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Authors: Jose Pino Johansson
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and the closer that one is to
downtown Los Angeles, the more nightmarish the traffic seems to be.
Luckily the site was at least two hours from LA, and that meant
that moving along the side roads wouldn’t be a big problem.
“What’s the address again?”, Mark asked Mike. Mike,
sitting in the middle seat between Mark and Laurie, was scanning a
large map of California in front of him. “The address? Uhh, it's on
6 Lake Road. You’ll want to make a right about 14 miles from here,
and then continue. I’ll tell you where to turn”. Mark grunts,
focusing on the road ahead. Mike folds the map until it fits neatly
in his hands, and throws a glance out to his right. Laurie is busy
reading a scientific journal. Outside the window, McCarthy sees
vast tracts of farmland stretching as far out as the eye could see.
As one of the more important stretches of farmland in the United
States, California’s central valley is a breathtaking flat
landscape dotted with farmhouses and massive plots of green and
yellow agricultural land. The air is of a pristine, blue quality
with occasional white cumulus clouds that one will rarely see in
the cities of Los Angeles or San Francisco. From this distance, the
Sierra Nevada mountain range to the west is not visible to the
naked eye. Mike shifts his gaze back to the front of the vehicle. Flatland, flatland, and when we get there- more flatland! While the air quality is nearly pristine, ignoring the methane from
the cattle farms and some gasoline fumes, the ground quality of the
central valley does not receive such high commendation from
visitors as the air quality. Fertilizers, pesticides, farm run-off
have caused extensive problems in the groundwater, and the soil
starts to become depleted after constant usage. There is nothing
natural in the valley, as most of the previous natural rock
formations and natural species have been removed through farming
and town building. It is a large, flat, and man-made landscape.
After making the right turn, Mike turned back to the
map. Directing Mark through the dispersed country roads, the team
arrived at the site of the reported contamination at 2:42pm. Mark
pulled into the long, dusty driveway of the farm and drove up to
the large, red farmhouse at the end of the driveway before shutting
down the engine. Two men were waiting for them outside the
farmhouse, sitting at a table on the patio while drinking
beverages. The first is a grizzled, sunburned man in farmer’s
trousers, the other a thin balding man in work-casual clothing.
Laurie, Mark, and Mike get out of the truck and walk over to the
two men. The balding man extends his hand, first going over to
Mike. “Peter LaJoy. I work with the Department of Agriculture LA
office”. “How’s it going? Michael McCarthy. We’re with APHIS from
Stockton.” “Greg Miles, how you doing? I own the place.” “Mark
McGregor”. “Laurie Weisman, please to meet you”. After the quick
introductions everyone got right down to business. McCarthy spoke
directly to LaJoy and Miles, while Laurie and Mark listened as
everyone gathered around the table. “Alright. The APHIS office
received your report. Sorry we couldn’t get here earlier but it’s a
long trip down”. Mike turns to Miles, “you stated that your worms
died after you used the herbicide Groundup Superpower?”. “Yeah,
exactly”, replies Miles sternly. “May we take a look?” “Sure. Let’s
go.”
Miles lead the four USDA inspectors through his
farmland, showing them the damage allegedly caused by his use of
the new herbicide. The team took quick note of the dead worms all
over the soil; thousands of little dead bodies spread across the
farm, under bushels of corn, next to potato tubules, and around
strawberry plants. Mark kneels down to scoop some up in his hand,
turning the worm over looking for any outward signs for the cause
of this unexpected mass death. “We’ll need to bring the equipment
in, start taking samples, running
downtown Los Angeles, the more nightmarish the traffic seems to be.
Luckily the site was at least two hours from LA, and that meant
that moving along the side roads wouldn’t be a big problem.
“What’s the address again?”, Mark asked Mike. Mike,
sitting in the middle seat between Mark and Laurie, was scanning a
large map of California in front of him. “The address? Uhh, it's on
6 Lake Road. You’ll want to make a right about 14 miles from here,
and then continue. I’ll tell you where to turn”. Mark grunts,
focusing on the road ahead. Mike folds the map until it fits neatly
in his hands, and throws a glance out to his right. Laurie is busy
reading a scientific journal. Outside the window, McCarthy sees
vast tracts of farmland stretching as far out as the eye could see.
As one of the more important stretches of farmland in the United
States, California’s central valley is a breathtaking flat
landscape dotted with farmhouses and massive plots of green and
yellow agricultural land. The air is of a pristine, blue quality
with occasional white cumulus clouds that one will rarely see in
the cities of Los Angeles or San Francisco. From this distance, the
Sierra Nevada mountain range to the west is not visible to the
naked eye. Mike shifts his gaze back to the front of the vehicle. Flatland, flatland, and when we get there- more flatland! While the air quality is nearly pristine, ignoring the methane from
the cattle farms and some gasoline fumes, the ground quality of the
central valley does not receive such high commendation from
visitors as the air quality. Fertilizers, pesticides, farm run-off
have caused extensive problems in the groundwater, and the soil
starts to become depleted after constant usage. There is nothing
natural in the valley, as most of the previous natural rock
formations and natural species have been removed through farming
and town building. It is a large, flat, and man-made landscape.
After making the right turn, Mike turned back to the
map. Directing Mark through the dispersed country roads, the team
arrived at the site of the reported contamination at 2:42pm. Mark
pulled into the long, dusty driveway of the farm and drove up to
the large, red farmhouse at the end of the driveway before shutting
down the engine. Two men were waiting for them outside the
farmhouse, sitting at a table on the patio while drinking
beverages. The first is a grizzled, sunburned man in farmer’s
trousers, the other a thin balding man in work-casual clothing.
Laurie, Mark, and Mike get out of the truck and walk over to the
two men. The balding man extends his hand, first going over to
Mike. “Peter LaJoy. I work with the Department of Agriculture LA
office”. “How’s it going? Michael McCarthy. We’re with APHIS from
Stockton.” “Greg Miles, how you doing? I own the place.” “Mark
McGregor”. “Laurie Weisman, please to meet you”. After the quick
introductions everyone got right down to business. McCarthy spoke
directly to LaJoy and Miles, while Laurie and Mark listened as
everyone gathered around the table. “Alright. The APHIS office
received your report. Sorry we couldn’t get here earlier but it’s a
long trip down”. Mike turns to Miles, “you stated that your worms
died after you used the herbicide Groundup Superpower?”. “Yeah,
exactly”, replies Miles sternly. “May we take a look?” “Sure. Let’s
go.”
Miles lead the four USDA inspectors through his
farmland, showing them the damage allegedly caused by his use of
the new herbicide. The team took quick note of the dead worms all
over the soil; thousands of little dead bodies spread across the
farm, under bushels of corn, next to potato tubules, and around
strawberry plants. Mark kneels down to scoop some up in his hand,
turning the worm over looking for any outward signs for the cause
of this unexpected mass death. “We’ll need to bring the equipment
in, start taking samples, running
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