From Seed to Summit

Have you ever stopped to think about where your food actually comes from?

Not which grocery store. Not aisle six. I mean where it was grown. Who grew it. What it took to make it's way to your cart. As Americans, we’re spoiled (me included). We enjoy one of the most abundant, affordable, and safest food supplies in the world — and that's thanks to America’s farm families. According to the United States Department of Agriculture, there are about 1.9 million farms in the U.S., and the vast majority are family operated. Even more surprising? Nearly 30% have been farming less than 10 years.

Translation: farming doesn’t look like what we think it does anymore.

When I picture a farmer, I imagine an older man in sun-faded overalls with generational land and a weathered pickup with a dog on the front seat.

Enter: Casey Haggerty.

Thirty years old. Science degree in one hand, pitchfork in the other.

And technically…

Hey Siri… what are female farmers called? Farmerette.

Excuse me?! Why did I not know this?

From the field to table, she's just here to slay the garden

Redefining the Narrative

After working more than a decade and a half in recruitment, I’ve watched work ethic shift. Accountability feels optional in some corners of younger generations.

Casey disrupts that narrative entirely.

She’s the kind of powerhouse who doesn’t even realize she is one.

To interview her, I met her at her booth at the Brighton Farmers Market. Farmers don’t exactly pencil in interviews between yoga and brunch.

When I arrived at Sali Caceae (pronounced “Sally Casey-uh”), she was explaining to a customer — with both authority and enthusiasm — why romaine lettuce isn’t available during August heat.

It wasn’t just knowledge. It was stewardship. And she genuinely loved educating people about it.

Education. Enthusiasm. Zero ego. I was immediately invested.

Born Into It (And Not Afraid of a Butcher Block)

Farming is in her blood. Her great-grandfather farmed. Her grandfather grew up catching and butchering chickens for the family.

When Casey butchered her first chicken, she called her grandpa for advice.

Let that marinate for a minute …

She says “butchered” like we say, “ran errands.”

He walked her through singeing feathers with newspaper and ripening tomatoes in paper bags. He passed when she was fifteen, but she still hears him say “Delicioso” when she cooks something good.

I mean… come on. 🥹

Brains + Boots

Casey isn’t just winging it.

She earned her Master’s in Ecosystem Science and Management (Agroecology focus) from the University of Michigan School for Environment and Sustainability. Her graduate research focused on cover crops and their ecological benefits — aka farming that actually protects the land.

Before launching her own farm, she worked with the Groundwork Center for Resilient Communities, helping schools implement “Harvest of the Month.” She taught kids how food is grown, ran taste tests (Try Day Friday Anyone?!), and helped schools source produce from local farms.

If students loved a recipe? It got added to the lunch menu.

Local farms win. Kids win. Community wins.

We love a systems-thinking queen.

The Farm: Small but Mighty

She started Sali Caceae in 2023. Sounds recent — but she’s already three seasons deep.

Her farm is 0.3 acres.

Let me repeat that. Zero point three acres.

Feathered fabulousness: making farm life look chic, one fluffy friend at a time.

On that modest footprint she manages:

• 46 chickens

• 1 duck

• 2 mini donkeys

• 4 horses

• 1 barn cat

• 2 indoor cats

• 1 dog

And she is the ONLY employee.

Her first year? 12–14 hour days.

This past season? Still long hours, just slightly less feral.

Broccoli? A groundhog ate it.

Lettuce? Goldfinches (aka “salad birds”) tried to claim it.

Cabbage worms? Don’t even ask.

Organic farming is not for the weak friends.

CSA Queen Energy

Through her Community Supported Agriculture (CSA) program, Casey initially aimed for 30 weekly or 60 biweekly shares. She secured 36 biweekly — and something far more meaningful.

If a member couldn’t pick up their share, it was donated rather than wasted. Every other week, multiple shares go directly to families in need.

It’s a business model rooted in both sustainability and generosity.

Farming Isn’t Cute. It’s Gritty.

The U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics consistently ranks agriculture among the most dangerous industries in America.

Long hours. Heavy equipment. Animals. Weather. Financial risk.

And yet — she shows up.

Every. Single. Day.

When I asked what she’d tell younger Casey, she said:

“Trust your own capabilities a bit more.”

At 30, she’s building something that feeds people — literally.

So the next time you grab carrots off a shelf without thinking?

Just know they just might have been grown by the hands of a 30-year-old farmerette who’s been up since before sunrise to make it happen.

But wait! There’s more badassery!!

The Mountain

When I asked her about the most physically demanding thing she’s ever done, the answer is easy, Mount Kilimanjaro.

As in — THAT Kilimanjaro.

The idea was planted when she was a kid after her mom said she wanted to do it someday. Years later, Casey and her youngest brother realized they wouldn’t always have time to take a trip like that together.

So they went. Their mom opted out after deciding she was past the phase of life that includes camping without indoor plumbing. Respect.

The first time she saw the mountain from the bus, her stomach dropped. The base was massive. A thick band of clouds wrapped the middle. And then — impossibly — the summit rose far above the clouds.

“I don’t think I can do this,”

It wasn’t just the height. It was nine days off-grid. No contact. No comforts. And she had just started dating someone she really liked. The timing felt wildly inconvenient for a near-death experience.

But then she took one step.

“Okay. That wasn’t so bad. Do it again Casey..”

And she did.

Can we just take a moment to just take in this gorgeous view!?

Her group climbed through volcanic scree that slid beneath every step, in rain that turned to snow. They woke at 2 a.m. on summit day and climbed in the dark — a blessing, because she couldn’t see how far she still had to go.

At 18,000 feet, the oxygen thins. Every step feels heavy. Her vision pulsed with her heartbeat. One member of their group had to be airlifted down due to altitude sickness.

When she reached the summit, she cried — not from drama, but from relief.

Her first season of farming had just ended, and it hadn’t gone well. She carried doubt and fear that she wasn’t capable of building what she wanted.

Standing on that summit, after doubting herself the entire way up, something shifted.

Climbing Kilimanjaro didn’t just test her lungs. It rebuilt her confidence with each step she took.

It reminded her that the only way forward — whether on the side of a mountain or on 0.3 acres — is the same:

One step.

Then another.

Then another.

Nothing but respect for this Badass! Conquering the heights of Mount Kilimanjaro—an incredible achievement at 5,895 meters! 🌟🏔️

You can work with your hands in soil, coaxing life from it. Climbing a mountain is different — the reward isn’t something you harvest, it’s something you endure toward.

Both are humbling.

Both are deeply rewarding.

Both demand respect for nature’s power.

But one grows food.

The other grows you.

And suddenly, you’re somewhere you once thought was impossible.

Hay girl! Respect.