Potomac Vegetable Farms Vienna, Virginia When I was growing up my parents had “kiddie jobs” for us – jobs suitable for people of our size and ability. One of them was milking our Guernsey cow, Emma. Sometimes, as I sat with my head against her smelly side, in the dark shed after dinner, I thought to myself, “There is no one else in my whole school doing this right now.” I am sure I was right.

Our farm was, and is, in the suburbs of Washington, D.C. – my three siblings and I had an unusual childhood, for this area. Sometimes we felt lucky, and sometimes we didn’t. We had to work a lot, compared to other children we knew. There were the chores, which we did not get paid for, and there was the regular farm work – we were paid like the workers, by the hour or by the piece. Chores were the tasks that were unrelated to income – collecting kindling, shelling corn, helping in the house. Farm work, which included “kiddie jobs,” was everything else from raking and baling hay to packing tomatoes in the evenings. When we were little, our parents never asked us to work all day, or even for very extended periods of time. Like most children, we complained when we were bored or hot or tired. We all knew that our help was really needed – not that we always wanted to be of help, but we knew we were an important part of the scene. For example, all summer long, first thing every morning, every worker on the farm picked corn. Starting at age six or so, it was a “kiddie job” to drive the tractor which pulled the wagon through the field. I remember my mother waking me up before dawn on the weekend mornings when there would often be three wagon loads to fill.

As we outgrew that job (it was pretty boring) we would graduate to being one of the cornpickers. Much more demanding, much wetter, and really more fun than sitting on a tractor trying to stay awake. We certainly spent a big chunk of our days hiding from our parents, reading, out of sight, or playing in the woods. But we also made a big, steady contribution to the farm. Money was some incentive, but being with all the workers and being a part of the farm community was much more motivating to me. I liked being a part of the work and the workers so much that I spent every summer on the farm, through college and beyond. My siblings also spent all their summers on the farm, but eventually they all went on to graduate school and “real” jobs. Now I have three children of my own, and I am still running this farm with my mother. Even though we live less than a five-minute walk away from the fields of my childhood, my kids are definitely not re-living my life. Their days are filled with music lessons and school stuff, and while I do limit their activities, I spend a lot of time driving them around. They know how to work at the farmers’ markets and our roadside stand, and I am trying to make sure they know how to do the most basic tasks. They are not all that interested. They love having the farm and being a part of it, but I have failed them somehow.

My oldest is 14, and I know it’s not too late, but by the time I was his age, I could do almost everything I can do now (without the benefit of the wisdom which comes with aging). He has many skills and talents, but very few that pertain to growing vegetables. I have promised myself that this summer I will integrate my children, and their cousins (my sister’s kids) who live right next door, into the farm labor pool. I told them that during the school year I will pay them for every “mobilization.” Every time I ask them to help with something, even if it only takes 20 minutes, I will pay a set price. For the oldest cousin, who is 15 and very competent, this means he will earn $5. The youngest, my 9-year-old, will earn $2.50. That price is also their hourly wage. (Our farm gave up the piece rate system years ago, as it began to feel more competitive than team-building.) I will make a concerted effort to get them into the field with me. They like going to markets, and they will be an integral part of that team this year. I want to be sure that these children learn enough about the farm, and work, to know whether they might someday want to choose to do this. They probably won’t, for all the obvious reasons, but I would be extremely remiss as a parent/aunt if I didn’t teach them enough to make an informed choice.

Part of being informed is learning that money cannot really be the motivating force in farming. They will be compensated for their contribution, but clearly our farm wages will never be able to compete with the pay scale of the outside world. Our farm has changed drastically in one generation – the farm is now in its 40th season. We have the luxury of enjoying more balance between farm time and family time. My husband has an outside job, which helps us to maintain that balance (I rarely cook dinner during the farm season, I must confess). I remember when my parents worked 16 hours a day, 7 days a week. It’s not like that anymore. We now try to make our farm life just one part of the story, and as a result, our kids have lives of their own.