The story of the American bison (the â€śbuffaloâ€ť as it is called in the USA) has been rehearsed many times, how the settlers shot them for their hides, or sometimes for their tongues. They shot them just for fun from the platforms of trains, and killed them for malice to starve the Native Americans. It gets worse. The last man to seal the bisonâ€™s coffin was a researcher from the Smithsonian Institute in Washington DC.
There were once 30 million bison in North America, in two great â€śherdsâ€ť, a northern one ranging into Canada and a southern one that wintered in Texas. They ranged from Utah to Pennsylvania. By 1886 bison had almost disappeared, so the Smithsonian Institution sent William Temple Hornaday out west to investigate.
The resourceful Hornaday gathered a team of hunters and guides, provisioned himself with wagons of food and ammunition and set off for the wilds of Montana, where a remnant herd of about 35 bison still ran wild. Hornaday already knew that there were only about 400 bison left alive, 200 in the newly created Yellowstone National Park, and 200 scattered around on private ranches.
Bison had once been naĂŻve and easy to shoot. Sometimes the beasts simply stood still while the hunters shot them down. At other times when the bullets started to fly, the terrified animals bolted off in a wild dash into the wind (where they could smell their way). In his book, The Extermination of the American Bison, Hornaday describes in loving detail how this last wild herd in Montana was now more cautious of people.
Hornaday simply assumed that nothing could be done for the bison, that they were doomed to extinction. He (and his backers) imagined that when all the bison were gone, it would be nice to have a few stuffed bison in naturalistic poses, inside a glass case for the museum-going public to see.
By 1886, the remaining, wiser bison had finally learned to run in different directions at the first shot, and to hide in the ravines. And bison run pretty darned fast. Even so, Hornaby and his crew managed to kill 20 of the creatures, and crate their hides and bones back to Washington, where the remarkable Hornaday, who was an expert taxidermist, preserved six dead bison, from calves to old cows and bulls, for a diorama of the Great Plains. Wildlife conservation has come a long way since then.
As a species though, the bison got lucky. As an afterthought, Hornaday brought back two calves. It was the least he could do, since he had killed their mothers and they had wandered into his camp and taken to following the men around. These calves became the nucleus of the bison herd in the National Zoo, in Washington.
S.L. Bedson, of Stony Mountain, Manitoba and C.J. Jones of Garden City, Kansas and other ranchers managed to buy up scattered bison from other cowmen who had only one or two animals, until they gathered small, reproducing herds.
In 1986 the management of Yellowstone National Park passed from the Interior Department to the U.S. Army. Hunters slipped into the park to slaughter the last remaining wild bison (to sell their hides). The poachers were heavily armed and light on scruples, but Captain Moses Harris and his men chased them out of the park.. Thanks to the efforts of a few ranchers and soldiers the bison survivedin parks, ranches and zoos. Yet their ecosystem is gone: the wild grasslands have been plowed up, and replaced with maize, soybeans, and pick-up trucks. The bison or buffalo no longer thunder their way north and south in great, reddish brown rivers in search of fresh pasture.
Some people are even raising bison commercially, and its lean, tasty meat is back on the menu. In Washington DC, you can have a bison burger at the restaurant in the Museum of the American Indian, which is part of the Smithsonian Institution, the same outfit which once backed Hornadayâ€™s taxidermy expedition. Hornaday might be pleasantly surprised to see that the bison was not exterminated after all.
Hornaday, William Temple 2002 (1889) The Extermination of the American Bison. Washington: Smithsonian Institution Press.
Last week I was invited to the first national meeting of farmer innovators in Bolivia. It included a fair and it was organized by Prolinnova and by World Neighbors.
I was used to finding farmer innovations the hard way, one at a time, in the field, but here they were forty of them assembled under tents erected on a volleyball court in Cochabamba.
Some of the farmers had worked with NGOs. A German NGO had coached a group of GuaranĂ women from the warm lowlands, the Chaco, to care for local maize varieties. DoĂ±a LucĂa and the other women showed how they had learned to separate each native variety, to keep the fields separate so the pollen wouldnâ€™t mix, to select ears for seed of pure red or striped gold, or pearly white or blue-and-yellow. The GuaranĂ wanted to preserve each variety because each one went with a different recipe of traditional food. The NGO taught them to dig into the soil to measure the moisture before planting. The women were still pleasantly surprised with this simple technique. It was helping them determine when the soil held enough water to bear a crop.
The Swiss NGO Helvetas had helped a group of Aymara farmers from the High Plains to chart their weather for the year, meticulously recording the intensity of the sun, rain or hail. They called it a â€śPachagramaâ€ť (an earth graph). The Aymara wise men, the yapuchiris, had gathered the eggs of wild birds (as they have done for many years) to predict the weather by the spots on the egg shells. Now, the yapuchiris compared the eggs with the pachagrama. After predicting the yearâ€™s weather, and then graphing it out, the yapuchiris were convinced that their predictions were accurate. Now there is a topic I wish I could study in detail.
Maybe two cultures think better than one, but even the farmers with less NGO support were also creative, if less complicated. One farmer, JuliĂˇn Prado, had carved two miniature mill stones from sandstone, perfect replicas of the old water-driven mill stones, but only about 40 cm in diameter. Instead of being driven by water and a turbine, don JuliĂˇn could rotate the wooden shaft with his foot, and a system of gears and wheels turned the top stone. The wheat dropped into a hole in the middle of the upper stone, which whirled around grinding the grain to flour.
Elena CĂ©spedes had raised a dog as a puppy with her flock goats, even suckling on their milk. Now the dog would take the goats out alone into the sandstone hills to find rough pasture, freeing up doĂ±a Elena to do other things.
Not all of the innovators were farmers. Raquel Alanes grew up in a small town, Salinas de Garci Mendoza, surrounded by quinoa fields. She had always liked to cook, and when she was a school girl she baked quinoa cookies and sold them at the local fairs. After high school she studied food manufacturing at university and improved her recipes. Bolivians have grown cacao and made chocolate for centuries, and Raquel had some chocolate quinoa Christmas cake (delicious) and quinoa chocolate-chip cookies and chocolate covered cookies made from the flour of chuĂ±o (Andean freeze-dried potatoes).
My favorites were Marina Mamani and Silvano Morales, an Aymara couple from the High Plains of the Andes. They had noticed that the price of native potatoes was rising, and was almost double that of commercial varieties. Some of the native varieties had nearly gone extinct. DoĂ±a Marina recalls one variety that she salvaged. It is bright yellow when cooked. Marina found just five of these potatoes left, in a basket at the home of her 90-year old mother-in-law. Marina planted them and got half an arroba (around 6 kg), which she planted again the next year, until she had enough to grow a field. That variety may well have gone extinct if Marina hadnâ€™t found it in the basket.
The couple has been growing heirloom potatoes for five years now, and they have enough of the red, purple, yellow and white potatoes to take to local fairs. Once in a while they go to the market on the wealthy, south side of La Paz, where the well-heeled are starting to appreciate these gorgeous varieties.
â€śNext year we want to sell in the five-star hotels,â€ť don Silvano says. The couple has a vision of the future.
â€śWhat we really want is technical assistance,â€ť Silvano added coyly.
I fell for it, and gave him the name of an organization that worked in their area.
Don Silvano grew impatient with me. He wasnâ€™t really after free advice â€śI mean, we want support. We want a truck. Then we could gather potatoes in the area and deliver them in the city.â€ť
Fresh ideas are nice, but sometimes a truck is even nicer.
As I left, Silvano and Marina gave me some of their wonderful, rare potatoes. They were sprouting, and I could plant them in my garden. Iâ€™ll never be able to get these people a truck, but I can try and stay in touch with them, and see what happens next. â€śWe should have a meeting of farmer innovators every year,â€ť Silvano said.
And that is a smashing idea. Creativity needs the warmth of other inventive people and the broader society to support those who put creative ideas into action.
Some forty years ago, mobile services were common across Europe. In my home village, Kieldrecht, in northern Belgium, I remember how a dairy farmer had his regular clients to whom he delivered bottles of fresh milk. The service was pretty sophisticated. Varied numbers and sizes of bottles were delivered on peopleâ€™s doorsteps on different days of the week, depending on what the clients wanted. Once a month people paid their bill. They would pay cash (after a short, friendly chat), or if they were away at work, they would leave the coins in an enveloppe on the doorstep for the milk man to collect. A quality, tailor-made service it was.
Early mornings, two competing bakers delivered bread to their customers. My granddad, who lived by himself on his family farm, was happy to pay a few cents more for his bread, while receiving some friendly words or a joke from the bakerâ€™s son.
But society has changed and most of those village services are long gone. Supermarkets and bread machines at the corner of streets have replaced the personalised services. Services have become more expensive and todayâ€™s customers no longer want to devote as much time to producing and processing food as our parentsâ€™ and grandparentsâ€™ generations did. But with an increased consciousness of healthy food and a desire from consumers to reconnect with food producers, some old services such as home deliveries have come back, while new initiatives such as farm shops and subscriptions to weekly vegetable boxes have become increasingly popular.
Last week I experienced a delightful local initiative to save some of our food and farming heritage in Limburg, the northeastern province of Belgium. Limburg is known for its bicycle culture, greenery and orchards, all of which contribute to local tourism and the local economy.
Unfortunately, family orchards have suffered from the same lack of time mentality of our generation; many orchards with tall, old varieties have been abandonned with few new ones being planted.
To maintain the genetic diversity of old fruit varieties the National Orchard Foundation established a genebank with over 3,000 old and valuable local fruit varieites. Besides their own orchards that serve as research, demonstration and training sites, the foundation has also successfully convinced people like my late father-in-law to plant local fruit varieties.
Over the past thirty years hundreds of people across the province and country have gradually re-established fruit gardens with old varieties. Until 2014, one could even get subsidies for planting tall fruit varieties.
â€śBut how to keep young families motivated to plant and maintain fruit trees? Money to buy trees isnâ€™t the bottleneck, but time to maintain an orchard and process the fruit are. As fruit spoils fairly quickly, why would one bother to pick a few hundred kilograms of fruit?â€ť my wife, Marcella, asked herself.
Until she learned about the â€śJuice Mobileâ€ť. On specific days throughout the fruit harvesting season (September to early November) the juice mobile comes to certain locations to process small batches of fruit from family orchards into fresh fruit juice.
The juice mobile is operated by the National Orchard Foundation in collaboration with its sister organisation NBSW (Natuur en Boomgaarden Sociale Werkplaats). During the harvesting season, the crew of three people works long days. On a single day, they press up to 5 tons of apples, pasteurise them, and package it all in 3-liter or 5-liter sterile bags, neatly placed into cardboard boxes. The orchard owners go back home with all the juice from their fruit, and pay 1.25 Euro per liter for the entire service.
So we called upon Marcellaâ€™s sisters, brother, nephews and nieces. One day we picked some 600 kilograms of apples, and the next day brought them to the juice mobile. In an hour and a half we had over 400 liters of fresh juice.
The dry fruit pulp along with the rotten and overripe apples that are sorted out at the beginning of the conveyer belt are taken to a nearby farm to turn into biogas.
They were two rewarding days: being out in the fresh air, picking the familyâ€™s fruit trees, chatting with other people from the community. For a full year, the entire family will fondly recall that Marcellaâ€™s dad planted those old apple varieties.
Family ties and conservation of old fruit varieties can strengthen each other, with a little help from modern agro-processing.
Related blog stories on biodiversity conservation
When you think of Bolivia, peanuts are not the first thing that comes to mind. Yet peanuts are a native crop, domesticated and grown in lowland South America (east of the Andes) for at least 7000 years. The ancient Moche people of Peru even honored the peanut by making gold and silver jewelry of it.
Although peanuts are an oil crop in many countries, in Bolivia the peanut is grown more for food. South Americans have many delightful local dishes based on the peanut, such as peanut soup, peanut drinks, and anticuchosâ€”grilled beef heart covered in a thick peanut sauce.
Despite its popularity in Bolivia, the peanut was neglected by researchers. Now the crop is getting the attention it deserves, although this love comes with its own risks, as I learned recently at the First National Congress and Forum on Peanuts in Bolivia.
There were few peanut specialists when research began in 2004 and no dedicated institution. So Bolivian researchers got together, formed a network, and began building links to specialists in other countries, where peanut research was well established.
In 2007, Bolivia had one of the worldâ€™s lowest peanut yields, barely a ton per hectare. R&D paid off, and now yields are up to 1.6 tons per ha, a remarkable increase in such a short time.
The peanut was first domesticated in the Chaco, the dry lowlands where Bolivia, Paraguay and Argentina meet. Peanuts are well adapted to the short rains followed by a blistering hot dry season. A remarkable genetic diversity emerged from these challenging conditions. Today there are around 100 land races (locally adapted varieties) of peanuts still grown in and near the Bolivian Chaco. The genetic diversity is important for plant breeders around the world who seek improved disease resistance or drought tolerance.
Twelve thousand families grow almost all the peanuts in Bolivia, about 21,000 tons, and perhaps 60% is exported, mostly to Peru. Accounts vary, but only eight to 18 peanut varieties are grown commercially in Bolivia. The other 80 or 90 land races are grown in very small amounts, by isolated people in marginal areas, so most of these land races are at risk of extinction.
Some of this rich genetic diversity is represented in the two major, international peanut gene banks which breeders rely on. The largest collection, of 14,968 accessions, is held by the International Crops Research Institute for the Semi-Arid Tropics (ICRISAT) in Patancheru, India. Most of their accessions are from local land races that arose in Asia. The USDA gene bank in Griffin Georgia, has 9027 accessions, based in part on collections made in Bolivia in the 1990s.
It was encouraging to learn that the Bolivians have their own gene bank with 1050 accessions, potentially representing a greater genetic diversity than the other two gene banks combined. In their typically generous fashion, the Bolivians have placed the data on the internet, in English and Spanish, for public inspection, and possibly for sharing seed www.iniaf.gob.bo and http://126.96.36.199/gringlobal/search.aspx
Gene banks are an invaluable resource but storing seeds is not the same as growing a crop on a farm. Seeds in gene banks don’t last forever and peanuts (and many other crops) need to be planted and harvested every few years to get fresh stock. Over generations of this artificial selection, the seeds are selected for life in the gene bank, not for life on the farm, where it really matters. Itâ€™s crucial to keep any crop growing, in as many varieties as possible, especially in its native homeland.
Research may be improving in Bolivia, but farmersâ€™ concerns are still rooted in profitability. At the Bolivian Peanut Congress, when we split up to attend sessions, almost all of the farmers attended the one on peanut marketing and repeatedly asked for help finding new markets. The sessions on genetics were attended largely by researchers with interests in conservation and breeding.
Farmers who maintain land races are performing a public service that’s taken for granted. Many land races have limited commercial value and could be displaced and lost as higher yielding varieties take over. Commercial growing can really improve rural livelihoods, but only a handful of varieties will become commercial. What will happen to the other 90 varieties grown in very small amounts? There is a real risk is that land races could disappear, causing an irreplaceable loss of genetic diversity.
There is a contradiction here. Agricultural researchers, especially the plant breeders, would like farmers to maintain traditional land races of crops, for future research and development. Yet researchers can offer farmers little or no support to do that. As farmers in remote parts of tropical countries begin to sell more of their crop, these growers are less inclined to grow non-commercial land races.
I began to imagine a system that could preserve endangered crop varieties. Boliviaâ€™s INIAF has already listed the peanut varieties on-line. Through the Internet, and personal contacts, different people could be persuaded to adopt a variety, or a few. They wouldnâ€™t need to grow very many, a few plants each. They could include farmers, hobbyists, gardeners, peri-urban farmers: anyone who loves plants and who wants to share them. This network could share the seeds, and one person would be enough to monitor the flow and population of these precious plants. A moderator could keep track of where each variety was being grown.
There are some precedents for such an idea. For example, in Britain, the Royal Horticultural Society (RHS) maintains a â€śseed schemeâ€ť; members write in, and request packets of seed from the botanical gardens. The members only pay for the postage, and excess seed from the gardens is distributed to people who will raise the plants.
Acknowledgements. The Congress (El Primer Congreso y Foro del ManĂ Boliviano) was moderated by Edwin Mariscal and Juan ArĂ©valo. It was sponsored by the FundaciĂłn Valles, INIAF (Instituto Nacional de InnovaciĂłn Agropecuaria y Forestal) and by the Collaborative Crops Research Program of the McKnight Foundation.
Holbrook, C.C. 2001 â€śStatus of the Arachis Germplasm Collection in the United Statesâ€ť Peanut Science 28:84-89
Williams, D.E. 2001 â€śNew Directions for Collecting and Conserving Peanut Genetic Diversity.â€ť Peanut Science 28:135-140.
Do you ever wonder why they stop you at the airport or the border crossing and ask if you have any plants?
The American chestnut was once the largest and most common tree in the eastern woodlands of the USA. Its loss led to a greater understanding of the importance of quarantine to protect agricultural and forest trees.
In the early twentieth century, the chestnut blight fungus arrived in North America from Asia. Chestnut blight was first spotted in 1904, in the Bronx Zoo. The chestnut trees started to die, much to the dread of the American people, who liked the tall, handsome tree, and valued its wood for furniture making. The disease was widespread by 1911 and the trees were basically gone by the 1950s.Here and there, a few ancient chestnut stumps still sprout branches. A sixty acre (24 hectare) stand planted by settler Martin Hicks, in West Salem, Wisconsin (outside of the treeâ€™s natural range) is the largest remnant left.
Rescue efforts failed, but the US Department of Agriculture (and more recently the American Chestnut Foundation) never gave up, and have recently bred a resistant variety of chestnut, which they are planting on public forest lands, within the chestnutâ€™s historical range. The new tree is 15/16â€™s American, but was crossed with Asian trees that are resistant to the blight. The new variety seems to be resistance to the blight.
At least the chestnut disaster was a learning experience. In 1910, the Japanese government gave the US a gift of 2000 ornamental cherry trees. American plant pathologists in Washington inspected the trees, observing that some of them had insect pests, fungi and nematodes. The Department of Agriculture burned the entire shipment from Japan, to protect American fruit trees from disease. It was an early experience with quarantine, isolating plant imports to protect the receiving country from disease.
Destroying the trees was the right thing to do from an agricultural point of view, but it was a diplomatic crisis. The State Department telegraphed a note of apology to the Japanese government. It was a model of frankness and tact, acknowledging that â€śIt has been found necessary to destroy all of the cherry trees presented by the municipality of Tokyo for the use of this city. The reports of several experts of the Department of Agriculture show the trees to be badly infested with the root gall worm, certain fungus diseases and insect pests, some hitherto unknown in this country, whose introduction might result in future in enormous detriment to trees and agriculture generally.â€ť
The Japanese graciously responded by sending 3,000 more cherry trees, healthy ones this time. They still bloom gloriously once a year around the Tidal Basin Pond, in a large, but neat circle between the Jefferson and Lincoln monuments, in Washington DC. Diplomatic and agricultural disasters were avoided.
The tragedy of the American chestnut taught plant pathologists the importance of inspection and quarantine, which they used in the case of the Japanese cherry trees, still blooming a century later. Now most countries have airport and border inspectors to screen plants coming into the country. It may seem like an inconvenience, but it is a small price to pay to keep the trees standing.
Campbell, C. Lee, Paul D. Peterson & Clay S. Griffith 1999 The Formative Years of Plant Pathology in the United States. St. Paul, Minnesota: The American Phytopathological Society. 427 pp.