Have you ever wanted to step into an entirely different life and try something you have never done before? Then you should consider becoming a WWOOFer.
WWOOF (Worldwide Opportunities on Organic Farms) is a non-profit movement that connects volunteer helpers with organic farmers worldwide. Its goal is to promote education and cultural exchange, fostering a global community committed to ecological and sustainable farming practices. Over the past 50 years, the movement has grown to hundreds of thousands of participants and offers volunteer opportunities in more than 130 countries.
Does this tickle your fancy? Some might dream of spending a month on a vineyard in Tuscany, but what about volunteering on a permaculture farm in India, a sheep ranch in New Zealand, a tropical fruit farm in Central America, a cowboy ranch in Idaho, a retreat centre in the Alps, a farm cooperative in rural Japan or a wildflower farm near the Arctic?
When is “too old”?
This past winter, my husband and I began planning an escape from the Andalusian summer heat. One thing we agreed on was that we wanted to do something meaningful and learn something new while being climate refugees. We thought, what about WWOOFing?
We became acquainted with WWOOF through our friend Enrique Ruiz, who has year-round volunteers on his organic vineyard, Bodega La Fábrica de Hojalata. However, since he often posts videos of his helpers raising their glasses in the bodega, I had a somewhat romanticised idea of what farm work was really like. What would life be without its small lessons …
To become a WWOOFer, one joins the WWOOF network in the country where one wishes to volunteer. We chose Norway to combine farm work with family visits. Just as participating farmers introduce themselves and their work on the website, volunteers also need to present themselves and explain why they wish to help.
Our concern was that we were significantly older than the majority of WWOOFers, who appear to be students and people at the start of their careers. Furthermore, we weren’t exactly your usual ‘farm types’. Jaime, my husband, is a retired integrative oncologist who grew up in Mexico City, while I am a writer who spends my days in front of a computer, rarely carrying even a sheet of paper. My only actual farm-work experience was one day as a strawberry picker when I was 12. In other words, our bios were not exactly suited for the job, even if we have a small organic allotment garden. Throwing our caution to the wind, we sent applications to five different places in southern Norway — a bee farm, a flower farm, a multi-generational farm, a farm owned by a couple of Oslo university professors, and a small farm with a virtual ‘Noah’s Barn’ of different animals, where one activity was taking the ram for a walk. What was there not to love?
To our great surprise, we received three invitations, including the latter farm, where we ended up.
Meet the farmers
Fast forward to the last week of July. After taking trains and buses, we arrived at Mysen station, some 11 km from the remote farm. There we were picked up by Gry, one of the two sisters who own the farm. The place is therefore called Søstrene Hagen (The Hagen Sisters). And what formidable sisters they were.
Gry is a cook who runs a restaurant and catering service (she organised two weddings every weekend while we were there), while also making organic jams, cordials and sauerkraut in her brief spare time.
Her sister, Ann-Marlen, has absolutely no hours to spare. She is a farmer by trade who starts work around seven in the morning and does not put down her tools until about eleven at night. She can drive any farm vehicle, fix almost anything, is a professional butcher and a certified smith who, together with their 18-year-old foster daughter, also trains trotting horses.
The sisters decided to join the programme because of their wealth of knowledge about regenerative agriculture. While the organisation ensures that there are no giant industrial farms where WWOOFers might be exploited, the farms must deliver what WWOOFing is intended for: an exchange in which the workers learn practical organic farming and animal husbandry. “We have had WWOOFers from California to Madagascar, so we have friends around the world,” they tell me.
Some young people use the programme to travel and return year after year. Many come from densely populated places, and here they can put their hands straight in the soil. To my surprise, WWOOFing in Norway in winter is very popular. The farm is often full in January and must turn away applicants. They prefer that helpers stay a minimum of three to four weeks, as anything shorter means they must train the WWOOFers the entire time. But the help is sorely needed, and without it the farm projects would be fewer and slower. “Running an organic farm is very time-consuming and not exactly a good business, because nearly everything is done by hand.”
Not every farm is for everyone. At their farm, the volunteers will handle live animals and even slaughter in the fall. As a WWOOFer, they advise that one is open-minded, able to think independently and take initiative. “At the same time, we learn a lot from our WWOOFers. The programme has really broadened our horizons.”
If they ever had the time, they too would dream of being WWOOFers. Gry would love to volunteer in a French vineyard or on a South American ranch to learn about their meat production, whereas Ann-Marlen has no doubt — she would go to a cheese farm in the Alps.
Daily duties, aches and joys
One of the first things one learns is that a farmer’s job is never done. There’s always a fence to fix, pens to muck out, animals to feed, something to plant, weed, harvest or thin out. On our farm — which had eight magnificent horses, four beautiful black-and-white cows, seven mischievous sheep, four rambunctious piglets, a retired and spoiled ram, two attention-seeking goats, three turkeys, two ducks, and many rabbits and chickens — the day never seemed long enough.
WWOOFers work approximately five hours a day, five days a week, in return for room, board and all the knowledge about farming and animal husbandry that one is willing to soak up, which, for us, given that we knew next to nothing, was a lot.
Our workday started at 08:00 and ended between 16:00 and 17:00 (including two long breaks), after all animals had been returned to their homes. The morning hour was spent feeding and moving animals. This meant letting out the cows and turkeys, including the patriarch, Al Capone, with his recognisable limp.
Jaime would bring fresh branches to the sheep and goats (who used to jump on his back) and ensure that the chickens had what they needed.
Meanwhile, I would let out the ducks, Andemor and Gudrun, refill their bath, feed the rabbits and two retired Louis Vuitton-patterned hens, before carrying water to the fields where we later moved the pigs.
All hands were needed to move the sheep. We would run as fast as we could to ensure that all got through the gate and into their day field. Lambi had to be on a leash and liked to “play dead,” while Pia wedged herself under the arm of whoever brought the wheelbarrow with hay and grass. The two black lambs always managed to escape like mini-Houdinis through yet another gap in the fence, which we later had to repair. The youngest lamb, who is the granddaughter of Lambi, was the loudest, so I called her Lamborghini.
And did I forget to say that all this was done before our breakfast break!
During the rest of the day, duties varied depending on what was needed. They could include cleaning the sheep shed, the ducks’ house or the pigsty. There were days we weeded rows of carrots or leeks, planted strawberry seedlings, picked potatoes or moved runaway corn from the field to the greenhouse. Another time, we were set to the enjoyable task of going to the forest to pick wild blueberries, lingonberries and chanterelles. Jaime helped repair a lawnmower and ripped up an ancient barn floor, while I painted, planted, weeded or cleaned the pigsty – again. On a rainy day, we got to jar 60 kg of exquisite forest honey. Then, before we called it a night, the morning ritual was repeated in reverse.
Admittedly, once our days were over and supper was devoured, all we wanted was to lie down in one of our bunk beds and watch Netflix on my laptop while comparing our aches and pains.
Lessons learned
Our month as WWOOFers flew by. By the end, we felt like seasoned farm folk. We discovered muscles we did not know we had and wondered whether people back home would mistake me for Schwarzenegger’s sister. I never got the knack of the hoe or the pitchfork, but I could easily enter the world championship in hay-throwing. Initially, all the hay would end up on the ground (what did not end up inside my bra, waistband or socks), but by the end, I could catapult a giant wad of hay with millimetre precision to its destination, despite driving rain and gale-force winds. And let me tell you, cows eat a hell of a lot of hay.
Gradually, we settled into a routine — the animals’ routine, which is never the same when one deals with livestock. When we sat in the open field, weeding or picking potatoes, the silence and the continuous activity became a moving meditation. It reminded me of walking El Camino — you are exhausted at the end of the day, but it feels good because you have accomplished something.
On arrival, I was rather fearful of cows (Andalusian cows do have big horns), but by the end, I was giving Ågot and the others a tap on the rump as I led them along. I can also guarantee that their pigsty had never been so ‘pretty’, seeing that I am likely their first and last WWOOFer who spent decades working as an art director.
We came to love our new family, be it four-legged or two-legged. We knew the names, personalities and idiosyncrasies of every animal, especially Per, the randy and temperamental old ram with the double-twisted horns. We learned to appreciate every vegetable grown and pulled up from the soil, and meat that is slaughtered with compassion. Most of all, we learned to have tremendous respect for all organic farmers. It is a true labour of love which goes on every waking hour of every day.
We came knowing nothing and left feeling enriched with knowledge and with friends for life. And who knows — perhaps we will be back next year.
Do you want to be a WWOOFer?
Although my husband, at 78, was their oldest helper yet, our farm had volunteers ranging from teenagers to retirees. Anyone in good health, willing to work and open to new adventures, can become a WWOOFer.
Should you wish to volunteer on an organic farm here in Spain, there are plenty of opportunities — from spending a few weeks cultivating mushrooms in Tenerife, or helping on an orange farm in the Valle de Lecrín, to assisting at a self-sustained yoga retreat centre in the Balearics, working on a permaculture farm that makes kombucha in Albacete, joining a natural retreat centre for LGBTQ+ visitors in Galicia, helping at a cava vineyard in Catalonia or volunteering at a horse sanctuary near Seville. The possibilities are endless.
If you’d like to try, visit the official WWOOF website (www.wwoof.net), pick a country and start a new adventure.