There are three of us
driving down a long gravel driveway. We are just outside Shedd,
Ore., in a town too small for most maps. The farmer is expecting
us, though he doesn’t know we’re on a mission to
restore part of the West’s agricultural past. My companions
are part of a group called the Wheat Project, and our aim is to do
it all: Grow wheat, mill it and sell it locally.
The
Springer farm lies near the center of the Willamette Valley,
Oregon’s agricultural heart, where at least 170 different
crops are grown. My freezer in nearby Corvallis is filled with
locally grown blueberries, strawberries, corn, lamb and beef to
help get my family through the winter. Farms in this valley also
produce a rainbow of vegetables, fruits, mushrooms, dairy products
and nuts that could easily fill out a food pyramid. Yet only about
2 percent of the food consumed in our area is produced locally, and
I’m beginning to grasp why: Eating close to home is hard to
do.
Take wheat. Farms around here grow lots of it. Over
10,000 acres of wheat were grown in our three-county region,
according to the latest census, producing over 1 million bushels,
which is about 60 million pounds. But this wheat is soft, white
winter wheat, a low-protein, high-yield variety unsuited for bread
making. The wheat grown here is shipped overseas to make pastries,
flatbreads, and other foods.
Meanwhile, the wheat flour
we use in Corvallis comes from elsewhere, perhaps passing the wheat
we grow heading in opposite directions. This long-distance food
system relies on oil — agriculture accounts for 17 percent of this
country’s energy consumption — and four-fifths of this
energy is consumed after the harvest for processing, packaging,
warehousing, refrigerating and transporting our food. We want to
change this equation, starting with wheat.
Mr. Springer
leads us into one of his outbuildings, and inside is a grain mill,
about five feet high, that he salvaged and rebuilt decades ago. For
many years, he explains, he grew hard red wheat and milled it into
flour. He shows us the grinding stone and the wheel you turn to
adjust the fineness of the flour. We rub the slippery soft flour
between our fingers. Next, he shows us the 1937 tractor he hooked
up to the mill for power. You run the tractor engine real slow, he
instructs, or the flour will come out too warm. Although he quit
growing red wheat a few years ago, he’s got lots of flour in
his freezer and cooks pancakes with it each morning.
We
spend a couple of hours visiting, learning about the farm, seeing
his antiques and hearing Mr. Springer’s thoughts about life
and farming. He has outlived both his wife and his son, and seems
to relish our company. It’s a sweet visit, and it ends too
soon.
The conventional wisdom is that the wet climate in
the Willamette Valley is a poor match for the hard red wheat that
makes good bread flour. Experts say yields will be low, disease
problems high, and getting the high protein content needed for
bread flour won’t be easy. But Mr. Springer told us he never
had those problems.
We made one other visit a few miles
north of the Springer farm, where a family is experimenting with
growing a few acres of organic red wheat. They mostly grow grass
seed, but every few years they need a different crop to put into
rotation. Now, they’re considering planting hard red wheat.
We look at the scraggly plants in the experimental field, and it
makes me think of my garden experiments, often so tenuous the first
year.
The farmers are trying seed from different sources,
testing the soil and adding compost. There’s a mill an hour
south that may be willing to mill the wheat that’s locally
produced. If so, our Corvallis food co-op has promised to buy its
wheat.
Since those visits, I’ve talked about what
we learned to everyone who will listen. My friends probably wonder
why I’m so excited about the local food movement. When I try
to explain, here’s what I come up with: Helping to build a
local food system is good in every way I can count. It supports
farmers and helps to protect their land from subdivision
development. It reduces energy use and greenhouse gas emissions.
It’s good for better health and greater pleasure from food.
It strengthens food security by protecting against disasters large
and small. Finally, it has shown me many nearby blessings in
people, the land, great ideas, and of course, Mr. Springer.
Carla Wise is a contributor to Writers on the
Range, a service of High Country News (hcn.org). She is a biologist
and environmental writer in Corvallis,
Oregon.
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