By Sharon Hall

Pasadena Homestead – Part I

I met with the Dervaes family on a sultry sunny day. Our surroundings were something to behold; every bit of earth bursting with life, no ground left unplanted. Bees and butterflies hovered over everything from gourmet lettuces destined for local restaurants, to twisting vines of an Italian heritage squash, grown on arbors creating much-needed shade. We sat on a porch surrounded by fruit trees, flowers, and the sound of contented chickens proudly announcing newly-laid eggs. All of this–including two pygmy goats and several ducks–supported, maintained, and held to organic and sustainable standards, by the hard word and passionate love of Jules Dervaes and his grown children.

Those familiar with the slow food and sustainable-practices movement are probably already aware of Pasadena’s Urban Homestead. The micro-farm, established in pursuit of a low-impact lifestyle within the city, has gained a following of those who appreciate the Dervaes’ quest for self-sufficiency. Supporters will have even more to look forward to, as the family has produced Homegrown Revolution, a film being shown at festivals as far away as Rhodes, and as close to home as the Blue Planet Film Festival in Santa Monica. The whole family will travel further this year, taking their film as far as Italy and New Delhi. But the Dervaes family has had more time in front of the camera than you would expect–the homestead is also the subject of HomeGrown, Robert McFalls’ documentary that focuses on daily life at the micro-farm, and the reality of living almost completely off the grid.

The Whole Person Calendar had a rare and wonderful opportunity to visit and talk to the Dervaes about their lives. What follows is the first of a two-part interview–a conversation with Jules Dervaes, next month, a talk with Anais, Justin and Jordanne, the rest of the family.

Sharon Hall: How did the homestead first start? When did you decide you wanted to live a different way?

Jules Dervaes: Well, it was out of college, reading Rachel Carson’s Silent Spring and seeing the mess we were in. There was a lot of acid rain in New Orleans, where I was. The motivator was the Vietnam War. There were people leaving the country, not only because of the draft, but because of the consumer mentality too. Everybody was about ‘me, me, me.’ I thought about going back to the old ways: the harmony, tranquility, even the slowness. I didn’t really like the fast-paced world. Figured I was a ‘born in the wrong century’ type of person.

I began to look for a place where I could find what I needed–and settled on New Zealand because it felt like people were living in the old days. I was there less than two years. After a twenty-five year detour, I reintroduced my family to what I had learned and that lifestyle.

SH: What was it like in New Zealand?

JD: I owned a piece of land, became a bee-keeper, brought in chickens, ducks and goats and had an outdoor toilet. Well, actually, I moved it inside but it was still a five-gallon bucket. My first carpentry work I ever did was to make a toilet seat! That was my carpentry experience; I had to have somebody actually teach me, you know, because when you’re born and raised in America, you’re not a carpenter. I learned from people there–how to do woodwork and gardening, beekeeping and mechanical work. It was like a new birth.

SH: So, why did you come back?

JD: Because of our baby, Anais. We experienced two floodings. Right before we left, I was in the process of building a cement wall, trying to keep the water out of my place. Without it, I didn’t think I would be able to hold back the river. Hearing it in the middle of the night, it was a real roar–water rushing down like you’d see on TV. Every time it rained I was on edge because it really poured; it wasn’t like the drizzle here. It was a big motivation to leave. Also, both sets of grandparents were in the States, and nobody was willing to make the trip. We went back for a vacation and my dad convinced me, my mother didn’t want to let go of the little baby–her only grandchild at the time. My dad helped me get started in Florida, where I tried to do the same thing I was doing over in New Zealand, but it never really panned out. Florida isn’t the same.

SH: How did you end up in California?

JD: There was a school I wanted to go to in Pasadena. They needed someone to manage and maintain all the fountains, streams and pools. I bought this land close by so I could walk, but I thought it was just a residence, and I would leave after I figured out what I wanted to do. But this was a rich, really nice area–it was an adventure. I took my kids to the parks. [In recent years] we’d take goats for walks down Arroyo Seco, under the Colorado Bridge. Someone said, “That’s a funny looking dog.”

SH: I understand that you started growing your own because Monsanto was going to genetically alter the food?

JD: At the time, we were buying taco shells from Vons, and [GMOs] had gotten into the Taco Bell [shells]. StarLink corn was only supposed to be fed to animals, but you can’t tell with corn. Somehow the shipments got mixed; it was in the papers. I hit the roof because I couldn’t believe I was doing that to my children. I’m responsible for what goes into their mouths. Everything that’s given by a parent to a child, the child accepts. I said to heck with that, I’m not going to be stuck with a nightmare on my conscience. I’m not a scientist–I can’t investigate everything that comes into the house. I said, I’m going to grow as much as I can here. So I did the best I could, and we started growing food in the back yard, where I had already been growing and selling edible flowers.

SH: Were they–the vegetables–a hard sell?

JD: Initially we said we’ll just make up a sample of our tomatoes, whatever we have, and drop it off. After we dropped [off] the samples, people called and said, “Can you bring more of those?” It wasn’t a hard sell once people had tasted [them].

SH: How many restaurants would you now say are using the produce from your property?

JD: We had more, for a while we had a lot. We dropped down to just the locals, so now we have three restaurants that are regulars, and then a few come in seasonally or they have special orders. Then one place asked us to pay insurance when we weren’t making anything anyway.

SH: That bring up another question: I know that you don’t have insurance…that is a huge issue for people right now.

JD: It’s scary if you think about how sick everybody is. But I choose invest on the front side…my health insurance is here. We were blessed growing up; my mom bought bananas that still had blemishes on them; that meant they were ripe. They didn’t get gassed. I was raised healthier than kids are today. So, my money is invested on the health insurance front right here.

SH: In the plants.

JD: On the ground floor.

SH: From the soil up.

JD: That’s my investment.

SH: It’s not the easiest way to earn a living. What people don’t realize is that you’re not being paid for all these films about your life, that you share this information freely.

JD: That is a hard thing. It’s been about being neighborly; a community. I don’t think we should just hold this information; we should share it. When we started, it was just about us, the family. Then the Compton High School garden club contacted us and they asked if they could come over and see the garden. I thought to myself, maybe I have a responsibility that’s more than just taking care of my family. We are all in the same boat; I’ve got to help where I can. I started giving tours to the kids and then other people. But it doesn’t pay. We are always on the short end. And we don’t take grants.

SH: Because of government involvement?

JD: If you depend on grants, when the grants aren’t there, then what do you do? I have to learn to stand on my own two feet. I actually tell people I stand on eight feet because I’ve got three other kids. The family has to be able to stand on its own. That is what makes strong families–which make strong countries. I am determined to be self-reliant and do what the Americans did a long time ago, and which we don’t do much anymore. This is my form of patriotism; to make myself stronger, my family strong, but you don’t get paid for it. It doesn’t turn out to be a job, it turns out to be a lifestyle.

SH: What about the future?

JD: Anais and Jordanne did the website last year. They did the Freedom Gardens.org. It’s a social network site, and we have helped others get together online. The Freedom Gardeners are using us like a hub; they find out where the other people live and then people find others in their own backyard, not necessarily neighbors but in the area. It’s about growing food where you live; it’s not meant to be about farming. These are gardeners, not farmers, and they are helping each other with blogging and forming groups.

SH: Look–there’s one of those giant June bugs.

JD: They should be hatching now and laying eggs in June–that’s why they give them that name. When you see them in September you know something is off. The temperature is supposed to be ideal for them to be coming out and whoever eats those things or what they eat in the ground is off, too. I would say that people going back and forth out there wouldn’t know this, but a gardener would and maybe someone who is aware notices this is wrong.

SH: So, this about climate change.

JD: I’d say we are on the front lines of climate change. For the last three years we have had a rough go of it. We have more bugs than we have ever seen before and we have had to change our planting schedules. I have to figure it out now. We are in September and that bug doesn’t know what’s going on. So where’s the end of this? People are having really bad tomato seasons in the summer; they are getting better tomatoes earlier.

SH: Out best tomatoes came in May.

JD: Our best came in December. The ones in the summer couldn’t do anything. We just scratched them. That hurt. Our income stream was the heirlooms but now that the climate change is running amuck we are trying to figure out how to get enough to sell. Heirlooms bring in the money we need because we can’t compete in volume, but we can compete with unique varieties and freshness.

SH: What about farmer’s markets?

JD: We don’t have any produce left over for that. All our stuff is pre-sold. 30-40% is the sales, 10% goes to the animals. We are okay, except we don’t get the varieties and numbers we used to have. We are trying to figure out the seasons now, while it used to be a given. Last year we planted tomatoes on five different occasions. Most years I’m able to pass the information on and say, “This is what I do”, but now–if you are blinded you can’t lead the blind.

SH: Are there conferences about this? Like how the climate changes are affecting gardeners and growers?

JD: Yes, and we have outreach at our place here. We just screened “Seed Hunter”. It’s about people doing the same things we are; they are looking for diversity. You’d be surprised how many people are in the same boat. Even in the furthest, farthest reaches of the world, those people talk like we’re talking now. I thought there had to be some place safe; someone’s got it together somewhere! But the seed hunter couldn’t find stability, either. Farmers live for the stable times. It used to be once every ten years they had a wacko year but they lived only because there is a stable period between wacky ones. If there’s no pattern; if every year is different…well, the only way we know something is if a pattern exists. If you can’t find a pattern, then every year is a crap shoot.

SH: And that just doesn’t work for farmers and gardening.

JD: No. People are going to get ticked. If I had to start all this start now; if this was first year, I wouldn’t know what to think. When I get back from a presentation, people will say to me, ‘I like to hear that’ because then they know their failure is not just their own. So, when I say this is the worst year I have ever had, they feel encouraged by my failure; it means they’re not alone.

SH: Jules, a lot of people who read our magazine are involved in spirituality of different kinds. One thing that’s struck me is how people tend to separate spirituality from this process we’re talking about.

JD: That what it appears to have been like for a long time; that this is religion, and then this is what you do outside of religion. Well that is baloney.

SH: How do you see it?

JD: I tell my kids the American Indians had it right. They understood religion to be about the whole scheme. We in the West have separated religion by time and date and place and group. No, it’s the whole thing. I think religion went off the deep end when it forgot the simple premise that you start with the number one thing, the earth–and stewardship. If you tie it all together, then you have a real religion.

Splits begat splits and now we have split ourselves off from the planet. Stephen Hawking, the physicist, had a contest for people to write in and tell him what the solution would be for the mess we are in. He had 10,000 people reply and they asked him what his solution would be and he said to go and live on another planet. And do what? You don’t give a guy who crashed a car and hasn’t got a clue, another car–unless he figures out how to drive, and even then they send him to go to traffic school. Well we need to go to school. We crash a planet and we are going to get another planet? It doesn’t make any sense. It is a humbling thing. For the indigenous person, religion is a humbling religion. The other religion we are talking about is a proud religion. That is a mistake. All religion by definition should be a humbling experience.

SH: I agree with that. As I was coming here, I kept thinking, “What is he really doing?” and I thought, “He’s being a good steward,” a term that has almost been lost. This is the planet that we have been given. We are not here forever, we don’t own it. We’re just passing through.

JD: And we are passing it on, passing our waste to the next generation. How do you feel if I give you a mess? Something is wrong. That is why I say I can’t pass that along to someone and have them look at you and say, “This is broken.” Why would you give something to your child that’s broken?

SH: I wonder how many people are asking themselves what do I really want to pass along to my children.

JD: If people were serious about that it would make a big difference.

SH: Can it change?

JD: It had better change; the only way I can do this is to hope that I still have a part to play because otherwise, what do you wake up to if you don’t have hope? Even when they talk about tipping points; even if you do everything possible and it’s too late, you’ve got to have hope that something good will happen if you do this, if you keep trying. Once you lose hope–that’s the destruction. First it happens internally; you destroy the possibilities. You give up.

SH: This is the house of hope right here.

JD: To me, it’s the garden of hope. I think that is what we feel when we are here. People want to come and stay.

SH: Who’d want to leave Eden?

JD: We really do have to screen out everything else sometimes. Because the world encroaches even into the sacred places, even into your own place, and it shouldn’t be that way; we need to have a wall to keep some of that out.

SH: I want to thank you for this visit Jules; for letting The Whole Person into your life, and letting me into your garden.

For more information visit the following websites:
www.PathtoFreedom.com
www.PeddlersWagon.com
www.FreedomGardens.org
www.FreedomSeeds.org
www.HomegrownRevolutionFilm.com

This interview was conducted and written by Sharon Hall for The Whole Person Calendar.

http://www.wholepersoncalendar.com/events-10-09.htm pages 6-7, 54-55.