"One of my goals of moving here was to help open hearts .... that we can come together as a community.”

"The land has truly burst open my identity.”

Hidden in the woods, far from our normal, routine lives, there is a spring from which water flows -- cold and clear -- all year long.

The spring is humble. It makes very little noise, has no ego or advertising. If you weren’t looking for it, you may never know it’s there.

But for some people, the spring feels like a yearning, like something calling them as a gravity pulls this way and that, as some plates shift in the heart’s core, sliding here and there, and one wakes up in the middle of life and knows: I have to find this spring.

Those people begin to do strange and surprising things: quit their job, move across the country, buy land in a place they’ve never lived. But every decision is spent getting one step closer to the spring. Each day is spent rewriting the map. Each day, the wheat separates from the chaff and one begins to know:

This is who I am.

This is where I belong.

This is home.

Alysia Leon is a Queer, female, first-generation Mexican-American farming 2 ¼ acres on a 55-acre plot of Cagle Mountain land in Sequatchie County.

In 2020, Leon, 31, and a partner purchased the land, just a quarter-mile away from the local dollar store. The land is flat with fields and views of the valley in the winter, then rolls downward and north, with woods so deep, you feel cradled and held; there’s a home painted white and adjacent barn, an orchard and rows of Eastern hemlocks once planted as future Christmas trees now 30 feet tall.

And, nearby, a spring.

When they first moved in, neighbors came bearing gifts: warm banana bread wrapped in tin foil, bags of corn and seed, plenty of helping hands dealing with copperheads. There’d been talk the land would be developed and subdivided; instead, Leon and her partner got to work on creating something beautifully healing and good.

Since 2020, Leon has planted 100 native trees and plants, resurrected the two-acre orchard with cherry, plum, blueberry, elderberry, fig, pear, mulberry and apple trees, turned a portion of neglected hayfield into 60-then-100-foot–rows that grow herbs alongside vegetables – heat-tolerant collards and cabbage, thyme and garlic, volunteer buckwheat and flowering hairy vetch. With friends, she designed and built a wheelchair-accessible composting toilet some say is the nicest they’ve ever seen. Next, a stand-alone tiny home will soon rent as an AirBnB. A trail through the woods, a hoop house made from reclaimed materials, and, with the help of the nonprofit Nooga Honey Pot, she’s managing two honeybee hives.

As a beginning farmer, she plotted out a vision. Oats and grains here. Herbs and vegetables there. A fan of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Leon named each parcel and plot after a character. (In Drusilla, stinging nettle and California Poppies grow.)

She named her farm Bird Fork Farm, after the spring-fed creek that flows through the land. And, well ... "because the land is our BFF,” she said.

Not long ago, Leon was an archaeologist without a real home, lost in a job she no longer enjoyed. Archaeology too often meant pipeline work, surveying, assessing, mainly for energy companies. She wanted something ... else.

Inside, something shifted, stirred and began to call out quietly, the soul’s birdsong. She began to look for land. But where? Leon grew up in a military family, always moving, never settling: California, Kentucky, Ohio, Florida, Illinois. Work took her to Costa Rica, Peru, Texas, Puerto Rico and St. Augustine.

Traveling to Chattanooga, Leon began “falling in love with the Sequatchie Valley.” She and her partner began looking for the perfect real estate quartet: waterfalls, relaxed building restrictions, farmable land.

And a mountain spring.

“We are not separate from nature; we are nature. Healing of the land must include healing of the people."

This summer, Leon celebrated three years at Bird Fork. She’s practicing regenerative farming – rebuilding and restoring all lives, including her own.

“Regenerative farming is so much more than just soil building, promoting biodiversity, sequestering carbon, and crop rotations,” she said. “It is more than just earth-care, it is people-care and the very existence of life. We are not separate from nature; we are nature. Healing of the land must include healing of the people as we belong to the land. We are the caregivers and caretakers of life through all transitions.”

Leon is naturally kind and inviting, equal parts warm and tough and imaginative. She’s hosted volunteer days, potlucks and Queer-campouts with plans for on-farm classes and events and a farm stand across the road, offering something besides dollar store and gas station food.

Bird Fork is becoming a refuge.

“In a world full of so much hate, it can be easier to hide our identities, but it is not the way to make change,” she said. “As a LGBTIA+, BIPOC female farmer, this place is ‘the different’ thing in this neighborhood. One of my goals of moving here was to help open hearts to the ‘different ones’ and show our rural neighbors that we are more alike than they realize. That we can come together as a community.”

She’s doing this through kindness, herbs and Bird Fork's “farm-acy.” Realizing the labor-intensity of growing market vegetables, she shifted to fill a much-needed gap in the local market. Now, Leon mostly cultivates culinary and medicinal herbs and flowers.

Today, Bird Fork sells an abundance: tea blends, spice blends, tinctures, oxymels, syrups and gift kits for yourself or loved ones, honey, herbal mouth rinses, dust shampoo, an Everything Hurts liniment, kombucha vinegar hair rinse, facial toner and gorgeous garlic braids.

“I hope to be able to provide various restaurants, herbalists, and families with beautiful, fresh and dried herbs, spices, teas, tinctures, body care products, honey, and more,” she said.

Her white pine elderberry syrup – sweetly delicious – contains some 15 ingredients. She treats herbs as primary and secondary responses to life, as they can add “essential vitamins, minerals and nutrients” that work alongside western medicine.

“We evolved with plants and plants as medicine,” she said. “It doesn’t have to be overwhelming. It doesn’t have to be overly complicated. When you couple it with western medicine, it can balance each other.”

She’ll harvest fresh herbs, pulverize them, add alcohol and let them sit for months, sometimes, a year. As we walked her farm, moving past Cordelia, where marigold, cilantro and lambs-quarter grow, we stopped at Hellmouth, where oats were planted. It was harvest time; Leon shows us how to squeeze off oat heads that are ripening; a potent white milky-substance emerges. She’ll dry these milky oat heads, selling fresh or using them for herbal blends and oatmeal baths.

Our work shifts into a meditative labor; our conversation turns quiet; there is a softness in the air. We whisper: we could do this for hours. Overhead, a hawk cries.

“I want BFF to become a gathering space, a place to learn about food, herbs, people and how they are intertwined, as well as a space to share what we care for and love,” she said. “Additionally, it isn't always safe for Queer and BIPOC folks to enjoy nature. I want this place to be a space for people to do just that. I also believe that it is important to support and lift the voices of marginalized folks within our community.”

In the chaos of news media, a grinding capitalist work ethic that never rests and the grief within what Gabor Mate calls our “trauma-blind society,” it can be illuminating and healing to read about someone gentle, visionary and who walks the land with identity and good intentions.

“Farming is community. It is learning to work with the land and give back rather than just take, it is being a good steward,” she said. “It is an act of love."

You can buy Bird Fork products online (and also sign up for volunteer days at the farm) or at the following places: The Main Street Farmers Market, The Signal Mountain Farmers Market, Burlaep Print and Press, Crabtree Farm’s Farm Stand, LUNCH in Sewanee and Short Mountain Cultures in Woodbury.

In order to highlight her voice – one that’s been often muted in American farming and society – Food as a Verb is publishing her full-length interview below.

Before we said goodbye, Leon walked us down a trail into the woods. There’s the spring, she said. It starts here and eventually flows into the Sequatchie River.

The water kept flowing, gently. Overhead, the birds sang. Leon sat on a fallen tree, its bark stripped away by years of weather; she smiled, easy in the world, her body grounded and at home with the earth around her.

All photography by Sarah Unger. Visit SarahCatherinePhoto.com

Story ideas? Interested in sponsorship opportunities + supporting our work? Feedback or questions? Email David Cook at david@foodasaverb.com. This story is 100% human generated; no AI chatbot was used in the creation of this content.

Food as a Verb thanks our sustaining partners for their generous, immeasurable support of local food and storytelling.

Farming and philosophy: an interview with Alysia Leon, Bird Fork Farm:

What does farming mean to you?

Farming is community. It is learning to work with the land and give back rather than just take, it is being a good steward, and it is an act of love. Regenerative farming is so much more than just soil building, promoting biodiversity, sequestering carbon, and crop rotations. It is more than just earth-care; it is people-care and the very existence of life. We are not separate from nature. We are nature. Healing of the land must include healing of the people as we belong to the land. We are the caregivers and caretakers of life through all transitions.

Regenerative farming includes creating safe spaces and lifting voices of marginalized folks. It is about creating shared abundance within our communities, about taking the time to observe, listen, honor and be patient with the land. It is about decolonization, restorative justice, coalition building, collective healing and integrating rather than segregating. Regenerative farming often leaves out history, the social aspect and how much indigenous knowledge is utilized. When we align our social systems with the same strength and resilience as nature, we can better support our neighbors. Our role as regenerative farmers is to tend, care, and maintain balanced relationships of all kinds.

What’s the history of Bird Fork Farm? When did the vision begin? When did you know: this is who I am and what I want to do?

Bird Fork Farm began in 2020 at the height of the COVID-19 pandemic. It originally began as a small homestead and quickly blossomed into all that it is today. I knew that I wanted to work with the land back in 2013. I was in graduate school for archaeology working to finish my degree, but emotionally was torn as all I wanted to do was farm. When I finished my degree, I joined the workforce in my studied field and continued that for about three years until I was ready to make the leap into farming. The first seeds were planted before closing on the land as I was so anxious to get plants in the ground! While I knew I wanted to farm for close to 10 years, it wasn't until the past six months when I could feel it to my core that I was in the right place and on the right path.

As a farmer, define freedom. Love. Security.

While farming is hard, it is also a sense of freedom. Freedom from the food trucked in from thousands of miles away, from relying on others to sustain you, and from the large agricultural complex that is quickly killing the climate and the works that it exploits. It is certainly the hardest thing I have ever done, but the land holds me and provides in so many ways reminding me that I am loved. If I am having a bad day it doesn't take too long to remind me that it will pass after sitting outside surrounded by all the bees, butterflies, and flowers. The land demands love too. I know that if I do not live up to my values, the land may suffer because of it.

Security is a tough one while farming, because how often do you meet a wealthy farmer? This work is physically, emotionally, and mentally challenging and often demands sun-up to sun-down work with little financial security. Often off-farm jobs are needed in order to provide that sense of security which of course takes time away from the work that needs to be done here. Farming is its own security in many ways, I know that I can provide my own food and even barter with others to fill in gaps. It is a privilege I am so thankful for and would like to share with others.

What do you wish regular Chattanoogans knew about Bird Fork Farm or farming and food in general?

Farming is dynamic and always shifting. When you live and eat with the seasons, you begin to appreciate our local food systems so much more. Bird Fork Farm is going through a major shift right now. The past three years of tending to the land has steered me in the direction of growing larger quantities of culinary and medicinal herbs. I hope to be able to provide various restaurants, herbalists, and families with beautiful, fresh and dried herbs, spices, teas, tinctures, body care products, honey, and more.

The local food movement has really shifted a lot of folks' thinking surrounding local foods, but I would like to take it a step further and challenge you to analyze your spice and tea cabinet. Do you know where those were grown? How long did they sit in a warehouse before making it into your home? or How were they grown? Were they properly dried to ensure it was preserved at its peak freshness? All of our herbs are dried in a way that preserves not only their color, but their nutrients.

In addition to providing the area with fresh and dry culinary and medicinal herbs, I am working to host on-farm herbal classes, plant walks, and events. If you are interested in joining please check us out on social media or on our website at https://birdforkfarm.square.site/

What’s tough and difficult about farming?

You know how it's a fantastic day to stay inside when it's below freezing out, there's snow on the ground, and the wind is whipping? Well, when you're farming that isn't an option! Farming through winter has got to be one of the most difficult things. It is possible, but know that not only does it take longer for food to grow, but it also is physically taxing. Honestly, farming is wearing many different hats. As a solo operation, there are never enough hands to get the work done, never enough time in the day, too many tasks, and sometimes you'll be fighting the weather. As a farmer, one of the scariest things is weather related events. Here on Cagle Mountain, we get very strong straight-line winds in the winter time which has broken numerous things around here including the hoophouse. It can also be really tough when you spend days harvesting for markets to not sell what you've harvested or to barely make enough money to cover bills that month. Because no matter how many hours you put in, your paychecks are never guaranteed.

What’s your own history? Where’s home? How did you begin farming? What else have you done?

I am originally from San Diego and am a first generation Mexican American. My step-father was in the military and we moved fairly frequently. I have lived in California, Florida, Ohio, Illinois, and Kentucky. My degree in archaeology allowed me to continue traveling and with that I worked in Costa Rica, Peru, California, Texas, Virginia, West Virginia, Puerto Rico, Kentucky, Washington, Oregon, and Nevada. I settled in Tennessee because of the biodiversity, the waterfalls, the lower cost of living, and the lack of land restrictions. Up until now, I had always considered Saint Augustine, Florida, to be my home, but Bird Fork Farm has changed that as I feel deeply intertwined with the land here.

What role does identity play in your experience with the land? How does identity - race, sexuality, gender, class, ethnicity - influence the way you interact, receive, experience and relate to the land?

The land has truly burst open my identity and is helping me work through many barriers. As a poor, queer, woman of color I grew up with a scarcity mindset which led me to dive head-first into grind culture. All I have to do is pull myself up by my bootstraps, right? Up until fairly recently, this resulted in a lack of rest, anger, exhaustion, burnout, and crumbling relationships. Running a farm is hard, especially without the proper amount of labor. I have spent the past 6 months working to reject the capitalist and white supremacist notions that if I am not constantly creating, doing, contributing, or being productive that my farm will fail. I have been working to embrace that rest and replenishment is necessary in order to have a successful business.

Farming as a female can be restrictive; it is harder to get people to take you seriously and to get supplies even. As a Latina, I feel that living with the land has allowed me to reconnect with my family's history, my ancestors and my plant-cestors. In ways it has allowed me to slow down and dig deeper into my identity because I am constantly reminded of all the living beings I am responsible for. At the forefront, this experience has also shown me that I need to expand my work to other communities within Chattanooga outside of the farmer's market bubble. That more community action is needed in the fight for food and health sovereignty.

Bird Fork Farm is proudly Queer and Latinx and female-owned. Why do you want people to know this about you?

In a world full of so much hate, it can be easier to hide our identities, but it is not the way to make change. As a LGBTIA+, BIPOC female farmer, this place is ‘the different’ thing in this neighborhood. One of my goals of moving here was to help open hearts to the ‘different ones’ and show our rural neighbors that we are more alike than they realize. That we can come together as a community. I want BFF to become a gathering space, a place to learn about food, herbs, people and how they are intertwined, as well as a space to share what we care for and love. Additionally, it isn't always safe for Queer and BIPOC folks to enjoy nature. I want this place to be a space for people to do just that. I also believe that it is important to support and lift the voices of marginalized folks within our community.

Tell me about the moments in your day when you feel really free and at ease, when you look around and exhale and think: yes, I am in the right place at the right time doing the right work.

It has genuinely taken a bit to get to the point where I feel free and at ease on a day-to-day basis. Prior to reaching that, the to-do list was constantly crushing me. While it is still there, I have learned to take the time to rest and replenish myself. When these at ease moments do hit, it's usually when I am in the garden harvesting herbs, singing to them, and smelling their sweet embrace. I feel a deep sense of calm, fulfillment and love. Or it is just taking the time to sit and watch the butterflies and bumblebees pollinating all the flowers while expressing gratitude for witnessing the cyclical nature of the land. Other times, it is when I am at the Main Street Farmer's Markets and I have individuals telling me how the plants I grew or wildcrafted or products I have made have helped them, their families or their friends. Genuinely, it all still feels surreal. Three years in and I do still struggle with imposter syndrome, but it is moments like these that remind me that I am where I am supposed to be.

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