I recently discovered that Nutri-Grain bars smell EXACTLY like Nutrena’s Grower/Finisher Pig Feed (conventional hog feed). This has been confirmed by 4 other people.

I’m not at all convinced that the outside coating of a Nutri-Grain bar isn’t the same as these pellets and it would be wonderful for someone to do some investigative journalism about this. Nutrena is a company of Cargill, one of the world’s largest producers of “food,” meaning anything that can be grown using biotechnology.  Nutri-Grain is a company of Kellogg, who must source their cereal grains from somewhere…

Moral of this story: If you don’t like the idea of eating hog feed designed to fatten hogs, in bar form, I’d give up nutri-grain until you are sure.

I realize that it has been some time since I updated this blog to reflect my current life position, which I’ve been in since January. Here it goes…

After I left Foggy Ridge Cider, I was scooped up by Severine Von Tscharner Fleming of the Greenhorns, a young farmer activist organization. She offered me a place to stay in the Champlain Valley of New York and a full diet CSA share from Essex Farm if I came and worked with the Greenhorns on a part-time basis. I accepted and that’s where I’m typing from right now.

Last year around this time, I was sitting on a porch in Virginia venting about how unhappy I was with my social life, which eventually led to me being unhappy with my place-based work. Fed up with my sob story, one of the listeners asked: “Well, what is it that you want to do?” I thought about it for a moment and then replied: I want to cultivate a way of growing apples that is low-input, environmentally friendly, and within the confines of my personal ethics. His response: “You won’t make any money doing that anytime soon. You’ve got to do something in the meantime that will make money.”

Isn’t that the plight of the young agrarian these days? Finding a means to support yourself in order to get your ideal occupation off the ground and running? For some reason, there seems to be a stigma attached to supplementing your farm business with outside income in the agricultural realm, and that has to end. Times are different now. Land is expensive or hard to come by, markets need to be created, consumer education is imperative due to increasing disconnect, and the food system is broken. Just because someone’s income isn’t fully derived from the farm doesn’t mean they are any less of a farmer. These days, anyone trying to work the land in order to grow environmetnally friendly/ethical food should be heralded rather than deemed “hobby farmer” or something to that extent. They might be working towards it, for all we know.  Heck, I could grow way more trees if I was using round-up. I could sell more apples if I sprayed harsh chemicals to make them blemish free, the income of both these options could cover my “survival income.” But neither of those options meet the goals of what I want to do/who I want to be. So, I decided to take a part-time job that met my goals and would help me and others out in the future: Farmer Activist for the Greenhorns (AKA, Director of Biodiversity)

I’m an activist because I’m a farmer who is tired of the status quo in a world where change needs to happen. Gone are the days of sitting on the agricultural periphery, wishing I had something meaningful to contribute or a way to convey my thoughts. This year, I’ve developed the confidence to use my voice and cultivated the tools necessary to bring about awareness to Americans. Poor. Rich. Conservative. Liberal…we all [hopefully] know what an apple is and can talk about one.

Speaking of apples, I’m also working with them in the Champlain valley. I’m involved with a few orchards up here, do some orchard consulting (minimal, I really don’t enjoy consulting), teach workshops, and constantly scheme about how to better my practices for the future (hopefully in Virginia).

Life is crazily busy and I am in a downright struggle to manage it all. Balance is needed, as always, and I often fight work-a-holic tendencies. But, I love where my life is right now and I am excited for every new day. That’s my update for now.

I have just received word that Francis Fenton, the “Apple Man” of Mercer, Maine, has died.

I lived with Francis when he was 96/97 years old, helping him to manage his five acre orchard of standard apple trees. He once told me that his goal was to live to 100 years old and unfortunately, he was 2 months shy of obtaining that goal. He was an impressive man in his late 90s, tall in stature, clear of mind (for the most part) and a need to go out to work for hours at a time. He asked me to call him Frank once we got to know each other better, which I only remembered to call him half the time.  He was absolutely tone deaf and would keep me up at midnight practicing the saxophone. I can still hear him practicing “When You WIsh Upon A Star,” which I knew from Pinocchio and he knew from the 40s war era. He would say: “I love that song, Liza.”

We fought about chemical use in the orchard, his argument was that it made things easy and why would anyone ever want to go back to doing hard work? He lived in a time where he watched his father work himself to the bone because without technology, there was no other option. He would make a point to show me the chain which was once wrapped around a huge rock under the barn as a reminder that the team of horses (or oxen?) couldn’t pull that one out no matter how hard they tried. After our chemical discussions, he’d say: “Oh Liza, I love technology. I’m a technological guy! I’m open to new ideas.” And then he’d ask me why I didn’t become a nurse or work at Olive Garden…you know, to get a job with benefits. He couldn’t fathom any young person wanting to go into apples and continually tried to dissuade me.

As much as we riled each other up, we loved each other. When I would leave for my other job 4 days a week (I was managing his orchard for gas money to get there, a 50 mile drive, with hopes of sharing some of the profits that fall), he would always stand in his driveway and wave goodbye, telling me that he loved me. We shared the orchard, performing different tasks the two of us felt needed doing, and often not telling each other what we did (on purpose, I think). We went on sharing until one day when we were no longer allowed to share due to a bitter and nasty family intervention. Weeks shy of harvest, I was no longer allowed to contact Francis or be in the orchard, and I went into a deep and dark depression, one where I thought about giving all of this up. I haven’t talked with him since that day he told me: “Eliza, my daughter makes me cry, too, and I’ll cry many tears over this. I’m really sorry…but there can’t be two bosses.”

He was an original fruit explorer, exploring Western Maine for old apple varieties and bringing them back to his orchard. He had around 120 varieties and his favorite was the Wealthy, which he would eat as apple sauce with ice cream on top nearly every day. His wife, who died years ago, loved Mollie’s Delicious. He always told her the name of the apple was “Dollie’s Delicious” (he pronounced it “DollieLicious”)because her name was Dollie and it was close enough. She couldn’t eat acidic foods and that apple was alright for her, he said.

I have hundreds of stories about Francis and apples that I’ll forever cherish. I’m blessed to have had him in my life and I hope he’s somewhere eating an apple out of hand. He’d often complain to me about how his dentures wouldn’t allow for such activities.

Rest in Peace, Francis (Frank)

Edit: This is part of an email I wrote back in 2012 about my experience with Francis.

On the orchard, things are interesting. It’s actually a mixture of nightmare and fairy tale, if those two could ever be combined. The orchard is 5 acres, 120 varieties, and each variety is peppered throughout without any rhyme or reason. So, this means that I have to go out with a map every weekend, document the bloom time, and try to figure out spraying. Our first apple, the charette, bloomed 2 weeks ago while 15 varieties still haven’t shown any signs of flowering. Because we’re selling apples to the public, we have been spraying fungicide weekly to kill apple scab. It’s not what I want to do, but it’s Francis’ wish so we’re doing it. I’d much rather enter into a life-long battle of trying to change people’s apple shopping habits than spray.

The fairy-tale portion of this is actually working with Francis. While living with him, I’m learning a lot about a nearly lost way of life. Since 1770, 3 generations of Fentons have lived on the property, Francis is the 3rd generation. He knew his Grandfather, who fought in the civil war and he still has sleighs that the family used to get around in the winter time. When walking through the forest, there are huge wolf trees- evidence of once farmed fields. He knows every wild thing growing on the property and we often enjoy meals of seasonal wild edibles. The past 3 weeks have been fiddleheads, or juvenile ostrich fern. There’s also dandelion greens and a few trout lillies here and there (eat the small bulb, it tastes very much like a sweet cucumber). So, we’re a good duo these days. He’s really excited that a 28 year-old female is living in his house (EVERYONE knows who I am because he announced it at church) and I’m excited about getting to know him. Chemicals or not, I’m learning a lot on the management side of things when it comes to relatively unknown heirloom apple varieties.