Thursday, January 29, 2009

More Things To Love

I keep finding new reasons to love the wood stove. It’s not just for heat—it’s a full-on snack factory. Got a craving? Toast marshmallows, make ’smores, or roast a hot dog anytime you want. No fancy gadgets, no buttons—just good old fire, smoke, and the smell of something that might give you a little singed eyebrow. Perfect.

And here’s the kicker: wood stoves are the ultimate kid wranglers. Hand a kid a pile of firewood and suddenly they’re busier than a goat in a cornfield. It’s the kind of work that wears ’em out before they have a chance to turn the place upside down. Honestly, any farm chore will do the trick. I’m not shy about it—I believe in child labor. There, I said it.

Yep, I was one of those “horrible” mothers who lay awake plotting ways to keep my kids busy. No nonsense, no whining—just sweat, dirt, and the occasional “Are we done yet?” Now that I’ve got a 16-year-old grandson living with me, I get to recycle those old tricks or dream up new ones. At 60 years old, I stick to my trusty motto: “Give ’em enough work to keep ’em out of trouble till they’re 30.” If that sounds harsh, well, welcome to farm life—where sugar coating is for cupcakes, not chores.

Well, it’s getting late, and I best hit the hay. Maybe before I drift off, I’ll cook up a fresh chore to keep the boy busy tomorrow. Giving him work annoys him just enough to keep me entertained. Two birds, one stone, and not a single fancy gadget in sight. Now that’s efficiency I can toast to.


Wednesday, January 28, 2009

Yup, I Know It Makes A Mess

The woodstove might be messy, but so was Aunt May’s kitchen—and that was magic.

I posted a comment on a friend’s blog recently about how much I love my wood stove. That one little comment turned into a rabbit hole of memories and musings—and before I knew it, I was sitting there smiling at the flames, thinking: Yeah, it’s a mess. And I love it anyway.

Last year, we thought about getting one of those big fancy outdoor wood furnaces. You know, the kind that keeps all the bark, dust, and chaos out in the yard where it “belongs.” Tempting, sure. But in the end, we stayed loyal to our old wood stove, sitting right there in the heart of the house like it owns the place. And honestly? I’m so glad we did.

I love the smell of the fire the moment I come in from the cold—the smoky sweetness that wraps around you like a hug, instantly making you feel loved and safe. I love the heat that seeps into your bones, not just your skin. You don't just feel warm, you become warm. It’s a whole-body, whole-heart kind of heat.

And there’s something to be said for the little rituals. Tossing on another log when the chill creeps in. Scooting your chair an inch closer—or finding you're an inch too close and realizing you're medium-well on the backside. Cooking stew on the top of the stove like you’re auditioning for a Laura Ingalls reboot. Moving your cup of cocoa just enough to catch the firelight.

I love that the rest of the house stays cooler—it’s like living in climate zones. The great room is “Florida,” the kitchen is “upstate New York,” and the mudroom? That’s “Arctic expedition base camp.” You learn to dress accordingly.

But mostly, I love what it reminds me of.

When I was a little girl, visits to Aunt May’s farm were the highlight of winter (and summer too). She had one of those big black cast iron cookstoves in the kitchen—half appliance, half altar. That thing didn’t just cook food. It performed miracles. She’d have it fired up and ready if she knew I was coming. French toast cooked right on the stovetop, donuts fried in a big pan of lard until the whole kitchen smelled like joy, and bread—oh, the bread—that filled the air with a scent that made you feel that everything was right in the world.

Aunt May wasn’t just an aunt in the usual sense. My mother’s mother passed away when my mom was only nine, and it was Aunt May—her mother’s sister—who stepped in and raised her from then on. So for me, Aunt May felt more like a grandmother. The kind of woman who knew how to hold a family together with pie crusts, wood heat, and quiet, steady love.

Her kitchen wasn’t perfect, and that made it perfect. It was an old farmhouse, the kind that had settled in places, like old houses (and old people) tend to do. Right smack under the middle of the kitchen floor was a great big beam, and as the years wore on and the house sagged gently around it, it formed a hump that ran the length of the room like a little Appalachian ridge.

To most grown-ups, it was probably a nuisance. To me? It was a racetrack. I had a little pedal car and would spend hours pedaling up one side of that hump and coasting down the other like I was Evel Knievel conquering the kitchen range. That wooden hill had more thrill in it than any amusement park ride. I’m sure that hump wasn’t quite as big as I remember, but then, everything is big to a child.

Later, when the farmhouse was sold, the new owners "fixed" the floor and leveled it out. Took that hump right out, like it had been a flaw. But to me, they ruined the house. That hump belonged there. It told a story. It had mileage and memories and the kind of charm you can’t order out of a catalog.

Now, when I sit by our stove with a book in my lap and hot chocolate in hand, I watch the flickering reflections dance across the room and think: Aunt May would approve. Not just of the fire, but of the bumps, the quirks, the things that settle and sag and stay a little uneven—but still warm you just the same.

Sure, heating with wood is a mess. There’s always a trail of sawdust and bits of bark across the floor, and it takes a lot of work—splitting, stacking, hauling, sweeping. But to me, it’s worth every dusty corner and extra load of laundry.

Because sometimes, the old ways don’t need improving. They just need remembering.

P.S. I still miss that pedal car. Not that I could fit in it anymore—but if I could, you’d better believe I’d be tearing up the kitchen hump all over again.


Monday, January 26, 2009

Upside Down

OK, so this Christmas message is a little late. But it was just e-mailed me by a friend and I thought it was so cool I'd like to share it with you. You must listen till the end or you'll get the wrong impression. Hey, just because it's January doesn't mean we can't still say "Merry Christmas".

Tuesday, January 20, 2009

The Carpenter - Moi!

They say teamwork makes the dream work—and around here, that’s true. Jim and I have a system. He does the framing, electrical, plumbing, and anything that requires being higher than a sane person would choose to be. I’m not afraid of heights, I just prefer not to dangle from the rafters unless absolutely necessary.

Meanwhile, I handle the finish work. All of it. If it shows, I built it. That wide pine floor you saw in the great room? Yup—installed and finished by yours truly. Window and door trim? Me again. Sheetrock mudding, closet built into the eaves, handmade doors, even the barn door and siding—if it’s visible and not breathing, I probably had my hands on it.

The upside? I can look around this house and say, “I did that.” There’s a deep kind of pride in knowing your home didn’t come in a box or get built by strangers who disappeared after framing day. Every room has a story, and sometimes a little questionable language, buried behind the trim.

But of course, there’s a catch.

You see, when you’re the one who knows how to do all the finish work… you’re also the reason it’s not done yet. That’s right. I can’t even blame my husband for the house being unfinished. Can’t stomp into the room, hands on hips, and say, “Why isn’t this baseboard installed yet?” because the answer is: “Because you haven’t done it.”

I’ve officially run out of excuses.

The painter’s tape in the hallway? Mine. The trim stacked in the corner? Also mine. The to-do list written on the back of a feed receipt in the barn? Definitely mine.

It’s a strange sort of punishment, being capable. On one hand, I wouldn’t trade the skills for anything. On the other hand, sometimes I look at a half-finished corner of the house and think, “If only I were a little more helpless, I could be mad at someone else right now.”

But then I pick up my hammer, dust off the saw, and get back to it—because at the end of the day, this place is built with hard work, love, pine sap, and maybe a few muttered threats.

And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Monday, January 19, 2009

More Before and After Pix

Before:

Alright, as promised, here are some before and after shots of the house exterior. Don’t all start clapping at once—we haven’t done a ton yet, but we have made a few improvements. First off, we finally finished the railing on the deck, so now you can lean on it without risking a spontaneous trust fall into the yard. We also said goodbye to the unfortunate cinnamon-pinkish color (which looked like sunburned bologna) and painted it a respectable dark brown. And we’ve started enclosing the farmer’s porch to turn it into a 3-season porch—though I don’t have updated pictures of that part yet. I’ll share those in the spring, when the porch stops being a wind tunnel of doom.

Now, the second picture still shows a lot of work that needs doing. Yes, it’s a mess. No, I don’t want to talk about it. Just squint and pretend it looks finished.

Also, please don’t let the photos fool you—the house looks massive in pictures, but it’s only 24' x 32'. Yep. We downsized on purpose. I know. Gone is the concept of walk-in closets and homes that require golf carts to get from the kitchen to the bathroom.

Downsizing has been… an adventure. I spent the first half of my life collecting stuff—antiques, furniture, decorative roosters, whatever caught my fancy. And now I’m spending the second half trying to offload it all without causing panic in my family thinking I'm giving away all my stuff because I might be dying (which I have no plans to do in the foreseeable future). One day, during a particularly aggressive decluttering spree, my oldest daughter actually looked at me like I’d just updated my will and asked, “Mom… are you dying?” Apparently, in her mind, giving away your stuff is the universal sign of impending doom.

I reassured her that I was fine—fit as a fiddle, mean as a snake, and nowhere near ready to kick the bucket. I’m just tired of dusting things I don’t even like anymore. Turns out, you can’t take it with you, and even if you could, who wants to spend the afterlife tangled in extension cords and music boxes that have lost their rewind spring long ago?

Anyway—enjoy the pictures, pretend we’re further along than we are, and feel free to ooh and ahh out loud. It makes me feel productive.


Sheep Thrills

Try this online sheepdog trial and see how good you are at preventing those pesky sheep from escaping! But be careful not to get run over by a bull. Click your mouse when the sheep gets close to send it back or you'll get run over by the sheep as well. Get a high enough score and you can challenge a friend.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/wales/mid/fun/sheepgame.shtml

Thursday, January 15, 2009

Building Our House

Kitchen Before and After:










Back in the summer of 2001, we went looking for land to build our dream home. What we found was 50+ acres and a house that someone else had started… then politely abandoned. It was just an insulated shell, but oddly enough, it looked suspiciously like the floor plan I had drawn up. Either it was divine intervention, or the original builder was a mind-reading squatter with a talent for blueprints.

People often ask, “What kind of house do you have?” I tell them it's an "except for" house. As in:
  • The living room is finished… except for the trim.

  • The kitchen is gorgeous… except for the fact that the countertops are still plywood.

  • The second floor is cozy… except for the missing deck, but hey—falling out the door to nowhere builds character.

I’ve fully embraced the unfinished look as my official decorating style. It’s taken years to get this level of committing to not committing. I mean really, how many people can say they nailed a theme this hard? Martha Stewart would cry.

We’re currently in year 9 of our 5-year plan. Yes, you read that right. Somewhere around year 3, the calendar and the to-do list parted ways and stopped speaking. We’ve got all the major stuff done—framing, plumbing, electricity, walls (mostly). What’s left is just the fiddly finish work: trim, wide pine floors, stair treads that don’t feel like a barefoot obstacle course, and maybe a deck that doesn’t require a parachute. You know… things that matter, but don’t technically keep the roof from collapsing.

So here we are, living in a house that’s entirely livable, as long as you don’t mind the occasional draft from a door with no casing or the satisfying thud of your dinner plate hitting plywood—because nothing says ‘fine dining’ like unfinished lumber.

Let’s just say it has soul. And it’s ours.

My guess is the next person who owns this house will have to finish it. Not because we can’t—but because we’ve got barns to build, firewood to split, animals to wrangle, and a life that keeps moving forward whether the trim gets up or not.

Here are a few before-and-after photos so you can see the transformation—or at least admire how well we’ve managed to stretch “temporary” into two decades. I'll try to get some outdoor shots tomorrow, assuming the weather cooperates and I can keep the chickens from photobombing.

Great Room:

Wednesday, January 14, 2009

Work on the Barn

We started building our barn 3½ years ago with a nice, tidy plan: finish one-third each year for three years. We just finished the second third, so technically… we’re crushing it. Based on how things go around here, I’d say we’re even a little ahead. We run this place on what I like to call the “pioneer productivity scale”—we’re not behind, we’re just historically accurate.

Meanwhile, we’re on year 9 of our 5-year house-building plan. So now we have the rare and magical combo of an unfinished barn to match our unfinished house. That’s not poor planning—that’s commitment to theme.

The barn will eventually be 36'x36', but my husband had this brilliant idea to build it in thirds. First, a 12'x36' section. Then another 12'x36' section facing the first, leaving a nice 12' aisle in the middle. Then we’ll connect the roof and tear out the temporary walls. You know, eventually. Someday. Before we die, hopefully.

Anyway, we just finished enclosing the second section—in the middle of a north country winter, because obviously. We've had a pretty tame winter so far, but the day after we got the walls up? Bam. Snow. Because the weather has a sixth sense for when you finally put your tools away and go inside for hot cocoa.

Good thing we finished in time—nobody wants to be up on a snowy metal roof. That stuff’s slicker than a greased pig at a county fair. Snow slides off that thing like butter off a hot pancake—and so would the person standing on it. In this case, it would’ve been my grandson Nate, who was up there climbing around like a caffeinated spider monkey. Jim and I? Oh, no. We’re well past our roofing days. These bones are more “gentle rocking chair” than “leap onto scaffolding.” We leave the high-wire acts to the young folks who bounce instead of break.

The sheep and goats, meanwhile, will be thrilled come baby season. They’ll finally have a nice new maternity suite, and I won’t have to move 87 bins, six totes, and a suspicious pile of mystery parts from the old section to make room. That alone is worth its weight in aspirin.

And yes, I am fully aware that this pristine, empty new barn space is just a ticking time bomb. It won’t stay clean or organized for long. By next year, I’ll be standing in the middle of it, arms crossed, trying to sweet-talk Jim into connecting the two roof sections. “Just a little more space for the babies,” I’ll say.


And he’ll know full well I mean the goats… but also the rakes, the hoses, the feed bags, the wheelbarrow that lost a wheel in 2005, and that antique chicken feeder I swear I’m going to refurbish
someday.

But for now, I’m just going to bask in the glory of a half-finished barn that smells like fresh pine and promise. And try not to trip over Nate’s monkey gear.


Tuesday, January 13, 2009

Protect Our Food Supply - Stop NAIS

If I learn nothing else in my life I should learn this - whenever "big brother" wants to save me it's not a good thing! Almost every time the government makes more regulations they mess things up. With regard to NAIS - I believe the best and only protection for my food is to buy from the local farmer that feeds his/her own family the same thing they're selling me, or to grow it myself. NAIS will put such a burden on the small producer it will become impossible for them to continue. This is an interesting article that I found cross-posted on one of my e-lists. Sorry it's so long, but I found it extremely informative.


NAIS STINKS! Big government to the rescue again. By Henry Lamb

Some of the world's finest Texas longhorns live in Ohio. And they love it. Rich grass grows belly high; fresh spring water feeds 16 of the 17 lakes and ponds on the nearly 5,000 acre spread; 62 miles of fencing separates 49 pastures; and the four seasons are as distinct and different as the hills and valleys that define the Dickinson Cattle Company.

Darol Dickinson is no newcomer to the cattle business. He grew up in a cattle family in Colorado. He started raising registered Texas longhorns in 1967. But Colorado's bitter winters and windy, dry summers sent him searching for new land from Mexico to Canada, and many places in between. He found in Ohio enough fertile land to do justice to the business he envisioned.

Darol's cattle are prime breeding stock and home ranch for many international champions. His business includes providing semen and embryos to cattle producers around the world. Son Joel is the hands-on cattle manager, in charge of daily operations. Darol's wife of 45 years, Linda, is in charge of administration. She's the one who records everything about everything. She pays the bills, keeps the shipments straight, monitors inventory in every pasture, and documents every vaccination and individual health event.

A few years ago, Darol attended a USDA-sponsored "listening session." A federal employee explained a new program: the National Animal Identification System (NAIS). Darol was shocked to learn that the ranch would have to be registered with a new seven-digit identification number in a new government database. He learned that each of his animals would have to have a new identification device bearing a new 15-digit identification number, loaded into another new government database. And he learned that every time one of his animals was moved off the property, the event would have to be reported and recorded in the government database within 24 hours.

"Well, that just left a horrible taste in my mouth," Darol says. "The way it was presented, we had no choice. It was a done deal. We would be forced to sign up."

The USDA spokesman talked about how foot-and-mouth disease would wipe out an entire herd in a matter of hours, and how dangerous anthrax is, and, of course, he talked about the dreaded mad cow disease. This new USDA program would make it possible for the government to trace back any diseased animal to its source within 48 hours, the groups was told. Darol knew something was not right. "It did not pass the basic hubcap sniff test," he says.

He contacted a specialist at Texas A&M, Uvalde, Texas, who confirmed that there had not been a case of foot-and-mouth disease in the United States since 1929. He also learned that anthrax is no longer a problem because ranchers can vaccinate against it for 80 cents a head. Mad cow disease is not a problem because it is not contagious, and the new system would do nothing to stop the disease even if a case were discovered.

Darol's cattle, like most livestock inventory, are already identified quite thoroughly. Every new calf is weighed, given a vitamin shot and tagged, the same day it is born. At weaning, each animal is branded with the famous Paintbrush-D brand, along with a unique identification number and the year of birth. In addition, the USDA tags every female with a number that is recorded in a USDA database, along with an ear tatoo. The other ear is tagged with the critter's registered name, so the cowhands can easily identify the cow by sight.

Wtih all of this proof-positive identification on each cow, and on the ranch computer, why in the world would USDA require another 15-digit number linked to still another database?

Darol sees the NAIS program as a direct and serious threat to his business. The proven growth of the family business is providing foundation stock for new producers.

"Every year, we help about 75 new producers get into the business," Darol says. "I can sell them on quality stock, but I CAN'T SELL THEM ON HAVING TO COMPLY WITH THESE NEW REGULATIONS THAT ARE GOING TO REQUIRE THAT THEY ALSO BUY A COMPUTER, AND TAG- OR CHIP-READING EQUIPMENT, AND REPORT TO THE GOVERNMENT EVERY TIME THEY TURN AROUND."

Darol thinks the NAIS would destroy the family business in five years or less. That's why he has become an outspoken critic of it. He spends from two to eight hours a day doing everything he can to oppose the program. He's even set up his own website: NAISstinks.com. It is full of articles and press releases and other information that traces the flawed development of the program back to 2003.

Darol is not going to surrender to this program without a fight. His resistance, along with a near rebellion by the majority of animal owners, caused USDA to abandon its initial plans to make the program mandatory and, in 2006, the agency announced that the program would henceforth be voluntary. But what USDA means by "voluntary" is anything but voluntary.

Judith McGreary is working on a lawsuit that challenges the authority for the USDA to even engage in the National Animal Identification System. Part of the argument deals with how USDA is funding organizations and states to force participation in the NAIS, while USDA claims that the program is voluntary.

Judith was perfectly content living with her husband, Mike, on their 40 acres just outside Austin, Texas. Mike retired from the Coast Guard, and Judith turned her Stanford BS into a degree in environmental law from the University of Texas. Life was great. They had a couple of Quarter Horses, several lambs, a bunch of barred rock chickens and turkeys, and were well on their way to developing a business providing eggs and poultry and lamb chops to a growing neighborhood market.

"I remember it well," Judith says. "Mike came in and told me he had learned that the government was going to require us to put a microchip into every one of our chickens." That was the day Judith discovered the NAIS. "I told Mike it had to be an internet rumor; not even the government can be that stupid."

Chickens do not require a microchip under the NAIS plan, but they do require an individual 15-digit identification number, along with each of her horses and lambs and turkeys.

"It's just ridiculous," Judith says. "My chickens range over the pasture. They produce far better eggs than the caged factory hens. How am I going to report the death of one of my chickens within 24 hours, if I don't even know about it? When a fox gets a chicken, I might not even find a pile of feathers. It's just ridiculous."

Judith was already concerned about government regulations that seemed to be squeezing small farmers, especially farmers who are trying to use responsible, sustainable, best practices. She had talked to Mike and to some of her friends about the need for an organization to try to deal with some of the legislative issues. When she discovered that the state of Texas was ready to make the NAIS mandatory, the decision was made. She formed Farm and Ranch Freedom Alliance http://farmandranchfreedom.org/content/

Almost simultaneously, she got involved with the creation of the Liberty Ark Coalition http://libertyark.net/ as a founding member of the steering committee. She began researching, writing and helping others get informed about the impact this program would have on all livestock owners.

"It will put us out of business," she says. "And it's not just the cost and aggravation this program will put on us personally, because it will have the same impact on thousands of other small operators. USDA should be encouraging small farmers and homesteaders to produce what they can for local markets. Instead, THEY ARE DELIBERATELY TRYING TO DRY UP ANY COMPETITION TO THE BIG GUYS."

Along with Sally Fallon, president of the Weston Price Foundation, Gary Cox, and a few other attorneys, farmers, and activists, Judith helped to form the Farm-to-Consumer Legal Defense Fund (www.ftcldf.org). In May, the group sent a 25-page Notice of Intent to Sue to USDA, alleging that the NAIS has not followed proper rule-making procedures, has not met environmental impact assessment standards, has not been subjected to a cost-benefit analysis, and a variety of other short comings.

There are thousands, perhaps hundreds of thousands, of livestock owners who do not yet know they are subject to the reach of the NAIS. Everyone who owns even a single horse or chicken or pig or sheep or any of 29 different species will be subject to the NAIS. Even though the program is said to be voluntary, no one believes it will stay that way. In fact, the FORMER SECRETARY OF THE DEPARTMENT OF AGRICULTURE HAS SAID THAT THE USDA RETAINS THE AUTHORITY TO MAKE THE PROGRAM MANDATORY WHENEVER IT DEEMS IT NECESSARY.

USDA apparently is not concerned about the Fourth Amendment to the U.S. Constitution, which is supposed to guarantee that every citizen is "secure in their persons, houses, papers, and effects, against unreasonable searches and seizures..." A mandatory NAIS would force individuals to surrender private, personal information about their property and their movements to the government without probably cause, without a warrant, and for no good reason, as far as many people can see.

Bert "Nevada" Smith is one of those people. Bert is a western rancher who has seen it all. In his part of the country near Layton, Utah, ranches are measure in sections, not acres. His cattle have no need of a government-assigned number, and his ranch has no place in a federal database. Just ask him.

"My brand is enough identification," Bert says. "Every load I sell is certified healthy by a state veterinarian. The USDA's got no business poking its nose around my ranch and my cattle." And he's not at all bashful about telling the USDA so. Bert has been quite outspoken at cattle association meetings in both Nevada and Utah. USDA big wheels invited to promote the NAIS don't escape Bert's withering condemnation of the program."

He has seen the USDA's shenanigans over the years. He is especially skeptical of its claim that the NAIS is voluntary. He remembers when USDA said that signing up for grazing allotments was voluntary, and how ranchers all over the West lost both their water rights and grazing rights when voluntary became mandatory.

Bert really gets upset about the money USDA is paying organizations to promote the NAIS. "Why, it's bribery. What else can you call it when USDA gives the Future Farmers of America $600,000 to teach the kids to persuade their parents to register their premises in NAIS?"

He's even more upset with the major trade associations for taking the government money. "THEY'VE GOT THEIR HAND IN THE HONEYPOT, AND THEY'VE SOLD OUT THEIR MEMBERS," he says. "THESE TRADE ASSOCIATIONS AND BREED REGISTRY ORGANIZATIONS SHOULD BE HELPING THEIR MEMBERS SHUT DOWN NAIS, INSTEAD OF PROMOTING IT."

There has been a lot of internet speculation that use of the word "premises" in USDA's registration forms somehow strips constitutional protection from the property owner, or converts the property owner into a "tenant" of the federal government.

Jim Burling, director of litigation at the Pacific Legal Foundation, says, "I can see no way that the use of the word "premises" versus "property" has any impact on the ability of the government to enter property without a search warrant. The underlying nature of the property rights cannot be changed by a label. Referring to a property as the "premises" in no way converts a fee simple property into a leasehold."

Bert's not so sure. He is in full agreement with R-CALF, USA (Ranchers-Cattlemen Action Legal Fund), one of the few livestock organizations that opposes the NAIS. R-CALF advises its members: "REGISTERING A PREMISES WITHOUT ENTERING INTO A CONTRACT THAT EXPRESSLY LIMITS THE FEDERAL GOVERNMENT'S AUTHORITY OVER THE PREMISES MAY RESULT IN SUBJECTING THE PREMISES AND ITS REGISTRANT TO ALL FUTURE RULES, REGULATIONS, AND POLICIES THAT THE FEDERAL GOVERNMENT MAY LATER DECIDE TO IMPOSE UPON SUCH REGISTRANT."

Aside from the possible legal hocus-pocus, Bert is convinced that the NAIS is just not necessary. "Animals are already identified with a brand, and they have to be certified healthy before they can be sent to the slaughterhouse. All the NAIS is going to do is put the little guy out of busines," he says.

The opposition to the NAIS expressed by Darol, Judith and Bert is just a sampling of the sentiments expressed by animal owners across the nation. Already, at least 15 state legislatures have responded to appeals from animal owners by entering legislation to prohibit mandatory NAIS at the state level. Four states (Arizona, Missouri, Nebraska and Kentucky) have actually enacted laws to this effect.

USDA claims that the NAIS is needed to provide a mechanism to trace the origin of a diseased animal within 48 hours. But the agency has no evidence that the need for or benefit from this mechanism outweighs the cost. When pressed, USDA EMPLOYEES ADMIT THAT AN ELECTRONIC TRACE-BACK SYSTEM WILL OPEN NEW INTERNATIONAL MARKETS -FOR THE LARGER MEAT EXPORTERS. But even when pressed, USDA HAS NO ANSWER FOR WHY THE REST OF ANIMAL OWNERS SHOULD HAVE TO BEAR THE BURDENS OF COST AND AGGRAVATION FOR THE BENEFITS OF THE BIG EXPORTERS.

It was the big exporters and the manufacturers of the electronic tags and tag-reading equipment - all members of the National Institute for Animal Agriculture (NIAA) - that LARGELY DESIGNED THE PROGRAM AND PREVAILED UPON THE FEDS TO IMPLEMENT IT.

USDA may have miscalculated the strength of the opposition to its NAIS. When first introduced, USDA expected the program to be fully implemented by early 2009. They anticipated that every premises where a livestock animal is housed would be registered; that every livestock animal would be identified, most with a computer-readable tag or chip; and that every off-premises movement would be reported to the government within 24 hours.

Obviously, this is not going to happen by 2009, if ever. The rate of the new signups has slowed, and people were registered are beginning to request that their names and premises be removed from the databases. It's a sure bet that even more states will be introducing anti-NAIS legislation next year.

But the federal government carries the big stick - MONEY. State legislatures are aware that USDA can withhold federal funds if a state fails to knuckle under to the demands of the federal agency. Consequently, the anti-NAIS campaign continues to focus on Congress, as well as on state legislatures.

The jury is still out on NAIS. Whether USDA will be responsive to the expressed will of the animal owners who do not want it, or responsive to the members of the NIAA who do, remains to be seen. One thing is certain: Darol, Judith, Bert and hundreds of thousands of other animal owners are not going to sit idly by and let USDA steamroll over them without a fight. If you're a gambler, be careful which way you bet.

Henry Lamb is founder of the Environmental Conservation Organization and chairman of Sovereignty International.

Thursday, January 1, 2009

Making GORP aka Reindeer Food

Yup. GORP. For the uninitiated, that’s Good Ol’ Raisins and Peanuts—only around here it’s more of a trail mix gone rogue. Ours is the sweet version, like trail mix if it ditched its hiking boots and threw on a candy necklace.

We’ve always called it Reindeer Food in this house. Back when the kids were little, we’d leave cookies and milk out for Santa—but we didn’t forget the ones doing the heavy lifting. Santa got the glory, but the reindeer were the real MVPs. So they got their own special bag of GORP. Rumor has it Rudolph was especially fond of the mini marshmallows (the white ones, of course—his nose was flashy enough), Vixen had a thing for raisins, and Dasher went nuts for the cashews. Literally. Dasher was that guy.

Now, while I was making this nostalgic treat today, life did what life tends to do—it threw a wrench the size of a sleigh runner.

We ran out of propane gas this morning. Why? Because the old gas company went belly-up and left their tanks behind like forgotten toys at the back of the sleigh. The new gas folks won’t deliver until those old tanks are removed. But first, they had to be empty. So today, on a holiday no less (of course), we hit zero on the propane meter. Perfect timing, right?

No worries though—we pioneer on. I plopped the white chocolate (and let’s be honest, it’s not really chocolate) into a makeshift double boiler and stuck it on top of the wood stove. It melted like a dream. A slow, smoky dream, but hey—when you live in the boonies, you either learn to improvise or you go hungry. Around here, if plan A doesn’t work, there had better be a plan B, C, and “throw it on the wood stove and hope for the best.”So the GORP got made, the reindeer will feast, and we’ll survive another backwoods holiday without hot water or modern convenience—but with chocolate-covered raisins and a whole lot of grit.

Merry Christmas, folks. And if you see Dasher buzzing around your feeder, maybe toss him a cashew.


Recipe for Gorp
3 lbs. white chocolate, melted in double boiler

Mix the following together in large bowl:

4 cups rice checks
4 cups wheat checks
4 cups honey nut cheerios
2 cups cashews, or peanuts, or mixed nuts
4 cups salted pretzel sticks

Pour melted white chocolate over the top while mixing thoroughly. Place onto several lightly greased cookie sheets until cooled. Then break into chunks. Add the following:

1 package chocolate covered graham cookies, cut into pieces
1 large package mini M&Ms
1 large package chocolate chips
2 cups raisins
1 bag mini marshmallows

Spoon into ziplock sandwich bags.


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Of course, the dogs are always willing to lend a hand on cleanup, just in case anything falls on the floor.