By Wynne Chase PZ ’26

My whole life, I’ve worked on little farms. When I was young, my mom sent me to a co-ed overnight camp in Massachusetts, which, to this day, provides the brightest memories when I look back in nostalgia. I would wake up surrounded by about 25 other children my age, and make breakfast with the other early risers for everybody on the farm. Each day varied but as an animal and crop farm, generally we would do farm maintenance and take care of all of the sweet animals. We did not have electronics at the farm, so in all of our spare time we told stories, made crafts, walked the lovely trails on the property, and more. It was idyllic. 

When I outgrew camps, I got my farm fix through WWOOF; I was alone in the big world to gain independence in an agricultural setting. If you haven’t heard of WWOOF (World Wide Opportunities on Organic Farms), it’s an organization in which people who own farms allow visitors room and board in exchange for farm work. 

Last year, dreary winter days in Claremont dragged on, and I allowed myself to dream of the upcoming summer. I feared, though, with all of my potential plans, I would finally out-farm myself, and I would grow weary of the early mornings and manual labor.

Unexpectedly, not at all was that the case. In fact, my love for the agricultural world grew. In spades! But I never can explain my love for farming without a mixed-up, nearly-interrupting jumble of praises, so I’ve finally taken the time to organizedly delineate some of the most important experiences and lessons I’ve had that I find worthy enough to share.

Waking Up Early

I’ve always been an early riser, but few people are as early a riser as a farmer. I am never-endingly amazed when I wake up at 6:30 thinking that it must be the middle of the night, and the head team leader b0$$ farmer has already been up for two hours doing likely the most back-breaking work in recorded history. Eventually, though, I’ve realized that when I spend enough time with others, our sleep schedules begin to align. And when me and my elder-farmer-idol started to wake up at the same time, I certainly took notice.

Side note: I have an evolutionary hypothesis for this phenomenon (waking up this early every day gave me a LOT of time to ponder all of life’s many mysteries). Probably when a caveman woke up later than the other cavemen, that put them at risk for not getting enough nutrients because all of the other cavemen were early birds who got the worm. So, evolutionarily, it makes sense for us to sync up with the people around us, for the sake of our survival. I’m open to no critiques of my hypothesis. 

Through this experience, though, I felt like I got an extra day within each existing day. I was able to do more and it made me realize that prior to my improved circadian rhythm, I could not have possibly made the most of each day, because I just wasn’t awake to do so. 

Along with the ability to add so much more substance to my days, I also had the opportunity to enjoy life slowly. When I woke up earlier, I ate breakfast lazily and suddenly had time to track the leaves outside the window, whisked away by a spontaneous gust of wind. I sat with the farm dogs and gave them the love and attention they deserved (and begged for). Few things now are as important to me as taking it slowly. Admittedly, in college, it’s hard to slow down. The world is moving so quickly around students, and if we take a step back, we risk being left in the dust. Due to this pressured pace, I value (and do sometimes hate – because I am only human) my long walks to Pomona classes built into my days, because I get to spend 23 minutes listening to the bustle of ever-busy students and watching how different seasons are reflected in the environment around me. 

Helping One Another

When living on the farm, possibly the most pivotal culture shock is being asked “how can I help you?” HELLO?! Never before have people just offered themselves up to help in any way that I request, after they have just finished all of their chores. And the craziest part is that I started to reciprocate the question??!! Probably the guilt of being the least kind on the farm would have gotten to me had I not, but I truly do think that offering up your services to help work together in such a beautiful collective, even when your own work is finished for the day, is one of the kindest and most rewarding things that a person can do. 

The give and take of offering and accepting help creates a community that can and does rely on each other. I cannot possibly explain how close this brings members of these communities.

Living Communally

In a college setting, we’re incredibly lucky because we mostly live walking distance from all of our peers. Opportunities for such a lifestyle dwindle impressively after and away from college. There is something incredibly special about places where you see your peers at all hours because you get to experience when they’re not performing: when they’re sleepy or stressed or emotional or uncontrollably happy. 

Farms provide that environment; typically in this setting, members of the community will cook together or for one another, take care of anybody who is sick (sometimes with some incredible plant-made remedies), and just generally spend almost every second together, so we get to see each other in every moment. 

Getting Absolutely Disgusting

At the end of each day on one of the farms, I had chicken excrement coating every inch of my shoes and pants. My hands were perpetually dirt-covered, and one day a bird actually thought my hair looked like the most luxurious toilet of all. It didn’t matter. We were all disgusting. 

And there is something so freeing about no longer worrying about conforming to every single beauty standard. It would be insane of me to state that some of these standards no longer irritatingly shadowed my days just because I was on a farm, but certainly many of them melted away due to the situation and the community. 

Talking to Animals, Trees, Bugs, Yourself

As much as I’ve stressed the community on farms, sometimes there are not many people there. Sometimes you work alone and sleep alone and wake up alone. This lifestyle sometimes takes me longer to get used to, but it provides the most impactful opportunity to look inward or get creative for entertainment and interaction. 

I realized, on a farm in Maine, that my closest friend might be the llama who I was trying to win over. 

He would stay on the opposite side of the pasture as me and mirror my movements like an incredibly adept boxer circling the perimeter of the ring. I started to talk to him, the way you do with animals you’re trying to befriend. 

High, soft voice, reassuring phrases. 

I didn’t realize that I actually just needed to talk to somebody. Eventually, as my time grew on, he warmed up (only slightly) to me. I giggled (assumably with him) when the chicken flew up and sat on his back. I talked to him a lot, mostly just speeches about the potential symbiosis of our friendship. Talking to him made me feel like I had company. 

I also talked to myself through the form of journaling. I use my journal, mostly, as a way to recall the events of my days, instead of a place to describe emotions. I journaled so much those days, and I found moments every day to write about. I went from just needing a friend to talk to, to an llama partner who sort of liked me, and a robust journal that I still look back at and cry while reading. 

Giving Back to Nature

The land is what grounds us, we were born on it and it’s where we’ve lived our whole lives.

No matter how removed we may become or feel from the natural world, it is always giving to us. And, to me, farming feels like the first step in reciprocating those gifts. 

And if I were to opine slightly here, I would say that anything we can do to help the earth survive a little longer is the most important work.