“The Outback Farm v. Western Washington University”

It’s 1969 and Western Washington University, nestled south of downtown Bellingham, Washington, is expanding. Within this decade, the population of the university has grown rapidly, from 3,000 to, now, nearly 10,000 students. The demand for housing and parking has increased to the point that development is inevitable. The question becomes what nearby plots of land can be used. During this year, the school sanctions a historical site in the periphery of its campus to become dormitories and pavement. Homesteaders June and Farrar Burn built two cabins here in the 1920s and started working the land. Western U presumably assumes that, despite this significance, their students, faculty, and staff have no interest in preserving the legacy of the homestead.

However, these plans are quickly met with resistance. Students who want to continue the legacy of the Burns’ fight to preserve their site. No university development occurs for three years and, in 1972, the space is deemed “the Outback Pig Farm” by the student body involved. Having a name makes any movement seem more organized, concrete, and difficult to quell. Development is delayed further, perhaps because of this. Six years pass and Western pig farmers make their next move, applying to be recognized as an official program in 1978. Although the school initially accepts the proposal, this recognition is later dropped. Though activities in sustainable agriculture continue at the Outback, they do so without official affiliation to WWU.

The arrival of the 1980s brings new programs to the Outback Farm space. Throughout the decade, students begin to conduct experimental living, commune style, on the grounds of the farm. A barn is raised and classes in sustainable agriculture are offered. In the 1990s, a greenhouse is built. An area on the periphery of the farm grounds with a stream running through it is designated a wetlands restoration site. Annual Earth Day events are established and become well attended. 1992 marks the 20 year anniversary of the “Outback Pig Farm” proper, which has now been renamed just “The Outback Farm”, but still the university fails to recognize it as a legitimate program. It isn’t until 1999, more than 20 years after students initially applied for this standing, that Western Washington University finally endorses the Outback with academic protection.

When approaching the grounds of the Outback Farm today, the first thing you see is a large pavilion. The structure feels like a Lincoln log creation come to life, with whole trees shaved bare and used in its construction. Simply constructed log benches that wobble before you balance your weight on them line the perimeter — two stumps with notches holding a long, bisected log. You can imagine what an event it must have been for people involved in constructing this.

As you continue through the site, greenhouses and outbuildings show their history. Their finishes peel and flake away to reveal multiple layers of paint underneath. A shed’s roof is noticeably newer than its walls. Signs communicating proper garden etiquette and indicating different sections of the farm are hand painted with great care. Intricate, colorful murals coat the exterior of the chicken coop, which itself was built from seemingly improvised materials. A ladder fashioned from the imperfect limbs of trees leads up to where the birds roost. A mosaic made of old ceramic tiles is imbedded in the ground next to where you might find snap peas in the summertime. Six boxes, each one containing a hive of bees, are painted bright primary and secondary colors.

Although Western Washington University has now acknowledged the presence of this unique space, nearly the first three decades of the Outback Farm’s existence seem linked to conflicts with the administration. Now that the university has embraced this originally contrarian entity, has the space itself changed? Is that contrarian spirit still visible at the Outback Farm or has it been abandoned? Do the values of the Outback reflect the overall values of the school or is there still disconnect between the two? Does the university’s willingness to finally adopt the Outback Farm as one of its own perhaps mean that the school instead has changed to become more interested in organic gardening, sustainable agriculture, farming, and nature preserves?

Considering the amount of time it took for these two entities to become one, I’m going to rule out the assumption that the merge came about out of pure eventuality. Some may say that The Outback was only recognized as an official student organization because it stuck around for so long and continued to grow. Finally the University had no choice to consider it their own. This is surely possible, but I am inclined to believe that official recognition would have happened much sooner if this were the case. Wouldn’t it make sense for the university to give into the requests of Outbackers when more programs began to be offered in the 1980s? At this time people were actually living here, teaching workshops, and building infrastructure such as the barn. I think it would make sense for the university to finally cave during a period of immense activity that also marked the 10 year anniversary of the Outback Pig Farm proper.

If acceptance did not come out of eventuality, the suggestion is that either Western Washington University became more accepting of the activities and ideas displayed at the Outback Farm, or the other way around. At least one of the entities had to change in some way. One example of a change in the Outback is their abandoning of the live-in program that existed throughout the 1980s. Perhaps acknowledging the farm as not just a space for learning about agriculture, but as a residence was too daunting for the university. When trying to learn more about this “experimental living” program through WWU resources, I found it difficult to find any information beyond a one sentence blurb on the official Outback page. Even when searching the online library database, I was unable to find anything regarding this period. This could be because the university is still trying to distance itself from the live-in. I would like to explore this further to figure out what went on at the farm that might support or contradict this assumption.

A good foundation for beginning to ask these questions can be found in Lynn A. Staeheli definition of place as a cultural or social location. Staeheli suggests that “from this perspective, people are located within webs of cultural, social, economic, and political relationships that shape their identities, or positionalities.” In other words, when the opinion of what is in or out of place begins to change in a community, the perceived identities of people involved with or located at that place are transformed. This might mean that Western’s act of deeming the Outback Farm worthy of being part of its own larger organization ostensibly changes the identity of the entire Outback program. What was initially created as a resistance movement opposing university development can no longer be a space where resistance is welcome.

Still, maybe this history remains embedded in the farm.

On my first visit to the Outback on an overcast afternoon in January, I got the impression that I had stumbled upon a unique place. The farm feels like an environment than could not be reproduced or branded. Maybe the reason why I felt this way is because the space has been shaped by so many different individuals over almost half a century. Students initiated the program in the 1970's, and since then, many of the people continuing to work here have likewise been students. After four years or so, they all will move on, leaving the space for the next group. What does it mean for a place to be developed by so many young transients?

Staeheli suggests that another way of thinking about a place is to consider it not as only a physical environment, but as something that is constructed over time. According to Staeheli, “a place is the result of the layering of activities that constantly make and remake it.” In this context, the identity of a site is dynamic and dependent upon what goes on there. Perhaps the long history of the Outback is still evident even when you observe the site today. If the history of the space still means something in a living and breathing way for the farm today, what does this mean for the students and other individuals who are involved with programs happening there? Does this mean that people who are involved perhaps are gaining more than skills and knowledge related to sustainable agriculture that they might apply elsewhere?

By volunteering at the outback, you add to and change the space. Maybe, through the work that you do, a part of your personality becomes part of the place. From what I have seen at the Outback — the art installations, the improvised materials used in the beds, the careful attention to detail — things that past volunteers have made seem to add to the character of the place. The concept of place as constructed over time is no longer conceptual, but visible in these artifacts. Even though you could take knowledge to construct your own chicken coop, garden, greenhouse in another spot, these small details cannot be truly replicated. They only come to be through the working of many different hands with a variety of ideas over a prolonged period of time. Though people come and go with the seasons at the Outback, moving away from the school or getting bogged down with classes, part of their work remains for others to enjoy. The idea of meaningful work comes to mind when I think about the farm. By volunteering at the Outback, maybe you are helping to create something that is bigger than yourself. Because the university and the farm are now linked, involvement at the Outback is getting involved in a story that has been and will continue to be a part of the greater culture of Western.