Thinking Globally, Eating Locally, or: A blog post long overdue.
For a little over three weeks now I have not been eating strictly vegan. Am I ashamed? No. Did I give into temptation? No. Will I stop doing this stupid Q and A format and start explainging? Yes.
It all started about a month before the semester ended, when I spent the evenings scrubbing pots for Saga, and would ruminate and philosophize for hours as I scraped off the bits of food. One day I asked myself the question that usually comes up at least once a year. Why am I still vegan? Does it still feel like the right thing to do? Does it still feel important to me? For the first time in three years, all I came up with was: "I don't know." So I spent the rest of that shift, and most of the rest of the following shift, thinking about it. Really putting my mind to it, coming at it from every possible angle, to see if a vegan diet was still something I wanted for my life.
On a practical level, veganism was not fulfilling my needs. I was perfectly healthy and my mind was as sharp as ever, but the little activist inside me was starving, crying out meekly for some envigoration. I soon came to the source of this: I no longer felt like I was making an impact. When I was the only vegan in high school my dietary habits roused curiousity, interest, and, yes, insults. It provoked my peers out of their day to day habits long enough to consider something else. That something didn't have to be veganism or even vegetarianism, per se. But it was enough to get them wondering where their food came from, something of which every living person should be aware. I struggled to get by without making judgments about my meat-eating pals, and everything was swell.
When I arrived at Hampshire, I was no longer alone in my food-awareness. I soon formed solid friendships with two other amazing people who just happened to be vegan as well, and a whole lot of people who weren't. What I came to realize months later, up to my elbows in dish soap and dining hall leftovers, was that while my eating was still in line with my general "do no harm" philosophy, it didn't really cover much else. How could I think myself any better than others who supported factory farming of animals while eating food from Kraft, Nabisco, Coca-Cola, etc. Just because something mass-produced, processed, and pre-packaged is vegan, that doesn't mean everything is a-okay. This was a fact that I chose to shunt aside for most of my first year at college.
And then there were the philosophical changes I'd undergone. As I peeled caked-on lasagna and crusted-over gravy from pots and pans I thought about how I no longer felt as if I lived in a world of absolutes. I could no longer say for certain that some things were always bad and some things were always good. Rather than feeling lost and confused, I felt very comfortble with this view of the world. But I was still following a dietary pattern that proclaimed, "Thou shalt not kill." I came to realize that people don't interact with the world on one great moral scale. The world is just people making choices, some based on their own personal ethical compass, some with no guide at all. Good and evil? Empty words. The world is people making choices. Some choices cause pain, some cause comfort. I thought, "If I can avoid the choices that lead to suffering and choose the ones that cause joy, I can feel good about the choices I make from day to day."
As I waded through dining hall slop I allowed myself to imagine my life with less dietary restrictions. I thought of all the wonderful cultural food traditions in the world. I thought of the Italian harvester plucking the tomato from European dirt, the Dutch farmer milking his cows by hand and artfully aging his cheeses, and I thought of the Japanese with their carefully fed, groomed, and cared for Kobe beef. I realized that if I did end up doing all the traveling that I hoped to do, that I would not want to experience the world as a strict vegan. But what to do till then?
Then I thought of the brave New England farmer not a mile away from where I was standing, plowing and tilling the stony Amherst soil, treating his animals with care, refusing to use pesticides or herbicides, but still unable to pay the thousands required to become organic certified. And then I understood.
Eating local would not only allow me to experience animal products without guilt, but it would make a powerful statement, and a real difference here in my community. Now I drink non-homogenized, non-pasteurized whole milk from a farm mere miles from my front door, and I buy fresh eggs from a man who has the most amazing beard I have ever seen every week at the Amherst farmer's market. We buy fresh bread and vegetables when available at that same open-air market, and always get fruits and veggies in season.
The result? Eating in Amherst actually means something now, because I have a connection to the people who produce my food. I breathe the same air as their animals, walk the same earth that nourishes their grain, and delight in every new eating experience. So there you have it: my great confession. If you'd like to look at the past three years of my life and call me a hypocrite, there is nothing stopping you. But know this: I do not regret my food choices of the past. Being vegan was one of the best things I ever did. It was what first allowed me to examine what I was eating, and to give a damn. So yes, when I visit you now, I may eat some ice cream, or make you scrambled eggs on toast. But it's not because I'm admitting defeat, rather it's because this whole experience has led me to realize that I no longer feel that making a difference must mean adherence to strict diet, way of life, or way of thought. Everyone has the ability to make change in the world, from wherever they are, whatever they are.
Much remains unsaid, but this post is already long enough.
It all started about a month before the semester ended, when I spent the evenings scrubbing pots for Saga, and would ruminate and philosophize for hours as I scraped off the bits of food. One day I asked myself the question that usually comes up at least once a year. Why am I still vegan? Does it still feel like the right thing to do? Does it still feel important to me? For the first time in three years, all I came up with was: "I don't know." So I spent the rest of that shift, and most of the rest of the following shift, thinking about it. Really putting my mind to it, coming at it from every possible angle, to see if a vegan diet was still something I wanted for my life.
On a practical level, veganism was not fulfilling my needs. I was perfectly healthy and my mind was as sharp as ever, but the little activist inside me was starving, crying out meekly for some envigoration. I soon came to the source of this: I no longer felt like I was making an impact. When I was the only vegan in high school my dietary habits roused curiousity, interest, and, yes, insults. It provoked my peers out of their day to day habits long enough to consider something else. That something didn't have to be veganism or even vegetarianism, per se. But it was enough to get them wondering where their food came from, something of which every living person should be aware. I struggled to get by without making judgments about my meat-eating pals, and everything was swell.
When I arrived at Hampshire, I was no longer alone in my food-awareness. I soon formed solid friendships with two other amazing people who just happened to be vegan as well, and a whole lot of people who weren't. What I came to realize months later, up to my elbows in dish soap and dining hall leftovers, was that while my eating was still in line with my general "do no harm" philosophy, it didn't really cover much else. How could I think myself any better than others who supported factory farming of animals while eating food from Kraft, Nabisco, Coca-Cola, etc. Just because something mass-produced, processed, and pre-packaged is vegan, that doesn't mean everything is a-okay. This was a fact that I chose to shunt aside for most of my first year at college.
And then there were the philosophical changes I'd undergone. As I peeled caked-on lasagna and crusted-over gravy from pots and pans I thought about how I no longer felt as if I lived in a world of absolutes. I could no longer say for certain that some things were always bad and some things were always good. Rather than feeling lost and confused, I felt very comfortble with this view of the world. But I was still following a dietary pattern that proclaimed, "Thou shalt not kill." I came to realize that people don't interact with the world on one great moral scale. The world is just people making choices, some based on their own personal ethical compass, some with no guide at all. Good and evil? Empty words. The world is people making choices. Some choices cause pain, some cause comfort. I thought, "If I can avoid the choices that lead to suffering and choose the ones that cause joy, I can feel good about the choices I make from day to day."
As I waded through dining hall slop I allowed myself to imagine my life with less dietary restrictions. I thought of all the wonderful cultural food traditions in the world. I thought of the Italian harvester plucking the tomato from European dirt, the Dutch farmer milking his cows by hand and artfully aging his cheeses, and I thought of the Japanese with their carefully fed, groomed, and cared for Kobe beef. I realized that if I did end up doing all the traveling that I hoped to do, that I would not want to experience the world as a strict vegan. But what to do till then?
Then I thought of the brave New England farmer not a mile away from where I was standing, plowing and tilling the stony Amherst soil, treating his animals with care, refusing to use pesticides or herbicides, but still unable to pay the thousands required to become organic certified. And then I understood.
Eating local would not only allow me to experience animal products without guilt, but it would make a powerful statement, and a real difference here in my community. Now I drink non-homogenized, non-pasteurized whole milk from a farm mere miles from my front door, and I buy fresh eggs from a man who has the most amazing beard I have ever seen every week at the Amherst farmer's market. We buy fresh bread and vegetables when available at that same open-air market, and always get fruits and veggies in season.
The result? Eating in Amherst actually means something now, because I have a connection to the people who produce my food. I breathe the same air as their animals, walk the same earth that nourishes their grain, and delight in every new eating experience. So there you have it: my great confession. If you'd like to look at the past three years of my life and call me a hypocrite, there is nothing stopping you. But know this: I do not regret my food choices of the past. Being vegan was one of the best things I ever did. It was what first allowed me to examine what I was eating, and to give a damn. So yes, when I visit you now, I may eat some ice cream, or make you scrambled eggs on toast. But it's not because I'm admitting defeat, rather it's because this whole experience has led me to realize that I no longer feel that making a difference must mean adherence to strict diet, way of life, or way of thought. Everyone has the ability to make change in the world, from wherever they are, whatever they are.
Much remains unsaid, but this post is already long enough.
posted by dan | 2:18 PM
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