No Almond Joy
By Corey Lyons
Contra Costa Newspapers
Jan. 25, 2003
OAKLEY -- The gnarled trees, standing in neat rows like defeated soldiers, crowd a farm near a rural intersection between nowhere and somewhere.
Out here, in a growing city of 27,000 slowly losing its agricultural grip, it's going to end soon.
The last commercial almond orchard in Contra Costa County will collapse under a flurry of hatchet blows.
"Almond firewood is very good," said farmer Paul Lamborn, gazing out at his raw-boned trees under a morning sky.
What a finish. Lamborn, 83, will soon transform his 7-acre orchard into a "U-pick and cut 'em" firewood outlet.
Trees will fall for about $15 apiece, an eventual pileup that spells the pitiful demise of a once-mighty county crop.
The number of "bearing" almond acres countywide has plunged from 7,445 in 1950 to about a dozen today.
Suburban sprawl, fears over a bacterial disease called "almond leaf scorch" and intense competition in the Central Valley led to the collapse.
Lamborn, a retired county farm adviser for the University of California, said he has few choices.
He simply cannot afford to meet the industry's unyielding demands and rising expenses, such as hauling, labor, water and fertilizer materials.
What's more, a "hand operation" like his (no mechanics) is too physically straining for a hobbyist with waning health. Lamborn uses a homemade, 3-foot mallet to whack the nuts from their limbs and an almond fork to scoop them up.
"The trees are just coming into good production -- they're about 15 years old," he said. "It's very difficult for me to say I'll abandon them. But I can't make enough to pay the bills. It's kind of dumb to keep doing it."
Lamborn's exit -- the county's official almond retreat -- is an ironic farewell.
California growers are swept up in an unparalleled almond joy, a spectacular harvest that has yielded a record heap.
Handlers received more than 1 billion pounds of the crunchy nuts last year, up from 821 million pounds in 2001, according to the Almond Board of California.
About 6,000 growers are shaking loaded trees mostly along an agricultural belt that stretches between Red Bluff and Bakersfield.
Almonds are the No. 1 nut tree crop in California, which produces more than 75 percent of the world's supply.
Ideal weather, innovative and efficient growing practices and strong publicity about the health benefits triggered the boom.
"At the same time, five years back we saw a sharp increase in planting -- and those trees are coming into production," said Colleen Aguiar of the state board.
Statewide, about 525,000 almond acres are "bearing," or producing nuts, with an additional 70,000 maturing and waiting in the wings.
But a much different story unfolds in the rolling hills of Contra Costa. The rapidly growing region lost more than half of its farmland to development between 1940 and 1970.
Nearly 300,000 residents have poured into the county since 1980, with new suburbs springing up and pushing out farms.
Nut farmers, faced with an almond market that shifted to the Central Valley, started packing or re-thinking their crops.
"I was happy to get out. When you can't survive, you're happy to get out," said retired almond farmer Gene Stonebarger, who watches over a grape vineyard at his Oakley ranch.
Lamborn, a graying man with hands the size of dinner plates, is the last one standing.
It hasn't been easy. His 15-acre ranch off Laurel Road, studded with walnut, peach and almond trees, is down from 40 acres in the early 1970s.
The Contra Costa Water District bought 17 acres in 1991 for its water treatment plant.
Nearby road widening projects and a future interchange at Laurel Road for the state Route 4 bypass is also cutting into his farm, his life.
Outside the windows of his 2,200-square-foot ranch home, Lamborn sees a city slowly shedding its rural image.
"Almonds, particularly, do well in sandy soils. And this is a particularly good area for almonds and grapes," he said, in a deep baritone, while leaning into a recliner.
"But after a while, it becomes pretty attractive for a landowner to decide to quit and get into houses."
Oakley, located six miles east of Antioch, incorporated in 1999 and is grappling with its identity and economic possibilities.
Its largest annual community event, the Almond Festival, clings to its agricultural heritage, drawing about 30,000 people over a weekend.
Organizers buy about 800 to 900 pounds of the tasty nuts, occasionally making an emergency run to a supermarket when the supply runs low.
Ben Toasted, the chamber of commerce's almond-shaped mascot, could be out of work soon.
"I have mixed feelings. With everything that ends, something begins," said Councilwoman Pat Anderson. "It's so sad to see something go away, that aesthetic part of a community that will not be seen by generations to come.
"Progress is moving forward. I'm happy for (Lamborn) that this part of his life is moving over to something else."
Lamborn, who was born in Utah and owns a 2,000-acre cattle ranch there, decided to call it quits last year.
After harvesting 10,000 pounds of almonds in 2001, he did not haul any of the nuts to his handler near Modesto last year.
In fact, he sounds excited about devoting more time to his 2-acre peach orchard, which yield his popular sun-dried "early Elbertas."
"Some folks come out here each year just for this one variety," he said, smiling. "They're sweeter. Excellent peach flavor."
Lamborn has been a featured act on the Central County farmers market circuit for the past two decades.
Locals call him "The Peach Man." His ripe fruit, Red Havens, Red Tops and Suncrests, sell out before 10 a.m.
For variety, or perhaps nostalgia, he wants to save 300 to 400 pounds of almonds for his market trips.
Alas, his orchard -- 700 prickly trees, some of which reach 20 feet tall -- will be open to the public once he returns from a vacation in April.
Bring an ax.
"U-pick and cut 'em," he said. "That's my program starting in '03."
Contra Costa Newspapers
Jan. 25, 2003
OAKLEY -- The gnarled trees, standing in neat rows like defeated soldiers, crowd a farm near a rural intersection between nowhere and somewhere.
Out here, in a growing city of 27,000 slowly losing its agricultural grip, it's going to end soon.
The last commercial almond orchard in Contra Costa County will collapse under a flurry of hatchet blows.
"Almond firewood is very good," said farmer Paul Lamborn, gazing out at his raw-boned trees under a morning sky.
What a finish. Lamborn, 83, will soon transform his 7-acre orchard into a "U-pick and cut 'em" firewood outlet.
Trees will fall for about $15 apiece, an eventual pileup that spells the pitiful demise of a once-mighty county crop.
The number of "bearing" almond acres countywide has plunged from 7,445 in 1950 to about a dozen today.
Suburban sprawl, fears over a bacterial disease called "almond leaf scorch" and intense competition in the Central Valley led to the collapse.
Lamborn, a retired county farm adviser for the University of California, said he has few choices.
He simply cannot afford to meet the industry's unyielding demands and rising expenses, such as hauling, labor, water and fertilizer materials.
What's more, a "hand operation" like his (no mechanics) is too physically straining for a hobbyist with waning health. Lamborn uses a homemade, 3-foot mallet to whack the nuts from their limbs and an almond fork to scoop them up.
"The trees are just coming into good production -- they're about 15 years old," he said. "It's very difficult for me to say I'll abandon them. But I can't make enough to pay the bills. It's kind of dumb to keep doing it."
Lamborn's exit -- the county's official almond retreat -- is an ironic farewell.
California growers are swept up in an unparalleled almond joy, a spectacular harvest that has yielded a record heap.
Handlers received more than 1 billion pounds of the crunchy nuts last year, up from 821 million pounds in 2001, according to the Almond Board of California.
About 6,000 growers are shaking loaded trees mostly along an agricultural belt that stretches between Red Bluff and Bakersfield.
Almonds are the No. 1 nut tree crop in California, which produces more than 75 percent of the world's supply.
Ideal weather, innovative and efficient growing practices and strong publicity about the health benefits triggered the boom.
"At the same time, five years back we saw a sharp increase in planting -- and those trees are coming into production," said Colleen Aguiar of the state board.
Statewide, about 525,000 almond acres are "bearing," or producing nuts, with an additional 70,000 maturing and waiting in the wings.
But a much different story unfolds in the rolling hills of Contra Costa. The rapidly growing region lost more than half of its farmland to development between 1940 and 1970.
Nearly 300,000 residents have poured into the county since 1980, with new suburbs springing up and pushing out farms.
Nut farmers, faced with an almond market that shifted to the Central Valley, started packing or re-thinking their crops.
"I was happy to get out. When you can't survive, you're happy to get out," said retired almond farmer Gene Stonebarger, who watches over a grape vineyard at his Oakley ranch.
Lamborn, a graying man with hands the size of dinner plates, is the last one standing.
It hasn't been easy. His 15-acre ranch off Laurel Road, studded with walnut, peach and almond trees, is down from 40 acres in the early 1970s.
The Contra Costa Water District bought 17 acres in 1991 for its water treatment plant.
Nearby road widening projects and a future interchange at Laurel Road for the state Route 4 bypass is also cutting into his farm, his life.
Outside the windows of his 2,200-square-foot ranch home, Lamborn sees a city slowly shedding its rural image.
"Almonds, particularly, do well in sandy soils. And this is a particularly good area for almonds and grapes," he said, in a deep baritone, while leaning into a recliner.
"But after a while, it becomes pretty attractive for a landowner to decide to quit and get into houses."
Oakley, located six miles east of Antioch, incorporated in 1999 and is grappling with its identity and economic possibilities.
Its largest annual community event, the Almond Festival, clings to its agricultural heritage, drawing about 30,000 people over a weekend.
Organizers buy about 800 to 900 pounds of the tasty nuts, occasionally making an emergency run to a supermarket when the supply runs low.
Ben Toasted, the chamber of commerce's almond-shaped mascot, could be out of work soon.
"I have mixed feelings. With everything that ends, something begins," said Councilwoman Pat Anderson. "It's so sad to see something go away, that aesthetic part of a community that will not be seen by generations to come.
"Progress is moving forward. I'm happy for (Lamborn) that this part of his life is moving over to something else."
Lamborn, who was born in Utah and owns a 2,000-acre cattle ranch there, decided to call it quits last year.
After harvesting 10,000 pounds of almonds in 2001, he did not haul any of the nuts to his handler near Modesto last year.
In fact, he sounds excited about devoting more time to his 2-acre peach orchard, which yield his popular sun-dried "early Elbertas."
"Some folks come out here each year just for this one variety," he said, smiling. "They're sweeter. Excellent peach flavor."
Lamborn has been a featured act on the Central County farmers market circuit for the past two decades.
Locals call him "The Peach Man." His ripe fruit, Red Havens, Red Tops and Suncrests, sell out before 10 a.m.
For variety, or perhaps nostalgia, he wants to save 300 to 400 pounds of almonds for his market trips.
Alas, his orchard -- 700 prickly trees, some of which reach 20 feet tall -- will be open to the public once he returns from a vacation in April.
Bring an ax.
"U-pick and cut 'em," he said. "That's my program starting in '03."
posted by Corey at 2:17 PM
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