Tamarack River Ghost (15 page)

“Thank you for the opportunity to share some of Nathan West’s plans for something I’m sure you’ll all find exciting,” Clark began. “We plan to become your new neighbor in the valley, and we want to get off on the right foot. First, let me tell you something about Nathan West Industries.”

Clark snapped on his computer projector and ran through a series of slides showing grain elevators, barges on the Mississippi River carrying grain, the company’s big meat-processing plant in Dubuque, and, finally, some shots of a couple of Nathan West hog farms in Iowa.

“Let me tell you a bit more about our hog operations, because the one we are planning for the Tamarack Valley will be similar, but even more modern and technologically up to date than any of these.”

The audience watched and listened intently; as the session went on, some foot-shuffling could be heard, and some whispering. It was becoming obvious that people had heard enough lecturing and wanted to ask questions. A hand flew up from in back of the room.

“Say, we gonna have a chance to ask you some questions?” Oscar Anderson asked, his friend Fred Russo seated next to him. Oscar was generally rather quiet, but he obviously had something on his mind and wanted to get his idea out there while people were still fresh and not too enthralled by what they were hearing from the well-spoken Nathan West representative.

“You bet you will,” said Ed Clark, who shut off the projector. “Let’s get to your questions right now.” A buzz could be heard as people turned to each other and then to Oscar, who stood up from his chair. Wearing a bright plaid flannel shirt, he leaned on his ever-present cane and began speaking. His voice was deep, his speaking style slow and deliberate.

“I was born in this valley eighty-six years ago,” he began. He wiped a wrinkled hand across his mouth. “I’ve got a few things to say about this big pig production outfit you got planned for our neighborhood.”

“Go right ahead,” said Clark. Josh had his notepad at the ready. He had done his own research about the history and current operations of Nathan West; now he was curious what people in the valley thought of the idea.

“First question I got for you, Mr. Clark, is this. Are you aware that pig manure stinks?” Oscar asked with a straight face. A tittering of laughter flowed across the audience; most of its members were either now or had once been farming, and they knew full well the intensity of smells coming from a hog yard.

“Yes, I am,” answered Clark, without a hint of a smile. “Anyone who knows anything about farming knows there are some smells associated with it.”

“Do you know how much smell can come from a pig pen with twenty pigs?”

“Yes, I believe I do,” answered Clark.

“Can you imagine what the smell from several thousand hogs might be, the number you are suggesting that will be raised on your farm?”

“We do everything we can to keep the smells in control and want you all to know that we meet every law and regulation that’s required of us; we always have, and we always will.” Clark’s response sounded like he had it memorized and had repeated these words many times and in many communities. Josh wrote it down on his notepad word for word. Oscar frowned when he heard the response but said nothing further.

A tall, thin, older woman with short gray hair stood up. “My name is Phoebe Henderson,” she said, a bit haltingly. “I’ve spent my life working in Chicago and recently retired here in the Tamarack River Valley. I grew up here in the valley and for many years looked forward to retiring to this beautiful place that I remember so well. My home and my five acres are but a half mile from here, overlooking the river. My question to you, Mr. Clark, is how bad are these hog smells going to be?”

“Thank you for your question, Ms. Henderson. Nathan West Industries prides itself in being a good neighbor. I believe you will find us a good neighbor when we become established here in what you so correctly describe as a beautiful place.” Again Josh noted the question and the response—and wrote, “Didn’t touch the smell problem.”

“Might I have a word?” asked a thin fellow near the front of the room.

“You certainly may,” said Clark.

“Well, my name is Dan Burman. I own a little farm just down the road a piece from here. As a kid, I spent lots of time in this building when it was a country school. My old man grew up in this valley. My kids are growing up in this valley. I’m tryin’ to make a livin’ on the farm where I was born and raised. I’m glad you’re comin’ to the valley. Property taxes are so damn high, none of us can hardly pay ’em.” He paused for a moment and rubbed a hand across his three-day stubble. “This worthless golf course has been sittin’ here moldering,” Burman continued. “Need a tax-paying company like yours to come in here. So hogs stink a little? There’s lots in life that stinks, including high taxes and the damn government sticking its nose in our lives.”

There was brief applause following Burman’s words.

“Thank you for those comments,” said Clark.

“Other questions?” asked Clark, as he continued to ignore a young woman who continued standing with her hand up, red faced and frustrated.

A young man standing off to the side back raised his hand. “Yes,” Clark said, recognizing the speaker.

“My name is Clyde Mueller, and I’m a vegetable farmer here in the valley. I’m concerned about the Tamarack River. We recently had some pollution problems with the river, and now that it’s cleaned up we don’t want any more. The river gives our community its name; it’s a place where we fish and swim. Its history is our history. Can you assure us that an operation of your size won’t pollute our river?”

“I can guarantee it,” said Clark. “We follow to the letter every DNR regulation. We have the most up-to-date approach for storing and spreading our manure. I can assure you that this beautiful river, and it is beautiful, will remain so.”

Several people turned to each and either smiled or frowned, depending on their take on large-scale farming and confined-animal operations such as the one Nathan West was planning.

Clark finally recognized the young woman who had been waving her arm from the back of the room. He had ignored her for several minutes because he knew what was coming. She wore a loose-fitting T-shirt with the logo of a prominent animal-rights group printed in bright orange across the front.

“Yes,” Clark said.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” she began. She obviously had something to say to the entire crowd, not just to Ed Clark. She had a strong voice.

“I am appalled that you are even considering allowing this company to establish itself in your community. No animal should have to endure what pigs endure in these big factory farms. How we treat our animals is a disgrace to the human race, to say nothing about the fact that we kill and eat them. Pigs have feelings too, just like we do, yet look what we do to them. We must all join in an effort to block this company and all companies like it
that promote the raising, killing, and eating of animals.” Her loud voice could be heard in every corner of the building. When she finished her speech, she sat down. The room was quiet for a moment or two. And then, from somewhere near the front, a loud “boo,” and then another even louder “boo.”

Clark held up his hand and waved it downward, to signal to the persons booing that they’d made their point. A number of other questions followed:

“How much will the traffic in the area be affected by trucks coming and going?”

“Should not be a problem.”

“How many people will Nathan West employ?”

“At first about fifteen or so.”

“When do you plan to start building?”

“As soon as we have all our permits and the county zoning committee rezones our property as agricultural.”

“Will Nathan West purchase its hog feed locally?”

“We will purchase as much as we can, but several thousand pigs eat a lot.” A few old farmers chuckled, as they knew about the eating habits of hogs.

“What about water?”

“We’ll pump our water from deep wells.”

“What will you do with the cemetery that is on your property?”

“Nothing. We have great respect for cemeteries.”

“Do you know about the Tamarack River Ghost?” Now a considerable chuckle could be heard in the audience.

“Yes, we know about the Tamarack River Ghost.”

“What will you do about it?”

“What would you suggest?” asked Clark.

No response.

When it looked like the meeting was about to close, an older gentleman who had been sitting in the back stood up. He was slightly stooped and had white hair and a white beard.

“My name is Amos Slogum. Most people around here call me Shotgun,” he said with a clear voice. “I was born in this valley and have lived my
entire life here. The Tamarack River and I have been friends for a long time.”

Most people in the audience knew Shotgun, knew he was a vegetable grower and had a small cranberry bog. Most also remembered that Shogun had a mind of his own and he was not the least bit shy about letting others know what he was thinking.

“I’ve been sitting here listening to all this palaver about pigs, pollution, and the smell of hog manure for the last hour or so. I hate to say it, but the entire discussion is old fashioned and out of date. Let me digress a moment to make my point. You all know how much we depend on oil to run our cars, keep our tractors moving, keep our economy buzzing along. We also know that we’re running out of the stuff. What do we do—we just keep looking for more, in places where it’s hard to look, like a mile beneath the sea.”

Some people were beginning to fidget; they were tired after an already long, drawn-out meeting. They knew Shotgun had a point somewhere in his words, and they wished he’d get around to making it so they could go home.

“We need a new major energy source to replace oil and begin using a lot less of it,” Shotgun said. He paused briefly and then said, “We also need to quit eating so much meat.”

“So, what’s your point?” someone sitting toward the front asked. It was not a belligerent question, merely an inquiry.

“My point is, we here in the Tamarack River Valley should stand up and say we don’t need another hog farm, not here, not anywhere. And the sooner all these pork farms begin closing down, the better it will be for all of us—for our health, and for the health of the environment. For the sake of the planet, we must quit eating meat.”

The room was silent. No one questioned or challenged Shotgun— some thought he was just probably getting a little senile, others believed it was another of his wild ideas that generally made no sense. But Josh heard him well and was both recording his comments and taking notes as rapidly as he could. He knew he had a story that was different from what he’d been hearing of late—big-time hog farming versus small-time hog farming. This Slogum guy was suggesting no hog farming at all, and no meat eating.

Ed Clark stood, ready with a response for Shotgun. But Curt Nale motioned for him to stay seated.

“The hour is late. I suggest we close this meeting and give a round of applause to Ed Clark, who has, I think, been straightforward in answering your questions.”

The applause was considerably greater than it had been at the beginning of the meeting. Glancing at the old schoolhouse regulator clock that hung on the town hall wall, Josh saw that it was 11:30. He moved through the crowd so that he could talk more with Shotgun Slogum, to see what else he had to say about his no-more-meat perspective.

Farm Country News,
January 25

Amos “Shotgun” Slogum, longtime resident of Ames County’s Tamarack River Valley, says it’s time that we quit eating meat. He was one of several who spoke at an informational meeting, held in the Tamarack Town Hall last Tuesday evening, about a new hog operation planned for the valley. At the meeting, citizens of the valley heard Ed Clark, a representative from Nathan West Industries, explain his company’s plans for a large hog operation at the recently purchased former Tamarack River Golf Course.

Attending citizens seemed evenly split between those who welcomed a new use for the golf course and an increase in the tax base and those concerned about harm to the environment and negative effects on the community and its people because of odors and increased traffic. A representative from an animal rights organization argued that confined hog operations were inherently cruel to animals, but those in attendance largely ignored her comments.

Amos “Shotgun” Slogum stood up at the end of the meeting and spoke in opposition to the proposal. He said, “We don’t need another hog farm, not here, not anywhere. And the sooner all these pork farms begin closing down, the better it will be for all of us—for our health, and for the health of the environment.”

Stunned silence followed his comments, but because it was already late in the evening, no debate ensued. Interviewed after the meeting, Slogum softened his comments somewhat by saying, “I didn’t mean we
should stop eating meat, I meant we should eat a lot less of it.” He cited research indicating that people in the United States yearly eat about 220 pounds of meat per person.

“If we ate less meat, say half as much, we’d be healthier, the environment would be less stressed with water and air pollution, and we’d have more grains available for human consumption.”

When asked if he had a proposal for encouraging people to eat less meat, he said, “We can start by not approving any more big factory farms like the one Nathan West is proposing on the old golf course.”

The Ames County Zoning Committee will meet at the library in Willow River on April 17, its regularly scheduled meeting. Prior to the meeting, the committee will hear citizen comments about rezoning the former golf course, changing it from recreational to agricultural. If the committee votes in favor, the new hog facility in the Tamarack River Valley will be on the fast track for development.

On a late January morning, Fred and Oscar sat at their regular Wednesday table at Christo’s, each with a fresh cup of coffee in front of him.

“Well, whaddya you think, Fred?” asked Oscar, breaking the silence.