Where the Grass Actually Is Greener

After two hours of winding in and out of nature in the back seat of a Toyota 4Runner, I’m eager to touch grass. “You know, dirt has the same effect as an antidepressant,” says Nina Tucker, the programs coordinator at Sky High Farm, and as my one-week-post-SSRI withdrawal comes tumbling in, I bend down and deem that she’s right. In fact, everyone here is exceptionally happy. It’s a warm Saturday afternoon, and we’re tucked into the Kaatsbaan Cultural Park in upstate New York for Sky High Farm’s Spring Picnic: a friendlier and, dare I say, more fashion-forward event than this year’s Coachella.

While Hudson Valley’s post-COVID boom could lead one to believe it’s a false promised land, Dan Colen’s Sky High Farm promise — to provide food sovereignty for the local community — seems to be expanding and working so well that even city dwellers can’t stop talking about it. The 40-acre livestock and agriculture farm is said to produce enough food to donate meals to over 600 families a week at pantries and organizations throughout the Hudson Valley and in New York City. Run by a small team and multiple farm fellows, this regenerative farm works to educate those in the community through outreach, volunteer work, and multiple yearly grants. (It also has very chic merch and has collaborated with the beauty brand Tata Harper. One of the latest collections, designed alongside Interview editor-in-chief Mel Ottenberg, was based on the idea of what a closeted construction worker might wear.)

Chloë Sevigny, who is a member of the farm’s advisory board and whose ballet sneakers (ECCO Sculpted, by Natacha Ramsay-Levi and not Simone Rocha, much to my dismay) and Junya skirt could be spotted a mile away, trails her son, Vanya, through the hay bales and games of cornhole, fitting right in. “I don’t spend a lot of time upstate, but I’ve known Dan since he began his art career, and I’m hoping to bring my son to the farm soon,” she says.

“When I was growing up, my mother grew stuff in our garden, but I haven’t known anybody to go on this endeavor besides Dan,” Sevigny continues. “I actually dated a berry farmer in the Pacific Northwest and spent some time on his farm. We rode ATVs and tractors. The berry industry is pretty corrupt, though. It’s a huge monopoly. I’m not sure how much you know about it.” As for her favorite free-time activities now? She still loves a tractor but spends a lot of time apple-picking or in the strawberry fields with Vanya. “I want him to know where what he eats comes from,” she says.

Sevigny is one of 750 people in attendance, many of whom are already connected to the farm in one way or another. A local herbalist trying on T-shirts at the store got a ticket from a friend of a friend who works with the farm. I bump into a duo in line for ice cream: One is a member of the grant committee, and the other is Tucker’s sister, who gleefully cheers as she takes the stage to introduce the next act.

The day began with a performance by American Ballet Theatre dancer Devon Teuscher, followed by sets from DJ Michaël Brun, singers Kelsey Lu and Moses Sumney, and, for the finale, Grammy-winning band the Roots. As afternoon turns to evening, picnicgoers trade the mingling for lounging, and Sumney hits the stage, his smooth voice the only thing you can hear. Dressed in a black custom Levi’s set and a handmade belt carved with his initials, the singer and actor grasps the mic alongside a bouquet of flowers. The lounging, it turns out, was exactly what Sumney had hoped for. “I love when the audience just shuts the fuck up and does what I want,” he says. After spending the past few years living in rural North Carolina, Sumney has spent ample time thinking about food equality. “People who do cool stuff don’t really care about this, but I’m always thinking about who has access to good food and real food,” he says.

We chatter on until we realize the Roots are playing, and our agreement to stop what we’re doing to see them play becomes most important. When we return, the calmness has dispelled into a full-blown dance party. Tucker was right after all; the grass would do the trick.