Galiano Island, BC, year 2000. A woman named Sol. She was nice, and so was her biker boyfriend. But there was no order or work to do, so I left after a few days.
Salt Spring Island, BC, year 2000. A woman named Maura. She was a nutter who sold herself as a "healer" and "psychic", but really was just an imbalanced woman who'd come-into some money. She snapped at us for using the wrong fork at the dinner table, not wearing the right socks in the house, taking our sweaters off and putting them on the ground when we got too hot in the garden, etc. I left after 2 days, but my fellow WWOOF partner was under the impression that Maura was some sort of All-Seeing Clairvoyant, so didn't want to step on her toes, and potentially find herself in "scary karmic waters". I was not so fooled. Maura tried to get me to sign the classic "guest book" when I was leaving on my bike, but I declined. Then she sagely noted that I was "carrying a lot of baggage" (I had fanny packs on my bike wheels, and a backpack on my back), and I just snorted and left her in the dust of my bike tires. Old bat.
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As a side story, I want to state that I think a lot of WWOOFers are asked to sign the farm "guest book" upon leaving. They're pressured to put a positive spin on their experiences with the family. I've leafed-through these guest books, and they are full of nothing but shining reviews: the same sort of reviews you see all over the WWOOF sites, with the moderators prowling the site, to keep the dream of Utopia untarnished. Here is what a woman WWOOFing in Spain wrote, on her personal blog:
"In Spain, we stayed on a dairy cattle farm nestled in a remote part of the Pyrenees. This farm was run by Juan, a middle-aged proud Catalonian farmer who lived with his aging parents and aunt. The work was hard but we took it all in stride, baling hay and scooping cow dung with alacrity and zeal. In the process, we learned a lot about cultural differences and expectations on this farm, specifically with regard to gender.
OK, perhaps I’ll cut the crap: we were women, and this seemed to be a problem (don’t ask why Juan decided to take on female WWOOFers in the first place; we’re still not sure). So we left early. Which brings me to my third point: the importance of trust in the commons."
So, just like I wrote above, WWOOFers try to build a nice-sounding story, even out of truly bad or demeaning experiences. The farm was "nestled" in the Purenees. The host was "proud". She "learned a lot about cultural differences and expectations on this farm, specifically with regard to gender." Despite whatever happened on this horrible farm in Spain, she ends her article with:
"I can confidently report that, for now, WWOOFing is very much alive and well. It is a beautiful example of a commons that takes place on a global scale, and on multiple functional levels – work, food, shelter, ideas, culture, knowledge are all exchanged in WWOOFing, to everyone’s benefit."
WhatEVER!
More instances of the psychological battle well-meaning WWOOFers go through, even with a very negative experience, can be viewed on these sites:
http://kiarahwang.blogspot.ca/2011/09/my-bad-wwoofing-experience.html and
http://www.seemytravels.com/2012/09/24/why-i-had-to-run-away-from-a-farm/ . It's sad, what the young and impressionable will put themselves through. I'm convinced that the natural generosity of the young -- along with the WWOOF Organization's censorship, of course -- is more responsible for the glowing farm reviews we see so much of, than the actual farms are. It is very sad that the older, wealthier and more experienced people of the world take advantage of the younger, poorer, and more naive. But there it is. Since time immemorial.)
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Continuing-on, with my farm reviews...
Wave Hill Farm, Salt Spring Island, BC, year 2000. We worked hard (it used to be 6 hours/day, 6 days/week back then, and was called "Willing Workers on Organic Farms", not the current, more euphemistic "World-Wide Opportunities on Organic Farms")... We lived in a teeny trailer and were given bread and peanut butter for sustenance... but I didn't mind so much, because I liked the farm work. It was meditative to do the same routine everyday, and to be in-charge of the animals. Still, when I decided (after a month and a half) to leave the farm and asked for a ride the next day, the host complained that the "petrol" costs money. These are people who had 500 acres, including vistas of breath-taking mountain-top ocean views, on Salt Spring Island (a world-class destination island, where the rich and famous have summer homes). I'm sure she could've afforded the occasional "petrol" for a drive to the ferry, and more than peanut-butter sandwiches, for my 36-hour work-week. In all the time I was at this farm, we were only invited into the house once, for a proper meal.
Pender Island, BC, year 2000. A university prof and her ruggedly handsome husband. I worked hard in the donkey stables and with the basil, but she kicked me out with no notice after about a week, because she felt I was a threat. I had zero intention of gettin' it on with her husband, but she felt threatened, so I was on the street. Nice "exchange".
Stowel Lake Farm, Salt Spring Island, BC, 2001. This place was okay. The work was not too hard, the food was decent. But the main host was very cold and judgmental. She came into a lot of money and re-furbished the farm to be a clean, orderly dream of urba-rural living. But she snaps at WWOOFers, and lords her ownership of the place, over you. Some of the cling-ons at this farm were very nice: the people who did not own the place, but came to buy a share in it, and raise their kids there. But not a super-warm place, where I felt super at-home: because of the owner. My WWOOFing partner left early because she disliked being referred to as "The WWOOFer", and I heard the residents discussing my partner's complaints. "What is she unsatisfied with?" it was asked. "Oh, the usual: doesn't like being called 'The WWOOFer', stuff like that..." (eyes rolled...)
Gabriola Island, Ike MacKay, 2001 and 2005. This was one of my favourites, in 2001. The owner worked us hard during the day, but things were organized, ie. he'd call 2 WWOOFers in early to prepare lunch, and then we'd all share a fabulous lunch, and have time off to relax and digest before our afternoon work. In the evenings, we had wonderful shared dinners, and as much home-made cider as we liked! Lots of fun times. But the owner of the farm frequently slept with WWOOFers, and even married one, eventually. I tried to re-visit in 2005, and the new "wife" of the property was now "in charge". She'd taken-away the happy-go-lucky bachelor feel, and it was now a cold place. All of the WWOOFers were getting sick (literally getting some sort of stomach virus, possibly from the water in the WWOOF cabin), but this was not mentioned before I arrived: they were not remedying the situation, but just allowing new WWOOFers to continually come, even though they were all getting sick, and there was obviously a problem. A sad pilgrimage to a place I'd had such glowing memories of. (I was "kicked out" the day after their WWOOF cabin had made me so ill, I puked about 13 times, throughout the afternoon. The official reason for my ejection was that I hadn't worked the previous afternoon; I suppose I'm supposed to work, while puking my guts out? Ike, the owner, confessed to me that the real reason I was being kicked-out was because his wife was "jealous" of me: I guess I'm pretty, and also funny and expressive. Some women find that threatening. At least the host was honest and kind enough, to tell me the truth: but sadly, he didn't "wear the pants", in the family. I had worked hard for them for 3 solid days, taking on a natural leadership role with the other WWOOFers, their accommodation had made me and "every WWOOFer for the last few weeks", the owner had said, violently ill, and I was now kicked-out on the street. There may be variety in who "wears the pants" on any given farm... but as far as the WWOOFer/WWOOF-host relationship goes... the WWOOF-host
always "wears the pants". You have no say. You aren't the boss. As an organization which purports to endorse an "equal exchange", I find this fact very sad. But this is the reason Communism doesn't tend to work-out, either.)
Lasqueti Island, BC, 2001. Good place, good people. "The water ebbs and flows" under their home, the ad had said. And it did. They made amazing home-made wine, and this was the first place I'd ever heard the beautiful singing-voice of Astrud Gilbreto: laying in their beautiful oceanfront home, in the sunshine, sipping on their pink homemade wine.
Tlell Bay farm, Tlell, BC, 2006. The host is wonderful, has lots of nice pets, and treats her WWOOFers fairly. Her daughter, who used to live on the property, was a straight-up bitch who would throw rude comments at you in passing. But she doesn't live there anymore, so you're safe.
Morninglory Farm, Killaloe, ON, 2009. Good place, good people. Lots of pot-lucks and parties with amazing local music. Family-friendly. (My son was then 2-years-old, and I brought him along for the amazing ride.) Good hosts, for a nice summer experience. Don't expect to become a part of their intentional community though, if you don't have solid skills like being able to build a house, set-up alternative energy and water systems in the house you built, etc. They have high practical standards for the people they allow to stay, long-term.
ASH Berry Farm, Comox Valley, BC 2010. I was now a mother of a 3-year-old boy. The host advertised herself as an earth-friendly home-schooling mom. I was the sole "indoors" worker at the farm, making all the food and doing all the house-work and childcare, for the entire farm (4 kids, 2 hosts, and between 3 and 6 WWOOFers/workers). I was highly praised for my successes, and highly derided, for my failures. As I'm now even older, I've learned that "praise" is a negative thing: it is only the shiny-side of judgment. I felt that this family, deep-down, was very unhappy. My son and I would "escape" from 3 to 6 pm, to get off the farm and see the real world. There was a town nearby, so we'd go out and have some food in a cafe, catch some live music, and have fun. Then we'd go back to the farm, where all the WWOOFers would be looking so serious, over their supper... one time, I had to work hard to stifle a giggle, seeing this. Supper is a very serious affair, don't you know. Also, when we'd come back for supper after our little "afternoon break", the host mom would act as though she was hard-done-by: as though we didn't deserve these few hours "off", or to have supper "made", for us. She also complained about Jenny, this dream-WWOOFer from Japan, once Jenny left... which made me really realize that the host really had some problems with her perceptions of reality. We all slept in moldy conditions, my son was shut in a dark chicken coop by her spoiled "home-schooled" kids, and we left after two miserable weeks, not amicably. Oh yeah: they also kept my expensive and much-loved Columbia jacket. They have a whole closet full of ex-WWOOFer things, which they see as their own treasure-trove. And they only listen to one band: AC/DC.
Loudly.
In time, although I'm a heart-core idealist, I've realized that WWOOFing is just never gonna be the fail-proof answer I need, to find beauty and harmony, in my life. So I started this lil' blog, and I hope some young people who are wondering if they should WWOOF will read it, and realize that MORE THAN 50% OF THE TIME... WWOOFing is a huge crap-shoot. The host is in-power, you are not. Maybe if you have excess money and want to travel for 6 months in a foreign country in your "gap year" between high-school and university, WWOOFing is a great plan. But you won't get 100% honest reviews, on the WWOOF sites. The WWOOF organization exists to sell WWOOFing, to you. I would respect the process so much more, if there were not this censorship, on the organization's homepage. Please feel free to express the full breadth of your experiences, WWOOFers,
here.
Thank you.
