Gracias a la Abejas: Two Ojai Farmers at Terra Madre
Ojai - A Grower's Paradise
Cloud Cover on a Winter's Night is a Farmer's Friend

GRACIAS A LA ABEJAS: TWO OJAI FARMERS AT TERRA MADRE

By Jim Churchill and Lisa Brenneis

We have been running Churchill Orchard, our little citrus spread in the Ojai Valley, for a number of years now. We've been involved in a variety of projects that support local agriculture and better food, and we're members of the local Slow Food chapter. Every other year Slow Food sponsors the Salone del Gusto, a big meeting in Italy. We were already making plans to attend when we heard about its 2004 sister event, Terra Madre - Slow Food's ambitious international conference of 5,000 small food and fiber producers. The local Slow Food chapter sponsored our application and we were on our way.

As the Oct. 19-23 conference approached, the lack of logistical details forthcoming from Terra Madre's organizers hinted at the magnitude of their task: 5,000 delegates from 128 countries to be housed, fed, transported, and translated. A few weeks before leaving, we blinked and booked a hotel room in Torino (Turin) near the conference site. Four days before departure, we received a housing assignment. We decided to keep our hotel, and forego the crazy, last minute accommodations (and the great stories we'd get out of it.) And off we go.

TUESDAY - Our Terra Madre starts in the Frankfurt airport. A dozen food artisans from the Western U.S. drift in - jet lagged, excited - for the last leg of the trip to Torino. We see Tim Bates and Karen Schmitt from the Apple Farm in Philo, holistic range management mentor Alan Savory, peach grower/author Mas Masumoto, Albert and Vivian Straus of the Straus Dairy farm family, and Richard and Candace Spiegel, a pair of single-flower-honey artists from Hilo, Hawaii. Everybody's curious about what the next few days will bring, and nobody knows much. But all are game.

We land, check in, and board a bus to the conference site, a '60s-modern aircraft hangar called the Palazzo de Lavoro. Hitting the lobby is a rush - milling around and dozing on top of their luggage are people from every corner of the earth. What ever else happens over the next four days, these people will make the trip worthwhile.

WEDNESDAY - Opening plenary is scheduled for 3 p.m. We arrive early, soak up the scene, and compare notes with our fellow Californians. We are rare birds - citrus farmers from Southern California. Fisherfolk, livestock producers, honey producers, cheese producers are present in larger numbers. Northern California is well represented.

We score our headphones, and settle into our seats in the big theater. The opening ceremonies are magnificent and moving and reveal more of the political agenda of our hosts and their strategy for engaging us. The international Slow Food movement was born in Italy, and hospitality may be the primary mode of Italian communication. We are welcomed by a singing group from a nearby Alp, who pass a large bowl of wine and drink as they sing. The drinking song extends the wine bowl and drinking challenge to the mayor of Torino, and a couple of esteemed and exotic delegates. Then the master of ceremonies invites one delegate from each country to mount the stage and take a seat as the roll call of countries is recited. The roll call is moving; when the natural dignity of ordinary people is honored by other ordinary people, the result can be extraordinary. We are addressed by Slow Food founder Carlo Petrini, and by Vandana Shiva, Alice Waters, the mayor, the governor, and Italy's Minister of Agriculture and Forestry. We are all feeling pretty honored by now, and awed by our role as pieces of this pageant.

Stuff we learned

The basic plan seems to be to use the general assembly to describe the looming threat on the global horizon: mega-consolidation, genetic modification, falling commodity prices as a dwindling pool of ever-larger suppliers tightens their grip. Honor the participants, and rally the troops to turn back the tide of those forces threatening farming traditions and cultures all over the world.

Physicist, author, and environmentalist Dr. Vandana Shiva delivered a real stem-winder of a speech, and her central metaphor has stuck with us. "The world is still eating World War II leftovers," she said. Modern agriculture, based on petrochemical fertilizers, herbicides, and pesticides, was developed during WWII. The U.S. - one the few corners of the globe where war was not raging - was called upon to feed the rest of the world. Maximum production was the highest priority. This style of agriculture, she said, "wages war upon the soil, air, and water, and war upon our bodies." She referred to the World Trade Organization plan for a globalized agriculture as waging a "war on farmers, and a war upon the earth." She called for a new agriculture based on economies of peace. Since Vandana planted that seed, we've been thinking about how agriculture requires peace; you cannot farm in a war zone. North America's geographic isolation (and our talent for exporting our war to other parts of the world) has allowed us to farm in peace for 150 years, even as generations of displaced farmers from less fortunate regions have immigrated to the U.S. to pursue their livelihood.

The stories roll on: Honey used as medicine in the Caucasus and in Mexico, cliff-scaling wild honey hunters from Nilgiris in India, a honey museum in Belarus, the stingless Mayan bee used as a cataract treatment. Armenia, Kenya, Gambia - a rich tapestry of art and lore, commerce and competition unrolls. A few concerns surface over and over: pesticide use can threaten the bees and contaminate the honey. Loss of bee habitat can end production. All the beekeepers present (except Mike from London) plan to sell their increased production of honey into the world export market, and there was widespread sentiment to organize quickly in order to maintain the honey's value and quality. Who knew that honey made such a difference in the world? We buy two jars of Italian "bitter" chestnut honey to take home.

While Lisa soaked up the buzz on honey, Jim attended a session on "Designations of Origin as a means of raising the profile of a local area." The idea is that the producer of a traditional product registers a trademark on the product, the production method, and the place of origin, with the European Community; the consumer, in purchasing the produce, purchases not only a product but also a set of values and a documented story.

As Pixie tangerine growers in the Ojai Valley, we're trying to do something similar - create a "terroir" for Ojai Valley Pixie tangerines in the absence of any framework permitting or tradition supporting this. In Europe, where they have food traditions extending back centuries, local food traditions are formally recognized and receive legal protection. Think of wines from Burgundy or Gorgonzola cheese.

The first speaker shows slides documenting centuries of cheese production traditional to the Monte Rossa Valley in the Italian Alps (you can see a lot of wonderful information at www.macagn.com). The attributes of the cheese have much to do with life in this Alpine valley: the particular grass that the cattle eat, and the fact that the water is 800 meters below the meadows. The cheese goes to market on mules, because there are no vehicles up there.

The second speaker represents tribal producers of guarana, a high-caffeine tropical berry, in the Brazilian jungle. Traditional native producers of guarana are threatened by new intellectual property laws, as local breweries and the likes of Pepsi and Coke seek patents locking up ways to utilize guarana for their own beverages; and by the forces of industrial ag, as cattle production threatens both the jungles and the bees essential to the cultivation of guarana. He pleads for help from Slow Food to protect traditional methods of beekeeping, and called for "participatory" research to learn about traditional methods of production, and not only "official science."

Jim is both struck and moved by the extraordinary knowledge and care that goes into the production of traditional products in disparate parts of the world.

Scenes from the marketplace

Terra Madre organizers wisely (or inadvertently) have left a large corner of the convention space empty. It does not stay empty for long. Quick-witted delegates have traveled to Torino with bulging suitcases, and they quickly set up an instant farmers' market/international trade show. Our tangerines being out of season, we have nothing to demo but we linger in the marketplace between sessions, enjoying the improbable odd couples sharing demo tables. One favorite trio is a buff Haida gentleman from British Columbia offering succulent smoked salmon. The handsome Haida's neighbor, a waifish Siberian Russian from Sakhalin Island, offers samples of four wildcrafted teas: leaves and flowers of the forest, a meadow mix, a blend of wildflowers, and a mixture of seven wild berries. To drink this tea is to be transported to the rich chilly forests of Easternmost Asia. The tea drinker's neighbor is a witty and opinionated Maori chap from New Zealand, who offers samples of abalone with a side order of indigenous fishing rights.

Closing time

SATURDAY - We all convene for the closing session. The wonderful assemblage of national representatives in native costume is swamped by an admiring throng of camera-toting delegates and international press.

Winona LaDuke, Anishinaabeg tribe, Minnesota producer of native wild rice, four years ago the Green Party candidate for vice president, reminds us of the basics: "Whether they have fins, whether they have wings, whether they have hooves, whether they have roots, whether they have four legs, whether they have two legs, they are our relatives, and we are absolutely dependent on them, and we are no better than them." Her eloquence moves Jim almost to tears; afterwards he asks her for a text of her talk and she replies, "You know, I didn't write it down." Well. (It turns out you can find much of her message in a small book, "Food Is Medicine," available from www.honorearth.org or at 800-EARTH-07.)

Something that probably wouldn't happen in the United States is that important public officials stand up and align themselves and their agencies with the goals of Terra Madre: Enzo Ghigo, the President of the Regional Authority (equivalent and then some to one of our governors), promises that his region will be GMO-free as long as he is governor. The Minister of Agriculture and Forestries, Gianno Alemanno, notes that of the many "agricultural" conferences he has attended, Terra Madre is the first to put actual farmers and food producers at the center of the stage. He tells us we (that is, the world) must decide whether to recognize that the production of food is different from other WTO preoccupations because it must reflect local differences. We must end pitting farmers against farmers, and we must end nonfarmers profiting at the expense of farmers. Trade must enhance farming rather than spoil its lands. The living world must be protected from the demands of profit and intellectual property rights. From these speeches, we hazard an interpretation that perhaps industrial agriculture has gotten so big that entire countries, such as Italy, have decided they're unable to compete, and that sustainable agriculture is in their interest. Perhaps Italy is setting out to organize the international search for another viable way, and wouldn't that be wonderful?

During this final session, phalanxes of Central Casting security agents fill the hall: buff, wearing suits and sunglasses, with little wires running to earpieces. We happen to be in on a secret (that the surprise final speaker is to be Prince Charles) so the security presence doesn't seem out of place.

When the Italian public officials are done speaking, they all leave. And with them goes the entire security squad, who seemed to have been protecting the Minister of Agriculture. Evidently it's dangerous business to argue that the living world must be protected from the demands of profit and intellectual property rights. Much more dangerous than being Prince of Wales, because there is no noticeable security presence after they left.

Still, we haven't reached the end! Slow Food founder Carlo Petrini speaks to us of three worlds: "One is poor, ruined, and needy; another is balanced and sustainable; yet another is rich but committed to an unsustainable lifestyle. Beware, you of this rich world; you can no longer profit by exporting your poisons to the south. Farmers and scientists must begin to work together."
Mr. Petrini then introduces the closest thing the United States has to food royalty, Alice Waters, who introduces His Royal Highness, Charles, Prince of Wales.

Prince Charles addresses us with humility, humor, and great eloquence. You can find the entire text of his talk at slowfood.com (look under sloweb); here are excerpts:

"…Imposing industrial farming systems on traditional agricultural economies is actively destroying both biological and social capital and eliminating the cultural identity which has its roots in working on the land. It is also fueling the frightening acceleration of urbanization throughout the world and removing large parts of humanity from meaningful contact with Nature and the food that they eat…"

"…The missing ingredient in these great plans is always sustainable livelihoods and its absence increases the existing, awful drift towards degraded, dysfunctional, and unmanageable cities…. It is a sobering thought that almost all of the next one billion of net global population growth (over the next 12 to 15 years) will take place in urban slums.… What will these conditions breed for the future? Hopelessness, crime, extremism, terrorism? Who will deal with these chickens when they come home to roost on a globalized perch?"

"…the importance of your Movement cannot be overstated…After all, the food you produce is far more than just food, for it represents an entire culture - the culture of the family farm. It represents the ancient tapestry of rural life; the dedicated animal husbandry, the struggle with the natural elements, the love of landscape, the childhood memories, the knowledge and wisdom learned from parents and grandparents, the intimate understanding of local climate and conditions, the hopes and fears of succeeding generations. You represent genuinely sustainable agriculture, and I salute you."

A neater summation of Terra Madre there could not have been. We left inspired and humbled both.

OJAI - A GROWER'S PARADISE

Ojai’s lush landscape

Whenever two food growers meet for the first time, the conversation will inevitably begin with this simple question: What are you growing? This is true for backyard and balcony gardeners, small family farmers, and owners of giant operations measured in square miles. And while this may be an oversimplification, it seems to me that most growers fall into two broad groups - those who plant as many different crops as they possibly can, and those who focus on one or two main products.

By nature, small gardens tend to include an abundance of variety. Who can browse the annual seed catalogs and not be enticed by the thousands of options presented there? I couldn't. Growing up, I spent hundreds of hours glued to Gurney's seed catalogs, dreaming of gardens that would include nearly every flower and vegetable that the friendly folks in Yankton, South Dakota, could provide. It didn't matter that my growing space was very limited; I was hopelessly infected with the diversity bug that afflicts so many gardeners.

And being raised in Ojai's favorable climate only fueled this disorder. Few places on our planet have conditions that allow so many different crops to flourish as they do here. Summer and winter vegetables, citrus, avocados, stone fruits, apples, pears, walnuts, pomegranates, figs, olives, lavender and other herbs, and even subtropicals like cherimoya and sapote are found thriving in Ojai. From a grower's standpoint, it's like being a kid in a candy store. I sometimes wonder: By what restraint do certain people plant only one crop?

I've been fortunate to have my hands in Ojai's soil for most of my life. And even though I was nestled in this gardener's paradise, I sometimes dreamed of places that offered specific growing conditions not found here. In my 20s, a decade in which I was nearly obsessed with winemaking, I explored the possibility of growing vineyards in Yamhill County, Oregon, or in the Santa Rita Hills east of Lompoc. And after the December 1990 freeze leveled our bananas and papayas, my family cautiously listened to my ideas of relocating to warmer and wetter climes. With not-so-hidden rolling eyes, they entertained my search for farmland near Brisbane, Australia, and later, Hilo, Hawaii. In the end, however, I came to realize that we were already in one of the most favorable growing places on earth. Besides, we could always buy an Oregon pinot noir or a bunch of bananas, right?

And so, in 1996, we purchased a dilapidated local orange orchard, moving us from backyard gardeners into the family farmer category. After clearing the land, chipping up the old trees, and planting cover crops, we were faced with this question: What can we grow?

The short answer is: Just about anything. And this presents a problem for people like me, who can't seem to focus on one or two single crops. In writing this, I realize that in the past year we grew over 150 different varieties - mostly tree fruits. Yes, I know how much easier life would be if I planted a monocrop orchard. Cultural practices, harvesting, and marketing would be effortless compared to the way we do it now. But if we are to discover the best cultivars for Ojai, experiments with diversity are essential. That's my logical rationale anyway; the drive to grow "just about anything" is still there.

Although most local growers focus on orchards today, Ojai was once home to more row-crop farms. A few years ago, as I was weeding our orchard nearest the road, an elderly gentleman stopped his car and came to talk with me. He told me that when he was a child, this was a wonderful tomato field. This makes sense, as Ojai's summers are relatively warm, and we have a long frost-free period. Summer annuals are sure to grow well here, especially if the heat-loving crops such at tomatoes, peppers, and melons are planted in early summer, after our May gray and June gloom have left us. For instance, I try to delay seeding melons until June 10, to take advantage of the 100 warmest days in our summer.

But it's the wide range of fruit tree possibilities that makes our area remarkable. I can't think of a better place anywhere to grow an almost unlimited variety of fruits. It's not much of a stretch to say that we can grow just about any citrus and stone fruit, and many subtropicals. In poring over the hundreds of citrus acquisitions archived at UC Riverside, and the thousands of deciduous fruit tree specimens grown by UC Davis, I never feel limited by our climate on what we can grow.

This is because Ojai is uniquely situated. In most years, we get nearly the same winter chill as Santa Ynez, which allows our stone fruit to thrive. Our winter low temperatures are sufficiently cold to grow all but the highest-chill deciduous fruit trees. On the other hand, we are south of the Transverse Range, in an area providing nearly ideal conditions for citrus. True, most growers protect their citrus trees at least a few nights each winter. But in most years, no protection is really necessary. There are thousands of backyard trees, and numerous orchards, that prosper without any frost control measures. The downside, of course, is a risk to the citrus harvest when that periodic hard freeze visits.

Freezing weather aside, this is truly fruit tree grower paradise. And if one is fortunate to have both valley floor and hillside growing conditions, the possibilities are even greater. On the surrounding hillside slopes, nighttime lows are considerably warmer than the valley floor where the cold air drainage settles. On cold nights, I've measured 40-degree temperatures on Saddle Mountain while it was 23 degrees on Creek Road, only a few hundred feet directly below. The warmer nights in elevated terrain means that one can grow more tender avocados, like the Hass variety, as well as many subtropicals. There is a trade-off, however, as the hillsides and slopes tend to have poorer soils than the valley floor.

These principles were well known to a family friend, Mr. Peirano, whose ranch was located across the entrance to Lake Casitas. By taking advantage of the various microclimates on his land, he grew many kinds of fruits and vegetables. His farm and house are now gone, although remnants of his place still remain. About 10 years ago, I was given permission by the Casitas Municipal Water District to go to his old homesite and collect whatever plant material I could find. Guided by fading memories of the orchards and gardens, I walked the land from top to bottom. At the lowest (and coldest) parts of his property, there were cactus pears and grapevines. Along the road up the hill were apricot and pomegranate trees. Up higher, I found avocado and sapote trees. And this is only a fraction of what Mr. Peirano once grew - everything else (including his figs and citrus) was removed. Joyously, I came home with scion and budwood from his apricots, pomegranates, and grapes. I passed over the cactus pears (it's a long story, involving my tongue and a pair of tweezers). Even I have limits.

And while our orchards are on the valley floor, we grow roughly half citrus and half deciduous fruit trees. In most years we have plenty of chill for our apricots, plums, pluots, peaches, and nectarines, while staying just above the cold-damage limit for citrus. In all honesty, I believe that much of the Ojai Valley is better suited to stone fruits than citrus. With lower water and nutrient demands, and fewer concerns about freezes, deciduous fruit trees are a natural for Ojai.

But there is much more than just being able to grow food crops. Variety or mass production without quality is futile in our demanding marketplace. Thankfully, Ojai's climate allows us to grow a huge variety of fruits, and with outstanding quality across the board. Ojai's warm summer days and cool nights, and resultant large swings in daily temperatures, tend to create fruits with a wonderful sugar-acid balance not usually seen in areas with hot days and warm nights. This is something that wine grape growers have known for centuries. For example, if the same cabernet grape cultivar is grown in a place with warm summer days and cool nights, such as Paso Robles, and a place with both warm days and nights, such as the Central Valley, the sugar-acid balance and character of the wines will be completely different. This is an illustration of terroir, that quality of wines attributable to the conditions where they are grown. The terroir factor also applies to fruits such as apricots, plums, peaches, and yes, citrus.

The key is to match the right varieties to the place where they are grown. In Ojai, some citrus growers have been true pioneers, experimenting with the Pixie tangerine when most farmers ignored it. Our climate and geography produces Pixies that have favorable size, color, rind conditions, sweetness, and acidity that have not been duplicated elsewhere. And Pixies are just the beginning. Identifying more varieties that exhibit outstanding and unique local qualities is essential to bringing recognition to Ojai's crops, and making them stand out amongst the competition.

As our farm grows out of its infancy, I see our collection of crops evolving into fewer varieties based on the best selections. This is part of the learning process, as some varieties are simply better suited to our place than others. No matter how hard I try, our Noir des Carmes or Prescott Fond Blanc melons will never be as sweet and flavorful as our Petit Gris de Rennes. Our Santa Rosa, Shiro, and Burbank plums, while very good, can't compare with our Larodas. And it's more than just sweetness. Our Flavor Queen pluots, even at 26 Brix (about 26% sugar), have a hint of acidity to them. But are the fruits better tasting or more identifiable at 23 Brix, with somewhat more acid? I'm slowly discovering that harvesting and marketing are just as important as growing the right varieties.

Ojai growers know that our citrus and other fruits are unbeatable for color, flavor, and other qualities. But how do we convey this to the general public? How does Ojai, with myriad crop options and limited growing area, become known for what we grow? We can start by identifying Ojai as a unique growing region, in both geography and climate. The rest will take time - Ojai's agricultural experience is limited compared to most parts of the world. After a few more generations of experimentation, we will certainly know more about what does best here, and how to coax every nuance out of our harvests.

Others may disagree with me, but I think the ultimate goal of a grower, on any scale, is to go beyond quality and to capture the essence of place in the crops we harvest. If we're persistent, we can bring out the unique characteristics of the fruits we raise - the flavors, textures, and fragrances that are enhanced by our local climate and setting. We should strive to grow produce that will remind those eating it that, without a doubt, it comes from Ojai. In other words, it must not only look and taste great; the crop should also reflect the terroir of this place.

I believe that capturing a quantifiable local influence in the food we grow is an important, yet attainable task. But there's more to Ojai than we can possibly measure. When I walk our orchards, and sense the sheltering mountains that surround us, it's hard not to be charmed by this valley. And on certain evenings, after Vespers and Mass at St. Joseph's, I'm inexplicably drawn to the surrounding East End orange orchards, where the light, smells, and lingering memory of the Angelus bells seem to magnify this enchantment. I wish there were some way to convey this essential quality of Ojai to others, through our crops.

CLOUD COVER ON A WINTER'S NIGHT IS A FARMER'S FRIEND

By Emily Thacher

smudge pots and wind machines dot the Ojai Valley

A year ago my Aunt Aleta London and I were talking over lunch about taking care of orchards and she reprimanded me for not knowing what an EOT was. After finishing lunch I went home and called my brother and asked if he knew what an EOT was. After finding out he didn't know, I called my aunt's son, Robert, and he didn't know either. So I deduced that my entire generation didn't know what an EOT was, a sure sign of a lack of our parents passing information on to our generation. I returned and told my aunt that I was stumped. In fact, nobody from my generation knew what an EOT was.

The answer is an Engine On Top, a reference to the type of orchard wind machine that requires climbing up to the top of the tower to start it. In Ojai electric wind machines have replaced many EOTs with engines on the bottom. Others have been taken out altogether. Wind machines are expensive to buy, maintain, and operate. Many farmers have simply chosen not to have them anymore. But they do have their place in the world of crop protection.

I've heard lots of opinions and ideas about the wind machines - sometimes incorrectly called "windmills" - that dot the orchards of our valley. They are indeed machines designed to create wind. (A windmill is a device that harnesses the energy of the wind in order to run machinery.) Why on earth, you might wonder, would farmers want to generate wind? And could those few machines generate enough wind to accomplish anything?

There are several reasons farmers like wind. Wind can be used to dry orchards. It is not pleasant to pick fruit when trees are wet, whether it be Pixie Tangerines or Bing cherries. In fact, if cherry or citrus fruit is picked when wet, its skin becomes loose and the fruit will decay. To effectively pick quality fruit, orchards must be dry, which is why you see picking crews working on just about any dry day during the spring in California. This is also one reason cherry farmers may use wind machines or even helicopters to facilitate drying orchards. It is unlikely that a citrus farmer would use a wind machine to dry an orchard for picking. Citrus holds better on a tree than cherries and we can generally wait for a dry day to pick.

So why do Ojai ranchers have wind machines? The answer is frost protection. From November to April Ojai can get an occasional frost damaging enough to freeze citrus fruits and sometimes even cold enough to kill the young trees. Many of our frosts occur when there is no air movement through the Valley from the coast. As a valley, Ojai can trap cool air as cold air sinks and heat rises. Avocados are quite sensitive to frost, which is why they are planted on the slopes, above the areas where cold air settles. Wind and natural airflow - which, in Ojai, follows the Valley's drainage from the northeast to southwest - help to mix cold and warm layers of air. A layer of cold air trapped below a layer of warm air is called an inversion layer. Wind machines are tall enough that they can be turned on to mix the warm air from above with the cold air below and break the inversion layer. If the ceiling of warm air isn't too far up, effective use of wind machines can raise the temperature as much as 10 degrees!

A wind machine is essentially a propeller on a tall post. They sound and function just like a propeller from an airplane, which is why the posts must be bolted tightly to a hefty concrete base. When a wind machine is operating, the propeller turns so fast that it becomes a blur and makes the treetops rustle with the wind. They are very powerful, moving massive amounts of air. You don't want a wind machine to "take off," although this is not unheard of. My neighbor, Harry Sims, told me the story about one of the wind machines at the Kokx Ranch taking off. Harry heard a great noise one cold night. The next day he went over to take a look and the propeller and engine (it was an old EOT) had come apart from the base and flown about 100 feet into the orchard, removing several mature orange trees in its path. Luckily, nobody was hurt. This is one reason why wind machines tend to be located some distance from houses.

Another reason is the noise. Wind machines are loud. They run on propane, gasoline, or electricity. You may have been awakened by the pop-popping of wind machines starting up in the Valley on cold nights as you sleep cozily in your warm bed. The start-up sounds are then followed by the faintly audible whirr, accompanied by others starting up. If you live close enough, that whirr can grow into quite a roar. If the noise bothers you, take a deep breath, think about the farmers out in the cold working to save their crops, and thank them for the green space around you.

Some wind machines have automatic starters, set to go off when the temperature dips below 30 degrees or so. Others must be manually started. On a cold night you will hear them starting up at all hours after sunset. When you hear them, you know it is below 32 degrees, there is an inversion layer (or so the farmers believe), and that your farming neighbors are not going to get a good night's sleep.

There are other methods of frost protection. The least expensive and first line of defense is to increase moisture in the orchard by irrigation. Dispersing water evenly over an orchard as a means of frost protection is a concept that only began in the 1980s with the installation of our current irrigation systems. Water has a high heat capacity; water from wells at 60 degrees radiates lots of heat before freezing - and even more while changing from water to ice. The dew point is also critical; the temperature drop will stall if the dew point is above freezing and there is enough water in the air such as after a rain or when there's a good onshore flow from the ocean. Your lips and nose will also appreciate the extra moisture in drier winter air.

Cloud cover at night is a farmer's best friend in the winter. A clear, starry night promises a rapid temperature fall after dark. The more moisture present, the harder for the air temperature to drop, as the moisture must freeze before the temperature plummets below 32 degrees. Icicles hanging from the bottoms of trees after cold nights make an awesome sight yet don't always indicate a hard freeze.

The second line of defense, if there is a good inversion layer, is a wind machine. As a last resort, some farmers and nurserymen still use orchard heaters (also called smudge pots.)

If used effectively, orchard heaters can raise the temperature as much as 10 degrees simply by adding radiant heat to the environment. Smudge pots have saved the California citrus industry multiple times over the past 100 years. They are now very expensive to run, as each one burns about 10 gallons of diesel a night. Unless they happen to have an old supply of diesel oil, most growers have abandoned the use of smudge pots; it's just too expensive. Smudging has also come under fire as a source of air pollution. It has not been outlawed, as there is no better alternative for cold nights in which there is no inversion layer. Ojai ranchers are well aware that smudge pots dirty the air with soot, yet believe that a few nights of soot is a small price to pay for saving a newly planted grove or the income from an orchard.

Historically the coldest night of the year has been December 24, a night when nobody wants to stay up smudging, followed by a day when nobody wants to wake up to our Valley with dirty air. Yet it is the two weeks around Christmas and New Year's that citrus farmers have their ears most attentively tuned to agricultural weather reports and it's the reason that generations of my family and many other ranchers never leave the Valley for the holidays.

At what temperature and time to start frost protection is a delicate situation. All methods of protection are expensive, so using them at the mere possibility of frost is a waste. My dad believes that frost protection is the hardest thing to learn about Ojai farming - just as every winter rainstorm is different, so is every frost. An offshore breeze, upper air moisture or any number of climatic factors can influence nightly temperatures in our small valley. Citrus can withstand 28 degrees for a few hours. Small fruit and fruit with less sugar is more susceptible to frost damage; lemons and small, immature tangerines are more sensitive than oranges. As a rule of thumb, frost protection is advisable at 28 degrees for lemons and Pixies, and 27 for other citrus, whether the low temperature is steady or intermittent. Yet if the temperature doesn't drop this low until 3 a.m., it's not worth the energy to warm the orchard for just a few hours as water and fruit take time to freeze and the temperature will rise again at dawn.

Or, if the temperature (god forbid) is 27 degrees at sunset and dropping, you may as well have a few nips of brandy and call it a night unless there is a good inversion layer and wind machines can raise the temperature effectively.

Often there are several cold nights in a row, so previous lows influence decisions for subsequent cold nights. The valley floor is not flat and the temperature on one side of an orchard may be four degrees different from the other side, so where to begin frost protection within an orchard is yet another factor. To add to the complication about when to use frost protection, the value of the crop should be accounted for: If the fruit that will freeze is only worth $1 a box, why bother spending $3 trying to save it? Yet if you save your fruit and nobody else has any, you may be able to demand $30 a box, so perhaps some frost protection is worth it?

Judging how low the temperature will drop and for how long is almost an art form. It's important to remember that in a hard freeze it's essential to save the tree even if the crop is lost. Most of us in farming listen for neighbors' wind machines and make our decisions based on who is doing what. Harry Sims, Bob Davis, Jim Coultas, my Aunt Aleta and dad Tony are some of the old hands I know who have been through enough cold nights to make some educated guesses about when to do what. For now I am paying attention to what they are doing and may be one day able to make my own decisions based on what I learn through them.

Later in my conversation with my aunt I ventured so far as to admit that I have never started a wind machine - so far that job has been left to others. Already this winter (starting Nov. 28) I have learned and am now in charge of checking temperatures and turning on machines in the dead of night. Luckily, we don't have any EOTs; I'm thankful to not have to climb up a very tall machine on a cold night and be shaken by the thunderous roar of the wind blowing by as I make my way down the steep ladder to the ground. I am hopeful to never experience a wind machine "taking off" - or, for that matter, one catching fire, as one of my neighbor's did just last week. Now let's all hope for a warmer and wetter winter. There's lots of excellent fruit in store for next spring if the weather stays above freezing!

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