The Last harvest

Alright friends.

I know I know.  What the heck is going on? Can this news of BeeWorthy Farms closing be true?  And yes, my dears, it is true. We are wrapping up flower production here in Encinitas.

I know this news will be hitting you all differently. And I know how much this space has meant to many of you, which is why I’m rolling out the news slowly and in bits and bursts.  So I hope this message clears things up.

If you listened to my podcast on the Farmer’s Beet, you’ll know my story up until about May of this year.  I went into this season fired up and determined as all get out to make my flower game strong.  My goal was to build a solid enough team so that I could pursue farm mentoring and the herbal program for more of my time.  

The season got off to a hopeful start. But it quickly became apparent that the plan I had made would require more of me than I was able to give.  

Being a farmer means being a small business owner on top of managing a living, natural system.  And while the living natural system has certainly faced some shifting challenges over my 14 seasons of farming, it’s the business management part that got me stuck.  I love the backend work, the books, the budgets, the emails.  I even found an uncomfortable coexistence with marketing and social media (thank you Emily Eley!). - https://www.emilyeley.com/ 

It’s actually the people part that did me in. Both my own ego and my expectations for how I should be a boss.  

When I found my way into farming I was a die hard do it yourself-er with my tagline “I only have myself” well worn in me after 27 years. But when I came to Wild Willow in 2012, I saw people working alongside each other, sharing food, and sharing deep parts of themselves with one another.  Farming in community has this way of getting people to slow down enough to listen to themselves.  To actually hear what their soul has been whispering to them all along.  

Even when I moved on to The Ecology Center, I found incredible connection and community with the folks that came to volunteer.  It was covid, and we built a thriving crew that dug in and supported each other.  

Farming has always been about relationships for me, so something I’ve wracked my brain on is how and why did we commodify all of this?

Many people seek farming and gardening as a way to heal themselves.  And many people don’t realize just what it takes to make production farming even a remote possibility.  From squashing snails to monotonous and tedious bed flipping.  From rapid fire harvest days to quiet fall sunsets hula hoing the walkways.  Those that get it, love it from a deep place in their bones.

The memory of working with our hands in the soil runs deep in the blood of every human on this planet.  Food and the earth is that which sustains each and every one of us.  And Farming allows us to be in constant contact with that memory and with the power of earth's deepest rhythms.  

So why is it that in the state of California it is illegal to let my friends come and help out on my for-profit farm.  This sanctuary that is here for them just as it is for me?  I have hated how my fear of labor law violations has kept me from the fullest expression of what BeeWorthy could be.  It has reduced my role in the farm to that of a boss.  And there was always too much to do that kept me from being the leader I wanted to be.  

Needing to stay in the gardens to model what efficient farming and effective decision making looks like.  Questions constantly plaguing me like:

How do I pay enough of a living wage to get someone to stick around?  How do I give enough responsibility without overwhelming someone?  How do I comply with the endless new and emerging labor law requirements?  Did I just say something inappropriate, are they going to file a complaint? How do I afford workers compensation when it costs 10% for small farm businesses?  When will I find the time to find a different policy that is cheaper? 

My old friend used to always say that if you don’t let something go, it will be ripped from you.  And my inability to let the flowers go confronted me in spring of this year.  The plan I wrote for the year was met with a key moment to ask myself, “what am I doing and why?”  

Everything was just so hard and inside was something that felt less constricted and alluring.  I answered with a fuck it, if I don’t follow my heart now when will I ever? Herbs, after all, were the whole point of why I started a farm.

I bought my tickets to Oshala’s herb camp and put my order in for a copper distiller.  I didn’t look at my budget, didn’t wonder how I’d find someone to take care of the farm while I’m away, and didn’t even bother to ask myself why I was buying a distiller and what I’d do with it.  Such a business no-no!  I always tell my mentees that if you’re not going to use the tool this week, then you don’t need it!

But I was in my emotions big time.  And I had put my dreams of having an herb farm on the back burner from the day we planned out our first farm.  I never took the time to build out a financial plan for them like I did for the flowers.  I always said that it was too hard to put a price tag on plants that are meant to be grown for people’s health.  I didn’t want yet another barrier in place … not realizing that the biggest barrier is them simply not being grown.

So here I am at the end of June.  I went to herb camp in the Applegate Valley and found the feeling I had been searching for for years.  A sense of coming home to myself.  This little valley in Southern Oregon.  It makes me wonder if my pursuit of herbs was just to come to this valley and hear her song.  I knew instantly that I needed to come here.  That I needed to let go of the flowers and the big city life.  I tried leaving San Diego in 2012 and again in 2016.  I built BeeWorthy in 2021 and the itch to leave subsided, I felt settled.  But after accomplishing my 5 year vision for the farm, I just felt aimless and confused.  I know you’re supposed to adapt as a business owner, but this whole driving 1.5 hours everyday and juggling some straight up drama for a measly $10/hr ($0/hr for the first 2 years!) is just uninspiring.  Despite all the beauty, all the fantastic partnerships, all the incredible support.  It just doesn’t work for me anymore.

The amount of tents and trailers I have lived in to make this farm life a reality I could count on both hands. The amount of grace and financial support from my family and partner is vast.  But still, somehow, it feels like living a simple life is a crime here.  

BeeWorthy was about bringing folks closer to the flowers.  To grow in a way that supported our natural environment and brought a quality product to the marketplace.  And gawsh was it rewarding.  Bringing flowers out to the community brightened everyone’s day.  And their joy in turn brought me joy.  And my heart filled in ways I never thought possible.  BeeWorthy has taught me how to live, breathe and be joy.  I am forever indebted to the bees, the seeds, and ways folks have shaped me into who I am today.

I have experienced and been a part of some of the most incredible partnerships through BeeWorthy.  A huge shoutout to the San Diego Flower Collective, Native Poppy, and all of my fellow Encinitas farmers and friends.  

Today, I am someone much more confident in what I can make happen.

So many folks wonder what is next.  And the truth is I don’t have a clear answer.  I don’t think I have any big enough reason to justify why I would walk away from what I’ve built.  I just know its time.  

Over the past few months I’ve been slowly letting go.  Shrinking the team.  Shrinking the sales.  When I decided to not plant spring flowers at the beginning of August, I was on a trajectory that I had no choice but to follow.  I’ve been going through the motions.  Completing my last garden tours with our local garden clubs.  Enjoying the most delightful herb workshops with new friends.  Saying goodbye to my weekly Native Poppy harvests and then eventually our beloved flower arranging class at the farm.  

Last week was the end of an era.  I have officially said goodbye to growing flowers for production.  I’ve ended fresh flower sales and now the gardens just get to be.  I’ve still got a few more months to finish up my seed grow-outs and plant and harvest out 2027’s chamomile and milky oats crops.  And I still have work to do to steward in the next farmers on the land.  To ensure that both the school, the land, and new farmers will all be well tended. 

For me, life has always been about following the good feeling.  And I’m still working on getting in touch with that good feeling more fully again.  

I know my skills as a farmer are still something I want to rely on.  I know I will always tend the land in some capacity, but it’s not something I’m jumping right into.  For now, I’m looking for remote work in the land access and impact investing space (so hit me up if you have any leads).  

This time and pressure away from production farming is well earned after 10 years of farming.  In total I think I’ve missed no more than 15 harvest days over those 10 years.  It’s time to take a knee.  And I’m hoping to do so as gracefully as I can. The jury is still out on what BeeWorthy becomes. You may very well hear from me again. But in different shape, with a different tune, but still wearing the same smile!

Thank you for all the love and support these past 5 seasons!

Bee Well,

Cat