October 10th, 2009

Mayor Carvalho at South Shoreganics Farm

South Shoreganics welcomed Kauai Mayor Bernard Carvalho Jr. to the farm this week to tape his local television show, “Together We Can.”

After taking a tour, talking about local agriculture and taping the show, it was time for a taste of the farm. For the visit, two of Kauai’s top chefs prepared dishes featuring locally grown produce.

Executive Chef Matt Dela Cruz of Roy’s prepared “Poipu Style Sashimi Duo.”  The island Ahi and Hamachi were topped with South Shoreganics baby radish salad, surrounded by our sweet corn in a succotash and drizzled with soy lime vinaigrette.

Executive Chef Philip Wang of Merriman’s prepared “Roasted South Shoreganics Organic Beets Salad and Fresh Island Organic Citrus.” The roasted beets were served with fresh island citrus, and served on a bed of local arugula and avocado.

The food looked so good it made me want to run for mayor.

September 24th, 2009

A group of over a dozen major food companies have come up with a nutrition labeling program.  The program, called “Smart Choices” utilizes a large green checkmark, which is starting to appear on packaged food items in stores across the country.  The intention of the green checkmark is to help consumers make better food choices when purchasing.  In other words, you no longer have to think for yourselves; just follow the green checkmarks to smart food choices like, uh, Fruit Loops.

FRUIT LOOPS.

As a college student, I once watched a thirteen year-old named Brooke for two weeks while her parents were away in Europe.  During the course of that time, I taught Brooke a few things, namely:
a new route to her house,
that a big bowl of Fruit Loops contains a chunk of the RDA of Vitamin C, and
how to drive a stick shift.

Not bad for half a month.  Well, not bad that is, if you overlook the fact that the new route to her house was forged by our being unbelievably lost out in the country one night.  Oh, and that teeny tiny issue of the inevitable sugar low that hits after eating a bowl of Fruit Loops just as the school day begins.  And, lest I forget, the incident of Brooke starting my car in gear and driving it through her garage door.

Closer inspection reveals a harrowing aspect to 14 days of fun.  Not-so-smart choices.
What would a closer inspection of the “Smart Choices” campaign reveal?

History is full of decisions once labeled smart choice that now seem anything but.  Is it possible that eating Fruit Loops might just be one of them?  Yet, according to the food industry powers-that-be, a food made of 44% sugar is an intelligent option.  They make the Fruit Loops, they market the Fruit Loops, they profit from the sales of the Fruit Loops.  Beyond intelligent, the “Smart Choices” campaign is brilliant.  Unless you’re the one who ends up holding the Fruit Loops.

“According to Michael Jacobson, the executive director of the Center for Science in the Public Interest, the criteria for the new ’smarter food’ label is so low that : ‘You could start out with some sawdust, add calcium or Vitamin A and meet the criteria.’”*

Vitamin fortified sawdust?  Hmmm.  Follow those green checkmarks and they may just lead you to a smart choice meal of Brooke’s broken garage door.

To date, there isn’t a substitute for common sense.  If there comes a time when we find one, chances are that it won’t look like a green checkmark placed on a package by the one who stands to make money off of your purchase of the product.  Fortunately, as far as food is concerned, we still have a choice.  In my opinion, ensuring that choice remains is, without question, one of the smartest things that we can ever do.

* Quote from fooddemocracynow.org

South Shoreganics is a trademark of South Shoreganics LLC.  All other trademarks or registered trademarks listed are property of their respective owners.

June 2nd, 2009

Facebook sounds like a part-time job to us, which is why we’re not on it, not by choice, at least.  Still, somehow people find our website through Facebook and write us emails about how “alluring” farming sounds.

Alluring?

Those emails have got me pondering whether or not I may have been reporting an imbalanced view of farming, which is an issue, as farming itself is all about balance.  In an effort to maintain equilibrium, allow me to mention the fruit fly.

Months back somebody told me that fruit flies prefer the color yellow.  I heard that statement through the same lens of suspicion that’s produced every time I hear someone say that dogs are colorblind.  Passing it off as unsubstantiated information, we went about farming, planting a mini-tomato called Sungold.  If you’re guessing the tomatoes weren’t red, you’re on the right track.

With a name like Sungold, I don’t think it even a small exaggeration to say that the fruit flies stung the daylights out of those little yellow tomatoes.  Our task morphed from checking if any of the tomatoes were stung to checking how many times.  The record was somewhere around 15 times on a single round.

Are dogs colorblind?  I cannot say, but fruit flies definitely prefer the color yellow.

Our rows of Sungolds were like a homing beacon, beckoning the entire fruit fly population to South Shoreganics.  Farmer Jer and I made the decision that the yellows would have to go.  We picked tomatoes by the trayful in an effort to save what we could.  A friend stopped by while I was going through them, and as quickly as I discarded them, he was salvaging them, all the while muttering under his breath about wasting food.  Unintentionally, I waited until he had popped one in his mouth to explain that a sting is the fruit fly’s way of placing it’s offspring into an object.

He never did thank me.

After salvaging the fruit, we set about pulling out the plants.  As I leaned down to grab one, I witnessed one of the winged vermin in the act of stinging a Sungold.  I was riveted until seconds later, when the fly left the tomato and landed on my hand.  It’s funny how such a small event can cause such a ruckus.

ruckus (noun):  When I run down the row of tomatoes yelling, “She’s gonna lay her babies in me!”
Farmer Jer pulled out the rest of the yellows by himself.

I eventually made my way back to the farm and listened to the voice of reason, which sounded suspiciously like the voice of Farmer Jer.  It reminded me that female flies of all kinds, even the common housefly, lay babies.  Strangely enough, I found that consoling.  And once consoled, declared war.

It now appears that in addition to produce, we are growing 2-liters in our trees and on our fenceposts.  The bottles house a bait that attracts the fruit flies in even greater numbers.  Enticed by the smell, the insects swarm the bottle and then start dropping like…well, flies.

How’s that for alluring?

The Sungold Skirmish was a victory for insects islandwide, but we are gaining ground: the cherry tomatoes are looking bueno, and I haven’t run from a fruit fly in months…weeks…okay, days.  If this keeps up, we may even order Sungold seeds again.  Or find time for Facebook.

The UH extension office in Lihue offers a great $5 class for farmers and backyard growers on fruit fly management and bait.  Contact the extension office for details.

April 16th, 2009

On Wednesday, April 22nd and Thursday, April 23rd, we will have boxes (downwind) at all South Shoreganics pick-up locations for the donation of used athletic shoes.  The shoes will be recycled into playground surfaces, indoor sport courts, etc.  Shoes cannot have any cleats or metal parts and cannot be damp.  Sorry, no slippahs.

April 16th, 2009

Recently, my kids and I were invited on a whale-watching trip.  We showed up at the designated time and boarded a catamaran, ready to see some whales.  It was one of those really, really (did I mention the water spout?), really windy days - one of those kind of days when you don’t see…a…single…whale.  It started me thinking of a time when I’d seen whales in a very different setting.

Once, for purchasing tires, we were given free passes to Sea World, and we went, ready to see some whales.  We arrived at a giant tank of water at the show’s designated time, and sat in seats just outside the marked “splash zone.”  Right on schedule, giant killer whales swam into the tank.  Wetsuit-clad trainers started their scripted dialogue.  Peppy (yes, peppy) music started.  It was nothing less than fascinating.

But so is the shelf life of a Twinkie:  fascinating and disturbing all at the same time.

I’m not an animal rights activist, advocating the free roaming of all creatures - ask my dog - still, there was something downright odd about seeing nature’s top ocean predators swimming in circles, performing tricks at the sound of a whistle and the flick of a wrist.  The trainers rode on the backs of the killer whales while leading the crowd in synchronized clapping, all perfectly on beat with the music.  Those inside the “splash zone” got wet, those outside stayed dry.  Enormous screens showed close-ups and instant replays.  It was all so…slick.

I guess you could say I prefer my whales free range; I’ll take the whale-watching trip any day.  No trainers, no peppy music, no avoidable “splash zone,” no script…just a boat out on the ocean trying to catch a glimpse of a mysterious wonder.  And somewhere below, the mysterious wonders, just being whales.

For me, that is what eating local is about.  It’s eschewing the big, the industrial for something grown in a natural setting; a setting like the nearest farm or your own backyard.  It’s avoiding the bells and whistles of food packaging and opting instead for something bunched together with a rubber band.  It’s realizing that your food is being fed by the same sun and pelted by the same rain that you are being warmed and pelted by.  It’s appreciating the wonder of the seasons and flavors of the environment where you live.  Eating local is knowing where your food comes from.

In his book “The Omnivore’s Dilemma,” Michael Pollan writes, “if we could see what lies on the far side of the increasingly high walls of our industrial agriculture, we would surely change the way we eat.”  For instance?  Today you can buy a plastic box of lettuce that has been grown thousands of miles away in dirt leveled by lasers, rinsed in water with extra chlorine added, and passed under metal detectors in an attempt to protect consumers from Band-Aids containing metal filaments that may fall off farm worker’s bodies.

And that’s the organic stuff.
Seemingly, in matters of food, ignorance is not bliss.

It all comes down to choices, really, and where you spend your money is where you cast your vote.  There’s no question that the whale show will give you a lot of bang for your buck; guaranteed you’re not going to see a whale parading around with a man perched on his nose out in the Pacific.  But what is the true cost of those few minutes of Sea World pizzazz?  Knowing the answer to that would probably not be bliss either.

Through artificial insemination, technology ought to ensure a slew of killer whales for years to come – a steady stream of Shamus.  As long as we consumers choose to eat in ignorance of our foods’ constitution and origin, technology ought to ensure a steady stream of industrialized slick food as well.

Because I’m a farmer, it may seem rather self-serving of me to write an article encouraging you to eat local – a stroke of pure business genius on my part – unless you step back and look at the bigger picture.  That bigger picture, which happens to include ranchers, hunters, fishermen, fellow farmers, gardeners and just about anyone with a pot and some soil, are the folks who make up this island.  By encouraging you, I may very well work myself out of a job.  That’s a prospect I’m okay with – my choice to farm is a result of my love of eating local fresh food, and not the other way around.

And, as a side note, it just so happens that I get to see plenty of whale shows – the free range kind – while I farm.

March 3rd, 2009

Farmer Jer came across an article in a farming magazine announcing the arrival of a new leaf lettuce.  The lettuce, developed by geneticists, is known as MU06-857.  When I heard that, I started wondering if maybe I’ve seen way too many movies because to me that lettuce name sounded more like a weapon or a droid or the license plate of a getaway car in some foreign film than lettuce.

MU06-857.  What do all of those numbers and letters stand for?  When did geneticists start dabbling in lettuce?  Whatever happened to our food?

Whatever happened to names we can pronounce that don’t rival the small space in our brains reserved for storing our zip code?  Lettuce names like Butterhead, Red Ridinghood, Bronze Arrow and Sweet Valentine (honestly, would you rather order MU06-857 or Sweet Valentine)?

Maybe you think names don’t matter?  Try choking down a blood orange.  Or feeding rump roast to an adolescent.  Anyhoo.

Farmer Jer and I are suckers for names like Dark Lolla Rossa, Outredgeous and Parris Island Cos.  However, when choosing seeds for our lettuce mix, we also look for proven flavor, variety of color, the shapes of leaves, and the texture that an individual lettuce will contribute to the overall combination.  We gravitate toward heirloom and organic.  But the main reason we buy what we buy and grow what we grow is because there is food worth eating, and food worth avoiding.  We’re no experts on the subject, but when geneticists start tampering with food, it’s literally an experiment.  We’re opting to stay in the control group.  It’s something you may want to think about as well.

Here at South Shoreganics, though spies at heart, we’ve decided to leave the encoded lettuce alone.  After all, knowing and trusting the source of food is one of the most basic rules of espionage, as almost any movie-watcher would know.

February 3rd, 2009

Hippocrates said, “Let food be thy medicine.”  And so I have.

Yesterday one of my kids was riding down a steep hill when her bike went into speed wobble mode.  Following in the car, I watched the progression from wobble to awful crash.  Within 5 minutes, she had a huge bump on her head that had gone a shade of purple.

We iced her forehead and gave her some homeopathic pills I keep on hand.  Then I got out the chives.  Just the day before I had read about chives and their effect on bruising…and we had some in the fridge from the CSA box harvest.

Call it maternal instinct, but I had the thought to first chew the chives and then cough them up and give them to my little one.  I mashed them with a wooden handle instead.  Placing the mashed chives under the ice pack, I gave her some chives to eat as well.

She spent a couple of hours on the couch smelling like a baked potato and got up looking scraped, but dandy. I don’t always know how it works, but it does, just like food as medicine has for thousands of years.

Enjoy thy chives.

January 14th, 2009

South Shoreganics sends our congratulations to member Hollan Hamid on her award-winning recipe (The Garden Island, Jan. 14).  Having been at a potluck where Hollan once offered marinated barbequed broccolli in lieu of dessert, and watching as people ate every last bite of it, we aren’t the least bit surprised at her culinary award.  Not many people can pull off dessert broccoli.  Hollan can.
For more of Hollan’s recipe’s (including Hollan’s Marinade), check out the recipe section.

January 9th, 2009

I typed rainbow chard into a search engine, and here is what I found:

Rainbow Chard, it seems is creating quite a buzz these days.  Touted as “hip” and “in,” it has received a ranking as a “trendy veggie.”  What exactly that means, I’m not sure.  Have celebrities been sighted eating it?  Are babies of jet-setters being named after it?  Is it going to replace lettuce in salads?  One can only guess.  From what I can gather, in a world where green is the new black, rainbow is apparently the new green.

I searched further.  I pulled up a site where a self-proclaimed “foodie” said she “adoooores” the stuff.  While marveling over that, I happened on to a different site where someone declared that, given the choice to be any vegetable, they would choose to be Rainbow Chard.  I left that thread in a jiffy.  In my opinion, a site where people are pondering themselves as produce is just no place for a girl like me, farmer or not.

The next page I pulled up began with the quote, “Sweetie claims he doesn’t like chard.”  It then went on to give a rather lengthy and detailed recipe featuring the lauded green.  My hunch is that Sweetie’s dislike has less to do with the actual taste of chard and more to do with the fact that he is being referred to as “Sweetie” on something as obscure as the World Wide Web…that and the high probability that the Rainbow Chard recipe was most likely his dinner that night, like it or not.  There was chard to be eaten, and Sweetie was the man for the job.

Where’s an “adooooring” foodie when you need one?

The first time I came across Rainbow Chard was while shopping at a farmer’s market.  I was there handling all of the produce when I spotted an enormous bunch of the stuff.  I didn’t know what it was, but I knew I wanted it to be mine.  I was going to do something with it, even if that something was putting it in a vase or wearing it in my hair.  It reminded me of the green stuff sticking out of brown grocery bags next to French baguettes carried by beautiful actresses on movies.  With that picture in mind, I proudly paraded through farmer’s market, displaying my prized finding like I had grown it from seed.  I overheard someone say, “Look at that Rainbow Chard,” and I replied, “Yes!”  Rainbow chard had made my acquaintance.

I took my Rainbow Chard home and fed it to my juicer, stems and all.  Do you know how much greens it takes to make a glass of juice?  My glass was full to the rim.  It was a HUGE bunch of chard.

The next scene stays embedded in my memory.  I was standing at the kitchen sink, looking out the window with my glass of liquid chard.  I drank the whole thing in one long drink, without even a breath.  As far as I can tell, it never made it to my stomach.  The direction switched all of a sudden and the chard was once again visible, this time in a steady green stream.  My “in” green was coming back out!

Whoever said that too much of a good thing can be bad had most likely juiced way too much Rainbow Chard at some point in his or her life.  After my experience, I concur.

At this point in time, I still don’t consume Rainbow Chard.  It’s not that I don’t like it, it’s that I just…can’t.  Not yet.  And, in case you’re wondering, I still haven’t worn it in my hair, although that may be the trendiest thing I ever do.  However, I am now growing it from seed.  As it turns out, it’s as pretty as it is good for you, even when juiced.  That’s assuming, of course, that it stays down.

Cheers to Rainbow Chard and a man called Sweetie.

November 24th, 2008

About the time some of you were finding South Shoreganics, the birds were, too.  Let me stop here to interject that we like birds.  Especially doves.  In fact, one of our kid’s names means dove in another language.
That said, we also like cherry tomatoes.

So, about the time the doves were finding the cherry tomatoes, I was hearing words uttered in sentences with doves that should never, never be spoken in the same breath.  Fortunately, it was shortly after those muffled threats that a remedy was discovered.  A kinder, gentler solution to the issue of the birds presented itself in the form of a large, plastic…owl.

The owl arrived at South Shoreganics in the back of our trusty vehicle one day while I was down harvesting bird-sampled tomatoes.  I was immediately summoned by the kids to view the newest member of our farming operation.  The idea of keeping the birds away with an owl?  It was brilliant, and this owl was definitely going to work.  He was about 1.5 feet tall, which would have been intimidating enough for small birds and field rodents, but his size wasn’t the half of it.  If you were to get into the mind of a mouse (track with me here) and probe the area of gray matter that stores fear, you would find a movie playing over and over of this particular owl’s eyes.  I’m not joking.  You know baby-doll eyes?  That slightly creepy frozen stare?  They have nothing on these.  These are hands-down nightmare eyes.  Bulging, yellow eyes whose stare is fixed on whatever the owl is pointed towards.  This owl had scary Lord of the Rings villain down pat.

The kids lost no time in naming the owl.  It’s name I would gladly share with you, however I cannot, for anything, ever seem to remember what that name is…Ted?  Ned?  Ed?

In our excitement, we hoisted the owl (Bert? Sam? Jeb?) over our heads and began a joyous dance.  The tomatoes were saved, and we were ecstatic.  We cheered and jumped…until we were sternly hushed by Farmer Jer.  He pointed out to the kids and I that if the rodents, birds and other tomato predators saw the owl in the hands of cavorting humans, they would never fear it.  They would know.

That man is pure genius, I tell you.

We set the owl (Bob? Bill? Dirk?) back in it’s place and shut the back of the vehicle, tip-toeing away giggling.

The full-moon, which always find us at the land transplanting seedlings until after dark, was the following night.  After we finished our transplanting, we made our way to the car and brought out the owl.  His time had come.  Under the cover of night, we hoisted him up on the end of a long bamboo pole.  Once again the tomatoes had hope.

The owl had landed.

The weeks passed in a blur of harvesting.  Every couple of days we moved the owl’s perch to imitate the life that he was lacking.  It was a season of  freedom, of joy, of salsa.  The blurry season ended abruptly one night when a strong gust of wind knocked the owl (Doug?) to the ground and he lay face down in the dirt.  On the morning that we found him, I’m pretty sure I saw a dove roosting on his plastic backside.

Farmer Jer picked up our store-bought villian.  His eyes, once terrifying, were now caked with mud.  Jer carried the villian’s plastic body and placed it back in the vehicle.  We said our sad goodbyes to the owl (Frank? Sid? Lenny?).  The gig was up.  The secret was out.

They knew.

The age of the owl has ended, at least until a new generation of rodent/bird/varmit comes to the farm.  Fortunately for our members, his legacy lives on.  More on the joys and perils of farming later.  For now, know that your produce, including but not limited to cherry tomatoes, is being valiantly defended here at South Shoreganics by our family and the memory of an owl whose name eludes me.