Auntie Annie's Fields, LLC

While I was training to become Lamaze childbirth educator, I got the idea that spring was one of the most dangerous times to live on a farm. I read that babies who were born during certain times of the year in farm country are more likely to have birth defects because they were in a critical time of their prenatal development during the spring when the fields were being heavily sprayed. We moved to our farm in June of last year, and all year I’ve been remembering that study about the birth defects and wondering if I would be able to make it through my first spring living here.

I have a hard time with chemicals, even those that don’t bother most people. For example, half an hour after using sunblock, I feel so sick to my stomach that I have to lie down. I have given up on the stuff and am using long sleeves and hats instead. The chemicals they spray on crops are even worse. Last July, when I was in Iowa for a Quaker gathering, they were using planes to do some cropdusting nearby, and I was moderately sick for a week. For a couple of those days, I had to cancel most of my other plans and sleep. This problem embarrasses me somehow, and I want to explain that I was not always this way, and that I am not trying to be difficult or overdramatic. On a rational level, I know this explanation should not be necessary.

Given my problem, moving to a farm nestled in corn and soybean fields seemed like a bad idea. Before we moved, we did some research, and I read about studies that suggest agricultural chemicals may cause various kinds of cancer. I also read that these chemicals tend to become more concentrated inside homes, because they cannot break down the way they would outside. I vowed that I would clean our new house regularly and well, but of course I have not.

In the end, we decided to move to the farm because we could not imagine doing otherwise. On some level though, I have been worried that we would not be able to stay here. I thought that might become clear this spring.

So far, I’ve been aware only of one bout of spraying this spring. My stomach went queezy as I was caring for the chicks outside one morning, and I stepped away from the coop to look around. Down the road I saw a small group of trucks parked in the neighbor’s field. One had a tank on its back. I finished up my work and headed inside instead of tackling some of the other outside projects I had planned for the morning. I had not been inside long when a vehicle drove through the field to my tree line with its long red spray mechanisms outstretched behind it like low, enormous wings. It retreated and returned several times, its loud engine vibrating. Sometimes, throughout that day, I felt a little spacey and nauseated, but it was not a big deal.

The next day, my neighbor planted corn, and now I can see it coming up in beautiful light green rows. I’m happy to see it, but I’m also afraid because I do not know what kind of spraying will happen in that field during the next month or so. Still, it is already the middle of May, and I am doing fine, so I’m starting to believe that we will be able to keep living here.

Now a new fear is forming. I will worry that because we are staying, my children might get cancer when they are adults. I so much wish that growing food did not mean risking my health and fearing for the health of my children. It should not be that way.