Mounds of Farming.

To continue on a on the farming theme I thought I'd share some more about the history of Agriculture in Georgia. This idea was helped along by a recent field trip to the Etowah Mounds State Historic Site in Cartersville, Georgia. The video at right is of one of the rangers on site giving information regarding the Three Sisters of Mississippian Era agriculture. 

Corn. Squash. Beans. With these three crops, these people developed a broad menu of foods. 

Agriculture was a way of life in the South long before the arrival of European settlers. This particular community was populated by farmers as early as 1000 A.D. (over 50 years before the Norman Conquest of England) and perhaps even earlier. These "primitive" farmers had learned the value of crop rotation, or at least the benefits one crop can have for another. It would be centuries before the settlers learned some of these ideas. 

So this culture domesticated dogs and turkeys in addition to their three sisters. They gathered nuts and berries from the fields and forests nearby. They caught fish from the river and hunted the wildlife that lived in the area. They wasted nothing, having a use for everything they killed, grew and gathered.

At left you'll find a demonstration of the weapons advances they made in order to feed themselves and their families. With the use of fishing, hunting, gathering, and agriculture, these people formed a civilization that survived for about 500 years at this location. To this day, their artifacts are still being found in the ground. To this day, their mounds and fish traps still remain as visible remnants of their society. Structures that date back ten centuries. 

That's not bad when you figure practically no structure in Atlanta is over 150 years old.

Long story short, this is our heritage. A wise and diverse use of the land. A sustainable and interactive form of agriculture that we can still learn from today.

It's our past. But it's about our future. And with so many other troubles mounting against farmers, they're not getting any younger. You can't eat a legal writ. You can't eat a bank note. And, as important as health care may seem, if you don't have food to eat, a doctor can't help you.

Educate yourselves about farming. Ask a farmer about the challenges of the job and life in general. Make this an election year issue. Let's put emphasis back on the agrarian heritage of our region. 

No more canned peaches from China.

Farm

My first job out of college was with a corporation with a household name. The position was dealing with higher end food service. It was the type of operation that used chefs and "quality" ingredients. A higher priced operation with some fairly exclusive clientele.

My coworkers were from all over the world. They had left the far reaches of the Earth and worked in other far reaches before this particular stop in the shadows of Atlanta's skyscrapers. 

These folks knew good food.

So it caught my attention when I heard one of them comment, "why are we using canned peaches? Isn't this Georgia?"

Peaches weren't out of season. Some of the finest peach orchards in the world were an hour and a half down I-75. And we were using canned peaches. They might even have been from China.

The previous summer I had visited Atlanta. I was in Centennial Olympic Park with a couple thousand people from all over the world. One thing that sticks out in my mind was an exhibit to tell these visitors our story - to introduce us to them. It proclaimed "The South is Agriculture". 

It's true. If you can eat it, wear it, smoke it, chew it, turn it into fuel and burn it, we'll try to make it spring from the ground. Agriculture is such a big deal that parts of our agriculture depend on other parts of our agriculture.

And we eat canned peaches from China.

Georgia specifically: we grow peaches, pecans, peanuts, apples, native grapes (muscadine, etc.), Vidalia onions, cotton, corn, soybeans. We raise poultry, beef, pork. And more.

And we eat canned peaches from China. 

Earlier I read a Twitter tirade straight out of Tattnall County. It inspired this post. There's a man down there, a Chicken Hippie, if you will. He has this crazy notion that Georgia dirt, fresh Georgia air, and Georgia sunshine will produce quality, tasty, nutritious chicken, duck, quail, & turkey. No crowded chicken houses. (You can find him on Twitter at @GApasturedbirds and on Instagram at grassrootsfarmsga.)

Next time you pass a chicken truck on the highway, take a look at the cargo and see if you agree with him.

Admittedly, I don't buy birds from him. Not right now. He makes his birds available through a distributor and restaurants can offer customers sustainable, locally-grown, pasture-raised poultry. And then they can switch back to Holly Farms and not tell you any different.

Thus the tirade.

Listen to me. This isn't about being a foodie. It isn't about being a hipster. It's about being a Southerner. It's about English settlers founding Georgia on agriculture in 1734. It's about Native American tribes sustaining themselves on this red clay on agriculture seven centuries before the English came.

It's about Georgians not eating canned peaches from China.

And it's about not wondering how a small farmer in South Georgia is selling poultry to restaurants in Atlanta and beginning to wonder why such products aren't widespread in our grocery stores. Why do we settle for less just because it costs a little less?

And Grassroots isn't the only farm like this out there. I know several people raising cattle & crops the old ways. You'll find them if you look. 

There's more on this topic but it will have to wait for another time.

Until then...

Kickoff & Community

Georgia has four seasons. Ice Storm, Dogwood, Heat Stroke, and Football.

Football season began last night.

This is a cultural event in small southern towns. Understanding the significance of what exactly happens under the lights on any given Friday in Georgia might explain what communities are all about. 

I walked to the stadium in time for the 7 pm kickoff. Kickoff was at 7:30. I paid the admission price for my son. Then he promptly disappeared to engage in the social activities of middle schoolers in our community, only some of which involve watching the game. I found my seat and then waited as the crowd trickled in. 

Within a few minutes, I had neighbors. People that I do not know but whom were dressed a lot like me and we talked like old friends...which is rare for an introvert...but it's football, so there's that. Then, just as I was wondering if my neighbor (not these strangers next to me, my buddy from across the street) was there, I turned and there he was. We talked football, local happenings, and a little about his time as the principal of the school.

Then came the marching band, marching and playing familiar tunes that we all associate with our gatherings in that place. They were dressed in t-shirts and shorts as Heat Stroke & Football have decided to cohabitate for a while.

The teams were warming up and the public address announcer (which is a fancy synonym for David) was making announcements, including birthdays and anniversaries of people who are probably not all that famous south of Dry Creek or north of the lumber yard but we all knew who he was talking about. 

Then our team huddled up, took a knee, and prayed. The A.C.L.U. would probably have a fit but this isn't their community. Besides, we figure if Bible Belt team prayers don't offend our Islamic head coach, some bored lawyers can probably deal with it.

Then we, as a community, stood, placed our hats over our hearts and observed a moment of silence to reflect on the people who defend our freedom abroad and keep our community safe. Then the band played the national anthem while our local Boy Scout troop raised the flag to the top of the mast.

And then our team, our marching band, and our cheerleaders did their thing. They showed us what hours of training, practice, and dedication have enabled them to do. Our kids, the future of our community, received our encouragement, our elation at their successes and probably a hint of our disappointment when things went worse than we hoped. But mostly we allowed them to participate in the maintenance of our traditions, our community. 

So what looks like a performance is actually something much larger and more important. This is how small town high school football games in The South become gathering of the community with a common sense of purpose built on the dreams of our kids.

This is how torches are passed.