Dancing the Land Farm is:
Sweathearts, Liz Dwyer and Curtis Weinrich. This farm is a flowering, sprouting, fruiting conversation between us and this Land, between us now and the generations that came before us and the ones to come after us, between practicality and spirituality, with hope, with joy, with hard work, and passion. It is our intention to grow vibrant, vital food, fiber, flowers, and medicine, to feed people, to live in relationship with those that we raise, to cultivate a place for people to gather and feast and laugh and do good work, to teach what we know and pass on some of the sweetness and wisdom that's been passed to us. And, perhaps mostly, to live fiercely, fully, and beautifully--as close to the ground as possible.
A little about Liz:
I was born here, on Dancing The Land Farm, before that name came about. As a kid I loved plants and critters and art and poetry. As a fiercely curious person, I dropped out of high school when I was fifteen and declared myself home-schooled, I then went to college at sixteen--taking everything from physics to tap dancing trying to feed my great hunger for knowledge. Curtis and I met when I was eighteen, he was on the crew my family hired to build our straw-bale house. Very quickly after we met we started traveling together. Eventually we landed in northern, coastal California on a sweet little organic farm called Oz. Yep, this Midwestern girl landed at Oz. I apprenticed for two years, and lived in the community of Point Arena on and off for seven, in between other adventures. There I studied plant medicine, and made a lot of art, I taught gardening and bike shop at the local elementary school, as well as writing. I apprenticed under a blacksmith, and had a couple one-woman art shows. I studied and taught felt-making (and in the fall of 2016 traveled to Kyrgyzstan to further my study!), and worked at an herbal apothecary. I lived and worked on a formal estate garden, and helped start four other farms in the area. I worked at a biodynamic goat dairy and market garden in the greenhouses with wonderfully strange orchids and bromeliads and sowing veggie starts (starting thousands of tomatoes a season!) I also study a myriad of wonderful and mysterious subjects at an ongoing school in New Mexico (copper smithing, hide tanning, shoe making, fire making, spinning, fiddle making, etc). Recently, I've been teaching myself to weave with the abundant soft fibers we have from our sheep and goats.
A bit about Curtis:
Curtis was born and raised in rural Missouri. He has a degree in Chemistry from northern Wisconsin's Northland College. He's worked for over 17 years as a carpenter with a focus in natural building. He's spent many years living and working on organic farms, milking goats, making cheese, building infrastructure, and wrenching on machinery. In 2008 and 2009 he sailed from the country of Chile around the horn of South America, north to Antigua, north more to Nova Scotia, across the Atlantic, and across the Mediterranean to Croatia, stopping in many places along the way. Curtis is a talented writer and community activist, focusing on climate-change awareness and local food systems. In California Curtis served on our local Co-op board in several different roles, ending out as president by the time we moved back to Minnesota. In addition to farming, Curtis currently serves as the business manager to North Star Press, our family's publishing company, also on the land here.
Curtis and I moved back to my homeland here in Minnesota in spring of 2012. Our first season brought a lot of critters (goats and dogs and chickens and cats) and a lot of remembering a bit of forgotten land back to life. That first winter Curtis asked me to marry him, and we spent our next growing season cultivating all the food and flowers and landscaping for our seven-day, festival style wedding in August of 2013. In 2015 our first child, our son, Gilbert August, died during labor in June after a full-term, happy pregnancy. We planted his ashes along with three pretty little plum trees in our field, near where we got married. Forever now, our blood and bones are tied to this land, this soil. May beautiful things grow. With much hope and joy, in October of 2017 our beautiful little daughter, Andalucia Jailoo, was born happy and well at home in front of the fire during the first snow of the year.
In early September of 2018, Corinne Dwyer, my mother, went to join our Gilbert in the soil on our hillside overlooking the gardens after a really short, hard fight with brain cancer. Corinne, who lived here with us, and while maybe wasn't out in the gardens with us every day, in many ways, is the reason we, young people with no start-up capital, were able to create what we have here. She was the sheltered place in which the tender seeds of our dream were able to sprout. I tended to her dying time the same way I tend to my fields--with devotion, deep respect to the process, joy and grief, and a love that lives deep in the root. Now we are charged with her dying wish to see us flourish. May it be so. May her trees bloom in the growing light of spring.