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I began eating organic food back in the 1980s before Federal Regulations defined the category. Pesticides originated as chemicals used in warfare, and I intuitively felt that ingesting food grown with them just couldn’t be right.
It’s true that sometimes I fudge a bit. If my local store doesn’t have organic onions (which is rare these days), and I need one for a recipe, I’ll buy a conventional one rather than go to another store.
I was recently on the phone with one of the original leaders of Organic Valley. He pointed out that we are both steeped well—like a couple of fine teas—in organic culture and history.
We have both based our life on organic agriculture and food as a starting place of health and healing. We eat organic food because it’s healthier for us and better for the planet. We yearn to support organic farmers with our dollars and our time.
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.
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.