Category Archives: Latest MFT News

Winterberry Farm Photo Essay


Life at Winterberry Farm is the only life Sage has ever known. When her mother, Mary, moved to the farm it had been dormant for twenty years. Mary’s dream was to revitalize the forty acre farm so she could live there with her family and earn a living from the land. With the help of her oldest daughter, Kenya; her son, Gil; Sage, and farmapprentices, Mary has realized this dream.

The organic farm provides food for 50 local families through its CSA (Community Supported Agriculture). It also has a farmstand, equipped with a commercial kitchen, where the family cooks and sells goods from the farm. In December 2012, Winterberry Farm became a “Forever Farm” through an agricultural easement held by Maine Farmland Trust and the Belgrade Conservation Alliance, ensuring that the farm will remain a farm in perpetuity.

Sage spends much of her time outside helping to run the farm, and is intimately connected to the land and animals. She plays and explores with the wonder of a child, but works with the strength and maturity of an adult. What is it like to be this now ten-year-old farmer?

This work looks at the life of a family farm through the eyes of a young girl whose only home has been this land that her mother credits for giving her and her children safety, security, and a living. | |

2017 Farmland Access Conference Request for Proposals

MFT and Land For Good are pleased to announce that the 3rd Annual  Farmland Access Conference will be held Monday, December 4 at the Augusta Civic Center in Augusta, ME. The organizers are seeking proposals for conference breakout sessions. Potential themes and topics can address a diverse array of issues relating to farmland access, tenure, transfer, viability, and protection in Maine and the region. The audience for the conference will include farmland seekers, non-farming and institutional landowners, farmers contemplating succession and transfer, and service providers.


More information and the proposal submission form can be found HERE. Submission deadline is Oct 2, 2017. Contact Andrew Marshall, with questions or comments.

Harvest season is in full swing! Help grow access to local food.

Harvest season is in full swing (peaches! tomatoes! blueberries!) and the markets participating in our nutrition incentive programs are working to get the word out and encourage all shoppers to store up for the winter during this bountiful season. Help spread the word to your community about where SNAP shoppers can  go to shop for bonus local fruits and vegetables! Nutrition incentives serve everyone: SNAP shoppers can buy more healthful food; Maine farmers gain new customers; More food dollars stay in the local economy.

Find a location in your neck of the woods:

Maine’s Hard Cider Revival

by Chelsea Holden Baker, with contributions by Todd Little-Siebold                        photographs by Greta Rybus

There was a time when Mainers drank cider: more than coffee, more than milk, more than Allen’s Coffee Brandy, sometimes more than water. And this was the hard stuff, not the cloying fresh juice we call “cider” now. Sometimes fizzy, sometimes tart, sometimes bitter, sometimes sweet, the one thing cider always was, was fermented, meaning: alcoholic.

Early American colonists planted apples from English seeds (some sources trace the year to 1623), and were soon pressing cider. The drink was relatively cheap to make and easy to produce, but in addition, for the several hundred years before refrigeration and filtration came along, it was a safe choice—often more sanitary than water, or at least perceived that way.

Cider’s ubiquity was not unique to Maine. You could devote a whole book to cider’s role in American politics. Both George Washington and William Henry Harrison doled out free cider as part of electoral campaigns in their early careers (a relatively common practice known as swilling the planters with bumbo”), and John Adams is rumored to have drank a tankard a day to keep the doctor away. (He lived until 90 and liked to take cider as breakfast.)

Cider was a drink for morning, noon, and night:a customary refreshment to offer guests, a beverage also consumed by children (albeit in a watereddown form called ciderkin). And it was a point of national pride. Thomas Jefferson tended apples at Monticello, dismissing Old World apples as inferior. Travelling abroad, Jefferson wrote from Paris: “They have no apple to compare with our Newtown Pippin.” (Indeed, Benjamin Franklin had Newtown Pippins shipped to him in London in 1759, kicking off the fruit export industry.) Jefferson also boasted that an apple known as Taliaferro (which he planted in abundance at Monticello but is now lost to history) was “the best cyder apple existing,” writing to a friend that it was “more like wine than any other liquor I have tasted that was not wine.”

And that’s one of the interesting, understated things about hard cider: it is—or at least can be—complex, a reflection of the huge varieties of fruit and yeasts (wild or added) that may go into it, as well as its particular conditions of fermentation. A hard cider’s nuances can be appreciated like a fine wine or coffee, and particularly when drinking a locally produced batch, the drink can offer—to borrow a term from viticulture—an experience of terroir.

“One of the beauties of cider is its natural pairing with a wide range of foods,” says David Buchanan of Portersfield Cider in Pownal. “Full-bodied, tannic ciders in particular go best with a meal. If you love Maine food, this is your native drink.” So why did Maineʼs native drink disappear? And who is driving its comeback?

Nationally, cider is on track to be a billion dollar industry in the next few years, the fastest- growing segment of the beverage market. According to the Chicago-based market research firm IRI, cider sales ballooned 75.4 percent to $366 million between November 2013 and 2014 and signs point to exponential increase. Across Maine, thousands of new trees are being set out, and a vibrant agricultural sector is emerging. Cider, largely abandoned as a commercial product in the 1830s, is resurging; and that means that old apple varieties used for cider are being replanted in numbers not seen in over a century.

The story of cider in Maine is the story of agriculture in Maine, a microcosm of larger shifts. From the time of the first European settlers here, apples were standard fare on subsistence farms: just about everyone outside of cities planted apples from the 1600s into the early 1900s. Before the American Revolution, cider apples were not just used for drink, but apple cider vinegar (an essential for food preservation), apple syrup or molasses (both terms for a boiled-down fresh cider used as a sweetener in a time when sugar was hard to come by), and as livestock feed.

By the early 1700s, annual cider production in New England topped 300,000 gallons and records for Massachusetts show that by the middle of that century, the state’s average resident was drinking 35 gallons of cider per year. Cider was such a staple that by America’s founding in 1776, one out of every ten farms in New England ran its own cider mill, often a gathering place for the surrounding community.

The home production of cider and the local trade and barter economies around it were part of the everyday fabric of life in rural Maine. Going “down to cellar” with your neighbor to drink their cider and catch up on local goings-on was a ritual that survived well into the 1970s in some parts of the state.

“What went on in the world of apples from 1700- 1900 mimics a lot of what went on in all of agriculture,” says John Bunker, Maineʼs preeminent heirloom fruit expert and preservationist. “Well into the 19th century most of the apples were planted from seed.”

This is an important detail both because trees planted from seed tend to produce small, astringent apples (well suited for cider, less well suited for fresh eating), and because if you plant a seed from a McIntosh expecting a McIntosh you’ll be disappointed. The resulting tree is unlikely to yield tart, red and green fruit with white flesh that’s ripe in September. Instead, the profile of the new tree and the fruit it bears will represent a variety of traits picked up from untold generations of parent trees that have cross-pollinated; perhaps some characteristics of McIntosh will come through, but more likely not. From seed, every apple tree is new and unique. The way to replicate a McIntosh is by grafting a small portion of an existing tree onto the appropriate rootstock for your needs.

What Bunker is getting at is that starting in the late 1700s, American farmers essentially became apple breeders. As they were doing with all crops grown from seed— whether squash or corn or beans—farmers were making choices and selections about what they wanted and needed from their apple trees and began propagating to that standard while still pressing seedling apples (again, each unique) for cider.

However, the formation of the land-grant universities in America after the Civil War began to formalize breeding programs with a larger agenda in mind: a commodity form of agriculture. As the rural, diversified farm model fell apart and was replaced by the larger commercial farm, which was in turn replaced by the commodity farm, it “was all mimicked—or exemplified—by what happened to apples,” Bunker says. Today the land grant breeding programs are, in Bunker’s words: “now all but dead and being replaced by international conglomerates that are breeding plants that are then trademarked and patented.”

But that’s the story of agriculture writ large. Commercial cider production hit its peak between the 1770s and 1830s. There is no singular cause of its ensuing decline, but a concatenation of events from social reform movements to shifting demographics and later, regulatory factors, suppressed the commercial production of cider and relegated local producers to private cellars.

Some of these events proved more directly damaging than others. The collapse of the cider industry, particularly in Maine, seems closely associated with the growth of the temperance movements of the 1820s and 1830s. As the home state of Neal Dow—known interchangeably as The Napoleon of Temperance and The Father of Prohibition—Maine was an epicenter of anti-alcohol social reform, and the first “dry” state. The message from some preachers was that by growing apples and selling cider, farmers were contributing to the downfall of their fellow man. In response, some of the more zealous farmers in New England took torches and axes to their own orchards and—on occasion—those of their neighbors.

Economic and demographic shifts in the 1800s, along with the maturation of agriculture in Maine and the abundance of apples bred not just for cider, but fresh eating, preservation, and shipping, led to an explosion of diversity as local farmers began growing hundreds of new varieties; some they discovered and named themselves, while others they chose from nursery catalogs or itinerant salesmen who travelled the countryside promoting their stock like Johnny Appleseed (who was in fact largely growing cider apples from seed). By 1845, Andrew Jackson Downing and Charles Downing’s classic book, The Fruits and Fruit Trees of America, listed close to 1,100 different named apples that had originated in America (about ⅐th of all known apple cultivars). Around 150 of these varieties likely came from Maine.

At the same time, the diversity of America’s people increased. Waves of immigrants from grape-growing and ale-loving countries in Europe brought new pro-clivities and knowledge, which had an effect not just on the market for alcohol, but farming as well.

Maine was sending ships across the pond too: By the late 1800s, the state was renowned as an exporter of high-quality apples for the British market. Maine shipped from 1.5 to 2.5 million barrels a year to Liverpool and other British ports, keeping local apple farmers busy even as the demand for cider declined at home.

As the 20th century approached, orchards in-creasingly morphed from seedling apples used for ci-der to a more diverse mix of “choice kinds” of fancier fruit, ideal for different uses such as eating, baking, storing, and drying. In Bar Harbor, then known as Eden, the local fair gave premium prizes for dozens of these varieties (some now lost) with evocative names like Sweet Russet, Bell’s Early, White Beauty, Maiden Blush, Winter Banana, and Fameuse. These and likely a thousand others blossomed across the home orchards and farmscapes of Maine.

While cider mills persisted in rural areas, they lost their prominence as hubs of commercial pro-duction while the beer, rum, and whiskey industries ramped up in America’s cities. Although Prohibition came a century after cider’s fall from favor began, it all but ensured the end of cider orchards. And with-out the apples, there would be no cider resurgence.

Prohibition lasted from 1920–33 and was capped off by the frigid, damaging winter of 1933–34, a coup de grâce to orchards that had escaped the second wave of anti-alcohol ax-wielders and torch-bearers. Apples are not an ideal crop for a quick rebound, unlike the barley that fueled the beermakers’ swift return to market. Another disadvantage for cider was that grains are cheaper and simpler to ship and store than fruit. Not to mention that the beer and liquor makers in America’s cities had an easier pivot to soda or complementary products during the 1920s, when most of the remaining cider mills simply shut down.

When Prohibition ended, beer and liquor were quick-ly back online. Of course, soda itself filled the niche of a sweet, effervescent, and stimulating tonic—once part of hard cider’s domain—in the marketplace. And the industrialists supported this switch: better to have workers pepped up by Coca-Cola than drunk on cider.

In addition, the Volstead Act (which enforced Prohibition) included limitations on fresh, non-alcohol-ic cider. Orchards were only permitted to produce 200 gallons of fresh cider a year. On top of the cap on fresh cider production, federal alcohol regulations prohibited the sale f hard cider across state lines if the drink contained added preservatives. Beer and wine, while sometimes treated with added preservatives just like cider, were exempt from the restrictions. While the regulation was a clear impediment to any possible resurgence of a national cider industry, no strong evidence of a beer-wine-soda collusion has ever come to light. But as Bunker puts it: “Whether inadvertently or on purpose, it was in the interest of other alcoholic beverages not to have the competition from cider.”

In a single generation, commercial cidermaking all but disappeared, and the practice of pressing cider was relegated to local markets and home producers in rural locales.

Then came the 1960s and 1970s. Back-to-the-land homesteaders flowed into Maine, bringing their curiosity and gumption in the nick of time, before the old apples and the old timers with heirloom knowledge disappeared. John Bunker was among the transplants, pressing cider himself as he went down the rabbit hole of seeking out
“lost” apple varieties. He was interested in apples as a route to a living wage for farmers, as part of a vision for a new agricultural economy in Maine. Through the ’70s and ’80s, as Bunker traveled the state from his home base in Palermo, he not only learned about apples at the local level, but the cur-rent state of the larger apple market. “Back then,” Bunker says, “I would go to commercial orchards and they would tell me about the hundreds or even thousands of bushels that they were selling for pennies to the applesauce companies, or in some cases, just not even picking them.” It was too expensive to pay for the labor.

Bunker had a hunch that reviving hard cider might be the answer not just to reinvigorate the orcharding sector, but to attract more people to farming and make it profitable at the same time. But Bunker’s primary interest was in the apples themselves, not alcohol, and as he began to explore around Palermo, moving farther and farther afield following rumors and remembrances, he continued to uncover and resuscitate lost varieties. His book, Not Far From the Tree: A Brief History of the Apples and Orchards of Palermo, Maine 1804–2004 includes vignettes about these rediscoveries, which have happened in all sixteen counties of Maine.

In 1984, Bunker started the tree division of Fedco Seeds, where he still works today. At his own farm in Palermo, he grows over two hun-dred varieties of apples and he’s now sharing these fruits with a wider audience through the new heritage orchard at the Maine Organic Farmers and Gardeners Association’s Common Ground Fair grounds in Unity. (Bunker is a past president of MOFGA.) There, a band of volun-teers is slowly planting six hundred apple va-rieties (and likely more in time) that were once grown in Maine. The site is a former gravel pit, restored and transformed into a meeting place for public education and outreach, not just for apples, but a variety of tree fruits.

“You can’t buy good cider apples the way you can buy top-quality beer ingredients,” Bunker says. “No matter how much money you have, you can’t buy good cider apples because they aren’t out there.” While this aspect of cider production could be seen as a challenge, from Bunker’s vantage, it’s driving interest and excitement in planting orchards, unlike any he’s seen in his lifetime—and he’s now in his 60s. “If you want to do good cider,” he says, “either you or your friend, someone has got to grow the apples.”

One of the first people to bring back hard cider production in 20th century Maine was Tom Hoey of Brooksville. Hoey began home-produc-ing cider in 1983 and commercial production in 1991. Under his Sow’s Ear Winery label, Hoey not only crafts hard cider, but wines from a variety of local berries, including blueberries, choke cherries, cranberries and grapes. His massive hand-powered press evokes the days when orchards were common in the region.

Hoey has refined techniques like the French méthode champenoise for making exquisite, carbon-ated off-dry hard cider. The dégorgement—removing sediment from the bottle—is still done by hand. He describes his sparkling cider as having a “crisp, tart, natural style” that comes from the wild yeast picked up in the fermentation; no sugars or sulfites are added. The 60-gallon oak barrels aging in the huge split stone cellar of Hoey’s 1870 house connect his present-day offering with almost-lost traditions.

And that is at the heart of the cider quest: combining old knowledge with new discoveries, or as the case may be, rediscoveries. Noah Fralich started Norumbega Cidery in New Gloucester using local apples, as well as traditional English, French and American varieties, to make a range of hard cider styles. He tends to use the traditional varieties for bitterness or tannins that contribute complexity and depth to the cider produced by more acidic, local apple varieties.

Fralich says, “For me, planting older, rarer, more cider-specific varieties is an opportunity to explore the past and reestablish an old American tradition.” It also provides an opportunity to work with local ingredients that he understands intimately. “My approach to cidermaking is simplicity of ingredients,” Fralich says. “The higher the quality of the fruit and wider breadth of varieties, the less one has to compensate with additives.” While there’s always room for experimentation, Fralich adds that his main focus is on the apples, that he thinks of his cider as an agricultural product as much as a beverage.

Bunker backs that up by saying that because good fermented cider has just one ingredient, the onus is on its maker to choose wisely. “It’s like the difference between an orchestra and solo guitar player,” Bunker says, comparing cider to beer’s multiple ingredients. “With the orchestra you can blend it all together and hope that your violin doesn’t sound too bad, but when you’re on stage by yourself, that’s all there is. If your only ingredient is apples, then the apples you use become really, really important.”

Getting what Fralich calls “interesting” apples into the mix is the challenge for enterprising cider-makers as they work with what’s locally available while waiting for their own young trees to mature and produce. Fralich started in 2011 by clearing forest on his family’s property and planting cider apples by the hundreds. In 2013 he built and inau-gurated a new ciderhouse, and started selling and distributing his cider throughout the state.

“We’re only just beginning to explore cider in this country,” says David Buchanan of Portersfield Cider, which he refers to as a farm-based conservation center. “There’s a big gap between commercial production using only dessert apples and the flavors we find in small quantities from old and abandoned trees.” Buchanan’s orchard in Pownal is comprised of hundreds of heirloom apples painstakingly collected, researched, and propagated over years, planted alongside a wide variety of elderberries, aronia, and other fruits.

“This is a lifelong commitment,” says Buchanan, the author of Taste, Memory: Forgotten Foods, Lost Flavors, and Why They Matter, a book about how we can reconnect to the tastes of the places we live. “It can take over ten years to evaluate and bring back into production a single promising variety, and there are always wrong turns along the way.”

Buchanan tries out apples from all over that might give his cider a new twist. To see how things grow under his farm’s conditions, he’ll trial varieties with different rootstocks placed in areas of deeper soil or more moisture. He is attuned to the need to simultaneously experiment with heritage fruits and give them new life and relevance.  “There’s usually little to no available information about American heirloom cider apples,” Buchanan says. “I’ve spent seven years building a collection and learning about the trees, but cider season only comes around once a year. Instant gratification this is not.” But soon, there will be the gratification that comes with sharing and conversing over the beverage: Buchanan plans to open Portersfield Cider’s new tasting facility out of a post-and-beam barn within the year.

“Some people are upset about the Angry Orchards and Woodchucks,” says Bunker, citing two of the biggest brands in commercial cider. “But I don’t believe there would have ever been a craft beer revival if it weren’t for Budweiser and Coors and the other big beer makers. They drove an interest in beer in the U.S. Sooner or later it was going to happen, someone was going to finally say: you know what, I’m going to do something a little bit different, a little more complex.” Bunker acknowledges there has been a contiguous cider movement, small pockets of people (his mentors among them) keeping traditions, knowledge, and trees alive, but those makers just weren’t recognized by a broad public. Cider dropped out of consumer consciousness for most of the 20th century. Craft beer modeled a path for its return.

Today, awareness seems to be pushing toward a tipping point: as hard cider takes up more space on shelves, as more tap handles from the likes of Angry Orchard and Woodchuck appear in pubs, the more consumers are likely to seek out ciders of all kinds.

In 2014 alone, Angry Orchard, the king of commercial hard cider, sold 14.5 million cases. (Angry Orchard is owned by Boston Beer Co., the makers of Samuel Adams.) While Maineʼs artisanal cider houses make a small-batch product that hews to traditional standards of craft and taste, they are also experi-encing dramatic growth. Across the state, cider is showing up on shelves and menus where a year ago it would not have had a place. And small producers are opening tasting rooms, inviting people in not just to taste cider, but to partake in the tradition of social drinking while learning more about local farming.

“I really like the idea that there are, in particular, a bunch of younger people making a living with trees, producing a fruit, and growing a product,” Bunker says. “I want to see people staying on their own pieces of property and making a living there; to see a revival of agriculture in Maine.” He points out that the revival won’t be based on apples alone, but that again, as they have been before, “apples are simply one example of what can happen in some parallel way in other areas of agriculture.”

And Bunker loves that these new cider makers are out scouring the landscape for the next great cider apple. “The genetics are here,” he says, “you’ve just got to go out and find them.” Wild seedlings continue to spread throughout Maine, ripe with the potential to add the qualities someone is looking for in their cider. “The cider maker now becomes like that farmer of 200-250 years ago,” Bunker says, “who is out in the landscape looking for new varieties. In a way, we’ve come full circle.”

Hard cider is no longer an underground movement. It’s come out of the cellar and into a spotlight that lights up vibrant rural traditions, agricultural diversity, and new opportunities for farmers to connect with the land—and consumers.

And that means it’s time to drink up.

A Selection of Maine Cider Houses That Welcome Visitors

Bar Harbor Cellars, Bar Harbor
Blacksmiths Winery, South Casco

Cayford’s Hardened Cider, Skowhegan
Maine Mead Works, Portland
Norumbega Cidery, New Gloucester
Oyster River Winegrowers, Warren
Portersfield Cider, Pownal (coming soon)
Ricker Hill Hard Cider, Turner
Sow’s Ear Winery, Brooksville
Urban Farm Fermentory, Portland

Featured Ciders
Under a thoughtful producer, cider can take on exciting dimensions. Here are three Maine-made labels
found at specialty grocers and beverage stores, tasted by Peter and Orenda Hale, owners of Maine & Loire
(Wine Shop) and Drifters Wife (Wine Bar) in Portland.
Portersfield Dry Cider original dry
nose candied apples, vinous aromas taste like it smells, with delicate bubbles, bittersweet,
clean finish
Oyster River Winegrowers organic cider nose straw, apple skins, honeysuckle nectar
taste tannic, full body, pleasantly sour and tart, playful, long savory finish
Whaleback Farm Cider traditional dry nose vanilla, lanolin, wild flowers, ripe orchard fruits
taste bright bubbles, ripe apples and toastiness, delicate and subtle, finish is long and dry

Agrarian Acts 2017: celebrating Maine farms with The Mallett Brothers Band

The 2nd annual Agrarian Acts concert was a beautiful success — over 260 people from near and far came out to Eagle View Ranch in Sebec for an evening of local food and music with The Mallett Brothers Band.

Agrarian Acts is MFT’s annual celebration of agriculture through music. “We believe that art and music are important tools to help cultivate a vibrant culture of farming and food,” said outreach director Ellen Sabina. “Music and art are vehicles that connect us to the past, and help us examine our world in new and creative ways. That’s why MFT has an art gallery and artist residency program, that’s why we create films, books, and photo exhibits, and that’s why we were so excited to present another Agrarian Acts concert this summer.”

A Maine-based band, The Mallett Brothers are a nationally touring country rock and roll and Americana group. Their latest album, The Falling of the Pine, celebrates Maine’s rural history and landscape by re-imagining a collection of 19th century folk songs collected in the 1927 book “The Minstrelsy of Maine”. The Mallett Brothers have a clear connection to the land, and to Sebec specifically. The Malletts grew up just a few miles away from the concert location at Eagle View Ranch. The farm (formerly Varnum Farms) is a 2,000+ acre property that was recently protected by MFT and sold to a farmer who is starting a beef cattle operation on the land. The farm is the largest that MFT has ever protected, and stretches for 6 miles along the Sebec River and the River Road.

The young farmers of Spruce Mill Farm & Kitchen prepared a casual dinner of local food including pulled pork and chicken salad sandwiches, fresh veggie salads, and berry hand pies. Threshers Brewing Company in Searsmont and Bissell Brothers Brewing in Portland donated beer for the event, and The Bangor Daily News was the media sponsor. Concert-goers brought picnic blankets and chairs to watch the band play and the sun set behind the pines. By all accounts, the show was a great way to celebrate Maine farms and cap off another brief but abundant summer season! Stay tuned this winter/spring for news about our 2018 Agrarian Acts concert…

380-acre organic dairy farm protected in Jay and Wilton

On August 16, Thayden and Nora Farrington protected their 380-acre dairy farm with an agricultural easement through MFT. Thayben Farm sits on two parcels in Jay and Wilton, and the couple inherited the farm from Thayden’s father. The Farringtons made the decision to protect the farm from development as they prepare to pass the farm on to their granddaughter.

Thayben Farm has always been a dairy farm and Thayden transitioned to organic production 12 years ago, now selling milk to Organic Valley Cooperative. The Farringtons grow hay and balage on the  100 + acres of tillable ground. There was once an orchard on the farm and the family grew corn off and on over the years.  The southern parcel sits on Spruce Mountain and has beautiful views of the surrounding hills and mountains.  The property extends up to the top of Spruce Mountain and was previously used as a ski hill.

We are honored to be part of making sure that this family farm will remain available for farming for future generations!

The business of seeds

by Hannah Holmes    photographs by Stacey Cramp   shot on location at Johnny’s Selected Seeds

The soil in the hoop houses at Johnny’s Selected Seeds should be stone-hard in mid-December. But inside, rows of winter chicory unfold glossy leaves of mottled green and maroon. The door stands open to the sullen, gray sky. “Look, this one has a lot of frost damage,” Dr. John Navazio observes cheerfully.

“Look at all the ladybugs on that one. It must have aphids or something. Ideally, 80-85 percent of these will die.

”By pitting these radicchio plants against the cold, renowned plant breeder Navazio hopes to unmask a few variations that can take winter on the chin. He’ll let the survivors go to seed, then send that seed through another winter for an additional round of selection. By the same ancient process that produced such varietal extremes as black tulips and Labradoodles, winter chicory will become Maine-winter chicory.

With Mainers craving a locally grown menu that stretches from soup to nuts and includes a tasting flight of beer, the need for Maine-worthy plant varieties is sending seed breeders back to the well of diversity. They need to come up with seeds that thrive in a climate that’s in the throes of climate change, and still more seeds suited to the hydroponic and hoop house systems their customers are investing in.

A century ago, this wouldn’t have presented such a challenge. Many farmers saved their own seeds, choosing them from the individual plants that performed best on their particular patch of ground. What seed they couldn’t grow they could buy from small, regional seed dealers who were familiar with the local peculiarities of pests and soil. But decades of consolidation in the national seed industry have reduced seed diversity to a few varieties that work the best for the most. Maine, with short growing seasons and wet autumns, isn’t among “the most.”

Hence Navazio’s experiment: he bought a packet of radicchio seeds from Italy, where consolidation has made less headway. At Johnny’s research farm in Albion, he gave them room to express themselves. The plants are remarkably varied, with some forming firm heads, some flat as dinner plates, some frost-browned and dispirited. Only time will tell if one holds the genetic key to Maine—four to seven years’ time, at least. But the result?

“If farmers make money on this in midwinter, that’s my goal in life,” says Navazio, who came to Johnny’s to address the need for better seed. “Gettinga salable crop through the winter: that’s new.”

In experiments large and small across the state, farmers and plant breeders are now tinkering in earnest in a quest for appropriate seed. In a greenhouse next to Navazio’s, Emily Rose Haga is pushing the limits of tomatoes and peppers. As farmers yearn for more hardy and disease-resistant vegetables, Haga is producing a crop of crossbred seed to field-test next spring.

In addition to the plant breeders, a team of trial technicians at Johnny’s is testing still more plant varieties, including some that will perform in greenhouses and hydroponic systems. In closed gardens, higher humidity and stagnant air encourage a new coterie of diseases. And human tenders who walk among the close-packed plants can brush mold spores off one plant and deposit them on another as they pass. So, to the list of traits any northern-plant breeder must incorporate—flavor, vigor, disease resistance, yield, low-light tolerance—add “upright architecture.”

“There’s a huge, and a growing, demand for new varieties,” Haga says. “Our customers are experimenting out ahead of us.” Haga crossbreeds plant varieties in hopes of combining their traits in the next perfect tomato: the disease-resistance of this parent, the flavor of that parent, and perhaps color variation from another contributor.

The time and expense of this work is considerable. In 2015 Haga was shepherding six new tomato types through real-world testing to reveal one new seed offering. And 37 pepper varieties, plus nine lettuces. All told, Johnny’s had dozens of species in some stage of development in 2015.

The slow pace of vegetable life contributes to the expense. Vegetables are decidedly seasonal beings; loathe to sprout a new generation before their seeds are stimulated by the customary day length and temperature. Only rarely is it possible to shorten an experiment by assessing immature plants, says Haga. She did recently breed a new tomato whose resistance to disease was linked to a distinct “marker gene” in its DNA. In such a case, she can send seedling samples out for genetic testing to see which contain the coveted gene. But for the most part, nature dictates the speed of this science.

“The time and cost of developing just one variety means we can’t be too local,” Haga notes. “We’re trying to identify plants with wide adaptation and appeal, while providing more of that locally sourced seed.”

One enthusiastic source of assistance is the community of Maine farmers. When Haga has nursed a few generations of a new variety in the greenhouse, she sends the next generation out for trialling. Local farmers voluntarily take about 20 of the plants to see how they fare in the real world, and in real farmers markets.

Haga seeks out farmers who are using organic soil practices and crop rotation, in the hope of testing her plants against a range of challenges. Maine has the fastest growing population of young farmers under age 35, giving her excellent options:“We had a lot of talented and passionate growers that helped us test our new tomatoes this year.”

Another source of support is farmers outside of Maine. Although Johnny’s was founded in 1973 to locate and distribute seeds to cold-challenged New England farmers, the company quickly became known across the northern latitudes for high-quality seed. So paradoxically, in this “buy local” era, Johnny’s is expanding its trialling network to a number of far-flung farmers who are just as eager as Maine farmers to serve their own “eat local” customers. And this network now extends into the South, Northwest, and Canada. If a plant that grows well in Maine can also perform well in Georgia, that helps to spread the cost of development.

Although the bright vegetables of farmers markets or CSA (Community Supported Agriculture) farms are the most visible elements of the locally grown menu, the demand for homegrown grains is just as intense. And just as challenging.

Sean O’Donnell exemplifies the kind of farmer who is pushing the limits of local production. As the Parkman farmer puts it, “I have a giant
green thumb, and I like to be very diverse. If I think I can grow it, I’ll try it.”

O’Donnell was growing grain to feed his livestock at Rusted Rooster Farm when he decided to try saving his own barley seed instead of buying it each year. That worked so well that he was soon supplying seed to Fedco, another Maine seed company. He tried new grains and expanded his acreage. When a Belfast tofu maker sought local soybeans, O’Donnell was happy to plant some of that, too. And when he heard someone was looking for farmers interested in breeding a better wheat, he fired up his tractor.

Like most staple crops, the wheat plant originated in a very un-Maine-like part of the world. Its colonization of the temperate world is the result of farmers carrying it around for thousands of years, gradually breeding new strains to suit each new location.

But wheat struggles in New England. The weather is too wet, winters too cold, and the fusarium fungus too bold. What’s more, modern wheat varieties were bred for an agricultural system that spoon-feeds them fertilizer, and applies herbicide to kill competing weeds. Organic farming requires a wheat plant to jump out of the ground on its own power and throw big leaves over the weeds. It’s a tall order to breed such a wheat, nevermind “rogueing” each seedcrop to remove any plants that stray from the genetic game plan, and harvesting the seeds at the ideal moment: Hence a new model of plant breeding, which brings professional researchers into the field.

Lisa Kissing Kucek, a PhD student at Cornell University, is heading up a “participatory breeding program” to help New England farmers like SeanO’Donnell shape the wheat seed they need. Kucek’s colleagues and farmers have spent a few years crossbreeding candidates, hand pollinating the plants and tying a bag over each precious head to prevent the wind from meddling in the process.

From 2014 to 2015 O’Donnell and four other organic farmers grew 25 brand-new lines of wheat on their farms, watching for the plants that performed the best. In 2016 these favorites will be more widely grown and tested by bakeries. O’Donnell, however, is not done tinkering. He has boggy spots on his acreage that are crying out for a wheat that is still more waterproof. And the winter wheats he has tried to grow still can’t be called Maine winter wheat. O’Donnell plans to continue the selection process solo, until he can add a strain of wheat to his own seed offerings. “It’s time consuming,” he says. “But I’m willing to take the time and the risk. If I can produce a variety that works well here, I can make money selling it to other farms.”

The demand is certainly there, says Amber Lambke, co-owner of Maine Grains (a Skowhegan gristmill) and co-founder of Maine Grain Alliance. “What I see at the mill is a doubling of the number of growers every year. Oats, wheat, emmer, rye, spelt, buckwheat, triticale, red fife—the diversity, the acreage, and the number of farmers are all growing.”

Just ten years ago, Maine bakers began shopping for Maine grains—and found none. The non-profit Maine Grain Alliance was born, to bring together farmers, bakers, maltsters, and researchers. Lambke has been in the middle of it all, barely keeping up, and seeing nothing but amber waves of Maine grain that stretch into the future. She says, “The next decade is going to be a really exciting time.”

Alice Percy, who heads the Organic Growers Supply division of Fedco, agrees. Fedco saw a doubling of grain seed sales to farmers in the past few years, coinciding with a rise in demand for food with an organic, local pedigree.

Will the trend last, or will Mainers drift back to consuming beer from the Midwest and cabbages from California?

“I don’t think this is a fad,” says Percy. “Given the amount of good land available, and the fact that a young generation of farmers is interested in exploring new crops, I think this is sustainable.” 


Hannah Holmes is the author of several science books; the most recent,
titled Quirk, is an exploration of personality variation. |

2nd Annual Agrarian Acts concert brings The Mallett Brothers Band to a farm “up north”

What do farming and music have in common? Quite a lot, according to Maine Farmland Trust. The statewide nonprofit is known for using creative and artistic means to communicate the importance of farmland and farming, and on August 25th they’ll host the 2nd Annual Agrarian Acts concert with The Mallett Brothers Band. The show will be held on a farm in Sebec, Maine, but the setting isn’t the only connection to working the land.

A Maine-based band, The Mallett Brothers are a nationally touring country rock and roll and Americana group. Their latest release, The Falling of the Pine, celebrates Maine’s rural history and landscape by re-imagining a collection of 19th century folk songs collected in the 1927 book “The Minstrelsy of Maine”. That concept struck a chord with the Trust, whose annual Agrarian Acts concert is “a celebration of agriculture through music.”

“We were looking for band that had a clear connection to the land,” said MFT’s outreach director Ellen Sabina. The new album, and the fact that Maine Farmland Trust recently protected an iconic farm in Sebec, the Mallett’s hometown, “seemed like the perfect ingredients for a farm concert,” Sabina said.

Luke and Will Mallett, who lead the band, have roots in the area and their mother and father (folk singer David Mallett) still live close by. In 2012, David Mallett put out his album, Greenin’ Up, in conjunction with Maine Farmland Trust. The album includes updated versions of Mallett’s most beloved folk songs from the ‘70s, and celebrates rural living in Maine.


The Mallett Brothers Band will perform in a hayfield at Eagle View Ranch. The ranch was formerly known as Varnum Farms. Maine Farmland Trust protected the 2,068-acre piece of land and sold the property to the current owner several years ago. The new farmer raises beef cattle on the property. “It’ll be a bit more rustic than your average concert venue,” said Sabina. “We’re encouraging people to bring their own blankets and chairs to stake out their spot in the field and enjoy the show.”

But rustic doesn’t mean there won’t be good food and drink. The ticket prices include dinner, prepared by Spruce Mill Farm & Kitchen. The menu includes locally pastured chicken sandwiches on fresh, handmade croissants, pulled pork sliders, farm green salad, potato salad and other sides, and fruit hand pies and flourless raspberry corncakes for dessert. A cash bar will have several local beer and wine options available for purchase, and non-alcoholic options as well.

Tickets are $30 for adults and $15 for kids age 6-15 (kids 5 and under get in for free). The ticket price includes a hearty meal of local food. Tickets can be purchased HERE or by calling 207-338-6575.

A sneak peek of the 2017 issue of our Maine Farms annual journal

In the next week or two, the 2017 issue of our Maine Farms annual journal will be arriving in mailboxes across the state and beyond. (Hot tip: If you’re not yet a member, or haven’t renewed in a few years, join today to make sure you get your copy of the journal!)
Here’s a sneak preview of some the stories you’ll find inside the new issue:
  • Nancy Harmon Jenkins heads north to find Maine-grown grain on the rise in potato country
  • Melissa Coleman considers the sustainability of scaling up
  • Farmer Stacy Brenner imagines the potential for savvy marketing to sync rural farmers and urban customers
  • Machias landmark Helen’s Restaurant shares a recipe for the very best blueberry pie
…and much MORE. 
By sharing the stories of Maine farms and food, we aim to cultivate a curious and informed community of people who are passionate about the future of farming in Maine.
We’re happy to offer this lush, informative, one-of-kind publication to our members. But the real benefit of joining MFT is knowing that you are taking an active and real stand for the future of farming in Maine. Your membership gift goes directly to helping protect farmland, support farmers and grow farming. We simply can’t do what we do without you!

A Changing Climate and Maine’s Farms: a real threat, matched by real promise

by John Piotti – photos by Kelsey Kobik

All the peach farmers I know lost their crop last year. Growing peaches in Maine has always been iffy—a hit or miss sort of thing, historically dependent on how cold it gets mid-winter. But as we contemplate global warming, we tend to think that crops associated with southern climes, like peaches, could flourish here in the future. And indeed they might. But last year, something about the vagaries of the weather—notably that warm early spring— prevented the fruit from setting. In today’s world, Maineʼs peach harvest may be threatened as much by ill-timed warmth as extreme cold. Not all the impacts of a warming climate are what we might expect.

A few months ago I found myself at a forum on
climate change speaking to a room of environmentalists about farming. Given limited time, I chose to focus on a single topic: how I’m alarmed to increasingly hear Mainers say that a warming

climate, which they dread in so many ways, would at least be good for our farmers. I was eager to know if others in the room were hearing the same, and wondering if this group of activists had suggestions on how we might better inform the public about climate change’s very real threat to farming in Maine.

Instead, my words surprised many in the audience; and their words, in turn, surprised me: many of these environmentalists thought that climate change would, on balance, help Maine farmers.

I think most people understand how a warming climate will cause impacts that go far beyond just rising temperatures, because rising temperatures, in and of themselves, bring about other changes. For instance, we have become accustomed to think that a hotter planet will raise sea levels, intensify hurricanes, and threaten millions who live on vulnerable coastlines.

And we certainly comprehend that, due to rising temperatures, farming may no longer be possible in many hot and dry places that will become even hotter and drier. But in cool and relatively wet parts of the world, the potential impact of climate change on farming seems bearable. Here in Maine, where we perceive the growing season to be so short compared to bountiful agricultural regions like California, it can be easy to imagine a silver lining.

But in truth, a warming climate will do more than lengthen Maineʼs growing season—and none of it is good. Climate change is already exposing Maine crops to new pests (insects, weeds, diseases), disrupting the timing of natural pollinators, and increasing the frequency of severe storms that wash out newly-planted seeds, damage growing crops, and erode soil. These impacts are only expected to increase. Meanwhile, longer and drier summers will threaten crops that aren’t irrigated—the vast bulk of what Maine grows.

And warm spells occurring anywhere between November and April will force fruit trees and other perennials to bud early, putting those crops at risk. (Last November’s record-high temperatures caused apple trees to blossom in parts of southern Maine. The impact on this year’s harvest will likely be modest; but if this kind of weather becomes more frequent and widespread in the future, the negative impacts will escalate.)

At the same time, any hoped-for benefits of a longer growing season may prove ethereal. Gaining extra weeks in spring and fall may not help farmers at all if those weeks correspond to the amount of time in midsummer when—because of high heat or lack of water—nothing is growing. And the arrival of warmer temperatures earlier in the year does no good if heavy spring rains keep tractors off fields at precisely the time farmers want to plant.

Beyond that, it’s worth noting that the current length of the growing season is not a major barrier to Maineʼs agricultural production. If I asked Maine farmers to list the top ten items adversely affecting their operations, the length of the growing season would not appear on many lists. Indeed, the current growing season is well-suited to potatoes, Maineʼs largest crop. And higher temperatures won’t help dairy, Maineʼs second largest agricultural sector.

True, a longer growing season would theoretically help farmers who focus on warm season vegetables. But I wonder how useful this will really prove, given that smart and simple strategies that allow farmers to extend their seasons already exist— trategies which often bring additional benefits. For instance, hoop houses enable farmers to manage water and temperature in ways that would never be possible on an open field. Ironically, I expect that global warming, which will increasingly result in more extreme and less predictable weather, will push many vegetable farmers to raise more crops in controlled environments, where any benefits that might result from a longer growing season would not be needed—or utilized.

Simply put, the negative impacts of climate change on farms in Maine are real and growing, while the one potential benefit—a longer growing season—may not be much of a benefit at all. But donʼt be too discouraged. There may well be a silver lining, just of a different sort.

Farming—whether in Maine or beyond—has the potential to help mitigate climate change by recapturing carbon in the soil. Not all farming reduces atmospheric carbon. But the right farming practices applied in the right places can make a real difference.

Both cause and potential remedy

Agriculture and climate change are interwoven in powerful ways.

On the negative side, agriculture is a leading cause of climate change. Roughly half of all human-caused greenhouse gas emissions (44–57%) result from our food system: either through direct farm production (11–15%); land-use change (15–18%); processing, packing, selling food (15–20%); and food waste (2–4%).01

Agricultural-related emissions result frommultiple activities. We burn fossil fuels to operate farm equipment and irrigation systems, as well as
to transport, process, and store our food. We use a wide range of chemicals and fertilizers that—through both their manufacture and use—release greenhouse gases to the atmosphere. Meanwhile, our livestock and their manure piles emit methane.

Beyond all that, we release carbon from our soils into the atmosphere. This occurs as a direct result of a wide range of agricultural practices, from the tilling of fields to short-sighted methods of clearing land. A staggering one-third of all the carbon in our atmosphere has been released from the soil—and most of that has been released since 1850.02 

The good news is that we can take steps to reverse the flow of carbon, recapturing it into our soil from the air. By some estimates, our fields and forests—if managed to maximize carbon sequestration—could reduce atmospheric carbon over the next century by 75 parts per million (ppm) or more. (Atmospheric carbon recently passed 400 ppm; many scientists say we need to return to 350 ppm to prevent catastrophic warming.)

Farming with a specific goal of recapturing carbon could make a real difference mitigating climate change. Coupled with aggressive emission reductions, it provides a practical way—andperhaps the only way—to reduce atmospheric carbon to acceptable levels.03

The concept of “carbon farming” was elevated to broader public awareness last fall in a Washington Post article by Debbie Barker and Michael Pollan entitled, “A Secret Weapon to Fight Climate Change: Dirt.” But the idea is far from new. It’s embodied in the practice of regenerative organic agriculture that the Rodale Institute has advocated for decades, and in a multitude of other farming practices that have been utilized, in some cases, for centuries.

Carbon farming is a good heading for all such practices that rebuild soil carbon. The term puts the connection to climate change front and center, so that rebuilding soil carbon is viewed not just as a good farming practice, but as a meaningful response to our planetʼs most pressing challenge. This perspective will encourage the agricultural community to optimize questration as it refines and improves these practices over time. Carbon sequestration then becomes a primary goal, not just a secondary outcome of farming practices that principally aim to produce food more sustainably.

At its simplest, carbon farming is about rebuilding soil through various well-known techniques, such as the active use of cover crops, planting methods that minimize or eliminate the need for tillage, wider use of perennial crops, and interspersing different types of crops—including trees—in creative ways. Sequestering carbon not only improves soil health, but also builds resilience in cropping systems, enabling farmers to better cope with heavy rain and drought.

But at the same time, carbon farming is inherently complicated. One reason is because many of the techniques which restore carbon to the soil are themselves complex. Compared to monoculture, managing land for multiple crops requires more of farmers—broader knowledge, new investment, and a willingness to take on different kinds of risks. Intensive use of cover crops takes more work and special skills. And no-till planting requires farmers to buy new equipment and adopt new methods.

The practice of carbon farming is further confounded because the science is so young. We know that many of these techniques work for growing food, because they have been used for this purpose, sometimes for centuries. But we don’t yet know, with enough specificity, how well various techniques work to capture carbon in the soil. From research undertaken to date, it appears that techniques which work well at capturing carbon on one site may not work so well on another, due to soil type or terrain. Early research also shows that a given practice’s ability to sequester carbon can vary greatly depending on rainfall and temperature—so that a practice that might work well for growing crops in two regions may not work nearly as well at capturing carbon in one of those regions, due to climatic differences. This is all complicated enough, but even more so in a world where regional climates are changing.

Beyond that, we have not yet fully developed some of the types of crop that would be ideal for carbon farming. For instance, the vast majority of the grains we eat are annuals, not perennials, and annuals require plowing that disturbs the soil and emits carbon. Wes Jackson of the Kansas-based The Land Institute, along with other pioneers of sustainable agriculture, has made great progress over the last few decades breeding new perennial grains, but more research and refinement is needed before we can expect widespread adoption by farmers.

What all this means is that most farmers are not yet in a position to farm in a way that maximizes carbon sequestration. Few farmers know which practices would work best on their land. And even where that is clear, farmers seldom have all the tools, skills, and financial resources they need to implement those practices to the degree that would be most beneficial.

Part of the issue is that—at least here in the U.S.—there’s no mechanism to compensate farmers for the benefits they bring by sequestering carbon. A few programs that use carbon credits to pay farmers are being pilot tested, mostly abroad. Here at home, no government program does this. Nor is there enough federally funded research into carbon farming. But because the public is increasingly demanding that the government take a different approach to farming, I don’t think it will be too long before federal policy shifts.

Still, we don’t need to wait until then to make progress. One of the lessons learned from the local food movement is that informed consumers are willing and eager to buy food from farmers who practice farming in ways they appreciate. In Maine, which has led this movement, many farmers have already adopted environmentally sound practices such as cover cropping, crop rotation, and no-till production. Couple this with the fact that farming here is of a scale that lends itself to further innovation, and Maine is poised to leap forward.

Maine can play a leading role

Goranson Farm in Dresden is one of many Maine farms that employ farming methods that build soil carbon and help mitigate climate change.
The family cultivates about 80 acres on which they grow a full array of organic vegetables, plus raise meat—all sold locally. They manage their livestock to help build soil fertility. And for over 20 years, they have practiced a four-year rotation involving two years of vegetable roduction and two years of cover crops. This practice—coupled with concerted efforts to reduce tillage—has resulted in significant improvements in the soil’s health.

A few years ago, one of the family’s sons bought a horse. Ever since then, the farm has utilized horsepower—strategically, where it makes the most sense—to replace tractor use. Last year, the family planted 23 acres of cover crops with horsepower. They also use horses in tight spots where a tractor might do damage, and to cut hay. The family is now working toward establishing a seven-year ley rotation, which will involve three years of grazed sod, two years of cover crops, and two years of vegetable production. They are constantly experimenting, moving ever closer to an optimal system for their land.

Why does Goranson Farm take these extra steps? One reason is that these practices rebuild soil, which is key to the sustainability of their farm. Another is that these farmers care deeply about the environment. Beyond that, their loyal customers appreciate what they do. Probably few of their customers fully understand all the steps the family takes to be good stewards of the land, but the family’s overall commitment to stewardship is clear.

After a century of decline, farming in Maine has grown dramatically in the last 15 years, spurred primarily by small and mid-size farms that serve local markets. Not all of these farms do as much as Goranson Farm to capture carbon and rebuild soil, but most follow good practices and are open to doing more. Maine can not only feed itself, but help feed the broader region. That’s because Maine boasts millions of acres of formerly farmed land that could be used to grow food once again. But as Maine reclaims this former farmland, it’s
important to both learn from the past and move beyond that past. We have a special opportunity to “get it right,” to follow forward-looking practices that sequester carbon—including forest farming, silvopasture, and management-intensive grazing. 04

Much is riding on what Maine does next. In the face of the many threats brought by a changing climate, both our public policies and our personal energies must be directed to helping farmers transition to practices that give them a better shot at thriving in the future. But the reason to do so is not just because we want to maintain local food production or vibrant rural communities. As important as those goals may be, what’s more important is that we advance farming to where it fulfills its promise to combat climate change.

Maine is poised to test, refine, and model various carbon farming practices—and it is far better positioned to do so than other regions with similar climates. For one thing, Maine possesses so much former farmland that could be reclaimed anew, and in ways that enable testing of different strategies. For another, so many of Maineʼs farmers not only want to do their part, but have the inventive spirit these times demand. And finally, so many of Maineʼs consumers are willing to pay a little more for local food—not only because the food tastes better, but because of all that our farmers do for us.

Maineʼs farmers not only raise the food that sustains us, but steward the fields and woods that we cherish for hiking and hunting, scenery andsolace. Beyond that, with the right resources and support, our farmers can help restore our planet.

This is the great story of our time. Maineʼs farmers are central to the action. But all of us who live here have a role to play. There is too much atstake not to make this a personal priority. 


01 The Carbon Farming Solution, by Eric Toensmeier, Chelsea Green
Publishing, 2016, page 12.
02 ibid
03 “A Secret Weapon to Fight Climate Change: Dirt,” by Debbie
Barker and Michael Pollan, The Washington Post, December 4,
04 “Reclaiming Maineʼs Lost Farmland,” by John Piotti,
Maine Farms, 2015.
john piotti,