On the Precipice of Winter

It felt good to dig the carrots, my hands in the dirt, and I could feel that tight coil inside me loosen a little. There’s real science behind that—a soil bacterium that switches on the brain cells that produce serotonin. I need that connection to the Earth, and digging has always been one of my favorite things because it feels so damn good. Plus, carrots are a hugely rewarding crop to dig.

“Thirteen hundred gallons.” I muttered, driving the spading fork into the soil in front of the carrots.

That’s how much heating fuel Effie burns every year—twelve hundred of it between September and May. I can coast through summer on a hundred gallons, but the rest of the year, we’re just as tied to #2 oil as everyone else in the northeast.

Effie is the name I gave this old farmhouse. She has no woodstove, and I like to joke that it’s the only farmhouse in Maine without one. But really, it’s no laughing matter. Wood is the most abundant resource we have up here, and I’d much rather be heating with something renewable, but the house isn’t set up for it—nor is she laid out in a manner that would allow me to easily install one either. To make the switch from oil to wood, I’ll need a new chimney installed, an outdoor wood burner and a boiler that converts the wood heat to the forced hot-air system running throughout the house. If the PASA grant comes through, converting this place off-grid needs to be the first thing I do.

For now, I’m watching the fuel gauge sit just above E and wracking my brain to figure out how to fill the twin tanks three times this winter. Current pricing for #2 at Bob’s Cash Fuel (my local supplier) at time of publication is $4.9490 per gallon. So one fill will be $2,474.50. If I could pay for it up front thirteen-hundred gallons would be $6,433.70. But I can’t, so the price will most certainly go up—especially given recent global events.

The first fill will carry us through early December. Effie guzzles the second between December and January. The third has to happen by the end of February, at the latest.

Maine’s heating assistance program has become a quagmire to access, and only offers a pittance—ask me how I know… For this old house it’s a drop in the bucket. SNAP, too, has become a circus-act of hoops to jump through. I don’t mind proving the need, it’s taxpayer money and that’s fair, but now that BraeTek’s an adult, we’re being phased out of the program. What we get now is $436 a month, and with nothing else to spare, that’s our entire food budget. Thank goodness I was able to grow a big garden this year. And thank the Universe I know how to stretch a dollar and make food from scratch, because we’re gonna need it.

After 46 years of it, I’d hoped to be done with survival mode by now. I’m working hard to let go of that mentality, and it’s one of my daily affirmations: “I let go of survival mode and step into my power.” But it’s one I wrestle with. How do you let go of that feeling of fear when life keeps hitting you like this?

In some ways, this has been a season of real transformation. My son is working and learning to drive, and I could not be prouder of him. Just last week I was hauling a truckload of manure onto plots that have sat empty for the last few years, giddy about finally being able to say yes to an opportunity the moment it showed up. The market garden is looking phenomenal. The CSA is growing again and the farmstand is feeding my neighbors. I’m involved the new Somerset County Food Council, and the conservation acreage is finally gaining some attention as locals begin reaching out asking to use the trails and join Runamuk’s mailing list. What’s more—this newsletter just passed 2,200 subscribers!

But the money overshadows all of it right now. I want to believe things get hardest right before you level up—that this really has been the season it all builds toward. It’s just difficult to hold onto that when I’m standing in the garden with the fuel gauge on my mind.

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So what am I gonna do about it?

That’s the question, my friend. Lol.

The bakery’s off the table—namely because the math doesn’t work. Even if the heating and taxes were covered, I can’t bake enough, fast enough, to close a gap this size.

Part-time work sounds like an obvious answer until you try to coordinate it with BraeTek’s schedule and everything already happening at Runamuk. It’s one or the other. I already know that cuz I’ve done that before. And giving up farming and writing isn’t an option—I’ve tried that, too.

I could give up my bedroom this winter and heat fewer rooms. That would shrink how much fuel I need to buy—a little. But it wouldn’t help me drum up the funds I need to heat the rest of the house.

Which leaves taking in a housemate—probably two—as the only real option left. I hate to, cuz I’ve done this before and there’s no way to know the kind of person you’re inviting to live in your home, if you know what I mean. Even bringing back farmstays wouldn’t produce income reliable enough to get us through this winter.

On top of that, $3,500 in property taxes is now two years past due and has to be paid before Thanksgiving, or the FSA will consider the mortgage in default and I’ll be facing foreclosure for sure.

To make matters worse—and this is the real kicker—a routine review of my case turned up a repayment provision tied to this property’s reassessed value. It’s a sneaky add-on that I don’t recall being explained when I signed the conservation contract back in 2020 and I’m pretty cheesed about the whole thing.

Now, because of inflated real estate values, the property has roughly doubled in value. Not from anything I’ve built or improved, mind you—and the conservation easement actually detracts from the overall value of the property—but Runamuk is now worth nearly $400,000 and the government wants me to pay back the money paid on my mortgage. Money that never came to me personally—but went directly to the FSA. And yet I’m the one expected to pay it back???

You can be sure I’ll be seeking legal counsel to fight this because it seems like entrapment to me.

I’ve always had a good working relationship with my representatives at the Farm Service Agency—even advocating their programs as an option to other farmers—so I definitely feel betrayed here. Like I was duped into a predatory lending arrangement, one I never would have agreed to if things had been spelled out clearly sitting in that boardroom six years ago.

Why offer struggling farmers salvation through these debt for conservation options only to hit them hard a few years down the road when the value of their property increases?

And of course when you put acreage in conservation—especially forested acreage like mine—and allow those trees grow and mature—of course their value is going to increase. So it seems like just another instance when the little guy is being milked for all he’s worth to feed a system that doesn’t care about its people. Or its farmers.

Meanwhile, still nothing from PASA, the organization I am hoping to secure grant funding from for both my conservation work and to retrofit this old farmhouse…

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What’s Been Happening On The Farm

HARVEST SEASON
The zucchinis, summer squashes and beet greens are all winding down. Tomatoes are coming in, I just dug a second crop of carrots which allowed me to share some with my CSA members, and I’m working hard to process the glut of green beans. I’m eying the pumpkins and squashes with glee, and practically bursting over these Moon & Stars watermelons gaining size in the garden. And through it all I’m still planting more seeds (mustards, asian greens, beets, turnips, radishes, and yes, more carrots) for fall harvests and crops to carry my household into and hopefully through the winter.

MY LOW-TUNNEL MISSION
Last week I wrote about “Fall Planting for Winter Eating and Spring Harvests.” Determined to overwinter a crop of carrots and onions to get a jump on next season, I’m raising funds to cover the materials. Using the $300 “Affordability Payment” from the State of Maine, along with a few small contributions sent, I should be able to make something happen. If you want in on this project, you can make a one-time contribution, no subscription required → PAYPAL or VENMO.

Current: $375 raised of $546

CAR HUNTING
Initially I’d intended to hold off on this until BraeTek had saved a few thousand bucks, but the truck needs to not be an everyday driver. Millie is twenty-two and now that we’ve been using it for a couple of months, I can see that she’s pretty tired. She guzzles automatic transmission fluid for no apparent reason, and smokes something terrible when I start her up. Plus, the idea of driving the truck in snow and ice this winter makes me yearn for another Subie. If we pull the trigger on this sooner than later, that frees up some of BraeTek’s funds to put toward heating fuel this winter AND I can skip replacing the truck’s bald tires which will run me a good $1,000 or more. So I’m searching for a Subie in our price range to get us through.

1K NEW MEMBERS! HOLY 💩!
If you’ve been following for any length of time, you might know that I’m a proud member of the “We Do Not Care Club” created by @justbeingmelanie on Instagram. I share her videos from time to time because I like the way Melanie uses humor to make a point, and when I found her special edition on food, you know I had to share it to Substack Notes.

I never expected that Note to go viral, though—with well over 4,000 likes, nearly 250 comments and more than 700 restacks! Apparently the topic of food resonated with a lot of folks because we’ve had more than 1,000 new subscribers join the Runamuk community and I’ve surged past 2,000 members!

If you’re one of those new members—welcome, and thanks for being here. Runamuk is a working farm in western Maine, where we’ve protected 41 of our 53 acres from development. The goal is to keep this habitat intact for wildlife and open to the public for hiking, birdwatching, picnicking, and general nature-connectedness. I also cultivate a half-acre market garden that supplies a small CSA program and the farmstand that feeds this community.

What I write here is the honest truth about being a solo farmer on a small farm—stories from the garden, the kitchen, and the field, including the money, the successes AND the failures. It all runs across four threads: Real Food, Life in Maine, Women & the Land, and Conservation. You won’t find any curated homestead aesthetic here. Just raw authenticity from a lady-farmer determined to make a difference in her community and the world beyond.

If you want to see it in person, the trails are open to the public and the farmstand will be open through September. If you want the version with the numbers in it, that’s the paid side. Paid subscribers also get the full Vault, monthly Office Hours, and a live workshop every month—next up is the Zone 4 Garlic-In Session on Thursday, September 24th at 4PM EST, walking through exactly how I plant mine, timed so you’ve got it before the planting window closes. Mostly, though, I just hope you stick around. Say hello in the comments.

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On the Precipice of Winter

Sitting cross-legged in the garden I snapped the greens off each of the carrots and put them in the 5-gallon bucket. I still don’t know how I’ll cover the thirteen-hundred gallons, but working in the garden calmed my mind and grounded me to the Earth once more. Stretching my back, I straightened and closed my eyes, inhaling deeply of the fresh mountain air and allowing the breeze to caress my face. I gave thanks to the Universe for the bounty of the garden and the path my journey has taken to give me this farmish-life.

It’s all I’ve ever wanted, but it’s never been easy and it’s much the same for any farmer you might meet. I’m trying hard not to live in fear, to hold onto some semblance of peace. Most days I can. Right now, though, there’s an undercurrent of tension that’s present underneath everything else I’m doing here and I’m not going to pretend there isn’t. I’m sure I’m not the only one in this situation, either. Maybe you’re looking at the state of the economy and the cost of heating fuel as we stand on the precipice of another winter season, and you’re feeling much the same as I am—anxious and worried.

But I’ll keep growing food, and we’ll worry about the rest of it in the order it comes due.

Until next week, farm friends.

Sending love and good juju to you and yours.

Your friendly neighborhood farmer,

—Sam

P.S. — Join me LIVE on Substack at 4pm today, Sunday August 30th to see or listen to the read-aloud version of this farm-update, then stick around for an open-access Q&A. Hope to see you there!

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🫶Ways to Support Runamuk

1. Upgrade to a paid subscription at Substack. It’s what makes this work possible—and it gets you the full Vault, monthly Office Hours, and a live workshop every month.
2. Make a one-time contribution toward the farm and our wildlife conservation work through PayPal or Venmo.
3. Send us something off Runamuk’s Amazon Wish List! OR send me a gift for my birthday! I’ll be 46 on September 5th!