Some of you may remember that the mental health rehabilitation center where I work as a Horticultural Therapist was inspected by people from the state health department in May. (I wrote about this in “Red Tape And Green Food.”) The inspectors told us that the garden that I work in with clients had to be certified before clients could eat produce from it; but they provided no information about what certification was needed, who the certifying body was; what the process of certification entailed. Up until that point, clients and some staff had been eating stuff from the garden every week.
A month after the inspection, my supervisor gingerly approached one of the inspectors to ask for more information. She was sent a suggestion for the kind of certification the inspector believed we should get, which was a Certified Producer’s Certificate Number from the County Agricultural Commissioner’s Office.
I filled out the application for that certification, which was clearly for people and organizations that want to sell what they grow at a farmer’s market—in short, not us—and soon after, received a call from someone at the County Ag Commissioner’s Office telling me that that certification was not a good fit for our situation. They suggested a Cottage Food Operations Self-Certification Class A from the County Environmental Health Office.
When I called the County Environmental Health Office, they said that the Self-Certification Class A was for cottage food producers, people who want to make jams and chutneys in a home kitchen and sell them—and as such was clearly not a good fit for our circumstances.
Meanwhile, I had contacted the state inspector who reported that she had good news—there was another mental health rehabilitation center in the South Bay that had a garden that was certified. Except I had worked there before working at the center I’m at now, and I knew for a fact that that garden was NOT certified, that they had experienced a similar series of events, and had been in limbo for two years, with clients growing lots of produce but forbidden from eating it. She was surprised to learn that that garden was not certified, and said that she would need to consult with her colleagues about how to proceed.
To me, it seemed (and seems) reasonable that, if a state entity that conducts inspections requires a certification, that entity will also provide not only specific information about what certification is required, but a clear path to securing that certification. Au contraire, Pierre.
I won’t bore you with all the details here, but you get the picture. I spent 14 hours doing pretty unsatisfying research, because the research was largely directionless because the state inspector was unable to provide direction, but was still comfortable sending me in a number of different, unproductive directions. I called people; waited on hold; traded messages; emailed; and most time-consuming, read the relevant sections of the California Code of Regulations, Title IX, which governs substance abuse treatment centers and mental health rehabilitation centers.
I couldn’t find any regulation that required the certification of gardens, although the document acknowledged the existence of gardens at these kinds of treatment and rehab centers.
So how could we be out of compliance with a regulation that doesn’t exist?
And while we were sorting out what kind of certification was needed, caught between the state that wanted it and the county that had no certification to offer that seemed to fit the bill, clients were watching blueberries, strawberries, and tomatoes ripen on the vine, but they weren’t allowed to eat any of it. Birds had a blueberry-eating orgy this spring, and now we regularly harvest produce for me to drop off at a local domestic violence shelter, where they’re happy to get the fresh food, but isn’t it odd that it’s OK for them to eat it and not the patients with mental illness at the center?
I have a congenital problem, and it’s gotten me into trouble my whole life. I do not suffer fools, foolishness, or gross injustice lightly and this was a perfect storm. Clients I care about, who have no voice in this, were being “protected” by the state, which was offering no way forward to free up the logjam.
I wrote a long email to the inspector communicating all this and adding that clients in a mental health rehabilitation center face a lot of challenges. The garden—working in it, harvesting from it, and enjoying its produce—are wholesome, life-affirming activities in lives that don’t necessarily have a lot of that. And now we were complicating that too. I was very happy to apply for a certification if the inspecting organization could indicate what certification we should get and how to go about applying for it. Otherwise, since there does not seem to be a regulation governing this, I suggested that we go back to how we were operating before the inspection.
I said other stuff, too, but that’s the gist.
She was pissed.
She didn’t respond to me, but to my supervisor, saying that she didn’t want to be in contact with anyone from the center except the administrator. My supervisor says she also included something from the regs about food handling.
So I think it’s actually a food handling issue, not a garden certification issue. Which might actually be useful information that offers a way forward, but I’m out of the conversation now.
Historically, this is a recurring sticking-point for me. As a child, I was pretty convinced that I could tell when the emperor had no clothes, and I still feel that way as an adult. My mistake, which I make repeatedly, is believing that, if I can just communicate my perspective clearly enough, things will change for the better. So I continue to tilt at windmills, and if I glance over at the scoreboard, it’s pretty much: Windmills 15 Mary 0.
Here’s the thing: While this habit is often considered a liability in the workplace, I continue to believe it’s one of the best things about me.
Last week, somebody sent me the picture below which is on a T-shirt that one can buy.