Big money gathers eagerly around short-sighted concepts, never bothering to notice the long-term suffering it can cause. Or maybe that’s an easy way to see the messy collection of hubris, lofty goals, corporate influence and cultural ignorance behind the announcement that the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation are calling for a second Green Revolution. They are donating $10.4 million to alleviate hunger using methods including the promotion of genetically modified crops.
The first Green Revolution was not regarded as a success by those “lucky” recipients of First World largess. Their carefully cultivated (often perennial) plantings were torn up and traditional methods well suited for local conditions (rocky hillsides, monsoons, lack of irrigation) ignored. Farmers were provided hybrid seeds which produced astonishing yields on test plots using high quality irrigation and modern intensive farming methods. But these seeds could not be saved to replant the next year. These crops had to be coddled with petroleum-based fertilizer and pesticides. The farmers needed to use equipment no one could afford to repair or fuel.
This first Green Revolution was considered a success by much of the First World. But it failed because it didn’t address, perhaps made worse the larger issue. As Food First explains, the Green Revolution imposed industrial farming methods without addressing unequal access. In South America per capita food supplies went up 8% while the number of hungry people increased 19%.
Today yields continue to improve around the world. As Sharon Astyk notes in her brilliant blog Casaubon’s Book,“We presently grow enough food to feed 9 billion people. That’s an astonishing realization for most people – that the world produces about double the number of calories we need.”
Yet people starve while grain rots in warehouses and famine-struck regions export food. Why? Because it’s not as much about the volume of food as it is about who controls it.
Now, another Green Revolution. This time it’s not just hybrid seeds but genetically modified (GM) crops. These crops are highly profitable to Monsanto, DuPont and other mega corporations. Typically they require the timed use of specifically matched herbicides and pesticides. But the extra cost of these seeds (and their chemical companions) are a waste because they don’t increase crop yield, despite what the slick PR might allege. Let’s repeat. GM seeds are not the hope of the hungry because no they don’t magically make more food than the seeds nature designed.
The Union of Concerned Scientists “…reviewed two dozen academic studies of corn and soybeans, the two primary genetically engineered food and feed crops grown in the United States. Based on those studies, the UCS report concluded that genetically engineering herbicide-tolerant soybeans and herbicide-tolerant corn has not increased yields. Insect-resistant corn, meanwhile, has improved yields only marginally. The increase in yields for both crops over the last 13 years, the report found, was largely due to traditional breeding or improvements in agricultural practices.”
In fact, organic farms produce consistently high yields with good pest resistance.
And big surprise, traditional farming methods are much more suited to the areas where they've been used. Maybe, just maybe respecting methods that honor the life of the land makes more sense than imposing industrial agriculture. You’d think we humans would have noticed the We Know Better Than Nature approach hasn’t worked out too well.
A paper in the African Journal of Food and Nutritional Sciences noted,
"Viable agro-ecology models have been reported in widely disparate places like the United States and India [20]. In the United States, a landmark study by the prestigious National Research Council found that “alternative farmers often produce high per-acre yields with significant reductions in costs per unit of crop harvested, despite the fact that many federal policies discourage adoption of alternative practices”. The Council concluded that Federal commodity programs must be restructured to help farmers realize the full benefits of the productivity gains possible through alternative practices [20].
In South India, a 1993 study was carried out to compare “ecological farms” with matched “conventional” or chemical-intensive farms. Ausubel found that the ecological farms were just as productive and profitable as the chemical ones [21]. He concluded that if extrapolated nationally, ecological farming would have “no negative impact on food security,” and would reduce soil erosion and the depletion of soil fertility while greatly lessening dependence on external inputs."
One would think the world's richest man might put money into solving world hunger through equal access to justice, education and cultural understanding.
 The sight of Ron’s farm is like a quiet blessing. I wait for my first glimpse of it over the rise of a hill each time I take the dogs for a walk down our street. The house and several outbuildings are in shambles, but that’s because Ron puts his energy into keeping his small dairy farm going.
His herd of around fifty Ayrshire, Holstein, Guernsey and Brown Swiss graze on pasture so that the grasses sway in the wind. Many of the old fence posts surrounding the fields are wire-wrapped osage orange and hickory trunks, since farmers a few generations ago knew these durable woods would serve while alive and long after.
Ron puts his cows out on pasture each spring by a calculation that remains a mystery to me, something to do with phases of the moon. He adheres to other timeworn methods that aren’t fancy enough to be termed eco-friendly or green. For example, Ron drives his old car back to the hayfield before it’s time to cut. He walks through the field handpicking weeds that aren’t good for his cows. He doesn’t confine his cows year round, dose them with production-boosting hormones or follow any other agricultural trends.
Ron’s back is bent; his face is weathered and creased into a permanent smile. Already he looks like his father, Herb, who died a few years ago, probably already in his nineties. We asked Herb’s advice back when we first started farming. Herb told us he’d walked over to see our cows a few times, meaning he’d hiking through fields and woods to reassure himself that all was well.
How many of us can still benefit from the benevolent instinct of a neighboring farmer? How many are lucky enough to learn from examples of those who are deeply rooted, as Lisa Hamilton’s wonderful new book Deeply Rooted is aptly named?
Dairy farms all over the country are selling cows, selling land and going out of business. The price they are being paid is about the same as it was in the 1970’s, although feed and fuel is much higher. Government aid under consideration for small farms is steered to prompt farmers into selling cows, meaning even more milk will come from huge confinement agricultural operations.
Losing small farms also means that the wisdom of farmers like Ron will be left behind at an ever faster pace. This includes specific wisdom about the land and wider wisdom about ways to live.
Authentic connection to the land is so easily crushed beneath the weight of society’s pressing demand for immediate gratification and quick profits. But then, much is lost. As Pierre Teilhard de Chardin said, “This palpable world, which we are used to treating with the boredom and disrespect with which we habitually regard places with no sacred association, is a holy place."
Perhaps most obviously, common sense is lost. Small farms are actually more efficient. The Institute for Food and Development Policy amassed the available data from every country to compare productivity of smaller farms versus larger farms (total output of agricultural products per unit area -- per acre or hectare.) Their research showed that smaller farms are anywhere from 200 to 1,000 percent more productive.
Ron’s son-in-law and grandson help on the farm, but his family talks to him about getting out of the business. They know he’s losing money. Ron says that he watched his father go through hard times and he learned that the way you stay farming is to hang on. So he’s hanging on.
Ron’s rootedness to his farm and his land is part of who he is, like the farmer Gene Logsdon describes:“…he is a last member of an ancient tribe—the genuine traditional farmers who committed themselves lovingly to a piece of land and husbanded it from generation to generation, carrying in their memories a lifetime of their own experiences and that of their fathers and grandfathers on that land.”
So today I will walk in his direction, grateful for Ron’s farm. I’ll pay attention to the sight of cows resting in tall grass and the sound of a slack board on the house creaking in the breeze, hoping perhaps each thing we look upon with love somehow is more likely to endure.
Crosspo
We persist in learning the hard way. We keep on farming when our bees leave town, our cow refuses to get pregnant, our chickens are eaten by marauding neighborhood dogs. Somehow these trials don’t persuade us to farm conventionally even though most other beekeepers use pesticides in their hives, most other farmers cull older cows, and most “free range” chickens don’t actually have any freedom. Now we’re skipping down another highly educational path.
Every November we buy a turkey or two from our friends at Tea Hills Farms It’s a beautiful drive and we’re glad that our purchase helps sustain their farm. Every November we also talk about raising our own flock of turkeys, especially after paying $70 to $90 per bird for our holiday table. We have no plans to replicate Tea Hills' business, but simply hope that, on a smaller scale, we might be able to supply ourselves and our customers with naturally raised turkeys.
A friend who has experience with raising turkeys told us (gently) that our hopes were foolhardy. She said our plans to avoid medications and artificial vitamins in the feed would leave us with no survivors. Many online tales of turkey-raising attempts repeated her woeful account.
But do we listen? Naw.
We ordered 15 turkey chicks from the ever-amazing Julia at Spencer Feed. That was our first expense.
Then, because we don’t have the equipment to raise them indoors for the necessary six to eight weeks we had Mark’s friends, an Amish family, care for them. These lucky birds were kept carefully tended in the family’s kitchen. It was an unseasonably hot spring, and Elmer told us that he found every excuse possible to stay out of the fowl smelling house. One bird sadly perished during that time, so our small flock was down to 14. We picked up the peeping little birds and paid Elmer. Another expense.
 At home Mark and Ben welded together a turkey tractor. This is a moveable coop which they custom designed to fold up for storage between seasons. Entirely out of metal, it was modified several times over the first few weeks. They built it with roosts but we soon learned that the turkeys didn’t care to perch. The roosts came out. After the turkeys spilled copious amounts of grain Mark added hangers so that the feeder could be suspended from the top. And after some concerns about predators, they added a movable electric fence. Yup, more expenses.
Most books about raising turkeys offer advice for conventional farmers, including warnings about keeping turkeys “on wire,” indoors and away from (gasp) the disease-carrying dangers of grass. Our turkeys are considered pastured birds because they have constant access to grass and bugs. In fact Claire, principal turkey wrangler, moves the turkey tractor several times a day.
How much these quickly growing chicks eat surprised us. We give them fresh organic produce from the garden each day. They have strong preferences. They love tomatoes, squash and watermelon. They’ll consider zucchini, cucumbers and spinach. They do not care for rutabagas or broccoli. But the cost of feed is startling. Four bags of locally grown grain and seed cost nearly $50. By now they’re getting through those four bags in about two weeks. Another expense.
Aside from the expense, we’ve found that turkey farming is interesting. The toms gobble at any noisy airborne attractions: Canada geese, crows and helicopters. No matter how long they’ve been here we find ourselves smiling at each gobble. Then hens chirp and cluck in their own quiet manner while the toms are prone to show-off displays of exaggerated feather fluffing. Their heads turn iridescent blue when they’re annoyed and sometimes they engage in snood-grabbing jousts. Our dogs are fascinated by the turkeys and visit each time they get a chance. The turkeys don’t seem to mind the attention. One of our chickens visits them most days, hanging around like a friendly fowl diplomat from a nearby land.
Then this week our mistakes became evident. First one, then another bird slowed down and died. We were terribly saddened. Turns out that they grew too big too quickly and their hearts gave out. The manuals we read gave instructions about feeding non-pastured turkeys, but ours have the benefit of fresh grass and bugs (not to mention all that produce) so they’ve gotten big and done so quickly. It also turns out that we started too soon. We should have bought chicks mid-summer. Our birds are now Thanksgiving size much too early. On the plus side, our turkeys have remained much healthier than their factory-farmed counterparts and never suffered from any of the predicted ill health. Well, until they got so big that they keeled over.
So this week we took the biggest of the birds, the toms, to a local USDA inspected slaughterhouse, located on at Plum Creek Farm. Mark lost his glasses in the drive, fortunately they were there when he went back or our turkey venture would have cost us even more. When we returned for pick up we were surprised to find that the birds dressed out between 24 and 36 pounds.
Because we failed to have them fresh in time for Thanksgiving, we’re not charging our customers the same price we’d planned (on par with Tea Hill’s price of $3 per pound). We’re asking $2.50, knowing that learning is its own reward. Maybe next year we can put those hard-earned lessons to good use as we continue to contribute our small efforts to the cause of sustainable living.
"Repurposing" is a strangely awkward word. Our ancestors didn't need a name for the frugal and often creative uses they found to reuse objects.
My grandfather set a door across file cabinets for a work table. When making repairs he did calculations on an old piece of cardboard. Then he fished used screws and bolts from neatly labeled tin cans, chose from coiled loops of wire and string hanging from hooks, and proceeded using tools his own father once used.
My grandmother was a talented seamstress who reworked clothes until they were no longer functional, then took off the buttons and used the fabric for anything from hooked rugs to dust clothes. She made do with everything she came across, from leftovers to plant cuttings.
My parents carried on in the same way, although by the sixties and seventies such traditions were regarded as eccentric, even bizarre. They tore junk mail into notepaper, saved wrapping paper to rewrap, used bread bags and even foil over and over. When our hot water tank had to be replaced my father kept the old one in the garage. He cut metal from it for years to use in various projects. These tactics were a source of amusement to their children, except when our chores included polishing silver using the soft cloth of tattered men’s briefs or some similarly embarrassing task.
As an adult I take a particular delight in repurposing. A wine decanter holds mouthwash in our bathroom and geodes collected by my children are our toothbrush holders. I’ve tucked plants into worn workboots and cracked mixing bowls, made children’s pajamas from their father’s flannel shirt, and take special delight in wrapping presents in something reusable.
Here’s a little stuffed guy made from a child’s sweater:
And here are two baby toys made from socks:
After my mother died we were left with many beautiful things, but it wasn't bearable to toss out the broken beautiful things. So I incorporated them into a bit of yard art. My husband and son cut a large piece of iron into the shape of a crescent moon and welded it on a post. Then I made a mosaic on it using broken plates, bits of bright glass, even bisque amputee dolls. Here it is, with two wonder dogs Jedi and Cocoa Bean posing underneath:
Now my husband has made another of his handcrafted sinks out of repurposed materials. He took apart, reglued and recoated an antique kitchen table. Into it he affixed an antique copper candy-making vessel to serve as the sink. A leaf from the table provides a mount for the faucet and the drawer still works. Our friend Rebecca has this for sale in her store, Planet Green Goods
which offers locally made products, earth friendly cleaners, organic apparel and more.
It feels good to save sweaters, broken plates and old tables from the landfill. It feels even better to make something from them to serve a new use. Repurposing is liberating. It frees us from the oppression of wanting, opening us to a greater freedom.
Journeying god,
pitch your tent with mine
so that I may not become deterred
by hardship, strangeness, doubt.
Show me the movement I must make
toward a wealth not dependent on possessions,
toward a wisdom not based on books,
toward a strength not bolstered by might,
toward a god not confined to heaven.
Help me to find myself as I walk in other's shoes.
(Prayer song from Ghana, traditional, translator unknown)
"I wish the bald eagle had not been chosen as the representative of our country...The turkey is a much more respectable bird and withal a true, original native of America." Benjamin Franklin
Who knew turkeys had compelling personalities? Someone seems to think so.
Our turkeys live in an enclosure called a tractor. Mark and Ben custom-designed it to be comfortably tall and spacious for the quickly growing birds. It’s open on the bottom and can be moved to give the turkeys new foraging ground. We try to move it twice a day. The turkeys learned quickly to move along with it as long as they can see us pushing it.
All day, every day the flock has a visitor. A little brown hen moseys up from the back to visit with her fowl friends. She stays close. She pecks at grass and bugs, sometimes a few feet away and sometimes a few inches away. When I go out to give the turkeys a treat from the garden (they love monster zucchini) she clucks at me but doesn’t leave. Quite often the turkeys, in their zucchini-enhanced exuberance, toss out flecks of what they’re eating almost as if to share. Their friend the hen is right there waiting to gobble up the offerings.
Yes, gobble. The turkeys are too young to make that characteristic sound. But they're not too young for a fowl groupie.
On the counter where I expected to find space to make soup and cheese there are books and unidentifiable metal objects. As soon as I clear the counter my sons will surely appear, insisting that those parts were arranged in some inscrutable order necessary to fix, reassemble or create something. As I get carrots, cabbage and other ingredients from the refrigerator I notice it happens to contain plastic bags filled with dirt balls called dorodango, part of an ongoing project my kids’ friends. And while I drain the whey off cheese made from this morning’s milking, I look at the new comments written on the wipe-off surface of the world map on our kitchen wall. Everywhere around me are signs of my family’s lively engagement in the moment.
Sometimes it’s hard for me to stay in the moment. As I chop vegetables and stir spices into the soup I think about all that’s going on in the world. We hear the media’s relentless drumbeat of doom. If we pay attention we also sense subtle changes as awareness shifts around us. Some people constrict in fear. Yet slowly, many more find their consciousness opening. Amazing work is going on to insure sustainable energy, ecological fairness, justice and greater harmony.
Deep ecologist Joanna Macy, among others, calls this our time The Great Turning. This is a pivotal and undeniably perilous time for humanity and the earth itself. We are called to transition from relentless ego-driven profit-oriented individuals to a life-sustaining and spiritually aware humanity. This choice is the only survivable option for insuring life on earth.
Slowly, painfully and then gratefully we awaken to this understanding. My work right now---raising children, writing and learning, participating in my community, and considering my choices more carefully---this is part of this Great Turning. This is necessary. The very ordinary process of making soup and cheese is something precious, no less than the very remarkable process of taking part in a transformational epoch.
I’ve taken the liberty of sharing Joanna Macy’s suggestions for these times. Please go to her website or Google “great turning” for more information.
Personal Guidelines for the Great Turning by Joanna Macywww.joannamacy.net
Come from Gratitude
To be alive in this beautiful, self-organizing universe--to participate in the dance of life with senses to perceive it, lungs that breathe it, organs that draw nourishment from it--is a wonder beyond words. Gratitude for the gift of life is the primary wellspring of all religions, the hallmark of the mystic, the source of all true art. Furthermore, it is a privilege to be alive in this time when we can choose to take part in the self-healing of our world.
Don't be Afraid of the Dark
This is a dark time, filled with suffering and uncertainty. Like living cells in a larger body, it is natural that we feel the trauma of our world. So don't be afraid of the anguish you feel, or the anger or fear, for these responses arise from the depth of your caring and the truth of your interconnectedness with all beings. To suffer with is the literal meaning of compassion.
Dare to Vision
Out of this darkness a new world can arise, not to be constructed by our minds so much as to emerge from our dreams. Even though we cannot see clearly how it's going to turn out, we are still called to let the future into our imagination. We will never be able to build what we have not first cherished in our hearts..
Roll up your Sleeves
Many people don't get involved in the Great Turning because there are so many different issues, which seem to compete with each other. Shall I save the whales or help battered children? The truth is that all aspects of the current crisis reflect the same mistake, setting ourselves apart and using others for our gain. So to heal one aspect helps the others to heal as well. Just find what you love to work on and take joy in that. Never try to do it alone. Link up with others; you'll spark each others' ideas and sustain each others' energy..
Act your AgeSince every particle in your body goes back to the first flaring forth of space and time, you're really as old as the universe. So when you are lobbying at your congressperson's office, or visiting your local utility, or testifying at a hearing on nuclear waste, or standing up to protect an old grove of redwoods, you are doing that not out of some personal whim, but in the full authority of your 15 billions years.
French: "L'oisiveté est la mère de tous les vices" ( Idleness is the mother of all vices ).
Portuguese Cabeça vazia é oficina do diabo (An empty head is the devil's workshop
Egyptian Arabic
الإيد البطّالة نجسة el-eed el-baTTaala negsa (roughly translated: the idle hand is impure)
Finnish: Laiskuus on kaikkien paheiden äiti. (Laziness is the mother of all the vices)
Spanish is "La pereza es la madre de todos los vicios" ("Laziness is the mother of all vices")
Italian "L'ozio è il padre dei vizi" (Idleness is the father of the vices).
When I was growing up my mother used to say, “idleness is the devil’s workshop.” Apparently this is one powerful saying, because variations of the same adage can be found in Finland, China, France, Italy, Egypt, Portugal---actually, in nearly every country. Hearing this must have affected my character development. If I have a few spare moments I can’t rest until I find something useful to do.
Well, that is, until a few years ago. My husband and I were meeting friends for dinner in about an hour. I figured I could finish the plantings for our back balcony if I hurried. I carried a nearly empty bag of potting soil from the shed. On second thought, I dragged a heavy new bag just in case I needed more. My youngest, Sam, who was 8 at the time, offered to help. Together we scooped soil into the pots as we arranged plants. We tucked own our volunteers of variegated sage, ivy and ajuga around the edges. We added groupings of pansies, nasturtiums and dwarf delphiniums. In some pots we added snapdragons we’d started from seed, in others we planted ornamental cabbage for long lasting foliage.
“Here you go, little guy, this is a good place to live.” Sam and I spoke to the plants as we tucked them in, introducing them to their new homes and pot-mates. I’ve been chatting companionably with plants for years and it’s something my children do too, although a bit more self-consciously.
We tamped the dirt down, watered each from our iron-rich rusty sprinkling can and stood back to admire our work. The pots offered plenty of space for the plants to fill in yet already they were abundantly textured with greenery and blooms. Our large back balcony would be graced with color. As soon as I got the pots up there.
“Are we going to carry all of these through the house?” Sam asked doubtfully.
“Good question,” I said.
The balcony has no stairs. Carrying the muddy pots through the house, past a jumping dog, to exit the kitchen door and out on the balcony didn’t seem like the most reasonable idea. I thought of an easier method. Our house is built into a gentle slope, so the balcony is almost low enough for me to hoist the pots above my head and onto the balcony floor. After that was accomplished I could walk through the house unimpeded to arrange them as I pleased.
When I announced this plan to Sam he didn’t seem convinced. He was downright alarmed when I pulled a chair directly under the balcony’s edge.
“Mom, isn’t that the chair you got from the garbage?”
“Yes, someone it threw out, but it’s still perfectly good,” I told him. “Remember? We’re going to sand and paint it. It’ll look great outside.”
“But you’re not going to stand on it now are you?” he asked.
“It’s fine, see?” I stood on it to demonstrate the chair’s worthiness. It held as firm as a rickety discarded wooden dining room chair could.
“Now hand me the first pot, Honey,” I said confidently. “I’ll just scoot it up on the porch.”
“That’s not safe Mom.”
“Come on, it’ll be fine,” I told him. “You’ve gotta try new ideas sometimes.” Clearly I wasn’t passing along my mother’s time honored adages. Ones like, “Pride goeth before a fall” or “Better safe than sorry.”
He handed me the first pot. I wasn’t quite as steady as I’d expected and the pot was a lot heavier than I thought it was, but I was determined to be a good example for my little boy. I hoisted the pot up and onto the balcony floor. I didn’t even make too many “ooof” noises in the process.
“See,” I said, somewhat euphoric with success, “it’s not hard at all.”
Sam continued handing the newly planted pots up to me as I smiled encouragingly down at his trusting blue eyes. When the last of the plants were finally lined up above us, I smugly explained to Sam from my lofty perch on the chair that it’s important to trust ourselves. After all, I said, how would anything ever get done except the same old way?
Just about to hop down from the chair, I noticed the unopened bag of potting soil. That would be handy to have in the house. I could repot some houseplants in the laundry tub without making a mess.
“Could you hand me that too Sam?”
He hauled the heavy bag from the ground and, with some effort, hoisted it up to me. I grabbed it. It was heavier than the pots and worse yet, wobbly as soil shifted inside the plastic. I reached up, extending my arms as far as I could reach. I still couldn’t get the bag quite high enough to slide onto the balcony floor. I stood on my tiptoes, the bag teetering above my head. The unusual pressure on the potting soil bag took its toll. The bag split wide open. Keep in mind that some reactions are beyond our control. So when my eyebrows tensed and my mouth opened in an involuntary expression of surprise and dismay, it just so happened that this took place at the exact second that the bag broke. It emptied in a sudden rush, piles of dirt cascading in my hair, down my collar and directly into my open mouth.
I did an improvised dance to shake potting soil from my hair and clothes, spitting dirt and laughing while I whirled around the backyard. Sam, bless his heart, never said, “I told you so.”
Later that evening as we enjoyed dinner with friends (my hair still wet from a hurried scrubbing) I realized the old adage about idleness and the devil didn’t really suit me. I’ve given up the tendency to fill each moment with a useful task. When I have a little time a-wasting I remind myself that all work and no play makes a woman spit dirt.
The USDA plans to impose a mandatory identification system called NAIS which is, frankly, Big Brother down on the farm. Radio ID ear tags for all livestock, from llamas to chickens, and specific codes for each farm (even for a backyard chicken coop or horse-lover's barn). No data demonstrates any value to this system in promoting health or safety. Conceivably, this bill could potentially affect pet owners in the future.
On March 11, 2009, the House Agriculture Subcommittee on Livestock, Dairy and Poultry held a hearing on the implementation the controversial NAIS program. Repeatedly, members of congress cited support for NAIS due to food and animal safety concerns. Since most committee members favored NAIS, the hearing was used to push the USDA to make NAIS mandatory for all livestock. This would include what Republican Rep. Mike Conaway described as farms with “one big fat horse.” Conaway suggested that NAIS is just as important as organic.
Only a third of farmers have registered in the past five years despite heavy pressure. Even children enrolled in Future Farmers of America or 4-H are expected to have their family farms registered with NAIS.
Quoting an Organic Consumer’s Association report on the hearing:
Paul Rozwadowski, a Wisconsin dairy farmer and chair of the National Family Farm Coalition’s Dairy Subcommittee, cited the severe cost burden for family farmers versus the loopholes for industrial livestock operations. “While I would have to separately tag every single one of my 60 cows, factory farm poultry and hog operations are allowed one group ID. This gives them an unfair competitive advantage, so it’s no wonder their lobbyists support it. NFFC also strenuously objects to National Milk Producers Federation once again falsely speaking on behalf of dairy farmers. NFFC’s Dairy Subcommittee, comprised of dairy farmers from across the country, adamantly opposes NAIS, particularly as our dairy prices have collapsed and we struggle for our survival.”
Here’s information on the topic from
National Family Farm Coalition http://www.nffc.net/Pressroom/Press%20Releases/2008/PR%2006.25.08%20School%20Lunch%20and%20NAIS.htm
Organic Consumers Association http://salsa.democracyinaction.org/o/642/campaign.jsp?campaign_KEY=26665
Below you’ll find yet another letter we have sent to our Senators and Congressman. Please consider sending one of your own.
We live on a small family farm and ask you to act on behalf not only of all farmers but all consumers by voting against any mandatory NAIS bill (coding properties and tracking livestock for USDA purposes).
HR875 and companion Senate S814 are being pushed through Congress, as well as an appropriations bill with funding for NAIS. The proposed changes are not only massively expensive, but outrageous because NAIS has no value in promoting health or safety.
*Although the USDA alleges that NAIS will benefit animal health, basic scientific principles demonstrate the reverse. This program is a disincentive for good animal husbandry.
*NAIS damages food safety. It will not halt food borne illnesses nor prevent the conditions creating these problems, in part because tracking ends at the time of slaughter. Such problems will abate when existing regulations are properly funded and enforced---for example the inspection of imported foods, oversight of slaughterhouses and food processing plants, etc.
*Sustainable farms with practices that boost the health of the land and support local communities are precisely those farms that will be unable to continue under the burden of NAIS requirements. If forced to develop the necessary NAIS database, purchase 840-numbered tags and deal with increased government regulation chances are many more of us would lose the struggle to hang on to our land and animals.
*If implemented, NAIS will increase food costs and substantially decrease the availability of organic, free range and local foods because only agribusiness can afford the Big Brother burden of NAIS.
Please let us know how you plan to vote.
“Small town values” have been endlessly chanted into the glare of TV cameras by folks who don’t know straw from hay or truth from spin. I may live in a township too tiny to warrant a single stoplight, but I do know that values have more to do with how each of us chooses to live than the way we’re described by politicians or pundits. Every one of our daily choices matter, whether made in the barn or the boardroom. Reawaking small town values, core values I suspect are held by most folks, may be a cure for our national economic woes.
Honesty
Spencer Feed & Supply stocks honey from our hives on their shelves. Feed for our cows is ground right there from local grain and the sale of our honey taken off the bill. Even though no money changes hands we still declare the honey as profit on our taxes. It’s a simple matter of conscience. Most of us sense that dishonesty spurred by greed caused our economic crisis. Blame is readily available while those who admit to creating the problems are scarce. Some people around here trace the problem back to dropping the gold standard or relaxing import tariffs. Plenty pin it on hedge funds, risky mortgage products and speculative bubbles across many markets. Chances are they’re all correct.
But right now the focus is on deregulation, a word spoken as if it stinks. What’s missing is honesty about who is responsible. The policies of deregulation and minimal oversight were themselves speculative. (Why is another matter, clearly due to the overlord Greed and his minion, Secrecy.)
Our township isn’t far from big sister Cleveland, where economic misery trickles down like a shared family disorder. Feisty Cleveland was the first city in the nation to pass a predatory-lending law in 2002. That law was toothless because the state had no legal authority to pursue fraudulent lenders. Why? All 50 state attorneys general attempted to protect consumers from predatory and deceptive lenders, in part due to the federal regulatory void, but the Bush administration vehemently prevented the enforcement of state laws. Instead the administration sided with financial institutions, even filing a lawsuit to protect banks from state investigation.
This was detailed in a Washington Post piece titled, “Predatory Lenders' Partner in Crime:How the Bush Administration Stopped the States From Stepping In to Help Consumers” http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2008/02/13/AR2008021302783.html?nav=rss_opinion/columns
A few weeks later, thousands of media hours were lavished on a breaking sex scandal by the article’s author, New York Governor Eliot Spitzer. The content of the article was ignored in the typical elevation of ratings over content.
We need a national conscience cleaning The facts must be revealed about how we got in this situation so we can enact safeguards against future economic disasters. And we need to look at the place truth holds in our own lives. If we’re honest with ourselves about what we’re doing and why we’re doing it, we better understand where our priorities are. Our grandmothers may have advised washing a liar’s mouth with soap but that never cleansed the taste of deceit. Telling the truth does that. Besides, I hear soap is full of toxins these days.
Reputation
Here, as in any small town, neighbors lend equipment and help one another out. But if your dealings are unethical folks will remember. That means if you sell wet hay, you won’t have buyers again because everyone knows such hay can sicken livestock or spark a barn fire. Actions demonstrate character.
The same holds true for institutions. When entrusting banks with our accounts we expect a solid reputation. That’s not something an ad can claim, it comes from the bank’s dealings. Our local banks, like First Merit Bank and Farmers Savings Bank, didn’t succumb to slick methods of making money the last decade or two. They stayed with traditional banking practices. No surprise, these institutions are strong as ever.
Banks loaning money deceptively, corporations trading without prudence and individuals taking on excessive debt all knew a time of reckoning would come. It has. The American public is experiencing the disastrous results, and not only job loss and price increases. It’s estimated that one out of four of us owe more on our mortgages than our houses are worth and trillions in retirement savings have evaporated in market “corrections” so far. Hulking fossils like Citigroup and Bank of America have worthless stock and debts exceeding their assets, yet we prolong the date of their extinction with more and more taxpayer money. We’re told that AIG (chomping at another huge government rescue), Wall Street firms and banks took unacceptable, unprecedented risks but ongoing bailouts are essential. Although these behemoths squeezed out other companies by free market rules, now we are told we can’t let them die that way. Their current vegetative state does no one any good. People across the political spectrum are incensed that we are bailing out the same financial giants whose reckless behavior incited our current economic crisis, yet not holding them accountable.
All of us know that those who are not accountable for their actions are, legally, either children or mentally incompetent adults. By that logic, institutions not accountable for their actions should not be in business. Revoke their charters or make taxpayers the new owners. Logic says smaller solid financial institutions that have truly earned decent reputations can replace these lumbering dinosaurs. After all, reputation is all any company truly has to offer.
Self-Reliance and Interdependence
These traits fold together like the Sunday paper. We can’t get along in small towns or anywhere for that matter without relying on one another. When my father was growing up on the farm, each summer a Huber steam tractor puffed down the road, field to field, followed by farmers who worked together for weeks until the land had yielded her harvest. These days we still help one another out through networks of kinship created in neighborhoods, churches and the local diner. We find the more local we keep these ties the more we remain connected to one another and the outcome.
The same holds true financially. When we keep our financial dealings local and reliant on those we trust we remain in greater control of the results. An Austin, Texas study found that for every $100 a shopper spent at a chain store the local economic impact was only $13. The rest of the money headed straight out of town. But spent at a locally owned retailer, the nearby economy benefited from $45 of that $100.
How does this have anything to do with the state of our national economy? We have little control over our money, as a nation, when we are not reasonably in charge of how it’s spent or where it’s going. There’s little transparency, no proven long-term cap on savings and absolutely no voter input when our more and more government functions are privatized.
Take the military as an example. We’re relentlessly privatizing the military. Major U.S. defense contractor Lockheed Martin fails to adhere to military guidelines on major weapons programs, overwhelming us with cost overruns. Yet we pay Lockheed to run our VA benefits claims appeals program and provide civilian interrogators at Abu Ghraib. They’re not doing a great job at either one.
Halliburton, recipient of billions of dollars in no-bid Pentagon contracts, moved its headquarters to the country of Dubai. Its affiliate military contractor, Kellogg Brown & Root (KBR), increases profits by overspending due to lucrative ‘cost-plus” contracts with the U.S. military. Meanwhile, employees of KBR are hired as contractors through a shell company in the Cayman Islands. Then these workers head off to Iraq or Afghanistan to take jobs our service men and women used to handle.
This may be small town thinking, but I don’t recall previous wars being privatized or outsourced. Back then Americans served their country directly under government leadership. Many others worked to manufacture the necessary food, clothing and weaponry for companies based here in the U.S. Maybe that’s why wartime boosted the economy, just as keeping the dollars local in Austin benefited more than the shop owners.
Hard Work It’s common to hear tractors running well after dark around here because many farmers have full time jobs in addition to agriculture. Their work generates the food that sustains a nation. Still, farmers have to auction off their herds or leave the land altogether when they can’t make ends meet. It’s estimated that 330 family farms are lost every week. That’s tragic for all of us.
Americans are hard workers. We put in longer hours and have fewer paid vacation days than most industrialized nations. Worker productivity remains high. But real wages are down and for those of us dealing with unemployment, the remaining jobs out there pay less and provide fewer benefits than they did a few years ago. When hard work no longer equals a living wage, it’s as if the ground cannot yield food.
Recent figures show that U.S. incomes in the lower 90 percent of the economic ladder went down slightly while the top one percent saw gains of at least 14 percent. And 14 percent of a millionaire’s worth is a lot of money.
It seems hard work is no longer tied to earnings. CEO’s go from one high paying position to another. No matter if they’re leaving a company in shambles, they stroll off with giant bonuses and perks. And the same financiers and economic experts who led institutions to ruin appear are handling the trillions in bailout money. That doesn’t sit well here in the heartland. I can’t imagine it goes over well anywhere.
Those who imply that residents of small towns are somehow more authentically American don’t fool us. We’re all Americans. The values we believe in may be too numerous to list but we know they only come alive when we live them each day. That doesn’t mean we always behave well. We’re angry and we do have pitchforks.
sources
http://www.sustainabletable.org/issues/familyfarms/ “ Family Farms” Sustainable Table blog (loss of farms per week)
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2008/06/03/AR2008060303490.html?nav=rss_business “US Lockheed Faulted for Failure to Control Costs” by Dana Hedgpeth Washington Post Wednesday, June 4, 2008; Page D01
http://blog.cleveland.com/openers/2008/07/thousands_of_veterans_may_have.html “Thousands of veterans may have been denied payments, Kucinich report says”
by Stephen Koff The Plain Dealer July 15, 2008 11:56AM (Lockheed handling VA claims)
http://www.liveablecity.org/lcfullreport.pdf “Economic Impact Analysis: A Case Study Local Merchants vs Chain Retailers by Civic Economics” December 2002 (Austin TX study)
http://www.cleveland.com/plaindealer/stories/index.ssf?/base/business-8/1222849945238061.xml&coll=2 “Cuyahoga County predatory-lending epidemic was early sign U.S. financial crisis loomed” by Teresa Dixon Murray and Mark Gillispie The Plain Dealer Wednesday, October 01, 2008
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2008/02/13/AR2008021302783.html?nav=rss_opinion/columns
“Predatory Lenders' Partner in CrimeHow the Bush Administration Stopped the States From Stepping In to Help Consumers” by Eliot Spitzer Washington Post Thursday, February 14, 2008; Page A25
Isabelle shows gratitude with copious drool. It’s her birthday today. She takes pieces of carrot, apple, broccoli and rutabaga from my fingers gently, her large soft lips careful and delicate against my skin. She gives each mouthful a few bites before eagerly selecting another morsel. She and I have our own hand-feeding ritual. When she sees me come up the path she waits patiently while I spend time with the chickens and pet the cats. She knows her turn is coming.
Cows eat with distinct pleasure. Given free range they wander through pastures selecting grasses with high nutrient levels, instinctively self-medicating with the right plants when ill. They choose to eat alongside favorite herd mates just as we prefer lunching with a friend. And after a meal of grass or hay or apples they digest as ruminants do, bringing up their food all over again for another chew as if to enjoy it again.
Isabelle belches in my face. It’s warm and redolent of the hay we harvested last summer. Bovine belching has gotten a bad rap (along with bovine farting) as contributing to global warming. Easy for us to blame creatures, but the problem traces right back to us. Research shows the net effect of grass-fed cattle actually slows global warming. It’s when we ignore nature’s wisdom that we create problems. You’d think we would have figured that out by now.
Grass is inedible to humans while cattle are perfectly designed to sustain themselves on this hardy plant and its dry counterpart, hay. But these days cattle are fed diets heavy in grains, protein supplements and obnoxious bulking agents such as cardboard, chicken feathers, even rotting candy by-products. These unnatural diets cause cattle a number of physical disorders, so synthetic nutrients and medications are added to their rations as well. Not surprisingly when cattle are deprived of their native pastures they exhibit signs of stress. All these negatives have a consequence.
Cows on pasture have fewer reproductive problems and produce larger, healthier calves. The more fresh grass in a cow’s diet, the more vitamin E, omega-3 fatty acids and cancer fighting conjugated linoleic acid (CLA) present in the milk.
In fact the older a cow gets, the higher the CLA in her milk, something the dairy industry doesn’t admit. That’s because dairy cows in this country don’t live long. They’re culled at three, four or maybe five years old. Overproduction, unnatural feed and confinement make them unprofitable after that age, even though cows can easily reproduce and give milk well into their teens.
Isabelle is turning eleven today. Her winter coat is beautifully thick. She chooses to spend nearly every minute outdoors. She watches the chickens as they peck underfoot and pays attention to every change in the barnyard. Her curiosity is typical of her kind. Even animal researchers were surprised to discover that cows not only effectively problem-solvers, their brainwaves indicate excitement akin to an “eureka” moment and some cows even leap in the air. Isabelle, though a middle-aged lady, regularly indulges in those leaping moments. She scampers girlishly, tossing her head and running in sheer pleasure when let into a new pasture. When she lies down to rest Malcolm the Cat likes to sleep on her warm hide.
Our cows, like so many, don’t have actual sex lives. When Isabelle goes into heat we order a straw of semen from a catalog of registered Guernsey bulls. The A.I. guy shows up, logo on his hat proudly proclaiming Semen-X, and doesn’t crack a smile at my jokes. Isabelle is a profoundly attentive mother. When her calf is young she follows it around as careful as any mother of a newborn. She nurses on demand and instructs it with nudges, head movement and a variety of vocalizations. When we were new at this we only had books to go by. Everything we read warned that leaving a calf with its mother could condemn it to suffer from “scours,” a potentially fatal condition. But we had no intention of separating mother from calf. Each of Isabelle’s calves has been significantly bigger and more vigorous than the norm with no medical problems. And we’ve always had more than enough milk for our family while she nurses her calf for a year.
The strong bond between cow and calf forces us to recognize that modern practices take a profound toll. One day we were at a nearby dairy when farmhands came to take a day old calf from its mother. As the men approached, a dozen other cows in the pen encircled the mother and calf. Their struggle to protect one of their own and the subsequent bawling was heart rending. All around us dairy farms use “calf huts” where the calves are isolated and fed milk replacer. A few feet away their motherslive confined indoors eating lifeless food while their sensitive noses can smell nearby unused pastures with health-giving grass waving in the wind. Changing agriculture back to more sustainable, compassionate methods has a lot to do with changing minds. The perfect circle represented by sun, food and sustenance must be reconnected.
But today it’s Isabelle’s birthday. Maybe we should celebrate as she does. She leaves the barn to stay outside under blue skies. She pays attention to everything in the natural world around her. Soon she’ll bring up those apples and carrots to chew again, reminder of a meal offered by loving hands. Chances are good she’ll belch. A good birthday. A good day, every day.
For more information check out:
www.eatwild.com News and information about pasture-based farming with links to local farmers.
www.ucsusa.org/food_and_environment/sustainable_food/greener-pastures.html The Greener Pastures report by the Union of Concerned Scientists regarding grass-fed cattle.
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