Skip to main content

Reposted from Ramblings Over Earth by Methinks They Lie
Say a starry eyed city slicker shows up to the farm talking about wanting to work outdoors, with nature, and flowers, and staying in shape and wanting to get back to some romanticized version of some theoretical idea of what farming is, and suppose they want to quit their office job, buy some land, and sit on the front porch chewin' on a piece of straw listenin' to the "kayoats", and say they want to work on your farm for a while so they can "learn the ropes." You know who I'm talking about (ahem, what? Not me!). Well tell that person, "Why sure, why don't you come back tomorrow and we'll get you started." Now you know it's going to rain tomorrow and you know you'll be harvesting carrots so why have them start today? Right?

They show up, of course, bright eyed and nearly winded from the excitement of it all, and it's raining (as predicted!) and you hand them a digging fork and you send them out to the far field, that one waaayyyy over there about an 1/8 of a mile away and you tell them we need 120 lbs of carrots, cleaned, bunched 6 a piece, all pretty looking. They'll have to walk the carrots back to the packing shed because it's too wet to bring any equipment into the fields. Now you watch them as they bound off with glee because they're farming now (!) and to hell with that stupid office job and they're gonna farm and be happy and keep an eye on them throughout the morning. Look at their face (if you can see it under all that mud) and you watch as their clothes begin to sag from the rain (no rain gear), their backs begin to hunch over a little, and you check in with them with some verbal contact to make sure they're still able to form complete sentences and know what day it is and who the President is and all that.

Encourage them of course, give them some positive feedback (even though you know you're gonna have to send in some reinforcements to pick up the slack), put a smile on your face and go about your business. About noontime call him in to the packing shed and tell him that's all for today. Nice work. Hope to see ya tomorrow morning.

Now you know where I'm going with this. Either he/she shows up tomorrow or not. But the important thing is done. You've done the most compassionate thing you could ever do for that person by trying to disabuse them of any idyllic notions they may have of what farming is early on so they can get back to their comfortable (and well paid) lives. Nice job, now pat yourself on the back.

Here's the complicated part which you have no control over and you'll never know if this is what did it. "It" being what caused this person to come back the next day (sorer than they've ever been despite that monthly gym membership). This person could have been out there cursing himself, cursing the carrots, hurling demeaning epithets at the mud, wondering why in the hell carrots were so damn cheap and shouldn't they be priced like ten times what they are I can't believe people do this....and then it happens. Out of the corner of his eye something catches his attention and he notices a jackrabbit go bounding off into the bushes and he thinks to himself, "Wow, look at the size of those ears!" And truly, they are magnificent ears. And nearly everyone who sees a jackrabbit for their first time has this same reaction. But just then, as if on cue, here comes the tailess bobcat leaping not far behind in impressive bursts, trained on the jackrabbit with laser-like intensity, following each turn with incredible precision until he too disappears into the bushes, (the white rump being the last thing you see on a bobcat) and then, as if nature wrote the script just for our hapless newbie--because, it seems, she has a curious sense of humor--a redtail hawk shrieks above as it whirls in the gray sky casting an unshakable punctuation mark to it all. Right there, just right there is where the hook is set. Our newbie farmer is coming back tomorrow no matter what. There's no changing it.

Despite your best intentions the universe has its ways and when that newbie shows up tomorrow you'll never know why and depending on your disposition at the time you'll either shake your head in disbelief, or nod at them when they arrive in a sort of "I think I know" sense (or maybe inside joke sense?). Pat them on the shoulder and send them off to do something easy,, just find them something to do that involves flowers or lavender or, my personal favorite, basil. They earned it. And besides, it might be a while before they see another bobcat.

Reposted from Ramblings Over Earth by Methinks They Lie

Digging in the dirt. Primal. Evocative. Soothing. Despite the rain got up off the couch (down with a cold), slipped on the rain gear, rode the farm bike out to help harvest sorrel, arugula, spinach and other veggies (even oranges!) for the farm CSA. Nose running. A sneeze here a sneeze there. No matter. I was outside. Digging in the dirt.

Rain stopped, sun came out, jacket off, time to move irrigation piping dragging it down field. Realignment of rows to make the farm road bigger for tractor turn arounds. Slowly my energy level starts to rise. Another bag of popcorn taken home, grown on the farm, spirits rising further, sitting in the sun before I head west to farm school for the evening. Big ranch classroom. Lots of horses around. A sunset to watch over the coast mountains. Hawks soaring above. Golden rays through palm trees, valley oaks, olive trees. What cold? It's not going to keep me from these things. These things make me stronger, this cold doesn't stand a chance.

Hummingbirds now screech screech screeching, sun intensifies, I can feel my immune system calling in reinforcements. Sun is my protector. I use it instead of NyQuil. Truck door slams, a wheezing ensues. A familiar wheezing, laborer pulling cord, the machine choking to life, three more pulls and the engine screams to full blast. The hummingbirds stop. The jays alight and take off for cover somewhere else. The engine whirs a high pitched yell as the laborer guns the throttle, black smoke pierces the blue sky, three more revs just to make a point, the machine slings over his shoulder, the blowhole in his hand, sloshing gas tank and now the cloud of dust whipped into the air, this way, that way, doesn't matter as long as things are flying around it seems. Leaves flying about from one place to another, some make the intended spot, others don't.

Revving more now dust cloud soaring the laborer moves a pile of dirt and leaves and tissue and a soda can and twigs and ladybugs and cigarette butts from one part of the yard to another part, some of it into the street (who cares?), some of it into the neighbor's yard. Melancholy moon now in the sky the quiet killed the laborer and his machine work to "clean up" someone's yard who's at work, not here to hear this deafening scourge, to see what they've paid someone to do.

Three more times I will hear this at three more houses. Everyone paying cheaply leafblowers to blow around things in their yard. Rakes are so 20th century. Work is a thing of the past. Machines will do it for us. Laziness. Sloth. Torpor. While the owner of the company rakes in the cash by doing this his little machines, these backpacked devils of pollution, spew more carbon per hour than......well here:

In 2000, the California Environmental Protection Agency found that a half-hour of leaf-blower usage produced enough carbon monoxide to equal 440 miles of driving at 30 miles per hour.
And all that dust, all of those fine particles kicked up and around suspend themselves in the air and contribute to poor air quality as particulate matter. This is the stuff that wreaks havoc on those with asthma, and worse:
Particulate matter (PM) has been implicated as being responsible for a wide variety of adverse health effects that have been shown in epidemiological studies to contribute to premature deaths (Pope et al. 1995).
But the scourge on the land, air and water (and our health) are only one part of the costs we bear while the owner of the landscaping (or leafblower) company buys a new house, a boat, the chalet in the mountains. Wealth must be accumulated you see by a few while society pays the true cost of these machines. No one seems to care anymore that our soundscape (let alone landscape) is ravaged by this hissing, spitting, cacophony of machines that invade our neighborhoods because of some weird fascination with perfect grass, square hedges, leafless (and lifeless) dirt. Quiet and peace be damned. Profit above all else.
Do we hear these things anymore or are our lives so filled with noise now that nothing seems to faze us? Are we so frantically attached to our busyness, our constant chatter (tweet this, chat that, text me text me text me!) that we no longer care that our neighborhoods sound like sawmills? Like standing next to a 500 pound mosquito with bad gas?

Some communities have had enough. Some have banned gas powered leafblowers. Imagine having to use a rake. A RAKE (!) by god. Imagine having to work again. Having to use our muscles. To stay fit. To stay healthy. To be outside, staying limber, talking to our neighbors (shutter!). Imagine that. Imagine quiet. Imagine valuing the sound of hummingbirds. The sound of wind, real wind, whirring through the trees. Imagine the stench of these machines being relegated to the owner of the company's house who wishes to foist this mess on us for his precious, precious profit. Imagine measuring the costs of things in terms larger than mere cost per gallon to operate.

Some people buy priuses, shop at organic groceries, send checks into the NRDC and pat themselves on the back for being such green stewards of the earth and then turn around and pay someone else to take care of their yards (while they're conveniently not there) who in turn sends in troops armed with belching, bleeding, stinking machines that in one pass over their Elizabethan era landscape all of those carbon offsets they purchased go puffing up in smoke. Up in smog. Up in 120 decibels of rage, impotence, and fear.

Imagine a time when we're enlightened enough to look back on this era and laugh at ourselves (both for our folly and for our obvious ignorance). Imagine a system where we tax the owner of the company who uses these machines to account for the true costs of his actions.

Imagine quiet. Imagine clean air. Imagine sanity. Is it too late for that?


Fri Feb 08, 2013 at 07:01 AM PST

Work Made a Farmer

by aimlessmind

Reposted from aimlessmind by Methinks They Lie
And on the 8th day, God looked down on his planned paradise and said, "I need a caretaker." So God made a farmer.

God said, "I need somebody willing to get up before dawn, milk cows, work all day in the fields, milk cows again, eat supper and then go to town and stay past midnight at a meeting of the school board." So God made a farmer.

"I need somebody with arms strong enough to rustle a calf and yet gentle enough to deliver his own grandchild. Somebody to call hogs, tame cantankerous machinery, come home hungry, have to wait lunch until his wife's done feeding visiting ladies and tell the ladies to be sure and come back real soon--and mean it." So God made a farmer.
— ∞ —

In 1978, Paul Harvey delivered a speech at the Future Farmers of America Convention entitled, "So God Made a Farmer." It's a beautiful speech, filled with stirring imagery and capturing a romantic view of the hard working American farmer. Harvey delivers it impeccably, in his distinctive voice and often falling into a poetic torrent of description. I like the speech; even in its romanticization, it speaks to the agrarian I am at heart, and speaks to a number of truths about farmers of all stripes--not just in this country, but across the world.

Yet, Harvey gave that speech one year after Wendell Berry published The Unsettling of America, a collection of essays bemoaning the destruction of rural and farming communities throughout America. Already, the process of centralization, corporatization, destructive industrialism, and overproduction was ripping through America's farmlands, picking off farms and farmers, literally killing many of those who worked the land. From 1940 to 1970, the farm population in America dropped from an estimated 30.8 million people to 9.7 million. At the same time, the general population of the country increased by 70 million. Farmers made up 18% of the working population in 1940. By 1970, that was down to 4.6%. Two years after Harvey's speech, in 1980, there were just 3.7 million farmers, and they made up only 3.4% of the work force. The day Harvey gave his speech, most of the American farm community had already been destroyed.

In 2013, just this last Sunday, Chrysler unveiled a television advertisement featuring portions of Harvey's speech. Chrysler overlaid his eloquent words with gorgeous portraits of farmers and ranchers. For two minutes during America's annual celebration of consumption and vacuity--now one of its greatest cultural touchstones--Chrysler's ad stirred the hearts and minds of a nation of people, seducing them with a romanticized picture of American farming and evoking this country's rich agricultural heritage. At the end of those two minutes, no doubt, the vast majority of those who had felt so stirred by the words and images set forth before them went back to their Doritos and Pepsi, Budweiser and industrially-produced meat, their various repackagings of oil-soaked corn and soy, and they watched the next commercial pimping an unnecessary industrial product rooted in the destruction of the very same land that so many past Americans loved and worked. In other words, they went back to the sort of lives that have destroyed and debased American farmers--not to mention farmers across the world, creatures across the world, the very land and ecosystems that all of us here on Earth consider home.

— ∞ —
God said, "I need somebody willing to sit up all night with a newborn colt. And watch it die. Then dry his eyes and say, 'Maybe next year.' I need somebody who can shape an ax handle from a persimmon sprout, shoe a horse with a hunk of car tire, who can make harness out of haywire, feed sacks and shoe scraps. And who, planting time and harvest season, will finish his forty-hour week by Tuesday noon, then, pain'n from 'tractor back,' put in another seventy-two hours." So God made a farmer.

God had to have somebody willing to ride the ruts at double speed to get the hay in ahead of the rain clouds and yet stop in mid-field and race to help when he sees the first smoke from a neighbor's place. So God made a farmer.
— ∞ —

Chrysler's commercial--the first, last, and only purpose of which is to sell trucks and boost their brand, let's keep in mind--doesn't present an accurate view of the American food system. The current system is one rooted largely in industrial processes, massive corporate agriculture outfits, degradation of the land, overproduction, commoditization, exploitation of migrant laborers, and the enslavement of farmers via perpetual debt cycles. Farm workers in this country are not primarily white, as the commercial might lead you to believe. They're primarily brown; a majority of agricultural workers in this country are Hispanic, most of them foreign-born. The majority of children raised on farms don't "want to do what Dad does." They leave the farm. They move to urban areas, get "good" jobs, join the industrial economy and never look back.

The hard truth is that most of this country has little interest in getting out there and putting their hands in the dirt and doing the hard work of growing and raising food. We think we're beyond that. We think we're too "advanced." We think that's something best left to less civilized people. Within the context of the myth of progress--one of the ruling ideas of our time--an agrarian society and economy is seen as less civilized and inherently worse than an industrial society and economy. It's something best left for the less developed countries. First we stopped dirtying our hands with the growing of food, then we stopped dirtying our hands with the making of actual things, and now--surprise!--we have a dysfunctional economy that no longer even provides the opportunity to keep our hands clean in the magical "information economy" that was supposed to elevate us above all the messy, nasty physical realities of our past lives. Perhaps we shouldn't have taken such a dim view of the dirt on our hands.

Chrysler and Harvey suggest to us that God makes farmers. I would submit that that's the wrong message for our time. Harvey's speech actually reveals the message we most need to hear: that work makes farmers.

Continue Reading

Tue Feb 05, 2013 at 09:14 AM PST

Pollination Crisis

by Desert Scientist

Reposted from Desert Scientist by Methinks They Lie

In recent years we have heard a lot about "colony collapse" in reference to honey bee colonies.  As honey bees pollinate many of our crops, including all stone fruit, apples, pears, and many others, this has become a major worry in the agricultural community.  The latest thinking seems to involve both parasites and pollution, including pesticides. Despite the impression of many the honey bee is not native to the New World.  The genus Apis appears to have evolved in Southeast Asia, with one species spreading into Europe and Africa.  The first honey bees were brought to the New World by the early colonists and were accidentally released into Massachusetts (and very likely in the Spanish colonies in the Southwest) in the early 1600s. When the honey bee was released into Australia, it caused a decline in native bees and this probably occurred also in North America, but no one was there to record it. One of my colleagues who worked at the Carl Hayden Bee Research Center called them "pollen pigs."   Still they were vital for the pollination of our Eurasian fruit and vegetable crops and they produced honey and bee's wax. Thousands of hives are transported by flatbed truck from Florida to California and around the country in order to pollinate our almonds, apples, cherries, apricots, peaches, citrus, etc.

However, honey bees are not by any means the only bees in North America, nor are they the only ones in danger from human activities, especially pesticides and habitat degradation. Leaf-cutter bees (Megachile spp.) are very important in the pollination of alfalfa and the related blue mason bees (Osmia lignaria) is very important in the pollination of tree crops.  Both are members of the Megachilidae and both are native to the U.S. (although one of the blue bees has been imported) and have become more involved in crop production. Nesting boards drilled with bee-sized holes are commonly used to maintain "colonies" (leaf-cutter bees and mason bees are actually solitary, but will nest together.)  Beside these the North American fauna of bees is huge and includes bumble bees (excellent pollinators of clover), digger bees, white-faced bees, "sweat bees", etc.

Bees are, of course, not the only pollinators.  These include bees, wasps, beetles, butterflies, some moths, many flies, as well as some birds, bats, and even a few small non-flying mammals. Many agaves (source of tequila)  are, in fact, pollinated by bats, as are some night-blooming cacti. Adult long-horned beetles and others are often covered with pollen when they feed on composite (Asteraceae) flowers and metallic wood-boring beetles similarly pollinate mesquite and composites and may be coated with pollen.  Pollination is complex and some plants depend on wind, rather than pollinators (most grasses) or do not reproduce sexually, but by rhizomes, bulbs or runners.  Still there are a huge number of vascular plants that depend on animals, often bees.  Bees are certainly very important for the seed production of many of our crop species and their destruction would cause havoc to agriculture.

What can be done? Anything that increases habitat, increases alternate pollen and nectar sources, and reduces stress by pesticides, pollution and parasites, would certainly be useful.  I plant bee-friendly annuals, such as sunflowers, basil, umbelliferous plants, clovers, etc. Little by little I have been drawing large, medium sized and even tiny Perdita bees only 2-3 mm long. Bumble bees, which have been rare in the garden of late, are starting to return, visiting the cherry sage.  Long-horned and digger bees, as well as carpenter and leaf-cutting bees and of course honey bees, are showing up in fair numbers, as are hummingbirds, butterflies and occasional wasps and flies.  They still are not at levels as high as they were years ago, but the numbers are better than earlier recent summers.

This year I am setting up an insect observation garden, with paths and irregular beds to be planted with bee, butterfly and hummingbird mixes, sunflowers, poppies, salvia, basil and other favorites.  Perhaps I'll set up some bundles of hollow reeds and/or drilled "bee boards" to see if I can lure leaf-cutting and mason bees to nest.  I do not use pesticides (unfortunately I can't speak for my neighbors) and I occasionally pay for this by loosing some plants, but usually everything works out reasonably well.

Honey Bee on Seep Willow blooms

A Honey Bee (Apis mellifera) takes off from the blooms of a Seep Willow at the Mesilla Valley Bosque State Park, New Mexico.  A Western Pigmy Blue to lower right.  Note pollen basket (Corbicula) on hind legs of Honey Bee.

Carpenter Bee on Bird of Paradise

Carpenter Bee (Xylocopa sp.) on Bird of Paradise, Broad Canyon, New Mexico.

Leaf-cutting Bee on Sunflower

Leaf-cutting Bee (Megachilidae) on Sunflower, Mesilla Park, New Mexico.  Note pollen being carried on special hairs on underside of abdomen.

Literature References:

Buchmann, Stephen, and Gary Paul Nabhan. 1996. The Forgotten Pollinators. Island Press, Washington, DC.

Grissell, Eric. 2010. Bees, Wasps, and Ants: The Indispensable Role of Hymenoptera in Gardens.  Timber Press, Portland, Oregon.

The Xerces Society. 2011. Attracting Native Pollinators. Storey Publishing, North Adams, Massachusetts.

Internet References:

Attracting Pollinators to Your Garden Using Native Plants.

Ahn,Kiheung, Xianbing Xie, Joseph Riddle, Jeff Pettis, and Zachary Y. Huang. 2012. Effects of Long Distance Transportation on Honey Bee Physiology. Psyche.

Pollinator Partnership.



Note: All photos are by me.

Reposted from The Dirt I Occupy by Methinks They Lie

Late last summer, I realized that I had put all of my thoughts and energy into setting up the kitchen garden but I neglected to thoroughly consider what to do with the food that it produced. I didn’t imagine growing enough food beyond the amount needed to supplement our meals, share with our friends and to enrich the compost.

9 Aug 2012 Harvest
9 Aug 2012
Continue Reading

Mon Jan 07, 2013 at 12:57 PM PST

Seeds Started: CHECK!

by GreenMother

Reposted from GreenMother by Methinks They Lie

I don't know which time of the year I like more. That first day you see tiny little sprouts poking up out of the seed trays, or that week you get your first cherry tomatoes off of the vine when everything is lush and green.

It's a difficult call.

Last night, after finishing my scrapbooks for other relatives, I got the seed starting mix out, and brought my extra metal shelving unit in, along with seed trays and little stakes for designations so I could mark what is what. I unpacked my grow lights and my seed heat-mats and proceeded to pick out the varieties for the garden this coming year.

Follow me through the orange portal if you are afflicted with seed propagation fever as well!

Continue Reading
Reposted from Ramblings Over Earth by Methinks They Lie

While the pros and cons of the Fiscal Cliff deal continue to swirl in the pool of the American body politic, and the debate rages on even here in an orangy and "robust" fashion, here's one nugget of good news that relates to the deal and affects all of our lives in a positive way, regardless of your leanings on the deal:

Wind-turbine installations are poised to exceed natural gas-fueled power plants in the U.S. for the first time this year as developers race to complete projects before a renewable energy tax credit expires.
Wind power installations are exceeding hydro-fracked backed natural gas installations (as well as coal) for the first time in our history and it's because of a tax credit that was set to expire on December 31st if a deal could not be brokered.

New wind capacity reached 6,519 megawatts this year, so far beating natural gas and coal, and the reason we, as a society, were able to clear our air a little more, reduce CO2 emissions, offset another rural drinking water aquifer poisoning, maybe reduce another mountain top removal, is because of a tax credit that encourages wind generation that utilities took advantage of and would like to continue to do so.

The tax credit offers a 2.2 cent per kilowatt-hour incentive to utilities for 10 years for installations completed before January 1. Here's another case where the government can encourage changes in our society that lead directly to better health outcomes, longer lives, clearer skies, and cleaner drinking water.

It was thought that if the tax incentive expired and went over the Fiscal Cliff (along with other things that people depend on) well then this was a possibility:

Unless Congress extends the incentive, wind turbine installations may fall 88 percent next year to as low as 1.5 gigawatts, New Energy Finance forecasts.
I don't know about you but I enjoy clearer skies, cleaner drinking water, full mountains with their tops still on them, and power generation that has a very small ecological footprint.

As this article notes, the uncertainty over whether or not the tax incentive would be renewed had negative effects on industry jobs and product orders for companies that manufacture wind turbines and their parts. Hopefully, now that the deal has passed, more stability will be seen in the wind energy sector and utilities will start to order more turbines again putting people back to work and cleaning up our energy production at the same time.

Meanwhile, in the Gulf of Alaska, Shell Oil's exploratory drilling rig Kulluk ran aground on the southeast of Sitkalidak Island, stranded with over 150,000 gallons of diesel fuel and oil-based lubricants on it. This is the same drilling rig Shell Oil boasts will explore the Arctic Ocean for oil, an effort so far that has been wracked with numerous safety and environmental violations. The strait where the Kulluk sits, run aground, is home to an endangered species of sea lion, over 250 bird species, and the Kodiak brown bear.

The more we do as a nation to move towards a cleaner power generation paradigm and the more we offset Big Oil, Hydro-frackers, and mountain whackers I see as a victory. A victory not just for us. But for our planet. For fish, for animals, for poor rural residents who are powerless against hydro-frackers and mountain whackers who degrade the landscape and poison ground and drinking water around them.

To be as balanced as I can, one critic of extending the wind generation tax incentive was Exelon Corp. Know who Exelon Corp is? Well they're the largest operator of nuclear power plants in the U.S. Seems as though Exelon doesn't like how wind is cheaper than most other energy options and although ALL energy sectors (ESPECIALLY nuclear) receive subsidies, they think for some reason that wind should stop getting a subsidy and being so darn competitive:

"At this juncture, wind power can and should stand on its own in competing with other clean energy alternatives," the company said in a statement.
Some utilities oppose the plan, noting that the strength of installations shows wind can survive without subsidy, according to Joseph Dominguez, a senior vice president of Exelon Corp. (EXC), the largest owner of U.S. nuclear power plants.
I'm sure Exelon considers "clean coal" as "clean" energy, or natural gas, or nuclear as "clean energy." But I'm fairly certain there are a few people in the world who would argue otherwise. No, what Exelon's gripe boils down to is that wind drives down energy prices for consumers, which is good for America, but that means Exelon won't make as much money because the energy market is too competitive for its liking.  
Though Exelon is also a major wind-farm operator, it opposed the tax credit for distorting energy markets and driving down margins at competitive power producers.
And in a Free Market System, dontcha know, when things get too competitive the Big Boys start complaining. Now, to be fair, Exelon is also involved in wind power generation, so they at least have the facade of being an objective critic. But by far their biggest holdings are in in nuclear power. They also own coal fired plants as well. They have a few horses in this race, but there's at least one horse they've thrown a lot of money into (hint: nuclear). I think this quote shines brightly the hypocritical (and ironic) position Exelon put itself in opposing the extension of the wind energy tax incentive:
It’s worth noting the irony of Exelon, a large nuclear plant operator, complaining about a production tax credit. Since 2005 new nuclear plants have been eligible for a production tax credit of $18 per megawatt-hour. This, of course, is on top of at least $185 billion in federal subsidies the nuclear industry has received since 1947.
So if Exelon wants to suggest that wind power should stop receiving subsidies or help from the government so that it "stands on its own", well then I'm of the mind to say, Why stop there? Let's let the Free Market play out then. Remove the subsidies from nuclear, from coal, from natural gas, and Big Oil. Let's see how this ends up. I'm guessing that Exelon might not think like I do. I'm guessing they want that sweet, sweet cake and the cookies too.

Anyhoo, here's one part of the Fiscal Cliff deal (extension of the wind energy tax incentive) that I think is very positive. And part of my New Year's intentions is to be more positive. To look for the positive news in the world and spread it. The market for negative news is pretty well saturated and we could all use positive news every now and then to inch the balance a little more towards positivity. May the wind be at our backs (and pushing those turbines)!


MTL (a.k.a. Ramblings Over Earth)


Sat Dec 29, 2012 at 11:48 PM PST

A Brief Moment In Deep Time

by Methinks They Lie

Reposted from Ramblings Over Earth by Methinks They Lie
Mojave twilight.
Mojave twilght--All photos taken by Methinks They Lie (a.k.a Ramblings Over Earth)
While walking slowly through the Mojave desert I found what looked like part of an old desert tortoise's shell, sun bleached and chalky, broken into pieces that fit together like a puzzle in large geometric shapes to form what might have been the bottom plate of his shell. Who knows how old he was when he died. He didn't keep track, I'm sure. But we do, and he could have been 100 years old when he took his last step. A noble desert traveler returning to dust, being carried off on the wind, the whispering desert wind.

At twilight the red and purple sky of the sinking desert sun played backdrop to the yipping of coyotes off on an opposing ridge, the wind would sometimes stir and the sound it made through the Joshua Trees was like a whisper of the cool air. If I listened closely enough, and with a mind settled like snow on a frozen lake, would I hear what it had to say? Could the wind talk? I like to think it can, but only if we listen, which we're not likely to do anymore.

I had lost my way. I used to have a mindfulness practice but it went by the wayside some time ago and there's nothing that feeds the drama wheel of modern American society than mindlessness and a blindspot to self awareness. I was caught up, "in the web" or like a fly in vaseline, mind like a "monkey mind" the Buddhists say, darting this way and that with no control, carried on the waves of emotion like a feather in a whirlpool, slowly dropping, but quickening as the swirl sank further.  

I wonder if some of my lack of awareness, my decreasing attention span and scattered mind, might be because the internet is rewiring our brains. Making us less able to concentrate. Less able to pay attention, to listen, to be present. Throw in cell phones, texting, earbuds...and now here you have one culture hellbent on doing something other than whatever it is they're presently doing (like just sitting, waiting, eating).

For a long time I had a mindfulness practice and have done residential meditation retreats in silence, practicing for 7 days starting at about 6 am and lasting until about 10 pm each night. I have studied eastern philosophy (Taoism, Buddhism, Yoga, etc) for over 18 years. But I had let my practice go by the wayside. And it showed.

I was caught in the stream like a fish getting hooked on every single thought my mind wanted to entertain me with, and so I was on autopilot as a result. Drifting along. My mind like a drunk on an open dance floor barely standing but trying to follow each white dot that spun on the floor from the magical disco ball above. So to the desert I went.

To re-wire my brain. To take it back from the busyness of the modern world. Meditation can change our brains, reclaim what is I think our ancestral heritage (and right) to silence, peace, calm. To a collected, concentrated and equanimous mind.

When my mind has been as active as it was it takes some time to settle down and become quiet. I knew this from years of practice so I was patient. Eventually my mind gave up trying to get my attention, the dramas in my head slowly fading away, the constant chatter, the simulacra it must rehearse for some supposed future event that always never happens as my mind plans it, yet it never learns from this and continues to try and prepare for a future it will never understand.

And that first instant when it finally shuts up and all I have is the warm sun, the endless blue sky and the monzogranite boulders beaming light from the quartzite gems embedded in them, that first instant of silence is like a great massage of the soul, like a giant exhalation casting off the fetters of a tense and stressful grip, releasing me into a timeless moment that most cultures before us probably knew, like the Hopi, or the Lakota, or the Mojave.

Along with the listening I watched. I took slow walks, sat often out in the open desert, scanning the silence, the desert floor for a rock that moves slowly. I've never seen a desert tortoise but I know that from a distance it looks like a rock. And then it moves, surprising the unsuspecting witness, taking its time. Slow time. Deep time.

The desert tortoise has patiently plied the Mojave Desert for centuries, eons really, with little care about getting anywhere at all. Its sense of time must be very different than ours. We seem to view it as some sort of contest, or race, to get in as much as we can in as little time as we can and we're sure keep track of it all. We have watches, clocks, countdown clocks, timers, alarms, hours, minutes, seconds, nano-seconds....but we've lost the sun as a result. And the moon. We've lost the rhythm of it all. We've lost a sense of time that is grand, that is slow, that is quiet.

Most of what drives our lives now, most of what we acquire, the "stuff", all of the activity that fills the gaps between the activities we've already taken on, the new car, the new house, a different job, facebook, texting, tweeting.....all of it is racing towards us, or us to it, in order, in my view, to avoid one thing: Boredom.

So I sat in the desert and experienced boredom to its fullest. I watched as my mind wanted to hike, or bike, or run, or surf the internet, or climb, or DO SOMETHING damnit other than just sit there, and I became comfortable with boredom again. I think I briefly sank into slow time, deep time, and I imagined that when all of my "stuff" is stripped away, all of my busy body activities are removed, that the peace I felt was something that was a genetic right I inherited, that all humans inherited, and that somehow we've managed to push it away. I think it is a tragedy that we've lost a sense of a right to just do nothing. No agendas. No deadlines. No schedules. No time.

I think that if we were to ask the desert tortoise how he deals with boredom he would look at us with confusion (sadness really) and wonder what in the world it was we were talking about. It's like when the Dalai Lama was asked about self hate and he didn't understand the question. When it was explained what self hate was and that many Americans experience it, he became very sad and shook his head. He couldn't understand such a thing. Self hate was not a concept in the Tibetan culture so to him this foreign phenomenon seemed alien, and tragic.

I imagine the desert tortoise reacting the same way to a question about boredom. I see him shaking his head, slowly lifting himself with his stout legs, and walking off at a measured, deliberate pace, picking his way through sage and cactus with no specific destination in mind nor schedule to meet. I would watch him until he disappeared, which would take a long time, to grant him the respect an old sage deserves, a desert wanderer with nothing to accomplish. No one to impress.

I think that we fear the quiet actually, we fear slowness, we fear "nothing to do." In our culture if you're not doing something you're lazy. We boast of working 70 hours a week, one upping each other in some strange competition to see who can accumulate the most stress per pay period. It's odd really when you think about it (if we ever think about it at all). We created the wheel, then we jump on it and run and run and run trying to catch up to some abstract "dream" that is uniquely American (of course) and if we just run faster we'll catch that dream and live it. Like those blissful people you see in anti-depressant commercials. They found the dream. Why haven't you?

Early in the morning I would search for bobcat. They would be hunting the deer mouse, or the jackrabbit in those early hours, but mostly I saw raven. Two black forms up in the deep blue desert sky one cawing, gurgling an almost heinous sound, and then back to cawing. Maybe he was telling the desert tortoise to rise. The sun is fast approaching old friend, come out and take your rightful place among us. The desert tortoise would be too smart to listen to raven knowing he was trying to trick him, for raven is a predator and not much of a friend to the desert tortoise. So he would stay in his burrow until February or March, waiting for the cold nights to pass and lengthening days that bring higher temperatures under the hot sun.

I imagine that in spring, from raven's perspective up there, he can see rocks down below that slowly start to move. The desert coming alive, slow rocks shifting in no particular order, no sensed pattern, no goal in mind. Patient desert wayfarers that thank the morning sun and move on slowly toward no place but this place. Right here. Right now.

I followed the desert tortoise's pattern of stirring when the sun was warm, retreating when it dropped behind the Little San Bernardino Mountains. We never did see a desert tortoise over those five days in the Mojave because they are dormant now in their burrows. But still I searched. Their numbers are falling and it is not so easy to spot them as it used to be. Another threatened species to add to the list, their habitat shrunk due to human encroachment, they are now confined mostly to the Mojave and Sonoran Desert.

They've come so far, through time, deep, geologic time only to arrive to a shrinking world around them. The closing in of their world brought about by a species with a sense of time that thinks in terms of accumulation, consumption, a single generation. A species that has things to do, promotions to achieve, sales targets, retirement homes to erect. And they have very little time to do it, it seems, the way they race around like they do, the tortoise must think. What's the rush? I imagine him asking. Who is chasing them?

The human species is but a brief moment in deep time, a mere blip in the scale of geologic time so in terms of planetary seniority, we are the greenhorns. You would think we would show a little more respect to those who came before us. To those who've scaled deep time slowly, patiently, arriving here in this moment after many, many centuries of existence so that we may bow to them in reverence and maybe even learn something from them, and yet.

And yet.

At night the stars in the desert sky arc over like those quartzite gems in the boulders on the desert floor and twinkle in blue, orange, yellow and red pulses...the only thing piercing the dark silence is the occasional rumbling jet high above racing towards another landing. Then another takeoff. Then another landing. The desert tortoise waits below the earth, deep down, patiently as he does, for the changing tide, the warming soil, the golden rays increasing intensity to beckon him out. Come out old friend, I imagine the sun saying to the tortoise, Come take your rightful place among us. And when this happens months from now in spring, this time the tortoise will listen, trusting the old sun, thanking him for his warm embrace as he slowly emerges from his winter burrow. And then, just as the heat of the desert floor shimmers in the distance, when the raven whirls above in dark angles, the rocks will begin to move. Slowly. Just as they have for centuries. Just as they have for eons of deep time past.

Fiery Mojave Desert sunset.
Fiery Mojave Sunset

Five days of desert solitaire and I think I've recharged somewhat. I came out of the desert with a wish to approach this next year a little differently than the last. I want to react less and respond more with a sense of compassion, empathy, connectedness. I want to listen more, speak less. I want to appreciate downtime and not try to fill it with "stuff." I want to stop trying to "save time" and spend time instead. I want to experience more peace, right now, in this moment without having to look for some activity to fill the time between the activity. I want to be present and be okay with "now" and let "what will be" come to me as it surely will, dressed very differently than what my mind would like to predict and daydream and rehearse about.

I want to honor the disappearing desert tortoise and just slow down. Make space. Rest. This is my hope for the entire world actually, but especially for us here in America. I wonder how many of the problems we face as a culture, as a species, would be solved if we all just slowed down a little. Took our time. Spent our time. Here's to a slower New Year. I hope.

*note--Below are some more photos I took while in the Mojave. Jump over the orange tumbleweed to take a gander if you like. Peace and blessings to you and may your 2013 greet you like the warm desert sun: Slowly and with a warm embrace.
Continue Reading

Tue Dec 18, 2012 at 04:20 PM PST

Just dirt

by The Geogre

Reposted from A Frayed Knot by Methinks They Lie
"Washy, washy, washy queen
Get that dirty shirty clean." -- Anonymous marketeer
Folks complain about dirtiness, and dirtiness is synonymous with both unhealthiness and depravity. One watches a "dirty" movie in the browser tab alternate and hides it when the boss walks by. One avoids "dirty old men." The old shut-in was certain to die of disease, as it was dirty in there. Conversely, she was tidy and "it didn't have a speck of dirt" on it.

For all of our industrialized taboo toward dirt, I'd like to see anyone go out and make some.

The stuff we plant in is "soil," even though "soiling" is even more shameful than being dirty. You won't find any gardening center selling 5 lbs. of "top dirt." Farmers seek out "rich" dirt, and we say that a person without natural aristocracy is "common as dirt," probably because they are "dirt poor."

Ken Burns's The Dust Bowl surprised viewers with just how severe that particular disaster was, and I have met people who realized for the very first time that regulations on farming came about because of the cock-up of the Dust Bowl. It's funny, though, that southerners, in particular, should be educated by the documentary, because the evidence of the Dust Bowl, and soil erosion in particular, is all around us.

Continue Reading
Reposted from Ramblings Over Earth by Methinks They Lie

Dear friends, meet Earl Butz:

He's the one on the right. You may have never heard of him but he has had a profound and lasting impact on your life. Nixon and Butz might be having a chat about Watergate in that photo and later Butz will show Nixon his wood carving of two elephants fornicating, which in all seriousness Butz was fond of doing (see below). But given the imprint Butz left behind on America's deteriorating health and woeful agricultural system you should know a little something about this man.

In 1971 Nixon appointed Earl Butz to be Secretary of Agriculture, narrowly passing Senate confirmation by a vote of 51-44, which is worth noting because it wasn't common for cabinet nominations to be this close in the Senate at the time. Senate democrats had reservations regarding Butz's close ties to corporate agribusiness and as it turns out, their reservations were healthy. There is probably no single figure nor decision made that has had greater impact on our highly inefficient food system or to the physical health of our citizens than the appointment of Earl L. Butz to head the Department of Agriculture.

If you ever wonder how or why we got here:

Childhood obesity has more than tripled in the past 30 years.
Then you can point at least one finger towards Earl L. Butz (you pick the finger).

Earl Butz was Secretary of Agriculture under Nixon and then Ford after Nixon resigned in shame and was considered the republican party's path to wooing the farm vote ("Farmers Vote For Nixon, Save your Butz!"). He was an irascible figure, sharp tongued, and an uncompromising, forceful Secretary that had lasting impact on our agricultural system but was eventually forced to resign 1 month before the 1976 Ford/Carter election due to a racial comment Butz made. Butz wasn't afraid to offend anyone and offend he did including Pope Paul VI, housewives that have, “such a low level of economic intelligence,” and yes, he was known to pull from his desk that wooden carving of two elephants fornicating I mentioned above to show visitors that he was in fact the GOP's savior to the farm vote (the joke being that he was "producing" more republicans).

Classy guy.

But Butz's lasting, and some would argue his most revile, offense was to the small family farm that was the backbone of our nation's agricultural system for nearly 300 years. When Butz took over as Secretary of Agriculture he pushed the "get big or get out" paradigm that has had dramatic effects on the American farming landscape and on how we, as a culture and society, produce and consume our food. He took the New Deal policies created during the Great Depression to protect farmers from dramatic price drops and increasing farm foreclosures and stuck a pitchfork in it. "Plant fence row to fence row" he admonished farmers, don't worry about the excess production, we'll sell it to Asia. And they did (Russia to be exact), and so was born the globalization of our food system and, well, as the title of this diary suggests, the 2000 mile tomato. One immediate effect of Butz's plant "fence row to fence row" push was environmental. Marginal land was put into production leading to loss of shelterbelts and wetlands, and erosion increased, leading to runoff and pollution of streams and waterways.

But something else would happen as a result of this mad push towards gutting the small family farm and boosting corporate mega-farms:

Urged on by Butz and buoyed by high grain prices, millions of Midwestern farmers spent the 1970s taking on debt to buy more land, bigger and more complicated machines, new seed varieties, more fertilizers and pesticides, and generally producing as much as they possibly could.

Then, in the 1980s, the bubble burst. By that time, farms were cranking out much more than the market could bear, and prices fell accordingly. Meanwhile, interest rates had spiked, making all of those loans farmers had taken out in the ’70s into a paralyzing burden. Farm incomes plunged and tens of thousands of farms went under. Butz’s great policy change had given rise to the deepest rural crisis since the Depression.

Where have we heard this tune before? Seems to escape me.

As small farms went under, bigger farms gobbled them up, getting bigger, and bigger, and bigger. In the 1930's there were about 6.5 million farms in America. In 2010 there were about 2.2 million. WWII had a slight effect on the number of farms in America but just know that in 1950 we still had roughly 5.5 million farms to count on for our food. And to give you an idea how these new farms differed from the old they gobbled up, I give you this comparison:

In 1900, almost all farms – 98 percent – had chickens, 82 percent grew corn for grain, 80 percent had at least one milk cow, and a like percentage had pigs. Given those numbers, it's obvious that most of the farms were diversified, growing all of those items.

By 1992, only 4 percent of farms reported having chickens, 8 percent had milk cows, 10 percent had pigs and only 25 percent were growing corn. Most of the farmers who were producing these commodities produced only one or two crops or livestock items. Of the 17 major farm commodities, the average farm in 1900 produced five of them; in 1992, the average farm produced less than two.

Lack of diversity, in any system, be it animal species, plant species, market competition, etc., is an unhealthy situation. These bigger farms began to produce one, maybe two crops on larger and larger acreage. And I'm sure you can guess what those two crops mostly were/are: Corn and Soy. Fence row to fence row. Corn and soy. Bigger and bigger machines were developed to plant, cultivate, and harvest these crops and as the mechanization creeped in, humans got pushed out. Fewer and fewer people began to raise fewer and fewer crops on larger and larger acreage. This is mono-cropping on U.S. steroids and it's the reason the family part of the family farm dissolved as the need for human help was replaced by machines and the younger generations left and never came back.

Now all this corn and soy has to go somewhere and the industrialized food manufacturers were all too happy to swallow it up and churn it out into something (high fructose corn syrup for one). That something is what you find on the shelves of most grocery stores in America. Go down any aisle in your grocery store and pick any random packaged "food" item off the shelf and read the ingredients.

You can thank Archer Daniels Midland Corporation (and a select few others cough-Cargill-cough cough) for that. We can probably "thank" them for a lot of our current health problems plaguing our culture right now. Butz's dream of cheap food produced on a grand scale has been realized. But one man's dream is another's nightmare.

What about that tomato you mentioned?

Ah yes. The 2000 mile tomato. It is estimated that food in the U.S. now travels between 1,500 and 2,500 miles from farm to table. No doubt one of the great "successes" that Butz and corporate agribusiness would point to if someone were to ask them how they've helped improve farming in America. But, not being an economist mind you, I see this as an incredibly inefficient way of doing things.

Here, lettuce understand this more clearly:

"We are spending far more energy to get food to the table than the energy we get from eating the food. A head of lettuce grown in the Salinas Valley of California and shipped nearly 3,000 miles to Washington, D.C., requires about 36 times as much fossil fuel energy in transport as it provides in food energy when it arrives," Halweil said.
Sound efficient to you? If you've eaten a tomato this week, or a canned/jarred tomato more precisely, chances are it came from the Central Valley of California. The Central Valley is the largest producer of canned tomatoes in the world. In fact, some call the Central Valley the breadbasket of the U.S. as it supplies 1/3 of all the produce grown in the country. Whether you're in Maine, Topeka, or San Francisco, odds are you've eaten some food from the Central Valley this week.

This should seem amazing right? A tomato traveling 2000 (or 3000) miles to a snowy little town so that Americans can eat out of season? A testament to progress(!) I'm sure Butz would argue. And it only cost $1.29! CHEAP!

Well it's cheap only when a whole bunch of costs are swept under the rug or ignored entirely in this grand bargain. No one factors in the carbon footprint of this little tomato shivering in the snowy northeast. No one seems to price in the fact that to ship our food such long distances and keep it so cheap we use migrant labor who 43% of our nation thinks we should send back to Mexico not realizing that Jesus really did provide their food.

And what about the oil subsidies that keep fuel unrealistically cheap, or the crop subsidies that encourage over production of commodities (corn, coy, cotton and wheat), or all of the small family farms pushed out in this mad rush towards "economies of scale for everything!" mentality that only values something if it is large, cheap, and makes a very few people very, very wealthy while the vast majority of folks keep struggling.

Or what about the fact that tomatoes for this kind of food system are now bred to work better for the machines that harvest them rather than for the humans that eat them or to be square in shape so that they stack better for transport and at the supermarket. Let's not factor in the lack of taste and increase in water content (priced by the pound of course). And don't worry that our own USDA's studies have shown that our food has become less nutritious over time since the 1950's. And don't mention, when we're talking about how "cheap" our food is, that tomatoes manufactured for this kind of so-called efficient food system are picked green so they ripen during transport or are sprayed with ethylene to encourage them to ripen just before display, and are most often waxed to retain moisture and prevent bruising, again, because of the long transport they endure.

Now don't get me wrong. I like tomatoes as much as the next fella. Come to the Central Valley in summer and come see the thousands upon thousands of acres of tomatoes and you'll know how important they are to the large farms here. And some will claim that the machines that have been developed to harvest tomatoes by the thousands (with a technological sophistication that almost rivals the Mars Rover) have actually created jobs instead of eliminate them. And indeed they have. But those jobs have moved from the farm and into the manufacturing plant where the tomatoes are processed. Think assembly line here. Shift after shift of thousands of tomatoes on conveyor belts making their way into pasta sauce, ketchup, and Chef Boyardee.

No culture in the history of our species has produced or consumed food in such a magnificent and damaging way. It is both impressive and depressing and ultimately may not be sustainable in terms of destruction of soil and water and in terms of remaining so cheap over the long-term. This kind of food system is certainly not one you should rely on in times of trouble:

"The farther we ship food, the more vulnerable our food system becomes," said Worldwatch research associate Brian Halweil, author of "Home Grown: The Case for Local Food in a Global Market."

"Many major cities in the U.S. have a limited supply of food on hand," Halweil added. "That makes those cities highly vulnerable to anything that suddenly restricts transportation, such as oil shortages or acts of terrorism."

Richard Nixon's legacy is deeper and more complex than some might think (hell, he signed the legislation that led to the creation of the EPA). And while some might argue that Watergate is his worst contribution to American society I would argue otherwise. For me the appointment of Earl L. Butz to Secretary of Agriculture had a more profound and devastating effect on America that lasts to this day.

But we can change it.

Buy local. No, really. Buy local. I know this is the latest rage and let's hope it sticks but buying local is probably the single biggest thing you can do right now to reduce your carbon footprint. I know it's hard for a lot of Americans to do this at their local grocery store but farmers markets are on the rise and CSA's continue to grow nationwide.

Eat in season. Try it. I'll bet you ten thousand dollars you'll end up liking it. In my last diary I wrote about how it seems we are genetically predisposed to enjoy gathering and harvesting our own food. Well it seems the same could be said for eating in season. Long before the interstate highway system, cheap gas and Earl Butz we Americans ate in season. Of course canning and food storage techniques allowed us to extend our food well beyond its harvest but no one could argue that our lives, in many respects not just food, were more cyclical and danced with the rhythm of nature in a way we seem to have lost in our detached modern world.

Once you start eating in season you'll see what I'm talking about. It's December and I'm enjoying squash, potatoes, turnips, beets, chard, kale, broccoli...all coming out of the earth right now and all as fresh and nourishing as can be. I'm about tomato'd out, which is good since we mowed the tomatoes a couple of weeks ago so we don't have any right now. But I can tell you come spring I'll be looking forward to those dry-farmed tomatoes we can get here that are packed full with flavor! Eating in season allows you to appreciate what nature has provided at the time it is provided and gives you something to look forward to just when you've gone long enough without something to miss it. And eating in season gives you the freshest most nutritious food you can eat. Bar none. Again, it seems nature works with us to provide us with healthy food as long as we're willing to pay attention and listen.

Another way to eat in season and locally is to grow a garden. Don't have the space? See if a neighbor does or maybe there is a community garden near you, or you can search here to see if there is anyone in your community with some extra yard space looking for a gardener.

Lastly, we absolutely have to do something about the inequity of farm subsidies as doled out in the farm bill. Most subsidies go to a very few, very large corporations.

Most subsidy dollars go to the country’s largest operations in less than 50 congressional districts.
There have been attempts to shift some of those subsidies from corn, soy, cotton and wheat over to encourage and help organic, sustainable and local agriculture but the dominance and power of corporate agribusiness ensures these efforts are stalled at every turn. Take one look at the make-up of the House Agriculture Committee and then see how much each of those members receive in contributions from Big Ag and well, enough said.

But let's not kid ourselves. This system of "cheap" food pushed by Butz and his corporate agribusiness associates is not really cheap at all. We Americans pay the real costs of food one way or another:

As of the passage of the 2008 Farm Bill, taxpayers fund 60 percent of farmers’ insurance premiums through a subsidy to private companies. They also cover a sizable portion of the insurance industry’s costs to run these programs. (In this drought- and heat-ravaged year of 2012, crop insurance payments alone are expected reach $20 billion to $25 billion, up from approximately $1 billion in 2000.)
Those numbers don't include the commodity subsidies to Big Ag, totaling $6 BILLION in 2010 alone with the top 10% receiving 62% of the subsidies. And remember, commodities are things like corn, soy, cotton and wheat. Specialty crops, things like broccoli, tomatoes, carrots, etc., you know, real food, get virtually no help at all from the federal government. The commodity subsidy system is so flawed that cotton farmers in Texas who won the lottery and became millionaires still collect cotton subsidies.

Add to that the increased health costs our society has incurred as a result of high calorie, low nutrient food and you start to see that we are all paying dearly for Earl Butz's so-called "cheap food." We can either pay our farmers to grow fresh, nutritious, local food for our communities, or we can pay our doctor (and Big Ag). The question is, Which will it be?


MTL    (a.k.a. Ramblings Over Earth)

Reposted from Ramblings Over Earth by Methinks They Lie

When I was a kid I roamed where I liked playing with friends, riding bikes, and building forts in the dirt. Times were different then I guess. We didn't have soccer practice or band or cell phones nor the near lock up children experience today when it comes to playing outside. Or maybe it was because my family was poor and that's why I didn't have soccer practice or band. But I remember I wasn't the only kid playing outside all over creation until the sun went down. Seems like most of us did back then.

I can understand why parents won't let their kids play freely today. I get it that they don't want their kids too far out of sight (or maybe they do and just don't tell anyone about it). But I'm afraid all of this keeping kids busy doing other things or making sure they don't stay outside too long and get themselves dirty is having a negative effect on our children's health. It's not just me that feels this way. So does science. Jump over the orange dirt pile to follow me along this dusty path.

Continue Reading
Reposted from Ramblings Over Earth by Methinks They Lie

While most of us were enjoying our Thanksgiving dinners of factory-farmed turkeys and GMO Korn, the Department of Justice quietly dropped its antitrust investigation of Monsanto without so much as an announcement. This is the Friday news dump taken to a new level. Or maybe it was our government giving thanks to a corporation that is quickly taking over our food production system and is increasing its power to frightening levels.

If it weren't for Monsanto saying something we may never have known that the investigation was dropped. Monsanto released the information no doubt to boost investor confidence and reassure profit-holders that all was well in the land of frankenfood.

Continue Reading
You can add a private note to this diary when hotlisting it:
Are you sure you want to remove this diary from your hotlist?
Are you sure you want to remove your recommendation? You can only recommend a diary once, so you will not be able to re-recommend it afterwards.


Subscribe or Donate to support Daily Kos.

Click here for the mobile view of the site