In late 1992, untold tons of E.coli strain O 157:H7 tainted hamburger patties made their way onto unsuspecting consumers' plates through an efficient fast-food distribution system created by Jack In The Box. More than 750 children became ill (some so sick that they lost kidney function and portions of their large intestine), and four died. The fallout included record personal injury settlements, a revamping of how food poisoning cases are reported and tracked, widespread recognition that the normally friendly gut bacterium E. coli can kill, a redesign of hamburger-handling and cooking strategies and more. In short, the tragedy changed the way Americans eat. But there's so much more to the story. 

In his most recent and arguably most riveting book, Poisoned: The True Story of the Deadly E.coli Outbreak That Changed the Way Americans Eat bestselling author Jeff Benedict weaves an intricate tale of human proportion that includes all the elements of a classic thriller. In this case, the villain is really the infectious agent itself, and extraordinary, yet everyday, people emerge as heroic characters who bravely soldier on as an infection ravages their bodies, or juggle self interest with a selfless desire to save the day, or at the very least to make it right. What's the harm in trying to save a huge corporation in the process?

When I first cracked the book, I was prepared to come away with a bad taste in my mouth for fast-food corporate leaders, personal injury lawyers and a food system that would seemingly rather throw spin and confusion at a problem than actually admit to it, embrace it and fix it. As I turned the pages, however, I found compelling characters on all sides of the issue who worked long and hard to help the victims and their families, save a business from going bankrupt and create a failsafe fast-food supply chain. Oh, there's plenty of drama along the way complete with heart-wrenching, gut-wrenching and anger-invoking scenes, but Benedict is a master at teasing the humanity out of even the most crusty of characters. Imagine a corporate bigwig weeping because, in his raw humanity, he is devastated to think that any child could die from eating tainted food. Imagine too, a hungry personal injury lawyer with a young daughter of his own who crosses the attorney-client line by getting personally wrapped up in the client's family. This is compelling stuff, folks.

Storyline and character analyses aside, Poisoned: The True Story of the Deadly E.coli Outbreak That Changed the Way Americans Eat is a sad and sobering lesson that we have learned from, and that we still push to the limits in our continuing zealous quest for cheap food and excessive profit.  Benedict's latest and greatest is a must read for anyone who eats, especially folks who regularly partake at the industrial food trough. The book also is an important hubris vaccination that should be required for food-industry and meat-packing lobbyists.

Look for Poisoned: The True Story of the Deadly E.coli Outbreak That Changed the Way Americans Eat at your favorite bookstore today. Read it and you will never look at another plate of food in quite the same way.

When I first got into Mulefoot pigs a friend recommended that I ring their snouts or risk ruining my pastures. I decided to forego the ringing and use the pigs to plow up new growing spaces. Take a look at a pig and watch it root -- you'll no doubt agree that their snouts look and act very much like chisel plow shanks as they tear up vegetation, turn the soil and eat all the grass roots, weed roots and grubs they can find. One day, while watching them root, it occurred to me that using pigs as plows would be a great way to break a little sod, get rid of the pesky grass and fertilize the ground in preparation for planting gardens, small fields of small grains and even mangle beets -- that the pigs would happily harvest themselves come fall.

So when I laid out the pigs' wooded pen, I fenced in a dogleg of fine Kansas sod that would one day make a great place to grow corn, wheat and forages that would support the pigs themselves, such as the giant mangle beets whose tops are every bit as palatable as their 20-pound roots. My ancestors used pig-harvested corn and mangles to help make the bacon, so I figured why not try it for myself. Last weekend I fenced the pigs out of the dogleg and planted some crops that will soon support my efforts in the kitchen and that the pigs will also enjoy.

Mulefoot pigs are most definitely not the other white meat. They are a heritage breed and they prefer to live outdoors -- which is where they thrive -- not in confinement. They have loins that are too short and far too much body fat for the modern hog industry. But these animals know how to look after themselves and are awesome when used to plow up ground for planting.

Mulefoot pigs don't like getting shocked so they learn to respect smooth wire electric fencing in a heartbeat. Mothers teach their youngsters -- and most pigs only get zapped once. In spite of that, since the pigs formerly had direct access to this planting area, I fenced it off from the main woodland pen with two strands of electric (perimeter shown in foreground has 3 strands) wire -- one at 6 inches and the other 15 inches from the ground.

I used my favorite cultivating tool, the Hoss Tools  wheel hoe to loosen the soil and make the growing patch more or less fit for planting. I took this opportunity to remove the few large chunks of limestone the pigs unearthed. To the east of me (in the background) the farm falls off in what can be described as a grass-covered limestone scree slope as it transitions to the 110 Mile Creek drainage.

My relatively new Cole Planet Jr. plate planter is one of my favorite walk-behind planters. I used two different plates last weekend. One for the mangel beets and one for the Mandan Bride flour corn.

We've used pigs to plow up smaller planting patches and plan to use them for a future small-grain field. I'll let you know how the experiment works out this year. Stay Tuned.

Photos Courtesy Karen Keb.