Signs of harvest are all
around. The afternoon sun
glows amber over the fields
and the farm stands are
filled to overflowing with
vegetables and fruit. We’re
lucky to live in a place
where we can have such an
immediate connection to
the food we eat.
If you live outside of one
of the local villages, you
might even live on a bit of
land that fed (or feeds) your
neighbors.
Our house here in Fly
Creek was never a proper
farm. For more than 100
years it was a one-room
country schoolhouse. Where
the coal room once stood,
now we have a den. Where
students once sat in their
rigid little desks, now we
sit around a kitchen table
and take in the view of the
rolling hills outside.
That view includes our
own little foray into agriculture.
Next to the house,
we have a small plot of potatoes,
squash, corn and
beans. The corn and potatoes
seem to be doing alright,
but the beans and
squash seem to be a nonstarter.
Thank goodness we
don’t have to rely on our
growing skills to feed the
family all winter long here
at Schoolhouse Farm.
We have been thinking a
lot about food, though. And
— judging by the books
people have been reading,
I’m not the only one.
Julia Child’s ``My Life in
France,’’ tops The New
York Times non-fiction
bestseller list this week,
and ``Julie and Julia’’ is
close on its heels at No. 3.
At Nos. 13 and 15 are
Michael Pollan’s books ``The
Omnivore’s Dilemma’’ and
``In Defense of Food,’’ respectively.
Barbara Kingsolver’s
``Animal, Vegetable, Miracle,’’
clocks in at No. 23, and
if you count Elizabeth Gilbert’s
``East, Pray, Love’’ as
a partial meditation on
good, food, well you can add
a No. 10 bestseller to the
list.
The common ingredient
simmering through all of
these books (plus Mark Bittman’s
``Food Matters,’’
Marion Nestle’s ``What to
Eat,’’ Carlo Petrini’s ``Slow
Food Nation’’ and many
others) is the notion that
we have ventured too far
away from the source of our
food and that factory-produced
food is bad for our
bodies, bad for the environment
and bad for the local
economies. It may also be
bad for our souls.
In his book ``Anger,’’
Buddhist monk Thich Nhat
Hanh asserts that the first
step toward cooling the
rampant flames of anger in
our lives and our society is
to consume food that was
created without violence.
He asks, in essence, if you
think it’s physically and
emotionally healthy to
nourish ourselves with the
suffering of others. No
thanks.
That doesn’t mean being
a vegetarian. But it does
mean eating meat that was
produced with humane,
compassionate practices.
But how can you know if
the factory farm 2,000 miles
away treats its livestock
humanely?
You can’t. But you can
know whether the farmer
down the street treats his
cows decently.
And vegetarians aren’t
off the hook when it comes
to consuming food created
compassionately.
Who picked that juicy
apple in your fruit bowl?
Was it a woman or man
who earned a living wage?
Or was it a 10-year-old
child who needs to skip
school in harvest season because
Mom and Dad’s paychecks
won’t cover even the
most basic living expenses?
And was the apple grown in
a way that nourished the
soil from which it came, or
is it all red and shiny at the
expense of the surrounding
environment (and the
health of whomever sprayed
the pesticide)?
I’m glad I don’t have to
rely on my own farming
skills to survive the approaching
winter months.
But I would much rather
live in a world where communities
sustained themselves,
where people knew
exactly where their food
came from and where every
dollar I spent on food supported
a farmer rather than
a corporate executive’s
monthly bonus.
Elizabeth Trever Buchinger
is what she eats. You
can connect with her at
www.moremindfulfamily.
wordpress.com.
