The FarmEverything begins with the land Tucked into a narrow valley in the Rocky Mountains in NW Montana, between the towns of Libby and Kalispell lives Dragon's Breath Farm. On the western edge of the valley flows a small river that carries the crisp, snow melt down from the Cabinet Mountain Wilderness. Our only neighbors are a forest of Spruce, Larch, Douglas Fir, Cottonwood, Aspen, Alder, Willow, Hawthorne, Saskatoon, and Snowberry, herds of Elk and White Tailed Deer, Grizzlies and Black Bears, the passing Lions, Wolves, and Eagles, and the resident Ravens, Minks, and all the various Rodents that take refuge under the barn and the grass tufts in the field.
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The core of the farm is the 100 year old hand-hewn log cabin that was built from the trees felled to clear the field, the 60 year old wooden barn (it goes that it blew down while they were building it), and the 3 year old geodesic dome greenhouse; each lending their own layers of long-forgotten craftsmanship, modern utility, and a sense of futuristic whimsy. But the heart of the farm, any farm, is always the land. The soil I plant seeds into, the home for their roots, the place that all life depends upon. The key to healthy land is healthy soil and it all depends on keeping those little creepy crawlies, both macro and micro, healthy and happy.
Every method I use, every fence line, every foot print I place upon the land is guided by what will keep the land, and thus all those creatures that live on and in it, healthy and happy (including you and me). From the lack of perimeter fence (so the larger creatures can walk through, bed down, and graze freely) to the hedges and plantings of perennial shrubs and flowering forbes (that give food and shelter for insects, rodents, and birds and diversity of life for the living soil and all it’s microbes), my role as farmer is not to impose control over the land but to observe and learn from it so we can both grow together.
My methods change as I learn, experiment, and adjust to the needs of the land so it can be hard to label and classify the farm as ‘no till’, ‘regenerative’ ‘organic’ etc. I can rattle of a few descriptive terms that busy customers need to understand the value of the food and flowers I harvest, but I prefer a chance to open their minds and hearts to the ultimate complexity and connectedness that lies between all those terms and methods. These terms are also essentially a re-branding of methods long understood and used by indigenous peoples around the globe that have been only recently ‘discovered’ by the children of the settlers (like me) and are used without any recognition of their source, thus helping to continue the erasure and marginalization of indigenous communities and the belittling of their knowledge. I wish to live upon this land is a manner that shows not only the land but it's people that those whose ancestors were settlers can learn a 'new old way' and that our footsteps and handprints can (and want to) help heal wounds long created, still ongoing, and often ignored through arrogance and/or ignorance.
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I sow many different plants, both edible and decorative, into this soil. From April through October, beds full of veggies, cut flowers, and herbs grow under the long Montana days and the cool nights, that often bring a frost even in July. We all get buffeted by the strong winds that get pulled down from the mountains and battered by the hail storms that sweep through without much warning. The plants and I are in this together, I support them and they support me.
The Farmermy role is to observe, learn, and guideWhile my parents may have named me Megan Leach, most around here call me Farmer Meg. My title became official in 2018 when I founded Dragon’s Breath Farm but I have been caring for plants for a lot longer.
My early childhood was spent wandering the rolling hills (covered in flowering Lupine and California Poppy), Redwood groves (filled with tiny streams and crawling newts), and sandy beaches (the cold kind with dangerous riptides and colorful pebbles under foot) of the North Bay in California. I yearned to learn the names of the trees, plants, and animals so I did, first from my father and eventually from field guides and id books. Some of my earliest memories revolve around those Redwoods and how I would play and wander among them, even sometimes sitting still in their center, eyes closed as I swayed in the wind that shook their canopy, ‘talking’ to my forest friends. They were some of my first teachers in the way the forests, fields, and flowers seep into your soul and never leave. |
While still in grade school, my parents and I moved to North Idaho and I met different trees and flowers (like Cottonwood and Aspen, Saskatoon and Lady Slippers), gaining new teachers and learning what snow-filled winters were like. I left for college in Seattle where I originally studied engineering but left with a degree in Earth and Space Sciences (also known as Geology) and met some more new friends in the giant Cedars of the Northwest. By then my parents had moved back to the North Bay in California to live nearer to aging grandparents and new grandchildren. After spending time revisiting my old friends, the Redwoods, I traveled around the Mountain West helping with bird research in the high prairies filled with Sagebrush and sand. I hoped for a career that used my expensive degree so I enrolled in Graduate School in Alaska and studied permafrost and climate change. It was a great place to study frozen soil, but it was also a great place to learn mountaineering, ice climbing, and hike on the open tundra with the Grizzlies and Wolves. Thus I spent a little too much time enjoying the outdoors instead of studying it and returned to California without a second degree, but I had met new friends like White and Black Spruce, Sun Dogs, and very short winter days that held a rainbow sky filled with the dancing Northern Lights.
When I returned to California, I moved into the big house with my grandma and soon learned that the recent loss of my grandfather had let her mind become consumed with dementia. I lived with and cared for her the next 7 years while I worked a full-time day job. I had less and less time to go visit my friends in the woods and it was then that I decided I wanted a life where my job was to live in the woods and be surrounded by my plant and animal friends. I filled the yard with veggies, flowers, and chickens in what I referred to as my apprenticeship. When I brought in vases with aromatic Sweet Peas or opened the curtains wide so my grandma could see the busy hens and the green veggies, I saw how those sights and smells would awaken her mind and bring moments of clarity and remembrance.
Upon her passing, the search for farmland began and with my background in Climate Geology, I knew that much of the West Coast would have hardships in water availability, fires, and land access. Thus the Rockies, the backbone of this continent, is my home once again. And here, on the edge of my farm, I have my friends White and Black Spruce, Cedar, Cottonwood, Lupines, Grizzlies, Lions, & Wolves, Sagebrush, Saskatoon, and snow. I also have new friends in Lettuce, Spinach, and Swiss Chard, Cosmos, Lilies, and Tulips, Echinacea, Lemon Balm, and Astragalus. They can be your friends too. The only friend I lack is Redwood, my first and possibly most important friend, but maybe someday I will plant a seed and see if they too can learn to grow here, just as I have, so that we may grow together. |
The Farm HelpersEven if the day-to-day tasks and chores are all done by me, Farmer Meg, I will take all the help I can get. First and foremost are my parents, Donna and Bradley. They visit every summer and have been integral to starting up the farm and accomplishing all the initial tasks like building maintenance and, well, building, making sure the fence posts are straight, stacking firewood, bed shaping, mowing, and trash removal. All those tasks that help free my time for more planting, growing, and harvesting.
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The Ducks, Hens, Drakes, and Roosters fill the air with their songs, quacks, and cackles. They provide delicious golden-yolked eggs and help the soil in the process by creating a scattered mild disturbance and spreading their own custom fertilizer. They are pastured in the summer in their specially developed huts and runs that are light enough to be moved by a human (that’s me!) and provide the protection the birds need from the other, bigger birds that fly over and the sharp toothed animals that walk through the valley, while being cozy enough for sub zero winter temps and with enough room to waddle and scratch during the 4-5 months of snow cover when their hut and runs stay stuck in the snowpack. |
And then there’s Hella, the farm kitty. Also known as Baby Hella, Bubkins, and Baby Precious. She manages the barn rodents and the field rodents and the cabin rodents. There’s a lot of rodents everywhere and I don’t mind them except when their popluations bloom with the mild winters. Hella keeps them in check and keeps too many from trying to live in the nooks and crannies of an old log cabin. She is also a great nap buddy and chicken herder as she follows me out into the pasture and the fields and comes when called in at night or when the Wolves howl from the ridge tops. You can usually find her near where I am working, using her own special talents and methods of helping. |
in memoryheart and mindThe best elderly, blind farm dog. I'll only call him a farm dog since he is a dog, on a farm. He is an excellent hunter, his only prey is poop: silent, remains still, but is stinky! His main jobs are looking cute, being fluffy, and looking cute. He excels at all three. Sadly, Leo passed away peacefully in June 2019. He was adopted as a senior and added so much to my life and understanding and appreciation of older animals (even the human kind) that I encourage everyone to give an older animal a chance. He still could run circles on me but always wanted cuddles and nap time too, the perfect companion for a busy human!
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