A city girl’s dilemma about her dinner plate

Vegan chicken-less strips?

Vegan chicken-less strips?

I don’t write much about food, but I hope you’ll allow me this digression today. A friend and I recently sat talking at her kitchen table about blogging and writing, and she asked me if I ever have a topic that just will not leave me alone until I write about it. I answered “Yes” without hesitation. My dilemma about my dinner plate is a perfect example.

To be or not to be … a vegetarian
Because I have an egg allergy, I’ve often joked with my husband that if I ever became a vegetarian, I might as well become a vegan, because I’d already be almost there.

The obstacle to me becoming a vegetarian or a vegan? I love meat and cheese, butter, ham broth and lots of other animal products. When I was growing up, I would look at my mom cross-eyed if she cooked a dinner that didn’t have some sort of meat in it. I would happily eat just about any meat she put in front of us (however, I ate asparagus – my least favorite vegetable – every day for a week one time just so I’d never have to eat liver again. I’m still waiting for a “thank you” from my dad and brother for that sacrifice because she never made it for them again, either.).

Our family traditions and gatherings often center on food, but most especially meet: turkey at Thanksgiving and Christmas, marinated lamb at Easter, barbecue for special birthday or anniversary celebrations. My sister-in-law makes a fabulous pork roast, and I can always count on my brother to whip up something tasty on the grill. I sometimes think I could eat chicken every day for the rest of my life and be perfectly happy.

Or I used to think that. A couple of weeks ago, I watched a documentary called Vegucated (a film I heard about thanks to a blog about running, exercise and food I’ve been following). The film-maker challenged three meat-eating New Yorkers to try a vegan lifestyle for six weeks, and during that time she educated them about where our meat comes from. I haven’t had chicken since.

There are haunting images of animals being castrated and killed in brutal ways. Of baby chicks being dumped off of conveyor belts into a box because they’re boy chicks (and therefore deemed useless). Of horrific cramped farm conditions. Of newborn calves dragged immediately away from their mothers and milk cows forced to give birth repeatedly to keep them producing milk. Of loads of dead fish getting dumped back into the ocean because they’re not the right kinds but had the bad luck to get caught up in the fishing nets.

It’s a damning indictment of how we treat animals to feed ourselves.

The invisibility of food production
I’m a city girl, always have been and probably always will be. That means I’ll always rely on grocery stores for most of my food. But that reliance does not acquit me of my responsibility to know how my food is produced.

When I was in college, I gave up eating veal while taking a philosophy class from a staunch vegan. I never knew before about the conditions veal calves were raised in until then, and it opened my eyes to the seemingly invisible way our food gets to the grocery store. But veal was all I was willing to give up.

When I was a high school English teacher, I’d give up meat for a few weeks while my students and I studied Upton Sinclair’s The Jungle but gradually slip back into my meat-eating habits.

My husband and I talked a few nights ago about my feeling equally troubled about becoming a vegetarian and not becoming a vegetarian. He eats very little meat anyway, and so it’s not much of a stretch to see him becoming a vegetarian, but he knows how much I rely on meat as part of my diet. He asked what I would need to continue eating meat.

I told him I wasn’t sure. Maybe meat from a local, small farm? But even with improved conditions, would that make the killing of an animal okay enough for me to put on my plate? If I would never kill a chicken myself, and I really dislike handling raw chicken meat, what makes it okay for me to eat it?

So I’m facing a dilemma and trying to make incremental changes in the meantime. I’m eating fish just once a week and dairy products maybe a little less than usual, but no other meat (though at some point I will have to decide what to do about what little is in my freezer). I’m also trying meatless options like the one pictured at the top of this post. I don’t recommend Trader Joe’s chickenless strips despite their promise of protein and iron. But I have had some faux chicken that I liked, so I know good alternatives exist.

As vegetarianism/veganism becomes more popular, maybe it will become an even easier decision to make. Even Justin Timberlake is on board (or at least his character on a recent episode of Saturday Night Live was, inviting us all to “Come on down to Veganville.”).

I’ll continue the debate with myself, and I’ll continue to educate myself. In the meantime, I invite you to weigh in, though I know that opening the floor to comments and opinions might only guarantee I become even more befuddled about the whole issue.

The wearin’ of the green

Happy St. Patrick’s Day!

I didn’t want to wait until my usual Wednesday post to share these photos of my city’s St. Patrick’s Day parade. It’s one of the few parades in the city that doesn’t require an entry fee, and so it brings out an interesting cast of characters, along with the ones you’d expect to find in a St. Patrick’s Day parade.

This parade is always special to me. I used to march in it when I was an Irish dancer, and one year, I ran into a guy I knew from church right after the parade ended and realized I really liked him. He asked me out the next day, and we’ve been together ever since!

Anyway, I hope you enjoy these pictures, and wherever you are today, may you be blessed, and go n-eírí an bóthar leat. (May the road rise to meet you.)

Dancers, drums and pipes

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Dancing for the crowd

Continue reading

A tourist’s impression of trees

My husband and I headed to Kentucky this weekend to run a race – a 10K road race for me and a 60K (!) trail race for him. This was my first visit to Kentucky and my husband’s first stay there when he wasn’t just driving through from one state to another.

We ran in a beautiful National Recreation Area called Land Between the Lakes, and I was struck by how much beauty and grace trees lend to a landscape. Maybe I was thinking of the trees so much because I had a long wait for my husband to come through a path among the trees before he could head to the finish line.

I’d had enough time after my race to drive back to our hotel, shower, change and check out before heading back out to watch him finish. I waited at this final trail crossing/aid station for over an hour, grateful for having finished my race but also grateful for such a beautiful place to run. I was also happy to see little signs that spring was coming, the hint of color rising on the trees, a bit of green peeking through here and there. I also didn’t mind the wait because it’s always fun to see how different runners react when heading in to another loop or turning toward the finish.

I wasn't the only one waiting for a runner to come out of these woods.

I wasn’t the only one waiting for a runner to come out of these woods.

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A little green vine by the runners’ trail promised of spring coming soon.

When we drove through Land Between the Lakes the day before, we stopped at one of the visitor centers to walk around a bit. While there, we walked through a historical exhibit that spoke of the sacrifices of turning this area into a National Recreation Area. The Tennessee Valley Authority displaced whole communities to create this area, and though I’m glad for the beauty of the place, I know it didn’t come without great economic and emotional cost for those who lived here before.

From trail to traffic
After my husband finished his race, we headed for Nashville. Talk about a transition! We went from serene, quiet, tree-filled trails and small towns to really, really terrible traffic and the constant wail of car horns and sirens. We headed to the Ryman for a concert Saturday night, and the traffic on the way from our hotel left me saying, “I would not ever want to live here.”  Continue reading

On cutting down trees, again

Back in January, I wrote a post about some tree cutting that happened nearby to put up a needless sidewalk. Then, a few weekends ago, the tree men came to my own neighborhood to cut down one of the grand old oaks that has graced us for many decades.

It’s not the only tree to die because of the construction craze in the neighborhood (the neighborhood is experiencing a “tear-down” renaissance where new, large homes replace older, smaller ones), but it was a beautiful tree that I hoped might just survive its mistreatment.

The tree had declined after stresses piled on to it one after another: back-to-back summers of heat and drought coupled with a construction crew that didn’t understand – or didn’t care – what day after day of painting materials washed out at the base of the tree would do to it. Of course, the new owners had no idea about the paint, and they consulted tree experts to try to save the tree. But after holding off for a couple of years to try to help the tree survive, they decided it was time to take it down.

So a few Saturdays ago, with snow falling (a rarity around here), I was getting my house ready to entertain guests later that evening. I realized I was hearing the steady drone of a chainsaw and looked out to see across the roof of the house behind ours, a man up in the tree:

TreeCutting2013_2

When I saw what was happening, I stopped cleaning to grab my camera, and over the next few hours (with some dusting and laundry and food prep in between), documented as the tree came down, limb by limb.

I’m scared of heights, and though I love trees, I don’t enjoy climbing them at all. So this sight awed me, this man connected to the tree by ropes and also connected to his chainsaw by a rope that swung at his side.  TreeCutting2013_3 Continue reading

Do bloggers get sick days?

Here it is Wednesday, the day of the week I usually post something, and yet, I don’t feel much like sitting at my computer. For several days, I’ve been fighting a cold, and yesterday, the cold started fighting back even harder by moving into my lungs, firing up a fever and making everything generally pretty achy. So if you don’t mind, I’m going to take today off.

But I’ll share with you one of my favorite Irish blessings, so very true for me this week, as I’ve found myself grateful for a warm, dry house during days of rain, wind and cold, and also thankful for warm cups of tea:

May you always be blessed
With walls for the wind.
A roof for the rain.
A warm cup of tea by the fire.
Laughter to cheer you.
Those you love near you.
And all that your
Heart might desire.

My heart desires a good night’s sleep and clear lungs. Maybe your heart desires spring to come quickly? There are a few signs in my garden that spring is on its way. Look for pictures in the coming weeks. In the meantime, I’ll leave you with a little indoor cheer and a hope that the only fever you have is spring fever:

A paperwhite in bloom brings springtime inside, even in winter.

A paperwhite in bloom brings springtime inside, even in winter.