Founder, Orais Hand Farm, Lower Coast Algiers
Kristian Bailey is a farmer, and he also considers himself a land steward and teacher. At Orais Hand Farm, located across the road from the Mississippi River, he is trying to move away from the idea of human dominion over nature. Instead, he is working in cooperation with it.
Kristian talks about farming with “tenderness”: recognizing that Southern land carries wounds (his own farm is on a former plantation site) and that part of his job is to help heal those wounds.
Founder, Orais Hand Farm, Lower Coast Algiers
For example, he uses native legumes like hairypod cowpea as cover crops. “I think it’s unique to kind of allow our space to—we like to call it down here, ‘go feral,’” Kristian says. “A space that has been cultivated by you is now being essentially cultivated by nature, where you allow it to do what it wants to do. And your goal or responsibility is to monitor and be there and be a part of it, but also be away from it.”
Among the crops Kristian raises is indigo, which he makes into dye. He teaches indigo dyeing classes, too. This is a loaded choice: The indigo boom of the mid-18th century accelerated the importation of enslaved Africans, including his own ancestors. But for Kristian, growing indigo taps into a longer cultural tradition. “These plants have such a storied, wonderful history, but also a storied negative history,” he says. “It’s about deciding which one that I want to highlight or which one that I want to nurture.”
When he farms, Kristian feels the presence of those ancestors. Sometimes he’ll be in the fields on an oppressively hot day and the weather will turn overcast and cool. “And I have this thought that I’ve been tossing around in my head: Maybe there’s people in the ancestral plane that are like, ‘Give him a little bit of shade. Give him a little bit of reprieve.’”
On the meaning of stewardship:
“I am often surprised by what a place will look like with your own input, but also what it could look like without you. We’re here right now in this moment. But at some point, we won’t be. And at some point, there might not be any people around here. Or maybe at some point the river will reclaim this spot.
“We have to think about that in the context, too, of climate change. But my role, right now, I feel is about stewarding things to the best of my ability and learning from the mistakes that I’ve made in terms of how to steward a place. In that context, for me, that looks like minimal intervention, deep observation, and time.
“Something that really makes me feel good about the things that I do is that I try to really limit my inputs in terms of what I’m using while I’m farming. At some point, I would like to do no plastic. I’ve never used landscape fabric. I would like to go away from using tarps. They’re an incredible tool for a no-till operation. They’re really, really good. But at the end of the day, hey, this plastic has to go somewhere at some point.”
“In terms of how to steward a place, for me, that looks like minimal intervention, deep observation, and time.”
On low-tech tools:
“Crazy enough, I started scything three years ago. I say scythe and people are like, ‘Hmm?’ My mom calls it a sickle. She’s like, ‘Where’s your sickle?’
“It started with me being like, dang, this is kind of cool. It’s a cool tool. There’s a cool history behind it.
“I remember it being 2 o’clock in the morning and I’m watching YouTube videos of people in Austria, or something like that, scything. It started with that: How can I relate to it in my own context? Where do I get a scythe from? Where can I learn how to do this thing? And then I just bought one and I started to teach myself the movement.
“The first element of it was me scything all the grass and collecting the hay and then using that as a hay mulch for the field instead of buying a whole bunch of compost. Compost is great, but sometimes you don’t know where the compost is coming from. There’s a lot of things that can happen in terms of persistent herbicides and pesticides. But I was like, ‘Oh, I can do a cool thing with a cool tool, learn a skill, and also make a by-product from the same place.’ I’m always trying my best to close the loop.
“I think places have this kind of spirit. The hours that I spent out here scything, it means something to me. I know this might sound kind of heady, but also I think it means something to the space.”
From John:
We met Kristian at his farm and the skies threatened rain. As he gave Barry and the interns a tour of the farm, I set up a portrait that took advantage of the dramatic skies. It all happened quickly. I stood in for my own lighting test shot and called for the others to hurry. We fired off a few frames, and then the rain began.
We set up for the interview in the covered entry of a shed on the property and both Barry and Kristian sat on overturned buckets as they talked. You’ll hear traffic passing on the nearby highway in the audio recording. You might hear a little thunder, too. Over the nearby levee, and above the elevation at which we sat, you could occasionally watch the top of a freight ship—and once a cruise ship—pass by on the Mississippi River.
At one point, Kristian said, “In terms of how to steward a place, for me, that looks like minimal intervention, deep observation, and time.” Later, one of our interns reflected, “I think the same is true of good interviews.”
Anatomy of a photo test:
Expose for the sky by itself.
Place your hand in the frame to see what the silhouette looks like without lighting.
Place your hand in the frame to get the exposure right with lighting.
Shoot a selfie as a final test of lighting while simultaneously calling to the others that “We’re ready, and running out of time!”
Make the real portrait.
To read the introduction to this series, follow this link. Still Here: Stories from a fragile coast
To listen to our podcast, follow this link or find us on the platform of your choice. A Peace of My Mind on Buzzsprout
Credits:
Interview and text: Barry Yeoman
Photos: John Noltner
Editing and production: summer interns Kate West, Sawyer Garrison, and Kaitlin Imai
Audio engineering: Razik Saifullah
Indigo… “cover crop” as a verb…. Tenderness about story, about connections past present future…the importance of connections/bumping into people (similar to Chief Devon Parfait’s story). Loved hearing this interview Barry, and the photo John. Thanks for your good work.
Thanks for the kind words Betsy!