The Diversity Of Life

Here’s a couple of thoughts on E.O.Wilson’s book The Diversity of Life, which I’ve just finished reading – another in the long list of excellent tomes that I should have read years ago.

Wilson – Harvard biologist and founder of the term ‘biodiversity’ – doesn’t have all that much to say about farming in his book except that it tends to encroach on wilderness. It’s this habitat destruction that’s the No.1 cause of contemporary species extinctions, which are proceeding at such a high rate that it seems we’re now entering the sixth major extinction spasm in geological history, the last one being the KT event that did for the dinosaurs 65 million years ago. This one, it seems, is entirely the result of human activities, and past history suggests it takes the biosphere about 10 million years to recover from such spasms and return to something approaching previous levels of biodiversity. Food for thought.

And who is responsible for this dreadful destruction? Well, according to Wilson one of the main culprits is, er… small-scale farmers. He mentions in particular swidden cultivators of the tropical forests, and smallholders moving into and clearing those same forests at the head of an expanding agricultural frontier.

But let’s unpick this a bit. I discussed swidden cultivation in a previous post, and to my mind Wilson’s comments are basically confirmatory of the conclusions I drew in that post from Clifford Geertz’s work. Swidden, practised well in situations of low population density, can be just about the most sustainable form of agriculture possible. But when it’s done badly or in situations of population pressure, it can be disastrous. Either way, it’s not going to play a major role in global agricultural futures so perhaps we can put it to one side.

Smallholder expansion into the forests is a different matter. But what’s causing it? To take Brazil, a key tropical forest country, land concentration is enormous – sources suggest the largest 10% of farms hold 85% of the agricultural land area, or the largest 1% of farms hold 45% of the area, while some 5 million families remain landless (as at 2002 – Raj Patel, Stuffed And Starved p.204-5), and 30 million rural workers have lost their land in the last 25 years. So perhaps the destructive smallholder frontiersmen in the forests are simply the head of a wave originating in the soya and beef heartlands of Brazil’s big agri.

Closer to home I paid a sad visit recently to a 120 acre former dairy farm turned mixed farm and market garden, but now cultivating only an acre or two of its beautiful south-facing edge-of-town land while the rest was going to rack and ruin. If I’m honest, my own land is now similarly underutilised – not because I can’t grow useful crops for people locally using sustainable methods, but because I can’t do it profitably in the topsy turvy world of the present distorted economy (by ‘profitable’ I mean something approaching the minimum wage). It wouldn’t be hard to tell a story that started with doomed and homeless rainforest species, proceeded via homeless smallholder farmers clearing the wilderness and soya barons in countries like Brazil, hopped over to dirt cheap supermarket meat and eggs in countries like Britain, and thence to recreational landownership in the UK and good farmland lying idle here. Worth thinking about the next time you hear somebody say we need GM crops to intensify agricultural production so we can feed the world without encroaching on the wilderness.

A completely different issue raised in Wilson’s book is his emphasis on the extraordinary evolved complexity of wild ecosystems, above all those of the tropical rainforests. I think that raises interesting issues for those of us concerned with complexity in our artificial agro-ecosystems. But perhaps that’s a topic for another time.

Mendip and Spudman

I posted a couple of weeks ago about the high tech farming of the future. Little did I know that the planning officers at Mendip District Council already have their own distinctive vision of high tech farming, which they’re ready to roll out right now.

In refusing our planning application for agricultural residence the officers stated that theft and vandalism on the site are better deterred by “increased site security from gates, floodlights, alarms etc”, that crop protection can be taken care of “by an alarm system triggered by a thermometer, allowing workers to respond according to conditions” that predator attacks can be neutralised by “automatic doors for poultry houses” and that wind damage is “unfortunate but avoidable”.

I must admit that the frustrated superhero in me is quite taken by these proposals. Picture me brooding in my Frotham City mansion. The red phone rings. Emergency! I slide down the pole into my Spudmobile and race off to the smallholding (it’s not clear why the planners think this results in less travel than if I lived on site – perhaps they’ve already developed a zero energy transporter, Star Trek style).

Upon arrival, I flick a switch – the security gates roll open, the floodlights blaze into action. Kerpow! Oof! I make short work of the thieves and vandals. They won’t be coming here again for a while, no sir. “Calm yourself”, I yell to the wind, which dies down at my command before it can unseat the polytunnels or the packing tent. The poultry door slams down on a marauding fox, decapitating it instantly (of course it would never think to come out during the day before the timing switch kicks in). I pick a few hundred slugs off the cucumbers in the polytunnel – tomorrow I will sell the cucumbers for 86p each, thereby funding all this high tech gadgetry, with enough left over for Mrs Spudman and I to go to the pictures on Friday night. I drive home slowly, tired but satisfied from my night’s work. Girls swoon as they see me driving past in the Spudmobile.

An attractive vision for some, perhaps. But here’s an alternative one. I wake up in the farmhouse early in the morning. Mrs Spudman has already left for her job in Bristol – thank goodness at least one of us earns a decent wage. Before I make the kids’ breakfast, I nip out and check everything’s OK with the livestock and the seedlings. After the kids are in school I spend the morning working in the market garden. At lunchtime I go into the farmhouse and cook something for myself, do a few domestic chores and then go back outside for the afternoon’s work. After the kids are back from school I do a bit more work in the market garden, then cook dinner. After they’re in bed, I go out and check the livestock, chase away a fox, wave angrily but not entirely ineffectually at the pigeons, feed the cat after its day of roaming in search of rodent prey, check the temperature in the propagator, pick some slugs in the polytunnel, sit and read for a bit, then go to bed. If a strong wind blows up in the night, I get up and make sure everything’s OK. If a frost comes down, I make sure the tender plants are safe. If it starts raining heavily, maybe I get up and sow the cover crop that was just waiting for the rain. If I find somebody creeping around the barn who’s “just looking for their dog” I tell them to bugger off. So it goes on.

It’s a radical vision, I admit, but it just might catch on if only there was a good name to sell the idea with. Hey, why don’t we call the place where I’m growing the food a “farm”? And we could call the person who lives there a “farmer”. So much less energy use, driving and hassle than the planners’ preferred option. It’s a wonder no one thought of it before.

Of course, people used to grow vegetables on peri-urban sites like ours to feed the local population. But then it turned out it was cheaper to buy it all in from other places in the world where there’s more sunshine and fewer trade unions. It was more worthwhile to sell off all the old farmhouses and outbuildings for non-farm residences, to push rural land prices up beyond any possible returns from agriculture, and to create big, energy-guzzling farms growing subsidised commodity crops for national or global markets. Cheaper, but not sustainable in the long run. If only we could somehow reclaim that small farm vision. If only people were allowed to become farmers again. If only…if only…

Independence Day

Here at Small Farm Future we cherish our independence fiercely so we’re not in the habit of taking money to promote special interests (though anyone reading this in possession of a fortune and in want of a good cause should certainly feel free to contact me). Nor, for the same reason, do we usually promote external events or products. However, on this occasion I’ve decided to offer a puff for Independence Day, which is being held here in Frome, Somerset on 17 November.

The event is a “day of debate, conversation and information-sharing” on the theme of “supermarkets, big retail and the future of our communities” – subjects close to the heart of this blog, and I imagine anyone with an interest in sustainable small-scale farming. The organisers have put together an impressive list of speakers, including the likes of Andrew Simms (author of Tescopoly), Rob Hopkins of Transition Towns fame, the food journalist Joanna Blythman and…what’s this?…Chris Smaje, the renowned blogmaster of small farm future and proprietor of Vallis Veg.

The problem of how to move the global food system onto a more sustainable and socially just path can seem pretty intractable, but I’m going to do my best to leave my Eeyore suit at home on this occasion and get a dose of inspiration from the day. Having endured the worst growing season ever, suspended my business, had the planning application that would have given it a lifeline turned down, seen the true colours of the “greenest government ever” shine through (it’s a deep, dark blue) and watched the tendrils of the corporate food sector gradually extend their grip on plucky little Frome over the last year, there are plenty of reasons not to be cheerful. Still, nothing worth achieving was ever won without a fight…so here’s to Independence Day. I hope I might see you there.

Going someplace: in praise of utopias

An article in last week’s New Scientist makes interesting reading for those of us in the agroecology movement (James Mitchell Crow, ‘Down on the robofarm’ NS 2888, pp42-5). The problem is how in the future can we grow more crops for more people in a more sustainable and more labour-friendly way, and the answer is…use robots. In fact, we’re already quite a way down this route with so-called ‘precision farming’, which is no doubt a great improvement on the ‘imprecision farming’ that preceded it, but I suspect that anyone with an agroecological bent reading the article would be struck by the fact that the main benefits touted for the new robotic technology – essentially higher productivities per unit input – can already be delivered by human farmers at a lower energetic cost. The scientists say they’re still some years away from robotic vision-recognition systems that can differentiate weeds from crop plants, something that human farmers nailed several thousand years ago…

A lot of these techno-fixer solutions invite us to marvel at the technology, but what’s really being sold are economic and social ideas. The New Scientist article is fairly explicit that the issues are at root about getting people off the land and into the cities – for their own benefit, it suggests. Whether that’s actually a good idea seems to me a more important arena of debate than the potential fuel, water or herbicide savings of the next generation of big agri toys (which, after all, still use more fuel, water and herbicide than the average small-scale farmer). But that’s not something I’m going to address in this post. What struck me most reading the article was its techno-utopianism – its vision of a future world in which current problems have been banished by technological solutions, not social or economic ones. The article telegraphed (or should that be tweeted?) its techno-utopianism through its illustrations – no photos of actual farming; instead, cartoon drawings of cute robotic farm machines (though it was good to see that the only human figure portrayed in the graphics had a wheelbarrow to hand – maybe there are some technologies that are destined to stay with us).

Now, utopianism gets a pretty bad press but personally I don’t have much against it. All worldviews depend on some idealised notion of the good life, which will almost certainly prove unrealisable in practice. I think it’s worth everyone setting out their utopias, their most cherished future visions, as clearly as possible so that each of us can reflect on the full implications of what we’re striving for. The problem is that some of these utopias get more airplay than others. Had somebody written an article extolling the exquisite ecological adaptations of any number of tribal agriculturalists from around the world – adaptations that modern science is only now starting to unravel – and suggested the need to reform the global economy, get more people back onto the land, and start figuring out truly ecologically adaptive agricultures, I suspect their words of wisdom would have ended up on a very sharp spike somewhere in the New Scientist’s editorial office. Our culture is still smitten with a techno-optimism that to me seems just, well, so last century. The visions of small farm futurists, permaculturists, agroecologists, bioregionalists, peasant populists and the like are dismissed for their utopian fantasy, their misplaced nostalgia, their primitivism or whatever, while utopian techno-futurism gets off scot-free. I say let’s give utopian thinking free rein, but let’s call it when we see it – and let’s not let the techno-fixers off the hook by passing off their social utopias as a neutral agenda of technical progress.