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Dirt: The Erosion of Civilizations - Kootenay Local Agricultural Society

Dirt: The Erosion of Civilizations - Kootenay Local Agricultural Society

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214<br />

It is no secret that if agriculture doesn’t become sustainable nothing else<br />

will; even so, some still treat our soil like dirt—and sometimes worse. <strong>The</strong><br />

eastern Washington town <strong>of</strong> Quincy is an unlikely place to uncover one <strong>of</strong><br />

our nation’s dirtiest secrets. But in the early 1990s the town’s mayor clued<br />

Seattle Times reporter Duff Wilson in to how toxic waste was being recycled<br />

into fertilizer and sprayed on croplands. Patty Martin was an unusual<br />

candidate for a whistle blower, a conservative housewife and former pro<br />

basketball player who won a virtually uncontested race for mayor <strong>of</strong> her<br />

small farming community. When Martin’s constituents began complaining<br />

about mysteriously withered crops and crop dusters spraying fertilizer<br />

out on the open prairie for no apparent reason, she learned that Cenex, a<br />

fertilizer-specialty division <strong>of</strong> the Land O’Lakes Company (yes, the butter<br />

people), was shipping toxic waste to her town, mixing it with other chemicals<br />

in a big concrete pond near the train station, and then selling the concoction<br />

as cheap, low-grade fertilizer.<br />

It was a great scheme. Industrial polluters needing to dispose <strong>of</strong> toxic<br />

waste avoided the high cost <strong>of</strong> legitimate dumps. (Anyone who puts something<br />

into a registered toxic waste dump owns it forever.) But mixing the<br />

same stuff into cheap fertilizer and spreading it on vacant land—or selling<br />

it to farmers—makes the problem, and the liability, disappear. So trains<br />

pulled in and out <strong>of</strong> Quincy in the middle <strong>of</strong> the night and the pond went<br />

up and down with no records <strong>of</strong> what went in or out <strong>of</strong> it. Sometimes<br />

Cenex sold the new-fangled fertilizer to unsuspecting farmers. Sometimes<br />

the company paid farmers to use it just to get rid <strong>of</strong> the stuff.<br />

Martin discovered that state <strong>of</strong>ficials allowed recycling waste rich in<br />

heavy metals into fertilizer without telling farmers about all those extra<br />

“nutrients.” Whether or not something was considered hazardous<br />

depended not so much on what the stuff was as on what one intended to<br />

do with it. Approached about the practice <strong>of</strong> selling toxic waste as fertilizer,<br />

staff at the state department <strong>of</strong> agriculture admitted they thought it<br />

was a good idea, kind <strong>of</strong> like recycling.<br />

Curiously enough, the toxic fertilizer began killing crops. Unless they<br />

are eroded away, heavy metals stick around in the soil for thousands <strong>of</strong><br />

years. And if they build up enough in the soil, they are taken up by<br />

plants—like crops.<br />

Why would a company like Cenex be mixing up a toxic brew and selling<br />

it as low-grade fertilizer? Try the oldest reason around—money. Company<br />

memos reveal that they saved $170,000 a year by calling their rinse<br />

pond waste a product and spraying it on farmer’s fields. <strong>The</strong> legal case<br />

dirty business

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