The Round-Up Reality

Smoke from yet another burn pile

Sad but true, the time has come to leave Scranch for the winter. In just two short days, I must pack up whatever I think I’ll need through spring and puzzle piece it all into my pick-up. (It was a truck when I arrived here in June but it has since been demoted.)

Of course, I’ve already begun to reflect on what I’ve learned in 4.5 months and, in fact, I'll need the long winter to process it all.

Y’see, I didn’t come to North Dakota to attack our nation’s industrial food system; I came here to try and understand it at field-level.  My knowledge, up to this point, has been from a convenient urban/consumer perspective. In my quest to hold a truly informed opinion, I have made some headway, though I’m still a mighty long way from understanding – it’s just more complicated than I thought…  

But first, the irony.

About half way through the summer, the incongruity of this Green Acres (“Farm livin’ is the life for me!”) experiment began to dawn on me. This idea about me living this new clean life out in the country is true in most respects but not entirely. 

First of all, I live in a brand new trailer, which like anything brand new these days, comes loaded with chemicals (flame retardants, formaldehyde, etc.) and that’s not including the unscheduled leaking of ammonia from my refrigerator. I know for a fact that I ate a bunch of food infused with the chemical before I realized there was a problem.

Then, there is the water. Because there is no water source on the property, I tank my water in for the trailer and the garden. I was advised that the water is not potable, so I must refill plastic gallon jugs whenever I go to town at 38 cents a pop. This is all well and good but I am still using the well water to wash dishes, brush teeth and take showers. I should be more vigilant about using the distilled water for some of these things but it’s not practical. 

Of course, I am also surrounded on all sides by active fields of industrial soybeans, wheat, pinto beans and corn. All are sprayed with chemicals – either from the ground or air, or both.  Products with names like Colt, Tilt, Lambda, Everest and, of course, plenty of Round-Up. Farmers must pass a test every year just safely and legally handle these chemicals. 

Good news is, this stuff is not cheap and so the farmer wants to stretch it out as much as possible, meaning better to err on the side of a slim spray, unless you’ve got a direct problem. I know for a fact that Brent is loathe to use too much chemical because, in addition to being pricey, it's hard on the soil. But he's not the only farmer in this neighborhood, unfortunately.

Half the summer, I woke up in a WWII movie with a crop duster soundtrack. (“MROWWWWRRRR!”) I had plenty of time to lie in bed and ponder the truth: That I was, indeed, being bombed, like a flea. The planes sounded pretty cool but the their cargo made me nervous. 

Photo by ra_hurd via Flickr.

Then, there are ‘burn piles’ – mounds of yard waste, scrap branches, trash, plastic and scrap metal that people collect throughout the year and then eventually, set on fire. No permit. No warning. No nothing. Tires too.  

Early in the summer, I stopped at a roadside prairie fire and didn’t know what to do. Normally, I would panic ("Um, excuse me? Something's on fire, here? Hello? Anyone?") but I just stared at it and kept looking around to see if anyone was alarmed. (The land is flat and you can see the smoke for miles.) Nobody was. I finally got up the nerve to drive away and never heard anything about it. These days, I understand how common the are so I just photograph the fires, often without even slowing down the pick-up. 

Finally, to deal with mice and rats in the shed, we put down poison. Mind you, I haven’t handled too much of it, really. The few times I have set traps, I’ve used peanut butter spread on a ruthless device that snaps them in two. I don’t think the poison is a threat to my health or anything, it’s just another piece of the chemical scenery that is not normally part of my life. 

Billboard in Cavalier for chemical fertilizer

I once found a mouse with just his front paw stuck. He wasn’t even bleeding and he just would have slowly starved to death so I took him out and let him go in a field. I KNOW. I’m weak and emotional but I believe that if you are going to kill something, at least make it quick with a minimum of suffering. Otherwise, you’re just a dick who enjoys killing.

One night in the shed,  while doing yoga, a mouse ran across my toes as I was doing downward dog. Amazingly, I did not freak out but giggled. Isn't this what you get when you do yoga in the middle of nowhere? I did, however, follow the mouse to see where he came from and was amazed that he let me get so close. 

Then, I watched him/her die in a bizarre fashion - from eating the poison Brent had set out, I'm sure. He just kept going in circles, round and round and round, slowly going insane. Poor thing was just out of his mind. What a terrifying end. Watching him chase his own tail after ingesting so much chemical, I couldn't help but see a macabre metaphor for humanity.

As for the food, well…. Right now? The food is perfect. Every meal is either something I grew or created OR that a friend has grown, raised or made. When I go to the store these days, it’s only to refill my drinking water, fetch dairy products and other things like oatmeal and hamburger buns. Even the beans in my egg burrito were grown on the farm. A snapshot of my fridge and freezer:

• Watermelon, parsnips, squash, tomatoes, spinach, peas, green beans and spaghetti sauce (me)
• pumpkin cookies (Victoria)
• pickles (both dill and bread/butter), zukes, onions, potatoes, Grape jam (Evelyn)*
• chilis, cookies, apple-raisin bread, apple cider and apple sauce (Miles)
• Raspberry jam, habanero salsa, fresh-baked rolls (Eldean)
• Mini Apple Turnovers (Eilleen)
• T-bone, rib steak and hamburger meat (Brent/Wayne)
• Rhubarb wine, chicken (Powerful Pierre)

Nothing from the store except the butter.

*I no longer have her grape juice but it was a masterpiece. Every morning, I’d slowly drink it with one of Eldean’s raisin brain muffins and I’d want to cry – it was so pure. 

Chemical is written on sprayer windshield so they can keep track of what's in the can. Mixing not advised.

Manual sprayer

My point with all this is that the country is full of chemicals, just as much, if not more so than a city. (Not sure what is more chemically-infused, a field of non-edible industrial corn or a brand new house in the suburbs.) 

And knowing about all the chemicals that go into clothing, furniture, food, toys, electronics, personal products, household cleaners and building materials, I don’t know if there is a way to escape this toxic soup we have created around us. (Google "phthalates" or "endocrine disruptors" sometime, just for kicks.) 

A crop strategy for spraying.

Toxic chemicals are in nearly everything we touch. I’ve even heard some terrible things about the those thin filmy print-out receipts that we happily grab all day long. I used to request them when I filled up with gas but I’ve since stopped. 

Scorched field edge much too close to my farm.

Early in the summer, jogging down the dirt road, I struck up a conversation with a farmer taking a break from spraying. We got into a conversation and it came up that I was trying to grow organically. I thought he would give me the usual, 'Yah, good luck with that' attitude but instead, it became a confessional. 

"All the chemicals we use these days. It's too much," he said. "When it rains, I look into the puddled water and it has all different colors in it, like an oil slick." He shakes his head and goes silent. Then, he started talking about a family member with cancer. Swear to heaven, I did not offer a bridge to that topic, he took it on his own. This is a man who works deep in the industrial food system and even he is starting to piece it all together.

Then, he bid me a good day, jumped back on his tractor and went to work, spraying. 

***

Good news is, I have friends like Beth Terry and Lori Alper who inspire me to get more involved and dig deeper on this issue. Also, the world is filling up with filmmakers, bloggers and authors - citizens who are ringing the bell of alarm on the chemical makeup of our world. Of course, loads of empowered activist organizations are cropping up and slowly, consumers are starting to demand answers, reform and policy change.

Right now, I just feel like just a shocked observer who pulled one loose string on a nasty sweater that just keeps unraveling....

A Bad Day

The Mae Flower - gone.

Yesterday was another big day for lessons, it was awful experience but, I had to remember, not horrific. The events made me reassess my spectrum of what constitutes a 'bad day'.

Because The Mae Flower's fridge is leaking ammonia, I had to drive it to Fargo (3 hrs. south) to the dealer to get it fixed. It was a pretty big pain in the ass as it required all kinds of packing up, disconnecting from the sewer and electricity and borrowing Brent's truck for the trip. I was annoyed but anxious to have the problem eradicated.

An awful sight - a empty hole in the yard.

I drop it off around 2 p.m. and am told it will be done in 2.5 hours. Fine. I leave and head to the Old Broadway Grill in downtown Fargo for lunch. I order me up an iced tea, ahi tuna burger and sweet potato fries - DE-luxe!

My phone rings. "You forgot to leave us the key."  Ugh. 'My fault though,' I thought to myself, a frequent thought as of late. So, I ask the waitress to hold my lunch and rip on down to the dealer to hand over the key.

After lunch, I heightened my spirits by tracking down a glorious recycling drop-off location at the edge of a park. Recycling in North Dakota requires much forethought and I had hauled all my aluminum, glass, tin and plastic along for this specific reason.

JOY!

When I saw all those specifically designated bins, I was beyond happy and texted Kirk with photos.  (He found this highly amusing.) While I was there, dancing around the bins, at least five people pulled up with their recycling, each one looking like they came from Colorado - very fit and bright eyed, with hiking boots, ropey muscles and tan faces. I asked one fellow about the bins and he said they'd been there about 5 years.

Even designations for colored glass! GO FARGO!

My happiness was short lived, however, when I got the call that the old fridge won't fit through the door so they have to replace the cooling unit, which isn't readily available. Thus, the trailer wouldn't be ready until 11 a.m. the next day. WTF?

I was annoyed but tried to quickly work out a lodging plan, one with wi-fi so I could still work. At one point, I actually complained to the person on the phone, "If I had known, I would have brought my toothbrush and clothes with me," not grasping the fact that because I had brought the trailer with me, I had, in fact, brought ALL of my stuff; the Mae Flower was actually one big suitcase on wheels. Duh.

I make a quick stop at Hornbacher's, a big grocery chain, to grab some Parmesan and walnuts for pesto - something they've never heard of in my region. I then get another call from the dealer saying that my trailer is now going to be kept in Fargo 3-4 days for repairs. I am stunned, speechless and emotion starts to creep into my voice, cracking on key words.

I am enraged and make sure they understand that it will be delivered, that I will NOT be responsible for fetching my faulty brand new trailer that I have owned for exactly 6 weeks. I was very expressive with my anger on the phone, to the point that I had to slide in an apology as I was being a monster. "I'm sorry, Becky. I don't mean to be short with you, I'm just very frustrated," I said. This bought me more time before they called security or issued a restraining order.

Driving back to the outlet to pack up some clothes, I called Mama Iva for advice. Should I try to stay with a neighbor or relative? We discuss, in the end, decide it would be best if I stay where we always have, at the Forestwood Inn in Walhalla.

So, the gas down to Fargo was about $100 and the motel is another couple hundred, so getting the fridge fixed "for free" under the warranty is not a truism at all. Not to mention all the ruined food from the ammonia. I guess this is one of those bumps in the road I always hear about. Damn.

By the time I get to the outlet, there are flames coming out of my ears, my teeth are grinding and I'm close to tears. I've had a headache for 3 days and the oppressive heat doesn't help. I grab a cardboard box to hold my stuff, my new luggage for my new uprooted situation.

I walk in and the place is deserted except for one man. He looks at me, half-scared, and says, "Are you the lady with the fridge problem?"

"YES. THE 'FRIDGE PROBLEM' LADY. THAT'S ME," is all I can muster, with big blue icicles hanging off my every word and daggers shooting out of my eyes. A frightening sight, I'm sure.

He takes me in to the shop, apologizes and offers, "I can get you more cardboard boxes if you need them." To protect him, I ignore him.

I enter the trailer and the place is a mess, everything dislodged from the drive. The slide-in has crunched up the space, the kitchen is in tatters and there are toothpicks everywhere. I burst into tears, losing it completely. The idea of packing up my stuff, again, to move to another place, again, is overwhelming. I was finally getting settled and my new 'home' is a disaster. Poor Kirk had the great misfortune of calling me at this moment and I was a blubbering, pathetic, sweaty, angry mess. I wailed to him on the phone as I threw random things in the box.

On the way out, I caught site of the young man, Brendan, who sold me the trailer. I let loose on him. "NOT HAPPY, BRENDAN!" I yelled, as I threw my suitcase into the back of Brent's truck. My rant continued, peppered with some choice F bombs and I stormed off - one of my infamous adult tantrums. (I left Brendan an apologetic voice mail today.)

Meanwhile, the entire day and all through this episode, the inside of my brain is wallpapered with thoughts of Aurora. I found out Sunday that a member of my church, Rebecca Wingo, perished in the shootings. I didn't know her personally but much like the Seal Beach shootings last fall, a national tragedy had, once again, hit too close to home.

Rebecca Wingo

So I kept telling myself that, in light of that terrible event, I could surely see the outrageous difference in a so-called 'bad day' - that one was, at worst, inconvenient, and that the other was a heinous scene of death. Both were borne out of a regular day of living life. I was hoping that this realization would put it in perspective and help me calm down but I think it just made me cry harder. I was now bawling for multiple reasons.

Aurora Theater memorial gathering.

Missing Micayla.

Knowing that Rebecca's two children (as well as all the other victims' loved ones) had lost their mother just made me more angry and my brain more inflamed with rage. Only later did I realize that I hadn't processed the Aurora events at all, which is easier to do when you're far away.

Having been to Columbine High School at the 10-year memorial service and hearing first hand what the community of Littleton had to face, I just couldn't fathom that it was happening again just 13 miles away. (Kirk went to the memorial gathering at the theater last Sunday and took these excellent photos.)

The whole day made me question my decision to leave Colorado as it faced one of its toughest summers in history - the raging fires, the freakish, record-breaking heat and now, Aurora. I felt incredible guilt, the same guilt I felt when I was in Australia during the Oklahoma city bombings: 'I should be there.'

Balloons to honor the victims.

Later, in my motel room, I took solace in the endless hot water but I didn't feel much better. My head still throbbed. My face was still puffy from all the heat and emotion and I had to dig my toothbrush out of a cardboard box. I said a prayer for everyone affected by the shootings, consoled myself with 2 episodes of Downton Abbey and tried to sleep, 11.7 miles from the farm.

Much, much too far.