Who’s heard this? “You really should eat organic. It’s much healthier and better for the planet.”
Sure it is.
But maybe it isn’t, and maybe you don’t really even know what you’re eating.
As many know, I am a full blown skeptic of the “organic” lifestyle. I personally think it’s a crock. But hey, if that’s the way you want to live, and waste your hard-earned money, knock yourself out.
But are you really? Are you heading home from Whole Foods, with an electric car filled with life saving organics, or did you just throw you cash away on a scam.
That is the question. And here may be the answer.
from the Kansas City Star:
Missouri charmer led double life, masterminded one of the biggest frauds in farm history
To be “certified organic” farmers in the U.S. must follow rules spelled out in the USDA National Organic Program.
Like all the best con artists, Randy Constant was a charmer, hard not to like.
Big hearted. Good listener. You’d never have guessed that the father of three, grandfather of five was a liar, cheat and serial philanderer who masterminded one of the biggest and longest-running frauds in the history of American agriculture.
“He was a wonderful person,” an old friend said. “He just had that other side to him.”
“What he done shocked me to death,” said Stoutsville, Missouri, farmer John Heinecke, who did business with Constant for years. “I didn’t know he was that kind of corrupt.”
Until the full story started to emerge last summer, Constant seemed like one of the best things to come out of Chillicothe since those first pre-cut loaves appeared on store shelves 90 years ago.
He made a good living buying and selling organic grain. He raised tilapia by the ton inside a former Walmart, shipping the farm-raised fish to Whole Foods and hundreds of other supermarkets nationwide.
His reputation earned him prominent mention in Successful Farming magazine’s June 2017 special issue as one of “10 Successful Farmers to Watch” in America.
What the magazine’s editors didn’t know was that Constant was already being closely watched. On a humid Tuesday morning later that same month, a line of black SUVs rolled down Oaklawn Drive and parked outside the four-bedroom, Cape Cod-style house that Constant shared with his wife, Pam.
“We have a search warrant,” agents from the Office of Inspector General at the U.S. Department of Agriculture said as they appeared at the couple’s front door around 9:30.