Somebody as soon as advised me you would survive on simply peanut butter sandwiches and oranges. I don’t know if that is true, however the recommendation steered a tasty lunch for a street journey. It was a freezing, foggy day final December, and I used to be getting ready to drive from my dwelling in Klamath Falls, Oregon, to California’s Central Valley, the good agricultural heartland of a state that produces a 3rd of the nation’s greens and two-thirds of its fruits and nuts. As I unfold my peanut butter, I learn the packages on my counter. My nine-grain bread promised, vaguely, that it was “made with pure substances.” My oranges have been “regionally grown.” My peanut butter jar assured me twice, as soon as on both sides, that the unfold was “NON GMO.” It was even “CERTIFIED NON GMO.” The inspection should have been a somewhat cursory affair, on condition that there are not any genetically modified peanuts available on the market.