Photography by David Ondrik

I’m reading Barbara Kingsolver’s above mentioned book. Here’s a heartening passage:

“History has regularly proven it drastically unwise for a population to depend on just a few varieties for the majority of its sustenance.”

This is in reference to the “streamlining” of agriculture. For instance, in the early 80s there were around 5,000 varities of non-hybrid vegetables in seed catalouges. In the late 90s it was 600. I wonder what it is now.

Image from pdphoto.org

This morning I went to take photos at Los Poblanos. They were harvesting carrots, and my CSA project is missing some shots of how the food gets out of the ground. I don’t think any of the CSAs have Milk, which would be pretty interesting to shoot But I digress. It was also a great opportunity to meet the pigs, who really Brought the Noise (and the odor), and take their photos. Oh, and I’ve never quite gotten a good shot of the bee hives, so I went to do that as well.

That’s when the fun started. I managed to piss of a hive guardian. I was just Startin’ Up A Posse, but they didn’t understand my intentions. I guess it’s my own fault; I noticed that I was being buzzed, but I didn’t think I was that close, and I “almost had a good shot.” I forgot that I should listen to their Protest and Survive. Quickly thereafter, the Fierce Hive Guardian landed on my camera and was so angry she was trembling all over. She was an amazing color in the sunlight and threatening a Chromatic Death for my transgression. I decided to retreat at that point, because I’m the Man, but my lame peace offering wasn’t good enough at that point. She followed me a ways and then attached herself, like a Parasite, to my shirt, in my left armpit area. It wasn’t against the skin, so I had a great Pipeline to the little critter. She was trembling in rage and I can only assume trying to figure out the best angle to let me have it with its stinger. I was truly in the Belly of the Beast.

At this point the farmers are asking if I was stung, and I thought “not yet.” Advice was shouted: don’t flail, stay calm, let them crawl on you, (suck it up if you get stung dumb ass). Okay, that last one wasn’t actually verbalized, but I was thinking it. At this point, Angry Hive Guardian flew off my armpit and landed behind my right ear, kind of where my skull and spine connect. And proceeded to attempt to bore into my brain.

Alcides, the South Valley Farm Manager, decided to try and get it off me, so came over and scooped it up in his hat, took it a little ways off and let it go. I guess a switch had been thrown in the little lady though, and she was right back, snuggling my skull. I was advised to walk calmly down the row, away from the hive and the workers so that the entire hive didn’t get riled up. So I did. And she stayed there, shaking in anger, snuggling against me, and oddly not stinging me. After a few feet, I decided enough was enough, so scooped her up in my hand, figuring a sting in the hand is better than the back of my head. It was like holding a fuzzy ball of energy. I threw her away from me (bad plan, maybe she was finally starting to chill out?), but she STILL wasn’t having any of that and came right back.

At this point, I’m sorry to admit, I decided that either I needed to kill her before she stung me or she’d sting me and then die anyway. Self interest runs strong, so I scooped her up again (which really was an amazing sensation), squeezed a little (messy), set her down and quickly stepped on her. After she was kind enough to not actually sting me, and was clearly just trying to (angrily) make a new friend, reaching out across language and species barriers, I smooshed her. I think there’s a greater metaphor here, but I’ll leave it at that. And apologize to Anthrax.

And that means there’s a new Print of the Month! This month is a return to film-made silver prints. Check it out on the Collect page!

These are from a few months ago, but I think they need to be added to the pile.