When we do the work of climate change adaptation and mitigation, we’re looking at customs of Indigenous stewardship for practices that will restore a peaceful relationship with the earth. What is our relationship to these practices? Are we taking the time to acknowledge the people who originally developed these practices and continue to steward this land we call home. Since time immemorial, Wabanaki people have existed here, raising children, having hard conversations with their loved ones, picking fruit, telling jokes, being non-binary, feeling excited, and feeling tender. They belong to the land and are part of the land, in relationship with the flora, fauna, and elements. To adopt practices that result in a mutually nourishing community of life, it is essential that we acknowledge that we’ve found ourselves in this current climate pickle (ok, crisis) after 400 years of settler-colonialism. Centuries of systemic genocide and resource extraction have left us anxious, confused, and full of dread, grappling with the realities of weather uncertainties and what it means for our health, food security, and species’ survival.
Why do I get to work on climate adaptation, flush with technical and financial capital, when Indigenous folks, who are the cultural stewards of the adaptive practices “regenerative” farmers hope to adopt, are still land dispossessed? Small-scale no-till farming was not invented by highly-resourced white farmers in the 2010s. No-till, forest farming, mulching, hedgerows, prescribed grazing, and conservation cover are among many of the practices that have their roots in Indigenous lifeways. Meanwhile, people of the dominant culture — owners of land, capital, steel, plastic, and diesel — have the privilege of adapting to existential and immediate threats. I think back to all the help I’ve had along the way in my farming journey — from MOFGA’s programs, the U.S. Department of Agriculture’s (USDA’s) lending and grants, and Maine Farmland Trust’s (MFT’s) business training and infrastructure grants, and generational wealth. I’ve had all the advantages and flexibility and opportunities. When I see agricultural grant award announcements, academic professionals, and staff and boards of agricultural nonprofits, they are overwhelmingly white.
I think of my home for the last few decades in Waldo County and back to what it must have been like to be the first settler here, perhaps coming up to what is now called Beaver Ridge in Freedom and laying eyes on the beauty of the ridgetop. I imagine this moment as the catalyst for a changing relationship between the humans who lived here and the land. With settler-colonialism came plowing, timber extraction, and mill pollution.
Have you seen the map of Wabanaki tribal land? It is a handful of specks dispersed across the state. We need to diverge from this model of white-controlled land and resources if we are going to heal from and adapt to the damage that we’ve done. I want to see how these priorities unfold at organizations like MOFGA and MFT, as well as for the rest of us, as we all consider the question, “How are we contributing to colonization today?” My ancestors came to America fleeing starvation and oppression. When they arrived, they became folded into whiteness, adopted capitalism as religion, and built generational wealth through business and real estate. These opportunities were systematically denied to Indigenous people (and Black people). These advantages have gotten us where we are today, a family able to withstand adversity and adapt to climate change. As a community, we must keep asking ourselves how we are continuing these patterns and how we can break out of them. In this moment of climate change uncertainty, how can we approach adaptation in ways that are equitable, inclusive, and reparative? How can we create a new culture based on relationships and be open to lifeways that foster peaceful coexistence? If we continue to center whiteness in our collective approaches to mitigating climate change, we will all continue to struggle.
As we ponder these questions, hopefully we can take meaningful action together and adapt a culture of reciprocity. Slowing down our mental pace feels essential for developing an inner voice that aligns with our values. Regulating our own nervous systems, allowing ourselves to feel the depth of what comes up and be ok with the discomfort of complicity, imperfection, and slow shifts is part of this work. A lot of Maine farmers have shifted their goals to include improving quality of life, wages, and time off for farmworkers — and it’s beautiful. Here is a question for nonprofits and small businesses alike: What would it look like to shatter our current understanding of success, of flashy displays, of sole proprietorships, of more and more projects and numerical deliverables, and instead focus on making life easier for each other?
Several organizations, federal and nonprofit, have bubbled up some resources in the last few years in response to the challenges faced by farmers in our region. The Maine Legislature approved funding for the Maine Healthy Soils Program several years ago and now the program is in action. I highly recommend you visit mainesoilhealth.com to schedule a one-on-one onsite consultation with Maine’s soil scientist for a guided meet-up with your soils! Matthew Boucher runs the program and will come to your farm to explore the soil’s history and composition, and possible pathways for building the healthy soil structure needed to weather erratic storm and drought events.
I’ve said it before, but now is an essential time to get involved with the Natural Resources Conservation Service (NRCS). While the 2024 application deadline will have passed by the time this issue of The MOF&G is published, winter is a great time to begin exploring the diversity of programs available, both technical and financial, to help plan for a changing climate. Whether it is with service providers or on your own, the NRCS has some great guides to writing a water management plan for your farm. There are also so many practices that the NRCS will cost-share that will help with reducing the risks of erratic precipitation: no-till and reduced tillage, hedgerows, alley cropping, mulching, micro irrigation, tree and shrub establishment, and so many more. The NRCS has recently added an urban agriculture funding pool with specific practices that have payment schedules that make more sense on a smaller scale. The definition of urban is intentionally broad, and you might consider finding out if your farm qualifies for some of these better payment rates.
Maine Farmland Trust has an evolving, growing, and cutting-edge climate resilience toolbox. If you are working on making a plan to adapt to the stressors of climate change, MFT can provide one-on-one technical assistance in creating that plan. Once you’re part of their network, you’ll be eligible for climate assistance grants when they become available as well as many other financial and technical assistance programs. MFT has a Climate Impact Assessment Tool available online (climatetool.mainefarmlandtrust.org), where you can enter your farm address, draw boundary lines, and see the anticipated changes to the climate at that site in 2100. These long-range planning tools are essential for decision making now.
Here is where I solicit your feedback. I would like to know what tools you need and welcome your thoughts; email me at [email protected]. If you are stuck in survival mode, what is in your way? What barriers are you facing to a peaceful life? What is in your climate adaptation toolbox? What do you imagine lies ahead?We could take some time to celebrate the work we’ve done and all that is to come and then reimagine resource conservation to build a peaceful and equitable future.
– Meg Mitchell, MOFGA’s Climate Smart and Organic Transition Specialist
This article was originally published in the fall 2024 issue of The Maine Organic Farmer & Gardener. Browse the archives for free content on organic agriculture and sustainable living practices. Subscribe to the publication by becoming a member!
