Apples and Oranges

 

In the late 1930's, Jerome Irving (J.I.) Rodale stood at a crossroads. Although a success in the family-owned, electric parts business, he found himself in failing health. His doctors were not optimistic. Unwilling to accept their opinions, he sought out his own counsel, purchasing 64 acres of tillable soil in Pennsylvania's Lehigh Valley and began raising his own food to get better. And better he got. The account that follows is the story of how a father and son changed the course of agriculture, the final chapter of which is still unfolding even as you read this.

The words organic agriculture appeared first in 1940 when the senior J.I. with chalk in hand wrote them on a blackboard. Up to that point, farmers grew fruits, vegetables and grains in what we now refer to as the conventional way. Anyone shopping at a Whole Foods Market is familiar with this designation. The USDA was and has been the driving influence behind mainstream farming, advocating the use of chemical fertilizers, herbicides and pesticides as the predominant means of providing nutrients and dealing with weeds, insects and blight. In stark opposition, J.I. and his son, Robert (Bob), emphasized biology rather than chemistry. Through research and education they hoped to convince farmers that organic practices were a superior means of growing food for the nation. They approached Rutgers, Cornell and Penn State - only to be given a cold shoulder. Their self-published Organic Farming and Gardening magazine was shortened to Organic Gardening when farmers rejected affiliation. Despite this push-back, they marshaled on. In 1947, the Rodale Institute for Research and Education was founded. Always on the cutting edge, Bob became the voice of the organic movement in the United States, spear-heading lobbying efforts in Washington and introducing the term sustainable into the dialogue.

So determined were the Rodales to prove organic agriculture superior to conventional means, they invited the USDA to a a friendly little competition. The Farming System Trial, a 30-year, give-me-your-best-shot, side-by-side experiment has recently concluded. The verdict? Organic produce was shown to be more nutrient dense than that which is conventionally-grown. In other words, it's a healthier choice. The Institute's logical slogan sums it up: Healthy Soil, Healthy Plants, Healthy People, Healthy Planet.

Although J.I. and Bob aren't around to savor this sweet justice, the legacy of their steadfast belief and tireless endeavors lives on. Someday soon, tethered to your shopping cart, you'll have at your disposal a hand-held device allowing you to determine the nutrient density of any fruit or vegetable. Comparing apples and oranges? We've got an ap for that!

To the broken-record, all-too-common plaint Why does organic food cost so much? there is a simple answer. This is the price of food. It costs that much to grow nutrient-rich, healthy food. You may have every right to subject your children to toxic chemicals - that's your privilege. But when your son or daughter, God forbid, is diagnosed with cancer, ask yourself then if that buy-one-get-one-free pint of conventionally-grown strawberries was such a good deal after all.

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Along with ten other members of Sustainable Living Roadshow, I spent yesterday at the Rodale Institute's 333 acre facility in Kutztown, right in the heart of Pennsylvania Dutch Country. We got a cogent history lesson from out host, Romanian-born Maria Pop, Outreach and Education Manager, and a prospectus of organic farming in America from Mark “Coach” Smallwood, Rodale's recently-appointed Executive Director. For the rest of the afternoon, we rolled up our sleeves and helped them get ready for their annual Organic Apple Festival this Saturday.


One of our tasks was ground-harvesting apples for an activity which I'm told involves a sling-shot. We were encouraged to sample the fruit still hanging aloft. And sample we did. Reader, I can't say with any certainty that they compared with those in Eden, but these crisp, firm, sweet-tart gems were to die for. A fitting expression, I would think, since in all respects I felt as if I'd passed away and gone to heaven.