It’s prickly. It’s noxious. And on occasion,
it’s got West Marin farmers throwing fits.
"Bad, bad, bad thistle!" Al Poncia said
Monday afternoon, stomping the leafy invader with his red rubber boot.
"This son of a biscuit probably germinated last fall."
The thistle under attack was one of thousands to show
up this winter on Poncia’s ranch, located two miles north of Tomales,
just west of Highway 1. Poncia, a sprightly man of 65 with an unruly
silver ponytail and kind, blue-gray eyes, assails thistles using a variety
of methods including the herbicide 2,4-D.
But as the optimal time for spraying nears, community
activists have decried 2,4-D as a carcinogen and an environmental hazard,
particularly when sprayed from helicopters.
"I call it domestic terrorism," activist
Donna Sheehan declared last week at a protest she organized. She had
planned to spell out "NO 2,4-D" with naked women’s bodies,
but not enough women showed up. Now Sheehan is calling for a moratorium
on the aerial spraying "so we can sit down with all the agencies
and nonprofits and find a solution."
Poncia usually sprays by hand, from his ATV and from
his truck, but after Italian and milk thistles ambushed 50 acres of
his best pastures last year, he didn’t have the time or the resources
to spray from the ground, much less to weed by hand.
He doesn’t like the idea of releasing the chemical
on the land, but Poncia and many other Marin farmers feel they have
no choice. The herbicide gets the job done, so Poncia has decided to
hire another helicopter this year to eradicate newly grown milk thistles.
He plans to spray sometime in the next two weeks.
"If you can wage a war, wage it before the enemy
gets to be as strong as you are," he yelled over the wind on Monday,
pointing with a finger severed at the knuckle five years ago in a mishap
with a pregnant cow’s hoof.
Poncia used the war metaphor in jest, but farmers
really do have to catch thistles early, as they become exponentially
unmanageable if ignored. At the moment, 2,4-D is the most efficient
and cost-effective way to eradicate, Poncia said.
2,4-D
2,4-D was developed in 1946 and is the fourth most
widely used agricultural herbicide in the United States, according to
the US Environmental Protection Agency.
Each year, about 30 million pounds of 2,4-D are released
over pastures and rangelands to kill broadleaf weeds. The chemical causes
the plant’s cells to grow too rapidly, disrupting flow of nutrients
and eventually killing the plant.
In its review of 2,4-D studies in 2005, the EPA and
the Scientific Advisory Panel found "insufficient evidence"
to classify the herbicide as carcinogenic, according to the EPA’s
website, but the same studies (submitted for approval by herbicide producers)
alarmed analysts from California’s Office of Environmental Health
Hazard Assessment.
Proposition 65
The OEHHA announced in December that it intends to
list 2,4-D under Proposition 65, also known as California's Safe Drinking
Water and Toxic Enforcement Act of 1986, in two months. If 2,4-D makes
the list, it will be because it’s a developmental toxicant, meaning
that it can cause birth defects, low birth weight, biological dysfunctions
or psychological or behavior deficits in developing children. The listing
will require herbicide producers to place warning labels on their products.
An array of studies unrecognized by the EPA have also
suggested that 2,4-D might cause cancer, sperm damage, distortions in
grapevine leaves and a variety of other environmental problems. The
EPA acknowledges on its website that there are plenty of nasty consequences
for long-term exposure to high levels of the chemical. "In longer-term
studies, at dose levels above the threshold of saturation for renal
clearance, 2,4-D is toxic to the eye, thyroid, kidney, adrenals, and
ovaries/testes," the website warns.
Questions also remain about whether the application
instructions are always followed, because in windy or warm conditions
the spray can drift from its intended area. But Marin Agricultural Commissioner
Stacy Carlsen, who issues permits for the spraying, said he keeps a
vigilant eye on herbicide applications.
The government’s war against thistle
In an effort relieve farmers of the financial burdens
of thistle eradication in Marin County, Carlsen has been crusading for
grants from the federal and California governments. He received a $30,000
grant for thistle control last year, but it’s not nearly enough
to cover all the expenses the farmers would incur, should they abandon
2,4-D, he said.
Because farming has such deep historic roots in Marin
County, Carlsen and many others believe that all steps to keep the farms
viable must be taken, even if that means continuing to spray 2,4-D.
But not all farmers have found it necessary.
When Susie Schlesinger took over 300 acres next to
the McEvoy Ranch, just off of Point Reyes-Petaluma Road, past the Hicks
Valley Fire Station and the French Cheese Factory, in 1976, thistles
reigned supreme. Her property had been badly overgrazed and the weeds
were taller than she is. Schlesinger, 55, talked to fellow ranchers
about herbicide, but in the end she opted for manual removal.
"My father was a crop duster, but I’m an
organic person," she said. "We poison our land, we poison
ourselves. I wanted to see if I could do it the other way, and I have."
Removing 2,4-D by hand
The other way is not much fun. Schlesinger and her
helpers (when the thistles are at their worst, she hires two) slip on
leather gloves to pull star thistles out of the ground. They pile them
up, throw them in empty feed sacks and deliver them to the dump. Schlesinger
"weedeats" her Italian and bull thistles, then leaves them
for the cows to munch on.
She’s considered releasing goats and beetles
into her fields to eat them, and she’s even tried steaming them
and eating them herself. "They are in the artichoke family, I like
to find alternative uses for things," she said.
Milk thistles have also been used as an herbal remedy
for liver ailments, but their medicinal value doesn’t usually impress
those who have stepped on or been pricked by a spiny thistle. That’s
just part of running an herbicide-free farm, Schlesinger said. Her thistle
hasn’t gained ground only because "there’s been a concerted
effort to get rid of it."
Of course, not every farmer has the time and the resources
to de-thistle by hand. And that’s why the Marin County Agricultural
Commission and Marin Organic, an association of organic producers based
in Point Reyes Station, have called the community to action. On April
22, April 29, May 6 and May 13, a task force will head to the Chileno
Valley to help Sally Gale pull her weeds. Marin Organic executive director
Helge Hellberg hopes that at least 40 people will show, and he encourages
citizens to spend their time solving the problem with manual labor rather
than disparaging the farmers and herbicide.
Marin Organic offers help
"It’s not enough to just say ‘no,’"
Hellberg said. "It might come down to us, as a community, going
out to the ranchers and helping them, if the ranchers are open to that."
Whether all the ranchers would go for it, no one can
say. Al Poncia will take all the help he can get, but he doubts that
the task force would be able to come as often as he needs them. Different
kinds of thistles sprout year round, so it would not be a one-shot deal.
Another possible solution, he said, would be for Donna Sheehan to bring
her troupe of disrobing activists to his farm to spell out "NO
THISTLES."