We awake to the buzz of a low-flying plane, and it’s not the kind that the Reverend Horton Heat sings about. The cornfield next to is getting a dose of pesticide, and as far as we can tell, so are we. As people who go to great lengths and expense to avoid eating pesticides or supporting growers that use it, this is maddeningly ironic. We can smell the stuff, like a cloud of poison gas. We’re surprised that no one else in the RV park seems to care – it makes us want to pick up and leave.
2 responses to “Dusted”
THAT is fucking awful.
if someone found a dead fruit fly on their windshield, thee entire county of Ventura would get nuked with malathion…. fucking farmers run this country. think about it (immigrants, subsidies, pesticides…. biggest farthest reaching industry… even bigger than the war industry, which is doing quite well these days). *barf*
I think the farmers usually wind up getting screwed too – it’s the food processing industry that seems to be running things. Somehow they’re managing to extract profits from farmers, government, and consumers all at the same time…