MEDICINAL HERB FARMING

CHRISTMAS WAS KILLED and buried beneath smears and splattered blood from last-minute dining room decor of string lights around and across the room from the chandelier to each corner and to the kitchen door. My own blood stained the walls and dining room table spread with in-progress table setting for the pleasure of the youngest grandson who had cajoled me and his great grand mom into decorating and buying simple gifts in the pinch of time that remained for his mom to appear in her ever, never doing habit. As I strung up lights to hang the paper snowflakes made by him and his great granny, he had left his seat to jump as high as he could to rip the lights down. The last leap ripped the string of lights in my hand down from the wall and caused a tiny bulb to break and gash my hand. Frustrated with the entire setting, I grabbed up the handful I had been working with and yanked the rest down, cutting another deeper gash into my hand. There was blood everyplace. "That's it!" I yelled. I grabbed up cards and "White Elephant" packages to toss into a box sitting at the side of the table. Dinner had yet to be compiled in the final stages and I was the only one to make it. There was blood everywhere and nothing was going right. We were supposed to have moved into a farmhouse using my Holiday Savers account as the down payment, to start a goat farm... harvesting mohair, milk, and goat cheese. It was all damned.

$59,900 four years ago backed by ample support of an ag farmer and his senior advisor would have helped me into the business after a towering fall from the employment world. I retired. The advice of so many AARP and AG BUSINESS professionals heavily suggested going into some field of farming, and so I took them on the challenge. I watched and listened to the constraints and complaints of those already in the field... harvesting, catching hogs that floated away with the rainstorm or damning the very ground they stood on for its dry or soggy bottom. Then I jumped in. I figured I couldn't do any worse than those professionals out there.

The advice was to go into a field of dreams that was needed by a population. Select a locale that could support my chosen habit... flora or fauna. Advice given by Orin Samuelson that "goats don't like to swim, it is never proper to freeze a side of hog before it is cut and wrapped, and beef is predominant in the world of Texas," echoed in my mind. He also reminded every eager agriculturalist that, "Almonds don't teat milk." I set forth planning how to "wise crop" and design "full product development" as Samuelson's cohorts chortled about their 500 head of cattle or the rise and fall of pork over beef. They ogled each other's corn cobs and "slim pickens" of beans "because of the weather." In every case, everyone had the same thing growing from their extensive back yardage. They all worked together to combat any inclusion of foreign beast that might want to find its way onto a plate or a stray anything in a corn bin. To boost the momentum of our household over the trauma of getting a goat and growing corn in our "back forty" I devised a plan to applaud hog farmers for their victory. We bought one hundred pink balloons, inflated them after crafting the faces of pigs on the front, and stepped out to set them free as a 4H project... LETTING PIGS FLY over cow country.

All figures were assorted into a well-devised plan of approach. I would grow herbs. Not kitchen herbs or recreational herbs... but medicinal herbs. I set out to sample what and how to accomplish my feat in the best and most lucrative way before purchasing a land site. I ordered farm-approved sourced seed for my chosen crop and planted according to instructions given by ag sites and precision farming manuals purchased at local bookstores. I attended farm shows and farmer's markets. I attended something of a "farmer's get-together" where they gathered to exchange their wares on a local fairground. Of course, I took a few business cards and jotted business extensions and affiliations.... my own prior learning skill for the office lifestyle I was stepping out of. Not every attendee was well versed, I could guess by the individuals parked across from us who made their exchange for a "cute little kid" which they pushed into the back of their black Lincoln Continental with ivory white seats. I took his card as his son stopped the car next to us long enough to try and reason with their new find.. to get it to "sit down!" before they drove off toward Galena. I watched the event over several visits to determine a passable accompaniment for my crop interest. Then I set out to find an appropriate size landmass. I needed at least ten acres. The Department of Agriculture classifies a farm as having at least 20 acres, but I rationalized the production of indoor crops in addition to livestock as an appreciable fundable venture. They agreed.

The Farm Service Agency in my home county and state refused to originate paperwork for assistance, demanding that "their funds were for them." They would not clarify who they referred to by the designation"them." I left their office and an additional local office alone after two visits. They were not going to help "me" become a farmer. Meanwhile, I set up hydro-farm equipment ordered over Amazon and purchased from a local supply shop. It was going well until the rescue dog venture and rescue of my daughter's two children became an issue. The hydro-farm was wrecked with salvageable portions being stored in the attic... unassembled.

Christmas came and went two or three times without the accomplishment of acquiring the 20 goats, ten acres; and the small tractor needed for a farm. Goats danced in ballet and yoga classes, sashayed in auto dealerships, and played cameo roles in commercials over my waiting period. The ten-acre Walkerton farm listed by HUD that I found and made arrangements to purchase despite its derelict condition was assisted into ownership by a city couple from a nearby community. The seed purchased for planting was going to have to winter over in my storage shed unless I could get a women's co-op of farmers to go in with me to plant their fields with my seed. They refused. To calm my nerves, I paid into an herbal study program and went through five study programs before deciding to attempt to purchase another land site. I tried to gift the fifteen pounds of farm seed to This Week in Agribusiness socialite to avoid holding over for another planting season, only to have the seed returned in the mail... "addressee unknown." I watched as the farmers complained about crop damage and seed shortages, the necessity for rotation from corn and beans to seasonal wheat but there was no assistance of suggestion on which path to take toward a successful venture in farming.

Overall the time put into "studies" of this potential retirement career, I managed to plant, sample, harvest, and run trial-error approaches for my choice. Overall the time put toward determination at growing herbs, the public around has developed the previously illegal market of growing "herb" for entertainment use. They reclassified it and it has become a "medicinal" herb sold in both nickel bag and dime bag portions by approved government vendors from their "dealer" locations. The use of herbs alongside American common stance chemical base/designed drugs is growing in popularity and many old resources are being tested and brought to light as valid options to health issues.

The list of crops I intended to provide, either individually or as a member of a farm co-op is still among the predominant ingredients list for alternative medicine and desired overall by those preferring not to subject themselves and their family members to chemically manufactured medicines... synthetic drugs. I've found another land spot... but it's late.