Oregon State staff and students round up beef cattle on the Zumwalt Prairie near Enterprise. (Photo: Lynn Ketchum)

The Black Baldies cluster inside the holding pen as if glued together, waiting. They know the drill. Quietly, a cowboy coaxes the cows toward the sorting shed, where they’re about to be artificially inseminated. One by one, they enter the “squeeze chute,” a hydraulic contraption that closes in around the animal to hold her steady. Over bursts of disgruntled mooing, a second man reads out a number printed on each cow’s ear tag as a research assistant records it in a ledger. Ranch manager Kenny Fite, wearing hot-pink latex gloves up to his elbows, administers the bull semen, which has been chilling in a giant vat of liquid nitrogen.

A few of the cows balk, but most endure the process with placid resignation. Cattle prods (“hot shots”) are forbidden here at the Eastern Oregon Agricultural Research Center in Union. Yelling, too, is verboten. Instead, Fite and his team gentle their cows into compliance. It helps that the chute’s design was inspired by Temple Grandin, the internationally renowned animal-behavior expert who gave several lectures at Oregon State in 2010. Her innate sensitivity to animals’ feelings and fears has revolutionized livestock handling.

“You have to remain calm and have patience,” explains Oregon State researcher Reinaldo Cooke, who frequently cites Grandin in his work at the other Eastern Oregon ag research center in Burns. Cooke’s cattle-handling expertise is in demand all over, garnering invitations to speak and consult across the American West and abroad.

“Cattle have their own temperament, just like people,” says Cooke, who grew up on the rangelands of Brazil. “Some are more prone to stress, which causes problems for health and reproduction.”

That’s why discovering ways to minimize stress in cattle is a research priority in Cooke’s lab. Handling by humans — vaccination, castration, insemination, supplementation, transportation, especially the long haul from ranch to feedlot — can suppress a cow’s immune system, depress her appetite and disrupt her hormonal balance. Studies show that a stressed animal is more likely to be a sick, scrawny, infertile animal — hardly the formula for business success if you’re a rancher or dairyman.

The stakes are huge. In Oregon, beef and milk ranked third and fourth, dollar-wise, among farm and ranch commodities for 2011. For these industries, together worth more than $1 billion, low-stress handling isn’t just a check-off box on the compliance list for animal-care protocols overseen by OSU’s Institutional Animal Care and Use Committee (see “The Ethic of Care,” Terra, Fall 2012). It’s not even just the right thing to do for the animals. Humane, ethical care is critical to growers’ bottom line.

“In our industry if we were treating the animals bad, we would not be successful,” notes Dave Bohnert, director of the Burns research center. “The poor managers, the people who aren’t doing it right, aren’t going to be in business that long.”

When the subject of livestock abuse comes up, he frowns deeply. He recalls the notorious 2009 incident in California when hidden cameras captured a sick cow being pushed along a concrete floor by a forklift. The video went viral, playing over and over on TV for several news cycles — the animal-abuse equivalent of the Rodney King police beating. It sickened the nation. And it outraged Bohnert.

“All it takes is one or two bad events where you’ve got some bad employees or managers, where you’ve got downed cows that are being mistreated or you’ve got starved horses or cattle, and it’s a black eye for the whole industry,” Bohnert grouses. “But in reality, that’s a very, very small proportion of our industry.”

Red Tape for a Reason

If you drive east from Corvallis along Highway 20 into Malheur County — one of Oregon’s top beef-producing counties with 100,000 head — you might wonder how cattle can thrive here at all. Desert vegetation — sage, rabbitbrush, juniper, Ponderosa pine — stretches from horizon to horizon. Rain is rare. Frost is frequent. And grass is green for just over a nanosecond. For cows, that means eating dry, fibrous forage or hay much of the year. Out here, extra protein and other nutrients are essential supplements to the poor-quality grasses.

In Burns, Bohnert devotes much of his time to nutrition research, analyzing protein, fiber, nitrogen and mineral content to design optimal diets. So does Tim DelCurto, his counterpart farther east in Union. Rangeland ecology, too, gets a great deal of scrutiny at OSU. But whether the scientists are studying stress by measuring cortisol (a stress-triggered hormone), diet by analyzing ruminal fermentation (digestion), or ecology by tracking cattle via GPS collars, each study must pass muster with the university’s animal-care protocols.

There was some grumbling in the beginning, back when attending veterinarian Helen Diggs tightened up on reporting and spearheaded OSU’s accreditation review by the Association for Assessment and Accreditation of Laboratory Animal Care International (AAALAC).

“A few people had to be dragged to the table screaming, ‘I don’t know why I have to justify this!’” Bohnert recalls. “The new daily reporting system, I’ll admit, was something I initially felt was going to be a royal pain in the neck. Every day, I’ve got to log into it and let OSU’s attending veterinarian know that our animals are being cared for properly and everything’s OK. Sometimes it’s frustrating, the red tape you have to go through. However, I understand and acknowledge that we need to do everything in our power to make sure that OSU’s animals are treated properly and that we can document proper care. That’s just the cost of doing animal research.”

An Evolution in Attitudes

Teddy, a Black Angus with a white blaze on his forehead, looks formidable, weighing upwards of 1,300 pounds. Yet this hulking creature that could knock you flat with a well-aimed kick is scared of the dark. “Cows are just like big babies,” says pre-vet teaching assistant Erin Mason, who’s giving an animal-facilities tour on campus for students enrolled in ANS 121, Intro to Animal Sciences. Learning the stressors for cows — loud noises, dark places, sudden motions, unfamiliar routines — is Chapter 1 for anyone who wants to work with livestock.

In his left side, Teddy has a “cannula,” a surgically implanted rubber window something like a porthole. Through this porthole, the contents of his stomach can be easily accessed and analyzed for teaching and research. Given a choice, Teddy surely would prefer grazing on the open range to facing a clump of wide-eyed undergrads who are about to stick their arms inside his stomach. Still, as a teaching cow at OSU, he gets top-notch treatment in strict adherence to animal-care protocols. And soon, he’ll be residing in a new, high-tech facility equipped with the latest in Temple Grandin designs. Phase 1 of the James E. Oldfield Animal Teaching Facility on the Corvallis campus opened in the fall. Phases 2, 3 and 4 will be rolled out over the next several years.

Ballooning interest in Animal and Rangeland Sciences, whose enrollment has spiked four-fold since the 1990s, brings with it an evolution in attitudes in the department and across all disciplines that work with animals. One signal: A tenure-track position has been created to study the “human-animal bond.” Another sign: VM 739 (Veterinary Medical Ethics) and ANS 315 (Contentious Social Issues in Animal Agriculture) are now part of the curriculum at Oregon State (see sidebar). Perhaps the strongest indicator of Oregon State’s animal-welfare mindfulness is the flying-colors report conferred on the university by AAALAC along with whole-campus accreditation in March 2012.

“We’ve changed so much in Oregon since I came here in the late ‘90s,” says Bohnert. “I think there’s a bigger awareness. In our industry, in general, we realize that we want to minimize the pain and stress to animals.”

Vitamin B1 (thiamine) helps plants resist such scourges as bacterial leaf blight and “rice blast,” big problems in Southeast Asia. At the same time, people whose diets are dependent on white rice often suffer from thiamine deficiency.

Enter Oregon State researcher Aymeric Goyer, a plant biologist in Hermiston. The genes that synthesize vitamin B1 in rice are Goyer’s focus. He is collaborating with Pamela Ronald of the University of California, Davis, to develop plants that over-express these genes. Bumping up thiamine and, along with it, disease resistance would mean less pesticide use and greater yields, Goyer says.

James Cassidy

So, just who is this mysterious man of mulch? Although Cassidy is well-known at Oregon State University, both as a soil scientist and an instructor, he also has a not-so-secret identity: He’s a pop star. Cassidy plays bass for Information Society, a free-style electronic band, which reached popularity in the late 1980s. He still draws upon his skills as a performer while teaching students at Oregon State about crop and soil science.

“When I quit the music business,” Cassidy says, “I realized that I had learned a lot about public speaking, working with an audience and knowing how to read people.” He often compares teaching to performing music. Both, he says, require performers to be absolutely dedicated to their craft. As an instructor at OSU, Cassidy uses his abilities to connect with audiences and inspire them about science.

From the Land of 10,000 Lakes

Cassidy hails from the Twin Cities of Minnesota. He describes himself growing up as a nerdy kid who wanted to escape the suburban ghetto. In 1981, he and few high school friends started Information Society, reinterpreting hip hop and rock styles from the East and West Coast into a new electronic fusion. Information Society focused on a critique of popular consumer culture. “We were laughed at in Minnesota,” Cassidy recalls.” People were like, ‘Who are these guys wearing multi-colored jumpsuits?’ Everybody hated us, which meant we knew that we were onto something.”

In October 1988, their hit song, “What’s on your mind? (Pure Energy),” reached No. 1 on Billboard magazine’s dance chart and No. 3 on the hot 100 pop chart. An accompanying music video became a breakout on MTV. But the band soared to even greater popularity in Brazil, where the anti-establishment message resonated with a generation of young Brazilians. “We were one of the first western bands to come down there,” Cassidy says. When Information Society first arrived at the Sao Paulo Airport, their plane was mobbed by thousands of screaming fans. “When we were driving to our hotel. The cab driver had the radio on. Every single station had Information Society playing on it.” The band toured the country twice. At the Rock-n-Rio music festival in 1991, Cassidy played in front of 135,000 fans.

James Cassidy is surrounded by tools of the trade. The gold record, in front of the tractor, commemorates the sale of the first 500,000 copies of Information Society’s first record. (Photo: Dennis Wolverton)

By the early 1990s, Cassidy had scaled a cultural Mt. Everest. “In our media-induced and celebrity-obsessed culture,” he says, “the highest level you can obtain is to be some sort of a rock star.” But for Cassidy, this popularity had come at a cost. A decade of tours had created tension within the members of the band. “People ask what it’s like to be a star. It’s your job to say it’s great, when really you’re empty and lonely.” He felt like a salesman peddling the same consumer culture that Information Society rejected. Disillusioned, Cassidy quit the band in 1993. He wasn’t sure, however, what to do next. “I was done with the music business,” he adds. “I was ready for reality.”

Looking for a fresh start, Cassidy moved to Oregon in 1993. After browsing career catalogs at his local public library, he decided to become a fish farmer. “I knew that I liked nature and the outdoors,” he recalls. But he was looking for more than a career. After spending thirty years immersed in the money driven recording industry, he was searching for a deeper meaning of life. “I intuited,” he explains, “ that the outdoors was where the truth was.”

Coming down to earth

Cassidy found truth in a soggy farm field, on the banks of Corvallis’ Oak Creek. He had been at Oregon State University for two years, studying stream ecology and fisheries under the tutelage of Stan Gregory, professor in the Department of Fisheries and Wildlife. As an undergraduate, Cassidy had become fascinated with the interconnectedness of ecosystems. The tangibility of the natural world impressed him, especially when he compared it with the artificial façade of the recording industry. He wondered how water quality was affected by forests, animals and human activity.

In 1999, he collaborated with other Fisheries and Wildlife students to investigate contamination in Oak Creek, a small stream that runs through OSU’s agricultural fields. During a heavy rainstorm, he tromped out to take water samples from the flooded creek. As he filled plastic bottles with water, he started to wonder where it was all really coming from.

That’s when, soaked from head to toe, he had an epiphany. “It suddenly occurred to me,” he says, “that the water wasn’t from the rain drops falling into the creek.” The water had traveled over and through soil in the surrounding fields. Dirt was the missing link in Cassidy’s holistic understanding of the water cycle.

But soil, Cassidy says, isn’t important only in water quality; it touches every part of our lives. “Soil is the nexus of everything. It’s where everything really does come together.”

Popular culture dismisses dirt as, well, beneath us. A person trapped in poverty is “dirt poor.” A grimy old T-shirt is “soiled” or “dirty.” In our hypoallergenic culture, obsessed with perpetual cleanliness, we have forgotten the true value of soil. Dirt, Cassidy explains, comprises so much more than grains of sediment.

It’s alive.

To Cassidy, soil is a four dimensional complex habitat with a direct relationship to human health. Just a pinch can contain a billion or more organisms. “And 99.99 percent of them,” he says, “we don’t know who they are or what they do. Every atom in your body has gone through the soil system billions of times over. Everything got its start in soil and everything goes back to it.” [Editor's note: OSU soil scientist David Myrold leads the Terragenome project, an international effort to sequence the genes of all soil microorganisms.)

Cassidy grounded himself in the study of soil, earning a master’s degree in crop and soil science from Oregon State in 2002. After graduation, he worked as a researcher in the OSU Soil Physics Laboratory and continued his investigation into farm field filtration. He worked with soil physicist Maria Dragila to determine how vole holes affect the filtration and transport of water on farm fields.

Teaching and Tilling

Cassidy’s former career as a bassist seemed another lifetime ago. But, in 2004, a chance teaching gig threw Cassidy back into the past. A professor asked him to step in as a lecturer in an introductory soil science class. Cassidy agreed.

James Cassidy teaches students about the real-life applications of soil science.

As he entered the lecture hall, the former rock star felt his blood pound. Eager eyes peered at him. He stood behind the podium before ninety students. The crowd buzzed with excitement. He was back on stage. “I was comfortable,” Cassidy says, “I could relax. I was funny. I knew how to reach them.” Every fall and winter, he gets back on stage and teaches basic introductory soil science to fresh undergraduates.

As he lectures, Cassidy draws upon his recent experiences as a student. He understands that every student approaches learning differently. “I know what it means to be a person who doesn’t know everything yet, because I didn’t go from high school being smart into college being smart. I was a poor student in high school, and I had to recreate myself as a student [in college]. So I’m still a student when I’m teaching. I know what they’re going through.” His zeal for soil piques the interest of his class as he deploys a variety of props (spray bottles, metal chains, sponges) to help his students understand theoretical concepts.

Cassidy acknowledges that many students are fascinated by his former career. “They think that I have some insight into popular culture, which they have been trained to worship, “ he says. “Yet here I am talking about soil. [It] makes them judge which is more important. And they realize that soil is more important, actually.”

To drive the point home, Cassidy has his students go out into the field and get their hands dirty. He’s created service-learning projects to expose students to the real-life applications of soil science. Students have tilled soil, developed sustainable cemeteries and taught children about soil. He says that service-learning projects provide students with a unique platform for learning. “Probably the best way of learning is experiencing. I developed these service learning projects to make them do something that is not possible in the lecture hall, in a book or online.”

Still Strumming

Pop star. Scientist. Teacher. James Cassidy somehow manages to wear all of these hats with confidence and ease. While he still enjoys the life of a musician, he prefers his current job. “My life has so much more meaning now,” he says. Being a musician prepared him for a pitch-perfect career as a professor. “I’m lucky to have the backstory,” he says, “that has given me the experiences to allow me the opportunity to reinvent myself after the end of the band.” He gathered a set of skills completely applicable to another life.

But Cassidy has not forgotten his roots. The original members of Information Society reunited in 2006 and get together every other year to tour South America. They always return to Brazil. “We can still go down there and play in front of 10,000 fans,” he says. “It’s really fun because it’s not my life anymore. It’s just a trip down memory lane.”

While Cassidy’s careers have never converged, he says that his fans are aware of his new career. Onstage, he wears a shirt with “Soil” emblazoned on the front. Fans approach him afterwards and ask him about it. “It gets the fans thinking about what’s going on with the soil,” he says.

In July 2012, the band will return to Brazil to play, once again, in front of thousands. Until then, Oregon State students can enjoy Cassidy’s talented presentations in the lecture hall.

Read more about Cassidy’s service-learning projects in the Corvallis Gazette Times
http://www.gazettetimes.com/news/local/article_924c7c0e-21fc-11e0-a25f-001cc4c03286.html

Millions depend on crops such as maize and rice, but production could fall in a warmer world. Oregon State University economist John Antle and an international network of colleagues are looking at the options for farmers in Africa, South Asia and North America.

In the Vihiga district of western Kenya, farms average little more than an acre. Corn is the dominant crop and source of sustenance, but most households run short six to 10 months of the year. They supplement with beans, groundnuts, bananas and vegetables and make money by selling milk, if they are lucky enough to own a cow. Throughout the country, corn production is declining, and researchers are urgently searching for drought-tolerant varieties to meet the needs of a growing population. For people already on the edge, adapting to climate change is a life-and-death matter.

In fact, scientists say, projections of a warmer, drier climate in East Africa could cut food production as it is currently practiced on 82 percent of the farms in Vihiga. This rural area doesn’t have far to fall. More than half of its farm households already earn less than $1 per person per day.

John Antle sees a better future for the people of Vihiga. By shifting from corn to more drought-tolerant crops such as sweet potatoes, farmers could offset much if not all of the negative impacts of climate change. Moreover, since sweet potatoes are high in vitamin A and the vines make good livestock fodder, they could improve nutrition for their families, feed their cattle and maintain milk production.

For the Oregon State University professor of Agricultural and Resource Economics (AREc), Vihiga demonstrates the need for climate-change adaptation policies. “Until now, adaptation has been politically incorrect in the climate world,” he says. “We see more and more evidence that real changes are happening, and we had better start thinking more about adapting.”

With a grant from the German international development agency GTZ, Antle and a research team from Wageningen University in the Netherlands and international research centers are evaluating the impacts of climate change on agriculture and the potential benefits of alternative cropping systems in East Africa. The simulation models that Antle and collaborators have developed over the past two decades are now being used by researchers globally to assess impacts of climate and other environmental changes in agriculture.

In the Great Plains and Midwest, he and co-author Susan Capalbo, head of AREc, have used these tools to study the potential for cropland to store carbon under conservation and reduced tillage systems. They are partnering with colleagues at OSU, Washington State, the University of Idaho and the U.S. Department of Agriculture to evaluate wheat in the Pacific Northwest under a changing climate (see “Against the Grain“).

Global Food Supplies

“For about a 150 years, the real price of wheat has gone down,” Antle says, even as global population has risen. “So why is that? Because supply has gone up faster than demand. That is the Green Revolution story, the scientific revolution that began after World War II and allowed agriculture to expand production. So the big question is, Are we now at a turning point where that’s no longer going to be true?”

Two factors — increasing demand from larger, more affluent populations; flattening growth in food supplies, as the Green Revolution bumps into production limits — are contributing to higher food prices. In the short term, he adds, there is still plenty of arable land available, and farmers can shift crops from fiber and fuel to food. But rising incomes in developing countries are already adding to demand and are likely to continue to do so well into the future.

He points to China, which, despite increasing incomes for a portion of its people, still has massive poverty. “People think that China is now this rich country. That’s wrong. There’s a small proportion of people in China who are well-off now, but if you get away from the coast, there are still a billion really, really poor people. That’s true for India and sub-Saharan Africa too.”

Those countries will continue to transition to a higher standard of living, he says. “For a long time, people have said, when the rest of the world tries to have a lifestyle like ours, we’ll be in trouble. Well, that’s what’s happening.”

On top of that, climate change poses an additional threat. Somalia and other parts of East Africa are already in their 16th year of drought. In Kenya, which hosts refugees fleeing violence and famine in Somalia, crop failures are common, and the country has to import corn to meet growing demand.

In their research, Antle and his colleagues combined available data on farm production in two Kenyan districts — Vihiga and Machakos — with the results of two climate models to estimate how new sweet potato varieties, milk, livestock and drought-tolerant corn might maintain food production and farm incomes in the future. Most previous studies of climate adaptation apply to large regions, such as whole countries. Their study was one of the first to compare the potential consequences of several climate change adaptation strategies for agriculture with this much detail.

“We’re trying to understand these systems, what characteristics make them work better or worse and what kinds of crop-breeding activities would work with changes in climate,” says Antle.

Tiny fruit fly gives a giant headache to Oregon's berry and tree fruit growers.

It’s a pest not much bigger than the head of a pin. But for Oregon farmers, the tiny fruit fly has the potential to take a giant bite out of yields — and profits.

The spotted wing Drosophila has made its way to Oregon from its native Southeast Asia, turning up first in wine grapes late last summer and then invading berries, cherries, plums, peaches and other fruit crops across 13 counties. Willamette Valley growers lost up to 20 percent of their blueberries and raspberries and as much as 80 percent of their late-season peaches.

“This is an insect that, up to last year, had never been seen in the continental United States,” says OSU research entomologist Amy Dreves.

In February, to help head off a crisis in the state’s $500 million tree-fruit and berry industry, the Legislature gave $225,000 to a team of researchers from OSU and the state and national departments of agriculture for monitoring and controlling the fly. Among the team’s tasks are sampling fruits to detect infestations, mapping outbreaks, testing traps, developing natural baits, doing outreach and training growers.

“It is crucial to find infestations of this pest as early as possible, when they can still be treated effectively,” warns Dreves.

People who want to monitor the spotted wing Drosophila in their home gardens can learn how to make a trap and identify the insects through a series of videos produced by Dreves and Tiffany Woods of Extension and Experiment Station Communications.

To support OSU research on crop production, contact the OSU Foundation, 800-354-7281.

On Mustard Seed Farms in the northern Willamette Valley, farmer Dave Brown switched over to organic methods after making a personal commitment to healthier eating. (Photo by Jan Sonnenmair)

“The organic movement has evolved from a fringe element associated with a lost generation to a core business strategy of the world’s largest corporations.”

–Reuters News Service, September 2008

When California-based Amy’s Kitchen opened a plant in Southern Oregon in 2006, the Oregon Department of Agriculture called it “a large feather in Oregon’s organic cap.” The nation’s largest producer of organic frozen foods, from complete meals to pizza, now employs about 700 full-time workers in White City. Its success is a sign that, over the last decade, organics have morphed from counterculture to mainstream.

Whether you’ve tossed a box of Amy’s enchiladas into your shopping cart, picked up salad greens from Gathering Together Farms at the local farmers market or purchased organic milk in the Fred Meyer natural foods aisle, you’re part of this fastest growing segment of American agriculture. For many Americans, anxiety about pesticide residues in their meals and contaminants in their environment prompts them to pay more at the checkout to protect their family and their planet. Until the recent economic slump, consumer sales were galloping ahead at 20 percent a year, according to the Organic Trade Association, reaching nearly $17 billion in 2006.

In Oregon, organics have taken off even faster. Between 2007 and 2008, certified organic acreage across the state shot up nearly 40 percent (from 83,000 to 115,000 acres), according to Oregon Tilth. Although that’s a fraction of the state’s 16.4 million agricultural acres, Oregon ranks eighth nationwide for number of certified organic farms. And the impact of the new ethic doesn’t stop there. Many conventional growers, too, are adopting sustainable practices to meet regulatory standards or to appeal to niche consumer markets.

True to its land grant roots, Oregon State University has a history of bringing advanced science and technologies to agriculture. Now, to help growers compete in the organic and natural foods industries, scientists are working hand-in-hand with farmers and ranchers — cranberry growers on the Pacific coast, cattle ranchers on the Zumwalt Prairie, vineyard managers near Portland, wheat farmers in the Klamath Basin — to boost yields, bolster nutrition and compound profits while eliminating chemicals that can disrupt ecosystems and threaten human health. OSU’s organic agriculture program includes 29 researchers developing methods in fruit, vegetable, dairy and livestock production.

Organic growers range from small farm to corporate. Terra takes you to a vegetable acreage in the northern Willamette Valley and a pear orchard in Southern Oregon’s Rogue Valley to meet researchers working with what some are calling the “ecological farmer.” On Dave Brown’s Mustard Seed Farms and Harry & David’s Bear Creek Orchards, crops are being raised where nature intersects science.

Pheromone-scented traps help entomologist Richard Hilton and pear-orchard managers monitor how many codling moths are in the neighborhood. (Photo: Lynn Ketchum)

Color of Earth

Dave Brown’s fields burst with color 10 months a year. From the cool greens of spring lettuce through the warm golds of winter squash, his organic farm sprouts a rainbow of nutrients. He owes the brilliance of his royal-purple broccoli and flame-orange cauliflower to the russet soils of his farm in St. Paul just north of Salem. If he can enhance the life-giving properties of that rich Willamette Valley earth, his vegetables will be bigger and brighter — and so will his business.

That’s why he’s part of an ongoing OSU study to investigate a key building block of plant growth: nitrogen.

“These studies are giving me concrete data I can work with,” says Brown, sitting at the kitchen table of 80-acre Mustard Seed Farms one drizzly day in April. “I know what’s going on in my soils.”

Framed and Bagged

West of the farmhouse a battered pickup bumps along a dirt road, jostling OSU Extension agent Nick Andrews and his assistant, Kristin Pool, en route to a study site funded by the USDA and Western Sustainable Agriculture Research and Education. The muck-booted pair piles out and grabs armloads of gear: four-foot-square metal frames, brown paper bags, harvest knives and the obligatory rainwear. Now into their fourth year studying nitrogen in the valley, Andrews and Pool have become fixtures on Brown’s acreage.

Andrews waves his arm toward a field dotted with little red flags. “In this plot we’re growing common vetch,” he says. “Over here is a mixture of vetch and cereal rye, and over there is still more vetch, this time mixed with phacelia.” The experimental plots are “cover crops” — soil-building plants typically grown over the winter and tilled into the earth come spring. They contribute to bigger pumpkins, tastier squash, more bountiful broccoli and more nutritious cauliflower by boosting soil fertility and structure.

Wading into the dewy, knee-deep vetch, Andrews and Pool place a metal frame over a patch of plants and then, kneeling under a pewter sky, begin carefully cutting away all stalks, leaves and flowers growing inside the square. Four samples from each plot will go back to the lab at OSU’s North Willamette Research and Extension Center in Aurora for analysis.

Benefits of Cover Crops

Farmers use grasses and broadleaf plants as cover crops, but legumes are of keen interest because of their

An OSU study to help farmers estimate nitrogen contributions from cover crops will boost yields of organic vegetables. (Photo: Jan Sonnenmair)

special ability, in tandem with root-dwelling microbes, to take gaseous nitrogen from the atmosphere and convert it into a plant-available form. Scientists call this process nitrogen “fixing.” When tilled into the soil before spring planting, these nitrogen-rich crops boost productivity naturally, letting farmers save money on nitrogen fertilizers and reduce groundwater contamination. The emerald canopies, flowers of yellow, lavender and indigo, and bacteria-nurturing root nodules offer other plusses, too: pollen and nectar for bees and butterflies; habitat for ground beetles, spiders and other beneficial insects; nutrients for earthworms and microbes; suppression of weeds and control of erosion.

But just how much nitrogen vetch and other legumes (members of the pea and bean families) contribute to the soils has long been a question for farmers. “Nitrogen contributions from cover crops vary widely,” Andrews explains. “Last year, one 26-inch tall cover crop of oats and vetch supplied only 10 pounds of plant-available nitrogen per acre, but a nearby 20-inch crop with more vetch supplied 60 pounds of available nitrogen. That’s a huge difference. Growers need a simple science-based method to account for this nitrogen supply.”

That’s what the OSU study aims to do: give growers new tools for estimating nitrogen availability from cover crops. In all, the researchers are monitoring 32 plots at each of five northern Willamette Valley farms to see how well various legumes perform in diverse soil types and farming methods. Soil cores taken early-on were frozen and their nitrogen content analyzed for baseline data. Then cover crops in 20-foot by 80-foot plots were planted. After fixing nitrogen all winter, the live plants were sampled and shipped off to the lab. Then a tractor blended the remaining nitrogen-loaded plants back into the earth to become “green manure.”

Nitrate levels and vegetable crop yields will be compared against those of untreated control plots, and cumulative effects will be measured over time. Meanwhile, in OSU’s Department of Crop and Soil Science, Associate Professor Dan Sullivan and graduate student RonJon Datta are measuring the amount and timing of plant-available nitrogen released from cover crops. They are identifying “reliable predictors of plant-available nitrogen in the field.”

“Our goal,” says Andrews, “is to be able to quantify the plant-available nitrogen so farmers can, with confidence, reduce nitrogen fertilizer based on the value of the cover crop.”

After last year’s findings suggested cutting back on chicken manure for certain low-nitrogen crops, Brown got eye-popping results. “I had the most beautiful winter squash I’ve ever had,” he reports. “Big plants, big fruit.”

Andrews explains the phenomenon this way: “Some crops will suck up a lot more nitrogen than others. Sweet corn, broccoli and cauliflower are very heavy feeders. Squash, on the other hand, is a modest feeder so it doesn’t need all that manure. Too much nitrogen has actually been shown to decrease squash yield. That’s because over-fertilized plants will keep growing leaves and stems rather than fruit.”

Faith of the Seed

For Dave Brown, going organic was the culmination of a personal journey. As a longtime conventional grower who relied on chemicals to enrich soils, control weeds and kill bugs, he got interested in nutrition in the late-1980s. Synthetic insecticides, herbicides and fertilizers started to seem jarringly out of sync with his new health-conscious lifestyle. “My wife Nancy and I decided that if we lived that way personally, we should grow our crops that way, too,” he says.

So he switched to fish fertilizer. Next he junked the chemicals. Organic certification followed three years later.

Taking something small — a tiny seed, a type of vegetable, an acre of land — and maximizing its potential is what Brown is all about. He pushes the envelope on everything.

“I’m not satisfied with white cauliflower — I have to grow purple and orange and green, also,” he says. “I don’t just do red beets, I do Chioggia and gold, too. A lot of people will grow acorn squash and butternut, maybe some Kabocha and a little Delicata. But I grow 19 or 20 kinds of squash.

“If you’re gonna grow ‘em, grow ‘em all — as long as you have a market.”

Finding a market for his organic produce hasn’t cost him one sleepless night. Business is brisk. Brown sells most of his produce to Organically Grown Company, the Northwest’s largest organic wholesaler. From his modest farm on Portland’s urban fringe, his vegetables might wind up at a big chain (Whole Foods, New Seasons, Fred Meyer, Albertson’s) or they might land in a community co-op, a mom-and-pop grocery, an elegant restaurant or a funky cafe. Surpluses go to the food bank.

A deeply spiritual man (he named his farm after the Biblical parable of the mustard seed), Brown sees no contradiction in his embrace of science. To him, enhancing God’s handiwork through hard data and agricultural research just makes sense.

“I’m a numbers person,” he says. “I like to analyze things.”

Southern Oregon owes its thriving pear industry to a 100-year partnership among growers and OSU scientists. (Photo: Lynn Ketchum)

Moth Squad

In Southern Oregon, the name Harry & David evokes a down-home setting. The company’s famous pears do originate in the bucolic reaches of Oregon’s Rogue Valley. But their trademark, Royal Riviera, tells a truer story. These regal fruits, gentled in jiggle-proof boxes, travel everywhere in the U.S. and Canada by jet and semi. Once-humble Harry & David, headquartered in Medford, is a $400 million corporation owned by the Wasserstein Group of New York City.

In this mountainous country, pears are very big business.

At Bear Creek Orchards, a Harry & David subsidiary, tens of thousands of trees in postcard-perfect symmetry grace acre upon acre of prime orchard land in Jackson County, producing not only gourmet Comice but also Bosc, Bartlett and D’Anjou for a handful of large growers and a dozen or so smaller ones. The region’s $30 million annual crop supplies one-tenth of the pears that wind up in America’s lunchboxes and salad bowls.

Rogue Valley pears, unblemished by bugs or blight, owe their perfection to a century-long partnership among growers and OSU researchers. Together, they have worked to outwit insects, fend off fungi and foil diseases that can decimate crops and destroy livelihoods. Science and technology have become indispensable allies for an industry driven by the vagaries of weather and other exigencies of nature.

New threats can emerge, quite literally, overnight.

Chief among the threats is the codling moth — a small, drab-winged pest that seems harmless until you see the ugly wormhole bored by its larva. In the old days, growers fought the moth with lead arsenate, a stomach poison. Then came the broad-spectrum pesticides — first DDT, followed by other neurotoxins such as the organophosphates, carbamates and pyrethroids — which killed everything that crawled and flew, the good bugs along with the bad. As a result, ecosystems tipped off-kilter. New pests popped up. The cycle of eradication began again.

OSU helped growers get off the overkill treadmill by introducing “integrated pest management” — using a mixture of nature-friendly tactics to keep insects in check. Thanks to research at OSU, other land grant universities and the Agricultural Research Service, Rogue Valley growers now spray host-specific viruses that target only the codling moth. And they rely heavily on pheromones — sex scents — that confuse male moths and disrupt reproduction. Exploiting nature’s own processes not only makes a lighter footprint on the Earth, it benefits the bottom line.

“You want it to be sustainable, but also profitable,” says lead entomologist Richard Hilton. “Growers are saving $100 to $150 an acre by going to a soft system. It’s significant.”

Rumors of Mites

Codling moths, along with other bugs in the “pear pest complex” — spider mites, pear psylla, San Jose scale, pear rust mites — provide regular fodder for the bimonthly brown-bags hosted by the Southern Oregon Research and Extension Center in Central Point. One noon-hour in May, OSU scientists are sitting around a long table with a spirited cross-section of industry folks: Mega-orchard managers with clipboards and briefcases from Bear Creek, Naumes (one of the nation’s largest pear growers), Associated Fruit, and the Church of Latter-Day Saints. A small landowner in red suspenders. A couple of “field men” (chemical company consultants). A packinghouse rep. A visiting entomologist from the U.S. Department of Agriculture. Two horticulturists — one from Harry & David and the other from Suterra, a Bend-based manufacturer of pheromone monitoring and control systems — round out the group.

OSU’s 10-decade legacy of industry cooperation shows in the easy synergy among these sun-burnished men and women. Hilton, raising his voice to cut through the chatter, displays a graph pinpointing peak egg-laying and larvae-hatch days. Quickly, the banter segues to shop talk. The group parries over “bio-fix” dates derived from two competing weather models. They trade info on the latest trap designs and bio-lures. They debate labeling on sprays with formidable names (Intrepid, Assail, Centaur). They weigh in on mite management. They invoke a litany of lesser pests (blister mites, stink bugs, Oriental fruit moths, leaf rollers). An innovative transparent trap that lures moths with acetic acid and pear ester — two natural chemical compounds given off naturally by ripening fruit — gets a lot of interest. That’s because these volatile compounds lure the female moths as well as the males. A USDA patent on the design is pending.

Data fly around the room like mate-seeking moths.

As the meeting breaks up, a mysterious green worm is passed to Hilton in a test tube. “We found this in the Dugan orchard when we were scouting for OBLR (oblique-banded leaf roller),” says Kathleen McNamara, pest control adviser for Harry & David’s 28 orchards. “Can you identify it for us?” The orchardists cluster around to peer at this potential new pest.

One more worry to take back to work.

Between brown-bags, the group stays in touch over the Net instead of, as in days gone by, over the fence. E-mail lists and OSU’s interactive “pest-alert page” give growers and researchers a place to post time-sensitive messages and data to maintain their competitive edge. The mystery worm, for instance, turned out to be a pyramidal fruitworm, a “fairly minor pest,” Hilton assured the growers in a posting shortly after the brown-bag.

A Cartridge in a Pear Tree

Southern Oregon owes its thriving pear industry to a 100-year partnership among growers and OSU scientists. (Photo: Lynn Ketchum)

If you walk the rows of Bear Creek’s organic orchard east of Central Point, plump pears destined for gourmet gift boxes and grocery store bins aren’t the only objects hanging in the cool boughs. Look closely, and you’ll see the fruits of science and technology, as well.

Matt Borman walks beneath a bower of boughs so green they seem like something out of a touched-up photo. Stopping at Row CFI-100, the Bear Creek hort technology manager reaches into the branches and takes down an orange plastic trap shaped like a tiny pup-tent. One moth and a soldier beetle are stuck on the sticky base.

“We hang one every seven acres to lure moths with pheromones and pear ester,” Borman explains. “Our scouts check the traps once a week, and enter the numbers in a database. Along with GIS mapping and microclimate weather monitoring, we can keep tabs on moth populations and decide whether and when to spray.” As one of a mere smattering of certified organic orchards in the valley, this 34-acre plot is sprayed with a biologically based insecticide, the granulovirus pathogen (CpVG), a natural enemy of the codling moth, and with a natural clay-based product called Surround, which drives other pests from the orchard.

“We’re learning things in our organic blocks that are bleeding into our conventional blocks,” says Borman. “We’re always trying to match the site with the most sustainable and soft system we can. We’re looking for that perfect balance between effectiveness and environmental friendliness.”

Borman then points high into the tree to reveal the most dazzling of novel moth technologies — the Suterra “puffer.” When a researcher at the University of California created the first puffer from a bathroom deodorizer dispenser in the 1980s, he couldn’t have imagined where his invention would lead. The device has evolved with the revolution in electronics. In the guts of today’s battery-operated model — which looks like a nesting house for birds — a miniature computer runs software designed to trigger bursts of pheromones from an aerosol cartridge, precisely timed with biological cycles.

Here’s how it works: As moths start to emerge, but before they mate, the puffers — placed in one tree per acre — begin burping out female pheromones every 15 minutes at night when the insects are active. The male moth picks up the scent and flutters off to find the faux female. He gets confused. He flies here, he flies there. He wastes time. Meanwhile, the window for fertilization is closing. If the phony seduction can fool the male for three or four days, the females’ odds of laying fertile eggs drop steeply.

Nature Bats Last

In the Rogue Valley’s pear orchards, new science constantly drives innovation. Solutions shift as knowledge grows and as nature adapts. European growers, for instance, are scrambling to fight a new strain of codling moth resistant to overused viral sprays in Germany. Despite ever-better methods for managing pests, nature remains — will always remain — one step ahead of human ingenuity. As Richard Hilton observes, “We will never fully understand the life of an insect.”

Nitrogen got you puzzled? Learn how to estimate nitrogen from cover crops here.

To support organic agriculture research at OSU, contact the Oregon State University Foundation.

The Hatfield and McCormack ranch families of Brothers, Oregon, have partnered with OSU for generations to improve rangeland ecology. (Photo: Mark Reed)

Winds gust lightly over the meadow, riffling the grasses and sage, carrying the sonorous tones of Angus, Hereford and Tarentaise mothers lowing at their calves. The tableau looks ripped from a TV commercial or a Hollywood set, all daubed with wildflowers and rimmed by junipered hills under cirrus skies.

But this isn’t the invention of a Madison Avenue ad agency, some “pastoral fantasy” spun by Big Agribusiness to fool consumers.

This is the real McCoy — or McCormack, actually.

The McCormack and Hatfield families of Central Oregon are known far and wide for their leadership in eco-friendly ranching. Patriarchs Doc Hatfield and Bill McCormack, whose ranches sprawl side-by-side across 100,000 acres near the one-pub town of Brothers, are charter members of a wildly successful company called Country Natural Beef. In just two decades, the co-op has grown from 14 Oregon families to 120 ranchers across the West and Hawaii. Their beef, pastured on grass and fattened in a feedlot on a pure vegetarian diet before slaughter, provides an alternative to factory-farm meat — the kind that’s been pumped with antibiotics and plumped on growth hormones, as highlighted in Food, Inc., the highly praised but controversial 2009 documentary on industrial food production.

“That’s what sustainability is all about — it’s land, people, dollars, and putting it all together.”

— Doc Hatfield

The co-op, which posted sales of $50 million for 2008, isn’t making the ranchers rich. Rather, it pays the bills and keeps the ranches solvent. And that’s OK, because money isn’t the true bottom line out on these semi-arid plains. It’s respect for the life-sustaining land. For 30 and 50 years, respectively, Oregon State University has helped the Hatfields and McCormacks hone that ethic of respect through cooperative research. In return, scientists have been granted nearly unfettered access to vast watersheds and rangelands for study.

Catch and Release

One blistering morning in July, Doc Hatfield’s black motorcycle kicks up a froth of dust along Bear Creek Road. He’s on his way to meet a group of ecologists, activists, government agents and grad students touring a long-term research site on his acreage. While waiting for stragglers to arrive, Hatfield sets his silver helmet on the seat of the BMW and snaps a few photos of a cow-studded pasture. He’s excited about its mid-summer lushness. Clearly, science-based management strategies are making a difference.

“If you’ve got good native perennial grass cover on the upper slopes, the rain soaks into the ground where it drops instead of flowing off in a gully washer,” he explains to the group gathered on the gravel road. “That stored water then flows subsurface, forming groundwater reservoirs and making the meadows wetter. That means it’s still green on the 10th of July instead of just dry cheat grass.”

This optimal water cycle is what OSU rangeland hydrologist John Buckhouse calls “capture, store and safe release.” Buckhouse, one of the stalwarts in the multigenerational bond between the university and the Central Oregon ranching community, has spent much of his 35-year career investigating the impacts, both positive and negative, of cattle on high-desert ecosystems. One winter, with the mercury hitting 20 below, he sat on the ground at Bear Creek every day for a month, insulated in long johns and “lots of woolens,” recording observations of streamside grazing behavior. Another early study asked the question, How many seasons should sown grass seed grow before you graze the pasture? Common wisdom said two years. The answer turned out to be much more complicated.

“We discovered that nothing is the same everywhere,” says Buckhouse. “That has been our mantra ever since. You have to manage on a site-specific basis — what we call a prescription basis. If you come up with a prescription that works in Brothers, Oregon, and try to apply it in Missoula, Montana, you’re probably going to be wrong.”

From Tales to Data

Buckhouse’s magnum opus is a longitudinal study devised to help Oregon ranchers catch, retain and put to use more of the region’s scant precipitation. Key to the study is the western juniper, a native tree that, in the absence of natural fire, has encroached on millions of high-desert acres. Through its dense web of roots, the juniper takes up great gallons of water. The surrounding grasses die back. Rains rush over the bare earth, sweeping away tons of soil. Fifteen years ago, there was lots of local folklore about the rangeland’s power to heal and regenerate after juniper was removed (stories like, “Gosh, I cut down a bunch of trees over at Salt Creek and a spring popped up the next year”). But there were no hard data on a watershed scale. So Buckhouse and his colleagues designed a “paired watershed” study to test the effects of a fire-mimicking treatment for halting juniper encroachment.

The experiment compares two 400-acre drainages at Camp Creek straddling the Hatfield High Desert Ranch and public lands overseen by the Bureau of Land Management. One parcel, Jensen Canyon, serves as the “control” site — that is, it has remained untouched by the researchers. The other parcel, Mays Canyon, is the “treatment” site for juniper removal. High-tech instruments, including ultrasonic sensors and devices for remote monitoring via satellite, were installed by then-graduate student Michael Fisher and Crook County Extension scientist Tim Deboodt. Data on groundwater levels, stream velocity, snow depth, rainfall and other indicators are collected around the clock.

After 12 years of baseline data collection, young juniper trees (those that took root after Europeans arrived in the mid-1800s) were cut from Mays’ upper elevations. Downed branches were left on the slopes at diagonals to impede runoff of precipitation — a paltry 13 inches a year on average.

The results have stunned everyone. Four years after the cutting, streams that were ephemeral (flowing only after a storm) are now intermittent (flowing in tandem with recharged groundwater). Springs are gushing where once they were just gurgling. Erosion, as indicated by the depth of gullies and sediments, has slowed. And, judging by increased numbers of seed heads per clump of grass and reinvigorated species of native perennials, the improved water dynamic is translating to healthier forage. That, in turn, means more robust habitat for birds, deer, elk and other wildlife.

This ecosystem perspective is what Hatfield values most from his long-time association with OSU.

“Understanding the holistic watershed — how it all works together — has helped us improve our grazing strategy,” says the 70-year-old rancher. “That’s what sustainability is all about — it’s land, people, dollars, and putting it all together.”

Time Travel

Before you venture off Highway 20 onto the rangeland, you can grab a burger, a Bud Light and a fill-up at the weather-beaten Brothers Café. If you’re hauling a horse, you can water it at Brothers Oasis, the equine-friendly rest stop right next door.

After you leave the crush of cars and commerce in Bend 40 minutes behind, the desert can at first be disorienting in its stillness — unnerving, even, in its seeming limitlessness. For an urbanite traveling this trackless landscape for the first time, the McCormack ranch house is a welcome sight when it rises up at road’s end 20 miles from the highway.

The house, whose solid-juniper timbers once grew in the nearby hills and draws, was built a few years ago (30 friends and family framed it in one weekend) to replace the homestead where Bill moved with his parents and lived for seven decades. (Once when he was buying a pickup truck in Portland, the salesman got confused at McCormack’s answer on the loan application to the question, How many years at your current address? “What does this mean?” the salesman demanded, pointing at Bill’s penciled response, 68. “I guess he thought it was a joke,” the rancher recalls with a chuckle. “He’d never heard of anyone living in one place for 68 years.”)

Time has a different quality on the range. It stretches out long and slow, like the landscape, and curves beyond the visible horizon. Bill’s dad, who bought the family’s first 3,000 acres in 1943, counted time, not in months and years, but in seasons and generations. Among his descendants is 19-year-old Tyler. This fourth-generation McCormack, sitting beneath soaring pinewood beams with his cowboy hat poised on his knee, carries within him the genes of an Oregon pioneer — his great grandfather, a homesteader who herded sheep across the state’s south-central reaches.

The McCormacks’ intergenerational ties extend even to the family alma mater. Tyler is a Beaver, like father Jeff, grandparents Bill and Donna, and both great grandparents (class of 1923). It was Tyler’s grandfather who first welcomed OSU scientists onto his creek beds and pasturelands for study. Since then, the ranch has been a living lab for investigations on everything from watershed contamination to sage grouse habitat. The McCormacks’ ranch, like the Hatfields’, is also an open-air classroom during field trips for rangeland ecology majors.

Tyler, an agribusiness major, got his initiation into Country Natural Beef last summer when he conducted an “in-store” at a Whole Foods Market, the co-op’s biggest customer. Next to the meat counter, he fired up a hibachi and passed out samples to shoppers. “I sold a hotdog to a vegetarian,” he boasts with a grin.

These product demos let customers not only taste natural beef, but also meet ranchers face-to-face. Each ranch in the co-op has “adopted” one or two stores. Some stores run videos of their adoptive ranch so that consumers can make a visual and, they hope, emotional connection to the source of their pot roast or T-bone.

“Whatever we have to do, whatever we have to learn to keep the land sustainable for the next generation — that’s top priority,” says Tyler’s mom, Runinda “Nin” McCormack. Her voice catches with emotion. “We realize that if we don’t do it right, our kids won’t have the opportunity to come home to the family ranch and participate in something so great.

“That’s why we’re here.”

To support the OSU College of Agricultural Sciences, contact the OSU Foundation

Sonny Ramaswamy

Sonny Ramaswamy, an agricultural leader from Purdue University, became dean of the Oregon State University College of Agricultural Sciences in August. He directs the Oregon Agricultural Experiment Station and succeeds long-time OSU dean Thayne Dutson, who retired from the position in 2008.

An entomologist, Ramaswamy has studied the reproductive biology of insects and plant-insect interactions, conducting applied research on insect pests affecting wheat, cotton, beans, other row crops and trees.

OSU’s nationally top-ranked programs support Oregon’s agricultural industries, which last year posted record sales of $4.9 billion. Overall economic activity is estimated at $25 billion annually from cattle, dairy, nursery crops, fruits and berries, wheat, grass seed and other sectors.

Ramaswamy is a fellow of the American Association for the Advancement of Science and the Entomological Society of America.

Follow Sonny’s observations on his blog.

To support agricultural research at OSU, contact the Oregon State University Foundation.

Anita Azarenko

The head of OSU’s horticulture department has overseen organic farming methods courses and led organic certification for land at OSU’s Lewis-Brown Horticulture Research Farm near Corvallis. Azarenko and OSU Extension scientist Alexandra Stone received awards from the Oregon Organic Coalition in September.

Vaughn Walton

Entomologist Vaughn Walton studies environmentally sustainable, low-impact strategies such as mating disruption to manage filbertworm and other insects that threaten Oregon’s filbert industry. With the University of California, Washington State University and USDA, he is also working on vine leafroll virus, an emerging disease in vineyards.

Bernadine Strik

OSU’s Berry Research Program, led by Bernadine Strik, has established the world’s largest certified organic blueberry trial at a research facility. She also is evaluating weed management, organic fertilization and bed system methods on growth, yield, soil biology, weeds, diseases and profitability of organic blueberry production.

Michael Gamroth

Helping organic dairy farmers grow more nutrient-rich grasses is a goal of Mike Gamroth’s current research. Cool-season grasses, high in natural sugars, can improve traditional forages which growers supplement with expensive nutrients. In a national USDA-funded study, Gamroth also is comparing organic with conventional milk production, animal health and animal care.

Alexandra Stone

A farmer group that collaborated on organic potato studies is now working with Alex Stone and OSU vegetable breeder Jim Myers on varietal broccoli and onion trials. Stone has also researched soil amendments and cover crops, as well as biological and cultural control of plant diseases on conventional and organic farms. She leads a national Extension organic Web initiative.

1909
Seed lab starts up on campus for research and testing.

1920
Grass seed introduced to the Willamette Valley and, by 1924, is a $1 million industry.

1929
Fluorescence test introduced to distinguish perennial from annual ryegrass species.

1937
Oregon State Agricultural College’s seed certification service begins inspection for germination rates and purity requirements.

1950
Grass seed is a $30 million industry in Oregon.

1970s
Research conducted on alternatives to open-field burning, used since the 1940s to control diseases. Studies of air movement helped farmers control smoke. Mechanical residue treatments incorporated into cropping systems.

1992-1997
Research on non-burning alternatives, crop systems and straw uses help farmers respond to a law reducing open-field burning.

1998
OSU testing of toxic compounds in straw-borne endophytes (fungi living inside plants) saves Oregon’s annual straw export market of about 300,000 tons, mostly to Japan.

2000-2005
Global grass-seed demand pushes rapid harvesting, cleaning, labeling and shipping. Redesigned seed inspection stations in the Seed Lab cut certification turnaround from 20 days to seven.

2008
725 million pounds of forage and turf-grass seed produced in Oregon, and 800,000 tons of grass straw exported off-shore for livestock feed.

For more on OSU’s grass seed research:

Scientists See Potential Problems With Using Grass Seed Straw As Livestock Feed, 11-2-07

OSU Seed Lab Busy as Oregon Farmers Harvest 2007 Grass Seed Crop, 8-24-07

Vole Population Explosion Concerns Grass Seed Growers, 6-28-05

To support OSU’s grass seed research, contact the OSU Foundation

Ramesh Sagili will work with Oregon farmers whose crops depend on bee pollination. In his research, Sagili will study pheromones, chemicals that affect animal behavior.

Ramesh Sagili arrived in Corvallis in February to start a honeybee research program targeting mites, pesticides, stress and nutrition. The new OSU bee specialist is part of an initiative to help ensure that there are enough healthy honeybees to pollinate Oregon’s crops.

Sagili says Varroa mites, nutritional deficiencies or other factors might be the cause of colony collapse disorder, which occurs when adult honeybees abandon a hive. Sagili’s position was created at the request of Oregon agricultural groups worried about the health and supply of honeybees, which are crucial pollinators for many of the state’s crops, including blueberries, pears, cherries, apples and vegetable seeds.

“Colony collapse disorder is so complex that it will be a long time before we arrive at a conclusion as to what is causing it,” Sagili adds. “But meanwhile, beekeepers need to take steps to maintain healthy and strong colonies.”

For more information:

OSU Hires Texas A&M Entomologist to Study Honeybee Health, 2-4-09

To support honeybee research at OSU, contact the OSU Foundation

In support of her work, the Ohio native received a three-year STAR (Science to Achieve Results) Fellowship from the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency.

In OSU Associate Professor Kim Anderson’s toxicology lab, Layshock analyzes the chemical composition of particles from coal and oil combustion products known as polyaromatic hydrocarbons or PAHs. Some types of PAHs are known to interact with DNA and thus pose a health threat. In her toxicity analyses, she is comparing particles transported from Asia with those produced locally.

Layshock plans to complete her study in 2010. She hopes to work for a government agency developing new pollution control techniques or reducing human exposure to pollutants.

A day after his high-school graduation, Rob Golembiewski landed a summer job experimenting with turf grass at Michigan State University. The self-confessed perfectionist says he still loves to work in his yard. (Photo: Lynn Ketchum)

Rob Golembiewski wears a size-13 shoe, but that’s nothing compared with the shoes he has to fill. The former head of the golf and turf management program at the University of Minnesota’s Crookston campus has replaced Tom Cook as the director of Oregon State University’s turf management program.

Thirty-one years ago, the hardworking and revered Cook, who retired this fall, single-handedly created the program, which has produced superintendents at prominent golf courses, including Pebble Beach and Bandon Dunes.

“It’s phenomenal what Tom did as a one-man show. I have an appreciation for what he built. I’ll be very protective of it, and I look forward to taking it to the next level,” says Golembiewski, who launched the golf and turf program at Montana State University and co-owned a landscaping company for six years in Arizona.

He has wasted no time getting down to work. He clocks at least 12 hours a day teaching, picking the brains of industry professionals over lunch and speaking at conferences. On weekends, he’s at his office, which he painted himself – a luminous Beaver orange. (“It was a little brighter than I expected,” he confesses.)

Right now, he’s deciding what research projects to take on.

“I’ve been visiting with turf breeders, golf course superintendents and landscapers trying to get feedback about what the Pacific Northwest industry sees as key issues,” he adds. “I want to do research that impacts the Northwest and the nation.”

He plans to continue the program’s research on perennial ryegrass, the fertility of annual bluegrass and the performance of certain grass mixtures in shaded conditions. The research is conducted on five acres of experimental plots and putting greens at OSU’s Lewis-Brown Farm. Golembiewski intends to expand the putting green area there by up to 10,000 square feet.

He’s also looking to enhance what takes place inside the classroom. In December, he met with a committee of industry representatives to hear its thoughts on how graduates of the program have performed at the representatives’ companies and how the curriculum stacks up to others.

Unlike Cook, though, Golembiewski doesn’t have to scramble to gather grants and donations to fund his employment during the summer. Earlier this year, the family of the late OSU alumnus Nat Giustina announced that it had donated $1 million to endow a professorship for Cook’s replacement.

Golembiewski’s endowment is a far cry from his first paid job in the business. That was back when he was a teenager taking care of a neighbor’s immaculate yard.

“They loved me because I was meticulous,” says Golembiewski, 39, the second youngest of 11 children. When it comes to his own yard, the Michigan native describes himself as a perfectionist. “I mow straight lines and pick up every leaf,” he says. “I love to work in the yard.”

But canola’s rising profile has not come without controversy. A type of rapeseed bred in Canada (hence the name, “Canada” plus “oil”), canola has raised a number of agricultural concerns in Oregon, ranging from “rogue pollen” and “seed scatter” in the Willamette Valley to broader questions about its economic viability for Northwest farmers.

The science and economics of canola have the full attention of researchers in OSU’s College of Agricultural Sciences, Agricultural Experiment Station and Extension. “We’re providing research results to officials at the Oregon Department of Agriculture (ODA) to help the agency refine its understanding of the risks and benefits of growing canola,” says Russell Karow, chair of the Department of Crop and Soil Science.

Of immediate concern are the risks to the nationally and internationally important and lucrative vegetable and seed-stock businesses in the Willamette Valley. As a species of “brassica” that falls into the same genus as cabbage, broccoli and cauliflower, canola could potentially cross-pollinate or cause harm in other ways to these crops. Genetically modified canola has raised another alarm for growers who export to countries that ban genetically modified organisms (GMOs). To prevent harmful cross-pollination or seed contamination, the ODA has set up canola-free buffer zones in traditional specialty-seed growing areas of the state. But entrepreneurs, eyeing new markets for canola, are pressuring the agency to loosen those restrictions. New canola planting in the valley is on hold, pending data from OSU and further public discussion.

“We’re providing research results to officials at the Oregon Department of Agriculture to help the agency refine its understanding of the risks and benefits of growing canola.”
Russell Karow
Chair, Department of Crop and Soil Science

The ag college’s research isn’t, however, limited to seed and pollen issues. Lab studies in Corvallis and field trials across the state are investigating a range of other concerns, such as herbicide tolerance, pest and disease management, canola’s value as a cover crop in field rotation and as a feed source for cattle. The findings will help guide decisions about this rising star on the alternative-fuel scene.

Not the least of the questions under scrutiny is profitability. Before growers plant canola in place of another crop, they need to know what kind of value they can expect to get. “Converting canola into biodiesel may not be the cheapest option because it may consume valuable land that could be used for other crops,” OSU crop physiologist Brian Duggan told the Bend Bulletin in July.

To help gauge canola’s biofuel potential for Central Oregon growers, Duggan is comparing several species for yield and oil quality. At OSU’s agricultural research station in Madras, the researcher stands in a field of two-foot-high stalks topped with butter-yellow flowers. With snowcapped Mt. Jefferson as a scenic backdrop, Duggan gestures outward in several directions, indicating three additional fields, each planted with a different variety. His crop trials, funded by the Agricultural Research Foundation, are designed to reveal whether winter varieties produce more seed — and hence are more lucrative — than spring varieties.

Where It Rains in Oregon

OSU researcher Chris Daly created PRISM, a unique spatial data analysis tool, to map climate parameters such as precipitation and temperature with great precision. See maps generated by PRISM showing precipitation in China and in Oregon (PDF).

Two OSU scientists have produced the first collection of maps that show climate, soil characteristics and plant species suitability for the People’s Republic of China. Their China atlas is the result of 10 years of research and has paid off by increasing grass exports from Oregon to the world’s most populous nation.

The 296-page atlas, Visualizing China’s Future Agriculture: Climate, Soil, and Suitability Maps for Improved Decision Making, was compiled by David Hannaway and Chris Daly. Hannaway is a forage crops specialist in the Department of Crop and Soil Science, and Daly, a climatologist in the Department of Geosciences, directs an OSU climate mapping group.

Land managers in China are interested in forage grasses to support livestock production and to control soil erosion problems on rangelands. They also want turf grasses to beautify their cities and suburban areas.

Hannaway and Daly worked with the Oregon Grass Seed Council to evaluate turf, forage and conservation plants for use in China and to determine the market potential for Oregon-grown grass seed. Before 1992, Oregon sold no grass seed to China. In 2003, Oregon growers exported to China more than 14 million pounds valued at $8 million to $10 million.

With funding from the U.S. Department of Agriculture and the State of Oregon, Daly and Hannaway conducted applied research, educational demonstrations and workshops throughout China. Both faculty members are part of the OSU China Working Group, a cooperative effort between OSU and the People’s Republic of China to identify mutually beneficial research and education projects and programs.

“The future success of many of Oregon’s agricultural industries is likely to lie in identity-preserved markets, providing high-quality products that have real added value to end users.”
Russ Karow
Chair, OSU Department of Crop and Soil Science

Wheat fields may have inspired Katherine Lee Bates to write a song about America’s beautiful “amber waves of grain,” but not all wheat is created equal. Mid Columbia Producers, Inc. (MCP), a farmer-owned cooperative based in Sherman County, Oregon, is banking that a new type of soft winter wheat developed by OSU scientists will earn a premium in the marketplace.

Last fall, MCP signed an exclusive licensing agreement with OSU to plant and market a wheat variety that has been in development since 1992. According to Russ Karow, chair of the OSU Department of Crop and Soil Science, the agreement “opens new doors and creates important marketing opportunities for Oregon wheat producers.”

OSU’s wheat studies are conducted in Corvallis and at agricultural experiment stations in Pendleton and Hermiston. Varieties developed by the late Warren E. Kronstad have nearly doubled wheat yields in the Pacific Northwest since 1960. Jim Peterson leads OSU’s wheat research endeavors and holds the Warren Kronstad Wheat Research Chair in Crop and Soil Science. Historically, public wheat varieties are released openly and marketed as a commodity, leading to a loss of brand identity for novel varieties.

The future of the OSU “SuperSoft” wheat variety will be different. It has superior end-use qualities — low protein content, high flour yields, large cookie diameters and high sponge cake volumes — that are prized by millers and the baked goods industry. By granting an exclusive license, OSU will enable wheat producers to capture value by segregating and delivering a product with superior quality, says Karow.

“The future success of many of Oregon’s agricultural industries is likely to lie in identity-preserved markets, providing high-quality products that have real added value to end users,” he adds.

MCP Manager Raleigh Curtis says the cooperative is excited about the new opportunity. “This will be the first soft white wheat variety identity-preserved (IP) program of this type in the United States and perhaps in the world,” he says. Cooperative members planted 3,500 acres last fall and may increase that to about 80,000 acres in 2006. MCP plans to begin marketing “SuperSoft” this summer.

More than 10 years of research and breeding go into a new wheat variety. Researchers evaluate tens of thousands of experimental lines each year to select a handful that have potential for commercial production. In addition to soft white wheat, OSU researchers are developing hard wheat varieties to better meet the needs of the Asian noodle market. Growers and the Oregon Wheat Commission partner with OSU researchers in breeding and genetics studies.

Today, the legacy established by Kronstad and his colleagues continues with support through a wheat industry endowment, managed by the OSU Foundation.