Riding through the Red River Valley is rather monotonous. Granted, every place has its intrinsic natural beauty and spirit but being still for a moment, grounding and centering, I can feel the scar that modern agricultural has inflicted on this land. Prairie and forest, leveled and ditched has created a flattened landscape unlike one I’ve ever seen. I’ve climbed mountains and seen valleys rise and fall for miles, I’ve been surrounded by waters so expansive and deep they call my very soul to retreat with my core lest it fall over board, but this is different. It pulls at thoughts of sustenance through destruction and an unsustainable cycle.
The sky encapsulates us like dome. Green, blue and white surround my visual perspective and I shift into a druidic mysticism. The sky, such light blue it tips on white, pulls my consciousness to the realms suited for spirits of air, totems of birds and my beloved Frigg, Goddess of Prophecy and Spinner of Clouds. Shifting my gaze lower I encounter a world of green; Deep greens of forest and alien electrics from grasses. I’m now among the land, sustainable life force, sun light made manifest though Mother Earth. A red-wing-black bird perched atop a dry cat tail. His silky black body reminds me of the ever present blackness, the collective wave length of the rainbow. He takes of into the field just sprouting some form of grain. I wonder where this seed came from, be it ConAgra or Monsanto, or is has the farmer been lucky enough to save the year from last years harvest. Probably not but ‘hope is a renewable resource”.
Going to an organic market should renew this hope? Huddled in the back corner of Fargo is Tocky. It is small, low lit and low ceilings, smelling mildly of patchouli. Store owners with black sunglasses give off an air of pretentiousness, almost unnoticeable and unwanted. Even now, heady from scents of sweet orange, eucalyptus, and lemon balm, I can’t help but feel like a quaff this as I walk though Cash Wise food, my basket filled to the brim with organic milk, a whole chicken (free-range on family farms), raw almonds, and extra virgin olive oil. I feel almost guilty for buying whole milk from KEMPS. Or that my onions and canned tomatoes aren’t organic or local. Looking at my reusable back next to the plastic bag dispenser I can’t help feel a sense of holier-than-thou.
Shouldn’t being organic, local, all natural, and all the other adjectives we place on good food make one feel whole? I feel these words are tied to things such as yoga studious, art galleries, and fancy wines. I long for drums, and soil, and the smell of bon fires. I want the rich, red hummus of the earth underneath my finger nails and wear it as badge of honor... and to be humble. Of all of Aunt Kathy’s advice, it was to remain humble. Being low to the ground should be humble. Forget the fancy china and black tie events. Give me a meal in wooden bowls, good local beer and friends. Yes the flavors of foods are exciting and intense but should there be such a chauvinistic attitude surrounding the words ‘organic’ or even ‘European import’.
But here is the saving grace. Do your best. If one can’t get local, organic, vegan, free-range, then pick one. Starhawk and Barbara Kingsolver and so many more never said ‘strive for purity’, for who can achieve purity. Purity is a goal for Evangicals and the like. I know nothing is pure and shouldn’t be. It wasn’t meant to be pure. Since the beginning it a been a mingling and evolution of elements. So end with the principle of evolution in mind, do the best to survive and as a human, be creative.
No comments:
Post a Comment