Today I consider myself a bacteria farmer. Actually I believe this is really what most of agriculture is. Specifically, I am moving the world’s most perfect compost (my goats’ poop mixed with their straw bedding) several hundred yards to my tomato, bean, eggplant and other garden crops. I do this every six weeks. My job is transporting microorganisms. (I’m considering putting this as “occupation” on my tax return.) As I spread the wealth, I like to think of the invisible party going on down there in the soil – and it clearly starts immediately, judging by my invariably perked-up tomatoes the day after (sort of an anti-hangover).
Every ecosystem, from oceanic to deciduous forest, depends on these microscopic building blocks, so don’t let anyone tell you about, for instance, “clear-cutting and replanting.” The dead trees decaying (care of a complex bacteria cocktail that can take decades to develop) are as crucial to the next generation of forest as the tree seeds themselves. That’s what Jack’s “Magic” Beans were – just well-fertilized. Here on the Funky Butte Ranch, the goat-derived mulch starts the activation process that lets me eat without going to the store. Not a thing genetically modified except by God. Plus I get to wear overalls and earn my solar-heated shower this evening. It’s hot out here on midsummer’s day, even at 8 a.m. I don’t even feel guilty as I poach a few dozen pea pods to keep my energy up as I do the microorganisms’ work. There’s still plenty for tonight’s salad.
I’m not alone out here in using fresh, homegrown peas as energy pills, by the way. You know what the most crucial and satisfying part of the whole cycle is for me? Feeding my son from the resulting bounty. We spent a good half an hour in the garden together the other morning just shoveling peas and lettuce in our faces, giggling and dodging bees. Talk about full circle. Talk about “How it’s always been.”
And that leads to the puzzling part of farming for me. For most of human history, this poop-to-pasture method of fertilizing worked just great for everyone. I wonder who the first farmer was who said, “Hey, lay some of those carcinogenic chemicals on me. That sounds like a good plan”? My guess is it had something to do with a skilled carcinogenic chemical salesman offering free samples. (And now we’re left with a debate as to whether the Green Revolution of the 1960s that so drastically and temporarily raised worldwide grain yields saved or cost more lives.)
And so began the slippery slope to MSG, melamine, Polysorbate 80, high fructose corn syrup and pumping red dye into farm-raised salmon. Science is great, but it ain’t perfect. Especially when it comes to the real cost of how we treat our bodies and our planet. That, I think and hope, will be one of the key philosophical transformations of this Millennium. Will the world’s eaters remember to determine between real and fake food in time, despite all the skilled salesmen? Will the demand for actual food and clean water prevail?
Well, as we contemplate these and other of the universe’s imponderables, Happy Solstice, everyone – may your joys be as extensive, pleasant, organic, and intense as the day is long.
Postscript: As I post this Dispatch, I see that Pilar, the leader of the Funky Butte Ranch ducks, who keeps order in the flock not at all the way Moe leads the Stooges and who is the most level-headed anatide I’ve ever met (I’ve known her since she was one day old), is brooding on about 20 eggs.
Her nest, on which she’s been sitting 23 hours per day, only dashing down to the coop every dawn for a to-go breakfast, is nestled under a knotty cluster of walnut and mountain willow, decorated by datura, and perfectly camouflaged with her checker-patterned feathers. So I may be making way for ducklings here on the Funky Butte Ranch some time soon.
I’m more than a little excited about this. I love everything about the ducks. They have style. They waddle with grace. They like each other and me, lay delicious eggs (not these 20 on which Pilar is nesting) and sleep with bills tucked into their downy belly feathers.
What a Solstice gift to have more on the way. Good thing I’m planning an aquaculture-based upgrade of the ducks’ current blue plastic kid pool. Just like when your human sweetheart is expecting, there’s nothing like a pregnancy to speed up home redecorating plans.
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5 Responses:
June 21st, 2009 at 3:59 pm
Nice post, brother. Happy solstice from Fairbanks, where the stars are invisible.
June 24th, 2009 at 1:31 pm
Warm props to Fairbanks, basking in daylight (which I hope also means sun), from the Healthy Microorganism Transporter.
June 26th, 2009 at 11:35 am
happy farming-I like the idea of using poop and straw to make compost– I wonder, would dog poop work, too?
June 26th, 2009 at 12:07 pm
At first I thought, “No way.” But, just as human waste from a composting toilet can be used in some cases (such as fruit tree composting), well…http://www.cityfarmer.org/petwaste.html
Generally, what types of manure work for agriculture have a lot to do with what the animal eats and whether the manure is seasoned to allow “hot” manure (like chicken manure) to become less harsh to soil and plants. Goat manure, like rabbit, is pretty mellow. I have neighbors who use seasoned horse or cow manure. I’m just grateful the goats here on the Funky Butte Ranch are so…full of it.