CETA and the Home Gardener

seeds

 

Recent reports show that the European Union is considering legislation that would require all seeds for sale or trade to be of certified varieties only, with costs to certify being between $4 000 and $5 000 per variety. From my standpoint, this is another move to give corporate seedsmen, mostly owned by large chemical concerns, complete control over what gets planted and by whom. It fits right in with the philosophy of relegating environmental concerns to the background and letting wild fish stocks dwindle to the point where fish farms will control the seafood supply, and it fits in with the de facto privatization of water and power, as well as state policy around here that supports the fossil fuel incumbency. Should we be worried about what the EU is doing with seeds? Damn right, given that Canada, under the leadership of one Stephen Harper, has recently signed a free-trade treaty with the EU which would likely include provision for harmonization of agricultural policies of this nature. Measures of this nature would preclude organizations like Seeds of Diversity and the U.S. Seed Savers’ Exchange from doing what they have been doing to protect diversity in both production and gene plasm. It would likely pull the rug out from under small, independent seed houses, some of whom raise their own seed stock and many of whom rely on networks of small independent seed producers: none of these people would be able to afford the costs in both time and money to get their material homologated under the proposed regulations. Ho hum, just another turn of the CPC screw on the people whose interests the government of Canada is supposed to protect.

 

Now The Fun Begins…

… and you’ll pay each of the teams for a ticket (at least if you’re wise).

(A big shout out to Dan Murphy, once of the Vancouver Province, now with Deep Rogue Ram, likely at least in part because his genius wasn’t welcome: it stated obvious and unpleasant truths.)

An item in the Globe and Mail from last night and this morning outlines how Ottawa (that is to say, our government) is preparing for the fight over the now-NEB-endorsed Northern Gateway pipeline. Those who have an inkling of the potential impact of this project, and others of the same ilk, as well as the drain it represents on the Canadian economy in favour of the international fossil fuel clique, will want to step up and throw something n the pot to ensure that it isn’t for lack of a dollar or two that we all get subjected to the degradation of the environment, the body politic, the real economy and the spirit that this project will represent.The sad part is that we will sure as hell be funding he Enbridge end of the fight, and, barring an election and a serious change of direction as well a government, we, the citizens of this once-fair land, will have no say in how deeply the government and its legions of lawyers and lobbyists will dip their oily hands in our collective pocket. Many of us have suspected since long before current revelations about CSEC doing industrial espionage in our name for the benefit of predatory mining and oil interests, that our elected government was very much in thrall to certain well-monied interest groups, but the current spate of moves on their behalf is so brazen as to defy any notion of conflict of interest. Not only to we pay exorbitant energy prices, we pay subsidies to entities that make huge profits and that are actively working to exacerbate the conditions that are likely to make our one planet uninhabitable. Makes great sense, does it not? When the long and largely abortive Treaty Process was at its height, there were many complaints about the money that taxpayers were furnishing to fight both sides of the case. In the true spirit of Catch-22, that user manual for modern society, we should expect that First Nations could have access to the same bottomless pit of legal tender offered to Enbridge, Kinder Morgan and the rest of their crew.

Now What? The Real Thing, I Guess

Comment on FB from Laila Yuile:

The BC Liberals. Missing legislative sessions, missing information and now missing yet another important deadline. 

Also, Missing in Action…. period.

 

Well, no surprise there. It puts me in mind of something Paul Hawken said:

 

We know—you know in this room—how to transform this world. We know what to do. We know how to provide meaningful, dignified living wage jobs for all who seek them, how to feed, clothe, and house every person on Earth. What we don’t know, admittedly, is how to remove those in power whose ignorance of biology is matched only by their indifference.

 

This came to me via Information Clearing House:

 

 

Everybody knows that the dice are loaded
Everybody rolls with their fingers crossed
Everybody knows that the war is over
Everybody knows the good guys lost
Everybody knows the fight was fixed
The poor stay poor, the rich get rich
Thats how it goes
Everybody knows

Everybody knows that the boat is leaking
Everybody knows that the captain lied
Everybody got this broken feeling
Like their father or their dog just died

Everybody talking to their pockets
Everybody wants a box of chocolates
And a long stem rose
Everybody knows

Everybody knows that you love me baby
Everybody knows that you really do
Everybody knows that youve been faithful
Ah give or take a night or two
Everybody knows youve been discreet
But there were so many people you just had to meet
Without your clothes
And everybody knows

Everybody knows, everybody knows
Thats how it goes
Everybody knows

Everybody knows, everybody knows
Thats how it goes
Everybody knows

And everybody knows that it’s now or never
Everybody knows that it’s me or you
And everybody knows that you live forever
Ah when youve done a line or two
Everybody knows the deal is rotten
Old black Joe’s still pickin cotton
For your ribbons and bows
And everybody knows

And everybody knows that the plague is coming
Everybody knows that it’s moving fast
Everybody knows that the naked man and woman
Are just a shining artifact of the past
Everybody knows the scene is dead
But theres gonna be a meter on your bed
That will disclose
What everybody knows

And everybody knows that you’re in trouble
Everybody knows what youve been through
From the bloody cross on top of Calvary
To the beach of Malibu
Everybody knows it’s coming apart
Take one last look at this sacred heart
Before it blows
And everybody knows

Everybody knows, everybody knows
Thats how it goes
Everybody knows

Oh everybody knows, everybody knows
Thats how it goes
Everybody knows

Everybody knows

 

Yes, we may know and there is ample evidence all around us, but, to finish off with one last little quip:

Our ignorance is not so vast as our failure to use what we know.
—M. King Hubbert
In the meantime, I will now get out and enjoy some of this:
The View

The View

Now What?

 

I must have hit the wrong button.  Anyway, here is Garrison Fewell. Good listening, if this is a kind of music that you enjoy.

What the hell, here’s some more:

 

 

 

Now I’ll go find something to whine and complain about. CFN!

 

OK, here’s a slight reprise.

 

How Much Is A Little?

How Much Is A Little?

 

Given that the bells have been ringing for six weeks already, and that there are another three weeks before the hoopla even starts to fade, one has to wonder where the overdose level kicks in. I’m far past that stage, yet I know people who aren’t even approaching saturation. It comes down to the same conundrum as the generous person and the greedy person, where, in pure self-defence, the generous person must cease to be generous. This applies to tolerant people and the intolerant or to pretty much anyone who is willing to live and let live, as soon as that person is confronted by someone with a little too much courage of his, and everyone else’s convictions. So where can I sign up for a “little”?

 

In The Night Garden

My grand daughter used to watch a rather pointless television show called iIn The Night Garden, and example of which you can find here:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jeYhb8h47CE

 

I was out planting the last of the garlic this morning and found this.

 

Calling Card

Calling Card

 

It’s about ten centimetres across, and is either from a very big dog, or, more likely, one of our local bears. We’re very careful about compost and we don’t leave fruit on the trees. This part of the garden is fenced, but bears hardly deign to recognize the existence of a fence. I went looking for the “deposit” type of calling card, but found nothing.

Meanwhile, here is what I brought in for Sunday dinner with the rest of the family. Grandchildren do love them some corn, and there seemed to be no difficulty in giving away some butter to go with it.

A Gathering

A Gathering

In addition, there remains a load of stuff to be harvested on an ongoing basis, some of it to be mulched and some to have tents for cover through the cold, rain, and snow, truly local food, which brings me to the subject of today’s venting: local food that isn’t.

A recent labeling decision by the provincial government defines as local anything that comes from this province, meaning that food from the Peace River area is now local to Vancouver Island, a notion so patently absurd that it could only have come from the kind of government currently occupying the throne. This is the kind of drek that allows supermarkets to advertise local food that patently isn’t local, and who’s to tell the difference? It represents further cheapening of language by removing any sort of precision from the meaning of key terms so as to keep maximum hold on all aspects of the economy in the hands of Jimmy Pattison. There have been many attempts to water down the idea of organic culture, and it’s getting to the point where organic will be impossible because there will be so much genetic pollution in the seed pool that there will be no organic feed nor fertilizer, meaning there will be no organic food in the real sense, but who knows what Christy lark, Stephen Harper and Jimmy Pattison (or any of the Westons, or others of that ilk) will be able to call organic and actually have people believe.

Finally, and after this I’ll go do something constructive, I promise, in response to a Facebook post by Denis Olsen, I posted this video link of Albert Collins playing with Lonnie Mack and Roy Buchanan. Check out where Collins attaches his capo!

Collins, Mack and Buchanan

 

 

Two Teles and a V

Two Teles and a V

 

 

 

 

 

Against Forgetting: A Perspective from Derrick Jensen

What Life Was Like--For Some

What Life Was Like–For Some

 

The latest issue of Orion landed in my mailbox last week, the first paper issue I’ve seen in a couple of years, having switched to a digital subscription, and I was reminded of the pleasure of sitting down with a physical magazine, especially something as sumptuous as Orion, a visual feast as well as a wealth of content.  First up for me was a piece by Derrick Jensen called Against Forgetting: It’s hard to fight for what you don’t know you’ve lost.

His premise is that there has been a steady erosion of nature and the commons over the last several decades, to the point where there those of us who have become accustomed to the new reality and where there is at one generation and possibly two or three, who have known a whole different picture of society and its relation to the biosphere that what was extant in the middle of the last century.

Jensen writes of…

“,,,declining baselines. The phrase describes the process of becom­ing accustomed to, and accepting as nor­mal, worsening conditions. Along with normalization can come a forgetting that things were not always this way.”

As well, he cites Milan Kundera: “The struggle of man against power is the struggle of memory against forgetting.”

Much of Jensen’s discussion speaks to the disappearance of flora and fauna, to the loss of habitat and to the different nature of our interaction with the living world, though it could apply equally to the changed nature of relations within society. I would cite the state of health care as a prime example, on both sides of the Canada-U.S. border, with health care having become a profit center in the United States, subject to management by large healthcare corporations who insert a huge burden of bureaucracy and profit, as well as largesse to the management class, and stifling premiums for citizens, often with major exclusions from coverage and what seem to be denials of procedure on a whim. A look at an afternoon’s programming on an American television station will say much about the for-profit system: what advertising isn’t for cars, beer or casinos is likely to be for some health care organization. The same is true for the pharmaceutical arm of the health care equation, with a portion of the advertising being aimed at justifying the often outrageous cost of many medications because, we are told, these are R&D pharmaceutical companies. It seems, though, that advertising budgets are substantially larger than the budgets for actual research and development. North of the 49th parallel, we fare only somewhat better with the vestiges of what was once a reasonably competent nationwide health care system that delivered a wide variety of procedures in a timely fashion with relatively low overhead. Once Paul Martin took on the deficit pretty much on the backs of working Canadians by cutting services and transfer payments, the provinces were forced to cut back on what was on offer for patients, and, in many cases, did so with relish and glee, as governments turned a blind eye to the establishment of private, for-profit clinics and dismantled structures like the Theraputics Initiative, aimed at independent evaluation of pharmaceutical products and costs. When our current Prime Minister promised us that we wouldn’t recognize Canada when he got through, he wasn’t exaggerating or engaging in an idle boast, and our destination looks very much like the unregulated quagmire of our American friends and neighbours.

It is hard for us to maintain perspective and to measure change without a firm grasp of what used to be, particularly when, as individuals, we have access only to our personal and anecdotal information, and perceptions of how well the system functioned can vary considerably from place to place and with the influence of different circumstances, both personal and systemic. Sadly, it is hard for us to rely on statistics, given that there has been a campaign by several levels of government to ensure that the information that gets out reflect well on the issuing government, and on any interested parties with whom the government has chosen to work. Statistics Canada used to have a worldwide reputation as a quality provider of data and analysis based on thorough and meaningful methodology. My sense is that this is no longer the case, so we have to rely on our intuitive and personal understanding of whatever changes we perceive.

Changes of the same nature have been wrought in many other domains, from education to the world of work, from protection of water resources to urban sprawl, from foreign policy to basic research. The world I now inhabit is a very different world than that in which I grew up, and there is much that has been done that, for the sake of broader humanity and all the life that shares space with us, it would be better were it undone.

Jensen’s conclusion is an exhortation to gather baseline data now, a baseline against which to measure further erosion, or perhaps, rebuilding of the natural and societal realms, and he cites what might be some indicators to include in the baseline:

“But here is what I want you to do: I want you to go outside. I want you to lis­ ten to the (disappearing) frogs, to watch the (disappearing) fireflies. Even if you’re in a city—especially if you’re in a city—I want you to picture the land as it was be­ fore the land was built over. I want you to research who lived there. I want you to feel how it was then, feel how it wants to be. I want you to begin keeping a calendar of who you see and when: the first day each year you see buttercups, the first day frogs start singing, the last day you see robins in the fall, the first day for grasshoppers. In short, I want you to pay attention.

If you do this, your baseline will stop declining, because you’ll have a record of what’s being lost.

Do not go numb in the face of this data. Do not turn away. I want you to feel the pain. Keep it like a coal inside your coat, a coal that burns and burns. I want all of us to do this, because we should all want the pain of injustice to stop. We should want this pain to stop not because we get used to it and it just doesn’t bother us anymore, but because we stop the in­justices and destruction that are causing the pain in the first place. I want us to feel how awful the destruction is, and then act from this feeling.

And I promise you two things. One: feeling this pain won’t kill you. And two: not feeling this pain, continuing to go numb and avoid it, will. ”

All of this is too true, but not so self-evident that it has spurred legions of concerned citizens to action: the struggle of memory against forgetting can only be won when the dynamic tension between what is and what should gives rise to action.

However, there is another side to this.

No More
No More

Back in the early Sixties, we had one of these, though it was a convertible and a kind of a muddy gold colour. It was tricked out with an automatic transmission and power just about everything and was, in some circles, pretty typical of what was on the road at the time. The same with the house we haunted at the time, as seen in the header photo. It was easy to believe at the time that all was reasonably well with the World, and that whatever wasn’t right was going to be made right by our prodigious intelligence and will to make it right. It took decades to recover from the attitudinal fog that allowed us to continue unbridled consumption of goods and services as a way of life, but bits of it started to trickle through in the middle of the Sixties, and by the time Reagan was installed in the White House to begin his program of radical restructuring, there were glimmerings of awareness that we weren’t going to be able to carry on with “Fun, fun, fun ’til her daddy took the T-Bird away.” Somewhere it was written that living like there’s no tomorrow has turned from a lighthearted metaphor into a chilling impending reality, so the V-8 Ford is gone, in the sense that there are groups of people who have chosen to get off the bandwagon of He Who Dies With The Most Toys Wins, and to look for process to rebuild community, a rational economy and resilience, and to try to spread that message as a counterweight to the tsunami of consumerist messaging that permeates all levels of society. I would posit that we should also keep track of the seemingly meagre progress that we’ve made in eliminating the superfluous and harmful so that there is something to celebrate, but also as a way to measure what actions have been effective in preventing the further erosion of nature and society and contributing to reconstruction of a more just and sustainable model.

A Different Life

Winter-Veggies

 

As I start to think of preparing supper tonight, it’s nice to go down to the garage to retrieve an onion, some garlic and a pumpkin, then to tend to the compost in the yard and bring back fresh chard, beet and leeks, reaping the reward of last year’s labour and the covers I put over several of the garden beds to preserve some plantings from frost. This way, I know that there is unlikely to be chemical residue or genetic modification in our food and that it will have lost less nutrient value by making such a short trip from harvest to table. I’m sure that it costs us more to eat our own produce, exclusive of any illusory labour costs that we might factor into the equation, but it also means that the cost of the transport of seed was the only fuel that was burned to put these calories on the table.