Foxy Woxy’s Farm Friends
By Finn Paulsen and Kimberly Bravo
On Friday night, the entire yurt village lay silent because all of the Arcadians, along with Jake and Eva, departed on a long drive to give us a head start early the next morning for our farm tour in Essex County. We hopped into the vehicles with just the essentials: warm hats and clothes, coolers for fresh food, and poop shoes (i.e., rubber boots and such). By the time we arrived at our destination, the sun had exited the stage, and the glittering stars had come out to dance with the moon. Eager as could be, we hopped out of the van and scouted out the self-checkout café. The directors reminded us that we would be camping out in the lot beside the North Country Creamery and to be awake bright and early for 7:15 a.m. breakfast as usual. We prepared for the chilly night by taking the rain fly off each of the tents to bask under the moonlight. Some took advantage of the store’s bathroom, a similar but not nearly as homey experience as the Clive. The fog from our breath slowly dissipated until the very last Arcadian dozed off to sleep.
After waking up damp, we began our day the same way we had during the last sixty-five days: with fresh local yogurt and granola to top it off. Soon enough, we were directed over to the gates crossing the street, behind which teemed mounds of brown and white fur. Throughout the next couple of hours, we familiarized ourselves with the friendly cows under the guidance of Ashlee. She and the other farmers typically milk their thirty cows once or twice a day. We watched as the cows waited their turn in the milking line and gawked at the enormous volume each one produced. The milk gets used in a multitude of North Country Creamery products like yogurt, cheese, and ice cream. Its rich taste can be attributed to the ethical treatment the cows receive and the grass they feed on, which during our trip was occasionally supplemented by an apple from Grace, or five from Elder Autumn.
After saying goodbye to Tamarack, Mocha, and Mint, we took a three-minute drive down the road, rejoicing when we saw sheep dogs in the distance. Asa greeted us and welcomed us to a tour around Mace Chasm farm, which was home to cows, pigs, chickens, and turkeys. It was evident that he was proud of his operation, which he started with his wife Courtney. He also seemed to take pride in integrating his family life into the work. One of his daughters even bottle-fed a calf until they were ready to be weaned. When asked about the most rewarding part of his job, Asa told us that “being outside, good food, and the supportive community” were all important aspects. These claims were easy to believe when we saw the view of stunning mountain ranges and valleys that Asa and his animals get to enjoy each day. Once the animals reach maturity, they get sent to an ethically certified slaughterhouse before being cleaned up and purchased by customers like us for lunch. After a delicious and mostly local meal, we were off for one last tour.
The third and final stop was Essex Farm. While the first two were mostly grounded and down to earth, this last tour defied all expectations. Mere moments after parking the van, we heard a loud thud, the origin of which was the eccentric proprietor Mark Kimball throwing himself at the window. If any of us expected the energy level to drop once the tour began, we were quickly dispelled of the notion. As soon as we had all gathered outside of the vehicles, Mark pointed at his mailbox and told us to race him to it. Before we had time to gather our wits, we were chasing this tall, barefoot farmer with a knee replacement down his own driveway. Unable to match his pace, we commenced the next order of business: lay in a clover field and think about life. “What is your gasoline made of?” “Eat some dirt.” “Look up at the sky and remember how small you really are.”
Awaiting us at the van was a home-cooked meal, which was enticing after another quick jog. “What did you have for breakfast? It was s***. All of the ingredients in this meal but the salt were grown right here. It’s also s***.” By now we were getting a better sense of this nearly indescribable man, even as we were relentlessly trying to describe him to ourselves. Totally disillusioned with the government, the economy, and society, yet sharply aware of his own dependence on them, he cleverly used humor to cope with his inability to extract himself from them.
We finished the meal and spent twenty minutes laughing, fueled by his alternatingly crude and sophisticated jokes, and then we were off again. Mark had given us a valuable piece of his life philosophy—“go to any length to be in the present”—so off we went to step in cow s*** and embark on a saga that included the playful torment of a gullible former billionaire who stopped by to chat (Editor's note: the “torment” consisted of a harmless jest involving a deactivated electric fence). The rest of the tour was made up of sage advice, a game of stepping on each other’s feet, and a slew of jokes, many of which were made at the expense of our editor and as such will not be reproduced in this web feature. To conclude our unique journey, we were offered free access to the fresh food from the farm stand and two copies of his wife’s books, which were gratefully received.
As we drove away, we incredulously discussed this enigmatic creature of legend who seemed to simultaneously exist in a world of his own as well as ours. Some of us expressed veneration and some expressed skepticism, but regardless, we all agreed that we got much more than a farm tour.