Can small farmers solve our big problems?
by Toby Quantrill
With Live Below the Line fast approaching, this guest blog, which was originally published by the Fairtrade Foundation looks at how we can move towards a fairer world without hunger.
Fairtrade Fortnight launches this year amid increasing hunger in the developing world and sharply rising food and commodity prices caused by rising food demand, poor harvests, climate change, excessive speculation and hoarding.
As concern grows over how the world will feed a rapidly rising population, it is almost taken for granted that increased food production will be supplied by big agri-business operating over large tracts of land and pushing down costs with aggressive margins.
There are, however, 450 million smallholders on whom another 1.5 billion rely on for their food and livelihood. The needs and the potential of these people are all too often forgotten in the escalating global food crisis.
Two years ago, in the light of the food price spikes of 2008, the Fairtrade Foundation released a study showing how smallholder farmers are often among the most vulnerable to increased food prices. Producers in poor countries sit at the wrong end of both chains – paying over the odds for food and fertilizers while receiving a pittance for the product of their skills and labour. A UN report on global hunger, in 2006 indicated that half the world’s ‘hungry’ were actually farmers.
This situation is not inevitable. It is a direct consequence of deep rooted inequality, in global society and in the food system specifically.
There is a growing consensus that something is broken in global supply chains. In January 2011 the British government, in its Foresight report ‘Global Food and Farming Futures’, acknowledged ‘a compelling case for urgent action to redesign the global food system’. The Foresight report highlighted both the need to reduce volatility in food prices and to ensure that increasing food production is matched with action to secure universal access to food.
A few months earlier, the Food and Ethics Council launched their excellent report ‘Food Justice’. This report made clear the creation of a fairer food system is central to achieving wider sustainability and health goals.
In 2009, the ‘International Assessment of Agricultural Knowledge, Science and Technology for Development’ (IAASTD), set out to respond to ‘the widespread realization that despite significant scientific and technological achievements in our ability to increase agricultural productivity, we have been less attentive to some of the unintended social and environmental consequences of our achievements’. Policy options from the report for addressing food security include major investment in smallholder agriculture and ‘increasing the full range of agricultural exports and imports, including organic and Fair Trade products’
The Food Ethics Council report is particularly welcome as too many recent discussions about food security have focussed understandably, albeit simplistically, on the need to produce more and more food, but ignored issues of justice and equity.
We are surely shooting ourselves in the foot if, in our drive to increase food production, we leave more people unable to afford the additional food that we produce. As we stand the worlds agriculture provides more than enough food for six billion, but a high percentage of this is wasted, thrown away or adds to the growing problem of obesity while others go hungry.
A lot of discussions about food security focuses on the need to use technology and economies of scale to improve the efficiency of agricultural production. Such approaches will undoubtedly have a role to play, but a fair and sustainable food system will require an appropriate balance of investment in both small and large scale production.
In its 2011 ‘Rural Poverty Report’ the International Fund for Agriculture and Development (IFAD) President, Kanayo F Nwanze, stated that:
‘It is time to look at poor smallholder farmers and rural entrepreneurs in a completely new way – not as charity cases but as people whose innovation, dynamism and hard work will bring prosperity to their communities and greater food security to the world in the decades ahead.’
Across the world the Fairtrade movement provides thousands of examples demonstrating how smallholder farmers can use the opportunities provided by Fairtrade to invest in agricultural improvement and diversification. This experience complements an increasing number of studies, most notably by Olivier De Schutter, United Nations Special Rapporteur on the Right to Food, suggesting that investing in smallholder farms can be a route to:
- Substantial gains in terms of productivity per hectare
- Improving environmentally sustainablity
- Poverty reduction and improved equality of income
One of the critical factors to achieving these improvements has been effective organisation. The Fairtrade system requires smallholders to organise into cooperatives or other forms of democratic institution. This organisation can provide smallholders with greater control over price setting, access to knowledge and opportunities to capture value.
A paper by the Natural Resources Institute (NRI) in 2010, reviewing all published literature investigating Fairtrade’s impact (over 80 reports in total), concluded that the published literature strongly supports the argument that Fairtrade is having positive economic and empowerment impacts for smallholder farmers and identified democratic organisation as being of particular relevance to the impact.
Of course, Fairtrade alone cannot create a sustainable food system. Much wider shifts in Aid and Trade policy will be required. As an example the recent Government white paper on Trade acknowledges the role that trade can play in development and makes a strong commitment to the ‘Aid for Trade’ programme. This is 15% of the UK’s Aid budget which is spent against a set of criteria explicitly designed to increase poor countries ability to benefit from trade.
A 2009 report by the Brussels-based Fair Trade Advocacy Office shows that, of the £155 million spent between 2001 – 2005 by the UK on Aid for Trade (based on a relatively narrow definition of ‘Aid for Trade’), only 29 projects with combined funds of approximately US$7 million were specifically designed to benefit smallholders – just 2% of the total.
While investment in large scale infrastructure is necessary, it is unlikely to be sufficient to ensure that poor farmers are able to realise the potential trade can offer. Greater emphasis must be placed on programmes with an explicit focus on reaching rural communities. There is also a need to shift the focus towards ‘soft’ interventions such as organisational development, extension services, training and communications services that. Fairtrade has demonstrated just what a catalytic effect such support can have in bringing smallholder farmers into national and global markets.
The fantastic Fairtrade sales figures for 2010 show, even in these troubled times, price is not the only thing that matters to UK shoppers. The basic principles of Fairtrade – that poor producers deserve a fair return for their labour and that there is more than one way to address ‘economic efficiency’ – still resonate. Our policy makers need to take heed!
You can take action in the fight against hunger by joining thousands of others around the world in Live Below the Line this May. Learn more and signup now - USA, UK, Australia.
Posted by Toby Quantrill (Guest Blogger) in Poverty, Aid, Global Health, Education, Hunger, Technology, Corruption & Governance, Enterprise & Trade, Women & Gender, Fairtrade & Ethical Purchasing, Water & Sanitation, Environment & Climate, What Can I Do?, Polio for column Live Below the Line on Apr 27th, 06:29
Sunday, May 8, 2011
Friday, May 6, 2011
Maran's Review Of Barbara Kingsolver's "Animal, Vegetable, Miracle" in Salon.com
Meredith Maran
Monday, Apr 30, 2007 07:44 ET
A year of eating locally
Acclaimed author Barbara Kingsolver discusses the sexiness of gardening, the relationship between activism and art, and the allure of homegrown asparagus.
By Meredith Maran
Barbara Kingsolver published her first work of advocacy journalism at age 9, when her Op-Ed, "Why We Need a New Elementary School," helped pass a local school bond. She put writing aside to get a master's degree in evolutionary biology, which led to a job as a science writer, which led to a career as a freelance journalist. Journalism led to fiction; the rest is history.
"The Bean Trees," Kingsolver's first novel, was published in 1988 to great acclaim. With 2 million copies sold, it remains in print. Eleven others followed; all told, Kingsolver's titles have sold 7 million copies. Few American writers have managed to so seamlessly merge their radical politics and commercial success. "If we can't, as artists, improve on real life," Kingsolver says, "we should put down our pencils and go bake bread." Indeed, in her new book, "Animal, Vegetable, Miracle: A Year of Food Life," she does both.
Part memoir, part investigative journalism, part cookbook, "Animal, Vegetable, Miracle" is co-authored by Kingsolver's environmental scientist husband, Steven Hopp, and their then-19-year-old daughter, Camille. Together they tell the story of the year the family spent eating only food produced on or near their southwest Virginia farm. The central narrative rings with Kingsolver's characteristic biting humor; Hopp's sidebars focus on the industry and science of food production. Camille's passionate essays, informed by youthful idealism and by her sharp intelligence, also include meal plans and recipes.
Kingsolver spoke to Salon from her farm about the interplay between activism and her art, writing in different genres, and the pleasures and pitfalls of writing about -- and with -- your family.
What made you choose the "American eating disorder," as you call it, as the focus of "Animal, Vegetable, Miracle"?
Surely it's normal for an artist's personal passions and artistic expression to coincide. Most of my books have been about the complex ways an individual depends on community. Having grown up in a farming economy, I'm fascinated by the subtle antipathies expressed by our country's urban culture against rural concerns. I'm interested in how that disconnection translates into today's disastrous food policies and dangerous eating habits. A lot of important conflicts of our time fall into place around the subject of food production and consumption. It made perfect sense to write about it.
Your descriptions of days spent harvesting and canning tomatoes, killing and dressing chickens and turkeys, were exhausting just to read -- not exactly the relaxed-country-living fantasy. How does the labor and stress of farm life compare to that of the writing life?
Some of the long days we described in the book were extraordinary, rather than routine: Obviously, harvesting animals is a once-in-a-lifetime event (for them, at least), and canning tomatoes in August is kind of the gardener's World Series. But in the day-to-day, farm work is stress relief for me. At the end of the day, I love having this other career -- my anti-job -- that keeps me in shape and gives me control over a vegetal domain.
Sometimes I see people at the gym bench-pressing until they turn purple, or running five miles in the rain after work, and I think to myself, "Who could push themselves that hard? Not me!" And yet, walking to the garden with a hoe feels like a tryst with a lover. I adore working up a sweat on a sunny day among the sweet potatoes. I love having used every muscle I own, making food for my family. That process is deeply compelling, probably coded into our DNA.
I never thought I'd get a laugh out of a botanical description of asparagus, but thanks to you, I did.
Hooray, that's my goal: to write pages a reader will want to keep turning. I'm a storyteller, not a minister.
Do you consider yourself an artist first, activist second, or vice versa?
When I sit down to write, I consider myself an artist. I'm consumed by craft -- choosing the word with the right mouth feel, reading sentences aloud to sublimate the rhythm, making flow charts of plot, working backward to plant the seeds for a perfectly revealed ending. When I attend a PTA meeting with a plan to reduce the school's carbon footprint, then I'm an activist. It's different work, with more direct expectations and a simpler vocabulary.
Do you think your commercial success has given you more freedom to write on subjects that might not otherwise find an audience?
I've never spent 10 seconds thinking about success -- 20 years ago, or now. Every time I start a new book, I'm thinking, "Oh boy, nobody's going to want to read this one." Seriously, look at my topics: child abuse; imperialism; the value of predators in biological systems; children bitten by snakes in Africa. Six years ago when I dreamed up this latest project, the world was all dot-com fortunes, virtual communities, and procuring every earthly thing anonymously out of the ether. Local food economies? Oh, brother. Imagine my surprise, now, to be releasing this book to a nation that's suddenly extremely excited about local food economies. What a shock, to be trendy.
What are the differences and similarities between writing fiction and nonfiction?
Writing this book as a nonfiction narrative was an obvious choice. What surprised me was how similar it felt to writing a novel, requiring all the same elements: lively scenes, compelling characters, plot, suspense and resolution. Creating these out of whole cloth, in fiction, is in some ways easier. For this narrative I had to create it from the finite array of events that actually happened.
The greater part of valor was choosing what to leave out. It's not a memoir in the strictest sense, because it's not really about us, it's about food production and local economies. The largest emotional events of the year, for us personally, are hardly mentioned, if at all: the death of Steven's sister; my slow recovery from a crippling accident; our family's adjustment after Camille moved to college -- these were not the domain of the book.
Nonfiction requires enormous discipline. You construct the terms of your story, and then you stick to them. "Because it really happened" is the worst reason to write anything, leading directly to ramshackle prose and the painful American custom of oversharing. I suppose 10,000 bloggers would disagree with me on that point. Perhaps here we've hit upon the distinction between blogger and author.
Did you have reservations about undertaking a project with your husband and daughter?
If the writing had created any discord, we would have shifted to Plan B: me writing the book alone. Family happiness comes first. As it happened, we strengthened our respect for each other's independent styles and depth of knowledge. We loved how it wrapped everything up together: inventing recipes, sharing references, bringing all kinds of creative challenges to the dinner table.
When I write about friends and family, I approach with extreme caution. I show them what I've written, and give veto power. My relationships are sacrosanct, which means keeping a firm boundary between private and public revelations. Lily, my younger daughter, expressed reservations over the scene about her 6-year-old proclamations on castrated stallions and daddies. But everyone told her it was the funniest scene in the book. So she let it stay in -- with the caveat that she's older and wiser now.
One of the book's unexpected strengths is that somehow, you avoid the moralizing and dogmatism that keep so many activists from connecting with the broadest possible readership.
I've never felt comfortable telling other people what to do. Even when friends ask me for advice, I tend to say, "What do you think you should do?" I think that's also a good way to write: create a world, invite people in, and nudge them toward making up their own minds.
That was critical with this book. Nobody wants to be told what to eat, not even by their mothers -- people get very grumpy about it. Before writing one word, I had to analyze that scenario. I decided it's because eating forces us back down into our animal selves, however else we might spend our lofty days. Eating is the second most personal thing we do. I had to approach the story as one animal talking to another: "Here is how I set out to feed my offspring from our habitat. Would we make it? Let me tell you!"
What do you hope your readers will take away?
Food is the one consumer choice we have to make every day. We can use that buying power in a transaction that burns excessive fossil fuels, erodes topsoil, supports multinationals that pay their workers just a few bucks a day -- or the same money could strengthen neighborhood food economies, keep green spaces alive around our towns, and compensate farmers for applying humane values. Every purchase weighs in on one side or the other. It just isn't possible to opt out. Otherwise, if you're going to eat food, you belong to some kind of food chain. The goal of this book is to reveal that truth.
It's not necessary to live on a farm to eat mindfully, but it's necessary to know farms exist, and have some appreciation for what they do. It takes a little background to recognize the social, biological and epicurean differences between CAFOs [Concentrated Animal Feeding Operations] and pasture operations, extractive vs. sustainable farming, or even what will be in season each month of the year. Amazingly, the outcome of responsible choices can be good health, money saved and a happy palate. Really, it's good news.
Meredith Maran is a stringer and book reviewer for People magazine and the author of nine nonfiction books including "My Lie" and "What It’s Like to Live Now." Her first novel, "A Theory Of Small Earthquakes," will be published by Counterpoint in 2012. She’s the mother of two sons, 31 and 32, and she’ll be a grandmother in five months and 12 days, but who’s counting? More: Meredith Maran
Monday, Apr 30, 2007 07:44 ET
A year of eating locally
Acclaimed author Barbara Kingsolver discusses the sexiness of gardening, the relationship between activism and art, and the allure of homegrown asparagus.
By Meredith Maran
Barbara Kingsolver published her first work of advocacy journalism at age 9, when her Op-Ed, "Why We Need a New Elementary School," helped pass a local school bond. She put writing aside to get a master's degree in evolutionary biology, which led to a job as a science writer, which led to a career as a freelance journalist. Journalism led to fiction; the rest is history.
"The Bean Trees," Kingsolver's first novel, was published in 1988 to great acclaim. With 2 million copies sold, it remains in print. Eleven others followed; all told, Kingsolver's titles have sold 7 million copies. Few American writers have managed to so seamlessly merge their radical politics and commercial success. "If we can't, as artists, improve on real life," Kingsolver says, "we should put down our pencils and go bake bread." Indeed, in her new book, "Animal, Vegetable, Miracle: A Year of Food Life," she does both.
Part memoir, part investigative journalism, part cookbook, "Animal, Vegetable, Miracle" is co-authored by Kingsolver's environmental scientist husband, Steven Hopp, and their then-19-year-old daughter, Camille. Together they tell the story of the year the family spent eating only food produced on or near their southwest Virginia farm. The central narrative rings with Kingsolver's characteristic biting humor; Hopp's sidebars focus on the industry and science of food production. Camille's passionate essays, informed by youthful idealism and by her sharp intelligence, also include meal plans and recipes.
Kingsolver spoke to Salon from her farm about the interplay between activism and her art, writing in different genres, and the pleasures and pitfalls of writing about -- and with -- your family.
What made you choose the "American eating disorder," as you call it, as the focus of "Animal, Vegetable, Miracle"?
Surely it's normal for an artist's personal passions and artistic expression to coincide. Most of my books have been about the complex ways an individual depends on community. Having grown up in a farming economy, I'm fascinated by the subtle antipathies expressed by our country's urban culture against rural concerns. I'm interested in how that disconnection translates into today's disastrous food policies and dangerous eating habits. A lot of important conflicts of our time fall into place around the subject of food production and consumption. It made perfect sense to write about it.
Your descriptions of days spent harvesting and canning tomatoes, killing and dressing chickens and turkeys, were exhausting just to read -- not exactly the relaxed-country-living fantasy. How does the labor and stress of farm life compare to that of the writing life?
Some of the long days we described in the book were extraordinary, rather than routine: Obviously, harvesting animals is a once-in-a-lifetime event (for them, at least), and canning tomatoes in August is kind of the gardener's World Series. But in the day-to-day, farm work is stress relief for me. At the end of the day, I love having this other career -- my anti-job -- that keeps me in shape and gives me control over a vegetal domain.
Sometimes I see people at the gym bench-pressing until they turn purple, or running five miles in the rain after work, and I think to myself, "Who could push themselves that hard? Not me!" And yet, walking to the garden with a hoe feels like a tryst with a lover. I adore working up a sweat on a sunny day among the sweet potatoes. I love having used every muscle I own, making food for my family. That process is deeply compelling, probably coded into our DNA.
I never thought I'd get a laugh out of a botanical description of asparagus, but thanks to you, I did.
Hooray, that's my goal: to write pages a reader will want to keep turning. I'm a storyteller, not a minister.
Do you consider yourself an artist first, activist second, or vice versa?
When I sit down to write, I consider myself an artist. I'm consumed by craft -- choosing the word with the right mouth feel, reading sentences aloud to sublimate the rhythm, making flow charts of plot, working backward to plant the seeds for a perfectly revealed ending. When I attend a PTA meeting with a plan to reduce the school's carbon footprint, then I'm an activist. It's different work, with more direct expectations and a simpler vocabulary.
Do you think your commercial success has given you more freedom to write on subjects that might not otherwise find an audience?
I've never spent 10 seconds thinking about success -- 20 years ago, or now. Every time I start a new book, I'm thinking, "Oh boy, nobody's going to want to read this one." Seriously, look at my topics: child abuse; imperialism; the value of predators in biological systems; children bitten by snakes in Africa. Six years ago when I dreamed up this latest project, the world was all dot-com fortunes, virtual communities, and procuring every earthly thing anonymously out of the ether. Local food economies? Oh, brother. Imagine my surprise, now, to be releasing this book to a nation that's suddenly extremely excited about local food economies. What a shock, to be trendy.
What are the differences and similarities between writing fiction and nonfiction?
Writing this book as a nonfiction narrative was an obvious choice. What surprised me was how similar it felt to writing a novel, requiring all the same elements: lively scenes, compelling characters, plot, suspense and resolution. Creating these out of whole cloth, in fiction, is in some ways easier. For this narrative I had to create it from the finite array of events that actually happened.
The greater part of valor was choosing what to leave out. It's not a memoir in the strictest sense, because it's not really about us, it's about food production and local economies. The largest emotional events of the year, for us personally, are hardly mentioned, if at all: the death of Steven's sister; my slow recovery from a crippling accident; our family's adjustment after Camille moved to college -- these were not the domain of the book.
Nonfiction requires enormous discipline. You construct the terms of your story, and then you stick to them. "Because it really happened" is the worst reason to write anything, leading directly to ramshackle prose and the painful American custom of oversharing. I suppose 10,000 bloggers would disagree with me on that point. Perhaps here we've hit upon the distinction between blogger and author.
Did you have reservations about undertaking a project with your husband and daughter?
If the writing had created any discord, we would have shifted to Plan B: me writing the book alone. Family happiness comes first. As it happened, we strengthened our respect for each other's independent styles and depth of knowledge. We loved how it wrapped everything up together: inventing recipes, sharing references, bringing all kinds of creative challenges to the dinner table.
When I write about friends and family, I approach with extreme caution. I show them what I've written, and give veto power. My relationships are sacrosanct, which means keeping a firm boundary between private and public revelations. Lily, my younger daughter, expressed reservations over the scene about her 6-year-old proclamations on castrated stallions and daddies. But everyone told her it was the funniest scene in the book. So she let it stay in -- with the caveat that she's older and wiser now.
One of the book's unexpected strengths is that somehow, you avoid the moralizing and dogmatism that keep so many activists from connecting with the broadest possible readership.
I've never felt comfortable telling other people what to do. Even when friends ask me for advice, I tend to say, "What do you think you should do?" I think that's also a good way to write: create a world, invite people in, and nudge them toward making up their own minds.
That was critical with this book. Nobody wants to be told what to eat, not even by their mothers -- people get very grumpy about it. Before writing one word, I had to analyze that scenario. I decided it's because eating forces us back down into our animal selves, however else we might spend our lofty days. Eating is the second most personal thing we do. I had to approach the story as one animal talking to another: "Here is how I set out to feed my offspring from our habitat. Would we make it? Let me tell you!"
What do you hope your readers will take away?
Food is the one consumer choice we have to make every day. We can use that buying power in a transaction that burns excessive fossil fuels, erodes topsoil, supports multinationals that pay their workers just a few bucks a day -- or the same money could strengthen neighborhood food economies, keep green spaces alive around our towns, and compensate farmers for applying humane values. Every purchase weighs in on one side or the other. It just isn't possible to opt out. Otherwise, if you're going to eat food, you belong to some kind of food chain. The goal of this book is to reveal that truth.
It's not necessary to live on a farm to eat mindfully, but it's necessary to know farms exist, and have some appreciation for what they do. It takes a little background to recognize the social, biological and epicurean differences between CAFOs [Concentrated Animal Feeding Operations] and pasture operations, extractive vs. sustainable farming, or even what will be in season each month of the year. Amazingly, the outcome of responsible choices can be good health, money saved and a happy palate. Really, it's good news.
Meredith Maran is a stringer and book reviewer for People magazine and the author of nine nonfiction books including "My Lie" and "What It’s Like to Live Now." Her first novel, "A Theory Of Small Earthquakes," will be published by Counterpoint in 2012. She’s the mother of two sons, 31 and 32, and she’ll be a grandmother in five months and 12 days, but who’s counting? More: Meredith Maran
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Northern Michigan Farmers Market
2011 Season:
Suttons Bay Market
Saturdays, 9am - 1pm
May 14 - October 22
Corner of Lincoln & Broadway Streets
Empire Market
Saturdays, 9am - 1pm
June 18 - September 10
Next door to the post office downtown
Lake Leelanau Market
Sundays, 9am - 1pm
June 19 - September 4
Parking lot across from NJ's Grocery downtown
Glen Arbor Market
Tuesdays, 9 am - 1pm
June 21 - August 30
Behind the Township Hall on Western Ave
Leland Market
Thursdays, 9am - Noon
June 23 - September 1
Parking lot across from The Bluebird Restaurant downtown
Northport Market
Fridays, 9am - 1pm
June 17 - September 16
Next to The Depot by the marina downtown
This is a great opportunity for you to get local produce and meet the farmers who grow it! Know where your food comes from!
Leelanau Farmers Markets
c/o MSU Extension
8527 E Government Center Dr
Suite 107
Suttons Bay, MI 49682
msue45@msu.edu
www.leelanau.cc/farmersmarkets.asp
Suttons Bay Market
Saturdays, 9am - 1pm
May 14 - October 22
Corner of Lincoln & Broadway Streets
Empire Market
Saturdays, 9am - 1pm
June 18 - September 10
Next door to the post office downtown
Lake Leelanau Market
Sundays, 9am - 1pm
June 19 - September 4
Parking lot across from NJ's Grocery downtown
Glen Arbor Market
Tuesdays, 9 am - 1pm
June 21 - August 30
Behind the Township Hall on Western Ave
Leland Market
Thursdays, 9am - Noon
June 23 - September 1
Parking lot across from The Bluebird Restaurant downtown
Northport Market
Fridays, 9am - 1pm
June 17 - September 16
Next to The Depot by the marina downtown
This is a great opportunity for you to get local produce and meet the farmers who grow it! Know where your food comes from!
Leelanau Farmers Markets
c/o MSU Extension
8527 E Government Center Dr
Suite 107
Suttons Bay, MI 49682
msue45@msu.edu
www.leelanau.cc/farmersmarkets.asp
Monday, May 2, 2011
Putting Your Hands on the Wheels of Destiny
Here's a terrific article found at Peak Oil: Essential Reading
HISTORY AS A GUIDE TO SURVIVAL....
For a year five experts ditched theory for practice, running a Welsh farm using 17th Century methods. What lessons for modern living did they learn?
The BBC series Tales from the Green Valley follows historians and archaeologists as they recreate farm life from the age of the Stuarts. They wear the clothes, eat the food and use the tools, skills and technology of the 1620s.
It was a time when daily life was a hard grind, intimately connected with the physical environment where routines were dictated by the weather and the seasons. A far cry from today's experience of the countryside, which for many involves a bracing walk ahead of a pub lunch.
While few would choose to live a 17th Century lifestyle, the participants found they picked up some valuable tips for modern life.
1. Know thy neighbours. Today it's possible to live alone, without knowing anyone within a 20-mile radius (the same goes for townies). That was simply not possible in the past - not only did the neighbours provide social contact, people shared labour, specialist skills and produce. "And women were judged on good neighbourliness," says historian Ruth Goodman. "If you were willing to help others - particularly during and after childbirth - then others would be more prepared to help you in times of need."
2. Share the load. It was nigh on impossible to run a 1620s farm single-handedly, and the family - either blood relatives, or a farmer, his wife and hired help - had to be multi-skilled. Labour, too, was often divided along gender lines, but at busy periods, such as harvest time, it was all hands on deck.
3. Fewer creature comforts have some benefits. No electricity meant once daylight faded, work stopped in favour of conversation, music-making and knitting. And no carpets meant fewer dust mites, which are linked to asthma and allergies. "They scattered herbs on the floor which released scent when trodden on - this drove out flies and other insects," says Ms Goodman.
4. Eat seasonally. Today it's because of "food miles" and the inferior quality of forced products. In the 1620s, it was because foods were only available at certain times of year - and not just fruit and veg. Mutton, for instance, was in abundance in spring, soon after shearing time. This was because a sheep's wool quality plunges after eight years - thus animals of that age were killed after their final fleece was removed.
5. Tasty food comes in small batches. Today farmers' markets are a tourist attraction and many delight in regional specialities. For these producers play to the strengths of their ingredients, unlike, for instance, the makers of mass-produced cheese. This has to taste the same year-round, despite seasonal variations in milk quality. "So high-quality milk in the spring is downgraded so the finished product is consistent throughout the year," says Ms Goodman.
6. Reuse and recycle. Today we throw away vast mountains of packaging, food, garden waste and other materials. In 1620s, there was a use for everything, with tattered bed linens made into fire-lighters and animal fat into soap. Even human waste had uses. Faeces was a fertiliser, and urine was stored to make ammonia to remove laundry stains.
7. Dress for practicalities. Today fashion and social convention dictate our wardrobes. While polar fleeces and high-performance tramping boots may be all the rage when going rural, the wardrobe of 400 years ago proved more comfortable. "While the crew shivered in their modern garb, we never felt the cold in just two layers - a linen shirt and woollen doublet," says archaeologist Alex Langlands. Breeches meant no wet and muddy trouser legs, and staying covered up - rather than stripping off in the heat - prevented bites, stings, sunburn and scratches.
8. Corsets, not bras. "By that I don't mean Victorian corseting," says Ms Goodman. "Corsets support your back as well as your chest, and don't leave red welts on your skin like bra elastic does. They made it hard to breath walking up hills, but I get short of breath doing that anyway. And most people feel sexy in a corset."
9. Biodiversity protects against unforeseen calamity. While the developed world no longer counts the cost of crop failure in starvation and mass migration - the result of Ireland's Great Potato Famine in 1845 - the 2001 foot-and-mouth crisis decimated farms up and down the country as animals, the farmers' livelihoods, were put to death. The 1620s farm had grains, fruit and vegetables, and a range of animals - if one failed, alternatives were available.
9. Reliance on any one thing leaves you vulnerable. Hence the country ground to a halt during the petrol blockades of 2000, and a shortage of coal during 1978-9's Winter of Discontent caused electricity shortages. On the 1620s farm, when oxen used to plough fields fell ill, the implements were reshaped and horses did the job instead.
10. No pesticides means a richer variety of birds, butterflies and other insects, many of which feast on pests - a result as desirable for the gardener as the farmer. And the hedgerow and fields of wild flowers of the past are today making a comeback, as these provide habitats for these creatures and allow edible plants to flourish.
HISTORY AS A GUIDE TO SURVIVAL....
For a year five experts ditched theory for practice, running a Welsh farm using 17th Century methods. What lessons for modern living did they learn?
The BBC series Tales from the Green Valley follows historians and archaeologists as they recreate farm life from the age of the Stuarts. They wear the clothes, eat the food and use the tools, skills and technology of the 1620s.
It was a time when daily life was a hard grind, intimately connected with the physical environment where routines were dictated by the weather and the seasons. A far cry from today's experience of the countryside, which for many involves a bracing walk ahead of a pub lunch.
While few would choose to live a 17th Century lifestyle, the participants found they picked up some valuable tips for modern life.
1. Know thy neighbours. Today it's possible to live alone, without knowing anyone within a 20-mile radius (the same goes for townies). That was simply not possible in the past - not only did the neighbours provide social contact, people shared labour, specialist skills and produce. "And women were judged on good neighbourliness," says historian Ruth Goodman. "If you were willing to help others - particularly during and after childbirth - then others would be more prepared to help you in times of need."
2. Share the load. It was nigh on impossible to run a 1620s farm single-handedly, and the family - either blood relatives, or a farmer, his wife and hired help - had to be multi-skilled. Labour, too, was often divided along gender lines, but at busy periods, such as harvest time, it was all hands on deck.
3. Fewer creature comforts have some benefits. No electricity meant once daylight faded, work stopped in favour of conversation, music-making and knitting. And no carpets meant fewer dust mites, which are linked to asthma and allergies. "They scattered herbs on the floor which released scent when trodden on - this drove out flies and other insects," says Ms Goodman.
4. Eat seasonally. Today it's because of "food miles" and the inferior quality of forced products. In the 1620s, it was because foods were only available at certain times of year - and not just fruit and veg. Mutton, for instance, was in abundance in spring, soon after shearing time. This was because a sheep's wool quality plunges after eight years - thus animals of that age were killed after their final fleece was removed.
5. Tasty food comes in small batches. Today farmers' markets are a tourist attraction and many delight in regional specialities. For these producers play to the strengths of their ingredients, unlike, for instance, the makers of mass-produced cheese. This has to taste the same year-round, despite seasonal variations in milk quality. "So high-quality milk in the spring is downgraded so the finished product is consistent throughout the year," says Ms Goodman.
6. Reuse and recycle. Today we throw away vast mountains of packaging, food, garden waste and other materials. In 1620s, there was a use for everything, with tattered bed linens made into fire-lighters and animal fat into soap. Even human waste had uses. Faeces was a fertiliser, and urine was stored to make ammonia to remove laundry stains.
7. Dress for practicalities. Today fashion and social convention dictate our wardrobes. While polar fleeces and high-performance tramping boots may be all the rage when going rural, the wardrobe of 400 years ago proved more comfortable. "While the crew shivered in their modern garb, we never felt the cold in just two layers - a linen shirt and woollen doublet," says archaeologist Alex Langlands. Breeches meant no wet and muddy trouser legs, and staying covered up - rather than stripping off in the heat - prevented bites, stings, sunburn and scratches.
8. Corsets, not bras. "By that I don't mean Victorian corseting," says Ms Goodman. "Corsets support your back as well as your chest, and don't leave red welts on your skin like bra elastic does. They made it hard to breath walking up hills, but I get short of breath doing that anyway. And most people feel sexy in a corset."
9. Biodiversity protects against unforeseen calamity. While the developed world no longer counts the cost of crop failure in starvation and mass migration - the result of Ireland's Great Potato Famine in 1845 - the 2001 foot-and-mouth crisis decimated farms up and down the country as animals, the farmers' livelihoods, were put to death. The 1620s farm had grains, fruit and vegetables, and a range of animals - if one failed, alternatives were available.
9. Reliance on any one thing leaves you vulnerable. Hence the country ground to a halt during the petrol blockades of 2000, and a shortage of coal during 1978-9's Winter of Discontent caused electricity shortages. On the 1620s farm, when oxen used to plough fields fell ill, the implements were reshaped and horses did the job instead.
10. No pesticides means a richer variety of birds, butterflies and other insects, many of which feast on pests - a result as desirable for the gardener as the farmer. And the hedgerow and fields of wild flowers of the past are today making a comeback, as these provide habitats for these creatures and allow edible plants to flourish.
Sunday, May 1, 2011
Chemicals used for growing food are stunting nutritional value
According to MSNBC, many of our fruits and vegetables are losing nutritional value. Our produce isn't as healthful as produce grown 30 years ago. The article shares some ways to avoid unhealthy produce. One way to find produce with the proper amount of nutrients is to visit local farmer's markets.
In the Northern Michigan area, here are the times and dates of the local farmer's markets:
Locations of farmer’s markets late spring – fall 2010.
Traverse City – Sat. & Wed. – 8 am-12 pm
Suttons Bay – Saturday 9 am-1 pm
Leland – Thursday 8 am – 12 pm
Glen Arbor – Tuesday 9 am-1 pm
Empire – Saturday 9am- 1pm
I will update this list if any changes happen. In addition, if you are looking for healthily raised meats, visit The Hubbell Farm and make an order.
In the Northern Michigan area, here are the times and dates of the local farmer's markets:
Locations of farmer’s markets late spring – fall 2010.
Traverse City – Sat. & Wed. – 8 am-12 pm
Suttons Bay – Saturday 9 am-1 pm
Leland – Thursday 8 am – 12 pm
Glen Arbor – Tuesday 9 am-1 pm
Empire – Saturday 9am- 1pm
I will update this list if any changes happen. In addition, if you are looking for healthily raised meats, visit The Hubbell Farm and make an order.
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