Farmer Will Scot takes a break in the shade on his farm near Fresno, Ca
By Andrea Blum • Photo by Andrea Blum
Consider the black-eyed pea: a white legume with a black eye brought by ships from Africa to the West Indies and then to the American South, where it evolved into the bedrock of African-American cuisine-the foundation of soul food. From slaves to sharecroppers and finally to the family farmer, the historical trajectory of the pea is a parallel narrative to the people who grew and cooked them.
Today, the African-American farmer is a part of a dying breed of American culture. Nationally, within the last 50 years, the number of black farmers has declined by 95 percent. Of the 76,500 farms in California, only 336 of them are owned by African Americans. Under the radar of even the most judicious Bay Area shopper, these farmers have remained unseen and their produce mostly untouched by their city kin. But to the credit of one inspired San Francisco restaurateur, Jay Foster, owner of Farmer Brown, this narrative arc might take a positive turn.
Farmer Brown is an organic soul food restaurant in the Tenderloin district of San Francisco that sources much of its produce directly from African-American farmers and serves the best Fulton Valley fried chicken, cornbread, and southern greens you can find. Foster, who started Emmy's Spaghetti Shack and Blue Jay Cafe, opened Farmer Brown as a way to showcase the origins and quality of southern soul food and in his words, "to remind people that the root of our [African-American] culture is the farm and family." Fearing that the root of his history was going to disappear, he decided to seek out black farmers. "It hit me in the face," he said of the concept. "I found that this was my calling and what I had to do." Through David Roach and his non-profit organization, Mo' Better Foods in Oakland, Foster found his farmers at the Mandela Farmers' Market bringing farm fresh food to the inner-city doorstep.
One of those farmers is Will Scott. I met him for the first time on a market day selling fresh black-eyed peas, okra, and greens from his modest stand on an Oakland sidewalk. Then I met him again at his five-acre farm off a flat, endless road outside of Fresno, where Hmong-owned farms and new developments dot the dusty landscape. Scott, 66, who is tall and lean with a salt and pepper beard, wears blue jeans, black boots, and a hardy straw hat to shade his eyes from the piercing sun, and seems to speak only as he hoes the weeds. His cadence is smooth and thoughtful. He leans on his tool for a pause, looking at the collards that have gone to seed, and tells me that farming has always been a part of his life: "My father was a sharecropper in Okalahoma," he said. "Then we came to Fresno to pick fruit and cotton. I grew up in the cotton fields going to the gin with my grandfather." He left farming early to go to school, then got drafted and went to Vietnam, "fighting for democracy for someone else without enjoying the same rights at home," he said calmly, referring to the struggles of the Civil Right Era. When he returned from the war, he worked as an engineer. Then, in the early 70s, he bought his first five acres, a red Massey Ferguson tractor, and slowly got back to the land.
Now he's got 20 more acres and is president of the African American Farmers AssociationÑa consortium of just 36 black growers scattered throughout the San Joaquin and Central Valley. Scott and his fellow farmers, who have historic roots in the area, came together ten years ago to cull their resources and use their numbers to get what they need to survive as small farmers.
Historically, through economic and social barriers like racism, and now an aging population, black farmers have had a rougher ride than the usual struggle associated with the trade. Many have lost their farms due to loan discrimination and denial of federal programs through the USDA. A class action lawsuit filed by black farmers nationwide ended in 1999 with a $2.3 billion settlement from the USDA, who admitted to systematic racism against black farmers. (It gave farmers who came forward as much as fifty thousand dollars as restitution. Some are still collecting.) For this and other reasons, African-American farmers have little trust in accessing the government-run programs that could aid them. They tend to be gun shy, resigned to the idea that one must struggle on one's own. Take Al Smith, former president of the AAFA, whose family moved to Fowler in the Central Valley from Liberia in 1912 (after Marcus Garvey's Liberian airlift), opening a dairy and farming alfalfa, corn, and grapes. "When I tell people I'm a farmer, they are shocked. They say, ÔWhat do you really do? Do you have a garden?' And I tell them I farm 100 acres!" And that image follows farmers like Smith into the banks and onto applications for loans. "Imagine if you go into a bank for a loan and no one believes you are a farmer?" Scott admitted it was even hard to find farmers to join their organization. "They just keep to themselves," he said. The lawsuit, however, left a list of 20,000 people that became a resource for the organization and for people like Ken Grimes, of the Natural Resources Conservation Service, an extension of the USDA, who reaches out to help these farmers organize and get access to the programs and markets they need.
So last fall on Mandela Parkway, a barren stretch of land in West Oakland that is home to the Mo' Better Foods Farmers' Market, I bought some fresh black-eyed peas for the first time in my life. A New York chef friend, born in Tennessee, was visiting and craved them. Proving that California could provide any produce he desired, I gifted him a pound direct from Scott's farm. "This is rare," Foster told me. "You can't get southern greens or peas in California." This year Scott is growing other southern specialties for his new market and for Foster, who is nurturing his cultural cuisine by finding and supplying Scott with rare seeds (with the aid of CUESA). Try crowder peas, lady peas, and pole beans, as well dandelion, turnip, young tender collard greens, okra, and peppers). For the tomatoes, Scott waits until the first frost to collect his green tomatoes that fall from the vine, which Foster then transforms into chutney or chow chow, an African-American pickled relish that goes on just about anything. Come watermelon season, Scott will deliver Tom Watson's, a southern watermelon variety that is smaller and sweeter than its zeppelin-like cousin. Perfect for those watermelon margaritas at the restaurant.
So consider the black-eyed pea next time you walk through the Tenderloin on your visit to Farmer Brown and remember what Foster told me, "Sometimes it takes crossing a desert to reach an oasis." You'll know what I mean when you get there.
Farmer Brown
25 Mason @ Market
San Francisco
415-409-FARM
www.farmerbrownsf.com
The Mandela Farmers' Market
7th Street and Mandela Parkway; West Oakland
10:00 a.m. to 3:00 p.m. every Saturday
http://www.mobetterfood.com
Andrea Blum is a San Francisco based freelance journalist who writes about food and agriculture.
This content was published in the Summer 2007 Edible San Francisco Magazine. © 2007-2009 Edible San Francisco. No part of this article may be reproduced without the written consent of the author or publisher.
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