Sending the future up in smoke

Here, as our informant put it, is “today’s chapter in a seemingly never-ending story”.

The state legislature of North Carolina in the United States is minded to cut all funding to the North Carolina Tobacco Trust Fund. That’s short-sighted and a great shame.

Tobacco, unlike, say, opium poppy, is not an easy crop, to grow or to defend. Wendell Berry, although he doesn’t himself grow it, is surrounded by people, including family, who do and he has worked for many of them. Berry has written elegiacally about tobacco, and the essential dilemma it presents, now that demand has fallen. I can’t find my copy of that essay right now (or on the web) but the gist of it was that a high-value crop like tobacco spared the environment because by dint of skill and hard work a family could make a decent living from a relatively small patch of land for the tobacco and the food they needed.

North Carolina’s Tobacco Trust Fund was established with the state’s share of money that the tobacco companies paid in settlement of lawsuits, and is intended to protect farms and smooth the transition from tobacco to new crops, new farming systems, and new approaches to local sales. In other words, to promote diversification. By all accounts, it has worked. One advocate for, and beneficiary of, the Fund put forward these numbers:

In the past three years alone, RAFI’s Tobacco Community Reinvestment Fund has brought over $733 million into communities throughout the state and created or preserved more than 4,100 jobs. All these benefits come from a relatively modest investment: $3.6 million of Tobacco Trust Fund money distributed to 367 innovative farmers in awards of less than $10,000 per individual or $30,000 per community project. Each dollar invested has led to $205 circulating in our state’s economy, an incredible return on investment with direct benefits to our tax base.

Why North Carolina is planning to cut the Fund is not at all clear to me. This certainly isn’t a case like that of the genebanks at Pavlovsk, or Wellesbourne, or Jharkand, where land is deemed more valuable for other purposes. But it shares the same basic underlying premise; that the future can take care of itself. Where agriculture is concerned, with its dependence on living resources and human ingenuity and knowledge, that is often simply wrong. There’s money to be saved (or made) now, but only because those who make and save it now will not have to pay out in future for what they destroy now.

Not every piddling genebank or subsidy scheme deserves to remain untouched, but it doesn’t take a genius or a seer to realize that the costs down the line often far outweigh the benefits here and now. We don’t really know how to measure those costs properly, but that’s not the real problem. The real problem is that the rules of the game require that we do, and there doesn’t seem to be any way to change the rules.

Oases in the food desert?

A couple of comments on our report of the USDA’s Food Desert Locator have made me revise my initial enthusiasm. People who actually live there seem to disagree that they’re in a desert. One pointed out that “the Korean market where I go grocery shopping every week is in the middle of a food desert”. Another, at greater length, explained:

I don’t know about how they define food desert – I looked at Ames Iowa and half the town is considered at “food desert”. Ames has a population of 50,000 – about half are students at ISU. We have nine grocery stores. Three of which are low price stores – such as Aldi’s. We have a public transportation system throughout the city. So how does that make a food desert. In summer we have two small farmers markets.

What can I say? We quoted part of the USDA’s brief definition of a food desert in the original post. Here’s the whole thing:

The HFFI working group defines a food desert as a low-income census tract where a substantial number or share of residents has low access to a supermarket or large grocery store:

  • To qualify as a “low-income community,” a census tract must have either: 1) a poverty rate of 20 percent or higher, OR 2) a median family income at or below 80 percent of the area’s median family income;
  • To qualify as a “low-access community,” at least 500 people and/or at least 33 percent of the census tract’s population must reside more than one mile from a supermarket or large grocery store (for rural census tracts, the distance is more than 10 miles).

Maybe our commenters would care to comment on whether those criteria fit them. Or maybe they’d like to take it up directly with Vince Breneman (Breneman@ers.usda.gov) or Michele Ver Ploeg (sverploeg@ers.usda.gov) at the USDA, and let us know how they get on.

Nibbles: Andean potatoes, Nepal, Geraniol, Agroforestry

Food desert locator

Luigi and I had the same response to the USDA’s Food Desert Locator: wow!

[A] food desert [is] a low-income census tract where a substantial number or share of residents has low access to a supermarket or large grocery store.

Here’s a little section of the country.

FoodDesert

Astonishing in itself, what seems most thrilling is that the entire dataset is downloadable, which suggests all sorts of possible mash-ups: farmers’ markets, poverty, obesity, school journeys, Starbucks locations. The sky’s the limit. Not that correlation is causality, of course.

Brainfood: Diet, Olives, Beef, Shade trees, Tree regeneration, Poverty, Weeds, Birds