Over six thousand beekeepers, together managing nearly 600,000 colonies, responded to a recent survey. This represents about 23 percent of the country’s bee colonies.
Preliminary results show that 31 percent of honey bee colonies were lost in the US last winter (2012/13). This is a huge increase over the already devastating losses from the winter before, 42 percent more.
Overall, US beekeepers lost 45 percent of their colonies over the winter. That’s a 78 percent increase compared to the previous winter. Why such different numbers? Most of the survey respondents were backyard beekeepers, whose losses, while devastating, were not as bad as the losses by the six percent of respondents who are commercial beekeepers. Migratory beekeeping practices and standard agricultural practices harm honeybees.
It’s like a battle, with bees and our other earthly allies on one side. The other side? Those who wish to profit no matter the consequences. There are ways to help bees. If we don’t stand up against genetically modified crops, intensive monoculture farming, and pesticides like neonicotinoids we won’t have bees left to save us.
Monsanto’s rolling out the guns again, hurroo, hurroo
Bayer is rolling out the guns again, hurroo, hurroo
They’re rolling out the guns again
But they never will take our earth again
No they’ll never take our bees again
That I’m swearing to ye.
We may be enjoying our last few cool evenings. I’ve been making the most of them: stove-wise.
No one likes food bubbling on the stove when it’s hot out. Especially me. My normal good cheer is it’s lowest ebb through the sweltering months. But meals still have to be made all summer long because eating is some kind of daily requirement…
So while it’s still cool I keep our largest pots full. I order 5 pound bags of organic garbanzo beans, black beans, and pintos from the food co-op. Cooked and parceled out into jars, they’ll spare me from cooking beans (or buying beans) all summer. I make giant vats of stock, sauces, and favorite dishes that’ll be easy to thaw as needed. This helps to fill our basement freezer, which was packed full last fall but now has plenty of space.
Spring stocking also has to do with accounting for what we canned and dried last year. I keep track in a not-so-organized way. It’s not easy to compensate for yearly fluctuations in production and use. Already 25 quarts of applesauce are gone, two dozen half pints of grape jelly gone, and 45 quarts of marinara sauce are almost gone while it appears we made too much salsa and way too much peach spread. I also have lots of dried tomatoes and zucchini (and what made me dry several gallon bags of chard?) Then there’s all the parching corn I grew, thinking surely I’d grind it for cornbread. Um, maybe twice. Clearly we’ll be eating more of what’s in ample supply.
It doesn’t matter. I cherish every last one of these cool spring evenings. Steam rising from pots on the stove make summer relaxation possible.
April is a month of unfurling blooms and songbird eggs hatching. A month of gray skies and rain. It’s a changeable month that promises new life.
Not entirely. A friend said, “What is it about mid-April that brings so much tragedy?” She was referring to the bombing at the Boston Marathon but she had plenty of evidence. Just in the U.S. alone:
April 15
- Abraham Lincoln assassinated
- Titanic sank - Great Mississippi Flood (1927, worst flood in US history)
April 16
- VA Tech shooting
April 18
- 1906 earthquake in San Francisco
April 19
- Lethal end of the Branch Davidian standoff
- Oklahoma City bombing
April 20
- Columbine school shooting
- Deepwater Horizon explosion
Horrific events, every one. It’s entirely natural that our attention is drawn to such disasters, especially as they’re happening. Way back in prehistory, those who paid close attention to every detail when someone was attacked by a predator were more likely to avoid the same fate. Their bodies and minds were primed with vividly awful but useful information, hence they survived and passed along those disaster-attentive genes. These days, our attention is pulled toward all sorts of disasters, although the information isn’t useful in the same way. Too much attention to what’s wrong in the world, and we’re likely to end up with Mean World Syndrome.
Threat also compels us to engage our full potential, to “rise to the occasion” whatever it might be. No wonder that those who want us to marshall our resources for their own purposes try to convince us there’s a grave threat. This is done by football coaches trying to motivate teams as well as political pundits spewing angry conspiracy theories, because it works.
But rising to our full potential means we humans pull together in a crisis. Author Rebecca Solnit takes a close look at disasters including earthquakes, floods, and explosions in her book A Paradise Built in Hell: The Extraordinary Communities That Arise in Disaster. She finds tragedy and grief, but something else too, something rarely noticed. During and after these horrific crises there shines from the wreckage something extraordinary. People rise up as if liberated, regardless of their differences, to act out of deep regard for one another. They improvise, coordinate, create new social ties, and pour themselves into work that has no personal gain other than a sense of meaning. Such people express strangely transcendent feelings of joy, envisioning a greater and more altruistic community in the making. Even those suffering the most horrific misfortune often turn around to aid others and later remember it as the defining moment of their lives. This is a testament to the human spirit, as if disaster cracks us open to our better selves. As Solnit says, “The possibility of paradise is already within us as a default setting.”
I don’t think mid-April leans any closer to tragedy than other times of the year. Like every moment on Earth, it’s packed with constant, unnoticed acts of cooperation and beauty.
I dreamed once that what each of us contribute to this world, maybe to worlds beyond, is an energy fingerprint. All our striving and accomplishment are wisps lost to time but this fingerprint of energy remains and affects all other energy. It’s the overall attitude that matters—grateful or bitter, loving or hateful, aware or dismissive. Whether that’s true or not, I do believe that even in the midst of tragedy we can choose an attitude of hope and compassion. Blame, anger, and vindictiveness isn’t the fingerprint I want to leave.
Every day as I walk my dogs, I pass Ron’s farm. My husband and I have brainstormed with him about how he can save his farm. It’s nothing Ron has done wrong. His cows are healthy and contented. He’s careful to move them from pasture to pasture for the best grazing. His calves drink milk, not milk replacer. He devotes all day, every day, to tending his land and his animals. But it’s nearly impossible to stay in business as a small scale dairy farmer these days.
That’s because there’s a dairy crisis. Prices paid to farmers are less than they were in the 1970′s. Ron’s dairy sells milk destined for cheese and butter. He earns less than $11 a hundredweight (per 12 gallons) although on average it costs him more to tend the cows producing that hundredweight. Someone is making a profit, but not the people milking cows.
Many are selling off their herds and leaving the farm. Ron is determined to stay on the 70 acres that have been in his family for 62 years. Although he doesn’t have the resources to fix up his house or outbuildings, that doesn’t matter to him. He’s just looking for ways to keep his cows. One solution is to raise this year’s calves to start a herd of grassfed cattle.
But it’ll take nearly a year and a half before the first steer is ready for market. Ron will need funds to fence some more pastures, to replace lost dairy income, and to keep tending to his contented cattle. We know what it’s like to raise these gentle creatures. We can’t imagine our neighbor losing his herd to today’s cruel economic realities.
In fact, Ron’s situation has just gotten worse. He was informed that the local creamery (wholesale milk buyer) in our area that buys from small producers, the one that has purchased his milk for years, is cutting his farm out as of April 30th. They’re concentrating their efforts on larger farms. That means Ron’s income completely halts in a few weeks. He works 10 hour days, yet when the money stops coming in there’s no unemployment compensation.
So I’ve set up a campaign on GoFundMe to help Ron. Every dollar will help him keep the cows on his farm. Please check out the link and share it! http://www.gofundme.com/2d969c
I stuff my pockets with carrots before heading out back. Pausing at the garden, I pull rutabagas and flowering broccoli, then walk past the creek and up the tree-lined path. Chickens wander alongside to see what I’ve brought. Although my arms are nearly full, I bend to pick plantain before opening the barnyard gate.
Isabelle is in the side pasture with her two calves. I walk to her, rutabaga leaves waving in time to my steps, as she hurries toward me with the lumbering grace of a matronly Guernsey. Like shy but exuberant dancers, her calves follow in leaps and half-turns, their eyes bashfully averted.
Isabelle takes the food from my fingers gently, her soft lips brushing my skin. When I fumble, she waits patiently, drooling in anticipation as I snap the next carrot in half. A few weeks ago, during our evening-snack ritual, she dropped a mouthful of food, refusing to touch it again, yet took the next handful I offered. Later, I realized that morning glory was growing in the patch of clover I’d picked for her. Isabelle had immediately detected the presence of a plant toxic to her heart.
The calves watch their mother eat. Tentatively, they lean forward to touch rutabaga leaves with their noses. Although curious, they prefer their mother’s milk. Their idyllic lives — out on pasture with their mother, nursing on demand — are rare on today’s dairy farm.
Most dairy calves are separated from their mothers soon after birth. It’s considered more cost-effective to give the calves something called “calf milk replacer.” But this white fluid resembles cow milk only to lab analysts, as the ingredients may include wheat, soy, lard, fish, and animal plasma (often from pig blood).
When we were new to farming, everything we read warned that a calf left with its mother to nurse freely was likely to develop scours, a potentially fatal condition. We couldn’t imagine that nature had it wrong and agriculture manuals had it right. Besides, we had no intention of separating mother from calf.
A little research showed that the experts were looking at it the problem upside down. Scours is more likely to happen in calves taken from their mothers so soon that they’re deprived of the antibody-rich colostrum that flows from their mothers’ udders right after birth.
Isabelle is an attentive mother. She teaches with nudges, head movements, and a variety of vocalizations. She stands still when her calves choose to nurse, moving no more than her tail to flick away flies.
Each of Isabelle’s calves has been significantly bigger than the average for her breed, with no medical problems. And we’ve always had more than enough milk for our human family while she nurses a calf or two for a year.
Isabelle and calf. Bit of Earth Farm
On our farm, the bond we witness between cow and calf forces us to recognize the toll taken by standard agricultural practices. One day, we were at a nearby dairy when farmhands came to take a day-old calf from its mother. As the men approached, a dozen other cows in the pen formed a circle against them, keeping the mother and calf in the center. After losing the struggle to protect one of their own, the cows began bawling, and soon the cows in the other buildings joined in. We could hear them as we drove away.
All around us, dairy farms isolate calves in “calf huts,” where they’re fed calf milk replacer. Most often, their mothers live confined indoors, their sensitive noses smelling their own calves and green grass, both forever beyond their reach.
Our veterinarian tells us that in 26 years, he’s never seen dairy calves raised alongside their mothers except on our farm. He remains astonished by what he regards as the uncharacteristic size and robust health of the calves here.
Isabelle belches appreciatively. It smells like the hay we harvested last summer. Gas emissions from both ends of cattle have been blamed for contributing to global climate change. But studies indicate that the net effect of grass-fed cattle actually slows global warming. Confinement farming and unnatural feeding are the problem. Cattle have evolved to thrive on nothing but grass and its dry counterpart, hay. It’s another of nature’s miracles that cows can grow so large and produce such rich milk purely from grass, a plant inedible to humans. Yet according to Jo Robinson’s book Pasture Perfect: How You Can Benefit from Choosing Meat, Eggs, and Dairy Products from Grass-Fed Animals cattle on today’s farms are fed diets heavy in grains, protein supplements, and bulking agents such as cardboard, chicken feathers, and stale candy. Even plastic pot scrubbers have been used to replace the roughage that simple grass naturally provides. These artificial diets cause a range of physical disorders, so the typical cow diet is further adulterated with synthetic nutrients and medications.
Pastured cows have fewer reproductive problems and produce larger, healthier calves. The more fresh grass a cow eats, the more vitamin E, omega-3 fatty acids, and cancer-fighting conjugated linoleic acid (CLA) she’ll produce in her milk. In fact, the older a cow gets, the higher the CLA levels in her milk.
But dairy cows in this country don’t live long. They’re culled at three, four, maybe five years old. Overproduction, unnatural diets, and confinement make them unprofitable after that age, even though cows can easily reproduce and give milk well into their teens as we learned from Joann Grohman’s Keeping A Family Cowand her family cow forum.
Isabelle is nearly 12 years old. She chooses to spend most of her time outdoors. She’s curious about anything new going on nearby, and mindful of chickens pecking underfoot. Such curiosity is typical of her kind. Even animal researchers have been surprised to discover cattle have “eureka” moments when solving problems, a moment so gratifying that some cows leap in the air. Isabelle, though a middle-aged lady, regularly indulges in those leaping moments. She scampers girlishly, tosses her head, and runs in sheer pleasure. When she lies down to rest, she lets the barn cats sleep on her warm hide.
Isabelle chews slowly. Her teeth crunch on broccoli and her tongue flicks out to catch a wayward cluster before it falls. Cattle seem to be contemplative eaters. Given free pastoral range, they select grasses with high nutrient levels, instinctively self-medicating with the right plants when ill. They choose to graze alongside favorite herd mates, just as we prefer lunching with friends. After eating, they digest as all ruminants do, chewing their cud to enjoy the meal all over again.
My hands are empty now. I stroke Isabelle’s face and manage to rub the nearest calf’s hide. Soon they’ll wander back to the shady part of the pasture together. There they’ll eat grass, or milk made from grass, eating within the perfect circle of sun, soil, and sustenance. The calves will nap under an apple tree’s long shadow and Isabelle will bring up rutabagas, broccoli, and carrots to chew again, a reminder of a meal offered by loving hands.
This article was first published in Culinate. Isabelle is 15 years old now, still producing milk and nursing her current calf.
I’m not ready for spring. I’d like to pull winter’s covers up to my chin and rest a bit longer. I like snow and wind and evenings that start early because it’s dark before dinner time. I’m reluctant to emerge from the hermit-y time of year into the seasons of light and growth.
But it’s arriving. Too early it seems. Bright gray skies, buds already emerging on several trees, and mud everywhere. The pond’s ice cover is melting and the snow that made each step to the barn a crisp high step is now a slog.
Time to face a sad truth. It was foreshadowed last fall. For the first time ever, all of our beehives are silent. Every single colony dead. They made it through a hot dry summer and nearly survived a winter that pushed them to the limits with rapid cycles of freeze and thaw. To replace them we’re only ordering two nucs this time, starting small, because the cost is so steep. One hundred and forty dollars each this year. The beekeepers we’ve talked to are going through the same thing, weighing whether to continue or give up. Continued losses the last few years have made beekeeping a lose-lose prospect. Of course, the real loss is to the ecosystem around us.
My kids tell me that the bees I’ve called my friends are just insects, but I’ve always felt they are more. To honor their memory, I’m reprinting an article I wrote about our first attempt at beekeeping. It was published in Farming Magazine. It’s about an extraordinary moment of hope, thanks to “insects.”
The Queen’s Gift
It’s human nature to look for signs. Easy success appears to be a portent of even better things to come. Enough luck and we tend to think perhaps we’re meant to change direction. Give up. Run away.
My husband, Mark, and I have had plenty of practice warding off the naysayers who point out we are foolhardy to hang on to our small farm. A few years ago Mark’s neck was broken in a car accident which left him with chronic health problems. Then we lost our home business and were left with heavy debt. After that Mark was downsized from several jobs due to the floundering economy.
Although bills mount as we repair ancient tractors and pay vet bills, the farm itself keeps our spirits up. Tending the land with our four children bonds our family together in ways we couldn’t have imagined. Baling hay, stacking firewood, learning the art of
animal husbandry —these are living memories for us all. And the beauty of living close to nature provides spiritual depth beyond measure.
For us, optimism means ignoring bad luck. We extract happiness from the moment, all the while believing the next farm venture will turn our fortunes around. Our newest project has been beekeeping. Mark, and our 12-year-old, Sam, took beekeeping classes last winter. After each session they came home excited about the intricate world of these insects. Mark and the kids built hives together. I copied poems on the wooden boxes as a way of honoring these industrious creatures. We read everything we could
about the science, mythology and practical keeping of bees.
On the first warm day of spring we chose a place near wild blackberry bushes and clover-filled pastures to set the hives. We hauled them to this clearing under the wise gaze of our cows. I couldn’t help but imagine that our land would soon flow with milk
and honey.
The project became expensive as costs for equipment and the price of bees exceeded our estimates. The week before the bees were due to arrive both our vehicles broke down. A dozen chickens were killed by a marauding dog. The bridge over our creek washed out in a storm. The omens weren’t good.
Finally the bees arrived. Actual boxes teeming with thousands of insects, along with the wooden queen chambers. Prepared as any novices could be, we walked out back carrying these humming packages over the creek, past chickens and cows, blessed by blue skies.
There’s a careful procedure to follow when ‘hiving’ bees. Each queen, along with a few insect attendants, is enclosed in a tiny queen chamber. This is sealed two ways.
Inside there’s an edible barrier called the candy plug and outside of that is a cork. The beekeeper pulls the cork, puts the chamber in the new hive, shakes the bees loose around the queen and puts the hive lid on. The bees gradually become acquainted with the queen’s pheromones and accept her as their own. In a few days’ time the attendants have eaten through the candy plug and the queen is loose in the hive but at home enough to stay.
There we were, ready at our lovingly constructed new beehives. We started on the first hive.
Mark followed the procedure—popping the cork plug on the queen chamber as planned. Without warning the queen flew out! The wooden chamber had no candy plug. Our queen was gone. Now we had several thousand bees for that hive and no queen.
All of our months of preparation, our sparse funds pulled together for this project only to have our very first hiving fail. Mark, Sam and I stood in silent disbelief.
Then we realized we could see the queen circling around us, a dot against the bright spring sun. I talked aloud to her, saying we needed her to stay near her new home.
Sam tried to gently trap her in some spare netting. It was no use. What’s the chance an insect will do what we want her to? Characteristically, Mark started working on the next hive, focusing on the positive.
Right then, unbelievably, the queen landed next to Mark’s hand.
And there she stayed, offering her presence like a gift. He reached out and covered her with his other hand as if it were the most natural thing in the world. I put the wooden chamber near his fingers and immediately the queen crawled into the tiny opening. He placed the chamber in the hive, then Sam put in the bees and closed the lid.
All of us felt goodness and mercy descend on us in that clearing. Surely a portent of things to come.
Later Mark asked several apiary experts about the likelihood of new beekeepers recapturing an escaped queen. They all said there was no chance at all. But we know better.
Hope is always within reach, even when you least expect it. On our farm we savor that sweetness every day
Equipment arrives at this dairy farm. (All images: fafaohio.org)
Have you heard about fracking? It may seem like it will have no impact on your or your family. But take a look at the facts.
A dairy farm not far from us is the first in our area to begin hydraulic fracturing. This process was developed to extract formerly unattainable gas and oil from rock a mile or more below the surface. Unlike old style wells bored straight down or at a slant, these go down and then proceed horizontally. Using a mixture of water, sand, and chemicals the rock is fractured (hence the name) to release fossil fuels. This is commonly called fracking.
I went to look for myself. The bucolic farm is snuggled along gentle hillsides. An Amish buggy went by as I took in the dissonant sight of Holsteins grazing and huge rigs marked Halliburton parked just off the narrow rural road. Drilling hadn’t started. I wondered if fracking chemicals could possibly affect those cows and wind up in their milk. How many of us know where our yogurt once grazed?
I’m as energy dependent as the next person. But I wanted to know more about fracking, especially how it might affect my family and community, so I started hunting down information.
Sorting through the confusion
My husband and I attended a public meeting held to promote leasing by landowners. There were lots of glossy handouts and a power point presentation. The speakers said that 60 years of gas well drilling had never caused a health or safety problem. I found the same reassuring claims by the oil and gas industry in advertising campaigns and online reports. Friends who’ve already signed fracking leases repeat this too.
It seems to me they’re blurring the distinction between decades of experience in vertical drilling methods and the much newer process of fracking. It’s not hard to find incidents around my hometown of older-style wells causing trouble. That includes homes with explosive levels of methane as well as a house explosion linked to inadequate cementing of well casings. Apparently such problems have occurred in both vertically drilled wells and fracked wells.
But technically, assertions that fracking is safe are largely true. That’s because industry and government regulatory agencies use the term “fracking” only as it relates to the actual process of pumping fluids into the ground to break apart rock. So when they make claims about fracking safety, they don’t include what happens while drilling, constructing the well, setting off explosions, dealing with blowouts or well fires, storing waste water in open containment basins, vapors emitted from condensate tanks, open flaring to burn off gasses, transporting waste, injecting waste water into deep disposal wells, or at any point in the future when the wells may leak.
That’s convenient, because a University of Texas study found that these are the activities actually contaminating air, water, and soil. So both sides are “right” in the fracking debate. The industry is correct when they say that fracking is largely safe because of their limited definition of the word. People concerned about the environmental and health consequences lump all activities associated with the process under the term “fracking,” making their claims of risk correct too.
I think it’s time we developed a new word or phrase to discuss the issue more clearly. For now I’ll use “fracking-related activity.”
Disclosure and rights
Those of us who live in areas said to be rich in shale oil are being romanced. Industry representatives hold open houses. Lawyers eager to get a share of leasing money by selling pooled rights do too. I’ve paid close attention at these meetings. The emphasis is mostly on how much money can be made. We’re told that those who get their land drilled first will have the highest yields and the most money. One speaker demonstrated with a straw and a cup of soda, showing that wherever drillers (his straw) first pierced would have access to the most gas (soda) below. He slurped loudly, then asked if anyone thought he’d leave much behind for those who leased their land later.
Many participants eagerly signed up. Any concerns raised were quickly soothed. At a meeting held in a rural church we were told that landowners would be left with trees, grass, and a single wellhead providing substantial income for 30 or more years. Big money, restored land–sounds good, right?
The promise of a hefty income rising from the ground well below our feet comes at a time when many Americans are reeling from unemployment, poor housing prices, and debt. And all over the country, property owners like small to medium dairy farms are losing their livestock and often their land because they can’t turn a profit. Fracking seems like a life line.
But when I talk to people who have already signed a lease many are upset, believing they haven’t gotten as much money as they deserved. Others believe they’ve been lied to about the environmental impact. Surely there are happy lease-holders out there, I just keep running into those who feel they’ve been deceived.
At an open house meeting last fall, a conversation between an Ohio property owner and industry representatives was tape recorded. The property owner asked about chemicals used in fracking. He was told, “We don’t put any chemicals down in the ground. We just use regular, fresh water.” Another industry representative coming into the room later said the process uses household chemicals like dish washing detergent.
These are common claims. At one meeting we were told that fracking chemicals are no more dangerous than cleaning products in the average home. Cheerful articles online tell us that the same chemicals using in fracking can be found in hand sanitizer, fabric softener, even hot dogs. (I’ll take a brief look at why that’s not the whole story in a bit.)
A majority of leases do not require companies to compensate landowners for water contamination or damages to the land.
Even if state regulations force industry to replace contaminated drinking water, not all costs are covered nor are needs of crops or livestock included.
Many consumer protection laws do not apply.
Some leases deduct costs such as hauling to or from the site.
Energy companies can use the property to build roads, store chemicals, cut down trees, run equipment 24 hours a day, and build containment ponds (in some instances covering them with dirt rather than hauling away the waste).
Few landowners are fully aware that their property becomes, in essence, an industrial site.
But local citizens have very little control over fracking. Depending where they live, fracking may occur under cemeteries and in state parks. Some cities as well as colleges are considering lease offers. Despite regulations that normally zone residential areas apart from industrial areas, drilling can take place near homes and schools. Residents in Colorado, Texas, West Virginia, and elsewhere are advocating for stronger regulations to protect schoolchildren from the noise and dust generated by these sites. In some areas drilling sites are only required to be 350 feet from schools and 200 feet from homes. (In New Mexico, one school playground is 150 feet from a well.) No matter how vehemently citizens object, the ability to pass local ordinances regulating gas and oil producers can be superseded by state or federal regulations. This provides the industry rights normally not allowed under the law.
For example, in 38 states you can’t say no to fracking on your land if others in your area have already signed leases. It’s called by all sorts of names such as “mandatory pooling” or “compulsory integration.” This means a horizontal drilling line can run under your property whether you want it there or not. It’s really eminent domain by private enterprise. Such laws make it easy for gas and oil representatives to tell people they might as well sign up, because underground reserves will be extracted anyway. That’s the reason people we know are signing leases. That there’s no legal recourse shocks some homeowners when drilling begins.
For many of us, fracking operations (called “plays”) seem like a distant threat. But they’re taking place not only in rural areas but cities, suburbs, and park lands with several hundred thousand new wells scheduled for drilling in the next few years.
Economics
We also heard lots of talk about how much good this gas and oil will do to boost the local economy and help our nation to get back national energy independence. These are laudable goals. I’m not sure they’re more than optimistic projections.
Any talk of jobs is likely to generate enthusiasm in our still flagging economy. Those of us living in shale oil areas have been told that an employment boom is around the corner. In Ohio we’re assured that our state will see 65,000 jobs and $3.3 billion in wages within two years. But analysis of data from states already experiencing a fracking boom finds only a modest rise in employment, even when factoring in supply chain jobs and increased spending by workers and landowners. Looking more closely at the numbers, it’s clear that the majority of the energy paychecks are going to out-of-state contract workers who handle drilling and hauling.
They don’t have the most enviable jobs. Oil field workers are exempt from certain safety rules, leading to a higher rate of accidents than other industries. In one state alone, police found that 40 percent of the 2,200 oil and gas industry trucks inspected were in such serious disrepair they were taken off the road. The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention reports that fatality rates for oil workers are seven times the national average.
Fracking-related activity actually places a heavy burden on municipalities. The industry estimates over 200,000 new wells will be fracked across the U.S. in the next decade. Each one requires 500 to 1,500 truck trips to haul equipment, water, and waste. Massively increased traffic brought by these heavy rigs is likely to hasten the deterioration of roads and bridges. The American Society of Civil Engineers (ASCE) puts out regular report cards on the country’s infrastructure. They note that bridges are normally built to last 50 years. The average U.S. bridge is now 43 years old. Overall, the ASCE gives U.S. infrastructure (including roads, bridges, and water supply) a grade of ”D.”
It costs in city services as well. Police have reported increased calls in some areas due to the surge in temporary workers associated with drilling. And first responders such as fire fighters and paramedics may not have the equipment, training, or funds to handle new perils that come with drilling and disposal operations.
Maybe this is the price we have to pay. After all, we’re told that fracking is a reliable means to achieve energy independence. I hear lots of these talking points repeated in meetings and in print, often along with some patriotic fervor tossed in for emphasis, but it isn’t easy to figure out energy facts in all the hubbub. As a concerned parent and citizen, I’m still trying to sort it out.
Here are some things I’m mulling over. The U.S. exports more gasoline than it imports, so energy independence isn’t as simple as the “drill, baby, drill” signs I see in my community. And shale oil, which can be extracted along with natural gas from the fracking process in some areas, is more expensive to extract and refine than crude oil. But most of the energy generated by fracking comes in the form of natural gases and liquid gases such as ethane, propane, and butane. Over the last ten years this industry has spent 20.5 million dollars on donations to Congress and 726 million dollars on lobbying to continue steering subsidies toward fossil fuel, keep regulation minimal, and boost incentives. Government policy decisions are locking in tax dollars for years to come on natural gas incentives based on industry and Wall Street speculation about the amount of gas that can be extracted. It will cost 700 billion to convert just some of our coal-fired plants to natural gas, a pricey venture when estimates of these reserves keep dropping.
At the same time, reports from financial and energy sectors indicate such speculation is shaky. Huge investments made in leasing and supplies are not returning profits as projected. The U.K.’s Financial Times called it the next economic bubble, comparing it to the financial disaster caused by real estate financing. For some companies, such as Chesapeake Energy, the bubble may already be bursting.
It’s not just a financial bubble, there’s also a gap between the industry’s wildly optimistic estimates and the realities of extraction. Petroleum engineers note that initial production rates are high but dropping. Although President Obama’s State of the Union address repeated industry claims that we’re sitting on a 100 year supply of natural gas, a week later the Energy Information Administration revised its estimatesof Marcellus Shale gas downward by 66 percent and overall potential U.S. reserves by 40 percent. ASlate report takes a close look at the numbers. The estimated supply actually lumps ”proved reserves” (meaning it’s known to exist and is recoverable) with those that are “probable,” “possible,” and “speculative.” In other words, most of the so-called surplus of gas may not exist or be recoverable. Only an 11 year supply falls into the “proven” category, and that’s if our usage doesn’t go up. As Slate dryly notes, “By the same logic, you can claim to be a multibillionaire, including all your ‘probable, possible, and speculative resources.’”
Government and industry continue to insist that a boom is on although a well-by-well analysis notes that gas production is much flatter than hyped and “the gold rush is over.” The number of drill rigs operating in North America continues to fall and production per well, on average, declines by 44 percent per year compared to 23 percent for wells in traditional gas fields.
Some people we know who have leased their property worry that the companies owning their leases are simply speculating in land and will sell those leases to foreign companies. I held up my hand at one meeting and asked an industry representative if any leases might ever be sold to non-U.S. companies. “Absolutely not,” I was told. “This is about American energy independence.”
I came home and looked it up. All sorts of huge foreign companies are buying up rights. For example, the Australian company BHP Billiton bought 4.75 billion worth of shale assets in Arkansas, the French company Total will pay 2.25 billion for shale assets in Texas and 2.32 billion for assets in Ohio, and the Chinese firm, Sinopec, is spending billions to scoop up assets across the U.S. from firms like Devon and Chesapeake. Selling these assets is, of course, the prerogative of any company owning them. Obscuring the truth about it to landowners before they sign the leases doesn’t seem to be a priority.
We also attended public meetings run by several area groups hastily formed to oppose fracking. They brought speakers in from across the state and beyond. I listened to Joe Logan, a representative of the Ohio Environmental Council, explain how fracking-related activity can affect the food we eat. His charts showed that heavy metals and chemicals migrate into air, soil, and water. These contaminants can diminish crop yield, affect the health of livestock, and imperil organic certification. He noted that current laws are not sufficient to protect the food supply or food producing areas from the effects of fracking.
I listened to Doug Shields, former member of the Pittsburgh City Council, explain how fracking-related activity is exempt from major environmental laws that currently protect the public. The oil and gas industry does not have to comply with key provisions of the Safe Drinking Water Act, Clean Air Act, Clean Water Act, Superfund Act, Resource Conservation and Recovery Act, the Environmental Policy Act, or the Emergency Planning and Community Right to Know Act.
A local man stood up with a jug of brown water from his once clear well. Since his land was fracked the water has been foul smelling and murky, although state officials told him it was okay to drink. Another woman said brine was dumped on a road by her house and when she paid to have it tested it was found to contain chemicals associated with fracking, although state officials declined to investigate. I talked to many other people at these meetings: college students, farmers, retirees, mothers with small children living near active fracking sites. The information they shared was alarming. Here’s a little of what I’ve been able to confirm.
Each fracking operation takes 1.2 million gallons to 5 million gallons of water, sometimes more. Each additional time a site is fracked more water is required. Water stress (an imbalance between water use and water resources) is fast becoming an alarming global issue. When water is withdrawn from natural sources for drinking, irrigation, and other typical uses it normally finds its way back into the global water supply. But a substantial portion (15 to 40 percent) of the water used in fracking operations is left deep in the ground. What does come back up (called “flowback” as well as “produced water” which naturally occurs in shale) is often put in deep injection wells for long-term storage. This method not only edges up the potential for earthquakes, it also takes much-needed water out of planetary circulation.
Chemical components make up only about 0.5 percent of fluids used in fracking-related activity, the rest being water and sand. This sounds like a reassuringly small amount, until you multiply the millions of gallons of water used per fracking site with the number of sites being fracked. Some estimate that 20 tons of chemicals are used per million gallons of fracking fluid. (This number does not include drilling fluids and other chemicals that augment fracking-related activity.)
A 2011 Congressional report lists 750 known fracking chemicals in order of most common usage. Here’s a partial account of those used in highest amounts.
Some of these chemicals are indeed similar to chemicals used around the home. But a 2011 analysis found that 25 percent are carcinogens; 37 percent are endocrine disruptors; more than 40 percent can impair the immune system and nervous system; and three-quarters can irritate the eyes and lungs. It’s important to remember that some chemicals are toxic in concentrations much less than one part-per-million and the synergistic effect of most chemicals is largely unknown.
The fluid that comes back up also contains ingredients that didn’t go in. This means naturally occurring matter such as heavy metals, volatile organic compounds (including benzene, toluene, xylene), radioactive materials (including lead, arsenic, strontium), even acidic microbes. It also means chemical compounds created by the reactions of chemicals during any stage of the process. Claims of air, ground, and water pollution due to fracking-related activity are often dismissed by industry and government officials because some contaminants are considered “naturally occurring.” And let’s not forget the water’s salinity. Fracking wastewater has two to three times more salt than sea water and more than 180 times the level considered acceptable to drink by the EPA.
Although the industry insists that all chemicals used in fracking are on the record there are still rules in place allowing them to claim chemicals are proprietary or to disclose what’s used only after the drilling has been completed. In several states including Pennsylvania and Ohio, physicians are bound by a “gag rule” which prevents doctors from sharing information about symptoms, diagnoses, and disease clusters related to fracking chemicals even with other doctors and public health officials. Some doctors say they’re not sure if the laws permit them to inform patients either. Frightening stories abound, like the one about a nurse treating a gas field worker whose clothes were drenched in chemicals. She fell ill herself. While she was in ICU with multiple organ failure the worker’s company refused to identify those chemicals. Turned out that story was true. (Her state of Colorado now has forms to get that information although doctors are still bound by non-disclosure rules.) Limited information hampers the ability ofmedical practitioners to link health problems to environmental contaminants.
How do these and other toxins linked to fracking-related activity get into the environment? Here are a few routes.
Leaks and spills during transportation, mixing, or other fracking-related activity. The industry reportsmillions of gallons spilled in one state alone.
Liners that leak or burst, spilling fluids into the soil. Birds and other wildlife are known to be affected.
Exhaust from diesel trucks and diesel generators running day and night.
Flaring of gas (burning into the air), venting of gas (directly releasing into the air), as well as air release via dehydration units and condensate tanks.
Evaporating unknown quantities of chemicals into the air from open containment “ponds” of fracking waste. Misters often spray the liquid in the air to speed up the process. This is standard across much of the industry.
Contamination of ground water at depths used for drinking water, typically caused by failures of well casings but also possibly due to increased permeability of rock layers.
Burning natural gas itself is cleaner than other forms of fossil fuel, as long as larger environmental costs of the energy-intensive and toxic process of fracking aren’t added to the equation. In fact a Cornell study concluded that as much as eight percent of the methane in shale oil leaks into the air due to fracking, twice the amount released by conventional gas production. Since methane is a far more damaging greenhouse gas than CO2, researcher Robert Howarth concluded that shale gas is less “clean” than conventional gas, coal, or oil. Studies released by the American Petroleum Institute and American Natural Gas Alliance show much lower methane emissions. Reports and research funded by the gas and oil industry tend to find results more favorable to that industry, putting the science itself into question.
There are always risks in fracking, ExxonMobil CEO Rex Tillerson said in a recent speech, but he believes the public has been alarmed by “manufactured fear.” As he sees it, the biggest problem is “taking an illiterate public and try to help them understand why we can manage these risks.”
For a variety of fracking perspectives, check out YouTube. You’ll find plenty of videos presenting the industry’s viewpoint, as well as stories of people living near fracking sites, and this quasi-humorous skewering of what’s being called an industry-wide cover-up of fracking dangers. It’s hard to find footage simply showing what a fracking operation looks like, but here’s one filmed by a Penn State extension service.
I went back to take another look at the dairy farm near us, now being fracked. The area was covered with heavy equipment. A few employees outfitted in fire retardant suits, masks, and hard hats worked in the distance. The quiet morning was filled with noise. Gray dust rose in the air and my throat burned.
When I set out to find out all I could about fracking I didn’t anticipate such disturbing information. I couldn’t have known fracking would soon intrude on our lives. I recently learned that fracking leases have been signed within sight of us to the west, north, and south. I’m concerned about our land where our cows graze and our chickens scratch. I’m concerned about my family’s health. And I’m wondering if you’re concerned too.
. She finds tragedy and grief, but something else too, something rarely noticed. During and after these horrific crises there shines from the wreckage something extraordinary. People rise up as if liberated, regardless of their differences, to act out of deep regard for one another. They improvise, coordinate, create new social ties, and pour themselves into work that has no personal gain other than a sense of meaning. Such people express strangely transcendent feelings of joy, envisioning a greater and more altruistic community in the making. Even those suffering the most horrific misfortune often turn around to aid others and later remember it as the defining moment of their lives. This is a testament to the human spirit, as if disaster cracks us open to our better selves. As Solnit says, “The possibility of paradise is already within us as a default setting.”
cattle on today’s farms are fed diets heavy in grains, protein supplements, and bulking agents such as cardboard, chicken feathers, and stale candy. Even
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