In May 2007, I went mostly vegan when my new housemate, a long-term vegan, moved in. I guess you could say I'm a vegan for health, since I've become increasingly aware of chemical additives, and have been in the process of moving away from packaged foods for a number of years. Since May I have eaten nonvegan maybe 3 times, usually dairy, and never at home. Having that 'permission' to choose my foods has meant that I have never felt pressured, so there was little difficulty in the transition at all.
I've also been doing some reading and exploring, learning about food production issues and ethics. It's funny how food, one of the things most central to our existence, and most necessary, is least examined. I don't think that's an inadvertent omission - I think that marketing exerts tremendous efforts to ensure that our focus rests on the sizzle, while shielding from view concerns about the effects preservative chemicals, hormones, and other unexplored elements have on our health - and the health of our children.
Obesity, diabetes, allergies, systemic infections, dermatologic and digestive sensitivities... these are real. Which of these are caused or exacerbated by our poisoned environment, by our lack of attention to the tremendous richness of our produce, by the overuse of corn-based sweeteners and salt?
Real, whole, foods remain. Diet should be enriching and an important part of our lives. As Pollan says, shop the margins of the supermarket, and you find inexpensive, whole food: grains, beans, rice, fruits, and a tremendous variety of greens and vegetables that are not canned, have no salt or sugar or coloring added, and that await our exploration.
Unidentified stacks of home-canned food [between 1941 and 1945]
it's dark. and leaves that sprung at sunrise droop now, guarded by the night, a wooden fence strides along my alley listening for footsteps. the microwave tells no time, just a constant colon, sentinel-marker, smaller lights against the moon.
A sky so grey - or could be silver as my eyes changing through the day reflecting winter, green-brown striations echo limbs lifted by unseen winds or birds streaming south - take me, too. Now warmth from my hand caressing you links heat to heat; against this comfort, winter sings some quiet pattern beyond our hearing - sings in the trees, strums barren twigs making sounds only heard by birds. Swift-wheeling call; beneath the breast each holds a heart intact.
Daphne, in the bay window snugged up against the glass so warm that touching her (where sun does) I'm touching melting satin but she makes a small sound no satin would, and blinks behind the plants, then stretches out, returns to sleep.