Urban sprawl stinks in California

By Elaine Shein

For many people who want to protect valuable farmland, they declare urban sprawl stinks.

And now it does — literally. An AP story out of California said skunks and people are battling it out when new housing developments go up near cities in San Joaquin County. The Stockton Police department said the skunks are multiplying and continue to live deeper in their burrows. A skunk den can hold up to 75 animals, according to AP.

I can already guess who will win. The skunks.

I recall on our farm how many times our various dogs through the decades took on the skunks, and I can tell you exactly how many times these brave dogs won.

Zero.

Unfortunately, these skunks would sometimes become a pest with our chicken coop or for sending our dogs into a barking frenzy every night so there were times we needed to take on the skunks. By we, I of course mean my father. The rest of us were supportive, but from a safe distance like say … the house several hundred yards away. Inside the house.

Sometimes when my father left the house with his rifle he wasn’t sure exactly what he would find. Coyotes, foxes, porcupines, skunks … at night, a dog’s bark doesn’t differentiate one from the other.

One day Dad decided to follow the barking dog and we heard the barking for quite a while before finally we heard the gunshot announcing the end. The dog paused — then kept barking, but the tone was a bit different.

We picked up the dog and Dad’s scent long before we saw them slowly enter the yard.

The dog kept running, barking, and occasionally rolling in the grass or using his paws to try to rub out the awful skunk odor.

And my father didn’t seem too happy himself, as he started to peeling off his clothing that had one of the most powerful smells we could come across. Mom quietly went off to find all the big cans of tomato juice she could find in the house. Dad was muttering something about burning his clothes.

We learned valuable lessons from that experience. Even when shooting a skunk, the skunk may get the last parting shot. Tomato juice does NOT get the smell out of clothes or a human body. Fire seemed to be the only remedy that successfully got rid of the skunk odor out of clothes. Dad took several baths that day, even though we lived in a part of the country where water was extremely precious and we were always told to ration our water carefully for baths. It took several days for us to finally declare we could no longer detect the skunk odor on him any more. The light scent of tomato juice still lingered.

To this day, our family has never discussed this experience again. We figured Dad living once through this was cruel enough: we need not bring up the subject again.

We also noticed after that Dad was very careful to stay out of spraying range of skunks.

As did we all — except the dogs. They never learned.

One of my friends once told me the night before her husband Bob was going to take her dog to the vet “to get fixed”, the dog tangled with a skunk and lost. Badly.

“You’re not getting out of this THAT easily,” her husband growled, as he shoved the dog into the half ton truck the next morning and drove several miles to the vet. Windows were rolled down, and the smell was so overpowering that Bob nearly gagged, but he was determined the dog needed to go to the vet.

The veterinarian was not happy about the dog owner’s stubbornness. The larger bill reflected that, but Bob just shrugged. He wasn’t about to raise a stink over it, considering the circumstances.





Agriculture

Memorial Day weekend: a rainy reflection

By Elaine Shein

The Memorial Day weekend weather was a conversational topic for many who were disappointed with the May showers for at least the first couple of days.

Television stations showed disappointed campers in the mountains, in the Cascade as well as Sierra Nevada ranges, waking up to fresh snow on their tents and shivering around their barbecues for heat.

For the farmers who worked the weekend to sell their produce at farmers’ markets, business was rather slow.

A steady rain fell on the farmers’ market in Corvallis, Ore. What should have been a bustling Saturday was more of a bust: few people visited the booths, and those hardy shoppers usually hurried back to their vehicles with the fresh fruit and vegetables of the season.

Several of those who work the farmers’ market tucked their tables in under their tarps and tents as much as possible to avoid the steady rain.

The musicians who often compete with each other were noticeably absent, probably worried about warping their guitars and rusting their other musical instruments.

Perhaps the busiest places in Corvallis were the coffee shops — especially the ones nearest the farmers’ market.

In Salem, it was also noticeably quiet, and some vendors at the Saturday Market began to pack up early when it appeared the weather — and customers — would not be favorable that day. Some farmers thanked patrons for just showing up, even if they weren’t in the mood to make a purchase.

Some of the more traditional tourist areas were also slow this weekend. McMinnville’s historic district was relatively empty, but then again a lot of people are probably still recovering from the UFO Festival that was there the weekend before. Or they were visiting some of the wonderful wineries in the valley that offered taste tests.

For those who may have been driving the countryside and didn’t see UFOs, they may have seen another strange sight. Taking back roads from Basket Slough (a wildlife refuge west of Salem) towards Perrydale, there was a group of nine wild turkeys close to the road. Some were in the pasture, others perched on a fence to gaze at a nearby cattle herd. They didn’t seem to mind the rain.

On the coast, restaurant and store owners complained about how slow business was because of the weather. A woman working the flea market at Yachats, just off Highway 101, said the weather had been just terrible on Saturday and Sunday, and she readily welcomed Monday’s sunny day. “We don’t even want to talk about the rest of the weekend,” she said. “Let’s pretend it never existed. The rest of the week is supposed to be nice.”

Campgrounds and hotels were relatively empty and highway traffic light, a big surprise for this time of year. The casinos remained busy, as usual.

However, Monday’s sunshine slowly began to attract more people to the beach and restaurants, and popular places like the Chowder Bowl restaurant at the historic Nye Beach of Newport had long line-ups while staff hurried from table to table.

By the end of the day it seemed like everybody — and their dog — was out to enjoy some of the sunshine.

And to enjoy a day of freedom that so many others, from so many generations, have sacrificed for us to enjoy life peacefully now here in the U.S.

Listening to the solemn words of our leaders, watching jet fighters overhead or wreath-laying ceremonies in our local towns, seeing documentaries on television, or even listening to our relatives, friends and neighbors who have served in wars of the past — while we continue to mourn and pray for those who continue to fight in war zones overseas — all act as reminders that Memorial Day isn’t just another vacation day.

If rainy weather and dampened vacation plans are the biggest challenges we have for the moment, we should be grateful.

There are so many who have so much less in the world.

The sun will shine at future farmers’ markets. The tourists will flood back to their favorite places in upcoming weeks. Businesses will attract their usual and new clientele once again.

But there are so many families who will not be seeing their spouse, parent, or child again because of the sacrifices they have made fighting in wars.

Perhaps we should have had more conversations about that than the weather on the long weekend.





Agriculture

A link from the Backwoods

Thanks to Backwoods Evolution for the link to Blogriculture. We appreciate it.

Like Savage Farmer, which has also linked to our site, Backwoods is an Oregon-based blog.

Ain't it nice when the neighbors say howdy?

Agriculture
Blogging

What to do when nature throws a curveball: baseball-sized hail

Thunderstorms: source of excitement but also fear for those who experience them.






By Elaine Shein

After some wild storms in the West last week, discussion among some of the staff at Capital Press showed we each have different definitions of what is a bad storm.

As several people talked about experiencing heavy sheets of rain, hail, high winds, multiple flashes of lightning and booming thunder, and acknowledged hearing weather warnings on radio and television stations, one particular skeptic kept shaking his head.

Capital Press managing editor Carl Sampson kept declaring this was nothing, not a REAL storm, just a sprinkle really, and nothing as scary as what he has experienced in the past. He shared what it feels like to see a whole town disappear just down the road from where it used to be, or to know that several of the neighbors' farms are gone because of a tornado.

It was obvious that he was the one from the Midwest, where Tornado Alley is not just a nickname but a way of life for several months, and where frequent travelers knew they should expect airport delays because of storm cells threatening even aircraft in the area.

Whenever the humidity rose, the clouds of awfully dark blue, gray and green began to swirl, wind began to pick up, rain became more sideways and drops grew larger, and of course the animals in the house or yard or on the farm began to act strange, the signs pointed to a horrible storm coming soon.

Occasionally tornadoes do appear on the West Coast, such as in eastern Oregon last week, but it’s much more infrequent.

Send kids to spot tornadoes

Growing up in Western Canada, my brothers and I always were on the lookout for tornadoes as soon as the first spring storms started to hit. It became part of our routine each day: check the weather forecast if any warnings had been given for our area, and if any dark clouds were coming, my father sent us kids up to the second floor of our house to peer out to see if we could spot either funnels or streaks of white signifying bad hail in the approaching storms. We also would sometimes receive phone calls from neighbors or relatives to let us know if bad weather had already gone through their area.

There were no tornado sirens in the sparsely-populated farming area where my family lives, so this was the next best warning system.

If we spotted what looked like a bad storm, then we had options: if it looked like hail was on the way, we quickly rounded up all the chickens and turkeys and chased them into the coop. This was when I decided that turkeys, followed by chickens, were the most stupid living creatures on earth. I know a lot of people encourage free range chickens be raised, but in stormy areas we have learned that free range chickens will NOT run away from approaching storms but instead run wildly around in circles when a storm hits. Any chickens we couldn’t round up would usually become bruised or killed from hailstones when they hit. They never learned from the dog and cats which dived under granaries at the first hint of thunder. Often together, no matter how much they hated each other.

Hide the trucks

If we didn’t have any calves or pigs to chase inside, next on our list was to move any vehicles off the yard and into our big Quonset. Huddled against the machinery, these dusty, dented half-ton trucks were safer there than risking their already stone-chipped windshields against the hail.

If we felt it was going to be a REALLY bad storm, we also placed pillows against some of the house windows after making sure we had closed every window in the house against the rain. This was to help give a bit more protection against the hail.

And then finally we would scoot downstairs ourselves, waiting until the storm passed.

Probably the worst storm that hit our farm was when I was a teenager. We had gone through all the steps but braced ourselves for the worst. We knew there would be a lot of hail, just from how the wind was howling and there was the continuous rumble of thunder in the distance growing louder; the temperature plunged drastically.

Our house had a small porch to the north, with linoleum floor, and then there was the kitchen, also with linoleum, and finally our living room with its 1-inch high shag rug. At first we thought we would be safe in the house, glancing occasionally out the porch window to see if the storm had yet arrived.

Baseball-sized hail strikes

And then we saw the hailstones start to come down … in disbelief we saw that these were not the usual hailstones. Rapidly they went from quarter-size to baseball size. They hit the ground and then bounced another 9 feet or more into the air. We began to hear the roof begin to be pounded, and watched these wildly bouncing hailstones flying all over the yard.

My mother screamed at us to get away from the porch. Us kids ran to the living room, rather than downstairs, because there would be fewer windows to pass. The windows were starting to get smashed.

We had just reached the living room when one of the hailstones bounced off the ground, hurled through the porch window, and had so much force that it didn’t even touch the porch floor. It sailed half way across the kitchen at shoulder level before it landed and began to slide fast along the kitchen linoleum towards where we were standing. It hit the shag rug in the living room and still it kept going, at least another three or four feet, and finally stopped only two inches from our feet.

We stared down at it, this big icy block of ice still not melting. We glanced at each other, and stayed silent; all we could hear were all the windows on the north and west side of the house, in the basement, main floor and second floor as they shattered. The hailstones rattled so loud off the roof and walls of the house we would not have been able to hear each other at that point if we even dared to shout anything.

Broken windows, battered walls

When the storm passed, we finally emerged from the house and saw the yard filled with the white hailstones, mostly the same giant size. It was clear that the garage, the barn the house … anything with windows had been beaten bad. The sides of buildings that faced the storm had deep round imprints in them from all the hail. (For years my mother tried to cover these indents with several layers of paint, but 30 years later we can still see them from a side view, and still feel the curves as we ran a hand over the boards.)

The phone began to ring later that day. Neighbors compared what damage had been done to vehicles, how many turkeys, ducks or chickens they had lost, how even some newborn calves hadn’t been able to handle the storm. Our school 11 miles away had also had all the windows on one side of it smashed out. Trees were stripped off leaves, but luckily crops were still being seeded at the time and the crop wasn’t lost. We also were thankful no one had been injured.

In our freezer for several months we kept a few of the hailstones to remind ourselves of nature’s wrath but also to have proof for relatives who came to visit.

The lesson learned at that time prepared me for future storms. As a reporter I covered a lot of tornado and high wind storms, but usually after the storms had passed. I would talk to families that miraculously survived, and I'd take pictures of steel grain bins twisted and crumpled against each other like tin cans; a garage picked up, flung 500 feet upside down on its roof; houses moved off foundations and their roofs peeled back like a sardine can. And I was thankful that lives had been spared despite the disaster.

Tornado in rearview mirror

Like about five years ago when I was driving from work and watched in disbelief as a tornado formed only about five miles away … and was heading towards my place. I watched it in my rearview mirror as I raced home to hide in my basement.

After the storm passed, without my basement being ripped apart over top of me, I ventured carefully out and … there were some of my neighbors across the street, sitting on their porch, drinking beer, and talking about what a rush it was to see the storm.

“Wow, should have seen it … there were like, five or six funnels twirling around each other right over our houses but they didn’t come down! It was SOOO cool!”

We were very lucky. The tornado had been on the ground for several minutes and had reached within a half block of the city’s western edge … then suddenly lifted above and twirled as a harmless funnel (along with a few others) over my part of town. It wasn’t the first time we had storms in our areas. I knew that some small tornadoes had touched down in my neighborhood only a few years before, and one family two blocks from me had their same house roof hit twice within a couple of years from tornadoes. My real estate agent didn't mention it at the time when I bought the house. I found out later from neighbors.

Respect nature

Too often we don’t show enough fear when it comes to nature. On the West Coast, perhaps it’s a good thing that we still marvel and talk about storms even when these storms are gentle compared to those in the MidWest or the Canadian prairies.

I admit I do miss the severe thunderstorms and the tremendous lightning shows of nature. I always yearn to see them each spring.

But I don’t miss the fear that also rumbles along with the storms.



Agriculture

Swapping for fuel

By Elaine Shein

For farmers who seek what to do about high fuel prices, especially when short of cash for those scary bills, perhaps there is another option.

A Reuters story said that a woman in Germany didn’t have enough money to pay for her gas, so she left behind a friend as a deposit and promised to return for the friend after she withdrew the cash.

Two hours later, the frustrated gas station worker still held the so-called friendly deposit and the other woman still hadn’t returned. Police were finally called, the friend at the station was released, and authorities were last searching for the driver for possible fraud.

Police might have another crime on their hands if the ex-friends encounter each other first and revenge comes to mind.

Consider what farmers could leave behind at the local gas station, or what to trade next time a load of fuel is brought to the farm.

Swap options

“Here, if we can just shove this heifer into the cab of your fuel truck … I swear I’ll get her back later when I’m in town.”

“Need a good round bale of hay? I’m sure you can tack some nice ad banners to it… You might want to keep it away from those fuel pumps though.”

“I told my honey we would do something special like take a trip for our 25th anniversary … I’m sure she won’t mind helping you deliver diesel for a week until that payment comes in for that last wheat shipment. Heck, Rosie will see much more of the county than ever before.”

“Kids, if you don’t stop fighting in the backseat, I’ll drop off one of you at the next gas station in exchange for a fuel gallons of gas … Don’t make me stop now!”

“Surely you could use a nice hog like this one. Okay, she’s no beauty queen: she really likes to pig out at fast food places and is real road hog if you let her drive, but she’s a great travel companion.”

“You’ll love this horse. Great horsepower, never nags, she’ll help you hoof it over to your other customers in no time. “

“I know it’s just, uhm, temporary, but you might want to cover these chickens’ eyes whenever you pass a Kentucky Fried Chicken restaurant. They’re a bit sensitive about running into cousins of theirs unexpectedly…”

‘How ‘bout we swap: I’ll give you a few gallons of milk for a few gallons of fuel. I reckon this milk is worth at least $3 per gallon. And that’s without labor costs.”

“Can I interest you in some fine Christmas trees in exchange for the fuel? Sure, it’s a bit early for decorations, but you’ll get an early start for the season.”

“Tell you what: I’ve got four calling birds, three French hens, two turtle doves and a partridge in a pear tree. Can you give me a 12-day extension on that gas bill for those?”


Fuel prices
Agriculture

Champoeg teaches Oregon's ag and political history

Dennis Wiley, Park Manager for the Champoeg State Heritage Area, shows Wilsonville mayor Charlotte Lehan a historic marker honoring the May 2, 1843 meeting that let to the first American government on the Pacific Coast.


By Elaine Shein

CHAMPOEG STATE HERITAGE AREA, Ore. — Holding up a sock monkey, the woman dressed in period costume from the mid-1800s asked the small group of students how many knew what it was.

A few hands rose eagerly in response.

“ A sock monkey!” cried out one. A few others nodded that they too, had successfully recognized this toy that was popular from more than a century ago.

Taking the lesson further, the woman asked “how many pairs of socks do you think people had at the time? And how did they make these socks?”

And the lesson continued at Champoeg State Heritage Area.

Within a few minutes the students discussed whether kids would have had time to play after doing chores, what it was like to be in church on hard wooden pews and what toys they could silently play with there, and how socks could be transformed into monkeys for amusement.

Along the way, the children in this particular group — one of three that day — discussed how tough they think people had it in the past, what chores they might have done, what roles the children had, and what family life was like on farms.

Education on the past

Each year about 3,800 students participate in the educational programs offered at this park. This includes a Pioneer School, where students “take part in a typical pioneer school day, learning what it was like to be student in 1861. What better way to study history than to become part of it?” explains the material from the park. “Students work outdoors with instructors making hand-dipped candles and a button spinner toy. And of course, they enjoy good old fashioned pioneer recess.”

There is a lot to see and do at the part, ranging from hands-on activities to videos and other displays to teach children. Historic markers help teach children how the first provisional government was decided here in 1843, but the kids also learn to respect agriculture and the first farmers to settle the fertile soil in the French Prairie area of Oregon.

According to the Park Manager Dennis Wiley, the Champoeg State Heritage Area draws 350,000 people annually to enjoy its 615 acres that include historic sites, an interpretative center, hiking and biking trails and much more. Near Newberg, Ore., the area continues to draw people who enjoy history as well as nature.

Special events

Some of the special events that draw people include Chatauqua on Saturdays designated in January, February and March each year, Earth Day in April, and Founders Day in May.

Still upcoming for this year is Down by the Riverside on May 20, Oregon State Parks Day on June 3, Free Fishing Day on June 10, Pioneer Farmstead Day on Sept. 2, and Champoeg Holiday Gathering on Dec. 2.

What really is fascinating are the Living History Events that the park offers. These include, according to the literature from the Friends of Historic Champoeg:

Textile Day on July 8: spinning wool, carding wool, rug braiding, quilting and weaving

Blacksmith Day on July 15: Blacksmithing, horse shoeing

Dairy Day on July 22: Butter making, cheese making demonstrations, buttermilk baking

Fun and Games Day on July 29: 19th century games, indoor and outdoor

Wheat Production Day on August 5: Wheat processing from stalk to flour

Household Arts on the Farm Day on August 12: Vinegars, herbs, mending clothes, rug weaving

Farm Yard Arts Day on August 19: Leather harness repair, woodworking, tin smithing

Farmstead Day on September 2: All that was done so far, together!

Barn Dance on Sept. 15-16

Apple Harvest Festival on October 14

Holiday Gathering on December 2: Crafts, food, music, story telling, trimming the tree.


Learning about ancestors

One of the best parts about the programs at Champoeg is this keeps alive the knowledge of what many people’s ancestors experienced. Many farms in the area can trace back their heritage to the first people who settled in the area, and families take pride in knowing they continue to work the land and grow high-quality crops and livestock.

And of course, there is the political history significance of this place.

A modest marker lists names of some of the earliest farming pioneers and the spot where on May 2, 1843, settlers from the Willamette Valley felt it was important enough to get together to organize a civil government. “The Organic Act adopted July 5, 1843, was a provisional constitution for the Oregon country, the first American government on the Pacific Coast,” explains a large sign near the historic place.

Political significance

Wiley put into perspective how important this first vote was. A large number of settlers of the Willamette Valley gathered to discuss whether to be part of Great Britain or be part of the United States. They wanted to protect the interest of Oregon lands, and included French-Canadian farmers, Methodist missionaries, natives, and even fur-trappers. They struggled with language, with half of them not understanding English, and needed to vote a half dozen times before the final conclusion. With a vote of 52 to 50, the people who participated decided to create the Provisional Government.

How important was this?

Drew thousands of Oregonians

For decades after that, this spot in Champoeg State Park attracted crowds of thousands of people to celebrate Founders Day in May. There are stories of how, around 1910 and for a few years after that, more than 3,000 people would come from all over the state, by “steam wheeler, horse and buggy” and sometimes traveled for days to get there, according to Wiley.

“Now, we feel really good about it if we get 100 people,” he said, adding that’s about how many showed up recently for the event. “Generations have passed away with ties to pioneer heritage,” he explained.

This week as farmers tilled the dusty fields near Champoeg, the park manager noted that the land in this area still looks much like it did 150 years ago even though the production practices and technological advancements might have changed. Farmers still work the land that enjoys depths of topsoil from 3 to 8 feet deep, some of the best land in the West. There was a reason farmers first settled in this temperate weather zone and worked this area so richly diverse in agriculture, ranging from berries to nut orchards to grass seed to vegetable crops and nurseries.

Today’s challenges

Unfortunately, like many other special historic places, the Champoeg State Heritage Area is not funded by Oregon income tax dollars and relies on grants, lottery dollars and personal contributions to continue a program that costs hundreds of thousands of dollars to maintain and hopefully to improve. Work is needed on trails, as well as interpretative signs, and plans are being made to launch an anniversary celebration in 2009.

Anyone interested in contributing can become a member or volunteer. Membership levels range from $15 for a senior/student to $1,000 for a lifetime membership. For more information, contact: Friends of Historic Champoeg, 8239 Champoeg Road NE, St. Paul, OR 97137 or call 503-678-1649.
Email is info@champoeg.org or email Champoeg State Heritage Area.


Watching the kids as they learned from the people who work at Champoeg, it is clear that for anyone who loves history, especially of Oregon or agriculture, this is a great cause to support.

Links:
Champoeg State Heritage Area.

Tags:
Champoeg State Heritage Area
Oregon history
French Prairie
Oregon politics
Oregon school tours
Agriculture