthand.