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My grandfather was a man who cherished every morsel; he ate slowly and with purpose. As a child, I remember he was always the last to finish—and we did not leave the table until he was done.
The midday meal was the most substantial and reverently honored. We sat and let him have the last indulgence. Comprised of garden vegetables, fresh or preserved, small animals, chickens, roots and bitter greens, my grandparents harvested and fermented many things.
Since sheltering in place, I have been examining how I eat and remembering the ways of my grandfather and wonder…
Storm clouds may seem to be gathering on multiple fronts these days, but there is hope in many areas. I believe at the root of every human being is a nugget of good—a place where we really want to do the right thing.
The world is becoming a more environmentally conscious place. People recognize that to change the trajectory of degradation to our planet, we must take matters into our own hands.
I have been attempting to reconcile my place in the world. As it applies to my heritage, racial equality or lack thereof, and social justice. Of course, also realizing how food fits into the equation.
This was a personal post for me to write and may not be for the faint-hearted.
Growing up in Iowa, I remember shared slaloms and slides in a wintery universe. Some of my earliest memories are of riding a cold, solemn and wide toboggan down a small incline—Jefferson Hill. A broken wrist.
The land around me was dotted with farms where families lived, raised children and cherished the land. Picture voluptuous mounds routed out by slow rivers meandering from the drift-less places. Wisconsin’s dales—the Mississippi River—The Cedar—The Missouri were around us. These confluences of rivers once defined the tribes of mid-North America.
I was one of the wandering ones who left. When I was young, I often wished to be a gypsy or trapeze artist. I wanted to dance with fire, stay warm and get away from the territory I knew as Iowa.
The place where I was conceived.
Iowa is actually a Sioux word, meaning “the sleepy people.”
The Dakota Sioux they were one of several tribes that could be found throughout Iowa. The others included the Ioway, the Illini, the Otoe, and the Missouria.
In this election year, while the pandemic rages, the political landscape also seems to be afire. Nary a day or hour goes by when some headline screams for our attention, perhaps dividing us.
It’s important to remember that food unites us. Whether you are left or right, food is a universal thing we can all agree on. We must eat to live, and, to live well, we must eat well.
If you believe organic agriculture and organic food is good for you, people and the planet, it may be time to see food as a political act and get involved.
Over the past several months, the world has been stuck in lockdown. Many of us have been self-isolating, hunkering down at home, so we don’t contract or spread the virus.
Life isn’t the same as it was. We cannot do the things we once did, nor can we be with some of the people we love.
It’s enough to make us all feel a bit mad.
These unprecedented times are having consequences, not only for our physical health and our livelihoods, but most importantly, our state of mind.
