Candiland

Sting operation

T’was a glorious morning in Candiland.  I gazed out the window at the verdant fields, lush green trees, and family of bunnies nibbling on pompoms of clover, grateful for the low humidity and cheeky sun.  I sighed a “life doesn’t get much better than this” sigh, and stepped out onto the second-story sleeping porch to inhale an unrestricted breath of healthy country air.

Big smile on my face, I turned to come back in and noticed that either a swami had left behind his gray turban in the corner of the porch roof, or I had wasps.  Insectile projectiles launched from the puffy mass, so I quickly deduced I wasn’t dealing with forgetful Hindi mystic.

Screaming, door-slamming, and expletive-shouting ensued.

I could feel kamikaze wasps thudding against the door…waspy teeth chewing through the ancient wood…camofluaged sniper wasps belly-crawling under the door frame.  You have no idea.

As I’ve mentioned, I’m an aging peacenik hippie, but I did not hesitate before driving directly to the hardware store for napalm.  Seems that’s a special order item so I ended up with a torpedo-sized can of Raid that bragged about the 22-foot jet stream of toxic and noxious chemicals guaranteed to kill immediately and without remorse.  “Do you have and extra-strength version?” I asked store clerk.  

Helpful hardware man, indeed.

Food Fright

One of the perks of working for the American Conservation Film Festival is that I get to see a lot of films that will almost never make it to your neighborhood multiplex.  Some may see limited release, may even make it into the art house circuit, but mostly, these are films made because a filmmaker is passionate about telling a story they feel must be told.  The films may suffer from poor production value, may be waaaaay too long, or worse, boring, but I watch them anyway.  I’m slogging through finishing a documentary I shot, produced, and am editing, so I have at least an informed inkling of what it takes to get from concept to product.  I’m on the team; I’m of the tribe—I’ll watch your excruitiatingly tedious film with love in my heart.

 So.

 There’s a bumper crop of food-related/sustainable agriculture/locavore/know-who-produces-your-food films this year, and they’ve scared the bejeebees out of me.  It’s not just the disturbing images of commercial feed lots, or the moonsuits chicken farmers wear while spreading toxic-to-humans, proprietary-formulated litter and chemicals on future McNuggets, or the ammonia-basted filler destined for 95 percent of fast food burgers in the US, it’s also the alarming and insidious use of products and substances engineered from stockpiles of corn and soy, both heavily subsidized by the US government.   Don’t even get me started on the large corporation that rhymes with Consanto (rwC), and their squad of spies who blacklist farmers propagating non-rwC strains of soy.

 Full disclosure--I am a bit of a goonie-googoo, dirt-worshiping, crunchy granola hippie…and I am somewhat of a conspiracy theorist.  BUT, humor me; see “Food, Inc.” or “Fresh” if you get a chance (we’re screening both at the film festival in Shepherdstown, WV, in early November). Read “Fast Food Nation”, “Animal, Vegetable, or Miracle”, or anything by Michael Pollan. 

You are what you eat?  Scary thought.