agriculture

Lazy Sunday: From Mangos to Economies.

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My mind is a bit cluttered. Sometimes I simply vegetate somewhere and blank it off, and sometimes I go through my mind, taking things out and examining them one by one. Sundays are good days for that.

It’s also sort of like a roundup. I have a thunderstorm playing on Youtube for ambience and the sun has crept up.

Mangoes

Maryanne posted about National Mango Day in the U.S. – and there were some interesting comments back and forth from Trinidad and Tobago, with Renard Moreau and myself representing Trinidad and Tobago in our own ways.

It really got me thinking about the different varieties of mango that I grew up with but don’t see much of anymore, even in the more rural areas. In the US, where I also understand the perspective at the market, a mango is just a mango. Growing up, though, this was not so.

I grew up with Greyham mangoes, large grafted mangoes that could count as an entire meal – even in the U.S. ‘Judy’ mangoes were about half the size. ‘Doo Doos’ mangoes were popular but I always found them annoyingly small – too much work for too little meat.

The Hog/Rose mangoes were for making mango chow – a recipe which is fairly basic that always varies a bit from person to person. Any recipe calling for chillis with the mango chow is not a mango chow recipe, I’m sorry. It could be a Thai dish, which is different, but growing up we had the scotch bonnets, the bird peppers (whose proper name I do not know) whose trees magically sprung where the birds dropped the post-digested seeds.

Anecdotally, the birds suffered a long time in Trinidad and Tobago when the government routinely sprayed malathion all over the place for mosquitoes. They have made a resurgence, all the different tanagers and thrushes and grieves, but the bird peppers never really seemed to come back. You can get them here and there, and I’m on the lookout.

‘Long’ mangoes were for cooking, for making mango talkari, as well as mango kuchela. In the ingredients for the video below, you’ll see the author specified ‘long’ mangoes, and verily, those are indeed long mangoes!

There were all these different types of mangoes, and when I listened to my elders when I was younger, they too would talk about mangoes that they could no longer get.

There are reasons some of these species don’t make it, but the main reason is because of humans. There was a time when everyone seemed to have access to a mango tree in Trinidad and Tobago, but because of people not cleaning under their trees or keeping them properly trimmed, the answer people came up with was to cut them down. Those were generally the generic rose/hog mangoes.

Then there’s the marketplace, where long mangoes and a few other species are bought en masse for foreign markets and for local companies to produce products. If you wanted to make money, having a rose/hog mango tree wasn’t of interest.

The mangoes that do make it to the American markets – not from Trinidad and Tobago, I think mainly from Mexico – have to travel well.

That lead me to a conversation I had with a Minister of Technology of St. Lucia over a Piton, circa 2005, as he explained the banana market issues that St. Lucia was having. I don’t know how it is now, but I’m fairly certain that St. Lucia’s exports are seeing severe competition from the larger land massed nations for the European markets. At the time it seemed they were being edged out, and I don’t know if they have been (yet?), but an island simply can’t compete with a nation that has much more land mass.

We like to throw around, ‘banana republic‘ a lot when we speak of some developing nations without understanding the history related to mainly Guatemala and Honduras. Even so, the banana is an interesting fruit because it needs us to propagate it, and what people see in the developing world as bananas are actually only one type of Musa. There are a thousand types of banana, but only a few are the ones that the developing nations are interested in.

I grew up knowing at least 10 types of banana in Trinidad and Tobago, now I only see maybe 2 varieties regularly. If one of you finds some ‘man-killer’ fig, I’m looking.

The then Minister told me about the color charts, the size charts, and that bananas that didn’t meet very specific criteria were thrown away, which by itself as a travesty. I remember noting the neatly kept graveyard across the road while we were drinking our Pitons and thinking what an odd coincidence that was.

What’s worse, if a supplier, like St. Lucia, didn’t meet it’s annual quota, the balance was carried over to the next year which meant that the supplier would have to produce even more bananas. Banana republic indeed. One bad year and it could mean a severe loss of income for many years as the Banana Republic plays ‘catch up’ to a quota they can’t make. Over one type of Musa.

That means more and more of the precious land on an island would be devoted to the monoculture of Musa. Why precious? Populations rarely stay the same, they have a tendency to grow because one of humanities recreational activities – indeed, the one that motivates so many things – is making more humans.

Thus, the biodiversity of an island can be wrecked even as the economy destabilizes. That’s why when people in Trinidad and Tobago say we should be growing more of our own food, even as the government takes arable land and builds houses on it, I wonder where they intend to find the land to do so. Yet the government in Trinidad and Tobago, about as archaic as the year the present Prime Minister was born (1949), doesn’t change much regardless of political party is in charge.

Jamaica had a similar incident related to coffee, where only the Constitution of Jamaica saved the land of Jamaica’s coffee farmers from being seized. I can’t find a link for it, but it was something discussed at the very table with the Minister for St. Lucia.

Growing monocultures of vegetables or fruits, a way to feed massive cities, wrecks rural areas, not unlike what coal did to the poorest regions of America.

I don’t expect you to watch the entire video here on the site, but it’s worth watching on YouTube and quite revealing.

We have a tendency to forget – and I include myself – where power comes from, where produce comes from, and how much it costs beyond economics. This is not to say that it can be done otherwise. ‘Organic farming’, as an example, requires a lot more land to produce the same amount of produce, and drug cartels are finding their own opportunities with avocados and limes.

What a strange world, where the paths to our continued stability could be the seeds of our own destruction. The bananas and mangoes must flow!

Is there anyone to blame? I don’t know that there is. We’re all born into a system, to press forward we have to work within the system, and then eventually we find faults with the systems.

Maybe we need new systems. I’m sure very smart people have had very smart meetings with lots of big words, but in the end… we want things from all over the world now. How many bananas can St. Lucia sell to balance it’s imports? How much coffee for Jamaica? Did we forget Haiti? France didn’t, that’s for sure.

I’m sure I’m not the first to wonder about this. I’m sure I won’t be the last.

There’s no call to action here, and I’m not saying anything is right or wrong. I’m just wondering what the future holds for people on both sides. Will there be banana riots in stores in the U.S. and Europe if not enough bananas are to be had? Will there be a Black Friday for avocados when the cartels withhold avocados? We see what’s happened with coal, with oil, and so on.

It’s almost too ridiculous to consider, but then I’ve been on the planet for more than 50 years and seen plenty of ridiculous. We are not that far removed from our cousins fighting over the best trees in the jungle.

It’s worth taking a few moments to think about over a cup of coffee. I have no answers, but I have a lot of questions and I think we all should.

Maintain

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Warrior In The GardenIt is silent in the morning, aside from the gossip of the birds and the rustle of the wind through the trees and brush uncleared. The odd passing vehicle on the highway alternates between a diesel and a small gas powered vehicle.

Light peers over the horizon in the early morning, revealing the detritus people left at the boundaries – the two legged pests that generate rubbish faster than they can get it taken away – a constant battle on the perimeter not to be won in the near future, only to be dealt with. In the distance, the nearby houses and gardens, nearer, the vultures that roost in trees nearby whose roosts must be continuously disturbed so that they move elsewhere.

It’s a shame to disrupt this with the sound of a two stroke engine, but necessary – the whine of the blade as it spins through brush, clearing a path to clear a path, sometimes working the perimeter, sometimes working through brush that hides contours that can easily break an ankle or leg, sometimes clearing around the trees whose future depends on it.

Constant watchfulness, passively interrogating the wildlife nearby, always knowing where everything is, where it should be, recognizing things out of place – a stray footprint, tire mark, grass pushed the wrong way, clearings within spaces otherwise overgrown. Flycatchers pick out the insects left from the wrath of the spinning blade.

And it all falls behind – all becomes a part of the greater whole, and the mind is free to wander as all of this is watched. The matters of the day, the larger strategies, the small minds and the large problems pour out like the sweat of hard work. It is dangerous in this; it can be too attractive and draw from the present, so another part of the mind has to now keep an eye on the wandering mind so that while free it is safe and can be snatched to the present quickly. It watches the shadows, listens to the sounds, keeps track of tools… A passing driver waves, a wave back, a rustle in the trees or a snap, check 6.

Time passes, work is done, a break. The machine cools, and the morning returns to the natural sounds – more vehicles now. Maybe some bananas, definitely some water, and with better light a survey of what was done and what needs to be done.

And again. And again. And, maybe, again. Meditations, clear thought, hard work.

All one has is not what one can claim, but what one can maintain. Taking a hill means nothing when it is lost tomorrow, making a large profit means nothing when the money is spent immediately. True success in any endeavor is supposed to be a ratchet, locked so it cannot spin back – building on a foundation rather than constantly fighting one.

And that is coming.

The Rains of Cultural Change

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Rain of numbersThe rains have come.

In the tropical island calendar, the rains mark ‘Wet Season’ – a time of traffic, accidents and water-filled potholes ranging in size and depth up to Olympic size swimming pool. A time of umbrellas, of inconveniently wet feet, and of replacing windshield wipers.

It was not always so. In Trinidad and Tobago, corporate attire so many attempt to use to forget the agrarian roots is something I often view as a pretentious veil. I did not grow up in an agricultural environment, despite my roots, despite the roots of anyone of East Indian or African descent in this country. I grew up in the “fix things” sector where weather meant either you worked dry or wet – but you worked.

The planet is 71% water. If you’re afraid of getting wet, it’s safe to assume you’re on the wrong planet.

Now, though, the rains mark the end of one part of my agricultural project and the beginning of another. There’s little in project management literature that talks about, “when it begins to rain”, but there should be.

It has been a race. Clearing bush,  getting land brush-cut and plowed, clearing as much of the hill as I could and making my space on my land. Having the pond dug, then dealing with a suicidal hog plum tree. Getting the hill graded and moving stones. Finding things to plant from wherever I could find them and planting them.

The rain is soaking in. There will be some more things planted when the sun dries the top layers a bit. It makes no sense wandering through the field with five pounds of mud on each boot while sliding down the hill. I do not enjoy doing laundry that much.

Now comes the maintenance – keeping the crops in good health. Cutting grass. Spraying when absolutely necessary. The molding of trees, trees that I am happy to say I have planted more of than I have cut down. Before the land fasted, now the land is to be nourished so as to grow things.

Cassava. Eddoes. Corn. Peas. Sweet potato. And the longer term trees – where I plant at least one for each tree I have taken down, the stumps a memorial to that. Each tree I plant, I remove a stump, and so I keep track.

No one says I have to. I simply know I should.

Meanwhile, I visit places where people drive cars that they can barely afford, attempting to convince each other and themselves on how well they are doing, how successful they are. The latest fashions parade like price tags, the smiles gleam too white – unnaturally white – and all the while, they see the rain as a problem. An inconvenience.

Only a few have followed the business side far enough through to understand the importance of the rain – how it affects the crops, the food – how that in turn affects pricing, how that in turn affects the purchasing power of a currency, how that in turn allows for more disposable income to buy things.

It also means things that have not been maintained may flood. It means that the plastic bottles that Trinidad and Tobago so loves in drains present a problem, and while work has been done to clear them, it’s a matter of finding out the hard way. Unfortunately, flooded fields mean less to people than flooded parts of Port of Spain, where the imported goods sector will weep because of lack of foot traffic, etc. People forget where the food comes from.

The food comes partly from the rain – not the plastic bottles woven into the drains, discarded by humans who then complain about the effects of their presence. The food sustains the society.

Our agrarian ancestors understood those things. They kept drains clear. They did not throw things on the ground that would end up in drains. They had the cultural capital to understand poor habits in society can create great obstacles. They knew about these things.

Somewhere, that cultural capital seems to have divested itself. To progress? It would seem not.

That capital still exists, but it is being sold for a chance to act like an inconvenienced overseer on a plantation of plastics. Look at how many have jumped at this opportunity.

Perhaps they should be reaping what they sew; and yet, we all seem to have reaped what they sew.

Battling The Trinidad Roseau

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Bactris major Jacq.I lost 2 pounds of weight in 4 days. And I did it dealing with a Trinidad Roseau (bactris major) clump. It might be interesting to market the “Roseau diet”.

Roseau is, in my best description, weaponized chlorophyll. It’s nature’s answer to botanical warfare, designed specifically to keep out invasive species. Like mammals. Like humans. Like… me. Those spikes that you see in the photo break off from the stalks very easily. They go through the ‘cut proof’ gloves with relative impunity. And they cling together, thumbing their metaphorical noses at the Hedgehog’s Dilemma.

I loved every minute of battling it, and I’m almost a little sad that I’ve gotten rid of most of the clump, on the downhill slope of the battle that it is losing. The only casualty I’ve had is 50 feet of rope (264 lb test) that failed while I was pulling down some with the pickup, “Artsy”.

During the last days of battle, I’d come out of the bush – jersey and pants soaked with sweat. “Picker” from other plants, those annoying seeds that cling to you, all over my clothing and in my hair. I had half a mind to go into a Starbucks down here, order a coffee and sit down while writing in a notebook just to offend a few people, but I was too tired to bother.

There are people all over the world, sitting in offices, spending money on gym memberships, paying tanning salons… when all you have to do… is go outside and work on some land.

Thoreau was onto something good:

I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to practice resignation, unless it was quite necessary. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartan-like as to put to rout all that was not life, to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms, and, if it proved to be mean, why then to get the whole and genuine meanness of it, and publish its meanness to the world; or if it were sublime, to know it by experience, and be able to give a true account of it in my next excursion.

— Henry David Thoreau.

Yes, you’re breathing, but when last have you lived?