As the West Wind Blows
Zephyros Farm and Garden dedicates itself to the trials and triumphs of organic farming
by Stewart Oksenhorn

For all the good organic farms produce, the truth be told, it is still a hard life.  Don Lareau and Daphne Yannakakis did not pick the easiest road when they decided to create an organic farm in Delta County. The days they put in at Zephyros, the 35-acre spread in Paonia that they established in 2003, are long ones, as they raise vegetables (tomatoes, greens, broccoli and more) and flowers. Even in the supposed down-time of winter, Lareau and Yannakakis—a married couple of 34-year-olds—are tending to their greenhouse, or working on several projects to upgrade their infrastructure.  Organic farming in Colorado is a relatively young notion, compared to California, Oregon and Vermont, meaning that the collective knowledge about Colorado’s vast natural challenges—Lareau lists the cold, altitude, alkaline soil, sun and iffy water supplies—has only begun to accumulate.

Even in corners one would assume to be nothing but hospitable to committed organic farmers, the couple has found measures of resistance. At the Aspen Saturday Market, the Zephyros stand has been limited almost entirely, because of space constraints imposed on them, to selling flowers, meaning that their extensive bounty of vegetables is devoted elsewhere, like the Telluride Farmers’ Market. (Lareau says that, with several farmers dropping out of the Aspen market this summer, Zephyros will be given a bigger space, enough to stock at least some of their varieties of heirloom tomatoes.)

Most indicative of the challenge of running an organic farm is that Lareau has had to take another job—designing irrigation systems for the National Resource Conservation Service. He is grateful that the work he does can be applied to Zephyros, though he would prefer to spend the time on his own farm. Lareau and Yannakakis are continually looking at ways to increase the revenue from Zephyros; they have instituted a CSA (Community Supported Agriculture) program, allowing consumers to buy into a share of the farm’s output.

“It’s a struggle,” summed up Lareau. Yet the load of chores and the financial realities haven’t left Lareau discouraged. Asked about the outlook for Zephyros, and organic farming generally, he lit up with optimism.  “I think the potential is amazing,” he said. “People want to know where their food is coming from, how it’s grown. They’re interested in learning and knowing.”

To Lareau, the current fearsome world trends—the changing climate, energy costs, potentially disrupted supply chains—all point toward an increased reliance on what he supplies. Small farms focus on a local market—Zephyros’ entire output is distributed within a few contiguous counties—making transport costs relatively small.

“As those things take effect, they’ll have to know how to get food locally.  They might have to learn how to eat seasonal products,” he said. “It’s almost a security thing. You run out of diesel fuel, or the road closes for a few days, and the shelves run empty: What do you do then?”

He poses the issue in theoretical terms, but Lareau has witnessed firsthand just how eager people are to get closer to their food supplies. In March, Zephyros—named for the Greek god associated with the western winds, and with spring—held a tour of their greenhouse. Those who attended weren’t merely curious. Lareau says virtually all of them were there to learn how to create a greenhouse of their own.

Lareau’s interest in the land and what it could produce began as a kid. He grew up in what he now calls “the other Colorado”—meaning the urbanized Front Range. But he says the home, in the Castle Rock area south of Denver, was removed just far enough from the cityscape that his family shared a three-quarters-acre garden with a neighboring family.

Tending the garden was a chore. “I always wondered why we couldn’t plant the weeds that grew vegetables,” jokes Lareau now—but he also says that early experience was the seed for a life of agriculture.

Lareau doesn’t know how organic that home garden was. It was in college, at Portland’s Lewis & Clark, his eyes were opened to something other than conventional, commercial agriculture. It was a multi-pronged attack: the college diet, heavy on McDonald’s, led to frequent illnesses; in the classroom, he took a course in ecology where the teacher illuminated environmental principles by comparing conventional growing with organic methods.

“That turned us on to a different way of looking at agriculture,” said Lareau, who became a vegetarian. “I learned a lot about the differences between the two systems.”

Lareau earned a degree in biology, and the education persuaded him that organic was the way to go. In California’s Sonoma County, he took a job at a farm that grew organic mushrooms.

Meanwhile, Daphne Yannakakis was discovering a similar path for herself. She had also earned a degree in biology in Portland, though at Reed College. Yannakakis and Lareau didn’t meet until 2001, when the two attended the same wedding. Their interests overlapped almost completely—Yannakakis at the time was working in a German nursery, growing perennial flowers with old-fashioned techniques—and within two years they were married, had two kids, located some land in rural Colorado, and launched Zephyros Farm and Garden.

In Paonia, Lareau and Yannakakis find themselves surrounded by a culture that supports the kind of agriculture they want to practice.  One of the lures of Delta County was the presence of the Valley Organic Growers Association, whose directory of members was impressively long. Moreover, the couple has found that the attitude among the VOGA members is surprisingly supportive of new farmers.

“In other businesses, people hoard their secrets,” said Lareau, who has become a VOGA board member. “This is different. There’s something about the fact that what we’re doing is so difficult, that you have to share information.”

Perhaps the most difficult aspect of the job is shaking consumers out of their habit of shopping for the lowest-cost product. It is practically inevitable that organic produce from a small-scale farm will cost more than commercially grown food.

“We’ve been raised by a mind-set: Get the best deal you can,” said Lareau. “People aren’t willing to pay what’s needed for organic food.  You’ve got to convince people it’s worth their while to pay that extra money.”

Part of that process is simply providing good food. The pride of Zephyros seems to be the tomatoes—nearly 20 heirloom varieties. Each year, the farm expands its offerings; this year, they will be selling eggplant, cabbage, broccoli, beets and more. Lareau has also been pushed by one of his favorite customers, Mark Fischer, chef-owner of Carbondale’s Restaurant Six89 and Phat Thai, to experiment with more exotic plants.  Some have succeeded, others have not. At least, not yet. Zephyros has also added a small flock of goats, sheep and chickens to its operation.  Lareau finds it easy to be encouraged by developments around him.  He points to recent research that seems to refute the accepted wisdom that conventional farming will necessarily bring a bigger yield of crops.  Lareau looks at his small farm, at its relatively small output, and at organic farming in the same way: It’s a fight, but the way ahead looks ever brighter.

“They’re living systems that have to grow,” said Lareau. He was speaking specifically of his farm, but his words seemed to have broader resonance. “So it takes awhile for organic systems to grow, especially in places that have been bombarded with pesticides, herbicides and inorganic fertilizers for decades.

“You’re basically starting with death, and you’ve got to grow life on top of that.” •

Stewart Oksenhorn is the arts and entertainment editor of The Aspen Times and a committed connoisseur of local foods.