Cordon Pierreux

It is hard to believe, as the first few squirts of milk hit the bottom of the pail, that it will accumulate. In just a few minutes though, the bottom of the pail is covered, and in a few more minutes there is enough to put in the fridge. But in the beginning it seems so implausible—just imagine filling a gallon jug with a teaspoon.

I have had a similar feeling picking the blackberries that have been ripe for a couple of weeks. Wearing double-kneed pants and snake-proof boots, reaching through the brambles to the ripe, plump berries that are just within arm’s length, they plunk in the bottom of the empty pail. When I see the first handfuls of berries I can hardly hope that they will ever add up. But a couple hours of steady picking and there are plenty for the freezer, for cobblers, and more on the bushes just waiting to become pints, quarts, gallons.

As the Cantankerous Farmer will tell you, I have an impressive (oppressive?) list of improvements to be made around our place. Our house is half-built, our garden fence still lacks gates, some trees need to come down to let more light in on my herb garden, the goats’ hooves need trimming, the garden needs weeding again… I have to remind myself, think of the berries, think of the milk. The work will be done, a bit at a time. It also helps to step back, add up and admire the work we’ve done so far. Where beans and squash are growing now, three years ago cedar trees choked out the sunlight. The barn I sleepily mosey to every morning wasn’t there three years ago, nor were the goats themselves. At the beginning of my first Arkansan summer, the C.F. singlehandedly built a sleeping porch. Bit by bit, berry by berry, squirt by squirt, the improvements to our home, our patch of land, and our lives have added up, and will continue to do so. In a few years, we’ll forget there was ever a time when we had to turn over garden beds with a pick, when we couldn’t shower here in the winter, when we pickled beets on the porch using a Coleman camp stove.

I just read an article tonight in National Geographic (September 2008) about soil degradation around the world. In the article, they described an area near the Saharan Desert where farmers were trying to revive hard pan soils depleted by years of misuse. Farmers made long lines of fist-sized stones, called cordons pierreux, across their nearly barren land. These lines of stones slowed the rainwater enough so that water could begin to seep into the ground. Seeds collected against the stones and eventually grass grew. Because of the grass roots, the soil could absorb even more rainwater, and soon there were shrubs, then trees.

The lessons of the cordons pierreux go far beyond the lands the stone lines span. As sustainable farmers, I feel happy to be a couple of fist-sized rocks holding our place in a long line of rocks, slowing down destruction. Each weed we pull by hand instead of resorting to Round-Up; each wheelbarrow of compost we turn back into the soil; each time we can feed ourselves instead of relying on industrial-sized operations and factory farms; each time we can build soil instead of depleting it is a win. It is hard to believe much of the time that it will be enough, but it helps to sense lines of people across the world who are being as stubborn as rocks and holding their ground.