As a young person, I wanted to be part of the climate solution, so I became a farmer. Digging into relationship with and reliance on the Earth itself is a way to accomplish something tangible in the service of climate stewardship, even when governments and corporations fail to act on the scale that we need. 

It is to a farm’s own benefit to enhance soil life and soil fertility. This is best accomplished by increasing organic matter in the soil, which sequesters carbon. (Carbon sequestration is the process of capturing and storing carbon dioxide from the atmosphere, removing it from circulation and preventing it from contributing to climate change.) 

Good farming is good for the climate and for culture.

There are a number of ways to increase organic matter in the soil. Growing cover crops and not tilling are two common practices. My farm raises vegetables on two acres with organic, no-till methods. 

Rotational grazing is also beneficial. When our sheep go through our pasture, they eat the grass and leave the roots and their droppings, both of which add to soil life. The grass grows right back, sucking more carbon out of the atmosphere. 

But the agricultural practice most useful for sequestering carbon is growing trees. Planting trees was what motivated me to view farming as a long-term possibility for my life and to access landownership. 

Trees are good in so many ways:
— They are rooted to a place and grow for years, responding to the conditions of their place and creating what that place becomes.
— They eat the air, incorporating carbon into their bodies and ultimately giving it to the soil, which makes the soil more alive and fertile.
— They produce fruit: food for people, for livestock, for wildlife.

At Tent of Nations, the farm I lived at this winter near Bethlehem in Palestine, the primary crops are all perennial: olives, grapes, figs, almonds, citrus fruits, even apricots. They represent a legacy from the past and a promise to the future. 

And they represent culture. Because of that, the trees are targets of Israeli state aggression, with thousands of trees uprooted or burned over the years. The Palestinians replant, resisting genocide, whenever and wherever they are able.

Where I live in Iowa, we don’t get to have olives, figs, almonds or citrus, and I’ve been unlucky getting grapes established. But we can plant other trees. 

My farm has about 200 young chestnut trees and a two-acre orchard of 5-year-old apple trees that are about to start bearing fruit. We are growing a couple of rows of hazelnuts and a handful of pears, peaches, plums and cherries. 

Our pasture is dotted with baby oak trees, which will grow someday into a savanna that provides shade for the sheep and habitat for a diversity of wildlife. 

As these trees come into production, I am hopeful not only about their ability to sequester carbon and be resilient to climate impacts but also about their ability to grow and ground the culture of my local community.

I think of the trees that I plant as a gift to the future. Many of them will outlive me, if I keep them alive through their first years. The creatures, human and not, who inhabit this place after me will benefit from their shade, their food and the healthier soils they create.

Last week, we planted 24 apple trees. Right now, we plant trees with any extra money that we have from the income from our vegetable enterprise. I hope that someday those apples provide us with some income, maybe even enough to make up for the money we spend on the trees themselves and our labor caring for them. 

But tree planting, for me, is a spiritual practice, a practice of tending to a future that is abundant and generous and humane and resilient. It is a culture that can neither be legislated nor bought, but only grown in faith.

Hannah Breckbill (she/they) loves to show up, to go deep and to channel the power of relationships into right-sized action. She dedicates her community involvement to developing ever-better alternatives to conventional systems. She is a worker-owner with Humble Hands Harvest, a diversified direct-market farm in rural northeast Iowa, and is grateful for rain.