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" I heard it
through the
AgLine"
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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."
Return to Top
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.
Return to Top
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.' "
Return to Top
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.
Return to Top
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 Earths
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 Brashers fifth trip to Africa. Brasher, who is based in the Registers Washington bureau, was
the national farm writer for the Associated Press before joining the Register
in 2002.
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End Transmission