Weekend Review: Righteous Porkchop by Nicolette Hahn Niman

Following on yesterday's discussion of meat; my thoughts and opinions on the topic were definitely influenced by Nicolette Hahn Niman's book Righteous Pork Chop: Finding a Life and Good Food Beyond Factory Farms (2009). I picked this one up because, well, I live in Iowa. We're ground zero for hog confinements and I felt that I really didn't know that much about the issue. Hahn Niman approaches the topic from a unique standpoint. The first half of the book deals with her time working with Waterkeeper Alliance, an advocacy organization that is dedicated to protecting waterways from pollution. She's a lawyer and her job is to prepare cases against the most egregious polluters: hog confinements. She takes us into the nitty gritty investigative work that she has to do in order to build a case against these corporations. We are with her as she combs through government records, interviews those who have complaints against confinements, and visits waterways filled with dead fish. Along the way we meet farmers and small rural folk who tell heart-breaking stories about the reality of living in proximity to these confinements (not only smell, but also loss of small community, loss of traditional ways of farming, and increased health problems including deadly Staph infections). In the second half of the book, Hahn Niman quits her job and moves across the country to take up cattle ranching with Bill Niman, her new husband and renowned owner of the "natural" beef distributor "Niman Ranch" (which, because of growing confrontations with new management, the two no longer own).

There is a definite shift in tone between the two sections. Hahn Niman is equally impassioned in both, but her growing understanding of ranching and raising animals (that comes with actually doing so) is evident in the latter half. This doesn't change her opinion; it serves to underscore her point that there is still a way to raise animals that is humane as well as profitable. She goes out of her way time and time again to show that her fight is not with farmers or with people who eat meat. Her answer is not that we all give up eating meat and she acknowledges that animals are a crucial part of a successful small farm. Her fight is with the producers who are too big and too far removed from the daily workings of the confinements to care (or to even know) the effects that they're having on the land, the people, and the animals. All she's asking is that big producers abide by the same laws as everyone else and be held accountable for their actions.

One of the interesting questions that is posed is, "where have all the animals gone?" One used to be able to drive through the countryside and see small diversified farms with herds of cattle grazing on the hillside and pigs and chickens around the homestead, in addition to crop land. To drive through the country now, the absence of animals is noticeable. They're there. You just can't see them. They've all been moved indoors into centralized locations where they are packed in as tightly as possible. This is just one more way that we have all been distanced from the food that we eat, to our own detriment as well as the animals'. I'm not the first one to say this, but if hog confinement walls were made of glass and everyone who eats (that is...everyone) would be forced to have one that's visible from their house, you can believe that no one would stand for the way that these animals are treated.

So, what's the solution? Well, reading this book is a start; educating ourselves about where our food comes from. Giving our money to people whose methods of raising animals are in line with our core beliefs is the next step. The next? Navigating the legal channels to prevent any more confinements from being built and work on getting existing ones closed. There are 31 hog confinements in my county alone. There's a lot of work to be done.

Eating meat

The topic of eating meat--whether or not to eat it, if so in what quantities, and where to source it--has been a popular topic in the blogosphere this past week.  Sharon addressed it at Casaubon's Book on Monday, Erin posted on The Green Phone Booth on Tuesday and Kate talked about it on Thursday at The Simple Green Frugal Co-op.  So, I suppose I feel compelled to add my own two cents.  I agree with most, if not all, of what these women write.  At my house, we do eat meat, but in limited quantities and I'm very conscious of where it comes from.  It will be one year ago in February that my husband and I joined a grocery co-op and we started buying, what is starting to be described as, SOLE food--Sustainable, Organic, Local, Ethical--whenever we can.  These changes have extended to all our food, but the change in the meat that we eat has, by far, been the most important for me personally.

I had never really thought about it before.  I just knew that once a week you were supposed to go to the grocery store and there you would buy enough food to last you another week.  Wash, rinse, repeat.  I had absolutely no idea where my food actually came from and I didn't know that not knowing was a problem.  If I had to ask my then-self where my pork chop came from, I would probably naively answer, "a farm."  But once the reality of factory farmed meat became clear to me, there was really no way that I could close my eyes to it.

I do think that we are "supposed" to eat meat.  I believe that it provides essential nutrients to our bodies.  I believe that we evolved to be omnivores.  We wouldn't have canine teeth and eyes on the front of our heads if we weren't supposed to eat other animals in addition to plants.  But I also believe that for an animal to die so that I can live, is an amazing and precious gift.  Those animals deserve my respect, my caring, and my mercy.  Packing 5,000 hogs into a building where they have no room to lie down and never see the sun is not respect.  Keeping laying hens in cages so small that they can't even turn around or stretch their wings is not caring.  And having a killing line that tries to process more cattle than is possible with the result of cows often being skinned alive is not mercy.  Knowing the conditions that these animals suffer in (as well as the workers--I know this is a human's rights issue as well) makes it impossible for me to eat them.  How could I?  So, I spend the extra $2 a pound for ground beef that comes from local cows that live on small farms and are allowed to graze on pasture for part of the year and I just eat less of it to make that choice financially possible.  I don't think animals need to be coddled.  But they should be allowed to live according to their nature.  That means they should be able to be outside, to breathe fresh air, feel the sunshine, and to live a life free from pain and suffering.

The irony, for me, is that in coming to this epiphany about the lives of the animals that I eat, I desire more and more to be closer to their deaths.  It's the only way, I feel, that I can be absolutely certain of their treatment and that I'm not being sold a marketing strategy.  I don't think this means that I have to kill the animals I eat with my own hands.  In all honesty, I couldn't.  I just couldn't do it, at least not now.  But, at some point in the not-so-distant future I would like to keep, at the very least, chickens and goats and that will not be without bloodshed.  Even if I'm just raising chickens for eggs, I will inevitably end up with some roosters and something needs to be done with them.  Even if I'm just keeping goats for milk, inevitably one will get injured or sick and putting it down is the most humane thing to do.

In short, whether each of us eats meat or not, I think that the distance between the consumer and the producer of food--all food--is a really big problem.  So few people are really aware of where their food comes from, how it gets to them and, increasingly, how to prepare it, if it doesn't come in a box or a can.

My books, oh, my books

To say that I have a lot of books might be an understatement.  They overflow two enormous bookshelves and cover every other horizontal surface in my home.  I've made many, many promises over the years about curbing my addiction and I'm fairly certain that I owe my brother my first born child in repayment for the many, many times that he has helped me move them from one apartment to another.  But, to be honest, I don't see the flow slowing any time soon. I mean, sure, I can consent to putting a temporary moratorium on buying new books.  That just makes sense.  But when you live in a college town, Goodwill ends up having a wonderful selection that ranges from the painfully academic to the whimsical and beautiful and they can all be mine for the low low price of 88 cents apiece.  To me, books fall under that category of things-one-must-gather-save-and-then-pass-on.  You can never have enough of them.  I dream of my children someday running their hands along the spines and discovering the things that I love and then learning to love them too.

The pleasure is also aesthetic.  They give me an incredible sense of order and comfort, of all being right with the world, everything in its place.  They calm me.  They're not necessarily in order alphabetically or by subject.  They are arranged so that my presence is necessary as a guide.  Each shelf is of a specific period of my life and as I take each title in my hands I remember where I was when I read it, who I was with, where I was working, what the drama was of that moment.  There's Uta and Meisner.  Volume after volume on translation studies (even though English is my only language).  Five copies of the same novel because each one is slightly different and I loved it so incredibly much that I couldn't fathom not having it in all of its iterations.  Millay and Wakoski (Oh, what lips my lips have kissed!), Acconci and Man Ray.  Fiction, poetry, theatre, film, sexuality, gender, photography, art, book studies, cookbooks, children's books, crafts, politics, history, biography, short stories. How could I possibly let any of these go?  Which would I cut? Rare, signed, first editions nuzzle closely with pulpy paperbacks.  They all have their place.  In my personal history as well as on these shelves.

Letting go

To my surprise, and Steve's delight, I accomplished both things that I set out to do this past weekend.  The first was making the chicken stock that I talked about yesterday and the second was putting some no longer wanted/needed items up for sale on ebay.  Steve and I often battle about how much "stuff" is allowed to come into our house.  He gives me a hard time about all of it, but I maintain that there are different kinds of "stuff" and they don't all carry the same weight.  For example, for me, a box full of cheap plastic crap is "stuff" that can and should be gotten rid of.  A box of linens and dishes is "stuff" that is useful, that has a history, and that should be saved and then passed on.  Having too much of the former makes my chest tighten and keeps me from feeling at ease, while I will never refuse to give space to the latter.

I've listed my childhood collection of She-Ra dolls and the thought of parting with them is harder than I had anticipated, given my opinions on cheap plastic crap.  I don't want them.  I don't want to display them or play with them and I don't see anything to be gained by keeping them in a box for another twenty years.  I don't want to pass them down to my children someday, either.  Not only will my kids have no idea who "She-Ra" is, these are exactly the little plastic toys that I'm hoping to keep out of their lives.  But, when I look at them, they're just so pretty.  And I mean that.  They're shiny and brightly colored and they have long pretty hair and they sparkle.  When I look at them, I think of being a child and of playing with them.  I don't have any specific crystal-clear memories associated with these specific dolls, but they do remind me of a specific feeling: that of being young and solitary and full of imagination.

It often surprises me how little I remember about my childhood, and maybe that has something to do with my current difficulty in letting go.  That in letting go of these toys, maybe, I'm also somehow letting go of the few memories that I do have.  But, I take a deep breath and I remind myself (yet again) that my memories are not contained in these objects.  They're in me and in the people that I love.  I don't need things like these around to remember, and that's a very freeing feeling indeed.

The last of my garden

I sent Steve out to the garden with a flashlight, a trowel, and a bucket one cold night back in November, so that he could dig up the last of our carrots before the impending hard frost.  I used some of them right away and the rest I left, unwashed, in a plastic bag in the back of the 'fridge.  They finally got put to use last night.  I desperately needed to clean out the freezer and had two chicken carcasses taking up space.  So they joined the carrots along with some past-prime celery and onion to make some yummy chicken stock.  Everything just went together into a big pot, which I then filled with cold water until all was submerged. I put it over low heat (just high enough so you see a bubble come up every now and again--I'm told that if you let if actually come to a boil you'll end up with cloudy stock) and let 'er go for five or so hours.  Then I strained out all the solids.  The veggies went into the compost and the chicken carcasses I picked clean, coming away with enough shredded chicken to make enchilladas for two.  This is what I ended up with:

Twenty-seven cups of chicken stock that just went into my freezer.  I divided it into four, two, and one cup portions, since those are the incriments in which I usually need it.  Before dividing, you can skim off the fat if that's something that you worry about, but I don't bother.  And I could have (and probably should have) heated it longer and reduced it down further so that it would take up less room in my freezer.  All in all, it would cost me about $18 to buy this much organic free-range chicken stock in the store. I made it with stuff that would have either been composted or thrown away otherwise. A total win-win.

A note about the carrots. They're a little stumpy, aren't they?  They're Danvers and they're supposed to be on the short side, but I think this is a little excessive.  I have horrible soil.  My garden last summer consisted of about two inches of compost that I put over the clay that was already there.  I put down 3 tons of compost last summer and barely made a dent.  There's a long ways to go!

Things to put things in

I've been somewhat obsessed with containers lately.  Baskets, wooden crates, old suitcases and train cases have been added to my mental "look for" list whenever I go thrifting.  It seems to be part of a larger, slow-moving trend of settling in.  I've moved so frequently in the last decade (at least once a year--often times more) that I've never really been in one place long enough to really unpack.  A majority of my stuff still lives in the boxes and plastic containers in which they were placed 11 years ago when I went to college.  Still having them around, all stacked up, makes me feel as if I'm still waiting for the next move, which is the opposite of how a home should feel.  Hence the baskets. 

A basket seems to me to provide the opposite to "ready to pick up and move."  Without lids, un-stackable, and existing wholely in their current place.  Cookie cutters, canning lids and rings, napkins, and washcloths...all of these belong in baskets.  The suitcases and train cases are providing homes to my newly expanding collection of thrifted fabric.  You can't learn to sew without something to practice on, right?

Weekend Review: Bottomfeeder by Taras Grescoe

Even though it caused me to put a hold on eating seafood, I really liked the book Bottomfeeder: How to Eat Ethically in a World of Vanishing Seafood (2009) by Taras Grescoe.  Grescoe takes us around the world in an attempt to explore the lives and stories behind where our seafood comes from, bringing us to a better understanding of why we're not supposed to eat Bluefin Tuna, for example.  On the one hand, this book was full of things that I already knew:  the fact that 90% of the volume of marine life that was around when my grandfather was a child just isn't there anymore; the fact that even when I think I'm being a responsible consumer by making sure that I'm eating "good" fish as opposed to "bad" fish, there's still a good chance (33% if I'm eating sushi in New York) that I'm not eating what I'm being told I'm eating; and the fact that the "solution" of farming fish is just as problematic (cruelty to animals and people, overuse of pesticides and antibiotics, etc.) as other contained animal feeding operations.  But there was also plenty in here that I didn't know and that helped to fill in a lot of gaps in my knowledge.

One of the issues around eating seafood that I had never thought about before this book was how my consumer choices might affect those halfway around the world. Grescoe interviews the impoverished village people who, up until this point have supported themselves and their communities by sustainably fishing, but have now been displaced by shrimp farms that are owned by enormous multi-national corporations.  They suffer all of the negatives of this situation (increased exposure to toxins, being cut off from their traditional way of living, contamination of their food and water sources) but reap none of the rewards (monetary profit).  It was a great reminder of how important it is for me to remember to consider the full cost of something before consenting to buy it. Cheap shrimp is only cheap because the people who are hired to raise it live horrible lives and to continue to buy it sends a loud and clear signal to those in power that this is an acceptable way to do business.  That's not a message that I want to send.

But all is not lost.  Grescoe doesn't call for us to give up eating seafood altogether and he even admits that since he began the journalistic work that led to this book he's actually started eating more fish.  He's just more conscious of the choices that he makes and this is what he encourages us to do as well.  His references are great and point one to tons of resources, if one is so inclined, and he also provides simple, easy-to-remember rules-of-the-road. He includes a long list of commonly eaten fish and divides them into categories (No, Never; Depends, Sometimes; and Yes, Always) and then explains why each fish made each category. His criteria include how the fish are caught, the impact on local peoples and environments, and the current health of that particular stock of fish. I think it's really helpful.

The good news for me is that both Herring and Mackerel, my two favorite fish, are on the "Yes, Always" list. The bad news is that I can no longer eat guilt-free sushi. I'll still eat it, but I'll order different things than I usually do (darn it! No more tuna!), but, to put a positive spin on it, that opens me up to discover all new fish that could be even more delicious.

Patching

I bought these slippers about a year ago from simpleshoes.com. They have been well-worn and well-loved and they mark the first of many many purchases from that website. Although I love the philosophy of Simple Shoes--all natural, all recycled materials--I'm disappointed with how quickly the shoes I've purchased there have begun to break down and show wear. I'm trying to decide which has more impact: buying new shoes every year that are made from all natural/recycled materials or wearing shoes that are less enviro-consciously made, but that last me for many years. I have a pair of leather Dansko's that I literally wore every day for three years and then off and on for two years after that. I've had the soles worked on once and the leather over the toe is only just now starting to show wear. That just seems like a better investment to me.

But back to the slippers...they didn't originally have the white and purple patches on the toes. I added those the other day to cover two huge gaping holes. The uppers are coming loose on the sides as well, so I think I'm going to have to add some more patches in the near future. All of this made me feel very thrifty and practical, but it's also really sparked a desire to learn to sew. Other than your basic running or blanket stitch, I'm completely at a loss when it comes to needle and thread. I think this needs to be remedied. I have an old sewing machine that I've been trying to make work for awhile, without much success. But, soon. I can feel it.

Long Breaks

I've had lots of excuses. First it was the fact that my wrists hurt from typing at the office all day long. Then it was the traveling and all the distractions that come with the holidays. Then it was something else. But. No excuses or apologies. I guess I needed a break. What's important is that I'm here now.

I'm still struggling to live in this place at this moment. I get very wrapped up in and excited about the possibilities of the future and distracted and disappointed about the past that I completely and totally neglect the present. So. I'm workin' on it.

In this present moment:

I'm determined to finish a knitting project that I started over two years ago. It's a baby blanket that was originally intended for a friend's first baby. That child is now 2 and she and her husband are expecting baby number 2. I have until April and I am confident I can finish it. Only 10 or so inches to go.

My weekend plans include making chicken stock. This will be my second go. The first was a resounding success, bringing me many rich and delicious winter soups. I've got 3 carcasses in the freezer and another will be added tomorrow. That's a lot of chicken stock.

My other weekend plans involve selling things on ebay. There are five huge Rubbermaid tubs of my childhood toys that I've been carting around with me for the last couple decades. I'm ready to let them go. Someone else can give room to my complete collection of She-Ra dolls.