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May 11, 2010

 

 

·        Farmers say ag workers are tough to find

·        Oregon man is food-borne illness sleuth

·        Anti-tobacco farming program up in smoke

·        Herbicides used to sterilize not kill weeds

·        Special Report: Can biotech save Africa?

 

 

Farmers say ag workers are tough to find

 

(AP via The Washington Post) MONTPELIER, Vt. -- Even during the recession, foreign workers harvested vegetables, milked cows and picked apples on many U.S. farms, doing work that farmers say Americans don't want to do.

 

Most Americans shy away from jobs such as hand-picking tomatoes or cutting cabbage because the work is seasonal, physically tough, out in the elements and often in remote areas, farmers say. To get the jobs done, many farmers hire foreign workers, including some who are illegal, and they say a crackdown on illegal immigration combined with changes to a visa program for temporary workers could make it even harder for them to find reliable employees.

 

Farmers want Congress to pass an "AgJobs" bill that would enable those who have worked in U.S. agriculture for at least 150 days in the previous two years to get some kind of legal status. They also say the visa program for temporary workers needs to be simplified. Without those changes, some farmers say they may have to cut back production because of a shortage of reliable labor.

 

Jim Bittner, who relies largely on migrant workers originally from Mexico, said he cut down a quarter of his cherry and peach trees at Singer Farms in Appleton, N.Y., in recent years because of competition from cheap fruit imports and a lack of workers to hand-pick the fruit.

 

"We can find tractor drivers, people who apply pesticide and truck drivers, but we can't find people to do the harvest," Bittner said.

 

California's Imperial Valley used to be a big asparagus producer, but the area planted with asparagus dropped from 786 acres in 2006 to 373 acres in 2008 partly because farms couldn't get enough workers to cut, sort and pack the vegetable - all of which must be done by hand, said Ayron Moiola, the executive director of the Imperial Valley Vegetable Growers Association.

 

"Asparagus in the Imperial Valley is an indicator as to what happens with crops that are labor intensive and what happens when labor becomes unfeasible economically and also just hard to find," she said.

 

The recession stemmed a flow of workers from farms to construction and other jobs. In 2006, before the economy collapsed, Washington state and its apple growers tried to recruit pickers to fill 1,700 jobs. They set up orientation and training sessions in six towns in eastern Washington and advertised them in newspapers and on the radio, but only 40 people showed up, and just 10 applied for jobs and were hired.

 

Washington officials say they seem to have enough workers this year, but as the job market slowly recovers, no one expects farmers' hiring to get easier.

 

"Nobody who is informed on this issue seriously contends that somehow some great societal shift is going to cause a whole bunch of Americans to go back into these jobs," said Craig Regelbrugge, vice president for government relations with the American Nursery and Landscape Association and co-chair of the Agriculture Coalition for Immigration Reform.

 

More than half of the crop workers hired in the U.S. between 2005 and 2007 were in the country illegally, according to the federal government's National Agricultural Worker Survey.

 

Jessica Vaughan, director of policy studies at the Washington-based Center for Immigration Studies, which advocates for tougher immigration laws, thinks the problem is that farmers have become addicted to cheap, foreign labor and haven't been forced to raise wages to attract other workers or consider mechanization.

 

"No one has really thought about how to change the equation to try to break the cycle of what the growers say is need and what some economists say is really more want," she said.

 

Jake Guest employs about 20 local workers at his organic vegetable farm in Vermont, but he still relies on two Jamaican farmworkers to spend hours picking strawberries and weeding.

 

"The problem is that the kind of work that these guy do, people don't want to do it," he said.

 

But changes to the H2-A program have made it more complicated and costly to legally hire temporary workers, Guest said. The program can't be used to fill jobs that are considered year-round, such as milking on dairy farms.

 

In February, the U.S. Labor Department issued regulations to increase wages and job safety protections for temporary farm workers, reversing Bush-era changes that farm worker advocates said promoted cheap labor and undercut domestic hiring. The changes also require growers to do more to try to fill the jobs with American workers.

 

For Guest, it means he must advertise the jobs in Vermont, two neighboring states and either Florida or Texas, pay $1,000 for the Jamaicans' transportation to his Norwich farm, pay $120 in government fees for each and provide housing. The law requires Guest to pay the Jamaicans $10 an hour, and he can't pay domestic workers doing the same job less.

 

It's worth it to have skilled workers, he said.

 

"If you've got a sink drain that doesn't work, you don't hire a college student to fix it," Guest said. "You don't hire a painter. If you've got strawberries to pick, you hire a professional picker."

 

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Oregon man is food-borne illness sleuth

 

(AP via KMTR.com) PORTLAND, Ore.  — The bookshelves in William Keene's small, crowded office are stocked with an odd assortment of food. Packages of Dole spinach and lettuce sit near a jar of Peter Pan peanut butter. Tubs of Nestle Toll House cookie dough stand next to a box of Clif bars. There's also a bottle of Odwalla apple juice, boxes of Austin peanut butter crackers and a can of Castleberry chili.

 

Want Trader Joe's almonds or Daniele salami? He's got those, too.

 

But this is not a pantry. It's a museum marking Keene's career.

 

He's Oregon's top food-borne illness detective. During the past 20 years, he's solved or helped solve many outbreaks, gaining the respect of his peers and bolstering the state's stature as a leader in identifying tainted food.

 

"He's one of the food safety heroes in the U.S.," says Michael Osterholm, head of the Center for Infectious Disease Research and Policy at the University of Minnesota.

 

Every year, hundreds of thousands of Oregonians come down with food poisoning and as many as 50 die.

 

Although Keene works out of the public eye, he's directly affected consumers by preventing even more illnesses.

 

"He's uncovered outbreaks that might have gone on and made people sick for long periods of time at low levels," said Dr. Paul Cieslak, who leads the communicable disease program in the state Public Health Division.

 

Case in point: a salmonella outbreak in 2004.

 

Over several months, a trickling of people in Oregon were sickened by salmonella enteritidis. There were cases in other states as well but because it was a relatively common strain of salmonella, epidemiologists did not connect them.

 

Keene's office did. In fact, it cracked the case using his "shotgun" questionnaire.

 

He crafted the nine-page survey to help epidemiologists pinpoint the source of an outbreak by having patients answer questions about what they they've eaten and where they've dined.

 

When a colleague questioned Oregon's five patients in the outbreak, all said they had consumed raw almonds from Costco.

 

When the news came in, Keene called the company's head of food safety, who initiated a recall of the nuts from Paramount Farms north of Los Angeles. Keene later visited the manufacturer's facility in California as part of the investigation.

 

In the end, an outbreak that epidemiologists suspect had sickened people for years ended and a new phase in almond safety began. The Almond Board of California, which had marketed the nuts as a healthy snack, decided that all almonds sold directly to consumers would be treated to kill bacteria.

 

Keene, 53, refuses to take direct credit for cracking the case.

 

"No one by themselves is a food-borne disease outbreak army," Osterholm says. "It really does take a team. But you have to have someone lead that team, and Bill's overall expertise is critical."

 

Keene, a bear of a man with a big beard, has a zest for cracking food poisoning cases that is evident on his vanity license plate, named after the deadliest strain of E. coli: O157:H7. He works sometimes round-the-clock, showing up at the office in green clogs and khaki pants. He's surrounded by images from his work yet keeps one drawer stocked with exotic teas that he serves to colleagues from a white porcelain pot.

 

His casual manner reflects his upbringing in the Northwest. He grew up in Seattle in a middle class family — his father was an accountant at Boeing and his mother a homemaker — and he devoured detective stories as a youth.

 

After high school, he went to Yale University, where he earned a bachelor's degree in anthropology in 1977.

 

He later spent two years in India and Pakistan researching monkeys.

 

"I lived in the Himalayan foothills the '70s, chasing wild rhesus monkeys," he says. "It was fun."

 

On his return to the states, he got a job as a lab technician at the University of California at San Francisco and became interested in parasites. He started graduate school at Johns Hopkins University in Baltimore in parasitology but transferred to the University of California at Berkeley. In 1989, he graduated from Berkeley with a doctorate in microbiology and a masters in public health.

 

A year later, he landed essentially the same job that he has today.

 

"This is my first epidemiology-related job and here I sit," he says. "I was very lucky."

 

The work is challenging — new food culprits pop up all the time — and relentless. He tackles about 200 outbreaks a year.

 

On vacation, he often works for the World Health Organization. He traveled to Indonesia after the 9.1 magnitude earthquake in 2004 and has worked on food safety issues in Sudan, Iran, Pakistan, India, Sri Lanka, Nepal and Thailand.

 

"I've been lucky to be able to travel and see how public health works in some other parts of the world or how it doesn't work," Keene says. "I always come back and think we always complain with how things work here but it's really not that bad compared to a lot of the world."

 

Keene spends a lot of time working the phones, crunching data and devising new investigative tools.

 

He works closely with colleagues in Oregon and other states, trying to crack outbreaks.

 

"Sometimes there's a bit of arm twisting and cajoling," he says. "I try to bring people together and move these investigations along."

 

He often takes an unconventional approach. Traditionally, epidemiologists have compared sick people to a control group to crack an outbreak, but Keene doesn't do that when the answer seems obvious.

 

"He zeros in on certain items in a way that a lot of places don't because they're still slavishly going through their control study to see if they have statistical significance," Cieslak says. "He's zealous. Energetic. Dedicated. Diligent. He pursues it until he finds it."

 

But not every case gets cracked.

 

"There are a lot of things that get away," Keene says. "And sometimes we have partial success."

 

But if he weren't on the job a lot more cases would go unresolved, experts say.

 

"You want to stop the outbreak as quickly as possible to minimize the number of people who get sick," he says.

 

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Anti-tobacco farming program up in smoke

 

(Canada.com) TILLSONBURG, Ont. — Colin Yarmie pulls the little spout from its water-filled growing tray and gestures toward the thousands of other tobacco plants crammed into two steamy greenhouses on his family farm. By the end of May, Yarmie says, all will be planted in nearby fields, filling 90 acres (36.4 hectares) with Canada's most controversial cash crop.

 

And yet, less than two years ago, the 23-year-old farmer's parents took part in a buyout from the federal government designed to close the curtains on the industry, and ease growers like them into other, more socially palatable crops.

 

Last year, 24 acres (9.7 hectares) of tobacco was grown on Yarmie land; this year it will be almost four times as much.

 

The story is the same throughout southwestern Ontario's tobacco belt, with almost 50 million pounds (22,680 metric tonnes) of the leaf projected to be grown this season, more than double the size a year before the $286-million "Tobacco Transition Program" was offered. The province has issued more than 260 growing licences, nearly 2 1/2 times the number in 2009, the first post-buyout season, according to Agriculture Ministry figures.

 

"I always wanted to do this," said Yarmie, who attended business school before recently obtaining a tobacco-growing licence and returning to the farm. "But it was never really an option before now. . . . Dad always said, 'Go get an education, there is no stability in this.' "

 

The tobacco belt's unexpected and politically awkward rebound — it has not seen a crop this big since 2006 — may ironically be a partial result of the federal government's own rules. They allow farmers who took the payments to rent their land and equipment and hire out themselves to licence holders, who often are adult children or acquaintances, dubbed "fake farmers" by some.

 

Yarmie, who is clearly a bona-fide farmer now, said he is paying his parents rent and wages under the system, while they help him with the tobacco, and try to make a go with an alternative crop — shallots.

 

All but 18 of Ontario's 1,083 tobacco growers accepted the transition payments in August 2008, receiving on average more than $270,000. The fact that far more tobacco is being grown this year than the last three has understandably infuriated anti-smoking advocates.

 

"What did taxpayers just pay $300 million for?" asked Neil Collishaw, research director of Physicians for a Smoke-free Canada. "The way the program was initially advertised, tobacco farming was on its way out in Canada. . . . If it's on its way out, how come it's on its way back in?"

 

The answer, and the recent history of tobacco farming generally, is as hazy as a smoke-filled room. Those at the centre of the controversy insist this is not a story of opportunists taking advantage of a leaky government spending program.

 

The money offered should have been much more, and would have been had Ontario's Liberal government agreed to contribute its own share, said John Stewart, a former tobacco farmer who accepted the payment. Quebec matched federal funding in a similar program a few years ago, and the sector was entirely extinguished there, he said.

 

Ontario never did pitch in, and many growers took the resulting buyouts reluctantly, after being told that tobacco was dying, and that their quotas — valuable assets that used to be bought and sold — would be rendered worthless under the new licensing system, said Stewart.

 

The money itself helped pay off some, though not all, of their debts. They still have to put food on the table, and growing tobacco is the only business many of them know, he said.

 

Meanwhile, there is at least one clear beneficiary of the program: cigarette manufacturers themselves. Under the old quota system, prices were essentially negotiated industry-wide by a marketing board, affording farmers some leverage. Under the new licence scheme, each grower negotiates a contract with the company or wholesaler, giving the buyer the upper hand. The price has dropped from about $2.60 a pound to about $2.20 in the last couple of years.

 

"The companies are happy," Stewart said. "They've basically got the farmer under their thumbs."

 

In fact, the crop is still far off the 140 million pounds (63,503 metric tonnes) grown just a decade ago. The manufacturers have for years been importing large amounts of raw leaf from Brazil and other developing countries that keep prices cheap with low labour costs. Contraband cigarettes produced on native reserves and elsewhere have also undercut the legal market.

 

A drive around Tillsonburg makes it clear the business is still in decline, despite this year's comeback. The old office of the Ontario Flu-cured Tobacco Growers Marketing Board — once the region's economic hub — has been sold to a local conservation authority, the former owner's name a faint shadow where its sign once hung. Cigarette company plants have closed; a condominium-housing development sits half empty — finished homes side by side with bare, cement foundations — after the developer went bankrupt; the new-looking Kelsey's restaurant has been shuttered.

 

Even tobacco farmers who see no future in the business, however, face a significant challenge: finding an alternative crop. Over and over, farmers have switched to vegetables that thrive in the area's sandy soil, only to drive down prices in what can be fragile markets.

 

Brenda Lammens is bitterly aware of that danger. She and her husband left tobacco a decade ago, without benefit of government funding, feeling the industry's days were numbered. They built one of two operations in Ontario that grew Belgian endive and eked out a modest living at it, before a tobacco farmer who had taken a 2005 buyout planted 50 acres (20.2 hectares) of the crop, twice the Lammens' output.

 

The price plunged, forcing the Lammens out of the business within two years — and leaving the ex-tobacco grower himself bankrupt.

 

"It was just very, very hurtful, because someone received . . . money and abused it and went bankrupt and there were no repercussions from the government," said Lammens, who had to sell one of the family farms to cover her losses. "It has destroyed my husband's desire to want to continue farming. It has been devastating to us."

 

Another tobacco grower went into pumpkins, only to have existing growers — afraid their market would be flooded — pelt him with his own products when he delivered them to the Ontario Food Terminal. That was the end of his commercial pumpkin patch, said Stewart.

 

Stewart himself said he considered growing corn and beans this year, but now figures it is not economically viable and might look for a job off the farm.

 

Farmer Deb Gilvesy is hedging her bets; she and her husband opened a second tanning salon in the Tillsonburg area after taking the tobacco buyout, though it means relying on another product with dubious health effects. Gilvesy believes she has found the ideal transition crop, however, one that is seemingly tailor-made for these environmentally conscious times — and won't put vegetable growers out of business.

 

She has already begun growing a field of native tall grasses that can be processed into ethanol and other bio-fuels, just the type of carbon-energy alternative the Ontario government has been promoting.

 

The only problem is that it takes three years for the grasses to get thick enough to make harvesting worthwhile. So now she is arguing that the province do its bit for tobacco growers by providing the startup funding they would need to get into biofuel grasses in a big way.

 

"This is homegrown, invest-in-your-back-yard energy," said Gilvesy. "There is an abundance of land just sitting there waiting for something new. . . . How often does something new come along in agriculture?"

 

A few kilometres away, Lammens struggles to survive on her own, remaining alternative crop — asparagus — against intense competition from places such as Peru and Mexico.

 

Lammens said locals not growing tobacco have tried to be "polite" about the buyouts, which averaged $270,000 per farmer, given the industry's importance to the local economy.

 

As she considers the layoffs and shutdowns at the area's automobile plants and other major employers, though, she admits she is not always sympathetic.

 

"There are a lot of factories that have closed, those people can't find work, they're going through transition, too. But the tobacco sector at least got paid something. For the rest of us, there's no cheque," she said. "When you hear the cries for more money, you just want to shake your head and say, 'I don't want to hear it.' "

 

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Herbicides used to sterilize not kill weeds

 

(USDA-ARS) – Using herbicides to sterilize rather than to kill weedy grasses might be a more economical and environmentally sound weed control strategy, according to a study by Agricultural Research Service (ARS) scientists and a cooperator.

 

Rangeland ecologist Matt Rinella at the ARS Fort Keogh Livestock and Range Research Laboratory in Miles City, Mont., conducted the study with colleagues at Miles City and Robert Masters with Dow AgroSciences LLC, in Indianapolis, Ind.

 

Exotic annual grasses such as Japanese brome, cheatgrass and medusahead are harming millions of acres of grassland in the western United States. Currently, the herbicides used to control these invasive grasses also sometimes damage desirable perennial grasses.

 

In contrast, when used properly, growth regulators typically do not greatly harm desirable perennial grasses. Growth regulator herbicides are used to control broadleaf weeds in wheat and other crop grasses, as well as on rangelands. Rinella and his colleagues knew that when dicamba and other growth regulator herbicides were applied to cereal crops late in their growth stage, just before seed formation, the plants produced far fewer seeds.

 

The scientists decided to see if these herbicides had the same harmful late-stage application effects on the invasive weed Japanese brome. In greenhouse experiments, they tested dicamba (Banvel/Clarity), 2,4-D, and picloram (Tordon) at typically used rates. They found that picloram reduced seed production nearly 100 percent when applied at the late growth stage of the weed. Dicamba was slightly less effective, but still nearly eliminated all seed production, while 2,4-D was much less effective.

 

Since annual grass seeds only survive in soil a year or two, it should only take one to three years of herbicide treatment at the right growth stage to greatly reduce the soil seed bank of annual weedy grasses without harming perennial grasses.

 

Rinella has recently finished field tests that support the greenhouse experiment results. He also tested the herbicide aminopyralid (Milestone) and found it was as effective as picloram. Next he will test much lower doses of the herbicides in an attempt to lower costs and reduce non-target damage to broadleaf plants.

 

The research was published in the journal Invasive Plant Science and Management.

 

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Special Report: Can biotech save Africa?

 

(DesMoinesRegister.com) By Philip Basher

 

Introduction:

 

High-tech seeds have transformed agriculture in Iowa, helping ensure a plentiful, cheap supply of corn for food, fuel and other uses.

Monsanto and Pioneer Hi-Bred believe biotechnology will change the world, too. The companies, which have major operations in central Iowa, are developing corn seeds to thrive in East African soils with little water or fertilizer.

Critics dismiss the projects as publicity stunts. But supporters say that if the projects are successful, the seeds could grow into a new green revolution. They say biotech crops could boost food production, which the United Nations estimates must increase 70 percent by 2050 as the Earth’s population grows.

 

Can biotechnology save Africa? Photo gallery

 

The series:

1. High hopes and high stakes: Challenges are many, ranging from farmers' poverty to suspicion of biotech crops.

 

2. "A shortage of maize means a shortage of food": Corn's role is critical in millions of Africans' diets. 'It's a bit like rice in China,' one official says.

 

3. Experts see cause for concern: Global prices of corn and other staple crops are expected to increase sharply because of the growing population, increased biofuel production and a rise in meat consumption.

 

4. Researchers prepare for field tests: An arid plain south of Nairobi is considered a good place to test drought-resistant biotech corn seeds: It doesn't rain for six months at a time.

 

About this project

 

Des Moines Register reporter Philip Brasher traveled to Kenya and South Africa in November after winning a World Affairs Journalism Fellowship.

 

This project was directed by the International Center for Journalists and funded by the Ethics and Excellence in Journalism Foundation and the Pulitzer Center on Crisis Reporting.

 

It was Brasher’s fifth trip to Africa. Brasher, who is based in the Register’s Washington bureau, was the national farm writer for the Associated Press before joining the Register in 2002.

 

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