There's a particular kind of delusional optimism that grips new regenerative farmers. They read one book, watch three YouTube talks, and emerge with a colour-coded five-year transition plan complete with projected yields and a PowerPoint for the bank manager. The soil, famously, does not have a LinkedIn account and has not reviewed their deck.
What actually happens is that the first cover crop mix dies because nobody consulted the vetch about its nitrogen-fixing schedule. The compost pile goes anaerobic because apparently it rains sometimes. The cattle smash through a fence and eat the wrong paddock because cows, unlike spreadsheets, have opinions. Welcome to regenerative farming, where nature humbles you on a weekly basis and charges you for the privilege.
