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Dick’s Ice Box September 2nd, 2018 by

In 2005, a few years before my Mom died, she took some of her grown children and grandchildren to Dewey, Utah, a ghost town on the Colorado River, to show us one of the strangest structures I’ve ever seen. On a blistering day in July we walked through the sage brush and the red sand to a canyon wall. Mom led us through a neat little door through the cliff-face into a darkened room, surprisingly cooler than the outside and big enough for a dozen people to crowd in.

Mom‚Äôs grandfather, Richard Dallin ‚ÄúDick‚ÄĚ Westwood had carved this room from solid stone. Dick‚Äôs children called the place ‚ÄėDad‚Äôs Ice Box.‚ÄĚ Dick would stack winter ice from the Colorado River into his ice box to keep food cold all through the summer. ‚ÄúThey could even keep butter in here,‚ÄĚ Mom added proudly. My great-grandfather lived from 1863 to 1929; there was no electricity in Dewey and household refrigerators were rare before 1927.

Off and on between 1901 and 1916 Dick ran the ferry at Dewey, where the wagon road from Moab, Utah to Grand Junction, Colorado crossed the Colorado River. The trip was a hundred miles (160 km), so travelers often spent the night at Dewey, where my great-grandmother Martha had a little boarding house and diner. The family had a small farm and some cattle that provided meat and other provisions. The ice box filled with food was important for Martha’s business.

That day in 2005, my Mom told us that Dick carved the ice box with dynamite. The rectangular doorway and the spacious room it led into were clearly the work of a craftsman. Carving stone with dynamite is a dangerous business, a good way to lose life or limb, and I always wondered how Dick knew what he was doing.

This remained a mystery until this year, when my cousin, Richard ‚ÄúRick‚ÄĚ Westwood wrote a book about our great-grandfather. It finally helped me make sense of Dick‚Äôs Ice Box.

Dick held many professions, from sheriff to muleskinner to Shakespearean actor, but until I read Rick‚Äôs book I never realized that Dick was also a miner. From childhood I knew that Dick had staked a mine claim, which he named ‚ÄúThe Silver Dick.‚ÄĚ I was aware that my great-grandfather had a sense of humor, but until I read Rick‚Äôs book I didn‚Äôt know that the Silver Dick was a working silver mine. Discovered in August 1908, it may have been the only one in Southeastern Utah. Dick worked the mine until 1909 when he filled a box car with valuable ore, enough to make his fortune. Sadly, this never happened, because the shipment was stolen by railroad workers en route to buyers. But Dick‚Äôs mine enriched him with the skill of working sandstone with dynamite.

The Ice Box may have been partly inspired by the root cellar, a small structure dug into the ground, topped off with a timber roof. Many families in Utah stored their food in root cellars. During their early years in Dewey, Dick and Martha‚Äôs root cellar burned down. Martha would later tell my grandmother how devastating it was to lose all their stored food. Dick took the loss stoically, saying: ‚ÄúOh we‚Äôll get us another sack of flour and another bag o‚Äô taters (potatoes) and we‚Äôll be as good off as ever.‚ÄĚ But losing the root cellar may have inspired Dick to think of a fire-proof place to store the household food. As luck would have it, Dick was well placed to get ice. Rick explains that in the early 1900s, the Colorado River used to freeze so hard in winter that Dick could drive his family over the river in a wagon drawn by a team of horses. The ferry was sited between two sharp bends in the river, near the modern-day Dewey Bridge. In the spring the ice would break with great force, and some big slabs would pile up on the bank, where they were relatively easy to collect.

In her history of ice, Elizabeth David observes the sunken ice houses made by Scandinavian farmers, but in the mid nineteenth to early twentieth century USA, ice houses were typically wooden barn-like structures, made and operated by professional ice mongers, not by smallholder farmers. Dick’s Ice Box is the only one I know of carved into a sandstone cliff.

The ice box was crucial for running a family business on a small, desert farm.

Farmers’ creativity is often stimulated by new ideas, as we often say in our weekly Agro-Insight blog. Those ideas can come from science or from a technology the farmer learned somewhere else, even by mining. Dick was flexible, tough and creative. He took misfortune in stride, and adapted, just like many of the farmers we still meet today.

Acknowledgement

I thank my cousin, Rick Westwood, for letting me read his book manuscript. Thanks also to Rick and to my brothers Brett and Scott Bentley for reading and commenting on an earlier version of this story. I gratefully acknowledge Eric Boa and Paul Van Mele who gave me thoughtful feedback on this story, as they always do.

Related blog story

The Ice Harvest

Further reading

Richard E. ‚ÄúRick‚ÄĚ Westwood is publishing his excellent biography, Sheriff Richard Dallin Westwood later in 2018.

See also:

Westwood, Richard E. 2010 Westwood Family History, Vol II. R. Westwood: Highland, Utah.

My great-grandmother, Martha Wilcox (1871 to 1962) wrote an autobiography, edited by her daughter, Grace Westwood Morse:

Autobiography of Martha Anna Wilcox Westwood Foy, privately printed in 1983.

And for the definitive story of ice boxes:

David, Elizabeth 1994 Harvest of the Cold Months: The Social History of Ice and Ices. London: Faber and Faber. 413 pp.

The enemies of innovation August 26th, 2018 by

Sometimes even rational people fight innovation, as we learn in this recent book by the late Calestous Juma, a Kenyan scholar who taught at Harvard and who enjoyed the rare distinction of being elected as a fellow of the Royal Society of London and a foreign associate of the US National Academy of Science.

To condense Prof. Juma’s nuanced and complex thesis, there are two good reasons to oppose innovation, and one surprising outcome.

First, early versions of an innovation are often expensive, unwieldy and simply not very good at getting the job done. Thomas Edison’s first electrical wiring relied on noisy generators, was a fire hazard, and accidentally electrocuted 17 New Yorkers to death in two years between 1887 and 1889. These problems were eventually ironed out, but some of the failings of an innovation are never fully addressed. When tractors began to replace horses in the USA in the 1920s, three decades after they were invented by John Froelich in 1892, critics complained that the tractors (and automobiles) were wasteful and that buying, fueling and repairing them would place a financial burden on farmers,

Second, an innovation is opposed by the social network that uses and supports the incumbent technology. Electric lights were competing with a well-entrenched and profitable natural gas industry. Farriers, veterinarians and harness makers relied on horses for steady business and income. Older workers with the skills and experience to use an existing technology may resist an alternative. The Luddites were not a bunch of maniacs who liked to break things; they were skilled weavers in the 19th century who correctly realized that mechanized looms would replace experienced workers with unskilled ones.

Fortunately, the dynamic tension between the old and the new can be as creative as the original invention, refining the timeworn technology or promoting innovative social structures.

For example, margarine was invented in France in 1869 and was being manufactured in the USA by the 1880s. At the time American dairy farmers were poorly organized, but led by the butter factories, they eventually formed the National Dairy Council. This powerful lobby group harassed margarine makers, leading to legislation in five US states which required margarine to be dyed an unappetizing pink. They also spread disinformation, reporting bogus studies that claimed that margarine stunted children’s growth, for example. But nineteenth century butter was not the choice food that we know today; it was often rancid and adulterated with chemicals. Competition with margarine forced butter manufacturers to make a better product. And in the ultimate compromise, some spreads now blend butter and margarine.

In the end margarine’s saving grace was not technical, but social. In the 1940s US margarine makers switched from imported coconut oil to American soybean and cottonseed oil, acquiring farmer allies that allowed them to fend off the big dairy interests and find a permanent place at the table.

In the end, the innovation may never completely defeat the incumbent technology, which may settle into a competitive niche of its own. The gas industry fought electricity with all the imagination it had, creating gas-powered versions of every electrical appliance invented. There was even a gas radio in the 1930s (it had the added advantage of giving off a little extra heat). Electricity never completely replaced natural gas, which still provides heat and energy, but the rivalry lives on in the competition between gas ovens and electric models.

There are some clear lessons here for agricultural scientists, who are often dismayed when farmers do not immediately adopt ideas derived from research. As we learn from the optimistic Prof. Juma: your invention may have potential in the long run, but in the short term it may still have bugs that need to be fixed. Innovations often seek to replace existing technologies that have proven advantages, and are familiar to users; the struggle between old and new can lead to creative solutions.  Specifically, researchers can use farmer field schools (FFS) or other experiences to learn about the farmers’ point of view and work together to adapt innovations to meet their needs and circumstances.

Further reading

Juma, Calestous 2016 Innovation and Its Enemies: Why People Resist New Technologies. Oxford University Press. 416 pp.

As the waters recede July 1st, 2018 by

Peasant farmers can be quick to seize an opportunity, and when the benefit is clearly high, farmers may skip the experimental stage and go straight to a new practice on a massive scale.

In the lower Gangetic Delta in southwest Bangladesh, people live just centimeters above sea level. Getting rid of excess water can make all the different between harvest and hunger.

In the 1960s, earthen embankments were built around certain large areas of land.

The newly dry land inside these dykes is called a polder. Successful farming in the polder depends on having large draining canals, snaking through the muddy land, to carry water to the river.

In 2000, the 10 km-long Amodkhali Canal silted up. So during the winter rainy season the water had nowhere to go. A vast area in the middle of Polder 2 became a seasonal lake. Villagers hung on, growing rice in the dry season. Many migrated for wage labour in the winter.

Then in May 2017, Blue Gold (a program implemented by the government of Bangladesh) began to re-excavate the Amodkhali Canal.  By July they had dug out 8.4 km. It was a big job. At 2.5 meters deep and 6 meters wide, thousands of cubic meters of mud had to be moved. Some was done by machinery and some by hand. Groups of women were organised into Labour Contracting Societies (LCS) to earn money doing the work.

Local people near the canal saw the work. Even those living far away heard about it, and when the rains came in July 2017, farmers could see with their own eyes that the rainwater was draining away.

Like a river, a drainage canal has a sort of watershed, called a catchment area. This canal drains a roughly tear-drop shaped area some four by six kilometres: a big place. The thousands of farmers in the area didn’t have to be begged or cajoled into planting rice: they just did it.

My colleagues and I met local farmer Nozrul Islam near the banks of the canal. He said that he was so happy with the canal. He has two hectares of land and when the water drained off, nobody told him to plant rice. He simply went to Khulna, a neighbouring district, and bought rice seed for all of his land. He hadn’t planted winter rice for over 16 years.

Nozrul’s experience was replicated all over the area. In the village of Koikhali, a group of women told us that they also planted winter (amon) rice last year.

There was no experimentation, no hesitation. People simply re-introduced a winter rice crop into their cropping system, which they had not grown for almost a generation. The total catchment area is 4326 ha. That first year they planted 2106 hectares of winter rice, and harvested 12,000 tons or rice. Much of this rice was sold on the national market.

Related blog

Robbing land from the sea

Related video

Floating vegetable gardens

Acknowledgement

The Amodkhali Canal was re-excavated by the Blue Gold Program in Bangladesh, supported by the Blue Gold Program, with funding from the Embassy of the Netherlands. I am indebted to Joynal Abedin, Shahadat Hossain, Md. Harun-ar-Rashid, Guy Jones, A. Salahuddin and many others for teaching me about polders on a recent trip to Bangladesh.

Feeding the ancient Andean state June 17th, 2018 by

Early states from Mesopotamia to Mesoamerica still inspire awe with their fine art and architecture. Yet the artists and soldiers who built the states needed to be fed; whatever their other accomplishments, early states were always based on agriculture. In a recent book, James Scott reminds us that early states usually collected their taxes as grain, staple crops grown on a large scale, such as maize, rice, and wheat, which are easy to store. Scott observes that there were no ancient states based on potatoes or other tuber crops. Yet he admits that the Inka were a partial exception. The Inka did have maize, but they depended largely on the potato which is bulky and perishable, making it difficult to collect and store.

This set me thinking. Inspired by Professor Scott’s excellent book, I’d like to explain how tuber crops, and the potato in particular, sustained the Inka state and provided taxes.

First, the Inka state (called Tawantinsuyu)¬†was not an early state, but had co-opted the myths and king lists of a much earlier one, Tiwanaku, which managed an empire that straddled the Andes from the Pacific Coast to the warm valleys of the Amazon Basin. Tiwanaku began as a village (about 1580 BC), but was a state by 133 AD and an empire by 724, lasting until 1187 when it collapsed in a civil war and broke up into smaller chieftainships (se√Īor√≠os) that were independent until they were later conquered by the Inka.

The capital city of Tiwanaku was built near Lake Titicaca, on the high plains of Bolivia, not far from the border of modern-day Peru. It once housed 100,000 residents and was centered on large stone buildings made of sandstone and andesite, a hard rock quarried in Peru and ferried across Lake Titicaca on ships woven from the reeds that grew in the shallow waters. Tiwanaku was created long before the first Inka, Pachacuti, organized Tawantinsuyu in Cusco starting in 1438. So the Inka’s Tawantinsuyu was a late state, patterned on the much earlier and long-lasting Empire of Tiwanaku.

But in the pre-Colombian Andes, states could collect taxes in potatoes because of an ingenious method of making them light-weight and non-perishable. The Inka and the people of Tiwanaku both knew how to freeze dry potatoes during the winter nights of the high Andes. This preserved potato is called chu√Īo: there are two types, a grey one and a white one, called tunta, which is soaked in water during processing. Both types are as hard and dry as wood. With the water removed, the potato loses weight and can be stored for years. Potatoes were portable once they were transformed into chu√Īo. The Inka taxed their subjects in chu√Īo, as well as maize. Both of these foods were kept in royal storehouses. Chu√Īo was simply soaked in water and boiled to make them edible.

The Inka Empire was large and complex, eventually spanning most of the Andes, from Ecuador to northern Argentina. Like Old World states, the Inka collected taxies in grain: maize in this case. But unlike other classic civilizations, the Inka and an earlier state, Tiwanaku were also largely sustained by a perishable tuber crop, thanks to ingenious recipes for preserving the potato as chu√Īo.

The modern cities of Peru and Bolivia have kept few vestiges of the ancient states that preceded them. But you can still buy chu√Īo in Andean markets and even at upscale supermarkets. The ancient states are gone. Their art works are now curiosities in museums, yet the crops the Inka grew and their imaginative methods of preserving and serving food are still very much alive.

Earlier blog stories

The bad old days

The tyrant of the Andes

Further reading

Finucane, Brian Clifton 2009 ‚ÄúMaize and Sociopolitical Complexity in the Ayacucho Valley, Peru.‚ÄĚ Current Anthropology 50(4):533-545.

Haas, Jonathan & Winifred Creamer 2006 ‚ÄúCrucible of Andean Civilization: The Peruvian Coast from 3000 to 1800 BC.‚ÄĚ Current Anthropology 47(5):745-775.

Horkheimer, Hans [1973] 2004 Alimentaci√≥n y Obtenci√≥n de Alimentos en el Per√ļ Prehisp√°nico. Lima: Instituto Nacional de Cultura. Segunda edici√≥n.

Monta√Īo Dur√°n, Patricia 2016 El Imperio de Tiwanaku. Tercera Edici√≥n. Cochabamba: Grupo Editorial Kipus. 249 pp.

Scott, James C. 2017 Against the Grain: A Deep History of the Earliest States. New Haven: Yale University Press.

Big chicken, little chicken April 22nd, 2018 by

vea la versi√≥n en espa√Īol a continuaci√≥n

In her 2017 book Big Chicken, Maryn McKenna tells the story of antibiotic abuse in agriculture. In the 1940s the US military used antibiotics to treat soldiers suffering from infectious disease, one of the first large-scale uses of these drugs. Penicillin had been placed in the public domain, and the world was in an optimistic mood at having a widely available treatment for common infections. Soon after the war, in 1948, British-American scientist Thomas Jukes, working at Lederle Laboratories in New Jersey, showed that chickens gained more weight when their food included antibiotics, even on a poor diet. This was a crucial discovery for industrializing chicken rearing. Until then, poultry in the USA were mostly reared in small batches, allowed to range freely in fields, where they scratched a natural diet of plants and bugs, sometimes supplemented with fish meal. Chickens are by nature highly omnivorous. Discovering that antibiotics helped to fatten chickens meant that the birds could be fed cheap, low-grade maize and soybean.

The FDA (Food and Drug Administration) approved antibiotics as a growth regulator in the USA in 1951. By the 1950s, a successful chicken farmer in Georgia, Jesse Dixon Jewell, began to expand his operation by selling chicks and feed to other farmers, and buying their finished birds. The feed was laced with antibiotics, partly to boost growth but also to control bacterial diseases. Industry would soon follow this twin example of farming out the birds to contract growers, and including the antibiotics in their prepared rations.

By 2001, Americans were taking 3 million pounds (1.4 million kilos) of antibiotics, while US livestock was being dosed with 24.6 million pounds (11.2 million kilos).

For many years there were few if any concerns about this unprecedented use of a human drug to boost food production, and cheap meat was certainly popular. But this relaxed attitude began to change when research showed that much of the antibiotics ended up in the meat and eggs that consumers ate. This widespread use meant that once valuable drugs began to be compromised as bacteria that caused disease in humans became resistant to the antibiotics.

Under pressure from pharmaceutical companies, the US government was slow to restrict antibiotics as animal growth promotors. Finally, the large poultry companies began to self-regulate. By about 2009 they realized that they could produce birds without antibiotics, simply by using vaccines and improving farm hygiene. By 2014 some of the largest producers in the US, like Foster Farms and Perdue Farms, had stopped feeding antibiotics to chickens. Various grocery stores and fast food chains soon banned chicken raised on antibiotics.

In September 2016 the UN moved to curb non-prophylactic antibiotic use in animals, which was linked to an estimated 700,000 human deaths worldwide, per year. In North America and Western Europe antibiotic abuse was by then largely solved, thanks to improved industry standards, government regulations and public awareness. But McKenna cautions that livestock antibiotic abuse remains a worrying problem in much of South America, South Asia and China.

As soon as I finished reading Big Chicken, Ana and I visited La Cancha, the vast, open air market that still functions in Cochabamba, where we bought a little grey hen and a big red one.

Feeding the hens was a chance to learn what smallholder farmers have always known: that chickens are as omnivorous as people. Chickens prefer meat to vegetables. Ours preferred the smaller, denser grains like sorghum to corn.

Chickens especially like sow bugs, the little roly-poly crustaceans that live in leaf litter worldwide. Our hens learned to knock the seeds off of amaranth plants and then eat the seeds from the ground. Chickens also like table scraps, including meat, but especially eggs.

The longer we keep these birds, now named Oxford and Cambridge, the bigger their eggs get. They both lay an egg every day; clearly the hunter-gatherer diet agrees with them.

The problem, as McKenna explains, is that factory farming made chicken as cheap as bread in the USA and Europe. People living in low income countries now want their chance at cheap meat. Chicken is cheap in Bolivia and easily affordable. In the open air market it sells for just 10 Bs. ($1.40) per kilo and fried chicken restaurants have sprung up all over the city.

Rearing chickens has become a new industry in Bolivia. Farmers can make a barn with cheap lumber and plastic sheeting, buy the day-old chicks and purchase the feed by the bag or the ton. No doubt many of the poultry producers in Bolivia are careful and conscientious. But many growers raise their birds on feed blended with antibiotics, labelled as a growth promotor, and there is little public awareness of the risk of antibiotics in animal feed. While there are compelling reasons to reduce the cost of food in low income countries, the global South also needs to consider the risks of animal antibiotics.

Further reading

Maryn 2017 Big Chicken: The Incredible Story of how Antibiotics Created Modern Agriculture and Changed the Way the World Eats. Washington DC: National Geographic. 400 pp.

Related videos

Taking care of local chickens

Feeding improved chickens

Working together for healthy chicks

Keeping milk free from antibiotics

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BIG CHICKEN, POLLO GRANDE

por Jeff Bentley, 22 de abril del 2018

En su libro Big Chicken de 2017, Maryn McKenna cuenta la historia del abuso de antibi√≥ticos en la agricultura. En la d√©cada de 1940, el ej√©rcito de los Estados Unidos us√≥ los antibi√≥ticos para tratar a los soldados que se padec√≠an de enfermedades infecciosas, uno de los primeros usos a gran escala de estas drogas. La penicilina se hab√≠a colocado en el dominio p√ļblico, y el mundo estaba optimista de tener un tratamiento ampliamente disponible para infecciones comunes. Poco despu√©s de la guerra, en 1948, el cient√≠fico brit√°nico-americano Thomas Jukes, que trabajaba en Lederle Laboratories en Nueva Jersey, demostr√≥ que los pollos ganaban m√°s peso cuando sus alimentos inclu√≠an antibi√≥ticos, incluso con una dieta pobre. Este fue un descubrimiento crucial para la industrializaci√≥n de la crianza de pollos. Hasta entonces, las aves de corral en los Estados Unidos se criaban principalmente en peque√Īos lotes; se les permit√≠a ir libremente a los campos, donde ara√Īaban una dieta natural de plantas e insectos, a veces complementada con harina de pescado. Los pollos son por naturaleza altamente omn√≠voros. Descubrir que los antibi√≥ticos ayudaban a engordar pollos significaba que las aves podr√≠an ser alimentadas con ma√≠z y soya baratos.

La FDA (Administración de Alimentos y Medicamentos) aprobó los antibióticos como un regulador de crecimiento en los Estados Unidos en 1951. En la década de 1950, un exitoso granjero de pollos en Georgia, Jesse Dixon Jewell, comenzó a expandir su operación vendiendo pollos y alimento concentrado a otros granjeros, y comprando sus aves terminadas. El concentrado se mezclaba con antibióticos, en parte para estimular el crecimiento, pero también para controlar las enfermedades bacterianas. La industria pronto seguiría este doble ejemplo de criar las aves por contrato e incluir los antibióticos en sus raciones preparadas.

En 2001, los estadounidenses tomaron 1,4 millones de kilos de antibióticos, mientras que el ganado estadounidense se dosificó con 11,2 millones de kilos.

Durante muchos a√Īos hubo poca o ninguna preocupaci√≥n sobre este uso sin precedentes de una droga humana para impulsar la producci√≥n de alimentos, y sin duda la carne barata fue popular. Pero esta actitud relajada comenz√≥ a cambiar cuando la investigaci√≥n mostr√≥ que gran parte de los antibi√≥ticos quedaban en la carne y los huevos que consum√≠an los consumidores. Este uso generalizado signific√≥ que las bacterias que causan enfermedades humanas se volvieron resistentes a los antibi√≥ticos por su uso excesivo en los animales.

Bajo la presi√≥n de las compa√Ī√≠as farmac√©uticas, el gobierno estadounidense hizo poco para restringir los antibi√≥ticos como promotores del crecimiento animal. Finalmente, las grandes compa√Ī√≠as av√≠colas comenzaron a autorregularse. Alrededor de 2009 se dieron cuenta de que pod√≠an producir aves sin antibi√≥ticos, simplemente usando vacunas y mejorando la higiene de la granja. Para 2014, algunos de los productores m√°s grandes de Norteam√©rica, como Foster Farms y Perdue Farms, hab√≠an dejado de alimentar con antibi√≥ticos a los pollos. Varios supermercados y cadenas de comida r√°pida pronto prohibieron el pollo criado con antibi√≥ticos.

En septiembre de 2016, la ONU actu√≥ para frenar el uso de antibi√≥ticos no profil√°cticos en animales, lo que se relacion√≥ con unas estimadas 700,000 muertes humanas en todo el mundo, por a√Īo. En Am√©rica del Norte y Europa occidental, el abuso de antibi√≥ticos se resolvi√≥ en gran medida, gracias a la mejora de los est√°ndares de la industria, las regulaciones gubernamentales y la conciencia p√ļblica. Pero McKenna advierte que el abuso de antibi√≥ticos en los animales sigue siendo un problema preocupante en gran parte de Sudam√©rica, el sur de Asia y China.

Tan pronto como terminé de leer Big Chicken, Ana y yo visitamos La Cancha, el vasto mercado al aire libre que todavía funciona en Cochabamba, donde compramos una gallinita gris y una roja grande.

Alimentar a las gallinas fue una oportunidad de aprender lo que los peque√Īos agricultores siempre han sabido: que los pollos son tan omn√≠voros como las personas. Los pollos prefieren la carne a las verduras. Prefieren los granos m√°s peque√Īos y densos como el sorgo al ma√≠z.

A las gallinas les encantan los llamados chanchitos, los peque√Īos crust√°ceos redondos que viven en la hojarasca en todo el mundo. Nuestras gallinas aprendieron a sacudir las semillas de las plantas de amaranto y luego a comer las semillas del suelo. A los pollos tambi√©n les gustan los restos de comida, incluida la carne, pero especialmente los huevos.

Mientras más tiempo tengamos estas aves, ahora llamadas Oxford y Cambridge, más grandes son sus huevos. Cada una pone un huevo todos los días; claramente la dieta de los cazadores-recolectores les hace bien.

El problema, como explica McKenna, es que las granjas industriales hacían que el pollo fuera tan barato como el pan en los Estados Unidos y Europa. La gente en los países de bajos ingresos ahora quiere la carne barata; les toca. El pollo es barato en Bolivia y es fácilmente asequible. En la Cancha se vende por solo 10 Bs. ($ 1.40) por kilo y restaurantes de pollo frito han surgido por toda la ciudad.

La cr√≠a de pollos se ha convertido en una nueva industria en Bolivia. Los agricultores pueden hacer un granero con madera barata y hojas de pl√°stico, comprar los pollitos de un d√≠a y comprar el alimento por bolsa o por tonelada. Sin duda, muchos de los productores av√≠colas en Bolivia son cuidadosos y concienzudos. Sin embargo, muchos cr√≠an a sus aves con alimentos mezclados con antibi√≥ticos, vendidos como promotores del crecimiento, y hay poca conciencia p√ļblica sobre el riesgo de los antibi√≥ticos en la alimentaci√≥n animal. Si bien existen razones convincentes para reducir el costo de los alimentos en los pa√≠ses de bajos ingresos, el Sur Global tambi√©n debe considerar los riesgos de los antibi√≥ticos en los animales.

Lectura adicional

Maryn 2017 Big Chicken: The Incredible Story of how Antibiotics Created Modern Agriculture and Changed the Way the World Eats. Washington DC: National Geographic. 400 pp.

Videos relevantes

El cuidado de las gallinas criollas

Feeding improved chickens

Working together for healthy chicks

Keeping milk free from antibiotics

Herbal treatment for diarrhoea

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