Standing knee-deep in mustard greens with butterflies swirling around him, Parkman farmer Jason Kafka is exactly where he wants to be on a sunny Thursday morning.

He isn’t worrying about the 16-hour days or the seven-day workweek. He isn’t fretting that his crops are at the mercy of the weather, or that sometimes his summer workers fail to show up.

In his rubber clogs and canvas pants, distracted by the harsh call of an angry finch, the bearded, balding organic farmer reaches down and picks a rib of celery. Taking a bite, he says he cannot imagine being more content.

Kafka is the very essence of what a farmer dedicated to sustainable agriculture is: “This is spiritual. This is my church,” he says, his eyes scanning the fields of vegetables, his wife’s flower garden, the woodlot, apple orchard. Being a steward of the land – putting as much back in as he takes out – is as important to him as breathing.

More than 80 percent of Maine’s farms are the size of Kafka’s – less than 100 acres. Their existence is part of the fabric of Maine, so much so that state officials have come up with a buzzword: agritourism – recognizing that without these farms and the open space, woodlots and vistas they provide, the Pine Tree State would not have the same appeal to its millions of tourists.

Rod McCormick, an expert on sustainable agriculture with the Maine Department of Agriculture, says that although the small, diverse farms are not the backbone of Maine’s agriculture industry, “they certainly are the frosting on the cake. I don’t think we could ever have too many of these farms.”

“It is not glamorous work. I’m not sure whether it is even economically smarter,” he says, “but we need them all.”

McCormick says that these small-scale farms “tend to share certain ethical standards and tendencies. They use the land while improving the land. They are driven to leave the land better than they found it.”

As much philosopher as farmer, Kafka doesn’t work his farm, he lives it. “Life is a stream,” he holds. “You don’t have a choice about what stream you may get plopped into, but you do have a choice about whether you want to paddle or not.”

Kafka sits on the board of directors and the certification committee of the Maine Organic Farmers and Gardeners Association and selling directly to the consumer is the lifestyle he and his wife, Barbara, chose 20 years ago.

He calls himself a true Bohemian, because of his Czechoslovakian lineage, but marvels that organic farmers who were once referred to by a state legislator as “two-goat, marijuana farmers” are not only the fastest-growing segment of the agriculture industry, but are now sought out by traditional farmers for their expertise in farming methods.

“The contour-farming, the terracing, the raised beds, working the soils to augment rather than deplete – all this is very precious to me,” Kafka says, but he quickly adds that Maine needs to support all styles of agriculture. “There is room for all of us. In organic farming, we like the word self-sufficient. But no man is an island.”

Although it is officially called Checkerberry Farm, Kafka has dubbed his 15 vegetable-producing acres and the sweep of woods surrounding it “The Land of Make Do.” Welding and carpenter skills are a must (he has built many of his own farming implements and machines) and in typical Yankee-ingenuity fashion, the couple’s sauna doubles as a dehydrating room. Parts are scattered on top of the many stone walls surrounding his fields, waiting for the right combination to be joined together to create a new tiller, or harvester, or other timesaving machine.

Meeting his schoolteacher wife Barbara just after college graduation, Kafka bought an old farm on the Wellington Road in the Piscataquis town of Parkman. “We wanted to homestead, get back to the land. The farm had been played out and overgrown with alders. We had to reclaim the entire thing.”

It took the couple nine years to bring the farm into full production where they could begin marketing their produce. “It just made sense to grow organically. It was natural for me,” he says.

Halting his conversation momentarily to harvest a brilliant, purple kohlrabi, Kafka smiles and says, “Can you imagine that I actually have the luxury of forgetting what day of the week it is?”

Kafka says that stone walls may edge his property, but they are not the borders of his farm.

“Sustainable agriculture is all about community,” he explains. Kafka sells 50 percent of his crops wholesale to the Portland Public Market and other entities, but the rest of his vegetables and flowers are sold through area farmers markets, four days a week, rotating at Brewer, Orono, Greenville and Dover-Foxcroft. He doesn’t hire anyone to do that marketing for him – it is Kafka himself who hands over the produce he grows.

“It is food with a face,” he says, noting there is a cycle of trust when food can be purchased directly from the grower. “The consumer gets pure, wholesome, fresh food, while at the same time, he knows he is supporting his community and the farming industry as a whole.”

“It is as simple as: I buy from the local hardware store and they buy from me,” Kafka clarifies.

This support system, he says, is what will keep Maine’s rural communities alive. When people fail to support small businesses or small farms in their communities, he maintains, the fabric of their towns will collapse. If the state’s small farms disappear, he alleges, so will its character.

In curving terraces up and down his farm’s hills, Kafka grows corn, beans, tomatoes, peppers, sunflowers and edible flowers, herbs, beets, carrots, squash and cucumbers. His specialties are alliums – onions, leeks, shallots and garlic, all members of the lily family. Acres of garlic plants stretch out in the summer sun, their green tops snaking around in curly-cues. “I love onions,” he says simply. “They seem to like the soil here, and you have to grow what you like.”

True farming, he reflects, blooms as much from the heart as from the head.

That philosophy is why he grows sunflowers – for his customers’ hearts. “The more urban the market, the more hungry souls there are,” Kafka says.

Sustainable agriculture education wasn’t an option when he attended college in the 1970s, he says. “I have a B.S. in BS,” he jokes.

But sustainable agriculture is his entire life now and a style of farming enthusiastically supported by state agriculture officials.

“Diversification develops a whole lot of income centers,” said McCormick, thereby if a certain crop fails or does not do well, the farmer can count on a wide variety of other crops.

McCormick said the produce being grown and sold at Maine’s farmers markets “has to be so far above U.S. No. 1 grade. It is the best you can buy. Not only in taste, but in quality.”

Standing amid his beloved fields, Kafka says, “Fate is always a player. There is sure to be a failure each year, but that is why we are diversified. What goes to market is of the utmost quality, five star. If we have to recycle a crop back into compost, that’s OK.”

Kafka is amazed daily when people visit his stand at the local farmers markets and marvel at the fact that he farms for a living. Even more surprising are the number of customers that are unfamiliar with fresh-picked produce. “Many of my younger consumers have only seen green beans in a can,” he says.

“They are seeking that reconnection to the land, to their roots, their beginnings,” he observes. “We can all pine for the good old days but we have to make our own reality. It’s like walking a tightrope. This is a lifestyle, but it is also a business.”

“In the grand scheme of the universe, we are all transients here. But we do leave our mark. I feel this is my place,” he muses. “Farming isn’t dying in Maine, it is just changing. Let’s hope it is changing for all the right reasons and in the right direction.”