The AgStacker Community
October Edition
Welcome back to the AgStackers Community Newsletter - a monthly space to spotlight our community’s work, ideas, and experiences. Each issue will feature one standout AgStacker, highlights from our discussion thread, and occasional thought-provoking reads from beyond Substack.
If you’ve ever tried to find a home for your writing on Substack and found there’s no category for farming, gardening, or food production, you’re not alone.
The AgStacker thread will always be open to free subscribers. Whether you’re a writer, a reader, or simply passionate about food and farming, you’re invited to join in and help shape this space.
If this work resonates and you want to help it grow, please consider subscribing to my publication. Your support helps keep this space independent and visible and brings more good farming writing to more readers.
Take your time to enjoy the work shared here, and if you feel inspired, please join the conversation. This is your community as much as mine.
Featured AgStacker of the Month:
This month, I’m delighted to feature
an extraordinary voice in the world of nature writing and conservation, and Director of Nature Recovery at the Wiltshire Wildlife Trust. Carrie’s work stands out for its honesty, lyricism, and the way she brings together personal experience with the wider landscape. Her writing doesn’t just describe nature; it explores what it means to belong, to grieve, and to find hope in the wild places and quiet moments between.Carrie’s stories invite us into the messy, beautiful process of healing and creativity. Whether she’s writing about the insomnia-fuelled burst of a novel after profound loss, or reflecting on the slow, unpredictable work of grief through the metaphor of a floodplain, Carrie’s words offer comfort, courage, and a sense of kinship for anyone who’s ever felt like an outsider looking for roots.
This month is extra special, as Carrie and I are collaborating with a post swap—sharing our work across each other’s publications. Both new pieces will be available next week: you’ll find my post over on Carrie’s Substack, The Nature of Things, and you can read Carrie’s next piece right here on Me My Pigs and I.
Here are a few pieces from Carrie and other community voices that resonated with me this month:
Carrie’s story is a raw, relatable window into how loss can crack us open and sometimes, what pours out is a whole new kind of creativity. Her journey from insomnia-fuelled novel-writing to finding her voice in nature and belonging is both vulnerable and hopeful. If you’ve ever felt like an outsider longing for roots, or wondered if your story is worth telling, this piece will remind you: it absolutely is.
“I want to write a book about those landscapes. What they’ve taught me, what they reveal about ourselves and our relationship with nature, and what we can do to help them thrive again.
I’d like it to be a hopeful manifesto for the land and the people who care for it. A book about belonging, for those of us who didn’t inherit land but found our way to it anyway.”
Carrie’s meditation on grief and meadowsweet is a moving, poetic reminder that healing doesn’t follow a neat timetable. She weaves together personal loss, floodplain ecology, and ancient herbal wisdom to show how devastation and renewal are entwined. If you’re in the thick of your own flood, this piece offers gentle hope: new life will return, but for now, it’s okay just to wait and let the floodplain do its work.
“A floodplain is unruly… Sometimes it’s a gentle spill, other times it’s devastation. Fields drowned, houses wrecked, whole landscapes altered in a single night… And yet—here is the miracle—those same floods leave behind some of the richest soil. Richer for the ruin. Life takes hold again, not despite the flood, but because of it… I’m not at the meadowsweet stage yet… But right now? I’m still in the flood. The banks are burst, the water is high, the ground slick and impossible to walk. Whatever comes after hasn’t yet shown itself. So I wait. I let the floodplain do its work. Somewhere, under the silt and wreckage, the meadowsweet is biding its time.”
From the Community:
Terry’s seasonal dispatch is a love letter to autumn’s rituals - mushrooming at dawn, pickling homegrown shallots, and filling the pantry with jars and stories. It’s a reminder that the “backend” of the year is as full of purpose and pleasure as the spring rush, and that feeding the soil and the family is a year-round, joyful cycle. If you need inspiration to cherish the small harvests and simple labours, this is it.
“Backend of the year is always just as busy as the beginning, thankfully… Feeding the soil, feeds the family, fully twelve months of the year, year-in, year-out, no detriment to the soil. A modest amount of work that costs me nothing but calories, also keeps me fit, gives a massive return on our food supply, in terms of yield and flavour; and the quality of my soil, two spits down and even further beyond, is a true testament to it.”
Adam’s latest is a raw, honest reckoning with what it means to watch the world, and your own skills, get outpaced by technology. From Quonset shop memories to robot tractors spinning in the dark, he captures the ache and awe of generational change in agriculture, and the strange comfort of letting go, holding on, and finding presence in the chaos.
“The talk about autonomous tractors scared me. Made me feel human, which is great until you’ve spent 30 years becoming one of the best equipment operators around, and now you’re watching a robot tractor spin circles around a quarter-section… That’s the terror. Not that the work changes. That YOU become the thing that’s no longer needed.
This is the kind of bread story that goes far deeper than crust and crumb. Syd Aston’s journey is a masterclass in resilience, craft, and doing things the right way, even when it’s the hard way. From heritage wheat to stone-milled flour to affordable “People’s Loaf,” Syd’s ethos is about real food, real community, and refusing to compromise on flavour or values. It’s a reminder that bread, at its best, is both daily sustenance and living history.
“We’ve always wanted to bake like people did 150 years ago… before the advent of steel mills, so that’s another main thing about our bakery; we don’t use refrigeration… All artisan bakers use refrigeration. They store dough in the fridge overnight then they bake it off early in the morning. We didn’t have refrigeration 100–150 years ago. You worked on ambient temperatures and that’s what we’re trying to do here… Bread should not be just something which is a side to your dish. Bread on itself should be something which will fulfill you. Just a bit of butter and I don’t know, lettuce and a slice of tomato, and that should be your lunch.”
This walk through Hartington is a living tapestry of milk, cheese, and Peak District heritage where every field, pond, and barn tells a story of adaptation, ingenuity, and the deep ties between food and place. From Blue Albion cows to the origins of Derbyshire cheese, it’s a reminder that our food culture is shaped by both hardship and creativity, and that rural life is as much about ritual, community, and memory as it is about production.
“Milk and dairy were a core part of diets, but there’s one important way people everywhere have found to use milk that I haven’t yet covered. The one that is most closely associated with Hartington.
‘Around here I’ve read it was called “white meat” because if you had a cow and ate it as meat, that was a one-way trip, but if you milked it you could keep making cheese which has the same nutritional value but you get more of it over the life of the animal. So it was called white meat and it was the crop.’
…So much of who we are, as communities of people, is wrapped up in the food we’ve created. Food is a creative, practical, natural expression of a people, their lives, their needs and their relationship with the land they live on.
Food is culture.”
Daniel’s fearless myth-busting takes aim at the lazy narrative blaming cows for climate change, reframing ruminants as essential partners in healthy, balanced ecosystems - not villains. He breaks down the real carbon cycle, exposes the politics behind the blame game, and reminds us that cows, at their best, are givers: nourishing land, people, and biodiversity. This is the antidote to eco-anxiety and a call to reconnect with nature’s wisdom.
“The idea that a manageable number of cows now is driving the climate into chaos is laughable. Especially when you realize how many more ruminants existed before industrialization.
…Methane from cows is part of a natural cycle that has existed for millennia… This process isn’t pollution—it’s balance.
…Blaming [cows] is not just scientifically wrong. It’s a cheap distraction from the real culprits of environmental damage.
…They’re part of something much bigger, a living link between soil, plants, and people.”
Mark’s container trials are a goldmine for anyone with a small space and big gardening dreams. This season’s takeaways Alice’s Dream tomatoes, Cobra beans, Soleil courgettes prove you don’t need a plot to enjoy a spectacular, flavour-packed harvest. His honest, detailed notes on what worked and what flopped make this a must-read for balcony and patio growers, and the live herb event is a bonus for anyone wanting to level up their kitchen game.
“The three varieties from this year that I will definitely be growing again are Alice’s Dream tomatoes, Cobra French beans, and Soleil courgettes. All three are fantastic and I think you might love growing them, too… Even when you don’t fall in love with a new variety, there is usually learning and fun to be had on the way.”
Jackie’s soapmaking guide is a treasure trove for anyone tempted by the idea of turning homegrown milk into a bar of something special. She’s clear-eyed about the regulatory hoops (spoiler: there are a lot), but her practical tips and honest storytelling make the process feel accessible even for total beginners. If you’ve ever wondered what it really takes to make and sell soap in the UK, or just want a tried-and-tested recipe, this is your starting line.
“To legally make and sell (or gift) soap in the UK, you have to make sure your products are safe, and comply with labelling and manufacturing regulations… For some years, I did just that, but that was before the regulations tightened up. At that time there was a loophole for small producers. Eventually that was closed, and I stopped producing soap for sale… Fast forward about twenty years… and the soap supplies companies have developed a simple way for you to get your CPSR.
…Of course if the soap is solely for your own use, or if you live in countries where these regulations don’t exist, you can ignore all the regulation bit, and just make soap!”
A gentle, honest meditation on loss, memory, and the quiet work of moving forward. Joyce’s tribute to Mocha is full of the small rituals, apple slices, old brushes, familiar routines, that keep love alive, even as life shifts to focus on Marker, the “Only Horse.” It’s a story about grief and gratitude, and the way animals shape the rhythm and meaning of our days.
“I finally stopped thinking about dividing the apple slices for horse grain. Noticed how slowly both grain and supplements are getting used, now that I’m down to one horse… I miss the old mare, but… he’s doing a decent job of filling her horseshoes, in his own way.”
Sam’s reflection is a beautiful reminder that the most lasting harvests aren’t measured in pounds or pints, but in the hands and hearts of the next generation. Through dirt, seeds, and laughter, she’s growing gardeners and with them, a future where food, community, and care for the earth are passed on. If you ever needed proof that teaching is true legacy work, this is it.
“A zucchini might make a family dinner, but a child who learns to grow food nourishes generations to come. This is the work that will outlive me—a harvest that never ends and I’m grateful to walk this path.”
Kara’s hands-on guide to soil blocking is a practical, no-nonsense invitation to ditch the plastic and grow stronger seedlings, no fancy kit or big greenhouse needed. Her honest breakdown of what worked (and what didn’t) makes this a brilliant resource for anyone wanting a healthier, more sustainable start to their garden. If you’re ready to try something new and greener next spring, this is the place to start.
“So far, I’ve been really impressed with how well my seedlings grew and handled the transition to the garden—really strong seedlings, no root shock, and everything just felt a little simpler. If you’re looking for a way to streamline your seed starting process, cut down on waste, or just try something new, soil blocking is definitely worth experimenting with. Happy planting!”
Alex delivers a hilariously sharp rant that every gardener (and honestly, every neighbor) will relate to skewering plastic plants, compostable fakes, sewage-soaked rivers, and the endless parade of “smart” gadgets and bad pruning jobs. It’s cathartic, witty, and packed with practical truth: real plants, real compost, and real care beat plastic and greenwashing every time. If you need a laugh and a little solidarity in your gardening frustrations, don’t miss this one.
“There are perfectly reasonable alternatives for all of these tacky, tasteless, biologically poisonous monuments of bad taste and they are called real plants… Composting gives me a sense of calm in this hideously polluted world… But that joyful moment of compost harvest has been spoiled on many occasion by the discovery of ‘compostable’ teabags in pristine condition.
…Perhaps we could turn the lights on and off ourselves, or click the button on the car key, and open our own front doors? Then we’d be able to leave our poor, flag littered, military haircutted front gardens alone where the plants will use their innate smartness to grow in the spring, die down in the autumn, nourish the soil, feed the birds and look nice without a bollard, plastic fence or pointless, possibly poisonous bird feeder in sight.”
Ben’s piece is a thoughtful, honest look at how part-time farming models can nurture not just the land, but whole families. By sharing childcare and work, he and his partner have built a kind of resilience that goes beyond buzzwords, one that’s about flexibility, mutual support, and weathering life’s storms together. It’s a timely reminder that true sustainability starts at home, and that sometimes less hustle means more strength.
“Resilience is such a buzz word in farming, and I certainly see it as a key driver in my work integrating trees into farming systems, but if we don’t also build resilience in our personal situations we may not be in a position to implement it into farms. High productivity, or high income mean nothing if it all collapses when things take a turn for the worse.”
Mark’s introduction is a refreshingly honest snapshot of ranch life in West Texas equal parts land, cattle, horses, and the relentless grind of fixing what needs fixing. His writing is grounded in lived experience, shaped by generations, and driven by a deep sense of stewardship for both land and livestock. If you’re interested in the real rhythms of ranching, horsemanship, or the quiet satisfaction of a good fence line, Mark’s perspective is the genuine article.
“Unlike Yellowstone, cattle ranching is about 90% fixing fence, repairing water, working on the roads, and feeding cattle. I have been transitioning/improving my herd to be mostly straight Angus… Stewardship of my land is also of profound importance in my life.
…Land, cattle, and horses go hand in hand with me—I do not think I would ‘do’ any of the three were it not for the other two… but it starts with the horse.”
https://substack.com/@markhargrove/p-156828579
The Misfit Farmer’s reflection on the Cleveland County Fair is a warm, gently humorous testament to the power of tradition and community especially when life gets turned upside down. In the aftermath of storms and power outages, the fair becomes more than fun and funnel cakes; it’s a stubborn act of hope, a gathering place when the world feels off-kilter. Sometimes, you just need a fair to remind you that resilience can be found in the most ordinary rituals.
“No matter how foul the weather is, over us or the nation or the world itself, it’s comforting to have a fair. Here’s hoping you have a fair in your neck of the woods.”
Liz’s portrait of Next Step Produce Farm is a moving reminder that a barn is never just a building it’s the living heart of a farm, the keeper of memories, tools, seeds, and the distinct fingerprint of a family’s life and work. Reading about the devastating fire, I was struck by how much is lost in moments like these: not just equipment or a harvest, but decades of dedication, knowledge, and love for land and community.
For 25 years, this family has nurtured soil, grown food, mentored new farmers, and built a model of restorative agriculture that’s fed and inspired so many. Now, in the wake of unimaginable loss, the question is whether this tragedy can become a turning point. Is this the moment for all of us, everyone who’s been nourished by their work, to rally together, help rebuild, and pass the torch to the next generation?
If you’ve ever been touched by a local farm, or if you believe in the power of community to rebuild and renew, this is the time to step forward. Let’s help give this family the support they need to rise from the ashes and continue a legacy that’s rooted in everything that came before.
“A farmer’s barn is a portal to their DNA. It’s their character, their fingerprint, their identity.
…So yes, perhaps the phoenix metaphor is appropriate here. This fire is devastating, to be sure, but it’s a chance to reclaim—no, claim!—a new future.
What would it look like if we, a loving and lovingly-cultivated community…say ‘Yes! we want another 25 years, please. Here is what I can offer.’”
Call to Action
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Thanks for being part of the community. Let’s see where we can take this together.
Until next month,
H x
If just 5% of my readers tipped £1/$1 this essay would pay for itself in terms of time spent working on it.
Thank you Helen! For including me, and for so many fascinating sounding articles to read! So many saved, to get stuck in to. Thank you!
Fascinating, how do you envision this vital community evolving to integrate more tech-driven approaches for conservation, buiding on the incredible work you're already doing?