The farmer's lot is a vanishing one; he doubts anyone cares.

The farmer's lot is a vanishing one; he doubts anyone cares

"Early in the 1890s, Fred, Max and Frank Godde homesteaded in the rolling hills of California's Antelope Valley. Like many of the early settlers, they experimented with almond orchards, wheat fields and vineyards. In time, their hard work paid off and the Godde name became synonymous with hard work and quality." -- label on a bottle of Godde Estate Private Reserve wine

Today, Steve Godde, the young heir apparent to the Godde tradition, wonders how much longer he and the remaining large-scale farmers in Los Angeles County can make a living tilling the soil.

Speaking in the sunlight-dappled shade of a sycamore tree, with several cows mooing in the background, Godde estimates there are some 25 farms left in the windwhipped Antelope Valley -- Los Angeles County's largest remaining farming area -- down from some 500 in the valley's agricultural heyday, the late 1950s and early 1960s. Most of the farms are headed by men nearing retirement, without young offspring who are willing to stake their futures on agriculture.

Through the early 1950s, when the San Fernando Valley was still under cultivation, Los Angeles County was one of the leading counties nationwide in the production of eggs, lima beans, citrus and dairy products.

"We won't see large-scale farming as in the past," says Godde, who in a sports shirt and jeans contrasts with the overalls and pitchfork image of farmers promulgated by childhood books. "But I think there's potential for vineyards."

Godde himself is unsure about carrying on the family tradition, confessing that he has considered going back to school to get an MBA and entering another business, if his attempt to popularize his family's recently introduced wines sours.

Already sour are his and many other farmers' feelings because they believe themselves abandoned by those who consume their goods.

Instead of getting encouragement from consumers and county officials, Godde says, farmers receive tongue-lashings over unfounded -- in the farmers' opinion -- concerns regarding the use of pesticides and they face mounting paperwork required by regulators.

"In California, it seems everyone comes down on agriculture even though it's the No. 1 industry (statewide)," says the 30-year-old Godde, who is also president of the Los Angeles County Farm Bureau, a farmers' lobbying association.

As Godde and fellow farmers see it, politicians who have risen to power championing the rights of the underdog don't include farmers in that category. He recalls a February hearing on whether farmers should be exempted from a 5 percent county utility tax that would have hit farmers hard because of their high use of electricity. All through the session, newly elected Los Angeles County Supervisor Gloria Molina repeatedly questioned farmers' representatives about whether most farms were owned by large corporations.

"Gloria Molina thought all these big companies were involved in farming," Godde says. "We told her there were none. In the nation, 97 to 98 percent of all farming is family farming."

Unlike some California counties, Los Angeles County has no right-to-farm ordinance which prevents other businesses that move into farm territory from seeking to curb farm noise and smell.

Unfriendly government isn't the only factor pushing farmers out, however. The skyrocketing price of land, shoved up by the burgeoning growth of Lancaster and Palmdale and bedroom communities for Los Angeles City workers, makes notselling out uneconomical for farmers or those who own the land on which they do their farming.

Godde says six years ago a farmer could get $6,000 per acre for his farmland, about equal to what he or she needed to make land payments and earn a substantial living. Now land commands prices of up to $40,000 per acre.

Costs of electricity, water and labor are increasing far more rapidly than the basic prices of commodities.

And fewer young people are willing to endure the endless hours and exhausting physical labor involved in maintaining a successful farm.

Despite the many disincentives, considerable agriculture is still conducted in the county. In 1990, $274 million in crops and vegetation was raised by farmers in the county, according to data from the Los Angeles Agricultural Commissioner.

By far the largest crop was ornamental trees and shrubs, with $149 million in 1990, and eggs, at $28 million, and bedding plants, at $16.6 million in second and third place. Fourteen other crops brought in less than $10 million each in 1990.

The total is slowly declining as farmers sell their farms or stop leasing them, says Leon Spaugy, Los Angeles County agricultural commissioner.

But several farmers say that come what may, they will remain farmers.

"It's hard to understand (farming), when you can retire on some of the land prices you're offered," says Gailen Kyle, 36, who with his father farms some 940 acres in the Antelope Valley. "But farming is more a way of life than economics. It's something I've grown up with; boys all over the world do what their father does. I like farming. This just happens to be where the (well) water is deep and electricity price is high. But this is one of the best areas for growing onions and alfalfa."

Looking on the bright side of things, some farmers think the arrival of commuters may create a ready market for their products, such as hay for horses, and reduce transportation costs. And many weekend farmers and patches of small-scale agriculture remain on the outskirts of the county.

But most farmers believe agriculture in the county will continue to wind down, parcel by parcel, says Godde.

"If I do go back to farming, I might go to another state," says John Alesso, past farm bureau president and one of the most prominent farmers in the Antelope Valley until he semi-retired in 1989.

Alesso is a short, wiry man with close-cropped hair and a bumper sticker on his white Cadillac that reads "One Nation Under God: blessed is the nation where God is the Lord." Tractors, cars and farm equipment in various states of assemblage surround his home set a half-mile from the nearest road.

A child of the Great Depression when farm prices plummeted -- "the Okies were pretty wealthy compared to the way we were" -- Alesso is philosophical about farms giving way in the county. "It boils down to a large degree that some areas are better suited for agriculture, and others are better suited for residential and industry. And it's better not to mix the two up. They got carried away out here and it will end up as a logical place for housing and industry."

He is impassioned, though, over educating city slickers about where their food comes from.

"There are a lot of misconceptions about farmers," says Alesso. "People think that food is grown in the supermarket. They don't stop to think where it comes from."

Prompted by such concerns, he and others at the farm bureau for 10 years have participated in a California Foundation for Agriculture program that stages farm days at inner city elementary schools. They bring farm equipment, raw produce and animals into the classroom and explain the steps from seeds and young animals to processed market goods.

"We should have started this 40 years ago," Alesso says.

PHOTO : Steve Godde: Unsure about carrying on the family tradition

PHOTO : Steve Godde at work on his Lancaster farm