You would not be far off calling Rocky Ford native Mike Bartolo a ‘man of the soil.’ But what grows out of the soil is where he really shines. Bartolo, actually, Dr. Bartolo, is nationally known for his knowledge of chile, the pepper not the dish.
Bartolo’s family left Italy in the early part of the last century for the opportunities this country offered. But initially, they found themselves in mining and steel, the two industries that enticed scores of immigrants to southern Colorado. It was one or the other, said Bartolo.
Both industries were hungry for labor. It was only when they had saved enough to buy a patch of land that farming became their calling in a new land. It has been that way ever since.
Farming, of course, was nothing new for Bartolo’s ancestors. It was a generational calling for them in Italy. The only thing new in Colorado were the seeds they submerged in the soil. The bonus, though, was doing it in a region that more often than not rewarded their efforts.
Bartolo spent summers learning all he could about family farming, its joys, success, even its heartbreak. It then became time for him to leave the farm to learn the science of this family calling.
After earning degrees in Bio-Agriculture and Horticulture at CSU Fort Collins, Bartolo came home and no surprise, became the latest link in this generational tradition. Farming for him, as it had been for family, not a job but a calling. He also had the good fortune of having an aunt who gave him seeds an uncle had preserved. The seeds were chile but so much more.
Using what he’d learned in a classroom along with the lessons from the fields, Bartolo’s path was forged. His own personal odyssey with growing things—not just chile—began. “I’m just naturally curious about a lot of things; soil and water; melons and onions…just fascinated with them. But it just seems like everyone wants to know about chile peppers.”
People go to him, he said, all the time to get the answers they think only he can provide on this fruit that has placed Pueblo on the chile pepper map. In fact, the southern Colorado city now openly competes with once dominant Hatch, New Mexico, for the crown of ‘best of the best’ in the chile game.
Bartolo, also a co-founder of Pueblo’s annual ‘Chile and Frijoles Festival,’ concedes he doesn’t have all the answers about chile. But one thing he does know is that the patch of land south and east of the city where the state and region’s best crop is harvested seems ideal for growing this fruit along with so many other crops.
But one thing that remains a mystery about Pueblo’s chile is measuring its place on the state’s agricultural table. There doesn’t seem to be any hard data on the crop’s tonnage or economic contributions. “It’s not like corn,” he said, a crop whose numbers are measured in tons and easily quantifiable. “There’s just not a lot of statistics” on chile. The state, he added, lists chile as a ‘specialty’ crop.
What Bartolo can tell you is that chile deserves its respect. “You have to understand the risk and reward” in growing it. “It takes money to produce a good crop…it’s horrifically expensive.” Add to that the gamble. One hungry insect or one untimely hailstorm can ruin a season.
But luck held this season. The crop came in and can be found in roasters—along with its seductively alluring scent—up and down the Front Range. Prices this year, around $40 a bushel plus the cost of the roast.
But chile has something that can’t be measured, Bartolo said. “It’s a communal thing.” It is the tapestry woven with threads of culture, heritage, food, family and memories.
