This is the first in a six-part series of stories produced through a partnership with the Southeast Tennessee Young Farmers Coalition.

Randall Tomlinson, hair braided down his back and dog named Gizzard at his feet, is standing in a Marion County pasture when the rain begins to fall. It's a soft rain, almost gentle, and neither Randall, nor Gizzard, seem to mind.

Time seems to slip and unmoor a bit, the way that it can in an open field - distant mountains, distant crows, so quiet, just for a moment or two - as things settle into what feels like a brief oneness.

Nearby, Randall's herd of 10 cows.

Why do you love them?

He pauses. The rain continues to fall.

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"They are a sense of the future," he said. "These cows aren’t my future, but their daughters are."

This herd - mostly SouthPoll, the breed Teddy Gentry helped develop - stare back.

"This is the core group going to take me into the next phase of my life," he said. "They'll have more calves, then I'm rocketing towards some sort of cattle-based future."

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But.

To farm cattle, you need land.

Randall is a cattle-farmer without land.

"I never got to see what they’d do in a grazing environment," he said.

He's wept here before, in this very field, not that long ago, but not today. It just hurts too much. Today is matter-of-fact. Today is practical. Moving the herd. Putting up new fencing. That's the work.

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He begins calling them - hey cow, let's move cow - but the herd, possibly spooked by us and Gizzard, who alternates between charging ahead and hiding behind Randall, seems disinterested.

"They say the fastest way to move animals is slowly," he said.

How do you move a life when doors seem shut? When no gate opens?

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All Randall wants to do is farm, this spectacular, splendid regenerative form of cattle-farming that blesses and restores the land.

But the one thing he most needs? It's the one thing he can't find.

Land.

For months, he's been telling himself: just hold on a little longer.

But now?

"I martyred them and myself to get to this new thing," he said. "But what if a new thing isn’t there?"

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In the summer of 2006, a young Randall was hitch-hiking the California coast, head full of questions, when he spied a Help Wanted sign at a farmers' market.

"I picked beans for probably 14 hours," he said. "I loved it."

Why?

"It solved my existential questions," he said. "How the hell am I going to feed myself good food, feed my soul, not prey upon the weak, not prey upon other people, not damage the planet and get some exercise? It did it all."

"I started farming at 19. I never considered any other career."

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He farmed up the California coast, then south Florida, then New Hampshire, onto north Georgia's Rise N Shine Farm, drawn back to the Southeast.

(Before California, he'd hiked through the Monteagle mountains. The Fiery Gizzard Trail. "There's nowhere more magical," he said.)

Then, onto the Sequatchie Valley Institute, spending years as the head gardener, then, Sequatchie Cove Farm. For the last 13 years, he's worked in the creamery and farm - Director of Operations, Dairy Manager, multiple certifications, grants to teach others - while learning from Bill Keener.

"Randall has been on this 15-year learning curve," Bill said. "He just keeps after it. Keeps learning. Keeps getting better."

There, he'd found his calling, his home in the world: cattle, the land, the relationship between the two.

"I had this tapestry in front of me," Randall said. "These cows - I got to make decisions. When something needed done, I was allowed to do it. Bill let me figure that out."

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Randall spent a decade developing his own specialized dairy herd while becoming a student of regenerative grazing, a type of cattle-grass farming that merges animal management with soil health. The one creates the other.

It goes by several names: regenerative, adaptive multi-paddock, management intensive grazing.

"Move animals around and things get better," he said. "It's as close to a real-life miracle as I know."

Take a piece of land. Whereas traditional or conventional cattle-farming would fence it all in a few large plots, Randall and his regenerative peers set up a multi-paddock system, moving herds - whose chewing, poop, hooves and activity stimulates greater soil activity - each day.

"Every animal moves every day," he said. "Sometimes, four moves. Sometimes, 20."

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Instead of entire swaths of acres, paddocks may be 1/10th of an acre. The moving of cattle sends a message to the soil and latent seeds within:

Grow.

"Good management will bring up all the species you want," he said. "You have these layers of life: fungal, bacterial, the little bugs, all the way up to the cows on top."

"They all have epigenetic expressions that recognize whether they are in a healthy ecosystem," he continued. "If plants and animals believe themselves to be in a healthy ecosystem, they behave differently."

Plants - some of which have not grown on land for generations - begin to emerge.

"When an ecosystem communicates safety, the plants are more digestible and less toxic," Randall said. "Plus, that turns on the latent seed bank. It thinks: this is a prairie. I recognize this."

Overgrazing doesn't allow for any of this.

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Plus, the robust and healthy soil begins to retain water more. Remember last summer?

"During the drought, I never run into any slow downs. My pasture retains water because I don't overgraze it," he said. "Like a big sponge, it grabs hold of everything and soaks it in. I don't face hardships during drought if I am doing my job right."

Fewer inputs are needed each year, as the land requires less external help. So, yields, savings and profit all increase. Confidence grows. The land heals. The herd flourishes.

It's as close to a real-life miracle as I know.

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Today, at 37, Randall represents the next generation of farming leadership. He speaks in Wendell Berry-ian ways, so appealing and illuminating. What's he love most about farming?

Just savor his answer.

"My reflection. Every action I take with an animal, with a plant, with a paddock, or water tank creates uncounted cascading and exponential series of events. 

"I see myself, my actions, my existence in those transformations. 

"A cow whose great grandmother I milked, a calf I named having her first daughter, a bare spot that wouldn't grow anything becoming green, the bend in the river growing because I didn't want to remove a beaver dam. These microcosmal events fill me up with connection and fulfillment. They give me purpose. The most immediate and overwhelming love is feeding people.  Literally powering their cells to go out into the world and share the ripples I make with the rest of the world."

This is why he wept.

A man like this?

Land keeps him alive.

But he can't find it.

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Randall doesn't have enough money to buy 100 or even 50 acres, especially when land is selling for $20,000 an acre.

"My wealth is my cattle," he said.

For five years, Randall had leased a 30-acre pasture near Sequatchie Cove Farm for his own herd.

Then, the landowner ended the lease, wanting "to build a cabin and farm it himself, as a hobby," Randall said.

For the last two years, he's been looking for leasable land, temporarily moving his herd to Sequatchie Cove Farm. Sure, there are requirements, but minimal: the land needs to be fenced with water access.

He'll sign a multi-year lease. Then, as a landowner, you can witness your land as everything flourishes: bird populations, soil microbes, beneficial arthropods and insects, carbon and nitrogen stocks. (Check out the Roots So Deep research; Food as a Verb is working to screen this film in 2025.)

"I want landowners to fall in love with the land they own," Randall said.

Here's the damnable problem.

He can't find any land. He's written proposal after proposal -  articulate, exacting and generous - but, they never find footing.

Three sisters own land. Two want to lease. One doesn't. Game over.

Another landowner was interested, already shook on the deal, but then got word from his cousin or nephew or somebody, who  "has an idea" about using the land. Sorry, Randall.

Another landowner said yes, but doesn't have any fence.

Another doesn't have water.

Another informally said yes, then ghosted - out, gone - radio silence.

Behind it all? A post-farming culture that sees land value differently than Randall.

Meanwhile, he drives through rural tri-states, seeing all this land, knowing he can transform it, if only ... a landowner believed in this.

"I need 40 acres of grass," he said.

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The rain continues to fall. Randall and Gizzard begin moving the herd to a new paddock with overwintered greener grass. The herd is playful - challenging Gizzard, who often tucks back under Randall's legs - and bouncing, like 1st-grader cows at recess.

They're also headstrong; he wants them to go left, the herd moves right.

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He picked up a trick from Bill Keener - "Bill was the first I ever saw do this" - and Randall unspools just one thread of poly-wire which acts as barrier - the threat more imagined than actual - and Randall walks closer to the cows, the unspooling wire encouraging them to walk.

"Just one wire without any charge on it. I thought you needed all this big equipment," he said.

It's regenerative-ag at its best: less becomes more.

The herd jumps and runs into the new paddock, finding new grass. Chewing seems glorious. In the past, Randall's named herds Old Lady Names, like Bertha and Agnes. Or dragons. "Pete's was my favorite," he said.

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And members of the Wu-Tang Clan.

"That's Raekwon the Chef," he said, pointing to a nearby cow. A heifer from a past herd they named C.R.E.A.M.

"Cash Rules Everything Around Me," he said. "She was a beautiful white-faced cow."

Cash continues to rule; Randall slips easy into farmer-philosopher. He is not depressive but truth-telling. Farming is hard. Modern society makes it harder.

"Making ends meet," he said. "Making it work in the context of the rest of the world we live in."

Cheap food has conditioned us to devalue the actual production of food and the immeasurable inherent value within. Farming, once done in community, has become isolated and isolating. Soon, the fraying thoughts gather within the farmer's mind:

"I felt very alone," he said.

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"Good small-scale agriculture requires a community of people practicing it," he said. "Modern agriculture? It drives you towards robotics and mechanization. You can't depend on other people and because of that, you've lost farmers and farmland and we don't even know how to have a discourse about it."

"Part of the work is to figure it out on your own," he said. "I find that so crushing sometimes."

Food prices go up, yet, often, actually reflect the true cost of food. Angry consumers project this onto farmers and farming.

"So, the suppression of food costs in the grocery store reflects on me as a farmer," he said. "They think I am charging too much money but I am barely getting by on $10 a pound of ground beef."

Then, Randall says something we will never forget.

"I can't afford," he said, "the food I create."

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The rain continues to fall.

The herd continues to graze.

But Randall?

"The liminal space of not knowing," he said.

This is not a theoretical question: is there a regional landowner interested in partnering with him to regenerate and restore pasture and soil through cattle farming?

"I have all this energy that wants to move forward in the world," he said, "but it has nowhere to go."

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This is the first in a six-part series. Each farmer profile will contain these questions and answers. Here's Randall:

What do you love most about farming?

My reflection.  Every action I take with an animal, with a plant, with a paddock, or water tank creates uncounted cascading and exponential series of events.  I see myself, my actions, my existence in those transformations. 

A cow whose great grandmother I milked, a calf I named having her first daughter, a bare spot that wouldn't grow anything becoming green, the bend in the river growing because I didn't want to remove a beaver dam.  These microcosmal events fill me up with connection and fulfillment. 

They give me purpose. 

The most immediate and overwhelming love is feeding people.  Literally powering their cells to go out into the world and share the ripples I make with the rest of the world.

What inspires you and keeps you going?

Natural beauty. Curiosity. Everyone has to eat. My job isn’t going anywhere. 

What is the hardest part of farming? 

Making ends meet. Making it work in the context of the rest of the world we live in.

Good small scale agriculture requires a community of people also practicing it. Modern agriculture? It drives you towards robotics and mechanization. You can’t depend on other people and because of that, you’ve lost farmers and farmland and we don't even know how to have a discourse about it. I felt very alone.

Part of the work is to figure it out on your own. I find that so crushing sometimes. 

What inspires you and keeps you going?

The early mornings? Being exhausted and busting your ass? That’s great. That's the greats stuff people are missing out on.

It creates more space to figure out how resilient you are and the land is.

The hard work is great. But the hard work without a break and never being able to say I can go out of town for two weeks. 

 It is hard to make it financially sustainable.

What do you think are some misconceptions people have about farming or other agriculture work?

There are farmers who get insanely rich but they started rich. The idea you can bootstrap yourself up dooms farmers. I will keep telling myself that its my fault, the reason things aren’t going well. That’s a hard narrative. 

I want the next generation to have an easier path. And I want us to keep eating food and having small farms.

Farmers, with rare exceptions, become drains on partners and community. Sometimes that’s so hard and takes so much effort. I don't want it to be a charity.

What do you hope to achieve with your farm in the next 10 years?

Plant a lot of trees.

 I think it’s really cool you can plant trees with your pasture. You have this gorgeous looking savannah and you're producing more edges - pasture meets creek and pasture meets forests - and that’s where you have the most diversity so you’re increasing more diversity. It’s a phenomenal thing.

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The Southeast Tennessee Young Farmers Coalition (SeTNYF) works with farmers across the Tennessee-Alabama-Georgia region, connecting them with the tools, resources, and people they need to build a successful farm business.

SeTNYF is a fiscally sponsored Chapter of National Young Farmers Coalition. Young Farmers has a mission to shift power and change policy to equitably resource our new generation of working farmers.

Story ideas, questions, feedback? Interested in partnering with us? Email: david@foodasaverb.com

This story is 100% human generated; no AI chatbot was used in the creation of this content.

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