My bio should to start here:
“Early Sunday morning, June 4, 2017, I was sicker than I had ever been before. Too sick to even bend over, as I vomited all over the toilet, myself, and the bathroom floor — and I didn’t even care.”
This was the aftermath of being engulfed in a cloud of Roundup from a giant agricultural sprayer while I was mowing my lawn the previous afternoon.
The incident motivated me to write “You Know You Live near a Factory Farm When Your Kids Go Fishing with a Pool Skimmer” — a picture book with large print and cautionary captions. “Family Farm Fun” is the second book in the Factory Farm series.
At this same time I grew increasingly aware of the treatment that the rural community in the town was receiving, and began my blog on elitist policy making: Rural Tompkins County — The Road to Hell is Paved with Good Credentials.
As for right now, what should I do next?
I think I’ll go to my favorite pub. Maybe there’s someone there who hasn’t heard my story.
My brother says, “Good luck with that!”
Industrial farmers are ever-vigilant in their efforts to keep a wholesome image. In the unreported media gulf between urban newspapers and “Ag ghetto” trailers, theirs is the only voice. And they never stop trash-talking the rural community.
In an age that pretends to enlightened social justice, the “hillbilly,” “trailer trash,” “good-ole-boy” is a target that is fair game to all . . . because they’re “racist” and “ignorant” and “backwards” and “uneducated” and you really don’t know anything about them.
They’re people who live independently with almost no money, and no representation at all. You won’t see them golfing at your country club, but you might meet a rich factory farm owner — telling “redneck” jokes.
You Know You Live near a Factory Farm When Your Kids Go Fishing with a Pool Skimmer