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I suppose you can’t expect a guy who farms
pizzas to do things in the usual way, but once in a while I still get caught off
guard.
Darren Schmall is the only person I know whose
face is a logo. (Sorry pal, I can’t bring myself to say “babe magnet.”)
Caricatured in trademark white hat and muffin-duster moustache, his mug is the
symbol of the Pizza Farm, an agricultural education project in Madeira County.
Each slice of the circular farm grows an ingredient, like wheat for the crust,
tomatoes for sauce, cows for cheese, and swine for sausage. It’s “everything
but the anchovies,” and thousands come each year to have fun with agriculture
and pizza with the pizza farmer.
Though there isn’t a slice for it at the Pizza
Farm, controlling pests is as important in getting that thick-crust double
pepperoni to the table as the delivery guy and Darren knows all the tools.
Things like sprays, spray rigs, rodent traps, pest strips, and explosives.
Yes, explosives, as in ka-boom. It works like
this: An operator drives a Rodent Assault Vehicle (or “RAV”) to a likely spot,
digs out a gopher or squirrel hole, then feeds a mixture of propane and oxygen
through a nozzle called a “gopher gun.” When the burrow is full the gas is
ignited, followed by a pretty good impression of what the invasion of Normandy
must have been like.
Gophers seal off their burrows at random and
the gas blows at the blockages. Unfortunately you have no idea where that will
be until you hit the spark. It could be right at your feet … or between them.
So along with ear plugs, goggles and the other gear you might expect, it is
recommended the operator wear, well, let’s just say a piece of personal safety
equipment more commonly associated with football players.
Think of it this way: Blow a
flaming gopher up your pant leg with sufficient force and it will be a story
they’ll be telling in the emergency room for decades. Better safe than sorry.
OK, the gophers don’t actually ignite. They’re
snuffed instantly by the force of the concussion, sparing the critters a “slow
death by poison or pain due to a trap!” according to a press release from the
equipment’s manufacturer.
“The folks with PETA (People for
the Ethical Treatment of Animals) actually gave us an endorsement,” the release
continues, a claim I was unable to verify. By my observation PETA usually
prefers to bludgeon its victims to death with rhetoric, but anything’s
possible.
Darren started with one gopher gun last March
and is now running a fleet of ten RAVs. Combined he has enough firepower to
blow up half of Madeira County, which, as good an idea as that might be,
wouldn’t pay much.
So the RAVs get a workout on conventional farms
and ranches, as well as organic farms and on school grounds where poison baits
are prohibited. You’d think schools might be a little touchy about explosions
these days, and the thing does sound like a shotgun blast. Given the state of
some public schools, though, I’d be more concerned about the kids returning
fire.
Darren’s promise of a demonstration at a recent
gathering of friends drew great interest from the men, who as a species aren’t
big on subtlety anyway, and serious eye-rolling from the women. At show time,
however, it was standing room only. So while you don’t usually associate much
entertainment value with pest control, this is a novel approach from an
innovative guy and makes for a heck of a show.
And there’s your next venture, Darren: Sell
tickets. No charge for the idea.
© 1997- 2002 Brent Morrison
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