Urban agriculture comes home at a small farm in New Brighton

It all started with "Super Size Me."

Watching the 2004 documentary, which highlighted the ills of a fast-food diet, made Kristie Kellis determined to change the way she ate.

Her partner, now her spouse, Cyd Kellis, was all in. Cyd had grown up on a small farm and knew how to grow and can food. So the couple and their two housemates planted some vegetables, first in a small plot, then in a bigger garden that filled their entire side yard.

Gradually, that garden grew into an "experimental urban farm" with dozens of different crops, an orchard, a flock of poultry and a name: Lost Boys Acre.

"I wanted to see how many different things I could do with a small piece of property," Kristie Kellis said of the residential farm.

From the street, the house doesn't look all that different from the tidy 1950s ramblers in the neighborhood, although there are tomatoes, squash and herbs growing among the flowers.

But in back, it's clear that there's some ambitious agriculture going on. The first thing you notice is the large fenced-in chicken coop, alive with fowl, which include a dozen laying hens, a few ducks and quail, a turkey and a small rooster. Beyond the coop are raised beds filled with young plants, and edibles used as landscape plants all over the back and side yards, with berries and veggies and herbs all mixed together.

But much like a rural 19th-century village, they also feed several farmhands who donate their labor in exchange for produce, and they share their food with neighbors on a barter system.

"One gave us a sewing machine, and we traded her fruits and vegetables," Kristie Kellis said. Neighbors who want fresh eggs every week are asked to contribute jars or canning equipment.

The Lost Boys farmers hope to do more than fill fridges and stock pantries: They're on a mission to sow change, by teaching and encouraging others to forge a closer connection to the food they eat.

They visit schools, host interns and march in parades, wearing their Lost Boys T-shirts. Many urban dwellers don't have a clue how to produce their own food, Kristie Kellis said. "It's not that they aren't interested or are lazy. They don't know how. We went from growing our own food to wanting to inspire."

The little experimental farm in New Brighton has staked out new territory on the frontier of the urban-farming trend, which has sparked an explosion in everything from CSAs and farmers markets to inner-city microfarms and corporate community gardens.

She added, "All this stuff is part of the local food movement," which she sees as "a long-term shift" rather than a fleeting fad. She anticipates more innovative "urban ag adventures" — along with potential friction between those who don't see eye to eye on mass crop plantings or farm animals in residential neighborhoods, for example.

With so much new enthusiasm around producing your own food, many municipalities have had to catch up, drafting policies and ordinances that balance the right to farm with the interests of neighbors.

"There can be issues," said Pentel, who served on the Golden Valley City Council during last year's passage of its "chicken ordinance," which limits residents to three laying hens.

New Brighton, which has no restrictions on chickens, is reviewing the issue.

"It's a new dynamic," said Dean Lotter, city manager. "Different communities respond differently, with some taking a laissez-faire approach and others banning completely."

That's too many, in the opinion of Bob Parrott, whose longtime home is next door to Lost Boys. Their flock makes too much noise for his liking. "Rooster-crowing, chickens laying eggs and carrying on. When you've got a lot of them, it's continuous," he said.

Harry Miller, another longtime neighbor, shared a letter he sent to the City Council, stating that the farm next door has spoiled his view, and produces unpredictable odors and noises, to the point that he no longer sleeps with windows open or invites friends for "impromptu evening meals on our deck. … I firmly believe my home has lost value, and I know that our quality of life is less," he wrote.

Some neighbors, however, support the farm in their midst. Claire Stephens, who grew up across the street, where her parents still live, is a friend and fan of Lost Boys. "They've brought a lot of people together, and provide a really awesome service to people in the area," she said.

While the city debates the future of urban farming in New Brighton, the Lost Boys farmers say they just want to live their lives — and keep growing.

Right now, they're busy harvesting tomatoes, kale, Swiss chard and squash. "We've already canned one batch" of tomatoes, Cyd Kellis said, along with some pickled beets and two crocks of dill pickles. They're looking for volunteers to help them, in part because they aren't full-time farmers. (Kristie Kellis teaches psychology and sociology at Globe University; Cyd works for the Minnesota State Lottery; Morton works for Target, and Mudgett walks neighbors' dogs.)

Their urban farming experiment has enhanced their lives. Cyd, who is diabetic, has adopted a "modified vegan" diet, which has enabled her to get off medications. Morton, who grew up in California with "no consciousness of where food was coming from," has become head beekeeper and harvests medicinal herbs in the wild.

For Kristie Kellis, Lost Boys is an adventure and a way to build community. She came up with the name, which was inspired by the tribe in "Peter Pan."

" 'Peter Pan' is my favorite story ever," she said. "Here's my take: He steals the kids from ordinary ways of thinking, and takes them into a world they create. You create who you are. … This is one of the most exciting adventures I have had."

Kim Palmer • 612-673-4784