Republicans Bash Austin Quite Frequently on KXYL ! Why is that ?

Brownwood's State Representative, Jim Keffer (R) Eastland, frequently refers to Austin as "Austin, 15 square miles surrounded by reality" on the airwaves of KXYL (if your a listener to Brownwood Talk Radio you know bashing Austin is quite Politically Correct for Brownwood Republicans.). I don't know about you but the information below looks pretty much right on the mark to me ! I wonder just how many Big Country Republicans bash Austin by day and "get their groove on" by night in that great city just 2.5 hours down the road from Brownwood ?
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"EATING LOCALLY

Exploring our food nearby

Safety and other issues put eating locally on the front burner

By Kitty Crider
AMERICAN-STATESMAN FOOD EDITOR

Wednesday, January 31, 2007
Last year the nation was shaken to its food roots with an E. coli outbreak traced to spinach. Then came another E. coli problem — with fast-food lettuce. About the same time there was a salmonella outbreak with restaurant tomatoes. Add to these food safety concerns cases of Campylobacter bacteria in chickens, salmonella in eggs, mad cow disease in cattle.

It makes us rethink what it is on our plates — where, how and by whom it is grown or raised.

Though many factors contribute to food-safety issues, the truth is that our country's food supply is heavily based on mass-produced and mass-distributed agriculture, shipped thousands of miles to stores and consumers. Proponents insist the system works most of the time, and it supplies the country with year-round, convenient and affordable food. Opponents say if we were eating locally, such outbreaks would be reduced or at least limited in scope, that we would get fresher products while supporting the area's economy and reducing fuel usage, and that we would be safeguarding the homeland security of our food supply.

But how well can we eat locally?

Austin is known as a high-tech town, the live music capital and the seat of state government. But what of its food scene — beyond the bistros and bars? Do we have many growers? Are they flourishing or withering on the vine?

In 2007, the Austin American-Statesman will feature various aspects of eating locally with occasional reports in this section on producers and consumers.

Today we hear from certified organic grower Carol Ann Sayle, who along with husband Larry Butler owns and works Boggy Creek Farm, a five-acre urban plot two and a half miles from downtown. One of a handful of commercial farms in Travis County, Boggy Creek grows U.S. Department of Agriculture-certified organic vegetables, flowers and herbs in East Austin. The harvest is sold year-round at Boggy Creek's twice-weekly farm stand and at Whole Foods Market from April to October.

Sayle, a writer as well as a farmer (and former artist), sends out newsletters to regular shoppers that reflect both the romance and reality of life on a commercial farm in Central Texas.

We've pulled several essays from her files to reprint today, and more are available with this story online at austin360.com.

kcrider@statesman.com; 445-3656

source: http://www.austin360.com/food_drink/content/food_drink/stories/2007/01/31local.html
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EATING LOCALLY

Growing pains — and joys
Essays from Boggy Creek Farm
By Carol Ann Sayle
SPECIAL TO THE AMERICAN-STATESMAN
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
BSept. 30, 2002
The realities of the romance
Larry Kolvoord AMERICAN-STATESMAN

Carol Ann Sayle harvests lettuce under the hoop house, which is used to moderate the microclimate of the vegetables. Shade cloth is used to shade the plants during the hotter parts of the season.

Years ago I read to Larry, my husband and fellow farmer, as he drove us endlessly from our home in Austin to our farm in Milam County. We were trying to soak up knowledge on organic vegetable growing, to transfer it from the pages of New England farmers' books to our Texas frontier reality. It was 1991, our first year to farm "commercially." A real gamble, but what did we know? The dirt there (sand, really) had been very good for our personal garden for the past nine years, and raising vegetables organically really hadn't proven impossible. But the growing of food for a family and the growing of food for families are only marginally related, we later found out.

No matter to us. We were enthralled with the idea. Infatuated with the romance of it, of living off the land, growing clean food for our friends, even just making enough money to be able to continue to do it. With little to lose — we hadn't been generating any monetary wealth lately anyway, as the Texas real estate depression was just beginning to ease up — we spent nearly every weekend there, and often one of us would spend the in-between days there as well. Commuting to a farm 75 miles away was the only downside we could see.

When we weren't tending the vegetable plants, we'd walk in the woods and swim in the tank that abutted the growing field. The water was cool and warm, as if on whims, and tiny fish nibbled at our toes. We were enamored. It was heaven.

The crops we raised that first year, on about an acre, we brought back to Austin and sold at our little farm stand in front of Wiggy's liquor store at West Sixth and Blanco, in our neighborhood. Perhaps an odd location, but the owner was very supportive of organic growing, and it was a walking neighborhood, with Sweetish Hill Bakery close by. Outside, on the sidewalk, we explained what organic meant, or typically, what it didn't include (chemicals, synthetics — we didn't yet know it also shouldn't include genetically modified crops). We always sold out quickly.

Then, the next year, 1992, we bought five acres complete with a historic farmhouse in East Austin. The commute was over; we could live at the farm. Our daughter, Tracy, moved in with us and together we cleared the land and put in the first crops. The other farm would be a "getaway." This would be the work farm. There were no farmers' markets, so we kept our farm stand at Wiggy's and considered selling to the grocery stores. But, we were too timid to approach them. Tracy, however, was not, and she marched down to Whole Foods Market's first little store with our beautiful heads of extremely fresh lettuce and, of course, the produce buyers said yes, as her smile was beautiful, too. How could they resist?

And so, through the years, we've raised increasingly larger amounts of produce (under the joint Boggy Creek Farm name), a lot of it going to the grocery store, then through farmers' markets, and eventually we concentrated on our on-farm stand to sell directly to the public. Shortly, we found that increasing desire for the vegetables demanded we grow at the Gause farm also.

Our farm stand, at first a word-of-mouth event, grew as our prowess in the fields grew and as our understanding deepened. We learned that no matter what we do out there, nature will have the final say in whether we bring the crops to the tables, or even if they will germinate in the first place. And we learned that no matter how much of anything we grow, we will always run out. Even if it's eggplant.

We've also found that one of the greatest pleasures of it all is knowing the folks who come to market, of feeling part of their lives, of nourishing them with the produce we grow.

And even with the realities of pests and often cantankerous weather — droughts, floods, freezes, tornados and hail — there is also the reality that some days, some seasons, will be lighted with a sun that shines but does not sear, rain that moistens but does not beat the ground into solidity, good bugs as well as bad, and that the crops will usually be bountiful. Yes, the romance of it all is still there.

Jan. 17, 2006

Between the sun and the moon

Between the sun and the moon, our early morning harvest began. Andrea arrives in the dark. Her first task on harvest day is to cut the baby lettuce salad mix.

"No puedes ver," I teasingly admonish her — looking at the blackness outside — incredulous that she is here so early. I haven't even finished reading my favorite cartoons, and it's difficult to enjoy them with chatty company standing in coat, gloves and hat, waiting for directions on how many basketsful to harvest in the dark. So, I guess how the weather will be on market day, how many folks will come to market, and ascertain the quantity and condition of the lettuce beds, and whether it is a Wednesday market (more can be cut) or a Saturday market (it will be difficult), and then I pull a decision out of the dark sky, knowing that either we'll have too much or not enough.

Then, how many bunches of chard, carrots, radishes, turnips, daikons? She memorizes my random guesses and, satisfied, leaves me to the last cartoon, and heads out into the darkness. It will take her a few minutes to gather her scissors and tubs and walk to the lettuce beds, and by then perhaps there will be a glimmer of light. No matter, she has cut salad mix here for over 10 years; she knows it all by touch. By heart.

Next, the Marias arrive, scissors and tubs in hand. How many, how much, of the items they cut do I desire? As they trudge off into the cold, gusting wind, I shrug into various layers, top my head with a scarf, grab my uncle's knife and a few drip tape connectors, stuff them into a pocket, and walk out into the pre-dawn half-light.

First, I cut cauliflower, choosing it, rather than butterheads, because it's still rather dim out in the field. Cutting butterheads requires extreme light as out-of-season cucumber beetles have eaten away the top color (burgundy) revealing trails of the bright green inner layer of the leaves; eventually there are deadened holes in the outer leaves. Unfortunately, in an hour, in sunlight, I will settle for cutting out the lettuces' tasty "hearts" and leaving the insects with the rest. These decisions are made in the field, most often with great angst. But the cauliflower is simple: either big enough, or not. The size that I deem acceptable is determined by the quantity we have at a particular time.

I pass by the rows of new broccoli. Another week, I surmise. I bend to cut more white cauliflower while the morning sun struggles above the houses to the east, as if cresting mountains. Its strong glare must be an affront to the paleness of the setting moon in the west. We are in between them. Surely, outshone, the moon will now retreat, dimly. It is possibly 7:30 a.m., but who knows for certain? Only the younger Maria wears a watch. We ask her, if we have a desperate need for numbers.

My eyes, scorched by looking fully into the face of the sun, see the white cauliflower as pale yellow for a while. I'll next add true golden ones, "Cheddars," to the wheelbarrow and a few of the Italian green heirlooms. The purples sit in miniature form under protective furls of little leaves, waiting for a future harvest. There's always a lull between individual crops, but after all, the farm stand is not a grocery store; it's a place of movement — of abundance, then less, then abundance again. It's a place where one vegetable waxes as another wanes. It's a place between the sun and the moon.

The sun soon commands the sky, and the tissue paper moon weakens to invisibility. The wind remains constant, but it too will fade, in time for tonight's freeze. The harvest proceeds in spite of the gusts. The morning lengthens; unneeded layers of clothing will be tied around the waist, then hung upon water faucets, then retrieved and stored in the salad shed as the sun warms the harvesters, and the crops for the next harvest.

Feb. 10, 2006

Leeks and leaks

It was odd the way the tines of the spading fork just slipped right on into the soil. It was damp all the way down to the bottom of the leek's delicious roots. Almost mud. Oh my, so this is what it's like to have a rain! Of course, I'd been irrigating a lot, in preparation for this weekend's winter, so the combination of that water plus the 1/4-inch of rain we got today made the soil wet. Head hen Aunt Penny and I were working as fast as we could to dig the leeks (I) and consume the found worms (she), as we both knew the worst was promised in the next hour.

The leeks, the first of the cold season, aren't big, but they think that spring has already come, so it's time to dig them — before they get randy on us. The threat of a bloom stalk is real, with the warm January we had. They are planted too deeply to just pull them out, even in wet soil, and the impatient amongst us who simply jerk on them will wind up with a sudden, disappointing, separation between the white shank and the green stalk. The best part will still be buried. So each plant must be dug with the fork — individually. Furthermore, the thrust of the fork must be straight down; the careless amongst us will likely angle the fork into the leek and be rewarded with one for the kitchen instead of the market table. It happens anyway, as it's hard to maintain concentration for long, and we adore leeks just as much as anybody at the market, so maybe we slack off just a bit on purpose.

Soon my shoes were becoming heavy, so we decided that 80 leeks were enough to start the market. More could be dug tomorrow, perhaps under better conditions. Auntie hurried, unencumbered, back to the root washing station in the barn, while I trundled the wheelbarrow full of leeks.

Months ago, Cousin Claire and I had started building a "straw bale" enclosure under the open barn, high enough to protect main root-harvester Andrea's head from the north wind, but low enough so mine could see what was going on out in the field. We built until we reached the point where the plumbing would have to go in, and we were mighty proud of our construction job, placing the first bales upon concrete foot pads to keep any standing water from rotting the lowest tier. We did our work on a cool, windy day, and congratulated ourselves on such a good windbreak. Then the men installed the plumbing and the tubs and quickly finished the surrounding walls. They used no foundation pads, and to tell you the truth, their stacking job had some interesting crevices and angles. But, as Larry explained, it's all going to be mulch in the field by June.

Oh. All of it? He'd stacked a bunch of bales next to the washing room and I'd thought those would be sufficient for the field, and that maybe we could retain the washroom walls. Before this season, we washed all of our root crops outside, with absolutely no protection from rain or the north wind. Root washing cannot take place in the salad shed, for at the very minute that roots need cleaning, salad is being washed. That process does not tolerate muddy beets, carrots, turnips, onions or leeks. At times, during horrid winters, root washing was a ghastly experience, as there is a lot of spraying water involved. The object is to knock the dirt off with a spirited stream of water, but the spray nozzle always seems lacking in direction, with little arterial streams sneaking away from the target and onto the operator.

Actually, the same nozzle, beset with the same leaks, continues its devious work in the straw bale room. And so, quickly, even though I had on my canary-yellow rain jacket, my face was wet, an exposed triangle on my shirt was damp and the legs of my pants were not only muddy, but soaking wet. And, as a first course in cleanliness, I sprayed the leeks while they were still in the wheelbarrow, and because there are leaks in the wheelbarrow, the dirt floor was soon a pool of water. Aunt Penny hovered in the far corner, the driest and the warmest, as she didn't trust the spray one bit.

She was already damp from the rain, and the worst had now arrived — a strong, cold winter wind. All I could think of, besides getting the leeks done quickly, was how lucky I was not to be processing them outside. I shared that thought with Aunt Penny, but she burbled that she wouldn't have ever been fool enough to be out there with me. Chastised, I worked so fast that I didn't often gaze out to the field. Besides, the wind, raging over the top of the straw wall, was impertinent to say the least. Either I should have been shorter, or Cousin Claire and I should have foregone the view and stacked another row of bales on top. Hindsight, on a day like this.

Sept. 26, 2006

La niebla

At first I thought it was dust. But with the morning's heavy dew, surely it wasn't.

I had dragged the water hoses through the 200-foot-long shade house, doing the onerous task first — and completely — so that my subsequent trips back and forth, and up and down the beds could be, well, idyllic.

And they were. I switched on the spray wand, and the water, with much pent-up energy, surged out to meet the sun, which was just now visible through the tall, east-side trees. Instantly, as the vigorous mists of water hit the plants and soil, the "dust" arose. Confused, I waved the wand over the newly sown Succulent Spinach seeds which sat partly exposed in already dampened soil. The dust rose again and I realized that it was, instead, la niebla — fog.

Raising the wand high, I turned, and facing the climbing sun, showered the line of basil. The effect was sublime. Fog rose up like smoke wherever the warm spray encountered the cool soil and leaves. I called to Andrea and Las Dos Marias to witness the magic. They stood still, just as transfixed as I. "La neblina!" Andrea called, excitedly. And it was — a delicate gauzy mist of moisture hanging heavily enough to be noticed and floating lightly enough to be almost an illusion.

Continuing along the beds, I fogged the emerging white turnips, the chicories, baby arugula and, of course, the future signature crop of the fall/winter season, the Succulent Spinach. It is the first bed, of what I hope will be many this season, full of the tender, nutty-flavored baby leaves — the most miraculous crop to ever come out of East Austin, which used to be home to acres of the fine stuff.

At the farm stand, I brought up the subject of the "Spinach Scare." Edging close to a woman, like a seller of forbidden pleasures, I threw open one side of an imaginary trench coat and whispered over her shoulder, "Hey lady, want some spinach?" She jumped, either horrified or just startled, and exclaimed, wide-eyed, "Where IS IT?" "Oh," I replied, smiling, "There isn't any yet; I was just testing the market."

It was the bad girl in me. Not, of course, that I want to poison anyone. I am alarmed as anyone else at the tragedies and the betrayal of trust felt by folks just simply wanting to eat well. There's little danger of the bad E.coli here, since we aren't farming next to a feedlot, but the recent news makes me want to grow more than ever before. Curious, isn't it?

Perhaps it's because I never got to be a "hippie." I was immersed in art and raising children during the swelling of the "anti-movement," which swelled not at all in 1970s Oak Hill — then, an almost rural outpost just southwest of Austin. In those days, you could drive around in circles on U.S. 290 and not hit anything except perhaps a pickup load of deer hunters if it were October. The rest of the time, there was no traffic (or dissent.) However, if there had been traffic, and if there had been a car wreck with casualties, I doubt that an entire nation would have given up driving cars.

And this time it was an accident of spinach. But it could have been any mass-grown, machine-tended-harvested-processed leaves with water from compromised sources.

I thought about all of this as I sprayed municipal water on the white spinach seeds receiving the blessings of the sun's rays, and drinking in the niebla created by the collision of differing temperatures. As warmth penetrated the soil bed, temperatures fused, and the fog dissipated. The first show of magic was over. Now, I hope for the blessed magic of the second act: germination. And plenty of it.

The Two Marias saw the news regarding "la espinaca" from California, and they say they can't wait to begin cutting our baby leaves, one by one, with scissors, by hand. They take great pride in presenting bushel baskets full of the emerald bounty to the farm stand tables. East Austin's finest.

source: http://www.austin360.com/food_drink/content/food_drink/stories/2007/01/31boggycreek.html
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Note from SH: Here's some Austin reality too !

Posted on Sun, Feb. 04, 2007

But the perks sure are nice
By JAY ROOT
STAR-TELEGRAM AUSTIN BUREAU

VO
More photos
AUSTIN -- They like to call themselves citizen legislators. But there may not be a part-time job anywhere in America that comes with the kinds of perks that members of the Texas Legislature can collect.

With just 12 years of service, they can retire at age 50, get state-paid healthcare and collect a yearly pension nearly five times greater than their salary, records show. Yes, that salary is a paltry $7,200 a year, but lawmakers also get an extra $19,460 in "per diem" payments while in regular session at current per diem rates, which go up annually.

The perks start to add up once you throw in the free parking, the wining and dining from lobbyists, and all the campaign money used for living expenses, critics say. Many say the notion that lawmakers work part time is outdated, arguing that they should get fewer perks in exchange for a reasonable -- and transparent -- benefit package.

"Without a doubt, legislators have found ways to compensate themselves for their years of service. They have hidden hefty pensions and their medical benefits from public view as well," said Tom "Smitty" Smith, head of the state branch of Public Citizen, a liberal watchdog group. "What we favor is paying them $75,000 a year, reducing their retirement and eliminating the abilities to use campaign funds to help support them while in office."

Efforts to change lawmakers' wages and cut back their often hidden perks are generally greeted like the bubonic plague in the Legislature. Rep. Pete Gallego, D-Alpine, is pushing a bill that would cut off pension benefits to legislators convicted of crimes of moral turpitude, but he acknowledges that getting it and other ethics measures passed will be an "uphill climb."

"It's changing a system that has operated for some time," he said. "I'm not sure there are that many people who want to see it change."

Another lawmaker, Rep. Hubert Vo, D-Houston, is also swimming against the tide with legislation tying their pensions to the salaries of Texas teachers. Right now the pensions are tied to what state district judges get, so when legislators raised those salaries in 2005 to $125,000 a year, they increased their own pensions by 23 percent.

Free health insurance

Lawmakers also get full healthcare benefits, both as active members and in retirement. As they consider cutting back state healthcare benefits to the poor this year, 100 percent of the cost of their own health insurance premiums will be picked up by Texas taxpayers, records show.

Meanwhile, the city of Austin also provides perks, giving state lawmakers parking privileges at the Austin airport and any of its coin-operated meters, free dips at the famous Barton Springs swimming hole, and complimentary rounds of golf at any city-owned course, records show.

And though wining and dining aren't listed in the official benefit package of the "elected class," as legislators are formally known within the state retirement system, that also comes with the job. They and their staffers collectively receive millions of dollars in free meals, drinks, travel junkets, lodging and gifts from the special-interest lobby, records show.

From Jan. 1, 2005, to Oct. 10 of last year, registered lobbyists spent $5 million in entertainment and gifts for lawmakers and their staffers, according to figures compiled by Texans for Public Justice, a campaign watchdog group. The numbers include spending on close family members and certain executive branch employees.

In a new twist, Texans for Lawsuit Reform, a pro-business group that has successfully pushed measures making it harder for lawyers to sue and win big jury verdicts, has begun sponsoring an annual event for female lawmakers and staffers: Instead of just offering martinis and hors d'oeuvres, they got manicures, pedicures and massages on "TLR's Girls' Night Out" at the swanky Four Seasons last week.

"We had a huge turnout," said TLR's Sherry Sylvester. "This is a very relaxing kind of venue."

Cost figures for the event were not available yet.

Campaign funds

While lobbyists spend to entertain politicians, many lawmakers also use their own campaign funds to finance living expenses, doling out thousands of dollars on cars, cable TV and furniture, as well as maintaining second homes in Austin. A study of campaign spending habits of state senators, conducted in 2004 by the watchdog group Campaigns for People, found that only 40 percent of the money went for politicking.

The rest went for items such as rent and car payments and club memberships, as well as boosting the pay of their government staff, the study found. Fred Lewis, the Austin activist who wrote the report, said his research has shown that the vast majority of legislators who get re-elected year after year without serious competition are "using their contributions to eat well, drink well and live well."

That may sound like a good deal for taxpayers since the campaign money comes from private donors. But Lewis said average Texans actually get charged more than they should because lawmakers are returning the favor to their contributors with state-funded largesse and costly special-interest legislation.

"We are being extremely penny wise and pound stupid," he said.

The law regarding campaign contributions seems clear. It says the lawmakers can't "convert the contribution to personal use." In practice, however, critics say the law is too vague and has allowed members to live large on private donations, which are used on luxury condos, plane tickets to conferences in Europe and items like satellite radio subscriptions or football tickets.

It's illegal to purchase real estate with campaign money, but numerous lawmakers have used campaign dollars to pay rent on homes that are put in the names of their spouses, who then use the money to finance a mortgage. An opinion by the Texas Ethics Commission says the practice is legal if the home is the spouse's "separate property," but it has still been controversial.

'Perception counts'

Rep. Toby Goodman, R-Arlington, said he took all the necessary steps to legally remove any personal ownership from homes he lived in while serving as a legislator in Austin. But he was criticized for paying rent to his wife from his campaign funds and ended up losing his seat in the November elections. Goodman said it was perfectly legal -- and discussed in advance with Ethics Commission lawyers -- but, in the campaign setting, was easily criticized.

"If I had it to over again, I wouldn't do it," Goodman said. "In a political campaign, perception counts."

Looking back, Goodman said he found his 16 years in the Legislature to be among the most rewarding experiences of his life -- but not for any perks. He said the notion of legislative service as a part-time job is about as realistic as sunbathing at the North Pole. Though some lawmakers abuse the system, Goodman, who is eligible to collect $46,000 a year in gross pension pay, said he would have made a lot more money practicing law in Arlington than making law in Austin.

The pension "is not that great," Goodman said, noting that he was already fully vested in the system after six two-year terms. "If I was in it for the pension, I would have quit after 12 years."

The perks and benefits

The framers of the Texas Constitution envisioned legislators as part-time politicians who would do the people's work in Austin once every two years and then go home to abide by any new laws they passed. But in modern times, the perks and benefits have come to include far more than their paltry $600-a-month salary. Here is a snapshot of what legislators can expect from this "part-time" job:

Annual salary, per the state constitution, of $7,200.

Per diem payments worth $19,460 per member in 2007. ($139 a day during any regular or special session, including weekends, holidays and adjournments)

Yearly pensions for vested legislators, allowing retirement at age 50 for members with 12 years of service, or at age 60 for those with at least eight years. (A 20-year veteran legislator could retire at 50 with a $57,500 annual pension.)

Lifetime retiree healthcare for any member with eight or more years of elected service. As with active members, the state pays 100 percent of the premiums.

Wide discretion to use campaign funds, often tapped for travel, entertainment, car leases and furniture, as well as maintaining second homes in Austin.

Free meals and entertainment, all-expenses-paid travel junkets, golf outings, skeet shoots -- even manicures, pedicures and massages -- all courtesy of special-interest lobbyists.

Blanket exemption from jury service, even when the Legislature is not in session.

Free parking for members and spouses at the Austin airport and city parking meters, free golf at city courses, free swimming at Barton Springs and other pools, courtesy of the city of Austin.

SOURCES: Texas Employee Retirements System, Texas Ethics Commission, city of Austin

They earn $7,200 a year for a part-time job.

But their daily allowance adds up to about $20,000 in the regular session.

They get thousands of dollars in free meals, drinks, even manicures.

Not to mention being able to finance cars and maintain second homes in Austin, at times paid for with campaign funds.

And after 12 years of service, they can retireat age 50, get free healthcare and collect an annual pension of almost $35,000.

Meet your Texas legislators.

Jay Root, 512-476-4294 jroot@star-telegram.com