Farmers  love to complain and too offer advice, even when their audience is only crows and jackrabbits. But recently, I was genuinely and earnestly asked for advice on the question of whether now would be a good time for a young person to go into farming. My answer was, and is, an emphatic "yes."

California farmers have enjoyed various periods of prosperity: the wheat boom of the 1880s; the period from 1914 to 1925, when European agriculture was in shambles; the 1950s, when new technologies  propelled California farming ahead of the rest of the world; and the 1970s, when Nixon's wheat deal with the Soviet Union drove up farm prices. We are entering another period of prosperity now. It is based on the declining value of the U.S. dollar, the rising wealth of Asia, China's decision to sacrifice its agriculture to industry, and the conversion of cropland to the production of biofuels. These factors will persist for at least a decade, with rising global demand (and prices) for both farm commodities and specialty crops.

And here's another good reason to go into farming now: the median age of farmers in the United States is greater than 60 years  old. As these old guys kick off, who's going to take their place? This is an ideal opportunity for a young person. (‘Young," from my perspective, means "not yet fifty.")

I'm always surprised by the number of people who confide in me that their  true destiny is to be a farmer. ‘The silk suits, hand-made shoes, the Lexus with the golf clubs in the trunk are falsehoods," they confess. Their true self would be wearing blue jeans and a flannel shirt as they stood out in the orchard gathering fruit, untroubled by the cares of the urban world. In these fantasies, the sky is always blue; the temperature, a comfortable seventy degrees; and the fruit, unblemished. The would-be farmer fails to imagine a temperature of 110, or the north wind howling, or the fruit wormy or bird-pecked, or his elbow sore and his back aching.

When someone tells me about his unrequited destiny to farm, I listen, but I'm skeptical. Being a good farmer is like being a good musician-it takes a knack. And maybe only one person in twenty has that knack. (This doesn't stop many others from trying it.) One  hundred and fifty years ago, when the majority of Americans  were farmers, most farmed  poorly, and farming  got a bad reputation. But those who were naturals at it enjoyed life. If you have the knack, probably you already know it; your tomatoes and peppers grow effortlessly and you seem to have an innate knowledge of  how to prune an apple tree, or transplant a seedling, or revive wilted sweet peas by fanning them with your hat.

How does one begin? It is nearly always a good idea to spend a year of apprenticeship with a good farmer. Two years with two good farmers would be even better. And choose your master wisely. There are some spectacularly inept farmers  out there who take on interns, and one can only hope that their unfortunate interns  have enough sense to observe what their master does and resolve to do the opposite.

When it's time to start your own farm, keep in mind two excellent pieces of advice. The first is from Peter Henderson's book, Gardening for Profit, a best seller of the 1860s and still worth reading: "Every mile that you are closer to your market is a tangible advantage." The second bit of advice is from my father,  John Madison, who used to say, "You're better off  with five acres of excellent soil than two hundred acres  of  poor soil, except if you intend to raise goats." Also still true.

And this brings us to the single greatest obstacle to going into farming as a livelihood. Curiously, the obstacle is purely a psychological one,  and yet,  hardly anyone can get past it. It is this: you cannot afford to buy a farm. Te farmland that's suited to profitable farming (close to town, good soil) is too expensive. It has been bought up, at Fifty-Tousand Dollars per acre, by doctors and lawyers and stockbrokers who want to have a place in the country. If you did have the capital to buy such a farm, you would be better of investing your money in bonds and living an idle life on the beach in Hawaii. So, you are not going to buy a farm; you are going to lease land. There are advantages to this. Your capital is spared for other uses (a tractor, a plow, a greenhouse). You will live in town, which will be appreciated by your spouse and children. And when you go home at night, your day's work will be done; you can step out on the porch after dinner and not be greeted by the whining and sneering of three dozen unfinished chores.

And if you still cannot accept the idea of leasing land rather than owning it, think about this: what does it matter, ultimately, whose name is written in black ink in a dusty book in the county recorder's office? If you are farming  the land, it's your farm. And anyway, in the long run, lease or own, all of us are merely tenants.