Goodbye, Bananas

Yesterday, I finished up Barbara Kingsolver's Animal, Vegetable, Miracle. The book chronicles her family's journey to eat local produce and meat for one year, growing it themselves or buying it from her community. It includes small essays written by her husband, Steven L. Hopp, as well as essays and recipes by her eldest daughter, Camille Kingsolver.

Kingsolver wrote the book not as a lecture about the dangers of industrial eating, but rather as a celebration of good, locally-grown food. It's about having a relationship with what we eat, about having the chance to see it as emerging from vibrant earth or from a living creature, instead of carefully packaged and tidy products to be purchased whenever and where ever. It flips the idea of convenience and availability (the "I want it now!" mentality) on its head as she joyfully moves through the season and the fruits of that particular time and place. Strawberries and asparagus are all the sweeter because they emerge for a short period; tomatoes full of flavor are those that are not shipped from California, but picked from the garden, still warm from the sun that draws out their juicy sweetness. Food that's not eaten in its proper time and close to its source just isn't as good.

I love that this book shuns the impulse to become a bitter tirade against the industrial agricultural system; instead, Kingsolver weaves her family's story in with the story of small farmers that she meets and with facts about the current state of food in the US. She visits Quebec, Italy, and seeks out the local in those places and finds it delicious. The work takes a didactic turn every so often, but inevitably she returns to her goal in writing Animal, Vegetable, Miracle: to show that eating locally is beneficial, fun, and not that difficult. It's not for an elite few, but it can be for everyone if we'll stop allowing our government to support big agriculture at the cost of small, productive farms.

The illustration above is a "vegetannual," which envisions a return to the relationships between vegetables and fruits and their season. We've lost a fundamental connection between seasonality and locality in selecting what we eat. Hence, I'm saying goodbye to bananas. Bananas are not grown in the U.S., and where they are grown, banana companies were (are) responsible for the exploitation of South American peoples and governments*.

Animal, Vegetable, Miracle is an inspiring work. I felt compelled (and hungry) while reading it to grow a garden, support local farmers (which I do already! yay Farmers' Market!), can and preserve my own produce, and shun processed foods and unseasonable fruits and vegetables. It was a fantastic read and ultimately hopeful that we can return to a simpler (and healthier for body and land) way of eating.

*For more interesting stuff on bananas, their origins as the possible fruit of Eden, and how the mass production and transit of them shaped South American politics, check out Dan Koeppel's book, Banana: The Fate of the Fruit That Changed the World. A hint: we might not even have bananas in a few decades.

Me-Powered Transportation

A few days ago, Tim posted about wanting a bike. I'd been thinking about getting a new bicycle* for a while now, but it was just contemplating. Meanwhile, Tim talks about buying one, and I started hearing several of my co-workers talk about how they were riding their bikes more and more. One guy even rides his in to work and back, which is a good 35-minute ride.

Fayetteville is fairly bike friendly for a southern town. I usually see several bike riders rolling around on the streets alongside vehicles, and we are blessed with an ever-expanding paved trail system. However, Fayetteville is also in the hills. Meaning there isn't much flat space to ride a bicycle around on. Therefore, I continued to hesitate on investing in a bicycle--I didn't like the idea of having to pedal myself (and any stuff I might be carrying) up a hill!

Well, today that changed. I have been driving my car excessively short distances that are easily accessed by a bicycle. I would walk to these places, but I usually don't have enough time. (For example, the gym is a good 20 minute walk away, which doesn't give me much time to get there and back if I've only got an hour for a workout.) It doesn't use a lot of gas, but it does put wear and tear on a vehicle that I would like to last me the next six years or so. The idea of a bike--even a nice, new expensive one--seemed better and better. Not to mention that it'll help me get in better shape! And improve my running! I went down to Lewis and Clark, and (with the help of their friendly staff) purchased this lovely lady:



Her name is Alice**. She's a Schwinn Voyageur GS, specially built for a girl who likes to wear skirts. Which is me--I even test rode it this afternoon in a skirt, which was lovely. It's a "hybrid" or a "comfort" bike, which just means that it's studier than a road bike, has bigger tires that have less tread than a mountain bike, and has a cushy seat--no bike wedgie for me.

Upon getting her home, I rode down to the HPER to see how the ride was. It's definitely harder than using the car, but I hear that after a month my body will adjust and I'll be able to handle Fayetteville hills. (I came home panting, but exhilarated.) I have visions of riding everywhere within a smallish radius of me that I'd ordinarily use my car to get to.

Next phase--get Lance to find a bicycle so we can ride places together! (Like the grocery store. That would definitely save on gas...)

*I had a cheap-o from Wal-Mart that I never rode and that eventually rolled away because I forgot to lock it up when I moved it one day. I hope the new owner had a heavy dose of guilt and then used it a lot. I then borrowed one from a friend which I rode once, then locked to a fence and proceeded to lose the key. I found the key on Friday, so that one is now in a sheltered place until the original owner decides its fate.

**Lance ended up naming her^, not me. I said, "I need to figure out her name." He said, "It's Alice." I paused and looked at Alice, and that was that.

^She's a lady, of course. Very demure.

The Joy of Trees

A front passed through our area on Tuesday, leaving us with moderate summer temperatures and me with a strong desire to be outside before the blinding heat returns. July and August are usually the hottest months, so 85 degrees with a light breeze and little humidity feels like heaven. Especially when I think about how hot and muggy it usually is this time of the year.

The university abounds with stately trees and lovely well-tended lawns, and so the past two days I've spent my lunch hour on Old Main Lawn, under the gently waving arms of a large tree. In the sun, the heat still has intensity, but under the shadows cast by green leaves, the air is cool and friendly, especially with the gentle wind singing through the leaves above me. I ate my homemade pizza* and read my book as a bumblebee buzzed near by and the surrounding trees dampened the noise of traffic and passing pedestrians. The hour passed in quiet joy.

I gathered my things to return to my desk** feeling tranquil and well-rested. As I walked away, I thought about being like a tree: digging toes deep into cool grass and damp earth, stretching arms out to catch the bright sunshine. I felt whole, alive; I was connected to the world around me.

How sad for my fellow office-dwellers that they don't come out to experience this vibrant place, the scent of green and the songs of insects. They are content to eat their lunches at their desks, to only walk from car to building and building back to car, afraid to get a little sweaty because the temperature is higher than the artificial chill of their climate-controlled spaces. I wonder if they feel the lack, or if they are content? I would die like a plant in a too-small pot that never tastes the sun if I couldn't walk a bit each day, even if it is just to home and back, and a little during lunch.

The outdoors have been calling me stronger this spring and summer. Maybe it's because I felt like I didn't get to go out much last year. Maybe it was the resolution that I made that I would go outside more. Maybe it's that I can't stand the frigid air conditioning in my building. Either way, I've been craving it and being satisfied by it as much as I can. It's so simple, but so profound, the feeling that I'm a part of something greater, and that I get to participate in this great, beautiful world, even with the threats of climate change and knowing how much my actions--and the actions of my species--are threatening to destroy that exquisite beauty. I also have hope that more people will wake up to the missing connection with their environment (and communities), and start making small actions*** to make sure that beauty is secure for centuries to come.

*Leftover from last night--a homemade whole-wheat pizza crust topped with pesto, bell peppers, shrimp, and mushrooms, and cheese. I know...delicious, right? If you are not making use of leftovers because you "don't like leftovers," you are missing out on one the greatest advantages to home cooking: not having to do it all the time. As well as being healthier and knowing exactly what you're eating at lunch. Claiming not to ever eat leftovers is almost as bad as refusing to drink tap water in my book: both are wasteful, poorly excused actions on the part of lazy individuals. Tap water is safer than bottled water^, and leftovers freakin' rock.

^It's true! The EPA strictly regulates tap water, while the FDA looks the other way as bottlers pour tap water into petroleum-guzzling bottles. For more reasons to eschew bottled water, visit takebackthetap.org.


**At which I shall likely freeze to death. How much does it cost the university to keep the buildings at a steady 65 degrees?

***Shopping at the farmers' market. Buying from local businesses. Planting a garden. Walking or riding a bike short distances. Composting and recycling. Bringing reusable bags. Buying organic produce. Eating in-season. Participating in community. Volunteering. Becoming involved in change. Turning off the TV. Sitting outside and appreciating the wonders of the small.