As we all have witnessed over the last decade, our society has become so polarized, so fractioned, that often we can not even talk to our literal neighbors if they differ from our political views — regardless of life interests or the common bonds that living in community creates.

As a sustainable farmer in upstate NY, I have a unique view into both sides of the political spectrum. Personally, as someone who grew up farming, and is white, tall, and English speaking, this is particularly true. Regardless of my class, gender identity and queerness, my race is front and center. This is what our local community members see. It has allowed me to live in this town with a certain level of comfort that allows people from all sides of the political spectrum to open up to me in a way that the other BIPOC farmers at Rock Steady may not always experience. I am highly aware of this dynamic, and use it both to educate and engage in conversation with people who are very different from me, as well as slowly build as safe a work place for our BIPOC and LGBTQI+ farmers as possible. This is a layer of the racial and food justice work I am committed to. For me, as a white person that has spent the majority of my life dedicated to changing our racist and economically broken food system, I know change happens in many different ways.

At Rock Steady, our social capital by far outweighs our economic capital. And our reliance on our diverse community is critical to our survival because we are so financially tight each year. I say all this because of the unusual context in which we are trying to build our farm.

Our farm is a radical, anti-white-supremacist, LGBTQ+ owned cooperative farm plopped down in a rural town that for the last ten years has had republican representatives both congressionally and locally, and in 2016 majority voted for Trump. Gulp. That fact is tough, especially leading up to this years’ election.

Food is unique in that it brings people together like very few things in this world. Likewise the hard work ethic, connection to the turmoils of weather, and pure grit determination is what all farmers share. It is a state of mind, passed on from generation to generation. It is what separates those of us farmers who were born into this life or have years of experience, and those who fantasize about the ideals of rural retirement who may or may not make it more than a year. Locals see this in a lot of the farmers at Rock Steady. We work damn hard. All of us.

There may be cultural, religious and political differences between us queers at Rock Steady and some of the multi-generational farms in our area —but growing food unites us. We sell our cucs, zucs and tomatoes to their small farm stands and we sometimes re-sell their corn or other items, like we’re doing this week.

These financial exchanges may seem small, but they are integral to the back bone of trust that is built year after year. As we have become more multi-racial and more and more "out" in our local community, these exchanges with the locals in our area become more and more important. The world of farming in rural red NY is very conservative, very cisgendered, very white and very straight. But our relationship with these other farmers is critical.

We call on them when our tractors break and we need to get in the field before the next rain, and have hired them in the past to use their tractors on our land when in a pinch. When we have an implement —like a disc or mower — that breaks, we call them. We have an abundance of cucumbers — call the neighbors. Lost dog in the area —send a group text. I could go on. These moments feel like doorways to building understanding around complex issues — racial justice initiatives, queer and trans rights, and the healthiest farming practices for our collective environment.

Right after Trump was first elected, our crew at the time felt a lot of fear driving to the farm each day to go to work. There were Trump signs everywhere and more and more confederate flags popping up. Now, nearing election time again, I sense myself fearing the visibility of our political differences and the clashes that might cause. That said, I do actually think a lot of those who did vote for Trump last election are not all going to this year. This is not a conclusion based on surveys or statistics, but based on my evolving conversations with people in our town over the last few years. I was also hugely heartened to see hundreds of people in our town’s BLM protest. The public organizing and vocalizations around racial justice do ease this fear I have during a time like this.

Additionally, the environmental benefits of these connections is also apparent over the years. For example, a few of our neighboring farmers have started to learn organic techniques from us. This could have significant environmental impacts in our area. They farm hundreds of acres and are now trialing cover cropping and not spraying as much Round-Up!

Relationships do really create change. In small and large ways. There are few occupations in today’s society that offer such opportunities for trust and reliance with those who are different from ourselves. I think the fact that all farms are fighting a fight that is utterly impossible, brings us closer together. Climate change, agricultural policies, the low cost of food, make our jobs high risk every single day. It is nearly impossible to think of surviving on our own. The only way small and medium sized farms can survive is through the continual, and sometimes invisible, collective support system. We are all holding each other up. We are all striving to put food on the table.

~ Maggie Cheney, Co-owner & veg farmer
Rock Steady Farm