INTRODUCTION

It was only in college, removed from my family’s cooking traditions for the first time, that I came to realize just how much of my own identity is wrapped up in memories of food. Whether it be bright weekend mornings scrambling eggs with my dad, or lazy movie nights indulging in an extra scoop of mint Oreo ice cream with my sister, or busy Monday afternoons sipping the blueberry smoothies my mother hastily prepared before shuffling me off to piano lessons, many seemingly trivial snapshots of food shared have become the most vivid and cherished moments from my childhood.

I remember with particular fondness nights when my mother hosted her Book Club at our house. My siblings and I would peek out of our bedrooms, all wet hair and wrinkly pajamas, to be gushed over by the dinner guests before relinquishing to the dark comfort of our beds, where we would fall asleep to the sound of laughter and clinking wine glasses, the happy hubbub seeping under our bedroom doors with tendrils of glowy dining room light. Knowing so many satisfied friends sat at our dinner table, just a few steps away, would send me into a particularly safe and cozy dreamland, wishing all nights could be Book Club nights.

The warmth and simplicity of moments like that, moments of shared food and friendship, have always made me feel especially content. This Christmas, my extended family came to celebrate at our house in Connecticut, which meant the kitchen became a circus, my father manning the meat marinades, my mother kneading pie dough, my grandpa fixing appetizers, and myself flitting between all three, waving new recipes in the air with earnest.

I swear every pot, pan and dishtowel in a 10-mile radius was dirtied for one concoction or another. Some days required multiple runs to the grocery store for that tub of raisins or box of breadcrumbs forgotten at the bottom of the to-do list, and other days demanded early wake-ups in order to get brunch on the table by a reasonable hour. To me, though, the inevitable blur of cook, eat, clean, repeat was heaven.

It makes sense that throughout time and across cultures, celebration has always centered around food. Eating is an excuse to be near those we love, to step away from the bustle of our lives and share meaningful connection. Food serves not only as a source of nourishment, but of love and togetherness.

Like my passion for food and cooking, my love for Vermont also blossomed over the course of my college career. Stepping into the rolling Vermont landscape just outside my dorm room never failed to fill me with a sense of wonder and gratitude. Because I found such inspiration in my surroundings, I was drawn to know them better, and to meet the the Vermonters beyond Middlebury College who cultivate this special place and call it home.

FOOD CULTURE IN VERMONT

Throughout American history, small-scale food production has flourished in Vermont compared to the rest of the country, due in large part to the mere geography and politics of the state. Because the Champlain lowlands are so hilly, large swaths of tillable land are hard to find, especially in Addison County. Therefore, most Vermont farmers simply cannot expand their operations the way farmers in the Midwest have, where long stretches of flat land are abundant.

Like its farms, Vermont’s government system has remained relatively small too, thanks to citizens’ collaborative nature and participation in town meetings. Cheryl Morse, a social geographer and Director of Vermont Studies at the University of Vermont, explains, “In the state of Vermont, the town is a much stronger political unit than the county. Traditionally, people are used to working and solving problems at the scale of the community.” Because Vermonters are willing and eager to participate in local planning, they are also inclined to know and support local officials, community members, and farmers. Farmers themselves have the opportunity to become involved in their communities too, building loyal relationships with neighbors and customers.

In addition to its unique geopolitical climate, industrialization never effected Vermont to the same degree it did other New England states. Due to limited road networks and highway systems across the state, manufacturing businesses and factories remained scattered, relatively small, and family-owned throughout the 1800s. Minimal industrialization meant minimal urbanization; a few boom-towns like White River Junction, St. Albans, and Bennington formed near railway lines, but only Rutland, Vermont ever reached a population close to 10,000 in 1870. Most Vermonters remained in relatively rural farming communities and continued to depend on each other for homegrown food (Albers, 236).

Because the Vermont government could not rely on manufacturing to stimulate the state economy, they turned to tourism, an industry that further encouraged and in fact depended on small-scale agriculture. “Vermont started to attract and encourage southern New England city-dwellers to vacation on traditional farms and experience “county life” or even buy second homes in the state to bring in new money” (Albers, 252). In 1899, the governor of New Hampshire founded Old Home Week, a tradition that quickly caught on in Vermont. The event encouraged sons and daughters to return to their rural hometowns once a year and bring with them new friends and family from wherever they had moved (Albers, 247).

Although the vision of Vermonters as quaint country folk from small farms began as an advertising ploy, over time locals began to genuinely identify with it, celebrating their traditional lifestyles as wholesome and their rural landscape as beautiful. Morse points out,

We could sell ourselves as the old family farm of yesteryear that you likely remember from your grandparents’ time…That’s the image that has been repeated in Vermont Life [Magazine] and in logos and syrup cams for over 100 years, and I think we’ve internalized that image of ourselves. We expect Vermont to look like that. We expect Vermont farms to be small.

Thus, farming--and small-scale farming in particular--became not only a source of pride for Vermonters, but central to their identity. This “Vermont” identity was bolstered by Back-to-the-land movements, which brought even more individuals committed to small, sustainable agriculture into Vermont. Diane St. Clair, an Orwell, Vermont dairy farmer and author of the 2013 Animal Farm Buttermilk Cookbook, explains,

I think that Vermont attracts a lot of people that are very independent…There’s always been this sort of back to the land homestead-y thing going on here, where people had a family cow and milked their own cow and made some cheese…If you came here you could learn some of those skills where in other places it might be harder to do that.

“Homestead-y” folk flocked to Vermont in the 1800s, 1930s, and 1970s, when the Vermont branch of the Northeastern Organic Farmers Association (NOFA) was founded. Ever since, NOFA has not only promoted organic farming in the state but also served as a valuable resource for farmers. The organization offers workshops, grants, networking opportunities, and events for commercial growers and home gardeners alike. Morse claims, “I think they are really responsible for making it possible for people to make livings from small-scale agriculture.” NOFA supports the current generation of Vermont farmers but also draws new farmers to the state, encouraging a legacy of local food production moving forward.

The 2013 Strolling of the Heifers Localvore Index represents Vermont’s potential to be a continued leader in local food. The index ranks all 50 states according to their commitment to local food and Vermont comes out on top, based on its number of farmers’ markets, Community Supported Agriculture projects (CSAs), and distribution centers for farmers’ produce, like co-ops (Schute, Vermont Bests the Nation in Local Chow). According to John Huddleston, author of the 2012 Healing Ground: Walking the Farms of Vermont, “On a per capita basis, Vermont has the most direct food sales (from producer to customer)…in the U.S.” (Huddleston, 88).

Although topping the Strolling of the Heifers index and boasting the most direct food sales is an accomplishment, the competition from other states is not particularly inspiring. Morse admits, “When you break it down, about 5% of the food we consume is locally produced. I think both things are true; we are far ahead of other states, but we’re still not very good! If eating local food is important to somebody, then we have a long way to go.” For all of the Vermonters dedicated to eating fresh, local foods, there are also many who cannot afford to do so.

The Vermont Agriculture and Forest Products Committee is dedicated to making the variety of foods produced in the state more accessible to local consumers. In 2009, the committee passed a statewide Farm to Plate Investment Program designed to enable new food and farm jobs and increase access to healthy, local food (Vermont Sustainable Jobs Fund, Farm to Plate Strategic Plan). The committee also established the Working Lands Enterprise Initiative in 2012, a project devoted to providing resources and $1 million in funds to agriculture and forestry-based businesses (Vermont.gov, Working Lands Enterprise Initiative). The work of the committee reflects a 2009 report by the Council on the Future of Vermont that found whether or not they eat locally, 97% of Vermonters value the working landscape, a landscape comprised of agriculture, forestry, and food-based businesses (Stevens, Personal Interview).

In conjunction with this increasingly deliberate support of agriculture in all of its manifestations, many Vermont farmers are becoming more adventurous and creative in what they produce. “A kind of agricultural entrepreneurialism is alive and well and encouraged by the state” (Albers, 282). Small-scale beef, poultry, and sheep farms are rising, along with exotic animal farms where emus, llamas, and ostriches graze. Specialty and artisan products including cheese, ice cream, salad dressing, salsa, pesto, and chocolate are also booming across the state. Jay Leshinsky, the President of the Board of the Middlebury Natural Foods Co-Op, is excited about this value-added trend because it represents an opportunity for farmers to expand their markets. “A lot of the retail farmers who sell at farmers’ markets or even CSA, that market is getting filled,” Leshinsky says. “So if you can develop a value-added product that differentiates yourself, then that’s a new market…I think there’s a real need for value-added products.” Farmers can also sell value-added products at a higher price point, ensuring a more stable and secure income. Leshinsky, St. Clair, and Morse agree that although large-scale, commercial farms still make up a large portion of agriculture in Vermont, value-added products and small, diversified farms will play an important role moving forward.

In order to better understand this dynamic farming community, I interviewed a series of sustainably-minded small, medium, and large-scale farmers in Addison County, Vermont. My interviewees included five farmer couples and four independent farmers producing milk, vegetables, fruit, cheese, eggs, and meat. I talked to these Vermonters about what drew them to farming, what they loved about their work, what challenged them, what they hoped for the future, and what farming meant to them in a state where sustainable, small-scale agriculture is more celebrated than ever before.

I crafted nine photojournalism profiles based off of my conversations with and photographs of these farmers. Each profile includes an original recipe inspired by the produce these farmers grow and raise, along with a favorite recipe submitted by the farmers themselves. (Note: Farmers' submitted recipes are not included in this version.) Not only did this project allow me to learn more about the surrounding landscape I have come to appreciate so much, it also gave me the opportunity to indulge in the creativity of cooking and writing, and to explore food through a refreshingly holistic lens.

Perhaps most wonderfully, however, this project game me an excuse to meet some of the many generous, thoughtful, dedicated farmers who make up the Addison County community. I hope that the following profiles offer intimate, honest snapshots of my farmer subjects, whose hard work has become, in many ways, the heartbeat of this beautiful state. I agree whole heartedly with John Huddleston when he writes, “Vermont’s small farms affirm the best of American ideals. Here are found individuals working with great independence yet contributing to society in a vital way. Such lives are the roots of our democracy, our inventiveness, our cooperative power” (Huddleston, 88).