Tamarack River Ghost (21 page)

“Crates seem a little tight; sow can’t even turn around,” said Josh.

“That’s true, but she also doesn’t lay on her little ones and kill them, either. That can be a problem, especially with big sows.”

Jorgensen and Josh walked the length of the farrowing house, where Josh saw hundreds of little pigs, happily nursing under climate-controlled conditions. Jorgensen explained, “Once the little pigs are weaned, they are moved to a nursery building, where they are raised to forty-five pounds or so. The male and female pigs are separated, each given their own special diets, and the male pigs are castrated. From the nursery, the pigs go to the finishing house, up to fifteen hundred in a building, where they are fed a ration preparing them for market. By the time they are five to six months old, they weigh from 260 to 280 pounds. When the hogs reach market weight, we ship them by truck to our packing plant in Dubuque, where they are slaughtered and cut up into hams, pork chops, bacon, and all the other cuts of meats consumers want.”

“I’ve got another difficult question for you, Mr. Jorgensen.”

“Fire away. If I can answer it, I will.”

“What happens to all this manure? What do you do with it?”

“First off, we are monitored by the Iowa Department of Natural Resources. Of course, we need permits for everything that we do. We have a manure storage facility at each building, which we empty each fall. We put the manure on our land once a year. We don’t really spread it: the manure is injected into the ground, so the smell is minimal. We hire a contractor to empty our manure storage units—our people don’t do it.”

Josh rapidly took notes, as manure handling and the associated smells were the most common issues asked about when a big hog facility sought a new location. He remembered well the questions from the informational meeting at the Tamarack Town Hall.

Jorgensen continued, “Before the contractor arrives to empty the manure storage facilities, we pull samples of the manure and send them to a lab for testing, to measure the nutrient levels. The amount of manure we can put on the fields is based on the crop yields for these fields and the amount of nutrients a crop needs. This way, we avoid excess buildup of certain nutrients that could eventually pollute the groundwater.”

Josh continued making notes. He also checked to make sure his tape recorder was working.

“For instance, by measuring corn yields—on average we produce 192 bushels of corn per acre—we know how many nutrients such a corn crop requires, and that’s what we put on the fields. Our fields are sampled every four years for yield information. Our numbers are based on crop uptake. We have a 10 percent cushion on nitrogen—we can exceed the amount we put on by that much. If we put on more than that, we are in violation.”

“Sounds complicated,” said Josh.

“It’s really not. It’s how we prevent overloading the soil with nitrogen, phosphorus, and potash, the natural nutrients in manure, and the nutrients needed by a crop to grow.”

“So, what if you have too much manure?”

“We contract with our neighbors, who cash crop corn and soybeans. We pay them to put manure on their fields. They, in effect, are getting fertilizer for their crops and being paid to get it.”

“Very interesting,” said Josh as he continued writing. “Have you considered putting in methane digesters, turning all this manure into electricity?”

“We have, but the numbers just don’t work. Too much water in the manure. Besides, the technology for methane converters needs some work. Methane gas is very corrosive, requires lots of equipment maintenance.”

Josh finished writing and looked up. “I think I’ve got about what I need.”

“You have any more questions, just give me a call. As I said, if I can answer your questions, I will. Always want to cooperate with the press.”

Josh entered the little dressing room, removed his borrowed clothing, showered, and put on his own clothing. He shook hands with Kyle Jorgensen again, thanked him, and was soon back in his pickup and on his way to Willow River.

How could he best write a story about what he had just seen? Clearly, he had been impressed with about every aspect of this big operation. Perhaps these big hog operations, with controlled temperatures, computer-operated feeding, and constant monitoring, were the future. After all, with an ever-increasing global population, people still need to eat. Jorgensen had reminded him of that several times. What more efficient way of producing pork than what he had just seen? He doubted there was one.

As he drove back to Willow River, he couldn’t help thinking of the conditions at the Lazy Z feedlot, where feeder cattle stood in manure and mud up to their bellies when it rained and were moved from pen to pen with electric prods. Here, the pigs were clean, content, and certainly appeared to be treated humanely. Josh was confused. Large-scale farms were surely not all the same. He’d just seen proof of that. He knew what he must write, but he didn’t know what he thought about it. Was he like Natalie, who confessed that she was two people—a DNR employee and her own person? He was a reporter and also someone with opinions—how could he avoid tangling the two?

After his visit to Nathan West’s large production farm, Josh wrote a long piece that he titled “The Future of the U.S. Pork Industry?” The piece featured details of his visit to Nathan West Industries’ big hog operation in Iowa and interviews with University of Wisconsin officials, plus the words of local citizens both for and against large-scale farming. In that same edition, he penned the following editorial, titled “Nathan West Industries as a Neighbor?”

Advantages

• Factory farms ensure that food will be available at the lowest possible cost to the consumer, as these large farms are able to operate following a business model that emphasizes efficiency with all the advantages of large-scale production.
  
• A community with a factory farm becomes a symbol of the future and how food will be produced using the most modern genetics and the most advanced technological equipment for the feeding and care of animals.
  
• A factory farm employs a substantial number of workers in the community, contributing directly to the community’s economy.
  
• On relatively few acres, a factory farm is able to produce an enormous amount of food.
  
• Consumers of food produced on large factory farms can be assured of a consistent supply throughout the year, whether eggs, pork, beef, milk, or poultry. There will be no times doing the year when the product is not available.
  
• Foods from factory farms, especially meat products, are conveniently packaged so the consumer can use them with little effort.
  
• Factory farms produce a uniform product. Pork chops purchased from a factory-farm supplier are essentially the same month after month, as are poultry, beef, and dairy products.
  
• In a world where population continues to increase, the only way food supplies will be able to keep up with demands is through means of large-scale production such as factory farms.
  

Disadvantages

• Factory farms, especially those producing animal products such as milk, eggs, and meat, produce an enormous amount of potential pollutants—especially manure. When not properly stored and managed, manure can pollute not only the air for miles around but also nearby streams and rivers and sometimes the groundwater.
  
• When a food product is produced in a centralized location, substantial transportation costs result from moving the product from producer to consumer. Food is often transported hundreds of miles before it reaches the consumer.
  
• Many factory farms are vertically integrated, which means one company, such as a pork producer, owns everything, from the farms growing the feed to everything along the production line, including the hogs— from the time the little pigs are born until the meat products are in the grocer’s case. This can be an advantage for the pork producer, but it crowds out others, such as family farmers who want to raise hogs for market.
  
• Food safety can be a problem on factory farms. Because large numbers of animals are confined in one location, once a disease organism is established, it can raise havoc. A 2010 case of salmonella in eggs from factory farms in Iowa led to illness among hundreds of people who consumed the contaminated product. In another case, E. coli–related illness from contaminated hamburger resulted in the recall of thousands of pounds of that product.
  
• Many of today’s meat and dairy products are in the hands of but a few large producers and distributors. The small family farm has been shoved aside, unable to produce a product as inexpensively as the factory farms.
  
• Animal protection groups consider factory-farm treatment of animals confined in close quarters—with no access to sunlight and fresh air— inhumane.
  

The day after the article and editorial appeared, Bert came into Josh’s office carrying a copy of the newspaper. “Good writing,” he said. “This ought to get people talking; at least now they’ve got some information, a better idea of how these big hog operations work.”

“I did the best I could,” Josh said. “I worked hard on these pieces.”

“It shows. It’s the kind of thing a newspaper can do well—get behind the scenes, dig out the facts. Keep the emotions and opinions at bay. I liked your summary of the situation, the advantages and disadvantages of factory farming.”

“After doing a bunch of research, talking to the folks at the university, and visiting the big farm in Iowa, that’s about the way I see it. I suspect some folks won’t agree with what I wrote—but at least it should get them thinking,” said Josh.

“Well, that’s what a good newspaper is supposed to do. Give people the facts and then encourage them to make up their own minds,” said Bert.

A bright sun, a clear blue sky, and temperatures predicted to climb into the low fifties greeted Fred and Oscar when they climbed into Oscar’s rusty old Ford pickup on a mid-April afternoon.

“Why’d you say we should go to Tamarack Corners today? Be a good day just to stand on the riverbank and watch the Tamarack hurry by,” said Fred.

“Because we’re gonna visit the museum, that’s why. I told you that yesterday.”

“You did? You sure? You sure you told me yesterday?”

“Fred, I think you’re startin’ to lose it. I for damn sure told you yesterday about what we had planned for today.”

“How come we’re visiting this museum, anyway?” asked Fred.

“’Cause there’s something I want you to see.”

“I don’t care much for museums. They remind me too much of when I was a kid.”

“What’s wrong with that? You were a kid once, weren’t you?”

“Yup, I was, but my old man had me workin’ like a man by the time I got to be twelve years old.”

“So did my old man, but that doesn’t mean we weren’t once kids. Besides it’ll do you good to see this new museum, Fred. Do you good. Take your mind off your troubles.”

“So, goin’ to this museum is gonna cure my arthritis and fix my bad back.”

“I didn’t say that. I said it would take your mind off your troubles. Make you think about something different.”

“So, now you’re complainin’ about how I’m thinkin’.”

“Nah, just come on along and see the place, and maybe you’ll learn something. Besides, I gave them one of my old hog troughs, a wooden one my dad made that we used for years to feed our pigs.”

“So, that’s the reason you’re draggin’ me along to the museum: to see that old trough you used to feed pigs. Hell, we had one just like it. Probably still sittin’ out in the shed. Probably in better shape than yours, Oscar. Ours was about four to five feet long, made out of two pieces of wood, held together in a
V
shape, with square pieces nailed on each end to make it sturdy.”

“Ours was just like that, and it’s in the museum and yours ain’t,” Oscar said, smiling.

“Geez, going to a museum to see a hog trough. Your old one, besides.”

“There’s more at the museum than the hog trough, Fred. Lots more.”

“Well, there’d better be. Hog troughs remind me of work, remind me of carrying two five-gallon pails of water, with a couple scoops of ground corn and oats dumped in each. Water’d spill on my pants when I walked from the pump house to the hog pen.”

“Yup, I remember doin’ the same thing. Especially remember how heavy them two pails was. My pa said carryin’ two was easier than one. When you carried two, you were balanced—one hanging on the end of each arm. That’s what he said. I expect he really just wanted me gettin’ the work done faster.”

“Something else I remember about our old trough,” said Fred, the cobwebs in his mind receding into the shadows.

“What was that?”

“Them pigs of ours was always hungry, and when I came carrying them pails of slop they’d come a-runnin’ from the far end of the pen—we had about twenty of ’em. Ran like bats outta hell they did. When I started pourin’ the slop into the trough, they’d fight and bite and squeal. You had to stay out of the way, or you’d git yourself bit.”

Oscar smiled when he heard the story. “Yup, same thing on our farm. Our pigs did the same thing. They’d bite each other’s ears, push and shove, do the best they could so they’d be first at the trough. Every damn one of them wanted to be first.”