Eugene weekly., October 23, 2003, Page 13, Image 13

JAMES BATEMAN
‘You don’t own the land. You only hold title to it.’
— Paul Atkinson
looking at the true price of the items. It takes
a significant investment of time and capital to
produce a dozen eggs, or a roasting hen, or a
turkey for Thanksgiving dinner. I am deluded
if I believe that a dozen eggs can really be pro-
duced for the 79 cents they cost on sale at the
grocery store.
To pay that 79 cent price tag undermines
the smaller scale farmer who must charge a
price true to the nature of the work: the food
and shelter for the laying hens, the labor to
tend and care for them, the work involved in
gathering, cleaning and packaging the eggs for
market. At Laughing Stock, there are nine
cows to look after; a handful of goats and
sheep; 40 to 50 pigs and piglets at any given
time; hundreds and hundreds of turkeys and
chickens. Up until a year and a half ago, when
he could afford to pay a decent wage for part-
time help, Atkinson tended to all of this work
himself. About half of what Atkinson feeds
these animals is locally grown whole grain,
along with excess milk products from
Springfield Creamery (Nancy’s Yogurt) for
protein; he imports the corn and soy parts of
the feed, but is consciously trying to be less
dependent on such imported elements.
Atkinson loves farming very much, though
he admits as we walk past the cattle loafing
area in the barn — a space about 15 feet wide
by maybe 30 feet long layered with two years
worth of dung, hay, dirt and cobwebs, all des-
tined for compost — “You’re always behind.”
Atkinson raises hens for eggs, as well as
buy sell trade
for hopefully not too long before being sold en
masse beneath the fluorescent glow of the
mega-mart meat counter. I have, it seems,
been part of the problem.
Berry cuts me a little slack, but it’s slack
found only in my own ignorance: In my fluo-
rescent grocery store trance, Berry determines
that the consumer like me is “amid an aston-
ishing variety of products … denied certain
significant choices.” In such a state of eco-
nomic ignorance, he writes, “it is not possible
to choose the products that were produced
locally or with reasonable kindness toward
people and toward nature.” So ignorance got
me chicken stink, but maybe the stink will set
me free, jolt me from the easy, lazy trance.
So here I am doing a walk-through at
Laughing Stock to observe how a small, local
farm operates. Beneath the long-sleeved cov-
eralls he wears to work in, Atkinson has on a
forest green Laughing Stock T-shirt, canvas
work pants and knee-high rubber boots. He is
of medium height and lean in build; both his
skin and straight hair show touches of tan from
work in the summer sun.
Atkinson lives on the 50-acre property of
Laughing Stock Farm in the upstairs level of a
bright, woodsy two-story house with his wife,
who is a school teacher, and their young son;
his mother tends the ground floor of the
house, which was built with lumber planed
from trees grown on the property.
Atkinson would chide me a little for my
grocery priorities. He might say that I should
be able to know who I’m buying from, that I
should be able to look that person in the eye as
a neighbor and community provider, and that
that is a trust. And if I’m going to look at the
price of groceries, he might say, I ought to be
turkeys and pigs to sell as meat. He’s built him-
self quite a reputation, providing pork the last
18 years to Alice Waters’ renowned Chez
Panisse Restaurant in San Francisco, as well
providing meat and eggs to local eateries such
as Marche and Sweetwaters at The Valley
River Inn. He keeps a few goats and head of
cattle to help tend the pastures, which have
remained chemical free for at least 25 of the
nearly 40 years his family has been on the land.
Atkinson, who has farmed for most of his
51 years, says, “I’ve been an activist for more
than 30 years — in the past mostly on land use
issues. Our best farm land was disappearing,
so I’ve been a strong supporter of Oregon’s
land use laws.” He has watched and fought as
high-quality agricultural soils in urbanized
areas have been destroyed by development,
affecting an agricultural industry already in
the community. “Only 1 percent of Lane
County soils are Class I [top grade] soils,” he
says. “Yet Gateway Mall and the new hospital
site are located on land containing these soils,
and west Eugene has industrial and commer-
cial development on land containing Class I
and Class II soils.”
But land is only one part of the picture.
“I’ve been involved in land issues over the
years,” he says. “And I’ve watched the best
farmlands disappear anyway.” In the last 10
years, particularly the last six or seven, he
decided to move beyond just advocating for
sound land use laws. “The solution,” he says,
“isn’t at the governmental level. I mean, the
government could kind of verify it — that
people here support their own farmers, support
their own land protection. But, people have to
make individual decisions that will say, ‘This
land, this community, is ours to take care of.’”
Hmm... how
can I top last
Halloween’s
costume?
131 E. 5th Ave (between Oak & Pearl) 687-2805
BUFFALOEXCHANGE . COM
OCTOBER 23, 2003 13