FARM NEWS GOSPEL. I read this passage in the Gospel -- the parable where the sower cast seeds upon the rocks and among the thistles and thorns and also on fair ground.
Well, duh, he was a pretty useless sower. I mean, why did the guy throw seeds on the rocks, didn't he know? And the thorns and thistles, it sure was dumb to throw any seeds in there.
The lesson from this parable is get a smarter sower. Here is the text in the King James Version:
Hearken; Behold, there went out a sower to sow: And it came to pass, as he sowed, some fell by the way side, and the birds of the air came and devoured it up. And some fell on stony ground, where it had not much earth; and immediately it sprang up, because it had no depth of earth: But when the sun was up, it was scorched; and because it had no root, it withered away. And some fell among thorns, the thorns grew up, and choked it, and it yielded no fruit. And other fell on good ground, did yield fruit that sprang up and increased; and brought forth, some thirty, and some sixty, some an hundred. He said unto them, He that has ears to hear, let him hear.
— Mark 4:3-9
Bobby and Dixie Mutz talk about their son, Mitchel, a soldier who died in Iraq in 2006
I wrote this story in 2006. I went to interview the parents a few days after their son died in combat in Iraq. I had not met Bobby and Dixie Mutz until the day I knocked on their door for the interview. However, the Mutzes knew and trusted the newspaper I represented, the Wilson County News, and they agreed to give an interview so that local people who did not know Mitchel Mutz personally might learn the story of his life.
It was a difficult interview, as you can imagine. It was important that I become as still as possible and let the Mutzes talk in the way they chose to talk about their son. I also interviewed several people in the very small town of Falls City, where the Mutzes lived.
So I am running this story today because I promised the Mutzes that I would not forget their son. He was a good and brave man who gave his life for his country.
--from the Wilson County News--
FALLS CITY, TEXAS — The last time Sgt. Mitchel Mutz
called home was Oct. 21, the day his brother, Nathan
was married.
“He called us at the reception,” his father, Bobby,
said. “I heard the cell phone ring in my pocket and I
knew it was him.”
Mitchel had stayed up 24 hours straight in order to
make that phone call at the right time, speaking in turn
to Bobby, Dixie, Nathan, and Nathan’s new wife,
Shawna.
“It was the last time I heard his voice,” his mother,
Dixie, said. “He told me he loved me.”
Mitchel sent several e-mails after that, short notes
that said not to worry, but on Nov. 10 he sent a long email
to his brother, Nathan.
The e-mail to his brother described a more dangerous
situation at his new location in Baqubah, asking
Nathan not to share that information with his parents.
Mitchel’s foreboding came to pass Nov. 15 when a
roadside bomb exploded near the Humvee that he and
Sgt. Schuyler Haines, his platoon leader, occupied.
It was not surprising to Mitchel’s parents that he
spent his last moments with a man he admired.
“Mitchel and Sgt. Haynes were pretty tight,” Bobby
said. “Sgt. Haynes was 40, older than the other guys.
He didn’t have kids, but he was like a father to some of
his soldiers.”
Haynes was from New York City. He was buried in
a military cemetery in Albany, New York.
“We’ve spoken to his family several times on the
phone,” Dixie said, indicating a mutual understanding.
Mitchel was a scout in the First Cavalry Division,
based in Fort Hood.
He served in that role during campaigns in Najaf
and Falluja, and it was a dangerous assignment, occupying
advance positions and scoping out the terrain for
troops that would come later in force.
“That’s what he wanted to do,” Bobby said. “That’s
the kind of kid he always was. He wasn’t one to complain.
He never regretted joining the Army.”
When Mitchel was sent back to Iraq this summer for
his second tour, he told his father he was getting bored
at Fort Hood and he was ready to go again.
Kim Moy, his fourth and fifth grade teacher in Falls
City, remembered a much younger Mitchel Mutz. “He
was a very sweet boy,” Moy said. “He had such good
manners.”
“He came to school every day with a pack of his
friends from the neighborhood, and you couldn’t get
them apart,” she said. “Sometimes they would have
furious arguments, but they were all basically pretty
good kids.”
Mitchel’s boyhood home, where his parents still
live, is only two blocks from the school.
Bobby and Dixie said it was just like what the
teacher said, “Those boys were together morning,
noon, and night, playing football in the street,” Bobby
said. “There were four or five boys and one girl, and
that one girl played just like the boys did.”
Sometimes they went fishing at a tank just past the
end of the road or played other games, but the overall
image is one of rip-roaring, good-natured fun, and lessons
learned, and chores done, and other good things
about growing up in a small town in Texas, where
everybody knows you and you can’t get away with too
much, because everybody will find out.
That closeness is what made so many people in Falls
City sad about losing Mitchel.
“It was like it happened to my own child,” one
neighbor said. “I knew him since he was a baby.
Around here you do for someone else’s child just like
you do for your own.”
The town’s grief was palpable.
Mitchel’s “big” brother. Nathan, is four years older
than he was.
“They squabbled a lot when they were young,”
Bobby said. “Mitchel would irritate Nathan, but
Nathan would always stick up for Mitchel when that
was needed.”
As the two brothers grew older, they grew closer,
Dixie said, “but they were very different from each
other.”
Nathan went to Texas A&M and then became a
Texas state trooper, stationed in Floresville.
Mitchel loved the Aggies and always liked going up
to College Station when his brother was in school.
“That’s one of the things he talked about just recently,”
Bobby said. “He said when he got out of the Army,
he wanted to go to Texas A&M.”
Bobby encouraged his son to
continue his education and suggested
that he begin taking classes
online while he was still in the
Army.
The Mutzes had no more words
for a future that did not come to be.
“We’re holding up as best we
can,” Bobby said.
“We’re very grateful for the love
and support we’ve received from so
many people,” Dixie said. The
Mutzes have received cards and letters
from people all over the country,
expressing sympathy and gratitude.
“It’s been hard to bear, but that
makes it a little easier.”
Subscription Drive. The annual subscription drive begins today -- we do it every spring and rake in a few hundred dollars as a reward for our effort throughout the year -- doing this newsletter twelve years now.... It is a great group of readers we have, like lawyers -- we have a few lawyers on the mailing list -- Pat Paul in LaConner, Felicia Value, also in LaConner, Aisha Barbeau in Alameda, California, and the inestimable, always Irish Ed Burke in Framingham, Massachusetts.......So, when you read the Farm News/Frog Hospital, you are part of a high-quality crowd.
Send your $25 check today. Make it out to "Fred Owens" and mail it to 7922 Santa Ana RD Ventura, CA 93001. Or use Pay Pal -- go to the Frog Hospital blog and hit the Pay Pal button.
--
Fred Owens
cell: 360-739-0214
My blog is Fred Owens
send mail to:
Fred Owens
7922 Santa Ana Rd
Ventura CA 93001
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Saturday, February 18, 2012
Field of Dreams from the Farm News
By Fred Owens
This being Oscar week and the awards coming Sunday, February 26, and this being the Farm News, it is time to nominate the two greatest farm movies of all times, those two being Field of Dreams with Kevin Kline, and the Grapes of Wrath with Henry Fonda.
Now it could be said that, as good as Kevin Kline is, he is only half as good as Henry Fonda, half as tough, half as deep, and half as good-looking.
Can anyone, man or woman, match the sparkling blue eyes of Henry Fonda? And we know that the Grapes of Wrath is the greater movie, and one of the greatest movies ever made, and yet we can also ask, is it a better movie than Field of Dreams?
It is not a better movie, because the Field of Dreams is not just about farming, it's about baseball.
And so I form these words, connecting the farm with baseball, because it's spring, because life is real and life is good, and it's time to play ball on the Field of Dreams.
TRAGIC INTERLUDE. I was watching a replay of Game Six of the 1986 World Series when the Red Sox lost to the Mets. It was like dying all over again..... I first heard this game on the radio in 1986 when I was driving from Anahuac, Texas to Venice, California in a 1978 Buick Electra 225..... The Red Sox lost and my whole life changed..... The weird thing is that, at the time, I wasn't even a Red Sox fan. But it was so real, and majestic, and tragic...... Four years later, I moved to Boston because it was my destiny to be there. I became a Red Sox fan.
The Red Sox loss in 1986 was the ultimate sports tragedy, the cosmic choke of all time, a soul-searing collapse ---- Fate! --- The Red Sox finally won the World Series in 2004, but by then it didn't mean that much to me, and that's when I let the Red Sox go....... Now I live near Los Angeles, and I would LIKE to be a Dodgers fan, if they weren't so screwed up. But no more will I follow a tragic team, I know it's easier, but I want to be with a winner.
The Old Ball Player
He wore a World Series ring with Real Diamonds
I worked for the Wilson County News, a newspaper in South Texas. I was the farm and ranch editor, which was a really cool assignment, going around to ranches and livestock auctions and so forth, talking to people about cows and the price of hay, and the weather, which was always a drought.
But it was a small newspaper and the editor let me write any kind of story I wanted to, so that spring I started driving into San Antonio, to Wolff Stadium, seating 5,000 fans under the starry skies of Texas on warm spring evenings, to watch the San Antonio Missions play their Texas League opponents in Double A ball competition – teams from El Paso, Corpus Christi, Austin, Tulsa, and Oklahoma City.
The young Double A ball players had all the athletic skills of major leaguers – they could throw, hit, run and catch as good as any star player -- but what they lacked and what they needed to learn, if they were ever going to make it to the major leagues, was a kind of baseball maturity – meaning focus, judgment and sustained concentration, which is to say, “you got to keep your eye on the ball if you want to make it to the Show.”
But it was fun watching the kids play. I had a pass to the press box that season, it was like being in baseball heaven, sitting in cushioned seats in air-conditioned comfort with catered fried chicken dinners and all your coke and iced tea and potato salad.
Gathered around the press box most evenings were major leagues scouts and retired ball players talking inside baseball. They were as gods to me, talking about the game at a level that I could not even begin to understand. These men – their whole lives were about baseball. That’s how they lived.
I said nothing, I only listened, but I loved it. One man, older and quieter than the rest, often sat near me and we would exchange greetings and little more.
Then one evening, I noticed his hands, and looking closer, I could see the big ring he wore, a World Series ring, with real diamonds.
I was astounded. Here was a man, like me, or like you, and yet, by evidence of his ring, he had played in the World Series. You can only imagine the respect I had for him. So I asked him his name and that night when I got home, I looked him up on the Internet – Joel Horlen, who won 19 games for the Chicago White Sox in 1967 and pitched a no-hitter – that was the best of his 10 years in the major leagues.
The next time I saw him I asked for an interview. This is the story I wrote:
San Antonio native Joel Horlen began his baseball career in sandlots and summer leagues.
He earned a scholarship to Oklahoma State University and then was drafted by the Chicago White Sox in 1959.
They brought him up from the minor leagues in 1961 to Comiskey Park on the south side of town, a magical place run by owner Bill Veeck, who invented the exploding scoreboard.
Horlen, a 6-footer, 24 years old, and righthanded, took the mound to face awesome hitters such as Mickey Mantle and Roger Maris, who hit 61 home runs that year. It took a lot of confidence for a rookie like Horlen to face down Maris and Mantle.
Horlen didn’t do so well. His record was 1-3 that first year, his ERA a dismal 6.63.
But he must have shown promise, because they kept sending him out there. In 1962, he won seven and lost six.
He got better and stronger every year with the White Sox until his best year, 1967, when he won 19 games. His ERA was 2.06, the lowest in the American League. He pitched a no-hitter against the Detroit Tigers. He was a cinch to win the Cy Young award, but Jim Lonborg of the Boston Red Sox received more votes for that prize because the Red Sox won the pennant.
They called him Hard Luck Horlen after that, but he was playing for a hard-luck team -- the White Sox came in second place behind the Yankees year after year in the 1960s. They were good, but just not good enough.
Horlen stayed with the White Sox until 1971, when he was 34. His speed was off. They traded him to the Oakland Athletics, and that next year was his last one in the majors.
The A’s didn’t use him much. He won three games and lost four. But that year was the beginning of the mighty A’s dynasty -- the team with Rollie Fingers, Catfish Hunter, and Reggie Jackson.
The A’s won the pennant, and Hard Luck Horlen got a chance to pitch in the World Series -- a long way from the sandlots of San Antonio.
Having the grace of a gifted athlete, Horlen decided to retire after that. He quit while he was ahead, because he had seen other players play beyond their years trying to hold on to a career meant only for young men. His lifetime record was 116-117, a respectable and durable achievement.
He went back to San Antonio with his wife and children and started a construction business. “I thought about continuing as a coach, but I had a family to raise, and I had to make a living,” he said.
Major league players did not earn million-dollar salaries in those years.
After 15 years in construction, Horlen returned to baseball as a minor league coach for the San Francisco Giants.
He returned home for good 12 years later, a respected baseball elder.
In that capacity, he often visits the press box at Wolff Stadium to watch the San Antonio Missions play. He listens to the other old-timers talk about baseball, but he doesn’t say much himself.
Horlen was famous for that reticence as a pitcher. Reporters liked his game, but he was no talker. “I probably wasn’t a very good interview,” he admits. “I thought my actions on the field would speak for themselves. I’m still that way today.”
Asked about the enormous salaries of current players, Horlen said, “They deserve what they can get. I was just glad I got to play.”
He did wonder, however, about how often current players get injured. “I played 12 years. I was on the disabled list only two times because of my knees, but my arm never gave me any trouble,” he said.
During his career, the best advice for a pitcher in the off-season was to stay away from the training room.
“I wouldn’t pick up a ball from September until January. All I did was hunt and play golf, and I think that was better.”
Looking over the Missions’ roster this year, Horlen was not willing to choose the rising stars -- the ones who will make it to the major leagues like he did.
“It’s hard to say which ones might make it, but they all have a chance, you know,” he said, a fine sentiment from a man of few words.
Today, he still wears a special ring with a sparkling diamond in the center. Around the stone it says “World Series, 1972, Oakland Athletics.”
Friday, February 10, 2012
Another Visit with Tom and Bathsheba
In Part One, Tom Blethen is introduced, a super-annuated, overly educated farmworker who felt he was stuck in a rut, literally, digging potatoes on Bessie Blume’s farm in Ventura. But there was an undeniable and unspoken attraction between Tom and Bessie building up and they finally made a night of it together, in her bedroom at the farmhouse.
The next scene will have Tom and Bessie waking up at 4 a.m. in her bed and beginning a long conversation. They had avoided talking to each other all these months, for fear of what might happen, but the door is open now. It's the magical quiet of the night when everyone else is asleep.
Your faith was strong but you needed proof
You saw her bathing on the roof
Her beauty in the moonlight overthrew you
Leonard Cohen
It was the quiet of night, four a.m., they lay in Bessie’s bed on the second floor. Through the broad window the half-moon made a blue light and strong shadows. There was no sound anywhere. Tom’s right arm was numb from lying under Bessie’s light body. He tugged it away. She stirred. “Are you awake?” he asked.
“Mmm,” she murmured, “awake and alive.”
Minutes passed. The jostling of small leaves in the field somewhere -- it was the air moving. It was the night beginning to end.
“Let’s talk” Tom said, lying on his back. Bessie moved up on her pillow and looked over to him, seeing his profile.
“You start,” she said.
“No, you,” he said.
“My father’s name is Isaac, “ she began, as if reciting, as if she had waited years to say out loud what she had chanted in her dreams. “He was a dealer in dry goods. That was in the old neighborhood in New York. Pencils, fabric, dinnerware, whatever he could buy, whatever he could sell for a penny more.
“He was a kind man and he didn’t hate his job. Life is with people he always said. You do honest work and the rest doesn’t matter.
“My father did not finish high school. There was trouble at home and he had to work, to find a job. His first job was at the biology lab at Rockefeller University, a big medical school, yes, but he cleaned out the rat cages and the monkey shit. That’s how he started…..Tom, are you listening?” she asked.
“Yes,” he answered, “I’m not sleepy.”
She continued. It was the kind of long story you could tell late at night, with every detail. Bessie spoke quietly, but with an intensity that seemed to lift her off the pillow and bring her to scenes from long ago, a hundred years back, even five hundred years. She had the voice of a distant mountain. And Tom had an alertness of mind much greater than in the daylight.
“And so Isaac, my father, always wanted a piece of the land for his own and his children. But he never left the city. I became his dream. I was his son, not in gender, but I was his destiny. And I have this farm – because of my father’s dream.”
“You could have gone to Israel,” Tom said. “You could go there now and grow oranges and be a real Jew.”
Bessie stared at him. “You are a worse fool than I imagined. Look out the window. Do you see these acres?”
A fine line of light was rising in the east. Tom rose up on his elbow and looked to see the dimmest of dawn’s light. Then he looked over at Bessie’s glimmering eyes.
“My father died a few years ago,” she said, “He never came out here to California. He wouldn’t go. There were so many things that he wanted that he never got. He wanted the land, but something held him back. He was the link from the old world to the new world and the Lower East Side was as far as he could go. So it all came down to me. I was his Kaddish…..”
“Pardon?” Tom interjected.
“His Kaddish. A son, someone to say the Kaddish for him when he died. The prayer we say for our parents. It’s for a boy to say for his father, but I was the only child. His Kaddish.”
“So do you say the prayer for your father?” Tom asked.
“No, I don’t say a prayer for my father Isaac. I plant radishes for him. I plant gladiolas. I plant rue and lovage. And my father is here now. This is Isaac’s farm.”
“Bessie, I love you,” Tom said.
“You don’t,” she said, but she moved closer to him in the bed. “I’m old now, I’m not so pretty. I was never pretty….”
“I love you, Bessie,” Tom said again.
It was lighter now, with orange lights in the sky, a December morning in Ventura, the sky was free of clouds, with only a puff of wind, and a hint of frost settling on the fields.
“You don’t know me,” Bessie said. “I grew up in the city. I was very protected. My parents – I was the dream of what they wanted. And they weren’t selfish, we could have moved to the suburbs, except for their social causes -- to make the world a better place. I was no princess. My mother bought clothes for me at Alexander’s, on sale. My parents were so progressive with books and pamphlets. Then the sixties came along and it didn’t make sense to them.”
“So you’re that kind of girl,” Tom laughed. “But slow down, you’re talking too fast. Gentle is the rising light of dawn, my love.” Tom held on to her a little tighter and stroked her hair.
“That means you came out here to find your father’s dream, is that it?” Tom asked. “I mean, that’s good enough. Most people don’t know what they want.”
“I hitchhiked out west when I was 19,” she said. “My parents were frantic with worry to see me leave and to take such chances, but I couldn’t stay in college. I couldn’t read any more about someone else’s life. I had to do it myself….That seems so dramatic now, but I needed the energy to break out. My home was so loving and close, it was smothering me but I could not complain because my parents were not wrong. They just didn’t see….I left.”
“You don’t have to explain that to me. It’s the young lass who turns down her suburban future and becomes a hippie chick,” Tom said.
“Oh, geez,” Bessie said and pushed him away. The room got cold very quickly. Tom was backing up as fast as he could, and then he began to relax and took a deep breath, and figured he should not have mocked her -- he could have been a little more tender. But he was saved by the early light, only 5 a.m., and too early for Bessie to rise and make her coffee, too early for her to get out of bed, or to give farm orders. Bessie let it go.
“Tom, I don’t care if you categorize me. I’m like a lot of other people – a Jewish girl from Manhattan becomes an Earth Mother. She writes a book about making compost and cooking vegetarian, she has beautiful children. I’m in that group. You’re always in somebody’s group.”
“Sex ruins everything,” Tom said, by way of a response, in the short hand way that two lovers can talk. “I had my eye on you since I got here. I mean I tried not to have any looks at you. I felt a buzz, but it seemed like we could work together and live on the same premises and not end up here in your bed. You could lose a good farm hand after tonight. Things can get very complicated.”
“When is it simple?” Bessie said.
“Listen, we’re not angels,” Tom went on. “The angels live forever. They watch over us and guide us, but they envy us. We have sex and we die. We make love and it changes everything, and the angels watch over us, but they really wish they could be us. I’m not worried about what’s going to happen, but I’m sure glad to be here now… So what about your mother?”
“It was my mother’s idea to name me Bathsheba,” she said. “You didn’t know that, did you? People call me Bessie, but I am Bathsheba, and I just loved it when you told me about her in the book. I’ve read the book, I know who she is. My father was Isaac and I’m Bathsheba”
“And your mother’s name?”
“Rebecca, of course, but that’s enough for one night,” she said.
That was the end or her talking, but it seemed to Tom that it was the beginning of many stories, that Bessie knew many long, deep stories. He was glad for that.
Now came the tenderest moment, after the lovemaking late at night, after the soulful talk in the hour before down, now in the first light of day, there was no more denying what happened, so he looked in her eyes and leaned over and kissed her in a long way and very softly, and she kissed him and squeezed him with her body. They lay back for a time staying warm under the blankets, but then it was morning. They could see each other now.
Tom got out of the bed, put on his clothes, went downstairs and stopped for a minute to think. “No, I don’t want to think. Just go back to like nothing happened. This is still a farm.”
He walked out to the trailer and put on some coffee and cleaned up a bit. He thought about working as he drank his coffee, but he had to look it up, what Bessie told him. He got out a Bible in the box of books under the bed. It was in Second Samuel, Chapter ll, Verses Two and Three.
And it came to pass at eventide, that David arose from off his bed, and walked upon the roof of the king's house; and from the roof he saw a woman bathing; and the woman was very beautiful to look upon.
And David sent and inquired after the woman. And one said: 'Is not this Bathsheba, the daughter of Eliam, the wife of Uriah the Hittite?'
I need to get Bessie to take a bath where I can see her, Tom thought. I would have to climb up on the roof of the barn to peek into her bathroom window. She is beautiful in a homely kind of way. But I am not King David. Not by any chance. I guess I could be some kind of low rider, but a king? I don’t know what to do. Do I just go back to digging potatoes?
--
Fred Owens
cell: 360-739-0214
My blog is Fred Owens
send mail to:
Fred Owens
7922 Santa Ana Rd
Ventura CA 93001
The next scene will have Tom and Bessie waking up at 4 a.m. in her bed and beginning a long conversation. They had avoided talking to each other all these months, for fear of what might happen, but the door is open now. It's the magical quiet of the night when everyone else is asleep.
Your faith was strong but you needed proof
You saw her bathing on the roof
Her beauty in the moonlight overthrew you
Leonard Cohen
It was the quiet of night, four a.m., they lay in Bessie’s bed on the second floor. Through the broad window the half-moon made a blue light and strong shadows. There was no sound anywhere. Tom’s right arm was numb from lying under Bessie’s light body. He tugged it away. She stirred. “Are you awake?” he asked.
“Mmm,” she murmured, “awake and alive.”
Minutes passed. The jostling of small leaves in the field somewhere -- it was the air moving. It was the night beginning to end.
“Let’s talk” Tom said, lying on his back. Bessie moved up on her pillow and looked over to him, seeing his profile.
“You start,” she said.
“No, you,” he said.
“My father’s name is Isaac, “ she began, as if reciting, as if she had waited years to say out loud what she had chanted in her dreams. “He was a dealer in dry goods. That was in the old neighborhood in New York. Pencils, fabric, dinnerware, whatever he could buy, whatever he could sell for a penny more.
“He was a kind man and he didn’t hate his job. Life is with people he always said. You do honest work and the rest doesn’t matter.
“My father did not finish high school. There was trouble at home and he had to work, to find a job. His first job was at the biology lab at Rockefeller University, a big medical school, yes, but he cleaned out the rat cages and the monkey shit. That’s how he started…..Tom, are you listening?” she asked.
“Yes,” he answered, “I’m not sleepy.”
She continued. It was the kind of long story you could tell late at night, with every detail. Bessie spoke quietly, but with an intensity that seemed to lift her off the pillow and bring her to scenes from long ago, a hundred years back, even five hundred years. She had the voice of a distant mountain. And Tom had an alertness of mind much greater than in the daylight.
“And so Isaac, my father, always wanted a piece of the land for his own and his children. But he never left the city. I became his dream. I was his son, not in gender, but I was his destiny. And I have this farm – because of my father’s dream.”
“You could have gone to Israel,” Tom said. “You could go there now and grow oranges and be a real Jew.”
Bessie stared at him. “You are a worse fool than I imagined. Look out the window. Do you see these acres?”
A fine line of light was rising in the east. Tom rose up on his elbow and looked to see the dimmest of dawn’s light. Then he looked over at Bessie’s glimmering eyes.
“My father died a few years ago,” she said, “He never came out here to California. He wouldn’t go. There were so many things that he wanted that he never got. He wanted the land, but something held him back. He was the link from the old world to the new world and the Lower East Side was as far as he could go. So it all came down to me. I was his Kaddish…..”
“Pardon?” Tom interjected.
“His Kaddish. A son, someone to say the Kaddish for him when he died. The prayer we say for our parents. It’s for a boy to say for his father, but I was the only child. His Kaddish.”
“So do you say the prayer for your father?” Tom asked.
“No, I don’t say a prayer for my father Isaac. I plant radishes for him. I plant gladiolas. I plant rue and lovage. And my father is here now. This is Isaac’s farm.”
“Bessie, I love you,” Tom said.
“You don’t,” she said, but she moved closer to him in the bed. “I’m old now, I’m not so pretty. I was never pretty….”
“I love you, Bessie,” Tom said again.
It was lighter now, with orange lights in the sky, a December morning in Ventura, the sky was free of clouds, with only a puff of wind, and a hint of frost settling on the fields.
“You don’t know me,” Bessie said. “I grew up in the city. I was very protected. My parents – I was the dream of what they wanted. And they weren’t selfish, we could have moved to the suburbs, except for their social causes -- to make the world a better place. I was no princess. My mother bought clothes for me at Alexander’s, on sale. My parents were so progressive with books and pamphlets. Then the sixties came along and it didn’t make sense to them.”
“So you’re that kind of girl,” Tom laughed. “But slow down, you’re talking too fast. Gentle is the rising light of dawn, my love.” Tom held on to her a little tighter and stroked her hair.
“That means you came out here to find your father’s dream, is that it?” Tom asked. “I mean, that’s good enough. Most people don’t know what they want.”
“I hitchhiked out west when I was 19,” she said. “My parents were frantic with worry to see me leave and to take such chances, but I couldn’t stay in college. I couldn’t read any more about someone else’s life. I had to do it myself….That seems so dramatic now, but I needed the energy to break out. My home was so loving and close, it was smothering me but I could not complain because my parents were not wrong. They just didn’t see….I left.”
“You don’t have to explain that to me. It’s the young lass who turns down her suburban future and becomes a hippie chick,” Tom said.
“Oh, geez,” Bessie said and pushed him away. The room got cold very quickly. Tom was backing up as fast as he could, and then he began to relax and took a deep breath, and figured he should not have mocked her -- he could have been a little more tender. But he was saved by the early light, only 5 a.m., and too early for Bessie to rise and make her coffee, too early for her to get out of bed, or to give farm orders. Bessie let it go.
“Tom, I don’t care if you categorize me. I’m like a lot of other people – a Jewish girl from Manhattan becomes an Earth Mother. She writes a book about making compost and cooking vegetarian, she has beautiful children. I’m in that group. You’re always in somebody’s group.”
“Sex ruins everything,” Tom said, by way of a response, in the short hand way that two lovers can talk. “I had my eye on you since I got here. I mean I tried not to have any looks at you. I felt a buzz, but it seemed like we could work together and live on the same premises and not end up here in your bed. You could lose a good farm hand after tonight. Things can get very complicated.”
“When is it simple?” Bessie said.
“Listen, we’re not angels,” Tom went on. “The angels live forever. They watch over us and guide us, but they envy us. We have sex and we die. We make love and it changes everything, and the angels watch over us, but they really wish they could be us. I’m not worried about what’s going to happen, but I’m sure glad to be here now… So what about your mother?”
“It was my mother’s idea to name me Bathsheba,” she said. “You didn’t know that, did you? People call me Bessie, but I am Bathsheba, and I just loved it when you told me about her in the book. I’ve read the book, I know who she is. My father was Isaac and I’m Bathsheba”
“And your mother’s name?”
“Rebecca, of course, but that’s enough for one night,” she said.
That was the end or her talking, but it seemed to Tom that it was the beginning of many stories, that Bessie knew many long, deep stories. He was glad for that.
Now came the tenderest moment, after the lovemaking late at night, after the soulful talk in the hour before down, now in the first light of day, there was no more denying what happened, so he looked in her eyes and leaned over and kissed her in a long way and very softly, and she kissed him and squeezed him with her body. They lay back for a time staying warm under the blankets, but then it was morning. They could see each other now.
Tom got out of the bed, put on his clothes, went downstairs and stopped for a minute to think. “No, I don’t want to think. Just go back to like nothing happened. This is still a farm.”
He walked out to the trailer and put on some coffee and cleaned up a bit. He thought about working as he drank his coffee, but he had to look it up, what Bessie told him. He got out a Bible in the box of books under the bed. It was in Second Samuel, Chapter ll, Verses Two and Three.
And it came to pass at eventide, that David arose from off his bed, and walked upon the roof of the king's house; and from the roof he saw a woman bathing; and the woman was very beautiful to look upon.
And David sent and inquired after the woman. And one said: 'Is not this Bathsheba, the daughter of Eliam, the wife of Uriah the Hittite?'
I need to get Bessie to take a bath where I can see her, Tom thought. I would have to climb up on the roof of the barn to peek into her bathroom window. She is beautiful in a homely kind of way. But I am not King David. Not by any chance. I guess I could be some kind of low rider, but a king? I don’t know what to do. Do I just go back to digging potatoes?
--
Fred Owens
cell: 360-739-0214
My blog is Fred Owens
send mail to:
Fred Owens
7922 Santa Ana Rd
Ventura CA 93001
Friday, February 03, 2012
Losing the Farm
LOSING THE FARM. After almost thirty years of farming vegetables on forty acres in Carpinteria, Tom Shepherd is losing the farm. It was leased land all this time, and the owners’ divorce has forced the sale of the property and that means Tom’s departure after such a long tenure.
He seems to be taking this quietly, but there was a palpable sadness in the air when I stopped by the farm office last week and spoke with the manager. Maybe a dozen workers who have made this place their life’s work will have to go elsewhere – oh, they will find something because the demand for fresh organic produce is growing yearly and there is a need for those skills. But it is sad.
Tom has been a presence at the Santa Barbara farmers market every Saturday, and he made the farm fun by doing things like having a pie contest last autumn. People brought their pies for judging, and the rest of us bought tickets to taste all the pies and cast ballots for the winner – eating pies in the midst of an herb garden bursting with aroma and succulent, savory tastes. Well, it’s a movable feast.
Shepherd’s Farm has made no official announcement, but I have talked with the farm manager and a Shepherd family member about the closing.
Let them know you care – they’ve been growing wonderful vegetables for many years and they are good people.
NORM'S HEIRLOOM TOMATOES. Norm Bauer, along with his brother Roland and his son Karl, grow some of the finest heirloom tomatoes in California, grown hydroponically in their greenhouses on the Oxnard Plain, sold in ten-pound flats to the finest restaurants in Los Angeles, under their brand name “West Coast Nurseries.”
I stopped by last week to pick up a sample flat, to carry up to a catering company in Santa Barbara. Norm has four varieties – Great Whites, Cherokees, German Striped, and Brandywine….. so much good flavor. Norm also sells to the public on weekends at the Camarillo farmers market.
LOVE HOUSE DAHLIAS. Meanwhile, back at the ranch, sweet peas are popping and dahlias are perking up. It’s an early spring here in Southern California. Blossoms are coming out ahead of schedule. There has not been enough rain, but the natives tell me this is how it is. Some years are dry, and some years are even drier, and every now and then it gets wet.
Okay, that’s the farm news. Now I will mention the recent boisterous weekend in Oakland where the wild folk had a dustup with the police. This gives me a chance to retail my own story of arrest and detention back in the day.
OCCUPY OAKLAND: Arrests may top 400; City Hall vandalized
“Officials surveyed damage Sunday from a volatile Occupy protest that resulted in hundreds of arrests the day before and left the historic City Hall vandalized after demonstrators broke into the building, smashed display cases, cut electrical wires and burned an American flag.” -- quote from the LA Times.
Hmmm ..... "smashed display cases" ? -- what fun! – perhaps the arrestees issued taunting remarks directed at the gendarmes – add a bit of spray paint here and there, and a few tossed bottles -- ah the joys of shouting "we're taking over" !
LAURA SAID The haves and have-nots are gonna clash because there is too much disparity. I am not for entitlements without working but when jobs are not available and you don't see any prospects...anger gets in the way!
I agree. Too much income inequality causes a great deal of social friction, i.e., smashed display cases. I don't have a solution, but I'm not breaking any glass either.
CAROL SAID most of the protesters have never paid taxes, but use all the roads, schools, and libraries -- freedom good men and women are dying for. Not a good way to make their point.....
They don't need anyone's permission to make their point. I remember when I smashed a window in 1968. It was at the US consulate in Toronto. I was a student at the University of Toronto and I was opposed to the war. So, not being good at participating in organized opposition, I made my own statement, to wit, I got up at 2 a.m. and walked the mile or so across the urban landscape of Toronto, from my student apartment, to the somewhat imposing US consulate.....with no plan, but when I got there at about 3 a.m. and it was totally quiet on the street, I somehow found a LARGE ROCK and heaved it through the plate glass window on the front door of the building. After surveying the damage, I quickly departed.
That was the only time in my life I deliberately damaged something..... I think, years later, maybe I shouldn't have done it..... I mean, Toronto was such a sleepy crime-free big city at that time, so I was truly disturbing the peace.... now US consulates and embassies are like armed fortresses, and I contributed to that necessity.
I was arrested for sleeping in the park in New Orleans along with my good buddy Mark Mikolas. It was Audubon Park and we bedded down near the seals in the zoo, we could hear them barking at night. It seemed innocent enough, we just didn't have a place to stay and we had bedrolls and it wasn't very cold, so we got a good night's sleep........ But our mistake was we didn't get up and move out at the first light or morning. No, we were still sleeping at 9 a.m. when the cops rolled up and put the cuffs on us. From that I learned a lesson -- the cops can look the other way and you can sleep in the park, but get your ass out of bed and be on your way --- unless you think you have a right to a longer term presence, like you say to the cops we ain't living here we're protesting ..... and so on.
Anyway, you could be arrested in this situation. We got arrested that time, but they were easy on us -- on the way downtown to the lockup, they let us stop at a convenience store and cash some travelers checks -- what we would need to pay a fine -- they waited patiently outside the store while we cashed the checks, then they drove us down to lock up, booked us, put us in the holding tank for a few hours, and then we paid our fine and walked out ..... walked out of New Orleans altogether .... and never went back. I tell this story to illustrate some of the logistics of Occupation. I could give a learned seminar on this topic.
Ah yes, I remember my old days as a Hooligan, back in the the 1970s. I suppose nobody was watching at the time, but I was often arrested for challenging the police -- arrested for disorderly conduct, vagrancy, loitering, failure to identify, and having no visible means of support. How many nights did I spend in county jails from California to Florida? -- In California alone, I was in the following jails -- San Luis Obispo, arrested for hitchhiking on US 101, San Bernardino -- arrested for riding a freight train, Riverside County jail -- I don't why they arrested me, but I was there, Grass Valley -- basically for insulting a police officer, Stockton -- not sure why but I was in that jail too.
Anyway, I never got my name in the newspaper because I was not a part of anyone's movement. I'm my own man. I put on my own demonstration, and I got arrested because of my own fight for freedom.....You would think these occupiers in Oakland invented resistance to authority, but it's all happened before, and it will happen again.....I spent enough time with criminals and layabouts and ne'er do wells, and when you spend time with felons and hustlers you inevitably have many encounters with the police. And after several years of consorting with street people, I decided that the police, on the whole, were a better class of citizens, far less likely to act out violently..... so that was my personal research and my conclusion is that cops are better than criminals. But don't take my word for it, go out on the street and spend some time with low lifes -- you will meet all kinds of interesting and dangerous people.
This makes me look like I’m against the Occupiers, but I am not. I’m only saying that most of the police are just working stiffs trying to get through the day. Most of the time they will treat you fairly if you give them a chance.
He seems to be taking this quietly, but there was a palpable sadness in the air when I stopped by the farm office last week and spoke with the manager. Maybe a dozen workers who have made this place their life’s work will have to go elsewhere – oh, they will find something because the demand for fresh organic produce is growing yearly and there is a need for those skills. But it is sad.
Tom has been a presence at the Santa Barbara farmers market every Saturday, and he made the farm fun by doing things like having a pie contest last autumn. People brought their pies for judging, and the rest of us bought tickets to taste all the pies and cast ballots for the winner – eating pies in the midst of an herb garden bursting with aroma and succulent, savory tastes. Well, it’s a movable feast.
Shepherd’s Farm has made no official announcement, but I have talked with the farm manager and a Shepherd family member about the closing.
Let them know you care – they’ve been growing wonderful vegetables for many years and they are good people.
NORM'S HEIRLOOM TOMATOES. Norm Bauer, along with his brother Roland and his son Karl, grow some of the finest heirloom tomatoes in California, grown hydroponically in their greenhouses on the Oxnard Plain, sold in ten-pound flats to the finest restaurants in Los Angeles, under their brand name “West Coast Nurseries.”
I stopped by last week to pick up a sample flat, to carry up to a catering company in Santa Barbara. Norm has four varieties – Great Whites, Cherokees, German Striped, and Brandywine….. so much good flavor. Norm also sells to the public on weekends at the Camarillo farmers market.
LOVE HOUSE DAHLIAS. Meanwhile, back at the ranch, sweet peas are popping and dahlias are perking up. It’s an early spring here in Southern California. Blossoms are coming out ahead of schedule. There has not been enough rain, but the natives tell me this is how it is. Some years are dry, and some years are even drier, and every now and then it gets wet.
Okay, that’s the farm news. Now I will mention the recent boisterous weekend in Oakland where the wild folk had a dustup with the police. This gives me a chance to retail my own story of arrest and detention back in the day.
OCCUPY OAKLAND: Arrests may top 400; City Hall vandalized
“Officials surveyed damage Sunday from a volatile Occupy protest that resulted in hundreds of arrests the day before and left the historic City Hall vandalized after demonstrators broke into the building, smashed display cases, cut electrical wires and burned an American flag.” -- quote from the LA Times.
Hmmm ..... "smashed display cases" ? -- what fun! – perhaps the arrestees issued taunting remarks directed at the gendarmes – add a bit of spray paint here and there, and a few tossed bottles -- ah the joys of shouting "we're taking over" !
LAURA SAID The haves and have-nots are gonna clash because there is too much disparity. I am not for entitlements without working but when jobs are not available and you don't see any prospects...anger gets in the way!
I agree. Too much income inequality causes a great deal of social friction, i.e., smashed display cases. I don't have a solution, but I'm not breaking any glass either.
CAROL SAID most of the protesters have never paid taxes, but use all the roads, schools, and libraries -- freedom good men and women are dying for. Not a good way to make their point.....
They don't need anyone's permission to make their point. I remember when I smashed a window in 1968. It was at the US consulate in Toronto. I was a student at the University of Toronto and I was opposed to the war. So, not being good at participating in organized opposition, I made my own statement, to wit, I got up at 2 a.m. and walked the mile or so across the urban landscape of Toronto, from my student apartment, to the somewhat imposing US consulate.....with no plan, but when I got there at about 3 a.m. and it was totally quiet on the street, I somehow found a LARGE ROCK and heaved it through the plate glass window on the front door of the building. After surveying the damage, I quickly departed.
That was the only time in my life I deliberately damaged something..... I think, years later, maybe I shouldn't have done it..... I mean, Toronto was such a sleepy crime-free big city at that time, so I was truly disturbing the peace.... now US consulates and embassies are like armed fortresses, and I contributed to that necessity.
I was arrested for sleeping in the park in New Orleans along with my good buddy Mark Mikolas. It was Audubon Park and we bedded down near the seals in the zoo, we could hear them barking at night. It seemed innocent enough, we just didn't have a place to stay and we had bedrolls and it wasn't very cold, so we got a good night's sleep........ But our mistake was we didn't get up and move out at the first light or morning. No, we were still sleeping at 9 a.m. when the cops rolled up and put the cuffs on us. From that I learned a lesson -- the cops can look the other way and you can sleep in the park, but get your ass out of bed and be on your way --- unless you think you have a right to a longer term presence, like you say to the cops we ain't living here we're protesting ..... and so on.
Anyway, you could be arrested in this situation. We got arrested that time, but they were easy on us -- on the way downtown to the lockup, they let us stop at a convenience store and cash some travelers checks -- what we would need to pay a fine -- they waited patiently outside the store while we cashed the checks, then they drove us down to lock up, booked us, put us in the holding tank for a few hours, and then we paid our fine and walked out ..... walked out of New Orleans altogether .... and never went back. I tell this story to illustrate some of the logistics of Occupation. I could give a learned seminar on this topic.
Ah yes, I remember my old days as a Hooligan, back in the the 1970s. I suppose nobody was watching at the time, but I was often arrested for challenging the police -- arrested for disorderly conduct, vagrancy, loitering, failure to identify, and having no visible means of support. How many nights did I spend in county jails from California to Florida? -- In California alone, I was in the following jails -- San Luis Obispo, arrested for hitchhiking on US 101, San Bernardino -- arrested for riding a freight train, Riverside County jail -- I don't why they arrested me, but I was there, Grass Valley -- basically for insulting a police officer, Stockton -- not sure why but I was in that jail too.
Anyway, I never got my name in the newspaper because I was not a part of anyone's movement. I'm my own man. I put on my own demonstration, and I got arrested because of my own fight for freedom.....You would think these occupiers in Oakland invented resistance to authority, but it's all happened before, and it will happen again.....I spent enough time with criminals and layabouts and ne'er do wells, and when you spend time with felons and hustlers you inevitably have many encounters with the police. And after several years of consorting with street people, I decided that the police, on the whole, were a better class of citizens, far less likely to act out violently..... so that was my personal research and my conclusion is that cops are better than criminals. But don't take my word for it, go out on the street and spend some time with low lifes -- you will meet all kinds of interesting and dangerous people.
This makes me look like I’m against the Occupiers, but I am not. I’m only saying that most of the police are just working stiffs trying to get through the day. Most of the time they will treat you fairly if you give them a chance.
Saturday, January 28, 2012
Voting for the Farm
In the past month, we have planted 1,600 row-feet of sweet peas. Then we pounded in 8-foot stakes every 15 feet and we are stringing up a 6-foot trellis to support the sweet pea vines when (if) they grow. Now we're waiting for those little darlings to start blossoming with fragrant flowers. I started to get obsessive and worried about the seeds in the second bed because they were not emerging. We reasoned it's January and the soil is cold and that would make it slow, but still I was pacing back and forth.
So I said -- better just walk away and let nature take its course, and I went to another part of the farm and started transplanting all the herbs because Ann wants them by her kitchen door. That makes sense.
Last week in my essay on "sustainable agriculture," I was lying and I need to tell the truth. I made a mockery of the guys with clipboards who come around the farms and tell people what to do and how to conform to regulations. The truth is that I wish I had one of those jobs myself.I can see myself swinging a clipboard and riding around in my car from farm to farm. Of course, then I would have to drive back to the office and write reports and go to meetings. Oh God, I hate going to meetings. But if I had a clipboard job where I didn't have to go to TOO many meetings, then I would like it quite a bit -- steady pay and no sweat.
Farming is not an occupation of choice for me as it may be for others. I do not have a great deal of experience. I write these enthusiastic essays about the joys of working with the soil -- but I am really only trying to convince myself. The truth is that I work on a farm because it's the only job I can get. If I had better pay in town I would be gone tomorrow. Having said that, the farm has been good to me since I know there will always be work for me in this field and, as well, farmers are kind to old guys like me -- they have little prejudice toward youth.
Now, on to what really interests me -- the upcoming election. I enjoy politics very much, although I can't say that I am any good at it. I change my mind frequently, I am not on anyone's side and I don't care who wins...... but I find the process to be fascinating. Here's the Owens Doctrine on how people vote:
You vote where you live, and if you live on a farm, that's how you vote. I'm voting for the farm I live on.
You vote where you live and where you live means where you sleep -- where you come home at night and lay your burdens down. That's where you live and that's where you vote.
And that means nothing matters more than the peace and safety of the night, so that you and your loved ones can rest in peace.
Because you can work during the day, and you can take care of yourself and build a home, but at night you close your eyes and let go of your cares, and when you're sleeping someone needs to keep a watch because the world can be dangerous.
With that simple picture in mind, we can see that the essential purpose of government is to keep the peace, and to keep us safe from dangerous people, whether domestic or foreign. If that's all the government did, and if the government did it well and if we could sleep at peace during the night, then we could take care of the rest ourselves.
Meaning the police, the military, and the administration of justice are essential in government. The rest is optional. We don't need public school or libraries, because, in a safer world, we can make our own arrangements. We might agree to public schools and libraries, and parks, and fire departments, and postal services -- but they are optional and non-essential -- just to keep that in mind.
In the coming election year, the decision to be made is whether to give President Obama another term. It is a luxury for us to be considering the economy as the principle issue. It is the luxury of peacetime to argue about jobs.
But what really matters is that we are alive and we are free and we can sleep well at night, and if can sleep well, we can work during the day and take care of ourselves.
So, are you better off than you were four years ago? That's a good question. But a much more important question is are you free and can you rest in peace at night? That's how you should vote -- you should vote where you live.
I live on a farm, and that's how I will vote.
Now, having established the Owens Doctrine I will document my visits this past week.
I have been an Obama supporter, but I am about to cast him adrift.....I have mixed feelings about this. Arguably, the President's most important duty is to keep the peace and defend our shores. I feel Obama's handling of foreign and military affairs is quite good. He got the bad guy, whereas the previous President couldn't even find the right country to invade. Also cities like Los Angeles and New York are reporting record low levels of violent crime, and that is what you call domestic tranquility. I think you should choose your President on this basis.
The President's second most important duty is debatable -- is it his job to restore and maintain the economy? I take the pragmatic approach -- some gov't programs have worked well and some have not. Right now I think Obama is handling things quite poorly, and I had this moment of clarity the other day watching Our Pres at the Apollo Theater doing a riff on an Al Green song -- Obama sure is cool and he has a wonderful wife and family -- and I compare him to Newt Gingrich who is most decidedly not cool, fat and funny-looking and a marital disaster -- but the fact is that stuff just doesn't matter too much.
So, I have cast Obama adrift, and where does that leave me?
That leaves me interested in Newt Gingrich. Keep this in mind, that doesn't mean I will vote for him, it only means he has caught my attention.
Newt said the most wonderful thing -- we could establish a colony on the moon by 2020. None of this Small Ball that Obama is preaching, but a moon shoot! My fellow Americans, we may succeed and we may fail, but let us do so in the most spectacular manner.
Newt Gingrich irritates me. He irritates everyone. That's why I like him. Gingrich flip flops on the issues. He changes his mind every day -- just like me. And he won't go away. After everyone gets sick to death of him, he's still there and he's still talking -- this is an admirable quality.
I'm not judging Newt's entire presentation, but I did hear him make three memorable comments:
1. He told Juan Williams that it might be good for 12-year-olds to work as school janitors. This is an excellent idea. I earned my first dollar at age 12, caddying and shoveling snow. My two children began work at age 12, working in the fields for farmers. It gives you a great beginning in life.
2. John King asked him about the trash talk from his second ex-wife, and Newt told John King it was none of his business. I was very glad to hear Newt say this because I really don't want to know about the private affairs of our political candidates.
3. Rick Santorum said that Newt had grandiose ideas. Newt responded, yes I have grandiose ideas because America is a grandiose country. Right on. Swing for the fences. Go for broke.
This weekend is probably Newt's highwater mark, but the inevitable Mitt Romney will forge ahead to get the nomination. That will be so dreary -- Romney the button-down white guy versus Obama the button-down black guy, both very corporate and composed and competent, given to a measured response and not easily provoked. My Democratic friends will carefully explain to me why it matters so much that Obama is better than Romney, but I will not be interested because the distinctions seem trivial.
I will vote for the farm this November. It is my shelter -- I will look around these acres and then make a decision.
-- Fred Owenscell: 360-739-0214
My blog is Fred Owens
send mail to:
Fred Owens
7922 Santa Ana Rd
Ventura CA 93001
So I said -- better just walk away and let nature take its course, and I went to another part of the farm and started transplanting all the herbs because Ann wants them by her kitchen door. That makes sense.
Last week in my essay on "sustainable agriculture," I was lying and I need to tell the truth. I made a mockery of the guys with clipboards who come around the farms and tell people what to do and how to conform to regulations. The truth is that I wish I had one of those jobs myself.I can see myself swinging a clipboard and riding around in my car from farm to farm. Of course, then I would have to drive back to the office and write reports and go to meetings. Oh God, I hate going to meetings. But if I had a clipboard job where I didn't have to go to TOO many meetings, then I would like it quite a bit -- steady pay and no sweat.
Farming is not an occupation of choice for me as it may be for others. I do not have a great deal of experience. I write these enthusiastic essays about the joys of working with the soil -- but I am really only trying to convince myself. The truth is that I work on a farm because it's the only job I can get. If I had better pay in town I would be gone tomorrow. Having said that, the farm has been good to me since I know there will always be work for me in this field and, as well, farmers are kind to old guys like me -- they have little prejudice toward youth.
Now, on to what really interests me -- the upcoming election. I enjoy politics very much, although I can't say that I am any good at it. I change my mind frequently, I am not on anyone's side and I don't care who wins...... but I find the process to be fascinating. Here's the Owens Doctrine on how people vote:
You vote where you live, and if you live on a farm, that's how you vote. I'm voting for the farm I live on.
You vote where you live and where you live means where you sleep -- where you come home at night and lay your burdens down. That's where you live and that's where you vote.
And that means nothing matters more than the peace and safety of the night, so that you and your loved ones can rest in peace.
Because you can work during the day, and you can take care of yourself and build a home, but at night you close your eyes and let go of your cares, and when you're sleeping someone needs to keep a watch because the world can be dangerous.
With that simple picture in mind, we can see that the essential purpose of government is to keep the peace, and to keep us safe from dangerous people, whether domestic or foreign. If that's all the government did, and if the government did it well and if we could sleep at peace during the night, then we could take care of the rest ourselves.
Meaning the police, the military, and the administration of justice are essential in government. The rest is optional. We don't need public school or libraries, because, in a safer world, we can make our own arrangements. We might agree to public schools and libraries, and parks, and fire departments, and postal services -- but they are optional and non-essential -- just to keep that in mind.
In the coming election year, the decision to be made is whether to give President Obama another term. It is a luxury for us to be considering the economy as the principle issue. It is the luxury of peacetime to argue about jobs.
But what really matters is that we are alive and we are free and we can sleep well at night, and if can sleep well, we can work during the day and take care of ourselves.
So, are you better off than you were four years ago? That's a good question. But a much more important question is are you free and can you rest in peace at night? That's how you should vote -- you should vote where you live.
I live on a farm, and that's how I will vote.
Now, having established the Owens Doctrine I will document my visits this past week.
I have been an Obama supporter, but I am about to cast him adrift.....I have mixed feelings about this. Arguably, the President's most important duty is to keep the peace and defend our shores. I feel Obama's handling of foreign and military affairs is quite good. He got the bad guy, whereas the previous President couldn't even find the right country to invade. Also cities like Los Angeles and New York are reporting record low levels of violent crime, and that is what you call domestic tranquility. I think you should choose your President on this basis.
The President's second most important duty is debatable -- is it his job to restore and maintain the economy? I take the pragmatic approach -- some gov't programs have worked well and some have not. Right now I think Obama is handling things quite poorly, and I had this moment of clarity the other day watching Our Pres at the Apollo Theater doing a riff on an Al Green song -- Obama sure is cool and he has a wonderful wife and family -- and I compare him to Newt Gingrich who is most decidedly not cool, fat and funny-looking and a marital disaster -- but the fact is that stuff just doesn't matter too much.
So, I have cast Obama adrift, and where does that leave me?
That leaves me interested in Newt Gingrich. Keep this in mind, that doesn't mean I will vote for him, it only means he has caught my attention.
Newt said the most wonderful thing -- we could establish a colony on the moon by 2020. None of this Small Ball that Obama is preaching, but a moon shoot! My fellow Americans, we may succeed and we may fail, but let us do so in the most spectacular manner.
Newt Gingrich irritates me. He irritates everyone. That's why I like him. Gingrich flip flops on the issues. He changes his mind every day -- just like me. And he won't go away. After everyone gets sick to death of him, he's still there and he's still talking -- this is an admirable quality.
I'm not judging Newt's entire presentation, but I did hear him make three memorable comments:
1. He told Juan Williams that it might be good for 12-year-olds to work as school janitors. This is an excellent idea. I earned my first dollar at age 12, caddying and shoveling snow. My two children began work at age 12, working in the fields for farmers. It gives you a great beginning in life.
2. John King asked him about the trash talk from his second ex-wife, and Newt told John King it was none of his business. I was very glad to hear Newt say this because I really don't want to know about the private affairs of our political candidates.
3. Rick Santorum said that Newt had grandiose ideas. Newt responded, yes I have grandiose ideas because America is a grandiose country. Right on. Swing for the fences. Go for broke.
This weekend is probably Newt's highwater mark, but the inevitable Mitt Romney will forge ahead to get the nomination. That will be so dreary -- Romney the button-down white guy versus Obama the button-down black guy, both very corporate and composed and competent, given to a measured response and not easily provoked. My Democratic friends will carefully explain to me why it matters so much that Obama is better than Romney, but I will not be interested because the distinctions seem trivial.
I will vote for the farm this November. It is my shelter -- I will look around these acres and then make a decision.
-- Fred Owenscell: 360-739-0214
My blog is Fred Owens
send mail to:
Fred Owens
7922 Santa Ana Rd
Ventura CA 93001
Thursday, January 19, 2012
Sustainable Agriculture Defined & Discussed
By Fred Owens
Sustainable Agriculture. "Sustainable" is a buzz word in farming. You can get a masters degree in "sustainable agronomics" and then find a position in high five figures at your state ag department or crop association. You can get one of those clipboard jobs where you travel from farm to farm and ask interesting questions like why is that cow standing in the middle of the stream? "The cow is standing in the middle of the stream because it's hot and she's thirsty," said the farmer.
That's an interesting question, but first I will explain sustainability to the average person. Sustainability means staying in business. It means that you made enough money this year and you've been taking good enough care of your land that you can do it all over again next year. You didn't burn out. You didn't go broke. Your farm didn't turn into a toxic desert. It means you were careful and you saved a little bit. It means you left a little of your corn crop at the corner of the field -- left for the poor people who come gleaning, left for the birds to nibble on a cold winter's day, left for the roughage that will return to the soil.
It means you didn't break your back working. You take good care of your body when you're working by easing off a little bit. You don't work yourself into a lather -- but you ease up and keep going. You work slower because you last longer and you get more done that way. You drink plenty of water on a hot day. That's called working on a sustainable basis and you will still be out in the field years from now.
Sustainable farming might mean reading the history of the Nile River in Egypt. They have been farming on the banks of the Nile for how many thousands of years? -- 6,000 years or more. Despite dire warnings of coming disaster -- climate change! acid rain! frogs falling from the sky! -- they are still farming along the Nile River.
Egyptians farmers are supposed to follow simple guidelines of seven fat years followed by seven lean years. I don't know how that got started but it was a good plan. Of course, over that entire period of 6,000 years, there have been dust storms and plagues of locusts, and human depravity and violence of the worst kind, but they are still farming in Egypt, and I would call that sustainable agriculture.
Currently, Egypt has a much larger urban population than can be fed from Egyptian farms. But you must understand, one of the tenets of sustainability is that disaster is always looming. There is no guarantee or promise of tomorrow. Only hope. So work as hard as you can, but take a break now and then, and you will be sustainable.
I'm going to bill the US Dept of Agriculture $43,768 for this essay. If they have enough sense to implement these guidelines they will save millions.
But I'm not done.
The question I asked was far form innocent. The guy with the clipboard was coming directly from environmental protection and wanted to know -- Sir, why is your cow standing in the middle of the stream? The implication was that the cow should not be there, dropping her abundant nitrogen-rich manure into a public waterway, thereby encouraging algae bloom downstream and clouding the water for the sweet little fishes upstream,
Well, if it was only one cow, it cannot be too much trouble, but a herd of cows watering in a stream can be a problem, and the guy with the clipboard might want the farmer to fence off the stream and find the cows a land-based source of drinking water so that the manure falls on the ground where it can do some good, and the branches and bushes and little trees can once more grow by the side of the stream and cool the water, and provide shelter for the sweet little fishes that hide in the nooks and crannies, safe from herons and hawks and bigger fishes.
Yes, that would be good, and it would be sustainable -- to fence off the stream. Except for one little problem -- who is going to pay for the fence? The farmer says, "I cannot sustain that cost. My cows have been wandering in that stream ever since I was a small boy and this place belonged to my grandfather. We're still here, and we want to stay here and keep on farming."
This is a problem, and I propose no solution. Agriculture is full of problems and costs and expenses and bad weather and bankers that cheat you and lazy workers and it never ends. But if you're sustainable you just keep going. You worry, but you don't worry too much. Because you need a good night's sleep so you can do it all over again tomorrow.
Sustainable agriculture is not really a new idea, it's conservation with a cell phone.
Position Wanted: I'm looking for a new farm position. I excel at working with people, customers, and marketing. I want to work for a well-run operation or farm with motivated and optimistic staff and management. I don't mind a simple customer-facing job but I want to be a part of the business and have the opportunity to grow into new positions over time. Possible jobs include marketing, farm manager/caretaker, customer/sales. Do you know such a place for me?
Be it a well-run large-scale commercial farm or a small hobby farm, in either case a sound strategy can lead to good results. The product is less important than the people I hope to work for. I like to make an extra effort. Agriculture teaches me that we proceed without guarantees and we never give up.
My resume is available by link at the bottom of this newsletter. Excellent references as well.
--
Fred Owens
cell: 360-739-0214
My blog is Fred Owens
send mail to:
Fred Owens
7922 Santa Ana Rd
Ventura CA 93001
--
Fred Owens
cell: 360-739-0214
My blog is Fred Owens
send mail to:
Fred Owens
7922 Santa Ana Rd
Ventura CA 93001
Sustainable Agriculture. "Sustainable" is a buzz word in farming. You can get a masters degree in "sustainable agronomics" and then find a position in high five figures at your state ag department or crop association. You can get one of those clipboard jobs where you travel from farm to farm and ask interesting questions like why is that cow standing in the middle of the stream? "The cow is standing in the middle of the stream because it's hot and she's thirsty," said the farmer.
That's an interesting question, but first I will explain sustainability to the average person. Sustainability means staying in business. It means that you made enough money this year and you've been taking good enough care of your land that you can do it all over again next year. You didn't burn out. You didn't go broke. Your farm didn't turn into a toxic desert. It means you were careful and you saved a little bit. It means you left a little of your corn crop at the corner of the field -- left for the poor people who come gleaning, left for the birds to nibble on a cold winter's day, left for the roughage that will return to the soil.
It means you didn't break your back working. You take good care of your body when you're working by easing off a little bit. You don't work yourself into a lather -- but you ease up and keep going. You work slower because you last longer and you get more done that way. You drink plenty of water on a hot day. That's called working on a sustainable basis and you will still be out in the field years from now.
Sustainable farming might mean reading the history of the Nile River in Egypt. They have been farming on the banks of the Nile for how many thousands of years? -- 6,000 years or more. Despite dire warnings of coming disaster -- climate change! acid rain! frogs falling from the sky! -- they are still farming along the Nile River.
Egyptians farmers are supposed to follow simple guidelines of seven fat years followed by seven lean years. I don't know how that got started but it was a good plan. Of course, over that entire period of 6,000 years, there have been dust storms and plagues of locusts, and human depravity and violence of the worst kind, but they are still farming in Egypt, and I would call that sustainable agriculture.
Currently, Egypt has a much larger urban population than can be fed from Egyptian farms. But you must understand, one of the tenets of sustainability is that disaster is always looming. There is no guarantee or promise of tomorrow. Only hope. So work as hard as you can, but take a break now and then, and you will be sustainable.
I'm going to bill the US Dept of Agriculture $43,768 for this essay. If they have enough sense to implement these guidelines they will save millions.
But I'm not done.
The question I asked was far form innocent. The guy with the clipboard was coming directly from environmental protection and wanted to know -- Sir, why is your cow standing in the middle of the stream? The implication was that the cow should not be there, dropping her abundant nitrogen-rich manure into a public waterway, thereby encouraging algae bloom downstream and clouding the water for the sweet little fishes upstream,
Well, if it was only one cow, it cannot be too much trouble, but a herd of cows watering in a stream can be a problem, and the guy with the clipboard might want the farmer to fence off the stream and find the cows a land-based source of drinking water so that the manure falls on the ground where it can do some good, and the branches and bushes and little trees can once more grow by the side of the stream and cool the water, and provide shelter for the sweet little fishes that hide in the nooks and crannies, safe from herons and hawks and bigger fishes.
Yes, that would be good, and it would be sustainable -- to fence off the stream. Except for one little problem -- who is going to pay for the fence? The farmer says, "I cannot sustain that cost. My cows have been wandering in that stream ever since I was a small boy and this place belonged to my grandfather. We're still here, and we want to stay here and keep on farming."
This is a problem, and I propose no solution. Agriculture is full of problems and costs and expenses and bad weather and bankers that cheat you and lazy workers and it never ends. But if you're sustainable you just keep going. You worry, but you don't worry too much. Because you need a good night's sleep so you can do it all over again tomorrow.
Sustainable agriculture is not really a new idea, it's conservation with a cell phone.
Position Wanted: I'm looking for a new farm position. I excel at working with people, customers, and marketing. I want to work for a well-run operation or farm with motivated and optimistic staff and management. I don't mind a simple customer-facing job but I want to be a part of the business and have the opportunity to grow into new positions over time. Possible jobs include marketing, farm manager/caretaker, customer/sales. Do you know such a place for me?
Be it a well-run large-scale commercial farm or a small hobby farm, in either case a sound strategy can lead to good results. The product is less important than the people I hope to work for. I like to make an extra effort. Agriculture teaches me that we proceed without guarantees and we never give up.
My resume is available by link at the bottom of this newsletter. Excellent references as well.
--
Fred Owens
cell: 360-739-0214
My blog is Fred Owens
send mail to:
Fred Owens
7922 Santa Ana Rd
Ventura CA 93001
--
Fred Owens
cell: 360-739-0214
My blog is Fred Owens
send mail to:
Fred Owens
7922 Santa Ana Rd
Ventura CA 93001
Thursday, January 12, 2012
Bathsheba's Farm
I keep changing the title, but the story itself is taking on a shape. As I said before, you can create characters but you can't make them do whatever you want. It's just like God who created us and gave us free will. If you write a story, you become as a god but not all-powerful. People do what they will.
For me, I was going to give up this project, but I could not rest, wanting to know what happens next, and the only way to find out is to keep the writing of it.
In our case Tom and Bessie went upstairs together, to bed, at the end of Part One. Part Two is titled "Sex Ruins Everything." In this case it does and it doesn't ruin everything. They made a night of it and they were immensely glad for that, but trouble lies ahead.
I will send it to you in a week or so.
A HORSE. I have been offered to ride a horse with friends in Santa Barbara. I've not been mounted in many years so it will be good riding for me. I told them I need a horse that is smart enough to do it right without me telling it, so they will get me a mule named Annie. A mule is like a horse with a union card. A horse will act with complete loyalty and sacrifice, but not a mule, not if it doesn't make sense. A mule will carry you up the mountain but then he will take a lunch break whether you say so or not.
POLITICS. Politics are fun because America is a good country -- unless you read Howard Zinn's book, a People's History of the United States. Zinn wrote a catalog of American crimes. The book is all true and it is a useful corrective to the unalloyed admiration of our own past. We did screw up here and there, but that is a side show to the overall performance. We built a hell of a country. Evidence of that is how much we complain about it -- that's the sound of freedom.
The problem with Howard Zinn is not his book, but idiots like actor Matt Damon who swear on it like it was gospel, and the young people who claim it as the basic text -- it might be the only history book they will read and they will get bad ideas from it.
EXCEPTIONAL. The disciples of Howard Zinn are neatly balanced by the Exceptionalists, who claim -- never claim! -- that we are the world's greatest country and the last best hope of mankind. This is very poor psychology. You cease to be exceptional the second you proclaim it. Real Americans strive for excellence and let others make "claims."
DAMS AND RIVERS. I used to be pro-fishing, but now I work on a farm, and now I like dams. Dams provide water for irrigation. Farms feed the multitudes. And we need the water to grow the food.
Fishing, on the other hand, has that romantic appeal of by-gone days, like that show "Deadliest Catch" which is so popular -- those wild and woolly fishermen risking their lives on the stormy waves. I like watching the show, but that's not where our food comes from. Fish are a small part of our diet.
Instead we have the farm, which is too real to make a reality TV show. Think of "Farm Cam" -- watch the farmer, now he's going down the field on his tractor. Wait, wait, he's turning around at the end of the row. Incredible! Now he's coming back!
Our ancestors used to fish and hunt many thousands of years ago and we all lived that way. Fishing is an ancient occupation, by a hundred thousand years more ancient than agriculture which was invented and developed only in the recent past. That is why the lure of the ocean and the river tugs so deeply in our souls, because if you go back far enough, your people were fishermen and hunters and gatherers.
I honor that all-human past, but our ancestors switched over to farming because it was a better way to live. Isn't it?
I am grateful for this abundance of food that we have.
THE OBAMAS. I started thinking about them again. I have heard Obama speak twice in person. He didn't use a teleprompter and he fielded questions from the audience and gave good answers. He was impressive. I also met Michelle Obama at a small gathering -- she was working a rope line and shook my hand and we exchanged a few words. My first impression was that she was tall and beautiful, I also caught a glimpse of her steely determination.
This reassured me, because I had lived through the marriage of Bill and Hillary Clinton, he with the roving eye and the fast hands. If the Clintons had just managed to keep it private I would not have cared, but I really did not want to know about all that. It was like seeing Uncle Bob naked coming out of the shower. Avert your eyes!
So I met Michelle Obama, and I knew instantly that Barack was never going to be chasing interns around the Oval Office. One is that she is so hot-looking. Two is that she would kill him if he did. The Obamas have a good marriage and manage to keep their squabbles to themselves.
Barack Obama has a well-known vice. He smokes. I'm an ex-smoker, so I can spot the habit. He manages to sneak two or three cigarettes a day. He's the President -- no one can make him stop.
It's good to know what a man's vices are, because he surely has vices and you want to know what they are.
RON PAUL. I met some of his supporters in 2008. Their views are even more extreme than his. There is a distant country where the far right blends into the far left. It's way, way out there. I catch a whiff of anti-Semitism in that strange region -- nothing I can put my finger on, but I'm wary. Go ahead, make your own inquiries -- visit with his hard-core followers as I have done.
My litmus test for anti-Semitism is Pat Buchanan on the right. He is okay, but anyone further right than him is suspect in my book. I don't have a litmus test for anti-Semites on the left, but it would be when the shriekers of outrage against Israel become hoarse with rage -- that is a bad business.
POSITION WANTED. I am looking for a new position in agriculture in the Ventura area. I would like to be part of making the plan and carrying it out. I'm looking for a growth opportunity. I would like to able to expand what I am good at. Marketing is my best skill. Teaching others what I know is a close second. My resume is available to anyone who is interested.
Be it a well-run large-scale commercial farm or a small hobby farm, in either case a sound strategy can lead to good results. The product is less important than the people I hope to work for. I like to make an extra effort. Agriculture teaches me that we proceed without guarantees and we never give up.
--
Fred Owens
cell: 360-739-0214
My blog is Fred Owens
send mail to:
Fred Owens
7922 Santa Ana Rd
Ventura CA 93001
For me, I was going to give up this project, but I could not rest, wanting to know what happens next, and the only way to find out is to keep the writing of it.
In our case Tom and Bessie went upstairs together, to bed, at the end of Part One. Part Two is titled "Sex Ruins Everything." In this case it does and it doesn't ruin everything. They made a night of it and they were immensely glad for that, but trouble lies ahead.
I will send it to you in a week or so.
A HORSE. I have been offered to ride a horse with friends in Santa Barbara. I've not been mounted in many years so it will be good riding for me. I told them I need a horse that is smart enough to do it right without me telling it, so they will get me a mule named Annie. A mule is like a horse with a union card. A horse will act with complete loyalty and sacrifice, but not a mule, not if it doesn't make sense. A mule will carry you up the mountain but then he will take a lunch break whether you say so or not.
POLITICS. Politics are fun because America is a good country -- unless you read Howard Zinn's book, a People's History of the United States. Zinn wrote a catalog of American crimes. The book is all true and it is a useful corrective to the unalloyed admiration of our own past. We did screw up here and there, but that is a side show to the overall performance. We built a hell of a country. Evidence of that is how much we complain about it -- that's the sound of freedom.
The problem with Howard Zinn is not his book, but idiots like actor Matt Damon who swear on it like it was gospel, and the young people who claim it as the basic text -- it might be the only history book they will read and they will get bad ideas from it.
EXCEPTIONAL. The disciples of Howard Zinn are neatly balanced by the Exceptionalists, who claim -- never claim! -- that we are the world's greatest country and the last best hope of mankind. This is very poor psychology. You cease to be exceptional the second you proclaim it. Real Americans strive for excellence and let others make "claims."
DAMS AND RIVERS. I used to be pro-fishing, but now I work on a farm, and now I like dams. Dams provide water for irrigation. Farms feed the multitudes. And we need the water to grow the food.
Fishing, on the other hand, has that romantic appeal of by-gone days, like that show "Deadliest Catch" which is so popular -- those wild and woolly fishermen risking their lives on the stormy waves. I like watching the show, but that's not where our food comes from. Fish are a small part of our diet.
Instead we have the farm, which is too real to make a reality TV show. Think of "Farm Cam" -- watch the farmer, now he's going down the field on his tractor. Wait, wait, he's turning around at the end of the row. Incredible! Now he's coming back!
Our ancestors used to fish and hunt many thousands of years ago and we all lived that way. Fishing is an ancient occupation, by a hundred thousand years more ancient than agriculture which was invented and developed only in the recent past. That is why the lure of the ocean and the river tugs so deeply in our souls, because if you go back far enough, your people were fishermen and hunters and gatherers.
I honor that all-human past, but our ancestors switched over to farming because it was a better way to live. Isn't it?
I am grateful for this abundance of food that we have.
THE OBAMAS. I started thinking about them again. I have heard Obama speak twice in person. He didn't use a teleprompter and he fielded questions from the audience and gave good answers. He was impressive. I also met Michelle Obama at a small gathering -- she was working a rope line and shook my hand and we exchanged a few words. My first impression was that she was tall and beautiful, I also caught a glimpse of her steely determination.
This reassured me, because I had lived through the marriage of Bill and Hillary Clinton, he with the roving eye and the fast hands. If the Clintons had just managed to keep it private I would not have cared, but I really did not want to know about all that. It was like seeing Uncle Bob naked coming out of the shower. Avert your eyes!
So I met Michelle Obama, and I knew instantly that Barack was never going to be chasing interns around the Oval Office. One is that she is so hot-looking. Two is that she would kill him if he did. The Obamas have a good marriage and manage to keep their squabbles to themselves.
Barack Obama has a well-known vice. He smokes. I'm an ex-smoker, so I can spot the habit. He manages to sneak two or three cigarettes a day. He's the President -- no one can make him stop.
It's good to know what a man's vices are, because he surely has vices and you want to know what they are.
RON PAUL. I met some of his supporters in 2008. Their views are even more extreme than his. There is a distant country where the far right blends into the far left. It's way, way out there. I catch a whiff of anti-Semitism in that strange region -- nothing I can put my finger on, but I'm wary. Go ahead, make your own inquiries -- visit with his hard-core followers as I have done.
My litmus test for anti-Semitism is Pat Buchanan on the right. He is okay, but anyone further right than him is suspect in my book. I don't have a litmus test for anti-Semites on the left, but it would be when the shriekers of outrage against Israel become hoarse with rage -- that is a bad business.
POSITION WANTED. I am looking for a new position in agriculture in the Ventura area. I would like to be part of making the plan and carrying it out. I'm looking for a growth opportunity. I would like to able to expand what I am good at. Marketing is my best skill. Teaching others what I know is a close second. My resume is available to anyone who is interested.
Be it a well-run large-scale commercial farm or a small hobby farm, in either case a sound strategy can lead to good results. The product is less important than the people I hope to work for. I like to make an extra effort. Agriculture teaches me that we proceed without guarantees and we never give up.
--
Fred Owens
cell: 360-739-0214
My blog is Fred Owens
send mail to:
Fred Owens
7922 Santa Ana Rd
Ventura CA 93001
Friday, January 06, 2012
THE REAL WORLD
H.L. Mencken. I dedicate this piece to H.L. Mencken, who never disguised his ill humor.
Bathsheba's Novel. I started writing a novel in December about Tom and Bathsheba who worked on a farm together and fell in love. The characters came alive for me. It was like having imaginary friends, and I could spend hours thinking or dreaming about what they might do.
But I don't have the time for so much day-dreaming. Perhaps someday when I retire I might take it up again..
Except I have no plans to retire. Some of the most boring people I know are retired. It doesn't appeal to me. Besides, it would be impossible, because I have never saved a nickel. I will work as long as I am able, and then I will become a burden on society. That's my plan.
Politics. I am enjoying politics this season. I find the Republican mob to be kind of interesting. I will miss Michele Bachmann and Herman Cain, but we have Rick Perry to kick around, so we can still have some laughs.
Mitt Romney is the safe and moderate choice. He used to be governor of Massachusetts. I guess this is a silly comparison, but Massachusetts keeps producing losing candidates. There was Michael Dukakis in 1988, safe and moderate, and completely forgotten. There was John Kerry in 2004 -- not a firebrand like Howard Dean -- so he got the nomination and lost a winnable race to George Bush.
Anyway, Romney is so dull that I cannot even force myself to read anything about him.
I like Rick Santorum instead. He has seven children -- imagine that! He doesn't agree with abortion or same sex marriage. That's not how I see it, so does that that mean I should abhor him? You're supposed to despise people like Santorum, but I don't despise him -- he's an interesting character.
Then there's Paul Krugman at the New York Times. I agree with him. The national debt is not a real problem. Government spending should increase in a recession. The real problem is that we ought to pay down the debt during good times, but we lack the discipline to do so.
Being a Krugmanite would make me a respectable Democrat, but I am more of what you might call a Social Democrat -- meaning that all my friends and relatives are Democrats so I'm not switching. Why should I leave? The other people don't look too hot either.
Being a Democrat, I'm supposed to believe in climate change and global warming. I do not believe in it or deny it. Actually, I never give it a thought.
Democrats are supposed to be in favor of affirmative action, diversity and multiculturalism. I'm not in favor of these dreary trends. Especially diversity which is such a bad word. It sounds like divorce and division, and it means you go your way and I'll go my way. I am opposed to diversity. Instead I support integration and harmony -- these are much better words. But the people who run the Democratic Party don't listen to me -- they are idiots.
And feminism? I used to work in journalism, and watched all the women flood into that occupation. I even encouraged them in the beginning, until I realized they weren't really women, but "persons willing to work long hours for little pay." They have done a good job of driving down wages in a profession that never paid well in the first place.
Then the Internet came along and killed what was left of journalism -- it's part of the "creative destruction" directed by our sainted "job creators." There's supposed to be new jobs created after the old jobs are destroyed -- I wish I knew how to find them.
The Republicans believe that most of their fellow citizens are lazy people who readily sponge off the rest of us. That has not been my experience. I have seen that most adult Americans expect to work for a living -- you don't need to beat us with a stick. I wouldn't make a good Republican because of this.
I once tried to attract attention by describing the political landscape as a tortuous narrow path between the twin evils of feminism and fundamentalism. This is what I actually believe, but I fear that most people do not understand what I am getting at.
It's very frustrating to be misunderstood. I open my mouth and people laugh and there's nothing I can do about that.
But I'm still a Democrat. I don't want to be an Independent. I want to be on a side and to belong to a party. These are my folks, and I'm going to vote for Obama.
Novel Writing, Politics & Farm Work. Novel writing is a day dream, politics is an exercise in perpetual frustration, and that leaves the farm work. It's 8 a.m., so I better get to it. By 9 a.m. I will be whistling a happy tune.
thank you and happy new year,
Fred
--
Fred Owens
cell: 360-739-0214
My blog is Fred Owens
send mail to:
Fred Owens
7922 Santa Ana Rd
Ventura CA 93001
Bathsheba's Novel. I started writing a novel in December about Tom and Bathsheba who worked on a farm together and fell in love. The characters came alive for me. It was like having imaginary friends, and I could spend hours thinking or dreaming about what they might do.
But I don't have the time for so much day-dreaming. Perhaps someday when I retire I might take it up again..
Except I have no plans to retire. Some of the most boring people I know are retired. It doesn't appeal to me. Besides, it would be impossible, because I have never saved a nickel. I will work as long as I am able, and then I will become a burden on society. That's my plan.
Politics. I am enjoying politics this season. I find the Republican mob to be kind of interesting. I will miss Michele Bachmann and Herman Cain, but we have Rick Perry to kick around, so we can still have some laughs.
Mitt Romney is the safe and moderate choice. He used to be governor of Massachusetts. I guess this is a silly comparison, but Massachusetts keeps producing losing candidates. There was Michael Dukakis in 1988, safe and moderate, and completely forgotten. There was John Kerry in 2004 -- not a firebrand like Howard Dean -- so he got the nomination and lost a winnable race to George Bush.
Anyway, Romney is so dull that I cannot even force myself to read anything about him.
I like Rick Santorum instead. He has seven children -- imagine that! He doesn't agree with abortion or same sex marriage. That's not how I see it, so does that that mean I should abhor him? You're supposed to despise people like Santorum, but I don't despise him -- he's an interesting character.
Then there's Paul Krugman at the New York Times. I agree with him. The national debt is not a real problem. Government spending should increase in a recession. The real problem is that we ought to pay down the debt during good times, but we lack the discipline to do so.
Being a Krugmanite would make me a respectable Democrat, but I am more of what you might call a Social Democrat -- meaning that all my friends and relatives are Democrats so I'm not switching. Why should I leave? The other people don't look too hot either.
Being a Democrat, I'm supposed to believe in climate change and global warming. I do not believe in it or deny it. Actually, I never give it a thought.
Democrats are supposed to be in favor of affirmative action, diversity and multiculturalism. I'm not in favor of these dreary trends. Especially diversity which is such a bad word. It sounds like divorce and division, and it means you go your way and I'll go my way. I am opposed to diversity. Instead I support integration and harmony -- these are much better words. But the people who run the Democratic Party don't listen to me -- they are idiots.
And feminism? I used to work in journalism, and watched all the women flood into that occupation. I even encouraged them in the beginning, until I realized they weren't really women, but "persons willing to work long hours for little pay." They have done a good job of driving down wages in a profession that never paid well in the first place.
Then the Internet came along and killed what was left of journalism -- it's part of the "creative destruction" directed by our sainted "job creators." There's supposed to be new jobs created after the old jobs are destroyed -- I wish I knew how to find them.
The Republicans believe that most of their fellow citizens are lazy people who readily sponge off the rest of us. That has not been my experience. I have seen that most adult Americans expect to work for a living -- you don't need to beat us with a stick. I wouldn't make a good Republican because of this.
I once tried to attract attention by describing the political landscape as a tortuous narrow path between the twin evils of feminism and fundamentalism. This is what I actually believe, but I fear that most people do not understand what I am getting at.
It's very frustrating to be misunderstood. I open my mouth and people laugh and there's nothing I can do about that.
But I'm still a Democrat. I don't want to be an Independent. I want to be on a side and to belong to a party. These are my folks, and I'm going to vote for Obama.
Novel Writing, Politics & Farm Work. Novel writing is a day dream, politics is an exercise in perpetual frustration, and that leaves the farm work. It's 8 a.m., so I better get to it. By 9 a.m. I will be whistling a happy tune.
thank you and happy new year,
Fred
--
Fred Owens
cell: 360-739-0214
My blog is Fred Owens
send mail to:
Fred Owens
7922 Santa Ana Rd
Ventura CA 93001
Saturday, December 24, 2011
Bathsheba Beckons
By Fred Owens
I wrote a short story called "Bathsheba Beckons." I will send it to you in the next newsletter. It's not very long, only 2,300 words. I expect most of you will find it tedious and laced with obscure literary references, but a few of you might enjoy it. I know I enjoyed writing the story. It is my first attempt at fiction.
I am drawing on persons from real life of course --- there is a character named Charlie Bones, an artist in Seattle, who bears a remarkable resemblance to Charlie Krafft.
The lead character is named Tom Blethen. Tom is the name of my older brother. Blethen is a Welsh name. The Blethen family are the owners of the Seattle Times, and I once dated a woman of that name who was a part of that family........Bessie Blume is the female character.... The name Blume comes from my friend Harvey Blume, the Tanned Lion of East Cambridge..... and so the story construction process goes.
I put Tom Blethen on a small farm in Ventura County. He is digging potatoes on a winter's day, working in the rain, working on Bessie Blume's farm. He is muttering and cursing his fate, when Bessie comes out of the house to give him some direction -- but I am giving away the story now.
The great joy of writing fiction is that, once you have set up the characters and the scene, you don't really know what is going to happen, even though you are writing the story. You see, a character, once created, has a mind of his own, he does what he will, not what you tell him to do. It all comes down to the truth. Even in fiction, you have to tell the truth -- because all good stories are true stories.
The title, "Bathsheba Beckons," comes from the Thomas Hardy novel, Far from the Madding Crowd, which is set on a farm in rural England. The main character in the novel is Bathseba Everdene, and she owns a farm, and so Bessie Blume is actually very different in character from Bathsheba but she does own a farm.
With Affection for Christopher Hitchens. Of course he did not say Merry Christmas, but can you imagine Hitchens greeting someone with Happy Holidays? He would have choked on his Scotch before uttering such a nonsense. He was way better than that and I miss him already. I heard him speak in Seattle several years ago, on tour to promote his book on atheism. He was a wonderful, witty speaker who converted no one to his belief. Half his audience in Seattle were Methodist ministers of a liberal stripe, attending as a display of tolerance. Hitchens couldn't win for losing in this debate. God loves a scoundrel.
He was a confirmed smoker and drinker. Had he reformed he would not have lived one minuter longer. Had he reformed he would have died of boredom. If one lives for the sake of "health" then one is rewarded with a long and stupid life -- I'm sure he would have agreed with that sentiment.
Hitchens was a fully enlightened being and he made the decision to dissolve upon death. He will not visit heaven nor hell and he will not be reincarnated.
Impossible to find a gift for my brother. I finished my Christmas shopping, having bought seven gifts for under $100 total. Except I don't have anything for my older brother Tom. Every year it is impossible to find him a gift. He has nothing and he doesn't want anything.
Not me, there are many things I want, and I'm working on a wish list for 2012, a list of things I wish to acquire, places I wish to visit, and experiences I would like to have. This is a secret list, of course.
Learning Chinese. I go to zhongwen.com for a study of Chinese characters. It is easy to learn Chinese. Just say that to yourself every day. It's easy. Chinese isn't difficult. You learn one character, then you learn another character and you just keep going. If anyone says learning Chinese is hard, then throw water at them or call them a bad name.
No Farm News. The sun comes up, the sun goes down and each days passes in its time and toil.
No Politics. I'm biting my tongue, but I'm sticking to my pledge -- no politics here.
Merry Christmas. Cheers, happiness and prosperity to all. May the joy of the season spread across the globe even to North Korea.
--
Fred Owens
cell: 360-739-0214
My blog is Fred Owens
send mail to:
Fred Owens
7922 Santa Ana Rd
Ventura CA 93001
I wrote a short story called "Bathsheba Beckons." I will send it to you in the next newsletter. It's not very long, only 2,300 words. I expect most of you will find it tedious and laced with obscure literary references, but a few of you might enjoy it. I know I enjoyed writing the story. It is my first attempt at fiction.
I am drawing on persons from real life of course --- there is a character named Charlie Bones, an artist in Seattle, who bears a remarkable resemblance to Charlie Krafft.
The lead character is named Tom Blethen. Tom is the name of my older brother. Blethen is a Welsh name. The Blethen family are the owners of the Seattle Times, and I once dated a woman of that name who was a part of that family........Bessie Blume is the female character.... The name Blume comes from my friend Harvey Blume, the Tanned Lion of East Cambridge..... and so the story construction process goes.
I put Tom Blethen on a small farm in Ventura County. He is digging potatoes on a winter's day, working in the rain, working on Bessie Blume's farm. He is muttering and cursing his fate, when Bessie comes out of the house to give him some direction -- but I am giving away the story now.
The great joy of writing fiction is that, once you have set up the characters and the scene, you don't really know what is going to happen, even though you are writing the story. You see, a character, once created, has a mind of his own, he does what he will, not what you tell him to do. It all comes down to the truth. Even in fiction, you have to tell the truth -- because all good stories are true stories.
The title, "Bathsheba Beckons," comes from the Thomas Hardy novel, Far from the Madding Crowd, which is set on a farm in rural England. The main character in the novel is Bathseba Everdene, and she owns a farm, and so Bessie Blume is actually very different in character from Bathsheba but she does own a farm.
With Affection for Christopher Hitchens. Of course he did not say Merry Christmas, but can you imagine Hitchens greeting someone with Happy Holidays? He would have choked on his Scotch before uttering such a nonsense. He was way better than that and I miss him already. I heard him speak in Seattle several years ago, on tour to promote his book on atheism. He was a wonderful, witty speaker who converted no one to his belief. Half his audience in Seattle were Methodist ministers of a liberal stripe, attending as a display of tolerance. Hitchens couldn't win for losing in this debate. God loves a scoundrel.
He was a confirmed smoker and drinker. Had he reformed he would not have lived one minuter longer. Had he reformed he would have died of boredom. If one lives for the sake of "health" then one is rewarded with a long and stupid life -- I'm sure he would have agreed with that sentiment.
Hitchens was a fully enlightened being and he made the decision to dissolve upon death. He will not visit heaven nor hell and he will not be reincarnated.
Impossible to find a gift for my brother. I finished my Christmas shopping, having bought seven gifts for under $100 total. Except I don't have anything for my older brother Tom. Every year it is impossible to find him a gift. He has nothing and he doesn't want anything.
Not me, there are many things I want, and I'm working on a wish list for 2012, a list of things I wish to acquire, places I wish to visit, and experiences I would like to have. This is a secret list, of course.
Learning Chinese. I go to zhongwen.com for a study of Chinese characters. It is easy to learn Chinese. Just say that to yourself every day. It's easy. Chinese isn't difficult. You learn one character, then you learn another character and you just keep going. If anyone says learning Chinese is hard, then throw water at them or call them a bad name.
No Farm News. The sun comes up, the sun goes down and each days passes in its time and toil.
No Politics. I'm biting my tongue, but I'm sticking to my pledge -- no politics here.
Merry Christmas. Cheers, happiness and prosperity to all. May the joy of the season spread across the globe even to North Korea.
--
Fred Owens
cell: 360-739-0214
My blog is Fred Owens
send mail to:
Fred Owens
7922 Santa Ana Rd
Ventura CA 93001
Tuesday, December 06, 2011
Things Might Improve
FARM NEWS by Fred Owens
"Things might improve," said Andy Dunstan at Love House Dahlia Farm this morning. I had presented him with a problem while he was eating his cereal. He turned his head to me and said, "things might improve" and then he continued with his breakfast.
To Hell with Celery. Farmers in Ventura County grow over $150 million worth of celery every year, making it the celery capital of the world. So you would think I could easily find a celery farmer to interview, you know, ask him about his crop and his field and how he grows things. Nope. It's like pulling teeth to get these old boys to talk. They don't know me and they don't trust me. Well, to hell with them too.
I left a phone message with a local celery grower, but he won't call me back. They never do. I've been through this dance before. It's not really the farmer's fault. They're just not good at talking. They're out there in the field all day working with great skill to produce an abundance of good food for all of us to enjoy. But you tell them you're a reporter with a few questions, and they clam up tight. What did I ever do to them?
Maybe some other guy wrote a bad story about farming, I never did. I'm just trying to make a living.
Moo. Farming is a very interesting thing to think and read about. As you know, I have become an ardent straddler and fence riding moderate. So I don't take a pro or anti position about organic farming versus conventional, or agri-biz versus small farm, or GM food which is either a plot to control the world by Monsanto or a benefit to all mankind. No, I just hang out here with the cows. The cows go MOOOO, which is OM said backwards.
Dry Here in Ventura. It hasn't rained here in a month, and then we get those dry desert winds day after day -- wind sucking all the moisture out of the soil. Not a big problem except I have 12 50-foot rows of sweet peas trying to germinate, and then sticking up their cute little heads, breaking through a crust of soil and spreading out their tender baby leaves under December skies. Short days don't hurt the sweet peas, it just makes them grow slowly. And a hard frost at night doesn't hurt them either. But that dry wind is not good, so I water the sweet peas every day.
Digging Up Tubers. We have about 65 raised beds of dahlia tubers, beds being 25 to 35 feet in length, and full of dahlias, which have all finished their season, dying back to the ground and someone needs to dig them all up and get them to the greenhouse. Nate was a traveler and he dug tubers all last week, but this week it's my turn.
It's not such a bad job -- crispy cold in the morning so the boss said to pick a row in the sunshine. Isn't she nice to say that?
That's all for now. We're just "doing the kind of work that most Americans don't want to do." This is not really true, you just need to find a good farm to work at.
"Things might improve," said Andy Dunstan at Love House Dahlia Farm this morning. I had presented him with a problem while he was eating his cereal. He turned his head to me and said, "things might improve" and then he continued with his breakfast.
To Hell with Celery. Farmers in Ventura County grow over $150 million worth of celery every year, making it the celery capital of the world. So you would think I could easily find a celery farmer to interview, you know, ask him about his crop and his field and how he grows things. Nope. It's like pulling teeth to get these old boys to talk. They don't know me and they don't trust me. Well, to hell with them too.
I left a phone message with a local celery grower, but he won't call me back. They never do. I've been through this dance before. It's not really the farmer's fault. They're just not good at talking. They're out there in the field all day working with great skill to produce an abundance of good food for all of us to enjoy. But you tell them you're a reporter with a few questions, and they clam up tight. What did I ever do to them?
Maybe some other guy wrote a bad story about farming, I never did. I'm just trying to make a living.
Moo. Farming is a very interesting thing to think and read about. As you know, I have become an ardent straddler and fence riding moderate. So I don't take a pro or anti position about organic farming versus conventional, or agri-biz versus small farm, or GM food which is either a plot to control the world by Monsanto or a benefit to all mankind. No, I just hang out here with the cows. The cows go MOOOO, which is OM said backwards.
Dry Here in Ventura. It hasn't rained here in a month, and then we get those dry desert winds day after day -- wind sucking all the moisture out of the soil. Not a big problem except I have 12 50-foot rows of sweet peas trying to germinate, and then sticking up their cute little heads, breaking through a crust of soil and spreading out their tender baby leaves under December skies. Short days don't hurt the sweet peas, it just makes them grow slowly. And a hard frost at night doesn't hurt them either. But that dry wind is not good, so I water the sweet peas every day.
Digging Up Tubers. We have about 65 raised beds of dahlia tubers, beds being 25 to 35 feet in length, and full of dahlias, which have all finished their season, dying back to the ground and someone needs to dig them all up and get them to the greenhouse. Nate was a traveler and he dug tubers all last week, but this week it's my turn.
It's not such a bad job -- crispy cold in the morning so the boss said to pick a row in the sunshine. Isn't she nice to say that?
That's all for now. We're just "doing the kind of work that most Americans don't want to do." This is not really true, you just need to find a good farm to work at.
Saturday, November 26, 2011
Farm Income on the Rise in California
The following story brings us some happy news on this Thanksgiving weekend -- California farm income is on the rise. I'll step out of the way now and let Ms. Marcum spread the joy.
By Diana Marcum, Los Angeles Times
As Californians savor their Thanksgiving feasts, the states' farmers are especially thankful. California's agriculture sector is on track for a record year, a rare bright spot in the state's economy.
Prices for cotton, grapes and other crops are near all-time highs. Foreign buyers are gobbling California almonds, grapes, citrus and dairy products. Agricultural exports through September are up 16% over the same period last year. Net farm income is projected to post strong gains in 2011 after nearly doubling over the previous decade.
At a time when other Golden State industries are struggling, times are good down on the farm. Just ask Steve Moore.
The Fresno County pistachio farmer recently completed the harvest on his 480-acre spread near Huron, part of what's estimated to be California's second-largest pistachio crop ever. Prices are strong, at around $2.10 a pound, driven by growing demand in places including China and Israel.
Moore started with 160 acres in 1982, planting trees that take seven years to produce. "Looking at those bare sticks in the ground, I thought I must be nuts," he said. But the crop is so lucrative he's looking to expand again.
Indeed, prices for all manner of farm products are so high that Vernon Crowder, an agricultural economist with Rabobank, a major agricultural lender, has been seeing some unfamiliar faces at industry events.
"When you go to ag conferences you now have venture capitalists hanging around," he said. "But they find it very difficult to beat out another farmer for land, and that shows you how strong the market is. There's been a fundamental shift as the global market demands more food and more expensive food."
That's good news for California, the nation's leading agricultural state and the fifth-largest producer worldwide. In contrast with the grain-and-livestock focused Midwest, California farmers cultivate more than 400 commodities, including more than half of the nation's fruits and vegetables.
Looking for artichokes? Dates? Kiwi? Pomegranates? California accounts for more than 99% of the U.S. production of each of those crops, according to the California Food and Agriculture Department.
"You ask the average person what California does better than any other place in the world, where we have the most innovation and natural advantage and they'll probably say Hollywood or high-tech. But, it's farming," said Stuart Woolf, president of Woolf Farming & Processing, with cotton and tomato fields near Huron.
"Bakersfield to Sacramento is like a giant greenhouse with really good soil," he said. "The big picture is that we are going to be perpetually stretching our resources as California feeds more people around the globe."
The world's population just hit 7 billion, and emerging middle classes in countries such as India and China are putting more on their plates. California farmers, always looking for new markets, are finely attuned to shifting economies and tastes worldwide. Pistachios are a perfect example of such entrepreneurial farming.
California is now the world's top producer, knocking off longtime leader Iran three years ago. This year the state's crop is expected to be more than 460 million pounds, but 30 years ago the crop barely existed here.
Then came the 1979 Iranian hostage crisis, which led to a ban on imports from Iran, a major supplier to the U.S. market. Some Central Valley farmers saw an opportunity. They gambled on planting pistachio trees.
Innovation followed.
Iranian pistachios traditionally are dyed a distinctive red to cover blemishes left by bits of the hull sticking to the outer shell. California researchers found a way to remove the outer hulls, leaving the tan shells smooth and flawless.
Soon California pistachios were favored by consumers worldwide. The 2010 crop — a record 522 million pounds — was worth $1.16 billion.
In the Central Valley, which grows about 95% of the nation's pistachios, the crop is expected to nearly double by 2017 as more trees mature.
"That's a huge increase. But we think we'll be able to create demand ahead of production," said Richard Matoian, executive director of American Pistachio Growers in Fresno.
Moore, the pistachio farmer, is willing to roll the dice. He's looking to add more trees. "It's a moon shot – a trajectory of seven years. You water, you fertilize, you keep the critters away, and you hope and you pray the demand grows as your trees grow," he said.
The country's largest pistachio farm, Paramount Farms, is capitalizing on Hollywood glitz to build a bigger domestic market.
Located in Kern County, Paramount is owned by Stewart and Lynda Resnick, who created the national pomegranate juice craze in part by putting their POM Wonderful brand juice bottles in gift bags at entertainment awards shows. Paramount is now pushing pistachios with "Get Crackin" TV spots featuring personalities such as Cameron and Tyler Winklevoss, who had accused Facebook Inc.'s Mark Zuckerberg of stealing their idea for the social network, promoting "the lowest calorie nut."
"California farmers have guts," Matoian said. "They take risks on new crops."
Sometimes they return to old ones.
California was once a major cotton grower, transplanting the "white gold" empires of the South to the American West. But cotton slowly disappeared as drought and water wars drove farmers to abandon it for other crops.
Then prices spiked in 2010, largely because of poor harvests in China and Pakistan, which are major cotton growers. Some Golden State farmers rushed to plant cotton anew. Now, the Texas drought is expected to push high-end pima cotton prices to the $3-a-pound mark again. California farmers are harvesting 454,500 acres of cotton, almost 50% more than last year.
"Anything, anywhere in the world, affects us," said Ryan Jacobsen, a raisin grower and executive director of the Fresno County Farm Bureau.
So far the concurrence of events has California agriculture prospering and poised for long-term growth. China is still a surging market, and the U.S. recently signed a trade deal with Korea that is expected to boost exports of wine, beef, dairy products and tree nuts.
But Jacobsen said it would be hard to find a big-spending California farmer who would freely admit to being flush. "You know how you make a small fortune in farming? Start with a large fortune," he said.
The most splurging that raisin grower Steve Spate will do is an occasional dinner out with his wife, even though raisin prices are at an all-time high of $1,700 a ton, more than double what they were in 2002.
Fall rainstorms almost ruined this year's crop. And immigration crackdowns and ongoing violence on the U.S.-Mexico border have left him struggling to attract enough farmhands.
Spate plans to invest this year's profits to strengthen trellises to prepare for the switch to mechanical harvesters. "In farming what you buy is the ability to keep farming," he said.
diana.marcum@latimes.com
--
Fred Owens
cell: 360-739-0214
My blog is Fred Owens
send mail to:
Fred Owens
7922 Santa Ana Rd
Ventura CA 93001
By Diana Marcum, Los Angeles Times
As Californians savor their Thanksgiving feasts, the states' farmers are especially thankful. California's agriculture sector is on track for a record year, a rare bright spot in the state's economy.
Prices for cotton, grapes and other crops are near all-time highs. Foreign buyers are gobbling California almonds, grapes, citrus and dairy products. Agricultural exports through September are up 16% over the same period last year. Net farm income is projected to post strong gains in 2011 after nearly doubling over the previous decade.
At a time when other Golden State industries are struggling, times are good down on the farm. Just ask Steve Moore.
The Fresno County pistachio farmer recently completed the harvest on his 480-acre spread near Huron, part of what's estimated to be California's second-largest pistachio crop ever. Prices are strong, at around $2.10 a pound, driven by growing demand in places including China and Israel.
Moore started with 160 acres in 1982, planting trees that take seven years to produce. "Looking at those bare sticks in the ground, I thought I must be nuts," he said. But the crop is so lucrative he's looking to expand again.
Indeed, prices for all manner of farm products are so high that Vernon Crowder, an agricultural economist with Rabobank, a major agricultural lender, has been seeing some unfamiliar faces at industry events.
"When you go to ag conferences you now have venture capitalists hanging around," he said. "But they find it very difficult to beat out another farmer for land, and that shows you how strong the market is. There's been a fundamental shift as the global market demands more food and more expensive food."
That's good news for California, the nation's leading agricultural state and the fifth-largest producer worldwide. In contrast with the grain-and-livestock focused Midwest, California farmers cultivate more than 400 commodities, including more than half of the nation's fruits and vegetables.
Looking for artichokes? Dates? Kiwi? Pomegranates? California accounts for more than 99% of the U.S. production of each of those crops, according to the California Food and Agriculture Department.
"You ask the average person what California does better than any other place in the world, where we have the most innovation and natural advantage and they'll probably say Hollywood or high-tech. But, it's farming," said Stuart Woolf, president of Woolf Farming & Processing, with cotton and tomato fields near Huron.
"Bakersfield to Sacramento is like a giant greenhouse with really good soil," he said. "The big picture is that we are going to be perpetually stretching our resources as California feeds more people around the globe."
The world's population just hit 7 billion, and emerging middle classes in countries such as India and China are putting more on their plates. California farmers, always looking for new markets, are finely attuned to shifting economies and tastes worldwide. Pistachios are a perfect example of such entrepreneurial farming.
California is now the world's top producer, knocking off longtime leader Iran three years ago. This year the state's crop is expected to be more than 460 million pounds, but 30 years ago the crop barely existed here.
Then came the 1979 Iranian hostage crisis, which led to a ban on imports from Iran, a major supplier to the U.S. market. Some Central Valley farmers saw an opportunity. They gambled on planting pistachio trees.
Innovation followed.
Iranian pistachios traditionally are dyed a distinctive red to cover blemishes left by bits of the hull sticking to the outer shell. California researchers found a way to remove the outer hulls, leaving the tan shells smooth and flawless.
Soon California pistachios were favored by consumers worldwide. The 2010 crop — a record 522 million pounds — was worth $1.16 billion.
In the Central Valley, which grows about 95% of the nation's pistachios, the crop is expected to nearly double by 2017 as more trees mature.
"That's a huge increase. But we think we'll be able to create demand ahead of production," said Richard Matoian, executive director of American Pistachio Growers in Fresno.
Moore, the pistachio farmer, is willing to roll the dice. He's looking to add more trees. "It's a moon shot – a trajectory of seven years. You water, you fertilize, you keep the critters away, and you hope and you pray the demand grows as your trees grow," he said.
The country's largest pistachio farm, Paramount Farms, is capitalizing on Hollywood glitz to build a bigger domestic market.
Located in Kern County, Paramount is owned by Stewart and Lynda Resnick, who created the national pomegranate juice craze in part by putting their POM Wonderful brand juice bottles in gift bags at entertainment awards shows. Paramount is now pushing pistachios with "Get Crackin" TV spots featuring personalities such as Cameron and Tyler Winklevoss, who had accused Facebook Inc.'s Mark Zuckerberg of stealing their idea for the social network, promoting "the lowest calorie nut."
"California farmers have guts," Matoian said. "They take risks on new crops."
Sometimes they return to old ones.
California was once a major cotton grower, transplanting the "white gold" empires of the South to the American West. But cotton slowly disappeared as drought and water wars drove farmers to abandon it for other crops.
Then prices spiked in 2010, largely because of poor harvests in China and Pakistan, which are major cotton growers. Some Golden State farmers rushed to plant cotton anew. Now, the Texas drought is expected to push high-end pima cotton prices to the $3-a-pound mark again. California farmers are harvesting 454,500 acres of cotton, almost 50% more than last year.
"Anything, anywhere in the world, affects us," said Ryan Jacobsen, a raisin grower and executive director of the Fresno County Farm Bureau.
So far the concurrence of events has California agriculture prospering and poised for long-term growth. China is still a surging market, and the U.S. recently signed a trade deal with Korea that is expected to boost exports of wine, beef, dairy products and tree nuts.
But Jacobsen said it would be hard to find a big-spending California farmer who would freely admit to being flush. "You know how you make a small fortune in farming? Start with a large fortune," he said.
The most splurging that raisin grower Steve Spate will do is an occasional dinner out with his wife, even though raisin prices are at an all-time high of $1,700 a ton, more than double what they were in 2002.
Fall rainstorms almost ruined this year's crop. And immigration crackdowns and ongoing violence on the U.S.-Mexico border have left him struggling to attract enough farmhands.
Spate plans to invest this year's profits to strengthen trellises to prepare for the switch to mechanical harvesters. "In farming what you buy is the ability to keep farming," he said.
diana.marcum@latimes.com
--
Fred Owens
cell: 360-739-0214
My blog is Fred Owens
send mail to:
Fred Owens
7922 Santa Ana Rd
Ventura CA 93001
Saturday, October 29, 2011
At Shepherd's Farm in Carpinteria
FARM NEWS, Halloween Edition
By Fred Owens
I toured Shepherd's Farm in Carpinteria this week. They grow 40 acres of organic vegetables and have been doing that since 1973. It is a beautiful and tidy farm, well-managed. They sell vegetables at six farmers markets and provide more than 150 CSA boxes each week to customers in nearby Santa Barbara. They also wholesale to local restaurants.
I tasted Shepherd's strawberries. I picked them right in the field -- quite tasty and just sweet enough. They grow the strawberries through a white plastic sheet for weed control. These were first year plants, just set out this summer, and it was a pretty little patch of fruit.
I spoke with Antonio and Mark, two Hispanic gentlemen, brothers, who have worked for Shepherd for twenty years. It's good to have steady hands like that. I also spoke with Ricky and Josh, two interns who had been working there for several months -- they are part of the WOOF program.
And Kjessie, the farm manager, who keeps the ducks not lined up in a row, but quacking to the same tune.
A lot of Happy Campers are working at Shepherd's Farm. And last I met old Tom Shepherd himself. I asked him did you ever grow too much of something and then you can't sell it? He said, yes, that happens.
We had that happen at Love House Dahlias this year. We grew more sweet peas than we could sell, and then we grew more dahlias than we could sell.
This is so typical of American agriculture -- farmers are much better at growing than selling.
Autumn Comes. It's getting cold in the morning these days. I use the space heater for a bit. Pretty soon I'll be using the propane furnace. I live in a spacious motor home. The propane furnace really cranks out some good heat on a frosty morning. I was warm here all last winter. But I don't use the hot water heater -- it's too wasteful. Why would I heat up 10 gallons of water in the morning? It's better to go over to the big house and take a shower there. And then I only have a few dishes to wash, so I heat up some water on the stove for that chore.
I set out more winter vegetables this week -- red and green cabbage, cauliflower, broccoli, romaine lettuce. We started all that from seed, but yesterday I bought a six pack of white snapdragons and a six pack of stock -- got them at Flora Gardens in Ojai as a treat, and I will plant them today.
We have two new dogs on the premises -- I want to be careful about what I say -- they bark a lot. Yesterday I was out weed-eating the aisles between all the raised beds -- there's about 75 raised beds here -- so this takes a while. And the dogs kept barking while I worked. They will just have to get used to the sound of the weedeater -- I hope. But I was muttering dog-threats under my breath.
Jobs and Steve Jobs.
Steve Jobs eliminated thousands of jobs. His computers launched the era of desktop publishing and self-publishing, which has resulted in the loss of thousands of editorial, typographic, and graphic design positions.
I think the greatest loss is the editorial positions. The editors were the grown ups, the ones who said let's stop and think about this. Now anybody can say anything to everybody else. It's all freedom and no discipline. It's self-esteem with no self-restraint.
Under the old scheme, we had the writer/journalist -- he was a teenager, rambunctious and idealistic, but a bit out of control. The editor was the grownup, the adult.
And the publisher --- this is key to the understanding -- the publisher was infantile. One can function at a very high level and still be motivated by the infantile ego. Me! Me! Me! That's the theme of Citizen Kane -- he with the monstrous, infantile ego. And this was not a bad thing -- that driving force -- as long as you had that editorial control to keep the train on the rails.
But now, in the era of self-publishing, we have become increasingly infantile. We can mess our pants and no one can judge us for doing that. No one will clean it up either.
Steve Jobs and Being a Father. Steve Jobs, who accomplished so much and changed our lives, said, in his biography, that he wished he had been a better father to his children. I agree with that. If he had been a devoted father and in doing so not created any of the fabulous Apple computers, then the world would have been a better place. Being a good father is the best way to change the world.
Income Inequality. Severe income inequality has often resulted in social upheaval. That's an historic pattern, not an opinion. Just ask Marie Antoinette. Conservatives argue that income inequality is a good thing or at least harmless and that we should not indulge in resentment against our wealthiest citizens. But the pattern persists. Just ask the Czar -- oh they don't have a czar in Russia anymore. He was overthrown. It should never have come to such violence. And the Russian people made an even worse choice after getting rid of the Czar.
But we can do better than that. In America, the great industrial age of the late 19th century led to the fabulous wealth of the Vanderbilts and the Rockefellers. But we did not give in to a violent revolution against the upper class. Instead, we introduced progressive regulation, such as the income tax -- which prevented "class warfare." As did FDR's New Deal, which saved capitalism.
So, to repeat, resentment against wealth is human nature. We should not envy those who have so much more than we do, but we are not angels, we are Democrats.
Unsubscribe by saying so in a reply.
Frog Hospital and Farm News Subscriptions. If you find this newsletter worthwhile, send a check for $25, made out to Fred Owens and mail it to Fred Owens, 7922 Santa Ana RD, Ventura CA, 93001.
Or Use PayPal. Go to the Frog Hospital blog and use the PayPal button.
Fred Owens
cell: 360-739-0214
My blog is Fred Owens
send mail to:
Fred Owens
7922 Santa Ana Rd
Ventura CA 93001
By Fred Owens
I toured Shepherd's Farm in Carpinteria this week. They grow 40 acres of organic vegetables and have been doing that since 1973. It is a beautiful and tidy farm, well-managed. They sell vegetables at six farmers markets and provide more than 150 CSA boxes each week to customers in nearby Santa Barbara. They also wholesale to local restaurants.
I tasted Shepherd's strawberries. I picked them right in the field -- quite tasty and just sweet enough. They grow the strawberries through a white plastic sheet for weed control. These were first year plants, just set out this summer, and it was a pretty little patch of fruit.
I spoke with Antonio and Mark, two Hispanic gentlemen, brothers, who have worked for Shepherd for twenty years. It's good to have steady hands like that. I also spoke with Ricky and Josh, two interns who had been working there for several months -- they are part of the WOOF program.
And Kjessie, the farm manager, who keeps the ducks not lined up in a row, but quacking to the same tune.
A lot of Happy Campers are working at Shepherd's Farm. And last I met old Tom Shepherd himself. I asked him did you ever grow too much of something and then you can't sell it? He said, yes, that happens.
We had that happen at Love House Dahlias this year. We grew more sweet peas than we could sell, and then we grew more dahlias than we could sell.
This is so typical of American agriculture -- farmers are much better at growing than selling.
Autumn Comes. It's getting cold in the morning these days. I use the space heater for a bit. Pretty soon I'll be using the propane furnace. I live in a spacious motor home. The propane furnace really cranks out some good heat on a frosty morning. I was warm here all last winter. But I don't use the hot water heater -- it's too wasteful. Why would I heat up 10 gallons of water in the morning? It's better to go over to the big house and take a shower there. And then I only have a few dishes to wash, so I heat up some water on the stove for that chore.
I set out more winter vegetables this week -- red and green cabbage, cauliflower, broccoli, romaine lettuce. We started all that from seed, but yesterday I bought a six pack of white snapdragons and a six pack of stock -- got them at Flora Gardens in Ojai as a treat, and I will plant them today.
We have two new dogs on the premises -- I want to be careful about what I say -- they bark a lot. Yesterday I was out weed-eating the aisles between all the raised beds -- there's about 75 raised beds here -- so this takes a while. And the dogs kept barking while I worked. They will just have to get used to the sound of the weedeater -- I hope. But I was muttering dog-threats under my breath.
Jobs and Steve Jobs.
Steve Jobs eliminated thousands of jobs. His computers launched the era of desktop publishing and self-publishing, which has resulted in the loss of thousands of editorial, typographic, and graphic design positions.
I think the greatest loss is the editorial positions. The editors were the grown ups, the ones who said let's stop and think about this. Now anybody can say anything to everybody else. It's all freedom and no discipline. It's self-esteem with no self-restraint.
Under the old scheme, we had the writer/journalist -- he was a teenager, rambunctious and idealistic, but a bit out of control. The editor was the grownup, the adult.
And the publisher --- this is key to the understanding -- the publisher was infantile. One can function at a very high level and still be motivated by the infantile ego. Me! Me! Me! That's the theme of Citizen Kane -- he with the monstrous, infantile ego. And this was not a bad thing -- that driving force -- as long as you had that editorial control to keep the train on the rails.
But now, in the era of self-publishing, we have become increasingly infantile. We can mess our pants and no one can judge us for doing that. No one will clean it up either.
Steve Jobs and Being a Father. Steve Jobs, who accomplished so much and changed our lives, said, in his biography, that he wished he had been a better father to his children. I agree with that. If he had been a devoted father and in doing so not created any of the fabulous Apple computers, then the world would have been a better place. Being a good father is the best way to change the world.
Income Inequality. Severe income inequality has often resulted in social upheaval. That's an historic pattern, not an opinion. Just ask Marie Antoinette. Conservatives argue that income inequality is a good thing or at least harmless and that we should not indulge in resentment against our wealthiest citizens. But the pattern persists. Just ask the Czar -- oh they don't have a czar in Russia anymore. He was overthrown. It should never have come to such violence. And the Russian people made an even worse choice after getting rid of the Czar.
But we can do better than that. In America, the great industrial age of the late 19th century led to the fabulous wealth of the Vanderbilts and the Rockefellers. But we did not give in to a violent revolution against the upper class. Instead, we introduced progressive regulation, such as the income tax -- which prevented "class warfare." As did FDR's New Deal, which saved capitalism.
So, to repeat, resentment against wealth is human nature. We should not envy those who have so much more than we do, but we are not angels, we are Democrats.
Unsubscribe by saying so in a reply.
Frog Hospital and Farm News Subscriptions. If you find this newsletter worthwhile, send a check for $25, made out to Fred Owens and mail it to Fred Owens, 7922 Santa Ana RD, Ventura CA, 93001.
Or Use PayPal. Go to the Frog Hospital blog and use the PayPal button.
Fred Owens
cell: 360-739-0214
My blog is Fred Owens
send mail to:
Fred Owens
7922 Santa Ana Rd
Ventura CA 93001
Saturday, October 15, 2011
bums on blankets
We have Occupy Ventura starting today. It will take place in the Mission Park, across the way from San Buenaventura Mission, founded in 1792. This old plaza is very mellow, a fountain, ceramic tiles, bums on blankets -- why do we insist on calling them homeless? That term is too generic. We have unemployed people, mentally ill people, drug-addicted people, drunkards, life-stylers and wannabes, plus plain old criminals. And bums, especially beach bums, a Southern California specialty.
But they all go by the moniker of "homeless" and they all do the stupid pit bull and over-loaded shopping cart thing. There is a samelessness to this group, and a lack of aesthetic appeal. If circumstance or choice put me back on the street, I would be a lot more creative and inventive. This may sound trivial, but I think not.
I think they are called "homeless" because they are a living metaphor of society as a whole. They are the visible sign of our collective homelessness and our collective business.
Laura Wood would say, and I agree, that when the home-makers quit making homes and got jobs, that was when homelessness began. She would say that women are the home-makers and men are not.
I felt differently. When women wanted to go to work, I felt that an equal amount of men should or might want to stay at home and be a kind of masculine home-maker in place of the woman. This is what I did, and I have been the object of abuse and shame ever since, from men and women alike who applaud the careerist and mock the home-maker.
But the result can be seen in the mission park -- homeless people, bums on blankets.
But they all go by the moniker of "homeless" and they all do the stupid pit bull and over-loaded shopping cart thing. There is a samelessness to this group, and a lack of aesthetic appeal. If circumstance or choice put me back on the street, I would be a lot more creative and inventive. This may sound trivial, but I think not.
I think they are called "homeless" because they are a living metaphor of society as a whole. They are the visible sign of our collective homelessness and our collective business.
Laura Wood would say, and I agree, that when the home-makers quit making homes and got jobs, that was when homelessness began. She would say that women are the home-makers and men are not.
I felt differently. When women wanted to go to work, I felt that an equal amount of men should or might want to stay at home and be a kind of masculine home-maker in place of the woman. This is what I did, and I have been the object of abuse and shame ever since, from men and women alike who applaud the careerist and mock the home-maker.
But the result can be seen in the mission park -- homeless people, bums on blankets.
Friday, October 14, 2011
Tomatoes and Sagging Gates -- part 2
FARM NEWS
By Fred Owens
.
Georgie started the turnips in the greenhouse before going back to England in mid-September. Last week I took them out in flats when they were about four-inches tall and planted two 30-foot rows.
I put them in the new raised bed that Michael had constructed this summer. He had but good wire mesh underneath to keep the gophers out, then he replaced the topsoil and added a three-inch layer of sifted leaf mulch -- it looked like a work of art after he was finished.
It also seemed like the perfect place to plant the turnips for a winter garden, because it was in such a sunny place.
So I took out the flat of four-inch turnips to plant, but I was concerned about the heat. I figured that transplanting in the heat would put them in a swoon. So, after I got them in the ground, I put a very taut piece of twine between the two poles at each of the turnip bed, and then I flung a 30 by 20 foot piece of shade cloth over the plants, figuring to leave it there until the turnips got adjusted to their new home.
That was five days ago -- and the turnips are doing just fine.
Now I have two flats of red and green cabbage to plant in Row E, near the fence. This is a problem because about a dozen ground squirrels live on the other side of the fence and they love to chew on little cabbage plants. This summer I planted a whole bed of zinnias in Row E and the ground squirrels ate them all.
So I need a plan. I might have enough black plastic netting to cover one or two rows of cabbage plants. This might work, so I will plant a small patch and then wait. If it keeps off the ground squirrels, then I will plant the rest of the cabbages in two or three weeks.
Next I will plant more onions. The ground squirrels don't bother with the onions, so I will just put them in the ground and walk away. I have been doing well with onions this summer, so I'm feeling good about this.
The Possum Tragedy. We are not at war with critters on this farm, we salute all life, and so, not being overly fond of possums, we were still roundly dismayed at a recent tragedy.
Out on the tennis court -- it used to be a tennis court before we turned this place back into a farm -- we store old pots and garbage cans and what-not. One old garbage can had a bunch of culled dahlia tubers in the bottom. Two possums climbed into the garbage can to eat the tubers.
They ate and they ate and then it rained and rained, and pretty soon the garbage can began to fill with water, and you would think that a possum, being smart enough to climb into a garbage can, would be smart enough to get out.
But no, they drowned. We discovered that the next day. I don't know why this made me sad, but I started to think about all the critters around here, great and small, the cute ones and the predators and the pests -- there is a lot of death around here.
I solemnly buried the two possums next to the tennis court and I am constructing a small garden and shrine in their honor. I'm calling it the Tomb of the Unknown Critter. This is a shady spot, so I hope to plant Astilbe, Bleeding Heart and a variety of ferns -- Currently we don't have a budget for buying decorative plants, but someday the shrine will blossom for the possums.
Success with Tomatoes. I grew Brandywine tomatoes from seed this year. Heirloom and organic, low-acid and not too sweet. You can just eat them. I'm trying to eat as many as I can.
Success with Carrots. I have overcome a mental block about growing carrots. You know that feeling, which is "I can't grow carrots. The little seeds are too tiny to plant, and if they come up, they are too thick and I can't thin them out, so I can't grow carrots."
But I gave myself a calm determination to overcome this obstacle and I got the carrots the grow this year.
Sagging Gates. This could happen on any farm. The wood gets soft on the gate post and the screws don't hold and the hinge kind of works its way loose and pretty soon the gate is scraping the ground when you open it. Then you check the gate post itself and it kind of wobbles. We arrived at this problem over at my brother's house. But he said he didn't use that gate very often, and then I said "Well, then we don't have to fix it just yet."
Politics. I don't have much to say. I was going to occupy Wall Street or Los Angeles or something -- I have vast experience in this area. I have slept on the sidewalk a hundred times in a dozen cities. I have dealt with the police. When you live on the street you have to get straight with the police every day. Here's a few things you need to know about "street work."
1. Never scare the police. Never do anything that frightens them, because they will strike back with power. This is what the wise old hobo taught me. He said, "Don't worry about being afraid of the cops, worry about them being afraid of you."
He said, "Never put your hand in your pockets when you're talking to a cop -- they might think you're armed."
2. Cops don't care a fig for political issues one way or the other. With a cop, it's all about turf. If you're on the street, on a certain block in a certain town, then you are on his turf, his beat, and that's all he cares about. He may or may not defend that turf ferociously. You may or may not refuse to move. But don't ever waste your time arguing the issues with a cop -- they don't care. But they do care intensely about the square footage of sidewalk under your feet.
3. Sanitation is not a phony issue. When one or two hundred people camp in a certain spot for over a month, things can get very funky -- believe me, I have seen this many times. You might need to go home for a day to wash your socks and take a shower. I think it would be a good idea to power wash that park in Manhattan -- not as a reason to get rid of the demonstrators, but simply because of basic hygiene.
So, instead of occupying Los Angeles, I went with Laurie to a two-day music festival in a campground next to Joshua Tree National Park. The weather was perfect and the music was wonderful. We had a really good time.
California Will Rise. A while back I wrote a California Booster Essay, about how this great state has wonderful opportunities for personal and financial gain. It was an optimistic statement, and not just a feeling, but grounded in reality. California will grow in a good way. Of course nobody believes that. Public opinion is almost unanimous in declaring that this place is going right down the toilet. All is lost. We are doomed to a squalid future. The California Dream has turned into a nightmare. That's what everybody says -- except me.
Unsubscribe by saying so in a reply.
Frog Hospital and Farm News Subscriptions. If you find this newsletter worthwhile, send a check for $25, made out to Fred Owens and mail it to Fred Owens, 7922 Santa Ana RD, Ventura CA, 93001.
Or Use PayPal. Go to the Frog Hospital blog and use the PayPal button.
--
Fred Owens
cell: 360-739-0214
My blog is Fred Owens
send mail to:
Fred Owens
7922 Santa Ana Rd
Ventura CA 93001
By Fred Owens
.
Georgie started the turnips in the greenhouse before going back to England in mid-September. Last week I took them out in flats when they were about four-inches tall and planted two 30-foot rows.
I put them in the new raised bed that Michael had constructed this summer. He had but good wire mesh underneath to keep the gophers out, then he replaced the topsoil and added a three-inch layer of sifted leaf mulch -- it looked like a work of art after he was finished.
It also seemed like the perfect place to plant the turnips for a winter garden, because it was in such a sunny place.
So I took out the flat of four-inch turnips to plant, but I was concerned about the heat. I figured that transplanting in the heat would put them in a swoon. So, after I got them in the ground, I put a very taut piece of twine between the two poles at each of the turnip bed, and then I flung a 30 by 20 foot piece of shade cloth over the plants, figuring to leave it there until the turnips got adjusted to their new home.
That was five days ago -- and the turnips are doing just fine.
Now I have two flats of red and green cabbage to plant in Row E, near the fence. This is a problem because about a dozen ground squirrels live on the other side of the fence and they love to chew on little cabbage plants. This summer I planted a whole bed of zinnias in Row E and the ground squirrels ate them all.
So I need a plan. I might have enough black plastic netting to cover one or two rows of cabbage plants. This might work, so I will plant a small patch and then wait. If it keeps off the ground squirrels, then I will plant the rest of the cabbages in two or three weeks.
Next I will plant more onions. The ground squirrels don't bother with the onions, so I will just put them in the ground and walk away. I have been doing well with onions this summer, so I'm feeling good about this.
The Possum Tragedy. We are not at war with critters on this farm, we salute all life, and so, not being overly fond of possums, we were still roundly dismayed at a recent tragedy.
Out on the tennis court -- it used to be a tennis court before we turned this place back into a farm -- we store old pots and garbage cans and what-not. One old garbage can had a bunch of culled dahlia tubers in the bottom. Two possums climbed into the garbage can to eat the tubers.
They ate and they ate and then it rained and rained, and pretty soon the garbage can began to fill with water, and you would think that a possum, being smart enough to climb into a garbage can, would be smart enough to get out.
But no, they drowned. We discovered that the next day. I don't know why this made me sad, but I started to think about all the critters around here, great and small, the cute ones and the predators and the pests -- there is a lot of death around here.
I solemnly buried the two possums next to the tennis court and I am constructing a small garden and shrine in their honor. I'm calling it the Tomb of the Unknown Critter. This is a shady spot, so I hope to plant Astilbe, Bleeding Heart and a variety of ferns -- Currently we don't have a budget for buying decorative plants, but someday the shrine will blossom for the possums.
Success with Tomatoes. I grew Brandywine tomatoes from seed this year. Heirloom and organic, low-acid and not too sweet. You can just eat them. I'm trying to eat as many as I can.
Success with Carrots. I have overcome a mental block about growing carrots. You know that feeling, which is "I can't grow carrots. The little seeds are too tiny to plant, and if they come up, they are too thick and I can't thin them out, so I can't grow carrots."
But I gave myself a calm determination to overcome this obstacle and I got the carrots the grow this year.
Sagging Gates. This could happen on any farm. The wood gets soft on the gate post and the screws don't hold and the hinge kind of works its way loose and pretty soon the gate is scraping the ground when you open it. Then you check the gate post itself and it kind of wobbles. We arrived at this problem over at my brother's house. But he said he didn't use that gate very often, and then I said "Well, then we don't have to fix it just yet."
Politics. I don't have much to say. I was going to occupy Wall Street or Los Angeles or something -- I have vast experience in this area. I have slept on the sidewalk a hundred times in a dozen cities. I have dealt with the police. When you live on the street you have to get straight with the police every day. Here's a few things you need to know about "street work."
1. Never scare the police. Never do anything that frightens them, because they will strike back with power. This is what the wise old hobo taught me. He said, "Don't worry about being afraid of the cops, worry about them being afraid of you."
He said, "Never put your hand in your pockets when you're talking to a cop -- they might think you're armed."
2. Cops don't care a fig for political issues one way or the other. With a cop, it's all about turf. If you're on the street, on a certain block in a certain town, then you are on his turf, his beat, and that's all he cares about. He may or may not defend that turf ferociously. You may or may not refuse to move. But don't ever waste your time arguing the issues with a cop -- they don't care. But they do care intensely about the square footage of sidewalk under your feet.
3. Sanitation is not a phony issue. When one or two hundred people camp in a certain spot for over a month, things can get very funky -- believe me, I have seen this many times. You might need to go home for a day to wash your socks and take a shower. I think it would be a good idea to power wash that park in Manhattan -- not as a reason to get rid of the demonstrators, but simply because of basic hygiene.
So, instead of occupying Los Angeles, I went with Laurie to a two-day music festival in a campground next to Joshua Tree National Park. The weather was perfect and the music was wonderful. We had a really good time.
California Will Rise. A while back I wrote a California Booster Essay, about how this great state has wonderful opportunities for personal and financial gain. It was an optimistic statement, and not just a feeling, but grounded in reality. California will grow in a good way. Of course nobody believes that. Public opinion is almost unanimous in declaring that this place is going right down the toilet. All is lost. We are doomed to a squalid future. The California Dream has turned into a nightmare. That's what everybody says -- except me.
Unsubscribe by saying so in a reply.
Frog Hospital and Farm News Subscriptions. If you find this newsletter worthwhile, send a check for $25, made out to Fred Owens and mail it to Fred Owens, 7922 Santa Ana RD, Ventura CA, 93001.
Or Use PayPal. Go to the Frog Hospital blog and use the PayPal button.
--
Fred Owens
cell: 360-739-0214
My blog is Fred Owens
send mail to:
Fred Owens
7922 Santa Ana Rd
Ventura CA 93001
Monday, September 19, 2011
Tomatoes and Sagging Gates
Farm News
By Fred Owens
I notice we haven't done politics in a while, so it's time.
I never could decide whether George Bush was dumb or just acted that way. But Rick Perry is fairly sure to be dumb from start to finish. It's no act.
It's true there are Texans who, out of modesty perhaps, adopt a low profile in the intellectual parade, but old Rick is the genuine article -- smarter than a cow and equal in brain power to the average Oklahoman.
I hope he gets the Republican nomination, because he will be easy to beat.
Meanwhile, our beloved President has not run out of chances. All you people who think he's finished need to understand this -- Barack Obama is smart and lucky.
California is Not a Sinking Ship. All the numbers and statistics point to a Golden State meltdown.
When I decided to move down to California last year, most people thought it was a bad idea -- the government is terrible, the freeways are falling apart, the smog is bad, the cost of living is outrageous, the state parks are dirty, the schools are radical cesspools and the immigrants are swarming on every block with obnoxious odors and foreign-sounding accents.
True, true, and if you're a quitter, I hope you enjoy your new life in Idaho,
But those same facts don't measure attitude, especially my attitude. I'm not really crazy, I'm just five years ahead of everybody else. I like it here. I see opportunity. I feel energy. I meet people who have dreams. I meet people who are willing to work. The sheer amount of talent in this state is incredible -- from film-making to farming, they have everything in California.
Compare Texas and California. Think of all the wonderful movies about Texas -- John Wayne in Red River, Fess Parker playing Davy Crockett at the Alamo, William Holden in The Wild Bunch, Larry McMurtry's Lonesome Dove -- so many films that captured the true spirit of Texas.
And all those movies were made in California by the creative energy of California's film community -- with a few location shots, of course.
You know, I think Rick Perry ought to make a personal pilgrimage to the Hollywood moguls, those godless liberals, and thank them for creating the wonderful image of freedom and strength that is so strongly identified with the Lone Star State.
But that's glitter and hype and propaganda, real life is about substance, so we need to look at the basics of life and the good of the soil. Where does our breakfast come from, our lunch, our dinner, and our late-night snacks? Which state is the mightiest, most abundant and most fertile producer of agricultural products in the country, in the world, and in the entire history of agriculture -- California.
California leads all of the other states in farm income. We have food and we have movies, We have substance and style, we have facts on the ground and we turn them into legends on the silver screen.
I wouldn't bet against California. It's not over. Wait and see.
Governor Perry has other ideas. He dreams of a country without a minimum wage law, with fewer restrictions on child labor, no social security, no unions, and no environmental restrictions. But all he has to do is drive south until he gets to Mexico where all his dreams of freedom can come true.
If Governor Perry lived in Mexico his grandchildren would be free to work in the fields and to sell Chiclets by the side of the road, and they better work hard at it too because they will be supporting Grandpa Perry in his old age -- Isn't that the good old-fashioned way?
The funny thing is that so many Mexicans want to give up this free-market freedom and come to the United States.
I talked to a migrant worker last month. He was from Mexico, he said to me in Spanish. Seeing my age, he asked me if I got Social Security. I said yes. And he looked like he had died and gone to heaven, and I thought, good buddy, mi hermano, just hang on, get legal and some day you'll get Social Security too.
Amen to that.
Right here in California, working on a farm -- that migrant worker and me, sharing the same dream.
Note: Texas is suffering from a terrible drought this year. My heart goes out to all those good people I know in Texas. What I said here is just politics. I love you all. I'm praying for the rain -- and it will come.
Tomatoes and Sagging Gates. New readers of the Farm News might have expected a story about Tomatoes and Sagging Gates. Instead they got a political angle about Texas and California. Please don't feel confused and misled. Experienced readers of the Farm News are used to these sudden changes -- they realize they are in the presence of a great mind at work.
And I thank you for your time.
Unsubscribe Anytime. Just hit reply and say "Unsubscribe."
--
Fred Owens
cell: 360-739-0214
My blog is Fred Owens
send mail to:
Fred Owens
7922 Santa Ana Rd
Ventura CA 93001
By Fred Owens
I notice we haven't done politics in a while, so it's time.
I never could decide whether George Bush was dumb or just acted that way. But Rick Perry is fairly sure to be dumb from start to finish. It's no act.
It's true there are Texans who, out of modesty perhaps, adopt a low profile in the intellectual parade, but old Rick is the genuine article -- smarter than a cow and equal in brain power to the average Oklahoman.
I hope he gets the Republican nomination, because he will be easy to beat.
Meanwhile, our beloved President has not run out of chances. All you people who think he's finished need to understand this -- Barack Obama is smart and lucky.
California is Not a Sinking Ship. All the numbers and statistics point to a Golden State meltdown.
When I decided to move down to California last year, most people thought it was a bad idea -- the government is terrible, the freeways are falling apart, the smog is bad, the cost of living is outrageous, the state parks are dirty, the schools are radical cesspools and the immigrants are swarming on every block with obnoxious odors and foreign-sounding accents.
True, true, and if you're a quitter, I hope you enjoy your new life in Idaho,
But those same facts don't measure attitude, especially my attitude. I'm not really crazy, I'm just five years ahead of everybody else. I like it here. I see opportunity. I feel energy. I meet people who have dreams. I meet people who are willing to work. The sheer amount of talent in this state is incredible -- from film-making to farming, they have everything in California.
Compare Texas and California. Think of all the wonderful movies about Texas -- John Wayne in Red River, Fess Parker playing Davy Crockett at the Alamo, William Holden in The Wild Bunch, Larry McMurtry's Lonesome Dove -- so many films that captured the true spirit of Texas.
And all those movies were made in California by the creative energy of California's film community -- with a few location shots, of course.
You know, I think Rick Perry ought to make a personal pilgrimage to the Hollywood moguls, those godless liberals, and thank them for creating the wonderful image of freedom and strength that is so strongly identified with the Lone Star State.
But that's glitter and hype and propaganda, real life is about substance, so we need to look at the basics of life and the good of the soil. Where does our breakfast come from, our lunch, our dinner, and our late-night snacks? Which state is the mightiest, most abundant and most fertile producer of agricultural products in the country, in the world, and in the entire history of agriculture -- California.
California leads all of the other states in farm income. We have food and we have movies, We have substance and style, we have facts on the ground and we turn them into legends on the silver screen.
I wouldn't bet against California. It's not over. Wait and see.
Governor Perry has other ideas. He dreams of a country without a minimum wage law, with fewer restrictions on child labor, no social security, no unions, and no environmental restrictions. But all he has to do is drive south until he gets to Mexico where all his dreams of freedom can come true.
If Governor Perry lived in Mexico his grandchildren would be free to work in the fields and to sell Chiclets by the side of the road, and they better work hard at it too because they will be supporting Grandpa Perry in his old age -- Isn't that the good old-fashioned way?
The funny thing is that so many Mexicans want to give up this free-market freedom and come to the United States.
I talked to a migrant worker last month. He was from Mexico, he said to me in Spanish. Seeing my age, he asked me if I got Social Security. I said yes. And he looked like he had died and gone to heaven, and I thought, good buddy, mi hermano, just hang on, get legal and some day you'll get Social Security too.
Amen to that.
Right here in California, working on a farm -- that migrant worker and me, sharing the same dream.
Note: Texas is suffering from a terrible drought this year. My heart goes out to all those good people I know in Texas. What I said here is just politics. I love you all. I'm praying for the rain -- and it will come.
Tomatoes and Sagging Gates. New readers of the Farm News might have expected a story about Tomatoes and Sagging Gates. Instead they got a political angle about Texas and California. Please don't feel confused and misled. Experienced readers of the Farm News are used to these sudden changes -- they realize they are in the presence of a great mind at work.
And I thank you for your time.
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--
Fred Owens
cell: 360-739-0214
My blog is Fred Owens
send mail to:
Fred Owens
7922 Santa Ana Rd
Ventura CA 93001
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Olive Trees in the Ojai Valley
FARM NEWS
By Fred Owens
Waiting. I'm in the town of Ojai, at the library, waiting for some thing or some one. If I look up from this desk and look out the window, facing north, I can see a ridge of mountains close to 5,000 feet high. The highest one is called Topa Topa.
The mountains are green, peopled with low bushes that stay green all summer. They don't need rain. It hasn't rained since May. This is a dry country.
Yesterday Bob Dent showed me around the Deer Creek Olive Orchard in the upper part of the Ojai Valley.
I waited to meet him at 3 p.m., waiting at an outdoor cafe called The Summit. I got there early, at 2:30 p.m. and had a Pepsi with ice.
I like to get places early so I can see the sounds and hear the scenery, watch the cars go by, and look at people coming and going.
It was hot, it's often very hot in Ojai, but then a cloud came in at 2:45 and it was cooler and I took off my sun glasses.
The cafe closed at 3 p.m. but I was still waiting for Bob Dent. I called him on my cell at quarter past -- he said sorry, slipped his mind, be there in a minute.
So he pulled up in his truck and I followed him over to the orchard.
He showed me around. They have trees planted in 2006, doing fine at 6-feet tall. And they will be kept only 6-feet tall. People don't use ladders any more in the orchard work -- too many accidents, and it's tiring, climbing up and down. Better to just keep the trees small and reach them from the ground.
The olive trees are of a type called arbequina, an Italian variety. The slim silver leaves look so natural in this dry climate.
Bob said he had worked avocados for many years, but olives were much better. "You can't miss watering the avocados, they get stressed right away, but the olives are more forgiving, used to dry country and they don't need as much water."
In fact, a bit less water makes the tree produce more fruit.
The harvest will be in late November. It's a small orchard, a crew will come in -- guys who can pick olives like bandits and go from one orchard to another -- they will come in and pick the Deer Creek olives in one day.
Then the olives go to the press to get the oil. This is scheduled and booked. You have 48 hours, by law and by custom, to get those olives to the press, so you must have that arranged with careful people who know their business.
Deer Creek produces EVOO -- Extra Virgin Olive Oil, the very best.
Bob Dent doesn't know the olive harvest or the oil press, but he knows how to tend the trees year round.
He has a dog named Lily, a Rhodesian Ridgeback. She followed us around the orchard -- a very intelligent animal. Bob keeps the grass mowed between the rows. He uses a gas-powered hedger to cut down the suckers that spring from the older Mission trees. And other chores.
This orchard has 40 or 50 old trees, maybe one hundred years old. Olives give fruit for many, many years. But these old trees have been trimmed at the top, and that forces too many suckers to come out of the base, so Bob will be cutting back those suckers for a few years now.
Fruit flies are a problem. but olives don't have too many pests. They are just a hardy kind of fruit, and make such a wonderful oil. Olive oil is good for you in many ways.
That's the Olive News from the Ojai Valley. But don't forget the dahlia Open House at Love House Dahlias. It's blossom time, hundreds of gorgeous dahlias. Open every weekend in September.
Unsubscribe by saying so in a reply.
Frog Hospital and Farm News Subscriptions. If you find this newsletter worthwhile, send a check for $25, made out to Fred Owens and mail it to Fred Owens, 7922 Santa Ana RD, Ventura CA, 93001.
Or Use PayPal. Go to the Frog Hospital blog and use the PayPal button.
--
Fred Owens
cell: 360-739-0214
My blog is Fred Owens
send mail to:
Fred Owens
7922 Santa Ana Rd
Ventura CA 93001
By Fred Owens
Waiting. I'm in the town of Ojai, at the library, waiting for some thing or some one. If I look up from this desk and look out the window, facing north, I can see a ridge of mountains close to 5,000 feet high. The highest one is called Topa Topa.
The mountains are green, peopled with low bushes that stay green all summer. They don't need rain. It hasn't rained since May. This is a dry country.
Yesterday Bob Dent showed me around the Deer Creek Olive Orchard in the upper part of the Ojai Valley.
I waited to meet him at 3 p.m., waiting at an outdoor cafe called The Summit. I got there early, at 2:30 p.m. and had a Pepsi with ice.
I like to get places early so I can see the sounds and hear the scenery, watch the cars go by, and look at people coming and going.
It was hot, it's often very hot in Ojai, but then a cloud came in at 2:45 and it was cooler and I took off my sun glasses.
The cafe closed at 3 p.m. but I was still waiting for Bob Dent. I called him on my cell at quarter past -- he said sorry, slipped his mind, be there in a minute.
So he pulled up in his truck and I followed him over to the orchard.
He showed me around. They have trees planted in 2006, doing fine at 6-feet tall. And they will be kept only 6-feet tall. People don't use ladders any more in the orchard work -- too many accidents, and it's tiring, climbing up and down. Better to just keep the trees small and reach them from the ground.
The olive trees are of a type called arbequina, an Italian variety. The slim silver leaves look so natural in this dry climate.
Bob said he had worked avocados for many years, but olives were much better. "You can't miss watering the avocados, they get stressed right away, but the olives are more forgiving, used to dry country and they don't need as much water."
In fact, a bit less water makes the tree produce more fruit.
The harvest will be in late November. It's a small orchard, a crew will come in -- guys who can pick olives like bandits and go from one orchard to another -- they will come in and pick the Deer Creek olives in one day.
Then the olives go to the press to get the oil. This is scheduled and booked. You have 48 hours, by law and by custom, to get those olives to the press, so you must have that arranged with careful people who know their business.
Deer Creek produces EVOO -- Extra Virgin Olive Oil, the very best.
Bob Dent doesn't know the olive harvest or the oil press, but he knows how to tend the trees year round.
He has a dog named Lily, a Rhodesian Ridgeback. She followed us around the orchard -- a very intelligent animal. Bob keeps the grass mowed between the rows. He uses a gas-powered hedger to cut down the suckers that spring from the older Mission trees. And other chores.
This orchard has 40 or 50 old trees, maybe one hundred years old. Olives give fruit for many, many years. But these old trees have been trimmed at the top, and that forces too many suckers to come out of the base, so Bob will be cutting back those suckers for a few years now.
Fruit flies are a problem. but olives don't have too many pests. They are just a hardy kind of fruit, and make such a wonderful oil. Olive oil is good for you in many ways.
That's the Olive News from the Ojai Valley. But don't forget the dahlia Open House at Love House Dahlias. It's blossom time, hundreds of gorgeous dahlias. Open every weekend in September.
Unsubscribe by saying so in a reply.
Frog Hospital and Farm News Subscriptions. If you find this newsletter worthwhile, send a check for $25, made out to Fred Owens and mail it to Fred Owens, 7922 Santa Ana RD, Ventura CA, 93001.
Or Use PayPal. Go to the Frog Hospital blog and use the PayPal button.
--
Fred Owens
cell: 360-739-0214
My blog is Fred Owens
send mail to:
Fred Owens
7922 Santa Ana Rd
Ventura CA 93001
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