“I encourage all my Wwoofers to spend time with the pigs every day. They are very grounding.”

I discovered WWoofing back in 2012 when I spent a day picking kale at the Morning Star Ranch in Valley Center for a story on Farmers Markets. The ranch belonged to the Twelve Tribes, which some people suggested was some kind of cult. Adorable barefoot children ran around the property. There were yurts, and women in peasant skirts picking grapefruits.  No one had cell phones. It felt like an old-timey movie, idyllic and wholesome (though the culty rumors did make me a bit wary).  

Photograph by Siobhan Braun

“Today we’ll treat you like one of our Wwoofers,” said Rekah, the birdlike woman tasked with overseeing my visit that day. Noting my puzzlement, she explained, “Wwoofers are volunteers that stay here as sort of like a working vacation for room and board. Many come here and never leave.” Rumors or no, I was intrigued. Rumors or no, I almost didn’t leave. They invited me to a family style meal the following Sunday, with music and merriment and a bizarro worship service. I declined, worried that I’d be sucked in if I went. My friend Laurie had warned me, only half-joking, “Don’t go up there alone. If anyone were to join a cult, it’d be you. You’d be lured in by that free-spirited hippie shit.” 

Now, over a decade later, I am sitting cross-legged in a pig pen on a Friday morning in Fallbrook. A Kunekune swine named Krishna nudges my leg with its slobbery snout. I give his wiry back a pet. Another, much larger pig lounges at my feet, anticipating a belly rub. My host Athena laughs. “I encourage all my Wwoofers to spend time with the pigs every day. They are very grounding,” she says, giving a hog named Vishnu a loving scratch on his head.

Wwoof?

Wwoof stands for Worldwide Opportunities on Organic Farms; it is a grassroots organization that pairs volunteers with host farms. Wwoofers dedicate four to six hours per day, up to six days a week, in exchange for room and board. A $40 membership with Wwoof opens unique opportunities to users, everything from living and working on a coconut farm, to building homesteads, to learning sustainable farming techniques. The possibilities are as endless as the locales: Peru, New Zealand, Hawaii, and good old San Diego. 

My first approach was to Jared, the owner of an avocado orchard up north who described himself as an open-minded, laid-back Dead Head. Apparently, nighttime jam sessions were the norm there. The farm work appeared manageable and the sleeping arrangements looked comfortable, but honestly, he had me at Dead Head. Sadly, I lost him at “journalist.” Jared politely explained that he did not want or need the publicity. “As it is, we turn down 25 applicants for every one we admit. Additionally, we are constantly battling city hall over regulations, because they are business killers — unless, of course, you are a corporation! Also, we are kind of, sort of, preppers.  We would rather not divulge to the rest of San Diego how desirable our place is, and where they can find food and fresh spring water, etc.” Fair enough.

Athena described her farm as a sacred ceremony space and animal sanctuary. I reached out, and Athena asked to have a conversation, to see if we vibed. She wanted to hear my thoughts on energy. We chatted for nearly an hour on a Monday afternoon, and I liked her immediately. She was warm with a tendency to overshare, both qualities I love in a person. By the end of the conversation, she agreed to host me. I was delighted, because already, I felt like I had known Athena for years.  

Arrival

Upon my arrival at Athena’s farm, I am overcome by the same thrill I felt over a decade ago at Morning Star Ranch. The same primal feeling of I never want to leave. Athena, standing in the doorway and flanked by a two huge Great Pyrenees dogs, looks like Mother Nature herself. The setting sun shines through her long, wild, wiry, grey hair, giving her an iridescent aura. Her home is warm and bohemian. It smells delicious. A young woman with dreadlocks pulled into a loose knot at the nape of her neck is making dinner: chicken tacos and a pineapple upside cake.  Her name is Jojo. She dries her hands and shakes mine hesitantly. Her tiny brown dog Raphael jumps up, pawing my legs. The dog likes me; it is evident his owner is unsure. When Athena leads me outside for a tour, she tells me, “For privacy’s sake, I told the Wwoofers that you are a writer.” Ah. I would have told the Wwoofers if Athena hadn’t, but I still register the pang of the outsider. Because being an insider looks great.

“I should mention the rules,” Athena says, scrunching her nose up at the word “rule.” “Most things here are flexible and easy. Things happen; it is all okay. But there are a couple of things that are critical. I am going to give those to you first. I have six dogs; five of them are Great Pyrenees, and they look very similar. Two of them would fight to the death if they got together. One of them would kill chickens if he got out. The other one would pick on the pigs. And none of them are the same dogs. The immutable rule is, do not move a dog until you really know them and their idiosyncrasies.” She takes a breath and continues: “And then there are my cats: Sparrow and Finch. They are strictly indoor cats. They cannot go outside. Just don’t move animals is what I am saying. It boils down to this: be mindful of doors and gates.”

With the rules out of the way, Athena leads me outside. A young man and woman are cutting pieces of wood with a power saw to repair the chicken coop. They look young enough to be teenagers. Hayden is reserved. His hair is cropped into a slight mullet. He wears a long sleeve shirt, jeans, and work boots. He gives off an angsty teen vibe. Caroline is girl-next-door pretty, with shiny brown hair and a warm smile.  

Athena leads me past two cages housing fluffy white dogs. The larger one, Memphis, leaps up against the chain link of his cage to greet me. I pat his head affectionately. He wags his tail in delight. A flock of chickens and a few roosters strut past as we walk to the far end of the yard. I am introduced to Peter, a twenty-something German who is building a stairway on the hillside. Athena stops to inspect his work, nodding and proclaiming, “It’s wonderful!”

“Are you sure?” Peter asks, eager to please. “Because I could change it if you want. I can make the steps a little wider or closer together?”

She nods pondering the idea. “Maybe? My knees are old!”

We leave him to his work, walking past some goats and pigs in an enclosure and through a gate to the front of the house where a welcome sign hangs. A tiny gecko peeks out from behind it. Athena tells me that in Sanskrit, it reads, “In all possible dimensions, all consciousness free of suffering, I give my word.” “It is the Bodhisattva — or rather, one of the Bodhisattva vows.” I pretend to know what that means. Later I google “Bodhisattva” and learn that “a Bodhisattva vow implies a commitment to personal growth, driven by concern for others’ welfare, leading to enlightenment.”

Athena shows me the trailer where I will sleep. It is simple and cozy, but the door is broken and will not shut. Athena sighs, fetching a screwdriver from the garage to fix it. While finagling the door, she points up at the hilltop above us and rattles off a list of the plants and herbs that grow there. As she finishes with the door, dusk is beginning to fade to dark, and it’s time to take care of the animals for the night. Jojo, Hayden, Caroline, Peter and I all lend a hand. We usher the chickens back into their coop before heading in for dinner.

Dinner

We gather in the dining room passing around heaping bowls of shredded chicken, taco toppings, and warm tortillas. When our bellies are mostly full, I ask the table what led them to Wwoofing. I am surprised to learn that besides Athena, we are all virgin Wwoofers. Jojo tells me, “I wanted my first experience to be something that was healing and ceremonial. This was literally the first place that popped up on [Wwoof]. I feel like it was meant to be. I flew out here from Ohio. I have a homestead back there.” Jojo divulges her age: 32. I am shocked, mostly due to her wrinkle-free skin and her youthful demeanor. When she tells me she has been at Athena’s for only eight days I am shocked again. She seems so completely at home. “I think I am going to stay a couple of months more. There’s a good influx of people coming in and out, and I like it here.”

“Who will take care of your homestead back in Ohio?”

“I don’t have that homestead anymore. It’s my ex’s. Technically, I am kind of homeless.”  She looks at me and laughs hard, as if coming to terms with this reality for the first time. “Like, I don’t have a place to go back to, except moving in with my parents.”  

“Is that what you are going to do?”

She looks down at her plate and shrugs, her voice hardening, ‘Probably not. I’ll travel. I’ll find a place.”

“Is that stressful?”

Her voice is clipped when she responds, “Not really. It will work out.” 

Peter breaks the tension by saying, “This is my first experience too. I had a friend who stayed on a farm in Australia for a full year. I didn’t even know I could do something like this!” Peter is spending 90 days traveling around the country. At 26, he is beginning to reevaluate his life choices. He is wondering if being a computer scientist is his true calling. He is afraid it isn’t. But he is not sure if wants to spend the time starting over. He thinks he should be doing something worthwhile. He wants to make a difference in the world. “I decided to [Wwoof] to meet people and to try to see how Americans live — like, actually live. Their daily routines and their thoughts. Instead of just staying in a big city being one of a million people, I wanted most of the time I spent in the United States to be part of a family environment.”

Peter started in New York, ventured west to San Francisco, visited Yosemite, and then came here. He’s leaving in ten days. Caroline, 21, is leaving on Sunday. “I’ll have been here or two weeks. I actually found Wwoof from a TikTok that went viral. I did some research, and it was the perfect outlet. I have always loved animals and I want a farm when I am older. I probably looked at 50 different places before choosing this one. I think I will probably go down a similar path as Athena. I wanted to do something different than the people I was hanging around with. I wanted a more spiritual, holistic path.” She tugs on her sleeve, and I notice that one arm is covered in what look like scars.  

Originally from around D.C., Caroline attended LSU and lived in Baton Rouge for a bit. “But I decided to do online school, so I moved back in with my parents.”

“How do your parents feel about you Wwoofing?”

“They were proud of me for doing a solo trip. The plan is to live with my parents and work for maybe a year and save up as much as I can. I might look into the van life and just Wwoof around.”

Herman has been silent most of dinner. Athena has told me that Herman is not a traditional Wwoofer; he is a high school student, just 16, doing online school from Athena’s. His mom is a friend, and asked if he could stay temporarily. He’s been here almost five months.

“Do you feel that being here has changed you as person?”

He nods but avoids eye contact. “Yes. I am little more disciplined. I eat better. I do more, and I appreciate animals a little more. I grew up on a farm. We always had horses, birds and a bunch of pigs, goats and sheep. I am from southern California, the high desert area near Joshua Tree.”

“Has it been fun getting to know all these people that come here?”

A sly smile form on his lips and he lets out a little laugh before answering, “Yes and no. Fun when they’re nice.”

“They are not always nice?” I ask.

“There have been some entitled rude people.”  

Athena explains, “Sometimes, we ask people to leave. I have gotten better at doing that. I have learned that if you tell people, ‘It’s not working out,’ without expressing any sort of emotion, they tend to take it better.” She once had a meth addict come to Wwoof; he got a lot done but it wasn’t a healthy situation, so she had to tell him to leave. Another time, a Wwoofer was too rough with one of her dogs and dislocated its leg. The vet had to put the dog down. I can see tears in her eyes as she shares this story.   

I notice that Athena keeps saying “we,” even though she lives alone. Does “we” include the Wwoofers? “No; when I say ‘we,’ I mean me and Spirit” says Athena. “I have always been a bit of mystic. I have had non-ordinary experiences my whole life. For many years, professionally, I found ways to talk about that without using the word ‘spirit.’ I used words like ‘intuition’ or ‘hunch.’ If I was going to describe it directly, it is that I hear things. Now that I am old and retired, I can just say Spirit.”

She says it was Spirit’s idea to open the farm to Wwoofers. “Right in the middle of the first month of Covid, Spirit came through so strong. Spirit said, ‘Prepare for community.’ It has been crazy! I thought it would a piece of cake to have community. But there is no hiding here. There is no Zen I can pretend when someone takes a very expensive knife and jams it into a coconut. The first six months, I swear I walked around like Napoleon Dynamite, thinking, ‘These people are idiots!’” She smiles and continues, “I cannot train people to be less egregious. I have learned what really matters. Things happen. But remembering how to be patient and kind can be difficult. I could’ve gone to a monastery with the lessons I have learned.” 

I ask Athena if many Wwoofers come solely to heal. Her voice when she responds is soft but precise; each sentence feels meaty with meaning. “There is a kind of healing called platica, where I talk to somebody from their heart to see where their troubles are. As a result, I might suggest that they say certain prayers or maybe they consume a certain kind of plant.”

Athena explains that she continues hosting Wwoofers because she feels called. She likes to see young people interacting and forming lifelong friendships. She likes to see Wwoofers who come to her broken begin to heal. Caroline smiles adoringly at Athena, adding, “There is a real healing process here. We have a lot of time to meditate and work through the stuff that we came here to work through.”  

I ask Athena if many Wwoofers come solely to heal. Her voice when she responds is soft but precise; each sentence feels meaty with meaning. “There is a kind of healing called platica, where I talk to somebody from their heart to see where their troubles are. As a result, I might suggest that they say certain prayers or maybe they consume a certain kind of plant. I do a lot of platica with [Wwoofers] and I get to watch the effect. That can mean that people cry during the day while they are working here, because stuff comes up. I watch people turn around and really transform. 

“If we have a mission here, it is to realize that we are all connected. We are at a critical junction. It feels hopeless sometimes, with the forces of division and the forces of greed, but I know that kindness is contagious. We are connected to the world, and the diameter of the self is huge. Selfishness is good, it’s just that most people’s diameters are too small. They think it is themselves they are selfish for; them and their family; them and their tribe, them and their nation. But this is all the self,” Athena makes a sweeping motion with her arm indicating everything: the room, the sky, the earth, all of us.

I immediately look at the German, gauging his reaction. Does he think we are a bunch of crazy Americans? Undeterred, Athena continues, “I do feel that things have become really, really, divisive — propaganda, social media. it just feels like our species is at the place where we have the technology to, maybe begin to be interstellar travelers. We can split the atom and power spaceships. But with the same technology, we can blow up the planet. There are beings here trying to blow up the planet and beings here pushing hard for connection. I pitch for connection. For me, I think we are here to try to infect each other with enough cooperation and love that we decide not to blow up the planet. I feel like Spirit sends key players to me, people who are going to have influence. People who are going to have to make choices.”

I look around the table and everyone is dead silent. It is hard to decipher what they are thinking and how they are feeling. The German is grinning; he can’t help himself. He laughs and breaks the silence with an indifferent shrug, before blurting, “Well then I guess I am going to try to make the best out of this?”

Athena laughs too, smiling broadly at him, adding in a self-depreciating way, “Don’t mind me, I’m just sitting up here on the mountain trying to help people who are trying to save the world!” We all laugh, and Jocelyn passes around her pineapple upside cake. Athena talks over our chatter, saying, “This is a beautiful planet. If we blow ourselves up, we blow up everything and everybody.” No one is listening because there is cake and homemade whipped cream, and they are all exhausted after a full day on the farm. 

Morning

Wwoofers are expected to rise at 7 am for morning chores. I am in the kitchen at 6:58, making coffee. Two sips in, Athena ushers Peter and me outside because we are the newbies and need to learn the ropes. We feed the pigs and scoop up their poop. We distract the goats with hay so we can scrape poop off their enclosure. We refill water troughs for the pigs and goats. We clean up more poop — this time, the dogs’. When we are done, Athena asks, “Which tree gets an offering?” I point to the olive tree. We fertilize it with the goat poop. The tree opposite gets the pig poop. The dog poop goes in the trash. 

Athena tells us that the roosters are rapey. It’s true; last night when we put the chickens back in the coop for the night, the roosters charged at them, and the poor chickens made a terrified run for it.

Peter and I take apart the Koi pond filter. It is covered in slime. We clean it and put it back together.  We check the coop and bring fresh eggs inside to the kitchen. Athena tells us that the roosters are rapey. It’s true; last night when we put the chickens back in the coop for the night, the roosters charged at them, and the poor chickens made a terrified run for it. 

“That’s it for now,” Athena tells us. “Help yourself to breakfast, and then I would like to have you sit with the pigs.” I see a smirk begin to form on Peter’s lips. I pour myself more coffee and drink it slowly before Peter and I dutifully follow Athena into the pen. Noting our presence, the pigs and goats approach, letting out a cacophony of snorts and bleats.  Athena takes a seat in the dirt. We follow suit, making a semicircle on the ground. Within seconds we are surrounded by pigs. They lean against my back. One rests its enormous head on my leg. Peter reaches out and hesitantly runs his hand across the side of Shakti, one of the biggest pigs in the pen. In return, Shakti rubs her face into Peter’s hands and sprawls out in front of him. 

“They are therapeutic animals. Sit with the pigs, and you’ll see a difference afterward,” Athena proclaims. And we do that for a full hour while I ask Athena about her life. She answers me with stunning, heart-breaking honesty. She left home at 13. “During my childhood, my parents went through a nasty divorce. I was sent to live with relatives in Montana. It was a very bad and dark experience. It would have been traumatic for anyone, but I was extremely robust as a child. Things that happened that would’ve shattered a different person, only bent me. By the time I came home from that experience at 11, I was completely feral and unafraid of adults. I had believed, for many reasons, that I was going to be killed. So, by the time I was like 12 and 13, I was fearless. If I didn’t think someone was going to hurt me, I would not listen. I had no interest in adults, so I moved out at 13. I went to Santa Ana. My mom was relieved. My dad was falling in love with a woman who did not like kids.  He was living in Missouri. He was out of the picture.”

Athena tells me how she managed, at age 13, to finagle a California State driver’s license that listed her as ten years older than she was, and how she skipped middle school and high school and went straight to community college thanks to that con. I learn about her first two husbands, her time as a healer in Hawaii, how her best friend gifted her the land we are sitting on to look after. She tells about being a web developer for Johnson and Johnson, and a private masseuse. She tells how she squirrelled money away, and about the properties she owns.

“I own five properties in Washington. I rent them all out.”

“Are those paid off?”  I ask.

“Yes; most of them were bought with cash.”  She lowers her voice and explains, “I have a really incredible relationship with money. I made an agreement with Spirit that I would always have five cents more than I wanted to spend. When I was in one of those dark night of the soul places, when I was not sure what I was going to do, I was asked by Spirit, ‘How much money do you need?’ I told Spirit, ‘I like to spend money. I love money. I love throwing money around. Spirit, I want five cents more than what I want, not need, what I want, to spend,’ And, I have always had five cents more than I needed ever since. I work with people for free for a long time and then they will come into money and give it to me. I have worked with people who are quite affluent, and people who are quite famous. Some of my houses were bought for me. I don’t like to say that a lot. It makes people feel funny, but spending money is a blessing. When we spend money freely, we are being blessed. Many times, when someone gives me money, I am really excited for them because I feel they are interacting in the spiritual world.” She looks at me for a second, shrugs and with a little laugh says, “See, I am not your typical Wwoofer.” And with that, she gets up from the pen because Wwoofer number six needs to be picked up at the bus stop in Fallbrook. 

“You can relax or find a project on the white board to do.  It’s up to you,” she tells us before heading out. I opt to help Caroline and Jojo with the compost pile. Herman is doing online schoolwork. Peter works on his stairs. When we are done, I go inside for some water. Caroline comes in to  put ointment on her arm.

“I think it might be poison ivy,” she tells me, revealing a rash that sweeps across it like a spider web.  

“I noticed that on your arm last night,” I say. “I thought you were a cutter.” Caroline makes a face before bursting into laughter and saying, “No!” She grabs Zen and Art of Motorcycle Maintenance off the coffee table before heading outside to read.  

“That’s my son’s favorite book,” I say.

“It’s good! I don’t use my phone as much here.  I deleted all my social media. I got antsy at first, so I have been reading a lot and meditating.”

I nod and consider going to the trailer to get my book too, but then I hear Athena’s car in the driveway.

Departure

Wwoofer Sophie is 23 and from Chicago. Her accent is thick and nasally. The other Wwoofers are not around to greet her. Athena tells Sophie the same rules she gave me last night. She heats up cups of soup for the three of us. We sit at the living room table to talk as we eat our lunch. Sophie tells me, “I work as a recruiter. I am here for just three days. This is my first time Wwoofing. I follow a few people who Wwoof as a lifestyle. A lot of people who try it, end up doing it long term, months on end, or semi-permanently. That does not yet seem accessible for me. I am not ready to make that move. I think at some point I will. I would like to take some time off, maybe a year, and just move around. I feel like this is such a perfect way to do that.” She takes a gulp of soup. When she is done, Athena gives her the tour.  Sophie will take my trailer as I am leaving tonight. I wish I had more time, but there is not enough room. The others booked Athena’s farm months ago. I am lucky to have gotten 24 hours.

When Athena and Sophie come back inside, Athena says, “The Wwoofers are going for a hike around the backroads.” I join them, and am glad I do. Everything is beautiful. Upon our return, an hour later, a delicious scent spills from the kitchen. I am tempted to stay for dinner. But I know I should head back. Soon it will be dark, and the road out of Athena’s is tricky to navigate by moonlight. I say my goodbyes, feeling a pang of envy that other Wwoofers get to stay. I type “home” into Google maps, hoping that rush hour traffic has cleared. My ETA is 1 hour and 18 minutes. I hope I can shave off a few minutes but just then, I take a wrong turn. My mistake adds an additional six minutes to the drive. I let out a lengthy sigh, thoroughly annoyed, before noticing my surroundings. Knotted fairytale trees swoosh past my window. Oaks line either side of the road, their limbs entwining overhead. I am enchanted by the beauty of it. I find myself dismissing those extra minutes and accepting my serendipitous mistake. Life is bigger and sweeter then all the senseless worries that clutter my brain. I take those six extra minutes to marvel at the beauty of all of it: the trees the sky, the dark brown earth underneath it all. Maybe those pigs did ground me.