wrestling

Oh man, this book. It's winding its way into my brain and it won't stop. Yikes. This emotion I'm feeling, this is what the more evangelical strains of Christianity label "conviction." Maybe I'm ready to repent... of the sin of agricultural idolatry.

We've grown ourselves a culture of entitlement in this land of plenty: we're certain that we deserve to have our choice of everything, all the time, regardless of geography or growing season or fuel expenditure. The questions we mull over when faced with the produce section at the grocery store are Is it yummy? and Do I feel like carrots tonight (like carrots tonight)?

And now I realize we've been asking ourselves the wrong questions. Try these on for size: Where did it come from? How did it get from there to here? and When would it be growing in my local soil?

I grew up with an enormous and very functional garden. Despite that rich and "soiled" history, I don't have the slightest clue where to start an endeavor of feeding myself with only local food. Especially now that I'm moving to No-yard-land, Chicago. Basil on the windowsill? Tomatoes on the porch?

In practice, I've been a mostly-vegetarian (mostly-vegan, even) for a while now. Maybe it's time to commit. Argh.