Dirt: The Erosion of Civilizations - Kootenay Local Agricultural Society
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