The last weekend in September, I drove from Washington, D.C. to upstate New York for the Black Farm Fund’s (BFF) annual Abundance in Autumn Festival, a special event for BFF’s community of farmers, funders, and investors.
The event, held at the queer- and BIPOC-owned Rise & Root Farm, was a day of planting, listening, eating, and remembering that investment is never just about money. The day reminded all of us that investment is about people and the networks of care that keep them going.
The festival offered simple but profound activities that funders and farmers were able to do together, including watercolor painting, a meditation walk, and “weeding,” which turned into planting rows of parsley and lettuce. I chose to work with the dirt—no gloves—just me, sun on my face, and soil under my French-manicured nails.
And while one of the farmers guiding me, Ahmad Free-Cohen, laughed kindly when my rows turned out a little curved and a little tilted, he reassured me they weren’t curved enough that I’d need to redo them. Then he taught me about the rich, black soil at the farm.
“We are one of three regions in the world that have black soil,” he explained. Part of the reason is because the land used to be covered by glaciers, he added. “Once the glaciers melted, all the minerals and nutrients from the glaciers seeped into the ground, and that’s why the soil is like this now.”
UNWAVERING COMMITMENTS TO FARMING
Farming isn’t Free-Cohen’s only role. In the spring through fall, he works full-time at the farm, along with growing and selling fruit-flavored sea moss gel. And in the winter, he works as an educator and counselor for children with special needs. This year, he said he plans to launch a Black men’s mental health support group.
As I learned about Free-Cohen’s multiple roles, the reality struck me: farming alone doesn’t pay enough. Free-Cohen was just one of several farmers I met in similar situations— farmers who often live communally, work extra jobs, and stretch their lives across seasons of both land and labor, yet whose commitment to food, soil, and community remains unwavering.
Like Free-Cohen, who balances farming with other work, Wilfred “Farmer Wil” Moss’ story—which is one of legacy and resilience—shows how legacy sustains farming even when the margins are thin.
Moss is a real estate investor who, along with his sister, runs Moss Fresh Fruits and Vegetables, a second-generation Black-owned farm in western New York. Their parents immigrated from the Bahamas in the 1950s, bringing with them values of farming, self-sufficiency, and service to community. Those values remain alive today, shaping the Moss family’s work on the land and in their markets.
Moss was one of the original pilot participants in BFF, helping to shape the early decision-making process, and today he sits on the investment committee. His farm received a $10,000 grant for a tractor, which he said allowed the farm to expand production exponentially. This grant didn’t just have an abstract impact—it was the difference between sustaining and scaling, between barely holding on and building abundance.
Another voice that stood out was the voice of board member Rhyston Mays, who farms at Sweet Freedom Farm in Germantown, N.Y. Mays spoke candidly about the challenges of navigating government funding agreements that fell through. Their farm had already spent money on compost and straw based on commitments of reimbursement from federal programs. But when the administration shifted, climate-related reimbursements were quietly rescinded, leaving them responsible for covering those costs.
Thankfully, BFF’s Rapid Response Fund was there to cover part of the gap. As Mays put it, that wasn’t just financial support—it was community care that kept their farm moving forward. They also highlighted the vulnerability of Black farmers, who often find themselves on the edge of collapse when institutional systems fail to deliver.
Toward the end of the day, Karen “Mama K” Washington (photo, right), BFF’s cofounder and one of the owners of Rise & Root Farm, brought David and Veronica Haughton of Trinity Farm to stand next to her at the microphone. While they didn’t speak—they just waved—Washington told their story.
The Haughtons are known in their community for giving more than they ever ask. They show up when other farmers need hands on the land, and when local families need support, they’re there. But recently, their house burned down, and they’ve been living in a hotel for a month, waiting to start the long process of rebuilding.
When Washington put the word out through farmer networks, another farmer—who was building a tiny home at the time—offered to donate it to the Haughtons. Alongside that gift, BFF and community members launched a GoFundMe to help them rebuild and sustain themselves during this crisis.
And while this isn’t an example of a “direct investment” in the traditional sense—it’s not a loan or an equity stake—it’s still an investment in sustaining community. These are the types of investments where farmers are making sure one of their own doesn’t fall through the cracks. And BFF’s role is to keep those networks resourced and resilient.
INVESTING IN ABUNDANCE AND RESILIENCE
The practical side of capital isn’t the numbers; it’s the context—in this case, the people who are impacted and the relationships that are nourished. At the one-day mini-market, tables lined with jars, vegetables, and syrups introduced funders and neighbors to the products from these farms. I bought collard greens and tomatoes—organic, fresh, and grown with care. It wasn’t charity; it was grocery shopping. I picked up items at the event the same way I’d shop at my local co-op or farmers market. But this time, I carried home more than just food. I carried home the warmth of the relationships and resilience behind every bite.
At its core, BFF isn’t simply investing in agriculture; it’s investing in people—farmers like Wilfred Moss, Rhyston Mays, Ahmad Free-Cohen, and David and Veronica Haughton. Each story reflects a different facet of the struggle to sustain farming lifestyles under systems that rarely provide enough stability. Supporting them is about more than yield per acre; it’s about ensuring Black farmers continue to have a role in American agriculture, despite centuries of cultural, racial, and financial exclusion.
Next year, I hope more of our client investors and partner advisors can experience the abundance of the BFF’s Abundance in Autumn Festival.