The Beauty of Silent Cacophony

I always say I’m happiest when I’m elbows deep in manure, so I decided to put that theory to the test. Through a mix of my Jewish and equine connections, I found myself at Eden Farms Hawaii at the Seeger Institute, located in the Puna district of the Big Island. It’s a regenerative farm owned, stewarded, and loved by the inimitable Gary Rosenberg – a musician/handyman/occasional mohel/farrier-turned-farmer with a relentless passion for restoring the land. 

Gary and Cowgirl

Gary operates on the belief that Earth was in balance 10,000 years ago, before the Agrarian Revolution (i.e., human intervention) disrupted it. His mission: restore that balance, and thus, the climate. Eden Farms is a living laboratory, a 38-acre off-grid experiment in soil rehabilitation and farming with the goal of restoring the land so it sustains life long after traditional agriculture has exhausted the soil.

And this place is alive. Nearly 1,000 creatures – hens and roosters, goats and sheep, ducks and geese, horses and donkeys, bees, and pigs. So many pigs. They roam freely, coexisting in a delicate, self-sustaining ecosystem. No antibiotics, no hormones, no anti-parasitics – just balanced soil creating resilient animals (which in turn balances the soil). Because when the earth is healthy, everything else follows.

Parade of the piggies

This is Squish. He was bottle raised without other animals and unfortunately doesn't realize that he's a goat. He spends most of his day hanging out with the chickens and head butting people who don't give him enough pets.

There’s a fine line between passion and obsession, and Gary straddles (and often crosses) it daily. He tirelessly advocates to anyone who will listen that we need to create communities that implement holistic carbon-sequestering systems that improve soil conditions and nurture biodiversity (more life begetting more complex life) while simplifying our lives, believing that this holds the key to restoring climate balance, ensuring the soil is arable in 50 years, and strengthening societal relationships. He's not wrong and persuading people that our food system needs a complete overhaul is no easy task.

Rather than adhering to conventional farming methods, he listens to what the land and animals need and attempts to meet them in a way that restores rather than depletes the environment. His methods are unconventional – like planting in contour with the land instead of rows, getting pigs to stomp down the foundation of newly dug ponds for irrigation channels (working smarter, not harder), or hauling in fish scraps (reducing waste) and spreading them onto fields before planting. The sight is disgusting, the stench is overwhelming, and the swarms of flies and maggots make your stomach turn. But there’s a reason behind everything he does (and often a compelling one, no matter how many holes I tried to poke). The nitrogen from the fish burns down invasive growth, the pigs feast and churn the soil with their hooves, and the maggots are a favorite meal for the chickens. No fertilizer, no tilling – just nature working as it’s supposed to. The cycle continues: rich soil grows nutrient-dense grass, which feeds the animals, whose healthy waste (shockingly odorless) nourishes the crops.

Field with newly planted papaya and avocado trees

Years of mucking horse stalls has desensitized me to manure, so I dove right in. I eagerly handled unglamorous yet deeply fulfilling chores of farm life: sweeping and collecting goat and chicken manure then using it to plant seeds, caring for newborn goats and sheep, protecting chicks from mongooses (yes, that’s the correct plural), transplanting crops, driving a mule (ATV, not the animal), wielding a chainsaw, whacking weeds, shooting rifles, and starting horses, just to list a few. I found immense joy meditating in the greenhouse, enveloped by the calming cacophony of silence punctuated by rooster crows, goat bleats, and the occasional donkey bray. I became more comfortable with death, a constant reality in this world, and placed animals that had passed beneath trees, returning them to the land to fuel new growth.

This was the first time Leah had a person on her back.

From day one, Gary and I clicked. I found myself drawn to the farm, spending nearly every spare moment absorbing his lessons on carbon sequestration and land restoration, while engaging in hours of philosophical discussions about how humans are both the problem and solution to our current existential crisis (more the problem these days). And lavishing love on Winston.

Did anything come of my crush on this hyper-intelligent and mercurial Jewish farmer? I plead the fifth. Luckily, a house filled with fluctuating numbers and species of animals, a distinct whiff of eau de prepper, and a man singularly obsessed with tilting at windmills saved me from myself. Eventually.

Tūtū Pele, the revered Hawaiian goddess of creation and destruction, wields immense power. Her lessons can sweep you up in their intensity, but if you listen, they also will illuminate what truly matters to you. The heart of her energy is in Kīlauea, the active volcano located in Puna that she calls home, and her force is especially potent throughout the district.

Pele took hold of me at Eden Farms, which is squarely in her jurisdiction. I was completely caught up in life there and ignored the increasing number of red flags waving right in front of me. She also showed me what’s important. Working with farm animals – check. Tending to the land – check. Embracing a quieter existence in community – check. Repeating patterns, behaviors, and relationships that have never served me – a hard pass.

Of course, lessons often come the hard way. At first, I didn’t listen, so Pele escalated the message each time. I strained my back lifting feed bags, damaged my car on the farm’s rough roads, and even endured a bout of scabies (do not recommend). But I wasn’t deterred until I was knocked hard to the ground by horses* and ran out of patience with the increasing tension between me and the farmer. Pele had been screaming at me that it was time to move on, and I finally surrendered. 

There’s growth in knowing when it’s time to leave, even when it still has a hold on your heart. Eden Farms will always be my happy pIace and Gary continues to send me homework assignments on restorative farming and preventing the end of civilization as we know it, which I sometimes complete.

I cherish every moment I spent at Eden Farms and am deeply grateful for all I learned, carrying those lessons to wherever I land next.

*The fall shook me physically and emotionally. Afterward, I laid down on the earth to release the shock, grateful I wasn’t hurt worse (yes, Mom, I was checked out at the ER). When I lifted my head, I saw a flock of sheep standing about 20 feet away, their eyes locked on me until they were sure that I was okay. Animals always know and I’m thankful for their vigilance and care.

Different sheep